In the scorching summer of 1995, a defining chapter unfolded for me as a Junior at West Point, thrust into an unexpected role as a “Drill Cadet” at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Assigned to shadow a seasoned NCO, my mission was clear: glean leadership insights while guiding freshly enlisted, wide-eyed 17-18-year-old soldiers.
Eager to assert authority and prove my mettle, my initial misstep, as a mere 20-year-old, was a resounding blunder. I bellowed orders with misplaced authority, brashly suggesting they quit if the going got tough. Because they were weak… A swift reprimand from my seniors echoed with a lesson: in the real world, quitting wasn’t an option because they signed a contract…, and my role was to teach resilience. Totally unlike my military experience to that point in life… Unlike West Point where it’s a generational family embarrassment to quit or be kicked out; the real Army doesn’t do that. Too much has been invested in recruiting them to this point…
An unforeseen twist in this immersive crash-course on leadership came when faced with the vulnerability of human desperation. A recruit, attractive and ambitious, dared to barter her favors for leniency—offering respite to her platoon in exchange for a day off. Shocked and resolute, I swiftly reported this breach of conduct to my overseeing NCO, who swiftly enforced discipline, underscoring the gravity of maintaining integrity and upholding standards. I could have easily said yes to sexual favors. But, thankfully didnt.
Yet, the most profound lesson, etched in humility and self-awareness, was the perilous allure of unchecked ego. The taste of authority, the heady rush of commanding obedience, had the potential to cloud judgment and inflate one’s sense of self-importance. Total power wielded in a confined space blurred the lines between influence and hubris. It became evident that the struggle to remain humble in the corridors of absolute authority was an unrelenting battle—one that required constant vigilance and introspection.
Reflecting on those sweltering days of summer, the experience etched an indelible mark, offering invaluable insights beyond the confines of military protocol. It was a poignant awakening, a crucible that honed not just leadership but the nuances of humane conduct; intricate interplay of power and humility—a profound lesson that transcended the military sphere, offering enduring wisdom on the dynamics of leadership and the perils of unchecked ego.
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Sounds slightly different than my experience in basic training in Co. B-3-2, Fort Leonard Wood, MO in July-August 1977. Hot as hell but not as nice, the ground was covered in small rocks, hot rocks due to the extreme heat. Our hands became very familiar with those rocks as we were constantly on them doing push ups. We renamed the place Fort Leonard Rock. The Drill Sergeants, all of them Vietnam War vets, egged us on to quit. They demeaned us, chastised us, called us every name in the book pushing us to doubt ourselves. They wanted the quitters to quit. They wanted to break us to make us into Army men. They wanted all civilian thoughts out of our heads. They wanted to weed out those that couldn’t hack it in combat. They did a good job of it. After 8 weeks of hell, I came to respect them. I realized what and why they were doing what they did so well. I’m glad I went through that.