Based on true events. Names changed for the sake of privacy.
\"In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God...\" Wait, hold on! This is too far back in time. The time is two millennium from the birth of Jesus and the setting is in a quaint little town called Fox River. The Wayland body has just gathered in the chapel to hear a talk on morals and ethics, or more likely scapegoating, archaic religion, and mimetic desire with a twist of rivalry. But the surprise comes when the man of the hour announces that he will be holding two competitions. The best part is that the rewards are certificates to the Vineyard, one of the best Christian coffee bookstores around the town. My ears perk up and my mind whispers what an awesome adventure to embark upon and that prize is beyond belief.
The first challenge is two figure out a geometrical riddle about the Earth. Simplified down, how can you travel in a certain way and end up in the same place? And then the real twist comes when the teacher of morals includes the condition that there are an infinite set of infinite solutions. Well surely this must mean God is involved. The second task is to write an essay on whether the author of our alma mater had biblical verses in mind.
But I am getting ahead of myself. After the presentation and exhilaration of the challenge, my subconscious mind contemplates these topics. I go up to Mr. Garner during a snack break and propose to him that God holds in his mind an infinite way of answering this question with being able to imagine earth upon earth. Mr. Garner chuckles and says that he is talking only about this here Earth. A while later in the week I make my way over to my Mr. Weston's house for a mentor inning. We have tasty soup and watch a movie, but within that time the enigmatic riddle comes up again. And would you believe that I offer to my mentor group a more exact definition of what the riddle is? A strange, illogical person helps others win a competition he himself has set out to master. But I go and explain what I thought the puzzle was. Slowly, but surely, my main opponent arises. It is the brainiac Jill Gothal, a master mind of logic, science, and all other random matters.
I decide to step up my dedication and beat down this baloney of an opponent. I go home and I spend hours pouring over Internet material and talking in chat rooms trying to find someone who knows something about this befuddlement. After making my mind mash against a wall of unanswered questions, I decide to use my membership in a math tutor room to find out the answer. I go in and talk to a nice gentlemen who diagrams the earth and tries to explain such mathematical concepts as un-numberable infinity. He by luck comes upon a web site (http://www.discover.com/issues/aug-01/departments/bogglers/) that has the exact question with the valuable answer laid out for all to behold. I leap for joy and rush to my Dad who talks over the solution with me. We figure out what the logician had come up with. A light bulb blows up in my mind with sparks of I-will-win-the-prize-now fever.
I e-mail the answer to Mr. Garner and a split second later remember to include my source like any professional should. The ironic part is that Mr. Garner read the one with the answer and responded, \"If you explain this one part to me, the prize is yours.\" Another split second and Mr. Graham reads the email that says I found the answer on the Internet. He perplexedly replies, \" Alas, I am not sure how to handle this\"(Tuesday, 30 January 2007 07:23:08 -0600 email). I drop my head in defeat and wonder if there is hope left for the prize. I sulk over to Jill the next day and tell her all I know about the riddle. We agree that it is quite boggling. To get to the point, Miss Gothal ends up going to Mr. Garner's office while I happen to be there also, and says the key phrase that triggers the prize flow as did Ivan Pavlov's dog drool at the ringing of the bell. I sigh and say to my soul, \"You will set your sights on the next challenge.\"
Up to the plate steps my next opposer, Fred Rellor. The odd aspect of this competition is that so far we have been in the same mentor group.Oh well, like minds group together. To continue the story, I am preparing my thoughts on the essay while I learn in small talk that Fred already has three pages typed. His thesis is that the alma mater was not directly tied to biblical verses. I complain to my heart, \"You have to get a start on this paper.\" So I hang out with Fred and stride along side him as he carries on with his research. We nonchalantly walk down to the business office and ask, \"May we please have the pleasure of viewing the archives?\" (We had just got done laughing at how I rambled archives like the onion chive and not like as in bee hives.) Mrs. Salswiddle, the Wayland receptionist, lets us eager seekers right on in. We head right to the ancient year books and find a picture of the mysterious man who wrote the alma mater. He had piercing eyes and a calm, wise, collected look. Other people polled said that he looked, \"athletic, like a tough-lover, intense, and mysterious.\"
I decide I wanted to look somewhere where there might be some text about him. I look in the antediluvian Greetings issues. I find an article my him on Drama and learn that Mr. Clark's full name is John B. Clark. I get enthralled in the quest and cast aside the feelings of hunger and cold (as it was lunch time and we were hanging out in a drafty basement) in search of the precious jewel of knowledge. Fred runs to and fro over the floor to make copies of the articles. We set aside our searching the archives and head off to lunch where I hope to eat some cottage cheese.
I get home that night and decide to do an internet search of John B. Clark. I find that there are a bit more people with that name then I would have liked. I try to come up with ways to narrow the search. I google his name with add-ons of other bits of information such as \"Wayland\" or \"Arizona\" This all to no apparent avail. I decide that someone at school might have more insight into this man of mystery. I talk to Mrs. Melton and learn that she knows pieces of insight about him, but the real expert on Mr. Clark is Mr. Solton. He tells me about the creativity and passion of Mr. Clark, how the two of them had to deal with exterminating a burning mattress, and about the musical, Malcom, that Mr. Clark wrote. I wonder if Mr. Clark is alive and if he is within reach of our contact. Mr. Solton says that the business office had contacted Mr. Clark a few years ago.
I smack my head in disbelief at how easy it would have been to ask these select people right away. I scamper down to Mrs. Salswiddle and she easily and efficiently types in Clark, J. and bingo, his address and phone number come up in an instant. I let Fred know the news and we decide to give him a ring on Friday March 2nd during one of the periods we have in common. We strut over to Mrs. Melton's office and wonder if we could use her phone to make a conference style call. She kindly allows. Slowly, then quickly, Fred dials the number and it rings and then rings again. Is he going to answer or is he even at this phone number? We hear an answering machine come on and we leave him a message. The voice on the answering machine struck me as just what I would imagine his voice to be like. We made up our minds to call again right after school.
Finally 3:15 roles around and we meet up in the library. This time, we hit the jack pot as a fine, well-spoken man answers the phone happy to comply with our questioning. Fred gets right into the heart of the matter and asks Mr. Clark what his inspiration was in writing a new alma mater. He says that the old alma mater was too drenched in the 19th Century and that it was somewhat hard for the students to relate to. We ask where he came up with the imagery in the alma mater. I anticipate a response including themes and phrases from the Christian tradition. He affirms that that is part of the the alma mater, but that it was mainly taken from the symbols of the school itself. The Wayland Rod and Stone were taken into consideration and grouped into what he agreed was a hymn like song. He explains how the School was deeply rooted in Christianity and that he himself took part in religious ceremonies. I wish our conversation with Mr. Clark could have gone on for a while longer as he was a jovial and pleasant man, a great conversationalist. The problem was that I had someone waiting to pick me up and Mrs. Melton was closing up the library. The grand news is that Mr. Clark would be willing to come and speak at Wayland provided that we give him a resounding symphony of his alma mater. His October schedule was a wee bit busy but He would be willing to try and fit a talk in during December.
\"In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God...\" Wait, hold on! This is too far back in time. The time is two millennium from the birth of Jesus and the setting is in a quaint little town called Fox River. The Wayland body has just gathered in the chapel to hear a talk on morals and ethics, or more likely scapegoating, archaic religion, and mimetic desire with a twist of rivalry. But the surprise comes when the man of the hour announces that he will be holding two competitions. The best part is that the rewards are certificates to the Vineyard, one of the best Christian coffee bookstores around the town. My ears perk up and my mind whispers what an awesome adventure to embark upon and that prize is beyond belief.
The first challenge is two figure out a geometrical riddle about the Earth. Simplified down, how can you travel in a certain way and end up in the same place? And then the real twist comes when the teacher of morals includes the condition that there are an infinite set of infinite solutions. Well surely this must mean God is involved. The second task is to write an essay on whether the author of our alma mater had biblical verses in mind.
But I am getting ahead of myself. After the presentation and exhilaration of the challenge, my subconscious mind contemplates these topics. I go up to Mr. Garner during a snack break and propose to him that God holds in his mind an infinite way of answering this question with being able to imagine earth upon earth. Mr. Garner chuckles and says that he is talking only about this here Earth. A while later in the week I make my way over to my Mr. Weston's house for a mentor inning. We have tasty soup and watch a movie, but within that time the enigmatic riddle comes up again. And would you believe that I offer to my mentor group a more exact definition of what the riddle is? A strange, illogical person helps others win a competition he himself has set out to master. But I go and explain what I thought the puzzle was. Slowly, but surely, my main opponent arises. It is the brainiac Jill Gothal, a master mind of logic, science, and all other random matters.
I decide to step up my dedication and beat down this baloney of an opponent. I go home and I spend hours pouring over Internet material and talking in chat rooms trying to find someone who knows something about this befuddlement. After making my mind mash against a wall of unanswered questions, I decide to use my membership in a math tutor room to find out the answer. I go in and talk to a nice gentlemen who diagrams the earth and tries to explain such mathematical concepts as un-numberable infinity. He by luck comes upon a web site (http://www.discover.com/issues/aug-01/departments/bogglers/) that has the exact question with the valuable answer laid out for all to behold. I leap for joy and rush to my Dad who talks over the solution with me. We figure out what the logician had come up with. A light bulb blows up in my mind with sparks of I-will-win-the-prize-now fever.
I e-mail the answer to Mr. Garner and a split second later remember to include my source like any professional should. The ironic part is that Mr. Garner read the one with the answer and responded, \"If you explain this one part to me, the prize is yours.\" Another split second and Mr. Graham reads the email that says I found the answer on the Internet. He perplexedly replies, \" Alas, I am not sure how to handle this\"(Tuesday, 30 January 2007 07:23:08 -0600 email). I drop my head in defeat and wonder if there is hope left for the prize. I sulk over to Jill the next day and tell her all I know about the riddle. We agree that it is quite boggling. To get to the point, Miss Gothal ends up going to Mr. Garner's office while I happen to be there also, and says the key phrase that triggers the prize flow as did Ivan Pavlov's dog drool at the ringing of the bell. I sigh and say to my soul, \"You will set your sights on the next challenge.\"
Up to the plate steps my next opposer, Fred Rellor. The odd aspect of this competition is that so far we have been in the same mentor group.Oh well, like minds group together. To continue the story, I am preparing my thoughts on the essay while I learn in small talk that Fred already has three pages typed. His thesis is that the alma mater was not directly tied to biblical verses. I complain to my heart, \"You have to get a start on this paper.\" So I hang out with Fred and stride along side him as he carries on with his research. We nonchalantly walk down to the business office and ask, \"May we please have the pleasure of viewing the archives?\" (We had just got done laughing at how I rambled archives like the onion chive and not like as in bee hives.) Mrs. Salswiddle, the Wayland receptionist, lets us eager seekers right on in. We head right to the ancient year books and find a picture of the mysterious man who wrote the alma mater. He had piercing eyes and a calm, wise, collected look. Other people polled said that he looked, \"athletic, like a tough-lover, intense, and mysterious.\"
I decide I wanted to look somewhere where there might be some text about him. I look in the antediluvian Greetings issues. I find an article my him on Drama and learn that Mr. Clark's full name is John B. Clark. I get enthralled in the quest and cast aside the feelings of hunger and cold (as it was lunch time and we were hanging out in a drafty basement) in search of the precious jewel of knowledge. Fred runs to and fro over the floor to make copies of the articles. We set aside our searching the archives and head off to lunch where I hope to eat some cottage cheese.
I get home that night and decide to do an internet search of John B. Clark. I find that there are a bit more people with that name then I would have liked. I try to come up with ways to narrow the search. I google his name with add-ons of other bits of information such as \"Wayland\" or \"Arizona\" This all to no apparent avail. I decide that someone at school might have more insight into this man of mystery. I talk to Mrs. Melton and learn that she knows pieces of insight about him, but the real expert on Mr. Clark is Mr. Solton. He tells me about the creativity and passion of Mr. Clark, how the two of them had to deal with exterminating a burning mattress, and about the musical, Malcom, that Mr. Clark wrote. I wonder if Mr. Clark is alive and if he is within reach of our contact. Mr. Solton says that the business office had contacted Mr. Clark a few years ago.
I smack my head in disbelief at how easy it would have been to ask these select people right away. I scamper down to Mrs. Salswiddle and she easily and efficiently types in Clark, J. and bingo, his address and phone number come up in an instant. I let Fred know the news and we decide to give him a ring on Friday March 2nd during one of the periods we have in common. We strut over to Mrs. Melton's office and wonder if we could use her phone to make a conference style call. She kindly allows. Slowly, then quickly, Fred dials the number and it rings and then rings again. Is he going to answer or is he even at this phone number? We hear an answering machine come on and we leave him a message. The voice on the answering machine struck me as just what I would imagine his voice to be like. We made up our minds to call again right after school.
Finally 3:15 roles around and we meet up in the library. This time, we hit the jack pot as a fine, well-spoken man answers the phone happy to comply with our questioning. Fred gets right into the heart of the matter and asks Mr. Clark what his inspiration was in writing a new alma mater. He says that the old alma mater was too drenched in the 19th Century and that it was somewhat hard for the students to relate to. We ask where he came up with the imagery in the alma mater. I anticipate a response including themes and phrases from the Christian tradition. He affirms that that is part of the the alma mater, but that it was mainly taken from the symbols of the school itself. The Wayland Rod and Stone were taken into consideration and grouped into what he agreed was a hymn like song. He explains how the School was deeply rooted in Christianity and that he himself took part in religious ceremonies. I wish our conversation with Mr. Clark could have gone on for a while longer as he was a jovial and pleasant man, a great conversationalist. The problem was that I had someone waiting to pick me up and Mrs. Melton was closing up the library. The grand news is that Mr. Clark would be willing to come and speak at Wayland provided that we give him a resounding symphony of his alma mater. His October schedule was a wee bit busy but He would be willing to try and fit a talk in during December.
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