There are a select few people who have shaped my focus and priorities here during my tenure at the Y in Central Maryland in ways that are hard to put into words. They all have many things in common, including their love of family, community, and the Y. The other thing they all have in common is that they see the Y as a particularly effective way of serving the entirety of the community, in all its diversity. They all embody the Y’s mission, values, and the idea that the Y is, at its core, “for a better us.”
On Friday, August 20th, Bruce Cleland passed away at the still young age of 73 surrounded by his incredible family after fighting for well over a dozen years one of the most aggressive forms of cancer imaginable. Up to the end, he remained the same compassionate, brilliant, big-thinking, and indomitable force of nature he has always been. While the cancer inside his body and cells finally ended his physical life, it won’t in any way end his influence on people, communities, and causes literally around the world.
What it certainly won’t do in any way is end the influence he has on me and how I aspire to lead this Y. I will hear his voice inside my head forever, and he will continue to help me to be and do better because when Bruce is in your head, it’s not only a very good thing, it means that you’ll never settle for doing the obvious, the easy or the status quo thing. Bruce has always been about pushing limits (in the best way) and finding opportunities and possibilities that you didn’t know existed.
I won’t try to capture the extraordinary arc of Bruce’s life here today, but suffice it to say that he blazed a trail like few others. Growing up in a small New Zealand town with not much to do other than hang out at a tiny Y, Bruce’s brilliance included a successful career in finance that took him to London, New York and finally Baltimore, where he was CEO of Campbell & Company. A very good rugby player, he conquered the marathon as a way of honoring and raising money for leukemia, which his youngest daughter had to deal with. He invented the Leukemia Society's “Team In Training” fundraising vehicle, which revolutionized “participatory” fundraising in this country in the 1980s.
As the CEO of a growing company, a father of four children, the husband to his beloved Izzi, and a friend to seemingly thousands of people around the globe, Bruce was a steady, loyal and behind-the-scenes presence at the Towson Y since moving to the Baltimore area. He never forgot his roots and enjoyed the group exercise classes, friendships, and diversity of the community he found there. He was a loyal donor as well, participating on the local board and always declining to serve on the Y’s association board because he was so fiercely loyal to his fellow local Y and its possibilities, despite the rapidly deteriorating buildings that housed it.
When I took this job, one of the first people I was told that I had to meet was Bruce. I was told that he would put me through my paces and batter me with a host of questions about my intentions and understanding of my role. My first meeting with him didn’t disappoint; after a career in the business world in which I got to meet and work with so many brilliant people from around the world, I quickly realized after a few minutes that I was dealing with a world-class intellect and someone who had a very clear view of what the Y needed to be and what I needed to do. Needless to say, he got my attention. I actually enjoyed the conversation, despite the grilling, and it affirmed to me that Bruce was all about doing the right things, the smart things, and the hard things.
He became a friend for life. Time with Bruce was like defending your doctoral dissertation, only with lots of off-color jokes, brilliant asides, observations about life, and endless fascination. Although Bruce was wildly successful professionally, he was the least pretentious human being I’ve ever met. He drove a beat-up station wagon until hybrid vehicles came along, at which point he bought a Prius and drove that until he couldn’t drive anymore. He would show up at the Y in those old 1970s-era shorts, barefooted, and proceed to put his sneakers on while carrying on a conversation with whoever passed his way. He couldn’t care less what people expected of him; what he cared about was people.
The beautiful Orokawa Y in Towson exists today because Bruce believed it must exist. He made it happen with a force of will and wile that virtually no other human possesses. He agreed to put his foundation’s name on it only if we would agree to keep searching for another large donor to replace him. I can reveal now that there was never any way we wouldn’t have the Orokawa name on that building.
I miss Bruce so incredibly much already. I know that feeling is shared by so many. Bruce accumulated friends like most people accumulate dust under their couch. When he retired, he dedicated himself to investing in community organizations and initiatives that he believed in, and he did it under the radar screen, without fanfare, but with a clear strategy and precision. As Covid hit and his health declined, he and I did several video calls. He wanted to know how the Y was doing, and he wanted a full financial review, which I happily obliged. He would then give me a pep talk that meant so much to me, because he really cared and he knew exactly what he was talking about.
His family, the Y, and this community lost a legend this week. He leaves a legacy of success, fierce intellect, and love. For those of us who understood that, we will never be the same. And for that, we love him back a thousand times over.
All the best,
John
John K. Hoey
President and CEO
The Y in Central Maryland