A Wire Dawg in the SCIF
Bridging Two Worlds in Military Intelligence
(GCV Editor’s Note: I’d like to introduce you to my first Shirt, Joseph Schniers. He’s an incredible leader, and I’m honored to call him my friend.)
My name is Joseph Michael-Labarge Schniers. I am a retired Air Force disabled veteran, a husband of 26 years, and a father of three adult children. Alongside my wife, Jacquie, and our two 14-year-old dogs, we embraced the life of an Air Force family. This is our story about our last tour—a three-year adventure at Osan Air Base, South Korea.
It all began when I applied for a Green Door job with an Intel Squadron. In military terms, a “Green Door” position is highly competitive and shrouded in secrecy, often involving specialized intelligence work. Against the odds, I was selected. We were excited about the move but also a bit hesitant. Living in a new country and experiencing a different culture was thrilling.
We were no strangers to PACAF, having spent 10 years in Misawa, Japan, and Guam. Traveling was nothing new for us, and we understood the challenges of transitioning to Osan. The hardest part was leaving behind the life we had built and the friendships we made at Ellsworth, South Dakota, where we were stationed for five years. I still remember standing in our empty living room, the walls bare and echoing memories of laughter and shared meals. It hit me, then—this was not just a move but the end of a chapter.
My wife, Jacquie, had a fulfilling career as a behavior specialist in a school district. Our daughters were in middle school, and our son had just graduated from high school. I was a network technician and section chief, leading three sections and about 40 people. I ensured the base’s network infrastructure operated efficiently and complied with all standards.
Little did I know that stepping into that Intel Squadron would mean leading from the outside—navigating a world of classified work, closed-door meetings, and a culture entirely different from what I knew as a wire dawg.
Arrival at Osan Air Base, South Korea
We arrived in South Korea and were welcomed with open arms and tremendous support. I felt confident, thinking, “I’ll be working in one facility instead of managing people, circuits, and equipment... how hard could it be?” It was more challenging than I anticipated, but we will get to that later.
Here is a spoiler: South Korea is known for its short tours, which often involve high turnover rates and tasks that are left incomplete or poorly documented. It can be daily chaos.
I was assigned to Detachment 2, part of the 18th Intelligence Squadron, where I would work alongside analysts and intelligence officers. My role was to support all communications, networking, and documentation within the facility. I was up for the challenge, having previously endorsed another Intel Squadron. I was familiar with the culture and ready to get started.
My first day was filled with briefings, CBTs, and mandatory training sessions required to gain access to the facility. After completing that, I found my office and began reading through documents, planning how to improve my work center in this small detachment.
I was in a “2-deep billet,” meaning only two Comm guys supported the detachment. However, I was the only one who had arrived—my counterpart had yet to be selected. My first task was to review applications to fill this empty billet on my very first day. Welcome to Osan.
I entered this position with straightforward expectations: get to know everyone, do a great job, and make my mark. I wasn’t planning to save the world or get involved in leadership politics. I wanted to be a technician for my last assignment, revive my technical skills, and then retire. But things didn’t go as planned.
Before long, I hired my counterpart. He PCS’d to Osan AB, and we quickly got to work, doing what Wire Dawgs do best: installing equipment, running cable, and cleaning up the infrastructure. It was great. We built training programs for new security processes, developed auditing frameworks, and turned the detachment into a well-oiled machine. The work wasn’t difficult, but it was time-consuming at the start.
1st Shirt Duty
I never planned to become a 1st Sergeant or do anything outside of my original career field. But sometimes, opportunities present themselves when you least expect them. About six months into my position, my Commander, Major Will Selber, and my Superintendent, MSgt Heathermore Silva, approached me with the opportunity to become the 1st Sergeant of the Detachment.
I had my reservations, but after discussing it with my wife, I accepted the role. I knew there was still a lot of Comm work to be done, and I didn’t want this new position to interfere. But I thought, “How much more work can it be?” Plus, it was an opportunity to engage more with the detachment and support areas beyond Comm and Networking.
Suddenly, I was balancing two roles: Section Chief of Mission Support/IT and first Sergeant. This unique blend of technical leadership and personnel management required me to wear both hats with complete focus. I knew there would be challenges and that my time would be divided between competing responsibilities, but I was willing to navigate the obstacles.
I only had one concern—I didn’t want this new role to take away from my family. Time goes by so fast, and I knew our lives would change one day. It was challenging to process and sometimes felt like a double-edged sword.
On one hand, I wanted to succeed, to make my family proud, and to give them something to look up to. It was important to me to show them that taking risks and stepping into unfamiliar territory is a massive part of life. I’ve always tried to lead by example, to show them that if I could do it, they could too.
On the other hand, I wanted to be present for them. I was tired of missing school events and special family moments, as well as being there mentally and physically. This was the only negative thought about taking on this role, and I was determined not to let it take a toll on me or my family.
A Wire Dawg in the SCIF: Bridging the Gap
As I settled into my new role, my Superintendent, Heather, pulled me aside for a chat. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Intel officers? They’re a different breed, so you know.”
At the time, I nodded, brushing it off. After all, I had been in the Air Force long enough to work in various career fields. I was used to dealing with Comm Officers, who had their way of thinking and operating. An officer is an officer, regardless of AFSC, right?
Well, I was wrong.
I entered the intelligence world expecting the usual mix of leadership styles and personalities. Instead, I found a whole different universe. The Intelligence officers I worked with possessed a level of precision, focus, and seriousness that was utterly foreign to me. While Comm officers are often hands-on, solving problems at the moment, Intelligence officers are methodical, deep thinkers who make decisions based on layers of information.
When I considered it, it made perfect sense. Intel officers carry enormous responsibility and cannot afford to be wrong. They shape strategies, brief commanders, and provide assessments that directly impact troop safety and mission success. Every detail matters, and there’s no room for guesswork.
Looking back, my Superintendent was spot on—Intel officers were indeed a different breed. However, I learned to adjust to their unique leadership, communication, and decision-making approach. It wasn’t easy, but it taught me how to bridge the gap between two worlds.
Navigating Two Commanders, Two Leadership Styles – Part #1 My First Detachment Commander
My first Commander, Major Will Selber, was like any leader in charge—he had his leadership style and vision for the squadron. But unlike many others, he wasn’t trying to make a name for himself or throw his authority around by implementing unnecessary changes and policies. He genuinely wanted to support the people who were running the mission.
To me, his vision was clear: to ensure his team was sound-minded, comfortable, and had the right resources to succeed. He understood that mistakes would happen and that no process would ever be perfect. Yet, he also recognized that there was always room for improvement. Under his guidance, we knew loyalty, commitment, discipline, and respect for authority were crucial to achieving growth.
I had many discussions with him, and we built a great relationship. We had a lot in common, but the rank barrier between Enlisted and Officer limited the depth of our conversations. It prevented the type of raw, open discussions needed for true team-building. This is a significant issue and an
unnecessary barrier within the Enlisted and Officer structure. Decisions were often made cautiously, avoiding disagreements or differing opinions, which could have led to more dynamic solutions.
Despite this, we worked well together to enhance the Detachment's morale and culture. We organized various team-building events, from scavenger hunts and escape rooms to professional development sessions and the usual holiday parties. But we also faced personnel challenges, including curfew violations, disciplinary issues, domestic violence situations, drunken and disorderly incidents, and even abuse of power among floor managers.
An essential aspect of our leadership dynamic was the TRIAD—or what we called the “Triangle”—consisting of the Commander, the Superintendent, and the 1st Sergeant. We often met outside of work for leadership dinners and informal gatherings. These events were crucial for developing genuine relationships and getting to know each other personally. It was important not only for us but also for our families. My wife, Jacquie, would join us, helping to build a more profound sense of trust and understanding. In fact, after meeting her, they joked that I couldn’t attend unless she came too.
These informal gatherings allowed us to connect beyond our professional roles, breaking down some of the barriers that rank often imposes. They also created an atmosphere of mutual respect and open communication, positively impacting our working relationship.
Humor also played a role in strengthening our bond. When I stepped out, Major Selber had a knack for hiding my office chair. I’d return to find it missing every time, and the ritual would begin. I’d confront him, asking, “Where is MY chair?” He’d respond with his usual smirk, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Under Major Selber’s command, we created a more structured and supportive environment at the Detachment. I was proud that we improved the culture by fostering trust, loyalty, and follow-through. We did our best to consult and discuss the best possible outcomes for the Detachment and its people. Yes, we made mistakes, and I learned that you could never satisfy everyone. But based on our information, we made the most rational and fair decisions at the time.
I firmly believe in open communication and actionable feedback. I didn’t want to be a leader who gave orders—I wanted to understand my team’s challenges and work to resolve them. Whether it was a minor concern about the workspace or a significant issue affecting the Intel mission, I ensured my team knew I was there for them.
Family Time
Moving overseas is a culture shock for anyone, but it’s incredibly challenging for family members. They give up their careers, friends, homes... everything. They leave behind their purpose and are forced to find a new one. As military personnel, we arrive with a mission and defined purpose. They don’t.
My wife Jacquie is an educated and motivated woman who takes pride in setting an example for our children. Her career and vision for supporting our family are as important as mine. In my mind, her job is just as significant as mine—equal in every way. She and our children gave up a lot to join me in South Korea. Yes, it was our choice, but that doesn’t make it any less challenging.
We lived in an apartment building on base, right next to their school. From our 8th-floor balcony, we could watch them walk to school. It was a comforting sight. But they faced challenges—fitting in, making new friends, and finding their place in a new world.
My youngest daughter, Kaiya, struggled to adjust for about a year. I made it a priority to spend quality time with her, even after long days at work. We’d go to the football field and throw a frisbee, sharing moments that helped her feel connected. My other daughter, Kiley, was more adventurous. She made ends meet and explored the base and the local area. We granted them much freedom, but it was all built on trust.
My son, who we adopted at 15 and was an adult by the time we PCS’d, stayed behind in Oklahoma, where he started his own security business. It was difficult watching him struggle, but he eventually found his path. Fast-forward six years, and he enlisted in the Air Force as a Vehicle Maintainer and is doing great things.
I include my family’s experiences because we are one unit. Our success in a professional environment hinges on the stability and well-being of our family life. I’ve noticed that in the military, little attention is given to how family issues can impact work performance. When times get tough at work, few people genuinely ask about your family’s well-being—and even they truly listen to the answer.
We are emotional beings, yet the military culture often compels us to maintain an illusion of strength. We don’t want to burden others with personal issues, especially those we may never see again after a PCS or deployment. However, this approach ignores the reality that a struggling family can impact mission readiness just as much as a lack of resources or equipment.
The military needs to reevaluate its approach to supporting families. Briefings and handouts are insufficient; families need meaningful support systems, especially during transitions. The world has changed. People are more culturally aware, educated, and vocal about their needs and challenges. The military must adapt to these changes by creating programs that genuinely support families, not just check a box.
I’m not saying that there’s no support at all—there is. But it needs to be more effective and purposeful. If the military is going to send families to foreign lands or require long separations, then it’s only right to ensure that robust support systems are in place. It’s not just about caring for the service member; it’s about supporting the entire family.
Navigating Two Commanders, Two Leadership Styles
Part #2: A Change in Leadership – A New Challenge
When Major Selber PCS’d, my second commander could not have been more different. Her authoritarian and egotistical leadership style created an atmosphere of fear within the detachment. She was unpredictable, often making abrupt changes—to improve operations and seemingly to elevate her own image. Her decisions frequently disrupted established workflows, causing confusion and significantly lowering morale.
I struggled to adapt to her leadership style. She often spoke down to me without reason, chipping away at my mental well-being. Maintaining professionalism despite her condescension was a daily challenge, yet I remained committed to my duties as 1st Sergeant. I managed personnel issues, supported the team’s morale during the COVID-19 pandemic, and took on a significant project under her command—overseeing a $1 million fiber infrastructure upgrade for our building. From planning and procurement to execution and final inspection, I managed every aspect of the project, ensuring its success despite the leadership challenges.
Even after months of preparation, her inconsistent directives created confusion and disrupted the workflow. I quickly learned that presenting ideas she disagreed with required careful navigation. I had to find ways to frame suggestions positively to avoid conflict, an approach that contradicted the open communication needed for effective leadership. It was a one-way street.
One incident stands out vividly. One of my dedicated and hardworking troops made a judgment call, and she disagreed. She was so upset that she called a meeting with the leadership team. I had already handled the situation with verbal counseling, which I believed was sufficient. However, she went around the room during the meeting, asking for disciplinary recommendations. I thought to myself, “This is a waste of time. There are more pressing issues to address.”
I was the last to speak. I explained that I had counseled the troop and thought it would be resolved. She did not take this well. She insisted that my approach was unacceptable and considered issuing Article 15—a severe disciplinary action that could result in additional duties, forfeiture of pay, and other consequences. I was stunned. Her reaction was disproportionate to the situation.
Throughout these challenges, my family was my anchor. My wife, children, and even our dogs were my constant support system. They listened when I needed to vent and helped me reflect on my leadership struggles. Their support grounded me and reminded me of the bigger picture—beyond the frustrations and obstacles at work. Whether I was decompressing after a difficult day or reflecting on leadership lessons, they kept me focused on what mattered.
These experiences shaped me not just as a leader but as a person. I learned the importance of resilience, the power of empathy, and the necessity of standing firm in one’s values—even in the face of adversity. Navigating two different leadership styles was challenging, but it ultimately strengthened my commitment to leading with integrity, compassion, and adaptability.
Conclusion: The Final Chapter – A Journey of Growth and Resilience
My last assignment at Osan Air Base was a paradox—one of the best and the most challenging experiences of my 22-year Air Force career. It was a journey marked by leadership contrasts, emotional battles, and profound lessons in resilience. Navigating two commanders with drastically different leadership styles tested my adaptability and mental fortitude. Under Major Selber’s leadership, I thrived in an environment of trust, open communication, and shared purpose. However, transitioning to my second commander brought unforeseen challenges, pushing me to my limits professionally and personally.
My second commander's authoritarian approach was a daily struggle. Her condescending attitude, unpredictable decisions, and top-down leadership style created an atmosphere of fear and distrust. I constantly battled to maintain professionalism, perform my duties as 1st Sergeant, and support my team while preserving my mental well-being. The experience was mentally draining and physically exhausting. I was in a perpetual fight-or-flight state, navigating the fine line between following orders and advocating for my team.
Pandemic, managing a $1 million infrastructure upgrade, and maintaining morale amid constant changes. I learned the power of resilience, adaptability, and the importance of leading with integrity—regardless of the circumstances.
By the end of my time at Osan AB, I was mentally drained and physically exhausted from the constant stress. I had given everything to my role, team, and mission. I was ready to
close this chapter and return to my family, who had been my unwavering support system throughout this journey. They were my anchor, grounding me and reminding me of the bigger picture beyond the struggles at work.
Retiring after 22 years of service was both a relief and a bittersweet moment. This assignment tested me in ways I could never have anticipated. It was a defining period that challenged my leadership, resilience, and character. Yet, through the difficulties, I grew as a leader and as a person. I learned that authentic leadership is not about authority or control but empathy, trust, and adaptability.
Reflecting on my career, I am grateful for the experiences—both good and bad—that shaped me. The challenges taught me perseverance and the importance of standing firm in my values. The successes reminded me of the impact of compassionate leadership. I leave the Air Force not just as a retired Master Sergeant but also as someone who has grown through adversity, learned from every challenge, and remained committed to leading with integrity and heart.
Retired Master Sergeant Joseph Michael-LaBarge Schniers honorably served his country for over 20 years.
These stories--the varying experiences, the different people--are so valuable for the rest of us. Now maybe I understand my dad and grandpa, not to mention friends, a bit better. Thank you.
Thanks for your service at Osan. Sounds like it hasn't changed much since I was there in 1999-2000. I don't remember housing near the school. Everybody was right on the main road, just inside the gate in a big apartment building. We still need to do something about the short tours and constant turnovers that detract from continuity.