"Well," I said, "why don't you pack it in and leave for a month. Not even you are indispensable. The world would go on."
"I would, but I got a solid schedule for two weeks. I think I'll plan a month off after that. Meanwhile I think I'll try to tarnish my image. Also, I'm going to bring my old secretary, Lucinda Mclntyre, out of retirement to work for me in the hospital. Maybe if she'll do the talking I can keep up with the work. But now I'm going home and go to bed and take the phones off the hook. See you tomorrow."
That night there was snow, a foot of it. I got in a little late Monday morning. Already the hospital was buzzing. It seems that Dr. Pierce was making rounds in tennis shorts, sneakers and a T-shirt with the legend "Finestkind Clinic and Fish Market." He was followed by Mrs. Mclntyre, who carried a notepad, a stethoscope and a bottle of Seagrams 7. As he visited each patient, he'd have a pop from the bottle and exclaim, "Day like this, fella needs a little pop, get him goin', get ready to go in there and do that surgery."
By nine o'clock the idiot was doing a pneumonectomy on Danny Cotton of Deer Isle, and I summoned Mrs. Mclntyre to my office.
"Explain!" I commanded.
"What?"
"You know what."
"If Dr. Pierce wants to be ready for tennis, what' business is it of yours?"
"How about the booze?"
"It's iced tea."
"Yeah, but "
"Dr. Pierce said it was your idea."
I groaned and told her to get lost.
Hawkeye followed the pneumonectomy with the repair of a hiatus hernia that Benny Scrubbs, the pro from Wawenock, claimed was screwing up his putting, because every time he bent over he burped. After that it was one o'clock and there were two feet of snow. Not much was moving. Office hours were canceled. Dr. Pierce, in his tennis costume, reinforced by an ankle-length bearskin coat inherited from his grandfather, accompanied by Lucinda, mounted his jeep pickup with attached snowplow and plowed his way to the Bay View for lunch.
Only Angelo and a few semistranded doctors were present. They couldn't get home, and hanging in the Bay View was more fun than the hospital. Lucinda situated her employer in a corner, gave him a martini, The New York Times and the Boston Globe, and; placed on a table in front of him an artistically designed and lettered proclamation, a product of her own artistry but conceived by Dr. Pierce. It proclaimed:
I am not speaking to the following groups or individuals:
1) Psychoanalysts or people who go to them.
2) Psychologists.
3) Chiropractors.
4) Acupuncture flakes.
5) Vegetarians.
6) Orthodontists.
7) People who say "like" or "you know."
8) Gynecologists.
9) People who want moles or toenails removed.
10) People who talk about the weather.
11) The guy who put in the plumbing at HoJo's Motel in Portland because you can't reach the toilet paper without you got three arms.
12) Democrats.
13) Members of Rotary, Kiwanis, Lions, Elks, Masons, Knights of Columbus and Odd Fellows.
14) Any member of the Eastern Star, Good Luck Rebeccas, WCTU or DAR who is not young, good looking and very horny.
15) Ministers, except rabbis and Episcopalians, some of whom ain't too bad.
16) Walter Cronkite, Dan Rather and Eric Clarified.
And 17, last, but by no means least, Dr. Albert Schwarzer, the Spade Pediatrician.
As it turned out, the Bay View this day was about the only port in a storm. Snow, plus word of Pierce's activity, or lack of it, brought a sizable crowd. Inevitably, Mrs. Mclntyre was bombarded with questions, for some of which she had previously prepared typed answers, with multiple copies. The first seven categories all received the same answer: "Dr. Pierce believes that this type person runs rabbits and barks at the moon."
When asked why Dr. Pierce was not speaking to gynecologists, the answer was: "Gynecologists can't see anybody who's sick for three months. They're too busy doing pelvic exams for $15. If your wife has something really wrong, the only guy who'll take care of her is general surgeon, which is a good thing because if there's something really wrong you're better off with a general surgeon."
The answer on Democrats created some strong feeling, although, as Hawkeye pointed out to Angelo, the proprietor, not enough to cause a groundswell of measurable emotion because very few Democrats can afford to eat and drink in the Bay View. The answer was: "I ain't talking to Democrats because they are people who, if you don't give them everything they want, they'll steal it."
Hardly a customer escaped category number thirteen because fraternal organizations are very large in Spruce Harbor. The typed response to this and other categories was Hawkeye's common, oft used crypticism: "If I gotta explain, there's no use trying."
Timidly, tentatively, certain people approached Lucinda Mclntyre to request an audience with the surgeon. Obviously, screening the applicants was simple, because no one qualified. Wooden Leg Wilcox came closest but was disqualified because, as he entered, he made reference to the persistence of the still falling snow, thereby establishing himself as a commentator on the weather.
A group of concerned friends gathered in another corner to discuss the situation and, with some logic, decided to call Solly Wolfman Reddy Kilowatt Davis in psychiatric consultation. Solly arrived and stamped snow all over the floor. After briefing, he asked Lucinda if it was permissible to submit questions in writing. She suggested that he do just that, but could not guarantee answers.
The first question submitted was: "Why are you wearing the tennis outfit?"
Soon he received a written reply: "Angelo says if I look good in the outfit, drink five marts and eat a pound of spaghetti, he can get me a tryout with the guinea Davis Cup team."
The questioning continued: "You did two major procedures this morning and here you are drinking. Suppose something goes wrong?"
Answer: "Trapper and Boom-Boom are covering me for the next month. I have canceled all other surgery and am going to plant palm trees on the hospital lawn."
Question: "What is your problem with Al Black?"
Answer: "Assuming that you refer to Dr. Albert Schwarzer, the Spade pediatrician who devotes his life to the care of underprivileged honkie kids, he stiffed me for a fin on a football bet. Surely you can understand my righteous wrath, particularly since I hear you are a Puerto Rican."
Lucinda Mclntyre, always sensitive to the rights and feelings of others, was forced to intercede by explaining to Hawkeye, "Dr. Pierce, my participation must terminate if you insist on further ethnic reference. Dr. Davis is Jewish."
"Looks more like an anarchist to me. Better check him for bombs. Now, I am going to start reading Sports Illustrated. I will tolerate no further interruptions. I will leave when you tell me the roads are passable. However, I will talk on the phone to Rod Laver, John Newcomb, Arthur Ashe and Chris Evert, if any of them should happen to call."
A voice in the background said, "The last time the stupid bastard flipped, he claimed Palmer and Nicklaus was paying him to stay off'n the tour."
A reporter, covering the event for the Spruce Harbor Gazette, asked Wolfman for a psychiatric evaluation of Dr. Pierce's performance. "In very simple, in fact in laymen's terms," said Wolfman, "he's not crazy. He's just a jerk."
Dr. Pierce, often more alert than he seems to be, overheard this. "Hey, you," he exhorted the minioni of the press, "try for accuracy. You spell jerk with an E, not a U."
"I'm quite aware of that, Doctor."
"Ain't you the gomer does the sports on the radio?"
"Sometimes."
"Ain't you the gomer called the Vike quarterback Fran Tar Kenton? Ain't you the gomer who saysjl Jew-Ann Marichal? Ain't you the gomer who calledl Wimbleton a prestidigious golf tournament?"
"We all make mistakes, Doctor."
"Yeah, but you never even learned to read, in addition to which you are a grunt, like everybody in the news business."
"Oh, lay off, Hawk," came a deep voice from an opposite corner, where Spearchucker Jones sat with Al Black, Duke and Boom-Boom Benner.
"Find out who said that," Hawkeye instructed, Lucinda, "and put him on my black list."
"That does it, Hawkeye, I'm leaving. You fight your own silly battles."
"Just a minute before you leave, Lucinda," said Spearchucker. "Ask that honkie if he really wants another chest cutter around here, maybe a guy who could do vascular surgery and general surgery, too—young cat, hungry, got some smarts."
"Did you hear the question, Dr. Pierce?" Lucinda asked, sort of reluctantly.
"The answer is yes. Who is he, and when's he coming?"
"D'Artagnan Maguire, who has just finished his residency out in Iowa City, University of Iowa. With the Saints, briefly, backalong. Knee trouble. You must remember him. Played for Harvard."
"Oh. The Grambling of the North. You recommendin' him, Chucker? You know him?"
"I been talking to the chief out there. Kid could go anywhere. Talked to him about Spruce Harbor at meetings. Didn't know how much you were hurting. I got his number. Want me to call him?"
"Sure. Call him."
Fortunately, the call to Iowa City went through faster, as is usual, than a call to Tedium Cove. Dr. Maguire had just left the O.R. Spearchucker brought the phone to Hawkeye, who said, "Hey, boy, I wanta take three months off and I got a lotta surgery lined up. You wanta come and do it? I'll make you a full partner, 50-50 right from the start."
Spearchucker hadn't even told Dr. Maguire who was calling. He and Lucinda listened in on Angelo's extension.
"Who is this?" asked D'Artagnan.
"Hawkeye Pierce. Spruce Harbor, Maine. Guarantee you at least forty G's a year take-home."
"Doctor, I know about Spruce Harbor, but I can't believe you're calling up a total stranger and making such an offer. What do you know about me?"
"The Chucker says you're okay."
"He doesn't really know me."
"Guy out there I talked to, Ken Griffin, does gastric bypasses, gimme the word on you. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing. Whadda yuh say? Yes or no?"
"Dr. Pierce, do you know that I'm black?"
"You're what?"
"Black."
"I can't believe that. Name like D'Artagnan Maguire, I figured you was a left-handed Nicaraguan ski jumper."
"The fact remains that I'm black. This conversation sounds a bit peculiar, sir."
"My professional corporation, which is called B, Pierce, MD-PA, will lay ten big ones on you if you show up for work a week from today. You are my first-round draft choice."
"I'd like to think about it."
"You one of them militant jigs?"
"Oh, man, now look here ------"
"You can live in my house till you find a place. Me and Mary goin' to someplace warm, play some golf."
Spearchucker decided to intercede at this pot "Hey, boy, this is Jones. Don't look the gift hoss in the mouth. Pierce is crazy but he'll take good care of you. I say give it a try."
"Hey, D'Artagnan," Pierce interrupted, "I know this is a touch sudden, but I been looking and lotta guys don't want to come here, or their wives don't, but you can do lots of surgery and if your social conscience is bothering you, let me assure you we got lots of underprivileged for you to take care of, unless you're prejudiced against white underprivleged."
"Well ------"
"By the way," Hawkeye interrupted, "you got house apes?"
"What?"
"House apes, for chrissake. You got kids?"
"I have two children, ages six and three."
"Finestkind. You move into Mansion Pierce till I get back, take care of my house apes, ages ten, ten, thirteen and fifteen. They'll take care of your house apes nights you want to go out. Come to think of if you go for that deal, you really are a dumb nigger,"
"I'll be there, Doctor. I gotta find out what makes you tick."
"Finestkind. Hey, boy, whadda I call yuh? I mean, like, you know, man, like, you know I can't stand at operating table, like, you know, and say, like, mp that bleeder, D'Artagnan.' Incidentally, if you 'like' and 'you know' the deal's off."
“Call me Frenchy, and I don't talk that way."
“Holy Mother of Jesus," groaned Hawkeye. "Get as fast as you can, Frenchy." The snow had stopped. Dr. Pierce decided that he wanted to demonstrate his serve, which he'd been practicing at the new indoor courts. The first serve poked two drinks off the table where Spearchucker was sitting with his friends.
"We'll go now, Hawkeye," Lucinda said.
"Where we goin'?"
"I'm afraid that, under the circumstances, you'll have to stay with the Mclntyres."
"Hot dog. You gonna show me where the bum hid the money?"
"I'll break your skull, that's what I'll do," Lucinda miised. "Now put on that foolish coat and let's get out of here."
There's usually some drift ice in the channel between the Mclntyre's home on Thief Island and the dock at the Finestkind Clinic and Fish Market, although it seldom freezes solid. Hawkeye bade Lucinda navigate while he stood in the bow, bearskin coat over tennis costume, brandishing tennis racket and yelling, “Row, you bastards, we gotta catch them jeezly Redcoats."
Lucinda told me the next day that, after his reenactment of Washington crossing the Delaware, the great surgeon subsided somewhat and changed into home of Trapper's old clothes. He mixed another drink, helped build a big fire in the fireplace, turned on Merv Griffin and said, "Okay, I'm going to drink myself to sleep by nine o'clock but first I want a big steak and a big salad. In the morning I am going back to work until this new kid gets in from Iowa City."
Lucinda said, "I'm sure he's competent, but what makes you think your patients will hold still for him suddenly taking over?"
"You'll be surprised. A few will rebel, but most of them will take my word that he's okay. It's a funny thing about prejudice around here. When I was first in practice, there was more prejudice against me because I'm a Pierce from Crabapple Cove than there will be against Frenchy Maguire. That's partly because Chucker, Dr. Albert Schwarzer, the other guys have broken the ice, but it's also a definite phenomenon of rural Maine. Not to say there isn't prejudice. The middle class, the shopkeepers, the gomers we send to the legislature, that kind, are the biggest problem. I was up in Augusta having breakfast at the Senator Motel early one morning backalong. Heard some legislative gomers cussing out Ben Brown, the black guy we got running the State energy program. You'da thought, for chrissake, it was the Ku Klux Klan."
"Isn't this group most of your practice?"
"True, but they're easily cowed. They don't like it, the hell with 'em."
"Really," Lucinda asked, "why a black, anyhow? It's not as though we had a black population."
"It's not that he's black. It's just that he has the right kind of training for this particular job. Trapper and Boom-Boom can use him, too. White guys coming out of the big leagues look down their noses at us, as their wives do. Christ, I've had a couple honkies down, made them the same offer, taken 'em in the Bay View, somebody calls a guy a nigger, they figure we're a bunch of barbarians. The same cats find out the jigs belong to the country club, you can see that buggin' 'em, too. Funny world. Incidentally, I already knew about this guy. I've checked him out six ways from Jesus. He'll be okay."
The next morning, a Tuesday, Pierce and Lucinda appeared again, early, on rounds. This time the great
surgeon was dressed normally in scrub suit and white coat. Lucinda carried a sheaf of papers, one of which she handed to everyone who came near them. It said:
1) Yes, it sure was one helluva storm.
2) No, I didn't have any trouble getting in this morning.
3) Yes, with this wind, it sure does tend to drift.
4) Yes, it's cold enough for me. Gonna turn colder tonight, I heard on the news.
5) Yes, they called off school over my way. The plows haven't gotten around to all the side roads.
&nb
sp;
MASH Mania Page 13