Dr. Vo, the Solar Pro

In this episode, The Solar Pro . . .

Have you ever considered your impact on people? Whether in a group or individual setting, do you think about the impression you make? In previous podcasts, I've honored my friend, Doan Vo, highlighting the enduring impact of seemingly small actions that make lasting impressions.

Recently, a birthday luncheon was hosted for Dr. Vo at the Phoenix Renewable Services (PRS) headquarters in Carlsbad, CA., with a staff of about 30 present. I was invited to attend, working from home that day. As we greeted the employees with a warm smile and a handshake, the question kept coming up:

“Are you going to sing another song for this event like last time?”

I was somewhat shocked–you see– the "Take Me Home" song (click the link for those who missed it) was written and performed over two years ago. Despite feeling a bit silly at the time and experiencing some embarrassment while performing it, I was surprised that the staff remembered it, especially since I had not seen them since.

I responded, “No, song, but I have written a poem. Would you like to hear it?”

“Absolutely,” was their excited response. Well, here it is:

Have you heard of Dr. Vo?

He's the best in the biz, don’t you know!
When solar systems sputter and stop,
It’s Dr. Vo who’s first to hop—

On the scene, with tools in hand,
The smartest man in all the land!

At Cenergy, he’s O&M’s head,
Keeping every solar panel fed.
He’s the lead of the V-Team crew,
There’s no solar job he can’t do!
With NextWave software shining bright,
He led its launch—what a sight!

Headed home from a trip to the U.S.A.,
Dr. Vo shared knowledge along the way,
With teammates from Vietnam, far and wide,
Together, they worked side by side.

Las Vegas lights? He took the team!
Then, off to Disneyland for a dream.
Through it all, he laughed and smiled,
For Dr. Vo has quite the style.

Now a birthday’s drawing near—
Seventy years of solar cheer!
On October 28th, it’s time to shout,
“Happy Birthday, Dr. Vo!”
Let’s all sing out!

A solar wizard, a leader bold,
With wisdom brighter than gold!
So here’s to Dr. Vo, the solar king—
For all the joy and light you bring!

My listening friends, never underestimate your influence on others. Sometimes, a small gesture can unknowingly build a strong human connection. Giving gifts is not just about buying gifts; it's also about sharing experiences through music, poetry, conversation, laughter, and a meal.

The human connection!

I’m Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

(Safe travels, my friend).

Comments

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

A Dog, a Beer . . . and the Ghost of 1912

Whenever you step into an American cathedral of our National Pastime built before modern ergonomics, municipal zoning, or crowd-flow dynamics, an unspoken understanding forms, creating a welcoming, timeless atmosphere. You trade legroom, sensible corridors, and personal space for the privilege of communing with ghosts. Last week, Lori and I made our pilgrimage to Fenway Park to watch our Chicago Cubs take on the Boston Red Sox (a taut 0–2 contest that felt spiritually tied to their 1918 World Series meeting). Staying just across the Charles River at the Courtyard Marriott in Cambridge gave us one immeasurable tactical advantage: we walked. While the automotive gridlock around Kenmore Square took on the character of the Siege of Yorktown—horns echoing across the asphalt like musket fire—we simply strolled across the Boston University Bridge, enjoying the river breeze and feeling smugly superior to everyone trapped behind a steering wheel. Fenway, built in the spring of 1912, holds rough...

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️ In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...

On The Fly

Search This Blog