"My organization first, and the rest nowhere," never pays off. It
begins with the idea, "_The service first, and my unit the best in the
service._" In all human enterprise, the whole is greater than the sum
of the parts. The citizen who thinks most deeply about his country
will be the first to share the burdens of his community and
neighborhood. The man who feels the greatest affection for the
service in which he bears arms will work most loyally to make his own
unit know a rightful pride in its own worth. Among all of the military
services from out of the present and past, none has been more faithful
to this principle than the United States Marine Corps. Among its
members, being a Marine is the thing that counts mainly; after that
comes service to the Regiment or Battalion. Even the other services
marvel at the result. Though they take due pride in their own virtues
and accomplishments, they still regard the esprit of the Marine with
admiration, and more than a little envy. What is the secret? Perhaps
it is this, that the Corps emphasizes the rugged outlet for men's
energies, and never permits its members to forget that the example of
courage is their most precious heritage.
Six years after his defeat at Wake Island, the things that remained
uppermost in the mind of Col. James P. S. Devereux, as he put together
the story of the most tragic hours of his life, were the heroisms of
the individuals who had been trained in a tradition to which he had
fully committed his own purpose. One incident of that day, typical of
many, is best related in Devereux's own words.
"Master Sergeant J. Paszkiewicz, a Marine for 20 years, was caught in
the first blast at the airfield. Bombs shattered his right leg. He
started crawling off, dragging his smashed leg limply behind him. The
second wave of bombers came in. Paszkiewicz reached a little pile of
wreckage and found what he wanted, a piece of wood. With a little
fixing it could serve as a crutch. The bombs were dropping again.
Paszkiewicz started hobbling off. He seemed to be going the wrong way.
Somebody tried to help him, but he wasn't having any. Lieutenant David
D. Kliewer saw him stumbling along on his makeshift crutch, giving
first aid to the wounded or trying to make a dying man a little
easier."
Could a man give that much, and could his superior, Devereux, have
remembered it so vividly from amid his own personal trials, unless
both had been inspired by the traditions of the Corps?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KNOWING YOUR JOB
In one of his little-known passages, Robert Louis Stevenson did the
perfect portrait of the man who finally failed at everything, because
he just never learned how to take hold of his work.
It goes like this: "His career was one of unbroken shame. He did not
drink. He was exactly honest. He was never rude to his employers. Yet
he was everywhere discharged. Bringing no interest to his duties, he
brought no attention. His day was a tissue of things neglected and
things done amiss. And from place to place and from town to town he
carried the character of one thoroughly incompetent."
No one would say that the picture is overdrawn or that the poor devil
got other than his just deserts. In the summing up, the final judgment
that is put on a man by other men depends on his value as a working
hand. If he has other serious personality faults, they will be
overlooked as somewhat beside the point, provided that he levels with
his job. But if he embodies all of the surface virtues, and is
shiftless, any superior with sense will mark him for the discard, and
his coworkers will breathe a sigh of relief when he has gone on his
way.
Within the armed services, the tone of grudging admiration is never
missing from such altogether familiar comments as:
"He's a queer duck but he has what it takes."
"We can't get along with him but we can't get along without him."
By such words, we unconsciously yield the palm to the man who,
whatever his other shortcomings, excels us in application to duty. One
of the worst rascals ever raised in Britain said that while he
wouldn't give a farthing for virtue, he would pay 10,000 pounds for
character, because, possessing it, he would be able to sell it for
much more.
Is it possible then that men of thoroughly good intentions will
neglect the one value which a knave says is worth prizing? Not only is
it possible; it happens every day! We see officers of the armed
establishment who, thinking themselves employed all day, would still,
if they had to make an honest reckoning of the score after tattoo
sounded, be compelled to say that they had done exactly nothing.
Lacking some compelling duty, they may have read several hours
mechanically, neither studying what was said, making notes, nor
reflecting on the value and accuracy of it. Such papers as they
signed, they had glanced over perfunctorily. If any subordinate
approached them with some small matter, they reacted by trying to get
rid of him as quickly as possible. When they entered the company of
their fellow officers, they partook of it as little as they could, not
bothering to enter vigorous conversation, failing to make any note of
the character and manner of their associates, and learning not at all
from the words that were said.
It is all good enough, and yet strangely it is neither good nor is it
enough. That idea of what life in the officer corps is meant to be
simply cannot stand up under the pressures of modern operations. True
enough, assignments do not all have the same level of work
requirement, and one is sometimes handed a wide open opportunity to
goldbrick. But taking advantage of it is like the dope habit; the more
that it is sniffed, the greater becomes the craving of the nervous
system. It is harder to throw off sloth than to keep it from climbing
onto one's back in the first place. And finally, the truth of the
matter is this, that there is never any assignment given an armed
service officer which entitles him to waste any of the working hours
of his day. Though he be marking time in a casual depot or replacement
center, there still awaits his attention the entire range of military
studies, through which he can advance his own abilities. And if he is
not of a mind for tactics, map-reading, military law, and training
doctrine, it still follows that the study of applied psychology,
English composition, economic geography and foreign languages will
further his career. Just as a rough approximation, any officer's work
week should comprise about 50 percent execution and the other half
study, if he is to make the best use of his force. The woods are
loaded with go-getters who claim they are men of action and therefore
have no need of books; that they are "the flat-bottoms who can ride
over the dew." Though they are a little breezier, they are of the same
bone and marrow as the drone who is always counseling halfspeed.
"Don't sweat; just get by; extra work means short life; you're better
off if they don't notice you." This chant can be heard by anyone who
cares to listen; it's the old American invitation to mediocrity. But
while mediocre, as commonly used, means "indifferent, ordinary," it
also has in old English the odd meaning "a young monk who was excused
from performing part of a monk's duties." And that, too, fits. It is
always worthwhile to ask a few very senior officers what they think of
these jokers who refuse to study. They will say that the higher up you
go, the more study you have to make up, because of what you missed
somewhere along the line. They will say also that when they got to
flag or star rank, things didn't ease off a bit.
But not all wisdom is to be found in books, and at no time is this
more true than when one is breaking in. What is expected of the novice
in any field is that he will ask questions, _smart ones if possible_,
but if not, then questions of all kinds until he learns that there is
no such item as reveille oil and that skirmish line doesn't come on
spools. For on one point there should be no mistake: the newly
appointed officer is a novice. Though many things go with the
commission, the assumption that he is all wise to all ways of the
service, and will automatically fit into his element as neatly as a
loaded ship settles down to its Plimsoll's mark, just isn't among
them. Within the services, seniors are rarely, if ever, either
patronizing or intolerant of the greenness of a new officer; they just
stand ready to help him. And if he doesn't permit them to have that
chance, because he would rather pretend that he knows it all, they
will gradually become bored with him because of the manifest proof
that he knows so very little.
_Wisdom begins at the point of understanding that there is nothing
shameful about ignorance; it is shameful only when a man would rather
remain in that state than cultivate other men's knowledge._ There is
never any reason why he should hesitate, for it is better to be
embarrassed from seeking counsel than to be found short for not having
sought it.
In one of the toughest trades in the world of affairs--that of the
foreign correspondent--initial dependence upon one's professional
colleagues is the only certain stepping stone to success. A man
arrives in strange country feeling very much alone. His credentials
lack the weight they had at home. The prestige of his newspaper counts
for almost nothing. Even the name of his home city stirs little
respect. The people, their ways, their approaches and their taboos are
foreign to him. This sweeping environmental change is crushing to the
spirit; it would impose an almost insuperable moral handicap if the
newcomer could not go to other Americans who have already worked the
ground, ask them how the thing is done, seek their advice about
dealing with the main personalities, learn from them about the
facilities for processing copy, and soak up everything they have to
say about private and professional procedures. Then as the ropes grow
gradually familiar in the grasp, confidence and nervous energy come
flooding back.
Surely there is a close parallel between this experience and that of
the journeyman moving from the familiar soil of civilianism to the
_terra incognita_ of military life. But there is also the marked
difference that everyone he meets can tell him something that he needs
to know. More particularly, if he has the ambition to excel as a
commander of men, rather than as a technician, then the study of human
nature and of individual characteristics within the military crowd
become a major part of his training. That is the prime reason why the
life of any tactical leader becomes so very interesting, provided he
possesses some imagination. Everything is grist for his mill.
Moreover, despite the wholesale transformation in the scientific and
industrial aspects of war, there has been no revolution in the one
thing that counts most. Ardant du Picq's words, "The heart of man does
not change," are as good now as when he said them in an earlier period
of war. Whatever one learns for certain about the nature of man as a
fighting animal can be filed for ready reference; the hour will come
when it will be useful.
We have emphasized the value of becoming curious, and of asking
questions about what one doesn't know, and have said that even when
the questions are a little on the dumb side, it does no harm. But the
ice gets very thin at one point. The same question asked over and
again, like the same error made more than once, will grate the nerves
of any superior. It is the mark of inattention, and the beginning of
that "tissue of things neglected and things done amiss" which put
Stevenson's oddball character in the ditch. When an officer lets words
go in one ear and out the other like water off a duck's back, to quote
the Dutch janitor, he is chasing rainbows by rubbing fur in the wrong
direction.
Ideally, an officer should be able to do the work of any man serving
under him. There are even some command situations in which the ideal
becomes altogether attainable, and a wholly practicable objective. For
it may be said without qualification, that if he not only has this
capability, but demonstrates it, so that his men begin to understand
that he is thoroughly versed in the work problems which concern them,
_he can command them in any situation_. This is the real bedrock of
command capacity, and nothing else so well serves to give an officer
an absolutely firm position with all who serve under him. As said
elsewhere in this book, within the armed establishment, administration
is not of itself a separate art, or a dependable prop to authority.
When administrators talk airily of things that they clearly do not
understand, they are simply using the whip on the team without having
control of the reins.
However, the greater part of military operation in present days is
noteworthy for the extreme diversity and complexity of its parts, and
instead of becoming more simplified, the trend is toward greater
elaboration. It is obviously absurd to expect that any officer could
know more about radio repair than his repairman, more about mapping
than his cartographical section, more about moving parts than a
gunsmith, more about radar than a specialist in electronics and more
about cypher than a cryptographer. If the services were to set any
such unreasonable standard for the commissioned body, all would
shortly move over into the lunatic fringe. Science has worked a few
wonders for the military establishment but it hasn't told us how to
produce that kind of man.
Plainly, there must be a somewhat different approach to the question
of what kind of knowledge an officer is expected to possess, or the
requirement would be unreasonable and unworkable.
_The distinction lies in the difference between the power to do a
thing well and that of being able to judge when it is well done._ A
man can say that a book is bad, though not knowing how to write one
himself, provided he is a student of literature. Though he has never
laid an egg, he can pass fair judgment on an omelette, if he knows a
little about cookery, and has sampled many good eggs, and detected a
few that were overripe.
"He who lives in a house," said Aristotle, "is a better judge of it
being good or bad than the builder of it. He can say not only these
things, but wherein its defects consist. Yet he might be quite unable
to cure the chimney, or to draw out a plan for his rooms which would
suit him better. Sometimes he can even see where the fault is which
caused the mischief, and yet he may not know practically how to remedy
it."
Adjustment to a job, and finally, mastery of it, by a service officer,
comes of persistent pursuit of this principle. The main technique is
study and constant reexamination of criteria. To take the correct
measure of standards of performance, as to the value of the work
itself, and as to the abilities of personnel, one must become immersed
in knowledge of the nature, _and purpose_, of all operations. There is
no shortcut to this grasp of affairs. The sack is filled bean by bean.
Patient application to one thing at one time is the first rule of
success; getting on one's horse and riding off in all directions is
the prelude to failure. All specialists like to talk about their work;
the interest of any other man is flattering; all men grow in knowledge
chiefly by picking other men's brains. Book study of the subject,
specialized courses in the service schools, the instructive comments
of one's superiors, the informed criticism of hands further down the
line and the weighing of human experience, at every source and by
every recourse, are the means of an informed judgment. It was the
scientist, Thomas Huxley who reminded us that science is only
"organized common sense."
Other things being equal, the prospect for any man's progress is
largely determined by his attitude. It is the receptive mind, rather
than the oracle, which inspires confidence. General Eisenhower said at
one point that, after 40 years, he still thought of himself as a
student on all military questions, and that he consciously mistrusted
any man who believed he had the full and final answer to problems
which by their nature were ever-changing.
But priggishness about knowledge is not more hurtful than is the
arbitrary use of it to limit action. _To rule by work rather than to
work by rules_ must be the abiding principle in military operations,
for finally, when war comes, nothing else will suffice. In peacetime,
absolute accountability is required, because dollar economy in
operations is a main object. This entails adherence to rigid forms,
time-consuming, but still necessary. In many of war's exigencies,
these forms frequently have to be swept aside, to bring victory as
quickly as possible and to save human life. In the book, "General
Kenney Reports," that great air commander spoke at one point of a
difficulty in one of his combat groups. "It was a lot of hard-working
earnest kids, officers and enlisted men, who were doing the best they
could under poor living and eating conditions. But their hands were
tied by the colonel in command whose passion for paper work
effectually stopped the issuing of supplies and the functioning of the
place as an air depot should. He told me that he thought 'it was about
time these combat units learned how to do their paper work properly.'
I decided that it would be a waste of time to fool with him so I told
him to pack up to go home on the next plane."
Though this is a tragic example of wrong-headedness, it is by no means
unique. The profession moves ahead, and national security advances
with it, because of men who have the confidence and courage to toss
the rule book out the window when it doesn't fit the situation, and
who dare to trust their own decisions and improvise swiftly.
But in all walks of life, this willingness to take hold of the reins
firmly is by no means common among men in relatively subordinate
positions who can play it safe by falling back on "SOP."
But there is also a far wider vista than that which is to be viewed
only within the services themselves, and its horizons are almost
infinite. The American way in warfare utilizes everything within the
national system which may be applied to a military purpose toward the
increase of training and fighting efficiency. Much of our potential
strength lies in our industrial structure, our progress in science,
our inventiveness and our educational resources. Toward the end that
all of these assets will be given maximum use, and every good idea
which can be converted to a military purpose will be in readiness to
serve the nation when war comes, there must be a continuing meeting of
minds between military leadership and the leaders and experts in these
various fields during peace.
That union cannot be perfected, however, unless there is a sufficient
number of men on both sides of the table who can think halfway into
the field of the man opposite. Just as the civilian expert in
electronics, airplane manufacture or motion picture production needs
to know more about the military establishment's problem and
requirements if he is to do his part, the service officer with whom he
is dealing needs to be informed on industry's resources, possibilities
and limitations if he is to enable the civilian side to do its part
well. The same for science. The same for education, and all other
backers of the fighting force.
An enlightened Englishman, D. W. Brogan, in a book written during
World War II, "The American Character," gave us this thought: "The
American officer must think in terms of material resources, existing
but not organized in peacetime and taking much time and thought and
experiment by trial and error to make available in wartime. He finds
that his best peacetime plans are inadequate for one basic reason:
that any plan which in peacetime really tried to draw adequately on
American resources would cause its author to be written off as a
madman; and in wartime, it would prove to have been inadequate,
pessimistic, not allowing enough for the practically limitless
resources of the American people--limitless once the American people
get ready to let them be used. And only war can get them ready for
that. The American officer can draw then, but not before, on an
experience in economic improvization and in technical adaptation which
no other country can equal."
This is true to the last syllable, and it means in essence that unless
the American officer can think of the whole nation as his workshop,
and along with his other duties, will apply himself as a student,
seeking to understand more and more about the richness and the
adaptability of our tremendous resources, neither he nor the country
will be relatively ready when war comes.
There is a last point to be made on the matter of attitude. The most
resolute opposition to changes in any system usually comes from those
who control them. That is universally true, and not peculiar to
military systems; but the services are foremost in recognizing that,
as a consequence, the encouragement of original thought at the lower
levels is essential to over-all progress.
All depends upon the manner. We can ponder the words of William
Hazlitt, "A man who shrinks from a collision with his equals or
superiors will soon sink below himself; we improve by trying our
strength with others, not by showing it off." They are good so far as
they go, but something new should be added. There is a vast difference
between contending firmly for ideas that seem progressive when one is
reasonably sure of one's data, and the habit of throwing one's weight
around through a mistaken belief that this of itself manifests an
independence of spirit which inspires respect.
Truculence can never win the day. Restraint, tolerance, a sense of
humor and of proportion and the force of logic are the marks of the
man qualified for intellectual leading. Within the services, even
though he has no great rank, there is practically nothing he cannot
carry through, if his proposals have the color of reason and
propriety, and if he will keep his head, keep his temper, and keep his
word.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KNOWLEDGE OF YOUR MEN
An admiring contemporary spoke of Paul G. Hoffman, the director of the
European Recovery Program, as "the kind of man who if tossed through
the air would always pick out the right trapeze."
Within any military organization, there is always a number of such
men, enlisted and commissioned. They know how and where to take hold,
even in the face of a totally unexpected and unnerving situation, and
they have what amounts to an instinct for doing the right thing in a
decisive moment.
If it were not so, no captain of the line would ever be able to manage
a company in battle, and no submarine commander would be able to cope
with an otherwise overwhelming danger. These men are the foundation of
unit integrity. The successful life of organization depends upon
husbanding, and helping them to cultivate, their own powers, which
means that their initiative and vigor must never be chilled by
supercilious advice and thoughtless correction.
They will go ahead and act responsibly on their own when given the
confidence, and if they want it, the friendship, of their commander.
But they cannot be treated like little children. The lash will ruin
them and the curb will merely subdue that which needs to be brought
forward. As in handling a horse with a good temper and a good mouth,
nothing more is needed than that gentle touch of the rein which
signals that things are under control.
From where the executive sits, the main secret of building strength
within organization comes of identifying such men, and of associating
one's authority with theirs, so it is unmistakable in whose name they
are speaking and acting. One of the acid tests of qualification in
officership is the ability properly to delegate authority, to put it
in the best hands, and thereafter to uphold them. If an officer cannot
do that, and if he is mistrustful of all power save his own, he
cannot command in peace, and when he goes into battle, his unit
strength will fragment like an exploding bomb, and the parts will not
be rewelded until some stronger character takes hold.