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Dear friends, The story that is featured in this month's newsletter has a special place in my heart, as it honors the backbone of America, the hard working men and women who labor day in and day out to keep our economy going. It's a story about Chris Slaughter's father, Mr. Henry Slaughter. He was a simple, hard working, blue-collar man who greatly influenced his son's life. I'm honored that Chris has allowed me to share his dad's powerful and lasting legacy. I now introduce you to the life of Mr. Henry Slaughter… The Red Hardhat Henry Slaughter was born in Maynardville, Tennessee in 1928. The son of an iron worker who died when Henry was 14, education simply wasn't an option for him. He quit school in the 5th grade and drove a tractor and trailer to help support the family. At age 18, he moved up to Kokomo, Indiana for a better job to provide for his young family. Dad lost his first wife to heart disease in 1968, leaving him a widowed father of two teenage children, my half-sister and half-brother.  Click for larger image. The largest employer in Kokomo was Continental Steel, and in 1947, they hired the young, industrious Henry Slaughter as a welding apprentice. He learned his trade well, worked hard, and eventually retired from Continental Steel in 1985. The steel industry's demise was in full force, but dad and mom planned well and decided he should retire while he still had the chance. I remember the day well; however I really didn't understand the impact that his retirement would have in my life. I was 11 and my brother was 14 years old. Dad was around as much as he could be prior to that. I can remember sitting, waiting for him to get home from work. Sometimes I knew he was home because I could smell the sulfur permeating through the house. I would climb up in his lap, and it was as if he had been there all day. Little did I know he had just finished a 12 hour day in a blistering hot or dreadfully cold factory. He never turned me away or acted too tired to spend time with his family. Dad was a welder for most of his career. People always told me that he was the best welder in town, and he was very proud of his work. As he got older he spent a lot of time talking about his years at the mill. His eyes gleamed a little brighter as he spoke about the time he worked for 20 hours straight, trying to fix a particular piece of equipment. I knew if the phone rang and someone was asking for "Hank", something had gone wrong at the mill. Minutes later he would be out the door, ready to solve problems. I thought he was kind of like Superman, responding to some dire need and life as we knew it would change if he wasn't there. I am still amazed at the pride he felt for having the opportunity to work. The last few years, dad was a foreman in the Machine Shop. Reading and writing were always a challenge for dad. The fact that he was able to overcome a lack of education and receive a promotion to foremen says a lot about his work ethic and determination. The best part for me was that he had his own parking spot with his name on it, and most importantly, he had a red hardhat, a supervisor's hardhat. 
About a year after dad retired, Continental Steel went bankrupt and he lost most of his pension, as well as the other benefits tied up in the company. So he did what any hardworking man would do: he went back to work for a construction company. Not long after he started his new job as a welder, a jobsite explosion ended any chance of him ever working again. Dad was placed on disability from his injuries and his working days were over. He had multiple surgeries from the explosion, which made the act of walking a lot more painful. The old Continental Steel factory stood in Kokomo for years after the doors were closed. I drove dad by the factory, and we sat and watched as a wrecking ball destroyed the gigantic, rusted building. I found myself being very mad about the circumstances that dad had been put in. I wondered to myself, how could a man spend 38 years with one company and really not have much to show for it? We were sitting in the truck watching them tear down the old machine shop, and I asked him if he ever regretted his career at the mill. Dad made it very clear to me that he had plenty to show for his years of service when he turned to me and said, "You will never regret anything that you put your heart and soul into." I was an athlete in high school, playing baseball, basketball and football. In 1993 I was awarded an athletic scholarship to play baseball at Cumberland University and became the first person in my family to attend or graduate from college. Mom and dad were both very proud of that fact. After graduation in 1998, I went to work for State Farm Insurance. The thought of working for a financially secure company appealed to me greatly. Dad's main advice was that hard work doesn't go unnoticed and showing up is half the battle. So that was basically my plan of attack. About a year into my employment, I caught myself starting to complain about my job. I called dad, and he quickly brought some perspective to my situation. A couple of months after that conversation, I stumbled across dad's red hardhat in an old box that I had packed when I moved away from home. Dad's hardhat sits on my desk at work, as it has for the past 12 years. It is one of my most valued possessions. Whenever I start complaining about how bad I have it, or I have that urge to feel sorry for myself, all I have to do is take a quick glance at the hardhat to be reminded of the opportunity I have. Thankfully, I was given a great example of what loyalty and hard work will earn you in life. I enjoy being able to share how dad's life impacted me. Unfortunately, we all aren't given the same examples to follow. So when I speak to other people about the hardhat, I challenge them to find their own hardhat in life and to be that example for someone else. Accountability to me is being able to look at dad's hardhat and have a clean conscious about my effort. I don't have to rely on someone else to identify what working hard looks like for me. I have been married to my wife Kathy for 12 years, and we have two children, Dava 7 and Hank 4. Kathy and I were holding dad's hand as he passed on to be with the Lord on December 12th, 2009. I'm confident that you were as touched as I was when I read this powerful story. You can just feel the love and respect that Chris had for his dad. Many of you are like Chris and I in that we're just blue-collar folks working in a white-collar world. Like Chris, I was blessed to have a father who lived the values of integrity, hard work, and perseverance and passed them along to his son. America needs more Henry Slaughters. Men and women who show up, on time, with a positive attitude everyday; men and women who value the importance of faith and family; men and women who understand the meaning of pride and loyalty; men and women who live lives of quite humility. For these are our country's true heroes and in their calloused hands lies its future. And Chris, I'm confident that your dad is smiling at you from heaven and he's quite proud of his son. Thanks so much for allowing me to honor his beautiful legacy. Your friend,  | |
Read what attendees had to say about the March 2010 session. View Testimonials (doc). Enroll now for the remaining 2010 sessions. Act now, as availability is limited. One day portable program now available click here for details.
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