Life
The former president of the company I work for passed away Monday. In the first few moments of a new Spring, he took his own life.
I'm left at a loss. I've never had to deal with the suicide of someone I knew. The complications come at so many levels, mimicking the relationship I had with him. My first encounter of Scott Steffey was a mixed bag of laughter and confusion. Impressed with my portfolio, he beckoned me to his office and shut the door. A very well decorated office it was. The backlit cherry shelves behind his monstrous desk housed all sorts of brass curiosities from an old army bugle to a spotless old telescope. His desk knick-knacks, immaculately arranged, screamed order, organization... perhaps a touch of anal retentiveness (please excuse the term). His beyond-cheerful smile boasted miles of brilliant teeth, somehow magically untainted by the consistent cloud of carcinogens he very expertly filtered through his respiratory system and out of his mouth. And there billowed, as if riding in that sea of poisonous smoke, the most intriguing stories, mixed with ones he assumed I wanted to hear. Stories that would make George Carlin blush.
There I sat. Amused and horrified as I took in his life and professional story. What had I gotten myself into? I tried sinking further into the couch thinking I could perhaps be absorbed and come out in the next room. That would make my escape easier. Tales of bartending and strippers, Superbowls and The Oscars, partnerships and backstabbing sessions, tales littered with expletives flooded the room and chipped away at my cheerful naivite. This man owns a business? in good ole' Harrisonburg?
Well, he'd had quite a career, spanning the nation. From LA to Milwaukee, Cleveland, DC, Norfolk... he carried with him his lofty ambitions, his love for the media industry. And interestingly enough, here he landed, right in the heart of Harrisonburg. With him he brought a determined perfectionist philosophy, accented by meticulously shined shoes, neatly trimmed nails and an impeccably coifed head of hair. "What we do is serve our clients to the absolute best of our ablities. That's from the Bible right? Give unto others? Golden rule?" Obviously he'd read my resume... (Wesley Institute for Ministry and the Arts).
Well, I learned that to be true. Demanding late nights and high standards, he poked his bespectacled nose into the projects of his creative team with buckets of suggestions. Some I found helpful and insightful; afterall, the man had worked in media for 25 years. Some I found brutally dated and hideous. Afterall, the man was in media 25 years ago. Let's face it, things change.
But I'm getting off track.
So my 3-month trial breezed by and I became a regular. Employees came and left. There were shouting matchs and no-shows, road-trip-meetings, heated brainstorming sessions and focus groups, critiques and emergency shifts of priority. As I watched, my style and skillset grew and refined, so did my portfolio. All-the-while, there he was. His camel-hair sportcoat and Marlboro Red aura housed constant input and, while his near-archaic sense of visual style was almost too painful to bear, I saw his nit-picking serving to actually improve my work ethic and my work itself. He didn't relent. "What can we do to make this better?" he'd almost shout, beating the surrounding air with his plastic reading glasses as if some brilliant idea would fly up in bird-form from an imaginary bush. The man could spot a half-hearted effort from 10 miles.
For nearly two years I worked under him, each day through extremes of good and bad like I'd never seen. He definitely had his low points... but that's to be expected. The amount of passion the man housed dictated very pronounced extremes. Hatred, wrath, selfishness, bitterness, greed, envy, the vices with which all men grapple, he seemed to almost revel in. Conversely though, exuberance, encouragement, loyalty, lofty idealism, ambition and compassion he painted with a paradoxical adeptness that would confound even the wisest. I remember how he loved his family and friends. I remember how he laughed and sang. I remember how his immeasurable smile often brought with it magnanimous gestures of unbridled love and friendship. I remember how he handed me his credit card after a late night and told me to take my wife out somewhere nice. I remember how he helped fund the birth of our child and even offered to buy us a car (though he was drunk at the time...) I remember how he passed over the many mistakes I made citing his belief in me and my abilities.
I remember how he looked across his desk, sitting shoulder to shoudler with such career accolades as only he could boast. I remember how he sized me up and mysteriously came to the conclusion that I would fit. There I was, naive, severely under-qualified and inexperienced and so very young. Yet in spite of my numerous shortcomings, he gave me a place in his team. He gave me a career.
So what did i get myself into? I'll tell you. A relationship. One that changed the way I think, dress, work, speak and act. A relationship with a man and a company that gave me a key into a world of complex relationships and infinite problem-solving opportunities that walk hand-in-hand with deep trials of character. A world where $2,000 hand-made suits drape powerhouses of public relations and small fortunes are spent on image campaigns. It's a world where I can see firsthand that a brand new Jaguar is of illimitably less importance than integrity and loyalty.
The relationship remains. I speak of my company with pride and a sense of ownership. I see in it glimmering threads of Scott Steffey. The elegant and minimalistic office decor. The attention to detail. The pursuit of perfection. I hear his infectious laugh and confidant footsteps. I've never met a more outgoing, personable, instantly likeable, ambitious and charasmatic man.
I'm better because of Scott. The patience and perseverance I carry over from the lessons he taught will accompany me always; all virtue and truth are from the Lord. I count my knowing him as beneficial and I trust that in the midst of the pain and despair surrounding his departure, God will bring boundless comfort and strength.
I'm left at a loss. I've never had to deal with the suicide of someone I knew. The complications come at so many levels, mimicking the relationship I had with him. My first encounter of Scott Steffey was a mixed bag of laughter and confusion. Impressed with my portfolio, he beckoned me to his office and shut the door. A very well decorated office it was. The backlit cherry shelves behind his monstrous desk housed all sorts of brass curiosities from an old army bugle to a spotless old telescope. His desk knick-knacks, immaculately arranged, screamed order, organization... perhaps a touch of anal retentiveness (please excuse the term). His beyond-cheerful smile boasted miles of brilliant teeth, somehow magically untainted by the consistent cloud of carcinogens he very expertly filtered through his respiratory system and out of his mouth. And there billowed, as if riding in that sea of poisonous smoke, the most intriguing stories, mixed with ones he assumed I wanted to hear. Stories that would make George Carlin blush.
There I sat. Amused and horrified as I took in his life and professional story. What had I gotten myself into? I tried sinking further into the couch thinking I could perhaps be absorbed and come out in the next room. That would make my escape easier. Tales of bartending and strippers, Superbowls and The Oscars, partnerships and backstabbing sessions, tales littered with expletives flooded the room and chipped away at my cheerful naivite. This man owns a business? in good ole' Harrisonburg?
Well, he'd had quite a career, spanning the nation. From LA to Milwaukee, Cleveland, DC, Norfolk... he carried with him his lofty ambitions, his love for the media industry. And interestingly enough, here he landed, right in the heart of Harrisonburg. With him he brought a determined perfectionist philosophy, accented by meticulously shined shoes, neatly trimmed nails and an impeccably coifed head of hair. "What we do is serve our clients to the absolute best of our ablities. That's from the Bible right? Give unto others? Golden rule?" Obviously he'd read my resume... (Wesley Institute for Ministry and the Arts).
Well, I learned that to be true. Demanding late nights and high standards, he poked his bespectacled nose into the projects of his creative team with buckets of suggestions. Some I found helpful and insightful; afterall, the man had worked in media for 25 years. Some I found brutally dated and hideous. Afterall, the man was in media 25 years ago. Let's face it, things change.
But I'm getting off track.
So my 3-month trial breezed by and I became a regular. Employees came and left. There were shouting matchs and no-shows, road-trip-meetings, heated brainstorming sessions and focus groups, critiques and emergency shifts of priority. As I watched, my style and skillset grew and refined, so did my portfolio. All-the-while, there he was. His camel-hair sportcoat and Marlboro Red aura housed constant input and, while his near-archaic sense of visual style was almost too painful to bear, I saw his nit-picking serving to actually improve my work ethic and my work itself. He didn't relent. "What can we do to make this better?" he'd almost shout, beating the surrounding air with his plastic reading glasses as if some brilliant idea would fly up in bird-form from an imaginary bush. The man could spot a half-hearted effort from 10 miles.
For nearly two years I worked under him, each day through extremes of good and bad like I'd never seen. He definitely had his low points... but that's to be expected. The amount of passion the man housed dictated very pronounced extremes. Hatred, wrath, selfishness, bitterness, greed, envy, the vices with which all men grapple, he seemed to almost revel in. Conversely though, exuberance, encouragement, loyalty, lofty idealism, ambition and compassion he painted with a paradoxical adeptness that would confound even the wisest. I remember how he loved his family and friends. I remember how he laughed and sang. I remember how his immeasurable smile often brought with it magnanimous gestures of unbridled love and friendship. I remember how he handed me his credit card after a late night and told me to take my wife out somewhere nice. I remember how he helped fund the birth of our child and even offered to buy us a car (though he was drunk at the time...) I remember how he passed over the many mistakes I made citing his belief in me and my abilities.
I remember how he looked across his desk, sitting shoulder to shoudler with such career accolades as only he could boast. I remember how he sized me up and mysteriously came to the conclusion that I would fit. There I was, naive, severely under-qualified and inexperienced and so very young. Yet in spite of my numerous shortcomings, he gave me a place in his team. He gave me a career.
So what did i get myself into? I'll tell you. A relationship. One that changed the way I think, dress, work, speak and act. A relationship with a man and a company that gave me a key into a world of complex relationships and infinite problem-solving opportunities that walk hand-in-hand with deep trials of character. A world where $2,000 hand-made suits drape powerhouses of public relations and small fortunes are spent on image campaigns. It's a world where I can see firsthand that a brand new Jaguar is of illimitably less importance than integrity and loyalty.
The relationship remains. I speak of my company with pride and a sense of ownership. I see in it glimmering threads of Scott Steffey. The elegant and minimalistic office decor. The attention to detail. The pursuit of perfection. I hear his infectious laugh and confidant footsteps. I've never met a more outgoing, personable, instantly likeable, ambitious and charasmatic man.
I'm better because of Scott. The patience and perseverance I carry over from the lessons he taught will accompany me always; all virtue and truth are from the Lord. I count my knowing him as beneficial and I trust that in the midst of the pain and despair surrounding his departure, God will bring boundless comfort and strength.
posted by Melissa at 4:13 PM
4 Comments:
When someone we know kills themselves, we realize that we did not know them as well as we thought. What in their lives was so unbearable? They did not seem that unhappy. They had more stuff than I do. They had talents and skills that I lack.
Do I devalue their thoughts and ideals to lessen the void? Was their judgement in other things wrong? Do I search for deeper meaning in their words?
Pray for their family, pray for understanding, cherish the good in them, forgive the bad. Don't worry about what you "should" have done, think about what you will do in the future.
Reading your words make me feel that he is still alive. I remember him peeking around the corner of your office when I was still there, asking how I was doing when I was still pregnant with Annie. I just can't believe he's gone.
I think back to all the times you came home from work...Scott was the name that always came up. I remember those times you would come home weary after trying to tell him about Christ. I especially remember when you came home with his "Brethren in Virginia" book he'd gave you to borrow after having another conversation about 'religion'. "What's your book?" He had asked you after handing you the Brethren book. "The Bible," you answered.
We still have his book.
He's left and indelible impression on you and all who met him. I just can't believe he's gone.
--"your wife"
Joel,
I have only one question.
When are you going to write your book?
Your descriptive writing beats all.
I mean it.
It moves me.
Love,
MomCheryl
Scott.
The very name is a challenge for some.
I have many memories of the man; perhaps not as many encouraging ones as you, but a precious few I'll keep with me for a long time.
The one thing that stands out ot me was his utter disbelief that he had been able to assemble the quality team of people around him. He would always point out, to anyone who would listen, that the MediaLink team was person-for-person the best he'd ever worked with. Whatever else he thought, his belief in that team was absolutely unshakable.
I pray he's upstairs. I pray that our collective and individual conversations with him had an effect. And I pray for his family.
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