George had a hot date with Dorothy Socrates that evening, and, so sure was he that he was going to be lucky that he stopped at the men's room of Chapin's Texaco station and bought a Trojan from the vending machine on his way home from his job at the Harford Specialized Machine Company.

He took the stairs two at a time on his way up to the second floor of the apartment building on Homeland Avenue where he lived with his mother when she was home, his sister Helga, and his 12-year-old brother, Marty. Ma worked as a live-in cook at one of the great mansions in West Harford and was seldom home.

When he let himself into the apartment, George found his bratty little brother sitting cross-legged in an armchair with his nose buried in a book, as usual. Marty looked up and called out "Greetings, esteemed sibling." He would. Nothing as commonplace as "Hi, George" could be expected from him. At least, this time he didn't say "Hail to thee, blithe spirit."

George groaned and replied "Hi, Marty. Need the bathroom right away ? Got a hot date tonight and I need a bath. " Marty considered the matter for a moment and then said. "I don't think so. In any event, there will be at least twenty minutes before there is enough hot water for you to take a bath. " This reminded George to go out in the kitchen right away and light the gas side-arm water heater on the uninsulated, 20-gallon, galvanized iron hot-water tank.

The progress of the heating could be monitored by feeling the side of the tank as the heat worked its way downward from the top. By the time it got down to the level of the top of the heater , about a foot-and-a-half above the bottom of the tank, there would be just barely enough hot water for a bath.

George sat down in the living room to wait for the water to heat. This left him at least a quarter hour to spend in Marty's company. Trying to make small talk with him was frustrating. Marty usually talked in long complicated sentences of which the listener lost the thread, though he never did.

This time , it was Marty who initiated the conversation. "The date is, I assume, with Miss Socrates ?" George nodded. "It seems strange to me that her family should have adopted as its surname the cognomen of a Greek philospher." George wasn't sure what "cognomen" meant, but he got the idea. "Well, they are Greek, after all." He replied. "Obviously" rejoined Marty. At this point, the conversation lagged. As usual, neither of them could think of anything likely to be of any interest to the other.

"What's the book ?" asked George, not that he really cared. " 'The Decline of the West' by Oswald Spengler" replied Marty. "I find his conclusions eminently escapable." The sarcasm was lost on George. The need to check the heating of his bath water provided George with a good excuse to abandon the hopeless task of trying to converse with Marty. George stayed in the kitchen until it was ready.

"Last call for the bathroom for the next half hour" announced George when the water was ready. "I shall never understand why anyone would want to stew in water which has become murkily opaque with dirt for a half hour." remarked Marty with a grimace of distaste. "Because we don't have a shower bath." snapped George.

George scrubbed, soaked, and luxuriated in the warmth of the bath for a full half hour before pulling the stopper and starting to emerge from the tub. The soap which he was using was not Ivory. It did not float. In fact, it had sunk to the bottom of the tub just where he would set his left foot down in climbing out of the tub. He had his right foot on the floor when his left foot went out from under him and he fell forward, alighting heavily on the rounded edge of the tub, directly on his testicles.

The impact was disastrous. Both glands were instantly ruptured and disorganized. George screamed in unbearable and devastating pain. Marty jumped up and ran to the door of the bathroom. "George, have you injured yourself ?" [ a foregone conclusion had he taken a moment to consider the matter.] George was now vomiting as well as screaming, but he managed to shriek a couple of words: "

MY BALLS !" At twelve, Marty was already aware from experience of the extreme pain sensitivity of the testicles. "Shall I summon Dr. Hartfield ?" he inquired. George managed to yell "YES, DAMMIT "

Marty found Dr. Octavius M. Hartfield 's 'phone number in the directory and dialed it. A female voice answered "Dr. Hartfield's office." Marty replied "This is Martin Hendricks. I must speak with Dr. Hartfield immediately. This...is...an...

emergency !" Despite his pre-pubescent treble voice, Marty could, at need, sound very authoritative.

"This is Dr. Hartfield." said a man's voice. "This is Martin Hendricks ,Dr. Hartfield. My brother , George, has fallen in the bathroom and injured his testicles, judging from his screams, possibly quite seriously." "I'll call an ambulance immediately. What's the nearest hospital to you ?" asked Dr. Hartfield. "St. Martin's, it is only two blocks south of here, unless the Emergency Room entrance is on Collingwood St., in which case, it would be three blocks." said Marty.

"What is your address ?" Marty answered "250 Homeland Ave., across the street from the Brian and Chapin dairy, a yellow brick 3-story apartment house. Our apartment is second floor west. I shall await the ambulance crew at the vestibule door in order to open it from within because it has an electric lock." "Very well" said Dr. Hartfield and rang off.

Martin's next concern was to notify his and George's half-sister, Helga. There was no point in trying to contact their mother. Her employers were unaware that she had children, and she preferred to keep it so. (They were afraid that a cook with children would steal food to bring home to them, times being what they were.) They were right.

Helga worked for Lawrence Laboratories, a photo processing facility. Not knowing how far the ambulance had to come, Marty decided to go down to the vestibule door to let them in first and call Helga afterwards. It was a wise decision; they arrived only minutes after he reached the door. Marty opened the door, shouted "Second floor, door on the right" and darted up the stairs ahead of the ambulance crew.

From inside the dining room he told them "Go straight ahead into the living room and turn to the right. The bathroom door is directly opposite the living room door. It's hooked but will yield to moderate force." By this time, George had stopped screaming. He had been moaning when Marty went downstairs but was now silent.

As Marty had predicted, as soon as one of the men put his shoulder to the door, the hook jumped out of the eye and the door opened. They loaded George, now unconscious, onto the stretcher, covered him with a blanket and carried him out of the apartment and down to the waiting ambulance.

Marty 'phoned Lawrence Laboratories and asked to speak to Helga Olsen. "This is an emergency." he told the switchboard operator. Helga soon came to the 'phone. "Marty ? What's happened ?" she asked. "George fell in the bathroom and injured himself. He has been taken by ambulance to St. Martin's Hospital." Helga asked "Where did he hurt himself ?" "Well, delicacy forbids, but he seems to have fallen astride the rim of the bathtub. Your imagination can fill in the umpleasant details."

"I'll meet you at the hospital." said Helga. "Very well. I shall walk over to Ashleigh St. and await you at the bus stop. I believe that the entrance to the Emergency Room is on Collingwood St., so we shall have to walk another block to reach it." Marty replied. Marty estimated that it would take at least 20 minutes for Helga to reach Ashleigh St. from Anne St. by bus. Therefore, there was time to call Dorothy Socrates and tell her of George's accident.

As Marty had expected, there was only one Socrates in the telephone directory, Stavros Socrates. Dorothy must be his daughter. A woman's voice answered the telephone. Marty asked "Is this the Socrates residence ?" "Yes, it is." the voice replied. "I should like to speak with Miss Dorothy Socrates." said Marty. "This is

Dorothy." said the woman.

"I am Martin Hendricks, George's brother." "Oh yes, George has mentioned you."

"Nothing complimentary, I am sure." commented Marty. "George will be unable to meet with you this evening. He fell in the bathroom and injured himself and has been taken by ambulance to St. Martin's Hospital. " Dorothy was obviously appalled. " Oh, that's terrible. Was he hurt badly ?" "That remains uncertain at the moment." answered Marty.

"But, how was he hurt ? " "That is a matter which I cannot discuss with a lady." replied Marty rather prudishly. "Oh, I think I understand." said Dorothy. "I must leave now to meet my sister, Helga, at the hospital. Adieu." "Alright, I'll meet you both there." said Dorothy "Goodbye"

It is only a short walk from 250 Homeland Ave. to St. Martin's Hospital: up Woodstead St. across the railroad overpass, past the Winsor Tobacco Company and the power substation, past Corporal St., where the family had once lived, and one more block to Ashleigh St. The eastbound and westbound stops for the Palmer & Ashleigh Sts. bus were directly in front of the main entrance to St. Martin's Hospital.

Marty waited at the westbound bus stop for 15 minutes before the Palmer & Ashleigh bus arrived. Helga was on it and the two of them walked down Woodstead St. to Collingwood. Marty filled Helga in on the details [those which delicacy permitted]. At the Emergency Room, they were told that George's injuries, though serious were not life-threatening now that he had been treated for shock and that he was in surgery.

Now that Helga was there to take the burden of responsibility from him, Marty felt very tired, so he curled up in one of the chairs and fell asleep. He was soon awakened by Helga's shaking his shoulder to introduce him to a pretty young woman who proved to be Dorothy Socrates. Dorothy complimented him on the adult way that he had handled the emergency, but Marty merely replied that "I did what I deemed necessary."

After about an hour, a doctor came to the Emergency Room, took Helga aside and

spoke to her . Helga then took Dorothy aside and spoke to her, still out of Marty's earshot. Marty guessed, however, that they were discussing the long-range effects of George's injuries and especially their effects on his marital prospects. Unconcerned, Marty went back to sleep.

Two days later, George got a ride home from a co-worker who visited him at the hospital. He went right to bed on his rollaway bed in the living room and spent most of his time there for the rest of the week. It was another week before he could return to work. He had nobody to talk to except Marty in the afternoon and they had nothing in common.

Ma came home on her day off, Thursday, and Helga told her about George's accident then. She understood the significance of it and was very upset, knowing that George would never give her any grandchildren. She pinned her hopes thereafter on Marty, but she did wonder who would marry such a strange person.

After an abusive childhood, Helga would have nothing to do with men.

George stopped dating after a sad parting with Dorothy and also became careless of his appearence. Once a natty dresser, he took to wearing whatever came to hand.

Previously, on a day when he had a date, George would shave twice, at 7:00 AM and 5:00 PM. After the accident, he only needed to shave twice a week and often skipped one of them.

Once cheerful and happy-go-lucky, he became moody and brooded a lot. As a machinist working in an essential war industry, he was exempt from the draft and, certainly, as a eunuch he was 4-F. In 1942, however, the Army was so desperate for warm bodies that they accepted any volunteer who could find his way to the recruiting station and walked in under his own power. They omitted the physical examination in their zeal to acquire another warm body.

One fine day in the month of May, George quit his job and enlisted. Only Marty was not surprised. "By 'doing his part', he hopes to elevate his self-esteem, greatly reduced as a consequence of his grievous loss, and thus, to prove to himself and others that he is as good a man as any, despite his procreative and 'romantic' incapacity", Marty pontificated rather pompously.

Fortunately, George did not hear this remark. It would have irritated the hell ouf of him, mainly because Marty was absolutely right. Though he had been an athlete in high school and had kept in good shape since, George found basic training exhausting, having lost nearly 50% of his muscular strength and stamina with his testicles. Though his fellow recruits noticed his loss, nobody paid any attention to it.

Having no need for it, when George was issued a jockstrap, he sent it home to Marty who would soon need it. In fact, his gym teacher had already told him to get one, but they were unobtainable. Rubber was a strategic material and elastic can't be made without it. Even the one George sent home had only two short pieces of elastic in the leg straps. The rest of the supporter was made of cotton.

George served in the infantry for two years until he was wounded in Germany. Only then did the Army discover that he was a eunuch. After recovering from his wound and a back injury which bothered him for the rest of his life, George was re-assigned to the Signal Corps as a photographer.

Photography had been a hobby of his in the late 1930's and he had been good at it.

The camera he was issued was identical with his own, a 3¼ X 4¼ Speed Graphic. Being nutless might have gotten him deferred, but it wouldn't get him discharged.

His enlistment ended in 1946. By then he had heard of hormone replacement therapy.

As a veteran, he was able to obtain testosterone shots at the Veterans' Hospital in

Oldington. He became a professional photographer and resumed dating. He soon found a girl, Maggie Wilton, who couldn't have children, courted her for two years, and married her.

And, what of Marty ? The "little professor" ultimately became a big professor. His inability to relate intimately to other people was finally recognised as Asperger's Syndrome. However, psychiatric assistance did not improve the situation and he never married.