MENTORING

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We’re Looking for the Next Ruth Loudon While building our first technology company in the early 1990s, our fourth hire wasn’t a young engineer, salesperson, or programmer. She was a 73-year-old neighbor. Her name was Ruth Loudon. 

We met Ruth while living on “The Hill” in West Conshohocken. She lived nearby and, over time, became part of our extended family. We shared dinners together. Saw each other at block parties. Bumped elbows at weddings. She’d often wander over while we were renovating some tired old houses and ask how the projects were coming along. What started as friendship eventually turned into something much more. 

Ruth joined our growing company. On paper, she had an impressive background in banking and the fuel oil business. But what made Ruth special wasn’t her résumé. It was her presence. She worked about twenty hours a week. Yet somehow she touched everything. She helped with operations. She helped with customers. She helped keep projects moving. She helped close business. She helped calm situations down when things became chaotic. When customers visited, Ruth was often one of the first people they met. And they loved her. She showed up every day prepared. She cared. She paid attention. She brought her A-game. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to. 

Ruth still had plenty left in the tank and wanted her life to matter. She wasn’t looking for retirement. She was looking for purpose. Years passed. The company grew. Hundreds of employees and customers came through our doors. And yet many of us still remember Ruth as one of the most important contributors we ever had. Ruth passed away at 97 years old. The story our family still tells is that she died sitting in her chair, preparing to come to work. Ready for another day. Ready to contribute. Ready to help. 

We often wonder whether her remarkable longevity had something to do with the fact that she never stopped being useful to others. Never stopped learning. Never stopped showing up. Never stopped contributing. ⸻ Ruth wasn’t the only one. 

Along the way we were fortunate to have people like Charlie, Barney, and Karl. Seasoned men who had seen things. People who had weathered difficult seasons. Handled pressure. Solved problems. Made mistakes and learned from them. When younger employees got rattled, these men stayed calm. When something broke, they figured it out. When someone needed guidance, they quietly pulled them aside. They weren’t flashy. They were dependable. The kind of people every organization needs but too few organizations know how to value. The entire company was stronger because they were there. ⸻ At ZummoBike, we’re trying to recreate some of that magic. 

Teenagers walk through our doors every year. Many arrive eager. Some arrive uncertain. Most are still figuring out who they want to become. We teach them how to repair bikes. But that’s only part of the mission. 

What shapes young people most is spending time around capable adults. Adults who: 

• Show up when they say they will 

• Keep their word 

• Hold a standard 

• Stay calm under pressure 

• Treat people with respect 

• Know how to solve problems 

• Understand what responsibility looks like 

The bikes matter. But the people matter more. And the right mentor can accelerate a young person’s growth in ways no manual, classroom, or YouTube video ever could. ⸻ We believe there is another Ruth Loudon out there. Another Charlie. Another Barney. Another Karl. Maybe you’re 62. Maybe you’re 74. Maybe you’ve run a business. Raised a family. Managed a team. Built houses. Fixed machinery. Worked in healthcare. Balanced books. Led people. Or simply learned a few things about life that younger generations would benefit from hearing. 

And maybe you’re asking yourself: “What’s my next decade for?” 

Here’s one possibility. 

Come spend a few hours each week somewhere your experience matters. Come help young people become more capable. Come be the steady hand in the room. Come help us build more than bikes. At ZummoBike, we’re building people. And we’d love to meet the next Ruth Loudon.