Cdr Grahl, Chris and my 1901

Chris Larsen and I were roommates in the 8th Grade at Admiral Farragut Academy, in Pine Beach, NJ. It was the first year for Chris, whose father was a commodore in the U.S. Coast Guard. Chris didn't exactly reflect that military tradition yet in his life. He was sloppy, fidgeted constantly, could not help being loud, unkempt or inappropriate most of the time.

When I turned in at night, the window was closed and Beethoven was on quietly. When Chris went to bed, he blasted Heavy Metal music and kept the window open. It was not a match made in heaven. When he grew up he wanted to be a night club owner, and I was thinking about the priesthood even then. Chris considered Farragut a prison where he was away from his friends. I considered Farragut as a refuge from my stuff at home, and the people there were my friends.

Academically -- there was some difference between us. Chris was actually very bright, but he probably suffered from some kind of ADD or ADHD or some such thing.

Anyway, there was Laughlin: How tall is an 11-year-old generally? Somewhere in the 5-foot range -- spanning tall to short. Meanwhile, Laughlin was already taller than six feet and was as narrow as a piece of paper seemingly. He was quiet and very academically inclined. He played no sports and busied himself with his studies. Unlike Chris and I, Laughlin was a "day student," which means he was dropped off in the morning and picked-up in the afternoon.

The uniforms at Farragut were simple but traditional, and mirrored those of the United States Navy: uniform overseas cap with insignia, shined brass belt buckle, navy blue trousers, long-sleeve shirt, collar rank insignia, tie, socks and black shoes (highly shined).

Our class, which included perhaps 13 or 14 students, was waiting outside of Commander Theodore Grahl's Pre-Algebra Class in Dupont Hall, near the tennis courts, where Larsen and another new fellow, Schulman, were slap fighting and carrying on and whatever. Cdr. Grahl may have been the commandant of the school but he was also one of the hardest teachers we had in the building: hard but fair. If someone were not prepared for his class it was no fun: embarrassment, extra homework and a mental note in case you were ever looking for the benefit of the doubt as a cadet. Why mess with him?

Well, Schulman and Larsen decided to get into a real fight. Schulman was a martial artist as well as being a good student, who was loud only when teachers weren't around. He was also the nephew of famed martial arts entrepreneur "Tiger" Schulman and had dedicated himself to a certain amount of training. Well, great big Larsen attacks like a bull: straight on. Schulman responds by jumping up and drop-kicking him in the chest. This is repeated three or four times before Larsen finally gives up. Even I couldn't help but laugh...and so did McLaughlin.

So, we hear Cdr. Grahl coming and straighten-up. He appears, sharp as usual in his uniform, opens the door and tells us: "Just take your seats, I will be back in a moment. Get your homework out because it is the first thing we are doing." He disappears quickly. Cdr. Grahl did everything fast.

On the way inside, Larsen turns on McLaughlin: "So you thought it was pretty funny with me getting whipped and all. Admit it, you think it was funny!"

Here it came.

Larsen, who was a big kid, started taunting McLaughlin viciously out of nowhere. He pulled McLaughlin's cover from underneath his belt and threw it across the room. He poked McLaughlin with his finger, and it was clear he was hurting the thin, studious boy.

Then, Larsen started calling McLaughlin's mother names and that was it.

Maybe I interfered because I really didn't like Chris, or because he kept me up late at night when I wanted to sleep, or he didn't wash his clothes or his body as frequently as I otherwise would have liked, but I certainly was done with the antics of the day.

I called Chris out and led off with: 'Hey, enough with McLaughlin's mom: Yours gives you an allowance from what she makes working her ass on a corner Friday night outside a saloon.'

Chris pushed me hard and started screaming. He got in another shove, sending me back into 3 or 4 desk/chairs. He was laughing and started to sit down. I jumped up from where I was and launched myself at him, knocking him over while sitting in a desk/chair. He came spilling out and we wasted no time throwing rights and lefts to each other's head.

It felt like Chris and I were hammering each other for a long time but it was only seconds -- maybe a minute on the outside. Grahl comes in and there is an explosion of authority. Everyone snaps to attention immediately: myself as well. Chris stopped fighting and felt the wounds on his face.

In those days, and at Farragut, a certain amount of physical contact was fine in things like breaking up fights or the like. Grahl threw both Chris and I against the wall at the back of the classroom and we were told to remain there quietly in a savage tone and with Grahl using plenty of expletives.

He instructed the other cadets to get the room back into shape, to get homework out then, and to remain seated and quiet until he comes back in. The commandant throws us outside the classroom simultaneously and, again, up against the wall in the corridor with both his hands at about the knot in our ties. He said he did not want to know what happened here and now. He instructed us to go to the office, write our accounts and go to our room: we were suspended for the day. If there was an altercation in our room in any way, someone was going home (as in getting thrown out).

We went to the Commandant's Office, wrote our accounts and proceeded back to our room in Farragut Hall, across campus beyond the quad. Walking together, Larsen beamed, "THAT was an awesome fight! AWESOME!"

I was incredulous: "We're in deep shit. Like I don't know how bad -- but f-ing bad."

Larsen said it was "no big deal" and that when the punishment was over the story was still going to be passed around the cadets. I shook my head: "There is no arguing with that logic."

After we left, Grahl did do the homework, and got an account from the other cadets in the class about what led up to the fight and how the whole thing started. At 1630, I was instructed to report to Grahl's office. I had taken a nap and when I awoke Chris was gone and I was being summoned by cadet Petty Officer 3rd Class Fred Koch who instructed me to "get my ass to the commandant's office...now". I went there and reported correctly. Cdr. Grahl returned my salute and placed me at ease.

He told me fighting is not tolerated on school grounds. He said I was not to fight with any cadet again. He told me another instance of fighting within 3 months would lead to extra duty for "a very long time" but for this instance Larsen and I were going to pay for it in sweat. He said Larsen and I were to report to the track on the football field at 0630 Saturday morning, where Larsen and I were going to be running at "high port arms" for a mile with our weapons and that he would personally oversee the punishment. If I was late then I would receive extra duty long enough "that I would remember not to miss something again." He asked me if that was clear. I snapped back to parade rest and responded in the affirmative. He did not release me from parade rest but instructed me that my decision-making in this fight was not something that he was displeased with.

"If there is a bully then someone needs to whip his ass. That is the nature of life. Bullies will be there at every age, in every profession and in every field of endeavor there is. Today, you showed that you're not going to put up with their shit, and I am proud of that. You also looked out for another, weaker cadet. I am proud of that. But there are better ways to do that than throwing chairs around and wrecking my class: Am I clear?"

I answered in the affirmative.

The commandant told me that would be all and added, on my way out of his office, that Larsen was moving out of our room and that, by now, he should already be gone to the other side of Farragut Hall. He instructed me to stay away from him. I answered in the affirmative.

Chris was, in fact, gone when I returned. 3PO Koch had helped him move while I was with Cdr. Grahl. Well, one benefit of this affair was that the window was going to be closed from now on and Maestro Beethoven would be getting the proper respect due him and his work. In the process, I was finally going to get some sleep, for a change.

Chris and I passed in the hallways and nodded to one another. There was no animus on our part: I think Chris rather liked this whole thing, really.

Saturday finally came around and there was Grahl, holding our two .30-06 M1903 Springfield rifles (used by the U.S. military between 1903-1974). Each one weighed about nine pounds and that day I discovered nine pounds feels like a lot when someone is running with it above their head. My ass was kicked early on with this, and I was gulping air like it was going out of style. At that time, I was a good runner, active in sports and the like. But, this was absolutely wearing me out. Larsen was doing better, but not by much.

As Grahl oversaw us, he continually barked at Larsen to get "that goddamned rifle up right f---ing now!" And, with me, he would jog over and more quietly encourage me to get the weapon up. I did everything I could to do it. By the time a mile was up, Larsen and I were done. He brought us to attention with the rifles, we went through inspection arms and then he recovered the weapons from us and took possession of them. He then instructed us to shake and declared the incident was over. We were then dismissed. The commandant brought the weapons back to the armory. Larsen walked off. I trotted down to the other side of the football field and laid down, exhausted on the grass and staring at the gray, angry sky. The only thought I had on my mind was bed and sleep. So, I finally mustered my strength, got up and made that dream come true, sleeping for many hours, with Beethoven's Consolation No. 9 playing gently in the background. It was wonderful.

I didn't see Chris after that year. And, indeed, I did not even attend Farragut for high school. But, Commander Grahl, Chris and high-port arms, not to mention the M1901 Springfield, are people and things I will not forget anytime soon.

Of some note, many years later, in 1995, I would bump into the headmaster of Farragut when all this happened (who was and maybe still is a political figure in one of the small towns along the Barrier Island in Ocean County). It was always kind of awkward. I guess 'what happens at Farragut stays in Farragut,' but that is another story.

Below: A statue I found in a graveyard along O Street in Lincoln, Nebraska, commemorating U.S. soldiers from the Mexican-American War. I shot it quick because it was as cold as heck there in the late Fall.