Remembering Peter

Peter was a builder. Of things. Of family. Of community. He found inspiration and purpose in assembling the capabilities and talents of others to construct buildings, to forge connections and to shape our community. He was a master at inspiring and nurturing those around him to pull together toward a common goal. And to see those ambitions through to a tidy conclusion. Peter Sztuke passed away last week. Too soon. There was more to do. More to build. But time, as it will for all of us, simply ran out. He leaves behind much to be admired. And remembered.

I first encountered Peter 16 years ago. At the Grill in Wellington. A group of mostly retired guys (they were all men) with some interest or connection to local government gathered just after 7 each morning, setting out to fix the world. Or their small corner of it. Bart Cunningham. Gord Lloyd. Bob Boyce. Rod Blower. Don Channell. Occasionally, Keith MacDonald would stop by from West Lake to take the political temperature of Wellington. As did OPP Detachment Commander Bernie Gaw.

Peter was there most mornings. Probing. Stirring things up. Causing trouble. Fomenting dissent. It was a good place to scour for story ideas and to find out which issues in the Times pages that week took flight and which never got off the ground.

Peter had just lost a bid for the mayor’s seat in 2004. After serving a term as council member for Wellington and as chair of the planning committee, Peter had acquired a taste for more. But in that election, Peter represented the status quo—forced to defend some unpopular choices. Leo Finnegan, on the other hand, was a well-known community advocate and former manager of the cement plant. He was also a fresh face to local politics. It wasn’t close.

So Peter found himself out of Shire Hall. It was a tough blow. Rejection stung. But there was a deeper wound that was slower to heal. Peter continued to bristle with energy and ideas about ways to improve local government and his community. He still had much to give. But few means to ventilate these ambitions.

Except at the Grill. So we spent a lot of mornings talking about local politics. It was my County government education. It was here I learned the history and lingering tensions of amalgamation. The regional power bases, the families and landowners who continued to wield power, and the various schisms that percolated just beneath the surface. It was over many cups of coffee on the thick plastic table coverings that I learned the context that has largely informed my writing about Shire Hall since.

Eventually, Peter marshalled this energy toward guiding others through the municipality’s opaque and confounding planning processes. It wasn’t a particularly formal consultancy— more an outgrowth of his wish to see things built, to see the community develop and grow. He had a unique set of talents and experience and he needed to put them to work.

Nor was he shy about rolling up his sleeves. The sailboat lights that line Main Street were his doing. And redoing. When the local business association hung colourful planters on the hydro poles through the core of the village— Peter rigged up a watering system on his truck. All summer long he and Cline Pierson spent the early evenings keeping the plants alive.

Successive harbourmasters in Wellington often turned to Peter to dislodge sailboats from the channel that connects West Lake to Lake Ontario. Without regular attention, this watery link will, in a few seasons, fill in completely and disappear. But unlike bridges and roadways, the municipality has rarely put a high priority on boat traffic. So it was left to Peter, and others, to prod and cajole council to spend the money needed to make the channel passable. In the meantime, he wasn’t shy about hurling himself into the water to work free a captured sailboat from the grips of the sand.

Even after he was diagnosed with cancer and facing a grim prognosis Peter guided the restoration of the lake-damaged shoreline of the Wellington United Church. Rising lake levels had eroded several feet of shoreline and threatened to swallow the Sacred Circle ceremonial patio built to honour the memory of Sandy Rutherford. No small project, shoreline restoration meant navigating municipal, federal and Conservation Authority processes and satisfying a broader constituency that the plan was feasible and that it would work. This is what Peter did. He made things work.

Before local politics, Peter had founded Cornerstone Builders in 1970 along with his partner Gary Vander- Herberg. Together they built warehouses, manufacturing and processing facilities as well as large format retail stores. Eventually, Peter and Gary sold their interest in the now-burgeoning firm to the next generation of employees. Cornerstone remains a strong and vibrant company as it celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. It is a worthy legacy to its co-founder’s ingenuity and perseverance.

Peter was optimistic to the end. He was hopeful for a better future and was keen to play a part—even a small part—in guiding the community there. He was also extremely thoughtful. He understood the impacts of the plans he proposed. He could see beyond everyday complaints to imagine a better place. He wanted to know how to make it work for everyone.

He gave generously to Camp Trillium on Garratt Island—both financially and logistically— as his property reached within just a few-dozen-metres span from the island that provided a summer experience to children enduring life-threatening illness. He was moved by the faces of joy and excitement splashing about the camp each summer, but also by the commitment of young folk who worked every day to make it a joyful place. He was thankful for the opportunity to contribute to this inspiring project.

Peter also maintained a playful streak. He had more toys than anyone I know. So many cars, boats, motorbikes, planes and for a time, a helicopter perched in front of his barn. He remained, in some ways, a wide-eyed boy, fascinated by how things worked.

Peter called about a week ago. He wanted to know how we were faring in isolation. He was in good spirits. Our conversation touched on familiar themes of family, community and Shire Hall. He was curious and interested in my account of the previous few weeks’ anxieties. He praised the care of the folks who came to the house to assist him and Pat over the past few months.

He then wished me well and said goodbye. Just as he had done many times before. The same tone, the same manner. As though we would pick up the conversation in a few days.

I know now he was saying goodbye. In the way of his choosing. A simple farewell. Quiet, with a tidy conclusion. No loose ends.

rick@wellingtontimes.ca