A short tribute to my friend, John Lipscomb

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.

My manifesto for saving the Liberal Party of Canada

Dear Bob Rae and (now) Mike Crawley,

This morning I read Dan Gardner’s column in the Ottawa Citizen:

(http://www.ottawacitizen.com/news/Liberal+tent+walls+roof/6011575/story.html). 

Dan’s distilled a simple statement of Liberal brand:

"Socially liberal and fiscally conservative" is sufficiently simple and concrete to serve as both a tribal identity and a brand for political marketing. It clearly differentiates the party from both the Conservatives and the New Democrats. And it just happens to be the self-description of a very large portion of the Canadian electorate.

I agree with Dan. Although I think he has the brand slightly wrong.

The Liberal party needs a simple emotional brand. The Conservatives have become masters of making things simple and emotional (one only needs to listen to talk radio to see how simple and emotional issues can be). Thus, when asked about the omnibus crime bill the Conservative answer is, “Nobody will tell us that we will not fight crime with everything at our disposal.” This is meaningless, of course. And, the supposed benefits of the Omnibus Crime Bill as in opposition to all evidence. But, that answer is delightfully emotional.  Delightfully appealing. I mean, who doesn’t want to fight crime?

The Liberals need to articulate “The Liberal Ideal” in a single sentence – or better yet, positioning statement. And, we they need to beat it to death.

Radio stations are really good at this. I came from C95 in Saskatoon. Every single time “C95” was spoken, so was the positioning statement, “Saskatoon’s Number One Hit Music Station.” Every single time. Were we really? Probably not. The competition played newer and fresher hit music than we did, and more of it. But, we played enough that our positioning statement was credible (in other words we were true to our brand) and, more importantly, the enemy was forced to attack us. They were forced to assail us by saying, “No they’re not. We are.” We crushed them in the ratings. They were left with a local identity of “not C95” as opposed to standing for something on their own.

Dan’s column suggests that “Fiscally responsible, socially Liberal” is a workable such slogan. He is on the right track but that is too intellectual for my taste. The core elements of Canadian Liberalism are a free market economy and a strong, collective approach to social justice. Compared to Dan, I like “Liberal Party of Canada – Free market, fair society.” The point is that this is what the Liberals are and always have been.  This is how they are differentiated from the dogma of the right and left. They are conservatives with a socialist view of social justice. Or, they are socialists with a conservative view of economics. It is the Third Way.

A simple, repeated slogan to the effect of “Free Market – Fair Society” would force the NDP and Conservatives to define themselves as the left and right. It would lay to rest the criticism, “Liberals are opportunists.” No thet are not. They are the party that always asks, "Is this the right thing for a country based on a free market and a fair society." Who doesn’t want a free market and a fair society? Everybody does. See? Nice emotional appeal. It’s a strong, emotional brand that the Liberal Party can be consistent with.

If I were leader of the Liberal Party of Canada I would have every news release and every speaker close every interaction with “Liberal Party of Canada – Free Market, Fair Society” Every single time. I would repeat it over and over and over again. I would make it the brand.

The Italian Cruise Ship grounding and Nuclear Power

As of this morning, the captain of the grounded Italian cruise ship, Francesco Schettino, maintains that the rock he struck “is not on any nautical chart.”

Um… I doubt it.

 He went aground just off the coast of Italy. You are probably familiar with it. It’s the country that’s in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. It’s shaped like a boot. These would be the most travelled, surveyed, and charted waters in the world. There is a tiny, tiny possibility that he is right. Teeny-tiny.  This was a submerged reef big and strong enough to put a 50 meter hole in the side of a cruise ship. That’s not a tiny submerged stalagmite; It’s a big freaking reef. It’ possible the human navigators and local fisherman have missed finding this reef in the busiest seaway in the world for the past 2,000 years. Possible. Just not too likely. Like, really, really unlikely. Like, buy a lottery ticket unlikely.

My guess is that he commanded a change in passage plan (something that he has apparently done before). His officers then erred and sailed too close to land and put the ship aground. The captain’s first instinct was, “This is not possible.” He will find, however, that it is not only possible but, due to the frailty of human kind, inevitable. 

This relates to a recent change in my perspective on Nuclear Power. At the core of human endeavour is the human mind which will, ultimately, err. It may be an error based on a lack of knowledge or foresight (“Despite my best efforts I did not foresee all the possibilities.”). Or it may be an error in judgement (“I was badly hung-over and I dozed off and didn’t notice the alarm when it went off.”). Whatever the case, human beings will eventually screw it up. Take all the precautions that you want but you should consider and be prepared for the worst case scenario because the worst case will happen. Maybe not in my lifetime or yours. But eventually it will. I am a proponent of Nuclear Power. And I accept that Chernobyl and Fukishima are inevitable outcomes of human endeavour.

When you err, though, have the decency to take responsibility.

Criminal masterminds loose in England

If I ever go to prison I hope I have a great story to tell – one that will impress my fellow cons but will not upset them. I figure the ideal crime would be something like stealing a pile of money from the Canadian Revenue Agency (Canada’s version of the I.R.S.). In a cast like that the judge would be forced to imprison me but everyone – cons and those on the outside – would think well of me. For the rest of my life I would be the man who stole money from the man. Cool. If I can’t perp a really cool crime, I hope I at least avoid a really embarrassing one. Like these guys: CLICK HERE FOR FULL STORY.

Long story made short, some criminal masterminds dig a tunnel that is 100 ft. long and 4 ft. high (complete with supports and lighting) finally hacking through 15 inches of reinforced concrete all to make off with an Automated-Teller with just over $9,000 dollars in it. 

Let’s assume that the ATM-Gang had four members. And, let’s assume that the tunnel was five months to dig (detectives estimate six months). 20 weeks x 160 hours per week = 3200 hour of labor. Let’s also assume that the total expense was about $500 (shovels, electricity, etc.). That’s $2.65 per hour of pure profit. Muuwahahaha.

These Manchester Lex Luthors would have been better off working at the Blockbuster Video store than robbing it – more money and less chance of romantic fling in Cell Block 12. 

As a final affront to dignity, if they are caught and imprisoned they will be forced to answer the question, “What are you in for?” I suspect that any reasonably truthful answer will result in a lot of teasing in the yard during exercise hour. Probably a cool prison nickname like "Blockbuster Bill" or "Tommy the Tunnel."

Today begins a new chapter

Although I have been off the air for only eight months, I have been looking for a radio position in Ottawa for a full year. I do have ongoing freelance work with CBC Ottawa Morning and with 580 CFRA Experts on Call. I enjoy both. And, I will continue to look for freelance broadcasting opportunities. But, I feel I have exhausted my search for a desirable full-time position. 

Yes, I am frustrated and disappointed. I would really love a shot at another morning show. The C95 morning show was number one for all eighteen of my years on the air in Saskatoon. I burn with some passion to apply everything that I learned there to a new station in a new market. I burn with some passion to find out if I could be part of building a show as good as I think I could. But, after a year I have to come to terms with the fact that I am not likely to get that chance. And, I need to get on with it. 

The big struggle is deciding what “it” is.

I have spent a lot of time over the past eight months reflecting on what else I would like to do? I am lucky. I am debt free and I have a supportive spouse – emotionally and financially. My internal search has not lit any fires. I have often dreamed of writing fiction. I have even occasionally written some. 

Today, I went back to school. I am taking the three core classes in Algonquin College’s Creative Writing program. I once needed a personal trainer to start and maintain regular exercise, I look on this course as my literary trainer. Yes, I need to better understand writing. Perhaps more importantly, I need an external force to help me get on with it.

Gotta go. I’ve got homework.

Motivated to stand on my own two feet

I had my left hip resurfaced on Tuesday. One wakes up after the surgery in the Recovery Room. You lie there waiting for your legs to thaw. That’s what it feels like – a slow thaw. At some point you realize that you can heel your hips and then your knees and then your feet. It feels like thawing out. It takes a couple of hours.

Before leaving the Recovery Room the nurses like you to pee, I guess as reassurance that all your insides are still working. I didn’t really feel much of an urge but at Nurse Ann’s request, I attempted it. I rolled onto my good side and tried to make good use of the plastic bottle – a lot like a milk jug actually. Nope. No way. No go. Stage fright. It reminded me of Triathlon. Some athletes can pee on the bike, other can’t. I am entrenched in the “can’t do it” school. If I stop the bike, stand on solid ground, and get the flow started that works. But, I cannot get the pump to prime while I am peddling.

At 11:30 pm I was moved to my room. I got settled into my bed, still no urge. Nurse Joe asked if I had peed. Nope. “OK,” he said, “if you haven’t peed by 4 am I have to put a tube up.” I dozed fitfully, heavily medicated with the Magic Morphine Button. Finally about 2 am I woke with the urge. I gotta go. Good. I will pee and avoid Joe and the tube. I tried the role-on-my-side technique again. Nope. Still no good. Feeling a little like the Frankenstein Monster (“It’s Alive!”) – all bandages and robes and a definite lurching motion – I rose from the bed. I stood up. From there I did not go to the bathroom a mere three feet away. I used the jug. The same jug, but in the standing position, no problem. The pump drew water from the well in a flash. All that was required was the standing position.

Fear of Joe and the tube. How can I apply that in other areas of my life? Fear of having a tube run up one’s unit is very motivating.

Bait the psychic

I could not resist. How could I resist? Actually, I did resist.

I am a skeptic. I don't think there is a single shred -- not one iota -- of reasonable evidence to support paranormal events. With that bias stated up front, how could I resist?

Facebook friend who is a working psychic comments: "Of course my iPhone went dead at the highlight of the movie."

I wanted to comment. I really, really wanted to comment. I really, really, really wanted to say, "You didn't see that coming?"

I mean, even those of us wh are not psychics can usually figure out the little battery icon at the upper right.