Homeland Residents Sue and Steve Valoczki: A Life of Adventure

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Sue and Steve ValoczkiSue and Steve Valoczki spend a lot of time joshing around with Homeland staff. 

“The staff is very nice,” said Steve. “They’re interactive and make sure you’re comfortable. They have a good sense of humor. I have to be on my toes for them.” 

“They tease us a lot,” added Sue.  

Since coming to Homeland in February 2024, the Valoczkis have settled into spacious adjoining rooms in personal care. The stylish décor in Steve’s room includes ceramics collected over the years and an antique trunk converted to a coffee table. 

Steve immigrated to the United States from Germany when he was five years old. When Steve arrived in Detroit, Steve’s father worked in a steel mill and his mother worked in food service.  

Steve’s Hungarian father and his German mother met in a displaced persons camp after World War II. His father, a proud Hungarian who hated the Nazis and the Communists, was conscripted to command tanks for the German Army. After leading in 44 tanks in Stalingrad, he was told to stay there waiting for supplies.  

Instead “he got up one day, got all his guys together, and said, ‘Menjünk haza,’ which is Hungarian for, ‘Let’s go home,’” said Steve. “He turned those tanks around and went back to Hungary. He gave himself up to the English and sat in that camp until the war ended.” 

From his father, Steve learned never to give up. 

“My father lost his leg in an industrial accident,” he said. “He healed and went right back to work.” 

Sue grew up in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, with three sisters, including a twin. Her father, who was in advertising, created a famous Chevy commercial showing a car floating down a raft in the Grand Canyon. She was a high school athlete, competing in “all the sports – tennis, basketball, lacrosse, swimming.” At 17, she and her twin took up competitive sailing.  

“Then we’d go to the regattas at night and have a fun party,” she said.  

Sue and Steve met at Ferris State University in Michigan. 

“He was a lot of fun, and we were pretty much a hot couple on campus,” Sue said. “We had a good time together.” 

They got married in 1971. Jobs were tight. Steve graduated in 1970, but through a fraternity brother, he got a job with a distributor of Gallo wines just when Gallo was amping up its marketing efforts 

Steve embraced the work and stayed in wine and spirits sales for his career. The couple lived in Detroit, Wisconsin, Miami Beach, Chicago, and West Chester, PA. In Miami, Steve acquired accounts that even the top executives couldn’t crack “just by service and showing up.”  

The jobs took the couple all over the world. Throughout Europe, they were treated royally, with five-course meals and behind-the-scenes tours of wineries. In a wine cellar in Spain, Steve lightly touched a bottle high up, and suddenly, they started rattling.  

“My heart stood still,” Steve says now. Luckily, the bottles stayed in place.  

Sue had a successful career in banking. Aside from the “exciting times” — her term for the two robberies she experienced — she was responsible for growing the business and connecting with various people. 

While living in West Chester, the couple raised their children: a daughter who is now a cardiac intensive care unit nurse and a son who played football at Penn State and today sells medical devices. Their five grandchildren inherited their grandmother’s athleticism, playing softball, field hockey, and football. 

At Homeland, the Valoczkis’ constant companion is Rue, their personable, seven-year-old rescue Jack Russel terrier. The first time they met her, she hopped onto the picnic table where the Valoczkis were sitting and kissed Steve on the nose. 

Sue keeps dog treats handy for staff to give Rue.  

“We should get some sort of compensation because the people here love her,” she joked. “She’s like a therapy dog. She really does bring a lot of comfort to people.” 

Homeland Director of Development Troy Beaver: Finding purpose in relationships

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Troy Beaver employee headshotTroy Beaver was weighing three job offers when his dad’s hospice nurse told him what keeps her going every day.

“It’s knowing that this could be this person’s last day on earth, and maybe I do something that puts a smile on their face,” she told him. “I could be the last positive thing that happens to this person in their lifetime.”

At that moment, Beaver decided to reject those offers – all in corporations like the one he had just left – and heed the voice urging him to find work that made a tangible difference in people’s lives.

Today, Beaver is Homeland’s new director of development, filling the role held by beloved Betty Hungerford after she retired. He is responsible for supporting Homeland’s fiscal health and long-term viability through philanthropic and charitable giving.

When the opportunity came along, he wasn’t sure he was right for the role. He spent months talking to people at Homeland – including Hungerford – “and prayed long and hard about it.”

“Now, since I’ve been here, I’ve been asking myself why I didn’t do this 30 years ago,” he said.

Beaver was born and raised in Chambersburg, PA. At age 19, he entered the U.S. Air Force, utilizing his fluency in Spanish to serve in military intelligence during a time of political turmoil in Central America.

Even before separating from the military after four years, he started working at Citibank in Hagerstown, MD, filling a need for someone to work with Spanish-speaking customers.

That job blossomed into a director in Citibank operations, taking him all over the world including Europe, South America, Central America and India.

After about 30 years, he started wondering if he wanted to continue.

“I had a feeling that there was something different,” he said. “There’s got to be something more.”

Around that time Citibank downsized and eliminated his job, and after meeting with Barry Ramper II, Homeland President and CEO, it was suggested he could be right for Homeland’s development director.

Beaver’s wife reminded him that he had been praying for “something different,” and the answer was right in front of him.

At Homeland, Beaver has discovered people impassioned about their work in ways that are different than the corporate settings in which he previously worked.

“The staff here embraces the fact that this is a person’s home,” he said. “It’s not a care home. It is their home. That’s the big difference.”

Amid the financial pressures facing today’s nonprofits, Beaver is striving to build on Homeland’s base of donors for decades to come.

“Homeland is 158-years strong,” Beaver said. “But we recognize that we need to always be thinking about how we can ensure we are here to care for our community for generations to come.”

While Beaver brings experience using technology to streamline the search for potential donors, he knows that software isn’t what obtains grants and donations. His solemn task is to build relationships. Hungerford, who was Homeland’s development director for 20 years, reminded him that building relationships takes time.

“Building trust is the most important thing,” he said. “And that takes really getting to know people.”

Beaver and his wife, Lisa, have been married for 36 years and have two sons and a granddaughter. In his leisure time, he plays one of his 12 guitars, including a custom-made Jennings that “is the most incredible guitar, with incredible detail.”

With his former Christian rock band, Prodigal, he has recorded two CDs and jokes that he is an “international recording star” because three of those CDs sold outside the U.S.

Beaver looks forward to continuing to get to know Homeland residents and building relationships with donors.

“I’m getting a really big friend base here,” he said. “All I can hope for is that in the time I’ve gotten to know Homeland’s residents and its family of supporters, I’ve been a bright spot for them and made them happy.”