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Show Our Man Hoppe ! The Heavenly Choice By ARTHUR HOPPE San Francisco Chronicle Scene: The Pearly Gates. St. Peter, Pe-ter, nervously swinging his keys, is surrounded by a host of heavenly heav-enly cherubs. St. Peter: Ahem. You're probably wondering why I called you all here this morning. Well, as you know, babies come from Heaven. But it seems we're having a population explosion on the planet Earth that's the tiny one out there on the fringes of Galaxy MCXXII. Demand has tripled and, frankly, we can't keep up. So it's my duty to inform you cherubs . . . First Cherub (clapping his palm to his forehead: We've been drafted! St. Peter (hastily): No, no! The Front Office feels any draft would be most unheavenly. Instead, I've been instructed to ask for volunteers. volun-teers. First Cherub: How long a hitch do we have to serve before we get to come home? St. Peter: One lifetime. But I should advise you that your chances of ever returning to Heaven are slim. Many are caUed, but few are chosen. Second Cherub (suspiciously)' I What's the duty like? I St. Peter (with a sigh) : You are entitled to a long and searching look before volunteering. Third Cherub (as all peer curious, ly down through the gates) : Oh r can't bear it. Look, there! People. Buring! They're afire! St. Peter (glumly) : Napalm. Christians Chris-tians are dropping it on heathens. . Fourth Cherub: But that, over there. It's so beautiful it ties your stomach in a knot. St. Peter: Yes, two deer standing on a green hillside above the sea in the autumn haze. Fifth Cherub: Those huge ovens. They reek of evil. St. Peter: Incinerators. Six million mortals were burned in those. Sixth Cherub: Zowie! That blinding blind-ing flash of light! St. Peter: Two mortals making love. But you must not talk of that. Seventh Cherub: Those tears, that unbearable, wrenching pain. What causes that? St. Peter: The word, "Farewell." There's a baker's dozen in a lifetime. life-time. Eighth Cherub: And that glow that lights the sky? St. Peter: Oh, that's Charlotte Hawkins looking into her granddaughter's grand-daughter's face. Or do you mean that flare over the jungle? That's so men can see better to kill each other. Now, ii y0u.u Iook oyer here . . . The Cherubs (togethexy. nn a0n't want to see any more'. St. Peter (frowning) : But it's ray duty to show you famine, pestilence, j thermonuclear explosions ... I The Cherubs (together) :" Tsi6"more, j no more. Enough, is enouft. St. Peter (shaking his head):-.' Sometimes, I think the Front Of- i fice . . . But let's get this nonsense over with. You all understand the choice? You can spend eternity here singing hymns of ecstasy at the foot of the Heavenly Throne or you can volunteer for a lifetime of pain and sorrow and boredom relieved only by a few moments of joy. All right. All those in favor of mortality will please say, "Aye." And, lo, the chorus of eyes shook the very stars and reverberated even through the farthest vaults of Heaven. |