Hi, Diary. It's Gordy. Who else?
Dad came home yesterday and although he sat down in his chair and grabbed the newspaper, I said, "Dad, did you know some hobo scratched a caduceus on the curb out front so other hobos would know this is where their doctor lives?"
Dad's forehead scrunched. "Hmmmmmmm, let's go out and have a look see." Which we did. "Somebody has to have one hell of an imagination to believe that's a caduceus," said Dad, smiling.
"The hobo who sold Mother the jewelry box, said any hobo can take one look at it and know this is where their doctor lives."
"Their doctor, huh? Still doesn't look like a caduceus to me."
So, we went indoors. When he sat down on his chair and grabbed the Daily Tribune, I took a risk. "Dad, why are you the hobos' doctor?"
His eyebrows almost met. He was perplexed, which means puzzled. "What is this, Son, Twenty Questions?"
"No, but do you know a huge and loud Winnebago Indian named Helushka?"
"Yes. I made a couple of house calls to see how he was doing after I first treated him."
"Did you make house calls in a boxcar?"
"Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman, are you telling me you were you in Bums' Jungle?"
Whenever I get the full GBH treatment from either parent, I know I'm in trouble. So, I made the big confession, ending with, "He scared us with his yelling."
"When the cops brought him to my office," explained Dad, "I thought his pain caused the screams, but I learned the harshness never subsides. So, he's back in town, eh?"
I nodded. "His scar looks like a lightning bolt," I said. "Gee, I never thought about it until now but his voice makes sense: It's the thunder."
“You’re going to become a poet,” said Dad as he turned on the radio, sat on his chair, and started reading. He was waiting for Gabriel Heatter to say, "There's good news tonight." Instead, he pushed two one-dollar bills at me. "Gordy, would you go to Turbin's and buy a carton of Old Golds?"
I grabbed the money, ran on the path through the next door empty lot, got the cigarettes, and gave the carton and change to Dad. It was time for everyone to be quiet so he could hear Mr. Heatter. When Ol' Gabe was finished, it was supper time. After Dad finished eating, he said, "Gordy, you want to come with me?"
I nodded.
"Can I go, too?" begged Crazy Annie.
"Not this time, sweetheart," Dad said to his favorite child, my goofy sister. "Gordy and I are going to visit a patient who might scare you."
"Then I don't want to go. Take Gordy."
"Who are you going to see, Jim?" Mother asked Dad.
"A patient, and it won't be in a box car." Dad winked at me.
"What?" questioned Mother.
“I’ll explain later.”
Dork and Doc III, both big deal high school students, didn't want to come along. When I got in the Olds, Dad handed me the Old Golds. He drove past Irving school and parked next to the large open field that led to the patch of woods everyone calls Bums' Jungle. The Winnebago tuba saw Dad and me right away. "Doc. How are you doing, Doc?" he bellowed.
The hobos' camp reminded me of Robin Hood and his merry men. Three men I hadn't seen before, plus Abner, greeted Dad, who opened the Old Gold carton and handed each man two packs of cigarettes. They thanked Dad. Endlessly. Dad threw the empty carton into a fire. The three men I hadn't seen before were attending to tin cans made into pots and pans, stirring, I figured, their supper.
"Say you guys," roared Helushka, “the Doc fixed this." He displayed his lightning bolt.
"Jeez, Doc," Abner told Dad after he lit an Old Gold, "you didn't hafta give us these smokes, but thanks anyway." The other men treated Dad as if he was God, or something. I listened to them and Dad talk and joke and laugh. Finally, Dad said, "Son, I think we'd better get going."
That's when Chief Tuba Voice bear-hugged Dad. The other men chuckled and stood, removed their hats, held them at their chests, and offered their farewells, thanking Dad once again for the cigarettes. Once we were in the car, I asked, "Why are you their doctor?"
"Because I took the Hippocratic Oath."
"You're not a hypocrite, Dad."
Dad laughed. Now, I know why he laughed because this afternoon after school, I rode to the library. The elegant librarian helped me find the oath in an encyclopedia. And you know what? I felt different. It took me a while to figure it out as I pedaled home. I was proud of the man who says he's my father instead of being angry at him or frightened of him. I am proud he treats hobos for free, even pays for their medicine and bandages and stuff, plus cigarettes, too. And I figured that's one reason we don't live in an expensive house while all the other doctors and their families live in fancy places. Plus he charges farmers fifty cents for house calls because they’re poor. He charges folks in town a dollar. Mother says it's because Dad spends too much money on his drinking. If only she'd stop smelling his breath when he comes home and yelling at him, maybe he'd be as nice to her as he is to the hobos.
Dad came home yesterday and although he sat down in his chair and grabbed the newspaper, I said, "Dad, did you know some hobo scratched a caduceus on the curb out front so other hobos would know this is where their doctor lives?"
Dad's forehead scrunched. "Hmmmmmmm, let's go out and have a look see." Which we did. "Somebody has to have one hell of an imagination to believe that's a caduceus," said Dad, smiling.
"The hobo who sold Mother the jewelry box, said any hobo can take one look at it and know this is where their doctor lives."
"Their doctor, huh? Still doesn't look like a caduceus to me."
So, we went indoors. When he sat down on his chair and grabbed the Daily Tribune, I took a risk. "Dad, why are you the hobos' doctor?"
His eyebrows almost met. He was perplexed, which means puzzled. "What is this, Son, Twenty Questions?"
"No, but do you know a huge and loud Winnebago Indian named Helushka?"
"Yes. I made a couple of house calls to see how he was doing after I first treated him."
"Did you make house calls in a boxcar?"
"Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman, are you telling me you were you in Bums' Jungle?"
Whenever I get the full GBH treatment from either parent, I know I'm in trouble. So, I made the big confession, ending with, "He scared us with his yelling."
"When the cops brought him to my office," explained Dad, "I thought his pain caused the screams, but I learned the harshness never subsides. So, he's back in town, eh?"
I nodded. "His scar looks like a lightning bolt," I said. "Gee, I never thought about it until now but his voice makes sense: It's the thunder."
“You’re going to become a poet,” said Dad as he turned on the radio, sat on his chair, and started reading. He was waiting for Gabriel Heatter to say, "There's good news tonight." Instead, he pushed two one-dollar bills at me. "Gordy, would you go to Turbin's and buy a carton of Old Golds?"
I grabbed the money, ran on the path through the next door empty lot, got the cigarettes, and gave the carton and change to Dad. It was time for everyone to be quiet so he could hear Mr. Heatter. When Ol' Gabe was finished, it was supper time. After Dad finished eating, he said, "Gordy, you want to come with me?"
I nodded.
"Can I go, too?" begged Crazy Annie.
"Not this time, sweetheart," Dad said to his favorite child, my goofy sister. "Gordy and I are going to visit a patient who might scare you."
"Then I don't want to go. Take Gordy."
"Who are you going to see, Jim?" Mother asked Dad.
"A patient, and it won't be in a box car." Dad winked at me.
"What?" questioned Mother.
“I’ll explain later.”
Dork and Doc III, both big deal high school students, didn't want to come along. When I got in the Olds, Dad handed me the Old Golds. He drove past Irving school and parked next to the large open field that led to the patch of woods everyone calls Bums' Jungle. The Winnebago tuba saw Dad and me right away. "Doc. How are you doing, Doc?" he bellowed.
The hobos' camp reminded me of Robin Hood and his merry men. Three men I hadn't seen before, plus Abner, greeted Dad, who opened the Old Gold carton and handed each man two packs of cigarettes. They thanked Dad. Endlessly. Dad threw the empty carton into a fire. The three men I hadn't seen before were attending to tin cans made into pots and pans, stirring, I figured, their supper.
"Say you guys," roared Helushka, “the Doc fixed this." He displayed his lightning bolt.
"Jeez, Doc," Abner told Dad after he lit an Old Gold, "you didn't hafta give us these smokes, but thanks anyway." The other men treated Dad as if he was God, or something. I listened to them and Dad talk and joke and laugh. Finally, Dad said, "Son, I think we'd better get going."
That's when Chief Tuba Voice bear-hugged Dad. The other men chuckled and stood, removed their hats, held them at their chests, and offered their farewells, thanking Dad once again for the cigarettes. Once we were in the car, I asked, "Why are you their doctor?"
"Because I took the Hippocratic Oath."
"You're not a hypocrite, Dad."
Dad laughed. Now, I know why he laughed because this afternoon after school, I rode to the library. The elegant librarian helped me find the oath in an encyclopedia. And you know what? I felt different. It took me a while to figure it out as I pedaled home. I was proud of the man who says he's my father instead of being angry at him or frightened of him. I am proud he treats hobos for free, even pays for their medicine and bandages and stuff, plus cigarettes, too. And I figured that's one reason we don't live in an expensive house while all the other doctors and their families live in fancy places. Plus he charges farmers fifty cents for house calls because they’re poor. He charges folks in town a dollar. Mother says it's because Dad spends too much money on his drinking. If only she'd stop smelling his breath when he comes home and yelling at him, maybe he'd be as nice to her as he is to the hobos.
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