Saturday, August 02, 2008

Ross Perot Arrested

Well, it was in 1975, but it’s an entertaining story.  This is from Rick Atkinson’s The Long Gray Line.  For background, Ford is the chaplain at West Point (a civilian) and had a goal of sailing across the Atlantic.  He bought the boat, but didn’t have money for everything else (life boat, food, radio, etc.).  He struck a deal…

Again, Bucha stepped in.  Bucha knew a certain Annapolis graduate, class of ‘53, who had done well for himself in the business world.  In fact, the man was a billionaire, and he recently asked Bucha for a favor.  The 1975 Army-Navy game was approaching; H. Ross Perot, the Texas industrial magnate, wanted to play a prank on his rivals at the Military Academy.

“Surely,” Perot insisted, “there is someone at West Point who is corruptible.”

“There is,” Bucha agreed. “The chaplain.”

Shortly after midnight on the eve of the big game - with embers from the pep rally bonfire still glowing on Abner Doubleday Field - Perot, Ford, and the academy bell ringer entered the chapel.  Ford unlocked the main door and switched on the lights.  On the table in front of the vestibule, Perot carefully placed his trademark Stetson.  The three men climbed the winding stone staircase that led from the narthex to a long vault concealed above the nave ceiling.  Clambering along a wooden catwalk that ran the length of the chapel, they came to a brick chamber directly above the alter.  In the middle of the belfry sat a contraption with a dozen wooden handles.  Slender cables connected the handles to seven tons of chapel bells in the loft overhead.  “Here you go.” Ford said cheerfully, before backing into a hidden alcove beneath the eaves.

At 12:30 A.M., the tranquility of the Hudson Valley was shattered by the deafening peal of a tune that turned any decent Army man’s blood to froth:

Anchors, aweigh, my boys,
An-chors a-weighhhh!

This unholy din was followed by “The Marine Hymn” - From the halls of Montezuuuu-ma, To the shores of Tripoli - and the obnoxious trill of “Sailing, Sailing.”  Within minutes, hundreds of cadets raced up the hill from the barracks.  Cursing and shrieking, they stormed into the chapel like avenging Crusaders, vowing to smite the interloper.  Perot, who had locked the gate to the belfry, taunted them briefly before surrendering.  The cadets manhandled him out of the chapel to the north portico, where they surrendered the intruder to the military policy.  Ford crept from his hiding place just in time to see the flashing red lights of the MP car recede down the hill, hauling H. Ross Perot to jail.

The next day, after quietly obtaining Perot’s release, Ford held a special church service.  The chapel, so heinously defiled by the infidel, was solemnly reconsecrated.  (The chaplain’s true role in the affair remained secret for years.)  And in exchange for Ford’s complicity, Perot happily paid the bill for a life raft, sextant, plane tickets to England, food, and the Sailor shortwave.  “When I get to heaven,” Perot later said, chuckling, “I’m not so sure I’m gonna find Jim Ford there.”

(1) Comments
Posted by Owen at 2049 hrs
Our Favorites + Books

  1. Freakin’ Anchor Clankers…

    But a great story.

    Posted by Steve Burri on August 02, 2008 at 2306 hrs


Commenting is not available in this channel entry.