The Poet : part 1 by thadeusz

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The Poet

During my school years, I was a good student. I always had straight As, except sometimes an A- or a rare B in maths. Mathematics was in fact my terror: I studied much more but obtained less results.

My mother, Sue, was kind but always discreet when my father, Colonel Martin Thorndel, was present. She took great care of me and she did her best to make me a well educated boy, always polite, but she let me have lots of freedom.

We lived in a small house, on the campus of the Army base in the South: that made life easier for my father and the cost of renting such a house was ridiculously low. I was going to a school in the neighbourhood, but I had numerous opportunities to see soldiers training. I guess my father wanted me to follow his footsteps and join the military. But this was really not what I dreamed of.

When I reached 12, my father decided to enrol me as an "Army Cadet" in the local branch of the American Cadet Alliance. I spent 3 weeks as a Recruit in a Summer Camp and I hated it. I asked my parents to stop what I considered as a form of torture. Very reluctantly, my father agreed to reduce my stays in these camps to the strict minimum.

When I reached grade 9 and started highschool, my father wanted to force me to join the Army Junior ROTC detachment of my school. I told him that I did not like being in uniform, even if it was only once a week. For the first time, I heard my mother object to my father’s decisions. Finally, I did not join the Army JROTC and moreover, my mother gave me the permission to have my hair cut the way I wanted provided I kept my hair clean and, in my mother’s words "decent". After one or two attempts, I decided to go to a barber in the city and no longer to the base barber: it was more expensive (for me) but more fun. I chose to let my blond hair grow down to my shoulders and move freely, and I only asked for "a monthly trim". I loved it. My mother, who did not speak very often, told me that it was "acceptable", but my father hated my haircut and said so repeatedly.

I was a disciplined kid and I had no merit to be like that with a very military man as father, but I chose to keep my hair as it was and it was the first time I refused to do what the Colonel, my father, told me to do.

During my 10th grade, I discovered English literature. I had always liked reading, but now I read Bacon, Dickens, Orwell, Virginia Woolf and many others. I even read Shakespeare and especially his sonnets ! I really liked reading and felt that writing was really a marvelous gift. In 11th grade, I read American poets : Whitman, Thoreau, Stephen Crane and others. My teacher made me also write short essays and I liked that activity. After all that, I was hooked and sold to the idea of becoming a famous writer.

As soon as my 11th grade was finished, at the very start of the holidays, my father called me into the little room which he used as an office. I knew that when I was summoned there, I had to call him "Colonel" and not "Father". He told me that it was time for me to think about my future education:
"Albert, if you want to be accepted in West Point, you must start now to prepare a file and to submit it asap to the authority."
"But, Colonel," was my answer, "I don’t want to go to West Point: I want to study something serious, something which could help me for my future job."
"Albert, my son, you could do as I did: I went to The Citadel, a military college. I studied mathematics and became an officer simultaneously. You could do the same and end up serving your country for a few years."
"Colonel, I don’t want to join the military. I want to go to Boston University and study English Literature in order to become a teacher and a poet."
"A poet ! That’s stupid ! If you really don’t want to serve your country, you could go to a serious College, here in Texas, and learn Maths or Physics. That’s serious for your future life."
"Colonel, I hate maths and physics. I want to learn English Literature and nothing else. And I don’t want to study in the South, the Colleges here are not as good as in Boston."
"You are stupid, boy !" My father started to shout as if I was one of his troopers. "Dismiss now, we will discuss this further when I am no longer furious."
I rapidly left the room and told everything to my mother who simply said:
"But the Colonel is your father, Al. You must obey him."

That’s the very moment when I decided that for the first time of my life, I would disobey my father !

The holidays went smoothly, there were discussions about my future school and my father insisted that I should go to a College in the South and get what he called "a serious degree". He also suggested that if I wanted to be "a real American", I had to serve my country in the Army for at least a few years. I refused all his suggestions and luckily I could escape his authority by spending several weeks with an aunt, one of my mother’s sisters.

When school started again, I was in 12th grade with my long blond hair. I discussed my situation with my English teacher, Mister Gentor, who said:
"Maybe you simply like poetry but are unable to produce something nice and interesting. Let’s check this before you have further discussions with your father."

The teacher suggested that I write a poem on something I liked.
"Could I try with the snow ?"
"Why not, Al, all subjects which you like are important."

I tried, it was not easy but after several weeks I was successful and my teacher liked my poem. He gave me several other exercises. Finally he said that I got better and better:
"It would be a pity to lose a talent like yours, I will go and speak with your father."

My teacher did what he had promised to do and that made my father furious. He called me in his room and started:
"Albert, your teacher just came here and tried to give ME his good advice."
He was really furious and started to shout:
"Do you really believe that this small teacher who has achieved nothing can be a good judge ?"
"Yes father, that’s what I believe."
It was the first time I called my father "Father" and not "Colonel" in his office, and it was not a mistake.
"YOU BELIEVE THAT ? And you speak improperly, here there is no father but a Colonel !"
"Colonel, my teacher told me to have faith in me, and I followed his advice."
I had realized that this was not the best moment to call my father simply by the loving word of "father"
"So, Albert, you refuse all the Colleges I mentioned earlier ?"
"Yes Colonel"
"In that case, there will be NO COLLEGE for you. You will find a job after you get your high school diploma and pay your share of the costs here. DISMISS, boy."

The next day, I told all that to Mister Gentor, my teacher, and he simply replied:
"Don’t be anxious, you won’t have to live under your father’s roof when you have your diploma. We will find something good for you and an access to Boston University."
"There is a problem: I was born in November but started school early in August, while I was still 5. I have to stay where my father wants me to stay until I am of age, and I will only be 18 in November. "
"That is not very long to wait, Al. Don’t be anxious."

I worked hard during that school year and I also started reading more recent poets, lesser known poets. I also kept writing under the guidance of my teacher. One day my teacher called me back in class after the end of the lesson, he looked very excited and said:
"Albert, you are now a real poet ! A published poet ! I took one of your poems and sent it to a journal. They accepted it and it appeared today ! Great day, take the journal and show it to your father."
"I am afraid it would be counterproductive sir. My father has decided what type of studies I must undertake and where I must do it. Writing poetry is excluded. But I thank you for your help."

I got my diploma "Summa Cum Laude". As the best pupil, I was in charge of the Valedictorian’s speech. My Mother was really pleased and for the first time in a year, my father smiled. I expected to get in trouble at home, immediately after that beautiful day. Some of my friends went "for a walk", and I knew that they were in fact going to have an illegal drink. My father told me:
"Albert, you are not 18 yet. Stay with us today."
So I stayed and we had a good day together, the first since a very long time !

I started to try to find a job immediately after that: Commencement took place on a Friday and the next Monday I started my search. My plan was simple: I would try to find a little job, possibly menial tasks to be more or less independent and wait until November, until the day I was finally 18. My English teacher had promised to help me find a scholarship for Boston University. The problem was that as a high school graduate, I was overqualified for the menial tasks jobs, such as cleaning houses. On the other hand, for serious jobs, I had no qualifications at all. In any case, I was not 18 yet and could not accept a permanent job without parental consent, and that consent did not come. It was like a war of attrition with my father.

Finally I decided to do nothing, except go to the town library and read, and read more with my teacher’s guidance. I discovered Marlowe and Ben Johnson. I continued to write more poems. My father discovered what I was doing and called me into his office. He looked very serious and asked:
"Albert, are you still thinking about writing poetry ? Your former teacher showed me a journal where a poem signed by Albert Thorndel has been published. Is that you ?"
"Yes Colonel", I had used the word Colonel since my father did not tolerate that I called him "father" when I was in his office.
"Albert, I don’t want you to do that again. Your name should remain clean. This is a direct order. UNDERSTOOD ?", at the end he was shouting, and I did not like that so I replied:
"Father, I am not a soldier and you cannot give me a ‘direct order’. I am now a high school graduate, father."
"I am the COLONEL and commanding officer of this base. UNDERSTOOD BOY ?"
I remained silent and my father shouted the word he always used to terminate a discussion using his authority:
"DISMISS. Go to your room and stay there. It is strictly forbidden for you to go and meet this Mister Gentor."
He followed me to my room and locked me in. I did not mind: I had good books in my room. He only let me out for meals and showers.

Finally, things changed early in July. My father had been selected as a new member of the Board of Trustees of a small Military Academy. In fact he was now the Military advisor of "Bentsville Military Academy and Junior College", also known as "BMAJC".

A few days later my father informed me:
"I have been elected as a member of the board of trustees of BMAJC: in fact I have been chosen because of my military experience and also because of my experience as a former Citadelle cadet. Tomorrow will be my first day there and I can take a guest with me. Would you like to be my guest, Albert ?"
"Why don’t you take my mother with you, father ?"
"Women are not admitted, I believe. And in any case it would be a great opportunity to be together, father and son, in a way we have not been for too long now. It will be a very long drive. We could have a long chat together."

I didn't really want to go with him, but it was formulated in such words that I could not refuse. I accepted his offer which I viewed as an offer of peace. The next day, I woke up early and put on the same clothes as those I had for my graduation. Father was in civvies, but he had a bag with him containing his dress uniform, a superb class A uniform which, in those days, was still green. My father
told me to stay in jeans and t-shirt since I was not a member of the board, but a simple visitor. He added that I should also take a little bag since we were going to spend one night in a motel on the (very long) way to Bentsville. I did as I had been told, but I copied my father and put in my bag a new and clean t-shirt and also a new pair of jeans. I called my teacher to cancel an appointment we had and I sat in the car, next to Father. Mother said "Goodbye" with something which seemed like tears in her eyes. I did not react, thinking that she regretted not being admitted.

I had another problem : I was afraid that my father would again discuss my haircut and my "non acceptance" of a "father-approved" College. But nothing of that kind was mentioned during the trip to BMAJC and we had a really pleasant journey.

We had a very long drive, my father was the only driver since I did not have my driving licence yet. We spent the night in a small but comfortable motel and ate together: we had burgers with onion rings. Father kept making jokes !

The next day, Father woke me up early. He was already wearing his class A uniform and he had of course all his medals: he looked very "Colonel" like. I could not help but admire him. I quickly put on my new clothes in an attempt to honor my father and he seemed to like it. We then drove further to BMAJC.

When we arrived, there were lots of people on the campus. It was indeed the date set for the meeting of the Board of Trustees but it was also Reception Day for the new cadets. Many cadets were present, there were also many fathers and mothers. This made me realize that my father really wanted to be alone with me in the car, in a father-son relationship, without a mother who could have been with us.

Father, called here the Colonel, took me to the Commandant’s office. The Commandant was a round little man. He was wearing the Institution uniform, a copy of an Army Major uniform. This man was first of all the headmaster, but he was in uniform and was called "the school Commandant" by all the personnel. Father introduced me with the following words:
"I took the liberty to take with me my son Albert. He just got his high school diploma and graduated Summa Cum Laude and he was the Valedictorian. He gave a great speech."
Father looked really pleased while boasting about my school achievements and it was justified.

Father then told me that he had some specific points to discuss with the Commandant before the meeting of the board of Trustees. He suggested that I should go and visit the school campus with someone from the staff. The Commandant selected one of his assistants and said:
"Master Sergeant Boldon, lead this young man through the Academy and show him all the interesting places there are on this campus."

MSG Boldon was a huge man, in MSG uniform. At first he was looking dreadfully severe, but when he was told to show me, the civilian, around the Institution, he had a big smile, more like a grin which I considered as a welcome sign.

MSG Boldon was a pleasant man. He took me with him and led me through the campus. I had to admit that, despite the fact that there were walls and grids limiting the walking space of the cadets, the campus was nice. The MSG showed me the classes: they were big and full of light, the seats and tables also appeared to be comfortable. There was a huge gym provided with all the necessary equipment, a big mess hall and a huge auditorium. There were also some other important places. The MSG tried to show me everything. He even showed me a cadet room, despite the fact that it was Reception day and that there were boys everywhere, some in sport uniform, with short hair and with a cap and and others in civvies, rushing to get their sport uniform.

The MSG led me to a provisionally unoccupied room : it was a big room with two beds, two cupboards and two working tables for evening study. This room had a door leading to a bathroom which could only be used by the two cadets occupying the room and the two cadets occupying the adjacent room. The room had large windows and there was lots of light.

We left the room building and the MSH showed new cadets running all around. He explained:
"These boys are going to start their plebe training period, which will transform them into real BMAJC cadets. How do you like their plebe uniforms ?"

Those who had already a plebe uniform were wearing a rather elegant blue short with the logo of the institute on the bottom of the left leg, they also had a red t-shirt with BMAJC in white on the front. Those who had already short hair were also wearing a blue and red cap. All of them had long blue socks and white sport shoes. It appeared comfortable, but in any case I hated all uniforms since I now hated my father’s job !

In any case, I wanted to be polite with the MSG and I replied:
"It looks nice, Master Sergeant."
"It is also very comfortable for the sport activities they are going to undertake. Would you like to try it ?"
"Well, I am not a plebe, so it does not seem appropriate."
In fact, I really did not want to put on any uniform.
"Well precisely, Albert, we are close to the clothing hall, it would be easy just for a try. I strongly suggest that you try this uniform, just for fun and to have a complete idea of how the cadets are treated here."

The invitation was formulated in such words that I could not resist the energetic persuasion of the very experienced MSG Boldon. I kept quiet and he considered that this was a sign of agreement. He took me firmly by the arm and led me to the entrance of the clothing hall where numerous boys were disguised into new plebes. The MSG led me to the big counter where a SGT and older cadets in uniform were handing out the necessary kit to the new plebes.

The MSG spoke to the SGT and told him:
"SGT Miles, this here is Albert, the son of COL Thorndel who is the new Trustee. Albert would like to try a plebe uniform. Give him the necessary pieces of uniform."
This sounded more like an order and the SGT reacted rapidly by asking:
"Underwear also, MSG ?"
"Of course Peter, how could this young man judge the comfort of our uniforms without our special undies ?"
I tried to say that I did not need to try the underwear garments, since in any case I was not a plebe, but that was to no avail. In a few seconds SGT Peter Miles seized me and put several pieces of clothing on the counter. This included underwear.
"Put all that on, now," said the MSG, raising his voice to the normal level for a MSG, and this was the first time he did so.
"But MSG", did I reply, "where am I going to change ?"
"Here Albert," his voice was polite once again, "we are under men, so you can take off all your clothes, underwear included."

I did not like the idea but I felt trapped and I did not find any way to avoid it. So I did exactly what he told me. I took off all my clothes, made a pile with them, underwear included, and left the pile for a short moment on the big counter. I then put on the clothes selected for me by SGT Miles. I must confess that he had seized me correctly and that I felt comfortable in this uniform.

I was now wearing the Institute undies, which seemed strange to me since they were cotton boxers made according to military regulations, not like my usual undies. The rest was not uncomfortable : the blue short and the red t-shirt. The shorts had an elastic instead of a belt but no pocket and legs going down to the knees. I was soon to learn how the local plebes replaced these non existent pockets. MSG Boldon interfered while I was trying to decide whether this uniform was acceptable or not:
"Boy, you left your t-shirt outside the shorts. It must be tucked in. Please do it NOW. And quickly ."

Believe it or not, I obeyed this command: MSG Boldon had such a strong commanding voice and so good arguments that it was impossible to resist him. He then looked at me and added:
"Albert, you should also try the uniform socks and sport shoes."
"But I feel comfortable in my own shoes."
"My boy, you cannot judge if this outfit is really as comfortable as I told you, if you do not try all the parts."

I was subdued by his words and I agreed to put on the long red socks and the sport shoes imposed on all plebes by BMAJC. MSG Boldon looked at me and said:
"You look fine dressed like this. Now, put on this nice plebe cap."
I obeyed his order and realized that the cap SGT miles had given me was in fact floating on top of my big mane. That’s when I heard the MSG say:
"You know what, we are going to make a surprise for the Colonel, your father. We are going back to the Commandant’s office with you in this uniform so you can show your father how elegant a plebe of our Institution looks. It will be great for him as the new Trustee."

I did not think for a second that another boy could do the same, I simply asked:
"What am I going to do with my own clothes ?"
"You will leave them here and you will get them back later."
That’s when I noticed that SGT Miles had neatly folded the clothes I had left, as a heap, on the counter. He had not only folded them but he had also placed them in a bag with my name on it. That’s when I started to have doubts about the real purpose of this visit.

We started to go back to the Commander’s office and I realized that, except for my haircut and the fact that I had no cap because of this haircut, I looked exactly like any other plebe. I had a strange feeling and I started to dislike the whole adventure. I was now starting to be really anxious.

MSG Boldon noticed my anxiety and tried to calm me. He told me with his very convincing voice:
"Calm down, Albert. It is now time to go back, as rapidly as possible, to the Commandant’s office before lunch time. There you will be reunited with the Colonel."
"Could I have my own clothes back now please ?"
"Let’s go back as you are. You will give the Colonel an opportunity to admire our plebe uniform and he will like that. You will get your own clothes back soon after, but you will have an opportunity to tell first hand to the Colonel how comfortable the plebe uniform is. Everything will be in order."

On the way to the Commandant’s office, MSG Boldon suddenly said:
"We must hurry up, otherwise we will be late and the Commandant does not like it. Let’s take a shortcut."
He took me firmly again by one arm as if he wanted to lead me. We entered a building I had not visited before and I suddenly realized that this was a trap since this building was the barber’s place of the academy. But the MSG was holding my right arm very firmly and I could not escape. There was a file of new plebes, wearing the same uniform as me, standing in the entrance. They were all waiting for their initial haircut. Some were smiling and looked as if the idea of having a severe haircut pleased them, others looked sad and several, with long hair, were crying.

The MSG pushed me in front of the file in order to let me be the next one to receive a haircut. He was still holding my arm with his strong hand and did not listen to my objections. After a few minutes, or even seconds, he pushed me rather brutally towards one of the two chairs where new cadets received their first haircut. A barber in a Corporal uniform was waiting there. I had enough time to read his nameplate : B. Petersen. MSG Boldon barked a rapid order:
"CPL, give this plebe a well needed shave and do it rapidly !" and he forced me to sit on the chair.
I tried to stand up and said :
"I agreed to try this outfit, but I am not a plebe and I don’t want a haircut here."
"Boy," answered the MSG, "we know what we have to do. Your father gave orders and he is a Colonel."
"But I object."
"So, you are a rebel ? We know what to do with them." He made a sign to the CPL barber and before I could react, the CPL on one side and the MSG on the other had pulled straps and attached me firmly to the chair. The torture started immediately.

The CPL barber seemed to be a guy with lots of experience, especially with initially rebellious plebes. He first caped me and then put a firm hand on the top of my head, taking thus more or less possession of my head and said:
"Now, young plebe, either you follow my directions, or I will have to push and pull your head in all possible directions and that will not be comfortable. Your choice."
"But, I am not a plebe !!!" was my reply.
"I don’t care, I have my orders. So either you obey me or I will force you to place your head in a good position and you will hate that."

I realized that I had no choice and I decided to keep quiet and to obey. I would clarify the situation later when we would be back to the Commandant’s office: I wanted to tell my father that I did not like this. But I had no time to think, the CPL started and barked his orders one after the other:
"Head straight, don’t move"
I obeyed and I could feel the CPL using his scissors to get rid of some of my hair and then using his clippers to mark a parting line through my mane round the top of my head and then another one just above my ears, again all around my head. Then came the next order:
"Head down, chin on your chest."
I obeyed and I could feel the metal of his clippers going through the back of my head. I realized he was giving me a number 0 cut, but that he remained below the second line he had drawn before at ear level. He went rapidly through my neck, pushed my head to the left and shaved savagely (according to me) my right side and then did the same for my left side. This did not take him a lot of time.
I could then hear MSG Boldon tell the barber:
"Well done CPL, and rapidly cleaned. Go on !"
The barber told me once again:
"Head straight, don’t move" but I tried to resist and moved and kicked the chair. The CPL then pushed hard with his left hand on my head to keep it from moving and I could feel that he had done something with his clippers. I later realized that he had placed a number 1 guard on it. And he went on shaving everything between the two lines he had marked. In order to do so, he did no longer give me orders, since I tried to resist. He simply knew his trade: he had now complete control of my head with one hand and he pushed it, pulled it, turned it whichever way he wanted. This enabled him to shave the sides and back of my head, near the top, with a damned number 1 guard. This means that he did not leave a lot, but something remained visible.

Finally, he changed again guard and started to shave everything that was left on the top of my head, from front to back. I could also see a lot of blond hair falling on the cape and on the floor. Then came the next barked order:
"Head turned to the left, down on the side."
While he was barking his orders, the CPL pushed gently but firmly with his left hand and kept pushing his clippers on my head as if it were a lawn mowing machine. My long blond hair kept falling down.
"Head turned to the right, down on the side, boy," and the hand guided my move.
I had chosen to obey these orders in order to get rid of it as fast as possible.
The CPL barber then picked a smaller set of clippers to continue around the ears. Finally he ordered:
"Head completely back and look to the ceiling, NOW," and he used his clippers under my nose and on my lips where a small moustache was appearing.

The whole thing did not take too long and when it was finished I was unstrapped and told to stand straight, out of this damned chair. I immediately looked for a mirror, trying to evaluate the damage made to my hair. There was no mirror in the small barbers’ room: there were only two chairs and two Corporals, each rapidly shaving the new plebes. The walls were made in concrete and uniformly painted in khaki. This gave this place a sad look. Having no mirror, I could not resist and passed rapidly a hand on my head, neck, sides and on my nascent mustache. Everything was gone on the sides, below a very neat line, and on the neck. Above that line, there remained only very short hair up to the top of my head, and there, again with a neat line separating the two parts, remained slightly longer hair. That’s how I discovered that the CPL Barber had probably used a number 0 for the neck and sides, below the ears, a number 1 for the intermediate part and a number 3 for the top of my head. I soon realized that the longer hair was situated exactly underneath the place foreseen for the red and blue cap and I hated that ! I felt destitute. I had the impression that CPL Petersen had given me an "all around", a dreadfully short haircut with hair the same size everywhere, except for my beard and mustache which were completely gone. I was not bald, I still had something on top of my head, but it was not long enough for me. I considered that CPL Petersen had butchered my haircut and I was simultaneously furious and anxious. It looked as if I had been given an induction cut and I feared for my future. Nevertheless, I must admit that the CPL had done it rapidly and that I felt comfortable without my long and heavy mane.
The Corporal then said:
"Now you look clean, my boy, with this neat military crew cut."
I hated him for what he had done and also for his last comment.

The MSG had some kind words saying:
"Now, you look completely like a new cadet, a real plebe. How do you feel now that you are free of all that mass of hair ? "
"But I am not a plebe I told you. Luckily I am not in this school: I simply accepted to try this stupid uniform. I did not accept to lose my hair", and in a gesture of defiance I took my red t-shirt out of my blue shorts.
The MSG reacted immediately and shouted like NCOs I had heard in the base where we lived:
"PUT THAT T-SHIRT BACK IN YOUR SHORT. Plebes must always wear their t-shirts tucked in. If you don’t do it immediately, you will be severely punished."
I did not move, so the MSG put himself, in a rage, the t-shirt where according to him it belonged. He then got an Institute cap out of his pocket and put it on my head:
"Like a true plebe, you must from now on wear this cap whenever outside the buildings." He took my arm even more firmly than before and led me with his other hand to the Commandant’s office.

We finally reached the Commandant’s office and the MSG released his grip saying:
"Plebe, take off your cap and put it in the back of your shorts." He showed me how to insert this cap in the elastic just above my backside ! My father was there and I was sure that he would end this nightmare. But he spoke differently:
"Albert my boy, you are now a plebe of this Institution. You look great in this plebe uniform and with a clean haircut."
"Father, it must be a joke. I don’t want to stay here. I have other projects with my teacher."
"Albert, you are now really a plebe. Since you did not accept any of the Colleges I chose for you, I decided to enrol you here, in this Junior College. Here, you will lead a good and disciplined life since this is a Military College. Moreover I enlisted you in the ROTC program leading to the Early Commissioning Program. That means that if you study well, you will get an Associate degree in two years and simultaneously you will become an Army 2nd LT."
I remained silent, stunned by these words. The Commander of the Institution added to this:
"You will then have three years to complete your Bachelor Degree. If you don’t do it in time, you will lose your commission."
"But," I tried to object, "I don’t want to join the military. And I did not want to have this forced haircut."
"Plebe," replied my father, "you are only 17 and I am your father. So I decided for you what would be best. As of now, you ARE in the military. Respect all your superiors as they deserve it."
I knew that I was completely licked and that I had to stay in this damned institution at least till I was 18. But I did not accept all that coming from my own father. I suddenly decided not recognize him as father anymore and I told him:
"Colonel," I no longer wanted to call him ‘father’, "you betrayed me, you betrayed your own son. That is very mean, Colonel. I despise you."
The Colonel immediately reacted and asked the Major:
"Major, this plebe has insulted a superior officer. He must be punished. As Commanding officer of this Institute, what can you do ?"
"Colonel," replied the Major, "a form of punishment is certainly required. In other circumstances, this might require corporal punishment but we must take into account that this is the first day of your son, this plebe, at BMAJC. So let’s simply give him a simple reprimand and suppress his first meal."
"Colonel," interrupted MSG Boldon addressing himself to the highest ranking soldier, "this plebe rebelled during his haircut and also immediately after: he took his t-shirt out of his shorts although he knew that t-shirts have to be tucked in."
"That settles it," concluded the man I only wanted to call ‘Colonel’, "we are confronted to several serious breaches in discipline and this plebe must learn and learn quickly. MSG, give this plebe 5 strokes and no food or water for lunch."
The MSG did not wait for a confirmation from the Major. He looked at me and instructed me:
"Plebe, take off your shorts and your underpants, immediately."
I looked at the Major and at the Colonel who were both seated behind the Major’s desk, not understanding what would happen now and why I had to undress in their presence. The MSG interfered once again:
"I gave you an order, Plebe. Obey and do it immediately. NOW," he started to shout. I obeyed this strange order, not really knowing what he wanted to do with me.
"NOW PLEBE," shouted further the MSG, "place your hands on this desk and bend. NOW !"
I started to understand and I feared for the worse.
The MSG went behind the Major’s desk and took a long and flexible cane. He came back to me and started to make the cane whistle in the air while he was taking the necessary momentum. He went to my back and continued and suddenly he unleashed his cane and let it hit my bare bottom. He repeated that 4 times and I made an effort not to cry, but I had tears in my eyes and on my face.

The MSG put his rod back behind the Major’s desk and ordered me:
"Plebe, get dressed, and quickly. Take the position of attention, facing the Colonel."
I knew what this position was and I felt that I better obeyed this order.
As soon as I was dressed and in the required position, the Colonel, my father, finally spoke to me:
"Plebe Thorndel," it was the first time he addressed me like that, "you had never been spanked before, but today you needed a good spanking. I hope that it hurts and that you will remember this. You were treated like a little child, it was humiliating, but it was necessary. Should you misbehave again, the punishment would be worse. In any case, you are a soldier now and despite what you said to me, I wish you a fruitful career. "
I asked the Colonel a last question:
"So, this father-and-son visit to this Institution was a trap, this visit of the academy and this sport uniform ?"
"Of course Plebe Thorndel," replied the Colonel, "you did not want to decide. I had to do something to avoid having my son become a stupid poet. You will be an army officer and nothing else. This was my responsibility as a father and as an officer. Now, DISMISS if you don’t want to have a second spanking. Now, MSG Boldon, take this Plebe back to the clothing hall and give him the rest of his Plebe equipment. Show him to his quarters. At lunchtime, he will stand at attention while the other plebes eat, but he will get neither food nor drink. DISMISS."

That was my father’s farewell !

The MSG took me to the clothing hall where I received a bag with the rest of my kit. This included two other shorts, three more t-shirts, a blue BDU, a blue GI cap and a pair of black Army boots. He then led me to the mess hall where the plebes were freely chatting while eating, but I had to stand in the position of attention, looking straight ahead of me and fixing the horizon as if nothing that happened in front of me was of interest to me.

As promised, I had seen my father "before lunch". The point is that I was not allowed to take part in the Trustees lunch as promised since I was now a plebe.
So after my father, the Colonel, betrayed me, I was standing in the position of attention during all the time allotted to the plebes. I had a khaki bag full of equipment next to me and I had the impression that I had been placed like a ridiculous sentry, ridiculous but also thirsty and hungry. But I did not dare move from the assigned place and position !

After all, I was dressed like a plebe, my haircut was that of a plebe, and all that was normal since I was now nothing else than a simple plebe !!!

Suddenly, all plebes were called to attention. They were told to stop immediately eating and to form ranks in order to go and discover their room. More senior Cadets started to gather the dishes and all the leftovers of the meal while the new Plebes started to march. MSG Boldon told me to join them.

We were guided to a big building with a big inscription above the entrance: "Campers and Plebes building". This was the place where summer campers had been staying just before we, the plebes, arrived and where more plebes would stay just before the Spring term. I was ordered to go to a big hall with 20 double bunks. Each bunk had a sort of box where the concerned Plebe could store his clothes, but these boxes had no key !

I put my things on a lower bunk, and noticed there was a friendly looking guy next to the next lower bunk. We sympathized very rapidly: Samuel Pinker was more or less in the same ship as I was.

Samuel Pinker, called Sam, had been sent to BMAJC because his parents thought that he was not mature enough to be alone in a big 4-year college. Like me, he was only 17. The 2-year college structure was reassuring for the parents, and so was the military discipline which would be imposed on their son. They did not listen to their son who told them, to no avail, that he really feared this discipline. His parents, at least, had not enrolled their son in the Early Commissioning Program. Sam, being also plebe, had exactly the same uniform and the same haircut as me.

Moreover, Sam’s parents had decided to send their son in order to force him, against his will, to study stuff he did not like, but they were convinced that it would be a fruitful atmosphere for him. I told him that my situation was very similar, except that I had also been enlisted as an ECP candidate with the fatherly order to become a 2nd LT after two years, and this despite my lack of love for the military. I had also been told to study stuff I did not like. After a few minutes we were friends, that’s something boys of our age can rapidly become … and stop ! Luckily for him, Sam’s parents had NOT enrolled their son in the Early Commissioning Program. In any case, Sam did not want to join the military.

But I was, as of now, an ECP cadet, and thus promised a military career, whether I liked it or not.

A Staff Sergeant appeared from nowhere, followed by two Corporals. One of the CPLs started to hand out sheets and blankets, the other one gave each of us a long and heavy and hard round bag.

The SSG started to explain that we had to fold all our clothes neatly and place them in the box, the plebe on the lower bunk would use the box placed at the left of the double "bed", while the plebe using the top bunk should use the box on the right. The Army boots had to be always clean and shiny: they should be placed under our bunk, on the left for the "lower plebes" and on the right for the "top plebes". The SSG also gave long explanations concerning how to fold our new clothes, how and when we should wear them. Finally he explained how we should make our bed and told us that the big long heavy and hard round bag was called a bolster and that it was meant to rest our head on it during the night, but he added that all our sheets, the blanket and … the bolster had to be completely folded as soon as we woke up (he called that "reveille") and placed in a well defined order at the bottom of our bunk.

I must admit that I knew most of the things he told us, even if I had never used a bolster to sleep. But most of the new plebes were astonished and slightly afraid by this torrent of instructions concerning the clothes and the beds. This was especially the case with the youngest ones, those joining the Academy to enter 9th grade !

To summarize all this, the sport comfortable uniform had to be used, with the tennis shoes, for … sports only, while the BDU and the heavy Army boots had to be worn with the GI cap for chores (that’s how I learned that there would be chores), in classes (but without cap) and when staying or studying together inside, waiting for mess or sleeping time. This sounded to me like an awful program, but it was well designed to force all of us plebes to learn to behave according to the Institution rules, in other words to become good and disciplined cadets. I decided then that I would never be such an animal and that I should discuss ways to escape from BMAJC with Sam, while we were in our neighboring beds, but after lights out.

The 40 plebes on this floor had to share one big set of toilets and one huge shower room provided with washbasins. There was no mirror and the walls were also made of concrete painted in khaki. This was the 1st floor. There were stairs to a second floor, identical to the 1st floor.

The SSG told us:
"Put on your BDU and your boots, while keeping your cap in your right trouser pocket. And HURRY."
Of course, he shouted the last part of his order, and it was stupid to tell us to put our cap in our "right trouser pocket" since this BDU had only one pocket ! I almost expected the next order:
"Now, plebes, make your beds according to the rules. FAST."
The SSG, helped by the two Corporals, inspected each one of us, each bed and each box. The plebes who had respected the orders perfectly learned that they had to pay the price : push-ups !

When the SSG was finally satisfied, he told us to form ranks and the CPLs helped us to do so. The SSG marched us then to the mess hall. Food was being served by more ancient Cadets, but we all had to stand in the position of attention in front of the tables until the other group of 40 plebes had arrived and taken the same position. MSG Boldon then appeared and said:
"Eat and drink. Talking is permitted, but you have only 20 minutes for your meal."

I was really hungry and thirsty: I got hold of all the food I could have and I drank lots of glasses of water. Suddenly, MSG Boldon said:
"Time is up. Stand in the position of attention. Take your position in your rank. HEADS RIGHT."
This last order made us move a little bit and turn to the right. As soon as this was done MSG Boldon told us:
"To the courtyard, in front of the flag. In steps. March !"
We reached the flagpole where the flag of our country was hanging. The MSG told us how to salute, how to salute the flag during flag raising and lowering. We also spent much time learning to march in steps and doing all the usual military moves. The MSG told us how to "stand at attention" and how to "salute in a military way", and also how to make a "turn right" or "turn left". This was true for all new plebes, whether they were ECP cadets or ordinary cadets. The MSG gave the commands but he was assisted by the SSG who took care of our dorm, the SGT in charge of the 2nd floor dorm and four CPLs who kept checking whether we did exactly the right moves. As soon as one of us made an error, he was told to do push-ups. Suddenly a young boy started to cry and the MSG reacted immediately and shouted:
"Plebe, stop crying immediately or I will give you five of the best."
I don’t know if this plebe understood exactly what it meant, but he stopped immediately crying and resumed his exercise. Sam, who was next to me, whispered in my ear:
"Five what ? What did Boldon mean ?"
"Five strokes of the cane, maybe also of the whip."
"He would not dare do such a thing !"
"He did it to me, acting on the order of my father who is a Colonel. May the Army be damned !"

This first military training lasted for about two hours. MSG Boldon told us then to go to bed:
"Bedtime plebes. Go to your respective bunk, undress and carefully fold your clothes in your box. You will learn tomorrow how to clean and iron them. You must keep your undies in bed. Talking is strictly forbidden in the dorms. Now, Forward, MARCH."
So we all marched in step to our dorm, some had already adopted the good attitude: they were swinging their arms in the most military looking way. I purposely blocked my arms, but it was difficult: marching in step really triggers all kinds of reactions and it is a form of conditioning which also influences your mental attitude.

At night, as foreseen, I tried to whisper with Sam, but a CPL suddenly appeared and simply said:
"50 push-ups each, NOW. Talking in the dorms is forbidden and there are moments in the day for that."
We both did our 50 push-ups and I felt really double licked by the Colonel.

The next day, reveille was at 05:00. We had 30 minutes to get clean (shower was compulsory), dressed in sports uniform and to have a clean room. Then came breakfast, with the same ritual as the evening meal the day before, and finally the "raising the flag ceremony". After that we had 15 minutes of "chat time" and then 2 solid hours of military training. When that was done, we were separated into age groups, ordered to change to BDU (and boots) and sent to classes. There we were shown how to recognize the different Army ranks and how to address our superiors. When that was done, it was lunch time, then again changing to sports uniform and having some more military training. The day ended exactly like the previous one. All together, I think that we had less than one hour of free talking time.

The program of the next day was again identical. And so for the following day, except for the Sunday during which Church attendance was compulsory, but military training went on after that.

Most of the plebes entered rather rapidly into the mold provided for them and, after a few days, less than a week, they became obedient, disciplined, plebes ready to be good cadets. Even the young plebe who cried on the first day was soon a gung-ho cadet, ready to obey orders without asking questions. This highly regimented life was, after all, more comfortable because you did not have to think by yourself.

Sam and I resisted, but we realized that we could not do anything. We were both underage since we were only 17, without money and without any ID. We were both stuck in this institution and we finally decided to try to get the best of it and to study seriously what our parents had chosen for us after plebe training was over. We hated this, but we had no choice.

At the end of the first week, all plebes were inspected by NCOs playing the role of educators. The purpose of this inspection was, among other things, to check whether our haircut was still "appropriate". Some plebes had fast growing hair or badly cut hair and they were sent back to the barber to make sure that their haircut remained a very short one.

We were told that this was important for those of us who were going to join the military, which was my case since "the Colonel" had enlisted me as an Early Commissioning Cadet (ECP). All ECP cadets had a forced hair shave every week. At the end of my first week as an ECP plebe, I was so angry because of this reminder of my first forced enlistment that I forgot to be prudent: I told loudly to Sam, while a young guy in SGT uniform was inspecting us:
"These guys in the military, with their so-called baldy, are nothing more than a**holes".
Worse, I made sure that the young SGT had heard me because I was really angry about my present situation.

The young SGT came close to me. He had a nasty look and said:
"Plebe Thorndel, go to the Major’s office. NOW. On the double. And be ready for what will happen there."
I did as I had been told, realizing that I had overdone it with my comment about ‘the military guys’. I expected now to be severely punished, probably 10 strokes of the cane at least ! And the strokes would probably be inflicted by the young SGT I had insulted. This sounded very bad since this young educator seemed furious and also gave the impression that he knew only one method to correct plebes !

I had to wait a few minutes in front of the Major’s office. MSG Boldon entered and I had to wait a little bit more. Then I was told to enter this office. The SGT I had insulted, MSG Boldon and the major were there looking at me. The Major said a few words about my "unacceptable" remark : first because it was a direct attack to an NCO who was my superior, second because it was an attack against the military, of which I was now a member, and thirdly because of the vocabulary I used. I expected a severe punishment but the Major said something I had not expected:
"SGT Garringer, the SGT you insulted, has suggested that you, plebe Thorndel, should be punished by 10 of the whip which he was ready to give you. He assumed that this would let you learn military discipline. Luckily for you, MSG Boldon pleaded in your favor, saying that in fact you did not want the haircut you received, and moreover that your own father took you here under false pretenses. But now you are here, and you are an ECP cadet. So, cadet Thorndel, try to behave according to your status. You will not get the whip, not even the cane, but you are going to apologize in a military way to SGT Garringer who is as of now your direct chief cadet. You will then be taken by him to the brig where you will spend two days, trying to get used to your new status. You will then be returned by SGT Garringer to your plebe training, but only after he completely inspects your appearance, and this includes your haircut."
I turned towards SGT Garringer, saluted as I had learned to do with the Colonel, and I said:
"SGT, this Cadet Private apologizes for the dirty comment he made. This Cadet now realizes that he owes you respect since you are his superior. He is ready to accept the punishment you want to inflict on him."

The young SGT did not say a word, he marched towards me and took me strongly by the right arm. He then led me in silence to a small building I had not visited during my "tour": that was the brig. The SGT pushed me inside the building, then inside a cell and told me to take off all my clothes, boots and cap included. He then gave me a dirty boxer and told me:
"That’s how you will be during your prison time, Cadet. Don’t salute, you are not worthy of doing that as long as you are here."
He then closed the grid serving as a cell door and he locked it from the outside.


My cell was a tiny room, a sort of cage with one wall replaced by bars. There was a tiny window without window pain, simply a small hole in the wall, high up, and provided with bars. There was also a plank where I could sleep at night but a guard told me that I was not allowed to sit during the day. There was a bucket for the necessities and I had access twice a day to a tap. My food and drink were simple : dry bread and water.

After two days, SGT Garringer, the young SGT I had insulted, came back and told me to get out of my cell and to get dressed. I had understood that I was NOT to salute him since in my very reduced clothing, I was no longer a real ECP cadet. The SGT took me then, in complete silence, and still in my dirty boxer, to the barber who gave me a complete and brutal headshave: I was left with not a single hair on my head to protect my skull. SGT Garringer took me then back to the brig where I had had to abandon all my clothes. There the SGT told me: "Plebe, get dressed and quickly."

As soon as I was dressed the SGT told me: "You are now a decent plebe and ECP cadet, behave as such."
Automatically, I saluted my superior !

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