by Inmon, Shawn
Dead silence. Dominick didn’t even breathe.
“Yes, but ...,” Laura said quietly, then fell silent for a moment. “Well, that’s quite a gift, Father.”
“I understand, Laura. You’re a wonderful mother. You want to protect your son and hold him near. Unfortunately, that’s part of what has brought us to this sad state of affairs. A mother’s love can only do so much good, before it begins to harm.”
Keep going, Father. You’re overstepping this time.
“I don’t know about that,” Joe said. “Laura’s the best mother I’ve ever known. She doesn’t smother the boys. We’re not going to raise wimps. Until this last week, I’ve been very proud of both of them.”
More shifting of seats.
“But, still ...”
Oh, crap. Really, Dad?
“... I sense the truth in what you are saying, Father. Laura and I will need to talk it over, of course—“
“—Of course,” Wilkins interjected.
“—but I think, if Commander Hartfield is really willing to make such a generous offer, we’d be foolish to turn it down. I’m afraid that if we don’t, someone else might get really hurt, and then that would be on our conscience.”
DOMINICK DID NOT HEAR any of the further conversations between his parents, but three weeks later, he found himself in the family station wagon, on the way to Hartfield Military Academy, just north of Crescent City, California.
Chapter Fourteen
It was a seven hour drive from Emeryville to the Academy, so the whole family piled into the station wagon while it was still dark. The drive would have been faster, but in 1969, Interstate 5 was still a work in progress, so they stuck to the highways.
Their Sunday drive to the park a few weeks earlier had been carefree and relaxed. This drive had more of the feel of a death march, as everyone was well aware when they left the house that one of them would not be returning.
As they drove north, the weather changed. Temperatures dropped into the upper sixties, threatening clouds filled the sky and gusts of wind buffeted them.
As the miles rolled under the wheels, Dominick stared out the window, lost in thought, deep in self-recriminations. I think this is best, but man, it hurts. I screwed absolutely everything up. I’m a full-grown man, but something about all this change messed with my head. I wish I’d never thought of us working on the Dodge.
A little before noon, Laura dug into a paper bag at her feet and fished out bologna and mustard sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and handed them out, along with an apple, and a small bottle of Coke.
Dominick ate his slowly, not completely sure his stomach was going to hold it. In the end, it did.
By mid-afternoon, they rolled through Crescent City, then on to the Academy. They pulled into a Shell station and gassed up.
“Hartfield Academy around here somewhere?” Joe asked.
“Yessir, about four miles further on. There’s a big gate on the left hand side. Can’t miss it.” The white-haired attendant leaned over and glanced in the back seat. “Dropping two off today?”
“Just the younger one, today. Unless they give me a two for one deal and take the other one too.”
As they pulled back onto the highway, Sam asked, “You’re kidding, right, Dad?”
“Oh, heck,” Joe said. “I meant to buy you a sense of humor back at the gas station, but I forgot, Sammy.”
“Ha, ha.”
A few miles north, there was a break in the trees and a gate with red brick columns and impressive black spikes stood wide open. A small sign read, “Welcome Cadets.”
They turned in and drove the long, tree-lined driveway, passing a number of cars going the other direction. The driveway poured them out into a huge open lawn, dominated by a massive gold and black sign that read, Hartfield Military Academy, where boys become men and men become soldiers. Behind the sign were two flags—an immense American flag and a smaller, blue and gold one.
Joe and Laura read the sign at the same moment.
“Oh!” Laura said, glancing back at Dominick in the backseat with worried eyes.
“It’s all right, Mother,” Joe said. “It’s going to be fine.”
They circled around the long driveway, found a place to park, and piled out, gawking like Iowa tourists in New York City.
Connie had fallen asleep on the last leg of the journey, so Joe pulled her out and laid her head against his shoulder. She slumbered on.
A squat moon-faced boy in a neat uniform stepped forward and greeted the family. “I’m Max. You can call me Max. Welcome to Hartfield Academy, where we have the best military strategy library west of Washington, D.C.”
Joe and Laura exchanged a quick glance, then said together, “Hello, Max.”
“You should go into the main building. Registration is in there, and then someone will lead your cadet to his barrack.” He looked back and forth between Sam and Dominick. “Both of them?”
Sam took a step back behind his mother, more convinced than ever he was about to be left behind as well.
“No,” Joe said. “Just Dominick, here.” He put an arm around Dominick’s shoulders.
Max focused on Dominick and smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re nice here. You’ll like it.” He walked away to greet a new family that had pulled up behind the Davidners.
The main hall had nine-foot-tall doors, which were swung open today. The swirling winds blew some debris inside, but a young cadet manning a broom and a dustpan picked it up and disappeared down a corridor.
Another cadet, dressed in the same immaculate tan uniform, approached and asked, “Registration? It’s just down the hall, in the library.”
“Thanks,” Joe said, and the family trooped in the direction the cadet had pointed.
Inside the library, there was a short line leading up to the desk that normally served as the check out. A man with thinning gray hair was processing a family with a young boy who appeared to be Dominick’s age. The boy looked left and right in rapid succession, shuffling his feet.
The man behind the desk handed a packet to the father, then said, “You’ll want to keep this, Mr. Summers. It has all the information you will need—how to contact Will if you need to, what our school year schedule is, etc.”
Mr. Summers nodded, said, “Thank you,” took the packet and turned away.
Joe stepped to the desk and said, “We’re the Davidners.”
The man picked up a clipboard, ran his finger down it, and said, “Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Davidner and Dominick. I’m Captain Peterson.” He turned slightly to face Dominick. “You can call me ‘Sir,’ or ‘Captain,’ or ‘Captain Peterson.’ Understand?”
Dominick nodded. “Yes sir.”
“Very good. Now. We’ve already received Dominick’s medical and school records, which are all in order. I’ll need you to sign that you understand our discipline policy, and acknowledge that we have the right to fairly discipline your son.” He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. “There will be a copy included in the packet I give you.” He glanced at Laura’s expression and smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Davidner. We only have Dominick’s best interests at heart.”
Joe took the paper, signed it, and pushed it toward Laura. After a moment’s hesitation, she signed it as well.
“Are you going to be able to stay for Commander Hartfield’s orientation? It’s going to be held on the front lawn in,” he glanced up at the clock on the wall, “fifty seven minutes.”
“I’m afraid not. We’ve got a long drive back home, and two other children we’ve got to get ready for their own first day of school.”
“Perfectly understandable.” Peterson reached under the desk, plucked another packet out, and handed it to Joe. “All the information you need will be in here. There is a phone number, but we recommend that you only use it for emergencies. Especially in the first year, if the cadets hear from home too often, it only increases the loneliness. Of course, Dominick will write home every week, and we encourage you to
write him, as well.”
Peterson glanced at his left, where a number of older cadets were gathered, talking. “Cadet Pusser?” A stocky blond boy with a bad complexion broke away from the others, snapped a salute at Peterson.
“Sir?”
“This is Cadet Davidner. Please escort him to the barracks. Give him a moment to say good-bye to his family.”
“Yes, sir,” Pusser said, then took three steps backward and stood alert, but at rest.
Captain Peterson smiled at Joe and Laura, then looked past them and said, “Name?”
The Davidners moved outside and walked toward the station wagon. Connie woke up and looked around fuzzily, then laid her head back against Joe’s shoulder.
At the car, Sam said, “See ya,” and climbed into the back seat, grateful to be on safer ground.
Joe reached out and put his arm around Dominick, pulling him close. He kissed the top of his head and said, “Be good, son. Christmas will be here before you know it.”
Laura grabbed Dominick in a fierce hug, whispering, “I love you, Nicky. Be careful, and be good.”
Dominick looked up at his mom, who had tears threatening to spill out. He remained dry-eyed and smiled at her. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.” He took a step away.
Connie suddenly realized what was happening and reached her two chubby arms out to Dominick, saying, “Bubby, Bubby, Bubby,” over and over.
Joe hustled around to the driver’s side and slid her into the middle of the front seat. She let out a piercing wail, but Joe quickly started the car and pulled around the great lawn, then disappeared down the long driveway.
Dominick turned to Cadet Pusser and said, “Okay, ready.”
The two marched in silence to the First Year’s barrack. Pusser opened the door into one long room with a row of bunks on each side and an aisle down the middle. “Grab any bunk that hasn’t been taken already. Unpack your belongings into the footlocker, then leave your suitcase on top. It will be stored for you until Christmas. Hustle up, then report out front for orientation. Oh, one more thing. Don’t ever be late at Hartfield, and you’ll be off to a good start.”
Pusser turned on his heel and was gone.
It took Dominick less than a minute to unpack the socks and underwear he had brought and to set his suitcase on the footlocker. He glanced around the room.
Exactly what I would expect. Basic. Utilitarian. Fine with me. Wonder how many of us will be in this class? Doesn’t matter, really. Just glad to have a chance to start over, and not have to remember so many things I’ve forgotten. I don’t really want to live the same life over again anyway. That would get boring in a hurry.
Dominick exited the barracks and made his way to the front lawn, where he found a spot with the other First Years. A large man who identified himself as Commander Hartfield came to the podium and spoke for a few minutes about the tradition and brotherhood of Hartfield Academy, followed by a string of instructors who did the same.
Dominick looked around at his classmates. White bread. Diversity apparently wasn’t a big deal in this school in the sixties. Haven’t seen a woman or girl on the entire grounds, aside from Moms and sisters.
Orientation consisted mostly of a long list of rules and regulations, peppered with talk about honor and brotherhood. When it was finished, he went straight back to his barrack and climbed up on his bunk, where he could watch everyone else go about their business. For the most part, each boy stuck to himself. A few made nervous comments or laughed a little, but it was apparent that none of them knew each other. Most appeared to be at least a little scared.
Totally understandable. I would have been, too, if I was really a nine-year-old boy.
The door at the far end of the barracks swung open, and the older boy who had shown Dominick where to unpack strode in. With Dominick, he had been low-key. Now, he appeared to be agitated, almost spoiling for a fight.
““Hello, shit for brains. I am a Tenth Year. I have been assigned as your prefect. I will oversee you for the rest of the year. My name is Lt. Tim Pusser.”
Dominick heard a few snickers from various corners of the room. Typical. Boys will always laugh when they are nervous or scared. Easy way to let off a little steam and fit in.
Lt. Pusser, his red face showing the ravages of acne even more clearly, focused in on one boy who had laughed at the sound of his name. He took four quick steps toward him and slammed his clipboard into the metal bunk, making a loud BANG that echoed through the room. He spoke in a low, threatening voice, so Dominick couldn’t hear what he was saying.
The boy looked like a bug caught on a slide plate. He fidgeted, turned red, and tried to nod and shake his head simultaneously. Eventually the boy dropped to the ground and attempted what looked like a push-up.
Pusser raised his voice, so the whole barrack could hear. “Oh my God! You look like a monkey humping a football, boy! Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to do a proper push-up?”
The Lieutenant laid his clipboard down on the bunk, dropped to the ground and pumped out a few army-approved push-ups, then instructed the boy to try again.
I don’t think I can just watch this. This school seems like a nice place, but why in the world would they put a guy like this in charge of first year students? I want to just keep my head down and fit in, but I don’t know if I can stand by and watch him bully everyone into submission.
Lt. Pusser continued on, loudly reciting the rules of the barracks, including his own personal rules.
I’d say this guy watched Full Metal Jacket once too often, but that hasn’t even been made yet. If this is what being in this school for ten years does to you, I might have to pass..
While Pusser continued on, Dominick looked around the barrack.
I think I’d like to put a little group together. That’ll help. It’s a little weird hanging out with nine-year-old kids, but I don’t think the teaching staff is going to invite me into their inner circle, so I’ll have to make the best I can with what I’ve got. Don’t want to be too eager though. Just have to hang back and watch for an opening. It’ll come.
Eventually, Pusser wound down and told them they had thirty minutes before lights out. Dominick hopped lightly down to the ground, next to the boy that would be his bunkmate. He was a small boy with blond hair, already cut in the regulation buzz cut of Hartfield Academy. The rest of the boys wouldn’t get theirs until the next day. He stared back at Dominick, but didn’t smile or look away. He just stared.
His eyes are haunted. What could give a little boy such an adult expression?
Dominick gave him a non-committal nod and shucked off his clothes, then clambered back up to the top bunk.
Is he something special? He looks more comfortable here than the other kids. I’ll keep an eye on him. He might be one to be friends with.
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, reveille was sounded at 6 am, and they had just a few minutes to use the bathroom, brush their teeth, and get ready for breakfast. Everything about the school felt like an assembly line to Dominick. Shuffle from point A to B, sit for an hour, then on to point C.
The first class of the day was English, taught by Mr. Guzman, who Dominick guessed was probably a veteran, as he bore terrible scars on his face, and the left arm of his uniform was neatly ironed and pinned at the shoulder.
After leading the class in the Pledge of Allegiance, Guzman asked a cadet to help pass out the book they would be reading first.
Dominick couldn’t help but smile. The Island of the Blue Dolphin.
I taught this book my first year in Oakland. I was teaching seventh grade, though, and they’re using it in third grade here. That’s good. They’re tougher here, and at least it’s a good story.
Guzman gave them forty minutes to read, then said they would use the last few minutes of the class to discuss the first chapters.
Guzman retreated to his desk, but kept his keen eyes on the class. He watched the pace each student was turning pages, and made notes in
a notebook.
Smart teacher. Let everyone read what would be a semi-difficult book for them, and gauge their reading ability without anyone being the wiser.
Dominick opened the book, thinking that he would just pretend to read, but as always with books, he became engrossed in the story and began reading along for real. He made a mental note to slow down, and pause between turning the pages, though. As he did, he glanced to his left and saw that the cadet who was his bunkmate was reading at an exceptionally fast clip. Not quite Evelyn Wood speed reading, but faster than any third grader would have been expected to read.
After only a few minutes, he had finished the first few chapters, closed the book and looked straight ahead. Guzman noticed it immediately.
He’ll never buy it. Too fast, kid.
Guzman surprised Dominick by not dismissing him out of hand, but instead walked to the boy and said quietly, “Cadet Hollister. Am I to assume that you have already finished your reading?”
The cadet—Hollister, Dominick now knew—said, “Yes, sir.”
Guzman quizzed the boy, and it was obvious that he had indeed read the book.
Either he got lucky and Guzman chose a book he’d already read, or he can read every bit as fast as I can. Interesting.
Through the rest of the class, Dominick continued to read at the same artificially slow pace. I don’t think the class needs two geniuses, and it looks like he’s already filling the available slot. I’ll just tag along and watch what happens. Still. He’s one to keep an eye on.
In each class, the routine was the same. The teacher gave some work to determine where everyone in the class was, and everyone struggled their way through it, except for Cadet Hollister, who blasted through every assignment.
Either that kid is a certified genius, or ... or, he’s like me. Yes! Maybe he’s in the same situation I’m in, but he’s just decided not to mess around with things, and he’s showing them what he can really do.
