Social media has united thousands of window film industry professionals, creating a space where installers connect through the highs of busy seasons and the lows of slow seasons. It’s where successes are celebrated, struggles are shared, and window tinters—new and seasoned—find a sense of community, support, and belonging.
But these platforms—open 24/7, 365—often double as the highlight reel of modern life, spotlighting the mountaintops while overlooking the base camps—focusing on the destination over the journey. In 2025, it’s increasingly easy to sidestep the small, meaningful moments that truly define our paths.
For Montana native Vernon Ball, though, life has never been about reaching the summit. It’s always been about the climb.
Survival Before Success
“When you graduate high school, there’s this pressure to have it all figured out—get a job, get married, buy a house,” Vernon reflects. “Somewhere along the way, we picked up this idea that you’re supposed to know exactly what you’re doing right from the start. But when I graduated, I asked myself a different question: ‘What can I learn?’”
Born in Whitehall, Montana, a town of just over 1,000, Vernon graduated early from Whitehall High School in the summer of 1983 at just 17 years old. That day, a single moment from the commencement speech stuck with him.
“The speaker pointed out how, in yearbooks, students always say, ‘I’m going to be a doctor,’ or ‘I’m going to be a veterinarian,’” Vernon recalls. “Then he asked the audience, ‘How many of you are actually doing what you thought you would when you graduated?’ Only a few hands went up. That spoke to me. You never know where you’ll land or what you’ll do when you get there.”
But after graduation, Vernon wasn’t just wrestling with the uncertainty of his career path—he was staring down a harsher reality.
“When your graduation gifts are pots, pans, and towels, the message is pretty clear,” he says. “It was my parents’ polite way of saying, ‘Good luck out there.’ But underneath that, it felt like they were also saying, ‘You’re on your own now.’ I had nowhere to go—I had no life. I was still just a kid.”
That summer, homeless and alone, Vernon lived out of his 1969 Ford Ranchero, 200 miles from home in Billings, Montana.
“I’d visit family friends, and they’d let me shower and make sure I had something to eat,” he remembers. “When the weather turned cold that fall, they invited me to move in.”
Vernon faced the raw reality of survival. Each day wasn’t about living—it was about enduring.
“I grew up in an abusive home where violence was common, and we never had any money,” he shares. “I always believed I wasn’t good enough—that I wouldn’t amount to anything. I didn’t grow up in a nurturing environment.”
But that fall, in the face of cold nights and hard truths, Vernon proved his parents—and himself—wrong.
From Odd Jobs to Opportunity
“I was hired because I was a hard worker,” Vernon says. “I didn’t care if I was digging ditches or hammering nails—I was forced to have a survival mindset.”
Vernon took on whatever jobs he could find, working for a local cleaning company, selling vacuums, doing construction, and clocking hours at a convenience store.
Everything changed when he came across an automotive booth at a trade show showcasing window tint.
“When I graduated, I thought I’d become a mechanic or get into auto body repair,” Vernon recalls. “My dad was a mechanic, and I remember the streaks of grease under his fingernails—it was just part of who he was. I figured I’d follow a similar path, but tinting opened a whole new world for me. At first, it wasn’t about making money—I just wanted to understand how things worked, to figure out what made them tick.”
After completing a five-day training course in May 1986, Vernon decided to take a shot.
“I walked into a Jeep and Chrysler dealership and told the manager I was a new tinter looking for an opportunity,” he says. “The manager gave me a chance.”
His first real project? A 1986 Jeep Grand Wagoneer.
“It was basically a big box,” Vernon laughs. “They didn’t even have a shop. The manager just pointed to the showroom floor and said, ‘You can tint it right here.’”
On his very first day, curious customers and staff members started asking for quotes for their personal vehicles. But by the third day, the excitement shifted.
“People were saying, ‘I could probably do this myself—just sell me the material,’” Vernon admits. “I wasn’t great. Actually, I was terrible. I was on the showroom floor and everyone was watching me struggle. I didn’t think tinting was for me.”
Ready to walk away, Vernon vented his frustrations to a new car manager.
“He looked at me and said, ‘You’ve stuck with it for three days. That means you’ve got something,’” Vernon says.
Hustling to Keep the Lights On
“I’d tint during the day and clean offices at night,” Vernon recalls. “It was a hustle, but it kept the lights on—barely.”
While his resume was growing, his bank account told a different story.
“My wife was seven months pregnant, and I had zero in the bank,” he shares. “That’s when I knew something had to change. I quit my job and started Tint Factory on January 1, 1988.”
It wasn’t just a career move—it was a leap of faith fueled by the same instinct that had carried him through cold nights in his Ford Ranchero and long days of odd jobs. It was survival—just in a different form. But lasting wasn’t guaranteed—it took years of hard work, setbacks, and relentless commitment.
A Business Built on Perseverance and Purpose
37 years later, Tint Factory has stood the test of time—not just as a business, but as a testament to perseverance.
What started with a single tint job on a dealership showroom floor has grown into a thriving company, where Vernon now leads a dedicated team of three: Erik Hagerman, Richard Guenther, and Reese Newman.
“I’ve always believed in sharing not just the how, but the why,” shares Vernon, reflecting on training. “Some of my proudest moments have been seeing those I’ve mentored grow and achieve more than they ever dreamed possible.”
But Tint Factory is more than just tinting. Over the years, it has expanded into paint protection film (PPF), vehicle wraps, and laser engraving projects—each an evolution of Vernon’s relentless drive to adapt, improve, and build something that lasts.
His greatest achievement wasn’t the films he applied or the cars he transformed—it was the people he uplifted. He created the kind of opportunity, support, and stability he never had.
“It’s easy to become embittered by your situation, but it can also make you a more empathetic person,” shares Vernon, a father of three. “I don’t give because I have—I give because I know what it feels like not to have. I saw good in people, and I still do.”