Stories from Bob's Life

It was 1990 and I was the Operations Officer at Seal Team Six, relatively new in the job, and I was the least operationally experienced of the team’s “head shed” – how the team referred to  the top 4 leaders in the command – the CO, XO, OPS, and Command Master Chief.  So during a major exercise I was not on the ground with the troops, but was put in the air, representing the team by manning the Maritime Desk in the AB triple C  (Airborne Command, Control and Communications) aircraft which watched over the whole exercise, and provided support and communications links, where and when needed.  I sat with maybe 15 or 20 of my fellow officers from other commands in our task force,  each of us with headphones and a radio terminal in front of us, at a table strapped down in the back of a specially configured C-130, which had lots of antennae to communicate with a multitude of entities on the ground, on the sea, and in the air.

Our radio terminals connected to the various networks we were assigned to monitor for the commands we represented, and which included an internal communications net which was how our boss in the plane, Brigadier General Bruce Pfister, the Deputy Commander of JSOC, our senior staff, communicated with us in the plane.

The headphones were necessary for our internal communications, because the engine noise in the back of a C-130 does not allow for easy communications by standard voice.  When we needed to talk, we made sure we were on the right network, and had a “push-to-talk” button in front of us which we held down as we spoke.

As we sat there monitoring what was happening on the ground and getting big picture updates from General Pfister from what he was hearing on his “big picture” network, at one point he commented to all of us, “I think things are going pretty well.”

I was bored, and so leaned over to my neighbor who was close enough to hear my voice, and made the totally superfluous wise-crack “You know, if you don’t think too good, you shouldn’t think too much.”

As soon as I finished, I notice that a bunch of people jerked their heads my way with initially a look of shock look on their faces, and then a barely suppressed laugh.  My heart stopped as I looked and noticed that I’d put my notebook down in front of me, on top of my push-to-talk button, activating it and sending my wisecrack to everyone in the plane – including General Pfister.  I couldn’t believe it and was (of course) very embarrassed, as my colleagues could hardly contain their laughter.  General Pfister – always a class act – didn’t say anything. The net was silent, and I waited anxiously for someone to say something to, in effect, change the subject.

By the way, Gen Pfister was a really good leader, very well respected by those of us who worked with him, which made my comment that much more embarrassing.  To his credit, he never mentioned or made any reference to my wisecrack that I am aware of.   Reminds me of the old aphorism that “the fool speaks, and the wise listen, and when given a choice, the wise remain silent.”

That little story made the rounds and has stuck to me – and is perhaps the only truly memorable thing I did in that tour. Gen Stan  McChrystal (then a Major) was also in that plane that night representing the Rangers on the ground, and my son shared with me that Gen McChrystal related that story to him maybe 20 yrs later, when they met down at SOCOM, when my son was a Lieutenant or Lieutenant Commander.  Gen McChrystal also told that story to a group of us who met with him well after he’d retired and had spoken at the University of San Diego.

I don’t know whether that is the only thing that made my reputation in that world, but it was certainly one thing that did. It’s always good for a laugh!