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“No way…” (Scotty Smiley’s First Day)

(The topic of today’s Blue Rudder blog was going to be “Why people follow…” Hope you don’t mind. I thought this was more important.)

When Tiffany Smiley asked her husband how his first day teaching leadership at West Point turned out, Scotty Smiley was typically non-descript.  “it went,” he said — just another day at the office. But Scotty Smiley could not see the reaction of the West Point cadet sitting in the right corner of his leadership classroom during C Hour in Thayer Hall.  From 0935  to 0949, cadets shuffled into the room, engaged in small talk, and pretty much ignored the officer standing at the front .  At 0950, Captain Smiley called the class to attention, received the attendance report from the section marcher, and told the cadets to “take seats.”

“Holy ****. No way.” I guess that until he saw Scotty fumble for the keyboard, he hadn’t taken his instructor seriously. The blind thing — he thought it was a joke.

And then he followed up with a bit of trivia about himself: “I’m Captain Smiley, and there’s one interesting thing you should know about me: I’m blind. I can’t see anything at all.” Scotty didn’t say why he was blind. He just followed up the statement with the deftness of humor that is sure to make him one of West Point’s most revered teachers (ever). “So because I can’t see, well, raising your hand in this class is pretty much a waste of time.” Everyone laughed — genuinely — and knowing cadets as I do, I’m pretty sure half of them were thinking: alright, this guy is going to be pretty cool. Not because he’s blind, but because he’s Scotty, and he treated the cadets with respect and authenticity — almost like he was one of them, but with a few more life experiences to share.

After the laughter ebbed, Scotty turned to his left and stepped toward the computer cabinet to advance the next slide. He moved his right foot, and then his left, and then stretched both hands out in front of himself to feel for the Dell Desktop. And that’s when the cadet in the right corner turned to his buddy and mouthed: “Holy ****. No way.” I guess that until he saw Scotty fumble for the keyboard, he hadn’t taken his instructor seriously. The blind thing — he thought it was a joke.

And it almost is. It’s almost laughable that four and a half years ago Scotty Smiley lost his eyesight and now he is teaching leadership at the #1 school in the country and the best leadership development institution in the world (forgive my admitted bias…just trust Forbes Magazine).  You know what it took for Scotty to get here? Sure, it took two years earning a Duke MBA, some help from friends, and much love from God. But it also took hours upon hours trying to figure out how to send an e-mail to his classes. He had to tear every single piece of paper out of the West Point leadership course guide and place them — one by one — on a scanner. Then he had to listen to those pieces of paper — via a talking computer program — multiple times in order to absorb the course concepts. After memorizing all of the shortcuts for Power Point 2003 during his time at Duke, Scotty landed at West Point and instantly had to do battle with the 2007 version of the program. The switch from Office 2003 to 2007 reduced my own work productivity by at least 50%. By the way –I can see.

People at West Point — understandably — wanted to see today as just another day. The guy lost his eyes. He’s in the Army. He’s teaching now. No big deal. Scotty — he too wants to see it as just another day. But it wasn’t. This was not just another day. Scotty could have thrown in the towel on life when his days became about learning computer keyboard shortcuts. His best friends are commanding infantry companies — one in Hawaii and the other deployed to Afghanistan. Scotty wanted to do that too. I’d understand a bit of self pity.  Instead, Captain Smiley stood in front of sixteen future Army officers and showed them leadership. As he fumbled for the computer, he joked aloud: “Come here computer, come here…” as if he was calling a kitty cat.

Scotty accidentally sent four e-mails to one of his sections in a technologically-challenged effort to introduce himself; he couldn’t get Dave Matthews playing on www.pandora.com before his first hour of class. At one point, he flipped a slide too far and a cadet had to help him recover.

Scotty Smiley climbed Mt. Rainier. That’s pretty amazing. But it’s not nearly as amazing as everything he’s done — every teeny, tiny obstacle he’s navigated — to get to where he stood today. I am lucky to know him. These cadets are lucky to share in the shining story that is his life. If the best college in the world was going to pick one person to teach leadership, it would be this guy. I taught it — for five years — and I taught it well. I loved it, still keep in touch with many of my students, and consider the place part of who I am. My impact will never come close to that of Scotty Smiley.

With apologies to all teachers everywhere and to any teacher at West Point — today was not just any other day. I bumped into Brigadier General Finnegan — the Dean — in the hallway after Scotty’s first class. “I saw a cadet come out of Scotty’s room,” the Dean said, “and I asked him how class went.”

First class. First day. First impression.

“Sir,” the cadet responded, “it was awesome.”

And it was.

For more on Scotty, check out the “I Can” fan page on Facebook.