Opinion: Come Clean, Howard

When County Leaders Make a Mockery of Fairness, Honor and Free Speech

“As your commanding officer, I will strive for honesty, fairness and integrity in everything we do… By working together, we can overcome all obstacles and constraints through collaborative solutions and communication.” —Captain Howard Wanamaker, February 2015, upon taking command at NAS-JAX.

Howard, you were once Captain Wanamaker of the U.S. Navy, so you are well acquainted with the phrase “loss of confidence” as the reason to relieve a fellow officer of command.

Loss of confidence “is frequently tied to toxic, command-climate issues, such as creating a hostile environment that prevents subordinates from reporting problems.” That’s what comes up when you type the phrase into a Google search.

When are you going to lose confidence in your double-dipping wingman, Fire Chief and Deputy County Manager Lorin Mock, who is widely despised by his own rank-and-file at Fire Rescue?

Last week, Mock behaved like a thug—like a smiling mob boss—when he drove over to Orange Park Medical Center and convinced spineless hospital administrators to silence a hospital worker (who also happened to be a former member of Fire Rescue).

Danny Legge’s offense: He had expressed a heartfelt opinion¹ and posted it in the comments section of a Clay News & Views story. He voiced an opinion about morale problems at Fire Rescue in support of his former colleagues.

Mock’s behavior was that of a bully, and total confirmation of everything the men and women of his command have been saying about him in official surveys, as reported by CN&V.

Fire Crews Give Chiefs Failing Grades

Howard, this man Mock has got to go.

And if you accompanied him on his nasty little Kingsley Avenue visit, you need to go too.

Punching down, threatening the livelihood of a man who once served the county and went on to other important work—that is not the conduct of an honorable man. That is conduct unbecoming an officer.

Come clean, Howard. Your spokesperson says you weren’t there. Others say you were. The Clay County public has a right to hear the truth from your own lips.

This is also a test for you county commissioners. “Nut cuttin’ time,” as they used to say in Old Florida. (Ask any cattleman what that means.) One of your jobs is to protect your constitutents from a corrupt bureaucracy. We already know that one commissioner is fine with Mock’s thuggery; he or she told us so; but what about the rest of you?

Do you stand for fairness and free speech, or do you stand with bullies?

This is also a moment for the prominent Clay citizens who serve on the Orange Park Medical Center Board of Directors. You ought to remind hospital administrators that there’s more than one kind of malpractice and that OPMC is not the only hospital in Clay County anymore.

Speech Police? Hospital Worker Sent Home After Comments About Clay's Fire Rescue

Danny Legge’s Post

1. First, thank you to Susan Armstrong and Clay News & Views for giving voice to what many have carried quietly for too long. The surveys, the stories of moldy stations, supply shortages, favoritism, and the crushing weight of organizational stress aren’t just complaints—they’re cries from people who run toward danger every shift, yet feel abandoned by their own command structure. As someone outside the department but familiar with the toll first-responder life takes (trauma, sleep deprivation, moral injury, and the unique pain of feeling unsupported by leadership), I read this with grief, not glee.

To Chiefs Mock, Motes, Boree, LeRoy, and the broader leadership team: This isn’t about destroying reputations or celebrating a “gotcha” moment. It’s an opportunity—if received with humility—to see clearly what the people you’ve been called to lead are experiencing. The numbers are stark (84% lacking confidence in clear leadership, widespread feelings of unfairness and hostility), but even more telling are the human details: crews sleeping in contaminated air, begging hospitals for basics, watching favorites skate while others face harsh consequences. These erode trust like acid.

My prayer is that you would each take time—privately and honestly—to examine your hearts. Not defensively (’but we’ve done X good things’), but openly: Where have decisions, even unintentional ones, contributed to a culture where crews feel bullied, overlooked, or unsafe? Repentance isn’t weakness; it’s strength. It looks like acknowledging harm (even systemic harm), seeking forgiveness from those wounded, and committing to concrete change—not just PR spins or more ‘sunshine’ posts, but real actions: prioritizing safety gear and station remediation, ensuring fair discipline, listening without retaliation, expanding mental health support, and perhaps stepping aside if staying perpetuates the divide.

The crews deserve leaders who model the same courage they show on calls. Restoration starts when those in authority say, ‘We hear you. We own our part. We’re turning toward healing.’ That one step could begin dismantling the wall brick by brick.

To the firefighters and EMS personnel still showing up despite the pain: Your service matters immensely. You’re not alone in this frustration, and your integrity in continuing to protect the community while calling for better is heroic.

May truth lead to transformation, not just exposure. Praying for softened hearts, renewed trust, and a department where everyone—from chief to probie—feels valued and supported.