THE HAPPY HAT

by Peter Glassman

  “What? G-1? Does Dr. Norman know about this?”

  “He will within the hour. G-1 was chosen for several reasons. First you have the largest cast room with storage space and a loading dock. Secondly, you’re on the first floor which makes the contractor pick-up less likely to present accountability problems. And third I need someone with your bearing and compulsiveness to ride honcho over the other corpsman and help me keep track of the new arrival cast removals.”

  “Ma’am. I think we should meet and perhaps have Dr. Norman in on the logistics of this change in procedure.” Kaplan was excited. Centralizing the cast shells into his domain was a Godsend.

  “The only reason you know ahead of LT Norman is you paged me before I called him. I want to meet with both of you in one hour–1500 hours.” Her tone implied there could be no discussion.

  “1500 hours. Yes Ma’am. I can’t leave my ward.”

  “We’ll meet on G-1 Kaplan. I’ll contact LT Norman.”

  Ike Kaplan watched Norman’s page number light up and flash angrily–580. 580. 580. The blinking stopped and the 580 disappeared from the vertical light box. Norman had answered Skagan’s page. All he had to do was stay put which he had to do anyway.

  ‡

  Norman walked briskly into G-1 and stopped at the Nurses Station. “Kaplan LCDR Skagan informed me your part of this meeting.” Norman looked at his watch. “I hope it’s brief. That woman makes me want to run and hide and I have no idea why. I have a big weekend planned off the hospital compound and I wanted to get to the BOQ early tonight.”

  LCDR Philomena Skagan arrived promptly at 1500 hours. “Dr. Norman. Kaplan.” She continued into the GMO office. “Let’s convene in your office.”

  The two men followed Skagan’s curvaceous posterior. Skagan took Norman’s comfortable office chair behind his desk and motioned for both of them to sit in front of the desk on the Spartan aluminum framed Navy issue armless chairs.

  Norman spoke first. “Rank has its privileges even in my own office I see ma’am.”

  The thinnest of smiles appeared on Skagan’s face evoking her genetic tiny dimples. “That’s correct Lieutenant. Now find something to take notes on and let’s get to business.”

  Norman took out his scut list notepad from his long white coat hanging from the closed office door.

  Kaplan had a similar wire bound 3-by-5 pad and clicked his Government Issue black ballpoint pen. She’s got a lot of balls the way she pushes people around. He felt a twinge of something telling him it was just a facade. There was something likable about Philomena Skagan. The likable part disturbed him. She could after all be the enemy.

  “Okay. I pushed for this centralization as soon it was suggested. There’s been some sloppiness to keeping track of the plaster carcasses by having to collect them at each orthopedic ward.” Skagan locked her blue eyes onto Kaplan’s dark brown orbs. “Kaplan I like your no-nonsense attitude. The other corpsmen respect you and do what you tell them. You’re responsible and I don’t care if you make the other ortho ward personnel cower. I want this operation streamlined.”

  Norman cleared his throat, “Look Philomena what about the casts that have to be removed in the OR–like Boomer Stiles.”

  Skagan stood up. “Dr. Norman I did not give you permission to use my first name. It’s LCDR Skagan. Even my friends don’t call me Philomena.” She sat down. “Wherever the casts are removed they’ll be wrapped in plastic, properly tagged and identified and sent to G-1–to you, Kaplan or your designated assistant corpsman.”

  “What about LT Sparrow, the ward nurse?” Kaplan looked from Norman back to Skagan.

  “Let her tend to her nursing duties. You’re in charge and will use Dr. Norman for any higher level authorizations or decisions. Understand.” She opened a small flat briefcase. “Here are the proper tracking and logistical forms you need. As you can see every ortho ward is accounted for.” Skagan stood up and walked to the door. “We’re done for now.”

  Kaplan went to open the door for her. “What do your friends call you, ma’am?”

  She let Norman leave and stared at Kaplan. The short silence seemed like an eternity and she spoke while maintaining eye contact. “Before I go I want to commend you for adhering to the cast removal protocol regarding making SGT Stiles comfortable. After your action with Stiles I issued a directive to all orthopedic wards regarding any-and-all fragments of Vietnam originated cast material. They will be tagged, identified and placed with the patient’s final discarded plaster as you did with him.”

  She seemed to relax and lingered a few more long seconds. The dimples reappeared without a defined smile but her eyes seemed to sparkle. “Phil. My close friends call me Phil.” She left the ward.

  Chapter 13

  Sebastian Remo

  “What are you doing to my hat?” Remo struggled in his wheel chair.

  “I’m from F-1. Your tests came back okay. You don’t have any pathogenic bacteria cohabitating on your body. You’re outta isolation but I gotta do some final disinfection of the parts of you that came back from Nam–like your hat.”

  “Speak English and be careful with my Happy Hat.” Remo stared at the hat. “Are you new? I don’t know you.”

  “All your uniforms are in the laundry and cleaners to get sterilized from Asiatic germs. Since you won’t let this Aussie hat outta your sight I’m doing you a favor. I’m spraying some bug juice to make it sterile and safe for you to keep it outside on the colostomy ward.” The corpsman smiled. “And Remo, I’m going to be your best friend here.” He extended his hand. “Achilles Spinelli–Acky. I’m head hospital corpsman on F-1.”

  “Colostomy ward? It smells like shit out there. What does it matter about my hat?” Remo moved his wheelchair to follow the corpsman named Acky outside. “And I don’t need any best friend. I make my own friends.”

  “I’m just following rules Remo. Do you want your hat to remain part of your wardrobe?”

  “Yeah, it’s my Happy Hat.”

  “You guys from Nam use funny symbols for happiness. I mean a skull-and-crossbones on the front of your hat band?”Acky finished his germicide spray and handed it to him. “Okay. It’s now back in regulation and hospital compliance.” Acky plopped the hat on Remo’s head. “It’s a good thing your head didn’t lose weight like the rest of you. It still fits.”

  Remo cocked his head as they moved outside the isolation room. “We goin’ to F-1 now?”

  “Yes we are. I’ll be with you mostly during the day shift. I’m the main floating relief corpsman for lunch breaks with the G-wards.” Acky kicked the door stop in place.

  “What are the G-wards and who gives a shit anyway?”

  “The G-wards are for orthopedics. You and I are going to be quite important to the plaster patients or rather they’re quite important to us.” Acky stopped the wheelchair.

  “Us? What the fuck is this ‘us’ shit.”

  “Remo maybe I’m your second best friend. Your first best friend is also my best friend–Cros Bizetes.” Acky grabbed the wheelchair handles and moved briskly out onto the ward. “We’ll get all your stuff.”

  ‡

  “Hey Ike, what’s up from the meeting with Skagan?” LT Sparrow sidled up to Kaplan in the Nurses Station. Her brown hair was put up and her nursing cap incorporated in its hairpins. Sparrow was intrigued by the muscular corpsman. He seemed so mature and confident. Most of the new Navy MDs were already married and the single ones were hormone-driven and wanted to remain single. This Kaplan seemed her age. There was mystery and magnetism about him.

  “G-1 has been chosen to consolidate all the removed Southeast Asia plaster casts. We’ll be clearing a section of the cast room for the sealable covered container this morning.”

  Sparrow looked around the small cubicle. It was a navy gray aluminum wall topped by four feet of opaque ripple-glass with a wide opening to allow two people abreast to enter. They were alone. Another corpsman was tending to patients. This was her opportunity for personal ta
lk. “Ike, you said you don’t like to talk about personal stuff except in private?”

  Kaplan put down Boomer’s chart. “We already talked about Officer-Enlisted barriers. I want to keep a clean slate and have the Navy pay my way to further schooling.”

  “We both live off the hospital compound.” She got closer. He smelled nice and she allowed a feeling of safety to emerge.

  “I just want to do my job and get my honorable discharge, ma’am.” Their faces were less than a foot apart.

  “You’ve been in college. We both graduated from Boston University.” Her hand lightly touched his shoulder.

  Kaplan looked around. No one was looking their way. He moved away. “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you. Just think ahead to the possible consequences to both of us.”

  “I can’t tell you why but with my connections in the Navy there would never be any consequences.” She gave him her best cow eyes and stayed close to his side.

  “You’re just a Lieutenant. I know the power structure in the Navy. I see you quiver when LCDR Skagan comes on the ward. I’m extremely visible with my association with the plaster disposal and LCDR Skagan. I’m also a part of a joint-service study on continuity of care from combat initiated injury to stateside chronic care. Boomer Stiles is my signature case study. I’m under a microscope. Believe me you don’t want to be.” His lies were practiced. They were delivered with sincerity. All FBI agents were trained with story lines for many scenarios such as this.

  She let out a sigh of relief at being so rationally addressed. Kaplan had spared her feelings. “And what are your plans after the Navy may I ask?”

  Kaplan smiled. “I mentioned going to law school and perhaps some corporate business degree–an MBA–in stock and business management.”

  “Well that kind of management attitude certainly follows you around. I mean you arrived a few weeks ago and here you are a senior corpsman in charge of a ward and now managing an important Navy side project.” Kaplan certainly has prospects for the future.

  “Yeah right, consolidation of removed disease-laden plaster orthopedic casts and baby-sitting wounded warriors while their bones heal.” His smile joined her laughter.

  “I meant it figuratively. It seems leadership seems to be your aura whatever situation comes your way.” She gave him her most encouraging tone.

  “What came my way was a war and LCDR Philomena Skagan.” His levity was gone.

  Sparrow felt put off with that remark. Am I being rebuffed? I wish I could get him alone and out of uniform. “Okay. Back to business. First things first and that kind of thing. What’s my part in Skagan’s plaster campaign?” She was a nurse again.

  “You have to ask her. She made it quite clear this was her domain not to be interfered with by ongoing normal patient care.” Kaplan was now a good two feet away from her.

  “Ask her? I’m terrified of her. The entire Queens Naval nursing corps except the OR supervisor shake when she walks by.” Sparrow looked around fearful of Skagan spies, if there were such things.

  “You all give her too much power. She’s just a compulsive person who sees life as just black-and-white.” Kaplan looked behind her as his lunch relief corpsman appeared.

  “Lieutenant I’m here for mess relief for Chief Kaplan.”

  Sparrow looked at the rank on Kaplan’s sleeve. She’d forgotten he was a corpsman NCO.

  “You’re Acky Spinelli from F-1 right? Well we have no outstanding problems on G-1 at least for the next hour. I’m expecting some people from engineering to do some work on our cast room. I’ll be back in exactly one hour.” Kaplan left Acky with Sparrow looking after him.

  ‡

  Kaplan welcomed the lunchtime interruption. He didn’t mind Sparrow coming on to him. She was a beautiful woman and intelligent although he felt her terror of Skagan might be a character weakness. Then again he was an FBI agent and she wasn’t. Above all he didn’t want anything complicating his mission. He was human after all and he didn’t want Sparrow to interrupt the current good fortune with Skagan putting him in charge of the septic cast inventory.

  ‡

  Remo got used to the smell in F-1within thirty-minutes. The ward full of colostomy patients had an atmosphere merged with the odors of rancid fecal colostomy bags with the Lysol disinfectant used to clean everything from the beds and floors to the furniture. His bed was closest to the Nurses Station since he was probably rated as the sickest patient on the floor. He pressed the button for the ward corpsman who came right over.

  “Yes? You’re Remo. Is anything wrong?”

  “Not with me right now. Where’s Acky?” Remo’s eyes darted around the ward.

  “He’s doing chow relief at lunchtime. What can I do for you?”

  “I just got moved from F-2. Will my visitors know about it? I’m expecting visitors today.” Remo could feel his pulse increase. He felt so powerless in his skeletonized shell of a body. Thank God for his Happy Hat. It always gave him a mental image of his former combat-molded self.

  “The first thing F-2 did before you left there was notify the front desk about your new location.” The corpsman reset the call button and turned to leave.

  “Wait. I’m not used to being stateside. Can you please check and make sure the front desk knows I’m on F-1?”

  “I’ll do it right now. Relax Remo. This is the land-based Navy.” He walked to the Nurses Station and picked up the phone.

  Remo watched and wished he could read lips. Land-based Navy my ass. Never assume anything about rules. I would never get anywhere if I assumed things happened the way they were supposed to. The corpsman was coming back.

  “They have it right Remo. If you have visitors today they’ll be sent right here to colostomy heaven.” He went back to his chart island.

  Colostomy heaven. My God I forgot. This place stinks. Thank God I can’t smell it. Here comes chow. I have to pig out every waking minute if I’m going to put some meat on my bones. I have to gain twenty-pounds the doc said to get my fucking colostomy closed.

  ‡

  Perkins looked incredulously at Skagan. “What? Every Nam cast removal has to go to G-1?”

  “From the next air-evac on, Perkins. They’ll be logged in by Chief Hospital Corpsman Kaplan on G-1.”

  He watched the short nurse walk away. Damn. Fuck. What the hell do I tell Linsky? Wait. It might be okay. Our plan was to change dates on casts to indicate they were not from Vietnam.

  Perkins wanted to call from the hospital phone but was told never to do that. There was supposed to be a liaison person, a patient, and maybe a few other Queens Naval staff that could function as contacts that could get to the outside during the day. But that was for emergencies only. Linsky should know about the G-1 thing. I’ll call him tonight from my apartment.

  Chapter 14

  SGT Boomer Stiles

  “Dr. Norman, Boomer is bugging everyone about being a prisoner on G-1.” LT Sparrow intercepted Norman as he walked onto the ward.

  After several weeks Boomer had intense cabin fever. “Dr. Norman I feel like a prisoner in my own plaster skin. Why can’t I move around the hospital like the others here on G-1? Some of the hip-spica patients go to the movie, the coffee shop and the PX.”

  “They’re not mummified like you. You’d have to be on a gurney with two people tending to you.” Norman could sympathize with this poor soul. After all he didn’t have an indwelling bladder catheter or IV like some of the more damaged body cast patients on other wards.

  “If I can get a commitment from two others to tend to me will you get me a pass, sir?” His pleading eyes and expression from his facial plaster window got to Norman.

  “I’ll check with Dr. Caruso and let you know later today.” Norman went to lunch and met with the resident and Caruso. He brought up Boomer’s request. Caruso didn’t hesitate.

  “Psychologically it would be uplifting to get the poor bastard mobilized. His cast gets changed in about three weeks so if he can get two ambulatory patients t
o push the gurney around go for it.”

  After lunch Norman gave the message to Boomer who was elated. He had already gotten commitment from several patients to be his gurney chauffeurs. The only one who voiced opposition was Kaplan.

  “If Boomer falls from that gurney he could create displaced fractures under those casts, sir.” Kaplan spoke with an intensity Norman hadn’t seen in the corpsman before.

  “Let’s give him a trial run to the coffee shop today. He’d have to fall from twenty feet to break that thick cast and create any damage. If he survives the Gedunk trip I’ll increase the scope of his world to other hospital destinations.” Norman watched the disappointment change to one of frustration on Kaplan’s face.

  “Sir I can’t be following Boomer away from G-1 and I have other duties with LCDR Skagan with the cast material disposals.”

  “Kaplan your duties are primarily to G-1. You’re not really assigned to one single patient. I had you assigned to G-1 to maintain your continuity of care–as you put it. In fact, I would rather Boomer not get dependent on one corpsman. Let him get his patient buddies to continue to relate to him as a fellow soldier. It will help alleviate any sense of depression we all know he has. This discussion is ended.”

  SGT William Boomer Stiles was positioned on a gurney with a short sheet covering his groin cut-out. Ambulatory patients greeted him with a cheer while visitors gazed in pathos or with nods of encouragement. Most of the staff became used to seeing the “man-in-white” at the evening movie taking up two wheelchair slots. Kaplan was still skeptical but kept his words to himself as Boomer engaged in physical therapy off G-1 even though he only wiggled his toes and fingers as his mainstay exercise.

  ‡

  Kaplan was angry at this lack of control with Boomer stiles. He called the number Adam Stokely had given him. It connected quickly to an FBI female voice.