I got the inspiration to write this from Paul Kent's article, on Charlie Beadling moving the Minuteman Missile for the Army game. The best I recollect, considering the “half-timer's” I suffer from (I only forget half the stuff), Steve Groathouse and I were playing foos-ball on Friday night before the Navy game. Seems our opponents, 2 bedwetting momma's boys from Canoe U staying as guests in our dorm thought they were pretty tough stuff consistently defeating us at the table. Obviously we needed revenge. As we left for our room, I got the brilliant idea to borrow (we will not lie, cheat . . . ) one of their uniforms until after the game. I think Steve came up with the idea about wearing it for the march-on and the scheming and planning began.
Our group wasn't scheduled to march on, but we still needed to wear our uniforms to the game, so the problem of how to transport the uniform to the game was a problem. Straining by having to think, we decided on a laundry bag. Taking my bed sheets and blankets out of the laundry bin (you remember, no one slept in their bed), we stuffed the Navy parades into the bag just prior to bordering the bus to the game.
Once at the game, we proceeded to a little cubby inside the tunnel at Falcon Stadium. Until that moment I had thought Steve was going to wear it onto the field, but no his flawless logic was, "Hey, it's your laundry bag!" He was right and so by default I was the undercover Swabbie. Following our plan, we waited for the break between the brigade of midshipman and the AF group.
At the point, I rushed out onto the field pretending I was late to ranks trying to find my spot. I must have run around the brigade 3 times before finally stopping throwing my hands up in despair and walking off the field through the tunnel. I wish I had a picture of the brigade commander's face. Unfortunately, I couldn't get off the field in time before a group commander Cadet Col. Rowe P. Stanton nabbed me by the collar and asked, "Are you one of us or one of them?" With "We will not lie, cheat or steal . . . " echoing in my mind I replied, "One of us." To which he replied pointing to the VIP seats, "Boy are you in trouble—do you know how many generals and admirals are watching, much less the television coverage?" Well, C/Col Rowe P. Stanton was right to the tune of “3 and 35”.
Two notes: (1) Rowe turned out to be my T-37 IP in pilot training, (2) and my squadron thought it was so cool, I got enough top ratings that I made the Commandant's List—while still marching tours! PS: Groathouse, you're still the best Smack-Wad-Do-Jazz Doolie I know!