“Black kids don’t have typewriters. We have Sega Genesis. So we can have a game console at home and not something that will help our education.” Senior Chief Armond Flood recalls this with astonishment as he recounts a formative moment with his high school teacher, Mrs. Murray. She had assigned an essay: doublespaced, 12-point Courier, typed on a typewriter. While many students nodded and began planning their papers, Flood—trying on the role of class clown—spoke up instead. He did not mean to make a point, but what he said exposed a stark reality: unequal access to educational resources between white and Black children. That offhand comment, he says, defined his young life.
Now, as an adult, Flood sees the classroom from a different angle. Inside LDHS, the retired veteran serves as a coach, naval science instructor and mentor to NJROTC cadets and the Raider basketball team. His influence on young men and women is not accidental; it is the product of lessons learned over a long Navy career— lessons of discipline, leadership and purpose that
ultimately led him to teaching. Flood was born and raised in Columbus, Ohio, where his upbringing offered few advantages. The people around him influenced his decisions. By his sophomore year of high school, he was already in trouble with the law; soon after, his mother was incarcerated. With no father, he was forced to move to Apex, NC, where he attended Apex High School through the end of his sophomore year, his junior year and senior year. However, the circumstances were not ideal.
“I felt like I had a fighting chance at life by leaving,” Flood said.
As he turned to a new chapter in his life, Flood’s relationships and outlook flourished. Amid his first semester at Apex, Flood met a special girl whom he would date for the remainder of his high school career—and thereafter. Life continued its steady pace; even after she went off to college, their visits were unceasing. Eventually, she came home with their greatest blessing: a child. The young couple embraced the roles of parents and, subsequently, husband and wife.
Responsibility grew with fatherhood. Flood went to college on a basketball scholarship, but he lacked the grades and discipline to graduate. Nonetheless, he was determined to provide for his family and make his daughter proud. Flood was at his lowest point when he finally decided to enlist in the Navy. His collapse in college was no hindrance; instead, it was a change of direction: an arrow pointing to success.
Flood didn’t ease into the life of a sailor; he carried the instincts of a young man hardened by the streets of Columbus.
“I wasn’t defiant, but just because of my lack of trust, I always questioned everything,” Flood said.
He defaulted to hesitation: when his commanding officer directed him to port, he would go starboard—until Petty Officer First Class Darrel Rodgers. Darrel mentored the young sailor through his tribulations in the service. “I remember like yesterday when he took me to Navy Exchange and bought me a new set of dungarees, got me some new boondockers—that was what our boots were called—and he showed me how to press them,” Flood said. “He met me in the weight room before lunch and he just told me to have self-pride, and once that happened, it’s like I went straight to the top.”
Darrel Rodgers is now a Chief Warrant Officer 4 whose impact remains timeless. As Flood mentors young men and women, he will always remember his time spent as a mentee.
When asked about boot camp, the retired veteran disclosed a story about his swimming abilities—or rather inabilities. While climbing to the top of the platform he was bound to jump off of moments later, thoughts of retreat raced through his mind. He told his instructor in a panic that he could not swim, yet despite his deficiency, he jumped—he swam. He kicked and clawed to the surface, desperate for air. He was later assigned remedial swim training, but that moment mattered: he realized he was capable of more than he had believed.
In December 2004, Flood returned to his hometown of Columbus, Ohio, to work as a recruiter.
“Being a recruiter, I’m able to give someone the same opportunity I had. And I was the best at it. I won every reward, meritoriously promoted,” Flood said. “I was always the top guy. Not because I wanted to be promoted, not because I wanted to win a medal. I wanted to give someone the same opportunity.”
The gift of giving drove Flood to achieve both quality and quantity: recognition and contentment in his career.
Of his countless awards, Flood declares his proudest achievement to be the Navy commendation for the Divisional Chief of the Year.
“I had direct impact on over 30 sailors that I developed. And from that batch, every first class that I led under my leadership then has become a Chief, a Senior Chief or Master Chief. And so, from that group I led there, they were all successful,” he said. “They all drank from the same cup.”
His concern over the success of his sailors shines a light on authentic leadership— the same leadership he teaches to students today.
“So, I guess I was a statistic—a typical young Black male from a singleparent home,” Flood said.
That’s how Flood describes his early life. But in adulthood, he shattered those expectations, breaking free from every stereotype made to hold him back. The boy who once joked about having a Sega Genesis instead of a typewriter is now retired from the Navy with a B.A. in Administration, helping young men and women find the tools—and the confidence—to write their own success stories.
