CHAPTER IX
LESSONS FROM MARS
In the Area of the South Barracks, directly opposite the sally-port, is a little brick building with a clock tower. It is small and insignificant looking to the ordinary observer, but not so to the cadet. Here dwell the “Tacs,” the officers of the Tactical Department, who are charged with the discipline and purely military instruction of the Corps. More especially, it is the Headquarters of the Commandant, his assistants, the cadet Officer of the Day, the officers of the guard, and the orderlies. The mail, the precious mail, is assorted twice daily within its old walls, and its creaky wooden floor is worn thin by the lively tread of hurrying cadets feverishly crowding around the bulletin boards.
In the second-floor room of the Tower is the Officer in Charge, the monarch of all he surveys. True, his reign is but twenty-four hours, but he returns to the throne about once a week. During his tour he is the Corps monitor. From the quaint little porch off his room, the “poop deck,” as the cadets think of it, he coldly and inscrutably regards all formations in the Area. When the punishment squad is walking tours, the door of the “poop deck” opens unobtrusively, and for a moment he stands casting a glance over the oscillating gray figures, walking their narrow paths back and forth. As quietly as he comes forth he fades from view. The “Area Birds” breathe more freely as he disappears, but soon again he reappears like an accusing conscience. His presence hovers over the daily life of the cadets. To them he is the “O. C.” and source of all information. His decisions have the sacredness and authority of the Delphian oracle. If the weather is threatening, it is he who decides whether raincoats shall be worn to meals. If visitors arrive during study hours, his permission must be obtained to speak with them for half an hour. If knotty problems of interior administration bother the Officer of the Day, his advice is immediately sought. He is amazingly omniscient.
Each day brings a new “O. C.” until the roster of the Tactical officers has been exhausted, whereupon the cycle begins anew. There are various species of “O. C.’s,” and it is astonishing how the personality of each one will influence the day of the cadet. There is the cheerful “O. C.” with a kind manner and a cordial tone in his voice. Between him and his young charges there seems to be a bond of mutual confidence and affection. They feel that his reserve is assumed “By order,” and that if they only knew him, he would be their friend. They feel his human side, his understanding of their difficulties, and they have no resentment when he reports them because they know that in doing so, he feels a sympathetic pang. When he enters the Mess Hall, his presence is welcomed, as much as cadets can welcome the presence of any officer. Somehow the laughter seems gayer and the day altogether brighter during his tour. There is no unconscious load to carry in addition to the actual burdens of the day. At parade, a little more effort is made to execute smartly the manual when he gives the commands.
Then there is the gloomy “O. C.,” the stand-off kind that looks daggers upon the approach of any cadet. He appears to circle over the Corps like some hungry bird ready to pounce any moment upon his prey. When he has occasion to question a cadet, a barrier of ice immediately rises between them and their viewpoints drift miles and miles apart. He seems to them never to have been a young man himself, so little of the power of understanding does he possess. They look him up in the Army Register and discover that he too was a cadet not so many years ago, but to believe it strains their credulity to the breaking point. When things go wrong, instead of pointing out the error in a natural manner, there are anger and resentment in the voice. All of his “skins” seem flavored with malice. Apparently, he goes out of his way to be disagreeable, as if to be so was to be military. His tour is regarded with dread especially by the First Classmen detailed that day for guard.
But the influence of either type of Officer in Charge is transient. It passeth from day to day. If the Gloomy One is on duty, there is the consolation that the Cheerful One will succeed him like sunshine after rain. It is the Commandant of Cadets, the chief of all the “Tacs,” who exercises the great permanent influence over the Corps. Ever since the creation of his office in 1825, he has been “the Com” to the embryo officers under him. He prescribes all of their drills and casts the mold for the discipline of their bodies and souls. He is the tribunal that grants or withholds their privileges and that punishes them for their premeditated or thoughtless misdeeds. Whereas a few years ago he exercised his power for the seclusion of his office, at a distance from the cadets, today he meets and talks with them daily, ascertains their viewpoint, giving to his work the new spirit of the personal touch that has crept into the instruction at West Point. To be successful in his important work, he must never look bored. He must take an interest in the cadets rather than in the Regulations. He must be human. To gain the admiration of his men he must be above all efficient, fairly good to look upon, military in appearance, and well dressed, and to gain their liking and respect he must be smart, strict, and impartial. There are two faults in an officer that a cadet finds hard to forgive: lack of neatness and “being wooden.”
In his work, the Commandant is assisted by the “Tacs,” Infantry, Cavalry, Field, and Coast Artillery officers. Officers of every branch of the Service are represented because at West Point, the duties of all arms are taught. It is with these officers more than any others that the cadet comes into the most direct contact.
For purposes of administration, each company is commanded by a Tactical officer. He passes upon all permits, requests, requisitions for clothing and for ordnance. He inspects the rooms of his command to see that they are clean and in order. He examines the rifles and equipment for dirt and rust. He supervises one or more of the drills. He is really the presiding genius over the company, in whose welfare he takes unselfish interest. It is the duty of him and his brother “Tacs” to uphold the discipline of the Corps, which means that when a man has to deal with eight hundred young wills, American nurtured, he must utilize something stronger than mere words to see that the eight hundred conform to the set standards of the institution. His chief weapon to emphasize to the cadet the importance of the Regulations is the report or “skin,” which carries with it a certain number of demerits, and sometimes punishment tours.
The cadet consequently looks upon the “Tac” as his arch enemy. One cannot help having a little resentment toward a person who is always present to check up his misdoings, no matter how just and well deserved the punishment may be. The feeling is only human and the military atmosphere rather augments it. It is especially difficult, I think, for Americans to feel continually the heavy hand of authority, because each one of us is so individualistic. Unconsciously, the cadet cannot get away from the presence of the “Tac.” Life in barracks seems to revolve around this individual. From the early morning inspection, until the evening study period when he again comes around, knocking sharply on each door and interrupting the train of thought, his spectre, if not himself, is haunting the surroundings. The cadets know that he is just across the way in the Guard House, and that they will meet him at drill in the afternoon. He is the important factor that must be considered in their daily comings and goings. He is a sort of irritating yoke.
It is not to be wondered at then, that he is the subject of unlimited discussion, despite regulations to the contrary, and that every peculiarity of manner, dress, or speech is noticed and criticized. His entire personality is usually summed up in some nickname that comes like an inspiration and hits the nail upon the head. Occasionally the name is complimentary, in unconscious recognition of an innate nobility which marks him out as of finer clay, but more often it is uncomplimentary and droll.