Forrest Gump (№2) - Gump & Company

“That’s not what I’m talkin about, Forrest,” Jenny says. “I didn’t expect you to never sleep with another woman. You’re a human. You got needs. That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“Your life, you big moose. What are you doing here? When was the last time you spent any time with little Forrest?”

“Well, I called him a few weeks ago. I sent him money…”

“And you think that’s all there is to it, huh? Just send the money and make a few phone calls?”

“No—but what I’m gonna do? Where I’m gonna get the money. Who else is gonna give me a job? Ivan’s payin me top dollar here.”

“Yeah? For what? Do you have any idea what those papers are you’re signing every day?”

“I ain’t sposed to, Jenny—that’s what Mr. Bozosky said.”

“Uh huh. Well, I reckon you’re just gonna have to find out the hard way. And I spose you don’t have any idea what that crap was you just stuck up your nose, either.”

“Not really.”

“But you did it anyhow, just like you always do. You know, Forrest, I’ve always said you might not be the brightest feller in town, but you’re not as dumb as you act sometimes. I’ve known you all my life and the problem is, mostly, you just don’t think —You know what I mean?”

“Well, I was kinda hopin you’d help me out there a little.”

“I told you, it ain’t my turn to watch you all the time, Forrest. You gotta start lookin out for yourself—and while you’re at it, you might pay a little more attention to little Forrest. Mama’s gettin old, she can’t do it all. Boy like that, he needs a daddy in his life.”

“Where?” I ast. “Here? You want me to move him up to this dump—I might be stupid, but I ain’t so dumb I don’t see that this ain’t no place to raise a boy—everbody either rich or poor, an no in between. These people, they ain’t got no values, Jenny. It’s all about money an shit, an gettin your ass in the newspaper columns.”

“Yeah, an you’re right in the middle of it, aren’t you? What you’re describing is just one side of this town that you’re seeing. Maybe there’s another one. People are pretty much the same, everyplace.”

“I am doing what I am tole,” I says.

“What ever happened to doin the right thing?”

To this, I had no answer, an all of a sudden, Jenny’s face begun to fade behind the fire.

“Now, wait a minute,” I says. “We is just beginnin to get things straight—Don’t go now—It ain’t been but a couple of minutes…”

“See you later, alligator,” she says, an then she is gone. I set up in the bed an tears come to my eyes. Ain’t nobody understands what is happenin with me—not even Jenny. I wanted to pull the sheets over my head an not get up at all, but after a while, I gone on an got dressed an went into the office. On my desk, Miss Hudgins had left a pile of papers for me to sign.

Well, I know that Jenny is right about one thing. I got to spend some time with little Forrest, an so I arranged for him to come up to New York City for a few days’ vacation. He arrived on a Friday, an Eddie picked him up at the airport in my limousine, which I figgered would impress him. It didn’t.

He come into my office wearin dungarees an a T-shirt, took a quick look around, an delivered his opinion.

“I’d rather be back at the pig farm.”

“How come?” I ast.

“What’s so good about all this?” he says. “You gotta nice view. So what?”

“It’s where I earn my livin,” I says.

“Doin what?”

“Signin papers.”

“This what you gonna do the rest of your life?”

“I dunno. I mean, it pays the bills.”

He shook his head an gone over to the winder.

“What’s that out there?” he ast. “That the Statue of Liberty?”

“Yup,” I says. “That’s her.” I can’t get over how much he has growed up. He must be more than five feet tall an is certainly a handsome young man, with Jenny’s blond hair an blue eyes.

“You wanna go see her?”

“Who?”

“The Statue of Liberty.”

“I guess,” he says.

“Well, good, cause I done arranged for us to take a tour of the town these next few days. We is gonna see all the sights.”

So that’s what we did. We gone down Fifth Avenue to see the shops an out to the Statue of Liberty an the top of the Empire State Buildin, where little Forrest says he wants to thow somethin off to see how long it takes to land on the ground. I did not let him do that, though. We gone up to Grant’s Tomb an down to Broadway, where they was a man exposin himself, an in Central Park, but not for long, account of there was muggers present. We took the subway an come out near the Plaza Hotel, where we stopped in for a CokeCola. The bill come an it was twenty-five dollars.

“That’s a bunch of shit,” says little Forrest.

“I reckon I can afford it,” I says, but he just shook his head an walk on out to the car. I can see he ain’t havin such a good time, but what I’m gonna do about it? He don’t want to see no plays, an the FAO Schwarz store bores him. I took him to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, an for a while, he seems interested in somethin looks like King Tut’s tomb, but then he says it’s all just a bunch of ole stuff, an we are on the street again.

I let him off at the apartment an gone back to the office. When Miss Hudgins brought me in another batch of papers to sign, I ast her what I oughta do.

“Well, maybe he’d like to see some famous people, you know?”

“Where I’m gonna find em?”

“Only place in town,” she says, “Elaine’s restaurant.”

“What is that?” I ast.

“You gotta see it to believe it” was Miss Hudgins’ answer.

So we went to Elaine’s restaurant.

We go there at five o’clock sharp, account of that’s the time most people have they supper, but Elaine’s restaurant was deserted. It was not the sort of place I had expected; to say it is nothin fancy is a understatement. There was some waiters hangin around, an at the end of the bar was this big ole jolly-lookin lady doin paperwork. I figger her to be Elaine.

While little Forrest waited by the door, I gone over an introduced mysef, an tole her why I was there.

“Fine,” Elaine says, “but you come a little early. Most folks don’t start showin up here for another four or five hours.”

“What? They eat someplace else an come in here later?” last.

“No, you dummy. They are all at cocktail parties or plays or openings or somethin. This is a late-night place.”

“Well, you mind if we set down an have our food?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Any idea which famous people will be showin up later?” I ast.

“It’ll be the usual suspects, I guess. Barbra Streisand, Woody Allen, Kurt Vonnegut, George Plimpton, Lauren Bacall—who knows, maybe Paul Newman or Jack Nicholson’s in town.”

“They all come here?”

“Sometimes—but listen, there is one rule, and you can’t violate it. There will be no goin over to these famous people’s tables and disturbin them. No picture taking, no tape recording, no nothin. Now, you just sit right at that big round table. That’s the ‘family table,’ an if any famous people come in that don’t have other arrangements, I will put them there, an you can talk to them.”

So that’s what we did, little Forrest an me. We ate our supper an dessert an then a second dessert, but ain’t but a handful of people have arrived at Elaine’s. I could tell little Forrest was bored, but I figger this is my last chance to impress him with New York, an just about the time I see him squirmin to leave, the door opens an who should be comin in but Elizabeth Taylor.

After that, the place begun to fill up very fast. Bruce Willis an Donald Trump an Cher, the movie star. Sure enough, in comes George Plimpton with his friend, a Mister Spinelli, an the writer William Styron. Woody Allen arrives with a whole entourage, as does the writers Kurt Vonnegut an Norman Mailer an Robert Ludlum. They was all sorts of beautiful people, wearin expensive clothes an furs. I had read about some of them in the papers, an was tryin to explain who they was to little Forrest.

Unfortunately, all of them seem to have other plans, an are sittin with each other, an not with us. After a while, Elaine comes over an sets down, I guess so we do not feel too lonely.

“I guess it’s a light night for bachelors,” she says.

“Yup,” I says. “But even if we can’t talk to them, maybe you could tell us what they is talkin about with each other—just to give little Forrest an idea of what famous people talk about.”

“Talk about?” says Elaine. “Well, the movie stars, they are talkin about themselves, I imagine.”

“What about the writers?” I ast.

“Writers?” she says. “Huh. They are talkin about what they always talk about—baseball, money, and pieces of ass.”

About this time the door open an a feller come in, an Elaine motions him over to the table to sit down.

“Mr. Gump, I want you to meet Tom Hanks,” she says.

“Pleased to meet you,” I say, an introduce him to little Forrest.

“I’ve seen you,” little Forrest says, “on television.”

“You an actor?” I ast.

“Sure am,” Tom Hanks says. “What about you?”

So I tole him a little bit about my checkered career, an after he listened for a while, Tom Hanks says, “Well, Mr. Gump, you are sure a curious feller. Sounds like somebody ought to make a movie of your life’s story.”

“Nah,” I says, “ain’t nobody be interested in somethin stupid like that.”

“You never know,” says Tom Hanks. “ ‘Life is like a box of chocolates.’ By the way, I just happen to have a box of chocolates right here—You wanna buy some?”

“Nah, I don’t think so, I ain’t big on chocolates—but thanks, anyhow.”

Tom Hanks looks at me kinda funny. “Well, ‘stupid is as stupid looks,’ I always say.” An at that, he gets up an goes to another table.

Next mornin, there is a serious disturbance at Ivan Bozosky’s offices.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” shouts Miss Hudgins. “They have arrested Mr. Bozosky!”

“Who have?” I ast.

“The police,” she hollered. “Who else arrests people! They have taken him to jail!”

“What’d he do?”

“Insider trading!” she yelled. “They have accused him of insider trading!”

“But I am the president of the insider trading division,” I says. “How come they didn’t arrest me?”

“It ain’t too late for that, bigshot.” The voice belonged to a big ole ugly-lookin detective who was standin in the doorway. Behind him was two cops in uniforms.

“You just come along peaceful, now, an there won’t be any trouble.”

I done what he tole me, but his last line was pure bullshit.

So I am thowed in jail again. I might of known all this couldn’t last forever, but I didn’t expect there would be such a big deal about it all. Not only have they arrested Ivan Bozosky, but they have thowed Mike Mulligan in jail, too, an various other folks in the bidness. Miss Hudgins is also locked up as a “material witness.” They give me one phone call to make, so I phoned little Forrest at the Helmsley an tole him I would not be home for supper. I just could not bring mysef to say his daddy was in the jug again.

Anyhow, Ivan, he is in the ajoinin cell to mine, an to my surprise, he is lookin rather chipper.

“Well, Gump, I believe the time has come for you to do your trained bear act,” he says.

“Yeah, what is that?”

“Just what you did for Colonel North—lie, cover up, take the blame.”

“For who?”

“For me, you stupo! Why in hell do you think I made you president of my insider trading division? Because of your brains and good looks? To take the heat, in case of something like this, is why I hired you.”

“Oh,” I says. I might of knowed there was a catch.

Over the next few days, I am interrogated by about a hundrit cops an lawyers an investigators for all sorts of financial agencies. But I don’t tell em nothin. I just kep my big mouth shut, which pissed em off royally, but ain’t nothin they can do. They is so many of them, I can’t tell which is representin me an Mr. Bozosky an Mike Mulligan, an who is against us. Don’t matter. I am quiet as a clam.

One day the jail guard come by, say I got a visitor. When I gone into the visitors room, sure enough, it was little Forrest.

“How’d you find out?” I ast.

“How could I not find out? It’s been all over the papers and television. Folks are sayin it’s the biggest scandal since Teapot Dome.”

“Since who?”

“Never mind,” he says. “Anyway, I finally got to meet Mrs. Helmsley, who you said was sposed to be so nice.”

“Oh, yeah? She takin good care of you?”

“Sure—she thowed me out.”

“Did what?”

“Thowed us out, bag and baggage, on the street. Said she don’t feature no crook livin in her hotel.”

“So how you gettin by?”

“I got a job washin dishes.”

“Well, I got some money in the bank. There’s a checkbook someplace in my stuff. You can use it to get a place to stay till you gotta go home. Might even be enough to make my bail outta here.”

“Yeah, all right,” he says. “Looks like you really done it this time, though.”

In this, little Forrest seems correct.

After the bail was paid, I was free to go for the time bein. But not far. Me an little Forrest rented a walk-up flat in a neighborhood filled with criminals an beggars an ladies of the night.

Little Forrest was interested to know what I’m gonna do when the trial is helt an, to tell the truth, I dunno mysef. I mean, I was hired to take the fall, an there is a certain amount of honor in doin what you is sposed to do. On the other hand, it kinda don’t seem fair for me to spend the rest of my life in the slammer just so’s Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan can go on livin the high life. One day, little Forrest pipes up with a request.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind goin out to the Statue of Liberty again,” he says. “I sort of enjoyed that trip.”

So that’s what we did.

We took the excursion boat out to the statue, an it was all pretty an gleamin in the afternoon sunshine. We stopped an read the inscription about the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” an then we gone on up to the top of the torch, an looked out across the harbor at New York, with all the tall buildins that seemed like they go right on up into the clouds.

“You gonna rat them out, or what?” little Forrest ast.

“Rat who out?”

“Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan.”

“I dunno—Why?”

“Cause you better be thinkin about it an make a decision,” he says.

“I been thinkin about it—I just don’t know what to do.”

“Rattin’s not very nice,” he says. “You didn’t rat out Colonel North…”

“Yeah, an look where it got me—thowed in the can.”

“Well, I took a lot of guff about that at school, but I’d of probably taken more if you’d finked on him.”

In this, little Forrest is probly correct. I just stood there on top of the Statue of Liberty, wonderin an thinkin—which is not my specialty—an worryin, which is—an finally I shook my head.

“Sometimes,” I says, “a man’s got to do the right thing.”

Anyways, the time for our trial has finally arrived. We is herded into a big federal courtroom where the prosecutor is a Mr. Guguglianti, who looks like he oughta be mayor or somethin. He is all surly an unpleasant an address us like we is axe murders, or worse.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Mr. Guguglianti says, “these three men is the worst kinds of criminals there is! They are guilty of stealing your money—your money—personally…!”

An it goes on downhill from there.

He proceeds to call us crooks, thieves, liars, frauds, an I expect he would of called us assholes, too, if we had not been in a courtroom.

Finally, when Mr. Guguglianti gets finished tar-an-featherin us, it becomes our turn to defend ourselfs. First witness to take the stand is Ivan Bozosky.

“Mr. Bozosky,” our lawyer asts, “are you guilty of insider trading?”

We are bein represented, incidentally, by the big ole New York law firm of Dewey, Screwum & Howe.

“I am absolutely, positively, one-hundrit-percent innocent,” Mr. Bozosky says.

“Then if you did not do it, who did?” the lawyer asts.

“Mr. Gump over there,” Ivan says. “I hired him on as chief of the insider trading division with instructions to put an end to any insider trading, so as to improve my company’s reputation, an what does he do? He immediately proceeds to be a crook…”

Ivan Bozosky goes on like this for a while, an paints a pitcher of me, black as a beaver’s butt. I am “totally responsible” for all the deals, he says, an in fact, I have totally kept them secret from him, so as to enrich mysef. His line is that he knows nothin about anythin illegal.

“May God have mercy on his guilty soul” is the way Ivan Bozosky puts it.

Next, Mike Mulligan gets his turn. He testifies I phoned him up with stock tips, but he has no idea that I am in the know about insider tradin an so forth. By the time they are finished, I figger my goose is cooked, an Mr. Guguglianti be scowlin at me from his table.

At last it is my time to take the stand.

“Mr. Gump,” says Mr. Guguglianti, “just what was your line of work before you became president of the insider trading division of Mr. Bozosky’s company?”

“I was Goliath,” I answers.

“You was what?”

“Goliath—you know, the giant man from the Bible.”

“You stand reminded, Mr. Gump, that this is a court of law. Do not fool with the law, Mr. Gump, or the law will fool with you back—and that is a promise.”

“I ain’t kiddin,” I says. “It was at Holy Land.”

“Mr. Gump, are you some kind of a nut?”

At this, our lawyer jumps up. “Objection, Your Honor, counsel is badgering the witness!”

“Well,” says the judge, “he does sound sort of nutty—claimin to be Goliath an all. I think I am gonna order a psychiatric examination of Mr. Gump, here.”

So that’s what they did.

They took me away to a insane asylum or someplace, where the doctors come in an begun bongin me on the knees with little rubber hammers, which, of course, is an experience I have had before. Next they give me some puzzles to work an ast me a lot of questions an give me a test an, to end it off, they bonged me on the knees some more with their hammers. After that, I am taken back to the witness stand.

“Mr. Gump,” the judge say, “the psychiatrists’ report on you was just what I expected. It says here that you are a ‘certifiable idiot.’ I overrule the objection! Counsel, you may proceed!”

Anyhow, they gone on to ast me a bunch of questions about what my role was in the insider tradin scam. Over at our table, Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan are grinnin like Cheshire cats.

I admitted to signin all the papers an to callin Mike Mulligan from time to time, an that when I did, I did not tell him it was an insider tradin deal, but just a tip. Finally, Mr. Guguglianti says, “Well, Mr. Gump, it appears now that you are just gonna confess that you, an you alone, are guilty as sin in this matter, an save the court all the trouble of provin it—ain’t that so?”

I just sat there for a minute or two, lookin around the courtroom. Judge is waitin with a expectant look on his face; Mr. Bozosky an Mr. Mulligan is leanin back with they arms folded across they chests, smirkin; an our lawyers be noddin they heads for me to go ahead an get it over with. Out in the gallery, I seen little Forrest lookin at me with a kinda pained expression on his face. I figger he knows what I’m gonna do, an that I gotta do it.

An so I sighs, an says, “Yup, I reckon you’re right—I am guilty. I am guilty of signin papers—but that’s all.”

“Objection!” shouts our lawyer.

“What grounds?” ast the judge.

“Well, er, we’ve just established that this man is a certified idiot. So how can he testify to what he was or was not guilty of?”

“Overruled,” says the judge. “I want to hear what he’s got to say.”

An so I tole them.

I tole them the whole story—about how I was Goliath an about the riot at Holy Land, an about Mr. Bozosky gettin me out of havin to go back to jail an all his instructions about signin the papers an not to look at them, an how, after all, I am just a poor ole idiot that didn’t know shit about what was goin on.

What it amounted to was, I ratted out on Mr. Bozosky an Mr. Mulligan.

When I done finished, pandemonium broke out in the courtroom. All the lawyers are on they feet hollerin objections. Newspaper reporters rushed out to the telephones. Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan are jumpin up an down shoutin at the top of they lungs that I am a no good, dirty, double-crossin, ingrateful, lyin, squeeler. The judge be bangin his gavel for order, but ain’t none to be found. I looked over at little Forrest an knowed right then an there I made the right decision. An I also decided that whatever else happens, I am not gonna take the fall for nobody, noplace, nomore—an that’s that.

Like I said, sometimes a man’s just gotta do the right thing.

Chapter 9

For a while, it looked like I was off the hook, but of course it turned out that was wrong.

Not long after my testimony they carted Ivan Bozosky an Mike Mulligan off to prison. The judge, he thowed the book at them—literally—big ole law book, hit Bozosky square in the head. Next day, a knock come at my door. Standin there was two military police in shiny black helmets with billy clubs an armbands.

“You PFC Gump?” one says.

“That’s my name.”

“Well, you gotta come along with us, account of you is AWOL from the United States Army.”

“AWOL,” I says. “How can that be? I was in jail!”

“Yeah,” he says, “we know all about that. But your hitch runs two more years—that’s what you signed up for with Colonel North. We been lookin for you everplace until we seen you in the newspapers in this Bozosky trial.”

The MP hands me a copy of the New York Post, which reads:

Dullard Rats out on High-Rolling Financial Men

A man with an IQ described as “in the low 70s” yesterday finked on two of this newspaper’s most popular subjects, resulting in their sentencing to lengthy prison terms.

Forrest Gump, who sources close to the Post described as being “dumber than a rock,” testified before a federal judge in Manhattan that in his capacity as president of the insider trading division of Bozosky Enterprises, he had absolutely no knowledge of any insider trading at the company.

Gump, who has had an apparently checkered career as an encyclopedia salesman, inventor, animal refuse engineer, and sometime spy for the U.S. government, was not immediately available for comment. He was not convicted in the trial, which lasted several weeks.

“So what you gonna do with me?” I ast.

“They probly gonna put you in the stockade till they figger out somethin,” the MP says. About this time, little Forrest come up behin me, tryin to see what’s goin on.

“Who’s this?” the MP ast. “This your boy?”

I didn’t say nothin, an neither did little Forrest. He just glared at the MPs.

“You give me a minute with him?” I says. “I ain’t gonna run off or nothin.”

“Yeah, I reckon that’d be okay. We’ll be outside here—Just don’t do nothin funny.”

Fact was, funny was not on my mind at this moment. I shut the door an set little Forrest down on the sofa.

“Look,” I says, “them fellers come to take me back to the army, an I gotta go with em, you know? So’s I want you to get a bus back home an be ready to start school when it opens. Okay?”

The little guy was statin at his shoes an not lookin at me, but he nodded his head.

“I’m sorry about this,” I says, “but that’s just the way things go sometimes.”

He nodded again.

“Look,” I tole him, “I’m gonna try to work somethin out. I’ll talk to Colonel North. They ain’t gonna keep me in the stockade forever. I’ll get this straightened out, an then we’ll make a plan.”

“Yeah, right,” he says. “You got a lot of great plans, don’t you?”

“Well, I made my mistakes. But somethin’s gotta work out. I figger I’ve had my share of bad luck. It’s about time things start to break good.”

He gets up an goes back to his room to start packin. At the door, he turn aroun an looks at me for the first time.

“Okay,” he says. “You ever get out of the slammer, you look me up. An don’t worry about it, hear? I’ll be all right.”

An so I gone on with the MPs, feelin pretty low an pretty alone. Little Forrest is a good-lookin, smart young man by now, an I done let him down again.

Well, just like the MPs said, when we got back to Washington, they put me in the stockade—thowed in jail again. But ain’t long afore they come an turn me loose.

When I got there, I done sent a note to Colonel North, say I think I’m gettin a raw deal here. Couple of months later, he stops by the stockade.

“Sorry about that, Gump, but there ain’t much I can do,” he says. “I am no longer in the Marine Corps, an I’m pretty busy these days watchin out for some of the Ayatolja’s friends who say they want to kill me. Besides, I’m thinkin about runnin for the U.S. Senate. I’ll show them bastids what contempt really is.”

“Well, Colonel,” I says, “that is all very nice, but what about me?”

“It’s what you get for makin fools of Congress,” he says. “See you aroun the stockade.” An then he bust out laughin. “You know what I mean?”

Anyhow, after a few more months on bread an water, I am summoned to the post commander’s office.

“Gump,” he says, “you just stand at attention while I look over your files.” After about half an hour, he says, “At ease,” an leans back in his chair. “Well, Gump, I see you have a very mixed record in this man’s army. Win the Congressional Medal of Honor, and then you go over the hill. Just what kind of crapola is that?”

“Sir, I didn’t go over the hill. I was in jail.”

“Yeah, well that’s just as bad. If it was up to me, I’d have you cashiered today with a bad-conduct discharge. But it seems some of the brass don’t cotton much to havin Medal of Honor winners booted out of the service. Looks bad, I guess. So we got to figger out what to do with you. Got any suggestions?”

“Sir, if you let me out of the stockade, maybe I can go on KP or somethin,” I says.

“Not on your life, Gump. I read all about your KP escapades right here in these files. Says here that one time you blew up a steam boiler tryin to make a stew or somethin. Wrecked the mess hall. Cost the army an arm and a leg. Nosiree—you ain’t going anywhere near a mess hall on my post.”

Then he scratch his chin for a minute. “I think I got a solution, Gump. I ain’t got use for any troublemakers around here, so what I’m gonna do is, I’m gonna transfer your big ass as far away as I possibly can, an the sooner the better. That is all.”

An so I am transferred. The commander, he was not kiddin about transferrin me to the fartherest place away he could find. Next thing I know, I am assigned to a army weather station in Alaska—in January, no less. But at least they begun payin me again, so’s I can send home some allotment money for little Forrest. Matter of fact, I done sent nearly all my pay home, account of what in hell I’m gonna spend it on up in Alaska? In January.

“I see by your files, Gump, that you have had a somewhat checkered past in the service,” says the lieutenant in charge of the weather station. “Just keep your nose clean, an they won’t be any trouble.”

In this, of course, he was wrong.

It was so cold in Alaska that if you went outside an said somethin, your words would freeze themsefs in the air—an if you took a pee, it would wind up as a icicle.

My job was sposed to be readin weather maps an stuff, but after a few weeks, they figgered out I am a numbnuts, an give me the job of moppin the place clean an spit-shinin the toilets an so on. On my day off I’d go out ice-fishin, an one time I got chased by a polar bear an another time by a big ole walrus that ate up all the fish I’d caught.

We was in a little ole town there by the ocean where all the people spent most of they time gettin drunk—Exkimos included. The Exkimos was very nice people, except when they got drunk an had harpoon-thowin contests in the street. Then, it could be dangerous to be out an about.

One time after a couple of months, I went with some of the other fellers into town on a Saturday night. I really didn’t much want to go, but in fact I had not been anyplace much, an so I gone along, for the ride, so to speak.

We got to a place called the Gold Rush Saloon an went inside. They was all sorts of activity there—folks be drinkin an fightin an gamblin, an a striptease artist was doin her thing on the bar. Sorta made me think of Wanda’s strip joint, down in New Orleans, an I figgered I probly should drop her a postcard sometime. Also got me to thinkin about ole Wanda the pig, little Forrest’s pet, an how she was doin, an then, of course, I got to thinkin about little Forrest hissef. But since thinkin ain’t exactly my strong point, I decided to take action. I gone out into the street to buy little Forrest a present.

It is about seven P.M. but the sun is shinin bright as can be up here near the North Pole, an all the stores is open. Most of em, however, is saloons. There wadn’t no department store around, so’s I gone on into a novelty shop where they is peddlin everthin from gold nuggets to eagle feathers, but finally I seen what I wanted to get for little Forrest. A genuine Alaska Indian totem pole!

It was not one of them big ole ten-feet-tall totem poles, but it was about three feet, anyway, an was carved with eagle’s beaks an faces of stern-lookin Indians an bear’s paws an all, an painted pretty bright colors. I ast the feller at the counter how much, an he says, “For you army grunts I make a special price—one thousan, two hundrit, and six dollars.”