match the other bars, which was removable. The Boo entered the vent, saw some footprints and followed them to a band company room. He took the room number, then left the barracks. He called the cadets who occupied the room later that day. “Bums, I found some footprints leading to your room from an outside vent. Now, unless you come up with some other names, you are going to get 3/60 for firing the salute guns at three in the morning.” “But, Colonel, we didn’t do it.” “I know, Bubba, but you know who did.” Several hours later, the two cadets who had interrupted Basil’s sleep, Neck Selzner and Frank Rabon, turned themselves in and asked for mercy.
While checking summer school barracks, Boo walked into an empty room and found two three-foot alligators with their mouths taped shut, wandering around the floor. With a roar that awoke newborn infants in Roper Hospital, The Boo stood from the top gallery and said, “Get these damn alligators out of here before I throw them off the top division.” The message carried all the way to Chris Carraway who was attending class at the time, but who hurried to the barracks to retrieve his ’gators before they became airborne.
Wayne Wolski, a Cadet who never graduated from The Citadel, called Colonel Courvoisie one Wednesday night after he left school and said, “Colonel, I want you to be godfather for my child. I don’t want anyone else, understand me?” “O. K. Bubba, don’t get riled, nothing’s wrong with your kid, even if his father is a Bum.”
THE STORY OF MR. BISON
In 1965 Eddie Teague recruited a boy from Mobile, Alabama, who had the potential to become an outstanding interior lineman for The Citadel’s football team. Because of a nineteen inch neck which seemed to blend imperceptibly into his massive shoulders, he was dubbed “Mr. Bison” by other members of the squad. Some of them had met this neck head-on in a fierce scramble on the practice field. Mr. Bison handled himself well. In the violent world of football, where success was measured by the number of bodies strewn in your path, the boy from Mobile with the stove pipe neck would easily match the best of them. The Corps became accustomed to cheering the quick, sharp tackles made by the Bison in his relentless pursuit of enemy ball carriers. He lettered in his sophomore year. Things looked good and Mr. Bison wrote his mother that he had picked a fine school.
Things had not always been good. His childhood had been a hard one. His father’s connection with the Mafia caused a great deal of dissension between his parents. He spent his early years watching a procession of surly hoods parade through his house. They seemed oblivious to the arguments that inevitably punctuated their visits. The arguments eventually caused a rift which led to separation and divorce. Mr. Bison’s father, freed from family ties, became a drifter and faded out of his son’s life forever. The mother assumed responsibility for raising the family. The hard times came. Poverty entered Mr. Bison’s life. He watched his mother come home from work, fix dinner and fall into bed exhausted. This was a daily ritual. Yet no matter how hard she worked or how exhausted she became, there still was not enough food, nor clothes, nor anything. Some of the kids at school made fun of Mr. Bison’s clothes, but not for long. His quick temper would flash and the growing bison would silence his antagonist or get the hell beat out of him trying. He started hanging around the tough kids at school. They were kids like him who didn’t have enough money. They came from the poor section of town and their bond was the hard affection of alienated children painfully aware of their poverty.
In Junior High School, Mr. Bison discovered football. On the field he learned that some of the hate inside him could be released by driving his shoulder into the gut of an opponent or by racing downfield and splitting a defensive halfback in two with a
While checking summer school barracks, Boo walked into an empty room and found two three-foot alligators with their mouths taped shut, wandering around the floor. With a roar that awoke newborn infants in Roper Hospital, The Boo stood from the top gallery and said, “Get these damn alligators out of here before I throw them off the top division.” The message carried all the way to Chris Carraway who was attending class at the time, but who hurried to the barracks to retrieve his ’gators before they became airborne.
Wayne Wolski, a Cadet who never graduated from The Citadel, called Colonel Courvoisie one Wednesday night after he left school and said, “Colonel, I want you to be godfather for my child. I don’t want anyone else, understand me?” “O. K. Bubba, don’t get riled, nothing’s wrong with your kid, even if his father is a Bum.”
THE STORY OF MR. BISON
In 1965 Eddie Teague recruited a boy from Mobile, Alabama, who had the potential to become an outstanding interior lineman for The Citadel’s football team. Because of a nineteen inch neck which seemed to blend imperceptibly into his massive shoulders, he was dubbed “Mr. Bison” by other members of the squad. Some of them had met this neck head-on in a fierce scramble on the practice field. Mr. Bison handled himself well. In the violent world of football, where success was measured by the number of bodies strewn in your path, the boy from Mobile with the stove pipe neck would easily match the best of them. The Corps became accustomed to cheering the quick, sharp tackles made by the Bison in his relentless pursuit of enemy ball carriers. He lettered in his sophomore year. Things looked good and Mr. Bison wrote his mother that he had picked a fine school.
Things had not always been good. His childhood had been a hard one. His father’s connection with the Mafia caused a great deal of dissension between his parents. He spent his early years watching a procession of surly hoods parade through his house. They seemed oblivious to the arguments that inevitably punctuated their visits. The arguments eventually caused a rift which led to separation and divorce. Mr. Bison’s father, freed from family ties, became a drifter and faded out of his son’s life forever. The mother assumed responsibility for raising the family. The hard times came. Poverty entered Mr. Bison’s life. He watched his mother come home from work, fix dinner and fall into bed exhausted. This was a daily ritual. Yet no matter how hard she worked or how exhausted she became, there still was not enough food, nor clothes, nor anything. Some of the kids at school made fun of Mr. Bison’s clothes, but not for long. His quick temper would flash and the growing bison would silence his antagonist or get the hell beat out of him trying. He started hanging around the tough kids at school. They were kids like him who didn’t have enough money. They came from the poor section of town and their bond was the hard affection of alienated children painfully aware of their poverty.
In Junior High School, Mr. Bison discovered football. On the field he learned that some of the hate inside him could be released by driving his shoulder into the gut of an opponent or by racing downfield and splitting a defensive halfback in two with a
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