I have a “thing” about being on time.
I hate to waste anyone’s time and I especially dislike having my time wasted.
This all stems from a life-altering experience I had as a young 2nd Lieutenant in the Army in 1974, while stationed at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii.
I come from a military family. My Dad flew dive bombers during WWII in the South Pacific and served two tours in Viet Nam, commanding a Dust-Off air ambulance (MEDEVAC) unit. We moved 32 times before I graduated from high school. I attended four high schools in three states. This perhaps accounts for my attenuated attention span, which is about 30 seconds.
So, with my background, I was feeling fairly experienced and comfortable in my new military environment. Never get too comfortable….
The Commanding General, 25th Infantry Division, sent a letter to all of us newbie junior officers requiring our presence at a Command briefing in the War Room. Viet Nam was still happening, and this was to be a very serious and impressive event for us. The entire Command Staff and top brass, some who flew in from the mainland, would be attending.
I looked at the date and time and location, but I did not bother to mark the address. I knew where the building was located. I had seen the big sign in front.
So five minutes prior to the start of the briefing I waltzed up to the door and discovered that the building was empty and the door locked. Have you ever had that sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that tells you your life is over?
A Captain passed by and saw me standing in obvious shock. Apparently, the HQ had been moved but the sign was left in place. The actual location of the Briefing was a solid mile down the road!
Hawaii in late Summer can be very warm.
In full fatigues and combat boots, I ran the entire distance in record time (for me) with sweat leaping from my forehead and my heart pounding from fear, humiliation and the certainty that I had missed this very, very important Command Performance. My military upbringing was of no use to me now. I was in full panic mode as I arrived at the Briefing Hall.
Red-faced and breathing heavily, I walked inside and beheld two very large wooden doors. The doors were closed, of course. The briefing was underway and 2nd LT Knowles was in deep kimche. In front of the doors and behind a large wooden desk sat a skinny young Captain who never even looked up to see who I might be. He already knew- he was in charge of attendance- and he made no effort to sooth my ruffled feathers.
He said, “You missed the Briefing, Lieutenant. Don’t even think of going in now!” (Translation: Your career is over before it even started!).
There was no way I was not going in there. I walked around him and slowly and gently opened the huge doors.
I cannot begin to describe the feeling I had as my eyes adjusted to the darkened room and the people and objects took shape. At the far end of the room, in front of a huge, back-lit wall map, stood the Commanding General, pointer in hand and discussing some strategic jungle location on the map. He stopped talking when he saw me and blinked, briefly, like an owl. This was obviously a new and totally amazing experience for him, too.
Directly in front of me was a long conference table surrounded by a variety of Generals, Admirals, and lesser staff, seated in order of importance. When the Commanding General stopped, they turned to stare at the hapless idiot who had stumbled into the wrong room, perhaps??
Along either side of this long narrow room were seated more staff and more brass. I looked hungrily for an empty chair to end my torment. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed my Company Commander- my Boss- along the right wall with an EMPTY SEAT next to him! I moved quickly to the chair and sat down.
And still the Commanding General stared at me in disbelief. Why didn’t he just get on with it? What more could I do? Get back to your pointing and briefing!
My Boss, a LT. Colonel and an All American QB from Notre Dame, covered his mouth with his hand,leaned toward me and said, “Uh, Knowles, you are sitting in the General’s seat!”
it was then that I noticed, across the room, all my fellow junior officers, squirming like a gaggle of geese, grinning and loving every second of my misfortune. My empty, assigned seat beckoned me and I leaped out of the General’s chair, quickly crossed the room and, humiliation complete, sat down with a sigh that sounded something like a deflating birthday balloon dropping slowly from the ceiling. I kept my eyes down and waited for life to either end or proceed.
Finally, in the eternity of that moment, the Commanding General spoke to me. “Lieutenant,… with your permission,… may we continue?”
“Oh, please, go right ahead, General,” I blurted..
It was over. I was the talk of the town for weeks.
So if you ask me why I am so serious about being on time, about being prepared, and about planning ahead, I trace it all back to this one event, forever seared into my heart and mind.
So, with your permission…..lets continue.