Farewell, good bye
~ someone who expected more of all of us, and of himself
For readers who want to check out past issues of Musings: all, starting with Latest; or all, starting with Most Viewed; or scroll around the Musings site
This might inspire some of us to think about our mentors, our influencers, without knowing this man, as many of us did - an extraordinary man, larger than life in many ways, a magnanimous citizen, shaker/mover/industry innovator and pioneer - a teacher deserving praise from all of us who were students under his influence in one way or another. Gerald Knowlton, 92.
I usually write these Musings columns early, before the day takes over.
Today, I waited.
It felt wrong to write about a man like Gerald Knowlton before sitting in a room full of people who loved him, learned from him, and built things with him, which I happily did this afternoon.
Some people build buildings. A few build expectations, standards, and other people.
Gerald did all of that, quietly, with a stern professor’s style and a hopeful kindness. This is not his biography or eulogy; but, rather, a thank-you note, written late in the day, from someone he barely knew yet deeply influenced.
In the end, the best measure of a life is not what we built, but who we quietly helped carry their load.
This afternoon’s service: familiar faces from commercial real estate, trading hugs and handshakes, comparing hairlines, waistlines, and timelines.
We were there for Gerald.
If you worked in Alberta commercial real estate any time in the last few decades, you knew the name. Knowlton Realty. The deals, the projects, the legacy handed off to his Calgary team that became CBRE; an extraordinary life of service to industry, community, family and his loves of life - his resume worthy of much admiration and envy.
My own contact with Gerald started in the mid-nineties, when I took on a listing on one of his Edmonton properties. I arrived at that first meeting feeling nervous, ready to be grilled by an industry icon. That first meeting did not relax me. He was demanding, curious, and precise. But never cruel.
Gerald’s questions did not cut you down. They lifted your bar: Why this strategy, Mark. Why that price, Mark. Who else should we be talking to, Mark.
It felt less like a landlord hammering an agent, more like a professor leaning in, quietly insisting his student could do better.
Many of those meetings involved a restaurant, a coffee, and a short stack. There was warmth, but no free pass. He wanted results, and he wanted integrity, and he expected both without ever needing to raise his voice.
Have you ever had someone like that in your life, someone who pushed you harder simply by assuming you were capable of more?
Much of my deeper sense of Gerald came second-hand. Stories told by colleagues and his long-time team. Tales of tough negotiations, fair dealings, and an almost old-fashioned sense that your word should be worth more than any clause in the deal.
But my most vivid memory is not a boardroom story.
It was a Sunday morning in Eau Claire Estates.
I had just moved into the building. I was the bumbling, fumbling guy trying to get armloads of stuff in from the car. Gerald turned the corner just in time to help a new neighbour. No airs. No delegation. Just sleeves rolled, helping.
Then he drafted another helper; he waved over another resident, Harold Milavsky. So there I was, a newbie being helped, schlepping armloads of boxes by two extraordinary icons of Canadian real estate. No audience, no photographers, no plaque for the lobby. Just three men in an elevator lobby, carrying things.
I could not make that up.
I can never forget it.
In a business often reduced to cap rates, spreadsheets, and closing dinners, that moment stands taller for me than for many others. Two men whose names belong in industry halls of fame - walking beside me with cardboard boxes in their arms and kindness in their eyes.
Gerald died last week, at ninety-two.
We heard talk today about his projects, his philanthropy, his impact on the city, and the people he mentored in big ways. I thought mostly about the small ways. The questions that challenged me to under promise and over deliver. The example of being tough and kind at the same time.
We like to think legacies are carved in marble and written on brass. Maybe they are also carried in our habits. Whether we ask better questions of ourselves. Whether we take the time to help when we could easily walk past.
Who raised your bar like that?
And whose bar are you quietly raising, just by how you show up?
Small gestures leave the longest shadow.
Lovely eulogy, full of heart and memory.