Remembering: Two Officers, Two Outcomes — The Difference Was People

The banner stretching across the back wall of the Newburgh Holiday Inn’s banquet mom welcomed the graduates of the U. S. Military Academy’s Class of 1991 to their twenty-fifth reunion. The room was virtually empty now, except for the two gentlemen who’d just sat down at the bar in front of me. One was dressed in a sportcoat and tie, the other wore Class A with the two stars of a major general pinned to the epaulets on his shoulders.

“Bartender, how about a couple of Seven-Sevens for my friend and me,” the general said.

I busied myself mixing the drinks while they began talking over old times. From what I could hear, they’d been roommates during their last year at the Academy, and they’d both gone Armor. That was the last time they’d seen each other before tonight. I set the drinks on the bar and glanced at the general’s name tag. Jameson. Damn, he sure looked familiar. Then it dawned on me: he’d been a platoon leader and later company XO in A Company, 2-77 Armor at Ft. Carson back in the early ’90s when I was the first shirt.

“Hey, sir,” I said, “remember me? I was first sergeant of Alpha 2-77 when you were an LT.”

‘‘Well. I’ll be a son of a gun!” he said, as the recognition spread over his face. “‘Top’ Smythe! Boy, those were the days, weren’t they?” “Yeah,” I said with a laugh. “What a great outfit we had.”

He gestured to the man in civilian clothes seated beside him. “Meet Don Bassett. He was my roommate at the Academy the year we graduated. He’san ex-tanker. Spent time with the 5th Mech at Polk and Hood before he got out in ’94. Don, this is ‘Top’ Bill Smythe. He broke me in back at Carson during my first tour there.” We shook hands. Bassett looked much older than Jameson. The years had been less kind to him. Who says Army life is so much harder on the body? “It’s a pleasure, sir,” I said. “I’m sure you gentlemen have a lot of catching up to do and I’ve got to get ready to close, so, if you’ll excuse me....

“Sure, ‘Top,’ good to see you again,” said Maj. Gen. Jameson. He turned back to Bassett and they began an animated conversation. As I tidied up behind the bar, I couldn’t help overhearing them. They started out with the usual stuff: family situation, bringing each other up to date with what they’d been doing over the years, etc.

The general, it was clear, had followed the fast track. Beginning with promotion to major he’d been a below-the-zoner all the way. He’d just finished a tour as assistant division commander for ops and training with the 1st Armored Division at Ft. Hood -where the colors had been brought from Germany back in ’95 - and was on his way to Ft. Stewart to take over the 24th Mech.

Bassett, on the other hand, had had a tough go. He’d been passed over for promotion to captain and got his pink slip in late ’94. After that he’d gone back to grad school, got an MBA, and went to work for a Fortune 500 company in New York - where he’d been ever since.

It was typical reunion talk -until they started comparing notes on their tom as platoon leaders. What made their discussion of that experience so fascinating was that it sounded like a complete lesson in training young officers.

“So what happened to you back at Polk, Don?” the general asked “I know it’s a touchy subject, but I remember what a fire-breather you were as a cadet and how hard-charging you were in AOB. I just can’t imagine you not cutting it as a platoon leader and then getting passed over for captain.” Bassett chuckled. “Yeah, neither could I. I remember everything they told us about hitting the ground running, but it’s hard to run in mud.” “What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, I never really got any help,” said Bassett. “My company commander was one of those guys who wanted everything to be perfect. He never had any time for us lieutenants, nor would he tolerate any mistakes. If any of us made the least little screw up, he’d start getting into our business.

“Nor did he ever meet with us or ask us what we thought. Rather than take the time to explain what he wanted or how he thought things should be done, or listen to any ideas we might have, he just did things himself. I felt as useless as the third leg on a duck.” The bitterness in his voice was plainly evident.

‘The SOB spent all his spare time up at battalion sucking up to the CO, and if anything went wrong it was always somebody else’s fault. The old man never questioned him because he always had paperwork to cover his posterior.”

The general nodded. “What about your platoon sergeant? Wasn’the any help?”

Bassett shook his head. “Naw. He was one of those pretty boys who thought he was superior to officers. ARMOR - MayJune 1992 Remember how they always told us that the relationship between a lieutenant and his platoon sergeant should be like a good marriage? Well, we were estranged firom the get go. I got the feeling he had no desire to work with me -or any platoon leader. I remember dropping by the snack bar for lunch after my first ARTEP. He and several other platoon sergeants from the battalion were sitting at a table near the serving line. He had his back to me, so I know he didn’t see me. I heard him discussing my map reading skills with them. “My LT couldn’t find his backside with both hands,” he said, and the others laughed. “Those guys they keep sending us from Knox are worthless. I don’t know why they bother. We NCOs could do a damned sight better job than they do.” ‘The other NCOs muttered in agreement. That’s all I heard. The line had carried me out of earshot. But it was so typical of our relationship. It always seemed like he wanted me to fail,” Bassett concluded. The general shook his head and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, thinking for a moment before responding.

“You know, Don,” he said, “I’ve seen similar situations over the years. Sadly, we lose a lot of good officers that way. I’m just glad it didn’t happen to me. It sure wasn’t like that in old Alpha 2-77, was it, ‘Top’?” I looked up from the glass I’d been polishing with a bar towel for the last several minutes while eavesdropping on their conversation.

“It sure wasn’t, sir,” I said. “If I’d ever caught any of my NCOs playing silly games like that I’d have ridden ’em out on a rail. And the old man was a real gem, too, remember? He really knew how to train lieutenants.” ‘That’s right,” the general agreed. “I remember how, when I first reported in, he was in the middle of a nasty Article 32 investigation. But he dropped everything and made me feel like I was the most important person in the world at the moment. He spent more than an hour and a half talking about the company and the battalion, their lineage and honors, what they’d been doing for the previous six months, what we’d be doing for the next six months, the six people I’d be working with, where he expected me to fit in, and what his expectations of me were.

‘Then he turned me over to you, ‘Top.’ You filled me in on the strengths and weaknesses of all the men in my platoon, including my platoon sergeant. You had nothing but praise for him and I came to find out he felt the Same way about you. Both you and the old man stressed the importance of my attitude toward SFC Allenby and the other NCOs in the platoon. You said I should never forget who was in charge, but that I should always be open to suggestions from them, to recognize that I was new to the job and that they had years of experience that would benefit me greatly if I’d just listen to them. You were so right. Best of all, you’d made them understand my limitations as a brand-new platoon leader and made them aware that you held them accountable for my success.” The general looked at his old m m -mate and put a hand on his shoulder. “Rather than make jokes about my problems, my platoon sergeant pulled me off to the side and either taught me how to do things properly, or politely and patiently explained what I’d done wrong and suggested ways I might have performed better. “Although the old man’d made it clear that I was always responsible for everything that went on in the platoon and had the final say so, SFC Allenby explained that in garrison I should let him physically run the show -especially when it came to individual soldier training. But, as soon as we rolled out the back gate and headed down range, that platoon was mine. He stepped to the side and let me run with it. He was always there with advice and ideas when I needed them, but he never got pushy about it. What a great NCO!”

“Yeah,” I said, “Allenby was a super soldier. You know, sir, he went on to become a command sergeant major and retired in ’09 with thirty years after a tour as CSM of the 1st Cav.” “What about you, ‘Top’? When’d you hang up your spurs?” the general asked.

I checked out of the net in ’04 and came here. I never accepted a CSM job above battalion. Anything higher is too damn far away fro4 troops for my taste.”

“I know what you mean,” he chuckled. “I’d have been happy if they’d just let me stay with battalions. But,” he glanced at his shoulder and shook his head, “you know how it goes.” “You know,” I said, “we had good NCOs back in Alpha Company, but it wouldn’t have been that way if it hadn’t been for Captain Morton. He really knew his stuff. When he came on board we had a bunch of pri-madonnas, but he changed that in a huny.”

I looked at Bassett. “You see, sir, we had a CO before Morton who was just like the one you described. He constantly bypassed the lieutenants, so the N O S knew they were the key to his success or failure and got a real attitude. There wasn’t much I could do about it. But Morton. Whew! ‘‘When he first showed up he called all of us together and said the free ride was over. From then on he was going to take the lieutenants under his wing and train them. He charged me with squaring away the enlisted side of the house and told the rest of the NCOs that he and his officers would stay out of sergeants’ business, but that they’d better be straight or he’d be all over them like white on rice. They got the message in a hurry after he sent a couple of tank commanders and platoon sergeants packing -with adverse NCOERs and bars to reenlistment as their reward.”

“That was before I got there,” the general interjected. “When I rewed in, he immediately began training me. He had the XO tutor me in maintenance activities and he’d spend about ARMOR - MayJune 1992 an hour a day with me discussing tactics and leadership. Every so often during command maintenance periods he’d get all of us lieutenants together and quiz us on some aspect of maintenance operations.

“He was a real stickler for leadership by example. There was no BSing around the orderly mom or platoon offices during the duty day. If the training schedule called for maintenance, we were all in the motor pool -including the CO and ‘Top.’ The old man was always in coveralls, and you never knew where he’d turn up when he wasn’t sweating over his own tank with his crew. He said the technique did three things for him: it helped him learn: it gave him a chance to observe the skill level of the soldiers, NCOs, and officers in the company: and it allowed him to demonstrate his own competence and willingness to share the troops’ hardships. The same thing applied to individual and collective training. He would just pick a platoon and show up and go through the training like a private. I learned a lot from that and I’ve tried to do the same thing ever since, wherever I’ve been.” The general looked at me and grinned. “You know, ‘Top,’ the thing that most impressed me about old Captain Morton was how much he cared for those soldiers. I mean really cared.”

He swiveled his stool to face his companion. “You should have seen this guy, Don. He kept a notebook that had vital statistics on every one of the 64 of us in the company. And he had most of it memorized. He knew every man’s first name, age, hometown, parents’ or spouse’s names, and could tell you how he’d scored on his last SQT and AF’FT. “He required us to keep the same data on the troops in our platoons and would quiz us to see how well we knew the men.

“Whenever anybody in the company got an award, a letter of commendation, or a certificate of achievement

- and that happened a lot in old Alpha Company -he’d take the time to make a copy of it and send it along with a personal note to the soldier’s parents or spouse. I’m convinced those guys would have followed him into the gates of hell.

“But he was a hard one to figure out sometimes. He had a real Jekyll-and-Hyde personality. Some days he’d run around the company area with a big smile and a pat on the back for everybody. Other days he was like a fire-breathing dragon. Nothing seemed to make him happy.” The general looked at me. “Come to think of it, ‘Top,’ you were the same way.”

I chuckled. “You never figured it out, sir? We had a ‘Mutt ’n Jeff routine. Remember that round yellow coffee cup with the smiley face he kept on his desk?” The general nodded. “Well, he had a frown painted on the other side. First thing I did when I walked into the orderly room was look at that mug. Whichever face was displayed was the mood he’d portray that day and I’d act the opposite. Sure kept you folks on your toes, didn’tit?”

The general laughed until his eyes began to water and his companion smiled wistfully.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes to two. Almost time to close.

“Last call, gentlemen,” I said. The general pushed himself up. “Guess we’d better call it a night, Don. It sure was good to see you again.”

“Same here, Harry,” Bassett said. “See you at the game tomor -today, I mean?”

“Yeah. Let’s hope Army kicks Lafayette’s butt.”

Bassett nodded in my direction. “You know, Harry, if I’d been in a unit like you and ‘Top’ Smythe were in, I can’t help but think my life would’ve been a whole lot different” The general put his arm around his old friend’s shoulder. “I agree, Don,” he said with a squeeze and a nod of his head, “it made all the difference for me.“ ARMOR - MayJune 1992 The authors served together as commander andfirst sergeant of Company D, 2-34th Armor at Ft. Carson in 198445. The unit was awarded the FY ‘85 Draper Leadership Award.

Major

Dale E.

Wilson (USA, Ret.) is a former Armor officer who sewed as a cavalry platoon leader and tank company and tank battalion headquarters company commander. A 1979 OCS graduate, he enlisted in 1969 and sewed as an infantryman and combat correspondent in Vietnam with the America1 Division in 1970-71. He holds a PhD. in military history from Temple University and sewed as an assistant professor at the U. S. Military Academy before retiring in September 1991. He is the author of Treat ’Em Rough! The Birth of American Armor, 191 7-20 (Presidio Press, 1989).

CSM Robert A. Murphy is command sergeant major of the 2nth Cav at Ft. Carson, Colo. A veteran of more than 20 years of sewice in Germany, CONUS, and Korea, he is a 1989 graduate of the Sergeant Major’s Academy.

He has held every Armor NCO leadership position from tank commander to CSM, including sewing as first sergeant of two companies at Ft. Carson and one in Korea, as CSM of the 2-34th (later 2-77th) Armor, and as an operations sergeant major in Korea and at Forts Carson and Bliss. He holds an associate degree.