NOTE: This story took place in the latter half of the 20th century, before cellphones and before the internet and also before a peanut farmer became President of the United States.
My mother brought me to the school. Six months earlier she had me fill out the admission forms. She had stayed in a hotel across the street from the school during a nurse's conference and happened to have my report card in her purse when she spoke to the admissions counselor in February. She brought home the admissions forms and tearfully told me how the bugles woke her up at six in the morning and it reminded her of when my father was in the Army in World War 2
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The admissions process took several hours. My mother was surprised how quickly I broke from her to start my new life and join my "troop." I had spent three years in the Civil Air Patrol and seven years in a volunteer fire department at this stage of my life, so I was used to being in an organization with a hierarchy.
For context: The school was divided up into four squadrons, fifteen troops, two platoons for each troop and four squads in each platoon and two fire teams per squad. Each troop has a commander, two platoon leaders, a first sergeant, a field first sergeant and two platoon sergeants. This was a combination high school and junior college. All of my troop staff were in college. Finally, this was the last all male year, and that's important.
I was escorted over to my troop area where I met my fellow recruits and some of the troop staff. I made a quick trip to my room, where I dropped off the only items we were allowed to bring-one change of clothes, two weeks of underwear and toiletries. An hour later, we had our first formation and marched to lunch.
The next ten days were called "Cadre" (coincidentally, the troop staff doing the training, were collectively called Cadre). During cadre, we learned how to march, how to salute, sing cadence and follow the Blue Book (rule book). We were also issued uniforms. I really liked the relaxed atmosphere, it reminded me of the Civil Air Patrol. On day eleven, that all changed when the "old cadets" arrived. An "old cadet" was anyone that had been in the school a year or more. The old cadets would fill out the troop, taking the positions of squad leaders and fire team leaders. My squad leader and team leader were both from East Texas. They both had really foul dispositions and I quickly realized that a 15 year old should not be in charge of human beings unless they were closely supervised.
Now that the old cadets were here, a lot of things changed. First, we had to eat our meals at a brace (stiff back, eyes front). Second, we had to run in the barracks area. Third, we had to "pop to" on the stoops outside of our rooms, raise an arm, fist closed, parallel to the ground and ask any old cadet present, permission to move, to walk, to go to the bathroom, etc.
The day after old cadets arrived, we were issued rifles. These rifles were de-militarized (broken firing pin, lead plug in the barrel). These rifles were to be secured any time we weren't using them and not following this rule-the circumstances so dire, the FBI and and Department of Defense would get involved (I'm not kidding) if a rifle came up missing.
The academics were much more advanced than public school. For years I had not taken my academics seriously because I could get straight A's without breaking a sweat. Now, my teachers all had a Masters degree or a Phd and the schoolwork was on another level. It would take me years to find out, but it wasn't just that the academics were advanced, but students from BIG money homes got preferential treatment and the lion's share of A's. In academics, I excelled in German (I already had three years of tutoring) and martial arts, was below average in Algebra (trig and Geometry) and I was average in everything else.
On the troop level, however, I was failing. My squad leader and team leader decided, on their own, that I didn't have the right stuff to make it. They would smear my polished brass and write me up for it. They would scuff my polished shoes, and write me up for it. In addition, they gave me pushups for every offense, imagined or real (my chest went from 31" to 38" that year). Every demerit over five, earned in a week, would mean one hour of marching on "tour squad." Being on tour squad also meant restriction checks every Friday and Saturday night.
Speaking of weekends, there was a three week rotation. The first weekend was inspection and parade. On Fridays, you would clean your room and rifle to perfection and carefully prepare your inspection uniform. On Saturday morning, you stood in ranks to have your rifle and uniform inspected while your room was very carefully inspected. After the inspection, there was a parade during which your troop was carefully judged on marching skills. Once it all was over, it was a huge relief. If you didn't have tour squad, you could relax. There was still formations and marching for meals, but it was much more relaxed than the parade.
The second weekend was CTA (Corps Training Activities). This was actual military stuff, like land navigation, rappelling, marksmanship and land battle simulations, like lane warfare, scouting and bounding overwatch.
The final weekend was furlough. If you didn't have tour squad, you could go home for the weekend and this school was in the boonies.
In the first week of November, several things happened. First, gossip had it that there was going to be a concerted effort to get rid of the "fuck up" in each troop. In my troop, there was two fuck ups, me and Mikey. It was a Saturday night and I had just come back from a restriction check. Mikey was pulled from his room by four old cadets. Mikey was beaten and beaten and beaten by broomsticks while the four old cadets hooted and hollered. Finally, Mikey was beaten so bad that he could no longer move. He was then dragged, literally, to the infirmary. I was very frightened because I knew I was next. I called my mother the next morning and told her that I was quitting. She asked for a couple of days to try and work it out. I countered that I had over 300 demerits and there was no way that I would be off of tour squad, ever. She begged for two days. I told her I would hang on for two days, but my life was in danger.
On Monday morning I went to see the number three staff member at the school. I told him what happened to Mikey. He countered that he had gone through worse his first year. I replied that two wrongs don't make a right. Later that day, the number three person told the four old cadets that I had snitched on them, and of course, they came to see me. They made veiled threats.
The next day, my mom went to see the Army Colonel that ran the school. She tearfully told him what I had told her. He told her that not only would he handle it, but as far as demerits, give it a couple of days. That afternoon, my troop commander came to see me. He gave me a pep talk and moved me to the other platoon. My squad leader and team leader had been two of the four that beat Mikey and they had been warned by the troop commander to stay away from me. My new squad leader was one of those snooty poopy types from Boston that came from an old money family. He made it clear from the get go that he didn't like me, but he had also been directed to guide and train me, not beat me into submission.
The third thing that happened that week was that the Governor came to visit. The highlight of the Governor's visit was that all demerits were wiped from the books. For the first time in months, I would be free on a weekend. I could actually breath now.
The next six months trudged by. I pretty much stayed out of trouble, but now there was a new concern, Mark and Jim. Both came from families with BIG BIG BIG money. Both had a romantic interest in me. The thing is, Mark was very subtle in the way that he hit on me. He wanted, badly, for me to join him and his mom on a Christmas skiing trip to Switzerland. I was actually on 75% scholarship because my mother's wage was working class and even though Mark said that he would pay all of my expenses, I had this deep seated fear that something would go terribly wrong and my mom would be out on a whole lot of money. Besides, I didn't even have a passport.
Jim, on the other hand, was anything BUT subtle. On two occasions he pinned me to the wall in the shower room and tried to kiss me (I broke free both times). He also, very aggressively, put the moves on me in the weight room in the gym and I ran back to my barracks room to get away from him.
May finally rolled around and my fellow recruits kept a huge and very dangerous secret from me. After the final parade of the year, the general order, promoting all of the recruits to "old cadets" at the rank of private would be read over the intercom. I was wondering what the hell was happening when the formation suddenly dissolved. I was completely puzzled as my former squad and team leader caught me by the arms and the brooms suddenly appeared as at least six of the old cadets began beating me. During the beating, I passed out.
My mother found me, unconscious, lying amidst multiple broken brooms and straw. She revived me and spent the next two days helping me dress and undress and get out of and into bed.
The next year, the first batch of females came to the school. In just a few days, the group withered from 40, to 30, and then just 15. Also, discipline became extremely lax as females couldn't endure the pushups given as punishment and other accommodations were made, not just for them, but for all recruits. It became a challenge to be a leader, but things I had learned in the Civil Air Patrol (team building) would help greatly as I navigated leading the cadets now in my charge.
Junior year, besides academics, I focused on martial arts. The martial arts team traveled about five times a year and I enjoyed these trips so much. I often placed third in my weight category because, while I was good, I was yet to learn the "killer instinct" that the winners had.
Early in my senior year, one CTA was cancelled and in lieu of that, there was a list of activities to sign up for. I picked "triathlon" because it took the least amount of time. Triathlons (and martial arts) became a facet of my life for the next seventeen years. The four of us running triathlons, on the evening before a meet (if we needed to travel), we would go to the military science building and get a ride from Major "Boom-Boom" Peterson (I'M FROM ARTILLERY AND PROUD OF IT!!").
Graduation was such a relief. The last three days of every school was absolute chaos as there was actually round the clock activities planned. Often, graduation morning, whether you were a senior or not, you were blurry eyed from lack of sleep. My mother gave me a 12 year old car as a graduation present. After graduation, I drove the first ten miles out of town, then let my brother drive as I slept in the back seat.