Just A Bit Outside

The Scene

Back in May of 1998, I was just learning how to be a Radioman on a submarine. I had reported aboard **USS KEY WEST** in February of that year. Two days after checking in, we got underway for what is called an EastPac (Eastern Pacific) deployment to train with the battle group we would deploy with later that year. The deployment lasted about two months, and I spent most of it doing dishes, cleaning, and learning what life aboard a fast-attack submarine was really like.

When we returned, I finally had the opportunity to begin learning the job I had joined the Navy to do.

Like most Navy watch stations, qualifying as a Radioman of the Watch (RMOW) started with a qualification card. It was several pages long and covered everything from technical knowledge and operating procedures to practical demonstrations and oral qualification boards. Before you were ever trusted to stand the watch alone, you first had to prove you understood the equipment, the procedures, and the responsibilities that came with the position.

Once the knowledge portion was complete, the real learning began. You stood watches **under instruction** alongside an experienced watch stander. They watched everything you did, corrected your mistakes, answered your questions, and gradually gave you more responsibility as your confidence grew.

Or at least, that's what I thought was happening.

I had been under instruction for about a week and had already been through a couple of periscope depth evolutions. Things were beginning to feel familiar. We were only conducting local operations, and the routine seemed straightforward. Raise the antennas. Clear the broadcast. Nothing felt particularly intimidating anymore.

If I'm honest, I was starting to get a little cocky.

Like many young Sailors who have just learned enough to become dangerous, I was convinced I had this whole watch figured out. School was behind me. I'd already done it a few times. What could possibly go wrong?

As so often happens, pride has a way of inviting humility into the room.

If I remember correctly, it was a mid-watch. I remember because we always darkened the control room for midnight periscope depth trips so the Officer of the Deck could adjust his eyes before taking the scope above the surface.

My division Chief was standing the watch under instruction with me. We talked through the upcoming periscope depth evolution, reviewed procedures, discussed operational requirements, and covered the normal actions expected of the Radioman during the evolution.

About an hour before we were scheduled to come to periscope depth, he casually asked,

"Do you want to take us up?" Of course I answered yes.

What I didn't realize was that he meant... alone.

About ten minutes before we were due to come to periscope depth, he looked over at me and said,

"I'm going to grab some coffee. I'll be back in a minute."

I nodded without giving it much thought and started preparing the radio room for the upcoming evolution. Then he disappeared.

At first, I assumed he had actually gone for coffee. I worked steadily through my setup, mentally checking off each item as I prepared for the evolution.

Then the 27MC crackled to life.

"All stations, Conn. Proceeding to periscope depth."

The responsibility suddenly became very real. And I wasn't ready. I kept working, convinced I could still get everything lined up before we reached communications depth.

One four zero...

One three zero...

One two zero...

I still thought I could get there.

One hundred feet...

Nine zero...

Eight zero...

We were coming up fast.

A submarine communications trip is a carefully timed and orchestrated event. Everyone knows approximately how long it takes to reach periscope depth, how long the safety sweep takes, how quickly the hydraulics raise an antenna, and exactly when the passive broadcast begins. Everything has to happen in sequence so the boat can come up, receive the broadcast, and slip back into the darkness beneath the waves before anyone could even know we were there.

"Chief of the Watch, Raise the #1 BRA-34", "Radio, Conn, raising the #1 BRA-34 to copy the time 15 passive downlink"

"Conn, Radio, aye"

Then came the moment. The receive light on the ON-143 never came on.

My little green light just sat there...

Dark.

I stared at it for a second, hoping I had simply missed something.

Nothing.

In less than a minute the Officer of the Deck was going to ask whether the broadcast had been copied, and I had absolutely no idea why the equipment wasn't working. I bolted out of Radio looking for my Chief. Wouldn't you know who I found standing in just outside the door in Nav Center... Grinning. He had been there the whole time.

The Lesson

He had never truly left me alone. He had gone to get his coffee, stopped by Control, and quietly told the Officer of the Deck that this particular periscope depth evolution might be a little rough. He created enough space for me to experience the responsibility of standing the watch while also making sure the consequences of my inevitable mistakes would be limited. He stepped far enough away for me to experience responsibility... But stayed close enough to prevent a serious failure. At the time, I mostly felt relief. It took years of leading others before I fully understood what he had actually done. He did not build my confidence by telling me I was ready. He created a controlled opportunity for me to discover what I knew, recognize what I did not know, and ask for help when I reached my limit. That is an important distinction. Leaders can remain so close that the people around them never develop independent judgment. They can also step away too quickly and mistake abandonment for empowerment. Good mentorship exists somewhere between those two extremes.

A good leader gives people real responsibility. The consequences must matter enough for the experience to produce growth. At the same time, the leader remains attentive, available, and prepared to intervene before a developmental mistake becomes a catastrophe. Over the years, I have tried to carry that lesson into my own leadership. Stand beside people until they do not realize you have stepped away.

The Commit

The goal of mentorship is not to make someone dependent upon the mentor. It is to help that person develop the judgment and confidence to perform without one.

Sometimes the most important thing a leader can do is walk toward the coffee pot—and then quietly wait just outside the door.

Repository reference: Nathan Knowledge Repository, Story 1 — “The Division Supervisor’s Coffee.” This article is a public reflection derived from the tenant-held source Story.

Repository Status

• Epic: USS KEY WEST
• Story: The Division Supervisor's Coffee
• Branch: feature/responsibility-before-confidence
• Status: Merged to main