An unlikely success-Part 4 (final-install)

I stood outside the XO's office, and I felt like I was outside the guidance counselors office all over again. I thought about pouring myself into school work and making the honor roll; and then the startling defeat I felt as I learned the truth about why I succeeded, while my guidance counselor laughed.

I thought about getting set-back in boot camp; I thought about failing out of technical training in Mississippi; and I thought about failing a test for promotion to a rank that was all-but-automatic for most people in the Navy. I began to fear that the only reason the ship's second-in-command would want to talk to me, a lowly E-2, was because he was going to have me put out of the Navy.

People on the Oakridge used to talk down about the guys in the deck department. They called us "Deck Apes" because we are supposedly the dumbest guys on the ship. Now I feared I wasn't even smart enough to be a Deck Ape. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and wiped away the tears the attempted to well up in my eyes.

My mind raced about what the XO would probably say to me, and self-defeat began boiling up inside me as I felt every ounce of optimism, every drop of hope I had bleeding from my veins. I felt sick to my stomach, and I wanted to fall to the deck like a defeated heap of worthless junk.

The thought of facing life after being kicked out of the Navy was more than I could bear. I had already decided that I could not recover from shame of that magnitude. The XO opened the hatch to his office and invited me in just in time to keep me from losing control of myself. What happened next floored me.

The Executive Officer didn't throw me out--he didn’t say anything I had prepared myself to hear. I stood there confused when he said what he did. At first I didn't know if he was serious or just making fun of me but he was serious. There was no "punch line" here. I heard him right: The second in command of this U.S. Navy vessel told me, an 18 year old Sailor, that he had a learning disability and he thought I had the same disability.

He also said that if he was right about me, I could learn to defeat this affliction, to become a leader in the Navy—maybe even an officer, just as he had done. For that reason, he was going to send me to a developmental psychologist to be evaluated for that learning disability.

This time, I got help that "helped". My dyslexia was identified, and I practiced strategies to mitigate the effects. I also learned about “smart” people who might have had dyslexia.

I had to laugh at the irony--Who would have thought?

Who would have thought that l would be in the distinguished company of world leaders like President John F. Kennedy, or Albert Einstein, and a bunch of others.

Despite this help and the personal leadership I received, I still didn't succeed in reading a book from cover to cover until I was 23, and I didn't muster the courage to take my first college class until I was about 26, but I made my journey in my own time, on my terms.

Here’s the moral of my story: You might be someone’s XO. You might be the first person to help someone spark their inspiration; maybe you come along later and help that person fan a spark of inspiration into a flame of confidence; or come along even later and help stoke a flame of confidence into a raging hot fire of achievement that blazes paths for others to follow.

No matter where you come along in that process, recognize and take advantage of your GOD-given opportunity to make a difference. I'm so thankful that the long line of leaders I've been privileged to know didn't write me off because of past failures. Anyone can lead the all-star, or the MVP, but the real leadership achievement lies in helping the one who has been written off as a failure and proving that there is a place for them to be successful and important.

Here I am; evidence of what happens when people take interest and get involved. Here I am; proof that anyone can succeed with a little caring, involved leadership.

Here I am, serving as a Naval Officer, and getting my Ph.D., 23 years after my high school guidance counselor told me to "forget about college".

I have to laugh at the irony. Who woulda thought?

Indeed, who woulda thought?

An unlikely success-Part 3

Two years after my fateful visit to the high school guidance office, where I was instructed by a professional educator to give up on getting a college education, I enlisted in the Navy.

From my first day of boot camp, I loved it. I knew that day that I wanted to serve for at least 20 years...but then failure followed me into the Navy too.

I went to bootcamp on September 1st of 1983. Part of the program in military basic training is "attention to detail" They give you detailed instructions, then exercise you a lot, deprive you of sleep, give you an almost impossible schedule to keep, and get you functioning on about four hours of sleep per night. It didn't take long for my dyslexia (that I still didn't know I had) to start acting up. Another major part of the program in basic training is academic training. Classes--just like high school, with tests. Many of these tests were essay tests. So, in this place where they intentionally stress you, and deprive you of sleep, I started flunking tests pretty quick. I flunked out of my orignial company and got set back in basic training for academic failures.

They put me in a temporary personnel unit where I received extra remedial training--which means that someone gave me all the answers--to all the tests--until I memorized them all. I finally got assigned to another company, and graduated a day or two shy of my 18th birthday.

Then I went to technical training in Meridian, Mississippi.

Then I failed out of technical training in Meridian, Mississippi.

Then I got orders to my first ship, and thought of it as yet another fresh start in my short Naval career already riddled with failure.

I ended up going to the USS Oakridge, in Kings Bay, Georgia. In retrospect, I realize now that Oakridge was a dumping ground for Sailors like me: Failures. Oakridge Sailors usually failed somewhere else, and ended up on Oakridge as kind of a "last chance" to make something of themselves in the Navy. Many of my shipmates had been in some kind of disciplinary trouble that resulted in them being taken off their last ship. There were some alcoholics, some drug abusers, lots of thieves, there was even a prostitute, and one who was convicted of dealing drugs. There were a lot of falling stars there, but few rising stars. Needless to say, it wasn't a great place to make friends.

When I reported to the ship, I was assigned to the deck department, which is basically the manual labor pool for the ship. The work was hard, but I liked it. The only complaint I had was that most of the men I worked with were either criminals, mildly retarded, or a little insane.

There were a few exceptions, but not many. My only problem was being dumb, so it was ironic that I would end up on a very short list of "respectable" people on that ship. I had to laugh at the irony—who would have thought?

Who would have thought that a place like this would be a great place for me to turn a corner in my Naval career and start succeeding. I was dumb, but at least I was no criminal--that's why my bosses liked me: Well, that, and because they could tell that I loved the Navy. I loved being a Sailor. I loved putting on my uniform. I loved saluting, standing watches. I voulunteered for everything I could that required marching and close order drill: Things I had been exceptional at since the Sea Cadets. I loved shining my shoes and I had the stories of lots of our Naval Fathers burned into my brain.

In no time, my shipmates had given me the nickname "Lifer". Back then, that was considered an insult, but I liked it.

I was finally off to a good start, and just as my reputation began to grow, I failed the test for promotion to Seaman (E-3). Now, you have to understand: Failing a test for a promotion to E-3 in the Navy in 1984 was like being so dumb that it was entirely possible you'd forget to breathe if someone wasn't there to jab you in the ribs every few seconds. Believe me when I tell you, that I worked with some guys that I considered far dumber than me, but they, unlike me, PASSED the E-3 test.

Great--what now?

I'll tell you what now...now, the Executive Officer (XO) wants to know how you fail a test for E-3!

Since I was the most qualified person to explain it to him, I got the job.

I was terrified. If you have never been in the Navy, let me explain how the culture is on Naval Ships: The chain of command is everything. An officer doesn't speak to a Petty Officer. He speaks to the Chief--then, the Chief speaks to the petty officer. In turn, the petty officer speaks to the leading seaman, and then, finally, the leading seaman chews your ass until performance improves.

I had been on this ship for about six months, and up till today no one above the rank of E-4 had ever spoken to me without cursing. So, now the friggin XO wants to see me?

Wonderful...

An unlikely success-Part 2

I had to laugh at the irony. Who woulda thought?

Who would have thought that despite holding degrees ranging from Associate, to Master of Science from three different Universities, I would still have trouble reading? Well, I do. I am even working on a Ph.D., I am an officer in the United States Navy, and I coach college football at one of the most prestigious private universities in the country, but I still have difficulty reading from time to time.

My dyslexia wasn't formally recognized by anyone until after I enlisted in the Navy. I was glad to learn there was an explanation other than stupidity for the many failures I had experienced up to that point in life. Most of my teachers all the way through school believed I was lazy because I was clearly a bright kid; I was well spoken, and I could solve complex problems as if they were the type that allowed me to think in pictures. Unfortunately, dyslexia just wasn't understood well like it is today.

Many people think--like my teachers did back then--that dyslexia means you "can't read". That is simply not true. I am actually quite a good reader--I always have been, but sometimes, when I read I don't always see the same stuff that you might see. This problem varies in difficulty. Things like lack of sleep, stress, and other factors can make dyslexia a terrible affliction, but when I am rested, I can go days or weeks without problems. The inconsistent nature of this problem pre-disposed my teachers to think that I simply didn't apply myself as consistently as I could have.


When my dyslexia acts up, letters tend to move around (or at times, they even disappear) a word like "United" can become "Untied". Like most dyslexics, I tend to think in pictures, and now understand that when you read something that "doesn't make sense", you mind strives to "make sense of it". For instance, very recently, I read a billboard that read "Blue Bonnet Migraine". Immediately, my mind began to make sense of what I had seen. "It must be a type of headache, that covers the head, like a bonnet." I thought. I read the billboard again--this time, reading that last-word-first. Only THEN did I see that it was an ad for margarine (fake butter). Now you see how changing the order of letters, or just one word in a sentence has the potential to change the meaning of an entire body of written work?

Later, when your mistakes are pointed out, you see them easily, and wonder how you missed it in the first place. Then of course, people tell you “pay attention”, or “try harder”, “don’t be so lazy”.

Imagine the frustration and self-doubt that mounts over a lifetime of failures like this, and the effect that these failures can have on self-confidence. Because reading became so frustrating for me, I developed an aversion to it, and began to believe that because I wasn't able to to understand the simple things like everyone else, I was dumb--or maybe I was mentally ill. I seemed to need help all the time, but the "help" never really helped, so I just quit asking for it. The only thing asking for help ever did for me was single me out.

When I got to freshman year in high school, I joined an organization called the U.S. Naval Sea Cadet Corps. It was sort of a Navy-oriented version of the boy scouts, and I LOVED it. The Sea Cadets allowed me to ply my talents for verbal communicating, leadership and humor. The sea cadets differed from regular school, in that there weren’t a lot of written instructions—everything was taught through demonstration. This was exactly how I learn best.

Finally, at 14 years old, I began to believe that I could be excellent at something. I gained a reputation for being an excellent leader in my unit. I was told by more than one Naval Officer I had excellent leadership and communication skills, and that I might make an outstanding Naval Officer someday.

This one officer in particular encouraged me a lot. I was not used to positive feedback, but I liked it. I had previously given up on the idea of going to college, but this officer kept talking to me about it, and made me want to try to qualify for college admission.

That fall my family moved to a small town in Wisconsin—technically for us, it was “going home”, but since I grew up in Navy towns where ever my father had been stationed, I had never been to a place like Wisconsin. I certainly did not feel at home--in addition to my educational challenges, I was now at a cultural disadvantage on top of that. These people were more sheltered and naive than anyone I have ever met, before or since. I now understand that I was a bit unusual--you dont' meet many fifteen year olds who've lived in 11 different places, and known people from all over the world. Up till we moved to Wisconsin, everyone I had ever met was just like me: Their parents were in the miltiary, and many had lived in very exotic places. Now in Wisconsin, I was the exotic one (if you believed me). If my story was just too much to wrap your mind around (and for many it was) I was a liar. I distinctly remember someone asking me what my father did for a living--when I told them he was in the Navy, I was accused of making up tall tales, and the hypothesis that I didn't even have a father suddenly became far more believeable to this collection of rube insiders.

Needless to say, it didn't take long to get lonely there, so I looked forward to leaving that town almost as soon as I got there. I believed that I would be leaving soon after graduation to go to college--the Naval Academy to be exact--so I convinced myself that I didn't care about having friends and began to pour myself into my school work.

When the first semester report cards came out in January of that year, I was proud to have made the honor role for the first time in my life. I finally felt like a first-class citizen in school, and thus, I felt like I had a reason to visit my guidance counselor. I made an appointment, and rehearsed what I would say until the day finally arrived. When my appointment began, I wasted no time--I told my advisor about my plan to go to the Naval Academy upon graduation. I asked him to help me get ready academically, and when the time came, to help me apply.

I knew right away something was wrong.

He sank into his chair, and for a second or two--he chuckled--he laughed and he shook his head. It was like he didn't know how to break some kind of bad news--something he couldn't believe I didn't already know.

As he began to speak, he was blunt, but kind. I began to understand that I was not going to the Naval Academy and I probably wasn't going to college at all. According to him, it was too late. I was enrolled in what he called a "practical learning program". He explained that college-bound students were taking Algebra or Trigonometry. I was in "Math for every day living" where we learned to plan a budget, and how to write checks.

My English credits came in classes like "Public speaking", and in my Science text book was not Physics, Biology, or Chemistry--mine had chapters like "the health effects of smoking". This was everyday stuff, designed to get you through school, but it was certainly not college preparatory work.

Now I understood:

Suddenly the improvement in my grades wasn't such a big deal.

Suddenly I wondered if that officer who talked about me getting into Annapolis was just mocking me.

Suddenly I felt like a clown dressed in that shirt and tie--that until this day--I had only worn to church.

I know he thought he was being responsible, but he almost broke me when he said, "Listen: forget about college, learn a trade, and join the work force—if you had applied yourself earlier, we might be having a different conversation".

I was humiliated. My face flushed bright red. I could feel my ears burning red-hot with embarrassment. I felt like a fool. All the preparation and rehearsing I had done for this meeting was pointless. I had to get out of there.

What do you do after someone tells you that? I'll tell you what you do:

You forget about college.
You give up on your dreams
You forget about your passions, and
You settle.

At least for a while--I'll explain next time. Thanks for reading.

An unlikely success: Part 1

According to U.S. News and World Report's, America's Best Colleges Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas is one of the finest private colleges in the nation. I have to laugh at the irony. Who would have thought? Who would have thought that I would be on the staff of such a prestigious school? I'm not a professor, or even a teacher per se', but I do hold a position where I teach. I'm a football coach. Because we're such a small school you probably never heard of us before, but if you have, it’s probably because of the football team. We were featured on ESPN thanks to a miraculous play that helped us net an unlikely come-from-behind win at Milsaps College this year. The video is posted. Take a look if you haven't seen it. The play was an amazing moment that not many coaches will ever get to experience. Why God smiled on me for a moment like that, I'll never know--but as always--I accept his blessings like I accepted salvation: With gratitude, and thanks. But really, football is NOT what I wanted to write about.


I only highlight that game, as an illustration to the thing I do want to write about: the many unlikely blessings that a common man like me has enjoyed by the grace of God, through the work of his people. My journey is as unlikely a success story as you'll ever hear--kind of like the miracle play in Mississippi.

Despite that great win, we lost two weeks later in the play offs. Like many coaches after a loss, I couldn't sleep so I got out of bed, turned on the television and found a documentary about a high school football team on the south side of Manhattan. The title bar across the top of the screen said

"The Pleges of Stuyvesant High"

I read that, and thought "They misspelled it”! “How embarrassing for this nationally recognized educational channel".I thought they meant pledges (with a D) as if to describe these boys trying to make it on a football team at Stuyvesant high, the way college boys pledge to join fraternities. I watched for a long time before I figured out that it was me who was wrong--I was misreading the title of the show.

The word was "Peglegs", as in "Old Peg Leg Pete" (Pieter Stuyvesant), one of the last Directors General of the colony of New Netherland. He later became a major figure in the early history of New York City, and for that reason, he is the namesake of Stuyvesant high, Stuyvesant Avenue in Harlem, and other landmarks in New York City.

More next time...