The Boo (18 page)

A corollary to the story of Ulysses: Ulysses won a scholarship to graduate school after he graduated from The Citadel. The younger brother came to The Citadel as a freshman a year later. He played mediocre football and performed disastrously in the classroom. He flunked out in his sophomore year.

Cadet Harlent was one of the most creative salesmen ever to peddle sandwiches at The Citadel. He perfected what he considered a fool-proof method for making money without getting busted by the Commandant’s Department. He would take all his sandwiches and put them on the bench in the shower room. He placed a cigar box beside the sandwiches. Famished cadets could walk in the shower room, put their money in the cigar box, and take one sandwich. Meanwhile, Harlent had removed his pants and was sitting on a commode doing his homework and watching his profits soar. He sat on the commode for three hours each night. The only occupational hazard he noticed was a tendency for his behind to go asleep.

Kroghie Andressen, nationally ranked punter for the football team, was the official pigeon-killer of Padgett-Thomas Barracks in the off season. Kroghie was such a disaster militarily, but such a deadly marksman that
The Boo
figured he could be of some service to The Citadel by thinning out the pigeons who left their feces in so many conspicuous places around the campus.

One night Colonel and Mrs. Courvoisie were returning to campus when they spotted a cadet’s car parked just outside the gates. Whenever cadets got itchy feet or the restless urge to depart after Taps and All-in, they would station their cars outside the campus perimeter, then follow the railroad tracks to the relative safety of Hampton Park. From there, the wine and lusts of Charleston were easily available.
The Boo
knew this ploy well. The sticker on the car showed this particular cadet was a Company Commander with the improbable name of Casey Batt. At nine o’clock, Cadet Batt received a phone call. “Bubba, is your car parked off campus?” “Yes, Sir.” “Bubba, were you planning to sneak off campus after lights were out tonight?” “Yes, Sir.” “Well, Bubba, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “No, Sir. I won’t, Sir.” When Cadet Batt hung up his roommate asked who was calling. “That was
The Boo
telling me not to sneak off campus tonight.” “How in the hell did he know?” “I don’t know, but he sure doesn’t want to me to go.” The roommate never believed him.

Cadet Ron Ellison, having devised the perfect plan for getting out of confinements, stormed confidently into the Colonel’s office one Thursday afternoon. Ellison, an acknowledged wit, was on one of his initial forays into the world of
The Boo
and had heard by rumor that
The Boo
admired brashness and creative approaches by cadets inspired by the necessity of getting away from The Citadel on weekends. Therefore, he had practiced his line well. “Colonel,” he said, “you’ve got to postpone my confinements this weekend. I’ll do anything. I’ll wash your car, mow your lawn, or date your ugly daughter.”

With this,
The Boo
leapt from his seat and nose to nose said to Ron, “What ugly daughter are you talking about? My daughter is as pretty as any girl you’ve ever seen.” Meekly, very meekly, the young lamb whispered, “Colonel, I didn’t know you had a daughter.” With this, he slinked out of the room.

A green night gown, which
The Boo
still wears, was forthcoming. A kind of peace offering from one who had survived.

Joe Blank used to keep an ample supply of gin in his hair tonic bottle.

Cadet Benny Kern rushed into
The Boo’s
office waving a telegram which said that Mrs. Kern was sick in the hospital.
The Boo
said he knew for sure that Benny’s mother was not in the hospital and refused to let him go on emergency leave. Benny introduced his wife to the Colonel on graduation day.

Courvoisie’s sense of the dramatic sometimes got the best of him. To break the doldrums of winter tour formation,
The Boo
had two bandsmen exchange rifles for drums. They beat a steady, evocative cadence for two solid hours enlivening a dull and tedious exercise of cadet discipline.

Courvoisie was walking across the parade ground one afternoon when he spotted a figure two hundred feet away from him. The figure wore a grey hat, so
The Boo
instantly thought a cadet was out of uniform. He yelled the good yell, froze the cadet in mid-step, bawled him out, then apologized when he realized the boy was a visiting keydet from VMI, reputedly a military school between Charleston and West Point.

Band Company had two traditions which were honored by her members religiously. One was an annual occurrence. The Band Company knobs would wake up at 3 a.m., blow the bugle for reveille, beat on drums, blow on horns, roll out on the quadrangle, then race back for their rooms as bleary-eyed upperclassmen stumbled out of their rooms to begin a new day. The sweat parties after the celebration of this tradition were also legendary. The other tradition was a bit more specialized. Every fourth year, the seniors would initiate a crackdown on the under three classes. They would go through the rooms of the juniors, tear them apart, throw laundry on the floor, rip open presses, tear the beds to pieces, and give each junior fifteen or twenty demerits so their visit would be remembered. The sophomores and freshmen fared as poorly. The seniors then inspected the furious underclassmen at formation, burned them for improperly shined shoes, smudged brass, and wrinkled trousers. For two weeks this harassment continued. The juniors and sophomores rankled under this pressure. They cursed and mumbled expletives under their breaths. They planned mutinies, uprisings and murders. At the end of two weeks, the seniors invited the entire company to the company commander’s room. The company commander then informed the underclassmen that the prior two weeks had been a joke, the demerits did not count and the seniors were treating the entire company to a party. The seniors then brought in several cakes and cases of soft drinks to appease the anger and smoothe the feathers of their subordinates.

J. C. Hare is a lawyer in Charleston who graduated from The Citadel. Whenever a cadet ran afoul of the law,
The Boo
sent the cadet to Mr. Hare. Hare helped twenty or thirty cadets out of jams and charged them nothing for his services.

The Tourist Club was one of
Boo’s
most popular creations during his reign as Assistant Commandant. A cadet won membership in the Tourist Club after he had walked 100 tours on the second battalion quadrangle. The cadet received a certificate specifying that he was a member of the most exclusive club on campus. The document was signed and dated by
The Boo.
Cadets eligible for the club, but overlooked by
The Boo
often came looking for him to receive their certificate. One cadet wrote for his certificate after his graduation.

Gene Loring did not go to parade his senior year. He got so fat that he could not fit into his full dress blouse.

Bill Slay had an enemy somewhere. Twice he reported to
The Boo
that someone had loosened the lugs on the wheels of his car.

When
Boo
was Tac of Band Company, he initiated a Bum of the Year Award to be presented to the most reprehensible private in the senior class. Privates Jones, Lehman, Vaux, and Chamberlain wore this honor like a laurel wreath.

The Boo
went through Third Battalion one day in 1968 on a casual search and destroy mission. He went in Ray Carpenter’s room and opened a blue flight bag. A gin bottle was hidden under a sweater. There was a tablespoon of gin left in the bottle.
The Boo
let out a yell for the Officer of the Guard and told him to have Carpenter report to Jenkins Hall on the double. Carpenter came running before noon formation, swearing he thought the bottle was empty. In classic Courvoisie fashion, he bawled Carpenter out, threatened him with crucifixion and sent him out of the office with 25 confinements. Carpenter had the good sense to realize he was being let off the meat hook. To show
Boo
his heartfelt appreciation, he assembled the entire contingent of “I” Company on October 19 and serenaded
The Boo
with a spirited rendition of “Happy Birthday, Dear
Boo.”

Hal Mahar, drum major in Band Company, was baptized a Catholic in his senior year at The Citadel.
The Boo
and Mrs. Courvoisie attended the ceremony as godparents.

Bill Warner once crept up to
The Boo’s
green Comet, raised the hood, placed a fire cracker in the ignition system, closed the hood quietly, turned around to sneak back to his room, and bumped into
The Boo
who had watched the entire operation with keen interest.

One thing cadets despised was the Charleston tour buses which daily rolled about the campus. Old ladies peered out of the buses, pointed at groups of cadets walking toward classes, and generally made the cadets feel like participants in a freak show. Bill Warner’s cartoon, censored by the administration and given to
The Boo,
depicted a scene most cadets applauded vigorously.

The parade ground had a tendency to become a little soggy after rainfall. Even though cadets tried to get the administration to solve this drainage problem, they also censored this cartoon.

THE FATHER WHO TRAVELED THE HARD ROAD

During the winter,
The Boo
shied away from any affiliation with the honor system. The danger always existed that the Commandant’s Department could use the system as a weapon against the cadets, a practice which would seriously impair the effectiveness of the honor system itself. All the procedural affairs, such as the investigations and trials, were handled by the members of honor court. But summer school was another matter entirely. No honor court remained on campus to pass judgment on peers who lied, cheated or stole during the sweltering months of June, July and August. As Colonel Courvoisie told Colonel James Carpenter, faculty advisor to the Honor Committee, “In the summer it is my baby. I have to write all the rules and the cadets have to play my kind of game. A cadet is a cadet whether it’s winter or summer. If he is going to be honorable in January, then there is no reason why he should not be honorable in July. There is no one to enforce the honor system in the summer except me. It is my ball and glove.”

So
The Boo
became a sort of one man honor system. If someone was reported for stealing,
The Boo
would gather evidence, call the boy in, and give him two chances: he could either turn in his resignation as a cadet or stand trial for an honor violation when the Corps reconvened in September. In this way a continuity in the honor system was maintained throughout the year.