This story of the trials, tribulations, and joys in the life of a Plebe at "Hell-on-the-Hudson" is told by Cadet T. W. Carrithers, Editor of Notes and Comments, The Pointer especially for the Crimson.

"You man!" Those are practically the first words to come to a Plebe's ear when he enters West Point. He looks around to see if he is the one being called, and nine chances out of ten, he does not look in vain. For all during the Fourth Class Year, from the minute he enters until the last company has passed in review at Graduation Parade, the Plebe hears the old cry, "You man!" I still have a tendency to stop when I hear some upperclassman call in this fashion.

Misery Loves Company

I can remember my first day of Plebe life as though it were yesterday. Being fresh from a small Middle-Western college and full of collegiate ideas, I carried an ornamented green slicker, a golf bag and a suit case, covered with loyalty stickers. I was the last word in the hey-dey of the times. No sooner than I had walked through the fatal Sallyport on the morning of July first, I was no longer the collegian but the poor struggling Plebe.

I had said goodbye to the outside world and had entered a new sphere, as strange to me as might have been Mars, a new sphere in which I must learn a new language, a new outlook, a new method of living, and most of all, learn the meaning of discipline. Nor was I alone when I entered. Over three hundred and sixty others had come into the Academy at the same time. Each of us had this adjustment to make, and most, of us made it successfully.

Learning the Ropes

The first two months after entering were given to strict training in military lines and in the customs of West Point. We drilled, we heard lectures, we had unofficial talks by those over us, we asked questions, and gradually we learned. We were learning to take it and like it. Our little world was no longer strange to us.

A New Farmer's Almanac

Duties? They are innumerable. It is the Plebe's duty at meals to pour the water, milk, tea, coffee and anything else pourable. He carves the meat, sees that there is sufficient of everything on the table. At breakfast, he must know and tell the "number of days" to all important events. Woe to the Plebe who knows not "How many days till Graduation."

Another duty of the Plebe, an important one, is that of delivering the mail after the noon and evening meals. The "mail dragger" has a sad job. He is pestered by each man who always wants his mail as soon as it comes, and cannot wait until it is brought to his room.

There are other various and sundry things the Plebe must do but there is little of the old system of hazing left. We mean physical hazing. "Mental hazing" by means of trick questions is done, but even this is not considered hazing for it is done in the spirit of fun. No upperclassman will ever touch a Plebe. It just isn't done, as it was twenty or thirty years ago.

The Plebe must always be ready to answer any question that comes his way. And some of the questions that are asked. The common ones are: "Where are you from?" "What is your P. C. S.?" (Previous condition of servitude), and several others concerning his past history and present status. However the majority are usually dumb or startling, tending to make the Plebe give a dumber answer.

"Mr." and "Sir"

The "recognition system" is what governs plebe life. From the day he enters until immediately after Graduation Parade, the Plebe acts as a pledge to a fraternity would during initiation week. He is not known by, nor does he know the upper classes. That is, as a whole. He is called "Mr.----" and refers to individuals of the upper three classes as "Mr.----" also. However; he may be "recognized" by any men who desire to know him. When he is recognized, the Plebe is placed on a social equality basis with the man whom he now knows and no longer sprinkles his sentences with "sir."

This is a great boon to Plebe life, this individual recognition, for it usually means that the Plebe is taken under the wing of some upperclassman who helps him out of difficulties and gives him advice. When the Plebe "goes deficient"--is below average--in academics, he usually goes to his predecessor, a man from the same town or district, and gets coaching or council on what to do.