[June 4, 2026] My Soldiers remembered that day like it was Christmas morning at home when they were kids. I was traveling back from our Infantry company supply trains to the defensive front line when, there it was, about a dozen Soldiers milling around in an open field. It was August in Virginia; sunny, hot, humid. I would later be told these Soldiers had a disrespected Army job: Laundry Specialist.
Disrespected? I get it. These Soldiers weren’t fighting the Taliban or insurgents; they weren’t put in the front line to repel enemy forces coming at them. But they were soldiers, and we all had a job to do. But, in this case, they didn’t seem to have a job to do.
After turning off the dirt trail in my M113A3 Armored Personnel Carrier, I hopped off and walked up to one of them and asked, “Soldier, what kind of unit are you guys?” One of them told me they were a Laundry Unit. Sadly, they were a mess: their uniforms were disheveled, random clothing hung from improvised clotheslines, some had two- and three-day-old beards, and they were wearing garrison caps (not their helmets).
I asked them who was in charge, and no one seemed to know. One of the SP4s (an E-4), a rank just under Sergeant (E-5), told me that his “boss” was gone for the day. I assumed he meant that his boss wanted to sleep back in the barracks, where it was far more comfortable and cooler. Summer was coming to an end, and that year had been brutally hot.
Offhand, I asked if any one of them had eaten a hot meal in the past couple of days. None had. I was shocked. Clearly, these men were not being cared for properly, and that made me angry. I told them that my unit was up the road about five miles, at a certain road junction. They could come up and have a hot meal. I gave them my company’s meal times and a card with my name on it. Their faces lit up.
For lunch, they all showed up. Driving a deuce and a half cargo truck, they were all there exactly on time. I told my First Sergeant to make sure they were fed, and they could eat all they wanted. He understood completely. He knew not to order them into the proper uniforms or to get and carry their rifles; that was our SOP. We treated them like guests.
While they were chowing down, I asked one of them what their unit’s mission was for the field exercise. One of them told me they were to wash the uniforms and provide hot showers. Bingo. We’d not had a shower or clean clothes in more than two weeks. “A morale booster for sure,” I said to myself. I requested a window of time later that day to begin rotating my Infantrymen into and out of their showers.
The following day, I informed our Operations Officer, a Major, that I’d discovered the Laundry Unit and that the rest of our battalion could begin rotating Soldiers into the showers. Of course, these troops were limited to 1-minute showers. The Operations Major was mad at me because my Soldiers had unlimited shower time. That major was a pain in the arse; I loved the fact he couldn’t make any changes to the deal I’d made with the Laundry unit.
Respect is sometimes hard to come by in the U.S. Army. This Laundry unit had Soldiers who should have been treated better. I made sure they were respected, treated like human beings, and my Infantrymen also showed them how to set up a standard logistical encampment. We all got along well. We all had a better time on our month-long field exercise. Things were hard enough; there was no need to make it harder by treating other Soldiers poorly.
As my Mechanized Infantry Company was on the garrison wash racks with our APCs and trucks at the end of the exercise (one of the more physically challenging parts of cleaning up), I saw those same dozen Laundry unit Soldiers stop by and help my men clean our equipment. Show respect. Everyone wins.
I was the last to take a hot shower. And, I’ll say that after weeks in the field busting my ass and feeling like a dirtball, that shower was the best I’d ever taken. I was in the shower for 30 minutes. I must have looked like I’d been cooked in an oven. One of the Laundry Soldiers said I would put a lobster to shame with my pink skin.
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Great article on leadership and respect, Gen. Satterfield. Every role in the Army matters, even laundry specialists. Your actions showed true care for soldiers. Treating support troops well boosts overall morale. Respect builds stronger teams in tough conditions. Thanks for sharing this important lesson.
Sir, good look at a subject that many of the high brass don’t want to address.
Navy Vet, you’re correct. There are many jobs in all branches of the military – any military around the world – where those jobs get little respect; but are very much needed. From the simple task of mopping the floor to cleaning out the gunk in the engine compartment of a cargo truck, those jobs are necessary. But we somehow put those who do those jobs down and disrespect them. I don’t mean we treat them poorly, which does happen, but we would never want that job ourselves. Consider this as one of Gen. Satterfield’s pet peeves; when we think we are somehow superior to others simply because of what we do.
Nailed it, Valkerie. I’ve seen this too in any work environment. But, here’s the deal, if you want a higher status job and one perhaps that pays more, then work for it. Find out what it takes to get there, and make the proper sacrifice to get that job. Don’t just assume, as a beginner, that you “deserve” those higher jobs and that others were just given those jobs.