Stories from the Old Corps

Herein lie stories submitted by HT-03 about the "Old Corps" or thereafter. This collection may help demonstrate how and why our class turned out like it did (meaning completely insane). I, of course, will gladly accept contributions and will post them here. Just remember, it has to be from our days as cadets or thereafter, and should involve at least one other member of our class in any way, shape, or form. I refuse to let this page exist without the "Peephole" story, so if you're out there, Walsh, please submit it. Otherwise someone please write up a close and funny approximation. Please send submissions to me.

Since this is my idea and I created the website, I'll go ahead and start things off with a well known story that, to my knowledge, I've never told in detail, as I am more than a little embarrassed about it. This is my effort and I am not very good at telling stories and certainly not at making them funny, so please submit more stories so mine gets drowned out.

Snowshoe, PA

Submitted by Pomfret

Freshman year there was an open invitation to any HT to go an a skiing trip during spring break. I had never been skiing and had certainly never heard of the place where we were planning to go. As usual I put off trying to figure how to get there until a day before I was to leave. It was then that I realized I truly had no idea where in hell Snowshoe was. It was at this point that I called up the bud contact for the trip. Lauryn told me that I was in fact an adult and could figure how to get there by myself. Certainly not a very useful telephone call, but when I hung up I actually believed her for some reason. I should have known better.

I then tried, unsuccessfully, to find this mysterious ski-resort known to me only as Snowshoe. I asked my father to help me, but he had never heard of it either. At some point we decided that this place must be in Pennsylvania since Lauryn knew of it and it was her home state. It is at this point in telling this story that I grimace at my feeble reasoning and am incredibly disappointed that no one kicked me upside the head to knock some sense into my sponge-filled skull. To my surprise (well, it should have been surprise but was instead a lack of it due to stupidity), we actually found a town known as Snowshoe, PA. This was a certain confirmation that we were, indeed, skiing in Pennsylvania as I had reasoned. I was happy for the rest of the day knowing that it would simply be a few hours of driving then fun in the snow. Boy, was I stupid.

The next day my bud Rob Lamott drove down to my house in Springfield, VA. He had decided to drive with me since he couldn't trust his old Sunbird in the snow. When I told him we were going up north he seemed surprised. The whole reason he even drove down from Maryland was that he thought I lived at least slightly closer to Snowshoe than he. But, he had never been there either and he just figured that I knew where I was going. Besides, who was he to argue with a Marine Corps Colonel? This should set the stage for the whole trip nicely.

After we transferred everything into my mother's Buick LaSabre (since I had no car of my own at the time) we hit the road. It was mostly uneventful, but steadily getting colder. I was pretty excited to learn how to ski. I couldn't wait. At last we approached our destination. We got off on our exit and excitedly looked around. We gazed in amazement at the wonder of ........... a shell station. HOLY COW!!!! We had just driven for hours and were smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania. Not a mountain in sight and the only snow to be seen was at the side of the road, and I don't think skiing in black snow would be very fun. Rob had an incredulous look on his face and I can only imagine the dumbfounded look my mug displayed. We got out every map we could find and eventually got the bright idea to call Lauryn's home. The Cessars helped us to understand that not only were we nowhere near the ski resort, but we actually went in nearly the completely wrong direction. We had about 8 more hours to drive just to get there from where we were. At their invitation, the Cessars gave us directions to their house so we could spend the night. Somehow I think that to Rob, "I told you so," just wouldn't cut it. He was thankfully silent.

It's not everyone who knows how long it takes to get from Snowshoe, PA to Pittsburg. I am one of those lucky few. Now it should have taken us about 4 hours to get from nowheresville to the Cessars; we made it about 3. I can't believe I didn't get pulled over. I think I topped out at about 110 miles per hour in some places. Say what you want about grandpa cars, they can book if you're in a hurry. The first time I met the Cessars I made a bad impression. Not to say that I was rude or looked especially unkempt or anything, it was just the mere fact that I was obviously an idiot. However, if they thought ill of me they didn't say so. The next day they gave us breakfast and gave us proper directions to Snowshoe, West Virginia. Finally on the right track we set off. It was then that I had my first experience driving in the most confusing city I've ever seen, or should I say my first experience watching as we decided I should not be at the wheel going through Pittsburg for fear we might end up heading northeast or something worse happening.

Around 3 o'clock that day we showed up at the rented townhouse where all our friends were staying. They were all out skiing. Rob and I had both missed out on an entire day and a half's skiing and I know he was pissed. I was exhausted and decided to take a nap. I sure am glad I did, because it meant that I was perfectly well rested for the laughter and ridicule to come at my expense. As noted before, this is the first time I have gone into detail with this story because I feel ashamed just mentioning it. My stupidity didn't even end here. There is more that happened that spring break, but that will have to wait until another time. Just suffice it to say that I never lived this down and to this day Jim Reese still refers to me as "Snowshoe."