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thedrifter
01-31-03, 08:36 AM
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 stared 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.

1. 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."

2. 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.

4. 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?

5. 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.

7. 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.

8. 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.

9. 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.

continued............

thedrifter
01-31-03, 08:37 AM
10. 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.

And now, for the rest of the story......... Pvt William John Crawford was a
platoon scout for 3rd Platoon of Company L 142nd Regiment 36th Division
(Texas National Guard) and won the Medal Of Honor for his actions on Hill
424, just 4 days after the invasion at Salerno. On Hill 424, Pvt Crawford
took out 3 enemy machine guns before darkness fell, halting the platoon's
advance. Pvt Crawford could not be found and was assumed dead. The request
for his MOH was quickly approved. MG Terry Allen presented the posthumous
MOH to Bill Crawford's father, George, on 11 May 1944 in Camp (now Fort)
Carson, near Pueblo. Nearly two months after that, it was learned that Pvt
Crawford was alive in a POW camp in Germany. During his captivity, a German
guard clubbed him with his rifle. Bill overpowered him, took the rifle away,
and beat the guard unconscious. A German doctor's testimony saved him from
severe punishment, perhaps death. To stay ahead of the advancing Russian
army, the prisoners were marched 500 miles in 52 days in the middle of the
German winter, subsisting on one potato a day. An allied tank column
liberated the camp in the spring of 1945, and Pvt Crawford took his first
hot shower in 18 months on VE Day. Pvt Crawford stayed in the army before
retiring as a MSG and becoming a janitor. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan
officially presented the MOH to Bill Crawford.


Sempers,

Roger