11/30/95
This story was based on the following quote from Saul Bellow's Seize the Day:
"Well, I'm a radical in the profession. I have to do good wherever I can." -- Dr. Tamkin, p. 66
GAS-MAN
By David Berkowitz
"Mrs. Moskowitz, I detect a gas leak."
Mrs. Moskowitz slowly rose from the comfortable burgundy cushioned chair. Her head
bowed low, her shoulders shrugged, she hobbled out of the office. Damn, she thought. She
couldn't fool Dr. Gendler.
Dr. Gendler held his breath as he sat back in his chair, half smiling from his victory, half
gagging from the fumes. When his patient left, he quickly opened the window behind him and
breathed in the polluted air. The carbon monoxide mixed with the fading scent of the morning's
dew served to relieve the nasal torture caused by the aroma which wafted outward from Mrs.
Moskowitz's pants. "Dyspepsia my ass," laughed Gendler. "At least I don't have to be on the
bus on her way home. She'll be reeking havoc!" He cracked himself up.
It was a slow day for Gendler. He had a few consultations, mostly in-and-out office visits
by hypochondriacs and the like. Then there was the routine endoscopy at 2:00 p.m., the polyps
detected and removed followed by the usual jokes about Uranus. He made his rounds, examined
a few stool samples, told the joke about the "Stool pigeons" another half a dozen times, then was
on his way home by dusk. "Gendler," he said to himself, "you're one damn good
gastroenterologist!"
While driving his `89 Saab home that night with the windows rolled down, he no longer
smelled the exhaust fumes sailing in the brisk, wintery air. All he smelled was gas. This wasn't
the gas he sometimes detected lingering around his stove as he cooked his pesto pasta, nor was it
the odor which hovered over Exxon, Texaco and Mobil. This was the monstrous smell that he
breathed in several hours daily at the hospital, the smell that earlier that morning escaped from
Moskowitz's pants, the smell he dreaded more than all others combined. "God must have ripped
one this time!" thought the doctor. He tried laughing to mask his fear, but to no avail. "I'm
scared shitless!" he joked, although he laughed with anxiety.
Gendler was near his Larchmont Manor home, but he felt he could drive no longer. He
pulled over on Larchmont Avenue and exited his car, his keys still in the ignition and his lights left
on. Stepping onto the sidewalk, he felt the cool wind blowing, not by him, but at him. "I feel so
helpless," said he aloud to an elderly tree. "So much flatulence and I can't do a thing about it.
No, get a hold of yourself Gendler. Remember who you are, Gendler. You're Gendler the Gas-Man!" He said it again, only slightly louder. "You are GENDLER the GAS-MAN!" Then once
more, "You are, no, I AM GENDLER THE GAS-MAN!"
A policeman driving down Larchmont Avenue toward the precinct saw the empty Saab
with the M.D. plates and heard a man screaming nearby. He slammed on his brakes, did a U-turn
and pulled over next to the Saab, unnoticed by the doctor. "So, are you Gendler the Gas-Man?"
asked the cop.
"I AM GENDLER THE GAS-MAN! Have you heard of me?"
"Not until your little outburst this evening." The cop pulled out a little flashlight and
shined it in the Gas-Man's eyes. "They check out okay to me. You on anything, Doc?"
"Take a whiff," replied Gendler.
The officer breathed in heavily. "Nothing's unusual. What's the point?"
"I can't escape it. The flatulence is among us. I am Gendler the Gas-Man, officer. I shall
rid the world of all forms of this horrible gas."
"May the force be with you. Drive carefully. And try to keep it down before the locals
start complaining."
"That's it officer! The force! Keep it down! By God, you are an angel sent to me on this
Evening of the Gas!" exclaimed Gendler. "I know my duty, officer. No pun intended."
"Yeah, whatever. G'night." The policeman got back in his car, tuned to the Grease Man
Show on 92.3 F.M., did another U-turn and went on his way.
Gendler was not as quick to go home. He hugged the elderly tree, looked upward and
pronounced, "Dear Lord, my God, God of my forefathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, You have
sent Your angel of the Lord to speaketh to me and thus have made this spot holy. May this spot
of land now be known as the Hebraic `Sof HaGaz,' or `End of the Gas,' for on this spot, You
showed me how to end all gas forever. Bless You God."
For three days, Gendler went without food and drink as he worked feverishly in his
basement laboratory. On the third evening he finished his work, swallowed a pill and drove to
Taco Bell. That evening, Pedro, Table-Cleaner-In-Chief, watched Gendler consume an
assortment of nearly thirty beef burritos, tacos and the all new "Quesadilla Supremos." As he
licked the last drops of picant‚ sauce from the paper taco wrapper, Gendler felt the gas
preparing to burst through his intestinal pipeline. He dashed to the bathroom and seven seconds
later, from Gendler's pants burst a trumpeting noise that would have knocked down Jericho and
all neighboring cities.
Gendler sniffed the air, then sniffed once more. He sniffed until he was sure his nose was
bleeding from the rapid air intake, but smelled nothing besides the urine from the urinals beside
him. "I AM GENDLER THE GAS-MAN!" he shouted as he dashed out of the bathroom. He
took out his wallet from his navy GAP windbreaker, removed a twenty and handed the bill to
Pedro. "Now you can go to college, my boy!"
Gas-Man stood up on his table and shouted, "I'd like to make an announcement. On this
blessed evening, your ears and the Lord's bore witness to the testing of the most startling
gastrointestinal development since Pepto Bismol. Yes, that trumpeting noise was my flatulence,
but not a smell was detected. I'd like to buy each and every one of you a burrito!" He bought a
round of burritos and then another, although nobody understood why. The restauranteurs were
simple people and enjoyed their burritos, feeling harmony with their inner selves as they dined on
the free, fatty food.
As Gendler left the restaurant, he pondered his nearly flawless invention. The officer was
right; Gendler needed to keep the gas down and then create a force to expel it. The pill that he
swallowed before the meal chemically reacted with the hydrochloric acid in the stomach and
passed through the system, where the chemical waited in the depths of the colon. As he ate his
Mexican meal, the gases from the beans, beef and other ingredients slowly reacted with the
chemical in the large intestine. When enough gas had accumulated, the chemical released the gas
with tremendous air pressure, forcing the gas outward in a painless, yet highly audible explosion.
The odor was stopped by the Gas Pants that he invented. Embedded in this comfortable, cotton
undergarment was a complex gas filtration system. Although Gendler had not yet finished the
testing, he believed that the filter could easily withstand a year's worth of the most horrendous
flatulence.
Two months later, Gendler the Gas-Man was honored at his hospital's celebration of the
newly patented and FDA approved Gas Pills n' Pants. The sales of his invention set records in the
medical market and the money rolled in by the barrel, but Gendler never truly found happiness.
He missed the days when he sat back in his chair and smiled to his fretting patient, outwitting the
cleverest of the lot. Gendler was now the Gas-God, the one renown the world over for bringing
about the end of odorous flatulence. Gendler the Gas-Man was dead. (
geocities.com/athens/acropolis) (
geocities.com/athens)