Retirement
April 2023
This is the message I sent my friends and colleagues upon my retirement….
The docks
I was seventeen years-old the first time I swore at my dad. I was seventeen-years old the last time I swore at my dad. It was one of my first jobs. At the end of each summer, we would disassemble and take docks out of Lake Winnipesaukee, to prevent damage from the lake icing up each winter. And then each May or June we would return to put them back in the water. On this particularly hot June morning, we approached a new job. It was a massive and heavy dock that for some reason had been moved more than 40 feet from the shore the season before. It could not be lifted, not by two of us, so we attempted to dig in our feet and push. It moved about six inches.
“Again,” my Dad shouted. Maybe five inches. It seemed like my Dad’s voice got louder and angrier the less the dock moved. The fifth time that he yelled at me, it sparked some inner teenage testosterone that I could not control.
“You F&#$’ing move it,” I shouted boldly, and I turned and walked away. I was done. This was not my fault nor my problem. I walked out the dirt driveway and took a right on Bean Road, about six miles from our home. I walked for about a mile and a half, convincing myself that my Dad was unreasonable and giving me a hard time for his problem. At the same time, the heat was bearing down on me, and I slowly came to the realization that our home was still a long walk away, and if I did keep going, I would just have to wait that much longer for my punishment. The heat also evaporated much of my testosterone, anger, and courage. I reluctantly turned around and slowly started my way back. As I hit the dirt driveway, I was almost shaking at the thought of how angry he would be when I turned the corner of the house. He did not see me at first. The dock was no longer 40 feet from the water. It was a mere four feet away. He barely looked over his shoulder as I walked nearer.
“If we just keep pushing…,” he said with a quiet determination as he dug his feet into the ground without finishing his sentence. I quickly got in position beside him and dug deeper and pushed harder than I could before. In less than a few minutes the dock was in the water, and we were fastening bolts and pipes to complete the assembly. We finished the job in silence until we walked toward the pick-up truck.
Dad put his arm around my shoulder and quietly suggested as he looked ahead, not at me, “let’s head on home and see if your Mom has any iced tea waiting for us.”
The question
The question I get asked the most since I first started planning my retirement more than a year ago has been “What are you going to do when you retire? I almost always gave a different response, and each of them equally true. Salsa dance lessons. Cooking classes. Bike riding. Reading more. Traveling. Coaching. Hiking. Woodworking. Painting. Playing guitar. And I always included spending more time with my daughters, Ivy Grace (12) and Chloe Lane (11).
I don’t know if I was good at reading people or if I built up the notion in my head, but I always felt like the implied question was “What kind of work are you going to do when you retire?” When I did not address work, the follow-up question tended to come up more often than not. For a year my answer was some version of “I am going to do that old fashioned kind of retirement that meets the definition – cease working.” My retirement income will be humble, and my savings are limited. But I was never about the money. I kept thinking about athletes when they retire talking about how they knew it was time when they lost that eye of the tiger, the passion, the energy to keep moving on. That’s me. I am exhausted.
After being asked enough, and doubted enough, I had a simple epiphany. Work can be defined in many ways. I bought a new personal computer, telling myself that I was just keeping my options open. But I knew. My passion for doing some kind of work is not gone. As I write this, I think that I will work. I like to write. I could be a consultant. Maybe I will hand out yellow happy face stickers at Walmart. I keep thinking about that Toby Keith song, “I ain't as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was.” I had my social security appointment the other day. They told me I could make $21,000.00 a year without it impacting my social security earnings. But, because I will have already exceeded that in 2023, I can’t start until January 2024. Maybe I will work for free the next seven months as a retirement advisor to tell people all the things nobody told you and all the things that make you go “Hmmm.” Maybe I will write a book or some poetry. Maybe I will fix the electrical problem I have put up with for years.
I’m not sure.
But I am going to keep on pushing.
Lessons learned
Another question I have been asked more than a few times is if I have any advice. I am a Dad. I have been a Dad for more than 40 years. I am in my second chapter with my girls. In all that time, I have only given one piece of advice – don’t take it personal. That one piece of advice seems to stand the test of time. I hesitate to give professional advice because we all walk in different shoes, with different experiences, with different goals. At the same time, I have been working for more than 48 years, and 40 of those have been in service to our nation. I can’t bear the thought of departing without some reflection. So, with your forgiveness, I will offer one piece of advice before I close this prose. But first, I will share some lessons I learned in different jobs that you can take as you will with a grain of salt.
Landscaping: A common job I had as a teenager included all forms of yard work. One time I was paired with a 22-year-old man laying 50-pound grass sods on three acres of property. He gave me a hard time for making him look bad in front of the boss because I was laying down two sods to every one of his and I didn’t take breaks. I learned then to never minimize my capabilities to benefit other people’s performance.
Dari-Maid: The Dari-Maid was like a local version of a Dairy Queen, but in New Hampshire, in addition to burgers and fries in the back, of course we made lobster rolls too. I learned from my boss, Barb, that working hard and having fun are not mutually exclusive. They never were and they are not now. It was the best restaurant in town, and we laughed a lot. I also learned that the smell of raspberry ice cream makes me want to puke.
E.M. Heath’s Supermarket: At just eighteen-years old I was hired as the night manager. After closing, the focus changed to stocking all the shelves. One member of my crew was older than me because you had to be over twenty-one years-old to stock the beer. One night, I turned the corner and Brad was sitting on the floor in the aisle with a half-empty bottle of Molson Golden Ale sitting on the ground next to him. He looked up with just a bit of hesitation and claimed, “I just found it here like that.” His eyes gave him away, but I knew that I could not prove otherwise. I told him that of course I believed him, but that I did not believe in coincidences and that if I ever saw him and an open bottle of beer again in the same place and time, I would report it to the Manager. I learned about second chances, to trust but verify, and that Brad was a bad liar.
Bartender: If you have never been a bartender and you wondered why some are so effective while others don’t know how to make a Gimlet or an Old Fashioned, and worse still, why some can’t seem to make it back around to replace your empty pint glass with another Lagunitas IPA, it usually has very little to do with what you are presently seeing. The difference is in their practice and preparedness. I made hundreds of drinks before I ever stepped behind a bar and served one. Each night I would make sure that all of the glasses were clean, the mixes fully stocked, and the garnishes cut and ready. I learned to be prepared. Well, that and that the best Old Fashioned starts with a sugar cube at the bottom of the glass and not simple syrup.
Restaurant Manager: I was an assistant manager at a Village Inn restaurant for a while. As many in the business can tell you, Mother’s Day is one of the worst days of the year. I had seen busy Sundays and other holidays before, but that day is like none other. I rolled up my sleeves and washed pots and pans. I made chocolate banana shakes. I refilled water. I swept the floors. I learned the value of teamwork and leading by example. The skillet meals were pretty good too.
Teacher: I taught high school English for two years in two different schools. In the first one, we built an 18th century whaleboat using 18th century tools. We competed with distinction in a Shakespeare festival against the prestigious Exeter Academy. I was an assistant coach of the Track Team. I taught Theater and Debate, and even helped a small bit with the school play, “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.” The next year I transitioned to a bigger school with a slightly larger, but economically essential, raise in pay. The students were every bit as amazing. But it was the kind of school where lesson plans were regimented, and you had to be on the right chapter of the textbook by the right day. This time, I learned that we must dare to do great things. I also learned that Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 is just as lovely when spoken in Japanese.
Soldier: After twenty-five years of my life as a soldier, this could be a book all by itself. I served on Active Duty, in the Reserves, and in the National Guard. I served in Germany, Korea, and around the United States. I was working in the Pentagon on 9/11 and experienced the impact, evacuation, and our rapid response. I responded to Baton Rouge and New Orleans in the immediate aftermath of Katrina as the lead spokesperson on the ground representing 54 National Guard states and territories, all of whom deployed units. But the two most enduring lessons I learned probably both came in the first few years as a young Lieutenant. One of them came during an international Hawk Missile firing competition off the island of Crete. Our platoon completed all of the steps to engage the target, but when out tactical control officer pushed the button, the missile did not fire. The evaluators briefed us after that it was a technical issue and that points were not deducted for performance. They then gave us two options. Walk away at that point and we would set a new NATO record for the all-time high score. Or, if preferred, we could repeat the entire exercise after the technical issue was repaired, but if we did so, and lost points in the process, we risked the record and our reputation. The soldiers from Assault Platoon, Delta Company did not even flinch. We came to see the Hawk Missile fire and destroy the target. Set it up again. It reminded me of the Boston Red Sox great, Ted Williams, who faced with a similar decision when he stepped up to bat at the last game of the season in 1941, a story I heard from my Grandpa often. Like Ted, we risked it. Ted got a hit and made history with a .406 batting average. Our platoon had another miraculous performance. We saw the missile fly, and last I heard, we still had the record.
The other lesson was much simpler. I was asked to represent our unit at our battalion headquarters for a meeting at 1:00 pm on a random Tuesday that I did not know then but would become a moment I would remember for a lifetime. I entered the conference room at 12:57 pm and immediately noticed that everyone there was of higher rank than me as I ambled quietly to the only vacant seat. As I reached the chair, Lieutenant Colonel James Madora bellowed at me that I was late. I tried to use the clock to defend myself when I was instructed with a deep, confident, and well-rehearsed mantra, that “if you are not five minutes early, then you are five minutes late.” I was twenty-three years old that day. Almost forty years later, I take risks almost every day, but I am rarely late. Hooah.
Vice President, Public Relations Firm: I took the job, in part, because I thought the position title sounded so cool. They deserved better. Less than two months in I went to attend a meeting and the conference room was empty. After almost ten minutes beyond the starting time, I left and assumed I had the wrong time or place. Later in the day I ran into a colleague who asked where I was. When I told him, he confirmed that I was in the right place and time. He chuckled that the rest of the group must have just missed me as they began trickling in ten minutes after the hour. You can’t make this stuff up. If you are not five minutes early…. More than that, an overriding responsibility was to manage spreadsheets that ensured billable hours. Not my jam. I left shortly after. I often look back and blame myself for not making it work, but as Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.”
Beltway Bandit Contractor/Consultant: I only lasted at this job for two months as well, but for a very different reason – I had also applied to FEMA and soon got the offer. But my experience here was different than at the PR firm. My friend John was already working there and quickly showed me the ropes. It was extremely easy to catch on because the second you signed on to your computer you were welcomed to a simple dashboard that gave you access to everything at just one-click. Training. Templates. News. Internet. Social Media. HR. More. One-stop shop and incredibly intuitive. I didn’t know the phrase then, but I have cited it countless times since as a positive example of Knowledge Management, which I loosely define as having technology serve the mission and not the mission serve technology. It is a rare and beautiful thing.
Emergency Manager: In fifteen years at FEMA, my most memorable deployments have been Haiti (where we created the first-ever international Joint Information Center for a disaster), American Samoa (where humanity was redefined for me), Sandy (which started on the very day I walked into Region 3, and where I held down two jobs at the same time as all six of our states had federal declarations), Maria (where I supported the people and land that I have long loved, as the primary spokesperson), and COVID (where our team earned an award for leveraging outreach to measurably and meaningfully change behavior and contribute to saving lives).
My first job with FEMA was as the Acting Director and Deputy Director of Public Affairs. In that role I deployed to Houston after Hurricanes Ike and Gustav. One Sunday I was on a morning talk show taking questions from callers to the show. They didn’t care about the Stafford Act or the nuances of Individual Assistance. They wanted to be heard. They wanted to know they were being helped. I learned there that showing people that you sincerely care is far more important than any statistic, action, or metric you could provide. My boss at the time called me on the phone after seeing me on the show and said “Dan, you’re a good person.” Not sure if he ever knew that was the best professional complement I have ever received.
My second job was as Director of Private Sector. It was probably the job I was born to do. We accomplished a lot. But I never accomplished anything alone. Our biggest achievement likely was the first-in-nation National Business Emergency Operation Center. But I am also fond of getting survivor messages posted in such extremes as the Good Year Blimp and a banner on a hay bale in rural Vermont. In this job, I learned the value of collaboration and coalition building.
My current and last job has been as the Director of External Affairs at FEMA Region 3. I never would have guessed when I walked through the door that it would be the longest tenure I have had in any one position in 48 years, as I finish with 10+ years here. Hurricane Sandy. Three Inaugurations. Elk River / Kanawha River Chemical Spill. The Pope’s visit. Democratic National Convention. West Virginia Flood of 2016. Children at the border. Afghan resettlement. Border security. The attack on the U.S. Capitol. The COrona VIrus Disease (people are starting to forget what COVID stands for). The Norfolk Southern train wreck. More winter storms and hurricanes than I care to count. This is where I finally learned humility. It may be the toughest of lessons to learn. I have been surrounded by brilliant, talented, and dedicated people. And while learning humility has been the most difficult lesson, it is also the one I now value the most.
Advice: With all of that, my one simple piece of advice for all is to be kind. I don’t offer that from some lofty perch of success, but rather from this humble life filled with me trying to become a better person. And when I still fail to be as kind as I would like, I try to be kind to myself and wake up the next day and try it all over again. It is the right thing to do, and I think people perform better in response to kindness than fear. Catch people doing something right. Anyone can find faults, typos, mistakes, areas for improvement, et al. That’s easy. And if you are looking to catch them doing something wrong, and/or your first assumption is that they are doing something wrong, then maybe that says more about you than them. Anyone can focus on mistakes. Spellcheck can fix mistakes. A leader is someone who serves superiors, subordinates, and peers - a champion for the team. Take the time to give credit, acknowledgment, and gratitude – that’s the stuff right there.
My gratitude
Which leads me to my gratitude. I am deeply and forever thankful to so many that I could not possibly hope to list them all here. I will say this. FEMA can be a thankless experience. But I am extremely thankful for everyone who chooses government service to help people during the most difficult experiences of their lives. Region 3 is the place to work within FEMA. What you all do is amazing, it matters, and it is noticed. I am thankful to leadership for hiring me and building such a professional and accomplished team. I am thankful to all the Division Directors, past and present. To a person, they truly care about both the people and the mission. They are good people and they have become sounding boards and confidants. And, finally, I will leave my career with immense gratitude and appreciation for our External Affairs team. As many of you know, we significantly increased in size this past year. First we hired the Dynamic Duo and then we hired the Magnificent Seven, all of whom joined the Legends. In every hiring action we had one simple rule – hire good people who embrace collaboration and kindness. To a person, we got that. In addition, before the first panel interview was even over, we also learned that each and every one of them were also bringing amazing skills and talent. I would put this team against any other, any time. Thank you.
My farewell
I am going on six pages here, and I am at a loss as to how to close out this message, and my career along with it. So, I won’t (close out the message, that is).
Instead, in closing, I will borrow a few lines. The first, Puck’s last words in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended— That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we [I] will mend.”
The second, from General Douglas MacArthur’s final words when he addressed Congress in 1951, “’Old soldiers never die--they just fade away.' And like the old soldier of that ballad, I now close my military [and FEMA] career and just fade away--an old soldier who tried to do his duty as God gave him the light to see that duty. Good-bye.”
I am going to keep pushing.
Dan Stoneking