Joe Herrin Found Life's Pleasures As Lumber Salesman At Dunn's

For five decades, customers - and their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren - have recognized a familiar face behind the sales counter at Dunn Lumber near Lake Union.

Although he was nearing 82 when he died last week, Joe Herrin still was putting in three days a week at the lumber company.

Work, his friends and family said, was not just a paycheck, it was his hobby, his social life, his love, the thing that kept him going as long as he did.

Born in 1911 in the tiny mining town of Black Diamond to a family of Italian immigrants, Mr. Herrin began working at Dunn Lumber in 1940, after a series of jobs cutting timber and driving logging trucks for companies whose paychecks often bounced.

Not only did his Depression-era experiences forge him into a unrepentant Democrat, they fostered in him an appreciation for steady work.

So when Charlie Dunn hired him in 1940, he took the job and never looked back.

With his natural interest in others, he became a top-notch salesman. "He made people feel they were getting the best personal service they could find. People came to him like a friend," said Peter Skartvedt, a co-worker.

"He was totally customer oriented," said Ed Dunn Jr., president of the company. Even in his older years, "He'd give those young salesmen a run for their money," said Dunn. "He was the best we ever had."

At the same time, he could be crusty, even angry. But the hot emotions would dissipate as quickly as they came on, co-workers said. "He'd just as soon yell at you as sell you lumber," said Racine Snyder, a co-worker. "But no ever got offended."

"Some of my fondest memories are our fights," recalled Skartvedt. "He could be abrupt, he could be gruff, and it was still a pleasant experience."

Those who knew him even slightly forgave any outbursts, because they knew Mr. Herrin was an emotional person, equally unashamed to cry at a sad story as to level an under-the-breath insult in Italian at a person doing something stupid.

Beneath the exterior, those who knew him said, there was a man absolutely loyal to his family, his friends, and his company.

Fair to a fault, honest no matter what the temptations, he cared about others and let them know in no uncertain terms, said his son, Robert Herrin.

"He liked to talk to people," recalled his grandson, Joseph Herrin, who worked at Dunn for three summers. "He'd want to know about your family, keep track of what was going on with your spouse, and all that."

His unselfish devotion to others came out in many ways, Dunn said.

Whether it was just listening as others told him their troubles, helping a friend finish a project, or even - back in rowdier days - bailing a fellow worker out of jail, he was always thinking about others, Dunn said.

"He certainly never worried about himself and what his problems were," Dunn said.

Although he'd had heart bypass surgery in 1976, he didn't want to slow down. When he wrecked his car, he bought another. He brought home a big Chrysler two days before he died. "That's optimism!" Dunn said.

No one thought seriously about asking Mr. Herrin to retire.

"That was his total life - selling and meeting the customer," he said. "If we had asked him to stay home after he passed 65 or 68 it would have killed him."

Two weeks before Mr. Herrin died, Rob Dunn, the company's vice president, took him on a nostalgic trip back to Black Diamond, where Mr. Herrin's parents are buried.

They tried to find the old sawmill, once owned by the lumber company and operated by Mr. Herrin for a year in the late '40s, but it had become a state park.

It was in Black Diamond that Mr. Herrin's father, a coal miner, lost his leg in a mining accident, plunging the family into tough times.

"They had to grub out a living," recalled his son. "Dad never forgot that."

When he first began working at Dunn, he and his wife were still living in Black Diamond, commuting every day in a Model T Ford, recalled Ed Dunn. "They were living in a tar-paper shack, and when the wind blew, it would whistle through the shack. But he never went on welfare, never asked for assistance."

When times were easier, the couple moved to a home in the Laurelhurst area, planting roses and calla lilies and went ballroom dancing for fun. Until Mrs. Herrin died in 1988, the two traveled to Hawaii every winter for vacation.

He also was an avid Husky fan, missing only three or four games since 1950, his son said.

A member of the Lake City Elks Club, he also was a lifetime member and past president of the "Seattle Hoo-Hoo Club," an association of those in the lumber industry.

"He was always happy," said his son. "Even when he got old, he never really complained."

Sunday, May 2, Mr. Herrin opened a beer and began planting impatiens in his garden.

Co-workers found him Monday, slumped on the steps of his home, his head against the wall.

"He was one of those fortunate people," said his grandson, Joseph. "His time had come and he died doing the thing he loved to do."

Besides his son, Robert Herrin, Mr. Herrin is survived by a daughter-in-law, Kathleen Herrin of Everett; a daughter, Jolene Quist of Bremerton, and her husband, Charles Quist; a sister-in-law, Ione Herrin of Maple Valley; grandsons Joseph Herrin of Philadelphia and Robert Quist of Seattle; and a granddaughter, Susan Herrin of Seattle. He also leaves behind a number of nephews and nieces.

The family suggests memorials to the Multiple Sclerosis Foundation.