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.
10 Nov 1812. John Paul Jones was caught naval gazing.
"Admiral, what are your orders?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your orders for the second fleet. Are they ready sir?"
"Oh, yes, coxswain. Communicate our need for additional rations and supplies. We must be prepared to sail at 0400 and engage at 0600."
Admiral John Paul Jones, Jr. of the young United States Navy was aboard the first fleet watching his approaching reinforcements. It was agonizing knowing that he would get absolutely no sleep during the one night he needed it most.
Unfortunately he was relieved of this worry!
All men on the deck of the USS Annapolis heard a loud but distant boom. Jones was the only one to hear the faint post-blast sizzle that told him this was not mere cannonfire.
The coxswain screamed, "Hit the...uh, wooden...ground!", adrenaline poking holes in his emergency vocabulary. Everyone fell facedown on the deck. Everyone save for Jones, who remained standing. A large blackened mass slammed into the main mast and dropped, still smoking. The midshipmen slowly got up to their feet.
"A dead animal? What does this mean, Admiral?"
Jones kicked the beast. He scanned the horizon.
"Prepare the first fleet for combat immediately. The British have fired the warpig."
******
Capt. James Cook, Jr. of the British Royal Navy and half-Hawaiian blood, grinned with anticipation. His soldiers had been offloaded onto the Virginian shore for a last-ditch ambush attempt. Cook loved traditions. He especially loved the brash intensity of the warpig, the Hawaiian warriors' martial warning. He was proud of his added twist, firing the burning boar from a cannon.
******
As non-porcine artillery began to rain down on Jones' first fleet, he contemplated why the British were retreating from the Chesapeake Bay. They must have suffered heavy losses in Maryland, so despite the shorthandedness of the first, the second fleet would make quick work of Her Majesty's sailors in the open waters of the Atlantic.
Successive blasts knocked the mizzenmast down, snapping a dozen thick ropes and hurtling iron moorings into Jones' thigh and midsection. He was pinned down. Debris continued to fall. He knew his ship would be reduced to planks, if it remained afloat at all. He had great confidence in the second fleet, but not in his own chances of survival.
"Admiral!"
"Leave me be, coxswain. I have done my duty. Go do yours."
"What shall I tell the men?"
"Tell them - and tell Cook - we have not yet begun to fight!"
27 Nov 2004. Goodman Stadium in eastern Pennsylvania was filling up as the first round of the Division I-AA football playoffs approached. The expansive grass lots were receiving the ant trails of tailgating vehicles, their passengers layered up in anticipation of a chilly few hours. No longer the Engineers, Mountain Hawk fans could shop for rebranded souvenirs at a temporary canvas tent located between the main entrance and the field. The selection was mainly cold weather apparel, but there was a fat cup that later revealed its own mortality from a spin in the Whirlpool. There's something about wide tumblers and nondishwashersafeness it seems.
