All they want is your money

A couple of days ago, I received in the mail a letter from a car salesman who graduated from my alma mater, The Citadel, back in 1981.

As you probably guessed, I did not get along then or now with my school. I have never contributed a penny nor do I really keep up with anything that goes on there. I spent four years of my life there and the Nazi worshippers in charge tried to run me out and twice threatened to have me courtmartialed.

I graduated--with TWO degrees and with honors.

It was not the freshman year stuff (called "fourth class system") I objected too even if they went a little far with it. That is my concession. What I did not care for was the continued harrassment and attempts to steal my belongings, stick me with constant guard duty and threaten me with "demerits."

Too many and they throw you out of the place.

Give me an apology and maybe we can start over. But I do not see that happening.

What upset them the most was that I would not take any crap from them and struck back. God saw fit to give me knobby fists. Plus I can outstare goldfish and most cats. Apparently somewhere in the regulations, it is an offense not to respectfully return Hitler salutes or to participate in mass goosestepping. Refusing to shout "Heil Hitler!" was also frowned upon.

I will be the first to tell you my belt buckle may not have been the shinest but my marksmanship was hard to beat. I also never, ever left a classmate in distress and helped out anyone who needed help I could provide.

It was depressing to see freshmen I helped keep from quitting turn around and become wannabe Nazis to the following year's incoming class. I drew the line when those same people I helped tried to turn on me. When direct means failed, they tried to be more subtle but I reacted in a direct manner and ended any scheme before it started.

They still tried.

And they failed.

The "Brotherhood of the Ring" is a lie and I figured that out rather quickly. Should I have gone to Pitt? Definatley. But I was not going to be the butt of any jokes. They may say whatever they like about me but remember a few things:

(A) Say it to my face

(B) I beat you on your home ground using your rules

(C) You still beg me for money

None of my so-called "brothers" have ever made contact. I live next to one of the largest military bases in the world and I was on the radio for a decade. Not exactly hiding...

So back to our original story. Car salesman from Class of 1981 I never heard of and is much older than yours truely envokes this supposed bond in the hopes of selling me a Jeep Cherokee. Is that what all the Death Marches and Hell Nights were all about?

I still laugh when I get plaintive appeals for donations.

I'd rather give it to some homeless guy.

As the Sycthians once said to the invading, exaspetated Persians suffering in the heat of the steepes: "Go weep."