At hated Hillhouse High School in New Haven I had a demented English teacher, Bertha K. Frehse. Her last name was pronounced "frazy" and she was known by generations of students as "crazy frazy."
Among other nuttiness, she purred like a cat, made us talk to and wave at a tree, poked pins in students and worshiped Elvis.
She often ambushed students entering her classroom with such commands as: "write ten beautiful words," “write 200 words about tobogganing,” “explain why striped cats are superior to spotted dogs” or “list 500 reasons why Elvis should be president.” [There's more about the Crazy Cat Woman in my memoir, Stories I'd Tell My Children (But Maybe Not Until They're Adults).]
In my first days after college I lived in a YMCA in Manhattan while working as a low-paid magazine editor. I was able to get a rent reduction at the "Y" in exchange for writing a convincing fundraising letter. Later I became an advertising copywriter. My specialty was hi-fi, but I also wrote ads for food, cars, floor covering and even women's bathing suits.