Tammy was a South American boa, around eight feet long. I had
worked in the snake pits at the Oklahoma City Zoo while in
highschool, and was an experienced snake man. I later put on the
poisonous snake shows at the Ranger Dept at Benning.
I forget just how, but Chaplain Raynis (sp?) the Catholic chaplain,
and I became aware of our mutual interest in snakes, and he
assisted me in buying Tammy from a dealer in NYC and getting her
delivered to WP. I had also become almost a member of the family
of the Links. George Link was a Finnish gymnastics instructor,
who use to lecture us while hanging inverted on the flying rings.
They lived in one of the little gingerbread quarters down by the flag
pole on trophy point. I recruited his sons to operate a rat farm in
their basement as feed stock for Tammy's insatiable hunger.
By this time, I was living in an area still existing today, the Lost
Fifties, in company M-2. The best way to describe this was
Dorothy's comment after being sucked up by the tornado in The
Wizard of Oz. "Toto, I don't think this is Kansas!" And the Lost
Fifties wasn't quite the rest of the Corps. It was a special place.
We had old gray metal desks in our rooms, some with a non-
functional disappearing typewriter well which folded into the
desktop. I altered the unused area inside the desk to a snake
cage, with a small light for warmth when necessary. Tammy began
to eat and participate in cadet life. Her specialty was before dinner
'calls', when the plebes would report to the squad leaders room for
inspection. We would drape her around a plebe neck and have her
'inspect' the chosen. Her real love was the shower room in South
Area barracks where the drains could be stopped up and a four
inch deep lake form, filled with tropically warm water. She could
then slither up the wall to reach the shower fixtures placed
periodically around the walls of the shower room. Her chosen
method of attack was ambush from an elevation, wrapped around
the shower head, waiting for a cadet to approach the shower head.
I can tell you from long observation, few people actually look up
into the shower head until their very last moment. Mike Miller, was
the project director for the South Area operations, and we would
move about the cadet area with Tammy in a laundry bag, when
necessary.
For some strange reason, I was selected to join Brigade Staff at
the final term of first class year. I moved into a large room just
above Dick Chilcoat, our Brigade Commander. When I approached
Dick about my significant other, he just didn't seem to understand,
and terminated the discussion. So, we moved in. I had a new job
as Asst Bde Activities Officer. I was on the Bde Staff, but never
had to parade, and was close to the mess hall, and Tammy's rat
farm. We prospered. My only real duty was to sell tickets to the
cadets for special functions. After the meals, a line would form at
my room, and extending down the stairs outside, with cadets
wanting to pay their respects to Tammy. The tacs and OCs
always thought it was just the ticket line, never suspecting there
was a boa constrictor nest just feet above the bunk of our Brigade
Commander.
As graduation approached, many things were going to change in
our lives. I was less mature than many of the alpha type males in
the class, and had never really dated much.. but needed a gal for
June Week dances at graduation. I wrote a killer letter to Miss
Okla and soon had a date. I knew I had to stash Tammy for
graduation week and made arrangements for her to stay in a
faculty member's quarters. The wife was a pre-med student and
had taken a keen interest in my snake.
By this time I had made a traveling cage in the cadet hobby shop. I
delivered this and Tammy to the quarters. The wife thought Tammy
needed to eat, so I brought a rat up, which bit the wife when she
was trying to introduce it to a 'not hungry just now' Tammy. The
wife wonders if maybe the rat is rabid?
By now, I was within hours of graduation... and now THIS! I didn't
mind killing Tammy to recover the rat brain for testing, but didn't
want to do this if the brain was already far enough in the digestive
process that it would be pointless. The solution was to take
Tammy to the cadet hospital and request an x-ray. We put Miss
Okla on ice for the moment, Tammy went into the laundry bag for
transport, and we went to the hospital, which is where the
Admissions office is today. After explaining our mission to the
radiology staff, they provided the necessary service, and we
determined Tammy had already digested the rat. Then to the local
vet who assured us the farm bred rat, not being an 'open range' rat,
had little chance of being a rabies carrier.
So that's how it all ended up. Miss Oklahoma and I danced the
night away, Tammy spend graduation leave with Chaplain Raynis
(sp?), the officer's wife didn't die from rabies, and the rat farm in the
basement of the Link's quarters was disbanded upon Tammy's and
my departure to the Ranger Dept.
Thank God for all those TACs who didn't look too hard or too long...
for Tammy! And for all my co-conspirators!
Jack Price '64
My pet in the barracks story is not as dramatic.
It happened during 1st Beast in the Summer of 68. Pete Heesch and I
were Training NCO and Officer, respectively. A large furry cat walked
into our room in the 16th Division, tail standing straight up, and
looking like it owned the place. It appeared to be sick with a very
distended stomach. Pete and I took care of it until the end of the 1st
detail. We decided that I should keep the cat as a pet, something to
comfort me during our first class year. I found a helpful faculty
member who offered to care for the cat while I was on leave.
Upon my return for Reorgy Week, I was informed that my cat had not been
sick and that I was the proud owner of one mother cat and six kittens.
I prevailed upon the friendly faculty member to care for the cat and
kittens until they were weaned. He also offered to find them a home,
which he did.
After the kittens were weaned, the cat, named Fickle because one never
knew whose bed she would be in, was returned to my care. I lived on the
4th floor of the 34th Division - a good place to be because visits by
stray officers, especially the OC were well-telegraphed. Our drill was
to throw the cat in the closet and a laundry bag against the door to
prevent her from coming out (For some reason, Old South closets had a 4
inch space between the bottom of the door and the floor.)
One evening while I was busy in Lee Hall playing pool, the OC made it
to my room. My roommates assured me that they had followed the approved
officer in the barracks plan, tossed the cat in the closet and thrown a
laundry bag against the door. One of them obviously failed laundry bag
tossing. Fickle decided to strut her stuff just as the OC walked into
the room. Needless to say there were some strong words, but fortunately
no disciplinary action. My roommates were ordered to get rid of the cat
immediately. They did. They brought it to me in Lee Hall with the OC's
instruction to get it out of the cadet area. I returned to my room,
unmarked my card, and delivered the cat to my friendly faculty member
who took pity on the poor cat.
End of story.
Mike Colacicco
Best of the Line'69
Tale of the airborne gerbil.
Two of my classmates in A-3, living in Old
South (Grant) acquired a gerbil in about our yearling or cow year. The
gerbil lived in one of their dresser drawers. They taught the gerbil how
to climb onto the window sill, with a handkerchief and string parachute,
jump off and float down to a waiting cadet in the grassy area below the
third or fourth floor window and between the ramp to New South (Lee and
Sherman). Upon successful completion of each PLF, the gerbil would be
rewarded with whatever food it liked best.
The airborne gerbil performed
many times to the enjoyment of several cadets in the two barracks areas over
a period of months, without detection of the TACs. There were appropriate
ceremonies to "pin" on cardboard wings, etc.
Unfortunately, one day while
the owners were at class, the airborne gerbil escaped from his hiding place,
crawled out on the window sill and jumped to his death, (having forgotten to
get into his parachute harness first). Unless my memory is mistaken, a
current special Ops BG was the owner.
Following the demise of the gerbil,
we had a formal funeral and burial with full military honors, including a
couple of Hell Cats for drums and taps. Cadets were in full dress gray for
the occasion. A decorated black gold and gray large matchbox with big
silver master blaster wings was the casket, and we even had a small American
flag for the affair. They buried him in the grassy area where he fell and
the attending cadets designated that area Gerbil Drop Zone in memory of our
fallen comrade.
For several years after that, I heard stories about the
airborne gerbil, as it became cadet lore.
Mike Toler '72
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