…as told by PIR’s second Executive Director, Kevin Cougler

I was enjoying a round of golf with my father in the late spring or early summer of 2005 when he casually mentioned that he had dropped my name to our family friend, Ron Calhoun. Ron, it seemed, was working on a “tech” project called Virtual Researcher On Call (VROC). My initial response was dismissive: “Hmm… I’m pretty busy with my own tech company (Click) right now, so please tell Ron I just don’t have time for that.”

But a few days later, the conversation lingered in my mind. I hadn’t spoken to Ron in quite some time, and I began to feel that maybe it was worth a call. I phoned my dad, asked for Ron’s number, gave him a call, and we arranged to meet. I don’t know what made me change my mind that day, but in hindsight, it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. That meeting—and the years I would spend working with Ron—changed my life in ways I never could have imagined.

The First Meeting

My first meeting was with Ron Calhoun—who would later be awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Laws from Western University—and Dr. Doug Jones. Both would profoundly shape my future. They introduced me to the vision behind VROC, and as they spoke, I found myself drawn in. You have to remember: in 2005, video communication wasn’t the norm. FaceTime and Skype didn’t exist yet. Video conferencing meant expensive hardware found only in universities and major corporations.

I was hooked. I expressed my interest that day, and Ron called me the next day offering me the project. I was thrilled—and, admittedly, a little nervous.

An Education in Leadership and Legacy

That first day working with Ron was eye-opening. We spent hours discussing the origins of Partners In Research (PIR), the importance of health research, and the pivotal role PIR played in supporting it. I was captivated hearing about the organization’s history and its connections to icons like Pierre Berton, Margaret Atwood, and Ben Wicks. I already knew Ron had helped orchestrate Terry Fox’s “Marathon of Hope” and had led other major initiatives like Jesse’s Journey. What I didn’t fully grasp until then was just how much of a national treasure Ron was. I had only ever known him as “Mr. Calhoun,” a family friend and former federal Liberal candidate—my father had been his campaign chair. That day, I began to understand that I was sitting with a great Canadian. And I was eager to be along for the ride.

The Man Behind the Mission

Ron was, without question, the greatest leader I’ve ever known. Period.

He could also be maddeningly frugal. I often joked that he would spend hours on the phone trying to find the cheapest pencil. But that trait was rooted in the reality of growing up in the aftermath of the Great Depression. Ron knew the value of hard work and of every dollar. I teased him endlessly about it, and he would laugh—his laugh could fill an amphitheatre—but he never apologized for it. He had no illusions about who he was.

But those quirks were just a sliver of who Ron truly was. His real gift was leadership. He had the rare ability to walk into a room, disarm even the most skeptical faces, and leave with allies where there had been resistance. Watching him work was like watching a masterclass in human connection. Even when someone said no, Ron would pivot, reframe the request, and almost invariably get a yes. It was a skill—and a kind of magic.

Lessons in Writing, Trust, and Mentorship

Ron was also a stickler for grammar. I would submit a grant proposal I thought was flawless, only to receive it back covered in red ink. He taught me that every word matters—how you write, what you say, and how you present yourself through language. We often worked on documents as a trio—Ron, Doug, and me. Doug and I used Track Changes; Ron, who never quite made friends with a keyboard, would dictate his edits while I typed. By the end, our documents bore the mark of all three of us, sometimes with more drafts than I thought humanly possible. It was exhausting. It was also one of the best educations I’ve ever received.

But perhaps Ron’s most powerful lesson was in trust. When I began working with him, I was 35 years old and had already experienced the fast-paced world of entrepreneurship. Yet, I had never had a boss who handed me a project and said simply: “Run with it.” Ron gave me VROC and full rein to shape it. He was always there for support, but the decisions were mine. And I flourished.

In a world where accountability often meant micromanagement, Ron showed me that trust and encouragement could achieve so much more. I failed plenty, especially early on. But Ron never stopped believing in me. Never.

Leading by Example

Ron never asked anyone to do something he wouldn’t do himself. Dishes, vacuuming, stuffing envelopes, cold-calling donors—he did it all. And so, when Ron asked you to help, you didn’t question it. You just did it. Because he had earned that respect.

I’ll never forget the time we met for lunch after I had been appointed Executive Director of PIR. Ron looked across the table, eyes serious, voice steady. “Kev,” he said, “we need to talk.” I braced myself, fearing some catastrophic error. But his concern was about two $25 donations he and a friend had made in memory of someone who had passed—and they hadn’t received a thank-you letter. In Ron’s world, every donor deserved recognition, no matter the amount. And he was right. It was a moment I’ll never forget. Another lesson learned.

A Life Worth Emulating

Ron was a storyteller. Whether recounting tea with the Queen or his conversations with Pierre Trudeau, his tales were spellbinding. But they always carried a message—an invitation to learn, to reflect, to do better. Through him, I learned the joy of giving, the value of not-for-profit work, and the deep satisfaction that comes from simply doing your best. These are the values I try to pass on to my own son. I hope I’m doing a good job.

Ron was more than a mentor. More than a friend. He was a second father. He shared his wisdom, his life, his triumphs, and his struggles. When he received his honourary degree from Western, he invited his family, he invited Doug—and he invited me. That meant everything.

Thank You, Ron

I would not be the person I am today without Ron Calhoun. His kindness, his guidance, his generosity, and his relentless belief in others changed the course of my life. He was a giant of a man. A humble man. A man whose legacy will ripple far beyond what even he could have imagined.

Thank you, Ron. For everything.