M*A*S*H DIARY
31 March 1951
Dear Diary:
Well here I am ... newly minted Army nurse, Lieutenant Barbara A. Moore ... just arrived this evening by chopper at my very first posting with the 4078th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, located only a few kilometers south of the fighting at Wo-on-Crux.
I’m so very excited. With an eye to someday writing the Great American Adventure Novel, I’ve decided to record everything I experience here on these pages.
Due to my late arrival I’m billeted, at least for the night, in with the camp doctors. I was told there was no room in the women’s quarters ... I was skeptical about that, to say the least, but the hour was late and who was I to argue.
The doctors here are an interesting bunch. Let me give you my first impressions of my tent mates.
First there’s Captain T.H.Tree. I’m told he’s a Cracker Jack surgeon, but you’d never guess that from the looks of him. His eyes are bloodshot and he reeks of booze and cigarettes. He is out of uniform and, rather oddly, always wears a yellow straw hat. He also fancies himself a lady’s man. No sooner had I arrived than he managed to both pinch my ass and feel my boobs, all while offering me a cig he called a “Madame Wu”. I declined. Undeterred he poured me a drink that I saw him lace with some kind of powder he kept in a jar labeled “Joan’s horny potion”. I declined again. In addition to thinking he’s God’s gift to women, he constantly cracks jokes, a few ... not many ... of which are actually funny. But most alarming of all is the array of women’s undies hanging next to his cot from what he reverently calls his “trophy rack”. This guy is from Missouri of all places, and what’s worse he has a bunch of redneck relatives back In Arkansas. He definitely needs to be watched!
Then there’s Captain Reginald D. Wragg. This MASH is an integrated unit, drawing its personnel from all the UN forces in Korea, so it has it’s random Brits and Aussies. Wragg is the quintessential stuffy Brit. Very high-born. He comes from one of those snobby aristocratic families. I gather they own a big ancestral country estate called Cruxton Abbey back in what he cheerily refers to as Blighty. He says it has dozens of bedrooms for guests, all with four-poster beds and adjoining doors, a full staff with maids and all that, along with a magnificent wine cellar and adjoining discipline room for the staff. Not sure what he means by the latter, but I’m guessing it’s Brit-speak for a recreation room. Nice to know that Cruxton Abbey is enlightened enough to offer it’s staff amenities. Wragg writes poetry, and whereas Captain Tree tried to woo me on arrival with wandering hands, cigs, booze and dirty jokes, Captain Wragg preferred to wow me with verse, although I’m a little unsure of the limericks.
My third acquaintance this evening was Captain Rei Jolly. Jolly is a Canadian, and I must say ... a man of considerable wit and charm. The thing about him that is disarming, though, is his strikingly pale complexion, somewhat sunken eyes, and gaunt bony frame. I might call his appearance cadaverous, but that would be unkind. He is, in fact, a delightfully kind soul, who exhibits remarkable patience and a keen interest in the afterlife. He makes me laugh, and unlike Captains Tree and Wragg, I don’t feel like I need to guard my virtue around him ... at least I think that’s true.
The other doctor is Captain Windy Goldman. He’s a New Yorker, although he claims to be originally from Canada and to have been a New York police detective before he took up medicine. I don’t know whether to believe either claim. He definitely looks, acts and sounds like a New Yorker to me. I asked him why the name “Windy”. He said it was short for “Windar”. Why his mother named him that I can’t imagine. He seems nice enough overall though, although the stains on his shirt and tie tells me he’s a sloppy eater. I noticed that he likes to look at my ass, although in a somewhat peculiar way. That gleam in his eye makes me nervous.
Oh, I should also mention the company clerk, who goes by the rather odd name of Racing Rodent. His appearance is ... well ... kind of squirrelly, and he always has a camera dangling from his neck, which the Captains tell me to be wary of ... especially around the women’s showers. RR, as he is called for short, can really drive a Jeep ... he had me delivered here from the helipad in quick order. That may be why he goes by “racing rodent”. It can’t be his real name. They also say he has an uncanny ability to anticipate events, and is extremely knowledgeable about everything military for just a mere corporal.
Well diary, it’s late, I’m weary and tomorrow will be a big day. I can tell by the snoring that my tent mates are all asleep. Time to get undressed and crawl into bed. It will have to be in my panties and bra, though, since RR apparently neglected to deliver my bag. Anyway, I will write again tomorrow.
Shit! I hope that sudden flash illuminating the tent wasn’t what I think it was!
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