The $400,000 provided the foundation for our success. The two major gifts opened the way for others. I had two boards to work with, and luckily for me, everyone was on the same page. Final decisions regarding the scope of the project were left to the two boards which meant we’d have shared meetings to get things started. The Foundation was charged with securing the necessary funds, while the Board of Education accepted their gifts. With acceptance came the responsibility for maintenance of the project. My job was to provide counsel and research to each group.
Our initial focus was the development of an eight-lane all weather track and its support building. They were two separate projects with individual contracts working towards a common completion date. We planned to open both to the public in the spring of 2005.
The Foundation Board was made up of past board of education members, successful business people, a retired banker, a practicing attorney, investment experts, and the leader of Britton’s alumni group. Each had been approached because of unique expertise and common love of Britton. It was a great board. They worked together to identify potential donors. Sometimes they made the appeal. More often, they provided contact information, and I made “the ask”
Our “asks” resulted in a number of gifts. They varied in size from $1,000 – $30,000. Some were lumps some payments while others were pledges we’d receive over the course of multiple years. All were welcome.
We broke ground for the track in the summer of 2004. Before the earth movers could move in we had to cut down the half grown corn and haul it away. One of our mentor/coffee drinkers, Tom Judkins, volunteered to bring in his equipment to complete the job. It went against his farming instincts, but it had to be done. We hit our BIGGEST challenge when the earth moving road grader started circling the outline of the track. One late afternoon, after the summer staff had left for the day, there was a knock on my office window.
When I looked up, the track project foreman was standing there. “We need you outside. We’ve got a problem.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It’s best if you see.”
I got in my car and drove out to the site. The road grade driver, Denzel Williams, asphalt engineer, Mike Jackson, rubber track foreman, and I held an unscheduled meeting. During our discussion I learned the difference between sand and clay. Having completed several projects that involved digging, I learned to expect the unexpected. When we built the media center in 93 we found the restroom soil pipes were made from tubes of tar paper that collapsed over the prior fifty years. Our waste water dug its own path to the sewer. The farm field couldn’t have such pipes as it only saw corn and beans. We might find an Indian burial ground or mastodon bones. I could understand either, but I wasn’t prepared for sand vs. clay. We had clay.
Clay holds water. I watched in disbelief as Denzel exited the grader. It still moved. The grader was floating on top of the clay. The only other land movements I’d seen were lava flows and mud slides thousands of miles from Britton. This was nothing like that.
The quick explanation was our clay was unsuitable for a track. We couldn’t just build on top of it. I looked at the track foreman and said, “Two weeks ago you said you took a core sample and we were good to go. How can this happen?”
“We’ve had a lot of rain since then.”
“Yes, and its going to rain again. What can we do?”
The trio offered up two options. One involved additional excavation and the addition of eighteen inches of stone to provide a solid base. We’d have to dig out several inches of clay and haul it away. The second was a base made of a geotextile fabric followed by twelve inches of stone. This would require less excavation. “The fabric is used all of the time by the State when they have swampy areas to cross.”
“How much is this going to cost?”
“$50,000 either way.”
I asked Denzel and Mike for their opinion. Mike was a former student of mine in Addison and the current president of their Board of Education. Denzel was a seasoned artist with the grader, skimming a half inch of soil with each pass. I trusted them. They both suggested the woven material and stone approach.
“OK, you guys start lining up the material and stone, and I’ll go find the fifty grand. Don’t order anything, just find it. I’ve got to get approval from a lot of people.” I followed my directive with another. I pointed to the track advisor and said, “Tell your boss we need a new foreman.”
Long story short, I received the approval of both boards and things moved forward. The extra money would delay the football field portion of the complex as we’d have to delay purchasing our new bleachers, but we’d cross that bridge later. We focused on the track. Once we got over that hurdle, everything moved forward.
In late July, Ken Herrick died. We’d met just eleven months prior. The two men responsible for the majority of our funding were both gone.
We broke ground for the support building as school was about to begin that fall. I receive a second surprise when they started to excavate the site. We had a similar clay issue, took soil samples, and received approval to move forward with modifications. We had to excavate, add thirty inches of gravel base, cover that with sand, and compact everything. It ate another $25,000 of our budget, but it had to be done, so we did it.
The building and track were successfully completed before the first snow fell. At the end of our annual Christmas concert one of the foundation board members introduced a guest she’d brought to the concert. She introduced me to a businessman from Tecumseh who I knew by reputation but never met. As we shook hands he said, “Bob, I understand you’ve had some unexpected problems with your project.”
“Yes, but we’ll get through the glitch.”
“Well, I expect you’ll need more, but here’s a check for $25,000 to help with purchasing your football bleachers. I ask only that you invite me to your first game.”
“Done! I’ll even buy you a hot dog.”
Within that same week, I wrote a Christmas note to Mrs. Herrick. By now she wanted me to call her Shirley, but that didn’t seem appropriate. I sent her a card when Ken passed in July, and I wanted her to know I was thinking of her during the holiday season. I took my card to the florist in Tecumseh and asked that he attach it to “your nicest Poinsettia”. I’ll always remember his response.
“I’ve delivered at least a dozen this week. If you want your remembrance to be special, I suggest you select something else.”, and he rattled off several alternatives. I knew nothing about such matters, so I asked him to use his best judgement.
“You’re right. I’ll trust your judgement. Just make it special.”
A few days later I received a thank you from Mrs. Herrick. She loved her orchid and was reading up on how to care for it. “It’s beautiful and such a thoughtful gift.”
TBC