Or maybe he was just a lot of fun in a perverse way. He could out-curse them all, he had the dirtiest stories, he was a bully of sorts. An all-around pleasant dude for one like me.

But all bad things come to an end. Eugene had to leave our K-6 elementary school in Columbus, Ohio, and move on to Junior High. I moved up to 6th grade, trying my best to keep his legacy. Some of my foggy memories remind me that I was well on my way to doing this.

One day Eugene came back. For a visit, of course. He was bad, but not so bad that they'd put him back a grade. He had a day off and wanted to see the old cronies. I can see him now. Not a face, but at least a person. He's standing over on the steps of the new building, with a crowd of admirers circling him.

I flew across the playground, so thrilled to have Mr. Evil return. I had just learned a no-doubt filthy story, and I knew how to tell it. I burst into the circle, said my greetings, then launched into what I knew would get me a pat on the head.

Some of us live for that.

I didn't get very far. Eugene was startled, and immediately let me know that I was not to continue. I didn't get it.

"Bobby," said the king of dirt, "I can't listen to that stuff anymore. Jesus Christ has come into my heart. I'm different now."

See Bobby melt. See laughter disappear. See awe strike.

Eugene, a Christian. A goody-goody. A loser. I slowly faded away, as I realized the small group was gathered to hear him give his schpiel about Jesus. I wasn't interested. Not yet.