ROUND 1

It was just before lunch when our principal, Mrs. Lawrence, escorted a new kid into the school’s sixth grade classroom. “Boys and girls, please give me your attention. I want to introduce you to your new classmate. His name is William Harrison Dempsey” (named for William Henry Harrison, arguably the least-known American president). Mrs. Lawrence quickly cut off the tittering provoked by the stiff-sounding name—mostly among the girls—with an icy glare that swept the room. “He and his family are new in town,” she continued. “They come from Manassa, Colorado. Isn’t that correct, William?”

“Aaa, mmm, yes, ma’am,” the new boy affirmed.

I learned later that the Dempseys had moved from Manassa to several other small mining towns in the mountains of western Colorado, including Creede and Montrose, before coming to Provo, Utah. But William hadn’t wanted to bring too much attention to himself that first day of school. He had been born in Manassa and lived there as a young boy, and that was good enough.

William had dark eyes and unruly coal back hair, was darkly tanned, and was obviously wearing hand-me-down clothes. Compared to most of the towheaded boys in the class like me, he almost looked like an Indian. (I later heard rumors that William did have a little Cherokee blood, passed down through his mom’s family.) But I could tell that the girls seemed taken by his dark looks, even if he had what seemed to us an incompatibly starchy name.

“All right, boys and girls, I want everyone to be nice to William and help him adjust to our school,” Mrs. Lawrence instructed. She paused again and said, “Welcome to Page School, William. We think it’s the best school in Provo, Utah, and we think you will do just fine here.” With that commanding benediction, Mrs. Lawrence again scanned the room with her discerning gaze, nodded her head, and left the room.

Our teacher, Mrs. Anderson, put her arm around William and directed him to ta