The Beginning and the End

I was going to do my next post about my first days in the 82d Airborne Division but a FB post by two stalwarts (Bill Macon and Bill Merrill) who were blessed to have me as their tactical officer when they were cadets at West Point has caused me to rewind. My wife Sherry, who has never failed to give me good advice over the last 43 years, also advised me to go back. Her motivation may have been for me to acknowledge that I had indeed met her while I was at the academy when she was dating my future 82d Airborne Division roommate. I’ll tell that story down the road about how we met again and have been together ever since, and how she is the mainstay of my life, even when she tells me to take the trash out!

My father came home from Vietnam in December 1967. He had commanded the 3d Battalion 60th Infantry Regiment (The Wild Bunch) in the 9th Infantry Division for nine months. He had been extended in command; battalion command in Vietnam was normally six months and then onto the staff somewhere to finish the one-year tour. It had been a long year for those of us back at Fort Riley. Early in that year, a neighbor two houses down from us was also a battalion commander and had been killed in combat. He had five daughters ranging in age from 5 to 17 years old and I went down to give them my condolences. I went to high school with the two oldest daughters. When I came up to the sidewalk to the house I saw all five girls sitting on the front porch step crying their hearts out. It was at that exact moment in my life that I understood the consequences of being a soldier. The hard part is not in the dying. The hard part is the grief that dying causes in those that loved you. That is irreparable pain that never fully goes away.

The loss of LTC William Cronin, our neighbor, was only the beginning of the harshness of that year. Our quarters were across the road from the main post chapel and there were literally one or more funerals a day conducted at that chapel followed by interment in the post cemetery which was within earshot of the quarters so the firing of the salute and the playing of Taps could be heard; solemn reminders daily of the cost of the war and the losses of families like the Cronin’s. As the “man of the house” due to being the only son and surrounded by three sisters and my mom, it was a very tough year. There wasn’t anything I could do about my dad being in Vietnam but somehow there was a subtle pressure to do something. It probably wasn’t there and was nonexistent other than in my teenage mind, but I felt it nonetheless.

It did not help that every evening on the news, in vivid color, was the war so far away brought to our living rooms. It showed the combat of the previous day and grimly detailed the American casualties and often the “body count” of enemy dead. The news coverage of the war at this point was favorable in tone but that was to change in a few short months after my dad came home when the Tet Offensive of 1968 started and American casualties were horrific. As we subsequently learned once the war was over, the enemy casualties were more than horrific. We won that battle on the ground and lost it in the commentary. A valuable lesson for those who paid attention. War without the support of the American people is a loser from the start.

My dad came home in late November 1967. We went to the Kansas City Airport to pick him up. As happened often back then, the plane was long delayed in arrival. We waited in the boarding area for several long hours. I was reading a book when some large men entered the boarding area and sat down to wait on a flight. One of them, a very large black man, sat next to me. I continued to read. He finally said, “Hey, kid, whatcha reading?” I responded that I was reading a book on the First World War. He asked if it was for a school report? I responded that no, I was reading it because I wanted to. He was silent for a moment and then said, “Hey, kid, don’t’cha know who we are?” He waved his very large hand towards the other fellows who had come in with him. I said no, I didn’t know who they were. He said, “We’re the Denver Broncos. Don’tcha want our autographs?” Since I did not (and still do not) follow sports, I had no idea who the Denver Broncos were, and he was dully shocked when I told him that. He was even more shocked when I went back to reading my book. He finally asked why I was at the airport. I told him we were waiting for my dad who was coming home from a year in Vietnam. He became very quiet and said, “That’s some bad shit going on over there. I’m glad your dad is safe.” I thanked him and said I was too!

Dad got home that night and after a few days to get adjusted, wanted to have a chat with me. He had sensed my restlessness once he got home. The last year had been a tough one while he was gone. The daily funerals out the back door did not help to calm anybody in the house or the neighborhood. The loss of LTC Cronin had really shaken up a lot of the wives and kids in our very close-knit Army family. Dad said he appreciated me “holding the fort down” in his absence. I told him I would never do so again if he went back to Vietnam. I also informed him that I intended to enlist in the Army the following month when I turned 17. There was not much he could say to that because he had lied about his age and enlisted when he was 16 in World War II. I had considered doing the same earlier that year but honored my obligation to him to take care of my mom and sisters while he was gone. There really wasn’t anything for me to do in that regard other than to be there. He said he’d have to think about that and we would talk again later.

A day or two went by and my dad asked to talk to me. We sat down, and he asked if I still wanted to go to West Point. I told him I preferred to enlist. He reminded me that I had told my grandfather who was Class of 1927 in my last conversation with him before he died that I intended to go to the academy. I had told him that, so I said yes, I still wanted to go to West Point. Dad suggested that even though I was only a junior in high school, we should start the application process so we would be prepared to actually get an appointment after my senior year. I agreed. He began writing the congressmen and senators from every state we had ever lived in seeking an appointment. We were an Army family going back to 1899 so had no real home state. By chance, Dad also wrote the congressmen and senators from Idaho where my grandfather had entered the academy from. None of us had ever been to Idaho!

Over the succeeding weeks we received very kind letters from all whom Dad wrote saying they regretted they had already given away their appointments to West point but would welcome a resubmission for perhaps next year’s appointment. It was not encouraging. I started thinking about enlisting again. I already knew I was going to volunteer for airborne school and go to the 101st Airborne Division in Vietnam. Such were my plans as a dumb 16 not quite 17-year-old.

Then we got a letter from Congressman George Hansen from Idaho. He said he would welcome considering me for an appointment if I scored well enough on the Civil Service exam. I went down to the courthouse in Junction City, Kansas and took that exam that week. I hate to say this, but the village idiot probably could complete that exam successfully which explains somewhat the quality of some of the civil servants I have run into over the years. A week or two went by and we got another letter from Representative Hansen. He said I had scored the highest in the state on that exam but that he had given away his appointment for West Point for the Class of ’72 entering that summer. He kindly offered an office call with him once we arrived in the Washington area (my dad was on orders for the Pentagon again and I was going to attend my fourth high school in 2 ½ years) and in the interim had listed me as the First Alternate for the West Point slot. I was required in that letter to attend one of the regional West Point examination locations to take the entrance exams for the academy.

A word on the “entrance exams”; they weren’t really exams. There were no written tests other than the submission of your SAT scores. The rest of the “exams” were a physical to make sure you still had two eyes and two opposing teeth so you could tear open Minie ball cartridges and so forth, and a practical physical exam for measuring agility, strength, endurance, etc. (Okay, I’m kidding about the opposing teeth.) The real essence of the “exams” was an interview with an officer from the West Point Admissions Office. That individual would determine based upon that interview and your file of recommendation letters, SAT scores, high school achievements like scouting, sports, etc. whether or not you were of sufficient quality to enter the academy. As an historical note, prior to SAT’s, there really were entrance exams in general subjects like math, English, composition and general subjects to determine academic qualification to attend the academy. That was done primarily because the secondary school system (high school level) was generally unavailable across the country in the 19th century. The requirements in 1968 to attend West Point dating from the 1800’s were to pass the “entrance exams”, be at least 17 years old and to have an appointment from a congressman, senator or the president. That fact will play a significant part of this story.

I drove our Rambler station wagon from Fort Riley to Fort Leavenworth to take my exams. I was sixteen. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me to drive by myself over a hundred miles, but it surprises some people. The most direct route to Fort Leavenworth was by two lane roads through farm country. There were moments of high adventure trying to get the puny six-cylinder American Motors engine to generate enough speed to safely pass the farm vehicles and trucks on the road. I got there in once piece, needless to say.

On the second day of the exams, I was called to the admission officer’s presence to get my interview. It started off pleasantly enough as the captain leafed through my file. Suddenly he stopped, stared at me and asked if I was only a junior in high school. I respectfully assured him I was. He slapped my folder shut, leaned forward on his desk and is an exceptionally rude manner told me I was wasting his valuable time. He said as a junior I wasn’t eligible to attend the academy that year and I was to return home the very next day. I responded with a “yes, sir” and departed the interview.

Coincidentally, that night I had been invited to Colonel McNeil’s quarters for dinner. Colonel McNeil had been a neighbor back at Fort Riley and I had dated his daughter before he was reassigned to Fort Leavenworth once he was promoted to colonel. Colonel McNeil had kindly written my very first letter of recommendation to attend the academy. He was a West Point graduate and I believe an armor officer. He asked me at the dinner how the entrance exams were going, and I told him about my interview and that I would be departing first thing in the morning. He said he was sorry to hear that but wished me a safe trip home.

As I had just finished packing my suitcase to leave early the next morning a young soldier who had apparently run to catch me before I left, breathlessly informed me that the captain from admissions asked me to please come see him and not to depart. The “please come see him” caught my attention and I dutifully put my suitcase down and followed the soldier back to the captain’s office. I was greeted with a big smile and a warm handshake by the captain and asked very politely to have a seat. I sat down wondering what the hell was going on. This was a full 180 degree change by this guy compared to our last conversation.

I sat down, and the captain said that I had apparently misunderstood him the previous day and that I was as eligible as any other candidate who had reported for the exams. Since he wasn’t speaking Chinese the previous day, I clearly had not misunderstood him. Words like “wasting my time” and “go home” are pretty definitive. He asked if I would please (there is that “p” word again) return to the examination process. He assured me the testing I had done earlier was excellent and if I finished with the same level of performance, I would have no problem passing all the entrance exams and getting his recommendation for acceptance. I had absolutely no idea what was going on with this captain but was more than willing to continue the event. I thanked him and went back to change clothes for athletic events scheduled that day.

At the end of all the testing, the captain sought me out before I departed to tell me I had his full endorsement for attendance and had passed with flying colors. All the other candidates were given pass or fail written results but not a personal chat with the captain. I had no idea why the captain was being so cordial towards me. I was not to learn the reason until two years later when on AOT at Fort Riley, Kansas I had a chance to drive over to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas to see Colonel McNeil and his family. But that’s for later.

In late January 1968, we moved to Maryland and I started in my fourth high school. I didn’t know anyone, and it was shaping up to be a long semester. The courses I had taken in high school in Kansas didn’t match up completely with what was offered at the new school, so I was repeating some of what I had already done which was uninspiring and way behind in other courses. I did go meet with Congressman Hansen in his office in Washington and he offered me an appointment to any of the other four academies for that summer, but I told him I’d wait until next year for West Point. He promised I would get the appointment next year for the Class of ’73. My dad’s plan to try early to get an assured appointment after senior year had worked, it seemed.

Towards the end of May, the coach in gym class was calling for me as we came out of the locker rooms. I had just had a fight in the locker room (all the new kids have to be tested, you know), and I assumed I was in trouble (again) for fighting. Instead the coach handed me a note and said congratulations! I was taken aback and read the note. It was from my father and it said, “You have been accepted to West Point. Congratulations!” The kid I had the fight with was the first to come forward and congratulate me which was very nice of him. I guess I was finally accepted after the fight.

I went home after school and my dad had come home early from work at the Pentagon which he never did. He explained to me that Congressman Hansen’s office had called him and said the candidate who had the West Point appointment had changed his mind and was going to the Air Force Academy. I had forty-eight hours to accept or decline the appointment. I said I was going to accept it. My dad said he had friends who had gone to the academy who said I might not be able to hack the academics without finishing high school first. He said I may want to reconsider. I told him I was accepting the appointment. He then said something very important, “This is your decision and your mom and I will support whatever you decide. If you go, whether you decide to leave or not later is also your decision. And again, we’ll support you either way.” There was no pressure from my family to go or to stay once I went. That was important to me. I accepted the nomination that afternoon.

I’ve talked earlier about Beast which I enjoyed for the most part because I was finally learning to be a soldier, my lifelong ambition to that point. This, in spite of numerous examples of bad leadership during parts of Beast. We marched back from Buckner at the end of Beast Barracks, then joined our permanent companies in preparation to start the academic year. I was assigned to Company E, 3d Regiment, United States Corps of Cadets. It was to be my home for the next four years.

I was more than a bit nervous about math instruction. We had been issued about twenty paperback books called the “Green Death” and written by a former head of the math department. It was all calculus and I had been scheduled to take calculus in my final year of high school which never happened. I looked at the calculus book for the first day of class and it was all Chinese to me. I had absolutely no idea what all the math symbols meant. I’d never seen any of them before other that the plusses and minuses. My room mates had the same books, but their first homework assignment was in the first book. Mine was in the fifth or sixth book for some reason. I found out the next day why the difference in assignments.

My very first academic class at the academy was Plebe Math. I had looked up my section assignment and I was in the third section of math. I walked in to the math room and my peers were all talking excitedly about the math problems and zipping their slide rules back and forth in nervous anticipation of having fun solving the problems. I did not join any of those discussions and the first time I had ever seen a slide rule was the previous week when it was issued. I had no idea how to use a slide rule but found it handy to underline my perennially wrong answers on math exams. The instructor walked in to the classroom and said, “Take boards!”. Then rattled off the problems the even numbered and odd numbered boards were to solve. I was an odd numbered board and proceeded to write out each of the problems on my board. That’s as far as I could go. I had held onto my mostly unused piece of chalk hoping for divine inspiration but that was a no go. After the requisite time, the instructor announced, “Cease Work!” and we all put our chalk down.

The instructor walked around and looked at each board to determine who had gotten a problem right and could recite on it to the rest of us. He got to my board and asked if I was lost? I said very fervently, “Yes, sir!” He asked why I was in advanced calculus and I told him I didn’t know. He said in reference to being lost, “Don’t worry Cadet Chamberlain, if you are lost you will surely be found.” The term “found” did not escape my notice. We all knew that a cadet who fails academically is “found deficient” in an academic subject and either leaves the academy and is allowed to take a reentrance exam to be readmitted or is sent home for good pending the judgement of an academic board. I asked the instructor if he could help me, but he said no. If I had never taken calculus before, he couldn’t bridge that gap with additional instruction (AI). He said I would just have to gut it out until it was time to resection to a new math section more in keeping with my abilities, or lack thereof. It was a long four weeks until resection and I went deficient in math every day for the six days of the week we took math.

Now I wondered how I had ended up in the 3d Section of math with the rocket scientists. My math SAT scores were average and enough to get in to the academy but not nearly on par with those of my section mates. I was to discover the answer to that riddle two years later, when as I mentioned earlier, I went to see Colonel McNeil during AOT. Over dinner Colonel McNeil asked me how the first two years at the academy had gone and I told him about starting out in the 3d Section of Plebe Math. He was reflective for a moment and told me he had a pretty good idea how that happened.

Colonel McNeil asked me if I remembered being told to go home from the entrance exams and then being asked to stay and finish. I told him I did. He told me that he was the president of the Fort Leavenworth entrance exam board and the admissions captain was working for him. After I left his house that night, he said he had called the captain and instructed him to go into his office and get my file. Once he had my file he was to call Colonel McNeil. When he called, Colonel McNeil had the captain read to him the first letter of recommendation in my file which was from Colonel McNeil. He then asked the captain if he was questioning his judgement by writing that letter. I’m sure the young captain had an epiphany at that point as to whether I was qualified to take the entrance exams. Colonel McNeil said he was quite certain the admissions captain had arranged to have me placed in the 3d Section of math in an attempt to make me fail math and be dismissed, thus proving his point that I was unqualified. I was somewhat shocked at the time that anybody would do such a thing, but after 34 years of service and observation inside the Army, I am now not the least surprised.

So what happened next? How did I survive Plebe math after such a stunning start? Well, it wasn’t easy but I definitely got help along the way. First of all, when resection finally came in early October, I went from the 3d Section of math to the 38th Section which was the last section of Plebe math. We were the end of the line, the fellows with the lowest grades in our entire class in math at that point. Numerous math instructors were aware of my predicament and stood out in the hallway and applauded me and wished me luck as I went like a streaking comet to the very end of Thayer Hall. I believe I set a record in the Corps of Cadets for the single biggest drop in sections in one move. To say I gladly fled down the hallway is a true statement.

I got to the 38th Section and found that I was in the upper half of the section. There were ten poor bastards who had an even lower grade than I did! As we all stood there waiting for the instructor to come in, we were nervous. We need not have been. A major walked in wearing a Combat Infantryman’s Badge and announced that he was Ranger Major Schorr and if we would stay awake, he would get us through Plebe math. He then told us to take seats and actually started teaching, something I had not experienced in the 3d Section where you were supposed to know it all already. Major Schorr is my hero and I stayed awake; very awake!

This is the end of the beginning story of my sojourn to the military academy. The following post will be about my trials and travails at the end of my cadet career and how I became an officer in the Adjutant General Corps instead of the Infantry. The lesson from the above story is that sometimes you make enemies without ever knowing it and that people can be small and petty. The other lesson is that there are more good people than bad out there if you are fortunate enough to cross paths with them.