Steve Rhodes: A Centenary Reflection on Discipline and Dignity 

Femi Akintunde Johnson 

Wednesday this week (April 8, 2026) would have marked 100 years since the birth of Elder Steve Bankole Rhodes – a man whose presence, even in memory, still carries the quiet authority of a nation that once took itself seriously.

 There are men you meet, and there are men who leave an imprint. Elder Steve Rhodes belonged firmly to the latter category. Not because he sought attention – far from it – but because he embodied a standard. And standards, as we are daily reminded in our present climate, have become endangered species.

Born in 1926, Rhodes came of age in a Nigeria that was still negotiating its identity – colonial in structure, but restless in spirit. By the time broadcasting began to evolve from its early, somewhat experimental phases into a structured public institution, he was already in the room… not as a spectator, but as a participant in shaping its tone, texture, and temperament.

This is important. Because to understand Rhodes is to understand that he did not “join” broadcasting as we know it – he belonged to the generation that defined what it ought to be.

Long before the consolidation that birthed the Federal Radio Corporation of Nigeria, broadcasting in Nigeria was driven by a philosophy that now feels almost alien: clarity over noise, authority over theatrics, and responsibility over relevance-chasing. Rhodes was steeped in that tradition. One suspects he never really left it.

And perhaps that is why, decades later, he could walk into rooms filled with excitable young creatives – brimming with ideas, energy, and the occasional confusion – and calmly restore order without raising his voice.

 I encountered him in the early 1990s, at a time when some of us – armed with more enthusiasm than structure – were determined to “reinvent” recognition in the Nigerian entertainment space. The idea was bold, perhaps even audacious: to create a music awards platform that would stand outside the suffocating embrace of industry politics and reward genuine excellence.

In our moment of collective bravery (or recklessness, depending on your perspective), we decided to invite Elder Steve Rhodes to chair the advisory board.

 Looking back, it was the kind of decision that should have been preceded by a long pause, a strong cup of coffee, and perhaps a small prayer. Here we were – individuals at least two generations removed from him – inviting a man of formidable reputation, a known stickler for excellence and order, to oversee what could easily have descended into organised chaos.

 We sent the letter anyway. What came back, within days, was not a polite deferral or a diplomatically worded decline. It was a simple, dignified acceptance – written on his characteristically modest grey A5-headed paper – accompanied by a gentle but unmistakable injunction: pursue excellence, not just promotion.

We were stunned. And, if we are being honest, slightly unsettled. Because it is one thing to admire discipline from a distance; it is quite another to invite it into your working committee.

 That was Rhodes. At over 70, he did not retreat into the comfortable distance of elder statesmanship. He stepped forward – deliberately – into the messy, unpredictable world of younger generations, not to dominate, but to guide. Not to impress, but to insist.

 By 1994, when another ambitious idea emerged – this time to establish a truly inclusive movie awards platform – there was no debate about who to call. The answer had become instinctive.

As Managing Trustee of the historic Glover Memorial Hall on Lagos Island, Rhodes provided not just institutional backing, but something far more valuable: credibility. Under his watch, what became THEMA (The Movie Awards) found a home in one of Lagos’ most culturally resonant spaces. It was, in every sense, a meeting point between history and aspiration.

And Rhodes stood at that intersection, quietly ensuring that neither was diminished. What struck many of us, repeatedly, was his unusual comfort with youth. Not the performative, patronising kind that some elders adopt for applause – but a genuine willingness to engage, to listen, and, when necessary, to correct with surgical precision.

He had a way of smiling – almost playfully – before delivering a remark that would leave you simultaneously educated and slightly embarrassed. His words could carry sarcasm, even mild umbrage, but they were never careless. They were anchored in experience, sharpened by clarity, and delivered without fear or favour.

In today’s language, one might say he did not suffer fools gladly. In truth, he simply had no time for pretence. And yet, for all his firmness, there was nothing ostentatious about him. His public style was disarmingly simple. No theatrical flourish, no unnecessary grandeur – just presence. A presence that reminded you, without announcement, that you were in the company of a man who had seen systems built, sustained, and, in some cases, eroded.

He belonged to that rare category of Nigerians who could critique without bitterness, mentor without condescension, and participate without seeking validation.

Even in his later years, well into his 70s and beyond, Rhodes remained actively engaged – attending events, contributing to conversations, and, perhaps most importantly, modelling a standard of conduct that younger practitioners could observe, if not always emulate.

His passing on 29 May, 2008, at the age of 82, did not merely mark the end of a life. It marked, in many ways, the quiet fading of a particular ethos.

An ethos that believed professionalism was not optional. That excellence was not negotiable. That public platforms – whether in broadcasting or entertainment – carried a responsibility that extended beyond personal success.

Today, as we navigate an environment increasingly defined by speed, spectacle, and the urgent need to be seen and heard – sometimes at the expense of being understood – it is tempting to dismiss such standards as relics of a slower, less competitive era. But then one remembers Rhodes.

One remembers a man who, even at 70, accepted the invitation to guide those young enough to be his grandchildren – not because he needed relevance, but because he believed in responsibility.

One remembers a man who could sit in a room, say very little, and yet leave everyone with a clear sense of direction.

One remembers a man who, by simply being consistent, made mediocrity uncomfortable.

At 100, Elder Steve Rhodes would not have asked for celebration. He would likely have preferred a quiet reflection – and perhaps a renewed commitment to doing things properly. Which, in our current climate, might just be the most radical tribute of all.