Hail and Farewell, Ian
10:50 p.m.
We said goodbye to a friend this afternoon, a prof at the CEGEP who taught English literature, among other things, and was a fixture in the Townships and around town. He was an enormous man, at least since we knew him, with a long white beard and white, flowing hair. He was interested in everything, taught Tai Chi for many years, hung out with the First Nations people at the Kanawake reserve, studied Zen Buddhism, and lived life to the max. About 20 years ago he started experiencing kidney failure, finally having a transplant which necessitated his taking copious amounts of immunosuppressant drugs to minimize the risk of rejection. This unfortunately opened him up to a whole host of other infections and problems, and a weak heart ensued. He finally had the operation that would have fixed his heart, and ultimately did him in. He would have been 58 this year. He will be sorely missed.
He was cremated earlier this week and a memorial ceremony was held in the gymnasium at the university. It was evident how well loved he was and how many people he had touched just in the numbers that attended. There were colleagues, students, neighbours, friends. People eulogized, chanted �Omne mani padme hum�, sang and played drums. A Mohawk friend of his talked of how his culture views the passing on of the soul and a restaurant owner read a poem she had written for the deceased. Recordings were played: Japanese koto music, songs by Le0nard C0hen, and some silly piece that was meant to bring a smile to our lips, and did. Some of it was corny, some moving. To end it all, a bagpiper played The Flowers in the Forest and we all filed out and had refreshments in another building on campus. I shall miss our friend, but after this afternoon�s experience I have a sense of closure.
I have one anecdote about him that happened 16 years ago, when Hubby was composing a piece for string quartet with clarinet. Our friend was a bit of an ethnomusicologist and ethnographer and had gone around the Townships with a taperecorder, interviewing elderly people, getting their stories, and having them sing for posterity. There was a time when parties were entertained by people called �party singers� who went around and performed folks songs and ballads. Our friend recorded 20 or so cassettes of these singers, some up in their 80s or more, and Hubby had borrowed these tapes to research material for this piece. He ended up finding one, called �The Jam at Gary�s Rocks� about a logger who dies while breaking up a log jam, based on a true story, to use in this piece, and which ended up being the basis for two other pieces as well, a violin, clarinet, piano trio and an electroacoustic piece for soprano, clarinet and tape.
Our friend was visiting in our house (we lived on campus at the time) and Buddy Boy was just an infant. As I mentioned, this man was enormous, and Buddy Boy in the crook of his arm practically disappeared. Little Princess had just turned three and was fascinated by his appearance. While I was getting some refreshments together in the kitchen she said to me, �That man is very fat.� I answered, �Yes he is, but don�t say that to him.� We re-entered the living room and Little Princess turned to our guest and said, instead, �You have a very big beard.� Phew!
This evening Hubby and I attended the graduation recital of one of his guitar students, a young man from Mexico who came here especially to study with him two years ago, but has turned out to be a difficult student. He has a lot of flash but not much technique, plays loud and fast, but makes tons of note and rhythm mistakes. He ended up taking everything off his programme that would have demonstrated musical and technical skill, i.e. the Bach and the Albeniz, and replaced them with pieces Hubby had never worked on with him. It was a disappointment. I fear that the jury will not give him a favourable review. Oh well. That�s how it goes at university. My friend Vlad turned to me and Hubby during the performance, indicating the programme, and asked, �Where�s the meat?�
We picked Buddy Boy up from his closing night, truly elated. It apparently went very well and his star was in ascendance. Now he�s started to experience the depression that sets in when the play is over. I know this feeling so well, the post-concert blues. You get over it, and hopefully there is something new to start working for on the horizon.
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