In my elementary school, half the boys in the fourth grade were called Larry. Officially, they may have been named Lawrence, Laurence, Larrimore, or even Larkin, but they all answered to Larry. The predictable incidents of mistaken identity brought the easily-amused class of nine-year-olds to hysterical laughter all too often. The teacher, Mr. Barnes, was not amused. He decreed that all Larrys would be called by their surnames. To me it sounded delightfully Arthurian: “Greetings, Sir Name.”
Oskar Greenblatt enjoys reminiscing.