www.goalminds.com  

Tanks…battle groups…aircraft carriers…guided
missiles…special forces. This is the world I come from.
It’s an environment of POWER called the Pentagon, an
environment where military personnel mingle with civilians
and where people work around the clock on a daily basis to
ensure that America’s highest-level decision makers get good
information. It’s a world where the pressure is always on
because the stakes are so high. One wrong move could cost
more than money; it could cost our lives and our national
freedom. We had a wake-up call on 9/11.

I worked in the Pentagon prior to 9/11 and still it was a
time of world crisis. Although I didn’t wear a uniform, I
had enough impact that the Army gave me its highest civilian
medal, the Decoration for Exceptional Civilian Service.

During my years of service, I learned that power is NOT
about rank. Military insignia indicates rank. As a civilian,
I never wore insignia. I was afforded respect appropriate
for my position as Deputy Chief of the Logistics Plans and
Operations Division.

Power is not about uniform, although how a person dresses
does make a difference, either positively or negatively.
There is, to be sure, power of position as well as personal
power. I’m talking about personal power here. Power is about
WHO you are. It’s about your beliefs and values, your
reliability, your ability to communicate–to speak and to
listen–effectively. When you communicate well you display
power and command respect because of your confidence, your
know-how, and your compassion, regardless of your rank,
regardless of your uniform, and regardless of your gender.

Being a powerful leader means you can lift others up with
what you say–something I tried to do daily at the Pentagon.
But I was NOT a cheerleader, as one interviewer in Texas
suggested some years later when I was on a book tour. Being
a cheerleader implied I was a quota, a token female. It
meant that I was powerless.

Through my experiences working with military personnel and
civilians as we struggled to cover all the bases, whether it
was moving materiel for Operation Desert Storm or
marshalling up supplies and support in natural disasters
like Katrina, I’ve learned that real POWER is when people
feel honored to work with you. Power is when you command
loyalty without having to say anything about it. Power is
when people want to do what you want them to do.

One commander in the Seventh Corps had served in our office
as a major. In his exit interview he commended me on my
ability to listen. During Operation Desert Storm he was
moving his supply troops from Germany into Saudi Arabia and
he was lost in the fog of war. There was no plan for this
move; it had not been exercised. He needed systems that were
not in place. He called me for help. I mustered help for him
and heard no more. A few years later when we met in line at
a Change of Command ceremony, he swept me off my feet and
whirled me around and around. He was a colonel then, in uniform.
It reminded me of the old movies of the homecoming in New York
City after the Second World War!

Whether on the battlefields of war or the battlefields of
business, personal power is important. Be real. Know who you
are. Value loyalty to your country and your God. Speak your
truths and respect others. You have the power.

“Day is done - gone the sun - from the lake, from the
hill…” Listen, can you hear it? The faint sound of a
trumpet drifting across the gently sloping hillside dotted
with white crosses. The hazy mist makes it seem far away.
Hear it? If you’re a veteran or related to a veteran, you
know that sound. TAPS. The final farewell.

My first job with the Army was developing the logistics
support plan for the Burial of the Unknown Serviceman from
Vietnam, a State Funeral. The desired outcome: solemn and
ceremonious burial executed flawlessly to honor the fallen
and the veterans of an unpopular conflict.

The Third Infantry, the Old Guard, planned everything from
the operational perspective. Our job was supporting them,
hundreds of very important persons, including some who wore
the Medal of Honor, and the public. Our planning included:
the caisson to carry the casket, military drivers and cars
for the cortege, press stands for the media at the Capitol,
transportation for the masses who would go to the cemetery
for the interment, comfort stations along the route of the
funeral procession. It all depended on us.

We identified requirements. Who needed what, where, and
when? Were they entitled to it? How would we get it where it
was needed on time and in sufficient quantity? Things are
not always as simple as they seem. Planning is one thing;
execution is another. Putting comfort stations,
port-a-johns, around the District of Columbia, for instance,
is no simple task!

Finally, 5:00 a.m. Sunday before Memorial Day, 1984, we were
on the steps of the US Capitol building with Major General
John L. Ballantyne, Commander of the Military District of
Washington, ready to rehearse. A chill ran through me.
“Am I dreaming? Here I am a civilian woman from Texas about
to participate in this historical national event.”

The events unfolded on the national scene on schedule: the
arrival of the remains at Andrews Air Force Base where they
were met by disabled veterans in wheelchairs, General
Westmoreland, and other dignitaries and then lying in state
in the Capitol Rotunda for three days.

The day of the burial, there was a change in plans. Has that
ever happened to you? You plan and rehearse, and then things
change. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff decided to
walk in the funeral procession. At the last minute we had to
turn the lead cars around and get them away from the Capitol
building. Everything else went with precision.

The cold white marble seats in Memorial Amphitheater in Arlington
National Cemetery filled quickly. The empty seats reserved for
the POW and MIA families silently witnessed their protest to the
burial. At last, President Reagan’s speech and his immortal
closing words: “May God cradle you in His loving arms.”

We moved to the plaza of the east entrance to the
Amphitheater and climbed the stairs to watch the finale.
Looking down beyond the Tomb, we saw the Vietnam Veterans in
uniforms, waving their flags. It was over. No more protests.
A final salute in gratitude to those living and deceased
servicemen and women who bore the burdens their nation
placed upon them.

Planning and execution on this grand scale was great
training for life in general: Look ahead. Plan. What is
needed to reach your objective? Where is it needed and when?
What can go wrong? How will you prevail? The execution of
plans rarely goes precisely as envisioned. Flexibility is
key. Contingency planning is a must.

Planning for and participating in the Burial of the Unknown
Serviceman from Vietnam was the most satisfying thing I’ve
done in my life.

***********
Although the remains of that serviceman have
since been identified, the importance of the ceremonial
burial has not diminished. It provided an opportunity to
recognize the sacrifices of the thousands of U.S. citizens
who had been called to arms in an unpopular military action
in the Republic of Vietnam.
___________
I later became a supervisor at Army Headquarters
in the Pentagon and graduated from the US Army War college.
There is no charge for my monthly newsletter.
Go here to sign up http://www.goalminds.com

I’m working on a new book! This will be primarily for military men and women who are transitioning from the military to civilian life. It is based on the same principles as Take Charge of Your Life.

If you have stories you would like to share about challenges you overcame in the miitary, going into retirement, or medical discharge I’d like to hear from you. We can discuss using your story. Maybe you’d like to tell about how military life didn’t turn out as you expected. I’m interested in that, too. It does not matter how long ago the events occurred, we can probably learn something from you.
If I use your story, I will acknowledge your contribution in the book and give you a complimentary copy. I’d love to hear from you.

True Story
The man looked sad. It was a bright sunshiny day outside the LA airport, but he looked like rain. “It was 10 degrees when I left home in West Virginia this morning,” he said after we were comfortably seated in the shuttle van. “There must have been snow or ice,” I replied. Then, for no reason, added, “I lived in northern Virginia for 16 years and I love the snow. I worked in the Pentagon. Are you visiting relatives here?” “No, I treat myself to one trip out here every year to see a ball game.”

Then suddenly he was talking about returning from Vietnam, landing at the airport in San Bernardino, and getting on a bus to go to Camp Pendleton. He was in the Marine Corps then and he couldn’t understand why people were calling them names and throwing things at the troops. He was looking straight ahead, but cast a quick glance in my direction. “Things I can’t even mention in public.” That hurt so bad, when he got to his room, he cried. “I tried to understand,” he said. “It’s a free country and they could protest. But why the insults? We didn’t do anything wrong. I still think of it sometimes and when it gets so bad I can’t stand it, I go for a walk in the woods. And I cry.”

I told him that I’d written the logistics support plan for the burial of the unknown serviceman from Vietnam. He turned to look at me and was very still. Then he reached over and put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it slightly. “Then you know what I’m talking about, don’t you.” I nodded, thinking of other Vietnam Vets who had shared similar sentiments. I asked if he had ever visited the Vietnam Memorial. “Oh, no,” he said and sat quietly. His mouth moved and his lips were moist, but he didn’t say anything. I could see the torment in his face. It was too hard to do.

Fred told of his mother and father passing away. “I buried them,” he said, “and I cried. I won’t go to funerals any more. I send wreaths, and cards, but I don’t want to cry again.” I asked him about the facilities for veterans in West Virginia. They have fine facilities, he said. “The psychologists have encouraged me to go in and talk to them. But if I do that, it dishonors the corps. It makes us look less than honorable, don’t you think?” I told him it was okay to get help and that it seemed like he had found a way to cope. “When the first President Bush said the parade for the military coming home from the Gulf War was for all of us, that helped a lot. I thought ‘Finally, we’re getting a welcome home.’”

Fred’s not angry or bitter. He is dealing with vivid memories of his fellow Americans turning on him and his buddies. He seems to be still trying to reconcile his role in preserving our freedoms with having those freedoms turned against him. And when it gets to be more than he can stand, he walks in the woods and he cries. “You understand, don’t you?” When the shuttle pulled up to my place, he stepped down and offered his hand to help me out. He held on, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Thank you for being there for him at the burial.”

Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of the attack on America, 9/11. Who does not have a horrible picture of that day stamped on their mind? Remember how the country came together and waved the American flag? It was so inspiring to see us united.

Today we’re encouraged to get those flags out again and hang them high. Remember to treat your flag with respect. If it’s going to hang all night, keep a light on it. If you want a real treat, request a flag that’s flown over the US Capitol building from your Congressman or woman. It’s quite inexpensive and special. Just call your Representative’s office and ask for the person who handles the flag requests. That would be a very special gift for a military person.