Michael D. Matthews, PhD
2007-08 Division 19 President
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The summer of 1953 was the hottest in Missouri since the dustbowl years. World War II veteran Del Matthews and his wife, Maurine, were eking out a living in Richland, Missouri. Maurine was in the last weeks of pregnancy. Daytime highs soared above 100, and the night temperatures rarely cooled below 80 degrees. To stay cool, Del and Maurine slept outside, occasionally dipping a sheet in a bucket of water that, when placed over them, helped ease the heat a little bit. Times were hard, and the weather didn’t help.
September came but the fierce heat continued. On the 10th of September, Maurine made it to the hospital in nearby Springfield, Missouri and gave birth to a 9 pound, 10 ounce boy. Michael Dean Matthews was born into a loving family that included two older brothers. The oldest, Gary, at age 15 was already away at college. Glen, age six, was just figuring out how to tie his shoes. Little did Del and Maurine know that together their three sons would eventually earn eight undergraduate and graduate degrees collectively. One (Gary) would become an Ambassador for the United States. Another (Glen) became a well-respected middle school teacher and counselor, and the youngest (Michael) would become a psychologist, university professor, military strategist, and widely-cited behavioral scientist. Since this is an autobiography, it is time to make the transition from third to first person. I was that third son, and there was nothing in my early childhood to indicate that I would ever excel in a profession. My brothers and I were raised in working class neighborhoods. I cannot think of a single friend I had through high school who was from a middle or upper class family. As far as I know, none of my friends had a parent with a college degree. My parents came of age in the Great Depression and, like their own parents, did not have the opportunity to attend college. But their dream was for each of their sons to attend college and to enter a profession. I am happy to report they were “three for three” in achieving this dream. We never had a new car (or a new bike), never ate at restaurants, and always saved money however we could. We did not take vacations like people do today. I did not travel out of the state of Missouri until I was a teen, and then only to visit cousins in Oklahoma, a 3-hour drive. Mom and Dad did not purchase their own home until I was in college; not surprisingly, given their frugal ways, they were able to pay cash for it. |
Today we would probably be considered the working poor. But in southwest Missouri in the 1950s and 1960s, this was the norm. I never felt deprived. Our friends, relatives, and neighbors were in the same circumstances. We were well fed and well clothed. Mom and Dad emphasized the importance of school, but were not pushy about it nor did they punish me when (all too often) I came home with an average report card. Looking back on it, I think they intuitively “got” Carl Rogers’ concept of unconditional positive regard. Their opinion of me wasn’t linked to my report card, and I was raised in a positive and loving environment.
Through grade school and middle school I showed absolutely zero promise of scholarly achievement. I wanted to be an astronaut or, as I grew older, a meteorologist. But mostly I hung out with my friends, playing and having a good time. I don’t remember doing homework in elementary or middle school. We were probably assigned some, but I didn’t do it. I could make good grades if I liked a topic, but for the most part I just meandered through those early years.
Things began to change in the eighth grade, and I can thank my brother Glen, at least in part. Glen was in his freshman year at the University of Missouri (unlike me, Glen was always a good student). One of his first-year classes was introductory psychology. When he came home on break I found his psychology text in the back seat of his car. I am not sure why it caught my interest, but I borred the book and read it cover to cover before he returned to college. It was the first serious book I ever read, and I especially liked reading about the theories and experiments of Ivan Pavlov and B. F. Skinner. I remember thinking that Freud’s theory was nonsense — a conclusion that I have not yet been disabused of. In any case, I was hooked. At age 13 I decided to become a psychologist!
Despite this inspiration, my academic performance in high school wasn’t much better than it had been in the earlier grades. I made mostly “Cs” and “Bs” with only the occasional “A.” But I was beginning to think more deeply about things. My English teacher, Ms. Joan Collins, was very inspirational. Through writing and literature, we tackled the significant social issues of the late 1960s. Race relations, the Vietnam War, and poverty were topics of deep inquiry. My grades didn’t reflect it, but I was processing information in a different — and deeper — way than I had previously. But for the most part, academics remained less important to me than basketball (I wasn’t very good, but managed to earn a varsity letter), dating, and hanging out with friends.
Nevertheless, I took the college prep track in high school. Then, in my senior year, I was finally able to take a psychology course. I never studied so hard in my life — motivated by deep interest and a desire to excel — and I earned an A for the course. This course was taught by a history teacher, Mr. Hensley, but it reinforced my passion for psychology. I even conducted an empirical study — I found an intelligence test, gave it to my classmates, and then used it to predict final grades for the class. We didn’t have a statistics class in high school, but somehow I figured out what a Pearson’s Product correlation coefficient was, what it meant, and how to calculate it. I don’t remember the magnitude of the correlation coefficient, but it was a statistically significant predictor of class grades. On the strength of my performance in the psychology course, I graduated from Hillcrest High School with a grade point average of 2.7. (To the surprise of anyone who knew me then, and certainly to my own astonishment, I was inducted into my High School’s Hall of Fame in 2007.) Clearly, if I wanted to be a psychologist, I was going to have to do better in college.
I matriculated at Drury College in the fall of 1971. In the week leading to the start of the semester, I met with my freshman orientation group (FOG) to help prepare for college level work. I was fully aware of my lackluster performance in high school, and wanted to do better. And for added motivation, the Vietnam War was still raging and I had no desire to flunk out of college and end up carrying a rifle in the rice paddies of Southeast Asia. Each FOG was led by a faculty advisor, in my case, a sociologist by the name of Marvin Layman. One day, after an orientation session, Dr. Layman asked if I knew how to be successful in college. Of course I said I didn’t. He then told me that the secret to success in college was simply to complete all of the homework prior to attending class. You may have been expecting a more profound insight, but for me this was an epiphany! From the first day of classes my freshman year, until I graduated magna cum laude four years later, I obsessively followed his advice. Woody Allen is often quoted as saying “80 percent of success is showing up.” I think he is only half right. You need to show up prepared.
I took general psychology my first semester at Drury. It was taught by Dr. Victor Agruso. Dr. Agruso maintained a strong behaviorist approach to psychology, and I was enthralled. He was something of a radical, intellectually speaking. Very smart, very funny, and on top of the latest developments in psychology. And, he drove a white sports car. I decided then and there I wanted to grow up and be just like Dr. Agruso. I could not have made a better choice for a role model. He mentored me through Drury, advised me on graduate school, and continued to mentor me after I had finished my doctorate. We continue to be friends to this day. I owe everything I have achieved as a psychologist to the nurturing and support of Dr. Agruso.
Four years flew by and in the fall of 1975 I began the one year Master of Arts degree in experimental psychology at Hollins College. In those days, Hollins College had perhaps the most highly regarded, pre-doctoral master’s degree program in the United States. The curriculum was heavily research oriented. To graduate in a year, I completed four research practica, each based on an experiment I conducted and requiring a full APA report, plus a thesis based on yet another research project. My advisor was Dr. Paul J. Woods, a well-known animal learning specialist. Under his guidance, my practica and thesis research examined a new paradigm of aversive conditioning. Along with this I completed formal coursework in experimental methodology, statistics, comparative psychology, operant conditioning, physiological psychology, hemispheric differences, and biofeedback. At Hollins, I was also mentored by Dr. F. J. McGuigan, a methodologist and psychophysiologist.
With my master’s degree in hand, I began the doctoral program in experimental psychology at the State University of New York at Binghamton in the fall of 1976. It was a relatively new graduate program at that time, but was noted for a strong empirical orientation, even in its clinical psychology program. Having developed expertise in animal learning and aversive conditioning at Hollins, I sought Dr. Harold Babb as my doctoral advisor/mentor. Dr. Babb conducted research in self-punitive behavior in rats, and I conducted a series of studies using his paradigm, ultimately leading to my dissertation research. SUNY-Binghamton was a culture shock for me, having spent my entire life so far in the Midwest, followed by a year in the south while studying at Hollins. But Dr. Babb was a perfect mentor, and we remained friends until his death in 2011.
Although I completed my doctorate in 1983, I took a bit of a detour before doing so, and one that is relevant to my ultimate emergence as a military psychologist. The job market for PhDs in animal learning seemed pretty bleak to me in 1979, and at age 26, I was weary of being a student. And, frankly, I was no longer sure I wanted to complete my doctorate. Following the advice of my oldest brother, Gary, I inquired about commissioning into the military, and contacted recruiters from the Army, Navy, and Air Force.
It was clear that the Army recruiter had no idea what to advise a person who was “ABD” in psychology. All he could suggest was that I enter as an enlisted soldier, and take my chances on later selection to Officer Candidate School. He said there were no jobs for experimental psychologists in the Army, but they would be glad to let me be an infantry soldier. Later I would learn about the Army’s FA-71F program. If the recruiter had been knowledgeable about that option, I might have finished my doctorate and then applied for it. So much for the Army. And I guess the Navy didn’t impress me, because I do not recall anything about them.
The Air Force recruiter, Master Sergeant Spangler, was quite different. When he learned about my background, he aggressively — but in a professional manner — began recruiting me for Air Force Officer Training School (AF/OTS). Upon completion of this 90 day course, I would be commissioned as a second lieutenant. Even better, I would be assigned as a behavioral sciences officer. This sounded pretty interesting — I was ready for an adventure. I completed the Air Force entrance tests, and Sergeant Spangler was thrilled with the results. Evidently, I scored in the 99th percentile, and because of that, he said I was a “VIP” recruit, and as such he could get me an early class date at OTS. In essence, he made me an offer I could not refuse.
Thus, I found myself on 24 April 1980 beginning OTS at Medina Annex, Lackland Air Force Base, in San Antonio, Texas. If I thought SUNY-Binghamton was a culture shock, it was nothing compared to OTS. Sergeant Spangler (and I don’t hold this against him) was wrong on a few details. For instance, he said that as an officer who would become an Air Force scientist, I would be allowed to play golf or engage in other leisure activities while my other OTS classmates did physical training. You can imagine my surprise when, on the very first night at OTS, my flight was taken out for the first formation run. And he somehow forgot to mention the drill practice, obstacle courses, and other such training that we engaged in daily. I didn’t have any trouble with the physical training, but did find adapting to military culture challenging. It made no sense to me that we had to keep our rooms in inspection order, taller tap our books, have a laundry bag attached to our bunks in a certain place and way, or keep socks in our drawer rolled together with the “smile” up. I have vivid memories of rising at 5am and spending 30 minutes on my knees with a piece of adhesive tape, picking up odd bits of dust or dirt from our floor.
By the third week of OTS, I thought I’d had enough. I told my flight captain, Captain Snyder, that I wanted to “SIE” (self-initiated elimination). Captain Snyder handed me the SIE forms and said she would gladly accept them, but not for 7 more days. To this day I am not sure what transpired in that week, but in that time something clicked. I began to settle in to the training routine. I was excelling at the academic parts, did well with drill, and was having fun with the obstacle courses. Running every day didn’t make a lot of sense to me at that time, but I managed to pass the running test required of all officer trainees. I don’t recall what I did with those SIE forms. Not filling them out changed my life, and for that I have Captain Snyder to thank.
On 24 July 1980 I graduated from OTS and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Air Force. After a short leave, I reported to my first assignment at the Air Force Human Resources Laboratory (AFHRL), at Brooks Air Force Base, Texas. On the day I reported, I located my supervisor, Lieutenant Colonel Gene Berry. He wasn’t expecting me, and I think I surprised him when I knocked on his office door, entered, rendered a smart salute, and announced “2LT Matthews, reported for duty, sir!”
In my first meeting with LTC Berry, he asked about my educational background. When he found out I was ABD, he immediately declared that part of my job at AFHRL would be to complete my degree. This was my first experience with how nurturing and supportive military culture can be. Of course, I was assigned as task scientist to other projects, but I was able to devote enough time to eventually write my dissertation proposal, travel to Binghamton to conduct two rather complicated experiments, and to write and successfully defend my dissertation.
I spent almost three years at AFHRL. During that time I worked on three major projects. First, we assembled a team of behavioral scientists to conduct research on the “mission impact” of the greater number of women entering the Air Force at that time. LTC Berry led this research effort. It involved administering surveys and conducting interviews of Air Force personnel around the world. Not surprisingly, we found no adverse impact of women on mission readiness. Indeed, if anything, their growing numbers increased readiness. The second project involved validating an Air Force interest inventory, the Vocational Interest Career Examination (VOICE). Working under the guidance of Dr. William Alley, we were able to show that airmen who were assigned to jobs consistent with their interests performed better and remained in the Air Force longer than those who were placed into jobs incongruent with their interests. And third, I worked on developing a method for assessing group productivity, called the Method for Generating Effectiveness and Efficiency Measures, or MGEEM for short. The MGEEM was initially developed by Dr. Tom Tuttle of the University of Maryland.
In my third year of what was meant to be a four-year tour at AFHRL, the Air Force Academy needed someone to teach their biopsychology course. They did a personnel search and identified me as the best prepared officer to take on that job. I interviewed in the Department of Behavioral Sciences and Leadership (DFBL) at the Air Force Academy in April of 1983, and was offered the position. Although I was enjoying living in San Antonio and found my research at AFHRL engaging, I was delighted to accept the offer to join the DFBL faculty. Orders were cut and in mid-June I moved to Colorado Springs and began the new faculty workshop. That fall, while still a first lieutenant, I was made course director for the DFBL biopsychology course, and was assigned four sections with labs to teach. Biopsychology was my minor at SUNY-Binghamton and I spent a lot of time and effort preparing myself to teach this course. I vividly recall rising at 430am on teaching days so that I would have a few hours to study and review my notes on the topic of the day, so that I would appear at least somewhat knowledgeable to the cadets.
My time at USAFA passed quickly and it was a wonderful assignment. I loved teaching, had great cadets, and being part of the overarching mission of educating the future leaders of the Air Force was rewarding. Most of the DFBL faculty were young officers and we knew how to have fun. Besides teaching biopsychology, I was the course director and instructor for four sections of the Psychology of Learning course each spring term. In addition to teaching, I was involved in several research projects. In collaboration with Army Major Rufus Sessions, who was the Army liaison to DFBL, we developed an animal model of Alzheimer’s disease. I learned later that Rufus had a mixed reputation among his Army colleagues — he could be rather abrupt at times — but we got along great and had a lot of fun conducting the research. I have fond memories of being in the laboratory after midnight, dissecting rat brains, while listening to country and western music (Rufus’s favorite). I also worked on a project for the Defense Nuclear Agency looking at the performance of airmen assigned to guard nuclear weapons, and on a project for NASA, that explored how psychological and social factors affected crew performance during long duration space flights. For that project, we visited NASA and interviewed astronauts, including some of our lunar explorers. Pretty fun stuff, to be sure.
The biggest thing I learned while at USAFA was how much I loved teaching. I defended my dissertation at the end of my first term there, and soon began thinking about making higher education my career. In 1986, Vic Agruso — still the department chair at my alma mater, Drury College — called and asked if I would be interested in interviewing for a full-time, tenure-track teaching position. It was not a hard decision to make — I was confident that teaching and research was my life’s calling. I successfully interviewed for the job, resigned my Air Force commission, and began my 12 year stint at Drury.
It was at Drury that I truly learned how to teach. As is typical at many other small colleges, I had multiple course preparations each semester. Often I would teach four different courses. I was one of only three full-time psychology faculty members, which was quite a contrast from Air Force which had nearly 40 faculty in DFBL. In my years at Drury, I taught introduction to psychology, introduction to criminology, research methods and statistics, experimental psychology, biopsychology, the psychology of learning, and a variety of seminars and special topics classes. Teaching was the primary mission at Drury, but I managed to stay active in military psychology research, publishing a number of studies on the attitudes of military personnel and veterans on work and social issues. On a personal note, I especially appreciated being at Drury because my mother and father lived in Springfield, and my brother Glen lived in nearby Mt. Vernon, Missouri. I was able to spend a lot of time with my parents before they passed away (mom in 1993, and dad in 1998). Glen and I caught a lot of fish during those 12 years.
By 1998, with both of my parents deceased, I began to question how much I wanted to remain at Drury. Teaching was rewarding, but I didn’t see much promise for any change in my role if I remained. I had been granted tenure and promoted to associate professor, but it was becoming more difficult to imagine doing the same thing each semester for 25 more years.
I began to consider alternative options, as a break from teaching. I applied for a position as a research psychologist with the U.S. Army Research Institute for the Behavioral and Social Sciences (ARI), at their Fort Benning field office. I interviewed for the job in May of 1998, accepted their offer, and began work in late August. The chief psychologist at the Fort Benning field office was Dr. Scott Graham. Scott immediately put me to work on several research projects. Working with colleagues, including Marnie Salter, Jean Dyer, Bob Pleban, and others was fun. I began to learn about the Army while building a research program on situational awareness. I assisted Jean on an evaluation of a new program at the Infantry School wherein highly promising first lieutenants and junior captains were placed into command of an infantry training company prior to enrolling in the Infantry Captain’s Career Course. Many captains were leaving the Army at that time, and I completed a study examining the factors contributing to this attrition. We found Columbus, Georgia to be an unexpectedly nice place to live, had great neighbors and friends, and enjoyed the Georgia winters that are pretty much devoid of snow and ice.
But I missed teaching. The ARI job felt like a research sabbatical, and I knew I needed to get back into the classroom. But where? I didn’t see a future in a small college. One day, late in 1999, I saw an ad in the Chronical of Higher Education for a position at the United States Military Academy (USMA), Department of Behavioral Sciences and Leadership (BSL), to teach and direct courses in biopsychology and cognitive psychology. I could hardly believe my eyes, as these were the two courses that I was responsible for at USAFA! And they indicated a willingness to hire at the associate professor level, the rank I was at when I resigned my tenure at Drury. And having worked at ARI for over a year, I was quickly becoming literate about the Army.
After a bit of reflection, I submitted my application. I knew there would be a lot of highly qualified applicants, and to be honest I didn’t expect to hear anything from USMA other than a “thanks but no thanks” letter. One evening in January of 2000, I was relaxing at home and the telephone rang (an anachronistic thought now, but in those days that is what happened). I answered, thinking it would be one of my friends or neighbors. But the voice on the other end of the line belonged to LTC Larry Shattuck, Director of the Engineering Psychology Program within BSL. He expressed an interest in my application, and asked if I would be willing to come up to West Point for an interview. I was trying to be really cool about this (I was exploding with joy inside), and calmly (I think) agreed to an interview. When I hung up the phone, I literally jumped for joy. It was a good thing our house had high ceilings. Being almost two meters tall and having been a basketball player in high school, I could easily have put a hole in a standard nine foot ceiling.
The interview at USMA went well, and I was offered the job. I reported for duty in June and completed BSL’s thorough faculty development workshop (FDW). There were about 10 other new faculty in FDW that year, and we quickly became good friends. It was, and still is, the practice at West Point for new faculty to teach four sections of general psychology (PL100) their first term there. Most of us, me included, did just that. I learned a wealth of information being a member of the PL100 team. The Plebes were fun to teach. Like their Air Force counterparts, West Point freshmen (Plebes) are carefully selected and are on par academically with entering students at the most exclusive universities. Moreover, they are all athletic, many graduated first or second in their high school class, and all showed evidence of leadership in high school. They were easy to teach and fun to engage with. I immediately fell in love with West Point and its mission.
Time flies when you are engaged in important and meaningful work. It is hard to believe that as I write this, I am in my 17th year on the faculty at West Point. Professionally, it has been a terrific experience. I was promoted to full professor in 2003. Under the mentorship of my West Point colleague Paul Bartone, I became involved in APA’s Division 19 (the Society for Military Psychology), and had the honor to serve as its President in 2007-2008. I have had many exemplary colleagues in BSL, whom I will not mention by name because there are too many and I don’t want to accidently forget one. West Point expects its professors to be scholars, and through the years I have had the chance to engage in a variety of research projects. I continued the situational awareness research program that I started at ARI. In 2004, I began a stream of research on character and its impact on soldier and leader performance. I was named a Templeton Foundation Senior Positive Fellow at the University of Pennsylvania in 2005 and spent a summer in residence there studying with the father of positive psychology, Dr. Martin Seligman, and the nation’s other leading positive psychologists.
Perhaps I should inject here a comment or two about my term as Division 19 President. When I became president, the Army (in particular) was beginning to suffer from the effects of a long war. Suicide rates were increasing, soldiers were making bad decisions on and off the battlefield, and marriages and other social relationships were suffering. In this context, I made “Building a Positive Military Psychology” the theme of my presidency. In addition to bolstering clinical services for military personnel, their families, and veterans, I thought it was important to develop a strategy to employ psychology to help enhance the quality of life for those not suffering in the usual sense. I saw the emerging science of positive psychology as the path toward that goal. My presidential address summarized this call to action, and I published a more complete version of this address in Military Psychology. I used the presidency as a bully pulpit to advocate for a proactive, strengths-based strategy to imbue soldiers with the skills needed to remain resilient in the face of adversity. The most significant accomplishment of my presidency and the time immediately following it was to help convince the Chief of Staff of the Army, General George Casey, to make positive psychology the foundation of the Army’s doctrinal response to the challenges it was facing.
In 2009, Marty Seligman and I met with General George Casey, the Chief of Staff of the Army (CSA), and helped lay the foundation for the Army’s Comprehensive Soldier Fitness (CSF) program. This program directly impacts all uniformed members of the Army, and is now an integral component of the Army’s effort to maintain a resilient and effective force.
It wasn’t long before I had an opportunity to serve another Army Chief of Staff. From July 2014 through June 2015, I served as a Fellow of the CSA’s Strategic Studies Group (SSG). My SSG team spent the year researching how the Army can use science to enhance soldier performance. We wrote a report and briefed our findings to the Army CSA at that time, General Raymond Odierno.
Once I returned to USMA, another significant opportunity presented itself. Last year, in collaboration with Dr. Rich Lerner of Tufts University and funded by the Templeton Religion Trust, we began a five-year longitudinal study of cadet character that builds on my previous decade of research on the topic. Using innovative methods, we feel this project (which we have dubbed “Project Arete”) will have a significant impact on how character is assessed and developed at West Point, with significant transfer to other institutions and organizations.
So, here we are at the present day. Much more of my career is behind me than in front of me. As a student, I would never have thought I would become a military psychologist. I have had the good fortune to be mentored by many psychologists, and I hope I have in some small measure been able to “pay it forward.” Division 19 has been and continues to be an important part of my journey as a military psychologist. As a past president and now a fellow of the Society, as the former editor of its newsletter, associate editor of its journal, and as a member and currently chair of the division’s fellows committee, my participation in Division 19 provides a way to “give back” for all of the mentoring and support I have received over the past 40-plus years. The strength of Division 19’s student chapter is amazing. I think I have a few more contributions to make before I am through, but I am at ease knowing that Division 19 and military psychology will be in good hands.
Selected Bibliography
Callina, K. S., Ryan, D., Murray, E. D., Colby, A., Damon, W., Matthews, M. D., & Lerner, R. M. (2017). Developing leaders of character at the United States Military Academy: A relational developmental systems analysis. Journal of College and Character, 18, 9–27.
Matthews, M. D. & Lerner, R. M. (2016). Leaders of character: Striving toward virtuous leadership. In Smith, Brazil, Cornwell, Britt, Bond, Eslinger (Eds.), West Point Leadership. New York, NY: Rowan Technology Solutions.
Matthews, M. D. (2014). Head strong: How psychology is revolutionizing war. New York: Oxford University Press.
Maddi, S. R., Matthews, M. D., Kelly, D. R., Villarreal, B., & White, M. (2012). The role of hardiness and grit in predicting performance and retention of USMA cadets. Military Psychology, 24, 19-28.
Matthews, M. D. (2013). Human factors engineering and human performance. In B. A. Moore & J. E. Barnett (Eds.), Military psychologists’ desk reference. New York: Oxford.
Laurence, J., & Matthews, M. D. (Eds.) (2012). Oxford handbook of military psychology. New York: Oxford University Press. [Chinese edition published by Oxford University Press.]
Sweeney, P., Matthews, M. D., & Lester, P. (Eds.). (2011). Leadership in dangerous situations: A handbook for the armed forces, emergency services, and first responders. Annapolis, MD: U.S. Naval Institute Press. [Chinese edition, published by China Market Press, copyright 2012.]
Seligman, M. E. P., & Matthews, M. D. (2011). (Eds.). Comprehensive soldier fitness. Special Issue, American Psychologist, 66, 1-87.
Kornguth, S., Steinberg, R., & Matthews, M. D. (Eds.). (2010). Neurocognitive and physiological factors during high-tempo operations. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.
Cornum, R., Matthews, M. D., & Seligman, M. E. P. (2011). Comprehensive soldier fitness: Building resilience in a challenging institutional context. American Psychologist, 66, 4-9.
Maddox, W. T., Glass, B. C., Wolosin, S. M., Savarie, Z. R, Bowen, C., Matthews, M. D., & Schnyer, D. M. (2009). The effects of sleep deprivation on information-integration categorization, Sleep, 32, 1439-1448.
Matthews, M. D. (2008). Toward a positive military psychology, Military Psychology, 20, 289-298.
Duckworth, A. L., Peterson, C., Matthews, M. D., & Kelly, D. R. (2007). Grit: Perseverance and passion for long term goals. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 92, 1087-1101.
Matthews, M. D., Eid, J., Kelly, D. R., Bailey, J. K. S., & Peterson, C. (2006). Character strengths and virtues of developing military leaders: An international comparison. Military Psychology, 18 (Supplemental Issue), pp S57-S68.
Through grade school and middle school I showed absolutely zero promise of scholarly achievement. I wanted to be an astronaut or, as I grew older, a meteorologist. But mostly I hung out with my friends, playing and having a good time. I don’t remember doing homework in elementary or middle school. We were probably assigned some, but I didn’t do it. I could make good grades if I liked a topic, but for the most part I just meandered through those early years.
Things began to change in the eighth grade, and I can thank my brother Glen, at least in part. Glen was in his freshman year at the University of Missouri (unlike me, Glen was always a good student). One of his first-year classes was introductory psychology. When he came home on break I found his psychology text in the back seat of his car. I am not sure why it caught my interest, but I borred the book and read it cover to cover before he returned to college. It was the first serious book I ever read, and I especially liked reading about the theories and experiments of Ivan Pavlov and B. F. Skinner. I remember thinking that Freud’s theory was nonsense — a conclusion that I have not yet been disabused of. In any case, I was hooked. At age 13 I decided to become a psychologist!
Despite this inspiration, my academic performance in high school wasn’t much better than it had been in the earlier grades. I made mostly “Cs” and “Bs” with only the occasional “A.” But I was beginning to think more deeply about things. My English teacher, Ms. Joan Collins, was very inspirational. Through writing and literature, we tackled the significant social issues of the late 1960s. Race relations, the Vietnam War, and poverty were topics of deep inquiry. My grades didn’t reflect it, but I was processing information in a different — and deeper — way than I had previously. But for the most part, academics remained less important to me than basketball (I wasn’t very good, but managed to earn a varsity letter), dating, and hanging out with friends.
Nevertheless, I took the college prep track in high school. Then, in my senior year, I was finally able to take a psychology course. I never studied so hard in my life — motivated by deep interest and a desire to excel — and I earned an A for the course. This course was taught by a history teacher, Mr. Hensley, but it reinforced my passion for psychology. I even conducted an empirical study — I found an intelligence test, gave it to my classmates, and then used it to predict final grades for the class. We didn’t have a statistics class in high school, but somehow I figured out what a Pearson’s Product correlation coefficient was, what it meant, and how to calculate it. I don’t remember the magnitude of the correlation coefficient, but it was a statistically significant predictor of class grades. On the strength of my performance in the psychology course, I graduated from Hillcrest High School with a grade point average of 2.7. (To the surprise of anyone who knew me then, and certainly to my own astonishment, I was inducted into my High School’s Hall of Fame in 2007.) Clearly, if I wanted to be a psychologist, I was going to have to do better in college.
I matriculated at Drury College in the fall of 1971. In the week leading to the start of the semester, I met with my freshman orientation group (FOG) to help prepare for college level work. I was fully aware of my lackluster performance in high school, and wanted to do better. And for added motivation, the Vietnam War was still raging and I had no desire to flunk out of college and end up carrying a rifle in the rice paddies of Southeast Asia. Each FOG was led by a faculty advisor, in my case, a sociologist by the name of Marvin Layman. One day, after an orientation session, Dr. Layman asked if I knew how to be successful in college. Of course I said I didn’t. He then told me that the secret to success in college was simply to complete all of the homework prior to attending class. You may have been expecting a more profound insight, but for me this was an epiphany! From the first day of classes my freshman year, until I graduated magna cum laude four years later, I obsessively followed his advice. Woody Allen is often quoted as saying “80 percent of success is showing up.” I think he is only half right. You need to show up prepared.
I took general psychology my first semester at Drury. It was taught by Dr. Victor Agruso. Dr. Agruso maintained a strong behaviorist approach to psychology, and I was enthralled. He was something of a radical, intellectually speaking. Very smart, very funny, and on top of the latest developments in psychology. And, he drove a white sports car. I decided then and there I wanted to grow up and be just like Dr. Agruso. I could not have made a better choice for a role model. He mentored me through Drury, advised me on graduate school, and continued to mentor me after I had finished my doctorate. We continue to be friends to this day. I owe everything I have achieved as a psychologist to the nurturing and support of Dr. Agruso.
Four years flew by and in the fall of 1975 I began the one year Master of Arts degree in experimental psychology at Hollins College. In those days, Hollins College had perhaps the most highly regarded, pre-doctoral master’s degree program in the United States. The curriculum was heavily research oriented. To graduate in a year, I completed four research practica, each based on an experiment I conducted and requiring a full APA report, plus a thesis based on yet another research project. My advisor was Dr. Paul J. Woods, a well-known animal learning specialist. Under his guidance, my practica and thesis research examined a new paradigm of aversive conditioning. Along with this I completed formal coursework in experimental methodology, statistics, comparative psychology, operant conditioning, physiological psychology, hemispheric differences, and biofeedback. At Hollins, I was also mentored by Dr. F. J. McGuigan, a methodologist and psychophysiologist.
With my master’s degree in hand, I began the doctoral program in experimental psychology at the State University of New York at Binghamton in the fall of 1976. It was a relatively new graduate program at that time, but was noted for a strong empirical orientation, even in its clinical psychology program. Having developed expertise in animal learning and aversive conditioning at Hollins, I sought Dr. Harold Babb as my doctoral advisor/mentor. Dr. Babb conducted research in self-punitive behavior in rats, and I conducted a series of studies using his paradigm, ultimately leading to my dissertation research. SUNY-Binghamton was a culture shock for me, having spent my entire life so far in the Midwest, followed by a year in the south while studying at Hollins. But Dr. Babb was a perfect mentor, and we remained friends until his death in 2011.
Although I completed my doctorate in 1983, I took a bit of a detour before doing so, and one that is relevant to my ultimate emergence as a military psychologist. The job market for PhDs in animal learning seemed pretty bleak to me in 1979, and at age 26, I was weary of being a student. And, frankly, I was no longer sure I wanted to complete my doctorate. Following the advice of my oldest brother, Gary, I inquired about commissioning into the military, and contacted recruiters from the Army, Navy, and Air Force.
It was clear that the Army recruiter had no idea what to advise a person who was “ABD” in psychology. All he could suggest was that I enter as an enlisted soldier, and take my chances on later selection to Officer Candidate School. He said there were no jobs for experimental psychologists in the Army, but they would be glad to let me be an infantry soldier. Later I would learn about the Army’s FA-71F program. If the recruiter had been knowledgeable about that option, I might have finished my doctorate and then applied for it. So much for the Army. And I guess the Navy didn’t impress me, because I do not recall anything about them.
The Air Force recruiter, Master Sergeant Spangler, was quite different. When he learned about my background, he aggressively — but in a professional manner — began recruiting me for Air Force Officer Training School (AF/OTS). Upon completion of this 90 day course, I would be commissioned as a second lieutenant. Even better, I would be assigned as a behavioral sciences officer. This sounded pretty interesting — I was ready for an adventure. I completed the Air Force entrance tests, and Sergeant Spangler was thrilled with the results. Evidently, I scored in the 99th percentile, and because of that, he said I was a “VIP” recruit, and as such he could get me an early class date at OTS. In essence, he made me an offer I could not refuse.
Thus, I found myself on 24 April 1980 beginning OTS at Medina Annex, Lackland Air Force Base, in San Antonio, Texas. If I thought SUNY-Binghamton was a culture shock, it was nothing compared to OTS. Sergeant Spangler (and I don’t hold this against him) was wrong on a few details. For instance, he said that as an officer who would become an Air Force scientist, I would be allowed to play golf or engage in other leisure activities while my other OTS classmates did physical training. You can imagine my surprise when, on the very first night at OTS, my flight was taken out for the first formation run. And he somehow forgot to mention the drill practice, obstacle courses, and other such training that we engaged in daily. I didn’t have any trouble with the physical training, but did find adapting to military culture challenging. It made no sense to me that we had to keep our rooms in inspection order, taller tap our books, have a laundry bag attached to our bunks in a certain place and way, or keep socks in our drawer rolled together with the “smile” up. I have vivid memories of rising at 5am and spending 30 minutes on my knees with a piece of adhesive tape, picking up odd bits of dust or dirt from our floor.
By the third week of OTS, I thought I’d had enough. I told my flight captain, Captain Snyder, that I wanted to “SIE” (self-initiated elimination). Captain Snyder handed me the SIE forms and said she would gladly accept them, but not for 7 more days. To this day I am not sure what transpired in that week, but in that time something clicked. I began to settle in to the training routine. I was excelling at the academic parts, did well with drill, and was having fun with the obstacle courses. Running every day didn’t make a lot of sense to me at that time, but I managed to pass the running test required of all officer trainees. I don’t recall what I did with those SIE forms. Not filling them out changed my life, and for that I have Captain Snyder to thank.
On 24 July 1980 I graduated from OTS and was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the Air Force. After a short leave, I reported to my first assignment at the Air Force Human Resources Laboratory (AFHRL), at Brooks Air Force Base, Texas. On the day I reported, I located my supervisor, Lieutenant Colonel Gene Berry. He wasn’t expecting me, and I think I surprised him when I knocked on his office door, entered, rendered a smart salute, and announced “2LT Matthews, reported for duty, sir!”
In my first meeting with LTC Berry, he asked about my educational background. When he found out I was ABD, he immediately declared that part of my job at AFHRL would be to complete my degree. This was my first experience with how nurturing and supportive military culture can be. Of course, I was assigned as task scientist to other projects, but I was able to devote enough time to eventually write my dissertation proposal, travel to Binghamton to conduct two rather complicated experiments, and to write and successfully defend my dissertation.
I spent almost three years at AFHRL. During that time I worked on three major projects. First, we assembled a team of behavioral scientists to conduct research on the “mission impact” of the greater number of women entering the Air Force at that time. LTC Berry led this research effort. It involved administering surveys and conducting interviews of Air Force personnel around the world. Not surprisingly, we found no adverse impact of women on mission readiness. Indeed, if anything, their growing numbers increased readiness. The second project involved validating an Air Force interest inventory, the Vocational Interest Career Examination (VOICE). Working under the guidance of Dr. William Alley, we were able to show that airmen who were assigned to jobs consistent with their interests performed better and remained in the Air Force longer than those who were placed into jobs incongruent with their interests. And third, I worked on developing a method for assessing group productivity, called the Method for Generating Effectiveness and Efficiency Measures, or MGEEM for short. The MGEEM was initially developed by Dr. Tom Tuttle of the University of Maryland.
In my third year of what was meant to be a four-year tour at AFHRL, the Air Force Academy needed someone to teach their biopsychology course. They did a personnel search and identified me as the best prepared officer to take on that job. I interviewed in the Department of Behavioral Sciences and Leadership (DFBL) at the Air Force Academy in April of 1983, and was offered the position. Although I was enjoying living in San Antonio and found my research at AFHRL engaging, I was delighted to accept the offer to join the DFBL faculty. Orders were cut and in mid-June I moved to Colorado Springs and began the new faculty workshop. That fall, while still a first lieutenant, I was made course director for the DFBL biopsychology course, and was assigned four sections with labs to teach. Biopsychology was my minor at SUNY-Binghamton and I spent a lot of time and effort preparing myself to teach this course. I vividly recall rising at 430am on teaching days so that I would have a few hours to study and review my notes on the topic of the day, so that I would appear at least somewhat knowledgeable to the cadets.
My time at USAFA passed quickly and it was a wonderful assignment. I loved teaching, had great cadets, and being part of the overarching mission of educating the future leaders of the Air Force was rewarding. Most of the DFBL faculty were young officers and we knew how to have fun. Besides teaching biopsychology, I was the course director and instructor for four sections of the Psychology of Learning course each spring term. In addition to teaching, I was involved in several research projects. In collaboration with Army Major Rufus Sessions, who was the Army liaison to DFBL, we developed an animal model of Alzheimer’s disease. I learned later that Rufus had a mixed reputation among his Army colleagues — he could be rather abrupt at times — but we got along great and had a lot of fun conducting the research. I have fond memories of being in the laboratory after midnight, dissecting rat brains, while listening to country and western music (Rufus’s favorite). I also worked on a project for the Defense Nuclear Agency looking at the performance of airmen assigned to guard nuclear weapons, and on a project for NASA, that explored how psychological and social factors affected crew performance during long duration space flights. For that project, we visited NASA and interviewed astronauts, including some of our lunar explorers. Pretty fun stuff, to be sure.
The biggest thing I learned while at USAFA was how much I loved teaching. I defended my dissertation at the end of my first term there, and soon began thinking about making higher education my career. In 1986, Vic Agruso — still the department chair at my alma mater, Drury College — called and asked if I would be interested in interviewing for a full-time, tenure-track teaching position. It was not a hard decision to make — I was confident that teaching and research was my life’s calling. I successfully interviewed for the job, resigned my Air Force commission, and began my 12 year stint at Drury.
It was at Drury that I truly learned how to teach. As is typical at many other small colleges, I had multiple course preparations each semester. Often I would teach four different courses. I was one of only three full-time psychology faculty members, which was quite a contrast from Air Force which had nearly 40 faculty in DFBL. In my years at Drury, I taught introduction to psychology, introduction to criminology, research methods and statistics, experimental psychology, biopsychology, the psychology of learning, and a variety of seminars and special topics classes. Teaching was the primary mission at Drury, but I managed to stay active in military psychology research, publishing a number of studies on the attitudes of military personnel and veterans on work and social issues. On a personal note, I especially appreciated being at Drury because my mother and father lived in Springfield, and my brother Glen lived in nearby Mt. Vernon, Missouri. I was able to spend a lot of time with my parents before they passed away (mom in 1993, and dad in 1998). Glen and I caught a lot of fish during those 12 years.
By 1998, with both of my parents deceased, I began to question how much I wanted to remain at Drury. Teaching was rewarding, but I didn’t see much promise for any change in my role if I remained. I had been granted tenure and promoted to associate professor, but it was becoming more difficult to imagine doing the same thing each semester for 25 more years.
I began to consider alternative options, as a break from teaching. I applied for a position as a research psychologist with the U.S. Army Research Institute for the Behavioral and Social Sciences (ARI), at their Fort Benning field office. I interviewed for the job in May of 1998, accepted their offer, and began work in late August. The chief psychologist at the Fort Benning field office was Dr. Scott Graham. Scott immediately put me to work on several research projects. Working with colleagues, including Marnie Salter, Jean Dyer, Bob Pleban, and others was fun. I began to learn about the Army while building a research program on situational awareness. I assisted Jean on an evaluation of a new program at the Infantry School wherein highly promising first lieutenants and junior captains were placed into command of an infantry training company prior to enrolling in the Infantry Captain’s Career Course. Many captains were leaving the Army at that time, and I completed a study examining the factors contributing to this attrition. We found Columbus, Georgia to be an unexpectedly nice place to live, had great neighbors and friends, and enjoyed the Georgia winters that are pretty much devoid of snow and ice.
But I missed teaching. The ARI job felt like a research sabbatical, and I knew I needed to get back into the classroom. But where? I didn’t see a future in a small college. One day, late in 1999, I saw an ad in the Chronical of Higher Education for a position at the United States Military Academy (USMA), Department of Behavioral Sciences and Leadership (BSL), to teach and direct courses in biopsychology and cognitive psychology. I could hardly believe my eyes, as these were the two courses that I was responsible for at USAFA! And they indicated a willingness to hire at the associate professor level, the rank I was at when I resigned my tenure at Drury. And having worked at ARI for over a year, I was quickly becoming literate about the Army.
After a bit of reflection, I submitted my application. I knew there would be a lot of highly qualified applicants, and to be honest I didn’t expect to hear anything from USMA other than a “thanks but no thanks” letter. One evening in January of 2000, I was relaxing at home and the telephone rang (an anachronistic thought now, but in those days that is what happened). I answered, thinking it would be one of my friends or neighbors. But the voice on the other end of the line belonged to LTC Larry Shattuck, Director of the Engineering Psychology Program within BSL. He expressed an interest in my application, and asked if I would be willing to come up to West Point for an interview. I was trying to be really cool about this (I was exploding with joy inside), and calmly (I think) agreed to an interview. When I hung up the phone, I literally jumped for joy. It was a good thing our house had high ceilings. Being almost two meters tall and having been a basketball player in high school, I could easily have put a hole in a standard nine foot ceiling.
The interview at USMA went well, and I was offered the job. I reported for duty in June and completed BSL’s thorough faculty development workshop (FDW). There were about 10 other new faculty in FDW that year, and we quickly became good friends. It was, and still is, the practice at West Point for new faculty to teach four sections of general psychology (PL100) their first term there. Most of us, me included, did just that. I learned a wealth of information being a member of the PL100 team. The Plebes were fun to teach. Like their Air Force counterparts, West Point freshmen (Plebes) are carefully selected and are on par academically with entering students at the most exclusive universities. Moreover, they are all athletic, many graduated first or second in their high school class, and all showed evidence of leadership in high school. They were easy to teach and fun to engage with. I immediately fell in love with West Point and its mission.
Time flies when you are engaged in important and meaningful work. It is hard to believe that as I write this, I am in my 17th year on the faculty at West Point. Professionally, it has been a terrific experience. I was promoted to full professor in 2003. Under the mentorship of my West Point colleague Paul Bartone, I became involved in APA’s Division 19 (the Society for Military Psychology), and had the honor to serve as its President in 2007-2008. I have had many exemplary colleagues in BSL, whom I will not mention by name because there are too many and I don’t want to accidently forget one. West Point expects its professors to be scholars, and through the years I have had the chance to engage in a variety of research projects. I continued the situational awareness research program that I started at ARI. In 2004, I began a stream of research on character and its impact on soldier and leader performance. I was named a Templeton Foundation Senior Positive Fellow at the University of Pennsylvania in 2005 and spent a summer in residence there studying with the father of positive psychology, Dr. Martin Seligman, and the nation’s other leading positive psychologists.
Perhaps I should inject here a comment or two about my term as Division 19 President. When I became president, the Army (in particular) was beginning to suffer from the effects of a long war. Suicide rates were increasing, soldiers were making bad decisions on and off the battlefield, and marriages and other social relationships were suffering. In this context, I made “Building a Positive Military Psychology” the theme of my presidency. In addition to bolstering clinical services for military personnel, their families, and veterans, I thought it was important to develop a strategy to employ psychology to help enhance the quality of life for those not suffering in the usual sense. I saw the emerging science of positive psychology as the path toward that goal. My presidential address summarized this call to action, and I published a more complete version of this address in Military Psychology. I used the presidency as a bully pulpit to advocate for a proactive, strengths-based strategy to imbue soldiers with the skills needed to remain resilient in the face of adversity. The most significant accomplishment of my presidency and the time immediately following it was to help convince the Chief of Staff of the Army, General George Casey, to make positive psychology the foundation of the Army’s doctrinal response to the challenges it was facing.
In 2009, Marty Seligman and I met with General George Casey, the Chief of Staff of the Army (CSA), and helped lay the foundation for the Army’s Comprehensive Soldier Fitness (CSF) program. This program directly impacts all uniformed members of the Army, and is now an integral component of the Army’s effort to maintain a resilient and effective force.
It wasn’t long before I had an opportunity to serve another Army Chief of Staff. From July 2014 through June 2015, I served as a Fellow of the CSA’s Strategic Studies Group (SSG). My SSG team spent the year researching how the Army can use science to enhance soldier performance. We wrote a report and briefed our findings to the Army CSA at that time, General Raymond Odierno.
Once I returned to USMA, another significant opportunity presented itself. Last year, in collaboration with Dr. Rich Lerner of Tufts University and funded by the Templeton Religion Trust, we began a five-year longitudinal study of cadet character that builds on my previous decade of research on the topic. Using innovative methods, we feel this project (which we have dubbed “Project Arete”) will have a significant impact on how character is assessed and developed at West Point, with significant transfer to other institutions and organizations.
So, here we are at the present day. Much more of my career is behind me than in front of me. As a student, I would never have thought I would become a military psychologist. I have had the good fortune to be mentored by many psychologists, and I hope I have in some small measure been able to “pay it forward.” Division 19 has been and continues to be an important part of my journey as a military psychologist. As a past president and now a fellow of the Society, as the former editor of its newsletter, associate editor of its journal, and as a member and currently chair of the division’s fellows committee, my participation in Division 19 provides a way to “give back” for all of the mentoring and support I have received over the past 40-plus years. The strength of Division 19’s student chapter is amazing. I think I have a few more contributions to make before I am through, but I am at ease knowing that Division 19 and military psychology will be in good hands.
Selected Bibliography
Callina, K. S., Ryan, D., Murray, E. D., Colby, A., Damon, W., Matthews, M. D., & Lerner, R. M. (2017). Developing leaders of character at the United States Military Academy: A relational developmental systems analysis. Journal of College and Character, 18, 9–27.
Matthews, M. D. & Lerner, R. M. (2016). Leaders of character: Striving toward virtuous leadership. In Smith, Brazil, Cornwell, Britt, Bond, Eslinger (Eds.), West Point Leadership. New York, NY: Rowan Technology Solutions.
Matthews, M. D. (2014). Head strong: How psychology is revolutionizing war. New York: Oxford University Press.
Maddi, S. R., Matthews, M. D., Kelly, D. R., Villarreal, B., & White, M. (2012). The role of hardiness and grit in predicting performance and retention of USMA cadets. Military Psychology, 24, 19-28.
Matthews, M. D. (2013). Human factors engineering and human performance. In B. A. Moore & J. E. Barnett (Eds.), Military psychologists’ desk reference. New York: Oxford.
Laurence, J., & Matthews, M. D. (Eds.) (2012). Oxford handbook of military psychology. New York: Oxford University Press. [Chinese edition published by Oxford University Press.]
Sweeney, P., Matthews, M. D., & Lester, P. (Eds.). (2011). Leadership in dangerous situations: A handbook for the armed forces, emergency services, and first responders. Annapolis, MD: U.S. Naval Institute Press. [Chinese edition, published by China Market Press, copyright 2012.]
Seligman, M. E. P., & Matthews, M. D. (2011). (Eds.). Comprehensive soldier fitness. Special Issue, American Psychologist, 66, 1-87.
Kornguth, S., Steinberg, R., & Matthews, M. D. (Eds.). (2010). Neurocognitive and physiological factors during high-tempo operations. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.
Cornum, R., Matthews, M. D., & Seligman, M. E. P. (2011). Comprehensive soldier fitness: Building resilience in a challenging institutional context. American Psychologist, 66, 4-9.
Maddox, W. T., Glass, B. C., Wolosin, S. M., Savarie, Z. R, Bowen, C., Matthews, M. D., & Schnyer, D. M. (2009). The effects of sleep deprivation on information-integration categorization, Sleep, 32, 1439-1448.
Matthews, M. D. (2008). Toward a positive military psychology, Military Psychology, 20, 289-298.
Duckworth, A. L., Peterson, C., Matthews, M. D., & Kelly, D. R. (2007). Grit: Perseverance and passion for long term goals. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 92, 1087-1101.
Matthews, M. D., Eid, J., Kelly, D. R., Bailey, J. K. S., & Peterson, C. (2006). Character strengths and virtues of developing military leaders: An international comparison. Military Psychology, 18 (Supplemental Issue), pp S57-S68.
