Teach a Man to Fish for a Day-Old Salmon

by Chuck Ritter

Have you ever looked at another person and thought, “That person is a lost cause?” Maybe you’ve invested time into someone, and others have told you, “You’re wasting your time; other people are far more deserving of your efforts.” At one point in my life, I was that person – the one labeled as a “lost cause.” I should have never been as successful as I am in so many ways. But because I had leaders who didn’t give up on me and who didn’t write me off, I was able to change a corrupt mindset and excel in life.

At 17, I was fired from Radio Shack due to a $70,000 credit card scheme. I was also kicked out of my house. Later, I was fired as a shift manager from Mazzio’s Pizza because one evening I decided it was better to party than close properly. Due to skipping half a year of classes and having such consistently bad grades, I was forced to go to a special school designed for pregnant teenagers and people just released from juvenile hall. And then—I almost joined the Army.

One weekend, my parents were leaving town and didn’t trust me, so they made me stay in a camper in the driveway. Once they left, a friend noticed that one of the windows in the house was slightly open, so we had a way in. I did what any normal person would do: I threw an epic party. There are some great photos of what can only be described as the most magnificent social event ever thrown in my entire life.

My parents had two full-length frozen salmon in the fridge. The obvious thing to do was to take one and party with it, so that’s exactly what we did. That salmon partied so damn hard. There are photos of me in the hot tub with three girls all taking turns holding the salmon. There are also other photos of me with a fishing rod, fishing it out of the toilet.

That salmon had a great time and passed out in the backyard at some point. I found it the next day while cleaning the house. I washed it and put it back in the freezer. My dad cooked it for a local official a few weeks later, and that didn’t go well. But that’s a different story.

The next day was Sunday, and I had an extreme hangover. I was cleaning the house because my parents were returning that evening. I heard a knock at the door. It was the local Army recruiter I had spoken to several times before because the Army recruiting office was next to the Radio Shack that hadn’t appreciated my creativity with credit cards.

“This is probably a surprise, but this is time sensitive,” he said. “You told me previously that you wanted to join the Army but couldn’t because you still had one course left at your school, Algebra 1.”

“Yes, sir, that’s correct,” I said. I had been sitting on this course for months. Instead of doing it, I would go to school and sleep under a desk. Algebra seemed complicated, and sleeping was easier.

He smiled, pulled out two documents, held them high, and said, “Just so happens the school agreed to graduate you and waived your class under the condition you go with me to MEPS tomorrow and join the Army.” (MEPS is the Military Entrance Processing Station).

I thought about it for a second and devised an incredible plan. I smiled and said, “Okay.”

He put the papers away and said, “All right, I’ll be here at 5:00 am, and you can have this paperwork when we return from the MEPS.”

I immediately called a good friend and said, “How much weed do you have? I have a drug test tomorrow that I cannot pass.”

He sounded confused and said, “Why would you not want to pass a drug test?”

“It’s complicated and makes perfect sense if you just don’t think about it. Hurry up.” I replied.

I went to the MEPS the next day, and the recruiter upheld his end of the bargain. When he dropped me off at my house that evening, he handed me my diploma and transcripts and shook my hand with a smile. “Congratulations.” He said and then drove away.

A little over a week later, he called me. He said, “I have some bad news. You failed the drug test; you can’t join the Army.”

“Wait, what? How?!” I asked.

“Probably because you were doing drugs. This makes it impossible to ever join the military.” He said with an irritated voice, and he hung up on me.

After this, I went to a local community college on a full scholarship because my mom was a nursing instructor there. I managed to be expelled by failing bowling class because the instructor didn’t appreciate that I was hanging out in the back and smoking weed with the owner instead of bowling. I also managed to wreck three cars this time.

I realized I needed to get my life together and decided to really join the Army. Due to the failed drug test, I had to get letters from local officials and a congressman. That fiasco has haunted every security clearance review I have had since.

I was allowed to join and went to basic training, where I was so out of shape that I scored an abysmal 94 points out of a possible 300 on the Army Physical Fitness Test. You must score 180 to pass. They told us we could walk on the run, but it wasn’t recommended. I took that to heart and ran a blazingly fast 24-minute two-mile. I couldn’t do one pull-up, and I’m unsure how I survived. By the end of basic, I could pass the fitness test. However, it was still so low that when I signed into my unit in Hawaii, they said, “You can’t show up to an infantry unit with a fitness score like this!”

Many leaders would have written me off. I would have been viewed as a lost cause. I often ask the following questions to people when I sit on promotion boards.

“What would you do if you received a soldier out of basic training that has a record with a $70,000 credit card fraud charge, they had failed their first drug test for the Army, scored a 94 on their PT test in basic, and could barely pass the test right now?”

The usual response was that they would get with the legal team and make necessary preparations for carrying the soldier out of the Army because they were a lost cause, and they knew they would be problematic; it was just a matter of time.

I explained that I just gave them an example of me coming in, and because I had leaders who invested in me and didn’t write me off, I could change a faulty mindset and excel.

Some outstanding leaders in my unit dedicated time to help me improve. They made me study doctrine and pushed me to perform. I had to take a weekly fitness test until I could score 270 out of 300 points. Eventually, I achieved a perfect score of 300. Their methods weren’t pleasant and didn’t coddle me, but their dedication ensured my success. They invested their most valuable resource in me: time.

Because of them, I was able to pass Special Forces Selection. I excelled in my job and eventually became a Sergeant Major because people believed in me even though I was “a lost cause.”

It has changed the way I view mentorship and counseling. Nobody is above my time. Sometimes, you will invest your time in people, and they won’t succeed. It’s always a gamble, and time is our most precious commodity. Investing time in people is always worthwhile, even when it doesn’t work out. The times when it does work and people rise and flourish make up for the times people fail, regardless of how much you put into them.

Even the most seemingly lost person can be mentored. Not everyone can be helped, and it often takes a severe blow to the ego for someone to open their mind enough to embrace change.

I know I wouldn’t have been successful if people hadn’t invested in me when I was someone they should have written off. I’ve always been extremely grateful for those leaders who shaped me. I try to pay it back by investing my time into others, even if they are someone everyone else has written off.

One of the best investments is when you invest time into someone, and they succeed. Sometimes, you invest in people and fail, and that’s always aggravating and painful. Still, investing in people is the most profitable investment I have made in life, regardless of the frustration when failing to make an impact.

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This first appeared in The Havok Journal on October 17, 2024.

Chuck Ritter is an active-duty Army Special Forces sergeant major stationed at Fort Liberty, NC. He is set to retire in 2025. He is a co-founder of Objective Arete LLC, a veteran-owned self-development company. Chuck previously co-hosted/produced the Pineland Underground Podcast and serves on the Board of Directors for the Dreams 4 All Foundation.

He has been awarded the Silver Star Medal, Bronze Star for Valor, Army Commendation Medal for Valor, three Purple Heart Medals, the Triple E Valor and Courage award, and most importantly, the NDSM and Air Assault Badge.

He is attending Norwich University, completing a B.S. in Strategic Studies and Defense Analysis. In 2025, he will apply to the Duke University MBA program.