One day near the end of my first year on the Island, all the cadets were gathered into a very tight formation and told to wait. We had no idea what to expect. We heard some commotion behind the command trailer, but could see nothing.

Without explaining why, one of the staff began to explain the proper way to grovel. We were to lay prone of the ground, getting our entire body as close to the ground as possible. Oh, and we were to repeat over and over again "Grovel, grovel, grovel". We were laughing a little, but the staff members seemed very serious.

Suddenly, the staff began shouting "All hail King Edward!", "Grovel, you knaves!", "On your face, peasant!" , "Long Live King Edward!", "Drop! You bloody Celts!", and other helpful advice. Our conditioning resulted in immediate compliance with orders. We all dropped down onto the dusty ground and started saying "Grovel, grovel, grovel". Even so, we kept our heads up to see what was going on.

Around the corner of the command trailer came a most audacious sight. Six rangers in full uniform, berets, ascots and shined boots were pulling some kind of farm implement. It was a kind of seat with wheels to which you would attach horses and a plow.

Sitting atop this ersatz chariot was the Major. Normally the Major was impeccably dressed. Although he weighed well over 300 pounds, his custom-made uniforms were always well fitting, pressed, and lint free. He often wore white gloves with his blues. His ribbons were always perfect and shoes shined to a high gloss. This appearance, coupled with his "parade field" demeanor and discipline, made the Major an intimidating, professional officer despite his extreme weight. The fact that the cadets respected this obese man so much is a good indication of what kind of leader he was.

The Major's appearance and command presence were very important to him. As a retired Army officer, he understood that the commander must lead by example, and his uniform and bearing always reflected that. I had never seen the Major in anything but a perfect uniform, which was certainly not the norm for seniors back then.

That was on a normal day. This day, he was resplendent in boxer shorts and a European undershirt (commonly called a "wife beater"). He had jungle boots and black socks on his feet, and they were in sharp contrast to his overly white, pudgy legs. Around his shoulders, he wore a camouflage poncho liner as a cape. I believe it was pinned at the neck so it wouldn't fall off.

Atop his head was the most bizarre helmet liner I had ever seen. It was painted bright orange and had a black eagle attached to the front. Not the little eagle that a full Colonel would wear, but the kind of eagle you might attach to the side of your house. Its wingspan was more than a foot long. Pressed into the Eagle's chest were the gold oak leaves of a major. Sprouting from behind the eagle were the purple, green, and pink feathers of a cheap feather duster. To top it all off, there were deer antlers coming off the sides. It was truly hideous. It was also hilarious.

To round out the whole ensemble, the Major carried a toilet plunger as if it were a scepter. His appearance was so incongruent with what we knew about him, that we just didn't know what to think. The staff had once again thrown us off balance by hitting us with the totally unexpected.

A few cadets started to laugh, but the staff started yelling and demanding respect for "His Highness". Even though they let us know this was a joke by calling us "Bloody Celts" in bad British accents, the staff maintained their discipline and appeared to be totally serious. The Major, who seemed above it all, continued to look regal and imperial as he looked upon all that he ruled. He kept his chin raised as he gazed down at his people. While his clothing was outrageous, he continued to exude professionalism, confidence, and discipline. The scene was the most surreal one yet, and that is saying a lot considering the other stuff that had gone on up there.

As this strange procession pulled up in front of our prone, groveling formation, the "honor guard" set the horse bar down, and then started acting totally outraged that we were not groveling with enough enthusiasm. We were soon face down in the dust yelling "Grovel, Grovel, Grovel" in between fits of laughter.

I don't remember all of the "King's" address to the unwashed masses; I was too busy groveling. I quickly learned that improper groveling attracted the attention of the honor guard. If you caught their attention, they ran over to you and yelled. They didn't make any threats of punishment or anything, and they were not abusive about it. However, their arrival had the effect of stirring up the dust around your face, making it a bit unpleasant. Those who groveled well didn't end up with a mouth full of dirt.

After a short preamble, the Major said he was gracing us with his presence today in order to "knight" several members who had proven themselves worthy of recognition. A member of his honor guard called off the name of a cadet. The cadet immediately jumped up, ran over to the Major, and reported perfectly.
The honor guards went nuts. "How dare you waltz over here to see his majesty like you are an equal! Get on your knee, knave!" Apparently we were supposed to kneel before the "King" like you see in those old King Arthur movies. It was obvious that the cadet wasn't really in trouble, but he played along with the act. It wasn't that often we got to just play like kids.

The Major announced the cadet's new title, tapped him on each shoulder and the top of the head with the toilet plunger, and that was that. The "knight" was told to get back in formation where "You may continue to grovel". The honor guard called another cadet up (I think it was Popeye). This time the Major announced that the cadet was now to be known as the Prince of Pigeon Cove. The cadet fell back into formation as soon as the plunger hit his head.

My name was called next. From that day forward, I was the Duke of Duck Island. This was the place where we bathed in the terribly cold water of Lake Huron. This made perfect sense. I HATED, DESPISED, and LOATHED Duck Island. Of course the Major would make that my title. It fitted his sense of irony.

Several other cadets were knighted that day. When we were done, we were told to clean ourselves up and get ready for mess. Everyone was laughing and trying to figure out the point of the whole thing. I can only imagine what Leftenant Frost of the Royal Air Cadets was thinking as he watched his crazy American cousins groveling in the dirt to a "king" in boxer shorts. Once again, the staff had introduced a little madness to relieve our stress.

I didn't know it at the time, but something very important had just happened. I had just stepped over a threshold that I hadn't even known existed. I was now one of the Major's men. The other cadets present had no idea that this ceremony was anything more than a big joke. At the time, neither had I.

The next year when staff was selected for DI 1981, the first three young men who had been knighted that day were all made team leaders. Another was made Deputy Commandant. I guess the Major was pretty good at picking out the "go-to guys" from the crowd. I am impressed to this day that he predicted the next year's staff so accurately. There were a lot of good people groveling in that crowd, and two of the "knights" weren't even officers yet.

The coronation had served another purpose too. For the Major to let down his mask of command and "play" with us was a big deal. To most of us, he was THE MAJOR (later he would become the Colonel). He was always stern, professional and distant, not to mention 35 years older than us. He never joked with us or treated us as equals. He enforced the rules and expected nothing but the most professional and moral behavior from his troops.

Dropping all of that at this stage of our training to take a part in our little unreality play was his way of saying that every cadet there had earned his respect. In fact, we had earned it enough that he would do something crazy and out of character for him.

Of course, as I got to know him later, I realized it wasn't out of character for him at all. The man I had always thought to be a stern, no nonsense kind of guy was a very caring man with a fantastic, if weird, sense of humor. Once I got to know him, I came to realize that the coronation had been a bigger revelation than I had thought. The Major hadn't just done something silly to help morale, he had, for the first time, let us see a piece of his real personality. That was something so rare for him that it dramatically demonstrated to me how much he cared for us.

If we did this today, I'm sure some cadet or parent would complain about hazing or some such nonsense. Having a senior performing royal duties in his underwear would probably get most activities shut down. The fact is, the groveling was a joke, and everyone knew it. It was only done during the coronation, and then it was dropped completely. Even so, I wouldn't suggest doing it today.

However, I think it is important to point out that command presence will only take you so far. It is all well and good to create a "leadership style", but many cadets do that and then stop. They believe that leadership is about "acting" or simply technique. They invest nothing of themselves in their people, and then wonder why cadets don't "respect" them.

In the end, it comes down to you and your people. As a leader, you can be a part of the team, or you can be above the team. As a group commander, the Major normally had to be above the team. However, he showed us during the coronation that he was more than capable of being one of us. When he did that, he earned loyalty, respect, and genuine affection from his troops. That trumps authority and image every time.