| Question: What did the Groucho-Marxist say to the Yippie about death? Answer: “I only came to say I must be going”. Not a renunciation of the serious side of life but a refusal to take oneself too seriously. Not a denial of life’s wonder but an understanding of its fragility. | A passionate man with sentiments of fierce tenderness whose fervent embrace of social justice leaned heavily toward the theatrical but was never trivial toothless or trendy. Not cut out to be a cynical hipster he proudly wore his heart on his sleeve and sported the black rose of anarchy in his lapel. A musical aficionado with a twinkle in his eye who possessed a satirical streak as long as Hastings Street (where a plutocrat’s library could be transformed into a DTES community centre) and as wide as the Salish Sea (on whose island shores he came to dwell in his later years). | A rhymer of verse. A force for better not for worse. Crafting words with just enough of a joyous zing to swoop us under his wing just enough of a badass bite to say that every dog would have his day and every cat her night. Behold New Yawk homeboy Streetcorner Harmonizer Song and Dance man Seasoned Shit Disturber wearing 2 different colored socks and a battered top hat. Whitmanesque adventurer who traveled the Open Road of Life. |