The summer before I went to college, I was not so worried about leaving home for the first time, I was concerned I did not have what it took to be a good Naval Officer. My doubts came when I received a letter about O-week. This was an orientation, I learned, about life as a Naval ROTC midshipman. I figured it would be a nice way to get to school early and get my bearings. The doubts came when I heard that it was some sort of boot camp where upperclassmen attempted to break-in lubbers. I thought I had it over all of them, since I lived in the Navy for my entire life.
I grew up in the shadow of my Grandfather who was a warrant officer and then LDO, and my step-father who was a chief and LDO in the Navy. Both of them came to the Navy from two different generations. The Navy of my Grandfather was a collegial place – he was in the submarine community. My stepfather’s Navy was bogged down in seemingly petty politics – of who said what at the wardroom table or “college boys” looking down on my stepfather because he did not have the formal education they had. From my perspective, a Naval Officer had dignity about them, were detail-oriented, and honorable to a fault. I felt as though I was a good fit for the role.
One of the first things we did at O-week was to get our photographs taken for ID cards. Name placards were made and we were handed a pile of clothes. My first evening at college was spent polishing my shoes. I taught others around me how to do it since I had been polishing shoes for years. We were also shown how to iron our khakis. I too had this down from years of practice.
The PT in the morning was annoying but bearable. The marching up and down sidewalks in tight formation felt silly. In the classroom, we were constantly being yelled at for the smallest of mistakes. One of my fellow inductees was reamed out for not knowing the NATO alphabet having only been told it once. I did lots of pushups because I called a fellow with a name plaque that read Moran, “moron.” He didn’t like that. I was forced to remove my name plaque and replace it with one emblazoned with the name “Abercrombie.” I had to spell it at a moment’s notice in the NATO alphabet. I never stumbled spelling ALPHA BRAVO ECHO ROMEO CHARLIE ROMEO OSCAR MIKE BRAVO INDIA ECHO – my childhood was spent staring at signal flags and studying the military.
I understood what they were attempting to do: to break me. Despite what might be called hazing, I was motivated to excel. They could not break me.
One evening, though, I realized I didn’t want to be part of the Navy, not this Navy. This realization came when I was sitting in my room and I overheard upperclassmen saying how they couldn’t wait to have a taste of fresh meat. As their conversation continued, I realized they were talking about a group of young women in our group and they went into lurid detail about how they planned on getting them drunk and showing them a “real man.” My head burned with anger. I knew I would not be able to bear being around other students referring to incoming first-year women as fresh meat. The next day, I gathered up the courage and told the unit’s CO I just didn’t have what it took and wished to separate from the unit. Later that afternoon, I gave the Yeoman all my uniforms and called my parents. I felt like a complete failure.
I was given a pair of boards by the Yeoman in parting. He thought I was a good kid. They were apparently antique.
In retrospect, I should not have left on some made-up excuse, in that I didn’t feel I was cut out for the Navy. I should have told the CO I was disgusted with my classmates and I found their comments abhorrent. I should have been an ally to the young women who were participating in O-week. However, I wasn’t mentally prepared to say what I needed to say. What I heard instead were shades of my stepfather’s comments toward women and this was a culture not for me.
A couple of years after I left NROTC I bumped into a fellow midshipman. We chatted a bit, he was planning on becoming an aviator, and I was just accepted to grad school. When I told him a regretted dropping out, he told me I would never have made it anyway – my problem was that I was too sensitive and I needed to toughen up. The Navy had no place for an officer like me. I asked him about the young women in the program – in a low voice he told me one of them was sexually assaulted, but it was all hush-hush.