Chapter Ten - SMA: Friends Like These

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Smear the Queer

The title of this section refers to a lovely pickup game we used to play when I was in Boy Scouts. It was like football, except that one side (the guy with the ball) was the "queer", and the other side was everyone else. The Queer had to run around, avoiding the mob for as long as he could. If caught, he was wrestled to the ground and forced to give up the ball. Whoever was the next bravest would pick it up and run, and the game was on again! This continued until nobody wanted to be the Queer or we were just too damn tired to run any more. I'm sure the menfolk watching us were filled with pride at how we strove to eliminate the Queer from our midst.

The idea of equating being queer with being gay seemed to come from my generation. And in a short time, especially in my neck of the woods in the SF Bay Area, it has become a badge of honor.

"Yes, yes, yes, but what about your freakin' story, man?"

Let us return to those heady days.

Think about this: Close to 300 male students ranging in age from 10 to 19, living in close quarters and fighting the effects of raging hormones and a spectrum of desires to make one giddy. We all had that range of interest, and it sometimes bumped up hard against nurture. Set this conflict in the cauldron-like environment of an all-male boarding school and you have a perfect social experiment. In order to balance, therefor deny, latent desires against personality type, scapegoats had to be found. The arbiters of sexuality in this case were the same troublemakers who spread other rumors about cadets in school. Luckily for me, I was not made a target. Which was odd, because my interest in poetry, soccer (considered a gay sport in the South) and creative arts had gotten me that rep among the rednecks back home.

In military school you couldn't just say "that's so gay". There had to be a more personal point of reference. So one needed to know who the Queers were. There were two unfortunate cadets who were roommates in my Junior year who weathered that storm until it got to be too much and they both withdrew. Then there was a mild mannered officer whose name had a very squeally sound to it, so it became a gay mating call of sorts. Another poor guy had a last name that sounded like Homo, and he was a bit effeminate and submissive, so he had to bear the burden.

It was sick, and I can't say I was immune from using these guys as gay references. But I was one of the downtrodden as well, so I never took part in persecuting them. Seems like such a weak defense, but it was a matter of survival. Whether we missed the mark with those guys or they genuinely were gay, I hope they made it out OK.

And Now the Circle is Complete

Just after the mid year guys came on board, one more cadet joined the group. He was Jim Lange, a student from West Virginia. He was a guitar player like me, had incredible taste in music, and he definitely did not take the military part seriously. That didn't make him a malcontent in the strictest sense. He did all the drill and uniform stuff and room inspection prep, etc. He just seemed to be figuratively rolling his eyes at the whole thing. When he joined our burgeoning little group of buddies, I could tell it was going to work.

Later we had other great friends to hang with from time to time: Tom Smith, a joker dude from Philly who somehow ended up with the nickname "Tohm Smeet". Ken Cooper, a post grad cadet who was a consummate stoner. Rick Kessler, Pete's roommate. Rick was a "lifer", a guy who had been at SMA from the 7th grade. He was a great audience for all the crazy shit we talked about, as well as being a witty guy himself. Want to see a picture? It was taken by Rick:


Left to right: Tom, Pete (In T-Shirt), Boots, Me, Jim

Yes, the picture is old and hazy, much like the memory of old men. Seems all too appropriate. Jim, Boots and I are holding matches to cheer for the end of Dark Side of the Moon. Or was it ELP? Or maybe The Yes Album...

Times were definitely good. Because of my promotion to corporal I no longer had to participate in the daily ritual of Sweep Detail. Right after Third Mess a designated noncom would come out into the open Quad and yell :"A Company Sweep Detail fall out. Get yer brooms and dustpans and get yer asses out here!" The resulting mob would sweep litter and dust from the upper galleries out into the Quad proper, then all would troop down to the floor and collect the rubbish for disposal. No matter how hard we swept or how often, there was always a haze of dust in the air for a while. Since the place had been built in 1918, it wouldn't have surprised me to learn we were breathing in all manner of toxic substances. But we were young and strong, and most of us smoked anyway, so that probably killed whatever else was getting into our lungs.

The rest of my Junior year passed swiftly. The gaggle of jerks who called Alexander a friend just melted back into the crowd. I now had a single room. What luxury! My grades were improving rapidly. I aced Algebra II and actually got on the Superintendent's List for a high grade average. Other cadets were coming to me for help on their homework. Finally, Dad wrote to tell me that he had swung a summer job for me with the Boy Scouts. I was going to be a merit badge counselor at Goshen Boy Scout Camps near Lexington, VA. I would get $300 for the summer plus free room and board. Score.

When my folks came to get me in June, they asked if I wanted to come back for Senior year. No question. I had the system down and I was ready to do it right.

Be Prepared! That's the Boy Scout marching song.....