McKENNA EARNS VICTORY CUP

All-star quarterback and shortstop Craig McKenna has been awarded Beckley's Victory Cup as the year's most outstanding athlete, in the first unanimous vote since the Cup was instituted in 1943. Leading the Black-and-Grey to a 10–0 gridiron record in the fall, and with an unassailable eleven-game hitting streak in the spring, McKenna will be presented with the Cup at commencement exercises next month -- a fitting farewell as he departs for Harvard and law school in September. Way to go, Craigo!

FIRST SENIOR PROJECTS TURNED IN

Three weeks ahead of the curve, Travis Puckett is the first to submit his completed Senior Project to Mr. Naylor and the English Department. Puckett -- this year's Sheet Monitor in the dorm's laundry room -- has titled his thesis, "Put the Blame on Mame." In it, he examines the purported ties between Patrick Dennis' fictional aunt and the Marxist-Leninist dogma of the late 1940s. "Auntie Mame was a despot," he insists. "The House Un- American Activities Committee would have had her shot on sight." If you say so, Trav.

STAGEHANDS NEEDED FOR BRIGADOON

This year's spring play, produced by Beckley's boys and Mary Immaculate's girls, will be Lerner & Loewe's timeless and everpopular classic, Brigadoon. Under the capable direction of art teacher Pauline Hawkins, the musical will run for three performances during the weekend before commencement. Though the leads have already been cast (sorry, guys), Mrs. Hawkins advises this reporter that "we still need a stage crew." Those willing to volunteer should do so immediately. All others will be drafted.

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Craig McKenna -- BECKLEY SCHOOL

Room 311 -- TARRYTOWN, NEW YORK

5/5/78

English Assignment

My Obituary

by Craig McKenna

(Note to Mr. Naylor: I'm pretending it's being written for the Village Voice, so there may be some profane words in it. But not alot.)

A legend has left us -- buried beneath the epitaph he long ago chose for himself: CRAIG McKENNA, LAID AT 15. And who among us can forget the many things he was?

A world-famous Jets quarterback who threw a 98-yard pass during sudden death in Super Bowl XVI. Namath shit a brick.

A world-famous Red Sox slugger who single-handedly brought the World Series title back to Boston for the first time since 1918.

A world-famous rock and roller who packed the Garden with his bass guitar, his T-shirt off, his jeans way tight, and sweat pouring off the body that made them all horny.They called it McKennaMania.

A world-famous attorney who wasn't afraid to go after pain-in-the-ass defendants like U.S. Steel, the Mafia, and France.

And finally a world-famous gigolo who left a string of broken-hearted heiresses strewn across four continents.

He will be missed.

Yeah, right. The one time I accidentally said "hell" in front of Naylor, he threw up on Othello.

The way I've got it figured, there's three ways I can pull this off -- and one's only a maybe.

1. Bite the bullet, see if it flies, and hope that Harvard's not allowed to take back an admissions certificate even if I flunk English at zero hour.

2. Sweet-talk Kerry Fusaro, Tom Lee, or Mike Scherago into making changes, but don't hold your breath. Everybody knows that jocks can't handle words with more than one syllable in them. Except me. 

3. (This one's the maybe.) Ask Travis Puckett, the Hello Dolly guy. Even with the blue Van Heusen shirts he's smart, teachers like him, and he was the only one of us who volunteered for Brigadoon without getting threatened first. Come to think of it, he also hasn't said Word One to me in four years, even when we pass each other in the hall. Maybe I called him something slimy in ninth grade back in the days when I was still an asshole. Or maybe he just doesn't like me. (How is that possible?) 

Stick with Number 2. You're better off with a buddy who can't spell than an enemy who can.