Bill Day expressing deep appreciation for his friends.
Although Bill Day lives in Hedley only part-time, some 23 people, primarily citizens of Hedley, gathered last Saturday to honour him on his 83rd birthday. A former college president and citizenship judge, Bill has won the respect of many in the community by participating and contributing wherever he can. Last year he did the sleuthing necessary to locate two WW1 machine guns. He persuaded the owner to loan them to the town for a special commemorative ceremony to pay tribute to the young men who had volunteered for war service.
He is a member of the Hedley Historical Museum Society and when the kitchen needed updating, he gave time to this project. His plumbing experience was a great asset. Bill also worked many hours with Terry Sawiuk restoring Miner’s Cabin at the Museum. When something needs doing, Bill frequently says, “just tell me what you want done and I’ll do it.” Maybe his robust health comes from having an optimistic outlook on life.
Lynn Wells served the birthday cake.
The party was arranged by Bill’s partner, Lynn Wells. Apparently Bill and Lynn enjoy the company of people making a positive and substantive difference in this community. Virtually every guest present is active in at least one community organization, and, according to Lynn, Bill has worked on one or more projects with each of them this past year.
The atmosphere was upbeat and the cake was delicious.
Laila Bird holding the rhubarb crisp, which she later served us with ice cream
Sitting at a small table on Laila Bird’s deck, Linda and I enjoyed her delicious coffee and the panoramic view of the valley. We had come to engage in a conversation about her life, but at the outset she attempted to dissuade us. “I don’t know why you want to write about me,” she said. “I’m really not interesting.” She then produced the names and phone numbers of 3 acquaintances who she assured us “are really interesting.”
I conjured up what I hoped was an engaging smile and asked, “where were you born, Laila?” Evidently convinced we really did want to know about her life, she said, “I was born on a duck farm in England. My maiden name was Laila McKenzie-Muncaster. We had nannies and housekeepers and mother drove a large American car.” Those words launched her into an intriguing, and sometimes amusing account spanning 80 years. Her story was somewhat akin to entering a maze consisting of numerous side paths, some of which she followed and then inexplicably abandoned. We would come to understand that she’s a lady of great resolve who has learned to embrace life, even in the midst of challenging circumstances.
Her father, an engineer, had a reputation for being knowledgeable about birds. This produced an early memory that is still fixed prominently in her mind. “One day Lady South Hampton asked him to come and advise her concerning her peacocks,” she said. “He took me along and I expected her to be dressed elegantly, like a woman of nobility. I was astonished when she came out of her home wearing torn baggy pants and a sweater held closed by a safety pin.”
Born in 1936 Leila has childhood memories of WW II. “My parents were requisitioned to civilian jobs the government deemed important,” she said. “A machine gun was stationed at the bottom of our garden. The war ruined us.”
As a young woman she got a job in the PR department of the Dutch Embassy and escorted journalists to Holland. Shortly after though, she became annoyed at Britain’s involvement in the 1956 Suez Crisis. “We had just recently dealt with the hardships of war,” she said. “I moved to Canada.”
After several other jobs, she began selling Persian and Oriental rugs for “a man who was very, very lazy. He was an alcoholic and depended on me to take care of the business. He had started it as an auction but I suggested he open a store, so he did. It was a big success.”
In her group of friends was a young man who became keenly interested in her. “He was always around,” she said. “When I left for work in the morning, he was there. When I got home, he was waiting for me.” They got married and started a pig farm in South Langley. “Twenty sows and two boars. We also had goats,” she said. “While I was milking them one day I went into labour. I finished milking, strained the milk and then went into the hospital.”
She recalls the pigs with great fondness. “They had the cutest little babies. Pigs are much like dogs in intelligence and if they’re trained right, they will obey like dogs. They played with soccer balls and toys. They ate a well rounded diet, but not cucumbers.”
A major crisis entered her life when her husband left the family and went to Central America. Responsible for 4 children, Laila needed to be strong. “I had young twins,” she said. “I’d strap one in front, one on my back and go out to move bales of hay and alfalfa.”
Then her life was unexpectedly interrupted by a serious automobile accident that crushed her pelvis. “My heart stopped in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They got it started, but the doctors told me I’d never walk again. I had 4 children and I disagreed. One day I told a nurse I wanted to use the bathroom. She gave me a walker. Three hours later I got there.” She persevered and today walks with no discernible limp.
Three years ago Laila received treatment for cancer. As president of the Hospital Auxiliary, she can’t take time to feel sorry for herself. “No one wants the job,” she said, “I have to carry on.” On the drive home Linda said, “she hasn’t lived an ordinary life.”
Not having met 98 year old Auntie Doll previously or spoken with her, I thought she might be a shrunken little lady with a weak hesitant voice and possibly lapses of memory. I was surprised when she gripped my hand firmly like a logger, and warmly welcomed Linda and me into her comfortable home. A zest for life still burns with a lively flame in this lady. Her erect bearing suggests resolute character.
I began by asking how we should address her. She said, “I was born Violet Madeline, but everyone calls me Auntie Doll.” She immediately became Auntie Doll for us.
Although a member of the Lower Similkameen Indian Band she has never lived on the reserve. “My grandfather on my mother’s side was Indian,” she said. “My other grandfather was French. Our family owned a ranch just north of Olalla. When I was 6 months my father died and everyone was needed to keep the ranch going. I was thinking of going into nursing but I quit school after grade 8 to do ranch work.”
“For 6 months each year our cattle were in the mountains,” she said. “As I became old enough I began riding the range. We were out in all weather. At night we stayed in a deserted prospector’s cabin. I loved horses, and I loved riding.” Almost certainly much of her inner resolve was developed during those months in the mountains, keeping track of cattle, contending with storms in spring and fall, and dealing with dangerous situations.
“One morning I was riding up a steep trail with a 30 foot drop to one side,” she recalled. “My horse was anxious. Suddenly it bucked and threw me off. I was lucky. I landed on a huge sagebrush that kept me from falling all the way down.” Another time her horse stumbled. Her head took a hard hit and she was kept in the hospital 2 weeks.
Auntie Doll never learned the language of the band but her mother taught her the thinking and culture of their people. “Mom understood the language,” she said. “Being the youngest, I was with her a lot. She talked about people who had gone before her time. She knew about the natural medicines our people use. Sometimes we dug up edible roots for food. We dried berries and choke cherries and she preserved fruit in jars.”
I asked about a deer head with splendid antlers mounted on one wall. “I shot it when I was 19,” she told us. “I was a pretty good shot and I bagged quite a few. We always had lots of food.”
Auntie Doll remembers shooting this deer at age 19.
As a young woman she danced in Pow Wows. “The beat of the drum is the heart beat of mother Earth,” she said. “The land is important. Young people should get an education, but they shouldn’t forget the past.”
“I was married to Reg in 1944. The next day he was sent to the war where he was a scout and a sniper. The Germans captured him and he was in a prisoner of war camp 7 months.”
After the war they bought the family ranch. “Reg had been wounded,” she said, becoming very serious. “He had terrible nightmares from the war. He was never the same. We couldn’t keep the ranch. It was a hard time. We had one son. Reg died in 1983.”
Auntie Doll at 32 years
In spite of a physically vigorous life, or possibly because of it, Auntie Doll retains remarkably robust health. “I take a little pink pill and a baby aspirin,” she said, “but not every day. I try to understand life and make the best of it. There will be bumps. We have to find a way around them.”
Although she no longer attends the monthly meetings of elders, she values her connection to the band. I asked if she knows Chief Keith Crow. “Yes,” she said with conviction. “Chief Crow will do well for us.”
As we were about to go, she said “ Life is still exciting. I enjoy every day. Now that I’m so close, I’d like to get to 100.”
Auntie Doll asked me to remind family and friends to come to her 98th birthday celebration at her home in Cherrywood Estates in Olalla on May 21. It will begin at 1 pm with the potluck dinner at 4. Happy Birthday Auntie Doll!
Bob & Diane Sterne in front of their home & motel office.
The drive from Hedley to Coalmont would have been worthwhile just to drink Bob Sterne’s richly flavoured coffee and sample Diane’s lemon loaf. Between Princeton and Tulameen, Coalmont is somewhat off what we call the beaten path. At one stretch there is a steep drop to the valley below. I’d want a 4×4 pickup for the trip in winter.
Linda and I had not met the Sternes previously but we already suspected they aren’t the type who wring their hands and say “someone should do something about it.” They initially came to the Coalmont area to do gold panning. “We fell in love with the community,” Diane told us. “Over several years we became quieter and quieter on our trips back to Anmore. This was where we wanted to be. At that time I was a dental assistant and Bob was building radio controlled sail boats.”
Set in a spacious valley Coalmont is, for the most part, peaceful and idyllic. In 2003 the Sternes made the momentous decision to buy the former CPR pay office in this community of about 85 citizens. “The building had no electricity, no plumbing and no septic tank,” Bob recalled. It was a daunting decision for other reasons as well. Even now, Coalmont has no doctor, nurse or first responder, no cell service, stores, or fire department. Also, there is no community water system so each property must have its own well.
Web photo of the Mozey-On-Inn
They transformed the sadly neglected structure into a home and 3 unit motel, and named it the Mozey-On-Inn. Wanting to retain the aura of the earlier gold mining era, signs on the units designate them as Bank, Saloon and Barbershop.
With virtually no services people must come together in an emergency. “When Bob had a cardiac arrest while shovelling snow in the driveway,” Diane said, “people came to help. I had purchased a defibrillator some years ago after my Dad had a heart attack. A neighbour put the paddles on Bob. The Tulameen fire chief lives here and showed up with oxygen. Without the help of neighbours, Bob would be dead. It was a reminder that as a community we need to be self-reliant and help each other.”
The Sternes are passionate about preserving local history, and in our 2 hour conversation there were frequent references to the past. “Walt Smart owned the only grocery store in town,” Bob said. “He let people run up a tab. Sometimes they couldn’t pay and when they moved out of town, they gave him their property. He loved the town and stayed here until he died in 2010.”
When we had emptied Bob’s coffee pot, eaten Diane’s delightful lemon loaf and toured the motel, we drove to the Granite Creek Cemetery. “The Granite Creek community was founded in 1885,” Diane said. “By 1886 it was the third largest population centre in B.C.”
The community died when Postmaster Foxcrowle Percival Cooke passed away. Only the cemetery remains and it had deteriorated almost beyond recognition. “Fallen trees were lying across the graves,” Bob said. “The graves were poorly marked and hard to find.” In 2004 the Sternes and others in Coalmont decided to restore it. Using information provided by a funeral director and also notes from a high school research project, they began identifying occupants of the graves. They checked birth and death records at the Vancouver Library.
Bob & Diane Sterne at the Granite Creek cemetery.
Walking about the now orderly and clean cemetery with Diane and Bob, we concluded that they think of the people in the graves as interesting acquaintances, even friends.
Bob & Diane Sterne posted a map of the Granite Creek cemetery.
“We have marked all the known graves,“ Diane said. “I talk to the people when I’m working on their gravesite.” (Don’t worry, she’s totally sane).
Coalmont Hotel
As we passed one grave, Bob said, “That’s Mary. She was the second wife of Louis Marcotte. He built the Coalmont Hotel.” At another grave Diane said, “that’s Hattie McBride, the Coalmont madam, the second biggest contributor to the community’s WWI machine gun fund.”
As we were about to leave Bob said, “everyone in our community is involved, but people don’t talk about what they do. They just do it.”
“We’re living our dream,” Diane added. “I never want to leave. I want to die here.” Bob nodded agreement.
People waved at us as we were leaving town. If Linda and I weren’t settled in Hedley, Coalmont would be an attractive option.
If a child psychiatrist had been asked to predict Garry Jespersen’s future, the prognosis might have included life on the street, years in prison, mental illness, even suicide. Having worked with adult prison inmates and also young offenders, I know that neglect and abuse in childhood is a potent recipe for failure, despair and anger. Garry’s life hasn’t followed this usual trajectory and I wanted to hear his story.
Sitting at our kitchen table recently, he surprised Linda and me with a warm smile that seemed to say, “I welcome you into the inner recesses of my life.” Then, in response to my question he grew serious. “My mom walked away when I was 3 months,” he said. “Social services took responsibility for me and my siblings. At age 1, I was placed in the home of a single woman who put me in the attic of her home. There was a bed and 3 potties. Until age 4 I was never allowed out of that attic. She came up in the morning to give me breakfast and in the evening she brought supper. I was terribly lonely. Often I cried. She would come up and slap me. She’d order me to be quiet and go to sleep.”
Garry’s only connection with the world outside was a small window high in the wall of the attic. He never saw a dog or cat or a man. Also, he never played with other children. No social worker checked on him.
“Not having people in my life, my speaking was limited,” he said. “When the Jespersens adopted me at age 4, I didn’t know how to express my fears or desires. Everything was strange to me and I was scared.” The neglect had stunted Garry emotionally and he couldn’t grasp the Jespersen’s love and compassion for him.
He was taught to do chores on the family farm. One day, at age 9, he got something wrong and his father reprimanded him. Garry didn’t have the emotional understanding to interpret his intent. Feeling rejected, he hitchhiked to another community and stayed away 10 days.
“When my Dad saw me coming along the driveway,” he said, “he cried and hugged me. He was so glad I’d come back.”
Inspite of the all-embracing love of the Jespersens, Garry continued to be an emotional cripple, a frequent condition of children and adults who have been abused. There was one positive in his life. Listening to his mother playing the piano, he became intrigued. His parents enrolled him in lessons with the Toronto Conservatory of Music and he discovered that he had talent.
Garry persuaded his dad to buy him a Harley Davidson motorcycle for rounding up the cows and bringing them to the barn. “When I was 15,” he said, “I had another emotional meltdown and again ran away, this time riding the Harley. I joined a biker gang and stayed away 2 years. When I returned, my family welcomed me with much hugging and crying.”
A few years later he became a realtor and his earnings surprised him. “I was living with 4 guys. There was a lot of drinking. One night I dropped off my date and drove to the High Level Bridge in Edmonton. I had no sense of purpose in my life. The money wasn’t giving me satisfaction or meaning. I intended to jump.”
A name began running through his mind repeatedly. “The name was Herbert Hiller. I remembered he was the pastor of the church my parents attended. I phoned him at 2 am. I was crying and I asked to see him right away. He agreed.”
Garry had a profound spiritual experience that night and once again returned home. “My Dad urged me not to go back to my job and friends. I told him I had debts to pay. He said give me a list and I’ll pay them. He also made arrangements for me to attend a Christian college.”
Garry Jespersen enjoys playing his sax
The healing that began in the pastor’s home was not an instantaneous event. Undoubtedly, music has contributed to the transformation. In addition to the piano, he has picked up the saxophone and also sings. He and wife Vi now live in Kelowna and he does 40-50 performances a year. His warm smile, firm handshake and positive message of hope are a clear indication that miracles are still possible.
When Garry Jespersen plays the piano, he uses the entire keyboard.
I wish my own children had received the teaching and guidance of a coach like Geoff Goodman of the Princeton Posse. In a nearly 2 hour conversation in our home, I sensed that his values and coaching style can have a positive, life changing impact on his young players. He had caught my attention earlier when he sent 2 star players to the Osoyoos Coyotes, coached by Ken Law, to give them an opportunity to showcase their talents with a team that would go farther in the playoffs.
Geoff started with the Posse on May 15, 2015, after being an assistant to Law. It was a difficult time for the team. Before departing, the previous coach had sent most of the players to other teams. Only 5 remained. Geoff chose to view this predicament optimistically. “We began rebuilding from scratch, mostly with players from the midget level.”
Reflecting back on the season in which the team won only 9 games, he says, “for several weeks we had 8 regulars unable to play due to injuries. The guys didn’t stop trying. They continued to practise hard and they grew tight as a team.” It is evident he is proud of his team’s stalwart character.
“The town gave us phenomenal support,” he said. “We didn’t win often, but we still had an average of 160-170 people at our games. Even when we lost, the fans sometimes gave the team a standing ovation. The mayor spoke at our year end banquet.”
A lot of work, including an ongoing bottle drive, is done by volunteers. Geoff is grateful for the diligence of all those who strive to make the team a success. “We could use a few more volunteers,” he said. It seems like a great opportunity to play a role in a vibrant organization.
Princeton Posse Bus Team Photo, Courtesy of Princeton Posse
(click on photo to enlarge)
The Posse, a Junior B team, plays in the 20 team Kootenay International Junior Hockey League. Geoff’s own hockey experience includes playing for the Dunville Mudcats, a Senior Triple A team. “At every game, after ‘O Canada’, someone threw a dead catfish onto the ice,” he said, smiling at the memory. He still retains his robust, athletic physique.
In addition to his coaching role, Geoff has a full-time job as a sales rep. He lives in Summerland and works in the Okanagan Valley. It’s a long trek to Princeton for practises and games. “I want to be a positive role model,” he said. “It’s important that the players are convinced I’m totally committed.”
Winning games is important to Geoff, but he has a broader perspective. “I want to influence the way they live,” he said. “I show respect for them. I seek to instil a diligent work ethic and a sense of pride.”
He still receives notes on facebook from players he coached in the past. One called to say, “I’ve got a job and I’m a dad now”. Ken Law, who had accompanied Geoff to the interview, shares similar goals and values. “Years later former players send us notification of the births of their children.”
The players, ages 16 to 20, come from various communities in B.C. and other provinces. Several have come from the U.S. including Colorado. “Some are a long way from home and it’s important that they trust us,” Geoff said. “They come to us with girl issues, when they’re lonely, or need a job, etc.”
The team has 23 players on its roster, each of whom pays $3,000 for the privilege of playing. The team provides billets, food, transportation, uniforms and much more.
“Our emphasis is on developing their potential as players and as people. We want them to learn social skills. This happens in the dressing room by interacting with each other, learning to work through interpersonal issues. They also learn to accept instruction from the coaches. We arrange for them to help in the senior’s centre. They read to children in schools and play with them.
In all sports, serious players seek out coaches with a reputation for player development. Arranging for stars like Stephen Heslop and Drew Carter to show case their talents elsewhere was a courageous, selfless decision. This style of putting a player’s development ahead of his personal ambitions probably accounts for the 65 player turnout at the Posse’s recent spring camp.
When I asked if he’d be interested in coaching the Canucks, he said, “I like this age group. There are fewer egos to stroke.” It will be fascinating to stand on the sidelines and watch Geoff Goodman continue to build an exciting Princeton Posse team.
I’ve sometimes wondered if exceptionally successful individuals like Jimmy Pattison use their brains differently than the rest of us mere mortals. Books like “The Success Principles” by Jack Canfield suggest they do. In “The Case for the Defence” legendary attorney Edward (Eddy) Greenspan (1944 -2014) provides some helpful insights.
One case he cites involved Anthony, an Italian shopkeeper who had confessed to the shooting of 2 youths, both age 17. When the police arrived at his shop they saw the boys lying side by side on the floor, a total of 8 bullets in their bodies. In answer to their questions, Anthony was reported to have said, “they come in my shop. I shoot them.” Considering it an “open and shut” case, they charged him with first degree murder. The Crown Prosecutor agreed and opposed bail.
Retained to represent Anthony in court, Greenspan realized it would be extremely difficult to convince a jury to acquit a man who has shot 2 innocent youths from good families. He did not, however, assume it was hopeless and wondered if the police perception might be overly simplistic. It was his practise to question his own assumptions and those of others. He wasn’t a fan of easy explanations and applied a relentless work ethic to uncover the facts.
Having a curious mind, he felt somewhere in this tragic situation there might be information that would assist him in defending his client. Patiently questioning Anthony, he discovered the man had been born in Italy and because of his father’s ill health, had gone to work after grade 5. Upon emigrating to Canada he married a girl from his village in Italy and they had 2 children. To support his family, until the day of his arrest, he had worked 14 hours a day, 7 days a week. His English was rudimentary.
Greenspan felt he must gain an understanding of why a hard working man with a family might have shot 2 apparently harmless young men. Working tirelessly, as was his habit, he delved into every possible nook and cranny.
Examining police notes, Greenspan concluded his client had not understood their questions and they had not understood him accurately. They had written in the notes what they thought he had said.
What, he asked himself, would have led this seemingly harmless man to pull the automatic 32 calibre Beretta from a shelf behind the counter and shoot the boys? His questioning revealed that the 2 young men had entered Anthony’s shop on numerous occasions. Usually they harassed him with threats. One had stolen 5 gallons of gasoline. They had also thrown snowballs at his shop and broken a light bulb. They were big, strong boys and he was scarcely more than 5 feet in height. He admitted he had feared them.
Greenspan’s meticulous, unstinting research revealed that the youths had earlier threatened, bullied and physically attacked others. On the night of the shootings, they had entered Anthony’s shop just before his closing time of 10 pm. One took a swing at him, then reached for the cash register. When Anthony said, “I call police,” the youths said they would kill him before he could make the call.
Greenspan knew that in court, the Prosecutor, a skillful litigator, would almost certainly play hardball. Unlike Greenspan, he had accepted the police version of events. Greenspan understood fully the Prosecutor’s role and purpose was to tenaciously argue for a guilty verdict. He would not ferret out mitigating information. Believing Anthony deserved a harsh sentence, the Prosecutor would use every possible device to convince the jury he was of unsavory character.
In court, the Prosecutor argued that Anthony had shot the boys in revenge for the gasoline theft. However, Greenspan convinced the judge to allow him to present the bullying history of the 2 youths. He argued Anthony had become psychologically distraught by their threats. He had believed they intended to rob him and then kill him so he could not identify them later. Anthony testified “in all my life I have never been so afraid.” At the end of the trial, after 5 hours of deliberation, the jury found him “not guilty.”
Observing Edward Greenspan, Jimmy Pattison and others, I’ve concluded that along with their various skills and positive attributes, highly successful individuals possess a deep seated conviction that what others deem impossible might in fact be possible.
Linda and I both grew up occasionally feasting on perogies hand made by our mothers. Along with other calorie laden foods, they certainly played a role in creating my rounded stomach as a young boy and teen. They weren’t a frequent treat so I never grew weary of them. Their rich flavour and aroma still linger in the deep recesses of my memory. The memory is always accompanied by mental images of sitting at the table with the family at Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and a few other occasions. Holiday meals were a special delight for mom. She loved to observe us enjoying her sumptuous meals, always encouraging us to partake heartily.
Sadly, these good family times ended when mom passed away. Fortunately Linda’s mom continued to make perogies though. Most of her family enjoy them as much as Linda and I. That too ended when her years began sapping her energy and strength. Now age 92, she has less interest in food preparation and perogies are definitely no longer on her menu. The commercial variety are ok but we buy them only when we are virtually quivering with the need for a perogie fix.
Family experiences with one of our very favourite foods explains why this Easter weekend was especially memorable in a culinary sense. Maha, our Iraqi born sister-in-law and the newest addition to the family, had accepted responsibility for preparing the family meal on Sunday.
Encouraged by her husband Gary, Linda’s brother, she learned to make perogies a few years ago. She was guided in this, step by step, by Linda’s mom. To ensure nothing was overlooked, Gary stood by patiently with a pen and notebook, meticulously recording each step. He’s as seriously hooked as we are.
When we walked into the house on Easter Sunday, Maha had a variety of dishes almost ready. Apparently the excitement of the preparations had stirred Linda’s mom to play a role. Wooden spoon in hand, she was stirring the gravy. Seeing that I’d just be a nuisance to the several cooks now engaged in last minute ministrations, I went out and walked around the block. This would be a meal for which I wanted a hearty appetite.
After brother-in-law Stan had prayed a blessing on the food, we sat down to a dinner reminiscent of meals my mother prepared for special occasions. It awakened memories of those good days when my parents still lived and our family enjoyed mom’s cooking.
A note about Maha: She fled with her family from Iraq to Turkey some years ago, then immigrated to Canada. Certainly we have known from the beginning she’s a treasure. The perogies have boosted her to star status in the family.
As an instructor in mixed martial arts, Rob Pelletier has for many years taught his clients how to inflict pain. As a Master Coach in Toronto he instructed in boxing, Muay Thai, MMA, Self Defense and sports conditioning. He also managed a gym with 22,000 members. Almost 3 years ago he and wife Donna established a gym located on the main street of Keremeos. Since that time their vision has altered radically and, although they still offer instruction in martial arts, Coach Rob has become known as “the mob boss of wellness.”
When Linda and I entered their Main Event gym across from the liquor store, I was immediately impressed by the heavy duty punching bags suspended from the ceiling, the type that can withstand serious pummelling by powerful fists and feet. Rob walked toward us, exuding energy and enthusiasm. A big, well constructed man, I could easily picture him clad in shorts, engaged in high level competition.
We sat on stools at a small coffee bar in the rear of the gym and I asked Rob how he had got started. A palpable passion energized his voice and hand gestures as he began talking. “When I was age 8, my parents enrolled me in boxing. I had a lot of energy and they thought boxing would be good for me.” That eventually led to a career in mixed martial arts. Early in his career he trained in the gym where 12 year old Lennox Lewis (later one of the world’s greatest heavyweight boxers) was working out. Over the years he trained with numerous high profile fighters and knew five time Canadian Heavyweight Boxing Champion, George Chuvalo.
“When Donna and I moved to Keremeos we began doing private training in our home,” he said. “We leased this building which was then vacant and in a state of disrepair.”
Donna Pelletier
He now turned the conversation in another direction. “In the beginning Martial Arts was our emphasis, and we still do that. Donna teaches ladies kick boxing. However, retired people started dropping in. Some just wanted to have a coffee and talk. We began to realize their health was failing because many people are not physically active in retirement.”
Their changing clientele prompted a shift to promoting wellness. This attracted individuals of all ages wanting to deal with a variety of issues. Rob’s experience had prepared him for this transition. He had worked with sports psychologists and athletic therapists. He had also taken accredited courses in wellness.
Health professionals began recognizing the benefit of their programs. A cardiologist sent a man with a pacemaker. He had almost died, but is now working out on a treadmill at the gym. Physiotherapists are also referring clients. The Pelletiers are recognized by insurance companies. While we were talking, Don and his wife came in. Having had a shoulder replacement, he wanted help in gaining strength and movement.
“We’re a safety net for people in aftercare,” Rob said. “Some of our clients stop smoking. A wife told us her husband is drinking less alcohol. Some people report their medications are more effective when they work out here. Others rely less on prescriptions.”
The Pelletier’s have clients ranging in age from 5 to 80. Wanting to ensure that children from less affluent homes don’t miss out, they at times provide free memberships.
Sometimes people say, “I know I should exercise,” or “I should be more careful about what I eat.” But they don’t make the needed changes. “People rely on doctors and prescriptions to maintain their health,” Rob believes, “but we need to accept responsibility for our health.”
He stresses the role of our thinking. “It’s important to focus on what we can do, not on what we cannot do. What we do here is a form of proactive medicine.” He draws a lesson from physical combat. “If 2 fighters of equal ability and strength are in the ring, the one with a stronger attitude will win.” He tapped his head with a finger to support his words. I began to understand that an emphasis on strong, positive thinking is at the crux of his philosophy.
As we were about to leave, Coach Rob said, “some people go across the street to the liquor store for what they think they need. Some come in here and begin a program of wellness that will change their lives.”
Bob Mullin was waiting on the porch when Linda and I arrived at his home on the outskirts of Princeton. He reached out a big hand and said, “Hi, I’m Dinny.”
In the dining room, which overlooks the Similkameen River, his wife Beryl set steaming cups of coffee before us. A wood stove in the corner provided a cozy warmth. I began by asking Dinny for the story behind what I felt was an intriguing nickname. He laughed. “My parents didn’t know I was born with impaired hearing,” he replied. “Often when my Dad asked me a question, I didn’t hear him, so I didn’t answer. He thought I wasn’t paying attention so he began calling me Dinny Dimwit, after a cartoon character.”
For many the inability to understand well is a debilitating impediment in social and employment situations. It might have sidelined him in the game of life. Had Dinny been less resolute and resilient, he could easily have joined the company of the malcontented when he left school without graduating. Instead, he carried on as though the impairment wasn’t a concern. “My first job was at Burr’s Motors,” he said. “The Ku Klux Klan was active here at that time and the owner was a member.” For a moment he seemed to return in his mind to those early days, then added, “They burned a cross in town.”
I was to discover that Dinny delights in sharing from his storehouse of tantalizing facts and events from the past. He pointed across the river and said, “that’s where Bill Miner’s cabin was. He’d ride from there in the morning and rob a train. By evening he was back. My mom said he was a hell of a dancer.”
Dinny and Beryl met at a school dance in Coalmont, the beginning of a life long love affair. “It was minus 32 Fahrenheit the day we were married 60 years ago,” Beryl recalled. Dinny reflected for a moment, seemingly surprised at the number of years. He smiled and said “I didn’t think I’d last this long.”
Beryl & Dinny Mullin
Endowed with the wide shouldered frame of a prairie wheat farmer, his early ambition was to join the provincial police. Alert, strong and thoughtful, he’d certainly have been an asset to the force, but it didn’t happen. “I was told I wouldn’t get in because of the hearing impairment,” he said. He refused to be discouraged though and got a job at the Granby Power Plant. When it closed, he worked for the local sawmill.
He understood that a community will be strong only if people accept responsibility and participate. “I got my Industrial First Aid ticket and joined the volunteer Fire Department,” he told us. “They gave us $3.00 a month. Most of us turned that back in to buy equipment. Sometimes I drove the ambulance. We did whatever was needed.”
Unlike today, those were not times when people could easily buy virtually everything they deemed a necessity. Dinny and his friends joined a local hockey team and played against other towns. “For padding we used Sears and Eatons catalogues,” he said. “We cut strips of tire tubing to hold them in place. No one owned a helmet.” His usual position was centre. Although goalie wasn’t a position he cared for, he became net minder if necessary. Now 84, he’s an ardent Canuck fan. “Right now he’s a little mad at them,” Beryl confided. “They aren’t winning a lot.”
They weren’t afraid of challenges. “We bought a 200 acre ranch 3 miles along the Merritt road,” Dinny said. “We ran 50 head of cattle. Often while I was at work, Beryl rode the range. It got to be too much though, working and ranching. A guy told me once the only thing stupider than a cow is the person who owns it. We sold the ranch.”
By the time our conversation drew to a close, I concluded Dinny and Beryl have achieved an enviable camaraderie and zest for life. She makes borscht and regularly plays bridge. He plays crib and each Tuesday meets for coffee with former hockey pals at the Sandman Inn. From their comfortable dining room they can observe an eagle building its nest or children tubing on the river. He now has hearing aids and his father would certainly agree ” Dinny Dimwit” has become surprisingly intelligent.
A small town perspective on people, community, politics and environment.
