P. A. M. A. FILES: “Florsheim Shoes!” Part 1

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It’s six-thirty in the morning. The air is misty with a crispness that is typical of an early Fall day in California. 

The morning air is redolent with the aromas of coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast wafting from the school Mess Hall.

A few Robins perched on trees call a greeting to one another joyously. 

A Cadet bugler stands on concrete steps wiping the spit off his chin after blowing call to the formation.

And…

There I am standing in front of six platoons of Cadets. 

Oh Boy! Don’t I look cool.

My back ramrod straight, arms by my side, buttocks firmly clenched, uniform crisply pressed, my Florsheim shoes that resemble twin black rectangular mirrors, brass shining like burnished gold  – I am in my glory as acting First Sergeant ready to call the assembled to attention for morning formation.

What happened to that Fat Kid who entered the Academy two years ago? Gone Baby. Gone. The baby fat shed like water after several years of PT, intramural sports and military drilling.

I bring heels together – the ever shine Florsheim shoes with their chunky rubber heels make a resounding “CLICK” noise that seems bounce off the pavement and nearby wooden buildings.

“Faaaaallllll Innn!” I holler at the top of my lungs my voice cracking mid-call.

The sound of eighty-six heels snapping together in unison as the assembled come to attention.

“Report!” I bark.

First Platoon Leader snaps his salute – “First Platoon…all present and accounted for Sir!”

Sir!  That’s right – He called me Sir! Heh-heh.

I respond by snapping a return salute as I almost dislocate my shoulder in the process.

Second through six platoon leaders all report “Present and Accounted for, Sir.” More saluting.

All well and good except Fourth Platoon Leader pauses before reporting  – the kid seems to be lost in a personal fugue – as if he is surprised by the whole proceedings. He squints at me and says in a high squeaky voice before saluting…”All Present and uh…Present…Sir!” The Meathead!

I finish hearing all platoons reporting and do a smart about-face facing the Officer of the Day – salute, and bark “All Platoons, Present and Accounted for, Sir!”

The acting OD (Officer of the Day) is a teenage boy who is much shorter and stouter than me. He is wearing an officer billed hat that is much too big for him and he looks lost in it.

Giving me an irritated dismissive salute he scowls at me with a look that denotes he thinks I am either making a mockery of the military proceedings or maybe I am taking my position as First Sergeant just a tad bit too seriously. After all, he is the one in charge – not this strutting rooster of a Non-Com in front of him.

Ah well, perhaps I hamming it up a bit – but, Fuckin’ A! I am really enjoying myself – so what the Hell.

Orders are quickly given, the Platoons are told to make a left face and we are marched into the Mess Hall where tasty breakfast victuals await us.

Later in class, I am corralled by two of my buddies – Second Lieutenants Quentin Muir and Henry Chung.

Quentin: “Hey Chuck, I hear the guys in Third Platoon have a new nickname for you,”

Me: “Oh? What is it?”

Quentin: “CLICK!”

Me: “What?! CLICK?!” Why would anyone call me that?… Oh, wait…I get it.”

Henry: (snickering). “Ah, that fits you perfectly.”

Me:  (My cheeks turning scarlet). “It’s a stupid nickname.”

Quentin:  (Gufawing) “FIRST SERGEANT “CLICK!”

Both:  (laughing) “Ha! Ha! Ha!” “FIRST SERGEANT “CLICK!” “Ha! Ha! Ha!

Me: “Ah, shut up you two!”

Henry: “Don’t worry Chuck, maybe when you get promoted again…(he shrugs almost apologetically)…the guys will stop teasing you.”

Ah, there it was – the burn, the rub, the sore tooth, that damn question that was always lurking in the back of mind.

Why hadn’t I been promoted to First Lieutenant last Awards Ceremony? 

I remember Colonel Tiddle shaking my hand at my eighth-grade ceremony last June before Summer break. “Don’t feel bad about not getting promoted to Second Lieutenant, Malbeck – you’ll pass them all up next year,” he said with a wink.

Well, it was now rapidly approaching the midpoint of my ninth grade year – and still no promotion. So what or “whom” was holding me back? I wondered.

I frowned at my smiling friends, pulled out my Social Studies textbook and proceeded to ignore them. My good mood had fled – and I was feeling pretty surly about the teasing and the sore topic of me being passed over.

As Colonel Delancy lectured during class, I chewed on the end of my number two pencil. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying – but, I couldn’t. I was beginning to feel a sense of losing control at school.

There was also growing anxiety that my Mom was about to do something incredibly stupid while I was away at school.

End of Part One 

To be continued…