An acquaintance recently described his exit interview when he left his last job. It reminded me of a meeting I attended in that it was somewhat of an exit interview for me when I left the navy.
I was a nuke, that is, qualified as an operator of a nuclear propulsion plant. The U.S. navy had a real problem with retention of nuclear-qualified personnel such as myself. I served aboard one of only four (at the time) nuclear powered surface craft.
The navy was concerned enough that, while we were in the Tonkin Gulf in 1972, the folks in D.C. sent out a commander to meet with senior nuke petty officers such as myself to find out why we were leaving the navy. I was one of several nuclear-qualified men intending to get out when my enlistment was up.
After explaining why he was there, the commander went around the room and gave each of us a chance to explain, frankly, what was wrong or lacking with the navy’s nuclear program and what needed to change to increase retention.
The most common reason, and the one I offered, was that the program had too much “chicken-shit.” (It was chicken-shit that caused our ship to go dead in the water some months previously, but that’s a story for another time.) We cited examples of how the program was being stifled with rules and operating procedures that prohibited initiative and, in effect, wasted our knowledge and talent. Trained monkeys could have done our job. There was little job satisfaction. Some of the policies actually endangered the ship.
Now you’d think that after coming all the way from Washington, D.C. to Vietnam just to hear our thoughts, the commander would come away with valuable feedback. You’d be wrong because his mind was made up before he even got there. After hearing from all of us who cared to speak, the commander said something like, “I can’t believe that’s the real reason you men are getting out. I think it’s more a matter of pay. We need financial incentives to keep you guys on board.”
And then he doubtless returned to D.C. and told his bosses exactly that.
If I needed any confirmation that things were not going to get better, that was it.
I was so fed up that I turned down a promotion to warrant officer in favor of civilian life. (Later I would realize that office politics were far worse than chicken-shit. I should have stayed in for 12 more years and retired at 39.)