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Dear Anonymous,
This morning I received an anonymous e-mail from someone named “Old Friend.” It read, “How can you fathom mentoring leadership when, at your nation’s time of need, you decided to get out of the Army rather than lead troops in combat…sad.”
The following is my reply:
Anonymous,
During my first lesson with each new class of West Point leadership students, I would share a special quote from my time as a platoon leader at Ft. Lewis. It was something I took from the wall of a Yakima Training Center port-a-potty during the winter of 1997. It read: “LT Crandle is a punk-a** b****.”
The first thing that ran through my mind when I processed the tribute was: “He spelled my name wrong.” The second thing, “I wonder who wrote that?”
Likewise, this morning, I briefly wondered who sent me the anonymous e-mail. When I was a platoon leader, I had the authors narrowed down to about seventy soldiers. This morning, I figured the e-mail could have come from a thousand different people. But I am guessing that you are someone who I hurt in the past, and someone who is still serving. So I have two things to say. 1) I am sorry, and 2) Thank you for your service.
There are many reasons that I am not worthy to “mentor leadership,” the least of which is my decision to leave the Army during a time of war — so it would be silly to address that question directly. Before going there, I would have to respond to: “How can you mentor leadership when your own sins and failures are so glaring?” or “How can you mentor leadership when you’re not even that good of a follower?” or “How can you mentor leadership when you can’t even control your temper at a sixth grade basketball game?”
No — it’s not the Army that stands in my way. I was never really meant to be a Soldier. Never loved it. Never had the passion that I see in the face of a guy like Jeff Van Antwerp. Never had the commanding presence of a Chip Daniels, the toughness of a Dave Waldron, or the humility and purity of service of a Neal Mayo. What the Army gave me — that I miss sometimes — was a chance to take care of people, and I hope I did that well. But I am not convinced that I would have been a stellar performer in combat. I would have been homesick — desperately homesick. I probably would have been scared. I might have cracked under the pressure. (Let me take a second to thank some of those who I know are homesick right now: John Vest, Edward Graham, Jason Affolder, and Mike Sullivan. Let me thank every other man and woman who has boarded a plane headed east — such as my brother-in-law, Brian Johnson. Finally, let me thank some of those who never came home: Jimmy Adamouski, Hans Kurth, Shane Swanberg, Emily Perez, Dan Hyde, and Robert Lothrop.)
I’ve narrowed what I really believe about leadership down to a few things. And I truly believe that to be your best, you must pursue your passion (Jim Collins does a great job summing this up in more eloquent terms). That’s my advice to anyone — chase what makes your heart pound. Do what you love and do it to make a positive difference in the lives of others. If you do that, you are leading. I left in a time of war, but I also left seven years short of a 50% retirement. Many have asked how I could let go of that sort of financial security. Whether the question is about avoiding the hardship or giving up the benefits — the answer is the same. Pursue your passion. Jake Harriman — a Special Ops Marine — left the military at a time of war…so he could start an organization committed to eradicating extreme poverty. Scotty Smiley, lost his eyesight and fought to stay in the Army. Both are heroes in my eyes.
Me, I love to teach; I love to take care of other people; and I love to write. Eighteen months ago, I was face down on my bedroom floor — depressed because I felt purposeless. Leaving the Army ruptured my identity in a way that I had not anticipated. Since that low point, God has blessed my life immeasurably — to a point where I feel totally unworthy. He took the pathetic nature of my own self-pity and turned it into a chance to write a book (Hope Unseen). God took my most despicable sin and turned it into a gift — a point of embarkation for relating to the prisoners who are now my students.
You’ll be happy to know — Anonymous — that I haven’t made a cent so far “mentoring leadership.” Blue Rudder has brought forth just a few opportunities — all gratis and all faith-based. Maybe that’s what God has in store for this venture. In the meantime, I’ll pray that teaching and writing pay the bills.
Back in the Yakima port-a-potty, I obsessed a bit about the graffiti on the wall. I was unsure of who I was as a leader. When I received your e-mail this morning, I thanked God for an opportunity to write — to reply humbly that I know exactly who I am and where my passions and gifts reside. I have been obedient to the Lord and he has blessed me in return — not financially necessarily, but with contentment and joy. I hope that your service in defense of our Country brings you the same fulfillment.
All the best,
Doug Crandall
Philippians 4:19
The vital importance of deciding what to do in life should be the result of intensive studying, intelligent choice, careful training and continual self-improvement. Envelop these characteristics in a solid foundation of serving others and I think that pretty much embodies the Doug Crandall ethos. Many have benefited from your leadership and service, in and out of the military.
Doug,
Well thought out, well wriiten and well done. Keep doing what you do best.