Chapter 1

Gilligan sat at the edge of the lagoon. The warm tropical breeze gently ruffled his dark hair and the sounds of singing birds lilted all around him. He ignored them both. His gaze was fixed intently on the little black book that sat on his knees. It was thick and crinkled with water damage and the gold script that had once said 'my diary' was nearly rubbed off. He chewed absently at the end of his pencil as he regarded the wrinkled pages. With a decisive nod he pulled the utensil from his mouth and began to write:

Dear Diary

A lot has happened in the last coupla days. Well, I guess not really a lot but it sure felt like it. I don't want to forget all the things I learned so I'm gonna write them down.

It started when the Skipper said we oughta weather strip the huts again because the storm season was coming. Well, the Skipper and me were carrying this big barrel of tar back to camp, me on one side and the Skipper on the other. That thing was aweful heavy even with the Skipper carrying more than half of it. We'd just stepped into the clearing when the Skipper said; "We'll have to take a left up here, Little Buddy. The girls are doing the wash."

I nodded, all ready to turn left.

Ginger and Mary Ann smiled at us from where they were hanging up the laundry. "My that looks heavy." Ginger said.

"It is!"

A few feet later the Skipper said: "Alright, turn right here."

"I thought you said we were turning left."

He nodded. "Right."

So I turned right and stepped into the laundry basket. I lost my balance and my grip on the barrel which toppled over. The Skipper reared back with a roar that would have scared any lion and started hopping around on one foot. It was like something out of a Three Stooges movie and I woulda laughed my head off if the girls hadn't been yelling at me to get my foot out of their clean laundry. I tried to shake the basket off but the dumb thing stuck to my foot like gum and my toe ended up caught in one of the handles.

The Howells showed up just as I stepped in some of the spilled tar and fell backwards right into the clothesline. Kind of a silly place for a clothesline if you ask me, right in between two trees where people walk. Anyway, the line snapped and the next thing I knew it was wrapped around me, clothes and all, like one of those big snakes from the Tarzan movies. Nobody believes me, but I tell you those things are dangerous. Just when you think all they're doin is holding up the clothes they try to strangle you!

Then everybody yelled my name at once, I mean exactly at the same time. I could have swore they had practiced. Then came the rest of the yelling.

"Oh, dear, Thurston. Look at our clothes!"

"Heavens! And I thought our dry cleaner was bad! My boy, get out of there!"

"Gilligan, quit thrashing around! You're getting the clothes in the tar!"

"Oh, Gilligan! You're making a mess!"

"Gilligan!"

I was surrounded and they were all mad. I'm sure I woulda been tarred, feathered and strung up the nearest tree if the Professor hadn't shown up.

…

The Professor sat quietly in his hut. His right leg was elevated by a pillow and his foot swathed in a thick clay cast. A large leather-bound journal sat on his lap. His brow was creased and he chewed at his lower lip as he appraised the blank page, the feather pen in his hand poised above the slightly yellowed parchment. After much deliberation he touched the tip to paper and began to write:

Personal Journal

June 8, 1966

In the past I have utilized this journal solely for scientific observations, such as cataloging the island's flora and fauna, recording the results of my experiments or sketching blueprints of devices I intend to build. But as I lay here in my hut, recovering but sufficiently immobilized I find myself compelled to record the events that put me here.

It began two days ago as I was preparing for an excursion to the interior of the island. I was appraising the items I planned to bring along; two over-shoulder sacks, (one full of yet-to-be-filled containers, this journal, and several other useful implements, the other empty for the plant specimens I planned to collect) and a tall ladder, when there came a loud crash from outside followed closely by shouts of: "Gilligan!"

My curiosity piqued, I quickly opened the door and stepped outside into complete pandemonium. My six fellow castaways were congregated near the perimeter of the clearing. Every one of them shouting at the young first mate who was hopelessly tangled in a clothesline. His efforts to extricate himself only managed to drag the wet wash through a large patch of tar spilling from an overturned barrel near his feet.

Mr. Howell was stamping his feet and waving a fist at the young man. "I expect full compensation for that cashmere sweater! And those pants cost me at least…"

"Oh, dear!" Said his wife. "And black isn't even this year's color!"

"That's my best dress!" The movie star lamented.

"Oh, Gilligan, I worked hours on that laundry!" Mary Ann sounded as if she were about to cry. "How could you?"

"Gilligan, you numbskull!" The Skipper, limping slightly, moved over to Gilligan and gave him a sound blow with his captain's hat. "I told you to go left!"

"But Skip—" Gilligan's feet became caught in the line and he stumbled a bit.

"Of all the lame-brained, knuckle-headed stunts…"

"You forgot 'stupid'." Mr. Howell added.

"And destructive." Mary Ann said.

The young man has a tendency to be particularly inept, possessing an uncanny ability to cause havoc. Considering the circumstances I could understand the others' reaction. But as I watched him, surrounded, turning from one accuser to another I found myself overcome by a pang of pity. I felt compelled to somehow intervene. "Gilligan! There you are."

Gilligan turned as I approached, managed to enmesh both feet in the line, lost his balance and toppled backwards into the sand. Kneeling, I assisted in extricating him from the disorganized mess. When he finally stood the coils fell to his feet and he quickly stepped out of the jumble of rope and clothing. "Thanks, Professor."

I put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I've been looking for you." This was not entirely true, however it seemed that a slight fabrication was called for.

"He's not hard to find. Look for the nearest catastrophe and he'll be right in the middle of it."

Now, I do not wish to speak ill of the Skipper. Despite all his size and strength he is a kind and gentle man and I think very highly of him. However, his patience can be short with his crew and when sufficiently vexed his words can be sharp.

Mr. Howell snorted. "Look up 'walking disaster' in the dictionary and you'll find his picture."

His wife turned to Gilligan her irritation apparently forgotten. "How nice! Gilligan, you never told us you had your picture in the dictionary." Mrs. Howell's misconceptions are always enough to give me a pause.

"You ought to try out for the next disaster movie." Ginger said as she and Mary Ann began to pick up the soiled laundry. "You'd be perfect for the part of the hurricane."

Gilligan took a step back, overwhelmed and obviously injured by the barrage of insults.

With a nod toward the Skipper I said: "Skipper, I need to borrow Gilligan for a moment." A hand still on Gilligan's shoulder I maneuvered him toward the supply hut and away from his irate comrades.

"Be my guest." The Skipper called after us. "Get him out of here before I do something I might regret!"

I would not give the impression that I myself have never given the lad a harsh word when he has caused a particularly disagreeable mishap. But on this occasion I found myself coming to his defense.

"Gilligan, would you be so kind as to assist me on a scientific excursion?" I asked when we entered the supply hut. "I could use someone to carry a few things."

Gilligan gave a quick glance out the door where the Skipper and Mary Ann had begun cleaning up the mess. "Sure, Professor. But what are we going to scourge?"

I managed to hide a smile. "Gilligan, excursion means 'hike'."

Generally I neither desire nor require assistance on my scientific expeditions. I find it is easier to concentrate in solitude where there are no distractions. Nevertheless I made an exception on this occasion because I felt Gilligan would benefit from the respite and I could use someone to carry the ladder. At the time it seemed a perfect symbiotic relationship. Little did I realize how much I was about to learn.