Oh. Hey.

As first blog entries go, I think we can all agree that this one is already off to a pretty tremendous start. So let’s continue that upward trajectory a little bit longer— and have me introduce myself.

My name is Kelly Hagen. I’m 37 years of age and 5-foot-11, but at my last doctor’s appointment, they accidentally wrote down 6-1, and I didn’t correct them, so officially, yeah, I could probably play in the NBA. I’d be a point guard, sure, and Steph Curry would decimate me every time my team played Golden State. I’m just saying it’s a possibility.

I worked for daily newspapers for a total of six years, five or six years ago. I was a copy editor and page designer for The Forum. After I put in a year’s time at The Forum, I moved back home to Bismarck to work for the Tribune. Again, I was a copy editor/page designer but also a columnist, and I wrote the occasional Life section feature on popular entertainment, and then I was Special Sections editor, which meant I produced special sections to the newspaper and niche publications. That lasted five years, and I bought a house, got a basset hound named Boof, met a girl, married the girl, kept the dog, sold the house, bought another house, and we had a child. Also my dog died, so that was a bummer. But here’s a picture of him, anyway. You will love it.

I left the newspaper game to work for the North Dakota Public Employees Association (NDPEA, for easy-saying sake), and I want to start this blog with the story of how that happened. And who made it happen. This guy.

His name is Stuart Savelkoul, and he was the executive director of NDPEA . Stuart read my column, religiously. Sounds like a terrible religion to me, but I’m not one to judge. 

Every Friday, at the Tribune, I had my humor column, 600 words or less, of blabbered nonsense about music I like or TV shows I watched, my family, my friends, local entertainment profiles or observations about fast food. I don’t know. It wasn’t incredibly structured.

But Stuart felt a sense of kinship with this clown he read in the newspaper each week. He recognized another young adult who saw the world through a different lens, who shared his values, who valued social justice, who was getting married, buying a first house, having children at the same time he was.

He said he was thinking about randomly sending me a Facebook friend request. Which would have been creepy, no doubt.

I had no idea who he was, though. He was executive director for the North Dakota Public Employees Association, which was the statewide union  —  local of the American Federation of Teachers  —  that represented all public employees and higher education faculty and staff in North Dakota. He also headed the effort to defeat an initiated measure to slash income and corporate tax rates in the state (I think), which he won. Handily. He was also listed in “40 Under 40” one year in Business Watch, a magazine I briefly helmed. And I put his picture on Page 1 of the newspaper once when I was copy editor, but it didn’t have that much of a memorable effect on me until a few years later when I found it and said, “Hey! Stuart!” and brought it into work to show my boss named Stuart. More on that job later.

Still. Didn’t know him. He could’ve sent me an e-mail or something.

Instead, I sent him one. On a miserable Monday, I was surfing the Job Service site, looking for an escape from a job I didn’t particularly like. You know what that feels like, right?

And I found a listing for a very, very part-time job in communications for the North Dakota Public Employees Association.

So I sent a resume and cover letter as quick as I could to their executive director, thinking only, “I like public employees. I like unions. Stuart is a goofy name. Little Stuart Rifkin probably likes to go shopping with his mother …”

I got a response back in under an hour. That was weird. He either called me or e-mailed me and asked me to call him. I can’t remember. But I know I was on the phone with this guy who was going on and on about what a fan he was and that they’d already selected candidates to interview for this very, very part-time job, and they were scheduled for that evening. But he was such a fan, he’d badgered their president to make room in their schedule that evening to fit me in for an interview. Could I make it on that short of notice?

I did. I walked into the old NDPEA office that evening and noticed that the address was 3333 Whatever Lane (not its real address), but I look for numerical signs from the universe in repeating numbers and preferred numbers. Namely, 3 and 11. So 3333 was a good sign.

I met Stuart for the first time that evening and immediately thought he looked like the Miz from WWE and MTV’s “Real World Challenge” fame. Still do. He looks like the Miz. Awesome?

The interview wasn’t nearly as easy as one should be for a very, very part-time job. I had to recite the history of organized labor in America from my own memory. I needed to share my theories on communications and organization. Social structures, public service, why the Minnesota Vikings always choke in the playoffs. It. Was. Rigorous. I really didn’t think I performed all that well, but understand that I didn’t really know I was going to be applying and/or interviewing for this job when I got up that morning.

I remember, at the end of the interview, though, that Stuart said something along the lines of, “No matter what the outcome of this interview, I think I’m going to send Kelly a friend request on Facebook!” And I cracked, “And I will approve it, right after you offer me the job.”

So he did. The next morning. I got the call and the offer of this very, very part-time job. And I put in my two week’s notice at my job at the newspaper, to work very, very part-time for the public workers union, and stay home with my daughter.

Also, he friended me on Facebook. And according to the terms of our negotiations the previous night, I had to approve. Awesome?

Five years later, and I’m still working for the union. Now, it’s full time. Now, I’m director of field communications. And now, the organization is North Dakota United  —  the product of a merger between NDPEA and the North Dakota Education Association. Our union represents K-12 teachers and education support professionals (ESPs), higher education faculty and staff, public workers, retirees and education students. I’m a unionist. I build communities, I encourage fellowship, collective action and social justice. I tell public employees’ stories. I try to affect change. I like to think I make a difference.

This, again, is Stuart’s fault.

So that brings us to today. I’m happy. I love what I do. I’m seven years married to my beautiful, sweet Annette (her real name), and we have two children  —  the aforementioned daughter and a son. I’m employed. More importantly, I have a job I care passionately about. I love what I do. I did not plan out this route. I didn’t chart this course. It just happened.

Today is my last day working with Stuart. He is moving to Connecticut to start his new job as staff director for AFT-Connecticut. Stuart hasn’t charted his course, either. He didn’t plan to work for a union. It just happened. He’s going where he’s supposed to be. I have to respect that because that’s how we do things. We go where we are called.

But I want to express my appreciation for Stuart, before he leaves. I thank you for always giving me the chance, to succeed or fail. You let me interview for NDPEA on very short notice, you let me blather on and on about nothing much at all, you let me try new things, write longer than I should, inject questionable references and tones into official communications. You taught me a lot. You talked a whole lot. Sometimes I listened. Sometimes I blacked out in the middle. But I think I grasped just enough to really get to know who you are. You’re a leader. You’re a visionary. You’re empathic, and other words that aren’t words. You are an advocate for the working class. You were my boss, my supervisor, and you will remain my friend. I won’t even unfriend you on Facebook. You’re welcome.

I think we all know what it feels like to lose a co-worker. They’re easy to misplace. Unless you put one of those Tile things on them, and then you can track them with your smart phone. If this blog has commenting capabilities, you should tell me about a co-worker who left you. If it doesn’t, just spend the rest of the day thinking about the story. Really intently. It’ll be good for you. A real character-building device.