Photograph courtesy Bob Horvath, SMA '47
"Hut two three four, *spit*... no movies, no Stuart Hall or Fairfax Hall or MBC. No carnival or townie visitation, just Big Bob huttin' along with his troop of bad, bad boys.
We see he wears two pips. Bob must be 1st. Lt. - Captains and higher don't make beat squad. Most sabre-rank cadets don't. Note that the command is not in step with the times, the cadet on the far left with left foot forward and eyes not front. Bob must be distracted to allow such a lapse of discipline from one of his troop so obviously in need of it. Bob must have just finished, or is thinking about the next boxing practice.
Lament of a Beat Walker
Frank P. Madison, SMA '20
Gee, this school is rotton; it causes me great pain.
Everybody's down on me, I know I'm not to blame.
I get stuck for nothing; I haven't done a thing.
I walk the beat all day long, winter, fall and spring.
They say I have no spirit and never had no pep,
I've never had a chance at all, and now I've lost my rep.
I know I never shine my shoes; my pants I never crease;
It ain't no use anyway, the beat will never cease.
At reveille, I stay in bed, at drill, my feet they weigh like lead,
I'm never up-and-at a thing, I skip a class instead.
I'm never off the Hill, somehow, and never down the street,
I never see a movie, I'm always on the beat.
Cadets, there are six hundred, and I am only one.
But somehow you'll always find me on the asphalt with a gun.
I never try to study; the faculty are punk,
I wonder why the heck it is somehow I always flunk.
I tell lewd stories by the score, and cuss, I surely can,
But I'm not wanted 'round, somehow, not rated as a man.