These days it’s pretty easy to be depressed. There’s a war on,
and the bad guys are some of the worst we’ve ever had to face.
Political correctness has run amok, as the Ninth Circuit Nitwits
proved last week when they tried to outlaw the Pledge of Allegiance
because it contains the words, “one Nation, under God.” The stock
market is in a downward spiral unequaled since the Great
Depression. Most of us who planned to retire early aren’t planning
on it any longer. France is still populated by the French, people
still take Hillary and Peter Jennings seriously, and Palestinians
are now dressing babies as suicide bombers to pose for family
pictures. Life stinks. Or does it? Before you get in the waiting
line for your shrink’s office or reach for the Prozac, let me tell
you that all is well at Air Force, USA.
Air Force, USA is a place located near Colorado Springs,
Colorado, where the deer and the antelope play. It’s about 5,000
acres of mountainous beauty known as the U.S. Air Force Academy.
When #4 son said he was interested in the Air Force Academy, I was
delighted and the wife was skeptical. As the college selection
process went along, the captain in charge of recruiting for the
soccer team told the young man that if he wanted go to the Academy
it would happen. This time, son began to get excited but wife was
even more skeptical. My wife can be forgiven her skepticism, having
been a lawyer for the last twenty or so years, and only rarely
encountering anyone who you could trust to take out the trash. I
told her that if the captain said it, you could take it to the
bank. I don’t think she was convinced until last Thursday morning
when the young man — and the other 1,200 members of the class of
2006 — reported in to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs.
“In-processing” as it’s called, was the beginning of a two-day
process that erased any trace of depression I have had since
9-11.
It began with the incoming freshmen lining up outside Doolittle
Hall. They were told to be there between 0700 and 1100. They began
arriving right at 0700, and most were there by 0930. As befits an
Air Force function, it was very well managed. In the hot Colorado
sun, basic cadets and parents were given bottles of water and told
to drink up. The people from Voicestream, the cell phone company,
were on hand giving the new cadets one free call from slick little
phones while they stood on line. That last call before the tumbrils
cart you off was a great touch, and a stress-reliever for a lot of
the newbies. Attaboy, Voicestream.
Walking up and down were members of the Association of
Graduates. Now civilians, the former captains, colonels, and
retired generals answered all kinds of questions. Walking quietly
among the crowd was Lt. Gen. J.R. Dallagher, the superintendent.
His team was doing its job well, and the boss looked pleased.
Inside Doolittle Hall, parents were consoled and informed by a
roving band of faculty — a profusion of captains, majors and
colonels — who had pretty much every answer at their fingertips.
Everyone got their parents’ handbook, and those who wanted to asked
questions of the dean of academics, other faculty and even the
campus newspaper representatives. Some of the Basic Cadets, from
the Air Force prep school, had inked messages on their T-shirts
such as “Train This!” or “Be nice to me. My girl friend is a
Squid.” (“Squids” are those benighted rivals at the Naval Academy.)
The prep guys knew they were going to catch hell, but were already
in the spirit of things. Then the preps and the others started to
notice the upper classmen who will be taking them through the next
six weeks. The upper classmen noticed them too, and grinned at the
ones identified for an extra dose of pushups.
Goodbyes were said, and the newbies went up to the second floor
to begin their career encounter with government paperwork. At that
point, they dropped out of contact with the outside world for the
next six weeks.
After that the fun started. The newbies came down from the
second floor and walked through a quiet line of upperclassmen to
buses waiting to shuttle them to the barber shop and the dorms. One
lad, who had longish hair teased straight up with blond highlights,
passed while I was waiting for my son to come out. Words are
inadequate to describe the shock and glee on the face of one
upperclassman who saw blondie walk by. He looked up to heaven as if
to pray, “Please, God. Let him be on my bus.”
Friday morning, precisely at 0830, the incoming class was
assembled on the part of the parade area that’s below the chapel. A
general who will be overseeing much of the cadets’ training stood
at a podium. Behind him, the honor code was inscribed in huge
letters on the wall: “We will not lie, steal or cheat, or tolerate
among us those who do.” He told the cadets that this must be their
creed. He said that they were the most highly qualified group
admitted to the Academy. Because of that, they will be expected to
perform better than anyone ever has. Theirs is the proud burden, he
said, of protecting our nation. And, he told them, there is no
higher calling.
The officer’s oath was administered. The cadets swore to protect
and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and
domestic, and to bear true faith and allegiance to it. I can’t say
that the cadets even knew of the Ninth Circuit decision on the
Pledge, but the last phrase of their oath, “so help me God,” was
shouted out far more loudly than the rest of the oath. The band
played “Off We Go into the Wild Blue Yonder,” and then the cadets
walked off, headed out to learn how to shoulder their proud
burdens.
When you look at the incoming cadets you do not — thank Heaven
— see a mirror image of America. You see young adults who are
academically and athletically some of the very best we have. There
are no dullards, no overweight whiny waddlers. Two years from now,
they will be the upperclassmen awaiting the newbies. Four years
from now they will be young officers going to pilot school and to
assignments all over the world. Twenty years from now, they will be
the old hands, the keepers of the flame. Which is just as it should
be.
Leave depression to the liberals. Feel confident in your country
and its future. I have seen the future, and it looks pretty damned
good to me. At least in the small segment of our great nation I
call Air Force, USA.
