The Difference Happens When Everyone Brings Something

The room was already buzzing when my longtime friend Bob Rodman stepped forward and took the microphone. Before him sat an extraordinary collection of auction offerings—fine jewelry, a prized bourbon collection, and family adventures stretching all the way to Bryce Canyon. My two original paintings waited beneath the lights as Bob worked the crowd with the warmth, humor, and persistence of someone who understood that every raised hand represented far more than a winning bid.

It represented a community taking care of its own.

The historic Hound Ears Open began in 1970 as a tribute to Grover Robbins, one of the three brothers who founded Hound Ears Club near Boone. Over the decades, the tournament and auction have raised more than $2.5 million to support the Appalachian Regional Healthcare Foundation and its work to strengthen healthcare throughout North Carolina's High Country.

That is an impressive number, but numbers alone rarely tell the whole story. The real story is what can happen when leaders create an opportunity for everyone to contribute.

Someone has to care enough to lead.
This year’s festivities were beautifully coordinated by Libba Gaither and Mac Parrott. Following the golf tournament, guests gathered for cocktails and dinner before leaning into an energetic live auction.

Events like this may look effortless from the outside, but they never are. Behind every welcoming smile and perfectly timed moment are people who invested countless hours, brought others into the cause, and cared enough to make the evening matter.

Bob and Anne Rodman are relatively new to Hound Ears, yet they have already immersed themselves in the community. Bob didn’t simply serve as auctioneer. He brought his enthusiasm, relationships, and personality to the room.

Leadership isn’t always about holding a title. Sometimes it is simply recognizing what you can bring to a moment—and being willing to step forward.

Someone has to offer what they have.
For this year’s auction, I created two original paintings celebrating the character of Hound Ears. “Hound Ears No. 5” captures the magnificent new fifth hole, while “Hound Ears Rocks” portrays the distinctive formations that gave the resort its name.

As an artist, I never quite know where a painting’s journey will lead. It begins alone in the studio, but its meaning expands when someone else discovers a personal connection to it.

David and Debbie Sapp, along with their son Mac, purchased "Hound Ears Rocks." I especially enjoyed learning that David once painted in watercolors himself. Perhaps he saw not only a familiar landmark, but also a reflection of his own creative journey.

Anthony and Jeannie Sedberry purchased "Hound Ears No. 5." By the following morning, Joy and I were hanging it in their dining room. That quick journey from auction floor to family home felt like the perfect final brushstroke.

By evening's end both paintings had found new homes, becoming part of a larger story of generosity and a community willing to invest in the well-being of its neighbors.  

My contribution was art. Someone else offered leadership. Others gave their time, resources, relationships, or generosity. Every gift was different, but each one mattered.

Someone has to answer the invitation.
Local healthcare is one of those things we may not think about until we need it. Yet it remains a bedrock of every thriving community, caring for our families and standing ready during life’s most vulnerable moments.

The Hound Ears Open demonstrates something every association, organization, and leadership team should remember: people want to make a difference, but sometimes they need someone to show them how they can participate.

One person cannot build a strong community alone. It happens when leaders create a meaningful invitation, people bring what they have, and others are inspired to join them.

That evening, every raised hand told the same story: Making a difference doesn’t require everyone to do the same thing. It simply requires each of us to do something.