Author's Note:
When Bernard Fox passed away in December, 2016, I planned on honoring him with a story. Unfortunately, personal life got in the way, and I found myself struggling to write for quite some time after I lost my dad in April 2017.
Bernard Fox, (May 11, 1927-December 14, 2016) our beloved Colonel Crittendon "was renowned as an expert theatre historian. He was reputedly a keen gardener, a painter of landscapes and a devotee of performing magic." from Imdb
Harry Anderson left us way too soon. "Night Court" was a welcome presence on my TV screen throughout its run, and I was so fortunate to be able to use his character for my Fanfic Court story back in 2009. The reaction to that story by the fandom blew me away, and the collaborative trial soon followed. The following is my tribute to these two great entertainers.
"Everyone's life would be improved if they do could one great magic trick. And tell one great joke, play one tune on the piano, and do one great origami fold." Harry Anderson
October 14 1952-April 16, 2018
Fanfic Court: In Memoriam
Harry Stone barely looked up as his bailiff, Nostradamus "Bull" Shannon, walked through the door to the judge's office. Carrying a stack of cases, Bull plopped the papers on Stone's desk and headed over to the couch, where Harry sat in a slouched position. The judge, his fingers still wrapped around a smartphone, glanced at Bull, and then asked, "What do you want, Bull?"
"I want you to put down that contraption, sir, and get back to work."
"Work?" mumbled the young judge.
"Yes, work." Bull reached over and grabbed the phone, plopping it into his pocket.
"Hey," Harry protested. "Give that back to me."
"No, sir. We are staging an intervention. Look at you." From his other pocket, Bull whipped out a small mirror and held it in front of Harry's face. "When was the last time you shaved?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Bull shook his head, and held out his hand. "C'mon, sir. We need to get you back to normal."
"Give me my phone. I have to check Twitter."
"No can do."
"Facebook."
"No way."
"Pinterest."
Bull paused. He had a Pinterest account. He had recently taken up crafting, and he was getting quite a following.
"Bull? Pinterest?" Harry repeated.
Bull shook his head.
"Instagram."
"You must be joking."
"The Mets' score."
That gave Bull pause. "Well, okay. Just the Mets' score." He pulled the phone out of his pocket and handed it back, watching carefully to make sure the judge wasn't cheating.
"Darn it. They lost again." Harry put his head in his hands and sighed. "That bullpen. And my grandmother could hit better than they do."
"At least they're consistent, sir."
Harry looked up. "Consistently bad. Ouch." He clenched and unclenched his hand a few times. "My hand hurts. So does my neck."
"That's what you get from becoming addicted to social media and these stupid phones. I have no idea how they showed up in our realm in the first place. I thought we had taken control of them after the 2012 Fanfic Court trials, sir. Too much hacking."
"2012 trials. 2012 trials." The judge bit his lip as he tried to recall those events; not even a decade old. "Oh, yeah. They were published in Fanfiction Reporter. And it was also on one of those author's accounts. Jazzy, Justice….No. Jinzle. That was it. Yeah. I remember. Wow. Anyway, getting back to the phones. It was those Once Upon a Time people," Harry said. "They have so many realms they don't know how to contain them, and reality leaked in. Look, Bull. I figured out how to turn my phone into a flashlight!" The judge began playing with the light, turning it on the walls and ceiling. "Neat, isn't it?"
"Very cool, sir. We have to get you cleaned up. No…don't go back onto the couch." Bull reached over and grabbed the phone again. " Look, sir. I brought you something to fiddle with. A fidget spinner." He demonstrated and waited.
"Ooh. Let me see that!" Harry grabbed the latest shiny trend and gave it a whirl. "Hey, this is cool."
Bull breathed a sigh of relief. At least the fidget spinner took Stone's attention away from the smartphone.
"Okay, sir. Let's get you ready. Follow me." The bailiff pressed a button on Harry's phone and the sweet sounds of Mel Torme filled the room. Harry followed Bull and the music. It reminded the bailiff of Hansel and Gretel following bread crumbs. It took several minutes, but eventually the judge, now wearing robes and looking his normal spiffy self, appeared in the courtroom.
Harry took his seat and grabbed his gavel. "Show me the docket, Bull." The bailiff placed the docket on the desk. "Can I have my phone back?"
"No way!" The entire courtroom answered in unison.
"Okay, okay…no need to get touchy." For the first time, Harry looked up, and seeing who took up positions in the front seats, his mouth hung open in shock. "Bull, hand me a stress ball."
Two days earlier:
"I can't take this anymore. I..really...can't...take...this. Anymore."
Slap!
The soldier's hand flew to his cheek. "Thanks, sir. I needed that."
Hogan nodded. "I know, Carter. Did I hurt you?"
"No, sir. I think I'm okay. It's just..."
"I get it. We are all running on adrenaline and lots of caffeine." Hogan rubbed his chin. "You'd think we'd be used to these short story speed writing contests by now, but, geez..." He looked down at his left hand, which was shaking. Quickly, the colonel placed it in his pocket. "For what it's worth, I heard four guards have taken a section 8." At the questioning looks, Hogan held up his hand. "Yup. M*A*S*H has spilled over several times, and they have good recall. Burkhalter went to the Russian Front for a vacation. Yeah, think about it. And Langenscheidt mixed up all his jigsaw puzzles. This year has been bad."
"Hoping those so and so writers got on multiple mailing lists when they made their charitable contributions," Kinch said with an evil grin on his face. "That will serve them right." A chorus of hear hear rang out through the barracks.
"To multiple mail...mail...mailing lists," Newkirk, who was drunk, raised his mug. "Of, course…" He hiccuped. "Of course, with their luck, their desk caddies will be overflowing with free address labels."
Schultz, who was hanging out in the hut, walked over to the corporal. "Newkirk, you've been drinking. That is strictly prohibited." He tried to grab hold of the mug, but Newkirk danced around the portly sergeant, stepping out of his way in the nick of time.
"That I am, Schultz. Can't take this nonstop action. Twenty-five plots in one day." He took another swig of his spiked tea and smacked his lips.
To Schultz's surprise, Hogan didn't admonish the Englishman.
Instead, the colonel began pacing. He paused to scratch his head and stood in shock, looking at the large clump of hair resting in his palm. "Oh...my...God."
Seeing the stricken look on Hogan's face, LeBeau rushed over. "Mon Colonel. I know we've been putting this off, but we have to do something."
Hogan looked down at LeBeau. "You're right."
A cheer went up in the hut.
"No one is going to cause my hair to fall out. I don't care how much money they've made for their pet causes. Kinch, take a memo."
Present day...in the fan fiction universe, that is.
Harry leaned over his desk and looked at a character he hoped he would never see again.
"Run that by me again, Colonel Hogan. You lost me at speed-writing."
"Those...miscreants, neer-do-wells, insolent, egotistical…"
"Hang on. Hang on there." Colonel Klink walked up to the bench and stood beside his senior POW officer. "Name-calling is so beneath you, Hogan."
"But my hair!"
"Hoogaaan! Being bald is not the end of the world. Allow me, Judge Stone. They are running us ragged. Literally. It's 25 stories in less than 24 hours...meaning 25 missions...with no time to breathe. One right after another. Not like before when we may have had one or two stories a day or an update in the mission. No, it's bam, bam, bam." Klink pounded his fist on Stone's desk for emphasis.
Sighing, Harry leaned back in his chair. "Do you have a written complaint?"
"No, not yet, Judge. We have barely had time to get dressed, much less write something out," Klink replied.
"Oy." Harry grabbed his stress ball, and for the first time, took a better look at his courtroom. As usual, the spectator seats were full...for since the noted fan fiction court trials, he had become very popular in the fanfic court universe. Much more so than the Law and Order crowd. The seats on the lower level were full as well. This time, to his utter surprise, the prisoners and Germans sat together, taking up multiple rows on both sides. Glancing at the docket sheet, he noted other plaintiffs and defendants were relegated to the back rows.
"I hoped I would never see you again. I thought this was all settled. How long has it been since this all started. Bull?"
His bailiff opened his mouth. "I believe it's been..."
"Nine years, six months, eight days," (1) replied a voice belonging to a man at the back of the courtroom. He slowly strode to the front. The man had impeccable posture, noted Harry, an idiotic haircut, a dull gray ugly uniform, a slight green tinge to his skin, raised eyebrows, and pointy ears.
"Who the hell are you?" Hogan, who had turned to watch the new arrival, asked.
"I know, I know!" Bull raised his hand. "You're a comic con reject! Supposed to be Mr. Spock. Nice ears," he added.
"Partially correct." The man raised his eyebrows. "I am indeed, Mr. Spock."
"No you're not." Harry retorted. "Now, why are you in my court?"
A commotion at the back of the room stopped the judge dead in his tracks. Four people, more rejects from a Sci-Fi convention, he supposed, came running down the aisle. "Let me guess, you're Kirk, Uhura...one of you is McCoy and one is Scotty?"
"Correct," said the man impersonating Kirk. "Spock, what are you doing here? We've been looking all over for you."
The woman strode up to the bench, and curiously sidled very close to the man who would be Spock. "We're from the Kelvin Timeline, (2) Judge Stone. I'm Uhura."
"That's right! And they should go back where they came from. In fact, they should just fix the timeline and disappear along with it!" shouted a spectator.
Harry banged his gavel. "Quiet!"
"Oh, come on. We're fictional characters, not Stephen Hawking. Give us a break," said a man with dark hair and a New Zealand accent who was masquerading as a southern American.
"Kelvin Timeline, Kelvin Timeline." Harry was trying to recall the details. He dropped the stress ball, leaving it for the stenographer to pick up off the floor.
"You're not Kirk," Hogan stated simply as he walked around the character. Kelvin Kirk's eyes followed the colonel. "I've seen multiple Kirk's. At...all...different...ages," he added, using Kirk's odd way of speaking as emphasis. "You're too young, too undisciplined, although you have the nicest blue eyes," he stated. "And why are those two climbing all over each other. Get a room!" He pointed to Spock and Uhura, who were pawing each other over in the corner.
"Order. Order! Geez, Louise." Harry slammed down his gavel. "Sorry, Hogan. I believe they are who they say they are. Wait, I know you...Kirk...From the last Princess Diaries movie. You're played by Chris..." He lowered his voice to a whisper, following fan fiction universe rules and not speaking aloud names of live individuals.
"Nope, that's the Guardians of the Galaxy guy." Kirk sighed. "Try again, Stone."
"Chris..."
"Nope, that's Captain America."
"Chris..."
"Nope, that's Thor..." Kirk stepped back. "Give up?"
"He's the one that can sing!" Shouted a group of girls in the upper balcony.
"Oh, that Chris!" Harry nodded. "Although, to be fair, I'm sure the other Chris actors can also sing and dance and all that."
Kirk waved at the upper balcony, making some of the girls swoon. "Like a tree! Kirk here at your service."
"Sorry to interrupt the party. I'm McCoy, Judge. Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor not a court reporter. What is pointy ears doing here?"
"Doctor. I heard about this issue through the grapevine, and it seemed fascinating. Seeing as we have never been able to interact before."
"And why is that, Mr. Spock?" Harry asked as he began playing with his slinky. He really missed Candy Crush, but he was still stuck on level 34. That darn chocolate. His memory of the Kelvin Trek came back in bits and pieces. It was the talk of the fandoms for a while, and then died down after the great Fanfiction AU war of 2015. The judge shuddered at the memory of being placed in the middle of nowhere, Alaska. While he enjoyed the brief meeting with Northern Exposure, he still slept with an electric blanket. Boy, were they out of their element. Dan Fielding got counseling from Dr. Freedman, the M*A*S*H shrink for weeks afterwards. Strangely, Bull and the usual Night Court suspects, including the guy who looked like Data, took it all in stride. No one really liked the Kelvin Trek; no hard feelings towards the actors of course, but many people disagreed with the tone. He heard there was also a new series as well, but no one could watch it.
"We haven't been given a hearty welcome," replied Scotty. "No one wanted us near them." He pouted for emphasis.
The protagonists paused as the familiar sound of a transporter beam interrupted the Kelvin angst.
"So I've heard." Commander Riker, still dressed as he was in Star Trek: The Next Generation, stepped forward. He was accompanied by Mr. Data and Counselor Troi.
At the sight of his former legal representative, Hogan smiled. Riker was good. Very good. He poked Klink in the ribs. "We'll get this fixed now, sir. The cavalry is here!"
Klink, who was so exhausted, he had not even noticed that he placed his monocle on the wrong side, nodded.
"We are listed as being here for the plaintiffs, your honor." Riker was about to hand Stone a pad, and then thought better of it. "I've downloaded the official documents to your system, sir. But I assure you everything is in order. And may I say, and this goes for everyone. Shame on all you!" He turned and pointed at every character in attendance. "Treating the Kelvin people this way. You are professionals. I'm very disappointed."
"Shame," Troi repeated. "It's not their fault. This is how they were written. They're making the best of it. I sense low self-esteem."
"Hey, wait a minute," Kirk protested.
"Tremendous angst no matter how many cheery stories they have...all stemming from their origin story, of course." Troi wiped her tearing eye.
Spock's eyebrows went up.
"This is not who we are," Riker said. "We are welcoming, and we help one another."
"The Next Generation," whispered one of the prisoners to one of the guards. "Like Oprah in space!"
"Hear, hear," went the cry from the spectators and participants as murmurs of remorse swept through the courtroom.
The four interlopers, for that was how they actually felt, although they would never admit it in front of an audience, were grateful for the support. Kirk turned and faced the crowd. Nodding at Riker and Troi, he paused and then spoke.
"We've been here for almost a decade in real person time. And it's been rough. But, we've had some good times as well. Even joining our Stalag 13 friends here for two crossovers. So we interact, but just in stories. But not socially during our off time. "Turning to face Hogan, Kirk continued. "I will say, Colonel Hogan and Kommandant Klink, that your fandom offers consistently good writing. Bravo." Kirk heartily clapped Hogan on the back. "Credit to your entire company."
"You're welcome," Hogan choked, as he stumbled. He was so tired.
"Hey, let's have the experts handle this case, and watch from the rafters." Kirk looked up, and spotted a pretty girl. He winked at her.
"Same in every fandom," McCoy commented wryly to Scotty. "Always after the women."
Harry looked exasperated. "I don't really know why we need you Commander Riker. There's no preliminary trial here. I'll hear their point."
"But who is to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Those who aren't here to offer their own defense?"
"Thank you, Data. Judge Stone?" Riker gave Stone a small smile.
Meanwhile, up in the rafters, fans, Mary Sue's, and other characters craned their necks forward to watch the proceedings taking place below them. A loud crash followed by an "Oh, buggers. Sorry, sorry, mind the gap," caught everyone's attention.
Hogan let out a big sigh. "Crittendon, what are you doing here? Hey someone get me a chair. I'm too bushed. I need to sit."
"Well, Marya's not here," Kinch deadpanned. He took the chair from one of the other bailiffs and gave it to Hogan. "So we might as well have the next best thing."
"How can you compare that nincompoop to my precious, delicate white flower? Asked LeBeau. His mates shrugged.
Not sure who's worse, Hogan thought. "Crittendon?"
"Here to support you, wot?" Crittendon looked around. "We're all in this together."
A huge groan emanated from the balcony. The Kelvin people looked a bit green.
"You okay up there?" Harry shaded his eyes.
"Crossover illness," explained Spock, who already was green. "High School Musical." As fan fiction became more popular, and more crossovers popped up all over multiple platforms, fandom participants often became ill after totally contrived crossovers.
"You have our sympathy," Hogan yelled up at the Trek folks. "We were throwing up tribble hairballs for weeks."
"Ick. Understood...carry on? Oh, what am I saying?" Harry banged his gavel again, just because he could.
"Hey!" A guy stood up. He turned to his girlfriend. "That guy looks like...
The girl smiled." Yup. From Bewitched! I loved that show. Watched it on reruns all the time. That's Samantha's doctor. Bombay. Calling Dr. Bombay. Calling Dr. Bombay...emergency. Come right…."
"Noooo!" A man, who strangely resembled the center square from Hollywood Squares, tried to stop the girl. But it was too late!
The warlock appeared in an instant. He was wearing an old-fashioned baseball uniform, with a Mets' logo on it. After all, his favorite witch, Samantha Stevens, was a Mets' fan. During her second pregnancy, her cravings sent her every which way, and eventually she ended up at Shea Stadium for a hot dog.
"This better be good," the warlock spoke to the entire crowd. "I was just about to face the '69 Mets' pitching staff in the fantasy league."
"Sorry, doc. We didn't call you. It was an accident," Harry stated. "I always thought state the nature of the emergency from Star Trek: Voyager was a better response."
Bombay sniffed.
"Well, I'll be...there are two of them? " Hogan turned a deathly shade of pale.
"Chop, chop, chop," Klink retorted with glee.
Bombay waved his hand and froze the entire courtroom. He walked over to the man who looked exactly like him. Handsome fellow, he chortled. He pulled a notebook out of thin air and began running through pages.
"Colonel Gracie, Titanic, Captain Havelock, The Mummy, Chip and Dale." He smiled. "Murder She Wrote. M*A*S*H, Tabitha, 12 o'clock High, Colombo, Love American style, Make Room for Daddy." There were hundreds more.
Ah. There we are. Colonel Crittendon, Hogan's Heroes. Done!
Bombay had a goal to meet every single doppelganger. He was well on his way, but there were so many roles, and he was often very busy. Crittendon was busy as well, and in some cases, his character broke through his original bio and had more intense parts to play. Bombay gave silent thanks to the fan who accidentally summoned him. But this was not his fandom, and not his place to work out issues between characters and authors. After all, he thought that was settled case law.
"Sorry, but I need to get back. Bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, 3-2 count. And I'm at bat! Perfect. But first...ah, enough of those rhymes. I swear they put them in to pad the scripts. Let's go back a moment."
"Hey!" A guy stood up. He turned to his girlfriend. "That guy looks like..."
The girl smiled. "Yup. From, Bewitched. I loved that show. Watched it on reruns all the time. That's Samantha's doctor...Calling
Her friend stopped her in mid-sentence. "Don't finish it," he warned. "This is fan fiction and who knows what can happen. This is not his fandom."
"But what about all these Trek folks?" She asked. "They are constantly involved."
"Yeah, I can't figure that out. But they aren't wacky."
"Good point," the girl replied." The two sat back and watched the rest of the proceedings. Meanwhile, Crittendon, who had brought a tablet, began to read.
Harry was mindlessly juggling three stress balls. He was feeling a bit more relaxed, but firm. His eyes actually focused better and his hands were more dexterous. Maybe Bull was right; I was addicted to social media and today's tech. It's not good.
"First let me say, everything in moderation. Bull warned me about being addicted to my iPhone 6."
"6?" Riker said. "We're up to 145! I had a hologram save my space in line."
"Yeah, Riker, shut up. I was talking. Addicted to all these new devices. That's for up there. Down here? Chill. Live a little."
"Aha!" Riker struck his hand on the desk. "Stone, you just said everything in moderation. What about these poor characters forced to run through umpteen scenarios? And now they are on all different platforms."
"Yeah, moderation, Judge. You've got to do something." Hogan looked at the spectators who yelled their support.
"This is utterly ridiculous. You know this was settled ages ago. You wouldn't, we wouldn't...even be here if it wasn't for the authors. I follow you all, it's not that bad," Harry said.
"Jeez," Hogan retorted. "We've put up with the angst, the injuries, cavorting with cartoon characters, the sequels, the 2012 trial, the Mary Sues..."
"It is a problem, Stone. Look how tired they are." Riker pointed at all the men from Stalag 13. They were in various stages of exhaustion. Some were prone on the benches snoring away.
"Newkirk, wake up." Carter poked his friend, who snored again and rolled over, falling off the bench.
"Ouch. Me bum."
Riker and Stone ignored them. They were now locked in an epic battle of wits.
"You made out great after that trial. We still have the character's rights movement that came out of there, gentlemen." Stone was now getting annoyed. These were supposed to be soldiers, for crying out loud. They worked under the noses of really, really, bad people. They had to act at a moment's notice.
"We need to do something. Before next year's charity event completely wipes them out," Riker countered.
Data whispered in Riker's ear.
"Yes, Data, I know they'll bounce back."
Troi whispered in the other.
"Well, of course it worked better when they forgot their missions and went on as before. But that resolution didn't work. This universe is too complicated."
"Riker." Harry sighed. "There are multiple writing contests out there. You are not the only characters suffering," he admitted. "But, rules are clear. Contests are allowed." Harry stood up and craned his neck. "I expected to see Perry Mason here, speaking for the defense. He knows just the right time to pop up."
A soldier no one recognized raised his hand, and then stood up. "If I may approach the bench?" He was of average height, with blond hair, and wearing an American sergeant's uniform.
For the second time, Hogan asked, "Who the hell are you?"
The soldier was bright-eyed and bushy tailed. "One of the extras hanging around the compound sir. Figured you all were too tired to think straight, so i took it upon myself to get more information, and to make sure there was no mistrial. Judge?"
"Good grief." Hogan walked back to his seat and plopped down.
"Approach the bench."
The soldier walked over. "Sorry, I have no name, but I need to tell you that Perry Mason is otherwise occupied. He's binge-watching Game of Thrones."
"Bull, how come you didn't know this?"
The bailiff looked mortified. "I'm sorry, I thought someone filed something. Figured Mason would just pop in." He sighed.
"Binging too, Bull?"
He nodded. "The Crown."
"Ah. And you have the chutzpah to chide me for my electronic addiction." Harry shook his head. "Edict! There will be no more binging TV shows until this case settled. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," everyone murmured.
"But, the writers are entitled to a defense. Do we have anyone here?"
His public defender, Christine Sullivan, popped up in the back of the courtroom. "Sorry, Harry. I'm not prepared. Somehow, I missed the first hearings and trial." She shrugged.
The telltale sign of a transporter beam interrupted the proceedings.
"Here we go again." Harry reached in his drawer and pulled out a slinky.
1) correct from the date I actually wrote that paragraph.
2) Kelvin Timeline: The alternate timeline formed by the events in the new Star Trek Movie series which premiered in 2009
the confusion over actors named Chris was handled in great comedic and musical fashion by Saturday Night Live. Check out the episode with Chris Pine as host.