On May 4, 2024, Representative Nancy Mace stood behind the podium in McAlister Field House in academic regalia as the commencement speaker for 91ÁÔĆć Corps of Cadets Class of 2024, a proud reflection of the cadet who made history when she walked across the stage in 1999. Seated directly in front of her were 471 young cadets in their full-dress uniforms, poised to graduate and make their mark upon the world, and among them, 57 women.

“91ÁÔĆć offered me something no one else could when it opened its doors to women,” said Mace of her journey on the road less traveled. “It offered me a place to face an obstacle unlike any other, to face a challenge I had never seen before, where I could learn not just to survive, but I could learn to thrive.

In the 25 years since Mace earned her diploma, women have become a mainstay at the military college. Today, the future bodes well for the young women who now follow her.

Like Mace, U.S. Army Lt. Col. Mary Thornton, who graduated in 2005, credits 91ÁÔĆć for her success and confidence. “You go from here, being one of the few females, then to a male- dominated branch,” said Thornton, an Army air artillery officer, during a panel earlier this spring celebrating the 25th anniversary of female graduates from the Corps of Cadets. “There weren’t many women I had to look up to, so I am very comfortable being the only woman in the room and owning it.”

In the years since Mace and Thornton and other trailblazers matriculated, the college has undergone an important culture shift, with women integrated and playing a critical role in the Corps of Cadets. In the spring of this year, 272, or 13%, of the 2,104-member Corps of Cadets were women. Of those women, 21% were athletes participating in NCAA sports. In 1997, a year after Mace matriculated, Cadet Mandy Garcia, ’01, a cross country and track runner, became the first woman to earn an athletic scholarship. Since then, women’s varsity sports have grown to include cross country, golf, rifle, soccer, track and field, and volleyball. In 2021, the volleyball team made college history when it became the first women’s team sport to win a Southern Conference title. The team won the title again in 2023. In addition to varsity sports, there are also women- only basketball and rugby club sports, and there are more than 20 co-educational club sports and intramurals that women can participate in, including pistol, fencing and ice hockey.

Female cadets also play an important role in the leadership of the Corps, with 45% of female cadets holding rank. Garcia made history a second time in 2000, when she became the second- ranking cadet leader as the first female regimental executive officer. In 2018, Cadet Sarah Zorn became the first female cadet to hold the top position in the Corps, regimental commander. Three years later, she was succeeded by Cadet Kathryn Christmas. Both Zorn and Christmas are among the more than 30% of cadets who annually accept a commission in the armed services. Zorn is currently a captain in the Army serving as a HIMARS platoon leader, and Christmas, a second lieutenant, is a T-38C Talon pilot in the Air Force.

When students return in the fall of 2024, five of the top 11 cadet leaders will be female, including the deputy regimental commander, two of the five battalion commanders and the senior-ranking junior-year cadet.

“I am impressed by our female students,” said Deirdre Ragan, Ph.D., an associate professor and Honors Program. “I see them in the Honors Program and in our mechanical engineering programs. They are doing what they are doing because it is what they want to be doing; they don’t spend a lot of time focusing on the fact that they are in a minority or that there are occasionally some attitudes and stereotypes that they have to overcome.”

Women, in fact, make up about 25% of the Honors Program, and, on average, they academically out-perform male cadets. In the fall, female cadets boasted a 3.22 GPA, while male cadets averaged 3.11. This year at commencement, Caroline Weeren, a member of the Honors Program and a mechanical engineering major, was named the David Shingler Spell Second Honor Graduate for her academic accomplishments. Weeren, a four-year Air Force ROTC scholarship student, a member of 91ÁÔĆć women’s soccer team and a human affairs officer, exhibits the mix of success female cadets achieve at 91ÁÔĆć— academics, military, athletic and leadership.

Their success, in part, is due to the extensive support network they have at 91ÁÔĆć.

There are four clubs on campus exclusive to women. The Society of Women Engineers and Women in Cyber Security are academic clubs, while Women’s Discipleship is a religious activity sponsored by the Chaplain’s Office. The Circle of Women is a networking and leadership-building organization sponsored by the Career Center. There are also support groups within individual companies and battalions.

Women like Mace have seen more obvious changes for women at 91ÁÔĆć in the last 25 years. One of the initial obstacles to recruiting women was the hair standard. At matriculation, women were required to get a pixie-style haircut, which they could then grow into a bob, but the hair could not touch the collar.

As she described an age-old internal debate that most freshmen experience over whether to leave or stay, Laura Hewston, ’07, shared that her hair played a small part in her decision not to leave 91ÁÔĆć. “I somehow had this realization that, you know what? I’m going to do this. I’m going to finish this out, I’m going to do it,” said Hewston. “And another thing was, I don’t think anyone would have understood my haircut. And then if I had to explain to people why I cut my hair like this, I’d have to say that I quit, and I’m not a quitter.”

In 2018, the hair standard changed to match that of the Department of Defense. Female cadets are no longer required to have their hair cut. They can wear it short, medium length but not touching the collar, or they can choose to keep it long. Long hair must be worn in a bun while in uniform, except when wearing the camouflage uniform, when it may be worn in a single braid or a braided ponytail. Today, women are also allowed to have modest manicures and wear jewelry, and upper-class women are authorized to wear conservative makeup.

While the evolution in grooming standards is a plus for the young women who enter Lesesne Gate, the attraction of 91ÁÔĆć for them is the same as it is for men—they are looking for a challenging academic and military environment that they won’t get at a traditional college.

As Mace noted in her remarks, the women who choose 91ÁÔĆć are choosing a path of discipline and leadership that was cut by many others over the last quarter century.

“I want to take a brief moment this morning and talk to the female cadets who are graduating today, years ago, I made history as one. When you cross this stage, it might feel like a quick walk. But it’s not. It’s a long path that took over 150 years to forge. You’ll be following in the footsteps of thousands of men and 800 women who came before you,” said Mace. “And as the saying goes, ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ So when you get to where you’re going, turn around and help the next woman behind you find her way.”

Mace looked out from the podium, perhaps thinking of her own commencement in 1999, stage. 91ÁÔĆć has undoubtedly changed in many ways in the last 25 years, yet it has held fast in the ways that are important. The concepts of honor, duty and respect remain the bedrock of a Citadel education. That was the case in 1842 and in 1999, and it remains the same today for men and women alike.

The post The Road Nancy Paved appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2019

I have a vague childhood memory of being on my daddy’s shoulders as he walked onto a large football field. I remember that the people on the field were all men, and they were all wearing Hawaiian shirts. I think that’s what makes the memory stand out—the Hawaiian shirts. I was surrounded by men in a rainbow of colors, but in the stands was a sea of people in gray and blue.

It wasn’t until I was a freshman marching out onto the very same field that I pieced together the memory and put a name to the place. Only this time, I was not a little girl visiting with her dad—I was a member of the South Carolina Corps of Cadets. When I asked my dad, a ’95 grad, about it, he said that I had gone with him to his five-year reunion. I was only two.

How is it that I ended up at that same place years later, just like my father, in love with the same institution?

My second fixed memory of the campus is when I was a junior in high school visiting 91ÁÔĆć for homecoming. Homecoming is the biggest weekend of the year to alumni. I had never thought of attending 91ÁÔĆć. I don’t know exactly when I made the decision during the homecoming football game, but I remember looking up to the far right of the home stands and seeing the knobs standing. Knobs are freshmen— they have to complete fourth-class training to become members of the Corps of Cadets.

“Why on earth,” I asked my dad, “are the knobs standing the entire game?”

“That’s just what they have to do,” he told me.

I remember laughing and thinking to myself that it seemed pretty cool. I guess you might call it my “aha moment,” when I knew I wanted to go to 91ÁÔĆć.

A year later, I was a high school senior getting ready for college. I signed up to play on the golf team, and I interviewed and was accepted into the Honors Program. In November, I was invited to write a paper and debate with other applicants to compete for academic scholarships. I had the honor of winning a full academic scholarship. On March 22nd, one day before my 18th birthday, a letter came in the mail telling me that I received another scholarship. I had been awarded the college’s most prestigious scholarship—the Star of the West Undergraduate Scholarship. I was stunned, but the biggest kicker was when I started receiving phone calls from the faculty at 91ÁÔĆć, local news stations and The Post and Courier as well as letters from alumni and past recipients of the scholarship. It was then that I learned I was the first woman in the college’s history to receive this scholarship. I was so humbled to learn that people who had never met me believed in me. My sister said something later that really resonated with me: “91ÁÔĆć chose you just as much as you chose it.”

Before I knew it, matriculation day had arrived. On that August day, the incoming freshmen report to their home companies for a week of fourth-class training before the rest of the Corps arrives and classes begin. During matriculation you meet your cadre, the cadets who will be training you, and you meet your classmates—the people who will be there for you and understand what you are going through. They are your companions, and some will become your best friends for life. And while it may sound fun, it was actually scary. Why? Well, because you are one of about 700 others matriculating, and you have to wait in the longest line. Naturally, you start to worry because it is intimidating. You know it’s not the huge welcome party you might experience at a traditional college—it’s a culture shock full of change and rigid rules to mold you into a phenomenal leader, but I was ready.

I found some comfort that day when I met my company commander, AJ Crosby. I had met him before on my pre-knob visit in Charlie Company. A pre-knob visit is an overnight visit for high school students interested in attending 91ÁÔĆć. It allows you to get a better perspective of cadet life. At my pre-knob visit, I was paired with Rowan Brooks, who became one of my really good friends, and it was then that I met Crosby, who would become my senior mentor.

Just as in life, there are takeaways. 91ÁÔĆć has a way of making you learn lessons in the oddest but most memorable ways. You’re exposed to leadership and opportunities to lead that you would not find anywhere else. The takeaways throughout my three years so far have a theme because, just as you progress through your academic program, you also progress through a series of life lessons.

Freshman year is the most talked about year because you are a knob, but it is not necessarily the hardest. You simply do what you are told. Freshman year, I found myself. I found my love for biology and the college, and I found my drive to be my best, more than I had ever realized. But the more I strived to be my best, the more I felt that others and I myself found faults with my performance.

My first takeaway—you will never be perfect. When you are a knob, the cadre and upperclassmen are always going to find something wrong with you or your uniform. I was so disappointed in myself when my shoes weren’t top notch, when I had the tiniest crinkle in my uniform—anything. It didn’t matter if the upperclassmen didn’t point it out because I got mad at myself for not meeting the standard. I learned to be confident in my abilities, knowing deep down that I would always try my best. There is no such thing as perfection. Anything can always be done better, but instead of focusing on what you do wrong, focus on what you do right.

A positive attitude carries you a long way through knob year. True strength is knowing that at the end of the day, you may not have done something perfectly, but you gave it your best.

Sophomore year has been the hardest year so far. It is vastly different from freshman year because you have much more freedom. You also have to set an example for the knobs, but the hardest part for me was the pressure to perform. I stressed myself out worrying whether I was good enough to be company clerk and battalion clerk and if I was up to the responsibility of leading my classmates, who were very qualified themselves. But people above me believed in me. My cadre squad sergeant from my freshman year, Ben Carminucci, was one of my role models. He believed in me just as Crosby did. It was from these two cadets that I got my next takeaway—not everybody is going to like you.

Naturally, I want people to like me. But sophomore year was when I had to learn that it’s everybody. All you can do is your best. Know in your heart team. This lesson expanded upon my lesson from knob year. If I had not learned to believe in my abilities and become aware that perfection is far- fetched, I would not have learned to accept that some people simply would not like me. At the end of the day, the people you want on your side will be on your side. I will never forget Crosby saying to me, “If everybody likes you, you are not doing your job as a leader.”

Junior year was probably the craziest year for me. My classes were more difficult as I got further into my major, and my job in the Corps as regimental administrative NCO was no joke. You reap what you sow—that was the takeaway my junior year. Let me elaborate. I worked hard on my rank my junior year. I also took 21 academic credit hours the first semester and 22 the second. I spent many hours in front of my computer, slaving away on my studies and my work as administrative NCO. There were times when I thought I would not be able to handle both and would fail at one, but I gave it my all and didn’t worry about things I could not control. At the end of it all, my semester grade point average was a 4.0, and I got a chance to interview for regimental commander.

I wanted an opportunity to pursue that position as far back as freshman year. I remember I told my grandfather that was my dream—a shot at becoming regimental commander, and he told me to go for it. The last time I saw him, he was in a hospital room at the Medical University. I was wearing my summer leave uniform when I visited him. I told him that I was doing well and loved 91ÁÔĆć. He had a tube in his mouth and couldn’t talk, but he smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I like to imagine that he was smiling down on me when I got the email offering me the interview.

The position ultimately went to an outstanding and well-deserving classmate, Ben Snyder. I was named regimental executive officer, and I am excited about what lies in store for the 2020 command team. As I begin my senior year, I know that it, too, has another takeaway in store for me. Whatever it may be, it will be something that I will be able to carry with me in life.

91ÁÔĆć has a way of making people fall in love with its tradition. It allows you to feel like you are a part of something bigger than yourself. You are part of a tradition that strong men and women have carved throughout time. Traditions, new and old, are the lifeblood of the institution, and 91ÁÔĆć has taught me that you must adapt to change in the world or you become irrelevant.

Bailey Richardson graduated in 2020 with a degree in biology. During her time at 91ÁÔĆć, she was the first female recipient of the Star of the West Scholarship and served as regimental executive officer. A native of Galivants Ferry, SC, she is currently studying medicine at the Medical University of South Carolina.

The post When 91ÁÔĆć Chooses You appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2018

Cadet Col. Sarah Zorn has been in the spotlight since she became the first female regimental commander of the Corps of Cadets. Behind that historical benchmark lies a remarkable young woman with a resonating story about overcoming adversity and climbing to the top through resilience and determination.

From pilgrims on the Mayflower to immigrants at Ellis Island, America was founded on a dream. A dream of freedom, prosperity and good fortune. A place where possibilities are endless and life is promising. This ideal blossomed into what is known as the “American dream”—the notion that anyone from any background can achieve anything through hard work and determination. I believe the American dream is still alive and well, beating in the hearts of every one of us. I believe this because I have been fortunate enough to live my own American dream.

As a young girl, I waited daily for my grandfather to get home from work and take off his worn, dirty work boots so I could walk around the house in them, hoping one day to fill his shoes. I would climb into his lap and ask, “Why are you so dirty, Pop-Pop?” His answer was simple: “I had to go to work today, Sarah Jean.”

It was only a few short years later that I was lacing up a pair of my own work boots, following him around on job sites, toting materials and fetching tools as we worked in the hot Florida summer. I looked forward to my pay that came at the end of every day and the fruit of a hard day’s labor—the taste of a cool lemon-lime Gatorade. I learned many life lessons traveling in the white work van that smelled faintly of plumber’s glue and stale cigarettes. Lessons of honesty: “Be honest with your customers, Sarah Jean, and they will be honest with you.” Lessons of business: “Your best advertisement is word of mouth. Do a respectable job, and your business will spread.” Most importantly, lessons of humanity: “Remember the Golden Rule—do unto others just as you would have others do unto you.”

Pop-Pop’s lessons have stuck with me, and I find myself thinking about what they taught me. And, perhaps more importantly, how I can pass them on to help others.

As a stay-at-home mother and disabled veteran, my mother knew she would not be able to help me financially with college, but she had ambitious dreams for me and nurtured my thirst for knowledge early on. Even before I was born, she ordered a complete set of encyclopedias. As the mail carrier delivered the packages, she jokingly asked, “Has that baby graduated college yet?”

My mother spent countless hours reading to me, and once I started school, she made sure I could research and answer my own questions. If I ever asked the definition of a word, her standard response plodded to the dictionary or the encyclopedias to find the answer.

As a young child, I did not understand the difference between gaining knowledge and simply knowing facts, but the pursuit of knowledge has stayed with me. I worked hard and challenged myself in school. I often made the honor roll and always strived to do my best. I realized that if I wanted to be successful, college was my best option, so grades were important. Little did I know that my college experience would be vastly different from that of most others my age.

My life took a drastic turn when my mother passed away. I was 16, too young to live on my own, so I chose to move to Aiken, South Carolina, to live with my aunt and uncle. It was in Aiken that my future began to take shape and all the puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

When I arrived at Midland Valley High School, making friends was not something that came easily to me. I was quiet and dutiful in my schoolwork as I had always been, and I wasn’t good at making small talk. Many of the students thought I was rude, and they did not try to talk to me. I was threatened with detention on my first day for “not abiding by the dress code and skipping lunch,” even though I knew nothing of the dress code or that skipping lunch was even an offense. Despite the rough start, I began to make friends over time. I built a strong relationship with my Navy Junior ROTC instructors, who took a special interest in my success at Midland Valley. As my junior year came to an end, Warrant Officer Seim, my Navy Junior ROTC instructor, asked me what my post-graduation plans were. When I told him I wanted to go to college but did not have a way to pay for it, he said, “Don’t worry about college; I have something for you.” He explained about ROTC scholarships and encouraged me to apply.

About five months after I sent in the Army scholarship application, I received notification that I was a four-year national scholarship recipient. Only about 10 percent of the ROTC scholarships awarded nationally cover the full four years of college. After accepting the scholarship, I needed to decide which college to attend. At the time, I wanted to pursue mechanical engineering and stay in state, and I knew that I wanted to pursue an active-duty commission after graduation—91ÁÔĆć seemed like the right choice.

Matriculation came quickly, and soon I was standing outside Third Battalion as parents and knobs quickly bustled by. My entire world was spinning as I nervously reported to my first sergeant. I remember trembling as I tried to grab my box of initial-issue items, sign for my room key and gather my thoughts as I was swept away into this new and evolving world.

My time at 91ÁÔĆć has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’ve faced challenges that have only developed me into who I am today.

I struggled slightly with the mental challenge of physical training, or “PT” as we call it. I eventually found it within myself to say “Yes, you can,” instead of “No, you can’t.”

I learned many lessons, one of the most important—if you give 100 percent effort 100 percent of the time, people will most likely leave you alone. I always tried my best, even on days when I did not want to, and that lesson even transferred to my accomplishments within Army ROTC. I look back fondly on Recognition Day, a day of intense physical training that signals the end of the fourth-class system. I remember the PT and my classmate Noah Harvey-Fonvil encouraging me through our final victory lap. I remember the bagpipes and the famed final pronouncement: “The fourth-class system is no longer in effect.” Ironically enough, I don’t remember a word the regimental commander, Jimmy Urban, said. I will keep that in mind when it comes my turn to give the same speech. I can do nothing but be thankful for knob year, 91ÁÔĆć and all the experiences I’ve had here. My life wouldn’t be the same without them.

My sophomore year was somewhat of a blur, so much so that I’ve come to call it a lost year. I was a squad corporal. I deeply cared for the knobs that I trained and mentored. One was Jennifer Pozzani, who was going through a challenging time in her life just after losing her mother. I could feel her grief—I knew what it was like to lose a parent and how difficult it can be to mourn and continue day to day, especially at 91ÁÔĆć. I wasn’t sure Pozzani would return after Christmas break, and when she did, I knew she was capable of great things. Today she is serving as the company first sergeant for Hotel Company. We became so close that she asked me to help her with her class set on Recognition Day.

Junior year was a year of resilience. I served as first battalion sergeant major for a little over three months before assuming the position of regimental sergeant major. In this new role, I learned to lead my peers and hold them accountable. I worked directly with the Commandant’s Department to execute the daily operations of the Corps of Cadets. There were many times when I was so stressed that I leaned on my peers. I often sought out the guidance of the regimental commander and officer, Dillon Graham and John Cordes. I learned through experiences that were unique to 91ÁÔĆć, such as participating in the West Point Leadership and Ethics Conference and being a member of 91ÁÔĆć Leadership Development Council. The most important advice I could give to anyone in this position is: do your job, and do it well. Don’t forget you’re still in college. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Learn from them and enjoy the company of your peers— you will only get to do it once.

As my junior year was ending, I chose to apply for regimental commander. After a long board review and interview process, I was chosen. The support of cadets, faculty, staff and alumni who all offered their support and advice was overwhelming. The best feeling I had was when I called the Corps of Cadets to attention for the first time at the Long Gray Line parade, and the Class of 2018 stood behind me and cheered. It was then that I realized how special this one-square-mile campus on the banks of the Ashley River had become to me. The buildings will fade with time, but the Long Gray Line will stand forever within the hearts of the cadets who appreciate it as much as I do. I can only hope that I can give back as much as I have been given. God bless the Long Gray Line.

In my time at 91ÁÔĆć, I have built friendships and relationships that will last a lifetime. I have learned lessons that built upon the values I was taught when I was young. I learned to count on others and work as a team to succeed. Similarly, I realized that my determination and academic successes had been fostered all along by my mother in her need to inspire in me a lifelong pursuit of knowledge.

The moral of this story is that life gives us nothing but opportunity, and it is our choice as to whether or not we take it. Sometimes opportunity only knocks once, and sometimes it doesn’t knock at all, and we must seek it out. We are all capable of greatness if we are willing to visualize the goal and work for it. Our dreams can become a reality, and this reality is the American dream—the dream that lies within our hearts, that beats throughout this nation, that stands true from generation to generation. This dream isn’t only my dream, it’s our dream, a vision for a better future and an opportunity for everyone to pursue their own American dream.

After all, as Walt Disney reminds us, “If you can dream it, you can do it.”

Capt. Sarah Zorn made history in 2018 when she became the first woman to serve as regimental commander, the highest-ranking member of the Corps of Cadets. She graduated in 2019 with a degree in business administration and commissioned in the U.S. Army. She currently serves as a HIMARS platoon leader at Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington.

The post A Dream Fulfilled appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2017

When Lt. Col. Petra Lovetinska Seipel, ’00, returned to her alma mater in March [2017] to speak at the 10th annual Principled Leadership Symposium, her visit coincided with a personally significant commemoration. “It’s an honor to be back, especially today as we celebrate 20 years of women matriculating at 91ÁÔĆć,” said Lovetinska, who was one of the first four women to matriculate into the South Carolina Corps of Cadets and who went on to become 91ÁÔĆć’s first four-year female graduate and the earn a commission in the military.

As the symposium’s opening speaker, Lovetinska highlighted this year’s theme of resilience in a changing world while recollecting her own experiences in character building at 91ÁÔĆć. “Every time you go through an adverse experience, it will help you to deal with something later on in life,” said Lovetinska. “The experiences can be small, but they build up over time because you don’t build resilience overnight. It’s been taking me 20-some years to get where I am today, but it was one experience at a time, and combined, they can do wonders for you.”

In her speech, Lovetinska focused on the current nationwide debate about whether there is a lack of student resilience on today’s college campuses. “I can’t even imagine how some of these students survive daily if they cannot deal with the simple aspects of life,” said Lovetinska. “What you know, what you experience, what you can do for yourself—nobody can take that away from you. So, being able to rely on yourself and your social network is really important.”

Pointing to the trend of some college students being unable to cope with bad grades, Lovetinska emphasized that at 91ÁÔĆć, she had to take responsibility for her own academic performance. “You either studied, or you did not,” said Lovetinska. “I went to the writing center and got a tutor. And I lucked out and actually ended up with a Marine as my tutor, and he was not only the most phenomenal English tutor, but he was also a mentor for me.”

For Lovetinska, the network of support cadets find at 91ÁÔĆć is vital. “Our students are able to live in adversity and are able to manage both the cadet life and getting those grades and keeping them up,” she said. “Resilient people have a good social network.”

According to Lovetinska, becoming resilient requires reaching out for support when needed. “I think coping is the other part of resilience that you have to build up,” said Lovetinska. “Part of building your resilience is being able to talk about it, being able to tell somebody else while getting feedback. Because, at the end of the day, we can’t do all of this stuff on our own—we need that social network.”

Lovetinska stressed that becoming resilient also means taking risks and preparing for hardship. “Part of building resilience is knowing what could happen and how do I react,” said Lovetinska. “We put so much pressure on these young kids to succeed because we just talk about failure as a bad thing. But I think we need to step back and look at failure as a teaching opportunity and as a learning moment. Because if you don’t ever fail, how are you going to learn to deal with crisis?”

Addressing cadets, Lovetinska emphasized the role 91ÁÔĆć experience plays in building resilience in the face of failure. “You are ahead of your peers at other colleges because you decided to take that road less traveled,” Lovetinska noted. “You have walked through Lesesne Gate knowing that you should expect some adversity in your life. If you come to 91ÁÔĆć thinking that it’s going to be easy, it’s not. And I’m sure there have been times you have failed.”

One particularly trying experience Lovetinska recalled was the grueling PT run held after every weekly parade. “On Fridays, there was no meal formation, so the upperclassmen could run us until literally every single one of us fell out,” said Lovetinska. “We were all going to fail at some point, and I remember just coming back from parade, and you would march over the field and come in through one of the sallyports, and I would feel sweat pouring down my back, and I’m just like, ‘Oh my God I can’t do this.’ And you know what—I managed.”

The lessons in resilience Lovetinska learned during those long Friday runs prepared her for challenges later in life. “It worked really well for me because fast forward, the Marine Corps decides that ‘hey we’re going to have our women do pull-ups,’ and I’m thinking I’m going to be out of a job,” said Lovetinska. “And turns out, all you need is a little bit of determination, and you need some friends to help you along, and the next thing I know, I did 10 pull-ups and thought, me? But you have to have some of the experience coming up to it.”

For Lovetinska, building resilience is one of the most valuable aspects of a Citadel education. “You have to take those risks, you have to put yourself out there, to be able to learn what you’re made of,” said Lovetinska. “I think that is one of the things that 91ÁÔĆć taught me.”

Col. Petra Lovetinska Seipel continues to serve in the U.S. Marine Corps. She is currently stationed in Okinawa, Japan, where she serves as the assistant chief of staff for logistics for the 3D Marine Expeditionary Brigade.

The post Lovetinska Returns 20 Years After Matriculation appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2011

In a remote East African country rife with poverty, malnourishment and ethnic tension, former Third Battalion Commander Olivia Perry-Smith, ’05, has given up worldly possessions for a far more rewarding experience in servant leadership—a chance to help the poor.

I was the first white person they had ever seen. More than 100 kids and several curious adults surrounded me as I rolled up my sleeves so they could touch my arms. It was rare to have visitors from the capital city, Bujumbura, and even more uncommon to see a mzungu, or white person, in the area. Hidden in the heart of Africa was a Batwa (pygmy) village I was visiting with a water assessment team. We were there to locate the nearest water source, evaluate what was necessary to provide clean water for the community and assess countless other needs.

The village was one of the most miserable environments I have ever encountered— more than 100 families crowded onto a steep mountainside, living in homes made from sticks and leaves that leaked like a sieve when it rained. Because there were no toilets, I had to stay on the path and watch where I stepped. Goats and sheep were kept inside the tiny twig huts where entire families slept on a small bed. They ate one meal a day, children were severely malnourished and their life expectancy was only 28 years. Yet, as I walked through the village and made new friends, I could not help but smile. I knew something they did not… transformation was on the way. It would be slow, difficult and often heartbreaking work, but it was not hopeless.

Burundi found her way onto my world map through the man I now work for—Simon Guillebaud, the founder of Great Lakes Outreach, a small nonprofit organization that works with Christian partners to fund sustainable, life- changing projects for the people of the Great Lakes region in Central Africa. Simon was speaking at my church in Charleston during my senior year at 91ÁÔĆć, and his first words changed my life forever. I was nearing the end of my cadet career and causing everyone but myself anxiety because I didn’t know what I was going to do after graduation. Somehow, I just knew it would come together. Then Simon said, “I’m not here to ask you to come to Burundi. In fact, I don’t want you to come… unless God calls you. Because I do not want your blood on my hands if you come and you’re not supposed to be there.”

Unlike the others who listened to that same message, I knew I was supposed to go. Not long after graduation, I was off for my first visit to Burundi, which was still in the middle of a 17-year civil war.

Burundi is a small African country whose name means “the other place.” Out of sight and out of mind, Rwanda’s little sister to the south was largely ignored by the same international community that eventually put a stop to the Rwandan genocide. During the hidden years, Burundi suffered the same ethnic tensions between the Hutu and Tutsi as Rwanda, and the minority population of Batwa was altogether forgotten.

When Simon moved to Burundi during the war, he found a handful of Burundian visionaries who wanted to change a place most consider too difficult, too corrupt and too complicated to make a difference. These Burundians recognized that they could not rely on outsiders to solve their own problems, so they would make a difference themselves. And they do it all—orphanages, schools, food and agriculture programs, leadership classes, solidarity with the poor, reconciliation and trauma healing. After two visits, attending graduate school in the U.K. and reconnecting with Simon, I moved to Burundi in 2009 to attempt to fill his shoes as he traveled to help raise support for the work here.

My job is simply to serve those who are making the difference, connect them with the people and resources necessary to transform the country, and when possible, give away some of what I have learned. If “to whom much is given, much is expected,” then recognized that I have a great responsibility to use my gifts, skills and talents to make an impact on the world around me.

Much of the developing world is dependent on international aid. We want to equip our partners so they will eventually be able to support their own work financially, and the people doing these jobs will be Burundians. We empower them, which creates a sustainable future. Through social enterprises and projects in which our partners own the vision, we know that any changes made will endure. Sometimes the job requires servant leadership and doing small, thankless tasks that contribute to a larger cause. Leadership, at its best, is simply service. It is not glamorous, but it is rewarding, especially when I know I’ve contributed to something greater than myself.

As a freshman at 91ÁÔĆć, I would often reflect on how being at the bottom of the pile was teaching me how to do something without the expectation of recognition or praise. Then, as I worked my way up through the cadet chain of command, I realized that the higher the position, the greater the responsibility and the more selfless service required. As Third Battalion Commander, it did not take long to see that though the position was high in the rank structure, it actually meant being a servant of many. I also saw how every individual in that structure is vital. The job at the top is pointless if those at the bottom fail to do their part. It would also be pointless if I failed to recognize their vital role and was unable to provide adequately for those at the bottom. And so it is with working among the poorest of the poor in this world. Everyone wins when the poor are empowered.

The unexpected part of living in Burundi is what I learn from the people around me. As I give away from my bank of education and experiences, I am also learning valuable lessons only the poor and hurting can teach.

One powerful example comes from the Burundian perseverance and ability to forgive after suffering the unthinkable. It continually astounds me. I once shared a story with a group of 200 Burundian university students about how I was able to reconcile with a friend after an estrangement. After the talk, a student came to me with tears streaming down her cheeks. She understood forgiveness. She forgave the man who killed her family despite others telling her not to do this. Now, she walks in freedom and peace without bitterness or resentment in her heart.

This young woman is not an isolated case. Several of my colleagues watched their loved ones being killed and have not allowed past nightmares to darken their future. They bravely pick up the pieces, sometimes even face their enemies, utter the words “I forgive you” and then move forward with a vision of a better place.

Unbound generosity is another lesson. I regularly give away items left by visitors: jackets, shoes, socks, shirts, backpacks. But one day, a man came to give me something back: potatoes and corn grown on his land. All I could do was graciously receive the gift, then turn away and cry. I gave to this man out of the excess of others, yet he returned the gift to me out of his own hard work and from the food that would have fed his family. His generosity has helped me learn how to loosen the grip on my possessions and more freely give from what I have.

When I first arrived in Burundi, I wrote in my journal that I wanted to be “ruined to the world.” I did not want to spend my life trying to fulfill the American dream by struggling for a bigger house, a better car and a larger salary to maintain it all. I wanted something impossible to fulfill with a dollar sign. Because of that decision, I sometimes receive criticism for wasting my life on the poor, but I cannot think of a better place to spend it. I have the privilege of applying what I’ve learned and loving my job. I love where I am, what I am doing and who I am with. Many people ask me when I am coming back to the United States or when I will be finished. The truth is that I have no idea. I only know that it will be time to go when another volunteer who can do my job better takes over, when I have shared all that I know and need to move on to learn more or when a Burundian can take my place. Whichever happens first, my objective is to become obsolete.

The United States is often called the “land of opportunity,” but I feel this way about Burundi. If we can dream it, it can happen, and it needs to happen. In fact, everything needs to happen here. One of my favorite ways to help make this change is by investing in future generations. It is often said that the problem in Africa is not poverty, disease or poor education, but the lack of good leaders. By mentoring and teaching others some of the principles I learned as a cadet, I am optimistic about the next generation of Burundians taking responsibility for leading their country into a better future. Despite many challenges, I see young people beginning to own a vision for a better place. It is an honor to help them not only to dream, but also to make some of those dreams come true by investing time, money and energy in a place that desperately needs the help.

Transformation takes time, a strong resolve and plenty of vision. But transformation is happening in Burundi. In the Batwa village I first visited almost two years ago, dramatic changes have taken place. At the same time, the link between 91ÁÔĆć and Burundi continues to grow. A current Citadel honors student, Cadet Nick Slater, spent his summer in the dirt with some of the poorest people in the world. He gave his time and knowledge to help those who will never be able to pay him back, to show them that their lives matter. His service has contributed to a new water system, 15 new homes, a food program for kids and a clinic that is about to open.

The work here is a beautiful act of service, and one of which I am privileged to play a part. Whether it is a dental team, a medical team or a group coming simply to provide solidarity by building mud bricks, it is all part of healing a land that has suffered more than we can fathom. Not only are the physical needs of the Batwa being met, but the people are finally starting to see that they have a hope and a future. This is work that changes lives.

Olivia (Perry-Smith) McGraw is married to an entrepreneur, Jonathan, has two tenacious daughters, Madeline (6) and Josephine (3), and resides in Colorado. She is aware of the irony in her career shift from the nonprofit world into Unbridled Wealth as a wealth strategist but loves teaching others how to steward their financial legacy. She still serves on the Board of Great Lakes Outreach and dreams of taking her family to Burundi for a summer.

The post Servant Leadership in the Heart of Africa appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2007

A Florida beauty contestant applies to 91ÁÔĆć on a whim and gets in. Why would she choose 91ÁÔĆć and become one of the first 26 women to graduate, and why would she go on to become a Marine JAG?

When she was a little girl, 1st Lt. Nicole Villareal Bastian, ’02, lived in a light blue, three-bedroom stucco house in a working-class suburb of Tampa. With three sisters, a little brother, and a mutt named Freckles who had followed them home from the bus stop one day, it was a noisy and crowded house. In the drive sat a big station wagon that once had wooden panels, but her mother, who worked as a florist, used a hairdryer to melt them off, so the car was light blue like the house. Her father began his career as an enlisted Marine in the 1970s and later became a pilot for United Airlines.

By the time she was in high school, Bastian and her family had moved to a larger house in the Orlando area and traded in the station wagon for a van. Bastian was all over the place—she was the school mascot and a soccer player, she was on the debate team and in Junior ROTC and AP classes, and she competed in beauty pageants. It was while Bastian was in high school that the Supreme Court handed down its verdict to allow women to attend the Virginia Military Institute and 91ÁÔĆć Board of Visitors subsequently voted to allow women into the Corps of Cadets. That was 1996. Bastian joined the Corps in 1999.

Today, on a Saturday afternoon, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, the petite blue-eyed blonde in the early weeks of pregnancy is hardly the image that comes to mind of 91ÁÔĆć’s first female graduate to become a JAG officer. While on the surface her choice of colleges seems unusual, talking with Bastian, you learn that the 26-year-old is a strong- minded young woman who tackles everything she does with determination.

“I was looking at schools for soccer at the time,” said Bastian, who remembers listing 91ÁÔĆć whimsically on her SAT. “I put down Chapel Hill and then I thought, well, I’ll put down 91ÁÔĆć too… and then the brochures came from 91ÁÔĆć, and my parents were really interested in it.”

Her parents were so interested in it that they paid her application fee.

“When I got the acceptance letter, my parents were actually sitting on the couch when I got home from school with the letter in hand, and they hadn’t done that with any of the other schools that I had gotten into.”

Their enthusiasm rubbed off on Bastian, and after a weekend trip to South Carolina, where she fell in love with Charleston and 91ÁÔĆć, she joined the other freshman cadets matriculating in August.

Like her high school years, Bastian’s Citadel years were crammed with activity. She ran cross country and played soccer. She was on the color guard and a member of the rifle legion. She spent a semester studying in Florence, Italy, and she completed the physically demanding Bulldog Challenge.

“I liked it. I liked the class size. I liked what the school offered. I liked that you had a good student to-teacher ratio and that most of the professors on faculty had Ph.D.s, which you don’t find at most colleges. That’s a unique thing for a school, so it just fit. I liked the idea that it was going to be a challenge,” said Bastian. Three years after she joined the Corps of Cadets, Bastian, who began her college career with AP credits, graduated with a degree in political science. As a child growing up, Bastian had looked up to her grandfather, who had been one of the top admiralty lawyers in the nation, so she followed in his footsteps to law school.

“History, writing and English always fit,” she said. “I could bust out an essay with no problems, and I was really interested in politics, especially international politics, and the idea of doing international law was really appealing.”

When her grandmother, who lived in Tampa, invited Bastian to move in and offered to pay her tuition to Stetson University, a private school with a law campus in Tampa, Bastian jumped at the chance and moved back home to Florida. The year started out well. Bastian had fun and was making friends and enjoying the challenges of law school, but then her grandmother became very ill.

“I was her primary caretaker, and she ended up passing away in March of that year, and that was a lot to deal with. I went from having a free ride—a free place to stay and a pretty good lifestyle to not having a place to live, not having money for tuition and having awful grades, and I couldn’t transfer to a cheaper school because I didn’t have the academic credentials.”

It was during this tumultuous time that Bastian looked back to her Citadel experience. “A group project at law school had gone bad. People didn’t show up to work on the project, and I realized that I missed accountability. I missed uniforms. I missed the military lifestyle, so I started running, got into really good shape and signed up for a marathon.”

As she got into better physical shape, Bastian’s life began to take shape too. Her grades were back up in her second year of law school, and she decided to become a Marine Corps JAG officer. The Judge Advocate General’s Corps is an organization that spans all of the services, including the Army Reserve and the National Guard. The corps includes lawyers, legal administrators and specialists, court reporters, commissioned and warrant officers, enlisted personnel and civilians.

“What I like most about being a Marine Corps JAG is that you’re a Marine first. You’re not a lawyer in a uniform. You do all of the Marine Corps stuff. You go to OCS [Officer Candidate School] with everyone else for the entire time. You go to TBS [The Basic School] for six months. You learn how to fire a weapon, how to blow up everything and how to be a provisional rifle platoon commander,” said Bastian. Between her second and third years of law school, Bastian attended OCS for 10 weeks, graduating 11th in leadership out of a student body of more than 300 and winning the physical fitness award.

The history of the Judge Advocate General dates back to 1775, when Gen. George Washington asked the Continental Congress for a lawyer to assist with the courts-martial that were being carried out. Congress appointed William Tudor to do the job, and a new tradition was born. The Marine Corps has some 400 judge advocates serving full time. Judge advocates perform a variety of legal services: military justice, claims, legal assistance, administrative law, government ethics and environmental law. But today, in a time when the enemy holds no regard for the laws of war, JAGs are in greater demand than ever before. In Iraq, weapons are stored in hospitals, insurgents fire from mosques, tanks are parked next to schools and a man carrying a white flag might open fire on U.S. soldiers and Marines. Still, U.S. forces are expected to comply with the laws of war, and JAGs are being called upon to advise commanders.

Bastian is currently stationed at the U.S. Marine Corps Recruit Training Depot on Parris Island, S.C., where she serves as a battalion legal officer for some 500 active duty Marines. When one of the Marines in her battalion is accused of violating the Uniform Code of Military Justice, it is Bastian who investigates.

In addition to investigating the crime, Bastian must ensure that the accused Marine’s rights are not violated during the legal process, and it is also up to her as the battalion legal officer to appoint an officer to preside over the hearing. Bastian, in turn, advises the officer on how to properly conduct the summary court martial. An SCM conducted improperly could be a violation of the Marine’s rights.

Bastian also spends much of her time processing deserters—investigating the circumstances, making a case against the deserter, sending out a form similar to an arrest warrant, discovering the reasons for the desertion and advising the battalion commander about the level of court martial that the deserter should face. At the same time, she works with the military justice officers, who prosecute the case, to keep them abreast of the background and charges.

After she serves for a year as battalion legal officer, Bastian will be assigned to another legal position. She could be assigned to military justice to prosecute cases, to defense, to civil law or to family law.

“Since I am a Marine first and then a lawyer, I can also be assigned to fill any officer billet in the Marine Corps,” she said. “I would prefer to go to Military Justice to get more courtroom experience litigating cases or practicing family law. In law school my favorite class was trial advocacy, and this would give me an opportunity to use my trial advocacy skills as a prosecutor or a defense counsel.”

Bastian and her husband, Joe, are expecting their first child, a daughter, in January. Joe is a golf professional for the PGA, which makes it easy for him to find a job in most places that Bastian could be stationed, so their life together is planned around her assignments. Bastian takes her career seriously; like 91ÁÔĆć, it has become a part of who she is.

“I wear the ring, so I have to hold myself in accordance with the standards that 91ÁÔĆć expects of a graduate for the rest of my life. When you graduate law school and become a lawyer, you take an oath. The same goes for becoming a Marine Corps officer—you take an oath to defend the Constitution of the United States, and that’s just the level of responsibility. It adds and adds, and you have more and more to lose. You have more to fight for, and because of that, you have to conduct yourself in a more mature, more responsible way. 91ÁÔĆć truly helped make me a better civilian and officer of my country.”

U.S. Marine Corps Lt. Col. Nicole Villareal Bastian is currently the 8th Battalion commander for U.S. Military Entrance Processing Command. She earned her bachelor’s degree from 91ÁÔĆć, her juris doctor from Stetson University College of Law and her master’s degree from Marshall University. Her Marine Corps operational experience includes serving with the air wing, the ground combat element, and in joint deployed environments. She has served at supporting establishments in human resources and recruiting capacities. She commanded Recruiting Station St. Louis, putting thousands of new recruits and officers into the Marine Corps. She also serves as the District 9 Director for 91ÁÔĆć 91ÁÔĆć Association.

The post From the Cadet Corps to the JAG Corps: A Young Woman Takes an Unlikely Path appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2005

91ÁÔĆć is not a frivolous place; it is a world of uniforms, marching and challenge where students go not for an adventure but for an intense academic program after which they know they will graduate prepared to become leaders. It is a world where freshman cadets are referred to as knobs because their closely shorn heads resemble door knobs, where knobs walk 120 paces per minute and where they undergo a rigorous system of training called the fourth class system. And when a wide-eyed young woman from Salem, N.J., leaves behind the comforts of home to begin her first year, she is certain to grapple with her feelings for the institution she admires.

When I reported to 91ÁÔĆć in August 2004, I promised myself that the college would not change me. After all, it was just a college. Like so many outsiders, I had been dazzled by the pomp and circumstance of the dress parades, with the bagpipes’ serenade and the senior officers with their shiny swords and big-feathered hats that they called shakos. The grass was so green, the buildings were so white and everything seemed so perfect. Still, I did not understand the fierce loyalty cadets and alumni swore, not only to one another, but to their alma mater. No, I assured myself, this place would never change me. It just did not make sense that a single college could change a person.

I repeated my vow as knob year began. There were days, many of them, when I wondered why I had bothered to report. Matriculation day, Aug. 17, was the worst day of my life. It seemed like I had talked about going to 91ÁÔĆć forever. I had sent my application in more than a year before. My parents and I had made several trips to the campus, including visits for an Honors Program interview and the pre-knob overnights where I, as a prospective academically accepted student, spent 24 hours with a knob. On each visit, my family and I strolled across the perfectly manicured parade field located at the heart of the campus and admired the jet, cannons and tanks on display. We visited the gift shop, and I bought a t-shirt. Why then, I wondered, was this day so different from the others? Then it hit me. This was the culmination of all those preceding days. This was the day I walked across the red-and-white-checkered quad all by myself and accepted the challenge to earn the right to be called a Citadel cadet.

Even as I write this article as a rising sophomore, pangs of the emotions I felt that day and in the days, weeks and months following still haunt me. Never before had I felt so alone and hopeless. Each day I had yet another encounter with the unfamiliar. To start with, there was my room. The dimly lit shoebox where I piled my belongings the first day felt cold and barren with its gray walls, hardwood floor, and metal door and furniture. It was a stark contrast to my bedroom back home with the Mickey Mouse theme, friendly, bright white walls, red down comforter and rich cherry furniture.

Early in the academic year, my best friend e-mailed me from college and went to great lengths to describe how she and her roommate had bought matching bedspreads and posters to hang on the walls in their dorm room. I looked over at the bunk beds we referred to as racks. Not only did my roommate and I have matching bedspreads, but so did the entire Corps of Cadets. Then I looked up at my naked, gray walls. Even if I had wanted to hang a poster or two, I was not allowed. If these simple facts did not make me homesick enough, the last line of her e-mail was the clincher. She wrote about how much she loved college, her roommate, and how happy and excited she was to finally be on her own… I started crying.

It was difficult to love a college where you do cycles of running, sit-ups, pushups, crunches, flutter kicks and relays two times a week for an hour; where you sit up straight on the first three inches of your chair at every meal; where at meals you are required to pop off a fact about the history of the college and know the menu three meals in advance; where you wear a gray uniform all day, every day; where you are required to walk 120 paces per minute and where on the Avenue of Remembrance you walk those 120 paces in the gutter; where you salute and say, “Sir, good afternoon, sir!” to passing senior officers; where you are only permitted to have one 8×10 picture frame on your desk; where your room must be immaculate every morning; where your uniforms are hung in a specific order; where it is not even convenient to sleep between the sheets and certainly not recommended that you bring your favorite teddy bear.

If adjusting to these lifestyle changes, as insignificant as some of them seemed, was not challenging enough, what little vanity we each carried around inside of us came under attack. From the moment I reported, I knew it was only a matter of time before I entered the barber shop to receive the infamous haircut that distinctly denotes a member of the fourth-class system. When the time arrived, I sat in the barber chair, biting my tongue, clenching my teeth and gripping the handles of the chair so hard the blood left the tips of my fingers and they turned white.

I could hear the snips of the scissors around my ears, and while they left me and the other female cadets with some hair, I watched as they completely sheared off the shaggy black locks of the boy across from me. After that, I did not look in the mirror for two weeks. It is no wonder, then, that the vision I had of pomp and circumstance dissipated in the sweat of sweep details and was drowned in the yelling of cadet corporals and sergeants. The drone of the bagpipes, which had once filled my eyes with tears, now became the norm, and the shiny swords and feathered plumes, which denoted senior cadet officers, were now things I wanted to avoid. Upon closer examination, the grass no longer seemed so green, the buildings were cracked and weathered, and the occasional weed sprouted up in the cracks of the sidewalk and quad. It seemed that nothing was perfect.

Life in the barracks was not perfect either. Returning to the barracks every morning from mandatory formation and breakfast, we retreated to our rooms, grabbed the brooms each one of us had been issued and lined up on the gallery outside of our rooms for sweep detail. The knob closest to the outside of the gallery bordering the quad started first and swept the debris that littered the cement walkway toward the wall. The second knob then began and so on until we reached the end of the gallery with a pile of dust bunnies, cigarettes and candy wrappers. This duty had to be performed quickly and efficiently. If we were not fast enough or missed something along the way, our sergeants yelled at us to go back and sweep again. And as we swept we usually recited knob knowledge, which could include the alma mater, the cadet creed and the company chain of command. By the time the bugle sounded and I walked my 120 paces per minute to class, beads of sweat rolled down my cheeks, and the opportunity to sit in a chair and take notes for 50 minutes came as a welcomed relief.

I found my classes challenging, and, for the most part, captivating and interesting. Beyond anything else, I was both pleased and a bit astounded to discover how approachable and eager to help my professors were. I could jot an e-mail or stop by the professor’s office, and if it was not convenient to go over my questions or concerns then, we would schedule a time when we could. Shortly after first-semester midterms, one of my professors I found my classes challenging, and, for the most part, captivating and interesting. Beyond anything else, I was both pleased and a bit astounded to discover how approachable and eager to help my professors were. I could jot an e-mail or stop by the professor’s office, and if it was not convenient to go over my questions or concerns then, we would schedule a time when we could. Shortly after first-semester midterms, one of my professors asked me why I never asked for help on any of my assignments. I shrugged my shoulders and said I did not think it was necessary because I had an A in the class. Still, he insisted I drop by to have my papers critiqued.

As the months slipped away and the year progressed, I settled into my routine as a knob. While it never became easy, it became tolerable after I accepted that sweep details, morning officers, and parades were simple facts of life. I grew accustomed to my short haircut and started looking in the mirror again. At one point I became proud of it because it was a physical symbol that I was a member of the Class of 2008 and that my classmates and I were going through this year, our knob year, together. I had started knob year, and I was going to finish it.

For nine long months, from August until May, I saw through the eyes of a knob the college I swore would never change me. I could never have been more wrong. On Recognition Day, when the Class of 2008 emerged from the fourth-class system, it was as if the fog had lifted and the clouds had parted. As the bagpipes played and my classmates and I lay tired and exhausted in a dirty, sweaty heap, piled on top of one another on the quad around our company flag, tears streamed down my face as we recited the cadet prayer in unison. In my final moments as a knob, I began to understand the passion and fervent devotion upperclassmen and alumni have for the college, for their college. It is something a tourist, a prospective student and, especially, a knob cannot understand. Although my fascination for the pomp and circumstance had not returned, something much deeper and stronger had taken its place. I finally understood that it was not about how loud the bagpipes played, or how shiny the swords were, or how large the plumes on the officers’ hats were. It was not even about how green the grass was or how white the buildings were. None of these things, so impressive to the outsider, is what inspires the bond between the cadets and their college. Everything we did during that year, from mess facts to sweep details and all that was in between, was designed to break us down as individuals only to later rebuild us as a team, wholly and utterly dependent upon one another. In reality, I was correct when I said that a college could not change a person. 91ÁÔĆć, buildings composed of mortar and bricks, did not change me. The fervent devotion cadets and alumni have is not inspired by mortar and bricks. It is instead the final masterpiece of the unity, dependence and common thread of experience forged beginning with knob year that binds them to one another and to 91ÁÔĆć—their Citadel.

A registered nurse, Woodside completed her doctorate degree in nursing and currently serves as patient safety manager for a large tertiary health system in the Northeast, where she has contributed to the development of evidence-based patient safety programs in the long-term care and ambulatory settings. Nominated as a Delaware Today Top Nurse in Quality, Safety and Risk Management, Woodside uses her public relations and healthcare administration background to focus on special areas of interest in healthcare including increasing internal event reporting, decreasing patient appointment no-show rates in primary care, decreasing patient falls and the ethics of policy on geriatric patients’ sexual rights.

The post When Pomp and Circumstance Fade appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2004

When I got on the plane in Atlanta to begin a semester study abroad in South Africa, it was a very foggy, dreary day. It symbolized what I was leaving behind to embark on my journey to a better, more enlightened me. Getting off a 15-hour flight to one of the most beautiful skies I’ve ever seen was the first sign of good things to come during my stay in South Africa. In the days after I arrived, the sky would continue to inspire me in many different ways. The first couple of weeks, the sun welcomed me with strong, powerful rays that left me without a doubt that I was in Africa.

This is my first experience in another country, and I never imagined it would be just that, another culture, not American, not even close to being American. We’re safe watching different cultures on television, but moving to Africa for a semester is an awakening. America may be diverse, but it seems that everyone has something in common with someone else. As an American in Africa, even as an African American in Africa, there is nothing similar about me and the next person except that we both live on the planet Earth. It seems shocking to interact with people who have no knowledge of your history, politics, beliefs or value systems. And I have no clue about theirs. But it is this lack of knowledge that brings us together in cultural exchange.

I am enrolled at the newly consolidated University of KwaZulu-Natal in Pietermaritzburg, which is a merger of two historically racially segregated universities to reflect South Africa’s outlook for a better democracy and improved social relations among its citizens. Pietermaritzburg lies in eastern South Africa in the foothills of the Drakensberg Range, which is in the province of KwaZulu-Natal.

The campus is very big and my classes are far apart. I’ve made good friends with some of the U.S. girls, and I’ve met some very nice African people. I’m learning so much about the history and people of South Africa just from talking with students.

The people in Africa are nice, but some are disappointed when they speak to me in their language, and I can’t understand them. Most residents know at least three of the 11 official languages. In Pietermaritzburg, Zulu is predominantly spoken. Everyone assumes that everyone else knows it. I’m taking a Zulu class, and communication has become easier for me since I learned to say, “I speak very little Zulu.”

Of the 11 national languages, many are characterized by elevating the tone of your voice, so for Americans, it seems as if everyone is shouting, especially if they are talking at 6 a.m. The sun rises at 5:30 every morning, which causes everyone to get up and begin the day at least an hour before Americans.

Being immersed in the South African governing and education systems has given me a greater appreciation for what we have in America, particularly the academic system we have at 91ÁÔĆć. Things guaranteed to us, such as access to books, financial aid and support services, are still developing in South Africa, leaving students to handle most of these issues on their own.

It wasn’t until I got here that I learned just how much America affects the world with our government actions, music and television, which portray social norms, fashion and violence. This year South Africa celebrates 10 years of democracy. Celebrations around the country depict how the people of South Africa have high hopes for their new democratic government as opposed to the oppressive policies under the apartheid government. I have taken for granted the liberties that democracy in America has placed in my life. Water and electricity are basic necessities we have access to in America, but in South Africa they are luxuries thousands of people do not have.

Hip-hop is a major influence on the youth of South Africa. Like young Americans, they idolize rappers and singers broadcast on television. The negative side of gangsta rap and lifestyles are imitated by the youth in the form of gangs with American names, unnecessary tension between race groups and the demoralization of women in song lyrics. But along with this negative influence, hip-hop culture has also had an encouraging effect by showing young Africans that people of color can be successful too and offering them the hope they can one day be in a similar position.

The stress reliever in South Africa is the hourly tea break. Even during class lectures, we have a tea and coffee break. That is hot tea, even when the average temperature outside is in the 80s or 90s. When I first arrived, every meeting, every class break, every function came with tea breaks, and I wondered what was so special about tea. As I learned more about the British influence on South Africa, it became clear that it had more than just a political influence on the culture of South Africa. As my courses have progressed, I find myself, too, drinking tea—five to 10 cups a day.

Everything here is green and tropical. We have zebras just down the road and monkeys that come on campus daily. Imagine attending school in one of those beautiful images you see on the Public Broadcasting Service. That is my university in a valley surrounded by lush mountains, some buildings and small African huts, and an incredibly clear, blue sky.

As I travel across South Africa on the Garden Route, I see Africa’s sky at its best. It is as if an ancestral painter is sitting somewhere up high above the earth, constantly working on his brush stroke across the African sky. One moment he paints the clouds with the movement of the winds; five minutes later, the painting has evolved into another amazing work of art that is breathtaking and wondrous. The sky in Africa reflects my educational experience here—it is constantly changing, just as I am constantly learning.

Robyn Gratic’s study abroad experience was the first step of a childhood dream to live in Africa. In 2007, she moved to Malawi with her husband, a native of the Southern African country and a Charleston Southern University graduate. Today, she homeschools her four daughters, ages 15, 13, 9 and 5, works in her garden and travels through the beautiful landscapes of Southern Africa with her family.

The post Immersion in South Africa appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć, 2004

When his daughter was born on August 4, 1982, Ricky Felts was the first one to hold her, and as the first to have that privilege, the proud father insisted on naming her, too—Rikki. Twenty-two years later, it’s appropriate that she’s named after her father; after all, she’s following in his footsteps. By the time this magazine is published, the senior cadet will have graduated and will be embarking on a career in the Marine Corps.

Why does a young woman just beginning her career choose to go into the Marine Corps? “The bearing and character of the Marine Corps are just something I wanted to be a part of,” says Felts.

In high school, Felts was in Junior ROTC. She applied to 91ÁÔĆć because she wanted a challenge. “I’ve always enjoyed the atmosphere and camaraderie of being with my ROTC buddies.”

As a senior at the military college, Felts has served as the executive officer of Romeo Company. “I loved it because I got to lead parades,” she says.

With graduation just a few days away, she learns that she has completed the semester with a perfect 4.0. “I was really stressed out about it. It’s such a cool way to finish my last semester. When I do something, I like to learn from it, and if I’m not succeeding, I try that much harder.

Trying harder is likely what garnered Felts the respect and friendship of her classmates.

“You bond because you sweat together and you bond for the simple fact that you’re doing everything like the person next to you. You PT until you can’t stand anymore. Knob year is tough.”

Knob year was not the only obstacle Felts had to overcome. “There are classmates who don’t give me the time of day because I’m a female, but that’s okay. I still love this school. Melanie De Santiago, ’01, told me not to use that as a crutch—that just because something happens to you, you can’t look at it like you were targeted because you are a female.”

After graduation, Felts will complete 10 weeks of Officer Candidate School and then receive her commission. In order to be prepared for the grueling physical regimen of OCS, Felts runs and works out three times a week with fellow Marine ROTC cadets. In fact, Felts teamed up with three cadets to take part in the Semper Fidelis Society’s annual Bulldog Challenge, an intense seven-mile endurance test that includes a Marine obstacle course, a stadium run, a firefighter’s carry and team pushups. Felts and her team finished with a time of 1:47:14, and placed second in the all- female teams.

After graduation, Felts will complete 10 weeks of Officer Candidate School and then receive her commission. In order to be prepared for the grueling physical regimen of OCS, Felts runs and works out three times a week with fellow Marine ROTC cadets. In fact, Felts teamed up with three cadets to take part in the Semper Fidelis Society’s annual Bulldog Challenge, an intense seven-mile endurance test that includes a Marine obstacle course, a stadium run, a firefighter’s carry and team pushups. Felts and her team finished with a time of 1:47:14, and placed second in the all- female teams.

Col. Ralph Tice, ’74, commanding officer of the Department of Naval Science and one of Felts’ professors, was impressed with her determination and leadership: “Cadet Felts provided a high level of leadership and motivation for her team. Midway through the competition as her team negotiated the obstacle course, Cadet Felts performed the rope climb portion. This is a very physically demanding event. “It was especially noteworthy due to the fact that she, along with many others, had not been able to successfully climb to the top of this obstacle at the first of this year. Her persistence, hard work and can-do attitude enabled her to overcome this challenge, and on this day, her determination paid off big for her team.”

In the Marine Corps, Felts is interested in pursuing a career in logistics, but as a criminal justice major, she is also interested in eventually earning a law degree or going into the field of law enforcement.

Unlike the service academies, cadets at 91ÁÔĆć are not required to serve in the armed forces. Traditionally, a third of the Corps—cadets like Felts—will go on to serve after graduation. ROTC classes, however, are a requirement of attending 91ÁÔĆć. Cadets must pass one ROTC class every semester.

In her final semester, Felts took Tice’s Naval Science 402 class, Leadership and Ethics. “I wish every cadet in the Corps could take this class,” says Felts. “It’s an eye opener.” The different philosophies and case studies introduced by Tice are thought provoking and force cadets to consider ethical decision making.

At 91ÁÔĆć, though, cadets don’t just study leadership, they witness it first hand in the Corps. Adam Burch, ’03, who served as a squad corporal Felts’ freshman year, made a great impression on her.

“He never raised his voice,” she remembers. “Not once. He didn’t have to. He commanded that kind of authority, and you wanted to do what he asked you to… That’s how you should lead.”

Leading by example—if Felts does it the way she does everything else, she’ll be climbing the ranks.

Following her graduation from 91ÁÔĆć in 2004, Rikki Felts Wittman commissioned in the U.S. Marine Corps where she served for seven years, retiring with the rank of captain. Today, she serves as a high school counselor. She and her husband, Nicholas Wittman,’03, are the parents of three boys— Wesley, Wyatt and Warren.

The post Climbing the Ranks appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.

Originally published in 91ÁÔĆć Magazine, Summer/Fall 2002

They came here for different reasons—for the structured educational environment, to prepare for a career in the military, for the challenge and even because mom said so.

On May 11 [2002], the first Black female cadets graduated from 91ÁÔĆć and walked into the world that awaits them. They did so knowing they’ve accomplished something unique.

“We are paving the way for other Black women, any women really, to have the chance to be here,” said Toshika “Peaches” Hudson of Columbia. “It may motivate or inspire some other young lady to do the same.”

Hudson, a company commander and star on the track and cross country teams, was one of seven African American women who became the first Black female cadets to get their Citadel diplomas. Standing proudly with her were Renee Hypolite of Philadelphia, Pa.; Natosha Mitchell of Dyersburg, Tenn.; Geneive Hardney of Staten Island, N.Y.; Lesjanusar “Sha” Peterson of Chicago; Adrienne Watson of Stanford, N.C.; and Jamey McCloud of Wadmalaw Island.

Their graduation came 32 years after the first African American man joined the Long Gray Line. Charles Foster was the first Black cadet to graduate from 91ÁÔĆć in 1970.

91ÁÔĆć admitted its first class of four women in fall 1996. Today, there are nearly 100 women in the Corps of Cadets. A dozen are already among the thousands of alumni living all over the nation and world. Minorities make up 19 percent of the student body. The Class of 2002 included 20 women and 278 men.

But no matter who you are, 91ÁÔĆć is a challenging environment. Peterson, who serves on the regimental staff this year, said 91ÁÔĆć prepares people for life. “I believe being here has been an eye opener and an experience in dealing with people who are different from myself,” she said. Said McCloud: “The value of a Citadel education is knowing that I can go anywhere and compete with anyone and be able to achieve and succeed as well as they can.”

“What’s significant is I have kept my head strong,” said Hardney.

Said Watson: “My father has instilled in me to never let anyone tell you what you can’t do. To know that I was among the first Black females to break the race and sex barrier makes me proud.”

Mitchell, when asked what she would tell other young women, particularly Black women, considering a Citadel education, said: “Nothing worth having is easy to come by. There will be bad days, weeks and months where you will call home for someone to come get you. Everyone goes through it. You have to come here with the mentality that you belong here and nothing is going to make you leave.”

Like Peterson, Watson is preparing for a military career after graduation. She’s headed into the Army. Peterson is going into the Air Force. It was the military that actually prompted Watson to attend 91ÁÔĆć.

Hypolite had also planned on a military career but wants to go straight to medical school instead.

The post First Black Women Graduate From Corps of Cadets appeared first on 91ÁÔĆć Magazine 2024 Special Edition.