The Board

I didn't want to post another "it got pushed back" post, but that's what happened last week. The board was originally scheduled for this past Monday, but last Friday I got the call that it was (again, for the last time) pushed back to yesterday, Wednesday.

So, saving everyone the aggravation and me the tedium of saying "hey folks, it's been pushed back again," I just decided to wait and actually get to the board before posting again.

I'm not going to sit here and make you read thru 1000 or 1500 flowery words before telling you the outcome. I'm not a monster. I passed, and my packet is now scheduled to go forward to the National-level board for review. And hopefully, in roughly a month, I'll find out for definite, if I'm in or out.

So, with that being said, here's 1000 or 1500 flowery words on what happened:

I got to Maine the day before. I was going to stay with my mother, whom I had yet to tell the full extent of what I was doing. She knew I was applying for OCS, I just hadn't told her with what branch. She knew I was out of the Coast Guard, so it was anyone's guess on to what I was doing in her eyes.

She wasn't home yet, I had rolled in around 3 and decided to head down to my old high school to do some laps around the old track. Running has been my crutch through this whole ordeal: every push-back, every missed date, every phone call requiring me to scramble around and dig up some dusty piece of DoD - ### form.... running had been there for me. Being at zero-hour, I needed to run.

The high school has fallen into such disrepair over the years, the building looked like it had been shelled by some insurgency. They were remodeling a portion on the North wing, and fencing and craters and dust hung over everything. The track was in worse condition; cracks and chunks missing. I ran a solid 5 miles, setting a new 5K PR (18 minutes and change). I was the only one out there.

Then I went home, showered, waited for mom. We went out to dinner, she caught me up on her job, all that gossip. I ordered a steak and caught her up on all my drama without tipping too much of my hand. We went home, watched some Red Sox baseball and called it a night.

I didn't sleep; usually, in high-stress situations like the one I was facing, I'm pretty cool. But I kept reminding myself exactly what was riding on all of this. I kept thinking of my wife, Jill, and the life I could give her if the next day went according to plan. I kept thinking of the things I didn't know, the guess work, the potential last minute bullshit that could crop up, leading me to be putting ass-to-chair and being sent away over some sort of technicality. The Paperwork Curse, the questions, the answers, the expectations.

I slept maybe three hours after watching some cable tv. I woke up around 230 and did some push ups and sit ups. I sat on the edge of the bed and did what any other shitty Catholic would do, and pray. "Pray" isn't the right word - beg. I sat on the edge of the bed and spoke to my grandparent's spirits, which I found fitting since I was in their home.

"Memere, Pepere, give me the strength tomorrow to not sound like an idiot, to not stutter, to not slouch, to not say 'uh' or 'um' between my words, to make the right amount of eye contact without looking like I'm trying to hard, to not get a thought-freeze, etc."

I watched like, three hours of SportsCenter, three times I watched Josh Hamilton of the Texas Rangers make the same boneheaded play from third to home and break his arm and rib or whatever. Soon, it was 530 and I could hear the rain pattering on the bedroom window.

So much for that early morning run. So much for that early morning crutch.

I got up when I heard my mom bustling about, making coffee, feeding her bi-polar cat. I went thru my typical morning routine, putting on my mask that said everything was good, I was well rested, etc. Mom set about to pressing my shirt and pants and I did my best not to hyperventilate into a paper bag.

I dressed in a slate-gray suit, light blue tie, American flag lapel pin, tie clip, watch. I left my Gerber and Livestrong bracelet behind. I huffed breath on my wedding ring and ran my thumb over it.

The rain let up just enough to make it to the car without getting soaked. I didn't even think of checking the weather before leaving the Cape to see if I would need a rain jacket or umbrella. Mom let me borrow one of hers.

I arrived at the recruiting office at the same time as Sgt. Steve. We shook hands as he keyed us in and I joked that he was sure today was the day. Good naturedly he went along with it and said something to the effect of "I promised I'd get you there and that's what today's all about."

We had to wait for another Sgt, a new guy who was going to in-process up at battalion that morning. While we waited, we talked strategy.

"If they bump you on anything," Sgt. Steve started, "it'll be your low-ish GPA," from my undergrad. I graduated with a cum. 2.8... not stellar but by no means a "D" student. My strategy around that was to mention my recent induction to the Dean's List and Phi Theta Kappa, a national honors society for community colleges (yay me!).

"It'll probably be Capt. J who brings that shit up... he probably graduated with a 2.5..." Sgt. Steve goes on. Capt J is the company's commander. I met and chatted with him once. Young guy, looks like Ross from "Friends," didn't leave me with a warm-and-fuzzy feeling nearly a year ago. He was going to be sitting on my board. Awesome.

The other Sgt. arrives and we take off for the 45 minute haul up to battalion. The two Sgts mostly chit-chat amongst themselves and I keep to myself in the back of the government vehicle (GV for short). I do chip in a few jokes and ask a few questions, but mostly it's all gameface time for me.

I start getting the excited, nervous pulses of energy, like before a race. Before a race, of course you fear that you're going to trip and get trampled by everyone, but you realize that's an irrational, dumb fear. You try to focus on victory, on finishing, and finishing strong. I focused all my energy on what potentially I could be asked, and what I'd respond with.

We get to the battalion. The building is in terrible condition and it seems no one gives a shit. They - the staff - are all moving to a new facility in Portsmouth. This could possibly explain why Xmas decorations are all over the place, still out. Halloween stickers are still stuck to windows in random, uneven order. I stare at a mummy half faded, half ripped away.

We meet with the civilian coordinator who takes us thru a dry run of the board. Where I stand, how I walk, etc. I'm told that I'm to enter the room only when called on and to stand before being seated, state my name and purpose, tell a little bit about myself ("just the Clif Notes, no longer than a minute," Sgt. Steve says), then wait to be asked to sit.

"Don't stand at POA (position of attention)," Sgt. Steve goes on. "You'll look like you're trying too hard."

"Parade rest?" I ask.

"No, no, like... a modified.. POA.... like, not a full one," and he shows me.

We go back to a waiting area, and another applicant shows up. She's tiny, grad student working on her Masters in something or other. Pixie haircut, built like a brick shithouse.

"Where I'm from, people don't go into the Army," she says at some point, her voice dripping with Connecticut Blue Blood. I excuse myself to find a head.

I find the bathroom halfway down the hall and as I push open the door, I hear:

"My god, that's a big pecker...."

Naturally, I freeze. I half-peek around the door and see a civilian standing by the window. He looks back over his shoulder at me and smiles. My heart turns to a hunk of ice.

"You gotta see this thing,"

"Uhh..."

"it's the biggest wood pecker I've ever seen..." and just then, the rat-atat-tat of a wood pecker fills the space. I walk over, and sure enough, just outside the bathroom window, there's a fat, black and red capped wood pecker doing his thing into a utility pole. My heart defrosts and I'm able to take a leak without the thoughts of "brutal man-on-man rape" in the back of my mind.

My board was scheduled for 9am, but I knew this wouldn't happen. At 920, I was informed to move to the staging area. My recruiter was going to be allowed to sit in with me to take notes. I thought this was a good thing.

My nerves were heightened, my shoulders tensed. I breathed in and out slowly, gradually. The civilian, a tiny woman who looked like anyone's mom, asks to me:

"Are you nervous?"

Jesus Christ woman! What do YOU think! I might not be sweating bullets, but... god! I could feel the heat running down my arm pits, my chest and back. I flexed my thighs and my butt.

"A little, more excited tho," I replied. She smiled.

"Good, the one's who aren't nervous, tend to do poorly," and she left me standing, facing a door a few inches from my nose. "When you're ready, knock," she said.

I took one last look over my shoulder at Sgt. Steve and he gave me a firm nod. Let's do this.

I knocked three times, trying not to sound timid, but not like I was about to serve a warrant. I waited, holding my breath. My eyes went in and out of focus.

"Fuck, don't pass out you asshole," I thought to myself. "Don't fart, don't fart, don't fart," and I waited some more.

Nothing.

I raised my fist to knock again, as if I was trying to see if someone was home or not, but Sgt. Steve touched my shoulder and said in a low voice "wait."

"Come in, please," came a female's voice.

I took the knob and pushed in, taking a deep breath, I smiled and made direct eye contact with the president of the board, Maj. B. She smiled back. Ok, I can do this.

I stood next to the chair that was in the middle of the room. Back straight, smiling like a goddamn idiot. I looked from each board member to the other. Three total, two guys including Capt J, and the one female, Maj. B.

Then there was this sickening dead silence as the door clicked behind me. I looked from each member to the other, waiting to be prompted to speak. Everyone was just looking at me.

After about an eternity passed, I started to say my introduction, when I say the Major's lips beginning to move. I shut my mouth and she shut hers. We just stared at each other.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," my mind raced. I cleared my throat.

"Good morning ma'am, good morning gentleman. My name is Jack, and I'm here today to be considered for appointment to Officer Candidate School with the United States Army" came this voice of authority from somewhere deep down inside of myself. Thank god!

Everyone smiled and I was asked to sit, and tell them a little bit about myself. I kept it short, just about where I grew up, went to college, and what I've done since. I mentioned when I was married.

Then the questioning started. The following is the questioning to the best of my recollection. It was kind of a blur.

Q: What's your definition of 'responsibility.' This came from Capt. J, who started.

A: Responsibility, to me, is part accountability and part respect. Accountability in regards to being accountable for your actions, whether right or wrong and owning up to your decisions. Respect, regarding respecting not only those superior to you, but those under you as well.

He was fairly satisfied with that answer.

Q: How are 'chaos' and 'conflict' different? This came from the other captain, Capt. B.

A: Conflict is controlled chaos. Chaos is completely random, with no order to anything, no authority. Conflict has control; a goal, a plan to reach that goal and an implementation of that plan. There is set order within conflict.

I was then asked a series of questions about my home life, particularly my wife Jill. Was she comfortable with my decision to join the Army?

A: Yes, my wife is very familiar with the military lifestyle.

And I went on to describe what my schedule was like with the Coast Guard. I also mentioned her desire to get off of Cape.

Q: Why did you leave the Coast Guard? Why not pursue OCS thru them? This came from Maj B.

A: The Coast Guard is a fantastic organization, don't get me wrong. But they do all the things they do on a shoe string budget. They're also not doing a mission I think I'm best suited for. I, unfortunately, was sent out of Basic to a small station that didn't see a whole lot of action. I made the best of it tho. The Coast Guard is also very small in size, which means there's not a whole lot of room for someone with the will and potential as myself to grow. I believe the US Army Officer Corps will provide me with unlimited growth potential.

Q: Where were you stationed in the Coast Guard? Maj. B's follow up.

A: ______, Ma? Are you familiar with that area? ... (All the board members nod.). It's a ... colorful community.

This produced some laughs. During my last few answers, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Capt. J nodding along. I felt as tho I had my hooks in him at last. I relaxed a little bit.

Q: Can you tell us a time when you were in a leadership position, and made a decision that affected those under you? Another from Maj. B.

I started this answer explaining my decision to leave the comfort and benefits of the Coast Guard to take a "blind leap" with the US Army's Officer Corp. My wife's ailments played a huge roll in many sleepless nights while I considered the options. My decision has put me in this chair today, but it's cost us a lot; a lot of money from personal savings, a lot of time a lot of stress.

Maj. B said that wasn't exactly what she was looking for, and I explained that I knew, and that I wish I could tell the board I was the leader of my household, but clearly, it's my wife. This produced some more chuckles. I went on with....

A: When I was in college, I was a co-captain of the marksmanship team (the same team that Gen Colin Powell was a part of, I added). We had a really gifted shooter, who wouldn't show up to team meetings or practices. So my coaches came to me one day and asked, right before regionals - where our school hadn't reached in nearly a decade - if we should bench this shooter. I voted that yes, we should. If he didn't want to be a full member of the team, meaning, showing up to practices, etc, then why should he be allowed to compete with the team? And he was benched and we placed poorly at regionals.

Another time, while in Basic for the Coast Guard, I was appointed Squad Leader with some other outstanding recruits. Late in the training, during an on-base liberty outing, one of our training company members was very rude to the wife of one of the company commanders working at the facility. When news of this reached our company commanders, myself and another respected squad leader were pulled into the company commander's office and we were asked to pass judgment on our fellow shipmate. Should he be reverted back to a lower company for his lack of respect towards the civilian wife? I voted yes, that he violated the Coast Guard's core value of Respect (honor and duty are the others). And he was sent packing.

Neither were popular decisions, but they had to be implemented to ensure the quality of both my team and company.

They were impressed with the answers.

Q: Can you tell me the difference between Afghanistan in 1977 and Afghanistan today? This came from Capt. B.

What the fuck?! I thought this was an OCS board, not a geo-political summit-slash-round of Jeopardy?!

What pissed me off with this question was the ambiguity, like, why not compare the differences between a barrel of apples and a fucking car wash? And further, this question should have been a slam dunk, since this is an area of history that I'm currently sort of studying.

A: Well, the communist forces were essentially systematically executing innocent Afghanis, and we're .... not?

Capt. B: Well, no, what I'm getting at is, .... what's the POV of the Afghani civilian on the ground.... between now and 30 years ago.

A: Well, my history might be a little fuzzy, Capt, but.... I mean, we were supplying the Mujaheddin with shoulder-fired SAM rockets to fight off the Soviet air offensive. We weren't directly involved with the fighting as we are today. Today, we're supplying the Afghanis with roads, medical supplies, etc... We're trying to broaden their horizons, show them that there's more to the world than their own valley, most of which have never left. You can grind meat all day, Capt, but you'll only win this war with hearts and minds...

Capt B: No no... no, from the view point of the civilian, what's different....

I was getting frustrated. What did he want me to say?!

A: I'm afraid I don't know, sir.

Capt B (he smiles, frustrated) What I was looking for was, in 1977, the whole country stood up against the Soviet Russians to repel them. Today, it's just the 1% of the population, the Taliban that we're trying to rid the country of. But to the civilian on the ground, when one of our drones drops a 500lb Hellfire missile on his family, doesn't see it that way.

Oh. Well, shit.

The board wrapped shortly there after. I thanked them all for their time, citing how long of a road it's been for me, and what this chance meant to me and my family. I stood, shook hands with everyone and stepped out of the room with Sgt. Steve.

"You killed it!" he exclaimed after we closed the door. He shook my hand with the strength of a bear, pride oozing out of him. We went back to the waiting room and debriefed the young lady and her recruiter.

Now, as always, I had to wait for my results.

Half an hour later, the last kid to be boarded showed up. He's Air National Guard, dimwitted, in his Class As. I think this was a bad idea. I think it ratchets things up for the board members. He's going to have a heavier yoke to bear, since he's showing up in uniform.

I think too, that he's leaning on his uniform to do the board for him. Like "see, I look good in a uniform, you should totally pass me," sorta thing.

He didn't impress me. Didn't seem very mature.

Sgt. Steve left me alone for a few minutes and I texted everyone I knew that I was out. I received a short email from my mentor, T. He's super busy and a world away, but he still took the time to send me a quick encouraging note. It was exactly what I needed:

"I know your board is today. Good luck. Kick some ass." -T.

When I received that email, the emotions washed over me. I was more nervous now that I was done with the board and awaiting my results, than I was before I even went in to the room.

Sgt. Steve came back, and shot me the double thumbs up like the Fonz. They were sending my packet forward.

"You got a couple of gigs," he starts. "They want updated Letters of Rec from those who wrote them. They're ten months old, and ... you know, they don't know what you've been doing for ten months, you know? You could've been out, knocking over pharmacies or some shit..." ok, and "you need an updated transcript from your school." Easy-peasy.

I thought I was going to faint. It all hit me. I had done it. I put my best foot forward and it was enough. Now I just had to pass the "paper board." I don't sit for it, it's just my packet and someone looks it over and decides one way or the other.

Sgt. Steve drives me back to my car, 45 minutes away. I start making phone calls, to my school, to the people who wrote my LORs, etc. He starts to pontificate on what it means to be an officer in the US Army in the eyes of an enlisted man.

He tells me stories of junior officers he's worked for, both good and bad. It's a good conversation and I listen and ask questions.

Soon, I'm back in the car, and it's now that I have to tell my mom the news. She knew today was a big day and she was waiting with baited breath on the outcome. I had to tell her everything.

I arrived at her court house and took the elevator up to her floor. I was still high on the adrenaline and endorphins and didn't think taking the stairs was worth the risk of possibly passing out and killing myself. On the second floor a young office drone got on, carrying a stack of papers. He took one look at me, in my suit, and curtly said:

"Councilor,"

I smiled to myself. I didn't correct him.

Mom met me just outside of her office, but just inside enough to give all the 40-something divorcees a peak at her son. We took to a secluded area and sat down. I told her how everything went and seeing the pride in her eyes, mixed in the the pride in my father's voice when I called and told him... everything just overwhelmed me. I had to do that whole, pinch the bridge of my nose, lean forward thing. I shuddered. What this small achievement meant to me and my wife, my family, everyone who's been so supportive of us... it all overcame me at that moment.

Mom was there to pat me on the back.

I straightened. I looked her in the eyes.

"Mom, I'm going into the Army," there, it was out in the air.

She just looked at me, expecting a shoe to drop.

"And?"

"And? And... that's it, I'm... going into the Army, as a -knock on wood- 2LT, probably before the end of summer."

"Ok.. well, I know..."

"You know?"

"Gillis told me, months ago..."

Gillis is my parents mutual friend. I told my dad everything months ago. Clearly, he told Gillis, because my father loves me so much, that he has to tell everything I do to everyone he meets... and Gillis, not knowing "mum was the word" .... told my mum.

I just sat there, mouth open.... all the tip-toeing... all the pins and needles. And she had known, this whole time.

Son of a bitch.

But she's supportive, if not just a little scared. She has every right to be. But she understands the life I want to provide for my family and she's glad that my degree is finally going towards something useful. She hugged me tight and I was on my way.

But, we're not out of the woods yet. Like I said before, there's things that my packet is still missing. Since yesterday, I have 3 out of the 4 LORs back with updated dates (everyone has been super accommodating, thank you!) and I should be getting the 4th by the end of the weekend. I've already gotten copies of my "unofficial transcript" from my school and was called earlier today that my official copies were in the mail, which I should get probably Saturday. I've been emailing and scanning shit like crazy to Sgt. Steve, who's been collecting everything, getting it ready for the National Board at the end of next week.

The National Board takes about two weeks to render a decision on possible applicants. I figure I have a 50-50 shot, at least. From there, if the packet passes, I take an Oath of Office and I'll be receiving a ship date for a full basic course (the Army doesn't really think I got enough training thru the Coast Guard's 8 week basic course). My basic training will seamlessly transition into OCS, and from there, Branch Training. So, we're still in the thick of things.

I've been using a metaphor lately, that I think is apt for this situation: I'm in a steeple chase, but I had to run a marathon to get to the first hurdle.

So, as the great General Han Solo once said "Don't get too cocky, kid." I need your thoughts and prayers now more than ever, guys.

The Scramble

So here we go again: The countdown. Just days before I'm supposed to board. Again.

But something tells me that this will be it. I don't know if it's like, a cosmic feeling (like, it HAS to happen this time) or if it's just intuition based around how this past week has been (which I'll get to here in a second). I'm surprised that my usual lingering doubt that has accompanied me throughout this whole process isn't present today, or at all this week. I feel so strongly that come Monday the 11th, I'll be finally sitting down with a few of the Army's finest and pleading my case.

The same routine has applied all week: Long runs, hard workouts, mental jump-roping possible question scenarios; what will I say when asked this? Remember eye contact, remember posture, smile, but don't be too pleasant. Don't be adversarial, even if pushed in that direction. As Admiral Akbar would say "it's a trap!"

I have this one fear, a truly gripping, ice-cold fist around my heart-sort've fear, that I'll lock up while sitting in the chair at the board. They'll ask me something, and I won't be able to find the answer. I'll KNOW the answer, but I won't be able to dig it out of my brain in time, or when I do, it'll come out as gobbly-goop and I'll look retarded.

That's my number one fear right now.

But what affirms my suspicion that this is "it" is how frantic my recruiter, Sgt. Steve, has been this past week. All week, at least once a day, a guy who would, if ever, seldom contact ME (I was always contacting him) has been sending me texts, emails and the occasional phone call.

I guess my "good to go" packet, hasn't exactly been so.

I've had to furnish extra copies of college transcripts ("they're telling me they're too dark," Sgt. Steve told me) and when I couldn't ("Uh, you have my only copy, unless you want me to call my school and have them ship out another copy, but I don't know how long that will take...") I was told that he'd "make these work" meaning, ... I don't know what that means.

Yesterday tho, yesterday was a trial.

I had been on the road, running, for about 40 minutes when my phone chimed. Sgt. Steve had sent me a text wondering what the exact date of my enlistment with the CG was. When I got home a short while later, I texted him the date. He calls about two minutes later, asking about some sort of paperwork that shows I enlisted as an E3, PLUS! (And that's not all!) I had to re-write my essay on "Why I Want to be a US Army Officer."

"Uh, why?" I ask.

"'They' are telling me the original essay you wrote is 'too old.'" Ahh, huh.

The thing with the essay is that, you need a typed copy and a hand-written one. I'm told that it's because they want to make sure you wrote the essay and didn't get it from online someplace, but... seeing how I could easily just print one off from online and copy it by hand, I see this as a moot point.

More than likely, it's so the Army's Officer Candidate Selection Board can judge you on your handwriting. And my handwriting is embarrassingly bad.

At the same time all of this is unfolding in my sweaty, yet-to-be-showered lap, I get a call from Jill, who needs some important documents scanned and emailed to her for work.

Over fifty pages of documents.

I want to explode, my ears throb as my blood pressure spikes. Suddenly, what was going to be a mundane Wednesday consisting of me running, doing chores and errands, then going to the gym before my evening writing class, was now going to be a scramble to get a bunch of shit done that I hardly felt I had any reason to be doing.

But you know what? When I get into the Army (as an officer, knock on wood), this type of shit is going to happen all the time. I'll have nothing to do, and then suddenly, everyone in my chain of command is going to want something from me, and as fast as possible. It's all about adaptation.

So I set to work looking for, and scanning completely unrelated documents to two totally different people, trying my damndest not to cross cables and send one thing to the wrong person, all while typing out a short essay that I have the unenviable task of having to hand-write as soon as possible, while making it all fit on one piece of notebook paper, and legible, with my crap hand-writing.

The clock starts on this at about 1030... I wouldn't be mission: complete until about just after 3pm.

I finally submit my stuff to Sgt. Steve and tell him, just as a heads up, the hand-written essay is a bucket of awful. I had spent an hour on it alone, trying to make the words small enough so they all fit on one page of paper, and legible enough to read. Also, as soon as you screw something up (say, you meant to write "and" but wrote "the" instead) the whole project gets scrapped, crumpled up, and thrown into the waste basket. Countless times I had gotten halfway down the page, only to do that very same screw up, and have to start all over again.

So I contact Sgt. Steve and let him know not to get his expectations high on the hand-written copy.

"Jack," he starts. "I already wrote it out for you."

I'm sorry, what?

When I sent him a typed "rough draft (and I put that in quotes because it was more along the lines of a final draft, I just wanted him to make sure I had hit all the finer points and didn't sound too much like an asshole)" he took the liberty of hand copying it.

That son of a bitch.

I tell him that, I'm relieved and irritated (good naturedly), that he didn't tell me he was hand-writing out the essay, because it would've saved me some time in the end. He says that I can email him my hand-written essay if I want to, and I initially tell him I'm fine with him using his own work.

But then a thought comes across my mind....

I tell him, I'll send mine along, and I'll "trust [his] judgment" on picking out which one looks best. I can already taste those words, actually.

But with all this scrambling, at the last second, with a packet I've been told countless times was "good to go" I can only surmise that this HAS TO BE IT. We're closing in on the end zone, finally.

The board is scheduled for Monday and is being held at the UNH Dover campus. If all goes according to plan (Government Shutdown be-damned) I'll post one more time the night before, and then again afterwards.

Wish me luck.

Below, while attending my writing class, I drew out how my day was, in line graph form: