Retro: The Broom Philosophy – Lessons from H&H Ship & Environmental Services

 

The Broom Philosophy – Lessons from H&H Ship & Environmental Services

What I learned about myself during my time at H&H Ship and Environmental Services is that if I put my mind to something, I can get the job done—no matter how impossible it seems. Especially when the goal is bigger than me. When I worked not for personal gain, but for the well-being of others, I found purpose. I found power.

My role came with heavy responsibility: the safety and lives of the men who worked under me. It was a volatile line of work—dangerous enough to have already taken a life. The company was under close scrutiny from the State of California, teetering on the edge of being shut down. Most of the men doing the dirty, thankless jobs were illiterate, and they all had families to go home to.

Many of them didn’t realize they were walking biohazards—breathing toxic fumes, soaked in chemicals from the underground storage tanks they cleaned. They'd head home at the end of the day, bodies still smeared in oil and sludge, and likely play with their kids and grandkids without even realizing what they carried with them.

It became my mission to fix this—at any cost.

When I first walked into the yard, I was stunned. It was a mess. Black oil and sludge splattered the ground around the work area. A run-down shack served as a break room, and the fridge inside smelled like death. The air outside reeked of urine—there were no toilets nearby. The ground was slick with green algae, muddy from poor drainage. We were operating in filth—less than three kilometers from downtown San Francisco’s Market Street.

Right then and there, I made it my mission to clean up the yard. That would be the first step. I flipped the whole place upside down. I struck a deal with Will Harris Jr.—known as “Little Foot” among the crew. I told him that if he got clean from booze and cocaine, I’d help him turn the company around. And he did. He checked into rehab, came out renewed, and stepped into the role he was born for: president of the company.

Together, we rebuilt the yard and reshaped the company. Will invited me to strategy meetings with engineers, asking for my input. Within two years, he was named Entrepreneur of the Year for the City of San Francisco.

Will had once been a high school quarterback—a sharp, energetic young man with a millionaire father. But tragedy struck. He lost his wife and son in a car crash and spiraled into addiction. When I first met him, he was in rough shape. But he made the climb back. He cleaned up, transformed himself into a sharp businessman, and spearheaded the creation of an Emergency Response Team for hazardous spills—Bay Area’s own HAZMAT force.

While he was away in rehab, I stayed in the basement of his Oakland home—a wild place with a Jacuzzi at the entrance, a drum set, a giant organ, and a waterbed. Ironically, this was the house I was supposed to clean when I first applied for the job. Instead, I ended up cleaning the company.

From a yard sweeper, I became Yard Boss. But the climb wasn’t smooth. I was jumped, threatened, had a knife to my throat. There was envy, resentment. I wasn’t white. And I was new. The truck drivers, mostly white men, didn’t take kindly to taking orders from an Asian. But I had the backing of my boss—and more importantly, the support of the crew on the ground.

They saw what I was doing—for them.

Our crew was a cultural mosaic: African Americans, Latinos, Cubans, Filipinos, a 72-year-old Native American and his grandson, a Vietnamese man or two. Most were undereducated, some illiterate. A few carried guns in their cars. Some were half-drunk or high. But I treated them all the same—firm, honest, and direct. I told them the truth. I reminded them of the man who died because someone took safety for granted.

                           
 My largest Art piece is 12000 gallons. Tanks Christmas Ornaments.

To keep order, I created what I called The Broom Philosophy.
It’s simple: keep a clean house, no matter what else happens.

Housekeeping became our core principle. A clean environment is a safe environment. That was the anchor of our operations. That broom became my symbol of leadership—because from sweeping the yard, I had earned my place.