Oftentimes I feel Old Bill staring back at me from Mathew Brady’s photo. That old soldier’s glance is still a sharp and penetrating glare, frozen in time by the magnesium powder flash of a 19th century photographer’s studio. His high stiff uniform collar barely seems to contain the ramrod spine and iron will of the man. His words are legend at the school he led so well back in the day. Even today, hundreds of young men and women daily strive to commit his words to memory and serve with them throughout their careers.
I learned his words too, even though they were in another place and time, hundreds of miles removed from the hallowed halls of that institution on the high bluffs overlooking the Hudson Valley.