I didn’t know General Charles Jacoby well. At least not as well as countless men and women in uniform who served with him over his decades-long Army career. My first real exposure to him was indirect. I was working as managing editor at War on the Rocks and we had the opportunity to publish something he wrote—a piece that marked his retirement and reflected on his service. I had been in and around the Army long enough that, while I wouldn’t have described myself as a cynic, I was also no longer the same person who responded to a drill sergeant’s question about why members of my basic training platoon had joined the Army by standing at attention and barking, “I joined to wear this flag on my shoulder.” A desire to serve a country I felt grateful to have been born in—that was still there. It had just been tested and made more complicated by the realities of life in an Army at war, from the tedious like byzantine bureaucracy to the tragic like fallen friends.

I never questioned whether this was normal. I knew it was. I saw it in my peers, as well. And yet, here was a four-star general, a combatant commander, who spent thirty-seven years in the Army and still derived a greater joy from serving than many of us did by the time we reached our first promotion. It made an impact on me and its lesson—that, yes, life can grind you down, but you’re never without a choice about how you respond—stuck with me.

A few years later, I was hired to work at the Modern War Institute. General Jacoby, now retired, was the organization’s first distinguished chair and he visited shortly after I started work. A peek behind the curtains for anybody who has not spent time at West Point: When a retired four-star visits the academy, every minute is accounted for in a series of office calls and meetings. But he made time to sit and talk to the small staff at MWI, sharing his views about the real-world questions that MWI was established to grapple with and asking us for ours. Our office space was open plan, and the spirit of discussion and deep engagement with difficult subjects was inspiring. It left a mark, influencing the culture within a small organization that was still quite new and finding its feet. He didn’t have to spend that time with us in the way that he did. Nor did he need to wake up early the next day to join us as our department carried rocks to the memorial on top of Popolopen Torne at 6:00 am. But he was a member of the team, so he did.

General Jacoby held the role of distinguished chair for five years. A few months after it came to an end, he called me. He wanted to check on how things were going at MWI and asked me about my job, what I wanted to accomplish, what my goals were, and how my work fit into my future aspirations. It was the first time somebody senior had ever had that conversation with me. I never really had a mentor, and that thirty-minute conversation as I walked my dog on a Saturday afternoon was the closest I came. I valued it deeply.

General Jacoby passed away last week. But he leaves behind an inspiring legacy. Appreciate the opportunity to serve. Derive joy from it. Care about those you serve with. And do your job, whatever it is, with commitment. On behalf of MWI, General Jacoby will be missed, but we will continue to be shaped by that legacy.

John Amble is the editorial director of the Modern War Institute at West Point and a veteran of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The views expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official position of the United States Military Academy, Department of the Army, or Department of Defense.

Image credit: Petty Officer 2nd Class Patrick Kelley, US Coast Guard