Steam Showers Our Pisshead Year

(Many of completely erased this event from our memories. You be the judge as to why that may have happened.)

It was in the still of the middle of the night-- actually the wee-early morning hours of November 19, 1969-- the fall semester of our Pisshead year, when each of us was gently awakened by a sergebutt (for Eddurds and me, I think it was Garcia), and instructed to suit-up in jock-strap, raingear and combat boots, and to fall-out on the wall. What??? There must be some mistake-- this can't be happening. We're Pissheads, not fish! Sure enough, soon you could hear the sounds of doors opening and closing, commotion in the hall. We haven't done anything to mess up! The fish aren't perfect, but they've been doing OK. What is this all about??

Surely having no choice, Eddurds and I dragged out of our racks and did as ordered. Jocks, smelly-rubber poncho, combat boots, and out on the wall. It's 2 am in the morning! A bunch of the juniors were hanging out in the hall, with all-knowing smiles. The fish were all nestled snug in their beds, fast asleep, totally unaware. Once all accounted for, the Heaven's Eleven Class of '72 Old Army Pissheads filed down the hall.

Although nothing had been said, we all knew without a doubt where we were heading. We had been down this road before, as fish, that pre-Christmas night when we dooshed-out the pissheads. We paid dearly that night, and we hadn't forgotten it. Only thing was, we thought that torture was forever behind us. We were pissheads now. This couldn't be happening.

As we approached the Crapper, you could hear the roar of the showers going full-blast. You could see the towels stuffed along the bottom of the doors, blocking any air from entering-- or steam from escaping. We filed in, single-file, like cattle, until all of us were jammed inside in a solid-dense mass. The lights were off, but the lamp posts out in the quad provided just a bit of illumination through the opaque Crapper windows. The steam was so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. The steam was so hot you couldn't take in more than the scantiest breath without burning your throat and lungs. The door closed behind us, and the air-choking towels were again stuffed beneath the doors. A couple of juniors were there waiting, ready to direct the torture. What followed, seemingly like an eternity, was an unending alternation of hanging from the steam pipes (jump up, grab a pipe by the hands, pull yourself up and hang there with the pipe in the inside crook of your elbow)-- then, after a nice hang-time, drop to the floor and push to the cadence. Push-ups. Somehow, doing pushups on the slimy, mucky floor of the Crapper almost seemed like a blessing, because it was only the one-quarter inch of space just above the floor that had any breathable air. "Up. Down. Up. Down." On each "down", you could turn your head sideways as it touched that slimy floor, and suck in a life-sustaining half-breath. Then, back up to hang from the pipes. Then, back down. Why is this happening? Why?

After what seemed like over an hour, oscillating from the pipes to the floor and back again, our mental dilemma was answered, as if those nasty juniors had decided to take compassion on our minds. While we struggled to gut-out push-ups on that slimy floor, one of our torture-lords spoke: "You guys are probably wondering why you're in here tonight. Well, we'll tell you: Tonight, a T-Sip is walking on the moon." That's all that was said. Then, back to the cadence. The rest of the night, I have no memory, except all the while trying to figure out why.

November 19, 1969 was the date Apollo 12 landed on the moon. The Apollo 12 crew was Charles Conrad, Richard Gordon and Alan Bean. Alan Bean, the Lunar Module Pilot, was a graduate of the University of Texas.

Dan (Graner) Garner

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Nebbitt's Comments:
I remember vividly. It was infuriating. The kind of thing that makes one mean. One or the other of those showers , Yankus was out and blue in the face. I was concerned that our class might grow smaller by one.

Weldon E. (Nebbitt) Nesbitt

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Shotgun's Comments:
Yes, I remember it, but I think the whole scene was a very bad memory that my mind conveniently blocked out until now. Thanks for reminding me (not)!!!! You guys have really got to get a job and do some work one of these days! The only redeeming feature of that evening was (as Dan earlier stated) that sweet-smelling air just above floor level. It was a godsend!

Alan (Shotgun) Gibbs