The Great Santini by Pat Conroy

house the Great Santini rented for his family."
    "Since the Great Santini has the worst taste in the free world, this should be easy," his wife said pleasantly.
    "Has the Great Santini ever let his family down?" shouted Colonel Meecham.
    "Yes," the family shouted back, pleased by the spontaneous unanimity.
    "You do not trust the Great Santini?" he asked with fake incredulity.
    "No," the family screamed.
    "Aha," he said," then it is up to Santini to prove to his doubting Thomas family that he is the tops when it comes to choosing a house for his family."
    "Watch out for a place that looks like a pentagon," Mary Anne said.
    "Or an airplane hangar," Ben offered.
    "Look for the one you think it is," said Bull, smiling under his sunglasses.
    "I hope it's soon, sugah. Matt is undergoing rigor mortis," Lillian cautioned.
    They had entered a neighborhood of splendid quiet, hushed gardens, and columned houses. The houses were not as spectacular as those that lined River Street, but many of them were older and more tastefully understated. The river had curved around to the boundary of this neighborhood. Four large houses sat at the farthest extremity of this point of land, each of them overlooking the water. Each house was almost hidden by huge oak trees that hovered over them. On the far right was a large house that looked straight to the most oblique curve in the river. It was a house that needed painting, one that seemed to cry out for habitation and laughter beneath its roof. The other homes along the river were vigorously tended. This one was vacant.
    Bull Meecham pulled into the driveway of the house. Matt leaped from the car and sprinted to the other side of the house, the laughter of his family following him. Then for a moment, Lillian and her children sat quietly, stunned by the size and majesty of the house.
    "Bull, the last time you chose a house for the family," Lillian said," it was so small a family of fleas would have been cramped to distraction. But this . . . "She leaned over and kissed him on the neck. "It's beautiful, sugah."
    "No," Bull said wistfully. "It's a southern mansion just like you always wanted to live in. It belongs to a man from Chicago who is gonna retire here in two years. He heard that the Chicity kid needed a house and he cut fifteen big ones off the monthly rent. He knew I was class and would take good care of the house. I probably reminded him of Rhett Butler."
    As Lillian wandered about the empty rooms of the house carefully making mental notes about furniture placement and room arrangement, Colonel Meecham herded his children to the front porch for a morale check. Mary Anne and Karen sat on the fourth step leading up to the front door; directly behind them sat Ben and Matthew. With his hands placed behind his back, Bull paced in front of them, clearing his throat and gathering his thoughts for the traditional moving day speech. The sun was fully up now and the heat of the August day was beginning to assert itself with a blood-thickening power. Bull unzipped his flight jacket but did not take it off. In his right hand he carried a swagger stick which occasionally he slapped against his left palm, punctuation marks for the thoughts that crowded and strutted invisibly within him. Finally, he began to speak.
    "At ease, hogs," he began. "I want you to listen and listen good. We have bivouacked all night and arrived at our destination, one Ravenel, South Carolina, at approximately 0800 hours, twenty minutes before your commanding officer had planned. Now I have listened to you hogs bellyache about moving to a new town ever since I arrived home from the Med cruise. This said bellyaching will end as of 0859 hours and will not affect the morale of this squadron henceforth. Do I make myself clear?"
    His children nodded their agreement with expressionless eyes. The swagger stick slapped against Bull's hand in ten second intervals.
    "Your C.O.'s philosophy has always been this: If a little shit comes into