Managing Leadership^®

Yesterday we heard the saga of the author of It’s Our Ship, how he skippered the “best ship in the Navy,” and the conclusions he drew from that experience about leadership. Today, I will regale you with the epic tale of 2^nd Lt. Jim Stroup, the best platoon in the Marine Corps, and what he thought then about how and why that platoon transformed so dramatically.

When I completed my training as a commissioned officer in the Marine Corps, another brand new lieutenant and I were flown to the then US Naval Base at Subic Bay, in the Philippines, to join our battalion. I had received my commission directly after several years as an enlisted infantry Marine, during which time I had been promoted to sergeant. As a result, unlike most newly minted officers, I was pretty salty, as we say in the naval services. Here’s what it got me:

When I reported to the (legendary) battalion commander, he told me that he had one company in the battalion that he felt wasn’t really combat-ready. And, based on my enlisted experience, that was where he was assigning me.

When I reported to the hard-nosed company commander, he told me that he had one platoon in the company that he felt wasn’t really combat-ready. And, based on my enlisted experience, that was where he was assigning me.

So, there I was: in charge of what was widely derided as the worst platoon in the battalion, even desperately incapable of pulling its weight in combat. And I was expected to use my background and training to remedy that.

Of course, I went right to work. The battalion sergeant-major gave me a big helping hand by reassigning the previous platoon sergeant, and giving me one of the best Marines I’ve ever worked with in that position.

We did all the right things. We called in the platoon’s sergeants and corporals. We outlined what we wanted the platoon to become, and had a broad discussion with them of the condition of the platoon and what we would all work together to do to rectify it. Similar discussions were held with the platoon’s Marines, both with and without their corporals and sergeants present. My platoon sergeant and I felt we were beginning to make some progress, developing trust and confidence in our leadership, slowly but surely bringing the men around.

The battalion was aboard ship and the squadron was at sea. To keep us busy, the battalion commander held an order-writing competition for all the platoon commanders. The scenario called for a ship-to-ship raid, and the lieutenant who won would be allowed to actually exercise his plan with his platoon against another ship in the squadron.

Now, admittedly, the competition was a bit spotty, but as it happens, I won. So now I was going to prepare the weakest platoon in the battalion, riddled with the worst morale, to conduct this highly visible exercise. Had I not thought of that, beforehand?

I gathered my Marines in a room below decks, and informed them that they had been selected to perform this raid. There had been rumors among the Marines in the battalion that something like this was afoot, although the details weren’t out.

But I want to tell you that as soon as I uttered the words, “You have been selected,” the room simply erupted in a roar of celebration. I was absolutely stunned, and at first I was unsure of what was going on. But I saw that the Marines were electric with excitement, thumping each other on the back and cheering wildly.

The weakest platoon in the battalion. The worst morale. I was told later the thunder of their celebration was heard on the flight deck.

For the next several days these Marines stormed through our ship with tireless discipline and focus, practicing their roles in areas we had mocked up to resemble the target ship. They discussed the intricacies of the plan endlessly, and worked on their own time to refine both the plan and their ability to execute it.

The day of the raid came. I sent two teams on smaller helicopters to seize critical areas of the target ship before I arrived with the rest of the platoon. The pilots of those helos later told me that as they were setting down on the target, with still several feet to go, their helos suddenly elevated several yards.

Confused, they looked back, and the Marines were already gone. They then saw the lead Marines charging past on the way to their objectives – they were so pumped up they had leapt out of the helicopters before they had touched down.

The battalion operations officer later told me he was amazed at hearing the phase reports come in. Each had been met early, and the raid was completed virtually without a hitch and well ahead of schedule. The skipper of the target ship commended my Marines on their knowledge of the strange ship (of a sort Marines typically never see), and for their skill in securing it so effectively and so quickly.

A few days later, back on our own ship it was platoon physical exercise time. This ship was a helicopter carrier, and had a large flight deck that was secured from flight operations for part of each day so the infantry units could run. The change in my platoon was unbelievable.

They were no longer the sulky, resentful agglomeration of misfits that many people even came out to make fun of. They were an incredibly disciplined unit of fighting men. They ran in an aggressively tight formation - no one would dare break it - and they chanted in resolute unison, with penetrating energy, power, and pride.

I had pilots coming to me and asking me what I had done with the platoon. Now, mind you, pilots hardly notice infantry types in the normal course of events, but that platoon had been so bad that everyone knew about them. And now they were so transformed, so unmistakably formidable – really, unquestionably now the best in the battalion – that everyone noticed that as well.

My battalion and company commanders eyed my platoon with the greatest satisfaction, content in the wisdom of their assigning it to me. I was celebrated both within the battalion and among ship’s crew who had barely known what a Marine was previously. There was talk of a personal decoration.

Of course I had displayed remarkable personal leadership, hadn’t I? I had transformed the worst into the best – and enduringly, I might add; the platoon was unmatchable for the remainder of the deployment and beyond. I was well on my way to becoming a truly great military leader. That’s what everyone seemed to believe, and it’s what they said.

I believed it, too. How could I not?

But I was wrong. Both to my own cost and that of the units I commanded for some time after that. It took me a long time to figure that out, longer to figure out why, and even longer to understand what had really happened. But that’s just my obtuseness – it’s not as difficult as all that.

I’ll tell you why I was wrong, and about what had really happened, next week. In the meanwhile, please be sure to stop by tomorrow for the weekend safety brief. See you then!

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Today’s tip: Speaking of taking overly long to sort such riddles out, please see this delightfully encouraging piece (for us Baby-Boomers) on the aging brain and wisdom, from the NYT.

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