[7/98 - Because the person mentioned in this article has written to me
personally, I have decided to change his name as mentioned here. As far as
I recall, the events mentioned are true, but I have no desire (or money!)
to be called into court to prove it.]
[Editor's note: Anyone who was not at Drew during my time there will
probably not understand any of this, but I'll do my best to explain
although I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention to it at the time. "John"
was an administrator at Drew. I don't know the whole story, but according
to the rumors and stories flying around at the time, he had an "inner
circle" of students who got funds to do whatever they wanted, while he made
life more difficult for those who didn't kiss up to him. Near the end of my
freshman year a petition calling for his resignation was circulated around
campus from an anonymous source, and he did resign in the uproar that
followed as his many alleged misdeeds came to light.]
From: email@example.com (Ken Rosen)
Subject: Nightmare on West Walnut Park Drive
Date: 10 Jul 12:14:55 GMT
I had a dream last night.
I was living at home again (a nightmare in itself), and I must have been,
oh, eleven or twelve. There was this really neat new comic book that I
wanted to buy, and it was allowance day. So I ran into my house, which just
happened to be right across the street from the comic book store (stuff
like that happens in dreams) and followed my father's voice into the
kitchen. He and mom were talking with someone, but I was too excited to
wait until they were done. I was out of breath by the time I reached the
kitchen, but I managed to huff, "Dad--Dad--can I--have--" Then I stopped
short. Mom and Dad were indeed having coffee and talking with someone. But
it wasn't just anyone.
It was "John".
My mind reeled. How could this happen? What was he doing here? Why were my
parents talking to him like an old friend?
"What?" my dad asked.
I fum-fuhed for a few seconds trying to get my brain and my breath back
under control. My dad saw this as an opportunity to introduce me to "John".
"Hi, sport," said "John". "Nice to meet you." He didn't know me. "John"
didn't know me! Of course, I realized, we weren't due to meet for another
six or seven years. Well, that's okay, because since he didn't remember me
when I started at Drew, he probably won't know my family for long. Such is
the logic of the dreamer.
"So what's up, son?" asked my dad.
"Oh, yeah, can I have my allowance, Dad? Please? I wanna go to the comic
"Here, kid," said "John", handing me a ten-spot. "Go have a blast."
Ten dollars. Ten dollars. Rarely had I ever had ten dollars at one time in
my young life, and it wasn't even near my birthday! I reached out for it,
but then I remembered. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" I screamed, freaking the hell
out of everyone in the room. "You can't buy me, 'John'! I'm not joining
your Inner Cir--"
My dad had that look. You know which one, because your dad had one of his
own. This look told me it was time to beat a speedy retreat. I was into the
living room before my dad caught me. All he tried to do was calm me down
and get me to apologize to "John". I think he might have said "Uncle
'John'" but my mind repressed it. "NONONONONONONONONO! Ask him about Kippy,
Dad! Ask him about Mike Main! You can't be friends with him, Dad! You'll
join his Inner Circle and then everyone will hate you! Please, dad, please
"Hey! Hey, relax," said my dad. "Relax. We're not friends. We just met, in
fact. It's just business."
"Really?" Well, that wasn't too bad. My dad sold real estate; maybe he was
gonna make a big sale to "John". Maybe he was gonna milk "John" for
everything he had. Heh heh heh. This wasn't so bad. "Really?"
"Yeah, he's my new accountant."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" My feet would have carried me out
the door in 2 seconds flat if my dad had not been holding on to my collar.
"Don?" said "John", waddling into the living room. "Is everything allright?
We've gotta finish reallocating these allowance funds."
That was it. The next several minutes were a blur of whirling hands and
feet (mine), strings of curses (Dad's), and demonic laughter ("John"'s).
The next thing I knew, I was in our car, and my dad was telling me how a
summer away at camp would do me good (according to Uncle "John"). Well,
anything to get away from that nightmare. "Your bunk is called the Acorns,"
said my Dad, "and your counselor is Uncle Ron."
This would be a good time to wake up, I thought. And I did.