Norwich University, Corps of Cadets. Not for the light of heart. Rook Week. Getting up at 3am to study, going out to run at 5. Standing in the snow in leaking boots. Young men and women that attend are as tough as nails. The definition of GRIT.
That said, Norwich is also a school of many contradictions, starting with the school’s motto, Essayons—French for “I will try.”
Most alumni have a complicated relationship with that motto.
“I will try.”
How noble is that? How tough is that?
Even Yoda was pretty clear about trying:
“Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
I once worked for a company whose motto was, “We don’t try.” You can understand my confusion—and my short tenure.
In the military, it’s crucial that you obey orders, follow the chain of command, accomplish your mission at all costs, and so on.
Oh yeah—and you should also try.
It just doesn’t fit.
…
The campus sits in a valley in the Green Mountains of Vermont. During October, the forests explode into reds, oranges, and yellows. Tourists travel from all over the country just to watch the leaves change.
It’s almost offensively beautiful.
Right in the middle of that postcard, you’ll find military drills, obstacle courses, lacrosse, rugby, and football. Really rugged stuff in a quaint little town.
Football game days somehow manage to combine all of it into one surreal scene.
Picture a perfect October afternoon: seventy degrees, blue skies, the mountains glowing with fall colors. Cadets fill the stands in their dress blues. The military band marches off the field. Cannons fire to announce kickoff.
The visiting team charges onto the field screaming their battle cries:
“Win or die!”
“Take no prisoners!”
“To the death!”
The Norwich Cadets burst onto the field…
“WE WILL TRY!”
Okay, we didn’t actually yell this. But we thought about it.
A lot.
The whistle blows. Helmets crash together. Bodies fly. It is a violent game.
All of it unfolding in what looks like a Norman Rockwell painting.
That contrast pretty much sums up Norwich.
…
Which brings me to perhaps the greatest—and most devastating—contradiction of my four years there.
While I was at Norwich, there was a tradition at the end of football training camp: an initiation ceremony for the freshmen. The whole team gathered in a large room at a clubhouse. Each freshman, in turn, would stand in front of the team, and the team would collectively bestow a nickname on him.
A nickname that could stick with you for years.
Most of the nicknames were based on appearance, some outstanding athletic ability, or a spectacular lack of it. One huge guy was called “House.” He was really big. A really fast guy might be called “Lightning.” Or “Tiny” if he was enormous. You know, the ironic nickname.
I couldn’t wait to get up there.
What are they going to call me? I wondered.
Surely something like “Bruiser,” because I hit hard. Maybe “Dynamite,” because I was an explosive runner. Nothing wrong with “T-Bone.” Or “Ironhead.”
When it was finally my turn, I stood before the team with a huge smile on my face. My chest puffed out. I couldn’t wait to receive the gift of the name I’d be called for the next four years.
Someone stood up, pointed at me, and shouted:
“Keebler!”
The room erupted.
“He looks like a Keebler Elf!” someone else shouted.
“Keebler! Keebler! Keebler!”
They all started chanting. The laughter was deafening. That’s the way I remember it, anyway.
My smile vanished. My chest sank. My eyes widened.
What the hell is happening?
For the next four years, my badass self—a rugged football player at a college preparing men and women for war—was called “Keebler.” I was “Keebler” to everyone at the school. Even some professors.
FOR FOUR YEARS!
Maybe I shouldn’t have smiled.
I still don’t get it. On a scale from a happy Keebler Elf to raging Mike Tyson, I still think I lean a little more toward angry Mike.
…
For most of my time at Norwich, those contradictions were funny: a military college with the motto I will try; a brutal football game played against one of the prettiest backdrops in New England; a guy who thought he was Mike Tyson being called Keebler.
They made good stories.
But contradictions do more than make good stories. They give a place character. And Norwich has never been short on that.
For alumni, Essayons comes to mean something deeper than its literal translation. It isn’t simply I will try. It’s the belief that no challenge is too great to take on.
Beauty and toughness are not mutually exclusive.
Neither are humility and strength.
Elves are tricky, sharp, and true.
So, as it turns out, being called Keebler wasn’t all that bad.
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