Tag Archives: Leadership

Commentary

Enduring the Storm: Reflections on the U.S. Navy’s “Fat Leonard” Scandal

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By Rear Admiral Bruce Loveless, U.S. Navy (Ret.)

Heavy Seas

Heavy seas do calm with time. Yet long after headlines fade and public attention moves on, those who endure them continue to feel their weight—professionally, personally, and often in silence.

The Glenn Defense Marine Asia (GDMA) case—widely known as the “Fat Leonard” scandal and the largest corruption case in U.S. Navy history—led to criminal charges against more than 30 uniformed and civilian officials, with lengthy investigations that disrupted hundreds of careers.¹ During that period, I was serving in key operational intelligence roles across the Indo-Pacific and later in senior positions at the Pentagon, making my own experience inseparable from the broader institutional reckoning that followed.

Now largely remembered as a case study in public corruption and accountability, the ordeal was deeply personal for me—a painful and prolonged period of uncertainty that demanded perseverance and tested character in ways I never expected. With recent decisions by a federal appeals court effectively closing the final chapters of the GDMA case, the legal story has reached its conclusion. The human story has not.²

What follows is not an effort to relitigate the case or revisit legal arguments. Rather, it is a personal reflection on what it means to serve, to be accused, and to endure when trust—personal, professional, and public trust—is strained over time.

The Storm

The storm hit long before my very public arrest.

While serving at the Pentagon in the fall of 2013, I was called into a meeting with Department of Justice (DOJ) attorneys and NCIS agents. They asked about Navy port visits from several years earlier, going back to 2005, when I sailed the Western Pacific with the U.S. Seventh Fleet. Within hours, I was suspended from my duties, stripped of security access, and thrust onto the front pages of the national news. The press seemed to have the story beforehand.³

No charges. No explanation. Just suspicion—and years of painful uncertainty followed.

For three years, I lived in that limbo—still a naval officer, still a Flag Officer, still serving my country, but largely sidelined. In the fall of 2016, believing the ordeal had passed, I retired quietly (and honorably) after more than 30 years in the Navy, living and sailing around the world in warships, along with multiple assignments in what may be the most challenging battlefield of all—Washington, DC.

Then in the spring of 2017, without any warning or follow-up from that initial DOJ meeting, I was arrested. Federal agents with handcuffs knocked on my door very early in the morning—armed, but respectful. In NCIS offices at nearby Naval Base San Diego, I sat in a holding room, waiting—the federal jail downtown wasn’t even open that early.

The agents were professional, offering coffee and water. Strangely, they didn’t ask any questions about the case, as if not interested in me for that purpose. One said quietly, almost apologetically, “This will make more sense when you see the news.” The story had already been written.

Later that day in a federal courtroom, I stood shackled, wearing a prison jumpsuit. Another naval officer—also charged—stood nearby in a business suit and tie, clearly given time to prepare, flying in from Hawaii with his attorney. The contrast seemed deliberate. Perception mattered more than fairness in that moment.

That evening the story played on national TV. No trial. No evidence. No defense. Just narrative.

The Endurance

Back home that night, I sent a short email to Tom O’Brien, my brother’s Naval Academy classmate and former U.S. Attorney: “I think I need your help.” He responded immediately. Acknowledging the legal costs ahead would be overwhelming, he said, “These are accounts you’ve already paid into with your service.”

In the days (and years) that followed, the Navy was silent. No official calls. No offers of assistance. I was retired, after all. But many individuals stepped forward: shipmates, Naval Academy classmates, neighbors, and new friends in San Diego. Unexpected allies reached out with quiet strength.

For five years awaiting trial, I chose purpose over despair, completing a PhD by studying senior leaders across business, nonprofit, and public sectors—many shaped by adversity. Study partners kept me focused. Faculty reassured that perseverance would carry me through. Friends nudged me forward, on nearby hiking trails and running paths. Neighbors kept my spirits alive. And my brother, always a role model, was steady and present when I needed him most.

Through research, interviews, and hard miles on mountain trails, my understanding of leadership was rebuilt. For most of my Navy career, leadership largely meant operational excellence and taking care of sailors. But enduring this storm demanded far more. It would take dignity when humiliation felt certain. Perseverance when anger was easier. Grace, even when bitterness seemed justified.

Nearly every morning during the forthcoming trial, a Naval Academy classmate and running partner sent me a short text message—words of encouragement, reminders to keep going. Framed in familiar language—handing me water when needed, helping me find another mile when my legs and heart were tired. His quiet consistency and the loyalty of others like him made the marathon possible.

The Trial

The trial itself didn’t come quickly. Following my arrest, we waited—year after year—as proceedings were delayed. Some co-defendants eventually pleaded guilty. Then COVID caused further delays.

When we finally went to trial in 2022—nearly nine years after that initial DOJ meeting—the federal courtroom in San Diego looked like a different world. We were five defendants on trial together, all naval officers who served in the Seventh Fleet around the same time, and more attorneys than one could count, on both sides of the aisle. Masks covered our faces. Plexiglass divided us. Jurors couldn’t see our facial expressions, nor our humanity.

Why the trial was in a federal court—rather than a military courtroom—was a frequent question. To my understanding, DOJ took jurisdiction because the broader case involved a civilian contractor and alleged violations of federal bribery laws. However, with full respect for civil authority, explaining years of operational context—overseas, over decades, involving port visit interactions with a foreign husbanding agent hired by our Navy—to a civilian jury, understandably unfamiliar with forward-deployed naval operations, proved challenging for all defendants. Even federal prosecutors struggled to present that complexity clearly.

In the middle of what would become a grueling four-month trial, the Judge suspended proceedings to hold a separate evidentiary hearing away from the jury. In a surprising turn, prosecutors took the witness stand and were questioned by defense counsel. The courtroom was packed—with attorneys, observers, even other judges—watching a rare public reckoning unfold. During that hearing, serious flaws in the prosecution’s case—withholding evidence, misrepresenting facts, deceiving the public, and even attempting to bribe witnesses—came to light. Behavior by government prosecutors and investigators that the Judge characterized as “outrageous” and “flagrant misconduct.”⁴

While that moment felt like a turning point in the case, the Judge denied several motions for a mistrial. So, after months of testimony and weeks of deliberation, the jury ultimately returned mixed verdicts. For me, the jury could not reach a decision—a hung jury—while the other four defendants were convicted on all charges (felony convictions later reduced to misdemeanors). Soon after the trial, the DOJ prosecutors themselves requested that all charges against me be dismissed (with prejudice), and the Judge agreed, bringing my legal ordeal to an end, nearly a decade after the investigation began.⁵

But that didn’t end the scrutiny, for the scars—personal, professional, and reputational—remain. And the cloud of distrust lingers.

Hard Truths

The Fat Leonard scandal was built on a story—partly true, often exaggerated—driven by a con man and too readily accepted by government prosecutors and a press eager for headlines. In my view, major media outlets, especially The Washington Post, relied too heavily on the prosecution-provided narrative, repeating sensationalized claims without nuance.6 Some even suggested I had traded military secrets—yet no charge ever alleged such a thing. Complexity rarely fits into headlines.

The Navy, bound by lawful authority, largely remained silent. In many ways, I understood that—for I was one of them, and they were me. With a major federal investigation and heavy public scrutiny, there was little space for Navy leadership to act differently. In the face of prosecutorial overreach and intense media coverage, the narrative became one-sided, and sometimes deeply misleading.

Even now, I struggle to believe that most of those in uniform who were charged truly understood that Francis was defrauding the government. In hindsight, it seems unlikely he would have wanted them to know—exposure would have jeopardized his scheme. Indeed, trial evidence showed he deliberately concealed his fraudulent actions, especially from senior officers. As the Judge pointedly told the lead prosecutor during the trial (though away from the jury): “I’m not buying it…to be part of a conspiracy, you have to know what’s going on.” Yes, there were serious lapses in judgment and troubling ethical failings, for sure. But whether those amounted to felony-level crimes is, in many cases, a far more complex legal question.

In the end, all of my charges (bribery, conspiracy, and fraud) were dismissed at DOJ’s request after years of investigation, months of trial, and a hung jury—where I was the only defendant the jury refused to convict. My charges were not dismissed because of prosecutorial misconduct, nor did it end on a technicality, as some still mistakenly believe. It ended because the prosecution failed to prove its claims against me before a jury at trial. Unlike all others charged, I was not accused of direct criminal wrongdoing, but of failing to report the alleged misconduct of others. In essence, I was accused of looking the other way. That allegation collapsed under scrutiny because the evidence was insufficient to convince the jury—and it simply wasn’t true.

Still, deeper reflection includes what I could have done differently. I wish I had kept greater distance from Francis—of course I do in hindsight—and I know many others feel the same. As the U.S. Navy’s primary husbanding agent in the Western Pacific for decades, his company (GDMA) was not viewed with enough suspicion by us, at least not back then. Naively, we placed a great deal of trust in the people and systems around us, assuming the processes responsible for vetting and hiring Navy contractors would shield us from bad actors, especially those we relied on so directly to meet critical operational needs.

Likewise, through this unfamiliar legal journey, I mistakenly believed that government prosecutors and agents would uphold the highest standards of justice and professional conduct—at least I did before this horrific experience. Those assumptions, as it turned out, were dangerously misplaced.

Even without criminal guilt, some regret remains, for not recognizing the criminality of the situation—with Francis or anyone else for that matter. And a sense of responsibility lingers, believing that if I had known, I would have spoken up, somehow, someway. Silence, even unknowing, contributes to failure.

Hard truths are never easy, but they teach.

Enduring Trust

The Navy remains an institution I love. Its ideals—honor, courage, commitment—still mean as much to me today as they did when I first took the Oath during Plebe Summer in 1982. Enduring the Fat Leonard scandal tested those ideals beyond anything I ever imagined. It also made them more real.

Character isn’t forged in calm seas; it’s revealed in crisis—we know that. Even more so when everything falls apart, when your professional life ends abruptly, when your personal life is shattered, when you’re afraid. Enduring this storm was made possible because others stood beside me—shipmates, friends, family—who refused to walk away.

I am better because I endured—because I came to understand the deeper strength that comes when character is tested. Under great strain, I chose dignity over anger, perseverance over bitterness, grace over grievance. And in the end, I chose resilience over defeat. Growth is a choice.

The foundation of character—and leadership—is trust. Trust is fragile and must be earned—every day, in every challenge, through every trial—seen and unseen. My greatest hope remains, not only to be trusted, but to continue to live and lead in a trustworthy way.

Bruce Loveless is a retired U.S. Navy Rear Admiral who served more than 30 years as a naval intelligence officer. He is a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy and holds a PhD in Leadership Studies from the University of San Diego.

References

  1. S. Department of Justice, press releases and case summaries concerning the Glenn Defense Marine Asia corruption investigation, 2013–2024. See, for example: https://www.justice.gov/criminal-fraud/glenn-defense-marine-asia
  2. Greg Moran, “After more than a decade, the Fat Leonard scandal may finally be over — but not for everyone,” inewsource, December 29, 2025, https://inewsource.org/2025/12/29/fat-leonard-navy-case-san-diego-questions/.
  3. National media reporting on the “Fat Leonard” scandal, 2013–2024. Representative coverage in The New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/09/us/bribery-case-implicates-2-admirals.html
  4. Federal court proceedings and related public reporting addressing prosecutorial misconduct and evidentiary issues in GDMA-related cases, 2020–2023. See, for example: https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/2023/09/06/felony-convictions-vacated-for-4-former-navy-officers-in-sprawling-fat-leonard-bribery-scandal/
  5. United States v. Loveless, U.S. District Court for the Southern District of California, case filings and dismissal order. Public docket available via PACER: https://pacer.uscourts.gov and also at: https://news.usni.org/2022/09/15/charges-dropped-against-retired-rear-adm-bruce-loveless-in-fat-leonard-case
  6. National media reporting on the “Fat Leonard” scandal, 2013–2024. Representative coverage in The Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/investigations/leaks-feasts-and-sex-parties-how-fat-leonard-infiltrated-the-navys-floating-headquarters-in-asia/2018/01/23/4d31555c-efdd-11e7-97bf-bba379b809ab_story.html

Featured image: Statue of lady justice holding scales indoors. (Open source photo by Albert Stoynov)

History

What We Can Learn from the Rickover Papers

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By Claude Berube, PhD

With nearly a dozen biographies, countless articles, and word-of-mouth stories, Admiral Hyman G. Rickover may be the most written- or talked-about flag officer in US naval history. Can we still learn anything about the man, what he did, or why he did it? Beginning in the 1950s, many authors and publishers approached Rickover about a biography or autobiography – Simon & Schuster, Harper & Row, Naval Institute Press, etc. He rejected them all, wryly noting that “autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful. A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying, since life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats.” Dr. Francis Duncan, a historian working for Atomic Energy Commission, eventually wrote two authorized biographies based on more than a decade with Rickover, as recorded in copious notes. Duncan also had the advantage of having access to the most substantive collection of Rickover papers. Rickover was a master of shaping his image; consequently, an authorized, contracted biography with Duncan offered the best opportunity for him to manage that story.

Historian Barbara Tuchman wrote that historians should use primary sources only because secondary sources have already been pre-selected and that one should read two or three versions of any episode to account for bias. Such is the case with every Rickover biography. When in 1983 a columnist from The Washington Post asked Rickover to write a biography, the Admiral explained that he had already compiled volumes of his thoughts and reflections on various subjects over the years and that he did not want to condense them into a book. However, he did allow that perhaps someone else may decide to do that someday. That was what Duncan had access to and is now finally available to researchers.

Retained in Rickover’s Arlington condominium until his second wife Eleonore’s passing in 2021, the collection was bequeathed by her to the US Naval Academy. They were then catalogued and made available in the Nimitz Library’s Special Collections and Archives. Rickover’s papers include personal correspondence, memoranda from meetings with journalists, congressmen, admirals, and presidents, as well as transcripts of telephone conversations and the famed interviews with applicants of the nuclear program. This totals approximately 250 archival boxes, arguably one of the largest collections of any U.S. naval officer.

Perhaps the most insightful and significant papers are the daily letters to and from his first wife Ruth in the decade leading up to the Second World War. This is the real education of Hyman G. Rickover – researchers will learn how he shaped himself and, more importantly, how he was influenced by Ruth.

Researchers will find plenty on the recommendations and behind-the-scenes decision-making of major programs throughout the Cold War, all thanks to Rickover who left such incredibly detailed records. The papers will confirm the mythology and stories about Rickover all these years; but it will also surprise many people. There are other aspects to the man and the officer.

He received thousands of fan mail letters from home and abroad. He was as likely to get a note of thanks from a teacher in Chicago, a student in San Francisco, or a young adult in Ghana, as he would from a member of the Senate Armed Services Committee or president of a major corporation. He was recognizable – he was, for example, one of the few Navy admirals to grace the cover of Time magazine after World War Two and television talk shows sought him out because of his outspokenness and appeal to the broader public.

Rickover’s wide-ranging contacts and interests are reflected in his Rolodex. Contact cards for influential economists John Galbraith (top left) and Milton Friedman (top right) are shown with an entry for the 1981 film Das Boot (bottom).

Rickover succeeded by his intellect. He was driven by curiosity and learning what he did not know. He was a voracious reader even on his early ships and submarines trying to understand the world around him. Among those literally thousands of works were Michael Ossorgin’s Quiet Street, Captain Robert Scott’s letters on his voyage of discovery to the South Pole, Boris Pilnyak’s The Volga Falls to the Caspian Sea, Karl Marx’s Das Capital, and Adolph Hitler’s Mein Kampf. Readers may be surprised that Rickover, a Polish-Jewish emigre, would read this notorious work, however the answer may lie in the fact that Rickover read articles and books not to agree with them but to understand the ideas shaping the world both negatively and positively. Another factor may have been understanding his first wife Ruth’s country of origin better and communicating with her as he saw her as not an intellectual equal but his intellectual superior. Rickover, never one to do anything by halves, taught himself German in order to translate a book on U-Boat tactics.

He faced personal challenges. He was self-aware enough as a junior officer that he could admit to his young wife Ruth his sudden fits of depression and despair and being tormented by the “slough of despond.” He later admitted to his official biographer that he suffered from an inferiority complex. Perhaps these were simply part of what drove him to succeed and surpass his peers in some ways.

Admiral Rickover meets with President Kennedy. (Photo via JFK presidential library and museum)

Rickover held integrity as one of the highest character traits. He could not be compromised. During a meeting with his friend the British Lord Mountbatten, Rickover was offered a knighthood in exchange for an agreement on submarine information, resulting in Rickover returning to the dining room his face “pale with anger.” On their way home, he told his second wife Eleanore the story and concluded with, “Can you believe he didn’t know me any better than this – that I would fall for a knighthood?” True to Eleonore’s nature, she responded, “But I’ll always be a Lady.”

He challenged elitism everywhere – the Navy, large defense contractors, economic classes – likely because he had risen from a childhood of such poverty that his mother could only afford an orange once a year in Poland. He was acutely aware of his role and his destiny in the Navy, not simply as Hyman Rickover, but as someone who had arrived in the United States with nothing and whose religious background might have been an impediment at the time. As he told his biographer and preserved in countless notes made by Duncan, “My job, as I saw it, was to struggle through to the greatest accomplishment of which I was capable, ignoring, as far as possible, my Jewishness. This is not to say that I denied it. What I denied was the power it had to limit self-development, to force me to act humbly, rather than arrogantly, to suffer.”

No factor contributed more to enabling Rickover’s successful career than Congress. A student of history, he realized that the Royal Navy’s Admiral Sir Jackie Fisher made political connections as a young officer and, consequently, it was easier for him to make reforms, a discussion that occurred between Rickover and his friend Lord Mountbatten. He knew how to cultivate support among members – by giving them the information they asked for and having a reputation for efficiency. He was idolized and befriended by members of Congress. Over the course of four decades, he testified before congressional committees more than two hundred times – a record likely unsurpassed by any military officer or civilian.

Figure 1.
Figure 2.

Rickover spoke to them in hearings, and in personal conversations, in ways no other military officer could or would dare. He was honest, direct, and, yes, he could entertain them with his sharp wit even in a hearing that would never occur in the 21st century. They loved him for it. They respected his technical expertise, but they also expected and valued his candor. For some, he became their friend “Rick.” Rickover notes attending DC plays with Senator Scoop Jackson and their wives or dining at the home of House Appropriations Chairman Clarence Cannon who played the piano for him. Rickover’s influence, reputation, and relationships with senior congressional leaders was such that he would be called to answer off the record questions or when some members needed help. In one case, Congressman Charles Price wanted to see House Appropriations Chairman Cannon who was not seeing anyone. Price appealed to Rickover to intervene. Cannon, upon Rickover’s request, acceded and met with Price. And it was an intervention by Congress, not the Navy, which would promote him to flag rank.

In his early years as an admiral, the Navy brass and a Secretary of Defense tried to temper Rickover’s influence with Congress to no avail. As one admiral noted after a conference in Monterey of flag officers on the Rickover problem, “there isn’t a damn thing we can do to him or about him, because he’s got the Congress on his side, and we’d just better live with it.”

Most in the U.S. Navy’s submarine community have heard the stories of the famous Rickover interviews, where he would place the midshipmen in uncomfortable situations or berate them to determine how they could respond to adversity, but now aside from the experiences of those young midshipmen, we now have concrete evidence. Actual transcripts of many of those interviews exist in this collection. His reputation was cemented by the famed “interviews” of midshipmen applying – or in many cases told to apply – to the nuclear reactor program. Rickover required some candidates to have their parents or fiancées write letters on their behalf understanding why the midshipman would have to sacrifice time away from them (again, the letters of which are in this collection). Perhaps it was because the Navy had refused Rickover’s own request as a junior officer for a specific billet to accommodate Ruth in her career.

A partial transcript of an interview between Rickover and a nuclear power program candidate.

The interviews, as well as his speeches and memos, make it clear that though he was involved with and promoted technology, he placed a higher value on the humanities. As he questioned the midshipmen, he would discuss history, philosophy, religion, and management and not their technical skills. He writes that he can train anyone for the nuclear program but they had to be able to think and the humanities offered the best grounding for those future officers.

Rickover gave and wrote hundreds of speeches. His first known speech was in 1931 on the topic of the World Court to the Portsmouth, New Hampshire Kiwanis Club. Later that decade he spoke to technical organizations. His speech to a wider audience, “The Importance of Education in the Advancement of our National Resources,” occurred in 1953. Soon after, he was frequently invited to speak to a variety of organizations domestically and internationally. Rickover’s speeches were a breadth of practical, philosophical, and governmental issues: “Thoughts on Man’s Purpose in Life,” “Competency Based Education,” “The Decline of the Individual,” “An Effective National Defense,” “The Meaning of a University,” “Liberty, Science & the Law,” and “A Humanistic Technology” are just a few. On average, he gave at least one speech monthly. Education would be his obsession – in addition to the nuclear navy which he saw as inextricably intertwined.

Retired Vice Admiral Hyman G. Rickover prepares to enter the nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Hyman G. Rickover (SSN 709) for a tour at the conclusion of the ship’s commissioning ceremony. (Photo via U.S. National Archives)

He could be curt, rude, and abusive to officer candidates for the nuclear power program, to the point where the Chief of Naval Operations gently asked him to reconsider his methods. On the other hand, the papers show he could engender such loyalty from his technical and administrative staff that many stayed with him throughout his tenure as he fathered the nuclear navy for three decades. The internal office memos written by Rickover to his staff or his sharp wit to Senators and Members of Congress during congressional hearings are insightful.

People are often more complex than perceptions. The papers clearly demonstrate that Rickover had an unexpected compassionate streak. He helped his staff when they needed to move to a new assignment and would loan them money to purchase a new home; he voraciously wrote get well notes to people he knew, especially if they were children of friends. All the money he made from speeches, articles and books was donated to charities such as orphanages, disabled children societies, CARE, etc. In Shanghai as the Japanese invade China, Rickover stopped to tend to the poor and dying on the streets. One letter is from a young boy named Hyman from California taunted at school for his name and was told by his mother that there was an admiral with the same name. Rickover responded to him, explained to him the history of the name, and gave him advice. In all of this collection, Rickover only signed “H.G. Rickover,” except in this case where his empathy led him to sign his name, “Hyman Rickover.”

These papers represent a new era for understanding Rickover, the Navy, and the nation. These papers should eventually be made public so that Rickover might be known on his own terms and uncensored, even decades after his death. There is more work to be done, and I hope some historians will explore those papers. There are dozens of books to be written and, perhaps someday, a full transcription of all these papers will be completed.

Claude Berube, PhD, is a history professor at the US Naval Academy and former director of the Naval Academy Museum. He and archivist Samuel Limneos edited a volume of a portion of the Rickover papers, Rickover Uncensored, published in October 2023.

Featured Image: Admiral Hyman Rickover. (Photo via Naval History and Heritage Command)

Book Review

The Secret Ingredients of “Collaborative Leadership”

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Weisbrode, Kenneth. Eisenhower and the Art of Collaborative Leadership. New York City, St. Martin’s Press, 2018, 110 pp. $79.955.

Weisbrode – The Art of Collaborative Leadership

By Erik Sand

When Dwight Eisenhower assumed command of Allied forces in Europe in early 1943, he faced a daunting task. Not only did he need to prepare to assault the vaunted Germany army, but he faced a complicated set of command relationships. His three subordinates, Harold Alexander, Arthur Tedder, and Andrew Cunningham, were all British officers. Two of the three were from different services. Moreover, they all outranked him! Later in his life, Eisenhower would define leadership as “the art of getting someone else to do something that you want done because he wants to do it, not because your position of power can compel him to do it, or your position of authority.” Eisenhower’s allied command would test, if not forge, this philosophy. In Eisenhower and the Art of Collaborative Leadership, author Kenneth Weisbrode describes Eisenhower’s leadership style both as an Army officer, and later as president.

Two traits stand out in supporting Ike’s “Collaborative Leadership” – his capacity for empathy and his self-discipline. As a middle child in a large family, Eisenhower grew up needing to recognize, adapt to, and shape the feelings of others. In command, he applied these skills. He sometimes reworded messages to subordinates to ensure they had generous interpretations. He spent time in informal conversations with his subordinates outside of meetings to better understand their perspective. As Weisbrode notes, empathy is “not easy in asymmetrical relationships: for the senior there is every incentive to dismiss the views of the less powerful and to get on with things; for the junior there is often thus every incentive to feel undervalued to begrudge this.” The difficulty of displaying empathy highlights the second theme: the importance of personal discipline to Eisenhower’s leadership.

Ike’s particular forte was leading, and keeping together, alliances. Yet, he often complained about exactly that process. In 1942 he wrote in his journal, “My God, how I hate to work by any method that forces me to depend on someone else.” Later he wrote, “What a headache this combined stuff is. We spend our time figuring out how to keep from getting in each other’s way rather than in how to fight the war.” Historians have called Ike’s leadership as president “the hidden hand.” He carefully chose his moments of intervention in discussions so as not to influence them too early, even though he had frequently already thought through the issue at hand. Even his apparently offhand remarks often were not. To so carefully control his own behavior, as well as to excel in work he found frustrating, required immense self-discipline. Perhaps this combination helps explain why, when it flared, his temper was so famous.

While Eisenhower’s understanding of leadership is simple to state, implementing it is less straightforward. The naval service could gain by discussing both of empathy and self-discipline more explicitly in discussions of leadership. We speak of “knowing our people,” but rarely of having empathy for them. The two are similar, but not the same. Empathy requires sensing and understanding the emotions of the other party. Perhaps our general discomfort with emotions explains why we avoid a term that highlights them.

Discipline forms the foundation of any naval organization, but we do not often explicitly acknowledge the challenge of self-discipline. Even Weisbrode does not explicitly speak to the issue despite its frequent appearance in his descriptions. Few people will point out their leader’s failings directly until it is too late. Often, the discipline required is not to restrain oneself from misconduct, but from excessive intervention in the affairs of subordinates. The challenge becomes greater as leaders rise in the ranks, the temptations of authority grow stronger, and they become more confident in their own opinions. A leader’s discipline must be self-discipline.

In summary, while occasionally difficult to follow as it shifts between Eisenhower’s experiences and actions and the philosophy of friendship and leadership, Weisbrode’s short 93-page text provides a leadership study that focuses on less-commonly discussed leadership traits as displayed by one of America’s greatest leaders.

Erik Sand is a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy Reserve and a PhD candidate in the MIT Security Studies Program. The views expressed here do not represent those of U.S. Government, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Navy.

Featured Image: 01/10/1944-Algiers: Prime Minister Winston Churchill,shown here w/ some of the ‘boys’, is smiling for the camera for the first time since his recent illness and donned his famous siren suit and a colorful dressing gown for the occasion. From left to right: General J.F.M. Whitely Air Marshal Sir Arthur W.Tedder, Deputy Commander of the Allied Forces in the European Theater; Admiral Cunningham; Gen.Dwight D.Eisenhower; Gen. Harold Alexander; Prime Minister Churchill; Lt.Gen.Sir Humprey Gale, Gen. Sir Henry Wilson and Gen. Smith.

Seamanship and Leadership

Self, Shipmate, and Ship: Bringing Balance to Naval Leadership

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By Jimmy Drennan

Secretary of Defense James Mattis was on a plane last year, wrestling with how he would explain President Trump’s “America First” policy to our allies, when an idea came to him. He would draw a parallel to flight attendants requesting passengers put their own oxygen mask on first in the event of an emergency, before assisting family members. Say what you will about our national leadership, this is a wonderful metaphor. America can only contribute to the common interests of our Allies when we first secure our own national interests, across the entire political spectrum. Taking care of our own interests first allows America to be what our allies need – a strong, legitimate partner in promoting freedom and democracy.

Sliding all the way down the U.S. military chain of command, the youngest Seaman Recruit swabbing the deck on a Navy warship receives a very different message. He or she is taught a traditional saying that sailors use to succinctly describe their priorities: “ship, shipmate, self.” Like most nautical jargon, the aphorism has a certain graceful ring to it that captures the Navy’s mission-first mentality in very few words. It evokes dramatic notions of sailors agonizingly shutting a hatch on shipmates to save the ship from flooding, or sacrificing their own safety to save a shipmate from an engine room fire. Unfortunately, like most dramatic notions, these are largely fictional. In the real world, the U.S. Navy does not jump from one dramatic moment to the next. It operates a global force of six fleets, 284 ships, over 3700 aircraft, and 324,000 sailors, and it does so 24/7/365. Instead of maximizing mission effectiveness, using “ship, shipmate, self” as a set of priorities creates unrealistic expectations and tension in the minds of U.S. Navy sailors.

In truth, neither “America first” nor “ship, shipmate, self” are perfect models for sailors.

There are times when sailors truly should sacrifice their own interests and the interests of their shipmates for the sake of the ship, but more often than not, the energy they pour into the ship is in line with their own interests, not contrary to them. There are also many times when sailors need to prioritize their shipmates over the ship – just consider the massive amount of operational resources and time dedicated to recovering a single man overboard. Furthermore, and perhaps controversially, sailors often encounter situations in which they should prioritize themselves over their shipmates and their ship, although these situations often go unnoticed due to Navy culture epitomized by “ship, shipmate, self.” Over the past ten years, an average of 44 active duty sailors died by suicide each year. Imagine how many sailors could be saved by focusing on “preventive self-care” vice reactive clinical treatment. Many will probably view this “selfish” approach as subversive and contrary to what the Navy stands for, but radical ideas are often viewed this way at first. In fact, it is a dynamic approach to leadership that encourages emotional intelligence, in leaders and followers alike, to optimize mission effectiveness. To truly achieve sailor wellness and promote an effective mission-first culture, the Navy should use “ship, shipmate, self” not as a set of priorities, but rather as a triad with each element being critical to the mission.

Ship

Understandably, the ship is traditionally the focal point of naval operations. For centuries, ships were the only means that the world’s navies had at their disposal to project power on their enemies.

Today, even with the advent of naval aircraft, missiles, and other deployable systems, ships (and submarines) remain the quintessential element of maritime presence and power projection. There is no metric for naval strength quite as easily understandable as the number of ships a navy operates and maintains. Much naval strategic planning happening right now in the Pentagon and D.C. think tanks revolves around President Trump’s stated policy of achieving a 355 ship Navy. So, it makes sense that tradition would coalesce around a maxim that prioritizes the ship over all else. After all, sailors literally rely on the ship for their survival, and to return them to their loved ones after deployment.

Yet, for all its traditional primacy in Naval operations, the ship is no more important than the people who operate her. Just as sailors rely on their ship, the ship relies on her crew. It has long been said in naval circles that a new ship is “brought to life” when the commissioning crew runs aboard. What’s needed now is a shift in mindset away from the idea that the ship is something separate that sailors need to prioritize over themselves, toward the idea that sailors and ships are interconnected parts of a larger system that drives toward mission accomplishment, neither being more important than the other. Viewing the ship as a separate and distinct “other” for which one must continually sacrifice their own interests naturally breeds tension and eventually resentment, especially when sailors hear lip service about their wellness being the Navy’s top priority. In truth, the Navy’s top priority is, and always will be, to win our nation’s wars at sea. People, platforms, and payloads are all equally important to that mission. The message to sailors needs to be “take care of the ship, take care of your shipmates, take care of yourself, you are all critical to the mission.” When sailors view themselves as a critical element of a system of mission accomplishment, they begin to find purpose – a reason for the incredible sacrifice all sailors must make. Military leaders have long recognized a sense of purpose as being one of the most powerful motivators for transforming individuals into effective warfighting teams.

The nature of this generation of young sailors is another reason compelling reason to reshape the way the Navy characterizes its priorities. Millennials, as children of the “Peace Dividend” of the 1990s that followed the end of the Cold War, watched their parents pursue individualistic dreams and often expect the opportunity to do the same. Many Millennials were not raised in a time period that was as focused on the same selfless sense of service that some previous generations took for granted. Patriotism just looks different today. However, every American generation has been convinced the following generation was deficient in some way. Even the parents of Tom Brokaw’s “Greatest Generation” probably lamented in 1920 that America’s youth were not ready for the challenges of the “real world.” The prevailing view of Millennials is nothing new, and it’s also not helpful. The fact is, the Navy’s workforce is composed mainly of Millennials, and the challenge of leading them rests with senior leaders, to put it plainly. In this author’s experience, what is often misinterpreted as a “what’s in it for me?” attitude, is in fact a Millennial trying to determine “how do I fit in?” Sailors today seek to thrive personally even as they serve the nation. 

Shipmate

In the past, it would have been obvious to say that sailors will put the needs of their shipmates ahead of their own. They are military servicemembers after all, and most of them joined the Navy motivated by some level of selflessness. There are countless times throughout a sailor’s career when they will rightly sacrifice their own interests for the sake of a shipmate, but as a hard and fast rule, it is not necessarily beneficial to the mission for sailors to constantly put themselves last. Sailors sometimes need to prioritize their own health and readiness to ensure they are capable of contributing to the mission. Sleep, for example, is a hot button issue in the Navy right now. Some claim that systemic lack of sleep in the fleet is causing sailors and officers to perform sub-optimally on watch, potentially contributing to two tragic collisions in 2017. To be sure, the Navy needs to examine its own processes to ensure it is affording sailors the requisite time to rest so that they can do their jobs. Still, some responsibility falls on individual sailors to ensure they are getting enough sleep. This is not strictly self-interest. Sailors are one part of a system geared toward mission accomplishment. So, by declining to help out a shipmate on a late night task so they can get enough shut-eye before watch, a sailor is not only taking care of themself, but also supporting their ship’s mission. A four-star admiral once said “Tired staffs are okay, tired commanders are not.” This was not permission for commanders to work their staffs into the ground, rather it was meant to illustrate that staffs have built-in resilience due to depth, whereas commanders represent single points of mission failure. The admiral was directing his commanders to ensure they prioritized their personal health and readiness, because a commander who cannot make sound decisions due to exhaustion could actually endanger the mission, vice support it.

Today, Millennials are often motivated by more individualistic goals. That does not mean, however, that they are not willing to prioritize their shipmates over themselves, and even their ship. Consider a “man overboard” scenario. When a sailor falls into the water, every sailor stops what they are doing and supports the recovery in some way, even if it is just to muster for accountability to help identify the sailor in the water. Prioritizing the sailor above all else is not just contained to a single ship. Every ship and aircraft that can be contacted proceeds to the scene at top speed. Small boats are deployed in questionable sea states. Helicopters might be launched with winds just outside acceptable limits. Short of actual combat or avoiding collision, nothing is more important than recovering an overboard sailor. Every day, sailors put their piled-up workloads aside to give their junior shipmates on- the-job training. Entire career paths, such as Culinary Specialists and Yeomen, are dedicated to the service of other sailors. In fact, every sailor puts in work to serve their shipmates, their ship, and, ultimately, the mission. The key for leaders is to enable sailors to see how they contribute to the mission.

Self

Taking care of yourself is not necessarily selfish. Usually, it is the mindset of “ship, shipmate, self” that leads sailors to perceive those who prioritize their own wellness as “selfish.” On the contrary, when sailors understand how they contribute to the mission, they can maximize mission effectiveness by ensuring they are prepared mentally, physically, and emotionally to give 100 percent focus and effort toward their duties. It is important, of course, for sailors to understand how they fit in to the overall Navy system, and to not take “self-care” too far. Inevitably, there will be times when sailors will only be looking out for themselves, regardless of how their actions affect their shipmates, their ship, or the mission. Clearly, in a “ship, shipmate, self” culture, these sailors are highly frowned upon and quickly corrected. If they cannot be corrected, they are typically shunned.

The problem with this dynamic is the Navy ends up with sailors who are not contributing to the mission. Worse, in almost all cases, selfishness is not an immutable aspect of a sailor’s character, but rather temporary behavior that can be discouraged through sustained command-wide effort. So, the key is understanding one’s role on the ship and in the mission. As one Commanding Officer once put it, “Everyone can contribute. It’s up to the leader to help them figure out how.” Sometimes that might involve creative solutions such as reassigning sailors to other divisions or so-called “Tiger Teams” – small groups dedicated to specific short-term tasks. Sometimes, the answer is as simple as effective command indoctrination, mentorship, and training. Once a sailor truly understands that they are part of a team and how they contribute to the mission, performance will inevitably improve, usually significantly. This growth process requires leaders to exhibit emotional intelligence – the ability to manage emotions in oneself and in others to guide behavior and achieve one’s goals. To help a person who doesn’t want to help themself is often emotionally taxing, and it can be tempting to dismiss that person, but this does nothing to advance the mission.

When the leader views their relationship to an unmotivated sailor not in an adversarial way, but rather in terms of an interconnected system, that leader can begin to see even small ways the sailor might contribute, which is critical because that enables the sailor to then grow their own emotional intelligence. The key insight is that the sailor’s health and readiness are critical elements in an overall readiness system, not afterthoughts to be prioritized behind the ship and shipmates.

Conclusion

Importantly, transitioning from the idea of “ship, shipmate, self” being a set of priorities to a description of an interconnected system not only improves individual sailor wellness, but overall mission effectiveness as well. As much as Navy leadership discusses the importance of sailors and ships, nothing ever comes before the Navy’s mission to “maintain, train and equip combat-ready Naval forces capable of winning wars, deterring aggression and maintaining freedom of the seas.” Fundamentally, accomplishment of the Navy’s mission comes down to individual sailors working as teams to operate the finest ships, submarines, aircraft, and supporting systems in the world. To truly contribute to this mission accomplishment, every level of leadership, from work center supervisors to fleet commanders and beyond, should seek to understand how their organization fits into the overall Navy system. When the Auxiliaries Officer sees how auxiliary services support the ship’s mission, and a Strike Group Commander understands how naval air power supports their fleet, they can empower the most junior sailor with a motivating sense of purpose.

Every sailor should understand more broadly how the Navy contributes to national defense. When a sailor examines how they fits into the overall Navy system, it can be extremely fulfilling to realize that their nation depends on him to keep enemies far from its shores. If Navy leadership wants to move toward a more effective warfighting force, a good first step is the recognition that ship, shipmate, and self are all equally important, interrelated elements dedicated to mission accomplishment.

Jimmy Drennan is the Vice President of CIMSEC. These views are the author’s alone and do not necessarily reflect the position of any government agency.

Featured Image: (June 19, 2018) Hawaii-area Sailors render honors to retired Chief Boatswain’s Mate and Pearl Harbor survivor Ray Emory during a farewell ceremony held before he departs Hawaii to be with family. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Justin Pacheco/Released)