The Citadel Still Holds

By DAVID VAN BIEMA

Quiet satisfaction suffuses Big John's bar in Charleston, South Carolina, an establishment that caters to the Citadel, the town's revered military school. The Icehouse draft beer is flowing, and all's well with the world; or, more precisely, everything's in its place. The Confederate flag and the flag of the South Carolina secession are tacked next to Old Glory near the ceiling; the IMPEACH CLINTON sticker beneath the flags seems practically to glow; the cadets and their sweethearts are crowding the red vinyl-covered benches; and Shannon Faulkner's hair -- the proximate cause for the celebratory mood -- is still on her head.

Faulkner, 19, will not be getting a crew cut on Monday. Nor will she be forced to walk in gutters instead of on sidewalks. She will not be assuming the distorted "brace" position to accept any abuse an upperclassman cares to dish out. Or doing push-ups until she vomits. She will not be submitting to -- or struggling against -- any of the everyday humiliations imposed during the freshman year at the Citadel, the all-male military college that is Charleston's pride, because, as of Friday, a federal appeals court won't let her.

There is no law on the books preventing people from injecting themselves into uncomfortable situations. And it is Faulkner's hope, now somewhat dented, that there are laws preventing them from being excluded. The Citadel is, without doubt, one of Southern education's more idiosyncratic institutions. Founded in 1842 (it boasts that its cadets fired the first shots of the Civil War: at a Union ship), the college is a proud dinosaur of the Old South, notable today for two things. One is its alumni network, which includes at least one South Carolina Senator, one former Governor and countless other sons of Dixie whose extraordinary mutual loyalty gives them enormous local clout. The other is its abysmal treatment of freshmen, or "knobs," so named because their shaved heads resemble doorknobs. Some claim the first flows from the second, as adversity forges lasting friendships. Others say it's not worth it: the school has withstood claims of hazing, particularly an incident involving a black cadet.

It was Faulkner's choice to take the bad with the good. She applied -- and was accepted -- last year. Then the Citadel, learning she was female, reneged. Faulkner sued for discrimination -- the school is state funded -- and last month, Federal District Judge C. Weston Houck ruled in her favor, saying she could attend the school as a full-fledged cadet beginning with the start of the new school year -- this Monday.

Citadel stalwarts were deeply wounded. Said retired Lieut. Colonel T. Nugent Courvoisie, 77, immortalized as the Citadel's harsh taskmaster, the "Bear," in Pat Conroy's best seller The Lords of Discipline, last Wednesday: "That girl says she wants to come in and be one of the boys. But the minute she comes in, the atmosphere changes. She ruins the whole concept of getting everyone together and working on the same team." In fact, there may be some truth to claims by other traditionalists that once Faulkner is in, rather than playing by the Citadel's rules, she (or her legal team) hopes to change the place. After their initial victory, her lawyers asked Houck to excuse her from the traditional knob crew cut, on the shaky grounds that it would stigmatize her as a woman. More sensibly, given recent threats on Faulkner's life and fear of cadet harassment, attorney Sara Mandelbaum promised, "We'll be monitoring Shannon's progress closely -- and we'll hold the administration accountable."

Last Wednesday, Houck ruled again, this time in favor of the haircut. Previously, he had accepted the Citadel's demand that Faulkner be housed by herself in a renovated area of the school's infirmary. Faulkner's enrollment, however, seemed inevitable, and as she prepared gamely for her desired ordeal, Citadel graduates like Buck Limehouse (class of '60), now chairman of the South Carolina department of transportation commission, tried to put their disappointment in a historical context: "It's sort of like the Southern cause," he said. "Even if you know you're going to lose the war, if you believe in the principles you're fighting for, you fight anyway."

Then at the last moment, the South rose again. On Friday an appeals court granted the Citadel a stay pending a hearing of arguments, which will probably take place in December. That will effectively postpone Faulkner's cadet debut for at least a year. For now she intends to continue as a day student. She said, "I'd say I'm being selfish and doing this just for me. But I do, in a way, think it's for women who might follow me."

At the Citadel they announced the news over the school's intercom system. Brian Wamsley, a 1992 graduate working at the school's computer center, reported that "it was just like winning the World Series. People were yelling and screaming and slapping high fives. It was chaos." For the moment no one seemed worried about Faulkner's intent to appeal the case as high as necessary. "It's good to know there are still some conservative people in this nation," said Wamsley. "We'll definitely be toasting the courts tonight."

Bear Courvoisie may be a little old for the bar scene, but he can be reached at home. "It's like the second Fourth of July around here," he allows. And, to a friend calling with congratulations: "Thank you. Thank God. Thank everybody else." The world that made him what he is is safe for another day.

With reporting by Bonnie I. Rochman/Charleston