My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words / Of that tongue's utterance.

[I]t was something that every schoolboy of my generation almost `had' to do, as obligatory a proof of impending manliness as scrumping apples or pulling girls' pigtails.

Some of the outer layers of the Wacko Jacko phenomenon, however, are now on display here at the Grammy Museum: 10 of the singer's bechained, braided, studded, rhinestone and Swarovski-encrusted pseudomilitary jackets.

They were filled with coquinas, tiny butterfly-shaped clam shells that gleamed with all the colors of the rainbow. Mario poured the sand and its brilliant treasure into my hands. I stared at the beauty and thought about God, Sabbath, and friends. A few weeks earlier this day had been an ugly thing to me, like the oily sand beneath my feet. Now, like the colorful coquinas, Sabbath had become God's beautiful gift to me and my growing family.