Last week we lost a great leader. A mentor. A friend. I say “we” because so many different sources, from obituaries, to business blogs, to personal emails, to Facebook posts all conveyed a similar message: I lost someone very special; someone who made a difference in my life.

Charles “Red” Scott passed away last week after a long battle with cancer. He was a successful business leader, as Chairman of Intermark and Fuqua Industries (among other leadership roles). He came from humble beginnings and achieved great success, as suggested by his recognition as a Horatio Alger Award winner. But Red never allowed those positions or awards to define him.

The first time I met Red he let me know exactly who he was. He was interviewing me as a potential Vistage Chair and we met for breakfast. During our ninety-minute meeting Red found out about my background, my dreams and disappointments, my wishes and my worries. I was shocked at how effortlessly he pulled it all out of me. It was also the first time I was exposed to his Jedi mind trick of starting a sentence with something like “I’m just a dumb old Texas boy, but…” and then making an observation that cut me to the core, or saying something so profound that Winston Churchill would be envious.

But it wasn’t until hours later, when my interviewing adrenaline had finally settled down, that I grasped what had transpired in our meeting.  Red had simply and conversationally shared his heart and gave me a glimpse into his own soul. I learned about his love – Miss Kathy; his pride – his children and grandchildren; his heart – Miss Annie (a toy poodle); his closest core of friends – TEC (Vistage) Seven; his passion – TEC (Vistage) Florida; and his most important relationship – with his Lord and Savior. I couldn’t help but respond in kind with details hidden in the recesses of my own mind and heart.

Who shares such intimate details? Someone very comfortable in his own skin. Or a close friend. Red was both.

There was much about Red that you learned from just watching him, or hearing him speak. Here are just a few lessons and impressions I picked up:

• Red called BS when he saw it, heard it, or smelled it. It wastes time and energy.

• He wasn’t afraid to talk about love in public, whether it was a book, a family member, a business associate, the United States of America… or a dog.

• When Red was with you, he was fully engaged in the conversation.  He never appeared to be too busy and you never felt he had more pressing priorities.

• He asked questions. Lots of them. He was a lifelong learner. Consequently, he remained informed, relevant, and resourceful, his entire life.

• He was comfortable with transparency. He wasn’t afraid to tell you – if asked – about politics, investments, or his own successes and failures.

• He supported the entrepreneur. He believed it was a noble calling, and a necessary role in a healthy United States economy. It helped fuel his involvement as a Vistage member and his role as the owner of Vistage Florida.

• Red was there when his friends needed him, whether it was solving a business challenge for a colleague, helping to identify healthcare resources for an acquaintance, or praying for a friend in need.

Red offered his Business Cardinals, thirty-six tenets every business leaders should know – and follow. I encourage all business leaders to download this form and to refer to it constantly. http://www.vistageflorida.com/about-us/corporate-leadership/Charles-Scott.aspx

However, Red best summed up his own philosophy of life in a companion piece to his Business Cardinals, entitled “The Legacy,” which he wrote in 1999.

Charles “Red” Scott – The Legacy

The quality of one’s life absolutely depends upon the degree to which we align ourselves with and feel a sense of Reverence for God  - Our Creator and Father.

Service is the virtue that distinguishes the one grade of all times by which we will be remembered. It places a mark of nobility upon its disciples. It is the dividing line that separates the two great groups of the world;

• Those who help – those who hinder
• Those who lift – those who lean
• Those who contribute – those who consume

How much better it is to give than to receive! Service in any form is both generous and beautiful. To just give encouragement, to impart sympathy, to show interest, to banish fear, to build self confidence, or simply to awaken some hope in the hearts of others…

NO GREATER SERVICE OR GIFT CAN ONE GIVE!

I want to offer heartfelt sympathy to Kathy, Patrick, Kelly and the rest of Red’s family.  I also want to challenge all those who’ve been touched by Red’s wisdom, his counsel and his friendship – to pay it forward.  Make the old boy from Texas proud. He lived his life according to the words of “The Legacy.”  Now it’s our turn.

Last month I attended the February meeting of Lifework Leadership of South Florida. The theme for the morning’s meeting was Compassion. We began our day by boarding a bus to tour some local Fort Lauderdale facilities that provide resources to the homeless. Our tour guide, Robin Martin, the Executive Director of Hope South Florida, shared information and anecdotes, to help us understand the magnitude of the need in the community. He also humanized the situation: sometimes financial, sometimes medical, often tragic, and destined to continue, unless we as business leaders DO something.

At the Broward Partnership for the Homeless, we toured the facility, met members of the staff, and observed people receiving medical care, meals, and job search support. I mentioned to several people from Lifework the experience that Donna and I had volunteering in the Broward Partnership kitchen. As we handed out meals, everyone was polite, and many thanked us for being there. About 30% of the people looked like what we expected: ill-fitting or dirty clothes, and a vacant look in their eyes. The rest could have been our neighbors, or people we’d pass on the street and never imagine their plight. I told my Lifework associates of our impression that they were just like us, and “There but for the grace of God go I.”

When all the buses returned, the Lifework meeting reconvened, and we were treated to a dose of Tony Campolo, a professor, pastor and sociologist. He got our attention from the beginning.

He stepped to the lectern and said “While you were sleeping last night 45,000 kids around the world died of starvation and malnutrition. And you don’t give a shit.” He paused and stared from face to face in the audience. “And the worst part is that you’re more concerned that I said the word “shit “than the fact that 45,000 kids died last night!”

Ouch. I know I wasn’t the only one in the audience staring at the floor, and afraid to look anyone else in the eye.

Dr. Campolo then talked about the homeless and said that the majority look just like you and me. At this point, I lifted my head and nodded enthusiastically. Because I served lunch – one time – at a homeless shelter, I was an expert. Yep, they’re just like us. But Dr. Campolo wasn’t finished. “But it’s easy to help someone who looks just like you. Sure, “there but for the grace of God go I.”  But what about the people who look nothing like you? Can you minister to them? Can you love them?”

His words hit me like a stinging slap. And yes, he used the exact same phrase I had about grace. I started staring at the floor all over again.

Dr. Campolo then told the story of an experience he had on Chestnut Street in downtown Philadelphia. He was walking down the street when he saw a homeless man coming straight toward him. The man was wearing layers of filthy clothing, with a greasy beard, and he was yelling at someone who wasn’t there. He staggered towards Dr. Campolo, and shouted, “Hey mister, you want some of my coffee?” He held up a styrofoam cup from MacDonald’s. Dr. Campolo wanted no part of the coffee, but knew that the right thing to do was to affirm the man’s generosity. Dr. Campolo held his breath, and said, “OK.” He took a small sip and returned it to the man. He said, “You’re feeling pretty generous today. You’re giving away your coffee to people you don’t even know. What’s gotten into you?” The man answered, “The coffee this morning was especially delicious. I figure if God gives you something this good, you ought to share it with somebody else.”

Dr. Campolo groaned. He knew he was being set up to give the man ten dollars. He figured he’d play the game, so he said, “You want something from me, don’t you?” The man said, “Yeah, I do.” As Dr. Campolo reached for his wallet, the man continued, “I want a hug!”

Dr. Campolo put his arms around the man and the man hugged him back. After a minute, it was clear that the man was not going to let go. Dr. Campolo was aware of people passing by, staring, and he was embarrassed. The bear hug continued, but little by little Dr. Campolo’s embarrassment began to fade, as he sensed the words of Jesus, “I was hungry, did you feed me? I was naked, did you clothe me? I was sick, did you care for me? I was that bum you met on Chestnut Street, did you hug me? For inasmuch as you failed to do it to the least of these, you failed to do it unto me.”

When Dr. Campolo finished, you could have heard a pin drop. Craig Huston, Lifework’s Executive Director, asked us to discuss Dr. Campolo’s message with the people at our table. We sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes. Gradually, people started to share their take-aways. As the discussion continued, I thought about the number of people I passed regularly, at intersections and on city streets. Sometimes I’d slip two or three dollars into a dirty hand, say a quick “God bless you,” and then roll up my window or continue to walk on by. No name. No connection.

Since that day, I’ve compared notes with other Lifework members. Some have dropped off clothes at a localshelter. Some have passed out grocery gift cards. But we’ve all been conscious of shaking hands and asking names. We no longer see homeless things on the corner.  Now it’s Nate. And Susan. And Trumaine. As Dr. Campolo suggested to us, each one is a sacred presence. A person. A child of God. Worthy of our help… and worthy of a hug.

I was in seventh grade and waiting for the activity bus to take us from the junior high school in Mariemont to our homes in Terrace Park. We had an hour to kill between track practice and when Mr. Sutton, the bus driver, would arrive to pick us up. The normal routine was to walk over to Kroger’s, pick up a Hostess pie and a soda, then sit and wait for the bus with about ten other students.

This particular day was the Friday before Mother’s Day. Outside of Kroger’s we passed a shopping cart, sitting in the parking lot, that was full of boxed rose bushes. As we headed back to the bus stop, one of my buddies said, “Hey, these are free!  That’s awesome!” He grabbed two boxes and kept walking.

It didn’t make sense to me, but there was no sign on the cart, so maybe he was right. And after all, why would the shopping cart be a good twenty feet from the front door – and in the parking lot – if they weren’t disposing of them? So I grabbed two and moved on.

We got to the bus stop and I stuffed them into my gym bag. My mom loved roses. She even liked to grow them. This would be awesome. But something didn’t feel right, as my “if they’re in my gym bag, no one will notice” action might have suggested. And then the snickers started. The same guy who told me they were free now started the whisper campaign that I’d stolen some flowers from Kroger’s. I started with a couple feeble excuses, “But he told me…” and “He did it, too.” Suddenly, I felt like an idiot.

With all eyes on me, I reached into my gym bag and pulled out the two boxes. They really were pretty sorry looking (think Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, with no leaves and no buds, like a box of dead twigs). I trudged back to Kroger’s, crossed the parking lot, and I was ten feet away from the shopping cart when I heard someone scream, “Hey, thief, put those back!”

I looked over and there was the manager of Kroger’s, running out of the store. I wasn’t upset. After all, I was bringing them back. I explained my mistake, dropped them into the cart, and prepared to leave. He grabbed me by the back of my shirt and dragged me into the store. I stood at the doorway of his little in-store office, praying that no one recognized me. Mothers shielded their kids from me and geriatrics gave me the evil eye.

I looked at the manager’s name tag. Harmon.

“What’s your phone number?” he barked.

No, not that. “Uh, why?”

“Because I’m going to call your parents.”

They’d never understand.  You stole a Mother’s Day gift? And broke her heart, too.

“Come on, I was bringing it back. I just misunderstood.”

“Did you steal the sign, too?

I shook my head. Uh-oh. There used to be a sign

The man slammed his desk drawer shut, and screamed at me, “Either you’re a chronic liar or you’re the dumbest kid I’ve ever seen.”

Are those the only two options? Was I supposed to respond? Should I agree that I’m a moron?

He sent me on my way and I had a tease-filled, humiliating bus ride back home. To mom and dad. Wonderful.

Rather than wait for the manager to call, I told my parents what happened. My mom got quiet and stared at the floor. I honestly believe that she was struggling not to laugh out loud. But I was too busy to notice at the time, because my dad lost it. I heard a lot about trust, bad decisions, and consequences. I even got a “there’s something you’re not telling me, because I know you can’t be that naïve.”

As I went to bed I figured that I had already suffered the consequences: an hour-long foot-stomping, red-faced tirade by the old man. I was wrong.

The next day my dad said we ought to drive over the manager’s house so I could apologize. Apparently my dad served in the School Booster Club with him and had his home address.

“Dad, he really doesn’t want to be bothered on the weekend. I’m sure…”

Oops. More foot stomping. He interpreted that I still hadn’t accepted responsibility so we were going RIGHT NOW.

We drove to Fairfax and Mr. Harmon was working in his front yard. He had the same last name as one of the hottest girls in the class ahead of me, and she lived in that general area. If they were related, I prayed she was nowhere around. And I wasn’t about to ask.

Mr. Harmon was trimming his bushes with a pair of massive hedge trimmers. He was wearing a white, wife beater t-shirt. He looked hot. Uncomfortable. Mean.

I watched him whack finger-sized branches off his bushes.

Crack. Crack.

The last thing that I wanted was my dad to get involved, so I asked him to stay in the car. He obliged.

Mr. Harmon turned as I approached.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m Karl Sprague, the kid from yesterday. With the roses.”

“Yeah?”  Crack. Crack.

“My dad wanted me to come over and apologize. I’m really sorry for what I did.”

I wanted to pour on the excuses. To tell him I was mistaken. Some kid – and a new kid at that- lied to me. It wasn’t my fault. Maybe it was food poisoning from the inferior products in his store that made me delirious. But I bit my tongue.

He glanced over at my dad, sitting in the car.

“How upset was your old man?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I whispered.

“You’re not a chronic liar, are you?”

“No, sir.”

He didn’t have to say it. No, I’m not a liar. I’m the dumbest kid you’ve ever seen.

He put his hand over his mouth so my dad couldn’t see – and he laughed.

He then escorted me over to the car and gestured at me with his hedge trimmers.

“I think we’re squared away. I accept your boy’s apology.”

My dad gave him a grim nod and we were done. I swear I heard Mr. Harmon laughing as we drove off.  I’d have laughed, too, if I had been in his shoes. Within five minutes we pulled into a Burger Chef and my dad bought me three cheeseburgers and a strawberry shake. We talked about the Big Red Machine. As far as he was concerned, the incident was over and forgotten.

For the next forty years, the incident was a reminder to keep my BS meter intact, and to continually ask, “what’s wrong with this picture?” It also serves as a reminder that other people have different ideas about what they consider funny.

My ridicule lasted for a long bus ride with my buddies, and ended in a fast food restaurant. I don’t think Manti’s going to be so lucky.  Maybe the nationally televised Katie Couric interview had something to do with that. Future teammates will have a field day at his expense, and future girlfriends will always have a doubt. As people judge whether he’s dishonest or dumb, calculating or clueless – he can’t win.

If Manti came to you for advice, what would you tell him?  What would you recommend?

And then someone like Peggy Gasior walks in the door and you realize that you’ve hit the trifecta. Hope realized. Wish granted. Prayer answered.

My daughter Carla, and her freshman roommate, Lisel Allbee, hadn’t been on campus for a full day yet at the University of Miami when they received a visit from Peggy, the College Ministry leader at Granada Presbyterian Church.  She wanted to welcome them to the U and invite them to church. She’d gone through the same freshman drill years before. She was a Miami alumnus.  A Cane. She was also friendly. She was engaging. She was cool.

Carla and Lisel checked out Wednesday night Bible Study where Peggy introduced them to the rest of the crew.  They then went to church on Sunday, and Peggy made them feel at home. The College Ministry group was a mix of students, both undergraduate and graduate, who came from all over the world, and attended not only UM, but also FIU and Miami-Dade.

Soon we heard reports about the group’s activities, like a Habitat for Humanity project and a missions trip to the Bahamas. There were excited updates about the weekly routines, like Sunday lunches and Wednesday night Bible Study.  Over the next four years there were countless football games, cooking adventures, local sightseeing trips, and spontaneous dinners or movie marathons. Suddenly, Carla didn’t have just friends, she had family. Everyone in the family had a big sister named Peggy. And they loved her.

Peggy is optimistic, but grounded enough that she can empathize with students going through struggles. She is always on the go, but never at a frenetic pace. She can carry on a conversation with anyone, but is even a better listener.  She has a foundation of faith that gives her perspective and a kind of strength that people are drawn to.

Peggy is quite a photographer, and is always ready to capture the proud moment, the priceless expression, or document the event. In the book Nuts, Kevin and Jackie Frieberg describe the corporate culture at Southwest Airlines. They tell how the company’s Culture Committee tried to identify specific ways that Southwest could promote a powerful sense of family. Employees recognized that one thing that families do is memorialize events with pictures and then put those pictures all over their houses. So when you walk through the halls of Southwest Airlines’ headquarters, you will see hundreds of pictures of team members at corporate and community events. Likewise, Peggy has taken thousands of pictures of her students and chronicled them having fun, doing ministry, and living life. The camera captures her pride…and her love. In this digital age, those pictures get shared on Facebook from person to person and continent to continent.

The College Ministry has had quite an introduction to music, and jazz in particular. Peggy’s husband Jim is an accomplished jazz pianist, composer and arranger. Jim has recorded and / or performed with such musicians as Arturo Sandoval, Smokey Robinson, Jane Oliver, and Kelly Clarkson. When Peggy puts the word out that Jim is performing locally, the College Ministry crew turns out.

Peggy is passionate about her students, her church … and her Canes. She has season tickets for Miami Hurricanes football and regularly joins her brother, Paul Ting, for road games. The two recently flew to New York to see Jimmy Johnson and Russell Maryland get inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame.  Through her example, students see that ministry isn’t tame, and it isn’t lukewarm. The energy she brings to cheering on Duke Johnson on a touchdown run, she brings to encouraging students to persevere through difficulties and to make a difference in the world.

When you think about undergraduate and graduate students coming together you have a group of students who simultaneously are dealing with: living away from home for the first time in their lives, while others are seeking their first full-time job and preparing for life beyond college. You also have those who are dealing with fragile new relationships, while others are preparing for marriage and babies. But everyone knows they have a friend they can talk to, and who will keep them spiritually grounded. She’s part coach, part mentor, and always a friend. The lessons learned in the ministry provide a foundation for the future, and the relationships among members become lasting.

Donna and I have been able to spend time with Peggy – tailgating before a Canes game, listening to Jim play piano at Joe’s Stone Crab, and over breakfast in South Miami. She has a personality that seems to put her at ease in front of people of any age and in any setting. She is comfortable in her own skin. She laughs. She learns. And most of all, she listens. She has the Bill Clinton-esque ability to have you believe that you are the most important person in the world when you speak to her.

Several weeks ago I was moving boxes in our garage, and a book fell out of one of Carla’s many (many, many) storage boxes from College. It had a plain green cover, and looked like it had been handled often. I opened it up to typed notes glued to the pages in the book. My eyes caught Carla’s name and I saw that she was requesting prayers for her mother and brother, who were dealing with health issues at the time. I felt like I was intruding looking at this prayer journal. But before I closed the book, I saw the names of other people and appreciated that parents, siblings, and friends were being prayed for by a special group of students. I had a lump in my throat recognizing that my daughter and her friends had been praying for my family. Week after week. And I immediately thought of Peggy and her role as a conductor of this symphony of prayer and thanksgiving.

I think we all strive to identify God’s calling for our lives. There is tremendous peace and power when we feel that we are doing what we were meant to do. I can’t imagine Peggy doing anything else. She is impacting students, families, and the local community in a powerful, palpable way.

Anyone who plays a positive role with our kids deserves special recognition. But we all need a Peggy. Someone who will encourage us. Someone who will listen to us. Someone who will pray for us. Someone who will be our friend.

My hope is that you will find your Peggy and that you, too, hit the trifecta. Hope realized. Wish granted. Prayer answered.

The pursuit of excellence. Wouldn’t we all like to say that it is our daily focus?  Ah, but life always seems to get in the way. Deadlines. Conflicts. Guilty pleasures like reality TV or Krispy Kreme doughnuts. It’s easy to get lost online for hours between tweets and posts, pings and pokes. Before long, we’re making excuses or compromising. It just happens.

That’s not necessarily true with Andres Baquerizo. His daily pursuit of excellence is inspiring. Sometimes he wears me out just trying to keep up with him.  Recently, I asked him, “What is the goal you’re chasing so feverishly?” and “Where did this drive come from?”

Andres described his strong desire to have people know who he is and what he stands for. From a mile away. “When people say hello to me, I want them to know that I am driven, passionate, full of integrity, and that my family is critically important to me.” Reputation. Etched in the minds of others.

He is a man on a mission. He says, “What I do today is very important, because I am exchanging one day of my life for it.”

His philosophy was shaped by advice from family members and the authentic examples they provide him. His is a family that doesn’t go through the motions, but is purposeful. About business. About family. About life.

Andres’s father, Ivan Baquerizo, taught him that you have to earn your way. As a kid, it was customary for Andres to travel with friends on vacation. Mr. Baquerizo required young Andres to create a budget for the trip, and to raise money to pay for it. Andres sold newspapers, cut grass, and did odd-jobs to make money. Once he could justify to his father that he had money to cover the estimated costs, his father would match the funds. But Andres knew that if he didn’t earn it, he didn’t go. Period. Because he had earned the money, though, Andres understood its value. It also taught him that time squandered could never be recovered.

Ever since he was a young boy, Andres has been pursuing championships. At age twelve he was the Bogota age group squash champion. He rode horses for several years and took home medals from those competitions. As a youth soccer player, he played on age group teams that won several city championships and at age sixteen his team won the South American continent championship. He began racing cars, and he was the circuit Rookie of the Year at age twenty.  At age twenty-two he finished second in the Colombia national championship.

With a degree in engineering from Universidad de los Andes, Andres began working for his father at Ivan Baquerizo & Cia in Bogota.

Note: Andres’s father is a prominent Geotechnical and Structural Engineer who was part of the largest building move in a single day in recent history. The project involved cutting the foundations of a tall building and moving the building on large skates a couple of city blocks and reattaching it to new foundations. Yes, I said skates. Unbelievable.

After generating a track record of successful projects and rising to the position of Vice President of the firm, Andres and his wife Claudia moved to Miami. The move required Andres to start all over, in a new market, with a new language, and without the comfort of knowing the social and business dynamics in South Florida.

But the move to the United States also provided Andres with opportunity. He knew that any success he generated would be the result of his own work, and no one would ever question whether his position came from merit, or because he was the owner’s son.

Andres describes two thoughts that motivated him during his adjustment. The first was the debt that he owed to the people who had aided his development – particularly his family. He was driven by the idea, “I can’t let them down.”

The other motivating thought was a passionate focus on the reputation he would develop in this new market. When he met people in Miami they’d have no preconceived notions, no context to draw from. But in the future, how would they regard him? Andres says, “Where you are born means nothing. It is all about what you make of yourself. When people say your name, what do they think? What image do they have?”

Andres said this philosophy has a direct application to how he approaches work on behalf of his employer, HJ Foundation. HJ is a deep foundation contractor and part of Keller Group, plc. Andres believes that the Company must lay the best foundation possible, and have the philosophy that “Some family has saved all their lives to move into a condo project that we are building. They deserve our best. We’re not helping to construct an empty building. It is a family’s home, with all the dreams and expectations that go with it. We can’t be responsible for any project that isn’t our best work.”

Andres’s grandfather, Luis Meneses, provides him with a great example of making something out of your name – and keeping perspective in the process.  He had been a championship boxer as a young man and then started work in a customer service position at the national electrical company in Quito, Ecuador. But he had a plan. He took the graveyard shift and began to study the blueprints from active projects. He’d occasionally ask questions of the engineers and they’d oblige this inquisitive young man from customer service. As the company was preparing to begin one of its largest, high-visibility projects, Meneses warned them that to go forward, based on the plans he had reviewed, would lead to a disaster. They investigated the details of his warning and stopped the project until they were able to modify the construction project according to his suggestions. The project was a success, earning him multiple promotions.

Meneses moved to Colombia and while working at Reynolds Aluminum, he designed a single joint pressurized can for aerosols and adapted it for use for shaving cream cans (by Gillette) and for soda cans. The patent might have been worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Meneses concluded that he had developed the product on company time and therefore any value belonged to the company. He signed his rights to the patent over to the company. For a framed one dollar bill.

Meneses was put in charge of the company’s operation in Colombia. After several successful years, he received an offer to run all of the company’s business units in Europe, a huge promotion. More money. More influence. But his wife said she preferred to stay in Colombia, so he politely declined the promotion. Family first.

This was one of many stories that Meneses shared with a young Andres that ultimately had a profound effect on Andres’s relationship with his own wife, Claudia. His grandfather taught him that the relationship with your wife is a special one, one worth working at, and one around which everything else revolves.

Claudia, his wife, is the Caribbean and Central America First Choice and Customer Service Head at DHL Express. She is a driven executive as well.  Andres says that Claudia is “the best leader of people I’ve ever known.” I asked how two A-type personalities can co-exist, let alone raise two young children.

Andres replied, “It’s a partnership. I’m not going to change her.  I don’t want to change her.” He echoes his grandfather as he describes his priorities. “I am passionate about my job. I love my family – my parents, my siblings, and especially my kids. But the single most important relationship I have is with my wife.”

When I first met Andres, to interview him for a Vistage Group, we shook hands and he handed me a piece of paper.

What’s this? I asked.

“My five year plan. It will let you know who I am and what is important to me. And if I’m to join the group, I expect you to hold me accountable to help me achieve these goals.” The paper included a chart with approximately ten items, with measurements, milestones and action steps.

That was five years ago. Most of those items were already completed by year three.  Now Andres is working on another five-year plan. You can see evidence of his goals by how he spends his time and what he has accomplished.

Andres has gone mountain biking in Moab, Utah. He completed his first half marathon last week and finished in less than two hours. He has reduced his body fat to single digits. Andres was named ASCE’s Engineer of the Year in Miami-Dade County in 2011. He has been promoted to Vice President and Engineering Director at HJ Foundation.  He has adapted his schedule to spend more time with his kids at home – which also allows his wife to travel, as part of her new job. He regularly takes his family back to Colombia to spend time with relatives, and reinforce their roots.

Andres comes from a family of philosophers. He peppers his conversation with ideas and maxims that he attributes to his parents, his grandfather, his father-in-law, and his wife. Their philosophies are grounded in reflection on how to live a life of meaning.

He also comes from a family of doers. They use their energy and efforts to pursue excellence daily and to etch a powerful legacy in the minds of others. And the rest of us witness their examples and feel compelled to share their stories.  About business. About family. About life.

Second Lieutenant Juan Pinzon

I recently heard a speaker urging a group of CEOs to identify leaders at all levels of their companies.  “Look for people who have already assumed the responsibility to lead. Promoting them is merely a validation of the job they’re already doing.”

I didn’t think that was possible in the military. After all, it’s hierarchical. You have to pay your dues. Right? When I was growing up in the DC area, the local fathers in the military looked the part. They were disciplined. Self confident. And they had grey hair.

Several years ago I spent four days with retired Lieutenant General Paul Cerjan in a leadership training class. The first day he gave me an assessment of my strengths and weaknesses. People who have known me for fifty years couldn’t have been more accurate. Paul had a commanding presence.  He was a good communicator.  Not a bad psychologist. And I knew if he gave me an order, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.

A month ago, I heard Vern Clark, former Commander of the Navy, speak at a Lifework Leadership class. He was articulate. Direct. Engaging. If they were recruiting 50-somethings to enlist in the Navy that night, I’d have been first in line.

And then there’s Second Lieutenant Juan Pinzon. Although he’s been commissioned, he doesn’t actually report to the Marines for six more months.  And he’s twenty-two years old. But after a ninety-minute conversation at Panera Bread, I’d follow him into battle in a heartbeat.

I made reference to Juan in my blog post about Alex Sink entitled “The Stories Behind Sound Bite Nation.” Juan recently graduated from Wake Forest University with a degree in Psychology. When I met him three months ago, he was looking for local employment before he reports to Quantico to begin his career in the Marines in April 2013.  I contacted master networker John Gullman with PNC Bank, who put Juan in touch with a customer of John’s who has had great success hiring former military personnel. John was a Marine in the Vietnam War, and he continues to take the motto Semper Fi to heart.

Juan’s parents brought him and his two brothers to the United States from Colombia when Juan was nine years old. His parents had been successful professionals in Colombia, but believed that the best future for the three boys lay in the United States. They left behind their extended families and came to this country without jobs, contacts, or command of the English language. Mrs. Pinzon began working for Broward County and Mr. Pinzon started a business in their home selling apparel over the internet. It was a difficult adjustment. When it got toughest, the lessons were clear: you looked out for one another; and you worked even harder.

Juan is committed to self-improvement.  When we met at 8:00 a.m. at Panera Bread, I admitted that I’d been up for two hours and had already eaten breakfast. He sheepishly admitted that he, too, had already eaten  – after his 5:30 a.m. workout in the gym. He is an avid reader and we discussed The Road Less Traveled and Five Dysfunctions of a Team. Throughout our conversation, Juan described things that he had learned at school, or from his parents, or on the job – and then how he applied that knowledge.

He also demonstrated a responsibility for helping others. Juan was preparing to visit his little brother (now at Wake Forest) and help his brother’s adjustment to college. He also participates in a Big Brother / Big Sister program at Calvary Chapel. Because he’ll be leaving in a matter of months, they haven’t assigned him a specific boy to mentor. Although that disappointed Juan, he continues to show up every month to interact with any kids he can and “to try to do my part.”

As close as he is to his family, Juan struck me as being very self-reliant. I saw on his resume that he was fluent in French. I asked if that was the product of a Wake Forest semester abroad.

Juan hesitated. “Kind of…,” he replied.

He proceeded to explain that he signed up for a Wake Forest Summer Abroad program in France only to find out that his scholarship did not cover the costs. Juan would have been the eighth student to participate, the minimum required. Without him, Wake Forest canceled the program. However, Juan was determined to go, so he contacted the French University (The Institute de Touraine, in Tours, France) and identified the tuition and travel costs, made arrangements to stay with a local French family and then went out and raised the money himself.  So Juan did the five week Summer Abroad program … on his own.

Juan said that he’s wanted to be a Marine since he was in Middle School. He said he needed the discipline. I almost spit my coffee out on the table when he said it. He might as well have the word “discipline” tattoed on his forehead. Here was a kid who graduated from Wake Forest, whose academic standards and demanding curriculum have earned it the nickname “Work Forest.” You don’t survive there without discipline. Juan entered the Officer’s Candidate School at Quantico with more then three hundred individuals. They were subjected to a grueling training program that led to non-stop cotton-mouth, bouts of shin splints, sleep deprivation, and moments of doubt for everyone. One-third of the candidates washed out and did not graduate from the program.

I asked him what got him through OCS, and he responded, “Determination, and a sense of peace that this is exactly where God wanted me to be.”

I was in a great mood when I left Panera Bread. Over a cup of coffee I gained a new friend, and one that I hope to have for the long haul. My ninety-minute meeting with Juan gave me a sense of tremendous optimism about our military and about our youth. If Juan is any indication, perhaps the military is attracting our best and our brightest.

I thought Juan was the kind of young man I’d look for as a candidate for officer training. But I was curious, so I looked on the Marine Corps website. Under the description of the motto, “Semper Fidelis,” is a reference to Ductos Exemplo, “to lead by example.” It suggests that the Corps looks for candidates who “display self-reliance, discipline, and responsibility.”

I can’t speak for the other officers entering the Marine Corps in April 2013, but when it comes to Second Lieutenant Juan Pinzon, they picked the right man for the job. To paraphrase Colonel Jessup from “A Few Good Men,” we want him on that wall!

Note – Thoughts On Veterans Day

Like too many Americans, I take our military for granted.  Don’t get me wrong, when I stop and reflect, I recognize the huge debt of gratitude we owe them for our freedoms. But how often do I stop and think about it?  When I see a thirty-second video clip about violence on the ground in the Middle East on CNN.  And then they shift to a story about sports or politics, and my brain goes somewhere else. When I see a picture of flag-draped coffins in a picture on Facebook, the image stays a little longer. But then I see a video of singing babies or cute puppies, and I move on. And then there are days like last Monday, when the military gets recognized on television and in the newspapers. Speeches were made and flags were flying. It was Veterans Day. And then the following day, most of us went back to our regular routines with our normal concerns. And the men and women of the military did what they always do. They soldiered on.

I came of age after the draft ended, and yet close friends of mine chose to enter the various branches of the military. With a bad back and no depth perception, I probably wouldn’t have been accepted, but I never even considered a military career. Yet, as I watched Scott Campbell on CNN on the ground in Desert Storm, and looked at the picture of Brooks Lyles in Mogadishu, it all became real – or at least personal, from thousands of miles away.  My deepest thanks for career choices different than my own, that the rest of us might live in the land of the free and the home of the brave. Thank you.

I was sitting in my third office, Dunkin Donuts (home is first, Starbucks second, and DD third), when three young boys came into the store with two adult women. The boys sat at their own table, and attacked a box of Munchkins (donut holes, for the uninitiated), like only a group of eight or nine-year-olds can. There was so much energy at the table, I couldn’t help but watch them.

One of the boys started to slide back in his chair just as a woman was walking past. The back of his chair hit her in the thigh and sent her coffee cup flying. Some of the coffee spilled on the boy’s shirt, and the rest splattered on the floor. The boy apologized profusely and the woman – to her credit – huffed around for a few seconds, and then returned to the counter for a replacement.

The two moms were oblivious. But the two friends were beside themselves. They pointed. They giggled. They yelled at their friend.

“You’re so stupid!”

The little boy scrambled to clean up the floor with napkins and shot a nervous smile at his friends. But they were unrelenting.

“You’re such an idiot!”

He had that embarrassed, not-sure-what-to-do, not-sure-what-to-say, here-we-go-again, look. I knew that look. My stomach started to clench and suddenly I was hit with memories that I hadn’t thought about in decades.

When I was eight years old we had the extend family over to our house for the evening. I got to hang out with a cousin visiting from out of town. After dinner he and I went into the living room while the adults (parents, aunts, uncles, grown cousins) remained at the kitchen table having coffee.

My cousin pulled me aside. “Karl, I know Hawaiian sign language.”

I was impressed. “No way! Teach me something.”

He raised his middle finger. “This means “I love you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and if you really, really love someone, you tell them this…” He raised both middle fingers.

How cool was that? I could now talk Hawaiian – in sign language.

“Hey, Karl. When was the last time you told your mom you loved her?”

I blushed. “I don’t know. ”

I knew what I had to do. I hurried into the kitchen. All ten faces looked at me and I got stage fright. I cleared my throat. I started to stammer.

God bless her, my mom came to my rescue. We went around the corner where the others couldn’t see us. And then I let her have it. I extended my hands and gave my mother double barrels of the middle finger.

Something was wrong. My mother shook her head and asked, “Where did you learn that?”

“Mom, it’s Hawaiian. It means I love you.”

“No, it doesn’t Karl, and we’ll talk about it later.”

She looked disappointed, but kissed me on the forehead and went back to her guests. Within minutes, I could hear her voice in the kitchen and then I heard all the adults laughing. Hysterically.

In the meantime, my cousin had witnessed my conversation with mom and he couldn’t stop laughing himself.

He pointed his finger at me, and said, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. You’re so stupid!”

Forty-seven years ago and I can still feel the sting.

Several years later we were living in Cincinnati and the school bus was dropping us off after school. We walked to school and never rode the bus unless there was a field trip, so riding the bus was an adventure by itself. And this time I was sitting next to Mary Dunning. It may have been the first time in my life I ever sat next to a girl on the bus. Mary and I were friends, so it wasn’t a big deal.  Or so I tried to convey. A real live girl was sitting next to me. And she was cute.

I leaned my head against the window and awkwardly turned in my seat so I could talk to Mary. James Bond was never so cool.

When Mary got off the bus, a friend named Tom said, “What’s wrong with you, Karl? Were you afraid of Mary?”

I shook my head. “No.” At least I didn’t think so.

“The way you twisted around, you looked like an idiot.”

“He was just being cool, “said another friend.

Thank you. Yeah, that was it. Just being cool.

Tom laughed. “Cool? Sprague’s too stupid to be cool.”

The whole bus got quiet.

What did that mean?  The way I sat made me stupid? Were there other things I did that everybody thought were stupid? I didn’t know whether to argue with him, demand an explanation, or just turn around and punch him. I didn’t see how I came out ahead in any of those scenarios.

So I just sat there and looked out the window. The bus remained silent until we stopped in front of my house. As I stepped off the bus, I heard a few giggles escape, like air coming out of a balloon.

Forty-four years ago.  I remember what Mary’s jacket looked like (It was blue). My coat was green corduroy, with fake fur on the collar. I can keep going with the detail, but you get the picture. It is burned indelibly in my mind.

So now I’m sitting in a Dunkin Donuts watching two boys giggling and pointing at their friend.

Do I go all adult on them, walk over to their table, and lecture them on the value of friendships, and the power of positive reinforcement? They’d freak out. Or laugh. The crazy man at Dunkin Donuts.

Or do I go juvenile on them, fake like I tripped and spill hot coffee on the offending friends? No… they’d just remember the klutzy, crazy man at Dunkin Donuts.

Do I let the mothers know what was going on? No, if they cared, they’d already be paying attention.

Or do I do nothing, and let nature take its course? But then do I risk allowing a bruise or a scar?

As I wrestled with my response, the moms got up, and started cleaning up the boys’ table. As the boys scrambled towards the exit, I jumped out of my chair and hurried towards the door.

OK, the pressure is on. What do I say? How do I make a difference?

I looked at the faces of the boys. They seemed to be thinking, “Why is this man standing in our way?”

I looked at the moms. The seemed to be thinking, “Get out of our way or we’ll move you out of the way.”

I opened the door and held it for them.  I tried to catch the eye of the little boy with the coffee stain on the back of his white Dwyane Wade t-shirt, but he never looked over.

“I hope y’all have a fantastic day.” It was all I could think of.

I might have said something instructive. Offered life-changing perspective. But I might have creeped the kid out, or subjected him to even more ridicule. Instead I held the door open and sounded like a ticket-taker at Dollywood.

As they clambered into their SUV, I said a quick prayer. I prayed that God might use some spilled coffee and insensitive friends to help this boy see himself as God sees him, and to have his childhood bruises influence his future, but not define it. I prayed for little bruises, and ones that heal quickly.

I’d like to learn from this and be better prepared next time. What should I have said? What should I have done?

I was invited to a Miami Heat game last season and jumped at the chance to sit in a corporate box and watch LeBron, D-Wade and company. I said yes, without even asking the who. I knew the what, the where, and the when. That was all that was important. Or so I thought.

My host, Jim Nolan, said that we’d be joined by another guest: Alex Sink. Jim told me with such enthusiasm and heartfelt support for Alex that I didn’t dare tell him how I really felt. Alex had been the Democratic candidate for Florida governor in the 2010 election.  A politician. Strike One. She was formerly the President of Bank of America in Florida. A banker. Strike two.  I knew that if she proved to be a phony or started asking favors, I’d have a tough time keeping my mouth shut – and Jim would suffer the collateral damage. But I didn’t want to miss the game.

Note: A brief explanation: Politicians – Most of what we see of politicians are short clips of them on commercials produced by their opponents. No one comes across well. Bankers – I spent ten years in commercial banking and now have a short fuse when it comes to bankspeak. I know some great bankers, but my first reaction with strangers in banking is to go cynical.  It’s my issue, I know.

We picked Alex up at her hotel for a short ride over to the American Airlines Arena. I got out of the car to introduce myself, shake her hand, and then settled into the backseat. While Jim and Alex caught up, I contemplated my coping strategy for the night. No doubt this would be some form of purgatory, but did it really warrant full-on passive-aggressive mode?  No, I had nothing against Alex personally. Maybe I’d just act like I was severely distracted, so I could selectively ignore her.  Or maybe I could…

Alex suddenly whipped around in the seat with the enthusiasm of a little kid, and an expectant look on her face. Uh-oh. She had asked me a question.  I missed it.

“Excuse me?” I tried not to grimace as I waited for her to ask my opinion of the direction of the Florida economy or my grade for Governor Scott’s performance so far.

“Peyton!” she yelled. “What do you think about Peyton coming here?”

She might as well have said space aliens just landed on Biscayne Boulevard. “What?” I leaned forward.

“Peyton Manning landed by helicopter today on South Beach. People are saying he’s talking to the Dolphins. How cool would that be?”

Seriously cool. Unbelievably cool.

For the rest of the ride, and during the walk from the parking lot to the Arena, we talked about quarterbacks, the plight of the Dolphins and the Buccaneers, and Peyton Manning’s recovery from shoulder surgery. Alex was funny, passionate about sports, and she was an equal opportunity grief-giver to Jim and me. I was trying very hard not to like her. It was tough.

We exchanged pleasantries with other attendees when we arrived at the box (including the evening’s host, Miami architect Steve Tewes), and continued to stand as the game started. The Heat fans around us were vocal, and Lebron and D-Wade did not disappoint in the first quarter.  But the Hawks refused to go away.  We watched the point guard for the Hawks blow past two defenders at half-court and launch a three point shot. Nothing but net. A collective groan came from the box.  But right next to me I heard  a YESSS!  I turned to see Alex with both fists over her head.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Alex grinned. “Hey that’s Jeff Teague. He’s a Demon Deacon. Gotta support my Wake Forest guys.”

She’s wasn’t playing the game. She wasn’t stockpiling political capital with the home crowd. She was being genuine. Awesome.

Jim suggested we sit down, and I immediately announced, “I’ll sit next to her.”

Over the next two hours we talked about Wake Forest, the NBA, Stanford football (her son and Jim’s son played on the Stanford team together), wedding plans for her daughter, and some of her own background. She shared that she grew up in Mt. Airy, North Carolina, the home of Andy Griffith and the model for the town of Mayberry. She taught mathematics for three years in Western Africa. Her great grandfather was Chang Bunker, one of the conjoined twins responsible for the creation of the term “Siamese twins.” I was alternately fascinated, impressed, and entertained. We also talked business. Alex is now a Senior Advisor at Hyde Park Capital, a Florida-based investment banking firm. She is also the founder and Chairperson of Florida Next, a non-profit think tank designed to drive entrepreneurialism and innovation in Florida. Even the business discussion was right up my alley.

It wound up being a wonderful evening. And the shoe that I kept waiting to drop never did. At least not that night.

Several weeks later, I received a phone call from Alex.

“Karl, I have a favor to ask.”

OK, here we go. A fundraising strong-arm? A request for an introduction?

“What is it?” I asked, already preparing my tactful decline.

“Karl, I provide a student at Wake Forest with a scholarship. He graduated in May and is commissioned to join the Marines, but not until next April. He needs to work between now and then. Could you meet with him? Once you meet him, if you think it’s appropriate, I’d appreciate any help you could provide in finding him a job. Oh, and he lives in your neighborhood.”

That’s it?  “Sure, I can do that.”

Three days later I met Juan Pinzon and he shared his story. I’ll describe Juan in greater detail in a future blog post, but the kid knocked my socks off.  His parents emigrated from Colombia, and have raised three great kids. Juan is bright. Driven. Principled. Both a dreamer AND a doer. He’s wanted to be a Marine since he was twelve years old. If our military is attracting leaders like Juan – our future is in good hands. I know he would have been confused if I’d verbalized it, but I walked away from our meeting, thinking, “I want to grow up and be like him” – even though he’s thirty years younger than me.

I sent Alex an email letting her know about the meeting and said I’d make an effort to help. I contacted a friend, who contacted a friend, who interviewed Juan, and he now works at one of the fastest growing technology companies in the state of Florida.

I’ve seen Alex several times since then, and we greet each other like old friends. I long ago quit waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t worry about what she needs from me. She thinks I did a favor for a friend of hers and says “I owe you one.” But I know the truth. She told me fascinating stories about her own life that have inspired me. She introduced me to someone who reminds me that we live in a great country, and that our youth are capable of extraordinary things. Alex and Juan have both reminded me that picking up the phone to help someone? That’s what friends do. Not that I’m keeping score, but I owe Alex. Big time.

Just a few reminders:

• Don’t paint all public figures with the same brush. There are some you’d like to ship off to a deserted island. But there are some cool people out there, with big hearts and interesting stories.
• Don’t allow sound bites to define someone; there may be a lot of depth you’ll never get in a thirty-second clip. Draw conclusions … for the right reasons.
• Everyone has a story. Don’t shy away from the conversation. Pull up a seat. Ask a question or two. You’ll be amazed at the stories you’ll hear.
• Great stories aren’t reserved for people who have had long lives or varied careers. That kid sitting next to you at Panera Bread or standing behind the counter at Starbucks may have the story that breaks your heart… or truly inspires you.
• If you need some advice on asking people to tell their story, please see the earlier post, “Everyone Has a Story,” and learn Boaz Rauchwerger’s “Five Questions.” They work.

I’ve learned that if you’re a natural cynic, the internet is a frightening place.  I know people who have posted twenty-year old photographs as their profile picture on Facebook. Personal profiles are full of hyperbole, and resume-padding is rampant. Among authors, there are a million people claiming to have written “bestsellers.” Is that according to the New York Times, or a vote of your household members – at gunpoint? I’ve seen ads where you can buy one thousand Twitter followers for $14. So the next time you’re impressed with someone’s ten thousand Twitter followers? They may have swapped a dinner for two at Ruth’s Chris for a phony flock of followers. Yikes.

The other challenge is imagining someone’s personality based on their blog posts, tweets and Instagram pictures. Some people try so hard to be sarcastic and surly, that if they’re really that curmudgeonly in real life, I hope there’s a line of people at their door waiting to slap them silly. And then there are the opposites, the ones that you really want to like.  They can’t really be that nice, funny, clever, or cool in real life, can they? Invariably, just as I start laughing, retweeting, and enjoying the banter back and forth, I’ll look at their icon and the little voice says, “You better not be lying to me.”

I had a great opportunity to validate a fave or uncover a fraud when Twitter kindred spirit and Facebook friend Gini Dietrich came to town. I wrote a blog post earlier in the year entitled “My New Best Friends,” where I wrote about Gini, Dan Blank, and Marcus Sheridan (if you write or have any interest whatsoever in marketing and / or social media – find them and follow them!).

When I discovered Gini, I learned she was a PR professional (President of Arment Dietrich) and a social media maven. I liked her. She was funny. Interesting. She had a dog named Jack Bauer (who wanders into videos, writes an occasional blog, and has his own Facebook page). Her business blog, SpinSucks, became a must read for social media insights, and its quirky, but lovable, perspective on business and life.

And now she was coming to South Florida for two days. I had arranged for her to speak to two of my Vistage groups, on consecutive days, with a dinner sandwiched in between (no pun intended).  I’m normally cautiously optimistic when a speaker steps in front of my Vistage CEOs. A bad speaker can make for a miserable morning. But the stakes were different this time: I was emotionally invested. I wanted to like her. I wanted her to be good. But the little voice was saying, “Just don’t be a fraud.” As she began speaking, I held my breath.

Gini’s presentation was entitled “Social Media Boot Camp: Making Sense of it All.”  She covered the basics of Social Media and described the uses of LinkedIn, Twitter, Facebook, corporate blogs, and introduced a variety of useful tools and apps. She challenged everyone to take some first steps, or “next steps”, and told them not listen to marketers who say you can’t measure ROI in social media. The audience of CEOs ranged from those who eagerly embraced social media to those who were openly hostile to its very existence – and everything in between.  She was engaging. Insightful. She challenged their way of thinking. At the same time, she shared her mistakes. She admitted she’s learning every day – just like the rest of us. She was great.

As she left, the little voice was more remote, but I heard it nonetheless. It said, “She’s given that presentation a million times.  She probably gave the same presentation to a Boy Scout Troop in Dubuque yesterday. I bet she mailed it in.”  If I could have punched that little voice, or drowned it out, I would have.  No such luck.

The voice got louder later that day. Gini was meeting me for dinner, and I asked my daughter, Carla, to join us.  Carla is the SEO Manager and former Social Media Coordinator at Blue Interactive Agency.  I hoped that the dinner wouldn’t degenerate into socialmediaspeak, because I knew I’d be lost. But I also knew that Gini was one of Carla’s professional heroes. Suddenly the paternal gene kicked in and the voice was growling, “You better not disillusion my daughter.” Oh, that would be so much worse than lying to me.

The dinner covered a variety of topics related to business and family, and then we moved on to disappointments, do-overs, and dreams.  The filters were turned off. Midway through the meal I realized that we were having the kind of conversation you’d have with a good friend. And as Gini asked my daughter questions, with the hopes of learning something new from a twenty-two year old business neophyte, I finally leaned back and relaxed. This was the person I met on Twitter. The one who makes me laugh on Facebook. The one who makes me look at the world just a little differently when I read her blog. The one who can be Carla’s hero. And mine.

The next day Gini started her presentation in the same manner, but as questions surfaced, her talk went in a different direction than the day before. New sites were discussed and new anecdotes shared. She didn’t have it on auto pilot. She was bobbing and weaving – and enjoying every minute of it. I was also conscious of something that she does that won people over: she was informative, without talking over our heads, and was passionate, without being pushy. Her talk was laced with comments like “this is so stinking cool” and “this is going to either really amaze you or really freak you out.” In any case, she made people smile. And she invited them to learn.

At the end of the first day’s presentation, I made a public comment to the Vistage group about Gini. I said that if I were headed into a fight, I’d want her with me. I don’t know where that came from and it probably left my Vistage members scratching their heads. It wasn’t until several days later that I understood why that comment was so appropriate.  If you’re headed into a fight (or headed into the arena for you Hunger Games fans), you want a partner:

Who is tough. Gini left a lucrative, successful career with a national company, to start her own PR firm. She then had a corporate near-death experience in the throes of the recession, only to emerge stronger and more focused. In her presentations, she’ll handle any question the audience can throw at her, but also is not afraid to admit when she’s giving her opinion, or merely throwing darts.

Who is resourceful. Gini has changed her business structure when it was already successful, and changed her blog format after it had won industry accolades. She listened to peers in the industry, CEOS in unrelated industries (she belongs to Vistage), and a graduate student / part-time employee. She even sat at dinner and asked advice from a 22 year old with one year of experience in interactive marketing. In the brave new world of social media, watching Gini learn and apply tools on the fly to benefit her clients is like watching MacGyver build a bomb with paper clips and a ball of twine.

You can trust. Through nine hours of meetings and dinner, after dozens of questions, on and off the record, I think I saw the real Gini Dietrich. She is remarkably similar to the one I met online a year ago. I’m guessing that there are at least twenty people I now follow on Twitter because Gini recommended them, said they were cool, or laughed with them – sometimes at her own expense. I know I’m not alone – she’s building an army of loyal followers.

As I watched Gini in action in her second day of presentations, the voice returned. It whispered, “Pretty stinking cool.”

Gini recently published a book with co-author Geoff Livingston, entitled Marketing in the Round. The book takes a holistic approach to successful marketing in the digital age.  The premise is that corporate strategies and communication (both externally and internally) need to be synced, and can no longer afford to be developed -and executed – in silos.

If you want to learn how to impact a community and reach the less fortunate, I’d suggest you keep an eye on Don Campion… if you can find him, since he’s usually on the fly. Literally.

Don is the CEO of Banyan Air Service, a South Florida aviation company, offering aircraft sales and comprehensive ground and technical support to business aircraft. By any measure, Banyan has been successful, having grown from three employees when the Company was founded in 1979, to one hundred-seventy today, operating within seven different departments.

I first heard about Don from his Vistage Chair, Tom Foster, who described Don as an “E.F. Hutton,” meaning that when Don spoke, people listened. I knew several of his fellow Vistage members, who were some of the most successful CEOs in South Florida, and I asked them about Don.  It was the first time I experienced the Campion WOEDIB look. It involves a smile, a shake of the head, and an involuntary turn of the hands skyward.  Usually it is followed by a long pause, a stammer, and then an absolute earful. I’m not sure Campion WOEDIB is in the psychology textbooks yet, but it’s a conditioned response, like Pavlov’s dog or Skinner’s rat in a box. By the way, Campion WOEDIB stands for: “Campion?  Where on earth do I begin?”

The phrase is appropriate, because there is so much to say about Don and his profound impact on other people. Trying to distill an explanation of his influence into a simple sound bite is like trying to describe the history of the Middle East conflict in a couple of sentences. The phrase is also appropriate because Don’s impact isn’t reserved for one industry or one location. He’s changing lives all over the world.

Don’s Facebook profile includes something that I’ve seen on very few profiles: a declaration of his purpose. Don describes his personal purpose: to glorify God, love others, and make a difference. When you put something out there for the world – or at least your friends – to see, it creates real accountability. If it’s not just important to you, but is your life’s purpose, how are you doing at it?

Judging by his involvement, and his impact, I’d say Don Campion is doing quite well.

Don was born to missionaries in a remote area of Nigeria called Egbe. Don’s father was a doctor and his mother a nurse, and along with other missionaries, they built a hospital in the village called Egbe in 1952. Over the years, the hospital had a tremendous impact within the region, in terms of delivering healthcare services, training doctors and nurses, and evangelizing locals as part of the ECWA (Evangelical Church Winning All).

In 2008 Don’s parents were unable to attend a celebration of the 100^th anniversary of the first Christian missionaries in the area, so Don and his wife, Sueanne, attended in their place. Don saw the hospital his parents had built, which had been treating more than fifteen thousand people a year, had fallen into a woeful state. Licensed doctors were no longer practicing there. The buildings were falling apart. Don estimated that within a year, the hospital would have to be closed permanently. Soon after their visit, Don and Sueanne started the Egbe Revitalization Project, to update, remodel and rebuild the buildings, recruit the necessary medical personnel, and replace medical equipment. Don’s sister, Betsie serves as the Project Coordinator.

Progress is being made, although much is left to do. So far, over 100 volunteers (plumbers, electricians, roofers, masons) have come from the USA and Canada to serve for periods of two to twelve weeks. In addition, seven shipping containers have arrived, water supply has been restored, satellite internet installed, and the medical and spiritual needs of local Nigerians are being met. In the process, God is being glorified.

The reaction by the Campion’s isn’t surprising. When Don decides to get involved in something, he doesn’t just write a check or say a few kind words of support. He’s all-in. His time. His resources. His Company. His heart.

Immediately following the earthquake in 2010, Banyan coordinated more than 400 corporate and private aircraft flights to Haiti and arranged free transport for more than two thousand medical personnel.

A sampling of other organizations that Don supports gives you an idea of his heart:

4 Kids of South Florida –  operates with the mission to extend “A Home to Every Child in Crisis” through foster care, safe houses and independent living homes.

Sheridan House -provides services to children and families, through: residential care to middle school-aged boys and girls with behavioral and emotional issues; clothing, transportation, education and training for single moms.

His Caring Place – is a licensed teen maternity program that offers love and guidance to young women struggling with crisis pregnancies.

Challenge Air for Kids & Friends – provides a flight experience for special needs kids. Banyan has organized a “Fly Day” in Fort Lauderdale for the last fifteen years.

Friends say that Don is a lifelong learner and he tries to get better at what he does – every day. He’s been a member of Vistage, a CEO roundtable, for 18 years, where he is challenged and held accountable by a group of CEO peers. He is also a participant in Lifework Leadership, an organization devoted to training individuals in biblical principles to become better leaders in their homes, companies, churches and communities.

Earlier this year I watched Don receive the Sun-Sentinel Excalibur Award for Leadership. Afterwards I introduced myself and congratulated him. He thanked me and immediately escorted me over and introduced me to each member of his team. He let me know how important each one was to the success of his company, and to him personally. He let his associates know that I was a Vistage chair and told them that what I did for a living was important. In less than a minute, he had deflected the congratulations I was giving him, and turned it into an opportunity to let those of us around him feel better about ourselves. We mattered.

When I went home that night, I told my wife I had spoken with Don Campion. She asked me to describe him. I smiled, shook my head and involuntarily turned my palms upwards. I paused for a minute, started to stammer, and then said, “Campion? Where on earth do I begin?”

Who has influenced you? Who makes you a better “you”?  I’d love to hear about the people who serve as your role models on how to reach a community and impact lives.

You can learn more about the Egbe Hospital Revitalization Project at http://www.egbehospital.org/