For the past several days, Robert Pehura has been on what he describes as an emotional roller coaster. But writing his father’s obituary helped steady him. James Pehura passed away early this week, and Rob remembers him not just as a father, but as one of the kindest people you could meet.
Growing up, he notes he didn’t always realize the impact his dad had on others. But looking back, the signs were there.
“He just had a gift,” Rob says. “And people either have it or they don't. He definitely had it in spades.”
As a child, Rob remembers being brought to PCI to help set up chairs or clean his dad's classroom, but they were never alone. Other students, former students, and friends were often there too. He says it was only later that he came to understand how deeply his dad had connected with people.
Pehura taught his own son twice: once in Grade 10 English in 1991, and again in Grade 12 in 1993. Even in classes of 60 students, Rob says, he took time to get to know everyone.
“Anyone that went through his class knows how to do an essay and do them well,” Rob says. “I survived university because of how I knew how to structure an essay.”
Even those who hadn’t been in his classroom for decades still called him Mr. Pehura. “That’s respect,” Rob adds. “They have a hard time calling him Jim because they respect him that much.”
Jim Pehura, he says, wasn’t just respected — he was beloved. His legacy, he believes, is irreplaceable.
Building bridges and school culture
Rob recalls how his father helped navigate the 2006 school amalgamation. While most administrators would be given a full year to prepare, Pehura and his colleagues — including Bob Kriski, Mark Diboll, Greg Waldvogel and Barb Kristofferson — did it all while working full time. Jim worked most of that summer to bring PCI and the former junior high under one roof.
Staff, Rob says, wanted to work for his father. “He did things that made people want to do him proud,” he says. One of those things was handwritten sticky notes of encouragement, left in mailboxes or on desks. Many of his former coworkers still have them, stored in folders or envelopes.
Rob says his father was ahead of his time as a teacher. Practices now encouraged in education — like relationship-building and individualized engagement — were things Jim was doing 40 or 50 years ago.
“He knew how to educate kids. He knew how to build relationships with kids,” Rob says. “Even at 80 years old, he knew how to connect.”
A leader, mentor, and proud dad
Rob says his father continued to teach and volunteer long after retirement. He guided his grandchildren, including Carson, who helped seniors at Herman Prior Centre with smartphones and tablets. That spirit of service, Rob says, came directly from his dad.
Jim Pehura also guided Rob’s path into education. When Rob considered quitting during a strike, Jim encouraged him to stick with it. Once he entered the profession, Rob says he wanted to emulate the connections his father made with students.
“Everybody's different. No one's going to be Jim. But you could learn a lot from him,” he says. “It's sad that's gone.”
He adds that what made his father exceptional wasn’t just his skill as a teacher, but his ability to unite people.
“It was a skill. He was a master at it,” he says.
One regret, he shares, is that his father never got the chance to pass that gift on at a broader level. “He could have taught at a university. He knew how to connect. He knew how to teach that to others.”
He notes without any effort on either the part of the school or himself, he is now using Jim Pehura's office at PCI.
Continuing the tribute
As tributes pour in through Facebook and messages, Rob says the most meaningful have come from former students, now seniors, who still remember Mr. Pehura by name and by heart.
Rob, now teaching in the very same office his father once occupied at PCI, is preparing to deliver the eulogy. Surrounded by the memories and legacies his father left behind, he finds comfort in knowing the impact will live on.
“If we can follow his principles of living and teaching,” he says, “then the sky is the limit for the kids coming up in the Portage school system.”
Remembering a school icon
James Kostuchuk recalls hearing the news of Jim Pehura’s passing earlier this week, describing it as “really tough.” Looking back over his own career, he reflects on the powerful legacy left behind by a man known affectionately as “Mr. PCI.”
Kostuchuk notes that when he first arrived in Portage la Prairie, he had no previous connection to the community. But that changed quickly after walking through the doors of Portage Collegiate Institute.
“He loved our school,” Kostuchuk says. “And you know, when you love what you do, it’s infectious.”
Immersing himself in the school’s history helped Kostuchuk understand its impact. He credits Pehura for being the type of leader who protected and championed that sense of legacy.
“He had institutional memory,” he adds. “In education, they often say change is generational. And sometimes we lose that momentum when we lose that memory.”
A teacher’s principal
Kostuchuk continues by sharing how supportive Pehura was of staff, especially early in his career when he was serving on various committees while teaching.
“He always supported me,” Kostuchuk notes. “If I had to come back late after lunch because a meeting ran long, I never had to worry that it would impact my career.”
“He encouraged it. If you want exceptional outcomes for your school or your community, you sometimes have to make exceptions.”
Kostuchuk says Pehura’s love for students and heritage often overlapped. “He made it work so I could take part in the Heritage Committee, even when it conflicted with work hours. He’d find a way to cover it because he knew it mattered.”
Kind, candid and always committed
“He had a great love of people,” Kostuchuk says. “The history of PCI mattered to him because it represented thousands of lives.”
“He never had arrogance,” he continues. “Even when correcting your grammar or spelling, he did it kindly.”
“Jim taught while he was principal. That gave him credibility with us. He was the boss, sure—but we also saw him as a teacher. One of us.”
A sense of humour and legacy
Kostuchuk also shares a light-hearted story from when they worked on a history book for PCI’s reunion.
“We included a biography of every principal, and I wanted Jim’s to stand out,” Kostuchuk says. “I brought in a professional photographer to take his headshot.”
Later, Kostuchuk found out Pehura hated that photo and secretly replaced it with one he had taken himself.
“It’s ironic,” Kostuchuk notes. “The photo he liked the least is now the one people are posting everywhere in tribute. But I think he would’ve appreciated the humour in that.”
Students never forgot him
Ferdi Nelissen also knew Pehura well, first meeting him in the 1970s as a high school student in English class. Like many students, Nelissen admits he wasn’t initially interested in the subject—until Pehura made it matter.
“He would let you pick a song from someone like Simon and Garfunkel or Cat Stevens because it was written like poetry,” Nelissen says. “Then he’d add something a bit tougher to make you think.”
“He’d even go get the movie reel for something like Hamlet and show it to us. That got us more engaged.”
“He totally prepared me for university,” Nelissen continues. “I was ready to write essays on anything after having him as a teacher.”
“He had a true passion for teaching. He was just outstanding.”
Nelissen says Pehura’s impact extended well beyond his own generation. Both of his children graduated from PCI while Pehura was principal.
“My daughter’s class was his last before he retired in 2010,” Nelissen adds. “He gave so much to his students. He had an unbelievable way of communicating.”
A final speech and lasting legacy
Nelissen shares that Pehura was scheduled to speak at the upcoming 50th reunion for the Class of 1975 this September. He had already prepared his speech.
“We’re going to read it,” Nelissen says. “Even during his final weeks, he was still communicating with us and helping find old teachers for the reunion.”
“His mark on our community has been huge. His legacy will live on.”
A classroom memory that stuck
Nelissen ends with a classic story from his brother about how Pehura handled a group of students who tried to sit in the back row and coast through class.
“He watched them take those seats, then called one of them up to grab his desk,” Nelissen says. “He moved it right to the back of the room, turned it around, got his chair, and told everyone to spin their desks to face him. Suddenly, the troublemakers were in the front row.”
“He didn’t make a big deal of it,” Nelissen adds. “He just did it. That was Jim. He made English fun. He was engaging. A truly great guy.”