The Human Calculation
The Professor sat in his hut, enjoying a gentle breeze and working on his latest set of blue-prints. This time he was sure that he had solved all the nagging problems that had kept them from escaping from their island in the past. This time his invention would work and they'd all be able to return to their previous lives. If they could keep Gilligan from fouling things up again, that is.
The Professor chuckled as he imagined tying up the first mate until his project was safely completed and they were all ready to leave for Hawaii. It wasn't that he disliked the boy. In truth, he was quite fond of him. It was just that he was realistic about the clumsy young man's unerring ability to inadvertently sabotage their rescue plans. The Professor was a logical man and during his time on the island he had witnessed enough foiled escape attempts to know that the only way they were ever going to get home was if Gilligan could be convinced to stay out of the way until all the preparations were made. And the chances of that happening were slim to none.
Ah, well…maybe this time things would be different. Maybe this time the good-hearted, but accident-prone boy would manage not to destroy anything. Maybe this time they'd be able to get away without incident. The Professor found himself thinking of all the things he missed back home –his lab, his classroom, intellectual conversations with his colleagues. And then he thought of all the things he wouldn't miss – the humidity, the bugs, the repetitive diet, the lack of modern conveniences. The list went on and on.
The Professor's thoughts were intruded upon by the daily news broadcast coming from the radio on the communal table outside. He leaned back in his chair to listen to the happenings in the outside world, including the latest from the Vietnamese conflict.
"In world news, US forces met the North Vietnamese army head-on at La Drang today. The battle was a success, resulting in more than 1200 communist deaths. Sadly, more than 200 Americans lost their lives in the campaign. According to General Westmoreland, the victory demonstrates the superior tactics of the American forces and…"
Someone switched off the radio, leaving the Professor to wonder how losing 200 American lives in one day could be considered a victory.
"Why'd you do that, Skipper?" Gilligan's voice drifted from outside. "They were just talking about the war."
"That's why I turned it off."
"Huh?"
"We're thousands of miles from Vietnam. That war has nothing to do with us."
"But the Navy is patrolling over there. Once we get back, I'm going to re-up and…"
"No, you're not."
"But, Skipper…"
"You heard me, Gilligan. You're not going to Vietnam."
"But you fought in the last war. I don't see why I can't fight in this one."
"It's not the same. World War II was a different war and I had more military experience than you have."
"You just don't think I'd be a good sailor."
"I have every faith in your sailing skills. In peace time."
"You never think I can do anything." The sound of Gilligan storming away from the table could easily be heard in the Professor's hut. "Just you wait. As soon as we're rescued, I'm going to Vietnam and win all kinds of medals. Then you'll be sorry."
"Over my dead body!" The Skipper's shout echoed among the huts. "You wouldn't last ten minutes in a combat zone."
The Professor sat quietly, listening as the captain and his first mate shouted at each other. A more quiet, though no less determined, voice joined the conversation.
"He can't be serious." Mr. Howell argued. "Surely he's just trying to annoy you."
"He'd better be." Skipper bumped the table as he lumbered to his feet. "Gilligan!"
"You don't really think that boy would volunteer to go to war?" The Professor wasn't sure who Mr. Howell was talking to, but he assumed it was his wife Lovey. "I can't think of anyone who would be less equipped to face enemy fire. I have trouble imagining how he survived being in the peace-time Navy."
"He couldn't be drafted, could he, Thurston? After all, he's already served his country. He shouldn't have to go again."
"I don't know, Lovey, but it won't really matter if the boy is foolish enough to enlist."
The Professor caught sight of Gilligan stomping past his door, blanket in hand. He assumed the boy was off to his private cave again. For someone with no obvious survival skills, the first mate seemed drawn to the island's dark and dangerous spots. Especially when he was at odds with his Skipper.
"I'm sure this dust-up in Vietnam will be over with long before we're rescued." Mr. Howell continued at the table. "How long can it take to destroy a few-thousand jungle communists?"
"I wouldn't underestimate the power of a determined band of guerillas." The Skipper had returned to the community table. "The French couldn't achieve a military victory in Vietnam. I doubt the Americans will do much better. All I know for sure is that Gilligan has no clue what it's like being on a ship when someone's trying to blow you out of the water. I do. I won't let him go through what I went through during the last war."
"Hmmph." Mr. Howell's voice rose. "Rest assured, Captain, that boy will not go to war. I'll send him to my alma mater under heavy guard once we're rescued. He'll be far too busy studying and going to fraternity parties to go anywhere near a recruitment center. And as long as he's in college, he'll be exempt from the draft."
"I hope so. I don't know what I'd do if that idiot kid got himself killed. At least, by anyone but me." The Skipper sighed loudly. "I'd better go find him before he falls off a cliff or disappears into quicksand."
The Professor stared at his blueprints as the area grew quiet again. The Vietnam situation had been brewing before they left Hawaii on their three-hour tour, but it had been steadily escalating into a full-blown war since they'd been stranded on the island. All able-bodied young men –and most likely many that were less than able-bodied –were being pressed into service to stem the tide of communism in Southeast Asia. Or to die needlessly in a foreign land as casualties of the Cold War. It really depended on your point of view. There was a seemingly endless debate on the need for America to get involved in Vietnam's civil war.
What was beyond debate, as far as the Professor was concerned, was Gilligan's unsuitability for the military. He had served in the Navy –no doubt with assistance from the Skipper – during a time of peace and prosperity. But the thought of the clumsy young man marching through a rice paddy with a rifle over his shoulder…no, the Professor couldn't imagine that. Any more than he could imagine Gilligan thriving academically at Harvard or attending parties with the sons of the nation's elite. No, there was only one safe place for Gilligan at the moment –far away from Vietnam.
The Professor glanced down at the plans for his functional bamboo pontoon boat and considered all that returning to civilization would mean to their little group. Then -slowly, very slowly - he ripped the blueprints to shreds and buried the scraps where they would never be found. There would be time enough for all of them to resume their lives once the war was over.
GIGI