The building of a legacy

Last week I gave a short speech in front of a room of about 60 people as they said goodbye to my dad, Danny Luttrell.

He was loved by many. Tears were shed. There was a slideshow and speeches. 

No, it wasn’t a funeral. 

But it felt like it.

Dad’s still with us—he’s just not with his coworkers. He retired. 

It’s a morbid joke, but dad was the first to say out loud what we were all thinking. So it’s OK.

After a 38 year career in insurance, and 35 years with Kentucky Farm Bureau Insurance, dad traded in his branded polos for hiking shirts and a woodworking apron. I’m really proud of him for how long he’s served his community and the career he built. It’s in a virtual toast to him that I bring you this newsletter. 

At the end of his party, Dad gave a humble speech that left me really reflecting on legacy. 

And in honor of him, I am sharing some of that story today. 

The foundation of a great career

In 1963, my mamaw Zella was pregnant with dad. Papaw JC was a coal miner and made the tough decision to leave a career in coal mining. He knew if he had a boy, in 18 years his son would likely join the family business underground.

It was one of the most dangerous jobs in the world—53 miners were killed the year my dad was born.

They moved to Michigan, where papaw worked in an automobile plant. Papaw hated the monotony of a factory line. They went back to Harlan County, where he started his career in insurance. As papaw predicted, my dad did eventually move into the family business, but not without some drama.

Only recently did I learn about conflict behind this move. Dad had applied to work at the agency where JC worked, but despite acing the tests and interview, he never got a call back. After six months, dad moved on and took a job with a different agency. 

One day, dad complained about how JC’s agency never called him back, and JC just laughed. 

“I might have had something to do with that,” papaw said. 

It turned out, papaw JC once again saw a path he didn’t want his son to venture down. JC’s agency was making moves he didn’t agree with, and JC didn’t want to see his son join the company. So when the hiring manager came to JC to ask if Danny still wanted the job, papaw stretched the truth and said Danny had just gotten a raise at the Belks department store where he worked, and had decided to stay put. 

OK, “stretched the truth” was generous. There was a meager raise, but dad was waiting on the call to put his department store days behind him. 

Dad still found his own way into an agency, and within three years had notched Agent of the Year along with several other top awards. Oh, and I was born in Harlan County along the way. Dad’s drive stood out to an agency manager at a Kentucky Farm Bureau one county over, and dad got a call from Joe Steely. 

It changed his life.

And without a doubt, it changed mine. 

Reasons not to do it

Dad’s retirement party wrapped with a 20 minute speech from him about how he got to where he was. He told the story of his career—the story I’m telling you now, but better, with more humor and there were cupcakes—and when he got to the part about how he got the job offer from Joe, I realized I had never known the entire backstory.

Joe Steely was a District Manager within Kentucky Farm Bureau, and he stepped down from his high ranking position to take over an agency under him. Bell County was not performing well—it was in need of a rebuild. Joe tackled the floundering agency and started over, rebuilding the book of business as a one agent team. 

In insurance, building a book from scratch is hard work. Often agents come into an agency and are assigned at least a certain amount of accounts. But Joe was starting from nearly nothing, rebuilding rapport and trust with his clients and finding new ones. He needed help, and saw an opportunity with my dad.

One night dad drove for an hour on the mountain roads from Harlan to Bell County, weaving past creeks, churches and small farm plots tucked into the only flat land you can find in the county. Long after the last customers had left, dad and Joe discussed the details of the job in Joe’s office. 

Incredibly, Joe didn’t pitch dad at all. Instead Joe told my dad every reason he should not take the job. It was going to be hard, dad’s wife (my mom) wouldn’t want to move away from her family, they wouldn’t have any friends, he’d have to buy a house, and the list went on and on. Dad was taken back, even telling Joe it seemed like you’re giving me nothing but reasons to not do it. 

Joe shot dad straight—the job was going to be hard, but Joe was going to be retiring eventually, and he thought if dad worked hard, he’d be the natural fit to take over the agency. 

Dad decided to take the leap. 

“I benefited from the foundation Joe built”

Dad joined Kentucky Farm Bureau in 1988. He and Joe built the business, eventually hiring two more agents. Dad won agent of the year twice, along with winning sales competition after sales competition (we went on many free vacations, all courtesy of dad’s hard work). 

In January of 2003, dad did take over the agency. Joe was still a fixture in our lives, inviting us out to fish and camp at his farm, and my sister and I even spent a week with him and his wife, Yvonne, while mom and dad took a trip to Europe (another one of dad’s earned sales prizes). Joe passed away in 2017. Whenever I think of Joe, it’s always a happy memory. 

As dad wrapped his 20th year leading the agency, and 35th year with the company, he stood in front of a room full of people who had come to honor him. After he’d told a series of hilarious tales, weaving through his career just like he’d navigated those mountainous roads years ago for his first interview with Joe, he brought it back to the man who gave him the chance. 

“Joe Steely is the one who took over a struggling agency and rebuilt it,” dad said as some cried. “Joe’s the one who really took the risk. Joe did the hard work. I benefited from the foundation that Joe Steely built. My job was nothing like what Joe did, rebuilding relationships. I was lucky to have him looking out for me.”

What is a legacy?

Many folks there shared stories of how my dad believed in them before they even believed in themselves, or came to be with them at a hospital when they were having surgery, or how dad was like a brother to them. Joe did build a great business for dad to takeover, and dad ran the agency with integrity for two decades. That’s noteworthy. 

I’ve written about legacy quite a bit (Exhibit A and Exhibit B, for example). Maybe I’m going through a midlife crisis, because I think about it a lot (along with getting my first tattoo as I near 40 years old—further proof of a crisis).

One of my favorite quotes from the musical, Hamilton, is at the very end as Alexander reflects on his life. 

“Legacy. What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”

My papaw JC planted seeds in that garden when he quit coal mining for a child he hadn’t met yet. 

Joe Steely planted seeds in it again when he stepped down from his high ranking position to get in the trenches, rebuilding an agency for someone else to take over. 

And whoever takes over for dad is inheriting customers who are loyal to the company, because my dad always served them well, no matter the time of day they called.

Papaw JC passed in 2007. He got to see dad take over the agency, but wasn’t with us for dad’s retirement party. He was missed.

Joe passed a decade later, and while he wasn’t at the party, his presence was felt and his wife, Yvonne, was with us. 

Dad’s retiring young, and I’m glad he’ll get to see the fruits of his labor and enjoy the seeds he’s sewn. He’s looking forward to traveling with his camper, spending more time with his grandkids, and woodworking. 

In the not-so-distant past, I’ve thought legacy was building something—a product or company—that was going to last for 100 years. But we’re not all going to be Alexander Hamiltons, Elon Musks, or Steve Jobs, building the world’s most valuable companies (or nations, in Hamilton’s case). 

Over the last year, I discovered we had multiple members in our family who—a mere seven generations ago—fought in the Revolutionary War. One even did so alongside George Washington. 

And we had forgotten them. 

They fought to found a country, and no one even remembered. 

Maybe the real key to legacy is building the best we can today, to help make it a bit easier for those who take the reins from our hands when our last shift is done. Their ability to continue—just a bit easier than we had it—is the legacy.

Congrats, dad. I doubt I’ll ever put in 35 years at one company, but I hope to maintain at least half your work ethic. 

Who I’m listening to: Checkout my 2023 favorite tracks playlist

What I’m reading: “Jimmy Buffett: A Good Life All the Way” by Ryan White

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