Sixty years of changed lives. A founder who dreamed it into being. Boys who arrived with nothing and left with a future. The story is already remarkable. It just hasn't been told the way it deserves.
See the ideasMcCrossan is regionally known, deeply respected, and quietly doing work most people will never fully understand. Donors give. The boys grow. Melinda's dream continues.
But the full weight of what happens on that ranch lives mostly in the people who've witnessed it. It hasn't been captured. Not really.
That's the opportunity.
A few directions worth considering. Each one serves a different purpose — donors, boys, or staff.
A childless woman, a sharp businesswoman, who built something she barely lived to see — and gave it to boys who weren't her own. The story that makes a donor feel part of something built to last.
Not a highlight reel. One story, told honestly — a boy who arrives with little and finds footing among the horses, the shop, the people who believe in him. The film that moves people to give, because it's true and it's specific.
A film for the boys themselves. What to expect. What's possible. A proper introduction to a place about to change their life — so they walk in with less fear and more hope.
For the people who do this work. A film that honors the weight of it, and draws the right people toward it.
My faith drives everything I do — and few things stir me more than fatherhood. Being a good father is one of my deepest callings, and it breaks my heart to see boys without a strong, steady figure in their lives. So I'm drawn to the people and places stepping into that gap.
McCrossan does it in a way I haven't seen anywhere else. It gives these boys what's been missing — not just a roof, but formative, valuable things to do. Horses. A shop. Real work. Proof that there's a whole world beyond a screen. Those experiences don't just fill time; they help a boy mature, and they help him heal.
I'm passionate about the vulnerable and the defenseless, and so many of these kids fall squarely in that category — usually through no fault of their own. My wife and I have walked that road closely: we spent years alongside a foster family caring for six kids who carried more than any child should. We've seen the turmoil up close. We've also seen what steady love can do.
That's why I want to help organizations like McCrossan move people to action — to see this work clearly, and to take part in it.
Three films, three kinds of story — each close to the heart of what McCrossan does every day.
Justin grew up the "trailer trash kid," raised by a village of teachers and coaches who refused to let him fall. Today he's the steady adult for boys who need what he once needed: someone who believes in them. This is what McCrossan's work looks like, twenty years on.
Joseph lost everything, was given a second chance by his community, and built an organization to hand that same chance to people the world had written off. A founder's legacy, captured — much like the one Melinda McCrossan left behind.
A boy who arrived in fear and turmoil and was walked all the way home — to a courtroom, a new name, and a forever family. A film made with a team during my nonprofit years. Proof that I've been telling these stories, with care, for a long time.
That's exactly what we help with. Before any cameras, we sit down together and find the spine of the story — what it's really about, who it needs to reach, and which film is worth making first. We call it the Cabin Fever Workshop: a focused strategy session that ends with a written blueprint for the project.
It's how we make sure the first dollar McCrossan spends goes toward the right story — and it's a natural place to start a conversation with a donor about funding it.
She knew that. It's why the ranch exists.
Let's make sure the next sixty years can see where it came from.