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Jeffrey Myers, Financial Advisor and Philanthropist
We’re not from here, but we’re planted here, and this town has become our home. I was six years old when my parents divorced. After that, I spent six years in California with my dad. Even though he and my mom went their separate ways, they both left a lifelong handprint on who I became. My dad believed in me. Deeply. I wasn’t athletic. I was the awkward kid who got picked last, but my dad would spend hours throwing baseballs with me in the yard. Just hours. He’d sit across the table from me and say, “You can do anything you set your mind to. I believe in you.” And when I didn’t believe in myself, he’d add, “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me.” I didn’t realize it then, but that kind of belief stays with you. All these years later, I still hear his voice when I need it most.
When I moved back to Missouri, I lived with my mom in West Plains. That woman had more grit than anyone I’ve ever known. She started working at a tiny gas station chain and built it up into 10 or 12 locations. She’d be up at 3:30 in the morning and work seven days a week, but she never missed a school event. She’d pile up a van with kids, half of them weren’t even hers, and drive to Kansas City for a day at Worlds of Fun just to give us all a memory. She believed in taking care of people. If she saw you needed something, she’d make sure you had it. She gave without hesitation, and watching her, I learned how to work and how to give. The older I get, the more I realize I’ve become my mom.
By 23, I had five kids. That’ll sober a man up fast. I read a verse in the Bible that said, “A man who doesn’t provide for his family is worse than an unbeliever,” and it stopped me in my tracks. It didn’t say “unless you’re young” or “unless you’re broke.” So I bought a life insurance policy. Seventeen dollars and ten cents a month for two hundred thousand dollars of coverage. That was a turning point for me.
Back then, I worked at a charcoal plant. I’d come home black with soot. But it wasn’t enough to feed five kids, so I picked up two more jobs: selling cash registers and cleaning windows. One day, I asked a store owner about the “Paid Out” button on the register. He said he paid his window cleaner eight bucks. I said, “If I clean your windows, will you pay me?” He said yes, and that was the start of my little business. I worked three jobs every day to keep my family afloat. I didn’t want government assistance. Not because I looked down on it, but because I felt a personal responsibility to carry my load. It was hard. But I was proud.
Along the way, I got interested in investing. I started a little investment club with friends and found that I really liked it. In 1990, I walked into a brokerage firm and said, “I want to be a stockbroker.” They turned me down. No college degree. No credentials. No clear path from window washer to Wall Street. But my mentor told me, “They didn’t reject you. They rejected your résumé. Go get experience.” So I did. I sold life insurance for ten years, and I got good at it.
In 2002, my sister-in-law, who worked for the company I’d once been rejected from, told me to try again. I did. This time, they said yes. When they asked where I wanted to go, I prayed, and I heard one word: Lebanon. Clear as day. I hadn’t been here in over a decade. But I trusted that voice, and I came.
That same year, on a cold November night, I ran out of gas in Illinois. I was stuck on the side of the road when a green Windstar van pulled up and a woman rolled down her window and said, “What are you doing out here?” That was Terry. She gave me a ride, and by the time the night was over, we’d exchanged every phone number and address we had. By Easter, I’d proposed. We got married July 5.
Terry sold her house and bought one in Lebanon sight unseen, just based on my word that it’d be okay. She worked full time, raised our kids, made dinner every single night at seven. She believed in me. She was, and still is, the anchor of our family. When I told her I tithed ten percent of my income, she looked at me like I was crazy. But I opened the Bible and showed her the promise in Malachi: “Test me in this.” I asked her to give it ninety days. We’ve been doing it ever since. And we’ve never gone without.
Today, we own 65 rental units, mostly in Lebanon. Nearly every dollar those units have brought in has gone right back into making the homes safer, better, and more dignified for the people who live in them. Because I believe everyone deserves a safe and nurturing place to call home. That belief was born when I helped start Habitat for Humanity in West Plains. I didn’t have money back then. Just a big mouth and a lot of passion. But we raised funds, sold pizzas, sold boards at Walmart with people’s names on them, and we built homes. One little girl in one of those homes used to avoid going back to her house because of the black mold and broken porch. After her family moved into a Habitat home, she started inviting her friends over and later became a teacher.
I don’t need my name on a building. I don’t need recognition. We give anonymously most of the time. But sometimes we accept recognition so people know they can step up too. If someone sees my name as a supporter of something and thinks, “If he can do it, maybe I can too,” then it’s worth it. Because legacy isn’t about being remembered. It’s about leaving something behind that’s worth remembering.
Lebanon gave me that chance. This town has embraced us. We’re not from here, but we’re planted here. Lebanon has given us so much, and supporting downtown is one way we give back. I walk down the street, wave at people, and know this is home. And like I tell people, if you show up with integrity, effort, and a heart for giving, Lebanon will bless you back.
Jeffrey Myers, Financial Advisor and Philanthropist
