
An extraordinary life
On Saturday, I was honored to speak at a celebration of life for Tony Allerton, a civic giant who passed in September.
Tony was uncomfortable with the word legend, but that’s what he was and still is, because his good works will outlive him and all of us.
I was asked by a few folks who couldn’t attend the event at the Drug Abuse Foundation to post my remarks. Here they are.
My heart goes out to Tony’s family and the thousands of friends he made during his extraordinary life. It is a great honor to speak about his impact today.
Tony’s loss leaves a void…we are blessed to have known him, but we miss him terribly. We always will.
This has been a year of loss—the Delray Beach community lost several bright lights in 2025, people whose spirit made this place so special. Tony Allerton was one of those people. He was so special and his light burned bright.
Tony was a “get it done kind of guy” and we need these people. They are the people who move the needle….the people who ensure progress, the people who enrich and save lives.
And so when I think of Tony and how we can cope with the grief we feel, I think there’s an arc we can follow….gratitude, remembrance, testimony, legacy and blessing.
And those are the five things I want to leave you with today…
At his essence, Tony Allerton was a man who exuded optimism, love, empathy, and care. In a world that can often feel hard, cynical, even unkind, Tony stood tall and stood out. He was someone you could always count on to find a way forward, a way toward a better future—a path toward grace.
He lived 97 years, that’s a good run. but for people like Tony… it never feels like enough time. He leaves a void in so many lives, but he also leaves a legacy of hope, compassion, understanding, and belief in others that will ripple through this community for generations.
If that sounds like an exaggeration, then you didn’t know Tony. All of us here, we knew Tony. We know Tony didn’t just touch lives—he transformed them.
One of the great privileges of my life was getting to call Tony a friend for nearly 40 years. And when you’re my age, it’s not every day you get to share lunch with someone 36 years your senior—especially when that someone is a local legend.
Earlier this year, I had the honor of having lunch with Tony at Granger’s. We were deep in conversation—grilled cheese sandwiches, stories of Delray through the decades, old memories—when a gentleman walked across the restaurant, grabbed our check, and thanked Tony for a lifetime of good deeds.
Isn’t that beautiful?
That happened everywhere Tony went.
Gratitude followed him like a shadow.
During that lunch, as we talked about the past—about his arrival in Delray in the 1950s, about the people he’d known and the mayors he’d worked with, I noticed something extraordinary. While we reminisced, Tony didn’t live in the past. He honored it, yes, but his heart beat for the future.
At 97 years old, Tony was still raising money for Crossroads, still searching for ways to help more people recover, still dreaming up what was next.
That’s what legends do.
They wake up with purpose.
They live to serve.
Tony understood recovery because it was his struggle too. And because of that, he became a beacon—a model of what’s possible when someone chooses a life of sobriety, service, and dignity.
The word recovery carries enormous weight in Delray Beach. Over the years, we’ve seen tremendous compassion—and, sadly, we’ve also seen fear, intolerance, even cruelty. While we’ve been called a welcoming community. We’ve also heard people use the ugliest words to describe those who come here to heal.
But through it all, Tony never wavered.
He never stopped caring.
He never gave in to anger.
He never lost hope.
He responded to darkness with light.
He met judgment with kindness.
He met despair with possibility.
That’s rare.
That’s heroic.
That’s Tony.
Some of the very best people I’ve met in my 38 years in Delray came here to recover. Many stayed. Many built successful lives. Many are community leaders today. And Tony played a role in every one of those stories because he believed, fundamentally and ferociously, in people.
His civic résumé alone is breathtaking—Delray Beach Playhouse, Rotary Club, Lake Ida Property Owners Association—but his truest, deepest work was with the Crossroads Club, the nonprofit he led for more than four decades, quietly saving lives every single day.
Thousands of people owe their sobriety, their second chance, their dignity to Tony’s steadfast leadership.
I will never forget the day he walked into my office at City Hall after I was elected to the Commission in 2000. He told me Crossroads needed a new home—somewhere out of the path of downtown’s progress, somewhere with parking, somewhere to grow.
And then he said the line I’ll never forget:
“When we shut the lights downtown, we need to be turning them on in the new building.”
The message was clear:
People are counting on us.
Meetings can’t be missed.
Lives are at stake.
He said it once with that warm smile… and then again, leaning forward, with that Tony intensity that made you sit up straighter.
We got the message.
And that’s exactly what happened. Lights down, lights up. He loved telling that story and I loved hearing it.
Tony’s wisdom, compassion, courage, and clarity guided so many of us—me included.
We are told, as leaders, that people are replaceable. And in many aspects of life, I suppose that’s true. But I’m here to testify:
There will never be another Tony.
You can’t go to the shelf and pluck out another leader with his heart, his humility, his joy, his fight.
But here’s the part that gives me comfort:
People like Tony live on.
His legacy is alive in every person he helped recover.
It’s alive in every life saved, every meeting attended, every family restored.
It’s alive in the thousands of ripples of good he set in motion.
There are people doing remarkable things today because Tony once believed in them. There are children growing up with sober parents because Tony gave someone the courage to walk through the doors of Crossroads. There are men and women who found grace, purpose, and redemption because Tony was there to show them the way.
Those ripples endure.
They always will.
I’m grateful to my friend Steve English for making sure I had one last lunch with Tony. It was a gift. A blessing. A moment I will hold close for the rest of my life.
To Tony’s family—your loss is profound, and my heart is with you. But what an extraordinary blessing it is to have loved and been loved by such a man.
And to all of us who were touched by his life:
Tony was a bright light.
And that bright light will continue to burn bright.
It lives in us now.
It is our turn to carry it forward.
Thank you.










