The Reason I Went to West Point

“Sometimes the light’s all shinin’ on me
Other times I can barely see
Lately it occurs to me
What a long, strange trip it’s been.”

From “Truckin’,” by the Grateful Dead (Warner Bros. Records)

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my wife, Karin, a few days ago. Our five-year-old grandson, Asher, was watching mindless YouTube videos on Karin’s phone while my wife and I talked and drank coffee. Somehow, the topic of my time at West Point came up in the conversation. Karin asked how I did in that school.

I told her, “I did okay. I think I ranked 203rd out of 800-something total graduates.”

She replied, “Oh, you must have been pretty smart. You were in the top quarter.”

I sighed. “If I was really smart, I would have quit and gone somewhere else.”

She looked at me and glanced at Asher. “But if you had quit, then Asher wouldn’t be here!”

I laughed. “Then it’s good that I’m not that smart.”

Ah, the immutable law of karma strikes again. Karin was obviously right. If I had not graduated from West Point, I would not have gone to Germany and met Karin, and she would not have given birth to our daughter in 1991, and she in turn would not have given birth to Asher during the depths of the COVID-19 pandemic, and we would not be full-time caregivers for Asher now. I can depend on my wife to help me refocus on what is important.

My sojourn at the United States Military Academy, also known as West Point, has been on my mind lately. It was almost 50 years ago that I went there. I think it was on July 7, 1976, that I reported to the man in the red sash and jumped onto the military roller coaster. It has yet to come to a complete stop. I took the advice of Hunter S. Thompson: “Buy the ticket. Take the ride.” I can’t get my money or my time back. No refunds.

The first day at West Point is an incoherent blur. It is probably better that way. I can remember getting a haircut, learning to march (sorta), and taking the oath on the Plain while wearing a starched white shirt that was quickly becoming damp with sweat. All other memories are mercifully inaccessible.

So, what was West Point like? It was a mind fuck from start to finish. I like to describe the four years there as being like going to an Ivy League university and doing time simultaneously. I’m not saying there was nothing good about the experience. There were many positive aspects. However, the environment was in some ways deeply twisted, and that didn’t do much good for my mental health. Other people have very different memories than I do. They may be nostalgic. That’s fine. I’m not.

What did I learn? Well, let’s look at West Point’s motto: “Duty, Honor, Country.” Those are fine words, and they can mean damn near anything. I will try to express what they mean to me now, half a century after first hearing them.

What is duty? I would define the word as meaning “doing what needs to be done.” As a case in point, I have a duty to raise our grandson, Asher. I could have refused to be his legal guardian and care for him, but I have a moral obligation to do so. I have to be his father figure at this time in his life. I am simply doing what needs to be done, and I am doing it out of love. Duty performed reluctantly and lovelessly is a dead thing.

What is honor? That is a strange word. It seems to be archaic and out of place in our society. I would say that honor means doing the right thing, just because it is the right thing. Have I always been honorable? No, of course not. I’ve screwed up plenty of times. However, I have tried to do the right thing, and maybe just the sincere attempt to do what’s right is in itself honorable.

What is country? That’s a slippery question. To my mind, country is about patriotism, and patriotism is about making sacrifices to promote the common good. That can take all sorts of forms. It might mean that a person puts on a uniform to defend the Constitution. It might mean that a person gets arrested for civil disobedience at a demonstration because of their beliefs. I have done both of those things. Love of country is multifaceted, and rightly so. It requires courage. I believe that both Charlie Kirk and Malcolm X were patriots, and they both died because they loved their country.

Asher will be waking up soon, and I have to help Karin get him ready for school.

He’s the reason that I went to West Point in the first place.

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Frank Pauc is a former Army aviator, a longtime trucking-company supervisor, and a contributor to The Havok Journal. A West Point graduate from the Class of 1980, he completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course and flight school, served with the 3rd Armored Division in West Germany and the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, and left the Army in 1986. He later taught citizenship classes through Voces de la Frontera in Milwaukee, took part in peace and protest work, and writes largely about veterans, family, grief, and the long aftermath of military service.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.