THE MASTERS CADILLAC

Soon after the last snow and ice had melted on the little piece of tundra we called home, the last puck had been shot, our skates hung up and our equipment packed away, it was time for ball season. We never really put away our sticks as they were needed year round for ball hockey, street hockey, hockey in the yard, sidewalk hockey, floor hockey in the gym and anywhere else we could find to play. The fuzzy faces of the crocuses began to spring up from the rich soil, their hues of lavender and gold bringing much needed beauty to the prairies. The cry of the meadowlark echoed in the distance.

Jumping on our bikes, we rode a couple of short blocks to the baseball diamond. Not wanting to miss one second of the action, we would take our seats right in the centre of the bleachers. The jocks would hit the ball over the fence, the crafty would bunt and steal bases and the pitchers dazzled us with their curve balls and speed. The catchers and basemen would wow us with their gymnastics . . . but the real star of the show was Mr. Giger.

Edd Giger was the umpire. With his black baseball hat turned backwards and a wire mask covering his face, he stood directly behind the catcher, barely able to see over his head. He held a large, purple chest protector in one hand and a bright, shiny, stainless steel counter in the other. A small straw broom for cleaning off home base found a home in his back pocket, only making an appearance for a vigorous brushing of the plate whenever he deemed it necessary. Edd made his calls with great resolve and purpose. No negotiating, no waffling, no second chances, no mercy! Argue with him and you were gone. It was his way or the highway.

His yelp of steeeeeeeeeeek, came off sounding somewhere between steak, steek and strike, but everyone within a mile radius knew what the call had been. If the batter struck out, Edd would point his stubby thumb heavenward and with a loud roar proclaim, "Batter, you're outta here!". The entertainment value was very high and better yet, it was free. The games were always highly competitive and spirited. Faculty, staff and students all played to win and we witnessed some pretty crazy behavior from "esteemed" faculty and staff. One would never have guessed they could have acted this way from observation in their jobs or classrooms. I have always maintained that true character comes out on the sports field. The standard taunts of, "We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher", and, "You swing like a rusty gate", filled the evening air, adding to the tension. If there was a particularly high strung individual up to bat, we would gather as many of our friends as we could and yell in unison, "Swing, batter, swing", just slightly before the ball crossed the plate. It often worked to really get the guy riled up and throw his timing off.

For a while Edd was also commissioner of the league which meant he not only enforced the rules - he made up a few of his own! He was in charge of where the back fence would be placed marking the boundary for home runs. The home run fence was, in reality, a red snow fence and was quite easily moved. One spring Edd made a deal with the players. Hit 3 home runs over the fence and he would invite you over to his house on Saturday morning for a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, fresh rolls and all the trimmings. To a summer worker living in the dorm, this sounded like heaven on earth. My uncle, Jerry McMahan, was one of those players who took up the challenge. After the 5th breakfast at the Giger house, Edd took him aside and in his gruff, direct way, said, "McMahan, quit hitting the ball over the fence or I'll have to move it back!"

Edd Giger was a short, barrel chested, powerhouse of a man. At 5 feet 6 inches, he lived like he was 6 foot 6. Born on October 2, 1910 in Bakersfield, California, Edd never knew his father who, interestingly, was called Add. While growing up, Edd helped cook in his Mother's diner. She married and divorced multiple times, adding little to the stability of their home. Quitting school in the eighth grade, Edd regretted his limited education the rest of his days. Seizing an opportunity to make something of his life and remove himself from the tough situation he was in, he joined the United States Army Air Corp at a very young age. He actually fudged a few dates in order to be accepted.

In 1940 he eloped with the love of his life, Francis Chester and on April 7th, they were married in Reno, Nevada. To this union was born a daughter, Helen and for this little family the world was about to change. Entering World War II in 1941, the United States was fully engaged by the time Edd was called up and assigned to service in New Guinea with the United States Air Force.

While Edd was away at war, Francis responded to an evangelist at the church and was converted.  She tried to encourage Edd to do the same and attend with her, but he would have none of it. Church was for woman, children and sissies. Edd had an explosive temper and a mouth to go with it. Francis decided that actions would speak louder than words and so she walked the talk instead of preaching. One Sunday night, Francis asked Edd to go to church with her.  He went and was converted that evening. This decision was to have a profound impact on his life and the life of his family.  Edd's first prayer was for a son. Jerry was born a year later.

Edd rejoined the US Air Force and was assigned to Okinawa where he served for 4 years, returning only after Frances became very ill. Settling in Sacramento, CA, he was stationed at Mather Air Force Base. There his heart for the hurting and the spiritual well being of others began to take shape. He was involved in the rescue mission in downtown Sacramento. This experience had a profound effect on the lives of his children.

One evening in 1959 at Arcade Baptist Church, a traveling team from Prairie Bible Institute sang and spoke. At this meeting the Giger's learned of the staffing needs at the school in the far away Canadian north. They were moved to respond to the call and that summer the family moved to Prairie. By now there were 5 children on the scene; Helen, Jerry, Jim, John and Ruth. The transition to Canada was not always an easy one and there were many adjustments that had to be made.

Edd's first post at PBI was as a physical education teacher. When he took over, the fun and games stopped. He conducted classes like they were military training exercises. Circuit training routines, obstacle courses and long jogs are the stuff of legends. While in the gym, each student was assigned their own exercise mat and two heavy wooden bowling pins. All of the calisthenics were performed with these pins for added exercise. What set Edd apart from most gym teachers is that he actually participated in every activity with every class all day long. He would not ask a student to do something he was not fully prepared to do himself. The result of this is that he was in incredible physical shape and more than one student tried to convince him to try out for Mr. Universe.

Edd's next position was in the Dining Hall as a chef. There again he brought his military bearing to the operation, learning to stretch meager food budgets to their maximum potential, often feeding close to a thousand mouths per meal.

The Gigers had an outstanding garden! Produce of every kind filled their garden plot. Carrots, corn, peas, beans, turnips, parsnips, potatoes, squash and lettuce were some of the bounty they would harvest. For a time, Francis was supervisor of the peeling room and for years they brought home huge bags of peelings and egg shells from the kitchen, composting them and tilling it into the soil. This made for incredibly rich earth and the output from this small plot of land was truly outstanding.

Another thing that set Edd apart was his car. This was no ordinary car. Oh no! It was a 1959 silver Cadillac. You car lovers will know that this vehicle was a giant boat of a machine with lots of chrome and enormous fins in the back. It wasn't a car you saw everyday in our little neighborhood of Prairie Crescent. Actually, this was a car you hardly ever saw, let alone in our town. Edd loved that car and in good weather could be seen outside giving it a thorough wax and polish. The Gigers were very generous with the use of their Cadillac, often taking our whole family to church, if the weather was too bad for the red Ford Falcon. Edd took some hassle from those who thought his car was too ostentatious and was a waste of the Lord's money. Whispers around the campus turned the man and the car into a larger than life legend. Later, when Edd sold the Cadillac and bought a Toyota, folks breathed a sigh of relief that he had finally come to his senses . . . even though the Toyota cost considerably more than the Cadillac!

In the '70's, the Gigers began to attend the little church in the country where my Dad pastored. They were very supportive of both my parents and were active in the life of the church. Francis was a loyal friend to my Mom and a huge support to her during her illness with MS. Edd would often pray in the service and on occasion would get some of his words twisted around. We had a family in our church with the last name of Bethune and at one point George Bethune was very sick. Edd prayed that God would heal George Buffoon. On another occasion, he thanked the Lord for the bountiful crop of bikinis they had harvested that fall. Of course, he meant zucchinis, but there were a few giggles in the congregation that night.

Every couple of months, the church would hold a Sunday Evening Talent Night. This was an opportunity for people who were talented, or thought they were, to share their gifts with the Bethel congregation. Soloists, duets, family groups and instrumentalists would perform. Someone might recite a poem. This is exactly what Edd Giger would do. The piece he would recite was called, The Touch Of The Masters Hand.

As tears streamed down Edd's face, he would stand on the platform at the front of the church and relate the story of the auctioneer who was trying to sell an old violin that was battered and scarred. No one paid any attention to the old instrument. The auctioneer felt he was wasting his time trying to even sell it. The picture changed significantly when an older man stepped out of the crowd and picked up the violin. Wiping off the dust he began to play beautiful, sweet music. Edd knew first hand the redemptive power of the gospel in his own life and the difference it had made in the life of his family.

Children often have a sixth sense about adults and we knew that under that gruff exterior beat a tender heart. We realized that this tough military man who drove the silver Cadillac, had been truly touched by the Master.


The Touch of the Master's Hand

The Touch of the Master's Hand
'Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"

But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.

"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."

And many a man with life out of tune
All battered with bourbon and gin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.

Myra Brooks Welch



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© 2013 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

WHILE SHEPHERDS WASHED THEIR SOCKS BY NIGHT . . .

Every fall when November rolled around, each class started practicing for the Annual Grade School Christmas program. Parts would be learned in individual classrooms and during the weekly music classes. I wouldn't term these particular exercises "fun" in the traditional sense, so we were often called on to create our own "fun".

You see, the standard for excellence for Christmas programs had been set very high by the college. The annual Christmas Music Night at Prairie drew people from all over the provinces of Alberta, British Columbia and Saskatchewan. Some brave folk even traveled up from Montana. The logistics of a small town and college putting on a such a grand production like this were mind boggling. A 180 voice choir, 60 piece orchestra, various small ensembles and soloists made up a two hour production of sacred music. Conservative . . . absolutely!, but well done, no argument there. The large tabernacle would be full to overflowing. In those days, the "tab" as we called it, sat close to 4500, making it the largest religious auditorium in Canada. In later years as fire codes were enforced, the bench seating was spread out, reducing the capacity.

Every two years the entire entourage would travel to both Edmonton and Calgary and perform the program in the Jubilee auditoriums. With seating for about 2600, these beautiful, acoustically correct concert halls were built to commemorate Alberta's 50th birthday in 1955. Both were filled to capacity when the Prairie Music Night came to town. When the school first started going to the "big cities", everyone would load up on the train and make the journey. The kitchen staff would go along to prepare meals for close to 400 people! As busses and vans became more readily available, they became the preferred mode of transportation. When I was in junior and senior high school, I was privileged to be be part of the sound and light crew, learning a great deal about working with various equipment, leaders and musicians.

Back to our lowly grade school program. After several weeks of practicing, it was time to start proper rehearsals in the tabernacle. Single file, we made our way, class by class, down 6th Avenue, for a number of practices before the big day. We sat by class and our teachers tried their best to maintain some modicum of law and order. With 300 kids, this was much easier said than done. A group of us would get particularly creative when it came to lyrical re-writes. All very childish, we would sing with gusto, "While shepherds washed their socks by night all seated on the ground, the angel of the Lord came down and passed the soap around", and "We three kings of orient are; tried to smoke a rubber cigar; it was loaded; it exploded; now we are no more". And on it went . . . you get the point.

In kindergarten and grade one we participated in a "rhythm band". Having a rhythm band at Prairie was a complete anathema, but for some reason this was encouraged. Little did they know they were influencing a whole generation of rockers! We were all given instruments like triangles, wood blocks, shakers, bells, etc. and off we would go, accompanied on the piano by our music teacher. This auspicious group was led by Phil Callaway. He was given a small baton and instructed to wave said implement from side to side in time with the music. Phil, always the class comedian, determined early on that if he moved his derriere to the opposite side as the baton in a rhythmic fashion, he could elicit giggles from the girls and laughs from the parents! Wonder of wonders, on the night of the big performance, we actually knew the right words and the programs usually went off without a hitch. None of us had the guts to sing our version of the songs.

One of the highlights of the evening was the candy bags. These ample brown paper bags contained a mandarin orange, nuts of various kinds and a plastic bag full of candy and were handed out to every student and child at the end of the program. Older teenagers would meet in the butcher shop to help assemble the bags a few days before the big night. Mr. Butler would keep a wary eye out for any who dared sneak a candy or two!

There were always the odd wing-nuts that had some wacky, misguided idea that we shouldn't celebrate Christmas because of it's pagan origins, etc., and didn't allow their children to participate in the program. I remember even as a young child being angry with those parents and feeling so very sad for the children.

The Christmas program signaled that the holidays were about to begin and this notched up the excitement one more level. Christmas vacation was the best time as a kid growing up at Prairie. We boys pretty much lived at the outdoor rink and played hockey in every kind of weather from the melting ice of a chinook to the bitterly cold freezing temperatures of a blizzard. Revolving games of shinny would entertain us from morning to night, pausing only to duck into the skate house to warm up or to hurry home for some grub or a bathroom break. The big flood lights were turned on around 5 o'clock as it was getting dark. If we could enlist some of the lady folk, lively games of crack the whip, pom pom pull away or duck duck goose would ensue. At one time there were five rinks on campus alone. If the weather was warm enough and the snow would actually stick together, we would build snow forts and have snowball fights. Many times the packed drifts along the snow fences were so high we could walk up and over the fences. As we got older we would trek out to the Three Hills for some tubing. The annual Christmas basketball tournament would also be played. I usually had a couple of uncles who were involved in that, making for a lively discussion at Grandmas house. Both gyms would be utilized, ending in a big championship game on the final night. On really cold days we would go to the boys dorm and play ping pong.

It seemed like even the administration let down its austere legalistic guard to take part in the Christmas spirit. They would plan a number of activities for those on the campus and in the community over the holidays. In those days, many students stayed in the dorms for Christmas as travel was costly and dangerous in the tough Canadian winters. All of these students were invited into staff homes for meals and game nights.

One of the organized activities was a couple hours of movies, or films as they were called, in the afternoons. For a couple of weeks the High School auditorium was transformed into a movie theater and 16 millimeter films were rented in for our entertainment. The Sound of Music, Where The Red Fern Grows, Follow Me Boys, Laurel and Hardy films as well as more serious movies like The Drylanders and National Film Board of Canada documentaries were projected up on the screen. To us staff kids, who were not allowed to have televisions in our homes, this was a big deal. Never fear though, the high standards did not completely go out the window! One year, during the showing of Sound of Music, a hand quickly went up to cover the lens when the Baroness made her entry, as it was deemed the neckline of her blouse was too low.

For many years a "Boxing Day Program" was planned with zany skits and funny musical numbers. Hot chocolate and treats were served. I remember Vernon Charter playing a hand saw with a violin bow and George Bryant and Bert Shelton lip syncing to some funny song. At the ages of 4 and 6 my wife Cathy and her brother John Kirk made their acting debut in a parody of college students, alongside Mrs. Pulliam who played a young grade school girl in pigtails.

The Dining Hall was the scene of another highlight of the holidays. Every Christmas Day for decades, the school invited all staff, students and families for a formal dinner. A full course turkey meal with all of the trimmings was served. The Dining Hall was decorated with a large 20 foot Christmas tree at it's centre. The mounted deer heads were given red noses in honor of a missing Rudolf. The kitchen staff prepared for and fed close to 1000 people. For us kids this event was terribly exciting. We would dress up in our finest, every hair in place, often wearing new clothes we had just received that morning. Mom was from a large family of 12 children and many of my Aunts, Uncles and cousins travelled a great distance at considerable cost, braving perilous conditions to be in Three Hills for Christmas. It was exciting to see people we hadn't seen for a year or more. Staff kids that had grown up and left the nest would often be home for Christmas, accompanying their parents to the Christmas dinner. Tongues would wag about which girl's dress was the shortest, who wore the most makeup and jewelry, or which boys had their hair over the ears and collars. These "worldly" actions were the subject of great interest and gossip for weeks after the big event.

To say that my mother LOVED Christmas would be a huge understatement! Because she had endured some pretty bleak Christmases as a child, she did everything in her power to make them extra special for our family. The baking and decorating would start weeks before. Mom had the house decked out in festive lights and colors and would host parties, meals and game nights for various church groups as well friends and relatives. We boys helped pull taffy, make chocolates, decorate cookies and squares and wrap presents. Mom gave presents to everyone! At least it seemed like it to us kids. She gave presents to students she had gotten to know, people in the church, relatives, friends, neighbors and always had a few extra gifts wrapped, "just in case". She organized large food hampers and gifts for needy families and married students in the community. Mom had the "It's more blessed to give than to receive" thing down pretty good. We were made keenly aware of the less fortunate and were taught to be grateful and thankful for what we had.

Both Dad and Mom made a great effort and sacrifice to see that we were given nice gifts at Christmas. Usually, we received one "big" present like hockey equipment and several smaller gifts. They always included a book or two as reading was very important around our house. There was one family gift as well. I remember a toboggan one year. We would save up our allowances and do our best to get both Mom and Dad something we thought they would like. Dad would always try and determine what was in the package so we would go to great lengths to disguise the contents using rocks for extra weight and large boxes to keep him from guessing. It was fun watching them open their presents. Mom would use some of her creativity in making our Christmas stockings extra special. Along with the standard gum, candy and orange, she would include our favorite Archie comic book, jacks, a puzzle or two and maybe a small game. This gave her a great deal of pleasure and she was always delighted as we opened them. On Christmas morning, we were up at some crazy hour, bugging Mom and Dad to wake up. When we succeeded, Dad would read the Christmas story from Luke, chapter 2 and then we were allowed to open our presents. After Christmas dinner we would make the rounds to Grandpa and Grandma's, Uncle's and Aunt's to see what everyone had received for Christmas. Many were the hours spent around Grandma's kitchen table playing a lively game of Pit or Stock Ticker, consuming Grandma's special popcorn balls and other treats. By the end of the day we were tired out and ready to say with jolly old St. Nick, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!", and with Tiny Tim, "God bless us, every one!".

These are just a few of my memories of Christmas as a Prairie Boy . . . I wouldn't have wanted it any other way!

Thanks to Darrell Wilson for the pictures circa 1971

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© 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.

THE PEANUT AND THE HAMMERHEAD

Every school needs a teacher like Allan Bienert. Mr. Bienert was not just a good teacher, he was a GREAT teacher! He taught English, Creative Writing and Creative Speech. If he had taught basket weaving I would have signed up. Al Bienert loved teaching and I knew it. We all knew it. He was funny, creative and witty. He would challenge each of us to reach beyond our comfort zones and excel. Whether we were writing short stories, debating or giving a speech, Mr. Bienert cheered us on to be our best. He was one of my teachers who encouraged me to write and speak. His "good natured bets" were legendary and if he lost one, he always seemed to get off the hook on a technicality!

Born in Leduc, AB, Allan finished High School in Edmonton. He attended Prairie with the intention of becoming a missionary with the SIM in Africa, but due to a skin condition, he was unable to go. After university, he taught school in St. Paul and Edmonton before moving with his family to Three Hills where he was a teacher at the Three Hills School from 1967 to 1975. In the fall of 1976 he began teaching at Prairie High School.

In our town, court was held in the provincial building once a month on a Thursday. If you were in one of Mr. Bienert's classes on that Thursday, off you went to court. He loved the banter between the lawyers and the crown. He reveled in watching the judge and seeing if he could predict what verdict would be reached. We loved any excuse to get out of class, but this was a real bona fide learning experience.

Court was not the only thing Mr. Bienert would round us up for. There was also hockey. Whole car loads of students, both boys and girls, would trek to hockey games all over the province. With Mr. Bienert at the helm you were always guaranteed to have some type of an adventure.

Mr. Bienert was not a casual hockey fan. This man LOVED the game of hockey. If there was a puck dropping within a hundred mile radius of our small prairie town you might just find Allan Bienert in the stands. Whether at a game locally, in Red Deer, Drumheller or Calgary he enjoyed and appreciated all levels of hockey. Both Ken and Keith, Allan's sons were solid hockey players and enjoyed the game as much as their Dad. Mr. Bienert also coached the game and I had the privilege of being coached by him for at least one season.

Attending a hockey game out of town was a big deal for us kids growing up. When we were quite small we would usually get to at least one Calgary Centennial game a year. Sometimes we would go several times and watch players like Danny Gare, Mike Rogers and Ron Homenuke compete at a Major Junior League level. As a side note, these three players all went on to play in the NHL. The old theatre organ would wail, the crowds would go crazy, the players would fight and we would have us a good 'ole hockey game. More importantly we witnessed some outstanding junior hockey, played by young athletes in their prime hoping to make it to the big show. After waiting for autographs at the end of the game, we would head off to Peter's Drive-In. A double cheeseburger and large shake were the order of the day before returning back to Three Hills. Why Peter's has never become a franchise, I will never know.

Christmas of 1977 was the inaugural year for what has become the very prestigious Mac's Midget Hockey Tournament. The Mac's tournament brought together sixteen of the top midget teams from Canada and the United States for a week of intense hockey. Scouts from all levels of pro hockey were in attendance at this tournament. Mr. Bienert suggested to some of us that this would be a fantastic opportunity to watch a lot of quality, competitive hockey and invited us to travel to Calgary with him for some of the games.

Mr. Bienert was a complete sideshow all by himself at a hockey game. From assisting the referees with their calls, to giving advice to both coaches and players, he was never at a loss for words. In particular, he would enjoy it if there were fans in attendance that were cheering for the opposite side. If they were in close proximity of where he was sitting, so much the better. He not only could find their buttons, he could push them, and he did.

For the Mac's tournament, we bought tickets in the home end, about 8 rows up from the ice. Mr. Bienert, sons Keith and Ken, Dan and Phil Callaway and myself arrived bright and early in the morning for the first game at 8:00. We witnessed outstanding hockey all day. Of particular memory was a lady who had become somewhat of a legend around the Stampede Corral. She had a gigantic purse which she would use as a battering ram against the glass pane directly behind the goaltender. During one of the last games of the afternoon there was some particularly lively banter in the area where we were seated. Fairly good-natured heckling and ribbing went back and forth between various parties with Mr. Bienert being in the front and centre of much of the goings on.

Someone in our party had brought a large bag of nuts to share at the game. These were passed around and shelled as the day went on. I'm not sure exactly what was said, but at some juncture Mr. Bienert thought he should throw a whole peanut over his shoulder in the general direction of the last comment. So, up and over the peanut went and Keith, looking back, noticed that it had actually made contact with a giant of a man. This guy appeared to be related to Paul Bunyan. He didn't look like someone you would want to meet in a dark alley. Leaning over he hissed at his Dad, "You hit that guy!" "Really?", was Mr. Bienert's reply and he sort of chuckled. I don't think he realized the gravity of the current situation. We went back to watching the game and cheering for our team. Mr. Bienert decided that the other peanut was probably lonely for company and launched another one in the same general direction as the first one. Not two seconds later, a booming voice hollered, "Hey you down there, cut it out!"

"Dad, you've hit him again!" intoned Keith. Amused, we were all killing ourselves laughing and egging him on. "Impossible!", exclaimed Mr. Bienert. "What are the chances of that ever happening?" he said, as he reached into the bag of nuts and chucked another in the same direction. About five rows up from where we were sitting, the same voice thundered. "You hammerhead! . . . If you do that one more time, I'm going to come down there and shove your head through the glass!" There was a noticeable hush in our end of the rink. All eyes were now looking in our direction. This was more fun than Mr. Bienert had signed up for.

They say the third time is a charm, but at that moment sitting there in that arena, no one was feeling any charm. Evidently the peanut had managed to find it's target for the third time. We had a little group huddle and talked about what we should do next. It was decided that it would probably be best if Mr. Bienert didn't chuck any more peanuts that day. He suggested that before the game actually ended we use the age old, proven "divide and flee" strategy, in case our adversary decided to take his complaint to another level. At the end of the game we scattered like sheep, all going down different rows and aisles as we made our way to the lobby. For the next game, we found new places to sit.

For years after, as I would pass Mr. Bienert in the hall or on the street, he would cup his hands in my direction and call out "Hey Rendall . . . you Hammerhead!" and a huge grin would spread across his face.

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© 2010 Stephen J. Rendall - All rights reserved.