"You can't do anything about the length of your life, but you can do something about its width and depth."

-- Evan Esar

"Management is doing things right; leadership is doing the right things."

-- Peter Drucker

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust, sweat and blood, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best, if he wins, knows the thrills of high achievement, and, if he fails, at least fails daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

-- John F. Kennedy

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. Security does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than exposure."

-- Helen Keller

"Men are equal; it is not birth but virtue that makes the difference."

-- Voltaire

Shaun McCormick is a man blessed with three remarkable qualities: a true compassion for his fellow citizen, an incredible insight into human nature... and a mountain of common sense.

Combined with a self-confidence born from years of extraordinary personal experiences, these three characteristics resulted in a legacy of service -- to Shaun's community as well as to thousands of individuals across Canada. Shaun had a great impact on the lives of friends, family, colleagues and clients.

Shaun McCormick was a rehabilitation professional with Maritime Life Assurance Company in Halifax, Nova Scotia, for twenty-five years. Shaun spent his entire career travelling across Canada helping injured military personnel rebuild their lives following a significant injury. He dealt with the most severe cases -- people who, as a result of an injury or illness, not only became disabled, but lost their jobs, their careers, and, in some cases, their families.

On June 22, 2000, Shaun was awarded the Canadian Forces Medallion for Distinguished Service by the Chief of Defence Staff (CDS), General Maurice Baril. The general recognized Shaun for his "exceptional leadership and unrelenting dedication to the rehabilitation of disabled members of the Canadian Armed Forces... He profoundly shaped the quality of life of about 2,000 military personnel over the course of nearly twenty-five years."

According to Admiral Garry Garnett, Vice-Chief of Defence staff for the Canadian Armed Forces and long-time business colleague of Shaun's, the Medallion for Distinguished Service has been awarded on only a very few occasions. "The CDS himself has only given the award three times," he says. He describes one of the recipients as a Canadian ambassador to a central African country, who assisted General Baril tremendously while he set up a peacekeeping force. Another award was given to former Chief Justice Bryan Dixon, whose 1997 review and subsequent report on the military justice system led to today's overhauled system. "So it's on that level that this award has been given."

The award was given posthumously. Shaun, who had helped so many individuals to heal, had died five months earlier.

Shaun often claimed that "self-esteem is the key to success." And yet self-esteem is usually as much a casualty of a severe injury as any physical abilities that are lost. "If a person can regain his or her self-esteem and a sense of self-worth, they will invariably succeed in rebuilding their life," Shaun said. In his work with injured military personnel, this was his goal.

With common sense as his driver, Shaun was forever looking for practical, easy-to-implement solutions. "What I liked about work from Shaun was that it was simple," says Garry. "It wasn't mean-spirited or conniving, it was simple. Shaun had the ability to go right to the hub of the issue and propose a solution with a natural logic that even the most bureaucratic bureaucrat could understand -- not that they always agreed, but at least then you could deal with the issue."

Another colleague, Robert Heart, adds, "Shaun was never afraid to push the system, because he was convinced that it was in the best interest of his client. Not surprisingly, it was usually beneficial for the military and Maritime Life, as well."

Shaun was a leader in developing holistic approaches to serving people with disabilities. In his profession he worked with individuals to help them develop new skills and rebuild their self-esteem. On his own time, he also worked on changing society at large -- improving access to the workplace, community housing options, transportation services and other necessities so that people with disabilities could participate in their community. Although addressing these larger issues wasn't exactly in his job description, he did it because he cared -- and because Shaun knew it would influence the success of his work at the individual level.

Working with like-minded Halagonians (residents of Halifax) with disabilities, Shaun established the Disabled Individual Alliance (DIAL) to lobby for accessible transportation and housing. It was the first local disability advocacy association in Nova Scotia. Shortly after, he helped found the League for Equal Opportunity (LEO), the first province-wide equality-rights organization in Nova Scotia. In the 1980s he was instrumental in establishing the first Independent Living Resource Centre in Nova Scotia. Shaun chaired each of these organizations for a period of time, in order to set a clear direction and establish a leadership base that would ensure continuity.

In 1990, Shaun was selected as the chairperson of Nova Scotia's first Premier's Commission on Disability.

At the national level, Shaun sat on the board of the Council of Canadians with Disabilities, chaired several national committees and immersed himself in various awareness and educational activities.

He did all of this while managing a caseload of usually hundreds of newly injured military personnel.

In his pursuit of equity for others, Shaun was relentless. Through the Council of Canadians with Disabilities, Shaun worked with other provincial representatives to secure federal supports for people with disabilities.

Although Shaun did not hesitate to lobby publicly and was certainly not shy, he was even more effective behind closed doors. He in fact worked with decision-makers more often than against them. It was clear to them that his objectives were not self-serving, but rather to level the playing field for all Canadians. Shaun focused on making his environment -- locally, provincially, nationally and internationally -- accessible to the many hundreds of people with disabilities he encountered on a regular basis.

Paul Jamieson worked alongside Shaun for many years, lobbying for change. He remembers that "when he was with a politician, Shaun's style was pretty slick. He knew their language. He would lead with information. He would talk about our organization and what they could possibly do for us." Paul says they always made sure that politicians were invited to organization events and given the opportunity to "score some points." Shaun, adds Paul, "very rarely left the politicians' meeting without getting some kind of commitment from them."

Shaun did his research before attending a meeting. He tailored his approach to those in the room. "He wouldn't push hard when meeting with politicians. He would just make his point sort of clear," says Paul. "A bureaucrat would be different. He wouldn't mind getting down in the dirt with bureaucrats because he knew they were the workhorses." Paul feels he learned a lot from Shaun about how to get things done.

"In meetings he would open with what the problem was and just what we were up against, and he would always inject a bit of humour," says Paul. And Shaun tried never to burn bridges. His aim was always to leave the door open, even if only slightly. He would end by saying that they'd be in touch, and he always followed up with a thank-you letter. He habitually copied other people on the letters. "He would copy maybe the premier, somebody important," says Paul. "He loved that 'CC' stuff. It let them know someone was watching over their shoulder."

Shaun was a networker. He was often known to make a strategic phone call or two -- he had contacts across the country that he could call on to enlist support. Kirk McIntire, senior vice-president at Maritime Life and one-time boss of Shaun's, recalls, "Shaun had the broadest network of anyone in the company. He wasn't afraid to use it to help his clients, whether to secure a piece of equipment or help them find a job."

Shaun was a tireless advocate and believed in equality for everyone. And he wasn't shy in expressing this belief. In 1980, at the height of activity around adopting a "made-in-Canada" charter of rights, Shaun led a very public demonstration on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. He was determined to do whatever was necessary to ensure that the charter was amended to protect the rights of citizens with disabilities. Working with disability leaders from other provinces, he succeeded.

Instigating change to benefit others

Many of the committees Shaun participated on, from local community groups to federally sponsored royal commissions, resulted in groundbreaking innovative approaches to serving Canadians with a disability. In the early 1980s, Shaun worked with a parliamentary task force struck to develop Canada's first comprehensive response to the multi-jurisdiction issues related to disability. Its findings, published in The Obstacles Report, listed 103 recommendations on systemic change that would directly improve the quality of life of Canadians with disabilities.

Twenty years later, this document remains the foundation for disability policy in Canada. It was a milestone report: It was the first time that government had led a broad-based consultation with individuals with disabilities themselves rather than gathering input from medical professionals or program administrators.

Because The Obstacles Report emphasized input from the end users of programs and services rather than the service providers, it was also the first federal report to address disability issues from a community participation perspective. That is, the focus was on "how can we (we being everyone together) change the community to accommodate the individual?" rather than the more traditional "how can we (we being service providers) take care of our disabled neighbours?"

Recognizing the importance of employment, Shaun worked with the Treasury Board of Canada to develop practical employment policies for people with disabilities wanting to work in the federal public service.

As a founding board member of National Access Awareness Week, he also worked with the department of the Secretary of State, private sector corporations and other disability organizations to dispel many of the myths surrounding disability, and promoted a positive portrayal of persons with disabilities in all walks of life.

And Shaun worked with the federal government's Canadian Transportation Agency to help develop access and accommodation policies for nationally regulated transportation services -- the airlines, intercity buses, Via Rail and the ferry services.

Shaun used common sense: he would break complex problems down into simpler components and find solutions. He also faced issues squarely and dealt with them honestly. He didn't beat around the bush. If he thought a person was not being well served by a system, he let those responsible know. And he let them know why. And he worked with them to change it. He never tried to whitewash issues. This direct approach made some people uncomfortable, particularly those who were not comfortable making difficult decisions.

"He always said the things you wished you'd said," says Admiral Garry Garnett. "If the wine was sour or the service wasn't good, Shaun was never shy about coming forward. He did it in a very direct manner, he didn't do it without dignity, and he never called people down. I really enjoyed his ability to do that." Once, at a restaurant where they were regular patrons, they had to sit in the dining room because the bar was full. The dining-room menu didn't offer fish and chips, which was what they always ate in the bar. Without hesitation, Shaun told the waitress to consider where they were seated as the bar area, and then requested fish and chips. He did not conclude, just because something wasn't on the menu, that they couldn't have it.

Some people are unwilling to take action, instead preferring meetings, discussions, committees, studies. These types of people, and they exist everywhere, tended not to like Shaun's direct approach and considered him hard-nosed, even abrasive. But decision-makers looking for immediate solutions -- relevant, timely and "implementable"-- appreciated Shaun's directness. They valued his insight and his understanding.

And Garry says that although some co-workers who adhered to the rule book might have had concerns about Shaun's style, "I don't think there was anybody who actively disliked him."

Shaun did not shy away from taking a public stand on issues of access and participation. He used Canadian human rights legislation to help in his efforts. When he met an obstacle that he couldn't talk his way around, he would inform those in his way of his intent to pursue remedial action. To their regret, most never believed Shaun would follow through.

But Shaun never made idle threats. He always followed through.

Shaun travelled tens of thousands of miles every year, so he knew first-hand the barriers faced by travellers with disabilities. He brought, and won, complaints against Nova Scotia's inter-provincial ferry service to PEI and to Newfoundland, which had not been wheelchair accessible. He also successfully challenged Air Canada to provide services to wheelchair users on its smaller aircraft.

He initiated and subsequently resolved issues with local agencies that refused to make reasonable accommodations. He challenged municipal governments and private providers of public service to make their services accessible. He went public many times, holding press conferences and interviews and writing letters to editors.

Shaun had a strong reputation in Nova Scotia and across Canada as an instigator of change. Opinions of him tended to reach both extremes. His stance on issues was lauded and reviled publicly and privately. Through it all, he was never viewed as neutral.

In the fight for access, Shaun did lose some battles. He was graceful in defeat. He didn't hold a grudge -- if people disagreed with him on issues and prevailed, he would be perfectly willing to work alongside them on other issues. He was willing to endure criticism and mud-slinging. When it came to the rights of individuals to participate in their community, Shaun's position was clear. He fought to help others maximize their opportunities to participate.

Paul Jamieson remembers the time Shaun called him and asked him to meet him at Acadian Bus Lines, the inter-city bus service for Atlantic Canada. "When I got there, Shaun said, 'Let's go take the bus to Yarmouth.' I said, 'I don't want to go to Yarmouth.' He replied, 'That's okay -- we can't get on the bus anyway!'" Shaun was trying to make a point. Immediately after being refused service, Shaun filed a human rights complaint.

Shaun drove his own car and didn't need to be able to take the bus. However, he understood that many people with disabilities had no other way to get around the province, and as a result were confined to their own home town. Shaun habitually worked on issues that would never benefit him personally.

Shaun was a bright, articulate, well-educated man raised in the latter half of the twentieth century. A typical baby boomer, he considered the world his oyster. While many of his contemporaries chose to climb the corporate ladders of industry, the public sector or the military, Shaun chose to commit his energy to fighting for equality. It became his passion -- to help level the playing field for others and provide them with an opportunity to live as full a life as they chose.

Special, but stronger

Shaun Patrick McCormick was born in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, on February 17, 1948. The middle of five children, Shaun had an older sister, Joyce, and brother, Leonard, and a younger sister, Alice, and brother, Owen. Shaun was raised in New Glasgow, a small town of about 10,000 people on the north coast of Nova Scotia. His father, Basil, worked for most of his life as a boilermaker. Shaun's mother, Mary, worked as a teacher at the local elementary school.

"Shaun was strong," recalls his brother, Owen. "He got that from our mother. She got it from religion. She was very devoted to the Catholic church."

Shaun was born with a rare skin condition, never accurately diagnosed. His skin hung off his muscles, giving him the appearance of an old man, even as a young child. The doctors told Mary and Basil that Shaun was suffering from a disease called cutislaxis and that he probably would not live to see his twelfth birthday. The doctors also informed Shaun's parents that their son would be "mentally retarded."

The doctors suggested he be placed in a hospital. Shaun's father refused, determined to care for his own son.

Although they had been given overwhelming news, Shaun's parents were strong. His mother in particular was experienced in dealing with change. In grade eleven she had come to live with an uncle in New Glasgow to further her schooling, because education was limited in her home community. And, once married, not all of the children she had given birth to had survived. Shaun's older sister, Joyce, says, "I just think her life made her strong. She had lots of 'disabilities' to begin with, with losing children and then learning about Shaun."

Although Shaun had a skin condition his entire life, the doctors were wrong both about it being terminal and about it being associated with cognitive disabilities.

Shaun was a normal boy with the same likes and dislikes as other children his own age. Physically, he was clearly different, however, and his disability did shape his views of the world, and of others.

"When he was about twelve, he looked like a little old man about 100 years old. He didn't look like any of the other people. He stood out," says Shaun's brother, Leonard. "We lived in a small town and you see all kinds of prejudice. Shaun faced it every day of his life."

But being different didn't stop Shaun from pursuing his goals. At the age of ten he became the local paperboy -- a highly visible activity and one that might have intimidated another person in his circumstances. His sister Joyce believes that "being a newspaper boy made him confront who he was." Shaun's younger sister, Alice, adds, "His whole disease made him wiser."

Although others were sometimes unsure of how to deal with him, Shaun was never uncomfortable with himself. In addition to delivering papers, Shaun would mow neighbours' lawns in the summer and shovel their driveways in the winter. He was well liked by the neighbourhood.

His siblings are certain that Shaun's skin condition had a fundamental impact on how he developed as a person. Because his disability made him the centre of attention wherever he went, he developed certain characteristics, certain mannerisms, that focused attention on Shaun the person rather than Shaun the oddball. Alice says that "he liked to be the centre of attention for different reasons than most people. He'd be funny so people would look at him and say, 'there's the funny kid,' not 'there's the kid with the disease.'"

He developed a strong wit and a verbal acumen to deflect attention from his disability. His intelligence became his source of strength -- a quick repartee, a joke or sometimes a snide remark emphasized his personality. And it connected him to those around him. By the time Shaun reached high school he had developed a strong circle of friends.

Growing up, Shaun had two nicknames. His friends called him "Boomer" because of his wicked slap shot in road hockey. Others teased him and called him "Funny Face" because of the way he looked.

Leonard remembers an occasion when he and Shaun were walking through town. "Someone called him Funny Face, and I got mad and hit the guy. Shaun yelled at me for fighting. He told me, 'Don't ever fight my battles! I'll fight for myself.' He learned real early how to fend for himself, and how to fight."

Although sometimes difficult, in many ways Shaun's childhood was fairly typical. He and his friends spent their time playing road hockey, building forts and general rabble rousing -- he was frequently in trouble for pranks. He camped in the summer, hitchhiked everywhere, dated a few times and, of course, loved cars. He bought his first car for $250 -- a 1956 Pontiac.

Shaun's family was close-knit. Shaun loved and admired both of his parents. He thought of his mother as a gentle woman with a kind heart. She taught him compassion, instilled within him a sense of spiritualism and encouraged his orientation toward helping others. Shaun's father was a big man, and strong. He spent most of his life working with his hands. He taught Shaun how to be strong in a different way -- strength of character.

Shaun always remembered his father telling him, "You are special. You have many challenges, but you will be stronger because of them. Keep your head up, always be honest and do your best."

"He loved me," concluded Shaun.

Shaun believed his own greatest talent was his ability to talk. Late in his teenage years, he joined the Jaycees -- the Junior Chamber of Commerce. It gave him a venue to expand and practise his skills. He developed his business skills and his presentation skills and established a lifelong network of friends.

In 1969, Shaun's mother, to whom Shaun had been especially close, died. Her death devastated the entire family and had a profound impact on Shaun. He was 21.

Joyce remembers the day they buried their mother. "When we left the graveyard that day, I looked back after everybody was gone, and Shaun was standing by himself. I felt that whatever she had, he got that day. He became so much like her."

Six months later, while on a trip with the Jaycees to St. John's, Newfoundland, Shaun's life once again changed forever. He leaned against the rail of his hotel room balcony and tumbled backwards. He fell three stories -- more than forty feet -- landing on his back. He was rushed to the hospital, where doctors told him he had broken his back and had a spinal cord injury at the thoracic 6 level.

Leonard arrived at the hospital to find Shaun on a striker frame (a type of hospital bed that rotates the patient 360 degrees) while doctors waited for permission to operate. "When I walked in there," says Leonard, "he looked at me with them faded blue eyes and said, 'I knew you'd come.' He was my brother and I've always loved him, and I was always there for him."

Shaun stayed in hospital in Newfoundland for two months before being transferred to Halifax. The day after he arrived in Nova Scotia, Shaun called his family crying -- a doctor had just told him that he would never walk again. He asked them all to come to Halifax from New Glasgow. He needed their support.

"The doctor walked in, and just cold-turkey told him," says Leonard. "He called me at work and asked me to bring him a gun."

"They took his razor blades away from him," adds Owen.

But Joyce says, "I thought that if anybody could handle something like that, he could. And he did."

The family all came to Halifax. "He was crying," remembers Joyce. "He said, 'I don't know why this is happening. I've had so much in my life,' and we all cried. That was the last day it was ever a problem." Shaun had mourned, and then he healed.

Rebuilding his life, and helping others to rebuild theirs

Part of Shaun's healing process involved realizing just how fortunate he was. Sure, he couldn't walk, but he still had his mind. He was still Shaun. When he wandered the hospital corridors, he saw many people who were a lot more seriously injured than him.

Shaun decided that he was going to rehabilitate himself and make the best of his life.

"He never once complained about being in a wheelchair after that," says his sister Alice.

Shaun replaced their deceased mother as the glue that held the family together. His younger brother Owen says, "It was just his personality. He would never let you go a week ever without talking to you. He did that with each of us."

Owen adds that "Shaun and I became real close after the accident. Any problem I had seemed very small, minuscule, compared to what he went through, so it helped me deal with anything."

Upon leaving rehab, Shaun was faced with a dilemma -- what to do with the rest of his life. At 21, he certainly wasn't going to spend it lying around the house. He hunkered down and began to put his life back together. He returned to New Glasgow, where he got a job in the city's engineering department. The family home was renovated to accommodate Shaun's wheelchair. He rigged his car with hand controls so he could continue to drive. His sense of humour, his insight and his keen intelligence helped him to put his life back on track.

After a few months of working nine to five, Shaun decided to go back to school. He studied political science and history at Saint Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, a few miles down the road from New Glasgow, and graduated three years later.

Shaun met his future bride at university. They were in the same political science class. He forever remembered what she was wearing that first day: a camel-coloured coat and a green skirt. "It was love at first sight," Shaun said.

Irene Surette was from Yarmouth, a small town on the south coast of Nova Scotia at the mouth of the Bay of Fundy, about five hours away from school by car. She was away from her family for the first time but, being unable to drive, did not return home very often.

Their first date was a driving lesson. When Shaun learned that she couldn't drive, he offered to teach her in his car. Irene's roommates weren't as keen on this as she was. The first time Shaun arrived to take her out for her lesson, her roommates wrote down his license plate number -- and made sure he noticed!

Shaun and Irene quickly became an item, going to university functions and parties together. Shaun brought her home to New Glasgow, ostensibly "to be put under the family microscope" -- everyone loved her. Shaun and Irene dated for over a year. One weekend, after a particularly heated "discussion," Shaun asked Irene to marry him. He knew he loved her. She said yes.

Whenever Shaun was asked about what attracted him to Irene, his answer was always the same: that she was quiet and warm. "She was, and is, my best friend, and will always be everything to me." They were married on August 12, 1972.

The story of the wedding itself is vintage Shaun. The night before, Shaun had been out on the town with the boys. It was a late night. The next day, while getting ready for the wedding at the motel he had reserved for their wedding night, Shaun decided to take a bath. He fell asleep in the bathtub. People called, but he didn't wake up.

Finally, after he was already late, his brother came banging on the door and managed to rouse him from his sleep. They rushed to the church. As Shaun transferred out of the car and into his wheelchair, his pants got hooked on the car door. They were pulled off -- his bare butt in plain view for anyone walking by!

The guests, already inside the church by this time, were being entertained by the parish priest. Without a groom, the priest had decided to fill the time by opening a few bottles of altar wine and sharing them with the guests.

When the groom finally arrived, the wedding went ahead. It was a hit with everyone.

Although the first year of Shaun and Irene's marriage was happy, it was tough. They were both still in university. They had little money.

By their second year of marriage, Shaun was determined to change their situation. He read an ad for a rehabilitation consultant with Maritime Life Assurance in Halifax. Qualifications included a specialization in either nursing or another health-care-related profession. Shaun had a degree in Political Science. He never hesitated -- he sent in his résumé and followed up with a telephone call to the company.

Shaun talked his way into an interview. During the interview he convinced the manager that, even without a degree in nursing, he had the right skills to be a rehabilitation specialist -- he certainly had first-hand experience. He understood the issues intimately. He talked his way into a job.

With his skills and talents and his fundamental understanding of disability and employment issues, Shaun turned that job into a successful career. He remained with Maritime Life until his death in 2000, taking over management responsibilities for the military rehabilitation program in the early 1980s.

Thanks to Shaun's skills, this program became recognized as a model for rehabilitation service delivery across Canada and around the world. He introduced customer service to an industry that emphasized short-term cost savings rather than holistic rehabilitation service. And he consistently proved the success of this approach by making money, year after year, while other rehabilitation services both within Maritime Life and in the insurance industry in general were losing money. (For many insurance companies, rehabilitation services are a "loss leader," enticing corporate clients into a broader range of insurance services that are more likely to earn profit.)

Shaun continued as Manager of Rehabilitation Services for the military for the remainder of his career. By all accounts a successful manager, he was never promoted to a senior executive position within Maritime Life. Senior Vice-President Kirk McIntire explains why: "Shaun knew he was at a crossroads with his career. He was as senior as he could be without losing direct contact with his clients. He knew that if he wanted to progress up the corporate ladder, he would be giving up what he most enjoyed -- helping people rebuild their lives. It was his choice to remain where he was."

Life on the home front

Shaun was a true people person. He had an array of friends, each of whom admired and respected him, as he did them.

"Shaun loved to debate," observes his friend Paul Jamieson. "You never could have a damn conversation with him when he didn't walk all over you. He would flip you around as if you were a doll. You left Shaun's and you would be mad and say, he has got me again. He kept you on your toes."

Part of his charm, and part of the frustration of working with Shaun, was his directness. A person never had to guess where they stood with Shaun. He told them. Paul adds, "He would never talk behind your back. If he had anything to say to you, you got it up front. You had to love that."

Another colleague put it this way: "You never have to worry about Shaun stabbing you in the back. If he is going to stab you, he'll do it in the front!"

Shaun never bragged about his accomplishments, and many people never knew the extent to which he went to help them. Few people ever got to know the many facets of the man. Even his family was largely unaware of the impact he had on the disability community in Canada.

Shaun didn't only fight for the rights of people with disabilities. He would fight for anyone whose rights were being denied. "He did a lot of stuff for able-bodied people," recalls Paul. "He would help anybody who needed help or couldn't fend for themselves or just wasn't assertive enough."

On September 4, 1983, Shaun's life took another sweeping turn. He and Irene had their first child: a baby girl they named Mary Frances (Mary after Shaun's mother, Frances after Irene's).

The birth of their daughter had a profound impact on Shaun. He travelled less, and when he did travel, he was away for shorter periods of time. He extracted himself from the day-to-day work of many of the groups and causes with which he had been involved. He resigned from the boards and committees, many of which he had helped establish, on which he was serving. He remained involved, however, with the political aspects -- his belief in equality and his commitment to fight for the underdog was no less strong. His family simply became more of a priority.

Mary was an only child for seven and a half years. Shaun doted on her. For the first few months, he and Irene took Mary everywhere. On the first Thanksgiving after Mary was born, Shaun invited his entire family for dinner and gave thanks for their newest addition.

Shaun and Irene had their second child, Anna Patricia, on February 15, 1991, and their son, Patrick Basil, on June 18, 1993. Each of the three children have inherited many of their father's intense attributes. All are strong-willed.

Mary, the eldest, has a strong desire to help others, and an orientation toward social justice. She has a common-sense approach to dealing with issues.

Anna has inherited her father's keen intelligence and charm, and her mother's warmth and gentleness.

Patrick has inherited his father's "get-out-there-and-do-it" attitude -- not to mention his knack for getting into trouble at school! He is assertive and loves to be the centre of attention.

In 1975, Shaun and Irene bought a cottage at Melmerby Beach, a white sand beach on the Northumberland Strait, just a few miles west of New Glasgow. Melmerby is a small, close-knit community of cottagers, perhaps a few hundred in total, most of whom were born and raised in or around New Glasgow. They are a family, and here Shaun was accepted for who he was. For five months each year, Melmerby became the focal point of their lives -- not only for immediate family but for friends, business colleagues, distant relatives and neighbours.

A typical weekend at Melmerby usually involved dozens of visitors. It was Shaun's own little kingdom. It was where he escaped the city to recharge his batteries. It gave him perspective when events seemed to be getting out of control.

Melmerby was a philosophy as much as it was a physical place. Melmerby was about letting your hair down and relaxing. Visitors were encouraged to "park your attitude in the driveway and come on in!"

Because Shaun believed very much in the notion of "you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours," he was always quick to help others at Melmerby. And he was also willing to accept help when he needed it. Shaun was great at navigating bureaucracies, and he would make phone calls, cut through red tape, and get results. Others in turn would help Shaun with things he couldn't do -- mow the lawn, rake leaves, wash the car. Nobody considered it an obligation. No one ever took others for granted or begrudged what they did. This was a community looking out for each other.

Shaun's lifestyle in the '90s, while markedly different from the '70s and '80s, incorporated many of the same passions that had driven him early in his life. His young family consumed much of his time. The rest he spent helping others -- at work as well as through his volunteer efforts.

His team at Maritime Life expanded as his caseload grew. There were hundreds of new claimants every year. Shaun met at least once with every one of them while continuing to manage an active caseload of his own.

In addition to his work with Maritime Life, in 1990 Shaun created his own company to fill an emerging gap in services for people with disabilities. Having become known in the rehabilitation field in Nova Scotia as a competent, articulate case manager, his expertise was sought after by lawyers defending injured clients. Shaun was hired to prepare cost-of-care reports and, if necessary, defend them in court. Over the years it became a second full-time job. Always committed to the underdog, Shaun accepted cases on behalf of only the injured client, never the insurance company.

Working outside the box

As Shaun managed Maritime Life's Rehabilitation Program for the Canadian Armed Forces, his philosophy permeated the service delivery structure of that program. His philosophy became the program's corporate culture. Whereas other programs provided traditional rehabilitation supports such as income security, technical aids and retraining, Shaun's approach in managing his program was less by the book. He would pose questions not always asked by traditional rehabilitation counsellors. How was the family dealing with the injury? Are there any problems emotionally? What are you doing for fun? Shaun would push people -- not just clients, but everyone -- to take charge of their own destiny. And he would support them. To Shaun there was always a living, breathing person behind each "file."

Some of Shaun's clients rose to the challenges, while others, of course, did not. Regardless, all received quality service. Those who chose to pursue their independence by challenging themselves with non-traditional activities received support and encouragement.

Unbeknownst to them, if clients' activities of choice were to fall outside the boundaries of funding or "insurable services," Shaun would push their cases to the most senior levels of the company. He almost always succeeded. While this tended to upset many people working within the more traditional rehabilitation service side of Maritime Life, the results spoke for themselves -- higher overall return to work, and profitability for Maritime Life.

One client who was quadriplegic from an injury and had only limited use of his arms and hands requested a microwave oven. A microwave oven? That certainly wasn't on the list of eligible return-to-work technical aids. But he explained to Shaun the importance of living as independently as possible. This meant preparing his own meals, for which a microwave was essential. Understanding the holistic nature of rehabilitation, Shaun agreed. But he also knew that the "bean counters" would not accept the expense as eligible so, after explaining the circumstances to his boss and to the military staff who oversaw the relationship with Maritime Life, Shaun purchased the microwave.

The client went on to complete university, get a good job, get married and generally get on with his life. As soon as he began work, Maritime Life was no longer required to provide income support, which saved the company tens of thousands of dollars. Five years later the client was off claim completely, saving the company even more money.

Did the microwave make the difference? Perhaps not the microwave per se -- but the support that the client received from Shaun certainly did.

This anecdote highlights several of the characteristics that made Shaun an effective rehab specialist. First, he had looked at the request and decided that it was reasonable -- unconventional, but nevertheless reasonable. Second, he had recognized that eligibility lists were more effective as guidelines, not hard-and-fast rules, and at the end of the day common sense had driven his decision. Third, for many years afterward, Shaun was able to use this case to illustrate to new staff and to his funders, the military, the flexibility and client-oriented nature of his program. And finally, when cataloguing the expenditure for submission for repayment, he had titled the purchase "quad oven"; after all, he may have beaten the bean counters, but he didn't want to rub their noses in it. One day he might need them.

If you have a problem, fix it. Shaun viewed his role as a facilitator or enabler. He would not disempower someone by doing a task for him or her. He would, however, open any doors he could to allow the person to go through on their own.

Shaun's approach to his work earned him many accolades. His approach earned him the support of his colleagues at Maritime Life. His approach earned him the respect of the military. But most of all, his approach earned him the trust, respect and appreciation of his clients and their families -- thousands of people over his 24-year career. It was this more than anything else that defined Shaun McCormick: developing the trust of those with and for whom he was working to make a difference.

While Shaun never worked for recognition, he nevertheless received many awards. There were two of which Shaun was particularly proud. Along with hockey legend Darryl Sittler, New Brunswick Premier Frank McKenna, theatre impressario Garth Drabinsky and trailblazing engineer Claudette MacKay-Lassonde, Shaun received the 1987 Vanier Award in recognition of his contributions toward making Canada a better place for all citizens.

The second award -- an honour, really -- which had an even more profound impact on Shaun came in 1989 when he was asked to address the graduating class of his old alma mater, New Glasgow High School. Shaun was humbled by the request. He spent a great deal of time reflecting on his life as he prepared his speech. His goal was to leave the students with practical advice.

In his speech, Shaun shared a list of "words to live by," words that remind him of the kind of person he wanted to be.

"Heading my list is the word 'unique,'" he told students, "for I believe the world needs fewer copies and more originals. In my work I never tell people what they should do, but rather support their decisions."

The second word on his list was "challenge." Shaun believed that we must have challenges in our lives or we become stagnant. "We can do one of two things with challenges. We can accept them and work to overcome them, or we can let them hold us down," he said, and quoted Dr. Otis Maxfield: "'Fate is what life gives you. Destiny is what you do with it.'"

His third and final word was "responsibility." Shaun emphasized responsibility to self. "We must be sure we are using every ability we have to enable us to reach our full potential. We must accept, without conditions, full responsibility for ourselves and our actions."

Shaun concluded his presentation to the graduates by saying, "If it is to be, it is up to me." These ten words defined the man.

Leaving behind legacies

In working with military personnel who had become disabled, Shaun developed a keen understanding of the internal systems of an organization founded on the principles of "absolute authority" and "chain of command." Not only did he work with individuals to help them adjust to their newly acquired disability, but he also worked with them to reintegrate into a civilian society in which often the skills and habits they had acquired through years of training were no longer applicable.

Long-time colleague Brigadier-General "Izzy" Popowych spoke at Shaun's funeral service. "For nearly a quarter of a century," he said, "Shaun has been the symbol of the triumph of the human spirit over the frailty of the body. His noble quest to rehabilitate the disabled is a daunting one under any circumstance. But to do so for a constituency, the Canadian Forces, that retains only the able-bodied and by necessity disinherits people with disabilities, requires a person of truly exceptional and unique God-given talents. He took over for the caring of human beings at their darkest, apparently forsaken hour.

"To do so once is a feat; to do so repeatedly and consistently is miraculous."

Shaun was a no-bullshit type of guy. When he met someone, it didn't matter whether that person was an unemployed mill worker, a friend or even the premier; Shaun always looked the person square in the eye and spoke as if he or she were there to listen. Many admired this quality. Others didn't.

Complementing this direct nature was a keen sense of intuition. Shaun looked at every situation the way a surgeon might an operation. He knew what he wanted to achieve, he knew what tools he had to work with and he knew the consequences of his actions. If a problem was politically sensitive, Shaun would decide whether it was best to write a letter inviting people to a common resolution or whether to go public. He had no particular preference -- he simply wanted to solve a problem. Shaun was never mean-spirited.

Different people had different perceptions of Shaun. Some might have seen Shaun as unreasonable. But those for whom Shaun was working saw someone different -- a problem solver. He used diplomacy as much as possible, but at the end of the day his intent was to effect change.

General Popowych observed, "Shaun turned visions into realities. He made things happen for the singular benefit of the disabled. His philosophy was that it is easier to seek forgiveness than to seek approval. He was not constrained by regulations and bureaucracy. He moved mountains to secure whatever resources were needed -- be it a simple lock on a door fervently requested by a client but apparently not covered by regulations, or a special modification to a wheelchair, also unforeseen by regulations, or securing employment for someone, or establishing an innovative subsidized-wage program. He was creative in making things happen." He added: "There is a good reason why some colleagues called him Monty McCormick -- after Monty of Let's Make a Deal fame."

Although Shaun constantly fought against the lack of access for people with disabilities, it never dampened his passion. Shaun retained a small boy's zest for adventure. A story circulates through the military about Shaun's willingness to do just about anything for a good party.

Shaun was invited to a retirement ceremony for a Canadian admiral aboard one of Canada's new frigates. The ship was not wheelchair accessible. Deciding not to let this stand in his way, Shaun agreed to be hoisted onto the deck of the ship by crane.

Some may say that Shaun compromised his principles. Shaun, however, saw a bigger picture -- he knew when to push and when to play along. By accepting the hoist aboard, he knew he would be sending all in attendance a message that people with disabilities will go to any length to participate in their community. (And, when all is said and done, sometimes you just have to go with the flow -- a party is a party!) Shaun never knew about the divers who had been stationed in the water alongside the ship -- just in case something happened and Shaun was dropped in the harbour!

Shaun treated everyone with respect, regardless of where they sat on an issue. Paul Jamieson remembers a time when Shaun, acting on behalf of the League for Equal Opportunity, disagreed with a solution being put forward by another organization. Rather than resolve the differences behind closed doors, the other group wrote a letter to the editor of the local newspaper criticizing both Shaun and his organization.

"Shaun never responded," says Paul. "He didn't want to air dirty laundry in public. It hurt him though, I could tell."

Time is limited

There was a sense of urgency about everything Shaun did. It was as if he knew his time was limited and he wanted to accomplish as much as possible with everything he did. Whether at work or at play, Shaun consciously pushed the envelope. This intensity within him was visible to anyone who associated with him. Shaun only ever operated at one speed -- high. Even on holidays, he was never without his cell phone, calling family and friends constantly.

Shaun was driven to make a difference.

On January 17, 2000, Shaun passed away as a result of complications from pneumonia. He was 51 years old.

Shaun once said that he probably wouldn't live much past 50. His prediction was right on. He left behind several legacies. In the disability world, he left behind a legacy of justice. In the world of rehabilitation, he left behind a legacy of understanding. In his personal world of family and friends, he left behind a legacy of love. In his community, he left behind a legacy of service.

For Christmas in 1998 Shaun received a special gift from his oldest daughter, Mary, a diary entitled, Dad, Share Your Life with Me. There was one question for each day of the year and Shaun was to write his answer in the space provided on that page. Questions included: "Where were you born?"; "What were your father's and mother's full names?"; "What was your favourite meal as a child?"; "What was the biggest problem you remember having in junior high school?"; "Tell about a favourite hangout place for you and your friends in high school"; "Tell about the first school dance you ever went to"; and "Tell about your first date with my mother."

Shaun completed the entire diary.

The last two questions are: "Is there anything else you would like me to know about your childhood?" and "Is there anything else you would like me to know about my childhood?" Shaun's answers to these two questions are revealing.

He responded to the first by writing, "My childhood was a time in my life when many good things happened and many sad things happened, but I have always been able to look at the happy times, because my parents loved me and helped me through the tough times. Your mother and I love you and will be there to help you should you ever need our help."

In answer to the second question, he wrote, "You were our only child for seven and a half years and we watched everything you did. You were the focus of our lives. Today, you are one of our three children, and we still watch everything you do and you are still the focus of our lives."

When Shaun passed away, Irene received dozens of letters. There were the expected ones, of course, expressing condolences from friends, family and Shaun's work colleagues. But what surprised Irene were the many letters from across the country from people she had never met, indeed had never even heard of. She received letters from Shaun's former clients sharing their stories about how Shaun had impacted on their lives. She received letters from family members of clients Shaun had helped over the years. She received letters from nieces and nephews, from the children of neighbours. Shaun had touched them all.

For many, it was the only way they knew how to say thank you to a man who had made such a personal difference to their lives.