What? He’s writing about something other than the circus in the Harem on the Hill?
Yes. I need a break. You could likely use one too. As funny as Congressmen are, however unintentionally, I am easily bored by the collection of dolts that composes our national zoo.
I’m working on another book when it hits me how ironic that is. Back in high school I hated English. I was convinced that diagramming sentences was a violation of the Geneva Accords.
When I first arrived at college, everyone had to take placement tests. I did well enough in the other subjects. For the English test, however, I outsmarted myself. I thought that by scoring poorly I would be assigned to a remedial English class. Yeah, I could handle that.
The problem was that the rest of my schedule left me without options. The only English class that worked into my schedule was the advanced class. Oh, shit.
Surprise, surprise. The advanced class had no diagramming. It was literature. I could get interested in a diagram-free language course.
Switching gears for a moment. There was an up and coming phenomenon back then. It was a racehorse. While most thoroughbreds back then came from the East, Silky Sullivan was from California. He held the attention of the country, back in the doldrums that were the middle fifties.
Silky was a Chestnut, a couple of hands taller than most of the other colts, hence the nickname, Big Red. Big Red was strange in many ways. He won one race by 3 lengths after trailing the field by 41. He always held back, to the point that even his jockeys thought he was out of it. When CBS televised the Kentucky Derby they had to use a split screen. That was Silky.
Note: On the far right of this page you can click on the picture of my book. It is an occasionally humorous scientific book on mental illness. Yes it is.
Now let me connect the two apparently unconnected parts of this post.
The teacher of the advanced English course was Miss Lucy Sullivan. She was an excellent teacher. Her graduate degree was from Columbia University. She was outstanding physically. The top of her red hair stood at almost six feet.
Someone else gave her the obvious nickname of Silky Sullivan. I, of course, was to blame for christening her with the sobriquet of Big Red. I don’t know if, as a callow youth, I caused her any discomfort but if I did I offer my belated apologies.
She loaned me a book that I have since wanted to give to James Hong for him to turn it into a screenplay. If you ever have been to a movie, you have seen James. One of his most memorable roles was as the Chinese gentleman in Blade Runner who made eyes for the androids. He was brutally murdered in that film.
My memory of the book has faded somewhat after all of these years. The title was something on the order of The Castaways or Stranded or Shipwrecked. It was a satire authored by a professor at Colorado State or, possibly, Colorado University. With the advent of the Internet it should be easy to locate. It hasn’t been. It is obviously out of print but that is usually no bar to the Net.
Any suggestions for finding the book would be greatly appreciated. Well, back to writing. Thank God I don’t have to diagram the sentences I write, though some may consider that appropriate punishment.
Comments on this entry are closed.