A Ridiculous Little Misadventure While in Search of Redoubt Number Four, West Point My Dear Brother and Sister West Point Graduates, Friends, Comrades-in-Arms, Kindred Spirits: All of us who know anything at all about West Point know that there is no other place remotely like it in the Universe. The magnificent natural scenery, the equally magnificent monumental architecture and heroic statues, the living presence of great events of history you feel with every step you take, the memories of all we went through together there . . . it all combines to overwhelm the senses and the emotions. I recently went back to West Point to reconnect with what it is and what it means. My visit of several days was a transcendently joyful success. I reconnected with people and places dear to me but who and which I haven’t seen in years or even decades—and I saw new things for the first time too, particularly the enormous new library. But this is an imperfect world and even as wondrous an experience as my visit to my Dear Old Alma Mater inevitably had a flaw in it. Friends and fellow West Pointers, just for your head-shaking ironic amusement, just for your smirks and giggles, I offer the following narrative: It was about the most ludicrous, absurd, irritating situation I’ve ever experienced. There I was, a perfectly harmless old grad and military history nerd walking through the woods at West Point looking for the old Revolutionary War fort known as “Redoubt Number Four.” It’s a structure of stonework over two centuries old, located way up in the hills overlooking the central part of West Point. Decades ago, when I was a cadet, I loved to hike up to Redoubt Number Four to enjoy the spectacular view and the solitude—but it had been *years* since I had last been there. Searching through the forest for the redoubt, I came across this strange new building with parking lot that wasn’t there when I was a cadet; that wasn’t there when I used to hike up to Redoubt Number Four frequently to “get away from it all.” I saw children’s playground equipment in the yard of the building so I concluded that the building was a nursery school (a “child development center” or CDC in current jargon). So of course, some woman came running out of the building, looking frantic. I made eye contact with her, smiled, and waved. She rudely accosted me when I attempted to identify myself and my purpose to her. All I can guess is that she was convinced I was some psychopath stalking the CDC. I was the polite, patient, mild-mannered professor to the nth degree as I attempted to explain things to her. Our dialogue played out as follows: “Hi, I’m Steve Richey. I’m a graduate of West Point. I’m a military historian. I’m looking for Redoubt Number Four. I’m disoriented because this building wasn’t here before. Could you tell me where Redoubt Number Four is?” “What?” “I’m looking for Redoubt Number Four.” “Are you looking for a fire hydrant?” “Uh, no, I’m looking for Redoubt Number Four.” “What?!” She seemed to be becoming hysterical so I tried to break it down for her as clearly as I could to this effect: “American Revolutionary War . . . British Army attacking West Point . . . George Washington ordered a set of forts to be built here . . . Thaddeus Kosciuszko, military engineer . . . several small forts around West Point, including Fort Clinton, Fort Putnam, Battery Sherburne, and Redoubt Number Four . . . a ‘redoubt’ is a special type of small fort . . . I’m Steve Richey, I’m a graduate of West Point and I’m a military historian . . . I’m making a study of the Revolutionary War forts around West Point . . . I’m looking for Redoubt Number Four . . . I know it’s around here, somewhere . . . but this building wasn’t here before and it has changed the lay of the land. . . .” The more I explained things to her, the wider and wider her eyes got, the more her lower jaw hung open. There was a look of the most total bewilderment and non-comprehension on her face that I have ever seen on a person. When I recited the part about Thaddeus Kosciuszko, she looked at me as if I was a horned creature from another planet. Apparently, she didn’t know—and still doesn’t know—that a thirty-foot tall statue of Kosciuszko stands a few minutes’ drive from the CDC. She started blurting, “You can’t be here! You must leave here! You must leave now!” Sure, lady, whatever. But it sucks to be misunderstood by somebody who *refuses* to understand. I mean, I know I’m a socially incompetent autistic male, tending toward Asperger Syndrome, who obsesses over arcane technical knowledge to the dismay of normal people, but come on lady, if you would open your ears and open your brain, you would realize that I’m harmless and you might even learn something interesting. I went on my way. Fifteen minutes later I found Redoubt Number Four, deep in the woods about two hundred yards from the CDC. I went back to the CDC, went in the front door, correctly signed the guest register at the front desk, and—with exquisite politeness—reported to the lady that I had just found Redoubt Number Four. I patiently repeated my whole explanation for her, adding that a priceless piece of American History that was absolutely for real in the form of old stonework—not a figment of my imagination—was a mere couple hundred yards through the trees from her office. I even offered to take photos of the redoubt and bring her the photos to prove to her that I was not making all this up as she seemed to believe I was doing. I added that the view of West Point from the redoubt was magnificent and worth a quick trip just for itself. She would have none of it. She told me she had no time for such things and that she had no interest in such things. She gave me the impression that the only thing she knew about West Point was the CDC where she worked and that she had only the vaguest, dimmest idea that West Point was somehow associated with the American military and with American history. *** Gee, lady, I thought to myself, what a great opportunity for the kids under your care to quickly and easily learn something about the history of their country just by taking a ten minute hike down the road and up the foot path to a little hilltop in the forest. *** I would love to host the kids at the redoubt dressed up as a Revolutionary War soldier and give them a little presentation. *** Too bad it won’t happen. (Or will it? I’m willing if West Point is.) Some people you just can’t reach. I guess this goes in the “more in sorrow than in anger” category. I bid the lady good day and took my leave. Now that I have taken the photos of the redoubt, I really, really, really, *want* to put the photos in a nice hard-copy binder, visit the CDC again, and present the binder to the lady on a silver platter. But she would probably call the MPs. It grates on me to be rudely told to scram from what used to be “my” forest at “my” West Point—especially by some clueless individual who is *willfully* ignorant of what West Point is all about. Grrrrrrrr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . I served in the Army long enough to come to dread just one more good idea driving just one more new requirement coming down from higher headquarters. But . . . just maybe, West Point could do a better job educating/indoctrinating newly hired civilian support personnel about the history and meaning of West Point; at least who the guys are in the statues and what they did and what they left behind; like Kosciuszko and Redoubt Number Four, for example. Anyway, my Friends and Classmates, posted below are photos I took of Redoubt Number Four. I need to show them to *somebody* who can appreciate them. Thanks and Cheers and Beat Navy! Steve
Posted on: Sat, 10 Aug 2013 18:41:10 +0000
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