Military School? Me?

By Stephen J. Wilmer

It is the 1960s, a sixth grader begins a series of choices that will dictate the course of his life forever. As his grades drop and he becomes a disciplinary challenge, Steves parents eventually make the agonizing decision to send him away to a military academy when he is just fifteen.

As Steve attempts to adjust to a new life as a first-year cadet at a high school one hundred miles from his home, he soon realizes that there will be consequences for all his actions, that respect is earned, and that honor is expected. Mentored by his roommate, Steve soon learns how to make his jib line correct, pack his knapsack, distinguish bugle calls, and shoulder a rifle. But as his first year ends, he wrestles with the unknown. Will he return to his new family and identity or attempt to readapt to the life that brought him here in the first place?

In this story based on true events, a teenager sets out on a journey of self-discovery after his parents enroll him in a military academy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532022883

Stephen J. Wilmer

Stephen J. Wilmer grew up in McLean, Virginia. Upon graduating from Massanutten Military Academy, he attended High Point University in North Carolina, where he graduated with a bachelor of arts degree in Spanish. He taught high school at Antilles Military Academy in Puerto Rico. www.stephenjwilmer.com

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Copyright © 2017 Stephen J. Wilmer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-2287-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2289-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-2288-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017908049

iUniverse rev. date: 06/23/2017

Not until I graduated college and started teaching high school did I recognize how attending a military academy had influenced the trajectory of my life. At age fifteen, I had been on a destructive path for several years with no hope of recovery in the future. Had my parents not made the decision to send me to a military school, I never would have attended college and likely would have ended up dead or in prison. I have had my share of success over the years, and all of it hinged on the three years I spent in military school. My mother died during my second year of college; she was only forty-four years old. My dad died eight years later at the age of fifty-four. Sending me away was a tremendous financial and emotional strain on them both.

This book is dedicated to my parents and to all parents who make the tough decision to send their child away from home to a distant school. It is, in a word, a sacrifice.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Karen Eddleman, Kris Patenaude, and Kenneth Chen for their extensive effort, helping with editing, rewrites, and suggestions. Also, a special thanks to my cousin, Juanita Leisch, an author herself, for the encouragement to write this story.

Introduction

This book is inspired by a true story—my own. Names, people, locations, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book focuses on my introduction to an all-male military academy in the late 1960s, my first year’s experience, and the lifelong consequences of that experience.

In public school, starting in sixth grade, my grades began to falter, and each year thereafter, they got worse. As is typical with poor grades, discipline issues increased. I continuously found myself in trouble both in and out of school. My parents, being at their wits’ end, surprised me (more like stunned me!) by sending me away to a military academy. I learned very quickly that this new environment was nothing like home or public school. The structure and discipline were intense.

So, what is a military academy, anyway? Researching the history of each military academy across the United States, one would quickly discover that most have very different beginnings. The common thread is that most of these schools have adopted a military program. This offers students, whether boarding or day, a structured environment with very few of the distractions found in public schools. Each new arrival will find the playing field to be level. Every cadet enters with the same rank, and every cadet wears a uniform. All cadets are motivated to excel in academics, responsibility, and self-discipline.

The majority of military schools in the United States are participants in the US Army Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps (AJROTC). According to AJROTC’s website (www.usarmyjrotc.com), there are 1,700 secondary schools across the United States with AJROTC units educating some 300,000 students. The mission of the AJROTC program is to develop citizens of character dedicated to serving their nation and community. More specifically, the program is designed to educate and train high school cadets in citizenship; promote community service; and instill responsibility, character, self-discipline, and pride in themselves and their communities.

During my three years at a military academy, with guidance from older cadets, my grades and attitude improved slowly. This story is filled with comical scenarios, adventures, frightening incidents, and heartwarming moments. It will be enjoyed by any student considering attending or by any parent considering sending his or her child away to school. Certainly those who have attended a military academy will be entertained and reminded of their own experiences.

The End of Life as I Knew It

Dad said, Pancakes are ready, if you’re interested.

I muttered, Thanks, but I didn’t open my eyes, still half-asleep.

I dragged myself out of the bed. I passed Mom on the stairway going up to the kitchen. She was carrying the laundry.

She said, It’s about time you got up.

I could smell the bacon now, which always made me hungry. After I ate, I went back downstairs to my room. I shared a room with my younger brother. He was picking up clothes off the floor and taking them to Mom in the laundry room. He said quietly, I was worried you weren’t going to get back in time.

Even though I knew Mom probably couldn’t hear what he said over the noise of the washing machine, I just gave him the look. He knew what it meant: Shut up. Mom will hear you!

I had a habit of sneaking out after my parents went to bed. Once I was convinced they were asleep, I’d sneak out the back door and head off into the night with a friend or two. If my younger brother was awake when I left, he’d always try to talk me out of going. He knew if I got caught, there’d be all kinds of yelling and commotion, probably some violence. It terrified him. Dad was really a kind and patient man until I pushed him past his limit. Usually, the explosion had more to do with my mother’s rage, which eventually set him off.

I think the turning point came when I was twelve years old. A friend of mine moved away. He wrote me a letter, and I replied. In the letter, I talked about a girl, buying condoms, used a lot of foul language, all not true—it was there only to impress him. My mother found the letter before I could mail it and shared it with Dad. He came home early from work and ordered me into his bedroom. I thought he was going to give me a tongue-lashing like usual, but I was wrong. He went into the closet and took out a belt.

He said, Turn around. Put your hands on the bed.

No physical discipline I ever received before was like this. This was a true beating. I’m pretty certain the neighbors could hear me scream. I tried to get away, but Dad was big and pinned me in place while he whipped me.

When I came out of the room, my brothers and sisters were in tears. I had marks for weeks, and they were painful to touch. Unfortunately, there were more of these incidents in the next couple of years. I think my parents were at a loss as to how to get me under control.

My grades began to fall when I was in sixth grade. That year, my class had four different teachers and multiple substitutes, and some of us tested them significantly. I was constantly in the principal’s office, and my parents were repeatedly called in for conferences.

Each year, it just seemed to escalate. Outside of school, I just couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. The comedy was that I barely ever got caught. Often, whoever I was with got caught, and though their parents couldn’t finger me, they were certain I was the ringleader. When you are young, you just don’t realize that adults can easily connect dots.

I had just finished my sophomore year in public school, but barely. Because I had flunked biology, I had to take it again in summer school, which I hated. Right out of the chute, I had a run-in with the teacher. He was a little man with a heavy accent. His name was Kupka.

During class, a heavyset girl sat behind me. I knew some of Nayla Dunbar’s brothers in school. She was as nice as anyone could possibly be, but she was also easily excited. During lab one day, we were looking through microscopes at arachnids, a.k.a. spiders, on a microscope slide.

She said, Ew, that thing is nasty!

I knew if you moved the slide forward under the scope, in the viewer of the microscope, it appeared to move toward you. I turned around when Kupka wasn’t looking. Nayla was completely focused on the spider on the slide. I reached back and just barely moved the slide toward me, which in the scope, appeared to move toward her. She flew back in her chair and let loose a bloodcurdling screech that made everyone in the room jump. I buckled over with my head in my lap and howled with laughter. Kupka became unglued and threw me out, telling me not to return until the following day.

I realized I was going to fail again. I threw in the towel, but I didn’t want to tell my parents. By going through the motions, I could delay the inevitable blowup. Yep, I got up each day and left with my books in hand. Eventually, my parents got the call asking why I hadn’t been in school. My mother was embarrassed that she didn’t know I was skipping school, and both Mom and Dad were really pissed at my classroom antics and deception. Now fifteen, I had really tested both parents beyond imagination.

Soon after, Dad pulled me into his room.

Sit on the bed.

He hadn’t whipped me in almost two years, but still hearing sit was a relief. He made it clear that he was unhappy with the direction I was going. He went down the list of problems.

He said, You’re failing miserably in school. You’re constantly in trouble. It is wearing your mother and me out. We have four other kids to worry about. Soon you’ll be sixteen, and by law, you’ll no longer will be obligated to go to school. So, I ask you, would you rather just go to work? I don’t need an answer right now, but soon, because school starts in a few weeks.

I teared up a little, knowing how I had let my parents down. Honestly, he was right. I could see no light at the end of the tunnel. This routine and stress would just continue. I hated the constant roller coaster of emotions.

I looked down at the floor and said, I just want to go to work.

Suddenly, I felt huge relief. I could tell Dad was serious and trying to think it through. He just stared at me for about thirty seconds and then nodded his head as if to say okay.

Strangely enough, despite all the issues my parents had with me, they still let me get a driver’s license at fifteen and trusted me to drive the family car. I was convinced it only happened because my mother hated driving. She couldn’t wait for me to get a license. At thirteen, I got caught driving my parents’ station wagon. The kid who lived behind us was twelve. He and I used to sneak out late at night and take his parents’ car and drive for hours. There were no police around in those days.

One night, he took his car, and I took ours. Dad was on a fishing trip with a friend of his, and my mother was sound asleep. The only problem was that my friend wrecked his parents’ car at about two o’clock in the morning. I raced home, parked the car, ran around back, went in through the back door, quickly undressed, and got in bed. After about fifteen minutes, I heard the phone ring. I heard Mom get out of bed and walk to the phone down the hall, then return.

Then she came downstairs, super-pissed, and said, Don’t you dare pretend you’re asleep! She was in a tirade. You’re cooked. Wait till your father hears about this one.

She went back upstairs. When Dad got home and found out, he ordered me into his bedroom. My heart was pounding through my chest. He told me to sit on the bed, which was different.

I was so relieved when he asked, How the heck did you learn to drive a stick? Our car had a three on the tree stick-shift on the steering column and a clutch. I spent two years trying to teach your mother how to back out of the driveway.

Our driveway was steep, and you had to back up a hill. Anyway, he was angry, but at least he didn’t go into the closet to get a belt. I was thrilled to have escaped what I thought was certain. I dreaded the next question I expected him to ask. How many times have you done this? Dad hated lying—I mean hated lying—and he wanted the truth. My mind raced on how to answer. I thought, I’ll say this is the first time. It was. If he found out Greg and I had done this some twenty-five times over the past couple of years, I could defend myself by saying I thought you meant with our car. Clever, huh? Fortunately, he never asked. The bottom line was that Dad knew I could drive. So he didn’t protest Mom wanting me to get my license as soon as possible. Part of the deal was that I had to drive into town to pick Dad up at his second job.

During the summer, I began to notice that my sisters and brothers got new clothes for the upcoming school year. When nothing came my way, I began to think about what it would be like to go to work instead of school. I wondered what kind of job I would have.

On Friday night, after I picked up Dad from work, he said, Don’t go anywhere tomorrow morning. You and I are taking a ride.

I asked where we were going.

He gave me one of those looks as though I shouldn’t question and said, You’ll see tomorrow. This usually meant he needed me to go with him to help him with something. I wasn’t very excited, but I didn’t ask any questions.

Surprise Announcement

The next day, Dad woke me up at six. He said, Put on slacks and a collared shirt—and wear your school shoes.

What? I was really curious as to where we were going. As I looked for the clothes, it occurred to me: He’s taking me someplace to see about a job. I was both excited and nervous. Dad had helped me get summer jobs before, but it was always something like construction or cleaning. It was always some type of grunt work where you didn’t need to dress up. We left and began the drive. Suspicion came after we had driven about forty minutes.

I asked, Where are we going?

To visit your new school, he said.

I stared at him in disbelief.

He said, It’s a military academy.

Now the showdown began.

I said, You told me I was going to go to work—not school.

His eyes left the road to look at me. He didn’t wear glasses, but it was the way someone looks at you over their glasses.

He replied, "I never said any such thing. I asked you what you wanted to do. I never said that’s what you would do. I’m sure you noticed you haven’t gotten a new shirt or shoes—any new clothes for school—like your brothers and sisters. You will have new …"

I started to protest, but he turned quickly and gave me the look, the look I knew meant don’t interrupt and shut up.

Uniforms, he finished his sentence. Don’t panic. I’m not leaving you there today. You’re going for your interview with the director of admissions and the commandant of cadets. Just check it out before you get any wild ideas about what the school is like.

My mind was racing as I tried to imagine what the place would be like. I figured it was not the time to try to change his mind—maybe on the trip home. I could tell Dad was trying hard to keep me from being angry or pouting. I knew I’d already pushed the limits with him, and way out in the boondocks like this, he might just pull over and pull me out of the car.

We stopped in some small town to get breakfast at a little run-down diner. Everyone in the place studied us as if we were from another planet.

When we sat down in a booth, I asked, What’s the name of this place … and how far is it?

Dad said, Ridgeline Military Academy, about another hour away. It’s about a hundred miles from home.

The waitress was almost too nice. It almost seemed to me that she was flirting with Dad.

He ordered for both of us, but then she turned to me and said, It comes with either home fries or grits.

Grits? I looked at Dad. What are grits?

Whatever a grit was, it sounded dirty to me.

Dad said, Come on. You don’t know what grits are … hominy grits?

Looking at the expression on my face, he realized I had no idea what he was talking about. Dad turned to her and said, If the home fries have onions, bring him the grits.

He pointed at me with his thumb and told her with a look of disgust, He won’t eat anything that has onions in it.

At least Dad understood that. My younger brother and I hated onions. My mother knew this, but she continued cooking with them, ignoring our plea for no onions. She’d then throw a fit when we wouldn’t eat what she served. She’d say, You can’t even taste them.

I remember one time my younger brother replied, Then why do you put them in there?

She threw one of her tantrums and smacked him while she yelled at us.

As we drove, Dad looked around, took a deep breath through his nose, and commented, It’s beautiful out here in these mountains.

I thought to myself, These farmhouses are so far apart. I didn’t see anybody anywhere. What is there to do out here? I said, It’s not the end of the world, but I bet if you looked hard, you could see it from here.

Dad looked over at me with one of his signature looks.

I asked, What’s that smell?

Dad sort of sniffed the air. Oh, that’s fertilizer. The farmers use it for their crops.

It stinks, I said.

Well, I would expect that. It’s manure.

I looked over at him with a disgusted look.

He just smiled.

Dad, what are those tall, round cylinder-looking things?

Without even looking Dad replied, Grain silos. That’s where the farmers store the grain to feed their livestock.

Introduction Day

When we arrived, we drove down the main street in front of the academy along about a four-foot-high stone wall at the main entrance. The place looked like some kind of fortress. Several of the buildings looked a hundred years old, and others looked brand-new. The main gate had two big stone columns—one on each side of the drive—and an iron fence-like arch above, which read Ridgeline Military Academy. There were cadets posted in different places to assist visitors; all were in uniform, pressed and polished. What were they doing here already?

Dad told a cadet we were there to visit with Mr. Campbell.

The cadet called to another group of cadets, pointed at me, and said, Here to see Captain Campbell.

One came jogging over and said, Good morning, sir. This way. I’ll take you there.

Dad was trailing a few feet behind us.

As we walked up a long wide sidewalk, the cadet quietly said, "So, you’re here to see the Snowman? Yeah, he has snow-white hair, but that’s not why we call him that. He snows you, paints a very glamorous picture of cadet life. He’ll say things like ‘You’ll fit right in with the boys.’ ‘You like sports? We got ’em—even horseback riding. Just like the old West.’ ‘Been on horseback before?’ ‘You like apple pie?’ ‘We got it.’ You’ll see what I mean.

The meeting with the Snowman is for the tour, then you’ll meet Captain Hill, the admissions director, for more of an interview to check you out and let you know what is expected of you. After that, you will meet the commandant. He paused. Do yourself a favor. Stand up straight, be polite, keep your hands out of your pockets, and make sure you call him ‘sir.’ You’re only going to meet with him for a minute.

When we arrived at the office door, he turned, held out his hand to Dad, and said, I’m Cadet Pratner. If you have any questions, feel free to ask any of us. He then looked at me and said, Maybe I’ll see you when you get back?

I sort of thought he might have said that for Dad’s benefit. I just nodded. I felt a little nervous.

The tour of the academy buildings and grounds was interesting. Some of the older buildings, especially the classroom buildings, were like stepping back in time to the Civil War era, or what you’d expect in Tom Sawyer’s day. The floors were wooden and creaked loudly when you walked over them. The desks? The desktop was connected to the chair in front of you. It had an inkwell hole where an ink bottle once was. If you lifted open the desktop, there was a shelf to put a book or two. In the auditorium in back of the guardroom was more of the same. The stage and podium were really old. The floors, though polished, were old and creaked. It gave me the feeling of walking on an old wooden dock on the water. I felt like I might fall through. The pews were also very old.

In back of the buildings, we walked through an alley. As we walked to another building, we passed about thirty cadets in academy-color T-shirts and shorts. These guys were bigger than I was, and they all looked older than high school students. I started to ask the Snowman about them but decided to just keep moving. We rode over with the Snowman to a camp or farm that the academy owned where they did the horseback riding. It was right down by the river. Really a pretty nice place at the foot of the mountain. I could tell Dad was almost in heaven.

The Snowman said, This is where the cadets bivouac.

Bivouac? What did that mean? I had no idea.

I didn’t bother asking, but it might have helped if I knew what bivouac meant. When we returned, we went to the admissions office. Captain Hill introduced himself. He wore a coat and tie. I can’t remember which question he asked, but it led me to believe he already had a lot of information about me. He asked a lot of questions about why I thought I wasn’t doing well in public school. He seemed pretty nice and seemed to be asking some stuff out of curiosity. He asked a little about my home life, which I played down, not wanting to let Dad know of a lot of the turmoil and issues he had no idea about. My mother hid a lot of things from my father, and she threatened us if we told.

Captain Hill went through what to expect the first two weeks before classes started and what it would be like when they did. He talked about the class schedule, faculty, library, study time, and the military side of life. He explained the merit/demerit discipline system. He said that cadets call getting demerits getting stuck. Then he threw me a curve. He said, We have the merit system in place at Ridgeline, but if that fails, you need to be aware that we may use corporal punishment.

I looked at Dad because I’d never heard that term.

Captain Hill squinted his eyes and said, You do know what corporal punishment is, right?

I strained to think of the term corporal and its place in military rank, like sergeant or private.

Dad said, It means if you get too far out of line, they can whack you with a paddle.

I’m sure the look on my face showed the captain that I was more than a little concerned.

He smiled and looked at me and said, Listen—if you behave yourself, nothing will happen.

That thought hadn’t occurred to me. He and Dad sort of laughed at my reaction.

Dad said, "He may not know what the word corporal means, but he’s certainly experienced corporal punishment before."

Captain Hill took us over to meet the commandant. Remembering Pratner’s advice, I was a little nervous. Colonel McFarland was a retired US Marine. He was in his dress uniform with all the ribbons, pressed and polished, sort of what I expected. The only surprise for me was that he was no bigger than I was. I mean, Dad was around six foot three and 225 pounds. I was five foot six and 135 pounds. I was very polite, kept my hands out of my pockets, and addressed him as sir.

He looked me up and down and said, You’ll look sharp in uniform.

As we drove out of the academy, we drove past the same group of cadets that had been there when we arrived. They all looked at me in the car, so I waved. They all waved back except one, Pratner, who gave me a thumbs-up.

Soon after we left, Dad asked if I was hungry.

I said, No, not really.

He said, "We can stop later. I heard you address the commandant as sir. That’s a first."

I said, Well, Pratner warned me to do that.

That tells me you’re probably in good hands. I’m sure the cadets look out for each other.

We were both silent for about an hour. I began to think about everything I had seen at the academy. I also went back through what I was told by the Snowman, Captain Hill, and Pratner. Something Hill said made it pretty clear that Dad had already paid a lot of money—and that there was no refund. I mentally went over all the reasons this move might be a good opportunity. I’d have a fresh start. I threw out the idea of protest on the trip home. I realized I would be at the academy soon and began to think about what it would be like. Dad turned into the same diner where we had eaten breakfast.

I thought, Yeah, she was flirting with him. I turned to Dad and said, Back to see your girlfriend?

He just laughed and said, No, I thought you might want some more grits.

My New Life Begins

When Dad and I arrived at Ridgeline the second time, I was a little more comfortable, but I was still nervous. I had my military haircut, a crew cut, which was required. Lots of uniformed cadets were busily attending to all the newbies. After bringing my belongings to my room, which included stuff we had to buy per a list given to us during the first visit, we met my roommate.

McKay was a returning cadet. All his stuff was neatly in place already—clothes in the closet, shoes all lined up below, and even his desk was in perfect order. The top bunk was made up perfectly.

Dad was impressed.

McKay seemed to be pretty nice and also pretty serious. He was about four inches taller than I, sort of lanky.

After the brief introduction, he said, I’ll see you this evening. I’ve got a lot to go over with you.

He reached out to shake Dad’s hand and then mine.

I walked back to the car with Dad. When we stopped, he looked at me. I could tell he was choked up, which made me feel the same way. We hugged and said good-bye. As he drove out of the school, I had a bit of a sinking feeling with the realization that this was now the new life for me.

As I climbed up the stairs to return to my room, a big cadet blocked my path and said, Back down, junior. You have to get your uniforms.

I immediately remembered that part of the academic director’s instructions during the interview, which included that parents would not be allowed to have any contact with their kids by phone, mail, or visits for the first six weeks. I wasn’t rattled, but I clearly knew that I was definitely on my own here.

The cadet had me go all the way down to the bottom floor. It was a beehive of activity with both uniformed cadets and guys like me all over the place, younger and older. They had tables set up with both adults and cadets behind them. There were lots of open boxes and clothing racks with all kinds of uniforms hanging from them. There was a combination smell of mothballs and fresh linens. There were boots, different helmets, hats, and all sorts of other stuff I had no idea