Anybody got some cool stories of air outs they have either perpetuated or been victims of?

BQ fish often will kidnap CT zips on Saturday mornings and drag them to drill before football games. As a fish, I never got to do it because we bass fish were always getting crapped out instead. By my zip year, we were not allowed to PT the fish as a section anymore. So I decided we could have some fun instead. I offered the fish a challenge - get all three senior yell leaders to drill, including Ricky Wood, the non-reg head yell leader.

The fish made arrangements with the CT fish in the appropriate outfits, and they were able to get in the CT dorms easily (I came along to supervise, and just observe the fun). The fish grabbed Bubba Moser first, and carried him to the next guy's room (I can't remember his name). When the fish grabbed him out of the bag, he was only in his boxers. As they high-ported him out of the room, he grabbed his old lady's shower gear, and three or four pages of folded-up grode fell out. He yelled, "Holy crap, ol' lady, what have you been doing in the shower??!!" The fish made sure to pick it up and bring it along.

They then took the two CT yell leaders, and marched them over to Ricky Wood's dorm (I think it was Hotard; the one without A/C at the time). One of the fish had a high school friend in that dorm, and had made arrangments for the 3rd story window at the fire escape to be left open. We all climbed up the ladder and into the window. Bubba and the other guy followed, as they really wanted to see this go down. The fish busted into Ricky's room and grabbed him out of the bag. He was confused and fought against them for a few seconds, but saw the band drill shirts and figured out this must be good bull. His roommate woke up for a little bit and saw what was going on. He looked at the fish, then just went back to sleep. The fish then high-ported Ricky to the turf field behind Kyle.

The fish and pissheads were a little pissed they still had to do sectional work while the whitebelts passed around the grode the fish had confiscated.

Greutzmachers -- Goin' commando!

My second semester old lady was a GC

The morning the GC's were aired out was supposed to be a bag in, so we were leery anyway. As the person who aired out my old lady came in all I heard was " get out of the bag, pt shirts, bdu pants, and tennis shoes"

About that time the "airer outer" realized we were both out of the bag and getting dressed. I was then told to get undressed and get back in the bag! THE MOST RELIEF I HAD ALL FISH YEAR!!!!

When my old lady came back covered in mud and stink he put his cloths in a HEB bag and that is were they stayed for the rest of the semester

I have similar story to that as well.

My fish year, the bass pissheads aired out the bass fish one morning. I was sound asleep in the top rack, when Mr. Burns kicked in my door and started screaming, "Bristo! Boots and sweats now! Get your ass moving!" He paused when he saw my ol' lady was already up, and taking a piss in the sink. Ol' lady, who was not usually coherent in the early mornings, just smiled and waved at Mr. Burns. Burns yelled at him to get his ass back in the bag. I was sitting in my chair tying my boots, and had no idea my old lady was up. When I heard "get your ass back in the bag," I launched myself from the sitting position straight into the top rack. Burns shouted out, "not you, numbnuts!"

My old lady thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He actually stood their next to the meanest pisshead in our outfit and laughed out loud.

Greutzmachers -- Goin' commando!

Judd, your Saturday morning drill CT air-out story reminded me of one Saturday morning when I was a zip. I was also in the bass section and it was my turn to pick who we were airing out. It was one of my Army ROTC buddies from H-1 who served on one of the major unit staffs. When we got to his room and the fish went in, the CT yelled out and began fighting with all of his might. It was good bull until I heard our wag fish bass played yell out in pain. I quickly yelled out the CT's name and let him know who it was and he relaxed. The fish proceeded to take him over to the drill field where he later said something to the effect of "the best music he ever heard was the Aggie Band early on a Saturday morning." Turns out he thought the bass fish were I-1 fish coming to shave his head for saying their forbidden word.

We did a grode-out on our 1SG my fish year. He didn't put up much of a fight, because he knew he deserved it.

Anyway, we took him out and dumped all the filthy stuff we'd collected on him. He then, of course, went straight to the shower. We gave him a couple minutes, then ran in and dumped flour all over him.

Greutzmachers -- Goin' commando!

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BQ fish often will kidnap CT zips on Saturday mornings and drag them to drill before football games

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I was raided my senior year.
I had nothing but my skivvies on, I fought and mad a mess of my room by the time they got me out. At least I was able to grab some sheets because it was freaking cold that morning. That is all I can remember, what a hangover I had too.

Thanks BQ's

I had a bag in during Brass. My ol lady did not. A PH busted in, flipped on the light, and started yelling. I halfway woke up from my deep slumber, and screamed at him to shut the F up. Somehow I didn't get smoked, but I bet he looked at my bag in pass and kept it to himself.

If you can find a copy, read "Aggies, Ya'll Caught That Damned Ol' Rat Yet?" It has some interesting and oft funny tales in it. I didn't know about "white rattin'" rooms [a version of "airin' out" until I read the book. It will give you insight into campus life and how some of the things may have come about if you have a good imagination. But, no it isn't a list of myths, etc. but is a good compilation of short stories by the author circa 40's and 50's.

http://www.amazon.com/Aggies-Yall-caught-that-dam/dp/0811103544
Amazon.com comment: This is a great book, I believe now out of print, that talks about the history of the Texas A&M Aggies from start until a little after WWII. It explains a lot of the traditions, some no longer followed - written by a Houston lawyer. A good read, especially is you have an Aggie in the family. Gig 'em!


[This message has been edited by Lee72 (edited 1/23/2012 8:07a).]

“AIRING OUT”

About midnight one beautiful moonlit September night in 1934, we fish were waked up by what seemed to me (at the time, at least) to be the most blood curdling, spine tingling, high piercing yell known to man. I have since heard (or read) that that particular yell was the authentic old “Rebel Yell” first introduced to the A&M campus in the 1870s by younger brothers of Confederate veterans, and that the yell had been handed down from Aggie generation to Aggie generation ever since. However, I am inclined to discount that tradition for the very pragmatic reason that if the Rebel Yell had been half as unnerving to the Yankees as it was to us fish, history would have been different and our side would have won. Anyway, about the time those yells waked us up, we heard a stampede in the hall outside our door, which was unceremoniously jerked open to expose to our view about half a dozen wild eyed sophomores belligerently yelling at us to “air out.” This admonition was made all the more persuasive and authoritative by the snapping of Sam Browne belts.

We were told we could get our clothes on but that we had better blankety-blank hurry up about it. My roommate, Newton Smith, and I had barely put on our trousers and shoes when the sophomores told us that we had stalled and taken advantage of their good nature too long and to “air out” right then. The Sam Browne belts became more insistent and by the time we hit the hall, running, we collided with other fish leaving their rooms. Pressured by the Sam Browne belts biting at our bottoms, we hit the front steps of the dormitory at full gallop. Out on the drill field there was a wild melee of freshmen followed by yelling belt popping sophomores, all running in the general direction of the railroad tracks to the west of campus – some fish did not stop running till they had reached the Brazos River. I am short legged and have never been a fast runner, except that night, that is, when I was a track coach’s dream. My roommate and I got separated early and I ended up with some cavalry fish in a railroad culvert about half way between College Station and Bryan. We spent several hours there till around four in the morning, when the tumult and shouting from the direction of the campus having long since ceased, we struggled warily back. By that time, of course, all the sophomores were in their nice warm bunks, sleeping the sleep of the innocent and pure of heart, so we were able to get about an hour’s sleep before reveille.

We were aired out several times after that, but not taken so completely by surprise as that first time. We became wiser to sophomore ways and could often sense that an airing out was in the offing in the same painful way that an arthritic can predict a change in the weather. When the “natives seemed restless,” so to speak, we would go to sleep with our clothes on. There were many false alarms, of course, as nobody could possibly divine with complete accuracy what went on in that befuddled mass of meat that a sophomore passes for a brain. Many a time the professors rather snidely remarked that our uniforms looked wrinkled enough to have been “slept in,” and we rather enigmatically nodded our heads and replied, “Yes, sir.” Notwithstanding, when the real thing did strike again, we were better prepared than we were that first time. Then came December and the cold wet northers. Airing out not being a “winter sport,” we were spared.


”RATTING” THE ROOMS – ‘YA’LL CAUGHT DAT DAM’ OL’ RAT YIT?’”

Our sophomores urged us, insisted in fact, that we fish attend our first class meeting, at which the class of 1938 would be formally organized and the fish class officers elected. Their wish was our command. We were delighted that our upperclassmen wanted us to have a fish class organization but at the same time we were rather surprised, especially since it would mean that for a couple of hours they would not have anyone to run fish calls for them.

On returning to our rooms we discovered why – our kindly sophomores told us that while we had been away, goofing off and enjoying ourselves, a rat had got loose in the dormitory and they tried to catch it, but in the process they had to dismantle the room. Those who saw Berlin during the waning days of World War II might get a faint idea, but only an Aggie who has been through it can conceive of the diabolical thoroughness with which the sophomores operated. Our doors were taken off the hinges, the hinge plates unscrewed, the bunks dismantled, and all drawers had been taken from the one dresser with which each room was furnished and the contents dumped helter-skelter. The knobs had been removed from the drawers and even the various pieces of our razors had been scattered over as many parts of the room.

As I remember it, this took place on a cold, dismal, rainy Sunday afternoon. When I first saw the mess my room was in, for the first time in my fish year I was ready to hang a piece of mistletoe on my coat tail and walk right out of A&M, but I knew that just as soon as I got home my Aggie father would immediately turn me around and send me back. Anyway, with that spirit of “life must somehow go on,” which has sustained the weak and oppressed throughout history, my roommate and I got things back to a semblance of order by supper time, even pausing now and then to watch some of the other fish struggling with their similar problems. This sharing of misery had a sustaining force – it could even make the whole thing seem halfway funny. By supper time our spirits had risen to such an extent that we could make the proper good humored yet respectful reply to the sophomores who would come around and with a dead pan expression on their faces, ask, “Y’all caught dat dam’ ol’ rat yet?”

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Excerpted from the book, “Aggies! Y’all Caught That Dam’ Ol’ Rat Yet?”, by Joseph G. Rollins, Jr ’38, The Naylor Company, San Antonio, TX, September 1970.

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but is a good compilation of short stories by the author circa 40's and 50's.

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Since the author is the class of 1938, I'd guess the stories are from the latter 20's and 30's