It started, out of all things, an after work event. I had to wait for Mike to get off of work because he had items to being to the event and I was supposed to help him carry those items. I met him in the locker room and while he changed I noticed that he had varicose veins. When I asked him about that he said "Just wait until you've been working ten years in the kitchen, you'll have them too."
WHOA!!
When you're in the military reserve you have to have a full time job because reserve pay doesn't begin to cover rent and other costs. I landed a job in a hotel kitchen that covered two restaurants and a large scale banquet operation. While I worked in the kitchen I sometimes pondered my future and Mike's comment about varicose veins just prompted me to get up off of my butt and do something to advance my future.
Coincidentally, the local PD was accepting applications at that time. In both of the physical and written tests I finished way ahead of the other applicants. That didn't matter, neither did the other facts that I was a Marine and at that point had been in martial arts training for seven years. To top that, I was built like a fullback on a football team and as a matter of fact, played fullback on my high school football team, but because I was six inches short of being six foot, I was not allowed to proceed in the application process. Looking at it from a marketing angle, I was going to have to make myself more marketable and a college degree in Police Science would at least help.
I went to the library and started going through books, looking at how to apply for colleges and what I would need to know about college admissions. This was pre internet. After a month of digging, I decided to call my alma mater because they had a junior college, and at the very least, it would be a great place to start. When I spoke to the admissions counselor, he said "Come on down!!" Ten days later, a shit load of paperwork filled my mailbox.
I filled out the paperwork, submitted it and within a month I had a reply-that my education would be paid for by a combination of scholarships and grants.
I now had a summer to get ready, but first there was an incident. I was in a reserve unit, but it was the only "active duty reserve unit", meaning that we were a Marine Recon unit that specialized in rescuing hostages in a plane hijacking. A TWA 727 had been hijacked and was being flown around the middle east while the terrorists tried to negotiate a "We're going to get away with this" ending. I got the call at home to mobilize. Before packing, I called the hotel and spoke with the executive chef.
"We've been watching TV," he sighed in a defeated way, "call us when you get back."
We spent the next five days on planes, mostly C-130's. At one stage, while we began to orbit in the Mediterranean, we were briefed that since the 727 was in Beirut, the Delta Force would actually storm the plane and we would have to secure a perimeter around the plane. Thankfully, for us, the situation was resolved without any gunfire.
I still had six days left in the Marine Corps when I drove into the campus of my alma mater. Parking in a space in front of the Headquarters building, I then took a short walk to the Quadrangle barracks. As you enter the "Sally Port" of the barracks, the guard box is to the right and the Commandant's office is to the left. I was surprised to see cadets working the guard box, then I recalled that the school had started a summer school, but it was over, I thought. An orderly coming out of the guard box, a really cute female, took a few seconds to flirt with me before I turned and went into the Commandant's office.
Actually, as you enter the Commandant's office from Sally Port, the first office is the TAC's office (the Commandant's secretary and then the Commandant himself have their offices behind the TAC office). TAC's are staff members that monitor cadet behavior. They patrol the stoops during the three hours of study hall, nightly, to make sure that cadets aren't watching TV or sleeping. They also make bedchecks during the night to make sure that there isn't hanky panky going on in the barracks rooms. So, entering the TAC office, upon checking in, I was issued room keys. I was also advised that since this was "Cadre check in" day, we were on our own for meals, but the mess hall would be open at 0600 the next morning.
After moving into my room, I went for a walk to get a lay of the land. Even though I am autistic, I forced myself to do some socializing so I could gather needed information. Besides the Quadrangle barracks, there is also a separate barracks, large enough for three troops (65 cadets per troop) called "The Slab" because of the 100 yards by 25 yards of concrete in front of the barracks where troops form up for meals and other functions. Something new, to me, is that one section of the slab is for the female cadet troop. It is expressly forbidden for males to enter this area, save a route on the exterior of the concrete slab, to transit to the other two male troop areas.
The next morning, after breakfast, was matriculation. I found out the list of my classes and signed my financial papers. In the afternoon, the real Cadre (training) began. I became an object of curiosity as cadets usually enter the military upon leaving the school, as opposed to my route. With that said, every year, there are half a dozen college cadets that have served in armies around the world (i.e. Egypt, Norway, etc.). I quickly realized that Cadre was an audition for me. I was the only person on Cadre not actually assigned a troop staff position and I realized that unless I exhibited some leadership traits, I would not get a coveted troop staff position. My first act of leadership, however, would have me getting into a "pissing contest" with a TAC.
Guard shifts run a 24 hour shift starting and and ending at 6 PM daily. The cute orderly that I saw the first day, I also saw her during matriculation, and now, I saw her a third consecutive day, but on the third day, I noticed that her skin color was several shades lighter. I called her over and asked why she was on guard duty for three straight days. "I have over a hundred tours" she explained, and the "TAC (Captain M) is letting me work them off on guard duty" I then asked about her skin color and explained that I did have a first responder certification. She told me that her period this month was extremely heavy and that she had been bleeding for eight straight days now. I asked why she didn't go to the infirmary and she replied that Captain M wouldn't let her go. "You're coming with me, now" I firmly told her.
"What about Captain M?" she asked.
"You let me worry about him."
We went to the infirmary. The young orderly (Paige) went into an examination room with the nurse on duty and I waited near the admitting desk. After about ten minutes, the nurse told me that she would be admitted into the infirmary. I went back to the guard box and told the sergeant in there that he had lost an orderly.
At lunch, Captain M tracked me down in the mess hall. He was less than happy. I confronted him with the fact that he had blocked Paige from going to the infirmary, despite her having an obvious medical condition. He threatened to write me up for indiscretion for interfering with the guards on duty. "Tell you what" I said, "lets, you and me, go, right now, and see the Commandant and tell him our stories. Who do you think he'll side with?" The Captain backed down.
Over the next few weeks I impressed not only the troop staff, but also the (cadet) Regimental Commander and the Commandant himself. The situation for the Commandant was one of those, spontaneous, organic happenings. Along with some others, I had traveled to a nearby away football game. In the middle of the third quarter, the skies opened up so much that play had to be stopped. I already had the cadets whipped up into a lather and when the refs stopped play, I led the cadets onto the track circling the football field. We ran in the six inch deep water, chanting running songs, then we ran out to the fifty yard line and started doing pushups in the mud. Finally, the the rain let up enough that play could resume. At the conclusion of the game, we ran out to the parking lot (it was still raining) in a sort of conga line chanting "boom chucka wucka wucka, boom chuka wucka wucka." We also ran in place next to the bus, chanting, while boarding. At this point, the commandant drove over and wanted to know who was leading all this camaraderie. It was then that I was introduced to him.
I was in the running for troop first sergeant as a high school master sergeant had originally been tabbed for the job, but I now was outclassing him on every level, in every way, but there was another vacancy that was available.
I came back from class and found a note on my door: "Report to Regimental Immediately."
Regimental is the third and fourth floors above Sally Port. Regimental contains the seven cadets of Regimental Staff that actually run the school. To find a note on your door "Report to Regimental" means that you are neck deep in kim chi. I went up to RHQ and reported in. I was ushered into the Regimental Commander's office, there to have a meeting with the RC and the Regimental Executive Officer.
The RC explained that the Regimental Constabulary Commander had come down with mononucleosis and would need to be replaced. Usually, this position is a one year posting, but based on the fact that I was a Law Enforcement major and had six years of real military experience, the position was mine for the two years I had ahead of me in this school. The RC went further, explaining that since it's exception in the late 1960's, it had been nothing more than a traffic detail (protecting the corps while it marched to/from local football stadiums) but the RC wanted more out of the detail, explaining why the name change from "traffic detail" to Constabulary. The Constabulary would take on certain ceremonial duties (in addition to traffic) and the RC had a vision (the old helmet liners head gear was being replaced with blue berets). I was to be the leader of this transition to a more leaner and cleaner looking detail.
I was floored, to say the least. I told the RC that it was a lot to process and I'd feel better if I could sleep on it-would it be okay if I gave my decision at breakfast the next morning?
"Yeah, sure, okay" he said, a little surprised. Needless to say, I accepted the position.
I had no sooner moved my items into my new room when I was called down to the Commandant's office. The Commandant gave me a printout of phone numbers, dates and times. He told me that he wanted me to find out who made these calls. The one lead he gave me was that some of the numbers were linked to the Learning Center. The Learning Center is academic counselors that help students applying to the school. I went over to the LC and the counselors were very cooperative, pulling out their logs to verify numbers, dates and times that they had called students with questions about the school. That knocked down the list quite a bit. The remaining numbers on the list came back to Regimental.
Regimental officers living on the 4th floor (I was on the 3rd, now) were allowed to make one long distance call a week using the phone on the Regimental Commander's desk. The Regimental XO was actually very helpful in this respect. He not only gave me a list of who called and when, but also the Cadre schedule (Regimental officers teach classes throughout the two week Cadre training). That left 17 unknown calls and they were all to the same phone number (called from the RC's desk) while Regimental staff officers were teaching classes. I went to the director of computer services on the campus. He did some digging and found that the phone number was a private residence on the Mescalero Indian Reservation. So, those calls were made from Regimental by someone that had access to Regimental (only Regimental officers and TACs have access). I politely started asking TACs about the Mescalero Indian Reservation and found that a female TAC officer was dating someone on the reservation. When I asked her about the calls, she replied "So what if I made those calls?"
I then went to see the Commandant with my findings. He listened, and then said "Thank you. I'll take it from here." A week later, the TAC officer was fired.
My original Regimental roommate, the Regimental Operations Officer, was a turd. One thing he did, that I didn't like, was that he wore nylon socks. We were in uniform 16 to 17 hours a day and nylon socks hold odor more than cotton socks (I have a very sensitive sense of smell), but the one unforgivable thing he did was bug the room.
He had set up an intercom so that us 3rd floor officers could talk to the 4th floor officers. One day, however, he suddenly asked me a lot of very personal, very probing questions. With each question, my inner alarm bells went off louder and louder. He finally realized that I had reached my breaking point and he ran off (I heard him go upstairs). For a minute I asked myself why he was doing such a thing. It was then I noticed that a washrag had been placed over the intercom. I pulled off the wash rag and saw that the talk button on the intercom had been taped down. I unplugged the intercom and placed it in my wall locker.
For forty five minutes I worked on my homework, but at the same time I fumed. Finally, the RC came downstairs and asked for the intercom. At first, I was extremly uncooperative. The RC told me that he realized that the Ops officer and XO had cooked up this scheme and he had been upstairs chewing them out. The RC also told me that the intercom was his, had been on loan, and knowing that it had been abused, he was sending it home. When I gave the intercom to the RC, I told him that my roommate's life was in grave danger and he should do something about that right away. He promised me that he would. When my roommate finally appeared, he started talking smack. I exploded on him, pinning him to the door, my forearm across his throat. When he tried to break free, I angrily told him: "You don't want to dance with me!! You DON'T want to dance with me!! I will fuck you up, FOR LIFE!! Between now and when you move out, don't say another word to me or I will kill you!! I swear to God I will!! Keep your fat. mouth. shut!!"
The room change happened the next day. My new roommate was a whole world better. His name was Beau and he was the "Catering Officer" (assigns cadets to the mess hall for meals). Beau was Hawaiian and for the most part, was always laughing. Besides having a great sense of humor, he was also a strong ally.
The Constabulary had already worked one football game without me. There was a campus police department of five officers, but on home games, they would run an overtime shift so that one officer could help the Constabulary and the other would watch the campus. I had to ensure that Constabulary worked the eight intersections between the school and stadium and also that the Constabulary worked crowd control at the game. What I saw, though, was a total lackadaisical approach by the cadets working Constabulary and it did not sit well with me. After the game I had Constabulary gather in the roll call room at the PD. I ripped them a new one and warned them that they had one week to clean up their act. Six of them didn't take me seriously and after the Corps marched back to the school I confiscated gear from those six. A week later, I fired six more, but now I finally had a platoon (25) that understood that it was a privilege to serve in Constabulary.
A familiar pattern emerged regarding the weekends. As I stated earlier, there was a 3 week rotation (Inspection, CTA, Furlough). How long someone has to stay out on the weekend has a lot to do with your age and rank. For instance, on a Saturday, a 14 year old recruit/private can only stay out until 5:30 PM. By comparison, a Regimental staff officer can stay out until 11 PM.
With that said, the Corps marches to breakfast and to supper (and only marches to lunch on Inspection and CTA Saturdays). Supper is full dress (B uniform, not the A uniform-blue formal blouse). In any case, because I was working my way through college and I had law enforcement activities on Saturday nights (guard detail, police ride alongs, special protection details) I was at school most Saturday nights and acting Regimental Commander for formation.
Besides being separated into fifteen troops, the Corps is also four squadrons (3-4 troops per squadron). Supper formation is so detailed and so formal, not unlike a church mass. First, the individual troops have to report in to squadron staff (i.e. "Sir! Foxtrot Troop is all present and accounted for!"). Then there is retreat (a bugle call paying homage to the dead) followed by colors (during this bugle call, the flag in front of HQ is lowered). Then, the RC has to really project their voice to be heard in all parts of the quadrangle "Column of squadrons, first squadron!" at which point the squadron commanders either give the command "forward" or "stand fast!"Then in a booming voice, the RC yells out "MARCH!!" It is at this point that the band begins to play. The Regimental Staff does a complicated 180 procedure, because they were facing the Corps during the series of orders. The Corps then marches to the mess hall.
Members of Regimental and Squadron staff have cubbies in the main guard box for memos and other important communications (I imagine in the 21st century, this has been replaced by email). In any case, a memo I received was a reminder that the school has an "activity fund." To receive a 450 dollar grant, you have to submit your activity and how it will benefit the Corps and then a reminder that the school gets to keep, at the end of the school year, whatever the money bought. With this in mind, I was downtown because I had a hankering for ice cream when I saw a banner in front of a music store advertising a drum set or concert lighting for 450 bucks. I have always wanted to play in a rock band (who hasn't?).
I went back to school and wrote up two activity fund requests, then took them over to the Commandant's secretary. She looked over the first request and said "The school will loan you a drum set. I'll notify Major D.", then she wrote a big red DENIED on the request, then looked over the second request. She said, "I have to get two signatures and then draw from the bank. I should have the check ready on Thursday morning. I'll call the music store right now and tell them to hold these lights for you. Major H will have to pick up the lights. I'll call him next."
I told Beau my really great idea and because Beau is one of those-'knows everybody/loves everybody' type of person, he said "There's a guy named Beeker over in Gulf troop. He had a band last year, knows everything there is to know about music. Go see him."
Beeker had that name because of his resemblance to the Muppet character. Beau was right about Beeker having been in a band and being knowledgeable about music. Beeker pulled out a VHS of his band at last year's cadet talent show. His band was a Black Sabbath tribute band and they were really really good. "Where are they?" I asked.
"Jail" he replied. "They drove into a sting operation. Darla's (the lead singer) parents hired a good lawyer. Got her into a diversion program in a mental hospital. She'll be locked up a while. If she completes the program, her record will be expunged."
I then discussed my plan with Beeker. As far as his involvement, he was a package deal. There was a guitarist named Randy in the HQ troop (the marching band). Beeker would only play if Randy played, so, I saw Randy next. Randy enlightened me to two girls in the band who would probably be interested. They were both recruited by Major D on the promise that they could play in a "Show band", but upon arrival they found out that there was no show band. Instead he had them play glockenspiel and saxophone.
The female band members lived on the bottom floor of HQ troop's section of the barracks in the quadrangle. I couldn't just barge into a female's room. I went to the highest ranking female on that floor, knocked on her door and explained that I needed to talk to these two girls (who were roommates). The female officer (Michelle) walked me to the girl's room. Michelle walked in and the two girls yelled "Attention!!" and then stood at attention next to their bunk bed. I walked in and said "at ease", and then explained why I was there. The two girls were wary, but I did get them to agree to come to a "band meeting" the next day.
The next day, the five of us gathered in a classroom. I opened the meeting with "As you all know, the rank system is suspended in school buildings, so feel free to speak your mind. We are all equal here."
I laid out my plan to have a band. The type of music would be rock or perhaps hard rock. Rehearsals would be wherever I found space and the five of us found time. All five of us firmly decided that we wanted to do this. The next morning, things sped up. Major H tracked me down at breakfast and said "I understand you have a band."
"Correction, sir" I replied, "I met some musicians and we agreed to be a band."
"I need a band, tonight. I have a major band coming in and my warm up band cancelled on me at the last second. Five songs, five hundred dollars."
"I'll see what I can do."
Regimental staff eats at a table on a raised dais at the corner joint of the L shaped mess hall. There is a microphone at the table. This microphone is used for announcements and the before meal prayer. I turned on the microphone. "At ease."
Everything in the mess hall came to a stop.
"The following cadets report to the foyer" I read off Beeker, Randy, Heidi and Kristen. Activity resumed in the mess hall. The band members looked understandably wary. I informed them of the gig tonight. They were all upset and understandably so.
At two that afternoon I went to pick up the drum set. Major D, the school's music director barely concealed that he was furious that I was taking possession of a 58 piece drum set. The school had bought the drum set for an extraordinarily gifted musician in my high school days. It was also because of him that the school created a show band. I remembered the show band and more specifically the performance of the Hawaii Five O theme song at a special show.
At three, I met the rest of the band. Over the next two hours, we banged out a five song set, then retired to the barracks to get ready for supper.
At seven, the band took the stage in the cadet activity hall. We opened with Europe's "Final Countdown" then our keyboardist (Kristen) played a three song medley. We played Loverboy's "Working for the Weekend" and closed with Journey's "Separate Ways."
During the ovation, Major H took the stage and hired us on the spot for the same thing, next Friday night. The thing is, applause is a very powerful drug. During the week leading to our second gig we argued and squabbled endlessly. Come Friday, we had only rehearsed four songs. Friday night, we played those four songs then looked stupidly at each other. Beeker started playing something on guitar and I thought it was RUSH's Spirit of Radio, so I jumped in on the drum part. The rest of the band jumped in. The audience totally lost their shit. Whereas it had been a muted "yay" for each of our songs, now it was a loud "FUCKING A!! AWESOME!!"
As the ovation died down Major H again retook the stage, accompanied by a teenage boy and his middle aged father. We were hired on the spot to play at the boy's birthday party in two weeks with the catch that since RUSH was the boy's favorite group, we were to play RUSH music. The pay would be six thousand bucks.
The next two weeks there was very little squabbling. Kristen took to writing lyrics on paper and inserting them into vinyl so that I wouldn't make any mistakes while singing. Kristen was the only classically trained musician (we were all self taught) and I think that Kristen had a deep seated fear of being grouped in with screwed up amateurs.
The gig went beyond anyone's expectations. We played outside and our hosts couldn't have been any nicer. After the gig, we got calls from clubs all over the state. Major H became the final decision on gigs. We couldn't take a gig unless the Major and I had visited said club (and we would see 6 or 7 on any given weekend). I didn't find out until much later that the band had a large lesbian following and that was because of Heidi. Heidi actually resembled Chrissie Hynde. We ended up turning down five or six smaller clubs because their bid was too small, but the Major put his foot down, not letting us take a high dollar gig at a large lesbian club.
Most of our gigs was on CTA Saturday nights. The Major would check out a Suburban and trailer from the motor pool. He would drive us to and from gigs.
While all of this was going on, and in my first semester of college, the Commandant kept expanding my area of responsibility-placing me, administratively, in charge of the color guards (mounted and dismounted), the jeep detail and the cannon detail. The stories about the cannon detail went back decades and they were legendary. Something I told all of these details, as well as Constabulary, was, "If you screw up, come and tell me, I got your back. Lie to me, and I will fuck you to the ends of the earth." With that said, the cannon detail was the first to test me on my pledge.
We had played our cross town rivals. The head of the cannon detail had a monster 4 X 4 pickup that he preferred to use (as opposed to a jeep) to haul the cannon around. They were coming back from the southside stadium. Some cholos in a 62 Chevy pulled up behind them at a red light and started giving them shit. The detail exited the 4 X 4, then began loading the cannon while lowering the muzzle (the cannon was always towed with the barrel in a 45 degree, up angle). The cholos abandoned their car and ran for their lives.
I was on guard detail when the cannon detail got back to the school. When they told me the story I laughed so hard that I nearly fell over.
I had an office in the police department, but Regimental had "offices" in the HQ basement. I preferred the basement offices because at the PD, it never failed that a cop would come in and want to shoot the shit, whereas the basement offices were quiet, abandoned and dark. Early December found me in the basement offices filling out fifty evaluations (on all of my people) as well as homework out the wazoo. It was a week until finals and I was 45 minutes late to the Regimental Christmas party. When the RC asked why I was late, I told him about the mountain of paperwork I had.
"Why don't you get yourself a personal assistant?" he asked.
"I've thought about it" (truthful answer).
"How about that Kristi girl? I see the way you two look at each other."
"Ummm."
"Good, it's settled. I'll make it happen. Do you want scotch or rum?"
Actually, alcohol was forbidden on campus and cadets were expelled for being drunk and/or in possession of alcohol. When it came to Regimental staff, a blind eye was turned to the use of alcohol.
As far as Kristi. The first time I saw her was Cadre. I just had a feeling about her, so I avoided her, religiously. She wanted to join Constabulary and after, literally cornering me, I let her in. She then made a point of doing whatever it took to be in my orbit.
Kristi accepted the new position, but it was too close to the end of semester for her to do anything about it. As soon as the new semester started, she hit the ground running. There was a job fair two hundred miles away and she signed us up to be recruiters. She also filled out furlough papers and took them personally to the Commandant's office and watched as they were signed. Then she asked me if we had somewhere to stay (I think she knew my parents lived 30 miles from the upcoming job fair). I called my mom and told her about the job fair and would it be okay if we stayed at the house. My mom was okay with it, but my mom was extremely shocked when I walked in the door with a beautiful eighteen year old girl. I think my mom had visualized a short and unattractive book worm.
We had dinner, then after dinner we hit the showers. After that, we were in "her" room talking about the game plan for tomorrow. We fell asleep while talking. My mom walked in the room and was horrified. She started screaming at the top of her lungs. I went to my room.
My mom is an early riser. The smell of bacon always woke me up and my mom knew that. I walked in the kitchen and we started talking. Kristi came out of her room, came into our view, smelled the food cooking, covered her mouth and RAN for the restroom.
"What's wrong with her?" my mom asked.
"Morning sickness."
My mom about had a heart attack. When she stopped heaving, I explained that Kristi took Ritalin and a bunch of other psychotropics that 80's head shrinkers pushed on teens. These psychotropics caused her to have a highly upset stomach in the morning and the only thing she could keep down was a biscuit, and this would be hours after she woke up.
At the job fair, we were ignored, save only for a nibble-one guy took a pamphlet. After the job fair we tore down our booth, stored it in my car, then went to lunch. After lunch, we went to a movie and then took the long route back to my parent's house. Supper and the evening following were both pleasant. In the morning we went to see a friend with a small ranch. She saddled horses for us and we went riding. We then had a late lunch and took our time going back to my parent's house. Finally, we began the four hour trek back to school.
I was no sooner back to school when my mom started pestering me with "When can I meet Kristi's parents?" My mother became obsessed with the question. Kristi, understandly, was like "What's her problem?" Kristi's parents lived 200 miles north of my parents, so it wasn't just logistics involved here, there was a matter of scheduling. I had a lot on my plate and as I was to find out, Kristi's parents traveled often, so it was also matter of coordinating schedules and the afore mentioned logistics. Finally, a date 4 weeks hence became available.
Of course, Kristi and I arrived Friday evening. Dinner went without a hitch. I made it a point not to fall asleep in Kristi's room after showers. The next morning I made it a point to get Kristi out of the house as soon as possible. Once again, we went horse riding. Kristi's parents were retired military and they clearly stated that they would arrive no earlier than noon, but Murphy had something to say about this.
Kristi and I arrived precisely at noon, unfortunately Kristi's parents got there fifteen minutes earlier. My mother was already showing her parents my baby pictures and as we walked in the door my mom asked "What's it going to take to get these two married?"
We ALL stared at her as if she had stated that she was from Mars and her skin was about to turn purple. In just a few minutes Kristi's parents read the room and made an excuse to leave. Frank, uncustomarily, asked my mom to join him in their bedroom as if he was a manager about to dress down a misbehaving employee. Kristi was pissed. At this point, we weren't even boyfriend/girlfriend, she was just an excellent personal assistant.
In early March, a situation popped up, the RC wanted to put together a "Regimental road trip," loosely translated, a whoring trip. I'd been with Marines in Tijuana, Manila and Olangapo, so I had seen how it was done correctly. Being that I don't drink and I was the Constabulary Commander (aka, Provost Marshal and Master at Arms) I would be the designated muscle on this trip.
We parked in El Paso, then walked across the bridge into Juarez. Of course, the first stop was a bar. These guys had no problem getting booze at school, why would Mexican liquor be better? It didn't take long for women to plop themselves into their laps. A middle aged woman tried to work her way into my lap, but I shooed her away.
The party moved to a nearby hotel. The hotel was about ten stories, of the atrium style, and built around 1960. From the lobby you could look up and see, on all four sides, the stoop outside the rooms on all levels. Myself and Benji (Benji had a serious girlfriend) remained in the lobby while the other five went upstairs to attend to business. Suddenly the RC ran out of his room, he was naked, save a small hand towel to hide his junk. "That bitch stole my money!!" he yelled.
As he said that, I caught motion and looked to see a fire escape ladder descend to the street level and a 30ish woman leapt off of the ladder and ran to a waiting car, which sped off once she jumped in.
Until we got back to the US side of the border I kept my mouth shut, but every fiber of my being wanted to say: 'In this type of transaction, you never, ever, for any reason, pay in advance.'
The chief of campus police, once a year, takes the Constabulary Detail to the State Police Academy for a tour. The academy is in the state capitol. I had a private agenda. A friend from the hotel kitchen was now the Executive Chef of an old and distinguished hotel in the state capitol. I had called her before we left for the trip to arrange for a job interview. She was running the 6 AM to 2 PM shift at her kitchen and she could take me precisely at 6 AM (I was already thinking about summer employment) because that was the slowest time in her kitchen.
Once we were in the hotel, I got up at 5 AM, took a quick shower and dipped out to get to Lela's hotel (watch for the chapter on this).
I got back to the detail about 7 AM. The chief thought I had snuck out to get some nookie, and actually, proudly, said "That's my boy!!"
The tour was very professionally conducted by a female state police officer. I was more impressed with her, than in the facility itself.
The last month of the school year was a blur of term papers, research papers, exams and evaluations. The only item of note in this last month related to a weekly ritual that I was forced to sit through. On Tuesday mornings, I had to sit through a "coffee klatch" that included the local sheriff, chief of city police, the area commander of state police, chief of campus police, not only of my campus, but also the community college on the south side of town. Two suspects had been arrested, suspected of burglary, armed robbery and attempted kidnapping. The sheriff looked at me and said "One of the suspects says he is one of yours." I was floored and had not heard the name he gave me. "Then, we will reconvene on Thursday morning for a special meeting" he added.
At my first available moment I went to the Commandant's office. I spoke with his secretary and told her why I needed information on this person. She directed me to the barracks basement and gave me keys to the vault. On Thursday morning I presented my report. The suspect had been expelled from the school the year before. He had a laundry list of rule violations and because he was over 18, he was just told to remove himself from the campus. His parents were called, as a courtesy, but they wanted nothing to do with him.
"So, you don't mind if I charge him with all these crimes?" the sheriff asked.
"Oh no, hell no. Fuck him, put him under the jail" I replied.
I didn't know, until then, that as a professional courtesy, local police units will give cadets accused of crimes leniency and second chances because of the fact that rich and well connected families send their kids to the school. Local police would prefer to avoid a public squabble with a rich family because of multiple reasons. This would come into play a year later.