MR. TRASK: Mr. Simms, you are a cover-up artist and you are a liar.

LT. COL. FRANK SLADE: But not a snitch.

MR. TRASK: Excuse me?

LT. COL. FRANK SLADE: No, I don't think I will.

MR. TRASK: Mr. Slade...

LT. COL. FRANK SLADE: This is such a crock of s*.

MR. TRASK: Please watch your language, Mr. Slade. You are in the Baird School, not a barracks. Mr Simms, I will give you one last opportunity to speak up.

LT. COL. FRANK SLADE: Mr. Simms doesn't want it. He desn't need to labeled, "Still worthy of being a Baird man". What the hell is that? What is your motto here? "Boys, inform on your classmates, save your hide. Anything short of that, we're gonna burn you at the stake"? Well, gentlemen, when the sh*t hits the fan, some guys run and some guys stay. Here's Charlie facing the fire and there's George hiding in Big Daddy's pocket. And what are you doing? You're gonna reward George and destroy Charlie.

MR. TRASK: Are you finished, Mr. Slade?

LT. COL. FRANK SLADE: No, I'm just gettin' warmed up. I don't know who went to this place, William Howard Taft, William Jennings Bryan, William Tell, whoever. Their spirit is dead, if they ever had one. It's gone. You're building a rat ship here. A vessel for seagoing snitches, and if you think you're preparing these minnows for manhood, you better think again, because I say you are killing the very spirit this institution proclaims it instills. What a sham. What kind of a show you guys are putting on here today? I mean, the only class in this act is sitting next to me, and I'm here to tell ya this boy's soul is intact. It's non-negotiable. You know how I know? Someone here, and I'm gonna say who, offered to buy it. Only Charlie here wasn't selling.

MR. TRASK: Sir, you're out of order.

LT. COL. FRANK SLADE: Out of order. I'll show YOU "out of order"! You don't know what "out of order" is, Mr. Trask. I'd show you, but I'm too old, I'm too tired, I'm too f* blind. If I were the man I was five years ago, I'd take a flamethrower to this place. Out of order? Who the hell do ya think you're talking to? I've been around, ya know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen. Boys like these, younger than these. Their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there is nothing like the sight of an amputated spirit. There's no prostetic for that.