Shades of Gray

by

Nick

“Sir, I’m a wedge – the simplest machine know to man – and I still don’t work!”
To say that I had a hard time transitioning from a cocky high-school kid to a cadet during BEAST Barracks is like saying Jane Fonda may have upset one or two vets.  Nevertheless, after a series of spazzes, me grinding my teeth down to gums in my sleep, and a verbal beatdown by my roommate Dave, my desire to succeed finally carried the day and I got my shit together.

In fact, when BEAST ended and I reported to my new company, I was the picture of a “successful” Plebe.  If we needed to deliver laundry to an upperclassman with a reputation for hazing, I’d volunteer.  I had memorized the Plebe bible, Bugle Notes, cold.  My shoes were among the best in the company – my roommate and I had even perfected techniques to make them shinier which required us to buy special rags not found at the PX or Cadet Store.  My uniform was impeccable at all times.  In short, I believed in the institution one hundred percent.  If West Point said a good leader needed to do something, I was the first guy on board.  It wasn’t an easy life – more credit hours than any university would deem reasonable, few women, drill, sports, hazing, and a general overall feeling of helplessness.  Our “little gray cell” was pretty much a teenager’s worst nightmare, especially when juxtaposed with what my high school friends were up to, but I always knew there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, so I made sacrifices.

My efforts paid off.  At West Point you are graded three ways: academically, militarily, and physically.  Halfway through my sophomore year I had a 4.0 military grade.  Better still, I had just found out that I was selected for the crucible of bullshit that West Point calls an “Emerging Leader Board”.  If I succeeded there, I would have a shot at holding an “important” position as a junior, like Cadet Sergeant Major, which would set me up for an even more important position as a senior, like Cadet Battalion Commander.  Yeah, I was one of the guys who drank, more like gulped, the Kool-Aid - down to the last drop.

It was 2315 when my roommate Mikey came into the room.  He was pissed off and cursing in that magical way that only a New Yorker can muster.

“You hear what happened to fucking Lou?” he asked in his thick accent.

“No man – is he okay?” I asked.

Mikey dove right into the story.

“He got caught sitting on a fucking bed with his girlfriend, and he’s getting a fucking reg board, man!  And you know who fucking turned him in?  His fucking roommate!”

“What?” I asked, incredulous.  “Were they screwing around?”

“No, man,” Mikey responded.  “Not even that good.  She was bringing him some fucking soup!”

You see, at West Point, it is against the rules to be on a bed with a girl in the barracks.  If there were ten people in a room and a guy was sitting on a bed fully clothed with a girl who was also fully clothed, you could get in more trouble than President Clinton at an intern convention.

My buddy Lou, who later would be an invaluable part of my Ranger School squad, had come down with a bad flu.  His girlfriend was on CQ duty and got him some soup from the chow hall.  She sat on the edge of the bed to give it to him when his roommate, Cadet X, walked in.

X didn’t say anything was wrong.  He was very friendly and even joked with both of them.  Lou and his girlfriend were completely dressed, and there was nothing “funny” going on.  While I am certain the rule against having unceremonious gray-trou-shedding-crazy-monkey sex in the barracks had been violated in the past, it wasn’t being violated now, in X’s presence.

One month later, CDT X went to the Regimental Tactical Officer (RTO) – a real Lieutenant Colonel – and told him that he couldn’t live with himself any longer – he had to confess.  So the sonofabitch tells the RTO, LTC Scary, everything he saw.

LTC Scary gave both Lou and his girlfriend a Regimental Board – the highest form of punishment at West Point other than expulsion.

The Corps of Cadets is a fishbowl, and like all microcosms, word travels fast.  By the time Mikey hit our room, half the Corps knew.  By morning, the entire Corps of Cadets would be furious.  It is your duty to turn someone in for an honor violation, but for fuck’s sake, there is no stipulation that says “Turn in your flu-sickened roommate who was charitably receiving a bowl of soup from a member of the opposite sex.” What comes next? NARCing a guy out for not washing his hands after a piss?  General Norman Schwarzkopf even said as much in his book, It Doesn’t Take a Hero, when he was placed in a similar situation!

I was more pissed off than an Oompa Loompa at a health food convention. I wanted to either go check on Lou or bludgeon Cadet X to death with his perfectly shined shoes and turn him into the uniform flag of the day by shimmying his corpse up the flagpole.  Unfortunately, it was after TAPS, which meant I couldn’t leave my room until tomorrow morning.  I needed an outlet for my rage, as did Mikey, so we each drafted a UNIX email to X, outlining in no uncertain terms how much he sucked.

I have a particular penchant for indignant letters.  The email was absurdly long and angry - I basically told him that I thought he was worthless and that he shouldn’t expect a whole lot of support going forward from the Corps of Cadets.  Brutally, and with the kind of wickedness only a teenager can muster, it ended with “If you died tomorrow, I wouldn’t go to your funeral for the free hard candy.  I hope you have a terrible life.”

Over the top?

Yes.

Appropriate response?

Maybe not.

Was I an angry nineteen-year-old who didn’t think past lunch, never mind the third order ramifications of my actions?

Why yes, yes I was.

Ah Shit.

By noon the next day Mikey and I were in the RTO’s office.  Predictably, X had forwarded the emails to him.  He was not happy.  LTC Scary made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he had recommended our expulsion for verbally assaulting someone who was trying to “do the right thing.”  My Company Tactical Officer (a real Army officer), Captain M, a Quartermaster officer with an absurd high and tight sold me right down the fucking river. While telling Scary that I was a problem child, he even used the phrase, “This doesn’t surprise me – I’ve been watching Nick a lot lately.”

I was shocked.  By Odin’s beard, where was this coming from?  A week ago, this dude was telling me that he counted on me and my classmate Kirk to keep my class operating at a high level.  He had thanked me for my efforts.  He had graded me three times and given me a 4.0 every time!  In what universe was I his problem child?  My mind scrambled when I realized that CPT M had morphed into a turncoat, oxygen-thief douchebag overnight – I mean, he was an officer!  Then it hit me – all the shit he talked about regarding honor and duty were just words to this man.  I was no longer useful to him except as a way to get in tighter with his boss. I was his sacrificial fucking lamb tied mercilessly to the altar of his OER and there was nothing I could do about it.

Fucking piece of shit ass-kissing sonofabitch motherfucking liar.

With no support to speak of, Mikey and I were alone in front of LTC Scary.  A lean but muscular black man who stood about 6’6” with one of the most penetrating gazes I had ever seen, LTC Scary made short work of Mikey and I, digging into us as hard as he knew how.

LTC Scary: You both said you wouldn’t want Cadet X with you in combat in your fancy little emails.  You ever been to combat, Cadet P?

Me: No, sir.

LTC Scary: You, Cadet L?

Mikey: No, sir.

LTC Scary: Well, h-o-l-y shit!  Wait a second!  Neither of you have been to combat?

Both of us: No, sir.

LTC Scary: You know what this is? (pointing to his CIB)

Both: Yes, sir.

LTC Scary: You know how you get this?

Both: Yes, sir.

LTC Scary (slamming his fist): You don’t get it by typing up some bullshit emails!

Both: Roger, sir.

LTC Scary (staring at us with the slightest smirk): Well, let me tell you something cadets. We’re gonna fix this shit.  Mark my words – we’re gonna fix it.  The last thing combat soldiers want is to deal with wastes of space like you two.  We want – no we require people who do the right thing, not people who look out for their buddies even when their buddies are wrong.  That’s why so many people hate this place – because people like you two assholes ruin it for people like Cadet X.  The two of you are worthless – totally worthless.  People will die because of you two.  You hear me?  You’re going to get people killed with your ring-knocking bullshit.  I’m not going to let the happen.  You understand me?

This verbal abuse went on for a great deal of time.  We provided the occasional yes or no answer, but on the whole, were simply reminded that we were not worthy to lead any soldier, at any time, in any place.  At the end of it, I was left wondering if I was even going to graduate.  Worse, I truly and honestly felt like maybe I was not only wrong to have written the email, but possibly an awful human being.  Was X right?  Is this what officers were supposed to be like?  Was I training to simply become a steward of the rules at all costs?

Scary’s verbal assault was mercifully abated, albeit temporarily, when he ordered us to wait in the hall. Mikey and I were like second graders sent to the corner with dunce caps while the powers that held our future debated whether we were going to enter the profession of arms or the profession of burger flippers.

There is no way I can describe to you how Mikey and I felt.  After a year and a half of hazing, inspections, drill, area tours, PT Tests, plebe boxing, and even the fucking IOCT…we might be gone.  Over what?  I didn’t understand it!  I mean, objectively I can see that we went over the top -  that we were perhaps too cruel in the emails - but we didn’t threaten the guy – we just told him we thought he was a piece of festering dog shit.  Previous to this incident, neither of us had done anything wrong in our entire cadet history.  Other kids had been busted for drinking, for missing class, for all kinds of indiscretions that showed poor judgment and even a total lack of caring!  How could this be happening to me, of all people?!  I felt sick as I sat there with my head in my hands.

The door opened.

SFC Kickass, the real world E7 who led our company opposite CPT M, stuck his head out.  “Heads up, men.  Knock and enter.”

We took deep breaths, knocked, reported, and stood there, waiting for the verdict.  There was a long pause.  LTC Scary just stared at us for eons.
“I’m not sure you two should be here, “he started as my heart sunk.  “You attacked a classmate who was just trying to do the right thing.”  He paused again.  “If it was just my decision, you’d be gone, but someone thinks you deserve another chance, so I’m going to allow it.”  I was temporarily ecstatic to know I was still going to be here…then the punishment came.

LTC Scary hit us with everything he was allowed to – max punishment.  We were treated like two convicts who had shown up late for TAPS, threw a party in the barracks with swastika-tattooed women while drinking underage, and just for good measure, burned an effigy of LTC Scary himself wrapped in the American flag, all while snorting a barrel of cocaine.

We had sent two angry emails.

Our punishment was tons of walking tours, enough demerits so that any additional demerits - which at West Point flow as freely as Spaten during Oktoberfest - would warrant more walking tours, and we even received room restriction, a punishment reserved for those that were considered the most untrustworthy dregs of West Point society.

That’s right.  We couldn’t even leave our rooms without an escort.

My world was crashing down around me, but at least he wasn’t pushing for expulsion anymore, right?  He dismissed us with a warning, “I’ll be watching you guys – hear me Cadet P?  Got me Cadet L?.  Go ahead and test me.  Screw up a little, please.”

A few nights later, at about 2AM, Mikey and I awoke to LTC Scary hovering over us while we were in bed.  I threw my covers off and attempted to somehow jump to attention from the top bunk.  Mikey whacked his head on my bunk trying to so the same.

“Stay where you are men.  Just checking to see that you’re here CDT P, just checking to see that you’re here…” he trailed off as he slinked out of the room so quietly we almost didn’t believe he had been there.

“Did that just happen, Mikey?” I half yelled.

“Holy Fuck. Holy Fuck.  Holy Fuck.” Mikey kept repeating.

Over the next few weeks we received more visits and checks.  For the last eighteen months, while our peers at other schools – even our ROTC peers – were drinking, spending time with coeds, going to concerts, and generally enjoying life, we had busted our asses in a crazy world where the quality of your character was often judged by your appearance and your ability to deliver memorized items under pressure.  It had never seemed sillier, and yet the institution’s acceptance of us was never more important to Mikey and me.  Every day was a struggle.  We couldn’t go anywhere or do anything.  Lou and his girlfriend had finished their walking tours already and we were still trapped in our rooms.  We were not even allowed to go to the Army/Navy game – the cadet version of the Super Bowl and one of only four fun days you get to have as a cadet.  As CDT X was living a normal life, we were getting harassed by a man who in the regular Army would be leading a battalion.  To say that our nerves were tweaked is the understatement of the year.  It was the scariest situation that either of us had ever been involved in – we both felt like the next day could easily be our last at West Point – and as much as I wanted to rage against the system and tell them all to fuck off – I couldn’t imagine a world where I wasn’t a West Pointer…and neither could Mikey.

Metamorphosis

Mikey and I returned from one of our Groundhog Day area tours and were putting away our rifles and pulling off our dress belts.  It had been raining that day, so the wool uniforms smelled like shit.

Suddenly, my TAC NCO, SFC Kickass threw the door of our room open.  “Come with me, men” he said, “We need to talk.”

In our POW mode, we did not hesitate.  We adjusted our uniforms and chased after as he led us to his office.

“Close the door, men” he said.

We did as instructed and stood at parade rest, our thousand-yard stares letting all onlookers know we were soundly beaten.

“Fucking relax.  Sit down.”

We were now confused.  Wasn’t this going to be another smoke session?

“Look.  If you ever repeat anything I say here, I will deny it, you got it?”

“Roger, sergeant,” we answered in stereo.

“Cadet X is a piece of shit, and if this place was run by NCOs, his ass would be kicked out for being a piece of shit.”

We were shocked.  He continued.

“This is a weird place.  It is the best and worst place in the Army in my opinion and it produces the best and worst officers.  You either come out of here having taken some licks and realize that the important things about West Point are sucking it up and driving on, keeping your word, and taking care of your men, or you leave here thinking that you’re God’s gift to soldiering and that it is your job to follow every rule and do everything you can to make yourself look good.  In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever met a West Pointer I was iffy on – I’ve either loved them or hated them.”

We didn’t know what to say.

“The thing is…I know a few things about you guys now,” he smirked.

“Roger, sergeant,” we both said for no particular reason.

“One, you are willing to stand up for what you think is right.  That sonofabitch Cadet X got the verbal blast he deserved.”

“Two, you aren’t pussies.  LTC Scary gave you everything he had and you stood there and took it.  You didn’t try to talk your way out of it.   You didn’t lie or try to pass blame.  You admitted everything, and you were almost indignant, which is why he is trying so hard to break you.  Bottom line – you’re not backing down in the face of adversity.  From an old sergeant’s standpoint, that means something.”

“Three, I’d love to have either one of you as platoon leaders.  You’ve got some common sense and it is obvious you care.  Be proud of the hours you’re walking here.  Fuck these guys for shitting on you.”

We couldn’t believe it.  Someone believed in us.  We had felt very, very alone as of late, and SFC Kickass rarely said anything to anyone, never mind anything like this.

“Lastly, I learned that you’re fucking dumbasses.”

“Sergeant, I don’t understand,” I said.

“Next time, don’t send a fucking traceable email.  Go to his room and beat the shit out of him,” he said with a big smile.  “That’s what I would have done if some pussy had turned my buddy in for that bullshit.  Now get the fuck out of my office.”

We left his office with smiles as big as Texas.  Maybe we weren’t one hundred percent right, but we now knew we weren’t completely wrong either.

West Point had lost some of its luster for me – when I applied it seemed infallible.  I believed in the institution.  Now, I wasn’t so sure.  In some ways, it had failed me…but my classmates had not.  They had been there the whole way, holding Mikey and me up – letting us know they supported us, and even complaining to LTC Scary that our punishment was unjust.  Several of them were torn up one side and down the other as a result too, jeopardizing their grades, reputations, and the like.  I started looking at West Point’s value in a very different way.

Late that night, as Mikey and I were sitting in our rooms mastering Minesweeper, like we always did since we couldn’t leave the forsaken place; it occurred to me that someday, I might have to lead SFC Kickass in combat.  I realized that I had no qualification to do that, either in skill set, intelligence, or wisdom.  It actually seemed absurd.  Nevertheless, that was the task that I would someday be assigned – I might not work with him, but I would be leading men of equal caliber.

I used to worry about shoes.  I now had to worry about being worthy enough to lead a platoon of Kickasses.

I finally got it.

Thank you, Cadet X.

To this day I believe West Point is the greatest undergraduate program on earth, followed closely by the other academies (they’d argue that point).  But I now think that has more to do with the people that come there and graduate than anything else.  We suffered the absurdities together.  We endured the obstacles.  We encountered leaders – some great, some terrible, and took a little bit from each of them, and we all knew at the end of it, we were going to be leaders of soldiers, most of whom, we knew were far better men than we.

Epilogue

Three years later I was an infantry officer who had just graduated Ranger School.  I went to drop off my graduation forms to the IOBC command, 2/11 Infantry – my unit at the time while I waited to move to my first real army unit.  2LT X was behind the desk.   He was working there as a snowbird while he waited for his next orders.
He had peered out of Ranger School.