National FUT Day

Recently I did a glowing write-up on a phenomenon called National Pi Day.  My focus was the mathematical details of Pi,  and Pi Day’s potential as the most celebrated day in the month of March.

I made reference to a community of “Numberheads”  or  “Math Geeks”,  implying that they’ve done an effective job in promoting their Day. 

But I suspect that – in the beginning – the whole thing was the idea of one inspired person.  I haven’t researched it yet,  but hopefully I’ll locate this person.  And it’ll be my honor to interview this person and feature him / her on these pages.

As it happens,  a long time ago I knew such an inspired person.  At the tender age of 13 he made a noble effort at creating a new National Day.

His name was Barry Fitzsimmons, one of the more rebellious types in the Freshman class at Bishop Reilly High School.  He had an axe to grind with just about everybody and everything,  a 1964 Rebel Without a Cause. 

One of his peeves was being cooped up in Room 207 with the same dorky Catholic kids all day long. He'd already had enough of this in Catholic grade school,  and he thought High School would entail the more “grown-up” freedom and variety of moving around from room to room, class to class,  in the course of the day.

Not so for the Freshmen at Reilly High.  The powers-that-be divided the new students into groups of 30,  according to some mysterious scholastic criteria.  Each group had the same subjects (most of which Barry hated) with the same teachers (most of which Barry also hated).   Every hour a new teacher would turn up in the same old room (which Barry also hated). 

One day Barry walked into Room 207 at 8:30 AM,  which was way earlier than normal for him.  He had a big paper bag full of neckties,  which he’d apparently found somewhere in his attic.  Each tie – in the style of some awful bygone era of Americana,  was very wide and ridiculously gaudy,  with yellows and oranges and reds splashed shamelessly on backgrounds of green and brown.  In an early 60s era of skinny ties,  these monstrosities deserved the name “FUT”.

 “FUT” was an acronym for “Fat Ugly Tie”

Barry got to work feverishly, pretty much ordering everybody to wear one of the ties.   He said it was National FUT Day,  and his enthusiasm was contagious.

I went along with it easily,  taking off my regular tie and putting on my FUT.  The dress code at Reilly was jacket and tie (which Barry hated of course),  so switching to FUT mode was easy. 

Everybody was FUTted  by the time the English teacher walked in at 9:00.   It took a minute or two for him to lose his focus on the day’s lesson,  suddenly beholding a sea of FUTs and 30 grinning faces.  He took it in stride,  smiled a lot during the lesson,  perhaps had his best laugh of the week.

The algebra teacher was rather dour,  rolled his eyes at the FUTs,  called it idiotic and went on with the equations of the day.  One by one the teachers came in, with varied reactions to the new National Holiday.  

Barry had his day in the sun,  responsible for a day's worth of good clean fun.   He collected the FUTs after the last class, and they were never seen again.

To no one’s surprise, Barry opted not to continue his education at Reilly High, disappearing after Freshman Year.  I thought it would have been pretty funny if he returned  the next year, on the anniversary of the first National FUT day,  with enough FUTs for the entire student body. 

But it wasn’t meant to be,  and the idea obviously never caught on.  It was nonetheless a triumph for a 13-year old kid with a ton of angst and a funny idea.  As Barry said at the time – “No Ifs or Buts,  Today we wear FUTs.”

The Ballad of Joe DeMaestri

He was going to retire in ‘59
When he got a phone call around Christmastime
Asked if he’d like to extend his career
With a different team for two more years
Off to New York in a 7- player trade
To a field where so many heroes have played
To wear the stripes of the legendary Yanks
That night the Lord got a prayer of thanks
From Joe DeMaestri

For a dozen years Joe paid his dues
With lousy teams that just loved to lose
The Saint Louis Browns and the Kansas City A’s
Used up the best of Joe’s playing days
Even at his best he was only OK
And on a bad team he played every day
But the Yankee lineup was second to none
So the days as a starter were over and done
For Joe DeMaestri

Even in his prime Joe couldn’t compete
With Mickey and Yogi and Roger and Clete
So he warmed the bench and swallowed his pride
Two years as a sub, never whined or cried
And when the team scored, Joe led the cheers
And the Yanks scored plenty in those two years
The Yanks won it all in ‘61
And the guy on the team who had the most fun
Was Joe DeMaestri

He then called it quits, but returned in the spring
To step on the field for his World Series Ring
He deserved it as much as the more famous names
Even if he played just a handful of games
He’s 83 now, and he’s doing just fine
One of the rooms of his house is a shrine
To the wonderful time he spent with the Yanks
And at night the Lord still gets a prayer of thanks
From Joe DeMaestri
　

National Pi Day

March has always been a curious month, in my estimation. The saying goes that March “comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb”, but I don’t know anybody who really believes it. The first day of spring is March 21, but the trees don’t turn green around here until April.

So March provides 31 days of meandering between semi-spring and plain old winter. “March Madness” is strictly for basketball fans. And after a lifetime of shamrocks and jigs I can’t get too excited about Saint Patrick’s Day.

Just when I was giving up on looking forward to anything this month, I became aware of a new, up-and-coming Celebration Day in March. Nothing religious, ethnic, sports or season-related. This holiday comes from an unlikely place -- the pure, tidy, lofty world of mathematics.

March 14 is National Pi Day, and I’m not talking apples, chocolate cream, or lemon meringue.

“Pi” is a mathematical term, specifically --- 22/7.

If you go ahead and divide 7 into 22, you find that it is approximately 3.14 --- thus the choice of March 14 -- (3/14 -- get it?) as the day to honor Pi.

So what is so important about 22/7 ? Glad you asked. A long time ago -- as far back as ancient Egypt -- mathematicians were trying to find a number that exactly described the relationship between the diameter (distance across) a circle, and the circumference (distance AROUND) the same circle.

To this day they haven’t found it yet -- the decimal places stretch out to infinity. But for all practical purposes, 22/7 and its abbreviated decimal equivalent -- 3.14 -- work just fine.

Some of you highly idle people may have wondered how much tubing is required for a standard Hula Hoop. Sure, you can get a tape measure and position it around the hoop. But there’s a much cooler way to figure it out.

If you measure straight ACROSS the hoop from one side to the other, and then multiply by 22/7.…Voila ! You have the exact distance around, which is called the circumference.

If the distance across the hula hoop was 35 inches, you’d multiply that times 22/7 -- and you’d get a nice even 110 inches of Hula Hoop tubing! I’ll admit it’s pretty hard to find a practical use for this info, unless you happen to be a manufacturer of Hula Hoop tubing.

But bear with me. The other great “Pi” equation is --

r  times r  times  22/7

(which is r times itself, times 22/7)

So what the heck is  r ?

If you put your finger in the middle of a circle…….say for instance a dish……the distance from your finger to the EDGE is called “r”

If that distance was 4 inches, you would multiply 4 times 4 times 22/7, which works out to roughly 50 square inches -- the AREA of the dish.

This info, substituting feet for inches, will be very helpful to you when purchasing circular real estate, although circular real estate is not too popular just yet.

If you’re still reading this essay, you’re very patient -- patient enough to consider one more thing about Pi.

As said before, 22/7 is only a good approximation of Pi, as is the decimal 3.14 -- mathematicians using computers have worked out the value of Pi to over a MILLION decimal places. In the case of a standard Hula Hoop, this would carry the accuracy way into the atomic and subatomic level.

This weird “insolvability” apparently adds to the allure of Pi (or 22/7) (or 3.1428571 etc) in the math geek universe. In fact I’ll bet there’s many other such beloved math terms, and the Numberheads would just love to load the calendar with their arcane jargon if they could.

But fear not. They’ve been very lucky with this Pi thing and they know it. They’re not going to get pushy. For National Pi Day to gain popularity is a bit of a miracle, and a shot in the arm for a month that’s weary of leprechauns and slam dunks.

A final thought, for what it’s worth: Consider the standard 14-inch pizza. The "r" is 7 inches. Multiplying 7 times 7 times 22/7 you get an area of exactly 154 square inches. Isn’t that a cool thing to know?

How Uncouth of You

The kids in the 4^th and 5^th grade were excited, as they filed out of their humdrum classrooms. They were all heading toward the big auditorium for some kind of special event. Perhaps a nice movie? A play ? Maybe some seminar. It almost didn’t matter -- it was just great to get out of those classrooms.

By one o’clock all 300 students -- 6 classrooms-worth -- were settled in the fold-up chairs in the old auditorium, barely able to contain their excitement for whatever was about to happen. The principal of the school, Sister Charlotte, dressed in the old black and white habit of the Sisters of Mercy circa 1962, made a brief announcement of the “educational” nature of the show, making it clear that any talking in the audience was strictly forbidden.

The curtain went up, and a “big kid” named Jim -- from the 6^th grade -- was pacing back and forth on the stage. Jim was a little taller than most sixth-graders, and had a booming voice, which made him perfect for the role he was playing. From his neck hung a large white sign, with the word “VERB” written in big block letters.

“Go!”
“Stay!”
“Run!”
“Kick!”
“Decorate!”
“Drink!”
“Study!”

Out came the verbs -- slowly, ponderously, loudly, and monotonously. Some of the kids in the audience already knew what the point was, and already sensed that other actors would soon be appearing.
Sure enough, another 6^th-grade boy appeared, few inches shorter than “VERB”, and this new character’s sign identified him as “ADVERB”.  He started adding words to those spoken by “VERB”, for a dialogue that sounded like a call-and-response.

“Go!”
“Away”
“Read!”
“Carefully”
“Eat”
“Slowly”
“Come!”
“Here”

Verb and Adverb seemed pretty happy with their little routine, their little simple sentences. But clearly something was incomplete here, and Verb and Adverb were too full of themselves to notice.

Slowly advancing toward them, with their arms folded in contempt, were a pair of 6^th-grade girls. The casting director of this play was seemingly using sexual tension (such as it was in 6^th grade) to help set up the sides in the upcoming argument.

One girl -- “NOUN” -- was clearly taller than the other, whose sign said “ADJECTIVE”,  and this pair was every bit as confidant as Verb and Adverb.

The taller girl, who would be active in politics later on in life and give many a speech, was on the stage to let Verb know the World Did Not Revolve Around Him.  How silly -- short sentences like “Eat slowly” and “Push Hard”…..

….as if nothing else was needed !!

What about “Eat YOUR SANDWICH slowly” or “Push THE WAGON hard” ??

“Where would we be without nouns and adjectives?” Noun scoffed. She pointed her finger at Verb and suggested that he get off his high horse.

Verb gave some begrudging recognition to Noun, admitting that words like “Church” and “pencil” and “dog” and “baseball” were useful. At Noun’s insistence, he even gave Adjective a pat on the back, admitting that words like “red” and “green” and tall” and “beautiful” and “smooth” were also useful.

He then crossed his arms and said that he -- “VERB” -- was,  nonetheless -- the most important of the eight parts of speech, on the grounds that -- technically -- no sentence is considered “complete” without a verb. As he had demonstrated before, “Go!” was a sentence all by itself.

“Hurrah” shouted Adverb, seemingly sucking up to Verb. He then gave a boisterous description of his importance -- the Where, the How, and the “When” of his Adverbial universe.

“How Uncouth of You, Adverb,” said Adjective. She said something sarcastic about “quickly” coming from “quick”, “nicely” coming from “nice”, “carefully” coming from “careful”, etc, and made it seem that most of Adverb’s domain would not exist if not for Adjective.

The four young thespians battled away for a few more minutes. Somewhere along the way “Pronoun” was introduced, along with the subtleties of “I” and “my” and “him” and “his” and “them” and “their”. Verb and Adverb sat this one out.

Next came "Preposition".   Shorter words -- “to” - “on” - “at” - “in” requiring a shorter character. In another brilliant casting move, the part was played by a very short boy -- he seemed to be shorter than his own long “PREPOSITION” sign, which hung from his neck in an unruly way, flapping around clumsily, and interfering with his arm movement.

He seemed to be currying favor from both sides,  in fact he seemed to be a mediator. He had allegiance with the Noun-Pronoun-Adjective faction,  but stated -- very diplomatically -- that the phrase “go to the store” was Adverbial in character because it answered the question “go where?”.

Little "CONJUNCTION"  appeared next, a very short girl representing “and” - “or” etc --another comical mismatch of a short person and a long sign. She was treated with sympathy, since her existence -- like the word “or” -- completely depended on two other words in need of a simple "link" word.  At one point she stood there meekly holding hands with Noun and Pronoun on either side, as if she was about to fall on her face.

The best part of the show was when the eighth part of speech --”INTERJECTION” rushed out onto the stage in a frenzy. As it happened, the girl playing the part was very excitable in real life, and would prove to be downright loony and argumentative in a few years, a poster child for Ritalin.

But in this production she was perfect -- wide-eyed and animated, shouting out “OH!” and “WOW!“ and “WHEEE” and other such choice interjections. In real life, she would soon learn some nastier interjections which would get her in hot water with these nuns.

The show ended with the eight parts of speech friendly, in harmony, as they actually are in this remarkable English language. Each young actor and actress took a bow, with Noun and Verb getting the final and most important applause.

Jim eventually went to a high school called Cathedral, known at the time as a prep school for the priesthood. I don’t know if he actually became a priest, but one might think his self-righteous performance as Verb seemed to be good preparation. Virginia, the girl who played Noun, got highly involved in the Liberal Democratic Party in the 60s and 70s and her shrill voice was heard at many a political gathering.

Donna, who played Adjective, blossomed into an awfully pretty and shapely girl by the time eighth grade came around. She was a little taller than me at that point, and reportedly already had a boyfriend in 11^th grade. I tried to get on her good side, with little success. I was a bit a of class clown, which turned her off.  As she told me onstage two years before, I was a little too Uncouth.

Piano Bar with Steve Lynch

It was a ship called the Maasdam -- of the Holland America Line, doing cruises from Montreal to Boston via the St. Lawrence River, and back. It was a modest piano bar -- 15 years old, which is very old for a cruise ship. The Yamaha piano was a weird Raspberry color, which I could never picture in anybody's living room.

I brought along my Canon camcorder, hopefully to get good promotional footage, and I handed it one night to a competent-looking fellow, instructing him to get a balance of audience footage and pianoman footage.

He did me one better -- he got extensive footage of Filipino bartender Ray -- who was quite the flamboyant sort (note that the word "flaming" comes from the word "flamboyant") and his performance during "YMCA" was classic.

An hour of footage was done on this night, and I edited it down to this ten-minute montage, for Youtube and for promo.