Interview with former Navy Seal, Andy Stumpf
I recently had the opportunity to be interviewed by Andy Stumpf (Former Navy Seal) on his
Cleared Hot podcast. Andy is a former Navy SEAL, an accomplished entrepreneur, and a world-class storyteller.
I never planned to become the vessel for other people's traumas. Standing in Manhattan on September 11th, watching as the second plane hit and the towers fell, I had no idea this moment would eventually connect me to centuries of American military experience. But sometimes life writes a script more powerful than anything you could create for the stage.
That day changed everything in New York. The city transformed overnight – first into a place of incredible unity and patriotism, then gradually into something permanently altered. As I processed what I'd witnessed, I found myself drawing on a skill developed long before in my turbulent childhood – the ability to "go numb" during moments of extreme stress.
The Protective Distance
This psychological mechanism served me well as an actor long before 9/11. While other performers would freeze under pressure, I could remain calm during major auditions. The weight and expectations that paralyze many artists somehow couldn't penetrate this protective barrier I'd developed. It allowed me to concentrate and relax when presenting my work, even when the stakes felt impossibly high.
What I didn't realize was how this same protective distance would eventually enable me to immerse myself in centuries of military trauma without becoming overwhelmed. To stand as a witness rather than a casualty. To hold space for stories that might otherwise remain untold.
Impossible Obstacles
During 9/11, we had to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles as a city and as a nation. This same sensation followed me throughout the creation of "The American Soldier." Finding a director, assembling the production, pushing through rejection after rejection – the entire process felt like climbing an endless mountain. At times, I was absolutely certain I would never complete it.
The parallels between national trauma and artistic struggle aren't immediately obvious, but they share a common thread – the feeling that forward movement is impossible until you simply decide it isn't. Both require a stubborn refusal to accept defeat, even when every rational voice suggests surrender.
Perhaps more importantly, both experiences taught me that healing often begins when we transform our individual suffering into something that serves others. My performance wouldn't bring back those lost on 9/11, but it might create a space for other forms of healing and recognition.
Patterns Across Time
My research at the New York Public Library revealed something I couldn't ignore – a consistent pattern of veteran neglect stretching from our nation's birth to its present conflicts. Minute Men who fought in the American Revolution returned home to find promised payments never materialized. Veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan, despite multiple deployments and immense sacrifice, often found themselves in financial straits upon return.
Different centuries, different wars, but the same betrayal. This wasn't merely historical documentation; it was evidence of a national blindspot that demanded attention. Art has always served as society's mirror, reflecting back what we might otherwise choose to ignore. Theater specifically has the power to make the invisible suddenly, uncomfortably visible.
What began as historical curiosity became a moral imperative. These stories formed a through-line in American history that few were acknowledging. If traditional channels weren't preserving these narratives with the urgency they deserved, perhaps the stage could.
When Purpose Finds You
I remember the exact moment "The American Soldier" transformed from a personal project into something much larger. After my first performance, a Gold Star sister who had lost her brother in Afghanistan approached me, visibly moved. In that interaction, everything shifted. My understanding of what art could accomplish expanded exponentially.
That moment told me the play had a voice beyond my own. What I had originally conceived as just an idea – a creative exploration – was actually a vehicle for healing. My work as an actor could help repair something broken in our collective experience.
This revelation fundamentally altered my relationship with performance. I was no longer just telling stories; I was creating a space where military families could feel seen and civilians could glimpse experiences typically hidden from view. The stage became a bridge between worlds that rarely connect meaningfully in American society.
The Power of Presence
In our digital age, attention spans diminish daily. Yet theater demands sustained focus – a commitment to being fully present for two hours or more. This is precisely what gives live performance its unique power, especially when handling difficult narratives that might otherwise be lost or diluted in our scrolling culture.
Theater is "in your face." It makes you feel the reality of a situation because it exists in three dimensions, breathing the same air you breathe. A live performance creates connection with an audience because we collectively experience joy and pain together. As actor and audience, we form a temporary community bound by shared attention and emotion.
This immediacy makes theater particularly suited for preserving military experiences. War stories told through screens can be closed, paused, or scrolled past. But in a theater, there's nowhere to hide from uncomfortable truths. You must confront them, process them, and ultimately, hopefully, understand them.
Earning Trust Through Vulnerability
Most veterans are initially resistant to artistic representations of their experiences. Their hesitation is understandable – too often, military stories are sensationalized, oversimplified, or used to advance political agendas rather than human understanding.
I've discovered that this resistance begins to dissolve when they see me share my own vulnerability on stage. By exposing my own humanity first, I create a space where they feel safe enough to trust me with their stories. This exchange isn't extractive; it's reciprocal. Their willingness to share comes only after witnessing authentic openness.
This principle extends beyond performance into the research process itself. Veterans don't want to be studied; they want to be understood. The distinction is crucial and has fundamentally shaped how I approach my work.
Beyond Political Divides
Perhaps the most surprising discovery throughout this journey has been how military service transcends America's deepening political divisions. Performing across the country has revealed a consistent truth: It doesn't matter if you're in a red state or a blue state, Americans love those who have served and want to honor our veterans and military families.
In a nation increasingly defined by what separates us, this shared reverence offers rare common ground. While we might disagree about policies that send service members into harm's way, there's remarkable consensus about our obligation to those who answer the call.
This realization challenges the commonly accepted narrative of an America too fractured to find unity on any issue. The respect for military service persists as one of the few remaining bridges between otherwise distant American tribes. My work has simply highlighted what was already there, waiting to be acknowledged.
The Unexpected Mission
I began pursuing acting for the most ordinary reason imaginable – to impress an ex-girlfriend. As a young man blind in one eye who couldn't join the military despite interest from recruiters, I never anticipated becoming a conduit for military experiences. My path from playing animals in children's theater to creating a one-man show spanning American military history was anything but direct.
Yet sometimes our greatest contributions emerge from our limitations rather than our strengths. My inability to serve led me to serve in a different capacity – preserving and honoring the stories of those who did. What began as artistic expression evolved into purpose.
The real power of storytelling isn't just in the telling – it's in the transformation that occurs when personal expression becomes collective recognition. When my story became their story, and ultimately, our story. Theater at its best doesn't just entertain; it creates a space where healing becomes possible across the widest divides, even those between civilians and the military members who serve in their name.
Through "The American Soldier," I've learned that the most meaningful art often emerges when we transform our own wounds into bridges for others. My childhood trauma created resilience that helped me process 9/11, which in turn prepared me to hold space for centuries of military experience. Nothing is wasted if we can find purpose in our pain.
Andy’s Bio:
Andy was born and raised in Northern California. From the age of 11 he knew that he wanted to become a Navy SEAL, and it became the single driving force in his life. He enlisted in the Navy while still a Junior in high school, entering military service in 1996. After completing boot camp he began the most grueling training program in the US Military - Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL, known as BUD/s. Nearly 90% of all candidates are unsuccessful completing the six month program. Andy graduated and began his SEAL career attached to SEAL Team Five, in Coronado California.
In 2002 he screened for and joined the most elite counterterrorism unit in the military, SEAL Team Six. This unit is tasked with conducting the nation's most critical missions, many of which have become the focus of Hollywood movies and books. While on a combat deployment an Iraqi insurgent shot Andy at close range with an AK-47. Doctors told him it would be years, if ever, before he recovered the use of his leg and returned to full active duty.
In 2006, Andy returned to the Naval Special Warfare Center as the Leading Petty Officer for 2nd Phase BUD/s training. While completing his two year instructor tour, in charge of 13 senior SEAL instructors and 600 students, Andy submitted his package to become a commissioned officer. In 2008, he became the first E-6 selection commissioned through the Limited Duty Officer Program in the history of Naval Special Warfare. Upon commissioning, he joined SEAL Team Three and completed his final combat tour to Afghanistan.
Throughout his 17-year career, Andy executed hundreds of combat operations throughout the world in support of the Global War on Terror. He was medically retired in June of 2013. His awards and decorations include 5 Bronze Star Medals (Four with Valor), the Purple Heart, the Joint Service Commendation Medal, The Navy and Marine Corp Commendation Medal with Valor, Three Navy and Marine Corp Achievement Medals, Two Combat Action Ribbons, and the presidential Unit Citation.
Although no longer wearing a uniform, Andy continues to fight for the SEAL community, and their families. In 2015 he set two World Records after jumping from 36,500 feet and flying over 18 miles in a wingsuit in an effort to raise 1 Million Dollars for the Navy SEAL Foundation. Andy is a sponsored skydiver and BASE jumper, constantly traveling the world creating content for his sponsors.
His business experience includes managing corporate development and licensing, as well as Charitable Initiatives for a global fitness brand, focusing on strategic relationships and sponsorship opportunities with Fortune 500 Brands. In addition to his management experience, Andy became the company pilot, accruing 3500 hours of flight time, earning his Airline Transportation Pilot's license, as well as type certifications in Gulfstream G-IV and Citation 525 series aircraft.
Post military, Andy founded a consulting firm dedicated to ensuring that the lessons learned from over a decade of sustained combat are retained, refined, and utilized by leaders in the business world. He has traveled the world interfacing with Fortune 500 organizations, as well as Federal, State, and local entities.
Learn more about Andy:
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