In the front of the classroom was a large blackboard. Above the board, on either end, hung a sizeable portrait. The portrait on the left was that of President George Washington. President Abraham Lincoln was on the right.
At the beginning of the year I sat about three quarters of the way back in the row on the extreme right side of the room, facing the chalkboard.
Sometime early in the fall semester, I noticed that the two presidents seemed to be looking directly at me. They weren't looking at Johnny two rows to my left, or Debbie three seats ahead of me. They were looking at me!
I don't mind telling you, I was creeped out. George and Abe seemed to be scrutinizing my every move. I had zero privacy. They knew when I was working and when I was loafing.
Early the following spring, Mrs. Coxen decided to shake things up and rearranged our seating order. I was moved across the room to the row on the extreme left side of the room.
It took me only a few moments to notice that George and Abe were still looking at me — seated, now, on the opposite side of the room. My former creeped-out feeling soon grew into borderline panic! What was it about me that drew the rapt attention — nay, fixation! — of two of America's greatest presidents? I felt wretchedly tormented!
But I took my circumstance like a man. I accepted George and Abe's unsettling curiosity and kept it to myself. I said nothing to Mrs. Coxen, to my fellow students or my parents.
I completed my secondary education some years later and became a college student. I finished graduate school without ever having enrolled in an art course
But the fourth-grade "Mystery of the Two Presidents Scenario" never completely left my consciousness.
Fast-forward 50 years.