The Price of Leadership: An excerpt from "Master and Commander"

In Patrick O’Brian’s book“Master and Commander” the sixth chapter begins with the ship’s doctor on land thinking about how men age.  After college, in my early 30s, I decided that the price of taking power was far too high, so I determined to be a journeyman at writing rather than a leader.  Dr. Mathurin’s reflections fit my own experience and make me glad of my choice.  Mathurin is thinking about what happens to men as they age and become absorbed by their profession and set on a path by the cumulative effect of their choices. He sees middle age, around 40, as where the line is crossed and is talking specifically about a mid-career Lieutenant, James Dillon:

“It appears to me a critical time for him…a time that will settle him in that particular course he will never leave again, but will persevere in for the rest of his life.  It has often seemed to me that towards this period [middle age] … men strike out their permanent characters; or have those characters struck into them. Merriment, roaring high spirits before this: then some chance concatenation, or some hidden predilection (or rather inherent bias) working through, and the man is in the road he cannot leave but must go on, making it deeper and deeper (a groove or channel), until he is lost in his mere character—persona—no longer human, but an accretion of qualities belonging to this character.  

James Dillon was a delightful being. Now he is closing in. It is odd—will I say hear-breaking?—how cheerfulness goes: gaiety of mind, natural free-springing joy. Authority is the great enemy—the assumption of authority. I know few men over fifty that seem to me entirely human: virtually none who has long exercised authority. The senior post-captains here…Shriveled men (shriveled in essence: not, alas, in belly). Pomp, an unwholesome diet…pleasure…at too high a price, like lying with a peppered paramour. Yet Lord Nelson, by (Captain) Jack Aubrey’s account, is as direct and unaffected and amiable a man as could be wished. So, indeed, in most ways is Jack Aubrey himself; though a certain careless arrogancy of power appears at times. His cheerfulness at all events is still with him.  

How long will it last? What woman, political cause, disappointment, wound, disease, untoward child, defeat, what strange surprising accident will take it all away? But I am concerned for James Dillon: he is as mercurial as he ever was—moreso—only now it is all ten octaves lower and in a darker key; and sometimes I am afraid in a black humour he will do himself a mischief. – page 202-3.

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Lead, Follow or Get Out of the Way!!

Sometimes I wonder, 'Why did I re-enlist at my age?'
Or 'What am I doing in the Army at 60?'

Then I get a chance to do something that only a soldier would think is awesome and then I think, 'I re-enlisted because I love this shit!'

On Saturday, the boys and I gave one of my friends a ride to the Philadelphia airport.  We were in Philadelphia so it should have been a 15-minute trip.  No problem.

We got on I-95 and drove quickly past the stadiums.  I looked ahead at the long approach to the bridge over the Delaware.

We had just passed the last exit on this side of the Delaware River and all the traffic was stopped.  I was in the left lane.  It was a clear day.  I could see a mile ahead.  Just before the bridge itself all four lanes of traffic were stopped.

Nothing was moving and traffic was stacking up.  Within seconds we came to a stop.  I looked up the road at nearly a thousand cars four lanes wide.  And I got angry.  I knew at least one lane could get through no matter how bad the accident was.

I stopped the car and asked my passenger to get in the drivers seat.  I happened to be wearing running shoes, so I took off running fast along the left side of the road past all the stopped cars to the accident site.  Three cars were wrecked and twisted.  The left lane was clear.  A guy standing there was half-heartedly waving cars through.

I told him I am in the Army and can handle this.  He went back to help with the accident.

I pointed at the first car in line, waved my arm and put my whole body into the motion.  He moved, fast.  Next car followed.  I kept waving.  Third car the driver's eyes wandered to the accident.  I pointed straight at him and waved to get moving.  If his windows were down he might have heard me yell encouragement using short words with CK sounds.

I kept wave, the cars started merging and moving.  When anyone started gawking, I moved toward the car and waved to get moving.  One guy slowed.  His passenger rolled down the window and started video recording.  I stood between him and the scene and told him to keep moving in a way that indicated his IQ was lower than a bag of ball peen hammers.

It was so much fun.  Less than 10 minutes later, my car was passing the accident site.  I jumped in and we took off.

Thanksgiving weekend was a lot of fun in many ways, but that ten minutes on the approach to the bridge showed me why I should be a soldier.  I'm too old to be a cop.