Bonfire 2002
“Build it, and they will come”
The young man was just two years old—I asked. While the adults were busy meeting friends and listening to the bands, this youngest of Aggies was working hard—building a bonfire. From the looks of his stack—about the same “tall” as he was, he might have had some engineering advice from Dad—since the base of his TeePee design was pretty solid, but all evening, one handful at a time, he would find more sticks and twigs, and he quietly kept building his stack. This tiny one has never seen a Bonfire—but knows somehow that building it must be just as much fun as watching it burn.
Tonight I visited an Aggie field of dreams. I wasn’t going to go. That hurried long drive there and back—with work tomorrow would be foolish. It wasn’t a “real” Bonfire after all. The university did not want it to burn. No one else would probably go. All those good reasons to stay home filled my head. But they were answered by my heart—where memories lived of the Bonfire my son had worked on—the one we had so planned on watching burn together. The one where we mourned together instead. So, heart took over and mind grew silent. I headed to Aggieland on ten minute's notice. I am not sorry.
In my rush I had not printed out a map, but that problem also was just imagined. From the first light at Harvey—the cars were filled with others on our same mission—obvious from the pots that topped many of the heads. By the time we turned on the dirt road at Boondocks, the final scene of Field of Dreams was being enacted at the edge of Grimes County, Texas. Stretched as far as the eye could see in front of us—was an illuminated snake of car lights. School type busses filled with others on this mission were mixed with cars and trucks—and we moved as the pace of a slow walk for that last two miles. It took us about 20 minutes from the highway. We parked in a pasture—and all that was missing was a cornfield. Instead we moved past a dirt retaining wall—and the sky was lit from an area of media trucks and vans.
We signed a release that I for one did not read, and paid that one dollar fee, then walked through the dark night into that lighted area. First, straight ahead was the Bonfire Truck. Strange how something taken for granted for years can become so special. Although the university logo had to be covered—what I saw tonight affirmed my belief that Aggieland is not about the buildings and the hierarchy. That Spirit that can ne’er be told resides in the PEOPLE—the Aggie hearts. So the logo was covered, but the heart is beating as strongly as ever.
We walked up quite close to stack. Here for a moment my heart froze. While I was not there, just saw media shots, the piling of the logs rather than stacking them, brought back every moment of horror. It looked too much like a stack that had fallen. But after that initial shock, I saw a centerpole and a tu penthouse with 02,03,04,05 on the side. And the stack started to have shape and not be as random as I thought. It was in the shape of a sawed off horn’s head like on the stickers some have. There was a sense of humor to it.
The crowd kept coming in. Many were outfits and dorms—with a strange mixture of pots—some that had obviously seen years of work—and others painted just for tonight—shining and gleaming and without a scratch. It is obvious that despite efforts to kill this project—some dorms and outfits have worked and bonded. I kept hearing the actual workers talking to each other—across class, organization, race, gender barriers. All the good that we know can come from Bonfire is still there and still flourishing.
Then the “pots” came arm in arm to light the stack. AAAAAAAAAA filled the sky. This generation, many of whom never saw that glorious on campus stack, made a statement refusing to let this tradition die. For those who have seen the tall stacks—it is sad that this is all that is left. But if you were there—this can be done safely. It can give the benefits of fires of old—and we never again want a fire that makes us mourn.
The stack was slow to catch fire, but once it did, the crowd fired up too. When the outhouse fell, a roar went up from the crowd that was part celebration and part something else—emotionally a catharsis that had been long coming.
On his dad’s shoulders, that smallest Aggie was wide eyed at the flames, but soon was back down on the ground—building again.
Some dorm and outfit “yells”—probably too dirty to repeat—were heard. Then the War Hymn was sung accapella. No certified yell leaders, and sometimes slightly out of tune and synch—but as we moved to line up in ranks with strangers/brothers/ sisters/ Aggies—this night seemed right. Then there was a yell practice from the stage at the Bonfire truck—and another accapella singing of the Spirit of Aggieland.
I am not good at guessing crowd size—but it was substantial. I bought a wonderful maroon shirt to add to my collection and help fund Bonfire 2003 if it must stay off campus. It stated “One Spirit Still Burning Bright” with flames that might be a bonfire on the back. And I saw that Spirit tonight.
In my personal field of dreams I hope for a time that such a Bonfire—that shows the heart of Aggieland will be allowed to burn on campus—but until that day comes—this was a great effort. As the illuminated snake moved back to College Station, I was glad I had made the trip—and once again seen a Bonfire light the night sky.
I saw a student organized and run Bonfire—pretty large in scale given their many obstacles. I saw the new classes refuse to let a tradition die. Change—yes. They will build on this. For those who never knew the old, this can become a great beginning. They built it—and we did come. Each time they build—more will come. And someday, perhaps the brass of the FTAB will ring out with the Aggie voices, but until that day, the Spirit will not remain silenced.
And yes, the two year old was still building his stack—perhaps it will one day be the foundation for Bonfire 2020.
“Build it, and they will come”
The young man was just two years old—I asked. While the adults were busy meeting friends and listening to the bands, this youngest of Aggies was working hard—building a bonfire. From the looks of his stack—about the same “tall” as he was, he might have had some engineering advice from Dad—since the base of his TeePee design was pretty solid, but all evening, one handful at a time, he would find more sticks and twigs, and he quietly kept building his stack. This tiny one has never seen a Bonfire—but knows somehow that building it must be just as much fun as watching it burn.
Tonight I visited an Aggie field of dreams. I wasn’t going to go. That hurried long drive there and back—with work tomorrow would be foolish. It wasn’t a “real” Bonfire after all. The university did not want it to burn. No one else would probably go. All those good reasons to stay home filled my head. But they were answered by my heart—where memories lived of the Bonfire my son had worked on—the one we had so planned on watching burn together. The one where we mourned together instead. So, heart took over and mind grew silent. I headed to Aggieland on ten minute's notice. I am not sorry.
In my rush I had not printed out a map, but that problem also was just imagined. From the first light at Harvey—the cars were filled with others on our same mission—obvious from the pots that topped many of the heads. By the time we turned on the dirt road at Boondocks, the final scene of Field of Dreams was being enacted at the edge of Grimes County, Texas. Stretched as far as the eye could see in front of us—was an illuminated snake of car lights. School type busses filled with others on this mission were mixed with cars and trucks—and we moved as the pace of a slow walk for that last two miles. It took us about 20 minutes from the highway. We parked in a pasture—and all that was missing was a cornfield. Instead we moved past a dirt retaining wall—and the sky was lit from an area of media trucks and vans.
We signed a release that I for one did not read, and paid that one dollar fee, then walked through the dark night into that lighted area. First, straight ahead was the Bonfire Truck. Strange how something taken for granted for years can become so special. Although the university logo had to be covered—what I saw tonight affirmed my belief that Aggieland is not about the buildings and the hierarchy. That Spirit that can ne’er be told resides in the PEOPLE—the Aggie hearts. So the logo was covered, but the heart is beating as strongly as ever.
We walked up quite close to stack. Here for a moment my heart froze. While I was not there, just saw media shots, the piling of the logs rather than stacking them, brought back every moment of horror. It looked too much like a stack that had fallen. But after that initial shock, I saw a centerpole and a tu penthouse with 02,03,04,05 on the side. And the stack started to have shape and not be as random as I thought. It was in the shape of a sawed off horn’s head like on the stickers some have. There was a sense of humor to it.
The crowd kept coming in. Many were outfits and dorms—with a strange mixture of pots—some that had obviously seen years of work—and others painted just for tonight—shining and gleaming and without a scratch. It is obvious that despite efforts to kill this project—some dorms and outfits have worked and bonded. I kept hearing the actual workers talking to each other—across class, organization, race, gender barriers. All the good that we know can come from Bonfire is still there and still flourishing.
Then the “pots” came arm in arm to light the stack. AAAAAAAAAA filled the sky. This generation, many of whom never saw that glorious on campus stack, made a statement refusing to let this tradition die. For those who have seen the tall stacks—it is sad that this is all that is left. But if you were there—this can be done safely. It can give the benefits of fires of old—and we never again want a fire that makes us mourn.
The stack was slow to catch fire, but once it did, the crowd fired up too. When the outhouse fell, a roar went up from the crowd that was part celebration and part something else—emotionally a catharsis that had been long coming.
On his dad’s shoulders, that smallest Aggie was wide eyed at the flames, but soon was back down on the ground—building again.
Some dorm and outfit “yells”—probably too dirty to repeat—were heard. Then the War Hymn was sung accapella. No certified yell leaders, and sometimes slightly out of tune and synch—but as we moved to line up in ranks with strangers/brothers/ sisters/ Aggies—this night seemed right. Then there was a yell practice from the stage at the Bonfire truck—and another accapella singing of the Spirit of Aggieland.
I am not good at guessing crowd size—but it was substantial. I bought a wonderful maroon shirt to add to my collection and help fund Bonfire 2003 if it must stay off campus. It stated “One Spirit Still Burning Bright” with flames that might be a bonfire on the back. And I saw that Spirit tonight.
In my personal field of dreams I hope for a time that such a Bonfire—that shows the heart of Aggieland will be allowed to burn on campus—but until that day comes—this was a great effort. As the illuminated snake moved back to College Station, I was glad I had made the trip—and once again seen a Bonfire light the night sky.
I saw a student organized and run Bonfire—pretty large in scale given their many obstacles. I saw the new classes refuse to let a tradition die. Change—yes. They will build on this. For those who never knew the old, this can become a great beginning. They built it—and we did come. Each time they build—more will come. And someday, perhaps the brass of the FTAB will ring out with the Aggie voices, but until that day, the Spirit will not remain silenced.
And yes, the two year old was still building his stack—perhaps it will one day be the foundation for Bonfire 2020.
