The Timely Disappearance of Van Dorn Sickles Smith
Names have power. Mr. Thomas Baines Smith certainly believed so, and when his wife gave birth to their first son Mr. Smith insisted on naming the child after a hero of our nation's past. He decided that the name of a Civil War general would really hit the mark, and since the young couple had relatives on both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line Mr. Smith picked generals from both sides of the conflict.
This might have been a good strategy, had Thomas Baines Smith done some research on the subject. Mr. Smith wanted to avoid the usual cast of heroes - Lee, Grant, Jackson, Sherman and so forth - but there were plenty of other names to choose from. Any father would have been proud to have a son named Cleburne MacPherson Smith, and if, as Mr. Smith believed, the youngster partook of the characteristics of his namesakes well then so much the better.
Unfortunately, and perhaps in part because of the exhausting nature of the delivery of the newborn, Mr. Smith named the baby after the first two generals he ran across on his computer screen: Dan Sickles and Earl Van Dorn. So the new son Van Dorn Sickles Smith was named after a Union general who had killed his wife's lover and a Confederate general who had been killed by his lover's husband. This did not seem to forebode the manly qualities that Mr. Smith probably had in mind, though I suppose it did indicate manly qualities of another sort. But Mr. Smith did not do any further research on the matter and assumed everything was right with the world.
The first signs of trouble appeared in early childhood, though they seemed benevolent at the time. Young Van Dorn Sickles Smith was adored by all his aunts and female cousins. In elementary school all the girls blushed and smiled when he walked by, and if any of the boys were jealous they had to hide it, because Van Dorn Sickles Smith was also the pet of every female teacher in the school.
In middle school this was less of a protection. Male teachers weren't sympathetic at all, would-be rivals were more devious, and the natural developments of age and adolescence made for an increasing frequency of hostility and conflict, with the other boys at least.
By the time Van Dorn reached high school every girl in town adored him and every boy hated him. And though every mother welcomed the idea of him as a son-in-law, every father contemplated buying a shotgun if he didn't already have one handy.
At that point Thomas Baines Smith attempted a solution to the matter. He enrolled young Van Dorn into a private military academy three counties away. The older Mr. Smith did this for three reasons: (1) There would be fewer women for the younger Mr. Smith to get in trouble with; (2) There would be tighter discipline to further prevent trouble; and (3) The elder Mr. Smith still harbored hopes that the supposed heroic attributes of his son's namesakes would rub off on young Van Dorn. Unfortunately, on day five of Van Dorn's stay at the academy he met the commandant's daughter.
The young woman was named Phoebe, and she was involved in a very proper long-term relationship with one of the upper-class cadets. The relationship was so proper in fact that one would have to call it a betrothal rather than an engagement, and everyone who knew them also knew that the young couple would be wed once he had graduated and accepted a commission. But then came Van Dorn Sickles Smith.
Once Van Dorn saw Phoebe and found out who she was, he immediately began to "court" her. Phoebe was not interested, which was a totally new experience for young Van Dorn who was used to women falling all over him. Phoebe's fiance at first ignored the situation, considering Van Dorn to be an ill-bred and ill-mannered plebe who would give up either the academy or Phoebe before the week was out.
But Van Dorn persisted in his efforts, calling her "special" and all sorts of other sweet names, even slandering the fiance a bit in vain attempts to get Phoebe to acknowledge his own worthiness as a suitor. Phoebe showed no outward sign of paying attention, though a seed of doubt may have been planted inside her. Finally, and perhaps too late, the fiance decided to take action.
Young Van Dorn was sneaking his way back to the dorm a couple of hours after curfew when he was brought up short by three menacing-looking figures in the darkness. Two others stepped out of the shadows behind him to block off any retreat.
"Hello, Van Dorn," a husky voice said in greeting.
"Uh, hello," Van Dorn replied anxiously. His nervousness, or fear if you like, prevented him from identifying the voice.
"Where ya been?"
"Oh, I was just visiting a friend in town..."
"A female friend?"
"I don't know..." Van Dorn answered nervously. Several of the figures snickered at the response. "I mean yes, yes. What about it?"
"The 'special' female friend?"
"Hmm? Which one?" Van Dorn asked back in a moment of confusion. It wasn't exactly the best answer, and the fiance clenched his fists, angry on his own account as well as the implied but unintended disrespect toward Phoebe.
"You know which one! Phoebe!"
"Oh! Phoebe!" Van Dorn replied back in obviously feigned ignorance. "I... I didn't know she was seeing you..."
"The Hell you didn't!"
"No, really! She sees lots of guys in town. I didn't know you thought she was taken..."
The fiance took a step forward. "You lie!"
"But... She never acted like she was seeing anyone..."
"You lie again! I've had enough off this." The fiance stepped closer, but one of his companions stopped him and whispered in his ear. Nodding, the fiance spoke again to Van Dorn: "You've got 48 hours."
"48 hours to what?"
"Be off this campus in 48 hours or women won't think your face is so pretty anymore."
"But Dad put me here! He's not going to let me transfer..."
"Not my problem. Get expelled! I don't care! Just be off this campus in 48 hours."
Van Dorn Sickles Smith spent most of the next day trying to convince his father to let him transfer out, but the older Mr. Smith would not budge. As far as he was concerned, the academy was Van Dorn's last hope for legitimate manhood. So that night Van Dorn took up the fiance's suggestion.
Any other cadet might have gotten drunk first, but Van Dorn was afraid he might pass out before the deed was done. So around midnight he tore off his clothes, handcuffed himself to the academy flagpole, and only then drank two entire bottles of Richard's Wild Irish Rose.
By the time the sun had peeked its way over the horizon, before reveille had even sounded (It would be postponed that morning so as not to draw attention to the disgraceful incident.), every cadet on the campus knew what had happened.
Yelling at Van Dorn, cuffed and sitting in his own piss and vomit, was deemed pointless, so the administrators got the young man off campus in the most expeditious way possible. They took bolt-cutters to the handcuffs, leaving one cuff on his wrist ("Serve him right if it never comes off," grumbled one of the custodians.), packed all his belongings that had not been issued by the academy, and dressed him up without even offering him a shower. Then several members of the academy staff drove young Van Dorn to the bus station, bought him a ticket home, and made sure he got on the bus.
No one wanted to sit next to Van Dorn on the bus, but otherwise he made it home alright. The older Mr. Smith gave a long exasperated sigh and enrolled his son in a GED course and later an online college degree program. Van Dorn continued to let women fall all over him, but not in such a concentrated environment.
Back at the academy life returned to normal. Reveille was now played again at its established time, and you only noticed the solitary cuff on the flagpole if you looked very closely. The only long-term casualties of the event were Phoebe and her fiance. The tiny seeds of doubt planted by Van Dorn sprouted, grew and ended their engagement.
A few years later Van Dorn entered a bar in Juarez with two intoxicated women hanging from his shoulders. The trio staggered over to the bar and asked for shots of tequila and bottles of beer. Van Dorn was startled for a moment by the female bartender, who looked oddly familiar. But how? The woman had piercings and studs in her ears, nose, lips, eyebrow and gosh knows where else, a skull tattoo on her left arm and a spiked dog collar on her right, and a long, thin straight scar running diagonally across her right cheek.
"Not my type at all," thought Van Dorn, and he turned his attention back to his drunken companions.
They giggled and flirted back and forth for several minutes, until a frosty voice from behind the bar said: "You!"
Van Dorn and his puzzled, snookered companions looked over at the bartender. "Yes?" Van Dorn asked.
"Van Dorn Sickles Smith!" the woman blurted out with a gleeful smile on her face. It was not a friendly sort of glee though, that one might experience upon meeting an old friend. It was more the sort of glee a cat might feel upon cornering a mouse.
"Do I know you?" Van Dorn asked uneasily, dropping his arms from the waists of his temporary friends.
"Yes you do," the bartender answered, drawing a little close. "Remember the academy?"
"Oh my gosh!" Van Dorn answered in open-mouthed astonishment. "Phoebe?"
"That's right," she answered, approaching Van Dorn like a boa constrictor might approach its prey.
"Phoebe! How are you? What's that scar on your cheek?"
"That's a dueling scar," she answered icily, grabbing a nearby liquor bottle by the neck. "I won."
"Gosh, Phoebe..." Not knowing what else to say, he simply added: "Can we be friends again?"
"Friends again?! You ruined my life you son of a bitch!" Phoebe brought the liquor bottle down hard against the edge of the bar, shattering the base of the bottle. Holding the jagged neck of the bottle like a dagger, she hopped over the bar and faced off against Van Dorn.
"But Phoebe, I've changed," he whined.
"I'm gonna change you some more, you bastard!" She leapt forward but he jumped out of the way, then ran out of the bar, Phoebe screaming at his hills.
Van Dorn Sickles Smith was never seen again, at least under that name. His father though continued to receive letters asking for financial assistance for many years afterward.
Phoebe felt much more satisfied with her life, and returned to her parents back at the military academy. There she had the tattoo and studs removed, but she wore the scar proudly, and it served her well when she became lead instructor for close combat training at the school. Her parents were proud.