My girlfriend, Dianne, had come with me to hold my hand through the ordeal, but it was clear from the start that all family members needed to go elsewhere while we were indoctrinated. It was a huge assembly line. We filled out forms, got our uniforms, we were assigned a PO box at the Cadet Store, got the proper haircut and trooped off to our rooms to change into our new outfits. I thought it was strange that the belts we new cadets got were these thin little straps that didn't look at all like the ones I'd seen the other guys wearing. Whatever. And now it was time to say goodbye to the family. Mom cried a little, Dad was looking proud of his little soldier boy and Dianne didn't seem all that upset. Hmm. Well, probably because we would be seeing each other at Thanksgiving. Yeah, that's it. Then they all got into the car and were gone. Just like that. I turned around out there in the parking lot, which I would come to know as the Asphalt, and gazed at the crenelated walls of South Barracks, "A" Company, my new home. Dread rose in me like magma.
The first thing we new cadets had to learn was the "rat rules". Rats are first year cadets, and special rules for rats are supposed to instill discipline and respect for authority. When a non commissioned officer walked into the room, rats had to stand at attention. When an officer entered the room, rats had to "brace" against the wall. This position was achieved by standing at attention with the back firmly against the wall and forearms sticking straight out in front, elbows against the wall and hands in a fist. Rats had to remain silent, speaking only in response to questions. Either of the two positions had to be maintained until the ranking cadet said "at ease". This was also a good way to find out just how much of a prick some of these ranking cadets could be. Most would come in, make sure we were properly positioned, then release us. But some guys, most notably our platoon sergeant, would revel in our discomfort. His last name was Henry and he was a dyed in the wool Georgia boy. He would stalk around the room, staring down the rats and asking them questions like "Are you a rat?" "YES SIR" "I said ARE YOU A RAT?" "YES SIR!", etc. Later in the year someone came up with a call: "Henry Blows!" I have no idea what made that so damn funny. Somebody would start it, like a sailor spotting a whale at sea and call: "Henry Blows!". Soon everyone would be calling out from around the Quad, adding voice after voice to the mix. Poor guy went a little nuts, finally getting out of his platoon sergeant duties and becoming a virtual hermit in his room.
Rats couldn't use certain walkways, always ate last and were treated like pond scum. Which was OK, since I was used to that kind of treatment.
My first roommate was a fellow named Tony Miao. He was from Taiwan but he tried to convince me he was from mainland China. He taught me a great self defense move that I could use to kill a person if I needed to. In the 35 years since he showed it to me I haven't needed it and I hope I'll be ready if I ever do. It's all about practice.
Classes were very much like regular high school, though smaller. The teachers knew they had complete control over us because we lived right there. Any acting up in class was subject to demerits. Ah, demerits...Little Black Marks that accumulated over the week, posted on the bulletin board by the Commandant's Office every Sunday. A certain number of demerits cost a cadet a set number of hours taken from his free time. These were called "beat squad" hours. While the other guys were heading into town on Tuesday afternoons or on the weekend, the Beat Squad would grab their rifles and hit the Asphalt. There we would march in formation, back and forth, back and forth. Rest. March. Repeat. I originally thought I could skip classes and get away with it like the old days, but several of these sessions cured me of that.
Demerits could be racked up in so many creative ways: Keeping an untidy room, not dressing in the proper uniform, showing disrespect to an officer. Any cadet officer over the rank of corporal could write up a lower ranking cadet for infractions. These little slips of paper turned in to the Commandant were called "sticks". Conjugations: "You got stuck" "That's a stick", etc. The top demerit getters were ranked by card names: Ace, King and Jack. These guys rarely saw the world outside our cold gray walls, and some ended up being kicked out. In my first year, 47 cadets were kicked out or withdrew out of barely 300 in attendance. Tough stuff.
A bright spot that Fall was the mixer with our sister school, Stuart Hall School for Girls. I met a nice girl and we went out on a few dates, but she was an even bigger nerd than I was and it was painful to be around her for too long.
I still struggled with my studies, even though we had two hours of mandatory study time each night. I switched roommates when the guys in Headquarters Company thought Tony was cool enough to join them. My new roomies were a couple of screwups named Blair and Hawkins. Blair was an OK guy but we didn't have much in common. Hawkins had this strange ability. He had about 400 record albums, and if you picked one at random he could tell you all the songs on it in order from side A to B. His greatest gift to me was Todd Rundgren's album A Wizard, A True Star. Hawkins and Blair both ended up leaving school and I had another roommate, a complete loser by the name of Ben Alexander.
It all comes down to this: Alexander was a thief. A raging kleptomaniac who stole from dozens of cadets. He was a sloppy, drunken pig who once stole my driver's license and opened an account at a local pool hall, charging a custom pool cue to me. He even showed the damn thing to me the day he bought it! He had a neat little circle of friends whose duty it was to torture me psychologically until one night I decided to walk back to my home. All 158 miles. I got as far as downtown and I was freezing my nerts off, so I went back. That went over well. There was also a little creep named Ratcliff
who never missed an opportunity to bully me. He was a "pet" of the post graduate football players and had the kind of protection Mob guys dream of. He tossed a shaving cream bomb into my room and once wrote "Nigger Lover" on my door because I had the nerve to date a black girl. He and Alexander started a rumor that I was a "grub", a guy who never changed his underwear or got his clothes washed. This stuff was getting old, and I admit that I let it go on because I didn't have the courage or physical tools to fight back. With one exception:In early December all us "rats" were promoted to Old Boys. We no longer had to follow the silly rules reserved for the new guys, and we got those nice, wide belts. Oh, by the way guys, on Old Boy Day you have to submit to "swats". Depending on the rank, an officer got to take your new belt from you and swat your butt with it a number of times commeasurate with that rank. The first person to approach me with that news was none other than Sergeant Henry. "Gimme the belt, rat."
"I'm not a rat anymore."
"You still get swats or I'll stick you for gross disrespect."
"Do that. Then we'll all talk to the Commandant about hazing, which he outlawed this year."
He stood staring at me for a minute, then stalked off to find a weaker victim. In my life I had been belted by a pro, and I would have beaten him to a pulp if he had tried to carry through. I can say it was one of those times I was "seeing red". I was shaky, nauseous, and thrilled. Take that, ya bastard.
I didn't have anyone at the school I could call a friend and things were going from bad to worse. I felt like I was crawling toward Christmas break through broken glass.
Finally the day came and the Greyhound took me back to CivilianLand. I wanted to put SMA far behind me for those few weeks and succeeded, with one catch. Dad wanted me to wear my uniform to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. I balked a bit, and Grandpa Newbegin opined that it was because I was ashamed of it. He wasn't far off, but the shame ran far deeper than the wool. I saw my buddies from Madison High School and again tried to forget how quickly time can pass. Welcome home! Christmas! Hey, buddies! Hot, sweaty drive in an overheated car. Boom. Back again. Yay.
Don't stop now! We're getting to the best part!
No comments:
Post a Comment