21 Feb 2009. AU was a baffling ordeal to get to. At least compared to the schools where you pull off the interstate and BOOM there it is. Drive to the metro then shuttle then walk. Their quad reminded me of UIC's and construction had me walking in circles and cutting through brunches to find their bookstore. Nothing with the new slick AU logo on it, sad.
"And that is why dolphins regularly eat their young. Thank you, and good night."
Jacques Cousteau exited the Bender Arena stage with the full applause behind him.
Minutes later, he emerged from his dressing room in a sleeveless shirt, a towel around his neck and a red tuque on his head. The ragged old Frenchman answered the media's questions in between tips of a navy-issue canteen.
The throng died down. One college student remained. As Cousteau confirmed evening plans with his assistant, the young man tentatively approached the oceanographer.
"Mr. Cousteau, can I get your autograph?" He handed over a program that read Jacques Cousteau Tellin' It Like It Is.
"Sure, let's make it quick. What's your name?"
"Trevor van Ness, sir. I love watching your shows. I think I'd like to be an oceanographer too," he said, fishing for career advice.
"Oh, yes? Good for you," said Cousteau, his mind clearly elsewhere.
"Yes, I want to swim with the dolphins like you."
Trevor just hooked a lunker.
Cousteau stopped writing, which was good as he already forgot Trevor's name.
"Like me? You know how many times I have swam with the dolphins? One, at a show at Sea World in Orlando, Florida." He spit the last two words out with disdain. "It appears you do not have a basic grasp of the vigorous scientific background required for professional ocean studies. It is thankless, dreary, gut wrenching work! So many times I have awoke paralyzed, unable to see how I can continue into the deep, yet equally unable to resist the pull of the sea. The only reason I have achieved my popular glory is by God's chance. Why me, is something too dangerous to ponder."
Cousteau handed the program back to Trevor, searching the boy's eyes to see if his message sank in.
"Oh. Okay. Um, thank you for the autograph."
Cousteau headed toward the exit with his assistant. He stopped short of the door. He motioned to his assistant to continue without him. Cousteau turned back to Trevor.
"Boy, if you want to talk some more, we're going to party at Spread Eagles." He tossed a handbill to Trevor and walked out.
Trevor looked at the flyer and admitted that the lady on it was quite alluring. He was never so glad to have a fake ID.
A stray newspaperman heard the entire exchange.
And that is why American University adopted the Spread Eagles as their mascot (later shortened to Eagles). Thank you, and good night.
18 Nov 2008. Quietly integrated and hidden within the city lies the home of the UDC Firebirds, near the headquarters of charitable playground builders KaBoom!, do-it-yourself pottery shop All Fired Up, and salsariffic Uptown Tavern. They like to make buildings out of concrete on this campus.
Trevor and Ish, UDC students and interns at the Smithsonian National Zoological Park, had heroism in their hearts and wildlife in their convertible. An okapi and a giraffe, specifically.
For its 75th anniversary, the National Zoo was unveiling a new habitat for its "Hoofin' it to the Serengeti" exhibit. The guest of honor for the day was to be Michael Babatunde, prime minister of the okapi capital of the world, Zambia. A week before the unveiling, the zoo's ungulates up and died. Did they contract some rare horse flu or eat rat poison? Who knows. The zoo director was horrified at the prospect of showing nothing but an empty, though slick looking, faux watering hole.
Trevor felt bad for the zoo director and saw this as an opportunity. He decided to help. He called his friend at the Frederick Animal Park in Maryland. Then he enlisted Ish.
"Ungulates?"
"Hoofed mammals."
"I work in the aviary, Trevor. There's not many hoofed mammals in with the birds."
"No, I can get the animals. I just need to borrow one of your parents' cars. They're still in Hawaii, right?"
"Virgin Islands. Which car do you want? My mom's minivan or my dad's Firebird?"
"Ish, we need to get an okapi and a giraffe to show to the prime minister of Zambia, so obviously, we need to arrive in style. Let's take the Firebird."
Trevor's contact at the Frederick Animal Park came through. He had two tranquilized juveniles ready to go on the Saturday morning. He made them promise to have them back the next day for their weekly checkups.
The okapi went in the trunk. With the backseats folded down and the cargo net up, Trevor and Ish could keep an eye on it while restrained. The giraffe was a litle trickier. It was laid across the folded down seats, buckled in.
Ish drove, windows down, headed southeast on I-270. Ish's afro and Trevor's shaggy moustache flapped in the wind.
Trevor said, "We're gonna be local celebrities. What're you gonna do with all that prestige? I'd like to do some time with the Peace Corps or the foreign service."
"Um, travel around? Haven't really thought about that kind of thing, but west Africa sounds kickin'. I'd like to go there."
The cars in front of them slowed.
"Whoa, slow down, Ish."
"Where's this traffic coming from?"
"Skins game?"
"Football is on Sundays. And it's the offseason."
"Well, I don't know."
"It's only ten AM. We got two hours."
"I know, but still."
Forty minutes of normal traffic and an hour of construction detours later, they crossed into District territory on Connecticut Avenue NW.
"We're FINALLY moving! Suck, that was RIDICULOUS."
"Just get us there, Ish. I think the giraffe is moving."
"Moving? Already?"
"We were planning on being at the zoo an hour ago."
"I don't want it in here when it wakes up. A bee in the car is bad enough. Can you tie its legs? Look for some string or something."
"That's what I'm doing. All...I...see...under the seat...I have jumper cables and bungee cords."
The giraffe squealed weakly.
"Get the freaking bungees on it! Is the okapi moving too?"
"Calm down! One thing at a time! Don't worry about the okapi, it's stuck in the trunk."
Trevor wrapped the bungee cords around the giraffe's front and back ankles. The giraffe stuck its head between the driver and passenger seats. It started tonguing the gearshift.
Ish pressed his body left. Trevor pressed his body right. They both froze.
They pulled away from a traffic light. The Firebird reached 15 mph before groaning for second gear.
"Ish, hurry up!" said Trevor through gritted teeth, still giving the giraffe space.
"That thing is gonna bite my hand."
Trevor pulled the lever on his right to flop his seat forward. The giraffe moved its head back. It started chewing on road maps sticking out of the passenger seatback. Ish shifted the slimy gearshift into 2nd, 3rd, and 4th in three seconds. They pulled into the employee parking lot. The lot was full so Ish parked along the curb. He reached for the emergency flashers but in his shaken state he accidentally released the trunk door. The okapi fell out and galloped into the park. Tourists shrieked.
Trevor jumped out. "Get a wrangler for the giraffe! I'll get the okapi!"
"With what?"
Trevor didn't answer. He didn't know.
Shoot me, thought Trevor, running through the crowd in his olive shorts and khaki shirt. There goes my spot in the Peace Corps. I don't even know how to wrangle an okapi.
But Prime Minister Babatunde did.
The Zambian entourage fled from the animal's path. Babatunde stood fast. He whipped the scarf from his neck and around the okapi's. With a flick of his wrist, a knot appeared in the scarf. He held the scarf in one hand and placed the other on the okapi's withers. He ran alongside it. As he slowed his pace, so did the okapi's.
Trevor caught up. He saw Babatunde's colorful garb and rightly assumed he was the big guy.
"I am so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to put you in danger."
"Danger? Do not be silly. It is just a baby. Where did it come from? I heard many animals died from a disease."
"Me and my friend brought it from another zoo for this event. I wanted to surprise my boss but everything went to hell."
"Not at all, young man. Please, sit with me."
Babatunde sat down cross legged on the concrete. Somehow he induced the okapi to lay down as well. Trevor joined him. The Zambian groupies came around too.
"What is your name?"
"Trevor van Ness."
"Let me ask you, Trevor van Ness. Did anyone else bring extra okapi? Did anyone else even consider the idea of extra okapi?"
Ish and a few other zoo employees came to stand behind Trevor.
"Is this your friend here?" Babatunde pointed to Ish and his fro.
"Yes, that's Ish."
Babatunde spoke something foreign to his aides.
"You will be honored at the ceremony that you just saved. I will see you in a few minutes."
He stood up with the help of his aides. He handed the okapi over to a zookeeper and walked off.
"Trevor, is Zambia in west Africa?"
"South Central."
"Eh, won't be picky."
A newspaperman picking up the story wanted to give the audacious youngsters flashier names than 'students' or 'zookeepers'. Since he couldn't be sure of the spelling of okapi or giraffe, he went with their makeshift animal transporter. Looking at the hood, the name Firebird was clear even to the illiterati.
12 Sep 2008. A walk through this religious-founded school - most likely Jesuit - yielded a rock gray tumbler. May be used to tumble rocks, if that's how you get your jollies. No demons were spotted anywhere. :(
Admiral George shouted through his mustache."Ahoy! Yates!"
"Ahoy! Healy!"
"Ahoy! Maguire!"
Now granted permission, the three young men in gray jerseys and short pants jogged onto the basketball court. The crowd yelled. They cheered. They jumped. They clapped.
They were getting desperate.
Georgetown was trailing Syracuse by twelve points halfway through the second half. If Georgetown was to advance through the playoffs, they had to cut the deficit now.
George McDonough, the PA announcer given the honorary title Admiral for his frequent kayaking trips on the Potomac and thus began introducing players with an 'ahoy', was sweating too. Fortunately the sound system was too rough to pick up any subtle vocal tremblings.
Every fan's nervousness came from one missing piece. Noticeably absent from the court was strong forward and debate team captain Carlton Sax. He had broken his hand several days prior with an emphatic slam of his fist on the podium. He was arguing for sturdier tariff laws to stall the introduction of the federal income tax, a cause he sincerely believed in.
His unavailability on the roster was the sole reason Georgetown was down by a dozen. He was also the reason the team had made it this far. Coach can make all the triple switch substitutions he wanted, but without Sax it was just hatching rocks.
Sax and Coach were not worried.
Sax and Coach had other plans.They staged the whole shebang: the fist slam, Sax's hand in a cast, Sax reporting to the game in 'street clothes'. Only Sax and Coach were in on it. They clearly valued the element of surprise, not to mention theatricality.
And now it was time for the big reveal.
Coach nodded at Sax. Sax quietly slipped off the bench and into the locker room to change. He returned in his fresh gray uniform and took his seat. The arena turned its attention from the court to the sidelines. Animated, inebriated whispers reverberated through the bleachers. Admiral George was slackjawed. Why was Sax in uniform with a casted hand? Was he going to play with one hand behind his back?
The answer came when Sax walked to the substitution area in front of the announcer's table. He unwrapped his bandage and tossed it over his shoulder. The crowd - and Syracuse's coaches - were stunned in disbelief. Coach called in a 30-second timeout. As Sax walked onto the court giving the players slaps on the backside, Admiral George had to make the call official. He stumbled over his words:
"...HOYA! SAXA!"
******
Now some contend that the Georgetown Hoyas' battle cry is a pseudo-Latin translation of 'hey, check out these rocks' or 'today, the saxophone'. Decades pass, stories get warped, so the different theories are understandable. But how could you forget the legendary flub of Admiral George and the come-from-behind win sparked by the dribblin' debater, Carlton Sax?
You wouldn't know feasible tariff law if it slithered out of your derriere and voted for William Jennings Bryan!
