I remember being five years old, wearing my best dress shoes, and feeling like royalty walking through the halls of the Royal York Hotel.
Like most kids, I wasn’t paying attention to the conference sessions or the municipal meetings happening around me — what I loved most were the escalators, the elevators, the hotel room, and the magic of it all.
The familiar faces, too. Other kids, just like me, whose parents had dedicated their lives to public service. It became its own little community, one built around the bigger community our parents cared for.
Bud Rodger
AMTCO Past President pin
My dad, Bud Rodger, wasn’t just attending those events — he was leading them. In 1977, when I was just five, he served as President of the Association of Municipal Clerks and Treasurers of Ontario (AMCTO).
His career as a Municipal Clerk, Administrator, and CAO for towns like Weston, Tilbury, and Aurora was about more than managing infrastructure, meetings, and budgets. It was about caring deeply for communities. About stewarding tax dollars wisely. About believing that local government mattered — because the people it served mattered.
Growing up, I didn’t just see my dad at work behind a desk. I saw him at hockey arenas, at church services, at Lions Club events, at town council meetings every week.
He was always accessible. Always on call. Whether it was a concerned resident stopping him in a restaurant or someone phoning the house late at night to ask why a road was closed, my dad was there to listen — and to help.
He taught me that leadership isn’t about titles or offices. It’s about showing up when it matters, treating every person with respect, and carrying the weight of public trust with integrity and heart.
This week, I return to the AMCTO conference — and I am proudly wearing the gold pin my father once wore more than forty years ago.
It’s not just a symbol of his leadership. It’s a reminder of the life he lived: a life of service, humility, and genuine care for people and the communities they call home.
During my father’s battle with cancer, there was a small moment that left a lasting mark on both of us.
In my early years at Greatario, I sold a tank project that ended up featured on the front cover of Environmental Science & Engineering magazine.
I remember visiting him at the hospital, bringing the magazine to show him – not because I was proud, but because I knew how much helping communities had always mattered to him. It was a symbol of something built to last, and built for the good of others.
It wasn’t just about infrastructure. It was about service. Care. Legacy.
Before he passed, I had the chance to take him back to the Royal York — the same place where so many of those early memories were made. We walked the trade show together. I remember him reflecting on how things had changed — how faces were different, how the times had moved on — but the spirit of community service still lived on.
That moment meant the world to me then. It means even more to me now.
In today’s fast-moving world, where it’s easy to default to texts, emails, and automation, I believe we need to hold even tighter to the roots of authentic leadership: face-to-face connection, genuine concern, and service that puts people first.
The world is moving faster than ever. Technology, disruption, geopolitics — they all change the landscape around us.
But some things should never change.
These are the values my father lived by — and the ones I believe we must hold onto:
In his obituary, my father was called a “gentle giant” — and I can’t think of a better way to describe him.
Strong enough to lead. Soft enough to care.
In today’s world, empathy is sometimes treated as a weakness. But my father showed me — and countless others — that empathy is strength.
That kindness is leadership.
That listening is leadership.
That showing up for people is leadership.
The old adage is true: “people will forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”
As we navigate a future shaped by technology and complexity, we need more gentle giants — not fewer.
One of the greatest lessons my father taught me — though he never said it outright — was that leadership isn’t a title.
It’s a life skill.
We lead when we pick up the phone to help someone.
We lead when we offer a kind word at the rink, at church, at the grocery store.
We lead when we care — even when nobody is watching.
Public service isn’t just a profession. It’s a way of living in community with others.
It’s the small acts of leadership that, over time, build strong towns, strong relationships, and strong futures.
And wearing his pin this week, I am reminded:
We don’t have to wait for a role or a badge to lead.
We just have to care enough to do it.
Public service isn’t about efficiency alone. It’s about empathy. It’s about standing with communities when it matters — not just running operations, but building relationships.
As I walk the halls this week with my father’s pin on my lapel, I carry his legacy with me — and the hope that the next generation of municipal leaders will hold onto these same values.
Because public service isn’t just about policies or procedures. It’s about people. Always has been. Always will be.
