Jack Boyd memoirs

by Jack Boyd

edited by Gary Fuhrman and Jonah Winters

chapter 17

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Chapter 18

Eulogy

by Jack Boyd's son Robert Boyd, 2019

(Jack Boyd passed February 20, 2019, in Sudbury Ontario. See his memorial website.}

I would love to say a few words about my wonderful father... but I stumbled upon an old writing exercise of my father’s which I think says it better than anything I could ever say. As many of you know, my father was an avid writer and storyteller… he was assigned one day in one of his writers workshops many many years ago to eulogize himself. The following words are the tragic results of this exercise.

(The following section is my Dad’s Self Eulogy… in his own words)

LIVES LIVED: JACK BOYD IS A GONER

Jack Boyd, like most of you was an accident. He was born in the village of Dontocher about ten miles North-West of Glasgow, Scotland, on August 21, 1934, the youngest of four siblings, coming after a gap of nine years when his mother was forty. Since this was the dark heart of the Great Depression and his father was out of work, his mother despaired how they would provide for everyone.His father being somewhat Irish and probably feeling a little guilty said “He’ll bring luck. You’ll see. This depression can’t last forever.” So the first burden placed on Jack’s young shoulders was to bring an end to the Great Depression. It took only a few short years then the great depression was over, his father was able to find work, and World War Two commenced. So much for luck.

Like many othersJack was in uniform during World War Two, enlisting in the first Duntocher Cub Pack. The Protestant one. There was a Catholic one down the road, but we never had much to do with each other, except for an occasional scuffle. So much for the oath “regardless of race, colour or creed.” Jack sailed through primary school, limped through high school, then at age sixteen started an apprenticeship as a Tool and Die Maker. Following in the footsteps of a more talented older brother, Jack joined the Clydesdale Harriers and became a runner and was not too bad at this. Not great. At the age of nineteen Jack still had a dreadful fear of heights so he joined the Glenmore Mountaineering Club and became not bad at that too.

Every time he went out on a climb, there came a “moment of truth” on the rocks or the snow and ice, when he thought he may not live another minute, and caused him to think of the purpose of his life. On New Years Day of 1957 his climbing partner fell an enormous distance. While trying to rescue his friend, Jack made a bargain with God, as we are apt to do under such circumstances, that if his friend survived, he would look around for what he ought to do with his life. God kept his part of the deal, so macho Jack started something of a spiritual quest, vaguely looking for his purpose in life.

Jack met and married his wifeEileen in 1957 and they emigrated to Canada looking for better career prospects. Their first daughter Jackie, was born in 1959, not an accident. Jack eventually found his spiritual purpose, both he and Eileen becoming members of the Baha’i Faith in 1960. They were happily living in Niagara on the Lake when they adopted a second child, four year old Jim, of Jamaican and Ojibway parentage, and probably another accident.

Jack and Eileen heard of a need for Baha’is in remote parts of the world and volunteered. They were asked to go to Yellowknife in Canada’s Northwest Territories where Jack was hired as a Mechanical Superintendent at Giant Yellowknife Gold Mines. In 1965 they went north with two children, returning South in 1969 with four. Long dark winters. Little Eileen was adopted, of Eskimo parentage, another accident, and natural born Robert was a total surprise.

The family moved to Sudbury where Jack was employed by Falconbridge Limited heading up maintenance departments and eventually Superintendent of Organizational Development, in charge of all staff training. After a premature departure from Falconbridge, Jack finished his working career at Cambrian College teaching Organizational Behaviour to mostly uninterested students.

Following retirement Jack and Eileen spent most winters in warmer climates, volunteering through their Baha’i Community their professional skills to Government and business organizations in tiny Third world countries. Eileen was excellent in this capacity. Jack was not bad.

Jack died following a lengthy illness of something the doctors could not diagnose. His last wish was for an autopsy. “I sure as hell would like to know what was wrong with me.” he said.To his children he leaves the sparkle of the stars on a frosty night, the magic of Aurora Borealis, and the breathless haze of green on the trees in early Spring. In short they get bugger-all. He longed to hear the words “Welcome to Heaven, here is your harp”, but he may have to settle for “Welcome to Hell, here are your bagpipes”.

As you can see, my father was a very funny man. Humour was such a huge part of his life and an integral part of the family he grew up in. His father and his grandfather were both great practical jokers who were constantly getting in trouble for their efforts…. My father would delightedly recall their exploits to me with an admirable gleam in his eye… whether it was a story about his father putting shoe polish on the toilet seats or his grandfather moving the outhouse a few feet back so that… well… I think you get the point... and the apple did not fall far from the tree, if you know what I’m saying. My dad, like his relatives before him, seemed at times, to utterly lack a filter... If he could bring a smile to anyone’s face he’d do it… consequences be damned.

But my father was never cruel with his humour… never... and there was always a sense of self deprecation to every joke that he told… the most valuable thing he ever to taught me about humour was learn to laugh at yourself. Life is full of people that take themselves way too seriously…. And he did something else with his humour as well… he always made me feel safe when life was at its worst. Whether it was my mom dying of cancer…. Both times… or even himself… he could always find a way to make me smile… and that always made everything seem a little brighter… and more bearable.

What surprised me the most about my father from time to time was his sage advice about the important things in life. For example my dad taught me the value two snowballs… you see, one has to shoot the first one veeeery high in the air and hide the other one behind your back. When the poor sap is looking at the airborne projectile (that’s me, by the way)... you nail him in the face with the other one. … and he taught me this lesson on misdirection on our way to a Baha’i talk he was giving at Cambrian College… the big hypocrite…

Now I can’t talk about my father’s life without talking of a great passion of his … the Baha’i Faith. As he said in his own eulogy a mountaineering mishap with a good friend of his led him on a spiritual quest which eventually brought him to the Baha’i Faith. My father was so impressed with the teachings of this world religion that he became a missionary for the Baha’i Faith… as Baha’is call them, a “pioneer” for the faith... and he quite literally travelled all over the world teaching people about the values that this religion taught. Equality of men and women, the idea that science and religion should be hand in hand, the oneness of all religions, to name a few.

Now this may have been all well and good for him… but it led to some VERY embarrassing situations for me. You see my dad would chat about the Baha’i faith with ANYONE… and he would do it ANYWHERE… let’s say even to a perfect stranger… in the hot tub at the Sheraton Caswell. And I would be saying in my head… “No no no dad… don’t do it… don’t say it… please god… no.” and he’d be all like “Hey, have you ever heard about the Baha’i faith?” And I’d be like “I’m out!...Gotta go. Bye Bye.” I was a TERRIBLE wingman for his religious teaching endeavours.

Now that being said… my father being the great public speaker and storyteller that he was… could tell some real gems at his various Baha’i talks. My all time favourite true story he told at one of these lectures was about a specially trained Green Beret soldier who had converted to the Baha’i Faith and decided he did not want to kill for his country in the Vietnam War… he instead wanted to work in an equally dangerous job as a medic. His request was, of course, refused by his superiors. And an important teaching of this religion is that one must always try to obey the laws of a given government… so he did as he was told. And one night while out alone on sentry duty this young man saw something he had been dreading… an enemy Vietcong soldier sneaking around nearby and.. He had the drop on him. Now he had to make a very upsetting, life altering choice… to kill another human being, or neglect his duties as a soldier. And in his torment he uttered aloud a phrase that is used both as a prayer and also as a greeting in the Baha’i faith…. “Allah-u-Abha.” and after several moments of silence… the Vietcong soldier whispered back to him “Allah-u-Abha.” and left without harming a soul in his platoon. Turns out that the Vietcong soldier was a Baha’i too.

Now I know what you’re thinking... and I DON’T CARE if that’s a true story or not! C’mon! That is such a COOL STORY! You mean… the other guy… was a Baha’i too… BOOOOM (mind blown gesture)... that’s like an M Night Shyamalan movie with a plot twist right at the end!

Another religious story he told me when I was young was not a Baha’i story at all… it was a Muslim parable. In it there was a grandfather and grandson praying at the mosque for early morning prayer… when suddenly the grandson notices that everyone else isn’t praying at all… they’re all sleeping. And he says to the grandfather “Look grandpa! They’re not praying… they are sleeping!… we are BETTER than them.” and the grandson said to his grandchild “That would have been true… had you not said that.”

There was a teacher at one of my schools who really liked to give me hard time every now and then. On one of these occasions, he was putting on a dramatic production and he boldly and confidently informed me that “His show was going to blow anything I ever did riiiight out of the water.” Now I didn’t say anything back… in fact, I pretended not to hear him… but in my head I could hear my dad’s voice saying “That would have been true… had you not said that.” And that brought to me a certain kind of peace of mind that put his silly comment in proper perspective.

And my dad could spin fascinating yarns about anything... his relatives, a trip to the mall, his various sporting accomplishments, religious principles and ….

Scottish history (shudder).... My dad LOVED to talk about Scottish history (make the sign of the cross). Hey Robbie, that vase reminds me of a story about Rob Roy Macgregor. That sunset was just like the one that William Wallace saw when he was battling the blah-blah-blahs…

Now these stories were NOT short (much like this eulogy)… so I’d usually avert eye contact and slowly exit the room backwards so as to not alarm him to my presence. There was one time when I brought my wife Rita up to Sudbury to meet my parents… and he began one of these epic Scottish yarns at the breakfast table... and the rest of the family gave each other the silent knowing nod… and we all stealthily left her there to fend for herself as he told her all about “how that chair is similar to the one that Robert the Bruce sat upon when he blah blah blah blah blah”. She... never forgave... me… for that betrayal….

Now what a might be surprised to learn about my dad is that he is very accomplished at swearing. He taught me some curse words that I did not know existed… I mean he was Scottish right? My high school buddies, some of whom are here today, were always VERY impressed with my dad’s choice of swears… But my father NEVER swore around a woman. Not once... Couldn’t do it… and that,I think, says it all... I’m pretty sure he didn’t swear at a lot of Baha’i meetings either… but you never know.

Now some people on this world are contemplators… thinkers… pondering what they’d like to do and achieve in their lives. My father was a DOER. A prestigious figure in the Baha’i Faith, named Shoghi Effendi, once said that the most important step in prayer is the last step… ACTION. Too much time is spent on reflection and meditation… once you have a plan of action in your mind, you need to see it through… with resolve, determination and positive attitude.

My father had a deep seated fear of heights at a young age… so he joined a mountain climbing club and conquered his fears the hard way… He once told that in every single climb there was at least one moment when you were sure you were going to die… I mean like… dude! … why didn’t you just look out the glass floor of the CN tower instead? Would’ve been a lot easier don’t you think?

My father idolized his older brother Bobby for his athletic prowess, so he joined his running club the Clydesdale Harriers and then made athletics an important part of his entire life. He won a bronze medal in the pentathlon at the Masters World Championships at the age of 51! After having a heart attack in his mid fifties, he eased up a bit … and he became five time Canadian discuss champion… an event he competed in until he 77 years old… I mean this man was “all in” with his chips on the table, if you know what I’m saying…

My father was a true romantic as well. He loved the poetry of Robbie Burns, he loved to sing and write poems and songs as well… and he had not one but two great loves of his life…. My mother, Eileen MacPhee, who he was married to for 47 years and Evelyn Brunet who he was married to for 13. And believe me when I tell you… he really loved these women with all of his heart. And I believe my sisters Eileen and Jackie here can tell you… when this man loved you... you knew it. He demonstrated every second of his life. He was a wonderful example to me and I hope that I can live up to half of his high standards. I am going to miss him more than words can possibly express.

My father was the baby of his family… and he often said that he was the last of his siblings to be alive… so he had a saying that he was going to be the one to “turn out the lights” for his family. Well dad, it’s time for you to turn out the lights now. You go have your rest. You’ve had a life well lived and you’ve earned your peace.

I think I speak for everyone here today when I say that we will all miss you very much… but we will see you again someday soon… just hopefully not TOO soon.

Goodbye dad, I love you very much and I miss you already.

chapter 17

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