Emily, he said. Yeah, I know. He said, I know exactly what this is and what that is. They're separate. She exhaled.
Okay. But for the record, he said, what we are is also getting clearer. A pause. Yeah, she said softly. It is.
He got back in the truck. Lily was buckled in the back reading. He looked at her in the rear view mirror. "All good," she said, not looking up from the book. "All good," he said.
January came. Henry Caldwell's retirement was announced publicly on the 2nd of the month. Emily Caldwell became CEO of the Caldwell Group, which was covered in the Atlanta Business Press with the kind of measured enthusiasm that reflected the reality that this had been for people who'd paid attention more of a confirmation than a surprise. The Community Development Division launched 6 weeks later under the name Groundwork, which was Marcus' choice. Not the Caldwell Community Initiative or the Williams Foundation or any of the names that had been floated in the planning meetings by people who thought the brand needed to be bigger than the work.
Just groundwork because that was what it was because you had to start from the ground. The first project was in Cedar Falls. 14 homes identified by community outreach workers as needing critical repairs. roofs, plumbing, structural issues that had been deferred for years because the families living in them couldn't afford to address them. Elderly residents, single parents, veterans on fixed incomes, the exact cross-section of people Marcus had been quietly serving for a decade now with the resources to do it at a scale that actually made a dent. Marcus built the team the way he built everything carefully with attention to who knew the actual work versus who knew the idea of the work.
He hired two contractors he'd worked alongside for years who were skilled and honest and completely unbothered by corporate meetings. He hired a community coordinator named Jada who had grown up in Cedar Falls and knew every street and every family story and could read a neighborhood's needs the way Marcus read a house's needs from the inside out. He hired a program director from an Atlanta nonprofit who had 10 years of systems experience and the specific quality rare and valuable of being able to organize things without losing sight of why they needed to be organized. On the first day of the first project, Marcus was on site at 7 in the morning, not in a director's role, with tools. his program director, whose name was Sarah, and who had an MBA from Emory and excellent judgment, found him on a roof at 8:30 and climbed up after him. "You're the director," she said, sitting beside him on the roof ridge.
"You don't have to be on the roof." "I know," Marcus said, fitting a shingle. "Then why are you?" He looked at the neighborhood below. Cedar Falls in January, quiet and cold, the streets he'd driven his whole life, the houses he'd repaired one at a time for 10 years. Because I need the person whose roof this is to see that the person running this program is someone who knows which end of the hammer hits the nail, he said. That's not something you can explain.
You have to show it. Sarah watched him work for a moment. Okay, she said. You can go back inside. He said, "It's cold." "I'm fine," she said and stayed on the roof.
He glanced at her. "You're going to be good at this," he said. "I know," she said. "So are you." Henry Caldwell showed up unannounced on the third day of the first project. He didn't call ahead.