F Troop and Other Citadel Stories

Tom Worley

Description

Short stories about character-building experiences at the storied military academy in the 1960s

From its founding in 1842 the Citadel has been steeped in tradition. There have been changes through the years, but the basics of the military code and the plebe system have remained constant. Citadel graduate Tom Worley has crafted this collection of short stories about life at the South Carolina military academy during the 1960s. While the stories are fictional, they are inspired in part by his days as a student on the college campus. With humor and dramatic clarity, Worley reveals the harshness of the plebe system, how success is achieved through perseverance, and the character-building benefits of a Citadel education.

These seventeen stories are told from the perspective of two main characters—cadets Pete Creger and Sammy Graham—who are members of F Company. By turns surprising and entertaining, the collected stories range from the emotional and physical trials of being a knob in the plebe system, the brutality of hazing, and the fear and fun of company pranks, to the friendship and camaraderie the system fosters and the tremendous pride shared by those who wear the coveted Citadel ring.

Best known for its Corps of Cadets, the Citadel attracts students who desire a college education within a classical military system in which leadership and character training are essential parts of the overall experience. Any romanticized notion of military bravado is quickly shattered the moment students set foot on campus and their parents drive away. Many cadets are left wondering, "What have I signed up for?" Worley's stories shed light on the pain and the pride, explaining why, he says, "most cadets at the Citadel hated the place while they were there and loved everything about it once they'd graduated. They were bonded together for life. Perhaps that's the greatest thing the Citadel did for them."

Sujets

• Segunda Guerra Mundial
• Mr.
• Big Fan
• Supply Officer (Royal Navy)
• The Long Gray Line
• The Summerall Guards
• Bubba
• Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge
• Star of the West
• Von Ryan's Express
• Mrs.
• F Troop
• The Miller's Tale
• Mark W. Clark
• Military order
• World War II
• Short story
• Joel Chandler Harris
• Mom and Dad
• Headline
• Short Stories
• Fort Sumter
• MR
• Fiction
• Lewis Carroll
• Seconde Guerre mondiale

Informations

• Publié par: University of South Carolina Press
• Date de parution: 15 avril 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781611173352
• Langue: English

Extrait

F TROOP
and Other Citadel Stories
F TROOP
and Other Citadel Stories
Tom Worley
2014 University of South Carolina
Published by the University of South Carolina Press Columbia, South Carolina 29208
www.sc.edu/uscpress
23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Worley, Tom.
[Short stories. Selections]
F Troop and other Citadel stories / Tom Worley.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-61117-333-8 (hardbound : alk. paper) - ISBN 978-1-61117-334-5 (pbk. : alk. paper) - ISBN 978-1-61117-335-2 (e-book)
i. Title.
PS3623.O37F38 2014
813 .6-dc23
2013036698
This book is dedicated to the Citadel s long gray line. Especially to the Class of 1968 and to the F Troopers. And to the boys who did not make it.
CONTENTS
Author s Note
Knob Year Begins
To the Showers
Colonel Sydney and the Sweet Potato Sermon
Doughnuts and Chocolate Ice Cream
Company Barber
Knob Rebellion
The Long Gray Line
Echo Taps
F Troop
The Hand of God
Command Decision
I Wear the Ring
Captain Schierick
Encounters with the Boo
A Mutual Friend
SCUM
Mess
AUTHOR S NOTE
F Troop and Other Citadel Stories is a work of fiction. The Citadel and all the settings are real places. Some of the dates are real, but others are fictionalized. Some of the events are inspired by actual experiences, but the details are fictionalized. All the major characters, with the exception of the Boo, are fictional. A few characters are inspired by persons I ve known, but as portrayed in these stories, are entirely fictional.
KNOB YEAR BEGINS
T he Guidon is a small booklet, published annually by the Citadel, designed to provide information about the school to incoming freshmen. The goal of the fourth class system, also known as the plebe system, is to turn Citadel freshmen into Citadel men. The term plebe is from the Latin word plebis, meaning common people. There is nothing common about a Citadel freshman, for he is the lowest form of life on the campus. The Guidon defines plebe as a first year cadet, a fourthclassman, a freshman. Also a doowillie, knob, smack, or squat. The term by which freshmen at the Citadel are most often known is knob. It is thought that the term originated from the fact that the freshman haircut, a shaved head maintained throughout the first year, closely resembles a doorknob.
Tuesday, September 8, 1964, the day after Labor Day. Midmorning. Pete Creger stood outside the front sallyport of Number Two barracks, Padgett-Thomas barracks, on the Citadel campus, located on the banks of the Ashley River in downtown Charleston, with his parents. On the sidewalks nearby other plebes and their families milled about, saying their final goodbyes before entering the barracks to begin the knob year. Mothers kissed and hugged their sons, dabbing the moisture from their eyes with fingers or handkerchiefs. Fathers were more restrained, making do with a pat on the shoulder, a firm handshake, or a look in the eyes that said I know you re man enough for the Citadel. Make me proud. Don t come crying to me that it s too rough and you want to come home.
It was the same with Pete s family. Pete felt weird shaking his dad s hand. He felt far more comfortable embracing his mom. He stole a furtive glance past the sallyport s wrought iron gate and fought back a momentary doubt. Outside the barracks was calm and peace, family and friends; inside was a cacophony of sound, a noisy din, organized, efficient chaos. Pete took a deep breath, waved a final goodbye, picked up his large brown canvas bag stuffed full with articles he was required or allowed to bring with him, and walked past the gate into the sallyport. Pete s knob year, the first day of his Citadel career, was underway.
In the sallyport Pete was immediately accosted by a cadet, a member of the training cadre, carrying a clipboard. Name? the cadet asked.
Pete Creger.
The cadet hit Pete hard in the middle of his chest with the side of his right fist. Pete dropped his bag and staggered backwards a few steps. Pop to when you address an upperclassman, nutbrain, the cadet hollered at Pete. Consulting his clipboard, he checked off Pete s name, and said, Mr. Creger, the correct way to answer that question is to say sir, my name is cadet recruit Creger, P.R., sir. Now, pop off. Pete was slow to respond. I can t hear you, knob, the cadet said with a raised voice.
Pete got it. My name is cadet recruit Creger, P.R., sir, he mumbled.
Put a sir in front of that, mister.
Sir, my name is cadet recruit Creger, P.R., sir.
Louder. I can t hear you, the cadet shouted.
Pete shouted back, as loud as he could, Sir, my name is cadet recruit Creger, P.R., sir.
Looking at his clipboard again the cadet said, Mister Creger, you ve been assigned to F Company. May God have mercy on you. Follow me. Pete followed his cadet guide through the sallyport on to the red and gray checkered concrete quadrangle. Spaced at intervals throughout the quadrangle were card tables. Several cadets sat behind each table on metal folding chairs. Beside each table was a thin white pole, and atop each pole was a white placard with black lettering designating the various companies. The cadet Pete was following pointed in the direction of the F Company sign and told Pete to go there. The F Company cadre will eat you alive, he told Pete. About half a dozen cadet recruits were already in line at the F Company table. Pete joined them at the back of the line. They stood in silence. While waiting, Pete glanced about the barracks. The place was general mayhem, a madhouse. Cadet recruits, would-be knobs, dressed in civilian clothes, far outnumbered the cadre, distinguished by their uniforms of gray trousers, short sleeved gray shirts, and black garrison hats with shiny bills. Some of the recruits were being marched around, some were doing pushups, others were formed up in lines, many were being hollered at and cursed. All of them, like Pete, appeared harassed and anxious. Pete began seriously doubting the wisdom of his choice of a college. What had he gotten himself into?
When Pete made it to the front of the line, one of the cadets at the table asked, name?
Pete was ready. Sir, my name is cadet recruit Creger, P.R., sir.
What the hell kind of a name is that? Pete wasn t prepared for the question. He had no idea what to answer. Well? Pop off, squatbrain.
Pete said the first thing that came to mind. Sir, it s a good name, sir. Derisive laughter.
You think Creger s a better name than any of your classmates names?
Sir, no, sir.
Damn right it s not. It s a dumbass name and you re a dumbass. Isn t that right?
Sir, no, sir.
Bullshit! Only a dumbass knob ever disagrees with an upperclassman. Give me fifteen pushups for being a dumbass. Pete dropped prone to the quadrangle floor and began pumping out pushups.
Count em out, he was told. When he was done and back on his feet, he was asked, now, are you a dumbass?
Pete was a fast learner. Sir, yes, sir, he responded. More laughter.
Damn right you are. I want to hear you say it. Say sir, I m a dumbass, sir.
Sir, I m a dumbass, sir.
Louder, with feeling.
Pete shouted as loud as he could, Sir, I m a dumbass, sir. He hoped it was with feeling. A paper with writing on it was shoved at Pete across the table and he was told to sign his name. He had no idea what he was signing, but he wasn t about to question or disobey. He signed.
Congratulations, dumbass. You re now officially enrolled in the Citadel. Pete felt like a dumbass, sure enough. He was told to go stand in yet another line off to the side. This line was longer than the line at the table. No one in the line said anything. No one moved. The line kept growing. The heat and the humidity were bone crushing. Sweat popped out all over Pete and began trickling down his legs into his socks. After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only twenty minutes, more or less, several cadre members approached, and began calling out names and handing out yellow index cards with numbers written on them.
After the cards were all passed out, one of the cadre members, standing at the front of the line, said, listen up. These cards contain your room assignments. We are now going to march over to the F Company area and up the F Company stairwell. Other F Company cadre members will meet you there and direct you to your rooms. Laid out on the bunks in your rooms are PT uniforms consisting of dark blue Citadel shorts and white Citadel T shirts. You are to remove your civilian clothes and put on the PT s. You should have brought with you white socks and white tennis shoes, which complete the PT uniform. Once in the PT uniform you are to remain in your rooms awaiting further orders. Are there any questions?
There were no questions. The march began. Pete looked forward to getting out of the sun. They had only gone a few steps when there was a commotion to his rear. The march stopped. The boy immediately behind Pete was struggling trying to carry several bags and other items and had dropped one. Noticing Pete only had one bag, the annoyed cadre member unceremoniously thrust the offending item, a white pillow case filled with miscellaneous personal articles, into Pete s free hand, and the march resumed. Soon there was a logjam in the F Company stairwell. There was a stairwell in each of the four corners of the barracks. They rose four stories high like circular towers. Within each was a spiral staircase. The staircase could accommodate two climbing abreast, but only one at a time when burdened with baggage. As each boy reached the second