“VMI: The Drums of Honor”
4 AM 7 September 2003
It
seems to me,
I
hear the drum sticks
on
their way down.
Even before they strike
the snare drum
for
the first time.
And
by the time the bass drum is struck,
I
am sitting up on the edge of my “rack”.
The
call, the summons, has gone out.
Some
one has violated “the code”
and
now
must
pay the penalty.
I say a prayer,
hoping God will help
this
newly identified sinner
in the days
and weeks
ahead.
As
the summons, call, continues,
my
roommates quietly begin to stir.
No words are spoken
and in the dark,
the door is open
and we are out
onto the stoop.
In
some sort of daze like no other
I can see and feel
the corps
making its way,
slowly,
along all the stoops,
in
the dark,
towards.
So very quiet,
except for the summons,
and then suddenly,
silence reigns.
Finally the words
and I pray again,
the name called
will not be someone
I know.
I
think of the dishonor the violator must feel.
The
pending disappointment of his family.
How
his life has been changed.
How
all he has endured is now lost to him.
I do not feel more honorable at this moment
but feel
honored
to
be a part of something with “honor”
as
its core.
I
believe in honor.
Then it is over,
and in the darkness,
the corps moves away,
only the muffled shuffle of feet
breaking the silence.
Once
inside my room,
I return to my bed
and listen to the
silence.
Only
it is not silence for me
but rather,
the echoes of the
snare and bass.
The snare and bass,
coupled in a haunting
manner.
A
summons, a call,
to
witness,
like no other
before or since.
Now, many years have past
and
although my memory fades,
the
sound of the summons does not.
And
in my fading memories,
it
seems that in some years,
the
snare and bass were never used.
And
in other years, too often.
And
in one year, twice in the same night.
Honor. A snare and bass drum.
I
do not hear them in my dreams
but
will never forget their haunting call.
Honor above self.