Finally

Friday, June 12, 1992

As per tradition, the afternoon of graduation for EET candidates was spent showing off their projects to the staff and each other. This was an informal deal, since grades had been in a week ago, but expected, and some had already presented at a more appropriate time, such as the evening folks. But the usual list of suspects were on hand.

Nick's hand-down favorite is Bud's coffee maker. It sports a prosthetic plastic case on the side with an LED readout and some buttons.  He'd used a real-time clock to set the time to brew, and as a bonus, if you push a toggle button you can display the temperature of the water and press it again to see the current going into the coil. Granted, Bud is a retired cop who took the program partly for amusement and partly to pursue a leisurely second career in appliance repair, should do quite well and they’ll all miss his stories from days on the beat. 

Most of the group had met if not exceeded their goals or had come close, but others had set the bar high and treated it as an experiment then reported what they learned. Steve Collins had opted to see how far he could get teaching the 6809 to play chess, and so there was always someone siting there with him. Nick realizes he needs to learn chess.

When it comes his turn, he just gives an overview and rolls the tape. Sure enough the cursor starts to jit-jit at those seemingly random intervals and then the announcement lines, more spaces,  and this gets some cheers and claps, then it goes into the meat of the bulletin. Nick could have also grabbed some maritime weather forecasts but had never gotten around to recording any, so we're sticking to what works. But for some reason, probably due to constant wear on the same source tape, the printout was a bit off here and there, such as a bunch of dashes for a table header rendering series of A's.

"AHHHHHHH" fires Goody from right behind Nick and he jumps, looks back,

"You scared me."

Goody just pats him on the shoulders and chuckles. The readout proceeds and Nick explains what we are seeing and mentions there are also weather reports and such to be decoded if one knows where to look.

Someone asks, "Are you going to do any transmitting, to talk to someone with this?"

"Well I don't have my license yet, but might, I was inspired to do this by my granddad, he was always into radio, did it in the service."

"Oh he's passed on?"

"Yeah, a couple years ago."

Goody breaks in, "we're all sorry for your loss and certainly you have done him proud with this, great tribute."

From around the table some agreement, "Good job, Nicko...good stuff."

He's a little choked up, "Thanks guys." After a moment, "so yeah, this is basically the schedule for when they send the Morse code practice...the speeds, frequencies....oh that's nice, 'RTTY, AMTOR, and ASCII in a revolting schedule..." which obviously meant revolving schedule.

This gets a laugh, someone chimes, "Stupid computers."

Nick then fields a couple questions about the modem circuit, the PLL chip, and points out it's all available at your friendly local Radio Shack store, with a cartoonish grin, and this seems to be what earns the final applause. He's done.

Mister Whicker

Thursday, June 11, 1992

There is a small men’s locker room and shower in the Tech Ed building, some of the faculty seem to know the original rationale, but Nick can't remember it, at the moment he's just thankful for the low traffic and four sinks make a great place to shave.

He's known for building up about 10 days' worth of growth before hitting the Barbasol, but this time he'd gone a bit longer. As he just gets started, George King strolls in and toward a stall,

"Don't you have a home to do that in Nick?"

"This is a special mission."

"Interview?"

Thinks for a sec, "You could call it that."

He had found some free time here and there to hit the campus library and see what they had on this Whicker. World Book had a brief mention of Alan Whicker, BBC documentary host who travels the globe, along with a photo from sometime in the 1960s. Bingo. Then the card catalog featured a couple of BBC documentaries available on VHS. It had been a while since his tour of the library but it seems these can be viewed in a room somewhere.

Minutes later he's in the room somewhere watching the real Whicker's World go to the Haight and Ashbury section of Frisco where the hippies were organizing. First he has to hand it to the Python boys for nailing his voice and delivery. Second, there's a lot about the hippies he hadn't known before, good for them. Third, he's gonna need some glasses, hair grease, and a suit nobody around here has seen before.

The first two items were pretty easy to come by, in his parent's stuff. The dark-framed reading glasses were usable for as long as he needed them, and Ned's old hair grease was separating but seemed OK when he tried it on one night before a shower, and didn't stink too bad.

For a suit, well he'd forgotten the hand me down he had in his closet, he had no idea how old it was, dark slate blue with an embossed pattern, but that made it better. Just needed to be two piece with maybe a white Oxford (check) and a crazy wide tie - (check, bless ya Paps). It fit a little tight but that seemed right.

Thanks to that tape from the PBS he was able to bring the VCR upstairs and get the rhythm down better each day, you have to be careful to not go one way to Robin Leach or the other to Howard Cosell. Keep your nose out if it, Whicker should kinda buzz between the tonsils. After a point he even carries on Whickeresque conversations with his parents and coworkers until they walk away. The idea seems to use as many alliterations and turn-of-phrasing as possible, or if that's not convenient then just use more words than necessary.

But it's really about that cadence, and moving the head around to punctuate the beats.

This would be a stretching experience, but life had taught him when to just go for it, those are what make a person. This is one of those times.

He was well aware of her office hours and could just leave the tape with the receptionist if need be, but this felt like a sure thing. It would be in the part of "dead week" when most things are done or being graded. He would get the outfit together after classes are done, shave at the school, change in his car, then showtime.

The shave took a little work with the heavier growth but then he's leaving the 'stache and sideburns, not too shabby. He cleans up, pops on a ball cap and shades then heads for the Cordoba.

Before long he's doing this exaggerated arm heavy walk, and as he gets closer to the Gelding Hall he stops, looks around as if brand new, taking it all in, straightening the tie, collar, checks his looks in reflections, drawing a few looks, but then many wouldn't blink any eye if Madonna were to traipse through in a conical bra and gold-speckle panties.

He reaches the door and someone holds it open for him. He can't focus on the face but stays on the horse, "Why thank you kindly, my good fellow. So nice to see young people still have manners in this day and age." Then just keeps on toward the stairs, no need to gauge reaction.

This time the receptionist is there, "May I help you?"

"Why yes my good lady, I am here to drop something off for a, let me see, a Miss Noreen McDonnell if she would be of avail."

This gets a grin and several looks, "Why yes sir, you'll find her around to the right and straight back."

Whicker nods, "Much obliged, I am in your debt, fair madame," he bows, and straightens his tie as he heads down the hallway in the same conspicuously observant manner.

He finds himself near Noreen's desk and can see someone there, but makes a point to look around just the same. Then he acts surprised to find her there, straightens his tie and lapels, now for the bit he'd rehearsed,

"I bid you a good afternoon, and I thank you once again for the opportunity to make your kind acquaintance the other day. I wanted to stop by personally and offer my sincere appreciation, in all humility, for agreeing to speak with my programme about so-called nerds and their culture, these devious dragons of the dark and dreary labs, holders of knowledge that no one else dares to ponder."

She just stared up at him over a couple open books, as a young girl would. She wore an emerald blouse that made her eyes the same shade, presently in a doe-like admiration, and had cut her hair and put in a slight wave.

"So in appreciation for appearing off camera as to not incriminate your own kind, I would like to present you, at this time, with an audio recording of your contribution to this episode, again with our gratitude for your participation. And may I add that I simply adore what you have done with your hair. But for now I must be off and I bid you adieu, for it is nearing time for my next compelling interview, somewhere, out there."

He hands her the tape, then before he turns she kisses the air while still holding the gaze. He can't help but wink.

Nick remembers to exit just as he'd entered, looking about and fidgeting, then right by the receptionists desk an older gentlemen greets him with a handshake, and in perfect Queen's English,

"Mister Whicker...it's an honor to have you here, I have enjoyed your programme for years, what brings you to our neck of the woods, as it were?"

"Why thank you good sir and quite likewise, I was, as it were, just dropping off a recording for the Fair Miss McDonnell, I hope that this has not been an inconvenience today."

"Oh not at all, are you off to your next interview then?"

"Why it just so happens I fly out tonight to the jungles of Zimbabwe, and I hate to run but don't want to miss my flight."

"Very good, cheerio then."

"And a very good day to you, be so kind as to keep watching!"

Then he turns and nearly runs down the barren hallway to the stairs, where he pauses to gain enough strength to stay in character as far as his car.

After changing back into street clothes and a quick nap, it's back to the restroom to finish shaving and reformat his hair for graduation rehearsal.

Opportunity Knocks

 Nick had been in the lab just long enough to get into a groove when Goody asked him if he had about 10 to 15 minutes. They proceed to his office and Goody shuts the door.

"I didn't do it." Nick starts.

"Hey as long as no one can prove it you're all set."

"Well that was too easy."

Goody just smirks and looks for some papers. "So...how's your old dad these days?"

"Last I saw he's older than ever."

That earns a laugh. "Sometimes I miss it over there. Has he mentioned any prospects?"

"Nothing specific but entry level could open up at any time, seems a lot of changes are on the horizon, expansion...I hear this and that but never sure."

"From what I understand they are taking on bigger and better things soon, and I'm not sure you'd just be limited to entry level."

"Well I don't know -"

"Nick I just got an update from the registrar, if you hold on you'll graduate above a three-nine. That's in the top 2 or 3 of the ET division and my best by a head. Congratulations."

"Wow, thanks, that sounds like good news."

"And remember you haven't slacked at all, full electives including an extra programming language. All that will open doors."

"I'm not very good with doors sometimes."

"So I’ve noticed...alright, here's what I know...now, remember there's a lot in play here, but we are looking at a few positions here at the campus that you'd be considered for, in the upcoming months."

"Oh."

"Yeah, we'd love to have you around. Now remember this is confidential."

Nick sits up in his chair, "Of course."

"OK, well, Brian, (as he points toward the lab tech’s lair) may be moving on soon, he has yet to put in official notice but was kind enough to let us know. It's nearly full-time at 36 hours a week, you'd be full staff, benefits, and report officially to Sue Richards, of course, you know, she's not so concerned about day to day stuff in the lab, so you'd coordinate with me."

"Right...wow."

"Hey, and I think you know about what that entails, maintaining the scopes and the CPU lab computers, some questions from students."

"Poor Brian."

"Yeah...well, he does get a little frustrated at times, but I think - again, between you and me and the doorpost - his temperament is probably better suited for, you know, less interaction and more concentration."

"A cave dweller."

(Chuckles) "yeah maybe, but I think with your easy going nature it should be a good experience all around, you seem to have a good sense of boundaries. It is OK to say 'no' sometimes, since that role is primarily to maintain equipment and not assist students with their assignments."

"That sounds about right."

"Alright, well, in addition to that....as you know, the enrollment has been growing and expected to grow, with estimates that the fall will see at least 5% overall increase over this past year."

"Wow again."

"Yeah, it's terrific. And so you've also been put on a list of those to consider for adjunct instructors, you know, for the entry level classes. These would be mainly evening courses, and should you also take the lab tech position then we would adjust your hours accordingly -"

"That makes sense."

"So what do you think about teaching?"

"Well, had never thought about it. I've had some great examples though."

"Flattery, Nick...."

Nick grins. "Well, you too of course, Goody."

Goody just shakes his head. "Well, I think that covers about everything I'm aware of. Any questions? Oh, have you sent out many resumes?"

"What's a resume?"

"Now come on -"

"I did sign up for the placement and had her, um-"

"Barb?"

"Yeah, Barb, I sat with her and looked over the (jazz hands) ol' rez and then sent out a few to cold companies, but...well,  that was last quarter, I never heard anything back. It just doesn't feel...well, like I am in a huge hurry, that I need to jump in right away. I'm still at RadShack -"

"Oh that's right, I'd forgotten. Is Emmett still running those?"

"Lord help us he is."

This gives him a hearty laugh. "Oh my he's a character...do you get along?"

"Almost too well, he wants to make me a manger somewhere."

"Well, I'm impressed, that would be decent experience on the leadership side of things."

"I try not to think about Bain. He's always got something up a sleeve or two."

"Alright, well think things over and you know where to find me, I'm taking some days off here and there but leave a message."

"So the lab tech, when could that start?

"Well, of course that kind of depends on Brian but we would want to have someone in place by the first of August to get ready for fall. OH, and another perk with that, or at least I see it, you might too, is that there will be down times here and there, when everything is set and working as it should, and, maybe, not that much going on, then you can just, you know, play games or work on pet projects, you know, have access to the equipment that's not being used elsewhere."

"Cool. Sounds about right. I appreciate all this, sir."

Goody nods, "Well you've earned it and we know you'll make the right decision," with that wry grin.

They shake hands and he heads back to lab.

Two's The Clinch

Nick makes his way up the stairs to the English department with his best draft in hand, printed on dot matrix in some kind of Serif font. In earlier days he would venture over to the Apple II lab in the library, but eventually made the tech building's PC lab his regular haunt once Steve Collins had gotten him familiar with the DOS world. It was mostly the PS/2 Models 25 and 30, slower than his beast at home but with hard drives full of games that fit many times on a floppy.

There's no one at the reception desk so he looks around, winds back through a hallway and finds Noreen slumped over a desk in the corner somewhere beneath a blond mop. She looks up at him and cocks her head sideways. She gets up and does a stiff-legged shuffle of sorts, while making a dimple face, proceeds past him and grabs his paper. He follows her to a small conference room with windows. She points at the further chair and grunts. He hesitates, so she grunts a bit louder. He complies.

She plops in the other chair then shuffles through the pages, making a hom-hom-hom noise and bobbing her head back and forth. She then sets them back down and pulls her hair back, then lets it fall, then proceeds to read the text while whispering. At random intervals there's a surprised AWWWW or gasped OH or even a tsk-tsk-tsk. All this time her head has lowered to where her hair is completely covering the pages.

"You're getting hair on my printout," he observes.

She looks up for a second then waves a finger, making sci fi-alien-like sounds. Flips the page. Then there's this almost ghastly evil grin emerging from beneath the hair, more clicky-alien sounds and her head shakes. She pulls a magnifying glass out of a front pocket and appears to be looking at a pixel-level.

At some point she sits up, head to one side, wide eyed, draws a breath, and makes a mark.

In her normal voice, "Are you familiar with an Oxford comma?"

"Never been to Oxford."

"Look it up."

And then, she turns sideways, crosses her legs and puts the remaining pages on her lap, and twiddles her famous red pen.

"Are you even reading that?"

She leans toward him, extends her index finger upward just a few inches away from his face, "That's ONE. Two's the clinch." And then continues as she had.

After a page or two she leans an elbow on the table and continues on, marks something, then goes into what can only be described as mumbled ohh no mister bill bit from SNL.

Eventually she turns towards him, "OK, now granted I'm no expert on the subject matter -"

"You mean programming VCRs?"

She pauses, leans in, and motions him to lean a bit closer. She makes a number two with her outstretched hand, then quickly uses them to grab his nose.

In an understandably nasal voice, he queries, "Are we in a conflict of interest yet?"

She lets go. "The only thing you need to worry about in life is THIS," grins maniacally, raises one brow, and waves the red pen for a few seconds, squares herself in the chair and continues. "Is there enough detail in this section here, regarding your process for building -wait, how about, testing the prototype?"

"There's some things I could add."

"Such as?"

"Well, there were some additional steps I could piece together, I suppose they are relevant."

"See that you do." and then writes some notes in the margins.

She brings a foot onto her chair, rests the right arm with the right hand with the pen on one knee and keeps twirling, then makes wide eyes, snarls, sticks her tongue out to one side, and sneezes into her elbow.

"Gesundheit!" Nick offers.

She just gives a cold stare while resuming her gaze at the pages, which are now fewer to go.

Nick really wishes he had to fart at this point, but no such luck. Even a peeper would do. He tries reaching for the magnifying glass but gets met by the red pen being held at him as a knife, she starts to growl and snarl. He slowly withdraws. There's no winning here. His next move would just be to tap fingers or hambone, forget it.

He turns and looks out the window behind him. It was strange, after all those years growing up and coming to the campus while on a drive or to take trail walks, to have this viewpoint.

She draws a deep breath and he turns back her way, and she seems to be just now staring down at the paper as if to set it on fire by will.

"Find anything good?"

Noreen just shakes her head and keeps shaking it for a good minute or so. He can hear her foot bobbing beneath the table.

He gets up to stretch his legs.

"Sit." she commands.

He looks her way, she stares him down and gradually rises with a menacing look. He shrugs and sits.

Eventually she turns over the last paper and writes some notes, puts the pages back in order, shuffles them on the desktop, and stands up. She slowly walks over to him and offers her hand. She pulls to get him to his feet, leans in and lightly pecks his cheek, whispers "Very nice work," then slaps the pages against his chest, and walks away, slowly, slouching, as a weary, defeated child.

Nick takes one more look out the window, sighs, and heads out.

*****

It's a work-free Thursday evening ahead at home. He eats supper downstairs for once and mentions the paper review, tries to describe her antics, how she got the whole lab into a Monty Python frenzy, and Irene was able to get hints that they talk sometime. 

"She sounds interesting, honey, you just may have met your match this time," she offers with a grin. 

The comments written on his draft were purely clinical, as expected, but not without merit. In fact, he has to think he would have asked her to take a look even if it weren't officially arranged. He had usually had his mom proof things up through high school but not so much after that, she said it was just too technical or above her pay grade. Ned would breeze through and pick out the technical but wouldn’t evaluate the grammar at all.

So he powers up his Model 50, finds the floppy with the file and goes at it.

Later on, after diddidahs on the big fancy radio and TNG he slips downstairs to tape Flying Circus off the public TV out of Decatur, it's time to up the Python game. Tonight it happens to be the Whickers' Island where they all act like a nasally-voiced, hypnotically droning interviewer named Whicker. This spawns an irresistible plot. 

You ain't seen nuthin' yet, lady.

Continuous Wave

It's Friday night. Nick maneuvered the weekend off of work to get some space. Plan is to sleep in and and ease into it.  Tonight, however, he's at the workbench, which now includes a PS/2 Model 50 that Ned had snagged for a bargain from the plant back around Christmas, not really calling it a Christmas present but to Nick it was the best thing since that year he got the boombox.

The workbench is big and solid, pretty much built-in-place over a weekend, with very sturdy shelving. It's construction back in junior high was almost prophetic, it had been a place of trial, error, plotting, frustration, and triumph, sometimes even in the same day. Before the IBM had gotten a place in the side, the middle had gotten his granddad's prize possession, an Icom IC-745 transceiver for the high-frequency (shortwave) bands, that his household had inherited long before it seemed right. Taking possession of an icon never seems right, if it can't be where it was then it should be enshrined in a museum.

Paps had kept it beneath a dust cover, so Nick does as well. Since he's not licensed, although considering it, he doesn't keep a mic hooked up or anything else, just uses for receive with a thin wire he had strung through a window and over some trees with the help of a slingshot. He has been amazed at how well it does with just that wire, since his only previous access to shortwave were via multiband desktop dial-tune radios. Thanks to the Icom manual he's been able to figure out the sidebands and even zero in on the CW (Morse Code) signals here and there.

There was something about the code, simply put, he had the need to de-code it. Perhaps this was the same impetus for pursuing the RTTY project, to get to the bottom of something. Who was sending the signal, and what were they saying? Only one way to find out.

Nick had listened to some of the training tapes over the past summer, and could copy the slowest speed and maybe a little faster. More and more he enjoys listening to the CW practice transmissions that came from back east at 9 o'clock weeknights. After that they went into the bulletins at a faster speed, but at that point it was time for Star Trek TNG at 10.

In some of Pap's old books he learned a bit about operating procedures, Q-signals and such, evidently he had done some real traffic handling. Pap was a natural having served in Signal Corps during two wars, and Ned had thought at one point he trained traffic handlers in the amateur service, maybe even for the armed forces auxiliary, or along those lines

So, Nick was hoping to listen to the higher code speeds and go from there. He had found the magazines at the campus library that gave the schedules and frequencies for the practice transmissions, not broadcasts. Amateur frequencies are meant for two-way communication, but if you make an announcement (QST) then it's not a broadcast. In the warmer months he could usually hear the first part of the 9pm transmission on the 14 MHz (20 meter) band, then in winter he had to try the 7 MHz and sometimes 3.5 MHz, but he believes he'd need a longer antenna wire for lower bands.

He had noticed in the training books that you end a CW conversation with '73' and then 'SK', for 'silent key'. This is also the term they use in the magazines to honor hams who have passed on. Nick was still coming to terms with Paps being an SK. His visitation ran two nights and was swarmed, no telling how many brass-pounders he'd shaken hands with, mixed in with guys from the service.

For now, he'll be glad to solder up a home version of his RTTY circuit and feed it into his desktop PC. He's got ready access to the parts plus employee discount. He's seen hints that that there are also transmissions for ASCII and something called AMTOR, which might be a good challenge for his new found C skills.

Sometimes the best way to cushion the loss of someone is to get inside their world, after a time.

SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM

The lab is pretty much full from a class that ended an hour ago, the usual bantering and someone's radio playing softly, the lab tech, Brian, and one of the MET (mechanical) students are throwing a ball through the open doors of his hallway-shaped office.

Nick is just using the space to make some notes for his C language course, and really wishing he could have taken it sooner to use with the RTTY project, but electives have to fit where they fit. The consolation prize was BASIC on an IBM AT that was not dead yet, even had a neato batch file to shut it down gracefully and park the drive heads. He was about to pack up and head over to the PC lab when, who else, the plucky blond in his life strolls in.

"Hey fellas, how's those papers coming?”

The expected responses, haven't started, dog ate it, the computer crashed.

"Yeah yeah. Have you seen Al around? I needed to drop this off."

Brian the lab tech pipes up, "You can leave it with me or, better yet with the receptionist."

"OH up front, with the dean?"

"Yeah they'll get it to him."

"Cool, good to know, thanks."

She steps over to Nick's desk.

"Hear any good jazz lately?"

"Yeah but it didn't remind me of anyone."

This draws a scowl, and her flawless Brit accent,"I blow my nose at you, you silly English knnnniggett! Your mother was a shrew and your father smelled of elderberries! " then the raspberry while she tapps her head.

Then a male voice chimes in, "Go and boil your bottoms, you sons of a pig-dog!"

Yet another voice, with perfect boisterous intonation, "We are the knights who say NNNNNEE!"

Followed appropriately with a chorus of random answering NEE from everywhere. Noreen just looks around beaming, having found her muse. Nick joins in but feels at disadvantage at being rusty with Python, hadn't seen Holy Grail since high school, the mythology teacher would show it just for shits.

Somewhere in the midst, the same screech, "How can you have spam, eggs, sausage and spam without the SPAM?"

Noreen: "BUT I DON'T LOIKE SPAM!"

And of course the resounding chant starts up, "SPAM SPAM SPAM SPAM" and she marches out in time.

"Nick aren't you kinda seeing her?"

"Aww leave 'im alone"

"Boy you're gonna have your hands full."

Nick just grabs his notebook and bag and heads to the door, "Alright I'm gonna go talk to a computer."

The room explodes with laughter he can hear clear down the hall.

Dinner Concert

The dining hall looked like few of them had seen it, tablecloths, place settings with napkins. It had been a decent weather day so no need for Nick to wear his dad's topcoat, just his hallowed Penny's suit from a road trip and his choice of the old man's ties, which also included some of the old old man's ties at this point. You can't go wrong with black wool, two piece, and the tie had a nice silvery diamond pattern with a metallic red.

Their table was toward the back as Goody figured it would keep the pressure off of them some and allow for a little bantering. "You clean up well, Mr. Swanson!" he chides.

He was one of the first ones there, as it's always nice to let the crowd fill in after he gets somewhere. Basketball Dave is there, and Bruce with his wife, quite a bargain of an evening for just one ticket. Nick found it invigorating that the average age on this campus was 28 as many were non-traditional students that had been laid off from somewhere, or else, just starting afresh once their kids had gotten older.

One time back when Nick was doing campus tours for admissions, he was showing around this kid and his grandma. They had gotten to the Koch building that contained the library and the med tech departments, such as EMT, Radiology, Dental Hygeine, etc. Since this prospect was looking at Engineering Tech they just stayed in the foyer for a quick overview, but then one of the 'non-trad' students that Nick had a couple classes with happened by. So Nick tries to bring him into the conversation, and after a couple comments gives ol' Ben a friendly jab. Ben just fires back with a very boisterous "AWWW KISS MY ASSS" right in the open door to the library.

After exchanging wide-eyed glances with his guests Nick pretty much decided that this kid wouldn't be enrolling anytime soon.

So he takes the spot next to basketball Dave and they catch up on automotive matters, as they both have '70s rides. Nick had been granted a decent looking '76 Cordoba in white, kinda dangerous looking, maybe even sexy, at least in low light. Dave had a very nice '78 Malibu with the 305 that had some punch, just riding around the parking lot it would set you back in your seat just enough to count. His 318 would probably need some attention to get that kind of curve, but that would have to happen in a different season.

As the tables filled up, the U music director, donned in a tux and tails, took the mic to welcome us all and point out that dinner would start in a few moments and then in roughly 45 minutes we'd be instructed to turn our attention to the orchestra.

The servers started showing up with their trays and distributed the greens, the veggies, the starches, and equal parts roast beef and marinated chicken breasts. It seems the campus has a very well organized catering department, everyone was impressed.

Eventually the mic once again came alive with someone's touch, this time president of Eastern Illinois Technical College extending welcome from the entire campus, glad you all could join us and we hope you enjoy the evening. Play ball.

Once again the music director takes the mic, this time with his baton in hand, as the musicians emerge from a side room toward the chairs and music stands on the platform. 

"Tonight you will be treated to a selection of selection of concertos from Tchaikovsky, Beethoven and others, as you will see in your program sheet. The program will last about an hour and 15 minutes, and we ask that you hold your applause until the end of the program. Concert master tonight is Dr. Gene Wu."

During this introduction Nick can't help but think that one of the violinists has a familiar hair color...and size...and gait, for that matter. That would be just his luck.

So the tuning begins, and a couple of his cohorts, only a couple of the group are missing, subtly try to match the lead pitch, only to earn the deserved exasperated looks.

Nick finally gathers the courage to look at his program. Sure enough, there she is in alphabetical order. He signals Goody to look at the same spot on his own program, and he just gets that familiar knowing grin in return. Nick rolls his eyes, alas, there's a conspiracy afoot.

The ensemble with a handful of violins, violas, and a cello fill up the room that one associates with a cacophony of voices at mid-day, with a lush and floral substance that one could almost walk upon. Nick realizes the hall was designed with acoustics in mind.

He feels guilty that his attention is magnetically drawn to just one performer. That confident grace he has come to know and admire has reached into another dimension. He had always known she was an artist, but he could not have been less prepared to behold the elegance with which she saws that fiddle and contributes to such a lush, vibrant, captivating sound.

This naturally brings about some doubts. So many things are in flux, and this is the biggest, and most exciting of variables, the ball on the roulette wheel, actually, this has more possibilities than roulette -

Enough, already, just relax and watch the lovely lady make beautiful music. He tries, but there's too much energy swirling about her, like the time his dad showed him how to look just beside part of an electrical substation you could see the magnetic lines of force, but not when you look directly at it. 

Besides, at a classical concert, at some point the eyes become of little use, and the mind starts to do the seeing. He lets them fall closed but she's still there, in the strings, the tempo, the harmony. The echo in the hall is the distance he might get to close after graduation. After graduation...a wall will come down, at least one would hope, he can't be certain, or logical, but...

Almost too soon he hears a drawn-out note and is surprised by the applause. He opens his eyes to see the conductor facing the crowd and the beginnings of a standing ovation, and before long his table is joining along. The performers take their bows and the director offers a word of thanks and dismissal.

Nick tries to not follow her movement with the rest of the musicians back to their cove. He looks around for a conversation but everyone starts to just clear out. He asks Goody if there's anyone particularly influential he should speak to,

"Oh if you stick around long enough I think you'll find one", and then looks past him, "Well I got all but two here, do I win the bet?"

That clear, lively, yet slightly - just a dab - chesty voice from behind him echos "Yes you do, I am impressed, where'd they all go?"

"Either to sleep or study, I'll take either one at this point. You guys sounded terrific."

"Thank you so much, they put us through the paces this afternoon but it was a good thing- hey,", she grabs Nick's arm, "there's someone I want you to meet."

Goody just grins as she hauls him toward the front and they exchange waves.

"What did you think?"

"I tried not to think. It was a beautiful sound."

"Do you enjoy classical?"

"More into jazz really."

She leads him to a mild looking couple, about 15 years older than his parents, and explains that her sister and law had brought some kids but they had to leave early, so then,

"Nick this is Uncle Herb and Aunt Sue."

They exchange hands and greetings.

"He's one of the Electronic types, their instructor got most of them here tonight."

They smile and nod. Herb asks, "Do you graduate this term Nick?"

"Thankfully, yes, 6 weeks but who's counting."

They chuckle and reach for a hug from their niece before heading off into the evening.

She turns to him. "Well will you look at this."

"I'm afraid to say..."

"Say it mister."

Nick is still quite distracted by the performance black."You look...amazing,"

Comical confounding look, "I look MORBID!"

He just keeps locked on her glowing eyes.

"But thank you."

"Is there anything you can't do?"

"Well....(leans in) I can't really pee standing up that well."

This breaks his gaze, as designed. He just shakes his head and draws a breath.

"Did they feed you guys at least?"

"Yeah we kinda just grazed, don't really want to go on after a full meal."

"Yeah."

He didn't know what to do except match her gaze, but that was overwhelming. It had been a long day since he got talked into working this morning. Probably needs to cut back, he doesn't need the money and it's getting crunch time, even though the project had crossed into the black his other classes were just getting into the thick of things.

"How's your paper coming along?"

"Oh, I don't think I told you yet, the other day I got perfect copy through the modem circuit, so the main part is working, that was the last hurdle."

Her eyes got big and she lunged forward and may have stopped herself. "Oh Nick that's wonderful!"

"Yeah it's a relief, all came down to the wrong capacitor if you can believe."

"I HATE when that happens. So you gonna have something for me to read soon?"

"I'm thinking week after next."

"Can't wait."

He smiled, "Mmm hmm."

The ice was broken, he had another complement in him, but they just gazed at each other a few seconds, and she looked away to think and he knew what was next, but then there was very brief look of disappointment,

"Well I should get going, gonna crash then have a full day grading tomorrow. And they call me part time."

"No rest for the wicked?" he blurts out.

Hands on hips, "Don't you ever forget it either." She steps closer and touches his hand, "Nick I'm glad you were here, it...it helped me up there."

"You made it look easy."

Her eyes did something different just now, inexplicable, just a lightning-quick flash of something as if she were fishing for the expression she wanted and hit the wrong button momentarily.

She finally responds, "You made it feel easy.", then looks down, "Good night Nick," and turns toward the side-room.

"Do you ever listen to the jazz, on Saturday nights?" He blurts out.

She thinks for a second then smiles, "oh, on that -"

"FM 91.7, one of the college stations."

"Sometimes it's nice to relax to, (looks around) sometimes in the tub."

He has to blink to deal with that mental image, then clears his throat, "I usually fall asleep to it, especially if I have to close the store."

"I'll remember that, might be a nice way to get these arrangements out of my head."

"And maybe think about who else might be listening."

She raises an eyebrow, starts to turn while giving a flamethrower of a look that's equal parts accepting a dare and plotting revenge.

He turns as well, escapes into the cool night air and into his Cordoba, dials in 91.7 FM on the SuperTuner, loosens his tie, and just sits a while.