Minstrel
Hero Member
A Janitor's Ten Lessons in Leadership--True story by Col. James Moschgat
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 his 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 Sept. 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 on 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.
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."
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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. 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.
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.
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.
I found more to this story from http://www.pueblomohfoundation.com/
William Crawford
WWII
1943
At a young age Bill Crawford learned to defend himself by boxing. As a
soldier during World War II his fighting skills were put to the ultimate
test. Crawford's path to the Medal of Honor began in 1943 in Italy. As the
company scout, Army Private Crawford discovered three hidden German machine
gun nests. Alone and unable to alert his fellow soldiers of the awaiting
ambush - Crawford took matters into his own hands. He single handedly
engaged the enemy - with only his rifle and grenades he destroyed all three
enemy emplacements. As his company advanced, he volunteered to stay behind
to aid a wounded friend only to be captured by enemy troops.
As a POW, Crawford endured nineteen months in a Nazi prison camp. His
hometown golden gloves experience came to the surface when he was put to the
test and knocked out a Nazi guard during a fight. Back home his family had
presumed Crawford was killed in action and his Medal of Honor was presented
to his father posthumously. In 1945 his family rejoiced in his liberation
from Germany and he returned to Colorado living a very humble life. After
his Army retirement Crawford took a job as a custodian at the Air Force
Academy and took on a special role befriending and mentoring the young
cadets. One former cadet, now an Air Force Colonel has written "The
Janitor's Ten Lessons In Leadership" now a mandatory reading for the entire
Air Force. It wasn't until over forty years after his heroic action that
Crawford was presented the Medal of Honor in person. He was officially
presented the medal by President Ronald Reagan at the 1985 Air Force Academy
graduation ceremony.
Other research shows MSGT Crawford died in March 2000 at age 81.
Minstrel
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 his 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 Sept. 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 on 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.
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."
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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. 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.
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.
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.
I found more to this story from http://www.pueblomohfoundation.com/
William Crawford
WWII
1943
At a young age Bill Crawford learned to defend himself by boxing. As a
soldier during World War II his fighting skills were put to the ultimate
test. Crawford's path to the Medal of Honor began in 1943 in Italy. As the
company scout, Army Private Crawford discovered three hidden German machine
gun nests. Alone and unable to alert his fellow soldiers of the awaiting
ambush - Crawford took matters into his own hands. He single handedly
engaged the enemy - with only his rifle and grenades he destroyed all three
enemy emplacements. As his company advanced, he volunteered to stay behind
to aid a wounded friend only to be captured by enemy troops.
As a POW, Crawford endured nineteen months in a Nazi prison camp. His
hometown golden gloves experience came to the surface when he was put to the
test and knocked out a Nazi guard during a fight. Back home his family had
presumed Crawford was killed in action and his Medal of Honor was presented
to his father posthumously. In 1945 his family rejoiced in his liberation
from Germany and he returned to Colorado living a very humble life. After
his Army retirement Crawford took a job as a custodian at the Air Force
Academy and took on a special role befriending and mentoring the young
cadets. One former cadet, now an Air Force Colonel has written "The
Janitor's Ten Lessons In Leadership" now a mandatory reading for the entire
Air Force. It wasn't until over forty years after his heroic action that
Crawford was presented the Medal of Honor in person. He was officially
presented the medal by President Ronald Reagan at the 1985 Air Force Academy
graduation ceremony.
Other research shows MSGT Crawford died in March 2000 at age 81.
Minstrel
