The Power of Testimony

’TIL WE MEET AGAIN
through a waltz to the sounds of barely suppressed laughter.
All I could do was smile, shrug, and hope the moment
would pass quickly.
When it came to flying, life at Saint Mary’s was more
competitive than it was at Gonzaga. Perhaps this was
because the program was getting tougher, or perhaps it was
simply due to the new mix of personnel, with personalities
that often clashed. Either way, the officers had started
reminding us how hard it was going to be to pass the
course—​as if we needed reminding.
As I heard more about the demanding study requirements,
I was growing increasingly concerned. And for the
first time, I also found myself unable to get along with a
fellow cadet.
His name was Wetzler. Like me, he was from Ohio—​
only his part of town was far nicer than my neighborhood.
Since our names were Wetzler and Whipps, we often found
ourselves paired up for physical training. We had to pull
each other out of the water for lifeguard drills, which was
easy enough for Wetzler but a challenge for me, given
that my partner had played high school football and was
pushing 175 pounds. It was even harder when he wouldn’t
cooperate. He’d just hang in the water while I tried to haul
him out, a wise-​guy smirk painted all over his face.
Wetzler may have had it easier in the pool, but the
advantage was mine when it came to putting on our tennis
shoes, shorts, and T-​shirts and heading out to run.
As we lined up one morning, we were given these
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