I had an outstanding history teacher at West Point my plebe year. Maj. Christenson had gone to Wisconsin and played both football and basketball on scholarship. He settled on one, which I can't remember, though I think it was basketball.
Well, he went to Officer Candidate School (OCS) after he joined the army, which he did after he received his master's in history. It was a very tough program, esp. for him being so educated. A real stud who did his best playing against the toughies with the Department of Physical Education in the intramural basketball games--an Academy tradition.
Fluent in Italian and posted there when Gen. Haig was somehow present there in the 1970s, he was told to acquire a Lamborghini for the general. Which he did. Then he got to ride with him. Just imagine Scent of the Woman with eyes.
A larger than life figure was Haig, obviously. Christenson admired him enormously.
P.S. I also learned to date all my work from that semester's work. I earned an A minus from Christenson's world history second semester class that never made it to my official transcript. A roommate discovered this looking at my grades the following semester. (I had struggled with chemistry and barely passed, and so wasn't inclined to even glance at the report.) So off to the registrar's office I tramped. After being contemptuously treated for a brief time--Was I the one in error?--they eventually turned me over a few days later to a colonel who headed the history department. A great guy. But by this time Maj. Christenson was stationed in West Germany (Yes, I know, it was a long time ago.) and had advanced up to LTC (lieutenant colonel). He was a air defense artillery person, and quite proud of it, thank you very much.
After giving the colonel my notebook that I luckily still had in my possession and his having made a few calls to Europe, the problem was ultimately corrected. The colonel, though, did give me kindly words of wisdom: date all my work. The copious notes--which I had no intention on throwing away and, in fact, still possess--lacked that.
Now I'm a teacher and a stickler for just that, telling the students the same story I've told you. Minus the souped-up car.
Well, he went to Officer Candidate School (OCS) after he joined the army, which he did after he received his master's in history. It was a very tough program, esp. for him being so educated. A real stud who did his best playing against the toughies with the Department of Physical Education in the intramural basketball games--an Academy tradition.
Fluent in Italian and posted there when Gen. Haig was somehow present there in the 1970s, he was told to acquire a Lamborghini for the general. Which he did. Then he got to ride with him. Just imagine Scent of the Woman with eyes.
A larger than life figure was Haig, obviously. Christenson admired him enormously.
P.S. I also learned to date all my work from that semester's work. I earned an A minus from Christenson's world history second semester class that never made it to my official transcript. A roommate discovered this looking at my grades the following semester. (I had struggled with chemistry and barely passed, and so wasn't inclined to even glance at the report.) So off to the registrar's office I tramped. After being contemptuously treated for a brief time--Was I the one in error?--they eventually turned me over a few days later to a colonel who headed the history department. A great guy. But by this time Maj. Christenson was stationed in West Germany (Yes, I know, it was a long time ago.) and had advanced up to LTC (lieutenant colonel). He was a air defense artillery person, and quite proud of it, thank you very much.
After giving the colonel my notebook that I luckily still had in my possession and his having made a few calls to Europe, the problem was ultimately corrected. The colonel, though, did give me kindly words of wisdom: date all my work. The copious notes--which I had no intention on throwing away and, in fact, still possess--lacked that.
Now I'm a teacher and a stickler for just that, telling the students the same story I've told you. Minus the souped-up car.





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