The Daly Story: Campbell House

Despite the connection that this blog, calls, emails, skype, and other things afford, some days it is just hard to be far away from family.

Around lunchtime (EST) Leake and Watts officially dedicated Campbell House, a new group home named for my dad. Dad led Leake and Watts for some 32 years, which, by itself and without considering his many accomplishments, is remarkable. What he was able to do there is much more amazing. His list of achievements and awards goes on and on, so I'll just say that he is a visionary and a problem solver of the best kind, and when he saw challenges he went after them. For the agency that meant first-of-its-kind programming, bucking funding and other trends that didn't help youth in care, and always trying to do right by the children and families he served.

Quite a few years ago he and I were discussing what it takes to lead a big organization and I asked him what his philosophy was. He acknowledged that there is never a shortage of challenges and fires to put out, and the key is to surround yourself with people who are smarter than you and then turn them loose. Well, turn them loose but guide them gently, he said. The more places I see and work the more I realize what a powerful philosophy this is and how much it understates the skill required to "guide them gently". I've learned so much from his words and at least as much from his deeds, which is why I am so happy that the agency is honoring him by naming the house.

In the last year or so Campbell House has been transformed from the house I grew up in into a home for youth with developmental difficulties. It seems fitting in so many ways, not least of which is that my sister, Jess, has become a tremendous advocate (and a self-advocate) for folks with developmental challenges. I'm so proud of them both and happy for what the house has become.

As in many good novels, the house was a really a character in our family story. It had a front yard full of roses and a backyard with beautiful rock outcroppings that a geologist friend once spent 15 minutes talking to me about. Every summer we'd find fence-clearing home runs from the park across the street in the grass. It was a house no pizza man could find because it shared an address with at least a dozen other buildings. A house where mail always came a day late. The second step was notoriously creaky but from my room it meant I could always tell who was coming up the stairs. There were lots of light filled rooms, tiny closets, and nooks for reading, conversation, laughter, and singing.

I'm thankful the house was on loan to us for the time that it was, and wish the best to the youth who will live there in its next chapter.

My Uncle Jim sent along a few pictures from the day.