CHACONZONE

“Go see Tommy.”

I’ll get back to that quote in a moment.

Over twenty-five years ago I was between jobs. A little too between. I was running out of patience, confidence, and money. While I didn’t have a mortgage during those days, I did have bills. I even recall going to the grocery store to write checks to cover checks I had written the day before. I couldn’t even rely on my only credit card because I had racked-up a pretty good balance on lunches and dinners for dates with my girlfriend (she’s now my bride). I was struggling – both emotionally and financially.

At that time, my dad, who has always been my biggest supporter and champion, was constantly checking in with me to see how thing were going. And I always had the same answer: Still applying, but I haven’t heard back from anyone.

It was during one of those “check-ins” that my dad said: “I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. His name is Tommy Fulcher; he runs an established nonprofit organization. Go see him now, he’s waiting for you. Oh, and address him as Mr. Fulcher, even though he’s going to tell you to call him ‘Tommy.’”

While I’ve often sought advice from my dad, I’ve never asked him to make professional connections for me. In this case, he took it upon himself to reach out to Tommy, and I agreed to go meet him for lunch.

I didn’t know much about the nonprofit sector, or the agency Mr. Fulcher ran: Economic and Social Opportunities, Inc. “ESO” — as it was known — had programs that included providing emergency payments for low-income families who couldn’t afford to pay their utility bills, a construction and weatherization program, drug counseling, child care, job placement services, teen pregnancy prevention programs, and many other services.

Moreover, it was the organization, which in 1974, established The Food Bank of Santa Clara County. Later, merging with the San Mateo County Food Bank, to become the Second Harvest Food Bank, which many of us are familiar with today.

Tommy Fulcher was a longtime activist in local politics, community advocate, and CEO of ESO from 1982 to 2007. He was respected by members of the media, people at local- and federal-government levels, and the community.

I still think about my old boss from time to time. And I’m reposting this today because it popped-up in my Facebook memories, and I simply wanted to share it again. The words that follow are from three years ago.

Yesterday I learned that “Tommy” was gone, and I cried. I cried in my family room; minutes after that I cried in the shower; and minutes after that I cried on Highway 101 — as I drove to celebrate a good friend’s 50th birthday party in Gilroy. Heck, I’m crying right now.

I was hired by Tommy twice. The second time was after I was laid-off from my first job in high tech. He not only rehired me, he created a new position for me within the agency and matched my tech salary dollar for dollar.

It was during my second stint that I was given the opportunity to be a part of one of Tommy’s biggest projects: The 2003 Literacy Football Classic, live on ESPN, between the Grambling University Tigers and the San Jose State Spartans. It included a stellar halftime performance, showcasing the Grambling marching band and Drumline. It was SJSU’s first sell-out in 20 years!

Being a part of that event remains one of the highlights of my professional life.

Above all, what I’ll remember most about working for Tommy is how much he cared about the people in our community. Many of the people I worked with at ESO were there because Tommy extended his hand to them. He believed in second- and third chances; he believed in redemption; he believed in celebrating culture; he believed that every person who walked through the doors had something meaningful to offer — every day.

I met some pretty remarkable people at ESO, and I still keep in touch with quite a few.

Throughout my life I’ve never needed a father figure. I’ve been lucky. My dad is my best friend. Still, there are a few people who have been like fathers to me in so many ways. My guess is that they’re cut from the same cloth as my own dad. Tommy was certainly one of those men.

The last time I saw my old boss was at — of all places — 7Eleven. And the last thing he said to me was “Say hi to your dad. You know I love him.”

He and I love you, too, Tommy.