Not Sure Where To Put This
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Not Sure Where To Put This
This came to me on my DoD email from the 1st Sgt. Its a good read.
Good article...........
Too bad this class had to discover this before they changed the way they
treated this person. I wonder how many of the classmates changed they view
permanently about all people? Regardless of what you think, you never
know who you are talking to.
I think Chief Martinez sums this up best when he says...you have two ears
and two eyes but only one mouth. You'll go further and learn more if you
spend more time observing and listening and less time talking.
-----Original Message-----
From: Chandler Kenneth A CMSgt 56 CS/SCM
Sent: Friday, August 29, 2003 10:45 AM
To: 56 FW Chiefs
Subject: A Life Lesson
A Janitor's Lessons in Leadership
By Col. James Moschgat, 12th Operations Group Commander
Amazing story, unfortunately that's the way it works sometimes...enjoy!
William "Bill" Crawford certainly was an unimpressive figure, one you
could easily overlook during a hectic day at the U.S. Air Force Academy.
Mr. Crawford, as most of us referred to him back in the late 1970s, was
our squadron janitor.
While we cadets busied ourselves preparing for academic exams, athletic
events, Saturday morning parades and room inspections, or never-ending
leadership classes, Bill quietly moved about the squadron mopping and
buffing floors, emptying trash cans, cleaning toilets, or just tidying up
the mess 100 college-age kids can leave in a dormitory.
Sadly, and for many years, few of us gave him much notice, rendering
little more than a passing nod or throwing a curt, "G'morning!" in his
direction as we hurried off to our daily duties.
Why? Perhaps it was because of the way he did his job-he always kept the
squadron area spotlessly clean, even the toilets and showers gleamed.
Frankly, he did his job so well, none of us had to notice or get involved.
After all, cleaning toilets was his job, not ours.
Maybe it was his physical appearance that made him disappear into the
background. Bill didn't move very quickly and, in fact, you could say he
even shuffled a bit, as if he suffered from some sort of injury. His gray
hair and wrinkled face made him appear ancient to a group of young cadets.
And his crooked smile, well, it looked a little funny. Face it, Bill was
an old man working in a young person's world. What did he have to offer us
on a personal level?
Finally, maybe it was Mr. Crawford's personality that rendered him almost
invisible to the young people around him. Bill was shy, almost painfully
so. He seldom spoke to a cadet unless they addressed him first, and that
didn't happen very often. Our janitor always buried himself in his work,
moving about with stooped shoulders, a quiet gait, and an averted gaze. If
he noticed the hustle and bustle of cadet life around him, it was hard to
tell.
So, for whatever reason, Bill blended into the woodwork and became just
another fixture around the squadron. The Academy, one of our nation's
premier leadership laboratories, kept us busy from dawn till dusk. And Mr.
Crawford...well, he was just a janitor.
That changed one fall Saturday afternoon in 1976. I was reading a book
about World War II and the tough Allied ground campaign in Italy, when I
stumbled across an incredible story. On Sept. 13, 1943, a Private William
Crawford from Colorado, assigned to the 36th Infantry Division, had been
involved in some bloody fighting on Hill 424 near Altavilla, Italy.
The words on the page leapt out at me: "in the face of intense and
overwhelming hostile fire ... with no regard for personal safety ... on
his own initiative, Private Crawford single-handedly attacked fortified
enemy positions." It continued, "for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity
at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty, the President of the
United States ..."
"Holy cow," I said to my roommate, "you're not going to believe this, but
I think our janitor is a Medal of Honor winner."
We all knew Mr. Crawford was a WWII Army vet, but that didn't keep my
friend from looking at me as if I was some sort of alien being.
Nonetheless, we couldn't wait to ask Bill about the story on Monday.
We met Mr. Crawford bright and early Monday and showed him the page in
question from the book, anticipation and doubt on our faces. He starred at
it for a few silent moments and then quietly uttered something like, "Yep,
that's me."
Mouths agape, my roommate and I looked at one another, then at the book,
and quickly back at our janitor. Almost at once we both stuttered, "Why
didn't you ever tell us about it?"
He slowly replied after some thought, "That was one day in my life and it
happened a long time ago."
I guess we were all at a loss for words after that. We had to hurry off to
class and Bill, well, he had chores to attend to. However, after that
brief exchange, things were never again the same around our squadron. Word
spread like wildfire among the cadets that we had a hero in our midst-Mr.
Crawford, our janitor, had won the Medal!
Cadets who had once passed by Bill with hardly a glance, now greeted him
with a smile and a respectful, "Good morning, Mr. Crawford."
Those who had before left a mess for the "janitor" to clean up started
taking it upon themselves to put things in order. Most cadets routinely
stopped to talk to Bill throughout the day and we even began inviting him
to our formal squadron functions. He'd show up dressed in a conservative
dark suit and quietly talk to those who approached him, the only sign of
his heroics being a simple blue, star-spangled lapel pin. Almost
overnight, Bill went from being a simple fixture in our squadron to one of
our teammates.
Mr. Crawford changed too, but you had to look closely to notice the
difference. After that fall day in 1976, he seemed to move with more
purpose, his shoulders didn't seem to be as stooped, he met our greetings
with a direct gaze and a stronger "good morning" in return, and he flashed
his crooked smile more often.
The squadron gleamed as always, but everyone now seemed to notice it more.
Bill even got to know most of us by our first names, something that didn't
happen often at the Academy. While no one ever formally acknowledged the
change, I think we became Bill's cadets and his squadron.
As often happens in life, events sweep us away from those in our past.
The last time I saw Bill was on graduation day in June 1977. As I walked
out of the squadron for the last time, he shook my hand and simply said,
"Good luck, young man."
With that, I embarked on a career that has been truly lucky and blessed.
Mr. Crawford continued to work at the Academy and eventually retired in
his native Colorado where he resides today, one of four Medal of Honor
winners living in a small town.
A wise person once said, "It's not life that's important, but those you
meet along the way that make the difference." Bill was one who made a
difference for me. While I haven't seen Mr. Crawford in over twenty years,
he'd probably be surprised to know I think of him often. Bill Crawford,
our janitor, taught me many valuable, unforgettable leadership lessons.
Here are ten I'd like to share with you.
1) Be Cautious of Labels. Labels you place on people may define your
relationship to them and bound their potential. Sadly, and for a long
time, we labeled Bill as just a janitor, but he was so much more.
Therefore, be cautious of a leader who callously says, "Hey, he's just an
Airman." Likewise, don't tolerate the O-1, who says, "I can't do that, I'm
just a lieutenant."
2) Everyone Deserves Respect. Because we hung the "janitor" label on Mr.
Crawford, we often wrongly treated him with less respect than others
around us. He deserved much more, and not just because he was a Medal of
Honor winner. Bill deserved respect because he was a janitor, walked among
us, and was a part of our team.
3) Courtesy Makes a Difference. Be courteous to all around you, regardless
of rank or position. Military customs, as well as common courtesies, help
bond a team. When our daily words to Mr. Crawford turned from perfunctory
"hellos" to heartfelt greetings, his demeanor and personality outwardly
changed. It made a difference for all of us.
4) Take Time to Know Your People. Life in the military is hectic, but
that's no excuse for not knowing the people you work for and with. For
years a hero walked among us at the Academy and we never knew it. Who are
the heroes that walk in your midst?
5) Anyone Can Be a Hero. Mr. Crawford certainly didn't fit anyone's
standard definition of a hero. Moreover, he was just a private on the day
he won his Medal. Don't sell your people short, for any one of them may be
the hero who rises to the occasion when duty calls. On the other hand,
it's easy to turn to your proven performers when the chips are down, but
don't ignore the rest of the team. Today's rookie could and should be
tomorrow's superstar.
6) Leaders Should Be Humble. Most modern day heroes and some leaders are
anything but humble, especially if you calibrate your "hero meter" on
today's athletic fields. End zone celebrations and self-aggrandizement are
what we've come to expect from sports greats. Not Mr. Crawford-he was too
busy working to celebrate his past heroics. Leaders would be well-served
to do the same.
7) Life Won't Always Hand You What You Think You Deserve. We in the
military work hard and, dang it, we deserve recognition, right? However,
sometimes you just have to persevere, even when accolades don't come your
way. Perhaps you weren't nominated for junior officer or airman of the
quarter as you thought you should-don't let that stop you.
8) Don't pursue glory; pursue excellence. Private Bill Crawford didn't
pursue glory; he did his duty and then swept floors for a living.
9) No Job is Beneath a Leader. If Bill Crawford, a Medal of Honor winner,
could clean latrines and smile, is there a job beneath your dignity? Think
about it.
10) Pursue Excellence. No matter what task life hands you, do it well. Dr.
Martin Luther King said, "If life makes you a street sweeper, be the best
street sweeper you can be." Mr. Crawford modeled that philosophy and
helped make our dormitory area a home.
Life is a Leadership Laboratory. All too often we look to some school or
PME class to teach us about leadership when, in fact, life is a leadership
laboratory. Those you meet everyday will teach you enduring lessons if you
just take time to stop, look and listen. I spent four years at the Air
Force Academy, took dozens of classes, read hundreds of books, and met
thousands of great people. I gleaned leadership skills from all of them,
but one of the people I remember most is Mr. Bill Crawford and the lessons
he unknowingly taught. Don't miss your opportunity to learn.
Bill Crawford was a janitor. However, he was also a teacher, friend, role
model and one great American hero. Thanks, Mr. Crawford, for some valuable
leadership lessons.
Good article...........
Too bad this class had to discover this before they changed the way they
treated this person. I wonder how many of the classmates changed they view
permanently about all people? Regardless of what you think, you never
know who you are talking to.
I think Chief Martinez sums this up best when he says...you have two ears
and two eyes but only one mouth. You'll go further and learn more if you
spend more time observing and listening and less time talking.
-----Original Message-----
From: Chandler Kenneth A CMSgt 56 CS/SCM
Sent: Friday, August 29, 2003 10:45 AM
To: 56 FW Chiefs
Subject: A Life Lesson
A Janitor's Lessons in Leadership
By Col. James Moschgat, 12th Operations Group Commander
Amazing story, unfortunately that's the way it works sometimes...enjoy!
William "Bill" Crawford certainly was an unimpressive figure, one you
could easily overlook during a hectic day at the U.S. Air Force Academy.
Mr. Crawford, as most of us referred to him back in the late 1970s, was
our squadron janitor.
While we cadets busied ourselves preparing for academic exams, athletic
events, Saturday morning parades and room inspections, or never-ending
leadership classes, Bill quietly moved about the squadron mopping and
buffing floors, emptying trash cans, cleaning toilets, or just tidying up
the mess 100 college-age kids can leave in a dormitory.
Sadly, and for many years, few of us gave him much notice, rendering
little more than a passing nod or throwing a curt, "G'morning!" in his
direction as we hurried off to our daily duties.
Why? Perhaps it was because of the way he did his job-he always kept the
squadron area spotlessly clean, even the toilets and showers gleamed.
Frankly, he did his job so well, none of us had to notice or get involved.
After all, cleaning toilets was his job, not ours.
Maybe it was his physical appearance that made him disappear into the
background. Bill didn't move very quickly and, in fact, you could say he
even shuffled a bit, as if he suffered from some sort of injury. His gray
hair and wrinkled face made him appear ancient to a group of young cadets.
And his crooked smile, well, it looked a little funny. Face it, Bill was
an old man working in a young person's world. What did he have to offer us
on a personal level?
Finally, maybe it was Mr. Crawford's personality that rendered him almost
invisible to the young people around him. Bill was shy, almost painfully
so. He seldom spoke to a cadet unless they addressed him first, and that
didn't happen very often. Our janitor always buried himself in his work,
moving about with stooped shoulders, a quiet gait, and an averted gaze. If
he noticed the hustle and bustle of cadet life around him, it was hard to
tell.
So, for whatever reason, Bill blended into the woodwork and became just
another fixture around the squadron. The Academy, one of our nation's
premier leadership laboratories, kept us busy from dawn till dusk. And Mr.
Crawford...well, he was just a janitor.
That changed one fall Saturday afternoon in 1976. I was reading a book
about World War II and the tough Allied ground campaign in Italy, when I
stumbled across an incredible story. On Sept. 13, 1943, a Private William
Crawford from Colorado, assigned to the 36th Infantry Division, had been
involved in some bloody fighting on Hill 424 near Altavilla, Italy.
The words on the page leapt out at me: "in the face of intense and
overwhelming hostile fire ... with no regard for personal safety ... on
his own initiative, Private Crawford single-handedly attacked fortified
enemy positions." It continued, "for conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity
at risk of life above and beyond the call of duty, the President of the
United States ..."
"Holy cow," I said to my roommate, "you're not going to believe this, but
I think our janitor is a Medal of Honor winner."
We all knew Mr. Crawford was a WWII Army vet, but that didn't keep my
friend from looking at me as if I was some sort of alien being.
Nonetheless, we couldn't wait to ask Bill about the story on Monday.
We met Mr. Crawford bright and early Monday and showed him the page in
question from the book, anticipation and doubt on our faces. He starred at
it for a few silent moments and then quietly uttered something like, "Yep,
that's me."
Mouths agape, my roommate and I looked at one another, then at the book,
and quickly back at our janitor. Almost at once we both stuttered, "Why
didn't you ever tell us about it?"
He slowly replied after some thought, "That was one day in my life and it
happened a long time ago."
I guess we were all at a loss for words after that. We had to hurry off to
class and Bill, well, he had chores to attend to. However, after that
brief exchange, things were never again the same around our squadron. Word
spread like wildfire among the cadets that we had a hero in our midst-Mr.
Crawford, our janitor, had won the Medal!
Cadets who had once passed by Bill with hardly a glance, now greeted him
with a smile and a respectful, "Good morning, Mr. Crawford."
Those who had before left a mess for the "janitor" to clean up started
taking it upon themselves to put things in order. Most cadets routinely
stopped to talk to Bill throughout the day and we even began inviting him
to our formal squadron functions. He'd show up dressed in a conservative
dark suit and quietly talk to those who approached him, the only sign of
his heroics being a simple blue, star-spangled lapel pin. Almost
overnight, Bill went from being a simple fixture in our squadron to one of
our teammates.
Mr. Crawford changed too, but you had to look closely to notice the
difference. After that fall day in 1976, he seemed to move with more
purpose, his shoulders didn't seem to be as stooped, he met our greetings
with a direct gaze and a stronger "good morning" in return, and he flashed
his crooked smile more often.
The squadron gleamed as always, but everyone now seemed to notice it more.
Bill even got to know most of us by our first names, something that didn't
happen often at the Academy. While no one ever formally acknowledged the
change, I think we became Bill's cadets and his squadron.
As often happens in life, events sweep us away from those in our past.
The last time I saw Bill was on graduation day in June 1977. As I walked
out of the squadron for the last time, he shook my hand and simply said,
"Good luck, young man."
With that, I embarked on a career that has been truly lucky and blessed.
Mr. Crawford continued to work at the Academy and eventually retired in
his native Colorado where he resides today, one of four Medal of Honor
winners living in a small town.
A wise person once said, "It's not life that's important, but those you
meet along the way that make the difference." Bill was one who made a
difference for me. While I haven't seen Mr. Crawford in over twenty years,
he'd probably be surprised to know I think of him often. Bill Crawford,
our janitor, taught me many valuable, unforgettable leadership lessons.
Here are ten I'd like to share with you.
1) Be Cautious of Labels. Labels you place on people may define your
relationship to them and bound their potential. Sadly, and for a long
time, we labeled Bill as just a janitor, but he was so much more.
Therefore, be cautious of a leader who callously says, "Hey, he's just an
Airman." Likewise, don't tolerate the O-1, who says, "I can't do that, I'm
just a lieutenant."
2) Everyone Deserves Respect. Because we hung the "janitor" label on Mr.
Crawford, we often wrongly treated him with less respect than others
around us. He deserved much more, and not just because he was a Medal of
Honor winner. Bill deserved respect because he was a janitor, walked among
us, and was a part of our team.
3) Courtesy Makes a Difference. Be courteous to all around you, regardless
of rank or position. Military customs, as well as common courtesies, help
bond a team. When our daily words to Mr. Crawford turned from perfunctory
"hellos" to heartfelt greetings, his demeanor and personality outwardly
changed. It made a difference for all of us.
4) Take Time to Know Your People. Life in the military is hectic, but
that's no excuse for not knowing the people you work for and with. For
years a hero walked among us at the Academy and we never knew it. Who are
the heroes that walk in your midst?
5) Anyone Can Be a Hero. Mr. Crawford certainly didn't fit anyone's
standard definition of a hero. Moreover, he was just a private on the day
he won his Medal. Don't sell your people short, for any one of them may be
the hero who rises to the occasion when duty calls. On the other hand,
it's easy to turn to your proven performers when the chips are down, but
don't ignore the rest of the team. Today's rookie could and should be
tomorrow's superstar.
6) Leaders Should Be Humble. Most modern day heroes and some leaders are
anything but humble, especially if you calibrate your "hero meter" on
today's athletic fields. End zone celebrations and self-aggrandizement are
what we've come to expect from sports greats. Not Mr. Crawford-he was too
busy working to celebrate his past heroics. Leaders would be well-served
to do the same.
7) Life Won't Always Hand You What You Think You Deserve. We in the
military work hard and, dang it, we deserve recognition, right? However,
sometimes you just have to persevere, even when accolades don't come your
way. Perhaps you weren't nominated for junior officer or airman of the
quarter as you thought you should-don't let that stop you.
8) Don't pursue glory; pursue excellence. Private Bill Crawford didn't
pursue glory; he did his duty and then swept floors for a living.
9) No Job is Beneath a Leader. If Bill Crawford, a Medal of Honor winner,
could clean latrines and smile, is there a job beneath your dignity? Think
about it.
10) Pursue Excellence. No matter what task life hands you, do it well. Dr.
Martin Luther King said, "If life makes you a street sweeper, be the best
street sweeper you can be." Mr. Crawford modeled that philosophy and
helped make our dormitory area a home.
Life is a Leadership Laboratory. All too often we look to some school or
PME class to teach us about leadership when, in fact, life is a leadership
laboratory. Those you meet everyday will teach you enduring lessons if you
just take time to stop, look and listen. I spent four years at the Air
Force Academy, took dozens of classes, read hundreds of books, and met
thousands of great people. I gleaned leadership skills from all of them,
but one of the people I remember most is Mr. Bill Crawford and the lessons
he unknowingly taught. Don't miss your opportunity to learn.
Bill Crawford was a janitor. However, he was also a teacher, friend, role
model and one great American hero. Thanks, Mr. Crawford, for some valuable
leadership lessons.
- Bateluer
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- Skye
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- Contact:
Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
DoD emails do nothing but spam my inbox. Bah!
- Bateluer
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Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
Originally posted by Skye@Sep 5 2003, 12:50 PM
DoD emails do nothing but spam my inbox. Bah!
You don't have a DoD email address. *slap*
- Hara-Kiri
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Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
I refuse to read all that.
To feel the wind tearing at my clothes, the elements.
The only truth left in a world of lies and hypocrisy.
The beauty of the abyss.
The anticipation, like anticipating the greatest sex, an existential foreplay.
Looking down into oblivion and voidness.
The ground far, far away as it seems from here, but in reality only a couple of seconds away.
Standing there.
Feeling eternity in a restricted world.
Feeling a decision in a prefabricated existence.
The only truth left in a world of lies and hypocrisy.
The beauty of the abyss.
The anticipation, like anticipating the greatest sex, an existential foreplay.
Looking down into oblivion and voidness.
The ground far, far away as it seems from here, but in reality only a couple of seconds away.
Standing there.
Feeling eternity in a restricted world.
Feeling a decision in a prefabricated existence.
- Skye
- Veteran
- Posts: 7194
- Joined: Sun Dec 15, 2002 12:48 pm
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Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
Originally posted by Bateluer+Sep 5 2003, 01:01 PM--<table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'<tr<tdQUOTE (Bateluer @ Sep 5 2003, 01:01 PM)</td</tr<tr<td id='QUOTE'<!--QuoteBegin-Skye@Sep 5 2003, 12:50 PM
DoD emails do nothing but spam my inbox. Bah!
You don't have a DoD email address. *slap* [/b][/quote]
Says who?
- Bateluer
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Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
Says who? [/b][/quote]Originally posted by Skye+Sep 5 2003, 04:09 PM--<table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'<tr<tdQUOTE (Skye @ Sep 5 2003, 04:09 PM)</td</tr<tr<td id='QUOTE'Originally posted by Bateluer@Sep 5 2003, 01:01 PM
<!--QuoteBegin-Skye@Sep 5 2003, 12:50 PM
DoD emails do nothing but spam my inbox. Bah!
You don't have a DoD email address. *slap*
Because I have access to every DoD email address.
- sweet_robin
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Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
Thanks for sharing that with us. It makes you think. I like the stories that you read, and they teach you a lesson, so that in the future, you make think twice before you make a mistake.
- iAmAStreaker
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Re: Not Sure Where To Put This
I could not read all of that. Bah. But I read a few..kinda funny..heh.
<span style="font-family:Arial"i'm sveta; pleased to meet you.