All posts by Art Martens

The Eulogy

“Candace had received permission to use the small church she attended.”
(Pinterest photo, landmarkhunter.com)

I’ve come to understand that an audience appreciates a eulogy that at least alludes to the foibles of the departed loved one. If only the individual’s positive attributes and accomplishments are mentioned, people tend to feel cheated. For this reason I experienced an uneasy queasiness when Candace asked me to write and deliver the eulogy for her boyfriend’s memorial service. He had lost a difficult battle with an aggressive prostate cancer.

I had known Randy for about eight years and talking about his successes would be the easy part. An entrepreneur, he had developed several lucrative enterprises in the Okanagan Valley. He drove a new Lexus and owned a four seater airplane. He had enjoyed exotic holidays, sometimes in places I didn’t know existed. In marriage relationships though, he had stumbled several times.

It was these failings that stirred up my inner unease. Although he’d never divulged the intimate details to me, I knew he’d left behind an abundance of marital clutter. Most in the audience would be at least somewhat aware of this. He had hidden his inner thoughts fairly successfully, but his lifestyle he could not keep a secret. If I glossed over his marital history, people might think I was a coward. I called each of his two ex-wives, his current estranged wife, his brother, two sisters and Candace. Even for those closest to him, Randy had been an enigma. They all planned to attend the service.

Candace had obtained permission to use the small church she attended in Vernon. On a cool afternoon in late October, Linda and I arrived early to talk with her. “It was Randy’s wish that you do the eulogy,” she reminded me. “He never talked much about the things that were important to him, but he said you’d figure it out.” There were a few tears.

The door of the church opened and Beatrice, Randy’s estranged wife entered, wearing a purple party dress. Astonished, Candace stared at her for a moment, then whispered, “Randy’s will leaves a lot to me. There’s going to be a whopper of a legal battle.”

People were arriving and I noticed a short elderly man with a grey moustache, walking with a cane. He was accompanied by two middle aged women. “That’s Randy’s father and sisters,” Candace said. “I’m surprised they brought him. There isn’t much communication between any of them. They’re not a happy family. Randy had little contact with them.” Observing the two women and their father, I sensed a deep disconsolation.

The small church filled rapidly and the pastor spoke briefly about Randy’s time as a congregant, then introduced me. l began by speaking about my relationship with Randy. I touched on the exotic holidays, his involvement in the local community, the speeches at the Toastmasters club we both attended, his considerable success in business and the numerous young people he had given their first job. I talked about his generosity to a local organization striving to steer youths away from drugs and alcohol.

I then addressed the matter of his failed marriages. “We all know Randy enjoyed a full, successful life,” I said, “Most of us are also aware not everything went as he hoped. Preparing for today, I spoke by phone with each of his former wives. Even though the relationships didn’t survive, none expressed animosity toward him. For the last two years he had a girlfriend, Candace, and he told me he hoped he’d learned enough so this relationship would last.” Wanting the women to feel acknowledged, I named them. I noticed smiles when I inadvertently attached the children to the wrong mother.

Then I detached the mike from its stand and walked to the front pew where Randy’s family was seated. Looking directly at the old, grieving father, I said, “Mr Carson, the last time I talked with your son, he said, ‘I should have spent more time with my father. I knew he was lonely after our mother died. I could have taken him for lunch now and then. I didn’t give him the time I’m sure he wanted. Tell him I’m proud to be his son and I love him dearly.’” The lines on the old man’s forehead softened and a single tear trickled down one cheek.

I had wanted to give this old father a message that would penetrate into his heart. An almost imperceptible nod suggested he embraced it.

The Inheritance

New Sedan deVille 1964 dealer ad.
(pinterest. prova275.tumblr.com)

Bestowing an inheritance can be tricky, especially in turbulent family dynamics. As my friend, Max Raftner discovered, this is particularly true if there are significant riches. Sound values and discernment can help, but they aren’t always present.

Max, previously successful in Cadillac sales, had fallen out of favour with his wealthy father after taking down a power pole with his car. Now 5l, he walked with two canes and relied on medications, which only partially relieved spasms of back pain. No longer effective in sales due to the pain, he began volunteering at a shelter for street people. Sporting an unruly, prematurely greying beard, faded jeans and a plaid shirt he never tucked in, he had, since the accident, been regarded by his father as the family’s black sheep.

Recently the father had died and Max had been summoned by his financially successful brothers, Bill and Irvin, to Ricky’s restaurant to discuss the will. On a cloudy Friday morning, Max eased his battered green Volkswagen Beetle into a handicapped space. The brothers had already ordered coffee and muffins. Max noted the self satisfied expressions of his portly brothers.

He was scarcely seated when Bill said, “Max, it pains me deeply to tell you our father left everything to Irvin and me.” He’d never tried to hide his disdain for Max, and his expression gave no indication of discomfort. He patted his protruding stomach affectionately, then took a $100 bill from a jacket pocket and tossed it on the table in front of Max. “From Irvin and me,” he said magnanimously.

Ignoring the gesture, Max said, “I know the old man had no respect for my work at the homeless shelter. Still, I would have liked something to buy them a van.”

His attention was drawn to the lottery booth near the restaurant entrance where Herbie Smith, the town gossip, was watching to see who would buy a ticket. On a sudden impulse, Max reached for the $100 bill and his canes, then, without explanation he skittered across the floor to the booth.

“I’m feeling lucky today,” he said grinning at Herbie. After investing the entire amount in 649 tickets, he waved at his perplexed brothers and departed.

Several weeks later, when the winning numbers were announced, he invited Bill and Irvin for breakfast at Ricky’s. To the utter astonishment of his brothers, he was wearing new shoes, a sporty jacket and slacks, plus a striped shirt and silk tie.

“Hey Max,” Herbie called out from his usual perch, “where ya get the fancy outfit. You win that lottery?”

“Herbie,” Max said as he bumped determinedly toward his brothers, “don’t tell anyone that, ok?”

Max bought his brothers a hearty breakfast, but when they started asking about his new clothes, he pushed aside his plate. “Just thought of something I have to do, fellas. You carry on. I’ll catch the tab.” The two obese brothers watched in astonishment as Max hobbled hurriedly across the street to the Cadillac dealership. In a few minutes he sped away in a sleek new white Caddy. Overcome by curiosity, Herbie approached the brothers. “Is it true Max won millions in the lottery?” he asked.

The brothers stopped eating as though an electric shock of understanding had passed through them. Pushing aside his plate, Irvin said brusquely, “You’d best skedaddle. We’re busy.” Herbie lingered nearby.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Bill asked, wiping the sudden sweat from his smooth forehead. “Yep, we better do something quick.” Irvin said, already rising.

At that moment Max returned and wheeled the new Cadillac deftly into the dealership. He was crossing the street when the brothers hurried to meet him, breathing heavily.

“Let’s go to the bank, brother,” Irvin said excitedly. They rushed Max to the bank and could hardly wait to transfer a third of their inheritance to his account.

Once outside, Bill grasped Max’s arm. “Now, about the millions you won, Max.”

“What millions?” Max asked. “Is Herbie Smith passing that around?”

“Where did you get the new clothes then?” the brothers asked almost in unison.

“I’m a character witness for a kid in court today. His mom paid for them so I’d look respectable. The Caddy was a test drive for old man Winters.”

“Don’t feel bad about the inheritance fellas,” Max said with his usual grin. “Together we’ll be buying a new van for the shelter.”

Wise Words From A Dying Professor

(Pinterest image, amazon.com)

I occasionally wonder about the experience of slipping into life’s End Zone. How will I respond when I get “the call?” In Tuesdays with Morrie, journalist and best selling author Mitch Albom provides a riveting account of watching his former, highly respected professor Morrie Schwartz deal with his own impending demise. “Each Tuesday I flew 700 miles to sit beside this dying man. It felt like a rinse of human kindness,” he says. “I liked myself better when I sat beside Morrie.”

Mitch picks up the story 16 years after taking several courses from Morrie at Brandeis University in Massachusetts. When he graduated he promised to stay in contact with Morrie, but ambition and lucrative opportunities intervened. While flipping through the channels one day, he was surprised to come across Morrie being interviewed by famed American television broadcaster Ted Koppel. The much loved professor had been diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease), and was confined to a wheelchair.

Mitch called Morrie’s home and visited him the next Tuesday. The former professor’s mind was still keen to learn and teach. His body though, had endured numerous indignities. He required frequent adjustments of his weak legs and arms. Even his head needed shifting to keep him comfortable. He could no longer dress himself. “In ALS patients,” Mitch observes, “the soul, perfectly awake, is imprisoned in a limp husk.”

The two men quickly resume their former relationship of professor and student. “We’ll write our last thesis,” Morrie says. “The subject will be the meaning of life.” They agree to meet each Tuesday.

When he was diagnosed, Morrie had asked himself if he intended to withdraw from the world, or was he going to live. He decided he was going to live, with dignity, humour, courage and composure. As Morrie discourses, Mitch begins to understand the dying professor is looking at life from a very different place, a healthier place.

Morrie had always gestured with his hands when he talked. Now he can’t lift them higher than his chest. “In the morning I mourn what I’ve lost,” he says. “A little cry, then I focus on the good things, especially the people in my life. It’s wonderful to have so much time to say goodbye to my friends.”

Morrie returns repeatedly to the matter of living a life that has significance. “Most of us walk around like we’re sleep walking,” he says. “We really don’t experience the world fully because we’re doing things we think we have to do. When we’re facing death, we strip away all that stuff and focus on the essentials.”

After several Tuesday visits, Mitch begins to think of Morrie as a man standing on the tracks, listening to death’s locomotive whistle. He knows he will die soon, and is very clear about the important things in life.

Listening to Morrie, Mitch recognizes his own priorities and decisions are making him feel unsettled. He becomes increasingly perplexed by the course his life has taken. Having traded in lots of dreams for a bigger home, more money and a nicer car, his days are full but he is unsatisfied. He yearns for the clarity he sees in Morrie.

Mitch realizes that his professor, now in the last weeks of his life, has attained an understanding of what has true value. Morrie talks about relationships, about loving people, listening carefully to their words, being devoted to community, and especially to creating memories. “All the love we have created,” he says, “and all the memories will still be there after we’re gone. We will still live on in the hearts of those whose lives we have touched and nurtured.”

Tuesdays with Morrie has prompted me to think about my Dad. He had been a skilled heavy equipment operator and an active member of his community. At age 89 his hip broke and he never walked again. During his six years in a long-term care facility, he couldn’t dress himself, turn over in bed, bathe himself and much more. I visited him almost daily and observed how considerate he was toward nurses and care aides. He asked about their family and their interests away from work. He expressed appreciation for their helpfulness to him, and he didn’t complain. Like Morrie, Dad was quick to forgive and refused to dwell on slights.

Tuesdays with Morrie, a great template for life this side of the End Zone.

Rod Moncrieff, Making His Mark In Hedley

Rod Moncrieff with his 1929 Plymouth.

When Rod Moncrieff stopped in Hedley for coffee 27 years ago, it was the low rumble of his Harley Davidson and the red beard extending well down his chest that people noticed. Doug Smith, then a local resident, saw him looking at a large two story building with a ‘for sale’ sign at the corner of Scott & Haynes streets. Scrutinizing the beard and powerful bike, he said, “you’ll fit in fine here.” There was still at least a whiff of the town’s earlier gold mining atmosphere, and Rod was captivated. He bought the building, a combination of home, shop and storage facility. When he displayed a biker gang flag, people wondered what to expect from this new neighbour. Since then Rod has put his stamp on the property and is well accepted in the community. He was subsequently joined by Valerie and her daughter Alison.

Over the years, Rod has assembled an eclectic assortment of items, inside and out. Until he gave Linda and me a tour last week, I thought he was just one more hoarder of worthless junk, a man with both feet mired in the past. Pointing to a number of items lying together on the ground he said, “there’s a car in there.” Then, “Most of what you see is for sale. This morning I sold a car part.” Picking up a miniature pitcher, he said, “I bought this for fifty dollars from Mike Orlowski. It came out of the Similkameen Hotel which burned down in 1916.”

I had long been curious about the elderly dishevelled Plymouth standing close to the building, seemingly abandoned. A sedan, it still exudes character and personality that is unmatched in current vehicles.

I knew his building had once been an automotive garage operated by Gerald Burr. When I mentioned this Rod said, “At one time it was actually a Plymouth dealership. The town was a bustling centre then, with a much greater population.” He considered for a moment, then said, “the first Plymouth was produced in 1928 to compete with Ford’s low cost Model A. It was introduced to the public at Madison Square Garden with aviator Amelia Earhart at the wheel. She and her plane disappeared in 1937 while flying across the Pacific Ocean.”

Rod’s building at one time was a Plymouth dealership.

Rod’s Plymouth came out in 1929. There were several other models, including a stylish coupe with a rumble seat. “My car was owned by a man living in Hedley,” Rod explained. “I bought it because of the dealership having been here. It’s a 4 cylinder, with 45 horsepower. The motor won’t start but I can turn it over with a hand crank. A guy offered me $4,000 for it just this morning. If he gets serious I’ll sell it.”

Rod probably could restore the car if he chose to. He’s familiar with machinery and knows how to weld. At one time he worked for a company that built trucks using sheet metal. Later he owned “Patches”, a backyard motorcycle shop in O.K. Falls. “I got to know a lot of Hell’s Angels,” he said. “I fixed plenty of Harley’s for them.” This conjured up another memory. “My cousin married a member of the Grim Reapers in Alberta. Some years ago he was involved in a shooting and is on parole for life. He’s changed his ways and is now a Seventh Day Adventist minister.

Placing a hand on the Plymouth, he said, “this car was driven from Saskatoon to Keremeos. Two years ago I talked with the driver’s son. He told me he has three boxes of parts and will drop them off when he comes to Hedley again.”

Rod’s 74 years have been interspersed with a number of adventures, some he might prefer to forget. A barefoot water skiing episode went wrong, leaving him with a crushed vertebrae. While in the navy he was trained in weapons and demolitions. Later, working with explosives at a gold mine near Yellowknife a defective blasting cap fired and he lost part of his face. He spent 4 months in the hospital undergoing surgeries to his face and hand.

Rod’s face was nicely restored and his beard has shrunk

At this time he seems done with adventures. He sold the Harley to pay taxes, the flag has been taken down, his face was nicely restored, and the beard has shrunk. He’s devoted to Valerie and speaks with admiration of Alison’s accomplishments. Like the aging Plymouth, Rod’s life has taken on an aura of character.

Buster Likes A Little Zing

Clarence (Buster) Flynn (photo by Angelique Wood)

After observing human behaviour over my many years, I’ve concluded that some individuals just are not mentally or emotionally suited to live bland lives. Whether by luck, decision, or risk taking, they attract colour, action and zing into their existence. A phone conversation with Clarence (Buster) Flynn of Abbotsford last week convinced me he fits easily into this category. I was made aware of Buster by Angelique Wood after she loaded his 18 wheeler at the Fire Master location near Princeton.

Although Buster has been involved with heavy equipment most of his life, his first love was horses. “At about age 11 or 12 I began helping out at a local horse farm,” he recalled. “I fed and watered the horses, cleaned the stalls and did whatever was necessary.”

Considering furthering schooling unnecessary, Buster quit after grade nine. He got a job at the PNE and there he met Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, at that time popular celebrities. “I shook hands with them and stroked Trigger’s neck,” he remembered. “I didn’t have paper for an autograph, so Dale wrote on my wrist.” It’s still a valued memory.

At about age 15 he began working as a groom with thoroughbreds at the Landsdowne Race Track. “I was on duty at all hours, day and night,” he said. “Besides attending to their various needs, I walked the horses around the track on race days so people could watch them prancing and place bets on the ones they thought might win. They were high strung and unpredictable. I learned to be nimble, but I got bit and kicked lots. One of the horses, Chick Bird, took a liking to me and followed me around wherever I went. Developing a relationship with the horses took time. I learned about patience.”

One day Buster was given permission to ride a thoroughbred if he could persuade it to cross a bridge the horses didn’t like. The horse reared and bucked, but he persevered and the crossing was successful. Then, while riding by himself near the Deas Island Tunnel, the traffic was halted and a large open limousine emerged. This was the official opening of the tunnel and he had heard that Queen Elizabeth would be in the procession. “I wanted to meet her and say ‘hi’, so I urged the horse forward and came alongside the limousine.”

Being a horse enthusiast herself, the Queen immediately engaged him in conversation, asking questions about the impressive mount he was riding. A police officer hurried over and said, “son, get your horse off the highway!” The queen was enjoying the conversation though and said, “leave him alone. I’m talking with him.” Later Buster’s Mom said to him, “I heard about you on the radio. You’re famous!”

Although he loved the horses and the work, by age 18 Buster realized there was little money or future for him here. His father, a locomotive engineer hauling logs, wanted him to also become an engineer. “I enjoyed riding with him on the train,” Buster said, “but I wanted a machine with a steering wheel.”

He enrolled in a heavy equipment course and learned to operate scrapers, bulldozers, front end loaders, and more. After graduating, he visited a construction site and observed an operator on a mobile crane. “I watched him pull the levers, then went to the office and applied for a job. The manager asked if I could operate that crane. The course had not provided instruction on mobile cranes but I had confidence I’d figure it out. I told him I could. Although I was wearing street clothes, he asked if I was ready to start immediately.”

Buster’s first assignment was to drive the mobile crane to Richmond and load a 32 foot yacht onto a flat deck truck. “I figured out how to operate the crane, and got the job done without a scratch on the boat,” he said.

After many years of operating heavy equipment, Buster switched to driving highway rigs. In 2009 he survived a head on crash with another semi in the Fraser Canyon. The crash and two months recuperating didn’t dampen his ardour for driving. Now age 77, he is hauling lumber, beer, produce, firewood and whatever is required. He still says, “I just love getting up in the morning and going to work.” He’s one of those special ones who like a dose of zing in their lives.

A Life Shaping Decision

Art & Don Albers connecting after 35 years.

Most of us at some time are confronted with a difficult decision that will impact our entire life. In The Road Less Taken, poet Robert Frost says, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.” I was reminded of these lines when Don Albers of Red Deer Alberta knocked on the door of our home in Hedley. I had not seen Don in about 35 years and his visit was a total surprise. “I’m on my way home to Red Deer,” he said. “I stopped here to tell you that working with young offenders at the One Way Adventure Foundation significantly shaped me and gave my life a sense of purpose.” I was interested in what he had to say and invited him in.

Sitting at a table in the sun room, Don said the decision to come here had not been quick or easy. “I grew up on our family’s farm in Alberta,” he recalled. “I acquired the skills needed in farming. I could operate a tractor and, when necessary, fix it. My plan was to be a farmer Then my parents lost the farm due to high interest rates.” Almost overnight he became a young man without a plan or a sense of direction.

He paused, then continued. “My friend Susan was here. For her working with difficult teens was a steep challenge. Her notes and phone calls mostly focused on how hard it was.” Surprisingly, Don was intrigued, not deterred. “Her words kindled a desire within me, an insistent longing to be part of something important. I was searching for a path that would give meaning to my life.”

The urging within was powerful but he didn’t know if this was something he would be able to do. “As a kid I was diagnosed with dyslexia,” he said. “Learning to read and write was a struggle. I had come to think of myself as a dummy. It eroded my confidence.”

Caught up in a confusing vortex of uncertainty and turmoil, he began to wonder if Hedley might provide an answer. It was with considerable trepidation that he enrolled in our training program for young workers. He quickly discovered this would be very much a “hands on” education. Inspite of an initial lack of confidence, he showed indications of considerable potential.

Before long he was given responsibility for five boys. They worked in the garage under the supervision of a mechanic. They participated in the horse program, worked in the kitchen and attended school. If they were assigned to help someone in Hedley move, Don first had a group meeting. “There would be opportunities to slip things into their pockets. I wanted them to learn about honesty.”

As workers we sought to show the youths a more positive response to life circumstances. They were prone to avoid frustration and difficulty. Often they became angry and dug in their heels rather than look for a solution to a problem. One day when Don and the boys were at our Upper Camp facility on Nickle Plate Mountain making firewood, a log struck him on the head. “The boys didn’t understand why I wasn’t angry. They gathered around me and asked why I didn’t swear. It gave me an opportunity to talk about my values and my approach to adverse circumstances.”

Another day while hiking on a mountain side, they needed to traverse a difficult section of the trail. “I have an issue with vertigo,” he said. “For me this was a dangerous situation. I noticed that Mike, one of the smaller boys, was very confident.” It became a teaching moment for Don. He could have aborted the hike. Instead he said, “Mike, I’m having trouble with vertigo. I need you to talk me through this.” Later Mike said to him, “I don’t think anyone ever needed me before.”

Don and his boys began gaining a reputation for reliability and getting things done. “The guys were developing a sense of self-worth,” he said. “They felt pride in being part of this group. For me the decision to come to Hedley set me on a path to work with people. It opened a lot of doors later, including 5 years at Youth With A Mission (YWAM), and 10 years as a pastor. Looking back now, I see it as the beginning of my adult life.”

He Is Risen!

The Empty Tomb (pinterest photo)
The Empty Tomb
(pinterest photo)

In his 30th year, Jesus of Nazareth began propounding religious and social ideas that confounded and antagonized the Jewish religious elites of his time. He arrived on the scene during the reign of Caesar Augustus, and lived into the rule of Tiberius. Without an army or political party, his message brought more significant, lasting change than all the powerful Roman emperors combined. In the 33rd year of his life, the Jewish religious authorities succeeded in persuading Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, to crucify him. According to accounts by Biblical writers like the former tax collector Matthew, he was resurrected on the third day and spoke with his disciples. It is this death on a cross and miraculous resurrection that will be celebrated by Christians around the globe this Easter.

The Roman empire had been cobbled together by 2 ambitious but uneasy partners, Caesar Augustus and Mark Anthony. Throughout its existence, the empire was held together by a web of intrigue, assassinations, political marriages, betrayals, poisonings, and war. Women were valued primarily for forging alliances. In Rome there were numerous temples to various gods, and men of nobility, including emperors, wished to be identified as near gods. Conquered nations usually suffered under a huge burden of taxation. Disobedience was often dealt with by crucifixion, beheading, poisoning or drowning.

In this septic atmosphere of mistrust and scheming, the Jewish religious leaders had managed to acquire a measure of political power. Their authority was lodged in the Sanhedrin, the Jewish ruling council. The council consisted primarily of 2 parties, the Sadducees, which at this time held the majority of seats, and the Pharisees. The Pharisees believed there would be a resurrection of the dead but the Sadducees did not. On other points of lesser importance they did agree and had developed an all encompassing system of religious rules which the people found virtually impossible to follow. The religious rulers could bar people from the temple if they didn’t comply. Since Jewish culture centered on religious traditions and especially on the temple, there was fear of being shut out.

It was not an auspicious time for the appearance of a man who claimed to be the Son of God. The Sadducees and Pharisees quickly became suspicious because he contradicted much of their teaching. They held to the “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth” philosophy. “Love your neighbour,” they said, “and hate your enemy.” Jesus urged the people to “love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you.” The chief priests and teachers of the law deemed his teaching to be heretical and sent spies to question him and report to them.

Jesus warned against the corruptness and false piety of the religious leaders. “They like to walk around in flowing robes,” he said, “and be greeted in the market places and have the most important seats in the synagogues. For a show they make lengthy prayers.”

Equally galling were the miracles. When he healed a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath, they accused him of breaking the law and began plotting to kill him.

Evidently the people were desperate for greater substance than the rules and platitudes offered by the pious, corrupt religious leaders. Crowds gathered around him, sensing his authenticity

and liking his positive message of forgiveness and hope. This fervent adulation aroused fear and jealousy in the Sadducees and Pharisees. When he brought Lazarus back from the dead, a member of the Sanhedrin said, “if we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and then the Romans will come and take away our place and our nation.”

Late one night, Judas Iscariot, one of the 12 disciples betrayed Jesus with a kiss in the Garden of Gethsemane. At dawn the religious leaders brought him before Pontius Pilate, demanding he be crucified. Jesus had warned his disciples this would happen.

Reluctantly, Pilate sentenced him and he was crucified between 2 criminals. One joined the scoffing. The other said, “Lord remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus replied, “today you will be with me in paradise.”

Several writers in the Biblical New Testament report that Jesus died on the cross, was placed in a tomb, and was resurrected 3 days later. This Easter, Christians around the globe will again greet each other with “He is risen!”

Claudia, From Bombs in El Salvador to Peace in Princeton

Claudia at her business in Princeton.

I came away from a conversation with Claudia Orellana Earl deeply impressed by the capacity of the human spirit to prevail in spite of opposition, setbacks, and danger. “When I was a child living in El Salvador,” she said, “I often hid under my bed at night, listening to gunshots and bombs exploding. Our country was caught up in a nasty civil war and I almost never felt safe.”

Claudia now lives in Princeton and owns All About Computers on Bridge Street. The memories of those danger fraught years are still vivid. “My mother’s husband and father both died in 1973,” she recalled. “It was a hard time for her. She never told me she loved me and couldn’t provide for the family, so she gave me to my grandmother. Grandmother became a mother figure for me and she loved me unconditionally. She never said a harsh word to me.”

In 1980, when Claudia was 10, her mother took her back and they set out for the U.S. border. A relative already in America sent two blond friends to Mexico to bring her over. “I didn’t know a word of English,” Claudia said. “I was afraid the border guards would ask me questions, but they assumed I was a child of the blond couple and ignored me.” Her mother was brought over in another vehicle. They lived in America until Ronald Reagan became president and ordered refugee claimants to go home, saying “it’s safe there now.”

El Salvador continued to be unstable and dangerous. Returning there was not an option they could consider. Fearing expulsion, they fled to Brandon, Manitoba where they were sponsored by a United Church. “Mom was really determined,” Claudia said. “She attended the University in Brandon and earned a BA in psychology.”

Living with fear and poverty in El Salvador had exacted a toll on Claudia’s mother. “She couldn’t say she loved me. If she saw anything in me she didn’t like, she withdrew from me. She taught me not to trust.”

Her mother couldn’t handle the cold and returned to Texas, where she earned two Masters degrees. Possibly the warm Texas sun, educational and professional success, and living in a safe environment had a healing impact on her. “Our relationship has improved,” Claudia observed, obviously relieved. “She doesn’t withdraw from me anymore, and she isn’t judgmental. Her determination to succeed has been a big influence in my life.”

Claudia married her high school sweetheart, and in 1992 they moved to Japan. “He returned to Canada to obtain a degree in architecture. I stayed in Japan and supported him, teaching English in a technical high school. I was shy and introverted but realized to be successful, I needed to change. I learned to project my voice and when the students didn’t understand, I acted out what I was saying. My ten years in Japan gave me confidence. It’s where I became the woman I am now.”

Claudia had never wanted to have children, fearing she would pass on too many negatives from her own past. This changed when her husband abandoned the relationship. She married a Japanese man and gave birth to a daughter. “The greatest disappointment of my life came when he walked out and refused to have any contact with our child. It made her very sad that she couldn’t spend time with her dad. I don’t understand how a father could do this.”

Looking back now, Claudia said “there have been a lot of events in my life. My mom was a gypsy, and I’m one too. I’ve lived in 34 homes, 14 cities and 4 countries.” Coming to Princeton seems to have settled her. “Now I try to give the love my grandmother gave me. I’ve learned to be patient with my computer clients. If someone doesn’t understand, I’m very willing to explain it ten times. I want to live in a way that would make my grandmother proud.”

At the end of our conversation Claudia said, “People who complain don’t understand what it’s like to live with fear and poverty. We’re so blessed in this country. I’m very grateful that I have a family, a home and a business. And I’m grateful I don’t have to hide in fear under my bed at night, listening to gunshots and explosions. I love the people here, and I love being close to nature. I really feel at home in Princeton.”

Karen Collins Shedding Light On Local History

Karen Collins, local history sleuth

Karen Collins is gifted with a number of attributes that would have made her an attractive recruit for CSIS, Canada’s spy agency. Chief among these are an insatiable curiosity, a prodigious work ethic and a tenacious will to tease out information from unlikely sources. Add to this an alert mind and an ability to express herself clearly, and we have the makings of a canny sleuth. The spy moguls didn’t come calling though and she has devoted her research talents to unearthing secrets from the local past.

Born in Oliver, Karen spent her growing up years in rural communities, including several years in Hedley. When the family moved to Kettle Valley, the nearest neighbours lived a mile away. Still preschool, Karen and her older brother tramped a mile through bush to play with their children. Even at that age her curiosity sometimes took over. When her father said they should stay away from a nearby hill because the bears were coming out of hibernation, she felt compelled to do a little investigating there. One day her father hid in a clump of bushes and made growling sounds. “We were terrified,” she admitted. “My mom saw us coming and she told me later I had been running so fast, my ponytail had been flying straight out.”

Her fascination with local history began early. “My parents took us for Sunday drives along logging roads and they talked about local scenes and people. I was interested and paid attention.”

Karen’s interest in local history, especially the people, didn’t abate. “I learned that Thomas Ellis and his family, early ranchers with thousands of acres and large herds of cattle, had donated land for the Penticton Cemetery” she said. “I made a list of all the people buried there and did research on them.” She wanted to know who they were and what they had contributed to their community.

When geologist Charles Camsell (1876-1958) came to Karen’s attention, she was quickly intrigued. She learned he was the son of an HBC factor and did extensive geological fieldwork in southern B.C. Locally he did a detailed survey of the unique gold deposits of Nickel Plate Mountain. “I recently ordered a rare book on Camsell from Boston, ” Karen said, “but it’s so musty I’ve put it aside to let it air out.”

When Karen became a single mom with two young children, she took a retail course at Okanagan College. In 1979 she was hired by Woodwards in Penticton. Here she met Hartley Clelland when he became store manager in the mid 1980’s. He had grown up in Hedley so this gave them an important common ground. They were surprised when they discovered that Karen’s great aunt Maggie (McLean) had been married to Joseph Brent, Hartley’s great grandfather. In time the relationship flourished and they became a couple.

“We visited a number of countries,” Karen said. “In Egypt I took a photo of Hartley at a pyramid. In Mexico I climbed to the edge of a pyramid. We also did cruises. These trips gave us an appreciation for what we have, and also for the people who live there. Hartley and I enjoyed over 25 years together, until his passing in 2019.”

Karen retired early and is investing much of her time in research and writing. She is president of the Penticton branch of the South Okanagan Historical Society and south okanagan editor of the society’s annual publication, Okanagan History. She has researched and written about area schools, churches, businesses and agriculture. “Currently I’m working on an article about L.W. Shatford,” she said. “He built the store that eventually became the Hitching Post restaurant in Hedley. For 17 years he was the local Conservative MLA. Later he was appointed to the Senate.”

Karen has scoured pretty much all newspapers in southern B.C. Some, like the Hedley Gazette are now defunct, but past issues offer valuable insights into people and events of early years. She also goes to the UBC Library Open Collections site for information.

Karen has family connections to the local past. Her great grandfather, Roderick McLean, was in charge of the Keremeos HBC post from 1863 to 1868. Listening to her talk about the men and women whose lives she has researched and written about, I was impressed with her intimate understanding of them, and the immense respect she has for them. Some are family and others seem like family.

Winnie the Pooh, Antidote to Anxiety

Two years ago on my birthday, our neighbours Tap and Di gave me a hand crafted plaque with the inscription, “AN OLD BEAR LIVES HERE …WITH HIS HONEY.” Tap is a gifted artisan and I greatly value the gesture. To this day the plaque reminds me of the time when our children Jeremy and Vivian were age 5 and 7. At bedtime, Linda read for them a chapter from A.A. Milne’s “Winnie the Pooh.” Invariably there were bursts of delighted laughter and many exclamations of surprise. The children are adults now and have families of their own. For Linda and me the memories linger, with more than a touch of nostalgia. Now another birthday is looming on the horizon, and last week Linda and I again read the story.

Winnie the Pooh and Piglet, E.H. Shephard Illustration
Britannica, Image: Advertising Archive/Courtesy/Everett Collection

At the outset of the narrative, we are introduced to the Hundred Aker Wood, an environment uncluttered by television, computers, the internet or hectic social lives. Pooh, his special friend Christopher Robin, Piglet, Rabbit, Owl, Kanga and Roo, are blithely unaware of the larger world beyond the wood.

We find Pooh, frequently referred to by his friends as “a bear of little brain,” sitting at the foot of a tree with his head between his paws, trying to think. “That buzzing noise must mean something,” he says, “The only reason I know for making a noise like that is because you’re a bee. The only reason I know of for being a bee is making honey. And the only reason for making honey is so I can eat it.” Pooh’s thought processes are pretty basic, often centred on obtaining honey. In this case he borrows a balloon from Christopher Robin and it lifts him to the top of a tree where the bees are. One stings him and he decides these are the wrong kind of bees, and they probably make the wrong kind of honey. Having not thought about how he and the balloon would descend, he remains suspended near the top of the tree. Finally he asks Christopher Robin to shoot a hole in the balloon with his gun. Christopher Robin does this and Pooh floats slowly to the ground.

Although Pooh is a bear with little brain, at times he is very practical, even insightful. When he visits Eeyore, the donkey who lives in a corner of the wood where there is an abundance of thistles, he notices his friend is gloomier than usual. Hoping to discern why Eeyore is so sad he says, “Let’s have a look at you.” He walks around him, then says, “Why, what’s happened to your tail? It isn’t there!” Eeyore had not been aware of this and thought Pooh must be mistaken. Pooh tells him, “Either a tail is there or it isn’t there. You can’t miss it. You can’t make a mistake about it, and yours isn’t there.”

Eeyore, a chronic pessimist says, “Somebody must have taken it. How Like Them.” Wanting to help his friend, Pooh sets out for Owl’s place. “If anyone knows anything about anything,” he says to himself, “it’s Owl.” Fortunately he does find the tail and when Christopher Robin has nailed it on in its right place again, Eeyore frisks about the forest.

Pooh’s love for “a little something” at times creates a dilemma from which only Christopher Robin can deliver him. This happens when he squeezes through the narrow burrow into Rabbit’s home. Here he accepts Rabbit’s offer of honey and milk. He indulges enthusiastically and when he attempts to exit through the narrow opening of the burrow, he gets stuck and cannot move forward. “Oh bother,” he says. “I shall have to go back,” but he can’t move.

Rabbit fetches Christopher Robin who says, “Silly old Bear” in such a loving voice that everybody feels quite hopeful again. He declares, “There’s only one thing to be done. We shall have to wait for you to get thin again. That will take about a week, I should think. I’m afraid no meals, because of getting thin quicker, but we will read to you.” So, for a week Pooh grows thinner and then Christopher Robin says “Now.” He and Rabbit pull and all of rabbit’s friends and relations pull. Suddenly Pooh says, “Pop!” and he’s ejected like a cork out of a bottle. That’s Winnie the Pooh, more able to relieve pandemic anxiety than a session with a psychiatrist.