His notebook should be as ready to receive some especially apt saying
by a new recruit as the more ponderous words uttered by the sages. And
it should contain, not less, comments on techniques and methods used
by other speakers and instructors, which were visibly unusually
effective.
Above all, the consistent use of obvious and stereotyped devices and
methods of presentation should be avoided. For the fact is that _no
one has yet discovered the one best way_. In our service thinking, we
tend to get into a rut, and to use none but the well-tried way. For
example, we overwork the twin principles of thought-surprise and
thought-concentration, and in the effort to produce dramatic effect,
we sometimes achieve only an anticlimax. Using the techniques of the
advertising world, the military instructor puts his exhibits behind a
screen, in order to buildup anticipation, and at the appropriate
moment he yanks the cover off. This is perfectly effective, in some
instances. But it becomes a _reductio ad absurdum_ when he is working
with only one chart, or a pair or so of objects. Let's say that he is
talking about one machine gun, and he has one chart highlighting its
characteristics. How much more impressive it would be if they were in
the open at the beginning and he were to start by saying: "Gentlemen,
I am talking about this one gun and what keeps it going. It is more
important that you see and know this gun from this moment than that
you be persuaded by what I am about to say!"
It is a very simple but inviolable rule that where there is an obvious
straining to produce an effect by the use of any training aid, then
the effect of the training aid is lost and the speaker is
proportionately enfeebled. A famous World War II commander said of all
operations: "It is the chaps, not the charts, that get the job done."
What needs to be kept in mind is the psychological object in their
use. The scientists tell us, and we can partly take their word for it,
that people learn about 75 percent of what they know through their
sight, 13 percent through their hearing, and 12 percent through their
other senses. But this is a relative and qualitative, rather than an
absolute, truth. It has to be so. Otherwise, book study, which employs
sight exclusively, would be the only efficient method of teaching, and
oral instruction, which depends primarily on sound impact, would be a
wasteful process.
The more fundamental truth is that when oral instruction is properly
done, the mind becomes peculiarly receptive because it is being
bombarded by both sight and sound impressions. Nor is this small
miracle wrought primarily by what we call training aids. The thoughts
and ideas which remain most vivid in the memory get their adhesive
power because some particular person said them in a graphic way in a
pregnant moment. Our working thoughts are more often the product of an
association with some other individual than not. We remember words
largely because we remember an occasion. We believe in ideas because
first we were impressed by the source whence they came.
The total impression of a speaker--his sincerity, his knowledge, his
enthusiasm, his mien, and his gestures--is what carries conviction and
puts an indelible imprint on the memory. Man not only thinks, but he
moves, and he is impressed most of all by animate objects. Vigorous
words mean little or nothing to him when they issue from a lack-luster
personality.
Artificiality is one of the more serious faults, and it is
unfortunately the case that though an instructor may be solid to the
core, he will seem out of his element, unless he is careful to avoid
stilted words and vague or catch-all phrases and connectives. Strength
in discourse comes of simplicity.
But it has become almost an American disease of late that we painfully
avoid saying it straight. "We made contact, and upon testing my
reaction to him, found it distinctly adverse" is substituted for "I
met him and didn't like him." But what is equally painful is to hear
public remarks interlarded with such phrases as "It would seem," "As I
was saying," "And so, in closing," "Permit me to call your attention
to the fact" and "Let us reflect briefly"--which is often the prelude
to a 2-hour harangue.
Not less out of place in public address is the apologetic note. The
man who starts by explaining that he's unaccustomed to public
speaking, or badly prepared, is simply asking for the hook. "To
explain what I mean" or "to make myself clear" makes the audience
wonder only why he didn't say it that way in the first place. But the
really low man on this totem pole is the one who says, "Perhaps you're
not getting anything out of this."
A man does not have to go off like a gatling gun merely because he is
facing the crowd. Mr. Churchill, one of the great orators of the
century, made good use of deliberate and frequent pauses. It is a
trick worth any young speaker's cultivation, enabling the collection
of thought and the avoiding of tiresome "and ah-h-h's."
Likewise, because a man is in military uniform does not require that
his speech be terse, cold, given to the biting of words and the
overemployment of professional jargon. Training instruction is not
drill. Its efficiency does not come of its incisiveness but of the
bond of sympathy which comes to prevail between the instructor and his
followers.
Another main point: It is disconcerting to talk about the ABCs, if the
group already knows the alphabet. To devote any great part of a
presentation to matters which the majority present already well
understand is to assure that the main object will receive very little
serious attention. Thus in talking about the school of the rifle, only
a fool would start by explaining what part of it was the trigger and
from which end the bullet emerged, though it might be profitable to
devote a full hour to the discussion of caliber. Likewise, in such a
field as tactical discussion, the minds of men are more likely to be
won, and their imagination stirred, through giving them the reasoning
behind a technique or method than by telling them simply how a thing
is done.
In talk, as in tactics, at the beginning the policy of the limited
objective is a boon to confidence. It scares any green man to think
about talking for an hour. But if he starts with a subject of his own
choice and to his liking, and works up to 15-minute talk for a group
of platoon size, he will quickly develop his powers over the short
course; the switch from sprinting to distance running can be made
gradually and without strain. But it's easy that does it, and one step
at a time.
Excessive modesty is unbecoming. No matter how firm his sources, or
complex the subject, any instructor should form the habit of adding a
few thoughts of his own to any presentation. It is not a mark of
precocity but of interest when an instructor knows his material, and
its application to the human element, sufficiently well to express an
occasional personal opinion. Since he is not a phonograph record, he
has a right to say, "I think" or "I believe." Indeed, if he does not
have his subject sufficiently in hand that it has stirred his own
imagination, he is no better than a machine.
That leads to a discussion of outlines. They are necessary, if any
subject is to be covered comprehensively. But if they are
overelaborated, the whole performance becomes automatic and dull. A
little spontaneity is always needed. Even when working from a
manuscript, a speaker should be ever-ready to depart from his text if
a sudden idea pops into his mind. It is better to try this and to
stumble now and then than to permit the mind to be commanded by words
written on paper.
Likewise, revision of outline between talks is the way of the alert
mind. A man cannot do this work without seeing, in the midst of
discussion, points which need strengthening, and bets which have been
missed. Notes should be revised as soon as the period is completed.
There are many methods of instruction, among them being the seminar,
critique, group discussion and conference. They are not described here
for the reason that every young officer quickly learns about them in
the schools, and gets to know the circumstances under which one form
or another can be used to greatest advantage.
It suffices to say that their common denominator, insofar as personal
success and ease of participation are concerned, is the ability to
think quickly and accurately on one's feet; the one best school for
the sharpening of this faculty is the lecture platform. Keenness is a
derivative of pressure.
Use of a wire recorder or a platter, so that one can get a playback
after talking, is an aid to self-criticism. But it is not enough. A
man will often miss his own worst faults, because they came of
ignorance in the first place; too, voice reproduction proves nothing
about the effectiveness of one's presence, expression and gesture. It
is common-sense professional procedure to ask the views of one or two
of the more experienced members of the audience as to how the show
went over, and what were its weak points.
There is one hidden danger in becoming too good at this business. Too
frequently, polished speakers fall in love with the sound of their own
voices, and want to be heard to the exclusion of everyone else. In the
military establishment, where the ideal object is to get 100 percent
participation from all personnel, this is a more serious vice than
snoring in a pup tent.
When an officer feels any temptation to monopolize the discussion, it
is time to pray for a bad case of bronchitis.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
YOUR RELATIONSHIPS WITH YOUR MEN
Inasmuch as most of this book has been directed toward covering the
various approaches to this subject, there is need to discuss here only
a relatively few points which could not conveniently be treated
elsewhere.
This is the touchstone of success.
To any officer starting on a life career, it is impossible to
overstate its importance. For the moment, we can forget the words duty
and responsibility. The question is: "How do I get ahead?" And for a
junior there is one main road open--he will strive to achieve such a
communion of spirit with his subordinates that he will know the
personality and character of every one of his men, will understand
what moves and what stops them, and will be sympathetic to their every
impulse.
This is the main course. The great principles of war have evolved from
centuries of observation on how men react in the mass. It could not be
otherwise than that any officer's growth in knowledge of when and how
these principles apply to varying situations, strategical and
tactical, come primarily of the acuteness of his powers of observation
of individual men, and of men working together in groups, and
responding to their leadership, under widely different conditions of
stress, strain and emotion.
The roots of this kind of wisdom are not to be acquired from book
study; books are a help only as they provide an index to what should
be sought. The sage who defined strategy as "the art of the possible"
(the art of politics has been defined in the same words) wrote better
than he knew. The cornerstone of the science of war is knowledge of
the economy of men's powers, of their physical possibilities and
limitations, of their response to fatigue, hope, fear, success and
discouragement, and of the weight of the moral factor in everything
they do. Man is a beast of burden; he will fail utterly in the crisis
of battle if there is no respect for his aching back. He is also one
of a great brotherhood whose mighty fellowship can make the worst
misery tolerable, and can provide him with undreamed strength and
courage. These are among the things that need to be studied and
understood; they are the main score. It is only when an officer can
stand and say that he is first of all a student of human material that
all of the technical and material aspects of war begin to conform
toward each other and to blend into an orderly pattern. And the
laboratory is right outside the office door. Either an officer grows
up with, and into, this kind of knowledge through reflecting on
everything that he can learn of men wherever he fits himself into a
new environment, or because of having neglected to look at trees, he
will also miss the forest.
By the numbers, it isn't a difficult assignment. The schools have
found by experiment that the average officer can learn the names of 50
men in between 7 and 10 days. If he is in daily contact with men, he
should know 125 of them by name and by sight within 1 month. Except
under war conditions, he is not likely to work with larger numbers
than that.
This is the only way to make an intelligent start. So long as a man is
just a number, or a face, to his officer, there can be no deep trust
between them. Any man loves to hear the sound of his own name, and
when his superior doesn't know it, he feels like a cypher.
As with any other introduction, an officer meeting an enlisted man for
the first time is not privileged to be inquisitive about his private
affairs. In fact, nosiness and prying are unbecoming at any time, and
in no one more than in a military officer. On the other hand, any man
is flattered if he is asked about his work or his family, and the
average enlisted man will feel complimented if an officer engages him
in small talk of any kind. Greater frankness, covering a wide variety
of subjects, develops out of longer acquaintance. It should develop as
naturally and as easily as in civilian walks of life; rank is no
barrier to it unless the officer is overimpressed with himself and
bent on keeping the upper hand; the ranks are wiser about these
things than most young officers; they do not act forward or
presumptuous simply because they see an officer talking and acting
like a human being. But they aren't Quiz Kids. Informal conversation
between officer and man is a two-way street. The ball has to be batted
back and forth across the net or there isn't any game. An officer has
to extend himself, his thoughts, his experiences and his affairs into
the conversation, or after his first trial or two, there will be
nothing coming back.
It is unfortunately the case that many young officers assume that
getting acquainted with their men is a kind of interrogation process,
like handling an immigrant knocking for admission to the United
States. They want to know everything, but they stand on what they
think is their right to tell a man nothing. That kind of attitude just
doesn't wash. In fact, the chief value of such conversations is that
it permits the junior to see his superior as a man rather than as a
boss.
An officer should never speak ironically or sarcastically to an
enlisted man, since the latter doesn't have a fair chance to answer
back. The use of profanity and epithets comes under the same heading.
The best argument for a man keeping his temper is that nobody else
wants it; and when he voluntarily throws it away, he loses a main prop
to his own position.
Meeting one of his own enlisted men in a public place, the officer who
does not greet him personally and warmly, in addition to observing the
formal courtesies between men in service, has sacrificed a main chance
to win the man's abiding esteem. If the man is with his family, a
little extra graciousness will go a long way, and even if it didn't,
it would be the right thing.
In any informal dealing with a number of one's own men, it is good
judgment to pay a little additional attention to the youngest or
greenest member of the group, instead of permitting him to be shaded
by older and more experienced men. They will not resent it, and his
confidence will be helped.
It should go without saying that an officer does not drink with his
men, though if he is a guest of honor at an organizational party where
punch or liquor is being served, it would be a boorish act for him to
decline a glass, simply because of this proscription. Sometimes in a
public cocktail bar an officer will have the puzzling experience of
being approached by a strange but lonely enlisted man who, being a
little high, may have got it into his head that it is very important
to buy an officer a drink. What one does about that depends upon all
of the surrounding circumstances. It is better to go through with it
than create a scene which will give everyone a low opinion of the
service. Irrespective of rules, there are always situations which are
resolved only by good judgment. And, of course, the problem can be
avoided by staying away from cocktail bars.
Visiting men in hospital is a duty which no officer should neglect.
Not only does it please the man and his family; it is one of the few
wide open portals to a close friendship with him. It is strange but
true that the man never forgets the officer who was thoughtful enough
to call on him when he was down. And the effect of it goes far beyond
the man himself. Other men in the unit are told about it. Other
patients in the ward see it and note with satisfaction that the corps
takes its responsibilities to heart. If the man is in such shape that
he can't write a letter, it is a worthy act to serve him in this
detail. By the same token when a man goes on sick call, the officer's
responsibility does not end at the point where the doctor takes over.
His interest is to see that the man is made well, and if he has reason
to think that the treatment he is receiving falls short of the best
possible, it is within his charge to raise the question. The old saw
about giving the man CC pills and iodine and marking him duty is now
considerably outdated. But it is not assumed that every member of the
medical staff serving the forces will at all times do his duty with
the intelligence and reverence of a saint.
A birthday is a big day in any man's life. So is his wedding. So is
the birth of a child. By making check of the roster and records, and
by keeping an ear to the ground for news of what is happening in the
unit, an officer can follow these events. Calling the man in and
giving him a handclasp and word of congratulation, or writing a note
to the home, takes very little time and is worth every moment of it.
Likewise, if he has won some distinction, such as earning a
promotion, a letter of appreciation to his parents or his wife will
compound the value of telling the man himself that you are proud of
what he has done.
Nothing is more pleasing or ingratiating to any junior than to be
asked by his superior for his opinion on any matter--provided that it
is given a respectful hearing. Any man gets a little fagged from being
_told_ all the time. When he is consulted and asked for a judgment, it
builds him up.
There is absolutely no point in visiting kitchens or quarters and
asking of the atmosphere if everything is all right. Men seldom
complain, and they are loath to stick their necks out when there are
other enlisted men within hearing. It is the task of the officer to
_see_ that all is right, and to take whatever trouble is necessary to
make certain. If he is doubtful about the mess, then a mere pecky
sampling of it will do no good. Either he will live with it for a few
meals, or he won't find the "bugs" in it.
An officer should not ask a man: "Would you like to do such-and-such a
task?" when he has already made up his mind to assign him to a certain
line of duty. Orders, hesitatingly given, are doubtfully received. But
the right way to do it is to instill the idea of collaboration. There
is something irresistably appealing about such an approach as: "I need
your help. Here's what we have to do."
An officer is not expected to appear all-wise to those who serve under
him. Bluffing one's way through a question when ignorant of the answer
is foolhardy business. "I'm sorry, but I don't know," is just as
appropriate from an officer's lips as from any other. And it helps
more than a little to be able to add, "But I'll find out."
Rank should be used to serve one's subordinates. It should never be
flaunted or used to get the upper hand of a subordinate in any
situation save where he had already discredited himself in an
unusually ugly or unseemly manner.
When suggestions from any subordinate are adopted, the credit should
be passed on to him publicly.
When a subordinate has made a mistake, but not from any lack of good
will, it is common sense to take the rap for him rather than make him
suffer doubly for his error.
An officer should not issue orders which he cannot enforce.
He should be as good as his word, at all times and in any
circumstance.
He should promise nothing which he cannot make stick.
An officer should not work, looking over his men's shoulder, checking
on every detail of what they are doing, and calling them to account at
every furlong post. This maidenly attitude corrodes confidence and
destroys initiative.
On the other hand, contact is necessary at all times. Particularly
when men are doing long-term work, or are operating in detachment at a
remote point, they will become discouraged and will lose their sense
of direction unless their superior looks in on them periodically, asks
whether he can be of any help, and, so doing, gets them to open up and
discuss the problem.
The Navy says, "It isn't courtesy to change the set of the sail within
30 minutes after relief of the watch." Applied to a command job, this
means that it is a mistake for an officer, on taking a new post, to
order sweeping changes affecting other men, in the belief that this
will give him a reputation for action and firmness. The studying of
the situation is the overture to the steadying of it. The story is
told of Gen. Curtis E. LeMay of the Air Force. Taking over the 21st
Bomber Command in the Marianas, he faced the worried staff officers of
his predecessor and said quietly, "You're all staying put. I assume
you know your jobs or you wouldn't be here."
The identity of the officer with the gentleman should persist in his
relations with men of all degree. In the routine of daily direction
and disposition, and even in moments of exhortation, he had best bring
courtesy to firmness. The finest officers that one has known are not
occasional gentlemen, but in every circumstance: in commissioned
company and, more importantly, in contact with those who have no
recourse against arrogance.
The traditional wisdom of addressing Judy O'Grady with the same
politeness as one would the Colonel's Lady applies equally in all
situations in life where one is at arbitrary advantage in dealing
with another. To press this unnecessarily is to sacrifice something of
one's quality in the eyes of the onlooker. Besides, there is always
the better way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
YOUR MEN'S MORAL AND PHYSICAL WELFARE
To put it in a nutshell, the moral of this chapter is that when men
are moral, the moral power which binds them together and fits them for
high action is given its main chance for success.
There should therefore be no confusion about how the word is being
used. We are speaking both of training in morals for every day living,
and of moral training which will harden the will of a fighting body.
One moment's reflection will show why they need not be considered
separately, and why we can leave it to Webster to do the
hairsplitting.
It is the doctrine of the armed establishment of the United States
that when American men lead a personal life which is based on high
moral standards, and when their aim is equally high as to physical
fitness and toughness, under training conditions they will mature
those qualities which are most likely to produce inspired leading and
stout following within the forces.
There is nothing panty-waist about this doctrine. It was not
pronounced to gratify the clergy or to reassure parents that their
sons would be in good hands, even though these things, too, are
important.
The doctrine came of the experience of the Nation in war, and of what
the services learned by measuring their own men. But it happened,
also, that the facts were consistent with a common sense reckoning of
the case.