The Nice Dozen Yale Men Who Almost Spontaneously Burst into Song

I’m ashamed to admit it, but (1) I only know how to say “Yaley”, not to spell it, and (2) I forgot Andy’s name (it ends in -chein), almost as soon as I ascertained what it was. But he’s sure to go far, a piano major at Yale.

And if he changes his attitude, that he can’t draw, and that that makes him a lousy artist, he might even become an artist, too. His favorite composers are Beethoven and Chopin, but he saw an open doggy door on a house, and decided to bark into it. When I looked to see what was happening, his fellows, down from Connecticut on vacation and staying at the home of one of them, who lives down the street, all seemed to flee, for some reason.

With vigor, I flung open the garage door, eager to confront the miscreants with my bare hands, if needs be.

I only left for a few minutes, but now I’m back. The young gentleman’s name is Tuimichein, but he hasn’t had German yet, which it may not be, and pronounces his name the way his parents do, neglecting the middle i, so it sounds like two syllables. He called me back almost immediately after they’d left and asked whether they could all meet me in the middle of the street, which I was game to do, and ten or twelve all joined me in a circle, where I introduced myself to all, hearing their names and majors, all without thinking to turn on my voice recorder, which is a crying shame, considering I was very impressed with each and every one of them, leaving me with a very high opinion of Yale, which I had since, as a very young boy, I learned that Mother sent off a second letter to Yale, just to be sure the one she sent when I was born had made a good impression.

We discussed raw milk, Cuba, Castro, anarchism, Obama, standup comedy, gagwriting, theater, and the night Henny Youngman, a Miamian, “speaking” impromptu, brought an entire restaurant almost to its knees in laughter, in Hollywood Beach, right after a seder, among a big table surrounded by famous stand-up comics (except for me, a college kid), and many other invaluable topics, all in great fellowship, but not high, when, suddenly, one of them received a call that they’d all been invited to a party in Miami Beach, which is one of the very best ways to have fun hereabouts, maybe more fun than they ever dreamt possible.

It was a great privilege to regale you, fellows!  Have a great time at the party, and when you return to your studies, take them all seriously, neglecting nary a jot, as I’m sure you all do.

Sorry, no song other than Whiffenpoof — and at that, but deep in my heart.

Now let me see. Where did I put down that megaphone last?

Postscript: I presume they’re doing all right, because Andy (the future concert artist) turned off his phone, which simply tells me ATT says Andy’s unavailable. Wherever he got such a phone is what I want to know. No fuss, no muss, just “Sorry.” That’s a great timesaver, just as teetotaling’s a hangover-saver. Sober’s the way to parTAY!

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