Of Jeremy, the kid whose thudding bass speakers tortured me nightly from the next room, Frank said, “That kind of person needs to be hung out of a window by his legs.” “Like in A fish called Wanda,” I said. “You should’ve sent one of these hulks over there to deal with him,” said Frank, indicating Michael and Doug, tall grad students sitting in the Arena. The hulks turned around at the sound of their name.
Frank was unrankable. Long after Bombastic Bushkin was off the Harriman payroll, Frank delivered some convincing impressions. Waving a random invoice in his hand, the Bombastic One used to proclaim, "Frank, do you see that, they're charging us $38.42 for this, it's ridiculous, a shame and a sham, we shouldn't pay, we can't let them trample us or get the best of us, Frank, I say we put our foot down!" But Frank always had the famous last word. "Get out," he'd say, or "Don't talk, your voice carries." Afterwards he would boast, "I banned him."
One day some men were hanging outside his window in a scaffold, cleaning the façade of the building. Frank put a new pencil – eraser first – into each ear and sat deadpan on the side while LW did the attendance spreadsheets on his computer. When Valerie came, she fell into a fit of laughter. We had already gotten used to the sight; only upon her arrrival did we see the scene's hilarity again.
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