Dalton McGuinty - Dalton McGuinty: Making a Difference

To Terri, Carleen, Dalton Jr., Liam, Connor, and all the McGuintys. And to those everywhere striving to make a difference in the noble enterprise of politics.

The Bullfight Poem

Bullfight critics ranked in rows

Crowd the enormous Plaza full

But only one is there who knows

And hes the man who fights the bull.

Domingo Ortega

(translation by Robert Graves)

1. Prologue A Rite of Passage
2. Chapter 1 Sticking Together
3. Chapter 2 My Own Way
4. Chapter 3 Whats Bred in the Bone
5. Photo Section One
6. Chapter 4 Never Too High, Never Too Low
7. Chapter 5 A Very Public Schooling
8. Chapter 6 Leading Change
9. Chapter 7 Growing into the Job
10. Photo Section Two
11. Chapter 8 A Head of Steam
12. Chapter 9 Best-Laid Plans
13. Chapter 10 With Glowing Heart
14. Chapter 11 In Hindsight
15. Photo Section Three
16. Chapter 12 A Successful Succession
17. Epilogue Lessons in Leadership
18. Saying Goodbye
19. Acknowledgements
20. Photo Credits

A Rite of Passage

The wedding took place outdoors, in the Gatineau Hills of Quebec, on a crisp and sunny fall day in 2012. It was a simple, elegant ceremony, and as my wife, Terri, and I looked on, I was moved much more than I had expected to be.

It was an event that the whole family had looked forward to for some time. After all, my daughter, Carleen, and her soon-to-be husband, Eric Mysak, had dated for thirteen years. But seeing your first child marry is a powerful rite of passage in the life of any family. It marked the official end of my favourite role in life: provider and caregiver to my children. Our younger children had not yet reached Carleens stage, of course, but I realized with some paternal sadness that they werent far behind.

I was learning that the hardest part about raising your kids is that they leave you.

For the first time, I took a long, hard look at my life post-children and discovered a new reference point: its end. I began to consider what to do with the rest of my years. My father had died at sixty-three years of age, only five years older than I was then. I was gripped by a new sobriety, inspired by my realization of how really and truly finite life is. My heart was telling me it was time for a change. That was what I needed. And as I thought about it, my head was telling me change was what my party needed too. I had been my partys leader for sixteen years and premier for over nine. We each needed renewal.

At first, I told very few people of my plans to retire. Of course, Terri could tell something had changed the moment we came home from the wedding. We had been married for thirty-two years and we had dated for seven years before that, so of course she knew. When I told her I was getting out, she threw her arms around me and kissed me. It was the end of an exciting, incredibly rewarding, often demanding, and sometimes painful adventure.

When I broke the news to our children, they were relieved and happy for me. Connor, my youngest, said, I was starting to wonder when you were going to get out.

My brother Brendan was the next to know. As my closest political confidant, he, too, had noticed a change in me. I could tell you were thinking about it. You seemed to be somewhere else these days.

Six days after the wedding, I attended the Ontario Liberal Partys annual convention held that year in my hometown of Ottawa. Party rules required that my leadership be judged. I was overwhelmed when I received the endorsement of 86 percent of the delegates, but it felt strange that weekend, speaking to my Liberal family, one I had gotten to know so well since I had first been elected as the Ottawa South Liberal riding association president twenty-six years earlier, in 1986. As I moved around the hall, shaking hands, making small talk, and, above all, thanking party members for their hard work, I was intent on quietly soaking up as much joy as I could out of the last party function I would attend as leader.

Outside of my family, no group inspired me and sustained me in politics as much as the members of my party. It was the men, women, and youth of the Ontario Liberal Party who had taken a chance on me back in 1996 and made me their leader. After I lost my first election, they stuck with me as I grew into the job, sometimes stumbling but always determined to grow stronger for my party and, eventually, my province. There were many there with whom I wanted to share my decision, but I knew I couldnt. I knew my departure would cause disruption and anxiety, and I was resolved to manage this in the best way possible for my party and Ontarians.

After the partys annual general meeting, I widened the circle of those who knew I was going to step down as party leader and premier, informing my very senior staff, including my chief of staff, David Livingston, and my long-time director and executive assistant, Tracey Sobers, who, more than anybody except Terri, had put up with me for years. My staff were, to a person, relieved and supportive. It had been a long haul for us. Starting from the hard years in Opposition, I had been blessed with hard-working, devoted staff who believed in me and the work we were doing. Together, we quickly began to consider how I might put into place an orderly transition plan.

I decided I would make my decision public on Monday, October 15, by announcing it to my caucus in the presence of the media. I felt I owed it to my colleagues to tell them directly and not through an announcement made only to media. It had been my great honour to work beside my fellow Liberal MPPs since my first election in 1990. They, too, had been supportive of me for over two decades. I had stood on their shoulders as premier. On a number of occasions, including at the time of Ontarios adoption of the harmonized sales tax (HST), they had followed me on policy positions they did not at first welcome. I was grateful for their loyalty to me and their devotion to public service. I received much advice as premier, but the advice I trusted most was the collective wisdom of my caucus. And what I admired most in my colleagues was their decision to get into the arena of politics. Many hoot and holler while others quietly pontificate from the comfort and convenience of the stands, but my colleagues had stepped into the arena and personally confronted the risks found there. I remain inspired by their courage and commitment to public service.

Terri and Brendan joined me in my Queens Park office late in the afternoon of October 15 as I went over the remarks I had prepared for caucus. I had met earlier with my party president, Yasir Naqvi, to give him the heads-up. I had also communicated with two of my closest colleagues Greg Sorbara and Dwight Duncan. My plan was to keep the circle of those in the know as tight as I could. I didnt want word to get out not an easy thing to do where this kind of news is concerned. I wanted my caucus colleagues to be the first to hear and I was pleased, for their sake, that I was successful.

As I sat at my desk readying myself for what was to come, Brendan said, Here, put this on.

It was my fathers watch. I was proud to wear it on this occasion. My father, the former MPP for Ottawa South, had never lived to see my political career. And yet it was he, more than anyone else, who shaped it.