The story of Frampton finding his footing in this world

“Welcome!” gushed the neatly dressed, fresh-faced young man standing like a sentinel at the front door of Panera Bread on Ken Pratt Boulevard. “If there’s anything I can help you with, please ask.” There was a luminous twinkle in his eye and energy that dripped sincerity. This marked the first time I had been greeted with such a deeply personal touch. I wondered: Had I taken a wrong turn and wound up at a Michelin-starred brasserie in Denver?

Tommy Frampton is his name. We were instant friends. We shared a laugh as he tried to remember if he was “31 or 32.” Frampton was justly proud to announce that he had completed the manager trainee program there. Landing a job at the chain, he remarked, “was exciting,” confessing that he was “a little nervous” when he landed a callback interview. “I had spent… so much time not working.”

I asked him if he could look back and connect the dots. He generously opened the emotional floodgates.

Born into a military family in South Carolina, he spent most of his youth in California. His first job, he remembered, was at Subway. Later, he found work at a winery owned by famed film director Francis Ford Coppola. “I was putting boxes on pallets.” After his parents split up, Frampton went to live with his father. He grew quiet. “I’m not really fond of my background,” he offered, keeping his eyes directly on me. I learned why.

“I smoked a lot of weed. I was homeless. My mom told me to come over and stay with her.” It was a stormy relationship, with one thing leading to another. He was charged with assault and battery charge. “I didn’t touch her,” he asserted calmly. “I didn’t like living there. She had all these animals. I’m allergic.” He hired a public defender who helped him reduce the charges. “I’ve never had a felony charge. All of them have been misdemeanors.” Although his mother reentered his life, Frampton was in no mood to patch things up. “She showed up. I was pretty angry. She tried sending me gifts; I only accepted one of them. She sent me a bracelet. I still have it. I’m not a big jewelry wearer.”

On the journey, he said he had other scrapes with the law. One featured driving with a concealed knife. There were also “pretty big theft charges,” involving

stealing backpacks and other “random stuff” from cars. “Honestly, I was trying to get drugs. It was not my finest hour. They put cuffs on me and took me to jail.” I was awestruck by Frampton’s plainspoken style. No vomitous veneer. It enriched my admiration for him. He unashamedly exposes the demon of pride that shadows our embedded frailty.

Frampton described jail — he was never in prison — as a place where “you can make both friends and enemies. Being stuck in a cell is loud and aggressive. You can read books or play cards. You’re segregated. You don’t choose what you eat.” He volunteered to work, being assigned to the kitchen “bagging meats and preparing lunches.” He continued: “When I first got out, I was homeless for a while. I got into a little more trouble. I ended up in a shelter in Boulder.”

Once he had completed his time, he was placed on work release. The probation officer was required to call Frampton’s boss to make sure he showed up. When he was asked to work overtime, he had to get permission. One day, he decided to skip work. “I called into work from a pay phone.” But when his probation officer called to check on him, “I wasn’t there.”

Fingers crossed, that lifestyle is dead and gone. Today, Frampton is stepping confidently into a bright future at Panera. As he saves enough money to buy a car, he bikes or skateboards to work, often as early as 5 a.m. when he opens up. Working there, he said, the upbeats tone growing, has taught him to be “more polite and a better listener. Before I got this job, I had never been to a Panera. Fast-food places aren’t as comfortable, not as cozy.”

Of the 2,173 Panera locations, I’m stoked that Longmont had the good sense to put Frampton on the payroll.

He can teach us much about setbacks and comebacks. Hooray!