Absolutely American

by David Lipsky

  Ryan Southerland and Betty Simbert say goodbye to each other a few days before the ceremony, exchange fresh e-mail addresses, part as friends. Betty is surprised by how few of her friends are graduating with her. They’ll be present at the event, but as spectators, in the stands. Back at the prep school, she started out with seven close friends; one quit, another got kicked out before West Point, two got kicked out at West Point, the others are turnbacks—they’re repeating firstie year. “I get mad at them,” she says, wrinkling her forehead. “Just because of the fact that they aren’t here. I’m angry. I say, ‘We were supposed to be doing this together. Now I’m doing it myself. This sucks. It’s just my graduation; it was supposed to be ours.’ They say, ‘As long as you’re doing it. We knew you’d make it.’ I’m like, ‘Well, I thought you would make it too. Why am I up here alone?’”

  The night before graduation, Ryan Southerland walks the post. He’s spent the last semester sifting through classroom lectures, deciding what kind of officer he wants to be. “This one history professor,” he says, the heels of his dress shoes ticking over the path, “he said you’ve got two courses. You can pick battles and fight them. And the other way is to accept things you think are really wrong, in the hopes of climbing to a position where you can make them better. But in exchange for that, you make a sacrifice. You can make that choice for your whole life, and then at the end, when you look back, you’re a moral idiot. Because there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to make those changes, and in the meantime every decision you’ve made along the way has been wrong.” He doesn’t believe this is what West Point has prepared him for.

  He pauses in front of the statue of Eisenhower, the gray figure seeming blue in the night. Earlier in the evening, Rudy Guiliani addressed the graduation banquet. “This is the first class in a while,” he began, “that’s graduated in a time of war. It’s a war that started in my city. And you will have to finish this war.” Ryan stares at the general, standing with one stone leg cocked as if getting ready to step onto the Plain. “He went through the same stuff we did,” Ryan says, “just did it a few years earlier, on this long gray line. I mean, this place moves so fast, there’s so much turnover. The firsties I remember when I was a plebe, nobody knows about anymore. When I mention Keirsey at my table, people say, ‘Who?’ And then when I leave, nobody will even mention him. Nobody will remember that he passed some time here, did some great things.

  “But if you step back, you’ve got to appreciate that.” Ryan looks back toward the barracks—rows of windows, a tiny door opening and shutting. “The train is still rolling. When you hop off, West Point keeps on going. That’s what makes it what it is. My experience here is about six and a half hours from being over. But West Point keeps on going. The pace, energy, speed, the intensity, the consistency, that’s what America wants from us. It’s what it’s prepared everybody to be used to the whole time.” Back in barracks, Ryan goes room to room, hands around his own gym alpha T-shirts—just what J. D. Keirsey did last year, to leave something of himself behind, to keep his name circulating in the corps.

  In the morning, firsties gather under powderpuff clouds for their last formation; class officers collect the Goat bonus in big Ziploc bags. (George has missed the honor by a few thousandths of a grade point.) Then they march together to Michie Stadium, where they reported for R-Day four summers ago. That morning, they had their names taken away; today they get them back, printed in diplomas.

  President Bush delivers a speech congratulating the cadets. He says that the “war on terror is only begun,” that “building a just peace is America’s opportunity, as well as America’s duty. From this day forward, it is your challenge as well, and we will meet this challenge together.” Then the president squares up to the convivial challenge of shaking a thousand hands, as the reading of the names begins. Bush deploys a variety of handshakes: the Sidearm, the Hand-to-the-Elbow, the For-Ladies-Only. He is very game, playing it like racquetball, never letting a shot go by. One after the other, the cadets get their moment, meeting the boss. When there’s a pause, the president lightly flexes his fingers, shoots his cuffs.

  The names go on and on. First name, middle, last.

  “Joel, R., Fulski.”

  “Jonathan, E., Algor.”

  Some names get huge applause. When “Ekkerhard, D., Stiller” is called, the cadets go wild; he’s the Goat. The cadets approach the stage by company. When they stand in their long lines, tug on their hats, it’s like a long white wave cleanly breaking. G-4 is the second-to-last company in corps; it’s seated in the back rows. Huck sits with his cheek pressed into his hat, to shield his face from the sun. When cadets climb down from the stage, holding their diplomas, they tackle each other, laugh, hug. Then G-4 rises, hats on, begins its walk to the stage.

  “Maria, J., Auer.”

  “Steve, J. M., Cho.”

  Eliel Pimentel salutes the president before they can shake hands. As George waits at the bottom, the supe—who has either never seen his name or can’t quite believe it—calls, “George, R., Rosh.” That’s his goodbye from West Point. At the base of the steps, the G-4 hugs begin. George somehow stands just outside this commotion. Huck and Rizzo hug. Eliel and Rob Anders hug Matt. Jasmine Rose hugs Maria. George watches hopefully. Cal Smith hugs Will Reynolds. Riz hugs Kevin Hadley. Rob and Eliel and Kenny Wainwright hug Mark Thompson. Then the cadets turn and pull George in too.

  The graduates return to barracks for the final uniform change, then spread out across the post for their swearing-in ceremonies. George is sworn in by the rabbi. Captain Paredes swears in a bunch of Guppies on the Plain. At a tent by the water, before his parents, Huck is sworn in by Major Vermeesch. His mother and father thank the officer for what he’s practiced on their son. It’s taken a long march to bring Vermeesch and Huck to this spot together. Before he leaves, the major hands Huck a gift, a copy of the military novel Once an Eagle. “Next to the Bible,” Vermeesch says, “this is probably the best book ever written.

  Just read it, OK?”

  A couple months later, when Huck actually starts the novel, a memo on official West Point stationery falls from between the pages. He’s not going to read it—he assumes the major stuck it there as a bookmark and then forgot about it. Then he glances at the subject line: it’s the official record of their counseling session, from February 2000. There were all the TAC’s warnings about “discipline” and “separation” and “questioning your desire to be an Army officer.” In the upper right corner, beside the date 6/1/02, Vermeesch has scribbled in, “What a transformation. Continue to make us proud.”

  Bibliography

  Agnew, James B. Eggnog Riot: The Christmas Mutiny at West Point. San Rafael, Calif.: Presidio Press, 1979.

  Ambrose, Stephen E. Duty, Honor, Country: A History of West Point (revised edition). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1966, 1999.

  Atkinson, Rick. The Long Gray Line. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989.

  Barkalow, Carol, with Andrea Raab. In the Men’s House. New York: Poseidon Press, 1990.

  Battle, Kemp. History of the University of North Carolina, 1789–1868. Raleigh, N.C.: Edwards & Broughton, 1907.

  Bugle Notes, various years. Annual publication of the U.S. Military Academy, issued to cadets upon first entering West Point.

  Cowley, Robert, and Thomas Guinzburg, editors. West Point: Two Centuries of Honor and Tradition. New York: Warner Books, 2002.

  Crackel, Theodore J. The Illustrated History of West Point. New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1991.

  Cullum, George Washington. Biographical Register of the Officers and Graduates of the United Sates Military Academy. New York: J. F. Trow, 1850.

  Custer, Elizabeth. Boots and Saddles. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1885.

  Donnithorne, Larry R. The West Point Way of Leadership, New York: Double-day, 1994.

  Dupuy, R. Ernest, Men of West Point: The First 150 Years of the United States Military Academy. New York: William Sloane Associates, 1951.


  Ellis, Joseph J., and Robert Moore. School for Soldiers: West Point and the Profession of Arms. New York: Oxford University Press, 1974.

  Fleming, Thomas J. West Point: The Men and Times of the United States Military Academy. New York: William Morrow, 1969.

  Flipper, Henry O. The Colored Cadet at West Point. New York: H. Lee & Co., 1878.

  Forman, Sidney. West Point: A History of the United States Military Academy. New York: Columbia University Press, 1950.

  Grant, Ulysses S. Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant. Introduction by Geoffrey Perret. New York: Modern Library, 1885, 1999.

  Huntington, Samuel P. The Soldier and the State. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1957.

  King, Charles. Cadet Days: A Story of West Point. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1903.

  Kirshner, Ralph. Class of 1861: Custer, Ames, and Their Classmates after West Point. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1999.

  Lovell, John P. Neither Athens nor Sparta: The American Service Academies in Transition. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1979.

  Malone, Paul Bernard. West Point Cadet. Philadelphia: Penn Publishing Co., 1908.

  McCaughey, Robert A. Josiah Quincy: The Last Federalist, 1772–1864. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1974.

  McCrea, Tully. Dear Belle: Letters from a Cadet & Officer to His Sweetheart, 1858–1865. Foreword by Bruce Catton. Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan University Press, 1965.

  Myrer, Anton. Once an Eagle. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1968.

  Norton, Aloysius Arthur. Study of the Customs and Traditions of West Point in the American Novel. New York: Columbia University Press, 1950.

  Pappas, George S. To the Point: The United States Military Academy, 1802–1902. Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1993.

  Rapp, Kenneth W. Whistler in Cadet Gray and other Stories about the United States Military Academy. Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y.: North River Press, 1978.

  Ricks, Thomas E. Making the Corps. New York: Scribner, 1997.

  Ruggero, Ed. Duty First: West Point and the Making of American Leaders. New York: HarperCollins, 2001.

  Schaff, Morris. The Spirit of Old West Point, 1858–1862. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1907.

  Simpson, Jeffrey. Officers and Gentlemen: Historic West Point in Photographs. Tarrytown, N.Y.: Sleepy Hollow Press, 1985.

  Stewart, Robert. The Corps of Cadets: A Year at West Point. Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 1996.

  Todd, Frederick Porter. Cadet Gray: A Pictorial History of Life at West Point as Seen Through Its Uniforms. New York: Sterling Publishing, 1955.

  Truscott, Lucian K., IV. Dress Gray. New York: Doubleday, 1977.

  Webb, Ernie, John D. Hart, and James E. Foley. West Point Sketch Book. New York: Vantage Press, 1976.

  Acknowledgments

  IN A BOOK like this, where so many people were generous with their attention, hospitality and time, a proper Acknowledgments page could run as long as the closing credits of a special-effects movie. This is a proper Acknowledgments page.

  To begin with, I’d like to express my gratitude to the many cadets who shared with me their impressions and experiences, and who answered all my plebeish questions. (“Why do people use the number eight for ‘eight-up’?”) As much as anything else, I appreciated their good company, whether driving me in a Humvee or assaulting me on the Bayonet Assault Course or taking me to meet their parents or sitting with me over beers at the Firstie Club. Thanking them individually would be impractical; instead, I’ll say that this book would not have been possible without the generous cooperation of the United States Corps of Cadets. I’m grateful to any cadet who wore an as-for-class uniform between 1998 and 2002, and I’m especially indebted to those whose names appear in this book. Their time, their honesty and their stories have given this book whatever you like best about it.

  Similarly, I would like to express my appreciation to the officers in the West Point administration who so graciously tolerated the sight of a rumpled journalist crossing the Plain or stepping in and out of barracks. In particular, my thanks to General Daniel W. Christman (retired) and General John P. Abizaid (First Infantry Division), who first invited me to West Point. (Colonel Kerry Pierce, who answered many of the first questions I had about the West Point system, passed away after a long illness in November of 2000; he was generous with his time as well.) Alan Aimone, chief of Special Collections at the U.S. Military Academy Library, was a good sport about the many West Point history books I kept from his shelves for far too long. More importantly, he was an excellent source of information about both the modern Academy and good spots to dig for material on the historical one. Dr. Stephen Grove, the West Point historian, was also a valuable guide as I picked my way through West Point’s past.

  Civilians visiting West Point usually check in at the blocky Welcome Center down the road; for journalists, the welcome center is the Public Affairs Office. The staff there is a healthy mix of officers and civilians, uniforms and chinos working side by side. I owe special thanks to its director, Lieutenant Colonel Jim E. Whaley III, for years of question-answering and door-opening. Mike D’Aquino escorted me with good humor and endless patience during my first week at West Point. Andrea Hamburger was almost spendthrift with information and suggestions and forbearance, and likeably hardheaded when I wanted to do something stupid like go skydiving with the parachute team. Theresa Brinkerhoff arranged my tickets to football games and banquets and, when she ran into me, always pretended to think I was a real card, which was even nicer. Major John Cornelio was an excellent host during my first months at West Point, and Lieutenant Colonel William H. Harkey (retired) was also generous with his time. Pat Brown and Lieutenant Colonel Kirk Frady were also helpful and gracious. As with the officers and cadets noted above, this book would not have been possible without the help of the Public Affairs Office.

  Turning to the civilian world, my editor at Houghton Mifflin, Eamon Dolan, shares the dedication of this book with Company G-4, in gratitude for the great dedication he has shown for me and my work. He was more intelligent, patient, thoughtful and more of a friend than any writer has a right to expect. Janet Silver was generous to this project in many ways, and gave me great advice for a speech I was anxious about delivering in South Carolina; she runs a tight ship. Bridget Marmion is full of smart ideas about marketing, and Lori Glazer and Whitney Peeling, in publicity, were both very intelligent and helpful and charming people, in a field where part of the job is perfecting a kind of cultured yelling.

  This book began as stories I wrote at Rolling Stone magazine, where I’ve spent eight years. Jann Wenner, Bob Love and Will Dana have been great friends to the project and to me. Jann Wenner is publisher and editor of the magazine; I want to express my gratitude for his patience, faith and training. (When I mentioned this to him, he asked if I could add “glacial patience.”) Former managing editor Bob Love brought me to the magazine, smoked with me through a lot of long nights and taught me the supreme importance of good reporting; if there’s nothing to tell, it doesn’t matter how you tell it. Will Dana was an immense help to the stories as they came together; his enthusiasm about the Academy was a boon at the point in any story where a writer is apt to confuse irritation with the process with irritation about the subject. Danielle Mattoon was also helpful during my first months at the Academy.

  I owe Lisa Bankoff at ICM a great debt of gratitude. She’s been extremely wise about business, people and prose, which is just what you want from an agent. Beyond that, Lisa has proven to be an excellent, steadfast friend. Patrick Price at ICM was also helpful, a keen reader and a steady voice at the end of the phone.

  At Goldberg-McDuffie Communications, Lynn Goldberg and Camille McDuffie have both proven invaluable assets (force multipliers, as they’d say in the Army); Sarah Trabucchi has shown great dedication and warmth to this project, and has also been a good, patient friend.

  Because this book took so many years to research and write, I keep thanking people for patience. Th
e woman who has displayed that virtue most is my girlfriend, Evie Shapiro. She was patient with my absence and even more patient when I was back home, with pages of transcript on the sofa, tapes everywhere, books with torn pieces of paper marking the relevant passages like little prayers. Jean Brown was an incredibly valuable ally; only Jean has witnessed the director’s cut of this book, as she transcribed hundreds of hours of tape. My mother, Pat Lipsky, helped in many ways; Heather Mabis Chase was a great help too, both as a reader and as a friend. Lots of other people offered their assistance and advice at various stages: Jeff Giles, Captain John Hillen (retired), Stephen Sherrill, Emily Little, Michael Rubiner, Mark Seliger, Shaune McDowell, Shelter Serra, Elizabeth Wurtzel, Rachel Clarke, Stacey Greenwald, Carol Dittbrenner, David Samuels, Chris Heath, A. C. Adornetto, Jane Kennedy, Bruce Keith and, for an invaluable contribution, Eric Easterly. It’s an old saying that a book has friends before it has readers; this book was fortunate to find such good ones.

  About the Author

  DAVID LIPSKY is a contributing editor for Rolling Stone. He has written for The New Yorker, the New York Times, Harper’s Magazine, and the Boston Globe, among other publications. His fiction has appeared in The New Yorker and The Best American Short Stories, and his novel, The Art Fair, won acclaim from the New York Times Book Review, Newsweek, People, and others. His honors include a MacDowell fellowship and a Henry Hoyns fellowship. He lives in New York City.

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