I grew up with the belief that there would be no more noble thing than to wear the uniform of one of our nation’s military services. I didn’t know for sure which uniform I would wear – Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines or Coast Guard – but I was sure I would wear one of them. Of them all, the Army or the Navy were my top two choices. I didn’t grow up in a military family, but my Dad had served in the Army during the tail end of World War II and some of my Mom’s relatives had served in the Navy. My brother, Tim (the smartest guy I’ve ever known) used to have posters of the X-15 hypersonic aircraft and other NASA space and air craft on the wall in our room, which occasionally made me consider the Air Force, but I had bad eyes (nearsighted since the first grade) so I knew I’d never be able to be a pilot.
In the early 1960’s Mrs. Dorsey was my Cub Scout Den Mother. Pack 26 was sponsored by American Legion Post 2 in Barre, Massachusetts. Mrs. Dorsey’s son Tommy (yes, the same name as the old band leader from the 1940’s) was also in that den, and he and I became good friends. Tom was a year ahead of me in school. Mrs. Dorsey had a relative who had graduated from West Point and it was her dream for Tom to go there as well. He grew up knowing that his Mom wanted him to be a cadet, so I don’t think he ever seriously considered any other options. He and his Mom would talk about the place and show me pictures of the Corps of Cadets, and I became hooked. This was at the very beginning of the Vietnam War, well before I and most Americans even knew where Vietnam was. At nine years old, though I didn’t yet know that a country called Vietnam even existed, I did know about Korea, World War II, World War I and the Civil War. Dad had served in the Philippines at the very tail end of World War II and was one of the very first Americans to set foot in Korea after the Japanese surrendered. My Dad was also a member of American Legion Post 2, and since that post was the sponsor of our Cub Scout Pack we, the Cub Scouts, were enlisted to assemble the little cloth poppies that the Legion handed out on Memorial Day to commemorate the terrible sacrifice of human life that took place on the battlefields of World War I, often in meadows where beautiful poppies grew wild – as described in John McCrae’s poem “In Flanders Fields.” After assembling and helping distribute the poppies, on Memorial Day we also helped place small American flags at the gravesites of the town’s World War I veterans.
Dad was proud of his service, and he was also proud of the service of two of his great-grandfathers during the Civil War, one at Gettysburg and The Wilderness, and one in Defense of Washington, DC. So I was as aware as a young boy could be of what it meant to put on the uniform of our country. I knew that it could mean that I would someday go to war and not come back. But even at that young age, I knew I was supposed to go to West Point. The fear of possibly having to go to war someday was overcome by a sense of duty and obligation – and the desire to wear the uniform.
So the years between Cub Scouts and high school slowly passed. One of my favorite things in those years was the local library, the Woods Memorial Library in Barre, Massachusetts. (https://www.barrelibrary.org/ ) After school I used to get off of the school bus at the library and stay there until the late bus, the one that served the kids who were in extracurricular activities, would come by and pick me up. The Barre Library was wonderful – it had some very old books, a small museum upstairs with stuffed animals and Native American items from many years earlier, and it had books about West Point. Colonel “Red” Reeder’s books, and a large book – what we would call a “coffee table book” today – that had pictures of cadets going through their daily routine. I would sit there and dream about what it would be like to be a cadet.
In the late 1960’s the local school district reorganized and formed a regional high school. Individual town high schools in Barre, Hubbardston, Hardwick and Oakham would be replaced by one regional high school that would be named for the large man-made reservoir on the western edge of Barre; the Quabbin Reservoir. My first year at Quabbin Regional Junior/Senior High School was in 1967/8, when I was in the 8th grade. One of the programs that began with the new school was Naval Junior ROTC, which was taught by a retired Naval Officer, a 1936 Annapolis graduate and submariner named CAPT Nicholson. The next year, my high school freshman year, I enrolled in NJROTC. This is when the idea of going to Annapolis began to compete with my desire to attend West Point. CAPT Nicholson was a wonderful man, very charismatic, and he did a great job of promoting his love of the Navy.
I also played sports, and worked hard to get the best grades I could get. I was focused on doing whatever was necessary to build the resume’ I would need to be able to be accepted at West Point or Annapolis. I also stayed out of trouble. Those years were the beginning days of recreational drug use, and it was not uncommon to be offered some marijuana in the boy’s bathroom. But I resisted, because I didn’t want to jeopardize my chances of getting into a service academy. When you are 16, 17 or 18 years old it is next to impossible to constantly tell one’s peers that you just can’t do, or won’t do many of the things that everyone else seems to enjoy so much, but I did it. My fear of failing to get accepted into an academy overwhelmed the temptation. And I’m glad that it did. It trained me very well for the future when other forces would work on me to get me to quit when the going got tough.
One of those very tough things happened when my friend Tommy Dorsey dropped out of West Point the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. We had planned to be there together, though Tom was going to be part of the class of 1975, and I would be one year after him in the class of 1976. As I said earlier, I’m not sure it was ever Tom’s dream to go to West Point. It was his mother’s idea. In those days New Cadet summer training – “Beast Barracks” – was designed, in part, to weed out those who didn’t belong, and anyone who wasn’t deeply committed to at least give it a fair shot didn’t belong. Not because they weren’t capable, and not because of any character flaws, but simply because they hadn’t made a commitment to themselves and to the institution that nothing was going to force them out. When Tom left after only two months, before the academic year even began, it shook me. I knew how smart he was, and since he had been on the wrestling team with me I knew how tough he was, so if they were able to force him out, maybe they could do the same thing to me. It also meant that when I entered the academy I would be on my own. My plan to be there with my good friend Tom was no longer intact.
Reception Day – R-Day for short – for me was July 3rd, 1972. R-Day is the first day of what used to be known as Beast Barracks, a two month long initial training period officially called New Cadet Barracks. In 1972 “Beast” served two primary purposes – orient New Cadets to what life as a Cadet at West Point is all about, and weed out those who were either weak or uncommitted to completing the task. R-Day began when my parents handed me over to the cadre, and for me that was at about 11:00 AM. Others streamed in throughout the day. As each New Cadet arrived throughout the day we were introduced to “the man in the red sash”, one of the Cadet cadre, whose job it was to look at a tag that hung from our gym shorts to determine what task we had completed, and to then direct us to a new station where we would complete another task. The tag had a checklist on it, each task was checked off as it was completed, letting “the man in the red sash” know where to send us next.
The tasks of the day included learning which company we would be assigned to, initial issue of uniforms and equipment, getting measured by tailors for our soon to be custom made Dress Gray uniforms, room assignments within the company, putting away all of our gear in accordance with regulations (which were provided for us in writing in our rooms), our first government issue haircuts, and instruction on basic drill – how to march in step in formation. The day culminated in a swearing in ceremony at Trophy Point, overlooking the Hudson River, to which we marched, in our platoons, in step, from the barracks nearby. We wore the cadet white shirt over gray trousers, sporting our nearly bald heads uncovered by a hat. We were issued hats but were not allowed to wear them until we were sworn in, and accepted into the Corps of Cadets. I knew that my parents were in the crowd of spectators but I didn’t see them. To have been seen looking for them would have attracted the wrath of the cadre, which I was not willing to invoke.
At the conclusion of the ceremony we were marched to the Cadet mess hall, where we had our first “full and sufficient meal” as New Cadets. Very little made its way from the plate to our mouths. It became very clear who was in charge, and it wasn’t us. Cadets in their freshman year at West Points are called Plebes, for the plebeians were at the bottom of the social scale in ancient Rome. Plebes are said to rank lower than the Superintendent’s cat (though Plebes were a step above every Admiral in the Navy). But we were not yet even Plebes – we were New Cadets, and would not become Plebes until we were accepted into the Corps of Cadets at the conclusion of Beast Barracks. So we ranked pretty low, and the cadre made sure we knew it right from the start.
Our class began with a little over 1400 members, and by the time we graduated 847 remained. Many were gone before the end of “Beast Barracks”. New Cadet Barracks (“Beast Barracks”) included one regiment, commanded by one First Class (senior) Cadet, nicknamed the “King of Beasts”. The regiment included eight New Cadet companies, each with a number of platoons and squads. I was assigned to 4th New Cadet Company, which had the motto “Studs Go Fourth!” The squad I was assigned to started out with ten young men. By the end of the first day we had nine. Within the first three weeks we were down to seven. The place was not designed for the faint hearted.
The stress was caused by two things in general. First, there was just not enough time to get everything done. I can think of no single task that made the place difficult by itself, but the sheer volume of requirements was such that one had to prioritize, determine those things that could be either ignored or done to a minimal standard without significant repercussions. This was most difficult for those who were perfectionists by nature. The second thing was homesickness and being restricted to the physical grounds of the academy. For me, that was the hardest thing. I lived the first eighteen years of my life in one small town, seldom travelling more than 25 miles from home, and when I did I normally didn’t stay very long. But in Barre and its neighboring towns I was relatively unrestricted. The confines of the gray, stone walls of West Point often felt like a prison.
Every single day I had to fight the urge to quit, to walk out the door. To stay there was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life. But I’m glad that I did. In fact, I can’t imagine what my life would have been otherwise.
I chose to serve in the Infantry after graduation, which sent me to Fort Benning, Georgia for Infantry Officer’s Basic Course (IOBC) in the fall of 1976. One Friday afternoon, at the tail end of IOBC, a classmate named John – I don’t remember his last name – talked me into going to the Officer’s Club with him. He was going there to meet a young woman, Phyllis, who was bringing a friend named Laura, and he needed me to go and keep Laura occupied so he could spend time trying to make time with Phyllis. I had nothing better to do, so I agreed. Forty seven years later, Laura and I are still together, and God has blessed us with a wonderful family and a great life together. We are almost complete opposites, but also completely compatible – sort of like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.