What I Saw at the Cadets’ Competition

Military drill was not the only competitive activity at Civil Air Patrol’s National Cadet Competition. In the midst of a ham sandwich and rigatoni dinner, an arm-wrestling match breaks out between two teenaged Texas cadets. At first I think the male is letting the female win, but it quickly becomes obvious that this struggle is real. Immediately a dozen cadets gather round and begin cheering, “Hannah! Hannah!” A minute later, she pins the well-built 17 year old.  If anyone is wondering what kind of youth event is about to begin, this prelude is their warning. These cadets are fierce.

NCC, as it’s known to the cadets, involves eight drill teams and eight color guards from around the country. Each team earned the right to compete here in McMinnville, Oregon (home to Howard Hughes’ Spruce Goose) by winning regional and state-level events. The cadets are aged 12 to 20 and wear the blue uniform of the U.S. Air Force. Most are motivated by an interest in the military and a love of airplanes. Each is astonishingly serious about being a cadet and living up to what the uniform represents. During the 4-day competition, they’ll compete in a one-mile run, test their knowledge of aviation through a written exam and a game like Jeopardy, stand for an inspection of their uniforms, and perform complex military drill routines. Their rifles are fake.

THE MICHAEL J. FOX FAN CLUB

My first sight of New Jersey’s Dragon Drill Team is of them snapping their fingers and fisting their palms in quick succession, just as Michael J. Fox used to do on Family Ties. Not wanting to date myself, I don’t make reference to 80s tv. The average CAP cadet was born in 1994.

“Do you guys know Maver?” I ask. Dave Maver was our national cadet of the year in 2007.  Four or five cadets start telling me everything they know about The Maver, making him out to be a 5’ 4” living legend. “He did flutter kicks and pushups at the Dining In at Club Dix,” one cadet reports. “He’s an APJOC grad – he’s rappelled Australian style, upside down.” Perseus beheaded Medussa. Maver flutterkicked at a dance.

In this group, the center of attention is a 13 year old girl with red hair and braces, Sara Peisch. She’s wearing the insignia of a cadet chief master sergeant – eight stripes is a lot for such a young kid. As the team is summoned to the field for the Innovative Drill, she says to me, “Sir, stay and watch the professional side of us.” Their team commander, Carlos Pineda, who will later win the outstanding cadet award, commands “FALL IN.” The cadets immediately focus. Gone is the middle schooler with the red hair and braces; she’s been absorbed into a single, regimented formation of blue uniforms. Carlos is wounded and should be on crutches, but he heroically stows them away for the next four minutes, just long enough to command the innovative. I say “command,” but there are maybe three oral commands in this entire routine – these cadets (like many of the teams competing) are so good, they can execute mesmerizingly complex drills entirely by memory.

In my youth, the Dragons were the team to beat, so I walk out to the drill pad and watch the current generation of Dragons perform the innovative. Seeing them take just three or four steps on the forward march, I can tell this team will be competitive. Great cadence. At their first halt, it’s one single sound, not thirteen pairs of clumsy teenaged feet. Ten seconds into the routine, I look up from my notepad and the cadets have already dispersed to every corner of the field, another sign of complexity and skill. As I write this, I hear that one single sound again – the crisp halt. If a blind person were judging this event, capable of evaluating the Dragons solely by their sound, he’d be happy. One girl marches with her torso leaned back a little too much. I note that not as a criticism but as a compliment. If a knowledgeable observer like me has to struggle to find something wrong with a drill team and can only say that someone’s posture is off by a few degrees, that’s a testament to the team’s precision. Before I know it, the four minutes are up. Carlos salutes, marches the Dragons off the pad, and someone hands him his crutches.

THE MEMBER MOM

In the real world, Melanie Niedfeldt of Utah is a corporate safety expert. I ask if she’s a spectator mom or a bona fide CAP senior member. “I joined just to get the CAP driver’s license so I could help drive the kids, but two and half years later I’m a full-fledged active member.”

What does that involve? “I hem the kids’ pants, bandage their feet, drive them around, and sleep on the floor.”  The circumstances of that last job duty – sleeping on the floor – is mysterious but not surprising. Adult escorts go to great lengths to support their cadets.

One of Melanie’s trade secrets is actually news to me, despite my 22 years’ experience with drill teams. It’s so simplistically ingenious only a mom could come up with it:  She brings the cadets to the local tuxedo shop and buys their old rental shoes for $8 a pair. It’s a cheap but effective way to outfit a 13-member drill team. Some teams tell me they spend almost $300 per cadet to dress the cadets in crisp, new, tailored uniforms complete with mint condition ribbons, shiny brass buckles, and even shirt garters – the absurd devices businessmen wore in a more formal era.

Melanie’s daughter, Rae, tells me she joined because her brother flies Apache helicopters. “I wanted to be part of that,” she explains.  Rae is the kind of kid who immediately stands out as a leader. I’ve only shaken hands with her but I can tell she’s a great student. If she works part-time at the mall, I  just know her boss regards her as his most responsible teenaged employee. Here, in this crowd of 200 cadets, she’s one of the many super confident, super sharp, obviously bright cadets. Here, the exceptional is common. When Rae was twelve one of her friends was already a cadet and said to her, “Dude, this happened at drill team and you have to join.” Today she’s 15 and a second lieutenant.

Melanie tells me that she knows one cadet who, when she first met him, was socially underdeveloped. He couldn’t carry on a conversation, and consequently struggled to fit in. Recognizing this, Melanie’s husband closely mentored the cadet, teaching him study skills, reading the questions on cadet tests aloud to him, and providing the simple encouragement that makes a real difference. “He got his Mitchell recently,” she tells me, not without a bit of pride. (Mitchell Award recipients are among the top 15% of all cadets.) “These kids will be deciding the future and leading our world,” she continues.  I can tell that the world now benefits from one young man who is better prepared to lead, thanks to her and her husband. Every adult who mentors a CAP cadet does so as a volunteer.

RAE AND THE TROPHY

Before I depart to mix with some other cadets, Rae shows me a framed photo of the USAF Chief of Staff Sweepstakes Trophy, the 30 year old behemoth that is awarded to the winning teams (it’s a perpetual trophy so technically it lives outside my office and the cadets take home a different trophy). Rae carries this photo with her throughout the competition. Teammate Mckelle Tobey tells me, “Sir, if you include the bit about the trophy in your story, be sure to add that we kiss the photo before every event!”

After leaving Utah, I visit North Carolina.  It is one of the most successful teams I’ve ever encountered. Comprised of cadets solely from Apex Cadet Squadron near Raleigh, the team has won the right to compete at NCC several times and is always in the running for the Sweepstakes Trophy. As I mingle with them, I ask if they’ve heard that one of the teams always carries a photo of the trophy. Kali Fletcher, a cadet colonel and recipient of the Spaatz Award, the program’s highest cadet honor, briskly instructs me, “Tell them they’re gonna need that photo because they’re not getting the real trophy.” Cadets are sharp and professional, but still know how to talk trash.

THE SMALLEST CADET

Thirteen year old Aleasha North, sometimes known as the little sister of Christina, competes on the color guard side of the competition, as North Carolina’s alternate. She joined CAP to help with the lifesaving emergency services mission. Aleasha tells me she’s qualified with the L-Per, a handheld radio receiver with four antennas that CAP members use to home in on distress beacons (such as those activated in an airplane crash). Thirteen years old and motivated to help save lives. “CAP offers good training,” she says, “plus I like to hang out with these people,” referring to her four teammates, all of whom are a couple years older than her. Right now she’s a three-striper and I ask what goals she has. “Goals?” She’s not sure what I mean. “Are you going to earn the Mitchell or the Earhart or the Spaatz or what awards do you want to earn?” I ask.  “Oh,” she says, “I’m gonna try to get all of them!”

THE FONZ, SASQUATCH, AND THEIR FRIENDS

Ohio’s team comes from Youngstown. “What’s Youngstown famous for?” I ask, vaguely not sure if that’s where the football hall of fame is (nope, Canton). Without missing a beat, Erin Fetters, a thin girl with braces tells me, “We have the highest murder rate, four years running.”  I’m always astonished that cadets are incredibly serious one moment and yet still wise enough not to take themselves too seriously.

Ten seconds into my visit, I learn you can’t drill with the Ohio cadets unless you have a nickname. I meet Mr. Right, Trent Zank, a 16 year old tech sergeant. His friends tell me he makes up excuses and strains his logic to show he’s always right. A sixteen year old Cliff Claven, I think, but again decide not to date myself by suggesting the comparision. Anthony Spina is The Fonz because he was somehow issued a uniform that looks like it came from the 50s. Michael Rothacker is Sasquatch. The fourteen year old staff sergeant wore a guerrilla costume to region competition. “Guerrilla costume?,” I ask.  Yes, a guerrilla costume. I notice that Erin “Snappy” Fetters outranks Sasquatch by a stripe or two, despite Sasquatch having a Red Service Award (signifying he’s been a cadet at least two years) and Erin not having one. I ask him why. “Well,” (don’t all excuses begin with “well”?), “I was in soccer for six months so I couldn’t test…” The poor kid can’t finish before Erin chimes in, “That’s no excuse, because I had softball.”

Four cadets tell me the star of their team is Joe Spletzer, their team commander, a 15 year old lieutenant. “Fifteen and a half… he has his permit,” someone clarifies. The cadets deeply respect their Lieutenant Spletzer. “He was willing to put aside a bunch of other activities so he could devote his full energy to being team commander,” says Sasquatch. The Fonz tells me, “He really knows what he’s doing, does it till it’s perfect… and that’s not just in CAP.” How many adults have bosses at work whom they don’t respect one tenth as much as these cadets respect their commander? If leadership is about influence, Joe Spletzer is succeeding because his personal example has truly made its mark.

THE FOUR STAR

General William M. Fraser III, USAF, the Air Force’s second in command, is the competition’s biggest celebrity. He orders his jet to land at tiny McMinnville Municipal. CAP’s National Commander, Maj Gen Amy S. Courter and the multi-millionaire founder of Evergreen International Aviation, Del Smith, whose aviation and space museum is hosting the cadets, greet General Fraser and his entourage.

Although the drill events have officially concluded, the cadets spontaneously organize an exhibition for General Fraser. How many teens have the opportunity, let alone the guts, to drill for a four star general? An SR-71 spy jet and Titan IV rocket on display nearby provide suitable ambiance. The cadets perform their most challenging routines and every adult present can see the general is impressed. He troops the line, shaking hands with many of the assembled cadets, and one gets the sense that perhaps a man currently wearing four stars has just said hello to a future flag officer, astronaut, or senator.

ENTER THE PROFESSIONALS

Throughout the competition, it has been the U.S. Air Force Honor Guard – the Air Force’s undisputed experts in all facets of drill and ceremony – who have been judging the cadets. Now it’s the final night at NCC, so during the awards banquet the judges put themselves on display before five hundred cadets, parents, adult escorts, and General Fraser.

The team of five airmen, most only a few years beyond cadet age, stomp and spin and toss their bayoneted M-14 rifles with total precision. Total precision. And then astonishingly, after a particularly complex maneuver, one honor guardsman drops his rifle. No doubt, he and his teammates were horrified, especially since General Fraser is watching from the front row. But I’m glad for this hiccup. It shows the cadets that even world-class professionals are fallible. It adds a measure of humility to a night when the very best cadet drill teams and color guards will collect armfuls of trophies. 

STANDING OVATION

On every team, someone is taking notes. Third, second, and first place winners are announced, one event at a time. Pay close attention and you can deduce who will be the overall winner. I applaud with everyone else, but mostly I find myself just watching the cadets’ faces and paying little attention to the actual results. Ten feet away from me sits a twelve year old one-striper, a member of the cadet support staff, one of the dozen or more non-competitors at work behind the scenes. This kid is wearing what has to be a size 30 extra small service coat and still he’s drowning in it. Here is the Civil Air Patrol Cadet Corps, or at least the best 200 of them. They’re gawky, yet sharp; totally focused and disciplined, yet dip into fits of goofiness; smart and attentive and sure to address me as “Sir,” but undoubtedly susceptible to the same risks of every other teen in America. The man seated beside me, an executive from Sprint remarks, “I didn’t know what to expect from these cadets. I am impressed.”  He restates this compliment a couple times during the banquet and I know it’s sincere.

General Fraser presents trophies to the winners (New York’s color guard and Utah’s drill team). Five hundred people cheer this current generation of young over-achievers. The general smiles. The parents cheer. Supporters text the news to friends back home. With the cadets cheering loudest of all, I, too, stand and add my applause.
 

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