Fixing Pipes to People: A Guide to Hiring a Sixty-Eight-Year-Old

My close friend Jay has weaved his way through a variety of careers, from bailiff to ticket scalper (or ticket broker, as he calls it).

He’s gone from a reality TV star (on the show Average Joe) to an actor in two movies, including one starring Bon Jovi (I never saw it). He moved from casino host to Indiana Pacers account manager—and a few titles in between—until landing his current position as the general manager of the Markland Mall in Kokomo, Indiana. We sat outside of Blend Cigar and smoked a La Palina and—for the first time in more than two decades of friendship—I could tell . . . he absolutely loved his new gig.

 “I’m doing shit I never would have imagined. I even climbed up on the roof of the mall to check it out and to learn about what needed fixing, and stuff like that.” He grinned as he looked down and patted the generously round stomach of someone who should never be on a ladder. “I have never enjoyed a job more. The people are great. I seriously am learning something new every day. And you know me, I’m all about everyone doing a good job while having fun, enjoying their work. None of that back-stabbing stuff. I mean, I know what it’s like when you have a good idea and your boss doesn’t give a damn. I’m not like that. I tell them: ‘Listen, if you have a good idea, come to me and if it doesn’t cost us much or if it saves us money, we are going to do it.’ I think they like that.” He pulled on his cigar and knocked the ashes off.

 “I can’t argue, Jay. I imagine your team likes you,” I said.

 He nodded and shrugged. “I hope so.” He went on.

 “So, we needed a new maintenance guy and I hired this dude and he’s sixty-eight, and seriously everyone says he’s one of the best we’ve ever had. And the guy comes up and genuinely thanks me and says nobody else would even consider him for a job. I think he had been looking for a long time. I’ve never had anyone thank me like that.”

 “You think it was because of his age?” I asked.

 “Probably,” Jay says. “But the guy knows his stuff, can fix damn near anything, and he’s a good dude.”

 My mind immediately went to a piece I had written a while back that discussed depression in the elderly and how we were ignoring a huge demographic of our population when they still had a ton to offer. I had also recently read somewhere that the average age of certain vital trade jobs was climbing in this country because we had devalued this kind of work and people just weren’t going into the trades anymore. And simply put, if a business can’t run . . . well, they simply can’t run. Just a quick look at the sector of electricians through the Bureau of Labor statistics shows the average age of an electrician in this country is more than fifty-two with a job outlook of more than 8% growth (much faster than average) from 2019–2020. A job prospect that is far more promising and utilitarian than a dozen degrees that college offers. 

 “You think he’d let me interview him?” I asked. “It would actually make a good story. I mean it’s not every day you hire someone sixty-eight.” 

 Jay shrugged again. “I don’t see why not.”

 I paused and thought about it a bit. “Let me ask you something, Jay. Why did you hire him?” I prodded.

 “Cause like I said. He seemed like a good dude, smart, friendly, and eager to work. Clearly, he was qualified. So why not?”

 So, a few days later, I called Mr. Richard Benefiel—Markland Mall’s sixty-eight-year-old new hire.

 “Four years to be exact,” he told me. “I had applied for more than four years.” He went on to describe how he had worked in mobile home maintenance for more than fifteen years in Illinois until the business went bust and he moved back to Indiana. He was from that breed that had always worked starting from age seven baling hay on the farm. “I moved bales bigger than me,” he laughed. “Most of my family were steel beam fitters and damn near all them fell at one time or ’nother—broke their backs and other bones . . . ended up crippled. No way was I going to end up like that.”  

 So instead, he found his way to Viet Nam.

 “I entered the Air Force from ’70–76, was a boom operator on a KC-135—we’d fuel jets mid-flight or fly into Hanoi or some remote airstrip, where we had no business flying a plane that size. I mostly learned how to fix stuff by workin’ on a farm, from my dad, working construction, jobs like that, the Air Force . . . Just being on the job. I mean, I always worked.”

He continued in his slight country drawl. “I’d go online, I’d fill in all the paperwork, and I guess they had to interview me so these places didn’t appear to discriminate, ya know. And this one time I left an office and I thought I’d done well on the interview and as I was leaving I turned round to ask a question and saw the guy throwing my résumé in the trash. It’s like he had no ’tention of hiring me. I’ll be honest, this went on for four years . . . and I had all these tools so I started woodworking and making things like holiday yard ornaments and furniture from old pallets that I’d sell.”

He got a bit quiet and went on.

“But it weren't enough, ya know? I was . . . lost and there were times that . . . well.”

 “I understand,” I said. My more than a quarter century of being an ER doc knew where he was heading with this. It’s why Jay’s story of Mr. Benefiel being so effusive in his thanks resonated with me. “You were kind of feeling like the world had no need for you. Like you had nothing to offer, even though you damn well knew you did,” I said.

 “Yeah . . . exactly. I ain’t gonna lie . . . Jay kinda saved me. This job saved me. Truth be told, when he called and asked me if I wanted the job . . . well . . . I sat down and cried. He gave me a chance.”

I dwelled on that a bit, especially in light of the current “OK Boomer” woke trend of disparaging those who are older. I’ve always thought that way too many young people—including my own sons—lack proficiency in basic home repairs, so I’ve always tried to do these things myself, teach my kids when they are receptive, and over the years I have found that I and they truly enjoy it. I’ve even collected a ton of tools and often tell people that in my waning years I hope to be working at a Home Depot . . . no, that’s not a joke.

I adopted this life hack from the noted physiologist Arthur Guyton who wrote the quintessential Textbook of Medical Physiology. He was stricken by polio at a young age but his “learn and do-it-yourself” attitude in the face of daunting life challenges certainly translated into his love and understanding of human physiology. His obituary even highlighted the fact that a repairman most likely never set foot in his house, and that part of his quest toward knowledge started with him teaching his kids how to repair a broken refrigerator.

I always had a very clear understanding of how rewarding it is to be a problem-solver and how learning to do even one more thing can build self-confidence and open countless doors in life especially to those with limited resources. I referenced it once in a commencement speech I gave: learn one more thing, every day learn one more thing. So I asked Richard,

“What if tomorrow Markland Mall said, ‘Richard, we got this young man and we’d like him to be your apprentice.’ Perhaps he even comes from an ‘at-risk’ environment. Would you be willing to be his mentor, teach him how to do your job? Because, you know how important this stuff is to learn; you probably learned most of these things from watching others.”

“Or from doing it wrong,” he laughed. “Hell yeah . . . I’d love it.”

So Jay took a chance on a sixty-eight-year-old hire while rediscovering his own drive and desire to learn new things, starting with how you fix pipes to people. An evolving understanding that all persons have something to offer and that with practice and people’s willingness to share their knowledge and ideas, all problems have solutions. But first you may need a mentor and a source of that knowledge. Unfortunately, for four years countless businesses let one—a bit grayer than most—walk out the door.

Thankfully Jay and Markland Mall thought otherwise.
 

Dr. Louis M. Profeta is an emergency physician practicing in Indianapolis and a member of the Indianapolis Forensic Services Board. He is a national award-winning writer, public speaker and one of LinkedIn's Top Voices and the author of the critically acclaimed book, The Patient in Room Nine Says He's God. Feedback at louermd@att.net is welcomed. For other publications and for speaking dates, go to louisprofeta.com. For college speaking inquiries, contact bookings@greekuniversity.org.