Leadership Lessons from an Unassuming War Vet
Glenn retired from the U.S. Air Force as a senior master sergeant.
He served in World War II, Korea and Vietnam. But I don’t recall ever hearing him talk about it.
Even if you asked a question, he would dismiss it with, “Oh, you don’t want to hear about that.” Then he’d promptly divert your attention to more positive topics. Like fishing. Or washing the car. Or rehabbing a camper that someone had rolled on its side and thought was unfixable.
He had a sturdy build and a slow gate, and it seemed like he always had a lit cigarette dangling from his lower lip. He was a no-frills guy, so whatever carton was on sale that week at the Base Exchange was perfectly acceptable.
When I was a kid, Glenn was my buddy. He taught me how to fish for sun perch behind the city park. How to shoot an old rifle that had been given to him by his father when he was a young farm boy. How to drive a long-bed pickup on narrow, red dirt Texas roads without getting into a bar ditch or being fearful of another vehicle as it passed.
I didn’t realize until I was an adult how many of my favorite childhood memories I owe to Glenn. I also didn’t realize what an amazing teacher he was or what an effective leadership style he had. He was so unassuming in his approach, it never dawned on me. That, in and of itself, is probably a lesson in leadership. He must have learned a lot during his time in the service.
I didn’t realize until I was an adult how many of my favorite childhood memories I owe to Glenn. I also didn’t realize what an amazing teacher he was or what an effective leadership style he had.
Here are a few things I learned from Glenn.
1. Doing something you love is great; using it to help others is even better.
Glenn loved to make things, especially when it involved woodworking. He built a workshop at his house that would have made Santa’s elves envious. And he created custom toys for kids in town as if he were some kind of brawny, tough-as-leather version of one of his North Pole competitors, except he delivered all year long.
But Glenn didn’t simply escape to his workshop by himself, enjoying a hobby that he loved. He taught others how to make things, anyone who showed an interest. And each understated wooden masterpiece was built with a singular, beautiful purpose: to put a smile on someone’s face.
The way he went about his hobby created a ripple effect.
2. Stay James Bond cool, even when the proverbial stuff hits the fan.
I remember working with Glenn in his shop one day. He was teaching me how to use a wood lathe. He was working with a piece of mesquite he had found while tromping around the countryside, and he was determined to turn the hole-infested log into something — probably a lamp. He loved making lamps.
He used his cutting tools to shape the piece to a smooth cylinder. Then he grabbed a piece of steel wool and began to polish. It all seemed to go like butter until the steel wool caught on a snag in the wood.
If you’ve ever seen a lathe in action, it spins fast. Really fast. When the steel wool caught, it only made the rounds for a fraction of a second before Glenn hit the power switch. But that was already enough time for hundreds of tiny strands of steel to individually slice through the skin of his right hand. I’ll never forget as the entire surface, from his fingers to his wrist, slowly morphed from weathered brown to dark red.
He simply asked me to hand him a clean shop rag.
I was a kid, and as any kid would react, I was terrified. But he calmly wrapped his hand in the old shop towel and assured me, “Don’t you worry. I’m fine.” Then he lit a new cigarette.
3. Anticipate your subordinates’ needs before they ask.
One day, Glenn asked me if I wanted to learn how to drive. I was 13, and of course I jumped at the chance. We headed into the country in his green long-bed pickup. Then, once we had ventured sufficiently into the middle of the cotton fields, he asked if I was ready to drive. He said it as nonchalantly as if he was asking me if I’d like another helping of corn at dinner.
I felt like a fraud. But I was too enthralled by the thought of piloting a big green pickup. So I slid across the bench seat and watched as Glenn walked around the front of the truck before reemerging through the passenger door. Once he was settled, he cracked the passenger window, lit a cigarette and very matter-of-factly stated, “OK, just push on the brake pedal — that’s the wide pedal on the left. Once you have that sucker down, pull the lever on the side of the steering column until it’s in front of the orange ‘D’ and then move your foot from the brake pedal to the accelerator pedal — the skinny one on the right — and slowly push it down until you start moving.”
His instructions were clear, and he sounded confident. My fear was quickly replaced by adrenaline and pure boyhood glee. I listened attentively to what he had to say, and I started driving. As we meandered down country roads, he would give me pointers. But it never felt like an adult talking to a kid. It just felt like two buddies going for a drive.
4. Always be genuine, regardless of your audience.
After I had gained some time behind the wheel, Glenn started making up excuses to return to the cotton fields so I could continue my driver’s education on those red dirt roads.
One day, he brought an old .22-caliber rifle that his father had given him. It probably wasn’t much more powerful than a BB gun, but Glenn taught me how to respect it while “plinking” — the term he used for shooting at old cans and bottles. We pulled off the road at a creek, ventured under the creosote-coated wood bridge and proceeded to plink to our hearts’ content.
I knew that Glenn had been dealing with a family feud of sorts. And in my rifle-shooting manly bravado, I decided to ask him about it. To my surprise, he spoke to me candidly about what had been happening with his loved ones. He was brief but thoughtful in his reply. And when he was done, he simply concluded with, “But that’s just between you and me and the fence post.” I still remember the awe of feeling that even though I was a kid, he had entrusted me with such an honest response.
5. Show the up-and-comers their potential.
When I was very young, Glenn introduced me to the mayor of the city. It wasn’t a huge city, but still, this was the mayor. And the way he went about it, you’d think the mayor was lucky to be meeting me.
I was just a gangly kid with allergies. But because Glenn spoke so highly of me, that mayor never forgot me. In fact, the mayor and I remained friends for years. Decades later, civil engineers redesigned part of the city, and the road named after Mayor Jay Lyons was replaced with a tunnel system. I was one of the few people to receive a street sign after they were removed.
I still have that Jay Lyons Ave sign hanging in my home.
Glenn D. Thomas died at age 78 on a Sunday. He’s survived by a handful of people, and I’m proud to be among them. Glenn brought joy to a lot of people; that’s simply how he rolled. I bet most of those kids kept those toys, and maybe they’ve given them to their own children by now. My grandpa used so much wood glue, those toys will probably outlast us all.
Jeff Thomas is the Director of Marketing for ADVISA, a fan of caring leaders, and someone who humbly respects the brave men and women who have served in our nation’s armed forces.