Hard Work and Heart: The Legacy of Richard Kirk

The Companies

The Kirk family’s heritage of entrepreneurship began with Richard’s father, Robert W. Kirk. In 1969 with Richard’s older brothers William, James and Joesph, Robert Kirk founded Kirk Brothers, Inc. Then, in 1970, they founded Ohio Hazardous Material (OHM), a hazardous waste remediation company headquartered in Findlay, which grew into more than 1,000 employees and several locations across the country.

Kirk Brothers and OHM were located at the family farm where Richard grew up, just east of Findlay off Ohio 224. Over time, OHM was sold, and Richard purchased Kirk Brothers and moved its location. Alvada Construction was located in Alvada, Ohio, owned by Richard’s brother, Bill. When Bill passed, Richard purchased Alvada Construction and then moved Kirk Brothers to the Alvada location. Kirk Masonry started in 2009, and Bodie in 2019.

“He started more companies because there was a need for those trades,” Justinne explained. “He was trying to fill a void. We asked him not to start more companies,” she said, knowing that Richard took that as a challenge.

In 2019, Richard moved the companies to Fostoria Avenue in Findlay. It was always his goal to get the companies back to where they started, and in 2023, they were able to return to the original property at 16380 US 224 East. More than 300 people are employed by the companies today.

Growing Up Kirk

Faith and a strong work ethic were important to Richard’s parents, Robert and Theresa. The family always went to church and often invited their parish priest to brunch on Sundays. As the story goes, one Sunday, the priest was visiting and in the middle of a relaxing meal, a call came to OHM about a hazardous spill.

“The boys all jumped up and got the vehicles ready to take care of the spill,” Justinne said. “The priest protested because it was the day of rest. But my grandfather said, ‘God gave us the ability to do these things and help in this way. It would be a disservice to him if we did not respond to the call.’”

That philosophy stuck.

Richard was the youngest son of Robert and Theresa’s children, with two sisters, Catherine and Bec Sue, and three older brothers. There was about a 10-year age gap between Richard and the next youngest brother, but he was far from being coddled. When Richard reached college age, he started at the University of Toledo but was repeatedly asked to go to spills and work for the companies. His brothers made sure he knew he was needed.

For example, in one instance, there was a family disagreement and some of the brothers decided to quit. The next morning Richard was sleeping in, and an older brother shook him awake to go to work. “I thought we quit?” Richard asked.

“C’mon, let’s go. You don’t quit the family business,” his brother said, and promptly flipped his mattress over, sending Richard to the floor. Richard got up, got ready, and got back to work.

In another instance, during one summer, Richard applied to be a lifeguard at a local pool and even got his lifeguard certification. When he told his brothers they laughed and said, “No, you’re working for the family business.”

Richard decided to end his short college career and focus on the companies, and his dad sent him on the road to projects far from home, so he would have no choice but to learn for himself. He ran equipment, managed crews, and often called his father for help. Robert Kirk would always advise but would never fix anything for him.

“He said that’s the only way you’re going to be respected out there,” Justinne explained. “And that’s exactly how we were raised. You’ve got to fix it yourself.”

Growing up, the girls remember Sunday as their day with dad. Often, they would go to church, then straight to the office. Other times they waited in suspense…if they went left out of the church parking lot, they knew they were going home. If they went right, there was a good chance they were going to look at job sites all day.

“And on some occasions, we would go to the lake for a family getaway,” Tiphanie said. “But if we did, it would take two hours or more to get there and to get back because we would drive past old or current job sites and he would tell us all about them. That is what our Sundays were – church, chores at home, helping at the office, or driving around looking at job sites.”

Richard Kirk was always the first one in and the last one out at work and typically worked   weekends. Then, he’d come home and work on the farm.

The Kirk girls were raised on an 80-acre farm filled with farm equipment, animals, tools, and a pond, plenty to keep them occupied but…

“There were a lot of things we did that we probably shouldn’t have done, and I can’t believe one of us isn’t dead,” Tiphanie said, laughing with her sisters. “I mean, we did some crazy stuff. Our dad said he used to pray for us to be alive when he got home…if only he knew. We drove the farm equipment, made forts, raced four wheelers, all kinds of things. I think all of us knew how to drive when we were basically 10.”

When it came to supporting the companies, Tiphanie, Lauren and Justinne have taken on every role imaginable. As kids, they organized bookcases filled with phone books. By the time they reached high school, each attended their senior year for a half day, then worked for dad.

“We filled in everywhere,” Lauren said. “It’s like he said, ‘What’s the job no one wants to do? You’re going to do that.’”

What He Stood For

Richard Kirk was passionate.

Gathered at a sprawling, 20-person wooden table, an original from the OHM days, the Kirk sisters remarked that some of its battle scars – dents and chips dotted throughout its surface – were probably made by their dad. He was always banging his fist or other objects in emphasis. They ran their fingers over the dents.

“If this table could talk.”

Justinne’s office was right next to Richard’s. Every single day they collaborated on something, as she was his assistant and then CFO. It wasn’t uncommon for him to chuck a highlighter at her – or one of her sisters – if he didn’t like what they said. They took his immense seriousness with a grain of salt.

“We’d just leave in on the floor. And then of course someone would always come by later and have no idea and be like, ‘Oh, you dropped your highlighter!’ and pick it up for him. I know he thought we were just as exhausting as we thought he was.”

Justinne and Tiphanie chuckled, remembering a day that Justinne stood in his doorway explaining something, and it irritated him. A highlighter took flight, coupled with threats upon her life. Arguing ensued, drawing Tiphanie’s attention. Whatever the urgent, potentially fatal situation was, it deescalated into a full-on soap opera, Justinne laying across his desk as Richard held a red pen above her, threatening. Their laughter split the quiet office air, Tiphanie snapping pictures.

But the girls say that quietly rolled up in all of that passion was a bleeding heart. He wanted to help people. In whatever town the companies had a project, he got involved, whether it was serving on a board or donating to local causes. He served on boards, primarily with the goal of bettering a community for the people who lived there. He attended Findlay City Council meetings and challenged with opposing viewpoints, mostly to check that all options were being considered. He wanted the best for the community.

If an employee came upon hard times, he or she was met with understanding and help if he could provide it. He ran his company supportive of families and family life, and in turn there are people who have worked at Kirk Corp. for 10, 20, even 40 years, as well as multiple members of families who choose to work there. And when they built something, Richard was always focused on “the real client,” for example the kids who would be impacted by the Findlay Family YMCA’s new Early Learning Center, built by ACI. Some of the projects he was proudest of were the Marathon Center for the Performing Arts, Glenwood Middle School, the Hancock County Judicial Center, and the YMCA’s Early Learning Center.

Richard Kirk served on the boards of Findlay-Hancock County Economic Development, Findlay-Hancock County Alliance, and Findlay-Hancock County Chamber of Commerce, as well as the University of Findlay’s Board of Trustees. When ACI was located in Alvada, he served on Fostoria’s Habitat for Humanity board, and donated the company’s services to build two houses and rehabilitate three. He donated services for construction projects at City Mission and tried to offer its residents jobs.

An example of the Kirk companies’ motto to “become involved wherever we go,” in their April 2025 newsletter, the Wyandot County Office of Economic Development memorialized Richard with thanks, for his membership and support through ACI. Kirk Corporation’s five companies, “hold membership in over 25 area economic development and chambers of commerce as well as being a part of multiple other area non-profits,” the newsletter stated. Wherever they go, the Kirk companies donate to schools, sports, boosters, and other non-profits. He cared deeply about the construction trades and 4-H groups.

Richard Kirk the Grampy, Weaver of Tales and Other Colorful Quirks

When Richard Kirk wasn’t at the office, he was at his sanctuary – the farm. He worked on the farm running equipment, or could be found chopping wood, going for walks, hunting, or riding around on his Gator – always with his beloved dogs seated beside him.

He cherished his seven “champion” dogs. His daughters say many of them were once theirs but in one way or another, “he took them. They just kind of became his.”

They laughed and shook their heads thinking about their dad getting all kinds of heavy equipment stuck on the farm, along with the comical ordeal of freeing it. There were even three instances when he drove the Gator into the pond chasing after something.

“But this would never happen on a worksite,” they said, laughing harder. “We definitely would have gotten in trouble for any of this when we were kids.”

He would roll up on the Gator often at Justinne’s adjacent farm, checking if any grandkids wanted to join him. “That Gator means more to our kids than anything. If they heard or saw the Gator, they knew Grampy was out and about and would eventually come to check in on them.”

A history enthusiast, Richard founded “Roosevelt Camp,” a shed in the woods with a little stove. He loved a peaceful visit to the camp, always with his dogs and especially with his grandkids.

“He would take the grandkids out into the woods and start a fire, and they would cook something from a can, hot dogs, stale buns, whatever he could gather up,” Justinne said. “They would sit out there the whole day.

“He burned everything he cooked,” she added, her sisters laughing again.

With the arrival of grandkids, something in Richard Kirk seemed to “snap, and it broke for the better.” He became, as the girls say, a “complete softie.” They remain mystified by a side of their father they had never seen. Tiphanie and husband Luke Gibson’s kids are Kasadie, 16; Coltan, 14; and Kinsley, 11. Justinne and Ben Reinhart’s children are Lilli, 16; Avery, 12; and Roman, 10.

“Nothing against how we grew up, but the ‘You’re doing greats,’ the ‘I love yous,’ the hugs and kisses, and, ‘You’re the greatest, you’re so smart, you’re so perfect’– these things  weren’t communicated a lot when we were growing up,” Justinne said. “But these grandkids. He made sure those kids knew how much he loved them and how great they were, and they would hear it all the time. He would do anything for those kids. Anything.”

Outside of work, his daughters describe a man whose outfits rarely matched, and a particular fondness for a camouflage vest. “Did you look in the mirror, Dad?” He was a man known for his love of popcorn – especially enjoyed in his favorite chair with an orange, apple and cheese. He had a distinct, raspy laugh. “You could pick it out anywhere.” And a whistle he made through his teeth to get their attention anywhere. He loved to take the grandkids on rides in a little cart he’d refurbished from when he was a boy, pulled by a pony.

Richard would sit with the grandkids and allow them to apply all kinds of goofy Snapchat filters to him. He would have “4th generation business meetings,” during which they would have little planners, named officers, and could punch their timecard.

One year, the grandkids wanted him to wear a winning specimen to an ugly sweater Christmas party at work. He stubbornly refused, throwing it out an office window in retaliation. His granddaughter retrieved it and physically put it on him. And from then on, he wore it every year – per contract with his grandchildren.

“Oh yes, he would make the grandkids sign these contracts,” Justinne said. “And he’d always say they had to sign it in blood. He did this with us, too. Everything was in blood. There were so many contracts for everything.”

He sent them outrageous videos, often making a spectacle of himself with the intent to entertain, “He would make things up. He’d come up with all of these goofy stories for them and send a video,” Justinne said. “There was one, he was sitting next to left over birthday cake from one of their birthdays, and he took a video of himself grabbing it and smearing it all over his face.”

And then there was the coyote – a true story that may have become something of a tall tale. One evening, Richard heard his dogs “losing their minds” and ran outside into the dark to assess the situation, wearing his pajamas. A coyote had gotten into the garage. Chaos ensued. The dogs were going insane. The coyote bristled, plotting its escape, trapped in a corner. Things escalated, and the most important part is that Richard had to kick the coyote with his bare foot – “I felt the fur,” he said with excitement – to get it out of the garage and away from himself and the dogs. He saved the day.

“He appointed himself a hero with a little dog tag rabies medal,” Justinne said. “He was so proud of himself. He literally took that medal everywhere and he would tell that story about the coyote to anyone who would listen.”

In Memory

What do you think he would want to be remembered for? Asked this question, Richard Kirk’s daughters were quiet for a moment.

“I don’t think he would want much credit,” Justinne said. “I think he’d want to be remembered if he was able to make a difference in someone’s life, if he saw something in someone and was able to help them grow.”

His daughters will remember the goofy, loving grandpa. The undying work ethic. The Gator. Care for employees. The passion. The finger pointing. And they’ll remember the values that made the companies, the values he instilled in them, that will be passed on for generations.

“Growing up, he was a hard dad. He expected so much,” Justinne said, her sisters in agreement. “It’s interesting, he grew up with mostly brothers, and then he had three daughters. Were we going to be babies? Were we going to be princesses? He expected the same things out of us as he expected from any employee here. While we weren’t coddled, he helped make us into who we are.”

Like his father, Richard Kirk helped his daughters with their problems but wouldn’t fix them. That was their job.

“He never wanted us to be scared of something,” Lauren said. “He said don’t worry about it. If it doesn’t go the right way, I have bail money,” making light of the situation.

Justinne added, “He didn’t care if we messed up. He said, ‘You’ll learn from it,’ and, ‘You can do these hard things.’ He would tell me, ‘Imagine how much stronger you’ll be after this. You’ll be like a mountain lion.’

“We wouldn’t change anything. All of these things, they made us into who we are.”

The weekend before Richard Kirk passed, he was outside chopping firewood. Two days after he died, both Lauren and Justinne were back at work.

“I came in and everyone was like, ‘Why are you here? Go home, go home,” Lauren said. “But I couldn’t. I knew this is where my dad would want me to be right now. And I felt I needed to be here, letting the other employees know that I’m going to continue, I’m not going anywhere.”

Justinne added, “Of course we want to make sure the company remains successful because of all of the hard work that dad, the brothers, our grandpa, our grandma – our family – put into these companies. We feel a strong obligation to keep everything going for them and for the families who work here. And so, when Dad passed, I just had to come in – I had to get something done. I didn’t want to get behind.

“I came in, and it was not easy, but I knew that’s where dad would want me to be.”