The End of Nicknames

When I was a young lad everyone had a nickname: Ollie was mine. I was rarely called my given name. I wander the halls of Hillcrest everyday. Everyone and I mean everyone is called by their real name (there a few with street names, but that is another story).

Nicknames are often glorious - they capture the true spirit or key event of one's journey.

Who can forget Loaf? - that guy who stole a loaf of cheese bread, there was another guy called bread too...no relation.

Pancake - he stole some pancakes.

Chinga...?

Flush - master of the white throne.

Oldman - the guy with a few greys in Highschool.

Rico - Jock - French - Ringer - Tiny - House - Rock - Soup - Lonesome 50 - Cement - Shark - Grasshopper - Slippery/Slipree - One-Punch - Bucky...all real people.

Snag a nickname - embrace nicknames.

As an aside: I did hear one interesting street name: "psycho-ranger"...solid.

Escape

Found this old pic - reminded me of a very strange day.

Dave "French" Goldstein was in rare form. He'd had enough of teaching and he unloaded on me out by the bus stop.

French jumped right in and said all the things that had been weighing him down:

- girlfriend problems
- wife problems
- hated teaching (said so everyday)
- hip killed him in this weather
- hip "just hurt" any other day
- "drinking too much" - direct quote
- hated being called "French"

That wasn't the worst of it - today he was being called on the carpet. A student had told him to "bite the big one". French lost it. He responded in an improper fashion let's say (Who was swearing at whom? I say).

We looked over to the right as several Hot Air Balloons landed in our field. French walked slow and steady towards them. He talked with one of the pilots for a spell - and then just climbed aboard. They hit the flame and took off over the school.

I haven't seen French in years.