I made it almost all the way through Robert Fulton Junior High School without socializing with girls. I was fine talking to them in class but in other situations my tongue never seemed to cooperate with my brain.

And, just when I thought I might be making some progress (I was starting to hang out a bit with Nancy Arps), I had a major setback.

That semester I got to be on the projection crew. I would come to the audio visual room and see what films teachers might have signed up for and then wheel a cart with a 16mm projector, an external speaker and a screen.

I loved the process of managing equipment that projected pictures. The whole idea of creating environments that I could control and entertain with was exciting.

The Victor Projector was much more complicated then the Bell and Howell projector. You had to really know what you were doing. It had clutches and loops that had to be just right or the sounds of the people on the screen wouldn't match the movement of their lips.

Operating it was kind of like driving a sports car with a stick shift instead of driving a sedan with an automatic transmission. It was pretty scary going into a room with thirty plus of your fellow students (some several grades older) and set up the equipment hoping all would go well.

For the first few months, I would go with a more experienced and older student named Peter Brown. I thought of us as the Brown and Greene Team.

Peter was cool under fire. One time we were using a screen with its own stand when a leg gave way causing it to topple over. Without missing a beat, Peter rotated the projector stand aiming it to the wall on the right. The class just turned their heads and continued to watch while Peter packed up the screen.

Another time we were showing a movie for an "awards assembly" where James Stewart falls in love with some Indian lady. There were three assemblies scheduled because we had to show it in a regular classroom. The film had four reels so when each reel was over the lights went on and the kids would moan while the next reel was threaded up. It kind of broke the mood, too.

So after the first showing, before recess, Peter looked at me and said, "Let's do like going to the real movies."

When recess was over the next group crowded in - the lights went out and James Stewart mounted his horse and adjusted his hat.

The big difference was Peter and I had set up a second projector with the next reel already threaded and ready to go. So when the signal flashed on the screen (a star in the upper left hand corner) we would start the second projector and there was no interruption.

We were now big time!

One morning I checked into the audio visual room and learned that Peter was absent. I would have to do it all by myself! I was starting to worry. Then I looked at the schedule and "worry' seemed like a good thing right then. I was supposed to show a film to the girl's glee club - all 60 plus of them!

I thought about quitting school and maybe running away to join a circus.

As I opened the door and pushed the cart into the girl's glee club room the screen rolled off the cart and made a loud crashing sound as it hit the floor. Mrs. Welsh and all the girls turned and stared at me. I swallowed and stated the obvious.

"I'm here to show a movie."

Mrs. Welsh motioned to the front of the room where I should set up the screen. As I moved the equipment to set it up I tried to hide my red face by keeping my back to the girl's chorus who were now singing something about raindrops and flowers and springtime.

The screen was about six feet wide and worked like a window shade. I attempted to hook it onto the nails sticking out over the top of the chalkboard. Too high. So I dragged a chair to the chalkboard.

Again all eyes turned toward me as the chair made a screeching sound. I tried to be cool and smile but I had trouble making my mouth go up at the ends.

The screen slid over the hooks - I was starting to feel just a bit better.

BANG and CRASH!!

The chair slid out from under me and I was left hanging onto the screen while my flailing legs desperately tried to find a floor to land on.

The laughter was loud and long.

Mrs. Welsh picked up the chair and placed it under my feet. Finally, I got everything set up and clicked the machine on. I closely watched the film jiggle as it slid behind the lens and traveled its meandering route to the take-up reel.

Sometimes the film would have a ripped sprocket hole causing it to skip, or worse, cause the film to trip the clutch and shut everything down. I watched nervously hoping the print would continue its journey without incident.

Marion Anderson, the opera singer, was singing on the screen when, suddenly, her voice began to warble. I whipped my gaze to the projector. Some idiot had "spliced" the film with a piece of gum!

The loop of film passing by the lens gate got bigger and bigger and bigger and Mrs. Anderson's voice got lower and lower and lower. The picture froze.

All was still.

A smelly smoke began to escape from the lens. Then the picture erupted into several holes that mushroomed into a growing, wiggly orange and black shape.

I grabbed the nearest thing I could find and threw it at the projector thinking this might smother whatever was happening.

Mrs. Welsh volunteered, "Should I call the principal?"

"Not unless he's a volunteer fireman," I thought.

The entire room of girls was now laughing, or yelling or talking or, whatever.

I retrieved the thing I threw over the projector and realized it was someone's red sweater. I shook it open. No apparent damage, but it sure didn't smell good.

"Here, that's mine."

I turned and a girl with long brown hair and a pretty smile reached out for the sweater.

Almost laughing, she gently said, "Don't worry, it'll wash OK. You need some help with that stuff?"

"Yeah. Thanks, thanks a lot."

She was a bit taller than me and had no trouble getting the screen down.

As I dragged the cart out the door, I thanked her again and slowly rumbled down the hallway. Luckily, nobody was in the audio visual room. I slumped into a chair and waited for the bell to ring for the next period.

As the semester progressed, I gained confidence and actually enjoyed being the one-man team individually taking on all comers.

The next semester, when I reported to the audio-visual room, like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, Greene had turned into Brown.

(To be continued.)