After 46 years as a Buffalo Township supervisor, Albert 'Ouch' Roenigk trails off toward the sunset

Albert “Ouch” Roenigk has never pined for power.

That’s probably why, in 1979, a judge made him a Buffalo Township supervisor. The previous ones had resigned amid an intra-board dispute over alleged corruption, leaving the township without elected leaders for six months.

A steadying presence in township government for 46 years, you won’t see his name on a ballot this year, he’s stepping away.

“I’ve had a lot of people tell me to run,” Roenigk said. “But I’m almost 83 years old, and I still work.”

A lot has changed since a couple of Republicans (Roenigk is a lifelong Democrat) walked onto his farm and asked him to throw his hat in the ring for supervisor.

For one, farms are no longer the township’s economic identity. Just since the turn of the century, the local population has grown from 6,800 to 8,100 residents, and businesses — mostly chains — have lined the Route 356 corridor in response. Buffalo Township has gone from zero stoplights to rows of them, and stormwater management has evolved from an afterthought to a key government function.

“Back in the ‘70s,” Roenigk remarked, “the only rule about stormwater was it ran downhill.”

Public sewage, which really got going in the early part of Roenigk’s tenure, has become the norm, and wells have largely given way to water hook-ups with the Municipal Authority of Buffalo Township.

Roenigk helped usher it all in. Most of all, he hangs his hat on the Butler-Freeport Community Trail, made from a vacant rail line the township purchased for $90,000 in 1988.

He advocated for the rails-to-trails project “before it was a cool thing to do,” said Chris Ziegler, trail council president.

The scores of walkers and bikers who line the 21-mile trail during the warmer months make it hard to imagine just how hard Roenigk, some of his fellow supervisors and then-trail council president Ron Bennett had to fight to make it a reality.

The first section of the trail, connecting Sarver to Cabot, opened in 1992. Steelers legend Franco Harris spoke at the ceremony on behalf of adaptive sports nonprofit the Pittsburgh Steelwheelers — a moment Roenigk remembers fondly.

Then, a lawsuit struck. A group of residents had banded together to argue former rail corridors should revert to nearby property owners, not go up for sale. While the case wound its way to the state Supreme Court, the situation on the ground descended into acrimony as some residents barricaded the trail with straw bales, rock piles and barbed wire.

“I don’t know how many times we were in court,” Roenigk said.

In 2002, the state Supreme Court ruled in the township’s favor. A similar lawsuit filed by Summit supervisors was withdrawn the following year.

Roenigk and crew were victorious.

“Ouch was the driving force,” Bennett said. “He kept the supervisors motivated to continue on.”

Ouch knows all

The half-dozen officials TribLive interviewed about Roenigk described him as a walking history book on the township.

“He’s kind of like one of the grandfathers of Buffalo Township,” said Supervisor Michael Oehling Jr.

When Supervisors Chairman Ron Zampogna first moved to town more than two decades ago, he recalled, “people told me, ‘if you need anything or you want to know anything, go find Ouch Roenigk and he’ll help you.

“Shortly after, I did, and he was nothing but helpful with my development in the community and getting on the board.”

Besides commending his wisdom, longtime township engineer Ken Howard flat-out called Roenigk “the best (supervisor) I’ve ever worked with.”

Roenigk is a Buffalo Township lifer and still lives on the farm where he got approached to become a supervisor.

He spent around four decades as a promoter for Lernerville Speedway, where he helped bring the venue from a local fixture to one of the nation’s most popular and respected dirt tracks. His contributions earned him spots in the Lernerville and Pittsburgh Circle Track Club halls of fame.

These days, he drives around in a utility truck, doing maintenance for the family school bus business, W.L. Roenigk. The lift comes in handy for the light fixtures on the company’s nine lots in Southwestern Pennsylvania. Asked if he plans to retire, he paused for a moment, then uttered, “I don’t know.”

Roenigk often is asked where his nickname comes from. Was he a fighter in his youth, people wonder, able to make any opponent cry out in pain?

Not quite.

“When I was a baby, (my sister) was 2 years old,” he explained. “(My parents) were trying to get Carol to say Albert, and she couldn’t say Albert. It came out as Ouch.”