Three students turned in their homework, but only two of them signed their work, so the anonymous contributor misses out on the extra credit.
     A couple of weeks ago, readers were challenged to work out a solution to the following situation:

     For the final exam in a large lecture class at a large university, the professor distributes blank “blue books” to the students. She explains that anyone caught using a dictionary or any other aid, or anyone failing to turn in the examination book when she calls time will fail the class.
     At the end of the examination the professor sees a student copying information out of a dictionary. Worse, he continues to write after the final bell. The professor tells the offending student that he has violated the rules and has therefore flunked the class. The student’s reaction is: “Do you know who I am?” The professor says, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
     The anonymous contributor, along with Mary Lou Gurule ‘TYang and Lorenzo Marquez , each provided some insight into the case of the “Do You Know Who I Am?” scenario.
     First the unsigned letter: The writer, who hinted there might be some retribution should he or she sign the letter, created the scenario in which the obnoxious student, the son of a college official or regent, used his position to bully the professor. My students at the United World College as well as Luna Community College on different occasions offered conclusions to the scenario, most of which presented the student as being in a position to have the professor terminated for flunking him.
     Now surely there’s no student in Las Vegas with the temerity to call out the heavy-hitters!
     Gurule ‘TYang agrees that the professor did the right thing in responding, “I don’t know and I don’t care.” She points out that the student clearly was out of line in speaking to superciliously to the teacher.
     Enter Lorenzo Marquez, currently principal at Anton Chico School, recently at the Northeast Regional Center Cooperative, and formerly principal at Wagon Mound Public Schools. His experience in administering examinations is obvious.
     Let’s look at the question: Most people see an implied threat in the student’s question, as if “I’m such a big shot that you wouldn’t dare give me a failing grade.”
     Notice also the professor’s answer: “I don’t know and I don’t care.” To most people, she’s standing up to the student, implying, “Even if you’re the president’s son, you’ve flunked.”
     But—and here is where Marquez is absolutely right—the question is not in the least threatening; rather, it’s informational. The cheating student really needs to know if the professor can identify him. Why? What does he do if the professor says she does in fact know him?
     Marquez’ closure to the confrontation is, The student “bolts to the stack of blue books, slips his into the pile, and leaves quickly!”
     It looks as if our dictionary-using student is going to get away with it. Remember, he’s in a large lecture class in a large university, and the professor would have a difficult time trying to locate the student’s blue book in a sea of identical books.
    
     Here’s another extra-credit assignment:
     In the olden days, when people traveled by foot, a man was sent on an important mission to another town. He was told to ask directions when he got to a fork in the road, there being no road signs, maps or landmarks to guide him.
     The messenger was told he would meet two men at the fork: one of them always told the truth; the other always lied which was which. To make matters more difficult, the messenger was allowed to ask only one question of either man, but not of both. He spots the two men. What was the one question he could ask that would give him the information to go directly to his destination?
    
    And on the subject of extra credit, I got none for my attempt at mid-20th-century Las Vegas geography. An alert reader, Evelyn Harris, who says she is quite familiar with Old Town, said the drugstore that preceded the present Plaza Drugs was really known as Cokie’s, as in Cokie Romero. Delgado’s Drugstore, Harris says, was across the street, where a bank once stood and where the West Las Vegas School District now resides.