KMI Special & Kentucky Derby Weekend - Short Story, WD Curry 111

This is an offering for the avid reader. It is a modified excerpt from my book. "Prices Always Go Up Near the End of the World". If you are a happily hopping hubber in a hurry, It's okay. I understand. I can't see any breaking up a short story . I have some shorties for you. Here's two:

http://wdcurry111.hubpages.com/hub/My-First-Real-Snow

http://wdcurry111.hubpages.com/_wdc3/hub/Why-is-Tilapia-on-the-Table

Otherwise,I hope you enjoy it.

2,500 words . . . World Rights Reserved . . . keep it real and don't try me.

The KMI Special and the Kentucky Derby Weekend

It had been a long grueling winter. Traditionally, the entire school would pack up and take the “KMI Special” from Louisville to Venice, Florida where Henry Flagler had envisioned an idyllic retirement community for his railroad employees. The stock market crash in 1929 marked the end of the first great Florida boom and Flagler’s grand vision of a subtropical, utopian society created and supplied by his railway empire.

The wealth of the prominent Richmond family (proprietors of Kentucky Military Institute) was not affected drastically and they purchased the grand hotel and surrounding apartment buildings to use as winter quarters for their school (the oldest of its kind in the country). Cadets from KMI faced off against their counterparts from West Point during the “War Between the States”. Now it was a very reputable military prep school. The acquisition of the Florida campus with its formal Mediterranean architecture, open town square to use as a parade ground, and pristine sugar sand beaches gave the school prestige and tipped the scale when prospective cadets and their families were deciding where to prepare for college and career. The school had wintered in more austere quarters located in the old pioneer town of Eau Gallie on the east coast. The school burned to the ground and old man Richmond moved it to Venice on the Gulf.

This was the first year in this century that the school hadn’t made the seasonal transition to Florida. The scuttlebutt amongst the cadets was that the Richmond’s influence and control was slipping away to astute attorneys who had, by marriage and intrigue, wormed their way into a position of power over the comparatively dull descendants of the school’s founders. As a result, the valuable land in Florida was sacrificed to the new real estate development agenda of the greedy son-in-laws. The cadets were forced to tough-out the Kentucky winter for the first time in over sixty years.

Times were changing anyway. The Vietnam War had been going on for some time and as public opinion swelled against it enrollment in military schools shrank. The military bearing of the cadets had coroded since the glory days of the WW2 era when it was desirable to be a man in uniform. There was an undercurrent of nonconformity moving the popular culture of their peer group and many cadets were eager to prove their “up the establishment” attitude.

This change was epitomized by the last run of the “KMI Special” the year before. As was customary, the cadets met in Louisville after their Christmas break for the two day trip by rail to Venice. Many of the well to do cadets took planes or rode with families on vacation that year. Most of the serious, higher ranking cadets were in this group. By default, much of the senior leadership fell to popular individualists who the younger cadets held in esteem as mavericks and hell-raisers. Of the faculty assigned to chaperone the trip, most were young and inexperienced while long established order was represented by a couple of ancient patriarchs who had passed their prime as monitors of adolescent males. Besides, the behavior of the modern cadets was beyond the experience of the past.

While there had always been a few illicit card games and nips from smuggled bottles of Kentucky bourbon, the over-all bearing of the corps of cadets was orderly and polite. All cadets were required to take the ride, so there were plenty of staid personalities to keep the more rambunctious in check. Last year, the whole thing got out of hand. There were a few tenacious souls bound to a futile struggle for control, but for the most part pandemonium prevailed.

Life and other magazines, movies, music and TV had given attention and thus glorified experimental drug use and the resulting subculture. Several entrepreneurial cadets were well stocked with contraband. Older cadets were cheating the “rats” (first year students) at cards and using their ill-gotten gains to purchase marijuana, LSD, Green Amps (amphetamines), Reds (barbiturates), real moonshine whiskey from the hills and cigarettes. Later, guilt led some of them to let the “rats” in on the fun that their squandered funds had made possible, “Oh man, I just thought of something heavy! The “rats” are an integral part of the universe, too! It’s bad Karma! We’ve got to show the “rats” some love! Give them some acid!”

Some cadets, influenced by their first taste of LSD, and what they had heard about Ken Keasy and the “The Magic Bus” became “merry pranksters”. They were taking great delight in wandering about the “Magic Train” astonishing passengers and employees with their bizarre antics and conversation. While the trippers were a small minority, their zeal for the absurd triggered most of the others to “raise hell” and test the parameters.

At one point, in north Florida, someone notified police that emergency flares and fireworks were being thrown from the train at vehicles and pedestrians along the route. The train was called into a station and the three KMI cars were uncoupled and left for investigation. With few exceptions, the cadets maintained decorum, honored the code of silence in such matters, and promised authorities that the remainder of the trip would be uneventful. During all of this, one of the young faculty members could barely be roused from a deep slumber. Rumor had it that he had been slipped some “Reds” in a Coca Cola.

Eventually, after lengthy negotiations, the three cars were hooked up to another train. The cadets were confined to those isolated cars for the remainder of the journey. With the aid of seconol and fear of consequence the instigating trippers were subdued and the journey continued without further serious incident. Supposedly, the rail line banned the “KMI Special” for all time.

In May of the following year the dogwoods that lined the entrance and dotted the Kentucky campus were blooming. The poplars, maples and oaks were flushing with new leaves; the pines were producing so much sap that you could smell their scent mingling with the fragrance of the clover and wildflowers in the expansive fields and parade grounds that they guarded. Several kinds of butterflies vibrated against the rich greens as they seemed to dance to the music of the songbirds.

“No wonder Daniel Bone loved it here! One day like this will make you forget the whole winter.” said Zeek.

Smitty responded after a deep, intoxicating, inhale and enduring sigh, “Yeah . . . you don’t appreciate spring in Kentucky this much when you’re coming back from Florida.”

Zeek agreed, ”Yeah, Florida . . . the weather is so nice, and you’re right in the middle of town. When you come back after break you’re so busy missing the beach, the waves, and the girls that this whole spring experience is lost on you. This winter was pure hell . . . you know . . . like the whole world died . . . rigor mortise set in . . . bleak . . . so far from town . . . purgatory! Spring took so long . . . I didn’t expect it. It’s here, man! I don’t even care about going into Louisville.”

“True, but it must suck to miss the Derby your senior year. I’m here too, man. We’ll just make the best of it. It could be worse. We have a rare opportunity. By tonight “Coach” will be the only faculty on campus.” Smitty responded.

They were confined to the campus during the long awaited Kentucky Derby weekend for earning too many demerits. If they had been caught doing a fraction of what they got away with, they would have been kicked out of school long ago. By now it was common knowledge that KMI was slated to be converted into a housing development. They would break ground for the construction project by the next fall. To alleviate their disappointment in the corrupted control of the administration the two had committed themselves to anarchy.

A couple of weeks earlier Smitty became bored during study hours. He was a brilliant student and had easily “aced” all of his classes exempting him from most final exams. While his roommate Zeek was studying, Smitty took a “Cherry Bomb” with him on a trip to the latrine. After finishing his “evening constitutional” he lit a cigarette, broke off the filter and stuck the fuse of the dazzlingly powerful firecracker into the unlit end. He set it on the floor of the stall and walked calmly back to his room to await the blast.

Meanwhile one of the “rats” obtained permission to use the latrine and chose the stall directly in front of the one Smitty had rigged. He still had unfinished business when the deafening explosion rocked the second floor latrine. The cadet quarters were arranged around a quadrangle. The rooms of the three story buildings were side by side. The doors all opened onto long horizontal porches plainly visible to the centrally located guard house and each other. Everyone opened their doors and craned their necks just in time to see pudgy cadet Nelson run out of the latrine with his pants around his ankles and a roll of toilet paper peeling off behind.

There was an extensive investigation of the incident. The adults in administration (Admin) and cadet staff officers were sick of the rash of unruly behavior, disruptive incidents and unsolved crimes that had been going on since mid-winter. It had happened in company B barracks and Cadet Captain Brice Corder was especially resolved to bring the perpetrator to justice. Brice had aspirations of winning “Best Company” honors. The incident would reflect poorly on his leadership.

At first, Nelson was the prime suspect. Suspicion soon shifted to Zeek who claimed ignorance while waggishly emphasizing to investigators that Nelson wasn’t likely to be clever or brash enough to disguise his guilt by, “dragging toilet paper down the stoop from his wet ass.”

It seemed like something Zeek would do. He was a rare three year senior private. The Admin promoted him to corporal or private first class a couple of times during the year just to get rid of the stigma. He was a calculating “hell raiser”. He knew that, if caught, the loss of rank would cancel two hundred demerits. He would merely be restricted to campus for one weekend with no time on the “Beat” (marching around a circle with a shouldered rifle). This hedge made him cavalier in his rollicking exploits and he had become a real consternation to those who took KMI seriously.

Brice Corder was especially perturbed since Zeek was in his company. Not only that, but Zeek had stayed for a week at the Corder’s Kentucky “bluegrass” family farm for a week last summer. He felt betrayed by the senior private’s scandalous behavior. He had shown Zeek friendship and hospitality. Now all of the demerits that Zeek was racking up were jeopardizing his obsessive drive to assure Company “B” a place in KMI history. He was losing sleep over it. Brice knew that Zeek was in on the caper but he wouldn’t crack. He would stop by Zeek’s room at odd hours for interrogations. He cajoled Zeek in the eloquent drawl of the Kentucky elite, “Come on Zeek . . . I thought we were friends. Why are you doing this to me? I never took you for a liar. I know you're lying by that shit eating grin on your face! I know, you know and you know I know.”

Zeek played him off, “You know I know and I know you know and . . . nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen . . .” He sang the old classic gospel tune in a contrived bass voice as Brice Corder stormed out of the room cursing him with indignation.

Finally, Brice Corder pleaded with Zeek, “Our friendship means a lot to me and I don’t understand why you are disrespecting me. Please tell me why you don’t cooperate anymore. You have more demerits than anyone! What is your problem? Why do you hate me?”

Zeek took a moment to answer. He didn’t appreciate being put on the spot but didn’t really want to hurt someone who had shown him such hospitality out in the real world. “I don’t hate you. You’ve been a good friend. It isn’t you I’m against, it’s the assholes who run this place. I can’t stand it . . . we are being ripped off . . . it’s a joke . . . it really isn’t healthy to take it so seriously. I know you want to win best company, but what good is it to go down in the history of KMI when the history of KMI is over?”

Brice slowly shook his head in resignation, “You just don’t understand.” He looked up and pleaded, “What’s wrong with wanting to be the best of the last class? I’m losing respect for you.”

Zeek was frustrated with the situation and losing his patience, “Listen Brice, I love you, but this useless ambition has turned you into a dick . . . Dick Tracy. You’re running down a rabbit trail. I’ve got homework to do. Why don’t you just forget about being a junior crime buster and go shine your brass. ”

Initially no one suspected Smitty. He was a well-liked staff sergeant (the highest rank obtainable by a junior) who was polite and respectful to all. He took most of the responsibility off of the senior officers for training the “rats”. He patiently helped them learn to spit-shine their shoes and polish their brass to a mirror finish. He made sure they were immaculate in appearance and drilled them with outstanding precision. He was an influential force in the push for best company. Brice Corder thought he was covering up for Zeek.

Eventually, Brice Corder ran out of ideas. He confronted every cadet in the company point blank, “Put your hand on this bible and tell me . . . did you plant that cherry bomb in the latrine? Do you know who did it?”

Upon Zeek’s denial Brice Corder exclaimed, “You’ve gone too far O’Carren, you blasphemer! You’ll burn in hell, now!”

Zeek calmly replied, “That’s not God, Brice, that’s a book about God. You shouldn’t be so superstitious.” Brice Corder stormed out, yet again, fighting the urge to thrash Zeek into repentance.

The last one on Brice Corder’s list was Smitty. He was a good Catholic boy who was not adept at deception. Brice Corder was shocked and grieved when Smitty’s answer was yes. It pained him to “bust” Smitty. Smitty consoled him, “It’s cool, Brice. KMI will be defunct by next year. Why be bummed out about losing rank? It’s meaningless, brother. It was worth it just to see Nelson run out of the stall like a scalded dog! It was a poop pushing pleasure to screw with the idiots who still take this cess hole seriously.”

Idiots? It hurt Brice Corder to the quick but Smitty hadn’t meant to number him among the idiots. Things were getting weirder everyday

Non-fictional Book about the Magic Bus by Thomas Wolf

Documentary Film about the Magic Bus

Books by Ken Keasy