Your loved ones, who never shared the experience, just don’t understand boot camp.
“The content of one’s character” is a phrase we hear often.
We each have character; some just have more content than others.
How do we know how much content of character we have? At what point do we reach our bottom? How do we react when we stare into that abyss? These are the questions basic military training, known affectionately as ‘boot camp’, allows each one of us to answer for ourselves.
During the summer of 1989, I had the distinct pleasure of serving as a Cadet Training Officer for Air Force ROTC at Dover AFB, DE. This was a six-week encampment designed to both mold college students into leaders of American warriors and to weed out those unable to meet stringent USAF officer requirements.
Just hours before the cadets would arrive at daybreak, my true mission was completely revealed.
After spending the evening together as a staff for R&R, I looked around the room only to realize that I was left alone with the Commandant of Cadets, a Lieutenant Colonel of impeccable credentials.
He asked me to sit close to him and began to speak out of character in soft tones, “Civilians will be arriving here in a few hours. I’m counting on you to make sure officer candidates leave.” Expecting this was the complete thought, I responded with the customary “Hooah” to acknowledge I understood my mission and accepted its challenge.
“I want you to break every cadet that comes through that gate. Break them mentally, break them physically, or break them emotionally – but, break them! Then, they’ll know the depth of their character.” I sat there, mouth agape, obviously taken by surprise and pondering deep thoughts as he finished, “They can’t be rebuilt Air Force… They can’t lead Airmen to war… Until they find what they’ve got deep inside.” It was almost four weeks later until I internalized his words.
I was checking the barracks at o’dark thirty, expecting the cadets all asleep; yet, knowing they might be shining shoes by the light of the moon or studying by flashlight.
Time was not permitted in the daily routine for cadets to accomplish all assigned tasks.
He knew the game by now and was prepared to wait me out so he could return to his barracks and feign sleep until I left the area.
By the time he passed 100, I was extolling the virtues of sleep and the body’s need for rest.
As his arms began to shake from lifting his mammoth frame so many times, I knew his strength was leaving him.
A few more and he was physically unable to continue.
I invited him to quit, “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.” I barely completed the sentence when he belched out, “I will not quit, sir.” His body didn’t agree.
“This isn’t the job for you,” I prodded softly “Why don’t you go back home to mommy. There’s enough Air Force in me for the two of us. Say the word, cadet.” His face began to tighten.
At 6′ 5″, 220 lbs I was not only the Athletic Training Officer, I was also a martial arts fighter with the state record for the fastest knock-out in Pennsylvanian history and a soon-to-be Air Force athlete for that sport.
” He straightened his shoulders even more, tightened his fists, stood at attention in perfect form and finished, “We can stay here as long as you want, sir….as long as you need to… ’til you understand, that I WILL NEVER QUIT!” We didn’t need to stay any longer.
I took his hand and shook it with purpose, responding, “And you’ll never need to, Hooah?” His gazed affixed firmly to mine as his grip strengthened and he ended our time together with one parting thought.
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