Caring

A chief's unusual question at morning quarters teaches a young lieutenant that caring for your people is the best way to ensure the success of the mission.

The crew of the USS Crommelin (FFG-37) and shipyard workers covered the ship like ants. It was late morning and in the midst of a hectic yard period I talked with my new chief in the passageway. I had been on board for over a year and had gone without a chief the past ten months. Chief told me that I had overworked myself, that the division had the day's work under control, and that I should go home and get some rest. It was the first time that anyone on board had demonstrated concern about my own personal welfare. This chief took care of everyone in the division, even the division officer.

I was so shocked that someone was looking out for my well-being that tears almost came to my eyes. I began to understand what Damage Control Chief (DCC) James Armstrong was teaching me: caring for your people is the best way to ensure the success of the mission.

A year earlier, I had reported on board the day before the Crommelin retook the Operational Propulsion Plant Examination because of failing it four months prior. I relieved a burnt-out Damage Control Assistant (DCA) and took charge of an exhausted division. My chief lasted for two months before being transferred off for medical reasons. The ship sailed for a Western Pacific deployment and the damage control chief billet remained gapped for the next ten months. Despite assistance from the other chiefs in the department, I made many leadership mistakes.

For example, three of my sailors stayed up all night to replace a sewage valve at sea. I reported its completion to the chief engineer and asked what to do about their current workday. He told me that for them to work a full workday was not out of the ordinary. Anything less meant they were trying to skate out of work. They stayed on the watchbill and worked a full day.

Another time, the chief engineer, my leading petty officer Hull Maintenance Technician First Class Batista, and I walked through a compartment that I owned. The chief engineer asked why a bilge pump was not working. Instead of taking full responsibility I stood by while petty officer Batista took the blame.

Throughout the six months at sea as a new officer with no chief, I fell, picked myself up, and continued forward. The fact that I completed the deployment as the ship's sea and anchor conning officer, a qualified surface warfare officer, and an engineering officer of the watch while still wearing ensign bars didn't seem to matter. My sailors were exhausted and I was burnt out.

The interdeployment training cycle began and I was taught by example to ensure success by throwing as many bodies as I could at a problem. The crew didn't stop working till near perfection was met or the day of the inspection arrived. This implied rule of working as long as it took to achieve zero defects seemed to apply to every member of the ship.

Chief Armstrong reported on board and I watched him earn the respect and loyalty of the sailors in the division. He put their welfare first on his list and had complete faith in them to accomplish the mission. The sailors knew he cared about them and would accomplish anything for him.

Chief Armstrong did not use the traditional end statement at divisional quarters each morning of, "Does anyone have anything for me? Anything I need to know?" Instead he asked, "Is there anything that you need me to do for you?" He asked this question every single day without fail. When a sailor had a problem, he took immediate and aggressive action to assist. I could not believe what an incredible impact a few words could make on a group of people.

The chief knew of every problem in his sailors' home lives. During a busy yard period an 18-year-old sailor reported on board. I did not make the time to find out all about him, but Chief Armstrong did. He found out that the sailor and his sister had been in foster homes their whole lives and that he literally was on his own. That sailor gave his full effort because he knew his chief would take care of him.

The night before the second day of a major inspection, HT1 Barela and DC2 Beam stayed up all night working on repairs. Chief Armstrong came in the next morning and listened to their report. Upon hearing that they had not slept, he immediately sent them home to rest. The rest of the division covered the remaining inspection tasks that day. The chief knew that we could pass the inspection with two fewer bodies. The short-term goal of perfection for the inspection at the cost of his sailors' health was not an option.

The greatest gift that Chief Armstrong gave to his sailors was his unquestioning faith that they could do the job. He attacked and eliminated any opposition to this belief. He believed in them more than they believed in themselves until they did believe in themselves. His faith was the catalyst that raised the morale and productivity of the entire division.

During the brief four months that Chief Armstrong was on board he successfully revitalized the entire division and me. In the end he was transferred to a forward-deployed ship in Japan and a new chief was sent to replace him.

The engineering department began preparing for its final major inspection, the Engineering Certification (ECERT). I was flighted up to main propulsion assistant (MPA) with collateral duties as engineering training officer, damage control training team leader, and engineering training team engineering officer of the watch. Here was my opportunity to put to use what I had learned from Chief Armstrong with the Main Propulsion Division. I would make amends for my earlier leadership failures.

"Is there anything that you need me to do for you? If you need, you can talk to me after quarters or talk to Chief." I said that at the first divisional quarters and every day after. The first day I saw many bewildered looks from my new gas turbine systems mechanics (GSMs) and electricians (GSEs). Later, I would get some comments like, "Yeah, I want a raise." I would joke back, "Talk to Chief. He handles all salary increases."

Several times I got the information that counted. GSMFN Parker had his seabag containing all his uniforms stolen out of a friend's car. All that he had left was the one uniform he was wearing. I had 20 tasks on my own to-do list. Solving GSMFN Parker's problem went to number one. It had to. Anywhere other than number one on my list would send a clear message that I really didn't care as much as I was saying. I tracked down the morale, welfare, and recreation officer and the disbursing officer to find out what could be done. I called Navy Relief, got him a grant for $120, and found the location of the used uniform store. I cleared his work schedule and that of another sailor with a car to drive him to get the money and the uniforms. Then I did the rest of my work. I didn't tell anyone else what I had done and didn't ask for a thank you. But I know that the whole division understood that I cared.

I typed up my own initial counseling form for the members of my new division. It was not a bunch of generic and impersonal questions like, "What are your goals, and what can you do for the division?" Those questions have merit, but when asked alone seem to mean, "What can you do for me?" Instead, I asked the names, ages, and occupations of every member of their immediate family. I asked what tools they needed me to get them, what watch station training they needed, what schools they needed me to send them to, how many pairs of coveralls they had and in what condition, how many work shoes and in what condition, and what did they need me to do for them? I had one negative comment that exemplified the leadership of my predecessor: "If you treat us like the last MPA you will go down like him." I sat down with each person for 30 minutes starting with the chief and working my way down the ranks. To take the first step and make things equal, I began by volunteering the same personal information about myself that I had requested from them.

I found out that most had one or two pairs of beat-up coveralls and half needed new shoes. Nobody had ever asked, including myself for my previous division. I realized the fact that I hadn't heard any major complaints before did not mean that things were perfect. It only meant that the sailors had grown accustomed to wearing old coveralls. For an engineer who spends most of his time in hot machinery spaces it is filthy and demeaning to give him only one or two pairs of ripped or old coveralls. I figured out the laundry schedule and concluded that in order to maintain adequate hygiene each sailor should have five pairs. I went to work battling with supply for the money to get them.

I asked about the status of electrical repairs and found that they were slow because all five of my GSEs shared one Phillips-head screwdriver. I went to work getting screwdrivers.

I asked GSM1 Wickersham why his mechanics didn't have the tools they needed and he responded that they had been lost or stolen. I had toolboxes and locks ordered so that each sailor could be held accountable for his own tools.

Self-respect for each individual sailor was critical to forming a team. When I learned of a petty officer with computer skills I had him support my overhaul of the department training program. Sitting at my desk in the central control station (CCS), I heard a sailor call him "the MPA's bitch." I did what Chief Armstrong would have done. I immediately got up, ordered the offending sailor behind Number Four Switchboard and corrected the problem. "Every member of this division is important!" I said. "He is, you are, I am! And if someone was ruthlessly putting you down then I would come after them!" He was shocked at the anger and conviction in my voice and did his best to calm me down and assure me that he understood. I know everyone else in CCS heard me and I never had problems with sailors alienating one another out of spite.

The greatest gift I gave to a division of low morale was faith. I followed Chief Armstrong's example. I believed in them more than they believed in themselves until they did believe in themselves. The GSEs had been harassed and belittled for the engines' electrical problems since I had been on board. They had suffered from poor leadership and were a beat-down group. I didn't know for sure if they could fix a problem but I chose to believe in them publicly with complete confidence. "My GSEs are the best," I would state. "GSE1 Griffin and his crew can fix it!" What an impact faith can have on a group of people and on those around them. I said the words with sincerity and conviction and backed them up with my support. The words turned into belief in themselves and others' belief in them.

The ship passed the ECERT in one day and did not receive an evaluation of "Not Effective" in any single category. It was an overwhelming victory.

I received orders and found myself turning over to my relief the same week that my division underwent a weeklong internal inspection called Division in the Spotlight. I had served on the inspection team and had witnessed two main propulsion assistants get flame sprayed by two commanding officers for poor morale and division programs across the board. My division completed the inspection with the best zone inspection the commanding officer had done. It wasn't because I was the best main propulsion assistant. It was because I cared about my sailors more than anyone before.

I turned over the division to my relief and gave the sailors a final counseling form for myself. It stated that this form was a tool to help me become a better leader and that their honesty was appreciated. It asked two questions: What did the MPA do well, and what could the MPA have done better? The responses I got back meant more to me than anything else I could have gotten from the ship. Each and every form read, "We knew you would take care of us."

Amazing what some coveralls, screwdrivers, and a lot of faith can do.

Lieutenant Brandt served as the Damage Control Assistant and the Main Propulsion Assistant on board the USS Crommelin (FFG-37). A member of the U.S. Naval Academy Class of 1995, he currently serves as the Military Advisor for Land Attack at the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center San Diego.