I got to thinking today. I’m not sure what set it off. Could have been any number of things. My mind makes rather esoteric associations at the best of times. I’m not sure of the train of thought that got me there, but I ended up thinking about a volunteer job I had while in college.

I had several friends who were enrolled in the teaching program at the university. A couple of them were hoping to specialize in teaching children with special needs. There was a small school run partly by the university which was just for such children. Through various manipulations and coercions, (why yes, my friends *were* women. Why do you ask?) I ended up volunteering my time at the University House (which is what they called the school).

Being in the arts--specifically technical theatre--I did a lot with the kids in that area. Most of the kids had some form of physical handicap, though some were mentally disabled. None of them were very severe. These were mostly the kids that fell between the cracks of the normal classes and the special classes. I’d get involved with them in painting or building things. Help them with motor skills and spatial perceptions, that kind of thing. It was an o.k. gig.

The kids took to calling me Dr. Blaze. (All the full-time teachers had doctorates, and were thus “doctors”) . Since I had the habit of using the phrase “you’re crazy” I jokingly became the resident psychiatrist. Dr. Blaze is making another diagnosis: “Bobby? You’re crazy.” And being kids, the fun with it never stopped.

There was another volunteer who spent a lot of time with the kids: Nicholas Friend. That’s *Colonel* Nicholas J Friend USArmy (ret.). His family name was “Freundt” in Germany, but when his grandfather came through Ellis Island, the clerk thought he said “Friend”. And so it’s been “Friend” ever since. The kids thought it was a hoot when Nick would wear his fatigue jacket to work. The name label, of course, said “Friend”. And old Nick would come in and salute the kids and say “Friend, Nick, Reporting for duty, Sir”, and make a show of it. The kids loved it. Of, course, the kids took to calling him Friend Nick.

It was getting near the end of the school year and the kids were going to put on a talent show. Since I was the resident theatre expert, I became the one in charge of getting it rolling. This was mid-80’s when Dominoes Pizza was doing those adds with the “Noid”. Remember that little red guy? Well, several of the kids thought that the Noid was kinda cool. So they decided to do something with it for the show. We got some red pajamas and a couple of socks dyed to match (for the ears) painted the little logo on their chests, and made masks out of scrap cloth, and they were ready to go.

The kids thought up the skits all on their own. (oh boy). After Bobby and Hank had written out their little skits they asked me to watch them and see what I thought. “Hey, Dr. Blaze, we need your diagnosis.” To which I, of course, replied “you’re crazy” before even seeing anything. Hey, they’re kids, I don’t have to Jack Benny to get them to laugh. So, Hank and Bobby (and a couple others I can’t remember) sat me down and made me watch their skits. They had two of them. Standard kids stuff, badly acted and written, but hey. In both of the skits, they parodied Friend Nick. Not a bad job, either, for a couple of 10 year olds. So, I sat and watched these two skits about Friend Nick and the Noids. When they were done, Hank, in all of his 10 year old wisdom asks: “So. Dr. Blaze. In your professional opinion, what’s the diagnosis?”

I sat for a while trying to hide my smile and think of something to say. Finally: “In my professional opinion? Well, Hank. What you’ve got there is a pair o’ Noid skits o’ Friend Nick.”