CHAPTER 25: USELESS

PLEASE NOTE: This chapter uses a period-typical term for a developmental disorder. No offense is intended—it's simply an effort to use authentic for the 1940s. See end note for further detail.

"…and that's how it's going to be," Hogan was telling his team as they gathered for breakfast at the barracks table. "Peter will still be with us. It'll just be a few months before he can go outside the wire on missions, but we'll use him as much as possible inside the camp."

"So I can still open Klink's safe when you need me to?" Newkirk said hopefully.

Hogan had hoped he wouldn't press for details, because he hadn't figured everything out yet. He gave the most parental response he could think of: "We'll see, Peter," he said softly.

"That means no," Newkirk grumbled as LeBeau tugged him closer with an arm around his waist. "It's not fair."

Kinch shook his head. "It won't be easy, Pete, but it's better than the alternative."

Newkirk shrugged his shoulders. He was very grateful not to have to leave, and had told Colonel Hogan so last night. But he had slept fitfully as his new reality sank in, and this morning he was feeling more worried and uncertain. He wasn't sure where he belonged.

"I suppose so. But what am I supposed to do while you lot are running around saving Western civilization? Sit here and play with my toy soldiers?" He didn't notice the looks that Garlotti, Broughton, and a few other Barracks 2 residents exchanged. It had probably not dawned on him that they'd felt the same way plenty of times.

"There's lots of work to do," Hogan said.

"What, KP?" Newkirk snapped.

"Keep that up and it will be," LeBeau muttered quietly so only the men at the table could hear him. Hogan and Kinch nodded sympathetically, while Carter looked stunned at the outburst.

Newkirk shifted in his seat. "Sorry, Ssssssir," he said. "It's j-j-j-just, I n-n-n-know I'm vvvaluable on mmmmissions and I d-don't w-want to mmmisss out."

"I know that, Peter," Hogan replied. He laid a hand on his arm. "But I'm responsible for keeping you safe. You heard that loud and clear last night."

Newkirk nodded and bit his lip. "Yes, Sir, I understand. And I'll d-d-d-do mmmmy best." He whispered, "I'll b-be good" and his pursed his lips as if he could hold back the mixture of anger and frustration that building up inside of him.

They all sat quietly, noticing the extreme uptick in his stutter but not wanting to mention it when he was obviously feeling so fragile.

But leave it to Carter.

"I was just thinking, Newkirk," he said cheerfully. "Maybe you could use the extra time to work on your stutter. Maybe that's something you can grow out of. You know, now that you're, um…"

Newkirk's jaw was clenched and his head was down, and Carter's expression had turned to "uh-oh." He had to look hard to be sure that steam was not coming out of Newkirk's ears, and he could feel LeBeau, Kinch and Hogan glaring at him.

"Well, you know, now that we know you're a little younger than we thought, but still very mature of course, because you are obviously are, maybe you could see this as an opportunity. You're young enough that maybe you can still get over a speech impediment, with enough practice, obviously, and boy, you're gonna have time to practice!" He meant it, as Carter always did, as encouragement, but his earnest plan for Newkirk's self-improvement was not landing well.

"Leave off, Carter," Newkirk said. "My st-st-st-stammer is none of your business."

"I know that. I was just thinking…"

"Well, stop thinking! It doesn't suit you," Newkirk snapped. He got up and walked out the barracks.

Hogan cradled his head in hand for a moment and groaned, "Why, Carter?" Then he got up to follow Newkirk. On his way out the door, he gestured at Carter. "Kinch, LeBeau. Explain this to him. Again. Carter, try to listen this time." He left shaking his head.

"Carter," Kinch said slowly. He exhaled, trying to hide any traces of anger, but failing. "Stop thinking about his age. Stop talking about his age. And for God's sake, Carter, try to understand that if he wanted your advice about his stutter, he'd ask you for it."

"I didn't mean anything… I was just trying think of things he could do while he's off the team…"

"No, you never mean anything," LeBeau said furiously. "That's the problem with you, Carter. You don't think before you talk."

"He's not off the team," Kinch added angrily. "He's just changing roles for a little while." He took a deep breath, let it out, and forced himself to speak more evenly, because he knew being mad wasn't going to help anyone. "Andrew, it's not our job to fix him or find busy work for him. That's only going to make him feel worse right now."

"I'm, I'm really sorry guys. I, um, I, um…" He stopped talking and laughed. "Gee whiz, listen to me. Now I'm stuttering too. It's like it's catching or something."

The next sound he heard was LeBeau's fists slamming into the table hard. He was livid. He didn't say a word. He just growled and got up to leave.

Kinch grabbed him by the jacket. "Louis, calm down."

"I can't calm down," LeBeau replied. "I cannot watch him," he said, jabbing a finger toward Carter, "hurting and humiliating Pierre."

Carter looked bewildered by LeBeau's extreme display of emotion. Nobody in his family ever lost their temper. "Gee, sorry, LeBeau, I wasn't trying to say anything to hurt Newkirk, because that's something I would never do!" he said.

"Oh, stop apologizing," LeBeau roared at him. "I don't care how sorry you are." He stormed out into the compound to find Pierre. Perhaps Colonel Hogan needed help with him.

Kinch sat at the table with Carter as he continued to apologize. "I guess I really put my foot in my mouth. I was just thinking out loud."

"I know," Kinch said sadly. "You're not a mean guy, Carter. But you've got to ease up on Peter. A lot of bad stuff has happened to him in the last few weeks and he's hurting. You have to find a way to just … think silently."

Carter nodded, and felt an arm slip around his shoulders. It was Private Garlotti, coming to join him and Kinch at the table.

"Hey guys. I know this is not really my business, but I heard," Garlotti said. "Let me help. Maybe just another set of ears would be good."

Kinch nodded. He'd take any help he could get. "OK, Carter?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure, thanks, Tony," Carter said.

"You have one brother, right Carter? How much younger than you?"

"Nearly six years younger. Davey was 18 in January. He's almost a year older than Newkirk," Carter said, shaking his head. "I still can't believe Newkirk's so young."

"Carter, you've got to stop saying that," Kinch said. "The words 'I can't believe' have got to go."

Garlotti nodded. "Believe it, man. Stop telling yourself you can't, and just believe it. But then think about what it means." He sighed. "Listen, Carter. I've got two kid brothers plus three sisters. Remember I told you my baby brother is older than you? Vincenzo… Vincent. He's the youngest. He's turning 26 soon."

"Yeah, I remember that," Carter said. "I guess I seem like a kid to you, too, compared to him." He could feel his ears turning pink as he said it. It didn't feel great to think of himself as being younger than everyone else. Carter realized that must feel ten times worse to Newkirk.

"Actually, you don't. See, my brother's different from other guys his age. He loves to go with us to baseball games, and he knows all the players. He helps my dad out by sweeping out the pizza parlor and cleaning the counters, and he goes to Mass every day with mom. But he's not in the Army because he's different."

Carter looked puzzled. "What's different about him?"

"He's a little slow. He doesn't learn like you or me. He went to first and second grade, but he couldn't read or write so they put him in a special class where he learned easier things, like how to count to 10 and how to tie his shoes," Garlotti said, "which honestly is still pretty hard for him to do. He just does bunny ears instead of a regular knot. But he's proud that he can do it himself, and I am too."

"I'm sorry, Tony. That sounds really hard," Carter said.

"Don't be sorry! I'm not sorry. Vinny's a great guy and he's very happy. My mom says he's a blessing just the way God made him."

"Will he get better?" Carter asked.

"No. He might get a little better at some things, like throwing a baseball and crossing the street without help, but otherwise not really. You've probably seen kids like him before. His face is a little flatter and his eyes are kind of slanted. Have you ever heard of Mongolism?"

Kinch nodded. "My mom's cousin's youngest daughter has that. I think she's about 14 now. She came about 10 years after Cousin Louisa thought she was done having kids."

Carter was deep in thought. "So what you're saying is that even though Vinny's older than me, it's kind of like I'm older," Carter said. "Because…"

"You can count money. You can button your own shirt. You can shave by yourself. You can drive a car. My point is, age is a number. You can be 14 and very grown up and responsible, and you can be 26 and still need a lot of help to do things you and me take for granted."

"OK," Carter said, still trying to wrap his mind around what Garlotti was saying.

"You've got to look at the person and respect them for who they are, Carter," Garlotti said. "We don't treat Vinny like a kid because he isn't a child. He's a grownup who needs help with things. Newkirk's a grownup too, in his way. From the little things he's said, I think he always had to be. You can't treat him like a kid when he's used to being treated like a grownup."

"Newkirk can do all those things I can do," Carter acknowledged. "Well, except shave. Neither of us has much of a beard. And I guess he can do a lot of things I can't, like incredible card tricks and making things disappear right before your eyes."

"Or throwing a knife. Or jumping from roof to roof. He's better at that than anyone here," Kinch said.

"Or picking a lock so everyone can slip past the guards or escape the Gestapo," Garlotti said.

"He's really brave and tough," Carter said. "Oh man, I keep talking to him like he's just a little kid even though I know he's done things that are hard and dangerous. Why do I keep doing that?"

"I know it's hard to really get it through your head, because you keep comparing him to your brother Davey. But it's like LeBeau and I told you. He's definitely not Davey. He's much more experience in life than a high school kid from North Dakota," Kinch said.

Kinch was right. Carter was having so much trouble understanding the life Newkirk had lived, because it was so different from anything he knew. It would be so much easier to understand if Newkirk was a little kid instead of a 17-year-old who had lived a hard life. Carter felt himself starting to shake with emotion, and his eyes were prickling. He pressed his face into his hands, trying to stop the overwhelming shame he was feeling about how he had judged his friend.

"I would never, ever hurt Newkirk deliberately, guys. I didn't realize I was making him feel so small. I'll fix it, I promise," he said softly. "I'm really sorry."

XXX

Meanwhile, in the prison yard, Newkirk was sitting on a bench, arms crossed, his back pressed into the wall of Barracks 15, halfway across the camp. Hogan was sitting by his side, talking softly, when LeBeau skittered up to them.

"Pierre, are you alright?" LeBeau asked. Newkirk didn't reply, but Hogan gestured for LeBeau to sit down, and he took a seat on the other side of Newkirk.

"What mmmmakes Carter think he's the bleeding st-stammering expert?" Newkirk snapped at Hogan as LeBeau sat down.

"He's not," Hogan said gently. "The only expert on how you stammer is you. The way you talk is just fine with me." He nodded slightly at LeBeau.

"Moi aussi, Pierre. You don't need to change anything. We speak together perfectly well, right?"

"Yes," Newkirk said firmly. "Wwwe understand each other, Louis. It's easy to talk to you. B-both of you," he added with a small nod at Colonel Hogan. He was quiet for a long moment, and then continued.

"It's not like I haven't tr-tried," Newkirk said earnestly. "He sssseems to think I haven't even tr-tried. But I work to improve all time. I'm always tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-tr-trying not to st-st-stammer." He thumped a fist down on the bench. "And now it's wwwwworse. I hate this!"

"I know you hate stammering, and I also know you work very, very hard not to, Peter," Hogan said. "But you're upset now, and that makes it harder to control."

Newkirk nodded. Yes, Colonel Hogan understood. And it wasn't as if Newkirk thought his speech couldn't improve; he knew it could and he wished it would. But Carter couldn't possibly understand that it wasn't just a matter of having enough time to concentrate on doing better. Doing better was simply very, very, very hard work. Like everything was lately, it seemed.

"If I w-w-wanted help, I would ask you, Sir. And you, Louis," Newkirk said. "Not C-C-Carter."

"Well, I'm honored," Hogan said. "If you ever wanted help with it, LeBeau and I would do our best to help you if you could show us how. But it's not up to us. It's your decision."

"Yes, it is," Newkirk said, letting out a shaky breath. He looked directly at Colonel Hogan. "I pr-promise I am trying to ffffeel better about everything and go along with the new rules, Sir. You fought for me to stay, and I appreciate it. But why does Carter have to remind me about what else is wr-wr-wrong with me. It sssseems like everything's wrong with mmme now."

"Hey," Hogan said firmly. "There is nothing wrong with you. Got it? You're fine. You don't need to change anything."

"Then why do I ffffeel so br-broken and useless?" Newkirk replied. He let LeBeau pull him close and leaned in, listening to his best friend's heartbeat while Colonel Hogan squeezed his arm sympathetically.

As late as the 1970s, Down Syndrome was referred to as Mongolism. Today, this term is considered highly offensive. It is used in this chapter because that is actually how people would have referred to this chromosome defect in the 1940s.