Point and Shoot, FL (YU)—Crevalle was
poor-white-trash, I guess.
Working-class. A working stiff.
An
ex-GI who talked like a potty-mouth.
Coarse, vulgar, unrefined.
He
was going to college on the GI Bill to better himself. To lift himself up by his bootstraps. Learn how to act. He shaved once a week and dipped
His
parents were Children of the Depression.
To go to college and not major in something that would better you was
unthinkable to his parents' generation.
They
weren't paying for it. But still they
influenced Crevalle by moral suasion.
Crevalle's father controlled by black looks and brooding silences. Even after Crevalle had been out from under
his roof, on his own, for eight years, he still cared about what his father
thought.
Thus,
even though he wanted to be a writer, Crevalle was looking for something
practical to major in, something he could earn a living at.
He
was thinking about becoming an anthropologist.
He would be a college professor, and teach anthropology.
I
know that seems like a poor joke now, but at the time, Lyndon Johnson's Great
Society was still going strong—Vietnam had not eaten it alive yet—and it seemed
possible to do.
One
day Crevalle saw a notice on the Anthropology Department bulletin board. "Research
He
signed up.
He
had an ulterior motive. A woman he had
been in classes with, Stella, and had dated, twice, was going on the dig.
She
was specializing in archeology.
This
would be a chance to hang out with her.
Get to know her better. See what
she was made of.
An
archeological dig was like a shakedown cruise.
Spring Training in the NFL. Boot
camp.
A dig
would separate the men from the boys.
This
is important because of what happens later.
The
dig went well. The crew functioned as a
team. Crevalle and Stella fell in love.
At
the end of the summer, the principal investigator (PI) nominated Crevalle and
Stella for the Order of the Blue Trowel, a sort of a teacher's pet club for his
favorites.
They
were of the elect.
They
were insiders.
Members
of the cadre.
Well,
there are members of the cadre and members of the cadre.
In
the fall, the principal investigator brought in an executive officer (XO) from
another school, instead of promoting one from within, to help him run his
program.
To
manage the team he hadn't worked his way up through.
The
team would have to accept him because he was the PI's choice. It was not the team's decision. It was the PI's decision.
This
wasn't a democracy. The troops didn't
elect their officers. The PI appointed
the XO. The troops obeyed. They didn't have any say-so in the matter.
Dr.
Dailey told Crevalle and Stella that archeologists were horrible,
anal-retentive people, obsessive-compulsive people, but Crevalle and Stella
didn't believe him.
Dr.
Dailey taught a seminar on Claude Lévi-Strauss.
He taught a seminar on Marshall McLuhan.
He had edited a book called Explorations
in Communication.
Before
he switched to archeology, Crevalle was specializing in the History and
Philosophy of Anthropological Theory.
He
did an anthropology of anthropology. In
his head. And among friends. Among the other students. The crew.
Minor
chord.
Was
Crevalle a troublemaker? Was he a
ringleader? Did he foment discontent?