Free The Boo by Pat Conroy

months, cashing in on its status value among other cadets. Each cadet could embellish his own particular story and exaggerate it with his own details. Cadets who spent their whole lives not being noticed won instant notoriety when they announced to their peers, “I went to The Ark last night during ESP.” Magic words were these and for a few moments colorless cadets proudly rose from the smokey depths of oblivion to relate their escape to The Ark, their narrow brushes with The Boo, and their satisfaction at quaffing a cold beer poured with love and care by the strong-veined hand of Louie, the Lip. Cadets said they went to The Ark even if they didn’t. Going to The Ark and not getting caught constituted status. But going to The Ark and getting caught was more like ecstasy. There was a certain nobility about a senior private walking tours with stoical resignation as sophomores huddled in whispering aggregates above him, saying, “He got caught going to The Ark.” It was like saying, “He was sent to prison for shooting a man who insulted his mother.” It was not a disgrace, rather, it was a badge of honor. The Ark stands as a monument to hundreds of cadets who retreated there as a place to enervate waning spirits or a haven of peace in a world of strange juxtapositions. Louie served beer and potato chips to Citadel fugitives for many years. The fugitives came out of the night, some of them reckless, some of them depressed, others lonely, and others just bored. But all of them came to The Ark to forget momentarily the walls and gates. The Ark lives as a symbol that the urge for freedom is often a stronger force than any set of rules.
    The Boo knew about The Ark. Everyone did. But he never placed it off limits while he was Assistant Commandant at The Citadel. The cadets were going to find a place to sneak off campus to drink, so he reasoned it was much better to have the place near the campus instead of some disreputable dive further in the depths of Charleston. Boo never had The Ark staked out, never checked it for cadets at regular or irregular intervals, and never tried to break cadets of the habit of sneaking down the railroad tracks for a quick beer. Understanding the cadet psyche well, he knew that certain cadets would leave campus to drink a beer even if they had to drive to the Smokey Mountains to do it. The cadets he caught were caught accidentally, without planning, and without effort.
    One night, The Boo and Mrs. Courvoisie were returning to The Citadel campus after visiting a cadet at the Naval Hospital when The Boo spotted two shadows creeping down the railroad tracks near Hampton Park. He jolted the Comet to a stop, leapt out of the car, and boomed out in his death-angel voice, “Come here, Bums.” Had the cadets run for it, churned their legs piston-like and fled into the darkness, The Boo would never have caught them. But like many cadets, the mystique of his voice, and the very power of it, froze them to the spot. Instead of running, they walked meekly over to the green Comet. The Boo took their names, grinned and joked with them, then told them to go enjoy their beer. It would be the last one they would taste for a long time.
    On one other occasion, The Boo stumbled upon a group of cadets heading for The Ark. He had taken his wife for a bowl of okra soup and a glass of Michelob beer at Jimmy Dengate’s, a place The Boo often went because Jimmy refused to serve cadets. Driving back to the campus, he saw three cadets coming off the railroad track, heading for The Ark. Boo stopped the car right beside them, leapt out, collared two of them immediately, but could not get the third one who disappeared into The Ark. The Boo took the names of the two cadets. He looked at one of the names carefully, then he said, “Bubba, didn’t I give you 3/60 yesterday afternoon?” “Yes, Sir, you did.” “Well, Bubba, I’ve got just one thing to say to you.” “What’s that, Colonel?” “Run, Bubba, run like