That night, I caught Two!

The date was 9 October, 1965 and, I had just caught two! I was in need of a further plan. You realize that was just over fifty-nine years ago today.

A couple of weeks earlier, I had returned home from Wyoming just in time to receive the call to meet in the parking lot across from Guion Hall with the rest of my fish buddies; twenty more guys in the exact same boat I was in—starting college and being a member of the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M University. I still wasn’t sure this was the path right for me. I was making good money—more than ever before—working as a roughneck on a core drilling rig. But still, all I had was a high school education and the barrel of Vietnam was staring right down at me.

Like the service academies, the Corps of Cadets at A&M have special names for the classes of its members: freshmen – fish, sophomores – pissheads, juniors – serge buts, and seniors – zipperheads. Each term relating to a specific attribute of that particular class.

I had spent the next week across from Guion learning to dress-right-dress, left-face-right-face-about-face, numerous column and flanking movements; along with the campus-oloy of every building plaque on the campus and maybe doing at least a quad-drillion pushups.

We were taught the extreme importance of my fish buddies and just how they would eventually become the longest and most lasting friendships one would ever experience.

Classes started and I was into the swing of school life, but still adjusting to the constant and unrelenting stress of being a fish in the largest Corps of Cadets in the United States. Every day was a new challenge, a test we had to pass—failure was not an option. If we were to make it through the year to come, we would make it only if we held together and suffered as a group—alone, one could not survive.

The football team had a new coach. Gene Stallings had returned from Alabama and hopes were high. Three games into the season, it wasn’t looking much better than last year. The Ags had been outscored by both LSU and Texas Tech, but had beat Georgia Tech. Houston was next up, but this time the game was at Kyle Field.

Having endured the harassment for weeks now—I was looking forward to the Houston game. A long standing tradition gave freshmen cadets with a date sophomore privileges for the event. This was the break I needed. I had not been in contact with any of my previous friends since I had left home for rig work at the start of the past summer. I had to come up with a date.

Finding the time, I made my way to the bus station in Bryan and took the chance to ask Joan if she would like to go to Midnight Yell Practice and the Game with me that coming weekend. I had dated Joan a couple of times during the last part of my senior year in high school. She agreed to go with me and the remainder of the week started to look better.

About Wednesday, I got the bad news that Joan had been scheduled to work Saturday night, so there went my date for the football game. However, she was still up for going to Midnight Yell Practice. Harassment wise, this was half better than I had previously had hoped for.

Then the first stroke of luck I had had in weeks dropped at my feet. Bill Johnson, one of my closest friends and a fish in our next door unit ask me if he could get his girlfriend, Melba, to set me up with a blind date. OK, things began to look up after all. Not only was I taking a girl to Yell Practice, I might have date for the football game the next evening.

Midnight Yell Practice

Students practice the yells at Midnight Yell Practice. Held at Kyle Field at midnight the night before a home football game, Midnight Yell is similar to a pep rally. Aggies practice the yells that will be used in the following day's game and generated an excitement for the game. At the conclusion of the yell practice, the stadium lights are extinguished and Aggies practice kissing their dates, because Aggies are expected to kiss their dates every time the football team scores on the field.

By the time Friday evening rolled around and time for Midnight Yell was upon us, all my fish buddies and I had been to several Yell Practices. We knew all the yells and what we should do and expect at every turn—it wasn’t easy, but as a group the stress was much easier to fathom.

I picked up Joan after she got off work and we made our way to the campus and joined my buddies for Midnight Yell. The feeling of having sophomore privileges was fantastic—the privileges weren’t complete—some of my buddies didn’t have a date, so we were forced to suffer right along with them at certain times—but this was the best time some of had had in weeks. At the appropriate time, the lights were turned off and the kissing practice began—a tradition that is enjoyed at A&M every time the Ags score points, regardless the method. Therefore you have to practice; it’s gotta be done right and practice is how one gets better!

This was the first practice session I had really enjoyed since we had started our training. There just might be an advantage to going to college here after all!

After Yell Practice, we all gathered for a Coke at the bus station. As it was now going on two in the morning, I took Joan home, promising to call her next week.

Bill and I got together the next morning and he, Melba and I made our way over to my next date’s house so we could figure out the coming evening. I knew my date but had never talked with her. Both of us had mutual friends as she a year behind me and still in high school. We agreed that Bill and I would go to the game in my car because we both had to be two hours before game time due to the Corps march-in. Melba with my still somewhat blind date would arrive later in Bill’s car and we would all join up under the stands next to the ramp heading up into the freshman standing section.

12^th Man

A tradition passed down through generations of Aggies for more than ten decades as Texas A&M’s student section stands together during entire football and basketball games, a symbol of the 12th Man on the team.

This meant that until I was again date-connected, I was once again a fish and subject to everything that comes with those privileges. I could hardly wait until I reached my date to once again become a privileged sophomore. Until such time, I was harassed and cajoled like my fish buddies.

Finally the march-in was over and I made my way to meet my date. Bill and I arrived approximately the same time and we eventually found a place to stand in Kyle Field and experience our first home Aggie football game.

Fortunately for me, the Aggies scored a touchdown, an extra point and a field goal that evening. I got the chance to use my practiced kissing talent three times before the game was over; every time becoming more enamored with my choice of colleges and future—plus two date that weekend.

That’s when the other shoe dropped. With the game close to ending, the Ags in possession of the ball, and Houston not expected to get it again; the fish were ordered down to the sidelines to rush the team and carry them off the field in victory. At this point, my sophomore privileges departed once again. Standing on the sidelines, the Officers of the Day gave us our next instructions—those not catching a player were to capture a Yell Leader and carry him to the Fish Pond at North Gate. “That’s all the way across campus” I thought to myself.

After-Game Traditions

Aggies practice their yells again after each football game. When the team outscores their opponent—(Aggies never loose)—the freshmen (fish) in the Corps of Cadets chase down and capture the Yell Leaders on Kyle Field and carry them across campus to be dunked in the Fish Pond at North Gate.

Each of us coming from different positions in the stands, most of my fish buddies eventually found each other and we readied ourselves on the cinder track. The field in front of us held our destiny.

Houston did their best to prolong the game and get another chance to score. The final minute creaked by. Looking back up the student section—then only the bottom level of Kyle Field on the east side existed—it seemed to me that every face in the crowd belonged to an upperclassman from my own outfit; each with their eyes watching every move I made. I could see no way to get back to my date without chasing somebody on the field and doing a good job of chasing at that.

The crack of the gun finally sounded and the Ags had won, 10 to 7. The bang was still echoing around the horseshoe as I sprinted straight across the field for a player. I had no chance, those guys were standing right next to their tunnel and were gone like lightening.

I quickly turned my efforts toward the Yell Leaders scampering around trying to not get caught. One was headed straight for where I was running. Instinct took over and I tackled him around the left leg just as he zigged where I had most recently zagged. I was quickly joined by a couple of other fish—none of who I recognized—but, long story short, we had him.

My thoughts turned to my date in the stands. I had to get back to her somehow, but at the moment didn’t have a clue as how I was going to accomplish that task. That’s when fate interceded and my hopes suffered their biggest defeat of the evening. The Yell Leader in our possession had managed to get his bill fold and keys out of his pocket. Never speaking but looking me straight in my eyes; he handed his possessions to me. I understood.

What could I do? I had to continue to North Gate and the Fish Pond. There was no way out of it—I was trapped. I searched the stands where my date and I had been standing hoping to catch her eye and plead my case. I was out of luck.

Making our way through the north tunnel of Kyle Field, behind the Memorial Student Center, crossing Simpson Drill Field, up Houston Street and straight to the Fish Pond; we plodded our course. Although tiring about half way, I knew I had to stay with the group. Arriving first, the six of us fish tossed our Yell Leader into the Fish Pond—he was quickly followed by four more.

Standing right on the front line so I was sure to maintain contact with my Yell Leader, I joined the entire assemblage in the post-game Yell Practice including the singing of the Aggie Warm Hymn. When everybody began to disperse, my Yell Leader located me, retrieved his possessions and thanked me for keeping them safe. As soon as I could, I started back across campus to try to find my date, that is, if she was still on campus.

I walked as quickly back down Houston Street as I could, always searching for my date. I skirted Simpson Drill Field and headed into the Memorial Student Center to see if she was there (MSC to everyone but fish—we weren’t allowed to abbreviate anything). I encountered several fish buddies in the bowling alley and ask about her. No one seemed to know her whereabouts.

With my heart full of doom, I started out the back door of the Memorial Student Center, crossing Joe Routt Boulevard, on my way to my car parked behind G. Rollie White Coliseum just off South Houston Street.

On a whim, I decided to check out the stadium before going to my car. As I headed into the east side under-stadium, the lights were beginning to be turned off. Again, the bottom again fell out of my hopes. I thought that there was no way that my blind date would still be there. But, I was determined to check.

I made my way to the one fire light that remained lit on the entire east side of the Kyle Field and there stood Patsy.

My wife of now 55+ years and I have celebrated that evening, her birthday and our first date—most of them together except for a few times that my Uncle Sam saw fit to provide a few road blocks.

Yep! Your right; that night I caught two!