in other parts of the world, young men of promise leave home to make their fortunes, battle evil, or solve the problems of the world.
i was myself such a young man, when i came to save the orphanage in st. cloud's.  many years ago.
here in st. cloud's, i have come to understand that promises are rarely kept, that the battle isn't so much against evil as ignorance, and that being successful can't hold a candle to being of *use*.
nor have i solved the problem i came here to solve.
even in the most enlightened times, unwanted babies will manage to be born. that there will always be orphans is simple not a problem to be solved. here is st. cloud's, we don't regard the sordid facts of life as problems.
in truth, we've only had one real problem.
his name was homer wells.
i named him after the greek writer. you know homer, of course?
i made his name "wells" because i could tell he was very deep.
in truth, nurse angela named him-- her father *drilled* wells, and "homer" was one of her family's umpteen cats.
"good night, you princes of maine, you kings of new england!"
he didn't cry enough for them, if you can believe it.
thus was homer wells returned. he was too happy a baby.
the second family has an unfortunate gift for getting sounds out of homer.
the rumor was true. they beat him. he couldn't stop crying.
here is st. cloud's, i try to consider, with each rule i make or break, that my first priority is an orphan's future.
easier said than done.
i told the third family to take good care--this was a special boy.
it was homer who took too much good care of himself.
what could i do with him? he kept coming back!
homer, if you're going to stay at st. cloud's, i expect you to be of use.
but, in failing to withhold love, had i created a true and everlasting orphan? i had been too successful with homer wells. i had managed to make the orphanage his *home*.
god forgive me. i have *made* an orphan by loving him too much. homer wells will belong to st. cloud's, forever.
first pregnancy?
i presume you'd prefer handling the delivery.
you know *how* to help these women-- how can you not feel *obligated* to help them when they can't get help anywhere else?
what *else* could i have showed you, homer? the only thing i can teach you is what i know! in every life, you've got to be of use.
have you ever had ether, dorothy?
it won't make you sick this time, dorothy--not the way i do it, just a drop at a time.
one day, dorothy, if you have any money, a donation to the orphanage would be very much appreciated.
try to think of nothing, dorothy.
he's a big boy!
would you mind having a look at dorothy?
no. the fetus was dead. her uterus was virtually *disintegrating*--my stitches pulled right through the tissue!
scurvy! ah yes, the curse of the old- time sailor, suffering long periods at sea with no fresh fruits or vegetables. homer, dorothy isn't a *sailor*!
i looked everywhere else!
it's not ergot, it's not pituitary extract, it's not oil of rue.
obviously.
christ, it's oil of tansy!
if you take enough of it, your intestines lose their ability to absorb vitamin c.
good boy. good job. and you call yourself "not a doctor"! keep an eye on her--she's in trouble.
take care of that, will you?
fuzzy is not uncommon. i tell you, there's something about the premature babies of alcoholic mothers. they seem susceptible to every damn thing that comes along.
i haven't, either. but you *will*. the morons who write the books should do a little research *here*.
when *doesn't* he have bronchitis? i wouldn't call his bronchial infections "underdeveloped." would you?
"a dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and forwards on the parapet with a dismal howl, and collecting himself for a spring, jumped for the dead man's shoulders."
"missing his aim, he fell into a ditch, turning completely over as he went; and striking his head against a stone, dashed his brains out.
good night, you princes of maine! you kings of new england!
life is waiting.
where's the name sheet?
it's my turn!
henceforth you shall be.  little dorrit!
can't a boy be a dorrit?
you do it then.
i'm not crazy about the "little"
we haven't had a wilbur here in a year or so, have we? we used to have *dozens*!
it is strictly for our orphans' sake that i destroy any record of their natural mothers. of course they will, one day, want to know. but orphans, especially, should look forward to their *futures*. not back to their pasts.
i was dreaming about you. how beautiful you were!
i was!
you were! you *are*! it was fantastic.
they want to replace me! the board of trustees wants to *replace* me!
some new *things* would be useful. i don't need any "new help."
homer! i need you!
i thought you took care of this. it always breaks in the same place. it's your splice, isn't it?
angela, we need a new movie, a new projector, a new typewriter--*that's* what they should replace around here!
homer, would you get this one?
homer, you are a skilled and gifted surgeon. you have near-prefect obstetrical and gynecological procedure.
sure. okay. you splice. i'll deliver.
it is. i'll get this. you go ahead.
that's right, fuzz.
cirrhosis--it's a disease of the liver.
*alcohol* killed him--he drank himself to death.
barely. it hardly mattered that i knew him.
she's dead now, too. she was a nanny.
she looks after other people's children.
no. she was an immigrant.
someone not from maine.
how old are you, dear? thirteen?
twelve? are you twelve, dear? you have to tell me how long you've been pregnant. three months?
are you *four* months pregnant?
dear child, it won't hurt when i look. i'm just going to *look*.
tell me: you haven't done something to yourself, have you?
did you go to someone else?
listen, you've been very brave. i'm going to put you to sleep--you won't feel it anymore. you've been brave enough.
you *bet* it's a heavy sedation! the fetus is unexpelled, her uterus is punctured, she has acute peritonitis, and there's a foreign object. i think it's a crochet hook.
if she'd come to you four months ago and asked you for a simple d and c, what would you have decided to do? *nothing*? *this* is what doing nothing gets you, homer. it means that someone else is going to do the job--some moron who doesn't know *how*!
i wish you'd come to *me*, dear child. you should have come to me, instead.
she died of *secrecy*, she died of *ignorance*.
if you expect people to be responsible for their children, you have to give them the right to decide whether or not to *have* children. wouldn't you agree?
how about this child? you expect *her* to be responsible?
it's just a marvel to me that you still have such high expectations of people.
try to look at it this way. what choice does buster have? what are his options? nobody will ever adopt him.
happy to be alive, under any circumstances--is that your point?
curly, come here!
chocolates. how *thoughtful*.
you're the best, curly.
just fine.
you'll have princes of maine! you'll have kings of new england!
i suggest you find yourself some fresh air, lieutenant.
doubtless you'll let me know what immensely worthwhile or at least *useful* thing it is that you find to do.
in other parts of the world, i suppose there are other ways.
are you really so *stupid* that you imagine you're going to find a more gratifying life? what you're going to find is people like the poor people who get left here--only nobody takes care of them as well! and you won't be able to take care of them, either. there's no taking care of *anybody*-- not out there!
i don't need your gratitude.
it's your heart--you ought to take it with you.
i don't know! he's just leaving-- you're the one who says he needs to see the world! *that's* what he'll do--he'll see the world!
let him try to *make* some money! that's part of "seeing the world," isn't it?
he's still a boy--out in the world, he's still a boy.
i think these will fit you.
good night, you princes of maine! you kings of new england.
he is a goddamn psychiatrist--of *course* he wants to "help"! he'd be happy if he could help *commit* me!
one has to be more than "careful" of mrs. goodhall--she has sufficient christian zeal to start her own country! i'd like to give her a little ether.
"homer wells, born portland, maine, march 2, 1915"
". graduated bowdoin college, 1935, and harvard school of medicine, 1939."
"an internship and two years of training at the boston lying-in, south end branch. for his age, he was judged an accomplished gynecological obstetrical surgeon; he is also experienced in pediatric care"
don't you understand? the board is going to *replace* me! that's what the "new blood" is *for*!
well, we can only guess about that, edna. they *are* against the law.
we all know who trained homer--his credentials are as good as mine are. don't you be holy to me about the *law*! what has the law done for any of us here?
so here is my candidate. what do you think?
he *will* have them, edna.
so he's an apple expert, is he?
oh my, yes! this is a *far* superior taste--and crisp, too! you know, so many apples are disappointingly mealy. i wonder of most of the apples in my life weren't meant for pies!
you don't find it depressing that homer wells is picking apples?
or that he can't be bothered to write us a proper letter? a dissertation on apples, we don't need!
i wouldn't worry, edna, that he doesn't have money. if he gets hungry, he can pick his dinner!
i'll show him a *gift*! i'll give him a gift he can *use*!
his name is homer wells.
and his *pathetic* resume is the best i've seen. though i find it hard to believe the board would be interested in this character.
he looks like a bleeding-heart missionary *moron* to me, but that's going to be the problem with any doctor interested in coming here!
*no*! i don't want to know him! he's doing *missionary* work--in *india*! i wrote him *weeks* ago, but he's either too holy or too busy to answer. maybe he got killed in the war!
does it *snow* in bombay? one winter here and we'll be shipping him south, in a *coffin*!
then i suppose we can look forward to catching various diseases from him!
i'm not talking about his medical qualifications. it's the *christian* thing that bothers me--i just don't see it being of much *use* around here.
anyway, i was just showing you this guy as an example of what's available-- i didn't think you'd be interested.
i suppose it wouldn't hurt to *meet* him. what's his name again?
i just hope he won't expect us to say *grace* all the time.
edna! come dance with me! let's be foolish tonight.
he's a field hand! what could possibly hold him there?
fuzzy? fuzzy?
i'll tell them fuzzy was adopted.
they'll believe it because they want to believe it.
if homer wanted to know what was happening here, he could pick up a telephone and call us.
my dear homer, i thought you were over your adolescence, that period which i would define as the first time in our lives when we imagine we have something terrible to hide from those who love us.
do you think it's not obvious to us what's happened to you?
you're fallen in love, haven't you? by the way, whatever you're up to can't be too good for your heart. then again, it's the sort of condition that can be made worse by worrying about it. so don't worry about it!
do i interfere? when absolutely helpless women tell me that they simply *can't* have an abortion, that they simply *must* go through with having another--and yet another-- orphan.  do i interfere? *do* i? i do not. i do not even *recommend*. i just give them what they want: an orphan or an abortion. you are my work of art, homer. everything else has been just a job. i don't know if you've got a work of art in you, but i know what your job is. you're a doctor!
you know everything i know, plus what you've taught yourself--you're a better doctor then i am and you know it!
they're going to replace me, homer! the board of trustees is looking for my *replacement*!
sorry? i'm not 'sorry'! not for anything i've done. i'm not even sorry that i love you!
i think we may have lot him to the world. he's not coming back.