Farewell my sweet friend
JB and I, after I took him out on my boat for the first time, during the Poker Run, 2009
I was warned about JB before I even met him. And the person who warned me about him told me in the very same breath that I was going to love him. And love him I did.
JB, for me, was an icon of the Armdale Yacht Club. I met him on the first week I joined the club two years ago and he stayed one of my strongest connections to the club ever since, calling or emailing me at least every week to invite me to something.
I arrived at the Armdale Yacht Club two years ago, not sure what to expect and a little intimidated. I didn’t know anyone at the club when I joined. I was a woman joining a yacht club, and I wasn’t showing up with a sail boat. I was bringing a pink fishing boat; a Baby Cape Islander. One of the first people I met on the dock was Barrie MacLeod, who in minutes, decided I “WAS Armdale” and had to meet one of the long time members, JB. Barrie said I had to come to JB’s regular Tuesday night dinner party. I had never met the man and didn’t want to show up uninvited but Barrie assured me this wasn’t at all necessary. I had to come.
Then came the warning.
JB, I was told. . . to say the least . . . didn’t exactly look like what you would expect of a yacht club member. He was not in the best of health, and had this illness, and that illness, etc, etc, until I expected to meet the Elephant Man with all kinds of horrifically deformed body parts. I was well warned.
So naturally, I decided to come anyhow. Thinking I should not show up empty handed, I went and picked up a pink cake to bring to the house. There I met the most wonderful people, who today have become the dearest of friends. The first day brought Marge Blunden, Laurel Cooper, Janet MacInnis, Vangie Sadler, Mark MacNeil, and, much to my surprise, two people I had already known: Bob Lee from my job at Dalhousie University and Paul Barr, whose son I dated more than 20 years ago back in high school. Ok, so yacht club folks are not that unknown after all. And it was a fantastic night. JB always created an atmosphere where everyone was allowed to be themselves. The conversations at his house ran from talk about the club, to politics, to what is the best hand bag to buy at the designer Coach store for $400 and how much the stocks were worth. And shockingly, JB was the one who had the most opinion on the handbags of the moment, and had done the most amount of research.
I ended up going to JB’s so frequently that I brought over a pair of pink fuzzy slippers to leave at his house permanently so I could use them any time I was there. They were my JB slippers. As I wore my slippers, and we all talked, JB would cook us the most amazing food. I got to love the man so much, I would drop by his place at other times during the week as well, just to chat, wearing the pink fuzzy slippers. The only times I took them off was when he took me out to his impressive vegetable garden to share some of his tomatoes or other vegetables that he grew in a wonderful back garden.
As many people at the yacht club know, JB used to be my dance partner too. Not exactly the most coordinated fellow, it was indeed a unique experience to dance with JB. Often times I would not have any idea which way we were going, or what was going to happen next. Sometimes I wondered what people watching us must be thinking as this unsteady man in his sixties, and a younger woman in her mid-forties danced around the dance floor of the club. But I didn’t really care. JB to me, was always the sweetest, kindest man, and if getting to dance with me on the dance floor made him happy for even a few minutes, I was more than happy to do it.
Last Saturday, at the Coachworks Christmas party, JB was in fine spirits. He was dragging me all over the dance floor and near the end of the song he asked me if he could dip me at the end. I thought, hmmmmm . . . I’m not sure if the two of us are up for that much coordination, but ok, why the heck not. So I said yes, and as the dance ended, JB swirled me around, dipped me down, and miraculously, we both managed to stay on our feet.
That was the last time we danced together, and I think, the last dance JB ever had.
At the end of the night, Bill Wilkinson drove me, JB and Janet MacInnis home. Bill made sure JB was all seat-belted in before driving off, and we took him to his place. JB got out and made it to his door. We waited until he was inside and then Bill, Janet and I headed to her house. That was the last time I saw JB alive.
Tuesday night came and I drove to JB’s house after work for the regular dinner. When I got there around 5:30 pm, I walked in the usually unlocked door, and this is what I saw:
In the kitchen, no JB, but two bags of groceries toppled over on the floor like they had just been dropped quickly. No food was on the stove. Nobody else was there. I wondered if maybe JB wasn’t having his Tuesday dinner. I thought back on the day and realized I hadn’t seen JB’s usual email to me reminding me to come to the “Chocolate Lake Yacht Club” as he called it. Maybe he really wasn’t doing anything. I thought about going upstairs to check if he was asleep in his room, but thought no, better not. After all, we all know JB drank A LOT, and I have seen him in a less than pretty state many times before. Maybe he was sick up there, or passed out, or something. Maybe I shouldn’t disturb him.
The living room was in complete darkness as I left and I just walked out, and quietly closed the door so I wouldn’t wake JB if he was sleeping. All the way home though, something kept nagging at me. Those strewn grocery bags were an odd site. JB always had his kitchen in relatively good order, and the bags on the floor kept sending me warning signs. All the way home I kept thinking I should go back. But I didn’t.
Two days later, I went to the club for Thursday night darts, only to be pulled aside immediately by the Commodore’s wife, Anna, who gave me the most terrible news: Mark MacNeil and Rob Gordon had just received a call a half hour ago saying that JB was dead.
My immediate thoughts went back to the previous Tuesday, when I had sensed something was wrong. Should I have done something? Why didn’t I investigate further? These are the things that run through your head at a time like this. The only thing I did know was that I had to go to JB’s house immediately. I wanted to be there with them to find out what happened and see if there was anything I could do.
When I arrived at the house, there were about ten people already there. In addition to Mark and Rob, there was Janet MacInnes and her friend Roxanne, Laurel Cooper, Leslie and Paul Sampson, Tommy Harper, Barrie MacLeod and the police officer assigned to stay until JB was taken care of. There were several things that happened to me during the hours I stayed there with the group. Extreme sadness washed over me as I thought that I would never again see my friend, mingled with pride and love for all those around me. Being the newest member of the group, I couldn’t be much help with plans, so I watched in admiration as the group impressed me by how much they got done. Laurel, even through her tears, managed to get in contact with key members of his family and friends who needed to be informed, and several others helped pulling names out of the back of their heads for people who needed to be contacted.
I am not the best person to write a tribute to JB. I haven’t known him for the decades many of my friends have. They know stories and have intimate experiences I will never know. All I know is my relationship with JB, and that we truly cared for each other, and that is enough for me to write this now. I thought to myself, “Jb, if you are out there, you have to know you will never be forgotten by many people, and your sweetness of heart can never be duplicated”.
While I sat there in JB’s kitchen, there was talk about who would show up for a ceremony for JB and the conclusion was: a lot of real friends. I looked across his living room and noticed the pile of shoes in the corner, with my pink fuzzy slippers in the pile. I quietly went over and gathered them up. Then it was time for me to leave.
I walked out, carrying the pink slippers from JB’s house for the final time.
~End~
-Krista Olmstead
Toast:
Here’s to you JB. I'm sorry you never got to sail your new boat this summer, but I am really glad you, Barrie MacLeod, and I got to take one of the only trips in it this fall. When my day comes to go to another place, I will keep an eye out for your corner bar stool.
*** This original post can be found on my blog at: http://kristaolmstead.livejournal.com/
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