FALSE GRITS
By Tom Berry
Copyright © 2011 by Tom Berry
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FALSE GRITS
PROLOGUE
Historians report that the Korean Conflict, which began June of 1950, just after graduation ,leaving a new crop of high school and college students in the United States wondering what they would do that summer; the answer came with the call up from the draft into the Army. Some, however, wanted to serve and volunteered.
In 1951, after the conflict had seen Seoul, Korea captured twice by the North Koreans and North Korea invaded by UN and South Korean forces, the generals and politicians decided to talk this bloody war over; maybe reach a truce
On October 25, 1951 these generals and politicians met in Kaesong, North Korea, but the discussions were soon changed to an obscure village called Panmunjom; a site both sides could suffer with.
Meanwhile the war raged on.
While the fighting continued up and down hills designated by numbers, but later known by the names the troops gave them, the negotiations went on and on. No one could agree on anything. The negotiating sides could not agree on the size of the table, the number of chairs and where each side would sit.
This took time.
And while fighting men lost their lives, the generals and politicians fought their own battles. These were serious disagreements which tried the very soul of these patient battle hardened negotiators. It came down to who got the real estate known as 'Heartbreak Hill'. UN forces, which included Americans, fought their way up the hill getting their asses shot up as they valiantly took the hill.
Then it was the North Korean's turn to take the lead while climbing up that lethal hill. They had to overcome the rain of bullets poured out from American rifles and machine guns along with exploding grenades that came rolling down upon them. The avalanche of destruction did not stop the determined North Koreans, who pushed the Americans off the hill and occupied it once more.
This did not sit well with the American officers, who had the unpleasant task of sitting across from the joyous and smug North Koreans, making no effort to hide it from their usually grim noncommittal faces.
Immediately, the American combat troops were sent word from the negotiating generals to retake that important dirt hill at all cost. They received blistering words from their Commander, General Matthew Ridgeway, who they called "Old Iron Tits' behind his back because he wore two live hand grenades on the front of his uniform which hung down like drooping tits.
Old Iron tits sent the word out: "How in hell can we negotiate a peace treaty if we keep letting those gooks take away our hard fought land? Take that damn hill and keep it!! We negotiate from strength; not weakness. Hold that damn hill!"
After that inspirational message, hold it, they did. At least until the Chinese stuck their yellow noses into it and with the most tinny sounding bugles that gave music a bad name, wave after wave of Chinese soldiers died trying to make it up that blood soaked hill as they slipped and slide on their comrades bright red blood.
Still, the heat of battle continued with each side claiming glorious victory.
This location, Hill 851, claimed the dubious distinction of being the most costly in the history of the World
Month after month, at the end of each day, each negotiator would leave the large tent at Panmunjom, in total frustration.
Something had to be done to end this war.
An atom bomb was out of the question. General McArthur had been fired when he insisted on going back into North Korea.
What the Americans needed was some kind of secret weapon that could bring this crazy conflict to termination. Already 55,000 American soldiers were losing their lives and countless others- their body parts. The VA hospitals and the cemeteries were filled to capacity.
The military think tank at the Pentagon was burning the midnight lights in an effort to come up with a solution to the problem.
"How about germ warfare; anthrax for instance?" was Colonel James Bernard's suggestion. This was quickly vetoed.
"It can't be controlled on the battlefield. Our own troops might be wiped out. The American public would never stand for that," commented Major Issac Whipple.
"Well then, how about poison gas?" was another half hearted suggestion that never made it out of the canisters.
The mention of poison gas rang a bell. A bright young Lt. Alan Benson whose daddy, Senator Bryce Benson, had just gotten the twenty year old graduate from Virginia Military Institute posted to the Pentagon instead of the front lines in Korea; he had an idea which he could not contain.
"I remember a soldier who I heard about when I was stationed at Camp Pendleton. Her name was Fannie Mae McBride, but reverently known by the other soldiers as 'Big Fanny'."
The civilian liaison advisor shook his head looking in disbelief at this wet behind the ears shave tail-- like he didn't have all that was coming to him.
He exclaimed loudly, "Who in God's green earth is "Big Fanny'? I can't wait to hear this cockamamie story." He added, "I am sure the President would like to hear it also." He said drily, "He likes a good story. You know it lightens his day."
The Military officers glared at the shavetail and then at the civilian, Peter Poteet, whom they disliked, turning their attention back to a now red faced Second Lieutenant who didn't have enough sense to keep his mouth shut. As the second hand on the wall clock clicked in the stillness, they waited for his reply.
After Major Mike Carlton began tapping the "war table" rather loudly with his unused pencil much like the third grade teacher he had once been, young Benson summoned the courage to speak.
Clearing his throat, Benson said, "The story goes like this: Fannie Mae McBride traveled all the way from Leslie, Arkansas aboard a Trailways bus to Fort Sill, Oklahoma to enlist in the United States Army. The recruiter turned her away because she was badly overweight, tipping the scales at 357 pounds. Besides that, the recruiter wrote in his notes, that she had an overwhelming body odor which he noted when he was down wind from her."
Benson paused smiling boyishly.
"A little humor by the recruiter in his notes," he continued. "Well according to the only witness who survived, 'Big Fanny' turned red in the face, then purple and just let out a long lingering 'FART'"
"Did I hear you right Lieutenant? She passed gas?" asked Colonel Bernard incredulously.
"That's the story I got while I was in Special Forces before being transferred here. I personally interviewed enlistee Donald 'White Cloud' Snodgrass from Talleahquah, Oklahoma. He was the only survivor except for Big Fanny, that is. You probably saw the account in the news recently about the recruiter and two enlistees who died of unknown causes that day."
"Snodgrass only survived because he was in the progress of stepping outside to get some fresh air due to the terrific body odor of Big Fanny. I quote to you in his own words: 'She smelled like she had had nine days of sex without bathing and then had fallen into a septic tank.' end of quote."
Peter Poteet, the civilian, exclaimed excitedly, "Good golly, Miss Molly, I have never heard of such a thing. Go on. Go on!"
The military men turned and glared at Poteet again.
"Snodgrass reported that she flatter blasted--whatever that means. He estimated it lasted about three minutes. An exaggeration, I am sure, but nevertheless a record." Benson let that sink in.
"Anyhow, when the fumes had cleared, Big Fanny was nowhere to be found. It took the FBI to track her down. They found her in the little town of Leslie, Arkansas on Ira P. Shootinque's pig farm. Being forewarned of her potency, when they found her out in the hog pen shouting, 'Sooeee!' they approached with caution and spoke in soothing tones."
"'Yes indeed, Miss Fannie, it was a mistake', they assured her. 'You can certainly join the Army.' They waved a paper in front of her and said, 'See here. They have already processed your paper work.'"
"They suggested that she bathe so she went down to the creek and jumped in. After she changed clothes, she was transported to the enlistment center in Little Rock where she was sworn in. They even had an oversized uniform ready for her." Benson stopped a few seconds and then said, "Oh yes, the FBI agent in his report jotted down that at the time they had the confrontation in the pig yard, there were 8 to 10 scraggly hound dogs hanging around. As Big Fanny approached them, one yellow dog called Old Lick got up quietly and slinked off with his tail between his legs. The other dogs were not as astute. When she got close to the dogs, they got a whiff of her, running off yelping wildly." Benson who now had the undivided attention of the group, beamed broadly. He said, "There is more. In the words of the FBI agent, 'Even, the dogs refused to sniff Big Fanny'"
He looked over and saw Poteet writing it all down furiously.
"I have copies of the reports," said Benson as he began to pass them out.
"Is there more?" asked Major Whipple.
"Yes Sir, it is in the reports."
"Well you are quite a story teller so why don't you finish. We can read the dry reports later."
"Big Fanny became Private McBride in spite of her overweight problem. Her individual trainers used kerosene soaked cotton balls stuffed in their nostrils and treated her with obsequious respect. Not because she smelled bad even after bathing, but because she was considered a lethal weapon. Her trainers kept gas masks handy and believe you me, they donned them if she so much as let out a squeaker." He pointed to the notes handed out and said, "In the reports, you will note, on one occasion she 'flatter blasted; as on that fateful day in Oklahoma, the alert trainers all making it out of the building safely. They made no beans about leaving Big Fanny alone until the air cleared."
"At the present, Private Mc Bride is undergoing medical testing to see what makes her flatulence so deadly. One of her doctors, a Dr. Alphonse Aholie, a doctor about my age from India wants to do exploratory surgery. He joined the Army to get U.S. citizenship. I understand he is considered a genius."
After a short break in which the staff huddled with the exception of Peter Poteet and Lt. Benson, the group took their places at the war table. Colonel James Bernard rose up from his seat and firmly stated, "Well done Lt. Benson. It has been agreed, that you should be transferred back to Special Forces in Washington, D.C. and from there you will take charge of this lethal weapon at once." Bernard spoke slowly, "Do Not Let that Indian doctor do surgery on Private McBride. We have an idea where we can put Private Mc Bride who wants to serve her country."
The Orders were cut giving Lt. Alan Benson his first real assignment. As soon as he could be ready, both were to be deployed to Korea.
The top secret mission known only by the few was called "Mission Rectum."
The Special Forces knew what they had. All they had to was to contain her. She went through rigorous training which included having to bathe at least five times a day. Experiments were made that lasted several weeks to find a perfume, which matched Fannie's chemistry, satisfactorily cloaking her still lingering odor.
From the scientific department of Redstone Laboratories, one of the scientists had been experimenting with a substance that was to be given cattle which would curtail the amount of methane gas they emitted in to the air. Many learned scientists blamed all that methane gas being passed into the atmosphere to be the cause of global warming. Nothing was said about the contribution humans made. They developed a large purple pill which seemed to work on lab cows.
When Lt. Benson learned of this breakthrough, he ordered a smaller pill which would be given Big Fanny.
It worked.
She was able to control her emissions not posing a danger to her own troops.
After this enormous breakthrough, orders were cut sending Lt. Benson and Private Fannie Mae McBride to Panmunjom, Korea. Benson was given a sealed envelope marked Top Secret which was to be opened upon arrival in Panmunjom.
Prior to leaving for their top secret destination, a final test was given to Private McBride. She was taken off the purple pill and fed a large heaping of red beans and rice. Then she was placed in a room with only a bevy of little animals for companions. She was urged to break wind and await the results.
She did her best, straining at the so called bit.
The test was an immense success.
Not one of her companions survived.
It was mid June 1953 when the deadly duo arrived. Talks were still going on to no avail. Everyone was grim faced and exhausted. Any fears that Benson had that they might settle before Big Fanny had a chance to do her patriotic thing, quickly vanished when he saw his superiors leaving the large tent where the negotiations were taking place, nodding theirs heads in disbelief that the North Koreans could be so petty and hard headed.
The next day, Lt. Benson and his aide showed up to take the place of one of the American negotiators, Colonel Ventura, who had come down with a virus. This morning the North Koreans refused to discuss a truce unless they were allowed to get the pitcher of water first. The Americans politely asked if they could leave the tent to consider this request.
It was a clear crisp cool spring like day. At the present the canvas flaps on the side of the huge tent were all down. Later after it warmed up they would be rolled up. Only the entrance was open to the tent.
When the American officers got up to leave the tent, Lt. Benson followed. Only Private McBride was left standing behind.
A wry smile of satisfaction spread across the faces of the North Koreans. One of the North Korean Generals, smiling, turned to the General on his right saying loudly, "Looks like our strategy is working. The Americans lack our patience. I think they are ready to capitulate."
General Hui Pong Jong, who had been educated at U.C.L.A., looked around. Spotting Big Fanny, he said, "Watch what you say. They may have left a spy." He then nodded toward Big Fanny who walked over to the entrance and seemed to be looking at something outside.
Another general in an exuberant mood laughed and said, "Who? That porker? She is too stupid to be a spy."
As they all broke out in loud laughter, another General, between laughs, stated, "That is the poorest excuse for a soldier I have ever seen. She is an insult to all of us."
Big Fanny walked from the entrance to the great table facing the Generals with a vacant look, turned around and cut loose with her best flatter-blaster, ever. It lasted a good one and a half minutes, the noxious spray like a fog creeping over the generals before they knew what hit them.
Big Fanny then proudly marched out of the tent stopping only to close the entrance door behind her.
Her handler, Lt. Benson, was waiting in front. He asked, "Mission Rectum accomplished?"
"I recken so," said the smiling private who now spit out a plug of chewing tobaccy as if it was something nasty.
The next day, July 10th, another nice day, was still cool, but the wind had picked up blowing any remnants of the polluted air out the now opened side flaps of the tent. Lt. Benson and Private McBride were not present when the Americans took their place at the table. Colonel Ventura, now recovered from his virus, remarked, "We really need to do something about the sewerage system around here. I believe we are down wind from it today."
Another officer drolly said, "That so. I never noticed it before."
After a thirty minute wait, a North Korean General, they had never seen before walked in stiffly and announced that the terms heretofore proposed by the United Nations were now accepted by the Republic of Korea. The paper work was being drawn up.
That was it. On July 27th the cease fire agreed upon, was signed by all sides. The Conflict ended.
The Lieutenant and his aide flew back to the states.
"If you ain't got no more missions for me, Laytenant Ben-son, I would kinda like to go home." Fannie Mae said.
"Let me see what I can do. I think I can get you into the inactive reserves. That way you won't have to attend those meetings. Which reminds me, You need to keep taking those purple pills. The Army will send you some every month."
Private Fannie Mae McBride was mustered out of the Army, an unsung heroine, with an Honorable Discharge. Later the Medal of Honor was mailed to her after the President heard of her part in ending the Korean conflict. The North Korean Generals affected were never seen or heard of again.
Years later, when the Army sent its representative to Leslie, Arkansas to call up Corporal McBride (she had been promoted) for a new secret mission (something to do with a Saddam Huesein), they learned that Fannie Mae McBride had met with a untimely death. She had gone up on Nubbin Ridge to pick flowers when a herd of wild razorback hogs resented her invasion of their territory. They charged her with their sharp tusks and literally forced her over the ridge onto the jagged rocks below.
Alan Benson, now Lt. Colonel Benson persuaded Washington to move Big Fanny's body to Arlington Cemetery.
They dug her up and at her second funeral, she received a twenty-one gun salute reserved for heroes. As the Marines decked out in their bright uniforms shouldered their rifles, Lt. Colonel Benson laid a wreath at her headstone. It read: "Private Fannie Mae McBride, Medal of Honor, Korean Conflict".
She was buried next to the Unknown Soldier.
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CHAPTER ONE
The sparkling waters of the Gulf of Mexico shine like polished diamonds when the water is calm; a flat rock can almost be skipped to Cat Island four miles south of Gulfport, Mississippi, but all serenity changes when the wind blows hard causing the waves to mount up into white caps boiling like in a squall, making sunbathers, soaking up the sun on brightly colored beach towels, run from the blinding, stinging sand whipped up by the angry storm.
The scene of sailboats in bright array racing in regattas; yachts, cabin cruisers and open faced motor boats all going somewhere interrupted by violent clashes of lightning and bomb-like explosions of thunder, head quickly for safety of the yacht harbor.
So it was that this seemingly carefree environment was further challenged when after nine hours of hard labor by his mother, little baby George Cedric Murfrey the Third made his extraordinary entrance into this world with promise to leave a memorable effect on those lives he would touch.
Like the calm gentle sparkling waters that lap the shores of the Mississippi Gulf Coast that can suddenly boil into turmoil, so it was when little baby Murfrey made his extraordinary entrance into the delivery room at Memorial Hospital at Gulfport.
There had been a shortage of nurses when the call came for registered Nurse Mary Ann Cranston to come out of retirement after five years of bliss being persuaded to “help out.” She was a wee bit rusty, up in age and it had been many years since she had worked in Maternity. She was nervous! All her reasons for retiring in the first place came crashing back on her.
"Doctor Morse!" she called out in a shrill voice, "he is not breathing!" Moments earlier, Nurse Cranston had been handed the still baby while the young handsome dark haired physician turned his immediate attentions to the ripe firm breasts of Nurse Beth Allen. After the little fat baby had been pulled out of the cavernous womb of this morbidly obese thirty-five yea old mother, the doctor must have thought his job was over. What was she supposed to do now?
She was new to the delivery room procedures having never worked in one in the past or with this young doctor since coming out of retirement.
Did he expect her to read his mind?
Dr. Morse was also out of his comfort zone. He generally delivered babies at Garden Park, a private hospital, where competent nurses took over after he did his skillful part of delivering children. Disturbed by the frantic cries of Nurse Cranston, the arched eyebrows and hungry eyes formerly focused on Beth Allen, quickly snapped over to the source of this unwarranted intrusion.
The loud mouthed nurse had not wiped the baby off, nor had she cleaned out his nose. But Dr. Morse calmly, with suppressed irritation speaking slowly and distinctly through his clenched teeth said, "Nurse just slap him on his fat little ass. Then he added, "And then clean him up.!"
"I did! I did!" cried Cranston and for good measure gave this uncooperative new born a good whop, but without success.
"I think you had better come over here doctor, if you don't want a dead baby on you hands," the nurse said in a low determined voice which was almost a growl. Now with a worried look on her face, she asked herself. "Why didn't I stay retired?"
Dr. Morse shrugged his young shoulders in exasperation, telling the object of his attentions, Nurse Allen, now nervously running her fingers through her bleached blonde hair, "Hold on a minute. I have something important to tell you."
Seeing the obstetrician flash his winning smile, giving Nurse Allen one last ogle, Nurse Cranston hit the panic button and screamed, "Hurry doctor! You better hurry doctor! This child is dying!" Then to emphasize the urgency, she screamed at the top of her voice, "We are going to lose this one!"
All this commotion woke up the baby's mother, still in her stirrups, delivering the afterbirth onto the shiny tiled floor. After the one gigantic push the mother had fallen back into blessed sleep, snoring peacefully again.
"Wha, What?" said Agnes Murfrey whose nine hour ordeal had ended when big baby Murfrey finally slid out of her large mouth womb. Even though her feet were still fastened to the stirrup and the gates to hell wide open, she did not seem to mind, now that the intense pain, racking her body, was gone. She had done her part; now snoring even louder in an effort to drown out the yelling and screaming taking place. She did not hear the doctor say "Go back to sleep, Agnes!"
Dr. Morse slipped his green surgical mask over his nose and swiftly grabbed the baby from Nurse Cranston, who was just standing there like a dodo bird. Then he noticed that the umbilical cord had not been severed. "It's alright,” he nervously chuckled. “The life line is still connected."
Against his better judgment, Dr. David Morse had taken on Mrs. Agnes Murfrey as a patient. She was a large repulsive heavy set woman with a big flat nose and bushy eyebrows; unlike his bevy of svelte good looking high class patients who had the money to pay his high fees. It had been a surprise when Agnes came up with his exorbitant fee. She had turned his head when she said, "I came to you Dr. Morse, because I heard you were the best."
Unlike his other patients, who under his stern instructions, kept their weight down during pregnancy, Mrs. Murfrey's weight went up. And where was this lady's husband? She did not list one on her information sheet. Probably never had one!
Morse had his receptionist schedule Agnes' office visits at 3:00 p.m. or later so she would be his last patient of the day. He did not want her seen by the other high class patients. She was directed to park her long black 1939 LaSalle in the rear of his office and to use the back door to enter the office. No waiting room for Agnes. No. She was put in one of the spare rooms in the back to cool her heels. It never occurred to Dr. Morse that the reason he disliked fat pregnant women was because it required more effort on his part or perhaps because they were unappealing to the eye or maybe because it had been drilled into him in med school that obesity was an unhealthy disease unto itself, nor did it ever occur to Agnes that her obesity was a problem for Dr. Morse or for her husband who left without explanation,
Somehow, Mrs. Murfrey had heard about the State of Mississippi providing free hospitalization to those birth mothers who qualified.
She qualified.
So MHG the public hospital was chosen and now he was having to deal with this incompetent nurse who dared to raise her voice to him. This would not have happened at Garden Park.
There was one consolation. Nurse Beth Allen was a fox! And she was responding to his make-out attentions. His keen sense of smell picked up the scent of this sexually excited woman letting him know she was ready.
He had never lost a baby and he was not about to start now. Delivering babies was like serving food in restaurants. One bad meal and the word would get out. This was not going to happen and neither would this blonde bombshell who had fallen into his lap, suffer neglect either. What a body!
He turned his attention to this upstart butterball. While showing this baby who was boss, he would at the same time impress Beth with his skills and prowess.
Another challenge--another victory.
He would not let this baby who probably would never know who his daddy was, get the best of him.
Although his office was constantly filled with young high society ladies with great bodies, some even making a pass at him, Dr. Morse made it a rule never to cross the line. They could expect exaggerated compliments about their pulchritudinous bodies and an inappropriate hug or two. That was as far as it went. It made no difference that a few even professed their love for him.
A lesson was learned when pretty boy ex-doctor Joe Little, gynecologist was caught screwing his patients, consequently sued by irate husbands and finally run out of Gulfport.
Dr. Morse had two rules: No screwing the patients and no fraternization with the employees.
Nailing the young pretty nurses who seemed to stand in line for his favors was sufficient unto itself. Word of his prowess had gotten out among the nursing staff in both hospitals and they could not wait to try him on. For some strange reason, during a delivery, his testosterone increased to which the young nurses responded. His sexy smile, a conjugal embrace, revealing his potent readiness, was usually all that was needed.
Today, it was the heaving pear shaped breasts and that minute body scent that told him she was available and ready. Little did Beth know that he had been busy during the nine hour ordeal Agnes Murfrey had been experiencing prior to delivery. This was a record setting day. After securing a private room, in which to rest while waiting for the birth pains to indicate Agnes was ready, the nurses over at MHG literally lined up to knock on his door asking if there was anything they could do to make him more comfortable. Dr. Morse had no desire to perform a caesarian operation on this extremely obese woman with those heavy layers of fat hanging on her, so he waited, enjoying the perks that came his way,
On this memorable day, at Memorial Hospital eight nurses had entered his room and eight left with smiles on their faces while adjusting their uniforms. As soon as the obstacle, baby Murfrey presented, was overcome, it was only fitting that the gorgeous Nurse Allen would be the one to break his record that should hold up for many years to come.
First, he must work his magic. He must get this reluctant piglet to breathe, yell and cry. No doubt the nine hours of hard labor had also taken its toll on the infant. Still in stirrups, the mother had raised the crescendo; snorting and snoring louder than he had ever heard, making it difficult to romance a young maiden with all that cacophony of irritating sounds, but with rising testosterone, he was sure he was up to it.
"Attention everyone!" shouted the doctor over the crescendo. "Don't leave yet! Behold, I have a new born baby who doesn't want to cooperate. Well now, I have an answer for that! I will demonstrate a technique that will bring forth the spark of life--a technique that will introduce this cute little fat baby into our world, who has had it so good for nine long months. Now it is time for him to join the rest of us."
With a deftness of a skilled surgeon, he cut the umbilical cord, clamped it off, cradling the baby waltzing in lon exaggerated strides over to a long table covered with a sterile sheet, laying little Murfrey on his tummy, quickly moving faster than the eye could see, he back handed the buttocks of the child, while gently pressuring the lower back and mid section.
His captive audience watched intently.
He looked down to admire the results of his expertise, but to his surprise instead of a yell, scream or loud cry, all he heard was a large whomp, a loud woosh which came from the baby's behind. This was accompanied by a brown cloud of noxious smelling gas encased in a bubble; the bubble popping, quickly hitting him in the face, spreading across the entire delivery room to his audience of two nurses, who sniffing the foul smelling gas, quickly spilled out into the hall, to the dismay of two other nurses at their station, guarding the delivery room from any intruders.
Dr. Morse stood there stunned with a patch of brown stain around the nose area on his surgical mask; a stark reminder of divine intervention.
His patient, Agnes Murfrey awakened, seeing the baby, uttering, "That's my baby."
And little Murfrey, instead of crying, yelling or screaming, just lay there giggling.
Was the smile on baby Murfrey’s face real or just a grimace from gas?
Never-the-less, little Murfrey baby was making his mark in the world!
When the two nurses hastily left the delivery room, they hit the double swinging doors so hard that the doors failed to swing back and close, allowing the guests and expectant father's in the waiting room, only fifty feet away, to crane their necks in an effort to see the cause of the nurses’ sudden departure as if the devil was after them. Dr. Morse could see Nurse Cranston crouched down trying to avoid observation. Nurse Beth Allen had fled to the Woman's Room to take stock of her appearance.
"Nurse Cranston! Nurse Cranston," hollowed Dr. Morse loudly. "Git yore self back in here!" He seemed to have lost his polished debonair accent.
"I need yore hep to tie this here umbilical cord!"
Nurse Cranston was in the process of relating the unusual birth happening to the station nurse, but most of her dialogue was about the doctor ogling and hitting on Nurse Allen.
She was saying, "The hospital shouldn't hire these good looking sexy young women as nurses. They are a distraction. This doctor goes too far. I hope God strikes him down for his wicked behavior."
"What did he do?' asked the station nurse.
"It's what he had in mind to do," replied Cranston. "Oh hell, let me see what he wants and get this over with."
The 64 year old, grey haired spinster was a straight laced devout Southern Baptist from Carriere, Mississippi. She did not stand for any hanky-panky, as she called it, unless it was another Baptist doing it. In that case, she reasoned, there was still hope and the influence of the church would correct it.
She straightened up her heavily starched uniform, marching back into the devil's den, finding it as she left it. Mrs. Agnes Murfrey still in stirrups was snoring blissfully. Her enlarged womb was still open, the afterbirth delivered during the crises, still lying on the polished green floor, the baby on the padded table by the wall still covered with blood, but to her relief, very much alive. The doctor was fiddling with the long umbilical cord that was clamped off.
He looked up, glaring at the nurse, who seemed uncertain as to what she should do next.
"Git over here! I need yore help, nurse,” Morse said through his tightly clenched pearly teeth, trying to get control of his self.
"Here, hold this runt while I tie off the cord." he said; then seeing the doors wide open and several curious people gathered around looking in, "and first shut those damn doors!"
Jolted by the stern command, nurse Cranston sprang into action: she shut the doors in the onlookers' faces; covering Agnes with a sheet, sponging off the baby without breaking stride. With the child in her arms, she waited for Dr. Morse to perform his famous trademark belly button knot which she had heard through the grape vine; now she was going to get too see it first hand.
While Dr, Morse was fidgeting with the cord, Cranston got a large whiff of the lingering foul odor. She said, "Just a moment doctor”, handing the large baby back to the doctor.
She then went over to the thermostat and kicked the temperature down several degrees and the air conditioner began to clear the air of the cloud of smelly stuff from the room. She went over to a drawer, slipping on a new blue pair of rubber gloves. In another drawer, she got a fresh surgical mask and walked back to the doctor.
"Let me put this new mask on you doctor," she said as she untied the one that had a large brown spot on it in the nose area.
"I ought to write you up for leaving your post and your patients."
"I understand," said Cranston. "And while you are about it, I will write up Nurse Allen who seems to have run off. I certainly did not give her permission. Did you?" When the doctor did not respond, she added' "I hope she is okay. Maybe I had better go look for her, don't you think?"
"Stay right where you are, nurse. After thinking it over, there will be no write-ups. This was an unusual birth to say the least. Lets get this done, clean up the patients, get them to their rooms and I will go find Nurse Allen and deal with her.
"I bet you will'" muttered Cranston under her breath.
"What's that?"
"I said, I bet she is alright."
"Fine hand me those shears. I have finished. Baby Murfrey now has a belly button.
Nurse Cranston peered down at the special belly button, she had heard so much about. It was Dr. Morse's secret trademark of which he was proud, as were the children who later in life showed them off. Those were sexy navels displayed proudly by teenage girls. Even other doctors who later treated those special belly button children would remark as they examined them, "I bet I know who delivered you." These signature navels, as he called them, were his permanent mark, on the children he delivered.
But not this time! This belly button was going to be different!
He decided that he was not going to leave his signature on this urchin who had given him so much trouble. Instead he would tie the "Haines button". This boy was doomed to be a problem and the sooner he got shut of him without the world knowing he had been instrumental in bringing the trouble maker into life, the better.
"I had heard of your belly buttons, doctor, but they were not described to me like this one. Is this a new style? I think I have seen some like it before, but just can't place it," said Nurse Cranston as she wrapped the baby in a blanket.
Dr. Morse ignored her remarks. In truth, he had tied the signature knot of Dr. Evelyn Haines, his one time partner. The "Haines button" was not as pretty or nice as his. It was more of a figure eight which sometimes instead of being buried in the stomach, it would stick out in an ugly fashion, all knotted up; a terrible sight—like a pigs’ tail.
Dr. Morse thought to himself, "Now when this boy grows up, people will think Dr. Haines is responsible for this atrocity."
Oh, how he hated his ex-partner. The break-up between them had not been pleasant. She was a high strung woman with a mean streak. She bullied the whole office including him.
One morning when he came to his office, he found a guard standing at the door blocking his entrance. Since she owned the building, she had merely kicked him out without his files or patients. When he tried to break into the building that night to get his files, he was caught and threatened, that if tried it again, he would surely go to jail.
It was the talk of the Mississippi Gulf Coast.
The matter landed in the Harrison County Chancery Court under the title, MORSE V. HAINES. He had to find another office and in order to get his files, the Court issued an order that his patients to go to the Haines office and personally request them.
It had been a set back in his practice, but through winning smiles, sensuous hugs and excessive flattery, his female patients returned to him and soon he had them all coming back, plus more.
But he still hated Dr. Evelyn Haines!
This would be a joke on her. This little farting baby would be wearing her trademark button for all time. Anyone asking, who delivered Murfrey and saw that belly button, would say, "Must have been Dr. Evelyn Haines."
Now that he had done his duty, there would not be a follow up. He would have his receptionist make some kind of excuse, referring the mother and child to some other doctor. Maybe he would send her to Dr. Evelyn Haines. Yes, he would send the file over with a note saying he had handled her patient by mistake.
How he would love to be a fly on the wall when that obese woman and her fat baby showed up at Haines' office and see the expression on that bitches' face when she discovered he had copied her inept unattractive trademark belly button onto the boy. What a lark!
And as for Agnes Murfrey whose vagina was so wide that he could not understand why the baby just did not fall out instead of taking nine hours, well, he would leave that intact. He would not put the customary stitches in her to tighten it up for future use.
"Why the next man that has sex with her will have to strap a two by four to his ass to keep from falling in. Maybe with her love life curtailed, Agnes would not give birth to anymore farting babies". He chuckled. "And what pediatrician did he dislike enough to refer little Murfrey?"
This time he laughed heartedly out aloud startling Nurse Cranston.
"I see you are in a better mood, doctor."
"I am. I am. Mrs. Cranston, would you please place Agnes in her room and the baby with the others. I am going in search of Nurse Allen. If I find her, I will send her back here to give you a hand."
"I bet you will," said Cranston as she snapped off her blue surgical gloves. “I just bet you will!”
****
CHAPTER TWO
George Cedric Murfrey was not named after his father, Alfred Aloysis Murfrey, who had taken off for parts unknown two months after he learned of Agnes' pregnancy. George Cedric Murfrey the Third was not named after anyone; it was just some name Agnes thought up. After all, the father gave no reason for his departure. He just left. So with Agnes, it was don't ask and I won't tell.
Little Georgie, as Agnes called him, appeared to be a normal baby. He giggled; had all his fingers and toes and as he progressed, talked normal baby words. He was like a lot of overweight plump American babies causing people to stop when seeing him in his stroller and say, "Oh, what a cute baby."
Changing his dirty diapers or being around when he passed copious amounts of stinking gas, that would gag even a maggot, did not alarm his mother, being a first time mother, with no other babies to compare the rotten stench, who thought this horrible smell was normal.
Finances dictated that she go back to her job at Western Union, a job she had expertly held for over twenty years. Keeping a baby sitter proved difficult. After a few days of changing little Georgie's rotten diapers, the sitter suddenly found a reason to quit or on some occasions just failed to show up, never offering an explanation or excuse.
On top of that, her shotgun house was beginning to exude a foul houseotocis which even she detected when she came home from work in the afternoon. One time when she approached her house after a hard day's work, there was the baby sitter leaning over from the front steps puking her guts up. Agnes hurried inside to see the baby laughing, passing gas and gooing in his cradle. The spinach green diaper Georgie was wearing was half off and half on. The cradle was decorated with dark green feces.
"I am sorry Miss Agnes," the black teenage girl from down the street said as she wiped vomit from her mouth with a cold wash rag furnished by Agnes, "My stomach's gone bad; must have got hole of some bad turnip greens." When the black girl, Patsy, called in saying she was still nauseated and could hardly hold water, Agnes took little Georgie to Dr. James Shetlemore, pediatrician, who put the baby on a diet of pabulum and skim milk. This only created great hunger in the child, causing him to cry vociferously or "bloody murder" as the neighbors characterized it. Some commented that a "barking dog wasn't as bad as that baby screaming." It was either put Georgie back on solid food or get run out of the neighborhood. Agnes capitulated.
After running out of baby sitters, Agnes tried taking, not so little, Georgie to child care centers. It seems that the adult food diet fed him, was like 'Miracle Grow' for plants. He grew fast; only more sideways, than straight up. After a day or two each child care center would come up with all kinds of reasons for Agnes to come and get Georgie. One center, the Friendly Play Pen, told her to find another center since they had decided to relocate immediately.
When Agnes, could not find a sitter and had run out of child care centers, she packed up Georgie's play pen and took him to work.
It was not long before the company sent a man down from Jackson to see why suddenly no one was sending telegrams or night letters, anymore. Since Western Union was in the process of setting up shop in K-Mart Stores, the company man recommended they close that hole in the wall office where only one person and a baby worked. They offered Agnes a nice retirement pension if she would retire and not try to follow her job to the K-Mart store, which was located about twelve miles north of the Gulfport business district. The offer was too good to refuse; she took it.
This was fine with Agnes who was barely making it trying to pay the exorbitant child care centers and high priced baby sitters having gotten wise, doubling and even tripling their charges. The bills now presented by Dr. Shettlemore's office had gone through the roof.
Now she was a stay at home mom who could play bridge with her group of friends. But when her players remarked about her having a sewerage problem, she wisely put Georgie in a room at the far end of the shotgun house. She hired a carpenter to cut a hole in the wall at the rear of the house installing a large exhaust fan which she controlled with a switch in the dining/bridge playing room. Then all that was left was to scrub the walls with Pine Sol. This worked so good, that she got in the habit of placing a dab of Pine Sol between her upper lip and nose when changing Georgie's diapers.
Georgie was a bright little boy. It was not hard to potty train him. He quickly learned to climb up on the toilet, sit on his special seat and do his business. Thus, with the exhaust fan running full blast and a few minor adjustments here and there, at home and in public, Agnes Murfrey and her little son, Georgie, passed for normal people. George was a smart, witty and good humored rolly-polly child with cherub cheeks. His smiling blue eyes and eternal grin made his first grade teacher want to hug him.
He lived three blocks from East Ward Elementary School, a two story red brick structure which had a huge metal pipe attached to the side which served as a fire escape for grades fourth through sixth located on the second floor. The little school separated two playgrounds: one that ran from Highway 90 on the south facing the beach and Gulf of Mexico running to the school building and one ran the northern side of the school to Second Street on the north. It had a cafeteria that served good wholesome meals. Miss. Jessie, the unmarried principal considered all the students as her own children, often preparing special delights for them; her seafood gumbo was as good as any served on the Gulf Coast.
Due to the liberal way the first graders were allowed to go to the restroom, whenever the need arrived, George had no problems. Although he stunk up the boy's room occasionally, it had an exhaust fan about as efficient as the one at home so no one noticed for long.
When George entered the Second grade, everything changed. Miss. Ester Newman was a stern, tight laced no nonsense martinet. Straight as a board in posture with high collar dresses and a large rolled bun hair-do from the 19th century she made it her job to put an end to the kids constantly getting up out of their seats and going to the bathroom. Each child would have to quietly raise their hand and wait to be recognized. They would then have to explain which function they needed to do: Number one or number two. She vowed to enlarge each child's kidneys by making them wait. Often when she refused to allow a certain child to go to the toilet in spite of protests: "Please Miss. Newman, I gotta go bad," the kid just wet his or her pants.
She would answer, "Wait until Johnny gets back," or "You just went an hour ago so hold it. I will not have you running in and out of my class room."
Many a child had to sit in their seat with soaked pants and urine dripping onto the floor much to that child's extreme embarrassment. This did not bother Miss. Newman, who maintained strict discipline in her class. Get out of line and get a crack across your fingers with the rap of the ruler.
About that time, corporal punishment had not gone out of vogue in the public schools along the Gulf Coast. Paddling was still practiced. Actually, at this time the offending kid that got paddled could expect a greater punishment when he came home. It wasn't until the schools integrated that the black parents who resented anyone else abusing their children, that the teachers quit this practice. Some who did not stop this type of punishment, were suspended after the child in question, made out the punishment he had received, to appear worse than it actually was. Others were threatened with great bodily harm if they dared to lay their hands on their lovely child who beat up all the little ones, taking their lunch money. These unruly black kids made no bones about sassing or even threatening a teacher to their surprised faces.
Miss. Newman did not have to worry about any of that yet. Actually it was an honor to be taken behind the wall into the cloak room located on the other side in back of the teacher's desk and get the whipping. Classmate Ed Smallwood and the rest would whoop and holler as if they were in great pain on the verge of getting killed as they jumped forward after each blow until they reached the other end of the cloakroom. It was: "Ouch!" "That hurt", "Oh, please don't hit me no more," "I'll be good". This yelling, as if in terrible pain, satisfied Miss. Newman who had a feeling of accomplishment.
It was good old fashioned entertainment that broke the monotony of the often dull class room.
On one warm fateful day George held up his pudgy little hand only to be ignored by Miss. Newman. After what seemed to George an eternal wait, he burst out loudly in a shrill voice, "Miss. Newman! May I be excused? I have to go to the bathroom...now!"
All eyes were on George who had broken a cardinal rule. It had been drilled into the class that they were not to speak until recognized and then given permission.
"Now what have I told you over and over George Murfrey?" said the straight laced teacher. With cold glaring dark menacing eyes that frightened George, she continued, "Didn't you understand my rule? You never interrupt and don't you ever speak until I tell you to do so. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Miss. Newman, but I gotta go. I gotta go real bad," said George as he squirmed in his seat.
"You are going to have to wait little boy. I have been keeping a record of the times you had to go. You went twice this morning and now it is just 1:30. You’ll just have to wait."
"I, I, I...do--do--don't--th--th--think--I ca--can--wa--wa--wait Miss. Newman,” pleaded George who stuttered for the first time in his life. "I--I--I--th--think I am ga--going to Pa--paa--poop in me britches."
The whole class thought this was funny. They twittered and laughed.
Shocked to hear the word, "poop", Miss Newman corrected the little urchin who dared using that dirty word instead of the “number two” she insisted upon. "George Murfrey, You know better that to use that nasty word. Now you will just have to hold it. Another word, like that and I will wash your mouth out with lye soap." With that, the teach went on with her talking and chalking at the blackboard.
While Miss. Newman had her back to the class, writing on the blackboard, with screeching sounds George lifted his right leg and got relief by letting go a whopper which was all gas and sounded like someone sat down on a whoopee cushion. This brought giggles, squeals and loud laughter from the class.
Ed Small wood, who sat next to George, leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Do it again."
George, who was still full of gas, obliged him with a squeaker that sounded like a balloon with the stem pinched while letting out air. This lasted a good three or four seconds.
This day the gas packed a punch, quickly reaching the recesses of the entire room like the spray of a skunk, hovering there like a dark smelly cloud.
And it hovered there.
"Pee-you!" bellowed Ed Smallwood. He was joined by a chorus of "Phew-you" as well as loud giggles from the students holding their noses.
The second grade class as well as the first and third grades were all on the first floor. On this spring day in the afternoon, the gentle winds from off the Gulf had pushed into the beaches and land mass causing the cooler morning air that had prevailed earlier to retreat inland. Since the windows were opened to let the cool breeze flow in from off the Gulf of Mexico, Ed Smallwood, the leader of the class, simply jumped through one of the open windows and was quickly out onto the South playground; the rest of the class, little squirts, the boys in T-shirts and short pants, the little girls in play suits, merrily following suit. All that was left in that room with a smelly cloud like fog, was a red faced George Murfrey and the thin grey haired teacher frowning severely while trying to hold her breath.
Quickly, she grabbed George by his left ear and marched him out of the room and down the hall to Miss. Jessie's office.
On the second thought, Miss. Jessie, who loved all her “children”, was a bleeding heart and probably nothing would be done, Miss. Newman simply sent George home with a note to Agnes telling her not to feed George beans during the school week. It was a good idea, because George's clothing along with everyone else's clothing in the second grade classroom had the awful smell of the outhouse. As soon as she rounded up the rest of the class, they were held in the cafeteria until their mothers came and picked them up.
The next day, notes were sent, phones rang and even some parents came to the school wanting to know how their child had gotten into an overflowing cesspool. They asked, "Did the toilets back up?"
The Principal, Miss. Jessie, who was kept in the dark, had no answer to that or other questions as to when the sewerage system would be fixed. Even passer bys who sniffed the lingering odor asked about it. Soon a committee was formed and the Mayor was presented with petition to pass a bond issue demanding that the City of Gulfport put in a complete sewerage system, sewerage plant and all. The bond issue passed with little objection and the days of cesspools and septic tanks became a thing of the past.
A mini parent-teacher meeting was held between Miss. Newman and Mrs. Murfrey and it was decided that George would not eat beans during school days either at home or if beans were served in the cafeteria, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches would be George’s table faire on those days. Furthermore, in the future all little Georgie had to do when he had the urge to pass some gas was to simply get up quietly and go outside and let it go; the constant Gulf breeze would dissipate the problem.
This carte banc went with George through the twelfth grade. It was known through out the school system as the "Newman Plan". It was probably Ester Newman's greatest accomplishment as a teacher.
****
CHAPTER THREE
Besides being remembered by his classmates as well as school officials for the second grade fiasco, Little Georgie became known for the strange clothes his mother made him wear, sent to him from his cousins in Virginia who boxed up their discarded clothes they had out grown and mailed them to Mrs. Murfrey. While the kids on the Gulf Coast were wearing short pants, George sported corduroy knickers, and a white silk blouse. Instead of a regular baseball cap, George wore, one with a pointed top and a very short bill. This outfit amused the kids who called him "Georgie Porgie", "Murph" or after the second grade fiasco, "Stinky" depending on their mood.
Actually the clothes looked brand new; the Virginia kids must have refused to wear them. The mothers of his classmates approved of this humpty-dumpty kid with his rosy cheeks and eternal smile and freckled face. He was always polite. As a result he was invited to their birthday parties and was made a member of the "East Side Gang" which consisted of Ed Smallwood, Zach Brown, Joe Edwards and Tom Bradly.
The gang would all go to the movies every Saturday afternoon to the Royal Theatre, which they named the “Royal Roach House” to see their favorite cowboy flick. The place, which served as a large baby sitting center for smaller children, was a mad house which raised the ire of the East Side Gang. There was no way to quiet these rambunctious urchins, so George was sent to sit in their midst where he let would out a loud smelly one. He would then head for the pop corn counter as the kids holding their noses rushed into the lobby. Whenever George cleared the multitudes as they called it, he was congratulated becoming the hero of the day. He was accepted by his peers; made a part of the "gang" and on those good days, a hero. It was a happy time.