All opinions expressed in this website are well-reasoned and insightful. Needless to say, they are not those of the Department of Mathematics at the University of Arizona, nor necessarily those of its staff, faculty, students, and lackeys. Anyone who says otherwise is itchin' for a fight. (This disclaimer shamelessly stolen/adapted from the Whad'Ya Know Quiz.) To protect the innocent and guilty alike, robots like Google are instructed to ignore these pages.

Derelict of the Year 1994

Winner

Congratulations to Marshall Mundt. (Second place: Eric Veum. Third place: Jack Green. Best nominators: Kevin Anderson and Dave Levermore.)

Party

Saturday, 7 May 1994, 3:00 p.m., Casa Greenlee. (About 50-60 people were in attendance. Alas, no professors.)

Official Derelict Voting Rules

You have 3 votes to cast as you like. You may cast less than 3 votes but no more than 3. You may not cast negative votes. Return this ballot along with $4 to Carole Anderson in the Math Office. You don't need to pay to vote (but it helps). E-mail ballots may be accepted. No obvious ballot box stuffing. All votes are final. Use natural numbers and U.S. currency only.

Nominations

The Mathematics Building Elevator

What goes up, must come down,
But our elevator is nowhere to be found.

Push a button, choose a floor,
Well, this elevator doesn't stop there anymore.

Forced to use the stairs, some chose walking staffs,
While most graduate students just developed iron calves.

All fear being trapped in mid-floor elevator hell,
For one time or another, we all have heard “the bell.”

From all its goofy antics, it could not be more clear,
That our dear old elevator is the Derelict of the Year.

Deborah G.: The Building Monitor

We have received several complaints about the erratic behavior of our dear Building Monitor. I would like to help on maximizing the efficiency of the Building Monitor (if this is even possible). We all know how ‘Slo-o-o-o-o-w” the Building Monitor travels. We all know that it is one busy administrative system. We all become a little impatient at times as a result of its slowness. Well, here is a little story I have to share... I have a friend named Elliott who put in a maintenance request to the Building Monitor and then decided he didn't want to wait, so Elliott called Facilities Management. When this happened, Elliott didn't realize that he had relayed a message for the Building Monitor to correct the problem. Now an unknown maintenance worker was on the job to fix Elliott's problem, and unbeknownst to him/her, the problem had been already taken care of by Facilities Management. The worker arrive and, voila, Elliott was not there and the problem had already been solved. The maintenance worker blamed the problem on the innocent Building Monitor! The moral of the story is... we think the Building Monitor has a problem but it really doesn't — it has done what it has been programmed to do (it has no memory loss, at least none reported to date). The Building Monitor prioritizes its messages; hence, in following the sequence of commands it appears to others that it has its wires crossed. I realized that this is not very comforting, especially when you are in a hurry. The bottom line is due to overuse, the Building Monitor will continue to have its share of problems and we want to know about them — all of them — as soon as they occur, so that you can continue to receive the best service our Building Monitor can provide. Keep those cards and letters cmoing in!

Thanks a lot for taking the time to read this.

P.S.: Elliott left the Department because he couldn't handle the pressure.

Eric Veum

(Sung to the tune of the Addams Family intro)

He's always there beside you
Or sometimes up behind you
He will not leave the room
His name is Eric Veum

budda bud dump peesh peesh, budda bud dump peesh peesh

I do not understand him
You cannot reprimand him
This blight is worse than doom
His name is Eric Veum

budda bud dump peesh peesh, budda bud dump peesh peesh

I'm glad he has no friends
Through broken chairs he wends
He crawled out from a tomb
His name is Eric Veum

budda bud dump peesh peesh, budda bud dump peesh peesh

Please read: In no way am I suggesting in this letter that Eric Veum be nominated for Derelict of the Year. Please, please, DO NOT take this as such a suggestion.

Bruce Bayly: Back Alley Balladeer

It has been recognized that talent in mathematics and music often occur simultaneously. In our own department we have much evidence of that, with people proficient in piano, violin, viola, french horn, trumpet, flute, guitar, harmonica, bagpipes, and accordian.

And not to be left out, we have singers too. Some people here can sing operatic arias, some spirituals, and some the best of Herman's Hermits. Some have sun in symphony chorales, some in glee clubs, some in the shower, and at least one on the U of A mall. Yes, Bruce Bayly has been sighted crooning his basso profundo with a male quartet/quintet, singing the hits of the 60s, 70, 80s, and today, all with his inimitable style.

Not confining his crooning to campus, Bruce and his balladeers have been seen singing on the streets during Downtown Saturday Night. Now, we all know that our university is in a dire financial situation, but has it come to professors singing on the street for research money? Perhaps there is more than one reason for Bruce to tote a big hat.

John Keisling: Wildcat Mathematician

Most of us can only annoy thirty or forty undergrads at a time using such trite devices as pop quizzes and story problems. But John Keisling has discovered a means of irritating several hundred times that number. And without having to grade papers. For this accomplishment alone he richly deserves recognition by his envious fellow grads. It's also in our interest to get on his good side while he's still relatively young and powerless, before he achieves the puissance of a Robert Dornan or Jesse Helms and starts rewarding his friends and punishing his enemies. Indeed, John could one day attain the immense stature of Rush Limbaugh—given enough fats and starches. Perhaps we could also arrange to get him food stamps...

Jack “Java Man” Green

[Editor's note (added 2004): Jack Green was the founder of Epic Cafe at the corner of University Boulevard and 4th Avenue. Jack ran the place a number of years before leaving town. It has changed hands a few times since then, but has not lost the character bestowed upon it by Jack.]

We all know Jack as the Epic guy who leaves his “gentleman's cruiser” locked to the Math building entrance so he doesn't forget it on the way home. And if his bike isn't there then you probably have a good idea where this realiably derelict “hip-happenin' baby” is: Perhaps he is on the side of some highway having his car sniffed by police dogs on his way to Chicago? More likely, however, he is to be found in one of Tucson's many fine cafes. He's the lover who, when spotting a woman over whom he lost his heart and hair, calls to her across the cafe by the wrong name, and with senility still intact, leaves his wallet, keys, and watch on the seat next to his. He's the analyst who in between women sometimes gets around to mathematics research, concluding that his functions are “kinda nutty”. He's the scholar who upon graduating, figured out the final step: opening up his own coffee shop.

(Apologies to Ray Charles for the theme song.)

CHORUS:
Hit the road, Jack
Open up the shop
and pour and pour and pour and pour
Hit the road, Jack
Open up the shop and pour
(what you saaaayyy)

Now we've all seen him so many times
Hittin' on women with 70's lines
I don't care if you say he's a jerk
Every now and then it worked (that's right)
CHORUS

The week before the qualifying test
When everyone had to be at their best
“I don't care 'bout the test,” said Jack
“I'm off to Chicago and back” (that's right)
CHORUS

For three long years he never stopped
Doing all his research in the coffee shops
“I don't care if it's Pony 'Spresso,
or Cafe Pa-ra-i-si-o” (that's right)
CHORUS

He gets ready for freshman al-ge-bra
By reading Nabokov's Lo-li-ta
Ev-er-y young co-ed
Can make him turn his bald head (that's right)
CHORUS

He got his degree and we were very proud
We said whatcha gonna do now, tell us out loud
“I don't care that I got my degree, I'm gonna go and sell coffee” (that's right)
CHORUS

Jeff “NetTrek” Nelson

This year may hear many good nominations
Relating the Math department's odd manifestations.
Stories of crashing and rebooting computers,
Of things done under the influence of wine coolers.

No doubt such acts are worthy of our praise,
But let me suggest that, before the summer days
We give credit to someone deserving of our vote
because of a lasting contribution of note.

Though a first-year, Jeff Nelson was no stranger
to this department, having been a math major.
A native Arizonan, he knew how to escape the heat
And introduced NetTrek to everyone he'd meet.

Soon many of our comrades were sold
On this game that put many terminals on hold
while people were shooting Klingons to the ground,
logged-in to sites at Purdue or Brown.

So while this may not seem very outrageous
compared to acts of other derelicts among us,
Its effect on the department is quite certain
Unless Bob pulls shut the NetTrek curtain.

Mr. Aaron “What'd I do?” Ekstrom

Here are the top ten reasons:

10. Every daily meal consists of mountain dew and a candy bar.

9. Upon moving here he had a bed, two ten-ton boxes of “stuff” and 50 pot lids, no pots.

8. His knee has been put out of commission at least once a month, usually as a result of some fantasy that he is as good of shape as he was in college.

7. His class schedule officially consists of three classes, and in his mind it consists of two.

6. His students think that he is a freshman pulling a fast one on the math department.

5. His apartment bathroom did not see the bottom of a cleaning brush for five months.

4. When it did he lost the battle to the little animals that had set up house there.

3. Two quotes: “I give, I give, I give some more,.” and, “What'd I do?”.

2. He is more apt to be found sleeping in the day so he can spend his nights talking to himself and a computer instead of talking to people.

1. After telling anyone with a car to refuse to take him even if he begged, he walked approximately three miles to buy a Nintendo. But it was Super Nintendo... with techno-bowl!

David Levermore

One upon a midterm query, while I struggled to study theory,
As I labored in my office, mathematics six-one-four,
While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As if someone gently rapping, rapping on my office door.
“'Tis my office-mate,” I muttered, “too lazy to key the door.
Only this and nothing more.”

It was Mundt that I expected as I finalled elected
To cross the room dejected and open up the door.
But he was not around; instead, behind the door I found
A man my soul wished it had never seen before.
Yes, there was a goofball—a derelict at my door,
And through me terror tore.

His face I did remember, it was a math department member
Maybe even one with tenure, though his name I knew no more.
It also was the clothing, a style that was worth loathing,
(black shirt, pink shorts, dark socks, and Birkenstocks he wore)
That reminded me that this many was libel for the hell they call the core.
He taught the hell they call the core.

“Derelict!” I screamed, “in nightmares I've often dreamed
Of your classroom with you at the front chewing an apple core.
Symbols and formulas flying, students in the front not buying
Till they had long since stopped trying to avoid this rain of horror.”
And as if this wasn't bad enough, I will tell you more.
Horrific tales of this many there are plenty more.

“Derelict!” I shouted, “though your talents are often touted
It was your sanity I doubted when I saw you on the dance floor.”
It was Club Congress Techno-Night, when I saw the frightful sight
Of an evening to be forever part of applied-mathematics lore:
Fifteen grad students and this crazy prof shaking it on the floor.
Getting down on the dance floor.

And when he spoke his name, sudddenly the realization came
That there is one badge of honor that this man has never worn.
In dereliction he's not alone, as is surely known,
That between among all the goofballs the voters will be torn.
Still there is no doubt who should be the derelict of Ninety-Four.
It is the derelict, Levermore!

Captain Marshall Mundt

The starship Enterprise puttered along innocently, her captain typing furiously on the computer console at his side. Suddenly a smirk moved across Captain Mundt's boyish face. He glanced over his muscular shoulder at his first officer, Commander Nelson, whose only sign of frustration was the clenched fist that lay helplessly on the science station keyboard.

“Ha!” thought Mundt, “that's 10 games to 6. That'll teach Jeff who's the master of 3-D Tron!”

A blip flashed across the tactical console. “Captain, our long-range scanners are picking up an unidentified vessel of unknown origin. They seem to be on course to intercept us,” reported Ensign Andersonov.

“Lieutenant Chopra, send a universal greeting over all channels,” said Mundt.

“Sir, they seem to be transmitting a coded message,” replied a perplexed Lt. Chopra.

“Can you make anything of it, Mr. Nelson?” asked the captain.

“The message is in the form of mathematical functions. Wait ... there seems to be a pattern ... none of these functions are Lebesgue integrable, sir,” replied Nelson.

The blood drained from the captain's face. “Oh my God!” cried Lt. Chopra, “Could it be the Committee?”

“They are now within sensor range, sir. There seem to be 5 life-forms aboard,” said Andersonov.

“Yes ... (dramatic pause),” seethed Mundt, “It's the Committee alright. And they're fully assembled.” All turned towards their beloved captain. His eyes were fierce with anger. Either that or they starched his shorts again.

The Committee. A marauding band of murderous mathematicians who lived by their own laws. Individually they were harmless math professors, but when assembled together their powers of intimidation and mathematical prowess seemed limitless. Capt's Fennemore, Rybolt, and Oliver had survived recent attacks, but the Committee had managed to carve a few notches in their slide-rules before. Their previous attacks had been anticipated, and thus the captains had been able to prepare themselves. But this encounter today, THIS was a total surprise, and Captain Mundt knew it. His frustration grew with every passing moment.

“Ensign Hacker, bring us about,” ordered Captain Mundt.

“Aye, sir.”

“Captain, they seem to be probing us with some sort of energy beam,” reported Nelson.

“Shields up!”

“Aye, sir.”

The tension on the bridge was as thick as Terrelian soup on a cold day in the back storeroom of a wig shop on Rigel 9. Suddenly a bright flash erupted from science station 2, followed by a blood-curdling scream! Lt. Jones lay limp in her chair, her red uniform tattered to pieces.

“Red Alert!” bellowed the captain, “Mr. Hacker, get us out of here! Lt. Chopra, tell Dr. McGreen to report to the bridge immediately!”

“The helm's not responding, sir!” cried Ensign Hacker.

“Mr. Andersonov, fire photon torpedoes!”

“Our weapons are locked, sir!” screamed Ensign Andersonov. His palms grew sweaty as he momentarily flashed back to a snowball fight as a child in his treacherous back-street alleys of Communist Minnesota.

In the midst of the confusion came Cmdr. Nelson's calm voice, “They seem to be restraining us with some sort of tractor beam, sir.” His Vulcan side detested the emotional display of his crew members, but his human side craved a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.

“Dammit, Jeff, I need answers and I need them now!” barked Mundt.

Dr. McGreen arrived on the bridge and hurried to the motionless body of Lt. Jones.

“How is she, Bones?” asked Mundt.

“My God, Marshall, she's beautiful!” exclaimed Dr. McGreen.

“Never mind that, man! Will she live?”

“Yes, but I'll have to rush her to my quarters for er, emergency treatment.” Dr. McGreen gingerly extracted Lt. Jones from the rubble and carried her off the bridge.

Captain Mundt leaned across the com panels and shouted, “Johnny, they've got a hold of us with their tractor beam — we need more power!”

“She's givin' us all she's got now, Captain,” crackled the voice of Chief Engineer Geddes, “If we keep this up much longer she's gonna blow, sir!”

“We must get out of here, Johnny! It's me they're after! I can ... (dramatic pause) sense it!”

“Oh, bollox,” thought Geddes, “he's lost it.” Aloud he said, “Alright, Captain, we'll do the best we can.”

Ensign Hacker spun around to face the captain. “Wait a minute. All's they want is you? Screw this, they can have you! Hey, everyone, there's Belgian waffles for dessert in the mess hall tonight, and it's all-you-can-eat!”

“Hurray,” cried the crew, and they rushed towards the turbo lift, leaving Captain Mundt, alone and defenseless, on his bridge.

“So,” he thought, “I must face them alone. If only I'd regularly attended my classes at the Academy ... if only I'd listened to Mother and become a veterinary podiatrist ... ”

The lights on the bridge dimmed to nothingness, and the room slowly filled with an eerie phosphorescent mauve gas.

“Marshall,” called a voice from beyond, “Marshall ... ”
“MARSHALL, wake up!” His officemate was shaking him by the shoulders. “Wake up! You teach a class at 10 am and it's already 10:30!”

Eric Veum: Derelictus ReX

This marks our twenty-first anniversary of the Derelict of the Year award. To celebrate this wondrous event, we are proud to present the master of derelict improvisation Eric Veum, Derelictus ReX. True to form, his derelict nature began to show itself as soon as he came to Tucson. Eric arrived in late August with his permanent bed-head and Missouri drawl, and proceeded to find a place to live; unfortunately, the place he found wasn't available until September 15. Oh well. After signing his year long lease, he began to attack a more immediate problem... what to do for the next three weeks? The first night he experimented with sleeping on a park bench with the other transients and derelicts, but his dreams of phase-space were interrupted by the local police. Eric was told that he was not allowed to sleep in the park. Well, maybe he could sleep in his car parked at the curb nearby? It probably seemed like a good idea at the time, after all, the street technically isn't the park. Unfortunately for our hero, the police disagreed, and promptly woke him up again and sent him off to curl up elsewhere.

The next few nights Eric tried sleeping in his office. However, hard desk tops and late-working officemates kept him awake more than he hoped. A few days later Eric discovered the couches in the Library and used them routinely until he was allowed to camp at a friend's house for the remaining time. With so much trouble sleeping can you imagine what his personal hygiene was like?

In the following months, Eric continued to astound everyone with his virtuosic gift of dereliction. It seems everyone has their own story of his Derelictious deeds, but in the words of Ex-Derelict George Fennemore, “A Derelict is not measured by deeds alone.” And so I conclude this nomination with a couple of Eric's most memorable quotes.

In a recent discussion, his officemate recited a quote from The Wizard of Oz, and Eric responded with: “Isn't that that movie with the girl and the dog in Kansas, or something like that? I never was good at remembering quotes.”

Last Fall, fellow officemate Gustavo was on his way to Phoenix to hear the visiting Dalai Lama speak. When he asked if Eric would like to join him, our hero responded: “No thanks, I'm really not interested in Mexican culture!”

This nomination could be followed by another: Gustavo for the longest burst of laughter ever known in the Math Building.

Steve Hoell

Despite having no formal (or even visible) ties to the math department, this renegade physicist spends more time in the math department than most math students. He regularly attends the applied math lunchtime seminars, the bagel brown-bags, is a member of the math coffee club, and even eats lunch at the math department cafeteria (a.k.a. Pizza City). Can he be adopting the manners and customs of mathematicians in order to hide from wrathful Physics faculty?

Eric Veum: Kaboom!

Eric Veum—my friend, but Eric—bad!. The big big Derelict. See the computers. The computers are on. They work good. Real good! Uh oh! Eric make computers go boom! No computers today! Blank screen. Nothing. First time? Heck no. Eric do this before. Many times. But Eric just keep on being Eric.

Hear Eric yell: “FOURIER COEFFICIENT!” Hear it way, way down the hall. See Eric grab sandwich. See him walk into colloquium, grab sandwich, and run. Run, Eric, run! See him hand-in case case studies. One month early? Run, Eric run! We're chasing you.

Marshall Mundt: Our Founding Father

When in the Course of human Events it becomes necessary for diligent, honest Students of Mathematics to pay due Tribute to the noble Leaders who have gone before, shining Examples of the highest Courage, Discipline, and Industry, who daily exhort their Fellows to pursue their Studies as the busy Ant his daily Labour, the said Students must take Care also to name those not in the above Category but in its perfect Opposite.

It is therefore my Duty to select for Nomination as Derelikt of the Year, the right honorable Marshall Mundt, esq. As is fitting and proper that any Theorem must be followed by its Proof, so it is fitting that the diverse Reasons, including the Actions, Mannerisms, and Habits of the Nominee be here listed. To wit:

Therefore be it known that Marshall Mundt is truly and thoroughly deserving of the Title of Derelikt and to uphold this infamous Rank he will pledge his Life, his Duty, and his sacred Honor.

Eric “Boom” Veum!

Eric Veum, or “Boom Voom”, is the natural choice for Derelict of the Year. Most everyone knows about his computer exploits: Bob probably winces every time he sees Eric walk into the computer room. Not everyone knows about his other exploits.

First, if you'd like to talk to Eric yourself, he can usually be found sleeping on “his” cot in the library or raiding a seminar for food. He might be in his office, but there isn't much chalkboard space in there because the partition he stole from Alan Newell is blocking the chalkboard.

During lectures, Eric is very approving:

Greenlee: Let X and Y be Banach spaces.
Boom: Yep yep.
Greenlee: Suppose T is a linear transform from X into Y.
Boom: Yeah.
Greenlee: If T is continuous at zero...
Boom: Uh huh.
Greenlee: ...then T is continuous at all points.
Boom: (Nod)

If you have a question in the lecture, just ask Eric. You could ask the professor, but Eric will try to announce the answer anyway. You might as well skip the middle man and talk to Eric. After answering any question, he'll look very proud of himself and click his tongue.

And that accent! Claims to be from Missouri, not entirely sure I believe him (perhaps I misunderstood the word). I hear he squeaked by on the TOFL, so I guess they can't stop him from teaching.

Eric, meet the Pillsberry Dough Boy. Pillsberry Dough Boy, meet Eric.

Eric also knows how to use a computer! Let me tell you about the kind of things Eric can do with a computer. A couple weeks after arriving here, Eric rebooted one of the workstations, because someone told him the integer processor on it was broken. He didn't understand what that meant, so he decided to fix it.

His account was suspended.

Later, Eric rebooted another machine. Many conflicting stories exist about why this was done. Some say it was because something appeared to be wrong with the keyboard. Others say it looked like it was frozen. One person tells me he did it merely because Eric was annoyed with jobs other people were running on the system. Which story is the actual answer? That's left for historians to decide.

His account was suspended.

In December, Eric was very helpful. He showed quite a few people how to login with mwm, the Motif Window Manager, and even gave them scripts to use when running it. Somewhere between 6 and 10 people were very thankful. But then Eric changed his account, which broke all the scripts he passed around. Everyone he “helped” couldn't login.

His account was suspended.

There are many other stories, but I won't bore you. I'm sure they are already the stuff of legend.

Jeff “Nap Time” Nelson

Dereliction is steeped in history. Unfortunately, this rich history has been blemished by 3 consecutive victories for first year students!!!! So, to alleviate this problem, I give you another nomination for a first year student (I'm a derelict, so the inconsistency is really consistent).

Jeff is a rather unassuming first year student (if you can overlook—or underlook?—his height of 6 foot 4!). He's a nice local guy after all. But, underneath that quiet sincere exterior lives a devilishly delightful derelict.

Let's look back a bit...... Jeff is still an undergraduate here at the University of Arizona (YES, he got his degree here and CAME BACK for graduate school—dereliction #1). he is all lined up to get a degree in Applied Mathematics (which is his department of choice in grad school), but to do so requires getting signatures and doing the usual Arizona run-around to get credit for a class needed for the major. What does this hard-working overachieving young undergrad do? He forgets it and takes a degree in Comprehensive Mathematics (dereliction #2).

Enter Jeff Nelson as a first year grad student. Remember being the new student in school, and wanting to make a good impression on the teacher? Making it to class no matter what? Analysis for first year grad students is at 9 AM on MWF. So, Jeff, being the good student we all think he is, shows up every day, right? WRONG! Mr. Jeff “I need my sleep” Nelson has a success ratio of about 70% (dereliction #3). In fact, on one noted morning, I saw Jeff running to class and I commented on the fact that he was here so early. Jeff, looking at his watch, says, “Yeah, I'm only an hour late for the final!” OOOOOPPPPPSSSSS!!!!!!!! (dereliction #4).

As you can guess, Jeff has many more talents than just his brain and good looks. He is a NeTrek pusher as well!!!!!! NeTrek is that little game on the computer that Jeff and a few shameless others play, with all the little ships and dots and lines shooting around (dereliction #6). His obsessive dereliction has pushed him to not only play the game, but also to continually post news articles in the rec.games.netrek newsgroup. Well, big deal, everyone has probably posted a few articles on a newsgroup now and then. BUT, Jeff's not your ordinary derelict! He actually posted 70 articles to this newsgroup in a span of less than 2 days!!!!! And this does not even account for the email he sent regarding responses to his articles—Oh the mighty derelict gods of old are smiling down on our young Jeff (dereliction #9).

As I close this chapter on the beginning of an illustrious derelictious career, I leave you with one last thought before you vote. Who do you think bought the first beer ever served in our own Pizza City? Nick Ercolani, Dave Levermore, Aric Hagberg, Marshall Mundt (that sweet innocent wonderful lovable and slightly crazy guy)? I think not! It was your favorite Derelict of the Year JEFF NELSON!!!!!!!! (dereliction #10).

David “L.” Ropp

Yes, that's right all you folks out there, that middle initial is not part of Disco Lover or David Lee or Devo Lover, but Lawrence. It just doesn't seem to fit, though, does it? Our Mathematics Department's dancing maniac's middle name is “Lawrence”? Kind of makes you think of the other great Lawrences out there like, um, er, ah, Lawrence Welk?

This derelict nomination is more of a plea to the State of Arizona. Nay, not just the State of Arizona, but a plea to the entire government of the United States of America for Dave Ropp to get that middle name OFFICIALLY changed, and here is why:

  1. Would a person named Lawrence have a wardrobe loaded with 70's (and now 80's) memorabilia? You've seen him in his wing-tipped shoulder-dragging collar-out-to-the-wall shirts with nice flower patterns or plaid with the top buttons undone or missing to show off his manly chest and his bell-bottom jeans and his polyester suits and his chains and his... etc. etc.
  2. Would a person named Lawrence have a big-time scholarship from the Department of Energy? (Well, maybe, but Lawrence is so average, while we know that David is anything but average.)
  3. Would a person named Lawrence wear the monster afro that Dave was sporting last semester?
  4. Would a person named Lawrence be so popular at the local DiscoTech (Club Congress) that they let him in free? I ask you, Mr. Bill Clinton, is it fair?
  5. Would a person named Lawrence send out the DANCE*A*GRAM? If you haven't gotten one, get on the list and be a part of the cool math crowd (contradiction in terms, maybe?).
  6. Would a person named Lawrence live with Marshall Mundt for two summers at Los Alamos, and be the hit of the dance club “The Edge”, where both Marshall and Dave have been known to frequent during their long summer stays at Los Alamos National Lab?
  7. Would a person named Lawrence be cornered in these dance halls by both men and women?
  8. Would a person named Lawrence be so popular at the dance club “The WildCat House” that he would be recognized on his third appearance and thus not be carded (ID'ed), and also have his water set aside for him by the bartender?
  9. Would a person named Lawrence, who thrives on the attention given to the unique individual, completely ignore and then quickly dodge the two (yes 2) lovely young ladies at “The WildCat House” who are eyeing him?
  10. Would a person named Lawrence have a crush on Chelsea Clinton? Sorry about that one, Dave, it just slipped out!

In conclusion, I ask you, Mr. President, Vice-President, citizens of the United States of America, and all persons of the planet Earth. Is it right that David Ropp's middle name is Lawrence? I think not! Do your civic duty, and vote for David Ropp for derelict of the year, and include in your vote, the middle name that best suits this daring young man!

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