Point and Shoot, FL (YU)—The crew started going
on weekend field trips to the St. Marks Wildlife Refuge, and camping out. In tents.
They bathed across Highway 98 in a campground at
The
principal investigator had a camper trailer he towed behind one of the pickup
trucks that slept two. He and his XO
slept in the camper.
The
loneliness of command.
They
commiserated with each other about the responsibilities that weighed on their
shoulders, running things.
They
would leave the site during the day and discuss personnel management issues
over coffee at a diner, with the
To
the crew, it looked like (1) the XO was a big suck-ass, and (2) he didn't know
as much about archeology as they did.
And
(3) he didn't care. What did he need to
know anything about archeology for? He
was a manager, not a technician. Not a
technocrat.
He
had vision. He was a decider. He could vision what they should be
doing. He made decisions.
What
do you think I have these stripes for, airman?
Not to fall out on the green with you and settle things, man-to-man.
Are
you balmy? Are you daft? Where have you been? I am supposed to get out of
So,
during the school year, the crew snickered at the XO behind his back.
They
followed his orders, even though he was telling them to do things they already
knew to do, obvious things, just to throw his weight around.
The
second summer on the mound at Panacea, what Crevalle thought of as the summer
of the mutiny, the principal investigator was going to go to Stuttgart,
Germany, to deliver a paper to a scientific congress, and leave the XO in
charge while he was gone.
Nobody
was looking forward to that.
A
field season was three months, say.
The
first month, lines of authority would be established. The second two months, the XO would be in
sole command. The PI was going to see
The
PI started going to town by himself, and leaving the XO at the site, to work
these arrangements out, with the crew.
At
night, at supper, at The Oaks, the PI and the XO would sit at a table by
themselves, talking about personnel matters and glancing at the crew, who sat
by themselves at a separate table, not laughing inappropriately, not
demonstrating irreverent displays of bravado.
They
acted cowed.
Mealtimes
were tense, instead of joyous, or fun.
Mealtimes
were an ordeal. Grim.
At
the site, the XO had decided to show who was boss by picking one member of the
crew and riding him, every day, until he broke.
He
picked Crevalle.
Crevalle
was the largest person on the crew.
He
was 6' 4" tall, 210 lb, built like a linebacker, or a tight end, hard as
adamant from shoveling dirt in the hot,
The
XO decided to ride Crevalle like Harry Andrews rode Sean Connery in The Hill.
Many
younger readers will not remember The
Hill.
Harry
Andrews rode Sean Connery by making him march up and down a hill in the North
African sun with a full field pack, trying to break his spirit.
It
seems overdramatic, now.
Melodramatic. Operatic.
In
fact, this is how the contretemps between Crevalle and the XO seems, in
retrospect.
How
could the two men get so wrapped up in what was basically an ego struggle, a
pissing contest?
They
did, though.