WIT STOP

A Fifth-grader Fights the Idea of Violence Despite a Nun's Advice to Smite His Opponent

During the Cold War years of 1963 to 1982, the United States Air Force maintained 54 Titan II intercontinental missiles armed with nuclear warheads that were loaded with propellants and ready to fire. Today only one is preserved, at the Titan Missile Museum in Green Valley about 25 miles south of Tucson.

The nose cone has a hole cut in it, and the 740-ton launch door was sealed in a half-open position so Soviet satellite inspections could verify the facility's deactivated status. The tour is no less impressive, though.

From above ground, you can peer down the silo and confirm for yourself that you wouldn't want this missile landing on your carport. Tour guides also take you into the highly fortified control center. This missile was to be fired only on direct orders from the President and only as a retaliatory measure. The government took elaborate pains to ensure this destructive force would never be unleashed by mistake. It's hard to apologize adequately to a nation that's been vaporized accidentally.

Visiting this museum reminded me of my own retaliatory strategies back in the fifth grade. I was involved in what was then billed as "The Fight of the Century in St. Edmund's Parochial School." The clash was scheduled for 3:31 P.M., right after school let out, and was between me and Andrew "Ugo" McCrory. Ugo was short for ugly. The nickname described not only his appearance but also his personality. He was big, mean, brutal and detestable and had a whole bunch of other unsavory traits that probably resulted from his being called Ugo for most of his 10 years of life. Schoolmates were eager for the confrontation because I was supposed to be quick and wily. It was the classic battle between the sly speedster and the muscular monster. I wasn't eager for the confrontation because well, because Ugo was big, mean, brutal and detestable. That, combined with his other unsavory traits, scared me silly.

My first defense was Sister Margaret. At the last recess of the school day I asked, "Sister, would you like me to carry your bag after school?" She said, "No, Eugene, I can handle it."

"Would you like me to clean erasers?" "Not today, thank you." "Wash the blackboards?" "They don't need it right now."

"Sweep the floors? Wash the windows? Replaster the ceiling? Anything?" Sister said, "Well, all right. Since you're so insistent, you may straighten up the cloakroom after school."

I said, "Sorry, Sister, I can't make it. I'm scheduled to fight Andrew McCrory after school." There. I let it slip out. Now the good Sister would surely step in and stop the encounter. She said, "You're going to fight Ugo?" I said, "Well, I was supposed to, but . . ." She said, "Hit 'im in the labonza."

I said, "Excuse me, Sister?" She said, "Hit 'im in the breadbasket." "What?" "Go for the body. Hit him with an uppercut right under the ribs." She showed me where.

I said, "But, Sister, you tell us whenever our emotions get the best of us we should turn to the Bible for advice."

Sister said, "You're right. Smite him in the labonza."

The plan with Sister Margaret wasn't working out. I wanted an authority figure to break up the fight. Instead I got a cut man for my corner.

I moved on to Plan B, which was an appeal to Mary Beth Shannon. She and I had a torridlike affair in fifth grade. Mary Beth was sweet, shy, demure, innocent. I called her "my little red tulip" because she was petite, she had red hair and she told me once that tulips were her favorite flower. She called me "Shorty" because I was short.

I knew if I told Mary Beth about the fight, she would demand that I withdraw just like Grace Kelly did with Gary Cooper in High Noon. Mary Beth would be opposed to violence in any form and especially to my risking my handsome visage against a hulk like McCrory.

"You're fighting Ugo? Knock all his bloody teeth out and rip his ears off," she said. But she said it very demurely.

When 3:31 arrived so did Ugo. He was even bigger than he had been at lunchtime. But there was no backing out now.

I put a chip on my shoulder and dared Ugo to knock it off. He did.

I said, "Okay, cross over this line." He did.

I came up with 47 more delaying tactics. Ugo finally lost interest and so did all of the kids gathered to watch the fight, except for my loyal and devoted brother, Eddie.

I said, "I guess I showed him that fighting isn't always the only solution."

Eddie said, "I think all you showed him is that you're a chicken."

So I started a fight with Eddie. He was younger and smaller than I was.

Humor Book: Gene Perret's newest humor book, Someday I Want to Go to All the Places My Luggage Has Been, is a must for anyone who has traveled farther than the corner drug store. The 184-page softcover book can be ordered for $7.95 (plus shipping and handling) by calling toll-free (800) 543-5432. In Phoenix or from outside the United States, (602) 712-2000.