To most people outside College Station, the giant bonfire sounded like a reckless tradition–and a wasteful way to die. But to the fiercely loyal students and the school’s alumni, building the bonfire was an act of faith. For 90 years, after all, Aggies have ignited the bonfire as a symbol of solidarity against their rivals at the University of Texas before their annual football game. Three times, the last in 1956, Texas students allegedly retaliated by trying to firebomb the structure. True, none of this had ever resulted in the kind of disaster seen last week. But the catastrophe at A&M seemed to raise old questions about college traditions and big-time athletic programs–and whether the passion that fuels them is out of control.
Few schools take football–and ritual–as seriously as Texas A&M. Aggies always stand at the ready at football games, because, the story has it, a man was once pulled from the crowd to replace an injured player, and he went on to win the game for A&M. Aggies always kiss their dates when the team scores. The school doesn’t have cheerleaders; it has “yell leaders,” and the next yell to be initiated is passed up the stand through the use of an elaborate signing system. Along with the day that senior rings are passed out, the burning of the bonfire is the biggest moment of the year. It began with the burning of a pile of garbage and scrap wood in 1909. Sixty years later, the bonfire had reached 109 feet–prompting the university to set a limit of about half that.
Like most everything at Texas A&M, the bonfire’s construction is highly regimented. About 6,000 to 8,000 students and volunteers cut and assemble some 7,000 logs, with the help of cranes, and are assigned to 45 different crews. The structure, built with the help of local contractors who have ties to the school, is completed during “push” week–a period leading up to the big game when students work around the clock in double shifts. One or two days before the game, when the structure is ready, an orange outhouse meant to signify the University of Texas is put at the top. Then the bonfire is doused with fuel, and lit.
It wasn’t immediately clear why this bonfire ended so tragically; it appeared that the center pole had snapped. But perhaps the better question was why it had taken so long for the undertaking to go horribly wrong. Renowned for its engineering, the school has no expert supervising the bonfire, although there is a staff adviser. The only instructions for building it are handed down in tattered notebooks from one generation to the next. Since the bonfire is on state property, it doesn’t have to conform to any local building codes. In 1989, a student-faculty study raised safety concerns about the bonfire and recommended cutting back on drinking among the students building it and shortening the bonfire’s height. (Officials said they had no reason to think last week’s accident was caused by students’ carousing, and foul play was not considered a possibility.) In the late 1980s, some 55 to 85 students were reportedly treated each year for bonfire-related injuries. One bonfire actually collapsed five years ago, when wet ground shifted, but no one was hurt.
This time, the Aggies weren’t so lucky. A mournful mood descended swiftly over the campus; even as crews continued to sift through the fallen logs, former president George Bush, whose library is on campus, was among those to attend a memorial service. For the first time since President Kennedy’s assassination, the bonfire was canceled. School officials chose their words carefully; a flurry of lawsuits seemed all but inevitable. And yet, on campus, there appeared to be widespread agreement that the ritual was not the culprit. “It’s a tragedy this fell and lives were lost,” said John Slack, a senior cadet. “But it would be a tragedy to the students if it weren’t allowed to continue.” To mark the first 24 hours after the disaster, students wept quietly at the scene while buglers from the school band played a solemn taps. Twelve lives were ended. But the bonfire, it seems, will likely outlive them.
