Hollywood Studio Magazine (March 1967)

The Worry-Worry World of NII-NMI McWhorter by Bill Erwin T here’s no doubt about it, Mc¬ Whorter is the world’s greatest non¬ stop, all out, go for broke worrier. While each of us carries within himself the common virus of nervous concern, McWhorter is a dedicated worrier, a worrier of such talent that he could turn pro if he wasn’t worried about the future of ama- teurity. Whenever, on a rare day, Mc¬ Whorter has nothing else to be con¬ cerned about, he broodes over his single name. That’s all there is to it: McWhorter, no initial initial and no middle initial. Once, when he tried to join the Peace Corps, his name was officially written that way, “NII-NMI McWhorter, applicant.” His application was not accepted, incidentally, because he wasn’t certain in his own mind that he was a true pacifist and that worried him. If there is any one type of person the Peace Corps can do with¬ out it’s a worrier. They can also do without applicants with no inital initial and no middle initial. Peace involves a lot of paper work and writing NII-NMI over and over might lead to a serious conflict, begin¬ ning at the secretarial level. The Peace Corps suggested that he re¬ turn to his regular career as a real estate broker. Which he did. Before you begin to think Mac was some sort of a nut or something, let me say that he was, until recent¬ ly, a most successful man in his own field. The fact that he was a worrier was no handicap in real estate, where everybody worries to some degree or another. Please note that I said he was successful in real es¬ tate until recently. His business has gradually gone to pot today and all because of this proclivity of his for worrying so damn much. Obviously, Mac was no ordinary- type worrier. Thinking that he should worry about, big things like his bills and his taxes and Mrs. Mc¬ Whorter, seldom attract him. (We list Mrs. McWhorter among the big things because she weighs 180 pounds and this weight, draped on a 5’2” frame, makes her enorirous. Mac is usually knotted up with some bizarre worry like, say, the unfath¬ omable problems of space naviga¬ tion or what happens to all of the Baked Alaskas left over at $50-a- plate political dinners or will our forests ever be completely decimat¬ ed by the vast amounts of newsprint used by throw-away publications. Mac’s current worry is one of his most challenging, and possibly most costly. He can’t eat, sleep or even make a guest appearance at the of¬ fice. Uneasy, unkempt and under¬ nourished, he is holed up in his garage “worry room”. There, atop a pile of orange juice cartons, as¬ sorted maps and charts, cigarette butts and fingernail fragments he is wrestling with his personal predic¬ tion that the planet earth may shortly disintegrate. He says that he “feels in his bones” (which are brittle with extra sensory percep¬ tion) that deep underground there are river of buttermilk, buttermilk rivers larger than the Amazon, larger than the Mississippi, larger than the combined production of Adohr and Knudsen. He’s not sure, mind you, that the rivers exist; he just feels that they may. “Can’t help but worry about a thing like that,” he says. Now I have learned, through long experience with Mac and his wor¬ ries, that the only way to react to them is to be sympathetic. This seems to calm him a little and after a time he forgets the worry of the moment and goes on to another one. “Why,” I asked him, “should un¬ derground rivers of buttermilk be a danger to mankind?” His analysis of the buttermilk situation is a marvel of conjecture and a frightening example of what the human mind can do to itself unless walked regularly on a leash by a trained psychiatrist. Based on his calculations (unfor¬ tunately done in the “new” math), Mac feels these rivers of buttermilk are lacing through the planet like a vast system of veins and arteries. He’s afraid that they are flowing at great speed, and if this is true the small flecks of butter may clot and clog up the arteries. As pounds and pounds of butter pile up, the under¬ ground pressure will be so trem¬ endous that the earth will crack wide open. Even if the planet doesn’t then fall apart, what’s to be done with all that butter?