Posted by Bill Mogan on July 10, 2011:

"The Walker" By Bill Mogan with help from Judge Mack Howard 1 July 1958, my parents and younger brother bid me goodbye at the East entrance to West Point's Central area after driving from Minneapolis. The few quiet steps toward the noise emanating from the steel gray granite enclosed cadet area was like the clunking pulling you up the first hill on a roller coaster. The rest of my day swirled past in a noisy, blur of forms, bracing, standing in lines, running to get a haircut, running to pick up uniforms, learning saluting methods, something about marching and a vague noon meal, called dinner. Sitting in the magnificent cadet mess hall, we had our eyeballs frozen to the front where our visual awareness was sucked from peripheral vision. We could see shocked expressions on new cadets sitting across the table from us. Before moving back to the area for more instruction, we tasted a green colored punch termed "alligatorpis" and detected aromas of cold cuts and bread. All day, precise, loud voices commanded us to avoid looking anyone directly in the eyes. Two faces that stuck in my memory were my assigned roommates, Mack Howard and Ron Zinn. Ron's large eyes peered over high cheekbones and wide mouth. Mack had reddish hair and a round, unsmiling face. We hustled around the three desks clustered in the light green room as upper classman screamed from the hallway, "Stow that stuff later, smackheads. Hustle back to the area for instruction!" One year earlier I worked as a deck hand on a peaceful, 585 foot, Great Lakes iron ore boat. Ron Zinn, hailed from Peoria, Illinois, as did classmate Wayne Downing. Ron put in a year at Cornell of Iowa where he continued his wrestling and cross country running before joining us in that dusty, three man beast barracks room. Ron's mother, a waitress in a diner, was his entire family. Mack Howard, from Deep Run, NC was the most experienced member of our trio. Mack had just finished plebe year at the Citadel, where he learned coping skills for the harassment we encountered on that summer day, so long ago. Mack was a natural athlete who had been his high school basketball star. Ron and I arrived in our assigned room a few minutes after Howard had grabbed the single bunk. Mack was already enjoying beast. Throughout the day, we heard echoes of "Mister Zinn, why are you bouncing? Stop bouncing!" No corrective yelling by upperclassmen in North Area could change the fact that Ron owned a tall, thin torso, with legs somewhat shorter than a typical six footer. Ron's stride had a natural up and down component. The combined motions of his toes, ankle rotation, knee displacement and hip rotation gave him an exaggerated vertical head and shoulder movement with every step. By evening meal formation we were clad in hot, blue wool, class shirts and cadet trou. We may have actually eaten some food at what they termed supper. As the sun set, our class was marched out to picturesque Trophy Point, overlooking the placid Hudson River, to be sworn into the American military. Our movement was punctuated by upperclassman screaming, "Stop bouncing smackhead Zinn! Are you doing that to make me angry? MISTER Zinn!" Several potential classmates had already quit the academy by the time we marched into that spectacular wooded river overlook. Ron was suddenly famous for bouncing, but holding up well after a scathing day. During the quiet ceremony, watching a cargo ship passing North toward Poughkeepsie, I recall thinking how nice it would be on that ship, rather than sweating where I stood. I wondered about these army officers? Could they know how we were being treated? What could this yelling have to do with Patton and MacArthur? Where had I gone wrong? Damp, scratchy wool class shirts, white gloves and wool trousers took most of the joy out of being there. The tree bordered Hudson River provides magnificent contrast to the golden granite slopes reaching up toward the rays of the setting summer sun. General Garrison Davidson appeared in immaculate uniform as some distant voice directed us through our oath. The intensity of our collective response, "I do," served to snap me out of my daydreaming. I felt the worst part of the first day was over and we'd soon get showers and a good night's sleep. I was wrong. Back in our room, we found ourselves preparing for something called "Shower Formation." Yelling in the halls intruded into our room. Mack kept a stern face as he rushed to ready his gear for the next day. Ron and I listened to Mack's advice on drinking water, holding our soap dishes and towels during shower formation. Mack's steady countenance cautioned us to be as invisible as possible. Then he gave us the happy news, we'd have to sweat our shadows in the wall through our new, blue summer bathrobes, to earn a shower. Ron's distinctive features radiated resilience from his wrestling and cross country running. I can't imagine what I reflected. Before scrambling from our room, into the pale green hallways, we donned issue plastic shower clogs and clattered to the party. Standing next to Mack in the hallway, I anticipated ridding myself of hair clippings from my first cadet haircut. I suspected the barbers had dumped the hair down my neck on purpose. My whole body itched. Zinn's face appeared across our second floor hallway as new cadets clattered out of rooms on floors above us. Shower clogs clunked on metal stairways as new cadets shuttled down toward the basement sinks. Here we stood, chins pulled in as we flattened against halls that had been home to the likes of Omar Bradley and countless other famous military leaders. The indignation of our situation was inconsistent with my image of great leaders. Zinn's distinctive features strained to make his shadow. I glanced around to see what was going on down the hall. An upperclassman appeared inches in front of my face, berating me for eyeballing the hallway. I strained against the cool wall, instantly making better progress sweating my shadow. Suddenly, the upperclassman found another offending new cadet out of my vision. I detected Mack moving forward and suddenly kicking Zinn's extended hand, sending his soap dish flying. I saw Zinn's disbelieving eyes grow as big as shoeshine cans as he tracked his errant soap dish flying down the hall, then clunking along the polished wood floors. A brief wave of nervous Laughter rang out as Ron dove toward his soap dish and his pristine bar of soap. New cadets within view of the scene made hasty eye contact and were again, for just a second, giggling teenagers. Zinn's smirk was the most intense. In a flash, Mack had lightened the load of many of us stuck in that humid corner of the world. About 90 minutes later, we understood that "shower formation" was about the harassment, not cleanliness. Our participation in the Zinn soap scramble cost our room more shadow sweating time than most other new cadets. Standing under running water lasted less than a minute and served to spread the hair from those damnable haircuts, evenly over our tired bodies. Soaping up, never happened. Four weeks later, standing downwind from new cadets, there was no mystery this was called it "beast" barracks. Later, with the lights out, we prepared our uniforms for the coming day and whispered complaints about the vast number of tasks we were expected to complete in the limited time allocated to our authorized day. Mack spit out instructions as he added more spit shine to his shoes and boots. Well practiced, New Cadet Howard hit the sack an hour after taps. New cadets Zinn and Mogan labored on, until the early hours of the next day before we were caught up with our practiced roommate, peacefully sleeping in his single bunk. Within days, Zinn mastered the art of developing a cadet glass shine on his shoes and boots. We were able to keep up with Mack's rapid pace for preparing equipment. Changing uniforms faster than most civilians can think, became second nature to us, as beast barracks forced us into the cadet mold. Our room looked good and we even managed to once secure permission to buy a pint of ice cream as a reward. In an unusual spare moment, Ron showed us how he could fit the bottom of his water glass into his oversized mouth. We joked that he had a smile as wide as comedian Joe E. Brown. Three weeks into beast, Ron Zinn was still getting verbal abuse and extra instruction for bouncing. Squad leaders had taken turns and even double teamed Zinn, in an attempt to eliminate his bounce. He'd lost some weight from having to recite plebe trivia during meals, but he held on to the wry smile that signaled he was enjoying the exchange. Mack marched Ron around our room to find the cause of his bouncing. Our evenings were dedicated to preparing equipment for still another hike during a pre-taps call to quarters. One night, Ron opened a box, part of continuous mail support from his mother. She and Ron had an unusually strong bond. The three of us discussed upperclassmen critical of Ron's marching. With flashing eyes, he declared, ". . . my mother sacrificed too much to get me through school in Iowa and into this place, for me to break. I'll never quit." Steamy, Hudson River humidity was heavy that night. Our three, light green, wood frame windows were open at top and bottom in an attempt to force air circulation. Hanging fluorescent lights seemed to add to our heat load. Ron unwrapped a small cake and the familiar shape of canned Spam. Soon opened, the uncut, classic American cube of molded ham shoulder lay before him on his desk. Suddenly a knock on our heavy wooden door announced the arrival of an upperclassman. All eyes jerked to the opening door and then to the front, as we snapped to attention. A distinct ham aroma wafted around the humid room. The tall, immaculate upperclassman soon found the empty Spam can and Ron standing at attention with odd bulges on his checks. "What are you eating smackhead?" Mack and I were suddenly aware the Spam had disappeared. Smirks, then laughter broke out. Ron's face was too stuffed to produce a verbal response or even a grin. His eyes disclosed he was enjoying the moment. My normally stiff squad leader gave up, "Well,... don't just stand there Mister Zinn. Chew! You got it in there. You will keep it all in there while you execute your gluttony." The upperclassman departed, breaking up. Soon, other upperclassmen came to view New Cadet Zinn struggling to enjoy his unitary meal. Ron's trademark grin gradually developed, as he gnawed through the product from Austin, Minnesota. Ron Zinn was fully squared away by the end of two months of beast barracks. Ron's shoes, brass and boots shined. He could change uniforms as fast as any plebe in beast. Ron could rattle of plebe trivia as fast as anyone had ever heard. He was showed endurance on the may long, training hikes over mountainous terrain. Two sounds were forever burned into our souls. The first was the strident sound of the Hellcats drum, bugle and flutes at reveille. The other was "Mister Zinn, stop that bouncing!" Five weeks after the great Spam feed, Ron Zinn took his place in the Corps of Cadets to conquer not just the rigors of plebe year, but also to excel in 4th class cross country and wrestling. Perseverance, and a droll sense of humor enabled Ron to succeed. Ron's Track Coach Carl Crowell, encouraged him to take up the Olympic race walking challenge in 1959. While adapting his walking style into a world class athletic capability, Ron designed a training vest. After the cadet tailor shop created the vest to his design, Ron could be seen all over the reservation practicing his unique walking style with heavy weights loaded into his many tailored vest pockets. Football standout Berry Butzer quipped, " . . .when Ron got going, he could walk faster than I could run." In 1960 Ron Zinn became the first cadet to represent the United States as a member of an Olympic team. He balanced his hectic cadet academic schedule with placing 19th in Rome in the 20 kilometer walk. Upon his return to West Point...Ron was honored by a parade. The Corps of Cadets "marched" in his honor. Not necessarily a marcher, Ron became America's best walker. Ron went on to become the AAU two mile walking champion in both 1963 and 1964. In the 1964 Tokyo Olympic games he moved up to 6th in the 20 kilometer event, and was the first American race walker to ever beat a Russian. In 1963 he won races in Poland, Germany, and England, becoming the first American to win an international walk since World War II. Those of us who knew him felt he would take the gold in the 1968 Olympics. Ron Zinn died on a walk with his men on July 6, 1965 near Saigon. He held eight different United States walking records. The American Race Walker magazine devoted its entire August issue to Zinn's memory. USA Track & Field Awards annual Captain Ron Zinn awards to their best race walkers. Their booklet reads, "These awards (there are three) are given to commemorate the achievements of Capt. Ron Zinn, who lost his life in combat during the Vietnam War. A race walker, he was a member of the 1964 U.S.A. Olympic Team at Tokyo, and his sixth place finish in the 20km walk was considered an excellent performance for U.S. walkers at that time." Mack Howard is a Federal Judge in the Eastern District of North Carolina. Bill Mogan died of pancreatic cancer on October 31, 2006.

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