I’ve had the honor of carrying a few titles throughout my life: Founder, Chairman, Philanthropist, and easily the one I’m most proud of—Dad. On paper, the titles might look like milestones or status symbols. But to me, each one is a symbol of something deeper: sacrifice, work, and unshakable belief. 

You don’t get to wear titles like that by accident. You earn them—inch by inch, year by year, often in silence, without so much as an echo of accolade. And that’s what gives them weight.

Because the truth is, the value of a title isn’t in how other people see it. It’s in how much you labored and sacrificed along the way to get there.

From Shoe Salesman to Founder

I didn’t start with much. I was raised in a working-class family, the youngest of three boys. When my father’s business collapsed, we packed our things that same afternoon, drove 400 miles, and moved in with my grandmother. Two weeks later my dad took a job overseas. I was barely fourteen and began shining shoes, cleaning crude-soaked downhole oil pumps, and selling movie tickets at night to help keep us afloat.

When I founded Piper-Morgan Associates in 1977, I didn’t have a team or a client list. Just a borrowed office, two rotary phones, a Yellow Pages, and the belief that I could create something of value. That belief came from years of working jobs where I had to earn trust one customer at a time.

So when I eventually earned the title, Founder, it wasn’t about prestige. It was about survival. I had bootstrapped my way into business ownership—and with every single placement, every deal, every new client—I felt the weight and hope of what that title meant. It meant distancing myself one step at a time away from hardship and building something meaningful from nothing. Knowledge, ability, sacrifice, and measureable accomplishments earn a title that’s deserved because it’s only then that a title has the real substance behind it that no one can take away.

The Honor of Chairman

Later in life, I had the privilege of serving as Chairman of the Board at Today’s Harbor for Children. This wasn’t a business role. It was a calling based on learned family values.

When I stepped into that role, I brought more than my name—I brought my whole heart and the financial success I had started to enjoy. I’d already funded the construction of a new cottage on the Harbor campus for little girls – children who had been abandoned or neglected, or worse. I had seen the hurt in their eyes and the hope that followed when they were given structure, safety, and love.

Being Chairman of the Board and the first President of the Harbor’s new on-campus K thru 8th grade school didn’t mean leading from a podium. It meant showing up. Asking hard questions. Making sure we never lost sight of our mission to help children become healthy, happy, and productive citizens. It meant breaking the cycle of violence many of these children had experienced. 

That title reminded me daily that leadership isn’t just about vision—it’s about accountability and learning to work successfully with like-minded, supremely dedicated board members. The very ones whom I had learned so much from over the years. And when such an important mission is on the line, that title carries even more weight and responsibility.

What It Means to Be a Philanthropist

The title Philanthropist didn’t come with a certificate. It came quietly, after years of giving—not just financially, but emotionally and personally. My mother, by her own life example, wove this principle of giving back into mine and my brother’s lives from my earliest memories.

When Deborah and I created the Gladney & Deborah Darroh Scholarship Fund, we didn’t do it for recognition. We did it because we had walked the path so many of these students were walking—working jobs while going to school, wondering how to afford books, facing the fear of falling short.

Supporting these scholarship recipients is a constant reminder that philanthropy isn’t just about giving money. It’s about sending a message: We see you. We believe in you. Keep going.

Being a philanthropist also means planting seeds we may never see grow to full blossom—but trusting that they will. Believing in the mission is a strategic belief, not a tactical one.

Success: Fulfillment or False Promises 

Success can bring fulfillment or bring false promises. People choose which one by the way they live their lives before and after they earn a lot of money (financial status being a popular yardstick of success). 

Debbie and I believe it’s how one lives pre and post financial freedom that’s a telling measure of character and, ultimately, fulfillment and happiness. We’re extremely thankful for the financial independence we’ve achieved, separately and together. But for us, what makes success truly fulfilling is beyond the balance sheet. It’s what we’ve given back when we had so little to give, and what we’re doing now and will do. For us, success brings fulfillment because giving back brings us happiness. And we want to be as happy as we possibly can be.

For others, success brings false promises that often don’t end well. Choices that focus on displays of wealth, over indulgence, status seeking – are the kind that, if left unchecked, bring a barrenness to the soul and companions like alcoholism, drug addiction, and endless empty searches for meaning. This is not fulfillment or happiness. 

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood . . . I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference,” Robert Frost famously wrote. 

Which road will you choose?

Revisiting Titles

A title may open a door, but how you carry it determines what you do once you walk through. There’s a responsibility that comes with being seen as someone others look up to. You have to give more, guide more, and expect more of yourself than you did before.

I’ve learned that people don’t remember titles—they remember how you made them feel. They remember your integrity. Your consistency. Your willingness to lift others as you climb.

So I remember my titles proudly, those in the past and those I have now—but I also think upon them carefully. Not as badges of status, but as reminders: You worked hard for this. It’s okay to have a healthy pride. But I also know I am very, very lucky. That’s because I know there are lots of people who work extremely hard – many of them are much more talented and smarter than I am – but are people who simply never got the fortunate breaks in life that I did. This knowledge keeps me thankful every single day.

Titles or Substance – Which Is More Important

At this point in my life, I don’t strive for new titles. Titles are fine, of course, I’m not diminishing titles. But substance has long been more important to me than titles. People who have impressive titles but no substance – people without character, without the understanding that comes from the experience of struggle, of want, and without a heart for giving – their titles mean nothing, not really.

Character, leadership, compassion, and legacy are always rooted in personal choices. I’ve found it interesting that life defining choices – those moments that define the real you – are apt to present themselves at the most unexpected time and place. One such choice like that was presented to me some 35 years ago. The time was Thanksgiving. The place was my mother’s home. 

Emily’s Prayer

It was at my mother’s home over Thanksgiving where I met a little girl of seven whose name was Emily (pseudonym). She was a resident of Today’s Harbor for Children. Emily was enjoying a Thanksgiving holiday weekend away from the Harbor with my cousin, her husband, and their three children. Her family was approved by the Harbor to sponsor a Harbor child at their home on special weekends.

I hadn’t known about The Harbor. I listened carefully as my cousin told me about its history. How The Harbor was an established children’s charity on a campus-like setting with cottages and house parents who cared for children who had been abandoned, abused, or neglected. 

All the while, Emily was shyly hiding behind my cousin’s dress, occassionally peeking out at me. Then she ran off to play. That’s when my cousin told me Emily’s story. It was heartbreaking. 

I asked if I might say “Hello” to this little girl, as she seemed curious about me. But I was discouraged. My cousin said given the trauma she’d suffered, Emily wasn’t trusting of strangers. She simply withdrew when approached by someone she didn’t know. In fact, she’d never seen Emily talk to anyone outside her own family – not even other children.

Soon Emily returned to her hiding place behind my cousin. She resumed her game of peeking out at me. I noticed she was lingering a bit longer each time. So despite my cousin’s advice, I decided to get down on one knee to be at eye level with her. The next time Emily looked out, I said, “Hi, my name is Gladney,” and warmly extended my hand in greeting.  

To my utter surprise, Emily deftly stepped out from behind my cousin and, without a word, extended her hand in return. Our fingertips remained a few inches apart. Emily waited, seeming to study me. I was a bit taken aback by her steady gaze. My cousin watched in amazement.

It was then I realized that Emily was waiting for me to make the small effort to close the distance between our outstretched hands. Suddenly, an epiphany: I understood Emily was offering more than her hand. She was offering a prayer. A prayer for herself and for every other child like her who was needy, hurt, scared, abandoned, hungry. Hers was a prayer for help, for acknowledgement, for understanding, for love . . . and for effort. 

There’s no explanation I have other than there was something about me that gave this little girl hope. She felt I was worthy. She trusted I might answer her prayer. Because children cannot help themselves, only grown-ups can.

With total clarity, I understood as I had never understood anything else before in my life, that within the wisp of space separating mine and Emily’s fingertips, within that tiny void, floated every virtue in the universe. I reached forward and gently took Emily’s little hand in mine. She allowed me to hold it. Then letting go, Emily slipped away and joined the other children.

 And that has made all the difference. 

I’ll never forget the look on the children’s faces the day the new playground opened at Today’s Harbor for Children. It was pure, unstoppable joy. They ran. They climbed. They laughed from their bellies. But for me—and for everyone who helped make that playground a reality—it was more than a ribbon-cutting or a piece of equipment. It was a message. A promise. A seed planted in good soil.

Because what we gave those children that day wasn’t just a playground. We gave them possibilities.

The Hidden Cost of Trauma

For decades, I’ve worked with and supported organizations that serve children who’ve been neglected, abused, or abandoned. These kids are survivors. But the cost of trauma doesn’t always show up in obvious ways.

It shows up in the child who doesn’t speak much, or flinches when touched. It shows up in the one who doesn’t trust easily, who has learned the hard way that not all adults follow through on their promises.

That’s why safe spaces are so important. Spaces where a child doesn’t have to look over their shoulder. Where no one’s yelling. Where they’re allowed to just be kids again. Spaces that remind them they are worthy of joy, safety, and stability.

Why Playgrounds Matter

Some might see a playground as a luxury. I see it as a tool for healing.

Playgrounds do more than provide fun. They encourage imagination. They spark confidence. They teach cooperation, patience, and problem-solving. They let kids test boundaries and discover their own abilities—all in a healthy, safe environment.

For kids living in residential care or group homes like Boys & Girls Harbor, (now, Today’s Harbor for Children), a playground becomes more than just a place to play. It becomes a part of their emotional recovery. It’s a space that says, “You matter. You’re allowed to feel joy. You’re safe here.”

And when those kids helped design their own dream playground? It told them their voice matters, too.

The Day It Came to Life

In December 2013, thanks to the generosity of Quantum Resources Management and the amazing folks at KaBOOM!, we made that dream playground a reality. Over 150 volunteers came out—people who could’ve spent their day doing anything else but chose to serve.

I remember watching kids press their faces to the windows as the slides, climbing walls, and swings were assembled. The excitement was contagious. For many of them, it was the first time they had something brand new made just for them.

That moment—that image—is etched in my memory forever.

Why This Work Matters to Me

People often ask me why I support children’s causes so passionately. The answer is simple: because children don’t get to choose the circumstances they’re born into.

They don’t get to decide whether their parents stay or leave. They don’t get to pick the neighborhood, the income level, or the emotional support they receive—or don’t.

But we, as adults, do get to choose what kind of world we build around them. We get to decide if we’ll be passive observers of their struggle or active builders of their future.

That’s what I’ve tried to do through my work with Today’s Harbor for Children, through scholarships, and yes—even through a simple playground.

A Safe Space is a Start—Not the Finish Line

Let me be clear: a playground doesn’t solve every problem. These kids still need consistent mentorship, education, therapy, and love. But what it does provide is a foundation. A symbol. A safe place to dream.

Because when a child feels safe, everything else becomes possible.

They’re more open to learning. They’re more likely to build friendships. They’re more willing to trust again. And when they start to believe in others, they begin to believe in themselves.

That’s when the real transformation happens.

What I Hope They Remember

Years from now, when those kids are adults with children of their own, I hope they remember the day they got their playground. I hope they remember the feeling of being seen, valued, and celebrated. I hope they tell their children, “You’re safe. Go play.”

Because sometimes, it takes just one experience like that to shift a person’s outlook for life. One moment of joy. One memory of freedom. One sign that someone believed in them.

That’s what we gave. And that’s what we’ll keep giving.

Let’s Keep Building

To those who supported that project, thank you. To the volunteers, donors, and staff who showed up with gloves and tools, thank you. To the children—your laughter made it all worth it.

And to anyone reading this who wonders if small things make a difference: they do. A swing set. A basketball hoop. A place to sit in the sun without fear. These are not just extras. These are essentials in the healing journey of a child.

Let’s keep building safe spaces. Let’s keep planting seeds of joy, trust, and possibility.

Because one day, that child who’s running across the playground today may grow up to be the leader who builds the next one.

And I can’t think of a better legacy than that.

After nearly five decades in the world of business, it’s natural to start thinking a little differently. Particularly when, with increasing regularity, life events arrive in the form of mortality prompts. A routine physical unearths an angry tumor; dear friends die; a sharp stab of arthritic pain that wasn’t there last night. All taps (or poundings) on the shoulder. 

There comes a time when ideas of success shift from the thrill of closing deals, breaking records, increasing earnings, to something more lasting. Something deeper. Thoughts surface, “What will I leave behind when I’m no longer here? How can I have an impact on people, community, and the next generation that will survive me?”

For many this shift in thinking is typically a late game phenomenon – bottom of the eighth, top of the 9th sort of timing. Putting it off is understandable. The pressure of work, family, chasing security, and, well, just life. Understandable, yes, but I don’t believe waiting is the right idea.

From the first inning you should be involved with the total game of life. No one is guaranteed tomorrow. Start thinking about legacy – your legacy – as a way of life. Now is the best time to start. Money is never enough, and money won’t save you. You must give back to have a truly meaningful life. Your life is your legacy. It’s what you’re doing now and it’s everything else you’re doing between now and the finish. Plus, it’s so much more fun living the legacy that survives you. And here’s the thing: along the way you’ll be the one who benefits the most. I promise. 

From Shoes to Service

My early work life was focused purely on survival. Growing up, my family went through financial collapse when my father’s business failed. We packed our bags and moved overnight to live with my grandmother. From that moment forward, I knew if I wanted anything, I’d have to earn it.

I worked multiple jobs in high school—shining shoes, selling movie tickets, and working in retail. Later, I paid my own way through college at night while working full-time during the day motivating and placing the marginalized on jobs. I learned how to sell, how to build trust, how to serve. That led me to founding Piper-Morgan Associates, a recruiting firm that I ran for 48 years.

It was a business I embraced. It provided financial security and I loved watching a candidate go from unemployed to empowered, seeing a family’s life change because of one opportunity… that’s the kind of return on investment I remember feeling best about.

Mentorship Is a Legacy in Motion

Legacy isn’t just about what you build. It’s about who you build up.

Throughout my career, I’ve mentored people of all ages and backgrounds – many from tough circumstances. I’ve coached them on how to communicate, how to interview, and how to build confidence. The teaching program I used over and over with candidates was one I developed: “Winning the Offer.” It was more than an interview tip—it was a roadmap on how to have their best interview. It gave them a winning mindset going in.

But mentoring isn’t just a professional act. It’s a personal responsibility. Each of us has a chance to be the person we needed when we were younger. You don’t need a title or big checkbook to do that. You just need a little time, some empathy, and a willingness to listen.

Giving Beyond Yourself

I was fortunate to have a mother who taught me this. From my earliest memories she wove into my core that giving back was the way to a worthy life. That anyone of any means could do something meaningful. She taught me that earning a living wasn’t enough—make a difference. These lessons led me into philanthropy, especially for children.

I’ve served on the board of Today’s Harbor for Children, a residential community for neglected and abused kids. From 1998 to 2018, I was deeply involved—not just financially, but with my time and heart. I personally funded the building of a 4,200 sq. ft. home for girls on their campus. Later, I served as the 1st President of their newly formed K-8 Harbor Academy for five years.

Why? Because I believe in the power of stability, education, and love. I’ve seen what happens to kids when those things are missing. And I’ve seen how much a safe place and a caring adult can change a life.

I also created scholarships for students who are attending colleges including Texas Southern, UT Austin, and the University of Arkansas to name a few. If even one student walks through a college door that might’ve been closed to them, it’s worth it.

The Role of Family in Legacy

My legacy isn’t mine alone. I share it with my wife, Deborah, and our children. One of the most meaningful moments in my life came in 2018, when my son, a Certified Speech and Language Pathologist, approached me with an idea to help people living with Parkinson’s disease.

He wanted to develop a free mobile app that helped patients maintain and strengthen their voices. He had vision and heart. He just needed support. I funded the project, and Steven launched Loud and Clear, now used by thousands in over 100 countries: loudandclear.io 

That’s the beauty of legacy—it can evolve into something bigger than you, especially when passed to the next generation.

Purpose Doesn’t Retire

Retirement isn’t a finish line for me. It’s simply a time to start new adventures. I may no longer be running a business full-time, but I’m still working—on causes that matter.

I write. I speak. I support nonprofits. I continue to invest in tools and programs that improve lives, especially those of children, veterans, and people living with chronic conditions. My degree is in Economics, but I started off majoring in English and Creative Writing. I’ve resurrected that interest. My first musical drama, This American Family, raised tens of thousands of dollars for charity and honored Gold Star Mothers and first responders.

Your life is your legacy. It’s built in countless moments strung together with consistency, compassion, and courage. The best time to start is now.

The Heart of The Matter

So how do you build a life that outlives your career?

• Lead with values. Success without purpose won’t last. Know what matters most to you and let it guide your actions.
  
• Mentor someone. You may be the reason they believe in themselves
  
• Give generously. Time, talent, and treasure—share what you can
  
• Invest in the next generation. Help someone go further

We can’t take anything with us. But we can leave behind a legacy of kindness, wisdom, and action – emphasis on action. Tears alone never change a thing.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that our legacy is defined by so much more than what we’ve  achieved in business—it’s defined by how many lives we’ve touched along the way. And if we do it right, that legacy will speak for us long after we’re gone.

I grew up the youngest of three boys in a working-class home. My dad was a cattle trader—an independent one—which meant he worked long hours, took big risks, and provided a decent living for our family in Houston. My mom was a traditional homemaker, warm and full of love, the kind of mother every child hopes for.

From as early as I can remember, my brothers and I were encouraged to work, to hustle, to figure things out. We harvested pecans, sorted and sacked them, and sold them door-to-door. We mowed lawns, hawked lemonade, and looked for any honest way to earn a buck. That work ethic shaped me. Our dad’s constant refrain was, “Someday, you boys need to start your own business.” Balancing our dad was our mother. She taught us compassion and selflessness by her gentle example and giving heart.

The lessons stuck – all of them.

When It All Fell Apart

By 1962, my dad had grown his cattle business and took a big leap—expanding into the feedlot business in a small town in Louisiana. So we left Houston and moved to Amite into a modest rental home. Within two years the business failed, resulting in financial ruin. One day, dad came home and told us to pack our bags. We left town that night and moved-in with my grandmother in Palestine, Texas.

I was barely fourteen, but that frightening experience changed me forever. I learned what it means to go from having enough to having nothing—but to keep going anyway. Although it didn’t feel this way at the time, it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

Over the next few years I worked every job I could find. I shined shoes. I cleaned shops. I sold movie tickets. In high school I worked twenty-five hours a week in multiple part-time jobs. When we eventually moved back to Houston, I started selling Cutco knives door to door. I didn’t make a lot of money, but I got something more valuable: sales experience. That led to a commission-only job at a lady’s shoe store—my first taste of real sales success.

Building My Foundation

After high school, I enrolled in night classes at the University of Houston carrying twelve hours per semester. My draft number was 25 (12 hours per semester was mandatory for student deferment, or “Hello Vietnam!”). I initially majored in English and Creative Writing but later switched to Economics. It took five years to earn my degree.

During that period I worked full time for a place called Industrial Welding School as an Outreach and Job Development Specialist. Part of my job was encouraging students to finish training and become certified welders. They were all government sponsored, so either on probation, parole, or from poverty programs. But the majority of my time was spent developing good-paying, skilled jobs for graduates to go to. I loved the work. It gave me a great sense of giving back and feeling like I was making a meaningful difference for good in people’s lives. It also gave me great insight into marketing, hiring, and how businesses think when it comes to finding talent.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that this “ordinary” job was laying the groundwork for the business I would eventually start.

Taking the Leap

In 1977, Industrial Welding School closed its doors. I was 27, unemployed, and had four months’ worth of savings in the bank. I’d never forgotten my father’s mantra: “Start your own business.” But I had no inventory, no team, and no idea where to begin.

Then I stumbled across something that made my eyes light up: the personnel placement industry. I was amazed that companies would pay a fee to hire someone—just a regular person with good skills and no troubled background. I thought, That’s what I’ve been doing for years, just not for a fee. That was my “aha” moment.

I borrowed a back office with two rotary phones from a CPA friend and opened my business on May 9, 1977. I named it Piper-Morgan Associates Personnel Consultants. On Monday, I had no clients and no candidates. By Friday, I had made my first placement.

The Road to Staying Power

Starting a business is hard. Building one that lasts is even harder. There were times (more than a few) in the early days where I wasn’t sure how I was going to pay my bills. But I stayed committed to doing right by people—both the companies I worked with and the job candidates I represented. 

In time the business gained traction. Eventually, I developed an interview coaching method I called “Winning the Offer.” I taught it to every candidate. Boy, did it ever work! My placements increased exponentially. My reputation grew. I went on to become the top-ranked technical and professional recruiter in Houston for 18 straight years—and in the entire state of Texas for nine. No other recruiter came close. I stopped entering the competition after the 18th win.

Lessons from the Journey

Looking back, I see a clear line through my life: adversity, hustle, purpose, and belief. I didn’t have a blueprint or investors. I had grit, the willingness to learn, and a commitment to helping people.

Here are some of the principles I’ve learned about entrepreneurship:

• Start small, but start. You don’t need a fancy office or big budget. I had two rotary phones and a borrowed desk
  
• Believe in your instincts. If something lights you up, pay attention. It might be the thing you were meant to do.
  
• Treat people like gold. Reputation is everything in business. Honor your word, particularly when it’s hard, most particularly when it’s extra hard.
  
• Never stop learning. Every job, every failure, every sale teaches you something
  
• Give back. Success is sweeter when you use it to lift others

Where It All Leads

Piper-Morgan has been a dream come true. It proves that someone from modest means can create something lasting, meaningful, and good. This work has always been more fun than fun for me.Today, I’ve poured that same entrepreneurial energy into philanthropy, education, and innovation—like the voice therapy app my son created for people with Parkinson’s to use free of charge which is now accessed globally. A seven year effort I could fully fund because of Piper-Morgan. What a wonderful gift to humanity! 

The journey hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth every step. If you’ve ever thought about starting your own business, I’ll pass along my dad’s advice:

Do it. Start something of your own. Don’t wait for perfect. Just begin.

You never know how far it might take you.