In 1964, when I left for West Point, California seemed highly unified in spirit. Now, in 1967 America, my generation and I had changed. When I deplaned at Travis Air Base near Sacramento, ground personnel recommended that we not travel in uniform lest we draw violent protesters.
“What they protestin’?” asked a soldier from the South.
“The war,” said an Air Force specialist. “They want peace and attack people in uniform.”
Despite the Bear’s recipe, I still lost a steady stream of trainees to gang fights, drug use, AWOLs to commit violent crimes in neighboring towns, desertions for the familiarity of old streets, and imprisonment in our detention cells. The recipe promised dramatically improved leadership effectiveness, but, as all right things, it wasn’t guaranteed to work for everyone.
During reveille runs we looked west across the Pacific toward Vietnam, where we all expected to ship and where the Bear could soon expect to return.
I wrote to him to say I loved training troops and that I was becoming a useful NCO. I thanked him for his lessons. I said my mind was beginning to heal and was emerging from the state of stunned stasis in which I’d been since spring leave. I had a partially blue and heavily dented 1955 Chevy I’d bought for $300 from a Vietnam- bound E- 7, and said I was willing to trade it straight across for his GTO. I asked how he was and if he was still coaching slow cadets, banging iron, and killing tennis balls.
His first letter was very brief. It resembled paragraph 3 of a standard Op Order. It said nothing about himself, and had 15 admonitions about my doing nothing but the right thing. The second letter reminded me of his voice. During rare free moments, I liked to read it aloud at the usually cold and windy beach. If I lowered my voice to match the timbre of the surf, and pretended the water was the river instead of the ocean, it seemed to recreate his presence.
West Point develops character by getting you to do a thousand things you don’t want to do until they become habit. Habit is the certain proof of competence. It’s similar to learning the 10 distinct skills required of an offensive lineman. You practice again and again until a 230- pound slab of bovine beef becomes a tackle.
You did 900 of those 1,000 things you didn’t want to do at West Point. You’re 20 years old. Sergeant, your mission is to now go do the missing 100 tasks. Some of it you’ve begun by being a serious student and by respecting people you might not like.
But how to do this now, you might ask. Simple. Every time, do the harder right.
You’re not in school anymore. It means you must now act like a man. Get it right, Gus.
On a soft Saturday night, a group of drill sergeants from our battalion invited me to join a poker game. I assessed the table and guessed there was only one true player.
“I’m trying to quit,” I said.
“Listen, Buck Sergeant, don’t try tonight. Siddown, Lee.”
I felt the tug of camaraderie. I also felt the impulse to take their money.
“I can’t afford you sharks. Thanks, but I’m quitting tonight.”
I looked forward to his letters. His next had numbered lessons.
Gus, I’ve been thinking more about some of the things you said. Here are some of your Imaginary Thinking products:
1. I’m smart so I don’t have to study and so stupid that studying doesn’t help.
2. I’m so smart that I don’t really need a backbone.
3. I need a college degree but I won’t fill out applications to get into college.
4. I don’t stand a chance with Dream Girl so I’ll pursue her, knowing it’s hopeless.
5. I dislike misery and misery is my best friend.
I didn’t like his accuracy, and scrunched my nose as I continued to read. It was like listening to him. Still, I didn’t agree with all of his points. I could tell he was still angry at me. Then I remembered the depth of my blue funk the last time we were together. I had embraced misery and made it my flag.
He’d want me to write the “harder right” outcome after each numbered item.
I later dug out the Bear’s letter, and gritted my teeth to reread it. I began filling in the harder right discernments after each item.
It was an iterative process.
1. I’m smart so I don’t have to study; studying doesn’t help.
Play fewer cards. Study more. NO POKER. IF IN COLLEGE, I WILL STUDY.
2. I’m so smart that I don’t really need a backbone. Have a fair one. Better than many. I WILL TRY THE HARDER RIGHT. WASH, RINSE, REPEAT
3. I need a college degree, but won’t apply.
Plenty of time. I’ll do it. I’ll do it soon. I’VE APPLIED TO CAL.
4. I don’t stand a chance with Dream Girl so I’ll pursue her, knowing it’s hopeless.
I will never quit. I ought to quit. She’s not interested. I STOPPED CHASING HER.
5. I dislike misery. Misery is my best friend.
Misery’s underrated. HOPE NOT. BUT AM STILL HURTING ABOUT WEST POINT.
Excerpted from With Schwarzkopf: Life Lessons of The Bear by Gus Lee. Copyright © 2015 by Smithsonian Books. Reprinted by permission.