Story of a Philanthropist

The Philanthropy Roundtable Magazine excels at publishing wonderful stories of philanthropists, how they came to be so and the causes they believe in.

This recent story is another great look at a philanthropist.

An excerpt.

“Hank Rowan was shocked. He paused for a moment, not sure if he had heard correctly. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with his hearing aid. No, he thought to himself, I’m pretty sure I heard that correctly. Astonishing, he thought, really astonishing. “This,” he finally told his guests, “is extraordinary.”

“It was early March 2008. The men had gathered at Rowan’s offices in suburban Rancocas, New Jersey, 20 miles east of Philadelphia. Outside the air was warm and wet, hinting at an early spring. The visitors were from nearby Media, Pennsylvania. They represented the Williamson Free School of Mechanical Trades. Rowan was one of their foremost benefactors.

“Rowan was first introduced to the school by Mike Piotrowicz, a Williamson trustee and booster. What Rowan found was a residential junior college dedicated to teaching skilled trades: carpentry, masonry, painting, landscaping, metalwork, and power plant management. Admissions are limited to unmarried men under the age of 20, all of whom come from families at no more than 250 percent of the federal poverty level. Each of the school’s 275 students receives a full scholarship.

“Rowan also knew that the 120-year-old school was facing an increasingly uncertain future. Williamson accepts no federal support, and the (now discontinued) stipend it received from the state came to just $64,000 annually. Over the course of the previous decade, its endowment had grown 20 percent, while its operating costs had risen 60 percent. Capital improvements were needed across the century-old campus. Fundraising was consuming ever more time and energy among the school’s senior leadership. The board became increasingly uncomfortable with the financial outlook. In order to secure the long-term viability of the school, it approved a $50 million capital campaign—a seemingly insurmountable sum for a school whose most successful campaign had netted $11 million.

“This, Rowan decided, is a unique opportunity to help a unique charity. In November 2007, five months before the meeting in his office, Rowan had issued a $5 million challenge to Williamson—in nominal terms, the largest gift in the school’s history. It was carefully structured, intending to open new funding sources for the school. It promised to match, dollar for dollar, any gifts from first-time donors, any gifts from people whose lifetime giving was less than $5,000, and any other gift at least five times larger than the previous largest gift. “Try this out,” Rowan said at the time. “I’d like to see how you do.”

“On that warm March morning, Rowan had expected an update about the challenge grant. He knew that the school had raised about $2 million so far, and he was curious how much more progress had been made. But the men who went to Rancocas on that March morning had unexpected news for Rowan. Paul Reid, then the president of Williamson, delivered the message.

“Reid told Rowan that he had visited another local philanthropist about the challenge. Rowan didn’t recognize the other man’s name. This gentleman, Reid continued, had a counter-offer of his own. If I were to put up $20 million, he had proposed, would Hank Rowan be willing to match me?

“Forge of Experience

“Henry Rowan is not easily surprised. An engineer by temperament as well as training, he has long been a methodical planner and a careful thinker. Tall, with erect posture and bright, alert eyes, the 87-year-old Rowan still strides purposefully and speaks in crisply formed sentences. Those traits have served him well throughout his storied career. Rowan is the founder of Inductotherm Industries, the global leader in the manufacture of induction systems for melting, heating, holding, and pouring metal.

“If anything, Rowan is accustomed to surprising others. In August 1945, for example, he dumbfounded the head finance officer at Roswell Air Force Base. Rowan had been training to be a bomber pilot since June 1943. The Germans surrendered shortly after he qualified on the B-17 Flying Fortress. He never deployed overseas. After V-J Day, the other pilots on base took it easy, passing time by playing cards, shooting pool, or knocking around volleyballs. Not Hank Rowan. He realized that he knew nothing about making payroll, but thought it was a skill that might someday be useful. So Rowan badgered the finance officer until he was given permission to spend his last two months in the military handling personnel compensation.

“After he was discharged, Rowan and his new wife, Betty, packed their belongings into a beat-up 1929 Chevy Coupe. In a car that topped out at 28 miles per hour, stopping five times along the way to retighten the engine bearings, they puttered from New Mexico to Massachusetts. There, Rowan re-enrolled at MIT. Supported by the G.I. Bill and savings from his service pay, he completed his degree in electrical engineering in 20 months—during which time, Betty gave birth to their first two children. The day after graduation, Rowan went to work. He took a job with Ajax Electrothermic Corporation in Trenton, New Jersey, then the world’s leading manufacturer of induction furnaces. Rowan was excited to come on board.

“He was soon disappointed. Since the discovery of the induction melting process in 1915, Ajax had enjoyed a virtual monopoly on the market. The company had grown comfortable, complacent. It expected customers to adjust to its expectations, rather than the other way around. Rowan chafed at its self-satisfaction, leaving the company in August 1952. But his restless mind kept grasping at missed opportunities, at the improvements that Ajax had always been reluctant to pursue. In April 1953, a friend and former customer named Paul Foley approached Rowan, telling him about his need for a furnace to melt beryllium copper. Rowan was plenty busy, but he was interested in the technical challenge. Over the next six weeks, he and Betty spent their free time in the backyard, building a 50-pound induction furnace.

“That furnace marked the launch of Inductotherm Industries. On June 6, 1954—exactly 10 years after D-Day—Rowan returned to the induction business as CEO, chief engineer, and, with Foley, half-owner of Inductotherm.”