Soon the mixing machine starts throwing around the numbered ping pong balls, which are picked out one by one by Jack, the caller. The sweat is rolling out of Helen's sleeveless dress and down her arm. She's oblivious; all she reacts to are the numbers.

Over a thousand dollars was given away that night, but there was nothing for Helen. Poor Helen.

One thing I managed to do this summer was not get beaten up by the Mt. Kisco Gang. It hangs around outside Leonardi's Pizza and the Laundromat across from Friendly's, where all the nice people go. After Friendly's closes, they all migrate down to the Midnight Diner, the purest example of Mafia art in the New York area. A year ago, a bunch of them, including leader Tony, came into Friendly's to try to get us out to fight. "We're callin' youse out," he told me. I told him there was no way I was going to accept this invitation. They finally left and didn't bother us except for throwing small rocks at my friend's car as we drove off. Last winter they made a big score when they donned masks, armed themselves with chains, and beat the shit out of two carloads of kids from a rival high school. So when some of us greased up this summer in honor of rock and roll we got lost in the crowd.

Whatever excitement I missed out on this summer by not being beaten up, I made up for at work at the newspaper. We received a four-page story from an 11-year-old kid who told us how to save ducks in nearby Pound Ridge. It was handwritten, so I was assigned to type it. And of all the weddings and obituaries I wrote up, the one I liked best was the Leibowitz Katz wedding I was given to write up after I returned from lunch. During lunch I'd finished Portnoy's Complaint.

There was also the traditional 4 a.m. trip to Denison's, a men's clothier, Route 22, Union, N.J, next to the flag ship, open 10 a.m. to 5 a.m. the next morning. We took them poetry and doughnuts, then browsed and left. Another night we made a cake and took it down to the cops and threw a party.

But it's all over now, and there are no more left.