I have come to have enormous regard for the power of “first steps,” especially decisions and actions that propel us into unfamiliar, challenging territory. In novels the protagonist is often faced at the outset with a decision that will require courage, possibly combat with unsavoury characters. Linda and I had taken an important first step when we purchased a home and five acres just prior to getting married. This ensured that we would always have a home, but after that there had been a dearth of inspiring decisions or actions.

This began to change when we left our jobs and lived in a tent in Cariboo wilderness for three months. For us this was another venture into the unknown. Deciding I should attend university was also a first step. To this time we had focused on paying off the mortgage, certainly not on contemplating exciting adventures.

At SFU my thinking began to expand. A quote by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe nudged me to attempt more.

He said, “Whatever you can do or dream, you can begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

I received further inspiration from the words of William Hutchison Murray. He wrote, “the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would otherwise never have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.”

For me, here was magic and although I didn’t fully grasp its power or significance, I wanted to explore it. In my first year at SFU, I learned that a recently minted organization was looking for volunteers to visit prisoners in Oakalla. Intrigued, I attended an introductory meeting in the prison. Dick Simmons, an American, had already launched M2/W2 (Man to Man, Woman to Woman), in a Seattle prison. He was at this meeting and explained that a citizen from the community would be matched with an inmate on a one to one basis. The “sponsor” would visit every two weeks with the goal of developing a relationship of trust.

Most of the prisoners accepted into the program were not not receiving visits and did not have support in the community. The sponsor would become the inmate’s connection to the world outside prison and would help with finding work and making the difficult adjustment to life in the community.

I had always regarded Oakalla as austere and forbidding. Our tour of Westgate B didn’t change my thinking. When that large solid metal door clanged shut behind us I felt we had entered an alien world. Disconsolate grey clad men were wandering about on the tier, with no discernible purpose. Some were in their cell, surrounded by steel bars. I wasn’t at all confident I had the experience or wisdom to find a common ground with these listless men existing like animals in this barren environment. Even so, I signed on.

Sponsoring at Oakalla would be another first step. I found that these men suffered from a deficit of interests and knowledge. Many had dropped out of school before graduating. Often after numerous stints in prison, relationships with family and friends had disintegrated. They complained about the food, being hassled by guards, the regulations, the unfairness of their confinement. They had learned to be distrustful, even of each other. Interactions with the “bulls”, as the inmates frequently referred to them, were not uplifting. The guards viewed their charges as devious and not to be believed or trusted.

I didn’t know it yet but there would be other prisons and other prisoners in my future. Oakalla provided me with some understanding of what I could expect from prisoners and from those hired to ensure they did not escape. By taking the first step of sponsoring men at Oakalla I gained experience and understandings that would give me a measure of credibility with those doing time and also with those in positions of authority. I didn’t realize yet that taking this first step would open doors to other prisons and to other opportunities to help men catch a more positive vision of who they could become.

Some of my fellow students at SFU were working toward a fairly precise goal. They wanted to be teachers, doctors, corporate leaders, etc. For them university was a preparation for a specific profession. For me SFU was also a time of preparation, I just didn’t yet know where it would lead. Because of this, I still could not entirely shake a gnawing sense of uncertainty, much like a man with a blindfold shooting a a target he knows is there, but cannot see. I knew only I could not turn back. I must have faith that there would be a positive outcome. Not having a specific occupational objective, I hoped the courses I enrolled in would provide a solid basis for future employment.

I enjoyed courses like English, history and psychology, but it was PSA (political science, sociology and anthropology) that captivated my interest. Several radical left wing professors were particularly influential. Their personalities, lectures, passion and commitment persuaded me to re-examine and re-evaluate what I had learned in elementary and high school.

There had been a preponderance of emphasis given to British history, values, political systems, societal structures and much more. Beginning with King John signing the Magna Carta under duress from Barons at Runnymede in 1215, I had learned about the slow march to the achievement of voting rights and what we now think of as democracy. Only much later did I learn that after the Barons departed, the King persuaded the Pope to declare the agreement invalid. It was a case of those in positions of power collaborating to ensure their authority remained intact .

I was raised in a conservative culture. My parents and most of their friends were staunch supporters of W.A.C. Bennett, leader of the B.C. Social Credit Party and premier from 1952-1972. As a teen I at times attended political meetings and rallies with my father. When I was old enough to vote I faithfully followed my parents’ example.

A variety of societal influences had engendered in me an implicit trust in our national and provincial governments, but now I was becoming vaguely aware of what appeared to be a lack of integrity at higher echelons of Canadian society. I had been attracted to SFU in part because of its reputation for challenging embedded ideas. Upon arriving on campus I quickly became immersed in a cauldron of restless dissatisfaction. The radical professors espoused unflattering views of the political and societal universe. Lectures and also books on the reading lists began expanding my awareness and understanding of social and political dynamics.

C Wright Mills, for many years a professor at Columbia University, very effectively challenged my thinking in “The Power Elite” (1956). He contended that military, economic and political leaders share deeply interwoven interests. He suggested that ordinary citizens are relatively powerless and subject to manipulation. Mills argued for public and political engagement rather than complacent observation.

I was also influenced by sociologist John Porter’s “The Vertical Mosaic” (1965), the first comprehensive study of the national structure of class and power in Canada. Prior to this time, conventional wisdom had been that Canada was an egalitarian society where people from all backgrounds could succeed. Porter presented statistical data regarding enormous inequities of income, wealth and occupational opportunities in Canada.

My perspective on life in Canada changed in that first year at SFU. The change was tempered by the fact I had grown up in a stable home and culture. Men gravitated to trades, farming, teaching, business etc. It was a time when many women stayed at home, raising children, preparing meals, participating in a club or church. Some held jobs like teaching, nursing or secretarial work. People reached out to those in need.

As a teen the most significant influence on my thinking was my father. He owned a large bulldozer and in summers I went to work with him. At that time the Fraser Valley was still largely covered by trees and he did a lot of land clearing. He taught me how to blow large stumps out of the ground with 20 per cent dynamite, set effective fires to large stump piles, run a change saw, operate the cat, and much more. His honesty, diligence, patience and skill with equipment captured my respect. I never referred to him as “the old man.”

Looking back now I highly value the academic education I received at SFU. I also value the life education Linda and I received from our parents and their friends. It was a combination that provided essential ingredients for a fulfilling life.