A Jamaican Experience: The Highs and Lows as a Werner Earhart Seminar Director
By: Baron Stewart
I had always believed that hard work and dedication would lead to success. My journey to becoming a seminar director was a testament to that belief—filled with triumphs, setbacks, and, ultimately, transformation.
In the beginning, I was a rising star. My gift for enrolling participants stood out, and there were whispers that I would be named a seminar director during the first of the quarterly training weekends. That was the fast track. That was the dream.
But it didn’t happen.
I wasn’t designated that weekend. I stayed the course, undeterred—until I unexpectedly lost my touch. My enrollment numbers plummeted. Week after week, my introductions to the Forum failed to produce a new participant. The contrast to my earlier success was stark. Concerned, Forum leaders reached out, trying to understand what had changed.
I began to reflect.
The moment I kept returning to was Christmas 1988. Werner Erhard had invited all seminar directors and candidates to San Francisco for New Year’s. I had just returned from visiting my in-laws in Arkansas, and at home was a newborn child. The idea of another trip during the holidays felt overwhelming. But when Werner calls, you go—at least, that's how it felt.
Still, I hesitated. I couldn’t bring myself to say I didn’t want to go. Instead, I told my coach I couldn’t afford the plane ticket.
We were at a training weekend when she suggested something unimaginable: She said I should ask the group—over 200 seminar directors—for financial assistance. I froze. As the only Black man in that room, the idea of publicly requesting money from a primarily white audience filled me with dread and shame. Before I could protest, she said she’d ask for me.
To preserve my dignity, I stood up and made the request myself.
The generosity was immediate. I received more than I needed. But something inside me shifted. From that day on, my enrollment efforts yielded nothing. It was as if a vital thread had snapped.
That experience taught me something I hadn’t yet understood: that authenticity matters more than performance, that pride, when left unexamined, can become a prison, and that even small betrayals of the self can have rippling consequences.
I went to San Francisco and spent New Year’s with Werner. The seminar that weekend sparked something powerful in me. I made a commitment I’d long avoided: to take full responsibility for my aging mother, who was now in her 80s and living alone in Florida. I vowed to make her feel loved and cared for—something that, in truth, I had never really done. That promise brought healing to one of the most painful parts of my life. I’ll share more about that later.
Not long after, I experienced a breakthrough in my career. I became an Executive Instructor at IBM, training top managers in Project Management, Team Building, and Computer Design. I worked out of IBM’s Manhattan Education Center, near the towering IBM headquarters. My days were spent in crisp suits, commuting from Westchester into the heart of New York City.
Berkeley and I had moved to a small cottage on the Hudson River in Nyack. Life was polished, professional—established. I had arrived.
Then IBM built a state-of-the-art education center in Palisades, just a few miles from home. My department was transferred there. The facility, managed by Marriott Hotel, housed some of IBM’s most advanced training programs. I had made it to the main stage.
I no longer teach entry-level courses. I taught Business Systems Planning and its implementation—a curriculum designed for CEOs, CFOs, and CIOs making high-stakes decisions about technology investments. It was thrilling.
But that success came at a cost.
Werner wasn’t paying me. IBM was. And that meant my availability to lead seminars vanished. I was flying across North America every week, teaching at a high level, and could not accept even one seminar leadership opportunity from Werner.
When I was offered the opportunity to lead a seminar in New York City, I declined all of them. The conflict between the two worlds—the one that had transformed me and the one that now paid my bills—persisted for an entire year.
Then came another training weekend.
I was living in Nyack with Berkeley and my young son, Madison. With only one car between us, an unexpected issue at home delayed me. By the time I arrived, the session had already begun. The door was closed. I waited outside for fifteen long minutes before the monitor let me in.
I barely crossed the threshold when the Forum leader called me to the front of the room.
Six hundred eyes were on me.
Without explanation or ceremony, he declared that I was no longer living in alignment with the distinction of Seminar Director—and from that moment forward, I was no longer one.
I wanted to speak, explain, and protest, but instead, I turned and strolled out the door.
Reflections: Behind the Scenes of a Crossroads
What did I feel when I stood in front of 600 eyeballs, stripped of my title?
Oddly enough, not shame. Not anger either. I felt… relief.
The endless back-and-forth between IBM and Werner’s organization was driving me crazy. I was deeply committed to my personal growth and tremendously grateful for what Werner’s work had opened up in me. But I could never bring myself to walk away. That moment on stage—though it felt like a public flogging—was almost a blessing in disguise. The decision was made for me. I was finally free.
Why did asking for help feel like such a breaking point?
Because I was lying, I had the money—I didn’t want to spend it.
I was exhausted from travel, juggling a newborn at home, and the strain of endless obligations. Yet, I couldn’t fathom saying no to Werner. So, instead of honoring my truth, I hid behind a fabricated excuse. And then I had to ask for help—publicly, from a room full of primarily white seminar leaders. As a Black man, I hated the optics of appearing needy. The whole thing struck a nerve that ran more profound than I knew.
What did I learn about identity—being Black in white spaces of power?
Most of the time, I’m relaxed about being Black in predominantly white spaces. I often don’t think about it—until a moment like that one forces the difference into the spotlight. That moment reminded me that identity, pride, and vulnerability are often intertwined in surprising ways.
How did I reconcile my public success with your private struggles?
I loved my work at IBM. I felt proud walking into those Manhattan offices daily in a tailored suit, confident in my expertise. But I also felt guilt. I tried to lead seminars on Saturdays to stay involved with Werner’s work, but those were reserved for senior leaders. My growth in one world meant absence in another.
What role did fatherhood play in my choices during this time?
My son was still an infant then, cared for by Berkeley. His presence, though, reminded me of what truly mattered. I had a family to feed and a future to build—not just for me but for him.
How did choosing IBM’s financial security feel over Werner’s transformational mission?
It felt like a minor betrayal. Not because I didn’t believe in what Werner was doing—I did, deeply—but because I chose stability over transformation. My family needed me to choose security, and I did.
Did I ever regret stepping back from seminar leadership?
I didn’t step back. I stepped sideways. I led seminars in the corporate world for executives who demanded rigor and clarity. They taught me to be sharper, more precise. If you weren’t on your game, they’d walk out. That sharpened me like nothing else.
How did Werner’s work shape my worldview in the long run?
It shaped everything. Even now, I live by the distinctions I learned decades later. The controversy surrounding Werner never shook me. I knew the value of his work because I’d lived it. It became a permanent lens through which I saw myself and the world.
What does “completion” with my mother mean, and how did it change me?
It meant everything. I brought her to live with me in Nyack. Our relationship, once strained and incomplete, found grace. The last thing I ever said to her was, “Thank you for being my mother.” That moment gave Peace to a lifelong wound. I’ll share the full story later—it deserves its own telling.
What was happening culturally in America during this time, and how did it affect me?
I was so immersed in my transformation and professional life that I didn’t closely follow the cultural shifts.
How did my relationship with Berkeley evolve through all this?
She was my rock. Berkeley was proud of me and supportive every step of the way. Her steadiness allowed me to stretch toward these extraordinary opportunities.
What advice would I give to someone choosing between personal growth and professional advancement?
It’s not always either/or. But when it is, choose the one that keeps you in integrity with yourself. Sometimes, the “right” choice will cost you something. But what’s gained in clarity and Peace can outweigh the loss.
What became possible in my life because of these losses and crossroads?
I was poised to launch my seminars. I was ready. But when the opportunity finally came, I said no. I couldn’t take the risk—not with a young family depending on me. That decision closed one door but left others wide open. Some I’ve walked through. Others, I’m still approaching.
Advice for You Based on This Story
1. Don’t Confuse Reluctance with Weakness—It Might Be Wisdom
When I hesitated to fly to San Francisco, my body and soul were signaling something important: exhaustion, the need for boundaries, and the importance of family. Learn to listen to hesitation. Sometimes, it’s your inner compass, not your fear.
2. Tell the Truth—Especially to Yourself
The lie about not affording the plane ticket wasn’t just about money. It was about not knowing how to say, “This doesn’t feel right for me right now.” Being honest with yourself is often the first step toward absolute freedom.
3. Your Integrity Matters More Than Your Title
Being stripped of your Seminar Director title in front of 600 eyes didn’t diminish my worth—it clarified my path. Don’t cling to a role if it costs you your Peace. Sometimes, being removed is the most incredible release.
4. Don’t Let Pride Block the Help You Need
Pride is a double-edged sword. It can protect your dignity—or isolate you from support. Asking for help under pretenses is painful. Asking for help from an authentic place can be life-changing.
5. Growth Doesn’t Always Look How You Imagined
I thought my future was with Werner’s seminars—but it was actually with IBM, in tailored suits, speaking to CEOs. Stay open. The path to your purpose may look nothing like you expected.
6. Blackness Is Not a Limitation—But It Is a Lens
I learned that race doesn’t define every moment but can shape pivotal ones. See that acknowledging their context without being defined by it is a form of liberation.
7. Completion with a Parent Can Heal a Lifetime of Pain
I made Peace with your mother late in her life, which changed mine. I encourage you not to wait too long to say what you need to say. Healing delayed is not healing denied.
8. You Can Be Both: A Provider and a Seeker
I chose IBM to support your family, even though my soul longed to do transformational work. That wasn’t a failure—it was maturity. Learn to balance practicality with purpose.
9. When the Door Closes, Ask: What’s Opening?
Losing my seminar title led to a new chapter that eventually positioned me to build my voice and vision. Remember that loss is often the beginning, not the end.
10. Make Peace with the Roads You Didn’t Take
I was ready to start my seminar but chose not to. That’s not failure. That’s a choice I made with love, responsibility, and clarity. Regret fades when Peace enters.