Staten Island

Staten Island serves as the civilian backdrop for Doc Daneeka's pre-war life and for the bureaucratic and financial aftermath of his supposed death. It is the location of his failed medical practice, a two-family firetrap just four blocks from the ferry stop, where he accumulated debts and lost his adding machine and typewriter to repossession. The war, which he called a "godsend," briefly revived his practice, allowing him to handle more patients than he could competently manage and to increase his kickback fees from local drugstores and beauty parlors. It is also the place where a young husband, after being instructed by Doc Daneeka on the mechanics of intercourse using rubber models, punched him in the nose for being a "wise guy."

Mrs. Daneeka's Widowhood and Wealth

It is on Staten Island that Mrs. Daneeka receives the War Department telegram informing her that her husband has been killed in action. Her initial, genuine grief is profound, and she is "totally distraught for almost a full week." However, this sorrow is rapidly mitigated by a cascade of financial benefits. A letter from Doc Daneeka himself, urging her to disregard the bad news, is dismissed by the War Department as the work of a "sadistic and psychotic forger." The government then confirms his death, and Mrs. Daneeka begins to receive a $10,000 GI insurance policy, a $250 burial allowance from the Veterans Administration, and monthly support from the Social Security Administration. She also successfully claims payment on three separate $50,000 life insurance policies, and a key to a safe-deposit box reveals a fourth $50,000 policy and $18,000 in untaxed cash. Fraternal lodges and his county medical association each provide additional burial allowances. The husbands of her closest friends begin to flirt with her. Mrs. Daneeka, delighted with her newfound wealth, has her hair dyed.

The Final Break

When Doc Daneeka, desperate and officially dead on Pianosa, writes an impassioned letter to his wife begging her to contact Colonel Cathcart to confirm he is alive, she is initially torn with compunction. However, on the same day she receives his plea, she also opens a letter from Colonel Cathcart himself—a form letter of condolence beginning, "Words cannot express the deep personal grief I experienced when your husband, son, father or brother was killed, wounded or reported missing in action." This official confirmation, combined with her burgeoning financial independence, proves decisive. Mrs. Daneeka moves with her children to Lansing, Michigan, and leaves no forwarding address, severing all connection with the man the military system has declared dead.