Our Gang (10 page)

one who has to leave town. Now does that make

any sense to you? I'm the President, I live here, and

still I'm the one who has to pack his bags and get

on a helicopter and go when these marchers start

pouring in from all over the country! Honestly, I've

got this big beautiful house, and I spend half my

life living out of suitcases. Can you imagine what

it's like for a President, on practically five minutes'

notice, to try to pack everything he needs in his

briefcase, while outside the window the propellers

are going and everybody is screaming "Hurry, hurry,

let's get out of here, before they go crazy and

send a delegation to the door!" Oh, it's just awful.

One time I forgot my jersey, one time I forgot my

cleats, one time I even forgot to pack my ball-and

really, the whole weekend was just
ruined.
And

those marchers couldn't care less!

HIGHBROW COACH:
Well, you won't have to

leave town this time, Mr. President. Because this

fugitive has not fled to Algeria to set himself up as

some kind of ersatz revolutionary leader in exile;

nor has he fled to Africa to live among his own

kind, as he might have done if he were looking to

build a following. No, there isn't going to be much

sympathy in this country, I can assure you, for a

handsome and muscular young

TRICKY HAS ANOTHER CRISES
65

black man like Mr. Curt Flood, who, from all

indications, has decided to make his homegentlemen,

it couldn't be better-in Copenhagen.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
No!

HIGHBROW COACH:
Yes, Reverend, Copenhagen.

The Mecca toward which the filth peddlers of the

world go down on their knees morning and night.

The pornography capital of the world.

POLITICAL COACH: WOW!
(Ecstatic) And that
'
s

not all they've got in Denmark to compromise Mr.

Flood, is it?

HIGHBROW COACH:
Very fast on your feet,

young man ... The word is miscegenation. Not that

we have to come right out with it, any more than

we mean to say, in so many words, that he is a

known smut addict.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
No, please, you mustn't.

Where a baseball star is involved, we are inevitably

going to be dealing with young impressionable

minds, boys eight, nine, ten years of age- If they

were to hear such words ...

POLITICAL COACH:
I agree, Reverend. It'll be bet

ter by far to do it by "implication."

LEGAL COACH:
Fine with me. What about you,

Mr. President? Think you can manage that? A hint

here,
a
slur there, instead of coming right out with

it?

TRICKY:
Well, if it's a matter of making the

Reverend feel at ease about the wonderful young

Little Leaguers of this country, I sure am going to

try.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
Thank you, Mr. President. Thank

you, gentlemen.

TRICKY:
You see, Reverend, there's that restraint

again, there's that sense of proportion and moderation

that according to the newspapers I'm not

supposed to have. After all, here is a black man

engaging in just about the wickedest act any

American can imagine, and with the women of

Denmark, who are among the whitest in the entire

world, and yet instead of coming right out with it,

and thus exposing our Little Leaguers to a highly

dangerous and tempting idea, we are going to smear

him by insinuation and innuendo.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
I'm deeply indebted, Mr. President.

POLITICAL COACH:
We thought that went without

saying, Reverend.

HIGHBROW COACH:
Good enough, gentlemen. I

shall now proceed to read the list one more time,

so that you may decide how you wish to cast your

votes.
I:
Hanoi.
2:
The Berrigans

POLITICAL COACH:
May I interrupt here? I

wonder if I can take a moment to make a case for

the innocence of the Berrigan brothers.
LEGAL

COACH
(outraged) : The innocence of the Berrigan

brothers?

TRICKY HAS ANOTHER CRISIS
67

POLITICAL COACH
(backpeddling): Of this

charge! Of this charge!

LEGAL COACH:
But we haven't even decided yet

upon the exact nature of the charge-so how can

they be innocent? Where is your evidence? Where

is your proof?

POLITICAL COACH:
Well, I don't have any.

LEGAL COACH:
Then, maybe, young man, you

oughtn't to go around calling people innocent until

you do!

POLITICAL COACH:
I grant you that-but what I

am fearful of is this: if we do try to pin still another

crime on those priests, we are going to produce a

sympathetic reaction toward them such as you

ordinarily don't get until after an assassination. I

should tell you that at this very moment a

Hollywood movie is in the early stages of planning,

in which Fathers Phil and Dan Berrigan are to be

portrayed by Bing Crosby and an actor, as yet

unnamed, who will be made up to resemble the late,

great Barry Fitzgerald. Now these Hollywood

producers, gentlemen, no matter how they may

dress or wear their hair, are not hippies or left-wing

fanatics by any stretch of the imagination.

Underneath those anti-establishment muttonchops

they are hardheaded business men with a product to

market and an audience to exploit, and they can

spot a trend developing a long way off. According

to my informants, the movie being planned deals

68
OUR GANG

sympathetically with two priests who decide to blow

up West Point, after Army defeats Notre Dame

before seventy million television fans in the big

football game of the year. There'll be nuns and

songs and so on, and who knows but that a picture

like this could turn the whole damn country

Communist overnight.

MILITARY COACH:
Two hundred million Reds

on American soil? Not if I have anything to say

about it.

POLITICAL COACH:
Easier said than done, General.

Shoot two hundred million Americans-if that's what

you have in mind-shoot one hundred million

Americans, and I'm afraid you're going to give the

Democrats just the kind of issue they can play

politics with in the '72 elections.

MILITARY COACH:
The level to which political

life in this country has sunk! Now if the military

were running this show ...

POLITICAL COACH:
Granted. Granted. But you

do not build a utopian society overnight, General.

And that is why I wish to caution you, one and all,

against voting for the Berrigans. I know how

tempting it is, especially after what we went

through to track them down, but I am afraid that

this is another one of those instances when we are

going to have to display our characteristic restraint

and moderation. Certainly the
-
last thing in the

world we want is Bing Crosby in a collar crooning

to Debbie Reynolds in her habit about b-b-b-blowing

things up. Not even
Lenin
could have

devised a more sure-fire method of converting the

American working class into bombthrowing

revolutionaries.

HIGHBROW COACH:
Ingenious analysis. Nonetheless,

I think you misread Hollywood's intentions. If the

Berrigans were to get the chair, to be sure

Hollywood would immediately go into full-scale

production of some kind of musical about them,

along the line of Going My Way. But that is only an

argument against killing them. Keep them in jail,

and you will be surprised how quickly the public

and the movie moguls will forget they exist.

LEGAL COACH:
I agree. Bury them alive. Always

better.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
And more merciful, too. That way,

you see, it's not capital punishment.

HIGHBROW COACH:
To move on then. Number

two was the Berrigans.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
What was one again? Harvard?

HIGHBROW COACH:
Hanoi.

SPIRITUAL COACH:
Ah, yes. I knew it was some

thing beginning with an H.

MILITARY COACH
(angrily) :
And what about

something else beginning with an "H"? What about

Haiphong! How can you have Hanoi without

Haiphong? That's like Quemoy without Matsu!

TRICKY:
Quemoy and Matsu! Does that bring back

memories! Quemoy and Matsu! ... What ever

happened to them?

POLITICAL COACH:
Oh, they're still out there,

Mr. President, if we should ever need them.

TRICKY:
Well, that's wonderful. Where were they

again-exactly? Wait, let me guess, let's see if I can

remember ... Indonesia!

POLITICAL COACH:
No, Sir.

TRICKY:
Am I warm? The Philippines! No? ... Near

Hawaii? ... No? Oh, I give up.

POLITICAL COACH:
In the Formosa Straights,

Mr. President. Between Taiwan and Mainland

China.

TRICKY:
No kidding. Hey, listen, whatever happened

to what's-his-name? The Chinaman.

POLITICAL COACH:
Which Chinaman, Mr. President?

There are six hundred million Chinamen.
TRICKY:
I

know, enslaved and so on. But I'm thinking of, you

know, the one with the wife. Oh, it's one of those

names they have ...

HIGHBROW COACH:
Chiang Kai-shek, Mr. President.

TRICKY:
Right, Professor! Shek. Little Shek, with

the glasses.
(Fondly)
The Old Dixon .. .

(Chuckling) Well! Enough wandering down

memory lane. Forgive me, gentlemen. Where

TRICKY HAS ANOTHER CRISIS
7
1

were we? So far we have Moscow and the Berrigans.

HIGHBROW COACH:
Hanoi and the Berrigans, Mr.

President.

TRICKY:
Of course! See what you did with that

Quemoy and Matsu? I was still back there in the

fifties. Look at me, my lip is covered with goose

flesh.

HIGHBROW COACH:
To proceed. Number 3
:

The Black Panthers. No dispute there. Good.