I had a commanding officer in the Navy that I called Captain Hook. He motivated his subordinates through fear, by which I mean he enjoyed chewing us up and spitting us out like so many chaws of tobacco. Hook was the captain of a guided missile destroyer (a navy warship) homeported at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on which I was the navigator. The navigator’s job is to know the ship’s position at all times, whether out in the open ocean, close to the coast or piloting into a port and to recommend courses and speeds to get you where you want to go. Like all navigators, my workplace was on the bridge where my nautical charts, high powered binoculars known as the “Big Eyes” and other equipment were located.
Every other officer avoided the bridge at all costs to avoid Hook’s wrath, except when they had to stand watch there. I had no such luxury. Since my chart table was about 20 feet from the captain’s chair, I was his favorite patsy whenever he got bored with the other guys, which means the others guys valued me a lot.
But I was determined to win Hook’s respect and, hopefully, a bit of respite from the frequent criticism. I saw my opportunity to impress him when the ship steamed toward the town of Kailua-Kona on the leeward side of the Big Island. We were going to anchor in Kailua Bay and spend several days there for some fun in the sun. I didn’t know it at the time but I wasn’t going to have much fun or sun on this port visit.
It was my duty to provide a constant stream of bearing, range and depth readings to the captain to pilot us safely into the bay and to the location where we were going to drop anchor. In my zeal to ensure I got the credit for doing a great job, and despite the fact that I was a relatively junior officer with limited navigation experience, I asked my Senior Chief Petty Officer, a crusty old salt with about 25 years of navigation experience, to step aside and let me take the lead. He looked surprised at first, but then he just shrugged his shoulders, as if to say “Have it your way,” and moved to the side of the bridge to await the inevitable fiasco.
It was a warm, balmy day as the ship glided through the blue-green water into the bay. So far, everything had gone pretty smoothly. I’d been adeptly coordinating the information flowing in from my team of enlisted men. But once we got closer to our anchorage, the data started coming too fast and scattered for me to provide the captain accurate, real-time course and speed recommendations. It became clear that I was quickly losing control of the situation and I could feel the panic welling up inside of me. I started to overcorrect my course headings and caused the ship to zig and zag like…well, like a drunken sailor. The captain stared at me in disbelief – eyes bulging – as if his head were going to explode. Finally he screamed, “Drop the blankety-blank anchor!” (That’s an approximate quote.) The anchor plunged into the bay where it dragged for a few seconds until its flukes bit into the silty bottom and slowed the ship to a stop. Lucky for me, my zigs and zags pretty much cancelled each other out and we dropped anchor not too far from the designated spot. So we were never in danger of running aground on a reef. But it wasn’t pretty. I wondered if anybody could see me hiding under the chart table.
Surprisingly, Captain Hook didn’t hang me from the yardarm – probably because the ship didn’t have one. Instead, he showed me unexpected leniency and sent me off to an advanced navigation school where I honed my piloting skills. From that time on, I was an exemplary navigator. The school was great but I got most of my training from the Senior Chief. Armed with new knowledge, the Chief and I trained and drilled our team until we could practically do the job in our sleep.
I learned a humiliating but invaluable lesson aboard the ship that day in Kailua Bay. That is, most people want to work hard and succeed. Most people are inherently good and responsible. They crave to be included, appreciated and respected. We all do. I learned to trust and rely on my men, especially the senior ones, to work as one to achieve a common goal. If they’re struggling to master their responsibilities, it’s almost always because their leader hasn’t given them the tools, training or patience to succeed. This is also true of families and organizations where people depend on one another. Of course, there are some who won’t perform well for other reasons. But if we trust, support and believe in people, most will be eager to live up to reasonable expectations. In addition to all of these things, it’s just the right thing to do. Do we need any other reason?
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