A love letter to Geoff

It is the night before what would have been Sam's 62nd birthday. So, as with each passing year, my thoughts go out to honour Sam and his legacy. This year, to honour Sam, I am compelled to write a love letter to you, Geoff Tisch.

Geoff Tisch

Dear Geoff,

This morning you were all up in my thoughts and it is high time I put to paper this love letter. You "saw" Sam. When many saw a somewhat aimless hippie, you saw the gifted athlete and someone who, by very reason of being so intact themselves, was a most influential fellow. And, realizing it was doubtful to recruit Sam to come up to staff Educo without me along you also took a chance on a teenage girl still in high school. I had a letter of permission to cross the border from my mother! Imagine. We hit the border with another pal after a few weeks on the road. We had to detour to Powell River to get 3rd gear fixed by Sam's Uncle Jack. The old red truck was running on a prayer and we had about $16.00 between us when we crossed the Canadian border headed up to the wilds of the Cariboo.

Sam Dice

We arrived at the rustic Educo site a day or so before the young men, many of the students in the early woolly days from reform institutions in Vancouver! And then you did some remarkable things. You did a fierce Maori dance, shouting and tongue wagging menacingly. It might have been more frightening had you not been in a pink towel. But the fellows were suitably drawn in to wonder what in the hell they got themselves into.

You showed them how to jump the stumps in the mosquito infested forest "high obstacle" course. One wrong move and the family jewels were in peril. You deferred to Sam's more youthful and fast jumps as only a secure mentor would. We lost one of the runners overnight. And you lost all sorts of things. Watches, passports, wallets. I took it as part of my job to figure out where you'd put the students valuables for safe keeping. We made a good team that way.

Most shocking and most imprinted on me was your repeated mantra to this band of misfits; staff and students both. "YOU ARE PERFECT, UPRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL!!" Now, what a new concept that was! Not, you need to get better, you need to change, you need to grow, you need to be other than what you are. No. Educo, your creation. Educo = "to draw forth." What a gift. 

How long overdue this love letter. How many young people were changed forever because you saw the best in them and taught them it was just a matter of drawing out all that was just perfect in them. And, your legacy continues up in those woods. What a wonder:  the thousands of students who came to the wilderness feeling uncertain and ashamed and left feeling empowered and unstoppable.

Yes, all the solos, mountain climbing, challenges and camaraderie shaped those fortunate enough to be in your orbit. But most of the earth shaking change came from hearing that there was a least one person who thought they were just terrific. And if you saw them as great....well, maybe they had a shot in this big world.

I can hear your laugh in my head from those days and know it would sound just the same today, Geoff. Remember when the Raysons came to Dog Creek and I reported to you that I wasn't sure they were speaking English -- ha! They had such a thick English accent it was hard to make out their words. And the "nut man" Jim Miller -- with his wife Pat also on staff. You got together the most wonderful blend of people to work together.

This season with you at Educo -- with Sam -- and the next, were foundation building in a way nothing else could have been. And I love you for that. And I love that after Sam's accidental death you insisted on helping me build a dog house big enough for our two German Shepards, Silver and Niko. Those nights working in the wood shop with you, talking about all things meaningful and all things silly helped me get used to my new reality. A 25 year old widow able to make a new life because of friends like you.

It's been decades since I've seen you -- but looking at your picture I can see your fire has not abated and your mischief has not been diminished with age.

Thank you, Geoff.

Cold light of day.

Have a thought
before
poking those embers, girlie.

That untended fire
is resting
easy.

Did you forget
how it almost
raged
out of control
and who
got burned?

Not much has changed
in the landscape
and the winds still blow.
Adding that log,
poking those coals to flame,
however enticing
odds still favour
the certainty
of burnt flesh.

Sure,
for a while
that heat is
delightful,
those dancing flames
beguiling.

Fated to be
naive
and happy
as sparks fly?

Remember the cost.

When push comes
to shove
playing with fire
who ends
up pushed
and shoved
back
to the
cold light of day?

George Shears

A giant of a man

George Shears has been on my mind – which is odd, given he’s long dead. But you should know about George and, given I wake thinking of him and go to sleep thinking of him, this part of his story is mine to tell. His life spanned the years from 1890 – 1978.

George was amused and already in his 80’s when I met him. Amused because he figured 80 would be about as far as his body would carry him. About his own death he used to quip that if anyone found his body please let him be the first to know. I was in my teens and we were in Colorado living in an “intentional community” with aims to influence all good things to happen between people and in the world.

(George in younger days.)

To look at George you’d see an old man shuffling along at a painstakingly slow pace – without aid of cane or walker; a long way from pitching in the big leagues for the New York Highlanders (Yankees) as he did for one short season in 1912.

(George pitched major league -- pitched left, batted right.)

His voice quavered but his power was immense. George’s motto, seared into the memory of many, was “Give thanks for all things under all circumstances.” On the face of it that line could seem ridiculous and many examples of things not to be happy about spring to mind. But George understood the life giving impact of keeping a thankful heart regardless of circumstance. If anyone reading this ever taped his voice repeating his mantra I’d surely love to hear it.

George was a rebel. Back in the 1930’s as a chiropractor he discovered that adjustments and alignments began to happen on the table even before he put his hands on some of his patients. He attributed that to the power of the life force moving between the ineffable, the doctor and the patient. So, much to the dismay of organized chiropractors he began a new movement he called GPC (God, Patient, Chiropractor) which flourished beyond expectations and often was practiced on the basis of donation. Training began for scores of eager chiropractors and this practice was the beginning of a school of no touch healing called “attunement” which focuses largely on the endocrine system.

For George, you didn’t even need to be present to participate in attunement – long distance was not an issue. So, George would have 8 am morning gatherings with a handful of people who dropped in before work (or after if your work was cooking breakfast or separating milk in the milk house). People from all over the world would call or write to George and ask to be put on his list for mention in his 20 minute or so time of healing thoughts from George and whatever group was with him that day -- it varied greatly. Who else was with George was largely beside the point – but he did like the agreement of like-minded participants in the room with him.

Alice lived with George in his double wide trailer (fancy digs for Sunrise Ranch back in the day). She was his housekeeper and friend – the sister of his late wife. Alice had a terrible stammer. Much to my amazement though, anytime I heard her speak in one of our healing circles, she spoke clearly and without a stutter. There was a lot of healing energy in the room and it affected everyone in a different way.

In 1978, at 88 years, it was George’s time to die. As he lay on his deathbed at home I was granted access to come in to say a final good bye. There are no words to describe this experience that would do it justice -- it was profound, and wildly impacted my understanding of death. George’s tall, rickety form, was tucked into a ball on the bed. He looked asleep or unconscious. But George….George was present in the room like a giant. There will never be a doubt that he knew I was there and he communed with me happily for a time. I left changed. He passed not long after.

While life and death remain a great mystery to me, I do know that George had a whole lot figured out. He went into the great unknown with the same joyful sense of adventure that he lived.

So, George, here you go. Thank you for the profound influence you had on my life. Thank you for your humour, your wisdom, your encouragement, your simplicity. Thank you for having the courage of your convictions which flew – and still flies – in the face of skeptics. You were a trail blazer and perhaps the kindest man I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.

Thank you, George. Always.

Beth