Taking a Stand
Bill Silliman was in no mood for platitudes when he took the stage at a festive holiday party held at the Maitland headquarters of the Home Builders Association of Metro Orlando. The burly Silliman, president of the 1,350-member organization, strolled onstage and immediately insisted that several hundred building industry revelers cease conversing, set aside their drinks and hors d' oeuvres and listen up.
"I said when I took this office that from now on, it's going to be meat and potatoes in this room," he thundered. "Not ice cream and cake. I'm sick of ice cream and cake."
Of course, Silliman likes ice cream and cake as much as the next guy. The meat-and-potatoes reference was an allegory, reflecting his belief that the association's most important task is also its most basic-making certain the industry is respected by governmental officials and trusted by consumers.
"We [builders and developers] are no longer going to be a whipping boy for all the problems that elected officials won't face up to," Silliman vowed. "We are the greatest industry in this nation, and we're going to lead this community again. If we don't, then we're out of business. That's just the way it is."
After delivering a blunt warning to county officials that builders were no longer willing to dole out ever-higher impact fees for school construction without demanding accountability for how the money is spent, Silliman did remember to acknowledge the occasion.
"Oh by the way, happy holidays!" he shouted as attendees applauded and whooped their approval.
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Most successful leaders of large trade associations-particularly organizations that are at times lightening rods for controversy-seek to accomplish their goals by bringing together competing interests and finding common ground. As in politics, consensus and compromise are the rules of the game.
Bill Silliman, however, isn't inclined to sugar-coat his opinions. And he's the first to admit his passion sometimes trumps his tact. But he's unwavering in his belief that a healthy homebuilding industry, abetted by good schools, is crucial to maintaining Central Florida's economic health and ensuring its family-friendly ambience. The alternative, he believes, is stagnation, decay and decline.
"Bill is a complex guy," says longtime friend Lee Holt, president of Solar Tite and a leader among the HBA's associate (non-builder) members. "He's extremely smart. He understands building industry issues, politics, education and how it all interrelates to impact our community. I think we're extremely fortunate to have someone at the helm who has the guts to tell it like it is."
Indeed, for the gregarious Silliman, who speaks with the honeyed drawl of his native Kentucky, any talk of building new homes in Central Florida is intrinsically tied to other quality-of-life issues.
"I'm a big-picture kind of guy," says the 50-year-old Silliman, now a successful custom builder who found his way to Orlando, broke and alone, when he was 22. "What good is it to go out and build big, beautiful quality homes that have million-dollar price tags if it's not a quality community? Where's the future in that?"
According to Silliman, Central Florida is at the proverbial crossroads.
"Politicians are always say that," he notes. "But right here and now, we in Central Florida are sitting at the crossroads of all crossroads and, buddy, we can't afford to sit any more. It's time for some hard decisions to be made."
As Silliman sees it, if Central Florida wants to extend its 30-plus-years of uninterrupted growth and prosperity, it must diversify its economy and attract more large companies offering high-paying jobs. The region's economic Achilles heel has long been thought to be its reliance on low-wage, service-sector jobs that support tourism.
"The only way to attract companies like that, companies with highly educated employees who want the best education for their children, is by pointing to your school systems and saying: 'Look here at what we've got. You can't do any better than that anywhere,'" says Silliman. "We've made some improvements in our local school systems, but we just aren't at that point yet. And until we reach that point, then we won't blossom into the type of quality community that we could be."
A perfect example of the type of company the Orlando area should be attracting-but isn't-is the California-based Scripps Research Institute. After flirting with Central Florida as a possible expansion site for its biotechnology research labs and advanced research campus, Scripps decided to plop down in Palm Beach County instead. Central Florida civic leaders are still envious of the benefits Palm Beach County might ultimately reap from the decision-as many as 44,000 new jobs sparking the need for some 7,500 new homes.
"There's a hard lesson to be learned from that," says Silliman. "That sort of thing will just keep happening again and again unless someone takes the bull by the horns and says, 'We here in Central Florida are going to build the finest education system in the U.S., bar none and starting today.' Until that happens, we might as well get used to being the bridesmaid to communities that truly value education."
Another setback, according to Silliman, was the stinging defeat of the Mobility 20/20 initiative at the hands of Orlando" target="_blank">Orange County voters in 2003. Backed by a broad-based coalition of civic leaders and the business community, the plan called for a half-cent hike in the sales tax which, over 20 years, would have built some $2.6 billion worth of new roads, sidewalks and bike paths and started a light-rail system.
"We were playing catch-up back then, and two years later we're even further behind in the game," says Silliman. "There's money out there, through innovative ways of bonding and financing, that could be used to take care of our roads. It's just going to take a politician who will step up to the plate and announce, 'OK, here's how we're going to do it. Either get out of the way or follow me.'"
Beth McGee, executive director of the association, agrees that Silliman's in-your-face approach may be needed to bolster an industry that often finds itself blamed for all of growth's inconveniences but credited for none of its benefits.
"When Bill speaks, it's really from the heart," says McGee. "And he combines that passion with a solid knowledge of the issues."
Indeed, given that combination of enthusiasm and savvy, it's only natural to ask: Might the well-connected Silliman consider a run at public office? He laughs at the notion.
"Oh man, I've got way too many skeletons in my closet to go and do something like that," he says.
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Still, the story of how Silliman became one of Central Florida's most successful and high-profile builders is a compelling one.
He grew up in Lexington, Ky., the son of a homebuilder. "All my daddy ever knew was work, work, work," says Silliman, who aside from an occasional round of golf also has little time for relaxation. "In all our years, we only took one family vacation. The rest of the time he was either building houses or trying to sell them."
A high school boxer and quarterback, Silliman won an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy and was in Annapolis from 1972 until 1974. When his father fell ill, however, Silliman dropped out of college and returned to Lexington to help run the family business. In 1977, after his father died, he decided to head south and strike out on his own.
"It was winter, one of the coldest winters ever on record in Kentucky, and I decided I had to get out of there," Silliman recalls. "I got in my car and started driving to Florida. I decided I was going to drive as far as I could without stopping. Made it as far as Lake Ivanhoe in downtown Orlando before I finally had to pull off the road and get some sleep. I was broke, so I really couldn't go any further. And I've just been here ever since."
The first job he found was real grunt work, hauling cement as a mason's tender. He eventually landed a position as an assistant supervisor, building the first model center at Buenaventura Lakes in Osceola County. Later, at age 23, he became the development's lead construction supervisor.