"Are you illiterate or just plain stupid?" Franklin Edwards taught English and was the all-time winningest coach in the history of Castleroom High School. Subtle, he was not. "The word isn't Holloween! It's Halloween. You know, like 'All Hallows' Eve' the day before November 1st which is 'All Hallows' Day.'"
"Yeah but Coach," 17-year old Jeremy Stanford stammered. He looked at the giant banner he and his buddies in art class had spent two weeks preparing to hang over the entrance to the town square. "Since we all live in the town of Sleepy Hollow, we thought it would be cool to call it Holloween."
"People are going to blame me for this," when Edwards got something in his teeth, he wasn't going to see reason. "The school board is likely to cut the stipend I get for teaching English in addition to molding young men to become gridiron warriors."
The coach was pacing in front of the banner now, the way he did when he was on the sidelines, his team trailing by a field goal, and the sophomore who always threw the ball well in practice but tended to throw to the opposing teams in games was slowly walking the offensive squad up to the line.
Jeremy was truly afraid now. His art class had developed an entire presentation around the theme of "Holloween" with a video presentation that featured the town's mayor dressed as Dracula. Please, he prayed, don't let this "King of all the Jocks" screw this up.
"This is just not acceptable," the coach's red nose was throbbing now. "I will not allow this mis-spelling to embarrass what this school stands for."
"What is the problem here?" Jeremy looked up and saw the world's most unlikely action hero riding to the rescue. Sylvia Putterman taught art at Castleroom. What's more, with her brilliant red hair and fiery eyes, she was the object of desire of every man and boy in the school including the coach.
Now it was his turn to stammer.
"Uh, Ms Putterman, did you see this mis-spelling in the banner this young man has produced?" The coach looked with scorn on Jeremy and then back with awe at the art teacher.
"Coach Edwards," Ms. Putterman matched the coach's tone and intensity, "I personally approved this project including the spelling which as you must know is a play on words. Do we have a problem here or do we need to go see Mr. Slerper?"
The coach wanted no part of that. He had seen the way the principal and art teacher looked at each at school assemblies and heard the rumors of their late night "teacher development projects."
"Uh, well, if you say it's okay, it's okay with me. Just make sure everyone knows I've taught these kids how to spell correctly," and with that he blew the whistle that hung around his neck and marched off towards the athletic office.
"Nice work, Ms P," Jeremy smiled at his mentor. "He had me worried there."
"Don't let that ole blowhard intimidate you," Ms. Putterman's smile blew a hole in the cloud cover and allowed the sun to shine on the banner. "That's the way you have to deal with jocks."
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