Christopher Carosa was born on the third floor of Mercy Hospital in Buffalo, New York on a hot summer morning in mid-July, 1960. Barely a Kindergartner, he and his younger brother produced a daily newspaper (for just one day, and mainly as an excuse to type on their mother's vintage typewriter). He conducted his first public reading in first grade at the age of six, where he read a story he wrote about "Herbie the Helicopter" (sort of like "the little train that could" except with rotors instead of wheels).
Later, as a teenage rebel who detested all things literature and English class, he once joined with a small band of classmates in tenth grade who refused a class assignment to read a novel and write an analysis of it. The teacher gave each of the renegade students a stern choice: "either do the assignment or write your own novel." While all his friends bowed to their instructor and did the assignment, Mr. Carosa held firm. He wrote his first novel "Armageddon" (a geo-political sci-fi epic set in the not-so-distant future). His teacher gave him an "A" and went so far as to suggest the budding scientist might have a dual career as a writer a la Isaac Asimov.
The young Carosa laughed at the suggestion, but remained a closet author, coming out rarely and when it was least expected. He agreed to serve as treasurer of his high school literary magazine Equinox, but only if the editors agreed to publish his sophomoric send-up of Star Trek. They reluctantly acceded to his demands. He went on to oversee a then record-breaking sale of the flimsy carbon-copy annual, mostly by offering to personally autograph every copy sold ("You never know," he told unsuspecting buyers, "I might be famous some day.")
Despite his best efforts, such as organizing a union of AP English Students (U.A.P.E.S.) and leading a "strike" where the entire class skipped one day, he passed his English classes. He found his antics fared no better in college, where his mocking essays failed to incite the professor, who instead enjoyed them for their "change of pace."
Now a full-fledged adult, Carosa began writing in earnest the last few weeks of his college career. With hours of computer time left in his account and his senior thesis complete, he spent his remaining time using an archaic word processor to create entertaining tidbits for his friends.
And that was it.
The author within him went into hiding. He still wrote, but no one knew. He accumulated pages and pages, then floppy disks and floppy disks and then finally hard drives full of creative content. Some of it will never see the light of day (and probably shouldn't). Some of it you see here and will continue to see.