Category Archives: Rob

I loved Tall Hat Chronicles. Thanks for the reminder Google.

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Dids and Fritz

My brother, Kenneth Lee MacDonald, passed away a couple of weeks ago, from cancer. He was diagnosed almost a year ago, likely had it much longer than that, and wasn’t expected to see this summer. Probably not even the spring. Yet he hung on, rallied a couple times, but the cancer was too embedded in too much of him. He really wanted to, and did make it to summer, and despite the pain and discomfort, I think he managed to enjoy enough of his final year.

He was number four of five brothers. No sisters. I am number five, the baby. There is about seven years between Kenny and me, so we weren’t the closest of brothers. I wasn’t close to any of them really. We didn’t play together, or spend much time together, outside of family meals. We all got/get along well, but, because of my comparative youth, I didn’t connect with them as much as most brothers, perhaps.

Kenny had the nickname Dids. Our next brother up the chain, Johnny, is nicknamed Fritz. There is lore as to where they both acquired the names, but I don’t know how substantiated it is, so I won’t get into it here. Dids and Fritz were very close. Best friends, I’d say. Right up to the end. A month or two before Kenny died, Johnny was in the hospital too, and they’d spend time together. Such a strange coincidence.

The week that Kenny died, I had to perform a show, Meanwhile in Ward 16. It’s a show we kind of make up each week. That week, there were two new characters being introduced, a couple of Germans. I decided, as a tribute, to name them Dids and Fritz. I am glad of that.

I miss my brother. He was an extremely shy and quiet guy who seemed most comfortable when he was out of the spotlight. I think one of the hardest things for Kenny in the past year was his need to rely on other people: nurses, doctors, family, etc. He didn’t want anyone to bother, and would often obfuscate the truth of his pain levels or discomfort in order to keep people from having to do things for him. That’s the kind of kind soul he was.

Like all of us, he had his problems. Some of them he struggled with for a long time. I remember first becoming aware of one on Christmas Eve, when I was maybe 7 or so. Younger? Young enough to still believe in Santa anyway. Young enough to be so excited about Christmas that I couldn’t sleep. I came downstairs in the middle of the night, not sure what time it was, but it was late. Or early morning. It was dark anyway. I was alone, excitedly looking at my presents when I heard a rustling at the front door. “Santa?” I wondered. It turned out to be Kenny, coming home after a party or celebration of some sort. He seemed quite out of sorts. Loud and happy and unbalanced and somehow unwell. He stumbled up the stairs to bed, and that is the first time I experienced what would be a lifelong struggle for him.

I was very much surprised, in the best way possible, to receive a link recently, to a remembrance of Kenny, which is copied below. Surprised, because I knew Kenny to have lived a quiet, unassuming life, with a handful of friends who, mostly, wouldn’t be inclined to write anything about him. One never knows the impacts people can have on other people.

So, thank you Eddy Quinn, for remembering my brother, and for championing the ‘nice guy’.

Is that you Dids

I had almost limped my way to the parking lot of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital when I heard a voice behind me.

I turned to see a skeleton of a man smiling as he called my name. I looked deep into the man’s head to find where his eyes had sunken in. His grey skin was hanging off his bones, but there was a familiar spark in his eyes. Finally, I recognized the warm smile of a man I used to work with.

“Dids? Is that you?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s me alright,” he replied with a nod and a smirk.

“Jesus man, you’re desperate thin!” I blurted without thinking.

“Yeah, I got cancer,” he said without changing his facial expression. “What are you doing here?” he inquired in the next breath.

“Oh…I just got a shot in my bad ankle. Nothing too serious, Kenny.” I switched to his real name after hearing his dire news. “Are they keeping you in?” I asked when I noticed he was wearing pyjama pants and loafers.

“Yeah, I am here ‘til I get into palliative care I guess,” he said, still nodding and smiling. “I’m just out for a puff.” He held up a vaping device. “I just put my weed right in this thing, and they don’t say anything to me.” He let out an inaudible giggle that I hadn’t heard for a few years.

I loved Kenny’s laugh. It would remind you of Ernie from Sesame Street. He would, kind of, shrug his shoulders, and all you would hear was a faint and breathy letter “K” from his throat. It was the kind of laugh that would spread like wild fire through a room.

“I hadn’t heard you were sick, Kenny. Sorry about that.” I said awkwardly.

“I seen Barry and Daryl a while back, “ he gracefully ignored my obvious discomfort. “You still at Superior?”

“Oh yes. I’m a lifer, Dids. No chance of parole!” I joked. We chatted for some time in the parking lot before I had to get back to work.

No one at work could tell me where our former colleague, Kenny “Dids” MacDonald, got his nickname. He had it long before he started working as a welder for Superior Sanitation. Dids could “weld the crack of dawn”, as the saying went. Rumour had it that he made the big money “out west” for a few years, and came home with a pretty healthy bank account. Apparently between himself and some fair weather friends, the out west money got partied away.

Dids was quiet, yet friendly, as he went about his work at the old shop on Allen Street. It always seemed that he got a little less quiet, and a lot more friendly on the day after payday. I recall walking into the shop one morning to notice Dids holding a coffee cup with a Kleenex sticking out of the lid. I saw him giggle as he held the unlit acetylene torch up to the drink hole in the coffee cup lid and started to fill the cup with gas. I was about to ask what he was doing, when he motioned for me to keep quiet. He put the torch down and pulled out his cigarette lighter. When he finally lit the makeshift Kleenex wick, he threw the coffee cup under the truck where one of the mechanics was working. There was a loud boom, followed by an unholy oath sworn by the mechanic under the truck. Dids giggled as he scrambled out the shop door in an attempt to escape his colleague’s wrath.

It would have been a poor day for Occupational Heath and Safety to show up for an inspection. It would have been worse still if the boss had walked in. But it seemed to me that Dids was afforded a little leeway for the odd misstep, or unscheduled absence from work. Dids might get on the “spree” for a few days and be on the missing list during that time. But when he was straightened back out, he’d show up and do good work. And the guy was just so likable, that no one could stay mad at him. I can honestly say that Dids made me smile every time we spoke, even during our last meeting in the QEH parking lot.

Kenny “Dids” MacDonald died a few weeks after we spoke that day. He didn’t have a wife or children that I know of. He never accumulated any material wealth, in spite of the fact that he was quite a skilled tradesman. I expect that addiction likely had something to do with that. All the time I knew him, he was pretty hard on himself, and financially down on his luck. I think he had been living in a rooming house in Charlottetown before he was hospitalized. The truth is that I didn’t know much about Dids, aside from the fact that I really liked him….as did many.

We live in a time when statues of once celebrated men are being taken down in protest. Rich and accomplished men of the past are being taken to task for some of the evil crap that they did while rising to prominence. People are starting to question why their names adorn schools, parks and prominent buildings. So here’s a couple of questions of my own. What would it be like, if we renamed some of these spots for nice guys who never hurt anyone aside from themselves? “Fort Kenny” has a nice ring to it. How about “Dids School Of Welding?” Maybe being a likable guy is the thing we should be celebrating these days. And I’d like to nominate Kenny “Dids” MacDonald, as a name that is truly worthy of remembering. Then when people would walk into those buildings and wonder who they were named for, someone could answer this way.

“Who was “Dids?” Oh, he was a good guy to work with. He could weld like a bugger, and he made his friends laugh….not sure where he got the nickname though.”

This Saturday night at The Guild, these awesome folks join us, Meanwhile in Ward 16, sponsored by McLeans Overhead Garage Doors.

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Jamie Cox is dead? His haircut sure is! Find out what happens next Meanwhile in Ward 16. Saturday night at The Guild

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Goodness me, he’s a beauty!

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Poster for Meanwhile in Ward 16. See it this summer at The Guild

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Remembrances of a Lumbering Bear, Part 3

Wherein Rob reminisces about his theatre life, play by play

The Bear, by Anton Chekov

One-Act play, produced by the UPEI Theatre Society. Directed by Nancy McLure. Also with Linda Wigmore as Elena Ivanova Popova, and Peter Ewart as Luka.

Role: Grigory Stepanovitch Smirnov

I don’t remember a whole lot about this theatrical experience, other than I quite enjoyed it. A bigger than life character, fun lines to say, and a great little one act play. It was the first-hand in a two-hander night of one act plays that the UPEI Theatre Society put on, along with Autumn in the Han Palace by Yiian.

I remember that summer and fall, LInda Wigmore, Peter Ewart and myself were trying to conjure up creative enterprises. Peter was very eager to come up with some new and exciting type of board game. We managed to create perhaps the most complicated game ever, but it wasn’t much fun to play. I don’t remember the name of it.

So, we decided to focus our attentions on theatre, and Nancy McLure was pulled into the circle to direct us in a one-act play that either LInda or Nancy came up with. While I don’t remember anything really specific from the rehearsals and performances – other than it was my first time using a breakaway chair, borrowed from The Kings Playhouse – I can say that Peter Ewart was such a tornado to perform with. A guy whose unpredictability – caused by two-parts nerves and three-parts comedic inspiration – could create great gales of laughter and immense confusion with his actions and words and mannerisms. A one of a kind, for sure. It was a real privilege to be in Peter’s circle at that time.

Remembrances of a Lumbering Bear, Part 2

Wherein Rob reflects upon his theatre career, play by play

Act One, Scene Two – 1985 – Electra, by Euripides. Produced by the UPEI Theatre Society. Directed by David Moses.

Role: Pylades…. Also with a cast of many

At one point in my life – well, for the first 20+ years or so – I was a rather slim, athletic person. I only point that out so that when you read this, you won’t be imagining the current me, the hulking mass of a man that I am resolved to be. As you read on, imagine a sleek, tall, well-proportioned version of me.

Think this guy:

<——–

(This was me, a year before, on my way to be Billy Idol at the Halloween Pub at The Barn at UPEI. The vest was a black garbage bag, as was the studded wrist band. The studs were painted on white-out. The pleather pants I stole from Zellers. I won the prize for best costume – the prize was a bar tab.)

I played Pylades, a fried of Orestes, in this production of Electra, the Greek tragedy. The character of Pylades is persona muta, which means he has no speaking lines. I don’t know if David giving me that role was a comment and criticism of my performance in Glass Menagerie or not.  I think I was the first in the cast to be off book. The role itself was pretty simple: “Move here on this line and look Greek soldiery.”

And what’s a Greek soldier wear? My wardrobe consisted of a leather-type black vest or tunic, a leather helmet, and a short, short black fabric skirt.  And sandals with laces up the calves, and a sword. It’s the short short skirt I remember. (It’s also the thing all the ladies remember, am I right, girls?).  An intimidating piece of wardrobe, difficult to wear comfortably and assuredly, for a shy, unsullied young man. I will leave it to the Critics of History whether I pulled the look off or not.  But I can tell you this: it didn’t get me laid.

Also, neither Billy Idol nor a bar tab got me laid a year earlier. I certainly wasn’t secure enough in myself to flirt, and I was beyond naive when it came to the idea someone might want to flirt with me. I remember one night at Gentleman Jim’s, I was actually up on the dance floor – I most likely was dancing by myself, so it must have been Flyin’ Phil’s New Wave Monday Night – and some woman kept groping my ass. Not a careless touch from a swinging, dancing arm. But a firm, committed, obvious grab of my ass. I looked behind me, and an attractive woman smiled at me. I turned around and continued dancing. Another ass grab. Then another bigger, nodding, knowing smile from her. My reaction was not “Hey, alright, she’s coming on to me!”, rather it was more along the lines of “What’s HER problem?” To rid myself of any chance of encounter and confusion, I quickly returned to my seat and most likely finished off a Keiths. Only later, too late later, did it even cross my mind she may have been making a move on me.

What else do I remember from Electra? Well, Glynnis Ranney played Electra (was she just visiting PEI at the time?), and she would go on, a few years later to play Anne Shirley in The Charlottetown Festival’s production of Anne of Green Gables, The Musical. There were quite a few female peers in the cast, many of whom may have even actually been trying to make moves on me, dressed in my balls-high skirt and leather. How would I even know?

Remembrances of a Lumbering Bear, Part One

Wherein Rob reflects upon his theatre career, play by play

Act One, Scene One – 1985 – The Glass Menagerie, by Tennesee Williams. Produced by the UPEI Theatre Society. Directed by David Moses.

Role: Jim O’Connor, the gentleman caller…. Also with David Moses at Tom Wingfield, Nancy McLure as Laura Wingfield, and Sharlene MacLean as Amanda Wingfield

My first ever theatrical role. I was in my 2nd year at UPEI, freshly switched out of the Psychology Department and into an English major. I had started to hang around at university just a bit with David Moses and his friend Nick Grant, and was enjoying the new influences that they introduced me to. I don’t recall having any interest in acting or performing before David asked me if I wanted to be in a play. I’m not sure why he asked me, but I do still remember the exact spot where he asked. It was at UPEI, on the path just in front of Main Building. I remember thinking how I thought it was a curious and alien concept: acting. I can’t remember why I agreed, but I did. Although maybe not right away. However, it turns out, that decision entirely changed the course and path that my life would follow.

I don’t remember much about the rehearsal process. I can’t even remember where we rehearsed, or even where the performances took place. Either The MacKenzie Theatre, or the gymnasium at UPEI? I do know that I was somewhat intimidated by the talent and confidence and simmering sexuality of Sharlene as she wonderfully played the Wingfield matriarch. I wish, in hindsight, that I would have known a bit more what the heck I was doing, so I could have learned from her. Nancy was terrific as Laura and I was often genuinely moved by her performances. She made it easy for me. David seemed to relish playing the broody, unhappy Tom. I was fortunate to have such talents surround me.

I played Jim, the gentleman caller. He is supposed to be a somewhat vivacious, energetic, optimistic and charming character. As a true-life shy, unassuming, under-the-radar type of person myself, I was surely out of my depths in those regards. I had absolutely zero experience as an actor, and really had no idea what I was doing. I have no true idea of how I did, although I shall assume I did okay.

I have two distinct memories of the performance. 1) I recall, in one performance, at one specific point in the play, I thought I did something that seemed real and honest and true. I had a bit of an Eureka moment, like “Oh, so THAT is what acting is supposed to be like!” The glorious moment immediately preceeded 2) As I was basking in the personal triumph of mastering what acting is, the play continued around me. I hurtled back down to Earth from my lofty Thespian self-indulgence to realize that it was my line. Nancy was waiting for it. I totally blanked and was, for what seemed like forever but was likely less than a moment, filled with extreme and agonizing panic. But I pulled through. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. And it was in those two moments where my love of performing was likely born.

You know that woman who saw Jesus’s face in a slice of bread? Well I trumped her by seeing his whole body on a crucifix twig. Visiting hours daily 4-8 in my back yard.

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