December 11, 1975: Thursday

Cal rewrote the presentation to Henry. I signed it anyway. Dr. Treves asked me to write six streaking confessions so the Chief won’t get in trouble. So I wrote one like I would have if I’d done it. Dr. Treves tore it up and simply wrote, “I’m sorry and I apologize.” Cal said he wouldn’t have accepted my version if he were the Commander. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. Cal just has no appreciation for the style of writing we developed at AHS.

Carpenters came to insulate and build a door for the x-ray room. They even cleaned up their mess. We cleaned for the party and got supplies. Weather’s lousy across the Sound. No Carapace today. We’re not on the schedule tomorrow.

Señor Lorica, of Chile, came by for a tour of the lab. He doesn’t speak English well. Dr. Treves told him about methane and high temperatures. He said, “Sounds like petroleum!”

Lloyd Blanchard, publicist for NSF, likes my drill site pictures. He wants a complete set.

The party was an unqualified success. At one time we must have had sixty people in the lab, and over a hundred throughout the evening.

Captain Van Reeth, Emmett, Chris Sheppard, Señor Lorica, Nartsiss, the two Japanese, Howard the Australian Priest serving drinks, and a whole lot of semi-drunk American Navy males trying to talk to one small Kiwi girl.

Henry cooked steaks and I served them. Went in one door, got halfway through, and had to go back for more. Next trip I went through the other door. We went through 30 pounds of steak.

Katsu cooked 75 packets of noodles.

One case of beer, six bottles of wine, two bottles of saki, and several bottles of assorted spirits were consumed.

We had Henry’s microphone over the doorway to the hall and recorded the whole party.

When people started filtering away, I got Dr. Treves to do his thank-you speeches and Henry’s presentation.

Cal and Kathy were in the back room all this time, so they missed the presentation of the Doovry to Henry. Cal was a little bit mad, but Kathy forgave me.

I really don’t care. It’s been Cal and Kathy most of the time lately. I’ve always been left out, so there’s nothing new in that. I have to enjoy making other people happy and forget about the other pains that my dark side might feel, from being ignored by someone I’ve tried to do my best for.

As the party was winding down, Cooch, a helo crewman, remarked that Kathy always seemed to find some obliging drunk sailor to talk about herself to.

But after a while, Cooch was that sailor.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Nartsiss and Howard sang “Waltzing Matilda.”

About two o’clock the people that were left helped clean up. One of the guys looked like a cross between Berzel’s brother Bob and Berzel’s brother-in-law Jim. Gaylen, with George Denton, looks like Mooch Warden.

When it was all over we went to Building 125 and had coffee (or cocoa) in Kathy’s lounge. Dr. Treves was the first to leave, after Jan Boyd and Lloyd had gone outside to say good night to each other (and Dr. Treves interrupted them). Jan returned, I finished my cocoa, and bid them all good night. I don’t know what happened after then, but Cal didn’t stay too long. I heard his footsteps in the hall.

Sidebar: One of these days I’ll sort out what this whole episode with Kathy means, in terms of my life’s philosophy and my own personal happiness.

There’s a picture of Gerald Ford (that man’s our President, you know), hanging in the mess hall, with his arms folded and that silly grin on his face.

Somebody took a black felt-tip pen and drew on the glass straight black hair swept down over his forehead and a Hitler mustache on his lip.

I couldn’t help but laugh. For someone down here appreciates the sense of humor that I and Berzel and David and Doug and everyone else I have come to know have, even if the people I work with don’t.

It’s the sense of humor that cannot be conveyed either written or orally. It fills up one short span of time, to be cherished and enjoyed by those present, taking something familiar and changing it into something equally familiar, but making that change in a way that twists and screws and puckers up your thoughts, like a lemon does to your mouth.

The only time Cal or Kathy have come close to this feeling was when they made the Doovry.