ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, August 20, 1996 TAG: 9608200046
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: A-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MATT CHITTUM STAFF WRITER
NOTE: Below
POSSIBLY THE FINAL all-male class began its rigorous first year Monday at the state-supported school in Lexington.
It was something of a nervous smile that crossed Chad Brady's face.
But then, as he wound his way through a labyrinth of checkpoints and sign-ins on the floor of Virginia Military Institute's Cameron Hall on Monday, he was on the precipice of a 9-year-old dream.
For half his life, the 18-year-old from Chesapeake has planned on a VMI education, his father, Chuck, explained.
At about 11:10 a.m., Brady signed his name to the matriculation book. Ceremonially at least, he had joined the 405-member class of 2000. He was a "rat," as the first-year cadets at VMI long have been known.
Signing the book is just a gesture, Cadet Cpl. Jeffrey Snyder explained. But once you've signed it, "the brotherhood has been bonded." You've added your name to the same list as "every great VMI man to go before you."
It was just one of many firsts Brady will experience as a member of a class likely to be defined by its association with a number of lasts.
"You are the last class in the millennium," Superintendent Josiah Bunting said in welcoming the rats on their first day on the post, "and probably the last all-male class to graduate from VMI."
The school is expected to announce on Sept. 21 whether it will admit women or go private in the wake of a Supreme Court decision that said the public school's all-male admissions policy was unconstitutional.
Unless the school goes private, this class will be the last to experience the "rat line" as it now exists: months of harsh physical training aggravated by the constant badgering and yelling of the cadre, or upperclassmen. The rats will dress the same, eat the same, act the same, sacrificing their individual identities for the sake of the group.
"It's a leveling process," Public Relations Officer Col. Mike Strickler said. "It doesn't make any difference what their state in life was before they came; this puts them all on the same plane."
The Class of 2000 has a short reprieve from that. The first two days on post are, for the most part, dominated by bureaucracy - finding your room, getting a post office box, registering for class, signing this and that.
But there were signs of the life to come.
All baggage had to be lined up in orderly fashion in alphabetical order.
Before Sean Foley of Alexandria could even put his bag down, a cadet was asking him his name to give it to a photographer. He stammered, barely able to say it.
"He's a little nervous," the cadet, Mark Cox, explained.
Then, at lunch, there was the ominous presence of the cadre, the cadets they will come to know all too well in the coming months. Dressed in black T-shirts, camouflage pants and combat boots, they sported tough, drill-instructor haircuts.
The rats couldn't help but notice them.
"They don't want to look," said Cadet Tom Warburton, "but they look."
A short time later, the rats said goodbye to their parents.
As Ron Martin watched his son, Jim, trudge across the drill field to join his company, the former Marine's eyes reddened against the push of tears. Carol Martin said they felt both pride and apprehension as they let their youngest boy go.
"I promise we'll take good care of your son, ma'am," said Cadet Lt. David Zirkle. "I can't stand to see the mothers cry," he explained later.
At 3:10 p.m., the rats faced their first defining moment. They began filing into the post's barber shop three at a time. Instead of crusty old Army barbers, they were met by three women with elaborate hair-dos and long fingernails. But their work produced the traditional results: general baldness.
"It's not one of the delights of the job, but it has to be done," said Shirley Allen as she switched on her electric clippers.
"At least you aren't cruel enough to face us toward the mirror," said the rat whose head she was buzzing. A minute later, she swiped a brush full of powder across his head and sent him on his way, rubbing his head as he went.
"They're all ugly," Zirkle said, recalling how he explains the rats' first haircuts to others, "but they're all ugly together."
The rats' next day and a half will be spent rubbing their heads and taking academic placement tests.
Wednesday at 1 p.m., they will "meet their cadre."
"That," Strickler said, "is when all hell breaks loose."
LENGTH: Medium: 90 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: CINDY PINKSTON/Staff. 1. Todd Charrington experiencesby CNBthe singular sensation of having his head shaved Monday in the VMI
tradition. Connie Hostetter does the honors. 2. Joe Anne Kennedy
says goodbye to her son, Bobby, on Monday. The Kennedys won't see
their son again until Christmas break. color. 3. Sean Foley, 18, of
Alexandria carries his school supplies to a designated location in
the barracks.