Chuck Hassler

I have a dear friend whose life journey has taken him from his humble beginnings in Powell to the lofty heights of success in the corporate world.

He would not welcome recognition as he’s a humble and private person so he will remain unnamed, but his friends and family will know full well who I am talking about. 

When I say humble beginnings I mean his family pooped in an outhouse until he was in the fifth grade. Think about that the next time we get a cold snap. He went to school in patched jeans, and his family ate elk meat, because that’s what they had. His mom drove an old car. His dad drove an ancient pickup. Household furniture was homemade, and he and his brother shared a bedroom and bunkbeds. 

When he graduated from high school he planned to follow his dad into the oil patch, but instead chased after a girl to college. The girl didn’t work out, but college did; he graduated with a meaningful degree. That led him to a career that took him around the world. 

Not everything was peachy keen and smooth sailing in his life. He spent large chunks of time in really unappealing and sometimes dangerous places. His marriage unraveled, in part because of his prolonged absences.

But he persevered.

He once told me that much of his success in the corporate world could be traced back to a singular incident. He had been shipped to an extremely remote location where he was to take over the operation of an international crew. He felt out of place and ill suited. The guy he took over from was very experienced and micromanaged every aspect of this insular world. 

My friend called a meeting of everybody in the camp and soon discovered that his predecessor was hated because he was a control freak. My friend, always a straight shooter, told the crew he didn’t feel like he knew everything and asked each of them what they would do to improve operational efficiency and cooperation. 

The rest is history. Empowered to do things, his crew did great things. They set all kinds of operational records, and the data was empirical. No smoke and mirrors, they got the work done. My buddy was smart enough to realize people want to do great things if they’re allowed the latitude.

And that did not go unnoticed in the corporate boardrooms. 

By the time he retired, he was responsible for the western hemisphere. Half the world. His style was unchanged. Let the people who work for you grow and flourish or screw up and sink, but give them a shot. Make them feel like they matter, that they’re not just another brick in the wall.

He sacrificed a lot to see this through. He had to live far away from his beloved Wyoming while I hunted elk and pheasants and wandered the mountains and deserts and pretty much lived the dream.

Now I wish the same for him. However much time is left. And I want him to know how much I love him, and how very proud I am of this humble son of Powell. 

Well done.