I’m drawing my text today from Tom Clancy’s Clear and Present Danger.
I know that it’s trendy to sneer at Clancy. I haven’t read any of his fiction except Clear and Present Danger and The Hunt for Red October, both of which I thought were pretty spiffy thrillers. For all I know, his more recent works of fiction could be steaming piles. I have read a fair amount of his recent non-fiction military history interview books (Shadow Warriors, Every Man a Tiger, and Into the Storm) and I admire what I think Clancy is trying to do with those books; basically, he wants to be the S.L.A. Marshall of our generation.
This is getting slightly off-topic. What I’m getting at is, I’m not a blind admirer of Clancy, but Clear and Present Danger is a book that made a strong impression on me.
Here’s the background for this exchange. It comes from Chapter 1 of the book, “The King of SAR”. Clancy is drawing a character portrait of his heroic Coast Guard commander, “Red” Wegener. He’s already given us some of the character’s background, and how he came to command the Panache. The Panache is a pretty screwed-up new ship; the shipyard workers are on strike, the shipyard is bankrupt, and the process of commissioning the ship was badly botched. One of the first things Wegener’s told after taking command is that they can’t get more than 50% power out of the ship’s engines without them overheating.
Wegener manages to sneak the ship out of dock and out to sea, and puts his men to work fixing what’s been screwed up.
Wegener had been on the bridge, napping in his leather chair during the forenoon watch when the growler phone rang, and Chief Owens invited him to the engine room. Wegener arrived to find the only worktable covered with plans, and an engineman-apprentice hovering over them, with his engineering officer standing behind him.
“You ain’t gonna believe it,” Owens announced. “Tell him, sonny.”
“Seaman Obrecki, sir. The engine isn’t installed right,” the youngster said.
“What makes you think that?” Wegener asked.
The big marine diesels were of a new sort, perversely designed to be very easy to operate and maintain. To aid in this, small how-to manuals were provided for each engine-room crewman, and in each manual was a plastic-coated diagram that was far easier to use than the builder’s plans. A blow-up of the manual schematic, also plastic-coated, had been provided by the drafting company, and was the laminated top of the worktable.
“Sir, this engine is a lot like the one on my dad’s tractor, bigger, but-”
“I’ll take your word for it, Obrecki.”
“The turbocharger ain’t installed right. It matches with these plans here, but the oil pump pushes the oil through the turbo-charger backwards. The plans are wrong, sir. Some draftsman screwed up. See here, sir? The oil line’s supposed to come in here, but the draftsman put it on the wrong side of this fitting, and nobody caught it, and-”
Wegener just laughed. He looked at Chief Owens: “How long to fix?”
“Obrecki says he can have it up and running this time tomorrow, Cap’n.”
“Sir.” It was Lieutenant Michelson, the engineering officer. “This is all my fault. I should have-” The lieutenant was waiting for the sky to fall.
“The lesson from this, Mr. Michelson, is that you can’t even trust the manual. Have you learned that lesson, Mister?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Fair enough. Obrecki, you’re a seaman-first, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wrong. You’re a machinist-mate third.”
“Sir, I have to pass a written exam…”
“You think Obrecki’s passed that exam, Mr. Michelson?”
“You bet, sir.”
“Well done, people. This time tomorrow I want to do twenty-three knots.”
And it had all been downhill from there. The engines are the mechanical heart of any ship, and there is no seaman in the world who prefers a slow ship to a fast one. When Panache had made twenty-five knots and held that speed for three hours, the painters painted better, the cooks took a little more time with the meals, and the technicians tightened their bolts just a little more. Their ship was no longer a cripple, and pride broke out in the crew like a rainbow after a summer shower – all the more so because one of their own had figured it out.
Here’s what I take away from this:
- Wegener’s interaction with the engineering officer. The guy screwed up; he knows he screwed up, and he knows how he screwed up. Wegener knows he knows and doesn’t dwell on it. “Have you learned that lesson, Mister?” “Yes, sir!” “Fair enough.” End of discussion. (At least at that time; we don’t know if Wegener and Michelson had another conversation later, but if they did, you can bet it was in private, not in front of Michelson’s subordinates.)
- This isn’t really a leadership lesson, but it is one worth remembering: “You can’t even trust the manual.” I’ve learned that lesson myself the hard way.
- Wegener’s interaction with Obrecki. Obrecki figures out the problem and the solution; Wegener rewards him on the spot, in public, and in front of his superiors (the engineering officer and chief). Cause and effect; you’re rewarded for good work, and Wegener makes that clear early in his command. Plus; praise in public, criticize in private.
- “…all the more so because one of their own had figured it out.” There’s nothing better than doing it yourself, with your own people. When your own people figure out, or build it themselves, it improves morale. Even the people who weren’t directly involved can feel proud, and it gives them an incentive to step up.
(Side note: I have at least one, and possibly two, more posts in this series planned out, plus one post that doesn’t involve a fictional character. If any of my loyal readers has suggestions for additional works of fiction that illuminate good points about leadership, I’d welcome hearing from you; either in comments or via email to stainles [at] mac.com.)