What My Small-Town School Taught Me About Leadership

The Most Important Person in the Building

The best leadership lesson I ever got didn't come from a boardroom or a business book. It came in an elementary school hallway, when I was about nine years old.

Our class was lined up, the way kids do, when the principal walked by. One of the boys couldn't help himself. "Oh my gosh," he said, "you're the principal. You're like the most important person here."

Most adults would have smiled, maybe patted him on the head, and kept walking. Our principal didn't. He stopped, asked our teacher to keep us in the hallway for a minute, and turned to face us. He wasn't scolding anyone. He spoke to us with real respect, like what he was about to say mattered.

"So you think because I'm the principal, I'm the most important person here?" he asked. "Well, I have to tell you, I'm not."

Then he pointed down the hall to Mr. Dave, our janitor and maintenance man.

"Actually, he's the most important person here, if you want to think about it," he said. "This man keeps the heat on in the winter and the air on in the summer. He fixes anything that's broken. Bottom line, this building would fall apart without him. I don't know how to do any of that. Yes, I can write a check. Yes, I can send out letters. I can do certain things. But he's the most important person here."

I'm almost fifty now, and I've never forgotten it. In one unplanned moment, a man with the biggest title in the building taught a hallway full of kids that everyone has a part to play, and that every part matters, regardless of the title.

That moment shaped how I see leadership to this day. And it didn't happen by accident. It came out of a whole culture, built by the people who ran my school.

Where I Grew Up Learning

I went to school in St. Francis, Minnesota, Independent School District 15. I started there as a little kid and graduated high school in 1995.

St. Francis was a public school, open to every family in the community. But the people who led it took ownership of what we learned. They shaped the curriculum around us and didn't treat education as a box to check. They acted like our futures were theirs to invest in, because to them, they were.

Because of that, we were never limited in what we could learn. There was no ceiling placed over our heads. If you were curious about something, the school found a way to feed that curiosity.

No Topic Was Off Limits

The leaders and teachers at St. Francis believed we could learn anything. Bottom line, no subject was off limits.

They encouraged every one of us to go in whatever direction felt right. If that was politics, great. If it was wood shop, great. If you wanted to be a machinist, a nurse, a business owner, or something nobody in your family had ever done, they backed you.

There was no pecking order of dreams. Nobody told the kid who loved working with his hands that he was settling. Nobody told the girl who wanted to argue policy that she was reaching too high. Every path was treated as worthy, because every path was.

Looking back, I see how rare that was. A lot of us grow up being told, directly or quietly, which futures are "realistic" for people like us. At St. Francis, the message was the opposite: you can do and be anything you want, and we'll help you get there.

Leaders Who Showed Us, Not Just Told Us

They didn't just tell us to work hard. They showed us, every single day.

My high school math teacher taught Algebra 1, Algebra 2, and Trigonometry. He was also the boys' basketball coach. And the boys' baseball coach. That wasn't unusual at St. Francis. Most of our teachers did far more than teach one subject. They coached, advised, chaperoned, and showed up for us long after the last bell.

We watched them do it. We saw what it looked like to carry a full load and still give your best to each part of it. Without anyone giving a lecture on it, we learned how to organize our days, balance our responsibilities, and keep our commitments.

That's the thing about leadership. People don't learn it from what you say. They learn it from what you do when you're tired, stretched thin, and still choosing to show up. Our teachers modeled that, and we absorbed it.

I carried that work ethic into 27 years of restaurant and hospitality work, into supervising at the post office, and into every shift I've ever worked. I didn't learn it from a training manual. I learned it from a math teacher who also ran two varsity programs.

They Invested in Us

Starting when I was in fourth grade, our school brought in motivational speakers. They brought in explorers, people who had gone places most of us had only seen in books. Year after year, they put people in front of us who had done big things and believed we could too.

That costs money, and they spent it on us gladly. They didn't treat us as a line item to manage. They treated us as people worth investing in.

Kids notice that. When someone spends time, energy, and resources on you, you start to believe you're worth it. And when you believe you're worth it, you start acting like it.

That's what fierce leadership looks like. It isn't loud or controlling. It's a steady, stubborn belief in people, backed up by action.

What This Means for Leaders Today

I spent 30 years in restaurants and hospitality. I've worked for leaders who lived what my principal taught in that hallway, and I've worked for plenty who didn't.

Here's what I've come to believe: the hospitality industry doesn't have a staffing problem. It has a leadership problem.

Think about your own operation. Who is your Mr. Dave? It might be your dishwasher, your prep cook, your host, or the bartender who quietly fixes everything before anyone notices it's broken. Without them, the whole building falls apart. Do they know that? More importantly, do you show them?

When people feel like a cog, they leave. When people feel like they matter, they stay, they grow, and they bring others with them. The leaders at St. Francis understood that decades ago, and it still holds true in every kitchen, dining room, and front desk today.

The lessons I learned in school are the same ones I see working in the best-run operations:

• Everyone's part matters, regardless of title. Say it out loud, and mean it.

• Model the work ethic you want to see. Your team is watching what you do far more than listening to what you say.

• Don't put a ceiling over people. Find out where your people want to go and help them get there, even if it's somewhere beyond your four walls.

• Invest in your people. Time, training, and genuine attention are never wasted.

None of this is complicated. But it takes leaders who are willing to stop in the hallway, look people in the eye, and tell them the truth about their worth.

Why I'm Starting Here

This is my very first blog post, and I couldn't think of a better place to begin than where my own understanding of leadership began.

I'm grateful for the people who led St. Francis when I was growing up. I'm grateful for a principal who pointed down the hall instead of at himself. I'm grateful for teachers who did three jobs and still made time for us. And I'm grateful that, by God's grace, those lessons stayed with me through every season of my life.

That gratitude is a big part of why I started Grateful For Life. I want to help leaders build the kind of culture I grew up in, where everyone knows they matter, everyone is invested in, and no one's potential is capped by their title.

So here's my question for you: who was the leader that first showed you your worth? And who on your team needs to hear it from you this week?

I'd love to hear your story.