4 Butch The Boston Whaler ran as straight a line as it could through the dawn ocean swells. The wind h
Chapter One
Cute face. Hair a little unkempt for a six-year-old boy, but an adorable smile with nascent dimples and those gapped teeth. Those pearlies are in the midst of a changing of the guard. Those left in his mouth are some excellent cuspids to clamp down on your finger or wrist or the nape of your neck, if he gets behind you in one of those ornery moods. But those are infrequent, maybe one or two -- a day. Ha. Got you there didn't I dear Reader! Perhaps you thought once in a blue moon, or some other hackneyed expression such as, It will be a cold day in Hades before he acts up! Not! Everyday is a holiday and every meal is a feast, and every waking moment for Johnnie B. is an opportunity for adventure. Maybe Johnnie B. good for him, but Johnnie B. bad for others.
 
And so first grade ended with a whimper from those little children who loved their fellow students, their teachers and their beloved principal, Ms. Daisy Rudakowski, of the Philadelphia Rudakowskis by way of a black sheep grandfather who went out to California in the thirties to try his luck in the motion picture business. He failed miserably at that venture, moved south through Laguna Beach for a six month stay to determine if he was gay -- he wasn't; and then to San Diego to work in the ship yards as a welder before becoming the head of the union, where every dollar that passed through his hands came out the other side as ninety cents. A moneychanger to rival those in Wells Fargo or the Exchequer. For his skill in negotiating government contracts, you would have guessed that he had previously been an army quartermaster. No. He had flat feet so he stayed out of the Big War. Building ships was the closest he got to serve his country.  Of course he became wealthy, with all the trappings: a house on the hill overlooking the Bay, a Cadillac in his garage that he used to tour the surrounding metropolis to purchase run down houses as he entrepreneured to become a slum lord, a good set of Spalding golf clubs kept at the Club along with a caddy who knew how to footsie the ball from bad lies to keep his score down, and a beautiful wife cousined to the Spreckles family. Of course her name was Sugar and they came together one time and she bore him a man-child. The man-child, like his father, begat one child, only a girl child, and that was Ms. Daisy Rudakowski.
 
But she has a small part in this tale, and Johnnie was elated, not whimpered, for the end of the school year, and his only relationship with her, up to this point in his life, was the weekly meeting in her principal's office to discuss his mischievousness. The second semester of first grade, the one that starts just before February, actually had that weekly meeting written into his class schedule: "Wednesday, 2:45 p.m., meet with Ms. Rudakowski for thirty minutes. Seminar Class." - HA, with all capitals. "Seminar Class."
 
What kind of seminar class, in the strictest definition of the phrase, can a six-year-old first grader participate in, and all by his lonesome, to boot?
 
Standing at the black board with chalk in hand, writing the letters of the alphabet? No. They don't teach cursive in grade school anymore. That's an elective at the University.
 
Sitting in the corner on a tall stool with a dunce cap on your head? No. That is discrimination against dunces, and not allowed in government schools where all kids are considered equal and everybody gets an award just for being alive.
 
Sitting at a desk running multiplication tables in your brain? No longer. They tried that with Johnnie and he ran 'em up one side and down the other. Nine times six? Fifty-four.
Thirteen times eleven? One hundred forty three. Boy wonder? No. Just partially parented by an old man who taught mathematics to the graduate students at the University of California and who had already run the tables with young Johnnie in an effort to keep him occupied. Keep Johnnie occupied? That in itself is a full time occupation.
 
Known as a talker, he kept silent in the Seminar Class, which is apparently what they wanted, as he got a passing grade.
 
 
 
Ah, that word, mischievousness. Mis Chee. Vee Us Ness. Play that off the tip of your tongue.  Miss Che Viousnoss. Sounds like some foreign lady in the Miss World pageant. . What country, I cannot tell. I can say, that with that name, she would have been eliminated from the pageant after her first practical joke. Probably a fart joke at the swimming suit competition.
 
Announcer: "And in the yellow polka dot bikini, from Armadillolandia, Miss Cheviousness," and then the loud fart to the amazement of the master of ceremonies and the contestants and the gasping of spectators
 
Like Lolita lo lit ta
 
Joh  ne joh ne be good  joh ned be bad
 
 
 
 
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