What a battalion commander taught me about mistakes, honesty, and trust
By Kevin Lewis
I’d like to tell a story about a leadership lesson I learned as a young infantry officer — from another veteran who had, as we say, been down range and led troops into battle.
It puts me in a vulnerable position, because it reveals a serious flaw I had. But it also taught me something I’ve carried through every season of leadership since: how critical it is, both as a leader and as a team member, to never hide your wrongdoing. Hiding it is almost always worse than the act itself. And hiding it robs your leader of the chance to give you something precious.
Here’s what happened.
A Cold Morning in Georgia
When I graduated from West Point and went on to officer basic training, I also signed up for Army Ranger School. It was winter in Georgia. On the first day, it was 14 degrees. I didn’t know it got that cold in Georgia.
During that first training phase, I compromised myself — a nice way of saying I attempted to cheat by short-circuiting a navigation course. My feeble attempt was discovered, and I was rightfully and quickly terminated from the school. From there I was sent on to my first real assignment: rifle platoon leader with the 2nd Infantry Division in Korea.
It was embarrassing. It was humiliating. But it was all on me — no one else. I had to tell my parents. It hurt them. But they still loved me and told me to get on with my career. I just wanted to forget it and get overseas to my assignment.
The Letter I Almost Hid
When I arrived at my duty station, protocol required me to report to my battalion commander. This was the 1970s. Everything was on paper. He would only ever see what I showed him.
I was tempted not to bring up the termination — this was during the closing days of the Vietnam War, and I figured he had bigger things on his mind.
But that morning, I decided to put everything in front of him. I pulled the dismissal letter from my personnel file, handed it to him, and just stood there.
I will never forget what he said:
“Lieutenant Lewis, just keep that. I don’t need it. You do a good job for me here in Korea, and all will be well.”
If he had told me right then to gear up, lock and load, and move out, I would have led the way and taken a bullet for him. I’ve never forgotten that moment. He heard it from me first — not from a file, not from a rumor, not from someone else’s version. And I believe that single choice built a level of trust between us that is critical in any relationship, especially one where lives are at stake.
Why This Still Matters
I’ve told this story to school boards, coaching clients, and teams for years now, and it always lands the same way, because the situation is universal even if the uniform isn’t.
Think about the last time someone on your team made a mistake and came to you with it before you found out on your own. Compare that to the last time you discovered a mistake someone tried to bury. The first one built trust. The second one cost it — even if the original mistake was smaller.
That’s the pattern worth remembering:
Concealment compounds the offense. The cover-up is rarely smaller than the crime. It almost always makes things worse, because now there are two problems: the mistake, and the deception about it.
Disclosure is a form of respect. When you bring your failure to your leader yourself, you’re saying: I trust you with this. I’m not going to let you find out the hard way. That’s not weakness — it’s the beginning of real trust.
Forgiveness is a gift a leader can choose to give — or withhold. My battalion commander could have held that letter over me for the rest of my tour. He could have written me off before I even started. Instead, he looked me in the eye and challenged me to rise up and earn his trust. That’s a leadership choice, and not every leader makes it.
The Takeaway
Here’s the lesson, stripped down to its core, whether you’re leading a platoon, a classroom, a sales team, or a family:
Be open about your failings, and be ready to offer someone the precious gift of a second chance.
For some people, it will be the only one they ever get — and how you handle it may determine whether they ever trust you with the truth again.
I never forgot the name of that letter. I’m ashamed to say I’ve forgotten the name of the man who told me to keep it. But I’ve never forgotten what he taught me. Every time I’ve had the chance to extend that same grace to someone else, I’ve tried to. Remember this when someone puts it all on the table in front of you when they could have hidden it. You have an asset standing in front of (or sitting across from) you.
Kevin Lewis is a certified Maxwell Coach and Consultant specializing in organizational effectiveness, team communication, and leadership development.