Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, September 3, 1995 TAG: 9509050052
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: WARREN FISKE STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LEXINGTON LENGTH: Long
The rebel yell rises to a fever pitch as the first of these 409 freshman cadets enter the barracks at the Virginia Military Institute for the final moments of their boyhood.
They are ordinary teen-agers who, for one last time, express their individuality with chic haircuts, Bermuda shorts and sleek sneakers. In groups of 40, they march onto a green courtyard for their hellish induction into The Institute and its 156-year-old process designed to create the ``whole man.''
Overhead on the four-tiered barracks stand taunting upperclassmen in crisp uniforms. Their deafening shouts remind the fidgeting freshmen below that by nightfall their heads will be shaved, their worldly possessions locked in storage and that each will answer to the name of ``Rat.''
At length, the entire freshman class - or ``rat mass'' - is at attention. The jeering gives way to the sharp tattoo of drums. Enter The Cadre, 263 upperclassmen marching flawlessly in gray waistcoats. They are The Institute's relentless lords of discipline who will drill, torment and punish the rats until they are deemed worthy of being VMI men.
The drumming stops. All is quiet now, save the staccato clicking of the heels of John Adams, regimental executive commander of the senior class. At exactly 90 steps a minute, he marches to the center of the second tier of the barracks, stops and peers at the assemblage.
``Rats, look up here,'' he commands.
``The Virginia Military Institute is the finest college in the world,'' he says in the clipped voice of a drillmaster. ``It has the best corps of cadets you will find anywhere. The men standing before you are the best of the cadets. They will teach you, and you will learn.''
With a sharp, unified clicking of heels, The Cadre makes a quarter-turn to face the freshmen. For two heartbeats, there is a pause. Four hundred nine pairs of boyish eyes strain to absorb the moment.
``Rats,'' Adams barks, ``meet your Cadre.''
The Cadre charges into the stunned freshman ranks, screaming, threatening and demanding pushups.
``Idiot, what's your major malfunction? I said stand at attention. You call that attention? Put your shoulders back. Get your chin in. Look smart. This is your life, rat, and I'm your worst nightmare!''
Two minutes later, the mass is galloping at double time up flights of stairs to the fourth tier of the barracks, where they - at least those who don't quit - will live for their freshman year.
``Move it, ladies, move it!''
\ From this day forth, the rats will be reminded that they have elected to enter not just a college, but a storied brotherhood designed to instill discipline, chivalry and honor and to produce tomorrow's leaders.
Each time they exit the barracks, they will salute the looming statue of Confederate Lt. Gen. Stonewall Jackson, who taught at The Institute before the Civil War. They will memorize the names of 10 cadets killed in the battle at New Market - six of whom are buried on campus. They will study the exploits of Gen. George C. Marshall, VMI class of 1901, the legendary Army chief of staff in World War II.
And they will be reminded in every waking hour that a cadet must never bring dishonor to the proud heritage of The Institute. It's all spelled out in their code of honor: ``A cadet does not lie, cheat or steal or tolerate those who do.''
This year, Hell Week at Virginia Military Institute began Aug. 23 and mercifully ended Tuesday with the first day of academic classes. During the intervening minutes, the freshmen had their skulls shaved, ran two miles each dawn, spent six hours a day in marching drills and countless more hours reciting and memorizing the arcane regulations and facts in The Institute's 60-page ``Rat Bible.''
They performed hundreds of penalty pushups. They sat at stony attention during meals, resting their forks on the table between bites. They were roused from sleep one night for extra drilling. They folded and refolded their uniforms until they mastered the proper VMI crease.
And they spent an eternity in the dreaded ``strain,'' a rat's customary posture of rigid attention, shoulders arched, chin tucked tightly into the neck, forehead facing out.
Life doesn't get much better for freshmen when Hell Week ends. For the next seven months, they must endure the ``rat line.'' That means restricted movement on campus and no fraternizing with sophomores and juniors. Inside the barracks, any upperclassman can force a freshman to strain and to recite the menu of the day, the next three games on the varsity athletic schedule, endless rosters of campus officials or any other fact contained in the Rat Bible. An error can result in room confinement or penalty marches. In addition, seniors can demand 20 pushups on the spot.
Any rat who chances to pass a classmate doing penalty pushups is expected to drop and join him. That, according to VMI lore, helps build class spirit.
``The system is equal and impersonal in its application,'' a VMI manual says, ``tending to remove wealth and former station ... ensuring equal opportunity for all to advance by personal effort and to enjoy those rewards which have been earned.''
Privileges gradually are given as cadets march closer to graduation, although no one ever gets a free romp on the campus. Seniors earn perks such as keeping cars on campus, extra leave time and freedom to wear bathrobes in the barracks courtyards provided, of course, that they have on a cap at such times.
But ask any rat to enumerate his only privilege and the answer comes back loud and clear: ``To strain, sir!''
\ VMI is one of only two state-supported, all-male military colleges in the nation - the other being The Citadel in Charleston, S.C. The culture has been under sharp attack in recent years from those who believe the state shouldn't bar women from the institutions.
The U.S. Supreme Court is expected to decide this fall whether to hear arguments in a longstanding suit to admit women to VMI. In the meantime, the state last month opened a leadership program for women, the Virginia Women's Institute for Leadership, at Mary Baldwin College in Staunton. The Citadel, however, was forced to admit Shannon Faulkner, its first female cadet, who quit after four days, prompting a celebration at the school.
No one at VMI is publicly crowing about Faulkner. One reason is that regulations say a cadet does not exhibit ``ardor or hilarity in public.'' Another is that each cadet has seen plenty of hale young men also crack under the system.
By the end of VMI's Hell Week, 29 rats - 7 percent of the class - had dropped out. That's a large, but not unprecedented, number. School officials expect that one out of every four who stood for induction won't make it through his freshman year.
``VMI just isn't for everyone,'' said Army Reserve Lt. Col. Michael Strickler (VMI class of '71), the school's director of public relations.
The Cadre has been trained to recognize signs of stress. A chaplain and 23 seniors trained as peer counselors are on hand. Old rites such as hazing are taboo. Upperclassmen can and do yell until they're hoarse, but they risk expulsion for laying an ungentlemanly hand on a rat.
Stroll the campus during Hell Week and you're likely to see a distraught rat - face beet red, eyes brimming with tears, demanding to go home - pulled out of formation. Counselors take over, walking the cadet to an air-conditioned building.
``We try to calm them down and get them to talk about why they decided to come to VMI in the first place,'' said senior James E. Richardson of Radford, captain of the counseling corps. ``We ask them if those reasons are still valid. We don't try to influence their decision. Sometimes a kid will gather his breath and get back in line. Sometimes they call their parents. Ultimately, leaving becomes the parents' decision.''
Resigning from The Institute is a painful choice for an 18-year-old on his first venture away from home. His parents will be out $800 if he leaves during Hell Week, more if he departs later in the year. Many of his high school friends wondered why he wanted to go to VMI in the first place. Now he must go home and face them, branded with a shaved skull.
Leaving is a solemn rite. Usually, mom or dad pulls up to the barracks. The cadet loads his footlocker in the trunk, gets in the passenger seat and departs. VMI is fiercely protective of their identities.
But for those who endure, there are long-term rewards that perhaps only a VMI man can truly comprehend. There are small classes and a solid educational program that specializes in engineering, mathematics and history. Awarded near the close of the junior year is an esteemed class ring, signifying membership in the elite corps of the whole man.
And there is an influential network of alumni who, from the security of years of success in business, fondly recall The Institute and go out of their way to provide opportunity to a brother rat.
``It's real competitive in the business world,'' said Michael Burchik, a senior physics major from Clayville, Pa. ``I think VMI gives us an edge. Nobody gets a degree here without learning how to handle stress.''
That's just the reason why Cameron Mizell of Frederick, Md., chose VMI. ``My dad said he knows a lot of guys who went to VMI and that corporations just gobbled them up when they graduated.''
VMI does not let reporters talk to rats during Hell Week. But on the day it ended, officials allowed Mizell and classmate Chris Ford of Tabernacle, N.J., to be interviewed - choosing the pair because they were model rats.
``It's degrading; it's hard to take,'' said Forbes of rat life. ``I had myself convinced that I was fully prepared for it, and I learned that there's really no way to prepare for it. My head hasn't stopped spinning since I got here.''
Forbes waited a week before venturing to the mail room to check on letters from home. ``I just couldn't get up the courage to go,'' he said. ``I kept thinking `What happens if I run into an upperclassman?'''
Forbes' and Mizell's rules for survival: Never take The Cadre's yelling personally; never stand in the front or rear of a rat line where you can be singled out; and, above all, keep a sense of humor. ``There are funny things that happen here,'' Ford said. ``When I'm turning in at night, I laugh about them with my roommates.''
That's just the tonic prescribed for freshmen on a flawless summer night last week as a cool breeze whisked through the barracks. Forty new cadets, drained and dazed from the day's drilling, sat at ease in a circle on the fourth barracks tier, seeking comfort in a pep talk by Kevin Trujillo, president of the sophomore class.
``You guys have got to remain calm,'' Trujillo said. ``You're gonna be facing mini-rat lines all of your life. Get used to it.''
Above all, Trujillo warned, remember the VMI honor code. ``It's kind of sad that we live in a world where people don't have ethics and honor,'' he said. ``That's where you guys come in, because you're gonna be leaders some day.''
by CNB