6. Not to yield on unimportant trifles.

7. To look for perfection in our own actions.

8. To worry ourselves and others about what can't be remedied.

9. Not to help everybody wherever, however, whenever we can.

10. To consider impossible what we cannot ourselves perform.

11. To believe only what our finite minds can grasp.

12. Not to make allowances for the weakness of others.

13. To estimate by some outside quality, when it is that within which makes the man.

The un.o.bserving officer will no doubt dismiss this list as just so many cliches. The reflective man will accept it as a negative guide to positive conduct, for it engages practically every principle which is vital to the growth of a strong spiritual life in relation to one's fellow men.

Certain of these points stand out as prominently as pips on a radar screen to the military officer bent on keeping his own ship out of trouble. The morals contained in 4, 5, 12, and 13 all come to bear in the story told by Sgt. Fred Miller about Pvt. Fred Lang of Hospital No. 1 on Bataan. Miller had tried to do what he could for Lang, but no one else in the detachment was willing to give him a break. He was an unlettered hillbilly and, being ashamed of his own ignorance, he was shy toward other men. The rest of the story is best told in Miller's words.

"When the j.a.ps made their first bombing run on Marivales, most of us, being new at war, huddled together under such cover as we could find.

Some people were hit outside. We stayed where we were. But we looked out and saw Lang. He was trying to handle a stretcher by himself, dragging one end along the ground in an effort to bring in the wounded. I remember one member of our group remarking, 'Look at old Lang trying to do litter drill right in the middle of a war.' Lang was killed by an enemy bomb that night. I guess he had to die to make us understand that he was the best man."

There is hardly an American who has been in combat but can tell some other version of this same story, changing only the names and the surroundings. All too frequently it happens in the services--we look at a man, and because at a casual inspection we do not like the cut of his jib, or the manner of his response, or are over-persuaded by what someone else has said about him, we reach a permanent conclusion about his possibilities, and either mentally write him off, or impair our own capacity for giving him help.

It suffices to say that when any officer has the inexcusable fault that he takes snap judgment on his _own_ men, he will not be any different in his relations with all other people, and will stand in his own light for the duration of his career. Which leads to one other observation. When any man, bearing a bad efficiency report, comes to a new organization, it is a fact to be noted with mild interest, but _without any prejudice whatever_. Every new a.s.signment means a clean slate, and there should be no hangover from what has happened, including the possible mistaken judgments of others. The system was never intended to give a dog a bad name. To be perpetually supervised, questioned and shadowed is to be doubted, and doubt destroys confidence and creates fear, slyness and discontent in the other individual. Every man is ent.i.tled to a fresh hold on security with his new superior. Any wise and experienced senior commander will tell you this, and will cite examples of men who came to him with a spotty record, who started nervously, began to pick up after realizing that they were not going to get another kick, and went on to become altogether superior. For any right-minded commander, it is far more gratifying to be able to salvage human material than to take over an organization that is sound from bottom to top.

However, the truth in point 9 applies universally. The studied effort to be helpful in all of our relations with our fellow men, and to give help not grudgingly, but cheerfully, courteously and in greater measure than is expected, is the high road to wide influence and personal strength of character. More than all else, it is the little kindnesses in life which bind men together and help each wayfarer to start the day right. These tokens are like bread cast upon the water; they ultimately nourish the giver more than the direct beneficiary.

One of our best-known corps commanders in the Pacific War made it a rule that if any man serving under him, or any man he knew in the service, however unimportant, was promoted or given any other recognition, he would write a letter to the man's wife or mother, saying how proud he felt. He was not a great tactician or strategist but, because of the little things he did, men loved him and would ride to h.e.l.l for him, and their collective moral strength became the bastion of his professional success.

Of Maj. Gen. Henry T. Allen, who commanded our first Army of Occupation in Germany, a distinguished contemporary once said: "It surprised us that Allen did so well; in the old Army we regarded him as a swashbuckler." Maybe that was because he was a cavalryman and liked to strut, and he liked to see chestiness in his own people, right down to the last file. But General Allen was infinitely considerate of the dignity of all other men, and he disciplined himself to further their growth and give them some mark of his thoughtful regard so far as lay within his power. It was because of his rich understanding humanity, and not through any genial slackness, that he kept a tight hold on discipline. To the units he commanded he gave his own tone. He warmed men instead of chilling them with fear.

Thousands returned to civil life better equipped for the pa.s.sage because of what they had seen him do and heard him say.

So we can link points 1, 6, 7, and 8 from the Coast Guard's list into one binding truth not less essential to sound officership than to action anywhere which seeks the cooperation and goodwill of men: _It is not more blessed to be right than to be loved_, Henry Clay's remark that he would rather be right than president notwithstanding. The absolute perfectionist is the most tiresome of men, and a waster of time and of nerves. The stickler, the fly-speckler, the bully and the s.a.d.i.s.t serve only to enc.u.mber those parts of the establishment which they touch; their subordinates spend part of their own strength clearing away the wreckage which these misfits make.

Other than these comments, it is not necessary to say a great deal about the _inner qualities_ which give an officer a free-wheeling adjustment with other persons in all walks of life. Once again, however, it might be well to speak of the importance of enthusiasm, kindness, courtesy, and justice, which are the safeguards of honor and the tokens of mutual respect between man and man. This last there must be if men are to go forward together, prosper in one another's company, find strength in the bonds of mutual service, and experience a common felicity in the relationship between the leader and the led.

But it is sadly the case that the reputation of any man, as to what he is inside, forms in large measure from what others see of him from the outside. That is what makes poignant the story of Pvt. Fred Lang; like a singed cat, he was better than he looked. In the military service, more than elsewhere in life, manner weighs heavily in the balance, if only for the reason that from the public point of view, the military officer is supposed to look the part. He is expected to be the embodiment of character, given to forthright but amiable speech, capable of expressing his ideas and purpose clearly, careful of customs and good usage, and carrying himself with poise and a.s.surance.

For if he does not have the aura of vitality, confidence and reflection which is expected in a leader of men, it will be suspected that he is incapable of playing the part. However unfairly discriminating that judgment may seem to be, in comparison with the att.i.tude toward other professions, it has a perfectly logical basis.

The people are willing to forgive preoccupation in all others, since how an engineer dresses has no relation to his skill as a mathematician, and when a doctor mumbles it doesn't suggest that he would be clumsy with a scalpel. But when they meet an uncivil or unkempt officer, or see an untidy soldier or bluejacket on the street, they worry that the national defense is going to pot. One reason for the great prestige of the Marine Corps is that the public seldom, if ever, sees a sloppy marine, though its members do sometimes look a little gruesome on the field of battle.

The officer corps does have its share of "characters." Some are men born in an uncommon mold, with a great deal of natural phlegm in their systems, a gift for salty speech and a tendency to drawl their words as if their thoughts were being raised from a deep well. Usually, they are men of extraordinary power, and are worth any dozen of that individual who scuttles about like a water bug, making an exhibition of great energy but, like the whirling dervish, keeping in such constant motion that he has no chance to observe what goes on under his nose. Here, as in all things, it is steadiness that does it. The blunt soldier, the old sea-dog type of naval officer, is endurable and even lovable in the eyes of most other people, when he has done his sc.r.a.pping with fire rather than firewater, when his personal credentials are sound, and when his outward manner is bluff in both meanings of the word. But the fakers who affect the crusty manner, the glaring eye and the jutting jaw, simply because they are wearing military suits and think mistakenly that these things are in the tradition, will be recognized as counterfeit as quickly as a lead quarter.

There is nothing else that serves as well as the natural manner, with some polishing of the surfaces here and there, and a general tightening at the corners.

While a partial check list is not likely to reform the establishment overnight, if kept simple enough, it may afford help to an occasional individual, instead of giving him the fear that he is falling apart at the seams.

The smartest physical culturists are swinging around to the idea that correct posture alone is the great secret of physical fitness, that if a man sits well, stands erect and walks correctly all the time, he is doing more for his health and longevity than all of the setting-up exercises and sweat baths yet devised. At the same time he is making a favorable impression on all who see him. Clumsy one-sided postures, fidgeting on a chair, slouching while sitting or standing, moving along at a shambling gait and speaking with the chin down on the chest produce quite the opposite effect. Right or wrong, they are taken as a sign of indolence, fatigue, or inattention. There is always an hour for complete physical relaxation, for stretching and letting the muscles melt; Winston Churchill attributed a large part of his vigor and recuperative powers to the habit of taking a 30-minute cat nap in midday. That is a smart trick if one can master it. But trying most of all for _physical ease_ when in conversation, or at conference, or in attending to any matter wherein one comes under the surveillance of those whose good opinion is worth cultivating is as certain a handicap as putting excess weight on an otherwise good horse.

In the services, as in any situation in life in which deference to higher opinion is compelled by the nature of an undertaking, the young will do well to consider the wisdom of the precept, "Be patient with your betters."

It is lamentably bad judgment to act by any other rules. Where differences of opinion exist, time and forbearance not infrequently will work the desired change, where stubbornness or rudeness would utterly fail. More than that, a junior owes this much consideration to any senior whose heart is in the right place. It is bad manners, but even worse from the standpoint of tactics, to attempt publicly to score a victory over a senior in any dispute, or to attempt by wit to gain the upperhand of him in the presence of others. Though the point may be gained for the moment, it is usually at the cost of one's personal hold on the confidence of the senior.

But there is also the other side of the case, that the superior should deal considerately with any earnest proposal from his subordinate, rather than dashing cold water in his face, just because he has not thought his proposition through. One of the best-loved editors of the United States, Grove Patterson, of Toledo, Ohio, was remembered by every young journalist who ever came under him because of the care with which he supported every man's pride. A youngster would go in to him, filled with enthusiasm for some idea, which he himself had not bothered to view in the round. Patterson would listen carefully, and would then say: "That's a corking idea. Take it and work it out carefully, going over every aspect of it. Then bring it back to me."

On second thought, the youngster would begin having his own doubts, and would shortly begin hoping that the chief would forget all about the subject, which he invariably did. Many celebrated commanders in our military services have won the lasting affection of their subordinates by employing exactly this method.

Men like the direct glance. They feel flattered by it, particularly when they are talking, and in conversation they like to be heard through, not interrupted in mid-pa.s.sage. That is true whatever their station. n.o.body likes to be bored, but fully half of boredom comes from lack of the habit of careful listening. The man who will not listen never develops wits enough to distinguish between a bore and a sage and therefore cannot pick the best company. The vacant stare, the drifting of eyes from the speaker to a window, or a picture or a pa.s.sing blonde, though greatly tempting in the midst of long discourse, are taken only as signs of inattention. Many a young officer called to the carpet for some trivial business has managed to square himself with his commander just by looking straight and talking straight in the few moments that decided his future.

Elsewhere in the book, a great deal has been said about the importance of the voice and of developing one's powers of conversation. Not a great deal more needs to be added here. But there is no excuse for the officer who talks so that others must strain to hear what he is saying--unless he is suffering from laryngitis. It is simple enough to keep the chin up and let the words roll out. Many persons have the bad habit of letting the voice drop at the end of a sentence; the effect on the other party is like watching a man run away from a fight. For clear understanding, and to create a good impression, there should be a cheerful lift upward at the end of a sentence.

Also, officers who look at lecturing simply as part of the routine tend to fall into either the singsong rhythm which one frequently hears in college professors and certain radio announcers, or go all out for the sonorous intonations which are beloved by many of the clergy. Many young officers get into these same cadences whenever they talk to men, and before they know it, they are trying the same thing in the family circle. They sound like alarm clocks running down, but instead of arousing the house, they are an invitation to slumber.

Either on the lecture platform, or in man-to-man conversation, there is no valid reason why it is ever necessary to take the tone which suggests that the talk is one-sided. Words can be crisply uttered and still be personally directed, but not if the speaker is looking at the floor, the moon or the rafters. To discuss a question amicably is the best way to gain clear insight into it; when a man argues violently, his purpose usually is not to serve wisdom but to prevail despite his lack of it, thus stultifying both himself and his adversary.

Clothes are important. They have to be. One can't go very far without them, north of the Equator. But a fresh press counts more than a new suit by a Fifth Avenue tailor left unpressed, and neatness beats lavishness any day in the week.

Carefulness in the little things counts much. Men develop an aversion to the individual who cannot remember their names, their t.i.tles or their stations, but they will warm to the person who remembers, and they will overlook most of his other shortcomings. Likewise, they are won by any words of appreciation or of interest in what they are doing. Get a man talking about his business, his golf game or his family, and you are on the inside track toward his friendship. As for senior commanders, when the hours comes for them to bat the ball back and forth in friendly conversation, there is nothing they enjoy more than reminiscing about experiences on the battlefield. Other than inveterate surgical patients, no one can outdo them in talking about their operations.

It isn't lengthy advice which is needed on this subject, since a man commissioned is considered to have graduated from at least the kindergarten of good manners. What counts is simply caring about it, not to be ingratiating to other people, but for the sake of one's own dignity and self-respect.

None of the oracles on winning friends and influencing people have said it in those few words, and if they had, there would have been no books to sell.

CHAPTER NINE

LEADERS AND LEADERSHIP

In that gallery of Great Americans whose names are conspicuously identified with the prospering of the national arms in peace and war, there are almost as many types as there are men.

There were a certain few qualities that they had to possess in common or their names would never have become known beyond the county line.

But these were inner qualities, often deep buried, rather than outward marks of greatness which men recognized immediately upon beholding them.

Some almost missed the roll call, either because in early life their weaknesses were more apparent than their strengths, or because of an outward seeming of insignificance which at first fooled their contemporaries.

In the minority are the few who seemed marked for greatness almost from the cradle, and were acclaimed for leadership while still of tender years.

Winfield Scott, a Brigadier in the War of 1812 when Brigadiers were few, and Chief of Staff when the Civil War began, is a unique figure in the national history.

George Washington, Adjutant of the State of Virginia at 21, is one other military infant prodigy who never later belied his early fame.

The majority in the gallery are not like these. No two of them are strikingly alike in mien and manner. Their personalities are as different, for most part, as their names. Their characters also ran the range of the spectrum, or nearly, if we are talking of moral habit, rather than of conscientious performance of military duty. Some drank their whiskey neat and frequently; others loathed it and took a harsh line with any subordinate who used it.

One of the greatest generals in American history, celebrated for his fighting hardly more than for his tippling, would walk from the room if any man tried to tell an off-color story in his presence.

One of the most celebrated and successful of our Admirals endeared himself to millions of men in all ranks and services by his trick of gathering his chief subordinates together just prior to battle, issuing his orders sternly and surely, and then relaxing long enough to tell them his latest parlor story, knowing that finally it would trickle down through the whole command.

Among the warriors in this gallery are men who would bet a month's pay on a horse race. There are duellists and brawlers, athletes and aesthetes, men who lived almost sainted lives and scholars who lived more for learning than for fame.