Jerry and Me
(This story is from the 2007 Saint-Jean-Baptiste)
I came into close contact with two presidents in my lifetime, some 23 years apart. This story is about the first one.
In 1974, I was an eighteen-year-old “Plebe” Cadet at the United StatesMilitaryAcademy at West Pont.
One great West Point tradition is the Army-Navy football game held each November in Philadelphia. On an early gray morning, all 4,000 cadets were handed a “box lunch,” and boarded a large caravan of buses for the 180-mile ride to “RFK” stadium to watch the game.
As new cadets, this was one of the first times we were allowed to leave the post. So, if the game wasn’t thrilling enough, the prospect of getting off-post and finding out how well our uniforms worked when it came to meeting girls (few of which we had seen or touched in this pre-women-at-The-Point era,) had us mightily euphoric.
We were “taught” from our very first day at West Point, different football cheers, such as “On Brave Old Army Team” and “USMA, Rah, Rah,” the latter accompanied by wildly flinging, but coordinated, arm movements. We were also “encouraged” to bellow anti-Naval Academy retorts, such as “Beat the Hell out of Navy, Sir!” at strategic moments as requested by upper classmen. These were temporary additions to the only four answers with which we were allowed to respond during our first year in the academy, those being, “Yes, Sir,” “No, Sir, “No excuse, Sir,” and “Sir, I do not understand.”
We also had bet our military-issued bathrobes on our Army team, against midshipmen who also wagered their issued bathrobes. Ours were very chic: mid-calf length, light blue flannel with black and gold piping on the lapels. On the left breast of each robe, we pinned all sorts of battle ribbons and medals that were purchased at the BX. A “Cow” (that’s a third-year Cadet) told me that West Pointer robes were coveted by the other service academies. I discovered why that was earlier in the football season when I won a bathrobe bet against an Air Force Academy plebe only to get a cheapo piece of gold-colored cotton cloth that barely covered my rear end.
To the rousing beat of military drums, the Corps of Cadets marched off the buses and flowed into seats in a massive swell of gray across the gridiron from Naval midshipmen blue, to which we instantly volleyed cheers, taunts and aggressive gestures.
I don’t remember much about the first half of the game except the drizzling rain. Notwithstanding, I remember well the public address announcement that the then President of the United States, Gerald R. Ford, would greet the crowd at half-time. I gulped hard since I had never seen a President in person and right then and there, for some still-unknown reason, I decided I would somehow get an up-close and personal view of our Commander-in-Chief. And, for the rest of the half, I stealthily, but very casually, made my way down through rows of upper classmen to the seats edging the playing field.
As half time began, President Ford was introduced to great applause as he came onto the field by an end-zone tunnel, something to which this President was much accustomed, as he was an All-American linebacker from Michigan in his college days, the only such college athlete among all the Presidents. The crowd was wildly enthusiastic about his presence as he went to the 50-yard line, waved and then sauntered to the NavalAcademy side to greet their Commandant.
Fatefully, a breach in the line of upperclassmen manifested at the same time and I slithered through and down a small stairway onto the field itself and with as much self confidence as any Plebe hailing from West Plattsburgh could muster, I marched to a group of people that had formed a receiving line for the President on our side of the field.
I wish I could tell you that I shook Ford’s hand, but I was nudged out by the time he got to me. Still, though, I was only three or four feet away and managed a close look at this President, who wore a white trench coat and brown shoes. He had a robust face, bisected by a wide smile that pushed folds of skin outwards, tinged with a reddishness brought on by the cool and dampness of the day. He clearly enjoyed the moment. His hair wasn’t as gray as I thought it would be and had a lot of blonde in it. And his smile showed teeth that were bit on the brown side. Sorry to report that, but at the time it struck me as peculiar—given the vanity of most presidents—and it still does. I instantly liked Gerald Ford.
After the President greeted our Commandant, he walked straight back to the end zone, escorted by his secret service, and our contingent of greeters broke up, finding me face to face with an upperclassman demanding to know why I was on the field.
“No excuse, Sir,” I answered loudly, “Beat the Hell out of Navy, Sir!” and then I scurried up the bleachers without looking back.
Army lost the game. I don’t remember the score. I also lost my bathrobe…leaving me with only that crappy Air Force bathrobe that left me half naked.