MASH Goes to Morocco

by Richard Hooker

  (This figure was described by State Senator Elmer J. Morfutt, New Orleans Democrat, as “an unconscionable rape of the treasury,” but the money was paid nevertheless, an appeal by the state to the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit having been denied.)

  Horsey de la Chevaux got back on the Greyhound bus and rode into New Orleans for his check to make those purchases his newfound wealth would permit. He even made television, in that minute-long “Today’s Chuckle in the News” spot. Holding onto the microphone stand with one hand and clutching a quart bottle of Old White Stagg Blended Kentucky Sour Mash Bourbon in the other, Horsey had stared somewhat fish-eyed at the television lens while the newscaster explained Mr. de la Chevaux’s recent good fortune.

  “And how,” the newscaster asked, laying his hand in a gesture of friendship on Horsey’s shoulder, “do you intend to spend your money, Mr. de la Chevaux?”

  “Getcherpawsoffme,” Horsey replied somewhat thickly.

  “I beg your pardon?” the newscaster said, pulling Horsey a little closer, so as to make a better television image.

  Horsey, shaking himself loose from the newscaster, now said, each syllable perfectly clear, “Keep your paws off Horsey de la Chevaux, you lousy fairy.”

  Somewhat stunned, the newscaster fumbled for a moment and then finally blurted, “How do you plan to spend your money?”

  “Oh, dat,” Horsey said, and paused thoughtfully. “Three tings,” he said. “I go by duh Sears, Roebuck. I get an outboard motor for the duh pirogue,” he said, and searched his memory before continuing. “An’ I get a new saw,” he said. And then for the benefit of those who might not understand what kind of a saw he was talking about, he mimicked the noise by putting his tongue between his lips and blowing. It was a credible duplication of the sound, even if it did give the newscaster something of an unexpected alcohol bath. “And … oh, yeah,” Horsey concluded, “Sears, Roebuck gonna come and drill me a new water well.”

  It was, everyone agreed, a pleasant little laugh, exquisite counterpoint to the grim and ominous news of the day.

  Three weeks later, Horsey de la Chevaux was back on television, again clutching a bottle of Old White Stagg (this time a half-gallon) in one hand and hanging on to the microphone with the other. But this time he wasn’t the last-minute laugh—he was the top of the news. Sears, Roebuck’s water-well-drilling crew had been a failure, water-wise. What their simple little drilling rig had tapped was what the Oil & Gas Journal described as “the largest find of natural gas in the history of the industry.”

  It was, of course, generally presumed that the phrase “a fool and his money are soon parted” had been coined with Horsey de la Chevaux in mind. He would soon be sweet-talked out of his oil and gas and be back poaching deer and making moonshine.

  This did not happen. In the words of Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov, in an interview in Fortune some years later, “Just because he looks and sounds like that doesn’t mean he is a moron. Horsey is one of the sharpest men I’ve ever known. Otherwise, he would have been carrying that damned Browning automatic rifle and I would have been the sergeant in Korea. Ergo sum, in other words.”

  The statement came after the fact. By the time Mr. Korsky-Rimsakov was interviewed, Horsey had parlayed his initial $1,500,000 royalty advance into an enormous fortune, the exact extent of which no one knew. His method of successful oil exploration, allegedly the most closely guarded secret in the oil industry, was actually simplicity itself. Horsey de la Chevaux had simply roamed the world’s swamps, from Venezuela to Borneo. Using a tin can nailed to a stick, he would obtain a sample of the muck on the swamp floor and then sniff the muck. If the smell was similar to that of the muck from the bottoms of the swamps in the Bayou Perdu area, he would nod, and a well would be put down. His wildcat well success rate was 62.8 percent, five times the industry average.

  Horsey’s experience with payday millionaires in the Army, furthermore, had made him aware of the pitfalls of sudden wealth. While he did, of course, share his good fortune with his fellow Knights of Columbus, he did so with forethought and care. He instituted an on-the-job training program for his friends and neighbors. To a man, they took to oil-well drilling as if they had been born for it, as indeed, the job titles seemed to suggest. (Oil-well workers are known as roughnecks.) Within ten years of the founding of Chevaux Petroleum, all rig bosses, tour bosses and mud men employed by the firm were members of the Bayou Perdu Council, K. of C.

  A fleet of Chevaux jet aircraft, operating out of the newly built Bayou Perdu International Airport, carried them and their families to Chevaux operating locations around the world.

  Mr. de la Chevaux, who had accepted a colonelcy on the staff of the Governor of Louisiana mainly because it carried with it the prerequisites of adorning his automobiles with flashing lights and sirens, was careful not to disturb the generations-old work traditions of his neighbors. Phrased simply, this was the custom of working no longer than was necessary to acquire sufficient money to pay the next month’s booze and food bills. The work schedule that evolved was one month on and two months off, a system which also served to provide enough employment for all those in Bayou Perdu who chose to seek work.

  There were, of course, major social changes in Bayou Perdu, most notably the Archbishop Mulcahy Memorial School, a first-grade-through-high-school educational facility, named for the distinguished clergyman (then an Army chaplain) who had comforted Horsey while he was hospitalized in Korea. Staffed with the finest teachers money could import from France (English was regarded as an unimportant second language in Bayou Perdu) and instantly certified by Horsey’s friend the Governor, the Archbishop Mulcahy Memorial School began to raise the educational level of the community rather spectacularly.

  The clapboard, connected shacks which had housed the Bayou Perdu Council, K. of C., were replaced with a 1.85-million-dollar Council Building, complete with bowling alleys, kitchen facilities and the longest bar east of the Mississippi, “a Victorian treasure” according to National Heritage, which had bitterly protested its removal from a hotel being torn down in San Francisco, California, and shipped by air to Bayou Perdu.

  Horsey de la Chevaux recognized the importance of the Bayou Perdu Council, Knights of Columbus, in maintaining Bayou Perdu community spirit. He saw to it that the uniforms of the group (which had been acquired fifth-hand from a movie-theater chain, and which had first seen light at the 1939 New York World’s Fair) were replaced by the most splendiferous uniforms available from Brooks Brothers of New York.

  After several unfortunate crashes between the Cadillacs, Lincolns and Chrysler Imperials, with which the Bayou Perdu Council Knights had recently equipped themselves, and Louisiana State Highway Patrol cars, Horsey saw to it that the official dictum was issued by the Grand Council of Knights Superior & Extraordinary of the Council. It required all Knights to travel to and from K. of C. functions in official K. of C. transportation.

  Horsey then got in touch with the people who make Greyhound buses and arranged for the production of four special buses. Outside (except for their flaming-yellow color scheme), they were identical to deluxe Greyhound buses. Inside, however, there were differences. The seats had been obtained from the firm which had equipped Presidential jet aircraft; there were sanitary facilities; bars; and a projector and screen for movies en route. When the driver touched the horn button, six large chrome-plated trumpet horns on the roof played “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”

  There were, however, some problems. As a wise man once said, “It is possible to take the Cajun out of the swamp, but getting the Cajun out of the Cajun is a horse of another color.”

  The Bayou Perdu Council, K. of C., was something of a thorn in the side of the other Councils of the Knights of Columbus. The generosity of the Bayou Perdu Council could not be faulted. They had a “Matching-Dollar Charitable Program,” which saw a dollar contributed to K. of C. charities for every dollar that passed across the Victorian Treasure Bar, for every dollar s
pent on an outing (the Bayou Perdu Council were ardent supporters of what they called the New Orleans Saints Footsball team) and for every dollar spent on uniforms.

  Neither could fault be found with their religious devotion. The Bayou Perdu Council participated in more religious ceremonies and festivals than any other Council in Louisiana or Mississippi. And as the Archbishop himself pointed out, it didn’t really matter that the eagerness to participate was based largely on their desire to show off their uniforms and to participate in the post festival drinking. The point was that they were there.

  What bothered the other Councils of the K. of C. was a certain lack of dignity and a certain informality on the part of the Bayou Perdu Council, K. of C. Many felt that the image of the entire organization was seriously damaged, for example, by the participation of the Bayou Perdu Council in K. of C. parades. Council after Council would march down the street, preceded by drum majors, drum majorettes, baton twirlers and fine marching bands playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” the “Washington Post March” and other such rousing pieces, all of it combining to paint a splendid portrait of the patriotism and discipline of the K. of C.

  And then the Bayou Perdu Council would appear (often to wild shouts of appreciation from spectators) with their band. The band consisted of three bass drums, two tubas, a xylophone, four Jew’s harps, a steam calliope and a sousaphone. There were but two numbers in the band’s repertoire: “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” and “When the Saints Come Marching In,” which were rendered with great, if somewhat unskilled, enthusiasm.

  The Archbishop had readily admitted, when meeting with delegates from outraged Councils, that he too suspected that the Bayou Perdu bandsmen had fortified themselves with intoxicants for the rigors of the march; and that the spectacle of the Bayou Perdu drum major leaving his post to force his unwanted amorous attention upon Miss Estelle Grogarty, head baton twirler of the St. Paul’s Council Marching Band, was indeed conduct unbecoming a Knight of Columbus.

  He had, the Archbishop said, already had a stem little chat with both Knight Commander of the Golden Fleece de la Chevaux and with Father François LeGrand, the Bayou Perdu Council’s spiritual adviser, and he would speak with them again.

  Privately, the Archbishop had little hope that he would be able to do any good. After the unfortunate incident during which the Bayou Perdu Council, in full uniform, had stormed onto the football field in Dallas, Texas, with the announced intention of hanging to the goalpost a referee who had ruled for the Cowboys and against the Saints, he had staged a full-scale inquisition into Bayou Perdu Council behavior and discipline.

  Knight Commander of the Golden Fleece de la Chevaux was the picture of an admitted sinner and penitent. He announced that he deeply regretted any embarrassment the Bayou Perdu Council had caused the rest of the Knights of Columbus, and instantly offered the resignations of all concerned from the organization.

  That was not the response the Archbishop had expected.

  “I hardly think it’s necessary to go quite that far, Horsey,” he said.

  “It’s all right, Archbishop,” Horsey said. “We been talking about starting our own Knights anyway.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Duh ting is, Archbishop,” Horsey had explained, “we’re French, comprenez? Columbus was an Eye-tal-yan.”

  “But Columbus discovered America,” the Archbishop said.

  “No, he didn’t,” Horsey said. “Columbus found some dumb little island and thought it was India. Louisiana was discovered by Bienville, and Bienville didn’t think it was India. We’re going to form the Knights of Bienville. We already been talking wit’ duh guy from Brooks Brothers about uniforms.”

  With the profound wisdom and infinite tact for which the Archbishop is so well known, Horsey de la Chevaux was dissuaded from disassociating himself and the Bayou Perdu Council from the Grand Consistory of the Knights of Columbus to form the Knights of Bienville.

  It was not, as some sorehead in the Consistory was heard to mumble, because of the financial contributions of Mr. De la Chevaux personally and the Bayou Perdu Council generally to the Archdiocese, although this may have had some effect.

  It was, instead, because the Archbishop wished to retain some control over the Bayou Perdu community. Although the Archbishop was sure that it was pure coincidence and had nothing whatever to do with the discovery of the gas field, the Episcopals, Baptists, Seventh-day Adventists, Christian Scientists and the Ethical Cultural Society had all established missions in Bayou Perdu shortly after the first well came in. It was far better, in the Archbishop’s judgment, to have the Bayou Perdu Council lurching down Canal Street, roaring drunk, playing “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town To night” on the steam calliope under the moral restraint of the K. of C.—no matter how fragile that restraint might be—than to have them behaving like little angels under the moral guidance of somebody else.

  Over the years, in fact, the Archbishop and Horsey de la Chevaux had become rather close personal friends. In some ways, they were very much alike, completely honest men wholly devoted to the welfare of their flocks. Through Horsey, the Archbishop had come to know Mr. Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov, whose fan he had long been. By reminding himself that the creative genius responsible for the Sistine Chapel and other works of piety in the Vatican had hardly been a candidate for Sainthood, His Eminence was able to overlook, if not quite forgive, the opera singer’s rather unusual concept of sexual morality.

  The regard between the two was mutual. When the opera singer opened the New Orleans opera season each year, it was his custom to warm up, so to speak, by dining at the chancellery with the Archbishop and to, as he put it, “sing for his supper” by offering post-dinner renditions of “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling,” “The Rose of Tralee” and other such works dear to the Archbishop’s ears before going to the opera house.

  The Archbishop, therefore, was pleased but not surprised to receive a call from Mr. de la Chevaux on his private, unlisted line, announcing that he had just spoken to Boris Alexandrovich Korsky-Rimsakov in Paris, and that the opera singer had asked him to pass on his warmest regards to the cleric.

  “That was very good of Mr. Korsky-Rimsakov,” the Archbishop replied. “When you next see him, please extend my warmest regards.”

  “Next week, Your Eminence,” Horsey replied.

  “Oh, he’s coming here? Or perhaps you’re going to Paris?”

  “As a matter of fact, we’re both going to Morocco,” Horsey said.

  “How interesting,” the Archbishop said. A sixth sense, developed after long years of dealing with his flock, told the Archbishop that there was more to the Morocco trip than Horsey and Boris standing around on the desert watching the camels. “May I ask why?”

  “I’m going to sink a couple of wells for a friend of Boris’s,” Horsey said.

  “Is that so?”

  “Someplace called Abzug,” Horsey explained. “Ever hear of it?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” the Archbishop said. He had only that day seen the report of the Vatican Council on Missions. After attempting to do so for 135 years, the Good Missionary Brothers had finally succeeded in getting Sheikh Abdullah ben Abzug to grant them permission to open a mission station. The mission station was to be limited to providing veterinary service to Abzugian camels, but it was a foot in the door; and the Archbishop did not have to use much imagination to envision how quickly and how firmly the door could be slammed shut again if the Abzugian national dignity should be offended—by, for example, playful off-duty employees of the Chevaux Petroleum Company chasing Abzugian virgins around the mountaintops.

  “Horsey,” the Archbishop said, thoughtfully, “would you be offended if I suggested that you take Father François along with you? I’m sure he would be as interested in seeing Morocco as I would, and he could, of course, provide a little spiritual guidance for the boys.”

  “Father François left about an hour ago for Bor
neo,” Horsey said.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” the Archbishop said, meaning every word of it. “Perhaps I could find some other priest…”

  “You mean for the spiritual guidance? Not to worry,” Horsey said. “I just got off the phone from talking to the Reverend Mother Emeritus … you know, Hot Lips?”

  “I have the pleasure of the lady’s acquaintance,” the Archbishop said.

  “I was giving her Boris’s regards, too,” Horsey went on. “And when she heard that we was all going to be in Morocco together, she asked was there space for her on the plane. So I told her, sure …, we’re taking one of the 747’s … and she’s going.”

  “How nice,” the Archbishop said. “Well, nice talking to you, Horsey.”

  “I’ll send you a postcard,” Horsey said. “Or maybe one of them houris the Arabs seem to like so much.”

  “Good-bye, Horsey,” the Archbishop said. “Have a nice flight.” He hung up his private, unlisted telephone and immediately picked up another instrument. His private secretary came on the line.

  “Sister,” the Archbishop said, “would you please get me the Secretary of State in Washington? This is, I am afraid, in the nature of an emergency.”

  Chapter Five

  When the telephone call from the Archbishop of New Orleans came to the office of the Secretary of State, the Secretary was in conference with a distinguished solon, the Hon. Edwards L. “Smiling Jack” Jackson (Farmer-Free Silver, Arkansas).

  The Secretary and Smiling Jack were neither friends nor professional associates, although the Congressman’s press agent, whom the taxpayers paid $32,500 annually plus a long list of prerequisites, spent much time, effort and a good deal of the taxpayers’ money trying to give that impression.

  The cold truth of the matter was that the Congressman had something on the Secretary, specifically that the Secretary had been arrested in Spruce Harbor, Maine, at three o’clock in the morning, charged with “creating a public nuisance.” The very charge was subject to many different interpretations, none of which were at all flattering to the man charged with executing the foreign policy of the United States.