CURSIVELY SPEAKING, it says a lot (I like football), especially if it's written on a blank, lineless piece of paper or card stock … 

     We had all been called to the assembly room. There were only about 120 students at the parochial high school where I attended.

     The rumor mill was bristling. When you hear it from three separate unimpeachable sources, it's got the ring of truth to it. Apparently someone had stolen something significant -- the police were here to investigate.s

     Solemnly, our principal, Eric Bekowies, stood behind the podium as students filed in, taking their seats. At his direction, blank three-by-five cards and pencils were being distributed.

     "Please sign your name on the card and pass it to the nearest aisle," he said. Then he just stood there until his orders had been fully carried out.

     Seemed like an odd request.

     After the cards were collected, he took them from the two faculty ushers. Squaring them up, he turned and nodded to the stranger who, up to this point, had been sitting quietly on stage behind him.

     As the gentleman approached, Bekowies said, "This is Sergeant Williams. He's a handwriting expert shared by several departments in this area. By analyzing the handwriting you've just submitted, he assures me he can identify the culprit or culprits guilty of committing the crime, which we don't need to go into detail at this time. Be patient. This could take awhile."

     With that, he handed the first card to the analyst.

     After studying it for ten seconds or so, Williams said, "This person has the ability to maintain order among his fellow students. He's not the one we're looking for, but he'd make a fine sergeant-at-arms."

     Murmurings among the students could be heard.

     "Who?"

     "Sergeant-at-arms?"

     "Huh?"

     As if this disruption caught his attention, Williams paused midway through taking the next card from our principal, who was still standing by his side. He turned with a questioning look toward Bekowies, who quietly, but loud enough for most of us to hear, said, "I see no harm in divulging the name of this person."

     Turning back to the students, Williams simply said, "Johnny Taylor."

     The next signatory, according to Williams, had exceptional skills documenting conversations and events surrounding herself. "She might," Williams predicted," make a good secretary -- Janet Kaufman."

     It soon became apparent this whole charade was a ruse -- orchestrated by the seniors -- as a novel approach to announcing their slate of officers for the year. At the conclusion of the presentation, our principal explained that Williams had not, in fact, looked at any of our signatures,. He insisted on having the names that he read typed -- so as not to impugn his credentials as a professional handwriting analyst.

     "Do someone for real!" demanded the students.

     Bekowies looked at Williams.

     Williams shrugged in reluctant surrender.

     Leafing through the original stack of signatures, our principal stopped midway, a gratifying grin forming on his face. Looking as if he'd just discovered the lost chord, he handed Williams a card.

     The crowd got deathly silent.

     After a moment's reflection, Williams began, "This person is quite talented -- probably excels in musical endeavors. Can, at times, be little pushy."

     Students started scanning students, trying to pinpoint the name on the card.

     "Thinks rather highly of himself."

     With each attribute, the choices diminished.

     "Has an ego sufficient to take over when Johnny Carson retires from The Tonight Show."

     That did it -- all eyes were now focused on my brother!

     Turning back to the principal, judging by his expression and body language, Williams was asking if he should read the name. Bekowies expressionlessly gave a subtle nod.

     "Ron Ruskjer."

     As they say, the crowd went wild! The description fit him to a T!

* * *

     I never forgot that demonstration. 

     Several years later, a stranger comes into my type shop needing something set. It's a small matter. After I hand the job to my typesetter, this man hands me a blank piece of paper and a pen and asks me to write the phrase: I like football in cursive, then sign my name.

     I look at him quizzically. It seems harmless enough.

     "Try it! You'll like it!" he exaggerates the then popular ad slogan.

     I comply, then hand it back to him. He studies the sheet, then proceeds to describe me to a T -- in considerably more detail than my brother's reading.

     Somewhat amazed, I ask, "How'd you do that?!"

     "It's not comprehensive," he demurs. "With such a small sample, it's probably only about 85 percent accurate. Still, I like football encapsulates most of the indicators distilled from hundreds of thousands of samples. It's really reverse engineering.

     "Say you get to know 100 people rather well. Through various tests and just plain exposure to them, you document their individual character traits. Then you have each of them write this phrase and sign their names.

     "You could then sort the cards by known traits. Say your first sort separated the cards into two piles: forward thinkers in one stack, reminiscers in the other. Now check the first stack. You might find that almost all of them dot their i's in the word like, to the right -- like you did, see? Reminiscers dot theirs to the left."

     "So that's why the word like is in there?"

     "That's one reason."

     "What else?"

     "OK, people who are fastidious about finishing what they start almost always complete their a's and o's. Those who don't, tend to abandon things right before they've completed their tasks."

     I nod for him to continue.

     "The slope of the phrase I like football, as it relates to the card itself, tells me you're an optimist -- yours slants up. That's verified by the slope of your T-bar as well."

     "T-bar?"

     "You know, the horizontal component of the letter t -- the line you make when you cross your t's."

     He's on a roll now.

     "There are two sets of double letters in the word football. If they look identical -- like they were made with a cookie cutter -- you're predictable, quite possibly boring. Yours aren't, which tells me you tend to be spontaneous, creative.

     "Oh, and I might add, you don't carry a grudge for more than a minute or two."

     "How's that?"

     "Look at how you ended the e in like. Yours swings back up, almost as high as the rest of the e. If you see someone's shoot straight down, watch out! They can carry a grudge for months! Sometimes years …"

     "You're kidding --"

     "Of all the indicators, that's one of the most reliable."

     "What else?"

     "See how you crossed your t in football. That's normal -- normal for the height of your t."

     "Yeah. So?"

     "It's like the opposite of a fuse in a stick of dynamite. The longer it is -- that is, the more drawn out it is to the right of the vertical component, especially if you sink your pen deep into the paper when you cross it -- the shorter your fuse."

     "Is that it?"

     "You're smart."

     "Why, because I asked you if that was it?"

     "No. Look at your ascenders --"

     "My what?"

     "Those loops that go above the height of letters like e and o. Check out your l's, b's, and k's in like and football. Normal intelligence is the same height above letters like e as the height of the e itself. Maybe a better way to say that is it's the part of an h that goes above the n part of that same h. Yours go way higher than that. 

     "And you're not given to rapid mood swings."

     "Yeah?"

     "Ascenders again. Yours are all parallel. When they're not --

     "While we're on the subject of loops, your sample says you're pretty easy to get to know. Your upper loops or ascenders told me that as well. See how there's good separation from one side of the loop to the other? You'll see some loops that are completely closed -- almost as if they just drew a straight line up. These folks play things close to the chest. They're not easy to really get to know. You have to earn their trust. In your case, you start off trusting complete strangers like me. I'd have to demonstrate to you that I'm not trustworthy before you'd change your mind."

     "How about the loops on the bottom?"

     "The descenders? Glad you asked. Yours tell me you've got a big heart, and you have nothing to hide. When these close down, it's an indication that you have things you're not going to share with anyone -- ever."

     "Even if you're easy to get to know?"

     "Not even then."

     "So what's with the signature?"

     "What we've been talking about so far is your public persona -- how you subconsciously wish others to perceive you -- or at least how you portray yourself to those around you. Your signature tells me what's going on inside you."

     "Like what, for instance?"

     "Everything we've seen so far applies to your public persona. If it also shows up in your signature, that's personal. 

     "Here size matters. If your signature is big and bold, it means you're more or less happy with yourself. If it's tiny or jumbled, it's kind of like a snapshot of your self-image.

     "Before Waterloo, Napoleon's signature took up almost a third of a page!"

     "And after?"

     "It was so small, the letters looked like they were stacked up on top of each other, all smooshed together. It was virtually unreadable.

     "Then there's flourishes -- particularly on the leading letters of your first and last name. But also on the end of your last name. The more flourish, the bigger the ego. That's not necessarily a bad thing. I could just as easily have said, more flourish, more self-confidence. Somewhere to the right of confidence on the same continuum you hit egomaniac."

     "Where'd you learn all this stuff?"

     "I took a correspondence course -- $5,000. I have the main text in the car if you'd like to take a look at it."

     "Are you serious? $5,000? That's a lot of money!"

     "I'm in sales. You'd be surprised how helpful it is to be able to walk into a prospect's office for the first time, glance at a note or memo in progress that's out in the open or a calendar entry on the wall, and know immediately what type of person you're dealing with.

     "Is he honest? 

     "Does he like to be in control? 

     "Is she reserved? 

     "Will this person try to screw me over?"

     "Yeah. I think I'd like to take a look at that material," I say. "That is, if you don't mind."

     "No trouble at all," he says as he heads out the door. Coming back in, he carries a book the size of a Random House Unabridged Dictionary. "I've got another job I'll need you to do in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, knock yourself out.

     "What do I owe you?" he asks, seeing his job through our see-through envelopes.

     "On the house," I say, glancing at his $5,000 text, "but you prob'ly already knew that."

     He winks as he heads out.