Subject: Just a Janitor
A JANITOR'S 10 LESSONS IN LEADERSHIP
By Col. James Moschgat, 12th Operations Group Commander
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 is 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 September 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 in 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.
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.
9.
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.
10.
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.
And now, for the "rest of the story:"
PVT
William John Crawford was a platoon scout for 3rd
Platoon
of Company
L,
142nd Regiment, 36th Division (Texas National Guard) and
won
the
Medal
Of Honor for his actions on Hill 424, just 4 days
after
the
invasion
at Salerno. You can read his citation at
www.army.mil/cmh-pg/mohiia1.htm.
On
Hill 424, PVT Crawford took out 3 enemy machine guns
before
darkness
fell,
halting the platoon's advance. PVT Crawford could not
be
found
and
was assumed dead. The request for his MOH was quickly
approved.
Major
General Terry Allen presented the posthumous MOH to
Bill
Crawford's
father, George, on 11 May 1944 in Camp (now Fort)
Carson,
near
Pueblo. Nearly two months after that, it was learned
that
PVT
Crawford
was alive in a POW camp in Germany.
During
his captivity, a German guard clubbed him with his
rifle.
Bill
overpowered
him, took the rifle away, and beat the guard
unconscious.
A
German
doctor's testimony saved him from severe punishment,
perhaps
death.
To stay ahead of the advancing Russian army, the
prisoners
were
marched
500 miles in 52 days in the middle of the German
winter,
subsisting
on one potato a day. An allied tank column
liberated
the
camp
in the spring of 1945, and PVT Crawford took his first
hot
shower
in
18 months on VE Day. PVT Crawford stayed in the army
before
retiring
as
a MSG and becoming a janitor. In 1984, President Ronald
Reagan
officially
presented the MOH to Bill Crawford