The last charge: garrison CSM dismounts after three decades

Photo By Terrance Bell | Command Sgt. Maj. Clarence D. Richardson, outgoing CSM, U.S. Army Garrison, Fort Lee, has logged nearly 30 years of service.  

WINCHESTER, VA, UNITED STATES

01.12.2017

Story by Terrance Bell  

Fort Gregg-Adams

FORT LEE, Va. (Jan. 12, 2017) -- Command Sgt. Maj. Clarence D. Richardson’s method of operation is simple: Charge hard but charge sensibly.

The 49-year-old’s all-in, full-speed-ahead journey along the difficult terrain of a 30-year Army career comes to an unofficial end during a change of responsibility ceremony scheduled for Jan. 17.

“As I move toward this transition, I get more excited about it,” said the U.S. Army Garrison CSM who officially concludes his career Aug. 1. “I love what I do, loved what I’ve done, but you always hear ‘you know when it’s time.’”

Richardson began hearing chimes of “time” sometime ago during periods of career reflection. It was not about losing his passion for the uniform or the mission, he said. It is more about what was lost in the charge and what he stands to gain while dismounted.

“For me, it’s about where I want to be and where I’m trying to go in life because I feel I’ve missed a lot,” said the petroleum supply specialist.

Richardson and his wife of 28 years, Debora, a military brat and registered nurse, are the parents of a 15-year-old son. With a more normal life on the horizon, he said they shared the struggle of those who have tried to find the right balance between family and military life.

“The only thing I really regret about my service is not spending enough time with family when possibly having the opportunity to do so,” he said.

Richardson, whose duties support the administration of various programs and services provided by the installation, describes himself as a “laid back” leader – one who leans toward listening, observing and analyzing rather than acting in a vociferous manner. Col. Adam W. Butler, the garrison commander, said Richardson projects a chilled persona that sometimes overshadows the fact he is a deeply caring individual.

“The sergeant major has a poker face,” he said. “He has this stern, all-business look about him; however, he is a compassionate person. People who don’t know him can easily see him as a mean drill sergeant. That’s not the case. He’s professional and a disciplinarian, but he cares. When you interact with him, you can see it.”

Richardson grew up in Winchester by way of Orlando, Fla.; the oldest in a blended family that included a “strong-willed and spiritually grounded mother,” he noted. Additionally, his extended family boasts at least seven military members. That pedigree, coupled with his participation in organized sports during his youth, spawned in Richardson a considerable competitive edge that was the ideal setup for career military service.

“It has nothing to do with competing against others at all,” said Richardson, noting self-improvement was seared in him as a child. “It was competing against myself, against whatever standard that was out there.”

In his pursuits as a young Soldier, Richardson took on leadership opportunities, scored high on physical training tests and attained the highest weapons qualification badge. Being all-in, however, meant earning distinctions such as membership in both the Sgt. Morales and Sergeant Audie Murphy clubs. Artillery shell impressions – not mere bullet points – were more suitable expressions of achievement on his evaluation forms.

Richardson’s early career accomplishments would have easily added rockers to chevrons in many other military occupational specialties, however, because the petroleum MOS was traditionally slow to promote, he didn’t earn the rank of sergeant until his sixth year of service. Weary and frustrated, he pressed on and became a fast-tracker, reaching E-7 with roughly 11 years of service. His persistence, he said, was buoyed by the mere honor of serving others.

“It truthfully wasn’t about me,” said Richardson. “There’s a lot of clichés out there. You’ll hear people say, ‘My Soldiers got me promoted,’ but for me it truly was (Soldiers). I didn’t worry about promotion to the point of doing selfish (not selfless) service, where I was stepping on someone’s back or doing things to get notoriety.

“It was about taking care of Soldiers.”

Maybe to a fault. Richardson’s star power had earned him a spot in drill sergeant school in 1997. He stayed on the “trail” – parlance for drill sergeant duty – for two years pushing troops through basic training at Fort Knox, Ky., and grew to create the image and substance of those select few who wear the campaign hat. When he arrived at Fort Lee as an instructor in 1999, his embodiment was such that he could not easily turn off the drill sergeant switch. Richardson said unacceptable behavior among students was commonplace in the advanced individual training environment here, and it often moved him to make corrective actions that were seen as a bit out of place.

“I was snapping (drill sergeant lingo for controlled, visible anger),” he said, noting he cared enough about the standards to enforce them at all costs. “I would never abuse anyone, but I would be directly line-to-line, eye-to-eye with Soldiers … to the point where I’m in the hallway just blasting away at them, still in the drill sergeant mentality.”

Richardson’s transition troubles got the attention of his department SGM, who counseled and diverted him to less confrontational duties as an observer/controller at Fort Irwin, Calif. “It saved my career,” he said. Upon his return, Richardson was assigned to the Quartermaster Noncommissioned Officer Academy.

Earlier in the decade, Richardson became CSM for the 244th QM Battalion located here. He still stood strong for enforcing standards and taking care of Soldiers although his drill sergeant edge was far removed. He also had cultivated a professional demeanor that was businesslike and focused.

Furthermore, he saw his position – as he had always seen the duties of an NCO – as one worthy of emulation and one which serves the needs of Soldiers. When he lost an NCO and cadre member to a motorcycle accident, those attributes seemed to emerge as his default.

“It affected me pretty badly,” Richardson recalled, noting the Soldier was the first of roughly four he was connected to in some way. “But everyone’s looking at the sergeant major to hold things together for the organization, to include the commander.”

Meaning his feelings about the individual and others were largely set aside.

“I’ve seen things that haunt me today,” he said, noting he had recent interactions with all the Soldiers before they passed away.

Richardson said each loss is reason to revisit policy and practices to ensure things were done right. And even when review and reflection can find no wrong, there is still a lingering sense of loss, an issue for which he has sought help.

“You almost feel like you have to carry the weight of the company and the battalion,” said Richardson. “Why? Because they look to you in times of grief and depression – the things that people like to stay away from – everyone looks to the sergeant major.”

Shouldering burdens is where sergeants major earn their keep, said Richardson.

“As the sergeants major, we’re charged with being the QAs (quality assurance) of the NCO Corps,” he said. “I tried to be the best NCO I could for any and every Soldier who was under my charge.”

Would it have been easier for Richardson to somehow separate himself from the tragedies he experienced?

It’s conceivable, but hard-charging, compassionate NCOs such as Richardson would never fathom the notion.

• Date Taken: 01.12.2017
• Date Posted: 01.12.2017 08:59
• Story ID: 220196
• Location: WINCHESTER, VA, US