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