Twenty-four hours after walking across the parade field of Fort Dix, I found myself in a Greyhound bus, recovering from a hangover while on my way to Fort Eustis, Virginia where I was to begin my Advanced Individual Training. The Army sends all its Soldiers to AIT for training in their specific skill, or military occupation specialty. In my case I was to attend the Army’s CH47 heavy lift helicopter mechanic’s course, which is approximately four months in length.
Unlike basic training where we had three drill sergeants assigned to our platoon, only one was assigned to us at AIT and much of the duties and responsibilities previously performed by a drill sergeant, were now delegated to us, the students. There were four student squad leader positions who answered to the student platoon sergeant who was accountable to only the drill sergeant. Following a wall locker and room inspection on just my second day in the platoon, the drill sergeant fired his student platoon sergeant and named me in his stead. I was surprised and nervous as hell.
I hadn’t been issued any Patton Pills or read any “How To” books that would transform me from a private first class to a platoon sergeant, a leader. I did the next best thing and called one of the greatest leaders I knew, my dad my hero the Commander.
“Don’t worry son, you’ll do fine. Have faith in your old drill sergeant and trust your instincts,” he said.
“But dad…” I pushed.
“Son, I wish I had some magic formula for making a good leader, but I don’t. Be accountable for your missions and take care of your men and everything else will fall into place.”
One of my duties as the student platoon sergeant was to manage and post the names of those who have earned a weekend pass. Soldiers were given a weekend pass from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon providing that his grade point average exceeded 80 percentile. So, each Friday I collected the GPAs from the drill sergeant and compiled the pass list posting it in the platoon area before 1600 hours.
On one particular Friday afternoon early in my career as the student platoon sergeant, Private First Class Santiago was unhappy that he wasn’t on the pass list and wanted to discuss the matter with me. As I was walking down the hall in his direction, he stepped in front of me stopping my progress, grabbed me by my uniform blouse and shoved me into a nearby room. As I fell into the room, his sidekick, Private Medina gut punched me and pushed me up against a wall locker as Santiago closed the door behind him. Before I knew what was going on, the unhappy Santiago was holding a knife under my chin demanding that I rework the pass list this time including his and Medina’s names.
Though my initial reaction was to fight, my instincts told me to stay calm so I said, “If you want me to add your name to the pass list Santiago, why don’t you come to study hall in the evenings and get your grades up?”
Fire erupted in his dark brown eyes as he launched into a tirade speaking Spanish calling me every name in the book while his short dumpy weasel of a sidekick snickered.
Feeling my Scottish blood beginning to boil I thought to make my position clear and in a way Santiago would understand, “Look you mother fucker, you either put the gottdamned knife away and stop the bullshit or we’re gonna go at it and at least two of us are gonna bleed all over this fucking room and I gottdamned guarantee one will be your fat little friend here because he’s really pissed me off.”
After a long moment of staring, he backed away and stowed his knife. I walked out of the room without another word. I’m sure that Santiago waited for me to tell the drill sergeant about the incident, but I never did. Several weeks later in the school cycle, he became one of my staunchest supporters and eventually earned his way onto the pass list. Sgt Hook out.
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On Leadership by Sgt Hook
