When the Smoke Clears

…and I have plenty of my own to do, but a good friend, and an extremely good man, asked me to look over something of his. One of my favorite Majors is going through Command and General Staff College right now. He had a situational report paper due and asked me to read through it for grammar and anything else I might notice.

Reading through the assignment sheet given to him I was amused by the fact that the description and supporting information on the assignment was actually longer than the final product was allowed to be. (5 pages)

“This is about a World War II operation, sir. Is that why you came to me?” I asked.

“Whatcha mean?”

“My history degree’s primary focus was on this period.”

He grinned well up into his eyes, crinkling his shaved head. He has a deep, sandy but warm voice with a south Georgia, almost Alabama accent. “Hot damn. Naw, I just knew you could write. I cain’t.” (I wish I had a chance to introduce him to my buddy, the Good Major/eodguy. They could have discussed IEDs, Iraq, head-shaving techniques, etc..)

Maybe he couldn’t write as clearly as some, but the Major had plenty of other skills. He commanded an armored unit in one of the worst parts of Iraq last year. Thing is, he was not required to go. He had done all his duties and assignments and was supposed to be starting another program, but when his group of young ones was called up, he immediately decided he was going with them. His wife, also a friend, was upset, obviously tense every day during those 18 months, but she accepted it as well. Communication blackouts due to casualties had her hugging her boys tightly for days. He sometimes brings up topics or moments from his time over there, will talk about it a little, then get quiet. I know from others how much those young ones meant to him and every injury on one of them was a personal assault against him.

So last night, after traveling to the city to have dinner with a friend, I relaxed in the coffee shop of one of those big bookstores, my books still in the bag, his papers in front of me. He included a paper “written” by one of his classmates which made him nervous due to his perception of its quality.

While unsuccessfully trying to shut out the inane conversations next to me (lady, the truth is if your daughter failed out of college 4 times, it IS her fault. Poor planning. And pick a word other than “sobbed.” You used it 12 times in less than 30 seconds), my friend came up to me to mock, “That’s so cute. It’s Saturday night and you’re doing the big jock’s homework while he’s off having fun.”

“Sorta,” I grumbled.

“Can I read it or will you shoot me?”

“You can read it, of course. Heck, I can read it, it’s not secret or anything. But if you try to photocopy it, well, all bets are off. See the note at the top? Oh and a gun would attract too much attention…”

The major had nothing major about which to worry. He had some awkward constructions, a little redundancy, and, like many military officers, a LOT of passive voice. It deflects blame. His conclusions were solid and well founded analysis. But when I read the other paper, I knew he probably was fine.

There are bad eggs looking for a shortcut everywhere. The other paper was clearly, to me, not written by the person turning it in, but rather cut-and-pasted together with no attribution to the original sources. Heck, one section had to have been a block quote from yet another resource within a resource. After all, no one puts “(sic)” in their own, original writing.

Oh well, I know this major is the one with honor.

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