Thank You Travis

Eight years ago, while building a retail center in Gwinnett as the PM for Integra Construction, I was working late on a Friday alone in the job site trailer when someone began beating on the door.  The site had been deserted for hours and I hadn't expected anyone to be out there late on a Friday.  I opened the door and there stood this young guy in plaid Bermuda shorts, flip-flops, and a "colorful" golf shirt.  Before I had a chance to speak, he introduced himself as "Travis", the owner of a fledgling hardscape company I had recently contracted to install the architectural sidewalks on the project.  I took a long inquisitive look at him and barked "You do realize you're on a commercial job site?".  See, hard hats, boots, safety vests, long pants, and eye protection were the minimum dress code for anyone setting foot on the job site; MY job site.  With a nonchalant dismissive wave of his hand and an "Eh" from Travis, he began to ask about the job.  I was still a little taken back by all of this, so I walked down the steps and introduced myself with all the arrogant condescension I could muster.  He didn't blink.  Instead, he started to tell me all about himself...incessantly.  He talked about his company, he talked about Charlie, his right hand man, and for the next 30 minutes, I got a crash course in Travis 101.  Somewhere in the first five minutes of this conversation, Travis had won me over.  I don't know what he said or if it was his words at all, but he had this passion for his company and what he was trying to do.  He laid out for me his vision for Hemma concrete and told me how I was never going to use anyone else to do my work other than Travis Roberts and Hemma Concrete.  He got bored with me and left as quickly as he had appeared.  A half-dozen unreturned phone calls later, I finished the job, got laid-off, and never thought about him again.

Six rough years and 3 jobs later, I had an opportunity to go to work with Travis at Hemma Concrete and even though he didn't remember me or our conversation that day, I hadn't forgotten  about his passion and his vision.  Here I was, being offered a job helping Travis and his company to grow into a much larger, more sophisticated contracting business.  I jumped at the chance; a decision I will never regret.  It was less money than I was making, but the opportunity to grow the business and fulfill the vision was too great of a deal to turn down.  I started working there shortly thereafter.  My first "office" was a desk that sat outside the hallway to the "Bathroom of Shame"; the bathroom in the way back of the office where all the guys go to take a dump.  I call it that because anytime someone would head back there, they did their best to avoid eye contact with me because we both knew they were about to blow it up back there and that I was about to be subjected to their "essence" for the next 30 minutes.  Travis never used it, he preferred to use the restroom designated for the ladies because, well, that's what Travis does.  Every time he'd come to talk to me, he'd promise me an office, ask if I needed anything, wonder aloud why I didn't use two computer monitors, and do his best to say something shocking to gauge my reaction.  He was great, a real rock star, and we quickly became friends.  When I would go ape-shit on someone or something, as only I can do, he was always there cheering me on.  He liked my brand of Crazy and I liked his.  He was flashy and flamboyant, often wearing neon lime green pants and equally "electric" shirts; I wore blue jeans and either navy blue or black shirts, but what we shared was a passion for Hemma Concrete and The Vision.  Travis also was somebody who would just say anything to anyone, myself included, and he had a knack for being both brutally honest and loving in the same breath. He dubbed me "Mr. Grumpy Pants" because of my usually foul mood and less-than charming disposition.

Travis was a salesman and it was no secret he could sell ice to Eskimos.  He had a way about him that  disarmed people and was as charismatic as anyone I had ever met.  Travis started Hemma with $300 and a vision.  He got knocked down at times, but never quit pursuing his vision.  The year before I came to work there, Hemma was doing about $6M-$8M in sales, which was great, but it wasn't the vision.  With Travis' vision of the business and the hardwork of every Owner, partner, and employee, Hemma's sales last year reached $27M.  All from $300, a vision, and a guy who would not listen to anyone who said he couldn't do it his way.  I read a great quote this morning that said that, aerodynamically speaking, a bumblebee should not be able to fly, but nobody told the bumblebee, so he just keeps on flying.  It made me think of Travis and Hemma.

When Travis got sick it seemed so surreal and unfathomable that through all he's been through and all the times when he had persevered that there was yet another person telling this bumblebee that he couldn't fly.  We rallied around him, we fought along side him, not in the chemo chair or the Doctor's office, but at our desks, in our meetings, and in how we conducted business.  Never once did I think that this deadly, unpronounceable, disease stood a chance of killing my friend.  The statistics said otherwise, but the statistics didn't know him, hadn't seen him in action, and had never seen him fight. I had and I, as were my co-workers, was as defiant to these statistics as to anything I had ever faced. As the disease and the "treatment" began to wear Travis down, the possibility of him losing this fight became more and more real.  These last two weeks have been full of praying, pushing back tears that would try to erupt every time I thought of T, and hope that there was one more piece to this miracle.

Thursday night after getting the news that Travis was in his last days with us, I sat in this big empty house playing my guitar and singing Worship songs, something I had never done before.  I had played bass on them a hundred times at Church, but I had never played and sung them just by myself and just for The Lord.  But I sang them that night, all night, and I never went to sleep.  Friday came and the news hadn't changed and last night I got my guitar out and I sat here for hours singing and praying for my friend.  I asked God that if he was going to take him, then take him now with no more suffering, no fear, no more pain.  I sang the songs and sang my prayer until my fingers were raw and somewhere in the early morning hours I laid down only to be awakened by a text a couple hours later telling me that Travis had gone home to be with the King.  My hands started shaking and just when I had thought there were no more tears left in me, they began to flow again.  I tried my best to squash them to no avail.  I thought of my friend, his wife, his three beautiful small children, and all of his family who have all lost so much today.  I haven't prayed yet today and I don't know if I can, not just yet.  I don't know how I will get through playing at Church tomorrow.  I don't know how I will face my co-workers and Travis' family without losing it.

But then Matt called and for an hour we talked, cried, and laughed as we talked about our friend.  We talked about all the things that made Travis so great and why we loved him so much and the one thing that kept coming up is how so much better Travis had made our lives; how he had changed our paths for the good.  Knowing Travis Lee Roberts as a boss and as a friend has had a profound effect on me and so many others that he has touched and for that I am forever grateful.  I just pray that on the day that I get called home, that I leave as much of an imprint on people's lives as Travis has done on mine.  I pray that I learn to love people the way Travis did.  Although Travis' soul left us today, the things he has given us and taught us, his legacy, the culture of Hemma Concrete, and all of the laughs we shared will always be with us; he will always be with us.  Friday afternoon, I ordered myself a pair of neon lime green pants and I'm gonna wear them with baby blue shoes and a bright orange shirt  and I will never be as proud to step out of my comfort zone and honor my friend.  I know Travis is in Heaven and that he took Matt's dog with him and I know he's sitting there thinking I'm a shitty writer and that "insomuch" is not a real word, but I just want to hug him one more time and tell him I love him and to say Thank You for never listening to anyone who said he couldn't fly; he flew home today.  Rest in Peace Travis, I love you and miss you.



P.S.  Did you have to take Matt's dog with you???

When Men Were Men

During the last two winter weather events, I started to watch the TV series Mad Men and one aspect of the show really appealed to me; the men on the show acted like real men.  There is an overtly sexist atmosphere as the show is set in the early 1960's America, but that doesn't appeal to me.  The characters in this show are strong, confident, decisive men who are very adroit and assertive; essential qualities in my opinion.  They don't spend an inordinate amount of time talking about their feelings, looking for the approval of others, or second-guessing themselves.  They are not whiners, they are not excuse makers, and they are not sniveling, weak men.

Maybe I've been watching too much figure skating, but it seems that 2014 version of a man is anything but those things.  They're are exceptions to everything, but men today just seem weaker and less-manly then they used to be.  Less decisive, less confident, more egotistical, more feminine, more whiny, more needy, less assertive, and less self-assured.  Just ask yourself who is more manly, you or your grandfather?  Society has changed and continues to devolve to some strange unisex being.  To win his woman, your grandfather probably fought a bear with his bare hands and on your first date with your woman you probably both wore the same unisex perfume.  I know some ladies like the sweet, sensitive type guys who are in tune with their feelings and femininity, just don't expect them to kill spiders or snake the toilet.

That's not to say men can't be compassionate or caring, introspective and of high emotional intelligence.  I think men can be all of those things.  In fact, they should be all of those things and more.  But first, above all else, they should be self assured, confident, and brave.  Maybe this is just me aging, getting old, and working on my "GET OFF MY LAWN", but I found it funny that we don't identify with the portrayal of men from the '60's.  It probably started when we stopped keeping score and started handing out participation medals; when we started valuing participating over winning.  When we as a society learned that saying, "I did my best" was the Get Out of Jail Free card for failure, we became Pavlov's dog in our expectations of ourselves and others.  Often we exchange our expectations for the fear of hurting someone's feelings.

I'm sure by the time I die, I'll probably be buried in a skirt at the rate we are going, but at least my tombstone will carry one of my more prominent mottos: "Be a Man, not a [wuss]".