Thoughts for an Incoming Iron Major.

Lessons learned during, “The Best Year of My Life”… and the even better two immediately following.

The changes are coming… and they are many.

The challenge loomed. After I handed the guidon to an eager new commander in 2008, I knew well that becoming an Iron Major would be the next major event in the decathlon of my Army career. This understanding was sobering, and I admit freely that the prospect of becoming a battalion S3 and XO was intimidating. I stood small in the presence of towering field grade officers as a young lieutenant. I sat in awe as a the brigade S3’s presence commanded exceptional attention and respect, even while briefing something as monotonous and routine as a change of command ceremony. I understood early that Iron Majors were the organizational pit bosses. It was because of this deep respect and understanding that I approached my Iron Major time determined to give my battalion my best — whatever that could be.

Closing out my Iron Major time now, I look back at the officer I was before ILE, as a student at 100 Stimson and while serving as a battalion S3 and XO and see an arc of three years that were as or more valuable than any other three in my career. The Army has a wealth of advice and guidance for incoming platoon leaders and company commanders. But what of the Iron Major? Successful field grade officers are constructed with the cement of time and experience. Perhaps a few shared lessons learned will help strengthen the mix.

ILE isn’t the magical “best year of your life”, but it can be damn near that. The breadth of articles scrutinizing ILE’s efficacy and focus are staggering but, like most of our experiences in life, my experience reinforced that the individual rewards reaped were directly proportional to the individual investment given. Each one of us determined our own outcome. ILE provides the paint and canvas — you determine the outcome. How do you make the most of ILE? 

Give a shit. I listened during ILE and cared deeply about getting as much from my peers and instructors as I was able. During my first day at advanced camp in 2000, I scurried about as only cadets do and scrambled to build a contact roster for the arriving cadets. The cadre observed and remarked, “Damn, you give a shit about this… are all the cadets from your school like this?” Since then, that lesson continues to ring true. A leader falls on either side of the Mendoza line most often simply because of where he or she resides on the “give a shit” spectrum. The same folks who were too good to hear the guiding words of their Soldiers, peers and leaders as lieutenants and captains struggled to find meaning and importance at ILE. Most of us did not. Again, ILE is not an Army educational panacea, but the rewards are immense for those who put forth their share of effort. Recon the building before day one. Read the biographies on the wall and inspect the artifacts on display. Know thehistory of the school whose ranks you will join. It is storied and rich — allow yourself to be taken with institution and installation. You’re not less cool for caring. 

Have fun and build relationships. I learned a wealth of information while at Fort Leavenworth and I value the education. I read the materials and cared for some more than others. I learned the most though from my peers and from considering their reactions to the readings, from the instructors and from other offered perspectives. SLA Marshall tells us, “To read what the wisest of philosophers have written about the formation of human character is always a stimulating experience; but it is better yet to live next to the man who already possesses what the philosophers are talking about.” On the storied grounds of Fort Leavenworth, on the less storied grounds of Lansing and in the classrooms, you will sit / live next to this brother in arms — pull from them as much as you can. As important as classroom lessons are, the relationships you will either build or let slide by are of far more lasting importance. I understood the value of this when, as a S3, a former small group buddy of mine sent me a note. Then serving on ASCC staff, he informed me, a lowly battalion S3, that one of my companies was on the short list to deploy. Because of his notice, we had an extra week to prepare before the formal process informed us. Today, I have 15 fellow majors across the Army, representing 15 different branches at nearly 15 different duty stations who will assist with any problem I ask for their help solving. They count on the same from me. Some groups don’t leave ILE with this ace in their pocket because of petty bickering, egos, and determination to know the most. Understand the team sport of the Army — it was never more clear to me than at ILE. So, grab some buddies and conduct a burpee mile. Run a Spartan Race in a Hawaiian Shirt and your Class A jacket. Drink Tank 7 at Grinder’s Pizza in Kansas City. Invest in the relationships that will pay dividends for the rest of your career. 

“Sounds like a Field Grade Problem or how I learned to stop seeing “them” and be an organizational leader.” Too often, fellow Majors at ILE identified a problem and then complained about both the issue and the mystical “them” perpetuating such idiotic policies. You see these folks even today — the leaders who failed to pick up the mantle of responsibility. Company grade leaders identify problems, fix where possible and present solutions to higher when they are unable to remedy.Field grades — organizational leaders — fix. Damaging to our collective credibility and power is the field grade who laments a problem and does not solve. Our small group at ILE poked at these perspectives by responding with, “Sounds like a field grade problem.” Frame problems correctly — they are yours to solve. There is no evil “them.” As the field grade collective — there is only us. Protect the village of our Army. 

I left ILE confident and learned more in the following two years than any previous two during my career. Some of what I learned along the way?

Get by with a little help from your friends. The relationship lesson I learned during ILE bore more fruit as a S3. Striking out new ground, I needed to make contact with an aviation unit coordinate air support. Quickly, I discovered that the CAB BDE S3 lived a few houses down in the neighborhood. Over Sierra Nevada, he patiently explained the processes, the technical requirements, the tactics and generally made smart an uneducated peer. Doors opened and the battalion accomplished its first platoon level air assault in years. I accept and embrace the brotherhood of field grades — together, and united in purpose across our various specialties, we can accomplish anything.Reach out to fellow battalion and brigade Iron Majors — develop a broad contact roster and phone a friend when you need an assist.

“Everything at the division level and below is easy.” I worked for an Armor Colonel who told me that the Army at division and below is easy because an operations order exists for every mission. Only at Corps and above does an individual have to actually determine a path for others to follow. In tactical and operational matters, this may hold true. But I found my Iron Major time to be the first time that people, families and careers balanced completely on action or inaction taken at my level. A young lieutenant screws up. Is it misconduct (thereby rating official notification and a curtailed career) or is it a recoverable error of judgement? You will answer these questions often.The lone beacons in the fog are those planted through your previous experiences.Hold true to them and the path is generally illuminated.

Mutiny on the HMS Battalion. Toxicity has many flavors. The most advertised is that of the abusive leader who berates subordinates. No less damaging to the central nervous system of an organization is the toxicity of incompetence. I never understood the commander’s role in the operations process so clearly as when the role was abdicated. Company commanders struggled for months as the battalion commander did not provide clear guidance, vision or intent. In interactions, they left confused. With great personal effort, my fellow Iron Major and I backstopped the perceived weakness. Adopting the “Wizard of Oz” model, we held informal meetings with the company commanders often to translate guidance, fill gaps in intent, answer questions and generally direct company efforts. For months, this approach worked as the battalion carried on largely unaware of the deltas we backstopped. In my 14th month as a S3, I heard one day that all six company / detachment commanders scheduled a sit down with the battalion commander. Alarmed, I called them in to my office and asked what their sit-down with the old man concerned. In an intensely frustrated reply, they outlined all the shortcomings the XO and I fought to hide for months. They sought a confrontation to outline this crippling lack of guidance and focus to the battalion commander. In the Wizard of Oz analogy, they now saw clearly the little man behind the curtain. Knowing the battalion commander well, such a confrontation would have irreparably damaged his relationships with the company commanders, his confidence as a battalion commander and therefore to the battalion. Understanding also that the “Wizard of Oz” plan had failed (or succeeded for 14 months), I chose, in that moment, honesty.I validated their assessments. I agreed with their observations. Immediately, I sensed that our acknowledgement of their hard-learned truths were cathartic to the assembled commanders. I paused and then asked the council of commanders, “What do you hope to achieve with this confrontation? Change? A scorpion is a scorpion… stop being surprised and hurt by these shortcomings.” I offered that in this situation, we can confront shortcomings professionally with the hope to improve but if we do not believe that to feasible, we must backstop weakness. Likening the battalion to a ship, I asked for their help in maintaining the ship’s bearing through these seas, each of us through our own spheres of influence. Candidly, I told them that only through our efforts could we get the battalion to the change of command. The air in the room changed dramatically from righteous anger to quiet understanding as these phenomenally talented commanders understood their operational environment and now their requirements within. We are not all blessed with motivating and inspiring leaders or poor leaders whose aggressive and forceful nature identifies them readily as toxic. Sometimes good people are placed in leadership positions that exceed their capabilities. I chose in this situation to backstop weakness, protect the organization and cover the delta. When eventually this failed, I chose honesty. Through the humble and mutually supportive work of a gifted group of commanders, I feel the battalion healed that day. Maybe that choice was self-serving and poor… but with time I will achieve the distance of perspective that truth favors.

“It doesn’t matter what type of leader you want to be, what matters is the type of leader your Soldiers need you to be.” A senior leader offered this quote and it resonates with me. I did not want to be the S3/XO that I ended up being. But, I do believe that I was the S3/XO the organization needed me to be. I struggled with this initially as the Ford Fiesta of my expectations crashed into the Mack truck of my reality. With time, I realized that I needed to hold a funeral for the KD time I expected and face reality. Others didn’t have this funeral and faced the adversity as the proverbial oak faces the wind. This approach nearly broke my fellow Iron Major in the battalion as he never made peace with the shortcomings so that everyday and with every new discovered delta, he reopened his wound. He became less influential, less talented and less capable because of his inability to subordinate his vision of what should be to the reality of what actually was. Be prepared for a variety of experiences and remember that your mission is to enable success in the companies, in the staff, in the BC and in the battalion. Your personal frustration at those you perceive to be less-than really does not matter much.

“Competence is no substitute for character.” Too often we allow exceptional competence to backstop character deficiencies. There is no material that fills the hole of character gaps. Speak this truth to the company commanders who seek to build competent and powerful teams and because of their youth may analyze with passion versus reason. They may define their best squad leader as the one the most physically fit leader with the most cohesive team and give a pass to character issues. No matter the achievement, their “best squad leader” is not the squad leader with a DUI, with a disrespect issue, or any other character flaws. If we accept this (and we must), then:

We must then accept the maxim of “Leaders most often fail through inaction” as the charge of the field grade officer. As a captain on battalion staff, I witnessed firsthand the poison of leader misconduct spread throughout the formations as inaction facilitated a climate of tolerance and apathy. At the field grade level and as an Iron Major, the misconduct rating your attention and counsel is often leader misconduct. What was formerly an academic discussion with simple answers becomes a very personal exercise in the determination of another’s career. I witnessed the poison of misconduct spread through companies as leaders refused to address the problem. As a company grade officer, we protect our platoon and our company. Even at the cost of other organizations, we protect our guidon. As a field grade officer, we protect the Army. We are no longer unit sentinels; we stand guard at the gate of the Army. With this understanding, our duty becomes clear. It is to the Army and this duty compels action. Confront character and ethical issues; be the Army’s sentinel. It is better to amputate the hand than lose the arm.

Read pieces on current conflicts. Stay current by considering the works of those presently involved. SLA Marshall tells us, “Realistic training derives only from the continued study of what happens in war.” Your leaders follow the tone you set. Be intellectually curious and stimulate conversation — they will do the same in their units.

“At the company level, ‘procuring’ from others is a necessity. At the field grade level, it’s stealing from another field grade.” Field grade officers run the Army and this brotherhood is one forged in late hours, leading organizations through crises, and the trust in knowing that the field grade on the other end of the line will help you resolve the issue at hand. We all row together. In my time as an Iron Major, 98% of Majors were this way. Regardless of branch or duty position, we rowed and rowed well. Together. As the XO, I received an email from a battalion XO in Korea with a note about an officer PCSing from his location to my unit. A welcomed courtesy, the note explained that the officer faced adversity while in the unit, was investigated, but nothing turned up and the leader emerged clean and ready for a new start. Meanwhile, the officer himself emailed me and explained that he received a locally filed General Officer Memorandum of Reprimand (GOMOR) and then explained the incident. This was certainly not the outcome the Major led me to believe, and consequently he fractured a trust. Another intersection with the relationship lesson learned: remember that you serve the Army and interact with fellow Majors honestly, candidly and with the mutual trust that you are both looking out for the larger cause.

This will be you one day. Defend the turf and brush back those that encroach.

Be Nolan Ryan or the batting coach behind the screen lobbing beach balls for folks to hit into the stands — but choose wisely. I perceived my role as an Iron Major to be very similar to that of a baseball pitcher. Sometimes, I needed to protect the plate, brush back encroaching batters and occasionally plunk a batter. Once or twice, the message still didn’t get across and I stood firm. The organization needs this, company grade leaders need this, and the batter needs this. Often, a problem’s duration is directly proportional to the organization’s apathy towards it. So I didn’t fear the confrontation and protected the battalion’s plate. The boss should not brush folks back — he has two enforcers whose mission it is to throw high and tight at times. But brush back and bean sparingly. Be in control of your pitch. Let it not be thrown on emotion. Your arm has power when used dispassionately and judiciously. On the flip side, lob the beach balls to your own batters and watch them sail hits over the Green Monster. As an enabler, your success is measured in how others perform. Do your job well and your hitters are consistent. Set them up for success every day with each other, their Soldiers and the old man.

Lastly, Do. Don’t be.

These are the lessons I hold most tightly now upon reflection. You will invest small fortunes in the processes that make a battalion run and the staff powerful and indeed, ILE assists in this. But the art of developing young officers, building the team, leading through change, guiding the battalion and representing the Army’s interests are where your effect will transcend your time. I am a different officer now than I was on my first day at ILE. I thank my peers and the exceptionally talented organizations and leaders I served alongside for the transformation.

Carl died in 1831… DeadCarl lives on. Walking the path so many before him have, DeadCarl is an Army officer heavily influenced as a young Prussian by the spirit and participants of CompanyCommand.mil. He believes we are in the midst of a golden age of collaboration and leader development as the passionate take the reins of our profession. You may find him at the local VFW, beer in hand and Harley outside.