Profile by Wayne Webb From the files of my memory, I can find no person more suitable for characterization than my friend and companion, Charles Evans Mercer. His unfashionable character in the midst of our modern society has never ceased to amaze me. Perhaps he should have been born in the stone age, for he has many of the attributes of a caveman. Physically he towers above the rest of his fellowmen and appears slim, but in reality he is much heavier than one would assume. He possesses long, loose-jointed limbs, which carry him about in a most surprising manner. Between his piercing, blue eyes begins his nose. It looks as if it attempted to turn a corner and decided not to, as it descended down his face. His nose bills him as a boxer, but much to his regret, Charlie never indulged. While in the Army, he had an argument with a left-handed Texan and found his nose in the right place at the wrong time. Despite his physical discrepancies, he is quite good-looking, but he has much room for improvement. He looks as if he gets up every morning and promptly combs his brown hair with an eggbeater. He wears his pants tucked cossack-style over the tops of his black logger's boots, and as for shirts, he chooses all colors of the rainbow, making sure they clash violently with the remainder of his wardrobe. As few colors clash, I am amazed at his ability to choose such ungodly examples of nature's spectrum. In our childhood we were told of the bellowing voice of the mythical giant. If he were to hear Charlie's he would feel like a mouse inside of an air raid siren. I would refrain from going to see a comedy picture with Charlie. From the beginning of the movie to the end his laughter rocks the walls of the theatre, as he rolls and tosses in his seat. The rapid rising and falling of a thunder squall would go unnoticed in his presence. The glaring eyes of the audience indicate plans of assassination, but he roars on like a locomotive late in its schedule. As a scholar, Charlie is a genius, but socially he is a failure. His remarkable mind in the field of mathematics has long astounded his teachers throughout his complete term of schooling, which now has extended three years into college training. He will probably have to spend three more to secure his degree, because he neglected to fill his requirements, and took everything from wrestling to solfeggio. His first ambition was to major in music, but finding himself as constantly off-key as a red-winged blackbird in a symphony orchestra, he decided he would pursue something more practical. A guy like Charlie deserves credit for his efforts, to say the least. He comes from a family which live in the depths of a virtual pigsty. His old man is a drunken farmer and his mother keeps her house as clean and neat as the city park on Independence Day. He was reared in the household of confusion, but at the age of twenty-two he is springing from the depths of the social cellar. The first instance I can recall about Charlie was the day I was invited into the principal's office to be reprimanded for misbehavior. Charlie's long, lean frame was standing before the kindly face of "Pounder" Adamson, principal of Lehi High School. "Charles," said "Pounder", "You have been tardy thirty-seven times in one month; aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "Well, I guess," Charlie drawled. "You guess," howled "Pounder." "You had better make a damn good guess with that record or I will personally have you tossed out." "Yup," Charlie said as he stomped out. One of our years in school I had the misfortune to enroll in the same English class as Charlie. It was bad enough to be in the same class, but when they assigned me to the seat directly in front of him, it was my chore to aid him with English, which he had immense difficulty in understanding. Regardless of his stupidity, my work was sufficient to get him past Miss Thurman, the grandest old maid teacher that ever entered the school room. We devised a system. When Charles stood up to answer a question, I would write the answer on a sheet of paper in front of me. All he had to do was look down. We sat well in the rear of the room and were quite safe from being discovered by Miss Thurman, as she couldn't distinguish one from another at that distance. One particular occasion, Miss Thurman asked Charlie to give an example of a simple sentence. I did my half, but one of the students in the room, who had a particular dislike for the teacher had posted a sign on the back of the student who sat in front of me. As Charlie stood to answer the question, the sign fell onto my desk. Before I could remove it, Charlie read the large print to the teacher. "Miss Thurman is a dope." One hot, summer day Charlie and I decided to paint our roof. The roof-jack I had was strong and well built, with long nails to secure my safety. Charlie took three boards and nailed them together in the shape of a triangle. He drove four short nails into the bottom and cut the heads off from them. Placing the flimsy contraption on the 65 degree angle pinnacle, which towered thirty feet above a cement porch, he stepped out on it and turned his back to the precipice. With brush in one hand and paint can in the other he began to work. I just hung on to my nailed-on platform for preservation of life and limb. One winter night we were skiing in American Fork Canyon. Only the moon lighted our way down the icy trail. We had clear visibility of about ten feet. I was putting on the brakes to keep from gaining too much speed. Charlie came past in a gust of speed. He had no ski poles, and was standing as straight as a totem pole. He was traveling down the canyon about forty miles per hour, and couldn't see ten feet ahead. He looked like a little kid taking his first ride on the merry-go-round. How much longer Charlie can survive his escapades I know not, but as an honest, trustworthy friend he is indispensable. If you are unacquainted with him, he is a plague, but if you understand and know him well, he is a privilege. 16 Campus Wise FALL FASHIONS 17