For a man known for making steely-eyed business decisions, taking huge risks others couldn't stomach, building a mega-communications empire in only one generation, it amazed me just how emotional Ted Rogers could be at times.
Tears often flowed freely when he spoke of life lessons and loved ones.
It was an endearing quality; something I will always remember from the two years we worked together writing the book Relentless: The True Story of the Man behind Rogers Communications.
Other things intrigued me about Ted Rogers: his incredible memory; his relentless drive and work ethic; the way his mind worked like a grandmaster in chess; his innate dislike of “snobs”; his mischievous, impish side; and one of his most underrated skills, the ability to listen to people of all stripes and pick up various ideas and put them together like a jigsaw puzzle.
But the emotional side surprised me. I don't really know why. He was a person like anyone else, but he had reached icon status. Perhaps I expected him to hide that side of his personality as so many men of his generation; but he didn't.
The first time I saw it, we were sitting in his home in Forest Hill and talking about his mother, Velma, who battled the bottle (and won) and battled cancer (and ultimately lost.) Before I knew it, tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was too choked up to continue. Remembering my own mother's death from cancer, I became too choked up to ask him a new question.
We just sat there for about five minutes before I blurted out another question. A few days later, the transcript from the recorded interview came back and gave me a chuckle. There was a note from the transcriber half way through: “Mechanical trouble. No audio for long portion.”
Over the course of the Relentless project, he and I would meet for a few hours per session and talk about his life. It wasn't just about business, though his successes in this area are legendary. He was so proud of his children and grandchildren. There was tenderness when he'd respond to questions about his wife of 45 years, Loretta, and any advice he had for making a marriage work.
Once I told him that my cousin, Tom Brehl from Ohio who didn't know anything about this Canadian business giant, said Ted Rogers must be proud each night going to sleep knowing he is providing work for 30,000 people and livelihood to their families. (I had told my American cousin about this project at a family event.) He liked that observation from Tom and proceeded to tell me the story about his father during the Great Depression who refused to move Canadian jobs to the U.S. in his radio manufacturing business, despite lucrative offers. Again, he was very emotional telling that story.
These sit-downs with him were sometimes at his winter home in Nassau, other times at his Toronto home, and most often at his office atop the Rogers Communications headquarters on Bloor St. where, well into his 70s, Ted still worked seven days a week.
We would meet mostly on Sundays because he was too busy during the week running a $25-billion corporation. My wife, Cobi, dubbed the meetings Sundays with Ted.
One Sunday, I rang the bell at his Toronto home and he opened the door carrying a huge binder under his arm.
“Nice to see you, Bob, we've got a lot to talk about today,” he said, marching us to the patio beside his indoor pool. “I want to show you this binder. In it is what happens when I am no longer CEO.”
