Authors: Susan I. Spieth
A “lie” not only meant telling
an
un-truth but also quibbling, making evasive statements or
embellishing stories.
“Cheating”
was not limited to copying someone's paper or stealing answers to a test.
It included cutting corners in any area
of life—to take something away from the full experience of a duty, sport
or task.
“Stealing,” meant taking
something that did not belong to you or taking something without paying for
it.
It could also mean taking credit
for someone's words, ideas or creativity.
Jan sat on one of the four, worn out,
burnt-orange couches in the dayroom next to Kristi McCarron.
Plebes were still not allowed to speak
to one another in public so Jan nodded and smiled at her new friend and Company
mate.
Then Kristi whispered, “How’s
the ‘amen-oh-yay-ah’ going?”
“Great!”
Jan whispered back, “You?”
“Perfect! I could get used to this!”
Cadet Trane, the Company Honor
Representative, handed out papers to the H-3 plebes.
“Take a moment to read over the first
scenario,
”
he
said.
Jan shared a paper with
Kristi as they read silently:
Two brothers, both cadets, were home on
leave.
One brother brought his
girlfriend to a nightclub where she used a fake ID to gain entry and to
purchase alcoholic drinks.
When the
other brother found out, he thought this could be an honor violation. What
should he do?
H
e should get his own damn girlfriend
.
“
Alrighty
then.
Everyone finished reading the
first scenario?”
Cadet Trane asked.
“What do you think?
Was this a violation of the Honor
Code?”
The plebes remained silent
for a few moments.
“Anyone care to
comment?”
“Sir, yes, the Code has been
breached,” Cadet
Winnans
answered.
Tool!
Jan hated when some cadets gave the
“correct” answer instead of a real answer.
“Why’s that, Cadet
Winnans
?”
Trane
asked.
“Sir, the cadet obviously knew his
girlfriend was lying and cheating.
She lied about her age and cheated the nightclub which had a
responsibility to serve only legal adults.”
Are
you shitting me?
Another H-3 plebe spoke, “Well, I
think it really depends on what she looked like.”
Laughter lit up the room.
Jan glared at Rick Davidson, trying to
decide how she felt about him.
With
Winnans
, it was clear—he was an idiot.
Rick Davidson, on the other hand, was
harder to judge.
He was prior
service like Cadet Trane, but with one major difference.
Davidson earned a combat patch for
participating in the doomed Iranian hostage rescue mission.
Operation Eagle Claw, a highly risky
operation, ran into a series of unfortunate events, which led to then-President
Jimmy Carter’s decision to abort.
On the return flight, a refueling helicopter kicked up
sand which
flew into the nose of a transport plane causing
it to explode.
Eight men died.
No one seemed to know Rick Davidson’s
exact role in the experience, but everyone knew he had been there.
“Or maybe it should depend on what HE
looked like,” Jan blurted out.
He’s just another plebe like the rest of
us.
Cadet Trane brought the discussion
back, “Well, he’s on leave, right?
He’s not responsible for his girlfriend, is he?”
Jan detected a hint of “pissed-off-ness”
in his voice.
Maybe
Trane thinks this scenario is ridiculous, too!
“Sir, he was aware of her false
actions.
He knowingly allowed her
to lie and cheat.
That makes it an
Honor Code violation,”
Winnans
insisted.
“What are you talking about?”
Kristi McCarron practically
shouted.
“Was he supposed to hold
her hostage until she gave up her fake ID?
She is not his property!
She
can do what she wants!”
Rick Davidson said, “Well, not if
he’s paying.”
Laughter erupted
again.
Winnans
is a
tool which
he probably can’t help.
But Davidson is just being a jerk.
“So if you are paying, your date has to
do whatever you want?
Is that how
you work, Davidson?”
Jan locked
into eye contact with him.
No one else had challenged him before,
and everyone could tell Jan was not joking.
She resented that Davidson seemed
to get “a pass” most of the time.
No one argued with men who had combat patches which Jan somewhat
understood.
Still, we are all equals here.
“Whoa, easy there,
Wishart
.
I’m
just joking,
”
Davidson
said.
Her Company
mates went quiet.
Jan felt a rush
of blood in her neck and cheeks.
“Okay, back to the issue here,” Trane
said.
“Miss McCarron has a
point.
Contrary to Mr. Davidson’s
thoughts, the woman has a right to do what she wants.”
“Yes, but her boyfriend should not
have participated in her actions.
He should not have even gone to the bar knowing she would use a fake
ID,”
Winnans
argued.
“Right!
And who are we, the morality
police?”
Kristi asked, getting as
fed up with
Winnans
as Jan had with Davidson.
“Okay, so what should be done?”
Trane asked.
“Sir, the other brother needs to
report the honor violation to his Honor Rep,”
Winnans
continued.
“What?”
Kristi had had enough.
“Would you turn in your own
brother?”
“If it was my duty, yes.”
What
a
freakin
’ idiot!
“Well, I’m glad I’m not related to
you!”
Kristi exclaimed.
Jan let out a chortle.
“What’s so funny, Miss
Wishart
?”
Trane
asked with a slight smile.
“Nothing, Sir,” Jan replied, not
wanting to say anything more.
“Well, it must have been something or
you wouldn’t have snickered.”
She sighed, “Sir, I think it’s more
unethical to turn against your own brother than anything else.”
“Please elaborate,” Trane said.
“Well, Sir, it seems to me that you
have to be a pretty big jerk to turn in your own brother.
I mean it’s not murder.
It’s not embezzlement or anything that
really hurts anyone else.”
Jan felt
a little bolder now.
“But is it an honor violation?”
Trane pushed for an answer.
“If he were my brother, I would talk
to him.
I’d tell him that
it could be considered
an honor
violation.
And for that reason,
don’t do it again.
But I don’t
think I’d turn him in.
I would quit
first.”
“Amen,
Sista
!”
Kristi shouted and held up a palm for a
high five.
Jan felt awkward but
high fived her back anyway.
“Loyalty isn’t one of the three
hallowed words,”
Winnans
protested.
Everyone knew what he was talking about,
of course.
All plebes were required
to memorize part of a speech given by General Douglas MacArthur to the Corps of
Cadets in 1962.
This quote, more
than any other, is the epitome of West Point values:
“Duty—Honor—Country.
Those three hallowed words reverently
dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be.
They are your rallying points: to build
courage when courage seems to fail; to regain faith, when there seems to be
little cause for faith; to create hope, when hope becomes forlorn.”
Cadet Trane smiled, cleared his
throat and said, “Well, it says here that this is, in fact, an honor
violation.”
“You’re kidding me,” Jan mumbled.
Cadet Trane read from the teaching
plan.
“The non-offending brother is
duty-bound to report the honor violation to his Company Honor Representative.”
Trane continued reading,
“Although this would be a difficult
task, a cadet must always choose to do the harder right over the easier wrong.
The cadet with the girlfriend was an
accomplice to a lie, and therefore, is guilty of violating the Honor Code.
While the young woman in question is not
a cadet, the code clearly states, ‘A cadet will not lie, cheat or steal, nor
tolerate THOSE who do.’”
Cadet
Trane looked up from the paper.
What bullshit! I would never rat
on my brother—even if he robbed Fort Knox!!
”
The room fell silent until Kristi
spoke, “Sir, that’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t like it much either, Cadet
McCarron.
But this is the hard
truth about the Honor Code.
All of us have to abide by it or we can transfer to the Naval
Academy.”
A few uncomfortable
chuckles punctuated the room.
After the honor class, Jan and Angel
scrambled to their room as screaming spread throughout the Corps of
Cadets.
The roommates quickly changed
into the strangest non-uniform they could pull together.
Jan chose to wear gray bathrobe over
t-shirt with fatigue pants (solid, olive drab, field uniform) and the full
dress hat, called a “tar bucket” by cadets.
They ran out of their room, screaming,
to join the “mandatory fun” happening in Central
Area which
consisted of several hundred pent-up plebes milling around in all manner of
dress and undress.
It wasn’t
exactly a keg party, but to a fourth-class cadet, it was a little bit of
heaven.
They returned from the rally to find a folded piece of paper with Jan’s
name written on it taped to their door.
She sat down on her bed and read its
contents.
Dear
Jan,
This
is just a short note to encourage you.
Not everyone here is as stuck up as you
might think.
There are a few of us
left.
We are banning together to
plot a counter-revolution.
Some
time in the future we will spring from our underground hiding place and take
over the Academy.
There will be no
more sadness and no more English teachers. Hooray!
People will be able to act like humans
again.
We might even adopt some
normal college policies like having fun.
If you are interested in joining our subversive group, send no money,
but write to Box 483 with your application.
We have been watching you and are sure
you can fulfill the group's goals.
Please read and secure this note from the enemy's hands.
O.T.H.F.A.W.P.
“Well, I’m not sure if this is
exciting or creepy,” Jan said handing the paper to Angel.
Before her roommate finished reading,
Jan had already decided to reply.
It was out of her comfort zone, given that rule breaking and risk taking
were not her strong suits.
But hell, this is the most exciting thing to
happen since cornbread.
Dear
O.T.H.F.A.W.P.
It
seems a little unfair that you know my name but did not give me yours.
I am intrigued, somewhat, by your
organization.
But I would have to
know more.
Do you have
meetings?
When and where?
Who is the leader of this esteemed
enterprise?
How many are in this
secret society?
Is this a co-ed
group?
Do you allow persons of
color, differing religions and cultures?
How does one get selected or qualify to be in this group?
Is there some kind of secret signal to identify
“brothers and sisters?”
What are
the dues?
Does allegiance to this
group supersede allegiances to duty, honor,
country
?