December 13, 1975: Saturday

Spent the day banding Dr. Treves’s rock boxes and packing up my stuff. They had all five helos up today and flew them in formation around McMurdo and down The Gap.

Mailed Cathy a post card for her collection.

Then came the volleyball game. DVDP versus Helos. They won in five sets. It was the first time I’ve played volleyball since junior high. But I’ve watched Kay enough and know all the rules. We played “jungle rules,” which means you can go into the net and anything off the ceiling is playable.

We broke two lights.

My serves started off lousy, but with a little concentration I started getting them in with an upward float on the end. Scored eleven points in five games, including game point in the fourth one.

Katsu and Nob played, Howard, George Denton, Galyn, Henry, Cal, Dr. Treves, and me. Helos had a few I didn’t know plus Cooch, Andy, Rich Sluys, Chief Walsh (the streaker), and Dan Pennington.

Then we had the party in the Red Room. Miles on banjo, Chief Walsh on guitar, a Kiwi on Gutbucket Bass, and Billy Blackwelder playing “Old Suzannah” on his harmonica, no hands, stuck between his teeth.

Lot of bluegrass for the Kiwi’s. Good old basic American Music, “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” Sang “There is No Place Like Nebraska” with a country rhythm and country melody and vocals.

I played bass on a couple of songs near the end. It’s a lot harder than pushing valves on a tuba. Had the best time I’ve had lately. Got me out of the dumps. Sang “I Want to Go Home.”

Now for the serious stuff.

Kathy.

Sidebar One: As far as I’m concerned, my basic statement will be, “She drives me up a wall.”

I have a feeling, a hunch perhaps, that she’s just a Tomboy. Tried once to be the way most girls act with boys and was burnt, not seriously, but enough to keep on pretending that there’s no difference between male and female psychology.

Kathy has Ann Shire’s stubbornness, Maryellen Hudak’s unwitting hypocrisy, Kristi Gilford’s habit of smoking cigarettes out of the side of her mouth, and Cathy T’s eyes and freckles. And enough enthusiasm to keep the world running twenty-five minutes after it’s ended.

Conversations dwelt around what she was doing, was going to do, or how events had altered her plans. She refused, almost openly, any suggestion made sincerely (by me) to talk out her problems. As far as I know, she never talked about her frustrations with anyone.

And she ignored the opportunity to do so on my behalf.

I’ve come to the conclusion that she’s done a lot of thinking about the nature of friendships (the “lean on me” syndrome) and has rejected it, striking out to sustain herself with no outside help, male or female.

But I am different. I thrive on sincerity. Trust. Understanding. I cannot tolerate hypocrisy, but will accept its unintenionality.

I think Kathy could have been one of Us, the Class of ’74 (with some others above and below). I caught her rubbing her chin once or twice and I put my blue denim cap on her at lunch one day. She admired it, took it off, and placed it backwards on my head.

Two months is too short a time to convert a girl completely to the kind of insanity that graduated from Auburn. But the seed was there. We had some good times, the kidding about Southern Hemisphere backwards things, the snow pile at 1A, dancing the jig in the mess tent, out at the crack.

But always my trouble lies in communication. She was very defensive about the Kiwi language. We argued mercilessly over nouns. She (along with others) could not comprehend the usage I employ when I speak Nemaha County English. Today Jan Boyd wore thick glasses. Elton Jan, obviously. It’s the first time Al Hudson has accepted one of the ideas anybody in Auburn would have taken for granted.

And then there’s my basic lack of social grace when talking with girls. I have always been shy and very self-conscious, except when the other has been open and frank and sincere. We never got beyond Geology or Local Events.

(“Frank” reminds me that Alan joined the Air Force.)

Calvin took a different route. Brash. Sarcastic criticism seemed to keep them always together, at work or walking to lunch. She even told me that she didn’t like Calvin’s habit of bragging about his photography, but never did anything to protect herself from the situation.

Calvin had the upper hand with her. Perhaps she thinks Calvin more mature, which may or may not be true. He’s older, anyway. And, like Kathy, a graduate, not some lowly sophomore.

I could not win with politeness, or performing jobs that go unthanked.

She certainly has to get lonesome, and tired, and blue. It bothers me that I have failed to ease her pain, or her mind, or comfort her when she needed it. “Weep with those who weep, rejoice with those who rejoice…” My motto, my philosophy, a failure.

I think that if I am right about Kathy’s personality (as many of the helo crewmen have noticed the same things that I have), then I should force on her my ideas pertaining to friendship. If only there was time, for I think it would help both of us.

She drives me up a wall.

Now. Have I changed?

Has four months of deso-iso-lation affected my psychology, my outlook, my attitude and actions toward life and other people?

The writing in this journal indicates “no.” Despite a lack of time for serious writing, I’ve not changed my portrayal of the world around me. I’ve been involved with personal dilemmas and thoughts. First with Mount Debrushka, then with self-doubts about my worth to Dr. Treves, and last with Kathy. I think that I’ve still managed to give all the facts and all the data as I saw it.

But my letters have been, well, frankly, a bit spacey, to say the least. I don’t know what the lack of mail lately means, but I hope it’s not what I’m afraid it is.

Letters home have been O.K., but letters from home have been short. And nothing from Kay, which disappoints me.

My last to Cathy was also O.K. The last from her, I will always cherish. Knowing her habit of writing, that’s about all I could expect from her.

I said some very good things in Deb’s letter, but also said some very unintelligible ones. Haven’t heard from her in over a month. I’m worried that I offended her. All that stuff about the mountain may have turned her off. I’ve waited for another letter before I call her, but the time has run out and I must call her from California to apologize.

I may very well have made Janet hopping mad at me.

I don’t see anything wrong with my last letter to Joy, except the “sunshine” closing.

No reply from the Board on Geographic Names.

Berzel never did write. Sometimes I desperately needed someone down here who understood me when I spoke.

One of the best letters that I got was Ann’s, but only one. A.O. didn’t reply, which doesn’t bother me too much. That letter was a matter of conscious.

And Andria never returned my second letter.

When I return I’ll ask them each what they had thought of my correspondence.

I’m certainly a bit wiser than when I left, but only in terms of how people act in a scientific environment and how Science in America really works.

Sidebar Two: Big Science is made up of little scientists.

I’ve done some truly unique things, which I want to share with the world. But will they listen?

That’s the key to whether I’ve changed or not. I’ve always thought of myself as changeless. Good ol’ Sam. Always there, silently smiling by himself. But if people listen to me, respect me, hear what I have to say, then I have changed.

I will be happy.

Siedebar Three: But if I get on people’s nerves, annoy them, create a problem to get myself out of, then nothing’s really changed.