Learning From Mistakes: Leadership Lessons From Buckwheat and The Cow

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I am one of those people who sometimes learns things the hard way—by making mistakes. Many of the best leadership lessons I have learned came while I served as an AV-8B Harrier pilot in the Marine Corps.

Sometimes the leadership lessons came in installments. In this case, the first installment came from The Cow and the second from Buckwheat.

The Cow

I was a young Marine officer and new AV-8B Harrier pilot who had just reported to my first squadron in Yuma, Arizona, a few months prior.

In the Marine Corps, pilots don’t just fly. We all get ground jobs in the squadron running operations, logistics, intelligence, safety, maintenance, administration, etc.

As the newest and lowest-ranking pilot in my squadron, I was designated the Classified Material Control Officer, responsible for the security of all our secret and confidential documents. I had a small office, a couple of secure file cabinets, a logbook and even a part-time assistant.

While your flying skills are very important, your personnel evaluation—called a fitness report—is based mostly on how well you do your ground job. My first fitness report was due at the end of the month.

My boss was (callsign) Cow, aka The Cow, a tall, lanky, red-haired guy who was known for his intensity and being hard on people.

That’s the setup for my return from some vacation over Christmas.

Cow called me in his office and closed the door.

“How was your Christmas leave?”

“Good sir,” I said.

“You left the classified cabinets unlocked while you were gone,” Cow said.

My heart sank. I made a huge mistake in my first job and just before my fitness report. I was screwed.

Then Cow asked, “Do you know what you did wrong?”

“Yes sir.”

“Are you ever going to make that mistake again?”

“No sir.”

“Good. Your assistant found the unlocked drawers after you left. We inventoried everything and nothing is missing. I didn’t want to interfere with your Christmas. This won’t show up on your fitness report. Dismissed.”

Buckwheat

A year later I was going through my section lead check flight with my squadron commander—Buckwheat. A section lead qualifies you to lead a flight of two aircraft into combat.

Buckwheat was one of the best pilots in the Marine Corps. He was intense and extremely demanding. If the section lead check flight in most squadrons was like getting a high school diploma, then Buckwheat’s version was like defending your master’s degree thesis.

The plan was to fly a complex low-level strike from Yuma into the China Lake targets, land, debrief, and then fly back to Yuma.

The check flight into China Lake went well. I was confident I was going to get my section lead qualification. We refueled, took off and climbed to altitude. It was a gorgeous day flying down the Colorado River to Yuma on what should be an easy return flight. Except I knew that Buckwheat was going to screw with me.

Sure enough, after a while, Buckwheat was no longer on my wing. I contacted air traffic control and found him several miles behind.

Buckwheat signaled that his radios were out. As we approached Yuma, he signaled that he also had a hydraulic emergency. That meant Buckwheat had to do a vertical landing.

I called the Yuma Tower, declared an emergency and got Buckwheat cleared for a vertical landing. Crash crew rolled to the landing pad.

Just after I signaled Buckwheat that he was cleared for a vertical landing, I heard his voice on the radio.

“Check your fuel.”

The expletives that filled my cockpit would have made a Marine Corps drill instructor blush.

After all that work on the check flight, I had cleared Buckwheat for a vertical landing when he had too much fuel, too much weight, for a vertical landing. If he was an inexperienced wingman, he might have crashed.

After landing, I climbed out of the aircraft really angry at myself. I wanted to throw my helmet down the flight line. Buckwheat was going to take me apart in a long debrief and I was going to have to do this all over again.

Taking off our gear in the flight equipment shop, Buckwheat asked, “Do you know what you did wrong?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do you want your section lead qualification?”

“Yes sir.”

“You got it.”

That was it. Shortest debrief ever.

Cow and Buckwheat taught me some great lessons about leadership.

First, many leaders pride themselves on holding people accountable—which too often means punishing people when they make a mistake.

Cow and Buckwheat taught me that mistakes can be opportunities for tremendous learning and growth. I never made those mistakes again—and avoided many others—because their unexpected responses to my mistakes made a huge impression on me. I have used that lesson many times and passed it on to others.

Second, good leaders care about their people. Cow and Buckwheat came across as gruff and demanding, but I was one of their people. They were demanding not because it got them promoted, but because they cared that each of us excelled—for ourselves, for our squadron, and for our families.

I always thought that Buckwheat disliked me. Then, without me asking, he got me a great follow-on assignment that was pivotal in my life. I will always be grateful for that.

Finally, good leaders like Cow and Buckwheat are always looking for opportunities to develop their people. They grow them because they care about their people, they care about the future of the Marine Corps, and because practicing love for others makes them better people.

Or as Cow and Buckwheat might say: It’s your duty. It’s what good Marines and good people do.

Leadership Lessons from Buckwheat and The Cow.