Saturday, July 25, 2026
Today I lost one of my earliest mentors. Doug Severn passed away at the age of 90.
Doug lived a remarkable and adventurous life, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have known him. Looking back, I realize how much of the person I became was influenced by the lessons he taught me.
Doug and Rose Marie Severn lived next door to us when I was growing up. One day, Doug stopped by to discuss business with my father. During their conversation, he mentioned how frustrated he was that some of his employees weren’t showing up for work on time.
Without thinking, I asked, “Can I come work for you?”
My father and Doug laughed. After all, I was only nine years old.
Doug looked at me and said, “If you want to work for me, be at my van tomorrow morning at 8:00.”
The next morning, I was standing beside his van at 7:55, ready to go.
We drove to his shop at 293 Lesmill Road. He handed me a broom, pointed to an area of the shop, and said, “Sweep the floor. Do the best job you can. I want every nook and cranny clean.” He showed me where he’d be working across the parking lot and told me to come get him when I was finished.
A few minutes later, feeling pretty proud of myself, I went to tell him I was done.
He came back, looked at my work, and let me know—in no uncertain terms—that I had not done a very good job. At nine years old, I was shocked. Then he picked up the broom and showed me what doing the job properly really meant. He swept every corner, every crack, every nook and cranny. The pile of dirt he collected was four or five times larger than mine.
He handed me the broom and calmly said something I’ve never forgotten:
“If you ever want to know whether someone is going to do a good job, have them sweep the floor.”
Then he added, “Now sweep the rest of the shop.”
It took me the rest of the day.
That simple lesson has stayed with me for more than 50 years. To this day, I still believe you can tell a lot about a person by how they approach the little jobs.
At first, I only worked for Doug once a month. As the years went by, I worked more often. Blair and I would clean and restock the service vans with mechanisms, casters, sockets, hardware, and every little part needed to repair office furniture. By the time I was 12, I knew those parts inside and out and was going to job sites repairing chairs and file cabinets. It was greasy, dirty work, but it taught me how things worked and the value of taking pride in every repair.
I worked for Doug for nearly 10 years. After high school, I stayed on full-time as a service technician.
Doug gave me much more than a job. Blair and I became close friends, and our families spent many great times together skiing and enjoying summers at their cottage on Morrison Lake in Gravenhurst.
Doug opened doors that I never would have experienced on my own. He introduced me to dryland training with the Can-Am ski team. His oldest daughter, Karen, became one of my coaches. Later, Blair and I attended summer ski camp in British Columbia, where we had the privilege of training alongside Nancy Greene, Toni Sailer, and Wayne Wong. Those were experiences I’ll never forget.
As the years passed, I watched Doug build a business that others admired. If you looked through the Yellow Pages back then, you would find many companies started by people who had once worked for Doug. They had learned from him and wanted to build something of their own. That says everything about the kind of leader and mentor he was.
Doug worked hard, expected excellence, embraced adventure, and wasn’t afraid to try something new. He taught by example, and his lessons reached far beyond repairing office furniture.
Much of the work ethic, attention to detail, and pride I carry today began with a broom in Doug Severn’s shop.
My heartfelt condolences go out to Rose Marie, Karen, Deborah, Blair, and the entire Severn family.
Thank you, Doug, for taking a chance on a nine-year-old kid. Thank you for the lessons, the opportunities, the adventures, and the lifelong memories.
Rest in peace, my friend. Your legacy lives on in all of us whose lives you helped shape.
