In the beginning, when Flatside first appeared, when Mr. Nelson was still being evaluated by the more conventional, anachronistic, standardized tests of student achievement in his class, Mr. Nelson was horrified at the prospect of having Flatside transfer into his class. Mr. Nelson suspected from Flatside's joie de vivre that he, Flatside, had never been to school (an assumption which proved wrong) because he, Flatside, seemed to have no clue that school was meant to be serious business. As it turned out, however, despite his obvious attitude problem, and frequent use of a Ouija Board on multiple choice tests, Flatside consistently, almost miraculously, was able to deliver test scores which were precisely at the class' mean. According to the old teacher evaluation system that measured classroom achievement, Flatside had absolutely no impact on the class' score. Zip. Zero. Zilch. But that quixotic coincidence only made Flatside odd, if in a mediocre kind of way. There was nothing else average about Flatside. And it was his humor that was inflammatory.

      And outrageous. During the class' purchase of U.S. Savings bonds, as a class project in competition with other classrooms for the most purchased to win a field trip to the beach, it was Flatside who closed out his father's savings account, the last day of the competition, and pushed his class over the top with a $12,000 purchase, which was, of course, redeemed that very afternoon at his father's bank, leaving only and odd withdrawal/deposit record for the same day, that his father would undoubtedly, and indeed did, chalk up to a bank computer error that corrected itself. Flatside also initiated the pill bug competition in which students would bet on whether the pill bugs would open and crawl at least one tile length before Mr. Nelson finished his lecture at the front of the classroom. If Mr. Nelson stepped on either bug before his lecture (and pacing) were over, the house kept the pot, and Flatside was always the house, without any suspicion of complicity on Mr. Nelson's part.

      Class voted on it's class colors, finally deciding on chartreuse and salmon; its class motto - "tempis est durus" ("times are hard"); and its mascot - the feckless zebu, when Flatside's computer turned in 100,000 last minute votes. While other classes coughed, or dropped books at prespecified times, Flatside's class would stand up and recite the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. And it really was a sheep brain that was passed surreptitiously around the classroom, hand to bare hand, the boys containing squeals as much as the girls. Rumor had it that it wasn't Flatside who placed the prophylactic over the doorknob of Ole Lady Sulak's classroom doorknob during lunch. Perhaps he was the one who put cellophane over the toilet seats. He certainly was the one who arrived for his test on a Friday the 13th in a chauffeured limousine. He definitely did not pout marijuana in the Back to School Night brownies; but he did start the rumor such had been done.

      For all of this Flatside was about five foot four inches; red hair cut in a flat top; John Lennon round wire rimmed glasses; Adidas with red striped athletic socks; shorts; a shirt with an inscription (like, "if the music's too loud; you're too old" or "life is hard; then you die") or, on special occasions, a white, button down collar Oxford shirt with bow tie. Blue eyes. A hint of freckles. Gleam in the eyes. A voice in the upper ranges, but not squeaky, rather with a quality of "wow " about it. He didn't so much say funny things so much as he said things funny. Often when trying to recount Flatside stories, which people who had experienced him could not help but try to do, they, as often as not, would pause at the end thereof and say, more in wonderment than apology, "gee, I guess you kind of had to be there." Dozens of kids now say that, and say that they were there on that last day, and try to tell the story anyway. That's how I feel, but I actually was there, near the back of the class. What an event. The class had been doing book reports and it was finally Flatside's chance to give his. His turn came right after Jamie Rodriquez' turn and her report on The Hobbit. Flatside's best work ordinarily came when he was sitting amongst the other classroom members; it was not unusual for him to be the focal point of the class' attention, but it was unusual for him to be the focal point of the class, if you know what I mean? He took the floor with a great air of soberness and solemness, although the class was guilty of several muffled giggles of anticipation, the ultimate tribute of a time proven comic. Some time during the book reports, but maybe it was after the book reports, the rain started coming down. The elements became incidental as the class sat enthralled by a raconteur par excellence. Flatside told us he was George Patton, and that he really hadn't read his book, because it was unnecessary since he indeed was Patton reincarnated, just like it would have been necessary to read the Gallic Wars since Patton had been correct and that hey had both indeed been Julius Caesar. With frightful detail he recalled incidents from his early life as Patton including an incident that, inexplicably remains with me still, that when he was five years old his Aunt had given him pink socks for Christmas, and that his mother had made him wear them. Time stood still as Flatside weaved his story, in and out, with such visual clarity that at the end virtually everyone had been taken in, everyone, perhaps, but Mr. Nelson, who might even have believed him, too, but who couldn't help himself from asking,

      There are those who called the laughter of God, thunder. Still others who have said Flatside was standing by an open window. Some who think he's still alive and living with Jim Morrison in New Orleans or Paris or Colton. But I am convinced that I heard the voice of God twice that day.