I love it when soldiers take the initiative to get something done without being asked… except when it results in uncoordinated, inefficient or wasted effort…

I had a couple young men in my company that I liked to refer to as Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dee.  They are both the type of soldiers you want in your command – hard working, enthusiastic and get the job done even without being told.  (Notice I didn’t include “smart” on the list… but I’d rather have a dull go-getter than a smart lump of laziness any day.)  I openly referred to them by these names – they seemed to accept it as a badge of honor (and clearly all in fun).  I never titled them as one or the other, though – I’d just wait until they were both present and ask their boss to, “find something dirty for the Tweedles to clean!”

One of them finally asked me once – while both were present – which was which.  I replied that 1) I wasn’t sure yet, 2) they probably wouldn’t want to know the answer anyway, and 3) I wasn’t sure I wanted them to know!  (I suspected they were both vying for the coveted title of Tweedle-Dumb.)

The following month I fought my way to drill in a pretty intense blizzard – about six inches of snow had fallen sometime between

three and six in the morning.  (It’s only a blizzard to those of us that live down-state: Grayling locals call this a dusting.)  After the morning formation, while my staff was busy getting to the tasks of the morning’s business, I remained out in the main area of the building, trying to get to know some of my fellow soldiers – which, I’m told, is a good thing for a new commander to do.

Since I had just dealt with a rather heart-breaking soldier issue immediately prior to formation, I was disturbed when one of the top soldiers on my staff quietly interrupted me and said, “Sir, I think you need to see this.  Quickly!”  As my mind searched through the possible calamities – critical testing failure; someone got hurt on the way in; worse??? – I followed him back to his office.

His office window is to his back, so that as you stand in front of his desk you have a clear view of the entire front yard and several hundred meters of the entrance road – you can even catch glimpses of the lake when the winter foliage is down.  It can be quite mesmerizing on a day with a fresh, deep snowfall.

Not allowing myself to be distracted by the view, I grew somewhat perturbed when he sat down at his desk and got back to work as if he’d never asked me to come deal with what in my mind had grown to an epic crisis!  After a long moment, I said, “Well?”

He just donned what I’ve since come to know as his routine mischievous smirk and pointed over his shoulder.

Ah, this was only a joke.

It didn’t take a second for mild irritation to turn to hilarity.  Outside was Tweedle, shoveling snow.  Actually, “shoveling” isn’t the right word – if there was an Olympic event for distance throwing heaping shovels of snow along an unused sidewalk for no apparent reason – the name of that sport would be the word for what he was doing.  At first, as I watched through my tears of laughter, I suspected that he had started to feel fatigued and what I was observing was the final burst of adrenaline prior to the collapse… But a quick scan of the previous 50 meters or so of sidewalk showed not a spec of disturbed snow less than a full meter from the clean path.

After my initial laughter subsided, I refilled my tiny little paper cup with coffee, grabbed my hat and headed out the door.  Out the door… down the steps, past the front of the building… another left on the main walk (all clean and dry).  All the way to the other end of the building I met up with Tweedle where he was approaching the matching set of outdoor concrete steps up the other side of the building.

He was dripping sweat through the outside of the outer shell of his uniform coat!  That’s about three inches of cotton and wool!  I took a sip of coffee knowing that surely an audience had grown in the office to watch this performance… “Excellent job, Tim!”, I said, startling him.  Spinning around, unable to stand fully erect – but trying – he snapped a sloppy salute and apologized: “Sorry sir, I didn’t see you coming up.”  After returning his salute, I assured him there was no breach of etiquette and reiterated how impressed I was with his initiative.

I must have said the right thing: I could see the wide smile even through the desperate gasps for air.  I put my arm around him in the most paternal fashion I could muster…

“You know…

next time…

feel free to use one of the snowblowers.”

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