“Let’s just say I value what this text book says about the guy more than I value your opinion of him,” Hailey nodded.
“Mr. Cohen, I would be very interested to know more about your thoughts on the subject. Would you mind sharing?” Mrs. Simmons asked as she crossed her arms, sat on the edge of her desk and waited, seemingly eager to hear his reply.
Misty leaned over to Hailey. “Look how excited she is to finally have someone who cares what she’s talkin’ about.”
“Custer was a pompous, arrogant fool,” Grant said confidently.
“You would know the type,” Hailey snickered.
Misty leaned toward Hailey’s ear again. “What is he doing here? Is this why I haven’t heard from you all weekend? I had no idea where you disappeared to.”
“Why weren’t you at church yesterday?” Hailey whispered.
“I miss church one week all year, and you show up with the best thing that has ever happened to you?” Misty contemplated.
“Hardly,” Hailey scoffed.
“Hailey, what kind of friends are we?” Misty sighed. “Your summer crush shows up out of the blue to redeem the error of his ways, and I don’t even get the courtesy of a phone call?”
“Keep your voice down, please!” Hailey swatted Misty away with her folder, only to notice the huge blob of whiteout covering a doodle that had, not long ago, read H.N. hearts G.C.!
“Well, let’s see what I can tell you about good ole George,” Grant pondered as he leaned back in his seat. “First off, the guy graduated dead last in his class at West Point; history wouldn’t even remember his name had it not been that he graduated at a time when, because of the war, the Army was in desperate need of new officers. He saw to it that he became a media darling promenading as a hero by launching a public relations campaign worthy of an attention crazed A-lister and not a military officer. Custer abandoned his troops in battle and left them in hostile territory to be massacred; he made critical mistakes brought on by his own bravado. None of that is acceptable.”
“But,” Misty broke in, “it says he won battles…”
“That’s all fine and dandy,” Grant shrugged. “What it doesn’t tell you is that this guy was so full of himself that he couldn’t be satisfied with a distinguished war record. His own ego led him to abandon morality is search of glory. Does the book tell you that he abandoned Major Joel Elliot and his eighteen men who had ridden off after the enemy? Custer never even bothered to look for them! That isn’t the way a general in the U.S. Army operates.”
“Why didn’t he look for them?” Paul asked curiously.
“My opinion,” Grant sighed, “the man was always looking out for number one, and he couldn’t have cared less about the men below him. I’ll give you an example. You’ve all heard of Custer’s Last Stand. Well, what you probably don’t know is that Custer chose to attack on Sunday, June 25, 1867. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why…the guy had plans…he thought big…huge…”
“What was significant about June 25th?” Misty asked, caring little about the answer but lots about how Hailey looked at Grant when he spoke.
“The way Custer saw it, he had one day before the democratic national convention,” Grant said with an air of confidence that was engaging. “Attacking on Sunday, when his men and his horses were exhausted was no oversight. He knew he was outnumbered, but he was so disillusioned that he didn’t care. Custer thought he could win the battle, be proclaimed a national hero, play off his popularity with the public and get himself nominated for the presidency. War was a game of self-promotion to him, and a lot of men died because of his negligence.”
“So why didn’t he win the battle?” Paul asked.
“Because his men and horses were tired,” Misty suggested, chiding Paul for not hanging on every word Grant said, the way she was.
“Yeah, that too,” Grant smiled. “But, his biggest problem can be summed up in one word…reconnaissance.”
“And what does that mean, pray tell?” Hailey rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you intend to enlighten the rest of us ignorant…”
“He didn’t know where his enemy was,” Grant cut her off. “He knew he was outnumbered, but he didn’t know how many of them he was up against, where they were positioned or how he should best formulate a plan of attack. Then, on top of that, he split his command. The number one rule of battle is …”
“Okay,” Hailey chuckled. “You’ve impressed everyone. Everyone give him a round of applause. We’ll all write in the margin of our text books that this does not necessarily coincide with definitions presented by the great war scholar Grant Cohen who thinks he knows it all…well, because his daddy is a four- star general.”
“I would wholeheartedly concur that my father’s rank certainly does not make me an expert,” Grant shrugged. “I mean that would be like thinking that just because your daddy is a basketball coach that you’ve got game.”
Hailey’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You know I can play ball, Grant!” she insisted as she swatted his shoulder with a resounding pop.
“Miss Nelson, I’m surprised at you. That’s not the way we behave in this classroom,” Mrs. Simmons scolded.
“Sorry,” Hailey groaned.
Grant smiled, massaging his shoulder and milking Mrs. Simmons’ sympathy.
“What are you smiling like that for?” Hailey asked as she shoved him.
“You’ve got spunk…I like it,” Grant shrugged.
Hailey turned away, rolled her eyes, leaned her elbow against her desktop and, bringing her pen top to her mouth, she smiled.
“Hailey!” Paul cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled down the hallway. “Get over here! We need to talk!”
“Go!” Misty urged, almost too eagerly. “I’ll walk Grant to our next class.”
Hailey grabbed the strap of Misty’s backpack and pulled her toward her. “Ask him anything about last summer, and I will kill you,” she whispered.
“Me?” Misty sighed with an innocent tilt of her head.
Hailey trudged toward Paul, knowing all too well what he had to say.
Misty was cute and friendly in a way that made Grant immediately comfortable around her, even if he occasionally had trouble following her long, rambling explanations. She was significantly shorter than Hailey’s five foot eight inches and not nearly as fit, but, unlike Hailey, she wore makeup; she had pierced ears, and her fingernails were painted hot pink.
Grant glanced back at Hailey and saw her talking to Paul who was using frantic hand motions to make a point. As Paul talked, Hailey tugged a ponytail holder from her wrist and began gathering her mop of hair into her hands. Without a mirror or a moment’s worth of vanity, she tied her hair up into a lopsided fountain of curls.
