inspire hatred against himself.”
—Major General John M. Schofield’s graduation address to the West Point graduating class of 1879
Captain Justice’s voice blasted them like a wash of ionized air from a jet engine. “All right, gentlemen, the show is over for mommy and daddy.” B squadron stood stiffly at attention outside of their dorm as Justice walked their rows.
“It’s time to suck it up, for you are now basic cadets, not civilians anymore. Therefore, you are legally bound to obey my orders and anyone over you—which means every damned person on this planet except for the waiters in Mitchell Hall. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“From now on you are only allowed five responses to any question: yes, sir; no, sir; no excuse, sir; sir, I do not know; and sir, I do not understand. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“And finally, unless you’re told otherwise, you remain at attention in everything you do, everywhere you go. That means everywhere—when you’re taking a piss, when you’re in the hallways, when you’re eating: Everywhere. When an officer enters your room, you pop to attention. When you are outside, you double time. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” So far, Rod could tell that life was not going to be complicated, just strict. It just seemed that he’d be standing at attention for the rest of his life.
“Now get your butts upstairs and fall into formation outside of your room. Before we start training you must put your room together. Dismissed!”
The basics stepped backwards and turned on their heels. Breaking ranks, they pressed their arms close to their sides and ran back to the dorm … but in their way was a gauntlet of screaming, red-faced, veins-bulging-from-their-heads, hair cropped so close to their scalps that the white untanned flesh stood out against stubble, white-gloved, trembling, and mad-as-hell officers that corrected their every move.
“Chin in, smacko! What are you doing, gaping around? Are you buying real estate? Double time in place. Knees up, up, up!”
Rod started running in place, his chin rammed so far into his chest that he had trouble breathing. He pressed his elbows tightly to his side.
The officer held a white-gloved hand three feet above the ground and screamed just inches from his face, “Come on, mister, hit my hand with your knees! You’re not trying unless you can touch my hand. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I can’t hear you, basic! Let’s hear you sing the ‘Star Spangled Banner. ’”
“Yes, sir. Oh, say can you see …” Rod gasped for breath as he continued to run in place, trying to hit the officer’s hand which moved out of reach with every thrust of Rod’s knee. Finishing, he bellowed, “… and the home of the brave!” He pulled in a chest full of dry Colorado air, feeling pleased with himself that he had finished—
“Is that it? What’s the second verse?”
A chill of terror washed over him. “Sir, I do not know.”
“YOU DO NOT KNOW!” Captain Justice ran up and joined in the fray. Both officers screamed in his ears. “What’s the correct, response, mister?”
“No excuse, sir!”
“That’s right, you miserable excuse for a human being! Can’t you follow orders?”
“Yes, sir!”
“What are you, mister, some kind of high school hot dog, thinking this is Colorado Women’s College?”
“No, sir!”
“Then let’s hear the fourth stanza of the ‘Star Spangled Banner’! Sound off, mister!”
“Sir, no excuse, sir!”
The first officer moved away and joined in another yell-fest going on next to Rod. In the instant the other officer left, Rod could tell that it was a free-for-all, as if every officer within a thousand miles had donned white gloves and was preventing the new basic cadets from ever reaching their dorms.
Captain Justice looked incredulous. “What do you mean, no excuse, mister?”
Five responses, he thought. No way am I going to say anything else. “No
—Major General John M. Schofield’s graduation address to the West Point graduating class of 1879
Captain Justice’s voice blasted them like a wash of ionized air from a jet engine. “All right, gentlemen, the show is over for mommy and daddy.” B squadron stood stiffly at attention outside of their dorm as Justice walked their rows.
“It’s time to suck it up, for you are now basic cadets, not civilians anymore. Therefore, you are legally bound to obey my orders and anyone over you—which means every damned person on this planet except for the waiters in Mitchell Hall. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“From now on you are only allowed five responses to any question: yes, sir; no, sir; no excuse, sir; sir, I do not know; and sir, I do not understand. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“And finally, unless you’re told otherwise, you remain at attention in everything you do, everywhere you go. That means everywhere—when you’re taking a piss, when you’re in the hallways, when you’re eating: Everywhere. When an officer enters your room, you pop to attention. When you are outside, you double time. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” So far, Rod could tell that life was not going to be complicated, just strict. It just seemed that he’d be standing at attention for the rest of his life.
“Now get your butts upstairs and fall into formation outside of your room. Before we start training you must put your room together. Dismissed!”
The basics stepped backwards and turned on their heels. Breaking ranks, they pressed their arms close to their sides and ran back to the dorm … but in their way was a gauntlet of screaming, red-faced, veins-bulging-from-their-heads, hair cropped so close to their scalps that the white untanned flesh stood out against stubble, white-gloved, trembling, and mad-as-hell officers that corrected their every move.
“Chin in, smacko! What are you doing, gaping around? Are you buying real estate? Double time in place. Knees up, up, up!”
Rod started running in place, his chin rammed so far into his chest that he had trouble breathing. He pressed his elbows tightly to his side.
The officer held a white-gloved hand three feet above the ground and screamed just inches from his face, “Come on, mister, hit my hand with your knees! You’re not trying unless you can touch my hand. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!”
“I can’t hear you, basic! Let’s hear you sing the ‘Star Spangled Banner. ’”
“Yes, sir. Oh, say can you see …” Rod gasped for breath as he continued to run in place, trying to hit the officer’s hand which moved out of reach with every thrust of Rod’s knee. Finishing, he bellowed, “… and the home of the brave!” He pulled in a chest full of dry Colorado air, feeling pleased with himself that he had finished—
“Is that it? What’s the second verse?”
A chill of terror washed over him. “Sir, I do not know.”
“YOU DO NOT KNOW!” Captain Justice ran up and joined in the fray. Both officers screamed in his ears. “What’s the correct, response, mister?”
“No excuse, sir!”
“That’s right, you miserable excuse for a human being! Can’t you follow orders?”
“Yes, sir!”
“What are you, mister, some kind of high school hot dog, thinking this is Colorado Women’s College?”
“No, sir!”
“Then let’s hear the fourth stanza of the ‘Star Spangled Banner’! Sound off, mister!”
“Sir, no excuse, sir!”
The first officer moved away and joined in another yell-fest going on next to Rod. In the instant the other officer left, Rod could tell that it was a free-for-all, as if every officer within a thousand miles had donned white gloves and was preventing the new basic cadets from ever reaching their dorms.
Captain Justice looked incredulous. “What do you mean, no excuse, mister?”
Five responses, he thought. No way am I going to say anything else. “No
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