Almost without exception, most of us avoid associating with the “untouchables” in our society. It’s even more unlikely we will seek them out with the intent of being their friend. Arnet Hales is one of that rare breed willing to be a friend to those society has cast off as worthless scum.

I first met Arnet in Hedley in the 1980’s when he was 27, phenomenally fit and about to attain a Black Belt in karate. His brutal training regimen sent shivers along my spine. He had come to work at the wilderness camp for young offenders operated by the One Way Adventure Foundation.

In September of this year, Arnet and spouse Gina travelled 1700 kilometres to the Idaho Maximum Security Institution so he could visit for two hours with a man he did not know and had never met. Brian, the inmate he visited, has served 10 years of his sentence, receives no visits, and, according to Arnet, “is unlikely to ever see the street again.” Arnet chooses not to ask about Brian’s crime but knows he is not welcome outside prison walls.

When the Hales visited Linda and me on their return trip from Idaho, I saw that the past 35 years have exacted a heavy toll on Arnet’s once impressive trim physique. “Several years ago an illness landed me in a hospital isolation ward for 6 months,” he said. “The medical people weren’t sure I’d ever get out. I still have little short term memory and my balance is uncertain.” The resolute determination we observed in his martial arts workouts is still there though, and he has extended his walking from 60 steps to 8,200.

His early pilgrimage was on a treacherous path, mired in a quicksand of turmoil. “My dad had a serious gambling addiction and was probably in jail when I was born in 1949,” he said. “My mom took my sister and me out of the home and moved us to a hotel in a seedy section of Swift Current, Saskatchewan. I was sexually assaulted there by a resident.”

In 1967 he ran away from home and lived on the streets for a year. “That December I was arrested with a pocket full of drugs. I did 3 years in jail for that.” Upon release he got a truck driving job but rear ended a car, “probably due to an alcoholic binge the night before.” He was quickly fired and a period of deep depression ensued.

His life took a more positive turn in 1974 when he met Marilyn. “She was beautiful and I loved her,” he said. “I don’t know if she loved me, but she tolerated me.” She invited him to a Sally Ann production. “I went so I’d be able to sit beside her. She was in the production and that didn’t happen.” He says he did have a spiritual experience though and heard a voice say, “Arnet, it’s time to come home.” That night he slept through to the morning for the first time in years, and his life began to change. Possibly his own arduous journey helps him understand Brian desperately needs a friend.

It began several years ago when a woman in Pt. Hardy handed him a letter and said, “I think you’re the one to respond to this.”

Many letters later, Gina told Arnet she had holidays coming in September. She suggested they drive to Idaho so he could visit Brian. They arrived at the prison September 11 and Arnet was escorted into the visits area. A glass barrier would prevent physical contact.

“Brian was brought in, his hands cuffed tightly behind his back. His head was lowered until the cuffs were removed. When he looked up and realized I was the visitor, he smiled broadly.”

At the end of their visit Arnet said a prayer for Brian. Glancing up, he saw that Brian had placed his finger tips against the glass separating them. Arnet placed his finger tips against the glass opposite Brian’s. In 10 years it was the closest this lonely man had come to having positive physical contact with anyone outside the prison.

“I just want Brian to know he’s not totally alone,” Arnet said in response to my question. “I want him to know he has a friend.”

In a subsequent letter, Brian wrote “I told the chaplain, Arnet is my friend.”

When I received the email saying cousin Eddy had just passed away, a thought emerged unbidden from the misty depths of my sub-conscious. It suggested there was a conversation I had not had with Eddy. Now the opportunity had slipped away and a sense of dark disquiet settled in the bowels of my psyche.

I always called Eddy on his birthday. However, in work and life experience, we had walked on radically different paths. I realized now that conversationally we had not drilled deep enough.

A few days after the email, Eddy’s sister asked me to gather information about his life and write the eulogy. Maybe, I thought, his 8 surviving siblings would be able to answer some of the questions I should have asked him.

I wanted to know what had given him meaning and a sense of fulfillment. What had been important to him? What had given him pleasure and joy? Had anything surprised him? Did he regret anything? Who had he been close to? What were his thoughts, knowing he would shortly draw his final breath??

Eddy was born at home in a small settlement not far from Steinbach, Manitoba, the same area in which I was born. He was delivered by our grandmother Susana, who in her time delivered hundreds of babies. Our mothers were sisters. In 1947 the family moved to the Fraser Valley and when he was old enough, he quit school and got a job.

Most of his 9 siblings became successful in real estate. Several gravitated to the eye glass business. Eddy worked as a trucker, driving first a highway rig and in recent years a dump truck.

It was well known that he lived with a couple of addictions. One sister said, “he enjoyed his alcohol and cigarettes.” His siblings were concerned about this but he apparently did not give much thought to the health implications. If there was a price to pay, he would pay it without grumbling. Unlike some who are driven to despair and life on the street by substance dependency, Eddy possessed the inner ruggedness to carry on with work and a social life.

His siblings are now focusing on the positives. “In his early years,” Alven his youngest brother recalled, “Eddy was a great yodeler. He played the accordian very well. He tried to teach me but that didn’t go anywhere. He was my big brother.”

Being a truck driver gave Eddy a sense of deep purpose and self-respect. Jake, an older brother said, “he was a born trucker. For him the truck was almost like a live person. When his truck was being loaded, he stood on the running board to watch. He didn’t allow it to be overloaded.”

Vic, the superintendent on many high rise projects Eddy drove for said, “he was my best driver. When we were ready to begin digging a hole for a new building, in the morning I’d see a truck come flying around the corner. It was always Eddy. He set the pace.” Cathy, his life partner, said he was called “Fast Eddy” by other truckers. He retired at age 70. In appreciation for his faithful service, his employer sent him and Kathy to Mexico for a holiday.

Eddy’s joy came from an extraordinarily close relationship with Cathy, the love of his life for the past 10 years. “Five years ago our dog Princess and I began riding in the truck with him on his jobs,” she said.“I’d pack a lunch, sometimes it was buns with sliced meat and tomatoes. We’d stop in a park and eat. Eddy often told people we have a picnic everyday.” Rob Redekop, the company owner, said that when Cathy started riding with Eddy the paperwork improved.

For 20 years a shadow had hovered over Eddy’s life. He had not talked with his only son during that time and didn’t know how to bring about a healing of the relationship. A week before he passed away, his brothers Jake and Andy approached the son about a reconciliation. Eddy’s younger sister Leona shaved Eddy and cut his hair, to prepare him for the surprise visit. It went well, and Eddy’s son and family are now getting used to being part of the extended family.

According to Alven, just before his passing Eddy said, “I’ve made peace with God. I’m not scared to die. I’m happy.” He drew his last breath while Alven was holding him in his arms.

Approximately 6 months after writing about the Similkameen Valley’s well known Allison family, I received an e-mail from Professor Janet MacArthur of UBC’s Kelowna campus. “I’m collaborating on an anthology of writings by white and indigenous women who lived in the interior in the early settlement period,” she wrote. “Can we talk?”

I live in a small community not renowned for its sophistication. What kind of prof was she, I wondered. Would I require a dictionary in hand to understand her academic language? And did I know anything that would be helpful to her?

In a 2 hour visit at our kitchen table and then a telephone conversation, I realized that in spite of an education infinitely superior to mine, I didn’t need the dictionary. We began by talking about much more than her current writing project. I learned that challenging life experiences have given her an understanding that cannot be attained via a high level of education.

“My mother was ill during much of my growing up time, but I had lots of support from other family when she couldn’t be there,” she said in response to my question about her early years. “My grandmother became a big influence. I learned from her about becoming strong, having faith and the importance of education.”

She completed a BEd at University of Calgary, taught school in northern Alberta, pursued graduate studies at Dalhousie and UBC, then earned a PhD in Renaissance literature at U of C in 1988. In 1989, she was hired at Okanagan University College in Kelowna where she has taught 16th and17th century literature, including Shakespeare, women’s literature, and autobiography.

When I asked about challenges in her life, Janet’s expression became serious and a sober note crept into her voice. “I have a pretty competitive side,” she said. “Twenty years ago I was given a diagnosis of Lupus. There were many things I wanted to accomplish, but could not. That was devastating and at first I was angry.”

She paused to reflect, then said, “the illness forced me to think about my limits and accept them. I understand now that people who don’t need to struggle do not comprehend some things. It’s given me a deeper understanding of life. I hope I have grown spiritually through this.”

When she was 44, Janet adopted an infant girl from China, then another daughter 10 years later. “At my age it has been tougher than I expected,” she said, “but a huge source of joy.”

An area of interest now is how people react to extreme experience. She explores this in a course on Holocaust memoir. “The media simplifies issues,” she said, “but events can mean different things. I urge my students to probe deeper. In the Holocaust course we look at accounts written by victims, perpetrators, bystanders, and children. We consider how this historical episode continues to affect many cultures. We examine thoughts and feelings. Too often people turn a blind eye to what is happening. I value the opportunity to shape the way students think.” Her focus on Holocaust trauma is related to her work on the oppression of the Syilx (Okanagan and Similkameen) people.

The planned anthology of writings by indigenous and settler women is a collaboration with Jeannette Armstrong of the En’owken Centre in Penticton and Lally Grauer, retired UBCO professor.. “We’re bringing out a history that hasn’t been offered to the public yet,” she said. “We’re trying to create a trace of the women of the past. Even white women’s voices are not central to traditional Okanagan and Similkameen history. Bringing indigenous and non-indigenous women’s voices together provides a new way of seeing.”

She values the writing of early Princeton settler Susan Allison, the white wife of John Fall Allison, as she appears to have had an unconventional relationship with First Nations people. Earlier work on Susan Allison overlooks this. “Susan was in a state of conflict because she knew the white people and was part of that culture. She couldn’t say some things, but she leaves a muted trace.”

Janet feels that Nora Allison, John Fall’s (aboriginal) first wife should be celebrated. “I would like the indigenous women of today to tell the story of John Fall’s two wives,” she said. Janet MacArthur and her collaborators are serious about providing them that opportunity.