David Rothman was a mean-eyed runt with Elvis Presley hair, and Chris Korkis was his 200-pound, six-foot tall enforcer. They were cutting school.
   "Hey, Brillo!" sneered Korkis's flat gravely voice.
   They called Charlie "Brillo" because of his wild shock of black kinky hair, a physical attribute that he shared with his father. Charlie lowered his head, aimed his eyes at the sidewalk, and walked quickly past them, pretending not to hear.
Korkis and Rothman hated him for years- since the day that he single-handedly lost the Little League city baseball championship for the Busy Bee Hardware Stingers team. Charlie had dropped an easy right field pop fly, allowing the winning run to score.
    His participation in Little League was only due to his mother's relentless campaign to make him into a "normal boy."    "Whatsamatter, Brillo? 'you deaf as well as dumb?" chuckled Rothman's high-pitched nasal voice. Charlie stuffed down his rage and kept walking. Korkis walked after him and connected with a swift kick in his ass. Charlie lurched forward, but didn't fall.
    "Puck puck! Chicken Brillo!" shouted Chris Korkis. Charlie kept walking, and turned down Westridge Avenue. He could hear Rothman's laughter, a jackass's bray, in the distance.
    Instead of taking his son Charlie to "sporting events, as Dr. Dalrymple recommended, Morris Fish had an unorthodox solution. He bought a regulation-sized pool table for the knotty pine-finished basement of the Oak Park home.