On the death of a super man: Christopher Reeve, 1952 - 2004

Christopher Reeve, the actor best known as Superman, passed away on Sunday, October 10, 2004.

Since I was a little kid, I have been inspired by Superman, whether in comic books or in the 1950s TV series. Actually, compared to the somewhat cheesy production values of the '50s TV series, the Superman of the comics much seemed more exciting and (literally) more colourful. (Sorry to you George Reeves fans, that is just my personal opinion.)

But for me, and many other fans of my generation I'm sure, Christopher Reeve was the definitive portrayal of Superman. Next to "Star Wars", 1978's "Superman: The Motion Picture" was probably the most inspiring cinematic experience I had enjoyed as a 12 year old boy. In a number of ways, the big red "S" was so much bigger than Luke Skywalker and the Star Wars world. It really resonated for me, probably due in no small part to the fact that the character was already such a huge part of our culture over the previous 39 years up until the time when the movie came out.

The theme of a young demi-god landing on Earth and living with and helping his human co-inhabitants is as old as the Hercules of Greek legend. The line uttered by Jor-El (Marlon Brando) that said "That is why I sent you, my only son..." has an obvious Biblical reference. I think these dramatic aspects, combined with the huge scope and beautiful production quality of the original film made it practically a modern masterpiece that still holds up today.

Back in 1978, after seeing the movie at the Capitol Six Theatre with my friend Curtis, we had to run to catch our bus home. As we darted through the crowds of Granville Mall towards the bus stop, I heard John Williams' Superman theme music in my head and felt high as a kite with some kind of inexplicable elation. I felt like I could run faster than the bus if I really tried. It was so inspiring to believe in a hero again! I think I really wanted to believe that Superman could fly.

The way Mr. Reeve survived his tragic accident and paralysis, and struggled for almost 10 years to heal and to reach out and inspire others with spinal chord injuries, he reminded me of that inspiration again as an adult. I wanted to believe that Christopher Reeve could walk again.

Christopher Reeve Links:
The Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation
Christopher Reeve: 1952 - 2004
blogcritics.org: "Why did Christopher Reeve die?"

Other Superman Links:
http://www.supermantv.net/kirkalyn.htm
http://theages.superman.ws/kirk/interview.php
http://www.supermantv.net/superman/supertv.htm
http://www.supermantv.net/superman/movie.htm
http://www.supermantv.net/loisandclark.htm
http://www.supermantv.net/smallville.htm

Personal web presence of E. John Love - www.ejohnlove.com

Personal web presence of E. John Love - www.ejohnlove.com

It's back after a brief hiatus...

For my site visitors:

My web server was down for a week or two, getting repaired. It's all good now. Please visit my web site again. I love you all.

For the Geeks:

My old 66 mHz '486 Linux box finally succumbed to old age (after putting in fairly reliable duty for about 6 years!) and it has now been replaced by a newer, faster, quieter and cooler (physically cooler) machine running a recent version of Mandrake.

"This was your past, but not anymore. Now go away."

Trying to revisit the past doesn't always work out

A number of years ago, my wife and I were driving and we found ouselves on the Fraser Highway in Langley. Looking at some street signs, I realized that we were actually very close to where I had lived when I was in Grades 2 and 3. I became excited and said "let's follow 248th and see if we can find my old place!"

Right before 248th crossed over the Highway Number 1, I saw a familiar narrow gravel driveway with a rusted mailbox.

"That's it! Turn down here! Turn down here!"

"But it says 'No Trespassing'" my wife pointed out rightly, but we went down anyway.

The narrow gravel road curved down to a level about 30 lower than the main road, and ended at a gated access road leading into what was like a small, green valley. My wife said "John, we should go" but I wasn't listening. Stepping out of the car, I walked ahead to the locked steel fence (with a "No Trespassing" sign) and sighed as I reoriented myself with the fields and trees that had once been part of my backyard.

This property was originally 77 acres, owned by a bunch of doctors. Back when I lived there, it was mostly dirt and low-lying scrub brush - an unfinished, industrial-looking place. It was also the transmitter site for my Dad's employer, CJJC Radio AM 800. There used to be six high-voltage radio antennas stretching 100 feet into the air, but they were long since dismantled after the radio station shut down.

The story I had heard from my Dad was that after we left, the son of the radio station owner had lived in the trailer which had been our home for two years. Unfortunately, he accidentally burned it down. Now, the acreage was covered in green, and the properties that fronted onto 248th looked like they extended farther down onto the acreage, giving their livestock (horses, cows and bulls) all the more room to graze. It was extremely peaceful and beautiful little valley now.

Behind us, I heard a voice yell "This is private property!" I turned to see a man holding a rifle, walking towards us with a Doberman Pinscher at each side. I stammered something about how we were just leaving. We hopped back into the car and left and I have never been back.

* * * * * * *

A few weeks ago, my sister phoned to tell me that she had located another place we had briefly stayed at as children: The Blue Star Motel, also near the Fraser Highway, outside of Langley. We had stayed here maybe only a few nights until our Dad managed to find us the little trailer on the transmitter site.

My memory of the Blue Star was that it was very bright and clean, and had nicely trimmed green lawns.

Oh my god, but was I ever in for a surprise as my sister and I drove up to this dingy, faded and overgrown place, which looked like it was now condemned. The same sign was still up, but the drapes were drawn at the manager's office and a few people gathered around a car with the hood up, about 100 feet back towards the rear of the lot. It looked like a total dump now, and I didn't really want to see much more.

There's a saying that goes "You can never go home again". It means that part of what makes a place home is your connection to it, and that this can be lost with the passage of time, and the natural changes of life.

But scary people, guns, and guard dogs can have a big impact too.

"This was your home, but not anymore. Now go away."

Natalie from Toronto doesn't like Vancouver

Today, in the block between Starbucks and my job, I met this tiny little old lady, probably not much over four feet tall.

When she said "Excuse me. Can you help me?", I thought she was going to ask for some spare change. In fact, she started explaining that she was lost and looking for a place where she could get some hot food. She said that she was from Toronto, and was here because her son had recently died. She had come to collect his ashes.

"Have you lived in Vancouver very long?" she asked me.

"Over 25 years" I replied.

"I don't know this city" she said.

"Do you like Vancouver?"

"Ughh, I hate Vancouver. In Toronto, you can go anywhere and find a place to eat and to buy whatever you need, but here I don't know."

"It must be hard to be in a strange city" I said, looking in each direction and trying to think of the closest place where she could get some hot food. Then I remembered. "There's a little place right up here on the corner where you could get a hot bowl of soup or something."

I motioned ahead of me, and we started walking. She took tiny, slow little steps, and I hunched over to listen to her as she continued to talk about Toronto and Montreal - cities she knew much better than mine.

"What is your name?" I figured I should introduce myself since we had now met and had a little chat.

"My name is Natalie."

"Hi Natalie. I'm John." She held out a tiny, wrinkled hand which I shook gently.

I held open the door of the "Butler and Baker" cafe, and she said "God bless you. Thank you John" and went inside.

I have become accustomed to people approaching me on the street just asking for money (which in most cases I'm ready to give). However, it's also nice to be able to help someone by just listening to them and giving a little bit of goodwill.

On the loss of Robert Wayne Bagnell...

I am deeply saddened to learn that Bob Bagnell died during an incident with Police at the Continental Hotel on June 23rd, 2004.

I met Bob a number of years ago at my corner 7-11 store, here at Broadway and Nanaimo in East Vancouver. When I saw Bob, I decided to begin talking to him and give him a little cash if he asked for it. It's quite common (maybe almost human nature?) for people to ignore beggars or street people, at least in my experience. Although he was usually stoned back in the beginning, I saw that he had a laid back personality and a sense of humour.

When I first met Bob, he was already sick with AIDS and was still a regular drug user. What stood out to me was that he wasn't just bumming change from people, but would usually be sitting and drawing or painting pictures with a variety of pens and inks. A number of times we would talk about the places where he would sell them (or try to). He was heavily into tattoo art. I browsed through and bought some of his dark, densely-coloured images of dragons and other creatures.

Bob told me that he had been a heroin addict since he was like, 14 years old. He said he was known as "Riff Raff", and that he had been in San Quentin at one time. I don't know how much of what he told me is true, but it looked obvious to me that the man had one hell of a hard life as a drug addict, and must have spent a lot of time either on the street or in various low-rent housing.

Over the next year or two, my wife and I ran into Bob in our neighbourhood, and usually at our little 7-11. It seemed like each time I saw Bob, he slowly became a little healthier in some ways, while continuing to struggle in other ways. By his own account, he had AIDS and was addicted to Heroin when I first met him. Slowly, he got off Heroin and onto Methadone.

Later, he told me he had developed cancer, and had managed to get off Methadone. I could really see a difference in his eyes and facial expressions: his eyes were clearer and brighter as he slowly regained his health. Sometimes when I visited with him, we just said "hi" and chatted a little. Another time, we ended up talking about Stompin' Tom Conners. Bob told me his family was from PEI, and that he like Stompin' Tom.

During my last couple of visits with him in front of the 7-11, Bob told me he had been visiting the Broadway Church and that the people there had been so welcoming and supportive of him in spite of his past, his health and his appearance. In fact, as we chatted, a man from the church walked past and greeted Bob cheerfully and warmly, like a friend. I was so happy for Bob.

The last time I saw Bob, it was very brief: he had large bandages on his shins and said he had some blot clots taken out of the veins in his legs, and he was afraid that he could suffer a stroke some time. He said "Hang onto those drawings, 'cause there gonna be worth something after I'm gone." I didn't buy anything that time, but gave him a buck or two and wished him to take care.

I didn't think Bob would live for very long, really. My impression was that once he was relatively clean and had met some of the people in the local church, he started to believe that each day was a blessing. He was also grateful to the people at the Dr. Peter Centre at St. Paul's Hospital, who were letting him paint some of his art on the walls. He looked like someone who was making connections with others, and was becoming happier.

I'm very sad to hear that Bob died, and quite stunned to hear that he was on a coke bender when it happened. An article in the Globe and Mail said that it was Bob's birthday when he died. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to live with addiction and health problems such as his, self-afflicted or otherwise. By what he told me, he had a difficult childhood and a shitty, drug addicted life. Sobriety and more self-worth came to him pretty late in his life.

I don't want the story of this person to be lost inside the whole "Taser" issue. I feel that the issues of drug addiction, healthcare and basic human compassion are even more important. I hope information about Bob's life and his death provides some inspiration and education to others with similar problems, or to those who care for them.

At some point in the future, I may post the drawings I bought from Bob on a special web page too. That's about all I know how to do to pay my belated respects to Bob Bagnell.

John.

Other links related to this:

Vancouver Police apologize to Island woman

VPD Media Liaison Unit: "In-Custody Death", June 23, 2004

Man's death after Taser jolt fuels growing safety debate

A moments' worth of reflection on things from the past...

This is not a report of things I've done. It's just a moments' worth of reflection and reactions.

A young woman in a wheelchair reminded me of my mother today. The wheelchair itself reminded me a little of my father.

A discussion with my coworker reminded me of my mother.

The fear in the eyes of my two little cats as they are left overnight to have some minor medical attention - this reminded me of my mother's scared face when we left her at Riverview.

Vague impressions: My Mum is soft hands and a whiff of makeup, Nivea Creme. My Dad is a straight back, strong hands and sad, intelligent eyes. It just came over me: I miss them.

Sometimes, as I move farther into the future, and painful events move farther into the past, I wonder if I purposely try to find ways to remind myself about them. Maybe, I fear that if I don't feel them again, somehow, I might lose them forever.

Photographs, writing, and bits of clothing or personal items: these things are tangible, solid things. Names are also well-entrenched.

However, feelings and mental images are the hardest to keep alive or fresh. They tend to fade away if you don't take them out and use them once in a while.

One day, I'll be gone too and so will all these memories, impressions, thoughts, and feelings of association. That's the way of life: blissful or agonizing, but still temporary.

Who are you, and why do you matter? Why be here? I will try to look upon those kinds of questions in a positive way, and answer them in a positive way, because that remains my choice.

We saw Stompin' Tom!

Yee-haww!
Stompin' Tom Conners played the Orpheum Theatre last night.

What a hoot! The old "Stomper" put on a fun, all-ages concert, just like when we saw him at the Queen Elizabeth theatre in 2001. This time, like in 2001, I've never seen so many t-shirts, denim and cowboy hats at one time in a swank venue. Stompin' Tom is a real Canadian legend, celebrating his 40th year as a Canadian country/folk musician. He has continually toured back and forth across Canada, singing his own original brand of country/folk music: true, funny, sometimes sentimental, and always accompanied with his trademark black cowboy hat and big leather cowboy boot stompin' the hell out of a piece of plywood.

For an artist who has been recording and touring continually since the early 60s, I expected to see a lot of grey hair in the audience, but what continues to surprise and delight me is the number of young people who love Stompin' Tom too. There were families with young children, teens and 20-something men and women, senior couples, and one pre-teen autistic boy, who shook his hands and bobbed his head excitedly throughout the whole evening. Tom has a diverse and intensely loyal following.

Oh - and the other thing, I should mention: a Stompin' Tom concert is usually marked by the fact that the audience is often as loud as the band! This was true in the 2001 concert I saw, and in the one last night. Tom's fans are not at all shy about screaming out song requests. It's a weird, hilarious form of hysteria. In 2001, at the "Queen E", a 300 pound man near the back of the hall stood up full in his torn white tank top and bellowed at the top of his impressive bass voice "We love you Tooooom!" The audience erupted in laughter, and Tom replied "Same to you buddy. Now sit down!"

At that concert, the young man in his early twenties next to me almost gave himself a hernia yelling "PLAY BUUUD THE SPUUUUD!" Loud, crazy, loving loyal fans, having a great, rowdy time.

Last night at the Orpheum was no different. There was a half-dozen of them in the row in front of us, alternatively screaming out "We love you Tom!" or various song titles. Eventually, a screaming match of <song title><exhortation to shut up><song title> ensued, and Tom's security came up and escorted the lads out of the theatre. Apparently the lady next to us had complained. A few moments later, we saw that security had just reseated them a few rows up and way off to the side, isolating them from other audience members. This of course caused them to scream louder and more often. When Tom finally played "Big Joe Mufferaw", these six loud lads from Langley were all on their feet dancing, waving their arms and singing along. Off on the opposite side of the theatre, we saw the same display from a similarly-loud group of teen girls.

For a guy who must be almost 70 now, Tom still records, and puts on a fun, boisterous show. It's obvious that people of all ages and backgrounds can relate to Stompin' Tom, and have a lot of affection for the man and his music.

A New Zealand woman sitting next to my wife was heard to say that even though she had her Canadian passport, she had been told that she wouldn't be a true Canadian until she went to a Stompin' Tom concert.

I have to agree :)

"U.S. Soldiers apply for Refugee Status in Canada" - Hypocrisy and the U.S.

Two U.S. soldiers who don't agree with the War in Iraq have applied for refugee status in Canada.

Not unlike the draft dodgers in the Vietnam era, who fled the U.S. draft by running to Canada, these two men apparently face court martials and jail time if they return to their home country.

Wasn't it once possible to claim "conscientious objector" status if one didn't believe in the reason for going to war? I had the impression that this was some kind of option for all citizens, but I really don't know much about it, or if it even exists nowadays.

I was watching CBC Newsworld earlier tonight, and a viewer wrote a letter complaining about the irony that the U.S. would prosecute these men for their unwillingness to fight (and be put in a position to possibly kill others), while at the same time, the U.S. Air Force pilot who killed four Canadian soldiers in the "friendly fire" incident in Kandahar, Afghanistan is suing the Air Force for breaching his right to privacy when it publicly releasing his letter of reprimand. He basically got a "slap on the wrist" for actions his superiors deemed "gross misconduct" and "arrogance". He was punished with a letter of reprimand for misconduct, and had to forfeit $5,600 in pay for an act that resulted in the death of four innocent Canadian soldiers. And he has the balls to sue over his human rights?

How preposterous. This seems just a little insane and hypocritical to me.

More background on the "friendly fire" incident