I can precisely remember the very moment that I met John Lipscomb (and his brother David). From the front yard of my house I could see the moving truck. There was a new family moving into the house at the top of the hill, one short block away. Near the end of that afternoon my father convinced me that I should walk over and see if there were any new kids moving in. I have never been shy so I did. I was five years old.
John and David were standing in the driveway. I said hello and introduced myself. They returned the introduction. And, I went home. This was, though, the beginning of one of the most important formative relationships of my life.
I just learned that John died a week ago from “complications following heart surgery.” I had not seen him or talked to him in twenty years. My last meeting with him was on the patio of my childhood home where John met my lovely wife Heather. It was the summer that Heather and I got married. I did not see him or hear from him again. I did, though, know he was in Vancouver. And, although I often looked for him online – Google and Facebook in particular – I never found him.
Outside of my parents, I don’t believe there is anyone who influenced my childhood as much – influenced me as much. John lead. I followed. A whole bunch of us followed.
The Lipscomb house was the epicenter of childhood creativity and play. There was not a single game or idea that John did not challenge and make better starting from the moment I met him when he was just six years old.
I remember building snow forts alongside the retaining wall. I remember playing hours of Kick the Can and Ball Tag. I remember playing hours of “Take Off” which was John’s own invention -- the playing field was the entire block his mom’s house was one. I remember playing hours of “Everyone Against the Pitcher” which was another of John’s inventions and often had the sorry pitcher running all the way to my house to retrieve the ball. I remember hours of G.I. Joe, Lego, Smash-up-Derby, Scrub, Fisher Price, and Hot Wheels – every single game played with an elaborate set of rules John’s rules which were not rules to favor John, but rather to make the games fascinating. Our G.I. Joe games were very, very different than the other kid’s games.
I remember playing real life Melee in the Lipscomb backyard. Each of us was allowed two weapons (not including the mandatory helmet because John was ahead of his time). Hit your opponent twice and you win. I had a sword and shield. John invented his own weapon which consisted of a fireplace log swung around his head at high velocity on the end of a ten foot rope. It was impossible to get close enough to hit him with my sword without first being drilled by log. This, by the way, led me to construct my first bow and arrow.
I loved playing John’s games. John won a lot more than he lost. A lot more. But, I just kept coming back because the whole experience was so completely original. John made so much of my childhood magical.
I remember many, many sleepovers in “the third dungeon” which was really just the backroom but it would never do for John to have a simple basement – his was a dungeon. I remember Mrs. Lipscomb’s cooking – the best cook, I think, I have ever known. I remember birthday parties with cakes in the shape of English castles (complete with knights) and Ski Mountains (complete with skiers). The ski mountain cake was at least three feet high. I remember playing Chess (which I would occasionally beat him at) and Go (which I never beat him at). I remember whole days spent exploring the abandoned U of S campus during the summer months – stealing sugar cubes from the fifth floor of the Arts building. I remember long bike rides – John always wanted to ride further. Once he wanted to ride all the way to Kristian Marken’s acreage. I turned back. It seemed an impossible distance. John didn’t. He phoned me from Kristian’s house. He made it.
I remember the strategy games mentioned in his obituary: Diplomacy, Risk, Third Reich, and the whole canon of Avalon Hill and S.P.I. games. By age thirteen John was one of the best known Play-by-mail Diplomacy players in the world. Years later I wrote an article, “How to play Russia in online Diplomacy.” John was my inspiration to do so. I wonder if he would have approved of my thoughts?
I remember hours spent looking at Atlases. John’s knowledge of geography was astounding. I remember seeing Roman Polanski’s Macbeth with John and his father Colin. I think I was eight.
I remember long, hard fought conversations about religion – specifically one that began at noon on the boulevard beside my house and ended when my mother came out to find John because he had to go home for supper. We were in grade six.
I am sure that I could keep calling up memories for as long as I wanted to keep typing. Many, many of my memorable childhood events involved John. He was an absolutely unique friend.
I find myself terribly sad today. How can someone who I have not seen for twenty years have such an effect?
First, there is sadness for John. It seems that genius so often walks hand-in-hand with troubled mental health. It did for John. As a youth he was the smartest, most creative person that I have ever known. Of this I am certain. And, he seemed so strong. Neighbourhood kids would tease him about his speach. If it bothered him he didn't show it. I always marvelled at his strength. Though, I never saw him during his later, troubled years.
Second, there is a deep sadness that all of these beautiful, magical moments are all unequivocally in the past. These sorts of things will never happen to me again. John will never lead me again; I will never get a chance to follow. Having lost contact with John twenty years ago it seems bizarre to grieve our future together, but that’s how it feels. Some very happy part of my life is, now, forever in the past.
My condolences to his family – father Colin, sister Margaret (who I last saw at their mother’s funeral), and brother David (who I also have lost contact with). I have often thought of John. Every time I see a picture of Prince William I think of him – they look a lot alike. He got frequent mentions on my radio show on C95 because he, so often, was an integral part of some formative experience that I had occasion to recount for my listeners.
Thank you John. You made me a better, richer person. I have often missed you these past twenty years.
For John's Star Phoenix obit CLICK HERE.
For John's Star Phoenix obit CLICK HERE.
