Leo Frankowski

is
Patricia Cambridge with The World at Large. We’re on location
today in Forest Hills, Queens, doing a follow-up on an experiment initiated a year
ago on this program.
    “The huge tree
house you see behind me is Laurel, grown incredibly from the potted plant we
saw in Dr. Guibedo’s window just a year ago.
    “Mr. Burt
Scratchon has been living here for six months, and he will be giving us the grand
tour. Tell me, Mr. Scratchon, what is living in a tree house really like?”
    “Ms. Cambridge,
it’s pure hell. Only my sense of duty to the American public has kept me living in
this green slum. I’ll be happy when this experiment is over and I can move back into
my solid brick home.
    “Look at that phone line. Tight as a
guitar string. What with its incredible
growth, this ‘house’ has ripped off
its own telephone wire twice since I’ve been here!”
    “It can’t be all
that serious, Mr. Scratchon.” Patricia led the way into the house.
    “Serious enough
when you are trying to run a business. And look at this damned stuff!”
His face reddened. Control, man! Mustn’t alienate the public. Sell!
    “Uh, this is
being taped, Mr. Scratchon. The technicians have all night to edit out anything
improper. Just go on,” said Patricia.
    “This flooring material, for
example.” Scratchon kicked loose a
piece of the carpeting. “Totally unsanitary. It can’t be cleaned. My housekeeper filled four vacuum bags on
the hall floor alone before she gave up. A bachelor has a hard enough time keeping good help without this!”
    “Didn’t Dr.
Guibedo say something about it absorbing foreign matter so that cleaning was
unnecessary?” Patricia asked.
    “Tell that to my
housekeeper. She quit! And look at the floor itself. That floor is five degrees
out of plumb! Not a building inspector in the country would accept that in a real house. But
BOCA hasn’t even passed codes on these trees.”
    “But Dr. Guibedo
sent the seeds for one of these Laurel trees to every public official in the
country, Mr. Scratchon. I haven’t heard any complaints yet.”
    “You will. Take
a look at this food. It’s supposed to be hot, but it’s really only lukewarm. This
mess is supposed to be pancakes with maple syrup. The darned stuff grows with the syrup
already on! Can you imagine trying to start out a day with a plate of this
sloppy gruel?”
    “Well, it is
unsightly.” Patricia put a dainty fingertip to her tongue. “But it is real
maple syrup.”
    “This ‘dishwasher’
actually eats the scraps off the plates. The first time I watched it, I was so
disgusted I almost tossed the meal I had just eaten. Not that that would have been any
great loss.”
    “A
dishwasher?” Patricia asked, delighted.
    “And the toilet works the same way.
The stuff just lays there until—”
    “Isn’t the
living room this way?” Toilets again!
    “Anyway, I gave
up on the bathroom entirely. I’ve been using the one in my real house in
front,” said Scratchon, following Patricia into the living room.
    “You can’t get
a picture to hang straight on these curving walls. And when you cut loose the
furniture to rearrange it, a new set grows back in a week. I’ve had to pay to
have two sofas hauled away.” Scratchon gave a fatherly smile to the
camera. “So my advice to the viewing audience is to stay with their fine, modern, man- made homes.”
    “So you feel
that there is nothing of value to be had from a tree house, Mr.
Scratchon?”
    “Well, Ms.
Cambridge, I have one piece of good news. The place is showing definite signs of
dying. I knew
these things wouldn’t last. In a month or so, if any of your viewers need
firewood, tell them to bring an ax.”
    “Now let me
show you what a real house is like.”
    As the cameras were being moved around an
in- ground pool to Scratchon’s conventional
dark-brown— brick house, he said,
“Ms. Cambridge?”
    “Call me
Patty.”
    “What would you
say to having dinner with me tonight, Patty?”
    “I’d love to,
but I can’t. I don’t know how late I’ll be up getting this show ready for
tomorrow.”
    “That makes you
free tomorrow afternoon, doesn’t it?”
    “I guess it
does.” Patricia smiled.
    “Can I pick you
up at four?”
    “Let me drop by here.” Patricia
was embarrassed about her apartment.
    “You’ve got a
date.”
     
    Guibedo had borrowed
a television set from a neighbor especially to watch the program about his tree house. As he watched,
anticipation turned through