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Eulogy for Dad
If ever there was a time when I needed to be my father’s daughter, this would be it; his oratory skills are legendary.
Dad & I had a “bit”; it was called “Guess Who I saw Today?”. During a phone call at the end of any given day I would open with, “Guess who I saw today Dad?” And so would begin the questions: Male? Female? My age? Your age? From what part of our lives do we know this person? Curling, Real Estate, Frank Street? My friend, his friend, Recent acquaintance or from years ago? Golf? Politics? Citizens’ Hall of Fame? Metro Club? United Way? Eventually the identity of the person was revealed and I would then bring greetings and an update. We grew accustomed to hearing “So you’re Bill’s daughter, or, You’re Bill’s son. I’ve known your father for years. He’s a great guy.” This scenario began as we Burns children began to strike out on our own. We soon learned that Dad was omnipresent in this city, and that all those who knew him held him in high esteem.
Born in Calgary in 1932, Dad came to Winnipeg via Toronto in January of 1960. He and Mom met at Lake Louise in the summer of 1955; she signed on as a chambermaid and Dad worked in the payroll department. Can’t you just picture how it would have played out? The brunette from the ‘Peg, away from the watchful eye of Gladys and Douglas, flirting shyly with the tall handsome redhead from the big metropolis of Toronto. Apparently, being dashing & suave AND working in the payroll department impressed the twenty year old, because no sooner had she arrived at the Château did she borrow someone’s ID to go out on their first date that very night. Over the course of their 53 years together, when the ties of marriage would occasionally chafe, Mom would remind him that theirs was a summer romance, and everyone knows summer romances don’t last.
We have shared our Dad with his many girlfriends. Mom’s only caveat was that if he were to run off with one of them, they would get the five children and the big hairy dog - as though we were the booby prize! It is always a risk to name a few from many, but there have been some constants; Lucy at the Real Estate Board, Patti at the dentist’s office and his Tuesday harem, Carol Carbert, Carol Storey, Leah Nanton and Veronica Schumm. We found ourselves consoling them and many of his other admirers when they visited him at Riverview.
Fortunately for us, Dad had a couple of secret weapons that practically guaranteed him a place under Dilly’s roof: he kept her feet warm at night (I now know that not all husbands feel that task is their duty), and he could balance her cheque book. Mom always told him that when she managed to do it on her own for 6 straight months, the summer romance would come to its inevitable end. I would suggest that success in this area will never be quite as sweet.
Taras and Terry spoke of Dad’s civic engagement. I hope to illustrate how Bill Burns took his most cherished role as seriously as he did the others, that of a father and a family man. Children are often blissfully unaware of their parents’ stature in the community; it was certainly the case with us. He really was just our dad. Growing up he read us stories, although truth be told I don't think he managed to read a story from beginning to end before falling asleep leaving us piled on his lap in the wing backed chair, waiting for him to turn the page. He was the kind of Dad that came home for dinner every night, and when he took his brood out to lunch, he ordered nothing, confident that of the five cheeseburgers, five orders of fries and five milkshakes, there would be enough leftover for a full meal for himself. Frank Street neighbourhood kids came knocking on our door to see if Mr. Burns wanted to play ball- hockey; he took the most circuitous ride home from the YWCA after our gymnastics, just so I could offer my friends a ride home; it mattered not a whit that one lived in Fort Garry, another in St. Vital and a couple in River Heights; he coached hockey and soccer being proficient in neither; he helped with Math homework, even though it was in French, a language he didn’t speak; he took us to Tin Town, a hunting camp located at Delta Marsh - I think that excursion speaks more to Mom’s desire for quiet time than to Dad's wanting to share the hunting experience with his children; and of course he spent countless hours at various sporting events.
With the advent of grand-children, he carried on the same pattern, and became a constant presence at Liam and David-Louis's basketball, soccer or baseball games. They will miss the high-five at that always came, win or lose, at the end of a game. In true Bill Burns fashion, he made friends with the boys' teammates' parents, and often bumped into old acquaintances.
In recent years, come June he would accompany Mom to Georgetown to attend Erik, Livy and Georgia's dance recitals. The kids loved their grandfather for his sense of humour and his patience; he greeted them each and every time with a smile. The Olson children arrived late Thursday afternoon and made their way directly to Riverview from the airport. When they burst into the room, Dad perked right up and managed to talk to each one of them, he gave a knowing wink, hugged Barry then nodded off. We choose to believe he was waiting for them before slipping away. Liam, David-Louis, Erik, Livy and Georgia Mae, he loved you all very very much.
He was “Uncle Bill”. Many of his nieces and nephews have travelled across the country to say farewell to their cherished uncle, an uncle with whom they have a connection that endured the great distances that separated them for most of their lives. The Wrights grew up just down the back lane, and our two families were firmly linked. The fond remembrances they will treasure include the numerous outings when Dad would take a carload of children (no seatbelt restrictions back then) to the Santa Claus parade, to the zoo, to Birds Hill Park, tobogganing or skating. It was just Dad and a bunch of kids, some were even his own. Our Oakville, Ontario cousins tell us even their friends looked forward to Uncle Bill's visits.
I was always intrigued with the idea that Dad had younger siblings; Fran, David and John didn't live in Winnipeg, but Dad made sure we had a relationship with them anyway. I used to ask them for tales about Dad, but it would appear he was a model big brother. In August of 2009, David came from the east and John from the west just to spend time with Dad. We all knew the significance of the trip and they took full advantage by playing two rounds of golf, comparing bald spots (John didn't you win that contest?), and simply enjoying some quality brotherly banter. We loved to see him in the company of his brothers. They too feel the sting of his passing.
Lindsay and Sandy share Dad's interest in golf, sometimes playing with Dad and his cronies on Thursday mornings at Tuxedo, although neither is as avid a golfer as are his sons-in-law Norm and Barry. For several years, every July, Dad would head off to Warroad, Minnesota with Norm where they played in the infamous Bogey Open Invitational Golf Tournament, with Norm’s friends. Every year I would "remind" Norm to take care of Dad, and to make sure he didn't get left behind, or alone in a corner, and every year he rolled his eyes at me as if to say "Shannon. Have you met your father?" The boys will be in a bit of a panic this year, because traditionally Dad picked up the bar tab on the first night - a whopping $33 USD. Dad had no idea he was a senior citizen and was oblivious to the fact that none of the other guys had their father-in-law in tow. Norm feels as though he has lost a second father and Barry, a good friend & ally, and boys, he loved you both.
Dad believed in the power of connection. He did not seek to fraternize with the elite, and did not put much stock in "star" power, be they star curlers, star realtors or movie stars - he found the elite in the people with whom he crossed paths on a daily basis and befriended untold numbers. He knew the employees at the Tuxedo Safeway so well that we were able to engage their help one April Fool's Day. Knowing that Dad was in the store, the manager used the public address system to broadcast a message from Mom, "Bill Burns, your wife called and asks that you bring home some milk and eggs." As a curler, when I would express trepidation before stepping on the ice against a team wearing matching sweaters, Dad would simply say "Relax, They get in their pants one leg at a time too". Those words of advice have served me very well over the years, but more to the point, they speak to Dad's philosophy that people should have to earn respect by their actions and accomplishments and not their accolades.
Dad’s capacity to befriend knew no limits. His interest in people was sincere; quite simply our friends were his friends. I was told frequently how fortunate I was to have the parents I do. As we were growing up, Frank Street had an open door policy: weary travelers, perfect strangers, making their way across the country by bicycle, out of town hockey players, no affiliation to our brothers, needing a place to sleep, summer students, unwed mothers and relatives; all were welcome. One such relative, Doug Jackson, came to live with us when he was 15 years old and became affectionately known as their inherited son. Doug’s kids know him as Mr. Bill, and I know that they too will be feeling this loss.
Dad was not one to impose his interests on us, (well, maybe participating in Pierre Trudeau's campaign was his idea), but he did exercise his fatherly powers in a couple of areas. He didn't hide his desire for his children to adopt his favourite sport of curling. It is safe to say that was the greatest gift we could ever offer Dad was the opportunity to curl together. He took a special pleasure in playing in rural bonspiels, which inevitably meant an 8 am Sunday draw. That was a real test of daughterly love! In retrospect, I think he was either looking for the best raisin pie in rural Manitoba, or he was increasing the radius of his circle of friends. When his own children hung up their shoes, he transferred his hopes to Norm, and joined the Louis Riel School Division Teachers' League, after all, the field of teaching offered an untapped resource for, at the risk of repeating myself, new friends.
The second expectation Dad had of his children was that we be courteous. We were expected to introduce our friends to all adults present, and to greet adults by their name and say "Pleased to meet you” or "nice to see you again" Mr. or Mrs. so and so". He was a master at using an individual's name to make the connection, and he expected us to do the same. And he practiced what he preached. While a student nurse was administering his medications last week, I noticed him straining to read her name tag, I did not hear what he uttered in his weakened voice, and so I asked the nurse to repeat. He had simply said "Thank you Lana-Rae". I had witnessed similar scenarios countless times in my lifetime, but somehow this poignant moment embodied the essence of the man he was; he was a gentleman to the very end.
Sonya and Dad had a long tradition of exchanging a bag of prunes. It started in 1985 when Sonya was studying in Montreal where Dad sent her a care package in which he included a bag of pitted prunes hidden under the first tray in a box of chocolate Turtles (Dirty trick: Sonya loves Turtles - hates prunes); for years those same prunes travelled back and forth between the two of them, one disguise more clever than the next, always trying to out do the other. What will become of the now petrified prunes? Look for a plum tree by Dad's gravesite in years to come.
There is a specific moment that I cherish deeply; a moment when the mere fact that Dad was present was hugely comforting. I was twenty-two, curling in a big event at the Agridome in Regina. I knew Dad would be arriving sometime mid-week, but I was not entirely sure when. While my friend and second, Kim Crass and I watched an opponent’s rock slide by, I heard the family whistle pierce the quiet that is an arena crowd at a curling event. It was loud and shrill, just as it had been throughout our childhood; it was the whistle that called us home at dinner time, or in for the night on a beautiful sunny summer evening, or in from a field on a road trip when the too close quarters of a four door sedan took their toll on the five weary Burns kids and their wearier parents. When I heard the whistle, my reaction was Pavlovian; my head jerked up and I scoured the promenade twenty rows up. There he was; my Dad, leaning on the railing, knowing exactly how to get my attention without getting everyone else’s. All was right with the world. I can’t do the whistle for you today, but if our paths cross sometime in the future, remind me and I’d be happy to oblige. Until then, the whistle lives on; his grandchildren children know it well.
And Mom, he loved you deeply, trusted you implicitly and respected you more than anyone. He deferred to Mom's judgment on most matters, and was compliant with all her decisions. Never was that more clearly illustrated than when, a couple of years ago, they decided to upgrade their cell phones. Sounds simple doesn't it? Well, while discussing the upgrade, the MTS associate sold them on the idea of bundling their services. This led to a new flat screen TV, rushing them into the 21st century. Mom would not allow the new TV, pretty as it is, to reside in the living room, so a handsome armoire was purchased to house it. The armoire was far too cumbersome for the living room and the decision was made to transform Dad's office into the media centre it is today. Enter renovator Tim Kurtz who dismantled Dad's closet, re-drywalled the area thus creating the ideal alcove for the armoire and the two lovely bookshelves purchased to complete the look. With the addition of a beautiful cork floor, a fresh coat of paint and two cadillac recliners, the cell phone upgrade was complete for the bargain price of $15 000. While other husbands might have expressed their opposition many times along the way to the remodel, Dad chuckled every step of the way and took tremendous pleasure in re-telling the series of events. While on his deathbed, he was adamant that Mom check the lottery numbers. Was he was hoping for an eleventh-hour windfall giving him all the more reason to battle on? Not likely; I think he was looking for assurance that Mom could afford the cell phone upgrades to which she had become accustomed.
The darkest day in Mom & Dad’s life came on February 8th, 1996 when we learned of our brother David’s suicide. We had no idea, no warning, it was devastating. Dad was a pillar of support for all of us even though he too was hurting; I can't help but smile at the idea that when the two meet again, they'll take Cleo, Dad's faithful Chesapeake Bay Retriever, for a long walk and sort things out.
What can you do to remember Dad in the years to come? Make a new friend, chat with the person next to you at the theatre or at a sporting event; next time you meet an acquaintance you haven't seen in a while, give them an extra firm handshake and ask of their family, preferably referring to each one by name; hum a Neil Diamond, Elton John or ABBA tune as you sort out the piles of paperwork on your desk, snack on licorice all-sorts, raisin pie, or a chocolate éclair while watching curling, golf, - well any televised sporting event and when your spouse complains that your not being productive, remind him/her that you are paying homage to Bill Burns. That should let you off the hook at least the first time.
And so, if I could call Dad at the day’s end and say to him, “Guess who I saw today Dad?”, we would go through our bit: He would ask; My friend or yours and I would answer “Yes”, Curling? Yes. Real Estate? Of course. New friend or long-standing? Yes. School? Yes. The Volleyball Gang? Basketball? Yes. Law Society? Absolutely. They were all there Dad. Everybody wanted to be here to tell us, how special you were to them.
And that you were Dad, a gentleman, loved by many, emulated by many, an inspiration to many and you will be greatly missed by many.
But no one will miss you more than we will; we couldn't have asked for a better father.
Godspeed Dad, and don’t be heavy, light, wide or narrow.
We love you.
Shannon Burns
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