A Repost with Help from Dad: A Tale of Two Canadians
As the Chaulks host a celebration for the life of Mr. Chaulk, dad thought it might be a good idea to repost this blog. If any of you know dad, he also wanted to add his two cents.
Loss in life is as inevitable as gain.
Last week, reality gave us a solid one-two that took away the essence of Canadiana. It is not gone, we are just running a little low at the moment.
We were all expecting one. Gord Downie was not just a great Canadian, he came to represent everything we look for in the Canadian spirit. He was not perfect, but he was perfectly Canadian. Gord had the ability to put his best foot forward when we did not know if he could walk at all. He sang with with a great red heart and never really cared if he was heard outside of our borders. As I developed as a person, my appreciation of Gord Downie and the Hip developed with me.
They were a band with many hooks. Maybe you loved the bonfire feel of Bobcaygeon or Scared, maybe you loved the Canadian nuggets dropped in Dire Wolf, 50 Mission Cap or Fireworks, maybe it's the heartbreak of Wheat Kings or Fiddler's Green, maybe it's the catchiness of Courage or Poets or New Orleans is Sinking or Grace Too or maybe it is the fact that I have not yet begun to scratch the surface on their songs that touched us. Gord Downie represented the Canada I was proud to be from. He understood what he meant to us without understanding why he was important to us. Gord always had a message which he thought was more important than a question about his popularity. If I was successful, I would want to handle my fame like he did.
Today it seems success is measured by your popularity in the States. Most of our Canadian talent wants the American payday and American acknowledgement, even the Great One took his talents to LaLa land. The Hip were content with just being popular in Canada. Yes they toured elsewhere, often to a smattering of transplanted canucks, but they was satisfied being popular north of the 49th. They were the popular guy or girl who choose us.
The other was a little under the radar but equally Canadian. Sam Chaulk, while much lesser known, also embodied what I wanted to become. For those who do not know, Mr. Chalk was my high school principal. He took over from a totalitarian type who wanted everyone to know who was in charge. Mr. Chaulk did not need to declare his power. He just did what he could to make his family, his school and his part world a better place.
We wanted more gym time, Mr. Chaulk opened it.
I needed anything from a reference letter to a photocopy, it was delivered instantly. He even called me a mover and a shaker, he saw me play basketball.
A student demonstrated success, he was there to acknowledge it.
A student needed correcting, he guided them.
Yeah, he was a great educator, a great person and a great Canadian.
One of my favorite memories of Mr. Chaulk was a time he saw something he was not a fan of. I was practicing with the Men’s basketball team and we ended at 11:30 pm.
He saw me the next morning and asked, “Were you here at 11:30 last night?”
“Yeah, I had practice.” I responded with typical 17y.o. cockiness.
“I think that is too late. You need your sleep at your age.” There was no more discussion. I never practiced that late again and the team was given an earlier practice time. He knew what I needed and was not about to allow me to get in the way of getting it.
So my Red Heart is still glowing this week and will for a while. My tears have subsided some, but not stopped. I have thought of both even though it has been too long since I had seen either. Various Hip lyrics have ran through my head , as have the peaceful demeanor of Mr. Chaulk. (I could have called him Sam, he would not have minded, but he was Mr. Chaulk to too many.) I am sure both are gushing over the others accomplishments somewhere.
A Post-Script by Don Crewe
I remember Sam as an eager army cadet who took pride in being the snappiest, best dressed on parade.
I remember Sam as a fellow teacher who always had a knack for inspiring both his students and his colleagues.
I remember Sam as a hardworking principal who wanted nothing less than the best for his school and his staff.
I remember Sam as a motivational Toastmaster whose well prepared speeches were informative and entertaining, focusing on the good stuff that improves humanity.
I remember Sam as an excited partyer who, without stimulants, could stay on the floor all night and literally dance the taps off his shoes.
Most of all though, I remember Sam as a super friend who always had time for a chat, a story, or a laugh no matter where or when you met him.
I will never forget him, so I join with you today in celebrating the life of a fine human being.
Sincerely,
Don
