Today, I’m sharing an email Lonny sent me last week about risk taking…
This is the headstone for my great-great-great-grandfather, Amos C. Butcher. It took me four trips to St. John’s cemetery in Lafayette, La., to find it. I had to get out of the normal place where I’d stand to look at the family tomb and do some exploring. It was hidden, wedged between the family tomb and the one behind it.
Amos Butcher was originally a Quaker growing up in Hamilton Square, N.J. His father, grandfather and great grandfather were all cabinet makers. At that time, cabinet makers also made coffins, so they were undertakers, as well. People tend to die, so it was solid, steady work.
Amos was the oldest son. When his father died, he was suddenly thrust into a paternal role for his mother and siblings. He was going to have to be the breadwinner. He could have simply continued in the family business. But he didn’t….
My ancestor secured a federal job as a lighthouse keeper for the new Vermillion Bay lighthouse on Louisiana’s Marsh Island. He moved his mother and younger brothers more than 1,000 miles away, to a place that had only been a state for 20ish years, to do a job he had no training for. He married a woman he’d only known a short time. He was Quaker; the people in his town were devoutly Catholic. He spoke English; most of them still spoke French. He knew no one except the family that followed him while his new neighbors were pretty much all related to each other (hey, it’s Louisiana!).
In other words, he was a risk taker! In a time when your “career” was usually based on what your parents did; when you lived where you were born, grew up and died; where your reality really didn’t change much, he stepped out on his own. There was no safety net. There wasn’t much of a Plan B. He had to make it work, because his family depended on him.
It wasn’t a fairy tale. On the occasions when he’d come to town, his commute back to work was a multi-day boat ride to a tiny structure on a deserted island that was subject to Gulf storms and swarms of mosquitos. He maintained the lighthouse’s 14 oil-burning lights 24 hours a day. His wife died after the birth of their third child, before they’d been married eight years. He accidentally shot and killed his 17-year-old brother two years later. He died a year later under mysterious circumstances.
But, by taking a risk, he established my family in a place I consider home. He’s the reason I’m where I’m from and consequently, who I am. His orphaned son became a successful farmer. His son’s son (my great grandfather) followed his father as a farmer, but also mixed in a dose of his own grandfather’s penchant for public service getting elected to the police jury and joining community groups. His son’s son’s son (my grandfather) started a business with his brothers 100 years ago this month that is still in operation today. He also started a community service organization 70 years ago that is still in place today. My grandfather was able to send my dad to college, and my dad got to see me get a graduate degree and ultimately teach college courses. The cumulative effects of their work run through me to my own son.
When you take a risk, you own the results. Sometimes you succeed, sometimes you fail. But you also set in motion a series of events that will impact people around you, including those you’ll never know. So don’t just sit there like I was doing the first three times I tried to find his headstone. Get out of your comfort zone and do some exploring. DO something. If it’s good, do more of it. If it’s bad, don’t do that again! Learn from your mistake and try something else.
Be the impetus for things to come rather than an observer of things today.