This little story has to do with Dwight Eisenhower, Winston Churchill, Franklin Roosevelt and other world figures and a small, young orange and white tabby cat who is now walking on my writing paper and is trying to catch my pen. It also has much to do with one of my soldier friends from Indiana.
This saga starts a long time ago in 1944 and 1945. At that time, World War II in the Italian Theater was drawing to a close with Rome, Florence and Venice falling into Allied hands. In those days, the Army Air Force, at least in Italy, rarely sent people home when they could be preparing for continuing the war with Japan. So there was no such thing as home leave for my comrades and friends.
And so this old soldier, at age 22, found himself at the large British and American base at Accra which is in a country now called Ghana. The country used to be called in colonial days, the Gold Coast. There wasn’t much gold in the Gold Coast. The main export in former days was the sale of slaves.
The American soldiers who were based in Accra were the sorts you might find at any other overseas bases. Basically, they wanted the war to finish so that all of us could go home. My guess is that between the Air Transport Command men and the 8th Air Depot Maintenance Group, there may have been 3500 to 4000 Americans on the Accra base. If the Army managed to secure one re-enlistment out of that bunch, it would have been a red letter day for the recruiter. The Army was certainly not what soldiers of my generation wanted to do for lifetime employment.
During my time as a line chief and as an aerial engineer at Accra, it turned out that one of my bunk mates in the G17 barracks was a fellow from Indiana named Gartner. Many of the natives of Indiana were natural born story tellers, and Sgt. Gartner was one of the best. His stories were full of exaggerations and were delivered in a countrified speech pattern. Sometimes Gartner had trouble finishing a story because he found the story so amusing that he doubled up with laughter. Gartner was a good guy to be around.
His given name escapes me now, but Gartner had a ranking system for the world’s leaders that is applicable some 60 years later.
Gartner considered the top dog in the Army, Dwight Eisenhower as a STUD DUCK. Franklin Roosevelt and George C. Marshall were also STUD DUCKS. Winston Churchill, Charles de Gaulle and Joseph Stalin also qualified as STUD DUCKS. Benito Mussolini of Italy never made the grade as a STUD DUCK. The key is that STUD DUCKS could do anything they wanted to do. If Eisenhower and FDR or Charles de Gaulle dallied outside their marriages, no one would say anything about it because STUD DUCKS were never criticized. STUD DUCKS were folk heroes.
No matter how you cut it, my spirits were lifted after a session with an Indiana story teller on the subject of STUD DUCKS. It seemed to me that even Wendell Willkie, an Indiana native, was a decent person, even though he lacked the status of a STUD DUCK.
Last week we were shopping at the Madison, New Jersey Farmers Market. When the last cauliflower had been bought, we saw a table off to the side which had no product for sale but rather, cats and a dog or two. This was the Orphaned Pets table, so we took a look. To make a long story short, Judy, whose birthday came up on Saturday, has long said she would like to get a cat to replace the sainted Shannon who died three years ago.
It turns out that one of the exhibits in a cage at the Orphaned Pets table was a dead ringer for old Shannon, same markings and same demeanor. We debated about taking on a cat at this stage of our lives while we drove several blocks toward home, but soon the issue was settled. We went back to the Orphaned Pets table and said we would like to have the Shannon look alike in our home. So on Saturday, August 7th we met the abandoned pets representative, Claudine Cheung, and took possession of a 9 to 12 month old orange tiger striped cat who needed a break, big time.
Mrs. Cheung, the Orphaned Pets lady, had offered the orange cat a foster home. She had called our new cat Horatio. It seems that when Horatio’s original owner moved away, he neglected to take Horatio with him. Neglected is not the right word. It was a case of abandonment of a fine cat. So you see why old Horatio needed a break.
Judy had spent Friday afternoon at the majestic Millburn Feed Store where all kinds of cat furnishings were purchased. There was a quilted basket to sleep on. Arrangements were made for the new cat to have free run of the basement. It was thought that the new cat would stay in the painted basement for a few days until he had become oriented to his new surroundings. And there were toys.
Because of the Irishness of the situation, it was elected to forget the Horatio business and offer the cat a new name to go with his newly reclaimed life. And so the new guy is called SHAMROCK. His predecessors were Sean and Shannon. So he joins a line of Irish cats.
When he arrived here, he seemed delighted with his basement digs. Any thought that he would curl up in his new quilted basket was laughed at. He did the laughing. When Shamrock was permitted to visit the rest of the house, he identified several chairs on the porch and in the living room as HIS. It must be said that old Shamrock made it clear to us that he intended to take over, which was very much the way his predecessors acted. No subtlety is ever offered. When a cold nose now interrupts your sleep or when someone walks on your writing paper, you may be sure that Shamrock is at work. Shamrock is not a laid back kind of guy. He is the director of the choir and the organist.
You see, all our plans about where he would sleep and where he would spend his time were not ours to decide. Shamrock asserted his authority even though he has been with us for only a few days. When it comes to deciding when he will sleep or what he will eat, or what toys are to be abused or whose furniture belongs to whom, old Shamrock shows unmistaken signs of being the STUD DUCK at this household. Impartial observers would be forced to say that Shamrock is the Supreme Stud Duck because if he belonged to Eisenhower, FDR, Churchill, de Gaulle or Stalin, he would require them to bow to his wishes. Well, so be it.
There are those who say that Churchill and FDR and de Gaulle and the rest of the big shots ought to be taken down a few pegs. You may rest assured that Old Shamrock is just the guy to do it – and live to tell the tale.
E. E. CARR & SHAMROCK
August 9, 2004

 
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The business about walking on Pop’s desk as he’s working reminds me a lot of one of my favorite pictures of Pop, featured on the “About Ezra” section of this site. I think pets, cats in particular, have a good knack for knowing what’s important. Nowadays they like to lounge about on people’s laptops, but in lieu of a laptop, a desk full of papers can certainly do the job. It reminds me of this comic.
Read more about Shamrock here.