Part 5

Get Your Ship Together: How Great Leaders Inspire Ownership from the Keel
by Michael Abrashoff

(Page 5 of 5)

When I think back on incidents like that one, I thank my lucky stars that I had the good sense not to judge Jeff Harley on first impressions. Fortunately, I took the time to see not only who he was, but who he could be. In a host of small and not-so-small ways, I groomed my XO for the authority I wanted him to be able to assume. Leaders owe it to their organizations to prepare others for command. If we were refueling from an oiler, for example, I would turn to him for advice on our position. In public, when others were watching and waiting for me to make a decision, I'd turn to Jeff and say, "What do you think?" In these ways, I increased Jeff's stature on the ship. Saying he was second in command wasn't enough; I had to live those words every day if I wanted the crew to believe that Jeff was, in fact, my right-hand man.

I put my faith in writing too. The glowing evaluations I wrote for Jeff helped him get his own ship, USS Milius, which has become the best destroyer based in San Diego. What did I say in those evaluations? Simply that Jeff Harley was the best officer I had observed in my entire career. And that's true. He has now been selected for full-bird captain and will command his own cruiser. And what is more, I would have a beer with him any day.

LESSON: Dare your crew to be the best, and they will deliver.

Have you ever noticed how a lot of folks seem to divide the world into two kinds of people, a small group of serious overachievers, which naturally includes themselves, and a large majority of slackers, those doing the very minimum to get by? In the view of the overachievers, the slackers simply accept their fate and put in their time on some menial job. They may bitch and moan, but it won't do them any good. After all, they have no special talents and little or no ambition. All of that resides in the achiever class.

Fair warning: if you espouse this worldview and behave accordingly toward the people under your command, you will create a self-fulfilling prophecy - and you and your company will be the worse for it. Why? Because enormous energy and inventiveness lie fallow within some of those so-called slackers, just waiting to be activated by a leader who will challenge and inspire them to step out and accept greater responsibility.

Sure there's risk, both for you and for the people you push ahead - failure can be embarrassing and frustrating. But, believe me, the rewards far outweigh the downside.

Buddy Gengler has seen it go both ways. He has dared others to prove themselves, and been dared himself. He has seen some people rise to meet his expectations, and some fall short. But out of it all has emerged a champion of the challenge process who has notched numerous victories on his belt. Indeed, the order Buddy most enjoys giving contains just four words: "You are in charge."

As the leader of a platoon charged with firing a multiple-launch rocket system, Buddy's primary battle task was to perform forward reconnaissance and ensure a safe operating area (meaning no enemy are present) for the launchers to move ahead. In convoys, Gengler's vehicle was always first, in front of even his commanders, and it was equipped with its own weapon system, a gunner, and a sergeant who drove. The sergeant was also responsible for making sure that both the vehicle and weapon system were in good repair, and that his soldiers were always ready for any contingency mission.

Buddy gave the sergeant so-so marks - a good soldier but far from outstanding in the performance of his not-very-demanding duties. The vehicle wasn't always ready when needed; the ammunition can occasionally went missing from its place beside the weapon system; a dirty windshield often clouded Buddy's view - not an ideal situation for an officer on reconnaissance. "The sergeant should have been better at his job," Buddy told me. But then Buddy added: "I don't think he was challenged by it."

So Buddy found him a challenge.

When the platoon was reassigned to street-fighting duty shortly after arriving in Iraq, Buddy had to split the platoon in half to cover a twenty-four-hour period. He planned to lead one group himself and had a platoon sergeant in mind to lead the other. But first Buddy had to find someone to handle the platoon sergeant's substantial and complex duties at the operating base, which entailed getting food, water, and everything else to soldiers in the field so that they could operate at peak efficiency. The replacement would also have to guarantee round-the-clock security, since the base was vulnerable to attack at any moment.

Thinking that his lackadaisical sergeant-driver had unrealized potential, Buddy asked him to assume the role of acting platoon sergeant. "I know this is not your job," Buddy told him, "but I need you to take it on and make sure everything is going right back here so I can focus on getting ready for the next mission."

Buddy was not disappointed. Within days, the base was operating smoothly. In fact, supplies started arriving at their destinations earlier and weapons and vehicles were cleaner and in better repair - all this from a guy who couldn't seem to maintain just one vehicle only a short time before. Suddenly, the sergeant was "walking around with a new air of confidence I'd never seen," Buddy said. "His reputation within the platoon changed completely."

The nearly miraculous thing was the effect the temporary platoon sergeant had on the rest of the team, whose morale had been devastatingly low. Mail was arriving irregularly if at all, water was so scarce that the soldiers marked lines on their water bottles to ration it, and the troops were being subjected to broiling temperatures. When they returned from a patrol, drenched in sweat and exhausted, the only thing most wanted to do was sack out. But, somehow, the sergeant, having taken complete responsibility for his own job, managed to motivate the soldiers to do the same. He had them cleaning their weapons and otherwise staying in a state of readiness for a possible attack. There's nothing like a new convert to inspire the masses.

The sergeant's amazing performance would never have happened if Buddy had not given him a chance to excel. He challenged the sergeant to reach higher than he'd ever reached before, and the sergeant rose to the occasion. That sergeant has since gone on to win a promotion.

Once a leader recognizes someone's potential to do more, Buddy said, it's the leader's duty to help the underachiever excel. The former slacker may be embarrassed or nervous about being out in front, and it's up to the leader to supply the confidence the person needs to step up.

As I mentioned, Buddy has been on both ends of the challenge. His commanding officer asked him to take over the quick-response duties after he came to Iraq primed for another mission. But Buddy didn't hesitate, even though he was being asked to move outside his area of expertise. He was ready and eager to learn something new and to assume a larger leadership role, which, in itself, is the mark of a great leader.

"It was a gutsy call," he said of the CO's decision to place an inexperienced young officer in the role. "It might not have worked out. In business, if you make a bad decision, you lose money. You make a bad decision in the military - you put somebody on a post at the wrong time or the wrong place - and the next thing you know, you're writing a letter to their parents."

But in or out of the military, challenging your team members to take on larger roles is a vital and necessary part of leading and of forging new leaders. For Buddy, the commanding officer's decision to widen his responsibilities changed his life. "Because he gave me those experiences, now whatever I'm faced with as a leader," Buddy said, "I have a bedrock confidence because I know nothing will be more difficult than what I achieved in Iraq." And because of what was done for him, he has become more willing to delegate power and trust to his soldiers. "I know full well that it's my shoes that will be smoking in front of my superior's desk if it doesn't work out," he said, "but I will do it because that's what good leaders do."

I did a similar thing on Benfold when I allowed all qualified watch standers, regardless of rank, to have access to the radio telephones - the ship-to-ship receiving-and-transmitting radio system that allows members of a carrier battle group to communicate with one another. Previously, only officers could use the R/T nets on Benfold. But I thought every watch stander should have access to ship-to-ship communication links if his or her duties required it.

However, I was extremely demanding about what was said. No one on my ship was going to key the microphone and say something dumb, such as "Hey Nimitz, this is Bob here on Benfold." Of all the traditions that I sought to uphold, speaking clearly and concisely on the R/T net was the one with no room for compromise. I expected superior performance from everyone. You represented USS Benfold every time you keyed that radio, so you had better know exactly what you were going to say beforehand.

The captain's cabin on Benfold was its own little nerve center. I could watch the radar, monitor the flight deck, and, yes, tune in to the R/T nets. I had rigged up extra circuits (contrary to navy regulations, actually) so I could monitor conversations on three radios at the same time. And if I heard something I didn't like, something that didn't sound polished and professional, I was swift and merciless. Keying up my intercom, I'd simply intone my displeasure, sounding like the voice of God.

No one ever did anything awful. But they didn't always put Benfold's best foot forward. You know how a flight attendant will sometimes key the microphone on a plane, having every intention of saying something intelligent, only to end up sounding like a complete idiot - with all the passengers snickering? That's what happened to some of my crew members. I remember one in particular, a fantastic sonar technician named Drew Martinez. Great as he was at tracking submarines, he had not been trained to be a gifted communicator. When speaking on the net, he went on and on and round and round, taking far too long to get where he wanted to go. That's when I would break in and share my displeasure. "Chief Martinez," I'd intone, "I was not impressed with your last transmission." Sailors sitting at their consoles with headsets dreaded hearing the captain come on to critique their transmissions publicly. And, normally, I was not one to criticize publicly. However, the outside world forms its opinion of your organization based on your spokespeople. I wanted those watch standers to know they were our spokespeople.

Clear, crisp, and concise professional communication is an indicator of your commitment to your job. I believe that if you pay attention to the way you communicate, the chances are good that you're also paying attention to every other aspect of your work. Poor communication is not an absolute indicator of other job-related problems, but often, once you start connecting the dots, you do discover other areas that need work. Sloppy speaking habits were one of my pet peeves, and, interestingly enough, my crew soon felt the same way. Martinez eventually became a first-rate R/T net communicator, and he was only too happy to join the rest of the crew in heckling other ships when their messages were unclear or just plain stupid.

In their heart of hearts, however, my sailors apparently still wished I'd quit hassling them. Here's how I know: The bridge kept a top-ten list of most-favorite and least-favorite words and phrases employed by their dear captain, me. Right at the top of the favorites was my nightly request on the intercom: "Bridge, would you please turn down the volume on my radios?" That told them that I was going to sleep and wouldn't be listening for a few hours. The ship would breathe a collective sigh of relief. The least favorite phrase? "Bridge, would you please turn up the volume on my radios?" That meant that it was a new day and the captain was listening again.

Copyright © 2004 Michael Abrashoff. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.

About the Author

D. Michael Abrashoff served for almost twenty years in the U.S. Navy, culminating in a tour of duty as captain of the $1 billion warship USS Benfold. After leaving the navy, he wrote a bestseller about progressive leadership called It's Your Ship. He lectures to business audiences around the country.