So one day the door opened and the guard let in this doctor, only he was just a sergeant and not very big. Bigger than Uncle Jim but not very big. And he had black bushy hair and gla.s.ses and he right away said he was a doctor all right but call him Phil and how did he feel. And George could of broke him in two over his knee or snapped him like a rattlesnake when you want to break his neck you got no stick, but Phil just waved at the guard go away, and the guard locked him in and Phil sat down near him on the bed and handed cigarettes although this George Smith never did smoke he wished he did.

So Phil was smoking and keeping his mouth shut and George Smith begun to feel easier and finally Phil asked him what did he want most of all and George said Out. And Phil asked Why. And George was surprised at this but if it was a stupid question Phil did not look stupid. So George said, To go back to his girl and get married. Because George knew now of all the places in the world he could go to, it would have to be next to Anna, she knew what he was and she liked it too and n.o.body else ever would. And he did not want the army no more not after those stretcher cases.

Then Phil told him he could get out but he would have to do just what Phil said. And George Smith, he was ready to climb the wall and hang off the ceiling if Phil said to. I have to say here that I trust Phil. He wants me out, I am sure of that. I also don't think he wants this writing of mine to be nothing but the truth. He has got nothing to sell, not to me or to anybody who reads this. I would not believe that at first but I do now.

So he told me to write the story of my life and I said I did not know how or even where to begin and he said begin anywhere but be sure you explain everything. He said like a movie or a comic where they start outa guy is an old man and go back to what happened earlier if I wanted to. Just as long as I wrote down everything important so he could understand me better. And he told me if there was trouble getting started then write it about somebody else, because he said that is a good way to back off from yourself, you remember better. So after he went I started in, I made up the name George Smith and he is right. I wrote all the rest of that day and from then on I did not do nothing but write as long as there was any light, and he come back two other times but I was not finished.

So this is the story and it is all true and it is all I can remember. I done the best I could. I do not know why I am here or why I was shipped stateside here to this nut factory instead of the can for just hitting an officer. I am not crazy, anyone is who thinks so. All I want is out. I want out of here and I want out of the army, I had enough. All I want is to go back to my girl, we will get married and leave there or maybe fram some place. Or a store.

7.

Here is another of the letters with the letterhead discarded.

Looneybin Lane O-R Looneybin Lane O-R Orgonia, Ore. Feb 26

Dear Phil, dammit:

With all I've got to do I have been sitting here pulling on my lower lip and wondering what to say to you. I'm going to tell you right at the start that when I first got that bundle of paper from you and determined it wasn't the Sunday Chronicle Chronicle complete with the spring fashions supplement, I was mad as h.e.l.l. And I suppose I still am. And I began by feeling that "George Smith" should be thrown out of that maniac's motel of yours, and I wound up feeling the same way. But you made me laugh. complete with the spring fashions supplement, I was mad as h.e.l.l. And I suppose I still am. And I began by feeling that "George Smith" should be thrown out of that maniac's motel of yours, and I wound up feeling the same way. But you made me laugh.

Well of course, you stinking psychologist you. Anything you might have said to me I'd've spit in your eye for, after all this time. If I thought about you and "George" at all, I thought no news is good news and you'd finished with it. Then you send me his autobiography with no comment at all, just nothing nothing.

So ruefully, it is to laugh. I know what you're up to. You want me to react, i. e. think. Now you know d.a.m.n well an administrator doesn't have time to think any more than he has time to plow through a testament like this. You also know me well enough to knowI'd leaf through it and get hauled in and then go back and start over and hit every word. And be impressed by the effort that went into it, not excluding your pecking it all out on the typewriter. (What's the matter-haven't you got enough work to do?) (Seriously, Phil, I know you did it instead of sleeping and cut that out: I need you. You're going to kill yourself.) Now about the biography. I am doubtless much more impressed by the pathetic horror of it than a case-hardened character like you. I am also impressed by this kid's descriptive ability. I don't know how a fourth-grade English teacher would pa.r.s.e some of his sentences (like his description of the weathered knot of wood in the boat's side: "...you see things like that sometimes that though they do not move your eye keeps going into and out of and around and back again there are two spirals of hair on a cat's back that way.") but I never failed to get exactly exactly what he meant. And aside from the one or two real insights he comes up with, as for example that discussion on s.e.x and the machine-precise, almost delicate distinction he draws between Satisfy and Relieve, I am impressed by the what he meant. And aside from the one or two real insights he comes up with, as for example that discussion on s.e.x and the machine-precise, almost delicate distinction he draws between Satisfy and Relieve, I am impressed by the completeness completeness of his story. To this jaundiced eye he has left out nothing of significance; his portrait of himself is filled in to a substantial solid and contains no appreciable holes. What he has left out, like the exact details of his s.e.x techniques with Anna, shouldn't bother anyone except a grubby clinician like yourself who is beyond the reach of the chivalrous asterisk. of his story. To this jaundiced eye he has left out nothing of significance; his portrait of himself is filled in to a substantial solid and contains no appreciable holes. What he has left out, like the exact details of his s.e.x techniques with Anna, shouldn't bother anyone except a grubby clinician like yourself who is beyond the reach of the chivalrous asterisk.

I think there are a great many folks on the loose, people who would pa.s.s anyone's sanity standards with flying colors, who are in themselves in themselves a lot sicker than this boy He's one of the few human beings I've ever heard of who seems to have placed s.e.x in a genuinely wholesome perspective. He's inordinately self-reliant; as long as he's alone, he could no more be lost than a cat can be lost. And that brings up what to my mind is the real nature of his sickness, if any. a lot sicker than this boy He's one of the few human beings I've ever heard of who seems to have placed s.e.x in a genuinely wholesome perspective. He's inordinately self-reliant; as long as he's alone, he could no more be lost than a cat can be lost. And that brings up what to my mind is the real nature of his sickness, if any. And it isn't his sickness And it isn't his sickness.

I said above that many certifiably sane people are in themselves sicker than "George." Where we can raise an eyebrow at George is in matters which concern, not a person, but people. No human being, not even George, lives entirely alone. Interpersonal flux isn't just fun, or convenient, or decent, or orthodox. It is essential, vital. h.o.m.o sap. is an interdependent species. He may not not live alone. And it's easy to describe how "George" relates to people: he doesn't. live alone. And it's easy to describe how "George" relates to people: he doesn't.

Yet, in him, I don't think it matters. He found Anna. There's an odd aura about that relationship but whatever it is-and I'm not prying-it's suitably convexoconcave, if you see what I mean. She sounds like a girl with pieces missing, but she has the ones he needs.

To sum up I think this guy's only sickness is scar tissue from a regrettable childhood, and his only real crime is in being a loner. It feels criminal to us gregarious souls because we don't think we could do it. It's-well, unfashionable. It makes us uneasy because of an in-the-cells certainty we all have that without our fellows we could not survive. In a herd-and-hive culture like ours, a solitary bent seems in a way immoral. Tsk tsk.

All the foregoing (he said modestly) is of bull-session character; this isn't my specialty, it's yours. For all my irritation, I am grateful to you, old buddy, for a fascinating hour. Now for Christ's sake turn him loose. as ever, as ever, Al P. S. : What in G.o.d's name do you suppose was in that airletter that alerted the major? P. S. : What in G.o.d's name do you suppose was in that airletter that alerted the major?

Here is the carbon copy of a letter.

Lingam Lane O-R Lingam Lane O-R Catamite, Cal. Feb 28

Dear Kernel, corps of the Nut:

Delighted with your letter, your wisdom, your insight, your perspicacity. You're wrong.

1. There are are appreciable holes in "George's" narrative, and: appreciable holes in "George's" narrative, and: 2. His att.i.tude toward s.e.x is not wholesome.

Having said which with such positiveness, I'll have to be honest and say, for item One, that I don't know what the holes are, just where they are. For item Two, I don't think his s.e.xual approach is wholesome but I do not affirm it is unwholesome either. This is not juggling with accepted norms, which are as you know pretty weird in places. It's just that I don't know what what his s.e.x-matrix is; I'm only sure it will bear investigation. his s.e.x-matrix is; I'm only sure it will bear investigation.

Like yourself, I've been busy with several thousand other things while all this is going on, and I must remind you that this correspondence, for all these weeks, results just from his voluntary bio and our evaluation of it. I think it's about time I scheduled some real time for him and started digging. I'll let you know what happens. Thanks again for a grand letter. luv, luv, Phil Here is a letter.

Office of the Administrator Office of the Administrator Field Hospital HQ O-R Portland, Oregon March 2

Phil:

I'll say this as gently as possible. Friendship, and off-the-record correspondence, as factors alpha alpha and and beta beta, are desirable as long as they do not interfere with gamma gamma, that is, the job. Alpha Alpha and and beta beta are absolutely wonderful where they help with the job. But if are absolutely wonderful where they help with the job. But if gamma gamma is injured or slowed, is injured or slowed, beta beta will have to go and if necessary will have to go and if necessary alpha alpha. Because, old buddy, gamma gamma is bigger than both of us. I'm using Greek letters because you're an intellectual and I don't want to insult you with ABC's, but Phil, it really is that simple. is bigger than both of us. I'm using Greek letters because you're an intellectual and I don't want to insult you with ABC's, but Phil, it really is that simple.

I can say I suspect you've been working so hard (and well, I cordially add) that your judgement is wavering. And/or I can suggest that your really admirable preoccupation with your specialty has you chasing subtleties at a time when gross shovelling is piling up on you. This is to your personal credit but no good for the shop. I can even concede that you are right about this patient, but still insist that if he is tilted, it's not enough to roll a marble; shunt him out and forget him. Or if you must, keep track of him and bring him some aspirin when you graduate to being a civilian.

Or, finally, I can say, and you know d.a.m.n well I will if I have to, that you have to take my orders, Sergeant Outerbridge, even if you know I am wrong. Even if you know I know I'm wrong.

Give me credit for effort literally above and beyond the call of duty, on behalf of the above-mentioned alpha alpha. It would cost me to lose it. Still your friend, Still your friend, Al Here is the carbon copy of a letter.

Base Hospital #2 Base Hospital #2 Smithton Township, Cal. O-R Staff Office March 4

Colonel, suh:

I yield to superior numbers. And eagles. I am as of above date drafting, as ordered, a sound-sounding diagnosis. I'm sorry you had to get stuffy about it, Al. I can see why, but I have to say I'm sorry you did. Oh well. Old Alpha can stand it, I guess.

While I'm sounding (and I'm not dragging my feet on it, sir), here's one thing for you to chew on in your idle moments: Exactly why did the fully filled-in, admirably portrayed GI blow his stack when asked that specific question by the major? yrs obediently, yrs obediently, Phil Here is the answer: Sime plice O-R Sime plice O-R Sime st.i.te. March 13

Phil, you louse:

You have the d.a.m.ndest way of slipping live ants under a man's scalp. Aside from the fact that I have no idle moments, which you know, I made up my mind not to use them on any such dead issue. After four days it bothered me enough that I dug out "Smith's" ma.n.u.script to find out exactly what it was the major asked him when he blew his top. It was, and I quote, " 'What do you hunt for, George? I mean, exactly what do you get out of it?" And then bang.

For two more days I made up my mind, quite often, to forget it. So now, not that it matters, but just for the sake of peace, peace, sweet suffering peace: Mr. Bones, why did did the nice man blow his stack? the nice man blow his stack?

Not that it matters, really. You don't have to answer this. Al Al A carbon copy: Higgly Hatch O-R Higgly Hatch O-R Covercrotch, Cal. March 15

I dunno, Al.

Shall I ask him? Phil Phil A letter: Base Hosp HQ O-R Base Hosp HQ O-R Ptlnd Ore. March 16

No! A. W. A. W.

A telegram: SGT PHILIP OUTERBRIDGE SGT PHILIP OUTERBRIDGE.

BASE HOSP #2.

SMITHTON TOWNSHIP CAL MAR 16 6:12 PM.

SO ASK HIM.

AL.

Another telegram: SGT PHILIP OUTERBRIDGE SGT PHILIP OUTERBRIDGE.

BASE HOSP #2.

SMITHTON TOWNSHIP CAL MAR 16 6:21 PM.

HAVE GUARD PRESENT THAT IS AN ORDER.

COL ALBERT WILLIAMS Vultures' Vestry O-R Vultures' Vestry O-R Luna Park, Cal. March 17, begorrah

Dear Al:

I was really touched by your second wire to me last evening. Imagine, it's the first time you actually pulled rank on me and here I am touched.

Actually, your posture of command of recent date so chastened me that I sprang to obey on receipt of your first telegram, and did not get the second, heartwarming one until I came back downstairs.

Work proceeds apace on the clever knowledgeable diagnosis and recommendation for medical discharge, and I imagine we will have it processed in the next few hours, or say 24. As ever, As ever, Phil P. S. Oh sure an' you'll be wanting to know phwat the man said. (March 17 always boots me right in the Erse.) He said-and with perfect calm, Colonel: he trusts me, you know, which he will not when (G.o.d willing) I get my silver bars, which should be about the time he leaves here. Man, it seems I have been waiting half my life for that commission. Tell me, Al, will I feel as good to get the lowly captain's insignia as you did to get your lofty eagles?... but I digress. The man said, when I asked him why he blew up when the major asked him what he got out of hunting small game-you'll remember, he stated in his ma.n.u.script that he disapproved of killing for killing's sake, so it wasn't that, and as for the obvious, I don't think he once mentions hunger in connection with hunting; also, he frequently went for periods of months and even years without the slightest desire to hunt; anyway, what he answered was simply that he exploded because he thought the major had found out what it was. When I asked him why that should have bothered him, he explained carefully to me that he never was mad at the major; the major was a nice man; he was mad at himself because he had given himself away. The MP's grabbed him while he was mad, hence the donnybrook. Begorrah. The major pitched in to help and got his nose in the way. P. S. Oh sure an' you'll be wanting to know phwat the man said. (March 17 always boots me right in the Erse.) He said-and with perfect calm, Colonel: he trusts me, you know, which he will not when (G.o.d willing) I get my silver bars, which should be about the time he leaves here. Man, it seems I have been waiting half my life for that commission. Tell me, Al, will I feel as good to get the lowly captain's insignia as you did to get your lofty eagles?... but I digress. The man said, when I asked him why he blew up when the major asked him what he got out of hunting small game-you'll remember, he stated in his ma.n.u.script that he disapproved of killing for killing's sake, so it wasn't that, and as for the obvious, I don't think he once mentions hunger in connection with hunting; also, he frequently went for periods of months and even years without the slightest desire to hunt; anyway, what he answered was simply that he exploded because he thought the major had found out what it was. When I asked him why that should have bothered him, he explained carefully to me that he never was mad at the major; the major was a nice man; he was mad at himself because he had given himself away. The MP's grabbed him while he was mad, hence the donnybrook. Begorrah. The major pitched in to help and got his nose in the way.

He affirms that if n.o.body had grabbed him nothing would have happened but his cut hand when he squashed the water gla.s.s.

I hope that answers your question, Al. Peace, peace, sweet suffering peace. He'll be a civilian ere the dew drenches the shamrock or shortly thereafter. P. O. P. O. Base Hospital HQ O-R Base Hospital HQ O-R Portland, Ore. March 19

Dear Phil:

I see what you're up to. To some degree. There's a distinction between absolute and implicit obedience, forever discovered and rediscovered in the ranks and used to bug the officers. For all your light-hearted blarney (you see I'm not immune to the pa.s.sing of Padraic) you're still bleeding about my pulling rank on you. I can even see how you finagled me into asking just that question (Why did "George" blow his biscuit) when it was perfectly clear I was interested in the same thing the major was: what was his compulsion to hunt, if not for killing nor hunger?

If he's still around by the time you get this, see if you can find out.

And look-just to forestall any of your neuroneprodding, puppet-pulling monkeyshines, let's drop this explicit-answer-to-explicit-question bit. If you get an answer to this question don't go giving it to me with a teaser on it for the next one.

Oh G.o.d d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l, Phil. You're bound on this, aren't you? If I don't give you your head with this patient you'll tweeze me to death with your niggling little pokes and pinches. And you know d.a.m.n well I need you where you are, working as hard as you can, which I gather means working happy. My alternative is to pitch you in the stockade or transfer you out and you know I can't.

Okay, then, go ahead. But give everything you can to everything else. Either get results with him or kick him out.

It's lucky for you we're friends. It's lucky for me you know how to keep your trap shut. As for Nature Boy, I still think you are wrong. Hurry up and prove it. Al Al The Happy Hutch O-R The Happy Hutch O-R Far Out, Cal. March 21

Dear Al: Bless you, boy! I have everything lined up-Thematic Apperception, Rorschach, projective personality from profile to Patagonia. As for the other work buddy, you got yourself a dynamo. You have never seen processing like you'll see it now. Thanks thanks thanks and don't ever ask me if I really did start a discharge for "George." Gratefully, Gratefully, Phil Schizoid Center, O-R Schizoid Center, O-R Splitconk, Ore. March 23

Dear Phil:

Don't thank me, friend; and don't worry, I won't ask you if you really were processing that discharge You have your dear old Colonel completely submissive and under your thumb, and willing to do anything to a.s.sist you. Like I'm holding up your commission until you're quite finished with your authorial playmate, so your being an officer won't upset him. A tough case, Phil, but I'll go along with you if it takes years. Cordially, Cordially, Al

8.

Here's a sheaf of therapy notes, transcribed from shorthand. Q=Therapist. A=Patient. All notes refer to the case termed AX 544.

March 25.