by Bob Mayer
A sea of gray dutifully rose in front of Maxwell and remained at rigid attention.
“At ease,” Turnbull boomed out, disdaining the microphone.
He looked toward the rear, where he knew Maxwell was in the shadows.
“The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Maxwell.”
As the cadets rose. Maxwell yelled out in his best parade field voice.
“Stay seated!”
This perplexed many of the cadets — a basic conflict between their protocol training and their obedience to orders.
Which was exactly what Maxwell wanted. He strode down the center aisle as the cadets confusedly regained their seats. Bypassing the orchestra pit. he took the stairs up onto the stage and walked to the center.
“Good evening,” he said, his deep voice carrying out as far as that of the best trained stage actor.
“Good evening, sir!” the Corps chorused back.
“You think you’re here to listen to me,” Maxwell said.
“But you’re not. You’re here to listen to a couple of officers who have sat where you are sitting and who have gone through trials that you will go through after you graduate.
Who have been forced to examine their sense of duty very deeply and who have done the right thing, even when it was the most difficult thing to do.
“Major Boomer Watson”—Maxwell pointed to his left where a spotlight went on, highlighting Boomer at a lee turn—“and Major Benita Trace.”
A similar light went on to his right.
“I want you to listen very carefully to what they have to say.” Without another word. Maxwell strode off the stage, back up the center aisle.
There was a rustling of seats as people shifted position, settling in for whatever lay ahead. The Corps was more than used to getting lectures on any sort of subject and since the chairman wasn’t speaking, there was a lessening of interest.
Maxwell sat down and his aide handed him a copy of the speech that his newly formed Academy advisory board had worked out in conjunction with the two majors over the past three weeks. He felt it was a powerful wake-up call to the Corps that things were going to be changing a bit around the Academy, with a shift from the hard sciences to the humanities — and a good dose of ethics instructions.
As much as the message was to be delivered to the Corps, Maxwell wanted it out in the press. Thus the news release earlier in the day. Good press never hurt, and the President needed all the good press he could get.
Boomer was first to speak.
“Good evening. My name is Boomer Watson, class of’eighty-one.”
“And I’m Major Benita Trace, class of’eighty-two.”
Trace left her microphone and walked across the stage to join Boomer on the right side.
“What are they doing?” Maxwell’s aide asked.
“They’re not supposed to do that.”
Boomer held up a piece of paper.
“This is the speech we are supposed to give.” He put it down on the stage and pulled something from inside his dress green jacket.
“This is what we are going to read to you from. It is the diary of Brigadier General Benjamin Hooker, West Point class of 1930. We will allow you to draw your own conclusions about the contents.”
Down the aisle from Maxwell the reporters looked at each other and the speech transcripts they had been given in confusion, but turned on their microphones and recording equipment anyway.
Boomer looked down at the leather clad book in front of him and read.
“12 June 1930. I will indeed miss my rockbound highland home above the Hudson, but I must admit to a certain degree of anticipation for the assignments that await me. I have become a man at West Point, and as a man I will take my allotted place in the Long Gray Line.
“I thought my heart would burst today as we sat on the Plain and listened to Secretary Hurley give the graduation address. I find it difficult to believe four years have gone so quickly, yet looking at the faces of my classmates on either side I can see the changes wrought in us by the years.
We came here as boys — we leave as warriors. And I have been fortunate enough to be one of the chosen ones. I have received my instructions and training beyond that of my peers for the past two years — now I am finally ready to go out into the Army as one of the The Line.”
“I’ll stop him, sir,” Maxwell’s aide said, starting to stand up.
“Sit down,” Maxwell quietly ordered.
Trace took the diary from Boomer and began reading the next entry.
The aide looked at Maxwell.
“But, sir — they’re-they’re—”
“I can see and hear what they’re doing,” Maxwell said. He put down the prepared speech and gave a sad smile.
“It’s something someone had to have the guts to do. I wish I had done it.”
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