I arrived in Annapolis on the night before I-Day. The evening was uneventful except for my visit to a Marine supply depot. I bought a small American flag, which would hang in my room for the next four-plus years. Even in the toughest moments, I knew the flag would always remind me what I was studying and training for.
After being awakened at 0500 the next morning by the clanging of metal and shouts of upperclassmen, I-Day officially began at 0900. As I stood in a large arena without knowing what to expect, my first task was to simply state my name and present a form of identification. I smiled at an attractive blonde woman as I showed her my Florida driver’s license.
She was unmoved by my gesture of friendliness. Instead, the woman curtly instructed me to memorize six digits: 066420. Those digits were now my “alpha code,” or identifier. In the eyes of my new Naval Academy superiors, I was no longer Brad Snyder from St. Petersburg. I was 066420.
While half of me felt like a prison inmate, the other half was thrilled. I couldn’t have been more proud or excited. Upon realizing that I really was doing this—becoming part of the US Naval Academy community—I couldn’t help but crack a smile.
My grin was met with dirty looks from the “cadre,” or Naval Academy detailers who barked orders and got us ready to be midshipmen. They yelled at me to stop looking around, stand at attention, and to wipe that stupid smirk off my face. Not wishing to call any more attention to myself, I took my place in line and intently stared at the back of the head in front of me.
We were then shepherded into a makeshift barbershop, where our hair—and perhaps the last remaining aspect of our individuality—was shaved off.
I was then presented with a small blue book that had Reef Points emblazoned on the front in gold lettering. All of us were matter-of-factly told to memorize the book, which was filled with Navy trivia and quotes from the likes of John Paul Jones and Teddy Roosevelt, cover to cover. The thought of memorizing every word seemed daunting, if not impossible.
During the rest of I-Day, various cadre members would invade my personal space and demand that I recite a Reef Points passage. The book had only been in my pocket for a few minutes, so how the heck was I supposed to have this stuff memorized already? The red-faced cadre members showed no sympathy, and berated me each time I responded with “I don’t know.” In addition to Reef Points, I would also be required to memorize the only five basic responses I would be allowed to direct at a member of the cadre. “I don’t know” was not one of them.
The next morning, we were required to swarm into a hallway at 0500 on the dot and scream “Go Navy!” or “Beat Army!” every time we moved a muscle. We then began the process of learning how to march in formation.
“066420!” one cadre shouted in my ear at 0503. “Do you know what time it is?!?”
We were not allowed to wear wristwatches, yet we were, of course, expected to be perfectly punctual. After only three minutes of my first full day as a midshipman, I was rapidly learning that the next four-plus years would be full of orders, even if they were completely illogical. My duty was not to question the demands of my superiors, but to do what I was told. In order to become a leader, you must first learn to be a follower.
“Sir, I’ll find out what time it is and report back, sir!” I said, probably sounding ridiculous.
Games like these filled each day of plebe summer. In between sessions of basic seamanship, leadership, swimming, and marching, we would time how fast we could change uniforms. We timed how fast we could make and remake our beds. We even timed how fast we could shower, even though we usually began sweating like pigs almost immediately after the competition.
As the summer wore on, however, we began to wear our sweaty stench with pride. We gelled as a group, learning how to help one another. Instead of becoming flustered, frustrated, or otherwise upset when we were yelled at, my class began to understand these games for what they were: a much-needed introduction to military life. With our country at war, it was even more important to quickly learn these urgent lessons.
As I developed mentally, my physical state suffered slightly. In high school, I had struggled to keep weight on. I was swimming at least two and a half hours a day; sometimes up to six or seven miles. I was probably burning up to 8,000 calories per day. During plebe summer, however, I was consuming the same number of calories per day at the dining hall without burning off nearly as much. During the six-week period of plebe summer, I gained 14 pounds.
I felt terrible in the water after gaining so much weight. I was also concerned about whether I would be able to swim competitively at the Division I level. As my plebe summer ended and my first swimming season at Navy got underway, I struggled badly in my opening meet. The poor results in successive competitions prompted me to train even harder, which began to negatively affect my grades.
I had never needed to work very hard in high school, but the academic workload of a Naval Academy midshipman is a completely different story. For the first time, I struggled to learn new material. I did not have my dad around to explain the complex math involved in college-level engineering courses, and my photographic memory became overloaded due to the sheer volume of information. I rarely even got a “B” in high school, so the sight of my first “F” at Navy was startling. I soon fell behind, and the prospect of being tossed out of the Academy terrified me.
Another huge challenge was the fact that I woke up at 0430 each morning for swim practice. Almost every night, I would return to my room in a worn-down, exhausted state. With my alarm clock always set for 0430 the following day, the last thing I usually felt like doing was cracking open a book.
While the punishing training regimen had a hugely negative impact on my grades, it finally began to pay off in the pool. When I won my first Division I event against Army—our fiercest rival—I heard my dad’s words of encouragement inside my head as I made my final kicks and touched the wall in triumph.
As we celebrated beating Army in that big meet, I finally felt like I belonged at the Naval Academy. Not only did I get to wear a uniform that said “Navy” on the front, but I had driven myself to be part of something bigger than myself.