In Glaspero, New Jersey, a little community half an hour south of Philadelphia, there's

a statue right by the road as you drive into town.

It's a man named Henry Rowan.

He liked to be called Hank.

Whenever Hank Rowan came to Glaspero, he was mobbed like a rock star, which probably

embarrassed him because he wasn't given to those kinds of displays.

When Hank Rowan died in December of 2015, there was a huge memorial service.

Then in the evening, students in the local college gathered around his statue, holding candles,

saying for him, as earnestly as only college kids can.

My name is Malcolm Gladwell.

My podcast about things overlooked and misunderstood.

This episode is my illogie for Hank Rowan.

I never met him, but he's a hero of mine.

I want to understand why he didn't become everyone's hero.

Why Hank Rowan's example didn't spread beyond Glaspero, New Jersey?

He was six foot one or so, not a huge football player size, and you know, 180 pounds, no

thin, but not skinny.

And had a loud voice, strong presence.

And he was like, what was his management style like?

Benevolent dictator.

I think.

That's Rowan's daughter, Jenny Smith.

...