Before we begin, if you missed last week’s chapter, you can read or listen to it HERE.
On the morning of October 11, 1996, I woke up not knowing what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, but by noon that day, it was absolutely, positively crystal clear.
At the time, I was about two years into my first major supervisory role in the Navy, serving as Leading Petty Officer (LPO) of the branch dental clinic at the Bangor SUBASE in Silverdale, WA. I had 22 direct reports and the boss from hell.
He wasn’t a screamer, like many of the officers I’d worked for. Quite the opposite. He simply smiled a creepy little smile. All the time. Even when he was pissed. And you only knew he was pissed because he would grind his teeth when he smiled, and his ears would turn red. The worst part? He talked to everyone junior to him as if they were a child.
Working with this asshat was bad enough, but what made everything worse was my career quandary. I was 32 years old and still had no idea what I would do when I grew up. The Navy was supposed to be a one-and-done tour, but a bad divorce and a shitty economy kept me in. My second and current wife Barb was all in with the Navy. She wanted to become an officer. Since we were now married, that became my goal too. The challenge was that we needed a college degree to apply.
We finished a Bachelor of Science degree in healthcare management from Southern Illinois University. We attended class every other weekend for our upper-division studies, then used a community college to complete our lower-division work during the week. It was difficult and stressful, but we hoped getting a commission would make it all worth it. We applied for the first time in 1994.
Neither of us was selected.
Fortunately, we knew someone who knew someone who sat on the selection board. We found that of the 12 selected (out of nearly 300), all had master’s degrees. Just when you think the marathon is over, you find someone has just added another 12 miles!
That meant we needed a graduate degree. Technically, it didn’t matter the subject if it was business-related. My criteria were simple: No math!
The only program that worked was an MA in organizational leadership from Chapman University. We enrolled and started the program.
I didn’t like it. The program coordinator taught the first three classes, and we heard all the same stories and jokes three times. Plus, it was all boring theory. I used the massive amount of writing assignments to vent my frustration. I even wrote one about my boss: Portrait of a Manager.
We applied for the officer program a second time. Again, we were not selected. Now I was getting frustrated. I was about six years from retirement but wasn’t sure I could hold out that long.
And then, there was that boss from hell.
The worst part of working for him was our daily status meeting. He referred to it as “doing business,” as if he knew what an actual business was. The meeting was him ticking through his checklist of shit that needed to get done, none of it earth-shattering, but in his mind, every single fucking thing was a crisis. I dreaded those meetings.
About this time, our son Dustin was born. Now we were operating on little sleep, stressed at work, still taking classes, and no closer to our goal of commissioning. Plus, things were getting expensive with a newborn in the house. I was still paying child support out the ass from my first marriage, so the stress was palpable.
And ever present, in my thoughts and in person, was my boss.
So, on the morning of October 11, 1996, I went into the meeting with my guard up, as well as my blood pressure.
He started in with his faux pleasantries. All bullshit, of course. Then, he had a hot issue to tell me about.
“Petty Officer Munro, why have you not updated the Plan of the Week in the officer’s lounge?”
The Plan of the Week, or POW, was an agenda of all the events happening in the command that week, like a paper calendar before we all had smartphones.
“It should be updated, sir,” I said, remembering I’d delegated that monkey task some time ago.
“Well, it’s not. Come, let’s go look together, shall we?”
I followed him like a little puppy, and we went back to the lounge. He thumbed through a stack of POWs on a hanging clipboard.
“Look at this,” he said. “These are over three weeks old. Don’t they teach you how to read calendars in that master’s program you’re in?”
And that’s when I snapped. Not out loud, but in my head. He had his back to me, still gazing at the POW clipboard.
I walked up behind him, raising my fist. My plan then (at least my amygdala’s plan) was to cave in the back of his head with my fist. I raised it up, ready to bring it down like a fleshy sledgehammer.
And then I thought of Dustin. How would it be for him to know his daddy was in jail for killing his boss?
So, I stood down. If that shithead is still alive, he has no idea how close he came to both of our careers ending that morning. But at least I might have had one after I got out of Leavenworth.
But at that moment, the clouds parted, and I finally knew what my life’s purpose would be. I made a commitment on that day that for the rest of my working life, I would do my best to create the next generation of great bosses.
And thankfully, that master’s program was the absolute right degree for me! It didn’t teach me to read a calendar, but I’d already figured that out by then.
Now I was taking those classes seriously. While Barb stayed home with Dustin, I doubled up and finished early. Then I took care of Dustin while Barb finished.
I loved the program now. My plan was to finish and then walk out of the Navy at the 15-year mark. I was even wearing a shirt and tie to class now. Practicing being a civilian, I guess. But no ordinary civilian. I was ready to change the world. I started teaching some college classes in the evenings. It came naturally to me.
I was out of the Navy in early 1999. My first job was in the HR department of UT Medical Group in Memphis. I stayed a year, then Barb got commissioned as an officer and we transferred to the Washington, DC area. I took a job as director of professional development at a trade association, then a year later moved to part-time in the evenings and took a day job as the management education specialist in the HR department at a local hospital.
After 18 months there, I went back to the association full-time and started some consulting and training projects on the side. In 2003, I fired my bosses for the last time and struck out on my own.
I’ve never looked back. The next 22 years are a blur. Workshops, seminars, keynotes, breakouts, and coaching. I’ve taught workshops and spoken in 24 of the 50 states, as well as speaking and training in Munich, Germany; Shanghai, China; Rzeszów, Poland; Montreal and Toronto, Quorn, UK, Canada; Cork, Ireland; Rome, Italy; and Puerto Rico. I’ve flown a million miles, likely more. I’ve worked with nearly every industry, with businesses large and small. I’ve seen a lot, not everything by any means, but a lot. And with that comes the inspiration for this book.
As of this year, 2025, I’m winding this career down. At 61, my goal is to be off the stage before someone tells me I should have stepped down long ago.
But that’s okay. Even though I didn’t create the next great generation of bosses, I’d like to think I made a dent.
This book is my last business book. The intended audience is someone who was just informed they are the new team lead or supervisor. Someone who stepped up or was pushed up and now realizes life has just changed, for the better, but likely for worse.
What the fuck are you going to do now?
That’s why I’m here. Let me be your guide as I walk you through the most common mistakes first-time supervisors make. I’ll use stories and examples.
I’ll throw in just a few tools too. As I was writing this book, it occurred to me that most of the lessons I’m leaving you have nothing really to do with management tools or techniques. It’s about having the right mindset, the right attitude, and the correct expectations for this job.
I realized this because most of my examples were from my time in the Navy. That’s before my long management consulting career. It was those experiences that prompted my career arc.
Early on, I was amazed that so many incompetent people had power. They were telling me what to do, and they were, in fact, clueless. And yet, with the power bestowed on them, they could negatively impact my life and career. Most of the time, they did.
In another twist, most of the examples in this book happened at my last command, Naval Dental Center, Northwest in Bremerton, Washington. I sensed a sickness in that organization when I was stationed there. An organizational sickness. Now, looking back at it with the benefit of 25 years working with some of the most dysfunctional organizations on the planet, NDC Northwest was, and still is, the absolute worst one. I guess it was helpful to have that as a reference.
But back to you.
I find now that being a great boss starts by having the right mindset and expectations. In the Navy, you’re promoted to positions of leadership because you pass a written test on technical aspects of your job. I guess they figure you’ll learn the other stuff along the way. Which explains the gross incompetence I saw over my 15-year Navy career. So, this book is about the right mindset. If you want more tools and techniques, just buy one of my other books on Amazon. There is a list of them at the front of the book. This book is special though. It’s just for you. The brand-new Boss.
If you’re reading this, please understand that as The Boss, you are now the topic of conversation around the dinner table at night, or at the bar with their buddies, or in tearful conversations with spouses, friends, or parents. The Boss. That’s YOU now. Lots of responsibilities, problems, and stress, and there is not enough compensation in the world to make up for this. But the reward is massive.
Your legacy.
To have someone remember YOU as the best boss they ever had. That’s immortality.
Even if you never hear that, you can assume, if you’re doing things the way I suggest, that you indeed are someone’s best boss.
Time is short, so let’s get started.
This is a photo of me in 1997. I’m smiling if you can believe it. It’s all I could manage.
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