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A Message to Garcia

This is the homepage
for Alumni of the

United States
Naval Academy

at Annapolis, Maryland.

  An incident occurred last month that we think bears a little examination. It was all during the Beat Army Smoker for the winter sports weekend.
  At one point, during a break between the sounds of the Spiffies and those of the team captains, one of our cheer- leaders leapt before the throng and commenced to lead us all in one of our traditional cheers to heighten our already soaring enthusiasm.
  We all responded dutifully with a token emission and soon the red-faced Youngster retired to his hole stage left amidst a growing rumble and a few discernible chuckles.
  "Check his legs!" someone cried and the Plebe in front of me leaned over to his classmate to query, "What the heck was that?"
  There was a distinct lull in the program as we all tried to understand our own embarrassment until the MC recov- ered his poise (?) and got us all back to the business of en- joying our captains' "After-Dinner Speaking" ordeal and our own brand of Naval Academy psychedelia.
  If you were at that Smoker, just ask yourself how you felt. Or if you were at the Army-Navy game, how did you feel when they stripped off those blouses? . . . could we be like that?. . . .
  Or have we come to a level of sophistication that no longer involves spirit? Isn't the old Rah-Rah bit getting just a little old? It just isn't cool to cheer at a football game when you're with your favorite Dolly anymore . . . or maybe it never was?
  Oh, we all still respond to the animal in us. Everyone likes to see someone get in a good tackle that you can hear in the top row. And there's seldom a wrestling meet that doesn't see the Mids on their feet yelling for blood. And of course everyone turns out to yell when a Navy stickman puts it to a Terp REAL GOOD.
  But what about the rest of the time? At the pep-rallies, the smokers, the team sendoffs (have YOU been to one since Plebe Year?), the 4th quarter against Virginia, or the last minutes against Georgetown ... maybe we're all just a little bit too cool. Ask any Mid who's been on the field when the Brigade decided to pipe up. He'll tell you what it felt like to hit with the strength of 4000, to Whizzer with 8000 arms, or to run with 8000 legs....
  But then ask him what it was like to lose in silence . . . dead silence.

We hear that one of our favorite Majors played the dummy for a Lt at the 0 Club last month.

Pity the poor Youngster who overloads to 21 hours. According to the Academic Dept's 2:1 study requirements, he only needs 5 hours each study hour, every free period, and all Sunday afternoon. That means he gets libs on Saturday night and still gets 6 hours of sleep a night. HoBoy!

My existence has gone beyond the stage of longing to the stage of simple curiosity.

We have been doing so little for so long that we could probably do nothing forever.

Our Nav Prof tells us that if he ever sees any 1/c wheeling his 'vette at 120 while he's on the road, he'd better give his heart to God, cause he's going to get the rest of him.

There's nothing more painful than belching a coke through your nose.

What Marine Officer Candidate would carry his Mameluke to the Color P-rade?

Spring is now officially here and you KNOW what that means:

  • Another flu shot.
  • A Marine on YP's.
  • No more brush shines for your grease shoes.
  • Time for the quartermaster to come off.
  • The Diggers have to start uncovering the steam pipes in the Mid Store parking lot.
  • Le Mans starts from the seawall every Saturday noon . . . and now, on Friday nights as well.
  • The brick factory goes on over time.
  • Time to resod the world (it's cheaper than green paint . . .) .
  • First Class bearing takers?
  • Sweaty blue works until mid-May.
  • Time to take the steps away from the OTHER door to Maury Hall.
  • Uniform for the LAX game is SDB.
  • Trying to study while the Firsties are playing volleyball in Kelly Court.
  • Buying your Company Officer a drink at the Halfway House (sorry, 1/c only).
  • Having your stomach pumped for your class ring (sorry, 2/c only) .

The wonders of the computer age enable each Midshipman to have his own personal IBM card with his own class schedule (on the night before the first day of the semester). And it's nice to get your grade card before the next marking period rolls around.

Our friendly Wop tells us that none of the tests at Navy are difficult once you know how to work them.

Does your First Class Bull course have to be on the 4th deck? RHIP Dept.

Let's All Go Navy And Fly...I Hear They Fly Planes...

A roommate of ours explains that Squaring away the Executive Dept is about like trying to do a wheelie on a Pogo Stick.

When there are whitecaps on the coffee, that's our kind of weather.

Who is the First Batt Marine who inspects his charge's rooms during leave periods?

1: "My Company Officer is about as squared-away as a marble."
2: "What's a Company Officer?"

And what about the beer cans the U of Md students pelted at the Lax team last year? It's too bad they were empty, eh fellows?

A LOG exclusive expose: the EH&G Dept officially bans the use of pencils. That's why there are no sharpeners in Maury Hall.

Statistics show that chances are your Grease Girl is somebody else's Class Girl.

After almost a year, the truth finally comes out: about the Mid with the Playboy rabbit on his class ring.

And who was the Firstclassman wlio deducted his ring from his Income Tax as a "necessary item of uniform insignia."

A favorite steam prof of ours tells us that there are only three basic precepts to learn at the Naval Academy: F=ma, V=IR, and you can't push a rope.

Turn back? I wouldn't turn back to Morning Meal.

Next year the Big Blue will be riding to their games in a milk carton on wheels.

Is it true that the Executive Dept has installed a camera at Gate O? Or does the CMOOW just hide in the "little green hut"?

Our company officer's motto: You have to go out, you don't have to come back.

The true Gouge for Nav Sci: How long is a prolonged blast? and define EMCON.

Home is where you can go to the head and people can't see your feet.

For the young Ensign: Home is where the car is...

One of the Night Crawlers informs us that the steam tunnel connects through Mahan Hall to the Power Plant outside gate 8.

Why does an NFO have two anchors on his wings?

We can see no reason why E314 shouldn't be the last scheduled exam ... after all, it is a 1/ c course.

Why do all the flags in T-Court wave towards the Rotunda?

Just who are the guys drilling holes in the yard? Anyway?

If cools were a forest, our company officer would probably be a toothpick. If brains were dynamite, he couldn't blow his nose...

I'd rather be dead, than red on the head ...

Our thermo prof tells us that.
Steam is a bad gas.

If you have got to go to the Naval Academy, go First Class!

Our Old Grad refers to USNA as an academic Edsel.

Who would offer a $50 reward for a dog's head on a sword?

Everyone has learned to live with the coke machine in the Fifth Wing basement that thoughtfully drops the can on your spit-shined shoes.

I love that sound: two clinks, and a clunk!

  First I spent three hours with three Captains being interviewed. Then I was taken into the Admiral's office. The first thing he asked me was how tall I am-he is only about five feet-he then asked me if I played basketball. Those were pretty easy to answer, but then he asked me about my "D". I started to answer that I didn't like my instructor and didn't put much effort into the course. All I got to say, though, was that I didn't like the instructor. He interrupted, saying that a "D" was always the fault of the instructor, the "A" was the student's. He went into a big harangue and ended with "Well, that's typical!"
  He then asked me if I had sung in a choir in high school. He asked my favorite song and, for lack of a better title, I said "People". So he called in his two secretaries and said, "Mr. P-----, why don't you stand up and sing 'People' for us"? I stood up and screeched out a couple of lines before I forgot the words. I sat back down and he asked if any girls had told me that I was good looking. I replied that a couple had. Then he asked his secretaries for their opinions. They both agreed that I was "one of the best looking one's we've had in here." He asked them to rank me on a scale from 0 to 100. The younger one said she'd give me an 85. The other, slightly older, said at least a 90. I didn't say anything during all of this. Then he asked them to compare my looks with the officer who had escorted me and was sitting just behind me. They said I was better looking and he asked the officer if he was offended. All he answered was "No sir." The Admiral concluded the interview with "That's all."
  And that was all.

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