A '59 grad has expressed his unique experience with class bonding: He said: "I electronically mentor a Yearling, '01. I think he benefits from the perspective and advice I give him when asked, and I thoroughly enjoy keeping up with what cadet life is like in 1998.

The other day I was writing him about the 91st Division USAR Alumni Homecoming that I attended on Saturday. My last assignment on active duty was as Deputy Senior Advisor to the Division and this was the first time I'd attended one of these Homecomings since retiring in 1980.

The Division Commander is a '69 grad, a former Social Sciences student of mine, who was a major when I advised the Division and acted as his mentor. He and his people did a great job in explaining to us old timers what was happening to the Division and its future. Interestingly the Division will have USAR, Active Army and some National Guard contingents and he will command them all.

Anyhow, in writing to the Yearling it struck me that one of the wonderful things about West Point, are the links which stretch over the years. Here right on the WP-Forum is a grad from '50 who with his classmates taught me. Also on the Forum are folks from '69 and '70, whom I had the pleasure of teaching. A '68 grad, now the Social Sciences Department Head is a former student. Their classmates and, of course, the Department Head himself, taught cadets who graduated in the late 70's who in turn taught cadets of the late 80's who are now returning as instructors to teach the Yearling I mentor. This is something like five generations that are linked by virtue of having attended the Academy. I can't think of another institution in the US, except perhaps for the other service academies, where this phenomena occurs. It's truly marvelous."

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Shortly before the cadets left for 1998 Christmas leave, a member of the AOG staff asked some cadets if they could come up with one or two good things to say about their Rockbound Highland Home. He was happy to report that no one had any difficulty in responding to his request.

The first came in a paragraph from a plebe, an international exchange cadet from Zagreb, Croatia. In words that often came close to poetry, he connected the Academy's physical with its spiritual grandeur. And in the end, he connected both to his own aspirations:

"It was one day before R-Day, and I had arrived to get a feeling for where I would be spending my next four years. The brochures and calendars that the Academy had sent me failed to do justice to West Point's imposing presence. Standing at the north end of the Plain, looking towards Eisenhower Barracks and Washington Hall, I was struck with awe. The noble air of history was present in the buildings, on the Plain and in the air. I felt as if I were an old man returning to the place of his youth. It filled me with hope and quiet inspiration. The pride and awe that I felt at that moment will forever remain in my consciousness, linking my dreams to their tangible realization."

Another plebe from Spokane, Washington, turned out to be a concise latter-day spokesman for the idealist that lurked somewhere in the souls of most of us when we were cadets.

"Even though it may be a trite answer, what I truly like best about USMA is the moral code which cadets are advised to live by. Cadets are expected to found their lives on values like truth, duty, and honor. That's a wonderful foundation."

I don't think "trite" is a word we'd ever want to apply to a comment like that.

Neither is "trite" the word for the many responses that cited friendships as a great feature of West Point. Here's an example by a Firstie, from Rifle, Colorado:

"Being a cadet at West Point means various things to each individual. However, I find that the tight friendships are the best aspect of being a cadet at USMA. I firmly believe that at no other place are there so many who are willing to give so much for each other. A Captain told my class on Reception Day that we would never make better friends than those made while at the Academy. I now know that he could not have spoken more truthfully."

Another Firstie from Morgan Hill, California, also picked up the theme of friendship, but added another element, "opportunity":

"If I had to nail it down to only a couple of things that I have enjoyed most during my West Point experience, it would have to be the friends I've made and the opportunities that I have been given. I know that the close friends I've made here will be my friends for life, and over the past three and a half years I've learned and done things that I never could have learned or done anywhere else."

These and the other responses I received further confirm something I'd concluded during my years of teaching in the English Department. Beneath their grumbling and their surface cynicism about their so-called imprisonment on the banks of the Hudson, most cadets know how fortunate they are. Though they won't always admit it, most of them recognize that West Point is a beautiful place. Most of them cherish its values. They understand that membership in the Corps involves them in a deep, enduring brother - and sisterhood. They realize that the four-year experience at the Academy enriches them in countless ways. In short, most cadets appreciate the gift they've been given.

---

-------Cadet memories of MacArthur-------

The following came from the "A-1 Company History 1948-1998" compiled by now LT Toby Johnson, '98:

"On 12 May '62, Douglas MacArthur delivered his Farewell Address in Washington Hall as we all sat attentively at our tables. (My classmates and I were yearlings then.) I could write you many pages about MacArthur's speech, the finest public oration I shall probably ever hear. But what one saw in the man-and felt coming from the man...well, these were of even greater importance than his well-chosen words. At the end of his speech,there was not a non-glistening eye around my table-and I suppose not anywhere in Washington Hall. (Can you imagine? Among would-be hard-bitten,tough-guy cadets?)"

-------MacArthur story #2-------

As the only cadet from Mrs. MacArthur's hometown of Murfreesboro, TN., I was detailed to be her escort during the mess hall ceremony and the GENERAL's speech. I reported very early in dress gray over white to the stairs leading to the poop deck, as directed by MAJ Tallman, F2's TAC. Eventually the party arrived and I was introduced to Mrs. MacArthur and we proceeded to the poop deck where a table for 10 or 12, as best I remember, was set up. My anxiety increased as the place cards showed the names of the wives of the Secretary of the Army, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Chief of Staff, etc. Also there were several members of the cadet brigade staff with the many and varied shaped stripes on their full dress gray over white uniforms. Out of uniform, outranked in every respect, I attended to Mrs. MacArthur, seated her and we began the meal. I wasn't very hungry by this point, but she took it as her charge to see that I ate a full meal. We finished the apple pie with cheese and I breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. At which point Mrs. MacArthur decided I needed another dessert. She reached across the table to the dessert of one of the other ladies, and told her, "Mildred (or whatever her name was) you don't really need this." And gave it to me. And I stuffed it down an already constricted, rapidly drying throat. We talked briefly about Murfreesboro. I knew where her home was located. It was a point of some local historical note. I told her I remembered going to the local football stadium in the early 50's when she and the GENERAL visited Murfreesboro and were honored by a parade. I think this occurred upon his relief from Korea and return to retirement. I didn't have much else in common and small talk didn't come easy for this slick sleeved 19 year old yearling.

When it came time for the presentations and the speech, we moved her chair to the edge of the railing and I stood behind her. She strained to hear the words and as I recall only the thundering words of , "Duty, Honor, Country" were easily distinguishable. Other phrases were caught, but it was hard listening. They brought the GENERAL's stenographer and she sat at the railing also with here steno book, transcribing as much as she could. I recall Mrs. MacArthur, saying that she didn't think that the speech was written down. Prepared, but not written. Hence the need to have the stenographer there. Or it was perhaps in the expectation that he would modify it as he sensed the moment and the need. I am not sure.

When the ceremony was over, we left the poop deck, she thanked me and left with the official party. I think I knew this was a significant happening, but quite frankly was more relieved that it was over than interested in savoring this moment in history.

Several weeks later my Mother told me that she received a nice note from Mrs. MacArthur saying she had shared lunch with me and enjoyed talking about Murfreesboro and probably some other chit chat. I never saw the actual note. Over the next years, the speech and the event had a special meaning to me, far different than the power of the actual words and the message and the eloquence with which he delivered it. Fast Forward to 1985. I was then the Regimental TAC Officer of the 3d Regiment. At a cadet event I briefly related this story to the Superintendent, LTG Willard Scott, when he mentioned that he was on his way to NY City to stop by Mrs. MacArthur's suite. He said he would include me in the invitations for lunch in the spring prior to the Navy baseball game. Mrs. MacArthur and Red Reeder were coming up for the game.

On the Saturday of the Navy baseball game we met at the Supe's quarters. My wife and I were introduced to Mrs. MacArthur, and I was identified as being at the table where she sat for the Speech in 1962. She said that truthfully she didn't remember me. The only one she could remember was a young cadet who was obviously scared to death whom she had to make eat. I told her I was that cadet. We had a more relaxed lunch than my first with her and met her later at the ball game. She and Red reminisced about people and events and the game was over.

And so the story ends. Probably the most unique event of my life, not defining or necessarily important, but unique.

-------MacArthur story #3-------

I am sure that everyone remembers that about the only way for a Plebe to get a meal (AKA "fallout") if you weren't a member of a corps squad was either
(1) a "Dear John" (did that) or
(2) going to football practice to support the team. I did that too, because I like to eat; and I didn't do much of that at meals for about eleven months.

Late one afternoon while I was cheering the team at practice, a black car pulled up beside the old practice field (Clinton Field?). General Westmoreland and an old man in a Navy blue suit got out of the car and walked toward me. They stood, chatted and watched the team for a while. Eventually, the "old man" approached me and asked my name and company. I responded "Cadet Williams, Sir. Company H-2". He then asked the big question. "Son, who do you think will win the Navy game?" (Since all of these "memories" began to pour forth I have pondered whether to repeat this tale, as I am still embarrassed 39 years later about the next part.)

Having also been taught as a kid and a Plebe that truth was mighty important, I bravely answered "Sir, the Navy will." The old man's face went red - and Westy went pale. The old man responded "Young man, with that attitude I have no doubt that the Navy will win." He then turned abruptly and walked toward the black car with Westy in hot pursuit. I figured I had probably made a mistake. A few paces later, General Westmoreland executed a perfect "To the rear, March" and headed back in my direction. He arrived quickly (at about Double Time) and asked a pretty scared Plebe: "Mister, do you know whom you just told that Army will lose the Navy game?" Proper Plebe response: "Sir, I do not know!" Response from Westy: "General MacArthur, Dumbsmack".

Well, I remember feeling pretty sick and wondering if he would "tell on me''. I beat it back to my room (49th Division, First Floor) and shared the story with my roommates (I believe they were Buck Tanner and Phil Wherry (ex 64)). I do not believe they were favorably impressed with the extent of my commitment to the truth.

We then marched off to dinner. I did not get the fallout. Upon entering Washington Hall, I could hear several agitated beings requesting that H-2 send over "the idiot" that told MacArthur we would lose the game. I did not eat much for several days as I recall.

Like Dan's, a truly unique experience - one which I did not need. By the way, Navy won. Anybody remember Joe Bellino? I still feel red and flushed with embarrassment as I read this again.

-------MacArthur #4-------

General MacArthur's acceptance of the Thayer award.

I don't think I ever heard it so quiet as during his speech--and not from being asleep.

I first returned to A-1 eight or nine years ago when my son was attending hockey camp in the summer. I had a strange mixture of memories as I walked through the empty East Barracks. My memories were not just of my classmates, but of the other classes there with me - '65, '66,' and '67.

When I walked through the barracks, in my mind I could see old friends and remember old times. I was deeply saddened as I counted how many were killed or wounded. This experience we had in our company was duplicated many times and I could have just as easily written about the First Battalion as A-1. We all were soldiers, but somehow it seems much more painful to contemplate it 30 years later. It is odd that the Army and war should give you a greater understanding of love because how else do you describe the great regard you hold for your classmates and other soldiers who fought with you?

It is not apparent how deeply West Point influences your attitude and view of life until you have a distance of years. You can be alone or with others and duty, honor, country will dictate your actions. I never doubted how some of my classmates died even though they died alone. On the other hand, it never ceases to amaze me how civilians are so easily tempted to lie, cheat, steal or neglect their duty or country because it is not in their self-interest. It is a contrast to which I have never become accustomed.

From a 1985 grad:

Military knowledge is important, and as I said the other day, I think some of the things I learned at West Pont (Camp Buckner, Sandhurst Competition, Tactics Club, etc.) were of particular importance to me as an Infantry Officer later. But West Point also has to paint for aspiring officers the "big picture" of the country, the military, and officership. I think that things such as Plebe knowledge serve three important -- but hard to quantify -- purposes.

1) Teaches the individual to meet and surpass standards of performance and have some pride in self (memorizing large amounts of material exactly, not "sort of")

2) Instills in him some of the fundamental philosophies of good officership (Worth's Bn Orders, Schofield's Def of Discipline, etc.)

3) Creates a link to past members of the Corps of Cadets (when a visiting grad asks you "How's the Cow?", you can respond in a manner that at once brings him into the present Corps, links you with the old, and exhibits the appreciation you have for the history of the institution.

As a personal aside, I relished the opportunity -- as a Plebe -- to recite poop for "Old Grads." I really did feel like it helped to bridge the years between us. And if I could not answer, it was not because I had it poorly memorized -- it was because it was no longer part of our regimen and I *EXPECTED* the "old grads" to lodge a complaint and for any piece of deleted poop to reappear in a subsequent issue of Bugle Notes. I think there is a lot to be said for continuity through oral tradition. Disregard for such traditions breeds contempt.

Karson Snyder

Dick: Can't believe that I'm actually sitting and having a conversation with "The Shadow". [Editor's note: Dick was a TAC in '63-'64 and was tagged with the nickname of The Shadow by the cadets.]

Dick, I wrote that a few weeks ago and as I have thought about it, I see another ramification to my statement. How can a 60 year old write to a 71 year old that he doesn't believe that he is having "a conversation"? But that is the beauty of this "class to class." Some part of me will always be that 22 year old cadet.

I also had a tour at West Point and know what influence that can have on the cadets that were there when one was on the staff or faculty. I met one of my former students in Italy after my tour in the English Department. It was obvious to me that I had had an impact on him.

I also refer you to the note that I wrote to my classmates about my Beast Company Commander. This man, class of '61, was my company commander in beast, recognized me plebe year, put one of my brothers through Artillery OCS several years later, and then taught English to my other brother at West Point. I then served with him in the English Department. [Editor's note: See Barracks Life stories.]

When I said that I couldn't believe that "I was having this conversation with 'The Shadow'" it was because I failed momentarily to recognize that we ARE all linked together. Regards.

Art Kelly '64

To completely understand the following story, one must understand the term 'forum'. On the Internet is an address called WP-FORUM which is restricted to Graduates of West Point where graduates may discuss matters relating to West Point and ask for advice. The following is but one example of a grad asking for advice and goes to show how the members of the LGL come to the aid of one seeking advice.

Members of the forum,

I would like to use the forum to request some advice from those of you who have been in the Army for a while and might be able to help me make a decision. I graduated last May as an infantry officer, and I've been at Ft. Benning since July. I've completed IOBC and the Bradley Leader's Course, and I am still supposed to go to Airborne and Ranger School.

However, here's where the problem comes in.

Last Tuesday during a PT run, I tore some ligaments in my ankle and now I have to wear a cast for 4 weeks. I was supposed to start Airborne School on Monday and then go to Ranger School on 5 April. But, now that I'm in this cast, I can't do that. The doctor told me that for every week in the cast, it will take two weeks to completely recover, so basically I will not be able to get back into training for at least 12 weeks.

I have two options open to me at this point. First, I can stay here at Ft. Benning, wait to heal, and then go to my schools, which will mean that I won't get to my unit until probably August. Since we only have 18 months until we make 1LT, that means that I will only be a 2LT at my unit for 4 months. My second option is to go ahead and PCS to Ft. Hood, get my platoon, and actually feel like I'm doing something productive for my pay. I can always come back to Benning and get my Ranger tab after my platoon time.

I'd like to ask the advice of all members of the forum about what I should do in my current predicament. I am leaning towards asking them to PCS me to Hood so that I can do something useful for the Army. I would really like some guidance, so if any of you have any suggestions for me, please feel free to respond either on-line or off. Thank you in advance for any help that you can give me.

Scott Abram
2LT, IN

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After many responses to his above request, Scott messaged:

Asking the question was one of the best moves that I could have made in my current situation. The response that I got from members of the forum was overwhelming. I heard from so many people that it made me realize how fortunate I am to have graduated from West Point. I got responses from grads from 1944 all the way up to 1990, including my Regimental Tactical Officer, from the last two years, and a former OIC of the Glee Club when I was a cadet (MAJ Dribben, you thought that nobody would remember that, didn't you?) It made me realize how strong the Long Gray Line is, and how much West Point has formed a bond between its grads throughout the years.

I have made a decision based on the advice that I received from all quarters, including my family, my friends here at Ft. Benning, members of the forum, and even my former Tac NCO from West Point. I have decided to stay here at Ft. Benning, get well, and get my wings and my tab before I go to my unit. I realize that this course of action will be the best one for me in the long run, even though it means that I'll have to stay here and blackbird at the Benning School for Boys for a while longer.

Thanks again to all of you for the advice. It really helped me to make a decision, and I appreciate the support.

Scott Abram
2LT, IN, '98

"Who can tell when one casts a pebble into the water that the ripples will not become a tidal wave on a far off shore?"

I live in a blue collar city, with a very high minority population. Many of these people are immigrants, or the children of immigrants, and quite a few are both economically and socially disadvantaged.

Last June I attended a Parents Club Picnic for the 40 new members of the Class of 2002 who were about to enter the Academy. Though I noticed some Brown faces, Asian faces and many White faces, there were no Black faces. As I spoke with some of the entering new cadets and checked the roster, it was immediately apparent that there were no young people from the local black community. So I decided to take some action to make qualified students from that area aware of the opportunities that West Point offered.

The Director of Army Instruction for the local Unified School District, LTC(R) Vern Clark, a good friend with whom I'd served a couple of times, said he would help. Vern is an African-American officer who has devoted the last 19 years to helping kids here in our area. Vern convinced the Chief Counselor for the School District, to help. The Chief Counselor is fairly liberal, but readily agreed to help. The Chief Counselor is Caucasian. As I'll explain later, they both took some flak for their efforts.

Vern and I concluded that the best way to make qualified high school students aware of the West Point opportunity was to hold a West Point Night, where we would invite selected students and their parents to attend a formal presentation. It was scheduled for 23 March. I drafted a letter to parents telling them that their student children were potential candidates for West Point. Vern and Marilyn then focused on finding students with a 3.5 or higher GPA. Vern's office then sent the letters, on West Point letter head over my signature. Meanwhile I was working with the Spanish Speaking Citizen's Foundation and the Director of Transfer Programs. The Foundation has counselors at the various local high schools and they agreed to screen prospective candidates and invite them to the presentation.

Unfortunately Vern and the Chief Counselor took flak from some school officials because some of the parents had complained about the "military" contacting them and their children.

CPT Kelly Miller, Commander of the Far West Admissions Region, and CPT Carlos Trujillo, the Minority Outreach Officer for the West also provided a great deal of support. Kelly, a University of Arkansas graduate, is a veteran of Desert Storm, rigger qualified and one sharp, dedicated airborne officer. Carlos, Class of '94, a former Corps Squad Lacrosse player, is also a sharp officer, professional and dedicated to his mission. Both flew out here on the 23d, Kelly to give the presentation and Carlos to assist and then join me the following day for follow up meetings. LTC Tom Strehle, USAR, '77, the Military Academy Liaison Officer responsible for Northern California and MAJ Keith Fink, USAR, '82, the Oakland MALO, volunteered to attend the presentation as did LTC Dick Wenzel, USAR, the MALO for southern Alameda county.

By the 22d, we'd received about 67 RSVPs and were also anticipating drop ins. We figured if we ultimately got 50 students and family, we'd judge the event a success. The attendance exceeded our expectations. Carlos, Vern and I greeted the parents and the students at the entrance to OUSD's Huerta Hall Conference Room. Marilyn Harryman circulated amongst the parents, talking to all of them. The parents and students truly reflected the local population: Mexican, Chinese, and Vietnamese Americans plus Asians from other countries of origin. Many were immigrants, even some of the students. There were also African-Americans and even two Caucasians. Many of the parents displayed a mixture of humbleness and self-effacement, and pride.

I observed the rapt faces of the parents and students as Kelly gave his presentation and showed the West Point video. The looks on their faces seemed to reflect a feeling that they were becoming part of something they never imagined they'd experience; that they were being given a shot at the American dream, of opportunity. The presentation was concluded by a local High School student, who enters the Academy with the Class of 2003. He is the first local student to attend the Academy in many, many years. He gave his fellow students a rousing talk, the basic thrust of which was "if you want to attend West Point, go for it and don't let any obstacles get in your way."

We all stayed after the presentation to answer specific parent and student questions. As I talked to some of the kids and parents, giving them advice on how to gain admission to the Academy, offering encouragement and giving them my business card, I noticed this man and his young son, a ninth grader, sitting on chairs patiently waiting to talk to me. I walked over and the father, a diminutive Mexican immigrant, barely able to speak English, said in a very humble way, "Colonel, Senor, my son would like to do this, can you help him and us?" I was almost instantly overcome with a flood of thoughts and emotions. I thought of my immigrant grandfather with his Yiddish accent, proud that his family had truly joined America when I received my West Point appointment; of my mother, born in Hungary who with her parents and sisters had overcome so much to achieve success. "Yes," I told him, "if your son is willing to work hard in school, I'll personally help him." The boy looked at me and said "I promise you that I will." And the father nodded his head and said "He will."

Later that night I could hardly sleep. I thought of what attending West Point had meant to me and so many others. I thought of classmates like Nick Krawciw who were immigrants or the children of immigrants. I thought of my West Point room mate of four years, Roger Quinn, unfortunately KIA in Vietnam, son of an immigrant Serbian mother and an Irish American steel mill worker father who survived the depression by working for the WPA. And I thought of other classmates from humble beginnings who got their piece of the American dream by attending USMA. And the effort of the past couple of months seemed minuscule compared to the dreams that we offered that night.

Bill Schwartz '59

West Point is more than just an institution of higher learning for the best and brightest, it is a national treasure. But like any treasure, it is too often hidden from the view of those who haven't been given the opportunity to dream that they too can reach the horizon of their abilities.

On a smaller scale than Bill addressed, I was successful this past year in recruiting a young Oklahoma Choctaw Indian boy who was an outstanding kid, but who had no idea that West Point would be open to him. Until I found him, he was planning to work his way through school, given the fact that his mother had three other children to support.

Today, he is ranked high in his class and has just been accepted as a new member of the Black Knights skydiving team ... and the elders of the Choctaw Nation in Oklahoma are well aware that they have a "young warrior" at the United States Military Academy.

Who can tell when one casts a pebble into the water that the ripples will not become a tidal wave on a far off shore?

Best wishes and God Bless,

Ed Wheeler

Its good to know that West Point and the other service academies continue to offer a dream for some.

Sometimes we tend to forget that until the GI Bill was passed after World War II, most high school graduates did not go on to college. West Point and Annapolis offered the only opportunities for many young men to do so. For every wealthy Patton, there were probably two or three Bradleys and Eisenhowers, for whom West Point was their only chance.

My Dad was 1 of 11 children of a poor Indiana farmer. He heard about West Point when someone who was dating one of his sisters, bragged about how he planned to get an appointment. The next day, my Dad went to his congressman and asked for that appointment. He got it, my aunt's date did not. He entered West Point a week before his 21st birthday. He loved telling the story, and my aunt's date, who became my uncle, would laugh and tell about arriving at the Congressman's office the next day and finding out that Austin had been there when the office opened.

Austin 'Bud' Miller, '57

Bill,

A heart-warming post, and thanks for sharing it with us.

It also reminded me how West Point joins us together across the years and in so many different ways. Roger was the Company Commander of my first unit after I graduated: Company B, 3rd Battalion, 70th Armor. He was a fine officer, and I was saddened when I learned that he had been KIA. Now, after all these years, I learn something new about him that he never shared with us -- even in the wee hours of long field exercises in the cold, German winters when there was a lull and we would get to talking of home, loved ones, and other nostalgic subjects.

Your post was a two-fer -- uplifting on the one hand, a poignant reminder of the price we were all prepared to pay on the other. Thanks.

And I hope to see a follow-up report next year that one of those youngsters who attended the meeting has been accepted to the United States Military Academy.

Curtis Davis, 64

Thanks for this story. When I get frustrated about how it appears that the American Dream is passing some by, tales like this remind me to broaden my viewfinder [I personally had one of these moments on Graduation Day, when my grandmother told me how proud my grandpop (WWII vet, died before I received my appointment to WP) would have been to see that day].

Without a doubt the best way each of us can make a difference is to reach back and grab someone to pull along the path we call the Dream. Good luck to you and your future cadet.

Norm Grady '81

In 1976 the first females were admitted to USMA. This was a difficult transition for males and females alike. Learning to combine the genders took the hard work and the suffering of pioneers.

The blending of the sexes is still an ongoing process, although far easier on both today than in the first few classes that admitted women.

As always, good came with bad. The following accounts reflect a time of transition, where tolerance was in short order. And still, they succeeded.

In response to some questions/requests you made.
How did the guys treat you? There would be about 523,000 answers to that (119 women x 4400 total cadets). But something that caught me quite off-guard was the transition from beast to the school year. In beast the new cadets outnumber the upperclassmen about 10:1, during the school year its about 3:1 reversed to the upperclassmen's favor.

I came into West Point expected to be hated, mistreated, etc. But it seems that West Point sent the summer (beast) cadre through some sort of human relations training prior to letting them loose on us. They were also more closely monitored than during the school year. This had the effect of making them more circumspect in their comments and treatment of us. We were still sometimes singled out, but for the most part it was pretty livable that first summer, I have pretty good memories of beast, not because it was so easy or fun, but there was tremendous comraderie. Beast squad leaders as a rule are pretty protective of "their" new cadets which tends to temper the treatment of other's in the company, (at least when there are others around, weekend evenings were a noticeable exception and the time when those with the biggest ax to grind would seek us out).

This caused me to let my guard down going into the academic year. I went to a "haze" company. None of these guys had been through any kind of interpersonal skills training, and we were outnumbered 3:1. Tac's didn't have their offices in the company areas then either so the upperclassmen were largely unsupervised. It was hell. Things happened that were explicitly forbidden in the 4th class systems manual--like causing plebes to report to an upperclassman's room prior to reveille. The upperclassmen frequently commented to us that their mission was to see that we didn't graduate. They also did their best (and they were largely successful here) to set our male classmates against us, chiding them that allowing us to graduate would call their manhood into question.

It was not uncommon to find the female cadets in our company (and there were 8 of us initially out of about 35 plebes) to all find ourselves with head duties, nearly every week, (obviously someone was playing with the duty roster). We (like most who survive in a hostile territory) developed skills to survive. One that served us well all the way through our junior year was eavesdropping. The upperclassmen would gather ouside the CO/1st Sgt/ XO's room after taps to plot which one of the women they would single out for special harrassment the next day. This location just happened to be directly across from the airvents in the women's latrine/shower room. So we would noiselessly gather in the latrine and listen at the airvent to learn their plans. We would then make sure that the targeted woman stayed out of the company area as much as possible, the rest of us would cover her duties that day. We employed this tactic all the way through our junior year---at one point the class of '79 (last of the line, last all male class, yadda yadda) made some feeble last ditch efforts as seniors to get us out as their parting "good deed". We were again employing this tactic when a couple of the plebe women in our company wandered into the latrine. This caused us to read them into this and other tactics that we had successfully employed to survive.

Other random thoughts

Were we "cliquish"? You must be kidding! One woman was a tempting target, 2 or 3 together was a little like waving a red flag at a bull--not to be passed up! On the other hand, we often didn't get much support from out male classmates, they became targets if they were seen with us, so we did stick together (just usually out of anyone's eyesight). One of my biggest regrets is not getting to know my female classmates better than I did. We were pretty effectively isolated. There were only 3 companies per regiment that had women that first year. Being seen in another company area--particularly for a woman who stuck out like a sore thumb was suicidal. For the most part we were entirely too busy to "hang out", and I think that we also all believed that for us to gather in some sort of obvious solidarity would only further the we/they problem. When we were able to get away on teams and other forums we were very congenial, had a great time, but on a day to day basis there was very little ability to provide support and encouragement beyond one's own roommates. If we had had email back then I think it would have been very different. The sense of isolation would have been much less, and the ability to cross level knowledge and thereby fight "illegal" harrassment reduced.

I'm sure you've heard all about tailless full dress coats--ours was the only class to wear them.

Haircuts too were a source of great harrassment or heartache. Regulations said that your hair could not "stick out" (be wider than) the brim of your hat. The brims of our hats were narrower than the men's, we had more hair, putting us constantly in the babershop to address a "problem" that simply couldn't be remedied. Pretty ugly haricuts were the result for most of us.

Makeup was also a source of great harrassment. If you wore it you were generally labeled a "whore" and accused of trying to "get over". If you didn't your looks and sexual orientation were generally attacked.

Regs said we were authorized to wear "skin toned" pantyhose, which to us meant not black, blue, red, etc. Some upperclassmen insisted that the color of the hose had to match the skin color on our arms exactly or we were written up for being "out of uniform", never mind that the cadet store only carried 1 or 2 shades.

We did have our fun however. We were authorized to bring our own underwear. Though white or beige was "suggested", and was what most of us started out with, it was not mandated. When we saw how flustered the upperclassmen got during inspections when confronted with panties and bras that didn't fold into nice neat squares we had a field day. We promptly went out (or called home for) the brightest, laciest underwear we could find.

Upperclassmen were not authorized to barge into our rooms. They were required to knock on our doors. If someone was not decently clad we were to say "dressing" which required the upperclassman to wait until we told them they could enter. We often took to hanging out in our rooms in our underwear just to make them wait. This tactic also enabled us to, on occasion, drink in the barracks. I in fact still have pics we took of ourselves sitting around the room in our underwear drinking champagne to celebrate my birthday.

Sonya (Nikituk) Martin
'80

In an apparent loss of all common sense, some power-that-was decided to eliminate pockets from the trousers of female cadets. We were told that this was to minimize our rounder hips so that we would appear more "uniform." The poor women in '80 suffered further indignity of having the tails of their FD coats removed, supposedly for the same reason. Naturally, these boneheaded tailoring moves had the reverse effect, making the feminine anatomy all the more distinctive in formation.

Someone also decided that women needed smaller, more "feminine" bills on their dress gray and white caps. But to make them look the same in formation, the bills had to be tilted down at an extreme angle. This created an absurd visual barrier, exacerbating the plebe handicap of having one's head and eyes straight to the front. In order to make eye contact with any upper classman (and they were usually taller than the female cadet) a woman had to crank her neck back until her head practically grazed her spine. It was really stupid. On a really bad day, the reduced visibility of the tilted bill would cause a woman to collide with an obstacle, and when her hat flew off, out spilled her wallet, ID card, money and all the other items that male cadets were allowed to put in their pockets, but of course, she had no pockets!

Celia FlorCruz
Select Few, '82

A Special Visit to West Point
by Tony Ferraiuolo

If I were to ask any one of you to define what the Long Gray Line is or what it means to you, I am sure that I would get a variety of answers. Probably they would center on themes such as being connected, camaraderie, tradition, a legacy of leaders, part of history, and the like.

Looking in from my more than 40 years of affiliation with this great institution, I view the Long Gray Line as graduates of the United States Military Academy standing shoulder to shoulder, clasping hands, and most important, being there for one another!

In my position of Director, Class Support Program, many of the calls and e-mails that come my way are on the fringes of my charter of providing support to classes. And though they come from individuals, the requests don’t fall into the structure of the Alumni Services Program that operates out of the Office of Alumni Support either. They are requests from people asking for assistance or information that may, at first, seem personal, but, put in the proper perspective, the requests are really just another way for me to live up to my responsibility for providing the highest level of class support possible. Let me give you an example. Jim Melesky, a member of the Class of ’71, recently called me looking for some assistance. He wanted to bring the son of a classmate who had died several years ago to visit West Point. Alex is a freshman in high school, and, like any young man in his situation, he had a desire to learn more about his father. Jim believed that the visit to West Point might help Alex understand what a day in his father’s life as a West Point cadet might have been like. Jim was looking for something a little more than the standard tourist’s itinerary. He had already made arrangements with Fr. Wood of the Catholic Chaplain’s office to meet Alex and him at the grave of Alex’s father to offer some prayers. Jim, in the tradition of the members of the Long Gray Line, was reaching through his fallen classmate as he helped that classmate’s son. The whole event made Jim feel even closer to his former classmate.

I mentioned the impending visit to Seth Hudgins, who asked me to bring Jim and Alex by to see him when they came to West Point. So when they arrived, and after we gave Jim the standard visitor’s packet for graduates, I escorted Alex and him up to Seth’s office where Seth took time out of his busy schedule to talk with Alex and to express genuine interest in him. At the conclusion of the visit, Seth sent Alex off with an Academy-crest pin for his shirt and a West Point baseball cap.

Then Jim and I took Alex on a tour of the Alumni Center. The first place we visited was the Memory Room. From the many large, black, leather-bound books in alphabetical order on the shelves, I drew the first one marked with the letter “C.” As I opened it to the page with John Michael Cavalieri written across the top and showed it to Alex, he was able to see firsthand what the Long Gray Line was all about. There were twenty-four entries, with the names of family members, friends, and classmates who had made contributions to the AOG in memory of his father.

Before the scheduled visit, I had contacted the TAC of company G-1, the company to which Alex’s father had been assigned while he was a cadet. Without hesitation, CPT Jeff Toomer arranged for Alex to visit the company and see one of the rooms where his father had lived. He also arranged a visit to the gym. While there, Alex visited the basketball court where his father and a classmate, Bruce Michalowski ‘70, whom Alex knew, had shot hoops together during recreation period when Bruce was in con during cadet days. Jim was also able to hook Alex up with his nephew, Cadet Robert Kolb ’02, son of Rickey Kolb ’69, who arranged for Alex to have lunch in the Mess Hall, where he got to meet several members of the football team. Later they sat in on an afternoon class.

The day ended with the visit to the cemetery. As they both rode back home, Jim felt that his relationship with Alex and John had grown deeper. Alex’s manner was more open and animated than it had been on the drive up. He had had a good day! Alex will have the many photos he took, his baseball cap and lapel pin, and most important, the friendship of his father’s classmate to remind him of his visit to West Point. I am sure that he now has a better understanding of the Long Gray Line and what it means.

Who knows? Maybe in a few years Alex will make another trip to West Point to enter the Class of 2006 and eventually follow in his father’s footprints and become a member of that same Long Gray Line.

Another example of bonding occurred in 1999 when John Ward, 1964 grad, found a notice of a 1983 West Point ring being advertised on one of the auction sites on the Internet. John posted a message to the WP-FORUM, a site restricted to Academy graduates early on Monday, 12 April 1999. In the evening of the same day, Ray Nelson, a 1983 grad, messaged back thanking John for the message and that he had contacted the individual listing the ring before the ring had been sold and requested the lister to let him find the original owner of the ring. The ring had no name inscribed in it.

Early Tuesday morning, 13 April 1999, another message was posted by Hugh Harris, 1983 grad, as follows:

Let me echo Ray's thank you and update you and the Forum on the status of this '83 ring for sale.

The current owner is Don Maggioli, '80. As a collector of WP 'stuff' he bought the ring at a flea market about 10 years ago. At that time he attempted to find the owner through the Academy, AOG, etc. but, because there was no name engraved inside, was unsuccessful. After your post here and Dempsey Darrow's, 1975 grad, thoughtful follow-up with our class moderator, Mr. Maggioli received over 100 email messages from 83 grads imploring him to pull the ring off the market and allow us to find the rightful owner. He has graciously allowed us to do so, pulled the ring off of his site, and we are searching for the owner.

One note. I was absolutely in awe of how our class pulled together around this issue. The "ties that bind" truly transcend the years and distance.