Radioactive

A Life Well Lived

In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril,  Amlodopine,  Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: James Taylor: You've Got A Friend

With apologies for missing last week's post, I have an excuse.

View Thomas MACMILLAN's Obituary on theglobeandmail.com and share memories

https://torontosun.com/news/local-news/tom-macmillan-was-larger-than-life

Last Monday morning, I flew to Toronto for the funeral and celebration of life, of Tom MacMillan.  Tom and I met, when we were just beginning our careers, forty six years ago.  We have been tight friends over since.  We lived in the same building in St. James Town, at that time, a yuppie starter apartment, in Toronto.  Our first homes were very near each other, in Agincourt.  We both were there for the birth of each of the other's daughter.  His Heather and our Stephanie.  They were close in age and first best friends.  Kristin was added to the group, three years later.

We shared so much.  Our love of music and old movies, shaggy dog stories  (that would make you groan),  a commitment to our work, and an unsurpassed joie de vivre.  And we loved our own, and each other's families.

Tom planted his political roots early, taking a job, working as Special Assistant to the Treasurer of Ontario, and stayed inside politics for years, until he moved on to work in the executive offices of The Toronto Sun.  Later, he opened his own Marketing business, Advance, a nod to his, and my time, as advance men for the Progressive Conservative party, both provincially and nationally.

Those early days of our lives were too much fun.  We represented candidates who won, and candidates who lost.  We worked on innumerable campaigns, offering our sweat and talents.  Tom was far more involved than I, as I still had real work to attend to, outside of government.  And that was what paid my salary.  Tom was absolutely immersed in politics.

When Kath and I moved to Tuscaloosa, I found out that my new company had arranged to hold their annual meeting of customers and suppliers, in Toronto, in that very year.  What better time could there be to make my mark?  I immediately called Tom, to see if he was interested in planning the event.

Tom signed on.  He was more than happy to help me out.  He told me he would make our meeting a great success.  We were back together.  As the new president of our company, I wanted our guests, about 800 of them, to have the best time, at the  best business meeting they had ever attended.  And, in particular, I wanted them all to enjoy and appreciate their first visit to Canada, and in particular, my long time home, the city of Toronto. 

I wanted some home-grown, Canadian speakers, and I gave Tom a theme for each.   It was to be about trust, faith and strategic intent.  Tom delivered in spades.  He brought us Patricia Bondar, the first Canadian woman in space, Laurie Skreslet, the man who conquered Everest, taking a team to the summit and back, safely, and last, but not least, our friend Paul Beeston, the President of the Toronto Blue Jays, who had just won the World Series.  Paul later became the President of Major League Baseball.  They did great work, meshing their stories with our business themes.  That first meeting exceeded my vision.  It was simply spectacular.

                                           With Paul Beeston and the World series Trophy

Our business arrangement ensured that Tom, and Sandy, his bride, stayed a part of our lives for years.

That first meeting, and all those that followed, greatly surpassed any of my company's past endeavors.  Better visuals, better technology and a platform to deliver a larger message on growth and prosperity, for all in attendance.  Tom was in the middle of all of them.  He dedicated himself to our success.  In San Antonio, he arranged for me to enter the meeting on a Segue, cowboy hat waving, and steer through the large, seated crowd.  I had never been on one before.  No problem, said Tom.  He arranged a full rodeo, with a grand Texas dinner-dance, which followed, as our entertainment.  At another meeting, he wanted me to rappel down to the stage, from the catwalk, above.  Had I not been in chemotherapy treatment, down to 150 pounds, and weak, I would have gladly obliged.  Bad timing.  Tom never had any problem risking my life.  All in a day's work.

                        Dancing in Vancouver, B.C. in front of Bob Keith's gift - a 12 ft. Totem Pole

      Sandy and Tom in full, fake, cowboy duds













He served our company well, but he was the real recipient.  Yes, we did pay him.  But, he got to meet the Keiths, Bob and Edith, and to see what I saw in them.  He and Sandy got to know and befriend a good number of our staff.  He and Sandy were tireless in their commitment to our success.  They became an extension of my family, in my business and in my life.  In fact, when we took the Keiths on their retirement trip, to Alaska, Tom and Sandy were with us.  Such was their relationship.

                                                               Part of our Alaska team

Most importantly, he was introduced to Alabama football.  He would follow The Tide, religiously.  They were referenced again and again, when we talked.  One of his most prized possessions was  his crimson BAMA t-shirt.  He was wearing it, as he sat in his row boat, on the cover of his funeral's program.

My friend had been with me for years.  Wonderful years.  He had hosted several of my larger (bigger numbers) birthday parties.  He celebrated my daughters' weddings, in the same role.  He had been in my family's life, since we first met.  He had never failed me.  He was always there, ready and available, when we called.

                                                     My 60th at Donalda Club, Toronto

            Yes, that is The Child Bride, with the curly hair.  Tom, the M.C. at the Albany Club

                 Kristin and Doug's wedding at Renaissance, Fort Myers.  Bob Keith, the officiate


And after nine years of fighting cancer, his time had come.  Tom had a myriad of friends and colleagues.  I was proud to be one.

The Trip

My trip to Toronto was uneventful.  Everything on time and smooth.  The customs inspector asked me if I was bringing drugs into the country.  I told him that this was a strange question, as it was his country that had the drugs, not mine.  He let me in, anyway.

My nephew, Michael, picked me up at the airport and we were joined his brother Brian, for dinner.  Beer, wings and fries.  And wonderful company.  Just what I needed.  I stayed at Rose and David's empty home, as they were in Naples, playing golf, with friends. 

The next morning, I started to get ready for the funeral.  The temperature overnight fell to freezing.  I counted on the sun to warm up the day.  I had brought no coat.  My tie was missing.  Great.  I would have go early and buy another.  Probably on my bed, at home, where I must have left it.  Good start.  I called Uber and by the time I got to The Bay, a large department store in Canada, my phone was down to 40% battery life.  I had just unplugged it and it had been on for about half an hour - the time it took to drive downtown. Now, understandably, I had no charger with me.  It was back in my suitcase.  So I was worried.  My mission was to buy a tie, so I went into The Bay.

A hard to find saleslady asked, "What size do you want?"  When it was around my neck, I told her, the bottom end should reach my belt.  Size?  Who asks that?  It's a tie, for goodness sake.  No, she said, "How wide do you want it to be?"   She was showing me samples now, thinking me an idiot for not understanding her.  Fine.  We agreed on one that I thought looked alright, and then I started walking to the church.  My phone was now under 20%.  It was discharging at an unbelievable rate.  I needed the phone to call for multiple rides throughout the day, and the phone was needed at the end of each segment, in order to pay the fare.  I was guessing the drivers would not find much  humor in my predicament. 

On the way to the church, I passed the Rogers building.  Rogers is a large Canadian media company and they have a retail store on their headquarter's main level.  I stopped and bought a charger.  Maybe I could find an outlet in the church and get enough charge to allow me to call another Uber for my ride to the celebration, after Mass.

On I ventured into the church.  Sherbourne Street was closed to all traffic.  There were homeless people strewn everywhere.  Half-dressed.  Shoeless, or missing one shoe.  Sleeping.  Too gone to even ask for a handout.  Those who were walking, or at least a good number of them, look damaged or dangerous.  It was a pitiful walk.  It matched  similar scenes I had witnessed in San Francisco and Baltimore.  Winter was on its way, and these poor souls would need shelter.  It was too sad.  Problems like this cannot be shrugged off.

Before the service officially began, Tom had requested a favorite song be played.  It was the song at the top of this page.  "Just call my name, and I'll be there."  " I am here, Tom," I thought.  Sandy had asked me not to come.  I had been through too much, she thought, to make this trip.  We could talk, or perhaps meet, later.  The day would be a whirlwind, she thought, and we would not have the time we needed.

No chance.  She saw me, and we hugged.  And she started to cry.  "No, don't",  I told her.  "The day will be long and you need to hang on - be strong."   There was too much still to come.

                                                               Tom in his favorite tee

My friends, Michele and Larry Trafford, were there, unexpectedly, for me.  They had met Tom many times, at our house, and knew I would be there.  They had talked to Kathy, who had had to stay home and teach.  I was glad to have them with me.  I was a bit blurry.  What little grip I had on reality, was slipping.  Too much sadness.  And for whatever reason, I felt lonely, surrounded by people, but all by myself.

There was a full Mass, highlighted by Ariana Chris, a remarkable soprano, who sang two of my favorites - Pie Jesu (Requiem), and You Raise Me Up.  Music had never sounded sweeter.  Tom would have been proud.  He and I had always shared a love of music.  And this was music to be loved.

I took Communion, returned to my seat, knelt, put my head in my hands and I quietly wept.  "Goodbye, Tom",  I prayed. " I love you and I will always hold your memory.  Keep Sandy, and their family well.  Let them heal.  Amen.  Thank you, Father."

I left the church and for whatever reason, decided to return.  I had unfinished business.  I wanted to thank the priest.  His words and his mass had taken me to a better place.  I thought he might appreciate the fruits of his work.  "Father, I want to thank you",  I said.  "Yes, yes, right", he said, and then turned and left.  I was like dandruff on his shoulder.  He broke the spell, and my heart. "You should be better",  I thought.  I guess we all have room to learn.  I walked out.

I could not call Uber.  My phone had taken this funeral as the perfect time to die.

I began the long walk to the Albany Club, one of our old downtown haunts, and one of my favorite places.  All old, dignified, and wreaking of years of politics.  Kath, many years ago, even threw a surprise birthday party there for me.  Some of you were in attendance for that one.
There I was, back again.  With Tom, again.  The circle of life.  No straight lines.

I thought I might find an Apple Store along the way.  I needed a new battery, I was sure.  I found one at The Eaton Center, after a long, long walk.  It was far too busy for me to find help, so back to the street and a cab to the club.

I took refuge at the back of an overflowing room.  There were several speakers, some family and others, friends.  When all was concluded, like a salmon heading upstream, I pardoned my way to the front, to give Kat's and my condolences to Sandy and Tom's family.  Lots of old friends were there and I had the chance to become reacquainted.  As an aside, I had been gone for almost 30 years, so several men looked quite old to me.  Like many of the women, I also had not put on a year.

Sandy had wanted me to speak, but did not know I was hiding out in the back, and couldn't find me.  She had even sent one of her daughters on the mission, as well, when she had to take a seat.  I thanked her for the thought, but I had said my goodbyes in the church, and I had made the trip just for that purpose.  I told her that we loved her and we would speak again soon.  Another of life's passages.  I took my leave.

At the desk by the door, I plugged my inconsiderate, useless, pathetic semblance of a phone into an outlet, and called Uber.  When the driver arrived, I explained that, when we got to the house, I would have to go in and plug the phone in, so that I could pay him and we could complete the transaction.  He waved me in and introduced me to his charge cord.  Plugged it in and we were on our way.  This young man was from South Africa and had been in the country for two years, still waiting for his wife and children to be allowed in.  He had been victimized twice, with a gun held to his head.  He was seeking a better life.  I hope he finds it.

Uber took me to the airport the next morning.  This driver was from Afghanistan. and talked non-stop.  He had been in Canada for more that 5 years, with his family.  His country was too terrible to have stayed.  He had gone to India and then to Canada.  He told me that he was a very good driver and that he got lots of tips.    One lady even gave him a hundred dollar bill. Heavy - handed hinting, I gathered.

His son had been dating a Chinese girl, and he had told his son that he would be disowned if he ever brought her to his house.  His son had complied.  His son was now, 36, he said, and had asked his father, my driver, to find him a suitable wife.  He had been unable to, on his own.  My driver was losing me fast, at this juncture.  I was not sensing gratitude for what this country was offering him, and his family.  This country had gained a bigot.  Somewhere in all that, there surely was at least one message to be learned.  Too many for me. I just wanted out of this car.  I will leave you to find your own.  Let me know what you think, if you want.

While he was talking, he missed the exit to the airport.  At some break in his monologue, I had mentioned that we only learn by listening.  I had tried to gesture that we should move over to the right. He had paid no attention.  I later had to get Uber to credit my account, as he had charged me the additional mileage and time it took him to get to the airport.  Wonders will never cease.

My flight to Atlanta was a little late, but we made up the time in the air.  My next flight, to Tampa, left on time.  Just as we were about to touch down, the pilot pulled back hard on the rudder and we headed back up and back over the gulf, in preparation for another attempt.

Apparently, a squall had hit and made the landing dangerous.  Then, ten minutes later,  the pilot returned to the intercom to advise us that the storm had not yet cleared, and as we were in need of fuel, we were going to Orlando.  Two hours later, we returned to a waiting and anxious crowd in Tampa.  Including the child bride, who was in need of her promised dinner.  We did find a restaurant that stayed open after nine o'clock, which is  unusual in Florida, and eventually made our way home, by 11.

How was your day?

Back next week (if all goes well).

Thank you for allowing me to share my life.

Love you for that and so much more.

Love you Sandy.  Goodbye, Tom

jrobinmullen@gmail.com