Junior Army Leaders considering going to Ranger School expecting to be taught how to be better leaders ought to know something: Ranger School is NOT a place the Army will formally instruct them in new ways to be a better leader. That may be surprising to many, but factually, Ranger School never introduces any new, advanced troop-leading methods. The Ranger Handbook I carried in 1982 isn’t very different from one my father carried in 1958, or that carried by Ranger students today. Almost every task Ranger Students perform should already be familiar to them.
The word “school” implies specific instruction in ways to be a more EFFECTIVE leader. I argue that Ranger School is less like a “school”, and more like a laboratory where participants undergo hitherto unimaginable physical and mental stress. The lab then assesses and evaluates the participants as leaders. I argue that it has always been a place where leaders go to learn mostly about themselves. The curriculum brutally teases out weakness the student has likely never known. Students learn to overcome weakness in themselves and others, discovering untapped reserves of strength, of grit. My most profound lesson in Ranger School illustrates my proposition. My education didn’t come from an Instructor, or words in the Ranger handbook. It was taught by a classmate.
Self Discovery
Prior to November 1982, everything I did in uniform earned me exclusively high marks, top block evaluations and recognition. My family background of military service created high expectations and I had never failed as a leader. Indeed, I had usually been judged superior to other peer leaders. Ranger class 3-83 TAC officers thought so. After 3 weeks, they told me I was at the top of the class, on track to be an Honor Grad, like my father was in 1958.
However, I had weakness as a person, and a leader, that this “Leadership School” had not taught me how to overcome. The “Faculty” didn’t know I had this weakness. But the Mountain Phase found a way to unambiguously reveal it: Handling Failure. I had never known it in uniform. A single poorly decided No-Go from one instructor got into my head, leading to another No-Go, and another. I amassed a record of 5, count ‘em, 5 No-Go patrols in a single 3-week phase. How I ended up so upside-down for Patrols is a long story.
The TAC Officer’s Thoughts
My TAC Officer persisted in wanting me to stay with the class. The last day in the Mountains, he suggested that I should appeal the initial erroneous No-Go. The Instructor who issued it was poorly regarded, reputed to be pathologically hard on officers. His partner Instructor that patrol formally noted his disagreement on my No-Go. “Go to the Recycle board, get them to change your first patrol to a Go, then you could go to Florida with the class,” said my TAC Officer.
My inability to overcome failure, arbitrary injustice, to get past a mental obstacle, to focus on the larger mission more than myself, had earned my predicament. The Ranger School “laboratory” created a way for me to learn this harsh lesson, but not because of an Instructor’s tutelage. I was happy to avoid that lesson, however, thanks to a chance at an extraordinary intervention. Additionally, I was confident that ‘justice’ would be best served by appealing that pernicious blot on my record. I assented to the TAC’s suggestion and prepared my appeal.
Corporal Dan’s Thoughts
My Camp Merrill “hooch” mates knew the injustice of my first No-Go and enthusiastically encouraged my appeal. All but one; Corporal Dan, who was conspicuously silent.
He was silent for a moment then said, “You don’t want to know what I think, Dave.” He looked me in the eye, paused, then began his “lesson in leadership” I’d never forget.
“I think you should suck it up, that’s what I think. I recommend you recycle into the next class. Earn your way. Don’t beg for anything. It’s like this a lot for us regular soldiers, and we’re screwed either way we go,” he said.
Dan continued, “Look, if you appeal and win, you go to Florida as a marked man. Every Instructor there will know you “whined your way out of a No Go”. They won’t let you pass, and you’ll be 3 weeks more tired when you have to recycle. That’s if you WIN! If you LOSE, you’re back here as the guy who TRIED to weasel his way out of a No-Go. The RIs may not like the guy that gave you the No Go, but they gotta live with him. And he’ll look for a way to get back at you for calling him out.”
Dan concluded, “Be a man, live with it. Come back up here and earn the Ranger Tab the right way. That’s what I think.”
Reflecting on Dan’s Thoughts
The hooch fell silent. Dan went back to packing his duffel bag. We all stood uncomfortable in the silence. All of us, except Dan, were officers in the Real Army. The sole enlisted soldier in our hooch saw things like a soldier often does, with no “good choices”. He saw men destined to be his officers in battle, encouraging a way out instead of overcoming my circumstances with individual effort.
My cheeks warmed with shame. Dan threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to choose the harder right over the easier wrong. Instantly, I saw the wisdom in his words. I was being prideful, selfish and was only delaying the inevitable. Dan’s logic was clear and practical, and he saw an opportunity for me to become a better leader, here in this “Leadership School.”
I merely told Dan that I agreed with him, shrugged on my field jacket and walked out of the hooch.
The Board
I reported to the board. The Colonel noted that I was appealing a grade on a patrol. I told him, “No, sir. I request a recycle.” The two Instructors who graded me were there, and the one that gave me the No-Go looked surprised. I’m certain he knew he’d been wrong and was being pressed to acknowledge it. The Colonel said that there was a good case for overturning the grade. I said I was sure.
He scribbled on my folder and said that he recycled me to the beginning of the Mountain Phase. He looked up. “You’ll get no rest, son. You start back tomorrow with no recovery break.” I acknowledged that but I was ready to get back after it. He dismissed me, I saluted and turned to go, but he stood and shook my hand. “See you tomorrow then, Ranger,” he said with a wink. I’m sure typical recycle boards don’t include the OIC shaking the hand of the student.
While waiting to load the bus a few hours later, Dan said that he had seen too many people born with a “silver spoon in your mouth”, who always win, who always get what they want. Given an opening to say something to all of them, Dan took it. He was almost apologetic, but I told him I was glad he did. We shook hands. Returning to the Mountains eventually earned me frostbite in 5 toes, but also 2 Go patrol evaluations. I went on to Florida and ultimately graduation with Class 4-83. If Dan had been there on 10MAR83, I would have asked him to pin the “coveted Ranger Tab” on my shoulder.
Conclusion
It is not mere semantics to quibble between “Is it a ‘Leadership School’ or a ‘School for Leaders’. Words set expectations, and I say that Army leaders going to Ranger School should expect only what the School provides. It’s an environment where they learn about themselves, and others, and how humans behave under extreme conditions.
Students here discover their limitations and strengths. They might also learn that combat, like life, is unfair, unjust. They will learn that good troop leading procedures don’t always work, that bad plans can succeed, that good soldiers fall and incompetent ones remain standing. The enemy gets a vote and, like it or not, that vote counts. My experience captured all these lessons in a microcosm. Dan taught me to face my failures, to own them, to make the best of them. Essentially, Dan gave me my first, true lesson in FIDO: “Forget It : Drive On.”
I gained this knowledge in a place known as a “Leadership School”, but the tutelage wasn’t found in the words of any Instructor there, or in the Ranger School curriculum, or the Ranger Handbook. I found it in the words of a Ranger Battalion Corporal.
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