CHAPTER 23

I was getting things done because I knew how to speak and to whom to say it to, but no matter how proficient one is at the trade he still has to rely on the English tongue, and that is where my next tale caused me a great deal of bewilderment. I was sitting in the recreation office listening to the latest gossip of the outside world as recanted by the healthy volunteers, but laughing to myself about how they in their small world could exaggerate the importance of petty things when one of the professionals from that service walked in and said, “Does anyone here speak Chinese?” For that uncalled for utterance he received a bevy of nasty leers from those loquacious females, for they were positive that he was snidely referring to them. He paid no attention to the cats and repeated his poorly timed phrase.
Seeing that no one was paying him any serious heed be then added; “Surely there’s someone here who knows somebody who speaks Chinese? There’s a sick Chinaman on the Medical Ward, and he can’t utter a word of English.” This left him open to catcalls, but he insisted that it was true though we all knew that a man couldn’t pass through the service to become a veteran without knowing the language even if the government has to teach it to him. We were in no position to solve the mystery, but one woman came up with a suggestion, and I think that it was to raid the chow mein house on Kingsbridge Road for one of its waiters to assist the medical doctors.
Chow mein is food, and food has to pass through my esophagus for me to digest it, so back to Presbyterian I went for another treatment. I didn’t know it until after the dilation that day, but the superintendent had decided that he had tolerated Uncle Sam’s cheapness long enough. For someone to call Uncle Sam a cheapskate was indeed a rare thing, and though I was the basis of his complaint I was forced to agree with him; but reluctantly. I went to the superintendent’s office to learn why he had decided on my sudden change in status, and received this story from his lips. The government was paying the maximum clinic fee for my visit, but that was exactly two dollars and fifty cents. He was tired of the Veteran’s Administration taking advantage of a charity clinic, and denying a qualified specialist his justified fee. From then on if I were going to be treated by any of his doctors he would have to treat me as a private patient at full fees, and he was positive that the charitable Uncle Sam who was in the habit of giving away millions could well afford it. There was no recourse from his decision, and though neither the Veteran’s Administration nor I was too happy about it; we had to abide by it.
Doctor Hennig who was giving me my treatments was never one to make too much ceremony about a dilation, and the following week he walked into my room at the Bronx and said, “Get ready, I’ll be back in fifteen minutes; just as soon as I set up your routine with your doctor.” Some of the boys who had been sitting around got an eyeful of what was happening; leaving their curiosity to make them assemble at the doorway and to make them ask questions while they watched. Dewey Craig the colored boy who slept in the bed to my right was a little dubious about coming into the room, for before Doctor Hennig had left he placed his instruments on Dewey’s bed. He also was curious, but started to sicken as he listened to my explanation of, “Why this,” and what they were all about to witness.
Doctor Hennig kept his appointment, and with the joking air that he used to try to keep my morale up gave me my treatment. With the sight of that long snake coming out of its case and heading toward my mouth Dewey almost threw up as he made a mad dash to escape through the crowd of onlookers at the door. Doctor Hennig became quite amused at his actions, and came prepared the following week to tease him about them. Dewey was one up on him, for fifteen minutes before zero hour on the following Monday he prevented a repeat performance by being nowhere to be found
Dewey may have rolled from the ward in a hurry because of Doctor Hennig’s actions, but I found a better reason for doing the same. Ironically a pretty nurse had been assigned to the psychiatric service on the second floor, and feeling that an injustice had been committed by placing her on the ward with crazy people instead of ours I would occasionally go to her office to try to talk her into asking for a transfer to our ward. Having nothing better to do one evening I made another one of my usual treks to her ward knowing that she would say no to my request, but at least I was in for a few moments of more palatable companionship than that provided by being in an all-male environment. I had just about reached her ward when I spotted her working in the linen closet, which was just outside of it.
Seeing that my quarry was alone, and that I could converse with her without being interrupted by one of the nuts I rolled into it. Spotting me, she waved her left hand at me and said, “You’re just in time to take a good look.” She had what every girl dreams of on her hand; an engagement ring. After the necessary congratulations I asked, “How do you expect to keep yourself for your husband if you work all alone in this closet with all those nuts marching by?” She flippantly replied, “Oh, they won’t bother me.” To that I quickly answered with a backhanded compliment and said, “If what you say is true, and after taking one look at you then all that I can add is; now I know why they lock them up at night, and call them mental cases.”
The paraplegics may have been a little cruel in so loosely calling these nervous people nuts, for sometimes our own antics could have caused others to think the same of us. It was right after the sick room was moved to the room across the hall, which had a balcony that the boys found and adopted a new plaything. It must have been the fresh air that came in through the balcony’s open doors that stimulated the guys, and projected them into their second childhood. I’m not too certain as to who started it, but the order of the day soon became water pistols, and whether he could afford it or not each member of that happy group found himself forced to buy one. Water pistol duels flared up all over the place, and no one was excused from the fray or permitted to call himself a conscientious objector.
Quite to the contrary those who had first objected to being innocently drawn into the conflict decided that there was no sense in partaking even in a watery holocaust unless it were to win, and so they set their mischievous minds to work. With a touch of American ingenuity they started to improvise, and created heavy artillery by using syringes. A shot from one of those was good for twenty feet, and the starters of this bedroom war soon found themselves begging for mercy and peace. Peace was not possible, for none of the inventors wanted the effect of his new secret weapons to go to waste. As a compromise or perhaps as the first display of common sense it was decided that peace could be achieved by finding better and more interesting targets. Their new plan was really a repeat of an ancient and true one, for it was decided to concentrate all forces on the nurses’ behinds. As the boys weren’t putting any dyes or coloring into their ammunition the girls did nothing but scream and giggle when they were hit. Those extra feminine noises were enough to attract the doctors’ attention, and they immediately decided to put a damper on the very wet activities. It was kind of sad to call an end to the festivities, for with their shooting irons at their sides the boys had rather enjoyed playing at being wheel chair cowboys.
It was rather hard to understand why the doctors should have been so disturbed by our harmless whimsies; after all the manager was an expert at displaying them, and he was a doctor. Someone called it whimsy, but many more termed it graft or a similar name, for that is what it really appeared to be. He went on a construction binge, and someone might think that I was annoyed at his ideas only because they forced me to give up my private room, but I always prided myself in being a builder not a waster, I might be wrong, but to me a construction project whether large or small must serve a utilitarian need. This manager’s idea of usefulness was a million miles from mine.
As far as my doctors were concerned the only thing that I could do well was to heal, but strangely enough they had to agree when I said that the manager was a wastrel. For a reason which is still a mystery he had the post engineers rip up a dearly needed private room, and in its place erected a new nurses’ office, which was at least three times the size of the original one. To say nothing of the destruction of the very needed space; the taking away of the private room was an unwarranted punishment inflicted on the patients, for if one of them should as paraplegics’ luck runs become seriously ill there would be no place to give him the quiet that a private room affords. That was to say nothing of the handicaps which it imposed on our ward doctors, for if they were to render him any decent care they had to consequently find themselves running to whatever ward they were forced to transfer him to. It was a real effort to live up to that wonderful goal which General Bradley had set, “A medical program for the disabled veteran which was second to none.”
While we and our doctors were trying to live up to an ideal, and it was a tough campaign, there were others in the hospital who were just living it up. At first they concentrated on sports, and under the watchful but not too fatherly guidance of the sports director of the recreation department the student dietitians were formed into a team to meet the lady members of the fifty-two association in a sort of softball match. It was an annual event, and those of us who had seen the first game made it a point to tell our friends not to miss the following year’s meet. We also took our own advice and with good reason. None of us went to see the game with ball playing in mind; we simply wanted to watch the young dietitians wiggle their behinds as they romped to first and perhaps to second after accidentally connecting with a pitch for a hit.
For those of us who were in a somber mood and not at the moment interested in sex there was oscillating movement of the elderly ladies who made up the opposing team, and who glided around the bases like baby elephants. The trouble with these games as with all good sources of amusement is that there is a time limit which in this case was imposed by the summer’s setting sun, for the girls could only play after their work had been finished. The two or three hours spent at the game was enough for the matronly women of that volunteer organization, but to the youngsters they were nothing more than a preparation to going out and having a good time that night.
I wasn’t aware of what these girls had in mind, but that evening as I rolled in at a few minutes to midnight after a pass I heard something feminine whistling at me. Quickly turning a little bit and slightly stunned I spotted two of the winning team standing there, and still in their abbreviated sports costumes. I guess that the reason they didn’t change after the game was that they were so drunk that if they took off their sporting attire they probably would have forgotten to put on a dress.
As clothes make the man as well as the ladies there is the tale of the elderly colored chap who was terribly fond of uniforms. His favorite and with great justification was his American Legion uniform which he wore at the least provocation. It caused no one to turn his head when he rolled by all dressed up; though some could be heard to snidely say, “Where is the Vet going now?” The term Vet could not be applied lightly when used for him, for though he was not a professional in the literal sense of the word he was up to his neck in veterans’ affairs and activities. He even publicized this interest, and perhaps infringed upon the Veteran’s Administration’s contact man’s duties by advertising in the hospital newspaper that he was available to any and all who wished or needed guidance in their dealings with the government. We were never quite certain that he could actually help himself, but shied away from teasing him, for we knew that his reply would be a long winded and useless dissertation about nothing.
While others looked forward to receiving a phone call from a tender hearted but not blooded female he would anxiously anticipate being phoned by one of the many veteran’s associations to which he was affiliated. Chancing to be sitting by the phone as it rang I picked it up and playfully said, “City Morgue,” to which a voice replied, “Is Comrade Clark there?” At first I thought that he was trying to go me one better, but then I realized that the call had to be coming from a Legionnaire. I rolled into the recipient’s room and yelled, “Comrade Clark; Moscow is calling.” I know that he was not too happy about this, for he didn’t bother to thank me as he rolled to the phone; soon after and certainly not because of me the Legion dropped this form of salutation for its members.
Our interest couldn’t stay forever on that Legionnaire, and we promptly turned our thoughts to where they belonged; concentrating on the female gender. There was a sweet thing who though she was skinny was also pretty. Strangely enough despite her having a face that would aid her in getting away with murder by just smiling she was a good nurse. She was the type of dedicated person who didn’t think anything of knocking on a latrine door, saying cover up, I’m coming in, and then without being bothered or concerned whether or not you listened to her would go right in, and dispense whatever medicine she was bringing and then leave. This proficient combination was making plans for her forthcoming wedding, and couldn’t help but to let her excitement, anxiety, and feminine emotions escape her by expressing them to the boys.
It was then that the patients jumped at her with all kinds of offers and advice. Without the mentioning of a fee they were willing to teach her the facts of life, so that she would not be totally unprepared for her wedding night. The older the paraplegic the more lucrative and complete was his proposition. What the doctors were up to was anybody’s guess, for they weren’t beyond forgetting to let their professional standing place itself in the way of a little extracurricular activity. I don’t know what her answer was to these many altruistic offers, but the one thing of which I’m certain is that she didn’t bother to respond to mine. She like the many other nurses who preferred marriage to the misery of nursing left with a joyous farewell party, and in a blaze of presents.
We all wished that girl well along with the best of everything, but we knew in our hearts that she wouldn’t stay on our service too long after returning from her honeymoon, for sooner or later she would become pregnant, and we would be sorry at having given her such an excellent send off. We had to without being jealous feel sadly for ourselves, for we needed her excellent type of nursing, and a cruel winter snow just came along to amplify the point. Technically and according to the calendar it was spring, but to us it was just another March. With it came a spate of civil service workers taking advantage of their special privileges. They either called in sick, or took an unwarranted day of annual leave. Someone goofed that night, for before it was finally realized the midnight crew took advantage of the storm whether justified or not and stood out.
In an effort to maintain a norm of care it was decided to address the staff over the public address system to ask for volunteers to stay overtime and work the midnight shift. That was the proper thing to do in such an emergency, but as they were government employees it was done as it can only be done in the government; the wrong way. The broadcast went out five minutes after midnight. It was not only too late; it was asinine. Those who had been working the evening shift were well aware of the storm, and excused themselves a half hour early, so that they could have that much more time to fight the storm on their way home. To rub salt on the wound that blizzard didn’t reach full strength until the following noon, and that was when my dilation was supposed to take place. Doctor Hennig was a Jerseyite, but even the Hippocratic oath wasn’t going to bring him across the Hudson River in that blizzard.
The fact that it was snowing outside was no deterrent to the appetites of my hecklers, and as they passed my door on the way to the mess hall they were still prepared to jeer my dilation only to find that there was none to be seen. This didn’t force them to break their conditioned reflex of going to the mess hall though the weather had taken its toll of chef’s and table waiters. They returned none too happy because of the weather-beaten bill of fare they had been forced to devour like pigs, and so they looked for a scapegoat. That is where the biggest enigma presented itself, for despite the weatherman’s cruelty and poor sense of fair play those sad people managed to lay their hands on an over plentiful supply of beer and spirits.
Alcoholic beverages affect different people differently, but the standard effect on a little mustached bald-headed fellow from Pennsylvania was to multiply the rate at which he wagged his loquacious and pornographic tongue. Whether we liked it our not we were forced to accept lessons on how to drive a truck, and what was the proper way to get along with those sons of bitches State Policemen. His stories may have been interesting at one time, but he managed to find enough of the firewater in fair weather to have caused these lectures to become hackneyed. One thing which can be said about his obtaining whiskey, and that is it was a very loud tribute to the ingenuity of a very paralyzed paraplegic.
Despite all the sad and humorous events which the storm had brought about there was one staff member who showed up for his tour of duty though we considered him less important than a lowly porter to the welfare of the hospital and its patients. He was a clinical psychologist who had received a grant from the Sage Foundation to come into Kingsbridge to study the pain of paraplegics. He to say the least was not much to look at; giving the appearance of a henpecked husband. His paunchy belly combined with his horn rimmed glasses and half bald head led the boys to make all sorts of remarks about the sawed off joker who wasn’t even a doctor, but who was trying to study something that even the doctors didn’t understand. His little question and answer sessions weren’t compulsory, but idle curiosity more than common sense led many of us to attend them.
As an added incentive he had a homely old maid as an assistant. She kept the boys from rolling off by bringing their favorite subject “sex” to each meeting. With no formal assembly hall to gather in we used our day room which was convenient for our interrogators, for it was a very simple matter to place a tape recorder on the pool table to transcribe what we all said as we sat around it. The thrill of the ugly old lady and her dirty jokes quickly wore off, and the size of the gatherings dropped with it. Our Casper Milquetoast of a psychologist soon left, and went off to Harvard University to become a research assistant. About a year later as we picked up our morning papers we were treated to the surprise of our lives. There was our little timid soul of a psychologist’s picture, and below it was a caption: “Ex-Red Aide Indicted in Spy Probe.” Mark Zborowski was more interested in national defense secrets than the pains of paraplegics.
That small bombshell combined with having the name of the hospital in all the papers gave us a much needed shot in the arm recreation wise with everyone accusing everybody else of being in cahoots with the spy just for kicks. The doctors even let down their professional guards for a short while to join the torrid conversation, but their reserve soon overtook them, and back into the old rut we went. One of them started off by going up to Artie White and saying, “We’re going to operate on you next week, so you might as well go home on a weekend pass.” Into his civvies and down to his car Artie quickly went, for he knew that it was to be the last pass for many a weekend. Not wishing to tax the privilege he returned Sunday night an hour before curfew. Rolling onto the ward he received the usual pre-operative congratulations from the boys such as: “Did you do a good job of loving up your wife? It’s the last she’s going to have for a long time. How about your will, fella; don’t you think that you ought to include us in it? Here comes the lucky boy; did you know that the barber was looking for you to give you a shave?” (Pre-operative preparation), and many other assorted jibes.
With that the nurse walked over, and said as she handed him a urine specimen canister. “Here fill this; you’re scheduled for tomorrow.” He snapped back, “O.K., but why didn’t someone tell me it was for Monday?” She pushed him towards the latrine and said, “We didn’t want you to bother your mind about it.” He was hardened like the rest of us to the periodic trips to the operating room, so he smilingly added that since they hadn’t given him a chance to burden his mind about it he wasn’t going to let his family worry about it either. He wasn’t going to bother it by notifying it until the operation was successfully over.
While we like Artie were almost hardened to paraplegia and the hell which it makes out of an individual’s life, we were always lending our hearts out to the next victim of this cruel world who joined our club. The papers carried the story of a policeman in Jersey City who was cleaning his gun in his apartment during off duty hours, and though he had been trained to know better he forgot to unload it before starting his chore. He was doing an excellent job when it inadvertently went off, and the bullet crashed through the wall into the bathroom of the apartment next door. He had no way of realizing it, but he found out when he heard the screams that there was a twelve year old girl taking a bath in its tub at the time.
Being a public defender he naturally went to her aid. Police training may be rigorous, but the first aid which is taught in the manual never covered situations like this one. The best that he could do was to have an ambulance dispatched which took her to the hospital. It was there that he learned of the enormity of the hurt which his carelessness had caused to this young girl, but again it was a case of being sorry too late. Nailing anyone to the cross that is paraplegia is a cruel enough punishment for whatever sins a person may have committed at any age, but to have sentenced that youngster so early in life to invalidism was to force her to face the prodigious psychological adjustment that we all must that much earlier.
The boys during their customary bull session said that only the best people from the finest families in the world could join the very select club which is paraplegia. Though to the passer-by this sounds like idle talk which we think of to bolster our morale there can strangely enough be found a bit of ironic truth to it. We have but to look around the hospital to see the patients with not one single imperfection in their physiques only to realize that we in our wheelchairs and despite our infirmities next to them are giants. During one of my sorties to the other wards to seek out some sorely needed recreation I struck up a conversation with a medical patient who impressed me with his keen sense of humor. I tarried awhile to be amused by his idle chatter when to my bitter annoyance he suddenly changed his story, and started speaking of the psychiatric problem which he was positive that he had. At first I thought he was teasing, but he went on to add that the doctors were thinking of transferring him to a locked ward as he was displaying suicidal tendencies.
Were I to question him about it he would reply that he didn’t know what the transfer date was supposed to be, but he hoped that it would be soon, for he was growing more positive every day that his suppressed desire was about to overtake him. Like any lay visitors to a hospital we assured him there was nothing to worry about. Before leaving we added that he’d have the silly notion out of his head in a couple of days. We had no way of knowing how accurate our prognosis was going to be, but the next afternoon we learned that our crystal ball gazing had been perfect. The perplexing problem which had been his was no longer idle talk, for he had sneaked off to an untraveled corner on the top floor of the building and swallowed down a pocketful of sleeping pills which he had been furtively hoarding from the ones which had been given to him as bedtime medications.
His death couldn’t have caused more than a ripple amongst the patients, but the doctors and the nurses were annoyed to say the least. I was never able to prove whether they were more irked by the successful way in which he had carried out his promise to take his life, or by the tremendous amount of paper work that it had created for them. The adroitness with which Joe followed through his scheme made me wonder that perhaps in the interests of my well-being and not in the jocular tone with which it had originated to say to my ward physician, “Doc; you don’t know me, but I’m one of your patients.” That rolled off his back the way money does from drunks, but he was prepared to strike back for his profession at a moment’s notice.
There were an Italian boy and a colored boy who in the interests of better personal hygiene had spoken to him about receiving circumcisions, but for many annoying reasons their trips to the operating room had been cancelled. Knowing that the only guarantee for anyone paying any heed to them was for them to make themselves noticed, and very loud, so positive one day that they had him cornered; they again carefully threw their priority less question at the doctor. Though there was nothing well mannered about their method of approach he did not become annoyed. He looked at them, though to himself a bit, and then quipped, “How would it suit you gentlemen if I scheduled you two for the first of the year?” He by the way was the one who told me to fix the water fountain.
That colored boy was still convalescing from his big day in the operating room, and gracefully accepting the jibes that naturally came with it when I dropped into the sick room to see what they were watching on television. I hadn’t been viewing it but five or ten minutes when the story began to make me restless, and I started to roll from the room. Willie spotting me as I went past his bed shouted, “Where the hell are you going now; don’t you like our company?” Quickly I threw back at him, “The picture is no good; the story is incongruous.” That was all I had to say, for I suddenly discovered that I had opened up a Pandora’s box; with Willie starting it off by saying, “what’s the matter with you, Joe? Can’t you speak American?” The crowd chimed in, and I found a salvo of barbs being flung at me with such statements as, “What’s the matter, you a wise guy or something?” The mildest needle of all was, “You never learned such bad talk in the army.” The joke was on them, for I had been in the best educated infantry division with the bulk of its members being made up of youngsters who had either been drafted out of the army’s specialized training college program or pre-flight cadets from the Air Force.
The bulk of that howling mob most likely was very serious about the indignant attitude that it took towards my heterogeneous education, but I’m positive that Willie the instigator of all that noise was joking. The next time that I happened to meet the educational therapist he informed me during the course of our conversation that Willie Pierce had been having him come in regularly to tutor him for his high school equivalency diploma. The following time around Willie caught his share of hell from
yours truly though actually I take my hat off to any paraplegic who has the get up and go needed to finish his schooling in a wheelchair.
While he was following the very narrow path that though dimly lit and rarely traversed was supposed to lead to rehabilitation another one of the other boys was pursuing a well-blazed road at the local neighborhood tavern. He wasn’t the only one of the men to patronize that establishment, and several nights a week quite a few of the discharged patients drove in from various parts of suburban New York City to join him for the evening. It is an annoying and unjust thing about these little conclaves, but at practically every one which is held some prudish healthy character who happens to be walking by will glance in and than caustically remark to a friend or another passer-by at the top of her voice, “Isn’t it disgraceful how those cripples are permitted to go into such an awful place?” The remark that always sends her type running for shelter is, “Hell, lady, don’t let that bother you; we had plenty of experience with evil when we were shot up in the war.”
Fortunately there are but a few people who act and think as she does with the patrons as well as the management of the good saloon doing their best to let the boys know that they are welcome. Since the only difference between a bum and a gentleman is that a gentleman has a clean suit of clothes to put on in the morning the boys were able to relax, forget their hecklers, and enjoy themselves.
During one of the lighter moments of a well lubricated
evening a lad who has been following the well-beaten pathway to hell pulled a rather obese girl down onto his lap. She made a three point landing, but the trouble was the points were from the broken bones in his legs. Paraplegia causes the bones below the level of injury to be brittle, and the sudden placing of the weight of that little Amazon on his thighs was more than enough to make them smash. This little mishap occurred to his good fortune but a few blocks from the hospital, but it was many months before he was glad about having come there. He had to spend half a year on a Stryker frame to heel up his injuries, but it was his pride which took the real beating. All the time that he was on that Stryker we gave him an almost continuous lecture on the dangers of making love to and passes at extra fat females.
He was a happy soul when he was finally discharged and positive that he had us off his back, but I wasn’t able to say the same for myself. I had almost reached his lucky status of being at peace with the doctors, nurses, aides, and my fellow patients when the charge nurse informed me that the small capsules which had been especially ordered for me had been completely expended. Before I could add, “Why don’t you call the pharmacy for more?” she said that she already had and was told that its supply had not been received. I thought no more of it, and chanced taking one of the larger size capsules in place of the three smaller ones.
The capsule caused trouble as I had expected, and I complained to the doctor. He countered with a suggestion that I try some of the liquid suspension of the medicine, but that was too harsh. In a moment of weakness I offered to buy the capsules myself at a neighborhood pharmacy if he would only give me a prescription for them. This too he refused, and so in disgust I left the building to sit in the sun in the area behind the canteen. I hadn’t been there but a half hour when a friend of mine and I had many of them in the hospital walked by and said, “Your pills are in the pharmacy.” Without another word I went back to the ward to inform the nurse that my medicine had arrived, and asked if she would please call pharmacy for them. She did as I requested with the girl at the other end of the line informing her that it was not so.
I had a great deal of trust in my source, and without revealing it to the nurse proceeded as quickly as I could to the pharmacy itself. I approached the half open Dutch door of the pharmacy and sternly said, “I’m Joe Silver; I came for my medicine.” The secretary who obviously was the one who had answered the nurse’s call replied, “We can’t give them to you; have your nurse phone us.” I quickly snapped back, “She just did that, and someone lied to her, and said that they were not here.” She then went on, “Well; now you know that they are not here.” I threw quickly back at her, “You’re lying. I happen to know that they are.” With that a sloppy big bellied figure who also happened to be the chief pharmacist came over and said, “Listen, wise guy! They’re not here, and that doesn’t really matter, for I could have made them your size if I wanted to.” I shot back, “You don’t know me from Adam. I’ve never seen you before in my life. If you don’t come up with those pills I’m going to phone the Veterans’ Administrator, Mr. Whittier.”
Without any further word I headed back to the elevator, and to my room to pick up some change with which to make the call. As I rolled in I saw my father sitting by my bed, and decided that it would be wisest to be discreet, and not unnecessarily burden my Dad with my troubles about which he could do absolutely nothing. Temporarily forgetting my threat I relaxed, and started chatting with Pop. We hadn’t been at it for more than fifteen minutes when the charge nurse walked in and said with a knowing grin on her face, “Here are your capsules.” She had beaten me to the smile, but she must have known as I had that the fat slob in pharmacy was going to take no chances, and double-checked with my doctors to determine if there were any truth in my harsh words about telephoning his boss.
There was no profit for the phone company from me that day, but as far as the carrying of messages and handling of errands locally were concerned we all depended on good old reliable softhearted Harry Lundgren. To state that Harry was a sucker for everyone who was too lazy to do his own chores might be slightly unfair, for there were some who were quadriplegics or grounded, but the healthy folk who cluttered up the ward never felt backwards about yelling at the top of their voices whenever they needed something, “Harry!” He knew what he was in for, and though he knew better than to do it; he always responded with a loud yes. He even gave that same affirmative answer to the male gossips who found it their business to be bothered by his healthy appetite. Their favorite vitriolic remarks were always about the six eggs which he consumed at breakfast along with a dozen slices of bacon. The fact that he was up in his chair hours before breakfast and on his morning rounds delivering newspapers to every one of the two wards who wanted one didn’t seem to be enough of a reason in their small minds to merit his taking advantage of Uncle Sam’s chow.
Harry fortunately was a low level injury, and so able to keep his ever heavy schedule. His services were so taken for granted that despite the influx of Asiatic flu which had invaded the country finally reached New York City and our doctors having to isolate our ward to prevent us from also falling victims to the plague; it was decided by our little medical authorities to give Harry special dispensation in order that they too would be certain to receive their morning copies of the local tabloids. In all fairness I must admit that I too found occasion to take advantage of Harry’s generous heart, and found him to be a proficient and untiring worker when he graciously offered to aid me in the construction of my entries to the Labor Day carnivals, but he also shared in the prize money.
While Harry to say the least was the industrious type we to make the picture complete had a product from the other side of the mold. We also had as a member of our company a paraplegic who prided himself at being a playboy. Having been brought up by parents who could afford to and gave him the best he naturally was spoiled. All this didn’t harm his ego any, and the continuous over generosity of his well-meaning parents did nothing but to inflate it entirely out of proportion.
According to the rules paraplegia is supposed to rudely shock a person into waking up to reality, but as with other rules this too found a person who believed that it was written only to have someone break it. His wheel chair was no deterrent to him, and as soon as it was medically feasibly he made haste to return to the life which he loved so dearly, “Cafe Society.” Before entering the government hospital his not being a service connected hurt had forced him to seek shelter in a civilian institution, and with his stay there went a large proportion of his parents’ funds. He soon found that the only way in which he would be able to continue on his way of life with the nightclub set was if he were to become a partner in a nightclub, for that little visit with the civilian medical world had been a bitter financial lesson.
He still had to return to Kingsbridge for periodic checkups, and remembering the ever present lonely life the boys were leading he would bring some of his faster female friends along to cheer the fellows up. In keeping with this big-hearted spirit on one of these treks he brought to us a fairy and a prostitute. The two of them made a poetic picture as they lectured to the few of us who had assembled to hear them in the courtyard on the subject of sex. The talk soon became so torrid that our best drunks took an oath not to touch another drop, for they were positive that what they were seeing and hearing could have only been produced by the D.T.’s.