Last Updated: 3/18/99
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MEMORIESFond Memories On the evening before the upperclassmen went home for Christmas it was tradition that the plebes would try to force fully clothed upper classmen into the showers. Yearling year I roomed with Dave Parrish who later played halfback on "A" squad and Hank Foldberg, first string right end on the football team during the so-called Davis-Blanchard era. He was, of course, All-American in football, played varsity lacrosse and basketball. He was also, the strongest guy I've ever known. One did not mess with Foldberg.(The two companies, L-2, and M-2 consisted of a lot of football linemen, Barney Poole,Fuson, Hank, Dewitt Coulter, Goble Bryant, et.al.) The plebes were, of course, of similar height. The night before we left for holidays Hank had been with his academic coach, my classmate, Bernie Greenbaum. As he returned to our room and reached our floor a contingent of about 7 plebes -- all big strong guys in their own right, grabbed him and dragged him to the sinks at the end of the hall. Parish and myself not wishing for a shower at the moment, barred our door from plebe invaders. We could hear the sounds of the struggle in the sinks. After about 5 minutes of listening to the sounds of battle, Parrish and I realized that if we didn't go down there to help Foldberg, he would make our lives miserable in the room. So - riding to the sounds of battle -- we charged down the hall to help our roomie. When we opened the door, what our eyes beheld was Hank in acorner using the intersecting walls for bracing and the plebes -- half of whom were soaked from having been pushed into the shower by Hank. Hank was battling these giant plebes and winning although -- as strong as he was --he had to ultimately succumb to the oversized doolies. Dave and I pitched in and the result was a bunch of wet cadets - plebes and we three yearlings. THE
MISSING FACE ON THE MURAL. ALARM
CLOCK IN HAT AT GRADUATION PARADE. SQUADS
RIGHT, MARCH!. YOGI/CASEY
READS THE ORDERS.
We have some great memories. Some good. Some wonderful. Many not so wonderful. At any rate this is what we share. In our day we were not underchallenged that's for sure, but that's what we signed up for. We would have been disappointed if it was easy. We have a great class. You could cut out the B.S. thank you, but overall, I think some of the classes have been cheated out of the richness of the experience we shared.
I don't think of myself as a grey hog type, yet I must confess that I'm walking the dog on a fall Saturday morning I find myself humming Army football songs to the cadence of my walking. Like, "Fight away, Fight away, all you Army men in grey, go charging down the field, a smashing every play. Through the line, every time, break away with all your might, No Navy in the world can stop the Army's FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!" Remembering marching through the fall leaves to breakfast singing songs such as these. Do they still do this? This is the richness of our experience.
Another very fond memory was the Sunday handball team of Monsignor Moore and Father McCormack - known as the Moore-McCormack Line after the ship company, they would issue challenges from the pulpit as part of the announcements. The young priest seemed to keep everything in play and the older Monsignor had a kill shot that was hard to believe. Never did win over these guys!
Memories from a '49 grad
(FROM THE A-1 50 YEAR HISTORY BOOK)
"West Point saved me...by instilling the ideal of service above self - to do my duty for my country regardless of what personal gain it brought, and even if brought no gain at all. It gave me far more than a military career - it gave me a calling." General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, It Doesn't Take A Hero, Bantam Books, c.1992
"Yea-a-a-a-a-ay Furlo-o-o-o-o-ough!" From the early 1800s, when cross country travel was by horse or carriage and roads were poor, through the 1930s, cadets upon becoming second classmen were granted a summer furlough of sixty days or so to visit their families or whatever. In the 1930s some second classmen took summer jobs building the Bear Mountain bridge. The last pre-WWII summer saw the "last furlough." In late August 1941 the "cows came home" for the last time; that was the Class of 1943, later designated January 1943. Some among them were unhappy, sullen, unpressed, haircut-needing-"What is furlough, mister?" "A snare and a delusion, sir!" After Pearl Harbor the word came down that West Point would convert to a three-year course. But in the fall months of 1941, the yearlings (Class of 1944, later June 1943) dreamed of furlough. Occasionally at evening meals, at one section or another in the Cadet Mess, a few yearlings would take up the cry, "Yea-a-a-a-a-ay..." That yearning, homesick call would spread to yearlings at other tables. It would gain in strength, fill the space, stretch out across the Cadet Mess until breaths expired, ending with... "Furlo-o-o-o-o-ough!" The Class of 1944 (nee 1945) never made that cry, but we were the last Class to hear it, never to be recaptured. We were also the last Class to live in Summer Camp-with its four-man tents and its long trek to the "sinks" where Kosciusko's Monument now stands- across the Plain at Camp Clinton. We joined the yearlings there for a month in late July 1941, were there by ourselves in June 1942 when we marched as a Class, under Bill Steger the senior yearling corporal, in khakis with packs and boots and flat steel helmets, in a patriotic parade down Fifth Avenue (you never saw such lines-and the rifles!). That July we were there with first classmen taking turns at Beast Barracks while the second class was I know not where but not on furlough. In August 1942, after Beast Barracks, the Corps opened up the newly completed Camp Buckner, and Summer Camp on the Plain, with, for the plebes, its interior guard & guard mount, dancing lessons (a relief from yearling hazing), tryouts for the Cadet Choir, and drill, drill, drill (some were lucky enough to have visitors, even femmes), was never to be again. Jack Cushman, '44 After seeing the above story from Jack Cushman, '44, Bud Miller, a '57 grad sent Jack the following message: Jack Was that furlough the only time cadets were allowed to leave West Point, other than football trips, class trips and cadet activity trips? No weekend leaves for firsties? My Dad's Howitzer ('33) shows a trip to Langley and Norfolk--2nd class year or 1st class year? Did the Corps remain at West Point during Christmas? Bud Miller Jack's reply: The first time cadets of my class and before could leave West Point -- except for short corps squad/activities trips by the fortunate few, and maybe one non-overnight football trip per year for all (memory is unclear) -- was at Christmas yearling year, when plebes had the place to themselves except for upperclassmen serving punishment tours. Plebe Christmas was great fun, falling out completely, plebe table commandants, with hops for those who could find drags. Still had reveille/call to quarters, room inspections, and marched to meals. Firsties had a few weekends; I must have had five or six courting my wife-to-be at Connecticut College, New London (bus to Penn Station, arrive New London by train 6:00 pm, leave the next day by noon; bus back to West Point).
Of course, the most vivid happening in my plebe year occurred during Beast Barracks. I do not consider myself an 8 Ball, but I was tagged as such when the following happened: My roommate, a former high ranking G.I., and I were chatting on the 2d or 3rd day of Beast, when I asked him to completely disassemble my M-1 rifle, saying,"I want to be a great Kaydet", not knowing that there were to be many hours of instruction on this weapon. He obliged, and soon all the pieces were sitting on my desk. I distinctly remembering the sear spring flying out of the window when he took the bolt apart. Suddenly, bells ringing, cadets running around...It was the .first drill period..I .put belts on and reported to ranks. I didn't know exactly what to do with the rifle completely apart, so I took all the small parts and put them in my pocket, jammed the barrel on to the stock, maintained "port arms" and slipped into ranks. A firstie came up to me and told me to "order arms" telling me the correct position of the rifle. I remained motionless at port arms. When the first classman saw his shoes through the gap in my rifle, he was incredulous, asking where the rest of my rifle was. I said, "In my pocket , sir"..........which landed me on the 8 ball mess table called "The Siberian Salt Mines". I kept piling on demerit after demerit because of my notoriety. I was getting close to the 85 demerit limit (everything over 20 was an hour on the area) when we were scheduled to march in a parade in honor of the President of Bolivia. I called my father, told him to get in touch with the Bolivian Embassy, and get the President to ask for a nullification of all cadet punishments. He did so, and the rest is history....I scraped by until I got lost in the bowels of a new post beast company assignment. I never got into big trouble after that, except when I had to turn myself in because the taxi I was riding in went below the level of the plain, He was dropping another passenger off at the railroad station.....I got 5 demerits and 5 punishment tours for this infraction, which was completely beyond my control. I always felt that I was a cork, floating on the ocean, always aware of where I was, but never, never in complete isolation from regulations. Ed Marks Plebe PE Classes One of the classes in Plebe PE dealt with teaching boxing. Cadets were periodically required to box (read fight) each other and were graded on their skills. What follows are one grads memories of these experiences. The Herb Kroeten referred to was a PE Instructor and Coach of the Corps Squad boxing team and was always looking for prospective members of the team. I went to my first graded bout and fought with a guy named Mike something or other. He said before the bout, "look, I really don't want to fight you and let's just put on a good show for the graders and we will get through this. I said "fine, I don't care." The first thing this putz does is come out swinging like a wild animal and he caught me off guard. He also caught me with a sucker punch and I was mad. I stayed on my guard and finished the bout and walked up to him after it was over. I said, "well, it looks like one of us put on a better show than the other in this bout - you jerk" He was unfazed. He also did not graduate. The next guy I fought was a classmate by the name of Rudy Noguera. He made no proclamations before the fight and I was completely on guard for the worst. I came out swinging like mad and got in a few punches, but this guy was good and fast and he could hit hard. I had been in many fights when I was in Junior High and a few in High School, but this guy took the cake. At one point, he clocked me and I saw stars. He didn't knock me out, but he was giving me a run for my money. I was spent when it was all over. Little did I know that this guy was a 3 time golden gloves champ from NYC. I felt proud that I was able to go the rounds with him and not get beat that bad. Nevertheless, I had a small shiner and a mildly split lip to show for my efforts. The last fight I had Herb Kroeten as a grader. The guy I fought was named Harry Cedar. I walked up to him before the fight and made a very simple pronouncement. I said to Harry, "look, no offense, but I am going to beat the living hell out of you and I am tired of people telling me they want to put on a show. You better give it your best shot." He said, "Don't worry about me, worry about yourself." We started off like a bunch of madmen. I was swinging non-stop left hooks and right crosses and he was constantly jabbing and going for uppercuts. It was like a scene out of the Rocky/Apollo Creed fight. At a certain point in the bout, we were just throwing non-stop punches. I drew blood from him and he drew blood from me. It was messy. At the point that blood was flying, old Herb just went at it like a banshee. He would be coaching me to throw this punch or that punch until I had an advantage and then he would coach Harry to throw different punches to give him an advantage. Little did I know that we had gathered a ring side audience for our bout. Everybody in the gym was watching and Herb was frothing at the mouth. The final bell rang and I was spent. I wobbled to my corner and Harry wobbled to his. Herb walked over to me and slapped me on the back and said, That the best damn bout I have seen all month. You looked like you wanted to kill him! I nodded, and said under my breath, "I was trying." Herb Kroeten was definitely part of WP history. Paul Werner 83
About my second week of Beast while standing in formation awaiting Retreat decked out in uniform Sierra (white shirt with gray epaulettes, gray tropical worsted trousers, and white hat, with white gloves for the cadre only), I asked a passing cadre member (in a whispery, scared voice) if it was appropriate to correct a classmate's uniform if it really needed it. The upperclassman answered in a similar whisper, "Yeah, if it's bad enough. What did you see?" I nodded toward the guy standing in front of me who was wearing his uniform Sierra epaulettes with the points outward and hooked only through the outside loop. Hence, he looked like he had little wings sticking out from his shoulders. The upperclassman had to get two other guys to help him fix the epaulettes since he was laughing too hard to do the snaps. How many of those do you need to remember to counter the bad times . . . Jorgie, '67 Gotta tell you a story about "Shower Formations" from my beast barracks. 1st New cadet company was in the first 3 and a butt divisions of barracks. You obviously know the procedure. Line up on the second floor and get a good going over and depending on who answered questions properly and/or sweated the most..it was down to the showers. After the quickie ablution, feet were checked for blisters and if necessary powdered and/or annointed and then the doolie posted to a firstie stationed at the foot of the stairs from the sinks to report. "Sir, New Cadet Johnson has observed the proper health habits for the day"....with all that that statement meant. One A-1 firstie on the detail would occasionally take a longer time before releasing a plebe back to his room, talking quietly to him. I noticed after a short period of time that he was taking time with the 'screw-ups' who were being ridden unmercifully. Finally decided to corner one of them and asked "What the hell did he tell you" knowing that the guy was one heartbeat away from saying "You can take this deal and shove it." Turned out that the firstie said, quietly, "Hang in there, you're doing just fine. You're gonna make it!" A good half dozen of my classmates were saved that way. His name was "Sam" Wetzel. Inf. Retired as a LTG. Served with him when he was a LTC and told him that story. I think it pleased him...and well it should. Bob Johnson, '55
Things you were made to do as a Plebe. The yearlings in D-2 were all about 18 or 19 years old. I was 21 1/2. When they found out my age they started interrogating me as to what I had done for the 4 years after high school. College and a full time job meant nothing nor did my 4 years in the Reserves. But the fact that I had driven a cab in NYC for 3 months (so I could earn the $300 deposit at WP) did. They would wait on the stoops in North Area (usually with a classmate from another company). As I walked by I was told: "Halt smack ( the usual "Yes, sir") - Take us for a ride." My "job" was to push my cap back on my head and then "lean" over to the right and pull down an imaginary cab meter with my right hand. Then I had to motor around the area for a short while making motor sounds. Usually I was then asked my age and told to "Get 21 and a butt wrinkles." Very suave (and sophomoric). A sense of humor and Intramural boxing stopped it - but that's another story. Art Kelly, '64 While I was out walking this morning as part of my rehab from my back surgery, I noticed that I was pressing my thumbs against my forefingers as I walked. Guess where I learned to do that? Any response other than some intense training during the summer of 1947 is unacceptable. It made me think about our heritage of which we can rightly be very proud. Each of us needs to stand tall, hold our chests high, keep pressing our thumbs against our forefingers as we walk and be thinking of the 50th reunion that is not tooo far off!! See you there if not sooner. John B. Lewis
West Point had to be disappointed in my development as a warrior because my favorite subject was Plebe English. My English P's were Major (later BG) W. C. Cousland '53 and Major (later MG) Joe Fant '51. Throughout my cadet career, I took it as a matter of personal pride never to start a paper before midnight the day it was due. It was "OK" to pick out some nice looking books ahead of time because we were not allowed to be at the library after 2200. However, I seldom opened a book, and never started writing before midnight. The facts that I type slowly and that there was precious little time to do other things after Revielle at 0600 seemed to enhance the flow of creative juices. That also meant I would not be proofreading my papers before submitting them. Major Fant always appeared to like my work, as he usually would give me a high initial grade. He then would deduct "tenths" for typographical errors. Frequently, my returned papers would then carry enough "tenths" as bonus points to restore my original grade. Equally as often, the reason cited for the lavish award of bonus points was: "You are very literate." As I was literate enough to know and understand the fable of the Golden Goose, I waited until I was certain there was no chance I would ever have Major Fant for a class again. I then went to thank him for his inspiration and for his patience with me. I also asked him what he meant by "You are very literate." His years at West Point and his years travelling around the world had not diminished his Southern drawl: "It means, Mistah Pahh, that I didn't know what thuh hell you warh talkin' about (pause) eithah." Tom Parr '67
The New York Times, famous among the Corps for its hate/hate relationship with the Academy, printed an article that stated that there was no humor at West Point. The article was, of course, front page news. It was written based on a reporter walking around on Post during the grey days of January when it is difficult to tell cadets from buildings, sidewalks, sky. Grey, grey, grey. I think we were even having finals. I have digressed. Out of the blue, one Sunday morning, a very large banner appeared across the Highland Falls gate, proclaiming in bold letters, "How can a newspaper with no funnies say we have no humor?" (I don't remember if they used the word funnies or comics) I do remember everyone had a good laugh and the grey didn't seem so grey that day. Joan-Marie Gerth, '80 This is sort of funny to me now, but surely wasn't then. The first semester of plebe academics had just begun. I remember having this huge pile of books and binders under my arm headed across Central Area on the way to class with my roommate. A cow hollered at me to stop - so I did - and did the best I could to face him without losing my books and wondering all the while what I had possibly forgotten to do. Of course, that was exactly what he asked me " what have you forgotten?". My mind was blank so I just popped off "no excuse, sir!" He asked me for a 4D (? think that's the right term) and who my squad leader was. To my great luck - he knew him and said he would deliver it in person. I just knew I was sunk - but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. Neither could my roommate. Lunch formation came - I reported my transgression to my squad leader. He had not gotten the report yet. The rest of the day I was a real wreck - anticipation. At dinner formation, he told me to report to the sinks immediately after dinner for corrective training (lived in the lost fifties). So there I was with my squad leader and asst squad leader... and was informed that my transgression was "failure to walk in a military manner - excessive hip swing". I was vaguely amused but really upset too - they were trying their best to remain serious. My corrective training consisted of walking back and forth with a book on my head for about 15 minutes - to minimize my "wiggling". I don't know that it really worked but I was very self-conscious of how I walked for some time. I guarantee none of my male classmates ever had that happen to them :-)
Take care
Something occurs to me that may be worth including here (I don't even know if it goes far enough back to constitute a tradition). That is marking special events with glassware, e.g. wine glasses for Plebe-Parent Week Banquet, Beer Steins for 500th Night, Beer Pitcher and Pilseners for 100th Night, etc. (For that matter, the concept of counting down the number of "nights" left 'til graduation is probably unique to WP, too.) I do not know if other classes chose the same glassware for each occasion, but I do know that I still use my glass pitcher (with each of my company mates' nicknames on it) and my decanter/on-the-rocks glasses (Graduation?).
Bob Sinnema
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