I felt not only as if I had been kicked in the stomach but had almost certainly been stabbed in the back. I had had no idea as I later read the charges against me and Cadet Bostic's (mostly false) confessions to the OSI that what had happened was even real. I walked around the English Department in a fog that day. After leaving the conference room, the two agents invaded my shared office, to ransack it for clues and further evidence against me. My office partner looked at them and me with wide-eyed amazement and then fled.
After the agents left, I went to see Colonel Shuttleworth, to figure out what I ought to do next. I had been given an attorney who was based at Peterson Air Force Base, but he was away on a remote assignment and would not be back that day or the next couple of days. Col. Shuttleworth suggested I go to the Law Department, to discuss my situation with an officer there.
I believe it was on that day, or the next, that I met my other Air Force attorney who would help during my limited fight against being shoved out of the door prematurely. Nothing now would save my career, but at least I had two military attorneys, and I would also be advised to hire a civilian attorney--the one who had represented Dan Stratford against the Academy--to at least ensure that my limited rights were not violated. And the Air Force, or certain officers within the system, would indeed try to violate my rights, repeatedly, during the continuing process.
I was no longer allowed to use the Academy gym facilities to work out. I was offered the use of the gym by the based exchange and commissary instead, where I would have to drive. I was no longer allowed to eat at the cafeteria in the academic building but would have to also drive to the clubhouse restaurant at the Academy golf course to eat. After a few of my fellow officers had lunch with me there the next day, to show me some support in this difficult time--and the two agents were seen eating there--I would eat the rest of my meals by myself over the next few months, until my final discharge in mid October.
I went home early that first day in complete shock. All that I had told my attorney was proven false the next day when I finally got the charges against me and Bostic's confessions. I had initially assumed he'd been coerced in some way into turning me in, but then I and my attorney realized that he had been the instigator the entire time. That he had been advised not to pursue his course of action on more than one occasion but had not been dissuaded from what now appeared to be a vendetta.
As the next months unfolded, I realized that I must turn against him to protect myself to a degree, as well as to discredit his statements against other officers and cadets whom he had also dragged into the net of suspicion by turning them in, as well, or providing their names to the OSI for being gay or lesbian. The information that he had imparted to me before, that he was an orphan and that his adoptive parents had used illegal means to provide him with the identity of their dead son so that he could eventually enter the Academy, had also been imparted to cadets whom he had known over his two years at the Academy.
My two Air Force attorneys had already interviewed him and he had denied to them, on tape, that he had ever said any of this to anyone because it was not true. But several cadets who knew me and/or knew him came forward to admit that they had been told by him the same details about his past life. He was now being caught in his own web of lies by the same system that he had used against me. The Academy, and the OSI, quickly realized that the situation was becoming so sordid that they would not even use the Cadet Honor Code system, involving a cadet board, to investigate him and recommend his expulsion for violating the cadet honor code: "We Will Not Lie, Steal Or Cheat, Nor Tolerate Among Us Anyone Who Does."
The problem was that their single witness against me, the lying cadet, could not be expelled before he might have to be utilized to give testimony against me should this entire matter come before a courts martial. And, of course, neither of my military attorneys, nor the Academy itself, was prepared to have this matter go to court, the details of which might become public. They did not want any publicity. So I was offered an honorable discharge, with full severance pay because I had earned a regular commission and was entitled to severance pay upon discharge. It would be about $10K.
I was desperately writing in my journal every day. I was only slowly recovering from the emotional devastation of what had happened but full recovery would take years. I looked for solace anywhere I could find it. I came across the line in the novel 1984: "Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me." We had certainly not been lovers, but we were very much like Winston and Julia, exchanging vicious accusations before the state. Soon, nothing could alter our individual fates within the Air Force legal system: the Uniform Code of Military Justice and the Academy's cadet legal system.
As the following years went by, I never really learned why he had done what he did to me. No excuse or reasoning seemed to justify his stupidity and meanness. Perhaps it was his own profound self-loathing for being gay. Perhaps fate had prepared me to knock him off his course toward becoming a military officer even though it had initially seemed the other way around. Who knew for certain? He was never going to tell me.
After the agents left, I went to see Colonel Shuttleworth, to figure out what I ought to do next. I had been given an attorney who was based at Peterson Air Force Base, but he was away on a remote assignment and would not be back that day or the next couple of days. Col. Shuttleworth suggested I go to the Law Department, to discuss my situation with an officer there.
I believe it was on that day, or the next, that I met my other Air Force attorney who would help during my limited fight against being shoved out of the door prematurely. Nothing now would save my career, but at least I had two military attorneys, and I would also be advised to hire a civilian attorney--the one who had represented Dan Stratford against the Academy--to at least ensure that my limited rights were not violated. And the Air Force, or certain officers within the system, would indeed try to violate my rights, repeatedly, during the continuing process.
I was no longer allowed to use the Academy gym facilities to work out. I was offered the use of the gym by the based exchange and commissary instead, where I would have to drive. I was no longer allowed to eat at the cafeteria in the academic building but would have to also drive to the clubhouse restaurant at the Academy golf course to eat. After a few of my fellow officers had lunch with me there the next day, to show me some support in this difficult time--and the two agents were seen eating there--I would eat the rest of my meals by myself over the next few months, until my final discharge in mid October.
I went home early that first day in complete shock. All that I had told my attorney was proven false the next day when I finally got the charges against me and Bostic's confessions. I had initially assumed he'd been coerced in some way into turning me in, but then I and my attorney realized that he had been the instigator the entire time. That he had been advised not to pursue his course of action on more than one occasion but had not been dissuaded from what now appeared to be a vendetta.
As the next months unfolded, I realized that I must turn against him to protect myself to a degree, as well as to discredit his statements against other officers and cadets whom he had also dragged into the net of suspicion by turning them in, as well, or providing their names to the OSI for being gay or lesbian. The information that he had imparted to me before, that he was an orphan and that his adoptive parents had used illegal means to provide him with the identity of their dead son so that he could eventually enter the Academy, had also been imparted to cadets whom he had known over his two years at the Academy.
My two Air Force attorneys had already interviewed him and he had denied to them, on tape, that he had ever said any of this to anyone because it was not true. But several cadets who knew me and/or knew him came forward to admit that they had been told by him the same details about his past life. He was now being caught in his own web of lies by the same system that he had used against me. The Academy, and the OSI, quickly realized that the situation was becoming so sordid that they would not even use the Cadet Honor Code system, involving a cadet board, to investigate him and recommend his expulsion for violating the cadet honor code: "We Will Not Lie, Steal Or Cheat, Nor Tolerate Among Us Anyone Who Does."
The problem was that their single witness against me, the lying cadet, could not be expelled before he might have to be utilized to give testimony against me should this entire matter come before a courts martial. And, of course, neither of my military attorneys, nor the Academy itself, was prepared to have this matter go to court, the details of which might become public. They did not want any publicity. So I was offered an honorable discharge, with full severance pay because I had earned a regular commission and was entitled to severance pay upon discharge. It would be about $10K.
I was desperately writing in my journal every day. I was only slowly recovering from the emotional devastation of what had happened but full recovery would take years. I looked for solace anywhere I could find it. I came across the line in the novel 1984: "Under the spreading chestnut tree, I sold you and you sold me." We had certainly not been lovers, but we were very much like Winston and Julia, exchanging vicious accusations before the state. Soon, nothing could alter our individual fates within the Air Force legal system: the Uniform Code of Military Justice and the Academy's cadet legal system.
As the following years went by, I never really learned why he had done what he did to me. No excuse or reasoning seemed to justify his stupidity and meanness. Perhaps it was his own profound self-loathing for being gay. Perhaps fate had prepared me to knock him off his course toward becoming a military officer even though it had initially seemed the other way around. Who knew for certain? He was never going to tell me.
The military attorney assigned to him from the Law Department and I had known one another from our shared orientation to the Academy the summer before. I had even gone over to chat with him periodically during the investigation before Bostic was formally charged, and one day I saw that his door was closed. Intuitively, I sensed that my accuser was behind that closed office door and I was right.
The weeks and then the months passed. I could not accept the fact that my career would be over any day now. I could not bring myself to look for another job, my own sense of self-worth having been devastated. My last officer effectiveness report was filled with attacks upon my judgment, ability and character. Fortunately, my one Air Force attorney had discovered that the results of an on-going investigation cannot be used to populate an effectiveness report, and the officer who put the final, negative comments in my report was forced to rescind them and leave his portion of that final report blank. It must have made that general seethe to be told to take back what he had vindictively written.
My final day, a Friday, finally arrived. I took my books and personal possessions home, took off my uniform for the final time, watching myself do it in the mirror of my guest bathroom at my house in Colorado Springs. The following Monday morning, I forced myself to go to the unemployment office for help finding a job. I stepped inside the door and was instantly ready to flee. But I made myself just stand there inside the door until I could muster the courage to approach someone at the end of one of the lines of those also looking for work. Unfortunately, the rest of the year would pass and I would have no job, living off my severance pay and the money I got from cashing in my government savings bonds--I figured that if my country no longer invested in me, I could no longer invest in my country.
After the first of the year, I went to a job interview at Canon City, to become a prison guard at the maximum security prison there. After the interview, I drove to the Royal Gorge nearby. Snow was beginning to fall as I crossed the bridge over the gorge. No one else was there as my 1973 Camaro made tracks in the heavy, wet snow on the wooden planks of the bridge. I finally drove back home and learned, a few days later, that I was hired if I wanted the job. But I could not make myself take it. The pay was so much less than my Air Force salary, $13k vs over $17k. And I would have to commute a long, long way to Canon City from Colorado Springs. It wasn't nearly enough money each month to even keep my home in the Springs. I turned their offer down and kept sending out resumes but got no other full-time job offers for the next several months.
I finally did get hired to teach one part time literature course at Peterson Air Force Base for Chapman College. Then I got several part time teaching assignments for Pikes Peak Community College at Fort Carson. I eventually came in second for a full time technical writing job at Kaman Sciences on Garden of the Gods Road. Finally, in late May, I got hired for a second technical writing job at Kaman. My severance pay was gone. My savings bond money was gone. I had put my house up for sale and it had sold. However, the young couple did not qualify for the loan at the last minute, and the Kaman job literally came through at the last possible moment. I continued to teach part time for Pikes Peak College at Fort Carson and also at Peterson Air Force Base in the evenings for the next decade and more because my Kaman salary was only $13k, not nearly enough. My mom gave me $1,000 in order to make my mortgage payment in June, and I tried in the following months to move on.
The following poem was, I am certain, written that first winter after my forced resignation.
Winter Survival
I struggle along,
as westward wagons must have fitfully rolled
before ambush,
before the trap that winter creates,
when we are
of our own flesh
consumed.
The weeks and then the months passed. I could not accept the fact that my career would be over any day now. I could not bring myself to look for another job, my own sense of self-worth having been devastated. My last officer effectiveness report was filled with attacks upon my judgment, ability and character. Fortunately, my one Air Force attorney had discovered that the results of an on-going investigation cannot be used to populate an effectiveness report, and the officer who put the final, negative comments in my report was forced to rescind them and leave his portion of that final report blank. It must have made that general seethe to be told to take back what he had vindictively written.
My final day, a Friday, finally arrived. I took my books and personal possessions home, took off my uniform for the final time, watching myself do it in the mirror of my guest bathroom at my house in Colorado Springs. The following Monday morning, I forced myself to go to the unemployment office for help finding a job. I stepped inside the door and was instantly ready to flee. But I made myself just stand there inside the door until I could muster the courage to approach someone at the end of one of the lines of those also looking for work. Unfortunately, the rest of the year would pass and I would have no job, living off my severance pay and the money I got from cashing in my government savings bonds--I figured that if my country no longer invested in me, I could no longer invest in my country.
After the first of the year, I went to a job interview at Canon City, to become a prison guard at the maximum security prison there. After the interview, I drove to the Royal Gorge nearby. Snow was beginning to fall as I crossed the bridge over the gorge. No one else was there as my 1973 Camaro made tracks in the heavy, wet snow on the wooden planks of the bridge. I finally drove back home and learned, a few days later, that I was hired if I wanted the job. But I could not make myself take it. The pay was so much less than my Air Force salary, $13k vs over $17k. And I would have to commute a long, long way to Canon City from Colorado Springs. It wasn't nearly enough money each month to even keep my home in the Springs. I turned their offer down and kept sending out resumes but got no other full-time job offers for the next several months.
I finally did get hired to teach one part time literature course at Peterson Air Force Base for Chapman College. Then I got several part time teaching assignments for Pikes Peak Community College at Fort Carson. I eventually came in second for a full time technical writing job at Kaman Sciences on Garden of the Gods Road. Finally, in late May, I got hired for a second technical writing job at Kaman. My severance pay was gone. My savings bond money was gone. I had put my house up for sale and it had sold. However, the young couple did not qualify for the loan at the last minute, and the Kaman job literally came through at the last possible moment. I continued to teach part time for Pikes Peak College at Fort Carson and also at Peterson Air Force Base in the evenings for the next decade and more because my Kaman salary was only $13k, not nearly enough. My mom gave me $1,000 in order to make my mortgage payment in June, and I tried in the following months to move on.
The following poem was, I am certain, written that first winter after my forced resignation.
Winter Survival
I struggle along,
as westward wagons must have fitfully rolled
before ambush,
before the trap that winter creates,
when we are
of our own flesh
consumed.
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