Category: Leadership

The End of the Beginning; Graduation Finally and On to the Army, Oh!

I have a belief that often nothing is easy. But I also believe that Adversity is often our best teacher. And such was the case as I approached graduation and commissioning at the academy in the spring of 1972. I had developed a persistent cough during the winter and no amount of anti-biotics or other remedies seemed to make it go away. The doctors at the academy finally sent me down to St Albans Naval Hospital in New York City to be evaluated.

My evaluation consisted of breathing into a tube to measure my lung capacity. As I was doing it as hard as I could, which made sense to me, the Navy corpsman administering the test told me not to blow so hard because it would screw my results up. I accordingly backed off. What I did not realize is that the corpsman assumed, since he was a draftee, that I did not wish to go into the service so I wanted to actually fail this test. And I did indeed fail thanks to my ‘helpful” corpsman and a finding of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) was placed into my medical file. When it came time for my commissioning physical, I was told that due to COPD, I was ineligible to be commissioned. Having never considered any other calling than being a soldier this placed me in a real quandary. I had never considered a civilian career and had not a clue on what I would do.

Not too long after being informed I would not be commissioned I was summoned to the Regimental Tactical Officer’s (RTO) office. I had no idea why I would be summoned to his office because I knew I had committed no crimes to warrant such a visit. My tactical officer told me the subject was my commission. I went as instructed and the RTO was exceptionally friendly. He told me I needed to apply for a waiver to be commissioned and that he had a “buddy in the Army Surgeon General’s Office who would grease the skids and get my waiver approved.” That sounded great to me and I readily agreed to apply for the waiver. My tactical officer had told me to come see him after I saw the RTO.

My tac was an infantry captain named Bob Higgins and was all soldier. I had (and still have) the utmost respect for him. He reminded me that I needed a two-part waiver. One part to be commissioned and the second part to be commissioned in the combat arms. He said he wasn’t really sure the RTO could get that second part approved even if he had a buddy who would “grease the skids”. He didn’t say the RTO couldn’t make it happen but advised caution before I submitted the waiver. Being naïve as hell, I took the RTO at his word. He had specifically said he could make it all happen, both parts. I applied for the waiver. We were to select our branch and first duty assignments that night over in Thayer Hall as a class and I was told by the RTO to select what I wanted because my waivers would be approved.

I went to the branch selection and to my surprise the RTO showed up and stood beside me when I selected Infantry and my first assignment to the 101st Airborne Division. He slapped me on the back and made a big deal about congratulating me and shaking my hand in front of all my classmates. I felt good about it all and was on Cloud 9. I was on my way. West Point, which was the beginning for me, would soon be over and I could finally get on with being in the Army as an Infantry officer, my goal from the first day I arrived at the academy.

Ah, but not so fast Grasshopper. About two weeks before graduation I received a note to go to the Adjutant General’s (AG) office up at headquarters. The note only said the subject was branch selection. I went as instructed and a young specialist told me I couldn’t go into the Infantry because the second part of my waiver had been disapproved. I had to pick another branch in the technical and administrative branches. I was required to see each and every branch representative before I made my choice. All the branch reps were officers assigned to the Academy as instructors or staff officers. I had 72 hours to complete my interviews and make a selection. I went directly from AG to the RTO’s office. I just knew there had been some mistake and he would set it right!

When I got to his office, I saw the RTO sitting at his desk. Following the proper protocol, I asked his secretary if I could see the RTO. He saw and heard me and got up from behind his desk and came towards his door. I faced the door in anticipation of him inviting me into his office and was stunned when he looked me right in the eye and closed his door in my face. His secretary was also surprised and for a moment said nothing. Her phone rang and it was the RTO telling her he would not see me. She passed his message to me and said she was very sorry. So was I.

I went down to Captain Higgins’ office and he invited me in. I told him what had just happened with the RTO and he was visibly angry. He reminded me that he had a bad feeling about the waiver from the very beginning which he had passed on to me. I acknowledged his earlier advice and asked what now? Could I decline commissioning? No, I could not. That waiver had been approved and I was stuck. Could I reapply for the combat arms waiver? No, I could not. That decision was final. I was well and truly screwed at this point.

I went through the motions of meeting with all the branch reps and asked such meaningful questions as what color was the cuff band on their blue uniform? I told these officers straight up that I did not want to go into the support branches. Some of them pitched their branches harder than others, but most understood and just signed off on my chit that I had seen them. I eventually picked the Adjutant General (AG) corps because the branch rep promised me after my first assignment in Germany I would be assigned to the US Virgin Islands. We both knew he was lying but I figured what the hell at that point. I was out of airspeed, altitude and options, AG was the last branch rep I visited. So, I was commissioned AG and was decidedly unhappy about it. Graduation was now about one week away.

Normally I would have consulted with my dad on all of this, but he was in Vietnam on a two-year tour. He was the senior advisor for Special Tactical Zone 44 which was the Cambodian and Laotian borders where the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) launched their Easter Offensive to finish the war on their terms. My dad had much bigger fish to fry to stem the NVA attacks led by tanks and heavy Russian artillery than to hear about my commissioning woes. That, and I had no real way of communicating with him other than by mail which took a while. (See link for more on the Easter Offensive if you’re interested: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Easter_Offensive)

The two-year tour allowed my mother and two younger sisters to be stationed at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines. My dad could home once a month for a weekend, war permitting. He hadn’t been home much that spring due to the NVA offensive. Neither he nor the rest of my family could come to my graduation as a result. Dad couldn’t get away and it was too expensive for my mom and sisters to fly home from the Philippines. My oldest sister living in Maryland was nine months pregnant with her first child and was not allowed to travel. The girl I was dating at the time and her family would be there but nobody from my family.

About three days before graduation the CQ came rushing into my room to tell me I had a phone call from Vietnam! I went into the orderly room and an operator told me that I had a call from Vietnam through the MARS system (Military Amateur Radio Service I believe. Ham radio operators would take transmissions from overseas and link them into the civilian phone network back in the States). After I got on the phone, another operator came on and told me to use standard radio protocols when speaking; over, roger, say again and so forth. It was my dad. He told me he had just gotten my letter about the commissioning fiasco and he gave me the names of several general officers he knew in the Pentagon who may be able to help me get back into the Infantry. He had contacted these officers and they knew I would be at the Pentagon the day after graduation. He also told me that my Uncle Craig, his youngest and only remaining brother (his other younger brother Jack had been killed as an Infantry officer with the 1st Cav Division in the Korean War) would be at my graduation and would swear me in to the Army in his place. I was ecstatic that Craig was coming. He was one of my true heroes, earning the Distinguished Service Cross in Vietnam while in the Special Forces.

Dad told me how proud he was of me for making it through the academy when I hadn’t finished high school and his academy grad friends pretty much said it couldn’t be done. Dad apologized several times about not being able to come to the graduation and I told him I fully understood that his duty was to remain in Vietnam until the current battle was over. He said they were holding their own, but it had been a tough fight. The history books would agree with that assessment. The NVA went full out and still did not finish the war. They would not achieve that until all US forces and advisors had withdrawn in 1975. I signed off the radio call when Dad said he had to get back to the war and then called my girlfriend to coordinate Craig’s arrival and link up with her family for graduation. Her folks kindly asked Craig to stay with them and picked him up at the airport.

Craig swore me in and I was a brand-new AG officer. He helped me pack up my car, then we hit the road for Washington that afternoon. We stayed with my older sister in her one bed room apartment, sleeping on a couch and the floor. We got up early the next morning and headed for the Pentagon. Each of the general officers Dad had coordinated with were very cordial, very complimentary about my dad and me for graduating, but also unable to help. This added to a day that hadn’t started well to begin with.

I had a silver dollar in my pocket and was going to give it to the first enlisted soldier who saluted me, which is an old Army tradition. With my luck of late, the first soldier we ran into was in the parking lot of the Pentagon. Craig was a major in uniform and I was a 2LT in uniform and the little bastard walked right by both of us and failed to salute at all! I called him back, made the on the spot correction for him failing to salute, then showed him the silver dollar he could have gotten if he had shown the proper courtesy. He asked if he could still have it since he had just saluted me (after I told him to!) and I told him hell no! Cheeky little bastard.

So, the day in the Pentagon was a bust. Craig suggested we go see the Surgeon General to see if we could get anything done there. A very old and kindly doctor who was a colonel took the time to meet with us. He was very apologetic but said that he was “a bureaucrat and had made a bureaucratic decision” on my case. Now that he met me and saw that I was obviously fit, he regretted his decision, but it was irrevocable. I asked him who else had been involved in my case and he said just him. I asked if my RTO from West Point had contacted him and he said he not heard from anybody at West Point. So much for the integrity of my RTO who had a buddy, etc.! We thanked him for his time and departed. Craig then opined that the only thing left was to go over to Officer Personnel Management down by the Potomac River and see if we could get anything done with Infantry Branch. It was kind of a last-ditch effort at that point. We had nothing else to do so off we went.

We walked into Infantry Branch and the receptionist saw my AG brass and said, “Sir, you’re in the wrong branch. AG Branch is upstairs.” I responded that I absolutely was in the wrong branch and wanted to see if I could get into the Infantry. I explained that I had graduated from West Point the previous day. She asked us to take a seat and she would see if any of the assignment officers would talk to me. Craig was an infantryman so he was not out of place. I, on the other hand with my AG brass, got several odd looks from others waiting to be seen.

There is a saying in the old Army that goes like this, “Would you rather be lucky or good?” It pertains to mission accomplishment. A lot of folks discount luck as a factor in military operations but I can assure them it is often very much a factor. General Douglas MacArthur when he was in the Pacific during World War II would ask prospective commanders if they were lucky. If they hesitated too long or said no, he didn’t take them on. He very much believed in the luck factor in warfare. I would always rather be lucky than good if given the option and that was very much true that day in Infantry Branch.

After only a very short wait, a captain came out of the branch offices. He looked at me and I looked at him and he said, “Chamberlain, what the hell are you doing in AG?” I went forward and shook his hand and couldn’t believe that my old Beast Barracks company commander, Greg Foster was going to hear my story! My luck was in. Captain Foster remembered me from Beast and took Craig and I back into the branch offices and I told my tale of woe. As I was looking around while Captain Foster made a few calls to the Surgeon General and so forth, I saw that Infantry Branch had a new branch chief, none other than LTC Wade Hampton (great grandson of the famous Confederate Civil War General Wade Hampton).

LTC Hampton had been one of my dad’s lieutenants when Dad was a company commander in Germany in the late 1950’s. I told Captain Foster that I knew LTC Hampton and he was a friend of my dad’s. Captain Foster said that was great because LTC Hampton would have to approve my request to get back into the Infantry. My luck was definitely holding! Captain Foster said that if AG Branch would release me, I could come back to the Infantry. He said that might not happen because AG got almost no academy grads each year and may not let me go. On that somber note, Craig and I went upstairs to AG Branch. I was not hopeful based on what Captain Foster had just told us.

We went into AG Branch and I stated my case to the receptionist. She called back to the branch chief who came out to take me back to his office. As soon as he came out of the door, he lets out with a yell,
“Craig Chamberlain! Is that really you? What the hell are you doing here in AG Branch?” Craig steps forward and these two guys are shaking hands and obviously very happy to see each other. Craig turns to me and explains that Major So and So was his seminar seat mate at Command and General Staff College and were fast friends. Major So and So says that Craig got him through Tactics, the toughest course at the staff college! We go back to Major So and So’s office and he explains he is the acting AG Branch Chief, the real chief being on leave for a few weeks. Craig tells him about the Surgeon General admitting his mistake and that Infantry Branch wants me back, but AG has to release me.

Major So and So tells me I am the only academy grad they got this year and says that if I stay AG, I will be the two star Army Adjutant General someday. He strongly advised me to stay in AG branch. But, he says, if I really want to go, he out of loyalty to Craig, will sign the release even though he knew his boss ‘would be mad as hell about it”. He asks me to think about it overnight and come back in the morning with my decision. Craig and I thank him profusely and swing by infantry Branch to tell them what transpired. Captain Foster tells me the branch chief had called in and would be there tomorrow and wanted to pin on my crossed rifles once he heard about my case. If I didn’t mind that is. I said I would be honored for Colonel Hampton to pin on my Infantry brass!

I took Craig to the airport to catch his flight back to Fort Jackson where he was stationed at the time. I told him we had been lucky, and I couldn’t have done it without his help. Being friends with the acting AG Branch Chief was the key. Craig said no sweat, glad to do it and to say hello to my dad and off he went. Later in life I was to spend many happy hours on the phone with Craig after we had both retired from the Army. I had the honor of delivering his eulogy upon his passing several years back. Like my dad, I miss him every day. And like my dad, Craig was the epitome of what I believe a professional soldier and warrior should be.

I went back to AG Branch the next morning with my “decision”. The major had anticipated my decision and smiled as he handed me my release form already typed up and signed. He wished me luck in the Infantry. I can say after thirty years’ service in the Infantry that I have no regrets and that I never met another AG officer of his caliber and professionalism. I regret that I cannot remember his real name and I hope he didn’t get in to too much hot water over letting me escape.

LTC Hampton grabbed me as soon as I walked into Infantry Branch and told everybody about how I used to hang out in the company when I was a kid and even went to the field with them back in Germany; all true statements. He pinned my crossed rifles on me and promised he’d get a message to my dad letting him know that everything had worked out okay. My next step was to arrange for my schools and pick my first assignment all over again. I was turned over to Captain Major (his real name) to execute all of this.

Captain Major asked me why I had picked the 101st Airborne Division for my first assignment. I told him I wanted to serve in the airborne. He told me only one brigade in the 101st was still airborne and it was scheduled to come off jump status sometime in the near future. He said if I still wanted airborne, I’d have to go to the 82d Airborne Division. I said that was what I wanted to do. At that point Captain Major said my schools and first assignment were all set but he couldn’t give me a set of orders reflecting all of that. He explained that if he cut orders there in Washington, a copy would go to the Surgeon General and they would probably get my orders revoked and I’d be back in the AG corps. I was instructed to report in to Fort Benning, Georgia with my AG orders telling me to report in to Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. And that is what I did. My real orders would be cut at Fort Benning where no copies go to the Surgeon General.

I reported in to Fort Benning with about a thousand other second lieutenants in early August. When my turn came to hand over my orders to the clerk, I handed them over. The clerk had been inprocessing hundreds of lieutenants that day and was clearly bored and tired. He glanced at my orders, started to enter them into a manual log he was keeping when he suddenly did a double take of the orders and blurted out, “Lieutenant, where do you think you are?” I gave him a dead serious look and said. “This is Fort Benjamin Harrison, ain’t it?” He went nuts. He started hollering for his sergeant. “Sergeant, sergeant! This lieutenant thinks he’s at Fort Benjamin Harrison! Sergeant!” All the while he’s hollering, I’m saying, “No, I’m really supposed to be here! I was just kidding you!” The sergeant finally comes up, looks at my orders and says, “Sir, why are you at Fort Benning and not Fort Benjamin Harris like your orders say?” I tell him that Captain Major had instructed me to come to Fort Benning. He looks at me and says, “Captain Major? Yeah right, sir. Could it have been Captain Captain who told you or maybe it was Lieutenant Lieutenant?” So, he wasn’t buying it. I get told to get out of line and go see the Infantry Branch representative in Building 4 which was the headquarters and the schoolhouse.

I go to Building 4 and after wandering around a bit, discovered the Infantry Branch representative’s office. I go in and explain to the receptionist the purpose of my visit. The Branch rep is out of the office but expected back soon. I wait. The Branch rep finally comes in and I stand up when he enters. He’s a captain and with no preamble says, “What the fuck do you want lieutenant? Why are you in my office.” I explain that I had just branch transferred into the Infantry and I needed new orders. He tells me bullshit and to stop wasting his time. He is not a nice person. I tell him he needs to call Captain Major up at Infantry Branch in Washington and he would give him the details for my schools and first assignment. He says bullshit again, he’s never heard of any “Captain Major” and if I am indeed in the Infantry my choices of first assignment are either Fort Jackson or Fort Leonard Wood, both basic training assignments. He summarily tells me to “get the fuck out of my office” at that point and be prepared to tell him which of the two basic training assignments I wanted at 0800 tomorrow morning. Since I had not been allowed to sign in, I could not have orders to check into the BOQ, so I slept in my car that night.

When I reported back to the Branch rep the next morning his demeanor had completely changed, and we were best of friends. He even offered me coffee and a seat in his office. He told me he had been just kidding about my first assignment. He knew I was going to the 82d Airborne Division and congratulated me on my choice. He then said Major Major had instructed him to call when I came in. He duly called Infantry Branch up in Washington and asked to speak to Major Major. Major Major talked to the captain briefly then asked to speak to me. The captain stepped away a few feet but clearly he wanted to listen to what I have to say. I congratulate Major Major on his promotion and ask if everybody is totally confused now that he is Major Major? He laughs and says it’s been fun so far. He then says, “That captain is a real asshole, isn’t he?” Knowing that the captain is listening I say, “Absolutely, sir. Without a doubt. He took good care of me!” Major Major laughs and says, “Yeah, when he called me he started off by saying some dip shit lieutenant had come in with a sob story about needing orders. When I asked him if the “dip shit” was named Chamberlain and that we’ve been waiting to hear from him up here he about choked. Anyhow, he’s clearly the wrong guy to have in that job so we’ll be removing him this week.” I said, “Thanks, sir! That would be great, and I appreciate that and everything else everybody has done for me this week.” The captain smiles. He thinks I mean him. I don’t. I say goodbye to Major Major and the captain tells me to come back in half an hour and my orders will be ready. He tells me there is a snackbar on the first floor if I want to grab a bite or I can hang out in his office if I want. I go to the snackbar instead. I get my orders and I’m on my way.

What I learned from this all, and every word of it to include names is accurate, is that even though we were steeped in the Honor Code at the Military Academy to wit, “A cadet does not lie, cheat or steal nor tolerate those that do”, it was not necessarily embraced by all those in the officer corps. My RTO stunned me when he closed that door in my face. As my tac suspected, there was never a hope in hell that the second part of my waiver would be approved. In a way he did me a favor by educating me on the real world and I couldn’t have sneaked my way back into the infantry if I hadn’t been commissioned. And if I hadn’t gotten back in the Infantry and gone to the 82d Airborne Division, I never would have met my lovely wife of 43 years with five kids, eight grand kids and 22 moves together to show for it! So, in a way I owe him. But it was tough to accept an officer not being truthful at the time but being too idealistic is also not a good thing, I guess. What I really learned was that I’d rather be lucky than good any day of the week!

Post Script: One day in 1980 when I was in graduate school at Duke University, I got a letter from AG at Fort Benjamin Harrison. (When you go to grad school your records are managed by AG at Fort Ben as they call it.) Some studious sort who had more time than sense had gone through my records and pointed out that there were no orders transferring me from AG to Infantry. Fortunately, there was an option in the prepared response letter they enclosed that gave me the out to say with a straight face that I personally did not have a copy of those orders to send them (since they had never existed in the first place!). They promptly cut orders transferring me to the Infantry with an effective date of 9 June 1972, two days after graduation. By that time, I had spent almost eight years in the Infantry with the first six of those years continuously in the 82d Airborne Division. I went from rifle platoon leader to company commander to acting battalion S3 in those six years. Then I went to the Infantry Advanced Course followed by graduate school and then off to West Point as a tactical officer. More to follow on those adventuresome times!

I was assigned to the 1st Battalion 28th Infantry Regiment in July 1970 for my Army Orientation Training (AOT) as a cadet. It was my chance to be a platoon leader in the real Army for five weeks and decide if I wanted to continue at West Point before I became obligated to stay and graduate with a commission. This decision to stay or go had to be made before the first academic class attendance in the upcoming academic year. Once that first class was attended, you were obligated. I could quit later before graduation but would have to enter the Army as an E4 to fulfill my service obligation. AOT was scheduled in the summer between “yearling” (sophomore) year and the beginning of “cow” (junior) year.

The 28th Infantry was one of the historical regiments of the 1st Infantry Division, the Big Red One, that was formed in 1917 for the American Expeditionary Force (AEF) that went to France to fight the First World War. The 28th had been with the Big Red Once since that time. It was a storied regiment that had a very proud history. The regimental name was the Black Lions of Cantigny, their first real battle in World War One where it fought with great distinction.

The 1st Division had recently returned from six years of combat in Vietnam that spring. The division had fought with great valor and distinction in that war which was becoming increasingly unpopular with the American people by 1970. It was an honor and an education to serve with this division, albeit, briefly. The division was not altogether prepared to have upwards of fifty cadets descend upon it over the summer.

Our accommodations as cadets was in the old hospital area on main post of Fort Riley. These buildings dated from the First World War and were wooden clapboard affairs. As we went to enter the building, one could not help noticing a notice posted on the front door that said, “Building Condemned”! Once we entered, we understood the notice. Each of us was assigned to a room that contained a steel bunk, a small metal desk, metal desk chair and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The latrine was down the hall. Each room had a single window which we immediately opened.

I have a knack I’ll share now that will repeat itself throughout my writings. Anywhere I go in the Army, past or present, the weather will be the hottest it’s ever been in five hundred years or the coldest it’s ever been in a thousand years. Fort Riley in the summer of 1970 set a record for heat. When we arrived, it was about 110 degrees Fahrenheit and the rooms we were assigned were hotter than that. There was no air conditioning and a single floor fan was out in the hallway ineffectually blowing down the long hallway corridor. We stowed our gear after opening the windows and went back outside to draw our linen; two flat sheets, a pillow case and an OD blanket. We could not see the necessity of the blanket, but it was part of the issue and was on the pre-printed hand receipt we signed. If you didn’t take it, you would still owe a blanket when you cleared your hand receipt. Such is the Army supply system.

We went back inside and made our bunks. We stacked our field gear in a corner and hung our uniforms up on the bar provided which was suspended from the ceiling on commo wire. About an hour later our sponsors showed up to meet us and coordinate for our first duty day the following Monday morning. My sponsor was 1st Lieutenant Ernie Thompson who was a really good, down to earth guy. Ernie had not been to Vietnam yet and was awaiting orders to go. Although he drove a car to meet me, he sheepishly admitted that he was married and would have to leave the car with his wife each day. He said we would ride to and from the company on his motorcycle. I asked him what type of bike he had, and he said a Honda 90. For the uneducated, the Honda 90 had a 90cc engine which could take one person on a flat road at about 60 miles per hour. It could take two people on that same road at about 45 miles per hour and I was to learn the next morning that it could take those same two people up the steep road to Custer Hill where the company was located at about 25 miles per hour. All the other traffic was doing 40 miles per hour and honking and passing us in the dark. We were not popular on that road. The average lawn mower today has a bigger engine than Ernie’s motorcycle.

We learned that there were no eating establishments within walking distance of our accommodations except the Officer’s Club which was across the main road. The Club was a bit pricey on cadet pay for every meal on weekends but that’s what we had. For me and Danny Merritt it ended up not mattering. We were rarely off on a weekend to go to the Club as it turned out.

After Ernie and I slowly motored our way up to Custer Hill that Monday, I had my interview with the battalion commander who was most unwelcoming as noted in an earlier post. After being told to get out of his office, Ernie took me to the company where I was genuinely welcomed by the young company commander. I can’t remember his name, but he was a very good leader. I was assigned to a platoon and went to meet them.

My platoon which was supposed to have 44 soldiers assigned had 66 assigned. Of this 66, there was one E6 who was the platoon sergeant and one E4 who was my track driver and then 64 E5’s! The policy at the time was that all returning soldiers from Vietnam combat duty would be promoted to E5 as an incentive to remain in the Army. The Army already knew that it was to become a volunteer force with no draft in the next few years, so this was the first step to that end. Based upon those willing to reenlist from my platoon, I’m not sure it worked.

My platoon sergeant was a nice enough fellow but clearly did not have the respect of the troops. This was caused in part by his wife who would drive into the unit area each afternoon and loudly demand his departure even if we had not been released for the day. He would meekly go to the first sergeant as directed, again very loudly by his wife, and secure release. I realized I could count on him as long as his wife wasn’t around! She was a very large and loud lady, and everybody steered clear of her when she swooped into the troop area. Well, actually, when she lumbered into the troop area.

I was fortunate in having one of the 64 E5’s always step up when the platoon sergeant was whisked away. He also took charge when we went to the field to train; the platoon sergeant always having some physical excuse which precluded him from going to the field (I’m sure directed by his wife). I believe it was “jungle rot” of the toes which could be ginned up on short notice by putting gasoline on your toes. The trick was to mask the gasoline odor when you went to the medics and to make sure you used enough gas to make the skin red and swollen. This trick was used by about half the troops to get out of the field each time we went. My acting platoon sergeant made me wise to the technique and offered to give me “jungle rot” of the toes if I didn’t want to go to the field but I told him thanks, but no. I also told him I hadn’t been to Vietnam so couldn’t claim jungle rot. He thought on that a minute, shrugged his shoulders and said, “LT (pronounced El Tee), it don’t mean nuthin’. The medics won’t care if you were there or not”, and he turned around and walked away.

I settled in to the company and was assigned several additional duties to perform other than leading a platoon. The most important of these was as the training officer for the company. Technically cadets who are not yet commissioned are not allowed to perform such a duty, but I didn’t tell the company commander that. I did not tell him partially because my first visit with the training NCO and the training office showed that we were in total disarray in the training business. I had gotten the field manual on what is supposed to occur in the training office, what field manuals were to be on hand and what records were to be present in a company training office and found none of the above! The training NCO was new and floundering. He was particularly concerned about the CMMI (Command Maintenance and Materiel Inspection) the battalion commander kept telling the troops was imminent.

The battalion commander said he had a friend up at 5th Army Headquarters at Fort Sheridan, Illinois who was tipping him off that we were to get one of the unannounced, dreaded CMMI’s. The Army had just announced its Zero Defects concept which became much derided as being punitive in nature over the next two decades. The original concept was to strive to have Zero Defects in maintenance, administration and so on in a unit but did not expect there to be no defects at all. It morphed into the latter concept of no defects which is impossible to obtain in any unit with the plethora of requirements required in a modern army. I’m sure we could have obtained such a standard if all we had was rifles, cooking pots and a mule or two to care for.
Anyhow, Saturday was a work day back in 1970 and would continue to be one up to about 1980 or a little later. Ostensibly, the work day on Saturday was to be used to clean and inspect weapons and inspect barracks and the troops for haircuts, shined shoes, shaving and so on.

Since the battalion commander had a “friend” up at 5th Army, Saturday became a full work day as did Sunday. Every Saturday the battalion commander would tell the company commanders that his “friend” had said we would definitely get hit with a CMMI on the coming Monday so Sunday was a work day. I believe the “friend” had about the same level of positive regard we all had for the battalion commander and was jerking him (and therefore all of us) around. We never got the damned inspection but worked every Sunday except one while I was there.

There was some good news that came out of this preparation for an inspection. We were provided the Zero Defects inspection sheets for each of the commodity and functional areas in the command. I discovered what training records we were supposed to have and what field manuals and other references were to be on hand. We, of course, had none of it. We created all the training records and recorded known training for each soldier. That which we did not know of when a soldier joined from another unit could be conveniently listed as “Unkn. Date Joined day, month, year” which was not a defect! It was a defect if required training once he joined was not recorded. All this was manual entry on a DA whatever form with black, not blue, pen, of course.

The other thing I discovered both in the motor pool as I prepared my platoon for a CMMI and in the training room is that you don’t actually have to have the right parts or references on hand as long as the right parts and references are on valid order or requisition. As long as that was true and could be documented, it was not a defect. As much as I hated this endless preparation, I must admit I learned valuable lessons about the Army inspection system that was stand me in good stead for the next thirty years.

A short aside, this concept of being properly on order or requisition only works if the inspector is trained and knows the regulations pertinent to his or her area of inspection. When I was commanding a brigade combat team we got lucky and were the first unit to be inspected by a new corps inspection team that was very much unannounced and definitely a Zero Defects drill in the worst sense.

As an example, the map inspector said we failed his inspection because we did not have the right maps on hand for world wide deployment. I said, yes, we know that, but they are all on order. He said yes, they were on order but had been on order too long. I said the requisitions are still valid, we checked. He said yes, but it is taking too long and we should have done something about it. I then asked what that might have been. He said we should have called the corps map office. I asked if he wasn’t the NCOIC of the corps map office and wasn’t it his office which was supposed to provide the maps? He said he was and yes, they do provide the maps. I said so we should have called you? He said yes. I said, okay I’m asking you now, do you have our maps? He said no, we can’t help you but you still fail because you don’t have the maps on hand. And I said, but you can’t get them for us but we still fail? He said that’s right. I looked over at the corps commander who was sitting beside me for the outbrief and he gruffly told me not to argue with his inspectors!

You can’t fix stupid sometimes, but I have noticed over the years that when an inspection team is pulled together from inside a division or corps, the “experts” provided by subordinate units to be on the team and therefore a loss to the unit while they are out inspecting, is the village idiot or his twin brother. He or she is rarely qualified to inspect others and is the most least missed from the unit! Commanders (or leaders in the civilian world) who wish to make up inspection teams internally need to closely evaluate the quality and competences of that team or they will create both ill will and even completely negate any good effects from the inspection. Standing inspection teams comprised truly of experts are invaluable if their agenda is to make the unit better and they teach while they also inspect. Many things can be fixed on the spot and an entry of “On the spot correction” is much more helpful than “No Go” or “Failed”. Enough said on that and back to AOT.

Morale in the battalion was low with the seven-day workweek grind seemingly to go on perpetually. The AWOL rate and indiscipline rate both went up. As they went up, the battalion commander tried to crack down even harder on the troops. Which of course, caused the AWOL and indiscipline rates to go up even higher. The battalion commander had not commanded in combat and was trying very hard, too hard, to make up for that shortfall when compared to his peers who had successfully commanded in combat.

In those days, there was no central selection board for battalion command and division commanders selected their battalion commanders. Our battalion commander had not been selected for combat command for whatever reason or reasons. He had served in combat but not at the battalion level. Life in the battalion was just hard. It did not help that the other battalions on Custer Hill took great glee in making comments to us about working all day Saturday and Sunday and they would take care of our wives and girlfriends and so on with the usual soldier banter which is often barbed. They of course were off duty and in civies headed to town while all of us were in fatigues grinding on.

Along about the third week of this, one of the new lieutenants to the company, LT X, came knocking on my room window at 0230 Sunday morning. I finally woke up to the noise and asked him what he wanted. He had loaned me his motorcycle to get to and from the company because he also had a car, but he wanted his motorcycle back. I asked why the hell he wanted it back at 0230 in the middle of the night. He said because he was leaving. He was leaving the Army that very night! I told him I thought that was a very bad idea, but he persisted that he wanted his bike back. I gave him the keys to the bike and the helmet and heard him trying to load it on his trailer for several hours which much cursing and loud thuds. I reset my alarm clock to get up earlier because I would have to hitchhike up to Custer Hill. I wasn’t sure how much traffic would be going that way at 0530 but didn’t have any other options.

Some background on my erstwhile departing lieutenant. He had come straight from a week at the Woodstock Festival to New York City and enlisted, beads, shoulder length hair and all. He said he did so because he was completely out of money and his head due to drugs and he knew the Army would put him on a bus to Fort Benning. He was an Army brat and his family was down that way. When he got to Benning he surprised himself by doing very well in Basic and AIT and put in for OCS. He had several years of college and was promptly sent to OCS. He surprised himself again by graduating high in his class at OCS and given a Regular Army commission which was highly coveted. He had done exceptionally well in the company and was a damned good officer and troop leader. When he came to pick up his motorcycle and was clearly falling down drunk, I did not believe he was actually going AWOL.

I hitched a ride to the company with some of my soldiers who came by on their way back from their 12-hour pass into Junction City (1800 Saturday to 0600 Sunday). They saw me on the side of the road thumbing and gave me a ride because they said I was a good “fuckin” El Tee. I was the only sober person in that car so was glad when it careened to a stop in front of the company. The boys piled out at a dead run to get into uniform before first formation. As I stood in front of the platoon thirty minutes later, I think I was the only sober one there too.

I noticed that my friend, LT X was not at the formation. I went to the company commander and told him what had transpired just four hours earlier. He laughed and said Lt X was probably sleeping it off.

We worked all day Sunday and the training office was in good shape. We were ready for the CMMI which never came, but we had fixed things, so it was not wasted effort. It could however, have been done during normal duty hours rather than on three successive weekends. On Monday morning formation, LT X was still not present for duty.

The company commander sent the company executive officer over to LT X’s BOQ room to check on him. He came back and reported the room was mostly empty except for trash and LT X had not been seen by the BOQ staff since Saturday evening once we were finally released by the battalion commander and told we were coming back Sunday again. I guess that’s what pushed LT X over the edge. He was clearly gone. The company commander went down to battalion to tell the CO that he thought LT X might be AWOL.

The roar out of battalion HQ was almost loud enough to hear at the company. The company commander called from battalion and instructed both me and the company exec to report to battalion. Upon arrival we were both summoned into the presence who was not a happy man. He asked the exec about the BOQ room then turned on me and very rudely asked for my story on the motorcycle pickup. I told him. He was silent for a moment and then told me LT X’s AWOL was my sole responsibility and I solely was to blame. He said I should have called him at his quarters immediately upon LT X coming to my window. The fact that where the cadets were staying had no telephone and I most certainly did not have his home phone number apparently did not enter into his deliberations. With much profanity he said he was going to charge me as an accessory to the AWOL. For the second time since my arrival I was told to get the fuck out of his office. I was beginning to believe we were not friends at that point and probably would not become so in the foreseeable future.

The company commander told me as I was leaving to wait for him at his office back at the company. The exec stayed behind with him and I walked back alone. I was uncertain if I could actually be charged as an accessory and was trying to figure out how many demerits and punishment tours getting slugged as an “accessory to AWOL while on AOT” would entail.

After only a few minutes, the company commander came in and smiled at me which provided some relief. He said in his quiet way that I could not be charged as an accessory because I had not helped LT X to go AWOL and had promptly reported the possibility of him being AWOL at the very first formation. He told the battalion commander that I had so reported, but that he as the company commander assumed LT X was sleeping it off and waited until Monday. I’m sure he got a few choice words from the battalion commander for that decision. The company commander was actually correct in not reporting LT X AWOL on Sunday because Sunday was not a duty day. He did advise me that if at all possible, I was to avoid being seen by the battalion commander until I departed in two more weeks. I told him I would very much like not being seen by that officer, if at all possible. He laughed and told me to go back to work which I did.

Unfortunately, with my typical luck I was to be four square in the battalion commander’s sight one more time before my time was up. As a trailer for the next post, the battalion commander almost gets murdered and it’s my fault according to him. Sometimes life is very much stranger than fiction!

We have all benefited from learning from good leaders during our careers, military or otherwise, on how to be good leaders. But I will state that at least in my case, I have learned more about good leadership by observing bad leadership over the years. It showed me what not to do and was somewhat painful at the time. Perhaps the pain makes it more memorable?

To go back yet again to Beast Barracks 1968 at the Military Academy, I can say unequivocally I observed more bad leadership in the shortest period of time than during any other point in the next thirty-four years in the Army. The upperclassmen with few exceptions in the first half of Beast were not role models of good leadership. Rather, they were role models of what not to do and how not to be if you were serious about leading American soldiers. It was with great irony that we were required to learn Major General John M. Scofield’s Definition of Discipline with the opening line, “The discipline which makes the soldiers of a free country reliable in battle is not to be gained by harsh or tyrannical treatment.” One was usually subject to such “harsh or tyrannical treatment” when called upon to “spout off” Schofield’s definition. The second sentence of Schofield’s Definition is, “On the contrary, such treatment is far more likely to destroy than to make an army.” So, we had to memorize it and spout it off on demand, but we saw no or very little evidence of it being followed by the upperclassmen. What I did not know until I read the article on the Association of Graduates webpage at: https://www.westpointaog.org/sslpage.aspx?pid=4329 was that General Schofield had a much longer speech as the Superintendent of the Academy that included his definition of discipline, to the Corps of Cadets on 11 August 1879. The purpose of his speech was to reduce the amount of hazing that was then ongoing at the Military Academy. I encourage you to read the whole article because it’s timeless. What he said in 1879 is a valid today as it was then in 1879, but it was not followed as far as I could tell during the first part of Beast Barracks 1968.

As a rule, the upperclassmen used screaming and profanity to make their points. That was how they were apparently trained in Beast Barracks 1966 by the Classes of 1967/68, so to them it was the right way. It had always been that way supposedly since the Academy was founded in 1802. I was disappointed in the fact during Beast that you almost never saw an officer. A commissioned officer. The cadets were in total command and their performance at large was pretty much what you would expect for 19 and 20-year olds who had no real experience of the Army or of leading American soldiers for that matter. Their brief sojourns into the Army for Army Orientation Training (AOT) for a month in their second or third summer did not alter how they behaved as a group. The exception I noticed was from upperclassmen who were prior service. They for the most part, but not always, were more assured of themselves and their authority and actually lead by example. Poor leadership is rare in individuals who are confident, capable and self-assured in my experience.

So back to the story. I have related earlier how the 5th of July was panning out when my roommate sauntered out into the hallway and said “howdy” to an upperclassman. As I said earlier, he was convinced after being allowed to fall out and eat a real meal on the evening of the 4th of July that this signaled the end of the hard part of Beast. My other roommate and I got braced against the wall also but the brunt of the attention by the upperclassmen for the “howdy” greeting was directed at our poor roommate who was one of the nicest guys I ever met. Always smiling (which also got him on trouble) and easygoing. He took it well.

Once that was over, we went to ranks for inspection and then more drill and ceremony. We still had not been issued weapons so all the drill did not include the manual of arms. We marched and counter marched around the area for several hours, being given the Army traditional ten-minute break every hour which we spent at parade rest with our chins in. It was still hotter than hell. Once that was finally done, we went to our rooms to change uniforms for the dinner meal (lunch in the civilian world).

We formed up in the area for dinner formation and our squad leader was not his usual predatory self when he inspected us. He was actually fairly calm and quiet. We marched to the messhall. Once the brigade adjutant had ordered Take Seats!, we sat when the squad leader told us to. We sat on the front of the chair and braced both our chins and ourselves for another non-meal. Our squad leader totally surprised us by saying in a very calm voice (we hadn’t heard that one much) that he couldn’t let us fall out but he did want us to get a full meal. We were allowed to take big bites. In fact, he wanted us to get such a full meal, he went around other tables scrounging food for us.

The dinner menu was knockwurst and hot German potato salad with I think green beans. The potato salad and knockwurst weren’t a big favorite with most cadets so there was plenty of food from other tables. He kept bringing it and we kept eating it. We were well and truly happily stuffed! I know my good-natured roommate was again beginning to believe it was over; at least the hard part that is.

Just before the adjutant commanded Battalions Rise! our squad leader said in the voice we were used to the following, “Okay smackheads. Once you hear Battalions Rise! you will double time to the barracks and change into your uniform “as for swimming”. That’s swimming trunks, athletic shirt, tennis shoes and white towel folded in quarters over the left arm. And move out when I command move out! You will have five minutes from that time and you’d better not be late to ranks!”

The adjutant gave the order to rise and our squad leader screamed Move Out Smackheads at the top of his lungs. We bolted for the doors. Five minutes later, most of us were in ranks, the few laggards being soundly abused by the squad leader with lots of explicative added for good measure. Once everybody was accounted for, the squad leader double timed us to the gymnasium pool. We were to take our swimming test to ascertain what level of survival swimming we would be placed in once the academic year started. The squad leader with a smirk turned us over to the non-too gentle attentions of the Department of Physical Education (DPE).

An officer wearing black shorts and a polo shirt with DPE on it introduced himself as captain somebody, told us we were to take a timed swimming test for distance. He asked if anybody could not swim and nobody raised their hand. That done, he told us to line up along the edge of the pool and start swimming once he blew his whistle. We lined up, all of us feeling our knockwurst and potato salad. He blew his whistle and we jumped in and started swimming.

I believe the test was for twenty minutes. I should remember because it was the longest period in my life. After only a few laps, some of the guys were swimming for the wall to vomit in the scuppers. This made the captain in black shorts very unhappy and he told us to keep swimming. I didn’t vomit but also didn’t make the distance I normally would have. I had passed the American Red Cross Senior Lifesaving course a few years earlier and was an excellent swimmer. The result for me lugging around a gutful of really awful smelling knockwurst and potato salad as I belched my way down the pool was to be placed in advanced intermediate survival swimming instead of advanced swimming where I would only have to go to 12 classes of swimming instead of 20, but I didn’t know any of this at the time. Several of my squad mates who got really ill and couldn’t continue were placed in beginner swimming although they knew how to swim perfectly well. That meant extra swimming classes once the academic year started beyond the twenty class standard course.

When we were all done the captain in the black shorts ordered those who vomited to slosh their deposits down the scuppers and into the pool drain off where I assume it was filtered out. That being completed, the squad leader loudly and rudely with much profanity ordered us back outside to double time back to the barracks. I was interested to note that the squad leader felt comfortable enough to do this in front of a commissioned officer who of course said nothing but did smile at our obvious discomfort. I assumed from this that even if we did see more officers around the cadet area, it would not matter. They too were clearly part of the process to winnow out those not strong enough to survive in Beast. I had grown up in the Army and was a semi-permanent fixture in my dad’s units when he was commanding starting at the age of 7 in Germany. I knew what good officer and NCO leadership looked like and was somewhat disappointed not to see more of it at the Academy.

Needless to say, when supper rolled around, we were not allowed to take big bites and in fact all of us were told to pass our plates out to the waiter’s table because we “had gotten plenty to eat at the dinner meal” to paraphrase our fearless leader with the explicatives deleted. Our squad leader bragged to his classmates over supper how he had really screwed us over with the knockwurst and German potato salad on our swim test! Several of them were not amused so maybe there was hope after all.

So, what’s the point of all this you ask? Well, the squad leader violated the very first principle of leadership which is to do everything within your power to see that your subordinates are successful, and to do so in a positive and not a negative manner. It is an absolute violation of leadership principles to deliberately take actions to cause your subordinates to fail or not do well. Additionally, soldiers can be forcibly driven to an extent to achieve the mission but will perform infinitely better if they are properly led to achieve the mission. When it also becomes their mission and not just because the leader said so, wonderful things can and do happen. Good leaders are expected to serve their subordinates by setting the conditions for their success. We had been poorly served in this regard during the first half of Beast. I have often wondered if the absence of commissioned officers during Beast was deliberate and the antics of the upperclassmen were expected and condoned. I would hope not but the Army was a harder, more indifferent place in 1968 than it is today.

I was to see a total transformation in my squad during the second half of Beast when we got a new squad leader and also an assistant squad leader which we had not had before. They called us into their room once they took over and explained their philosophy of leadership and their purpose. We were allowed to be at ease and even sit on their bunks and chairs while they did this. They said neither one of them believed in hazing or screaming and both believed very strongly that their job was to train us to be soldiers, cadets and more importantly, future officers. They knew we had been through the grinder with our previous squad leader and had lost three of our squad mates to resignation already in the first three weeks but did not speak to that other than to say things will be different from now on. They did not criticize our former squad leader by name or by inference to us. They just said that things would be different and left it at that.

The only thing they asked in return was for us to do our very best and to pull together as a squad. I was finally seeing and hearing what I had expected to see and hear when I arrived at the Military Academy over three weeks earlier. The rest of Beast wasn’t a cake walk, but it was very professionally done by our squad leadership. The squad leader (Jim Oxley) would be the captain of the basketball team his Firstie year and our assistant squad leader (Bill Malkemes) would be the captain of the tennis team; both excellent athletes and excellent leaders.

Those of us in that squad learned or saw both ends of the leadership spectrum. Even though the first three weeks were the negative side, there were lessons to be learned from it. Specifically, what not to do. We were very fortunate to see what to do on the other end of the spectrum. Specifically, what right in leadership looks like.

I was to experience many further examples of bad leadership over the next thirty-four years. Sometimes as an observer and other times as the target. Neither situation was pleasant, but all were instructive. I was also fortunate to witness and receive many more instances of good leadership during those years which I always strove to emulate.

My next post will be about cadet Army Orientation Training (AOT) in the 1st Infantry Division at Fort Riley, Kansas. I was in the 1st Battalion 28th Infantry Regiment in July/August of 1970. Briefly, I and a classmate named Danny Merritt were welcomed by the battalion commander with these words, “I did not want any of you cadets in my battalion but it wasn’t optional. There are not any “effing” ring knockers in my battalion. So welcome and get out of my office!” We were at a position of attention to receive this welcoming speech from the battalion commander and at the end executed an about face and departed. Again, learning how not to be…

We had been in Beast Barracks for four days at this point. It had gone by in a blur punctuated by meals generally uneaten and the discovery that toothpaste when consumed could help make you feel full or at least fuller. Each day was also punctuated by an evening report to the squad leader that you had shit, showered and shaved in the last twenty-four hours. Some could not report success in the first category and were verbally abused for it and strongly encouraged to do better. More food might have helped.

The Fourth was hotter than hell just as the previous days had been. The Hudson River Valley has a bad habit of holding moisture in so the humidity had also been horrific. We had been issued five white shirts and got to practice changing them multiple times a day once they became saturated with sweat. The same was true for the fatigues we had been issued. “Clothing formations” were held allowing us two or sometimes even three whole minutes to rush back into our rooms and change uniforms. Nobody made it in time and all were castigated for their failures by hectoring and screaming upperclassmen.  My squad leader had singled out three new cadets in the squad that he personally believed should not be in the corps of cadets for whatever obscure reason he had. He made sure all three clearly understood that he wanted them to leave. (Sadly, he was successful in this endeavor. All three resigned under great duress by the end of the third week of Beast. All three in my humble opinion could have served the Nation well in the Army but I didn’t get a vote.)

The Fourth started like any other day with the Hell Cats pounding out Reveille  at 0600 with fifes, drums and bugles. I love field music so always enjoyed the “noise” as my room mates referred to it. We jumped out of bed, shaved, brushed teeth, dressed, gave each other dress off’s and rushed out to ranks to be accounted for and marched to the mess hall for another “light” meal which was generally spent passing our plates out and reciting whatever new Plebe Poop we had been assigned to learn the day before. Then, after the adjutant had ordered “Battalions Rise!” signalling the end of the meal, we moved back to the barracks at the quicktime individually at a brace and saluting and avoiding eye contact with any upperclassmen along the way. We had some training scheduled for the Fourth so it was certainly not a day off to celebrate the birth of our Nation.

When lunch rolled around, we formed up (after changing uniforms from fatigues to dress white shirts over gray trousers at a dead run) and marched back to the mess hall for what we all assumed to be another non-meal. To our surprise, we were ordered to “fall out” which meant we could sit on our full chair and not just the first few inches of it and actually eat the meal. Some squad leaders allowed their charges to talk during that meal; ours of course did not. Our squad leader continued to enforce his size, weight and volume of one half of a cheerio for each bite for the meal so we had no time to talk. It’s tough eating a full meal in teeny, tiny bites so we were too busy to talk anyhow.

We again went back to the barracks but stayed in dress white over gray for lectures on different subjects and to report to the orderly room to fill out even more forms. I had to explain to the first sergeant why I was a naturalized American citizen. That was a long story which I’ll relate later on in another post. He still didn’t get it so I was summoned back two more times to report to the first sergeant to explain yet again why I had been naturalized. He finally gave up after the third explanation and grudgingly allowed my citizenship status form to go into the system.

Even our squad leader was less severe than usual as the afternoon wore on. One of my room mates opined that he knew all the hazing, yelling, etc. couldn’t last so the hard part was obviously over. He had been recruited to play football and the recruiter told him Beast was easy, hence his belief. It seems that recruiters world wide-share one common element; they all lie. I told my room mate I didn’t think it was over and it was just because of the 4th of July. He scoffed at that and was so adamant in his belief that the next morning he strolled out into the hallway without bracing and greeted our squad leader very casually.  The subsequent verbal explosion towards him by my squad leader and a swarm of other upperclassmen who rose to the occasion and literally sprang from the woodwork it seemed was something to behold. I was just glad it wasn’t me.

The conduct of the dinner meal was the same as lunch. We fell out and were allowed to eat. Our squad leader even allowed us to take bites the size of a whole cheerio, him being such a fine fellow and all. I think it was this second meal which convinced my room mate that Beast had finished. After Battalions Rise, we were not accosted by any of the upperclassmen enroute back to the barracks. We returned to our rooms unmolested and were told to work on our Plebe Poop from our Bugle Notes, the book that contained everything we were supposed to know and memorize. (I do not have my Bugle Notes. It was “cadet borrowed” by a member of the Class of 1971. I know who he is and I’m still looking for him.)

We knew that we were to form up in Central Area about 2000 hours to march down to Trophy Point for the official celebration of the 4th of July and fireworks. We duly formed up and then had to wait about thirty minutes at parade rest until it was time to actually march to Trophy Point. I have always been amazed at how the Army screws up formation times for an event. Upon some investigation I discovered that each layer of command adds time to make sure they are not late. I put a stop to that as a company commander and did the same when I commanded a battalion and brigade which was much appreciated by the troops. (There will be a post down the road on how that discovery was made; the dynamics of all it being somewhat fascinating.)

I believe it was that formation inside the area when one of my classmates sang a Capella (for you non-Latin readers that means without musical accompaniment; or so my wife informed me. I don’t read Latin either.) the Impossible Dream from the Man of La Mancha. It was just getting dark, he had a strong and beautiful voice that echoed off the granite walls of the barracks surrounding Central Area. I never did learn his name but he uplifted us all with his song. The words: “To fight the unbeatable foe, To bear with unbearable sorrow, To run where the brave dare not go. To right the unrightable wrong, To love pure and chaste from afar, To try when your arms are too weary, To reach the unreachable star. This is my quest, To follow that star No matter how hopeless, No matter how far”, resonated with each and every one of us. We were allowed to cheer and clap when he finished and we did so with enthusiasm. That was the first time we as a class acted as a single entity. The Class of 1972 had been born I think in those minutes. Proud and True my friends. Proud and True.

Fifty years ago today, 1 July 1968,  I and over one thousand of my classmates marched down to Trophy Point to take our oath of office as cadets at the United States Military Academy. We swore to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic;  to obey the lawful orders of those appointed over us and that we took that obligation freely without purpose of evasion. “so help me God.”

The parents had remained after dropping us off in the morning to the tender mercies of the upperclassmen who were running Beast Barracks as New Cadet Barracks is called. They stood proudly on the sidewalks as we marched by mostly in step after several hours of instruction on how to stay in step, dress to your right and keep you ‘beady bubbles” (your eyes) straight to the front. We were hat-less and were wearing our gray TW cadet trousers, white shirts with no epaulets and our black leather shoes which we sere supposed to buy and break in before reporting in that morning. With also wore a black web dress belt with an unsatisfactorily shined brass belt buckle. We noted as we marched by that six or seven of our reporting classmates had already quit and  were waiting for a bus home outside of the Central Barracks Guard Room. The upperclassmen went to great lengths to point these unfortunates out to us as we marched by and tell us that many more of us would join them before Beast  Barracks was over. There was some truth to that statement.

The day had passed in a blur starting with reporting to the man in the red sash who told you to drop your suitcase. If you set it down instead of instantly letting go of the handle, you got to repeat the exercise until you got it right. The man in the red sash then instructed each new cadet in how to stand at attention properly, how to stand at parade rest, how to salute properly, how to brace with your chin properly tucked in to your neck and finally a short lecture on your only permissible four answers as a plebe; yes sir, no sir, sir I do not know and no excuse sir. He also taught you how to “pop off” with your answers, i.e., answer in a bellow. (I do not have an indoor voice according to my three daughter so popping off was a piece of cake and I passed on the first try. I heard many of my classmates with softer voices being detained by the man in the red sash and practicing popping off, off to the side.)

Pretty simple and efficiently done. We had already learned how to instantly obey orders (drop your suitcase), how to have the proper posture and how to communicate with upperclassmen when addressed by them with one of the four answers.

Once the man in the red sash was satisfied that you had mastered all of the above, he pointed to a red flag flying on the flagpole outside the Central Barracks Guard Room and asked if you knew what it meant. You got to use one of your four answers and had a choice of no sir or sir, I do not know. I chose the latter and was informed that the red flag meant no running was permitted due to the extreme heat (it was over 100 degrees that day which was unusual for the Hudson Valley in July.) He specified, however, that it did not preclude double timing from place to place. He then ordered me to double time over to a line of cadets waiting for something at the other end of the area towards the mess hall.

I arrived at the line at the double time, and was told to double time in place by an upperclassman while holding my suitcase until he allowed me after about five minutes to join the line at parade rest. The line moved very slowly and each time it went forward you were to go from parade rest to attention before you stepped forward a pace, halted at attention, then went back to parade rest.. The mystery of where it went was soon solved as we entered the Cadet Barbershop where our heads were shaved to the scalp. From there we were gathered in batches and taken to the various in-processing stations. There were many which included stripping down to a jock conveniently provided to be weighted, thumped on the chest, teeth looked at, measured fifteen different ways because your dress uniforms would be tailored from those measurements, photographed full length front and back in your jock for later posture corrections, head shot photo for your absence card in your room, drawing uniforms, field gear and generally double timing from place to place with more and more things to carry. (They did allow you to put on the uniform noted above for the swearing in instead of a just a jock once you left the gymnasium where most of the in-processing occurred.) Finally after running around most of the day, you were led to the barracks you would occupy and finally met your squad leader who would be your immediate superior for Beast Barracks.

I met my squad leader. He was not a nice man and was more profane than most. He took us to our rooms and began our instruction on how to set up the room, how to make our bunks, stow our gear and uniforms properly, and how to arrange our toilet article in the medicine cabinet and sink in the room. I had two room mates; one from Montana and the other from Pennsylvania. One would make it to the end and the other would quit right after first semester.  We followed all of the squad leader’s instructions and  went to the swearing in ceremony as noted above. We then went to the mess hall for our first formal meal. We had been rushed through the mess hall for lunch but it was somewhat informal other than having to eat at attention with our necks in and eyes riveted on the academy crest adorning the top of each dinner plate. The meal after the swearing in was much different and would be the norm for the remainder of the first four weeks of Beast. I’ll only say that our squad leader said we could only take bites that were one half the size, weight and volume of a cheerio. If he perceived you had taken too big of a bite, he had you pass your plate out with the remainder of your food to the waiter’s table (a rolling cart for serving food and for collecting dishes, etc. after a meal) and start reciting some of the interminable Plebe Knowledge which we were all required to memorize.

After dinner, the squad leader marched us back to the barracks and showed us how to shine our shoes and get the lacquer off our belt buckles in order to shine them properly. He also showed us how to give and receive a proper “dress off” where your shirt was pulled back at the waist and the excess material folded over in the rear. Thus ended our first day. Taps was beautifully sounded at 2300 hours by several trumpeters from the Hell Cats, the Academy’s enlisted marching band. They stood atop the barracks and the notes echoed through the areas between the barracks.