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LJ Idol 9.11: Recency bias...
Jun. 9th, 2014 02:33 pm"What's eating you, Walsh?" asked Lance Corporal Pfeiffer, addressing his squad's automatic rifleman.
"Nothing," replied Jim Walsh, a red-haired, freckle-faced, perennially underweight Marine who was abnormally quiet this particular Sunday morning, at least in the opinion of Lopez and me (the rest of Pfeiffer's squad). The four of us were sitting at a table at the mainside mess hall and were basking in the afterglow of a very filling breakfast of steak and eggs.
"Don't hand me that bull," pressed Pfeiffer. "You've hardly said a word all morning. Something's got your goat. What is it? Girlfriend trouble?"
Walsh remained silent.
"Bet you it's that jerk uncle of hers," volunteered Lopez.
"C'mon guys, just leave me alone!" said Walsh, and started to get up to leave. "Sit down," said Pfeiffer. Walsh dropped back down onto the bench.
"What about this 'jerk uncle', Lopez?" asked Pfeiffer.
"Why don't you tell him?" said Lopez, addressing Walsh. Pfeiffer turned his gaze to Walsh. The story was slow in coming, but eventually, it came.
"Well… it's like this... any time I go to Maria's house and her uncle is there, he ends up giving me a bunch of crap about 'the Old Corps', y'know?" Walsh paused to take a breath. "How 'gyrenes' were rougher, tougher, and all-around better in the old days. Sort of like the crap they used to dish out to us in boot camp, except—my God, this guy just can't let it go! I get so mad, sometimes I want to hit him."
Pfeiffer thought for a minute, and then asked: "Have you considered he's just riding you to make sure you're not the kind of guy who likes hitting people because they say things that tick you off? You're going out with his niece, after all…"
"Yeah, I thought about that. And I've been ignoring him, just like my mom suggested was the way to deal with certain people at school, but… What'd I say that was so funny?" The last was sharply directed at Lopez, who had failed to adequately suppress a smirk at Walsh's mention of his mother. "Hey, man," said Lopez quickly, holding his hands palm-out in front of him, "no offense meant, okay? My mom told me a lotta good stuff, too!"
"It's good advice," I interrupted, to defuse the atmosphere. I then asked Walsh: "So you think this guy wants to argue with you?" Walsh closed his eyes and shrugged. "I don't know," he said, "but the line of crap he keeps handing me is getting old."
The table fell silent for a few moments, during which Lopez, Walsh, and I all sort of instinctively turned to Pfeiffer, for he was not only our squad leader, but also the chronologically oldest of us all (being 22 years of age), and the most educated (one year of college before dropping out to join the Marines, not to mention having read through almost the entire "five foot shelf" of Harvard classics stacked in his closet).
Pfeiffer looked at each one of us in turn, took a deep breath in through his nose, and then let it out slowly.
"You could argue with the guy," he said, finally, "but you should think a bit about what you're going to say."
We all held our peace. Whatever Pfeiffer was about to suggest to Walsh would probably be at least educational for Lopez and me. Pfeiffer started to speak:
"First, keep in mind that people who cry in their beer about 'the Old Corps' and civilians who go on about how tough life was when they were kids—you've heard the line about 'walking six miles to school in the snow', right?—are singing from the same page of the hymnal." We all nodded.
"It's not a new song, by a long shot. There's this famous Russian poem, for example, written about the Battle of Borodino, fought in 1812, where the speaker—the poet's uncle—when asked to relate the story of the battle, starts off by saying:
"So what kinds of arguments might we use?" asked Pfeiffer, of nobody in particular, and then went on to answer his own question.
"One approach might be what we could call 'the serious argument.' If today's Marines aren't as good as the ones in 'the Old Corps,' one could argue it's at least as much a reflection on the quality of training and leadership as it is on the quality of the recruits coming in, and for that, those in 'the Old Corps' must shoulder the blame, which doesn't make them look very superhuman."
"Can you say that in English?" asked Lopez, with a smile.
Walsh ignored Lopez. "So if what he's saying is true, and 'the Old Corps' was better and tougher, it's the fault of his generation?" he asked, leaning forward. There was a note of disbelief in his voice.
"Basically, yes," said Pfeiffer, "but you'll definitely want to make it more personal and make it out to be his own individual fault." Walsh nodded, and after a moment, Pfeiffer continued: "Then there's the humorous approach." Three sets of eyebrows rose.
"This involves poking fun at what he's saying, for example, by telling a joke along the lines of the one about what the first Marine recruited on November 10, 1775 said to the second Marine recruited that same day at Tun Tavern," said Pfeiffer.
"I never heard that one, Pfeiff," I said. Both Walsh and Lopez made little noises of supportive anticipation.
"The story goes something like this," said Pfeiffer. "When the first Marine was recruited, he got a signing bonus of two shillings and a free beer. A few hours later, the second Marine signed up, but by that time, Colonel Nichols, the recruiter, was offering a signing bonus of two shillings and two free beers. When the first Marine saw the second Marine with two beers and learned how he had gotten them, he burst out with: 'You new Marines sure have it easy! Back in the Old Corps, we only got one free beer for signing up!'"
With that, we all had a good laugh, whereupon Pfeiffer pointed out to Walsh: "That laugh of ours, just now, is exactly the effect you're looking for!" After a few more minutes, we got up and returned to our barracks.
The next weekend, Walsh returned from liberty with a spring in his step and in a good mood.
"How did it go?" we all asked him.
"Well, just about on schedule, her uncle started riding me about 'the Old Corps,' but apparently, he didn't much like being criticized or made to feel like the butt of a joke, so he ended up taking a swing at me. So I decked him, a little."
"What happened then?"
"Nothing, really. Maria's mom and dad just smiled. After a while, the uncle left, and Maria and I went out dancing and had a good time."
"Nothing," replied Jim Walsh, a red-haired, freckle-faced, perennially underweight Marine who was abnormally quiet this particular Sunday morning, at least in the opinion of Lopez and me (the rest of Pfeiffer's squad). The four of us were sitting at a table at the mainside mess hall and were basking in the afterglow of a very filling breakfast of steak and eggs.
"Don't hand me that bull," pressed Pfeiffer. "You've hardly said a word all morning. Something's got your goat. What is it? Girlfriend trouble?"
Walsh remained silent.
"Bet you it's that jerk uncle of hers," volunteered Lopez.
"C'mon guys, just leave me alone!" said Walsh, and started to get up to leave. "Sit down," said Pfeiffer. Walsh dropped back down onto the bench.
"What about this 'jerk uncle', Lopez?" asked Pfeiffer.
"Why don't you tell him?" said Lopez, addressing Walsh. Pfeiffer turned his gaze to Walsh. The story was slow in coming, but eventually, it came.
"Well… it's like this... any time I go to Maria's house and her uncle is there, he ends up giving me a bunch of crap about 'the Old Corps', y'know?" Walsh paused to take a breath. "How 'gyrenes' were rougher, tougher, and all-around better in the old days. Sort of like the crap they used to dish out to us in boot camp, except—my God, this guy just can't let it go! I get so mad, sometimes I want to hit him."
Pfeiffer thought for a minute, and then asked: "Have you considered he's just riding you to make sure you're not the kind of guy who likes hitting people because they say things that tick you off? You're going out with his niece, after all…"
"Yeah, I thought about that. And I've been ignoring him, just like my mom suggested was the way to deal with certain people at school, but… What'd I say that was so funny?" The last was sharply directed at Lopez, who had failed to adequately suppress a smirk at Walsh's mention of his mother. "Hey, man," said Lopez quickly, holding his hands palm-out in front of him, "no offense meant, okay? My mom told me a lotta good stuff, too!"
"It's good advice," I interrupted, to defuse the atmosphere. I then asked Walsh: "So you think this guy wants to argue with you?" Walsh closed his eyes and shrugged. "I don't know," he said, "but the line of crap he keeps handing me is getting old."
The table fell silent for a few moments, during which Lopez, Walsh, and I all sort of instinctively turned to Pfeiffer, for he was not only our squad leader, but also the chronologically oldest of us all (being 22 years of age), and the most educated (one year of college before dropping out to join the Marines, not to mention having read through almost the entire "five foot shelf" of Harvard classics stacked in his closet).
Pfeiffer looked at each one of us in turn, took a deep breath in through his nose, and then let it out slowly.
"You could argue with the guy," he said, finally, "but you should think a bit about what you're going to say."
We all held our peace. Whatever Pfeiffer was about to suggest to Walsh would probably be at least educational for Lopez and me. Pfeiffer started to speak:
"First, keep in mind that people who cry in their beer about 'the Old Corps' and civilians who go on about how tough life was when they were kids—you've heard the line about 'walking six miles to school in the snow', right?—are singing from the same page of the hymnal." We all nodded.
"It's not a new song, by a long shot. There's this famous Russian poem, for example, written about the Battle of Borodino, fought in 1812, where the speaker—the poet's uncle—when asked to relate the story of the battle, starts off by saying:
—Oh, there were people, back in my prime,"So it's fair to think that 'the Old Corps' idea has been around since before the Romans started training recruits for their legions." He made a little smile and we all smiled back.
Not like the breed of present time:
They were heroes—not like you!
"So what kinds of arguments might we use?" asked Pfeiffer, of nobody in particular, and then went on to answer his own question.
"One approach might be what we could call 'the serious argument.' If today's Marines aren't as good as the ones in 'the Old Corps,' one could argue it's at least as much a reflection on the quality of training and leadership as it is on the quality of the recruits coming in, and for that, those in 'the Old Corps' must shoulder the blame, which doesn't make them look very superhuman."
"Can you say that in English?" asked Lopez, with a smile.
Walsh ignored Lopez. "So if what he's saying is true, and 'the Old Corps' was better and tougher, it's the fault of his generation?" he asked, leaning forward. There was a note of disbelief in his voice.
"Basically, yes," said Pfeiffer, "but you'll definitely want to make it more personal and make it out to be his own individual fault." Walsh nodded, and after a moment, Pfeiffer continued: "Then there's the humorous approach." Three sets of eyebrows rose.
"This involves poking fun at what he's saying, for example, by telling a joke along the lines of the one about what the first Marine recruited on November 10, 1775 said to the second Marine recruited that same day at Tun Tavern," said Pfeiffer.
"I never heard that one, Pfeiff," I said. Both Walsh and Lopez made little noises of supportive anticipation.
"The story goes something like this," said Pfeiffer. "When the first Marine was recruited, he got a signing bonus of two shillings and a free beer. A few hours later, the second Marine signed up, but by that time, Colonel Nichols, the recruiter, was offering a signing bonus of two shillings and two free beers. When the first Marine saw the second Marine with two beers and learned how he had gotten them, he burst out with: 'You new Marines sure have it easy! Back in the Old Corps, we only got one free beer for signing up!'"
With that, we all had a good laugh, whereupon Pfeiffer pointed out to Walsh: "That laugh of ours, just now, is exactly the effect you're looking for!" After a few more minutes, we got up and returned to our barracks.
The next weekend, Walsh returned from liberty with a spring in his step and in a good mood.
"How did it go?" we all asked him.
"Well, just about on schedule, her uncle started riding me about 'the Old Corps,' but apparently, he didn't much like being criticized or made to feel like the butt of a joke, so he ended up taking a swing at me. So I decked him, a little."
"What happened then?"
"Nothing, really. Maria's mom and dad just smiled. After a while, the uncle left, and Maria and I went out dancing and had a good time."
