Remembering Jim

A little like Twain and Leacock, Jim had a knack for spinning the ridiculous that is all around us into goofy jokes. Looking back thirty years, it was great fun to leave the office to chat with Jim over coffee… when we both should have been working. 

Those who knew Jim well, will recall his sense of humour. But some may have forgotten about Jim’s athletic pursuits. While in his mid-forties and my son was a teenager, Jim and Eric joined the Exeter tennis club. They were often paired for doubles. Eric was very good. Hard to get a ball by him. Jim was effective at the net, where he usually planted himself at the ready.

One evening I wandered to the courts. Jim and Eric faced a pairing that looked much like my son, fitness-wise. Jim looked ‘otherwise’

As usual, Jim went to the net, at the ready. Eric served. The return went deep. It was a tough get but Eric’s shot was likewise deep. Jim turned his head left as the ball sailed by. He then watched the next shot nip the corner. Eric fired a low one to Jim’s left. He watched it go by. The next volley flew past him, within reach, if only he’d seen it. Jim got himself ready again. Eric sent another one deep. The next volley zoomed by, as Jim again watched, still at the ready.  Then, a shot came right at Jim. But it was coming fast. The smart decision was to duck, so he did.

And so it went. Back and forth. Back and forth. Eric racing from corner to corner, returning everything. Meanwhile, Jim stayed at the net, knees slightly bent, racket properly positioned, his head turning left, then right, then left, and so on.

Some rallies go on forever. This was one of those rallies… until Eric pegged the far corner. Though out of position, their opponent somehow got a racket on it. But when the ball came back, it did so weakly. It was headed right at Jim. Luckily, he had maintained his ‘at the ready’ readiness.

With the ball practically floating there, right in front of him, Jim slammed that ball into the cinders. Winning point, Jim.

Eric laughed. I laughed. The opposing doubles team laughed. Then strutting a little, Jim walked over to my son, “Eric,” he said. “You carried me longer than my mother did.” 

Banner year

Seven years ago, Beth, our daughter, started Team Awesome (with family and friends) to raise money for the Terry Fox Foundation. (TF maximizes cancer research support while minimizing administration costs). This year Beth’s team raised $14,000. I threw in $500 from Jack Beer mystery sales. This is part of the team.

Terry Fox Run

My wife, Jane and I have supported the Terry Fox Run for over thirty years. Our dedication to the cause moved to new levels when our daughter Beth was diagnosed with cancer seven years ago. Soon thereafter, she led family and friends to create Team Awesome. Approximately, $60,000 dollars later, she continues to fund raise all the while her treatments also continue. The generosity of team members will for sure remain ‘awesome.’

For our part, we have two strategies. In addition to our regular donation, I am giving the TF Foundation all the proceeds from this year’s Jack Beer mystery book sales. But Covid has slowed my sales. So…

1. Please consider buying one or all five of my novels for yourself or a friend. (Contact… jrhundey@sympatico.ca or 519 235 2072). 

2. Or, on Sept 18, see me at the Terry Fox run site in Exeter. I’ll have a table.

3. Or, please visit my website at www.rickhundey.ca and order an ebook. (You can also download a free short story.)

Other Details:

The entire $20 I receive for each book sold will go to the TF Foundation. The same goes for all proceeds from ebook sales.

If you decide to buy before the run date and are within a 50 km radius, we can work out delivery or pick-up. (I will mail books too, but Post Office costs run $14.00 and up.)

Of course, I’m just as happy if you donate directly through Beth’s Terry Fox site. https://run.terryfox.ca/page/bethhundey.

Working Title

My sixth Jack Beer mystery, is taking shape. I might call it ‘A Stoner’s Fix.’ Here’s the opening:

Dear Maryanne. 

What the hell… am I writing to my sister here or am I starting a diary? I won’t be describing what I ate for breakfast or the bargirl I met last night (she was hot). Not into drivel.

Long and short, I need to talk to a real person. And I pick you, because there’s no one else. It’s about memories, Sis. Especially ‘bad memories.’ And it’s going to take more than one letter… though I’m not clear how they’ll help? Can’t change the past and I know where I went wrong. Am I ‘grasping at straws?’ Yes, I am. It’s also called ‘desperation.’ I just need to crawl out of the gutter… stop being self-destructive. I want to drive the demons out.

Frankie.

Love Small Town Newspapers

What big city paper will feature your kids in a ‘skater of the week’ blurb? Does the LFP publish lawn bowling results? A picture of the new fire truck? Does the Toronto Star offer a weekly history tale (thanks David Yates).

Then there’s the goofy stuff. I recall from the Wiarton Echo: “Overheard over a shared plate of fries: Diner one - Man, that’s a big French Fry. Diner two: Yes. It must have come from a really big potato.”

How about the Eagle Valley News police report out of Sicamous, BC. Tidbit 1. Black car with Montana plates see following too close. Number 2. Report of missing parent, later found at a friend’s place.

What the Hell Are You Doing Here?

Ever have flashbacks? A recent exchange with an old friend prompted this one. It’s 1966 and I’m in grade 11, working at the local grocery store fifteen hours a week. (Starting at 80 cents an hour. After three months I was moved up to a dollar.) I loved that job. Kept me in gas. Gave me more than enough for a Friday and Saturday night date both.

Sometimes, if the store got busy on one of my off nights, Linus, my boss, would call me. But he hardly ever called on a Monday night… until he did. “Weirdly busy Rick. Can you clock in?”

I show up at 6 PM and the store is almost empty. I punch the time clock anyway and head to the front to pack groceries for customers. Except there are none. Anita is on the till.  “What the hell are you doing here?” she says at the same time Linus appears. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Me: You called me.

Linus: Nope.

Me: Uh huh.

Me: Nope. Punch out.

Me: Do I get paid for the hour?

Linus: Nope.

One of those ‘once in a blue moon, twilight-zone-type, occurrences,’ is my conclusion. Until it happens the next week. Linus calls. I go in. Linus says, go home. Then it happens again. Linus is losing patience. I’m wondering why the heck Linus is doing this to me.

Until one night following our shift, I’m walking out with my friend and he says, “Want to hear my Linus voice imitation?”

(Sadly, Pat passed away since I wrote this ditty. I’m truly thankful to have been able to call Pat my friend. And it’s wonderful that he left us with so many memories.)

Has my Wife Joined a Cult?

Jane is away playing the ukulele tonight. Last time I followed her to one of her secret meetings. While hiding, I started this painting. But they caught me and taking umbrage, two of them chased me away. (There’s definitely something going on… maybe I’ll speculate in a short story. )

Remembrance Day

As Nov 11 approaches I remember my Dad. He was among the first to sign up and go overseas. And though he died too soon, he still inspires me in many ways. As a writer I borrow from his past, his sense of humour and his goofy anecdotes. Handsome guy too, eh?

Terry Fox and my daughter's fund-raising.

In February I said I earmarked $700 plus from book sales to my daughter’s Terry Fox Team. Jane and I rounded the figure up to $1000. In six years she and her supporters have raised over $45,000 for cancer research. She plans to pass the $50,000 mark this September. She’ll make it -she is very determined and so are her family, friends and colleagues. That’s her, in one of the poses for the cover of The Devil’s Elbow.

The Great War

Life wasn’t easy during the Great War. My Grandad, Frederick Cornelius Hundey, joined the Canadian Expeditionary Force. He and Grandma Daisy had three children at the time of his deployment, my Aunt Nancy, my dad, aged one and a half, and Robert, four months old. He sailed to England on the SS Justica on May 5, 1917. (That ship was later torpedoed and sunk by a German Uboat.) In August of that year, hardship struck. Baby Robert died, a tragedy that had to have been traumatic for Grandma and Grandad both. In October, Grandad was shipped to France where he served until the spring of 1918. He was then assigned as a batman to a senior officer. At the same time, he contracted the Spanish flu but recovered. In September of 1918, still at the front, Grandad suffered a concussion and was hospitalized, having crashed his motorcycle into a convoy lorry. This was during the critical Hundred Days offensive led by Canadian forces under Arthur Currie. Grandad returned to London Ontario in May of 1919 where he and Grandma tried to pick up the pieces.