An officer's ability to talk effectively on these or other subjects to
his men can be no better than his information, irrespective of his
zeal or of his own firm belief in the ideals of his country and
service.
All other things being equal, his effectiveness will depend on the
extent to which he participates in all of the other affairs of
organization. If he is remote from the spirit of his own unit, and
indifferent to the varying activities which enter into the building of
that spirit, he will not have a sympathetic audience when he talks to
men about the grand objectives of organization. There is something
terribly incongruous about a man talking to troops on the ideal
purposes of the military service if all they see of him convinces them
that he is loyal only to his own rank and his pay check. It can be
said without any qualification that when an officer's interest in the
unit is limited strictly to those things which _have to be done_ in
line of duty, even though he attends to them truly and well, he will
never have a strong hold on the sympathy and imagination of his men.
When he takes an enthusiastic part in the sports program of the ship,
the company, the squadron or the battalion, even though he has no
natural talent for sport, when he voluntarily helps in furthering all
activities within the unit which are designed to make leisure more
enjoyable, and when he is seen by his men attending religious
exercises, his magnetism is increased. It was noteworthy during World
War II that church attendance among enlisted personnel took a
tremendous bound forward when it was seen that their officers were
present at church services. This provided tremendous support to those
chaplains who were intent not only on praising the Lord but on passing
moral ammunition to all ranks so that they would be better prepared
for the ordeal ahead.
Recognizing that instruction in the duties of citizenship, and
providing information which will enable Americans to have a better
understanding of their national affairs, is part of the arch of morale
and of a strong uniting comradeship, the Armed Services nevertheless
hold that _the keystone of the arch, among fighting forces, is the
inculcation of military ideals and the stimulation of principles of
military action_. Unless orientation within the services is balanced
in this direction, the military spirit of all ranks will suffer, and
the forces will deteriorate into an assembly of Americans who,
whatever their enthusiasms for the nation, will lack an organized
capacity to serve it efficiently along the main line of resistance.
To round out any discussion of how military ideals are formed, much
more needs to be said about the nature of courage on the battlefield
and, in preparation for it, about the winning and meaning of loyalty
within the Armed Services and how instruction on these points and all
related matters is best advanced within the organization.
But the object of this chapter is to define certain governing
principles. The substantive parts of the subject can be more clearly
presented further along in the book.
CHAPTER THREE
RESPONSIBILITY AND PRIVILEGE
There is a common saying in the services, and elsewhere, that greater
privileges grow out of larger responsibilities, and that the latter
justifies the former. This is part truth and part fable.
In military organization, as in industry, business, and political
life, the more important a man's position, the more lavish he is
likely to be in his office appointments and living arrangements, and
the greater the care that is apt to be taken in freeing him of
trifling annoyances.
But that is only partly because of the need for him to conserve his
time and energy. When men are successful, they like the good things of
life. Why deny it? Not one individual in 10,000 would aspire to power
and authority if it meant living like a hermit.
There is no way that the military establishment can denature human
nature, and change this determining condition. Nor is there any reason
why it should wish to do so. Its men, like all others, develop a sense
of well-being from those advantages, many of them minor, which attend,
and build prestige, both in private and in official life. The
incentive system by which our country has prospered has always
recognized that privilege is a reward for effort and enterprise. The
American people have always accepted that reasonable, harmless
privileges should attend merit. It is by enhancing the prestige of
leaders and by making their positions attractive that the Armed Forces
get better officers and men.
One of the keenest-minded Americans of our time has said:
"Responsibilities are what devolve upon a person, and privileges are
what he ought not to have, but takes." In a perfect universe, that
would be a perfect truth. But men being as they are, prideful and
desirous of any mark of recognition, privileges are the natural
accompaniment of rank and station, and when not wilfully misused, may
contribute to the general welfare. At all levels, men will aspire
more, and their ambition will be firmer, if getting ahead will mean
for them an increase in the visible tokens of deference from the
majority, rather than simply a boost in the paycheck. To complain
about this quality in human nature is as futile as regretting that the
sun goes down.
However, since it is out of the abuse of privilege that much of the
friction between authority and the rank-and-file arises, the subject
can't be dropped at that point. What puts most of the grit into the
machinery isn't that privileges exist, but that they are exercised too
often by persons who are not motivated by a passionate sense of duty.
For it is an almost inviolable rule of human behavior that the man who
is concerned most of all with his responsibilities will be fretted
least about the matter of his privileges, and that his exercise of any
rightful privilege will not be resented by his subordinates, because
they are conscious of his merit.
We can take two officers. Lieutenant "A" enters the service with one
main question in mind: "Where does my duty lie?" So long as he remains
on that beam, he will never injure the morale of the service by using
such privileges as are rightfully his as an officer. But in the mind
of Lieutenant "B" the other idea is uppermost: "What kudos do I get
out of my position?" Unless that man changes his ways, he will be a
troublemaker while he remains in the service, a headache to his fellow
officers and a despoiler of those who are under him.
In recent years, we have learned a lot about American manpower. We
have seen enough of the raw material under testing conditions to know
that, with the exception of the occasional malcontent who was
irreparably spoiled before he left home, American young men when
brought into military organization do not resent rank, and are
amenable to authority. Indeed, they expect that higher authority will
have certain advantages not common to the rank-and-file, because that
is normal in our society in all of its workday relationships.
But they do not like to have their noses rubbed in it by officers who,
having no real moral claim on authority, try to exhibit it by pushing
other people around. And when that happens, our men get their backs
up. And they wouldn't be worth a hoot in hades if they didn't.
Even as privilege attends rank and station, it is confirmed by custom,
and modified by time and environment. What was all right yesterday may
be all wrong tomorrow, and what is proper in one set of circumstances
may be wholly wrong in another.
Take one example. In Washington's Continental Army, a first lieutenant
was court-martialed and jailed because he demeaned himself by doing
manual labor with a working detail of his men. Yet in that same
season, Major General von Steuben, then trainer and inspector of all
the forces, created a great scandal and almost terminated his
usefulness by trying to rank a relatively junior officer out of his
quarters. Today both of these usages seem out of joint. Any officer
has the _privilege_ of working with his men, if he needs exercise,
wishes to see for himself how the thing is done, or feels that an
extra hand is needed on the job at a critical moment. As for any
notion that his quarters are his permanent castle no matter who comes,
he had best not make an issue of the point!
But to emphasize it once again, duty is the great regulator of the
proper exercise of one's rights. Here we speak of duty as it was meant
by Giuseppe Mazzini, Italy's great patriot of the early Nineteenth
Century, when he said: "Every mission constitutes a pledge of duty.
Every man is bound to consecrate his every effort to its fulfillment.
He will derive his rule of action from the profound conviction of that
duty." For finally the key lies in this, that out of high regard for
duty comes as a natural flow that sense of proportion which we call
common sense.
Adjustment and dignity in any situation are impossible when minds are
bent only on a code of conduct rather than on action which is
consistent with the far objectives. In the early stages of World War
II, it was not unusual to see a junior officer walking on the public
sidewalk, hands free, and looking important, while his wife tagged
along, trying to keep step, though laden like a pack mule. This was
because someone had told him that it was not in keeping with an
officer's dignity to be seen heavily burdened. In the nature of
things, anyone so lacking in gallantry as that would stimulate very
little respect for the officer corps.
Actually, in these times, there are relatively few special privileges
which attend officership, and though the war brought perhaps a few
excesses, the post war trend has been in the other direction.
Normally, an officer is not expected to buck a chow line, or any other
queue in line of duty, if he is sensibly in a rush. The presumption is
that his time is more valuable to the service than that of an enlisted
man. Normally, an officer is not expected to pitch a tent or spend his
energy on any hand labor incidental to housekeeping. Normally, he has
greater freedom of action and is less bound by minor restrictions than
the ranks.
But the accent in these things is decidedly on the word _normally_. If
a mess line were in an area under general fire, so that added waiting
meant extra danger, then only a poltroon would insist on being fed
first. And while an officer wouldn't be expected to pitch a tent, he
would dig his own foxhole, unless he was well up in grade. At that,
there were a few high commanders in World War II who made it a point
of pride to do their own digging from first to last. Greater "freedom
of action," too, can go out the window, for conditions arise,
particularly in war, when freedom of action can not be permitted
anyone except the very top authority. When a general restriction is
clamped down, the officer caught violating it is in more serious
jeopardy than the enlisted offender.
As the entire body of this book is directed toward the consideration
of the fundamental responsibilities in officership, the special
comments in this chapter will relate mainly to propositions not stated
elsewhere.
Though it has been said before, even so, it can be said again: It is a
paramount and overriding responsibility of every officer to take care
of his men before caring for himself. From the frequent and gross
violation of this principle by badly informed or meanly selfish
individuals comes more embarrassment to officer-man relationships than
perhaps from all other causes put together. _It is a cardinal
principle!_ Yet many junior officers do not seem to understand that
steadfast fidelity to it is required, not lip service. "And of this,"
as Admiral Mahan would say, "comes much evil." The loyalty of men
simply cannot be commanded when they become embittered by selfish
action.
Then how deeply does this rule cut? In line of duty, it applies right
down to the hilt! When a command is worn, bruised, and hungry,
officers attend to their men's creature comforts and make sure that
all is going well, before looking to their own needs. If an officer is
on a tour with an enlisted man, he takes care that the man is
accommodated as to food, shelter, medical treatment or other prime
needs, before satisfying his own wants; if that means that the last
meal or the last bed is gone, his duty is to get along the hard way.
If a command is so located that recreational facilities are extremely
limited, and there are not enough to go around, the welfare of the
ranks takes priority over the interests of their commissioned leaders;
in fact, it would be more correct to say that the welfare of men _is_
the prior interest of the officer.
These few concrete illustrations show, in general, what is expected.
Once the main idea is grasped, the way of its total application
becomes clear. Officers do not go around playing pigtail to enlisted
men. But they build loyalty by serving the men first, when all
concerned are following a general line of duty together.
It is an incumbent responsibility on all officers to maintain the
dignity of the uniform and prevent anyone from sullying it. This means
not only the dress of person, but the uniform wherever it is worn
publicly by any man of the United States forces. Where the offense is
committed by a member of some other service and the disgrace to the
uniform is obvious, it is the duty of the officer to intervene, or to
bring about intervention, rather than to walk out on the situation.
This calls for judgment, tact, nerve. The offense must be real, and
not simply an offense against one's private sensibilities. But
indecencies, exhibitionism and bawdiness of such a nature that if done
on a reservation would warrant trial of the individual for unbecoming
conduct will justify intervention by the officer under public
circumstances.
Similarly, any officer has a responsibility to any enlisted man who is
in personal distress, with no other means of ready help. Suppose they
just happen to meet in a strange community. The enlisted man's
credentials are shown to be _bona fide_. But he has had his pocket
picked, or has lost his wallet, or has just missed the train that
would have carried him back from his leave on time, and he doesn't
know what to do. For any officer to brush-off a forthright request for
aid or advice under such circumstances is an unofficerly act.
Likewise, if one suspects, just from appearances, that the man is in
trouble and somewhat beyond his depths, it will be found that, far
from resenting a kindly inquiry, he will mark it to the credit of the
whole fighting system.
To say that an officer owes a fellow officer no less consideration
than this is to state the obvious. Officers meeting in transit usually
get into conversation; it is a habit that adds much to one's
professional education. When an officer is getting into a strange
town, or arriving at a new post, anything done by a fellow officer to
help him get oriented, or to make things friendly and easy for him,
furthers the comity of the corps. Between officers of differing
services these small courtesies are particularly appreciated. Nor does
the matter end there. Within Unit A, the officers have the
responsibility of continuing support to the officers of Unit C, Unit
B, and so on. Though they are in a sense competing, each trying to
build higher than the other, they must never forget that the basic
technique of organization is cooperation. What "A" knows that has
helped his unit, or whatever he can do to assist "B" and "C" without
materially depriving himself, it becomes his official and moral
obligation to transmit. An officer can never understand his own
command problem very well unless he knows, at least a little, of how
things are going in other units. And the statement can be reversed. He
cannot judge the problems of other people unless he tries passionately
to understand his own people.
There are many other minor articles within what is sometimes called
the "unwritten code" which help to regulate life in the services, and
to sweeten it.
But what counts most is not the knowing of the rule but the sharing of
the spirit which gives it meaning and makes its proper administration
possible.
CHAPTER FOUR
PLANNING YOUR CAREER
The main purpose of this book is to stimulate thought and to encourage
the average young officer to seek truth for, and in, himself. It is
never a good idea to attempt a precise formula about matters which are
by nature indefinite and subject to all number of variable factors.
Thus with respect to career planning, despite all of the emphasis put
upon that subject in modern America, it would be plain error to infer
that any man can become all-wise, as to the direction which he should
take with his own life, simply by steeping himself in all of the
information which is to be had on this subject.
That might qualify him to give top-lofty advice to all others on how
to make the start up the right ladder, and he would win a reputation
as a personnel expert, which in itself is no mean assignment. But in
all probability, he would still be doing better by himself than by any
other individual.
American library shelves are stacked with such books as "Planning Your
Future," "New Careers for Youth," and "The Problem of Vocational
Guidance." The pages are laden with sage counsel and bromidic
expressions. But their chief public value is that they enabled a
writer, his publisher and the bookseller to get a little further ahead
in life.
Reflecting the trend elsewhere in the national life, the Armed
Services are equipped to give their forces the advantage of career
management principles, and to assist their men to plan their
professional careers. The opportunities and the job qualifications can
be described. Also, somewhat more thoroughly than is done in civil
life, the establishment's system of record-keeping throws a partial
light on the aptitudes of the individual. The qualified man is soon
known by his "spec number" or maybe two numbers. It might seem
therefore that things are so well-regulated that the prospect of
every man finding his niche is better than even.
The fact remains that the majority of individuals spend the greater
part of their lives doing something other than that which would bring
out their best quality and give them the greatest satisfaction, mainly
because accident, in one form or another, put them into a particular
channel, and inertia kept them there.
A boy builds model airplanes. His hobby being a force in his youthful
years, he becomes a pilot, and then discovers to his shocked amazement
that he does not have his heart in machines but in the management of
men. A man who has lived his life among guns, and who enjoys the feel
and the working of them, enters the service and permits himself to be
made a food procurement specialist, having run that kind of business
in civil life only because he had inherited it from his father. An
officer assigned to a weapons detail finds it hard going. And the fact
that he takes a delight in writing a good paper still does not signal
to him that this is his main field and he should exploit it to the
fullest!
To what do these things point? In particular, to this, that despite
all of the help which may be provided by outside agencies, finding the
straight thoroughfare in work is mainly a problem of searching
self-examination and personal decision. The impression which any other
person may have of our talents and possibilities is largely formed by
what we say, think and feel about ourselves.
This does not require that constant introspection which is found in
Cecil Forester's nervous hero, "Captain Horatio Hornblower." That man
doubtless would have died of stomach ulcers before winning his second
stripe. It is not a matter of, "How do I look to someone else?" but
of, "What do I know about myself?" The kind of work which one likes
best and does with the greatest facility, the avocational study which
is pursued because it provides greater delight than an encharged
responsibility, the talent which one had as a youth but was dropped
because of the press of making a living, the task which looks alluring
though one has lacked either the chance, or the courage, to try a
hand at it--these are among the more fertile points of inquiry.
Weighing it out, the service officer has an unrivaled opportunity for
fruitful experiment.
In the first place, he has made the fundamental decision to serve his
country in the profession of arms. The meaning of that decision should
not be lost on him. It is by nature patriotic. But if he regards his
inheritance simply as a snug berth and the best way to provide "three
squares" to himself and family throughout a lifetime, he is neither
soundly patriotic nor intelligently selfish.
After signing on the line for his country, the individual's duty to
himself is to strive by every honorable means to move ahead of his
competition by growing more knowledgeable and better qualified. _It is
the inherent right of every officer to request such service as he
believes will further his advancement_, and far from discouraging the
ambitious man, higher authority will invariably try to favor him. In
no other mode of life are older men so ready to encourage the willing
junior.
Gen. H. H. Arnold, the great air leader of World War II, is an
inspiring case study with respect to several of these points. He wrote
in "Global Mission" how he considered quitting the Army in disgust
upon being commissioned in infantry, following graduation, so deeply
was his heart set upon service in cavalry. But something held him to
the assignment. Some years later he tried to transfer to ordnance
because the prospect for advancement looked better. While still
ruminating on this change, he was offered a detail to the newly
forming aviation section of the signal corps, and took it, not because
he had a clear vision of the future, but because it looked like a
chance to get ahead. Thus, almost inadvertently, he met the
opportunity of which came his world fame.
This emphasizes another peculiar advantage belonging to the young
officer who is trying to orient himself toward the line of greatest
opportunity. In civil life, the man who flits from job to job is soon
regarded as a drifter and unstable. In the military establishment an
ability to adjust from job to job and to achieve greater all-around
qualification by making a successful record in a diversified
experience becomes a major asset in a career. Generalship, in its real
sense, requires a wider knowledge of human affairs, supported by
specialized knowledge of professional techniques, than any other great
responsibility. Those who get to the top have to be many-sided men,
with skill in the control and guidance of a multifarious variety of
activities. Therefore even the young specialist, who has his eyes on a
narrow track because his talents seem to lie in that direction, is
well advised to raise his sights and extend his interest to the far
horizons of the profession, even while directing the greater part of
his force to a particular field.
After all, variety is the spice of life, as well as a high road toward
perfection. Of Princeton's 1932 class, 161, or 59 percent, were in the
armed services during World War II. Questioned after the war 70
percent of the total number replied that military service was
interesting, broadening, and profitable. But the main point was that
they said in overwhelming number that its great lure was that _they
were doing something new_. They liked it because it gave them a
legitimate excuse to quit their jobs and attempt something different.
In the services, a man may give vent to this natural desire without
impairing his record, and if he is young and not at all certain what
is his favorite dish, the more he broadens his experience, the more
likely it becomes that he will sharpen his view of his own
capabilities.
The possible hard consequence of looking at service opportunity
through any one lens is epitomized in one paragraph of a
reclassification proceedings on an officer relieved during World War
II while serving as assistant division commander: