When David Onley changed jobs, he also changed the job description of lieutenant-governor

He also opened it up to everyone else — all Ontarians who felt shut out from our institutions and wanted to see democracy enabled.

As a person in a wheelchair, Onley understood the barriers that closed off physical access.

As a former newscaster in the hot seat, Onley also grasped the public’s desire to know what was going on behind closed doors.

Sitting in for the Crown, perched on his motorized scooter, he went out of his way to drive change. Onley stayed the course until he died this month at age 72, eight years after leaving public life.

He made his mark not just in his viceregal role from 2007 to 2014, but as a role model throughout his life.

Onley first achieved public acclaim as a local TV celebrity, thanks to his accessible reporting as a science journalist and news reader. Relying on a wheelchair since a childhood bout with polio, he insisted that viewers see him as he was, not just from the waist up.

When I got to know him years later, Onley had given up the job of broadcasting those intriguing stories to large audiences from a television studio. He had entered the cloistered chambers of Queen’s Park, a place of intrigue where he had to keep secrets while swearing in premiers and cabinet ministers.

All eyes were always on him — and all voices fell silent — whenever he rose from his trademark scooter, clad in leg braces. Grabbing his crutches, he’d mount the carpeted steps to take his place in the ornate Speaker’s chair at the front of the legislative chamber.

Onley never stumbled, his broadcast-quality voice never wavered, and he never looked back. But after a long career as a communicator, he found it hard to hold back from demystifying what he did.

He discovered that keeping quiet can be harder than it sounds, especially when people are clamouring for an explanation. Which is what happened in 2012, when Onley hit his first big bump on the viceregal road.

Dalton McGuinty informed Onley he was resigning as premier — and also wanted to prorogue the legislature (prorogation is political jargon for calling a timeout and arranging for a legislative reset). The tactic is constitutional but can be controversial.

Stephen Harper had used it to buy time to survive a confidence vote as prime minister. McGuinty’s manoeuvre, amid the premier’s declining popularity, prompted many naysayers to accuse Onley of complicity for granting the premier’s request.

Critics wanted him to just say no — overruling or vetoing McGuinty’s move. But that’s not in the job description of the lieutenant-governor.

Frustrated by the disconnect, he agreed to an unprecedented sit-down interview, discussing what the Crown could — and couldn’t — do. He described trying to connect with Ontarians via social media (then in its infancy), only to discover that Twitter engagement wasn’t as simple as it sounded — people were sticking to their opinions while sticking it to McGuinty and Onley both.

His Honour had always insisted on standing up to greet me in his ornate suite, but as soon as we sat down our conversations had previously been confidential. This time, he wanted to go on the record to set the record straight.

Deluged by barbed tweets, he took solace in Shakespeare’s Hamlet: “Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” he mused.

“You just end up taking it.”

But the former journalist who had always been publicly admired clearly didn’t revel in being cast as the villain.

“I was really surprised at the number of emails and tweets that were insisting that I take action that was so far beyond what my constitutional authority is. And in fact, various suggestions were flat-out undemocratic — you would never want to have a viceregal or any position above that of the elected officials.”

In Canada’s constitutional democracy, the Crown doesn’t have a veto over an elected premier, barring truly exceptional circumstances — and prorogation doesn’t qualify: “Something that’s ‘politically controversial’ doesn’t fit that category — doesn’t even come close.”

Onley wanted people to understand the reality of his role. Coincidentally, he had just taped a cameo appearance on the “Murdoch Mysteries” television series, playing the role of Sir Oliver Mowat, the longtime premier who later served as Ontario’s eighth lieutenant-governor.

In our private encounters, as in his public appearances, Onley always relied on humour and civility. He later invited Ontario’s then-premier, Kathleen Wynne and her opposition counterparts to sit down with him for supper, setting the table for a more productive dialogue out of the public eye.

The opposition leaders didn’t bite. So he threw it open to all MPPs instead.

“I understand partisan politics — you’ve got to try to exploit your opponents’ weaknesses,” he told me. “I think it can be done in a way that’s heavier on policy than it is on personality.”

As a former journalist, and also as lieutenant-governor, Onley was always hungry for the latest news. Given his job constraints, he always extracted more information out of me than I got out of him.

But after he left the job, he more than made up for it. Onley agreed to speak at the Democracy Forum that I’d organized at Toronto Metropolitan University (previously Ryerson), in a special joint appearance with his successor, Lt.-Gov. Elizabeth Dowdeswell — allowing him to play a new supporting role as a candid commentator, freed from the obligation of discretion.

They were a great tag team onstage, but behind the scenes I learned belatedly the reality of Onley’s life in retirement. Without an entourage of troubleshooters, bereft of bodyguards, unseated from his chauffeured van, he had to make his own way to our event on campus — coping with the constraints without complaint.

Onley normally refused any winter speaking engagements, but he wanted to be there in the February cold, talking up democracy to the next generation of student leaders. So he walked me through the roadblocks — literal, metaphorical and meteorological — by telephone beforehand:

Was the stage wide enough for his scooter? Was the ramp too steep? Any stairs to surmount? Where could he park? Was it sheltered from snow? Was there a tunnel so his scooter wouldn’t get stuck in slush? Who would shovel any snow banks that blocked his way?

That conversation prompted a separate column on the report he’d prepared for the government reviewing accessibility in the province. As lieutenant-governor, he’d moved the needle at Queen’s Park — an elevator was installed in the viceregal suite, and a ramp was retrofitted in front of the legislature — yet the rest of the province was still lagging.

In truth, Onley never stopped demanding greater access for people living with disabilities, while making our constitutional arcana more accessible to all Ontarians. Starting with his personal struggles in childhood, culminating with his political challenges he travelled a long road on his motorized scooter — and left an inspirational legacy.

Along the way, he touched many Ontarians. You can count me among them.

(Onley will lie in state at the legislature on Jan. 28 and 29. A state funeral will be held the following Monday.)