10,204. THE WAITER WAS A DOCTOR

THE WAITER WAS A DOCTOR

Or also a doctor, I guess. Doing two

things can be confusing. I'm riding the

highway to Ithaca, and that old barn tells

me to chew Red Man. It's a strange delay,

this thinking about today and the old, the

moment, of farmers chewing tobacco

while going about their tasks. 'Gone home

to Mama, with a cancer of the jaw.' They

probably heard that said a hundred times

and more. Down the country town, Doc

Fraddel never wavered : 'I told these guys

a thousand times what not to do but no 

one listens. Then they come to me and

want my help. When it's God-Damn too

late.' He put his cup of cider down on

the table-top. 'Well, no matter now.

Happy Thanksgiving to you.' That was

our greeting, and our close as well. He

shut the door and just walked off.