Free The Lords of Discipline by Pat Conroy Page A

is well known in the Corps for not taking the military part of the Institute seriously. We feel that this attitude could only harm the freshmen and undermine the plebe system. We feel that a substitution for Mr. McLean should be made for the good of all concerned. If necessary, Mr. Braselton or I will assume Mr. McLeans responsibilities of helping to indoctrinate the freshmen in the honor system.”
    “Gee, thanks a lot, John,” I said, trying to control my anger. “What a grand, selfless gesture on your part. But I think the freshmen will survive a single hour’s exposure to my grossness.”
    “There’s a principle involved here, Mr. McLean,” the General replied. “One that I do not think you are grasping. If we allow a private to influence the thinking of the recruits, then a precedent has been set. But if we continue to uphold our standards, the highest standards of any military college in the world, I cannot help but think that our system is growing stronger and that our vigilance will be rewarded. I agree that our cadre should be composed only of the most select cadets in the Corps. I owe that to the freshmen, to their parents, to the men of the line.”
    “That was very well put, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Alexander said with Braselton nodding passionately.
    The General did not mind Alexander’s saying so; in fact, he was radiant and positively enchanted by Alexander’s oily compliment. If I ever attend a convention of generals, I hope to control the Chapstick concession to offer some small relief to the obsequious legions of ass-kissers who spend their days pandering to the egos of generals. Every general I had ever known required the presence and the gentle, insincere strokes of these self-serving acolytes of flattery and I simply could not understand it.
    “Sir,” I spoke directly to the General, “Cadet Alexander and I are not friends.”
    “That is true, sir,” Alexander replied. “I do not like what Mr. McLean represents in the Corps of Cadets.”
    “What exactly does Mr. McLean represent?” the General asked, leaning toward Alexander and cupping his hand over his right ear.
    “He represents the negative attitude, sir. He makes fun of the traditions of the school. . . sacred traditions like the ring and the uniform and even the cadet prayer. I myself heard him give a profane and disgusting rendition of the cadet prayer while R. Company was forming up to march to chapel.”
    “A profane rendition of the cadet prayer?” the General said with a gasp.
    “It wasn’t that profane, General,” I whined.
    Braselton, sensing the kill, suddenly burst out, “And his appearance is a disgrace, sir. That is how I would put it after careful thought. He goes out of his way to wear a uniform that is wrinkled and brass that’s scratched. And his shoes are a joke throughout the Corps. That’s how I would put it, sir. After careful thought. His shoes are a joke.”
    “What do you say in your defense, Mr. McLean?” the General asked.
    “Sir, you and all my classmates know that I have not performed splendidly in the military part of Institute life. This is my fourth straight year as a private. But I have heard you say before, General, that the ideal cadet excels militarily, academically, and athletically. I have a better academic record than these two cadets, and I’m captain of this year’s basketball team. So using your own criteria for measuring the model cadet, I have done well in two areas of achievement and these two have excelled in only one. Therefore, I feel I’m just as well qualified to address the freshmen as they are.”
    “It is Mr. McLean’s attitude that we object to, General,” Alexander interjected. “I think you can see from the way he tries to attack Mr. Braselton and me personally that his attitude leaves much to be desired. We question his love of the Institute and his devotion to the Corps. This is not a personal attack on Mr. McLean, and we think it is immature