This Sunday Chronicle op-ed by Houstonian James A. Reynolds, III examines an important facet of Texas’ indelible culture — the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets — and laments the high risk that the Corps will soon wither away at A&M:

The Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M University is dying.
This venerable organization, a prominent component of our state’s first publicly funded institute of higher learning, is withering away. I believe it will be gone within 10 years, perhaps even less.
While our state’s population and Texas A&M’s enrollment are straining upward, accordingly propagating bringing across-the-board expansion for all academic programs, clubs, sports and other activities, the Corps as a whole simply is not following suit. The Corps is, rapidly and inevitably, perishing.

Mr. Reynolds then zeros in on why Corps enrollment is declining:

Compulsory military service after graduation is not a factor. A substantial number of Corps members have no military ambitions at all, and participate as drills and ceremonies cadets, with no armed forces obligation whatever. They merely want to be in the Corps.
The fundamental problem with attracting and retaining Corps members is the difficulty of one’s freshman year in the Corps, the relatively harsh experience of being a “fish.” First-year cadets begin as identical, powerless tiles in a self-contained societal mosaic composed of myriad artificial and onerous rules, requirements and traditions. . .
From the instant you step into the Corps, you relinquish your former self and become fish Jones or fish Reynolds or, as our own governor knows, fish Perry — lacking even the privilege of capitalizing your first name.
Challenging enough when Texas A&M was a small, isolated cow college, the burdens of being a fish today are magnified among a student population dominated by non-regs, ordinary college kids dwelling in a carefree state of parent-funded utopia. The non-regs sleep and eat when the want, they stroll leisurely to classes, they wear shorts and sandals, they shave or don’t, their lives are their own.
Not so for a Corps fish.
Last year at A&M with my old boss, watching cadets prepare to march on Kyle Field before a football game, we saw a dozen struggling, sweating Aggie Band fish double-timing by, each hauling two huge silver sousaphones to the assembly area.
“Look at these kids,” he said. “This is miserable work, but they do it. Most college kids these days just aren’t interested in doing this sort of thing. They look down on it. It’s beneath them. Fact is, it’s just too hard. They can do it, but they don’t like difficult stuff, they hate discipline. They all want point-and-click, immediate gratification. They all want everything to be easy and effortless.”
Which means fewer and fewer incoming Texas A&M University students want to be in the Corps.

Mr. Reynolds then describes the rigidly structured life of a “fish” in the Corps:

The fish must attend all Corps formations and functions. Their dorm rooms are austere, their uniforms plain but perfectly maintained, their privileges nonexistent. The fish must learn the names of all the upperclassmen in their dorms, employing an age-old introductory process, and greet them by name thereafter — causing all shyness to vanish. Freshmen perform numerous duties in their units, from keeping the hallways clean to sounding whistle calls announcing meals and events.
They are constantly supervised by upperclassmen, especially dominated by sophomores who only recently were fish themselves — and whose vigor for enforcing the rules is judiciously tempered by juniors and seniors. The relaxed lifestyle attained after completion of one’s sophomore year allows unalloyed love for the Corps to blossom, along with deep appreciation for the fish experience. But the sophomores are relentless, intent upon ensuring that freshmen toe the line in all respects.
Like it or not, this is a form of hazing. It’s not the horrendous sort of fraternity pranks and initiation rites that yield injurious humiliation — though A&M, like every college, has known isolated occurrences of such — but the infliction is systematic and constant.
For a fish, the Corps is a total-immersion endeavor — every waking moment dictated by regimen, responsibilities and demands of the uniform. Everyone in the Corps, from the newest fish to the eldest senior, scoffs at the “hell week” concept used by fraternities, sororities and other college organizations. One little week of collegiate hell is literally laughable, compared to your fish year in the Corps.

So, what is the purpose? What is the value? Mr. Reynolds answers:

I have met numerous A&M former students who were not in the Corps, but declare they wish they had been. I have yet to encounter a single Corps graduate, male or female, who regretted the experience, who would have attended A&M as a non-reg.
An old boss of mine, a band member Class of ’63, insisted the Corps literally saved his college career, with its upperclassman-enforced nightly study time on Sunday through Thursday. Overall, Corps grades are higher than the general student average.
Several years ago, a friend worried terribly about his son’s decision to join the Corps. My friend fretted that his child — on his own for the first time — would be hazed miserably, tormented into scholastic failure, personal injury and permanent psychological scarring.
My friend was a normal parent: He feared sending his son to college without any sort of supervision. He was afraid of letting go.
A week after his son became a Corps fish, however, my friend was a changed man. His son had been taken into a family, a strict one to be certain, but this young new Aggie was anything but unsupervised.
Frank and his wife subsequently became enthusiastic Corps parents, dedicated Old Army supporters. Both wept proudly upon seeing their son wear senior boots, and they hoped their young daughter, too, would attend A&M and join the Corps.

I hope Mr. Reynolds is wrong, but I share his concern about the future of the Corps. It is a difficult to sell the long term benefits of sacrifice and hard work within a culture that worships instant gratification. If we Texans lose the Corps, then we will lose an important part of what defines our culture, and I submit that what replaces it to define our culture in the future is unlikely to have the salutary attributes of the Corps.