Howdy,
All right, I’ve gone in hot and heavy over the last two posts of this here website. Now, let’s talk about something more upbeat.
Senior Noncommissioned Officers.
Any officer worth their salt should say this every morning: Thank G*d for SNCOs.
Why? Because they do the actual work. Officers think fancy thoughts and make fun PowerPoint presentations with graphics of glee.
The SNCOs are the reality check on our cockamamie plans. Or at least they sure as hell should be.
As a recently retired commander—give me the proper courtesy, dammit—one of the best pieces of advice I can provide any officer is to listen to your SNCOs.
I promise you'll do just fine nine times out of ten as long as you have their buy-in. If you don’t, you’ll probably still survive because most of them have endured your type before and will do their best to shield their troops from your incompetence. That’s what they do.
The US military has an infinite amount of problems. But by and large, here’s something you very rarely hear: “Yeah, well, these SNCOs, they don’t do shit, and they suck."
Of course, some were better than others, and there were always a few special ones.
But, phew, that was the exception to the rule.
My mentors at every stage in my career were my SNCOs. I’m the man I am today — AND I’M BADASS MOFO—because I was open to the wisdom they provided.
As a young pup, I had Senior Master Sergeant Samuel “Socrates” Johnson and Master Sergeant Anthony Erskine; both would become Chief Master Sergeants, the top enlisted tier in the Air Force. I consider myself fortunate enough to have them as my mentors. I learned more about the basics of leadership from them than anybody else.
One of the most essential things SNCOs do is raise officers and future commanders.
I attached young Lts to either a Master Sergeant (E-7) or a very squared-away Technical Sergeant (E-6). I instructed them in no uncertain terms, “If you disagree with him repeatedly, then you need to check your priors.”
What does raising an officer mean?
“Don’t do that. It will ruin your credibility.”
“Stop trying to be friends with your troops, but don’t be a jerk—unless it’s time to be a jerk.”
Most importantly, hold people accountable. Without accountability, everything falls apart.
Give me a dysfunctional unit, and you’ll probably find some problems with a lack of accountability.
Officers also need to learn how to stay in their lane. Some things are SNCO business—so scram and read a book, Lt.
Often, young officers want to rush and be the hero. They want to solve everything. That’s not their job. That’s what NCOs do. I didn’t need young officers stepping into the breach to fix every crisis. I need them to ensure the proper NCO is doing that and relaying pertinent information.
Officers, among other things, help block and tackle so front-line troops can execute the mission. Different services and operational specialties have different cultures. But that is the bedrock: take care of your troops, and they will do the mission. But taking care of them doesn’t always mean puppy dogs and ice cream.
I learned that from my very first SNCOs.
When I became a detachment commander in 2017, I was fortunate enough to have Master Sergeant Heathermoore Silva. She’s now a Chief Master Sergeant select. By the time Heather got a hold of me, I knew how to lead, but I had no business being a commander.
She made me a commander. Throughout our two-year working relationship in Korea, I disagreed with her on a handful of occasions. I charted my own course and regretted those decisions almost immediately, which she reminded me of often. She never tried to make me a prototypical commander—that train left the station decades ago—but she ensured I didn’t drive us into the ditch.
I would’ve failed without her mentorship. No doubt. End of statement.
In the last two years of my career, I had the great fortune to have a tremendous group of SNCOs: two outstanding Senior Enlisted Leaders, Senior Jonathan Palsma and Senior (retired) Sara Davidson. Senior Palsma had a softer touch but was very adept at politics, a rare trait I always struggled with. Because if you’re an officer, you better get used to this uncomfortable reality: the higher you advance, the more political it gets. That’s not changing. So you better buckle up and learn how to play the game—your troops depend on that.
As my unit’s second commander, we were still building a culture. My predecessor did a lot of great work, but the unit was born in the middle of COVID, so there was only so much he could do. Senior Palsma built the proper foundation, and then Senior Davidson solidified a strong culture of ownership and accountability.
She meant business—and didn’t suffer fools. We clicked immediately. Both of us were happy staying in our lanes. The Director of Operations should be directing operations—not me. Same all the way down. Nobody wants a micromanager—unless you’ve earned such supervision. Because we both trusted the leaders immediately below us, we had a lot of success.
Lastly, I had two excellent Shirts: Master Sergeant Ben Waterloo and Master Sergeant Robert Valentine. Shirts focus almost exclusively on good order & discipline and morale & welfare. One of your Airmen gets arrested — the Shirt receives the call first. Sexual assault investigation gets launched — the Shirt usually finds out first. All of the sticky, complex problems land in their laps.
They were all stars, and I gave them all the room they needed to maneuver. They helped me create a healthy culture inside a new unit.
They also made sure I didn’t break the law, which, is, you know, important.
This is a small scattershot of some fantastic SNCOs who influenced my military career. There are hundreds of more.
Ultimately, the real difference between our military and the rest of the world—other than our budget, of course—is the amount of responsibility and leeway our SNCOs get (or should get) to execute the mission.
They are the main reason our military is the world’s envy. The officers may get the glory (and also the blame), but their success is always carried on the backs of America’s SNCOs.
Give me a toxic officer or commander, and I can guarantee they refused to listen to numerous SNCOs along the way.
Until next time
I think a most valuable life lesson is to be open to the knowledge and wisdom of others.
Here’s to the SNCOs. Keep writing.