History - Jeffrey S Ton

Pulling on Threads – The Search for a Bell

I couldn’t tell you my earliest memory of hearing church bells. I can only tell you, as the son of a preacher, my guess is I’ve heard church bells most of my life. Growing up in a small town in the Midwest, I remember hearing the bells tolling every hour on the hour…and at noon, they would play a short song, er uh, hymn. There is something about playing outside on a warm summer day with bright blue skies and hearing the bells reverberate through town. It’s kind of like baseball and apple pie.

I do remember our annual visits to the Green Lake Conference Center (or just Green Lake as we called it) and the carillon chiming high atop Judson Tower. The peals could be heard across the grounds and from the lake. Trekking the 121 steps to the top of Judson Tower rewarded you with an experience you could feel from the top of your head to the tips of your toes!

When I was in high school, I joined the handbell choir at church. We made some beautiful music if I do say so myself! Our choir became fairly well known in town and we were able to play some high-profile concerts. We made some incredible music…even this old rock and roller has to admit that!

Today, our house reverberates with chimes (bells) from a cuckoo clock, outdoor windchimes, and my grandmother clock (my mother’s clock and she insisted it was NOT a grandfather clock, it was a grandMOTHER clock!

All of this is to tell you why I had to make an extra stop on my most recent trip to Chicago. I had to see the bell. What bell, you ask? Well, let me tell you the story…

Great-Great-Grandfather and The Bell

In 1849, a group of families immigrated from The Netherlands to the south side of Chicago and settled in what is now called Roseland. They called the area High Prairie. These Dutch were devoted members of the Dutch Reformed Church. Soon after their arrival, they founded the First Reformed Church of Roseland.

By 1867, the church had outgrown the house they had been using for services and decided to build their first church building. The frame church at 107th and Michigan Avenue included a wonderful steeple and belfry. Wonderful…but empty.

First Reformed Church of Roseland

According to my great-great-aunt Neeltje (Ton) Jansen, daughter of Jan and Aagje Ton (my paternal great-great-grandparents), this bothered her father to no end. As one of the church’s founders, he took it upon himself to raise money for the bell. He donated the first $100 and, in a short time, had the $300 they would need to buy a bell (that’s about $6,500 in today’s dollars). As he collected the money, he gave the money to Aagje, who hid it in an old beaded bag and put it in a drawer for safekeeping.

One night, long after dark, two men knocked on the door asking for directions. When Jan stepped out to point the way, they hit him in the forehead with a slingshot. The two attackers held him down and demanded the money. Bleeding profusely from the wound, he led them to a closet and gave them the money from his trousers. The men knew he had been raising money for the bell and knew there had to be more. They beat him, threw him in the closet, and locked the door. They then proceed to ransack the house. Pour Aagje was confined to her bed, just having given birth two or three days prior, she hid the other children with her and waited. Finally, the men gave up and left. Though they rummaged through the drawer containing the money, they failed to realize the beaded bag contained what they sought.

The very next day, Jan sent the money to Troy, New York, to pay for the newly founded bell.

Our story does not end there.

The Bell Arrives

About a month later, Jan received notice that the bell had arrived in Chicago, he tied his team of oxen to the wagon and rode the 20 miles to the small town along the lake. Possibly to the same port he and his family had arrived at 18 years before.

Three days later, Aagje had not heard from Jan. Distraught, she asked two neighbors to search for him. They found his wagon bogged down in the mud and the bell lying half-buried in the muck near The Eleven Mile House Tavern (92nd and State Street). When they found Jan, he recounted the ordeal of getting stuck in the mud with the heavy bell. His efforts to free the wagon tipped the bell into the mire. Since he was alone, he could not lift the bell back onto the wagon, so he just decided to wait, thinking, “Someone will come looking sooner or later.”

The men rescued the bell and a week later, it was hung in the belfry and called its first worshippers to services.

Visit to The Bell

That was my extra stop…to see the bell. Although a distant cousin had sent me pictures of the bell, I had to see it myself! The bell rang in the belfry the First Reformed Church of Roseland at 107th and Michigan Road until the church built a much larger facility in 1887 just south of the intersections at 107th Street. The bell was later moved to the First Reformed Church of Lansing (Illinois). Today it is on display at Thorn Creek Reformed Church in South Holland, IL…or is it?

The Bell?

It is now a few weeks after my visit. I knew I wanted to tell the story of the bell. As I wrote, I kept referring back to the pictures I had taken that day, the book about Roseland Down an Indian Trail in 1849 by Marie K. Rowlands, and the story my great-great-aunt had written in 1932. Something was off, but I wasn’t sure what. Then I saw it. The bell at Thorn Creek certainly was forged in Troy, New York as Ms. Rowlands wrote in her book…but the date…the date forged in the bell was 1887…- 1887, not 1867.

The Date?

So, I began pulling on threads. Those threads led me to research five churches, two foundries, and the history of the Dutch Reformed Church and its various successions and splits.

The First Reformed Church of Roseland did, in fact, build a new larger building in 1887. It seems they must have ordered a new bell for the new facility. The original bell, no longer needed, made its way to the First Reformed Church of Lansing (Illinois). A brother-in-law of Jan’s helped to found the Lansing church. Perhaps that is why the bell was gifted to them?

The Fire

The Lansing church built its first building in 1897. That building burned to the ground in a huge fire in 1945. Newspaper articles from the time describe the steeple (and the belfry) crashing down into the street. An eyewitness, who was ten at the time of the fire, remembers the sound the bell made as it slammed into the roadway.

THE Bell
Photo: Daniel Bovino

The congregation raised money and built a new building on the same spot. Two area historians believe the bell hanging in the belfry of the new building (completed in 1947) is the “Ton Bell.” If it is, it creates another question. Cast into the bell is the name of the bell founder, “A. Fulton.” I cannot find any reference to a bellmaker in Troy, New York, by that name. I can, however, find a renowned bellmaker who had a foundry in Pittsburgh, PA, in the 1800’s. Could the author of the “Indian Trail” book have made a mistake when she wrote, “Ton dispatched the money to Troy, New York with an order for the bell”? That now seems likely.

As for the 1887 bell that is on display in front of the Thorn Creek Reformed Church, how did that bell find its way there? It is clearly cast for the First Reformed Church of Roseland. The answer is less of a mystery than I thought. You see, the Thorn Creek church IS the Roseland church. The church moved to South Holland in the early 1970s. I assume, since there already was a First Reformed Church of South Holland, they named themselves Thorn Creek.

Sometimes when you pull on threads, you confirm the past, sometimes, you reach a dead-end, other times, you gain new insights that rewrite the story. I will keep pulling on threads…

The First Reformed Church of Roseland, IL

established 1849,
Original building built 1867
“Ton” Bell Purchased circa 1868
New building built 1887
Second bell (now at Thorn Creek) cast 1887
moved to South Holland, IL circa 1971

The First Reformed Church of Lansing, IL, established 1861, today called Lansing First Church PCA

original building built 1897
“Ton” bell hung in belfry
Building destroyed by fire 1945
New building built 1947
“Ton” bell hung in new belfry

The First Reformed Church of South Holland, IL

established 1865
Reorganized 1886
Site of the Jan and Aagje Ton Memorial Garden 2013

Thorn Creek Reformed Church, South Holland, IL

First Reformed Church of Roseland relocated to South Holland circa 1971
Home of the “second” bell from 1887

Lilydale Progressive M.B. Church, Roseland, IL

Bought the building built in 1887 from the First Reformed Church of Roseland when they moved to South Holland and became Thorn Creek circa 1971

May 7, 2024/0 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Family, History

Part II: A Journey Through the Land of Serendip

Continue with me on our journey, A Journey Through the Land of Serendip. You may recall from the first installment (and if you don’t you can read it here), this past summer two separate storylines from this blog collided in a wonderful adventure. That adventure continues here…and collides with a third storyline…a storyline I have yet to write!

After spending a magical afternoon on Chicago’s south side in the communities of Roseland and South Holland, we continued our journey north toward the Green Lake area. Green Lake, more specifically, the Green Lake Conference Center has always held a special place in our hearts. In the post, Shadows of Days Gone By, you can read about our family’s ties to this slice of heaven-on-earth (and no, that is not the collision of the third storyline). In 2014, we added to the legacy when the family had gathered lakeside to scatter my mother’s ashes near one of the pergolas on Memory Lane. This was our first return since that day.

A Journey Through the Land of Serendip One of the things both my parents loved to do in their later years at Green Lake was to explore the Amish communities south of the lake. Carmen and I had explored these areas many times during our visits with them. Brad, now 37, had never had the experience. I was excited when he decided to join us on the trek. We would honor my parents by visiting the Amish Pleasant View Bakery and indulging in fresh, warm cinnamon rolls as big as your head; shopping at Mishler’s Country Store; and, stocking up on enough cheese for a year at the Kingston Creamery. Gene and Mary Ellen would have been proud!

Later in the morning, we arrived at the Conference Center. Even after being away for seven years, I got the same ol’ feelings driving through the gates and down the main road. Memories of dozens of visits. Warm, pleasant memories. Family. Friends. Adventures galore. Brad had plans to honor his grandfather the best he knew how…by playing a round of golf at Lawsonia, the world-class course located right on the grounds of the conference center. It was his “Popper”, my dad, that first introduced him to golf.

Throughout the years whenever my kids and I or my sister and her kids visited, Popper would take them golf ball hunting. You see, Lawsonia is a tough course. I always felt like I had a good round if I only lost a handful of golf balls during a round. The grandsons loved their time hunting with Popper. Later as they got older, he would take them for a round. Brad loves golf. I think he always felt closest to my dad when they were playing! “Good one, Brad!”, “You really walloped that one, Brad”, “Keep an eye on where it goes into the woods, Brad” (hey, not every shot can be a good one!).

“Still no collision of the third storyline”, you say? I know, I know, I’ll get there, I promise!

We dropped Brad off at the course and Carmen and I headed into town to check-in to our hotel and visit the annual art festival that happens every summer (another favorite of Mary Ellen…not sure about Gene). After a couple of hours of shopping, we picked up Brad and headed out to dinner at another Gene-and-Mary-Ellen-later-in-life-favorite, Norton’s Restaurant. At dinner, we shared stories. Stories of our times at Green Lake…of our times with mom and dad…times with dad, Popper, Gene, the Reverend Doctor Ton.

Sunday morning, we picked up Brad from the BNB where he was staying and headed, once again, to the grounds of the Conference Center. A worshipful silence fell on us as we got out of the car and walked to Memory Lane. We wandered along the walkway through the plaques and memorials to Baptist leaders of the last half-century or more. Pergolas offer shade and benches for reflection. They too are covered with plaques. Without speaking we each in turn separated ourselves from the others to be alone with our thoughts. We discovered and re-discovered a plaque to mom, a plaque to both mom and dad, a plaque to dad, finally stopping at the last pergola.

This was the place. On the pergola was a plaque honoring my grandmother and grandfather, my mother’s parents. This was where we had gathered seven years ago. My dad, siblings, my aunt, and some friends. This was where we each said our goodbyes to mom as we scattered her to the wind and the water. Of all the life moments I have documented in this blog, I don’t think I have ever written about that day. As I think of that day now, that will be a story I need to write. What is important for our story today is what dad used that day.

As we approached the pergola in 2014, dad had a large brown bowl filled to the brim with, well, with mom. I immediately recognized the bowl as one we had used often growing up…mostly to serve mashed potatoes. Beside the bowl was a yellow measuring cup. This was the measuring cup mom had used to fill her iron with water. THAT is what dad had selected to use for this somber, bittersweet time. (uh, one of the early signs of the dementia that would later take him over). Rather fitting for a family that relied on humor and sarcasm to share its feelings!

During one of the downsizings dad would endure in the ensuing years, Carmen saved those two precious items. It was into that brown bowl I now poured dad’s ashes. We would use the same yellow measuring cup to scoop him up and scatter him to the wind and water. To these, we added a chalice to share in communion. For years, our family would pass the cup to mark significant moments in our lives…a marriage…a birth. Forty years ago, we passed the cup surrounding mom’s hospital bed as she lay near death from a devastating fire.

Brad, Carmen, and I stood in the pergola. I read the eulogy I had shared at dad’s funeral (honestly, it was easier to read at the funeral than it was in those moments…” Niagra Falls, Frankie”). In turn, we each remembered dad/Popper in our own words, sipped from the cup, took a scoop, and scattered him into the breeze with the sun sparkling off the surface of the lake. We then took a scoop in honor of each of the family members who could not be with us that day and scattered them. Dad was now with mom.

As I gazed down the bank, I noticed some of his ashes had filtered through the shrubbery on the bank and landed in the water. As the waves were rolling into the bank, the ashes were dispersing on the surface. It looked like wisps of smoke as the tendrils of ash spread. I snapped a picture with my phone.

Once we completed our goodbyes, we quietly walked back to the car. (I cannot confirm nor deny that we saved a scoop to scatter at the 8th hole tee box on the Links course at Lawsonia). The three of us then spent time exploring the grounds, sharing stories, climbing Judson Tower, sharing stories, walking the lakeshore, and, yes, sharing stories. We left the grounds not knowing when or if any of us would return.

“Uh, but what about the collision?”

The next morning as we were preparing to leave and head home, I was sitting on the balcony sipping my coffee while Carmen got ready. I took those moments to check my email. On the drive up, I had received an email from my graphics designer extraordinaire.

For the past several months I had been working on a new book project. A labor of love. I am releasing the 2nd edition of a book my mom wrote forty years ago. In 1980, mom was almost killed in a fire. She survived. Not only did she survive, but she also wrote a book. The Flames Shall Not Consume You is a book about her journey through the fire, its aftermath, and her wrestling match with God. My own journey to publishing this book has been an incredible journey of love, friendships old and new, and serendipitous moments (remember we are traveling through the Land of Serendip).

My designer’s email contained some sample cover designs. I opened the first one. The collision took my breath away. Her cover design was that of a flower on fire. As the flower burned, wisps of smoke extended from the flames. Wisps of smoke spreading into the air…smoke… smoke spreading across the water. I pulled out the photo I had snapped yesterday of dad’s ashes on the surface of Green Lake. The tendrils of smoke were a perfect overlay for the cover image. Chills ran down my spine. Tears ran down my cheeks.

A collision of epic proportions. Three storylines come together on a balcony in Green Lake, Wisconsin. The Land of Serendip, a series of fairy tales telling the story of my dad’s battle with dementia; A Journey, a series about the discovery of my great-great-grandparents’ involvement with the Underground Railroad; and the, yet to be written series, The Flame Burns Brightly, relaying the journey of bringing mom’s books back to life.

A Journey Through the Land of Serendip [Part I]

Serendipity – A Fairy Tale

The Land of Serendip Revisited

The Land of Serendip – The Final Chapter

A Journey

A Journey Continues

December 8, 2021/2 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Family, History

A Journey Through the Land of Serendip

Welcome to the collision of two storylines. I don’t know how often this happens to other authors, but I believe this is a first for me in over a decade of blogging. A few years ago I wrote a series of posts in the form of fairy tales. The fairy tales took place in a magical kingdom called Serendip and were a way to convey the story of my father’s declining health. The final installment was written just a few days after his death in December of 2019. Last year I started another series titled “A Journey” after I made a surprising discovery about my great-great-grandparents. I learned they operated a stop on the underground railroad for a number of years. I promised to continue to provide updates as we discovered more of the story. Those two stories came together this past summer.

Even though the title of the third installment of the fairy tale series was “The Land of Serendip – The Final Chapter”, it was not the final chapter. My father’s wish was to have his ashes scattered in Green Lake, Wisconsin where we had scattered mom’s ashes in 2014. Our plans to make that trek in the summer of 2020 were derailed by, yep, the global pandemic. We put our plans on the shelf, well, actually, we put dad on the shelf…literally.

Jan & Aagje Ton

Early in the summer, we made the discovery about my great-great-grandparents. That prompted me to write the “A Journey” series. Fast forward to the summer of 2021. We began to make plans to take dad to be with mom. Our plans included a stop in South Holland, Illinois, to visit the site of the Jan and Aagje (pronounced ahk-e-ya) Ton Memorial Gardens. Jan and Aagje are my great-great-grandparents. In June, almost a year to the day since I posted the first installment of that series, Duane DeYoung left a comment on the post. He, too, is a descendant of Jan and Aagje.

A few weeks later, I received a letter, yes, an actual letter. The return address was the South Holland Historical Society. Curious, I tore open the envelope. Inside was a letter from Robin Schedberg, she, too, found my post. She was writing to let me know about a rededication ceremony to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the memorial garden. The ceremony was scheduled for October 16th. The same date as my…well, I’m not saying which one, suffice it to say I am old…high school reunion five hours away in the opposite direction. Over the summer we texted and emailed several times. Robin sent some wonderful photographs of some historical pieces they have in the Society library.

We toyed with the idea of delaying our trip to scatter dad’s ashes until October but given the conflict with the reunion and the fact that October is the off-season for the Green Lake area, we decided to move ahead with our plans for an August trip. Our itinerary included a stop in South Holland to meet local historian, Larry McClellan, view the memorial, and tour the area. We would continue to Green Lake, spend a couple of days, scatter dad’s ashes and then return home. At the invitation of Duane DeYoung, we planned to stop by his home in Wisconsin on our return trip.

Days before we were to embark on our adventure, Duane wrote saying he had been in contact with Robin and she could meet us on Monday afternoon in South Holland. It had not occurred to me to share our full itinerary with him. I picked up the phone and called him. Imagine that a letter and a phone call in the same story! I explained Larry’s availability was limited to Friday and we were planning to meet him at the memorial site. A day or so later, Duane let me know that he and his wife June would meet us at the site on Friday, and we were still more than welcome to stop by their home the following Monday.

With that preamble, welcome to “A Journey Through the Land of Serendip”. Friday morning, August 13th, my wife, Carmen, my son, Brad and I loaded the car and headed north. Oh yeah, dad was with us too, but he didn’t help load the car. I can’t tell you how many times one of us asked, “so, do we have dad?”. No one wanted to drive all day without the guest of honor!

Trying to coordinate a meetup on the South Side of Chicago, when one group was coming from Indianapolis (three hours away), another group was coming from Lake Geneva (a couple of hours away), and the tour guide, although local, on a tight schedule was a little tricky, especially when Chicago traffic can change in an instant. What did we do before text messaging, GPS, and traffic apps? We arrived at the memorial a few minutes before the appointed time. The memorial sits on the grounds of the First Reformed Church of South Holland, somewhat apropos considering my father was a minister. We learned that Jan had been one of the founders of the church and served as a Deacon for a number of years. That was one of the reasons for selecting the site, and one of the reasons Jan and Aagje were selected to be honored and remembered.

Carmen, Jeff & Brad Ton

Hoping to have some private time at the memorial, we were a little disappointed to see a woman tending the flowers in the garden surrounding the monument. Our disappointment was short-lived as once again the magic of serendipity struck. The woman tending the flowers was Nadine Harris-Clark, the aunt of LeRone Branch, the Eagle Scout who was the force behind the memorial. We soon learned, Larry had given her a heads up we would be there. Not only did she want to meet us, but she also brought a photo album of the building of the memorial. She was beaming with pride as she talked about the project, the care that had been taken to select plants native to the area to surround the monument, and her nephew LeRone.

The memorial itself is a 9,000-pound piece of granite. We had seen pictures of the gardens and the stone the previous year when we discovered this amazing story. What was hard to see in the pictures were the railroad tracks that ran under the stone as a symbol of the underground railroad. The scene was breathtaking. The tracks seemed to emerge from the native flowers, disappear underground, and reemerge on the other side of the stone, only to disappear again in the flowers. We were all near tears as we took it all in.

A Journey Through the Land of Serendip Larry soon arrived, followed shortly thereafter by Duane and June. Let the reunion commence! Larry has been researching the history of the area, the Tons, and the Underground Railroad for years. He has written numerous articles and books on the subject. We stood near the monument while he shared the history with us. He believes between four and five hundred Freedom Seekers passed through this area on their way to Canada. “They had to leave the land of the free, to become free”, he stated.

Freedom Seekers would travel north from Missouri, western Kentucky, and parts south, along the Mississippi and the Illinois Rivers and then overland to Chicago. Arriving in Chicago, they would rest before heading south around Lake Michigan and on to Detroit where they would cross into Canada. It was on the southern trek around the lake they likely encountered my great-great-grandparents. Jan and Aagje owned a farm on the northern shore of the Little Calumet River. They would hide them, feed them, provide them a place to rest, and then help them on their way to Indiana. They had purchased the farm from George Dolton, who operated first a ferry then a toll bridge over the river. It is likely Dolton who directed many of the Freedom Seekers to the Ton Farm.

After the history lesson, Larry, Duane, and Brad crammed into the backseat of our SUV and we drove to the location of the Ton Farm. Larry continued our history lesson as we drove, identifying this road and that road as old Indian trails and routes Jan would have taken to get to Indiana with his precious cargo. We crossed the river at the Indiana Avenue bridge. This would have been where Dolton’s toll bridge once spanned the water.

Location of the Ton Farm

Chicago’s Finest Marina now sits on the site of the Ton Farm. The owner of the marina, retired Chicago Police Officer, Ronald Gaines, was unable to meet us and the gates were locked. We took turns peering through the iron gate at what would have been the location of the Ton home. The farm was originally 40 acres, so we walked a gravel road that ran along the river. It was an incredible feeling to walk where my ancestors would have walked 170 years ago and to peer out on the river they peered upon.

Larry shared the Little Calumet River Underground Railroad Project was a group of volunteers who are researching the area and identifying historical places of interest. They are creating a water trail down on the river and will be placing markers, one of which will be at the Ton site. Being avid canoeists in our younger days, we are looking forward to paddling the trail! We piled back into the car and headed back to the Church, not before stopping on the Indiana Avenue bridge so Carmen could take a picture looking from the bridge to the farm a short distance downstream.

Once back to the church, we bid adieu to Larry and Nadine (who was still there tending to the flowers). Duane and June left to meet Robin at the library. We needed to continue our Journey Through the Land of Serendip.

Larry McClellan & Nadine Harris-Clark

Without having to give a spoiler alert for the continuing series, one of the things I need to share is the uncomfortable feeling I get every time we thank someone associated with the memorial project for creating this monument to Jan and Aagje. Why uncomfortable? Because when we thank them, they thank us for what Jan and Aagje (and others) did 170 years ago. We are honored they chose to remember Jan and Aagje. We are honored to be descended from Jan and Aagje.

Serendipity – A Fairy Tale

The Land of Serendip Revisited

The Land of Serendip – The Final Chapter

A Journey

A Journey Continues

October 28, 2021/7 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Family, History

A Journey Continues

From “Down an Indian Trail in 1849” by Mary K. Rowlands

Last month, as you may recall, I invited you along on a journey: a journey of discovery into some of my family history. I’ve learned a lot in one month..but have a lot more to learn. I’ve exchanged LinkedIn messages with LeRone Branch, the Eagle Scout turned Tax Accountant, who helped develop the memorial to my great-great-grandparents Jan and Aagje (Vander Sijde) Ton. I’ve emailed several times with Paul Ton of Michigan, descended from Jan’s brother, Harmen, and I’ve read two and a half books that mention Jan and others in the Ton family.

Correcting the Record

Part of what I have learned is that I had some of my facts wrong in my post last month. In that post, I mentioned Jan and Aagje immigrated to the U.S from Holland (Netherlands) in the 1840s with eight of their nine children. That is not correct. As is often the case with old records, it is easy to get confused when children carry the same name as one of their parents. Many times records do not include suffixes such as Jr. or Sr. or even II and III.

My great-great-grandfather, Jan, was 23 years old and single when he immigrated to the U.S. aboard the ship, “Massachusetts of Boston”, sailing from Le Havre, France in April of 1849. Jan was the son of Jan and Peterje (Stam) Ton, my great-great-great-grandparents. THEY had nine children. It was eight of their nine children who, over time, immigrated to the U.S. So, you can see how confusing that can get! The “Massachusetts of Boston” carried two Tons across the Atlantic, Jan and his married sister, Jannetje (Ton) Eenigenburg. Many of the families settled south of Chicago near Lake Calumet. Jan and eight other immigrants are considered the founding fathers of what is now Roseland, Illinois.

It appears from the records I can find there might have been some shenanigans going on onboard the ship. Jan and Aagje’s first son, Jan Jr. was born in February of 1850. Jan and Aagje would marry in 1853 and raise 14 children to adulthood.

The Underground Railroad

I am certain to have many more stories to tell as I learn more, but, I do want to relate a story that directly connects Jan and Aagje to the Under Ground Rail Road. The story is found in the 1923 book “The Wonder of the Dunes” by George A. Brennan. You see, what is now Indiana Dunes National Park was traveled by many freedom seekers on their way from Chicago to Detroit and on into Canada. The Hollanders settlement near Lake Calumet was a leading station along that portion of the underground railroad.

This particular story was retold many times over the years by Cornelius Kuyper, a dear friend of my great-great-grandfather’s and the town constable. Mr. Brennan records the story in his book. In his capacity as the constable, Kuyper was often called upon to assist in capturing run-away freedom seekers. He would attack each request with such zeal and effort, he would receive praise from slave owners and sheriffs alike…though…he never succeeded in capturing any freedom seekers.

A Story to Tell

As Kuyper tells the story, one day he was visited by a slave owner from Kentucky, a sheriff deputy from Chicago, and a posse. They were pursuing three freedom seekers, each with a $3,000 price on their heads. As was his norm, Kuyper searched high and low for the runaways, even taking the posse as far as the Illinois-Indiana state line. Once again, he came up empty-handed.

When they returned to Kuyper’s home, his wife Maartje prepared and served them a meal before they headed back to Chicago. After they were safely on their way, Kuyper headed into his cellar, opened a trap door, and summoned one of the freedom seekers who he had hidden away. He then went to the barn and moved part of an immense stack of hay, the other two freedom seekers emerged. He fed them, had them climb in his wagon covered them with cobs of corn, and took them to the home of Jan Ton. Jan hitched up his wagon, transferred the precious cargo, and headed out toward Indiana. Near the town of Hohman Bridge (today’s Hammond, Indiana), the cargo was transferred to another wagon. The freedom seekers were well on their way to Canada.

One can only imagine the countless times these men and women provided this service to others on their journey!

As I learn more, we will continue on this journey together. Until next time!

July 30, 2020/3 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Family, History

A Journey

A Journey - Ton Family In the twelve years, I’ve been writing this blog I’ve taken you on many journeys. This time it’s different. This time I don’t know where we are going. Join me as I explore. Together, we will explore the past, and maybe, just maybe, there will be some lessons for us today and in the future in the wake of the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Elijah McClain, and others.

Our journey begins just a few short weeks ago. In the midst of the civil unrest in the wake of George Floyd’s death, a window to the past opened. Those of you who know me personally, know I love exploring the past. Carmen and I have followed the Lewis and Clark Trail from its beginnings in Monticello, Virginia, to the shores of the Pacific Coast near Astoria, Oregon, and back to St. Louis.

Our love for that epic story unlocked our love for our family’s story. We have stood in the tiny abandoned farmhouse where my grandmother was born near Randolph, Nebraska. We have stood near countless graves of our ancestors. For us, history goes beyond the names and dates, it’s about people and their stories. What did they do and why? What were they thinking? What were they feeling?

We have read pages and pages of journals to uncover the stories behind the names and dates. That is why my sister’s note surprised me. Her note included a link to an article she had stumbled across, a link that takes our exploration back further than a few short weeks ago. It uncovers a story. A story that involves a professor, an eagle scout, a retired Chicago police officer, and that is just going back 10 years. The story takes us back 171 years. It takes us back to 1849. It takes us to the story of Jan and Aagje Ton, my great, great grandparents.

Life Magazine!

Despite all the journals, despite all the graveside visits, what I knew about Jan and Aagje was from a 1945 issue of Life Magazine. That issue ran the story of the fiftieth Ton family reunion held in West Pullman Park on the South Side of Chicago. Over 500 Tons were in attendance. Jan and Aagje were immigrants from De Zaan, Holland. They and eight of their nine children came to the U.S. in the 1840s to flee persecution and high taxes.

Cool story, right? Life Magazine! As an aside, the cover of that issue was of one Jimmy Stewart, the actor, returning home after the war. The article even had a picture of the old farmhouse on the north side of the Little Calumet River. A lifetime of trips to and through Chicago not once were we inspired to track down the story, to visit the graves, or to find the location of the farm. The Life Magazine article is framed and hanging on the stairs in our home. I pass it a dozen times a day.

Surprising news!

And then I received the link from my sister. What I learned floored me, blew me away. Jan and Aagje did more than farm on the banks of the Little Calumet River. You see, their farm was a stop along what is now known as the Underground Railroad. Freedom seekers would arrive at the farm on foot, in wagons (hidden under hay or sacks of corn), and sometimes by train. All of them traveling hundreds of miles to find their freedom. Jan would assist by taking them by wagon halfway across Indiana toward Detroit and the Canadian border.

I learned the farm was located at what is today “Chicago’s Finest Marina”. It is a historically black-owned marina. Ronald Gaines, a retired Chicago police officer now owns the marina.

I learned there is a memorial to honor my great, great grandparents near the church they helped found when they immigrated to the area. The memorial was an Eagle Scout project of LeRone Branch. LeRone is now a tax accountant for Deloitte.

Where do we go from here?

I’m hungry to learn more. My curiosity is aroused. Why didn’t we know? How was the story lost to our branch of the family? There isn’t anyone left to ask. My grandparents never spoke of it that any of us remember. My grandfather died in the mid-60s. My grandmother was fiercely proud of being a Ton. Though she married into the family, she was first and foremost a Ton. In all her journals, not one word of this appears. In the countless stories, she told in the years before her death, not even a whisper. I suppose the easy answer is she didn’t know. My grandfather was born nine years after Jan died. He never knew his grandfather. It’s true my branch of the Ton family tree scattered throughout the country in the early to mid-1900s. Perhaps that explains it.

Perhaps the answer is darker.

Come with me on this journey. As I learn more, you will learn more.

June 30, 2020/3 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

History, Leadership

Geek Squared – How an IT Geek became a History Geek

On June 13, 2o17 I was honored to be the headliner for Sparks Talk’s Fifth Anniversary. The transcript of this timed-talk follows.

It’s 1780, August. You are a young Shawnee teen. Early in the afternoon you climb up the ridge east of the village and look down across the valley. The summer sun beats down relentlessly on the village. The air is still, smoke from smoldering cooking fires creates a cloud throughout the clearing and tickles your nostrils as you breathe. Along the base of the hill, several small cabins form a circle. To the east a stockade sits atop the next hill. Fields of corn stretch for miles in each direction along the lazy river.

Some of the younger children play in the dirt near several of the cabins. Mothers keep a watchful eye while they go about their chores in preparation for the evening meal.

A dog wanders between the cabins, its tongue drooping from its mouth as it pants. It enters the cool shade of a doorway, only to reemerge a second later with a yelp as one of the men inside swats at it so the council meeting is not disturbed.

Inside the cabin, the men are engaged in a great debate. The sound of their voices drift up along with the smoke.

You see motion in the corn…you see the flash before you…Crack! The sound of gunfire shatters the afternoon stillness. Soon war cries filled the air from the west of the village. The long knives have arrived! The smell of burnt gunpowder mixed with the smoke of the fires and burns your eyes.

Why I was standing in a park in the middle of Ohio reading an historical marker on July 4, 2000 is a story for another day. What we are going to explore today are the connections. The connections that drew me to the past and propelled me into the future.

The sign I was reading was in a park dedicated to the Battle of Piqua. A battle between the Kentucky militia led by George Rogers Clark against a tribe of the Shawnee nation. What boy from Indiana doesn’t feel a connection to George Rogers Clark?

I read more of the markers. One was dedicated in 1976. I graduated high school in 1976. Connection.

A Shawnee boy survived the battle. His name was Tecumseh. I attended Camp Tecumseh YMCA camp as a kid. Connection.

Tecumseh grew up and along with his brother, The Prophet, led the Indian forces in the The Battle of Tippecanoe near Lafayette against the US forces led by William Henry Harrison. In 1976 I graduated from…William Henry Harrison High School…connection. The name of our school newspaper? The Prophet! Connection!

I hated history class in high school…and now I was hooked. Over the next decade, Carmen and I would spend every minute of vacation retracing the Lewis and Clark Expedition. You see, Clark was the younger brother of George Rogers Clark. We discovered dozens and dozens of connections. We discovered a deep love for our country, and we discovered a shared love of history. In a sense, newlyweds when we embarked on these journeys, we discovered each other. Ah, but I’m not here to talk about our love story either, for that, you have to wait until my book “The Lewis and Clark Will Never Die Tour” is published!

All these connections are interesting…and we could talk about them all night…well, for another 6 minutes or so. But, what if I could show you how you could use those connections with the past to live in the present and plan for the future? Now THAT would be really interesting!

For the last five years, did you catch that connection? Five years…same time Sparks was launching. I told you connections with the past are everywhere, anyway, five years ago, I started working with an executive coach. Dr. Dan Miller’s approach to coaching is something he calls Creative Conversations. Through these conversations we study the life, or river as Dan calls them, of an historical figure and discuss points in their lives and how they relate to a problem or a challenge I am wrestling with today.

Over this time span, we have studied Theodore Roosevelt, Dwight Eisenhower, William Sherman and Abraham Lincoln, albeit briefly. One of the interesting aspects of immersing yourself in history this way is the number of connections you will discover. Now I know those connections were always there, the study just raised your awareness of them.

When we embarked on our exploration of the Roosevelt River, our theme was Communication, Speaking Truth to Authority and Creating an Environment of Candor. The struggle to speak truth to authority was deeply ingrained. I grew up the son of a baptist minister. Children of the minister were to be seen and not heard, you certainly didn’t speak truth to his authority, especially when his authority was HIS authority!

Roosevelt ALWAYS spoke truth to authority. For him it seemed to come naturally. The lessons over the year were endless. However,, one the stuck out for me was his use of gestures. He was a master at using a gesture to make his point. I realized my dad, was a master of using gestures in his sermons. In some ways I adopted my favorite gesture of his, that of getting out from behind the podium and walking about to engage the audience. However, the key lesson here wasn’t the gesture itself, it was when to NOT use the familiar gesture to make a point. To stop walking around the platform and stop, freeze, and make a point.

As my career progressed and I began to be seen as a leader not just of my team, or even of my company, but in the community, this leadership in a new stage need exploration. Enter Dwight D. Eisenhower and the exploration of adapting to new issues and working with different stakeholders. What better model to use than the military man that rose through the ranks to become the leader of the Allied Forces in WWII and then on to the presidency. Moving from a command and control organization to one of politics and influence.

As Eisenhower established his leadership he saw a connection to two seemingly unrelated advances in warfare. This first was the mechanization of, well, just about everything. The Cavalries of WWI were a thing of the past, but unlike horses, jeeps and trucks need fuel. He leveraged that in his battle plans both for his forces and against the enemy. At the same time aircraft became a strategic part of warfare. Eisenhower was able to see the relationship between the two in a way few others did. For me, as an IT leader, it was about the cloud. But not the cloud alone, it was what it could bring when it was joined with organization agility. Together the two can have a multiplying effect. Look for the relationships in the seemingly unrelated!

Our final example come from the life of William T. Sherman, the civil war general. William Tecumseh Sherman…see how I did that? Connections! The theme we explored is “A Plan is a Contract between the past and the future”. Sherman had a plan. Sherman had a grand plan. His plan didn’t always work. He learned, he adjusted, and ultimately succeeded.

Sherman was involved in two battles near the town of Chickasaw Bluffs. In the first he suffered an embarrassing defeat. Some time later, he and Grant attacked the forces at Chickasaw Bluffs and were successful. Grant had used a strategy Sherman thought would never work. He saw, he learned and he acknowledged. We need to support and observe other leaders and other strategies, and adapt our plans for the future.

These are but a few of the lessons of the last five years. Connections to the past are all around us. Lessons from the past out boundless, and ever changing. Even now as I write this, I see new insights, new lessons, and opportunities to impact the future. As you look back over the last five years, over the last 50 years, 100 years, longer, what connections reveal themselves? What lessons are there to be learned in the present to plan for the future?

July 19, 2017/0 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Business, History, Leadership

Back to the Future: Leveraging the Past to Change the Future

Proving once again, I am not above using a shameless pop culture reference with “Back to the Future” to drive traffic! What I really want to talk about is not the great movie trilogy (well, at least the first one was great) but rather, leveraging the past to change the future.

About 100 years ago, George Santayana penned his oft repeated line, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” This phrase has been quoted (and misquoted) over the last century. Using three vignettes from history, let’s explore the past for some lessons we can use as leaders to shape our future.

Benjamin Harrison & Theodore Roosevelt: The Center and Edge

In 1888 Benjamin Harrison was running for President of the United States. A young up-and-comer, Theodore Roosevelt, was canvassing the midwest, feverishly campaigning for Harrison. After Harrison won the election and became our 23rd President, he appointed Roosevelt to serve on the Civil Service Commission.

A rather ironic appointment, wouldn’t you say? Why ironic, you ask? Well, the mission of the Civil Service Commission was to stamp our cronyism and ensure government employees were hired based on their merits rather than by quid pro quo appointments.

Wanting to prove to the country he was his own man, Roosevelt started his work to clean up the federal government in, of all places, Indianapolis, Indiana, Benjamin Harrison’s own backyard!

Roosevelt continued living on the edge throughout his entire career. Always challenging the status quo, always pushing the envelope. While this did not win many fans with the party bosses, who oft times were targets, it did make him one of the most popular presidents in history.

When you think of living life on the edge, what images come to mind? Bleeding edge? Cutting edge? Edge of the earth? Each of these conjure up the dangers associated with the “edge”.

I’d like to give you a new image to consider for living on the edge. Many of you who know me, know I am a river rat. I would rather be canoeing a river than doing just about anything else on the planet. A technique for making your way downstream in turbulent waters is to use the eddies, those calm areas of water that form behind an obstruction. A canoeist or kayaker can enter the eddy, rest, regather, regroup, and scout the river ahead.

Using the eddies is not without its dangers, however. Entering and exiting the eddy can be challenging. The line (eddy line) or edge that forms between the fast flowing water of the main channel and the calm, still waters of the eddy can be difficult to navigate. One has to attack the edge at just the right angle to enter the eddy. When ready to proceed, one again has to attack the edge with confidence to re-enter the river.

Roosevelt knew when he need to recharge and regroup, but he also knew to make progress and to make change, as a leader, you have to attack the edge!

George Marshall & Dwight D. Eisenhower: Train for the Future

It was early in the 1940’s and history was about to repeat itself. Europe was already engulfed in war and it was only a matter of time before the U.S. would get involved. Over the last several months, the U.S. built its fighting force. From a peacetime corp, the military ranks swelled to 1.4 million soldiers.

The few remaining veterans were comfortable re-fighting World War I. However, Nazi Germany had done in four months with it’s predecessor had not done in four years…seize all of Europe. Marshall knew these new soldiers would need to be trained before the U.S. entered the fray. To accomplish this training he ordered war games to take place in Louisiana, known to history has the Louisiana Maneuvers.

With that order, more than 500,000 soldiers descended upon Louisiana and some other southern states. But Marshall was doing more than just training the troops. He was looking for leaders. He was looking for leaders that could demonstrate a new approach, not just use the same tired techniques because they “worked in the past”. In short, he was looking for Colonels who could be Generals.

31 of the 42 Division Commanders were replaced during or after the Louisiana Maneuvers. Among those new leaders? Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Business has changed dramatically in the last 20 years. What worked in the past will not work today. Business is changing at an ever increasing pace. What works today will not work in the future. We need new skills, we need new processes. Will the next generation of leaders be ready? Can we help them see the future? Can we help them see the new skills? Can we help them be ready to lead their teams?

Like Marshall, we have to train for the future!

Lewis and Clark & Thomas Jefferson

(You knew they’d be in here somewhere, didn’t you?)

It was 1806. The Lewis and Clark Expedition had departed from St. Louis almost three years prior. They had traveled about five or six thousand miles by boat, by foot, by canoe. They had narrowly escaped death at the hands of the Teton Sioux, nearly froze to death in the harsh winters, survived temperatures in excess of 100 degrees, and had to eat their horses to survive starvation in the Rocky Mountains. Now, finally on their way back home to “those United States” they were stuck. The snow on the mountains was too deep to cross. They returned to the Nez Perce villages and waited….almost two months.

During this time they developed a new plan for their return trip. Over the course of the journey the Captains had learned some facts that Jefferson could not have known. Armed with this new information they had a choice. They could wait…return to civilization…provide the information to Jefferson…ask him what to do, then carry out his instructions. Or, they could take a risk! Based on their knowledge of Jefferson, their knowledge of the new facts, and an understanding of the goals of the mission…they decided to split into four groups.

leadership, business, history Pretty significant risk, wouldn’t you say? Dividing what was already a small Corps into four smaller teams and heading out into the still very much unknown? Call it taking risks, call it taking initiative. To be a leader, we have to know when to take these types of educated risks. History does not tell us about Jefferson’s reaction to this risk, nor do we know the “what ifs”. The decision could have lead to untold catastrophes. How would Jefferson have reacted if their journals had been destroyed, or if they had lost some of the precious discoveries, or if some of them had been killed? As leaders, not only do we have to be willing to take risks, but we have to provide an environment and a culture for our employees, leaders and future leaders, to be able to take risks, to be able to fail, and to be able to succeed.

Progress and Change

The worlds of business and technology are changing at an ever accelerating pace. We as leaders need to understand where we have been, as well as, see where we are going. We must become comfortable living on the edge, or risk being sucked into the whirlpool of the status quo. We must train our teams and our leaders for the future. What worked in the past will not work in the days ahead. We must also know when to take educated risks and provide an environment that empowers our teams to take risks, lest we leave significant “discoveries” on the table.

History can and does repeat itself, regardless of the lessons learned. Armed with your knowledge of the past, how will you make progress by changing the future? Let’s revisit Mr. Santayana and his quote…in context:

“Progress, far from consisting in change, depends on retentiveness. When change is absolute there remains no being to improve and no direction is set for possible improvement: and when experience is not retained, as among savages, infancy is perpetual. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

This post is derived from a talk by the same name given for Sparks Tech. View the video here.

Connect with Jeff on LinkedIn.
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Jeff blogs on a variety of platforms:
Business related topics: LinkedIn
IT and the role of the CIO: Intel’s IT Peer Network
Life, Family, Love, Leadership and History: Rivers of Thought
Leadership and Leadership Development: People Development Magazine

March 20, 2016/2 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Family, History

The Donut Man was a Doughboy!

He was exhausted. Just nine short months ago he stood at the train depot in Grand Rapids, Wisconsin. A young man of 19, ready to join the war and give the Kaizer his due. Now he crouched in a trench surrounded by the smell of death just outside Soisson, France. Mortar fire exploded around him. He had already held too many friends as they died. The Germans had taken the city. The Americans were there to take it back.

That afternoon, like so many others the last few weeks, over what passed for a meal, he reached in his knapsack and pulled out a small envelope. Inside the envelope was a book. A handwritten book. A book written by his sweet Mary, the girl back home. In the book were pictures of friends, family and familiar places. His hands shook as he turned the pages remembering secrets shared with his beloved. What’s that? Orders from Command? Advance on the city? Quickly, he kissed the book, slide it carefully back in its envelope and tucked it in his knapsack.

Over the next few days the fighting was intense. The Germans were falling back. This city was ours! With hardly a moment’s rest they took control, pushing the front lines. All this fighting, all this death for a few hundred meters of gain. Finally, a moment of respite. He reached inside his knapsack longing to stare at her face. But wait…where is it? Desperately, he dumped his knapsack on the ground. The meager supplies scattered in the mud. No envelope. No book. -Summer, 1918

A year later, the war was over, the soldiers mustered out and returned home. The postman walks his route. He delivers a lone letter, addressed to young Mary, the school teacher, postmarked New York. Mary was curious. Since her Hal returned six weeks ago from defeating Germany, she rarely received a post. She tore open the envelope to find a letter…and a book…a handwritten book…a book lost somewhere along the front, near Soisson, France. Tears streamed down her cheeks, she could hardly call Hal’s name. Thinking something was horribly wrong, Hal raced to her side. Seeing the book, her took her in his arms and held her tight. -Summer, 1919

I sat just off the main square of Soisson, waiting. Waiting until my mother would be awake back in the states. Finally, it would be 7AM back home. My dad answered. “Hi dad, can I talk to mom?” “Hello?” “Hi, mom, can you guess where I am?” “No….where are you?” “Mom, I am sitting at a restaurant in Soisson.” Like her mother 85 years prior, she started to cry. She could hardly call my dad’s name. “Gene, Jeff is in Soisson. Soisson?” “What’s he doing in Soisson?” “The book, Gene, the book. Dad’s book from the war.” -Summer, 2004

Dad got on the other phone as I told them about my excursion. I had been traveling back and forth to France for the last several years for my job. This trip required that I stay over a weekend. So, rather than being a tourist around Paris, I rented a car and headed north. I had heard the story of the book for years. My grandfather was a Doughboy in World War I, The Great War. My grandmother had sent him the handmade scrapbook to help get him (and her) through the time apart. Somewhere in battle he lost the book. A Sergeant Doss from New York found the book and carried it all the way home with him. Within days after arriving back in the states he sent it to my grandmother stating “I can write about only hoping to get an answer some time in the future pertaining to this young man as I don’t know whether he got through this awful worlds (sic) war.”

Eighty five years later, I wanted to follow in his steps.

So, after getting lost trying to leave Charles DeGaulle Airport, getting stuck while a peloton from a local bike race had the road closed, dropping my cell phone (and my safety net) in the middle of a highway while crossing to a military cemetery and having it hit by a motorcyclist, I was finally in Soisson. I wandered throughout the city. It was a beautiful summer day, a group of men were playing Pétanque in the park, women bustled in and out of the shops. No one gave notice to American snapping photos of the monuments. That afternoon I stood at the Oise-Aisne American Memorial, among its 6,000 crosses, so many crosses. So many names. So many stories.

Later, after getting lost again. Later, back at my hotel. Later, after learning “Ne pas retirer le disque du lecteur” on the dashboard of my rental car meant there was a Nav system (NOW they tell me!). I thought about that young couple, about their love, about their sacrifice. I thought about the thousands of men, the thousands of women who sacrifice. It is not only the dead who sacrifice. Anyone who serves gives of them self. Anyone who loves those that serve give of themselves. We can never repay our debt to those who sacrifice for us. Today is Veteran’s Day…Armistice Day. On the 11th hour, of the 11th day of the 11th month there shall be peace. Take some time today to remember those who sacrificed. Take some time to say thank you to those you know who have sacrificed.

Greg Friend, thank you!

Jason Matthews, thank you!

Tommy Brinkman, thank you!

Nick Justice, thank you!

To all who have served or are serving, thank you for your sacrifice!

Author’s Note: The Donut Man was a Doughboy – Many who know me and those that read Rivers of Thought know of my annual “day of remembrance” of my grandfather, who I knew as “The Donut Man”. Through this handwritten book, I have come to know him as a Doughboy, as well.

November 11, 2014/0 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Business, History, Leadership, Management, Roosevelt River

An End to the #RooseveltRiver

It has been a wild, adventure filled ride down the #RooseveltRiver. There have been many twists and turns; rapids; calm, still waters; fast water and waterfalls. No matter the type of water, there have been lessons to learn. I think one of the most important lessons I learned is, that like a river, the lessons are always changing and never the same. The gift of a great teacher is a lesson that teaches anew as life changes around you and as you change with life.

There is an often misquoted line from George Santayana from his book “Reason in Common Sense” that goes “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.” As Dan Miller will remind you, history DOES repeat itself. It is those who do not learn its lessons that are condemned to repeat the mistakes of the past. And what worked in the past, may not work this time around.

“Train for the future”. Think about that for a minute. On the surface, it seems to contradict the premise of this whole series. How do you “train for the future” if you are studying the past? Personally, I am a business technologist (ok, I am in IT, but I am not an “IT Guy”, I am a business person that understands technology and how to apply it to business). Our roles are dramatically changing and at lighting fast speed. If we don’t have an eye on the future, we will become irrelevant overnight. If we don’t understand the past and the lessons it provides we will become dinosaurs. If we don’t provide solutions today we will fail. “Train for the Future”…what does that mean for you, in your world?

Lessons from the #RooseveltRiver

2013 – The Year I Canoed with Theodore Roosevelt – A (somewhat) introduction to my study of Theodore Roosevelt and some of the lessons of leadership I encountered.

6th Grade and my Journey on the #RooseveltRiver Begins – Accenting a strength can help you overcome a weakness.

Lola Takes a Walk on the Wild Side of the #RooseveltRiver – A lesson in persona from my dear brother Mitchell (and Teddy, of course).

Rapids on the #RooseveltRiver – Living Life on the Edge – A leader lives life on the edge, pulling those around her out of the center.

Blue Bloods’ Frank Reagan Paddles the #RooseveltRiver – TV imitates life and teaches us all a lesson in leadership.

Two Keys to Great Leadership – The Rough Riders Join #RooseveltRiver – Lessons from history can reveal the keys to Leadership (sorry, you have to read the post to find the keys…didn’t think I was going to tell here, did you?)

1,000 Words vs. an Image – Snapshots from the #RooseveltRiver – Great leaders know the power of using images to convey ideas.

Dad Paddles the #RooseveltRiver – My REAL hero joins Teddy and I on the river for a lesson in leadership.

Marty McFly Changes History on the #RooseveltRiver – Travel “Back to the Future” to learn about decision points and how great leaders leverage them.

The #RooseveltRiver Flows into the River of Doubt – Poor planning can lead to catastrophe. A great leader plans and organizes before executing.

Death Along the #RooseveltRiver – Relationships formed along the river are vital to us as leaders and as human beings.

business, leadership, history, #RooseveltRiver

www.whitehouse.gov

A river, like life, comes to an end. Some rivers simply disappear into the ground, all of its energy drained away. Some flow into lakes or oceans becoming indistinguishable. Many join with other rivers to create new, even more powerful rivers.

So many lessons…ever changing lessons. I would love to know which of these lessons stand out for you. Please leave a comment or send me a note. Please share the lessons with your network. Remember, “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it.”

#RooseveltRiver is my year long exploration with Dan Miller of Historical Solutions into leadership using the backdrop of history and the life of Theodore Roosevelt. To read more in this series, select “Roosevelt River” from the Category drop down on the right.

If anything you read here or in other posts strikes a chord, I would love to hear from you. Leave a comment, hit me up on Twitter (@jtongici), find me on LinkedIn, or Google +.

October 14, 2014/0 Comments/by Jeffrey Ton

Business, History, Leadership, Management, Roosevelt River

Death Along The #RooseveltRiver

business, leadership, history, #RooseveltRiver It was a cold, gray January day. The wind picked up the dusting of snow from the ground and flung it into their faces, stinging like needles. Tears froze to wind burned cheeks. The casket was slowly lowered into the frozen ground. A lone bugler played taps. Slowly, one by one, the people who had gathered, made their way down the 26 steps, down the long hill, and out of the cemetery until a lone figure remained. He stood motionless. His gaze locked on the hole before him. Tears stained his ruddy cheeks. His long coat flapped in the wind. His lips moved as if talking. Was he saying goodbye? Was he saying a prayer? Was he saying words of forgiveness to his now dead friend?

Theodore Roosevelt, the 26th President of the United States, died in the early hours of January 6, 1919. Now, two short days later, William Howard Taft, the 27th President of the United States, stood over his grave, weeping. Slowly he gathered himself, blinked away tears, and trudged down the pathway.

Once dear friends and allies, the men had not spoken in the last seven years. Taft served as Roosevelt’s Vice President. Hand-picked by Roosevelt to succeed him as President. During his term of presidency, disagreements arose between the two men. Roosevelt, then out of politics began to counter Taft in the press. Roosevelt, still popular with many, publicly lambasted Taft. The chasm between the two former friends widen as Roosevelt decided to run against Taft for the Republican nomination in 1912. The break became insurmountable when, after losing the nomination to Taft, Roosevelt decided to run as a third party candidate, essentially splitting the vote and giving the Presidency to Woodrow Wilson. Roosevelt shut Taft out of his life with hardly a second thought. Had Taft died first, would Roosevelt stood over his grave?

Yet, Taft made his way graveside that cold day in January. Later, in a letter to Edith Roosevelt, he would write, “I loved him always and cherish his memory.” A love and a friendship that survived, at least for Taft, despite the chasm created by words and deeds.

Reflecting on the relationship of Roosevelt and Taft really causes reflection on my own relationships. Is there someone with whom such a rift is present? Will someone be standing over my grave saying their peace to me or their god? Or, will I be standing over someone’s grave doing the same? It’s not hard to imagine in a lifetime of relationships that we have all been Taft and we have all been Roosevelt. What would you say on that cold wintry day? If you were aware of such an injured relationship, would you try to repair it before the end?

When I first heard the story, my mind immediately leapt to my sister. Our relationship had been fractured for many years. Incidents, actions, and words had created schism between us that I saw no hope of ever closing. At times it has felt like the Grand Canyon. However, in the last year we have started, with the help of my wife and my sister’s husband, we have begun to build a bridge. Over time, with continued conversation and understanding, the bridge will be fortified. It isn’t quite a Taft-Roosevelt moment, but it very well could have been.

As I think back over my professional life and reflect on the relationships formed there. Over the years I have had to have many of those “life altering conversations”, either because of downsizing, performance issues, or the dreaded “the company has outgrown you”. I tried to treat each person with respect, dignity and compassion. Some of those conversations were with colleagues that I considered friends. One such friendship survived the downsizing conversation at two different companies (yes the friendship survived, but I am guessing he won’t come work for me again!). Another relocated his family to accept a job offer from me and a year later we had to have the downsizing conversation. Amazingly to me, that friendship survived as well.

The one relationship that comes the closest to a Taft-Roosevelt relationship (and I am mortified to say, I was the “Roosevelt” in this situation) was with a friend. She and I had worked together for almost to a decade. During this time, we had become very close and developed a deep caring for each other. I can honestly say, I loved her (not in a romantic way, mind you). We shared many of life’s trials, tribulations, and celebrations. As my career progressed and I started moving in different circles, we grew apart. Still working for the same company, but no longer interacting on a daily basis. Some of it was the natural outcome of no longer working together on the same projects, but some of it was intentional on my part to “distance the relationship” as I first became her boss, then her boss’ boss, then her…well you get the idea. Years passed. Then…then she got sick. Very sick. Dying sick. The day I went to visit her in the hospital, no one was with her. Her husband, must have stepped out. The nurses were off doing their nursing-thing with other patients. It was just she and I. The only sound in the room came from the machines attached to her. She was in the final stages and was not conscious. I stood by her bed, stroked her hair, and told my friend I loved her. Did she hear me? Did she know? I was too late.

This series is about leadership and the lessons about leadership I learned while traveling with Teddy Roosevelt. What lesson can

AP Photo

be learned from the lone figure alongside the grave? Perhaps the lesson is to value the person, value the relationship, even when delivering bad news, or even when circumstances pull you apart. Lead from a position of empathy for the impact your words and deeds have on those around you. Perhaps the lesson is the old adage “you can be friendly, but you can’t be friends” just isn’t true.

If anything you read here or in other posts strikes a chord, I would love to hear from you. Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!

Find me on LinkedIn. Read my Posts on business and business relationships.

Follow me on Twitter (@jtongici)

Add me to your circles on Google+

Read my Posts on the changing role of the CIO posts on Intel’s IT Peer Network

September 18, 2014/1 Comment/by Jeffrey Ton