Friday the 13th: A Stroke of Luck

In the shadowed, tumultuous waters off Coronado, California, a young man’s dream danced with the relentless Pacific tides. A marked day of reckoning for me, a US NAVY SEAL candidate in the gruelling BUD/S program, which stands for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALS, embodying a relentless pursuit that had consumed my post short-lived university life. That day, amidst the chaos of an IBS Rock Portage evolution, fate intervened in the most dramatic way. By the way. The US Navy uses an acronym for almost everything, from IBS (Inflatable Boat Small), the EDF, Enlisted Dining Facility, to UA, Unauthorised Absence.. More on UA Later.

Forty years ago, on April 13, 1984, my destiny intertwined with the capricious tides off Coronado, California. As a SEAL candidate in Class 129, my essence was moulded by the relentless surf, each wave a test of resolve, each setback a lesson in fortitude. That day, during that IBS rock portage evolution, the Pacific’s mighty surge became my crucible, charting a course beyond my wildest dreams.

Before the tumultuous waves of SEAL training reshaped my destiny, my journey with the US Navy was marked by an exemplary period aboard the USS Denver, LPD-9 (Landing Platform Dock) that was both my home and proving ground. This ship, a colossal 561’ long entity of steel and might, carried not only sailors and Marines but also the aspirations of a young petty officer eager to carve out his place in the vast maritime expanse.

My role aboard the USS Denver transcended the ordinary expectations of a Third-Class Petty Officer. I was a Second-Class Diver and also worked in Combat Information Center.. yup CIC, manning the Radar, and I was not content with merely fulfilling my responsibilities; I sought to excel, to learn every facet of the ship’s operation, from the engine room's throbbing heart to the tactical manoeuvres on the bridge.

This was my journey towards earning the Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist (ESWS) qualification, a feat that marked me as a master of my craft aboard the Denver. The ESWS insignia was more than a badge; it was a symbol of comprehensive knowledge and the ability to operate and navigate the complexities of a warship. Achieving this distinction as the very first Third-Class Petty Officer on the ship was a ground-breaking accomplishment, highlighting my expertise and dedication to naval operations. The journey to this accolade was rigorous, involving extensive study, hands-on training, and a deep dive into the operational intricacies of various departments. It demanded not just intellectual acuity but also a profound connection to the lifeblood of the ship, understanding every nuance of its capabilities and limitations.

My efforts did not go unnoticed, earning the Navy Achievement Medal was a milestone that encapsulated my relentless pursuit of excellence. This accolade was not just a ribbon or a piece of metal; it was a testament to my dedication and the tangible result of countless hours of toil, strategy, and an unwavering commitment to my duties. affirming my belief that perseverance and passion could indeed pave the path to recognition and success.

My time on the Denver was a crucible of growth, where I honed my skills, forged lasting camaraderie, and laid the foundation for the leadership qualities that would later define my career. These experiences aboard the ship, earning the Navy Achievement Medal and the ESWS qualification, were not mere footnotes in my naval career but pivotal chapters that shaped the trajectory of my life, instilling in me a profound sense of purpose and the unyielding spirit to conquer new horizons.

From my earliest days, athleticism was the thread woven through the tapestry of my youth. The crisp, invigorating air of the ski slopes was my winter sanctuary, where I carved paths through virgin snow, each turn a dance with gravity and speed. Soccer fields were my battlegrounds in other seasons, where I channelled competitive fervour into every match. The match was not just a sport to me; it was a strategic chess match played at breakneck speed, each pass and goal a testament to teamwork and individual skill.

Swimming added another dimension to my athletic pursuits. The pool was my arena, where I contended not just with opponents but with the very element of water, striving to slice through its resistance with every stroke and turn. This relentless pursuit of excellence in the water honed my discipline and physical prowess, traits that would later prove invaluable during my time in BUD/S training.

Yet, my athletic endeavours were shadowed by a rebellious streak, a spirited defiance that often put me at odds with authority. This wasn't about lawlessness but rather a deep-seated desire to challenge norms and push boundaries. I questioned decisions, defied conventional paths, and sought my own route to success, which sometimes led to misunderstandings with those in positions of power. This rebellious nature was not born of malice but from a relentless drive to seek more, to test limits, and to not merely accept the status quo. While it occasionally brought me into conflict with authority figures, it also imbued me with the courage and conviction to forge my own path and to stand firm in my beliefs and ambitions.

That fateful day in April our objective was simple yet daunting: To paddle up and drag tour IBS, ok, it’s like a rubber boat, a Zodiak. Anyway, you drag it up these sharp rocks kind of like a jetty which is front of Hotel Del Coronado. A super ritzy Hotel. Then the BUD/S instructor will deflate half the air out, you drop it back into the ocean and try to paddle past the surf line in a wet noodle half-deflated rubber boat. Not easy. My crew and I, seven in total, were a spearhead though, slicing through the ocean's chaos, leading the race, our synchrony a testament to months of gruelling preparation. As we neared victory, a colossal wave emerged, a towering behemoth of nature’s raw power. It crashed over us with primal fury, flinging paddles into the air, one striking me beneath my helmet’s brim. Darkness enveloped me, the ocean’s roar fading to silence.

Regaining consciousness in the stark, antiseptic confines of Balboa Naval Hospital across the bay in San Diego, I was adrift in a sea of uncertainty. My physical wounds were overshadowed by the gnawing void of my disrupted journey. I was a SEAL candidate in spirit, yet my body lay broken, my aspirations unmoored. After about 6 hours, the Hospital Corpsman who accompanied me to Balboa asked me if I wanted to go back to Coronado or dropped off at my off-base housing in Ocean Beach. Granted I was still a blur but I had my dog at home and all of my roommates would be out at sea. So I told him my house was preferred. Even though not realising that my car was still back at the Base.

After feeding my dog Django that Friday evening, I collapsed into bed, the exhaustion and trauma of the day's events pulling me into a deep, unyielding sleep. It was more than just rest; it was a near-comatose state of unconsciousness, a direct consequence of the concussion I had suffered earlier. Throughout that long weekend, I remained in bed, completely disconnected from consciousness, my body and mind shutting down to recover from the injury.

Even Django, usually so attuned to my movements and moods, couldn’t rouse me. The silent vigil my dog kept at my bedside was a poignant contrast to the bustling world outside, which moved on, oblivious to my condition. The severity of my state was such that I was utterly unreachable, lost in a void that no one, not even my loyal companion, could penetrate.

This prolonged lapse into darkness was a stark indicator of how grave my condition was. It wasn’t just sleep; it was a shutdown, a system reboot that my body enforced to deal with the trauma. The fact that I was left alone, without any check-ins or follow-ups, underscores a chilling oversight. That weekend, in the supposed safety of my home, I was as vulnerable and exposed as I had ever been.

This incident starkly highlighted the gap between the ideals of never leaving a man behind and the reality I lived through. OK, I wasn’t a SEAL, just a candidate, It became a critical reflection point for me, underscoring the profound importance of vigilance, care, and accountability for every team member, lessons that I have carried forward into every aspect of my life and career.

My absence from the base went unnoticed, a testament to the solitary nature of my struggle. Until I didn’t show up for muster at 5am on Monday morning, then the military finally came knocking about 9am, pounding on all my doors and windows, Django going crazy and barking is actually what woke me. The Shore Patrol and their stern faces heralding my neglect, I was jolted back to a reality I no longer recognized. My subsequent journey to the base was a haze, punctuated by a Senior Chief’s act of kindness—a gallon of water that became my lifeline, both literally and metaphorically.

The Instructors reprimand that followed was a cacophony of blame and regret. But as I sat there, absorbing the tirade, a profound realization dawned on me: I had been abandoned, yet I survived. My dream of becoming a SEAL, once a beacon of purpose, had dimmed, overshadowed by a newfound clarity. The institution I revered had failed me, but in its place, a fiercer ambition took root.

There is a symbolic and highly emotional tradition associated with voluntarily leaving the program. This tradition involves ringing a ship's bell. If a candidate decides that they can no longer cope with the challenges of the training, they can choose to "ring out" or "DOR" (Drop on Request).

The process is both simple and profound. The bell used is typically a standard U.S. Navy ship's bell, and it's placed in a location where all candidates can see it. To voluntarily exit the program, a candidate must ring the bell three times in front of their instructors and fellow candidates. After ringing the bell, they place their helmet alongside the line of those who have also chosen to quit.

Ringing the bell is a significant moment filled with mixed emotions. For some, it represents relief from the intense physical and mental pressures of SEAL training. For others, it can be a moment of deep disappointment or feeling of failure. However, it's also a moment of stark honesty and personal acknowledgment of one's own limits.

This tradition underscores the voluntary nature of SEAL training, emphasizing that continuation in the program is always a choice, and choosing to stop is a personal decision that requires courage in its own right. The act of ringing the bell is a public acknowledgment that they have reached their limit, and while it marks the end of their journey to become a SEAL, it also signifies a moment of intense personal clarity and decision-making. I was DOR’d and wasn’t even given the chance to “ring out”. Lets say my intense personal clarity, My IPC (ok, I made that up) was at an all-time high.

After packing up my things in my on-base room and getting the orders to move across the street to NAB Coronado, I was disenchanted, so I sought solace in Baja’s untamed vistas, where the surf whispered tales of freedom and resilience. Yeah, basically, I took off. Unauthorised. AWOL. Absent With Out Leave. Adventure was a desperate quest for meaning, a rebellion against a path that had forsaken me. Yet, even as I surrendered to the embrace of the waves and the ephemeral comfort of oblivion, a part of me remained anchored, yearning for redemption. While Baja was a magical experience for Django and I, it’s a whole ‘nother story.

11 days later, tanned and a bit hungover I returned to face the consequences, I found myself ensnared in the Navy’s bureaucratic grasp, my fate hanging in the balance. They actually didn’t know I had even been missing. Second time now.. I had my entire Enlisted Service records folder with me as they were given to me when I left BUD/S. I was to check-in across the highway at NAB and I didn’t really make it that far. There was no internet, 1984 remember?, and no paper trail follow through. I had to inform them that I had been AWOL. A few minutes later, the same Shore Patrol sailors that picked me up from my house a mere 12 days earlier were now escorting me to the on-base Brig, where I spent 60 days awaiting a court-martial. Thankfully that Senior Chief wasn’t there.. I sure I would have disappointed him.

The Court-Martial date comes and due to me having a whip smart Jag Officer, a Navy Lawyer, and my previous accolades on board The Denver, spoke volumes. The court martial proceedings, fraught with tension and anticipation, ultimately bore witness to my transformation. Supported by the commendations of my past and the advocacy of my peers, I was granted an honourable discharge. The week of Thanksgiving, I was on a plane home.

My exit from the military marked the birth of a new odyssey. Driven by the indomitable will that BUD/S had instilled in me, I ventured into the world of advertising. My father had been in advertising, publication and filmmaking. There was some hobbies of mine I learned from him that turned into a paying job. The ethos of “mind over matter,” ingrained during those tumultuous BUD/S days, became my guiding principle. In 1988, I started with an internship at an agency in Portland, Oregon where I bugged them for 2 months and they finally gave in and hired me that would redefine my identity, going from an intern at the first shop, to VP/Senior Producer at McCann Erickson in less than 3 years was meteoric. Eventually becoming an Art Director, then a successful Commercial Director for 20+ years. I was in the Cannes Film Festival New Director’s Showcase. I’ve won Cannes Lions, Clios, ANDY’s, ADDY’s and I’ve been in Communication Arts Ad and Design Annuals numerous times.  I returned to advertising and design, rising to Executive Creative Director, a role in which I thrived, channelling the tenacity and strategic insight of my former and current life into a tapestry of creative endeavours.

The crucible of BUD/S training was where I truly grasped the essence of teamwork, a lesson that has profoundly shaped both my role as a team member and my leadership style in the realm of advertising and design. In the gruelling environs of BUD/S training, individual prowess, though essential, pales in comparison to the collective strength and synchrony of a well-oiled team. Every evolution, every drill was a testament to the fact that the success of the evolutions hinged on seamless collaboration, mutual trust, and the unspoken bond that tethered each of us to a common purpose.

In those relentless days, I learned that true teamwork is not merely the sum of individual efforts but a cohesive force that amplifies each member's strengths and mitigates their weaknesses. It was about diving into the freezing surf, paddling through towering waves, and enduring the harshest conditions, all while maintaining an unwavering commitment to the team’s objectives. This experience taught me that leadership is as much about listening and supporting as it is about directing and deciding. It showed me that a true leader doesn’t just command respect but earns it through actions, empathy, and the ability to bring out the best in others.

Carrying these lessons into my career as a Creative Director, I've strived to cultivate an environment where teamwork is the bedrock of creativity and innovation. Leading my creative teams, I apply the principles honed during my BUD/S training: fostering a culture of mutual respect, encouraging open dialogue, and ensuring that every team member feels valued and understood. Just as in BUD/S training, where each team member’s unique skills were crucial to the unit’s success, in the creative field, diverse talents and perspectives combine to produce ground-breaking ideas and solutions.

This principle is equally applicable and vital within the broader context of an agency, production & events house, or marketing agency where the symbiotic relationship between various departments is the linchpin of overall success. In the agency environment, each department—be it creative, account management, strategy, media planning, or production—functions like a specialized unit within a larger force. Each team has its own strengths, capabilities, and responsibilities, yet their coordinated efforts are what ultimately drive the agency’s success.

This understanding of teamwork has been instrumental in navigating the complex dynamics of creative projects, enabling me to lead my teams not just to meet the brief but to exceed expectations and set new benchmarks in the industry.

BUD/S, while not the sole architect of my transformation, played a pivotal role in sculpting the person I am today. Before undergoing this rigorous training, my life was less disciplined, more chaotic—a mess, to put it bluntly. The demanding environment of BUD/S instilled in me a set of habits and principles that have become second nature, profoundly influencing how I navigate both my personal and professional life. While the SEAL’s were not for me, I take-away valuable life lessons never to be forgotten. Especially if someone has had a freakin concussion, Don’t drop them off and not check on them. Le Duh!

In the civilian world, and especially in the creative environment of an agency, I’ve come to understand that every individual is not just a role or a function but a valued human being with unique contributions, perspectives, and needs. This understanding has shaped how I lead and interact with my teams. I make it a point to ensure that everyone, irrespective of their position or role, is accounted for, heard, and supported. Whether it's checking in on a team member's well-being, ensuring that workloads are manageable, or simply acknowledging their efforts, these actions stem from the deep-seated belief that every person is integral to the collective success of the team and the agency as a whole.

Now, residing in Singapore’s vibrant metropolis, my life is a harmonious blend of past and present. The discipline and resilience forged in the crucible of BUD/S fuels my passion for Ironman triathlons, each race a testament to the enduring creed: if the mind says go, the body will not say no. My journey from the tumultuous shores of Coronado to the pinnacle of creative leadership is a narrative of rebirth, a testament to the transformative power of adversity and the relentless pursuit of excellence.

In retrospect, Friday April 13, 1984, often regarded as an ominous date, was not a harbinger of misfortune but a pivotal moment of serendipity. It was the day my true path was unveiled, leading me to a life rich with purpose and achievement. This narrative, once a tale of lost dreams and bitter revelations, has evolved into an epic of resilience and triumph, a chronicle of a man who, against the odds, found his true calling in the aftermath of his greatest challenge.