VOL. XVII, NO. 6
DECEMBER 19, 1975
A Cool Yule, Fonzarelli Style
By KATHY KENNEDY
'Twas the night before Christ mas, when all through the school
Not a student was listening to one single rule.
The party was swinging in the cafeteria with dare;
They hoped that the cops would not soon get there.
When out in the front there arose such a clatter,
We ran from the juke box to see what was the matter.
When what to our wandering eyes should appear,
But our old pal Fonzie with a little Yule cheer.
With his little old Honda so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment that he'd cut out with a chick.
He was dressed the coolest, from his head to his toe.
His jacket was leather, black and shiny for show.
He showed a trim bod as he sucked in his belly,
And his hair was greased back with petroleum jelly.
Then more rapid than the track team the deans they came,
And Fonzie whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Engen! Now, Jurinek! Now, Jones! Now, Mr. Ben!
You gotta be cool; I'm saying again!"
"Arthur," said Mr. Ben, "this is against regulation.
Move that bike out of here, lest I call the station!'
Our hero spoke not a word, but dashed straight to his hog,
Revved up the motor and left the crowd in a fog.
Around the rotunda and over the pool,
He led a mad chase throughout the school.
Down through the halls the counselors they scampered,
Fonz got the idea he wouldn't be pampered.
From the top of the stage down to the track,
He left a black trail and never looked back.
He lost not his cool as his bike coughed and sputtered,
"Oh, wow, out of gas, out of gas," he muttered.
He knew he was done when the bike wouldn't go.
"Arthur," they said. "Head straight for the P.O."
Though the Fonz was mad and was ready to tear,
He ran his comb through his greasy black hair.
We laughed when we saw him, with no sign of tension,
But his chances were good for an in‑school suspension.
Well, the Fonz was detained now for a while,
But still he could mange to give us a smile.
I heard him exclaim, as he was led out of sight,
"Merry Christmas, you guys! It's been one heck of a night!"
'Twas the night before Christ mas, when all through the school
Not a student was listening to one single rule.
The party was swinging in the cafeteria with dare;
They hoped that the cops would not soon get there.
When out in the front there arose such a clatter,
We ran from the juke box to see what was the matter.
When what to our wandering eyes should appear,
But our old pal Fonzie with a little Yule cheer.
With his little old Honda so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment that he'd cut out with a chick.
He was dressed the coolest, from his head to his toe.
His jacket was leather, black and shiny for show.
He showed a trim bod as he sucked in his belly,
And his hair was greased back with petroleum jelly.
Then more rapid than the track team the deans they came,
And Fonzie whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Engen! Now, Jurinek! Now, Jones! Now, Mr. Ben!
You gotta be cool; I'm saying again!"
"Arthur," said Mr. Ben, "this is against regulation.
Move that bike out of here, lest I call the station!'
Our hero spoke not a word, but dashed straight to his hog,
Revved up the motor and left the crowd in a fog.
Around the rotunda and over the pool,
He led a mad chase throughout the school.
Down through the halls the counselors they scampered,
Fonz got the idea he wouldn't be pampered.
From the top of the stage down to the track,
He left a black trail and never looked back.
He lost not his cool as his bike coughed and sputtered,
"Oh, wow, out of gas, out of gas," he muttered.
He knew he was done when the bike wouldn't go.
"Arthur," they said. "Head straight for the P.O."
Though the Fonz was mad and was ready to tear,
He ran his comb through his greasy black hair.
We laughed when we saw him, with no sign of tension,
But his chances were good for an in‑school suspension.
Well, the Fonz was detained now for a while,
But still he could mange to give us a smile.
I heard him exclaim, as he was led out of sight,
"Merry Christmas, you guys! It's been one heck of a night!"