After the honor class, Jan and Angel scrambled to their room as screaming spread throughout the Corps of Cadets. The roommates quickly changed into the strangest non-uniform they could pull together. Jan chose to wear gray bathrobe over t-shirt with fatigue pants (solid, olive drab, field uniform) and the full dress hat, called a “tar bucket” by cadets. They ran out of their room, screaming, to join the “mandatory fun” happening in Central Area which consisted of several hundred pent-up plebes milling around in all manner of dress and undress. It wasn’t exactly a keg party, but to a fourth-class cadet, it was a little bit of heaven.
They returned from the rally to find a folded piece of paper with Jan’s name written on it taped to their door. She sat down on her bed and read its contents.
Dear Jan,
This is just a short note to encourage you. Not everyone here is as stuck up as you might think. There are a few of us left. We are banning together to plot a counter-revolution. Some time in the future we will spring from our underground hiding place and take over the Academy. There will be no more sadness and no more English teachers. Hooray! People will be able to act like humans again. We might even adopt some normal college policies like having fun. If you are interested in joining our subversive group, send no money, but write to Box 483 with your application. We have been watching you and are sure you can fulfill the group's goals. Please read and secure this note from the enemy's hands.
O.T.H.F.A.W.P.
“Well, I’m not sure if this is exciting or creepy,” Jan said handing the paper to Angel. Before her roommate finished reading, Jan had already decided to reply. It was out of her comfort zone, given that rule breaking and risk taking were not her strong suits. But hell, this is the most exciting thing to happen since cornbread.
Dear O.T.H.F.A.W.P.
It seems a little unfair that you know my name but did not give me yours. I am intrigued, somewhat, by your organization. But I would have to know more. Do you have meetings? When and where? Who is the leader of this esteemed enterprise? How many are in this secret society? Is this a co-ed group? Do you allow persons of color, differing religions and cultures? How does one get selected or qualify to be in this group? Is there some kind of secret signal to identify “brothers and sisters?” What are the dues? Does allegiance to this group supersede allegiances to duty, honor, country?
As you can see, I have a number of questions and concerns about whom and what you represent. I am not one to just dive into something without knowing what I’m getting into. I am cautious like that. Also, Plebe English is the ONLY course I like.
Regards,
Esmeralda (thought I'd use a code name, too)
Jan and her classmates settled into the routine of plebe life: delivering laundry and newspapers to the upperclassmen at zero dark thirty each morning, rushing to and from classes, athletics and formations, and memorizing the ever growing list of poop. Plebes had to memorize The Code of Conduct, General Orders, insignia for all non-commissioned and commissioned officers of the US Army, the location and significance of every monument at West Point, the colors of all service medals, the words to various songs, including: “The Star Spangled Banner,” “The Alma Mater,” “Benny Haven's, Oh!” “The Corps,” and much other West Point or Army trivia. Knowing the menu for each meal and familiarity with any article in the New York Times was also expected.
Testing plebes on poop seemed to be the single, most enjoyable task for upper-class cadets. Any wrong answers usually resulted in demerits. Too many demerits led to a cadet's worst nightmare—walking tours. This punishment was a most effective deterrent because it took away the only enjoyment at West Point—free time. Those with too many demerits spent Saturdays in full uniform with an M-14 over their shoulder, walking back and forth in Central Area. Therefore, every plebe worked very hard at memorizing poop.
“SIR, THERE ARE TEN MINUTES UNTIL DINNER FORMATION. THE MENU FOR DINNER TONIGHT IS ROAST PORK, SWEET POTATOES, TURNIP GREENS, APPLE CIDER, AND BLUEBERRY PIE. THE UNIFORM FOR DINNER IS DRESS GREY OVER GREY. TEN MINUTES, SIR!” Jan stood directly below the wall clock in the hallway and performed her duty as minute caller. It was more like “minute screaming” she thought as she returned to her room to wait five minutes. All other plebes had already left the building to be at formation by the ten-minute bell, giving the upperclassmen plenty of time to haze them.
She returned to the hallway clock. “SIR, THERE ARE FIVE MINUTES UNTIL DINNER FORMATION. THE MENU FOR DINNER TONIGHT IS ROAST PORK, SWEET POTATOES, TURNIP GREENS, APPLE CIDER, AND BLUEBERRY PIE. THE UNIFORM FOR DINNER IS DRESS GREY OVER GREY. FIVE MINUTES, SIR!” She stayed standing at attention under the clock waiting to call the four, three and two minute bells.
Cadet Dogety stuck his head outside his door, “Wishart, tell me the Code of Conduct.” When she hesitated, he barked, “I’m waiting Wishart!”
“Sir, I am an American fighting man. I serve in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I…I am prepared to give my life in their defense. I will… I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will… never surrender… my men while they still have the means to resist. If I escape...I will…I mean, if I am captured...I will… escape...I mean,”
“Which is it, Wishart?”
“Sir, may I make a statement.”
“What?”
“Sir, I do not know the third statement of the Code of Conduct yet!”
“Well, you better know it by breakfast, Wishart.”
“Yes, Sir!” She would know it cold by then.
Jan found her table and stood at attention behind the end chair. From the Poop Deck, the two story stone structure that stood in the middle of the Mess Hall, a booming voice announced, “TAKE SEATS!” She sat at the end chair next to Cadet Davidson and began filling glasses with ice.
“Sir, the dessert for tonight’s meal is blueberry pie. Would anyone not care for blueberry pie, Sir?” Rick Davidson announced from the dessert corporal’s chair.
The drink corporal on her other side made a similar announcement. “Sir, the drink for tonight’s meal is apple cider. Would anyone not care for apple cider, Sir?”
Jan held the glasses while her classmate poured the cider. Davidson proceeded to cut the dessert. Crust usually made it impossible to cut straight lines in a pie. He also managed to spread blueberry goop everywhere with each cut.
This is not good.
Davidson smirked at Jan before announcing, “Sir, the dessert has been cut and is ready for your inspection, Sir!” Handing the pie to the left, it made its way from cadet to cadet, all the way to the table Commander, Dogety. On its way up the table, Jan heard comments from the yearlings and cows: “uh-oh,” “oh-no,” and “geez.”
When it reached Dogety, he winced and shouted, “You blundering idiot, Davidson! You totally screwed this pie!”
“Yes Sir!” Davidson answered with a grin.
“This is disgusting! All of you give me a 4-C!” Dogety ordered. Each plebe at the table passed a small, green paper, the Fourth Class Demerit Report, up the table. Dogety would fill it out later, stating that the plebes at Table 112 were “grossly negligent” or something to that effect.
After receiving the three slips of paper, Dogety passed the pie back down the other side of the table so that everyone on that side could make their own disparaging remark. One of the cows, a junior year cadet, became enraged. “This pie is gross! No one wants to eat it now!” He threw the pie, like a Frisbee, to the plebe end of the table.
He probably intended it to land on a plate or somewhere on the table, but the pie hit a serving dish, took a bounce, and landed face down in Jan's lap. In a flash, blueberry goop covered the front of her Dress Gray. Her wool trousers began soaking up pie filling.
Everything kicked into slow motion. Jan stood up slowly, exposing the damaged uniform for everyone to see. She stared straight ahead at Dogety, expecting him to shout at her for the mess. Then she looked at Davidson, expecting his usual smirk. Yet both
men appeared stunned. No one spoke; the entire table stared at Jan in silence. She felt the familiar lump rising in her throat and the tears that were close behind, but she would never cry in front of them. Without permission and forgetting her hat stowed under her seat, she executed a right face and marched out of the Mess Hall.
As she crossed Central Area, someone yelled out a fourth floor window, “Hey, Beanhead! Where’s your headgear?” Jan kept going, knowing that cadet could neither see nor catch her from the fourth floor. She pinged back to her room, tears threatening from the corners of her eyes.
Once inside, the dam burst forth, unrestrained and unrelenting. She unzipped her gray coat, placed it in the sink and began rinsing off the blueberry goop. Her weeping mixed with the tap water as she spoke out loud. “What the fuck am I doing here? This is insane. I hate this place! I hate these assholes! I hate, hate, HATE everything about this hell hole!”
She scrubbed the blueberry spots with soap until they looked black, not exactly the best way to clean wool. She hung the Dress Gray coat in her closet, stripped off her wool trousers and began to work on them in the same way. These pants had to be salvaged at all costs. With only one other pair, she would be forced to wear the wool skirt when her trousers went out for cleaning. Jan loathed the skirt. The skirt screamed: “I AM FEMALE!” No sane, female cadet wanted that much attention. Her classmates could not help either because they needed both pairs of pants, too.
She turned off the water. Her trousers were almost entirely soaked. The blueberry goop was gone, but Jan wondered if they would ever fit the same. Just as she hung them up to dry on the closet door, an upperclassman pounded two loud knocks on the door. “Shit,” she mumbled. “Shit, shit, shit.” Tired of playing this silly game, sick of all the bullshit, she almost yelled, “GO THE FUCK AWAY, SIR!”
Instead, she took a deep breath and jumped into her PT shorts. “Enter, Sir.”
One of only two female cows in Company H-3 stood at the door. “I heard about the blueberry pie,” Cadet Rallins said. “I'm so sorry that happened. It should not have. There's nothing that can be done about it now.”
Jan stared blankly. So what's your point, woman?
“I thought you might be able to use this.” She held up a clothes iron that Jan had not noticed. “It might help smooth out any wrinkles.”
Jan was so moved by this small gesture she almost started crying all over again. Instead, she cleared her throat. “Thank you, Ma'am.” She took the iron from Cadet Rallins.
“If there's anything else you need, please let me know. These guys can be assholes sometimes, but most of them really don't mean to hurt anyone.”
“Yes, Ma'am.” Please go away before I start crying again.
“I talked to the guy who threw the pie. He feels terrible. But he probably won't apologize. So I’m here to apologize for him.”
Shit, did you have to say that? Jan eyes welled up again. Just go away, please!
“Of course, some guys really are assholes.”
Enough already!
“And it's best to just steer clear of them if you can.”
“Yes, Ma'am,” Jan concurred. Now please go. Her prayer was finally answered and Cadet Rallins walked away.
Company H-3’s highest-ranking women were two cows. Thankfully, the term “cow” started many years before women were admitted to West Point.
Jan wondered how this stunningly beautiful woman survived so long at the academy. Cadet Rallins seemed to generate controversy every year. She entered a beauty pageant during leave after her plebe year which some considered tasteless. As a yearling (sophomore), she dated the Superintendent’s son while he was still a plebe. That infraction made her the first “Century Woman”—with one hundred hours of walking tours. Rallins seemed almost mythical to Jan who rarely saw her in person.
By handing the iron to Jan, Cadet Rallins broke a seemingly, unwritten rule among upperclass women—the “No Helping Plebes” rule. The women in the classes of 1982, 1983 and 1984, probably like the women in the classes before them, seemed to take a hands-off approach to female plebes. It was a mystery to Jan why these trailblazers didn’t do more to help the fourth-class women. They could have offered advice or shared wisdom—perhaps only in the latrines away from male ears and eyes—but they seemed content to let plebe women fend for themselves.
Maybe they’re just trying to survive too, Jan thought that night. Well, I can forgive them for that.
13
Friday, May 7, 1982
0930 Hours
Conrad dismissed Jackson, telling him he might be called back to testify again. Jackson said something like, “Sure thing,” before leaving the room. Jan felt most of her energy go out with him. She suddenly felt so tired, so damn tired.
After a latrine and water break, the board reconvened at 0945 hours. Everyone settled into their seats and Conrad asked the plebe runner to get the next witness. At least this one would be a friendly face.
Kristi McCarron walked into the room and stood in the same seat to Jan’s right where Jackson had been. Conrad commanded her to raise her right hand and repeat the oath of honor and then motioned for her to take a seat. She winked at Jan as she sat down. “Cadet McCarron, you are here to testify about the events of May second and third. Are you prepared to explain what you witnessed without any bias toward Cadet Wishart or against Cadets Dogety and Jackson?”
“I am, Sir,” Kristi said without blinking. Born an Army brat, and later having an ambassador as a stepfather, gave her an edge with these kinds of things. She never seemed intimidated or undone by the military hierarchy. Kristi shrugged off a lot of things that got under Jan’s skin. They balanced each other well. Jan provided the seriousness and Kristi provided the screw-it attitude, both necessary for survival at West Point.
“Okay, Miss McCarron, please tell us in your own words what you witnessed on the night of May second,” Conrad said.
Kristi took a deep breath, gave Jan another slight smile and said, “Well, Cadet Dogety came to our room about 1900 hours and demanded Jan deliver the routing envelope to Cadet Jackson’s room in B-1. It really pissed me off because Dogety knows that Jackson has a reputation of harassing, and even molesting, plebe women.”
Wow! She got that in before anyone saw it coming!
“What do you mean, Miss McCarron?” Tourney asked.
“Wait a minute, Cadet McCarron, before you say one more word, do you have any evidence to support that claim?” Conrad asked.
“Well, Sir,” she said with the tiniest bit of sass, “Cadet Wishart told me about two incidents during Beast, when Jackass, I mean Jackson…”
“Stop right there, Miss McCarron,” Conrad interrupted. “First, this isn’t some joke. You will address your superiors with respect. Second, anything Miss Wishart told you about Cadet Jackson is not valid evidence of anything. If you do not have any PROOF that Cadet Jackson has molested females, or that Cadet Dogety would have known about his supposed reputation, then you need to reconsider your words before you say something you cannot substantiate.”
“Yes, Sir. I will re-word it then. If you ask any female plebe who has been under Jackson’s authority, you will learn that they all steer clear of him. There’s a reason for that. Secondly, Cadet Dogety was present when Jackson practically attacked Cadet Wishart during Lake Frederick week. Dogety told her then that she could have been in big trouble if he hadn’t been there to stop Jackson. That tells me Dogety knows exactly what Jackson is capable of doing.”
Conrad shook his head. “A complaint was never made. Therefore, it’s only hearsay as far as this Honor Board is concerned. I insist you stop making claims you cannot support.”
Kristi rolled her eyes and sighed, “Sir, with all due respect, hearsay is all we have as plebes, especially as new cadets in Beast. But there were also a few witnesses to that event at Lake Frederick. It seems to me that a few witnesses to something makes it more than just hearsay.”
Oh, Kissy, please be careful.
Conrad began fuming, his neck and cheeks turned bright pink. “Cadet Jackson is not on trial here and nothing has ever been brought to our attention about these alleged misdeeds. Furthermore, none of this has any bearing on the events of May second!” Conrad shouted.
Kristi stared back at Conrad without flinching. Jan loved her for that. “Sir, you did tell me to explain what happened, in my own words, and in my opinion, these things DO have a very important bearing on what happened on May second. Sir.”
Tourney interrupted again, “Casey, I agree with Miss McCarron. The history of the relationship between Cadets Dogety, Jackson and Wishart IS relevant to the events of May second. If there were prior incidents of inappropriate behavior on Cadet Jackson’s part, then it casts doubt on his behavior and statement concerning this honor allegation.”
Cadet Leavitt agreed with Tourney and Jan noticed a few other cadets nodding their heads. Maybe we’re on to something here.
“Miss McCarron,” he had regained his composure, “do you have any first-hand experience with Cadet Jackson crossing a line with you?”
Kristi hesitated. “No, Sir.”
“Well, then, you may provide a list of names of those who would testify against Cadet Jackson’s character. Otherwise we will not allow rumors and hearsay to color our opinion of him.” He paused to shuffle some papers. “I will allow you to share your personal experiences of Cadet Jackson if you have witnessed something concerning his character. However, you must remain professional and respectful when speaking about ANYONE. Am I clear?” Conrad asked.
“Yes, Sir.” Kristi didn’t seem the least bit unnerved. “As I was saying, Cadet Dogety tasked Jan to deliver a routing envelope to Cadet Jackson. Dogety had been harassing her all year, ever since he was her Beast Squad Leader. So it didn’t surprise me that he would send her on another wild goose chase for his own enjoyment. Cadet Dogety seemed to enjoy messing with Jan, too. She was his little pet project.”
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