Never Say Excuse Me Louder Than You Burp

Bob Deaton takes a whimsical look back at the hazards of growing up clueless in Indiana in the 1950s. It is a gonzo take on a time and place in which vomiting in a grade school cafeteria is a political act, prom dresses are impenetrable fortresses of taffeta and rebar, and a cigar-smoking dentist favors conspiracy theories but not anesthesia.

Zealous summer camp chaplains routinely recruit Manchurian Candidates for Jesus, but basketball reigned supreme as the real state religion. Even churches field teams, but at their own peril, for a defeat on the court could have serious theological consequences: "St. Mary?s 55 ? First Methodist 49, Meatless Fridays Commence for Methodists on March 1"