🔒How these Maine business leaders turned setbacks into superpowers

Talking openly about a health challenge or disability — especially one that’s “invisible” to others — is sometimes perceived as a weakness in business, yet is very much an act of courage. These four vignettes aim to shed light on what life is like for leaders who have grappled with a physical setback or neurological condition — and the life lessons that came out of overcoming those struggles.

Going the distance after a heart-health reset

Two years ago, at age 60, Rob Twyman had just shut down a convenience store chain in Chicago he had run and was thinking about his next professional chapter in Portland when he started experiencing shortness of breath that made it difficult to climb stairs. At his first appointment with a new doctor in Maine, she listened to his heart with a stethoscope, used an electrocardiogram to measure his heart’s electrical activity — and told him he needed to get to the emergency room right away. He was having a stroke. Despite regular exercise, healthy eating habits and no history of heart disease or any serious illness, Twyman was diagnosed with severe heart failure and an irregular heartbeat, known as atrial fibrillation. While Twyman’s cardiologist likened his heart to a runner’s after a marathon, Twyman remembers it in simpler terms: “My heart was tired.” After undergoing a surgical procedure known as an ablation, Twyman began rebuilding his strength through a disciplined diet and daily exercise, including walking and cycling. He recently marked two years since his diagnosis with a triumphant 50-mile bike ride. While Twyman had always made time for exercise during his career, he says that being “semi-retired” allows him to devote even more attention to physical fitness. He spent most of his career in food retail, including 27 years with Whole Foods, leaving as global operations director in 2019, two years after Amazon acquired the Texas-based chain. A firm believer in having a sense of purpose, Twyman found his in Maine through volunteer mentoring with the Maine Center for Entrepreneurs. Twyman recently joined the board of the Portland Food Co-op, where he hopes to use his industry experience to help guide the member-owned store’s strategic direction, support the general manager and mission-driven goals. Eventually, Twyman may turn the lessons from his health scare into a book or speaking engagements at community colleges. In the meantime, he’s focused on helping position the Portland Food Co-op for growth and a potential move to a larger space in coming years. He’s also biking around 75 miles a week on his Bianchi Infinito C2C as he gears up for a 100-mile “century” ride later this summer and another in the fall. “I’m a firm believer that things happen the way they’re supposed to happen, as long you’re aware and listening to what the message is behind it,” he says.

From ‘slow’ learner to ‘prolific connector’

Long before Fred Forsley found his calling in real estate and brewing, he was just a regular kid growing up in Gray — until he was pulled out of second grade and put into the “slow” class because something was amiss. Though he didn’t know it at the time, his ability to process written words was impaired by dyslexia, a neurodevelopmental, language-based learning disability that meant repeating second grade until he got caught up or figured out how to manage the condition. Looking back with a sense of humor, he says, “I liked it so much that I got to do it twice.” The joke belies the hard work he put in with tutors, including one named Mrs. Whitney who taught him in her home where she often had an apple pie on her old Ben Franklin stove. “She goes, ‘If you’re good, I’ll give you a piece of it. If you’re really good, I’ll give you vanilla ice cream. And if you’re really, really good, you’ll get some whipped cream,’” he says. Motivated by the reward, “I’d get a pie once in a while.” Forsley has less fond memories of being harassed for being slow and stupid by a classmate who later became a friend. Determined never to be pushed around again, he later threw himself into sports and excelled in math but continued to struggle with reading and writing. At Cheverus High School when a Jesuit priest taught him how to move information from short-term to long-term memory, he would often hear Mrs. Whitney’s voice telling him to “slow down, sound it out.” Forsley’s mother — who had multiple sclerosis but never complained — was his strongest advocate. She and her husband, a World War II veteran and psychologist, instilled a strong work and community service ethic in their five children at a time when Forsley says kids lived for their parents rather than the other way around: “We never got asked if we wanted to go to Massachusetts to see our cousins. It was, ‘Get in the car, we’re going to Massachusetts.” All five kids were also expected to help out at the family business, the Gray Manor Boarding Home for war veterans with psychological disabilities. Forsley stepped in to run the home at age 19 when his parents got sick. He also started his own real estate business. In 1992, he got into the beer business almost by accident when he stepped in to save a landmark restaurant and pub in Kennebunkport from creditors and started Federal Jack’s Restaurant & Brew Pub. He founded Shipyard Brewing Co. in 1994 that put Maine on the map for craft beer and grew into one of the state’s largest brewers. Today in overseeing companies with a total of more than 900 employees, Forsley says he manages his dyslexia more easily by avoiding email and written communication and relying instead on voice memos and phone calls. He’s also done his utmost to hire people with skills that complement his own.

MaineWorks founder Margo Walsh, a friend of Forsley’s since childhood, admires his empathy for people who struggle as well as his ability to communicate. “One of his greatest strengths is connecting with people,” she says. And what would Mrs. Whitney think if she saw her former student now? “She’d be proud,” Forsley says with a glint in his eye.

New opportunities after corrective eye surgery

For most of his life, until about four years ago, Eliah Thanhauser lived with severe visual impairment in both eyes. “When you’re born with something like that, it’s just like normal,” he says, recalling daily hardships. Sitting outside, for example, the glare could be so bad that he might be just 10 feet away from someone and not be able to see their face. But he made adjustments. “I got really good at identifying people by the way they moved and the gait of their walk,” Thanhauser says on a shaded bench outside North Spore’s factory in an industrial section of Portland. The company, which he founded with two college friends in 2014, began as a tiny urban mushroom farm and now mainly sells growing kits for home and commercial use. Though Thanhauser’s disability was known to family, friends and colleagues, it wasn’t necessarily apparent to others. “I used to wear really dark sunglasses,” he quips, “but some people just probably thought I was cool.” Thanhauser’s impairment brought other challenges he found ways to overcome. To reduce glare on computer screens, he set the display to show white letters against a black background. He’s also been a lifelong reader of audio books, which were of a lower quality — and quantity — in the Waldo County town of Monroe where he grew up. Long before ride-sharing apps became the norm, Thanhauser depended on others to drive him to work and other places. Business pitch competitions posed another obstacle. Because he couldn’t read a teleprompter or note cards, he wrote out each presentation in full and committed it to memory. “My goal was to have it be as concise as something that’s well thought out and written, but as smooth as someone that’s speaking impromptu,” says Thanhauser. His hard work led to several wins that raised money for the growing startup. Fast forward to 2022, when Thanhauser underwent cataract surgery on his left eye to correct severe astigmatism and replace the cloudy natural lens and with a clear artificial one. A few days later when the patch over his eye was removed, he remembers seeing construction paper on the wall in earth tones that looked very bright and saturated. So did everything else, from the clouds above Portland to the microcracks on brick sidewalks. “It was the craziest thing. I was actually seeing in a way that nobody sees,” he recalls. Eventually, his brain adjusted to the change. But there were more adjustments ahead, including getting his driver’s license at age 36. Initially intimidated by highway driving, within a few months he was on the interstate hauling a boat. “I was like, ‘Oh wow, I have come a long way,’” he says.

Though Thanhauser still spends his free time listening to audiobooks — everything from fantasy and science fiction to business titles — many of the lessons from his erstwhile inability to see have shaped his leadership approach at North Spore. Today, as president, he values direct communication and believes the best results come from teamwork, in part because he’s always had to rely on others. “I’ve always worked with people who complement the way I think and my skill set,” he says. “I’ve had to think about things less independently and more as a community effort.” At the same time, years of navigating the world with limited vision prepared him for a life of entrepreneurship he can’t imagine ever changing. “To this day, I probably would never work for someone else,” he says. Eventually when things are less hectic at work, Thanhauser plans to have surgery on his right eye though he’s not yet sure when that will be. “Having two eyes really working together will be awesome,” he says.

Living — and thriving — with autism

Eleda Towle is a lifelong collector of model horses who turned her hobby into a retail business based in Hiram called Triple Mountain. Last year after she found out a friend was autistic, Towle took the same online test and discovered at age 52 that she also scored high for the neurological condition. More relieved than surprised by the result years after she was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, Towle says “it was like getting the answer key to the Eleda test.” Since then, she’s devoted about an hour every day to educating herself about what autism is by reading scientific papers and listening to interviews. “I spent the last year just diving in, because that apparently is one of our superpowers,” she says. “The autistic ability for deep focus into subjects we’re passionate about makes us great business people.” Along the way, she’s also discovered that many of her customers are also autistic and aims to enlighten them on what autism is. Still fairly new to Zoom, Towle prefers the platform to speaking on the phone, where there’s no visual feedback — something she says is common among people with autism. “If we have to pause to think about something, we’re really working hard in our brain to get the right words,” she says. But when someone on the other end hears only the silence, the interruption can force her to start over. “That makes it even more awkward.” Towle, who has worked in retail her whole career and started Triple Mountain as an online enterprise in 2012, also attributes her dislike of surprises and preference for self-employment to autism. She laughs about being a “nasty boss.” “My only employee is me and my husband and he puts up with me regardless,” she says. He’s also a much-appreciated “bodyguard” both in the store and whenever she has to go someplace. “He’s my paladin on the white horse,” she says. Towle has spoken about her autism on two podcasts and with customers at her shop, hoping to create an inclusive environment and raise awareness about a condition shared by many collectors. The store, open only on Sundays, aims to create a “safe space” for conversations with customers, some of whom squeal with delight at seeing the horses. “It’s great to be able to create and be part of a community for people who often feel like they have to hide who they really are,” she says. At her rural equine haven, “they can just be themselves.”