CSM Michael H. Sweeney, U.S. Army (1969-1999)

Choosing a single act of devotion or bravery from a nearly thirty-year peacetime career is difficult—there were so many. I could tell of a Criminal Investigation Division agent who, on my birthday in 1993, lay prone beside me while a distraught soldier fired through his barracks door with intent to kill. A bullet passed dangerously close; the agent shielded me and took minor wounds. He shrugged it off as another day’s duty. But for my purposes I want to tell a different story—one that illustrates sustained, quiet leadership and extraordinary devotion to soldiers’ welfare.

My first and longest-serving mentor was Sergeant Major Andrew J. Shepherd. I first met him as a Sergeant First Class when we were both instructors at the Cook School at Fort Ord, California. We served together and remained close friends for more than thirty-five years until his death. Many times he modeled leadership in ways both visible and subtle, but one incident stands out because it captures his moral courage and fierce care for those under his charge.

At the time, the school retained top-performing students as “Drill Corporals.” One of these corporals had moved his wife and children to be with him during a long assignment. After a few months, he stopped receiving pay—not from debt or fault of his own, but because of a serious error in finance. He reported the problem to our First Sergeant and Company Commander. They initiated the routine inquiries and advised patience. The young corporal, proud and reluctant to make waves, swallowed his worry and tried to wait it out.

When SFC Shepherd learned of the situation, he was incensed—not because the soldier had been careless, but because the chain of command had failed him. Shepherd had been a draftee who survived three combat tours in Vietnam; nothing much rattled him, but disrespect for soldiers’ dignity did. He had no family of his own, and he treated the servicemen and women around him like his responsibility. For him, leadership meant taking care of people, not passing them from one desk to another.

Shepherd acted without delay. He packed the corporal and his family into his car and drove straight to the commanding general’s quarters. He knocked on the General’s door and didn’t wait for formalities. “Sir,” he said, “I want you to meet one of your most outstanding young soldiers and his family. They haven’t been paid in three months and they have no food. I’d like you to invite them in for dinner.”

The General who opened the door was Major General Hal G. Moore, Jr. and his wife was Julie Moore. Yes, that General and Mrs. Moore. The Moores welcomed the family into their home that evening. Shepherd’s directness and refusal to accept bureaucratic excuses cut through layers of protocol. The next day the problem was resolved and Corporal Jones received his back pay in full.

This episode was not a one-off stunt; it exemplified Shepherd’s steady, everyday devotion to duty. He did not need recognition. He believed that if you had the authority or the voice to help someone, you owed it to them to use it. That attitude left an indelible impression on me. I tried throughout my career to emulate his blend of quiet tenacity, moral clarity, and genuine care for soldiers’ welfare.

Stories like this are why leadership matters—not only the acts of heroism that make headlines, but the persistent refusal to let a comrade fall through the cracks. SFC Andrew J. Shepherd embodied that ethic, and his example guided me for decades.

Read the Military Memories of our Runner-Ups.