In high school, we almost all had nicknames. Neither age nor gender exempted you from receiving one. "Ears" Evans was said to have flown before he walked. Our agriculture teacher "Peahead" Walker wore a size "5" hat, and he was also so short that he had to stand on a stool to artificially inseminate a cow. "Skinelope" Brown was a candidate for the first Weight Watchers poster girl. Our math teacher was a man by the name of Henry "Bawaak" Meyers. Henry got his name because he suffered from some type of chronic sinus condition which caused him to snort, cough, and gag about 500 times a day. In order to not make a distasteful situation worse, "Bawaak" kept a large roll of brown paper towels on his desk at all times. As in most math courses, the concept of the exponent came up. Between a couple of pretty gross episodes of gagging and spitting, "Bawaak" told us that while the exponent was the smallest of numbers, it was clearly the most powerful. His illustration of this principle ended with a question: "If I went out on the football field and rolled out this roll of paper towels and doubled it 50 times, how tall do you think it would be?" Our "over" was 3 feet. Bawaak's answer was 100 million miles. Just to be certain "Bawaak" was not hallucinating on cough syrup, "Slick" Stone and "Blue Goose" Moxley took the towels onto the field at recess and conducted an experiment. It was a futile exercise because they were only able to double the roll about a dozen times. However, "Physics" Parker, our class nerd, did his own calculations at home with the help of a ruler, a blue horse notebook, some pencils, about 10 cups of coffee, and, of course, a towel. After using up all his pencils and the entire notebook, his final number was past the sun just as it came up. "Bawaak" knew his math and his towels. We learned the power of the exponent.