Suzanne Rice

Feb 13 2020

What West Point Means to Me – Sallie Wallace

After several intense years of “muddy boot” soldiering, our family needed a break. West Point needed a Director of Institutional Research. Perfect match, though we did not know for how long. We were waiting for the next “list” that would determine Dick’s career course. Our daughter would later reflect that “lists” often weighed heavily on our family culture. Nonetheless, off we went from Colorado to New York.

When I think back on that time, I can only say it was a gift, a revelation and a reassurance.

The gift: West Point brought me rest in mind and mission. As focused and productive as the workings of the academy were, they allowed me time to savor life, sit on my front steps in Lee Area on a spring afternoon and feed nuts to the neighborhood squirrel Stubby (so named because of a tale missing some of its fullness—the story behind that is probably part of squirrel lore somewhere). There were many idyllic moments like that: walking my son and his friends to soccer practice, their laughter trailing behind me; seeing a baby deer bedded down while the mother foraged close by; reading the entire history of America on the tombstones in the cemetery. I would often slip out my kitchen door just before sunset on those lingering summer evenings and walk among the heroes who slept there—such peace. Such a privilege. West Point was a journey to a higher place.

The revelation: Committing all to the defense of this great country had a day to day “on the ground” result. The American family. It was all around me there. Waving to my neighbors, walking the dog, standing in respect for retreat.

West Point was an incubator building the right leaders. West Point was also an American small town at its best—we were all safe, thriving and moving into the future.

The reassurance: The “list” came out and we were headed back to “muddy boots” duty, where soldiers are made. It was one of Dick’s dreams to be on that “list”. I was thrilled for him; I also knew my upcoming role as a commander’s wife would be taxing. My time at the academy became a pat on the back for me. West Point was affirmation that all the work would be worth it, my contribution to Duty, Honor, Country.

Feb 08 2020

Love at the Library – 1976

After I left Army Active Duty in 1974, I worked for the DuPont Company in Rochester, NY for fifteen years, making silver halide-based photographic film. There came a time when it was apparent to me that the plant was doomed by the advent of digital film. So, I started looking for other employment. I knew that the job as Associate Director of Admissions at West Point had been filled as I had reached the fourteen-year mark, so I figured that was out. I had not applied, because the fifteen-year mark was the threshold for survivor benefits for my wife, who I had met and married in Rochester in 1977. It was also the yardstick for an opportunity to take an annuity at age 50—which I ultimately didn’t do. But I asked the Civilian Personnel Office to let me know if the job became vacant again. So, I looked at jobs in the Rochester area and applied to a Search Firm that looked for jobs nationwide. I didn’t have any success.

Then, one day in March 1989, everyone was called in and plant management said we were going to downsize from 1100 to 325, and there was an incentive to leave by the end of the month. I had a fairly decent job at DuPont and didn’t want to leave until I had fifteen years and a definite new job.

That afternoon when I got home, there was a letter from the Civilian Personnel Office at West Point, advising me that the Admissions job was open again. I applied for the job, went for an interview, and was picked. So, twenty years from the day I graduated, I went back to West Point.

I was supposed to start on Monday, June 5, when the new crop of Admissions Officers started their training. The only problem was that I reached the fifteen-year mark on June 17. I had several weeks leave coming, and I expected that that would be enough to carry me over the threshold. However, DuPont personnel said I had to be actually at the Plant past fifteen years for me to get the service credit. My boss in Admissions said they would cancel training on Monday, June 19, so that I could go back to Rochester on the weekend, appear at work there, and close out my career there that day. So, I did. My wife, who was still in Rochester and supposed to be selling the house, soon thereafter informed me that she wasn’t coming and had filed for divorce.

One reason I was picked for the job was that I had been an Admissions Field Force member for thirteen years, receiving Army Reserve retirement point credit each year for the work I had done, so the bosses in Admissions were familiar with me and my work. Admissions rewarded me with a Meritorious Service Medal for the work I had done in Rochester.

When I went to West Point in June of 1976 for training as a Military Academy Liaison Officer, the trainees were stationed outside the Library at one point, with each one being photographed individually, to be accompanied by the form “Information for Hometown News Release.” I remembered seeing two women leave the Library, one very short and one very tall. It turns out that that was the first time I laid eyes on my future wife—the short one. I still remember that clearly.

I also worked for the Army Corps of Engineers as an Individual Mobilization Augmentee in New York District, and ended up as the Deputy Commander before moving on to a colonel’s slot at its higher headquarters, the North Atlantic Division. I also went from one Army School course to another as I worked toward promotion in the Reserves.

More than a year later, in 1990, I was taking a correspondence course that required two term papers. So, on a Sunday night, I went to the USMA Library to check out some books for research. I had been in the library as a high school student and as a cadet. As I went to the Circulation Desk, books in hand, I guess I was transported back in time to the way it had been before. There were no Library Cards when I was a cadet. I just took the card out of the pocket inside the back cover, signed Jannarone H-3, and went on my merry way. When the man in front of me was done, I looked for the card in the first book and was astounded to find that there was no pocket and no card.

Checking Out Library Materials – cadet-style*

The woman at the desk asked what was wrong. I explained that there was no card for the book. Then she asked me for my Library Card. “What card?” I was non-plussed. She asked to see an ID. I showed her my Department of the Army Civilian ID card. When she said she would have to verify my employment in the morning, I took out my Army Reserve ID card and showed her that. It was not acceptable. So, I took off my class ring and held it out to her, saying if she would be good enough to give me the books now, I would be back tomorrow for whatever paperwork was required.

Without a word, she turned on her heels and walked away to a back room. Soon another woman came out. My jaw dropped, as this vision of loveliness, my age, my size, with no ring, asked if she could help me. Regaining my composure, I said I wanted to check out books but didn’t have a Library Card. She said she would put the books on a shelf at the desk, confirm my employment in the morning, and process my Library Card. I thanked her and said I would be back at 1255 tomorrow.

The next day I took my usual two mile run at lunchtime, showered at the gym, and went to the Library at 1255. Two ladies were at the Circulation Desk, and as I approached it, the vision of loveliness approached from the Reference Desk opposite it.

The two asked what I wanted. I replied that I was Bob Jannarone and was coming to get my Library Card and books. The two of them asked in unison if I was related to General Jannarone. I replied that I was his second son. The two of them introduced themselves and said they had known him in the Physics and Chemistry Department and as the Dean. Apparently, they liked him. They should have. Dad treated the civilian staff well.

BG and Mrs. John Jannarone – Another Love Story

The Library Card was ready, I got my books, and thanked the two. The vision of loveliness, who had moved to the Circulation Desk, too, tried to go back to her desk. I cut her off at the entrance to the Circulation Desk and said I hadn’t gotten her name. She gave it to me—Linda Thompson— and said she was the Circulation Librarian.

I saw her as I was coming out of the Admissions Office a few days later, when she was going for a walk at break time, and I called out to her. I think she was surprised that I remembered her name. By that time, I also knew her academic credentials by reading the West Point College Catalog, and I knew her address by looking in the West Point Phone book.

Linda (front right) with the Library staff**

One of my jobs as the Associate Director of Admissions was to manage five three-day visits to West Point. Three were for high school guidance counselors, one for Congressional Aides, and one for West Point Admissions Participants. For the counselors and aides, there was a coffee break in the rotunda outside South Auditorium of Thayer Hall, on the Thursday of the visit, before they went to classes with cadets. There was another one on Friday in the West Point Room on the fourth floor of the Library before the Director of Admissions delved into the actual files of candidates for the next class.

After I met Linda, when the coffee breaks were over, I carried the excess doughnuts to the Library Circulation Desk, hoping that she might be there.

West Point Library Entrance – Circulation Desk (R) – location of doughnuts and Linda**

One Thursday afternoon, when the counselors were meeting cadets who were from their high schools, I walked to the Library, and she was at the desk. I asked her if she had gotten one of the doughnuts that I left at the desk that morning. She replied that she was on the night shift on Thursdays and had reported for work only a short time ago, and the doughnuts were probably gone within a few minutes of when I left them that morning. She was working days on Friday, and opening shift on that Saturday.

Librarians at that time worked one weekday night and one shift every third weekend. She always picked opening shift on Saturday, so it was a very rare occurrence that she had been on the closing shift on a Sunday when we met.

The next day soon after she got home from her day shift, the local flower shop delivered flowers to her. She lived with her mother and aunt. The aunt asked who they were from. Linda said, “Remember General Jannarone? These are from his son.”

Linda started work at the library in 1975, a year after my father retired, so she didn’t know him. But Aunt Ruth had worked at West Point starting in 1942, first in the Law Department, then the Dean’s Office, as a schoolteacher in the West Point school, then a principal at the school. She knew the name. My brother Dick and my sister Nancy had been at the school when the aunt was there and were good students. Aunt Ruth thought Linda meant grandson—a cadet—but Linda affirmed it was a son. That was a point in my favor.

So, on Saturday morning, I went to the Library, stationed myself at the Card Catalog, and waited until Linda came over.

She said the flowers were very nice, and then I asked her out to dinner. She said no. They were doing an upgrade to the computer system. She was having to reconnect all the computers in the library, crawling under desks and tables, and she would be exhausted by the end of the day. “Can I have a rain check?” “Sure,” I said, “how about tomorrow?”

That was our first date. We married in 1992, and the rest is history, except for one final point.

We bought a house in Cornwall-on-Hudson, furnished it, and settled in. One day, Linda brought out some old pictures. One was a graduation picture from 1983 and in another I recognized the girl in the picture as a younger version of my wife, with a much different hair style. In fact, the one I had seen back in 1976 leaving the library.

*Photos with permission of the Jack Engemann Collection at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County

** Photos courtesy of the West Point Library

Jan 08 2020

What I Learned from the Iranians – 1976

US Improved Hawk missile platoon points towards Iraq during the 1970s before the Iranian regime change of 1979.

I arrived in Iran in 1976 to serve as an advisor to the Iranian Air Force. I was assigned to TAFT (Technical Advisory Field Team) and assisted Iran in the employment of Hawk missile systems as part of its air defense mission.

My specific assignment was at Vahdati Air Force Base, located in a remote region on Iran’s western border with Iraq. The Shah of Iran was in power and had created alliances with the United States and Western Europe to improve Iranian national security and economic development. The religious revolution which turned Iran upside down was still two years away.

Iranian society was held together by three unifying forces: Islamic religion, Persian heritage, and autocratic rule. The Shah of Iran, assisted by the Shah’s secret police (Savak), ruthlessly controlled the country and sought to minimize any social dissent. The large divide between the upper class and the average citizen could be measured by the differences between Tehran and the rest of Iran.

Iran was not prepared to incorporate high-tech military equipment into its military arsenal. The standard joke often told described the Shah as the owner of the world’s largest static display of military weapons. A large part of the imported military infrastructure either did not operate or operated only when under the firm watch of advisors. The Iranian military could not incorporate the modernization envisioned by the Shah. In short, it was too much, too soon.

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

My initial impressions of Iran were formed as a result of living in remote regions far from the influence of Tehran. At first glance, I believed Iranians and Americans to have very little in common. The apparent, cosmetic differences I observed as a newcomer were striking. Iran seemed to be a land of opposites. Weekends took place on Thursday and Friday, not Saturday and Sunday. Iran’s time zone shifted one half-hour, not one whole hour, from the adjacent time zones to the west and east. Iranian publications began on the back page and finished on the front page, not front to back. Iranian drivers often centered their cars on the lane dividers, not between them. A family’s valuable rug was sometimes dusted by placing the rug in the street and having vehicles drive over it. Dust embedded in the tightly woven fabric was efficiently loosened and rendered rug beating unnecessary.

Oil derricks released ignited natural gas into the atmosphere as opposed to collecting it. These bright plumes could be seen from long distances and reminded me of oversized Bunsen burners. These differences in culture and historical development strongly influenced my initial views of this strange land.

Iranian women usually remained in their homes. If they ventured out, they were covered from head to foot with a black shawl (chador). Women were essentially seen and not heard.

Fat-tailed sheep graze in the Iranian desert in contrast to the plumed oil derricks

Most military advisors were prohibited from socializing with their Iranian counterparts. The Iranian government wanted to minimize the effects of Western influence on its society. Use of alcohol was publicly prohibited in most areas of the country.

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

During my one-year short tour, my perspectives and conclusions about Iranian society dramatically changed. The barriers to socialization set up by the Iranian government made it difficult but not impossible to communicate with members of the Iranian military. After several months, I managed to build a few relationships which helped me better understand Iranian people. In some instances, my Iranian Air Force counterparts invited me into their homes. These were risky invitations. Permission to bring an American military advisor to one’s home was rarely granted. The visits were usually during mid-day and involved conversation over a meal. I was uneasy about the risk these young airmen were taking. Other times, the associations involved sporting events such as soccer and tennis. The encounters were not numerous, but they were genuine.

As my understanding increased, my attitudes changed. I learned that Iranians were not so different from the friends I made in Germany, France, or in the United States. I also began to understand that help from the West, especially from the United States military, was not always welcome. Western intrusion by military forces and civilian corporations often forced religious and cultural clashes. The Iranians could not understand many American social norms involving marriage and dating. Many of our advisory teams were located on military bases in the Iranian countryside. The cultural differences encountered in the small towns were even more pronounced. Drinking alcohol was largely forbidden in the countryside regions. However, numerous exceptions were made in many parts of metropolitan Tehran. In contrast, American military organizations of the 1970s viewed drinking alcohol as a required skill set. Our team house on the air base had its own bar-lounge area built by the military members who lived there. Members of the Iranian Air Force assigned to the base would rarely enter our building mainly due to the presence of alcoholic beverages.

Western modalities applied to a “developing Iran” were often worse than the maladies our “help” was trying to cure. In many instances, the construction expertise brought into Iran was supposed to involve Iranian labor and on-the-job training. Construction companies, either American, German, or French, saw on-the-job training of local Iranians as an inconvenience. The solution was to take the local Iranian labor and pay them to sit in a caged area where they drank tea and stayed out of the way. Such approaches irritated and resentments grew.

Many of the societal differences I noticed were created by government and not by those being governed. When I put aside the governmental influences, I found I had more in common with Iranians than I either realized or felt comfortable acknowledging. The examples I have discussed all have analogous examples in America. We have large regions of our country in which our differences are beginning to take center stage. Additionally, my Iranian experience, coupled with the last forty years of hindsight, has changed my approach to giving and receiving help. I have learned that giving constructive help should start with a thorough understanding of commonalities and differences. My help should strengthen and provide a lasting benefit. Additionally, my helping or receiving help from another person, Iranian or American, should always be a reminder of how much we rely on each other. I should think carefully about personal interactions and invest more thought and reflection before I interact.

CONCLUSIONS

In retrospect, I realize cultural and individual differences are largely insignificant when compared to cultural and individual similarities. The Iranian people have always impressed me as warm, sensitive, and friendly. My military counterparts’ discussions of family, changing times, and harsh governance often sounded like those I would hear from Americans. The differences I first experienced largely occurred because I was a strange American in a foreign country. It took time for trust to develop and guarded attitudes to relax. I often ask myself if I even understand the beliefs within my own society. Yes, the governments of our two countries operate in drastically opposing modes. Or do they?

In a world which is rapidly becoming more interdependent, we all need each other’s cooperation and spiritual support. Worldly survival is at stake. It is true in Santa Cruz, California and it is true in Tehran, Iran. Emphasizing differences can be humorous. The over-emphasis on differences can be distracting and non-productive. Sometimes, it can be destructive. Today, I often feel the differences within America are more pronounced than those between Iran and America.

“We are all in this together,” is a common phrase which is becoming more applicable each day. We need to develop more understanding and cooperation among all societies if we are to create a better world — a world which offers opportunity and achieves productive evolution.

Jan 04 2020

Destination Alaska – 1970

I didn’t meet Harold Lee Maxson (called Tub) until he was close to the end of his years at West Point. Tub and I would have been married 50 years this year. I was headed for an entirely different life before I met Tub. I was studying Fashion Merchandising in New York City and fully intended to have a buying career that I hoped one day would take me on wonderful buying adventures – my ultimate goal: time in Paris. Little did I know that before any of that came to pass, I would meet my soul mate and the adventures that I would eventually go on would be far superior to anything I could have ever imagined.

My father and all of his brothers served in the military during World War II and there was always a reverence for the military in our family that I came to respect as I grew up, but I never thought that other than our family history I would have any direct connection to the Army.

I met Tub by default at the Army/Navy Game in 1968. I was not supposed to be his date. I have to say the minute he walked into the room I was smitten. I came from a large Irish family, so I recognized his as a handsome Celtic face and he had the most engaging smile. After a bit, we started dating. As a result, in June of 1969, I was there with him to celebrate “June Week” and his graduation.

That is most likely where our story begins. Tub drove me back home to New Jersey after graduation in his shiny new AMX.

He had planned to stay a few days at my parents’ house. The time turned into most of the summer. My family was beginning to wonder if this was becoming serious. I knew it wasn’t, He would be going to Alaska with a stop at Fort Benning. He had dreams of getting a motorcycle and an English Bull dog and seeing the world. His future was set. Although I was hoping for Paris, I had been offered a job in the buyer training program at Best and Company, a department store on 5th Avenue in New York. I thought i was going to accept it.

One evening in July, Tub and I decided to go to a drive-in.

Waiting for dark so that the movie could start at the drive-in

I loved movies and since I didn’t have a car, drive-ins were a special treat. Somewhere in the course of the evening Tub asked me to marry him. The problem…I was not expecting it and I missed it entirely. For days after he was annoyed with me, but I had no idea what I had done. Finally, he said, “You could have said something.” I had no idea what he was talking about and after some convincing, he realized that. Lucky for me he asked again and instead of taking the job I took a leap of faith.

We decided to get married in February but with orders changing and leave availability we decided on an earlier date in November. We were married on a three-day pass and by Monday, Tub was back in the field at Fort Benning. I really missed my large family, but it was not long before I realized I had become part of another family not related by blood but by purpose and friendship. The military that I had grown up respecting was now part of my life. Our next assignment would be Alaska and some of the friends we knew in Georgia would be joining us there.

We left Georgia for our drive across country, to the state of Washington, in late winter; there we would fly to Alaska. After stops in New Jersey and Michigan to visit our families we began our trek West.

I had never been further west than the Dakotas and Tub had always wanted to go to Alaska. We were so excited to be making this trip. Had Willie Nelson already written the song “On the Road Again” it might have been our theme song. “On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the

road again…” The changing terrain was beautiful sometimes blanketed with snow. The small towns, the big cities, the open land, it was a joy to see. Gosh, what is that? I’m excited. On a practical side, we were traveling with some cash, traveler’s checks, and a gas credit card.

Travelers Checks in several denominations

In those days, credit cards were not readily available and we didn’t qualify. We were also traveling with two dogs. Tub gave me a Miniature Schnauzer as a wedding present and we acquired Cinnamon Cinder the 11th, a Miniature Dachshund, while in Georgia. Since we were practical and poor, we decided to travel with an electric fry pan and a cooler. How much simpler life would have been if smart phones had been invented and we could have found a list of hotels that accepted pets and credit cards to pay for dinners out, but it would not have been nearly as much fun. So, each night Tub put the dogs in his coat, and I carried the fry pan and the food. This was our nightly version of covert ops and we hoped we would not be discovered. The next morning, we were “On the road again”.

When I think of arriving in the state of Washington, I think of a mountain pass covered in snow with beautiful large birds that may have been pheasants and thinking that I wished I could capture that moment. I don’t remember where Tub had to check in, maybe Ft. Lewis; the logistics of the second leg of our journey were in his purview not mine. I became more engaged in the process when his paperwork stated that since Alaska, at that time, was considered an overseas assignment, his dependent had to be given the required injections for said assignment. I remember getting shots in both arms and shortly after I was sick. I was so sick that I could not leave the hotel room to get to a medical facility – that lasted for three days. We were quickly running out of money. I’m sure Tub was frantic, but he had to get our dogs and car shipped and rearrange our flights until I could travel again.

I don’t know if it was the original flight plan, but we flew to Alaska in what I believe was a C-130; I remember a cargo net in the front of the plane that appeared to be holding luggage.

Someone said that they put regular seats in for the flight. I was new to this and at the time I didn’t know what irregular seats might have been. We would have been able to buy a box lunch but after the extended hotel stay, we had 30 cents between us. We didn’t know what would happen when we eventually arrived in Alaska with 30 cents in our pockets and no car but one chapter of our adventure had ended and the next was about to begin.

Fortunately for us, the heavens and the military realized that the exuberance of youth and 30 cents was not going to do it for us, and we had been assigned sponsors. They met the first three planes, and this was the last one they were going to meet before concluding that we were not coming. They were such a welcome sight. They took us to the post guest house at Fort Richardson and promised to take us the next day to see the sights and look for moose. I don’t remember the first few days there and I don’t remember their names because I was still decidedly unwell. I do remember the fleeting thought when I got off the plane: Oh! there is the tarmac and mud along with snow. I knew nothing about Alaska. I thought I was going to be landing on something akin to an iceberg. I had no idea what we were coming to since this was before the advent of the internet. The written word was not adequate to describe what we would find in Alaska. Our time there witnessed magnificent scenery, new directions, lessons learned for me about the military, a motorcycle, camping in the wilderness while six months pregnant, camping on a glacier (Tub) one of his oft told stories, babies born, joys, sorrows and news of friends tragically dying.

We grew up a lot there. I was 21 and Tub 22 when we left Georgia. The kids who drove across country young and bulletproof left Alaska as adults. We were a bit older and considerably more aware. We were also the parents of a wonderful baby girl.

In the 47 years that I was blessed to have with Tub, there were countless more adventures. He had several motorcycles and many trips on them through the USA, Canada and parts of Europe.

I eventually got as far as a layover in the Paris airport and for a brief time I was a buyer for a small store in PA. The cross-country trip and Alaska were really where my interest in art began and has remained. I discovered that art and life are all about capturing the moment.

I often think in terms of song lyrics, just lines from songs where the bits and pieces fit the situation. In writing this I keep thinking of a song by Ronnie Milsap, “I Wouldn’t Have Missed It for the World”. With a few changes to reflect how I felt about my husband and our life together. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, wouldn’t trade one memory. You made my whole life worthwhile with your smile…I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Forever and always,

Cyn

Dec 15 2019

West Point, Army Doctrine, and Boxing – 1991

Our class went through four years of West Point figuring that it was preparing us for a career of traditional military service. That assumption was essentially correct, although in our lack of depth of understanding of what was “traditional” we were endlessly surprised in the years that followed by exactly what our duties entailed. As it turned out, you see, the only tradition we should have expected was dealing with the unexpected. However, West Point had done its job well and when the time came most of us figured out what to do and got it done.

I had a few such moments, but one of the more interesting was being tagged to draft the operational doctrine for the Army. The Army produces tons of doctrinal manuals, but the keystone of all those ton is its central warfighting manual, known throughout the 20^th century as Field Manual (FM) 100-5. The military is one of the two great institutions that takes its doctrine seriously (the other being the church) and no branch of the military takes it more seriously than the US Army. Hence, it is modified only every few years and only after much consideration and debate, heavy bureaucratic infighting in the competition of ideas, and ultimate directive of the Chief of Staff of the Army. Once approved it will dictate the Army’s organizational structure, major equipment procurements, branch integration, soldier training, and officer education for a decade or more.

Shortly after the end of the 1991 Gulf War, I was assigned to Fort Leavenworth to be the Director of the School of Advanced Military Studies (SAMS), where I had been a War College Fellow a few years prior.

Mens Est Clavais Victoriae — School for Advanced Military Studies (SAMS)

Soon thereafter, General Gordon Sullivan became the Army Chief of Staff and, subsequently, General Fred Franks (newly promoted) became the Commander of Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC). Franks’ subordinate for the overall development of doctrine would be then Major General (later General) Wes Clark.

I suspected that drafting a new 100-5 would be part of my assigned duties. A former director of SAMS (then Colonel Huba Wass de Czega) had drafted the 1980s versions focused on AirLand Battle. But by 1991, the Soviet Union had dissolved, and the United States was facing new types of threats and challenges around the world. So, having written a book on leading a platoon, it was only natural that I would be the drafter of the keystone doctrine, an extra duty that would consume the better part of three years. And so, it was to be (big “Gulp!” here).

The Army gave me all the help I could possibly need. I was given full support in picking a crackerjack team of six fine officers from around the Army (one of whom was our classmate, Gary Steele). I also had able input from the available student talent at the school – extremely competent War College Fellows (including classmate Bill Rice (https://thedaysforward.com/bill-rice), the bright young SAMS officers (captains and majors) who were chock full of good ideas, and a brilliant faculty of experts at Leavenworth on the operational level of war. Immediately, General Sullivan put out a call for input from his senior generals and all branch chiefs and opened the door to retired general staff officers as well. Add to that the team at TRADOC (who had a strong interest in what came out), and perhaps most importantly the keen interest and leadership of General Sullivan and General Franks (both of whom were personally involved and who shielded me amongst the rough of tumble of contending ideas between high-ranking and often iconic senior officers).

All the above took part in the building of the final product. SAMS students, for example, were invited to offer ideas, provided they wrote a short paper arguing their point(s). Then other students would be invited to take an opposing view and a group of them would debate the two sides. If an idea so offered was worthy, it very well could enter a draft. At a much higher level, the Chief of Staff and TRADOC commander would host various meetings of senior officers (e.g., Army Staff 3-stars, Branch Chiefs, four-star commanders, and others) where yours truly would offer up the drafts to that point (usually written and circulated in advance) and brace himself for the feedback (not always glowing commentary, as it happened).

Retired senior officers were not at all shy about offering their views, in a variety of ways. My favorite among the latter was LTG (R) Jack Cushman (First Captain, West Point Class of 1944) who called one morning and suggested I go to the Leavenworth archives and review his writings. Accustomed to such calls, I showed all proper military protocols and promised I would. He then called the following morning (at 0700) and asked me what I thought of them, whereupon I confessed I had not yet been to the archives. The following morning at 0700 when the call came, I was ready. His input was wonderful, I must say. He had a penetrating grasp of the Army and its doctrine. One paper of his, penned in 1956, dealt with the concept of “air-land battle” (27 years before it entered FM 100-5). He and many others had great input to the doctrine.

None of this was done in the shadows; there were no hidden agendas. Successive drafts were shared endlessly. As we neared the end, a part of the job was to sell the product (Gary Steele was a star here – https://thedaysforward.com/gary-steele-tight-end-army/), not just to the Army and our sister services and our allies, but to the public as well, both via the media, publications, and in various forums (one, for example, being John Lucas’ law firm in Richmond).

With such leadership from the top down, a well-resourced team effort, and endless debate based on the collective experience of all involved, the 1993 version of its operational doctrine set a new course for the Army as it closed the 20^th century and entered the 21^st.

Okay, so then why is boxing in the title of this essay?

Well, you see every written effort must have a central concept that ties the entire body of work together – even if that theme is not explicitly articulated in the body of work. In this case, the objective was to formulate the Army’s central warfighting doctrine. While that effort encompassed many of the best thoughts of military theorists, historians, combat experienced generals, and other experts over the centuries (without being named in the text), my own touchstone was the three principles of Plebe boxing – the ability to move, to hit, and to protect. They must be conquered in various combinations and sequences (hit, move, protect; protect, move, hit; move, protect, hit; and so on) and they must have the proper supporting systems (communications. intelligence, training, logistics, etc.) and apply the timeless principles of war (unity of command, mass, economy of force, etc.). But in the end, warfare remains the ability to hit, move, and protect.

So, for those of you who thought Plebe boxing was just a physical torment to add to the tribulations of our first year at West Point, it was really a deep academic subject full of profundities that we could call upon in our future years as we dealt with the many challenges that the Army introduced us to. It was a truism I kept from everyone else during the effort, of course, but now you know the rest of the story.

Editor’s note: For those who would like to know more, you may go here; click on the cover photo to read more: https://www.google.com/books/edition/American_Army_Doctrine_for_the_Post_Cold/qXKyv6Q2Dl8C?hl=en&gbpv=1&pg=PP1&printsec=frontcover

Read General Frederick M. Franks Intro

What West Point Means to Me – Sallie Wallace

Love at the Library – 1976