In the Business of Love

In the Business of Love

In 1984, when a caseworker for the disabled asked David Morris if he’d consider hiring some mentally challenged employees at his company, at first, he admits, “I was scared.”

It had only been three years since Morris, an artist, and his father, Saul, had joined forces to launch Habitat International Inc., an indoor-outdoor grass carpet company in a suburb of Chattanooga, Tenn. So, he couldn’t help but wonder—what if the new employees couldn’t keep up or hindered the other workers? And worse—what if this caused their fledgling company to lose money?

Then Morris remembered a relative who, despite having Down syndrome, had often inspired him with her achievements. So he agreed to give it a try.

Right away, eight mentally disabled people arrived with their social-services job coach and went straight to work boxing grass mats. “Two weeks later,” Morris recalls, “my employees came to me and said, ‘Why can’t we hire more people like this, who care, do their work with pride, and smile?’ From that day on, we never looked back.”

The company, which moved to a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood in Rossville, Ga., (pop. 3,511) in 1986, has become a leading supplier of turf putting greens, driving mats, and putting cups for Wal-Mart, Home Depot, and other major retailers. Habitat recently introduced a line of steel yard art and decorative items. Saul is semiretired; David, who creates some of the yard art, is now CEO.

Today, three of every four Habitat workers (numbering up to 70 during peak production) are disabled. Manic-depressives drive forklifts next to co-workers who have Down syndrome, autism, and cerebral palsy. Recovering alcoholics cut floor runners with co-workers who have suffered strokes, severe head injuries, or loss of limbs.

Morris also has hired refugees from Laos, Cambodia, and Bosnia who might otherwise be stymied by language barriers. “It’s just like working with a deaf person,” he reasons. “With smiles and hand gestures, you don’t need to speak.”

The décor and atmosphere at Habitat are almost as unusual as the work force. A “living fence”—steel replicas of former and current employees—parades near the front entrance, and an oversized, sculpted woodpecker taps at a tree in the parking lot. Inside, rock music blares from the employee-operated radio station, and personnel spend breaks playing pool or basketball; all evidence of the company’s motto—“More than a workplace . . . a care place.”

Habitat’s compassionate philosophy has allowed many employees to live independently, without social security benefits. All make minimum wage or above, not the standard $1 or $2 an hour state-funded programs pay. Morris also believes in celebrating employee accomplishments with award banquets, company picnics, and field trips. In 1996, when he served as an Olympic torchbearer and earned the corresponding “hero” title, he gave each worker a pin reading “Habitat Hero” to show that they, too, inspired others.

Such self-esteem boosts are priceless. “It’s freedom to do what I want to do—have a job,” says Lonnie Jacobs, a six-year Habitat employee who has waged a longtime battle with mental illness. “Habitat’s a company that more or less hires people with distractions, and we work it out together.”

Morris says the business payoff is easy to measure. A happy, enthusiastic work force translates into low absenteeism and turnover, increased production and profits, and better customer relationships. Most importantly, the disabled employees have helped management focus on what matters most.

“You can come here with a bad attitude, and it makes you look at things in a whole different light. It’s just a genuine caring,” says Habitat president Jim Thomison.

Morris now touts the Habitat story on product packaging in the hopes of inspiring other employers to follow suit and hosts visits from Chamber of Commerce groups, nonprofit employment agencies, and competitors interested in establishing their own programs. He also helped the state of Georgia set up a disability employment committee, allows special-education students to work in the plant, and often speaks to state, community, and business leaders as far away as Seattle about his crew.

“Sometimes these people that have the misfortune of being blind or missing an arm or being autistic can bring you back to the simpler things in life and show you a lot of love and kindness and caring,” Morris says.

“We see business people, men and women, lean back in their chairs and say, ‘Well, those words don’t go with business.’ But we’ve learned that they do.”

Nancy Bearden Henderson is a freelance writer in Gastonia, N.C.

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