Generally Speaking Read online

  Copyright © 2001 by Claudia J. Kennedy

  All rights reserved.

  Warner Books, Inc.,

  Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  First eBook Edition: September 2001

  ISBN: 978-0-446-55532-6

  Book design by H. Roberts

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  1: A Soldier's Daughter

  2: Persistence

  3: Devotion to Duty

  4: The Art of Mentoring

  5: Self-Discipline

  6: Loyalty and Ethics

  7: Fairness and Equality

  8: Fitness Physical, Mental, and Spiritual

  9: The Leader As Coach

  10: Pentagon Hardball

  11: The Future

  Epilogue

  U.S. Army Grades and Insignia

  Glossary

  Chronology, United States Army Service Lieutenant General Claudia J. Kennedy

  To Lillian Strong Haygood and Virgie Crain Kennedy, my wonderful grandmothers, who were strong, independent, resourceful women. They would like who women today have become—indeed, they were of the generation who made this possible.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank many friends and colleagues who helped make this book possible.

  Those who encouraged me to write it: Dr. Jenny Lincoln, Betty Friedan, Dr. Kathleen Reardon, and many fellow soldiers.

  Those who introduced me to the world of writing and publishing: Jill Bronson, Norman Brokaw, Mel Berger, Malcolm and Carol McConnell, Larry Kirshbaum, Maureen Egen, Emi Battaglia, Tina Andreadis, Michele Bidelspach, Maja Thomas, Fred Chase, Jackie Joiner, Mari Okuda, and Jackie Meyer.

  Those who have placed confidence in me: Jean and Cary Kennedy, Walter and Selma Kaye, Valerie and Larry Thompson.

  Those who read and commented on the earliest drafts: Sally Murphy, Kay and Ginger Snider, Doris Caldwell, General Jack Merritt (Ret.), General Gordon Sullivan (Ret.), Susan Ohle, Mugs Flott, Richard Swann, Terry Marsh, Kathy Bonk, and Nicole Harburger.

  Of course a number of animal friends must be acknowledged: Sterling; Ashley; Molly; Sophie; Khaki; Kitty Hawk; and the grizzled veteran, Lina.

  Introduction

  The Pentagon, June 2, 2000

  The ceremony marking my retirement from the United States Army took place in the Pentagon central courtyard on the stifling Friday morning of June 2, 2000, exactly thirty-one years after my father administered the oath commissioning me a second lieutenant in the Women's Army Corps.

  When I enlisted in the 1960s, women were not allowed to command men or advance higher than the rank of colonel. But I was the daughter of a career soldier, and I had a feeling then that, if women were ever going to achieve equality in the military, the changes were going to have to evolve from within. In 1969, America was at war in Vietnam, and although some of my sorority sisters at Southwestern at Memphis were bemused when I told them I was joining the Army, young men were being drafted, and I didn't think it was fair for them to shoulder the entire burden when women were exempted. I also didn't believe women could claim equal privileges of citizenship without understanding and accepting the equal responsibilities of a citizen.

  As I stepped onto the stage with Secretary of the Army Louis Caldera and surveyed the hundreds of guests, I saw small groups of senior military women, the bright sun glinting on the stars and gold braid of their rank. I was proud to see many who had risen beyond the rank of colonel and were now generals or admirals. I was the Army's highest-ranking woman, the first to attain three-star rank, and one of four in the military to have earned that grade. I shared this honor with Navy Vice Admiral Patricia A. Tracey, Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Personnel, Lieutenant General Leslie F. Kenne, commander of the Air Force's Electronic System Center, and retired Marine Lieutenant General Carol A. Mutter.

  As Deputy Chief of Staff for Intelligence, I was responsible for the Army's Intelligence Corps, which comprised almost 45,000 officers and enlisted soldiers and civilians around the world, 80 percent men, 20 percent women.

  In fact, the entire U.S. military had changed in the thirty-one years since I raised my hand and took the simple soldier's oath to “defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic.” Hundreds of specialties previously reserved for men had opened to women, who now made up approximately 15 percent of the total force. Women officers and noncommissioned officers were rising steadily through the ranks. Although only eleven of the Army's 300 generals were women, there were scores of well-qualified women colonels eligible for selection to brigadier general.

  As always at these Pentagon ceremonies, the U.S. Army Band, Pershing's Own, had played appropriately stirring music. Now an African-American sergeant with a clear, powerful contralto voice sang the National Anthem. Looking down at the massed ranks of my friends and colleagues—Army green with a scattering of Navy white and Air Force blue—I could sense the common patriotism and pride these women and men shared. They had come here today to celebrate my career, to honor the Army and the American military.

  Lieutenant General Larry R. Ellis and his wife, Jean, were seated near the front. He was the Deputy Chief of Staff for Operations and Plans, a key Army leadership position. Larry controlled all the decisions about priorities and resources. He was a Vietnam veteran with solid credentials as an Infantry soldier who had always supported me. Jean had her own profession in the government, which she had to “pack up” each time the family moved during Larry's career, the situation of so many military wives over the decades, and a definite cause of concern among today's two-career households that the Pentagon is going to have to address if it expects to retain its most promising young officers.

  Taking my seat on the platform as Secretary Caldera prepared to speak, I felt intensely proud to have played a part in the Army's measured and steady march toward fairness and equality. All I'd ever wanted was the chance to serve my country. The Army had given me the chance to earn the respect of my fellow soldiers, a fundamental requisite of leadership.

  Most of the people in uniform attending the ceremony were men, many generals with whom I had served at the Pentagon or at other commands. I was heartened to see them. Their presence was both an act of personal friendship and also a sign of respect to the Army as an institution.

  The final year of my long service had been marred by unfortunate and inaccurate publicity concerning a serious incident. In 1996, when I was a major general and alone in my Pentagon office, Brigadier General Larry G. Smith made sudden, inappropriate sexual contact. I remained quiet at the time because I handled the situation privately, and also because the Army was still reeling from multiple incidents of similar, though more serious, misconduct.

  But in September 1999, after General Smith was nominated to be the Deputy Inspector General of the Army—a position that involves, among other duties, investigating misconduct and sexual harassment by senior officers—I could no longer remain silent. I took my information to the Inspector General, who opened a formal investigation, which continued through the next spring. By June 2, the media reported that the investigation of General Smith's contact had substantiated my report and that he would be officially reprimanded and would retire immediately. The Army's process had moved slowly, but with appropriate deliberation. In the end, justice had been served.

  Would I have preferred these unpleasant matters to have been quietly resolved? Of course. Was I sorry I raised the issue with the IG in September 1999? Certainly not. An officer like General Smith, no matter how excellent his prior record, had no place serving as the Army's Deputy Inspector Genera
l where one of his main responsibilities would be to oversee complaints about general officer conduct and sexual harassment. But I also knew that the Smith case had raised the hackles of many traditional generals, active-duty and retired.

  That was one reason why I was so pleased to see such a fine representation of senior officers whose uniforms displayed multiple combat decorations from Vietnam and the Persian Gulf. They were my friends and colleagues. They understood I had acted honorably in the Smith case, with the Army's best interest in mind.

  But there was another dynamic at play. Many of these men had daughters in the Army. The fathers might have been helicopter platoon leaders in Vietnam, while their daughters could have flown big CH-47 Chinook helicopters to the banks of the Euphrates during Operation Desert Storm. As I had told the staff and faculty at West Point some years before, “It's not your father's Army.” And no father would want his daughter assaulted by a fellow soldier.

  In Secretary Caldera's remarks, he described me as “not only a role model for service women of our armed forces, but to girls and women across our nation, no matter what their professions and aspirations.” I looked out from the shaded stage at the sunny courtyard. Among the glittering uniforms sat white-haired women in lovely flowered dresses and wide-brimmed hats. They were my role models. All three were World War II veterans and had made the Army their career. Colonel Mary A. Hallaren had been director of the Women's Army Corps during the Korean War, Colonel Bettie J. Morden, a WAC deputy director in the 1970s, when I was a young officer. And Brigadier General Elizabeth P. Hoisington, WAC Director during the Vietnam War, was the first Women's Army Corps officer to earn the rank of general. Any one of them could have been a three-star general in today's Army.

  I had thought hard about my own remarks, wanting my comments to reflect my deep love for the Army, and also my conviction that the American military, which has led the country in breaking down the racial walls that divided us, had also been a pioneer in attacking the barrier of gender that once denied opportunity to more than half of all Americans. But I wanted to make it clear that there is still ample room for women soldiers to advance beyond my achievements.

  Citing the Army recruiting ad, “Be all you can be,” I told the audience, “I've been all that I could have been. I've risen farther than I ever dared to hope. All I wanted was to be a leader and to serve my country. When I joined the Army I never dreamed there'd be stars on my shoulders.”

  I noted that people sometimes view the Army as an impenetrable, tradition-bound institution, but that “it is actually one of the most effective organizations in our government: responsive, changing, and highly accountable.”

  I knew the true story of the Army was not found in newspaper headlines or television sound bites, but rather in the small details of soldiers' daily lives of duty, discipline, and selfless service. Periodically, the country called on them to fight battles, large and small, to keep the peace in lonely, troubled corners of the world, to combat terrorism in all its forms, and to draw on the soldier's traditional values of honor and courage. This was the Army in which I had matured as a leader, and of which I now spoke.

  “Best of all, the Army is a cohesive collection of soldiers who share bonds across many dimensions.

  “These bonds are: with leaders, peers, and juniors in current units and previous units.”

  Looking into the audience, I saw retired Colonel Edwin Tivol, who had been my brigade commander when I commanded a Military Intelligence battalion in Germany in the 1980s. Ed Tivol, an old school soldier, who demanded excellence from himself and all who served in his command, always treated me as a soldier first. I considered him an important mentor.

  Squinting into the glare, I spotted Master Sergeant Wayne Smith standing at ease at the edge of the crowd. He had been my enlisted aide for the past three years. My life could be divided into Before Master Sergeant Smith (BMS) and After Master Sergeant Smith (AMS). BMS, my daily logistics teetered on the brink of complex chaos, requiring three outfits: morning Physical Training (PT), duty uniform, and dress uniform or comparable civilian clothing for constant official social events in the evening. My day was always long, from early morning to late at night, with little time for trips to the dry cleaner. AMS I actually had meals ready for me—no more gulping down a can of tomatoes over the sink. AMS I had shined military shoes and perfectly pressed uniforms. When I entertained, the parties were fun. I did my job; Master Sergeant Smith did his. For a senior officer, an aide is a necessity not a luxury. And most of my general colleagues had enlisted aides and wives to assist them through the day.

  Sergeant Major of the Army (SMA) Robert E. Hall, the senior enlisted soldier in the Army, was in the front row. I was gratified to see him there because I considered him a personal friend and professional representative of the noncommissioned officer corps with whom I had always worked closely. The SMA is one of the Army's key soldiers, serving as a bridge between the enlisted ranks and the Chief of Staff of the Army. SMA Robert Hall had restored the Army's trust and confidence to his position following the very disappointing tenure of his immediate predecessor, SMA Gene C. McKinney, who had been court-martialed on nineteen criminal charges, mainly concerning sexual misconduct, and found guilty on one count of obstructing justice, reprimanded, and reduced in grade to master sergeant before retiring.

  I noted that “I believe in reform, not revolution. But just as we would not have a democratic society today had it not been for the Revolutionary War, I would not be retiring as a three-star general had it not been for those women and men who, for decades, worked from within for change and for improvements. This is often the greatest act of loyalty to a large institution—to help it improve and modernize.”

  Acknowledging that the progress of military women had been “measured and steady,” I noted it had also occurred within the context of societal change since the 1960s, decades during which the position of women in politics, sports, religion, academia, and corporate America had dramatically expanded.

  Although I was the first of the Army's women to reach three-star rank, I predicted I certainly would not be the last. “These days the sound you hear overhead, in the Army and at the Pentagon, isn't an airplane breaking the sound barrier. It's the sound of a glass ceiling being shattered. And the Army and the Pentagon are the better because of it.”

  I was leaving the Army that had fought and won the seemingly endless Cold War. But as a senior professional intelligence officer, I took this opportunity to note the dangers our country faced in this uncertain world. A new generation of soldiers had to be trained and ready to confront and defeat a wide variety of threats: “terrorists, nonstate actors, weapons of mass destruction, cyber-bandits, transnational crime, near-peer competitors [Beltway code for China, other emerging military powers, and possible coalitions], ethnic and religious strife, narcotraffickers, and illegal technology transfers, which threaten our economic future. These are in addition to our need to be prepared for major regional conflicts.”

  Given the challenging nature of these new threats, many of which involve complex and evolving information technology, I knew military women would play a vital role in defending our country in the coming years and decades. Thinking of the next generation of women military leaders, I spoke of the “first woman to break the four-star barrier, the first woman to be the Sergeant Major of the Army, and the first woman to be Secretary of the Department of Defense.”

  There were probably some in the audience who did not accept the idea of a woman four-star general or Defense Secretary, and certainly not the Sergeant Major of the Army. But I knew my prediction would be borne out. And I prefaced my comments by noting:

  “One of my favorite quotes is by the French author Emile Zola, who said: ‘If you asked me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you—I came to live out loud.’”

  As I spoke, I glanced down at my family members. My cousin Valerie Haygood Thompson's husband, Larry, beamed back at me. Larry joined the Army the same year I
did, even though he could have avoided service through a deferment. He served as a young enlisted engineer in Vietnam, then, in the tradition of Cincinnatus, returned to his civilian business and raised a family. Valerie and Larry and their four daughters had attended all of my promotions since I received my first star.

  Tommie Jean Kennedy, my mother, also sat proudly in the front row, a position that reflected her place in my life. Although no longer married to my father, for thirty-one years she had been an Army wife in the most traditional sense. My mother made a home for her husband and four children under the most trying conditions, which Army wives of her day all faced (some of which persist today): frequent moves, very little money, resettling children in school, scouts, and church every year or two, finding homes for a surprise litter of kittens, the hours working as volunteers in the post thrift shop (which supported Army scholarships), and leadership of wives clubs, obligations expected of an officer's wife. Then there were the months when my father was away on unaccompanied assignments in Korea and Vietnam, during which she had to shepherd the family through crises ranging from a child's asthma attacks to hurricanes to packing household goods for ocean crossings. But to her, this was the life she had chosen. She loved her children, her husband, and the Army adventure.

  Looking at my mother from the speaker's Pentagon rostrum, the three decades separating my commissioning as a second lieutenant in 1969 and my retirement as a lieutenant general in 2000 seemed to dissolve. For a moment I was a young woman on a sunny June day back in Memphis again.

  But how had I changed in those years? What had I learned about myself as a leader and about the nature of leadership? What attributes had I acquired during thirty years as a soldier as I advanced to become the Army's first woman three-star general? What specific human lessons had I learned in my career that I could pass on to other women working in professions traditionally led by men, to other women and men in uniform, and to parents of talented daughters considering their future? And what of value had I also learned in my years as a military leader that could benefit everyone both in uniform and the private sector who wishes to understand our promising and dynamic human environment?