Jen’s dad (and my father-in-law), Dan Zappola, died unexpectedly on Friday, February 13th. He was 68 years old, and far too young. I thought there would be more years to spend with him, more years for our kids to be with their Papa. More years to go over my in-laws’ house, smelling something good from the driveway before we even entered, and seeing Dan stirring a pot on the stove. More years for our oldest to play him in chess, and more years for our youngest to cuddle up on his lap. More years for him to discretely give our dog pieces of ham. More years for him to spend with my mother-in-law, continuing their 55 years of being together. (They met when he was 13 and she was 12!) More years for him to offer support, advice, stories, family recipes, and other wisdom to all of us, but especially to his two daughters. Selfishly, more years for him to teach me more about woodworking.
About 11 years ago, Jen and I had only been dating for a couple of months, and my parents had invited us over to their house, the day before Easter. (To decorate Easter eggs, of course.) This would be the first time my parents would meet Jen. What a big step! So I offered to pick up Jen from her house. She accepted, but… She was at her parents’ house instead. I’d need to pick her up there. As nervous as I was, I knew I couldn’t just be some boyfriend that honked from the driveway, not going to the door, so suddenly, in a single day, we were both going to meet each others’ parents for the first time.
From the very beginning, Dan was so welcoming and invited me into his family. In fact, within an hour of meeting me, he invited me to their big family Easter party the next day, not even running it by Jen first. He may have accelerated our relationship by a few months, because that next day, I found myself meeting Jen’s grandparents, cousins, and the rest of her extended family. All because of Dan.
I do not come from a family of entrepreneurs. The vast majority of my family are teachers or firefighters or nurses. Heck, even taking a job that doesn’t have a pension was a new thing for my generation. But the same is not true for Jen, because of Dan.
Dan was always an entrepreneur. I only just recently learned that in elementary school he got his parent’s permission to sell shoes door-to-door. Because he had read about it in a magazine. He just had this special confidence in himself.
Later on, he started his own plumbing company. Even though he had a young family, he took a risk. It started as just him, but eventually, it evolved, with many plumbers working for him. You regularly see one of his plumbing company trucks driving around town. And those plumbers are providing for their families (and helping other families with their plumbing) because of Dan.
When Jen wanted to start her own therapy private practice, the business side of things? No problem. Her dad had done it, and so could she. When she needed a private office space for this private practice? No problem, her dad had an adjacent office to his plumbing shop, and she could work from there, rent-free. All because of Dan.
Meanwhile, I had always dreamed of having my own business. But how could I ever take that leap? Well, I met Dan. Long before I even worked up the courage to resign from my past job, I came up with the name of my eventual company on a walk with Jen. Combining our two last names, Zapstar Solutions was born. Her “zap” and my “star”.
When I finally did take the leap? I worked from Jen’s private practice office (when she wasn’t using it). Right next to Dan’s office. Starting your own company wasn’t a big deal to him. Or at least he made it look effortless, and it made it so much easier for me to take that risk. And he’d sometimes drop off a donut on Fridays.
A couple of years went by, where I just did consulting (and some failed startup ideas), but then Jen and I stumbled upon the idea for Quill. I know that Dan loved that we had this unique sort of business in Quill. He was so supportive of what we were doing, checking in on Quill, etc. I always knew he was intrigued by this idea of software-as-a-service. And I felt very fortunate that we could operate a business that had far less complexity than a plumbing business. It was fun to share news about what was happening, different company milestones, etc., with him, because he was always curious, and always supportive.
I know, really and truly, that I’d still be working a salaried job as a developer had it not been for Dan and for him leading the way and paving this path. And I think of the luxury that being my own boss has afforded me, with more flexible time to spend with my family, including right now, as we all grieve together and figure out how to proceed in a post-Dan world.
It’s impossible to summarize a person in just a few paragraphs, and I know that this focuses mostly on the business part of his life. But I think it’s because it’s so hard to describe everything else, his role as a father, as a spouse, as a grandfather, as a friend, as a father-in-law. As I look back, at least as I reflect right now, one of his biggest impacts on my life (besides raising his incredible daughter Jen!) is his encouragement to take risks, to be your own boss, to set your own priorities. Family is everything, and I’m so grateful that I am a part of his.
Thanks Dan. We miss you.
Jon
Thanks for reading this. These past few weeks have been so hard, and it felt insincere to just continue working as usual without somehow acknowledging and paying tribute to Dan here at Quill. We're a family company, and it started with Dan.
Dan was so much more than an entrepreneur, of course -- and Jen wrote a beautiful obituary that I hope you'll read too.
Here are some photos:
Dan working on his plumbing business in the early days, with Jen and her sister hiding in the background.
When our oldest was born, Dan invited Jen to spend as much time as she wanted at the "Pop Shop", and she took him up on that offer. Those first weeks and months, especially after I returned to work after paternity leave, were hard -- but Dan was there.
Me with Dan at a fancy restaurant. He always ordered the soup.
Dan could never resist sneaking a piece of ham to our dog. And so, naturally, she only ever begged him for food at the table.
Jen, me, and Dan on our wedding day. He was so proud.
Jen goofing off with her dad on our wedding day.
