One of the very first things that a midshipman
receives, once he's started on his path to a commission, is a small pamphlet
entitled, "The Message to Garcia." It's a brief, almost ridiculously simplistic
tract, first published in 1899, that nevertheless helps to capture who we are as
an organization - and the virtues of initiative, dedication and ability to
execute the task
that we value. This little nothing is an
acknowledged first document, a sort of naval Magna Carta, that everyone
understands - and it also serve to guarantee a sort of immortality to a man
known only as "Rowan."
For an example:
As a squadron CO, I once asked one of my young junior officers, a man we'll call
"Chef" (because that was his callsign) to perform a certain task - a relatively
complex one, in fact. Time was of the essence, and as I started to move on to
the next thing, he asked me briefly: "But how do I do this,
Skipper?"
In reply I merely stated,
"Message to Garcia, Chef." Startled, he began to say something in return - and
then I saw his eyes turn inward as he assimilated the message. He smiled,
nodded, and turned away.
And did a
great job.
So, without further ado, I
give you - "A Message to Garcia," by Elbert Hubbard
In all this Cuban business there is
one man stands out on the horizon of my memory like Mars at
perihelion.
When war broke
out between Spain and the United States it was very necessary to communicate
quickly with the leader of the Insurgents. Garcia was somewhere in the mountain
vastness of Cuba - no one knew where. No mail nor telegraph message could reach
him. The President must secure his cooperation, and quickly. What to
do!
Someone said to the
President, "There's a fellow by the name of Rowan will find Garcia for you, if
anybody can."
Rowan was
sent for and given a letter to be delivered to Garcia. How "the fellow by the
name of Rowan" took the letter, sealed it up in an oil-skin pouch, strapped it
over his heart, in four days landed by night off the coast of Cuba from an open
boat, disappeared into the jungle, and in three weeks came out on the other
side of the Island, having traversed a hostile country on foot, and delivered
his letter to Garcia - are things I have no special desire now to tell in
detail. The point that I wish to make is this: McKinley gave Rowan a letter to
be delivered to Garcia; Rowan took the letter and did not ask, "Where is he
at?"
By the Eternal! there
is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed
in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor
instruction about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebrae which will
cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies:
do the thing - "Carry a message to
Garcia!"
General Garcia is
dead now, but there are other Garcia's. No man who has endeavored to carry out
an enterprise where many hands were needed, but has been well-nigh appalled at
times by the imbecility of the average man - the inability or unwillingness to
concentrate on a thing and do
it.
Slipshod assistance,
foolish inattention, dowdy indifference, and half-hearted work seem the rule;
and no man succeeds, unless by hook or crook or threat he forces or bribes
other men to assist him; or mayhap, God in His goodness performs a miracle, and
sends him an Angel of Light for an
assistant.
You, reader,
put this matter to a test: You are sitting now in your office - six clerks are
within call. Summon any one and make this request: "Please look in the
encyclopedia and make a brief memorandum for me concerning the life of
Correggio." Will the clerk quietly say, "Yes, sir," and go do the
task?
On your life, he
will not. He will look at you out of a fishy eye and ask one or more of the
following questions: Who was he? Which
encyclopedia? Where is the
encyclopedia? Was I hired for
that? Don't you mean Bismarck?
What's the matter with Charlie doing it? Is he dead?
Is there any hurry? Sha'n't I
bring you the book and let you look it up yourself?
What do you want to know
for?
And I will lay you
ten to one that after you have answered the questions, and explained how to
find the information, and why you want it, the clerk will go off and get one of
the other clerks to help him try to find Garcia - and then come back and tell
you there is no such man. Of course I may lose my bet, but according to the Law
of Average, I will not.
Now, if you are wise, you will not bother to explain to your "assistant" that
Correggio is indexed under the C's, not in the K's, but you will smile very
sweetly and say, "Never mind," and go look it up yourself. And this incapacity
for independent action, this moral stupidity, this infirmity of the will, this
unwillingness to cheerfully catch hold and lift -these are the things that put
pure Socialism so far into the future. If men will not act for themselves, what
will they do when the benefit of their effort is for
all?
A first-mate with
knotted club seems necessary; and the dread of getting "the bounce" Saturday
night holds many a worker to his place. Advertise for a stenographer, and nine
out of ten who apply can neither spell nor punctuate - and do not think it
necessary to.
Can such a
one write a letter to
Garcia?
"You see
that bookkeeper," said the foreman to me in a large factory. "Yes, what
about him?" "Well he's a fine accountant, but if I'd send him up town on
an errand, he might accomplish the errand all right, and on the other hand,
might stop at four saloons on the way, and when he got to Main Street would
forget what he had been sent for." Can such a man be entrusted to carry a
message to Garcia?
We have
recently been hearing much maudlin sympathy expressed for the "downtrodden
denizens of the sweat-shop" and the "homeless wanderer searching for honest
employment," and with it all often go many hard words for the men in
power.
Nothing is said
about the employer who grows old before his time in a vain attempt to get
frowsy ne'er-do-wells to do intelligent work; and his long, patient striving
after "help" that does nothing but loaf when his back is
turned.
In every store and
factory there is a constant weeding-out process going on. The employer is
constantly sending away "help" that have shown their incapacity to further the
interests of the business, and others are being taken on. No matter how good
times are, this sorting continues: only, if times are hard and work is scarce,
the sorting is done finer - but out and forever out the incompetent and
unworthy go. It is the survival of the fittest. Self-interest prompts every
employer to keep the best - those who can carry a message to
Garcia.
I know one man of
really brilliant parts who has not the ability to manage a business of his
own, and yet who is absolutely worthless to any one else, because he carries
with him constantly the insane suspicion that his employer is oppressing, or
intending to oppress, him. He cannot give orders; and he will not receive them.
Should a message be given him to take to Garcia, his answer would probably be,
"Take it yourself!"
Tonight this man walks the streets looking for work, the wind whistling through
his threadbare coat. No one who knows him dare employ him, for he is a regular
firebrand of discontent. He is impervious to reason, and the only thing that
can impress him is the toe of a thick-soled Number Nine
boot.
Of course I know
that one so morally deformed is no less to be pitied than a physical cripple;
but in our pitying, let us drop a tear, too, for the men who are striving to
carry on a great enterprise, whose working hours are not limited by the
whistle, and whose hair is fast turning white through the struggle to hold in
line dowdy indifference, slipshod imbecility, and the heartless ingratitude
which, but for their enterprise, would be both hungry and
homeless.
Have I put the
matter too strongly? Possibly I have; but when all the world has gone
a-slumming I wish to speak a word of sympathy for the man who succeeds - the
man who, against great odds, has directed the efforts of others, and having
succeeded, finds there's nothing in it: nothing but bare board and clothes. I
have carried a dinner pail and worked for day's wages, and I have also been an
employer of labor, and I know there is something to be said on both
sides.
There is no
excellence, per se, in poverty; rags are no recommendation; and all employers
are not rapacious and high-handed, any more than all poor men are virtuous. My
heart goes out to the man who does his work when the "boss" is away, as well as
when he is at home. And the man who, when given a letter for Garcia, quietly
takes the missive, without asking any idiotic questions, and with no lurking
intention of chucking it into the nearest sewer, or of doing aught else but
deliver it, never gets "laid off" nor has to go on a strike for higher
wages.
Civilization is one
long anxious search for just such individuals. Anything such a man asks shall
be granted. He is wanted in every city, town and village - in every office,
shop, store and factory. The world cries out for such: he is needed and needed
badly - the man who can "Carry a
Message to Garcia.
"
Elbert Hubbard -
1899
Posted @
05:46 PM
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"Sign on, young man, and sail with me. The stature of our homeland is no more than the measure of ourselves. Our job is to keep her free. Our will is to keep the torch of freedom burning for all. To this solemn purpose we call on the young, the brave, the strong, and the free. Heed my call, Come to the sea. Come Sail with me." - John Paul Jones
"Pardon him, Theodotus; he is a barbarian, and thinks that the customs of his tribe and island are the laws of nature" --George Bernard Shaw, "Ceasar and Cleopatra"
"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music."--Friederich Nietzsche
