moment looking up at the plane forlornly as it taxied forward toward the runway. Meanwhile, Graham was being bundled into his seat and buckled into his seatbelt by the pretty flight attendant. It was only then that he remembered that he had not purchased a ticket, nor had he had a chance to say goodbye to Telly. He was seated alone by the window and quickly looked out to see if he could catch a glimpse of his friend. But it was too late; the plane was already at the end of the runway and several feet into the air with the countryside whizzing past and getting smaller and smaller as the plane quickly ascended.

The captain's voice came over the intercom loud and clear. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your captain speaking. We have departed Oz International Airport and will be cruising at twenty thousand feet. We should be arriving at our destination in about three hours. You may remove your seatbelts and make yourselves comfortable. Refreshments will be served shortly, and you may watch our in-flight movie if you wish."

Graham looked around to see who else was sharing his flight. He was astonished to see that there were no other passengers at all. Now he began to get frightened. Why would a great big airplane take off with no passengers except himself? And who was that captain addressing when he said "ladies and gentlemen"? He was beginning to feel that he had been caught up in an episode of Telly's Twilight Zone. Just then, he caught a glimpse of a portly gentleman approaching him from the front of the plane. He assumed there was another passenger after all, one who must have been sitting in the front seat, and too low for his head to be visible. However, as the gentleman approached closer to where Graham was seated, the boy became even more perplexed. The gentleman in question was none other than William Shakespeare! Oh, there was no mistaking such an historical figure. Graham had seen paintings and drawings of him many times. And his clothes and features were an exact replica of those portrayals. Not only that, but he was carrying a great big book entitled The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. Suddenly Graham flushed with embarrassment. How could he think for one moment that this was William Shakespeare? The fellow was obviously an actor, perhaps on his way home from making a movie and so late for his flight that he did not have time to change his clothes or remove his makeup. At that moment the gentleman spoke … "Good day, my dear fellow. My name is William Shakespeare. Do you mind if I sit here? The plane's rather crowded and I see that you have the whole aisle to yourself."

[Illustration]

"Okay! That's it," thought Graham. "The guy's a definite nut case. Must have escaped from the looney bin and somehow got to Oz. The plane's crowded indeed! He and I are the only passengers! Every single seat is empty." However, "Mr. Shakespeare" seated himself next to Graham without waiting for a reply. "I know that you don't believe I'm who I say I am," he said. "But I can assure you, I am he who is often referred to as The Bard of Avon. All I'd like you to do is to tell earth's disbelievers who don't accept that I wrote my works that I did indeed write them." Without waiting for Graham to respond, he then proceeded to break into verse in a gentle, melodic voice:

  "_I am he who wrote my verse,
  My dramas, sonnets, quibbles, rhyme,
  I'm Shakespeare still—dear England's Bard—
  And shall ever be, throughout time.

  I wrote, 'tis true, some sonnets, plays,
  To make a living, pass the time
  In merriment or jest and glee—
  I turned out many a ribaled rhyme.

  To set the world right,
  And make snivelers agree
  As to who wrote Shakespeare,
  If 'twere BACON or He,

  Or Marlowe or Pitt,
  Or scribes ages old,
  I say to them all—
  The truth is now told.

  When a man among kings (I was knighted by one)
  Where a handle or wheel makes a favorite son
  Distinguished through time for something he's done,
  For a knight in his day must his laurels have won.

  With a band of king's players by Bill Shakespeare led,
  I played many roles, e'en recalled the dead
  To piece out my plot or to string out my rhyme,
  Nor considered it theft, more an honor that time,
  To borrow a plot for a queen or a king,
  And watch their amuse as my poor muse would sing.
  So each time I needed a plot or a play
  I searched o'er the tomes where musty plots lay
  Bulging out with ideas from craniums dust,
  Whose shades may have helped as I now know and trust.
  But that any one man made a plot or a play,
  Or was such singled out as a ruse for my pay,
  I deny in fac toto in spirit this day.
  Should any man's play be found in my work,
  Which was not by me writ, 'tis a publisher's quirk;
  Which one day I'll acclaim; for I mean to read all
  As signed with my name_."

Young Graham was beyond words at this outpouring of verse. The mode of language was not something he could identify with in his everyday world, and it was quite beyond his level of comprehension. But he sensed this was no ordinary man in his presence. "Are you really William Shakespeare?" he ventured forth timidly. "And if you truly are, how could you still be alive hundreds of years after you were born?"

"Well, young one," smiled the Bard kindly, "that is a long story…Suffice to say I am here with you having this conversation. And look around you—many of the other passengers are people from your history books. We are en route to our home beyond the outer fringes of Oz. We are graduates of the University of Higher Consciousness, and we are on our way to Historicalfigureland. So much hatred exists in the world you come from, and where there is not exactly hatred per se, there is often indifference or even total apathy for the plight of others. And as if your world were not bad enough with the constant warring between nations, many individuals in so-called civilized lands feel the need to declare war on their neighbors. I am speaking of your young people killing each other for no other reason than that it has become the thing to do. What is so sad is that they totally lack remorse for their victims' pain and suffering and give not the slightest thought to the victims' families left behind in utter and complete desolation and sadness at their terrible loss. Our goal is to find a way to encourage people to reach out to one another—to care for one another. That is why we wrote our books and plays, to teach people what life be truly about."