Chapter Twenty- SMA: Bad Moon Risin'

Well the first days are the hardest days,
Don't you worry any more,
'Cause when life looks like easy Street,
there is danger at your door.
Think this through with me,
let me know your mind.
Woh - oh, what I want to know,
is are you kind?

The Old College Try

Just before Christmas break we started filling out prepaid postcards to send to colleges for admission info. I had been thinking about college since starting my senior year but I really didn't have a handle on what I wanted to study. Dad took me to Johns Hopkins University, where some distant uncle was on staff of the Speech Pathology Department. He was an irascible old coot who called all the women "darling" and "sweetheart". After talking with him that afternoon I decided to major in his field. No way could my grades or even my familial connection get me into his school, so I cast a wider net. I sent out 20 or 30 cards and most of the replies were: "No, thanks". I did get offers from every branch of the Armed Forces, but in my mind I'd had enough of the "yes sir, no sir" to last me a while. I finally got accepted at Old Dominion University in Norfolk on the condition that I take two remedial, non-credit classes in the first semester. And thank you very much. My uncle Bob lived there, so I would be able to pal around with my cousins Joe and Bob. Looked like a good fit. I wasn't really sure I wanted to go away to college, though. Mom and I both thought it would be better to stay at home and go to community college for a couple of years and then transfer. It would be cheaper and I could work locally. Dad was dead set against it. One day we were out driving and he put it to me directly:

"You are not going to live at home with Mommy and Daddy when you should be out living your own life. When I was 18 I....." the rest is just blah. blah, blah. He said the words "Mommy and Daddy" as if I was a two year old. Just another button pushed on the console of my psyche.

The Shit Comes Down

Weeks before graduation I had started writing the date "6/1/75" on my notebooks and scrap paper. I think I was trying to put firmly in my mind that this was going to happen. It wasn't a dream. The effort I put in and the crap I had gone through had led me to this place and time, and writing that magical number was a way of making it real.

One Friday evening, two weeks before graduation and just after inspection, I tried to get some buddies together for another jaunt to the Trippin' Tree. Everyone else had something to do, so I decided to go alone and do some quiet meditation. With the proper mood enhancing substance, of course. I had picked up an ounce for myself with the money that had come in from relatives and friends for graduation. The cadet who sold me the weed was a cool guy that never cheated his brothers. His name won't ever be revealed unless he calls me and lets me off the hook.

It was warm and pleasant in the outer environs that day, and I wandered over to the driveway that led to our party spot. I don't know why, but I decided to veer off and go down a small trail to another spot, one with a nice view of the hillside. I pulled out a joint and took a few hits, then sat back to enjoy the sunset. I heard some voices up the driveway, and soon saw three other cadets walking down toward me with a case of beer in tow. All right! The kids saw me and came down to my spot. I say "kids" because they were all freshman. Two were from my Company, Richard Heck and Keith Foreman. The third guy is not in my memory right now. We sat drinking for a while, but I didn't offer them any smoke. Just too weird.

As we sat laughing and talking, it became clear that something was happening around us. There was some crashing in the bushes and people talking. I got up and started to walk back up the path toward the road - straight into the drawn gun of a Staunton police officer.

"You all just stay right there, hear?"

My skin was galvanized. I felt my balls clutch up into my gut and my eyesight blurred as I looked back at the other three standing in shock. The crashing sound continued and the bushes finally parted, allowing another couple of men to walk into the clearing. One was a uniformed officer and the other looked like a used car salesman.

"Damn it, y'alls parents are gonna be buyin' me a new suit with all the shit I had to walk through to git you!"

We goggled at him like fish on a line.

"Now what we got here? Buncha rich boys out trespassin' on private land. You know this is private property, dontcha?"

"Eh, mmm, uh, no."

Mr. Used Car smiled. "Boy, I'm Detective Sergeant Koons of the Staunton Police. Y'all are trespassin' whether you know it or not and we gonna have to take that beer and have a talk with the folks back at your school. Might be you could get kicked out for this." He pointed at me. "How old are you?"

"18"

"That's contributin' to the delinquency of minors. Wouldn't want to be in your shoes, boy. Let's go."

We started up the path and were almost at the top when I heard a voice behind me:

"Whose is this?"

I looked back and saw Detective Sergeant Koons holding up my fatigue shirt. The one with the dope in it. Yeah, this could get worse.

"It's mine."

Koons went through the pockets and pulled out the baggie.

"Well, look at this! A dope fiend, too!" He laughed and walked up to join us at the road. The crashing sounds were still happening. Happening in my head. A roaring sound like semi's going by in the rain. My knees could barely hold me and it felt like my blood had been refrigerated.

"Y'all just walk on back to the school and we'll meet you there. Don't get lost!"

He chuckled and watched as we shuffled away. I was dead. Stone cold fucking dead.

Tough Night

We got back to school and I went immediately to my room. I flopped down on my bed and began crying for all I was worth. God damn it! All that work, all that crap, everything I'd endured and struggled with were blown away. What a loser I was! Dad was right. I was just plain stupid. Stupid to believe that I could be anything more than a screwup my whole stupid life. I was drowning, not in pity but in capitulation. Fine, man, just let it all come down. Hell with it.

I don't know when my buddies started filtering into my room, but at some point Jim, Boots, Pete and others visited me and tried to calm me down. How easy could that have been? The situation was bad enough without all the drama that teenage hormones produces. But they tried, and that was the true measure of their friendship.

At one point a guard came to my door to tell me I had a phone call from my parents. Oh, great. I dragged myself to the phone in the guard hut.

"Hello?"

"Honey, it's Mom."

I couldn't hold back. I was weeping again uncontrollably.

"I'm so sorry, Mom. So sorry."

"That's not important now, Eddie. We know you're sorry but we have to see what we can do to keep you in school. Your father is going to make some calls to friends in Washington. Just be strong. You know what you did was wrong and you might have to pay for it. We'll do whatever we can to help."

"OK"

I went back to my room and lay there exhausted. The guys came and went. We talked or just sat not talking. My company commander, Tom Winford, came in and told me that there would be a disciplinary hearing on Saturday in the Superintendent's office. They would be questioning me about the incident. The panel would be composed of two cadets: Tom himself and Eddie Edwards, a member of Battalion Staff; the Commandant, James Love; the Superintendent, Colonel Noffsinger and the Senior Army Instructor, one Captain William S. Davis. Things just kept getting better.

Trial

Spent a hard night looking into my immediate future. I had to figure a way to mitigate my responsibility for holding a bag of weed. Possession is 9/10ths of the law. So why did I have it with me? Word got to me that Detective Sergeant Koons had stated that I was not under the influence of dope when they busted me. I was stunned. Why did he even bother to say that? The cops were no friends of the little rich boys at SMA and yet here he was handing me a razor-thin way out. I had spent a large part of my youth practicing my skills at lying to get out of trouble and I decided to focus all of them on The Story.

I was called into the office that morning and faced the panel with as much calm as I could muster. Then I began:

"I was walking through downtown last Tuesday. I was behind one of the stores and this black guy (sorry) approached me and asked if I wanted to buy some pot. I said 'No' and tried to walk away. He stepped in front of me and said 'I think you do, white boy.' I looked at him and he had his hand in his pocket. I thought he might have a weapon so I agreed to give him some money. He stuffed the baggie in my pocket and walked away."

Colonel Love spoke: "Did you ever see a weapon?"

"No, but he looked like he was going to do something and I didn't want any trouble."

They questioned me about why I hadn't reported the incident. Why I didn't just dispose of the dope. "I was scared." "That's what I was going to do out in the field."

I met each question with an answer. I kept the story straight. They told me to wait outside. I sat in the outer office, sweating bullets, thinking of all the possibilities. Time crawled by on hands and knees through broken glass. The kid who was "guarding" me was named Robert Speaker. He tried to make small talk but I had nothing to say. Finally, after about two hours, Tom Winford came out alone.

"You're still in, Ed. It took two votes. The first one was three to two against you, but Eddie and I told them about how you had started off as such a fuckup but that you became a model cadet who kept his nose clean. We told them you didn't deserve to be kicked out. That story sounded like total bullshit, but they couldn't prove it was. We voted again and it went four to one to keep you in school. Howdy still voted to dismiss you."

I couldn't believe it. "Thanks, Tom" was all I could choke out.

"Here's what's going to happen: You are demoted to private. You lose all senior privileges. You're confined to barracks for the last two weeks and you're on dismissal probation. That means that even if you sneeze the wrong way you'll be kicked out on the spot. There's some other stuff too, but we'll talk about that later. How does that sound?"

"But I'm still here?"

"Yes"

"I feel OK about it."

I left the office with Speaker. As we walked toward South Barracks he said: "Can I rip your stripes off? I've seen it on TV and always wanted to do that."

"Sure. Hey man, I'm just happy to be here."

So Sergeant Newbegin was now Private Newbegin, but at least he wasn't just another loser walking out the gate in civvies. Two weeks to go. Get to work.


Tom, Eddie. I don't know if you'll ever read this, but even now I consider that a true turning point in my life and the two of you saved my ass. I can never thank you enough for standing up for me like that. I learned yet another lesson about the bonds of brotherhood at the Old School.

Twenty-One: The Last Days are the Hardest Days

Chapter Nineteen- SMA: Halcyon Days o' Spring

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead."

A.A.Milne

Spring on the Hill

After months of cold we finally had a breath of fresh air on Flagpole Hill. Temperatures soared into the 60's and that brought everyone out in their shorts to get some color. I'm pretty sure that aircraft passing overhead could have used the pasty white flesh exposed out there as a navigating beacon for Shenandoah Valley Regional Airport. Music was swelling from the rooms and all was right with the world.


Just after these next pictures were taken we got into a game of tackle football. Yeah, full on tackling wearing nothing but shorts. Tom Bell, our Corps Commander, had the ball and was making a run around end for the indeterminate end zone near the cannon when I leaped onto his back and dragged him to the turf. Now I probably weighed 140 pounds and Tom was on the football team, so it came as quite a shock to him that this skinny kid just planted him. He stood up, and for a second I thought he was going to spike me with the ball. Then he relaxed a bit and said "Where did you learn to tackle like that?" That was a question I had no answer for.

"Well, my buddies and I go out to this field not far from here and get stoned, see. Then we pretend we're Greek gods and stuff and indulge in thinly veiled homoerotic wrestling matches to relieve stress and bond as brothers. How's that?"

"Um, I don't know. I just did it." Yeah, that'll work.



Jim Lange as Apollo

Harry Harrison as Dionysus



Bunch of skinny punks



Ed as Kronos



Derrick Shores asking "Is this thing on?"



Boots as Morpheus



Andy as Uzhgu, Fourth Ascended of Venus


Our jaunts out to the Trippin' Tree and surrounding areas always cleared my head. The pure joy we felt getting away and exploring the inner reaches of our minds together bonded us like no other experience. We could laugh, cry, and go a little insane without fear of judgment and in pure fellowship. We forged bonds deeper than we realized.

My Secret Identity

In my senior year I came to think of myself as a very witty fellow. I had an opinion about everything and wanted to share my thoughts with an admiring public. Hmm. How to exercise my right to free speech without fear of retribution? A Secret Identity! Before my time there had been another superhero named X Von Phantom who had left graffiti on the restroom walls, so I adopted his nom de plume and started my own free speech campaign. While I can't honestly quote any of the pithy stuff I scratched out on stall walls all over campus, I know it was reaching an audience. I suppose that was very much like today's blogging. Less permanent, but just as meaningful. When I heard rumors that our venerable owner may have planted "narcs" among the cadet population I felt more direct action was in order. I sat at my desk and penned a rant decrying the totalitarian nature of "rats" of that type and the hatred and disgust it engendered. I went on and on about everything we disliked about cadet life: the food, the capricious attitudes toward personal freedoms, the need for a more socialist environment. The usual. I put on my knit cap, dark gloves and black Delta uniform jacket and sneaked over to Mr. Loeffler's home. That's it just behind the trees on the left of the Hill pic above. After lurking in the bushes for an eternity I worked up the courage to leap to the porch, drop the letter, bang on the door and then run like hell!

Hazy Memories

Check this out:

Scene 1: North Barracks panning toward the Mess Hall and Admin buildings
Scene 2: North Barracks Sweep Detail - Typical military efficiency!
Scene 3: Asphalt panning across South Barracks and Admin buildings.
Scene 4: Flagpole Hill and the view of Staunton itself, including the hump known as Betsy Bell
Scene 5: View of Staunton from North Barracks
Scene 6: Athletic fields. That's the track Captain Howdy made me run and where I lost my front teeth. Junior School at the end.
Scene 7: Cadets marching to mess. Must be a Sunday due to "C" coats and white shirts. Spaghetti night!
Scene 8: Winter goofiness. Too bad no snowball fights!
Scene 9: Our crack drill team, the Howie Rifles in their silver helmets.
Scene 10: Rifle exercises. Yes, we played with our guns to music. Practiced for weeks before a big presentation in the Spring.
Scene 11: A group of cadets greeting Queen Elizabeth. (Or not)
Scene 12: Cadets on a crime spree. Sometimes allowances ran a little thin toward the weekend. They seemed to have spent their loot on a night at the Holiday Inn. Sweet.
Scene 13: Setting up tents the old fashioned way. Badly.
Scene 14: Cadets walking up the Hill, Junior School in the background.
Scene 15: Military maneuvers. I never went on that trip. Stayed behind and went "camping" at the Trippin' Tree.

Crisis Time

Right about the same time we were all called to an assembly in the Small Gym for an "important announcement". Once we were all gathered, Mr. Loeffler got right to the point. The school was in serious financial trouble and there was some likelihood that we would close down before the end of the school year. After the initial shock, we asked what could be done to stay open. A plan had been formed to get the Senior class to call alumni around the country to ask for contributions, as well as other contingencies. Loeffler thanked us for sticking together through these uncertain times and congratulated us on being for the most part united. One cadet asked what he meant by that and he said: "Well, I have gotten one letter from a cadet who seems very unhappy with us, a fellow calling himself 'X Von Phantom'". Every head in the room turned and looked at me, and I of course looked at the guy next to me. Fame can be a harsh mistress. How did they know?

Over the next couple of weeks we frantically searched for money, calling old men on the phone and trying to pry their life savings out of them so we could grasp that golden diploma. It wasn't unusual to end up talking to a frail old woman who would inform us that dear Hissom T. Bernacle had passed on years before. Or to have an irate alum rant about how he hadn't heard anything from SMA in ten years and they could stick this request where the sun don't shine.

Our Headmaster, Dennis Case, pored over our academic records to see if we could meet the minimum standards for graduation in Virginia. TV crews from as far away as Washington, DC came and filmed our daily life to be broadcast on the evening news. The night it was on we all gathered around the little TV in the rec room to see if we could spot ourselves. In the end just enough cash flowed in to keep our little Paradise running until graduation and the heat was off. All we had to do now was Beat the Wease in finals and coast to the finish. So damn easy. What could go wrong?


20: What could go wrong.

Chapter Eighteen- SMA: Howdy's Revenge

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too

Runnin' for Howdy

Christmas break behind me, I came back to school knowing I was going to survive SMA and get that diploma that seemed just a little in doubt two years before. One evening after Third Mess I was striding along the second gallery of South Barracks, finishing that oh so important cigarette just after a big meal. I had taken off my tie and untucked my shirt to add to the Joe Cool mode. I was energized, confident, let's just call it what it was. I was cocky as hell. How could I express this overwhelming feeling of joie de la vie? In song, of course! So I whipped out an old barracks favorite:

"I want to be an Airborne Ranger
I want to join the Ku Klux Klan
I want to be an Airborne Ranger
Drive the darkies from our land!"

Heh, heh. So clever, me. No racist, certainly not. Making fun of that element through parody. Of course. I had tossed the cigarette butt on the floor and taken two steps to crush it when I heard a voice roaring from the Quad below:

"What did you just say?"

I froze. Turning slowly, I looked down into the Quad to see Captain Davis standing there staring right up at me. He pointed at me and bellowed:

"Get down here double time! Front and center, cadet!"

Oh. Shit. Run run run run down the stairs, my mouth instantly dry and pins and needles all over. Snap to attention in my somewhat rumpled uniform. Captain Davis looked me up and down, a look of disgust mixed with a certain exaltation. He had me pinned like a butterfly to the board.

"Change to full fatigues and return here in five minutes. Dismissed!"

Back in my room I frantically got out of my daily uniform and into fatigues. That's the green outfit the Army used to wear in the field. Cap, shirt, white T, trousers, web belt and combat boots "bloused". That's using an elastic band rolled under the cuffs to give that "jack boot" effect. I was ready in three minutes and ran back out to meet my fate. Captain Davis was talking to another cadet and I had to stand at attention, waiting until he told me what to do. Finally he turned and said "Follow me."

We strode out through the sally port, Davis stalking forward like an angry stork. His eyes flicked over at me walking to his right. "On my left" he said.

"Pardon me, sir?"

"I said on my left. Walk on my left side!"

I scrambled around and matched his pace as we walked in silence from South Barracks all the way down to the athletic fields at the bottom of the Hill. When we got to the running track he stopped.

"Four times around this track is one mile. Do you want to run it in Ranger time or Airborne time?"

"Which one is faster, sir?"

He gave me a cool stare: "Airborne time is six minutes thirty seconds."

"I'll do that."

He nodded and looked at his watch.

"Every time you pass me I want you to shout 'Ranger!' as loud as you can. If I don't like it you run an extra lap."

"May I stretch first, sir?"

"All right"

I got into a runner's stretch, a lunge forward to loosen the calf. I was in it for about ten seconds when...

"Go!"

I jumped up and looked at him standing there with that sneer on his face and I took off running.

The running part is a blur. I decided I didn't care if I blew out a lung, I was going to beat that time. As I came around the first lap I saw kids looking out their windows from the Junior School. As I passed Davis I shouted "Ranger!" so loud it echoed off the buildings and bleachers. The next couple of times around I waved to the J-School kids. When I finally passed the Captain for the last time I felt like I was completely out of gas, but I kicked it into a sprint anyway. I yelled "Ranger!" one more time and slowed to a walk, whooping in great lungfuls of air, the world going a little gray at the edges.

"What was my time, sir?" I asked through the haze.

Looking up, I saw that Davis had already left and was making his way back to South Barracks. Some kids from J-School were hanging out their windows and applauding. I waved and started back to my own room.

Guess I passed. Does that mean I'm a Ranger now?

Epic Trip

For the really daring among us, a trip to one of the local towns for an unescorted weekend was a dangerous dream. Getting caught AWOL could be punished by a number of hours on Beat Squad all the way to dismissal. So there's your fun right there.

I don't know who came up with the brilliant plan, but four of us decided to go to Waynesboro, VA, for a bit of fun. I'm pretty sure we were going to see a concert, and we had enough dough to buy tickets and a few meals each. And beer. That was paramount. The first priority was transportation. So we prevailed upon Tom Greenwood, the coolest teacher in school, to drive us. While he resisted at first, he finally gave in after making us swear to stay out of trouble. Hey, what kind of trouble could four teenage private school kids get into in a strange town anyway?

We all got passes from the Commandant to go "camping" in Shenandoah National Park for the weekend, and on Friday evening we all piled into Lt. Greenwood's car for the trip. Before dropping us off at the motel he made us swear that we'd be good. No problem!

We tallied up our cash and decided that the best way to save money was to have me register as a single and the rest of the guys would sneak in later. We did that and after the gear was stowed and it got dark we went out and ate. And got beer. Lots of beer. We lugged a few cases of Miller Pony bottles back to the room and set about drinking. We made merry into the evening and fell into drunken sleep with the sounds of Gospel song coming from the TV.

In the morning we all went out and walked around town and got some more grub. Fast food was a pure delicacy to our Mess Hall fed stomachs. Then back to the room before going to the concert that night. We found a note pinned to the door:

"The maid has informed Management that there are FOUR people staying in this room. Come to the Office and pay for the extra people or we will CALL THE POLICE!"

Oh, crap. We pooled all our remaining cash and found we had enough to cover the bill with about $5 left over. I went to the office and sheepishly forked over the dough. Now we still had about 24 hours before Lt. Greenwood was going to pick us up and we had about a case of beer left and no money for the concert. In Waynesboro. A place where the sidewalks rolled up at 6PM even downtown, and we were on the outskirts by the freeway. We watched TV for hours, slowly going through the beer and getting hungrier and hungrier.

At about midnight one of the guys and I went down the hall to the vending machine to get some snacks. This kind of machine held the tasty treats on little hooks suspended from a chain. When you made your selection the chain would roll forward and the treat would fall into the bin. I chose a Charleston Chew, my mouth frothing as I anticipated its gooey goodness. It rolled forward, dropped....and stuck against another shelf halfway down. No! No keep goodies from Ed! Give me goodies! I pounded on the plastic facing but it wouldn't budge. So I went around behind the machine and tipped it forward, shaking it for all it was worth. I heard a sound like hailstones hitting a car roof and the guy with me shouted "Jeez! Look at that!" I went around front and saw that half the snacks in the machine had dropped off their hooks and were piled in the catch bin. Alleluia! We were saved! The two of us scooped up the booty and ran back to the room, laughing like it was Christmas morning.

By the time Lt. Greenwood picked us up on Sunday we had completely emptied the machine. After a diet of candy bars, Tasty Cakes, Moon Pies and beer, we were ready for the bland stuff again.

In Kapitel Neunzehn: Frühling für Staunton und Deutschland

Chapter Seventeen - SMA: Winter '74

Let it Snow

I remember very clearly the first time it snowed while I was at SMA. It started late, around midnight, and I couldn't sleep. The steam radiators in our rooms were from the 19th century, and you could hear them getting ready to warm up for a half hour before they actually started working. It sounded like several guys were walking around in the walls with ball peen hammers, sending incoherent Morse code messages to one another. Then the endlessly painted-over old radiator would start hissing, and eventually it would come up to a certain temperature and stop. What temperature that was varied from room to room. It could be just above refrigerator all the way to sauna. Then the whole works would come to a shuddering stop, pipes clanking as they cooled, until the Trolls in the steam room turned the works back on again.

(top)South Barracks/Sally Port (bottom) Asphalt/North Barracks


I lay there listening to my roomies snore from up on the top bunk. It was right by the window, so I got a nice cross breeze from the draft mixed in with the occasional warm gust. My window faced out over Flagpole Hill, where I saw the silhouette of the pole and the ever-vigilant cannon that protected us from Townie invasion. It was pretty dark, but lights from the owner's home and the town lights reflected against the cloudy sky showed the Hill in dark relief. As I stared out the window I noticed that grayish blots were floating past. Looking closer I saw them sticking to the ground and falling thickly. "Hey!" I said. "Hey, it's snowing!" The other guys woke groggily and looked outside. For some reason I was incredibly excited. I had to get dressed right away and get out in it. Only problem was, we weren't allowed out of our rooms after Taps unless we were going to the bathroom. I could hear other guys out in the Quad, scooping up snow and tossing around snowballs, but before anything really got started one of the faculty officers came out and sent them all back to their rooms. I lay in my rack watching as the Hill turned whiter and whiter.

On any other morning back in the Real World I would have been listening to the radio to see if school was closed for a snow day. That just didn't happen at a boarding school. Our classrooms were right across the Quad or just a short walk away, albeit on some very slippery brick walks. There were "rubbers" we could wear on our dress shoes to keep from sliding all the way into town but the damn things really messed up the shine. And it was a lot more fun to ski from place to place. I was standing outside the sally port to South Barracks talking to a classmate when Mike Jeck from C Company yelled "Hey Newbegin, heads up!" Like a fool I did look up in time to see the snowball he had just thrown smack me right in the left eye. These memories are golden.

The Dating Scene

In my first Fall at school I met a nice girl from Stuart Hall named Bernie. We went out a few times and I got the idea of how things worked at an all-girl school. The young man desiring to take a girl out on a date had to come to the parlor and present himself, announcing who he was there to see. The young lady would be summoned and any interactions carefully monitored while the couple was in the parlor. We were allowed to escort the ladies around town, but I really didn't do much of that. I dated one other girl, Diane Green. She was funny, vivacious, smart. And black. That didn't go over well with a few of the guys at school, most notably Ratcliff. I couldn't prove that he was the one who painted "Nigger Lover" on my door with Cadet liquid, but it's unlikely to have been anyone else. As a coda to his story, he was never promoted past corporal and left the school in tears that Fall. I'm sure like most of us he has seen the error of his ways and found gainful employment, maybe in the law enforcement field.

One day I was doing Guard Duty in the octagonal building at South Barracks known as the guard hut. It was a boring weekday and I was doing homework or napping. The phone rang, which surprised me since I had never heard it ring before. Turns out it was a rollover line if the main phones were busy. A young woman's voice asked me what time the parade started on Sunday. We talked for a while and I started to realize that she thought I was pretty interesting. too. After I found out she was 23 I was thinking "Wow! Older woman!" It took a little convincing to get her to meet with me but she finally told me where we could go for a soda. That afternoon I went to the little cafe and sat waiting, anticipating....what? Well, let's find out, man. Finally she walked up to the table. I looked up, smiled and said "Hi" to a young lady with a very nice personality. That's the universal code for plain and overweight. We sat and talked, but she could tell I was less than enthused about being there. Yes, I was a shallow boy who had much higher expectations of this experience. We parted with no plans for another time. While I was relieved to be going back I still felt disappointed with myself for being so obviously callous.

The last girl I dated was the daughter of the Commandant's secretary. She was a lovely young girl with passion to spare. I took her to the Senior Ball and we didn't dance much. We found the darkest corner of the gym and remained stuck together at the lips for most of the dance. Eventually a chaperon came over and admonished us to knock off the PDA or the evening would be over immédiatement. The picture shows us looking just a tad disheveled, and it makes me cringe just a little bit every time I see it.



Christmas

Finals went well, I was off the "needs to be watched" radar and I had been promoted to Staff Sergeant. Now home for Christmas and no hassles from the folks. Some partying with my buddies, old and new, and damn near killed myself once more, spinning out on black ice. The car spun three or four times and ended up facing the right way on a clear patch with no oncoming traffic. It's a wonder I made it to 18.

Chapter Sixteen- SMA: Gettin' High

"Oh yeah, drugs. You gotta have drugs." -Homer Simpson


Vices

I was sent to SMA primarily because I was a total screwup in class. Once I got into the system of smaller classes and no way out of study that problem was taken care of. My folks were also worried about the evil influence of drugs in public high school, and they saw military school as a way to escape the clutches of the Pusher. (Or the Dealer) Oh my, how wrong that was. To wit:

Nicotine: The school had a policy that a cadet could only smoke cigarettes if he had written permission from his parents. This edict was universally ignored. Many, perhaps nearly half of the Corps, smoked tobacco in some way. Cigarettes, cigarillos, cigars and pipes. Filtered, non-filtered (Lucky Strikes were cool) and hand-rolled, we smoked 'em all. If one looked closely at the Yearbook photos there would be the soda can ashtray in the background or the cigarette casually dangling from a hand. We were young and strong. We didn't need to worry about no cancer.

Alcohol: Even if you didn't smoke, chances were that by the time you finished your first year at SMA, (unless it was in the Junior School), you had had a drink or two. Or several. The drinking age for beer and wine in Virginia was 18 at that time, but woe be to the cadet who tried to legally purchase it at the wrong store. Many townies would be more than willing to call the school and report a young man in uniform trying to get liquored up. When my buddies and I wanted to guzzle some brew we would hang out at a grocery store and look for a guy who looked "cool" and approach him to score the suds. Still risky, but there was no such thing as liability back then so most times we did OK. Of course, whatever you bought you had to finish that night. No coolers or fridges for the lower class guys like us to store the leftovers. Which meant we always drank too much. It's a blessing that we didn't have to pass a sobriety test to get back into the barracks after Saturday night leave.

Pot: There. I said it. I had already tried weed a few times before I got to SMA but I didn't become a real smoker until our little group of dope fiends got together. Pete, Jim, Tom, Andy, Ken, Boots and I enjoyed the occasional sojourn to Happy Land via marijuana, the assassin of youth. The photo back in Chapter Ten was taken while we were stoned. The one to the left here
was taken out near a local party spot we called the Trippin' Tree. Yes, that's Andy bogarting that joint, while Coop and Jim ponder the mysteries of the universe. I am seeking my lowest point of potential energy and examining the local bug life. Our visits to the Trippin' Tree were filled with mirth and good fellowship. We always came back from those adventures feeling renewed, like we could go back into the cauldron of Mickey Mouse military maneuvers and get through it by knowing its absurdity. We played games with each other's heads. I was known as something of a "freak out" artist, in that I could play some part or get people thinking in bizarre ways. When we got back from Christmas in '74, Pete was in his room, kind of freaking out on something he'd taken, and his only communication was "Keep Newbegin out of here!" What did I say?

I got high one day before going to Third Mess. I could usually maintain my self control pretty well, but I had the bad fortune of sitting too close to Andy, who had caught the little buzz with me. He sat across from me, his almost skeletal face twisting into weird positions as he tried to get me to crack. Then he started talking:

"OhmyGodIcan'tbelievehowhighIammangottakeepittogetherthatshitwasreallygood......"

I couldn't take it. I tried looking away and the first thing I saw was one of the guys from the basketball team, who was about 6'4", delivering a kick in the pants to a kid who couldn't have been more than 4' tall. That was it. I got up and left the Mess Hall as quickly as I could. I walked back to my room, tears of laughter running down my face. Dinner that night was a cold box of Sugar Pops.

Pot was pretty easily gotten, if you could scrape up the dough. Ounces were $20, though by today's standards it was pretty tame stuff. We would usually pool allowances and pick up an ounce from one of two sources. First was the hippie guy down at Gypsy Hill Park who loved seeing us coming. We were steady customers who never ripped him off. The other way was to buy from one of the cadet entrepreneurs who could afford to buy in quantity and who would make a small profit in splitting it down to servings as small as a single joint. Many cadets got high. My group was not a bunch of outcasts by any means. Other guys in positions of much higher authority than a squad leader and First Sergeant smoked as regularly as we did.

Hiding dope was a real problem. If it was found, you were gone. Just like that. Putting it in the mattress was one option, but risky. That was the first place somebody would look if they were searching for it. I would sometimes put mine in my drill boot, stuffing a dress sock behind it to secure it. The best hiding spot turned out to be under our floors. Another cadet showed me how. You would find a square of lino under your press, then use a knife to work on the edges of it, stripping all that old wax out. Once you got down to the wood underneath you still had to carefully pry the piece up without cracking it. That accomplished, a few swift cracks at the wood with your rifle butt would break a nice hole in the floor. Just to be safe, I used a strip of duct tape (the handyman's secret weapon) to secure the baggy to the underside. Some guys just dropped it in, which was OK, but every now and then the stuff would get stolen. No, not by other cadets. Rats. We had those little buggers all through the walls. You could hear them scuttling around at night, and when they found some stash it was party time!


Other Illicit Substances: I know that drugs like cocaine and LSD got into school, but I was never inclined to try either one. I was offered coke just once, but I was an avowed pothead and didn't really think I needed anything to "pep me up". And whether I really believed the anti-drug messages or not, I didn't want to use any psychoactive drug that would intensify the weird reality I was already living.

Sex: "Sex good", that's what Tarzan might say. Even though I dated a couple of girls while I was at school, I never got anywhere near Paradise. Not even the outskirts. The suburbs were in sight, but I was out of town. Other fellows were much "luckier" than I, including my next door neighbor, Eddie Elliott. He had a girlfriend downtown who was a waitress, and he told me that he may have knocked her up. This was toward the end of the year, and I never found out how that worked out. Girls were always getting sneaked into the barracks. It was a lot easier for them to slip into our facility than it was for any cadet to penetrate the defenses around Stuart Hall, though it wouldn't surprise me to hear that it had happened. That took cojones. For most of us, sex was dirty magazines, memories of hard "R" rated movies and a date with "Rosie". Ridin' the range alone tonight.

Rock n Roll: I've already talked about the eclectic mix in our little band, but music was omnipresent in the barracks. At any open time during the day music was streaming out of rooms all over the Quad, mixing in a cacophony of sound. One day we were treated to a rendition of Michael Murphy's song Wildfire by Warren Hutton of the Battalion Staff from the third gallery, sans clothing. Must have lost a bet.


A Christmas Carol

As the Holidays approached, the Administration decided we would have a Christmas pageant. Each company would present a skit, sing a song, whatever talent moved them. After some consideration, A Company decided to put on a little play. We talked about various directions to go in but soon decided to do a spoof on A Day in the Life of the Military Sciences Department. Each of us would play the part of one of the sergeants except for me. I would be Captain Davis, the Senior Army Instructor. His job at SMA was to ensure proper military training and protocol. He was, as I said earlier, a joke in and of himself, with a voice like John Wayne with a head cold. So spoofing him was like shooting ducks in a barrel. Our rehearsals went very well. We improvised a lot of silly stuff about not remembering a cadet's name, drinking out of a flask hidden in a desk, plotting ways to torture our charges. We all thought it was pretty funny. Jim was Sergeant Graham, Boots was Sergeant Tabor, I forget who played Sergeant Gibson. Come the night of the play we all had Regular Army uniforms so we could look the part. As our performance was going on we started to notice there wasn't much laughing going on. Just a few chuckles. In desperation, I leaned forward to Ed Sheridan, the tiny cadet we had chosen for the hapless victim, and said: "You shouldn't be here bothering us about stuff like this. You need to be in your room polishing drill boots, studying weapons squads, or.........(a leer at the audience) other things." The place burst into laughter. I stood up. "Okay, let's go kick some butts!" Applause, applause, applause. Whew.

As I looked back at the audience I could see a faint red glow. In the back, standing and seething, stood Captain Howdy himself. Since we were in the gym the sprinklers probably wouldn't go off with just that little bit of smoke coming out of his ears. Gulp. What have I done?


Chapter Seventeen: I'll be home for Christmas....

Chapter Fifteen- SMA: Sharp Dressed Man

I've got a good job And I'm newly born You should see me dressed up In my uniform...

Bellboy -The Who

Look Sharp!

The first time a lot of the guys at SMA ever had to wear a real uniform was that first discombobulating day at school. Suddenly we all had a brand new wardrobe, and to the untrained eye we all now looked exactly alike. The short hair, shiny shoes, basic gray attire and cute little black tie were all meant to make us feel like a small part of the greater whole. But each individual had his own way of dressing out that showed his feelings about the concept of "uniformity". Once I got used to it, I gotta admit I liked wearing some of those outfits!

As I described before, our basic day to day uniform was "Alpha": A soft cap, called an Overseas Cap; gray shirt with tie tucked in below the second button; gray slacks with that black stripe and black socks and shoes. The hat was an interesting thing. It looked like one of those caps the old soda jerks wore in the 50's. Some of the guys wore it pointed straight on, like an upside-down canoe sitting right on top of their head. Others wore it slightly off to the side for that rakish, guy out on the town in Hong Kong look. Some wore it with a little dip in the back to add a rudder. The round cap with a bill was called a Garrison Cap. While most of us wore it "as is", some cadets couldn't resist customizing it by bending the sides downward to create a "saddle". Anybody who did this ran the risk of being busted by Master Sergeant Gibson for being out of uniform.

Every aspect of the uniform had to be just so. The dress blouse had brass buttons and they had to shine. The gray shirt had collar tabs that had to be kept crisp and pointing down. The bill of the dress cap needed to be mirror-bright. And of course every item of clothing had to be clean and neatly pressed. Except the underwear. Well, for most of us. I suspected that there were a few cadets that ironed those, too.

And then there were the shoes. What an obsession those became! Each guy had his own way of bringing out the true luster of the leather. Our dress shoes and drill boots had to be polished to a brilliant sheen, capable of reflecting the observer's face from a distance of four feet. My method, since you asked: Start with a good base coat of Kiwi black, rubbed in with a sacrificed tshirt. Don't be stingy! Use small, circular motions that make your rotator cuff ache. Let dry, then using a small cup of water and a clean section of the tshirt, dab a bit of water and rubrubrubrubrubrub that black goo down into the leather until it starts to shine. Repeat as necessary over entire shoe. For a final touch buff the whole shoe and then, using a tiny bit more of the polish, rub the toe area and re-buff, using a hot breath or two to get the mirror finish. Then go wash all that damn polish off your fingers, Private!

Here are the basic supplies we used to keep the uniform elements inspection-worthy:

Spiffy Collar Stays: This was a wire in a "U" shape, with springs on either side and a little sharp pin at either end. You tucked it up over the top of the button, set the pins into the collar tabs and flipped the collar down. Did a great job unless the damn thing exploded at the worst time.


This stuff was so incredibly nasty. We would cut the buttons off the dress blouse and "take them down", trying to rub out the small horizontal lines around the school crest on each one. Some guys tried rubbing them on the windowsill, causing holes in the brass. That meant getting new buttons. It was rumored that a jeweler could also polish out the lines, but who had the dough for that? Brasso was good for the breastplates we wore on the parade uniform as well. And hat shields.







I still use Kiwi to this day to polish my umpire shoes. It always brings back the memories.









The product we used was called "Cadet". I can't find an image so I used this one. It's a black liquid that we carefully coated on the heels and edges of our shoes to keep that part shiny, too. Every year some brilliant New Boy would get the idea of smearing this stuff all over his shoes. Voila! Instant polish! Yes, that is until your squad leader pressed down on the toe with his shoe. Then all those little cracks and flakes would appear. Aww, too bad. Looks like you'll be taking all that crap off your shoes and re-polishing them while your buddies go downtown.









Yep, good ol' fashioned shaving cream. When you were done scraping the tiny little hairs all over your face, you put a nice glob of this on your hat brim and rubbed it up with a clean cloth. Look at that shine!











Go Navy!

Grandpa Newbegin arranged for me to get a few weekends' leave to come up to Annapolis and watch Navy football games with him The only stipulation he had was that I was required to wear my SMA uniform. I didn't want a repeat of his disappointment in me, so I dutifully arrived dressed out. I usually traveled by bus from Staunton to Alexandria, VA, and I got more than a few looks from the backwoods passengers who rode it with me. We all had stories like this: I was sitting next to an older lady and she asked me what part of the Army I was in. My favorite answer was "Southern Missile Attachment". "Yes, we man the missiles in the underground bunkers that are aimed at priority targets overseas. I've already told you too much." Priceless.

Watching the Navy games at Annapolis was a real kick. We always sat with Grandpa's Class of '27 buddies and their wives. Cold as shit in those seats, but about the second quarter, sometimes earlier, the flask would come out and we all got a nice warm-up from that. Who cared that I was only 17? Hell, he's wearin' a uniform, he can drink! I would excuse myself now and then to go have a smoke and that's when I felt most conspicuous. Here I was in a place filled with midshipmen and I was in a uniform slightly resembling a West Point cadet. The middies never gave me any trouble, and once a couple of guys bummed some smokes off me and we stood around talking about military school life. That was definitely cool. I felt like a minor leaguer talking to some pros.

A Sad Note

Early in November of 1974 Grandpa drove up to Alexandria to pick up Dad on the way to the Army-Navy game in Philadelphia. Just before they were to leave, Grandpa collapsed and had to be rushed to the hospital. Within a day or two they had diagnosed him with acute granulocytic luekemia. His wife (he had remarried after the death of my grandmother just two years before) said that he had been feeling ill for weeks but hadn't gone to a doctor. So typical of men from that generation, he had not wanted to be a bother and decided to tough it out. Mom wrote me, saying the doctors didn't give him long to live. Three days after I got the letter she called to say he had passed away. As one more favor to him, I donned my Sunday best dress uniform and went to his funeral at Arlington National Cemetery.

For those who have never seen a full military burial ceremony, the experience can hardly be put into words. The funeral home discretely placed Grandpa's casket in the Old Post Chapel, just outside the gates to the cemetery. After the eulogies, a color guard, in this case composed of naval personnel, carried the casket in a slow, dignified way to a shiny black caisson. A team of horses drew the wagon to the grave site, accompanied by a military band. Once it had been placed over the grave, a rifle volley salute was given. Uncle Bob was standing right in front of me and we were both saluting as required. When the volley went off he flinched noticeably. I could see him trembling slightly as the buglers sounded "Taps" in the "echo" format.

I wanted to reach out to him right then and there, but we were supposed to be military men. Stay with the salute. That other stuff comes later.


Silly Shit

I got back to SMA in a pensive mood. Now I was down to just one grandparent, but she was my favorite. Good old Grams. And some really goofy stuff happened not long after I got back that upped my spirits a bit.

I was on my way to Major Neilson's class one morning when one of the guys in B Company frantically waved me over to one of the bathrooms. "Man, you won't believe this!" he was yelling. I walked in and saw that one of the stalls had been roped off. "It's gotta be the biggest one ever!" I took a quick glance in and sure enough, there was undoubtedly the largest single piece of human feces I have ever seen. Yes, the memories are all there, no matter how I try to put 'em down.



Not long after that I was visiting some buddies over in the other side of the Quad when I heard a commotion coming from the room next door. A cadet came in grinning from ear to ear and told us to go to the window and wait. This side of South Barracks faced out over Prospect Street, which went past Mary Baldwin College. MBC was and still is an all-woman facility. This is key. After waiting a few moments we saw what had been going on. Chuck Pfarrer, the commander of the Color Guard, was leading a mission to deliver a letter to the postal box about half a block away. I have always wondered why he needed four other guys to help him do that. And why were they all naked? (Except for combat boots) I nearly pissed my pants. Here are these guys streaking down to the box and back, Johnsons flapping in the breeze and girls whistling and hooting from their windows. Oh, looks like Chuck is a natural redhead.


Next: The play's the thing...

Chapter Fourteen- SMA: Senior Year Begins

"And I couldn't get away from you
Even if I wanted to
So I hang around
Till the leaves are brown
And the summer's gone"

-Aberfeldy


A New Beginning

Over the summer I had gotten a letter from SMA that said all cadets chosen to be officers would be notified by mail and would come to school early to participate in leadership training. While I had only been a corporal at the end of my Junior year, I hoped that the turnaround in my behavior and grades would get me the "pips" on my collar. Noncom cadets had stripes on the sleeves, officers had shiny circles or diamonds on their collars. Kinda like Star Trek. The letter I got instead said that I was promoted to buck sergeant (three stripes) and would be a squad leader. Whatever disappointment I felt was overwhelmed by the excitement of getting back to those stone walls and doing it right. My buddies were all coming back and I felt a surge of confidence I had never known before in my scholastic abilities. So that's the "potential" all those teachers had been talking about these many years.

The ten days or so that I had to get ready between summer camp and SMA flew by, and now here I was back in the friendly confines of South Barracks, the sun streaming down on the open Quad and a new year before me.

An Early Crisis

Within the first few days of the '74-'75 school year an incident happened that nearly turned the cadet leadership upside down. I was up late, reading in my room, when I heard a commotion coming from the galleries outside. My room was number 113, down in the corner on the ground floor, so I was in the shadows as I slipped out to see what was up. I heard a faculty officer telling other cadets who had come out to get back to their rooms. At least one cadet officer was doing the same. I hid behind a nearby pillar and listened. I recognized a couple of voices as cadet officers, one of whom was on Battalion Staff, and they seemed very distraught. I could hear weeping and a faculty officer speaking softly, but with stern authority. I only caught a word here and there, but it was obvious that these fellows had been caught partying in somebody's room. Alcohol was surely involved but I had no firm idea if anything else was found, though later it was said some pot was there as well.

The next morning there were a lot of haggard faces among the cadet officers from South Barracks. By Third Mess that day a number of them had been reduced in rank. There was no official announcement, no Special Orders read. Just a lot of guys minus one pip or stripe. I think Colonel Love probably realized how devastating it might be to have a mass dismissal so early in the year, especially since attendance was already down by nearly 100 cadets from the previous year. I don't doubt that a lot of those guys had also built up a good amount of positive karma over the years and had to cash it in to stay alive. A classy move on the part of the Administration, in my opinion.

Music is the Master

In my Senior year the music we listened to became the soundtrack of our day to day lives. I had always enjoyed LP's and FM radio, but because we all came from such diverse backgrounds and interests there was a wealth of new material to choose from. In middle school and public high school it was the Beatles, Stones, Led Zeppelin, Jethro Tull, The Doors and all that. Once I got to SMA I heard about Yes, Emerson Lake & Palmer, Frank Zappa, Todd Rundgren, Wishbone Ash, Mahuvishnu Orchestra and Pink Floyd. But the album that became one with our world was Quadrophenia, by The Who. Each of the guys in my circle of friends found a character within the story that fit our take on teen angst. Pete was the bloody lunatic, I'll even carry your bags. I was the romantic, Is it Me for a moment? Several quotes from Quadrophenia ended up in the 1975 Yearbook. We spent a lot of our free time listening to LP's from end to end, not just enjoying the music itself, but feeling it viscerally.

Jim, Me, Boots listening to Jimi
School Days

Now it was back to class. Being a Senior and having some rank instilled a sense of purpose in me. I was in charge of my squad, and we were 1st squad, 1st platoon, A Company. When we lined up facing the audience at Parade, my guys were the first regular cadets you saw, left to right. I found my leadership style was not "tough but fair". It was "fair but tough". The guys knew what was expected quickly, and there were no excuses for screwing up. But I didn't ride them every day. I liked the idea that they would clean their rooms and maintain proper appearance without getting in their faces. Seemed to work.

I've already described my admiration for Major Neilson and Major Wease. It was so refreshing to have teachers that were passionate about their profession and who held up their subjects as something worthwhile knowing. One day Major Neilson said "All one needs for a complete sentence is a proper noun and verb combination. In fact, the best example of this can be found in the shortest verse in the Bible. The first one of you who can recite that sentence may leave class for the day." Oh my gosh, I just saw that the other day! "'Jesus wept'", I said. The Maj dutifully walked over to the door, opened it and said "Mister Newbegin, you may leave." Hot damn! Time to get on down to the Canteen for a quick snack before The Wease. Maybe Hazel is on the TV. Or Father Knows Best.

American History was a real gas. Major Johnson knew that stuff inside and out, and he would go on an on, naming names, quoting famous people, drawing parallels to current events. All the while the guys out here in the Peanut Gallery were cracking jokes. He let a lot of horseplay go right on, stopping now and then to calmly say "Now, y'all, this is gonna be on the test." When exam time came, every single thing he talked about was right there. If you weren't listening, you failed. I learned that lesson too well when I had to repeat a semester. And here I will say it for the record: I never stole Skeeter's hat shield. It was....somebody else. Sorry, Chuck, you'll have to keep on looking for the real perpetrators.

Another Brush with Disaster

One of my acquaintances at SMA, Keith Burleigh, told me that he had discovered a small cave entrance over at a nearby "mountain" called Betsy Bell. The two of us decided to go check it out over a weekend. We told another cadet, Tim Brosnan, about it and he came along as well. We got a couple of rucksacks, a length of rappelling rope, packed up some stolen Mess Hall food and set out after Inspection one Saturday.

It took us about an hour to get to the place, a hole just big enough to squeeze into at the base of a tree. Looking down into the depths of the sinkhole all I could see was a rock shelf about 2o feet down. We tied the rope off and I slid down to the shelf to see what I could see. The shaft continued around the rock and down another 50 feet or so to a sloping floor. Cool! I tossed the rope down and climbed after it. Looking around with my flashlight the first thing I saw was a dessicated turtle shell and bones. The sloping floor led to a larger chamber, a very inviting sight. So I yelled up "Hey, it's a pretty cool cavern, come on down. Burleigh and Broz slid down and we spent about an hour checking out the dead end caverns, finding a dog skeleton as well.

After eating the light lunch we had brought it was time to get on out. Suddenly Newton's law of universal gravitation reared its ugly head. It had been a breeze getting down the 70' shaft, but now we had to crawl back up using only bare hands and brawn. Not to mention that rock ledge 3/4 of the way up. It was decided that Broz would go up first because he was in the best shape. He scrabbled up, showering dirt and rocks down as he went. He squirmed around the ledge and got to the top while Burleigh and I discussed how much smarter it might have been to tell somebody where the hell we were going. I was next. It took a couple of false starts before I finally got to the rock. At six feet tall, I found it almost impossible to twist myself around the damn thing and hold on without falling back down. After 30 minutes on bone bruising effort I stood on the rock, exhausted. Tim helped me up by pulling on the rope. Together we hauled Burleigh up, and as his dirt-streaked face appeared through the hole he quipped "Hey, don't I know you guys?" Classic.

We dragged our weary bodies back to South Barracks, showered and hit our racks until First Mess on Sunday, glad to be alive.

Ouch!

I was on the SMA soccer team in my Senior year as well. One day at practice the coaches had us in lines facing each other. At the whistle we had to run to the ball in the center, control it, and pass it to a coach. When my turn came and the whistle blew, I drove forward, head down and hell bent for leather. I saw the ball just ahead and kicked into a sprint. Just as I got to the ball I looked up, just in time to see the forehead of teammate Thomas Battaglia. Then my whole world exploded. They call it "seeing stars", and you just don't know how true that is until it happens to you. As I fell I saw my two front teeth falling to the ground with me. Thomas had blood streaked down his face and he was down too. Somebody threw me a t shirt to stuff in my mouth and we were rushed to the Infirmary. Major Kegley, my Spanish IV teacher, was on duty on he drove me to the local dental surgeon, where I got 5 Novocaine shots and 22 stitches in my mouth. I was back in barracks after Third Mess and I was starving, even through the drugged haze I was in. Major Kegley went into town and got me a chili dog, fries and a soda. What a standup guy. In games we played that season I used to love flashing my toothless grin at the opposition just to freak them out. I didn't even get the worst of it. Thomas stayed in the Infirmary, where our horse doctor neglected to give him a tetanus shot. His wound got infected and he had to go back to Venezuela. Hey, Thomas, if you read this, Lo siento mucho. Espero que se sienta mejor.

Coming soon: Christmas, Christmas Time is near, time for joy and time for cheer. We've been good but we can't last. Hurry Christmas, hurry fast.