Looking Back at the Radar

At the recent National Marine Electronics Association (NMEA) conference, I stopped in front of a pathfinder radar from the 1970s. Its green glow carried me back four decades to my first ship, USS Flatley, and a Mediterranean morning watch in 1985.

Trial by Fire on USS Flatley

I was the Junior Officer of the Deck, standing the 4–7 a.m. “rev watch” as one carrier battle group relieved another. The handover always included a photo op—twenty ships maneuvering into precise formation at night to be ready for a morning photo. RADM James Flatley, son of our ship’s namesake, a famous naval aviator, was in command of the group.

The Officer of the Deck, my immediate boss on the ship and the senior watch stander at that moment kept the big picture and made the decisions. As Junior Officer of the Deck, I would normally have the conn—responsible for directing the ship’s wheel movements—and coordinated the radar picture with sailors on the bridge and in the Combat Information Center. Only one person has the conn at a time, and it is formally transferred with a clear announcement: “This is Ensign Moran, I have the conn.” Aviators practice the same discipline when one pilot says, “I have the aircraft.”

In those pre-Link 11 days, a digital data link that would share a common operating picture among all ships, and the lag of sound-powered phone communications between stations demanded that I stay head-down in the scope to keep pace. Losing track of which ship was which—what we called “losing the bubble”—could happen quickly. Human brains can only juggle so much at once, and it’s well known that careful distribution of the workload and procedural double-checking are what keep things tight. I remember perspiring as I tried to keep every blip straight, sorting twenty ships until we slid into our assigned position—front and center, tucked between carriers Saratoga and her sister. This tracking and sorting was done with a grease pencil and tongue depressor to track the movements of the blips – I am not making this up.

The Human Factor in Decision-Making

That night underscored something I’ve never forgotten: sailors make the difference. Technology provides tools, but people carry the responsibility. I was reminded of it again at the recent U.S. Central Command change of command. CJCS, General Cain, observed that in the Red Sea fight, sailors had about 15 seconds to decide whether to shoot. ADM Brad Cooper was the 5th Fleet Commander, then Deputy Central Command Commander, and the best qualified to now lead Central Command. He knows the region. Rules of Engagement may be written in Washington, but in practice they come down to humans making split-second decisions under extraordinary pressure.

Innovation at the Edge: USS Laboon

Fast forward to my first command, USS Laboon, a nearly new Arleigh Burke destroyer. It was a stunningly capable ship with a crew that was well trained when I arrived. You might expect that technology would have leapt ahead—but even then, the bridge lacked commercial-quality chartplotters. The Navy was slow to adopt what the recreational boating world had already normalized. So I spent $5,000 in discretionary CO funds to put a 5” Garmin GPS on the bridge. Not entirely by the book, but many COs did it. Within a few years, of course, the fleet would finally standardize on digital navigation. Within 5 years, those 5” screens were on most car dashboards. Still, the lesson lingered: innovation often starts at the edge, driven by operators who see what works.

USS Philippine Sea: A Legacy of Service

More recently, I attended the decommissioning of my second command, the cruiser USS Philippine Sea (CG 58). My crew on that ship once numbered about 375 sailors plus a helicopter detachment of 25 more. But over her 36 years of service, more than 6,000 sailors called her their own. She completed 18 full or extended deployments, lived in two homeports, underwent a major midlife upgrade costing hundreds of millions, and, in today’s dollars, represented a $2+ billion investment of national treasure. That investment delivered: global presence, humanitarian missions, counter-piracy patrols, carrier strike group defense, and 89 real-world Tomahawk launches that sent clear messages on behalf of the nation.

At the decommissioning, the ship’s final commanding officer, CAPT Liberty—yes, that really was his name—shared his own memory of assuming command in the Red Sea in 2024. He described flying out to the carrier en route to the ship, glancing at the flag plot display screens, and realizing the scale of the fight already underway. Multiple extended engagements filled the screens. He recalled saying to himself, “I’ve seen this all before…in training.” The pause spoke volumes. He knew this final deployment would be like nothing he had ever experienced in real-world operations. And as we know, the ships—Philippine Sea among them—performed spectacularly.

Balancing Autonomy and Human Judgment

Some—but not all—of those missions can now be performed or assisted by autonomous systems. What cannot be replicated are the relationships forged: among crews of the same ship, or among allied navies operating together. Machines may extend reach, capacity, and lethality. But people still dream them up, build them, program them, operate them, break them, repair them, and command them to execute our will.

I was fortunate to serve in Flatley and five other ships, each considered modern in its time. What struck me then—and still does now—is how young the faces are at the heart of these operations. Most Americans are stunned to see just how much responsibility is carried by sailors barely in their twenties. It is a heavy weight of accountability, learned young, that binds veterans in ways nearly impossible to describe.

Look Around

Looking across these moments, I see the arc of naval adaptation. Technology advances, but never fast enough to relieve sailors of responsibility. Even today, with satellites, networks, and AI-enabled systems, the decisive factor remains a human being with limited time, imperfect data, and enormous consequences in their hands.

The radar I saw at NMEA was a museum piece—but to me, it was a mirror. A reminder that progress in any field comes with both leaps and lags, and that no matter how dazzling the technology, it is people—perspiring, deciding, adapting—who keep the mission moving forward.

What Am I Reading?

For most readers, the world of restaurant stars feels remote. Michelin inspectors award one to three stars to the rarest restaurants on earth, while The New York Times rates on a 0–4-star scale, with 4 stars meaning “extraordinary.” Will Guidara and chef Daniel Humm achieved both distinctions at Eleven Madison Park—earning three Michelin stars and, in 2009, the coveted 4-star New York Times review.

What makes the story remarkable is how young Guidara was when it happened. In his mid-20s he was already leading one of New York’s top restaurants. He had the benefit of a terrific mentor who gave him room to grow, and he deliberately worked across different restaurants and styles of service before stepping into the spotlight. That mix of guidance, experimentation, and hard lessons prepared him for the outlandish success that followed.

Unreasonable Hospitality is not really about food—it’s about standards, service, and the power of impossible goals. Guidara shows how small, intentional acts can add up to extraordinary experiences. From modeling behavior to setting uncompromising expectations, to empowering teams to surprise and delight, the book demonstrates how leadership and human connection shape outcomes more than process charts ever will.

I was struck by how much the lessons overlap with military or business leadership. People respond to clarity, rise to ambitious goals, and carry forward the discipline of accountability—when you know, and they know, you expect it of them! Guidara makes the case that hospitality—at its core—is not about perfection, but about care and human connection. It is an excellent book, and one that lingers long after the last page, challenging readers to elevate not only performance but also the experience they create for others.