Max Smith is among an alarmingly low number of West Virginia’s sons who have reason to hope. That hope wasn’t quite so alive for the boy from Morgantown at age 13. Max’s parents, Chris and Diane Smith, didn’t hold much hope for him, either, as they worried over and constantly fought with a son getting all Fs in seventh grade.
Ultimately, the sons of West Virginia were the reason former police officer Steve Finn, once serving Atlanta Metro, hung up his badge. In the line of duty, from the late 1990s, he saw it happen firsthand to young people in his home city: He knew a young woman who, in conflict with herself, chose gang life—fatally. She died in the passenger’s seat during a head-on car crash. A known gang member, also deceased, was in the driver’s seat. Too many children’s lives were ending in bad ways, the officer saw.
“I just saw again and again, children that I knew that were making really poor decisions that were putting them in the grave early or putting them in jail for the remainder of their youth,” Mr. Finn, now 54, told The Epoch Times.
Officer Finn had wanted to make a difference in their lives, wanted to get upstream and fix the problem, somehow. As a “Christian in uniform,” he went home and told his wife his intentions and prayed about it.
“What if we could do more?” Mr. Finn asked his wife. “My wife, God bless her, she’s a trooper. She said, ‘Let’s go after this,’ and we went after it. And we almost lost everything in the process.”
By then, they had learned about Eagle Ranch, where Christian teachers tend young community members, and its structure planted a seed. They would found an all-boys school for troubled youths.
Why West Virginia? West Virginia, per capita, is highest in the nation for having children in foster care. While the national average is 3 children in foster care for every 1,000, in West Virginia, that number is 13 children in foster care for every 1,000. That’s over four times the nation’s average, and doesn’t even include children being raised by grandparents. In Braxton County, a staggering 86 percent of grandparents raise their grandchildren. West Virginia, Mr. Finn learned, was the state with the greatest need.
What does Mr. Finn do now? He raises money. Who would have thought—an Atlanta police officer becoming a fundraiser? Until that moment, he certainly didn’t think of it. Mr. Finn knew nothing about raising funds, nor how he and his wife, Dawn, would start a new school the way “expert advice” warned them not to: debt-free. “I said, ‘Let’s just put our chips on the table and see if God’s in it. If He’s in, He’s in; if He’s not, He’s not,’” Mr. Finn told his wife. “Let’s give it 12 months, and if nothing’s happening, we'll shut this thing down.”
They were down to their last $12.54 at their lowest. Here they had found land, and a miracle happened. The owner told the Finns he liked what they were doing, he wanted to see what God does, and he held off other buyers so they could start their school. And the help came swarming in unexpectedly: It came from churches. It came from corporations. It came from players of the Atlanta Falcons. The Finns had no idea, but someone had been keeping an eye on them. There was $400 left in the bank after the deal was done.
“In the final hour, we were holding to our debt-free model, and we said, ‘OK, this is it!’” Mr. Finn said. “This miracle unfolded when we announced that we had a property we were going after.”
They broke ground in 2005. And now, we have Chestnut Mountain Ranch which, sure enough, holds troubled kids accountable but also seeks the areas where they truly shine, nurturing that with its capacity for 28 boys. As a Christian, Mr. Finn believes God has a plan for all children, and if they can come to that realization themselves, it can provide the direction they need to succeed—not just in school, but in life.
One of their most troubled teens, among the first to enroll, would go on to become a part-time police officer, working full-time in a federal prison. Law enforcement careers, apparently, are a pattern in Chestnut Mountain alumni: another became an FBI agent; yet another a police chief. It’s a world away from where they started.
When Max arrived at Chestnut Mountain in 2020, he said very little, wearing his hat down low over his eyes, angry. “He was a tough kid,” Mr. Finn said.
“He was angry about being here,” Mrs. Finn told the newspaper.
Trying to stay under the radar, Max grudgingly did what he had to in order to get through. His parents could only hope for the best. They had thrown their arms up. Their son seemed frustrated with the world. With no sense of responsibility, he only knew how to lash out.
The boy who spoke not a word, initially, can now speak into a microphone before a crowd. And such dramatic changes seen in their boys Mr. Finn attributes to, for one, field trips: fishing and hunting in the mountains; visits to the White House during Trump’s administration; and even attending former Vice President Mike Pence’s weekly bible studies. Such trips open opportunities for them to let their guard down.
“We often find that these moments, along a trout stream or at the White House or in the middle of Wyoming on a camping trip in the wilderness, that we’re able to kind of peel away the layers that got them to our doorsteps to begin with,” Mr. Finn said, “and have real conversations about what they want.”
Having heart-to-hearts, the boys realize they want something in life. By making good choices, they can find it.
Today, Max owns his own lawn care company, has a work van, and, next, plans to buy a truck. He is an entrepreneur and a go-getter. He always was one; it just took a firm yet gentle hand to point the way.
Max himself may not “walk with the Lord,” Mrs. Finn told the newspaper, but Chestnut Mountain does not push Christianity. Rather, offering Christ, they allow the students to choose. Max’s father, though, was spurred by their spirit and has joined their Bible retreats.
On the horizon, Chestnut Mountain is set to grow, in defiance of all expectations. In the beginning, wise council had advised the Finns that the numbers here in Morgantown, where the school found its home, simply did not add up for it to be sustainable—and perhaps according to that conventional wisdom, they were right. What that wise council might not have anticipated, though, was the robust support they received, from the community—and beyond. Local Quick Lubes and a thrift store have now joined forces with the school to improve its sustainability. And there just may be donors watching from afar.
In 2021, a new chapel was raised. Max spoke during its inauguration ceremony. Currently, a fourth boy’s house is being built which, once completed, will increase their capacity to 35. Three additional houses planned will raise that to 50 to 60 boys. The strategy is to overbuild, so there is room for the school to grow into itself.
