The Land of Misfit Toys: A Lesson in Servant Leadership

In military jargon, "The Land of Misfit Toys" refers to individuals who may be difficult to work with but bring unique value. I’ve been that person—both in the military and my civilian career—and I’ve worked with many. Let me be clear, I love these people, and they’re welcome on my team any day. I’ve found that often, they just haven’t experienced leadership that combines empathy and discipline in equal measure (equal part butt kickings and hugs).

This story is about three great Airmen.

In 2005, after returning from an overseas assignment, I was asked to lead the Weapons and Tactics office—a position often given to supervisors nearing the end of their careers. My mission was to bring new capabilities to this part of the Air Force, including the Container Delivery System (CDS) at Moody AFB, a capability that Jeff Jones had pioneered at Davis-Monthan AFB.

We pulled together a team of former special operators, pilots, navigators, engineers, and loadmasters who had experience with CDS drops. With the help of the 38th Pararescue (PJ’s) squadron riggers (PJ’s are incredible medics assigned to A-teams, SEAL teams, who love their short shorts), we began training. But as the operation grew, we needed more hands.

We weren’t budgeted for additional people, so I had to make do with three operators whose previous leaders were all too eager to transfer them. Despite the challenges, we trained, acquired resources by any means necessary, and got to work.

However, chaos ensued. We weren’t delivering as expected, and the team was exhausted. Two were single dads, and the youngest was full of piss and vinegar. After a few months, we had an honest conversation. They made it clear that we couldn’t operate as a 9-to-5 team; we were an 11 AM to 3 AM organization.

So, we adjusted. Mondays were for prep, and Tuesday through Thursday were for night operations. Fridays became rigging, training, family and fellowship time. We started working smarter, and with support from great leaders like Joel Martin , we secured the resources needed to succeed.

Six months later, we were delivering beyond expectations. Our little "MO-Cave" rigging shop became a place for camaraderie, and Airmen from across the Rescue units wanted to join the team. We deployed small teams to support operations in Djibouti, Las Vegas, and beyond.

The moral of the story? This is a love letter to the misfits—Sully, Cowger, and Arnold—and a reminder that great leadership means understanding your people and serving them, not just your own bosses.

I was a Master Sergeant, which I like to think of as a Master Server.

Go be a servant leader—it feels good!