Legacy is about what we do now, what we do today not what we leave behind. If you are thinking about what you should do, you may consider what you CAN do NOW.
Ring Ring.
Me: Hello?
Person: Are you Howard Cohen?
Me: Yes.
Person: The Howard Cohen?
Me: Yeah, it’s me!
Person: Wow, I found you! This is fantastic. Listen, we’re thrilled to let you know you’ve made this year’s “Who’s Who” list.
Me: Who’s what?
Person: It’s a prestigious list of people recognized as the best in their field.
Me: What do you know me for?
Person: Well… you are Howard Cohen, right?
This conversation was the beginning of a bizarre, ego-stroking sales pitch. They claimed to know me, celebrated my supposed achievements, and tried to sell me on the grandeur of being included in their book. When all was said and done, they asked for $450 to “secure my place” and send me a certificate. Flattered but suspicious, I declined. They dropped the price to $125, then $25. Eventually, I caved.
I never received a certificate.
I realize now, it wasn’t about the certificate. It was about my fragile ego. I wanted to feel special, to matter, to be recognized. I was young, trying to do good, and this meaningless accolade gave me a fleeting sense of importance. Looking back, it was a scam—one that still preys on people to this day.
A New Chapter: Recognition in Service
Fast forward a few decades. I received a call from an old friend with an interesting opportunity. A strong connection of his had recently taken over as Director of the Defense Media Activity (DMA) and needed help finding someone to fill a crucial role. Could I help? Of course I could. Being of service to others has always been a guiding principle in my life.
The very next day, the Director called me. His passion and dedication were contagious, and our long conversation left me inspired. By the end of the call, he wasn’t just asking for advice. He invited me to join as a Highly Qualified Expert (HQE)—an advisory role designed for specialists who could use their experience to tackle specific, high-stakes challenges.
The proposition was everything I’d ever worked toward: a chance to bundle the knowledge, skills, and lessons I’d gathered over my career and apply them to something meaningful. It felt like the perfect fit. The Director assured me, “None of this will be easy, but we’ll do it together. You’ll have my full support.”
It was an honor, and I accepted.
The Reality of the HQE Role
At its core, the HQE program is a noble idea: bring in experts as temporary advisors to provide critical insights, support leadership, and help organizations solve complex problems. For some, it’s a swan song—a capstone to a distinguished career. For others, it’s a turning point, an opportunity to leave a lasting impact. For me, it was a dream.
But reality hit hard.
For all the goodwill and ambition, the path forward was blocked by systemic dysfunction. The people I worked alongside were wonderful—kind, thoughtful, and open to change. My HQE partner was a brilliant, humble person whose expertise and leadership shook the foundation of our agency in the best way. I learned so much from working with him, and for that I’ll always be grateful.
But no amount of expertise or effort could overcome the immovable middle management that clogged the gears of progress. While senior leaders had visionary plans, the entrenched middle tiers resisted every step forward. Change threatened their comfort, and they made sure it was impossible to implement anything meaningful.
The Director, once so full of energy and purpose, became disillusioned and left. Our mission slowed to a crawl. Over time, the passion and optimism that had propelled us drained away. It felt like being a live wire shoved into the ground—powerful yet unable to do anything productive.
Reflections on Ego, Purpose, and Persistence
This experience taught me something profound: the HQE program, for all its promise, is as much about politics and optics as it is about real change. Titles and roles like HQE or SGE (Special Government Employee) stroke the ego—they declare, “You’re important. You’re an expert. You matter.”
But was I any less of a person before I took the title? Was I less worthy of respect before I swore the oath? The truth is, these titles don’t make us special; our actions do.
I won’t give up on the mission of service. I won’t quit trying to make a difference. The lessons I’ve learned from this experience will guide me as I continue to work toward meaningful change.
But I am not a scapegoat.
As HQEs, my partner and I swore an oath to the American people, and we honored it. We stood up for what we believed was right. We advocated for fiscal and organizational reform. We fought for the program’s success—not that it could succeed, but that it would.
Even when the system pushed back, we spoke out. Even when the mountain seemed immovable, we kept climbing.
Conclusion: A Lifelong Commitment to Service
The Howard Cohen who fell for a silly scam all those years ago wanted to feel special. It hurt to realize that the recognition he sought was empty and superficial.
The Howard Cohen who took on the HQE role learned something far more valuable: recognition is meaningless without purpose. True fulfillment comes from being of service to others, regardless of whether anyone notices.
This adventure reminded me of who I am and what I stand for. I will keep striving, keep serving, and keep pushing forward—not for accolades, but for the people I can help along the way.
That is where the real “Who’s Who” resides.
Much Love! What do you think?