Thursday, November 05, 2015
Sailor
Ruppy “enjoyed” living in the Old Soldiers Home.
Food not bad, and he had his own little room.
Spent most of his time in there. Making coffee
or watching a ball game, or reading the magazines
he picked from the dumpster.
So? Who is left alone for long? The new President
sought to close such places and deposit the inhabitants
in more personal domiciles. “The Small-Family Initiative.”
Ruppy was interviewed by those who ran these
establishments. Gray, no-nonsense ladies primarily.
He gave his moderate demeanor an angry edge
for these, and was rejected.
There followed a great month when he was allowed
to stay in the empty institution as a sort of watchman.
Prepare his food in the cavernous kitchen, and roam
freely throughout the building. For his whole life
he had ”picked up a broom.” And therefore ran
the vacuum cleaners every few days.
He prayed silently for this life to go on.
But Mrs Benjamin came with her battered Cadillac,
and fetched him.
He became her boarder, but really lived the last
way he did in the institution. Preparing his own meals
and picking up a broom. The latter became more
urgent as Mrs Benjamin went on periodic booze tears.
Always a DT space in each in which she yelled out the windows
before she went ice-cold turkey. To passerby or postman:
“Please don’t hurt me!”
One day a voice came back. “Now I never have, have I?”
Sailor. “Who turns up not as a bad penny, but as a bright
new shiny one!” she eventually exulted.
Thus, the three of them. Another trudge for Ruppy was that lover-
boy Sailor had malarial bouts, where he got as confused as
Mrs Benjamin in her throes.
Fortunately, the spacing proved okay for Ruppy as he helped both.
Not usually overlapping. He primarily fetched prescriptions.
“I’m the freakin errand boy!” he complained. And he never softened
anything for Marcy Carker, who wrote of this “family” for
the Patriot-Messenger. She did soften things a bit however.
Thus Mrs Benjamin suffered from a “recurring mental problem.”
Sailor allowed to keep his bizarre incurable strain of Malaria.
And, as the program intended, they helped each other.
Re-enter the President, and Ruppy had to be limoed to Washington
to receive the Modern Family of the Month Award from his cool hands.
A red, white, blue, spearing abstract of a thing.
Timing off for the other two to attend, both just coming off the rare
shared bout.
Anyway, the three of them lived in relative amity after–-but not for long.Mrs B died, and Sailor soon after.
The newest president was on a RE-institutionalizing tear, and it looked like Ruppy could end up back in the old place.
It was now called The Armed Forces Home, with a new staff, and only had an opening for a navy person.
He used Sailor’s old IDs and his discharge--not the only person
there, or anywhere, to switch a bit.
Dr Cragnul persuaded him to display the Family trophy in the
case in the lobby, as if this site had been awarded. It revolved.
Labels: alcoholic, government, identity, navy, Old Soldiers Home, President, sailor
