Your fellow veterans get it. Unfortunately, his loved ones, who never shared the experience, simply 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. Yet that makes us believe. How do we know how much character content we have? At what point do we reach 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 the Air Force ROTC at Dover AFB, DE. This was a six-week camp designed both to develop college students into leaders of American warriors and to weed out those who could not meet the stringent 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 personnel, I looked around the room only to realize that I was left alone with the Commander of Cadets, a Lieutenant Colonel with impeccable credentials. He asked me to sit near him and began to speak out of place in soft tones, “The civilians will be 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, he 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 anticipation. 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 next few weeks. “I want you to break every cadet that walks through that door. Break mentally, break physically or break emotionally, but break! Then they will know the depth of his character.” I sat there, open-mouthed, obviously taken aback and pondering 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”.
Almost four weeks passed before I internalized his words. I was checking the barracks at half past midnight, waiting for the cadets all asleep; however, knowing that they could be shining shoes by 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 accomplish 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 whatever it took to pass courses, inspections, and physical fitness tests; I increased the difficulty level. There was only one cadet awake that night. He was outside 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 comical 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 quarters and pretend to sleep until I left the area. The Commander’s words came back to me. I did not know very well how to fulfill 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 freedom, he could easily have decided to spend his time chasing a football while he snapped linemen in half and ate quarterbacks for a light snack. He was over 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, he was extolling the virtues of sleep and the body’s need for rest. It wasn’t until about 200 four-beat push-ups that he even started to slow down. But, for 250 he was mine. He didn’t need to scream. 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 his strength was leaving him. A few more and physically he couldn’t continue. He had forced it to the very end of his physical limits. He tried to get up; but his arms were no longer cooperating.
“Have you had enough?” I barked loud enough to change the mood; however, not so loud as to wake those sleeping within. “No, sir,” she replied dryly, now with serious desperation in her tone. I invited him to resign, “Maybe my Air Force isn’t 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 belched, “I won’t quit, sir.” Her body didn’t 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 come 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 gaze was chilling.
I myself was not far 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 the fastest knockout in Pennsylvania history and a future Air Force athlete for that sport. “Although I had faced big men in the ring, what was 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 took in the muscular definition of the tree—his arms like a trunk—I thought I could almost smell his rage.
Just as I was preparing for the worst, I realized that it wasn’t anger in the air. 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 watery now. “Nothing you can tell me…” Resolution returned to his voice. “…to make me quit, sir.” He straightened his shoulders even more, clenched his fists, squared himself off perfectly, and finished, “We can stay here as long as you want, sir…as long as you need…until you understand, that I’M NEVER GIVING UP.” !” We didn’t need to stay longer. My work was done. He had found his butt and seen the contents of it.
Weeks later, at his graduation ceremony, he bowed gracefully, then extended his hand in friendship. “I’ll never be able to properly thank you for that night,” she said as her eyes strayed from mine. I took her hand and shook it determinedly, replying, “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 full understanding of her: “Hooah.” This was a warrior leader.