Gray Girl

by Susan I. Spieth

  “We did it, bitches, we did it!” Kristi proclaimed.

  Their IOCT scores meant diddlysquat if they didn’t also pass the monthly weigh-in. So at lunch, Jan ate half an egg salad sandwich. She feigned sickness at dinner, nibbling only on the roll. She and Kristi hoped they would do well enough at the weigh-in that evening to keep the weight hounds away for another month. They were wrong. Jan weighed-in at five pounds under her maximum weight limit and Kristi, three pounds under hers. Apparently they were considered too close to the line. They were both assigned to the battalion’s diet tables starting the next day.

  The cavernous, cathedral building with four wings, housed all four thousand cadets for breakfast, lunch and dinner every weekday. The entire Corps of Cadets, by companies, by battalions, by regiments, entered the four wings at exactly the same time. Third Regiment entered Washington Hall by the huge mural depicting twenty great battles and their generals in world history.

  Jan and Kristi found their way to their battalion's diet tables, clearly marked with large red “DIET” signs. They stood at attention behind their chairs waiting for the OZ-like voice to announce, “TAKE SEATS!”

  Jan felt Dogety approach and stand almost touching her left side. “Wishart,” he said quietly, “I see you have the notorious distinction of being on diet tables.” She stood at attention and since he didn’t ask a question, there was no need to respond. “Do you realize how bad this looks?”

  Shit, that’s a question. “Yes, Sir,” she replied.

  “Really, Wishart, a little self control would go a long way.” No question, no comment, Jan decided. “Besides,” he continued, “you need to sit with our Company, not with a bunch of losers from the rest of the battalion. Get your act together and get off these tables ASAP. Understand, Wishart?”

  “Yes, Sir!” Jan wondered why he never said anything to Kristi. Maybe he misses me!

  “Take Seats!” En mass, the entire Mess Hall erupted in a cacophony of noise as chairs slid back, as plebes carried out their duties, and as everyone began talking, laughing and shouting at the plebes.

  After dinner, Jan and Kristi stopped by the mailroom before heading back to their rooms. Another folded piece of paper had been placed in her mailbox.

  Dear Esmeralda,

  We are a small, inclusive, multi-cultural, co-ed group whose whole purpose is to instill a little fun at West Point. We know our goals are lofty and seem out of reach at times, but we dream big. No, there are no dues and no secret handshakes. We do occasionally have secret meetings however, again, for the purpose of having fun.

  Don't let this place get you down. There is hope. Someone does care. We can't give you too much help without being a member. To be a member, all you have to do is make a pledge to have fun at West Point. There is a little more involved, but those details can only be divulged to fellow members.

  I understand your caution. And I hope you understand mine. We are a secret organization and I am taking a risk letting you in on some of our priceless values. For if we were discovered, the killjoys would wipe us out. We are gaining strength and soon we will be able to take over. As for now, we must stay underground. I am sure my trust in you will not be detrimental to our cause.

  But if it helps, you can call me SKIP.

  P.S. Don't forget to secure this letter. You never know where the enemy is. Also, I will not be here from Thursday until Sunday for I have a meeting with other brothers and sisters from our adjoining groups: O.T.H.F.A.N.A. and O.T.H.F.A.A.F.A.

  Dear SKIP,

  I see that even your code name connotes some kind of lightheartedness. That's very nice. I don't think I can take your pledge. You see, I cannot believe in having fun here. I certainly have not been able to have any fun since arriving. I would like to think that it CAN happen, but I am a pessimist about that. I find it very hard to smile, let alone laugh, at anything here. Maybe you have more skill than I do in this area. Anyway, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I’m probably not a good candidate for your group.

  Esmeralda

  They endured the diet tables for another fortnight. On the following Sunday, Jan’s Squad Leader came to her room. “Wishart, you and McCarron need to report to DPE for a body fat test this Tuesday at 1600 hours.”

  Jan never knew who made these decisions. Kristi came by a few moments later. “Did you hear we have to get a BFT?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Cadet Meyer just told me. I suppose we’re not making enough progress on the diet tables….” Jan assumed this was one more way to pressure them to lose weight.

  In black, Speedo swimsuits, the two women reported to the Olympic-sized pool. A body harness had been attached to the end of the diving board. Naively, Jan thought the BFT would be done with calipers. I should have known better. The DPE officer instructed Jan to step into the contraption first.

  “Blow out all the air in your lungs, Miss Wishart. Then we will lower you under the water. Keep holding your breath while we get a reading.”

  Okay, just so I understand…I’m not supposed to take a breath underwater?? Jan’s sarcasm increased under duress. And exactly how do I hold my breath when I’ve let it all out beforehand?

  In spite of her doubts, she did as instructed. One officer lowered her into the pool, and while she held her non-breath, the other officer read the scale attached to the harness. They repeated the exercise twice more and averaged the three readings.

  Kristi’s face reflected sheer terror when she stepped into the harness. “Kissy, it's gonna be fine,” Jan said encouragingly. “Think of it as a big bath.”

  Kristi blew out the air in her lungs before being lowered into the water. When her mouth was almost submerged, she panicked and took a deep breath. They raised her coughing and spitting. It happened again on the second attempt. “Kissy, just relax. Don't try to fight it,” Jan said realizing the irony of her own advice. They could never relax because they were always fighting something at West Point.

  After three false starts, Kristi finally managed to breathe out long enough for a good reading. The officers decided one time would suffice, and Kristi didn’t have to do it again. How is she ever going to pass survival swimming?

  Cadet Meyer came to Jan’s door Thursday evening. “Congratulations, Wishart. You’re off diet tables. Starting Monday you’ll be back on company tables.”

  “Sir, may I ask…”

  “Your Body Fat Test came back. You and McCarron are well within the limits. Both of you are released from diet tables, unless of course you want to stay on them.”

  “No, Sir!”

  “Good. Those tables are only for fat cadets. You shouldn’t have been assigned to them in the first place.”

  Did he just give me a compliment? “Thank you, Sir!” And I think I love you.

  She never knew who required them to be on the diet tables, nor who ordered the BFT. It seemed that someone thought they were overweight, and someone else must have thought they weren’t. Dogety probably had something to do with the diet table assignment.

  In a funny way, she was grateful for both directives. The diet tables led to the BFT, and the BFT validated her weight. That all led to the first real compliment she received from an upperclassman. That made it all worth it.

  17

  Friday, May 7, 1982

  1430 hours

  After a brief break, Jan was allowed to question her roommate. “Cadet McCarron, you stated that I returned to the room about 2200 hours on Sunday night.”

  “Yes, I recall checking the time,” Kristi replied.

  “Okay, but you also mentioned that I complained about Cadet Jackson screaming at me in the CQ room. Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s what you said.”

  “Did I complain about Dogety yelling at me also? Do you recall what I said about Dogety’s behavior in the CQ room?”

  “You said he was kind of quiet and trying to get Jackson to calm down,” Kristi said, confirming Jan’s previous statement.

  “Do you remember what else I said
?” Jan asked. They had not rehearsed this, but Jan just assumed Kristi would recall everything the way it happened.

  “I remember you said you were surprised by Dogety’s demeanor…he seemed more upset with Jackson than with you. You said he stepped in front of Jackson a couple times putting himself between you and him. At one point, you thought he even grabbed Jackson by the arms trying to restrain him.”

  “Did I tell you about Cadet Dogety’s comment when Cadet Jackson demanded that I report to his room the next morning?” Jan hoped Kristi remembered this part.

  “Yes, you said that Dogety told Jackson you had had enough punishment and it was time to just let this thing go. But Jackson would have none of it and they got into a shouting match over it.”

  Good girl, Kissy. “Yes, and did I tell you how the argument ended?”

  “Yes, Jackson abruptly pointed his finger at you and said, ‘You better be in my room at 0500, Wishart.’ Then he just walked out of the room. Dogety told you not to report to Jackson’s room, no matter what.”

  “What else did I say about that, Kristi?” Jan asked.

  “You said you had to report to his room or else he might make you do something even worse. You said you were more afraid of Jackson than Dogety, so you would go. I tried to convince you not to, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  Did you have to throw that in?

  Trane slid another piece of paper in front of Jan. “This would be a good time to stop. Save some questions for later.”

  Conrad interjected, “Miss McCarron, how many times have you and Miss Wishart talked about this since Sunday night?”

  “Quite a few times, Sir,” she answered.

  “Since you are roommates, would you say you’ve talked about it every day since Sunday night?”

  “Yes, Sir, we have.”

  “So, could you be remembering more conversations than what actually took place on Sunday night? Could you be recalling conversations that took place on Monday or Tuesday as well?”

  “I still recall what she told me that night, even though we’ve talked since then,” Kristi insisted.

  “Well, you mentioned a few extra details here that were not in your initial statement. For instance, you never said anything before about Cadet Dogety trying to restrain Jackson in the CQ room. You didn’t write that Cadet Jackson pointed a finger at Wishart demanding she report to his room. And there’s no mention of Miss Wishart being afraid of Cadet Jackson. These details are missing from your original statement, Miss McCarron.”

  What is he, Perry Mason?

  “Sir, I may not have…”

  “Could it be that the story has grown or changed from its original version?” Conrad continued to push Kristi.

  “No, Sir, it’s just that I didn’t…”

  “I just wonder, that’s all, Miss McCarron. I’m sure it’s nothing intentional. When roommates talk again and again about something, it sometimes becomes more than what it started out to be,” Conrad said.

  Kristi stared at him. Jan tried to think of something to say. Finally Cadet Tourney, Third Regimental Honor Captain spoke up. “Yes, that’s probably true, Casey, but not only for roommates. It could apply to best friends, classmates, or anyone else who might have talked things over after the fact.”

  Conrad turned a shade of pink. “Well, I think it’s time for a fifteen minute recess unless you have a burning question for Miss McCarron that cannot wait, Miss Wishart.”

  “No, Sir. In fact, I was wondering if Cadet McCarron could leave now and come back later for more questioning.”

  “Why not continue the questioning after our break?” Conrad asked.

  “I would like to question everyone about Sunday night first before questioning them about Monday morning.” Jan decided to take Trane’s advice on this.

  “Normally we would question each witness thoroughly and then move on to the next one. That way we aren’t playing musical chairs with the witnesses, so to speak.” A few board members chuckled. “Besides, I’m sure the witnesses don’t want to keep coming and going. They probably prefer to testify once and be done with it.” Conrad obviously didn’t like Jan’s plan of staggering the witnesses.

  “I don’t mind coming back,” Kristi blurted out.

  “And Sir,” Jan argued, “the Honor Board guidelines state that I may question the witnesses in any order I choose.”

  “Yes, any order, but not multiple times,” Conrad persisted.

  Trane slid another piece of paper in front of Jan. “Keep arguing,” she thought that’s what it said in his chicken-scratch.

  “Sir, if I can choose any order, it seems I can jump from one witness to another and back again. They will spend the same amount of time here, just not all at once, which they might prefer anyway.”

  “Miss Wishart,” Conrad raised his voice, “we are not going…”

  “Casey,” Cadet Leavitt, from First Regiment interrupted, “may I interject here for a moment?”

  “Go ahead, Brian.” Conrad seemed happy to let someone else make the argument.

  “There’s a precedent for allowing the witnesses to come back. I recall an Honor Board last year where a witness was called back two or three times,” Leavitt said.

  Conrad didn’t like Leavitt bringing that up. “Brian, we only did that when we discovered there were more questions of that particular witness that had not been asked earlier.”

  “Yes, I was also there, Casey, but we did allow a witness to return several times.”

  Conrad sighed, “Okay, listen, this is not a big deal either way, but it’s also not the best use of our time, nor the witnesses’ time.” He looked at Jan, “If you want Miss McCarron to come back later, fine.”

  Jan nodded her head slightly in acknowledgement, “Thank you, Sir.”

  Conrad dismissed Kristi until “some time later” and said, “Lets take a fifteen minute break, now while Cadet Sayers goes to collect the next witness.” Everyone stood up to use the latrine or go to the Coke machine.

  Jan turned to Cadet Trane and whispered, “Sir, the next witness is Dogety. He refused to make a written statement. Can he “plead the fifth” as a witness?”

  Trane thought a moment before saying, “He is supposed to answer all questions, but he may try to deflect them. Keep him from going on tangents. Ask direct ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions if you can.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure I can do this. What happens if I have to throw up?” Jan said, suddenly feeling nauseous.

  “Just lean to your left toward Major Hastings. Do not, I repeat, do not, lean to the right. Understand?” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, Sir.” Gawd, I love you.

  18

  Q: How many lights are in Cullum Hall?

  A: There are 340 lights in Cullum Hall, Sir.

  Heritage, Bugle Notes, 81, p. 242

  “RALLY! RALLY! RALLY!”

  Jan, Angel and Drew jumped up, knocking books from their laps and began donning various, non-uniform uniforms. Jan chose the gray pajama top over gray skirt with go-go boots and black beret. The last three female only items were never worn seriously. Even if she wanted to wear them, her calf muscles had doubled in size since R-Day making it impossible to zip the boots.

  Angel wore the Full Dress Gray coat with its big brass buttons, tails and cut at the waist in front, over gray pajama bottoms. She wrapped another women-only-never-worn item, the black and yellow polyester scarf, around her head. Jan thought she looked adorable. All 99 pounds of her!

  The roommates tied Angel's white skirt around Drew’s waist using a white parade chest strap as a belt. Jan convinced him to wear her black pumps, which she would never wear anyway, and finished his outfit off with Angel’s black beret. Without a shirt, he looked a bit like a Scottish, French cross-dresser who had a few too many drinks.

  “You look the prettiest, Drew!” Jan said as all three stared in the mirror at their fashions. They laughed while scurrying to the rally. Once in Central Area, they ran around screaming, shouting and j
umping like all the other pent-up plebes.

  Many of the guys wore only underwear. Jan wondered whether they were lazy, unimaginative, or, she later considered, trying to make a point like her.

  I would never go out in my skivvies though.

  The rally ran its course and the three plebes reluctantly returned to the barracks. They entered the room to find Dogety sitting in Jan’s desk chair. “What the hell kind of outfit is that, Hambin?” He stood up while the three friends stood at attention. “Answer me, dammit!”

  “Sir, may I make a statement?” Jan asked.

  “No, you may not! Hambin, answer me. What the hell are you doing in a skirt and high heels?”

  “Sir, we went to the rally...”

  “What?”

  “Sir, we went…”

  “I heard that, Hambin, but what about the freakin' skirt?”

  “Sir, we dressed him for the rally,” Jan blurted.

  “I wasn't talking to you, Wishart!”

  Drew’s face turned red. He hadn’t been reprimanded like this since Beast. Jan tried again, “Sir, may I make a statement?”

  “What?” Dogety yelled.

  “It's my fault, Sir. I told Cadet Hambin to use our clothes rather than waste time going back to his room before the rally. It's my fault, Sir.”

  Dogety continued staring at Drew. “Hambin, it's not like your room is across Post; it's next door for shitsakes! What kind of sorry ass man wears girls' clothes? You some kind of fairy?”

  “No, Sir!”

  Dogety continued, “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen in my life. I don't ever want to see that on you or any man again, you understand me, Hambin?”

  “Yes, Sir!” Drew said, with a slight shake of his head.

  “And as for you, Wishart, you don't TELL anyone what to do. He's a big boy; he can make his own decisions.”