Exert 3 The "Cussin" Soldier
Very
soon the night closed in around us and it became almost pitch black.
Flares began to "magically" appear overhead, but it was not magic at
all. It was delivered by flare canisters being shot from the big guns of
another fire base located several miles down the road. Their lights
illuminated the area so we could see to dig in. However, the ground was
extremely hard, and it quickly became clear to everyone that this job
was not going to be easy. When midnight came, we were still digging. The
flares kept coming, making little popping sounds as their parachutes
opened above us. As they descended to the ground, they created weird
shadows which danced against the jungle backdrop. The effect was
enhanced by the flare, itself, as it swung back and forth below its
little white parachute, giving eerie motion to those shadows.
One of the guys in my platoon was especially perturbed about
the situation. His wife had recently sent him a "Dear John" letter and I
am sure that aggravated his mood even more. As he was digging, he
started cussing louder and louder. He could be heard a long way off by
everyone on our side of the perimeter and there was not a single N.C.O.
who bothered telling him to calm down. We were all "bone tired" and if
the truth be known he was probably saying nothing more than what the rest
of us, including the N.C.O.s, felt like saying.
As this loud cussing streak continued, this "red faced man"
became so focused on digging and cussing in cadence with every blow of
his entrenching tool that he failed to see two shadowy figures quietly
approaching from the direction of the big guns behind us. It was Richard and our B company C.O. They managed to walk within
six feet of the hole this guy was digging, without being seen by him.
Richard now stood directly behind and above the man,
with his hands on his hips, looking straight down at him. Oblivious to
their presence, the "cussing soldier" just kept digging and cussing
away. It seemed like a long time but was probably no more than fifteen
seconds. Finally, the man glanced up from his work long enough to notice
that the rest of us were standing "dead still" looking steadfastly at
something behind him. This caused him to stop digging and look to his
rear as well. When he did, he immediately threw down his entrenching
tool, did an "about face", stood straight up and saluted our battalion
commander, which was something we really were not supposed to do while
in the field. There was no return salute, as everyone including the
cussing soldier waited on the inevitable "dressing down" which would
surely come from Richard, or any commander, for that matter, in
the First Division. Yet, the "dressing down" never came. Instead, as the
soldier slowly lowered his salute, Richard, with a very measured
tone in his voice, beckoned the soldier to come up out of his hole and
face him face to face. The man meekly complied and climbed out of his
half-dug foxhole. Then, as the man stood very still before him, Dick
calmly began to speak as if he were talking to his own son. To this very day,
I have never forgotten his calm demeanor or the words he said. They were not
rebuking words. Nor were they angry or accusatory words. They were just
remarkably short and simple sentences which stated the obvious facts.
Dick said, "I know
how tired you are and how hard this ground is, but you have got to
finish digging this hole. It could save your life". Now, get back
down there and finish the job”. As the man turned to jump back into his
foxhole, Dick then caught him on his "rear end" with a gentle tap of his right
boot. That was the icing on the cake, in this modeled
display of leadership, which was being exercised not only for the
benefit of this one soldier but for the other 20 or 30 of us who were
"standing around" watching. The "cussin man" responded perfectly, with a
loud fake grunt, which put a smile on all our faces, including Dick's.
Years later, there is no doubt in my mind that versions of this entire
scene had been repeatedly choreographed to perfection in Dick's past, as
a show of his caring leadership presence, even in the most mundane
circumstances. There is also no doubt that he observed this technic of
good leadership in the
interactions of his father with the vaqueros under him. This display was also
being done, as a way for Dick to model effective
leadership before our "numb-scull" company commander, Captain Brown. It is too bad that Brown lost his pencil, before he was
able to take notes. After the two commanders moved on and
everyone went back to their digging, far from being angry, the cussing
man kept looking around at the rest of us, with that same sheepish grin
on his face. That silly little grin “pretty-well” said it all. It was
convincing evidence to show how a seemingly insignificant matter, which
would normally be left to an NCO, could be exploited by top leadership
for the benefit of all concerned. It was also a good example of how leaders
can use smallest of situations to bond with those they lead long before
the big the battles take place. I have remembered this moment for over fifty
years, while forgetting many other times, when I was ordered around,
while being shot at and mortared
by the enemy. That is "proof enough" for me, of
the power that a single small caring encounter can have on people. Before the
"cussin man" incident, I had already come to
respect this commander's judgment in the field. Now I was beginning to
admire the man, himself. It would take over a half century, but I would
eventually discover that I was not alone in my life-long imbedded perceptions of
him.
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