47 YEARS. ONE LEGACY 

Built on trust. Driven by community 

Story and photos by Joycelyne Fadojutimi 

The Spring Hill State Bank lobby was full that late afternoon. Not just with people, but with memories. 

At the front stood President and Bank Director of Spring Hill State Bank Wallace E. Rhymes III, a man who had clearly rehearsed his words but now let them settle into something more personal as he looked out over the crowd of friends, colleagues, customers, faces that told the story better than any ledger ever could. 

He spoke of CEO of Spring Hill State Bank Les Mendicello not as a title, but as a presence, a steady hand that had guided Spring Hill State Bank through decades of change. He painted a picture of March 1, 1979, when Les first stepped into leadership. Back then, gas was 86 cents a gallon, The Deer Hunter had just claimed Hollywood’s highest honor, and “mobile banking” meant rolling down your car window at a teller station. 

A soft ripple of laughter moved through the room. 

But Rhymes’ voice carried something deeper than nostalgia. For 47 years, he said, Les had been more than a banker. He had been a builder of trust, a quiet architect of community. Not just approving loans, but believing in people, in their ideas, their risks, and their futures. 

Around the room, heads nodded. Some smiled. Some blinked back tears. 

Because everyone there knew: Les’s legacy wasn’t written in balance sheets. It lived in handshakes, in mentorship, in the quiet dignity with which he served on boards and civic causes. He understood something rare and that is:  a community bank and its community grow together, or not at all. 

And then Rhymes turned, gently, to the woman beside him. 

Kathy Mendicello. 

He thanked her, not as an afterthought, but as a cornerstone. The unseen strength behind long days and longer years. The partner who shared the weight of a life dedicated to others. 

There was a pause then, the kind that says more than words. 

Though Les would step down from daily leadership, Rhymes reminded them he wasn’t truly leaving. He would remain as chairman, still a guiding presence, just with a little more time, perhaps, for rest and vacations. 

And so, with no glasses in hand but plenty of feeling in the air, Rhymes invited everyone to imagine raising one. 

To kindness. 
To integrity. 
To vision. 
To nearly half a century of service. 

“To Les Mendicello,” he said softly. “Thank you.” 

 In a quieter corner, away from the applause and the warm glow of tribute, Les sat down with a journalist. 

There was no podium now. Just a conversation. 

“No,” he said with a small smile when asked if he had founded the bank. “The bank started in 1977. I came along about 18 months later.” 

His story unfolded not like a résumé, but like a winding road. 

It began in Colorado. He was only 16 years old, pumping gas. Then college. Then a chance encounter: a part-time job at a small bank. He ran checks between institutions, drove the bank car, learned the rhythms of money and trust before he was even 20. 

“I was around good people,” he said simply. And it was clear he meant it. 

That simple beginning carried him forward to the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC); to Texas, to years as a bank examiner traveling through East Texas towns assessing a financial institution’s safety, soundness, and compliance with laws and regulations to ensure it manages risk properly and maintains stability. 

And somewhere along the way, doors opened. 

A job offer here. A connection there. 

Eventually, it led him back to Longview. First, with Longview Bank and Trust now Texas Bank and Trust.  

“It’s been a while,” he admitted, almost amused. “But it went by fast.” 

When asked why banking, he didn’t talk about ambition or strategy. He talked about people. About opportunity. About being in the right place, with the right mentors, at the right time. 

And when the conversation turned to Kathy and family,  his face softened beaming with smile. 

They had grown up just blocks apart in Colorado. They were neighbors who never quite crossed paths until a chance meeting after high school changed everything. 

Life, it seemed, had a way of bringing the right pieces together. 

“Do you miss Colorado?” the journalist asked. 

Les leaned back slightly, a familiar smile returning. 

“When it gets really warm here,” he said, “I do.” 

And in that moment, after a lifetime of decisions, leadership, and service, he didn’t sound like a retired CEO. 

He sounded like a man who had simply followed a path, one good step at a time, and found himself surrounded by a community that would never forget him.