by Jake Aaron
At the end of that day, he permanently internalized the proverb Japanese lived by for decades: “The nail that sticks out, gets hammered down.” Unfortunately, he would know no good sleep that night as his mind continued to race. If his mind dipped its toe in the lake of sleep, there were upperclassmen screaming in his dream in both ears to remove it: “Stand at attention, smack-head!”
*****
At 0550 the next morning, the second day of Beast Barracks, bells started ringing, and the Hellcats began playing reveille. Gunnar’s squad leader told his men they were due in formation downstairs in the company “area” at 0555. “Smack-heads,” he said, “get used to showing five minutes before every formation as a plebe. Roll call is at 0600; you have to be out there standing tall in place at 0555.”
Morning calisthenics in gym wear and combat boots followed breakfast that morning and most mornings. In the coming days, new cadets’ rifles were sometimes used as weights during calisthenics. Woe to the new cadet who did not know his rifle’s serial number.
Midmorning, Gunnar had a formation calling for him to appear in a class shirt and gray trousers. The shirt was black wool with long sleeves . He wore a black tie tucked inside the shirt below the second button. He did his best to dress in the unfamiliar uniform. Of course, that was not good enough.
“Smack, are you some kind of flyboy? You show up with your collar ends sticking out like Marilyn Monroe’s tits . You trying to fly or something?” His squad leader was relentless. “Your collar is flapping in the breeze. You need to wear a collar stay, dumb-smack! Don’t ever let me see you trying to fly around the area again with your collar flapping. Do you think you’re at the Air Force Academy?”
Later Gunnar found a “collar stay” back in his room. It was part of initial issue. It was a U-shaped metal device designed to be put under the tie and collars. Pin-like ends stuck into each collar, and springs held them in place. Very clever. “We didn’t have those in Alamogordo,” Gunnar humorously observed in a letter.
That same day, he made his bed five times. Every time he returned from a formation, it was completely ripped apart by his squad leader. The blankets and sheets were in random piles, the mattress cover ripped off, and the mattress pulled out of the bed frame. Each time he heard the second classman yell, “Do you know why I ripped your bed apart, dumb-john? It was an abortion! You hear me? AN ABORTION! Now square it away. I want to bounce a quarter off the blanket. Move out!” Gunnar was totally frustrated.
In between remaking his bed and restoring his locker, Gunnar experienced another frustration. He noticed the uniform flag had changed as he headed for formation in the incorrect uniform. He had to turn around to return to his room to get in the correct uniform. He was now late and eligible for another clothing formation later in the day. The unexpected change of the uniforms at the last minute in Beast Barracks was to be expected, he learned. Somewhere a sadistic upperclassman grinned.
*****
Getting acquainted with roommates was an education in itself, Gunnar wrote. One roommate was an admiral’s son who had a year of college at Colgate under his belt. A second roommate had been pre-med at a state college. His dad was a colonel and “grad” of the academy. The son thought he would stay at West Point if there were a bowling team, something that had never been but he anticipated. The third roomie was a “poop schooler.” He had enlisted in the Army and gone to the prep school. Everyone looked to the poop schooler for guidance on how to do everything.
In the first week, Gunnar had his dream of graduating with no demerits shattered. “West Point Story” on TV had romanticized the notion of making it through without a single demerit. Robert E. Lee had managed to do that. There were so many ways to go wrong and so much scrutiny that Gunnar questioned whether he was attending the same West Point Lee did.
The bowling team never materialized. Gunnar was then down to two roommates. Life stayed busy and hectic. His favorite form of training was a long forced march with a rifle and full pack. There was less hazing of new cadets during one of these. Newbies did not brace in the field, and they could “fall out” for meals — no square meals. He was surprised how tired he could get hiking long distances in the heat, despite being in shape. He laughed at the upperclassmen leading them who tried to lift their morale with, “It’s all downhill after this.” And then there was another hill. “To a man, he wrote, we believed them because we wanted to and had to. That’s how hard it got.” Back in garrison, catching the melody of Richie Valens singing “Come on Let’s Go” seeping out of an upperclassman’s open window reminded Gunnar of the life he was missing out on “back in the real world.” It would be six months before he could have a radio or phonograph in his room.
*****
We did not get to see Gunnar again until the Saturday preceding Labor Day. I flew east for my first year of college. Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece came out with me. We had a great visit with Gunnar at the Thayer Hotel. It was so strange for Gunnar to offer his welcoming hand to Aunt Cece and see him wave her off on hugs. “No PDA — public display of affection — allowed,” he explained. There were many potential reporters of violations.
Besides being exhausted, he was a shadow of his former self. For him to have lost 15 pounds meant significant loss of muscle mass. He nodded off a few times while I was talking to him — definitely sleep deprived. I could not believe I could see myself in the toes of his spit-shined black leather low-quarter shoes. He guarded those as if his toes were tender.
“Gunnar,” I opened, “you wrote me about doing the obstacle course the second day. Tell us about that.”
Gunnar had a grim smile. “At the noon meal the second day, new cadets braced and ate square meals, but we were forced to consume lots of food and drink. “Big bites” was the operative phrase. Seconds were mandatory. We wondered what was up.
“After eating, we changed uniforms and formed up in olive drab fatigues, combat boots, and helmets. We double-timed up the very steep hill by the chapel to an obstacle course a mile from the barracks. Running on a full gut is uncomfortable at best. Several of us had to fall out of formation to vomit.
“At the obstacle course, my company met our tactical officer, Major Brick Steele — an Infantry officer — in his sharp khaki dress uniform, for the first time officially. He had been in the background at most formations before that, just watching. Major Steele explained the purpose of the drill — to train for Army combat. One upperclassman in fatigues demonstrated the proper technique on each obstacle. Then other fatigued upperclassmen released new cadets, two a time, to run the course. The last obstacle was a 30-foot stretch of continuous barbwire strung less than one foot above the ground. To get through it required a prone low crawl. After doing the circuit three times, I was exhausted and hoped it was over. Besides, both of my knees and both of my elbows were shredded and oozing blood due to my patented, world-class low crawl technique.”
“Now,” Major Steele shouted, “Do you want to do it again?”
“In unison, the collective insanity of the group hollered, ‘YES, SIR!’ No one really meant it. However, the group had some wisdom. ‘No, sir’ would have brought immense amounts of grief.
“I thought that had to be last circuit. But no, Major Steele exhorted us again, and the company did a fifth circuit. Then we double-timed back to the barracks for more formations and classes, followed by rifle assembly and disassembly instruction.
“I could take the pain of the abraded skin, but when I went to change uniforms for supper. I had huge red blood and serum spots on the knees of my freshly starched khakis. I put on a second pair of trousers. I barely made first call for formation — five minutes early — on time.
“My squad leader inspected me in ranks. ‘Smack head, are you starting your period?’ he yelled. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing showing up in a disreputable uniform? Now go get a clean uniform! Double-time!”
“We had no bandages in the barracks, no first aid kits. In the five-minutes time I had, I wi
ped my knees with a wet washcloth, then dried them with a towel. I put on another set of khaki trousers and made it back before the supper formation bell went off.
“Supper was the usual harassment, but I thought the bloody trouser issue was over. It was not. I could feel fresh blood burning my skin as it leaked through the scabs. I felt the warm wetness. I couldn’t look. That was the prohibited gazing around. On my way to the barracks, several second classmen stopped me to ask whether ‘it was my time of month.’
“As I thought how amazingly unclever their remarks were, my squad leader saw me in the hall near my room. ‘Dumb-smack,’ he began, “you are a disgrace to yourself, your squad, your company, the battalion, the whole Corps of Cadets! Now get on a fresh uniform and report to my room in five minutes. Post!’ I was in the proverbial double bind. Maybe it was a triple bind. Besides concern for speed, I was worried about running out of khakis for future formations. It was a vortex to hell.”
Aunt Cece paused and asked sympathetically, “How did it work out?”
“I’m here, now,” Gunnar grinned. “That’s all I can say.” Everyone laughed.
“The first break we got was after supper July 4. Activity, training, and harassment were constant until then. Without telling us why, they marched us out to the Plain, the big grass parade field. Standing at ease in formation, there was a sound-and-light presentation. In that sweet cool evening breeze, it felt like light years from reporting in July 1. First, we listened to rousing patriotic music by the West Point Band. As it got dark, we viewed a wonderful fireworks show. Then,” Gunnar choked his words out, “we headed for a shower formation.” He was on the verge of laughter. In retrospect, he could almost laugh at the pain.
“‘Fun and games,’ as my squad leader liked to say.” He was laughing morbidly at his experience. I thought I could see a healing catharsis as he talked about his mistreatment.
“Did Oak Stick ever bother you again?” Uncle Walt chimed in.
“He was a constant thorn in our sides. He seemed to actually be a sadist. I hate to say it, but he brought out the worst in me. One hot afternoon, we fixed bayonets to our rifles for bayonet drill. New cadets in my platoon were all lined up on the Plain. We would advance on-line learning various phases of using the bayoneted-rifle as a weapon. I remember the vertical butt stroke as one part of it. The bayonet thrust was another.
“Oak Stick was our instructor. He would stand inches away from the full extent of our next move shouting insults and jeering at us. If he had been within range, I definitely would have bayoneted him or taken him out with a vertical butt stroke. For those seconds, everyone of us hated him fiercely.”
“Don’t you think there’s something seriously wrong with that guy’s character?” I asked.
“Look, he’s just doing his duty,” Gunnar replied as if reciting a recording.
“Seriously, brother?” I asked skeptically.
“Well, maybe a little more than his duty,” he laughed.
Uncle Walt acted surprised, “I understood that hazing had been outlawed. What are you telling us?”
“Uncle Walt, you’re right. Officially, hazing does not exist.” Gunnar went on, “The window on hazing officially closes little by little, investigation after investigation. Hazing at West Point has more lives than the proverbial cat. You do know that Cadet Douglas MacArthur was called to testify about hazing before a Congressional committee in 1901. Let’s say he chose his words very carefully. Cadets here, at a United States institution, are more protected than our brethren at state and private military academies. I’ve heard some real horror stories about what goes on at those places. And at least here we get paid for being abused, instead of paying for the abuse.” He chuckled jadedly.
“Uncle Walt, you’ll love this ‘duty.’ I’m told in the late fall and winter, some upperclassmen like to sleep with their windows open, but like to wake up at reveille to a warm room. Solution: Get a plebe to wake up thirty minutes before reveille to quietly come into your room to close your windows. As if plebes did not have enough to do,” Gunnar laughed. “They say a smart plebe eventually learns that, if you aren’t too obvious about it, you stumble around in the dark and make just enough noise to be fired from the duty.” He smiled with devilish joy at having this in his bag of tricks for the future.
Gunnar went on, “I did enjoy the Plebe Hike at the end of Beast Barracks. Many days were spent in the field on forced marches, tactics, and camping out. I had never taken a bath in a lake before. Starting the one-day, 25-mile trek back to West Point in fatigues with backpacks and rifles, we ran into the yearling class, third classmen training at Camp Buckner. We had rousing cheers and jeers going both ways.”
“You are so thin. I’m going to write the superintendent of the Academy about that!” Aunt Cece declared.
“Don’t do that, Aunt Cece!” Gunnar, who was becoming drowsy, nearly came out of his chair. “That will make things so much worse. It’s hard to understand from the outside, but one of two extremes would come of that. One, my table commandant would carry out the sup’s directive to feed me, and I would be forced to overeat many times to the point of regurgitation — again and again. Two, the table commandant would leave the table early as ‘firsties — first classmen — can, saying, “Make sure Olson gets the appropriate amount of food.” Then the remaining second classman sit me up to recite “The Days” and I never get any more food.”
Aunt Cece did not appear dissuaded.
“Uncle Walt,” Gunnar was solemn, “I’m counting on you to make sure Aunt Cece doesn't do that! I’m counting on you.” Gunnar was clearly threatened by the ‘help’ from Aunt Cece.
Uncle Walt was equally serious, “Gunnar, not to worry. We understand, or will understand. What are ‘The Days’?”
Gunnar chuckled, “It’s part of fourth-class knowledge — poop. Those are many rote items every plebe is expected to recite — short like ‘How is the Cow?’ to long like Major General Schofield’s “Definition of Discipline. ‘The Days’ is more challenging poop because it changes every day, including a recitation of the number of days until multiple milestone Academy events like one-hundredth night and first-class graduation, the day’s menu, movies at the post theater for the week with stars’ names, and, perhaps how many days until the plebe’s table commandant sees his girlfriend again.”
I was exasperated, “I feel for you, brother. At least my memorization in organic chemistry has a purpose. This place is the ninth circle of hell.”
“And it is worth it if I get to see you three!” Gunnar smiled. Aunt Cece leaned toward him. He held up his right hand to remind Aunt Cece not to hug him.
“I get it, Gunnar. No PDA allowed in uniform.”
“Now that you’re a plebe instead of a new cadet, life should be better, yes?” I asked cheerily.
“First, I need to survive Reorganization Week, ‘Reorgy Week,’ where we go to our new companies for the academic year. We’ll be mixed in with far more upperclassmen than we have had around us up to then. Everyone says how chaotic it is — and different. New people, new roommates — people we’ll be with for the academic year. The good thing about being as busy as we are is that the activity chases out some of the fear. There’s less time for worrying. I think I’ll do well in academics, so that should give me a little more time for the military side of things. Did I tell you I’m going to take Spanish? They try to give us roommates taking the same language so that we can practice in getting conversational.
“The bad news is that I am going to the harder regiment. Going down the organizational ladder, battalions don’t usually have a reputation, but the company I’m going into is the hardest of the hard. That does concern me a little. It is very contradictory on my part to want to come to West Point because it’s hard, and then wimp out by wanting an easier regiment and company.” Gunnar laughed at his self-insight.
“It does make you human, brother.” I made a desperate attempt to have us leave on an upbeat note. “Gunnar, what was the funn
iest thing that happened in Beast Barracks?”
Gunnar did not pause, “I guess it would be our second in-ranks inspection on the Plain, just before passing in review. We were wearing our all-whites — white trousers, white coat, white hat. We opened ranks to give our tactical officer room to walk between rows. When this inspecting officer confronted a cadet, the cadet went to a position known as ‘inspection arms.’ To get to that position, a cadet pulls the rifle upward from his right side, catches the rifle stock with the left, simultaneously opens the rifle chamber with his right hand, and holds the rifle on a diagonal with both hands. Well, the tactical officer inspected my row, including gigging me for a particle of dust in the barrel. All this time, we were bracing up a storm. When he got to a new cadet behind me, two or three men to my left by the sound, the major snappily grabbed the new cadet’s weapon crisply to inspect its chamber. The rifle fell apart! The officer wound up holding not much more than a wooden stock as metal pieces flew all over the place. Apparently, my classmate hadn’t seated the trigger guard fully. Anyway, it was hilarious; every new cadet tried not to laugh.” We all could picture the scene and roared.
“And everyone lived happily ever after?” I quizzed.
“Not so much,” Gunnar added. “My classmate was hit with a firestorm of harassment following parade. The tactical officer was angry and wrote him up for improper rifle assembly. His harassment was ongoing for days. The new cadet decided to go back to Wisconsin six days later.”
We could tell that Gunnar had gone through very tough times and would continue to do so. What amazed me was that he thought it had a purpose and cosmic meaning. I thought the Academy was a very strange place with cruel traditions and cult-like rituals. Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece left feeling very uneasy about the ‘Ivy League college on the Hudson’ Gunnar had tried to sell them when he was applying. Nevertheless, it was a good visit. Gunnar knew we cared about him.
