You will recall that these are individual subjects that have absolutely no relationship to each other. With that forewarning, we will begin a new venture into the world of polygamy which I am determined to rescue from the Mormon Church.
First there is the bladder scanner. This subject is considered by some to be a bit gamey. The urologists have a radio device which sends shock waves toward the bladder and returns an assessment of how full the bladder is. I have had my wrestling with urologists so that I am reasonably familiar with the instruments they use. If we have bladder scanners, why do we not have a device called a gutometer. There are occasions for example when we eat too much. It may be a bit more than our intestines can handle. If we had a gutometer, it would be easy to see how much we had overeaten. Similarly, if we had undereaten, the gutometer would record the fact that your intestines or guts need some sustenance.
On several occasions, I have been confronted by physicians at the Summit Medical Group and have asked them about a device such as a gutometer. Some of the physicians think that I am joking. They universally tell me that there is no such thing as a gutometer, nor is anyone trying to develop such a device. I am sorry to report this failure on the part of the American medical community.
Now we go to just a small incident having to do with a fellow who is a well-known urologist. There was an occasion when I had an appointment with him when I overheard a conversation between this doctor and a woman. I was amazed to find that there was a woman addressing the doctor on the subject of her son. It seems as though her son, who was 26 years of age, was still a virgin. This woman was seeking the help of a urologist to do something about her son’s virginity. As far as I could determine, this woman wanted the doctor to do something about “unvirginizing” her son.
Apparently the son had very little to say about this matter. The mother wanted him to be “unvirginized.” The doctor was in the position of being asked to arrange something that was probably not lawful. I cannot tell you how this conversation ended because I was summoned to the examining quarters. But I can guarantee you that the doctor would have had some amazing thoughts to relate.
The next essayette involves the emergence of left-handers. When I attended high school and even after that when I played baseball in the Army, virtually all of the players were right-handed. That was so much so the case that when a left-hander appeared, he was almost always called “Lefty.” During my career in the Army, when there was a baseball game to be played, the Quartermaster who was in charge of the balls and gloves had only gloves to fit the left hand. On one of the teams that I played for in the Army was called “The Overloaders.” This name came from the practice of overloading the American war planes with either bombs or cargo.
When I was recruited to join The Overloaders, my natural position was catcher. But The Overloaders had a left-handed former pitcher from the Boston Red Socks minor leagues doing the catching. So I was sent to second base. The catcher used a first-baseman’s mitt; he had it manipulated in such a fashion that he could catch the ball with his right hand.
But when I hear of baseball games being played these days, it appears to me that a good many of the players are left-handed. My question is obvious. Where did all of these left-handers come from? Clearly there would be no point in this day and age of calling them “Lefty.” I am a traditionalist when it comes to baseball. But I am glad now that the lefties are sharing in the glory that comes from playing baseball.
Now we turn to diagramming a sentence. Can anyone tell me what the virtue is in diagramming a sentence? My eighth-grade teacher, Miss Maxwell, was nuts about diagramming sentences. Does anyone do that anymore? In the final analysis, what in the world can diagramming prove? I spent a year under Miss Maxwell’s tutelage. I cannot say that I am a better man for it. She held other views. She held that diagramming sentences would make us all heroes. As always, Miss Maxwell had it backwards. Diagramming sentences may have given her a personal thrill but to the people she taught, it was agony in the extreme.
Now we go to a phrase that has its origins in Ghana. This phrase could be of great use to American politicians. The phrase in question is, “Softly, softly, catch monkey.” It implies that a human being should walk up behind a monkey and, keeping his silence, could catch him. It fell to me to serve for 16 or 18 months in the country that was called “The Gold Coast,” which is now the modern country of Ghana. In the seventy years since I departed from the Army of the United States, the phrase “Softly, softly, catch monkey” has continued to stick with me.
I do not know of any occasion when this admonition should apply to me. Nonetheless I think it should apply to American politicians. I am often threatening to call politicians such as Paul Ryan to tell him that he should remember “Softly, softly, catch monkey” which may be useful to him in his future endeavors.
The next item in this polygamy of essayettes has to do with a medical condition. On my way overseas, I came from the dusty hilltops of Las Vegas, New Mexico with a case of what is called dust pneumonia. That did not stop the Army from putting me on a troop train from Las Vegas to Charleston, South Carolina. By the time the train reached El Paso, I needed medical attention. The doctor who came aboard to treat me used a new remedy called sulfa. This was in 1942. Sulfa was new on the market. It was used primarily in the treatment of venereal diseases.
When the Army put me on the troop train, I had been away from any female companionship for months. I arrived at Stark General Hospital in Charleston, South Carolina and could not speak because of the pneumonia. They started to treat me at Stark with the treatment that had been provided me and clearly concluded that I belonged on the venereal disease ward. As I remember it, my fellow patients were very kind to me. Most of them were black and worked as stevedores in the Army.
In a matter of days, the sulfa seemed to work and my voice returned. I was able to tell them that my malady was dust pneumonia. I disliked leaving my good friends in the venereal disease ward. They were fine fellows. But then it was a matter of boarding a ship to head for Dakar in Senegal. I suppose the conclusion of this case is that one should never jump to a conclusion, particularly in the case of sulfa being administered.
There is one more thought in this collection of essayettes. Now that it is fall, my thoughts turn to mincemeat. At this time of year when I was a child, we were often served, as a great desert, mincemeat. Mincemeat is a mixture of currents, raisins, sugar, apples, citrus and citrus peels, candied citrus, spices and suet. When October arrives, it is time for mincemeat to make an appearance. My desire for mincemeat lasts only shortly. By the time November 1st arrives, I will have had my affair with mincemeat finished. But as always, I look forward to having my first taste of mincemeat.
The next entry will be called pub grub. In Ireland and England, there is a great fascination with having a snack at a pub. I have had two experiences, one in Ireland and the other one in England. If there is a more unimaginative meal than the offer to a patron, it is in the experience of pub grub. It comes at the bottom line of dining in this world.
Well this polygamy of essayettes has now gone dry as my notepad has been emptied. When next my notepad fills up and I feel an urgent need to relieve myself of a polygamy, I intend to write another polygamy of essayettes. For the time being, there is no more notepad. So I leave you with the thought, “Softly, softly, catch monkey.” That phrase has lasted me for nearly 70 years and it is to be taken seriously by all of those who read these essays.
E. E. CARR
October 4, 2012
Essay 701
~~
In addition to “softly, softly, catch the monkey,” another favorite phrase of Pop’s, I believe, is “Numb Numb Speck.” He wrote this on the bottom of my one of my mother’s painstakingly-typed pages of her novel about mystery-solving twins that she began to write as a girl. I am not even sure if I am spelling that phrase right, or if Pop even remembers the incident in question, but it is a story that my mother still tells bitterly and frequently. Of course he is also a huge proponent of “on with the rat killing,” as well as the phrase “vale of tears.” Maybe he should write essayettes about some of these other phrases.
A second thought strikes me as I read these essays, namely that Pop should get in the habit of always carrying a pen and paper around. On an earlier occasion, his quietness in school as a boy got him mistakenly sent to an institute for deaf children. Then apparently later in life, pneumonia prevented him from speaking properly to help the army diagnose him properly. It seems to me that in both these instances, Pop would have been well served to have a means by which he could write about his current status to his various overseers.
There are two more brand new essays to be released shortly. Pop continues to crank out essays at an impressive pace. For my part I have been distracted by travel to and from Austin, contracting a cold, and securing gainful employment. But the update pace shall again resume as normal.
Pop’s response:
Hey Kevin,
Now that I have passed my 90th birthday, I finally feel free to disclose to the world that “Num Num Speck” is a deity in charge of injuries that come from roller skating mishaps. Your mother had no reason to growl at me as I performed my ritual prayers in accordance with the directions from Num Num Speck. It is Num Num Speck who will provide me with eternal happiness. What can be wrong with that?
Pop