I took the bottle of Arran's 10 year old off the shelf. "Rich, honey and malty. Soft vanilla and coconut character. Citrus fruit freshness, orchard fruits and hazelnuts," are the tasting notes the maker of this whisky chose to describe their product on the label. 46%. That is 3% more than my personal whisky sweet spot.
I briefly considered tossing the cork before laughing at myself for even briefly considering the idea. You gotta get it in before you get old, motherfuckers.
On the turntable I placed Willie Brady's Memorial album. Willie the Good only lived to be 39 years old. Which leads me in my often roundabout way to John Horgan's death.
I was not close to John Horgan. If I were there'd be the best punk rock museum ever in Gastown for all the cruise ship passengers to gawk at. But I do have a couple stories to tell so I might as well tell them.
I was not an NDP member during the Harcourt/Clark years but, having been a member, I still liked to know a little about what was going on behind the curtain. John Horgan, I understood, was something of a standout.
I rejoined the party in time to experience the November 2013 BCNDP convention shortly after we lost to Cristy Clark of all people. The convention was held in Vancouver and it rained like fuck the whole time. It was so dark at mid-day the streetlights stayed on. It was the most depressing weekend of all time in a city that has had thousands nearly as bad.
Midway through the first day I ran into John Horgan, not then running to be the leader of our party, in the hallway, where weirdly for a convention no one was to be found aside from the two of us. We had never met before.
He asked me, "So what do you think of the convention so far? I told him it was my first convention and it was little early to say. If he were to ask me now I would say it was the worst convention ever. "I'll ask you about it again on Sunday before we head home," he promised before we went out separate ways.
On Sunday, when asked, just like he promised, I told him what I thought of the convention, which surely blew his fucking mind. I am an optimist and was put off by the doom and gloom prevalent that weekend. You might say he made a good first impression.
Next time I saw John Horgan was at my union's Western Canada head office where he met with representatives like me from across the province. He was seeking our support and much needed money to help fund the expensive advertising every campaign needs. I made our future Premier laugh with a crack made at the Liberals' expense about them smelling like a sawmill shitter to all who were not holding their nose.
Saw him a couple more times during the campaign when I noted how much he looked like a Premier. This, of course, is called visualization. Visualization goes a long way in politics. Particularly if you are a volunteer like me.
A couple years later, after my partner Cheryl had died of cancer, I got a call on the phone. "This is John Horgan," said the voice on the other end. I waited for the rest of the recorded fundraising message but instead the voice on the other end of the phone insisted, "This really John Horgan."
The premier had called to pass on his condolences. We spoke for quite some time. I had that morning just put away Cheryl's get well cards my own cards of condolence and turned into a blubbering idiot over the whole thing. Never got a phone call from a Premier before. Nor am I expecting another one soon. I am a sawmill worker for fuck's sake. That was the kind of leader and Premier John Horgan was.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHnWglV9gxw
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