Tony Meeker delivers a donated picnic table, circa 1980.

As we celebrate 60 years of service, it’s impossible to tell the story of our organization without also telling the story of the people who believed in it from the very beginning. Few embody that belief more deeply than Tony Meeker, a longtime board member whose connection to our organization reaches all the way back to its earliest days in Amity, Oregon.

Tony’s involvement began in the summer of 1966, shortly after returning home from military service. At the time, his father owned a grain elevator just a few blocks from an abandoned Studebaker garage on Trade Street—the humble space that would become our very first workshop.

Whenever the organization needed help unloading lumber, Margaret Reavis would call Tony’s dad. He would turn to Tony and say:

“Get the forklift and go over and see Margaret.”

Tony, then in his mid‑20s, would drive the forklift over to help move stacks of lumber, often delivered by another future board member, Scott Larsen, to supply a workshop run by just a few employees and a small group of people in employment services, some of whom Margaret personally transported each day from Fairview.

In those first years, the organization served roughly six or seven people, offering something that was still rare at the time: meaningful work. One moment from those early days has stayed with Tony for decades.

A person working once walked up to him and said, “Hi Tony, I’m a taxpayer.”

“What he was really saying,” Tony explains, “was that he was contributing. He was producing something. He was a real member of the community.”

That simple statement captured the heart of the mission then and now.

Tony had seen firsthand what life was like for many individuals with intellectual disabilities before opportunities like this existed. A visit to Fairview during his time in the legislature left a lasting impression.

“We weren’t giving people a fair shot as a society,” he says. “Seeing how happy people were to be working, to be needed—it was obvious how important this was.”

As pallet sales increased, it became clear the old Studebaker garage wasn’t sustainable. Lumber deliveries on a busy highway, limited space, and aging infrastructure eventually led to a move to larger, purpose‑built facilities.

But perhaps the most significant evolution came later, when the organization realized it could do even more.

“There was a time when I wasn’t sure we should move away from the pallet operation,” Tony admits. “People had jobs, and they were doing well. But it turned out we were holding them back.”

Today, Wood Products is closed, and many individuals who once worked in the pallet shop are thriving in private‑sector jobs, fully based in the community.

“That transition didn’t just work,” Tony says. “It was important.”

After leaving politics in the early 1990s, Tony was recruited by Dave Haugeberg to join the Board of Directors. By then, Tony was ready to give his time and energy to something deeply meaningful.

“There are few things as rewarding,” he reflects, “as being part of something that truly changes lives.”

He credits much of the organization’s long‑term success to strong leadership and staff.

“You can have the best mission in the world,” Tony says, “but without the right people, it won’t succeed. The board’s decisions around leadership are what I’m most proud of.”

Throughout the decades, one theme remains constant: community support.

Tony points to the generosity of supporters like the Kauer and Kilmer families, whose financial support and board service helped move the organization out of the old garage and into a modern facility, creating space for growth and innovation.

“If people understand the mission, they want to help,” he says. “The best way to tell the story is to let people meet the clients.”

As we celebrate this milestone, Tony leaves us with a message of gratitude.

“This community has been incredible,” he says. “Thank you for believing, for supporting, and for being part of this journey.”

Sixty years ago, the door to opportunity was opened by people who believed there was more possible. Thanks to leaders like Tony Meeker—and the countless staff, families, and supporters along the way—we’re still walking through that door together.

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