there was, of course, pornography. Wenused to get it at the newsstand from thenold man with the black cigar who wouldnproduce it, literally, from “under-thecounter.”nSometimes it would circulatenthrough the boys’ locker room—usuallynpictures of grotesque Fellini-type whoresnwith missing teeth and billowing rollsnof flab. It was available, all right, butnone came by it furtively. We knew whatnwe were doing; and there was somethingnhonest about that.nBut now that “the Playboy Philosophy”nhas been declared innocent—ornat least innocuous—by the grand jurynof public opinion; now that, as BillnSargent puts it, it “is involved in thenmainstream of our culture and values,”nit is acquired, and consumed, as thoughtlesslynas a pound of bologna. You packnMildred and the kids in the stationnwagon, buzz down to the local drugstore,nplunk your two bucks down onnthe counter, and bring home artful picturesnof absolutely gorgeous youngnDress Gray, Think PinknLucian K. Truscott: Dress Gray;nDoubleday &Co.; Garden City, NewnYork.nby Edward J. WalshnJbrom Cooper to Crane, from DosnPassos to Hemingway to James Jonesnand Irwin Shaw, stories about soldiersnand Army life, sagas of men and warnhave acquired a peculiarly native flavor,nthat has something to do with this country’snhistory. Even the Vietnam novels,nsuch as Philip Caputo’s A Rumor ofnWar, remain in this vein; though Caputonwas torn by his antiwar sentiments, hisnbook essentially and emphatically reaffirmsnthe quality of soldiering that,nthrough good novels and bad, has al-nEdward Walsh is a former officer innthe U.S. Marine Corps.nSOinChronicles of Culturenwomen with their skirts hiked up tonhere—and beyond. There they are, allnlaid out in a row: this one vaguely resemblingnyour neighbor’s wife; that one,nyou fancy, the delicious little tart youninterviewed for a secretarial positionnthis morning. They have straight teeth,ndeep suntans, college educations. Everynone of them is a former cheerleader, ancurrent jogger, concerned about ecology.nMiddle class. When you get homenyou throw them on the coffee tablenpromiscuously with Alistair Cooke andnKenneth Clark, a public pronouncementnthat you buy Playboy for the cartoons,nor the literature, or the interviews, ornwhatever—anything but the crotchnshots. It’s true: the difference betweennthe ’50s and the late ’70s, thanks to annumber of court decisions and the triumphnof “the Playboy Philosophy,” isnthat we don’t give pornography a secondnthought anymore. What’s missing todaynis the plain brown wrapper . . . and anlittle honesty. Dnways been evoked by American writers.nThat is, the quality of honor. But it isnmissing from Lucian K. Truscott’snDress Gray—one suspects, on purpose.nIt has been argued by several of thenflock of critics who have commentednon Dress Gray that it is no less a talenof honor, or at least boldness and courage,nthan the best of our soldier literature.nBut the literary wags who havenpraised Dress Gray as a risque and irreverentnjab at stodgy West Point do sonin a spirit of forced tolerance that seeksnexhaustively to find some evidence ofntalent in a novel they recognize asn”antiestablishment.”nMuch has already been said about thenoddities of Dress Gray: the cardboardncharacters, including the main one,nRysam Parker Slaight III, a farm boynmade to sound like a denizen of a ghettonpool hall; the endless use of the wordnnn”guys”; the inane dialogue; the sheernsilliness of the plot. It would probablynbe a mistake to take Truscott’s book seriouslynas literature; in a remark in anwidely-circulated New York Timesnportrait, he explained that he wantednto write a book people would buy, andnnot “only 5000 copies.” Dress Graynwas the result, and for it Truscott hasnreceived handsome sums. But his booknis being taken seriously by many, preciselynbecause of its calculated iconoclasm.nTruscott, a 1969 West Pointngraduate, has made it clear that he wrotenthe book for the money, and that hencouldn’t care less what people think ofnhis alma mater, or of the stubbornlynenduring values the United States MilitarynAcademy has always symbolized.nBut it is no coincidence that what praisenthe book has received has come fromninfluential sources, and mostly fromnpeople who don’t like what West Pointnstands for. For that reason, Dress Graynought to be dissected, line by crookednline, to isolate what it suggests rathernthan merely what it says.nOriefly, a cadet is found murderednin a lake near West Point, and he is discoverednto have been a homosexual.nGeneral Sherrill Hedges, the commandantnof cadets and a villainously ambitiousnplotter, seeks to keep the circumstancesnof the death quiet in order tonimplicate his superior, the Academy’snsuperintendent, in a cover-up, and thusnleap past him in Army seniority.nEnter Ry Slaight, upperclassman, andna good “guy.” He gets wind of the matter,nand his knowledge forces him tonsolve the case. The victim had been innhis platoon as a plebe—the best of themnall he was. This unsavory suggestion,nthat homosexuals excel at West Point,npasses eventually as the chapters grindnon, full of digressions and the murkynmeanderings of Truscott’s prose, whichnare intended only to make the booknthicker. Practically all of the dozen or soncharacters are treated to long biographies:nalmost the entire lives of thentwo generals, the military lawyer.n