Arabic and Class Rings: Cruising at West Point during my junior year of high school

Link to the nude photos

It's the beginning of my junior year in high school, time to register for the ACT and the SAT, the college entrance exams.  But my parents are vehemently opposed to the idea of college.

They can't afford it.

It's unnecessary -- I'm already smart enough to go to work in the factory.

It's un-Christian, full of Catholics and atheists.

But I've been insistent, littering the house with catalogs and brochures, and finally Dad gives in:  "Ok, you can go to college, as long as it's Olivet.  Or West Point."

A dull, Sunday school-like Bible  college on the prarie or the U.S. Military Academy?  "I understand why you want me to go to Olivet," I tell him, "But why West Point?"

"I'll tell you why: full tuition, room and board, plus a stipend.  All you have to do is sign up for five years of active duty afterwards."

"Five years in the Army!  That sounds awful!"

Dad's eyes narrow.  "I was in the Navy for four years.  It was the best time of my life.  A real man's world.  You don't know what real friends are until you've fought side by side."

"Um...a man's world?  Real friends?"  I imagine sitting in class surrounded by hunky collegiate athletes, the cream of the crop, the most muscular in America, stripping down next to them in the locker room, sleeping beside them in the dorms...  "But...um... I'm not big on military science.  I want to major in Arabic."

"They have Arabic," Dad says, leafing through the catalog.  "And Chinese.  You can major in both, if you're that into languages.  Plus, it's only an hour from Manhattan.  You like all that Broadway musical stuff, right?"

Arabic, Broadway musicals, and army hunks?  It wouldn't hurt to apply....

The application process begins during your junior year, with the SAT, a medical exam, and a physical fitness test: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, a 400-yard dash, a mile run, and a basketball throw (you don't actually have to make a basket).

In April, I receive a letter stating that I've passed the first set of requirements.  Now I have to get a nomination from my Senator, Representative, or the President of the United States.

No problem: I already know Tom Railsback,  the representative from the 19th district for as long as I can remember.  He is a local boy, and a counterculture hero, having drafted the articles of impeachment against President Richard Nixon.

He says that there are four guys in the 19th district asking to be nominated, the most in a decade.

Just to be on the safe side, I approach our senator, Charles H. Percy, too, even though he's a Republican and I'm a staunch Democrat.

In June, my acceptance into the official applicant pool arrives.  Now I have to fill out some more forms, submit some letters attesting to my moral character, get a psychological evaluation, and come in for an interview.

 "More hoops to jump through, just to join the army!" I complain.  "You know, Olivet offered me a scholarship, and I'll bet I could get one at Augustana, too."

"Do they offer Arabic?" Dad asks. 

I keep silent and continue the application process.

The psychological evaluation is  administered by the school counselor: MMPI, with several questions designed to weed out the gay prospects, some blatant ("I am attracted to members of my own sex") and some keying into gay stereotypes ("I am closer to my mother than to my father.").

This actually comes as a relief.  I have not yet figured "it" out, and I am immersed in the homophobic Evangelical subculture.  I am literally afraid of gay men. If a feminine guy appears on tv, I leave the room..  No way could I go to any college that allows gays in!

Admissions interviews are being held in Chicago and Des Moines. but Dad insists that we go to West Point itself, so I can see how great it is.

In July, we leave Mom and my brother and sister visiting our family in Indiana, and drive out with my Uncle Paul: twelve hours on the highway, a very long trip even with the three of us sharing the driving.  Then a day at West Point, and another very long day driving back.

The campus is very beautiful, stately Gothic architecture on a bluff overlooking the Hudson River.  Some of the buildings date from the Revolutionary Era.

 But soon I notice some problems:

Arabic is no longer offered as a major.  You can take two years of classes while you major in something else.

The full story, with nude photos, some explicit, is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends