Life as a Retired Youngster

By Craig Corbett

(This first appeared in the May 1986 Shipmate and was reprinted June of 2003)

It might have simply been the times. It might have been something else that we don’t know. Whatever it is, it is brought home to me every time I talk to one of my old Classmates or think about the days at the Naval Academy from 30 June 1969 through June Week 1971. Life always has its moments of reflection, but the friends that I know who left the Academy after Youngster Year have a common sensitivity to those two years spent by the bay.

For me, those years were the best of my life. I worked harder, played harder, made better friendships, and had a sense of purpose. The ideals that brought me to the Naval Academy have stayed with me. The lessons I learned there have also stayed with me. There is no other place in the world where one can have those experiences and that education. Those two years will remain with me all my days. However, from time to time my thoughts will be centered on what I left, and what I missed. As has been told to me by an Alumnus, I paid the price through Plebe Year, and then lost the reward.

When I think back on my mental condition and thought patterns during that time, I am amazed that a decision to walk away from the opportunities provided there can be made with such little help or input from the administration. Naturally, during this time, I dared not discuss the matter with my First Class squad leaders, my Company Officer, or many others. The opinions of two old friends in ’72 were solicited, along with those of a First Classman who had been a platoon leader during my Plebe Summer. The only real contact with an officer was a cursory interview with the psychiatrist assigned to sick bay.

Once the decision had been made and announced, the administration made little attempt to dissuade me or to point out the opportunities that lay before me. Neither was any determination sought as to the true reasons for my leaving. No one tried to point out the aspects of life outside the Academy in civilian colleges or after graduation. Undoubtedly, some attribution is expected. But it seems that some attempt would be made to keep Midshipmen who had no discipline or academic problems, and who had seemed to possess some aptitude for leadership. Although not in line for company commander, the fact that I was invited to join the Alumni Association after ’73 graduated shows that I was thought of as one of my Class by the grads who knew me.

Of course my own experience is the raw data for this article, but I assume that I was typical of those Midshipmen who entered the Academy between 1966 and 1971, (’70-75). 1 don’t know how many of those voluntary res’s have kept in touch with their old Classmates, so I have no statistics to show that mine is a typical case. It is just one of those things you feel. The idea of putting these thoughts down on paper came to me when a friend here in Orlando introduced me to his Plebe son almost a year ago.

The young man was home on Christmas leave when I met him. I told him how fortunate he was, how pleased I was for him to be a Mid, told him of my years at USNA and wished him well. Then, aside, I told his father to give me a call if his son ever voiced any thoughts of leaving.

Leaving the Academy in 1971 had several effects on my life. My family, my personal life, and education were all affected drastically. Naturally, my career has also taken a different direction.

Unless a person has seen it, there is no way to describe the pride in a mother’s eyes and voice as she tells someone that her son will or does attend the Naval Academy. This is especially true for daughters of rural families whose first child is fortunate enough to be accepted for appointment as a Midshipman. There is some sort of aura or status to a child who attends USNA, and rightly so. This applies to all the Service Academies. These institutions are the most restrictive in the country in their admission requirements and curricula, provide the finest education available, and more than any other institutions of higher learning, exist with a true sense of purpose. A parent has a right to be proud of a child who aspires to and reaches the lofty goal of admission to a Service Academy. I was one of forty-five applicants for three nominations available to my Congressman and had worked very hard to win my appointment.

During my two years my mother would always make me wear my uniform to one friend’s house or another whenever I would be home on leave. Although a bit of a nuisance, this was never anything that seemed unnatural, since she was very proud of it. Parents very often live through the lives and deeds of their children. She was no exception. To say that my mother was disappointed at my leaving Navy would be the equivalent understatement as to say that Plebe Year included a mandatory gym class or two. The most difficult thing about leaving was the effect on my mother. She was crushed and horrified at the idea that I would grow my hair long, drop out of respectable society, and smoke drugs.

Although I did grow my hair a little longer than allowed by the Regs, I remained committed to my education, working my way through college and law school. Working your way through school may build some character, but mostly it makes for low grades. I completed seven academic years in six calendar years, going to school year round. I had one summer vacation during which I worked paving roads to save money for school. Although she hasn’t been so terribly disappointed with the way my life has turned out, my mother candidly admits that my leaving was one of her biggest disappointments in life. This is probably so because this was the first real failure or incomplete attempt at anything in my entire life. I see it that way myself.

My personal life has been changed as well, since I have never been anything more than an ordinary citizen. I have never given of myself to my country as would have been the case. I will never know the honor of command, nor share the medals so gallantry won in battle. Mine will not be the friendships forged in the fires of the fields where valor and pride are found. Those days are now gone forever. I will not in this lifetime see the courage to live my life with the true dedication and meaning found in those who serve their country. The dreams of having brave friends and being one will be only that.

I still maintain the friendships made in those first two years, especially as a Plebe. But there is a certain camaraderie and bond that is noticeable among my former Classmates who remained and served, whether they are in or out of the service today. There are friends who served five years and quit, who maintain their Reserve commissions, or others who remain on active duty. There is something about those young men who threw their hats into the air on a sunny June morning in 1973. All the friends from civilian colleges are different. It can’t be described in words, but one knows it when one sees it. That is what I’ve missed. That is how my personal life has been affected.

My education suffered in an unusual way. Rather than being able to concentrate on studies, there was work to do. The liberal arts and the engineering studies were either unavailable or sacrificed to allow the quickest route to a degree. Only within the last five years or so have names such as Faulkner, O’Neill, or Hemingway graced my bookshelves. The math program at the University of Florida required other studies for a student obsessed with admission to law school. Once in law school, my general education came to an end. In addition to the formal education, I missed the education that comes from command and management, or from within one’s self on a clear night looking into the countless stars from the deck of a ship at sea.

So the reader won’t think of this article as sour grapes, I’d like to say that I’m happy with the life I now lead. I have a lovely wife and a decent living which affords me at least some opportunity to do things for the good of people rather than monetary gains. Still, looking, back on it all, one nagging thought is inescapable. All those who told me then that I would regret leaving the Naval Academy were right. Of all my decisions in life, the one that I wish I could make again is whether to sign and deliver my resignation letter. The opportunities I’ve found or made along the way were never so dear to me as those I found in Bancroft Hall.

Some effort should be made to prevent many more young men and women from making the same decision without full knowledge of what awaits them either outside the Yard or after the caps hit the ground.