The Lights Are Going Out

IN the ROTC at Princeton before the last war, a knowledge of horsemanship was required of every cadet. Automation was fast overtaking the field artillery, but I guess the theory was that, at the very least, the training would come in handy for polo. On the great day when our lessons were to start, the lieutenant in charge herded his beardless cavaliers into the riding arena, stationed himself before a prime specimen of equus equus, and began at the very beginning.

“Gentlemen,” he declared in his best parade tones, “this is a horse. This is its head, and that is its tail.” And so, step by patient step, taking nothing for granted, he led us through the elements of the subject until, at last, we were able to jump respectable hurdles and drive a six-horse team and caisson through a figure-eight.

WA

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William A. Rusher

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IN the ROTC at Princeton before the last war, a knowledge of horsemanship was required of every cadet. Automation was fast overtaking the field artillery, but I guess the theory was that, at the very least, the training would come in handy for polo. On the great day when our lessons were to start, the lieutenant in charge herded his beardless cavaliers into the riding arena, stationed himself before a prime specimen of equus equus, and began at the very beginning.

“Gentlemen,” he declared in his best parade tones, “this is a horse. This is its head, and that is its tail.” And so, step by patient step, taking nothing for granted, he led us through the elements of the subject until, at last, we were able to jump respectable hurdles and drive a six-horse team and caisson through a figure-eight.