The Boo

by Pat Conroy

  It had character. If given rank, most assuredly the title of senior private would be bestowed upon it. A sloppy, disheveled car in a world of Impalas and Super Sports. A relaxed car, strolling the campus unhurriedly, seeing what could be seen in the tiny universe to which it was confined; a car where justice sat, where judge and jury smoked a long, long cigar and awarded punishments for scuffed shoes and corroded brass. The Boo’s car could drive by a whole company of cadets and elicit cries of “Hey Boo” from a hundred sources. A car which sometimes swung out of Lesesne Gate and followed the railroad tracks to The Ark, where scores of cadets have met a Waterloo. A place where many cadets have exited with bellies afire to find themselves facing the inscrutable headlights of the Green Comet and the faint glow of a Tampa Nugget illuminating the steering wheel.

  The Green Comet became a landmark, a touchstone universally accepted by cadets as a symbol of The Citadel. Cadets at home on Christmas or Easter Furlough would see a similar car pass them in Cordele, Georgia, or Pen Yann, New York, and the reaction would be the same. Their heads would turn instinctively to see if by some chance, some blind miracle that it was The Boo’s car they saw. When they returned to the campus, they would stop Colonel Courvoisie to tell him they thought about him during furlough.

  The Citadel Museum could never collect any item which could define and embody a group of years so well as the car The Boo drove. The car became a symbol of the man and ultimately of the school. The car itself represented the discipline which separated The Citadel from other schools. It also caught the spirit of the school itself: a trifle eccentric, a little odd, yet possessing a character and fascination all of its own. The cadets would wave at the car and the man inside would wave back. That’s the way it should be. That’s the way it always was.

  OF AND ABOUT MUSEUMS

  The Citadel Museum is a sterile, quiet place where nice, dedicated people gather to preserve the school’s history behind glass cases and locked doors. Cadets usually go there once in their career at The Citadel and never go again. The museum is financed so poorly and supported so inadequately by the school itself that it is a tribute to the dedication of the staff that the museum has survived at all.

  One problem the museum has always had in the eyes of some cadets is its worship of General Mark Clark. One whole room of the museum is dedicated to the propagation of Clark’s exploits through two wars. The room itself is dark, an inner sanctum lit with tabernacle lights, and smoking with a kind of mystical incense which seems to complement the godly aura of the man himself. One display case shows the pair of pants Clark wore on a spy mission to North Africa. In the next case the visitor fully expects to see the jock strap Clark wore during an intramural volleyball game at West Point. Statues of Clark, pictures of Clark, letters from Clark, letters to Clark, speeches by Clark, and a seemingly endless amount of Clark memorabilia helps make the museum a monument to his career. If any pictures were available of Clark walking on water or changing wine into water, they would dutifully be placed in the museum by people who suffer guilt feelings that The Citadel has never produced an international figure of its own. Instead of the museum being a reflection of the cadets and of cadet life, it has become a reflection of The Citadel as some would like to have her projected to the world: a signer of peace treaties, a victor in major battles, an important force in the affairs of the world. The unique flavor of cadet life has been preserved only in a couple of displays and they constitute the most significant portion of the museum itself.

  When visitors come to The Citadel Museum for a look into the life of The Citadel or a leisurely peek into cadet traditions, they miss the finest collection of cadet history, lore, and memorabilia on campus. If they wanted to know about cadets at their creative, don’t give a damn, let’s get-the-system beat, they would come to The Boo’s office.

  Boo’s office is cluttered with cadet contraband covering a ten year period. Cartoons, ERW’s, nametags, newspapers, books and a hundred other assorted items line the wall and give his office the appearance of a broken down pawn shop. Here he keeps the things for which he remembers cadets the most: their rebellion against the system, their efforts to find identity in The Citadel world of gray, their unflagging spirit, and their ability to find humor in any and every situation that arose. The list I give is incomplete, but fairly representative.

  One cadet fairly weary of The Citadel’s restrictions, presented The Boo with a statue of Mickey Mouse dressed splendidly in a Citadel Shako and Pom-pom.

  Cadet Powell from Florence gave Boo the head of a stuffed snarling bobcat another cadet had stolen from a beer joint on the Savannah Highway.

  A fake package, owned by Malvin Glass, addressed to his father, Colonel Glass, which sat on his bookshelf for four years. The package was neatly wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and stamped with the proper amount of postage. The bottom was false, however, and this innocent, but official-looking box sheltered Cadet Glass’s coffee pot for four long years.

  A rubber stamp saying “Drop Dead” which The Boo occasionally used on ERW’s when he thought the cadet was trying to dazzle him with unnecessary footwork.

  Colonel Courvoisie’s own Shako which he saved from his cadet days at The Citadel.

  A favorite phrase of The Boo’s when administering justice to some offending or offensive cadet was to “bust your gonards, Bubba.” One cadet gave The Boo a wooden mallet and a rounded ball to aid in such an undertaking.

  One cadet presented Boo with a can of Professor Willoughby’s World Famous Bullcrap Repellent to help prevent and cure cases of Bullcrapping. The directions on the can read, “When Bullcrap is detected, aim atomizer at source and spray for one second.” Professor Willoughby suggests his patented B.S. shovel for chronic cases.

  Cadet Vriezlaar presented The Boo his removable car sticker which could be taken off his car as soon as he left campus.

  A silver cup presented to The Boo by the Class of 1961 making him an honorary member.

  Mock newspaper headlines from cadets debauching at the Mardi Gras in New Orleans. “Cadets Molest Virgins on Bourbon Street,” reads one. Another announces, “Colonel Courvoisie Arrives In Town: Red light District Reopens.”

  A statue of Napoleon sits high above The Boo’s desk. This is the emblem of Courvoisier liquor and a thoroughly inebriated member of the Summerall Guards heisted it from a bar in New Orleans, scratched out the “R” and brought it home for The Boo.

  The largest item ever to sit in The Boo’s makeshift museum was a twelve foot aluminum boat which a cadet had brought illegally into the barracks.

  On the wall hangs a portrait of The Boo drawn by George O‘Kelly of the Class of 1965. Beside it sits a certificate naming The Boo “Tac Officer Emeritus of The Regimental Band.”

  Jimbo Plunkett, shipped by The Boo for excessive demerits, sent The Boo a flag on March 17 declaring him an official Irishman.

  A huge bronzed shoe worn by Thomas McDow through 120 tours and presented to The Boo as a gift when the tours were completed.

  A basketball player, with a jaundiced view of The Citadel and her traditions, painted his shako a bright silver and kept it on display in his room for two years—until The Boo inspected his room one night.

  A neatly bound book entitled “How to Fool The Boo” by Colonel Courvoisie. A cadet’s father owned a printing shop and had the book sent to Colonel Courvoisie as a gift. One opens the book and finds 250 blank pages to study.

  One whole shelf of The Boo’s bookcase is covered by false nametags worn by cadets at The Citadel over a period of years. Since every cadet had to wear a nametag at all times when he was wandering around the campus, it was inevitable that some cadets would wear names which reflected their own particular philosophy or attitude toward The Citadel or themselves. The most popular false nametag The Boo encountered was the one which proudly said, “Mr. Military.” Some of the others have been: Agamennon, Budweiser, Wildman, Bones, Moon, Yogi, Inefficient, Polar Bear, Clod, Study, Fat Elf, and Degenerate.r />
  A cadet presented The Boo with a navel salt cellar. When The Boo protested that he had no stinking idea what to do with a goddam navel salt cellar the cadet patiently explained, “Colonel, you stick this little, tiny cup into your bellybutton. You then pour a little salt into the little cup. Then you get a couple of sticks of celery, dip it in the salt, and watch T.V.” “Thanks a million, Bubba,” said Boo.

  A kitchen match box, when opened, reveals an exact replica of a Citadel bed fully made and ready for inspection. Inside the match box is this inscription, “A portable Beauty Rest to take a nap between classes in pursuit of the Rip Van Winkle Habit.”

  Intricately carved waist plates by Bill Leffler describing the punishment orders he served:

  “Firearms in Barracks, 3 Dec. 1966, W. A. Leffler”

  Every time Bill received a punishment order The Boo received a waist plate.

  The mother of Dave Murphy was absolutely, unabashedly delighted when the system caught up with her son and The Boo gave him a punishment order. She sent Colonel Courvoisie a whole box of materials to give her son: paper money “for paying off the Commandant and buying back your stripes,” 44 dot-to-dot pictures to help while away the time during Saturday night confinements, and Dr. Scholl’s footpads to prevent sore feet from walking tours.

  A huge, graphically illustrated invitation “To Da Boo” drawn by Johnny Law, inviting the Colonel to the graduation exercises of all senior bums. Inside, a senior private with a torn, filthy uniform and flies swarming around his head stood in mock attention.

  A replica of a cannon which also served to light The Boo’s cigar.

  Three scrapbooks filled with ERW’s written by cadets whose minds remained fresh and creative within the system.

  A trowel with a picture of a doorway completely bricked up remind the casual visitor of Bob Wenhold’s and Larry Kurtz’s famous attempt to seal up their first sergeant in his room. The first sergeant, overcome by his own importance, was making it tough on the underclassmen in his company. Early one Sunday morning, Bob and Larry crept down the gallery with an enormous load of material and proceeded to brick up every inch of their first sergeant’s door. They hoped the authorities at The Citadel could not break down their wall until the first sergeant had time enough to starve to death. Unfortunately, when the surprised first sergeant opened his door the next morning, he was able to burst his way out of his room. The cement had not had time enough to harden.

  Peter Them provided a recent addition. Upon returning from Viet Nam, Pete came to Colonel Courvoisie’s house. The Colonel wasn’t there so Pete presented his gift to Mrs. Courvoisie. It was a rifle taken from a dead Viet Cong infantry man. On the rifle was a gold plaque with the inscription, “To The Boo etc….”

  After he gave it to Mrs. Courvoisie, Pete cleared his throat and said, “Mrs. Courvoisie, don’t misunderstand me. I want the Colonel to live for a long time, but when he dies, can I have the rifle back.”

  The museum also contains other unmentionables.

  MORE BITS AND PIECES

  Tim Belk was the first recorded cadet ever to bleach his hair while at The Citadel. He was also the first cadet ever to receive a punishment order for it.

  A nervous Cadet named Roderman had a punishment order rescinded. He brought the Assistant Commandant a note from a doctor saying he would probably die if he walked any more tours. His stomach ulcers were so bad the doctor feared for Cadet Roderman’s life if he continued to pace back and forth across the second battalion quadrangle. After much deliberation, the Commandant’s Department rescinded the order.

  Sam Dufford wished to put the military skills he developed at The Citadel to immediate use. Since the United States, unfortunately, was fighting no war at the time of Dufforďs graduation, he went to the hills of Cuba and became one of Fidel Castro’s most trusted advisors.

  Spit-shined, heel-clicking, ultra sharp, gung-ho Joel Moore was practicing sword manual before his mirror one night. While returning his sword to the sheath one time, Joel missed completely and made a two-foot slit down his leg instead. Poor Joel found it difficult living amidst the snickering congregation of privates and five-year men forevermore.

  Some of the Band Company boys discovered that the street between Number 1 and Number 2 barracks had no name. In the dark of the night they grunted and panted their way out of the North Sallyport of Padgett-Thomas Barracks carrying an extremely heavy and official looking street marker. When they finally crept back to their rooms, they had succeeded in naming a street without official sanction. When the band gathers in white and gray, with gleaming horn and polished drum, in full splendor to begin the Friday parade, the first roll of the drum begins on “Courvoisie Boulevard” and “Via Freda.”

  Every year on his birthday, General Clark granted amnesty to the cadets. This habit soon became tradition and the cadets with punishment orders or confinements eagerly awaited the first day of May each year. Toward the end of Clark’s tenure as president, five cadets decided to take advantage of Clark’s benevolent disposition on the celebration of his birthday. Two weeks before the feast day five shadows left the campus illegally and did not return for four days. They drank enough beer and chased enough women to satisfy their desire for the more salient pleasures of civilian life. They returned to campus giggling and confident that they would walk tours for one weekend and then be a part of Clark’s general amnesty the following week. When The Boo figured out the game, however, he sat on the order for two weeks, taking no action whatsoever. The five walked no tours the following weekend. Their punishment finally came out on May 2, a brief twenty-four hours after Clark granted amnesty to the grateful Corps. C. B. Taylor’s father wrote The Boo an iceberg of a letter asking why he had not acted upon the offense as soon as it was reported. And though the boys complained bitterly and claimed unfair treatment, they became familiar figures at tour formation in second battalion.

  Boo’s biggest weekend for bailing out cadet lawbreakers came in the spring of 1967. On Friday night the police called The Boo at his home. They said a Cadet Dustin was cooling off in the Charleston jail and The Boo could come get him for a mere 300 dollars. Dustin, a big biceped jock, had resisted arrest, assaulted a policeman and disturbed the peace. Boo went and bailed him out. The next night two more cadets insulted a couple of policemen and The Boo made the familiar trek to the station to retrieve them. Bail was set at 100 dollars for each of them. On Sunday morning of the same weekend, Terry Der- van’s girl friend called The Boo and begged him to bail Terry out of jail. Boo calmed the girl down, got into the green Comet and went to Dervan’s aid. He had sassed a policeman who picked him up for speeding. Properly chastened, Boo brought him back to the campus. Sunday afternoon, the desk sergeant called Boo for the fifth time that weekend.

  “Colonel, this is Sergeant Adamson again. Yep, we got another one. This kid was speeding, driving without a license, and sassing a police officer. Can you come get him?” “Yes, Sir. I’ll be right down.”

  When the weekend was over, Boo had freed five cadets on sight recognition. Total bail was over 600 dollars.

  The Boo says he was 44 years old before he knew a Chief of Police and then he became acquainted with five of them. In taking care of cadets and summer school students The Boo found it difficult at times to raise $300.00 on a Sunday morning to bail a few “lambs” out of jail. He established contact with all Chiefs of Police in the area and with their cooperation worked out the following solution. The Boo would be notified as soon as a cadet was apprehended for speeding, fighting, etc. The Boo could have a cadet released on sight recognition, return him to barracks and then produce the culprit in time for court.

  In addition to protect the cadets, where possible against court charges on their records (the services are wary of awarding commissions to people with court records) the authorities were generally agreeable to drop a $25.00 fine for 10/60/3 months restriction awarded by The Citadel.

  Five-year men did not give a crap about the military traditions and re
sponsibilities inherent in a Citadel education. After all, it was only a miscarriage of justice they were still at the school; and, their classmates had already begun their careers, married their sweethearts, and commenced to live like ordinary human beings. So a certain amount of residual bitterness rested in the soul of each five-year man on campus. When The Boo took over as Assistant Commandant he immediately saw the five-year man would be most likely to skip parade, sleep through chapel, or sneak out to Charleston for a quick beer. To alleviate the alienation of fifth year men somewhat, The Boo instituted a policy which enjoyed immediate and gratifying success. He took the salute gun detail, the group of cadets responsible for firing the cannons at parade, and filled its ranks completely with five-year men. This, in fact, became the only criterion for membership in the group—that your shadow had graced The Citadel campus past the date when the rest of your class left the campus. The psychological impact on these men was considerable. A five-year man whose appearance reminded one of a perfect blend between a custodian and a grave digger suddenly blossomed into a shining picture postcard image of the perfect cadet. Others who had skipped as many parades as there were Fridays became prompt and eager at the parade formations. They cut their hair, shined their shoes, and performed their task efficiently and with conspicuous pride. All of which supported one of The Boo’s dusty theories that every man, no matter how disreputable or undesirable he seems, needs to belong and to function and to contribute something valuable to the effort of the entire group.