Northern Exposure s03e12 Episode Script

- Morning, Marilyn.
- Morning.
Marilyn, just a moment of your time, please.
- What is that? - It's a goat.
I- I see.
What is it doing in there? And don't tell me eating its breakfast, because I'm not terribly amused by this.
- It's a gift.
- A gift? From Mrs.
Noanuk.
Mrs.
Noanuk.
The old woman with the arthritis? - You cured her.
- I gave her a shot of cortisone.
It's anti-inflammatory.
It's not I didn't cure her.
- She's feeling better.
- So she gives me a goat? A goat? A nice bottle of wine I understand.
A box of chocolates.
A Rolex.
- What do I want with a goat? - Milk.
- Look.
Just please return it.
- You can't.
- Why not? - It's a gift.
Gifts can be returned, Marilyn.
It's a time-honored American tradition.
Look, if he's non refundable, what if you take him? - I can't.
- Why not? It wouldn't be right.
Why not? Doctors get gifts from patients all the time, Marilyn.
Those they deem unsuitable and inappropriate, they simply pass on to their staff.
It wouldn't be right.
Well- What am I supposed to do with a goat? - More coffee, Ruth-Anne? - Please.
Well, you're chipper today, Holling.
Last time Shelly left, you were one big mope.
I told her to go have fun with her old pals.
I got the floors to concentrate on.
You're gonna do the floors again? You just did 'em.
Couldn't have been more than 10 years.
A lot of beer's been spilt in that time, Ruth-Anne.
- Lot of darts, dancing, carrying on.
- Look fine to me.
Wow.
First time I have downshifted all day.
How are you? Do you know I did six turnarounds to Seldovia today? I'm subbing for Red Murphy this week.
I had a tailwind from Shageluk.
Oh, man, I made incredible time.
Slow down, Maggie, or you'll meet yourself coming this way.
No, no, no, no, no.
I am getting into a groove.
I hit that wall, you know, the day before yesterday? But I pushed through it.
Now, I feel great.
Holling! Holling.
Would you fill it up with leaded, please? And get me a tuna sub, okay? Make it to go.
Maybe I'll squeeze in an oil change.
No.
You know what, give me some warm milk.
Maybe I'll take a catnap before I pick up those nuns in Yellowknife.
Uh, Maggie, I'm expecting a couple of packages.
- Packages? - Mm-hmm.
Oh, right.
I knew- Sorry.
Here you go.
- Just one? - Mm-hmm.
What is it? - It's a- It's a poster.
- Poster.
Nice.
What of? - What of what? - What of it? I mean, what is it of it? It's to hang up on your wall.
What was it you wanted, some warm milk? Nah.
No.
You know what, just give me coffee, black.
You got it.
- The doctor's in, Marilyn.
What's the holdup? - Mrs.
Noanuk is here.
Oh.
Mrs.
Noanuk, how's the elbow? - Much better, thank you.
- Oh, you're welcome.
Um- Listen.
I wanna thank you for the very generous gift of the-the very handsome goat.
Um, which I have to tell you, took me totally by surprise.
Um, you see- Here, why don't you come here, have a seat.
You see, uh, Mrs.
Noanuk, I come from a city.
It's the city.
The Big Apple, you know, and, um, I never had any kind of animals.
Except I did have a turtle, which, um-which died.
What I mean is, I have no rapport with goats.
You understand what I'm trying to say? Yes.
Good.
Good.
It's a lovely gesture and deeply appreciated, believe you me.
- I insulted you.
- No, no, no, no.
I was flattered.
I mean, I am flattered.
I know it's from the heart.
- You deserve more.
- M- More? More what? Marilyn? You cured a village elder.
Mrs.
Noanuk, the sentiment was lovely, but it was a shot of cortisone.
It's hardly triple bypass surgery, okay? I mean, the goat was ample reward.
Anything else would be- I'm going to adopt you and make you part of the tribe.
You-What? You're gonna what? You're a very nice boy, and it's an honor.
Congratulations.
Marilyn, um, can I speak to you a second? Why don't you just have a seat? - Okay.
How do we get out of it? - We don't.
- What do you mean, "We don't"? - You can't.
Okay.
All right, look.
We'll put a pin in that.
What's the story here? We're talking simple testimonial, rubber chicken, followed by speeches? We smoke a peace pipe.
I get a plaque, that sort of thing? First, you do stuff.
What do you mean "stuff"? I do things, what? Perform ritual acts, something like that? No, no, no, no.
No.
Look.
I don't mind being honored, but I'm not gonna be the object of Indian hazing.
Uh-uh.
Oh, come on, Marilyn.
Look, Mrs.
Noanuk is very sweet, and it's a generous offer.
But I already belong to a tribe, okay? I'm Jewish.
We're a very tribal people.
Look, I have the goat.
We'll leave it at that, okay? We'll, uh-We'll quit while we're behind, and I'll find a way to let Mrs.
Noanuk down easy.
All right? Marilyn? - Marilyn? - Number three.
Excuse me.
People, settle down.
Settle down.
Excuse me.
Uh, time has come.
I've gotta close up.
Y' all got to git now.
Come on now.
You can't say I didn't warn ya.
I'll see you in a few days.
That's right.
Bye-bye.
Uh, everybody out.
That's right.
That's right.
Come on.
Come on.
Time to go.
Closing up shop.
I'll see you in a few days.
Have a good night, Chris.
Hey, Holling, I thought I'd stay, you know? Give you a hand.
- With the floors? - Oh, oh.
The floors.
Yeah.
Right.
Uh, well, uh, no.
Thank you just the same, Chris, but I think I can manage.
Oh, hey, Holling.
This is a big job, you know? Stripping, sealing.
I'm, like, I'm an ace sander.
I get into the Zen kind of thing.
I don't mind, really.
Well, the thing is, Chris, I kind of enjoy doing the work myself.
Yeah, okay.
I can dig that.
That's cool.
- Hello, Dr.
Fleischman.
- Hey, don't bother to knock, Ed.
Okay.
Nice goat.
- Yeah? You want him? - Ha-ha, always the kidder.
Hey, just say the word, Ed, he's yours.
Oh, no, I couldn't.
It's a gift.
Look at his eyes.
Look at them.
They're yellow.
Those eyes are not the eyes of a benign creature.
Those eyes are from the realm of the netherworld.
Freddy Krueger.
Well, he looks awfully cozy in here.
What was I supposed to do, let him freeze to death? Mrs.
Noanuk would've had my liver.
Marilyn's already got dibs on my scalp.
She hasn't spoke to me all day.
I mean- I go to lunch? She lets this thing eat the sleeves off my cardigan.
- Didn't even leave enough for a vest.
- Marilyn's mad, huh? It's not even her tribe.
Oh.
Well, you know those Indians.
They stick together.
Bad enough I have to share my living space with this grotesque scavenger.
She expects me to undergo some primitive initiation rights that doubtless involve great potential for personal discomfort and embarrassment.
I mean, nothing against the local culture.
I just have zero desire to go native, okay? I mean, for me it would be like, uh - like wanting to be a Samoan or a Rastafarian or something.
It's simply nothing I aspire to.
I have a hard enough time maintaining my identity as is.
- You understand, right? - Oh, absolutely.
- Why are you here? - Mrs.
Noanuk's depressed.
- You hurt her feelings.
- You think I did a bad thing? Well, you insulted Mrs.
Noanuk's tribe and all her ancestors.
Marilyn.
Marilyn! Come on, Marilyn, don't you think the silent treatment has gone on long enough? You're the one who's looking foolish here, not me.
I hope you realize that.
Look, a fair, reasonable person acknowledges there are two sides to every issue.
It is my constitutional right not to be adopted.
I don't go around here trying to get people bar mitzvahed, do I? No, I don't, and why? Because I respect other people's upbringing, just like they can respect mine.
Would you stop? What is the big deal? No one's ever gonna mistake me for an Indian.
I'm Joel Fleischman.
I am the Jew from Flushing.
That's who I am, Marilyn.
Believe it or not, that's who I'm happy being.
What, you're never gonna talk to me again? This is ridiculous.
We work together.
We spend hours staring at the same four blank walls.
Now, it's true we never engage in lengthy conversations, but I've grown accustomed to your monosyllables, okay? So, there.
I've said it.
You've made an impression.
You've had an impact, okay? Marilyn.
Come on.
Marilyn, please talk to me.
I can't take it anymore.
All right! All right! I'll do it.
Good.
- She says you look unhappy.
- Who, me? I told her you always look like that.
Well, no, I was picturing Rabbi Ragins's reaction to this.
He encouraged me to continue my religious education.
I just- I don't think this is what he had in mind.
What's a Rabbi Ragins? Rabbi Ragins is, uh, or, well, any rabbi, for that matter, he's the spiritual leader of my tribe.
- You know, the shaman.
- Has your Rabbi Ragins been to the moon? - What? - Our Rabbi Ragins has been to the moon.
On a journey.
No, I think he's just been to Jerusalem once or twice.
I think that's about it.
Marilyn, I-I'm starting to have strong second and third thoughts here.
You make us all very happy.
Point of information.
Now that we're all in sync and happy, what-what exactly am I supposed to do next? Give away everything.
The richest man is the guy who has nothing.
Maybe I gave in too quick.
You know, maybe I should've held out longer, but for what? The woman is without mercy.
Elaine and I? Sure.
I mean, we had our little spats.
She might give me the silent treatment.
Nothing compared to Marilyn.
Marilyn is a whole new universe of silence.
I mean, we're talking a silence so cold, so relentlessly powerful, it actually- it sucks all the sounds out of the air.
It's like being vibed into a black hole.
You're out in space alone against this galactic vortex of disapproval.
What size batteries does this take? Uh, double A's.
- Yeah.
- She suckered me, Ed.
Drew me in like a pro and sandbagged me.
And now Marilyn is happy, and I'm expected to give away everything I own.
And I'm supposed to be flattered by this? This is an honor? A rare privilege? In New York, that's what we do to people who welsh on their rent.
Only we call it an eviction.
And even then, they just throw your stuff out on the street.
I mean, people don't steal things from under your nose and expect you to be happy about it.
Is that a salad bowl? Yeah, but, I mean, you can also put chips in it.
- Pretzels? - I don't see why not.
Hey.
Dizzy, come on! Give it a rest here.
Do you believe this goat, Ed? He thinks my home is a recycling center.
You finally named him.
"Dizzy"? Yeah, you know.
Gillespie? Bebop? Hey, Ed, what about the goat? You like animals? Oh, no.
I got just about everything I can use right here.
You sure? I think there might be some flatware you missed.
- No.
I'll leave that for someone else.
- Now, when do I get my stuff back? - Back? - Yeah.
Back.
My stuff.
Whoa.
Hold it a second.
This is a symbolic act, not an actual exchange of goods and services.
Right, Ed? Marilyn promised I'd get my stuff back.
- I wouldn't know about that, Dr.
Fleischman.
- Why is that? Well, on account of Mrs.
Noanuk, she's from a different tribe than me.
Well, see you later, Dr.
Fleischman.
The upshot of the deal is the state wants us to pay for scraping tarmac that we already pay the county to keep clear.
Ruth-Anne, "hotten" this up for me, will ya, dear? I'm not a waitress.
Drop your dime and do it yourself.
Well, that's a nice, friendly attitude.
If you want a bar, go to Sleetmute.
- Hey, Ruth-Anne.
- Hi, Joel.
I've got the, uh, your Patagonia long underwear, but I haven't had time all morning to get into the stockroom.
Hey, what's going on? Holling closed The Brick.
Why? He's waxing.
- What's this? - That? That's a line.
A line? It's been so long since I've seen a line, I've forgotten what one looks like.
Well, feast your eyes.
All right.
Um, I'll come back later when you're less busy.
Thanks, dear.
Holling! Holling, open up.
Coming.
Coming.
Hold your horses.
- What is it? - I got a package for you.
- Well, thank heavens.
- What's going on in there, Holling? - Uh, I-I'm waxing.
- Can I come in? - Uh, the floors are wet.
- I don't see any waxing equipment.
- Hello.
- Hi.
How are you? Hi.
- Marilyn, who are these people? - The council of elders.
- What do they want? - To meet you.
- Um, what should I do? - Introduce yourself.
Hi.
I'm Joel Fleischman.
Henry Morning Star, president of the council of elders.
Hi.
- This is Judy Baker.
- Hello.
- George Tuck.
- Hi.
- Libby Stevens.
- Hiya.
Nice to meet you.
Well, it's good to have a doctor in our group.
- An internist.
- From Harvard.
Uh, it's Columbia, actually.
We brought a little token of appreciation.
Something to make you feel a part of the team.
- Wow.
That looks warm.
- Bearskin.
All right.
This is nice.
Pockets.
Thank you.
Forty regular, right? Thank you.
Thank you very much.
Anytime you wanna use the sweat lodge, come on down.
You like a good sweat, Dr.
Fleischman? Yeah.
I was a regular at the 14th Street "Y.
" You have any questions, Dr.
Fleischman? Anything you'd like to know about us? No.
Not really.
Marilyn has been Just a wealth of fascinating facts.
Good.
We'll see you at the ceremony.
Bye-bye.
Thank you.
- Good-bye.
- Good-bye.
Bye-bye.
- Bye.
- Good-bye.
Marilyn? Where is my poster? The one that's always behind my desk.
"A New Yorker's View of the World"? - Somebody took it.
- Somebody? Who? No one's been after the medical equipment, have they? When is this whole process gonna end? I feel like the invisible man.
Every time I turn around, another piece of me is gone.
Please, will you just tell me when it's gonna stop? Now.
Now? Now.
Thank God.
I- I mean, don't get me wrong.
I appreciate the principle involved here.
It's hard to escape the cult of rampant materialism that pervades this society.
And even though I've never considered myself a conspicuous consumer, I- I must confess I do feel purged and chastened by the whole experience.
- Good.
- What? Now, you fast.
Excuse me? Marilyn? What's that smell, Dr.
Fleischman? It smells like old tennis shoes in here.
Yeah.
It's my dinner.
Homemade tribal tea.
You don't mind if I eat, do you? No.
Go right ahead.
Ugh! - On to phase two, I take it.
- Yeah.
- What is phase two? - Oh, I-I'm fasting.
Oh.
Out of courtesy to a bunch of people I don't even know, I'm reduced to drinking a disgusting beverage in the company of a goat.
- A Man Called Horse.
- What? You know, Richard Harris in A Man Called Horse.
They stick these pieces of bone in his chest, string him up to the rafters and let him hang there till it pulls the bones out.
It's not the same thing, okay? That is not the same thing.
Disgusting tea and a strange, ill-mannered goat is not the same as having pieces of bone forcibly ripped from one's pectorals.
Well, it reminded me.
They don't actually do that, do they? No one mentioned anything about physical pain in the program.
- What's that? - That's your toaster.
My toaster is a four-slicer.
That is a two-slicer.
Ed, that's not my toaster.
It's from George Upshaw.
- Why? - Well, it's for your toaster.
No, no, no.
You see, you don't understand.
I don't want something for my toaster.
I want my toaster for my toaster.
What is all this? This is not my stuff, Ed.
None of it.
This is not - None of it.
What is this? This is not my stuff, Ed.
I don't want- What is this, an instrument of torture? I don't want- This is not my stuff! Where is my stuff? I don't want- I don't want- I don't want- Holling's bowling trophy.
I want- I want my stuff! Where is my stuff, Ed? You all right, Dr.
Fleischman? Yeah, I'm fine, Ed.
I'm fine.
- You seemed upset.
- No.
I'm not upset.
On the contrary.
Actually, see, I'm- This is relief.
Um, I'm happy.
'Cause I used to wonder, "What could be worse than spending four years stuck here?" And I didn't think anything could be worse, but I was wrong and now I know that, see? So, it's a great feeling not waiting for the other shoe to drop.
- Hello, Dr.
Fleischman.
- Hi, Ed.
- What are you doing? - Oh, just taking Dizzy for a walk.
The cabin was beginning to stink.
They're not like dogs, are they, Ed? I mean, goats don't fetch.
They don't jump up, lick your face, roll over.
Nothing.
No.
Mostly they eat.
Oh, almost forgot.
Got your electric razor back.
Wow, thanks.
How'd you do that? I asked.
All charged up and everything.
Thanks.
Ed, let me ask you something.
What does belonging to your own tribe mean to you? - Bingo.
- Bingo? You mean like, Bingo? That's it? Well, I was raised by the tribe, but since I didn't have parents, I was passed around a lot.
I never really thought about it.
I mean, belonging to a tribe.
I belong to the Jewish tribe, so to speak, but I'm also an American, you know? What does that mean? I mean, is there an American tribe? More like a zillion special interest groups.
In my own case, I am a New Yorker.
I am a Republican, a Knicks fan.
Maybe we've outgrown tribes, you know? The global village thing.
It's telephones, faxes, CNN.
I mean, basically, we all belong to the same tribe.
That's true.
But you can't hang out with five billion people.
That's a good point.
Come on, Dizzy.
It's not good for your digestion.
- Nice day.
- Yeah.
Marilyn? Excuse me.
Hi.
Excuse me.
I work here.
Excuse me.
Pardon me.
Marilyn.
What is going on? Do you mind not doing that in front of me? Food has not passed these lips in 18 hours, in case you've forgotten.
Now, we have to talk.
Dave the cook took my halogen desk lamp yesterday.
This morning, he replaced it with a ceramic night-light in the shape of a salmon.
Apparently, I gave Lloyd Compton my rechargeable beard trimmer.
Well, he gives me back a pair of pinking shears.
You don't have a beard.
You're missing the point, Marilyn.
The point is that you deceived me.
I gave away brand merchandise expecting to get it back, instead my cabin looks like the site of the world's most pathetic garage sale.
I didn't say you'd get the same things back.
Yes, you did.
Yes, you did, Marilyn.
You said don't worry, you get it back.
You didn't say I get something back.
You said "it.
" It.
It, Marilyn.
It.
"It" in this context clearly implies the same thing as I gave away.
I'll be in my office.
"I felt a funeral in my brain and mourners to and fro "kept treading, treading till it seemed that sense was breaking through.
"And when they all were seated, a service, like a drum, kept beating, beating, till I thought my mind was going numb.
" I think what Emily had in mind when she penned those lines was the kind of day I'm having.
Emotional weather report: Cloudy with a chance of rain until later in the week when The Brick reopens.
Lest we give in to despair, let's put on those psychic raincoats, turn up the collars and think about sunnier times.
Our own Dr.
Joel Fleischman, late of Flushing, New York, county of the borough of Queens, is well down the road to his cultural conversion.
Way to go, Joel.
I think Cicely supports you in the, uh, flesh sacrifice to come.
I need to clarify something.
Are we talking about actual blood spilling, possible disfigurement, scarification? Flesh sacrifice might be an amusing topic for people who aren't personally involved, but I gotta tell ya, I find the whole subject distasteful, not to mention deeply disturbing.
All I know is certain customs vary, you know? There's Plains Indians who'll take an iron barb, they'll insert it under the flesh, they'll raise stripes from the back of the hand all the way up to the shoulder.
Wait.
Stop.
That was a long time ago.
What about now, here, in the tundra? I mean, this tribe gave me a vest.
They invited me to shvitz.
You're saying they're gonna- they're gonna come after me with iron barbs? - What'd Marilyn say? - The usual.
Nothing.
Yeah, well, I haven't noticed any unusual scarring among the local tribespeople.
You ever see any of those Indian guys with their shirts off? Good point.
In the abstract, I can appreciate the whole gestalt of the tribal ritual, invocation, but I gotta tell you, buddy, I am absolutely green with envy.
- What? - You get to go back in time.
Back when we sat around campfires, lived by our wits, you know? Taste life- and death- directly, not secondhand through the trappings of Western civilization.
- Think about that.
- I happen to enjoy those trappings, Chris.
And call me a philistine, but I also happen to harbor a deep desire to go through life with the same bland, unadorned body I was born wit- free of tattoos, scars or other forms of self-mutilation.
Yeah, well, you know, they might not even cut you at all, you know? Not much, just a sampling token of a piece of bicep or something.
Why do they have to use live tissue? I mean, what's wrong with a lock of hair or something? Well, the idea is to sacrifice.
Hey, Joel, you can call it off.
Are you kidding? What about Marilyn? Mrs.
Noanuk? Ed? O'Connell? You? God, how did I get into this? Well, Joel, sometimes it's hard to avoid the happiness of others.
Hey, you're back on the air with Chris in the Morning.
Did you miss me? - Holling? - Who's there? - Maggie, you scared the daylights out of me.
- Oh, sorry.
- What are you doing here? - Well, the back door was open.
Well, I-I was just driving by, you know.
My plane's grounded.
I'm waiting for a part, and, well- Holling? Holling, what is going on here? I mean, the packages, the secrecy? It's obvious you're not doing the floors, and you're acting like this place is radioactive.
Come on, Holling.
You can tell me.
I mean, you can trust me.
Cross my heart.
I won't tell a soul.
But I gotta know, Holling.
What's going on in here? One look.
Just one, then out you go.
Mm-hmm.
Star charts? Well, I didn't know you were into astronomy.
To survive in the wild, you have to know the sky.
Hmm.
"Five hours, 47.
7 minutes, right ascension.
Minus four degrees, - You're doing a-a plot.
- Yes.
Well, where is this, someplace in Gemini? Orion.
Horsehead Nebula.
Why? Come on, Holling.
You send Shelly to Saskatoon, you close down the bar.
All for messing with Horsehead Nebula? - What is it that you're looking for? - Eleanor.
- Who? - Eleanor Berry.
A friend of mine.
Those coordinates used to be a star called CX-15, until I purchased it.
- You bought the star? - Outfit in Toronto.
You send them the money; the star is yours.
I've got the certificate right here.
- So, that's, uh- - Eleanor.
Huh.
Who is Eleanor? She was a friend.
Long time ago.
Astronomy was her passion.
She used to talk about Alaska like it was one, big slice of heaven.
"It's closer to the stars," she'd say.
"You've got to go up there and see it for yourself.
" - What happened? - I went to Alaska.
She gave me this telescope.
I saw an ad in a magazine, bought her a star.
It's not like I was still carrying a torch or anything.
- It was more like a- - Pang? Yeah.
I tried to get in touch again.
You know, to let her know where to look in the sky, but I never heard anything back.
Eventually, a friend wrote from Calgary that Eleanor was dead.
- Oh.
- It was a long time ago, Maggie.
And the star that I bought, well, all I could afford was this teeny little thing.
I haven't even been able to see it for 20 years.
But I found out that Eleanor will be visible one more time next week.
One last chance to see her before she fades forever.
I found the old telescope, managed to get it back into shape.
Had to hurry in order to get it ready in time.
I guess, well, I suppose I could've bought a new one, but- I understand.
I doubt that Shelly will though.
I could explain the whole thing to her and tell her that all of this took place and was over and done with by the time she was born.
But I don't know that that would make any difference to Shelly.
You know how she is.
So, I just decided to keep it between Eleanor and me and now you.
- Ed.
- Evening, Dr.
Fleischman.
Food? Hey, is that food? - Your fast is over.
- You're kidding? Really? Well, not really, but, uh, they figured since you were having such a hard time they'd take it easy on you.
No kidding? What is it? No, don't tell me.
I'm so hungry I'll eat anything.
Mm.
Mm.
Delicious.
What is it? Is it bear? Moose? Uh, it's lasagna.
- It's great.
- Yeah.
That's potato salad.
Those are chicken wings.
And Mrs.
Noanuk made the black bean enchiladas.
Terrific.
Everything.
- Want some? - Oh, no.
You go right ahead, Dr.
Fleischman.
- Finish up though.
- Why? - Well, you have to go soon.
- I do? Where? - Out.
- What do you mean out? Outside? In the dark? Oh, yeah.
You have to search for your vision.
My vision? I have to go out-outside by myself? Alone? Well, yeah, or you can take a guide.
Well, enjoy your food, Dr.
Fleischman.
Hold on.
Hold on.
I know it's not romantic or poetic, but I can't help it.
When I look up at the moon, that's what I see.
- Pizza Face? - Yeah.
That was his Christian name, Pizza Face? That's what we called him in the E.
R.
To his back, that is.
To his face, we called him Mitch.
Worse case of acne I've ever seen.
- See the big crater to the right? - Uh-huh.
Looks like this keratinous cyst he had on his cheek.
And those pits and valleys? Those are eruptions caused by severe inflammation of the pilosebaceous glands.
I always see a bunny.
A bunny? Why is the moon supposed to engender visions, Ed? I don't know.
You're my guide, Ed.
If you don't know, who does? - Maybe you need a new guide.
- No.
Don't get me wrong.
I mean, I'm extremely grateful you're here.
It's just- I feel a little frustrated, you know? Confused.
- Visions are hard to talk about.
- Do you have visions? Oh, sure.
You do? What are they like? I mean, are they, like, ghosts or diaphanous? What? Usually, they're pretty real.
Sometimes it's people.
Sometimes it's animals- except they talk.
- And sometimes you just hear 'em.
- I don't get it.
I mean, I am imaginative.
I'm creative.
I'm not spiritually dead.
- I have never had a vision in my life.
- Really? No.
Not in the sense you're talking about.
I mean, I've had daydreams, but those don't qualify, do they? Nobody I knew growing up had visions.
In fact, I don't recall anyone in Flushing ever having a vision.
Maybe you had 'em and you just didn't know it.
Yeah? You think? Could be.
Welcome back to another very exciting edition of "Blues in the Night" with Chris in the Morning.
We're entertaining any and all requests for music to go with that special moment in life when you just wanna crawl into a hole, shrivel up and die.
Why? Because sometimes you gotta lie down with your pain.
Like Carl Jung says, "There's no coming to consciousness without any pain.
" Let's get conscious, Cicely.
Ah, yeah.
- Go home, Chris.
- I can't.
Why not? Ever since Holling closed The Brick, I've been feeling this withdrawal, a kind of- kind of grief.
The Brick is home.
It's mother.
Source of hot meals, brewskis.
You know, I want breakfast, I hit The Brick.
Finish the show, I hit The Brick.
Lunchtime rolls around- You hit The Brick.
I get the picture.
Without a bar, Maurice Minnifield, I- The smell, you know? The tunes on the jukebox.
The noise.
I have no home.
I have no place to hang my hat.
No pot to pee-pee in.
Guess I'll just bite the bullet and head for the Kicking Mule, huh? That's all the way over in Sleetmute.
That's 200 miles, Chris.
That's pretty cold sledding on a Harley.
- She'll do me good.
- Hey.
Climb in the Caddy.
I'll drive.
You can sit in the back and howl at the moon.
I'm not drunk, Maurice.
Maybe not, but I've seen men climb into the cockpit with that look on their faces and never come back.
Come on.
Let's go.
Okay.
- You see anything? - Lots of things.
Sirius, Rigel, Orion's Belt.
- I don't see Eleanor.
- Well, you know, what exactly is a Class "M" star anyway? It means it's sort of a reddish glow, like Antares.
I wouldn't bother too much with the charts, Maggie.
I'll know her if I see her.
Oh.
Okay.
You know, when I was 16, I used to look at the moon, and I believed I could see the face of the man I was going to marry.
Sometimes it was Mick Jagger.
Once it was Ron Howard.
Now when I look at the moon, I, uh- I just see the moon.
She's not there.
- I missed her.
- Eleanor? She's gone.
Well, Holling, you couldn't have missed her.
I mean, that-that's just not possible.
Is it? - She must've faded already.
- Wow.
Ah, Holling.
At least you tried.
She's not really gone, Holling.
I mean, Eleanor's out there somewhere.
You just can't see her.
But that's just a star anyway, isn't it? I mean, it's just light that's traveled hundreds or thousands of years to get here.
Half those stars may have flamed out by now, we won't even know it for centuries.
So what you're saying is even if I see her, she could be gone? Holling, I guess what I'm trying to say is, uh, we're alive, we're here now.
You and me and- I don't know where Eleanor is.
But it's a beautiful night, and I'm glad to be here, and that's what matters.
This.
Now.
And that's it.
You know what I think of when I look at the moon? Al Shepard's feet.
There were peculiar-looking things, Long and skinny and pointed like a stiletto.
Most people, when they think of Al, they think of the first flyboy that rode a rocket.
Freedom 7.
Fifteen minutes of shake and bake, then splashdown.
Hell, he didn't even get into orbit.
But he got his ticket punched for the moon.
Apollo 14 should've been my ride, Chris.
I was as fit as he was.
I was younger.
But they wouldn't let me into the program.
I wasn't one of the original seven.
Not like Al.
February 5, 1971.
Shepard and Mitchell touched down on the Fra Mauro formation.
I don't know how he even got fitted for moon boots.
But his footprints are there now.
Nothing's happening, Ed.
Maybe I shouldn't have eaten first.
Maybe you have to believe in visions to have one.
- I never said I didn't believe in visions.
- Do you believe in visions? - Well, no, not exactly.
- Oh.
Well, you're asking me to believe in something I haven't seen.
I mean, in the absence of empirical evidence, I would have to say I'm skeptical.
- Do you believe in spirits? - Spirits? I would say the answer there is a definite no.
- No? - No.
- Oh.
- Why "Oh"? Well, spirits create visions.
Well, what, it's a package deal? You can't have visions without spirits? I don't think so.
- Do you believe in spirits? - Oh, yeah.
But even if I didn't, they wouldn't care.
So, if you don't believe in spirits, Dr.
Fleischman, well, then, what do you think happens to us when we die? Nothing.
I mean, metabolically speaking, we simply cease to be.
You know? The worm crawls in, the worm crawls out, the worm plays pinochle on your snout.
Hmm.
I don't know.
I mean, I suppose in some way we live on in the way people remember us.
- Like spirits.
- No, not like spirits, Ed.
Like memories.
Like- Like feelings, images.
Sounds like spirits.
Well, maybe, but it's different.
- Maybe this is your vision.
- What is? - This.
- You and me? Two guys freezing, trying not to fall asleep? Well, maybe.
Well, let's go.
Nothing happened.
I didn't see anything.
Well, maybe we did.
- We did? What do you mean? - Well, you know, maybe we did.
Hey, wait up.
Ed, wait up.
Before we conclude, I'm sure we all would like to thank Libby Stevens and Judy Baker for heading up the food committee and providing us with all the great eats you see beside you on the tables.
Now, I turn things over to Gloria Noanuk.
Thank you.
Dr.
Fleischman, many times you have proven your friendship to our people.
And I am honored to make you my grandson.
Come on up, Dr.
Fleischman.
Hi.
well, I would like to, uh, thank Mrs.
Noanuk and the council of elders, Ed Chigliak, um, um, and most especially my assistant, Marilyn Whirlwind, who made the last few days bearable.
I'm sure years hence, walking along the Upper East Side, this will all seem like a dream.
Sometimes it seems that way now- although it's a good dream.
- Welcome, Heals With Tools.
- Heals With Tools.
And thanks for the cortisone.
- That's it? - That's it.
That's it.
- Good.
Let's eat.
You're kidding? Thanks.
Wow, look at this.
Hey, mazel tov.
Hey, thanks.
- Try my potato loaves.
- All righty.
Thanks.
- That was beautiful, Dr.
Fleischman.
- Well, thanks, Shelly.
Look at the- Hey.
- Thank you very much.
- Congratulations, Doctor.
- Sure, I'll have a piece.
- Thank you.
Thank you.
Thanks very much.
Hey, thanks.