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The Battle Your Teachers Fought For You
Clem Greenberg is chainsmoking, but more nervously than usual. He has just punched out a long-haired conceptualist, in the best Cedar Tavern tradition. The young man lies on the ground, groaning.
Other conceptualists arrive. "What did you do to him, man?"
"I said his work was minuh," which is how Clem pronounced "minor." "He hit me, I hit him back, and there he lies, the putz."
"'Minuh'? What are you, the Rule Man?" one of the kids asks.
"No, that's your projection. I just interpret; I've been doing it since the '30s. I can't be blamed for having a cult. Artists won't leave me alone."
"Rule Man! Rule Man!" one of the kids screams. A group of them are now standing around Clem in a menacing circle.
"Will you shut up with that, already? What I do is describe, not prescribe."
"You know who you are, you fascist? You're Nixon, man!"
"NIX-on! NIX-on!" the group chants.
Someone whips out a knife. The kids converge on him. Clem goes down fighting, but he never gets up.