Milo's Mission

When I joined MEDA in 1985 Milo Shantz had recently concluded 10 years as board chair. I've liked to think that one of his final wise acts was to approve my hiring. Shortly afterward, president Neil Janzen remarked that Milo was Exhibit A when it came to melding business with Anabaptist principles. I soon understood what Neil meant. What follows is based on various interviews over the years.

Milo Shantz ambled up the stairs with more speed than you'd expect of someone who was then nearing 70. The third floor attic of his heritage home in St. Jacobs, Ontario, was his personal office, complete with fax, computer and telephone. He ducked nimbly into one of the dormer cubbyholes and studied the neatly stacked plastic file boxes. They were all labelled with the various segments of his life as an entrepreneur, churchman and supporter of innumerable charitable causes.

Several boxes said Mennonite Church. Others were labelled MEDA and Habitat for Humanity. It was the MEDA boxes that held our interest that day in 2002. I was there to gather data for MEDA's 50th anniversary celebration the following year.

He gestured to another stack of files. "Those are my failures," he said. "Someday I have to talk about my failures in business."

The word failure does not come quickly to mind when pondering the life of Milo Shantz. One is more apt to think of success.

Outside, the town of St. Jacobs – a virtual tourist mecca – is full of his business hobbies. Give him half a chance and he'll take you on an escorted tour. There are restaurants, like the Stone Crock, Vidalia's Market Grill and the upscale Benjamin's. There's a historic schoolhouse converted into a theatre. There’s a meat shop and a bakery, and the collection of buildings (dubbed Milo's Silos by some) where small vendors sell quilts, candles, candies and gift items. Follow Main Street beyond the village limits and you come to the St. Jacobs Farmers' Market, a virtual Eden of fresh produce, as well as an outlet mall and the St. Jacobs Country Inn, all bearing the unmistakable Shantz imprint.

Milo's rise in business is the stuff of legend. As a teenager he dropped out of school to raise turkeys, bringing in his father and his brother Ross as business partners. By the time he was 21 they had a growing flock of turkey poults and the beginning of Hybrid Turkeys, which would become a global breeding stock company. He sold out in 1981 and turned to other ventures, but for years after you could drop in at the Stone Crock and order a Milo Burger filled with, what else, turkey meat.

Other enterprises ensued – a car dealership, farmers markets, livestock processing, seniors housing and long-term care facilities, and of course tourism and hospitality. Though Milo and his wife Laura may not talk about it, there's a discernible template to it all, perhaps rooted in the Christian virtue of hospitality. What their enterprises offer are places to eat, stay, earn a meaningful living, and feel welcome.

Milo and Laura model hospitality in their own life. Their historic home on Albert Street was always open to guests, and in later years became an actual Bed & Breakfast. Now in their smaller, more modest condo they still roll out the welcome mat. Larry Miller, France-based executive secretary of the Mennonite World Conference, refers to "his room" at the Shantzes. No doubt other regular visitors do the same.

Milo recalls a pivotal event in his self-understanding as a minister in business. As a youth he attended an old-fashion tent revival meeting. The preacher challenged young men to consider the ministry. Many responded. "Eighteen guys from that era, people like the late Vernon Leis, went into pastoral ministry," he says.

Milo too had been spiritually energized, but his ministry commitment would be different.

"I determined to make my contribution through business," he says.

Another event that would change his life – and that of many others around the world – took place in 1968 when Milo, at 36, was introduced to Mennonite Economic Development Associates (MEDA). Local potato farmer Ed Snyder invited him to join a trip to see MEDA projects in Paraguay.

It was on this trip that Milo met Orie Miller, a successful businessman and veteran MCC leader who had brought MEDA into being 15 years earlier.

"Orie Miller knew that a lot of the MEDA guys were getting to retirement age," Milo recalls. "They hadn't brought any new people in for several years. It was time to bring in younger people, like me."

That trip (and another in 1970) turned out to be an intensive learning curve on MEDA and development work with a business flavor. He also met Erie Sauder, one of MEDA's pivotal figures.

"Erie was loved by the Indians," says Milo. "He was a mentor, a grandfather figure to many of them."

They visited the original MEDA projects in Paraguay's Chaco – the Sarona dairy, a tannery and the Fortuna shoe factory. They also stopped in Uruguay to visit a MEDA creamery and in Argentina to check out a struggling chicken project.

"I carried Orie's bags," recalls Milo, as the elder statesman had experienced some health problems. "I got a complete orientation to Mennonite developments in Paraguay."

He recalls a long discussion about whether to start a credit program with the Indians.

"We had translators – English, Spanish, German. We were trying to find out the level of interest in these people getting small loans to help them grow. We were trying to make the point from MEDA that they would have to pay their money back if they borrowed money to buy a horse.                              
"The Indians were very clever. 'What if my horse died?' one asked. We explained that he'd still have to pay his loan back. We went back and forth in translation.

"Then he asked, 'But what if I die?'"

"We tried to explain the concept of interest. We used the example of a sow having piglets, and that we would want a return so we could help others."

"That was the start of a $9,000 credit program in three Indian villages – $3,000 each. I think it was the first Indian credit program."

A tough decision loomed with the chicken hatchery in Argentina, which provided stock to pastors to augment their income. It hadn't been going well.

"By now there were very good hatcheries in Argentina," says Milo. "We had to answer the question – was there really a need for this hatchery."

MEDA had been determined to make the hatchery sustainable. "There was a bit of the thinking that whatever MEDA started we would press through until it worked," he says. But Milo knew a thing or two about hatcheries. He also knew that you have to stop the bleeding in order to preserve the larger good. "My view was 'You gotta know when to quit.'"

"So we went back in 1970 and shut it down. It was no longer needed. If a pastor wanted to buy chickens, he could buy from commercial operations."

He also saw the benefits of development success, especially among European Mennonites who had been relocated to South America after the Second World War. On the flight back from the Volendam Colony in Paraguay Orie Miller told him, "I've been here 19 times, and this is the first time people didn't say, 'Why did you bring us here.'" With persistent help, they had finally turned the corner, and their crops were good.

The travels with Orie Miller were life changing for the young entrepreneur.

"I carried Orie's bags on both trips – 1968 and 1970. I wouldn't want to exchange that trip for any experience in the world."

Milo had caught the MEDA bug. In 1974 he was elected chair and began to put his imprint on the organization. He sensed that it was time to move to a more professional footing and hire skilled specialists even if they cost more.

"We decided to pay them as if they worked in our own businesses," says Milo. "That's what made MEDA."

Before long MEDA had a stable of trained and experienced professionals, people like Ken Graber, Paul Derstine, Neil Janzen and Henry Fast. The professionalization of MEDA was on its way.

Milo gave up the chair in 1984, but his support for MEDA never waned. And it rubbed off on his own business operations. He liked the way MEDA used loans and other mechanisms to help small entrepreneurs unleash their potential.

He had begun to think, "Why not in my own backyard."

The village of St. Jacobs was rife with opportunity that Milo's entrepreneurial eye could visualize. On walks near his home he mused about the unused property, including the old post office and drug store. He began to see the picturesque village the way an artist looks at a canvas.

He and Laura saw the potential of St. Jacobs as a tourist magnet. They envisioned craft shops and boutiques where small vendors could ply their trades. In 1975 they opened the Stone Crock restaurant, the first of what would be several eateries. Historic buildings were restored. St. Jacobs was "on the map," figuratively and literally. Walk with Milo through the market on a Thursday or Saturday and he's likely to point out that more than 600 vendors are making a meaningful living, following their muse in vegetables, baking and crafts. He looks upon them as his family.

Many visitors are drawn to St. Jacobs first and foremost by the idyllic image of Old Order Mennonites. The question was raised, Was there a way to keep these gentle folk from being exploited?

Busy restaurant staff did not have time to answer visitors' questions about the faith and life of Mennonites, much as they would like to. This led to formation of a Mennonite information center, now called the Mennonite Story, a few doors down Main Street.

Originally called The Meetingplace, the Mennonite Story visitor center opened in 1979 to interpret today's Mennonites to area visitors (up to 40,000 a year).

A self-guided media journey features a video and photo display of Old Order Mennonites, whose simple lifestyle and horse-drawn transportation attract tourists. The tour continues with an overview of the early Anabaptist story (including a "cave" replica where Anabaptists hid from their persecutors) and depictions of recurring Mennonite efforts to answer the question, "Who Is My Neighbour." A room devoted to this issue includes short videos from several Mennonite service agencies and 40 individual stories of how Mennonites, many of them local, have put their faith into action to bring peace and serve others around the world.

The tour concludes with a moving multi-media presentation where visitors are encouraged to reflect on their own faith journey and their relation to others.

Milo and Laura were key underwriters of the center with ongoing responsibility turned over to the St. Jacobs Mennonite Church.

During a recent updating of the displays, Milo urged that prominence be given to Mennonite World Conference, the umbrella group for 1.5 million Anabaptists in 75 countries. He wanted the vital role of MWC made clear to all.

"Anyone who comes through here needs to understand how we are all connected in the global church," he insisted.

That connection has been strong for Milo and Laura, notably in places like Ghana and Jamaica where they've invested to assist the local church.

In 1984 they attended the Eleventh Assembly of the Mennonite World Conference in Strasbourg, France. One day they disappeared for a few hours. It was revealed later that they and several others had slipped away to a small downtown chapel.

It was a baptism service. The candidates were five new believers from Hungary who wanted to experience this act among "their people," and for that week, at least, there were plenty of them around. Eastern European sensitivities required that the service not be publicized.

Milo and Laura had a longstanding personal connection. In the late 1960s, Hybrid Turkeys operated in more than 30 countries, exporting breeder eggs and poults. One contract was with the Hungarian government to deliver parent breeding stock and management technology.

Through this connection Milo met Peter Falley, who worked for the Ralston Purina feed company in Hungary. When Peter came to visit he was impressed by how Ontario Mennonites conducted themselves in business, and asked a lot of questions about Anabaptism. Peter eventually joined Hybrid Turkeys as marketing manager for Eastern Europe.

One day Peter and Milo were standing together on a crowded underground train in Budapest. Peter had another question, one he didn't want to ask at his home or in Milo's hotel room for fear of being bugged.

"Milo, what does one need to become a member of your community?"

"It's fairly simple," Milo answered. "You believe and accept Jesus Christ. That's what it takes. The formal part is some doctrinal studies followed by baptism. It's just that simple."

"Then that's what we want to do," Peter said.

He and his wife Maria were baptized on a visit to Ontario and affiliated with Milo and Laura's congregation. Plans were made to hold a baptism service for other new converts at the next convenient opportunity, which happened to be the Strasbourg Assembly. Pastor Richard Yordy and Vernon Leis presided over the baptism with the Falleys and the late Marlin Miller, then president of Associated Mennonite Biblical Seminary, preached.

Hybrid Turkeys was eventually sold, and Peter stayed on with the new owners until he died unexpectedly in 1989.

It's the summer of 2008. Milo is back on cherished turf – Main Street, St. Jacobs. His gait has slowed a bit, owing to health problems. His vision, despite loss of sight in one eye from a ruptured blood vessel, is still keen. He asks to meet in front of the Church Theatre, a historic St. Jacobs structure that now serves a different kind of congregation. A lifelong fan of the artistry of Woldemar Neufeld (1909-2002), Milo wants to turn it into a gallery to display 300 paintings the Connecticut-based artist bequeathed to his native region.

The serial entrepreneur keeps working – still planning, still building and still finding ways to make "home" for others, whether that be a place to eat, sleep, work or serve.