by Dan Emmett
The important thing about being an instructor was to be able to teach from a position of having done, in real time, what you were teaching. I found that the new students would automatically give you the attention and respect you deserved as long as you had actually performed the subject matter in a genuine setting. These were not children but adults, and many of them had vast law enforcement and military experience. If an instructor did not have the experience and was merely reading from the slides, the students picked up on it. I could always pull a story out of my pocket about driving President Clinton, the follow-up, or working a rope line or an advance. Most of the men wanted to know about CAT and how to get there.
I would begin each class by relating that they needed to listen to me for two reasons: One was that I only taught what they actually needed to know, with no bullshit thrown in, and the other was that they needed to pay attention or they would fail the course and be sent home. Today I teach college courses and still use the same introduction. Students have always seemed to appreciate this direct approach and usually respond accordingly.
Each class of twenty-four students was assigned two course coordinators, who stayed with the group for the entire ten weeks that the students were in Washington for the Special Agent Training Course. They also monitored the class while it was in the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center for ten weeks. These two instructors served as mentors, role models, and proctors. As with most things, it was a job that a person could put as much or as little into as he wanted. While some instructors took it seriously, others considered it a bother because it was so time-consuming.
The classes were only given to instructors who had been in training for some time. Although I wanted a class, I knew it would be a while before I had seniority. While waiting my turn at being a course coordinator, I taught all courses in the protection syllabus, but due to the numbers of classes arriving and too few instructors, I was to receive my own class much earlier than anticipated. I became a course coordinator in the spring of 1995, just a few months after my arrival in training.
My observation of other classes and their coordinators was that the classes were too laid-back, with almost no discipline. Instead of leaders and mentors, many coordinators wanted to be buddies with their charges. The result was loss of respect and discipline and a general feeling of disorganization. These students were sloppy, ill-kempt, and acted as if they had already graduated. My most notable observation was that there was no leadership by example during the mandatory PT sessions. That is, the coordinators were sitting in the office while the physical training instructors handled the class. Some coordinators canceled PT when the weather wasn’t perfect.
All of this was about to change with my class. I would alienate some, but I won the respect of most students, and I also gained reluctant admiration from some colleagues, who came to realize that this was the way training should be conducted.
Contrary to the accusations and reminders of many in the training division, I knew I was in the Secret Service and not the Marine Corps—painfully aware, on most days. Few days went by without some wizard training genius saying, “Dan, this is not the Marine Corps.” I would thank them for their keen insight, acknowledge that I was aware of this fact, and drive on. I believed, however, that many of the same principles used to produce marine officers could also be used to produce outstanding Secret Service agents. There was an acceptable median between the world of extreme military training and the Secret Service, and I would find it.
The principles and traits of leadership were the same no matter if one was talking about the marines, IBM, or the Secret Service. It was all pretty simple and straightforward, as far as I was concerned. As the Marine Corps does, I believed in initially breaking down the students physically and taking away as much of their personality and ego as possible. Then at the proper moment, begin to rebuild them into a cohesive, disciplined unit, with the end result being one damned fine group of special agents capable of handling anything that came their way. I saw it as my responsibility to the Service, the students, and the American taxpayer, who had a right to expect the best from the Secret Service.
I was assigned to be the course coordinator for SATC 138, which would arrive in the late spring of 1995. My assistant coordinator, John Mrha, was a good friend and my former assistant team leader in CAT when I was new there. Like me, he was a military veteran, and unlike me, he was a great athlete.
We were a good team and agreed that our class would be made intelligent, disciplined, and fit, and that we would run the class along the same lines as police academies and the military. We also were in firm agreement that we would not require our class to participate in any physical training unless we were leading them.
SATC 138
The new class that would become SATC 138 arrived in June 1995 for the Special Agent Introductory Training Course (SAITC). SAITC was a one-week course of instruction offering the new class initial indoctrination and weapons familiarization prior to their ten-week stay at FLETC. They would then return to Washington, where John and I would have them for ten weeks prior to graduation.
SAITC was a chance for John and me to introduce ourselves to our new class and lay out what we expected of them. It was also a chance for us to conduct some preliminary evaluations of what we had to work with. I made it very clear what we expected: total effort at all times no matter what the endeavor was. Anything less than 100 percent in any area would be rewarded with a ticket home. We also promised to lead them in all physical activities.
At the end of the first day, John and I gave the fitness test to our new class. The test consisted of pull-ups, sit-ups, push-ups, flexibility, and the 1.5-mile run. Most did okay, and at the end of the run, they thought they were finished. Not! After the run, John and I formed up the class and ran them another several miles.
At the end of the additional running, we informed the class to expect the unexpected, that this was the easiest day they would have, and that if anyone did not think he or she could hack it, now would be a good time to be man or woman enough to say so and go home. There were no takers
Following one week of SAITC, the class left for FLETC, where they would undergo the criminal investigators training program (CITP). They probably thought they had seen the last of us for a while.
John and I flew down to Brunswick, Georgia, one day to surprise them, let them know we were always close at hand, check on their welfare, make sure FLETC was not unfairly harassing any of them, and take them for an impromptu fitness session.
While at FLETC, Secret Service students are under the control of FLETC, not the Secret Service, so upon arriving John and I had to make contact with the FLETC fitness coordinator who was responsible for the class our students were in. John and I found him having a smoke outside the PT building before class. John and I informed him who we were and told him that we intended to take the Secret Service part of his class for a freelance session. We did not really ask if it would be okay; we just said we were going to do it. He was hesitant as he smoked his cigarette, but we prevailed.
After his class of forty-eight, including our twenty-four Secret Service students, formed up, John and I appeared and took the Secret Service students for a “tour of the complex.” We began the run at approximately 3:30 p.m. At 4:30, we were still going.
After over one hour of running in 90-degree heat, we stopped at the main fitness building to allow the class a water break. John and I abstained from drinking any water. They were proud that they had run a solid hour without stopping. Many, never having run that far, had not believed they could. There was only one problem: To everyone’s disbelief, the run was not over.
The class returned to the parking lot from the comfort of the air-conditioned fitness building and the cold-water dispenser and formed up. We spoke to the class briefly about the importance of mental hardness and told them that the body could take a hell of a lot more than most thought. We then informed them that now that we were warmed up, we could begin the PT ses
sion. You could hear the panic erupt from most of them. I invited anyone who did not want to continue the session to pack for the trip home. All elected to continue.
We did not run much longer. The second session was really an attitude check to see if anyone would balk or quit. No one did, but an incident did occur that today remains the topic of humorous discussion anytime I have the honor of talking to a former member of 138.
We had gone about ten more minutes after the water break when a student began to moan and cry. I asked the distressed young man what the problem was. He shouted back at me, “I am tired and it hurts!” That was, as you might imagine, not the correct response. Actually any response other than “nothing is wrong” would have been incorrect. I informed him and the rest of the class that we would practice being tired for a little while longer, until the young man stopped his disgusting display of emotion and began to act like an agent.
Concerned that we might be on the verge of permanently damaging someone, John and I returned the class to the parking lot, where we gave them another water break, with John and I once again abstaining. Upon returning to formation, we told them that we were going for yet another run and offered again that anyone not wishing to continue could quit the program now. This was a critical moment, because we knew that they were as physically done as we dared make them without putting people in the hospital. The class stared at us with the blank looks of prison camp survivors, but none would quit. Satisfied that we had a pretty decent group, we dismissed the class with no further running, much to their delight and relief.
John and I handed out no compliments that day, however. We let the class know that their job had been to run until John and I decided the run was over, and that no one was going to thank them for doing their job.
It was on this day that the class began to show signs of pulling together as a team and take pride in the fact that together they had survived what many would have not. They also began to form a bond that can only be formed when a group is subjected to common hardship. That had been the purpose of this brutal session. It was not that we liked to run for miles in the heat; we wanted to build confidence and a team.
The exercise also proved to the class that John and I were true to our word and would always lead them, and that whatever we made them do physically we would always join them in. And for the moment, John and I gave them something to dislike (the two of us), which made them an even tighter group.
A few weeks later, 138 returned from FLETC to begin their ten weeks of special agent training in Washington and Beltsville. John and I greeted them upon their return with another sixty-minute run around the complex. This session included running up and down the stairs of the hundred-foot rappelling tower until someone became physically ill.
This became a class joke and also the indicator of when we had run the tower enough times. After a few trips to the tower, the class caught on that we would stop running the tower after someone lost lunch. At that point, they decided ahead of time who it would be for each run, and the student would gag himself or herself, thereby reducing the number of trips up the tower. It was all good fun, and the class had a great time with it.
While it may sound strange to some, this type of training helps build camaraderie and aids in the development of dark humor, which is essential to people in dangerous professions. It is the part of training that teaches a person that, while being concerned with the welfare of others is important, laughter at misfortune and hardship while continuing onward can partially relieve the pain and stress of the situation.
We reminded the class for the first week of SATC that the pain could stop at any time just by saying, “I quit.” It was apparent at this point no one was going to quit and that the class was now really ready mentally and physically to begin their training to be Secret Service agents.
The class would travel by van from their hotel in Georgetown to 1310 L Street, where the students would proceed to their classroom on the tenth floor. There was of course an elevator, the same one I had been deposited in twelve years earlier handcuffed with my shorts to my knees, but for our students as well as John and me it did not exist for the ten weeks of their training. We required them to run up the ten flights of stairs with all their gear. John and I would be waiting for them there—to make sure they were all accounted for. Then we briefed them on the running route of the day. These stairs were also effective tools for addressing bad or forgetful behavior. If, for example, a male student neglected to shave in the morning, he would be running those ten flights of stairs until I was satisfied that his attention to grooming standards set by me were remembered.
While it was clear to the students that John and I were in charge and were not there to be their best buddies, the feeling began to develop that we were all in this adventure together, student and coordinator alike, not unlike Marine Corps officers and their men. We were leading this class, not managing it, and the difference was apparent. This class began to enjoy the reputation of being the most physically fit and academically bright class anyone could remember. They were also the most respectful of authority, sincerely addressing all staff as “sir” or “ma’am.” In short, they proved to be by far the best class ever to have done the training. It was not magic but quite simple: Lead by example, set the example, demand accountability, accept no excuses for anything, and people will rise to the occasion. It was really nothing more than leadership 101. I learned it in the marines and John had learned in the army, but it seemed a mystery to many.
We began each day with a six o’clock morning run down to the Washington Mall, the Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial, and back, which took about one hour. The sight of the sun rising over the Capitol and the monuments was always moving, and the students seemed to enjoy it. At least they never complained, but then again, complaining was not allowed.
Since John and I lived about thirty miles from downtown Washington, we had to get up earlier than the class, and we did not leave until the class had departed for the day. The class knew this, and leadership by example stopped any complaining before it started, at least from the class. Complaining from other instructors was a different story.
Some instructors complained to John and me that our class was having trouble staying awake during their lectures; they wanted us to ease up and give the students more rest. I told these instructors that if their classes were interesting, the students would not have a problem staying awake. Some complained to management about it, but, much to our surprise, management backed us up. It was a sign that at least some of the boys on mahogany row were starting to buy into the program. Many, however, were still watching in quiet disapproval.
John and I were purposely putting the class into sleep deprivation, because Secret Service agents are usually sleep-deprived, whether it is on protection or in the field. We were training them to become familiar with fatigue, to overcome it mentally and physically, and then to drive on with the mission.
In the real world, an agent could not tell the president of the United States he was tired and needed some rest. He could not say to him that it was too hot or too cold to run. John and I told our class that we had run with President Clinton in 100-degree weather and in close to 0-degree weather and that there was a purpose to everything we were subjecting them to.
It was now November. On many morning runs the temperature was below freezing in Washington and the sun was an hour from rising. One morning it snowed but we ran anyway, and if a run was planned it was never canceled for any reason.
In spite of our demanding approach, John and I still kept a close watch on the class for signs of injuries. We knew when to back off and give the class a little more rest at times, as needed. When we saw the students were reaching the end of their rope we would give them a Friday off from PT so that they could rest up for three days. If they had done exceptionally well in a certain area we would reward them with a day off from formal PT or allow them to do whatever they wanted during PT time. Without handing out awards or saying, “Good j
ob, good job,” we were rewarding good behavior in our own way, and it was working. The class was beginning to buy into the fact that in the world of the Secret Service everyone did not get a trophy just for showing up. They were learning that the true reward for hard work was the satisfaction of having done a good job, not from someone patting you on the back.
The class was doing well in all areas, especially fitness, but we were beginning to bore them and ourselves to death with standard workouts. It was time to raise the bar.
THE OBSTACLE COURSE
During the 1980s and until 1997, when the James J. Rowley Training Center built its own obstacle course, part of CAT training involved running the obstacle course at Fort Meade, Maryland, located about ten miles north of the JJRTC. This ugly assembly of concrete and pipe was built sometime during World War II. It was several hundred yards long but seemed to go on forever and was laid out in the shape of a horseshoe. Although it was not a part of the SATC syllabus, John and I decided it would be a great morale booster for 138 as well as a hell of a good workout. It had nearly killed me during CAT school in 1988, while John sometimes ran it just for fun. After obtaining permission to conduct the obstacle course training from the ASAIC of training, a former marine and recipient of the Silver Star and Purple Heart, both awarded for service in Vietnam, we proceeded to Fort Meade and the awaiting obstacle course.
