Steve Hearn

Dad — My Hero, My Friend

They say you become a man when you lose your father. As I thought about this, I think it is because you lose your safety net. You lose that confidant who is always there for you. To push you. To give you honest advice. To make sure you are carrying the torch the way HIS father taught him and would have wanted it carried.

Our Dad always had a firm belief in self and right vs wrong from an early age - and he never wavered. He simply lived those beliefs to their fullest. I think I spent most of my years testing his philosophy only to find out that he was right all along. I really never met a person that had a bad thing to say about my father from the gas station attendant to the grocery store clerk - they would always say "you're a Hearn? Do you know Steve Hearn? He helped me out one time. He's a good man."

One thing I always remembered about Dad is that he always had dirt under his fingernails. And it wasn't just me. Others would recall this. It was his outward sign that he was "down to earth". I had several people say it was the reason they trusted him. "He was a working man. Who fought for the working people."

Dad built the perfect life for himself. He never wanted for anything more, and never deserved anything less. He taught us things like honor, truth, character and doing it right - the first time. Further he always lead by example. Sometimes to his own detriment. I remember when he was really upset with Ed and me for not testing the 15 Hydro correctly so he decided to show us how to do it himself. Unfortunately for Dad he was a Runabout and not a Hydro driver and he ended up on his head, swimming back to shore. Ed and I never said a word, and just started drying out the motor.

Nobody was ever too intimidating for our Dad. He always stood his ground for what he believed in no matter the person or the situation. One of my favorite stories is when Donald Trump, the current President of the United States, sat down with Dad at a Trump Hotel in Atlantic City and proceeded to explain how it would be beneficial to all if APBA allowed the Prince, who was competing, to win the Offshore race. Our father respectfully disagreed and explained to them the rules of powerboat racing and that these rules weren't going to be violated.

To Dad, a fair competition is sacred. Follow the rules and win on your own merits, or accept defeat gracefully. Those were values Dad passed on to us and he never wavered from them. To be sure, it was ok to push the rules, but never to disregard them in an attempt to win. There was no honor in that. And don't be confused (in case you are by this story). Dad is a Trump man and wanted to see Trump re-elected.

Dad came from modest Roots (much like his wife - our mother) the son of the traveling pianist (his mother) and an entrepreneur and car salesman (his father, who was a great car salesman mind you that set records for Chrysler). But Dad always had ambitions to do things his way. He turned down opportunities to help John Rinker build Rinker boat company because he wanted to become a man of the Law and head off to Law School. He spent the rest of his years in some form or another, practicing or upholding the law as many of you know. It may not have been financially his best move, but it was what Dad wanted for himself.

Dad was also a motor-head from an early age. Here is another excerpt from his HS yearbook:

"Steve, girls don't just like you for your Corvettes"

— signed Judy, in his Sr. yearbook

Speaking of corvettes, I always remembered my father with one. It seemed like we had a new one all the time growing up. Some of my fondest memories were riding in our drop top '75 little red Corvette. I even remember riding as a little kid to the dealership in our Gold Corvette to trade it in, with my blankie.

There were no types of racing that Dad wouldn't talk to you about either. He loved to sit and watch NASCAR, IndyCar, powerboat racing - you name it. He even subscribed to all forms of racing magazines and outside of his wife, Delores, and his brother and family, it was his biggest passion. If it had a motor, Dad was interested.

Ever since I was a kid I've known him to be a part of the racing community. And in fact the racing community recognized him for his dedication and accomplishments many times. Dad was, I believe, the third person to achieve the highest honor in American powerboat Association - the elite of the Honors Squadron elite, the Charlie Strang Award. As a result his recognition he even presided over a famous IndyCar dispute when Al Unser Junior and Roger Penske won the Indy500, and then were disqualified (Dad helped overturn disqualification giving Unser back the win taking it away from Jimmy Vasser).

I once wanted to get into IndyCar racing. Dad knew exactly what to do. As an avid and well connected fan of many many years, Dad put me in touch with Kerri Agajaian, at the time Tony Stewart's attorney and part owner, who eventually put me in touch with Bryan Herta (once a driver, owner and now Chief Strategist for Andretti Racing). Bryan is also the father to Colton Herta, the youngest IndyCar winner in history. While I ultimately decided not to get into IndyCar, this connection came full circle as Dad and I were watching the Mid-Ohio IndyCar race this past Sunday - the day he passed. Dad dosed off before the end of the race and when he became alert again, my last conversation with him was telling him that Colton Herta won. Dad's last words to me were "Really? That's Great!". I shared this moment with Bryan Herta who acknowledged how special the moment was. Donny Allen said it best when he texted me that a father son bond is special, but a racing bond between a father and a son is really special. Donny knew this. I knew this. And Bryan knew this.

In thinking about Dad it was interesting to me to know that Dad really never told you his beliefs. He merely acted them out. He embodied the phrase "actions speak louder than words", and said it frequently. Dad always understood that we're all humans and we sometimes make mistakes but it's our own responsibility to make up for those mistakes. Here are some of his Dad-isms:

• "You make a better door than a window."
• "Shoulda woulda coulda - didn't."
• "There are old dogs and bold dogs but no old bold dogs."
• And my favorite — "Come on, son, use your head. THINK" — he would always say.

He also loved to tell stories and was a superb joke teller. I could never do him justice and so I won't even try. The best investment advice I ever got from my Dad who never owned a share of public stock to my knowledge - was "son I've never really been an investor but if you're going to invest, buy waterfront property - because they aren't making any more of it." Sound advice, Dad. As you know, our two homes are on lake Wawasee and on the IntraCoastal in Charleston (which by the way is where Mom is going next week for a while).

In his later years, Dad perfected what it meant to be a GrandPop. He shared stories, guided Grandchildren, and was always there for anybody who needed his safety-net. There was nothing you couldn't discuss with GrandPop and he impacted the trajectory of many lives along the way. Brayden's Facebook post this week is proof of that.

In a world where things can be pretty messed up - Dad created the perfect life for himself. Dad never wished for anything more than he had and it always seems like Dad was right where he wanted to be. Towards the end it was definitely harder for Dad because he always wanted to be doing something - working in the garage, working on his home or land, getting ready for racing, strategizing on how to win - there was always something to be do be done with Dad. I would get calls during the day and Dad would say "did you try this or what about that?"

Dad planned the end of his life as perfectly as the rest of it. He waited to let go until his immediate family, several of his grandchildren (those who could make it), his pastor and his caregiver were by his side. He had his wife, our mom, of 55 years laying next to him as he took his last breath. He heard everything we all wanted to share and when he felt everything would be in order, he let go with Mom's final blessing. It was storybook.

All I ever wanted to do was make you Proud, Dad. Sunday I lost my hero and my last words to you were to finally tell you that. I will forever be missing you as a Father, as a GrandPop, and as my best friend. Thank you Dad for making me the man I am today. You will forever be missed and forever be remembered each and every day.