He taught more than just a trade

Bob Markholt found his calling, pursued it with passion, and changed this community.

For just over a decade he has trained and placed scores of men and women in well-paying jobs in the construction trades. Many were people who had been stuck in poverty, who had been in prison, or who found doors closed when they applied for work.

Mr. Markholt, 72, died Sunday from complications of lymphoma. He left behind his wife, brother, six children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren — and also the family he built through his work.

He was the heart of the Pre-apprentice Construction Training Program at Seattle Vocational Institute (SVI).

Whenever I'd run into him walking around Columbia City or shopping at the farmers market, which he did every week, he'd tell me something about the program, or an amazing student.

He had a finger in several community organizations, but his work at SVI was central.

His daughter Anneke said Mr. Markholt "felt so lucky he could do work that made a difference in individual lives and made a difference in the community, he was so proud of that."

She said it was as if "his whole life led him to do the work at SVI."

Mr. Markholt's father was never part of his life. He and his brother Lee grew up poor on a farm in Pierce County. Their mother, Ottilie Markholt, wrote books about labor history and steeped her sons in a concern for social justice.

Mr. Markholt earned a master's degree in social work and did social work for a while, but felt he was just helping people conform to a status quo that did not serve their best interests.

He quit and became a logger, then a meat cutter. He started a worker-owned natural-meat business in Southeast Seattle.

All that history shaped his approach to teaching. Where someone else might see only the deficits his students brought to class, he saw strengths and abilities that just needed to be brought out and channeled, Mr. Markholt's wife, Mary Alice Theiler, said. "He had strong faith in their ability," which helped them believe in themselves.

His program filled in the math or English skills they didn't learn in school and trained them to do construction jobs, and it went beyond that.

Mr. Markholt had a profound respect for hard work. On-time is late, he'd say. He'd give students this formula for success: punctuality, perseverance, positive attitude and work ethic.

It was life skills as much as work skills. And as his daughter Anneke said, becoming a better human being was as important as learning how to swing a hammer.

You wouldn't call him soft and fuzzy, though. He was plain-spoken, direct and fearless.

He cut his students no slack, and he took no excuses from potential employers.

Lee Newgent, executive secretary of the Seattle Building and Construction Trades Council, knew Mr. Markholt for the past 11 years.

He told me Mr. Markholt helped change the face of construction sites by getting jobs for minority and women workers, especially young black men.

It wasn't about affirmative-action numbers, Newgent said. It was about giving people a chance to prove themselves, "and if you didn't, explain to me why you don't have a job for this young man."

John Collins, who entered the program in 2004 when he was 19, said, "Before I took the class I was in and out of jail since 15."

He's worked on construction sites every day since he completed his six months of training. "I've been under Bob's wing since then. It's literally changing lives, from a person who is a felon, out of jail back in society, who goes to class for six months and becomes a taxpaying citizen. It doesn't get any better than that."

Mr. Markholt, tall and lean, had the look of a cowboy, and he was a steer wrestler and bull rider when he was younger.

He was a tough man, and there was never any question whether you were on his good side or not.

But, if he really liked you, he might bake you a batch of cookies he made from an old family recipe.

Anneke Markholt, said the cookies were like her dad, sweet and spicy at the same time, "thin and crispy and unique. There is nothing like them." Or like him.

There will be an informal remembrance today, 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. at the Garfield Community Center, 2323 East Cherry St.

Jerry Large's column appears Monday and Thursday. Reach him at 206-464-3346 or jlarge@seattletimes.com.