I have already mentioned my early days in the elementary schools of New York City. When I enrolled in P.S. 46 in Manhattan because our apartment on 162nd Street was in that school's district, I was faced with a brand new environment and new teachers. This was a challenge that did not faze me one bit, but I soon ran into a problem. The head boy in my first class was a chap named, Edward Minor, who had been the local teacher's pet. Mrs. Hamill, who was in charge of that class, had a method of rewarding outstanding performance by assigning the number-one seat in the class to the best scholar. It was not long before I was challenging Minor and soon I was assigned to the catbird seat ahead of him. Then we had a small disaster. When I was called upon for recitation Master Minor moved the pages of my book so that I lost my place. Mrs. Hamill demoted me to the second seat and moved my rival to the number-one spot. We were not supposed to fight in class, so I swallowed my anger for the moment. When school was out, on my way home I just happened to run into Master Minor and I proceeded to give him “what for” with a real good pasting. He ran home and told his mother who happened to be a good friend of our teacher to whom she complained vigorously demanding that I be punished. I don't think her son told her exactly why I had shellacked him. The next thing I knew Mrs. Hamill requested that I bring my father to school or lacking that, ask my mother to come to see her. Since neither of my parents spoke English, and since they were fully occupied with their family responsibilities and making a living, an invitation to come to school was a serious threat to me. By this time I had gotten to know Bill Warren's grandmother quite well and after telling her about my predicament she agreed to come to school to have a talk with Mrs. Hamill and she did this in place of my parents. When Mrs. Hamill heard the whole story, I was reinstated to the first seat and stayed there without further challenge or mischief.