Your fellow veterans get it. Unfortunately, their loved ones, who never shared the experience, just don’t understand boot camp. What happened there? Why have you changed? The following was documented to help you start that conversation. They will never really know. Maybe they can at least understand.
“The content of one’s character” is a phrase we often hear. Each of us has character; some simply have more content than others. However, that makes us believe. How do we know how much character content we have? At what point do we hit our bottom? How do we react when we stare into that abyss? These are the basic questions of military training, affectionately known as ‘boot camp’, that each of us can answer for ourselves.
During the summer of 1989, I had the great pleasure of serving as a Cadet Training Officer for Air Force ROTC at Dover AFB, DE. This was a six-week boot camp designed to both make college students leaders of America’s warriors and weed out those who couldn’t meet the strict requirements of USAF officers. Along with the rest of the staff, I showed up a week early for mission review and plan development.
Just hours before the cadets arrived at dawn, my true mission was fully revealed. After spending the night together as R&R staff, I looked around the room only to realize I was left alone with the Cadet Commander, a Lieutenant Colonel with impeccable credentials. He asked me to sit near him and began speaking awkwardly in soft tones, “The civilians will be arriving here in a few hours. I’m counting on you to make sure the officer candidates leave.” Hoping this was the whole idea, I responded with the customary “Hooah” to acknowledge that I understood my mission and accepted his challenge. But, it continued.
As he spoke, I felt his intensity increase. Although she never spoke out loud, her passion and sincerity captured my attention and filled me with great expectation. He was no longer having a casual conversation. I was experiencing one of the most memorable moments of my life that would lead to a significant emotional event in the coming weeks. “I want you to break every cadet that walks through that door. Break mentally, break physically or break emotionally, but break! Then they’ll know the depth of his character.” I sat there gaping, obviously caught off guard and reflecting on deep thoughts as he finished: “You can’t rebuild the Air Force… You can’t take airmen to war… Until they find what they’ve got.” very deep inside”.
It took almost four weeks until I internalized his words. I was checking the barracks at half past midnight, waiting for the cadets all asleep; yet knowing that they might be shining shoes in the moonlight or studying with a flashlight. These things had to be done at night. No time was allowed in the daily routine for cadets to complete all assigned tasks. However, as a night stalker, it was my duty to punish anyone I caught. it was a game. They had to do what was necessary to pass courses, inspections and physical aptitude tests; I increased the difficulty level. There was only one cadet awake that night. He was out in the open scrubbing the floor to a shine when I ran into him.
Within minutes I had him outside doing push-ups. As he counted them, “1, 2, 3, 1, sir… 1, 2, 3, 2, sir” I detected a comic frivolity in his cadence. He had done this before. He already knew the game and was prepared to wait for me outside so I could go back to his headquarters and pretend to sleep until I left the area. The Commander’s words came back to me. I didn’t quite know how to accomplish my mission. I knew: failure was not an option.
This was a great specimen of a man before me. If he hadn’t chosen to stand up for liberty, he could easily have decided to spend his time chasing a football while he ripped linemen in half and ate quarterbacks for a light snack. He passed 50. I gave a lecture. I told him that it was now government property and that he was not taking very good care of that property. When he passed 100 years old, he was extolling the virtues of sleep and the body’s need for rest. It wasn’t until about 200 four-stroke pushups that he even started to slow down. But, for 250 he was mine. He didn’t need to yell. He had learned that a whisper was much more powerful. I put my lips very close to his ear and questioned his manhood. When his arms began to shake from lifting his mammoth body so many times, I knew the strength was leaving him. A few more and he physically couldn’t continue. He had pushed him to the very end of his physical limits. He tried to get up; but his arms no longer cooperated.
“Have you had enough?” I barked loud enough to change the mood; however, not loud enough to wake those sleeping within. “No, sir,” she replied dryly, now serious desperation in her tone. I invited him to resign, “My Air Force may not be the place for you, cadet. Say the word and you’ll be back in your mother’s arms before this time tomorrow.” She barely finished her sentence when she burped, “I won’t quit, sir.” Her body did not agree. He was done. I caught his eye and stood face to face with him. “This isn’t the job for you,” I insisted softly, “why don’t you go home to Mommy? There’s enough Air Force in me for both of us. Say the word, cadet.” His face began to tighten. His muscles, though tired, hardened. His eyes pierced me like daggers. His look was chilling.
I myself did not lag behind. At 6’5″, 220 pounds, he was not only the athletic training officer, he was also a martial arts fighter with the state record for fastest knockout in Pennsylvania history and a future Air Force athlete for that sport. “Although I had faced burly men in the ring, what stood face to face before me was more than a man. He was a giant of whom epics are written, a voice given by a mountain. When I noticed the tree’s muscular definition—his trunk-like arms—I thought I could almost smell the rage from him.
Just as I was preparing myself for the worst, I realized it wasn’t air rage. It was the content of a man’s character that he was witnessing. A tear rolled down his right eye. “I won’t quit, sir,” he yelled as his voice cracked, “there’s nothing you can do to me…” Both eyes were teary now. “Nothing you can tell me…” Resolution returned to his voice. “…to make me resign, sir.” He squared his shoulders even more, clenched his fists, squared himself to perfect form, and finished, “We can stay here as long as you want, sir…as long as you need…until you understand, I’M NEVER GOING TO QUIT. !” We didn’t need to stay longer. My job was done. He had found his behind and saw the contents inside.
Weeks later, at his graduation ceremony, he gave a gracious salute and then extended his hand in friendship. “I can never properly thank you for that night,” she said as her eyes drifted from mine. I took her hand and shook it determinedly, answering, “And you’ll never need to, hooah?” Her gaze locked firmly on mine as her grip tightened and she ended our time together with a parting thought. Because there was only one thing he could say to show his total understanding of her: “Hooah.” This was a warrior leader.