I Still Have Some RAM Remaining

A month ago I wrote a Blog about my High School days. An old friend (much older than I am) had attended the same Chicago High School but graduated the year before I entered. Using the nom de plume of Hardware Bob he left a comment on the aforementioned Blog.


In his comment he questioned my memory about our Journalism teacher’s first name. Like me, he was on the Herald staff as a Junior and Senior. He was going to find a Yearbook (Harrisonian) and look it up to prove me wrong.

My yearbooks are well hidden away somewhere in my sister’s attic. The last time I went looking for something in my sister’s attic I was missing in action for three days; this attic makes Fibber McGee’s closet look barren and well organized. Therefore there was no sense in calling her and asking her to find one of my old yearbooks.

I tried calling a few old High School friends with no avail; they agreed with me about the first name. Next I tried to find some of my old teachers. Most of them had common surnames and it would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

However I did find a telephone number for my Biology teacher (he had a unique surname), who was also my academic advisor. I tried three different times within a two week period without any success. I left messages on the answering machine; stating my name and the years that I attended the high school. No reply! I gave up and said “Oh well.”

Finally, this past Saturday, we made contact.

Much to my chagrin, he remembered my name, but not me personally. I’ve always thought that I was an unforgettable character. How could anyone forget, in my opinion, one of the most brilliant Biology students in his class? Of course, I was in a classroom full of geniuses (Honors Students) who got upset when they only received an E (B). In fact our class Valedictorian (Marie Z) received only 2 E’s in High School, the rest S’s (A’s). My former teacher said jokingly that the E's were probably in Gym.

We spoke about several of my other classmates including my old friend and co-conspirator Mykhiala (Micki). She was our class Salutatorian (she probably got 3 E’s). She and I went together (as Forrest Gump would say) like Peas and Carrots. Her brain power (not that I wasn’t a genius) and my quick wit made a good team. We wrote a one act play together in our Sophomore English class. I found that teaming up with her (as a study partner) would improve my grades.

Ironically, my former Biology teacher’s wife was one of my Sophomore year English teachers. I had forgotten that he had married her in my junior year (and was forced to transfer to another school in my senior year – some silly Chicago Board of Education rule). She remembered the play well, as many of the characters in the play were loosely based on our perception of our teachers. It was a comedic farce about attending high school in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. Unfortunately the Drama Club never preformed the play. I wish I still had a copy (it may be in my sister’s attic)!

After more than an hour long pleasant conversation, I got to the bottom line. “Do you remember Mr. Wiley, the Herald Staff Faculty Sponsor?” “Of course I do, Joe and I were friends, and he also was in charge of the Yearbook Staff (this I didn’t remember).”

Shortly thereafter I call Hardware Bob to crow.

The Beach Bum