I distinctly remember returning to West Point after Christmas my Plebe year. It wasn’t fun. As a matter of fact, the last couple of days at home became bittersweet as I started thinking about returning to West Point as a Beanhead* for another five months.
It wasn’t just returning to the Plebe System (Fourth Class System) that affected me. We had first semester finals two weeks after returning. Also, have you ever visited West Point in winter? In the Fall, West Point is one of the most beautiful places in the country. In the winter? Not so much, unless you have a fondness for the color grey. January to March at West Point is called “Gloom Period”**, with good reason.
If I’m honest with myself, it wasn’t Gloom Period, or finals that brought me down. It was going back as a Plebe for another five months. Before you enter the Academy, you hear all about how tough Plebe year is both mentally and physically. It’s one thing to hear about it. It’s another to experience it for six months, have a break, and then know you are going back for more of the same.
Coming home to Ottawa that December, Christmas break was great. Being a real person again was even better. Everyone wanted to know how West Point was, and of course I told them the good stuff, while minimizing the actuality of Plebe life. The time at home divided out between family events, dates with Cathy and partying with my friends.
During the day, I spent time at home, or went to see Grandma, various aunts and uncles, and church or family friends. I remember racing around town fitting in as many visits as I could. It was good to catch up with so many people, but also a bit exhausting.
Cath and I went on dates most evenings and tried to make up for lost time. The last we’d seen each other was Labor Day Weekend, when she visited West Point with my folks. In the interim, we’d written so many letters back and forth, I lost count of the actual number. While home, there was even a formal holiday dance at Ottawa High (Cathy was still a senior in high school). I wore my dress uniform, and felt so much older than the high school “kids”, who in reality were only one or two years younger.
Since she was still in school, Cathy had a curfew most nights. After our dates ended, I often linked up with my buddies Howard, Tim, Mark and others. The drinking age in Illinois was 19 at the time for beer and wine, but nobody really checked. We made the rounds at Berta’s, The Flamingo and Russell’s Tap before finally making it to bed. The next morning I’d wake up and start the cycle all over again. As I recall, sleeping in wasn’t an option.
I’d taken a couple of text books home with me to study over break, but of course I never cracked them. The days and nights raced by.
Finally it was New Year’s Eve and just a couple days before I would return to West Point. I remember going to a party with Cathy at our friend Jack’s home that night. Many of our friends were there. It was a great time, and as the clock struck midnight, there were kisses, handshakes and toasts all around. It was wonderful and things seemed almost perfect.
Maybe an hour later, it hit me. This was all going to end and I would return to the reality of Plebe life. The exhilaration from midnight rapidly disappeared. I crashed and a forlorn feeling took over. I found a quiet spot in an empty room and just sat there thinking. The dread I felt was visceral. Cathy found me a few minutes later and could tell something was wrong. She asked if I was OK and I struggled with words, then just gave up trying to explain. The thing is, she felt it too. We stood there hugging for I don’t know how long.
I more-or-less bounced back the next day and enjoyed my last day or two of freedom. Finally, it was time. As a Plebe, I think I was required to travel in uniform, and when Mom, Dad and Cathy drove me to O’Hare, that’s what I wore. Back then everyone could walk all the way to the gate, and that’s where we said our final goodbyes and “I love you’s”. Mom gave me a care package and with a last wave and a smile, I boarded the plane for New York.
At the airport in New York (LaGuardia I think), cadets were everywhere. Most of us made our way to buses for the final fifty miles to our Rock Bound Highland Home on the Hudson. The bus I was on was pretty quiet, with Plebes and upperclassmen alike lost in their own thoughts. By now, I’d steeled my mind for the return to school and Plebe life. I was as ready as I was going to be.
And of course it wasn’t as bad as things looked on New Year’s Eve. I made the Dean’s list that first semester, and by late March or early April, Gloom Period was lifting. As for dealing with upperclassmen and the 4th Class System, that too passed. As the Semester wore on, things became easier and and finally, in June, Recognition Day happened. We were no longer Plebes, but full fledged members of the Corps of Cadets.
To this day, I remember that New Year’s Eve and the roller coaster of emotions I felt. Speaking with Cathy, she too distinctly remembers that night. I recently told her I thought I’d write a blog about New Year’s Eve Plebe year. She immediately knew what I was talking about. I laughed a bit and said something like “I didn’t know you remembered”. She quickly answered “How could I forget?”
Addendum:
- *Beanhead – one of the many less flattering terms upperclassman used for Plebes at the time.
- ** Gloom Period – If you want to read more about Gloom Period, you can do so here: https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2018/01/21/gloom-period/
- I’ve often thought of that New Year’s Eve over the years and the feelings I experienced that night. I’d contemplated writing a blog about it before, but couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Then, during Christmas season this year, one of my classmates posted an email on his own feelings about the return to West Point after Christmas. Several others chimed in. Some were worried about academics and getting separated due to grades. Others, like me, thought about the return to the 4th Class System for several more months. Still others talked of the general malaise around our return, with Gloom Period settling in. A few told (now) funny stories about missing flights, late arriving girl friends, and even running into the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders during a stopover on the return to the Academy. It’s interesting what binds people together. My classmates and I laugh and now tell stories of those times that seemed so serious back then. Time and distance have brought perspective and a camaraderie that has lasted a lifetime. I feel lucky to be a member of the Proud and Great Class of ‘78. Thanks for the memories, and the continued friendship my brothers.
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Max, I had just the opposite experience: Met with the girl to whom I was secretly engaged; the one that promised to wait forever for me to graduate; it very soon became apparent, during Plebe Christmas leave, that her definition of “forever” was much different than mine (the dump became official with my official ‘Dear John’ received 1 Feb 1975; and, no, I didn’t take it to read at dinner to get the fallout). As a result, I was actually looking forward to returning to the academy then.
That said, however, your expressed experience above reflects every leave and return to the academy from that point forward. In all those cases didn’t really dread anything but the trip there. Once back, fell into the rhythm of the requirements, and was at least comfortable, if not actually happy.
Thanks for your blog – really took me back.
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Grant – thanks for sharing. Your point about falling back into the rhythm is exactly right. Once we got back, we did exactly that – fall back into the rhythm of our lives there and that was the focus. Well said!
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Your blog is what I have come to expect from you Max! Keep it up and some day I think they may have a Jeopardy question about your writing ! Three things made coming back from Christmas Leave plebe year not as bad as it was for others. I went to the Prep School the year before so I had lost that general feeling of home sickness by then. I was in the F-2 Zoo, something that only our classmates understand. I roomed with two close friends I had roomed with at the Prep School. Nothing was ever going to get me to leave West Point except the Dean. As you recall, in those days one of the missions of the Academy Staff was to whittle the number of cadets in each year group from around 1400 at Admission to 900 or so at Graduation. Failure of one class was reason for expulsion and that happened hundreds of time in our class. Many of us had been convinced to use the method of “Memorize and Forget or Dump” to get through all of those classes. I was good at Memorizing but bad at retaining. I had forgotten just about everything I ever memorized during that Christmas Break and I knew it. Coming back I knew that I was in deep trouble Term End week was a 22 hour a day affair for me. Study, take the test, dump and study for the next test. I was never a coffee drinker and still am not but I should have purchased stock in the Coca Cola Bottling Company that snowy week. Fortunately I made it through all of the exams and learned to discard the “Memorize and Dump” method of learning. Our best to you and Cathy in this new year. Looking forward to seeing you at the 45th in October !
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Old Man – thank you so much – appreciate the words.
And yes, we all had our journeys that we went through – all of us having our very own real concerns. Thanks for sharing, and thanks for writing the original email to get the whole chain going.
See you this fall for sure!
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I was in the Zoo which was as easy a time as you could have as a plebe and even I remember those last couple days before having to return as a beaner and take term ends being beyond depressing. I had a serious girlfriend and we were nearly inseparable while I was on leave. I think I almost felt physically ill leaving her. On the one hand, you have a lot of pride at having made it thru Beast and most of first semester. But as I introspected those last days before our return, I think the thing I realized was that even as an upperclassmen, I was staring at 3 and half more years of the drudgery of being a cadet. The yearlings didnt seem to be much happier than the plebes. I lived in Upstate NY near Syracuse, so I got a ride back with a couple classmates from the local area. The drive back was typical NY in winter…overcast, dark, grey, snow…gloom. You could feel the suck of West Point pulling you in like some gigantic black hole vortex. We were all very quiet and subdued. But when I got back to the company area and saw some of my company mates, roomies, slowly that sense of camaraderie brought me out of the funk. That and the outright terror of finals. My current girlfriends kids are in college now and they just stare at me when I tell them we had to go BACK to take finals and having that sword of Damocles hanging over our heads over Christmas break. What an exquisite way to torture Cadets….LOL Thanks for that walk down amnesia lane Max!! 🙂
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Thanks Andy – looks like your words also captured it pretty well “the suck of West Point pulling you in like some gigantic black hole vortex” ! And you are very correct about our classmates and roommates bringing us together, Thank God…
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Your well written blog brought back very similar memories for me, especially since I was also going to my hometown of Princeton, Illinois to try to absorb some “real life” and respite from the misery of being a Plebe in dreaded F-1. (True to that company’s tradition before the shuffling of 1976, the intense hazing continued throughout second semester too). What struck me during the Christmas break was how eager my friends who went to “real colleges” were to get back to school and parties and how bored some were becoming during Christmas break…..exactly opposite to my emotions and depression about returning to the misery we existed in. It really brought home to me the stark contrast between our West Point experience versus the ‘real college” experiences enjoyed by our civilian counterparts. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and nostalgic photos. “Proud and Great ‘78” indeed.
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Great observations Gary. Thanks for sharing.
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Great blog Max. I can’t believe you remember so much. It brought back memories for me, mostly those I’ve wanted to suppress. Like taking a whole suitcase full of books and never even opening it, wearing my uniform when traveling and dreading going back. It was always a crap-shoot arriving at La Guardia not really sure how I would get from there to WP. I don’t remember, but my mom swears I refused to go back and they convinced me to return. (I was in sunny southern California, which may have contributed to my not wanting to go back).
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Thanks Tom – similar feelings. When some of our classmates emailed on this subject, I realized I wasn’t the only one feeling that way… 40 some years later. 😉
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