The advances in technology that put a man on the moon had also, by the end of the next decade, put in our hands the means to monitor events in Boston on a hand-held “transistor radio.” In the back of the bus, leaving Talcott Junior High, midway between New York and Boston, the aisle served to divide Yankee and Red Sox fans, and a nine-volt-battery-powered, thumb-wheel tuned radio joined us in rapt attention. Yaz hit a homer off Guidry, and the color in the faces of Knight and Goldsmith on one side went white as the voices on the other side roared.
It was our great privilege and good fortune to be courtiers in the last days of Camelot. The song was our herald, we were all knights in a great order. There was no king, the table was round, and we all had a seat. We were more than students going to school, we were scions of a great regime that rose to greatness, and fell into oblivion.
EJ was not one to mince words. One of the first things we learned in shop was how fast a lathe could pull you in if it caught hold of your shirt sleeve.