Remembering Our Silent Mentors

Crouching down on my knees on the floor of the large stainless-steel tank, I tugged at the yellowish rubber-like polymer on the sides, careful to avoid rubbing against the sharp blades of the large agitator in the center of the tank. The polymer I am cutting is the basic element on the soles of crepe shoes, popular in the seventies.

I move slowly around the tank, slicing off large pieces with a common butcher knife, tossing them in a bucket, to be pulled up by my co-worker looking down from above.

I am nineteen years old and in-between school terms at the University of Alabama. This job is in my home town of Decatur, Alabama at the 3M plant on the shores of the Tennessee river. The job allows me to live at home with my parents over the summer while making much more than the average summer-time student job.

Because this was a permit-required confined space with the potential for low oxygen and fume build-up, I wear a full-face breathing mask attached to a SCBA (Self-Contained Breathing Apparatus). The monotonous task, while wrapped in this space suit, drew me like a siren into my inner-world of random memories, each floating silently by, waiting for me to grab one to explore.

I settled upon my reflections of Phil Raths, the man who has given me this job.

Mr. Raths, as everyone knew him, is the plant manager of the chemical plant I work in. He is the father of ten children, one of whom is a close friend of mine. Mr. Raths had selected me and a few others for the 3M “Student-worker” program, granting a good job to students while working towards their degree. But, I know him more as my friend’s dad.

A burley yet gentle man in his mid-fifties with greying hair and bushy eyebrows, Mr. Raths had eyes that seemed to always twinkle. He had low and booming voice that was usually soft when speaking, yet could vibrate the room with his laughter. He was the perfect combination of athleticism from his younger football days and the intellectualism of his Benedictine and Scientific training.

I spent many hours in the Raths home observing from the shadows how he so amiably kept the chaos of the large brood of children, and their always present friends, at a level that preserved their liberty and freedom, while protecting the integrity and inner peace of the home. An amazing feat for any man.

The Raths home was always a place of happening—from breaking out the Allman Brothers Band live at Fillmore East on its release day, to card parties, ad-hoc football games in their spacious back-yard, occasional late-night pot-smoking in the back room, and watching Alabama football in their den—everything in their home had the feeling of life swirling around.

You would think a man with a family of twelve and a high position in large chemical company would have little time for anything else. Yet, Mr. Raths gave himself to his city, to his local Catholic Parish, to the boy scouts, to the Knights of Columbus, and on and on.

As a senior in high school, I attended my Catholic Church Faith Formation for High School students, called CCD at that time. I went because my parents still expected me to participate in my faith, because my closest friends went, and because there was a very cute red-headed girl I had my eye on.

Mr. Raths was our instructor. To this day, I do not remember what he said or taught. I just remember how I felt in his class. Within minutes of sitting down around a small table with him at the head, I stopped my teenage charade– trying to look slick and cool to my friends and the little red-head I was interested in. I quieted down as I fell under the spell of this large but gentle man,  a man who was busy raising a large family, who held significant roles in business and in his community—giving up his Sunday evenings to share from his own experience the most important thing in his life—His faith in Christ and in His Church.

If only I knew then how in years to come I would continue to revisit this moment in time,  and how gradually, imperceptibly, the example of his wisdom, his caring, and his selfless giving has influenced me, I would have thanked him much more than I did.

If I could say what Mr. Raths, this “silent mentor” did for me, it was this: He gave me a snapshot of what being a good man (and woman) is. I hear that phrase so often “He was a good man”, and yet, sometimes I wonder what people mean when they say that.

In the book of Acts, Luke describes some basic elements of several good men and women:

“Barnabus was a good man-full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.

“Cornelius, a Centurion, was a god-fearing man who gave generously and prayed regularly.”

“Tabitha was always doing good and helping the poor.”

These good people are not astounding the world. They are, however, astounding the people that they directly touch—almost always without either party knowing it when they are being touched. That is as good as good gets.

It has been many years now since I was in the bottom of that tank, awash in reflection of people who have added to and in some cases changed the course of my life. I have experienced both men and women such as Mr. Raths who, unknowingly, have nudged my life’s trajectory, and as a result, over the course of my life have had an incalculable influence.

Who is your “Mr. Raths”– those men and women who seemed to just show up in your life when you needed them. Men and women who the memory of continues to follow you throughout your life

For all those “Mr. Raths” in our lives, who without pomp and without trying to, have changed our course by simply living their lives as someone willing to lend a hand, I say thank you many times over.

Kind Regards,

Bob