Hocus Pocus - Kurt Vonnegut [20]
And then the Sun itself followed the last American helicopter to leave Saigon to the bottom of the deep blue sea.
At the age of 35, Eugene Debs Hartke was again as dissolute with respect to alcohol and marijuana and loose women as he had been during his last 2 years in high school. And he had lost all respect for himself and the leadership of his country, just as, 17 years earlier, he had lost all respect for himself and his father at the Cleveland, Ohio, Science Fair.
HIS MENTOR SAM Wakefield, the man who recruited him for West Point, had quit the Army a year earlier in order to speak out against the war. He had become President of Tarkington College through powerful family connections.
Three years after that, Sam Wakefield would commit suicide. So there is another loser for you, even though he had been a Major General and then a College President. I think exhaustion got him. I say that not only because he seemed very tired all the time to me, but because his suicide note wasn’t even original and didn’t seem to have that much to do with him personally. It was word for word the same suicide note left way back in 1932, when I was a negative 8 years old, by another loser, George Eastman, inventor of the Kodak camera and founder of Eastman Kodak, now defunct, only 75 kilometers north of here.
Both notes said this and nothing more: “My work is done.”
In Sam Wakefield’s case, that completed work, if he didn’t want to count the Vietnam War, consisted of 3 new buildings, which probably would have been built anyway, no matter who was Tarkington’s President.
I AM NOT writing this book for people below the age of 18, but I see no harm in telling young people to prepare for failure rather than success, since failure is the main thing that is going to happen to them.
In terms of basketball alone, almost everybody has to lose. A high percentage of the convicts in Athena, and now in this much smaller institution, devoted their childhood and youth to nothing but basketball and still got their brains knocked out in the early rounds of some darn fool tournament.
LET ME SAY further to the chance young reader that I would probably have wrecked my body and been thrown out of the University of Michigan and died on Skid Row somewhere if I had not been subjected to the discipline of West Point. I am talking about my body now, and not my mind, and there is no better way for a young person to learn respect for his or now her bones and nerves and muscles than to accept an appointment to any one of the 3 major service academies.
I entered the Point a young punk with bad posture and a sunken chest, and no history of sports participation, save for a few fights after dances where our band had played. When I graduated and received my commission as a Second Lieutenant in the Regular Army, and tossed my hat in the air, and bought a red Corvette with the back pay the Academy had put aside for me, my spine was as straight as a ramrod, my lungs were as capacious as the bellows of the forge of Vulcan, I was captain of the judo and wrestling teams, and I had not smoked any sort of cigarette or swallowed a drop of alcohol for 4 whole years! Nor was I sexually promiscuous anymore. I never felt better in my life.
I can remember saying to my mother and father at graduation, “Can this be me?”
They were so proud of me, and I was so proud of me.
I turned to Jack Patton, who was there with his booby-trapped sister and mother and his normal father, and I asked him, “What do you think of us now, Lieutenant Patton?” He was the goat of our class, meaning he had the lowest grade average. So had General George Patton been, again no relative of Jack’s, who had been such a great leader in World War II.
What Jack replied, of course, unsmilingly, was that he had to laugh like hell.
7
I HAVE BEEN reading issues of the Tarkington College alumni magazine, The Musketeer, going all the way back to its first