THE SMARTEST GUY IN THE ROOM

Back in the days when I was writing about television, if I needed some cogent, insightful conversation about the CBC or broadcasting in general, I would drop into Peter Herrndorf’s Toronto office at the corner of Bay and College streets.

At the time, if memory serves, Peter was the network’s vice-president of current affairs. He was tall, imposing, endlessly affable and welcoming. Like Sean Connery, Peter made baldness seem like a good idea. He was usually in shirtsleeves in an era when network executives made sure their suit jackets were buttoned when they met the press.

You didn’t have to spend much time with him before the realization struck that you were listening to the proverbial smartest guy in the room, one of the most intelligent, articulate people you were ever going to meet.

I used to think, When I grow up, I want to be Peter Herrndorf.

I was never going to measure up, of course, but that was okay because Peter dressed his innate intelligence with a warmth and charm that while you were with him, made you believe you were his best pal ever.

I never was his pal, but I was certainly a constant admirer. I was hardly alone, judging by the outpouring of praise accompanying the shock and grief following the news of his death at the age of 82.

He is survived by his wife, the remarkable Eva Czigler, who I knew at the CBC before I met Peter. If anyone could match his charm, it was Eva. They were an absolutely dazzling couple.

Peter occupied a dizzying series of arts and media chairs in the years following our Bay Street conversations, an influential mover and shaker whether he was at the CBC, publishing Toronto Life magazine, heading TVO or running the National Arts Centre in Ottawa.

Yet any time I ran into him—and by now he was the country’s bearded grey ‘godfather of Canadian arts,’ as the Globe and Mail called him—he was still…well, Peter, warm and welcoming, making you feel all over again like you were his best pal.

I hadn’t seen him for years when I encountered him in a downtown Toronto restaurant. He was with Claire Speed, my wife’s cousin, who had worked with him at the arts center in Ottawa. Ironically, she had just presented him with a copy of a novel I had written. When I came over, Peter beamed with pleasure, warmly shook my hand, and said he couldn’t wait to read the book.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

I thought about that moment with him when I heard the news of his death, hardly able to believe it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that all these years later, nothing has changed.

I still want to be Peter Herrndorf when I grow up.