The Lords of Discipline (8 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“Yet you are rather well known on campus for your negative attitude, Mr. McLean. If you despise negativism as you just professed to do, what do you think inspired this reputation?”

“I have a reputation for being a little sarcastic, General. I didn’t know I had a reputation for being negative.”

“Sarcasm might be even more insidious and dangerous than negativism. Now I would like to get to the point of your visit with me this afternoon. I want you to tell me what you know about honor, Mr. McLean. I want you to define honor in your own terms. I want to ascertain if our concepts of honor are significantly different.”

“May I ask you why, sir?” I asked.

“You may not ask anything, Mr. McLean,” the General said pleasantly. “You may simply define honor for me.”

“I’m not sure I can define it in my own words, General.”

“And yet you expect to speak to the freshmen for an hour next Wednesday about the honor system.”

“Sir, I can define honor as the dictionary defines it or the honor manual. I know all those words and all those definitions. I just can’t define honor in my own words yet. The words were all written by someone else.”

“Then you are not certain what honor is?”

“No, sir, I’m not certain what honor is. I’ve been thinking about it all summer, but I’m not absolutely sure what it is or who of my friends has or does not have it.”

“That is a major difference between you and me, Mr. McLean. A major difference. I have never had to look up a definition of honor. I knew instinctively what it was. It is something I had the day I was born, and I never had to question where it came from or by what right it was mine. If I was stripped of my honor, I would choose death as certainly and unemotionally as I clean my shoes in the morning. Honor is the presence of God in man. It distresses me deeply that you are having a problem. It gives me cause to wonder about your ability to infuse the freshmen with the necessary zeal required for them to become exemplary graduates of the Institute. You must remember that the goal of the Institute is to produce ‘the Whole Man.’ The Whole Man, Mr. McLean. It is a noble concept. But the man without honor cannot be the Whole Man. He is not a man at all.”

“Sir, I do know this,” I replied, meeting his gaze directly for the first time. “When I was elected to the honor court, I made a vow to myself, to uphold the honor system as it is written. That is what the cadets of fourth battalion elected me to do, and I’m going to represent them to the best of my ability. I admit to being confused about honor and I admit to not liking some parts of the system. But if a cadet is tried before me this year and the prosecution proves to me that the cadet is a liar, a thief, or a cheat, or one who tolerates lying, stealing, or cheating, then I am going to vote guilty. I’m going to vote to have him removed from the Corps of Cadets.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to applaud this decision, Mr. McLean. You are merely doing your duty and I’ve never had any difficulty in the performance of duty. And I would like you to specify which parts of the honor system you do not happen to like.”

I hesitated a moment, then said, “I don’t like the Walk of Shame, sir.”

He gave a short laugh and responded, “You know, of course, that I instituted the Walk of Shame when I returned as President.”

Blushing, I answered, “Yes, sir, I know that.”

“And you are also aware that the number of honor violations has decreased by sixty percent since my return to the Institute.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as he rose and walked to the rear door of his office. From what appeared to be a small, well-appointed anteroom, he ushered two cadets into the office: John Alexander, the second battalion commander, and his exec, a spaniel-eyed boy named Wayne Braselton, whose identity was irretrievably fastened to the destiny of the fiercer, more charismatic Alexander. John Alexander was a splendid looking cadet, erect and arrogant, with an instinct for survival in the Corps that was as uncanny as it was disingenuous. They walked to the two leather chairs on the right side of the General’s desk and sat facing me, not the General. Their faces were austere, inquisitorial. Then I heard the General’s voice again: “Mr. McLean, you know your classmates, Cadet Alexander and Cadet Braselton, I’m sure. They asked to meet with you in my presence. These two cadets are concerned about the efficacy of allowing a senior private to address the incoming freshmen. They feel strongly that a cadet officer would make a much better impression on the freshmen. Is this not correct, gentlemen?”

“Yes, sir,” Alexander answered forcefully, with Braselton nodding his vigorous assent. “We feel that the training cadre is composed of specially selected elite men whose personal appearance and devotion to military excellence provide a high standard for the plebes to emulate. Mr. McLean is well known in the Corps for not taking the military part of the Institute seriously. We feel that this attitude could only harm the freshmen and undermine the plebe system. We feel that a substitution for Mr. McLean should be made for the good of all concerned. If necessary, Mr. Braselton or I will assume Mr. McLeans responsibilities of helping to indoctrinate the freshmen in the honor system.”

“Gee, thanks a lot, John,” I said, trying to control my anger. “What a grand, selfless gesture on your part. But I think the freshmen will survive a single hour’s exposure to my grossness.”

“There’s a principle involved here, Mr. McLean,” the General replied. “One that I do not think you are grasping. If we allow a private to influence the thinking of the recruits, then a precedent has been set. But if we continue to uphold our standards, the highest standards of any military college in the world, I cannot help but think that our system is growing stronger and that our vigilance will be rewarded. I agree that our cadre should be composed only of the most select cadets in the Corps. I owe that to the freshmen, to their parents, to the men of the line.”

“That was very well put, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Alexander said with Braselton nodding passionately.

The General did not mind Alexander’s saying so; in fact, he was radiant and positively enchanted by Alexander’s oily compliment. If I ever attend a convention of generals, I hope to control the Chapstick concession to offer some small relief to the obsequious legions of ass-kissers who spend their days pandering to the egos of generals. Every general I had ever known required the presence and the gentle, insincere strokes of these self-serving acolytes of flattery and I simply could not understand it.

“Sir,” I spoke directly to the General, “Cadet Alexander and I are not friends.”

“That is true, sir,” Alexander replied. “I do not like what Mr. McLean represents in the Corps of Cadets.”

“What exactly does Mr. McLean represent?” the General asked, leaning toward Alexander and cupping his hand over his right ear.

“He represents the negative attitude, sir. He makes fun of the traditions of the school. . . sacred traditions like the ring and the uniform and even the cadet prayer. I myself heard him give a profane and disgusting rendition of the cadet prayer while R. Company was forming up to march to chapel.”

“A profane rendition of the cadet prayer?” the General said with a gasp.

“It wasn’t that profane, General,” I whined.

Braselton, sensing the kill, suddenly burst out, “And his appearance is a disgrace, sir. That is how I would put it after careful thought. He goes out of his way to wear a uniform that is wrinkled and brass that’s scratched. And his shoes are a joke throughout the Corps. That’s how I would put it, sir. After careful thought. His shoes are a joke.”

“What do you say in your defense, Mr. McLean?” the General asked.

“Sir, you and all my classmates know that I have not performed splendidly in the military part of Institute life. This is my fourth straight year as a private. But I have heard you say before, General, that the ideal cadet excels militarily, academically, and athletically. I have a better academic record than these two cadets, and I’m captain of this year’s basketball team. So using your own criteria for measuring the model cadet, I have done well in two areas of achievement and these two have excelled in only one. Therefore, I feel I’m just as well qualified to address the freshmen as they are.”

“It is Mr. McLean’s attitude that we object to, General,” Alexander interjected. “I think you can see from the way he tries to attack Mr. Braselton and me personally that his attitude leaves much to be desired. We question his love of the Institute and his devotion to the Corps. This is not a personal attack on Mr. McLean, and we think it is immature of him to consider it such.”

“Sir,” I answered, looking at the General. “The members of fourth battalion selected me as their honor representative. Me, Will McLean. The cadets could have selected Mr. Alexander or Mr. Braselton. For whatever reasons, they chose to select me instead. The members of the honor court then chose me to be vice chairman of the court. I have never taken the military seriously. But I’m taking my position in the honor court very seriously. The Corps entrusted me with the responsibility of serving on the honor committee without conferring with these two gentlemen. It appears presumptuous to me for these two gentlemen to try to interfere with the will of the Corps.”

“I believe we
are
acting in the best interest of the Corps, General,” Alexander said.

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Alexander, and I will take what you say under consideration.”

“I resent Mr. McLean’s implication that he is more honorable because he happened to win a popularity contest among cadets, General.”

“I’m sure Mr. McLean was not impugning your honor, Mr. Alexander. Good day, sir. And thank you for sharing your views so openly. It takes courage to criticize one of your classmates man to man.”

The two cadets saluted and left the room. It struck me as both odd and symbolic that we should be ushered in and out of the General’s presence through different doors. Before he left, Alexander shot me a languid, supercilious look. I grinned at him, and with the General’s back to me as he escorted them to the door, I shot Alexander the bird. It might have been the first finger thrown in the august confines of that room.

The General returned to his seat, smiling, folded his hands beneath his chin, and immobilized me with the withering crossfire of his eyes again. Then the smile vanished and the voice, husky and controlled, filled the room again. My anger had passed when the two cadets departed and my instinctive fear of the General returned to fill up the void.

“Do you think you won that little skirmish, Mr. McLean?” the General asked.

“I didn’t need to win it, General. I received my orders this summer that I was to report back to the cadre and be prepared to lecture the freshmen on the honor system.”

“You are wrong, Mr. McLean. You did need to win it. If I had known that a senior private was to be a member of the 1966 cadre, I would have put a stop to it myself. Your presence on campus was a bit of a surprise to me, but I think you will perform your duties adequately”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let me tell you a little story, Mr. McLean. I hope you have the time. Ten years ago I was watching a swim meet when I watched our star swimmer stop competing in the middle of the race and climb out of the pool. I heard him tell the swimming coach that he had just choked up, that he simply could not go on. I called him to my office the next day and told him I was taking away his Army contract, that I did not want a person like him in the Armed Forces, someone who might choke up and quit during the middle of a battle. I told him I did not tolerate quitters. To me, a quitter is not only dishonorable, he is immoral. Do you agree, Mr. McLean?”

“I guess so, sir.”

“I think you are like me, one of those men who would rather die than quit. I’ve watched you play basketball for three years, McLean. You won’t quit out there either. Men are born with that instinct or they are not. It’s an absolute necessity for a professional soldier. I would not know how to lead an army in retreat, Mr. McLean.”

The General had never retreated in his entire career nor had he lost a single battle in which his troops engaged the enemy. But his splendid military reputation had been ventilated slightly by revisionist innuendoes that Bentley Durrell had sacrificed too many men in his encounters with the enemy, that he had traded too much American blood for too little Japanese real estate. Once, when ordering the capture of a heavily fortified Japanese position, he had screamed to his staff that he didn’t care if it took a shipload of dog tags to do it. General Durrell won that battle while incurring extraordinarily heavy losses and picked up a battlefield nickname in the process. “Shipload” Durrell was more popular with the American public than he was with the infantrymen who cleared the way for his triumphal push toward the Japanese mainland.

“The gentleman who did not finish the swimming race became one of our most successful alumni, Mr. McLean. He is a lawyer in Nashville, Tennessee, and I hear from him every year. He thanks me now for giving him such a valuable lesson so early in life. He has never quit at anything since. The reason I am letting you address the freshmen is because you fought back when I confronted you with Alexander and Braselton. I love a competitive spirit. Now, just what is the nature of your enmity with Cadet Alexander?”

“I think he’s a jerk, sir.”

“You are talking to the President of this college, Mr. McLean,” the General snapped harshly at me. “You will mind your mouth and manners.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It began with a disagreement our plebe year.”

“I happen to think Cadet Alexander is one of the most impressive cadets ever to go through the Long Gray Line. A born leader.”

“Yes, sir. He thinks that too, sir. I just don’t agree, sir.”

“Do you think you are potentially as fine a leader as Cadet Alexander?”

“No, sir. I don’t think I’m much of a leader at all. Sir, Alexander and I had a fight when we were knobs. Not much of a fight, really, more of a shoving match. It happened after another freshman left the Institute. Since then, we’ve kept out of each other’s way. We usually don’t even talk to each other on campus unless it’s to exchange unpleasantries. It’s nothing serious, sir. There’s always going to be a couple of people you don’t like out of two thousand.”