In the fall of 2008, I was a campus leader at North Carolina Central University — ambitious, outspoken, and unapologetically conservative. While most students around me were galvanized by Barack Obama’s historic candidacy, I found myself fervently campaigning for the McCain-Palin ticket. I was young, principled, and resolute in my beliefs. What I didn’t yet understand, however, was the extraordinary value of listening — not just to rebut, but to genuinely hear.
Enter Bev Perdue.
She was running to become North Carolina’s first female governor, and I, ever the skeptical partisan, was admittedly unmoved by titles or trailblazing narratives. But Governor Perdue — then still “Lieutenant Governor Perdue” — did something unexpected. She sat down with me. Not for optics, not to convert me for a headline, but to talk. And more importantly, to listen.
I remember that conversation vividly — her candor, her intellect, and her insistence that governance wasn’t about left or right, but about building something lasting for people who’d been left behind. She told me, “If you ever decide to build something — truly build something — I’ll be one of your first allies.” At the time, I didn’t yet know I’d soon be laying the foundation for what would become a multinational enterprise and a philanthropic movement. But she saw it.
What stuck with me wasn’t her party affiliation. It was her humanity. Her leadership. Her willingness to meet a young Black conservative where he was, and plant seeds anyway. In a political world increasingly driven by antagonism, she chose alignment over alienation.
Now, it is 2025. I am the Executive Chairman of Neyius, and the founder of a foundation that spans four continents. I lead a portfolio of companies, impact investments, and community ventures that aim not just to create wealth — but to rewrite what wealth means. And in moments of reflection, I often return to that day with Governor Perdue. Her mentorship marked a turning point — not in my political identity, but in my civic philosophy. She reminded me that influence is not measured by who agrees with you, but by who believes in you before the world catches up.
This year, I was humbled beyond words to be the subject of a children’s book — Courtney Jordan: The Man Who Turned Struggles into a World of Hope — the inaugural release of the Dream Big series, led by Nick Traversa and Southern Business Review. That a young reader might open its pages and see their potential mirrored in my story… well, that is the honor of a lifetime. In an era where diversity, equity, and inclusion are under siege in some corners, I am proud to be part of a counternarrative — one that declares: Your origin does not define your outcome.
To be featured alongside titans like Sara Blakely in this movement of entrepreneurial storytelling is surreal. But more than that, it affirms what Governor Perdue saw in a young man wearing a suit two sizes too big, clutching an over-highlighted speech, and daring to dream differently.
She told me to build. I did.
She said she’d be there. She was.
And now, a generation of children will read the words:
“Dream big — and then build what you dreamed.”
To every young leader who feels unseen: history remembers those who show up, not just for themselves, but for others. And sometimes, the most unlikely people become your most indispensable allies. Governor Perdue was one of mine.
And for that, I remain grateful.
— Courtney Jordan
June 2025