Personal reflections

What follows is the speech I gave at my father's memorial. My brother gave a eulogy which detailed my fathers many accomplishments and then it was my job, as always, to lighten the mood. My nephews and niece began the service by playing Pacobell's Canon on violins and a cello, so I began by saying that my father was always one to do things a little in appropriate, like applauding in church, and he never would allow his grandchildren to go without applause, so please join me in applauding the playing of the canon. Then I said this.Leave them wanting more.

All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. We strut and fret our hour upon the stage and then are heard no more.

If, as Shakespeare says, a man’s life is a play, than my father’s life was an epic, romantic adventure at first, as heroes from the the mean streets of Lac La Biche to win the hand of a powerful man’s daughter.

Four plot twists (in eight years) later, and his story turned forever into a comedy. I made my entrance last, 46 years ago this month. Family music was big for us then, and I made my public debut in “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic” when I was so fat I couldn’t sit up (isn’t that how the story goes Patti?) What is rarely included in the story is that I was three months old at the time. As you can see, I am quite capable of sitting up now.

Music festivals, drama festivals, piano, school: all in the shadow of my siblings. My brother followed a path my father made to Africa where his efforts in the field of medicine and his improvement of the health and lives of countless people would humble anyone, let alone the little brother. My sister Sherry, who emulates my father’s great skill of teaching, and my partner in crime Patti, or rather Patricia, who has been compiling photographs (and I invite you all to see them at the luncheon afterwards) – both who are the glue that holds the family together, simply by keeping the most embarrassing stories of our family alive in there retelling. To them I owe a debt of gratitude for simply dropping their lives to care for my father when he needed it most. No words can express my gratitude, but I will try; thank you.

One summer we took a five-week vacation to Europe, and I am convinced that somehow it inspired the national Lampoon movie, “European Vacation”, and Chevy Chase’s universal dad Clark Griswald. It was on that vacation that Sherry hired me to carry her luggage for five weeks for one thousand lire. I thank her for demonstrating the level of wage I could come to expect as a Canadian entertainer.

Not only were we performing regularly, but we were being exposed to the finest theatre that the world had to offer. From the opera “Aida” in the Roman Ruins, Shakespeare’s Henry the Fifth in Stratford… Upon Avon, Broadway, the west End of London where we saw Henry Fonda, Jimmy Stewart and Sir Alec Guinness. And of course, The Citadel, The Vancouver Playhouse or any other theatre in Canada you care to mention.

When I look back at that time I wonder how my father managed to be surprised that I would pursue a career in the arts. When I went off to the Drumheller drama school one summer, his biggest concern was that I would come back calling it “Drawmah”. If he didn’t agree with my chosen profession, he hid it well, attending as many shows of mine as he could. I am not alone in this, as any of his grandchildren can attest to his presence in the audience – no matter how small the part. “There are no small parts” he would say. “But dad, it’s only one line.” “Well, I just won’t say anything then!”

I am blessed that in the last year he was able to see me perform stand-up comedy, and come out to Vancouver to see a play I directed.

But he had an instinct; a gift for making shows work. He took hundreds of the grungiest kids you can imagine (present company excluded), put them on the stage and made them shine. Watched them glow in the applause of accomplishment. The laurel of affection and praise sat awkwardly on my father’s shoulders. He stood back so others could take the bows and receive the ovations.

He always said “Leave a party when it’s fun.” “Always leave them wanting more”. Well he did that. Left us before we wanted him to. A play, a show, a life, a man who gave so much to so many, left us wanting just a little bit more.