An Ode to a Great One
And the importance of finding employees that become part of your family
Dear Readers,
Today I wanted to do something a bit different, and talk about someone who was very special to me personally, as well as my family and our companies. For over 50 years, we had an employee named Nance. She was hired by my grandfather in the late 1960s and became a valued member of that company, as well as a personal friend to my grandfather, father, and myself.
When my family started our next company in 1976, she wanted to join, but there was no room in the budget. At the point the finances allowed them to hire someone, Nance was the first call they made. She immediately jumped on board and never left.
Work ethic aside, Nance also loved to have some fun at our expense. Whether it was her saying “Upright” in response to a customer asking what her position was, or pretending to tell a customer that we had no product to sell as my father walked by her desk, she was always good for a cruel (but usually deserving) laugh.
Occasionally her twisted sense of humor backfired. After a condom salesman1 had come into our store and dropped off samples, which ended up in her desk lest anyone else see, she decided to pawn them off on my dad. Just before he was going to run to the bank, she dumped the condoms into the bank bag, knowing he would simply hand it to the teller without checking. But as he went to grab the bag, there was a phone call for him, and he went back to his office. At that point, my grandfather said, “I’ll go to the bank for him” and grabbed the bag to leave. Knowing the elder’s sense of humor was not quite like his son’s, Nance fibbed and said there was a call for him, just so she could rapidly remove the condoms from the bank bag before he came back, confused as to why the line was dead.
Fast forward half a century, and she was still sitting at the same desk, as our office manager, bookkeeper, and, for many years, the human resources department. My family may have owned the company, but she ran the show.
A staunch Irish-Catholic, she had a tough exterior that seemed to an outsider impossible to permeate. But once you knew her, you saw her warmth. She cared incredibly deeply for those around her. And she cared more about the companies than probably anyone else that ever worked for them (including, on bad days, my family). She worked harder than anyone, was more committed than anyone, and knew that the companies would only go as far as the employees would take them. When we weren’t there, whether for an hour or a week, we didn’t have a care in the world, because we knew Nance was keeping a watchful eye. She is the only person, other than my grandparents and father, who watched the businesses grow from their earliest days to what they are today, and experienced all of the successes and failures.
She was the glue that kept everything together. She helped guide the company through the transition from my grandfather to my father in the 1990s, and she was instrumental in helping us transition from my dad to myself over her last years. Behind closed doors, she always knew what someone needed to get by, whether it was advice, a funny story, or a stern look – I got the latter many times. She was like a third grandmother to me, someone who guided me as a child, as a teenager, as a newcomer to the working world after college, and as a business owner. At every step of the way, Nance was a constant.
She was also one of the most courageous people I’ve ever met. She beat cancer so many times I lost count. As she aged, she dealt with newer and more challenging health issues. Yet, each time a new battle arose, she simply went at it with full force, like it was just another inconvenience stopping her from doing her work.2 Like with her work, she simply put her head down and did what she had to do. No ego, no drama – just push through and get it done.
In her later years, each time she knew she would be out for an extended period of time, she would call and ask me to take her off the payroll. Each time, I would lovingly say, “Nance, shut up.” She would laugh, I would tell her to focus on her recovery, and inevitably I would see her back in the office the second her doctors allowed her.
Early in 2023, amidst another, more serious health absence, my phone rang while sitting in my office with my wife. When I answered the call, I heard Nance joking around, but clearly sounding a bit off. Once we exchanged pleasantries, she again asked me to remove her from the payroll. But this time, as I went to give my standard response, she interjected. “Don’t argue with me,” she said sternly. “If you keep paying me, I’m going to rush my recovery to get back to work, and I really need to focus on my health.” My face dropped, as did my wife’s – in the decades of various health issues, she had never said anything like that. The reality of what that meant hit us in the face. I stumbled for words as I tried to debate with her. “Please do this for me,” she finally said. I looked at my wife, who shrugged her shoulders and mouthed, You need to listen to her. With tears in my eyes, I sighed and agreed, and wished her a speedy recovery that I feared, this time, was unlikely.
A few months later, early one morning in the office, I received a call from my father that we had lost Nance. I remember the moment and the following minutes like the flashbulb memory it was. I went to my two managers, who had known her for over 30 years, to break the news. We gathered the employees and informed them as well. There were gasps, tears, and sobs, each sound of bereavement a testimony to the many lives she touched. One employee mentioned that Nance was helping her through her divorce, unbeknownst to any of us. Another said she loaned them money when they were going through a rough time. The stories poured out. There aren't many times in my life I've felt shaken to my core, but this was one of them. Nance was essentially a member of the family. In my naivete, I never seemed to imagine life without her, despite her having nearly 50 years on me.
Anyone running a business for a long time will occasionally luck into an employee like this at some stage. We count ourselves incredibly lucky each day that we’ve found numerous lifetime employees over the years – but all of them together don’t match what Nance brought to the table.3
Nance was not one to give positive reinforcement or compliments. She liked her tough persona, and frankly we did as well. It made people think twice before causing trouble (myself included). I certainly never got a pat on the back, nor would I have wanted one from her – it would have seemed out of place. But a few months after she passed, at a memorial event, her son pulled me aside and told me some words she had said about me before she passed. They were the words I had seen lurking behind every proud smile, the approval that lingered in her laugh when my trademark snark was within her earshot. Praise she’d never say to me directly, but that I’d felt my whole life anyway. It brought me to tears and has stuck with me ever since. I remember it even stronger today, on her birthday. On down days, I think of her words to help pick me up. Even over a year later, it makes me feel like she’s still next to me, giving me advice.
There’s no formula for finding a Nance. Most of the time we business owners just stumble upon someone like that, and then we do whatever we can to keep and take care of them. I sincerely wish everyone a Nance in their own life. She was a model employee, but most importantly, a dear friend.
Apparently that was a thing.
Each time she had to take medical leave, she would take the ridiculous action of apologizing to us – as if it were her fault. This is the level of humility she had.
Those lifetime employees would agree with that assessment 100 percent. Everyone felt this way about Nance.