On a cold January morning at Camp Lejeune, a cluster of Coast Guard men and women assembled for the physical fitness test run, a mile and a half on a dirt trail. My training taught me the importance of leading from the front. When the clock started, I charged ahead at a brisk pace and was well ahead of the pack after only a few minutes. Despite my lungs and legs starting to burn, when the finish line appeared in the distance, I increased my speed and finished well ahead of everyone. Three months later, I deployed to Bahrain with the same group of Coast Guardsmen from Camp Lejeune as part of U.S. Coast Guard Patrol Forces Southwest Asia (PatForSWA). Two weeks after arriving and only days after my 26th birthday, I took command of the USCGC Glen Harris (WPC-1144)—a 154-foot fast response cutter with 27 crew members committed to always charging, full-steam ahead.
I took command with the same attitude I had when completing the run at Camp Lejeune: Go as hard and as fast as you can. In my first month of command, this leadership style allowed the crew to enjoy operational success, including seizing $110 million of narcotics in the Gulf of Oman. In our minds, we exemplified the Coast Guard motto, Semper Paratus—Always Ready.
Headed for Catastrophe
As weeks passed, temperatures grew hotter. Operating in the Fifth Fleet carries unique challenges, from equipment failures and limited liberty and off-duty entertainment options to the stress of operating within a combined Navy–Coast Guard chain of command. I kept pressing ahead, continuing a course of my own making, eager for the next mission and determined to succeed while keeping the pace fast and hard. Leadership can be lonely, and I stayed ahead of the crew, not realizing the distance between us was growing. I kept pushing forward without looking back. Then our mission changed drastically.
We went from chasing dhows—lateen-rigged “fishing boats” with one small diesel engine—laden with narcotics to providing security for oil tankers in the Arabian Gulf. Initially, the change was exciting. There was concern Iran might seize another tanker, and my crew might be the ones to intervene. But after two months of this new mission, the excitement faded. Conducting slow transits through heavily trafficked areas grew old. Summer crew summer rotation began. New service members reported on board, and many of the members who contributed to our past successes departed. The command climate began to suffer.
Yet, we continued to sprint at my direction. I did not see that we were headed straight toward near-catastrophe. On a September night in the Arabian Gulf, we hit our lowest point. I had received a call from the bridge that the deck watch officer believed he sighted an aircraft carrier but was provided little additional information. Something seemed off, so I proceeded to the bridge. When I arrived, the deck watch officer could not identify the location of the supposed aircraft carrier. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I noticed lights off the starboard beam that appeared to be coming closer. In moments, I realized it was an 843-foot landing helicopter dock (LHD), and we were on a collision course.
There was no time for hesitation. I ordered the rudder over hard to port and told the conn to increase engine speed for emergency avoidance. The young Coast Guardsman driving the ship was nervous and forgot to shift autopilot off. Our speed started to increase as we sailed closer to catastrophe. The ship was not turning. The large gray mass of the LHD loomed before us. I took control of the rudder and throttle and came to hard port rudder. Not confident there was enough time to make the turn, we sounded the collision alarm, warning the crew to prepare for impact. Our ship slowly started to turn as the LHD sounded five short danger blasts on its horn. Tensions mounted with the confusion and approaching hazard. Both vessels could see the other growing closer. Slowly, our vessel began to turn, and the distance between the two ships increased. Collision avoided. Although we were safe, it was not time to celebrate.
This incident demonstrated that it was time for a change. We doubled down on watchstanding procedures and ran extra drills, but that was not enough. The crew’s faith in our ability to safely operate had been shaken. As events settled from the near miss, the crew completed a command climate survey. The results made clear we were struggling with leadership on three fronts: trust, transparency, and morale.
Recommit to Trust
The crew had begun to feel I did not trust them. They saw me as disconnected and unable to empower junior enlisted members. Although I knew one person could not run a ship by themselves no matter how smart, strong, or experienced, I needed to make that known to my crew. An effective team requires all members to feel valued and trusted. For members to feel and perform in this way, leaders must delegate responsibility and allow their shipmates to make independent decisions, not just carry out orders.
Trust also comes from opening up. The crew needed to see a person, not just an officer who set a fast pace. I realized my executive officer and I did not take enough time each day with the crew to find out what makes them tick and what hardships they might be experiencing. In retrospect, I had been running too far ahead to notice the disconnect until we almost collided with another ship. In the days and weeks after the incident, we discussed values and perspectives with the entire crew. I recommitted myself to them and began to communicate more. We reconnected as a command and had immediate results.
Triple Down on Transparency
As commanding officer, I was given more information than the crew and shared information freely, or so I thought. I believed everyone understood the Navy had large assets in the area that required additional attention and awareness. However, I had allowed our dynamic schedule to become an excuse for not keeping everyone fully informed. In retrospect, I was just talking into the wind. The command team learned the hard way that you must consistently pass information if you want people to hear and understand. A crew needs to understand their mission to instill a sense of purpose. Without a purpose, people simply go through the motions of the job and do not push to improve or strive for more.
After recognizing the communication gap, the command team began weekly briefs to explain our various missions and operations. The crew quickly became more engaged. They embraced schedule changes as challenges to overcome as a team instead of the mandates of a career-driven commanding officer chasing a good evaluation.
Mainstream Morale
Success and free time often are at the heart of good morale, but my ship lacked both. I had run the crew to a breaking point with few operational successes and little time for their own lives. My crew and I needed to run at the same pace to win as a team. When trust and transparency increased, morale soon followed, which resulted in a more efficient team motivated to achieve operational success. The increased efficiency then allowed for more time off. With everyone on unaccompanied orders, deployment to PatForSWA meant everyone was mostly together, both on and off the ship. To maintain high morale, we hosted command socials and off-work gatherings, which allowed us to bond in different ways, and we began to better understand each crew member and what motived him or her.
Run In Formation
My heart still races when I think about the near-miss on that September night. The safety and well-being of the crew was my first mandate as their commanding officer. I thought I had that covered. But seeing that looming gray hull made me shift my perspective. I realized a better leadership style was needed to avoid future pitfalls. The near miss allowed me to grow as a leader and person.
I learned that being a leader requires constant self-examination and an understanding of both the intended and unintended consequences of your actions. Seeing the negative effect my leadership style had on my crew was hard. It took humility to accept the feedback, but we used it to build a more successful command climate by recommitting to trust, transparency, and mainstreaming efforts to improve morale. We still pushed hard, but ran in formation, looked back as a team, and never left anyone behind. Together, we realized that real success is when the crew and the command move forward together at the same pace. Sustained mission success requires that a commander never outrun his crew.
