Relics kept by a relic...

Please refer to the February 1st post and hopefully this one will make more sense to you. In essence, decided to "break the ice" and, as our friend Jeannette Foye DeMille suggested, "show family pictures" and such. So, starting off with this "vignette," a slice of you-know-who's life at LaSalle, and slightly beyond LaSalle.

The only thing to be said, and admit to being my own most critical critic, the image in the quaint black-and-white print is somewhat scary - reminds one of those cheesy, grainy, vintage horror film ones - you know, The Mummy, Bride of Frankenstein, or The Three Stooges' We Want Our Mummy! That one is the most apropos for purposes of this subject.



Stooges face a slight obstacle during their search for King Rutentuten's tomb in WE WANT OUR MUMMY. Image from: gammillustrations.bizland.com


Final comment/critique on the slice-of-LaSalle life depicted on the photograph - the one on top, that is! You may or may not recall it was taken at the time when Sergio Leone's "Spaghetti Westerns" starring Clint Eastwood were being released and becoming very popular. The writer particularly liked The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Well, the subject photo inspires one - me - to baptize the object with a semi-Spaghetti Western title - No Good, Bad, and Ugly. The Greyhound bus windshield-size glasses alone would do it.


The historian-archeologist side some people have cannot be denied. Unfortunately, this former inmate, sorry! - was thinking about the office - classmate - seems to stash away relics, the flotsam and jetsam of its, I mean, his past life. Occasionally, to his surprise, they are found again. Even though there are days he cannot find his keys or cellphone, to the chagrin of his suffering family. Too Much Information - TMI - and Too Much Stuff - TMS - these days. Bring my rotary phone back!! Actually, have one - and it still works.

Remember these? Found in an old wallet that made many a trip to LaSalle until June '68.

The last Big Thing Little Big Man did before graduation was, duly following the law of the land at the time, register at Local Board No. 47, Selective Service System, 51 S. W. First Avenue, Room 216, Miami, Florida 33130 within five days of his 18th hatching-day. Nelson, somehow I believe you went with me that day...for moral support purposes, no doubt. In retrospect, it appears someone at Local Board 47 wasn't "with it," which may have saved a small fry from loss of limb, perhaps life. Of course, you the reader remember an affair called Vietnam was going on at the time. And at the time, Little Big Man's take on the whole thing was, his frame of mind shaped by the news images shown daily on the Boob Tube: "If I hafta go, I'll go but, dear God, either let me come back in one piece or not at all." He meant it, too.

Looking back, this was an extremely selfish way of thinking, because after all, his family would probably have preferred to have half of a half back than none at all. Still...always have been a "double or nothing" kind of guy. Anyway, here's where the less than stellar competence of someone at Local Board 47 may have saved all that worrying. First, a letter was sent, months after registration, to a cousin who had been listed as a contact on the paperwork. Cousin called and said, "you've got mail." "We have not heard from Albert Quiroga and..." all kind of dire threats were made. So, Little Big Man made tracks to Local Board 47 and made a beeline towards the diminutive - I notice these things! - lady behind the desk who, from the looks of it, had been manning her post since clerking for Washington at Valley Forge. "What's the problem?! I've been here and given all correct information - address, name, whatever you needed?" So, she went looking for the file - and found it - and saw they had a valid address for you know who. She mumbled some kind of apology and said "they would annotate the file and make sure mail went to the right address." Yeah, whatever.

A few weeks later, a Selective Service card arrived. Little Big Man was placed in Class V-A: "Registrant too old for military service." So I shoulda been Little Big Old Man. "OK," thought I, "either they'll figure it out or they will not - NOT going back there, it is useless!!" On to Miami-Dade Jr. College, in August it was.

Then a corrected Selective Service card arrived and...you got it! They fixed the mistake alright, and classified LBM as a genuine, first class, Class 1-A - meaning: "Get ready to head out to Saigon, young fella!" And, for over a year, a year during which President Nixon sent troops to Cambodia and the war really heated up, "short stuff" was prime infantry material...but no one came calling. Did they lose the file for a whole year? Maybe the diminutive lady was sitting on it all the time and no one noticed. Afterwards, yet another card was issued, classification: II-S - so they had decided to grant a student deferment, after all. They need not have bothered, as shortly thereafter, the lottery system was adopted, and the 120-pound wonder drew a 353 or something like that, meaning it would take a nuclear war before he'd be drafted. And it would not last long enough to matter, in any case. Way to go, Local Board Number 47! Thank you for your service.

Well, had Little Big Man shipped out to 'nam, he might have been OK - most AK-47 rounds fired by those other little guys in the black pajamas woulda probably whizzed right over his head. However, there were those nasty punji sticks...

Remember this other relic? It was issued, kind of like a Manual of Field Regulations given to new draftees, as we began the 1964-65 school year at LaSalle.


Rules, rules, rules. The kids today complain about "rules." Well, they're wussy rules, these days. They have no idea what real rules were back then - and they were enforced. Sometimes, rules were created ad hoc by some of our instructors. Coach Minter's Rules of Mortal Pain and Gauntlet Running come to mind. Heads I win, tails you lose. Good rule, don't you think?



And what remnants of your ILS sojourn do you have stashed away? Why don't you share them with us? Surely, Little Big Man was not the only relic-hoarder in those four fun years. Perhaps he may yet find more in his diggings. Hopefully, when displayed here in the future, you'll dig it. Pun intended.