The Greenhorn
TESTICLES
A naive young Easterner gets a disastrous dose of reality in a west coast seaport.
Alas, as I recall how preposterously callow I was at 21, I wince, for it was
that naivete which led to my ruin almost immediately upon arrival at the west
coast.  

I had just disembarked from the steamer and was about to seek out my hotel.
Recently graduated from Harvard University, I had accepted a position as a law
clerk in a small west coast seaport. I was attired in the height of New York
fashion in a pin-striped grey serge suit, wearing pince-nez and with a
supercilious expression. My hair was marcelled in the newly popular New York
style, though I am from Boston. In short, I was the very figure of the well-
to-do Eastern greenhorn.

  
There were temporarily idle dock workers milling about the pier, a gang of
brutal-looking toughs. They "sized me up" and it was hate at first sight. They
began jeering at me and making obscene remarks reflecting adversely upon my
manhood.  

I tried to ignore them and brush by them but one muscular bully seized my
shoulder and said "Where you goin', pansy ?" I barked "Unhand me, you
ruffian", whereupon he bursted into uproarious laughter. I stepped back a pace
and assumed the "Ready" posture from "The Manly Art of Self-Defense." That is,
legs apart to form a firm foundation and with one fist before the other in
front of my face.  

This posture embodies a tacit assumption that one's opponent is acquainted
with the Marquis of Queensbury's rules and intends to abide by them. I am sure
that this brute had never heard of the Marquis of Queensbury and that if he
had been made acquainted with the rules would have derived great mirth from
them."Oh, so it wants to fight, does it ?" he roared. The fight, if such it
can be called, was very brief. Only one blow was struck. It came from behind
the dock-worker's right hip and ended between my thighs.I never had any
opportunity to use "The Manly Art of Self-Defense" I was too busy screaming,
retching, and clutching at my mangled generative organs.

  
I was overwhelmed not only by the intolerable agony which I was suffering, but
by the shocking indecency of what had just been done to me. Fortunately, I did
not remain conscious for very long. I awakened in a physician's surgery, sans
luggage, sans wallet, sans pince-nez, and sans testicles. Dr. MacLaren assured
me that having sustained third degree contusions my seminal glands had been
rendered entirely and permanantly functionless and could not be saved.  

At my request, Dr. MacLaren telephoned my employer-to-be and informed him that
I had been injured in a "accident" on the pier but would be able to report for
work in a week. I was, and still am, devastated by my loss and soon decided
that I must absorb myself utterly in my work at the law office to avoid
thinking about my wretched state.I also decided never to tell my father what
had happened to me. He would be greatly saddened by the prospect of never
having any grandchildren.  

Financially, I have prospered, but I take no joy in it.Bereft of manhood, I
lead a bleak loveless life.

  

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