The movie essentially centers around three characters: 1) a experienced operational bomber wing commander (Clark Gable); 2) his boss (Walter Pidgeon), whose realm is the world of budget battles and congressional committees; and a senior staff officer (Brian Donlevy), who suddenly is put in charge of an operational unit with its accompanying pressures. 

Setting aside the “Hollywood-isms” of the story, I was struck by the realistic portrayal of how different individuals handle stress.  I was fascinated by watching Donlevy’s character struggle with making his first “command decision”: the targets for the next day’s mission. 

But it wasn’t about the targets per se - it was about the battle between what he WANTED to do (an easy mission) and what he believed he SHOULD do (higher risk, but more important).  He goes through all sorts of machinations - ordering research, getting staff opinions, etc. - to obtain the data “required” to make the call. 

But what he was REALLY doing was looking for an out: a logical, rational, defensible reason to take the safer course. 

I can so identify with this.  In my first deployment as an officer-in-charge I faced several key decisions.  As this was my first command deployment, more often than not I chose the safer course.  As a matter of fact, one of my big goals was to bring all my troops home alive uninjured, and to bring the aircraft home intact.  Sounds like lofty goals, right?  But what I really wanted, deep down, was to not fail.  I achieved that big goal, so by that standard my first command deployment was a success.

However, in terms of mission accomplishment we came up short.  It’s not that we didn’t do what we were supposed to do - it’s that we could have done so much more.  That first command taught me a lot about managing vs. avoiding risk, and on my next deployment I had a much broader perspective.

My big surprise: I thought making command decisions would get easier.  Not in my case.  I made better decisions the next time out, but the same pressures were always there.

If you’re at all interested in leadership, I highly recommend renting “Command Decision” (I saw it on Turner Classic Movies).  Some other big names of the era - Van Johnson, Charles Bickford, Edward Arnold - appear as well.  It will be 2 hours well spent. 

Emotionally, I was unprepared for my first summer at the Naval Academy.  Overnight I went from being a high school “top dog” to becoming the “lowest of the low”, under continual assault from the upperclass.  It was a complete shock - my constant thought during those first weeks was “what am I doing here?”  (Note - many upperclassmen asked me that very same question!)

I took some comfort in the fact that I wasn’t singled out - all of my classmates were getting the same treatment.  Eventually we started to band together - it became “us vs. them.”  We looked out for each other, we backed each other up, we became loyal to each other.

And I figured out that that was the whole point: to take 1200 “top dogs” - each an individual star in his previous life - and forge them into a cohesive unit.  My thinking changed to “I BELONG here, dammit!  And I’m not leaving!”

Later in my leadership classes I heard about loyalty everywhere: loyalty to my people; loyalty to my classmates; loyalty to my chain-of-command; loyalty to my ship; loyalty to my country.  And occasionally, I was even reminded to be loyal to myself.  In the classroom, I was a loyalty expert.

One lesson I was soon to learn - through experience - was that loyalty was a two-way street.

In my sophomore year, two of my classmates approached me: they had broken a regulation and wanted me to cover for them - to lie.  At first I considered it (hey, I was 19, and these were my friends!), but eventually I said no - lying meant automatic expulsion, and I wasn’t about to risk that.

Several of my friends immediately turned on me, accusing me of not being loyal to my classmates.  A rift developed in the group and I felt responsible.  I was miserable.

However one of my early mentors pulled me aside and said, “Those guys have no right to cry about loyalty.  True classmates would NEVER have put you in that position.  They’re thinking only of themselves, and using ‘loyalty’ to manipulate you.”  It was a valuable lesson. 

(To update you on those two guys: one later left the Academy voluntarily; the other graduated, had a successful military career and today is a prominent businessman.  He also is one of my good friends!)

Many situations of conflicting loyalties are not so clear cut.  Take the case of a boss who is approached by one of her best employees, asking for advice.  The employee received an unsolicited job offer and wonders what he should do.  The boss, naturally, wants to keep her best people, but what if this new opportunity is better for the employee’s career? 

I just went though this kind of situation myself.  I was recently given a tremendous opportunity to do something that, without exaggeration, only comes once in a lifetime.  My problem: I had already committed myself to another organization.  I was torn between what I wanted to do (go with this new opportunity) and what I felt I should do (stay with my previous commitment). 

So I called the leader of my current organization - the one to whom I was previously committed - and told him of this other opportunity.  His response completely floored me - and was another valuable lesson.  So check out today’s podcast - and let me know what you think!  (4:55)

Later, during one of my military leadership classes in college, the professor cautioned us about saying things like “the boss wants…” or “the captain says…”  This is especially tempting when you know that what you’re about to say is going to be unpopular.  But when you use those phrases, you’re essentially saying to your people “Hey, this isn’t my idea!  I’m only doing this because the boss wants it that way.” 

The problem with this, my professor said, is twofold.  First, you’re demonstrating that you’re more concerned about being popular than taking charge.  You’re training your people to respect the boss and not you.  You’ll have zero credibility with your organization - they’ll subconsciously start thinking “you’re not the boss of me!” 

Secondly, you’re undercutting your boss.  You’re telling your organization that you disagree with him - in other words, the boss is wrong.  And your people start thinking, “If he’s not gonna back the boss in front of us, will he back us when he’s in front of the boss?”  Doubts about your integrity and loyalty will soon emerge.

My professor taught us - and my own experience has borne this out - that your people are a reflection of you as a leader.  How you treat them is how they treat you.  You want loyalty?  You demonstrate loyalty, both to them and up the chain of command.  You want respect for your authority?  Then you demonstrate respect for your boss’s authority.  This isn’t always easy - but as the cliché goes, “if it were easy, everyone would do it.”

Today’s podcast is a discussion of one of the earliest US naval leaders.  He was a successful businessman, an extremely competent mariner, and experienced leader.  He seemed to be the ideal choice for his job . . . but he had one problem.  Check out the story.  I’m looking forward to your comments on this one!  (5:56)

When I was fourteen, I came home one afternoon and something was different.  You know how you get that sense that something’s not right, but you just can’t tell exactly what it is?  My mother sits me down, looks straight into my eyes and says, “Honey, I went to the doctor today . . . I have cancer.”  The image of that moment will be forever burned in my memory: the room, the look on her face, the tears we both shed, the dread that just filled my stomach.  The next three years would be filled with radiation treatments, chemotherapy and hospital visits until, in my junior year of high school, my mother finally lost her battle.

It was several years later when I began to consider just how difficult it must have been for my mother to tell me the news.  I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like as a parent to tell your child that you have a terminal illness, especially a young child.  My mother was straight up with me - about her treatments, her surgeries, her prognoses, pretty much everything.  She was always optimistic, but she didn’t try to shield me from the reality of the situation.

Any person in a position of leadership has to deal with “bad news” - it’s part of life.  Some professions (doctors, clergy, etc) have to deliver it on an all-too-frequent basis.  How a leader deals with “bad news” - both in receiving it and delivering it - has a direct impact on the entire organization.  (I worked for a boss one time who would absolutely explode when receiving bad news - many people in the organization resorted to cover-ups rather than face his wrath.)

In today’s podcast I discuss a situation that a friend of mine recently faced - receiving bad news from his employer.  When I first heard the story my immediate reaction was “What a COWARDLY way to treat your people!” (very non-judgmental, no?)  Of course the obvious question then is “OK, how would I have handled it?”  Well, never having been in that position and without knowing both sides of the story, I still like to think I would have done things differently.  Listen in . . . and let me know your comments.  (4:25)

Now by “contact” I don’t mean I had dinner with him at his house.  During my years at the Academy he addressed my class several times.  He had that wonderful ability to speak to a group and yet come across as though he was talking only to me (one of the reasons I remember his talks 30 years later!).  The main thrust of his message was always the same: conducting yourself as a professional, whether in the military or working at “Amalgamated Bottlecap” (his term for the civilian world).  He impressed upon us that the professional reputations we established today would follow us the rest of our lives and, once damaged, are extraordinarily difficult to repair.

One of his phrases was “keep your powder dry.”  In the days of sail “when ships were made of wood and men were made of iron,” naval battles were fought with cannon and musket.  The critical component was gunpowder - if it was damp it would either not function, or could cause the weapon to explode.  It was absolutely imperative that it be kept dry - no small task in the salt water environment of the open ocean!  Today the phrase is an admonition to conduct yourself professionally; to stay above pettiness, squabbling and deceit; to develop a professional reputation of honor and integrity.  It’s also a reminder to only engage in “big battles” and not waste your “powder” on the small ones.

Successful leaders, especially in the military, tend to be principled, disciplined and very passionate.  These strengths serve them well, inspiring those they lead and arousing an esprit de corps unmatched in other professions. 

And yet there are times when too much of a good thing . . . is not a good thing.  As my friend Dr. Rohm says, “A weakness is often a strength - that’s taken to an extreme.”  I’ve seen situations where an obsession with personal honor means even a small disagreement is interpreted as a personal attack.  “I disagree with you” is seen as “you’re wrong”.  Add in unbridled passion, and you pour gasoline on a fire - small sparks become a mass conflagration.  “I’m right, and I’ll prove I’m right!  And I don’t care what it takes!”  A small skirmish escalates into all-out war.

In today’s podcast I outline essentially a case study in not keeping one’s powder dry - engaging in an unnecessary battle (in my opinion, anyway).  Unfortunately in this case, “being right” has now become the issue - “doing the right thing” has been subverted by “a matter of principle.”  I ask a key question at the end - and I look forward to reading your answers!  (5:20)