There is a lot that precedes the story of Reception Day at West Point, also known as R Day. The process of getting admitted to West Point is long and laborious. It involves incredible grades, a bunch of Advanced Placement courses and test scores, extraordinary SAT scores, a medical exam, a physical fitness test, leadership positions in extracurricular activities, and a nomination from congressman or senator. All of that is another story for another day. This story is my recollection of R Day from a parent’s perspective.
Jean and I accompanied Ann up to West Point for R Day in the summer of 2000. R Day is the name for the day when new cadets report for summer training. We were unfamiliar with the area, so we flew in the day before to the nearest airport which was Newburgh NY, about 20 minutes north of West Point. On subsequent trips we flew into Newark NJ and drove the one hour up to West Point.
We stayed at an ancient Holiday Inn in Newburgh where the doors and walkways are external to the building. I was completely underwhelmed with the facility, but Ann was about to experience much worse, so I didn’t comment on it.
We noticed in the hotel lobby a fair number of other family groups who appeared to have new cadets in tow. When it came time for dinner we knocked on several doors to see if the occupants were headed to West Point in the morning and would like to join us for a group dinner. We also trolled through the hotel lobby and picked up a few more families there.
This mass of humanity crossed the busy highway to a restaurant across the street. Ann pulled all the new cadets together to sit at one table, while Jean and I pulled the parents and siblings to sit at another group of tables. We all had a lot of anxiety about what was to come, so it was really helpful to sit and talk with other folks and share our stories. I recall Ann being grateful to have an opportunity to chat with her future colleagues. Everyone had a great time in spite of our various states of anxiety.
The new cadets were scheduled to arrive at specific times throughout the morning of R Day. We set an alarm clock AND requested a wake-up call from the front desk to be sure we would arrive well in advance of Ann’s scheduled time. We left early as we were unfamiliar with the route. Ann did not want the kind of attention she would garner by showing up late for R Day.
When we arrived at the football stadium for check-in, the line of cadets and families was at least 150 yards long. Waiting in line only heightened the sense of dread and impending doom. As the line moved slowly forward through the parking lot we happened to notice a new cadet’s dental records on the ground. Each cadet had been given very specific instructions of what they were required to bring to R Day, and the list included dental records, presumably so they could identify the remains after death.
I imagined the verbal crucifixion this new cadet would receive for failing to have his dental records as instructed. He was going to get yelled at all day anyway for offenses real and imagined, but I figured he didn’t need yet another reason to be abused. I didn’t want to look like an idiot, but somebody had to get these dental records back to the kid. I picked up the dental records and made my way down the line repeatedly yelling, “John Doe, I have your dental records!” Everybody looked at me like I was crazy, but I kept it up until I found the kid about 20 yards from the check-in gate. He was extremely grateful.
We were eventually led into the upper sections of the stadium with roughly 100 other new cadets and family members. Jean and I sat down with Ann sandwiched close between us and tightly held her hands while we tried to maintain our composure. We were addressed by a serious upper-class cadet who had a rehearsed speech that lasted all of two minutes. This was followed by a second brief address from the “Master of the Sword”, Colonel Maureen LeBoef, who was the chair of the Department of Physical Education. At the close of the Colonel’s remarks the cadet took command once again and announced, “You have 90 seconds to say goodbye before moving out.”
Ann, Jean, and I knew this moment was coming and had discussed how we were going to handle it. We’d already held our deep meaningful conversations over the previous days and weeks. We’d spontaneously grabbed Ann and cried during fierce emotional group hugs that seemed to occur every hour over the last several days. Ann decided that it would be best that when this final moment came that she would immediately head out as instructed.
It almost transpired as scripted. As Ann stood up to go, Jean and I hugged her one last time and quickly let her go so she could be one of the first of her group to go down the stadium steps and cross the football field, literally and figuratively to the other side of the world.
Jean and I cried as Ann moved down the steps and crossed the floor of the stadium. Ann never looked back.
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The following link contains a professional journalist’s excellent firsthand account of R Day.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,287909,00.html
TJ, thanks for making me cry about that day.....again! At least now I am able to smile through my tears.
ReplyDeleteVery neat to read about R-Day from a parent's perspective. I had forgotten about the long line snaking into Michie Stadium.
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting to think about R-Day with and contrast it with graduation in that very place four years later.
I don't remember the part about the dental records. I remember walking across the field and being terrified to look at anything. I remember being hot, sticky, and drenched the rest of the day. I do remember you calling out and running alongside the formation as we marched back. However, the rest of the day is a blur. Maybe it's best that way.
ReplyDelete-Ann