Mr. Eric P. has the great distinction of being one of the best people in the world at taking a two‑word phrase and redefining it into some new and wonderful thing related to its original meaning. There is little need to mention his recent triumphs as an adult, for these are the things that have made his name a household word everywhere. Instead we wish to probe the past of this remarkable young genius and thus find the key that unlocked the door to his illustrious success. As is most often the case, the complex trail of clues led backward in time to the winter of 1993-4 where the answer was finally found. Mr. P. had been yet another of those gifted, intelligent youngsters who experi­enced the rewarding effect of coming in contact with the highly stimulating "mind of the century," the world renown Legendary Mr. Christopherson.

This great teacher opened up his files to us in order to help us glean those bits of information that would make up our story. However, we must admit that, although we plan to publish the complete account of Mr. P.'s childhood (as represented there in those copious notes, photos, and tapes), for the purposes of this brief article, we find it more satisfactory to simply stick to the remarks dredged from the remarkable depths of the Legendary Mr. Christopherson's own memory.

For example, at the first mention of the name "Eric P." the great teacher's face lit up with a smile that seemed to fill the whole room with laughter. He explained that at first it was difficult for the rest of the Creative Expressions class, of which young Eric was a member, to grasp just what the boy was getting at in his projects for the class (though the expression on the great teacher's face clearly indicated that he had understood perfectly the meaning of each of young Eric's projects). The young genius would stage an intriguing event and then challenge the class to come up with the two word phrase that best described the event. Since we certainly didn't understand as yet, we asked the great one for a few examples to clear the matter up for us. The following are the great teacher's own words, since attempting to paraphrase one of such literary accomplishment would be a near‑legendary blunder:

"It started with a rather simple project wherein young Eric rewired the room's lights so that as he flipped the switch up and down different sets of overhead lights came on, rather than all going on and off simultaneously. It took the class a while, air filled with the sort of heady, intellectual banter that can only result from a gathered group of middle school students, for the class to finally realize that the appropriate title for this project was, “Light Switch.””

“Young Eric's next project,” continued the Legendary One, “began as the class assembled itself out in the wide middle school hallway of the 500's building, revered wing of the school which has become immortalized as the location of my Creative Expressions classroom. The class milled about in intellectual idleness as I kept the usual inter‑student harassment to a minimum, until young Eric threw open the doors at the end of the building and shouted, “Here we go, observe carefully!” Then with a wild, incessant honking, a small car came hurling through opening and shot toward us. I, being taller than the rest of the motley crowd, managed to jump up and catch hold of the hall lighting fixture, thus assuring myself of a safe position from which to watch the proceedings. The rest of my group clawed their way up the walls to safety, hanging there as the car screeched to a stop, and with a crunching of gears, came roaring back toward us in reverse. As the car backed past us, I noticed that the driver was none other than the Legendary Mrs. Martin, English/French teacher extraordinaire, who wore a diabolic look of intense, concentrated pleasure on her face as she slammed on the brakes, shifted her small Citroen into forward gear, and, stomping on the gas pedal, accelerated past us once again, honking all the way. This action was continued until one of our group shouted the magic words, “French Horn” (It should be noted that the only causality in this matter was one lone sixth grader, shorter legs keeping him from out‑running the speeding automobile, who happened to be in this restricted, upper‑class area as a spy, sent by his fellows in yet another attempt to understand the secret world of “the big guys.”

"Another of young Eric's outstanding projects involved the class in a field trip to the nether‑reaches of the middle school office area. As we all stood, somewhat subdued by this impressive location from which the entire affairs of the school are controlled, our young impresario stepped over to a huge box and pulled a release lever. The box fell open to reveal seventeen hairy, lean‑and‑mean monkeys which immediately began to scamper throughout the entire suite of offices, jerking and pulling everything from desks and shelves to the floor. These little beasts continued to terrorize secretaries and councilors alike until, after only a short period of three hours, a clever member of the Creative Expressions class caught on and shouted, “Monkey Wrench!” Afterward, we left for the long trek back to the safety of our comfortable classroom again, ducking bullets and missiles fired by the appreciative middle school secretarial force, who never missed an opportunity to express their feel­ings about student/teacher matters.”

"Of course, one of the most mysterious of young Eric's projects involved the construction of a large enclosed swimming pool in the mall area of the middle school. This was truly one of the super‑deluxe models and included heated water, free soda pop, rubber duckies, wave generators, and palm trees for atmosphere. Seventh and eighth graders enjoyed this luxury for the entire duration of the winter trimester of 1993-4, when finally one of the students blurted out the words, “Pool Ball,” bringing the whole project to its logical end.”

At this point our interview ended as the Legendary Mr. Christopherson's eyelids began to droop heavily, and the great man slid forward to slump across his desk, taking yet another well‑deserved nap, during which, undoubtedly, visions of incred­ible beauty played fleetingly across his neurons.