KING GEORGE, Va. –
If you grew up in King George County, Virginia, you either belonged to the Dahlgren community or you didn’t. The Sisson family, by and large, did not.
For Dale Sisson Jr., the son of a school bus driver and line worker, Naval Support Facility Dahlgren loomed on the periphery of his childhood, a nebulous source of man-made thunder that boomed over the Potomac. He never could have imagined that this was the place he’d build a 28-year career culminating in the top civilian post for Naval Warfare Center Dahlgren Division (NWCDD).
As nearly three decades of service came to a close, it’s hard to imagine a course other than the one he took. From product engineer to technical director and Senior Executive Service in the Department of the Navy, Sisson grew through every level of the organization, gaining a sweeping understanding of the critical role NWCDD plays in national defense.
Under Sisson’s leadership, Dahlgren continually advanced its technological capabilities to meet ever-evolving global threats, said NWCDD Chief of Staff Kris Parker. But if anything can exceed his commitment to the mission, it’s his commitment to the people behind it — those he led and mentored and pushed and empowered along the way.
“Dale’s journey is a powerful example of what’s possible,” said Dr. John Burrow, a retired Navy senior executive. “He came from humble beginnings, and through hard work and dedication, rose to the highest level of his profession. His story is inspiring.”
Foundations
In his earliest memories, Sisson’s father rises in the middle of the night. A storm is howling, and the power is out. Dale Sisson Sr. is being called to restore it. A veteran of the Vietnam War, he goes about his repair work with few words and no complaints. This is his duty. People are depending on him.
Sisson watched and absorbed the values he would carry through childhood and adulthood: Work hard. Serve others. Remain steadfast in the storm.
Sisson was in third grade when King George Elementary School got its first computers. Primitive by today’s standards, they were unlike anything he’d seen before. After school, Sisson, one of a handful of students selected to work on them, typed commands and watched the computer respond with printouts.
The experience stayed with him, a core memory he recalled at a Dahlgren-sponsored STEM camp at King George Middle School in his final days as technical director. He loved events like these. Perhaps they reminded him of his own energetic curiosity at that age. These were halls he once walked; this is where he decided he would become a mechanical engineer when he grew up.
Mostly, though, he loved watching kids get excited about programming and robotics and mechanical design. “We want you interested in these fields now,” Sisson told them, “so you start taking coursework and really orient yourself to thinking about STEM fields.”
The nation needs superior talent, he said. “We have to start building that at the middle school level.”
Sisson, for his part, found his own way to engineering. There had been no STEM camps in King George when he was that age. And it never occurred to him that he could have a job he loved in his own backyard.
Journey to Dahlgren
When Sisson left King George after high school for Virginia Tech, he didn’t necessarily plan to come back. In 1992, the newly minted mechanical engineer had his choice of industry jobs and no interest in government work. He accepted a position in Clinton, South Carolina, home to a contingent of Virginia Tech alumni. The weather was sunny and 75 degrees in January, the month he interviewed, and Clinton was within driving distance of two major NASCAR venues.
He and his wife Tina, whom he’d known most of his life — they grew up five miles apart and started dating at 16 — settled into married life. But a growing family meant shifting priorities. After the birth of their first child, they decided to raise their kids among their relatives, in a place where they could trace their roots for generations.
Sisson accepted a job with Walter Grinders in Fredericksburg. For the next two years, he worked 65-hour weeks. He found time to draw plans and dig footings and drive nails in the King George house they live in today.
But it was a grueling schedule, even for a 20-something with ceaseless energy. He had five days of leave in two years. “That was tough with a young family,” Sisson said.
At a family picnic, an aunt mentioned that Dahlgren was looking for engineers with industry experience. Sisson set aside his apathy for government work and applied.
Mike Pompeii, who would go on to become chief engineer for the NSWCDD’s Chemical, Biological and Radiological (CBR) Defense Division, saw something in him. In May 1997, Sisson joined Dahlgren as a product engineer for the Chemical Defense Systems Branch of the Systems Research and Technology Department.
He was branch employee number 13.
“I wasn’t sure if that was unlucky,” he said. “But it turned out to work pretty well.”
More than a Mission
Sisson took off at flank speed. Always a quick learner, he soon grasped the vital role Dahlgren played in the defense of the nation he’d been raised to love. Any lingering questions disappeared when he set foot for the first time on a Navy vessel. The products he was developing at Dahlgren could bring a service member home.
In 1997 — just six years after the Gulf War — chemical and biological warfare were still ever-present threats. Dahlgren engineers had been working for years on developing and maintaining detection and protection equipment for Sailors and Marines.
Collective Protection Systems (CPS) were the centerpiece of their work; instead of relying on cumbersome personal protective clothing and equipment to protect against chemical, biological and radiological attacks, special filters installed aboard naval vessels could protect the entire inner spaces of the ship.
Within a year of his arrival at Dahlgren, Sisson was put in charge of the Shipboard CPS Backfit program aimed at modernizing and improving these systems on existing ships. He was 28 years old.
“I came here just to do design, frankly,” Sisson said. “But Mike [Pompeii] empowered me to build a program plan.” The job would take him to Washington to defend the work and aboard ships to convince commanders of their suitability.
A year into the program and armed with an 800-page drawing set for a CPS installation on the USS Wasp (LHD 1), Sisson, joined by Patrick Boyd, walked down a half-mile pier at Naval Weapons Station Earl and boarded the amphibious assault ship. They entered a small room with a table at the center.
“We didn’t know what to expect,” Boyd said.
He took stock; there was space around the table for perhaps four others. The room filled to standing room only. “The commanding officer (CO) and the executive officer (XO) walked in. The CO was six feet, eight. He was extremely intimidating,” Boyd said.
Sisson, though, was unfazed. For the next hour, he confidently went over the work they’d done and why it would work.
“He convinced the CO and the XO and everybody in the room that we were prepared and squared away,” Boyd said. “They approved that install on the Wasp, which set our careers off for success.”
Sea Changes
In 2001, Sisson went from CBR program director to branch head. What had been a relatively small program four years before rapidly expanded in the aftermath of 9/11. That fall, letters containing anthrax were sent to the offices of news media and two U.S. Senators, spreading fear and disruption and highlighting the United States’ vulnerability to biological terrorism.
The events played a critical role in the development of one of the two inventions for which Sisson would be awarded U.S. patents: the biological hazard mitigation apparatus that allowed postal workers to handle mail and packages safely.
But the world was constantly changing. Threats shifted. New adversaries emerged. In 2004, Sisson became the division head of Advanced Combat Systems Technologies, a portfolio entirely new to him, and one he readily embraced.
“I learned the portfolio by learning the people,” Sisson said. “And I think that’s an approach that’s tried and true throughout the course of my career. It’s a genuine approach. And it’s something I’ve enjoyed greatly.”
In a little more than a decade, Sisson rose from engineer to department head. “That’s rapid. That’s speed. As Dale would say, that’s NASCAR speed,” said Burrow, who was serving as Force Warfare Systems head at Dahlgren when they met in 2005.
Sisson supported programs that facilitated nuclear deterrence efforts, oversaw computer program installations on Aegis Ballistic Missile Defense ships in the fleet, championed intelligent automation and contributed to the Navy’s development of laser weapons. As chair of the Navy’s Weapons System Explosives Safety Review Board, he helped ensure safety and compliance for all Navy and Marine Corps munitions, ordnance systems, weapons and combat systems.
In 2015, Sisson headed to the Pentagon, where he spent a year as the director of Systems Engineering, working with Burrow, then the Deputy Assistant Secretary of the Navy for Research, Development, Test, and Evaluation (RDT&E).
“I needed someone up here soon, someone who could hold their own,” Burrow recalled. “He was indeed perfect. He brought credibility, technical acumen and political savvy to the team. He could stand toe to toe with any of his peers in the business. He got it. My only advice was to do what’s best for the Navy and Marine Corps, stand tall when they push back and build alliances, which is simply a natural thing for Dale. He did it all.”
Into the Horizon
It came as no surprise to Burrow when Sisson was named technical director of NSWCDD. As the senior civilian leader, he was responsible for executing the technical excellence of Dahlgren’s $2.6 billion portfolio of RDT&E.
He was the ideal successor, Burrow said: a hometown leader with deep roots in King George, a love of the institution and a deep understanding of Dahlgren’s role of delivering unmatched lethality.
Sisson hit the ground running, just as he did with every new challenge that came his way. And though he understood as well as anybody the gravity of the role and what was at stake for America’s warfighters, he was the same affable, approachable leader he’d always been, inspiring employees across the organization and creating an environment in which everyone felt like a big part of his team, said Trina Harris, Sisson’s administrative officer.
He led by example, encouraging those around him “to move faster, think bigger and deliver more because he knows what’s at stake,” said Dr. Jennifer Clift, retired head of the Weapons Control and Integration Department. “He was not just a boss. He was a mentor, a motivator and a friend. … I’m just so grateful to have been a part of the journey.”
The seas were shifting, just as they always do. Over 15 months beginning in October 2023, the Navy saw the most combat at sea since World War II and fired more air defense missiles in that time frame than it did in the previous 30 years. The stakes were high, perhaps as high as they’ve ever been. And more storms were coming.
Through all of it, Sisson “remained steady and clear-headed and focused,” Burrow said. “He communicated with honesty and transparency. That’s the hallmark of a real leader. It’s not just steering the ship but talking to the crew, especially when the seas get rough, and Dale did that. And it made all the difference.”
For Sisson, it has been nothing short of a privilege.
“Not everybody gets to do this. The opportunities the U.S. Navy has given me for the last 28 years, I could never have expected,” Sisson said. “I like to think that I worked hard during that time and grew a skill or two here and there. But all in all, it’s about the opportunities I’ve been given. For that, I feel incredibly fortunate.”
Of all the experiences, of all the stories he’s stashed away and told and retold, “it’s working with our people that will stick with me forever,” Sisson said. “Across our lives, we work on a lot of different projects and programs and deliver a lot of products. But the relationships we build are the things that are enduring.”