The Boo (9 page)

One night,
The Boo
and Mrs. Courvoisie were returning to The Citadel campus after visiting a cadet at the Naval Hospital when
The Boo
spotted two shadows creeping down the railroad tracks near Hampton Park. He jolted the Comet to a stop, leapt out of the car, and boomed out in his death-angel voice, “Come here, Bums.” Had the cadets run for it, churned their legs piston-like and fled into the darkness,
The Boo
would never have caught them. But like many cadets, the mystique of his voice, and the very power of it, froze them to the spot. Instead of running, they walked meekly over to the green Comet.
The Boo
took their names, grinned and joked with them, then told them to go enjoy their beer. It would be the last one they would taste for a long time.

On one other occasion,
The Boo
stumbled upon a group of cadets heading for The Ark. He had taken his wife for a bowl of okra soup and a glass of Michelob beer at Jimmy Dengate’s, a place
The Boo
often went because Jimmy refused to serve cadets. Driving back to the campus, he saw three cadets coming off the railroad track, heading for The Ark.
Boo
stopped the car right beside them, leapt out, collared two of them immediately, but could not get the third one who disappeared into The Ark.
The Boo
took the names of the two cadets. He looked at one of the names carefully, then he said, “Bubba, didn’t I give you 3/60 yesterday afternoon?” “Yes, Sir, you did.” “Well, Bubba, I’ve got just one thing to say to you.” “What’s that, Colonel?” “Run, Bubba, run like hell.” With that, the cadet, heeding what seemed like brilliant advice, ran with all deliberate speed back to The Citadel campus.
Boo
entered The Ark to see about the cadet who escaped. He exited from a side door just as
Boo
entered.

INCIDENT AT CAPERS HALL

In his first summer as Assistant Commandant when he still lived off campus,
The Boo
received a frantic phone call from the guard at Lesesne Gate. “Colonel, I think someone is sneaking around Capers Hall. It’s dark, but I swear I saw someone go into the building.” “O.K. Bubba, get five cadets together and I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

Boo
arrived on campus about a quarter after ten. The cadets were assembled around the guardhouse. The guard said no one had left the building. Whoever was inside the building had not escaped. He was sure of this. Colonel Courvoisie stationed cadets at each exit of the building. He then selected the largest and most powerful looking cadet in the group to accompany him in a room to room search of the building. Before they entered the front door, they armed themselves with makeshift clubs that could brain a small water buffalo if the occasion arose. Starting with the bottom floor they searched each classroom. They turned on every light as they passed. They worked slowly and methodically, making sure they left no corner unchecked.
Boo
then walked to the west stairs while Cadet Boney waited at the east stairs. On each floor they checked the elevator to make sure no one had used it. First floor, second floor, third floor. Every room, closet, latrine, and office came under careful scrutiny. Pressure mounted as
The Boo
climbed in darkness to the fourth floor. He grasped his club more tightly. The building was silent and stoical. When
Boo
and Cadet Boney flicked on the hall light, they heard a faint shuffling sound coming from a small broom closet. Both of them froze.
The Boo
said, “Raise that stick, Bubba.” They raised their clubs over their heads. The quarry, whoever he was, cowered in darkness.
The Boo
slipped to the door, opened it quickly, and stepped back just as quickly. A shaft of light filled the closet. A thin, cramped figure stood amidst a phalanx of mops, his head buried in the mop strings. He was trembling. Courvoisie ordered him out of the closet. The two clubs were still in the air. The boy stepped out with his hands raised in the air. He offered no resistance at all. The clubs gradually came down.

Under investigation, the cadet admitted he broke into Capers Hall to steal exams for the purpose of selling them in the barracks. He was a six foot six basketball player who reportedly had great potential as an athlete. This potential, however, was never realized at The Citadel.

ERW’S

ERW’s reveal as much about the nature of The Citadel and her cadets as the Dead Sea Scrolls reveal about the ancient Jewish sect of Essenes. Explaining the function of an ERW to a non-Citadelian is almost as difficult as translating those same scrolls. In military language, this “explanation required written” is a rather unsubtle method of extracting confessions from men who otherwise would remain silent and unpunished. If, for instance, a cadet is absent from a formation, he is asked to write an ERW to explain his whereabouts at the time of this formation. He may have been dying of cholera in the rear of the gymnasium. Therefore, his punishment would not be as severe as it normally would be. The cadet might have been absent because he slept through formation, received a phone call from his girl friend telling him about their blessed event, or any of a thousand reasons. No matter what the reason, the cadet had to explain his absence to the Commandant’s Department. It was up to Colonel Courvoisie to read the ERW’s and to decide what punishment be levied on the offender. Most of the time these ERW’s were dull documents, sterile as test tubes, without life or personality. They were written in the designated formula; terse, factual, declarative sentences whose primary function was to inform, not to entertain. But the presence of
The Boo
—the impalpable, pervasive presence—which somehow invited experiment and stimulated creativity, touched a large segment of the cadet population. As Assistant Commandant he collected a large portfolio of ERW’s that surpassed the general level of the genre. He kept the ones that amused him; he saved the ones that by the cold precision of their logic pointed out the inconsistencies in the system. The ERW’s you will read on the next pages are a small part of legacy of ten years in the Commandant’s Department. You will note that The Citadel has produced no major poets. You might find grammatical errors, misspellings, and butchered usage. Because of this,
The Boo
never criticized the English Department when they lowered the boom on incoming freshmen. He saw daily the need for improved communication but he also saw the tremendous potential in the cadets. Their humor and unflagging spirit daily entertained him in his office. Not many cadets summoned the nerve to write him flippant, sarcastic ERW’s, but those who did never regretted it. He would call them on the phone, chew them out, give them hell and hang up. According to custom, they would worship him from that moment onward.

These ERW’s are the stuff of The Citadel, for they capture the bright spirits which dwelt beneath the cover of grey uniforms. They convey the important message that the cadet was ruled by his environment externally only, that The Citadel could control the surface, but not the soul of him beneath it. The ERW’s on the following pages are some of the best produced in the eight-year Courvoisie reign. The non-Citadelian will struggle to see humor in any of them; The Citadel graduate will find this chapter the most humorous and memorable in the book.

The ERW, like Gaul, was divided into three parts: the first part stated whether the report was correct or incorrect; the second part gave the specific details surrounding the report; the third part stated whether the offense was intentional, unintentional, or no offense at all. It is all part of the general confusion surrounding life in the barracks. All part of the game.

5 March 1964

1. The report is correct.

2. Due to delicate, amorous circumstances I could not tear myself away from my paramour, and the consequences find me writing this ERW as I was tearfully, regretfully late.

3. The offense was unintentional as I had no control of my emotions.

29 February 1965

1. The report is sadly correct.

2. Due to my frenzied attempt to spit shine my shoes and blitz out a few minor scratches in my brass and still get to my destination on time, the signing out procedure that I would surely have conformed to had I not been so particular about my customarily immaculate appearance, slipped my over-burdened mind. I offer my humble apologies in lieu of any punishment.

3. The offense was very, very unintentional.

20 October 1964

1. The report is correct.

2. When I first came upon the cat, she was cold, starving, and did not even purr. Due to the love and affection in my heart, my soul told me to help this orphan so she could once again purr. Also realizing the family of rats which inhabit my dwelling every night, the cat would be able to help me get rid of the rats. Cat (as I called her) became efficient at exterminating the unwanted creatures. Cat brought joy and comfort to my heart in hearing her once again purr, and in showing her affection for me.

3. The offense was intentional.

(handwritten): Your love and devotion should be devoted to higher vertebrates.

14 March 1966

1. The report is correct.

2. I was performing a gymnastic clown routine at the halftime of the Blue-White Football game at Johnson Hagood Stadium, when due to excessive stretching and bending, the seam in the rear of my shorts tore. At the time I did not realize my shorts had torn to the extent which they had. If I had realized such I would have confined my movements to eliminate such undue embarrassment. I was performing the act as a favor to Mr. Reed of the Athletic Department, and had no intention of including such an exhibit in the show. The accident was an event which could not have been prevented.

3. The offense was not intentional.

17 April 1962

1. The report is believed to be incorrect.

2. When I fell in for Friday Afternoon Inspection on the date of the offense, my uniform (to include the pom-pom on my shako), was clean and free of extraneous matter, animal or otherwise. That afternoon, I could not help but notice the unusually large number of flying insects flitting about my head, harassing me and practically every other man present and standing in formation. This type of insect is called scientifically, Insecta, Arthropoda, Diptera, and is commonly referred to as, the “gnat.” During the time between assembly for inspection and the moment the inspecting officer confronted me, a number of some type of insect apparently became enmeshed in the fuzz of my pom pon and were unable to free themselves. Upon falling out after completion of inspection, I checked my shako and found that there were one or two Insecta Arthropoda Diptera (“gnats”) imbedded in my pom-pom. They were definitely not, as stated in the report, Insecta Arthropoda Isoptera Reticulitermes, common “termites.” Only a small percentage (queens and their mates) are able to fly, and since the ordinary workers and soldiers far outnumber the queens and their mates, and also since the latter types seldom leave the colony, it would have had to have been workers or soldiers that alighted on my pom-pom; and since this type of “termite” is unable to fly, they would have encountered considerable difficulty in reaching my pom-pom between assembly and inspection. The insects on my pom-pom were, therefore, “gnats,” rather than “termites.” The following visual aids are submitted:

Insecta Arthropoda Isoptera Reticulitermes

“termite”

Insecta Arthropoda Diptera

“gnat”

3. There was no offense.