So it goes.

Back in elementary school, we'd periodically get to order paperback books from Scholastic or some similar paperback book club. We were always excited on the day our books arrived -- we were on a first name basis with the UPS guy (Gus!) who delivered them, and we secretly felt sorry for those kids who didn't get any.

If we ordered enough books as a group, Scholastic (or whoever the company was) would throw in a few free books. Sometimes the freebies were pretty good; other times they were rather odd. In any case, our teacher would put the freebies on the shelf for anyone to read.

When I was in fifth grade, one of the freebies happened to be Slaughterhouse Five.

Now, keep in mind that this was a parochial school, where we had Bible study every day, tons of "memory work" (I can still recite entire Psalms and hymns and even a chapter or twelve from books of the Bible). Class sizes were small, and classrooms were shared by two grades.

So, one day while the teacher was out of the room, some of the naughtier sixth grade boys were huddled near the book shelf, whispering and giggling. Usually when they were doing this, a home-made stink bomb was on the verge of ignition, cleverly manufactured from a ballpoint pen, a farmer's match, and a bobby pin. This time, however, the wicked glee in their eyes was a little different.

One of them had Slaughterhouse Five open, and there was a page that contained reference to a photo of a naked woman, a Shetland pony, and something called deedle-balls. We snickered and then quickly stuffed the book back in the shelf before the teacher returned. If anyone (like our teacher, and hence, parents) ever found out about that book, it would surely be burned. And, we would surely spend eternity sizzling in Hell.

I suspect Slaughterhouse Five became the second-most read book in school that year, after the source of our memory work, of course.

The phrase, "So it goes," appeared in it often. It was used to downplay mortality in the story, in which Mr. Vonnegut had a knack for showing us how we turn the horrifying into the mundane.

A year later, I was scrounging for science fiction books at the public library. I was a geeky kid, and I'd read most of what the library contained already as far as sci fi (I was nearly bitch-slapped once, and corrected that it was properly called SF). I asked the librarian if she knew of anything else that I might like. She pointed me to something called Sirens of Titan. Hmmm...it had won a Hugo award.

I checked it out.

Sirens of Titan turned out to be nothing at all like Bradbury or Heinlein. But there were those Tralfamadorians that I'd read about in Slaughterhouse Five the previous year. Hmm.

I didn't revisit Mr. Vonnegut's writing again until I was 19. The object of my affections that summer was Tanqueray gin. My friends and I would play several hours of Ultimate Frisbee and then go drink Tanqueray & tonics on 2-for-1night for $1.10. One day, I stumbled across a copy of Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions at a rummage sale, and noticed that the title was a reference to a gin-based beverage. Awesome! I picked it up and took it home.

This time, Mr. Vonnegut's writing had a completely different effect on me. I sought out and read the rest of his output, and eagerly awaited his new novels as they arrived.

Mr. Vonnegut died Wednesday at age 84. He has been called the Mark Twain of our time. News of his death showed up in the "Entertainment" sections of many newspapers, while the death of Anna Nicole Smith made the front page.

So it goes.

My favorite short piece of his is available here.

Go read.