MEMORY SCHTICK

DECEMBER 1, 2020 – In downsizing files that occupy too much household storage space, I’ve uncovered many ancient relics. Some are so amusing, I should be charging myself admission.

Take for example a bound, 33-page handout from a 1999 Continuing Legal Education seminar, entitled, “Internet Legal Research ‘101’.”  The first heading was, “What is the Internet?” My favorite line: “Only people’s imagination, creativity, and resources limit the type and amount of information available on the Internet.”

I also found a detailed, office computer operating manual that my dad had written for his court administration staff.  I’d uncovered it initially in cleaning out my parents’ house after Dad died more than a decade ago. Recognizing its archival value, I’d saved it . . . in his own tradition.

In the early 1980s Dad’s office had acquired a computerized filing system but sans instructions. Being the dedicated public servant he was, Dad took time after hours to figure out the new technology—by trial and error. He had a penchant for detail and clarity, and his instructions were completely in character: “INPUT PROCEDURE,” he’d written, followed by, “Step 1: Turn on computer and screen.”

Another “find” was my early attempt at drafting a commodities contract. It was between a close friend and me for the sale-purchase of a bunch of silver coins (in a bull market) during our third year of law school. Handwritten on legal-pad paper, it covered the basics—a detailed scription of the coins, pricing index, floor and ceiling prices, the time and place of performance (the school parking lot), and our signatures. One of us (I forget who) had the idea to have our signatures notarized by another (trusted) classmate. The seller turned into an ambulance chaser. The buyer spent the rest of his career drafting (non-commodities) contracts. The notary spent nearly her whole career working in-house at a large bank.

Another notable relic was my 1977 hand-written manuscript for a book that would go unpublished: Campus Capers: The College Prankster’s Handbook. An excerpt from the “Dorm Wars” chapter:

. . . Although I instigated, led, and participated in myriad dorm wars, they rarely involved my own dorm. To avoid wrecking my home turf and losing my dorm damage deposit, I’d always serve as mercenary for another hall. You too may wish to provoke dorm wars between two “alien” dorms, thus protecting your interests but enjoying the thrill of an all-out, egg-oatmeal-fruit-TP wad-rocket battle . . .

Included in the chapter, “Eating Competitions”:

 . . . A less spectacular, more difficult, but equally funny competition is Jello-eating with chopsticks. Most Americans are inept with these utensils, so the Jello will jiggle more than usual . . . If your middle name is “Ridiculous,” impose the rule that each contestant use only one chopstick . . .

Filed near The Prankster’s Handbook manuscript was my college freshmen name/photo directory. How innocent—and in many cases, nerdy—we looked! When I saw my own picture I imagined an encounter with my former self. I was harshly direct but when my lecture was over, the impression proved to be fleeting.

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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson