Echoes of Richard Jefferies

About the Book

“It is eternity now, I am in the midst of it. It is about me in the sunshine; now is the immortal life.”

About the Author

I was born in Windsor, Ontario to a pretty poor household. There were eight of us off and on. Dad was an amazing musician, married twice. The eight of us were a mix of brilliance and criminality. Running through the family line was a form of Muscular Dystrophy which was not too noticeable because we were all fighters (one professional). I missed a lot of school in my denial years. I repeatedly walked out of class and went hitchhiking to London, Ontario. When my sister was having a leg amputated, I was a pissy, angry teenager getting blitzed on alcohol and drugs. By grade 12, I was asked to exit the building. Working since I was fourteen, I remarkably did alright. I ran off to Europe when I was seventeen. On my return flight, I tried to smuggle hash and had an exciting run with the RCMP. I was able to jump into a cab and head towards the 401 Highway. I took a couple of punches from the cabbie when I told him I didn’t have any money, but what I did have was pockets full of every European currency imaginable, and the cabbie ended up doing quite well. The first truck that went by was a McDonald’s truck and the driver said, “Hey, do you want a job?” We delivered to all the small towns in southwestern Ontario. I made a little cash and then stayed at a friend of a friend’s house in London, Ontario as I was sure the police were still looking for me from the airport hash incident. The house was boarded up but clean. The young guy stayed in his housecoat all day and asked, “Why did you come here?” I told him that my best, closest friend picked up all of his marijuana there, that he gave me the address and that the cops were probably still looking for me. He laughed incredulously and said that there were two unmarked cars there earlier and that they would probably be back that afternoon with a battering ram. I snuck out early the next morning. Those were very hard days and I hurt a lot of people. My drug use brought addiction to methadone. I fortunately had an epiphany of sorts after a real nasty bar fight and stabbing. In the morning of a brilliant summer day, and after no sleep, I heard footsteps coming up our old street. There was a young, black girl in a nurse’s uniform with her cap on and a subtle smile, walking briskly with perfect posture. I was so transfixed by the beauty of her entire being that she caused me to instantly assess my current life. I was nineteen and had just had a bath and yet felt filthy. It felt like my teeth were falling out. I was picking at my skin a bit and the towel on me hurt. And I thought, “What do I want to be in life?” I couldn’t conjure up a healthy thought for my future, and yet this woman had purpose and nobility. I remembered the previous night that Charlie Dawson and Bob Wilson had pulled me aside and showed great concern for my well-being. They were in an exceptional band and Charlie said, “You know Brian, if you could ever get your life back and get on some drums, you’re the guy we’d want to play with.” They had no idea of the power of their words. I was in such bad shape but deep in my mind, I told myself, “I’m going to do it.” The nurse walking by the next morning became the catalyst hardening in my DNA. I was working at American Can. At that time, they manufactured tin cans of every size. The place was filled with older, hardened men – some farmers working two jobs and some serious jailbirds but making an honest living. I would take amphetamines to keep my body going and I learned some real hard lessons in there. I had a union foreman meet me in an aisle, and he suddenly let loose with a few punches while saying that he just didn’t like me because my neighbor, Mr. Pettit, got me the job. He was upper management and had made some deal to get me in. Since these hits were not going well (the guy was built like muscle beach party with his sleeves rolled up), I thought, “Well I can’t win but I’ll at least hit him once,” so I clocked him in the face. It shocked him and he stopped and glared at me. Then like lightning, he threw me into a headlock and dragged me out on the shop floor where there were three guys waiting. One was a friend I had made. The union foreman suddenly laughed and said, “You crazy, little bugger, your name here now is ‘Herc’”. We became the absolute best of friends. He was a Caron as was my buddy. I forget their first names but they were all French Canadians of reputation from the area of Pain Court, Ontario. There were real hard men in there and I got to work right alongside them. It felt tremendous and I treasure the crazy, scary memories that happened in there. Some families have a cost to join. Anyway, this job game me the money to buy some Rogers brand drums from John Bellone Musical Instruments in London, Ontario, from the man himself, John Bellone. I locked myself in the basement and stopped all hard drugs but allowed myself beer and “Mary Jane”. I ended up in a great band with Charlie, and life got a lot better fast! Words can be seeds of great hope when the soil is ripe. But other seeds fell on good rich soil that kept producing a good harvest. (Matthew 13:8) Fast forward: The impetus to push through the challenge of writing this book came after remembering my mom saying that I have a famous poet as a great-grandfather, and reading a bit of Richard Jefferies. I read a review of Richard Jefferies by Brooke Williams and Terry Tempest Williams and was launched out so deeply by the writers of this commentary. I was curious when they relayed their heart experiences in the church world which had become somewhat negative for them. My wife, Kathy, and I had a tremendous born-again experience that continues to vitalize us. Our travels through the church world, however, were not good overall. We were caught in some ugly cult-like practices in a small church. It has taken years to heal, but we are now enjoying being in Langley Vineyard Church family in Langley, B.C., Canada. Our son, Jared, and our daughter, Selah, are marvelous individuals and they occupy space here in this book. Jared is miles above me as a gifted poet and Selah is also an expressive writer finding content from daily life on Lashmar Ranch. People, people, people … we can’t escape them! If we did, it’s to our peril. So, I write about the ones who have touched my heart – some in previous centuries, and that’s part of the wonder, isn’t it? People dropping jewels when they don’t even know it. Hopefully you pick up a few here, and they bring you a smile. Let’s start with echoes from the man himself, Richard Jefferies.