From a Former Kels ey Student

Mr. MacLeod’s retirement celebration

A Tribute to a Very Special Principal Who Made a Differenc e
in My Life

Education is about pioneering. It always has been, and it always will be.
Pioneering is not easy; it’s full of potholes and pitfalls. It’s full of fear, and
anger, goodness knows what else. Pioneering is not about the status quo,
and it’s not about what’s deemed politically correct, or proper. Pioneering is
about breaking new ground, unveiling new horizons, and highlighting
dormant truths.
These are grand principles, lofty ideals, and ones that you can’t just
throw around. Allan MacLeod certainly doesn’t do that. A case could be
made that Mr. MacLeod is an archetypal pioneer, and a true renaissance
man. But I don’t have to make that case; you already know it, that’s why
you’re all here.

Mr. Macleod, I just wanted you to know that I knew it. Not just me
but all of your students. Maybe they’re not telling you that everyday, and
maybe they’re only complaining to you about how busy the testing centre is
these days, but they know it. I promise you.

Mr. MacLeod, in a society of raging mediocrity, and staggering

complacency, you stand out, you confound the realities. As an educational
groundbreaker, and above all a very decent human being.

This won’t be long; but I do wish to share a small story. When I

arrived at Kelsey, much was made of that fact that “Mr. MacLeod always
picks up garbage in the hallways and he’s not in his office very much” For the
remainder of the year I noticed that, yes, Mr. MacLeod was an exceptional
janitor, and yes, he always seemed to be everywhere at once. I didn’t really
give it another thought.
The following year I was the student council president and I had a lot more
contact with Mr. MacLeod, and met with him regularly to discuss student
issues, initiatives, and complaints. Towards the end of my second year I
remember being in a meeting with Mr. MacLeod about something trivial
(sorry for all those meetings about “Crazy Hat Day”) and I happened to
notice that Mr. Macleod seemed to know everything that was going on
around the school. He knew that Mr. Carr was having a problem with a
student who was always late, and that some students in the dome were
concerned that there was not enough study room, and that the band room
always smelled of stale peanut butter and jam sandwiches, and that the art
room was home to far too many wandering students, (myself included on
more than one occasion I’m sorry to say).

In any case I asked Mr. MacLeod how he knew so much about what
was going on around the school, and he said, “Why do you think I walk
around so much with my dustpan and brush? It’s certainly not because I
don’t do enough of it at home.”
It was in that moment that I realized that with the simple act of
sweeping up some wayward dirt, Mr. MacLeod had his finger on the pulse
of the whole school, of the body politic so to speak. Never before has such a
simple job yielded such vast rewards.
I think of Mr. MacLeod and his broom of truth often, and I think that
it’s a fantastic allegory for quiet leadership, and silent understanding.

Mr. MacLeod you created a school unlike any other, a school that
breeds self-motivation, that taught us that we had to start depending on
ourselves. Something that made having to buy groceries and pay bills that
much easier; something that prepared us to meet the world and all it’s
people.

Mr. MacLeod, I’m sorry that I couldn’t get away from spring school at
McGill to be here today but from a former student t hank y ou s o very
much. Best wishes in the years ahead, Happy Golfing

Yours truly,
Ashley Daniel Foot