Alumni and Friends of VMI:
Cyber Corps Numbers: 460
Welcome New Pittsburgh Area Alums and Friends:
The Western Pennsylvania Chapter of the Alumni Association
recently held its annual picnic. When we mailed the invitations
to local alums, we asked them to provide e-mail addresses. I've
added those addresses to our distribution list.
An Education for Our Time - Josiah Bunting, III: As
I was leaving the luncheon the other day at the National Press
Club (the one during which Gen Bunting was the speaker), I passed
by a table where they were handing out a paperback book with a
green cover. Having no idea of the subject matter, but always
looking for something to read on business flights, I politely
took the one that was offered me and headed to the airport. In
the cab ride to the airport I began scanning the book and became
hooked. An Education for Our Time is a book put together
(edited??) by Gen Bunting. It primarily consists of a series of
letters/instructions from John Adams. Mr. Adams, who died in May,
left his entire estate of $985 million for the purpose of
establishing a new college in Wyoming. His letters explain his
vision for this college and his directions for it in terms of: 1)
the college's mission, 2) who the students will be, 3) how the
students will live, 4) what they should learn and 5) who should
lead them.
Gen Bunting is the only "academic" on the college's
board at this point. The book includes the portion of a letter to
Gen Bunting from a board member. It reads, in part: ...You would
be the only academic person on our board, at least at the
beginning. The founder did not like academics - or, rather,
thougth most of them ill-suited to the kind of education he had
in mind. I mentioned your name to him only ten days before he
died. He had no idea who you were, but when I mentioned VMI he
said (this was on the phone) "Yes, that's good."
In reading about Mr. Adams' background, I have learned that he
was a truly remarkable man. He was a patriot, a public servant,
and an ardent student of history.
The copy of the book provided after the National Press Club
luncheon is an uncorrected page proof. Publication date is listed
as August 3, 1998. Price is $24.95. The cover of the book
indicates that you cover obtain more information by contacting
Sandy Callender at Regnery Publishing (202) 216-0601, ext. 488,
Washington, DC. I encourage all to read this book.
Speaking of Gen Bunting's Speech: I spoken with
those who were not in attendance for Gen Bunting's speech at the
National Press Club, but who did obtain the transcript off the
internet. All applaud his remarks. A number of folks have
indicated that they have ordered the videotape.
Remember Sgt. Hockaday?: For those who remember
Marine Sgt. Hockaday while at VMI, the following article recently
appeared in the Richmond Times-Dispatch.
The Drilling Fields / Sergeant major uses Marine
experience to assist VMI cadets
Monday, June 15, 1998
BY REX BOWMAN
Times-Dispatch Staff Writer
LEXINGTON
The rumor around Virginia Military Institute is that school Sgt.
Maj. Al Hockaday holds the Marine Corps record for pull-ups. A
more graphic yarn has it that, in Vietnam, he killed six enemy
soldiers in the pitch dark with nothing but a shovel.
"Man," Hockaday said with a laugh, "that kind of
stuff just goes around."
Understandably so. The Marine Corps veteran can be an imposing
and intimidating figure to the fresh-faced kids who arrive at the
military school. With his barrel chest and rigid biceps, Hockaday
crosses the campus in brisk, measured strides, his Marine uniform
pressed to the snappiest degree of crispness, his belt buckle
gleaming, the click of his heels on the sidewalk echoing off the
barracks walls.
Everything about him screams: boot-camp drill instructor.
"When you see him standing under one arch, you go under the
other arch, because you know he's going to look you over,"
said cadet Parker Reeves, 18, of Roanoke. "The way he walks
around, it's like 'another beautiful day in the Corps' to him.
But I guess that's what we need around here."
Hockaday, 55, spent 30 years as a Marine, winning two Purple
Heart medals for injuries he suffered as a sniper in Vietnam. He
was also a drill instructor at the Marines' Officer Candidate
School at Quantico. But cadets know little of his past, he said,
because his job now is to help them with their lives, not tell
stories from his own.
"I think of myself as the sergeant major to the corps of
cadets and adviser to the commandant," he said. "What's
important now is their lives, not what happened to me 30 years
ago. They're the ones who are going to have the problems and
obstacles to overcome. I've had a very exciting career, but now
it's about them."
Hockaday, who looks 10 years younger than he is despite the gray
in his mustache, has been VMI's sergeant major for five years.
Outside on campus, he eyeballs cadets for sundry infractions;
behind the doors of his office, surrounded by his Marine Corps
flags and other leatherneck memorabilia, he offers them intimate
advice on any conceivable problem.
Cadets say they can count on him for help, and for unfailing
encouragement, as they move from freshmen "rats" to VMI
graduates.
"In the [cadet] corps, we don't really have a role model to
look up to, because people come and go," said cadet Gordon
Overby, 20, of Marriottsville, Md. "But I'll always look up
to him for what he's done. He's got that hard chest and he walks
with pride, and he wants everybody to be that way."
Cadet Kim Herbert, 18, of Fairfax and one of the first females at
VMI, said Hockaday's size is deceptive. "He's a big guy, but
very approachable. I was referred to him because I got into
trouble, and he advised me. He was really nice."
VMI's class of 1994 made him an "honorary brother rat,"
a distinction that Hockaday said choked him up. He never finished
college himself.
But it was the desire for an education that pushed him toward the
Marines, he said.
The year was 1960. Hockaday was sitting with friends one night in
front of an abandoned church in Richmond's old Fulton Bottom
neighborhood, where he and his 12 brothers and sisters grew up.
As they sat and chatted, a Marine in dress blues walked by, his
gold buttons gleaming under the lamplight.
"He said, 'You guys realize you could be spending your time
better?' " Hockaday recalled.
Days later, Hockaday and his buddies went down to the recruitment
station and took a test to enter the Marines. Hockaday figured a
stint in the military could pay for college. He later showed up
to be sworn in, only to find himself alone. "Where are the
rest of the guys?" he asked. The recruiter first swore him
in and then answered: "They didn't make it."
Told he would be a cook, Hockaday asked for another assignment,
one better suited to his vision of Marines charging up hills and
slithering through the underbrush. He was sent into the infantry.
He took to the gung-ho, Marine way of life -- a life of constant
push-ups, pull-ups and other punishments -- and forgot about
college.
Six years later, he found himself in Vietnam. There, working as a
sniper in the jungles, waiting for a target to walk by, he said,
he learned patience.
"Being a sniper has its moments of excitement," he
said. "But the dull moments are the exciting moments. When
you're waiting, just waiting."
It was also in Vietnam that he learned a lesson about human
resilience. One day, he said, his superiors sent him out with
orders to bring back a prisoner. He did. Spying a North
Vietnamese soldier laying mines, he shot him in the hip and then
began hustling the man back to camp, holding him by the collar.
Unknown to Hockaday, the two were now walking through a
minefield, and the North Vietnamese suddenly jumped on a nearby
mine.
Hockaday awoke from the blast lying on his back, a pool of blood
amassing on his shoulder, his left arm apparently gone. "I
was lying on top of it," he recalled, "but I didn't
know it. When they put me on that stretcher and my arm came out
from under my back, that was exciting."
Hockaday pulled another tour of duty in Vietnam and suffered
another injury. But between the two tours, he spent two years at
Quantico, molding "kids" into Marine officers.
"At Quantico, I was in a position to ensure that the young
men and women coming into the Marine Corps would become good
leaders," he said. "There's not a lot of difference
between the young men and women who walk through Jackson arch [at
VMI] and those young men and women who went into the military.
"They come from every walk of life, from small farms and
cities. They're Americans. They're looking for something to
challenge them."
Hockaday first came to VMI in 1974, working as a gunnery sergeant
in the Marines' ROTC program on campus. He taught cadets about
military protocol and procedure, drilling and weaponry. After VMI
came other Corps assignments, and he eventually rose to the rank
of sergeant major, the highest ranking noncommissioned officer.
He returned to VMI briefly in the mid-1980s but didn't settle in
for good until earlier this decade. He and his wife of more than
30 years, Ernestine, bought a home in Rockbridge County, and they
opened two boutiques on Main Street in Lexington: The Shenandoah
Attic and Victorian Parlor.
Hockaday helps with the businesses, but his joy, he said, is
putting on his Marine uniform in the morning and going to VMI to
motivate the cadets.
"I'm not in it for the money," he said. "I wish
every man and woman in America could wake up and go to work as
pleased with themselves as I do every morning. I love my work.
When I was in the Marine Corps I loved my work."
Cadet Jochen Dunville, 21, of Roanoke, said Hockaday tries to
boost morale and motivate students by the sheer force of his
enthusiasm.
"He tries to extend that to everybody," Dunville said.
"He's extremely professional. He definitely walks with
pride."
Where Was This Guy When I Was At VMI?: Not
really a VMI story, but we call all imagine the impact this guy
had on Lexington, VA!!
Sour fate for town sugar daddy / Lexington's
mysterious big spender jailed; he's drug fugitive
Thursday, June 11, 1998
BY REX BOWMAN
Times-Dispatch Staff Writer
LEXINGTON -- The most popular man in Lexington these days is now
in jail.
Before police hauled him away in handcuffs and charged him with
dealing drugs, however, Eric Carl Ellers became this city's
springtime Santa Claus, a sunshine sugar daddy who passed out $20
and $50 bills as if they burned his palm to hold them.
In retrospect, perhaps his mistake was paying $1,200 for the
haircut. Or maybe it was buying dinner for the elderly couple
because he liked their shirts.
"For a guy who did what we say he did, he sure didn't keep a
low profile," said Lexington police officer Gary Coleman.
Whatever the cause of his downfall, it is Ellers' swift
ascendancy to popularity that has this Shenandoah Valley city
talking.
Ellers blew into Lexington Sunday, May 31, a mysterious stranger
who dipped into his pockets with near-reckless abandon. He stood
on street corners and peeled off big bills to hand to passers-by,
according to some accounts.
He sat at the end of the bar and bought rounds of drinks for
anybody who would sit and listen to him spin tales about nothing,
according to Toye Entsminger, a waitress at the Palms restaurant.
He hit all the local bars and eateries -- Palms, Spanky's, the
Stair Case -- and dropped $20 bills on the tables for waitresses.
He gave one young woman $50 to hold his keys for a minute. He
gave another man $150 to drive him around town for a while.
By June 3, the day he was arrested, his generosity had become
legendary, a byword among the shopkeepers and busboys of
Lexington. "We all wanted to wait on him," said
Entsminger, who picked up $100 in tips from the talkative
stranger.
Ellers gave a hairdresser $1,000 for a buzz cut, then threw in a
tip of $200. The hairdresser told police that she saw lots of
money, perhaps thousands of dollars, in the small canvas bag that
he carried everywhere.
Ellers also showed up at the upscale clothing store owned by the
mayor's wife and put down $400 for expensive shirts, a few ties
and a sporty hat, which he wore around town with the tag still
dangling off the brim. He told the mayor he loved Lexington and
would like to be "mayor for a day."
"I told him there are some days I'd be glad for him to be
mayor all the time," Mayor "Buddy" Derrick said.
"He was a real friendly guy. But a bit too
effervescent."
Short and balding, garrulous and articulate, the casually dressed
Ellers remained a mystery to all who met him. At one point he
said he was a professional gambler from Colorado. Others heard he
had won a lottery somewhere.
"He was a colorful character," Entsminger said.
"He'd buy drinks, and he was very loud, but he didn't like
crowds because he couldn't be the center of attention. That's
when he'd move on to another restaurant."
Coleman said Ellers, 38, wanted to treat others the way he wanted
to be treated himself.
"He said he wanted to be generous, and that if he was
generous everybody would be generous to him," Coleman said.
"I asked him, 'How many people have given you $1,200 for a
haircut?' "
Wednesday night of last week, though, Ellers' generosity reached
its limit, according to police: He tried to crash a Washington
and Lee University graduation party at the Phi Kappa Psi
fraternity house and became rowdy when refused admittance.
"There were seven or eight to 12 W&L students out front
on the porch, and he said he was going to kick all of their
[behinds],"Coleman said. "They said, 'Fat chance.' At
least that's what they told us they said. Who knows what they
really said to him."
Police were called in, and they eventually caught up with Ellers
at the Stair Case, a bar near Washington and Lee. A quick check
showed he was a fugitive from New Mexico, a Santa Fe resident
wanted for allegedly trafficking in cocaine and illegal
mushrooms.
In the trunk of his car, a rented $18,000 Taurus, Lexington
police said they found 28 pounds of marijuana, neatly divided
into two bales.
He has been charged with transporting more than five pounds of
marijuana into Virginia with the intent to distribute it, and
possession with intent to distribute. He is being held without
bond while Lexington and New Mexico officials figure out who will
try him first.
By the time the Lexington police got to it, Ellers' little canvas
bag held $340. Coleman said there's no way to know how much cash
Ellers threw around before his arrest.
Entsminger showed little surprise at Ellers' arrest.
"We knew there was a story there. We just didn't know what
it was."
Incidentally, police don't know yet whether they'll try to
retrieve the money -- possibly thousands of dollars -- that
Ellers gave away. They're not sure his generosity constitutes a
crime.
Hey, that's it for this week. Happy Fathers' Day.
Yours in the Spirit,
RB Lane '75
Last Updated: October 11, 2009
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