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The Alligator King

My dad was a Beach Boys fan. His favorites: "In My Room," "Wouldn't it be Nice," and "God Only Knows." He was also oddly fond of Barry McGuire's version of "Eve of Destruction." But the song that's stuck in my craw since he passed away last week is a Sesame Street gem... He sang this song his entire life. Why not? It features a mustache, numbers, kids, frugality, silliness, and a helpful kindness that epitomized Robert Elliott Pound (1947-2019). Missin' him something fierce.


My dad plays sudoku. He might be doing so right now in his hospital bed. A former math teacher, always a numbers guy... except in sports. In sports, he stressed sweat and tenacity. He bruised us in basketball. Knocked us silly in football. Would never, ever use a cart or any sort of wheeled apparatus in golf. Carry your bags. I don't recall him registering pain. Even after the hellish motorcycle accident that almost robbed him of a leg and broke his jaw and arm. I'd plaster his cast with Star Wars stickers. He'd only complain of itches. I remember him falling hard in a rec-league basketball game. I was on the bench (foul trouble, probably) when he landed on the wood of San Francisco's Galile