After more than 22 years at Aflac, the 11th grade feels like another lifetime. But that’s when I decided to join the United States Marines. That “first job” eventually found me in foreign land, a bit scared but ready to do my duty during Operation Desert Storm. But the most important lesson I carry from these formative years might be the one I learned before I ever left boot camp at Parris Island.
The leadership philosophy I follow today centers on people, then process, then performance. I call it The Formula. But there’s something deeper behind it: Authentic leadership means recognizing and meeting the moment. Sometimes the job needs a disciplined executive. Sometimes it just needs a caring human. Most times it’s a combination of both.
The night that changed everything
When you’re a Marine recruit, you take a turn pulling what they call “fire watch”: overnight guard duty in the squad bay while everyone else sleeps. You’re not armed; you’re just aware . . . and responsible. It’s a test of your discipline to stay alert even when you know nothing will happen. Until it does. One night when I had the duty, the thing I became aware of, and suddenly responsible for, was a squad mate who was trying to take his own life.
I knew I had to wake up my DI, my drill instructor. If you’ve ever been a kid who had to wake up a grumpy parent in the middle of the night to tell them you wrecked the car, multiply that apprehension by at least 10. But I had no choice, so I banged on the door. The response was about what you’d expect. The DI came out in his underwear and went from zero to 60 in a heartbeat, jumping in my face and berating me. I finally managed to blurt out the news. The DI muttered something I can’t repeat, disappeared back into his room, and shut the door.
I barely had time to process my confusion before the DI reemerged. This time he was dressed. He looked me in the eye. You stay here.
By now, I imagine many of you are thinking of a scene in a popular movie that started out the same way. But that’s where the comparison ends—because at that moment, everything changed. The sergeant went into the bathroom, put his arm around the boy, and started talking in a way I’d never heard from him before: like a human.
“The Marines isn’t for everybody. Let me take care of you and get you out of here. It isn’t worth killing yourself over.” And that recruit got to go on with his life.
Taking the lesson to heart
My first reaction, apart from relief, was: My DI has been faking it. He’s been putting on an act. The guy I’ve known is tough, loud, and, shall we say, colorful. But my second thought was: Maybe, when the situation called for it, he was more human than I thought. Maybe you can be tough and disciplined, while also being compassionate.
I can’t tell you when the real lesson from that night dawned on me, but it has guided me ever since. In hindsight, both faces were real. And the things you do under the guise of each persona are valuable. So today, in business, you’ll see me strive to show the control and stick-to-itiveness you’d expect from a Marine vet. But you’ll also see an echo of that fatherly DI who put his arm around a distraught kid. The circumstances are seldom that dramatic. But the value of human understanding, patience, and seeing things through another person’s eyes cannot be overstated.
The long road since
After Parris Island and after Desert Storm, I was out of the military before many of the people I work with today were even born. I worked for a cable TV company, a delivery company, and, finally, an insurance company. I started my career working the phones in a call center and earned 16 promotions in 12 years.
In the call center, helping stressed and disgruntled policyholders wasn’t like a life-or-death experience you can have in a war zone, but my drill instructor’s example still spoke to me. I had rules to follow, and I couldn’t wave away people’s problems. But what people needed to hear was that someone understood how they felt and was trying to help the best way they could.
People, process, performance. That is still The Formula I apply to leading our company. And I still oversee call center operations—albeit in a much different role. Some of the people who reach out to our teams have routine questions about how to fill out a form. Some have been in an accident or had a loved one involved in one. And some are cancer patients trying to navigate the scariest moments of their lives.
Those callers, just like every Aflac employee, sometimes must hear some tough news. Other times they just need a compassionate arm around the shoulder. I try never to forget that we’re all human.
My First Job is a recurring series in which prominent business leaders share what their first job was and what they learned from it.
