MASH Mania
Page 9
"Ayuh," Meanstreak said throughout the visit.
On Saturday morning Hawkeye and Mr. Claremont Morse drove down to Androscoggin for a college interview. "Remember, Mean, emphasize the football. What the hell. I been thinking, you got the insurance income, Evelyn'll have to work, but the kids can get scholarships. Maybe you can make a name in football, some medical school will take you on as some kind of late-blooming superachiever."
"Ayuh," said Mean.
The interview, described by Hawkeye that afternoon on the golf course, was interesting.
"I kept telling the big bastard, 'Look, I got this gook in my pocket. Just shut up, speak when spoken to, lay off the grunt jargon you don't know anything else but, there'll be no sweat.'
"So we go into Ho Jon's office and the first thing Mean does is practically crush his hand shaking it and say, 'Hi ya, Ho Jon, how be yuh?' and that christly Ho Jon says, 'Finest kind.' "
"Well," Hawk told us, "from then on I was out of it. Ho Jon had the football coach, what's his name, drop by, he took one look at Mean, he like to send out for a broad and a red convertible. He couldn't do that, but he popped for about a fin a year off the tuition, which is all they can do down there."
That summer Mean and his oldest boy, the one at the University of Maine, set out four hundred traps and hauled them together, both of them earning money for college and this and that. Jocko Allcock was all upset, claiming Mean was supposed to be disabled, but louder voices and stronger forces prevailed. All summer Susan and Claremont, Jr. (for this is his name) spent evenings tutoring their father in everything he'd never learned in high school. Evenings, Mean and his son would jog and work out with a football. They'd take turns centering the ball to Susan or Evelyn, and play man on man. Claremont, Jr., was scheduled to start at fullback for the University that year. Evelyn Morse, who'd been refreshing her typing and accounting skills, was suddenly employed as Spearchucker Jones's personal secretary. So, when September came, Daddy went to Androscoggin, Susan to Wellesley and Claremont to Maine. The three younger kids worked and played until Evelyn got home at night.
Nobody saw much of Meanstreak Morse that fall. Word from Ho Jon was that he studied all the time, and of course there was football, so he didn't get home weekends, except an occasional Sunday.
Football was not big at Androscoggin in those days, although backalong they'd been competitive with the Little Ivies, Amherst, Williams and Wesleyan. The '60 season was a turnabout for the Black Knights of the Androscoggin. They came into the final game against the University of Maine undefeated. The winner would win "The Maine Series," not earthshaking south of Kittery but very important here. Overall, the Androscoggins had a fair team, but their strength was their defense. At a time when two-platoon football hadn't reached Down East, the name of the defense was the Androscoggin center, and linebacker, Meanstreak Morse. Despite his age, he could still move in spurts, he'd been physical all his life and he was playing against kids much smaller and nowhere near as tough.
On the eve of the Maine-Androscoggin game, Hawkeye and I and Wooden Leg, Me Lay Marston, Jocko Allcock and others who'd played with or against Mean back in high school all went down to Androscoggin with our wives. Evelyn and the other kids came along. Susan came up from Wellesley. Mean had dinner with us at the Stowe House. Everyone except Mean, even his wife, had a few pops of this or that. After Evelyn's third drink (a personal record for her, her brother assured me) she bought up an issue that had been widely discussed in the newspapers but one none of us had wanted to mention.
Down at the State University in Orono, most of the ink had been going to the exploits of the sensational sophomore fullback, Claremont Morse, Jr., who'd averaged 150 yards rushing and had already broken all-time records. "Big, tough, aggressive," the papers said. "Great second effort. Smart, 6'2", 215, and still growing."
Into her third drink, in the dining room of the Stowe House, Evelyn Morse made her pronouncement, "Mean Morse, you listen to me. You hurt one hair of that child's head, don't you ever bother to come home. I'll never speak to you again."
No one laughed, at least aloud. Mean assured his wife that all would be well, then returned to his dormitory. The next day is history. Androscoggin 3; Maine 0. There was a picture in the Sunday Telegram showing Claremont Morse, Jr., pointing a finger at his father and remonstrating with one of the zebras. We were all certain that what Claremont was saying was, "That sonovahowah Morse has got a mean streak."
Maybe not a mean streak. But whatever it was that carried Mean through the South Pacific, winning medals, came out that afternoon. He was all over the place, and the little fellows on that Maine team couldn't protect their fullback from his father. Mean racked Claremont up at the Androscoggin 3 on the last play of the game. Before they got up he said, "Hey, boy, you want a be-ah."
"I sure do and you're buyin', you mean old sonovabitch."
Several of us waited outside the Androscoggin locker room while Mean showered. Jocko and Wooden Leg picked up Claremont and we all went to the Alumni House for the usual postgame talk and booze. As Mean walked in I noticed he was limping a little, hut he didn't seem to be in any great pain. He greeted Claremont and said, "Boy, we gonna have a few. Dry loo long." And they did. Evelyn, wife and mother, watched anxiously. Every now and then, despite growing anesthesia, she saw Mean wince and grimace in discomfort, if not pain. She found her employer and said, "Dr. Jones, will you keep an eye on Mean? I think he's hurt."
Mean and Claremont came home later that evening, both of them somewhat obtunded. Evelyn drove. "We're home," she announced to her sleeping beauties as she moored the pickup truck in the Morse front yard. Young Claremont rolled out first, but Mean, siting in the middle, just grunted. "What's wrong?" asked his son.
"I can't move. Back's gone again, Ev, honey, bring me my medicine."
Evelyn knew from previous experience the medicine required to get Mean out of the pickup. He needed a tall glass of Old Bantam, three ice cubes and three aspirin. She disapproved of this therapy, but what could she do? Fifteen minutes later, the Old Bantam and the aspirin working, Meanstreak crawled out of the cab painfully waddled into the kitchen, refilled his glass and struggled to his bed. Evelyn and Claremont help him undress and tucked him in.
"Serves you right, you mean old bastard," his son said, instead of, "Good night, Daddy."
In the morning Evelyn summoned Dr. Jones, who dropped by after golf to say, "Mean, you're scratched. Your football career is over. You'll get over this, but another season and you might wind up with some permanent damage. It's not worth it."
"Suits me," Mean grunted. "I had alla this I need Me'n the boys gotta haul traps next summer, pay for all the educations. Guess I'll save myself for that."
In early December of '61 the name Morse appeared prominently in the papers. Mean and Claremont, Jr., both received honorable mention for Little All American. Mean finished just behind his son in the annual vote for "Maine's outstanding scholar-athlete* This involved a banquet and, according to Hawkeys, "entirely too much publicity, because all they do is harp on how old he is. When we try to get him into med school, that ain't gonna help us any."
Relieved of athletic responsibility, Mean Morse hit the books harder than ever. Each summer he and the boys hauled four hundred traps. Despite the "disability" declared by Spearchucker, no one seemed to object, Economically, what with bright kids getting scholarships and Evelyn working, the Morses were better off than ever. Of course, Mean still had his bill a week from the insurance company.
In May of Mean's junior year, Ho Jon came down to Wawenock to play golf with his old friends from the 77th MASH. This was always a tense time. Ho Jon d first hit a golf ball with an old 8-iron Hawkeye ught to Korea. Twelve years later, he'd learned how to use other clubs and had a strong four handicap, Hawkeye, Duke, Trapper and Spearchucker varied from sixes to nines, but more often than not blew into the middle 80's. Ho Jon's visits to Wawenock invariably enriched him and caused Trapper John to characterize him as "probably
the foremost Korean golf hustler in the Pine Tree State."
"So what's new?" Hawkeye asked the guest over gin and tonic in the locker room after the game. "You wish news of Meanstreak?" Ho Jon asked. "If you insist."
"I got good news and bad news. Which you wanna
ear first?"
"The good news, I guess," said Spearchucker. "He made Junior Phi Bete."
"I'll be double dipped," marveled Hawkeye, who informed the group that he, while at Androscoggin, hadn't come within sight of this signal honor. There were so many exclamations of wonder and joy that Ho Jon had to remind his companions that there was bad news. "What?" asked Trapper. '
"Two nights ago he went to a party given by the Political Science Department. He got mad and beat up the whole department."
"What's so bad about that?" Hawk asked. "They're just a bunch of lefties, aren't they? Good for them. Fella oughta kick the bejesus out of a liberal now and then just to stay in shape."
"Only two things you can do with those folks," Trapper said, "beat 'em up or raise their salaries and make 'em conservatives. Truly a delicate balance."
"What's gonna happen?" Dr. Jones asked.
"They're trying to get him thrown out."
"What the hell happened, anyway?"
"Well," said Ho Jon, "it seemed that there was talk of Yankee Imperialism, of interference with the progress of Communism in Korea, Southeast Asia, Eastern ; Europe and Africa. At least this is how Meanstreak seemed to take it. What he told me was, 'I felt constrained, as a loyal American and a former member of the U.S. Marines, to kick the bejesus out of these puny* little closet commies."
"That's what college can do for a man," Dr. Jonesi observed. "Three years ago he never would have 'fell* constrained.' "
"Mean really had no choice, under the circumstances, did he?" asked Hawkeye, impaling Ho Jon on a hostile, determined glare.
"He coulda just gone home, couldn't he?"
"Not a man of honor like Meanstreak Morse.» Whadda we gotta do to get him off the hook?"
"Probably nothing. I've already called every alumnus I know who makes over fifty grand a year. Calls already coming in."
"That's good. Mean hurt anybody?"
"He didn't leave any marks but he may have scarred their psyches some."
"Good man, Meanstreak," Hawkeye said. "Guess we'll have to get him into medical school after all."
"That won't be too easy," Ho Jon worried. "I've been sounding out a few places. They like his mark® and leadership and football background, but when they hear he's forty years old, they take the choke." , 1
"We'll have to mull that one," Trapper though! aloud.
Getting into medical school has always been difficult. In the mid '60's, because the world of physics and electronics attracted a high percentage of the brightest kids, the squeeze wasn't as tight as it is now. Still, l he competition was relatively fierce. By the fall of "64 the Men of the Swamp and their protege, Ho Jon, realized they had a problem. Incidentally, Claremont, Jr., was already at the University of Vermont School of Medicine where they almost threw him out for declaring that Mean was his brother instead of his father.
Ho Jon came down one bleak November Wednesday (no good for golf) for a council of war and lunch at the Bay View.
"We've gotta come up with something," he told the lour Swampmen. "They just won't take a forty-year- old man anymore. They say by the time he graduates he'll have less than half a career ahead of him and it's not fair to the younger applicants."
Hawkeye arrived late. He'd just returned from a course in vascular surgery at the Mid-State Medical Center somewhere in New York. He was brought up- to-date on the Mean Morse situation. He brooded, thought, ordered a mart and yelled at Angelo, "Hey, Augelo, is Tip Toe in town?"
"Yeah."
"Call him. Tell him to get down here."
"What's up?" Trapper asked.
"I got a secret. I met the Dean of this Med-State Medical Center and College of Medicine, strictly a Hebe outfit. Dean's name's Tannenbaum. I asked was his brother an airplane pilot, he said yes."
"Ah, so," from Ho Jon.
"Just what do you have in mind?"
I lawkeye asked, "Would you guys kick in a grand a year to help Mean through school? We could deduct it, some way, with the help of a crook lawyer. Say we let Tip Toe and Jocko off the hook for vocational retraining if Tip Toe leans on his brother to take Mean in medical school. We give him four grand a year. He's got a fin from his disability, Evelyn's working, the kids all work and get scholarships. Nobody gets hurt."
Captain Irving Tannenbaum, Chief Pilot of Intercontinental Airways, entered the Bay View warily forewarned by Angelo that something was in the wind. He was greeted effusively and given a comfortable chair next to the fireplace in Angelo's new cocktail lounge. A large bloody Mary with celery and meatball was placed before him.
"Great to see you, Toe," Trapper greeted him.
"Sure glad yuh all could join us," said Duke.
"Always a pleasure, Captain," Hawkeye agreed.
Tip Toe beckoned to Angelo, who came over. "Angelo," he asked, "what do you think I should do?"
"Cut out. They settin' you up for somethin'."
"Gentlemen," Tip Toe addressed his friends, "the answer obviously is no, but satisfy my curiosity. What's the question."
"Tip Toe, you are aware of the ambitions of your ' client, Mr. Meanstreak Morse, are you not?"
"Am I ever," the pilot groaned.
"We gonna lift a great burden from your shoulders. We are gonna rescue the Allcock-Tannenbaum Insurance Company, somewhat," Spearchucker told him.
"Oh? What do I have to do? Smuggle heroin?"
"No," said Hawkeye. "Now look, Toe, don't snow us. I met your brother, the head Hebe at Mid-State Medical. All you gotta do is call him, tell him take Meanstreak, we'll pay the tuition. You won't have to."
"Angelo," commanded the pilot, "bring me your phone."
Tip Toe called his brother, person-to-person, collect, and the conversation went like this:
"Izzy, how are you? This is your brother the pilot.
"Finestkind. Say, Izzy, you and Sarah still flying to Tel Aviv next month?
, "Good. I made all the arrangements. My company. Won't cost you a cent.
"You're welcome, Iz. I know you'll enjoy. By the way, Izzy, I want to thank you in advance for accepting a young friend of mine in your medical school.
"Why, no, he hasn't applied. We can take care of the formalities later. Kindly send a letter of acceptance to Mr. Meyer Morse, Crabapple Cove, Maine. No fear. Junior Phi Beta Kappa. Little All-American, football. Nice Jewish boy.
"How the hell do I know what it was before he changed it to Morse? Does it matter?
"He's only forty, maybe forty-one.
"Izzy. They're giving me a bad time about you and Sarah. Tel Aviv, Rome, last year New Zealand, all free. You owe me.
"Same to you, Izzy.
"Of course I'm sure he's Jewish. Why is it so important? You already filled the goy quota?
"I see. Well, then, he'll have to be Jewish, won't he?
"Thanks, Izzy. Say hello to the family. Nice talking to you."
Replacing the phone, Tip Toe grinned in triumph. "Nothing to it, gentlemen. Furthermore, Allcock and Tannenbaum meet their obligations. You folks won't have to ante up."
"Tip Toe," said Hawkeye, "you're a jewel."
"But a good guy just the same," observed Trapper.
"I said 'jewel,' you putz."
"Oh."
Spearchucker, obviously puzzled, said, "This here's all mighty fine, Toe, but there's this little bit about Meanstreak being Jewish."
"That is a problem. Izzy says it'll be easier, all things considered, if he comes on Jewish. Already over the Christian quota. Said he could use a couple gooks, but I think Mean is more Jewish than Oriental, wouldn't you agree, Ho Jon?"
"Most assuredly. Mean has had a Jewish roommate for the last two years. He won't have any trouble passing." 1
"Oh, come on, let's not overdo it," said Hawkeye. "He can just say the mohel blew it, well, missed the, cut, whatever."
"Circumcise him, have him grow a beard," advised! Tip Toe. "He could win mayor in Tel Aviv."