In recent years, strong influences have been brought to bear on the Academy to change the course so as to make it more practical. The advocates of this change ignore the ends toward which West Point’s course works, heretofore successfully, and desire to see cadets leave West Point with what they call a practical knowledge of the different arms. This means that they wish the graduated cadet to join his regiment well versed in the routine work of the Army, and would have West Point take precious time from mental training to teach a more complete knowledge of the mechanism of the drills. If West Point followed this advice, the graduated cadet would have a difficult road in solving the big problems that will arise in his career. If in the West Point course emphasis were laid upon the practical work rather than upon the intellectual training, then the cadet would simply be storing up knowledge instead of learning how to think. When therefore any situation would arise, the tendency would be to make a requisition upon the storehouse for a solution. If there is no similar situation tucked away on the shelves of memory, that will serve as a guide, he will in many cases be at a loss how to proceed. Not so, however, if his mind has been trained correctly. He will work out his own solution.
Many people believe that the whole science of the military profession is embraced in a book of drill regulations whose practical demonstration on the drill and parade grounds constitutes all that is necessary to make a successful officer. They do not realize that battles are won first with the brain and then with the sword. They rather regard the work of officers much the same as manual labor that anyone can do, and they do not admit that any great amount of mental training for the officers is necessary.
I do not wish to give the impression that there is no practical training at the Academy—far from it. But I am glad to say that it has been allotted its proper place in the course. Once the theory is mastered, the practical is quickly learned afterwards. Any cadet with a trained mind can readily learn the practical duties that may be demanded of him as an officer.
It is an astonishing fact that I have heard West Point methods criticised in the Army because a young graduate upon joining his regiment did not know how to make out a morning report! Why should he? The fact that any boy of average intelligence can learn to make one out in fifteen minutes should be a complete answer to all demands that cadets should be taught these trivialities at the Academy.
The criticism leveled at West Point by officers of the Army is unjust. Older officers expect too much of the graduated cadet. I have noticed that they demand of these young men, immediately upon joining, the same mature conception and efficient execution of certain duties as they themselves are able to display only after years of experience.
Upon graduation from West Point, I dare say that there is no more highminded, well-trained, and efficient body of young men in the world. The graduates join their commands brimming over with youth, intelligence, enthusiasm, and energy and ruled by intense loyalty. They want to do what is right. They want to go forward in their profession. They make every effort to perform well their duties. All that they need are leaders among their superiors who will develop their aspirations. Sometimes they encounter a distinct air of hostility, occasionally a petty attitude on the part of some older officers whose one ambition is to “put them in their place,” and, too frequently, simply indifference. The result is that the young officers quickly become a prey to the red tape, the dull routine, the narrowness of post life, or to the mental inertia of prolonged duty upon the border where almost every stimulating influence is absent. If only there were enough good leaders to take this wonderful material that the Academy sends forth annually and develop it, there is no telling to what heights these young officers would rise.
But to return to our plebe who makes his début in Academic work September the first. The evening before has been spent in earnest preparation for the lesson in mathematics, and he sets forth on this early autumn day to grapple with the hardest study of his course.
First call for recitation is sounded at seven minutes before eight o’clock. The trumpeter, an enlisted man of the Army, blows “school call” first in the area of barracks, then outside of the north sally-port, on the Plain side of the buildings. The call is repeated several times, and as its notes float out on the air, the barracks begin to disgorge the cadets, sometimes singly, but more often in groups of twos and threes. The more prompt ones pile out on the cement walk, standing near their places in the ranks to await the assembly. The majority are laughing and talking or discussing the lesson, while others, thirsting for knowledge until the last, keep their noses in their books. Their comrades sometimes tease them, calling them “tenth-boners” in good-natured derision, or steal up behind them and shut their books for them saying, “Oh, come off spec-ing tenths,” which means to desist from studying at the last moments to better the mark.
At one minute before assembly the cadet officer of the day, a straight young man in a red sash and red crossbelt (bound up, as Patsy O’Hara of 1904 wittily remarked, in his official red tape), takes his post in the center of the area and commands: “Form your sections!”
Instantly books are slammed, all noises, talking, laughing, skylarking, cease, and the scattered gray figures seem to magically form themselves into compact little squads under the direction of their section marchers who stand out in front counting them. The door of the Guardhouse opens and the O. C. (officer in charge) appears upon the “poop deck,” stern, implacable, almost sphinx-like, and surveys coldly the formation. For the brief space of a few seconds all is quiet except for the occasional shuffling of a section that has misjudged its proper space. Then the trumpeter sounds the assembly. A few belated men are tearing to their places in ranks, running a race with the fading notes of the trumpet and landing bang! into the rear rank just in time to keep from being reported absent. The kind-hearted trumpeter often takes a deeper breath (especially in winter when he sees the belated ones recklessly dashing across the icy walks), and holds on to those last notes of assembly in a way that was never intended by the composer. God bless him!