I went to a large undergraduate institution. Some of my first year classes, like introductory physics had more than 400 students in the lecture hall. The professors were giants in their fields, but not always the best teachers. Frequently they were foreign and hard to understand. Unlike high school, where there was an emphasis on how you kept your notebook, whether you did your homework etc., college was refreshing in that all that mattered was whether you grasped the material. You were free to show up to class or not, no one cared how you took notes, it was all about quizzes and exams.
Upper level classes had fewer people, but the emphasis remained the same. There was more interaction with the professors, but there was no such thing as a grade for class participation. I thought this was normal for higher education. Then I went to law school.
Law school, particularly the first year, is like high school. In the first year you are divided into sections, of roughly 70 people each. You have all your classes with your section, never really interacting with the other sections. Indeed, our first year Torts class was further subdivided into two mini-sections of 35 each.
At the beginning of the 1st year of law school, everyone starts on the same page. However, it is a rough learning experience. Generally speaking, the grades that you get at the end of your first year determine much of your job prospects. My school was ranked around #60 of 200+ schools, so not terrible but not terrific. The higher your school was ranked, the less your individual class rank mattered. For instance Yale, usually regarded as the top law school in the country, doesn't even give grades the first year. Firms are so eager to get Yale students that it doesn't matter how you do. To be fair, it is extremely difficult to get admitted to Yale, so even those at the bottom are very impressive. Sort of like being the worst player on an All-Star team.
Conversely, at my school everyone was shooting to be in at least the top 10% of students, hopefully the top 5%. Over the course of the first year you would take 6 exams, that largely made up your GPA. You were graded in Legal Writing, but it wasn't worth as many credits, so it was more important to get a high grade in the doctrinal classes. The two biggest, worth 5 credits a piece, were Torts and Civil Procedure. Civil Procedure came second semester, so that first year, first semester, everyone had their eye on Torts. Even more nerve wracking, your entire grade is based on the final exam. You have no idea about whether your study habits are working until it is too late.
Our Torts professor was affectionately named the "velvet hammer." The problem was that he was an exceptionally good teacher. Not only was he exceptionally smart, he was some sort of expert on first amendment issues, particularly issues like hate speech. He had a unique knack for conveying the information. So much so, that almost everyone in the class grasped the material pretty easily. Torts is probably one of the easiest subjects in the first year curriculum as well. There is nothing too complicated. Most classes spend the first 20% of the semester on intentional torts, like battery, false imprisonment etc. The last 80% is spent on unintentional torts and the theory of negligence. Even though the analysis of unintentional torts is more difficult than intentional torts, it is still pretty straight forward. At my school, professors had to follow a strict curve, typically only 5% could get an "A", 10-15% an A- and so on with the majority of the class receiving a "B" or below. Therefore, grasping the material was not good enough. If you wanted the "A" you had to know the material better than the majority of the class. Inevitably, someone had to be crushed under the velvet hammer. Fortunately, it would at least appear to be gentle.
Professor H, ran the torts class in the most friendly manner he knew. He was so concerned with protecting people's feelings and encouraging participation that he went a little over the top. For instance, if he asked a straightforward "Yes/No" question and the answer was "Yes", he would try to let someone who answered "No" down as easily as possible. Instead of giving a gruff "wrong", he would say something like "well that's really close, and you seem like you were on the right track, but in fact in this case the answer happens to be 'yes'" But it worked. It was probably a combination of his easy going personality and the small class size, but there was far more participation in that class than any of my others.
One interesting aside, Professor H was pretty intolerant of people showing up to class late. Particularly if you made a habit of it. We had one young lady who did make a habit of it. She appeared to be in law school almost as a lark. She seemed to have no end of discretionary income, always wearing the latest fashions and never the same outfit twice. She was always late. I think what infuriated Professor H the most was that she always came in with a fresh Starbucks. So this was a person who realizes that they are late, but nevertheless makes sure to stop for a drink. Perhaps if she skipped the drink she would have been on time, or at least less late. So after about the 10th time of this happening, Professor H has had enough. But of course, he is too nice of a guy to actually blow up. Rather he goes the passive aggressive route of waiting for her to take her seat, and then addressing the entire class and giving this long winded speech of how it is important to value everyone's time and what showing up late represents. I would have gone the more direct route myself, but that wasn't how Professor H rolled. I was surprised we didn't join hands and sing Kumbayah. The worst part was that she was either too stupid to grasp that this was about her, or was too self involved to care, she continued to stroll in late, perfectly coiffed with steaming beverage in hand, for the remainder of the semester.
Typically, right around Thanksgiving, is when panic sets in. Classes are mostly winding down, with exams typically scheduled for the middle of December and wrapped up before Christmas. All of a sudden, you realize how close it is. You have this nagging fear that there is always more to learn, more nuances to perfect. Professor H gave us a thorough review session and encouraged people to drop by his office for further questions and answers, but it was never enough. There was always doubt.
I think Torts was the final exam that we took that semester. I know Criminal Law was first because people were losing their damn minds in the exam room prior to it starting. The issue was that we took all of our exams on laptops and used this special program that locks you out of the rest of your computer. Prior to the exam starting, all of the tech people are in the room making sure people can log on. It was going smoothly until people noticed that the clock had started counting down. Almost all exams are timed, typically 3-4 hours per exam and you want every second. Since everyone was new, we all assumed that once the clock reached the prescribed time our exam would automatically submit. This was not the case, as the poor tech guy explained again and again. The problem was everyone was so amped up and nervous, that he had to keep explaining it over and over.
By the time Torts rolled around, it was like the end of a marathon, the last thing left to do to end the first semester. Most exams consist of a long fact pattern where you have to figure out the relevant legal analysis. Professor H mixed it up a bit with some multiple choice first. It is hard to write a good multiple choice question for Torts, because typically the answer is "it depends." But, for a well written multiple choice there can only be one best answer. The trick is to exploit a little loophole that leads people to select the trick answer. I think that was worth only 10% of the exam though.
The bulk of the exam focused on a fact pattern involving a young kid taking an assault rifle from his dad's unlocked gun closet and going to a mall and shooting it up. It was more complicated, there were issues of the security guards having an idea that he had a weapon and the kid making threatening comments at school. Over the course of three hours you had to identify and analyze different theories of liability. I thought I did a pretty good job (turns out I got an A in the class).
After grades had come out and we had started the next semester, Professor H offered to do a review of the exam. This was great because you could see where you could improve. Most professors grade based on a score sheet, looking to see whether you identified an issue and your analysis, with most issues worth anywhere between 3-5 points. He gave us the score sheet and that is when I immediately noticed the velvet hammer. There was a section worth about 16 points, a significant number of points, where he expected a policy argument on the whether the legislature should ban assault rifles. To be fair, throughout the semester and indeed even in the instructions for the exam, he had instructed us to consider policy arguments. Most of us missed it entirely or only touched upon it in a cursory manner. That was the flip side of the curve though, you were only measured against the person at the top. If they missed an issue it actually helped you. So fortunately, the velvet hammer swung hard and hit uniformly.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Friday, December 19, 2014
Bachelor Party
Like most people, I had my Bachelor Party in Las Vegas Atlantic City. Atlantic City has everything Vegas has, as long as you don't count what Vegas has too carefully. For a little while, it thrived, or at least survived, because it was the only game in town that did not involve flying across the country.
It was a blast. In addition to the usual camp contingent of the Weebs, Wiggs, and the Load, my brother from another mother, and my brother from the same mother both came along. This was a time when the Load did not have his financial house entirely in order. To that end, he had applied for a credit card, which he intended to treat as a gift card, to finance the trip. Unfortunately, the credit card didn't come true. I don't know if you can have a negative credit rating, but if anyone could, it would be the Load. Regardless, he was my best man and was not going to let this obstacle stand in his way.
I don't remember all the details, but there are a number of incidences that standout:
1. We had a great time at this Irish themed bar. It was a beautiful day, sitting out on a comfy porch and the beer and food was flowing freely. There was the usual making fun of each other and making ridiculous jokes that were only funny to us. For instance, one of the trips that we used to guide out of camp involved a portion of the Raquette river. There is one section of the river called "the Oxbow" which is an area where if you take a wrong turn you end up going in circles endlessly. Ken Smith, wrote descriptions of each trek, and for this section he wrote in bold letters avoid the oxbow. So of course, when on my way to the bathroom, which involved going around a corner I passed the load going around the exact same corner and admonished him to avoid the oxbow.
2. We had a friendly game of Texas Hold-Em poker. I think we each threw in 20 bucks and it was elimination with the winner taking all (~$100). Normally, for most card games, the Wiggs always wins. However, he had not played much poker, and poker is a game of luck and bluffing in addition to skill. The Load had the most experience playing poker and had set this up. We only found out later that the Load had assumed he would win and had factored the hundred bucks into his financing. As luck would have it, I ended up winning. The Load, as always, took it in stride though.
3. The NJ Ballet. Once you leave the main boardwalk area of Atlantic City, you quickly find yourself in some less than desirable neighborhoods. Fortunately we were travelling as a pack and we were all pretty good sized guys. As we were taking in a show, all was merry and bright. However, the Weebs indicated that at one point both he and the Wiggs had been minding their own business when they felt their eyes begin to burn and their noses run. What we surmised/guessed, is that someone had sprayed pepper spray in the area in an attempt to perhaps steal their wallets while they were incapacitated. Fortunately, it never came to that. Perhaps they escaped the full blast.
4. You really can't smoke in an elevator. Over the course of the weekend, many a cigar was smoked. You are allowed to smoke most places in Atlantic City. You are not allowed to smoke in an elevator. However, my brother was never one to let a placard deter him. We all entered an elevator, and I think my brother was the only one smoking. Even if he was not the only one smoking, he was producing an incredible quantity of smoke. His cigar was like the machine beekeepers use to keep their bees calm. Not only was he spewing smoke at an alarming rate, but it was a relatively small elevator and a smoky haze quickly enveloped us. It would have been OK if we had made it all the way down. But, a few floors down a couple stepped on the elevator. Right away, the woman, who was probably in her mid forties informed my brother that it was not legal to smoke in the elevator. Perhaps if my brother had said something rude or ignored her, she would not have gotten that mad. Instead, he sincerely acknowledged her and responded back with, "Yes, it is illegal to smoke in an elevator." This seemed to set her off and she told him that he should be ashamed of himself, to which he responded that she was right and he should be ashamed of himself. The more he agreed with her, the angrier she got. Also, he kept that stogie stoked and produced just as much, if not more, smoke. Fortunately, it was not that long of a ride.
5. There is a restaurant on the boardwalk that is entirely covered in dollar bills. The walls, the ceilings, picture frames etc. In addition to the dollar bills, there are foreign currencies from all over the world. Most people who visit the restaurant, sign a dollar bill and the owner finds some place to stick it. He probably has thousands of dollars worth of dollar bills in there. For some reason, society works here. I talked to the owner and he said he had very few instances of people taking the money. It is like a diner in the choice of food, a place where you can get breakfast any time of the day. However, it also sports a full bar, so if the mood strikes you, you can order a stack of pancakes and a mint julep! I really enjoy visiting this place any time I am in Atlantic City and I am sure we had at least one breakfast there.
All in all, it was a great trip.
It was a blast. In addition to the usual camp contingent of the Weebs, Wiggs, and the Load, my brother from another mother, and my brother from the same mother both came along. This was a time when the Load did not have his financial house entirely in order. To that end, he had applied for a credit card, which he intended to treat as a gift card, to finance the trip. Unfortunately, the credit card didn't come true. I don't know if you can have a negative credit rating, but if anyone could, it would be the Load. Regardless, he was my best man and was not going to let this obstacle stand in his way.
I don't remember all the details, but there are a number of incidences that standout:
1. We had a great time at this Irish themed bar. It was a beautiful day, sitting out on a comfy porch and the beer and food was flowing freely. There was the usual making fun of each other and making ridiculous jokes that were only funny to us. For instance, one of the trips that we used to guide out of camp involved a portion of the Raquette river. There is one section of the river called "the Oxbow" which is an area where if you take a wrong turn you end up going in circles endlessly. Ken Smith, wrote descriptions of each trek, and for this section he wrote in bold letters avoid the oxbow. So of course, when on my way to the bathroom, which involved going around a corner I passed the load going around the exact same corner and admonished him to avoid the oxbow.
2. We had a friendly game of Texas Hold-Em poker. I think we each threw in 20 bucks and it was elimination with the winner taking all (~$100). Normally, for most card games, the Wiggs always wins. However, he had not played much poker, and poker is a game of luck and bluffing in addition to skill. The Load had the most experience playing poker and had set this up. We only found out later that the Load had assumed he would win and had factored the hundred bucks into his financing. As luck would have it, I ended up winning. The Load, as always, took it in stride though.
3. The NJ Ballet. Once you leave the main boardwalk area of Atlantic City, you quickly find yourself in some less than desirable neighborhoods. Fortunately we were travelling as a pack and we were all pretty good sized guys. As we were taking in a show, all was merry and bright. However, the Weebs indicated that at one point both he and the Wiggs had been minding their own business when they felt their eyes begin to burn and their noses run. What we surmised/guessed, is that someone had sprayed pepper spray in the area in an attempt to perhaps steal their wallets while they were incapacitated. Fortunately, it never came to that. Perhaps they escaped the full blast.
4. You really can't smoke in an elevator. Over the course of the weekend, many a cigar was smoked. You are allowed to smoke most places in Atlantic City. You are not allowed to smoke in an elevator. However, my brother was never one to let a placard deter him. We all entered an elevator, and I think my brother was the only one smoking. Even if he was not the only one smoking, he was producing an incredible quantity of smoke. His cigar was like the machine beekeepers use to keep their bees calm. Not only was he spewing smoke at an alarming rate, but it was a relatively small elevator and a smoky haze quickly enveloped us. It would have been OK if we had made it all the way down. But, a few floors down a couple stepped on the elevator. Right away, the woman, who was probably in her mid forties informed my brother that it was not legal to smoke in the elevator. Perhaps if my brother had said something rude or ignored her, she would not have gotten that mad. Instead, he sincerely acknowledged her and responded back with, "Yes, it is illegal to smoke in an elevator." This seemed to set her off and she told him that he should be ashamed of himself, to which he responded that she was right and he should be ashamed of himself. The more he agreed with her, the angrier she got. Also, he kept that stogie stoked and produced just as much, if not more, smoke. Fortunately, it was not that long of a ride.
5. There is a restaurant on the boardwalk that is entirely covered in dollar bills. The walls, the ceilings, picture frames etc. In addition to the dollar bills, there are foreign currencies from all over the world. Most people who visit the restaurant, sign a dollar bill and the owner finds some place to stick it. He probably has thousands of dollars worth of dollar bills in there. For some reason, society works here. I talked to the owner and he said he had very few instances of people taking the money. It is like a diner in the choice of food, a place where you can get breakfast any time of the day. However, it also sports a full bar, so if the mood strikes you, you can order a stack of pancakes and a mint julep! I really enjoy visiting this place any time I am in Atlantic City and I am sure we had at least one breakfast there.
All in all, it was a great trip.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Some Thoughts on Serial
I've been listening to the Serial podcast. It is an interesting idea, a couple of reporters that investigate a murder from 1999. It is very in-depth reporting, with lots of interviews, court recordings etc. The part that got me though was when some of the jurors were interviewed. The jurors tended to believe that the accused should have testified. They reasoned that no innocent person would not cooperate in their own defense. The prosecutor cannot mention it at all in his closing argument, arguably it would be grounds for a mistrial and an ethical breach. Even though the Judge is required to read jurors an instruction that specifically provides that the jurors are absolutely forbidden from drawing that inference, it nonetheless tends to happen. I understand the reaction. I think people interpret it as the accused must have something to hide if he is unwilling to take the stand. After all, this is probably one of the most important days of his life, and he is just going to sit there. What the jurors don't know is that the accused has likely spoken with his defense attorney, at length, on this topic.
I have yet to try a case where the accused has testified, either as a prosecutor or defense. As a defense counsel, I always left the choice to the accused. But, I would inform him/her of the potential pros and cons of testifying. On the pro side, it is a chance to tell your side of the story. And, importantly the jurors really want to hear that side. The list of cons is much longer, in my opinion. First, the accused is going to be nervous and scared and that will likely come through in his testimony. However, the jurors may well interpret that as evasiveness or not telling the truth. Second, on cross examination, the accused will feel attacked. This will not be the first time. For the entire time leading up to the trial the accused will likely have been felt like they were attacked by the State. From interrogations by police officers, plea negotiations and the entire process the accused will feel like it is a "me vs them" situation. Indeed it is. The case will be captioned in some form to resemble "the government" vs "the accused"
The other issue is that many accused do not invoke their right to remain silent from the outset. In many cases the accused will have waived their Miranda rights and often will talk to law enforcement at the outset. I think prior to becoming an attorney, I would likely have done the same thing. Particularly if I was innocent. If someone accused you of something you didn't do, the natural reaction is to explain that they don't have the correct version of events. Or, their version is incomplete. The problem is, in most cases what you tell law enforcement can only hurt you, not help you. Once you are suspected of committing a crime, regardless of how believable your version of events, it is highly unlikely that law enforcement will simply drop the case based on your story. The danger is that you accidentally remember a detail incorrectly, or your version conflicts with that of a witness (even if your version is indeed the correct one). People have a tendency to believe a witness, at least at the outset, particularly if the witness has no discernible bias or motive to lie. The accused has to start from the other end of the pendulum. Most jurors tend to distrust the accused until his credibility can be bolsters by other witnesses or evidence.
Further, a conversation with law enforcement is not a level playing field. You have no idea what they know, who they have spoken to or whether they are being truthful. It is like a novice playing a poker game against an expert and they get to see your cards. Also, at the end of the game you either break even or lose everything.
Finally, the danger of the accused speaking to anyone prior to the trial is the hearsay exception for admissions by a party opponent. Generally speaking, a witness cannot testify in court as to what another person said out of court. There are a lot of exceptions, too many to go into here. But the big exception is that the prosecution can generally bring in any statement that the accused made. But only the government. The defense cannot introduce out of court statements from the accused that are helpful to the case, because at that point those are not admissions by a party opponent.
So if an accused does elect to testify, all of his prior statements that prejudice him will come in. There will be inconsistencies. Memories fade, interrogations are stressful. Law enforcement is permitted to use leading questions. The ideal case would be an accused that elects only to speak at his trial. Of course, that rarely happens.
I have yet to try a case where the accused has testified, either as a prosecutor or defense. As a defense counsel, I always left the choice to the accused. But, I would inform him/her of the potential pros and cons of testifying. On the pro side, it is a chance to tell your side of the story. And, importantly the jurors really want to hear that side. The list of cons is much longer, in my opinion. First, the accused is going to be nervous and scared and that will likely come through in his testimony. However, the jurors may well interpret that as evasiveness or not telling the truth. Second, on cross examination, the accused will feel attacked. This will not be the first time. For the entire time leading up to the trial the accused will likely have been felt like they were attacked by the State. From interrogations by police officers, plea negotiations and the entire process the accused will feel like it is a "me vs them" situation. Indeed it is. The case will be captioned in some form to resemble "the government" vs "the accused"
The other issue is that many accused do not invoke their right to remain silent from the outset. In many cases the accused will have waived their Miranda rights and often will talk to law enforcement at the outset. I think prior to becoming an attorney, I would likely have done the same thing. Particularly if I was innocent. If someone accused you of something you didn't do, the natural reaction is to explain that they don't have the correct version of events. Or, their version is incomplete. The problem is, in most cases what you tell law enforcement can only hurt you, not help you. Once you are suspected of committing a crime, regardless of how believable your version of events, it is highly unlikely that law enforcement will simply drop the case based on your story. The danger is that you accidentally remember a detail incorrectly, or your version conflicts with that of a witness (even if your version is indeed the correct one). People have a tendency to believe a witness, at least at the outset, particularly if the witness has no discernible bias or motive to lie. The accused has to start from the other end of the pendulum. Most jurors tend to distrust the accused until his credibility can be bolsters by other witnesses or evidence.
Further, a conversation with law enforcement is not a level playing field. You have no idea what they know, who they have spoken to or whether they are being truthful. It is like a novice playing a poker game against an expert and they get to see your cards. Also, at the end of the game you either break even or lose everything.
Finally, the danger of the accused speaking to anyone prior to the trial is the hearsay exception for admissions by a party opponent. Generally speaking, a witness cannot testify in court as to what another person said out of court. There are a lot of exceptions, too many to go into here. But the big exception is that the prosecution can generally bring in any statement that the accused made. But only the government. The defense cannot introduce out of court statements from the accused that are helpful to the case, because at that point those are not admissions by a party opponent.
So if an accused does elect to testify, all of his prior statements that prejudice him will come in. There will be inconsistencies. Memories fade, interrogations are stressful. Law enforcement is permitted to use leading questions. The ideal case would be an accused that elects only to speak at his trial. Of course, that rarely happens.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Consider This
In the first year of law school, with few exceptions, everyone takes the same classes. The idea is that all law involves at least some aspects of either criminal law, torts, contracts and property. In addition you take federal rules of civil procedure, even though most people don't practice in federal court. But, states rules are usually pretty close.
My contracts professor was a nut. He had a Ph.D in philosophy and while he had a law degree I don't think he ever took the bar or intended to practice law. That's the funny thing about law school, and perhaps to an extent academia in general. They value the rank of the law school, not whether the professor is actually competent to practice law. Great thing about this guy is he didn't even go to a particularly good law school.
He was all about technology. Because of this, his classes were extremely different than any others. In the standard class, particularly the first year, the school likes to use something called the Socratic Method. The idea is that the professor calls on one person, and that person is supposed to recite the facts of the case, and then what the "holding" was. The holding is the general rule that the case stands for. Most of these are pretty old cases, but they still get cited. For instance, in torts, we had a case about some kids in school fooling around in class. This one kid was kicking this other kid in the shin and unbeknownst to the kicker, the kickee had some weird disease that made his bones brittle and generally very susceptible to injury. So he develops this pretty complicated injury and the family sues. The kicker's family argues that he should only be liable to the extent a normal person would be injured. The judge disagreed and held that you generally take the victim as you find him. Or, the eggshell skull rule.
So in a typical class, you would flush out the ruling through a series of questions, then there would be the inevitable back and forth about whether you agreed with the holding or not and whether it was good policy. In a big class, you may only get called on once in the entire semester, but it could be for 20 minutes. Our contracts professor made us purchase these "clickers" for his class. The way it worked is he would ask the entire class a multiple choice question and you could key in your answer through the clicker. He would then get an instant distribution of how the class voted, sort of like asking the audience in "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." I happened to think this was the better way to go, not only for assessing your own knowledge, but for the professor to understand what concepts people were grasping or not.
He still felt like he had to do the Socratic method though. But you could tell his heart wasn't in it. The problem with the Socratic method is that it takes a long time because the student has to think through the answers, may not be super familiar with the facts etc. So our boy would ask a student to lay out the facts of the case, let them get out approximately seven words, and then take over, regardless of how well the person was doing. He also had this habit of calling on people who were on the exact opposite side of the direction he was facing (class was arranged like 3 sides of a rectangle with the podium at the other side, but he never taught from the podium). It would be so random because sometimes he wouldn't even switch topics, but he loved switching up people. He also had a hard time with pronouncing even basic names. For whatever reason he tended to believe that people in his class had adopted non-standard pronunciations of their names. So if your name was Maria he might pronounce it like Mary-A with a big emphasis on the "A".
His other love of technology was carrying around the smallest laptop possible. This thing must have had a 7 inch screen max! He would wander in with this thing, and then have the hardest time reading the screen or finding the right keys to hit. So a good portion of the class was spent with him bent over the laptop, squinting and awkwardly using one finger to type.
I learned the reason for his small computer when I visited his office. It was something out of hoarders. There was crap everywhere, the bookshelves were filled to the bursting point, there were books all over the floor, some still in their original wrappers. He must have had 6-8 old computers just scattered around in there. Some were super old too, like the giant cube monitors that used to let you type only in green font. There was random stuff too, like a samurai sword. Not mounted on the wall - just lying around just in case he needed to fend off an attacker. When you came to visit with him, he would motion for you to sit on a chair that was overflowing with papers. You would try to take this stack and put it on the stacks covering the floor. Every time you came back, there would be a fresh stack there. Random shipping boxes were strewn about, some had been broken down, others not. The only area that was free was the one chair he used. There was just enough space on that tiny desk of his to put the computer. It wasn't enough to put the whole computer on, just enough to put more than 50% of it so that it didn't fall off.
Like most classes, the entire grade depended on how you did on the final exam. His exams were always entertaining because he would use the exam to make fun of other professors and the administration. Most exams are attempts to model what it would be like to get a client with an issue. So it is a long narrative with various legal events happening. He had a review before the class and essentially gave the entire fact pattern at the review session. It didn't really matter, you are graded on a curve, but he was of course the only one to do this.
The next year, when I was on Law Review, I chose him to be my adviser. I chose him because I wasn't actually at all interested in Law Review. Law Review is the biggest scam there is, but it looks good on your resume. So even though I had zero interest and was working full time at this point, I did it. It is a pass/fail class that I cam dangerously close to failing. You have to write a paper over the course of the year and at certain points you have to meet with your advisor. Luckily, my contracts professor thought that the term "meet to confer" on your paper was satisfied by sending me a "read receipt" over e-mail after I sent him the draft. Other people were having these super long meetings and writing multiple drafts, but I knew I had chosen correctly.
I would sometimes drop by his office in future years, but he was never there. Fortunately it seemed to only get more cluttered!
My contracts professor was a nut. He had a Ph.D in philosophy and while he had a law degree I don't think he ever took the bar or intended to practice law. That's the funny thing about law school, and perhaps to an extent academia in general. They value the rank of the law school, not whether the professor is actually competent to practice law. Great thing about this guy is he didn't even go to a particularly good law school.
He was all about technology. Because of this, his classes were extremely different than any others. In the standard class, particularly the first year, the school likes to use something called the Socratic Method. The idea is that the professor calls on one person, and that person is supposed to recite the facts of the case, and then what the "holding" was. The holding is the general rule that the case stands for. Most of these are pretty old cases, but they still get cited. For instance, in torts, we had a case about some kids in school fooling around in class. This one kid was kicking this other kid in the shin and unbeknownst to the kicker, the kickee had some weird disease that made his bones brittle and generally very susceptible to injury. So he develops this pretty complicated injury and the family sues. The kicker's family argues that he should only be liable to the extent a normal person would be injured. The judge disagreed and held that you generally take the victim as you find him. Or, the eggshell skull rule.
So in a typical class, you would flush out the ruling through a series of questions, then there would be the inevitable back and forth about whether you agreed with the holding or not and whether it was good policy. In a big class, you may only get called on once in the entire semester, but it could be for 20 minutes. Our contracts professor made us purchase these "clickers" for his class. The way it worked is he would ask the entire class a multiple choice question and you could key in your answer through the clicker. He would then get an instant distribution of how the class voted, sort of like asking the audience in "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." I happened to think this was the better way to go, not only for assessing your own knowledge, but for the professor to understand what concepts people were grasping or not.
He still felt like he had to do the Socratic method though. But you could tell his heart wasn't in it. The problem with the Socratic method is that it takes a long time because the student has to think through the answers, may not be super familiar with the facts etc. So our boy would ask a student to lay out the facts of the case, let them get out approximately seven words, and then take over, regardless of how well the person was doing. He also had this habit of calling on people who were on the exact opposite side of the direction he was facing (class was arranged like 3 sides of a rectangle with the podium at the other side, but he never taught from the podium). It would be so random because sometimes he wouldn't even switch topics, but he loved switching up people. He also had a hard time with pronouncing even basic names. For whatever reason he tended to believe that people in his class had adopted non-standard pronunciations of their names. So if your name was Maria he might pronounce it like Mary-A with a big emphasis on the "A".
His other love of technology was carrying around the smallest laptop possible. This thing must have had a 7 inch screen max! He would wander in with this thing, and then have the hardest time reading the screen or finding the right keys to hit. So a good portion of the class was spent with him bent over the laptop, squinting and awkwardly using one finger to type.
I learned the reason for his small computer when I visited his office. It was something out of hoarders. There was crap everywhere, the bookshelves were filled to the bursting point, there were books all over the floor, some still in their original wrappers. He must have had 6-8 old computers just scattered around in there. Some were super old too, like the giant cube monitors that used to let you type only in green font. There was random stuff too, like a samurai sword. Not mounted on the wall - just lying around just in case he needed to fend off an attacker. When you came to visit with him, he would motion for you to sit on a chair that was overflowing with papers. You would try to take this stack and put it on the stacks covering the floor. Every time you came back, there would be a fresh stack there. Random shipping boxes were strewn about, some had been broken down, others not. The only area that was free was the one chair he used. There was just enough space on that tiny desk of his to put the computer. It wasn't enough to put the whole computer on, just enough to put more than 50% of it so that it didn't fall off.
Like most classes, the entire grade depended on how you did on the final exam. His exams were always entertaining because he would use the exam to make fun of other professors and the administration. Most exams are attempts to model what it would be like to get a client with an issue. So it is a long narrative with various legal events happening. He had a review before the class and essentially gave the entire fact pattern at the review session. It didn't really matter, you are graded on a curve, but he was of course the only one to do this.
The next year, when I was on Law Review, I chose him to be my adviser. I chose him because I wasn't actually at all interested in Law Review. Law Review is the biggest scam there is, but it looks good on your resume. So even though I had zero interest and was working full time at this point, I did it. It is a pass/fail class that I cam dangerously close to failing. You have to write a paper over the course of the year and at certain points you have to meet with your advisor. Luckily, my contracts professor thought that the term "meet to confer" on your paper was satisfied by sending me a "read receipt" over e-mail after I sent him the draft. Other people were having these super long meetings and writing multiple drafts, but I knew I had chosen correctly.
I would sometimes drop by his office in future years, but he was never there. Fortunately it seemed to only get more cluttered!
Friday, December 5, 2014
More Fun with Erin
Every first Friday of the month, Bella's school does a walk to school event. Supposedly it is supposed to show our support of the environment. However, the event does not involve walking from your house to school, rather, everyone meets up at this park and walks the 1/2 mile or so to school. I am pretty sure, far more fossil fuels are used than if all the kids just took the bus. Almost everyone, myself included, drives to the park. Also, the buses still run, because they can't make it mandatory. It is still quite a fun thing. They set up a little table where the kids all sign their names and there is hot chocolate for the kids and coffee for the adults. I think they get sponsored by Starbucks and Einstein Bagels, because there is a large collection. Erin always gets a bagel, takes one bite and then makes Tuyen carry it around for her.
Behind closed doors, Erin is pretty friendly towards me. She likes me to swing her by her arms so high that her feet almost hit the ceiling, she enjoys making up words and songs and is generally a nut. In public though, it is a different story. I may as well be a stranger. She only wants to hang out with her Mommy. She won't let me pick her up, she won't really even talk to me. It is kind of the reverse of a domestic violence relationship where the abuser treats the victim well in public but not well behind closed doors.
Fortunately, Bella is nice to me both in public and private. Today, while we were waiting for the walk to start, we continued the heated game of duck duck goose (DDG) we started at the house. For a little while, it was me, Bella and Erin playing, but Erin ducked out and it was heads up DDG from that point on. I really love that Bella was up for one on one DDG. There is not a whole lot of surprise in the game, except for how many times Bella will pat you on the head before she finally calls you a goose. Usually a good 15 times of being called a duck first. Bella also refers to the person that picks the goose as the "ducker". After this, we engaged in a series of races. They started out as simple foot races, but once Erin and Tuyen got involved we transitioned to hopping races, lunge races, skipping races and walking backward races. Erin always won the walking backwards race, because her interpretation of walking backwards is sprinting forwards!
The thing with Erin, as I may have mentioned before, is that if she gets the slightest bit of moisture on any of her clothing, she will immediately attempt to remove that article, regardless of whether she is wearing anything underneath. She has zero tolerance for dampness. Unfortunately, she took a spill this morning and got a bit of mud on one of her knees. She was very upset about that and demanded to be changed immediately. We didn't have any extra clothes, and luckily she decided to keep her pants on!
When the walk finally did start, Erin of course refused to walk with me at all. Bella and I walked along though. When Erin walks, unless she is super excited about the destination, she really takes it easy, just a super slow pace. In fact, when she holds your hand she kind of leans back into her walk, just to make it even a bit slower. However, it is a large group of people all walking, so you don't really notice how slow Erin is going. It only took a little time to get to school and Bella was very excited to be there, so it was a good excursion.
On the way back, it looked like it would start to rain pretty soon. Surprisingly, Erin doesn't mind the rain. I think she is ok with her entire body getting wet, but does not appreciate when only a portion of it does. So she was in no hurry and continued her leisurely stroll back to the vehicle.
We weighed the girls this morning, Bella was 44 pounds and Erin was 30, starting to bulk up! Of course, anytime I asked Erin if she wanted me to carry her, I was quickly rebuffed in no uncertain terms, we were in public after all! She had no problem with Tuyen carrying her, but it is tough for Tuyen to carry her long distances. Finally, I just walked ahead a bit and brought the truck to Erin rather than Erin to the truck!
Behind closed doors, Erin is pretty friendly towards me. She likes me to swing her by her arms so high that her feet almost hit the ceiling, she enjoys making up words and songs and is generally a nut. In public though, it is a different story. I may as well be a stranger. She only wants to hang out with her Mommy. She won't let me pick her up, she won't really even talk to me. It is kind of the reverse of a domestic violence relationship where the abuser treats the victim well in public but not well behind closed doors.
Fortunately, Bella is nice to me both in public and private. Today, while we were waiting for the walk to start, we continued the heated game of duck duck goose (DDG) we started at the house. For a little while, it was me, Bella and Erin playing, but Erin ducked out and it was heads up DDG from that point on. I really love that Bella was up for one on one DDG. There is not a whole lot of surprise in the game, except for how many times Bella will pat you on the head before she finally calls you a goose. Usually a good 15 times of being called a duck first. Bella also refers to the person that picks the goose as the "ducker". After this, we engaged in a series of races. They started out as simple foot races, but once Erin and Tuyen got involved we transitioned to hopping races, lunge races, skipping races and walking backward races. Erin always won the walking backwards race, because her interpretation of walking backwards is sprinting forwards!
The thing with Erin, as I may have mentioned before, is that if she gets the slightest bit of moisture on any of her clothing, she will immediately attempt to remove that article, regardless of whether she is wearing anything underneath. She has zero tolerance for dampness. Unfortunately, she took a spill this morning and got a bit of mud on one of her knees. She was very upset about that and demanded to be changed immediately. We didn't have any extra clothes, and luckily she decided to keep her pants on!
When the walk finally did start, Erin of course refused to walk with me at all. Bella and I walked along though. When Erin walks, unless she is super excited about the destination, she really takes it easy, just a super slow pace. In fact, when she holds your hand she kind of leans back into her walk, just to make it even a bit slower. However, it is a large group of people all walking, so you don't really notice how slow Erin is going. It only took a little time to get to school and Bella was very excited to be there, so it was a good excursion.
On the way back, it looked like it would start to rain pretty soon. Surprisingly, Erin doesn't mind the rain. I think she is ok with her entire body getting wet, but does not appreciate when only a portion of it does. So she was in no hurry and continued her leisurely stroll back to the vehicle.
We weighed the girls this morning, Bella was 44 pounds and Erin was 30, starting to bulk up! Of course, anytime I asked Erin if she wanted me to carry her, I was quickly rebuffed in no uncertain terms, we were in public after all! She had no problem with Tuyen carrying her, but it is tough for Tuyen to carry her long distances. Finally, I just walked ahead a bit and brought the truck to Erin rather than Erin to the truck!
Monday, November 24, 2014
An Officer and a Gentleman - Part 2
Every OCS Class is assigned a class officer, a class Chief Petty Officer and a class Drill Instructor. Most of the class officers are put there to rot, they don't do much and it is not a good assignment in terms of advancement. Our class Officer, a Lieutenant, was no exception. I really have no idea what he did. We only sporadically saw him. He threatened to not let me graduate because I needed my wisdom teeth removed. Luckily, someone intervened. He also called me Wilson throughout the entire 13 weeks I was there. I didn't even look like the guy named Wilson in our class. Even at graduation, when I rendered my final salute to him, he saluted back and said something along the lines of "Well you made it, Wilson" I fired back "Smith, Sir" and walked off.
The class Chief Petty Officer was Senior Chief Lucas. I loved that hard charging Filipino. He had a really heavy accent but was super squared away. He was responsible for all the administration, with a 50+ class it was a huge job, but he never missed a beat. I like to think he was the one who talked some sense into the Class Officer and let me graduate on time.
Finally, the man we would see the most, and genuinely come to love and admire was our class drill instructor, Staff Sergeant Lewis. Unlike the class officers, they only picked the best Marines to come to OCS and most of them made rank. Most of the other drill instructors were Gunnery Sergeants, but Staff Sergeant Lewis was one paygrade lower. However, I am sure he picked up the next rank quite quickly. I think he was Haitian, he did not have an accent and he was a very fit man. He was slightly on the shorter and stockier side, but definitely a force to be reckoned with.
One of my first memories of SSgt Lewis was when he was teaching our entire class how to iron. There were almost 60 of us, crammed into this small room sitting indian style. Here is this ripped up guy, showing us how to iron, and doing it in the manliest way possible. Every move he made was, to quote the man, "quick and vicious"! I didn't know you could be quick and vicious while ironing, but he somehow made it so. I half expected him to put the iron out on his tongue! Then something very awkward happened. One of the girls in the class had been raising her hand for awhile and finally SSgt Lewis had enough. Just like with everything else, there is a specific procedure for asking a question. Something along the lines of "This Officer Candidate requests to ask the Class Drill Instructor, Staff Sergeant Lewis a question." The Drill Instructor would typically reply with a succinct "What" or "Spit it out" Pronouns were strictly forbidden, there was no I or me, but the best part was if you called SSgt Lewis "you" by accident. He would then say "what the hell do I look like, a female sheep"? I thought this was a clever retort. This girl is having all sorts of trouble getting her question out, each time that she has to restart she would get even more flustered and fumble some more. Finally, on the verge of tears, she simply shouts out "This Officer Candidate needs to go to the head to change her tampon" I don't think any of us were expecting anything like this! Certainly not SSgt Lewis, who is still wielding the iron. He just turned away and motioned for her to leave the room!
Mail call was always an interesting experience. We would all gather in the hallway (passageway) in the dorm area, and SSGT Lewis would have this enormous stack of mail. He would call your name, and hand your piece of mail to the "mail body" You would run up as fast as you possibly could, then clap both your hands onto the mail, quickly and viciously! If it was an envelope you could open it up at your leisure. However, if it was a package it had to be opened up in front of everyone to ensure there was no contraband. If you received candy, you had 30 seconds to eat it all, regardless of the quantity. One guy's mom sent enough full size Snickers bars so that we could all have one. By this time SSgt Lewis was starting to go a little easier on us, so he let us all have one, but it was done with orders as to when we could unwrap, take the first bite, swallow etc. Another guy had a bit of a prankster for a girlfriend. She sent him what appeared to be a big bag of Starburst. In fact, it was a large ziploc bag filled mostly with gravel and a few Starburst. So, SSgt Lewis instructed him to eat the starburst, and indeed he tried. Finally, SSgt Lewis noted that he wasn't swallowing. He barked at him and asked why he wasn't swallowing, the guy through a mouthful of gravel remarked that "Its gravel, Sir" This was one of the few times we saw SSgt Lewis chuckle as he told him to spit it out!
The class Chief Petty Officer was Senior Chief Lucas. I loved that hard charging Filipino. He had a really heavy accent but was super squared away. He was responsible for all the administration, with a 50+ class it was a huge job, but he never missed a beat. I like to think he was the one who talked some sense into the Class Officer and let me graduate on time.
Finally, the man we would see the most, and genuinely come to love and admire was our class drill instructor, Staff Sergeant Lewis. Unlike the class officers, they only picked the best Marines to come to OCS and most of them made rank. Most of the other drill instructors were Gunnery Sergeants, but Staff Sergeant Lewis was one paygrade lower. However, I am sure he picked up the next rank quite quickly. I think he was Haitian, he did not have an accent and he was a very fit man. He was slightly on the shorter and stockier side, but definitely a force to be reckoned with.
One of my first memories of SSgt Lewis was when he was teaching our entire class how to iron. There were almost 60 of us, crammed into this small room sitting indian style. Here is this ripped up guy, showing us how to iron, and doing it in the manliest way possible. Every move he made was, to quote the man, "quick and vicious"! I didn't know you could be quick and vicious while ironing, but he somehow made it so. I half expected him to put the iron out on his tongue! Then something very awkward happened. One of the girls in the class had been raising her hand for awhile and finally SSgt Lewis had enough. Just like with everything else, there is a specific procedure for asking a question. Something along the lines of "This Officer Candidate requests to ask the Class Drill Instructor, Staff Sergeant Lewis a question." The Drill Instructor would typically reply with a succinct "What" or "Spit it out" Pronouns were strictly forbidden, there was no I or me, but the best part was if you called SSgt Lewis "you" by accident. He would then say "what the hell do I look like, a female sheep"? I thought this was a clever retort. This girl is having all sorts of trouble getting her question out, each time that she has to restart she would get even more flustered and fumble some more. Finally, on the verge of tears, she simply shouts out "This Officer Candidate needs to go to the head to change her tampon" I don't think any of us were expecting anything like this! Certainly not SSgt Lewis, who is still wielding the iron. He just turned away and motioned for her to leave the room!
Mail call was always an interesting experience. We would all gather in the hallway (passageway) in the dorm area, and SSGT Lewis would have this enormous stack of mail. He would call your name, and hand your piece of mail to the "mail body" You would run up as fast as you possibly could, then clap both your hands onto the mail, quickly and viciously! If it was an envelope you could open it up at your leisure. However, if it was a package it had to be opened up in front of everyone to ensure there was no contraband. If you received candy, you had 30 seconds to eat it all, regardless of the quantity. One guy's mom sent enough full size Snickers bars so that we could all have one. By this time SSgt Lewis was starting to go a little easier on us, so he let us all have one, but it was done with orders as to when we could unwrap, take the first bite, swallow etc. Another guy had a bit of a prankster for a girlfriend. She sent him what appeared to be a big bag of Starburst. In fact, it was a large ziploc bag filled mostly with gravel and a few Starburst. So, SSgt Lewis instructed him to eat the starburst, and indeed he tried. Finally, SSgt Lewis noted that he wasn't swallowing. He barked at him and asked why he wasn't swallowing, the guy through a mouthful of gravel remarked that "Its gravel, Sir" This was one of the few times we saw SSgt Lewis chuckle as he told him to spit it out!
Friday, November 21, 2014
An Officer and a Gentleman - Part 1 The First Week
I first saw this movie when I was pretty young. My favorite part was when Richard Gere fights his drill instructor. I didn't see it again until after I had gone through OCS, and realized that they had taken quite a bit of poetic license with it. The other thing I did not remember was the very graphic sex scenes. I had just started seeing a young lady and it was quite awkward choosing this as a movie to watch together. Lots of awkward silence.
Officer Candidate School was an interesting experience. I would never want to do it again, but I am glad I went through the experience. Here is what I can remember:
The school is 13 weeks long and used to be in Pensacola, FL. They have moved it to Newport RI now. The first day is admin day, but they make it as stressful as possible. I made the mistake of checking in quite early. The first thing that happens is you get yelled at by upperclassmen. The only difference between them and you is that they have been there for about 10 weeks longer, but they are wearing uniforms and yelling at you. I think they were going extra loud on me because I was there first one to check in so they had plenty of rage. They made me take off my shoes and pull the laces out. They then had me relace them and constantly yelled "Inboard over outboard" which I eventually understood as how to lace up the shoes with a specific lace going over another one. Of course, they don't tell you this, they simply make you do it over and over until you finally get it right. Everytime they yell at you, you have to yell back. Either "Yes Sir/Ma'am" if it is a question of "Aye Sir/Ma'am" if it is a command. No matter how loudly you yell, you are told to yell louder. You have to acknowledge each time they say "louder" with an "Aye Sir" Of course it is not called yelling, it called "being ballistic" I have no idea where this came from, but for the next 13 weeks we were constantly told to be more ballistic.
The rest of the day was kind of a blur, the two things I remember the most was the chow hall and uniform issue. You don't get your official uniforms until near the end of the week, for the entire first week you wear what are referred to as poopy greens. You are issued a pair of pants and a WWII style helmet painted bright silver. The helmet is referred to as a chrome dome. You also have to march around with a canteen everywhere you go. The funniest part about the poopy green pants is that there is no effort to try to give you a pair that fits. Indeed the upperclass men seemed to delight in giving you the wrong size. The entire process takes about 15 seconds, you march over to this giant closet and they just pull whatever they feel like off the shelf and give it to you. I was fortunate though. I was issued a pair that must have been a 46 inch waist, they looked extremely comical but I could just adjust my belt to stop them falling off. Many of my classmates got issued pairs that were far too tight.
The chow hall procedure was something else. For the next 11 weeks every meal was the same way. Your entire class of about 50 people marches to the chow hall four abreast. You halt outside the building. Your class leader then gives the following instruction "Class 28-01" (We were the 28th class of year 2001), upon receiving the command march, you will halfstep up the ladder-well execute an immediate column left and form up outside the door" Everyone then yells back "Aye Section Leader" If the section leader messes up any of the command, you get to yell back "As you were Section Leader". The Section Leader then shouts, "Ready" at which point everyone inhales very sharply and as balistically as you can inhale. This is then followed by "March" at which time everyone yells "Kill" and marches up the stairs. You are then ordered to "adjust" which means making sure your uniform is squared away. The Section leader then yells "Door Body off the rear". Since we marched in descending height order, the door body is usually the smallest person. Our door body was this small lesbian, before you were allowed to be a lesbian. Once we were allowed off base on weekends, her "aunt" would come visit her. The door body's job is to cup there hand around their head and peer into the chow hall to see if there is another class already waiting in line. If there is, the section leader would yell for the "knowledge body" This person stays in line, but has to recite key Navy knowledge to the group while waiting. Things like general orders of a sentry or code of conduct. Think of someone shouting "I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist." and so on. After a few minutes of this, the Section Leader will order the door body to report the status of the chow hall deck. If the deck is clear, you enter.
You enter the chow hall, one at a time, following the person immediately in front of you. As you cross the threshhold, you stomp your foot on the metal plate at the bottom of the doorway and shout out what number you are. So the first person shouts "zero-one" followed by "zero-two" and so on. Also, you don't get to use regular numbers like thirteen or twenty-five. Rather you would say "one-three" for 13. Inevitably someone screws it up and you have to go outside as an entire class and start all over. Once you enter you form two lines and stand as close as you possibly can to the person in front of you, affectionately designated as "nut to butt". One at a time, you walk forward to a giant stack of trays, you then slam your hands down as hard as you possibly can on the trays and grab one. After the first week you get regular cutlery, but for the first week you only get an oversized spoon, referred to as your "war spoon" You then get whatever they happen to be serving, and hopefully it is something that lends itself to an oversized spoon. Once you have your food, you proceed to your table. You then put your tray on the table, and stand at attention while reading from this pocket sized notebook that you are issued. You have to hold the notebook at arms length with your arm straight out and parralel to the deck (floor). Once the last person has their meal, the class is ordered to sit all at the same time. The worst part was if you sat near one of the legs for the table, because you were not allowed to straddle it. You had to have both feet on the same side of the table leg. There is no talking. The section leader will then order people to pray at will and then you begin your meal.
Even this is extremely regulated. Your two glasses of water must be touching each other and touching the top right corner of your tray. On occasion, the drill instructors would march right down the center of the table and if your glasses were not properly "grounded" he would proceed to kick your drink onto your shipmate. Sometimes entire trays of food would be sent flying. When you were eating, you would snap your head down to look at the food, take your war spoon and try to get a reasonable bite. Once you had the bite, you had to snap your head up and stare straight ahead. It was only then that you were allowed to chew. This procedure was repeated for every bite. The best part was that you were on a strict 20 minute schedule, the Section Leader is the only individual authorized to wear a watch. Every five minutes the section leader would raise his hand. At that point you swallowed whatever food you had in your mouth. The Section Leader would insure everyone was looking at him and then would proceed to slam his hand down onto the table three times as loundly as he could. He would then follow up, ballistically, shouting "Class 28-01, this is your one-five minute warning" And we would all shout out "Aye Section Leader." There are multiple classes all eating at the same time, so every minute or so, someone is pounding on the table and calling out warnings. You get a warning at 15 minutes, 10 minutes, five minutes and 1 minute. The 1 minute warning is stated as "This is your immediate warning"
Clearing your tray is regimented as well, the entire class is given the following instructions. "Prepare to ground glasses on tray" at which point you put your glasses on the tray. Then everyone is ordered to stand. Finally, you grab your tray, as a class, and march to the scullery to turn in your tray. Meals were always scary because lots of drill instructors were present and you never knew who might mess with you. Sometimes, if the class screwed up enough, you were taken outside and ordered to exercise.
You don't actually meet your drill instructor for the first few days. You only interact with upperclassmen. While they can yell at you, they can't order you to exercise. Also, the first week you live in this big open bay. After week 1, you move into 4 person dorm rooms. The first time we met our drill instructor was another great time. We had checked in on Sunday, and I think it was Wednesday morning when our drill instructor showed up. Except it wasn't just him. It was every single drill instructor, probably 8 or 10 of them. They all came running and yelling into our squad bay at 5 am like a pack of wild dogs. At any given time you might have 4 or 5 of them screaming at you, ordering you around. One of them climbed up on these large metal lockers we had to store our clothes, probably 6 feet high or so. The Drill instructors order you to get dressed, but you have to follow their exact sequence, which might mean putting on your left sock, then your shirt, then perhaps your pants, followed by your left shoe and finally your right sock and shoe. They are also tearing around the place pulling sheets off the racks and causing mayhem. From that point on, your drill instructor is never far away and you are in constant danger of screwing up and doing calithenics whereever you happen to be. Their favorite is to take you out to the sandpits to exercise. We affectionately called these the SUYA for Sand Up Your A$$. My favorite time was we had to march around with our mattresses, then proceed to the SUYA, do a ton of calithenics, fill our pockets with sand, bring the sand into our living spaces and dump the sand out, and of course clean it up.
At the end of the week, on Friday, you transition from "Indoctrination Candidate" to "Officer Candidate". They call that day "Black Friday" It all starts off with an inspection. They bring in a bunch of senior officers to inspect your bed (rack) and locker. Inspection is a loose term, really they just come in and throw your stuff everywhere. They then ask you a bunch of questions, whatever you answer is wrong, and they tell you that you will never make it. Once that is done, you have to jam all your stuff into a big green bag called a "sea bag". Though the bag is equipped with straps you are not allowed to use them. Rather, you must bear hug your bag, as you march to the new living spaces. It takes forever because you are constantly doing exercises and standing around with this bag in a very uncomfortable position.
Once you get to the new dorms there is an epic PT Session. The drill instructor marches you all over the two floors of the dorms, doing countless push-ups, leg-lifts, straddle hops (jumping jacks) and so on. What happens next is awesome though. Just when you think you can't do anything else, the drill instructor orders you out of the dorm to presumably do more exercises in the sand pit. However, all of the senior classes are there. They are applauding and handing out water bottles. Then they welcome you to the regiment and even put on a skit for you. You instantly feel like you belong, it is quite touching. More importantly, the drill instructors are gone, it is the first time in a week when you are allowed to laugh and smile. It is only a small break, but it couldn't come at a better time.
Officer Candidate School was an interesting experience. I would never want to do it again, but I am glad I went through the experience. Here is what I can remember:
The school is 13 weeks long and used to be in Pensacola, FL. They have moved it to Newport RI now. The first day is admin day, but they make it as stressful as possible. I made the mistake of checking in quite early. The first thing that happens is you get yelled at by upperclassmen. The only difference between them and you is that they have been there for about 10 weeks longer, but they are wearing uniforms and yelling at you. I think they were going extra loud on me because I was there first one to check in so they had plenty of rage. They made me take off my shoes and pull the laces out. They then had me relace them and constantly yelled "Inboard over outboard" which I eventually understood as how to lace up the shoes with a specific lace going over another one. Of course, they don't tell you this, they simply make you do it over and over until you finally get it right. Everytime they yell at you, you have to yell back. Either "Yes Sir/Ma'am" if it is a question of "Aye Sir/Ma'am" if it is a command. No matter how loudly you yell, you are told to yell louder. You have to acknowledge each time they say "louder" with an "Aye Sir" Of course it is not called yelling, it called "being ballistic" I have no idea where this came from, but for the next 13 weeks we were constantly told to be more ballistic.
The rest of the day was kind of a blur, the two things I remember the most was the chow hall and uniform issue. You don't get your official uniforms until near the end of the week, for the entire first week you wear what are referred to as poopy greens. You are issued a pair of pants and a WWII style helmet painted bright silver. The helmet is referred to as a chrome dome. You also have to march around with a canteen everywhere you go. The funniest part about the poopy green pants is that there is no effort to try to give you a pair that fits. Indeed the upperclass men seemed to delight in giving you the wrong size. The entire process takes about 15 seconds, you march over to this giant closet and they just pull whatever they feel like off the shelf and give it to you. I was fortunate though. I was issued a pair that must have been a 46 inch waist, they looked extremely comical but I could just adjust my belt to stop them falling off. Many of my classmates got issued pairs that were far too tight.
The chow hall procedure was something else. For the next 11 weeks every meal was the same way. Your entire class of about 50 people marches to the chow hall four abreast. You halt outside the building. Your class leader then gives the following instruction "Class 28-01" (We were the 28th class of year 2001), upon receiving the command march, you will halfstep up the ladder-well execute an immediate column left and form up outside the door" Everyone then yells back "Aye Section Leader" If the section leader messes up any of the command, you get to yell back "As you were Section Leader". The Section Leader then shouts, "Ready" at which point everyone inhales very sharply and as balistically as you can inhale. This is then followed by "March" at which time everyone yells "Kill" and marches up the stairs. You are then ordered to "adjust" which means making sure your uniform is squared away. The Section leader then yells "Door Body off the rear". Since we marched in descending height order, the door body is usually the smallest person. Our door body was this small lesbian, before you were allowed to be a lesbian. Once we were allowed off base on weekends, her "aunt" would come visit her. The door body's job is to cup there hand around their head and peer into the chow hall to see if there is another class already waiting in line. If there is, the section leader would yell for the "knowledge body" This person stays in line, but has to recite key Navy knowledge to the group while waiting. Things like general orders of a sentry or code of conduct. Think of someone shouting "I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist." and so on. After a few minutes of this, the Section Leader will order the door body to report the status of the chow hall deck. If the deck is clear, you enter.
You enter the chow hall, one at a time, following the person immediately in front of you. As you cross the threshhold, you stomp your foot on the metal plate at the bottom of the doorway and shout out what number you are. So the first person shouts "zero-one" followed by "zero-two" and so on. Also, you don't get to use regular numbers like thirteen or twenty-five. Rather you would say "one-three" for 13. Inevitably someone screws it up and you have to go outside as an entire class and start all over. Once you enter you form two lines and stand as close as you possibly can to the person in front of you, affectionately designated as "nut to butt". One at a time, you walk forward to a giant stack of trays, you then slam your hands down as hard as you possibly can on the trays and grab one. After the first week you get regular cutlery, but for the first week you only get an oversized spoon, referred to as your "war spoon" You then get whatever they happen to be serving, and hopefully it is something that lends itself to an oversized spoon. Once you have your food, you proceed to your table. You then put your tray on the table, and stand at attention while reading from this pocket sized notebook that you are issued. You have to hold the notebook at arms length with your arm straight out and parralel to the deck (floor). Once the last person has their meal, the class is ordered to sit all at the same time. The worst part was if you sat near one of the legs for the table, because you were not allowed to straddle it. You had to have both feet on the same side of the table leg. There is no talking. The section leader will then order people to pray at will and then you begin your meal.
Even this is extremely regulated. Your two glasses of water must be touching each other and touching the top right corner of your tray. On occasion, the drill instructors would march right down the center of the table and if your glasses were not properly "grounded" he would proceed to kick your drink onto your shipmate. Sometimes entire trays of food would be sent flying. When you were eating, you would snap your head down to look at the food, take your war spoon and try to get a reasonable bite. Once you had the bite, you had to snap your head up and stare straight ahead. It was only then that you were allowed to chew. This procedure was repeated for every bite. The best part was that you were on a strict 20 minute schedule, the Section Leader is the only individual authorized to wear a watch. Every five minutes the section leader would raise his hand. At that point you swallowed whatever food you had in your mouth. The Section Leader would insure everyone was looking at him and then would proceed to slam his hand down onto the table three times as loundly as he could. He would then follow up, ballistically, shouting "Class 28-01, this is your one-five minute warning" And we would all shout out "Aye Section Leader." There are multiple classes all eating at the same time, so every minute or so, someone is pounding on the table and calling out warnings. You get a warning at 15 minutes, 10 minutes, five minutes and 1 minute. The 1 minute warning is stated as "This is your immediate warning"
Clearing your tray is regimented as well, the entire class is given the following instructions. "Prepare to ground glasses on tray" at which point you put your glasses on the tray. Then everyone is ordered to stand. Finally, you grab your tray, as a class, and march to the scullery to turn in your tray. Meals were always scary because lots of drill instructors were present and you never knew who might mess with you. Sometimes, if the class screwed up enough, you were taken outside and ordered to exercise.
You don't actually meet your drill instructor for the first few days. You only interact with upperclassmen. While they can yell at you, they can't order you to exercise. Also, the first week you live in this big open bay. After week 1, you move into 4 person dorm rooms. The first time we met our drill instructor was another great time. We had checked in on Sunday, and I think it was Wednesday morning when our drill instructor showed up. Except it wasn't just him. It was every single drill instructor, probably 8 or 10 of them. They all came running and yelling into our squad bay at 5 am like a pack of wild dogs. At any given time you might have 4 or 5 of them screaming at you, ordering you around. One of them climbed up on these large metal lockers we had to store our clothes, probably 6 feet high or so. The Drill instructors order you to get dressed, but you have to follow their exact sequence, which might mean putting on your left sock, then your shirt, then perhaps your pants, followed by your left shoe and finally your right sock and shoe. They are also tearing around the place pulling sheets off the racks and causing mayhem. From that point on, your drill instructor is never far away and you are in constant danger of screwing up and doing calithenics whereever you happen to be. Their favorite is to take you out to the sandpits to exercise. We affectionately called these the SUYA for Sand Up Your A$$. My favorite time was we had to march around with our mattresses, then proceed to the SUYA, do a ton of calithenics, fill our pockets with sand, bring the sand into our living spaces and dump the sand out, and of course clean it up.
At the end of the week, on Friday, you transition from "Indoctrination Candidate" to "Officer Candidate". They call that day "Black Friday" It all starts off with an inspection. They bring in a bunch of senior officers to inspect your bed (rack) and locker. Inspection is a loose term, really they just come in and throw your stuff everywhere. They then ask you a bunch of questions, whatever you answer is wrong, and they tell you that you will never make it. Once that is done, you have to jam all your stuff into a big green bag called a "sea bag". Though the bag is equipped with straps you are not allowed to use them. Rather, you must bear hug your bag, as you march to the new living spaces. It takes forever because you are constantly doing exercises and standing around with this bag in a very uncomfortable position.
Once you get to the new dorms there is an epic PT Session. The drill instructor marches you all over the two floors of the dorms, doing countless push-ups, leg-lifts, straddle hops (jumping jacks) and so on. What happens next is awesome though. Just when you think you can't do anything else, the drill instructor orders you out of the dorm to presumably do more exercises in the sand pit. However, all of the senior classes are there. They are applauding and handing out water bottles. Then they welcome you to the regiment and even put on a skit for you. You instantly feel like you belong, it is quite touching. More importantly, the drill instructors are gone, it is the first time in a week when you are allowed to laugh and smile. It is only a small break, but it couldn't come at a better time.
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