Rules of the Game

The 2nd Lieutenant Acting TAC officer looked and sounded so ridiculous as he chewed us out, that I snickered and that set him off like a bottle-rocket. The veins popping out in his neck, he shouted "You think this is funny, candidate? You won't laugh on TAC Tuesday!" After he stormed out of the platoon area, we doubled over in laughter.

Between our upcoming class and the most recently completed one, the real Tactical Officers (TACs) had taken a well-deserved break. During their time off a few recent graduates of the prior class served in their absence for those of us who reported to class a few days early.

I was accepted for Officer Candidate School (OCS) under the old college option program. Since I had a college degree, if I passed my physical, got a high enough score on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, passed the OCS Test and completed roughly my body weight in paperwork; all I needed to do after finishing basic training was complete and graduate from OCS. Presto-Chango! I would transition from Private First Class to a brand-new 2nd Lieutenant in the US Army.

Tuesday morning, I was appointed 1st squad leader of the 2nd platoon a few minutes prior to the TACs arrival at our morning formation. We formed up on the company parade grounds day at 0745 hours - fifteen minutes before zero hour.

At 0800 hours the TACs attacked like a swarm of hornets, the first facing me as I stood at sweaty attention. He immediately got in my face and yelled "You call yourself a leader? Who taught you to blouse your boots and roll your sleeves? You're the squad leader! Is this how you set the example for your squad?"

A second TAC strolled past my fellow squad mates and laconically remarked, "Their following his example perfectly."

After the excitement and yelling mercifully ended, the company commander entered the courtyard and marched to the 1st Sergeant who saluted him and then marched to the back of the formation.

The commander angrily informed us that a member of our company was AWOL. "The cycle hasn't even started and one of you already ran away!" he said in disbelief.

"Anyone else want to quit?" His voice growing louder and angrier, he thundered - "Nobody made you come to OCS! If you don't want to be here, get the hell out of my formation. Report to me now and we'll process you out of OCS, no questions asked."

Three candidates streaked out of our ranks to stand at attention in front of the commander. I felt sick to my stomach. But I still had no real idea of what would face us in the next fourteen weeks and was deeply concerned.

As I stood there in shock at what had unfolded, I remembered the first day of basic training, the first sergeant's voice booming in comic exasperation at a soldier a few ranks ahead of me in the formation. "Private Lee!" he hollered, "It's the first day of basic and I already know your name. That's not good, Lee!"

But I did not hear comic or exasperated voices on TAC Tuesday. The 2nd Lieutenant was right. There was nothing funny about it at all.

What we experienced seemed terrifyingly real. But in truth, only the threats were true. The rest was theater. The TACs work hard to make you believe they're perpetually angry to weed out those who have not fully committed to their aspirations. But I soon realized they were not the only players. The game has two teams, Team TAC and Team Candidate and like all games it has rules.

1st Rule: Master the role of the candidate.

Since much of the game involves TACs on offense - yelling at us - and the candidates on defense - getting yelled at, the best defensive posture is the position of attention. You don't smile, you don't wince and most importantly, you don't show fear. Stare impassively ahead, answer questions with confidence even if you do not feel confident. If you don't know the answer, admit it and promise to learn it. It's like a form of armor once you master it. Those who didn't master it in Class 5-82 soon exited our ranks.

2nd Rule: Motivation is stamina's secret source of power.

Never forget why you volunteered. My motivation was ensuring the best possible life for my young family. Joining the U.S. Army is a long-term commitment. I did not have the option to tell the commander I made a terrible mistake and ask for a Get out of Army free card. If I failed or quit OCS, we would live on the income of a Private First Class. If I stuck it out and graduated, the Army would pay me the much higher income of a 2nd Lieutenant. It wasn't even a choice really.

Others pinned a butter bar inside the netting of their helmet liners and kept their eye on the gold. I kept a picture of my wife and children hidden under my desk blotter. It worked. I cried more than a few tears gazing at this photograph at the end of the really hard days. Looking at it now makes me bleary-eyed even forty-plus years later.

3rd Rule: Cooperate, graduate.

In the second platoon we turned teamwork into an artform.

The day-to-day routine never varied. We only had fifteen minutes each morning to shave (guys), put on our Physical Training (PT) shorts, tee-shirts and tennis shoes and prepare our rooms for inspection. Solution: shave the night before and again after breakfast before the next formation. Divy up tasks with your roommate rather than concentrating only on yourself. The selfish candidates did not survive because we rated one another. If the majority of the platoon rated a candidate unfit to continue the TACs sent them packing.

4th Rule: Have fun even when you're not having fun.

This is way more important than you might think. In 2nd platoon we laughed together every day, just not while the TACs were around. When we bussed our trays and plates in the mess hall, we had to pass the TACs dining table, and they would randomly stop candidates that walked by for verbal torment. That gauntlet is known as Tray Line Ridge. In 2nd Platoon, we made it a game. Whoever could evade the TACs for the longest unbroken period of days would be declared the winner.

The strategy was simple. Since individuals who were recycled from prior classes got the most attention from the TACs, we would time our eating to follow one or two candidates behind them when they bused their trays. One of my platoon mates, Candidate Drury was probably stopped by the TACs more than anyone else in the company.

He had broken his arm a couple of cycles before and returned for OCS Class 5-82 once it set. Since the TACs knew they couldn't intimidate him they did it purely for fun. And he was funny, his replies always betraying a world-weary sarcasm that never quite crossed the line to insubordination. We followed him through the ridge every chance we could. Sadly, I did not win the contest in spite of my best efforts. I blame it on my erstwhile twin Candidate Cox JJ.

Second platoon tried to resolve this problem in the first week. Since the TACs did not allow us to call each other by our first names, we needed to figure out how to distinguish between myself, John R Cox and the forementioned John J Cox. We both were 5' 10'', wore identical military glasses, and like all male candidates had shaved heads. Our TAC officer, 1st Lieutenant Dickerson, could tell us apart but the rest of the TACs never could. Even members of our platoon sometimes confused us. The platoon agreed henceforth that I would always identify myself as Candidate Cox JR and he as Candidate Cox JJ. It was not the resounding success that we hoped.

A TAC might stop Candidate Cox JJ at breakfast and then stop me at lunch thinking I was the same candidate. The conversation would go something like this.

"Did you do what I told you to do this morning Candidate Cox?"

"You did not tell me to do anything this morning, sir. I believe you may have mistaken me for Candidate Cox JJ.

"So, who are you?"

"Candidate Cox JR, sir."

"I'm sure it was you that I talked to this morning."

"No, sir," I would say, giving him an earnest expression. "I'm sure I would have remembered that. It must have been Candidate Cox, JJ."

This would go on for about five minutes. After correcting him three or four times without getting into trouble, I would begin to enjoy myself, the prospect of sharing it with my platoon mates filling me with silent glee.

5th Rule: Never, ever lie.

Always assume the TACs know the answer to any question they ask you. Whatever you do, don't lie. If they catch you in a lie, they'll kick you out of OCS. That's a sin of commission. If they ask who did such and such and you were responsible, you need to own it. Not owning it is a sin of omission. If the TAC already knows about it or found out, they'll kick you out of OCS.

6th Rule: Pain is nonnegotiable.

Any attempt to evade pain translates to more pain. Like the old saying goes, 'The beatings will continue until morale improves.'

In our fifth week of OCS, we did grass-drills for the first time. This is a form of anaerobic exercise designed to keep you in constant motion. You're running in place, dropping for push-ups, running in place again, dropping to your back to do the bicycle, and continuing to alternate with various other exercises on command. In 1982, according to the physical fitness Field Manual 21-20, twenty minutes of grass drills was a complete workout.

After an hour of grass drills, we went on a four-mile run. For the first few weeks our runs were predictable. We ran a specific route and when the formation reached the barracks we stopped, cooled down and then went to our platoon areas to clean up and dress for breakfast.

But on that particular day the run was exhausting. When we finally approached the barracks every candidate quietly whispered thanks for surviving it. Then we passed the barracks and kept on running. I thought I was completely spent but happily remembered the sixth rule. Roughly a quarter of the company stopped running at the barracks. The rest of us ran an additional 100 meters before stopping. Three quarters of the company was released and the twenty-five percent who stopped running early did an additional hour of PT to include log drills.

Before every meal, seven days a week, we would negotiate a long set of parallel bars and then perform the number of pullups that corresponded with the class week. One pullup for the first week, two for the second week, etc. Crossing parallel bars hand over hand three times daily wreaks havoc on your palms and the inside joints of your fingers. Mine bled on and off for the first three weeks until my hands looked like a steelworker's. Pain is nonnegotiable.

7th Rule: No Pogey Bait.

Pogey is any food that you carry or consume outside of the dining hall. All forms of tobacco are also Pogey. Whenever we would prepare to go to the field for maneuvers, we would bring our equipment to formation and the TACs would search it and damn near frisk all of us looking for Pogey Bait.

The first time we had a field equipment inspection the TAC Pogey Bait haul was enormous. Chewing tobacco, cigarettes, candy, little donut packs, you name it. When they commanded us to remove our hats the candidate standing next to me had a twinkie on his head.

But later in the training cycle, 1st Lieutenant Dickerson started giving us amnesty prior to our inspections and told us to toss all of our pogey to the front of the formation before turning his back to the platoon. During one inspection, several food items sailed through the air before someone lobbed a banana that arced above the Lieutenant's head and landed a couple feet to his front.

He whipped around and yelled "Who threw that banana?" and the entire platoon lost its professional composure and began to laugh uncontrollably. I don't want to accuse our TAC of lacking a sense of humor but that was the first time any of us had seen him smile.

8th Rule: Pass the Land Navigation Course, full stop.

We spent almost two weeks in Land Navigation training. We learned to read the terrain features on a map, how to hold a compass and how to keep a pace count. Then they gave several practice opportunities to help us master it. But what they did not do was let us take the final land navigation test more than once. For anyone who failed, the cycle ended the next day. They might recycle those who failed into the next class, but we saw on a daily basis how much additional negative attention the recycles received.

The morning after we completed the land navigation final test the Company Commander walked into the mess hall and announced that for forty-three members of the class, it would be their last day. Naturally they waited until lunch to announce the names who had failed. That was the longest morning of OCS for me and many of my peers, and the shortest day for forty-three of our peers.

9th Rule: Face your fears.

This is particularly difficult when real risk is involved. The most dangerous event in OCS is on the last day of Ranger Week. Night patrols and little food or sleep culminate in the confidence building Log - Walk - Drop and Slide for Life. To qualify for these two events, we had to pass a swim test in full uniform. In spite of weak swimming skills, I somehow managed to pass.

To start the Log - Walk - Drop you climb the ladder affixed to a 35-foot pole and stand in the cage at the top and wait for the command to walk the log. The TACs demonstrated the proper technique for negotiating the obstacle.

But the 1st Platoon's TAC did not walk the log, he crossed it in a dead run, our mouths hanging open in horror. When he reached the five-meter steel cable at the angle, he crawled atop it, his belly resting on the cable with one foot resting on it behind him and the other leg dangling for balance. Then he skooched up the cable using his arms to pull himself forward.

Once he reached the forty-foot pole he stood atop the cable below the one he skooched across and reached for the drop cable on the other side of the pole. Then he pulled himself up and wrapped his legs around the cable and hung from it upside down. Hand over hand, he moved toward the center of the cable until given the command to come to a dead hang. Once hanging only by his hands, palms forward, he awaited the command to drop into the water below.

Full disclosure, I have always feared heights. Even once I stood in the cage waiting for the command, I was not sure if I could go through with it. I really regretted passing the swim test at that point.

You can't see it from the ground, but once you reach the top you discover an additional reason for trepidation. Even with guy wires attached to all three poles supporting the log, it sways. A lot.

When I got the command to walk the log, my feet got in an argument about which foot should begin the journey. After a second peremptory command the left won out and the right stepped forward, my heart in my throat. When I reached the center of the log, I discovered that each step is 12 inches high rather than the standard and saner 8 inches. Are we having fun yet? But once I reached the end of the log only the angle and the drop cable hung between me and my objective to complete the obstacle without killing or injuring myself.

I have always been something of a klutz, and when I had skooched halfway up the angle cable, I lost my balance and flipped over. I managed somehow to make it the rest of the way by wrapping my legs over the cable and moving hand over hand.

But by the time I had transitioned to the other cable I was not sure I had the strength to make it to the drop point. Somehow, I did. It's amazing the feats we can accomplish when the 'fight or flight response' releases adrenaline to increase blood circulation and breathing while simultaneously stimulating the nervous system.

I received the command to come to a dead hang and did so but inadvertently faced my palms in the wrong direction. Instead of giving the expected command, he yelled 'Turn your hands around,' as I whispered, 'Yeah, right,' and let go, his laughter following me as I hurtled into the frigid water.

The second station was the Slide for Life. We climbed the ladder affixed to a 75-foot tower to reach the platform at the top. Unlike commercial versions of the slide, they did not provide a safety harness to keep you from falling. The long cable ended a few feet above the water, attached to a turnbuckle covered by several jeep tires. You had to let go of the handles prior to reaching the turnbuckle for obvious reasons. As you began the long slide you raised your legs to prevent your feet from hitting the water prior to releasing the handles and dropping again into the cold waters of Victory Pond.

Unfortunately, one candidate did not hold his feet quite high enough. At top speed, you travel at roughly sixty miles per hour. When his feet struck the water, he cartwheeled roughly ten to fifteen meters. He and two others that fell off the log walk were taken to the emergency room.

In spite of my fear of heights, the slide for life was an incredible rush. But I made damn sure that I held my feet high.

10th Rule: Lead.

During the course of our fourteen weeks at OCS they alternated leadership positions to ensure every candidate had multiple opportunities to lead. Each platoon has three squad leaders, a platoon sergeant and a platoon leader. The company has a first sergeant, executive officer and company commander. Although there are not enough weeks in the class for everyone to serve at in a company level leadership position, everyone will serve as a squad leader, platoon sergeant and platoon leader.

In the sixth week I was assigned as platoon sergeant. If the squad leader had an issue, they would take it to me as the platoon sergeant. If I needed to raise it higher up the chain, I would take it to the platoon leader. If the issue required the TAC officer's approval, the platoon leader would take it to Lieutenant Dickerson. This was our chain of command.

Mid-week after returning from dinner, one of the candidates received a message from his wife that one of their children was ill. He went to his squad leader to request permission to call his wife and check in on the child's status. The squad leader passed the request to me, and I passed it to the platoon leader.

But only our TAC could approve a phone call. The platoon leader refused to take the request to Lieutenant Dickerson because he was afraid of him. This resulted in me skipping over the platoon leader to take the request to the TAC directly. Honestly, I was afraid of him too, but fear is not the enemy, only the failure to act. Lieutenant Dickerson approved the request and did not take me to task for taking the lead.

But the story does not end there. The next time we rated one another twenty-one of the platoon leader's peers put him at the bottom of their rankings. A few days later he was pulled from the course.

. . .

Officer Candidate School is much more than angry TAC officers, physical training and tactics in the field. We spent more time in the classroom than on the parade field or in the bush.

We learned the principles of leadership, studied military law, combat medicine, and the nature of nuclear and chemical warfare to name just a few. After dinner we would work on reading assignments and papers at our desks in our rooms till lights out at 2100 hours and return to the classroom after morning PT and breakfast.

The first seven weeks of OCS were the hardest, culminating in the culling of the class after the Land Navigation Final Exam. We celebrated the transition to the intermediate phase at a picnic with our families on Saturday at the end of that week. After that our lives began to get better.

But the TACs continued to harass us as we walked tray line ridge at every meal even though the likelihood of anyone crumbling under such pressures had left the building with those who washed out in the first few weeks.

By then, teamwork had spilled beyond the artificial barriers of individual platoons and began to mold the company into a single cohesive unit. I'm not sure where the idea began, but the company leadership in the eighth week passed a message to all seven platoons that on the next day if the TACs stopped any candidate at all that we would all stand and sing our Alma Mater, the Infantry School song.

But someone ratted us out. The 5th Platoon TAC stood up when I was standing in line at tray line ridge and informed us that they knew our little plot. He stopped the first candidate in line and told her to sing the Alma Mater. She knew the words, but she messed up the melody and went mute once she realized her mistake. Although three candidates were ahead of me, I knew that the incorrect melody had forcefully lodged itself in all of our heads and began to frantically try to remember the correct one. The TAC moved the next candidate and then the next and the next, each as mute as the first. Our revolution was crumbling in silence, and I still could not remember the tune.

But when he stood before me, the melody mercifully returned to mind and my voice boomed and echoed across the cafeteria,

“Far across the Chattahoochee

To the Upatoi”

Every candidate in the mess hall jumped to their feet, our voices loud and defiant,

“Stands our Loyal Alma Mater ...”

The TACs returned to their seats before we even finished the song. I wish I could tell you that their harassment ended after our show of solidarity, but that would be a lie. It was a small victory none-the-less, they did not stop another candidate during that meal. They had made their point and we had made ours.

The final four weeks of OCS began with the Turning Blue Parade shown in the photo at the beginning of this article. We traded our black helmets for blue and our blue ascots for white. For the most part the TACs stopped harassing us on Tray Line Ridge and let the men grow their hair in again.

During the lunch hour two days prior to graduation and commissioning, the often-maligned Candidate Drury bused his tray and utensils and walked to the back door. After opening it, he extended his right foot across the threshold as Lieutenant Dickerson yelled "Candidate Drury!"

Freezing briefly in the doorway, Drury's head bobbed quickly forward and back like a pigeon as it walks before stepping through door and letting it bang behind him.

That was the only time in those fourteen weeks that I ever heard Lieutenant Dickerson laugh.

The photographs accompanying this article are from our personal collection or the OCS Class 5/82 Cycle Book. I drew the cartoon of the road march while in OCS. I prepared the schematic of the Log - Walk - Drop specifically for this article.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.