Two Cities, One Story — And the Dock That Built Me

Nash | Chi | STL

Before I ever rolled a crate into a convention center, my dad (youngest of 14 kids from middle Georgia) was already on the dock—moving freight for the world wide leader in events. The kind of work where the show doesn’t open unless the freight makes it. My mom was in the middle of the action in Chicago in the early ’80s, working for Joseph G. Kordsmeier—a Hall of Leaders legend in an era when names like Bob Lozier were redefining what hospitality meant. Back then, freight crews and executives didn’t just trade emails—they knew each other’s kids’ names.

Somewhere between McCormick Place’s loading docks and the ballrooms upstairs, the Southern freight man and the Chicago hospitality woman met. And that’s where my story began.

This week, I found myself back in Chicago—and then in St. Louis—covering two major events. On paper, they’re just stops on my route. In reality, they’re part of my family’s map. When the coal mines in Kentucky dried up, my mom’s family split three ways. One brother stayed in Kentucky, one headed north to Chicago, and one went west to St. Louis. Survival turned into roots, and those roots shaped the paths that would eventually cross and create my own.

Walking those streets, working those halls, I could feel the overlap—family history layered under industry history. Chicago, with its grit and skyline, holds one chapter. St. Louis, with its riverfront and steel backbone, holds another. And the Southeast? That’s still in my blood, the ground my dad stood on before he ever came north.

This industry has polished me in its own way—the kind of polish you get from running with gangsters and executives in the same week. I have just as many friends seeing parole boards as I do friends sitting on them. That’s what this business is: where the underworld and the overworld meet. And me? I’ve always been the seal of transfer between those two worlds.

Being in those two cities this week wasn’t just travel—it was a reminder. The freight line I run today isn’t just about moving crates from point A to point B. It’s a line that runs back through coal towns, loading docks, hotel ballrooms, and family kitchens. It’s the line that brought my parents together and, in a way, set my own purpose in motion.

If all that talk about purpose is real—maybe this is mine.