THE IMPORTANCE OF GOOD INFORMATION

On the way up there, the Gresge and I were engaged in a discussion about the relative merits of various philosophies of life.

"So, Gresge, you don't really believe in the Golden Rule, do you?," I asked.

He laughed - a crazy kind of laugh, sort of high-pitched, with a mean, sarcastic tone to it.

"No, not exactly. I don't worry about other people - just myself. And unlike other people, I am going to survive."

"And just what is it that gives you the edge over other people? I mean, it's not just your carefree attitude."

"Information. That's it. Information. I constantly read all kinds of sources - underground books, Time, financial newsletters, auto repair books. I listen to and know a lot of different kinds of people. Because there's nothing more important than information. You never know when one little bit of information will make the difference between your own survival and becoming someone else's *FOOD*!"

I mulled this over as we drove the last couple of miles to the supermarket in silence.

We pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot. The Gresge smiled as he screeched to a halt next to a station wagon. At the door, a woman carrying grocery bags gave him a dirty look, but the Gresge was oblivious.

As we started hunting for our food (the first stop was the frozen meats section for the rack-o'-ribs, I remembered a story Ralph had told me a couple of months ago.

"Gresge, is it true that you were arrested at this grocery store?"

"Yeah, it's true. But I didn't deserve it. I was arrested for carrying out a girl. On my shoulders."

"Voluntarily?"

"Not exactly. But I figured, hell, you can buy just about anything else at a supermarket..."

"So she called the cops?"

"No, the manager did. In fact, she didn't even want to press charges. It was that damned manager."

We paid for the goods and went out to the car. The Gresge looked around, grinned, and got into the car. I knew I was in trouble.

"What are you planning, Gresge?"

"Just watch."

He drove maybe twenty yards, straight towards an abandoned grocery cart. The back of the cart just touched the front bumper; we were lined up right behind the cart. The Gresge told me to hang on. Slowly, he accelerated the car. The grocery cart bounced along in front of us, rolling faster and faster. When the car hit about 45, the Gresge slammed on the brakes, and the cart skittered off in front of us until it started to tumble end over end. I was cracking up. I have no idea why, but it was hilarious. The Gresge did this a few more times, then it was time to head home.

On the way back, the Gresge described his philosophy of driving.

"Like most things in life, you never know how far you can push things until you push them too far. Like taking corners, for instance."

"That gets to be a little expensive, doesn't it?"

"The way I see it, there's nothing more important than information. And there's no more important information than good information. I'm willing to pay for good information."

We drove on. As we passed the blocked off streets, the Gresge said, "Gee....I wonder...." and hit the brakes.

He backed up the car until we were facing the police barrier. It was a large, wooden barrier, painted white. The Gresge revved the engine a few times, and shouted at me, "I've always wanted to try this!"

With that, he pushed the accelerator to the floor. The barrier rushed up at us, glaring in the high beams. I instinctively threw up my hands as we crashed through the barrier, wooden beams flying all over. A beam came rushing toward me, smashing into the window in front of me. It was then that I learned safety glass really does work. The beam bounced along the roof of the car and was gone. The Gresge ran down to the middle of the street and stopped the car. He looked at me, ecstatic.

"Boy, that was great!"

I was still shaking in my seat, thinking that this little piece of information had cost me a couple years of my life.

He turned the car around, the headlights surveying the damage. And what damage there was! Through the cracked windshield I could see wooden planks and beams scattered everywhere - over several front yards, on the street, stretching as much as 60 yards from the original impact site. It was impressive. I could also see there was another barrier, still standing. The Gresge saw it too. With a shout of "Irrepressible!" he raced the car toward the other barrier. Once again, I ducked down in my seat as beams crashed into the car, on the side, on the roof, on the windshield. And then the car slowed and turned around. I could see that the Gresge had destroyed the barricades, spreading destruction over an area roughly the size of a football field. The people living in the area had a bit of a surprise waiting in their yards. We decided it might be a prudent time to leave.

The next day I got up around noon and wandered outside to look at the car. It was a mess. The windshield was cracked, the hood was dented, and the whole car was covered with white streaks where the boards scraped across the car. The Gresge realized that the police would come looking for him (strangely enough, he *was* the first one they suspected) so we decided to paint the car to cover the evidence. I drove down to Kmart and picked up a few cans of red and yellow spray paint. Of course, a bright red car with a green interior and "Screw the Police" painted in yellow on the side did attract a little attention...

...AND IT DETERMINED WHAT HE COULD SEE

She had started out quite fearful of him, despite his "nice smile and heart of gold". On our very first date, I, God knows *what* I was thinking, brought her back to the Gresge's apartment (this was second semester junior year, and the Gresge was off on his own then) to watch a couple movies we'd rented ("Manhattan", "Mondo Magic", "Shocking Asia") The last two were in the Gresge's permanent collection.

"Shocking Asia", he'd said to me once. "That's a keeper."

When we got there, the apartment looked much as you'd expect it to: food-encrusted pots and dishes in the sink; Tv dinner boxes everywhere(some unopened); various hardcore mags scattered about.

"This one's nice," said Alison, leafing through 'Ass Master'. "Do you think these girls like their job?"

The place, somehow, didn't smell as badly as it should have, and we went out all summer and senior year too.

"You remember the Gresge's race," asked Alison, "That really spooked me on him for a while."

The car he would later paint 'Screw the Police' on was a huge old Chevelle. He'd dropped a 454 into it, as well as a supercharger. He had a number of nicknames for it, ranging from 'The Problem Solver' to 'The Woman-Tamer'. But, since no woman would go near the car, I guess the first moniker was more valid.

One night, he comes in and says to us all, "This kid, some townie" (Ralph himself was a 'townie', but still liked to make fun of them. He came up with this list of requirements for being a 'townie':

          a.  a bizarre, ungodly limp
          b.  an unintelligible speech impediment
          c.  a tongue down a sibling's throat
          d.  one chromosome too many)

"Yeah, sure, Ralph. Whatever you say."

"What if you win and he doesn't pay?" But Ralph was already checking the action on his .45.

"Oh, he'll pay all right."

"What if you lose?"

"What if, what *if*?! What if Joseph Conrad had been born an American? What if Susanna Hoffs were fatter than Belinda Carlysle? What if Bertrand Russel played small forward for the--"

"All right, all right, you've made your point."

"I did?"

"Have a good 'race', Ralphie. Don't be out too late."

So we went back to watching tv or whatever it was we were doing. An hour or so later, in swaggers the Gresge, counting out a big wad of twenties.

"Nine-sixty, nine-eighty, a thousand."

"Holy shit, Ralph. You won. It was real."

"Oh yeah. Let's go. Drinks are on me. *BARANGUS*!!" And they all left, except me and Alison, who had gotten quite spooked, especially when the Gresge had quite theatrically, clicked clip of dum-dums into his gun.

"He wasn't really going to shoot him, was he?"

"Don't know that he didn't."

So later, Alison made me ask the Gresge to pull out the clip and show her that no shots had been fired.

"But that's a pain in the ass. You gotta take out the--"

"If you don't, I won't be able to sleep."

So he did.

"Yeah," I said. "I remember that race."

"Well, I was just up there, and he's put on some weight, he finished his degree..."

"CS?"

"English."

"My God."

"And now he's playing in a band."

"But he had no musical ability at all..."

"That's not true. Remember the rap?"

One day we were listening to the messages on our machine. There were way more than usual and most of them were just people who'd called and hung up right away.

"Check the message." someone said.

So we played it back, and it turned out the Gresge had replaced our normal message with this:

 
"No one am here this house be vacant
Got ten lil boys locked up in the basement.
Wake up in the morning and you know what.     WHAT??!
Feel like slammin' some hairy butt.
If Jon was here I wouldn't have to wait,
I'd just go up to his room and pump some weight.
If I see that guy named Jim,
I got one big surprise fo' him.
Like I tell my friend Ron Barrett,
Happiness be a big red carrot.
Sometimes I just be feelin' randy,
I think about my good friend Andy.
Can't help lookin' in his direction
But I hear he got a yeast infection.   Huh, huh huh HUH.  
When I see Rich lookin' mean
Gonna grease him to a glossy sheen.
So leave your message at the tone
Cause my hands too full to answer the phone."

"Okay, you're right," I said to Alison. "What else?"

"Well, it's weird. Every time I see him I feel really warm towards him. And he loooves *me*. I think I'm the only girl he knows with...with...Oh, *you* know--"

"With 46 chromosomes?"