Area Bird
Area Bird
Area Bird by Susan I. Spieth
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Area Bird
Reviews and Awards for Gray Girl “ A s a 1 9 8 5 g ra d u a te o f th e p restig io u s W est P o in t M ilita ry A c a d em y , a u th o r S u sa n S p ieth r eta in e d th e in d e lib le m a r k o f b ec o m in g a m em b e r o f th e " L o n g G ra y L in e." W ith th a t la stin g im p ressio n s h e n o w tr a n s p o r ts r e a d ers to a n e q u a lly m em o r a b le e x p er ien ce in th is fic tio n a l w o rk th a t ju x ta p o ses m en a n d w o m en in th e m ilita ry , a g a in st th e lo n g sta n d in g tra d itio n s o f h o n o r.” (U S R ev iew o f B o o k s; fu ll r ev ie w a t: http://www.theusreview.com/reviews/GraySpieth.html#.VGzoYxb7qlJ)
“ It's th e ea rly 1 9 8 0 s a n d C a d et Ja n W ish a rt b e c o m e s a n in s tr u m e n t fo r c h a n g e a t a n in s titu tio n th a t w a n ts to rem a in th e sa m e: T h e U n ited S ta tes M ilita ry A ca d em y a t W est P o in t. A sex u a l a ssa u lt is th e c a ta ly st fo r C a d et W ish a rt p u sh in g a g a in st th e g ra in o f th is p a tria rch a l in stitu tio n . T h is fa st-p a ced b o o k is e a s y a n d e n jo y a b le to r e a d , y e t is s m a r t a n d h ea d y in its d eliv ery b y sh in in g a b rig h t lig h t o n th e v irtu es o f h o n o r a n d frien d sh ip . T h is en terta in in g n o v e l o n ca d et life illu str a te s th e p o w e r a n d im p o rta n c e o f sto ry tellin g b y d o c u m en tin g a c u ltu re o f in stitu tio n a l m iso g y n y in h o p es th a t h isto ry d o es n o t re p e a t itself.” (W in n er— E ric H o ffer A w a rd , e b o o k fic tio n )
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Readers’ Praise for Gray Girl “Wow. This is a really fantastic book with amazing detail that never becomes tedious, just continues to build the realism and tension of the story. There's a lot to admire about the women she writes about, as well as some of the men. There's also much to be disturbed by, because all of it seems very plausible. (LA Kristy) Having served at West Point as a Military Police, the book served as a memory trip back to those gray stone buildings with it many statue and iconic sites. Every time Susan mentioned those sites, I was transported there with the remembrance of something that had occurred there during my tour of duty. (William Perez) Great USMA Mystery novel! I read the book in 2 days and I loved the plebe perspective and details about West Point cadets and the Fourth Class System. (Lansing) This book made me feel like I was at West Point. At times, the fear and anguish inside Jan brought forth emotional of my own trials in life. I could not put it down! (Teri Motley) This book is definitely the best book I have read in 2014. (Gayle Armstrong) I never thought I would enjoy a book about the military, but I loved this one. I could not put it down. (Cog Wheel “Ellie”) This well-written novel keeps you guessing. Just when you think you've got it all figured out, you are thrown the proverbial "curve". A highly recommended read! (Barry Grecu)
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The novel may be fiction, but some of the situations ring true to my ears. Could not put it down until I finished it. Excellent first novel. (KWIK) Great character development, an absorbing storyline, surprise twists at the end that I was not expecting - all bundled together in an excellent look at life as a female plebe at West Point. (Cheryl Stout) This book is full of suspense and full of surprises. It keeps the pages turning and is hard to put down. The author lived through her academy days and no doubt the book is accurate in its depiction of most everything in academy life. (Bill Bolles) Loved the self-talk of the young woman who is thrust into a male world at such a vulnerable age. The degradation and humiliation she endured was immense. Her struggle to sustain and keep at it were admirable. A very good read. (S. Germaine) She made the Academy come to life. Her descriptions of the physical plant, and cadet life, brought back memories to us that were there; and I'm sure opened the eyes of those who were not familiar with the USMA, while creating a fictional story that had us glued to our seats. Kudos Susan. (Bob McCloskey) (Over 190—5 star reviews from readers at: http://www.amazon.com/Gray-Girl-Susan-ISpieth/productreviews/1491272813/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_5?ie=UTF8&filter By=addFiveStar&showViewpoints=0&sortBy=bySubmissi onDateDescending)
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Area Bird is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Susan I. Spieth All rights reserved. ISBN-13: 978-1500929770 ISBN-10: 1500929778 [email protected]
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To my late father, Cornelius F. Ives, for making it too damn hard for me to ever quit West Point. I love and miss you. And to my sweet husband and fabulous children— you know who you are.
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Acknowledgements Once again, it takes a small army. I have to thank my beta readers who provided excellent feedback on content and flow: Bob Spieth, Barb Eimer, Lisa Bruck, Tracy Seymour and Megan Seymour. They did all the heavy lifting. Then there’s Christie Stratos of Proof Positive, who worked out the technical kinks like spelling, grammar and punctuation. She’s been a real pain in the you-‐know-‐what. My cover men: Sean Gumm (photographer) and Chris Zarza (cover designer) are worthy of an Oscar or something. And I have to give a shout out to the Mercer Island Writers’ group—which is always willing to tell me when something sucks. They’re good at that.
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AREA BIRD, n. A cadet who is serving punishment by being obliged to walk on the area. (Glossary of Cadet Slang, Bugle Notes, ’81)
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ONE Freedom can require that need to fight and die, But Amelia’s pristine freedom was her simple love to fly, From Boston down to St. John’s, then up and across to Shannon town. God love the little lassie, cause she held the hammer down. (from A.E. by Cornelius F. Ives, 1976) April 3, 1983 0530 hours She almost didn’t see the car go over the cliff. If it hadn’t been for the seat belt buckle pressing into her right butt cheek, she would have missed the flying automobile altogether. The protruding safety feature, however, caused a literal “pain in the ass.” She rotated her body, knocking her boyfriend off the back seat. Fortunately, he landed on the hump in the middle of the floorboard, which prevented him from becoming
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completely stuck in the small space between the front and back seats. With his face mushed up against the red vinyl, he asked, “Um, what did I do to deserve that?” She sat upright rubbing her sore backside. “Sorry,” she said, “didn’t mean to wake you.” “Oh, waking wasn’t the problem. It was the excruciating fall after that.” “You poor baby,” she teased. The sun began peeking over the horizon and a beam of light streamed through the windshield illuminating her face. They had spent the night in his car, parked at the small scenic overlook at the apex of Storm King Highway. They would have preferred a hotel, but everything from Highland Falls to Newburgh had been booked solid due to Plebe-‐Parent Weekend. It was also the last day of spring leave for the upperclassmen. “Why don’t you join me down here in the ditch? It’s kind of cozy.” “No, thanks, I’ve already had one thing poking me this morning…” That’s when it happened. They heard a revving engine followed by screaming wheels. Jan turned her head toward the commotion just in time to see a flash of red whizz by. In hindsight, she would remember the car seemed to glide by their parked car before soaring, in slow motion, up and over the low stone wall. The screeching abruptly stopped as the vehicle disappeared from sight. “Did you just see that?” she screamed. “I saw something—what was it?”
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“It was a car! I think it was a red sports car!” He jumped up, sitting beside her on the back seat. “No! Can’t be.” She opened the back door. They scrambled out of his 1965 Mustang and raced to the front of the car. They stood beside the stone wall, now with a gaping hole separating the scenic overlook from the dramatic drop-‐off. Several hundred feet below, smoldering on its side, with wheels still spinning, the red 1982 Chevy Camaro appeared to be resting. Jan thought the car seemed relieved somehow. “Jesus,” her boyfriend whispered. “Oh, my God!” she replied just as the sun came fully over the horizon. Then she remembered that it was Easter Sunday.
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TWO YEARLING, n. A member of the Third Class; Also, Yuk. (A Glossary of Cadet Slang, Bugle Notes, 1981, p.294) August 15, 1982 1030 hours Damn bells. Mandatory chapel ended in the early 1970s, however the Cadet Chapel bells still awoke cadets on the only day they could sleep in. The incessant ringing every Sunday morning continued to haze Jan Wishart long after plebe year. Only now, in New South Barracks, she was even closer to the huge, annoying alarm clock. How hard would it be to take a sledgehammer to those things? Thoughts of sabotage circled her brain until she awoke enough to realize that the bells were the least of her worries. She and her thousand or so classmates had recently returned to West Point at the start of “Re-‐ Orgy” week. Jan felt somewhat relieved that it was pronounced with a hard “g” as in “great” as opposed to
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a soft “g” as in “general.” Short for “re-‐organizational,” it was the week before classes started when the entire Corps of Cadets returned from summer training and settled into their new rooms and companies. The freshmen, called plebes at West Point, got their full dose of hazing for the first time during Re-‐Orgy week. Jan and her classmates were yearlings now, or sophomores to everyone who lived in the real world. They just finished “the best summer of their lives” at Camp Buckner. It was the best summer they would have as cadets but certainly not the best summer they might have attending the University of Michigan or Ohio State or Boston College. That was okay though. They had signed up for this stuff. They could still resign anytime until the first day of classes cow (junior) year and not have any commitment to the military. Jan planned to use every bit of that time before making a definitive decision about staying. If she showed up to the first class next year, however, she would be required to serve five years in the Army after graduation. That’s assuming she survived until then. Since last year, Jan tried not to assume anything anymore. “Jan, you awake?” Kristi McCarron poked her head in the door. “I am now, thanks to the bells.” “Great, get dressed so we can grab brunch at the mess hall.” Kristi walked into the room and sat in Jan’s desk chair. Jan would have preferred to skip brunch. As upperclassmen, they could always go to Tony’s Pizza in the cellar of Building One in Central Area or to Grant
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Hall for another version of pizza, or burgers. They could even make the longer walk to Ike Hall for still another kind of pizza, burgers or even hotdogs. It seemed that all the meal choices at West Point involved huge portions of Y-‐chromosome food—pizza, burgers, dogs, chips, nachos, brats and beer. At least the mess hall offered additional choices like steaks, French fries, potatoes, peanut butter, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, creamed chipped beef on toast and bread of every variety by the pound. The only version of salad Jan ever saw involved shredded iceberg lettuce on a large platter soaked in Italian dressing. Fresh fruit was practically nonexistent, although occasionally they could find a banana or an apple, usually offered at breakfast. “Well, wouldn’t want to miss brunch,” Jan groaned as she stood up. All yearlings had been assigned to new companies at the start of the academic year. It was a way of giving them a fresh start after the hardest year of their lives. It certainly helped in Jan and Kristi’s case, given that they had been involved in the death of a firstie (senior cadet) last year. Even though First Regiment was considered the harshest of the four, Jan welcomed the move to Company G-‐1. Kristi’s room was located upstairs in Company H-‐1. Jan felt grateful that they were not in the same company again. To overcome their past, she felt it was best for them to be separated. This way they could both start over, fresh, with new company mates and hopefully, in time, new friends.
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Still, being only one floor apart and having shared a harrowing experience last year, they continued to be an inseparable duo. “The dicks have struck again,” Kristi announced. Jan walked over to her closet. “What this time?” Kristi sighed. “Someone peed in my shoes.” “Are you kidding me?” Jan slid a thin gray polyester bathrobe over her t-‐shirt and underwear. “What’s wrong with these people?” This was Kristi’s second incident since the end of Buckner. On the first day back from summer, she discovered a dead snake on her bed when she returned from dinner. Jan slipped on a pair of flip-‐flops, grabbed a towel and a bra. “Remember, the superintendent said we should expect these kinds of things.” “I guess I had expected the silent treatment or maybe even a few ugly comments. I didn’t expect dead snakes and piss in my shoes.” “It’s probably not going to last, Kissy. Just ‘keep cool and carry on,’ as they say.” “It’s ‘keep calm and carry on,’” Kristi said. “Right, whatever.” Jan turned to grab the doorknob. “Be right back,” she said as she headed to the women’s latrine down the hall. Kristi looked at Jan’s roommate’s bed. “You want to come with us, Myrna?” she asked the lump under the Gray Girl. “Nah, I’m going to go back to sleep.” Myrna, a cow, or junior cadet, had shared a room with the other two female cows in G-‐1 all last year. They didn’t have to do that again if one of them roomed with a yearling.
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Myrna must have drawn the short straw. Or she chose it. Myrna was about five feet two inches tall and all muscle. She kept her hair unusually short, shorter than what the regulation required for women’s haircuts. With her man-‐style hair and her body type, she could easily be mistaken for a male cadet. Jan retuned from the latrine to find Kristi lying on her bed, feet up, hands interlocked behind her head, resting on Jan’s pillow. “Please, Kissy, make yourself at home,” Jan said sarcastically. “Oh, thanks, that’s what I did,” Kristi said without the slightest reservation. Sometimes Jan felt irritated when Kristi seemed to assume their friendship was indestructible, almost as if Jan would accept her no matter what she said or did. Jan didn’t plan on abandoning her friend, of course, but she wished Kristi would sometimes act like she would. “Okay, let’s go, I’m starving.” They entered the mess hall at 1155 hours just as a waiter started to close the massive oak doors. “Just made it,” Jan said. “A minute later and we would have been screwed over,” Kristi said. They made their way to one of the four hundred tables that filled the three wings of the cavernous, cathedral-‐style mess hall. Jan still felt awe and admiration every time she entered Washington Hall. As plebes, they weren’t allowed to look around and take in its grandeur. Now, as she walked to the last open table set up for brunch, she observed the high cross-‐beamed
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ceilings, the fifty state flags, and the magnificent mural covering the entire south wall. The painting depicts the weapons of warfare used in twenty decisive battles. The artist, Mr. T. Loftin Johnson, covered almost 2,500 square feet when he finished his masterpiece in 1936. This space, more than any other at West Point, gave Jan the feeling that she was truly a member of the Long Gray Line. In the mess hall, Jan felt like she belonged, as if the ghosts of West Point were pleased to see her walk through their hallowed ground. Washington Hall always seemed to welcome her and she gave a silent word of gratitude for its embrace. Sunday brunch was the only meal with open seating and the two women sat at a table with five plebes, two more yearlings and a cow table commander. The bottom end plebe began filling the plastic cups with ice. The one on the left end shouted, “sir, the dessert for brunch today is chocolate eclairs, would anyone not care for chocolate eclairs, sir?” Plebes usually got a break from having to cut dessert on Sundays, a gift from the wait staff. The plebe on the right end shouted, “sir, the drink for brunch today is iced tea. Would anyone not care for iced tea, sir?” No one objected, so the fourth-‐class cadets began filling the plastic cups with the brown liquid and passing them up the table. The table commander was Steve Meyer, Jan’s squad leader from first semester last year in H-‐3. Mary Stenigen, the yearling to his right, had been in their neighboring company G-‐3. There was a familiar, flirtatious manner between them. They appear to know each other a little too well.
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Jan saw Steve’s hand touch Mary’s when she handed him the glass of ice tea. Jan and Kristi exchanged pleasantries with Steve and Mary while passing the big plates of food. This time it was pancakes, sausages, hash browns and canned peaches in a bowl. The meal seemed to take a downward turn with the last item and Jan wished the cooks would just put out bananas, oranges or apples instead of the canned stuff. As she thought about making a formal request for fresh fruit, she noticed Mary’s hand graze over Steve’s while passing the hash browns. They are a couple! They must have been fraternizing last year. I never noticed. “Hey Jan, what happened to Angel Trane?” Mary blurted the question. “What do you mean?” Jan hadn’t heard anything about Angel, her roommate all last year in H-‐3. “Didn’t you hear she quit?” “What? No, I didn’t hear that.” Jan stabbed a pancake with her fork, thinking Mary had been misinformed. “Are you sure?” Come to think of it, Jan had not seen Angel since the summer at Camp Buckner. She assumed that was due to being in different companies and having different schedules. “Yes, she quit just before the end of Buckner.” Mary seemed to enjoy dispensing this information. “She just disappeared one day and never came back.” “Are you kidding? Angel never mentioned wanting to quit and I am pretty sure she would have told me if she did.” Jan still didn’t believe it.
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“It’s true. Have you talked to her at all since the summer?” Mary asked. “No.” Jan felt bad about that. “But Angel is always so squared away. She’s one of the few cadets who actually loves it here, a real Gray Hog.” “I know! That’s why it’s so surprising. And no one seems to know why she left. Or no one’s telling anyway,” Mary replied. “I just can’t believe Angel would quit.” Jan wondered why her former roommate had never mentioned wanting to leave. They had been together all plebe year, the most stressful time at West Point, when they relied on each other for everything. Every day from mid-‐August until the end of May, Jan and Angel prepared their room for inspections, shined shoes, memorized Poop, dressed each other for formations, celebrated milestones, and encouraged each other when the upperclassmen were bearing down on them. They did all of this and more, SO much more, together. So how could she leave without telling me? They had come from different worlds. Angel, a petite black girl from Queens, was the first in her family to go to college. When her family visited, they rode a bus to Highland Falls and then walked the mile and a half to the barracks area. Angel sometimes seemed relieved to be at West Point, almost as if it rescued her from being somewhere worse. Jan knew Angel’s family had been evicted from their home once. Or was it twice? On the other hand, Jan came from a middle-‐class family in an all-‐white New Hampshire town. The
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Wishart family drove one of the two family cars to visit Jan at West Point. And while Angel seemed to enjoy cadet life, Jan hated it. If I could, I’d go to any other college in a New Orleans minute. Despite their differences, Jan and Angel had shared an awful lot together—emphasis on awful—as plebe year tended to be pretty miserable. Why didn’t she say anything to me? Did Angel think I wouldn’t understand? Jan ate the rest of her brunch in silence watching Steve and Mary flirt and wondering about Angel. What else did I not notice last year?
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Area Bird by Susan I. Spieth
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Area Bird
Reviews and Awards for Gray Girl “ A s a 1 9 8 5 g ra d u a te o f th e p restig io u s W est P o in t M ilita ry A c a d em y , a u th o r S u sa n S p ieth r eta in e d th e in d e lib le m a r k o f b ec o m in g a m em b e r o f th e " L o n g G ra y L in e." W ith th a t la stin g im p ressio n s h e n o w tr a n s p o r ts r e a d ers to a n e q u a lly m em o r a b le e x p er ien ce in th is fic tio n a l w o rk th a t ju x ta p o ses m en a n d w o m en in th e m ilita ry , a g a in st th e lo n g sta n d in g tra d itio n s o f h o n o r.” (U S R ev iew o f B o o k s; fu ll r ev ie w a t: http://www.theusreview.com/reviews/GraySpieth.html#.VGzoYxb7qlJ)
“ It's th e ea rly 1 9 8 0 s a n d C a d et Ja n W ish a rt b e c o m e s a n in s tr u m e n t fo r c h a n g e a t a n in s titu tio n th a t w a n ts to rem a in th e sa m e: T h e U n ited S ta tes M ilita ry A ca d em y a t W est P o in t. A sex u a l a ssa u lt is th e c a ta ly st fo r C a d et W ish a rt p u sh in g a g a in st th e g ra in o f th is p a tria rch a l in stitu tio n . T h is fa st-p a ced b o o k is e a s y a n d e n jo y a b le to r e a d , y e t is s m a r t a n d h ea d y in its d eliv ery b y sh in in g a b rig h t lig h t o n th e v irtu es o f h o n o r a n d frien d sh ip . T h is en terta in in g n o v e l o n ca d et life illu str a te s th e p o w e r a n d im p o rta n c e o f sto ry tellin g b y d o c u m en tin g a c u ltu re o f in stitu tio n a l m iso g y n y in h o p es th a t h isto ry d o es n o t re p e a t itself.” (W in n er— E ric H o ffer A w a rd , e b o o k fic tio n )
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Readers’ Praise for Gray Girl “Wow. This is a really fantastic book with amazing detail that never becomes tedious, just continues to build the realism and tension of the story. There's a lot to admire about the women she writes about, as well as some of the men. There's also much to be disturbed by, because all of it seems very plausible. (LA Kristy) Having served at West Point as a Military Police, the book served as a memory trip back to those gray stone buildings with it many statue and iconic sites. Every time Susan mentioned those sites, I was transported there with the remembrance of something that had occurred there during my tour of duty. (William Perez) Great USMA Mystery novel! I read the book in 2 days and I loved the plebe perspective and details about West Point cadets and the Fourth Class System. (Lansing) This book made me feel like I was at West Point. At times, the fear and anguish inside Jan brought forth emotional of my own trials in life. I could not put it down! (Teri Motley) This book is definitely the best book I have read in 2014. (Gayle Armstrong) I never thought I would enjoy a book about the military, but I loved this one. I could not put it down. (Cog Wheel “Ellie”) This well-written novel keeps you guessing. Just when you think you've got it all figured out, you are thrown the proverbial "curve". A highly recommended read! (Barry Grecu)
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The novel may be fiction, but some of the situations ring true to my ears. Could not put it down until I finished it. Excellent first novel. (KWIK) Great character development, an absorbing storyline, surprise twists at the end that I was not expecting - all bundled together in an excellent look at life as a female plebe at West Point. (Cheryl Stout) This book is full of suspense and full of surprises. It keeps the pages turning and is hard to put down. The author lived through her academy days and no doubt the book is accurate in its depiction of most everything in academy life. (Bill Bolles) Loved the self-talk of the young woman who is thrust into a male world at such a vulnerable age. The degradation and humiliation she endured was immense. Her struggle to sustain and keep at it were admirable. A very good read. (S. Germaine) She made the Academy come to life. Her descriptions of the physical plant, and cadet life, brought back memories to us that were there; and I'm sure opened the eyes of those who were not familiar with the USMA, while creating a fictional story that had us glued to our seats. Kudos Susan. (Bob McCloskey) (Over 190—5 star reviews from readers at: http://www.amazon.com/Gray-Girl-Susan-ISpieth/productreviews/1491272813/ref=cm_cr_pr_hist_5?ie=UTF8&filter By=addFiveStar&showViewpoints=0&sortBy=bySubmissi onDateDescending)
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Area Bird is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Susan I. Spieth All rights reserved. ISBN-13: 978-1500929770 ISBN-10: 1500929778 [email protected]
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To my late father, Cornelius F. Ives, for making it too damn hard for me to ever quit West Point. I love and miss you. And to my sweet husband and fabulous children— you know who you are.
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Acknowledgements Once again, it takes a small army. I have to thank my beta readers who provided excellent feedback on content and flow: Bob Spieth, Barb Eimer, Lisa Bruck, Tracy Seymour and Megan Seymour. They did all the heavy lifting. Then there’s Christie Stratos of Proof Positive, who worked out the technical kinks like spelling, grammar and punctuation. She’s been a real pain in the you-‐know-‐what. My cover men: Sean Gumm (photographer) and Chris Zarza (cover designer) are worthy of an Oscar or something. And I have to give a shout out to the Mercer Island Writers’ group—which is always willing to tell me when something sucks. They’re good at that.
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AREA BIRD, n. A cadet who is serving punishment by being obliged to walk on the area. (Glossary of Cadet Slang, Bugle Notes, ’81)
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ONE Freedom can require that need to fight and die, But Amelia’s pristine freedom was her simple love to fly, From Boston down to St. John’s, then up and across to Shannon town. God love the little lassie, cause she held the hammer down. (from A.E. by Cornelius F. Ives, 1976) April 3, 1983 0530 hours She almost didn’t see the car go over the cliff. If it hadn’t been for the seat belt buckle pressing into her right butt cheek, she would have missed the flying automobile altogether. The protruding safety feature, however, caused a literal “pain in the ass.” She rotated her body, knocking her boyfriend off the back seat. Fortunately, he landed on the hump in the middle of the floorboard, which prevented him from becoming
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completely stuck in the small space between the front and back seats. With his face mushed up against the red vinyl, he asked, “Um, what did I do to deserve that?” She sat upright rubbing her sore backside. “Sorry,” she said, “didn’t mean to wake you.” “Oh, waking wasn’t the problem. It was the excruciating fall after that.” “You poor baby,” she teased. The sun began peeking over the horizon and a beam of light streamed through the windshield illuminating her face. They had spent the night in his car, parked at the small scenic overlook at the apex of Storm King Highway. They would have preferred a hotel, but everything from Highland Falls to Newburgh had been booked solid due to Plebe-‐Parent Weekend. It was also the last day of spring leave for the upperclassmen. “Why don’t you join me down here in the ditch? It’s kind of cozy.” “No, thanks, I’ve already had one thing poking me this morning…” That’s when it happened. They heard a revving engine followed by screaming wheels. Jan turned her head toward the commotion just in time to see a flash of red whizz by. In hindsight, she would remember the car seemed to glide by their parked car before soaring, in slow motion, up and over the low stone wall. The screeching abruptly stopped as the vehicle disappeared from sight. “Did you just see that?” she screamed. “I saw something—what was it?”
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“It was a car! I think it was a red sports car!” He jumped up, sitting beside her on the back seat. “No! Can’t be.” She opened the back door. They scrambled out of his 1965 Mustang and raced to the front of the car. They stood beside the stone wall, now with a gaping hole separating the scenic overlook from the dramatic drop-‐off. Several hundred feet below, smoldering on its side, with wheels still spinning, the red 1982 Chevy Camaro appeared to be resting. Jan thought the car seemed relieved somehow. “Jesus,” her boyfriend whispered. “Oh, my God!” she replied just as the sun came fully over the horizon. Then she remembered that it was Easter Sunday.
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TWO YEARLING, n. A member of the Third Class; Also, Yuk. (A Glossary of Cadet Slang, Bugle Notes, 1981, p.294) August 15, 1982 1030 hours Damn bells. Mandatory chapel ended in the early 1970s, however the Cadet Chapel bells still awoke cadets on the only day they could sleep in. The incessant ringing every Sunday morning continued to haze Jan Wishart long after plebe year. Only now, in New South Barracks, she was even closer to the huge, annoying alarm clock. How hard would it be to take a sledgehammer to those things? Thoughts of sabotage circled her brain until she awoke enough to realize that the bells were the least of her worries. She and her thousand or so classmates had recently returned to West Point at the start of “Re-‐ Orgy” week. Jan felt somewhat relieved that it was pronounced with a hard “g” as in “great” as opposed to
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a soft “g” as in “general.” Short for “re-‐organizational,” it was the week before classes started when the entire Corps of Cadets returned from summer training and settled into their new rooms and companies. The freshmen, called plebes at West Point, got their full dose of hazing for the first time during Re-‐Orgy week. Jan and her classmates were yearlings now, or sophomores to everyone who lived in the real world. They just finished “the best summer of their lives” at Camp Buckner. It was the best summer they would have as cadets but certainly not the best summer they might have attending the University of Michigan or Ohio State or Boston College. That was okay though. They had signed up for this stuff. They could still resign anytime until the first day of classes cow (junior) year and not have any commitment to the military. Jan planned to use every bit of that time before making a definitive decision about staying. If she showed up to the first class next year, however, she would be required to serve five years in the Army after graduation. That’s assuming she survived until then. Since last year, Jan tried not to assume anything anymore. “Jan, you awake?” Kristi McCarron poked her head in the door. “I am now, thanks to the bells.” “Great, get dressed so we can grab brunch at the mess hall.” Kristi walked into the room and sat in Jan’s desk chair. Jan would have preferred to skip brunch. As upperclassmen, they could always go to Tony’s Pizza in the cellar of Building One in Central Area or to Grant
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Hall for another version of pizza, or burgers. They could even make the longer walk to Ike Hall for still another kind of pizza, burgers or even hotdogs. It seemed that all the meal choices at West Point involved huge portions of Y-‐chromosome food—pizza, burgers, dogs, chips, nachos, brats and beer. At least the mess hall offered additional choices like steaks, French fries, potatoes, peanut butter, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, creamed chipped beef on toast and bread of every variety by the pound. The only version of salad Jan ever saw involved shredded iceberg lettuce on a large platter soaked in Italian dressing. Fresh fruit was practically nonexistent, although occasionally they could find a banana or an apple, usually offered at breakfast. “Well, wouldn’t want to miss brunch,” Jan groaned as she stood up. All yearlings had been assigned to new companies at the start of the academic year. It was a way of giving them a fresh start after the hardest year of their lives. It certainly helped in Jan and Kristi’s case, given that they had been involved in the death of a firstie (senior cadet) last year. Even though First Regiment was considered the harshest of the four, Jan welcomed the move to Company G-‐1. Kristi’s room was located upstairs in Company H-‐1. Jan felt grateful that they were not in the same company again. To overcome their past, she felt it was best for them to be separated. This way they could both start over, fresh, with new company mates and hopefully, in time, new friends.
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Still, being only one floor apart and having shared a harrowing experience last year, they continued to be an inseparable duo. “The dicks have struck again,” Kristi announced. Jan walked over to her closet. “What this time?” Kristi sighed. “Someone peed in my shoes.” “Are you kidding me?” Jan slid a thin gray polyester bathrobe over her t-‐shirt and underwear. “What’s wrong with these people?” This was Kristi’s second incident since the end of Buckner. On the first day back from summer, she discovered a dead snake on her bed when she returned from dinner. Jan slipped on a pair of flip-‐flops, grabbed a towel and a bra. “Remember, the superintendent said we should expect these kinds of things.” “I guess I had expected the silent treatment or maybe even a few ugly comments. I didn’t expect dead snakes and piss in my shoes.” “It’s probably not going to last, Kissy. Just ‘keep cool and carry on,’ as they say.” “It’s ‘keep calm and carry on,’” Kristi said. “Right, whatever.” Jan turned to grab the doorknob. “Be right back,” she said as she headed to the women’s latrine down the hall. Kristi looked at Jan’s roommate’s bed. “You want to come with us, Myrna?” she asked the lump under the Gray Girl. “Nah, I’m going to go back to sleep.” Myrna, a cow, or junior cadet, had shared a room with the other two female cows in G-‐1 all last year. They didn’t have to do that again if one of them roomed with a yearling.
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Myrna must have drawn the short straw. Or she chose it. Myrna was about five feet two inches tall and all muscle. She kept her hair unusually short, shorter than what the regulation required for women’s haircuts. With her man-‐style hair and her body type, she could easily be mistaken for a male cadet. Jan retuned from the latrine to find Kristi lying on her bed, feet up, hands interlocked behind her head, resting on Jan’s pillow. “Please, Kissy, make yourself at home,” Jan said sarcastically. “Oh, thanks, that’s what I did,” Kristi said without the slightest reservation. Sometimes Jan felt irritated when Kristi seemed to assume their friendship was indestructible, almost as if Jan would accept her no matter what she said or did. Jan didn’t plan on abandoning her friend, of course, but she wished Kristi would sometimes act like she would. “Okay, let’s go, I’m starving.” They entered the mess hall at 1155 hours just as a waiter started to close the massive oak doors. “Just made it,” Jan said. “A minute later and we would have been screwed over,” Kristi said. They made their way to one of the four hundred tables that filled the three wings of the cavernous, cathedral-‐style mess hall. Jan still felt awe and admiration every time she entered Washington Hall. As plebes, they weren’t allowed to look around and take in its grandeur. Now, as she walked to the last open table set up for brunch, she observed the high cross-‐beamed
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ceilings, the fifty state flags, and the magnificent mural covering the entire south wall. The painting depicts the weapons of warfare used in twenty decisive battles. The artist, Mr. T. Loftin Johnson, covered almost 2,500 square feet when he finished his masterpiece in 1936. This space, more than any other at West Point, gave Jan the feeling that she was truly a member of the Long Gray Line. In the mess hall, Jan felt like she belonged, as if the ghosts of West Point were pleased to see her walk through their hallowed ground. Washington Hall always seemed to welcome her and she gave a silent word of gratitude for its embrace. Sunday brunch was the only meal with open seating and the two women sat at a table with five plebes, two more yearlings and a cow table commander. The bottom end plebe began filling the plastic cups with ice. The one on the left end shouted, “sir, the dessert for brunch today is chocolate eclairs, would anyone not care for chocolate eclairs, sir?” Plebes usually got a break from having to cut dessert on Sundays, a gift from the wait staff. The plebe on the right end shouted, “sir, the drink for brunch today is iced tea. Would anyone not care for iced tea, sir?” No one objected, so the fourth-‐class cadets began filling the plastic cups with the brown liquid and passing them up the table. The table commander was Steve Meyer, Jan’s squad leader from first semester last year in H-‐3. Mary Stenigen, the yearling to his right, had been in their neighboring company G-‐3. There was a familiar, flirtatious manner between them. They appear to know each other a little too well.
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Jan saw Steve’s hand touch Mary’s when she handed him the glass of ice tea. Jan and Kristi exchanged pleasantries with Steve and Mary while passing the big plates of food. This time it was pancakes, sausages, hash browns and canned peaches in a bowl. The meal seemed to take a downward turn with the last item and Jan wished the cooks would just put out bananas, oranges or apples instead of the canned stuff. As she thought about making a formal request for fresh fruit, she noticed Mary’s hand graze over Steve’s while passing the hash browns. They are a couple! They must have been fraternizing last year. I never noticed. “Hey Jan, what happened to Angel Trane?” Mary blurted the question. “What do you mean?” Jan hadn’t heard anything about Angel, her roommate all last year in H-‐3. “Didn’t you hear she quit?” “What? No, I didn’t hear that.” Jan stabbed a pancake with her fork, thinking Mary had been misinformed. “Are you sure?” Come to think of it, Jan had not seen Angel since the summer at Camp Buckner. She assumed that was due to being in different companies and having different schedules. “Yes, she quit just before the end of Buckner.” Mary seemed to enjoy dispensing this information. “She just disappeared one day and never came back.” “Are you kidding? Angel never mentioned wanting to quit and I am pretty sure she would have told me if she did.” Jan still didn’t believe it.
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“It’s true. Have you talked to her at all since the summer?” Mary asked. “No.” Jan felt bad about that. “But Angel is always so squared away. She’s one of the few cadets who actually loves it here, a real Gray Hog.” “I know! That’s why it’s so surprising. And no one seems to know why she left. Or no one’s telling anyway,” Mary replied. “I just can’t believe Angel would quit.” Jan wondered why her former roommate had never mentioned wanting to leave. They had been together all plebe year, the most stressful time at West Point, when they relied on each other for everything. Every day from mid-‐August until the end of May, Jan and Angel prepared their room for inspections, shined shoes, memorized Poop, dressed each other for formations, celebrated milestones, and encouraged each other when the upperclassmen were bearing down on them. They did all of this and more, SO much more, together. So how could she leave without telling me? They had come from different worlds. Angel, a petite black girl from Queens, was the first in her family to go to college. When her family visited, they rode a bus to Highland Falls and then walked the mile and a half to the barracks area. Angel sometimes seemed relieved to be at West Point, almost as if it rescued her from being somewhere worse. Jan knew Angel’s family had been evicted from their home once. Or was it twice? On the other hand, Jan came from a middle-‐class family in an all-‐white New Hampshire town. The
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Wishart family drove one of the two family cars to visit Jan at West Point. And while Angel seemed to enjoy cadet life, Jan hated it. If I could, I’d go to any other college in a New Orleans minute. Despite their differences, Jan and Angel had shared an awful lot together—emphasis on awful—as plebe year tended to be pretty miserable. Why didn’t she say anything to me? Did Angel think I wouldn’t understand? Jan ate the rest of her brunch in silence watching Steve and Mary flirt and wondering about Angel. What else did I not notice last year?
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