New Horizons - 2009

New HorizonsVMI Journal of Undergraduate Research

Volume 3 Number 1 April 2009

New HorizonsVMI Journal of Undergraduate Research

Volume 3 Issue 1 April 2009

TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 From the Executive Editor

Sciences

5 Mathematical Model of Rabbit Haemorrhagic Disease

Cadet Marshall H. Jarrett (Civil Engineering, ’11)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Lea R. Lanz, Assistant Professor of Mathematics and

Computer Science

15 Adaptive Numerical Analysis of Laser Pulses

Cadet Thomas M. Shaffner (Physics, ’08)Faculty Mentors: Dr. John R. Thompson, Professor and Head, Department of Physics

and Astronomy and Dr. Troy J. Siemers, Associate Professor of Mathematics andComputer Science

31 A Kinematic Model for Hand Movements

Cadet Christopher M.P. Leach (Mechanical Engineering, ’10)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Vonda K. Walsh, Professor of Mathematics and Computer Science

Engineering

41 Two-Dimensional Transient Heat Transfer Experiment

Cadet Hsin-sheng, Lee (Mechanical Engineering, ’09)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Robert L. McMasters, Professor of Mechanical Engineering

49 Thermal Distortion of a Subscale Membrane Mirror

Cadet Scott T. MacDonald (Mechanical Engineering, ’10)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Joseph R. Blandino, Professor of Mechanical Engineering

Interdisciplinary

59 The Rhetoric of Science: A Case Study of Susumu Tonegawa’s

Landmark Discovery

Cadet Joshua C. Kenny (Biology, ’09)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Christina R. McDonald, Institute Writing Director

Humanities

67 Learning to See: The Black Mountain College Experiment

Cadet Even T. Rogers (English and Fine Arts, ’10)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Robert L. McDonald, Professor of English

83 Kitchener to the Somme: British Strategy on the Western Front during

the Great War

Cadet Gregory E. Lippiatt (History and English, ’09)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Charles F. Brower IV, Acting Director, VMI Center for Leadership

and Ethics

93 Marshall and the Politics of Command: 1906-June 6, 1944

Cadet John M. Curtis (History, ’10)Faculty Mentor: Dr. Malcolm Muir, Henry King Burgwyn, Jr. Boy Colonel of the

Confederacy Chair in Military History

111 About the Contributing Editors

115 Undergraduate Research at VMI

117 In Memoriam

From the Executive Editor

No hay lımites salvo el cielo.[The sky’s the limit.]

Miguel de Cervantes

T hree years have passed since NewHorizons editorial board first presented

its vision for the new journal to the VMIfaculty and Corps of Cadets. With only ablueprint in our collective conscience, we hadlittle to show our first audience except aconceptual diagram and a bulleted list of goalsand aspirations. We had set demandingstandards, too demanding many commented,when they learned of the multi-layered processwe had set forth for prospective authors.“Daunting,” said some, “too ambitious,”retorted others, while still others just shooktheir heads with gentle kindness andsympathetically expounded on the futility oftilting at windmills.

Undoubtedly, we have learned many lessonsabout publishing a journal of undergraduateresearch since 2006 and even tilted at theoccasional windmill. But we have never hadto compromise the standards we put forth atthe inception of the journal. To the contrary,the bar for publication has been raised, not

through any concerted effort by the editorialboard, however, but rather by the level ofacademic excellence established by the cadetauthors themselves in volumes 1 (2007) and2 (2008) of New Horizons.Like their predecessors, the nine cadets

whose research appears in this year’s printedition—as well as the three cadets whosework will appear in the electronic version ofNew Horizons, volume 3—have successfullymet the demands of an eight-month review/revise process, including recommendation forpublication by an anonymous third-partyreader. More likely than not, the reviewer’sresponse is the first ungraded qualitativeevaluation of their work these cadets haveever received, and at first glance they mayhave found the comments overly critical oreven dispiriting. Academic review, after all,does not tend towards gentle kindness, butrather constructive criticism, which cansometimes overwhelm even the mostseasoned writer.

New Horizons r Volume 3 r Number 1 r 2009

1

The cadet authors and cover designerwhose work comprise this third volume ofNew Horizons—along with their facultymentors—represent eight departments acrossVMI’s three academic divisions. And whileinterdisciplinarity is not a new feature in ourjournal, the extent and breadth of thecollaborative efforts across the curriculum andthroughout the inquiry/writing/reviewprocess in this year’s issue merit specialmention. Chapeau bas as well to the VMIDepartment of Physics and Astronomy, whomake their drum-roll debut in New Horizonswith nothing less than one article, acontributing editorship, the cover design, andthe newest member of the New HorizonsEditorial Board, Dr. George M. Brooke, IV,Assistant Professor of Physics.

In addition to the cross-disciplinaryinvestigative endeavors that define the 2009edition of our journal, the editorial boardtakes exceptional pride in the number ofcolleagues who graciously served asextramural reviewers. This year’s directoryof contributing editors includes non-VMIteacher/scholars from the fields of rhetoric,engineering, American literature, political

science, and philosophy in representation ofsix different institutions. The New HorizonsEditorial Board and the Institute are indebtedto them for the generosity of their time andexpertise on behalf of our cadets.We are equally grateful to all our colleagues

at the Institute who were no less generous withtheir time and intellect in their service to cadetdevelopment by serving as research mentorsand contributing editors for this third volumeof New Horizons. The unconditional supportand enthusiasm we receive from facultycolleagues, the dean’s office, our “Friends ofNew Horizons” and especially Dr. JimTurner, Director of the VMI UndergraduateResearch Initiative, continue to inspire us, ascadets set and re-set the standard ofundergraduate research at the Instituteevermore skyward.Finally, my heartfelt thanks to my fellow

editors Alexis Hart, Bob McMasters, andMerce Brooke, without whom this intellectualquest would be only an endless row ofwindmills on the horizon.

Mary Ann DellingerExecutive Editor, New Horizons

New Horizons is published annually through the VMI Undergraduate Research Initiative. For information, contact:[email protected] or Ms. Leslie Joyce, Undergraduate Research, 309 Science Building, VMI, Lexington, VA 24450.

2 New Horizons / April 2009

SCIENCES

Mathematical Model of RabbitHaemorrhagic Disease

Cadet Marshall H. Jarrett

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Lea R. Lanz, Assistant Professor of Mathematics

ABSTRACT

Scientists and mathematicians have developed mathematical models to describe the spread ofdiseases in populations. An epidemic recently modeled is Rabbit Haemorrhagic Disease(RHD), a disease that first surface in China in the early 1980’s. There are many differentmathematical models employed to describe epidemics, and specifically RHD. One type ofclassical epidemic model, the MSEIR, divides an infected population into different subclassesand uses differential equations to represent population changes in each subclass. From historyof the disease, disease characteristics, and mathematical analysis of the model, variations ofthe MSEIR model, the SIR and SIRS models, are considered as appropriate models for RHD.However, because a replenishment of the susceptible class is not a characteristic of RHD, theSIRS model is more applicable to RHD.

INTRODUCTION

In 1984, an epidemic severely attackedmillions of Angora rabbits in the People’sRepublic of China. Spreading rapidly, thedisease killed millions of wild rabbits (Cooke2002; Mitro & Krauss 1993). During thenext twelve years, reports of the diseasekilling thousands of both wild and domesticrabbits traveled from Asia to Europe, Africa,and Central America (Cooke 2002). Causedby a calicivirus, the now classified RabbitHaemorrhagic Disease (RHD) has becomeendemic among domestic and wild rabbitpopulations. Because of its worldwideprominence, research continues to uncovernew information about how fast the diseasespreads and what factors contribute to itsproliferation.

Initially, researchers studied RHD to findways to prevent the virus from killing large

numbers of domestic rabbits on farms(Cooke 2002). The loss of millions ofconsumer rabbits could have crippledbusinesses relying on the rabbits for meatand fur (Cooke 2002). However, theuncontrolled spread of the disease led toresearch geared toward using the disease tocontrol inflated rabbit populations causingharm to an area’s natural ecosystem. Duringthe mid 1990’s, a research center wasestablished on Wardang Island in Australiato see how the climate could affect thespread of the disease. Before research couldbe completed, the virus escaped to mainlandAustralia and began to spread through wildrabbit populations all over the country. Atthe time of the unwanted release, theepidemic raised concern for Australia’s wildrabbit population, but actually turned out tobe a successful means of biologicallycontrolling the millions of rabbits that


5

Australian farmers and naturalists consideredas pests (Cooke 2002). The introduction ofthe disease dramatically decreased thenumber of rabbits to a more desirable level.

Although the disease is relatively new,continuing study of outbreaks confirm certainfacts about Rabbit Haemorrhagic Disease.The Center for Food Security and PublicHealth at Iowa State University publishes aweb page dedicated to all aspects of thedisease such as species affected, geographicdistribution transmission, etc. RHD onlyaffects the European rabbit (Oryctolaguscuniculus) which is prominent in all parts ofthe world from Europe to New Zealand andAustralia. When a population becomesexposed to the virus, some rabbits contractthe disease either directly or indirectly. Directtransmission occurs during oral, nasal, orconjuctival contact with an infected host.Indirect transmission occurs from free virusparticles remaining in an infected carcass or“most or all excretions including urine, feces,and nasal secretions” deposited by an infectedrabbit (Iowa State 2007). Upon contraction,the disease remains latent for a periodranging anywhere between one and threedays (Cooke 2002). During this incubationstage the host can spread the virus, but is notsuffering from the disease. At the end of thelatent period, a rabbit either survives withoutexperiencing any effects of the disease or dieswithin 12–36 hours from hemorrhages on itsinternal organs ranging from the trachea andlungs to the liver and kidneys. A portion ofsurviving rabbits develop immunity to thedisease while others remain susceptible.However, newborn populations experience aperiod of resistance to the disease for around8 weeks; some experimental results show40% of young rabbits do not contract RHDwhile the adult population experiences 90%mortality (Cooke 2002).

The data collected from hundreds of studiesinvolving the spread of RHD can help peopleunderstand how to control the spread orelimination of the disease depending oncertain circumstance. In the study Rabbithaemorrhagic disease: field epidemiologyand the management of wild rabbit

populations, B.D. Cooke outlines theimportance of understanding death rates ofinfected rabbits to better “assist themanagement of wild rabbit populations eitherfor conservation or pest control purposes”(Cooke 2002). Because the disease isendemic in certain parts of the world, otherstudies continue to produce valuableinformation about RHD by using collecteddata and mathematical modeling. Using thesemodels, researchers can simulate how certainfactors may or may not lead to highermortality rates within an infected populationof European rabbits. In this study, a simplemodel of an infected rabbit population will beconstructed to better understand howmathematics can be applied to a naturalphenomenon like the spread of RabbitHaemorrhagic Disease.

1 MODERN EPIDEMIC MODELING

Epidemic modeling first appeared in 1766when Daniel Bernoulli formulated amathematical model to study the spread ofsmallpox (Hethcote 2000). Since then,epidemic models evolved into many differentshapes and forms. The first step in constructingan epidemic model is to divide the members ofthe dynamic affected population into differentclasses. Then a system of differential equationsis created. After the model is designed,researchers analyze how each subclass changesduring the course of an epidemic. Modernmodels divide a population into many differentclasses. The existence and application of eachclass is purely situational and varies with eachdisease and the affected population. Somemodels may include all five subclasses, and asfew as two subclasses adequately representsome epidemic scenarios.

1.1 Population Classes

While mathematical modeling cannotexactly replicate the reality of an epidemic,results provide qualitative analysis of thesituation (Murray 2002). As mentionedabove, some epidemic models divide apopulation into five different classes: passive


immune (M), susceptible (S), exposed (E),infected (I ), and removed (R) (Hethcote2000). Figure 1 is a diagram of the MSEIRmodel and dynamics between classes.Looking at the diagram of MSEIR model infigure 1, classification of a populationmember begins immediately after birth. TheM class represents newborn infantspossessing some form of antibodies,temporarily preventing this class fromacquiring the disease. The existence ofantibodies, their source, and the duration ofimmunity depends solely on the disease andthe effected species. For example, onespecies exposed to specific disease mayexperience infant immunity for a lengthyperiod of time while another species mayhave a shortened period of infant immunityor no infant immunity at all (Hethcote 2000).

Individuals capable of contracting the diseaseare classified into the susceptible class (S). Duringany epidemic, members of the susceptible classinteract withmembers of other classes, includingthe infective class from which they acquire thedisease. Once acquired, a susceptible individualbecomes “exposed” to the disease and isclassified into class (E). Members in this classexperience a period of latency where the diseaseexists in an individual but cannot be spread. Atthe end of the latent period, the length of whichvaries for each disease, an exposed individualbecomes infected (Hethcote 2000). Membersclassified in this class (I ) are capable of infectingthe susceptible class. Many models end with theremoved class (R) which contains individualsrecovered from the disease with immunity.

A disease’s characteristics determine whattypes of individuals are considered removed. Atthe end of the infection period, the individualmay die, gain immunity from experiencing thedisease, or simply recover and return to thesusceptible class.

2 EPIDEMIC MODELS AND RHD

2.1 The Kermack-McKendrick (SIR)Model

While more complicated models withextensive parameters may better simulatedisease growth and decay, this section coversthe classic Kermack-Mckendrick model firstintroduced in 1927 (Murray 2002; Hethcote2000).This Kermack-McKendrick model applied to

RHD studies the effects of the disease on aconstant population caused by equivalentbirth rates and death rates. While birth rateand death rate occur in natural populations,but are excluded in this model, a relativelyaccurate representation of the disease isattainable (Murray 2002). Often referred to asa SIR model, the Kermack and McKendrickmodel separates a population into threedifferent classes: susceptible class (S), infectiveclass (I ), and removed class (R) as shown infigure 2. Many studies commonly omit the (M)and (E) classes because they do not affect theinteraction between the susceptible andinfective classes. The susceptible class in apopulation affected by RHD included rabbitscapable of becoming infected with the disease,

Figure 1. Representation of the MSEIR model developed by R. W. Hethcote (Hethcote 2000).

Jarrett / Mathematical Model of Rabbit Haemorrhagic Disease 7

the infective class consists of rabbits in thepopulation that have the disease and are ableto spread it, and the removed class includesrabbits who experienced the disease, recover,gain immunity, or isolate themselves from thepopulation. Essentially, the removed class is theremainder of the population after the susceptibleor infective rabbits are accounted for.

In this model as shown in figure 2.1, S(t),I(t), and R(t) represent the number of rabbitsin the susceptible, infective, and removedclasses, respectively, at any given time t. Toderive the differential equations describingthe interactions between the classes, thefollowing conditions are assumed:

r even spacial distribution amongsusceptible and infected rabbits,

r the infection rate of susceptible rabbitsdepends on the interaction betweenrabbits in the susceptible and infectiveclasses. Therefore, the rate of transfer ofrabbits from the susceptible to infectiveclass is determined by bSI, where b is thecontact rate between the susceptible classand infective class,

r rabbits transfer from the susceptible tothe infective class at the same rate theyare removed from the susceptible class,

r rabbits transfer from the infective class tothe the removed class at the same ratethey are removed from the infective classand this rate is proportional to thenumber of infected rabbits. This isdenoted by gI, where g is the transfer ratefrom the infective to removed class,

r because the incubation period of theRHD virus is short—between one andthree days—the model operates underthe assumptions that a susceptible rabbitwill contract the disease immediately aftera direct contact with an infected rabbit.Essentially, the latent period is ignored(Murray 2002).

Based on the above assumptions, the SIRmodel for RHD is as follows

dSdt

¼ ��SI; ð1ÞdIdt

¼ �SI � �I; ð2ÞdRdt

¼ �I: ð3Þ

In the SIR Model, dSdt is the rate of change in

the number of rabbits in the susceptible class,dIdt is the rate of change in the number ofrabbits in the infective class, and dR

dt is the rateof change in the number of rabbits in theremoved class. Furthermore, parameters andparameter units are found in table 1.

2.2 Analysis of the SIR Model

The following mathematical analysis comefrom papers by Murray and Hethcote. Inorder to solve the system of differentialequations (1)–(3), it is assumed that at t = 0,S(0) = S0 > 0, I(0) = I0 > 0, R(0) = R0 = 0. Tosimplify the system, it is also assumed the totalpopulation, N, is always constant. This means

SðtÞ þ IðtÞ þ RðtÞ ¼ N;

which impliesdSdt

þ dIdt

þ dRdt

¼ 0:

More specifically, at t = 0, S0 + I0 = N.When analyzing an epidemic model, the key

point dI/dt determines the occurrence of anepidemic. For an epidemic to occur it isnecessary that, dI/dt > 0. Remember theassumption I0 > 0 must exist for any infectionto occur. Looking at equation (2), evaluated att = 0, it follows

Table 1. Parameter values and table design basedon R. W. Hethcote (Hethcote 2000).

Variable Description (Units)

S Number in the susceptible class (rabbits)I Number in the infective class (rabbits)R Number in the removed class (rabbits)� Contact rate (per rabbits per day)� Removal rate (rabbits per day)

Figure 2. SIR Schematic with transfer rates �;and �;


dIdt

� �t¼0

¼ I0ð�S0 � �Þ

More specifically, the value of (bS0 – g) isthe critical indicator whether the infectiveclass will increase or decrease from t = 0.That is when bS0 – g > 0 an epidemic willoccur.

Simplifying this inequality yields,

�S0 � � > 0 ð4Þ�S0 > � ð5Þ�S0

�> 1 ð6Þ

The expression �S0� is often referred to as

the reproduction number or reproductionrate, R0, the number of secondary infectionsproduced by one primary infection in a whollysusceptible population (Murray 2002;Hethcote 2000). In classic models, R0 is afunction of the contact rate and initialsusceptible population, while in morecomplex models, birthrate and death ratecome into play. Values for R0 depend on thecharacteristics of the model.

Moreover, the ratio �� is r, the threshold

ratio between susceptibles and infectives. Anepidemic will certainly occur when S0 > rNotice that r solely depends on the rates oftransfer, g and b, between each class.

Further analysis of the model includessolving the system of equations and graphingthe directional field and integral curves.Because of the constant populationassumption, the system of equations (1)–(3)reduces to only include (1)–(2). Setting up aratio of dI/dt and dS/dt, it follows

dIdtdSdt

¼ �Ið�S� �ÞI�S

ð7Þ

dIdS

¼ ��S� �

�S: ð8Þ

To solve this differential equation, the firststep involves separating the variables,

dI ¼ ��S� �

�SdS ¼ �1þ �

�

1S

� �dS: ð9Þ

Integrating both sides of equation (9) gives

I ¼ �Sþ � lnSþ C; ð10Þand substituting the initial conditions intoequations (7) yields

I0 þ S0 � � lnS0 ¼ C: ð11ÞThe solution to equation (9) is

IðtÞ ¼ �SðtÞ þ � lnSðtÞ þ I0 þ S0 � � lnS0:

ð12ÞSince the maximum value for I(t), Imax,

occurs when S = r, simplifying equation (12)yields an equations for Imax,

Imax¼��þ� ln�þ I0þS0�� lnS0; ð13Þ¼ I0 þ S0 � �þ � lnð�=S0Þ; ð14Þ¼ N � �þ � lnð�=S0Þ; ð15Þ

The maximum number the infective classdepends on the total population size, initialsusceptible size and the threshold value.Figure 3 shows the directional field of

equation (8) and integral curves of equation(12). Based on the initial susceptible value infigure 3, an epidemic will occur when S0 > r.Furthermore, figure 4 shows the directional

field and integral curves of equations (8) and (12)applied to RHD using the values of g and bobtained from (Cooke 2002). This very smallthreshold value confirms the results found inRHD studies. Once introduced into any realisticpopulation of susceptible rabbits, an RHDepidemic will occur.

3 SIRS MODEL

Another modified version of the MSEIRmodel is the SIRS model. In this model, asusceptible renewal rate is proportional to thenumber of individuals in the removed class.This indicates recovery without immunity ordeath and a rejuvenation of the susceptibleclass. Otherwise, all other assumptions fromthe previous model apply. This additionaltransfer rate is illustrated in figure 5. Thetransfer rate from the removed class to thesusceptible class is defined by vI as shownin the following system of differentialequations,


dSdt

¼ ��SI þ �R; ð16ÞdIdt

¼ �SI � �I; ð17ÞdRdt

¼ �I � �R: ð18Þ

As in the first model, dSdt is the rate of changein the number of rabbits in the susceptibleclass, dI

dt is the rate of change in the number ofrabbits in the infective class, and dR

dt is the rateof change in the number of rabbits in theremoved class. The sign on each componentrepresents either an increase or a decrease inclass population. Disease parameters g and bare growth rates that describe how fast thepopulation of a class increases or decreasesper unit time. Furthermore, parameters andparameter units are found in table 2.

3.1 Analysis of the SIRS Model

Similar to the SIR model, we assumepopulation, N, remains constant at all times.This quality allows for reduction of the system

of differential equations above to include onlytwo equations. Rearranging terms in

N ¼ Sþ I þ R yields; R ¼ N � S� I:

Substituting the expression of R into equation(16) yields,

dSdt

¼ ��SI þ �ðN � S� IÞ:

Again, deriving dI/dS from equation (16)and (17) produces

dIdS

¼ �SI � �I��SI þ �ðN � S� IÞ: ð19Þ

The directional field of equation (19) isshown in figure 6. Notice an oscillatorypattern on the directional field where integralcurves converge to a critical point (denoted bya solid point on the graph). This indicates afixed value of S and I as t approaches infinity.We can assume dI

dt ¼ 0 and dSdt ¼ 0 because S

and I, the number of rabbits in the susceptibleand infective classes remains fixed. Fromequation (17),

dIdt

¼ Ið�S� �Þ ¼ 0 implies I ¼ 0 or S ¼ �

�:

Figure 3. Graphs of directional field and integral curves for the SIR model.


To obtain the critical points, substituteeach value of I or S into equation (16) and setthe equation equal to 0. Rearranginge theequation yields,

dSdt

¼ ��I þ �ðN � SÞ � �I ¼ 0 ð20Þ

Ið�þ vÞ ¼ vðN� SÞI ¼ vðN � SÞ�þv

: ð21Þ

There are two cases to be considered:

r When I = 0 in equation (21),

�R ¼ �ðN � SÞ ¼ 0;

which implies S = N. This produces thecritical point (N, 0).

r When S ¼ �� ,

I ¼ � N � ��

� �� þ �

ð22Þ

This produces the critical point�� ;

�ðN��=�Þ�þ�

� �, denoted by C*.

Since the first critical point I = 0 indicatesno infection, no epidemic will occur. Thestability of the epidemic will only be evaluatedat the second critical point, C*. Using equation(21), we can mathematically derive thereproduction rate, R0, for the SIRS Modeland determine when an epidemic will occur(when I > 0). Hence,

N � S > 0

N � �=� > 0

N > �=�

R0 ¼ N�

�> 1: ð23Þ

Table 2. Parameter values and table design basedon R. W. Hethcote (Hethcote 2000).

Variable Description (Units)

S Number in the susceptible class (rabbits)I Number in the infective class (rabbits)R Number in the removed class (rabbits)� Contact rate (per rabbits per day)� Removal rate (rabbits per day)� Transfer rate (rabbits per day)

Figure 4. Graphs of directional field and integral curves for the SIR model applied to RHD. � = .14 rabbitsper day �; = .64 per rabbits per day � = 4.57 rabbits.


This indicates that an epidemic will occurwhen R0 > 1.

Next, the stability of the system is analyzedusing the eigenvalues of the Jacobian matrixof quations (16) and (17),

J ¼ ��I � � �ð�Sþ �Þ�I �S� �

� �;

where the trace of J, denoted by y, and thedeterminant of J, denoted by D, are

� ¼ ��ðI � SÞ � ð� þ �Þ;� ¼ �ð�I þ �Þð�S� �Þ þ �Ið�Sþ �Þ:Evaluating Y and D at the critical point

C � �� ;

�ðN��=�Þ�þ�

� �yields

�crit ¼ ��ðI � �=�Þ � � � �

¼ �ð�I þ �Þ< 0;

�crit ¼ �ð�I þ �Þð0Þ þ �Ið� þ �Þ¼ �Ið� þ �Þ > 0:

The eigenvalues of the Jacobian matrix, arecalculated using the following equation,

�1;2 ¼ ��ffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffiffi�2 � 4�

p

2:

The value under the square root willdetermine whether the eigenvalues are real orcomplex. In the case of this model, stability isobtained when � is negative. Hence, critical

point C� �� ;

�ðN��=�Þ�þ�

� �is always stable provided

the threshold effect (23) exists (Edelstein-Keschet 1998).Due to characteristics of RHD virus, the

SIRS model should not be applied to a RHDepidemic, because replenishment of thesusceptible class is not a quality of the disease.At the end of the infection period, infectedrabbits die or gain immunity. Recovery withimmunity is non-existent.

Figure 6. Graph of the directional field and stability point for the SIRS model.

Figure 5. SIRS Schematic with transfer rates �, �,and �.


CONCLUSIONS

Using mathematical modeling techniques,we studied two types of mathematicalmodels—the SIR and SIRS model—anddeveloped a system of differential equationsto study the change in size of susceptible,infective, and removed classes in a populationof rabbits exposed to Rabbit HaemorrhagicDisease. Mathematical analysis on the systemof differential equations led to the calculationof R0 and the threshold value r, both of whichindicate when an epidemic will occur. Whileboth the SIR and SIRS model can be appliedto RHD, transfer of individuals from theremoved class back into the susceptible classis not a characteristic of Rabbit HaemorrhagicDisease. Therefore, the SIR model is moresuited for studying rabbit populations infectedwith RHD.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to sincerely thank my advisor,Dr. Lea Lanz, for her generosity, anddedication toward my success in SURI 2008.No other teacher has extended his or hersupport for my development as a student likeDr. Lanz.

Thanks to all SURI faculty and staff forproviding me the opportunity learn

something new about a topic I previouslyknew nothing about. This in itself was truly anexciting and enriching experience.Finally, I would like to thank the Virginia

Military Institute Department of Mathematicsfor providing me with the facilities tosuccessfully carry out my project.

REFERENCES

Iowa State University. (2000) Rabbit hemorrhagicdisease. URL http://www.cfsph.iastate.edu/Factsheets/pdfs/Rabbit_Hemorrhagic_Disease.pdf. Last Accessed 7/22/08.

B.D. Cooke (2002) Rabbit haemorrhagic disease:field epidemiology and the management of wildrabbit populations, Ref. Sci. Tech, 21, 347–58.

S. Mitro and H. Krauss (1993) Rabbit hemorrhagicdisease: a review with special review to itsepizootiology, Eur. J. Epidemiol, 9, 70–78.

N.D. Barlow and J.M. Kean (1998) Simple modelsfor the impact of Rabbit Calicivirus Disease (RCD)on Australasian rabbits, Ecological Modeling109, 225–241.

J.D. Murray (2002) Mathematical Biology I: Anintroduction, 3rd ed., Interdisciplinary AppliedMathematics, 17, Springer-Verlag.

H.W. Hethcote (2000) The mathematics ofinfectious diseases, SIAM Review. 42, 599–653.

L. Edelstein-Keshet (1988) Mathematical Modelsin Biology, 1st ed., McGraw-Hill, 164–190,242–254.


Adaptive Numerical Analysisof Laser Pulses

Cadet Thomas M. Shaffner

Faculty Mentors: Dr. John R. Thompson, Professor of Physics

Dr. Troy J. Siemers, Associate Professor of Mathematics and

Computer Science

ABSTRACT

Fluctuations in the pulse output of a Q-switched Nd:YAG Laser were modeled using differentialequations for the electron population inversion and the cavity power of a system with randominitial conditions. Starting with a Runge-Kutta 4 numerical estimation method, various initialconditions were examined. Through variations of the RK4 method, including experiments withRK5 and primarily through use of adaptive step sizes, the time of this estimation was reducedto allow it to be run over many runs on a distribution of initial conditions.

INTRODUCTION

The use of lasers has become increasinglyprevalent in modern technology and scientificexperiments. Whether being used forprecision measurement of fundamentalphysical constants, measuring greenhouse gasconcentrations remotely, or simply usingthem in fiber optic cables for long distancecommunications, they have become anintegral aspect of modern life. With thediversity and frequency of laser applicationstoday, it has become increasingly importantto understand the random fluctuations thatoccur within these lasers and how suchirregularities affect the output light. With adeeper understanding of these variables,we can take into account the effects visiblein the output light and prevent the variationsfrom causing communication problems ordetrimentally affecting the quality ofexperimental data.

In this particular project, the laser beingstudied was a Q-switched Nd:YAG laser. Themodel was done in two parts: the first, thecontinuous-wave (CW) model, representedthe buildup of an electron population inversionand weak laser background within the lasercavity at a known pump rate; and the second,the pulse model stage, modeled the pulsesthemselves that occur after this buildupand when the cavity losses are turned off.The formulae used to connect the variablesgoverning the system to the results generallytake on a differential form that is extremelydifficult to solve by hand. Accordingly, themodeling needed to be done via a numericalestimate. Details on the numerical analysiselement of this project will be discussed later.

THE LASER MODEL

In a typical laser there are two mirrors, oneon each end of a laser cavity. One of the


15

mirrors is totally reflective, while the otherwhich is only 95% reflective, known as theoutput coupler, allows light to pass out of thecavity when the light is intense enough.Between the mirrors is a gain medium thatgenerates photons. These photons start aprocess, known as stimulated emission, thatcauses the material to emit new photonsidentical to those incident upon it. Thecondition necessary for this emission to occurrequires a large number of electrons to be in ahigh energy state within the material, with arelatively empty lower energy state availablebelow them into which they can fall whenthey emit new photons. The ratio betweenthe number of electrons in the higher energystate and the number in the lower is known asthe population inversion. In order to create aninversion, a “pump” is used to excite electronsin the laser material to the higher level, andthus to maintain a greater populationinversion. However, the Nd:YAG laser pumpenergy is supplied by a high power diodelaser. Due to fluctuations in this laser the pumprate is never quite exact, and fluctuations in thispump rate were the changes whose effect wasbeing examined.

Continuous Wave Model

In the continuous-wave stage, the entireprocess begins at a set pump rate with adevice called an acousto-optic modulator(AOM) in place and active. This device usessound waves in a solid to act as a diffractiongrating for the laser light, diffracting it out ofthe cavity so that it cannot continue to grow.Accordingly, this time period in the model isfocused on giving the pump enough time tocreate a large population inversion to ensureminimal light output. The time given for thisperiod of the model is generally on the orderof a millisecond, after which any powerfluctuations have returned to the vicinity ofzero, and the population inversion is settlingin the vicinity of one. The equations used forthis portion of the model were the following:

dndt

¼ x��

�Aeffh�

� �Pn� n

�ð1Þ

dPdt

¼ 1�c

n� 1ð ÞP þ h�

�2c

� �n ð2Þ

In these equations, n is a normalization of thepopulation inversion and P is the opticalpower in watts currently exiting the outputcoupler. The x variable is representative ofthe pump rate and is a dimensionlessparameter scaled to the threshold value of thepump rate for the laser system. A pump rateof one is the lowest value at which there isenough power for the laser to producecoherent light. The other parameters of theequations remain constant, being standard forthe laser.i The first term in the top equation,x=� , is the result of the pumping. The nextterm, �=�Aeffh�

� �Pn, shows the effect of

stimulated emission, and the last term, n=� , isthe change in n due to spontaneous emission.Likewise in the second equation, nP=�c is thestimulated emission term, �P=�c is the lossthrough the output coupler, and ðh�=�2c Þnshows the effects of spontaneous emission onthe power. With these equations a modelcould be created to determine how long ittakes the background laser power to build upa population inversion of the level needed tobecome the initial inversion of a pulse. Anexample of the model is seen below (Figure 1).This model was done with a pump rate of

two. The rapidly rising population inversion isreadily apparent at the start of the simulation,and as it approaches the equilibrium point ofone it starts to oscillate around that point. Thepower leaving the output coupler jumps atcorresponding times as the inversion peaksabove one and bleeds off through the outputcoupler. As the inversion begins to stabilizearound one, the oscillations of both powerand inversion slowly relax around their finalvalues.The following graph is an example of

the way the power oscillates at the end of thisportion of the model. Many iterations ofthe above continuous-wave equations were

iA description of the other variables, along with alist of the values used in this experiment, is availablein Appendix A


run and the final point in the previous graphs(i.e., the last point estimated by the simulation)was taken from each. A histogram of thesepoints as seen below shows the oscillationsstill occurring as the pump rate is varied.

Pulse Model

In the second stage, after the pump hascreated a large enough population inversion,the acousto-optic modulator is turned off.With the AOM off, there is no longer adiffraction grating in the cavity and the powerquickly builds. The inversion at this point ispoised to create a quick pulse of laser light,and within a few hundred nanoseconds apulse occurs and depletes the populationinversion. As this occurs, the number ofphotons reflecting between the mirrorsthrough the laser material rapidly builds untilit is strong enough for the 5% of light escaping

through the less reflective mirror to be a highpower laser pulse. In this particular portion ofour laser model, the following equations—versions of the above equations without thepumping and spontaneous emission terms—were used as models:

dndt

¼ � �

�Aeffh�

� �Pn ð3Þ

dPdt

¼ 1�c

n� 1ð ÞP ð4Þ

The pumping and spontaneous emission termshave been dropped because their effect on thetime scale of a pulse is negligible. An exampleof the inversion and power during this stage isseen below in figure 3. Here the relationshipbetween inversion and power is readilyapparent as the inversion drop corresponds tothe rising power output, peaking just as theinversion drop begins to slow.

Figure 1. An example of the CW for a single iteration.

Shaffner / Adaptive Numerical Analysis of Laser Pulses 17

The time at which these peaks occur wasrelatively similar, even with changes in initialconditions. The initial conditions taken fromthe first portion of the model and shown infigure 2 were used as input conditions in thepulse portion of the model, and the peak timesin each of those runs were recorded to producethe histogram in figure 4. In figure 4 we see therelatively close spread of peak times, alsonoting the oscillatory nature that still appearsto occur and is likely a reflection of this samefeature in the initial seed power values.

NUMERICAL ESTIMATION

The fact that the equations for this systemare in differential form, both in the first andsecond stage, complicates using them tocreate a model for this setup. In this form theequations do not actually produce the shape ofthe curve created, but rather a vector field inwhich the change in inversion or power can befound at each point, but not their actual value.In order to evaluate the model, typical input

conditions are selected as starting values, andan algorithm known as the Runge-Kutta 4(RK4) method is used to trace out a paththrough the vector field. The RK4 processbegins as shown in figure 5 by taking the slopeat the start point, calculated using the modelequations, and using this slope to estimate avalue halfway through the time step (dt). Atthis point, point 2, another slope is calculatedand then used from the start point to a newmidpoint estimation: point 3. A slope at point3 is then used to estimate a point 4 value at theend of the time step, where another slope iscalculated. These four slopes are then used,the midpoint slopes (slope 2 and slope 3)being weighted double, to find a weightedaverage slope across the time step. Thisaverage slope is the slope used to estimate thevalue for the final point. The final point thenbecomes the start point for the next time stepand the process is repeated. By doing this overthe entire time period (i.e. the length of thecontinuous-wave or pulse model evaluation), areasonable estimate of the graph can be found.

Figure 2. A histogram of the final points taken from many runs of the CW model.


Adaptive Time Steps

The difficulty with this method, however, isthat running a RK4 algorithm on every timestep, and keeping the time steps small enoughto stay accurate, can result in the estimationtaking quite a while to complete even onnewer computers. To maintain accuracy, thetime step needs to remain small enough to beable to model very rapid changes in thegraph’s shape. The small step size makes fora long process though, including many verysmall time steps over intervals when thegraph remains relatively smooth. In thesesmooth areas, very small time steps areunnecessary to maintain accuracy and makethe program needlessly time-consuming.

One way to reduce this waste of time is toutilize an adaptive technique, in which the timestep size is changed to be smaller on portions ofthe graph with more fluctuations and larger for

portions when quick direction changes are rare.To do this a 5th order Runge-Kutta algorithm(RK5), a slightly more complex and accurateversion of RK4, was used. By comparingthe RK4 and RK5 estimate at each time step,some understanding of how accurate theestimate was could be reached. As long as thetwo estimates were close enough to the actualvalues, the difference between them wouldbe relatively small and the time step couldbe increased. In those regions where largefluctuations were occurring, however, the4th order and 5th order estimates were furtherapart, indicating a smaller step size was neededto maintain accuracy.Through some testing of variations on this

technique, it was found in general that a baselevel of accuracy should be established as thestarting point for the program, in this caseapproximately 0.01 microseconds. Timesteps larger than this lost accuracy quickly

Figure 3. An example of the inversion and power after the acousto-optic modulator is turned off.


when the fluctuations began and in many casesbecame wildly inaccurate. Time steps smallerthan this increased the total estimation timeconsiderably without noticeably increasing theaccuracy of the process.

A base tolerance was established as well,generally on the order of 1 x 10-7 differencebetween the RK4 and RK5 estimations ofinversion or power. The step size began atthe base step size and would be doubled as

Figure 4. A histogram of peak times for many iterations of the pulse model.

Figure 5. A depiction of the Runge-Kutta 4 (RK4) estimation algorithm.


long as the RK4 and RK5 difference waswithin the tolerance. In order to avoid thestep size getting so large that fluctuations onlyaffecting small portions of time might bemissed, a cap was also set. When the stepsize became larger than five times the initialstep size set, it was no longer increased. Aslong as the RK4 and RK5 difference stayedwithin the tolerance, the step size was leftat this larger value. When the differenceexceeded the tolerance, however, the stepsize was either then halved or dropped backto the initial step size, depending on howmuch the tolerance was exceeded. With thistechnique the computer run time for a singleestimate over 1000 microseconds droppedfrom roughly 23 seconds to approximately5-7 seconds.

Figure 6 shows one of the previous runswith the third graph indicating the step sizeused through the estimation. It is evident that

the step size drops and fluctuates frequently inthose areas of the graph where fluctuationsare more common, and in smoother areasthe step size is maintained at its highest value.Also of note are the aberrant deviations in thestart of the power estimate, and thecorresponding drops in time step. Theseaberrations did not always appear in theestimates, and were less likely to show upwith smaller time steps, but it seems to besimply a period before the numerical estimatehas settled. Because they did not appear tomake any difference in the rest of theestimate, it was not deemed worth the time itwould take to make the estimate accurateenough to eliminate them.It was never determined why five times the

initial value was the best cap for this instance.A number of variations were tried, and whilesix resulted in only a minor increase inestimation time, exceeding six or dropping

Figure 6. A CW model run with variable time step.


to four resulted in noticeable increases in thetime of each run. This is a property of thissystem that has yet to be explained, it wassimply found experimentally to work best.

Other adaptive techniques were considered,most notably a formula which used thetolerance and RK4-RK5 difference tocalculate a scaling factor that altered the stepsize up or down as the estimation progressed.The equation for this scaling factor was:

s ¼ tol h2 zkþ1 � ykþ1j j

� �1=4 ð5Þ

This method did not work for the equationsin use for this model though, producing resultsthat in no way resembled the actual propertiesof the system. Trying to use this method onequations that had such large fluctuationsbetween the smooth and jagged areas of thegraph was simply too much variation for thismethod to handle. Therefore it wasabandoned in favor of the doubling/halvingmethod which actually worked. Theshortened duration of the estimation from thisadaptive technique could thus be used on aGaussian distribution of thousands of pumprates and could be completed in a matter ofone to two days instead of almost a week.

The MATLAB code used for the CW modeland pulse model with large numbers of datapoints is found in appendices B and Crespectively.

Pulse Model Estimation

Unlike the CW model, the pulse model wasfairly uniform in its graphical shape. It lackedthe many quick direction changes and shortfluctuations seen in the CW estimate;consequently such run times for this estimatewere quite short without needing an adaptivetechnique. An estimation run over the 200-300 nanosecond period necessary to seean entire pulse with a step size of onenanosecond produced very good results in afraction of a second. Because of this a non-adaptive estimation was used. The final valuesof the inversion and power from the CWestimate already completed were used as the

initial values for these variables in the pulsemodel. The magnitude of the inversion inthe equations for both the CW model and thepulse model is scaled to be relative to thelosses, however, and as the losses fromthe AOM drop to zero in the pulse model, theinversion value effectively triples. To accountfor this the final CW inversion values werescaled up by a factor of three.

RESULTS

A Gaussian distribution of initial pump rateswas used to model fluctuations in pump ratepower in the CW model. These fluctuations inthe ‘x’ parameter in the formulae were used asthe pump rates for the first stage of theexperiment. The output from a run of 25,000data points, with the pump rate distributioncentered around 1.2002 with a standarddeviation of 0.0501 resulted in the followingoutput: In figure 7 we see a comparison of theoutput inversion values on the y axis againstpump rate values on the x axis. It isnoteworthy that the data appears in verticalstriations as the pump rate changes. It is herewe can see the fluctuations still occurring in theestimate, indicating the possibility of anunderlying periodicity. If the data points areconnected in order of ascending estimationpump rates, the data points are all connectedalong these striations as seen in figure 8,confirming the periodicity of the data. Alsonoteworthy is the fact that the vertical spreadof the data appears to decrease with higherpump rates. This is indicative of the inversionsettling faster with higher pump rates. At ahigh enough pump rate, this spread wouldlikely converge to a line as the time at whichthe inversion finally settles to a constant valueshifts to an earlier time.With output power vs. pump rate seen in

figure 9, striations are again clearly visibleacross the pump rate, and again whenconnected in order follow these striations, asseen in figure 10, showing the periodicity ofthe oscillations still occurring at the end of theestimate. Of note here, however, are thetrends of a widening array of data points thatalso shift higher in power with increasing


Figure 8. Final inversion values vs. pump rate connected sequentially in ascending order of pump rate.

Figure 7. Final inversion values vs. pump rate.


pump rates. The higher pump rate isproviding more energy to the system, whichis reflected in the power at the end of theoscillation. This higher pump rate also showsin the widening of the data, as those spikesthat are still occurring at the completion ofthe run are more powerful at higher pumprates.

Combining these two graphs andconnecting the lines in order, gives the outputin figure 11, with power on the vertical axis,inversion on the left horizontal axis, andpump rate along the right horizontal axis: Infigure 11 we can see the power and inversionchanging as pump rate changes. Again theinversion is fairly centered on its settling pointof one without shifting up or down, while thepower is rising as the pump rate is increasing.As there are fewer points on the outside of aGaussian distribution, the lines become lessand less smooth near the ends, but this islikely due solely to a smaller number of pointstaken. With enough points the entire linewould likely become smooth in the way thecentral portion of the graph is.

The output power and inversions from thismodel as shown in figure 11 was then used asthe input for the pulse portion of the modelwith power remaining the same and inversionscaled up by a factor of three. With this asinput for the pulse models, the graph infigure 12 was created.Figure 12 shows the first 100 pulses from

the model. It is noteworthy that the pulses allpeak at approximately the same value,closely centered around an average of378.1820 watts with a standard deviationof only 2.4299 watts or 0.64%. Of interest,however, is the difference in times at whichthis peak time was reached. The distancebetween the first and last peaks is knownas the jitter and is indicative of the differencein the time at which a peak occurs, whichresulted from changing the initial pump rateof the laser. The mean peak time in thismodel turned out to be 8.9291 x 10-08 with astandard deviation of 6.9328 x 10-09 or7.76%.The width is also of interest as once it has

been found one can predict the range of time a

Figure 9. Output power vs. pump rate.


Figure 11. Output power (vertical axis) vs. population inversion (left horizontal axis) vs. pump rate (righthorizontal axis) connected in ascending order of pump rate.

Figure 10. Output power vs. pump rate connected sequentially in ascending order of pump rate.


pulse will occur given a certain pump rate.Also of note is the area of the curve under eachpulse, which is related to the power of the pulse.These areas were logged and averaged around1.5378 x 10-05 watts with a standard deviationof 5.7870 x 10-08 watts or 0.37%.

CONCLUSIONS

The next step for this project would be totake the output data at each point andcompare it in depth to experimentalmeasurements from the Nd:YAG lasersystem, but time constraints prevented suchin depth analysis in this particular project.

Future work could consider other possiblestarting values for some of the variables. Theinitial power and inversion values in thisexperiment were always zero, but given closeenough pulses this might not always be thecase in a laser. Further experimentation

might be done with small fluctuations in thesestarting inversion and power values. Someconsideration might be given as well to theexact magnitude of the drop in losses due toturning off the acousto-optic modulator, andmore tests might be done with scaling factorsranging from the value of three used in thismodel up to five.Overall this project has proven fairly

profitable in its analysis of the models ofboth the continuous-wave and pulse portionsof the Nd:YAG laser being studied. Both non-adaptive and adaptive modeling techniqueswere tested, the optimal technique in eachcase was utilized, and reasonable output datawas obtained. A different form of adaptiveanalysis was created for use on the CW model,and trends in the output from both the CW andpulse models gave valuable information aboutthe effects that pump rate has on the finalpower and shape of the laser pulse.

Figure 12. First 100 iterations of the pulse model.


REFERENCES

Kiusalaas, J. (2005). Numerical methods inengineering with MATLAB. CambridgeUniversity Press, New York, NY.

Press, W.H., Flannery, B.P., Teukolsky, S.A. &Vetterling, W.T. (1986). Numerical recipes:The art of scientific computing. CambridgeUniversity Press, New York, NY.

Svelto, O. (1998). Principles of lasers, Fourth edn.Plenum Press.

Appendix A

dndt

¼ x��

�Aeffh�

� �Pn� n

�

dPdt

¼ 1�c

n� 1ð ÞP þ h�

�2c

� �n

n = normalized population inversionP = optical power exiting the output couplerof the laserx = pump rate relative to threshold value ofpump rate (threshold at x = 1)s = stimulated emission cross-section of thelaser material (measure of efficiency of lasermaterial at generating twin photons)g = logarithmic loss coefficient for a singlepass through the cavityAeff ¼ cross-sectional area of the laser beamin the cavityh = Planck’s constant� ¼ center frequency of laser pulse�c ¼ average lifetime of photons in laser cavityAssigned values:� ¼ � ln R2ð Þ

2 ¼ � ln 0:95ð Þ2 ffi 0:02564

Aeff ¼ �w2� ¼ �ð0:01Þ2 ffi 0:0003142 m

h ¼ 6:63� 10�34 JsL ¼ 10 cmc ¼ 3� 1010 cm/s�c ¼ L

�c ¼ 1:3010� 10�8 s� ¼ 282� 1012 Hz� ¼ 2:8� 10�19 cm2

Appendix B

CW model code%Shaffner 1st CW Laser Rate Equationprogram%Clear the command window

clc%Initialized variablessigma=2.8e-19; %Stimulated emission cross-section in cm^2gamma=0.026; % Cavity losses(dimensionless)Planck=6.634e-34; % Planck’s constant in J-sAeff=3.14e-4; % Cross-sectional area of beaminside crystal in cm^2v=282e12; % Frequency of laser light in Hztau=230e-6; %Spontaneous decay rate insecondstauc=13e-9; % Photon cavity lifetime inseconds

%Calculate coefficientscoeffn=(sigma/(gamma*Aeff*Planck*v));coeffP=((Planck*v)/(tauc^2));

%Get length of run and step size from user%tf = input(‘Input the final time value tf inmicroseconds > ’);tf=1000;tf=tf*1e-6;%h = input(‘Input the step size h inmicroseconds > ’);h=.01;%tolerance = input(‘Input the tolerance in h> ’);tolerance=1e-7;h=h*1e-6;h_init=h;avgnum=0;tocaverage=0;%Calculate number of steps and zero n, P andt vectorsnum=int32(tf/h);% figure

%Generate random numbersnumber=input(‘How many different xvalues? > ’);%number=50;for k=1:4mid=1.2+.2*k;disp([‘Mean is ’ num2str(mid)])dev=mid*.042; %approx 4% of the mean.

X=1:number;%Initialize random array


Y=zeros(number,1);count=1;while count<=numbertemp=randn*dev+mid;if temp>=1.01

Y(count)=temp;count=count+1;

endendM=mean(Y);stdv=std(Y);final=zeros(number,2);

for j=1:numberx=Y(j);n=zeros(num+1,1);P=zeros(num+1,1);t=zeros(num+1,1);z=zeros(num+1,2);tcounter=0;tic

%Set initial conditions for n, P and tn(1,1)=0;P(1,1)=0;t(1,1)=0;z(1,1)=n(1,1);z(1,2)=P(1,1);i=1;h=h_init;%Compute n, P and t valueswhile tcounter < tf

% Compute the values k1, k2, k3, k4,k5, k6, k7, k8

k1 = h * dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1),P(i,1));k2 = h * dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1),P(i,1));k3 = h * dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) + k1 /

4.0, P(i,1) + k2 / 4.0);k4 = h * dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1) + k1

/ 4.0, P(i,1) + k2 / 4.0);k5 = h * dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) +

9.0*k3 / 32.0 + 3.0*k1/32.0, P(i,1) +9.0*k4 / 32.0 + 3.0*k2/32.0);

k6 = h * dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1) +9.0*k3 / 32.0 + 3.0*k1/32.0, P(i,1) +9.0*k4 / 32.0 + 3.0*k2/32.0);

k7 = h * dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) +7296.0*k5/2197.0 - 7200.0*k3/2197.0+1932.0*k1/2197.0, P(i,1) + 7296.0*k6/

2197.0 - 7200.0*k4/2197.0+1932.0*k2/2197.0);

k8 = h * dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1) +7296.0*k5/2197.0 - 7200.0*k3/2197.0+1932.0*k1/2197.0, P(i,1) + 7296.0*k6/2197.0 - 7200.0*k4/2197.0+1932.0*k2/2197.0);

k9 = h * dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) -845.0*k7/4104.0 +3680.0*k5/513.0-8.0*k3+439.0* k1/216.0, P(i,1) -845.0*k8/4104.0 +3680. 0*k6/513.0-8.0*k4+439.0*k2/216.0);

k10 = h * dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1) -845.0k7/4104.0 +3680.0*k5/513.0-8.0*k3+439.0 *k1/216.0, P(i,1) -845.0*k8/4104.0 +3680 .0*k6/513.0-8.0*k4+439.0*k2/216.0);

k11 = h * dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) -11.0*k9/40.0+1859.0*k7/4104.0-3544.0*k5/2565.0+2.0*k3-8.0*k1/27.0, P(i,1) -11.0*k10/40.0+1859.0*k8/4104.0-3544.0*k6/2565.0+2.0*k4-8.0*k2/27.0);

k12 = h * dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1) -11.0*k9/40.0+1859.0*k7/4104.0-3544.0*k5/2565.0+2.0*k3-8.0*k1/27.0, P(i,1) -11.0*k10/40.0+1859.0*k8/4104.0-3544.0* k6/2565.0+2.0*k4-8.0*k2/27.0);

% Compute n(i+1,1)n(i+1,1) = n(i,1) + (25.0*k1/216.0

+1408.0 *k5/2565.0+2197.0*k7/4101-k9/5.0) ;

% Compute P(i+1,1)P(i+1,1) = P(i,1) + (25.0*k2/216.0

+1408.0 *k6/2565.0+2197.0*k8/4101-k10/5.0);

%Compute Z(i+1)z(i+1,1)=n(i,1)+(16.0*k1/135.0

+6656.0*k5/12825.0 + 28561.0*k7/56430.0-9.0*k9/50.0+2.0*k11/55.0);

z(i+1,2)=P(i,1)+(16.0*k2/135.0+6656.0*k6/12825.0 + 28561.0*k8/56430.0-9.0*k10/50.0+2.0*k12/55.0);

%Compute t(i+1,1)t(i+1,1)=t(i,1)+h;tcounter=t(i+1,1);if min(abs((n(i+1,1)-z(i+1,1))),abs((P(i

+1,1)-z(i+1,2)))) < tolerance && h < 5*h_init


h=h*2;elseif min(abs((n(i+1,1)-z(i+1,1))),abs((P

(i+1,1)-z(i+1,2)))) < tolerance && h > 5*h_inith=h*1;

elseif min(abs((n(i+1,1)-z(i+1,1))),abs((P(i+1,1)-z(i+1,2)))) < 2*tolerance && h >5*h_init

h=h/2;else

h=h_init;endi=i+1;

end

nfin = n(1:i);Pfin = P(1:i);tfin = t(1:i);dtfin(1,1)=h_init;dtfin(2:i)=t(2:i)-t(1:i-1);final(j,1)=nfin(end);final(j,2)=Pfin(end);

toctocaverage=tocaverage*avgnum;tocaverage=tocaverage+toc;avgnum=avgnum+1;tocaverage=tocaverage/avgnum;

endnew=[Y,final(:,1),final(:,2)];new=sortrows(new);xlswrite([‘CW’ num2str(floor(mid)) ‘_’

num2str(10*(mid-floor(mid))) ‘.xls’],new)end

fprintf(‘Average elapsed time is %9.6fseconds.\n’,tocaverage)%End of Program

Called Subprograms:

%function dndt%f = f(x,tau,coeffn,n,P) = (x/tau)-coeffn*P*n-(n/tau);function f = dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n,P)f = (x/tau)-coeffn*P*n-(n/tau);%%End

%function dPdt%f = f(x,tau,coeffP,n,P) = ((1/tauc)*(n-1)*P)+(coeffP*n);function f = dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n,P)

f = ((1/tauc)*(n-1)*P)+(coeffP*n);%%End

Appendix C

Pulse model code

%Shaffner 2nd CW Laser Rate Equationprogram%function nP=firstfunction(tf,h)%Clear the command windowclc

%Initialized variablessigma=2.8e-19; %Stimulated emission cross-section in cm^2gamma=0.026; % Cavity losses(dimensionless)Planck=6.634e-34; % Planck’s constant in J-sAeff=3.14e-4; % Cross-sectional area ofbeam inside crystal in cm^2v=282e12; % Frequency of laser light in Hztau=230e-6; %Spontaneous decay rate insecondstauc=13e-9; % Photon cavity lifetime insecondsx=3;

%Calculate coefficientscoeffn=(sigma/(gamma*Aeff*Planck*v));coeffP=((Planck*v)/(tauc^2));

%Get length of run and step size from usertf = input(‘Input the final time value tf innanoseconds > ’);tf=tf*1e-9;h = input(‘Input the step size h in nanoseconds> ’);h=h*1e-9;avgnum=0;tocaverage=0;

%Calculate number of steps and zero n, P andt vectorsnum=int32(tf/h);

%Get inputs from previous step outputmatricesnstarts=input(‘Input the output n matrix fromthe last program > ’);


Pstarts=input(‘Input the output P matrix fromthe last program > ’);number=size(nstarts);number=number(1,1);peak =zeros(number,1);peaktime=zeros(number,1);pulsesn=zeros(num,number);pulseP=zeros(num,number);Parea=zeros(number,1);

for j=1:numbern=zeros(num+1,1);P=zeros(num+1,1);t=zeros(num+1,1);

%Set initial conditions for n, P and tn(1,1)=nstarts(j)*3;P(1,1)=Pstarts(j);t(1,1)=0;

tic%Compute n, P and t values

for i = 1 : num

% Compute the values k1, k2, k3, k4, k5,k6, k7, k8

k1 = h * dndtStage2(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1),P(i,1));

k2 = h * dPdtStage2(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1),P(i,1));

k3 = h * dndtStage2(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) +k1 / 2.0, P(i,1) + k2 / 2.0);

k4 = h * dPdtStage2(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1)+ k1 / 2.0, P(i,1) + k2 / 2.0);

k5 = h * dndtStage2(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) +k3 / 2.0, P(i,1) + k4 / 2.0);

k6 = h * dPdtStage2(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1)+ k3 / 2.0, P(i,1) + k4 / 2.0);

k7 = h * dndtStage2(x,tau,coeffn,n(i,1) +k5, P(i,1) + k6);

k8 = h * dPdtStage2(x,tauc,coeffP,n(i,1)+ k5, P(i,1) + k6);

% Compute n(i+1,1)n(i+1,1) = n(i,1) + (k1 + 2.0 * k3 + 2.0 * k5

+ k7) / 6.0;% Compute P(i+1,1)P(i+1,1) = P(i,1) + (k2 + 2.0 * k4 + 2.0 *

k6 + k8) / 6.0;

%Compute t(i+1,1)t(i+1,1)=t(i,1)+h;nP(i,1)=n(i,1);nP(i,2)=P(i,1);if j<=100

pulsen(i,j)=n(i,1);pulseP(i,j)=P(i,1);

endendParea(j)=h*sum(P);[peak(j),timeindex] = max(P);peaktime(j)=t(timeindex,1);toctocaverage=tocaverage*avgnum;tocaverage=tocaverage+toc;avgnum=avgnum+1;tocaverage=tocaverage/avgnum;

end%Generate n vs. t and P vs. t plotssubplot(2,1,1); plot(t,n)title([‘n vs. t: Runge-Kutta 4 Estimation, Timestep: ’, num2str(h),‘seconds Duration: 0 to ’,num2str(tf) ‘seconds’]);xlabel(‘time (seconds)’);ylabel(‘n’);subplot(2,1,2); plot(t,P)title([‘P vs. t: Runge-Kutta 4 Estimation, Timestep: ’, num2str(h),‘seconds Duration: 0 to ’,num2str(tf) ‘seconds’]);xlabel(‘time (seconds)’);ylabel(‘P’);%End of Program

Called Subprograms:

%function dndtStage2%f = f(x,tau,coeffn,n,P) = (x/tau)-coeffn*P*n-(n/tau);function f = dndt(x,tau,coeffn,n,P)f = -coeffn*P*n;%%End

%function dPdtStage2%f = f(x,tau,coeffP,n,P) = ((1/tauc)*(n-1)*P)+(coeffP*n);function f = dPdt(x,tauc,coeffP,n,P)f = ((1/tauc)*(n-1)*P);%%End


A Kinematic Model for HandMovements

Cadet Christopher M. Leach

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Vonda K. Walsh

ABSTRACT

Modeling the complex motions of the human hand is a notoriously difficult problem. Thegoal of this research was to develop a computer-based kinematic model of the hand inMATLABW. The parameters for the range of motion of the “average” hand were obtained bymeasuring the range of motion of twenty human subjects. The results of the model showedthat DIP and PIP joints move to their maximum range of motion before the MCP joints.Coupling the Leach Surface Marker Method—developed for the present study—with morecapable technologies could potentially advance the study of hand movements in medicine androbotics alike.

INTRODUCTION

The human hand allows a wide range offunctions that is nearly impossible to list. Thehand moves in so many different waysthroughout the 3D coordinate system thatrecording and accurately modeling all themotions continues to stump researchers. Akinematic model, which shows pure motionwithout force, is a technique to demonstratesome of these present-day problems. Thepresent study focuses on some of the reasonsthat have made human hand motion difficult tomodel even with existing technology.

LITERATURE REVIEW

Rau, Schmidt, and Disselhorst-Klug (2000)described the first form of motion detection ingait analysis using optoelectronic systems.These optoelectronic systems are still veryeffective and remain widely used for injurydetection and movement hindrances. Due to

gaming advancements, the older but still verycapable computers and 3D viewing systemshave become more cost-efficient. Morecurrently, 3D motion equipment has beenused in a study of gait movement of bothunimpaired and impaired human subjects. 3Danimations are now applied to detaileddiagnostics as well as treatment planning forpatients with problems with gait (Rau et al.2000). While in the past, doctors were limitedto analyzing movements greater than30 degrees, new mini-receivers are capable ofrecording very small movements. This newtechnology was designed to enable an injuredathlete to go to his or her doctor, who couldin turn record the athlete’s movementand determine the actual location of theproblem. More motion definition shouldreveal such great detail that a medicalprofessional would be able to point outmuscles that work to determine which musclesmake certain movements possible (Chenget al. 1999).


31

Dipietro, Sabatini, and Dario (2003)determined computer technology andgraphics have increased enormously, thanksto the gaming industry. Pressed forward bythe advancement of technology in games,studies in movements of body parts or theirranges of motion have become a very popularresearch topic (Dipietro et al. 2003).Currently, mini-receivers are being used toincrease the graphics in gaming systems.These mini-receivers are placed at a minimumdistance from each other across the body.Once the program is activated, theprogrammers ask the participant to movenormally (Dipietro et al. 2003; Miyata et al.2004; Metcalf et al. 2006). In the context ofgaming, the player would be dunking,shooting, tackling, or swinging in order forthe computer program to record the motionand the programmers to apply the recordedinformation to the game. As a result, mostsports games show an actual recording of ahuman performing these actions. Gamingsystems are so advanced that they can showthe players sweating, moving their eyebrows,talking with mouth motions, and evenproducing shadows that change due toorientations in lighting.

Rau, Schmidt, and Disselhorst-Klug (2000)explained that the detection of muscularly-injured patients has been advanced as wellthrough electromyography (EMG), whichrecords the electrical current going throughthe muscles when contracted. By recordingthe time the muscle takes to respond and therange of motion of the muscle, it is relativelyeasy to locate and determine appropriatemuscular problems (Rau et al. 2000). EMGmakes it possible to target the problems andnot the symptoms.

In spite of current technology, as Cooney,et al. (2003) point out, the capabilities of thehand’s different functions and motions havenot been successfully recorded through the3D coordinate plane. When mini-receiversare placed on the hand, they cannot recordthe data with enough precision, due to theskin and the flexibility of the joint. The erroris so great from these seemingly minor factorsthat no researcher has yet been able to create

a standard or program with sufficientprecision to pinpoint or even recognizecertain injuries (Fleiss 1986). Anotherobstacle preventing these measurements frombecoming a standard is that the attributes ofthe hand—such as joint geometry, ligaments,tendons, and muscular contribution—differsignificantly from person to person(Carpinella et al. 2006). Moreover, thethumb also affects the fingers’ range ofmotion (Li-Chieh et al. 2003).Fleiss (1986) determined through repeated

measurements that the range of hand motionwas affected by the thumb, elbow, andshoulder position. Subjects were testednumerous times with their thumbs and elbowsin separate positions, and readings were takento record the differences. Carpinella, et al.(2006) also determined that repeatedmeasurements were required to find thepercent error in the placement of the jointtransmitters. This study revealed the percenterror in the placement of the markers as wellas the miscalculations produced by differentorientations of the joints. The researcherswere then able to analyze more specific andaccurate data from that percentage to preventfuture inaccuracies in measurement(Carpinella et al. 2006; Edwards 2002).Ellis (2002) studied repeated motions and

found that fatigue was sometimes a factor.Other times motion increased with repeatedstretching (Ellis et al. 2002). For example,when a subject works out by continuouslyrepeating the same motion, fatigue eventuallylimits the full range of motion. But if thesubject is running, the range of motionincreases as the muscles stretch. Uponcooling down following the run, the gainedrange of motion is lost due to fatigue.Edwards (2002) determined that bone

thickness and bone strength are other factorsthat affect hand motion (Edwards 2002).Younger boys who tend to have thicker andstronger bones have greater range of motionthan older men, who have weaker bones. Thehand will not allow itself to move to the pointof breaking a bone or developing stressfractures. Younger women also have strongerbones than older females; therefore, they have


more range of motion than older women whovery often suffer from osteoporosis.

METHODS

Table measurements were taken from 20cadet football players ranging in ages from19–21 who signed a consent form approvedby Virginia Military Institute’s Human Subjectsand Animal Use Committee. This sample waschosen on the basis of Edwards’s research(2002) in which different genders and agegroups demonstrated diverse ranges of handmotions.

In the present study, subjects were asked toplace their right elbow on a flat surface withthe angle between the upper arm and thelower arm at approximately ninety degrees.The lower arm was brought across the torsothereby solving the changes in the positions ofthe shoulder and elbow, which kept all subjectsin approximately the same position when themeasurements were taken (Figure 1). Thethumb remained completely unhindered,preventing it from interfering with themeasurements (Fleiss 1986).

The hand was measured using the surfacemarker method. Rau, Schmidt, andDisselhorst-Klug (2000) employed this methodin their research by estimating the center of the

knuckle and using that estimation as theirreference point. For the current study, adifferent type of surface marker methodwas used. The measurement started at themetacarpophalangeal (MCP) of each finger andworked out to the tip (Figure 2). Themeasurements were taken at the MCP. Thesubjects bent their fingers in order to determinewhere the knuckle began and ended. Thisprocess was repeated to obtain the lengthbetween the various joints in the finger and isshown in figure 3.First, the subjects placed one hand on a

polar graph paper with palm down andfingers together without strain as shown infigure 4. An outline of the hand was drawnand straight lines were drawn from the fingertips. Then the subjects were asked to spreadtheir fingers. Straight lines were drawn fromthe finger’s new position and the anglesbetween each finger were recorded.Since the joints of the fingers—excluding

the MCP (base knuckles)—are hinge joints, agoniometer was used to measure the range ofmotion of the joints. Next, different tools wereused for different measurements: a ruler tomeasure the distance between each knuckle,polar graph paper to measure the distance offinger spread, and a protractor to measure thedegree of finger spread. Data was recorded

Figure 1. Initial position of subjects.

Leach / A Kinematic Model for Hand Movements 33

in a spreadsheet to compute the mean, thestandard deviation, and the 95% confidenceinterval of the mean range of motion for eachjoint of each finger. A program in MATLABW

was created to demonstrate finger motion inthe 2D coordinate system.

RESULTS

Although the subjects were all male andnearly the same age, the measurementsrecorded revealed a large deviation in therange of motion. Table 1 shows measured jointangles for the middle finger as an example toillustrate the variability of joint movementsamong participants. The range of the PIP joint

is ten degrees. These results are in agreementwith Edwards’ (2002) study that determinedbone thickness and strength relate to the rangeofmotion as well as to the age of the subject andthat no standard for these attributes or otherscan be applied because these factors changefrom person to person (Edwards 2002).Li-Chieh, Cooney, and Oyama (2003)

discussed the fact that the thumb is one of themajor reasons why hand motion cannot beaccurately modeled due to its effect on themovement of the fingers. This studyattempted to revolve this problem by ignoringthe thumb, thus allowing the hand a regularrange of motion unhindered by the thumb’sposition. This method produces ameasurement error as well, because the

Figure 2. Location of knuckles and their names.

Figure 3. Goniometer measurement of knuckle angle.


fingers move while the thumb remains at rest.If the thumb were fixed, the range of motionof the fingers would be affected.

Fleiss (1986) found that shoulder and elbowposition affected the range of motion andMetcalf (2006) criticized the method of usingsurface markers because of inaccuracy. Of allthe numerous factors that have maderesearching the hand so difficult, the type ofsurface marker method presented by Metcalf(2006) did not resolve many of theseproblems. These issues were addressed in thepresent study by consistently requiring theshoulder and elbow to be in a fixed positionfor each measurement. The Leach Method of

Surface Marker Placement was usedexclusively in this research. As theparticipants were asked to bend their fingers,a clear depiction of where the knuckles’began and ended ensured consistency in themethod.While not having the capabilities of the

gaming systems described by Rau, Schmidt,and Disselhorst-Klug (2000), the researcherrecorded data and utilized MATLABW to showhand movement with respect to time. ThroughMATLABW, graphs of finger motion in intervalsas well as actual motion were demonstrated andare shown in figures 5 and 6. The modeling ofthe fingers in MATLABW revealed that the

Figure 4. An example of finger spread without graph paper.

Table 1. PIP Range of Motion of the Middle Finger

SubjectTo the Nearest

DegreeTo the Nearest

Hundredth of a Radian SubjectTo the Nearest

DegreeTo the Nearest

Hundredth of a Radian

1 80� 1.40 11 85� 1.482 75� 1.31 12 75� 1.313 80� 1.40 13 80� 1.404 85� 1.48 14 80� 1.405 80� 1.40 15 85� 1.486 80� 1.40 16 85� 1.487 80� 1.40 17 75� 1.318 80� 1.40 18 80� 1.409 80� 1.40 19 80� 1.40

10 80� 1.40 20 80� 1.40


hand closes in a spiral manner. The DIP andPIP joints move to their maximum range ofmotion before the MCP. This movement is notdue to the joints having a large difference intheir range of motion, but rather to the normalway that the hand is closed.

CONCLUSIONS

The complex marker method proposed byRau, Schmidt, and Disselhorst-Klug (2000) isfar more complicated than the surface markermethod used in the present study. Rau,Schmidt, and Disselhorst-Klug (2000) appliedforms of measurements and equations tofind the midpoints of motion, which thenserved as the reference points for the positions

of the knuckles. This method is time-consumingand cumbersome for the subjects. TheLeach Method of Surface Marker Placement—developed as a result of the present study—ismuch simpler. Each finger is bent at all thejoints, which allows the location of eachknuckle as well as the correct length of thesegments between each knuckle to beeasily determined. This newly-developedmeasurement method reduced the time thateach subject had to devote to the study withoutsacrificing measurement accuracy. Thoughmore complex surface marker methods willproduce additional information with moreprecision, the Leach Method provides a basicunderstanding of hand motion.The researcher did not take into account

ligaments, tendons, skin flexibility, or muscular

Figure 5. Example of MATLABW model showing four fingers with proper length as well as the knuckleplacement.


contributions for this study. Using data obtainedfrom the Leach Method of finger motion—without the consideration of ligaments,tendons, skin flexibility—a model of fingermotion was created in MATLABW. TheMATLABW motion model revealed that DIPand PIP joints move to their maximum rangeof motion before the MCP joint. By marryingresults in the present study to advancedtechnologies, new developments may berealized in medical fields as well as robotics.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my SURI professorDr. Walsh, The Writing Center and Nina

Salmon, the library staff, the Media Center,Dr. Sullivan, Dr. Blandino, Dr. Baragona, andmy subjects, for all of their help, patience,devotion, and enthusiasm. Also, special thanksto the URI for the funding of this project.

REFERENCES

Rau, G., Disselhorst-Klug, C., and Schmidt, R.(2000) “Movement Biomechanics GoesUpwards: From the Leg to the Arm,” Journal ofBiomechanics, 33 pp. 1207–1208–1216.

Cheng, P., and Pearcy, M. (1999) “A Three-Dimensional Definition for the Flexion/Extension and Abduction/Adduction Angles,”Medical Biological Engineering Computation,37 pp. 440–444.

Figure 6. A series of graphs depicting the index finger progressively moving through its range of motion.


Dipietro, L., Sabatini, A., and Dario, P. (2003)“Evaluation of an Instrumented Glove forHand-Movement Acquisition,” Journal ofRehabilitation Research and Development, 40pp. 179–190.

Miyata, N., Kauchi, M., Kurihara, T. (2004)“Modeling of Human Hand Link Structure fromOptical Motion Capture Data,” IEEE/RSJInternational Conference on Intelligent Robotsand Systems (IROS), 3 pp. 2129–2130–2135.

Metcalf, C., Notely, S., Student Member IEEE.(2006) “Validation and Application of aComputational Model for Wrist and HandMovements using Surface Markers,” pp. 490–505.

Fleiss, J. (1986) “The Design and Analysis ofClinical Experiments,” John Wiley and Sons,New York, pp. 432.

Carpinella, I., Mazzoleni, P., Rabuffetti, M. (2006)“Experimental Protocol for the Kinematic Analysisof the Hand: Definition and Repeatability,”Gait and Posture, 23(4) pp. 445–446–454.

Li-Chieh, K., Cooney, W., Oyama, M. (2003)“Feasibility of using Surface Markers for AssessingMotion of the Thumb TrapeziometacarpalJoint," Clinical Biomechanics, 18 pp. 558–559–563.

Edwards, S. (2002) “Developmental and Functionalhand grasps,” SLACK Incorporated, NJ, pp.1–135.

Ellis, B., and Bruton, A. (2002) “A Study toCompare the Reliability of Composite FingerFlexion with Goniometry for Measurementof Range of Motion in the Hand,”Clinical Rehabilitation 2002, 16 pp. 562–563–570.


ENGINEERING

Two-Dimensional Transient HeatTransfer Experiment

Cadet Hsin-sheng, Lee

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Robert L. McMasters, Professor of Mechanical Engineering

ABSTRACT

A two-dimensional transient heat transfer experiment is conducted in this research so as todetermine the thermal parameters of three different materials. The materials tested werealuminum, nylon, and concrete. The parameters determined were thermal conductivity andvolumetric heat capacity. Since prior experiments of this type have been analyzed usingone-dimensional heat transfer models, an existing one-dimensional method was compared toa new two-dimensional model as part of the experimental analysis in this research. The errorsbetween the mathematical models and the experimental data—also known as the residuals—were compared for each model so that the adequacy of each model could be evaluated.

INTRODUCTION

The two-dimensional analysis of a transientheat transfer experiment is an extension ofa one-dimensional heat conduction analysismethod. A transient experiment is usedbecause it can simultaneously estimate thespecific heat, thermal conductivity, andconvection coefficient of different materialsusing one experiment. While the steady stateone-dimensional experiment is still a valuableexperiment, the two-dimensional transientexperiment provides a potential opportunityto enhance students’ understanding ofunsteady transient conduction. In a previousstudy similar to this research, which wasmade by C. R Glissman and W. Gill [1], aone-dimensional inverse heat transfer modelwas solved iteratively, using a two-dimensional analysis as a guide. The presentresearch makes use of a two-dimensionaldirect solution to investigate the conditionsfor which a one-dimensional calculation is not

as accurate. The direct solution was atwo-dimensional cylindrical-geometryconfiguration solved by a numerical schemeto find T(r,x,t) of the transient conductionequation, specifically

1�

@T@t

¼ 1r@

@rr@T@r

� �þ @2T

@x2ð1Þ

where a is thermal diffusivity (m2/s) [2]. Theboundary conditions were

k@T@x

��x¼0

¼ qðrÞ ð2Þ

� k@T@x

��x¼L

¼ h Tðr;L; tÞ � T1ð Þ ð3Þ

� k@T@r

��r¼ro

¼ h Tðro; x; tÞ � T1ð Þ ð4Þ

In these equations, h is the convectioncoefficient (W/m2-K), k is thermalconductivity (W/m-K), T1 is the ambient


41

temperature (K), ro is the outer radius of thesample, and r is the outer radius of the heaterin this experimental module. In the boundaryCondition (2), when ro is larger than r, q iszero.

EXPERIMENTAL DESIGN

The set-up for this experiment included 3samples made from different raw materials:aluminum, nylon, and concrete. Eachsample included two cylinders of 1 inchthickness and 4 inch diameter. The heatsource came from a 115 volt flexible heaterof three inch diameter and 10 W/in2

capacity by Omega ManufacturingCompany. As Figure 1 shows, the heater issqueezed between two identical sampleslike a sandwich. This way, all of theheat can be accounted for without concernfor imperfections in insulation. There arethree holes in each sample, with eachhole accommodating a type T thermocoupleof about 0.147 inch diameter. The holesare located in different radial and axialpositions in the cylindrical sample. Theholes are directly drilled toward the center

with depths of 1.0 inch, 1.5 inch,and 2 inches. The two pieces of eachmaterial are symmetrical in order togenerate two complete sets of data and toensure accuracy in the experiment. Thetemperature data was collected from thethermocouples using a National Instrumentsdata acquisition system and LabViewW

software. A FlukeW 45 multi-meter was usedto measure the power of heater. Due tothe different characteristics of these threesamples however, the experimental designvaried between materials. Aluminum is atype of metal; hence, it is electricallyconductive. Materials such as aluminum maycause each thermocouple to read the voltageof the metal instead of thermocouple wire.To avoid these measurement errors, adielectric grease was used on the outsideof the thermocouple wire. In that way,the thermocouple would sense the correctvoltage and give reliable temperaturereadings. A 1 inch piece of 4 inch diameterpipe was used as a mold for the concretesample. Since the concrete was too hard fordrilling holes, the thermocouples wereplaced in the mold prior to filling withconcrete. The concrete was made from onepart of Portland cement, two parts of sand,and a half part of water by weight [3].In addition, an extra variable resistance box

and RTD were also used in the data acquisitionprocess in order to mark a starting pointon the wave form chart. The set-up addedextra resistance in parallel with the RTDwire, significantly changing the indicatedtemperature on the wave form chart. Themark on the chart provided a reference pointfor the start of heating.In this experiment, some assumptions were

required to simplify the analysis. The heaterwas assumed to provide constant uniformheat flux to both sides. In a 1D analysis, thetop and the bottom of the module wereassumed to be infinite plates. However, in thetwo-dimensional analysis, the convectiveboundary conditions were taken intoconsideration and the convection coefficientwas estimated by a 2D model using nonlinearregression.Figure 1. Experimental configuration.


DISCUSSION OF RESULTS

Nylon Sample with PROP1-DAnalysis

Results of Nylon sample

In order to see temperature distributed indifferent locations, thermocouple sensors 1 to3 are located respectively 1/3 inch from theheater and 1.5 inches deep; 1/2 inch fromthe heater and 2 inches deep; 2/3 inch fromthe heater and 1 inch deep. Thermocouplesensors 1–3 and 4–6 are symmetric to allowcomparison of the sets of data to testthe repeatability of the measurements. Theresults shown in Table 1 were from anexperiment in which the sample was heatedfor 250 seconds. The results are analyzedfrom PROP1–D [4] using a one- dimensionalnumerical conduction direct solution. Table 1

shows the results of the data using thismethod.

Discussion of Nylon samples

The results indicate that if all 6 thermocouplereadings are analyzed at the same time, themathematical model exhibits a poor fit to theexperimental data. This disparity is shownby the large RMS value of the residuals.However, using one thermocouple at a time,results were similar and a reasonable valueof thermal conductivity was found. Also, inexamining the RMS values from bothexperiments, analyses using thermocouples5 and 6 were not as good as when using theother thermocouples. The reason could havebeen that the thermocouple had bad contactwith the sample. The values of volumetric heatcapacity were not reliable because themathematical model was one-dimensionaland the geometry was assumed to be aninfinite plate. Therefore, the convective losseswere neglected in the 1D analysis method.The results were less than satisfactory becausethe 1D analysis method did not fit well on the2D experiment.One way to determine if the data are

repeatable is to compare two symmetricsensors as shown in Figure 2. Sensors 2, 5and 3, 6 exhibited very close agreement, butsensors 1 and 4 were in error by almost2 degrees C. This error was higher thanthe desired limit of one degree C for

Table 1. The result entitled “All” is analyzed withall sensors simultaneously. The others are analyzedone sensor at a time.

ConductivityVolumetric Heat

CapacityThermocouple RMS (w/m*C) (J/C)

All 4.9382 2.3626 13513001 0.0847 1.7357 47531002 0.0863 1.0205 36857003 0.0889 1.0121 58063004 0.0844 1.3758 53588005 0.1702 0.94743 35568006 0.181 1.1307 6436800

Figure 2. Error between symmetric sensors.

Hsin-sheng and Lee / Two-Dimensional Transient Heat Transfer Experiment 43

thermocouple readings. Likewise, a possiblereason for the error could be bad contactwith the sample. Figure 3 compares theexperimental temperature and calculated

temperature from thermocouple sensor 4,and Figure 4 shows the residuals from thesetwo sets of temperature data. In looking atFigure 4, the results are improved becausethe residuals overall look straight and close tozero.

Aluminum Sample with PROP1-DAnalysis

Results of Aluminum Sample

The thermocouple locations in the aluminumsample were the same as for the Nylon samplebut with a different order in an attempt toacquire better data. The holes drilled forthermocouple sensors 1, 3, and 5 were 1/3inch form the heater and 1.5 inches deep;

Figure 3. Comparison of experimental temp & calculated temp.

Table 2. The result “All” is analyzed with allsensors at the same time. The others are analyzedone sensor at a time.

VolumetricConductivity Heat Capacity

Thermocouple RMS (w/m*C) (J/C)

All 7.0843 2.6994 8264001 0.2278 6.524 89076002 0.2683 5.9284 57863003 0.2849 4.3244 42308004 0.1652 4.9783 114850005 0.3131 6.4953 57791006 0.311 4.5342 4532300

Figure 4. Residual of Sensor 4.


1/2 inch from the heater and 2 inchesdeep; 2/3 from the heater and 1 inch deep.Thermocouple sensors 2, 4, and 6 werelocated symmetrically to 1, 3, and 5. The total

experiment duration was 614 seconds. Aswith the nylon sample, the same error cameabout through the use of the PROP1-D [4]analysis. For the case using all 6 sensors at the


Figure 6. Comparison of Experimental Temp & Calculated Temp.

Figure 7. Residual of Sensor 4.


same time, the results indicated a discrepancyin the experimental measurements. However,using one sensor at a time, acceptable thermalconductivity values were calculated.

Discussion of Aluminum Samples

Comparing the RMS value of the errorsassociated with nylon sample analysis to theRMS values of aluminum, the aluminumvalues were twice as large—around 0.25degrees. This indicated that the aluminumdata were not as good as the nylonexperiment. As shown in Figure 5, thetemperature differences between sensors 1,2 and sensor 3, 4 were close—less than 0.5degree C apart—but sensor 5 and 6 had amaximum different value about 1.3 degree C,which is a little more than what would beexpected from a thermocouple.Since thermocouple sensor 4 rendered

better data than the others, it was taken asan example to compare its experimentaltemperature with the calculated temperatures

Table 3. The result “All” is analyzed with allsensors at the same time. The others are analyzedone sensor at a time.

Thermocouple RMSConductivity(w/m*C)

VolumetricHeat

Capacity(J/C)

All 6.2174 2.4608 7671601 0.1351 3.4791 63786002 0.5027 3.368 18132003 0.0942 2.9495 51242004 0.2882 4.3395 33923005 0.1697 4.105 51168006 0.179 3.7931 5272500


Figure 9. Comparison of Experimental Temp & Calculated Temp of sensor 5.


in Figure 6 and Figure 7. As shown inFigures 6 and 7, the residuals look like asmall wave with a magnitude of less than 0.5degree, which was less than the expectedmaximum sensor temperature error so thiswouldn’t be considered bad data.

There were more possible causes for baddata on the aluminum sample experiment.First, aluminum is electrically conductive.Therefore, if not enough varnish was put onthe sensors to isolate them electrically fromthe sample, the data could easily be off.Second, bad contact between sensors and testlocations could still cause bad data. Finally,unstable thermocouple errors could affect theresults.

Concrete Sample Analyzed withPROP1-D

Results of Concrete Sample

In the concrete experiment, the set up for thethermocouple locations was different from theother two samples, in order to get more cleartemperature distributions. Thermocouple 1,2, and 3 were 2 inches deep, 1/4 inch fromthe heater; 1.5 inches deep, 1/2 inch fromthe heater; and 1 inch, 3/4 inch from theheater. The experimental results were notvery consistent, as shown in Figure 8.The temperature difference even exceeded10 degrees C, which is very unreasonable.However, one of the pieces of concretemeasured by thermocouples 4, 5, and 6,might be still significant.

Discussion of Concrete Samples

The reading of thermocouples 4, 5, 6 seemedreasonable and gave acceptable resultsindividually, as shown in Figure 9 andFigure 10, from sensor 5. However, there wasno good data from the other sample tocompare with, as there were with previousexperiments, so it was uncertain as to whetherthermocouples 4, 5 and 6 gave reliable dataand results. Also, Figure 10 shows that theresidual graph exhibited a characteristicsignature. Comparing the overall RMS of theresiduals in the previous experiments with theconcrete experiment, the residual values forthe concrete experiment were higher. Besidesthe previously mentioned possible reasons forinaccurate data, such as bad contact with thesensors or the heater, a deficient process usedin making the concrete sample could be abig issue. During the process of makingconcrete, there might have been air bubbles inthe concrete, which might have insulatedthe thermocouples or perhaps made theconcrete significantly non-homogeneous.

Figure 10. Residual of sensor 5.

Comparison of Experimental Properties Result andPublished Properties

ExperimentalProperties

PublishedProperties

(w/m*C)

ConductivityHeat

Capacity(J/C)

Volumetric(w/m*C)

Conductivity(kJ/Kg*C)

HeatCapacity

Nylon 1.3758 5358800 0.16 1.6Aluminum 4.9783 11485000 204 0.896Concrete 4.105 5116800 0.76 23


CONCLUSION

This experiment was designed to be a two-dimensional set up but a one-dimensionalmethod was used to analyze the data. Theexperimental results were still significantbecause they were similar in terms of estimatedconductivity. The values of volumetric heatcapacity were not as reliable when analyzingwith the one-dimensional method. Moreaccurate and reliable estimates of conductivityand volumetric heat capacitymay be obtainableusing a two-dimensional method and furtherstudies may show these benefits.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The author wishes to express hisappreciation to Dr. McMasters for his ideasand his detailed instructions related to thisresearch. The author also expresses gratitudeto Dr. Arthur, who helped with instructions inoperating the LabViewW data acquisitionsystem. Dr. Sullivan also helped withinstructions in generating a drawing. Finally,

Engineering Technicians Mr. Cullen, Mr.Parent and Mr. Chandler provided requiredmaterials, tools, and professional technicalsupport for this project.

REFERENCES

[1] C.R. Glissman, and W. Gill, 2005,“Determination of Thermal Conductivity ofInsulating Gels Using the Inverse Heat TransferMethod”, Thermal Conductivity 28, NewBrunswick, Canada.

[2] Y.A. Cengel, 2007, “Heat and MassTransfer”, Suzanne Jeans, New York, pp. 77.

[3] Wikipedia, 2008, “Regular Concrete”,Concretehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Concrete.

[4] Beck Engineering Consultant Company,“Thermal Parameter Estimating Program”,PROP1D, http://www.beckeng.com/.

[5] R. McMasters and R. Dinwiddie, “Analysis ofFlash Diffusivity Experiments Performed onSemi-Porous Materials”, Proceedings of the28th International Thermal ConductivityConference, DEStech, Lancaster, Pa.,pp. 96–105, July, 2006.

[6] J.P. Holman, 2002, “Heat Transfer”,Elizabeth A, Jones, New York, pp. 594–599.


Thermal Distortion of a SubscaleMembrane Mirror

Cadet Scott T. MacDonald

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Joseph R. Blandino, Professor of Mechanical Engineering

ABSTRACT

Membrane mirrors are a technology that could be used to survey extended objects, thoselarger than 10 pixels. Membrane mirrors do not offer the precision of glass optics, but theyare low mass, can be packaged into relatively small containers for launch, and can havedeployed diameters in the tens of meters. Since remote sensing instruments that usemembrane mirrors will be employed to resolve features tens of pixels in size, they do notrequire the same optical precision as telescopes used to image single pixel sources such asstars. Membrane mirrors in-orbit, however, must maintain their shape under varying thermalconditions. Orbiting telescopes must repeatedly undergo extreme temperature changes. Thesetransitions can result in significant thermal gradients on the spacecraft as well as distortions inthe mirror. The purpose of this study is to investigate the thermal distortion of a 0.243 mdiameter circular Kapton membrane. A test apparatus was constructed to hold the mirror,apply a vacuum that resulted in a uniform force on the membrane, and provide a source ofheat. The vacuum gave the mirror a shape. At elevation, the distortion of the membrane shapewas measured using photogrametry. The membrane was tested at room temperature andat 24 �C above ambient temperature. The membrane shape obtained in the laboratoryusing photogrametry was compared to the results obtained from a finite element analysisusing axi-symmetric shell elements. The center of the membrane deflected approximately5.75 mm under a 199 Pa pressure at room temperature. At elevated temperature the centerdeflection was over 6.25 mm. These values agreed well with finite element predictions.

INTRODUCTION

Space-based membrane mirrors could beutilized to survey extended objects, thoselarger than 10 pixels. In the near term, it isunlikely that the resolution of membranemirrors will approach the performance oftraditional mirrors, but for applications suchas imaging planetary features or the polarcaps on Earth from orbit, the performancemay be adequate. Membrane optics offers thepotential for large apertures that have lowproduction and launch costs.

Orbiting telescopes must pass from Earth’sshadow into sunlight and from sunlight backinto shadow. These transitions can result insignificant thermal gradients on thespacecraft. This study describes theexperiment design and computational modeldevelopment and presents a comparison ofthe experiment and numerical results.Space-based telescopes are ideal for

environmental and geographic monitoring aswell as for astronomical observations. Whilesystems such as the Hubble Space Telescope


49

and James Webb Space Telescope are best forimaging single pixel objects such as stars, theyare cost prohibitive for earth observations.A lower-cost solution for applications such asmonitoring ice sheets on Earth or even thepolar caps on Mars may be a large aperturemembrane mirror. These objects may be tensof pixels in size when imaged. For imagingthese objects, it may be preferable to tradeoptical perfection for larger aperture, lowermass, and reduced launch costs.

Membrane mirrors for in-space applicationsis not a new idea. The idea goes back at leastuntil the mid 1980s [1]. Over the past decaderesearch efforts have been undertaken todevelop technologies and concepts usingmembrane mirrors for optical and infraredapplications [2-6]. Much of this work hasfocused on active control of the membraneshape [7-11]. It is also important to investigatethe thermal distortions that may occur whenan orbiting mirror is subjected to changes insolar heating. It is important to understand thenature of the thermal distortions as they must

be considered when sizing shape controlelements.There is limited data on the thermal-

structural behavior of thin film membranes.Jenkins et al. [12] studied the effect of heatingon the wrinkling behavior of a round opticalmembrane. Blandino et al. [13] presented acombined experimental and numerical studyof a 0.5 m square tensioned membrane thatwas heated in the center. The applicationwas for sunshields and solar sails. Recently,Rassi and Jenkins have addressed theissue of thermal distortions by investigatingthe coefficient of thermal expansiondistribution in membrane optics [14]. Thisstudy presents data from experiments on thethermal distortion performance of a 0.243 mcircular membrane and compares the data tonumerical predictions.

EXPERIMENT DESIGN

The design of the test stand is a pressurevessel with a flexible heater on one side and

Figure 1. Test apparatus.


a thin film Kapton membrane on the other.A picture of the test apparatus is shown inFig. 1. Themembrane is held in place by twoidentical aluminum rings, one on each side ofthe membrane. The membrane is 0.243 mdiameter Kapton that is aluminized on oneside. The membrane is 2.54 � 10-5 m thick.Heat is applied to the non-aluminized side ofthe membrane. The apparatus has the abilityto record pressure and temperature datafrom different locations on the apparatus byusing three thermocouples; they are locatedon the heater plate, the side of theapparatus, and the bottom aluminum ring ofthe apparatus. A vacuum applied inside thetest apparatus—using a small hand pump—gives the membrane a concave shape. Thepressure was applied to give themembrane ashape, not to simulate space conditions. Thevacuum was only used to apply a uniformforce to the membrane.A radiation heat transfer analysis wasconducted prior to building the apparatus

to determine the optimal spacing betweenthe heater and the test membrane. Theanalysis is also used to predict themembrane temperature as a function ofthe heater output. The space between theheater and the aluminum rings is insulatedin an attempt to eliminate radiationexchange between the aluminum rings—which hold the membrane in place—andthe heater. A cooling system is added tothe outside of the test stand to prevent heatfrom being conducted from the heater tothe aluminum rings through the shell of thetest apparatus. This cooling system(Figure 2) is made of polypropylene tubingand connected to the apparatus usingepoxy. Ice water is pumped through thetubing using a submersible pump locatedinside a portable ice chest.Temperature readings are taken atthree different points on the test stand usingtype T thermocouples. The thermocouplesmeasure the heater temperature, inside

Figure 2. Cooling system tubes and ports.

MacDonald / Thermal Distortion of a Subscale Membrane Mirror 51

ring, and outside ring temperatures. Anotherthermocouple is movable and used tomeasure the membrane temperature inseveral different locations. The data was

recorded using a data acquisition systemcontrolled by a program written inLabVIEWW, and the temperature wasrecorded at four points on the membrane.

Figure 3. Photogrammetry setup. Note that projected targets are not shown and apparatus is shownwithout cooling system on outer shell.

Figure 4. Schematic of Finite Element Model.


Three ports, which are shown in Figure 2,were drilled into the steel side walls of the teststand. The original intent was to have a portfor a vacuum pump, pressure transducer,and a release valve, but the pressuretransducer on hand was not sensitiveenough for the small vacuum pressures thatwere used. Therefore, a water manometerwas employed to measure pressure in placeof the pressure transducer.Photogrammetry was used to measure theshape of the membrane. Photogrammetryis a non-contact measurement technique bywhich three or more calibrated camerasdetermine three-dimensional shape from aseries of two dimensional photographs.Four 10 megapixel digital SLR cameraswere employed to acquire images foranalysis. Circular targets were projectedonto the membrane using a 35 mm slideprojector and grid target pattern slide.

A picture of the imaging set-up is shown inFig. 3. The estimated precision for the out-of-plane direction (Z) was within 0.1 mm.

Numerical Model

A finite element model was developed inANSYSW using ten Shell 208 axi-symmetricshell elements. Figure 4 shows the schematicof the model. Table 1 lists the materialproperties used for the Kapton membrane.

RESULTS

Figure 5 shows the comparison ofexperimental and numerical results for a 199.3Pa vacuum pressure at room temperature whileFigure 6 shows the comparison at a membranecenter temperature of 47 �C. For both cases theambient temperature was 23 �C. The finiteelement data shown in both figures correspondsto the nodes shown in Figure 4. The elevatedtemperature case shows good agreementbetween analysis and experiment while theroom temperature comparison shows somevariation. The results are encouraging, but moredata is required to characterize the thermal

Figure 5. Graph of room temperature response, displacement vs. distance from center of membrane,subjected to 199.3 Pa pressure.

Table 1. Membrane Material Properties.

Modulus of Elasticity 2.8�109 PaPoisson’s Ratio 0.34Coefficient of Thermal Expansion 20�10-5 m/m


distortion behavior. The results show a distinctchange in shape between the room and elevatedtemperature cases.

SUMMARY

A combined experimental and numericalstudy of the thermal-structural behavior of a0.243 m diagonal membrane mirror has beeninitiated. The initial results show reasonablygood comparison between numerical andexperimental results.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to acknowledgethe generous support for this project fromthe VMI Summer Undergraduate ResearchInstitute.

REFERENCES

[1] Murphy, L.M., Tuan, C., 1987, “Theformulation of Optical Membrane ReflectorSurfaces Using Pressure Loading,” ContractReport, SRI/TR-253-3025.

[2] Marker, D., 2002, “Novel Solutions for LargeAperture Lightweight Diffraction LimitedSpace Optics,” in Gossamer ApertureTechnology Workshop, J.A. Dooley, ed.,JPL-Publication02-019.

[3] Marker D.K. and Carreras R.A., Rotge J.R.,Jenkins C.H. and Ash J.T., 2001,“Fundamentals of Membrane Optics”Gossamer Spacecraft: Membrane and InflatableStructures Technology For Space Applications,Edited by Jenkins C.H., Volume 191,pg. 111–202.

[4] Peterson, L.D., and Hinkle, J.D., 2004,“Implications of Structural Design Requirementsfor the selection of Future Space TelescopeArchitectures,” Proc. SPIE Vol. 5166-05.

[5] Morgan, R.M., Agnes, G.S., Barber, D.,Dooley, J., Dragovan, M., Hatheway, A.E.,Marcin, M., 2004, “The DART Cylindrical,Infrared, 1 Meter Membrane Reflector,” SPIEConference on Astronomical Telescopes andInstrumentation, Glasgow, Scotland, UnitedKingdom, 21–25.

[6] Robertson, L.M., 2002, “A SystemsEngineering Study of Gossamer OpticalSatellites,” AFRL-VS-TR-2002-1007.

[7] Patrick, B., Moore, J., Chodimella, S., Maji, A.,Marker, D., and Wilkes, M., 2005, “Meter-Class

Figure 6. Graph of 47 �C (24 �C above ambient) temperature response, displacement vs. distance fromcenter of membrane, subjected to 199.3 Pa pressure.


Membrane Mirror with Active BoundaryControl,” Paper AIAA-2005-2193,Proceedings of the 46th AIAA/ASME/ASCE/AHS/ASC Structures, Structural Dynamicsand Materials Conference, Austin, TX.

[8] Patrick, B., Moore, J., Chodimella, S.,Marker, D., and deBlonk, B., 2006, “FinalTesting and Evaluation of a Meter-ClassActively Controlled Membrane Mirror,”,AIAA Paper 2006-1901, Proceedings ofthe 47th AIAA/ASME/ASCE/AHS/ASCStructures, Structural Dynamics andMaterials Conference, Newport, RI.

[9] Shepherd, M.J., Peterson, G.A., Cobb, R.G.,and Palazotto, A.N., 2006, “Quasi-staticOptical Control of In-plane Actuated,Deformable Mirror: Experimental Comparisonwith Finite Element Analysis, PaperAIAA 2006-2231, Proceedings of the 47thAIAA/ASME/ASCE/AHS/ASC Structures,Structural Dynamics and MaterialsConference, Newport, RI.

[10] Rogers J., and Agnes, G, 2003, “ModelingDiscontinuous Axisymmetric Active OpticalMembranes,” Journal of Spacecraft andRockets, Vol. 40 No. 4, pp. 553–564.

[11] Shepherd, M.J., Cobb, R.G., and Baker,W.P., 2006, “Low Order Actuator

Influence Functions for Piezoelectric in-plane actuated tensioned circulardeformable mirrors,” Smart Structuresand materials 2006: Modeling, SignalProcessing, and Control, edited by D. K.Lindner, VOL 6166, SPIE.

[12] Jenkins, C.H., Fitzgerald, D.M., Liu, X.,2000, “Wrinkling of an Inflatable Membranewith Thermo-Elastic Boundary Conditions,”41st AIAA Structures, Structural Dynamics,and Materials Conference, Atlanta, GA,Paper No. AIAA-2000-1727.

[13] Blandino J.R., Johnston J.D., Miles J.J. andDharamsi U.K., 2002, “The Effect ofAsymmetric Mechanical and ThermalLoading on Membrane Wrinkling,” PaperAIAA-2002-1371, Proceedings of the 43rd

AIAA/ASME/ASCE/AHS/ASC Structures,Structural Dynamics and MaterialsConference, Denver, CO.

[14] Rassi, E., and Jenkins, C., 2008, “ClosedForm Design Equations for CTE Distributionin Ultra-Lightweight Optics,” PaperAIAA-2008-2135, 49th AIAA/ASME/ASCE/AHS/ASC Structures, Structural Dynamics,and Materials Conference 16th AIAA/ASME/AHS Adaptive Structures Conference,Schaumburg, IL.


INTERDISCIPLINARY

The Rhetoric of Science: A Case Studyof Susumu Tonegawa’s Landmark

Discovery

Cadet Joshua C. Kenny

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Christina R. McDonald, Institute Director of Writing

ABSTRACT

Acknowledging that advancement of scientific knowledge occurs within a Kuhn-definedframework of paradigm shifts, it is imperative that scientists abroad recognize the rhetoricaldimension inherent in their discourse and the resulting effects of this rhetorical influence onthe current paradigm of their respective fields. If not, a scientist’s research may be susceptibleto rebuttal or even cancellation in the shadow of a Kuhn-defined scientific revolution. SusumuTonegawa’s Nobel Prize-winning discovery of antibody diversity serves as a recent testamentto the power of rhetoric in changing the paradigm of his time, particularly through hisdevelopment of ethos. Tonegawa’s ethos—exemplified through Aristotle’s three rhetoricalsettings—crafts a recognizable public persona of confidence that appeals to a broaderscientific community, facilitating the acceptance of his radical discovery.

During the final years of his graduateeducation in theoretical physics,

Thomas Kuhn formulated a radicalconception of scientific progress that shiftedhis focus from physics to philosophy (Kuhn v).Despite this drastic change of career interests,Kuhn pursued the inadequate explanationsmanifest in scientific philosophy with laudablevigor. According to Kuhn’s preface in TheStructure of Scientific Revolutions:

Exposure to out-of-date scientifictheory and practice radically under-mined some of my basic concepti-ons about the nature of scienceand the reasons for its specialsuccess. . .somehow, whatever theirpedagogic utility and their abstractplausibility, those notions did not at

all fit the enterprise that historicalstudy displayed. Yet they were andare fundamental to many discussionsof science, and their failures of verisi-militude therefore seemed thorough-ly worth pursuing. (Kuhn v)

The result of Kuhn’s analysis and hissubsequent publication of The Structure ofScientific Revolutions in 1962 “provokedseveral howling rounds of debate inphilosophy of science about its vision ofscientific change, a vision that cruciallyinvolved persuasion” (Harris xiii). Essentially,Thomas Kuhn argued that “normal science”occasionally reveals anomalies that cannot“be aligned with professional expectation,”leading to investigations that create “anew set of commitments [and] a new basis for


59

the practice of science” (Kuhn 6). Kuhn labelsthese scientific revolutions as “transformationsof paradigms” (Kuhn 12), additionallysuggesting that the often dramatic adoptionof a new paradigm is facilitated throughpersuasion—an inherently significantcomponent of rhetorical theory (Kuhn 200).In Landmark Essays On Rhetoric ofScience, modern rhetorician Randy Harrisasserts that:

Kuhn’s framework indisputably war-rants the rhetorical investigation ofscience. His governing notion is thatscience proceeds in fits and starts,one model of reality, one paradigm,replacing another at key junctions—a heliocentric universe replacinga geocentric universe, moving conti-nents replacing stable ones, probabi-listic physics replacing deterministicphysics—and at each of these keyjunctures, rhetoric is the engine ofchange. (Harris xv)

Indeed, several rhetoricians have appliedKuhn’s theory to examples of scientificdiscourse within the past century. Forinstance, Michael Halloran examines JamesWatson and Francis Crick’s discovery ofDNA’s double helical structure and thereasons behind its excessive celebrity in“establishing molecular biology as a science”(Halloran 39).

Yet despite this growing positive reception ofKuhn’s philosophy—a growth largely coupledto the recent acknowledgment of rhetoric asa legitimate study—rhetorical analysis has onlytested the fringes of scientific communication.Undoubtedly, fledgling disciplines who studythe “rhetoric of science” pale in comparisonto science’s prominence and publicity. It isimperative, however, that scientists recognizethe rhetorical dimension inherent in theirdiscourse to bridge this gap becauseresearchers are historically susceptible toaccepting blindly the Kuhn-defined “paradigmof a field.” Susumu Tonegawa’s publicationserves as a recent testament to the power ofrhetoric in changing the paradigm of his time,particularly through his development of ethos.

His Nobel Prize-winning discovery of antibodydiversity paralleled the scientific apotheosisthat resulted from Watson and Crick’spublication because his article providedevidence that obfuscated the widely acceptednotion of a single gene-single proteinhypothesis, a model unable to account for theenormous immunological diversity exhibitedby an individual’s adaptive immune response(Hall 26). Tonegawa’s discovery consequentlyexemplifies Thomas Kuhn’s rhetoricallyfounded paradigm shift because his ethoscrafts a recognizable public persona ofconfidence that appeals to a broader scientificcommunity, facilitating the acceptance of hisradical discovery. Indeed, without the existenceof this rhetorical appeal, fundamentalreconstructions of scientific knowledge areless likely to occur. Rhetorical analysis ofTonegawa’s work begins, like most scientificinvestigations, within the historical context thatpredated his discovery.The scientific climate that surrounded

Tonegawa at the time of his famousexperiments was ripe for change. Tonegawa—a professional molecular biologist—wasdirected to study immunology at the newlyconstructed Basel Institute of Immunology inSwitzerland by his former mentor Dr.Renato Dulbecco. According to Tonegawa,“Dulbecco said it might be a good idea formolecular biologists to get involved inthe fundamental issues of immunology”(Hall 25). Indeed, the young SusumuTonegawa quickly became immersed inwhat was then known as the “preeminentmystery” of immunology: the geneticmechanism behind antibody diversity.Stephen Hall’s article published in Arousingthe Fury of the Immune System: NewWays to Boost the Body’s Defensesummarized the problem best:

At birth, human beings possess aphenomenally large repertoire ofantibody molecules—a differentimmunological tool, as it were, to fitevery possible loose screw in thebody. When Tonegawa started hiswork, researchers did not know the


full extent of the paradox. We nowknow that each human is born withthe capability of generating upwardof 1012, or 1 trillion, antibodymolecules, each with a differentshape. Yet we also know that eachperson possesses far fewer genes,the latest estimates putting the totalnumber at between 50,000 and100,000 genes for all the functi-ons of the body. If, as molecularbiologists insisted, one gene pro-duced one protein, how could theimmune system manufacture up to1,000,000,000,000 different anti-body proteins from fewer than100,000 genes? (Hall 26)

With the problem at hand, Tonegawaengaged in what Kuhn described as “puzzlesolving” (Kuhn 36), innovatively applying“recently invented techniques of molecularbiology” (Tonegawa). These techniquesprimarily included Tonegawa’s adaptation ofrestriction enzymes and recombinant DNA,both of which led to the epoch-definingsolution of antibody diversity. Stephen Hallnoted Tonegawa’s unique expertise:

He knew how to use biochemicalscissors, known as restrictionenzymes, to cut up DNA, and heknew how to use a procedure knownas hybridization to identify activegenes in a given cell. . .[data] toldhim that the gene that instructed aB cell to make an antibody was,shockingly, a patchwork gene—agene stitched together from theDNA. (Hall 27)

The result of Tonegawa’s discovery was asubsequent publication of his results inthe October 1976 edition of the Proceedingsof the National Academy of Sciences.The prominence of the journal and theimplications of Tonegawa’s research bothrequired a carefully crafted rhetoricalargument to sway the existing canonical textsthat argued on behalf of the one gene-oneprotein hypothesis. The fundamental

rhetorical strategy evident in Tonegawa’sarticle is consequently his development ofethos, a necessary tool that conveyed thelegitimacy of his experimental results.Tonegawa’s ethos is best analyzed throughAristotle’s three rhetorical settings: forensic,epideictic, and deliberative oratory.Alan Gross provides a reasonable

adaptation of Aristotle’s rhetorical settingsto the context of scientific discourse. InStarring the Text: The Place of Rhetoricin Science Studies, Gross states, “A[scientific] report is forensic because itreconstructs past science in a way mostlikely to support its claims; it is deliberativebecause it intends to direct future research;it is epideictic because it is a celebrationof appropriate methods” (Gross 25).Interestingly, all three rhetorical settingsarranged in order of forensic, epideictic, anddeliberative oratory remain consistent withthe typical arrangement of a scientificarticle. The researcher presents existingwork relevant to the research in his or herfield (forensic); advocates the innovativetechniques used in the experiment(epideictic); and ends by highlighting theloose ends of the research, thus suggestingpossible directions for future investigation(deliberative). As Gross argues, this highlyregimented order of arguments contributesto the perceived logical progression ofscience: “Like all syllogisms, the paradigmsyllogism of science is sound only by virtueof its form” (Gross 30). Tonegawa’s article isno stranger to this topos, or line ofargument, or else his article would not havebeen published in such a widely respectedjournal. Tonegawa consequently enhancedhis ethos by simply abiding to the journal-recommended article “format,” primarilybecause the scientific community is morereceptive to articles published in reputablejournals. In addition to this initiallyestablished ethos, each individual rhetoricalsetting contains tropes that help propagateTonegawa’s confidence in his findings.Tonegawa begins his article in the forensic

setting, briefly highlighting the existingknowledge of antibody diversity:

Kenny/A Case Study of Susumu Tonegawa’s Landmark Discovery 61

Both light and heavy chains of im-munoglobulin molecules [antibodies]consist of two regions: the variableregion (V region) and the constantregion (C region) (1,2). Uniqueness(i.e., one copy per haploid genome)of the genetic material coding forC region (“C gene”) has been con-jectured from normal Mendeliansegregation of allotypic markers (3).Nucleic acid hybridization studieshave confirmed this notion (4–10).(Hozumi and Tonegawa 3628).

This introductory material accentuatesTonegawa’s ethos because he cites tendifferent scientific articles from respectedjournals within the span of three sentences,adding immediate credibility to his argument.A large portion of Tonegawa’s argument,however, resides within the assumed premiseof the central dogma of genetics, a widelyacknowledged scientific theory that explainsthe progression of genetic material from DNAto RNA to proteins: “Since V- and C- genesequences exist in a single mRNA molecule asa contiguous stretch, such integration musttake place at either the DNA or RNA level”(Hozumi and Tonegawa 3628). This unstatedpremise characterizes a typical enthymemehighly similar to Watson and Crick’sdescription of DNA, one “whose missingpremise is a scientific topos so basic andpowerful that it would be gauche in theextreme to state it openly in a technicalpaper” (Halloran 42). Fortunately, the resultof the enthymeme contributes to the overallconfidence and ethos of Tonegawa’s claimsbecause of the inherent connection withhis audience: both parties mutually agreewith the central dogma of genetics. Thesubsequent epideictic and deliberative oratorythat summarize Tonegawa’s revolutionarydiscoveries complement this confidence,facilitating acceptance of his tentativeparadigm.

Tonegawa’s epideictic oratory capitalizeson stylistic elements and common topics tomaintain the necessary element of ethos.In supporting his revolutionary methods

(epideictic oratory), Tonegawa goes beyondthe passive-voice prose typical of scientifictexts (Gross 30). The article immediatelyestablishes a personal tone that remainsconsistent throughout the text, emphasizingTonegawa’s ownership of the experimentsthrough the first-person narrative:

We report here experimental evi-dence for possible joining of Vand C sequences at the DNAlevel. . .We have shown that the pat-tern of BamH I DNA fragments thatcarry immunoglobin V- or C-genesequences is completely different inthe genomes of mouse embryo cellsand of a murine plasmacytoma(Hozumi and Tonegawa 3630).

The effect of this more informal prose issimilar to what Michael Halloran has called“Watson and Crick’s self-consciously genteelstyle.” Halloran notes that:

Watson and Crick put forward astrong proprietary claim to the dou-ble helix. What they offer is not thestructure of DNA or a model ofDNA, but Watson and Crick’s struc-ture or model. Moreover, in stakingtheir claim they enact a distinctiveway of adhering to ideas in public;they dramatize themselves as intel-lectual beings in a particular style.(Halloran 43)

Tonegawa’s prose—though slightly moremodest than Watson and Crick’s—clearlyarticulates a public persona characteristicof ethos-driven arguments. Tonegawa’sepideictic oratory is particularly manifest inhis debunking of alternative explanations.This technique inevitably shifts focus to hisown interpretations by assigning negativediction (e.g., “trivial”) to downplay opposingexplanations:

There is also an alternative explana-tion for the absence of the embryon-ic DNA components in the tumor,namely, that the V–C gene joiningtook place in only one of the


homologous chromosomes and thatthe other chromosome(s) has beenlost during propagation of thetumor. In view of the known chro-mosome abnormalities of murineplasmacytomas, we cannot eliminatethis trivial possibility. (Hozumi andTonegawa 3631)

Combining the apparently dismissivetone of this passage with the language thatbolsters Tonegawa’s own “straightforwardinterpretation” (Hozumi and Tonegawa3630) of his experimental results projectsa voice that resonates with the “supremeconfidence” (Halloran 42) of Watson andCrick’s paper. The deliberative oratory in thefinal section of Tonegawa’s paper employssimilar stylistic tropes.

In Gross’s adaptation of Aristotle’srhetorical settings, Tonegawa uses deliberativeoratory to offer post-experimental insightand direct future research:

If there are multiple V genes, theremust exist a mechanism for theactivation of one particular V gene.In the light of present findings, oneintriguing possibility is that activa-tion of a V gene is intimatelycoupled with its joining to a Cgene. . .our results [also] suggest aninteresting explanation for allelicexclusion. (Hozumi and Tonegawa3631)

Though the example above highlights theontological role of scientific syntax, additionaltropes are at work in Tonegawa’s finaldiscussions, including informal rhetoricalquestions that connect Tonegawa with hisaudience, increasing his public character:“What is the mechanism by which theintegration of V and C-gene sequences isbrought about?” (Hozumi and Tonegawa3631). In addition, scrupulous rejections andcomparisons of competing experimentalmodels—a device catalogued under Aristotle’snumerous common topics—becometransparent: “In the past, several models havebeen proposed. . .since the embryonic DNA

fragment carrying the MOPC 321 V genedoes not seem to exist in the genome of thistumor, our results are clearly incompatiblewith this model” (Hozumi and Tonegawa3631, emphasis added). The culmination ofthese rhetorical devices helps Tonegawagain public acceptance by suggesting thepotential use his new theory may have(Halloran 46).By the 1980’s, there was no doubt that

Tonegawa’s discovery had led to a revolutionin immunological thought and practice. Hisidentification of the genetic mechanismsbehind antibody diversity opened doors tonovel treatments, unprecedented research,and a greater sense of the complexmechanisms that each individual exhibitsduring an immune response. But suchinformation is not regarded as valid withouteffective communication, hence the rhetoricalnature of science. In the case of paradigm-shifting concepts, like Tonegawa’s proposedevidence, the scientist’s ethos plays a keyrole in summoning the required academicrecognition. Indeed, it is paramount thatscientific communities recognize theserhetorical devices at work to appreciatethe speed of Kuhn-defined “scientificrevolutions.” If not, a scientist’s researchmay easily remain forgotten in the wake ofprogress.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I extend my special thanks to Dr.Christina McDonald, who helped meconceive this project from the beginningand provided guidance to the end. Herinsight and thought-provoking questionscontinue to be a source of inspiration, and Iam eternally indebted to her teachings forpushing my intellectual perspective in newdirections. I also appreciate the anonymoussources of peer-review that New Horizonsoffered. This professional critiquecontributed to the paper’s contextualfoundations, and I am privileged to havereceived such a high caliber of feedback.

Kenny/A Case Study of Susumu Tonegawa’s Landmark Discovery 63

WORKS CITED

Gross, Alan. “The Justification of Rhetoric ofScience.” Starring the Text: The Place ofRhetoric in Science Studies. Carbondale:Southern Illinois UP, 2006. 20–31.

Hall, Stephen. “Billions of Powerful Weapons toChoose from.” Arousing the Fury of theImmune System: New Ways to Boost theBody’s Defense. Ed. Maya Pines. Chevy Chase:Howard Hughes Medical Institute, 1998. 25–30.

Halloran, Michael. “The Birth of MolecularBiology: An Essay in the Rhetorical Criticism ofScientific Discourse.” Landmark Essays onRhetoric of Science: Case Studies. Ed. RandyHarris. Mahwah: Hemagoras, 1997. 39–48.

Harris, Randy. “Introduction.” Landmark Essayson Rhetoric of Science: Case Studies. Ed.Randy Harris. Mahwah: Hemagoras, 1997.xi–xlv.

Hozumi, Nobumichi, and Susumu Tonegawa.“Evidence for Somatic Rearrangement ofImmunoglobin Genes Coding for Variableand Constant Regions.” Proc. Natl. Acad.Sci. USA 73 (1976): 3628–32. Pub MedCentral.

Kuhn, Thomas. The Structure of ScientificRevolutions. 2nd ed. Chicago: U of ChicagoP, 1970.

Tonegawa, Susumu. “Autobiography.” NobelFoundation. 2009. 8 Feb. 2009. <http://www.nobelprize.org>.


HUMANITIES

Learning to See: The Black MountainCollege Experiment

Cadet Even T. Rogers

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Robert L. McDonald, Professor of English

ABSTRACT

In the fall of 1933, in the mountains east of Asheville, North Carolina, Andrew Rice and severalcolleagues founded a utopian educational community called Black Mountain College. It openedduring a time of political fallout in Europe as well as significant socio-economic changes in theUnited States. Many of the initial faculty, like Josef and Anni Albers and Xanti Schawinsky,were expatriates who sought creative refuge from the growingly oppressive fascist andtotalitarian governments of Europe. America was emerging from the Great Depression,spawning public debate on the structure of many of America’s institutions, including highereducation. On one side were those who favored a knowledge-based, fundamentalist approach,as laid out by Robert Maynard Hutchins in his treatise “What is General Education?” On theother were proponents of Progressivism like Theodore Dreier and John Rice, who wereinspired by the experiential philosophies of John Dewey, formalized in his manifestoDemocracy and Education (1916). The coalescence of the artistic sentiment of modernismand American Progressive education theory created a dynamic learning environment atBlack Mountain College where art and experience combined to form the centerpiece of theinterdisciplinary curriculum. In this paper, I approach the founding of Black Mountain from


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the perspective of its context in time and place, paying special attention to the convergence ofthese two bodies of thought. In the second half of the paper, I look to the works of two of itsstudents—visual artist Robert Rauschenberg and photographer Hazel Larsen Archer—to see ifit is possible to glean elements of art-as-dialectic so strongly emphasized at the college.

I n the fall of 1933, in the mountains east ofAsheville, North Carolina, John Andrew

Rice, a former professor at Rollins College,several of his colleagues also from Rollins,and the famed Bauhaus artist and teacherJosef Albers founded an educationalcommunity called Black Mountain College.Acting in the fertile intellectual climatecreated by the convergence of modernismand Progressivism, the founders would call onboth these bodies of thought to develop thecollege’s revolutionary curriculum. Guided bythe artistic sentiment of modernism andthe optimistic and experiential spirit ofProgressivism, Black Mountain enveloped itsstudents in an interdisciplinary educationhighlighted by and centered on theenlightening experience of the arts. Thecollege served as more than a place forthe intellectual training of its students; theirimmersion in community life, rigorousacademic pursuits, and the enrichment ofwhat the founders called “art-experience”would shape their entire being. At BlackMountain, no aspect of life’s experience wasremoved from its educational implications;every moment would be a moment forgrowth and expansion.

My project addresses two subjects: first,how the coalescence of modernism andAmerican progressive education theory gaverise to the college and created its dynamiclearning environment; and second howwe today can sense the resonance ofBlack Mountain’s educational and artisticphilosophies in the works of its students.

THE BLACK MOUNTAIN LEARNINGENVIRONMENT

In shaping the curriculum and experience ofBlack Mountain, credit goes primarily tothe educational impact of the uniquelyAmerican movement Progressivism. As

Frederick Rudolph observes in his work TheAmerican College and University: A History,Progressivism was primarily a “middle classsense of obligation” and was formed inresponse to “the discovery of the slum,the political machine, the immigrant, themonopoly, and [a] decline in ethical standards”(357). The Progressive response to social andpolitical “chaos” would be the liberally educatedcitizen in action, resulting in movements such aswomen’s suffrage and Progressive education.Black Mountain College would arise in a

period of resurgence of the collegiate ideals ofliberal education that seemed so antitheticalto the specialization and scientific relativismof the German university model. In highereducation, specialization represented anextension of the spirit of “self seeking whichthe American experience encouraged”(Rudolph 358) that was responsible for thecapitalistic failures of the Great Depression.As Rudolph observes,

The world lay in chaos perhaps exactlybecause there had been too many specialists,too many scientists, too many engineers, andnot enough men prepared to think widely andwisely, prepared to consider subtleties,connections, the whole fabric of emotions,institutions, decisions, values, and traditionsthat defined modern man. (470)

As higher education was forced to considerits own share in perpetuating the collapsesof the early 20th century, Progressiveeducational reformers like John Dewey and hiscontemporaries seized the opportunity to enterthe conversation, responding with discoursethat would inspire the development of anumber of experimental schools like BlackMountain. Progressive education theorieswould guide the realities of everyday life at thecollege, including the centrality of communityliving to a complete education, experience asthe basis of education, and the role of theteacher as much more than lecturer.


Rice maintained that Black MountainCollege would be a place where theory wouldmeet the test of reality in an experimentalspirit. He explained, though, that the collegewould not be the chaotic or free-wheelingexperimental school that was so oftencriticized for lacking direction in a significantand relevant course of study. It would insteadbe a place where “free use might be made oftested and proven methods of education”(“Black Mountain” 271).

The Progressive determination to “get backto the old American idea of ‘Mark Hopkins’on one end of the log and the student onthe other” (Adamic 614) exorcised pedantryfrom the halls of Black Mountain. Instead, theresponsibility of the educator rested on hisor her ability to be a facilitator of knowledge.With the student as an integral, if not thecentral element of the classroom, the teachermolded the experience of the student into onethat inspired growth and expansion.

Rice points out that, in addition to BlackMountain’s function as an institution of higherlearning, it was “at the same time, a socialunit” (Rice 271). In her seminal work TheArts at Black Mountain College, MaryEmma Harris describes Black Mountainas “the story of the implementation andtesting the college’s educational ideals withinthe context of community” (8). Studentswere required to participate in farming,construction projects, and various upkeepassignments that, more often than not,required physical labor. In a 1965 interview,Albers commented that “the girls and the boys[,] they knew each other sweating . . . You see,[they] get respect for the other when he is notjust in the highest makeup” (37). Albers, Rice,and their colleagues were drawing on thework of Dewey who, in Democracy andEducation, saw that “the very process ofliving together educates. It enlarges andenlightens experience; it stimulates andenriches; it creates responsibility for accuracyand vividness of statement and thought”(6). Echoing the Progressive emphasison citizenship, such education throughcommunal cooperation was vital to thedevelopment of effective participants in

community life. As such, students developedan extraordinary versatility, capable ofmoving from the harvest to Socrates orroadwork to Stein.Yet, just as Black Mountain would not teach

what Wassily Kandinsky and other modernscalled “art for art’s sake” (3), knowledgewould not be pursued strictly for the sake ofknowledge. In defining the nature ofknowledge, John Rice insisted that “what youdo with what you know is the important thing.To know is not enough” (“Fundamentalism”267). Here Rice makes a critical distinctionbetween what is implied in “getting” aneducation (qtd. in Adamic 616), and itsdifference with respect to experiencing aneducation. Rice points out that to “get” aneducation implies the “cramming” (615) ofknowledge into the skull—regardless ofwhether that knowledge is useful in thegrowth of the self or is once again simply afact that an “educated” person ought toknow—whereas education as experience isthe simultaneous engagement of the sensesand the mind. By doing so, Rice entered thefundamental debate of many supposed“progressive” philosophies such as thoseespoused by University of Chicago PresidentRobert Maynard Hutchins. While Hutchins’smodel dedicated the university to bringing itsstudents to understanding a “common stock offundamental ideas” (“Fundamentalism” 587),Black Mountain’s approach would be moreorganic. To Rice’s way of thinking, a purelyintellectual approach leaves untouched therest of the student—the social being that isdeepened and expanded by the experiencethat comes from the exploration of the selfand one’s surroundings.

THE BLACK MOUNTAIN“ART-EXPERIENCE”

The marriage of Progressivism andmodernism resulted in what Rice called “art-experience,” which he identified as themissing piece in American higher education.1

Perhaps no one has expressed the tenor ofmodernism as eloquently or succinctly as

Rogers / Learning to See: The Black Mountain College Experiment 69

Josef Albers when he said that modernismimplied a “significant contemporaneousness,”and that

to be modern is to be responsive to thementality of the present; or, to answer thepresent spiritual needs; or, in creative work,to express our thought and feeling in a formof our own, as in a language of our own. (qtd.in Harris 15)

Moderns immersed themselves in thedemanding immediacy of present experienceand resurfaced with a profoundly humanisticstatement: that the solutions to the issues ofmodern life would be found, not in the shelled-out ashes of the old order, but, in HarrietMonroe’s words, through “a concrete andimmediate realization of life” (25). Modernsaccomplished this realization through a newart that reflected not only an awareness ofcontext but also a dedication to perceptionthrough unconditioned eyes.

The modern aesthetic would permeateevery nuance of life at Black Mountain.Instead of an intellectual approach to art—artappreciation or art history—the experienceof art was placed firmly at the center ofa student’s education. The faculty stroveto establish an unconditioned but refinedrelationship between art and the individual,thereby stripping art of its relic status. ToDewey, the experience of art is the onlyactivity that serves three crucial functionsin the formation of an experience: it “lead[s]to a consummatory experience,” it fostersexpansion and growth, and it is instructional(Jackson 33). Art expedites what Dewey calledthe “organic connection between educationaland personal experience,” leading to a state of“heightened vitality” (Experience 28). In thefirst Black Mountain catalogue released afterthe school’s founding, Rice truly defined therationale for such a necessary emphasis onthe arts. He wrote that

through some kind of art-experience, which isnot necessarily the same as self expression,the student can come to the realization oforder in the world; and, by being sensitized to

movement, form, sound, and other media ofthe arts, gets a firmer control of himself than ispossible through purely intellectual effort.(272)

It was never the intention of the founders andfaculty of Black Mountain for the school to be aplace for the formal training of artists; indeed itwas all but discouraged.2 The combinationof interdisciplinary studies in a Progressiveenvironment amplified by the modern artisticaesthetic was meant to “bring young people toan intellectual and emotional maturity,” therebystriking a “balance between the intellect andemotions” (qtd. in Adamic 615).Ultimately, Black Mountain would strive to

develop what Rice called—interchangeably—“the poet” and the “the philosopher-scientist-artist” (619). While perhaps arousingsuspicions of elitism, such an individual wasa common man or woman balanced inthe knowledge of humanity’s intellectualheritage who could think with supplenessand sophistication—a person who wasself-possessed and, through experience,was deepened and expanded to a place ofself-knowledge. Finally, such a person wouldcome to experience the internal and externalthrough artistic eyes, thereby having the abilityto “consider the world and humanity materialand remake them” (Rice 620).In founding Black Mountain, and ostensibly

through its entire existence, neither John Rice,nor his colleagues, nor the students had anyidea what would truly be the result of theirexperience. In this way, it was an experiment.It was an experiment that, while guided andilluminated by the light of Progressivism andmodernism, was charting the unknown. Ricemaintained that he constantly felt that allparticipants, faculty and students alike, were“on the threshold of the answer” (Rice qtd. inAdamic 627, emphasis added) to the questionof whether the theories that were professedbore any results. They may have in factanswered that question, though it would proveto be a result that is impossible to assign anumber value, as it is equally impossible to testwhether a student has realized his or herpotential as a “whole being” (625).


ART AS A “SOCIAL FACT”

A picture lives a life like a livingcreature, undergoing the

changes imposed on us by our own lifefrom day to day.

This is natural, as the picture lives onthrough

the man who is looking at it.(qtd. in Smith 251)

—Pablo Picasso

The act of creation, as Anni Albers wrote inthe 1937 Black Mountain College Bulletin,“is the most intense excitement one can cometo know.” The creation of art is a personal andintimate endeavor, a product of one’s owninspiration and his or her interaction withtime, energy, and materials. Whether bymaking art through sculpture, photography,painting, or any other medium, Albers writes,the artist engages in a personal “adventure”which has in it the possibility for the individualto “leave the safe ground of acceptedconventions and to find [herself] alone andself-dependent” (qtd. in Katz 31).

Yet, art, like the artist who created it, doesnot exist in a vacuum; it is not meant to be astrictly individual experience. Art is of the world,and, once released by the artist, it mustinevitably exist in the world. In its variousforms, art is sensory, attractive, begging to beexperienced through the eyes, the ears, andother faculties of perception. How close can anaudience really come to experiencing thesense of excitement, adventure, andimmediacy that led to the work’s creation? Arenon-artists—those whose efforts do not result inmusic, paintings, sculpture—confined to livingvicariously through the work, grasping fortraces of the rich enlivening experience that ledthe artist’s inspiration? The answer to all ofthese, I believe, is no. Yet the question of whatart actually does, how it performs in the worldand in an audience’s imagination, lingers.

That art has a function, that it has aneffect in the world, a usefulness outside of theself-centered experience of the artist, has beena heavily addressed subject of artists andcritics for the past century. Beyond theindividual impact of creation to the artist, the

perception of a work can have a profoundeffect on the individual viewer, as well associety as a whole. German artist LazloMoholy-Nagy points out that

art is the senses’ grindstone, sharpeningthe eyes, the mind, and the feelings. Art hasan educational and formative ideologicalfunction, since not only the conscious butalso the subconscious mind absorbs thesocial atmosphere which can be translatedinto art. (68)

This position is similar to that ofJohn Dewey, who held that throughperception—which is not the same asrecognition—“a work of art elicits andaccentuates this quality of being a whole andof belonging to the larger, all inclusive, wholewhich is the universe in which we live” (qtd. inJackson 199). Thus, when a work of art is“offered in display and shown to otherpeople” and it becomes “a social fact,” it hasthe ability to develop a sense of community inthe individual (Andre 23).Contemporary audiences are accustomed

to viewing artists as anti-social and self-absorbed, cut off from the realities of theirsurroundings. The motivation of “trueartists,” however, and of what Ezra Poundcalls “good art” in a modern sense, is to“bear true witness” to the time (1). In thisrespect, the artist is a fundamental memberof society, a form of social activist whocreates his work “as an instrument of truth”(Hilton 147). Art, then, becomes engaging,necessary, and dialectic.While the engagement of the student in

“art-experience” was vital to self-developmentat Black Mountain College, the creation of artwas never considered an end. Surely, bothJosef Albers and John Rice would insistthat the potential enrichment garneredfrom art-experience or any experience isincomplete, undemocratic without the sharingof that experience and was thereforeantithetical to the communal facet of BlackMountain.After leaving Black Mountain, many

students would go on to become prolificartists, celebrated for their ingenuity and


creativity. The true test of Black Mountain’ssuccess, however, is not necessarily in thevolume of works or the fame of its students.Rather, if Black Mountain was effective inshaping individuals who would experiencethe world through the eyes of an artist andwho possessed the companion ability to“consider the world and humanity materialand remake them” (qtd. in Adamic 620), adialectic and transformative quality shouldresonate in the works of its students. Weshould discern in their works a commitmentto “elevate humanity by means of art”(Magnelli 78).

THE WHITE PAINTINGS OF ROBERTRAUSCHENBERG

A canvas is never empty. (Ashton 243)—Robert Rauschenberg

Robert Rauschenberg is best known for hiscollages and assemblages, using the stuff ofeveryday life to produce art. In works likeAutomobile Tire Print, a literal print of thetire of a 1936 Ford that he and John Cagerolled across a long piece of paper, he showshis mastery of simplicity. In the assemblagetitled Monogram, a stuffed Angora goatwreathed in a tire standing on a collage of

cardboard refuse manages to profoundlyconvey interconnectedness and intricacy.Rauschenberg’s attraction to found objectsdeveloped while he was a student at BlackMountain College. He attended BlackMountain for one year as a full time studentduring 1948-49 as well as two consecutivesummer sessions, 1951 and 1952. There,Rauschenberg blossomed under themodernist aesthetic of Josef Albers, whosephilosophical concepts were grounded tothe classroom experience through exercisesin the meticulous study of line, form, andcolor. “What [Albers] taught me,” saidRauschenberg, “had to do with the entirevisual world.” Instead of teaching “how to ‘doart,’” as if it was an assembly-line product,“[Albers’s] focus was always on your personalsense of looking” (qtd. in Hunter 43). Albers’sgoal after arriving at Black Mountain was to“open eyes” in a way that intensified astudent’s awareness of the visual world(Albers 34). Albers described moments ofsuccess in the classroom when studentswould eventually say: “my eye sees now theworld a little more intensively than I havedone before” (37).To shift their perception from seeing the

world for its coherent forms, Albers taughtstudents to deconstruct objects into theirelements of geometric line, shape, andcolor, and to observe how the interplay ofthose elements limit and give definition tothe object. What emerged was an intensestudy of materials, which Albers termedWerklehre, during which students likeRauschenberg experienced and evaluatedthose materials to grasp their capabilitiesbefore setting out to produce a work.Albers defined Werklehre as “a formingout of material . . . [to demonstrate] thepossibilities and limits of materials” (qtd. inKatz 67). Often it was from the materialsthemselves that students found theirinspiration. What the students produced inAlbers’s class could be considered artby any standard, but Albers chastisedstudents for signing their projects as if theywere completed works. Instead, the projectswere all considered “studies”—practices for

Figure 1. Robert Rauschenberg, White Painting1951.


refining and fine-tuning the visual andmotor senses for a more full experience ofperception.

One might expect that Rauschenberg’stime at Black Mountain would result inworks that incorporated a complex array ofmaterials and mediums. Yet, his mostsimple works, his matte white paintedcanvases entitled White Paintings made inthe summer of 1952, are what emerged.Rauschenberg was not—as critics wouldassert—making a mockery of art of thatperiod, nor was he rejecting his artistictraining at Black Mountain.

In a letter to Betty Parsons requesting ashowing during the following winter, hedescribes his intentions (with numerousmisspellings) behind their creation and theimportance of their existence:

Dear Betty,

I have since putting on shoes sobered upfrom summer puberty and moonlit smells.Have felt that my head and heart movethrough something quite different than thehot dust the earth threw at me. The resultsare a group of paintings that I consideralmost an emergency. They bear thecontriditions that deserves them a placewith other outstanding paintings and yetthey are not Art because they take you to aplace in painting art has not been.

(therefore it is) that is the pulse andmovement the truth of the lies in ourpeculiar preoccupation. They are largewhite (1 white as 1 GOD) canvasesorganized and selected with the experienceof time and presented with the innocence ofa virgin. Dealing with the suspense,excitement and body of an organic silence,the restrictions and freedom of absence, theplastic fullness of nothing, the point a circlebegins and ends. They are a naturalresponse to the current pressures of thefaithless and a promoter of intuitionaloptimism. It is completely irrelevant that Iam making them—Today is their creator.

Figure 2. Robert Rauschenberg, White Painting(two panels) 1951.

Figure 3. Robert Rauschenberg, White Painting(seven panels) 1951.

Figure 4. Robert Rauschenberg, White Painting(four panels) 1951.


I will be in N.Y. Nov 1st and will forfeit allrights to ever show again for their beinggiven a chance to be considered for thisyear’s calendar.Love BobI think of you often Brave woman.(qtd. in Kotz 78)

His writing exposes his youthful exuberanceand reveals a certain “odd combinationof modesty and poise, boyishness andsophisticated self-promotion” (Kotz 72).Nevertheless, his insistence about thenecessity and immediacy of these works isconveyed in strong, passionate descriptions—he correlates the uninflected whiteness ofthe canvases to the omnipotence of God. ToRauschenberg, the paintings are a “naturalresponse” to a larger spiritual “emergency” inboth art and life, a hollowness of the periodcharacterized by the ensnaring pitfalls ofpessimism. They are meant to address, evenheal, the disillusionment of the “faithless” byelevating the spirit to a place of “intuitionaloptimism.” That the paintings exist to effectpositive change and act as a courseadjustment reveals Rauschenberg’s intentionto engage the viewer in a purposeful dialectic;he means for them to be experienced and, asa consequence, to inspire new meaning.

Against the white walls of a gallery, it wouldbe easy to miss the White Paintings: fivesets of white painted canvases varying innumbers of panels and dimensions (fourshown, Figures 1–4). The paint was appliedto the canvas with a roller, giving the surfacesa smooth and uniform appearance. Althoughsimple, the works are far from conventional.As we look at the canvases, we are first drawnto what is absent. The matte white canvasesare void of the traditional elements of apainting which supply a picture with itsnarrative, making it impossible to drawassociations from or form value judgmentsabout the content of the picture. Yet, thepaintings are not guilty of the “libertinism” orlawlessness that often accompanies criticismof this kind of work (Varnedoe 242). In his2003 Mellon Lecture on abstract art titledPictures of Nothing, Kirk Varnedoe pointsout that “the less there is to look at, the more

you have to look, the more you have to be inthe picture” (243). This is also true for theWhite Paintings: it is precisely because of thepaintings’ ambiguity that the viewer is drawnso deeply into the works. The collaboration ofthe materials—the white paint and thecanvases—combine with the absence of avisual narrative to produce a work thateffectively eliminates the psychologicaldistance between the painting and the viewer.In this raw state of perception—a vital step inwhat John Dewey called an “experience”—welook at the canvases and see beyond theirapparent emptiness. We can look at the fourpaneled painting (Figure 4) and begin to seewhat Rauschenberg called the “suspense,excitement and body of an organic silence,the restrictions and freedom of absence, theplastic fullness of nothing, the point acircle begins and ends.” That “organicsilence” becomes perceivable and theworks, in their empty-fullness, becomepregnant with purpose and meaning. Thewhiteness and uniformity cause a shift fromthe visual experience of seeing to one ofcontemplation.The full experience of the paintings does

not stop at the limits of the 4800 � 4800 canvas(Figure 1), however. We are invited to extendour awareness beyond the now-blurred edgesof the canvas to engage with, to pay attentionto the surroundings that would otherwise gounnoticed or be shrugged off as irrelevant.As Phillip Jackson observes in his work JohnDewey and the Lessons of Art, “We normallygive only a fleeting and superficial attention toeven those aspects of our environment withwhich we are physically engaged” (129).Dewey shows that in this way, “we are carriedout beyond ourselves to find ourselves” (qtd. inJackson 61). The White Paintings are acatalyst to experience the world with thesame awareness, closing what Rauschenbergcalled “the gap between art and life” (243).The closing of that gap in the individual, theblurring of the limits of the canvas so that eventhe mundane was perceived through thefresh eyes of an artist, was the mostimportant function of art emphasized at BlackMountain.


THE PHOTOGRAPHICOBSERVATIONS OF

HAZEL LARSEN ARCHER

The hallmark of Hazel Larsen Archer’sphotographs is the intense focus into whichher subjects are called. Beyond the clear andfocused quality of her pictures, the majority ofher shots are of specific and selected aspectsof a larger occasion or experience. Whether ofa dancing Merce Cunningham, variousmembers of the Black Mountain community,or the Black Mountain Quiet House, eachpicture is a conscious and simultaneousinclusion and exclusion which in turn revealsthe essence of Archer’s subject. To viewArcher’s prints is to journey into herphotographic process whereby the reflex ofour minds to name and evaluate what we seesuccumbs to pure visual experience.

Archer began her “nine-year love affair” withBlack Mountain in the summer of1944 after graduating from the Universityof Wisconsin (Wright 5). She applied forfull-time status the following fall and returned tostudy at a graduate level with Albers for fouryears before being offered a teaching positionin 1949 which she held until 1954. Uponjoining the faculty, Archer became BlackMountain’s first resident photography teacher.Her time at Black Mountain would be duringone of the liveliest periods of the college’s shorthistory. While Archer’s photographs cataloguethe vitality, creativity, and humanity whichcharacterized that time, they are mostimportantly a product of her ability to see in away that others had not learned and her desireto communicate that process.

Like Albers, Archer’s time at BlackMountain would be one of opening eyes. Inthe classroom, the focus of Archer’s lessonswas entirely on “seeing” (Zarow 19). Onlywhen our visual relationship to the world isconscious, when the involuntary labeling ofour minds subsides, does seeing happen,though. Erika Zarow, Archer’s daughter,points out that for her mother, to see requiresa kind of “observation” that is free of“polarities: good/bad, beautiful/ugly, likesand dislikes” (19). “Observation,” she says, “is

impersonal, and assumes nothing, statingsimply what is. It does not filter newinformation. Pure observation puts thinkingon hold, creating stillness, fully alert, thatallows seeing to take place without theinterference of the mind” (Zarow 19). Whilethe photograph is the desired result ofphotography, it is in service of the process ofseeing. The click of the shutter producesevidence of the conscious experience ofseeing the subject in its essence. Archercharacterized this moment as

The merging of the exquisiterelationship of heart (responding)(drawing near to) Something;

hand (touching-physical) and eye(seeing the surface)

now touching with the eye,then penetrating that surface to the

invisible. (qtd. in Zarow 19)

Her poem reveals the intimate engagementbetween self and subject that is required ofthe photographic process.Archer’s approach to photographing Black

Mountain is emblematic of this relationship.In her series of dance photographs, wesee much more than the bodies of RobertRauschenberg, Merce Cunningham, andElizabeth Jannerjahn captured during variousmovements. Speaking of Archer’s danceseries, David Vaughan points out that her

images are notable for their absoluteclarity—although there is no retouching—they are almost frames from a film. Somephotographers try to give a sense ofmovement by blurring the image, but this isnot how the eye perceives dance movement,unless it is very fast. (11)

When observing dance, our eyes andmind rest on the fulfillment of eachmovement, rather than the transition betweenthem. Like the apices and troughs of asinusoid, Archer’s photographs capture thedancers at the most expressive points in theirmovements. We see this clearly in the face ofRauschenberg (Figure 5)—a moment ofcommitted response to his body resulting inutter abandon.


What makes her pictures so unique,though, is that they take dance off of thestage. Instead of performance pictures,Archer’s dance photographs were shot in afield on the campus. This portrayal takesdance out of its familiar milieu ofchoreographed steps and displays itessentially as the realization of a humanneed to express through the body.Cunningham’s impetus to leap through thefield as seen in one sequence (Figures 6–8)comes not from music—most likely, therewas no music in the field—but from aninternal creative impulse given over to hismuscles for the sake of expression.

What Archer’s photographs offer us is anuncommon view into the nature ofmovement. She crops the pictures—which inmany cases removes the heads of thedancers—to emphasize her focus on themovement itself. This breaks down the paceof the dance into discernible parts, focusingon finite manifestations of motion captured intime. We can be present with the capturedenergy of each moment in a way that isimpossible in the everyday experience of life.Had we been sitting in the field that day, it isunlikely we would have approached theexperience with the same intensity or walkedaway with the same understanding. Althoughprimarily a still-life photographer, EdwardWeston spoke of this phenomenon whenhe wrote, “[the camera] enables [the

photographer] to reveal the essence of whatlies before his lens with such clear insight thatthe beholder may find the recreated imagemore real and comprehensible than the actualobject” (174). The photograph allows us tosee the aspects of experience that we mayotherwise ignore because it calls our attentiondirectly to the most essential, the mostcharacteristic, qualities of the subject.In this way, Archer’s portraits of Black

Mountain faculty and students seem tosettle on what is most distinctive aboutthe individual, revealing inner character.Buckminster Fuller commented that Archer“seemed to see [others] think” (90). Herportrait of him largely validates that claim.The photograph of Fuller (Figure 9), sittingpigeon-toed in the corner of the frame andcompletely taken up with the model in frontof him, captures the architect in a moment ofintense attention to his work. Because thegeometric models and chalkboard scribblesthat surround him are given more attentionin the photograph than Fuller himself,the objects appear to be the physicalmanifestations of the grand and complexmental process in which the unassuming manis engaged. It is easy to imagine that Fuller wasunaware of Archer’s presence in the roomuntil he was shown the photograph.Archer’s commitment to the practice of

seeing is nowhere more apparent than in herphotographs of the Black Mountain QuietHouse (Figure 10). The Quiet House wasconstructed by former Black Mountainstudent Alex Reed in memoriam for Ted andBarbara Dreier’s son Mark who died at the ageof six in an accident involving a school vehicle.It was built as “a place for contemplation,meditation, and the observance of specialoccasions” for use by all members of theBlack Mountain community (Vaughan 33). Inher photographs, the Quiet House becomes aspiritual representation of that communitywhich was so devoted to self-observation andinsight. Archer spent numerous hours at thestructure photographing the shifting collagesof light and shadow projected on the doors bythe organic interaction of the sun andoverhead trees. The doors of the Quiet House

Figure 5. Hazel Larsen Archer, RobertRauschenberg and Elizabeth Jannerjahn dancing atBlack Mountain College circa 1948.


Figures 6–8. Hazel Larsen Archer, Merce Cunningham sequence at Black Mountain College circa 1948.


bear special significance to the sense ofmeaning associated with such a place. Theyare the portal to the private promise of acommunity committed to obtaining a highersense of self-awareness (Figure 11).

The photographs are a perfect example ofhow the camera “faithfully records not onlywhat is front of it, but what is behind it aswell” (Zarow 19). The exposing of the filmoccurs in a fleeting moment when thephotographer’s own expectations merge withwhat is in front of the lens. The sense of peaceand stillness captured in the photographsexists because of Archer’s own Zen-like act ofobservation; the pictures we see are simply abyproduct of her meditation. The pictures askus to become aware of this moment in all of itsconditions, qualities, and limitations. Thedelicate and unique interplay of the conditionsin Archer’s photographs bears witness tothe irreproducibility of each moment. Thephotographs are a reminder that the hereand now is sacred precisely because, in a

second, this moment will feed into an entirelynew one and become lost to time.In his Guggenheim Candidate Report

supporting Archer’s selection for fellowship,Buckminster Fuller wrote:

[Archer] saw what we who hurry never havethe time to see. She saw the life processes.She saw the tree photo-converting the sunradiation; she saw the tree breathing—Shesaw the ages processing beautifully andinexorably as she photographed the sameside of a barn moment by moment and hourby hour; she let us see with her what we hadnever been privileged to see before. (90)

Archer’s photographs seem to whisper: payattention.

Figure 9. Hazel Larsen Archer, Buckminster Fullerin classroom at Black Mountain College circa 1948.

Figure 10. Hazel Larsen Archer, Inside View ofQuiet House circa 1948.


CONCLUSION

Archer’s photography, like many of theworks of Black Mountain’s students givesresounding legitimacy to the debate of Art(capital A) as a valuable human endeavor. AsKurt Spellmeyer points out, “The arts existprimarily to demonstrate ways of making theworld more coherent: they showcase modes ofexperience that enlarge our ability to see, toact, to know, to feel, and to share” (642). AtBlack Mountain, art was central preciselybecause it is a human spiritual necessity. InSeptember 2008, former students of BlackMountain, its many supporters, and numerousscholars celebrated the 75th anniversary of thecollege’s founding in Asheville, NorthCarolina. In a period when the value of a trulyliberal education is being marginalized for theconvenience of “hard” and testable subjects,Black Mountain’s 75th anniversary is areminder of the importance of that which is

immeasurable. From its founding, the collegewas dedicated to nurturing the unquantifiableattributes of its students that made them mosthuman. Ironically, the qualities that appear tobe most vital to enlightened existence arethose which elude bubble sheets, check boxes,and credit requirements. From the BlackMountain experiment, we can see theimportance of much more than rawknowledge to the individual. We see a case forthe important ways in which education candevelop emotional and intellectual maturity,discernment, and self knowledge. Arguably,American culture has never been morein need of a citizenry possessing thesecharacteristics.

NOTES1 This is arguably still the case. For a contemporarycriticism of America’s higher education, seeformer Harvard President Derek Bok’s Our

Figure 11. Hazel Larsen Archer, Quiet House doors circa 1948.


Underachieving Colleges: A Candid Look atHow Much Our Students Learn and Why TheyShould Be Learning More (Princeton, NJ: PrincetonUP, 2005).

2 See Harris 16.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I owe the success of this paper to thewonderful guidance of Dr. Rob McDonald. Byholding me accountable for myself and myeducation, he has shown me what it takes totake on this kind of work. He has constantlybelieved in me and has been my friend andmentor throughout my youthful antics andmoments of inspiration. I am better for hispresence in my life.

I would also like to thank the kindpatronage of the Jackson-Hope Fund donors.Their investment in the lives and futures ofcadets makes the URI experience at VMIpossible.

WORKS CITED

Adamic, Louis. My America. New York: Harper,1938.

Albers, Josef. “March 1956 Interview.” BlackMountain College: Sprouted Seeds:An Anthology of Personal Accounts. Ed.Mervin Lane. Knoxville: U of Tennessee P,1990. 33–41.

Andre, Carl . [Untitled]. Ashton 189–90.Ashton, Dore, ed. Twentieth-Century Artists onArt. New York: Pantheon, 1985.

Brooks, Van Wyck. “On Creating a Usable Past.”Dial 64 (April 11, 1918): 337–41.

Dewey, John. Art as Experience. New York:Berkeley, 1934.

———. Democracy and Education. New York:Macmillan, 1916.

———. Experience and Education. 1938. NewYork : Touchstone, 1997.

Halberg, Robert von. “Robert von Halberg: A Talkwith John Wieners” (1974). Selected Poems.Ed. Raymond Foye. Santa Barbara: BlackSparrow, 1986. 289–92.

Harris, Mary Emma. The Arts at Black MountainCollege. Cambridge: MIT P, 1987.

Hunter, Sam. Robert Rauschenberg: Works,Writings, and Interviews. Barcelona: Poligrafa,2006.

Hutchins, Robert Maynard. "What is a GeneralEducation?" Harper’s 173 (November 1936):602– 09.

Jackson, Philip W. John Dewey and the Lessonsof Art. London: Yale UP, 1998.

Johnson, Janis. “The UnconventionalWilla Cather.” Humanities 26.4 (2005).Accessed online:< http://www.neh.gov/news/humanities/2005-07/cather.html>.

Kandinsky, Wassily. Concerning the Spiritual inArt. 1914. Trans. M. T. H. Sadler. New York:Dover, 1977.

Kotz, Mary Lynn. Rauschenberg: Art and Life.New York: Abrams, 2004.

Magnelli, Alberto. [Untitled]. Ashton 78.Moholy-Nagy, Laszlo. [Untitled]. Ashton 67–68.Monroe, Harriet. "’Introduction’ to the NewPoetry." Critical Essays on AmericanModernism. Ed. Michael Hoffman and PatrickD. Murphy. New York: Hall, 1992. 25–30.

Pound, Ezra. “Ezra Pound Quotes.” Famous Poetsand Poems. 2009. 9 Feb. 2009. <http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/ezra_pound/quotes>.

Rauschenberg, Robert. [Untitled]. Ashton 243.Rice, John A. “Black Mountain College.” ProgressiveEducation 11 (April–May 1934): 271–74.

———. “Fundamentalism and the HigherLearning.” Harper’s 174 (May 1937): 587–96.

Rudolph, Frederick. The American College andUniversity: A History. Athens: U of Georgia P,1962.

Smith, David. [Untitled]. Ashton 250–53.Spellmeyer, Kurt. “Review: A Massive Failure ofImagination.” College English 70.6 (June2008): 633–43.

Varnedoe, Kirk. Pictures of Nothing: AbstractArt since Pollock. Princeton: Princeton UP,2006.

Vaughan, David. “Motion Studies.” Hazel LarsenArcher: Black Mountain Photographer.Asheville: Black Mountain College Museum andArts Center, 2006. 9–17.

Westone, Edward. “Seeing Photographically.”Classic Essays on Photography. Ed. AlanTrachtenberg. New Haven: Leete’s Island,1980. 169–75.

Wright, John and Alice Sebrell.“Acknowledgements.” Hazel Larsen Archer:Black Mountain Photographer. Asheville: BlackMountain College Museum and Arts Center,2006. 5.

Whitehead, Alfred North. The Aims of Educationand Other Essays. New York: Macmillan, 1929.


Zarow, Ericka. “Capturing Light.” Hazel LarsenArcher: Black Mountain Photographer.Asheville: Black Mountain College Museum andArts Center, 2006. 18–19.

WORKS CONSULTED

Bowers, C. A. The Progressive Educator and theDepression: The Radical Years. New York:Random, 1969.

Cage, John. Silence. Connecticut: Wesleyan UP,1939.

Cremin, Lawrence. The Transformation of theSchool: Progressivism in America Education,1876–1957. New York: Knopf, 1968.

Dewey, John. “Democracy for the Teacher.”Progressive Education 8 (March 1931): 216–18.

Forgacs, Eva. The Bauhaus Idea and BauhausPolitics. Trans. John Batki. Budapest: CentralUP, 1991.

Graham, Patricia. Progressive Education:From Arcady to Academe: A History ofthe Progressive Education Association,1919-1955. New York: Columbia UP, 1967.

Gray, Peter. Modernism: The Lure of Heresy:From Baudelaire to Beckett and Beyond. NewYork: Norton, 2008.

Hodin, J. P. Modern Art and the ModernMind. Cleveland: P of Case Western Reserve U,1972.

Hopps, Walter. Robert Rauschenberg: The Early1950s. Houston: Houston Fine Arts, 1991.

Howe, Irving. The Idea of the Modern. New York:Horizon, 1967.

Kosinski, Dorothy. Dialogues: Duchamp, Cornell,Johns, Rauschenberg. New Haven: Yale UP,2005.

Naumburg, Margaret. The Child and the World:Dialogues in Modern Education. New York:Harcourt, 1928.

Poggioli, Renato. The Theory of the Avant-Garde.Trans. Gerald Fitzgerald. Cambridge: HarvardUP, 1968.

Pratt, Caroline. I Learn From Children: AnAdventure in Progressive Education. NewYork: Simon, 1948.

Read, Herbert. Education Through Art. NewYork: Pantheon, 1949.

Schmidt, George P. The Liberal Arts College: AChapter in American Cultural History. NewJersey: Rutgers UP, 1957.

Semel, Susan, and Alan Sadovnik, eds. “Schools ofTomorrow, Schools of Today: What Happenedto Progressive Education.” History ofSchools and Schooling. Vol. 8. Gen. Eds. AlanSadovnik and Susan Semel. New York: PeterLang, 1999.

Sewall, Gilbert. Necessary Lessons: Decline andRenewal in American Schools. New York: FreePress, 1983.

Stevens, Wallace. “Of Modern Poetry.” Stevens:Collected Poetry and Prose. Ed. Frank Kermodeand Joan Richardson. New York: Literary Classicsof the United States, 1997. 218–19.

Washburne, Carleton. What Is ProgressiveEducation?: A Book for Parents and Others.New York: John Day, 1952.

Whitford, Frank. Bauhaus. London: Thames,1984.


Kitchener to the Somme: BritishStrategy on the Western Front during

the Great War

Cadet Gregory E. Lippiatt

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Charles F. Brower IV, Acting Director,

VMI Center for Leadership and Ethics

ABSTRACT

While the British Army in 1914 was arguably the most professional and best-trained army inEurope, it was sorely unprepared for the scale of the conflict that loomed over the next fouryears. The pre-war British Army was far too small to contend with the massive conscriptarmies of the Central Powers for an extended war of attrition. To cope with this problem,Field-Marshal Earl Kitchener turned his back on some of the principles of the “traditional”British grand strategy of indirect warfare. A direct deployment of an expanded British Army tothe Continent was the most significant of these revolutions. He successfully appealed to thepatriotism of the British people, and civilians enlisted in droves to fill his New Armies.His plan intended for these amassed shopkeepers-turned-soldiers to be delivered in a decisivewar-winning blow to destroy the Central Powers who had been locked in a stalemate with theFrench army, thus placing Britain in a position to dictate the terms of the ensuing peace.However, circumstances soon overrode Kitchener’s intentions, and the New Armies began tobe committed to divergent theatres such as the Dardanelles. After Kitchener’s death in 1916,his grand strategic purpose was abandoned and the massive military might he hadaccumulated at such great effort was rashly committed and expended at the disastrous Battleof the Somme. The New Armies simply became a means of refilling the depleted British Army.As a result, Britain was just as exhausted militarily as all the other European powers at the endof the war and had lost the grand strategic advantage Kitchener had hoped to gain through thecreation of the New Armies.

F ield-Marshal Horatio Herbert, EarlKitchener of Khartoum, was one of the

iconic personalities of England and the BritishArmy well before 1914. His distinguished roleas commander in the great colonial wars thathad cemented the British Empire in Africa inthe nineteenth century had gained him a titleand the recognition and admiration of theEnglish people. But it was in his role as

the initially reluctant Secretary of War duringthe First World War that he made his greatestmark on history. He worked tirelessly in theWar Office as his face glared from recruitingposters, revolutionizing the British Army toprepare it for a long and total war on theEuropean continent. Even though Britishstrategy occasionally turned to diversionsin the Dardanelles and Greece, Kitchener


83

preferred to focus the war effort on theGerman armies on the Western Front and toprepare the battlefield for the arrival of hisNew Armies. Although Kitchener died in1916 before these new battalions couldbe put into widespread combat use, his roleand influence proved to be instrumentalto the military emphasis on the BritishExpeditionary Force (BEF) on the WesternFront. Ironically, in the hands of other menand in a perverted form, Kitchener’s effortsled to the development of the disastrousSomme campaign and the unforeseen andunintentional strategy of attrition thatcharacterized the later war years as a result ofthat engagement.

From the earliest days of the war, Kitchenerrealized that a wholly novel approach to theorganization and size of the British Army wasnecessary in order to give it a chance atvictory. Historically, the British Army hadbeen characterized by its relatively small sizeas a result of its status as the military branchjunior to the mighty Royal Navy. Thissubordinate status was still in place when theBEF crossed the Channel in 1914 andresulted in the Kaiser’s dismissive commentsabout such a “contemptible little army.”Although the official historian of the BEF,Brigadier-General J.E. Edmonds claimedthat “the Expeditionary Force in 1914was incomparably the best trained, bestorganized, and best equipped British Armywhich ever went forth to war” (qtd. in Spiers38), his statement would only have reflectedreality if the BEF was setting out to fightan auxiliary role in a great war, not preparingto serve as a major allied force withequal responsibility for repelling the Germans(Cassar 77). This small, elite force ofprofessional soldiers was well-suited for shortconflicts or colonial police actions, but wasunable to prosecute a prolonged war againstanother great power. Kitchener apparentlyrecognized this problem before anyone else inthe British government or public as a result ofthe long campaigns he conducted in Africawith limited resources. While many Europeanexperts believed that the international natureof the belligerent economies and the expected

high cost of modern warfare would force theconflict to be brief, Kitchener’s operations inSouth Africa and the Sudan had lasted severalyears despite limited financial resources (27).Based on these experiences, he believed thatthe war could last as long as three years, andso he called for an expansion of the army toone million men (31).Both predictions would be proved to

be modest, but they were certainly notanticipated by anyone else at the time. As thenewly-appointed Secretary of War attemptedto reconcile the pre-war plans of the BritishGeneral Staff and the realities of the situationin Europe, he remarked, “I am put here toconduct a great war, and I have no army”(qtd. in Esher 35). He had little faith thatthe Territorial Force—a sort of nationalguard—could be effectively trained and couldreinforce the Regular Army, which hadalready been committed to the Continentafter the first few weeks of the war (Esher36). This disregard of the Territorials wasbased in part on Kitchener’s own prejudicesagainst citizen-soldiers from his early Armyservice. However, it stemmed from morerational factors as well. The Territorial Forcewas designed primarily for the defense ofBritain rather than for overseas service, and,in 1914, many Territorial soldiers and theirparents were extremely reluctant to volunteerfor service on the Continent. The force wasalso simply unprepared in many ways foractive combat, with many units deemed unfitfor such service and lacking proper equipment(Cassar 33–4). Kitchener accordinglyconcluded that he would rather recruit “menwho know nothing to those who have beentaught a smattering of the wrong thing”(qtd. in Cassar 33). As a result, Kitchener’splan to prepare the British Army for thecoming years of conflict rested instead on thecreation of the “New Armies.”The scale of this expansion was truly

enormous. Due to public confidence inKitchener’s expertise, power, and ability towin the war, Prime Minister H.H. Asquith’sCabinet granted him wide-ranging powersas supreme war lord and made him essentiallyan extra-constitutional wartime dictator


(Magnus 285). As a result, he could proposesweeping changes to the British militarysystem with near impunity. Kitchener’s forceprojections eventually reached seventy newdivisions needed for commitment to thefight in order to be competitive with thosearmies deployed by ally and enemy alike in afull-scale European war. This number wasmassive given that the original BEF consistedof six divisions of the Regular Army(Cassar 26–7). Kitchener insisted that theBritish government “must be able to putarmies of millions into the field and tomaintain them for several years” (qtd. inMagnus 284). These new divisions wereto be created almost entirely from scratch(much to the chagrin of the Territorials)(Esher 36–37). Recruiting campaigns,including the memorable poster emblazonedwith Kitchener’s face and pointing finger,encouraged civilians to become soldiers(Magnus 288–89). Incentives also lay inthe system of “Pal’s Battalions,” in whichmen from the same locality could enlisttogether with the promise of serving in thesame unit (Tooley 86). Conscription, thoughcontemplated, was not implemented until1916, maintaining for the early years ofthe war Britain’s unique position in Europe asthe only country to still employ an entirelyvoluntary military system. Although Kitchenercould likely have imposed compulsoryenlistment by sheer force of his personalityand position in order to expand the Army, hisdecision to acquiesce to voluntary serviceprobably helped keep the British public andgovernment unified and supportive of the warin the early war years (Cassar 32–33). Evenwithout conscription, early quotas were metwithout much trouble. Inspired by strongpassions of nationalism, duty, and adventure,both middle- and working-class men left theircivilian jobs—skilled and unskilled—andeagerly answered the call, and the ranks ofthe New Armies swelled (Esher 37). In fact,the response overwhelmed the ability of theArmy to accommodate the new recruits.Enlistment had reached approximately 2.5million by the end of 1915, more than fivepercent of the entire British population

(Tooley 86). Men had to drill in civilianclothes with umbrellas for rifles as a result ofthe utter unpreparedness of the factories forthe volume of new soldiers (Esher 65). In time,however, Kitchener and his logistical staffovercame such difficulties and began to shapean army of citizen-soldiers destined to turnback the aggression of the Central Powers(Cassar 33). Kitchener’s transformationalrevolution of the British Army was underway.The creation of the New Armies was

not popular with everyone, however.Many general officers—Field-Marshal SirJohn French among them—did not shareKitchener’s long-term vision of the conflictand believed that to withhold reinforcementsfrom the front by choosing to deploy the NewArmies as independent units—as well as toallocate badly needed veteran NCOs andofficers to train these new battalions athome—was to risk fatally crippling theBEF (Cassar 32). French claimed that if thislong-term policy was abandoned and the BEFimmediately given all of the resources atBritain’s disposal, he could drive the Germansto their own side of the Rhine within six weeks(Magnus 303). Many other officers advocatedusing the existing Territorial Force system asthe foundation for the expansion of the army,but Kitchener refused to change his attitudetoward the Territorials who were (in his eyes)poorly trained troops that could not be reliedupon for overseas operations (Esher 62–63).Like Cromwell and his New Model Army,Kitchener intended to create an innovativecentralized army organization that would becapable of fighting conventional war on amassive scale.Along with this reorganization of the

British Army, Kitchener also emphasized aprimary commitment to the continentaltheater of combat operations, a grand strategyuncharacteristic of historical British policy.The traditional British grand strategic approachto a continental war as outlined by thefamous British historian Basil Liddell Hart—and, indeed, Prime Minister H.H. Asquith’sgovernment’s pre-war plans—consisted ofstrong naval pressure on the enemybelligerents to counter their likely military

Lippiatt / Kitchener to the Somme 85

superiority on land. A small expeditionaryforce much like the one originally sent acrossthe Channel in 1914 would be sent to supportBritain’s allies on the Continent, but themost significant aspects of British support forher partners would be in the form of warmateriel and economic incentives, while theRoyal Navy would deprive the enemy ofthese same necessities (Cassar 31). Byimplementing these initiatives, the Liberalpolicymakers hoped to make use of theEntente alliance to defeat Germany withrelatively small cost to Britain itself, allowingher, from a position of power in comparison toweakened allies and enemies alike, to dictatethe nature of the post-war environment toBritain’s advantage (French, xii–iii). However,Kitchener, an Army man, had grander, morerevolutionary ideas for winning the war on theContinent.

Even so, Britain’s traditional indirect grandstrategy was not abandoned from the outset ofthe war, but was rather modified and replacedas the situation demanded. Kitchener’s planfor the creation of the New Armies at firstcoexisted uneasily next to primarily naval andeconomic contributions to the allied wareffort. Britain had the strongest economy ofthe Entente in 1914 and provided financialsupport for her allies until it became apparentthat it was not economically possible both tobankroll France and Russia and to raise amassive military machine like the NewArmy system (French xi). The urgency ofoperations on the front dictated the needfor more troops rather than an indirecteconomic approach, and so the primaryemphasis of the British war effort shifted tothe recruitment, preparation, and deploymentof the New Armies.

Originally, a grand strategic purpose alsoexisted for the creation of Kitchener’sArmies. Kitchener hoped that they wouldplace Britain in a position of supreme militarymight after the end of hostilities, when thearmies of the other belligerents would beseverely weakened. Kitchener’s conception ofa policy of attrition relied on the expenditureof the French and Russian armies in thestalemate that defined the Western Front until

his fresh New Armies could step in toadminister the decisive blow against theexhausted German forces (French xiii). WhatKitchener and other British policymakersfailed to realize was that a prolonged war ofattrition would make their retention of theseNew Armies for a crucial final attack againstthe enemy’s center of gravity nearlyimpossible. The stalemate of trench warfarewould demand an ever-increasing tribute ofblood and treasure as increasingly grandattempts at breakthrough were made in vain.Thus, the very existence of such armieswould mean that they would inevitably bedeployed, perhaps even exhausted, to feedthis frustrated military machine, resulting intheir own wasting away in the trenches andleaving them as weakened as their allies bythe end of the conflict.After the first month or two of a conflict of

maneuver and the subsequent “Race to theSea,” the war on the Western Front quicklysettled into the stalemate of trench warfare.The BEF took up a position on the left ofthe great line of trenches, continuing thefortifications from the French Army’s positionto Nieuport in Belgium on the coast,wherefrom the British Army and Royal Navycould coordinate operations. An amphibiousoperation designed to flank the Germanline by attacking Ostend and Zeebrugge wasproposed by First Lord of the AdmiraltyWinston Churchill and even initially plannedwith Kitchener’s consent, until Field-MarshallFrench began using the operation to extortfrom the government massive quantities ofguns and munitions that the factories on thehome front were not yet capable of producingand began demanding too the immediatedeployment of Territorial or New Army unitsto be broken up and amalgamated into thebloodied Regular Army regiments already onthe Continent. Kitchener, in accordance withthe grand strategic purpose of the NewArmies, refused to allow the massive militarybuildup that he was engineering at home tobe drained piecemeal to France, and heshelved the amphibious program, though notwithout significant protest from both the fieldand other members of the government


(Magnus 305–06). The breaking of thedeadlock on the Western Front had becomesecondary to the goal of an expanded BritishArmy, and so the tail began to wag the dog asKitchener’s Armies began to dictate thedeployment and operations of the BEF inBelgium and France.

Alternatives to the trenches were soughtelsewhere as well. The most significant ofthese diversions was the infamous Dardanellescampaign of 1915. Proposed by Churchill asan alternative to attempting to break throughthe German lines in Europe, the plan for thecampaign entailed a combined naval andamphibious assault to capture Constantinopleand knock the Ottoman Empire out of the war(Cassar 59). It was hoped that by eliminatingmembers of the Central Powers from thealliance, an isolated Germany would be forcedto capitulate.1

However, Kitchener’s commitment to thecampaign was never more than half-hearted.He initially refused to supply the campaignwith troops, choosing instead to hold hisNew Army battalions in reserve and forcingChurchill to plan a purely naval attackto force the Dardanelles. Even after the planhad settled on a combined arms amphibiousoperation, Kitchener neglected to devotehis energy to planning for campaigncontingencies, arguing instead that the detailsof the operation should be worked outspontaneously by the commanders on thespot (Magnus 316–17).

On a wider strategic scale, Kitchener hadpromised to support French General JosephJoffre’s planned offensive on the WesternFront in the autumn, and so could notoffer reinforcements to the troops at Gallipoli(Cassar 235), which was showing signs ofbeing a catastrophic failure that might lead toanother fruitless stalemate like that on theWestern Front, and Kitchener had doubts thatthe British could “long support two fields ofoperations draining our resources” (qtd. inMagnus 342). However, a success on theWestern Front offered the promise of a surevictory, while even a breakthrough in theDardanelles would not ensure the collapse ofthe Central Powers. As a result of the

increasingly frustrating situation, Kitchenerdoubted the possibilities of the campaign’sviability, but he refused to advise a withdrawalunless the Mediterranean Expeditionary Forcewas faced with complete destruction, claimingthat such a move would bring discredit toBritish prestige internationally, especially inthe East, where it possessed imperial holdings(Magnus 342). He vehemently maintained thisposition toward evacuation until the very end(Magnus 358–59). The anxieties of the Frenchand the precariousness of the Russian militaryposition swayed him toward re-emphasizingoffensive action on the Western Front,however, and attention was diverted fromthe Mediterranean (Magnus 345–48). In latesummer, therefore, Kitchener began todismiss the value of the Dardanelles campaignand significantly scaled down its objectives(Cassar 235). His famous statement that “Wemust make war as we must; not as we shouldlike” (qtd. in Tooley 73) now seemedvindicated, even if it had become somethingof a self-fulfilling prophecy. Despite hopes forsuccess through an indirect grand strategy, theWestern Front remained the priority, and itsinsatiable appetite for blood and fortune wouldexclude major commitments to other theatersof operations.The Western Front’s appetite would also

begin to demand more manpower than avoluntary system of enlistment could deliver.Accordingly, January 1916 witnessed theintroduction of conscription to Britain forthe first time in history with the MilitaryService Act. Men between the ages of 18 and41 were now eligible for conscription, thoughmany exemptions were made for married men(though these would be lifted in April), those inthe clergy, and, in an attempt to preservepeace at home, Irishmen (Tooley 87). Thismove was revolutionary for Britain andcompounded the fundamental changes of theBritish Army already begun by the creation ofthe New Armies.As noted earlier, many, including Churchill,

believed that Kitchener possessed enough of amandate from the government and people ofthe United Kingdom to have imposedconscription at the outset of the war. But


Kitchener, in the strange position of beingthrust into the position of Secretary of Warafter years of having served as an officeroverseas, felt that he was in no position togauge public opinion on the mattereffectively, and so wisely bowed to Asquith’srecommendation for voluntary enlistment(Cassar 32–33). He maintained thissupport for the Prime Minister’s reluctanceto introduce compulsive service into 1915,even after the Battle of Loos and theresultant intense pressure from Conservativesto employ conscription as a means ofrefilling the ranks. His stand on the issueof compulsion at this point would be asignificant step in his alienation fromthe Cabinet that would lead to the waningof Kitchener’s influence in the Britishgovernment, as he was perceived as apolitical traitor by his fellow Tories (Cassar241–43) and as fatally indecisive by othermembers of the Cabinet (Magnus 357). Inmany ways, Kitchener’s stubborn oppositionto the inevitable introduction of compulsiveservice gave impetus to his political decline.

In addition to his principled subordination ofmilitary policy to his civilian master, Kitchenerhad his own motivations for delayingconscription as long as possible. Although bylate 1915 Kitchener realized the eventualnecessity of conscription in order to keep theBritish Army in the field, he still did notadvocate its implementation (Magnus 354).This seemingly irresponsible position was aresult of his continued belief in the potentialfor the use of his New Armies to land thedecisive blow that would end the war andleave Britain in a dominant position todictate peace to allies and enemies alike.He feared that conscription would drainBritish manpower too quickly and exhaust thenation’s reserves before the end of hostilities,severely compromising the position ofpower Kitchener anticipated and limitingBritish influence on a grand strategic level(Cassar 265). Kitchener’s hopes and plansfor the post-war role of his massivelyexpanded Army led him to resist pressure forfull conscription for nearly two years ofconflict.

There was, however, no other solution tostem the wastage of men in France andFlanders. Thus, by April 1916, Kitcheneracquiesced to the demands of his generals inEurope and the Conservatives in London andendorsed full compulsion, in turn pressuringAsquith to do the same, leaving the PrimeMinister no choice but to give his assent aswell (Cassar 273–74; Magnus 373). The firstact of conscription, mentioned above, affectedonly bachelors, but another passed in thespring declared all men within the acceptableage range (conscientious objectors excluded)eligible for service. This second act would notgo into effect until June, only days afterKitchener’s death (Magnus 354). It is perhapsfitting that the introduction of conscriptionwithout any potential armistice in sightwhich unraveled the New Armies’ role inKitchener’s envisioned grand strategy began atthe same time as Kitchener’s own prematuredemise.Kitchener’s death was sudden and

unexpected. While undertaking a secret visitto Russia to further Entente cooperationbetween the two fronts, his transport (thecruiser HMS Hampshire) struck a Germanmine in the midst of a heavy storm. The minehad been laid by a German U-boat inpreparation for the Battle of Jutland theprevious month and struck the Hampshirequite by accident. There were only a handfulof survivors, and Kitchener’s body was neverrecovered, imprisoned by the dark cold of theNorth Sea. The shock of the British public athis death was a testament to his popularity. Atfirst, wild rumors of his survival circulated, themost incredible of which maintained that hehad been transported to a hideaway in theHebrides where, like King Arthur, he wouldsleep and await Britain’s hour of need, whenhe would come back as a sort of messianichero (Magnus 376–79). But he neverreturned from his watery grave, and hislegacy turned to the unfolding of the eventsthat had been set in motion during his lifetime.The climax of the saga of the New Armies

and Kitchener’s impact on the history of theFirst World War came with the tragicBattle of the Somme. With Kitchener’s death,


Field-Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, commanderof the BEF, became the most influential figurein shaping British Army policy. As the NewArmies became a battle-ready force in 1916,Haig had his own, quite different, plans forcommitting them to the Western Frontas a decisive, war-winning weapon. WhileKitchener intended to withhold the NewArmies until he could see victory on thehorizon, Haig believed that the deployment ofthis large, fresh force could actively bringabout those conditions for victory. He viewedthe trench warfare of the Western Front asthe first stages of a modern incarnation of theNapoleonic strategy of the Advanced Guard,by which a general engagement along theentire front could be turned to victory bydeploying a significant reserve to a weakpoint in the enemy lines, breaking through,and thus splitting and destroying the enemy’sarmy. While French and BEF troops engagedthe enemy along a wide front in a generalassault perhaps 100 miles wide along thetrench lines in the Artois region nearthe River Somme, the large reserve forceprovided by the New Armies could, accordingto Haig, punch a hole through a section of theGerman lines that had been tested andfound to be weak, opening up a decisivebreakthrough that would return mobility tothe war and presumably lead to an Ententevictory (Travers 127). Thus Kitchener’s plansfor a modernization of the scale of the BritishArmy to bring it in line with the armies ofEurope and efforts to place it in a key rolefor deciding both victory and subsequentpeace conditions had been abandoned orsubordinated in order to accommodate anearly nineteenth-century operational strategywithout any sure promise of success.

Haig’s initial conception for the Sommeoffensive did not rest on an immediatebreakthrough, but rather on a series ofescalating actions, with the decisive breachof German lines as its ultimate climax. Theseactions would take place in three stages,beginning with local harassment operationsagainst the enemy intended to wear down hisforces. This initial action would be followed bya preliminary assault intended to draw enemy

reserves to the front line, followed by the mainattack, which would result in the decisivebreakthrough that Haig so intensely desired(Travers 128). It was a calculated procedurebased on the established traditional militarydoctrine of the day.However, the plan was never implemented

in this form. With the German offensive atVerdun and Haig’s increasing hunger for abreakthrough and return to the open warfarewith which he was comfortable, the proposedoperations on the Somme were abbreviatedin complexity, though not in scale. Thepreparatory assaults were eliminated from theplan, and only the main attack, immense andterrible, remained (Travers 129). Kitchener’sArmies, deprived of their grand strategic rolein the conduct of the First World War, hadnow also lost any sort of operationalcomplexity in their deployment, and had beencommitted to a simplistic assault that rested onvain hopes of a Napoleonic breakthrough.The new battle plan for the Somme

offensive rested on two major stages. First, amassive artillery bombardment along theentire length of the attacking front wouldprepare the first several lines of the enemytrenches for the assaulting troops by clearingthem of Germans over a weeklong period. Atthe time of the attack proper, as the troopswent over the top, mines dug under theGerman lines would be fired, destroying moresections of German trench and killing andshocking more enemy soldiers. The artillerysupport would then change, adopting the roleof a “creeping barrage” as the rounds werefired to land directly in front of the attackingtroops who would walk behind it as itprotected them and prepared their objectivesfor their arrival. Ideally, the soldiers would thusfind very little active German resistance asthey crossed no-man’s land and entered theenemy’s trenches (Tooley 158–59). Despite(or perhaps because of) its simplicity, Haig’splan seemed to offer a sure chance at successand the promise of an easy British victory.But reality proved otherwise. The

bombardment, while impressive both in itsscale and intensity, was ineffective, asthe German soldiers huddled in deep dugouts


that had been prepared long before, relativelysafe from the maelstrom above them. Whenthe shelling stopped, survival became a racebetween the Germans, who had to reach thesurface where they could lay murderous rifleand machine-gun fire into the advancingtroops, and the British, who had to crossno-man’s land and get inside the Germantrenches. The Germans, notified of thecommencement of the attack by thedetonation of the mines, had a much shorterdistance to cover and easily won the race(Tooley 160). The British New Army troops,considered too green to be able to master thecomplicated tactics of fire-and-movement usedby the Regulars, were instructed to assault bywalking evenly across no-man’s land in amassive formation (Keegan 226). As a result,the assault became a turkey shoot for theGermans, who poured a withering volume offire into the columns of British citizen-soldiers,many of whom died before realizing that theirunit had come under fire. Their progressslowed, the creeping artillery barrage leftthem behind, sweeping over the Germanlines into the distance, leaving most Germanriflemen and machine-gunners in place todecisively halt the British advance before ithad made it more than a few yards fromits own trenches (Tooley 160). By theafternoon of that fateful July 1, any ideas of abreakthrough seemed cruelly sarcastic.

The resultant losses of the first day of theSomme offensive were appalling. Almost nosignificant advance had been accomplished,and those units that had captured theirobjectives held onto them precariously.Within the first few hours, the British had lost21,000 soldiers killed, and the Empiresuffered about 60,000 total casualties by theday’s end (Tooley 161), many of these fromthe ranks of the New Armies Kitchener had soardently labored to create. The fruits of thatlabor, for which Kitchener had had such greathopes of a decisive role in the successfulconclusion of the war, had been squanderedin a vain offensive that had fallen far short ofits glorious projections.

But the fighting was not over, and wouldnot end for many weeks. Despite the disaster

of the first day, the Somme offensive groundon, claiming more men and materiel asHaig adapted his strategic objectives from“breakthrough” to “wearing out.” Havingfailed to plan for any alternative other than asuccessful breach of the German lines,Haig had to reevaluate his objectives inorder to continue the Somme offensive(Travers 131-32). The operation, or series ofoperations, dragged on for several monthsand quickly devolved into a simple battle ofattrition. The comic nature of the offensive’spettiness was prevented by its horrible toll inhuman life. Though the British and Frenchhad advanced several hundred yards over fourand a half months, they had paid for it dearlywith 600,000 casualties (Tooley 161). Thehellish nature of the horror and duration ofthe Somme offensive became characteristic ofsubsequent operations on the Western Frontuntil 1918, as the same combat attrition, withheavy loss for little gain, defined the nextmajor British offensive at Third Ypres orPasschendaele.Kitchener’s death thus served both as a

symbolic and practical catalyst for thedevelopment of the First World War.Symbolically, his death came at nearly thesame time as the deaths of many of themen whom he had recruited to join hisNew Army formations. The irony in thedestruction of the New Army battalions atthe Somme—the first of the great attritionalbattles of the war—lies in Kitchener’s hopesfor their use in landing the decisive blowagainst a weakened Germany, preservingtheir strength, and then using that strengthto influence the post-war settlement toBritain’s advantage. Instead, Haig sacrificedthem in order to attempt to push a strongGermany toward a decisive defeat and, as aresult, wasted the capital Kitchener hadsaved for the betterment of British grandstrategy. Kitchener’s revolution in theorganization of the British Army didplace the BEF in an expanded roleon the Western Front and resulted inan abandonment of the perceived Britishtraditions of military policy, but the ultimateemployment of his creation strayed far from


his intentions and established the cycle ofenormous and unproductive battles thatresulted in nothing more than mutualattrition that would not have been possiblewithout the existence of the massive NewArmy formations. Those New Armies, thelegacy that Kitchener worked so hard tobuild and protect, followed him to the gravein the fields and forests of the Artois,suborned and deviated from their intendedhonor as the war-winning and peace-deciding factor in the outcome of theGreat War.

NOTES1 For more information on the planning and execution ofthe Gallipoli campaign, please refer to:

r Aspinall-Oglander, Cecil Faber.Military Operations,Gallipoli: Maps and Appendices. London:Heinemann, 1932.

r Callwell, Major-General Sir C.E. The Dardanelles.New York: Houghton, 1919.

r Higgins, Trumbull. Winston Churchill and theDardanelles: A Dialogue in Ends and Means.New York: Macmillan, 1963.

r James, Robert Rhodes. Gallipoli. New York:Macmillan, 1965.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I must first offer my thanks for the fundingthat makes my continued enrollment at theVirginia Military Institute possible. Withoutthe support of scholarships provided byU.S. Army ROTC and the Institute HonorsProgram at VMI, I would never have beenable to pursue this paper. The staff ofPreston Library—particularly Captain NilyaCarrato and Dr. Megan Newman—provedinvaluable in helping me find sources.Major Eric Osborne of the VMI HistoryDepartment also bears responsibility forintroducing me to and guiding me throughthe topic of First World War military history,which sparked my interest in this project.Most importantly, I must thank BrigadierGeneral Charles Brower for his support inmy research for his Grand Strategy in theTwentieth Century class, which resulted inthis paper. His teaching caused me to viewKitchener and British strategy during the

Great War in a new light and led me towrite this paper for his class.

WORKS CITED

Cassar, George H. Kitchener’s War: BritishStrategy from 1914 to 1916. Washington:Brassey’s, 2004.

Viscount Esher, Reginald. The Tragedy of LordKitchener. New York: Dutton, 1921.

French, David. “Introduction.” British Strategyand War Aims 1914–1916. London: Allen &Unwin, 1986. ix-xiv.

Keegan, John. The Face of Battle. New York:Barnes & Noble, 1976.

Magnus, Phillip. Kitchener: Portrait of anImperialist. New York: Dutton, 1959.

Spiers, Edward M. “The Regular Army in 1914.”A Nation in Arms: A Social Study of theBritish Army in the First World War. Eds. IanF.W. Beckett and Keith Simpson. London:Manchester UP, 1985. 38–61.

Tooley, Hunt. The Western Front: Battlegroundand Home Front in the First World War.New York: Palgrave, 2003.

Travers, Timothy. The Killing Ground: TheBritish Army, the Western Front, and theEmergence of Modern Warfare, 1900–1918.Boston: Allen & Unwin, 1987.

WORKS CONSULTED

Aspinall-Oglander, Cecil Faber. MilitaryOperations, Gallipoli: Maps and Appendices.London: Heinemann, 1932.

Brown, Ian Malcolm. British Logistics on theWestern Front 1914–1919. Westport: Praeger,1998.

Callwell, Major-General Sir C.E. The Dardanelles.New York: Houghton, 1919.

Cassar, George H. Kitchener’s War: BritishStrategy from 1914 to 1916. Washington, D.C.: Brassey’s, 2004.

Viscount Esher, Reginald. The Tragedy of LordKitchener. New York: Dutton, 1921.

French, David. “Conclusion: Victory or Bankruptcy?”British Strategy and War Aims 1914–1916.London: Allen & Unwin, 1986. 244–49.

—. “Introduction.” British Strategy and WarAims 1914–1916. London: Allen & Unwin,1986. ix-xiv.

Higgins, Trumbull. Winston Churchill and theDardanelles: A Dialogue in Ends and Means.New York: Macmillan, 1963.


James, Robert Rhodes. Gallipoli. New York:Macmillan, 1965.

Keegan, John. The Face of Battle. New York:Barnes & Noble, 1976.

Magnus, Phillip. Kitchener: Portrait of anImperialist. New York: Dutton, 1959.

Spiers, Edward M. “The Regular Army in 1914.”A Nation in Arms: A Social Study of theBritish Army in the First World War. Eds. IanF.W. Beckett and Keith Simpson. London:Manchester UP, 1985. 38–61.

Tooley, Hunt. The Western Front: Battlegroundand Home Front in the First World War. NewYork: Palgrave, 2003.

Travers, Timothy. How the War Was Won:Command and Technology in the BritishArmy on the Western Front, 1917–1918. NewYork: Routledge, 1992.

—. The Killing Ground: The British Army, theWestern Front, and the Emergence of ModernWarfare, 1900–1918. Boston: Allen & Unwin,1987.


Marshall and the Politics of Command:1906-June 6, 1944

Cadet John M. Curtis

Faculty Mentor: Dr. Malcolm Muir, Henry King Burgwyn, Jr. Boy Colonel of the

Confederacy Chair in Military History

ABSTRACT

Many Americans recognize George Marshall for his contributions after World War II, especiallyhis work in developing the Marshall Plan to rescue post-World War II Europe. However, manyAmericans do not realize how vital George Marshall was to U.S. success during World War II.Marshall’s ability to modernize and develop the Army in the years leading up to World WarII—along with his ability to select the right officers for the right positions—significantlycontributed to the success of the United States Army in World War II.

INTRODUCTION

Most educated Americans realize thatGeneral George C. Marshall had a veryimportant and positive effect on the UnitedStates’s effort leading up to World War II,organizing the largest peacetime expansionin the Army’s history. However, fewpeople understand that never before did oneman, through his own strong chain ofcommand, have such a large responsibilityfor the Army’s very pattern, size, equipment,training, organization and command structure(Watson 1–2). Over the course of his longcareer leading up to World War II, Marshalldeveloped many important relationships withofficers who would play important roles in thebuild up and conduct of the U.S. Army inWorld War II. His ability to assess theseofficers over the years by noting them inhis “little black book” became vital to theAmerican war effort as Marshall oversawthe largest expansion in U.S. Army history(Pogue, Ordeal 95). During the period from

1906 to June 6th 1944, George Marshall’sability to build vital relationships with otherofficers and to develop his own leadershipskills would prove a key component in theArmy’s success in World War II.

FORMATIVE YEARS

George Marshall graduated from theVirginia Military Institute in 1901 andcommissioned as a second lieutenant inthe Army in 1902. During the early part of hiscareer Marshall served tours of duty inthe Philippines from 1902–1903, and thenat Fort Reno, Oklahoma from 1903–1906(Gimpel 28–31). It was Marshall’sappointment to the School of the Line at FortLeavenworth, Kansas in 1906 when Marshallreally began to emerge as a bright youngofficer (Gimpel 32).During this time Marshall most likely began

writing names of officers who impressedhim (along with those he believed were


93

unimpressive) in his “little black book” (Pogue,Ordeal 95). Much of the work at the schoolwas done in the traditional Army route,although the tactics class was different.Taught by Major John F. Morrison, an entirenew generation of officers, later known as“Morrison Men,” were trained in the newapplicatory style by having the officerssolve operational problems instead of havingthem memorize formulas. Marshall wastremendously impressed with this teachingmethod, which he used throughout his career(Stoler 22).

After tours in the United States, in 1913Marshall went back to the Philippines, wherehis star continued to rise (Gimpel 35). Inmaneuvers in 1914 to test the defenses ofLuzon, Marshall was appointed adjutant of a5,000 man invading force and performedbrilliantly. A young lieutenant named Henry“Hap” Arnold, who would later head theArmy Air Forces, saw Marshall under theshade of a bamboo clump examining a mapand then dictating precise orders duringmaneuvers. Arnold later informed his wifethat he had just seen the future Army Chiefof staff in action (Stoler 27). Marshalland Arnold’s friendship developed in thePhilippines, where they would often go onhunting trips together, along with anotherpeer, Courtney Hodges, who would go on tocommand the First Army late in World War II(Pogue, Education 125–26).

WORLD WAR I

With the entry of the United States intoWorld War I in 1917, George Marshall’sabilities would again be put on display. Duringhis time in France, he also forged manyimportant relationships with men who wouldbecome vital to U.S. success in World War II.In June 1917, while aboard the shipTenadores on his way to France, Marshallshared the same stateroom with LesleyMcNair, who would go on to command ArmyGround Forces in World War II (Bland,Reminiscences 189).

Throughout Marshall’s career, he wouldspeak his mind, even to his superior

commander. One such event occurredwith General John J. Pershing, who wascommander of the American ExpeditionaryForce (AEF) in France, while Major Marshallwas serving as Chief of Staff of the 1st InfantryDivision. The AEF was conducting exercises,and Marshall confronted General Pershingabout what he thought was an unfair critiqueof his divisional commander (Perry 21–22).Marshall’s frank confrontation impressedPershing, who valued subordinates unafraid todisagree with him. This encounter withPershing led to another jump in Marshall’scareer. He was promoted to lieutenantcolonel in January 1918, and then eventuallyto full colonel in September 1918 (Gimpel54–55). Marshall’s rapid ascension led tohis assignment to the General Staff of theFirst Army in July 1918. Marshall becameresponsible for large troop movements,especially during the Meuse-ArgonneOffensive, during which the high commandhad to move over 600,000 men in less thanten days under the cover of darkness to avoidGerman detection. Marshall was soon giventhe nickname “the wizard” for his brillianttroop maneuvers (Gimpel 57).However, the Meuse Argonne offensive

brought Marshall into conflict with an officerhe would be dealing with for the rest of hiscareer. Late in the drive, the U.S. First Armywas pushing to take the city of Sedan. As theG-3 Operations Officer for the First Army,Marshall wrote the memorandum dictatingthe attack plan for that unit. The two U.S.divisions that were lined up to attack firstwere the 1st Division and the 42nd Division,whose Chief of Staff was the dashingBrigadier General Douglas MacArthur. Oncethe orders written by Marshall reached thedivision commanders, the assault on Sedanbegan. However, a mix up in the orders ledthe 1st Division to march directly in front ofthe 42nd Division. As both divisions tried toenter Sedan, they became mixed and haltedthe American advance. In the darkness ofnight, it was hard to tell apart American andGerman soldiers. MacArthur went to the frontto try to clear a path. Before he reachedthe front, he was spotted by a patrol from the


1st Division. MacArthur—whose attire did notseem to fit a U.S. officer—was taken for aGerman soldier by the patrol that proceededto “capture” him. After the event, MacArthurnoted the name of the officer who issuedthe memorandum (Marshall) and foreverassociated it with his own “capture” andthe 42nd’s lost opportunity to take Sedan(Rooker 5–8).

POST WORLD WAR I

By the armistice in November 1918,Marshall had established an excellentreputation as a tactician and mostextraordinary officer. In both tactics andlogistics, he developed a level of achievementthat was unmatched by any officer his age inthe Army. It was during this time, shortly afterthe end of World War I, that Brigadier GeneralFox Connor told a young protege namedDwight Eisenhower to get an assignment withMarshall if he could because, Connor said, “inthe future we will have to fight beside alliesand George Marshall knows more abouttechniques of arranging allied commandsthan any man I know. He is nothing shortof a genius” (Stoler 41). Pershing clearlyrecognized Marshall’s brilliance, and after thearmistice he sought to keep Marshall on hisstaff in whatever way he could. In April 1919,Pershing asked Marshall to be one of hispostwar aides (Stoler 41). Marshall’s workwith Pershing, now Army Chief of Staff,thrust Marshall into the world of WashingtonD.C. politics. Marshall was forced to meetwith legislators and policy makers to get theirinput and support on many issues. Marshallwas very careful to maintain politicalneutrality. Marshall would often say, “Mymother was Republican, my father was aDemocrat, and I’m an Episcopalian” (Gimpel65). Marshall’s service with Pershing ended in1924. In September of that year, Marshallwent to China to serve with the FifteenthInfantry Regiment in Tientsin (Gimpel65–66). During 1924–1927, Marshall sawthe limits of the postwar Army, which hadbeen drastically reduced after the end of theFirst World War. Marshall realized that due to

large congressional budget cuts, the Army waslimited in its actions in China. Marshall alsohad the opportunity while in China to startlasting friendships with soldiers such as MajorJoseph Stilwell (Stoler 50–53).

FORT BENNING

With the completion of his service in Chinain 1927, Marshall accepted the position ofAssistant Commandant of the Infantry Schoolat Fort Benning, Georgia. The school wasresponsible for training company gradeinfantry officers in small unit tactics alongwith providing refresher courses for seniorofficers, as well as officers of the NationalGuard and the Reserves. Marshall was veryinterested in this type of training, and hadexact opinions as to what should be taughtand how. Since the Commandant was incharge of the entire installation and hadpreviously served with Marshall, he enjoyed avirtual free hand with both curriculum andteaching methods (Stoler 55). Marshallbrought the fruits of his own education to hisnew position. Because Benning was theadvanced tactics training school for theinfantry, the techniques Marshall had learnedcould now be put into one of the Army’s mostimportant training schools. His greatest aimwas to simplify the techniques of troopleadership. Marshall had learned theimportance of simplicity in tactics at FortLeavenworth under Major Morrison (Pogue,Education 249). When Marshall first arrivedat Fort Benning, he found a school stuck inthe past. Teachers were not up to date onnew Army tactics. Traditional lecture-basedclasses did not engage the students, who werenot encouraged to discuss issues or questionany of the doctrines. Theory and booklearning were the norm; from his influencesat Fort Leavenworth under Major Morrison,Marshall strongly favored using practical,real life examples to teach his students(Gimpel 71–72).Marshall slowly began to change what he

disliked along with instituting new practicesand selecting his own staff. To head theimportant area of the school’s Tactical

Curtis / Marshall and the Politics of Command: 1906-June 6, 1944 95

Section, Marshall held the position open for ayear until his friend Joseph Stilwell fromChina could accept the position. He wouldbecome known as “Vinegar Joe” for hisrough temperament. Marshall valued Stilwellfor his energy and his work ethic, along withhis unorthodox mind. To head the SecondSection (which covered logistics, supply,training, and communication), Marshallselected Lt. Colonel M.C. Strayer. Tohead the Third Section (which developedweapons doctrine), Marshall selected the soft-spoken Major Omar Bradley. To head theFourth Section (in charge of history andpublications), Marshall selected anotherfriend from China, Major Harding (Pogue,Education 257–259). For Marshall, combatexperience was not the major factor in theseselections; he was more interested in the menthemselves. Marshall commented that Bradleywas “conspicuous for his ability to handlepeople” and Stilwell was a “genius forinstruction” (Cray 106). Marshall gave greatlatitude to his section heads, using thecommand technique of giving his staffassignments and then leaving them alone. Ifthey hesitated, he would relieve them. OmarBradley remembered, “During the two years Iserved him as Chief of the Weapons Section,he sent for me only once to discuss the workof my section” (Bland, Papers Volume I 320).

Marshall continued changing theatmosphere at Benning. In his classes, and inthose of other instructors, Marshall replacedthe traditional lecture format with a morecasual, give-and-take exchange. Marshallexplained, “I found it was many times moreeffective when a man talked off the cuff”(Gimpel 74). Marshall also banned writtenlectures and provided poor maps or no mapsat all for maneuvers to duplicate the confusionof a real battlefield, and to constantlyemphasize thoughtful and original responsesto the unexpected. “The art of war has notraffic with rules,” a textbook written underhis administration at Benning began, “for theinfinitely varied circumstances and conditionsof combat never produce the same situationtwice” (Stoler 56). Marshall’s new curriculumalso placed much importance on staying

ahead with new technologies. Marshallmanaged to get a number of tanks assignedto Fort Benning so students could interactwith the new technology of warfare. Marshallalso realized the growing importance ofwarplanes, but he had to make do with onlyan annual demonstration. In addition,Marshall’s new approach involved studentexchanges between Fort Benning and theArtillery School at Fort Sill. Marshall believedit was important for artillery officers tounderstand infantry doctrine and vice versa.Infantry and artillery units were traditionallyrivals, and Marshall believed that theexchanges between the schools would helpto minimize the unhealthy competition(Gimpel 73–74).Marshall also looked to change the very

make up of the Army. He began toexperiment with the sizes of infantrybattalions to determine their optimum size,which proved to be around 850 men.Marshall disliked the U.S. “square” infantrydivision of two brigades. His tests establishedthat a triangular division of three brigades wasmore mobile and efficient. To counter-balancethe smaller size of the new divisions, Marshalladded more firepower to them, adding a fieldartillery battalion to each regiment as well asa heavy weapons company and a weaponsplatoon to each company. Later, he wouldattach a tank battalion to each infantrydivision. These alterations gave Americandivisions several times the firepower of theirpredecessors (O’Neil 214).In his time at Benning, Marshall made

many additions to his “black book.”During Marshall’s five years at Benning, thestudents there began referring to themselvesas “Marshall’s Men” in a fashion similarto Marshall’s belief that he was one of“Morrison’s Men” in his early days at FortLeavenworth (Gimpel 74). While at Benning,Marshall taught or served with many futureWorld War II commanders such as: OmarBradley, James L. Collins, Mathew Ridgeway,George Decker, Joseph Stilwell, Charles L.Bolte, John E. Dahlquist, Edward Almond,James Van Fleet, and Bedell Smith. He alsoserved on the Infantry Board with Courtney


Hodges, his old friend from the Philippines(Pogue, Education 248–249). Marshallcompleted his tour at Benning in 1932.The final result was the “spirit of Benning”and the virtual creation of the AmericanWorld War II Army character and its highcommand. During Marshall’s five years atBenning, 200 future generals passed throughthe school: 150 as students and 50 asinstructors (Stoler 56). The importance ofMarshall’s time at Benning can be seen in aletter from the Commandant, Major GeneralCampbell King, dated June 14th, 1932:

For the past four years and seven months, youhave served as Assistant Commandant, theInfantry School, in direct charge of theAcademic Department. The value of yourservices to the infantry school can not beoverestimated. By your clear thinking and farsighted policies; by your indefatigueable effortsand knowledge you have improved the teachingmethods at the school to the point where theyare not surpassed in any other service school.The value of your work is recognizedthroughout the infantry. Your able handlingof the school proper has been inestimable valueto the service at large and has been indicative ofthe reputation you have long enjoyed as oneof the Army’s ablest and most brilliant officers.(King)

In 1930, while still at Benning, Marshall hadan encounter with an officer named DwightEisenhower. At the time, Eisenhower wasserving as the assistant to the retired GeneralPershing, who was serving as the head of theAmerican Battle Monuments Commission.Pershing asked Eisenhower to look over andcomment on his memoirs, which were basedon his World War I diaries. Eisenhowersuggested that Pershing abandon the diaryformat and write about the battles “as seenfrom the commander of the AmericanExpeditionary Force in Europe” (Perry 9).Pershing agreed with Eisenhower’s criticism.He asked Eisenhower to rewrite the chapters,and then passed the manuscript to Marshall.In their first face-to-face meeting, Marshallcommented to Eisenhower, “I think they’revery interesting. Nevertheless, I advised

General Pershing to stick with his originalidea. I think to break up the format right atthe climax of the war would be a mistake”(Perry 9). Eisenhower nodded, but disagreedwith Marshall. Eisenhower told Marshall thathe understood that continuity was importantin the kind of book that Pershing was writing,but he added, “I still think that each of thebattles ought to be treated as a singlenarrative with the proper annotations to giveit authenticity” (Perry 9). Marshall commentedto Eisenhower that his idea was good,but went on to state that he believed Pershingwas happy with the original format.Eisenhower later stated that there wasobvious discomfort at this first meeting, whichset the tone for their future relationship.Despite this uncomfortable first meeting,Marshall invited Eisenhower to join his staff atFort Benning. Eisenhower had to turn downthe invitation because he had already receivedorders, but his name was written down inMarshall’s “little black book” (Perry 9–10).Marshall and Eisenhower would go on toforge a very successful partnership; however,neither man would ever have claimed theywere close friends.During his time at Fort Benning, Marshall

would again come into conflict with DouglasMacArthur. In 1931 Pershing publishedMy Experiences in the World War,which praised George Marshall and causedMacArthur to feel slighted. Again, as at theevents in Sedan, Marshall became alignedagainst Douglas MacArthur (Rooker 11).

ILLINOIS NATIONAL GUARD,VANCOUVER BARRACKS

Marshall completed his service at FortBenning in 1932. Even with all he hadaccomplished there, he was still only acolonel. To be considered for promotion toBrigadier General, Marshall needed at leasttwo more years commanding troops in thefield instead of doing staff work. When theposition of senior instructor with the IllinoisNational Guard came open in the winterof 1933, Douglas MacArthur—now Chiefof Staff of the Army—was asked to suggest


a commander to fill the position. MacArthur’saide produced a list that included GeorgeMarshall’s name on it. MacArthurrecommended that Marshall receive the job.Many believe that MacArthur gave thecommand to Marshall as revenge for 1918.The time that Marshall spent commandingthe National Guard troops would not countas an Army field command, because theywere not active duty soldiers. It did nothelp Marshall’s case that the retiredGeneral Pershing appealed to MacArthur onMarshall’s behalf. MacArthur still held agrudge against Pershing for not giving himenough credit during the action of World WarI. Pershing asked MacArthur to help Marshallas a personal favor to him. MacArthur’sresponse was short and simple: “All requestsrefused.” Until Douglas MacArthur finished histerm as Chief of Staff and departed for thePhilippines, Marshall’s career promotionswere halted. Pershing’s attempts in both1934 and 1935 to get Marshall promotedfailed as well (Rooker 11–14). Manyhistorians and military personnel havequestioned whether the National Guardassignment was truly a direct slight fromMacArthur. Forrest Pogue, Marshall’s officialbiographer, argued that MacArthur wasreluctant to listen to all claims that requiredsetting aside promotion by seniority, mostlikely due to the resentment aroused by hisown rise up the Army chain of command.Pogue continued to argue that MacArthurpreferred not to play favorites and chose touse the seniority system (Pogue, Education294–95). However, Omar Bradley laterargued that many in the Army saw theNational Guard assignment as a slight.Bradley believed that the assignment mayhave bothered Marshall more than he let on,and Bradley believed that Marshall may havedisliked MacArthur personally, but Marshallwas not someone who would keep personalgrudges (Omar N. Bradley 71).

Whether MacArthur’s assignment was infact a personal slight against Marshall willnever be known for certain, but it is clear thatMarshall was frustrated with the assignment.Marshall told Pershing he had “had the

discouraging experience of seeing the man Irelieved in France as G-3 of the Army similarlyadvanced six years ago. I think I am entitled tosome consideration now” (Stoler 60–61).When Marshall received Pershing’s reportthat his last appeal to get Marshall promotedhad failed, Marshall wrote back to Pershing, “Ican but wait, grow old, and hope for a morefavorable situation in Washington” (Pogue,Education 295). Once Marshall arrived inIllinois in 1933, he was very depressed withthe assignment. His wife commented that“George had a grey, drawn look which I hadnever seen before and have seldom seensince” (Stoler 60). However, within a fewmonths of reporting to his new command,Marshall began to recapture his enthusiasmfor training. Marshall’s time commanding theNational Guard unit was very successful.Serving under Major General Roy D. Keehn,an influential attorney and member of theDemocratic Party, Marshall would oftenaccompany him before the State Legislature.The experience dealing with politicians wouldbecome vital to Marshall’s future as ArmyChief of Staff, particularly during his timespent appealing the United States Congressfor more funds in the early 1940’s (Stoler 60).By 1936, with the departure of MacArthur

as the Army Chief of Staff , and with his namebeing high on the seniority list, Marshall wasfinally promoted to Brigadier General. Withthe new rank, Marshall was assigned toVancouver Barracks, Washington (Stoler 61).Upon hearing of his promotion, OmarBradley wrote to Marshall congratulating him.Marshall wrote back, saying:

I found your letter of congratulations on myreturn from leave. Thank you very much forwriting as you did. I especially appreciate whatyou had to say, because you rank at the topamong my Army contacts who have displayedthe highest efficiency. I very much hope we willhave an opportunity to serve together again; Ican think of nothing more satisfactory to me.(Bradley 78)

Before Marshall could depart for Vancouver,however, he still had a month of maneuversto conduct. In his last assignment in Illinois,


he led one side in a joint regular Army-NationalGuard maneuver. Marshall was given anumerically inferior force and assigned therole of loser. Because he commanded theinferior force in the exercise, Marshall decidedto attack over open ground with his smallerforce at night to prevent casualties (Pogue,Education 315). Many officers questionedMarshall’s decision to attack at night, and itwas assumed by those involved in the actionthat it would be criticized by the officersconducting the post-maneuver critique.Instead, the officer in charge of the critique,Major Mark Clark, G-3 of the 3rd Division,concluded that Marshall’s approach was animaginative one, based on Marshall’sexperience in World War I (Pogue, Education315–16). Once Marshall arrived in Vancouver,he would again run into Major Clark. At thetime of Marshall’s service in Vancouver, Clarkwas still serving in Third Division, stationed atFort Lewis, Washington. As the G-3, Clarkwas responsible for training individual units forcombat situations. Clark had a relatively freehand in his actions, due to the fact that thedivision commander was old and in poorhealth. Even though Clark enjoyed hisfreedom, he was concerned about his youthand inexperience and sought counsel from aseasoned infantry officer. Clark found thatcounselor in Marshall. Clark would frequentlyfly by small airplane to consult withhim. Marshall came to appreciate Clark’s clearmind, refreshing outlook, and energeticapplication to duty (Blumenson 40–41).Marshall would continue to remember Clarkand strongly recommend him for anassignment to the Army War College (Pogue,Education 316).

ASSISTANT CHIEF OF STAFF: WARPLANS DIVISION, DEPUTY CHIEF

OF STAFF

After two years at the Vancouver Barracks,in 1938 Marshall’s next assignment was ashead of the War Plans Division (WPD) on theGeneral Staff in Washington D.C. Marshallwas disappointed in this posting, because hebelieved if he was to make major general

and eventually Army Chief of Staff, he wouldhave to continue commanding troops, notsit behind a desk. Unknown to Marshall,many individuals in the War Departmentbelieved he could become Chief of Staff by adifferent route. Many in the War Departmentsaw Marshall rising from the WPD to DeputyChief of Staff, once the current deputymoved on to a corps commanding position.Both Assistant Secretary of War LouisJohnson and Chief of Staff Malin Craig wereimpressed with Marshall when they visited theVancouver Barracks. After only three monthsas Chief of the WPD, Marshall was promotedto the Deputy Chief of Staff (Stoler 62). In aletter dated October 15th, 1938, Marshall’sprotege, Mark Clark, congratulated him onhis appointment:

My Dear General Marshall:

Word has just been received of your assignmentas Deputy Chief of Staff. May I offer my sincerecongratulations on this new assignment. Wordof this detail did not come as a surprise for inmy communication with Major Adams he hadindicated as much without definitely sayingso. Mrs. Clark joins me in best wishes toMrs. Marshall and yourself. (Clark)

Marshall was now only one step away fromthe Chief of Staff position, but it appeared tobe a huge step and one from which he wasseparated by many difficult barriers. In theArmy hierarchy he was still considered ajunior officer, with twenty-one major generalsand eleven brigadier generals senior to him.Marshall was also very concerned with thestorm that was gathering in Europe. Theactions of Adolf Hitler in rearming Germanymade Marshall very nervous that ifanother World War broke out and the U.S.had to enter, it would not be ready (Stoler62). Marshall conveyed these concernsto Brigadier General McNair, his oldfriend from World War I, in a letter datedMarch 4th, 1939:

We must be prepared the next time we areinvolved in a war, to fight immediately, thatis within a few weeks, somewhere and


somehow. Now that means we will have toemploy the National Guard for that purpose,because it will constitute the large majority ofthe war army of the first six months. This beingso, it seems fundamental to me that the trainingof our officers, our staff procedure and ourmanuals, should primarily be based for use inconnection with such a force. Regular officersshould be experts regarding every considerationinvolved in the training and the leadership ofpartially trained troops; they should beimmediately familiar with the employment oforganizations below war strength and lacking inartillery and similar components, as well assupply echelons. (Bland, Papers Volume 1707–08)

During his service as Deputy Chief of Staff,Marshall came into contact with BrigadierGeneral Lloyd Fredendall, who in 1938served as the executive officer in the Office ofthe Chief of Infantry. Fredendall had a verydistinguished record, having served in WorldWar I, having attended the Command andGeneral Staff School, and having graduatedfrom the Army War College. Both Marshalland McNair became very impressed withFredendall (Ossad 5–6).

Marshall began to realize that if war came,the promotion system within the Army had tobe improved. Because the peacetime Armyhad no permanent rank higher than majorgeneral, the seniority system stated that thesenior division commander in each armyautomatically succeed to the vacant corpscommand. The result was that posts wereoften filled with generals who had months oronly weeks left to serve. Many officerswith strong records reached their commandgoals just in time to stage their final review,or mediocre officers moved upward to highcommand only because they stepped onto theescalator of rank a few months before a morequalified colleague. Marshall commented, “Iwanted to be able to put my finger on theman I wanted, so he would work like the deviland be interested in something besides the twocars and the extra bathroom his wife wanted.”With General Craig’s consent, he lobbied fortemporary lieutenant-general ranks to beestablished for the commanders of the four

armies. The Chief of Staff was now able tomake his own selection without bowing to therules of strict seniority (Pogue, Ordeal 95).Marshall also knew that if the U.S. Army

was going to be prepared for war, itmust conduct high-level demonstrationsof maneuvers to test new Army tactics,technology and leaders. However, Marshallwas having difficulties acquiring the properfunding to conduct these maneuvers. Heagain conveyed his concerns to McNair in aletter dated March 28th, 1939:

At the moment I am concerned over thepreliminary estimates being made formaneuvers and demonstrations to be financedout of the fiscal year 1941 funds, and I thoughtit might be just as well to discuss one of thephases with you direct, at this particular time.Each year, faculty and students at Leavenworthare taken up to Fort Riley for a demonstration ofartillery fire and bombing. The proposals for1941 have expanded the affair to six days, at acost of about $57,000. The same paperdiscussed the movement of the mechanizedforce to Fort Riley for a demonstration beforethe Cavalry School. The cost of this would beabout $168,000. G-3 decided that it would bebetter to move the faculty and students to FortKnox and hold the demonstration there, as thiswould cost only, all told, $15,000. I find in theestimates such pathetically small amounts as$4,000 for the maneuvers in the First CorpsArea and similar amounts for maneuvers in theThird Corps Area, and only $16,000 for theCorps Area concentration at Benning, which isa very large affair; etc., etc. Considering that theultimate training of the Army is supposed to betaken care of in the maneuvers, these minuteappropriations indicated a rather futile basis forthe development of genuine field efficiency andleadership. (Bland, Papers Volume 1 710–11)

In late 1938, a major issue was beginning tosplit the War Department in Washington.Proponents of air power began to argue thatstrategic bombing of an enemy’s industrycould itself win wars by destroying theenemy’s industrial ability and psychologicalwill to resist and had called for a largeindependent force to fulfill this task. Many


critics in the War Department disagreed withthis strategy, believing that air power wasmeant to serve in a subordinate role toground forces. Marshall was thrown into thisdebate on November 14th, 1938. Marshallaccompanied General Craig to a high levelWhite House meeting during which PresidentRoosevelt presented the plan he was going tosubmit to Congress, in which he called onCongress to fund 10,000 airplanes a year.He asked for no funds to provide crews tothose planes or to build up ground forces.Marshall believed the President’s plan wasunbalanced and made little military sense.However, no one at the meeting opposed thePresident until Roosevelt asked the silentMarshall, “Don’t you think so, George?”Marshall obviously did not. Marshall alsowas offended by the first name reference,which he said was “a misrepresentationof our intimacy.” Marshall responded,“Mr. President, I am sorry, but I don’t agreeat all.” Marshall later recalled, “That ended theconference. The President gave me a verystartled look, and when I went out they allbade me good-bye and said my tour inWashington was over” (Stoler 65). However,similar to his confrontation with GeneralPershing in 1917, Marshall’s bluntnessimpressed the President. He becamesomeone the President knew would tell himwhat he thought (Stoler 65).

CHIEF OF STAFF

With General Craig’s term as Chief of Staffcoming to a close, in April 1939 PresidentRoosevelt decided to name Marshall the nextArmy Chief of Staff. One of the main reasonsRoosevelt chose Marshall was that he wasreluctant to campaign for himself publicly,as some other generals vying for the jobwere doing. Marshall’s refusal to launch apublic campaign was based on an astuteunderstanding of his own strengths andweaknesses, along with his own sense ofmodesty. General Pershing’s support was alsovery helpful. The President invited Marshallto the White House on April 23rd to givehim the news officially. Marshall told

Roosevelt that he “wanted the right to saywhat I think, and it would often beunpleasing.” Roosevelt, remembering themeeting of 1938, responded affirmatively.The White House on April 27th officiallymade the announcement. Marshall wouldbecome acting Chief of Staff on July 1st, andwould officially take the post on September1st, 1939 (Stoler 66).As fate would have it, the day Marshall

became Chief of Staff was the day Hitlerinvaded Poland and began World War II(Stoler 68). The Army that George Marshallinherited in 1939 was very similar to itspredecessor of twenty-five years ago, prior toWorld War I. The recommendations byPershing and others to maintain a largerArmy or to institute universal military traininghad been rejected by Congress (Gimpel 91).In late 1939, the Army contained fewerthan 175,000 men, in nine divisions, rankingnineteenth in the world (Stoler 69).One of Marshall’s first orders of business

was to modernize the Command and GeneralStaff College at Fort Leavenworth, whichwas the beginning of the expansion andmodernization that would be the hallmark ofMarshall’s Chief of Staff years leading upto the U.S. entry into World War II. It wasimportant to modernize Leavenworth becauseit was the school that offered instruction inhow to manage a division and helped theArmy identify officers who would be corpsand division commanders in the future(Perret 118). For this job, Marshall selectedBrigadier General Lesley McNair. Marshallsummoned him from Fort Sill, where he wasexperimenting with the triangular divisionthat Marshall had helped develop at FortBenning. Marshall gave him command of thevery prestigious Command and General StaffSchool. Marshall commented, “I selected himvery hurriedly to give him control of FortLeavenworth, which I thought was following avery antiquated policy, particularly in regardsto the air corps” (Pogue, Ordeal 82–83).Before McNair completed the changes,

Marshall called him to the GeneralHeadquarters (GHQ), giving him the task ofcreating divisions in one to two years from


units consisting of regular Army officers andnoncoms, National Guard, Reservists andcompletely untrained selectees. AssistingMcNair with the training was another choicemade by Marshall, Mark Clark, by now aLieutenant Colonel. Clark came to the GHQafter serving time as an instructor at the ArmyStaff College. Within a year of serving in theGHQ, Clark became deputy to McNair withthe rank of Brigadier General. Due to hisdeafness, McNair often sent Clark to representhim in meetings with the Chief of Staff. Clarkcontinued to grow in Marshall’s favor as heexercised his role in developing the Army’snew training system (Pogue, Ordeal 82–83).However, Clark also began developing areputation in the Army as an arrogant,egotistical shameless self promoter (Perry 86).

Marshall knew it was important to expandthe Army, but he had to win the approval ofCongress. In the spring of 1940 he refused tosupport the movement led by private citizensto create the first peacetime draft in U.S.history. Marshall feared that his officialsupport would hurt the movement and theArmy by causing an antimilitary backlash inCongress, as well as hurting pre-existingmobilization plans. Privately, he authorizedmembers of his staff to help draft the bill. Bythe summer, Congress passed the SelectiveService Act, which instituted the draft, andthe President called up the National Guardand Reserve units (Gimpel 93). Marshallalso took the opportunity to ask Congressfor enormous sums to arm and equip thedraftees, so as to be able to create an armyof 1.5 to 2 million men by mid-1942. BySeptember Congress had agreed to theextended appropriations Marshall requested.During this period, Marshall’s influencewith Congress continued to grow. Congressbelieved the suggestions Marshall madewere in the national interest. Aides advisedPresident Roosevelt to send Marshall to testifybefore Congress for every appropriation bill.Marshall made seven trips to the Capitol fromMay 29th–June 5th. From April–September,he spent twenty-one days testifying in fifteenseparate hearings (Stoler 76). Even withCongress passing the Selective Service Act,

many Americans were still wary of such ameasure. To answer these concerns, Marshalladdressed the nation by radio on September16th, 1940:

I wish to emphasize the importance of thesepreparations. We are at peace with everynation of the world. Nevertheless, it is thefeeling of the War Department that the next sixmonths include the possibility of being the mostcritical period in the history of this nation.Ordinary common sense indicates that ourpreparations should be made accordingly. Thesituation today is utterly different from that of1917. Then we were at war-but we foresawsmall possibility of military danger to thiscountry. Today though at peace, such apossibility trembles on the verge of becoming aprobability. Then we could proceed withdeliberation. We could wait until we builtcantonments, until we first trained officers laterto train the men, until we were prepared to forma field army. We did not need to worry aboutarms, equipment or ammunition, -our allieswere prepared to supply those necessities.Today time is at a premium and modern armsand equipment must be provided by our ownindustries –Also I fear that we expect too muchof machines. We fail to realize two things: Firstthat the finest plane or tank or gun in the worldis literally worthless without technicians trainedas soldiers, hardened, seasoned and highlydisciplined to maintain and operate it; andsecond, that success in combat dependsprimarily on the development of trained combatteams composed of all arms. (Bland, PapersVolume 2 308–09)

By October 1940, more than sixteen millionmen between twenty-one and thirty-sixregistered for the draft. By the end of 1940,only 18,000 men had been inducted into theservice, but a year later, the figure had risen tomore than 900,000 (Gimpel 94).Marshall also knew how vital it was to

continue his restructuring of the promotionsystem within the Army, which had remainedvirtually unchanged since before World War I.From mid-1939 through the spring of 1940,Marshall pushed Congress for a bill thatchanged the officer selection process. In Julyof 1939, Marshall had presented a bill beforeCongress that would substitute efficiency


for seniority. Marshall believed it to be of greatimportance to increase productivity and “todevelop more rapidly practical preparationfor war.” Many officers in the Armywondered if the denial of such a long-standingArmy tradition would have a negative effect.To this concern Marshall replied, “We willhave to do that if we are going to beefficient. . .the thing is just cold business”(Watson 248). Marshall’s plan also sought tomake mandatory retirement for officers inthe higher age brackets. Testifying beforeCongress on April 8th, 1940, Marshall stated:

Some legislation of this nature shouldbe accomplished at the earliest practicablemoment. Otherwise we are getting into a ratherimpossible situation so far as the generalefficiency of the officer corps of the Army isconcerned. And I mean particularly theleadership. As it stands now, the officers in thatlast group will be so old when the time comesthat they might eventually reach the grade ofcolonel and lieutenant colonel so limited inexperience in handling men except in smallgroups that it would be a very unfortunate thingfor the army to have them suddenly jump topositions of high command and control. Whenwe move troops in the field under the difficultiesof a campaign, aggressive leadership is vital tosuccess. The efficiency of the whole armydepends upon leadership. We must have thoseleaders; and they will not develop under thepresent system. Leadership in the field dependsto an important extent on one’s legs andstomach and nervous system and on one’sability to withstand hardships and lack of sleepand still be disposed energetically andaggressively to command men, to dominatemen on the battlefield. [In World War I] Isaw 27 different divisions of ours engaged inbattle –we employed 29-and there were morereliefs of field officers due to physical reasonsthan for any other cause. Their spirit, theirtenacity of purpose, their power of leadershipover tired men, was broken through physicalfatigue. (Watson 248–49)

Congress enacted a bill for new selectivepromotions on June 13th, 1940. Thenew law helped to push younger officersup, but it still did not provide specialadvancement for officers of outstanding merit

(Watson 247–49). However, the new lawallowed Marshall to create a system in whichhe was able to train and select the officers ofnew divisions at a more rapid rate. Marshallbegan replacing many older officers withyounger, more aggressive commanders. Onlyone of the 1939 senior generals would surviveto command troops in World War II.Marshall’s “little black book” became one ofthe most feared items in the Army (Stoler 84).However, Marshall’s “little black book” wasnot without its errors. Marshall crossed offColonel James Van Fleet because his namewas similar to another colonel Marshall knewto be a drunk. Each time Van Fleet wasrecommended for brigadier general, Marshallheld up his promotion. Not until afterthe Normandy invasion did Marshall realizehe had been holding back the wrongman (Pogue, Ordeal 95–96). Members ofMarshall’s staff watched with fascination as hetook the book out and crossed off a name oradded another. Marshall removed many olderofficers who had survived years of poor payand slow promotion just as they thought theyhad reached the door of promise. Marshalllost many friendships that he had forged overhis years in the Army. It gave Marshall no joyto have that much power, and he said laterthat no task he performed pained him more.But he believed he was preparing the Armyfor war and the selection of those who couldlead in battle was his duty to the country(Pogue, Ordeal 93–95).During the same time, Marshall and McNair

began an overhaul of the National Guardleadership. Very early into his appointmentto the GHQ, McNair began shifting olderofficers in the Guard out of service. Due tothe fact that no congressional authorizationwas needed for forced retirements orreshuffling of the command in the Guard,McNair was able to start before the regularArmy began shifting and retiring officers.Because of this, many National Guard officerscried discrimination. However the statisticsshowed the percentage of field grade officersretired in the National Guard was somewhatless than the Regular Army. The highlypublicized shifts in the National Guard took


place at the division and regimental levels,where command positions often went to menwith political backgrounds or to former WorldWar I officers who had gained little commandexperience since that time. McNair foundlittle difficulty showing evidence of pooradministration and ineffective troop handlingto justify his requests for transfers and forcedretirements (Pogue, Ordeal 99).

Still, in handling the National Guardremovals, Marshall realized he must treadwarily. Many of the high ranking officershad powerful political connections in theirstates, and members of Congress were quickto intervene on their behalf. Throughout thecontroversy, Marshall retained a respectfor the National Guard. During his longassociation with the organization, hehad developed an understanding for theirproblems that helped him to keep friendshipswith their commanders. Marshall instituted apolicy by which Guard officers were given anopportunity to prove they were as efficientas regular officers. Marshall believed theweakness of the Guard officers was due tolack of training and experience. Usually it hadnothing to do with their capacity to lead.Marshall also ordered that no vacancy in aGuard unit be filled by a regular officer ifa qualified National Guard officer could befound (Pogue, Ordeal 99–100).

Marshall also brought forth new theories onthe training of officers, some of which caused aconflict with the War Department in the springof 1941. In the First World War, the Armycopied the British system of commissioningcollege trained men after a short period oftraining with the belief they would excel inleadership qualities. Marshall had originallybacked the civilian trained program sponsoredby the Reserve Officer Training Corps. Onceselective service was adopted, Marshallproposed a system in which every officer wouldhave a taste of a private’s life. Marshall wantedofficer candidates to be selected by officersunder whom they had trained. Secretary ofWar Henry L. Stimson’s advisors stronglydisagreed with Marshall’s suggestion. Thisdisagreement led to a larger battle overwhether the Chief of Staff or the civilian

members of the War Department woulddetermine policy. Marshall directly toldStimson that he must decide whether he wouldfollow the suggestions of the Chief of Staff orhis civilian advisors. Marshall stated to Stimsonthat if civilian military camps were held, hewould resign. Stimson then made it clear toMarshall that he would follow his advice. Withthe new system in place, Marshall watchedclosely over the first officer class at FortBenning. He insisted that officers be chosenfor mental ability and qualities of leadershipfrom units throughout the Army and thencarefully trained and tested for their knowledgeof weapons and tactics. Marshall knew thatthese officers would fight brutally tough battlesduring the first six months of a war whenproperly trained troops and adequate weaponswere often lacking (Pogue,Ordeal 102–03).In the summer of 1941, the great relations

Marshall had established with Congress werebeginning to wane. Some in Congress beganaccusing Marshall of being Roosevelt’s servantand of becoming as much of a manipulatorand conspirator as the President. Theseattacks were due to the fact Marshall stronglysupported an extension to the draft. Many inCongress considered this a betrayal of the1940 Act. Marshall told friends, “I am beingcalled Benedict Arnold, a skunk, HitlerMarshall, a stooge, traitor, etc, etc.” (Stoler83). Even with this harsh criticism, Marshallpersuaded Congress to extend the draft,but by the narrowest margin. In AugustCongress voted to extend the draft by a voteof 203–202 (Stoler 83).During Marshall’s time as Chief of Staff

from September of 1939 to the summer of1941, he oversaw the first peacetime draft inU.S. history, which help to expand the Armyfrom fewer than 200,000 to a force of over1.4 million men. During this time, Marshallbecame one of the most respected menin Washington and the individual mostresponsible for preparing the U.S. for WorldWar II (Stoler 83).With all the changes Marshall oversaw, he

realized it was important to test them inaction. In August and September 1941,Marshall organized and launched war games


across thousands of miles in Louisiana andTexas, involving half a million men. Themaneuvers acted as a proving ground for newrecruits, new equipment, and new techniques,including the use of paratroopers. Above allMarshall would use the games to find strongcandidates for combat commands in the future(Gimpel 97–98). During the maneuversColonel Dwight D. Eisenhower excelled andagain came to Marshall’s attention (Stoler82). Eisenhower designed the plans for the“blue force,” which successfully defeated the“red force.” Eisenhower’s use of infantry wasable to halt the armored columns of the redforce. The blue force proceeded to pin theiropponents against the Red River, then cutthem off from their supply lines. Immediatelyafter the maneuvers, Marshall promoted thoseofficers who performed well, and forced outmany officers he deemed had done poorly.For his performance in the maneuvers,Eisenhower rose to Brigadier General (Perry8). Eisenhower’s ability to make quickdecesions involving thousands of troops was avital quality that made Eisenhower so valubleto Marshall (Perry 28–29). In November1941, Marshall again conducted moremaneuvers, this time in the Carolinas. MajorGeneral Lloyd Fredendall, who in July hadbeen given command of U.S. II Corps,performed very well in the maneuvers,continuing to impress Marshall (Generals 43).Congress complained about the cost ofmounting the exercises, but Marshallcontended that they were vital to the Army: “Iwant the mistake to be made in Louisiana, notover in Europe, and the only way to do this isto try it out, and if it doesn’t work, find whatwe need and make it work” (Gimpel 98).

THE U.S. IN WORLD WAR II

The December 7th attacks on Pearl Harborby the Japanese forever changed America.The war Marshall had been preparing for hadfinally arrived (Stoler 87).

Immediately following the attacks, Marshallsent an urgent message to General DouglasMacArthur:

Hostilities between Japan and the United States,British Commonwealth and Dutch havecommenced. Japanese made air raid on PearlHarbor this morning December 7th. Carry outtasks assigned Rainbow 5 so far as they pertainto Japan. In addition cooperate with the Britishand Dutch to the utmost without jeopardizingthe accomplishment of your primary mission ofdefense of the Philippines. You are authorizedto dispatch air units to operate temporarily fromsuitable bases in cooperation with the British orDutch. Report daily major dispositions and alloperations. You have the complete confidenceof the War Department and we assure you ofevery possible assistance and support within ourpower. (Bland, Papers Volume 3 8)

It was clear that the U.S. was not ready fortotal war against the Axis Powers of Germany,Italy and Japan. The U.S. still had too manyweaknesses. However, it was much moreprepared than it had been back in 1917, andthis preparedness was mainly due to theactions of Marshall. As General Omar Bradleynoted after Pearl Harbor: “I thought how luckywe were to have George Catlett Marshall asChief of Staff. In his two and a half years incommand, he had laid the groundworknecessary for us to go to war” (Bradley 103).While Marshall was only the Army Chief ofStaff, it became clear at the onset of the warthat he was Roosevelt’s most trusted militaryadvisor. The other members of the JointChiefs of Staff—Chief of Naval OperationsAdmiral Ernest King and Roosevelt’s militaryaide Admiral William D. Leahy—oftendeferred to Marshall’s judgment. America’sWorld War II strategy was partially in hishands. Consequently, Marshall becamebombarded with demands for more warplanes, transports, ships, tanks, trainers, andsoldiers (Perry 20). Marshall would laterchange the make up of the Joints Chiefswhen, in early 1942, he began allowingGeneral Arnold to sit in on every staffmeeting. By treating the Army Air Forces as aseparate unit, Marshall all but guaranteed thatin the wake of World War II the Air Forceswould become the United States Air Force.Marshall commented, “I tried to give Arnoldall the power I could. I tried to make him as


nearly as I could Chief of Staff of the Airwithout any restraint” (Perry 66-67).

As quickly as he could, Marshallimplemented changes he knew needed to bemade for victory. Shortly after Pearl Harbor,he turned all Army recruiting and training overto Lieutenant General Lesley McNair. McNairdesigned a thirteen-week course that quicklyprepared Americans to fight the Germansand Japanese. McNair also established theArmy specialty schools for airborne andarmor. Marshall rarely disagreed withMcNair’s actions, and never intervened in histraining regimen (Perry 21). General Bradleycommented, “Thanks to McNair; the GI ofWorld War II was far better trained than thedoughboy of World War I, or any previous warin our history” (Bradley 92). Marshall alsoadopted the plan of keeping the number ofAmerican divisions low. Marshall wanted tomaintain the smallest number of divisions atmaximum strength. Marshall believed it wasbetter to use fresh manpower to restore thefighting strength of existing divisions, than tocontinually create new ones. Marshall’sdevotion to the smallest number of divisionsat maximum strength brought him intoconflict with Stimson and the WarDepartment. Stimson was very concernedthat the Army was too small to achievevictory. The total number of divisionsMarshall submitted to the War Departmentwas 91, with two divisions being inactivatedlong before the war was over. At its peakstrength of 5.9 million personnel, it was lessthan half the size of the Red Army, slightlysmaller than Germany’s and not much largerthan Japan’s. Marshall’s “90 division gamble”was continually questioned throughout the war(Perret 118).

Soon after the bombings of Pearl Harbor,Marshall began negotiations with the Britishon a variety of issues, the most importantbeing a unified command between the Britishand the Americans. Marshall stated to aBritish Delegation that a lack of unifiedcommand in World War I had causedenormous difficulties. The British wereshocked by this request, believing theAmericans knew nothing about how to fight a

large scale war. On the morning of December27th, Marshall persuaded the President toback his initiative. Under pressure fromMarshall and the President, the BritishCommand accepted the idea of a unifiedcommand in all the operational theaters (Dearand. Foot 493–95).Along with the difficulties Marshall was

encountering with the British, the war itselfstarted off very badly for the Americans. OnMarch 11th, 1942 General DouglasMacArthur was ordered to flee thePhilippines, which soon fell to the Japanese.The Axis commanders began labelingMacArthur as spineless and calling U.S.soldiers weak. In Berlin, MacArthur wasdescribed as “the fleeing general.” In RomeMussolini called him a “coward.” A Japanesenewspaper called him a “deserter” who “fledhis post.” Marshall decided the bestpropaganda to counter the Axis would be togive MacArthur the Medal of Honor.Eisenhower disagreed, but Marshall sent therecommendation to the President, whoapproved. MacArthur received the award onMarch 26th at a banquet given for him by theAustralian Prime Minster (Manchester 275).By June of 1942, Marshall needed to select

a general to command U.S. forces in Europe.He asked General McNair for his opinion onwho should command troops in Europe.McNair suggested General Patton, Stilwell orFredendall. Marshall agreed that any of thesemen would do a solid job. Marshall then askedClark if he believed it would be better to select ayounger man for the position. Clark said he didand suggested Dwight Eisenhower. On June7th, Marshall asked Eisenhower what kind ofcommander the U.S. needed. Eisenhowersaid the commander “must enjoy the fullestconfidence of the Chief of Staff in order thathe may efficiently, and in accordance with thebasic ideas of the Chief of Staff, conduct all thepreparatory work for the successful initiationof Bolero.” On June 11th, Marshall officiallynamed Dwight Eisenhower Commander ofU.S. Forces, European theater of operations(Perry 91–95).With Eisenhower in command of Europe,

Marshall began developing the strategy for


North Africa. Marshall pulled out his “littleblack book” and began working withEisenhower on commanders for the invasion.Marshall was especially fond of Major GeneralLloyd Fredendall, describing him as “one ofthe best.” At a staff meeting during whichFredendall’s name was mentioned, Marshallsaid, “I like that man; you can seedetermination all over his face” (Ossard 7).Perhaps as a result of Marshall’s favorabledisposition toward Fredendall, Eisenhowerchose Fredendall to command the 39,000man Central Task Force (Ossard 7).

The North African Campaign began onNovember 8th, 1942 (Dear and Foot 495).Almost immediately, problems withFredendall arose. Fredendall had arrived at hisdesignated headquarters in Tebessa, Tunisia,weeks before the main invasion and seemedmore concerned with establishing an elaborateheadquarters than with waging war. Heordered an engineering regiment to tunnel hiscommand headquarters into a hill south of thecity, which he named “Speedy Valley” (Perry159–60). Fredendall also appeared veryskittish in the field, and seemed to becomeshrill and confused at the first sign of combatpressure. In February 1943, the U.S. engagedthe Germans for the first time at KasserinePass. The American defense was ill-prepared,and within two days Fredendall’s II Corp wasrouted by General Rommel. At the height ofthe battle, Fredendall decamped from hisobservation position and moved to the rear ofthe lines. After the battle, Major GeneralErnest Harmon was sent by Eisenhower toassess Fredendall’s performance. Harmoncommented, “He’s no damn good, you oughtto get rid of him. He is a common, low son ofa bitch and a physical and moral coward.”General Omar Bradley, also sent by Marshallto be Eisenhower’s “eyes and ears,”commented to Eisenhower that all of thedivision commanders had lost confidence inFredendall. Within a week Lieutenant GeneralGeorge S. Patton replaced Fredendall (Perry165–-68).

By May 1943, the Allies had cleared NorthAfrica of the German resistance. AgainMarshall and the Joint Chiefs pushed for an

invasion of France. Churchill and the British,however, wanted to take the war into Italy.Marshall argued that nothing should beallowed to interfere with the coming invasionof France. Eventually, the Allies agreed uponan invasion of France in May 1944. WithMarshall’s blessing, the Allies launched aninvasion of Sicily on July 10th, 1943 and aninvasion of Italy on September 3rd of thatsame year (Dear and Foot 496). LieutenantGeneral Mark Clark took command of theU.S. Fifth Army, which led the invasion ofItaly. Eisenhower recommended Clark for theposition, and Marshall approved. Clark wouldeventually become commander of all Alliedforces in Italy, and would receive thesurrender of German forces in Italy in 1945(Dear and Foot 243).At the Teheran Conference in late 1943, it

was finally agreed that the invasion ofmainland Europe—code named OperationOverlord—would be set for May of 1944(Dear and Foot 498). With the date forOverlord set, a decision needed to be madeon who would command it. At Tehran, theAllies agreed that the commander would bean American. Marshall clearly wanted tocommand the operation, and he seemed tobe the logical choice. However many in theArmy (including the retired General Pershing)believed it would be a mistake to switch theChief of Staff in the middle of a war. Pershingsuggested that the Overlord command was ademotion for Marshall. Many in the WarDepartment believed Marshall needed to stayin Washington D.C. because of his ability tooversee all the different theaters of war and towork with Roosevelt and Churchill. Marshallhad been so successful regarding interservice,civil-military, and Allied coordination thatmany in the War Department believedif Marshall left there would be disastrousconsequences for the U.S. war effort.Roosevelt attempted to organize thecommand structure so Marshall could serve asboth Chief of Staff and Overlord Commander,but he could not arrange it. Roosevelt hadgreat respect for Marshall and wanted tomake him the “Pershing of the Second WorldWar.” Roosevelt was willing to give Marshall


command of Overlord and make Eisenhowerthe Chief of Staff, if Marshall requested it.However, Marshall was not willing to do so.Marshall desired the Overlord command, buthis sense of duty was more important to himthan his own personal preference. In the end,Roosevelt chose Eisenhower to commandOverlord. Roosevelt explained to Marshall, “Ifeel I could not sleep at night, with you out ofthe country” (Stoler 106–08).

Marshall was disappointed in the President’sdecision, but he had full confidence inEisenhower’s command abilities. The two mostimportant topics they discussed in early 1944were the size of the invasion bridgehead and thegenerals who would be given high levelcommands. Eisenhower suggested anexpansion of the bridgehead from three to fivedivisions. Marshall also agreed to put OmarBradley in charge of the U.S. First Army andthen the U.S. Army Group that would becreated after the landings in France. Directlybelow Bradley would be General CourtneyHodges, Marshall’s old friend from thePhilippines (Stoler 112–13). In a letter dated16 February 1944, General Bradley wroteGeneral Marshall from England commentingon the situation of the First Army’s Staff:

We were all disappointed that you could not joinus over here but everyone realizes that yourservices in Washington are probably even moreimportant. Since you could not come, we werevery glad that General Eisenhower was senthere. As you know he commands the respect ofthe British as well as the Americans. The FirstArmy Staff which I was able to form from thekey people I brought from Africa and the peopleI secured while I was back in the states is a veryfine one. Of course, several did not measure upbut with so many strong members it was easy tofind the weak spots and make changespromptly. The Army Group staff is wellorganized expect for some of the special staffselections which are a little behind and arebeing completed now. (Bradley)

All the years of effort Marshall and manyothers had put in came to a head on June 6th,1944 with launching of Operation Overlord.The hard-fought success of Overlord put the

Allies on the final road to victory in Europe(Gimpel 125).

CONCLUSION

In early 1944, Time Magazine namedGeorge Marshall its Man of the Year,proclaiming that “American Democracy is thestuff Marshall is made of” (Stoler 129). InDecember of that year, Roosevelt obtainedfor Marshall his fifth star, making him the firstfive star general, with the rank “General of theArmy” (Stoler 109, 111). Winston Churchilllabeled Marshall the “organizer of victory”and “the noblest Roman of them all” (Stoler129–30). Secretary of War Stimson toldMarshall, “You, sir, are the finest soldier Ihave ever known” (Stoler 130). These twoactions and the comments from Churchill andStimson clearly show the invaluable effectMarshall’s leadership was to the United Statesand allied war effort during World War II.Marshall’s ability to implement the changesneeded to modernize the Army, along withhis ability to exercise his chain of command,set up the U.S. for victory in World War II.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank everyone involved withthe Summer Undergraduate Research Institutefor giving me the opportunity to researchGeorge Marshall, especially Colonel Turnerand Ms. Hardin. I would also like to thankColonel Muir for everything he did to makethis paper the best it could be. Without him asa mentor, I truly believe this paper neverwould have gotten off the ground. I wouldalso like to thank the staff at the GeorgeMarshall Research Library for being so helpfulthroughout the whole process of writingthe paper.

WORKS CITED

Bland, Larry I. George C. Marshall Interviewsand Reminiscences for Forrest C. Pogue.Lexington: George C. Marshall Foundation,1996.


———. The Papers of George C. Marshall VolumeI: “The Soldierly Spirit” December 1880-June1939. Baltimore: John Hopkins UP, 1981.

———. The Papers of George Catlett MarshallVolume 2:“We Cannot Delay” July 1, 1939–December 6th, 1941. Baltimore: John HopkinsUP, 1986.

Bland, Larry I. and Sharon Ritenour. The Papers ofGeorge Catlett Marshall Volume 3: “The RightMan for the Job” December 7, 1941–May 31,1943. Baltimore: John Hopkins UP, 1991.

Blumenson, Martin. Mark Clark. New York:Congdon, 1984.

Bradley, Omar N. A General’s Life. New York:Simon, 1983.

Clark, Mark Wayne. “Clark, Mark Wayne,1938–1943.” George C. Marshall Papers. Box61, Folder 14.

Cray, Ed. General of the Army George C.Marshall: Soldier and Statesman. New York:Norton, 1990.

Dear, I.C.B and Foot, M.R.D. The OxfordCompanion to World War II. New York:Oxford UP, 1995.

Gimpel, Lee. Fighting Wars Planning For Peace:The Story of George C. Marshall. Greensboro:Morgan, 2005.

King, Campbell. “Fort Benning Correspondence:March 1932–June 15th 1932.” George C.Marshall Papers. Box 1, Folder 1.

Manchester, William. American Caesar: DouglasMacArthur 1880–1964. Boston: Little, 1978.

Marshall, George C. “Bradley, Omar N.” GeorgeC. Marshall Papers. Box 58, Folder 9.

Ossard, Steven L. “Command Failures” BNETOnline. March 2003 <http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qa3723/is200303/ai_n9222724>.

Perret, Geoffrey. There’s A War to Be Won:The United States Army in World War II.New York: Random, 1991.

Perry, Mark. Partners in Command. New York:Penguin, 2007.

Pogue, Forest C. George C. Marshall: Educationof a General 1880–1939. New York: Viking,1963.

———. George C. Marshall: Ordeal and Hope1939–1942. New York: Viking, 1966.

Rooker, Barry. George C. Marshall and DouglasMacArthur: Two Different Worlds. Dissertation,Virginia Military Institute, 1987.

Stoler, Mark A. George C. Marshall: Soldier-Statesman of the American Century.New York: Twayne, 1989.

Watson, Mark S. Chief of Staff: PrewarPlans and Preparation. Washington D.C:Historical Division Department of the Army,1950.

WORKS CONSULTED

O’Neill, William L. Oxford World War II: AStudent Companion. New York: Oxford UP,1999.

These are the Generals. New York: Knopf, 1943.


ABOUT THECONTRIBUTING EDITORS

Elena Andreeva holds a Ph.D. in Middle Eastern Studies from New York University. Herresearch focuses on the interaction between East and West, Iranian history and culture in the19th and early 20th centuries, and aspects of colonialism and imperialism in the Middle East. Shehas published articles on Persian and Dari literature, on Russian Orientalism, and on Russiantravelers to Iran. Her manuscript entitled Russia and Iran in the Great Game: Travelogues andOrientalism was published by Routledge in 2007. Dr. Andreeva’s current project examines“Orient” in Russian arts, including music, paintings, and literature.

James V. Beck has a bachelor’s degree from Tufts University, a master’s degree from theMassachusetts Institute of Technology, and a Ph.D. from Michigan State University. His areas ofresearch are in heat transfer, inverse problems, and optimal experiment design. Dr. Beck isProfessor Emeritus of Mechanical Engineering at Michigan State University.

Joseph R. Blandino received his Ph.D. in Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering from theUniversity of Virginia. His research interests are in the area of membrane and inflatable structuresand thermal-structural interactions. Dr. Blandino is a Professor of Mechanical Engineering at theVirginia Military Institute.

Scott Bryson received his Ph.D. from the University of Kentucky. He is the author of The WestSide of Any Mountain: Place, Space, and Ecopoetry (University of Iowa Press, 2005) and hasedited or co-edited several collections of criticism on nature writing, including Ecopoetry: ACritical Introduction, Twentieth-Century American Nature Poetry, and Twentieth-CenturyAmerican Nature Writing: Prose. His current scholarship focuses on urban theory and culture,primarily as it relates to the phenomenon of Los Angeles literature. Dr. Bryson is a Professor ofEnglish at Mount St. Mary’s College in Los Angeles.

Elizabeth Cummins completed her Ph.D. at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaignafter completing a Fulbright at the University of Bristol (U.K.) and an M.A. at the University ofSouth Dakota. Her areas of expertise are American literature and culture, literature by women,and science fiction. She has published articles and books on the work of Ursula K. Le Guin andon Judith Merril. Dr. Cummins is Professor Emerita in the Department of English and TechnicalCommunication at Missouri University of Science and Technology.


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Paul Heilker is Co-Director of the Ph.D. Program in Rhetoric and Writing and AssociateProfessor of English at Virginia Tech, where he teaches courses in writing, rhetorical theory,composition pedagogy, and literary nonfiction. He was recently named a member of theuniversity’s Academy of Teaching Excellence. He is the author of The Essay: Theory andPedagogy for an Active Form (NCTE, 1996) and co-editor (with Peter Vandenberg) ofKeywords in Composition Studies (Heinemann, 1996). Dr. Heilker’s work has appeared insuch venues as College Composition and Communication, Rhetoric Review, Computers andComposition, Composition Studies, and The Writing Instructor.

Gregory N. Hartman completed his doctoral studies in 2002 at Virginia Tech and spent threeyears as a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Arizona working with some of the leaders of theCalculus Reform movement. His current mathematical research studies the properties offunctions derived from a generalized directrix. He is also working with colleagues to develop lowcost, interactive digital texts for undergraduate use. Dr. Hartman is an Associate Professor ofMathematics and Computer Science at the Virginia Military Institute.

Meagan C. Herald received her doctorate in Mathematics from the University of Utah in 2007.Her area of expertise is mathematical immunology, and her scholarly endeavors include modelingmore general topics in immunology, epidemiology, and bacterial interactions. Dr. Herald is anAssistant Professor of Mathematics and Computer Science at the Virginia Military Institute.

Kurt Jefferson holds a holds a Ph.D. from the University of Missouri. His most recentpublications include “Tito’s War: Yugoslav Partisan leader Josip Broz took on Hitler andStalin—and beat them both” and “Rusia, una gran potencia” (“Russia, a great power”). He isalso the author of Christianity’s Impact on World Politics: Not by Might, nor by Power (PeterLang, 2002). Dr. Jefferson is a Professor of Political Science and Department Chair atWestminster College.

R. Geoffrey Jensen received his Ph.D. in History from Yale University. He has previouslytaught at UCLA, Yale University, the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst (U.K.), and theUniversity of Southern Mississippi, where he co-directed the Center for the Study of War andSociety. His publications include books and articles on European military history, the history ofSpain, and the Spanish army’s cultural perceptions and civil affairs projects in North Africa. Dr.Jensen holds the John C. Biggs ‘30 Cincinnati Chair in Military History at VMI.

Keith A. Kline holds a doctorate in Experimental Psychology from the University of Tennessee.His research interests focus on cardiovascular responses prior to, during, and following exposureto acute laboratory stressors and the cognitive, affective, and behavioral correlates of thoseresponses. Dr. Kline is an Associate Professor of Psychology at the Virginia Military Institute.

Lea R. Lanz completed her doctoral studies at Auburn University in 2003 under the guidance ofGreg Harris and William Yin. Her academic interests include studying the uniqueness andexistence of solutions to boundary value problems in differential equations and working withstudents in undergraduate research. Dr. Lanz is an Assistant Professor of Mathematics at theVirginia Military Institute.

James E. Mahon received his M. Phil from Cambridge University and his Ph.D. fromDuke University. He works mainly in the area of moral theory. Recent publications include"The Definition of Lying and Deceiving" (Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, 2008) and"The Truth about Kant on Lies" (The Philosophy of Deception, Oxford UP, 2009). Dr. Mahon


is Associate Professor and Chair of the Philosophy Department at Washington and LeeUniversity.

W. Wayne Neel holds a Ph.D. in Mechanical Engineering from North Carolina State University.His areas of research include mechanics and manufacturing in the context of historicaltechnology, musical and architectural acoustics, mechanics of machines, and numerical controlof manufacturing. Dr. Neel is a Professor of Mechanical Engineering at the Virginia MilitaryInstitute.

David A. Rachels completed his doctoral studies in English at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. His most recent book is a collection of Mark Twain’s Civil War writings. Dr. Rachelsis a Professor of English and Fine Arts at the Virginia Military Institute.

Daniela M. Topasna received her doctorate from Virginia Polytechnic Institute and StateUniversity. Her research focuses on organic thin films and nanoscale materials. She is anAssociate Professor of Physics and Astronomy at the Virginia Military Institute.

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTING EDITORS 113

UNDERGRADUATE RESEARCHAT VMI

New Horizons represents the latestfacet of the VMI Undergraduate

Research Initiative (URI), established in2001 by directive of the Dean of Faculty,Dr. Charles F. Brower, IV (BrigadierGeneral, U.S. Army Retired). The goalof the URI is to provide cadets withmeaningful undergraduate academic researchexperiences through one-on-one interactionwith faculty mentors both inside and outsidethe traditional classroom environment. Overthe course of its history, URI efforts topromote cadet research have focused on thefollowing objectives:

r Revision of the curriculum and elevationof cadet standards and expectationsmaking cadet participation in researchprojects a typical part of the VMIacademic experience.

r Solidification of faculty support through:1) incentives merited by the additionalresponsibilities of supervising individualcadet research projects and 2) theallocation of additional faculty positionsin designated areas of expertise.

r Expansion of institutional support tocadets involved in research and theirfaculty mentors.

Since its inception, the VMI UndergraduateResearch Initiative has expanded in manydirections, thanks to ongoing administrativesupport, the generosity of alumniorganizations, cadets’ intellectual curiosity,and faculty enterprise. Currently, the URIfunds various grant programs and symposia insupport of cadet research made available to

departments, faculty, and cadets through avariety of programs.The URI laid the foundation for

undergraduate research at VMI through itsDepartment/Program Innovation Grantsfor Developing Programs. InnovationGrants provide funding to departments andprograms offering capstone researchexperiences with the following priorities:1)those without a capstone research experience intheir curriculum, but proposing to developand implement one; 2) those already having aplan for a capstone research experience, butneeding funds for implementation; 3) thosealready having a fully functioning capstoneresearch experience, but seeking funds toimprove it; 4) and those already having a fullyfunctioning capstone research experience, butseeking funds to reward participating facultymentors.Cadets seeking research funds may apply to

the Wetmore Cadet Research Fund, acompetitive grant process which allows themto purchase supplies, to travel to symposiafocused on their thesis research, to continuewith the previous summer’s research, and/orto conduct field studies. Wetmore funds areallocated by academic session and areavailable throughout the year.URI Cadet Research Resources also

subsidize travel, allowing cadets to presenttheir project results at meetings/symposia orto conduct field research in preparation forcompletion of research leading to an honorsthesis during the academic year or summersessions.One of the most successful initiatives of

the URI, the Summer Undergraduate


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Research Institute (SURI) provides fundingon a competitive basis for cadet-facultyresearch teams representing almost everyacademic department at VMI. Each cadetreceives a cash award along with free tuition,room, and board for ten weeks, while eachfaculty mentor receives a stipend. Cadets alsoearn 6 academic credit hours for their work.

In addition to the mentored researchprojects, the Summer Institute sponsors anorientation session, guest speakers, and socialfunctions. Cadets present the results of theirproject in a research symposium held inSeptember.

All cadets are invited to submit a proposal tothe Undergraduate Research Symposium(URS), held annually in April. Cadetpresenters at the URS discuss the results oftheir research in a poster exhibition hall(informal demonstrations) or in a formalsession (lecture format) as part of a specialcampus-wide day of events. Invited facultymembers from other colleges and universitiesassist in the evaluation of cadet presentations.The three top-rated cadets in each academicdivision (science, engineering, and humanities)are honored at an awards dinner in theevening.

The evaluation of cadets’ work andconstructive feedback we have received fromour colleagues from other campuses havehelped us to improve the Symposium eachyear. As an added benefit, the interactionsbetween VMI faculty and the external judgeshave laid the groundwork for future, inter-institutional collaborations on undergraduateresearch.

Perhaps the most significant cooperativeeffort in support of cadet research to date was

the 2005 National Conference onUndergraduate Research, jointly sponsoredby VMI and neighboring Washington & LeeUniversity. Two thousand undergraduateresearchers, along with three hundredprofessors and administrators representingthree hundred colleges, attended the three-day conference held on the hosting campuses.An unexpected outcome of URI-supported

undergraduate research activities has been thecreation of cadet-developed intellectualproperty. Currently the URI is assistingseveral cadet teams through the process ofobtaining patent protection for theirinventions. Additionally, we have used thereal-world examples of these cadet inventionsas case studies in an academic classroomsetting, specifically as the subject of amarketing and business plan development ina course on entrepreneurship.The URI is led by Dr. James E Turner,

Director of Undergraduate Research, andProfessor of Chemistry/Biology, who wasappointed to this position in 2001 by the Deanof Faculty. As Director of UndergraduateResearch, Dr. Turner chairs the URICommittee, which comprises representativesfrom all VMI academic departments, and isresponsible for the management and operationof the various undergraduate researchprograms and activities, as well as strategicplanning of the URI. Professor Turner, byvirtue of his position, is a member of theDean’s extended staff and reports to that officein all URI matters.

Source. Dr. James E. Turner, Director ofUndergraduate Research, Virginia MilitaryInstitute


IN MEMORIAM

William J. Stockwell, Ph.D.(1952–2009)

Professor of Physical Education

Associate Dean of Faculty

Acting Deputy Superintendent and Dean of Faculty

Colleague and Mentor

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New Horizons - 2009

Documents

Transcript of New Horizons - 2009