What’s Calgary Really Like?

This is my old stompin’ grounds. I hitch hiked out here back in 1968 and began work as a gravel truck driver delivering to the foot of the Husky Tower as it was being built. I’ve been all over this town. My parents got married here and so did I. It looks like my son will be married here too. I’ve met all kinds of people in Cow Town.

I came back here last year and was bustling around trying to make ends meet, as is my lot. I was working in the north east and living in the west end by the river. I was taking the C-train most of the time. That’s the Light Rail Transit in Calgary.

Nevertheless, I get home and realize I’ve lost my wallet. Do you have any idea what a major hassle it is to lose your wallet? Most of you probably do. It’s not the loss of money; it’s the loss of the ID. It takes months to get your driver’s license, health card, bank card; hell, even your library card requires a piece of mail with your address on in so that takes a while to come through. And of course every wallet has bits of pieces of paper and stuff that is real important information you will never get again. Let’s face it people, losing your wallet is a hell of a drag.

So I call the bank and cancel my bank card. I get Visa to shut down. I cal the police and there was a fairly helpful officer on the line who lodges all the info he can, including driver’s license, etc. It looks like my pocket was maybe picked or something. OK, that’s all done as evening comes to a close and I have no idea what to do next.

Morning comes and I find a crumpled up bus ticket rummaging in my coat. At least I can get downtown to the bank and maybe hunt around a little.

Downtown I drop into the Bay and security looks about and reports they haven’t seen my wallet. I tried a couple of coffee shops but to no avail. This sucker is lost.

As a last resort I cross Seventh Avenue into Calgary Transit’s office and ask at the desk if a wallet has been handed in.

“What’s the name?” says the clerk.

“Bruce Rout,” I answer and he punches the name into his terminal at the counter.

“We got it,” he says and heads off into the back. I can’t believe my good luck.

He returns and hands my wallet to me. “Open it and give me a piece of picture ID,” he says.

I open my wallet to take out my driver’s license and there, staring me in the face, is a brand spanking new monthly transit pass that I had just bought. It was totally transferable. Whoever found it could easily have taken it. I hand the desk clerk my license and check the inside pocket of the wallet. Sure enough, there’s a $5 bill in there, right where I left it. That was all the money plus a $75 bus pass. All ID was intact.

I showed the clerk. ”There’s my bus pass and all my money,” I said.

“You’re pretty lucky,” he said.

I took back my license and headed out. First thing I did then was call the cop shop and cancel the report on the lost wallet. They were stunned and very happy to hear there were still honest people in enough abundance that my wallet could be found intact including everything valuable.

This is a good town. I had lost my wallet at the transit station in the middle of the seedy part of town. They have all types there. When I say seedy, I mean real seedy. Whoever picked up my wallet probably never even opened it. Then again, they probably did open it to check who it belonged to. They probably saw the transit pass and the money and handed it in to the transit lost and found without even thinking of being dishonest.

It reminded me of the time when red China was first opened up to the west as a result of Nixon’s visit. One of the comments there was that Chinese people were so honest you could lose your wallet with money in it and it would be handed in to the authorities completely intact. You don’t need to go to China to find honest people. They’re right here. They’re all around us.

As I went through the rest of my day I could only chuckle intermittently. That’s because that’s Calgary. That’s what this city is like. This is a good town and these are good people. They work hard and they are basically honest.

Like I say, this is a good town.

Planting the Seed

It’s cold.

You are slowly but surly freezing to death. There is just you and a small cedar tree by the river in the snow. You have not slept in so long you cannot remember. The voices are starting to go away. They are much quieter now. You are starting to get tired, so very tired. Memories of your wife and children have faded. It is amazingly calm as darkness mercifully descends.

Across the river, in a modern, clean and warm office the mayor takes another sip from his favorite coffee mug and stands to look out his window over the river and park. There is a tree and a sleeping derelict beside it disappearing in the quickly passing evening haze. It is not his problem. Nothing can be done. He takes another sip of coffee and returns to work.

The next morning the cleanup crew has been called in to take away the body. It is difficult to straighten it out since it was clinging onto itself when death overtook it. It was probably trying to keep warm. There looks like frozen tears on frozen cheeks and a visage filled with pathos. It is not pleasant work.

A crew member removes a small stone clutched by a dead and frozen hand. The body is removed. The crewman lingers a little wondering why the body would be holding a stone. What does the stone mean? He turns it with his fingers and holds it to the light. It is an ordinary stone, no shine or sparkle, probably sandstone, nothing special.

But why was he clinging to it? Why, at the last moment of life, would this man cling to a simple and non-descript stone while freezing to death by a river? What is this stone?

He ponders it, examines it, and looks for some meaning to a meaningless death. It is as ordinary and insignificant as a homeless mentally ill nobody dying in the snow. Can there possibly be any meaning? Does it matter?

The stone, he thinks, is it real? Is any of this real? Is there really a problem? Are there really people dying?

Maybe it’s not. Maybe, like millions of those in power and authority, with responsibilities too great for any individual to handle, the stone is just as we perceive it. It’s not real. The problem is not real. It’s just as we perceive it. There may be a problem, but if it’s not my problem, it may as well not exist.

If the stone is not real, if the stone is as we perceive it rather than something that is there whether we perceive it or not, then nothing is real. Not even Truth itself.

If the stone is not real, and there is no real Truth, no reality outside of our perception, then right and wrong are as we perceive it. It’s not our problem.

If there is no stone, then Justice is as we make it and as we desire it. It is our intellect that rules. It is our will that controls the universe, and whoever can control the human will, controls reality. If there is no stone then we are free to deny what is real. Nothing is real.

That, it seems, or so postulates a humble crew man who cleans up dead bodies by the river in Calgary, is the crux of what is going on. We have become so bizarre, so divorced from reality; we cannot bring ourselves to acknowledge the existence of a simple stone. To do so would mean a great, great deal.

If the stone is real, the universe exists. It exists whether we perceive it or not. We have been given the incredible gift of being able to perceive the universe, but it was here long before we were born and will continue to be long after we are gone. The stone is just as valid a candidate as an observer as anybody else or any thing else. Who is to say it cannot perceive being held by a kind and good man by the river before the lights go out?

Why is there a major problem of homeless mental illness in every major city in the world? Whose bright idea is it to prevent hundreds of thousands, probably millions, of sick and suffering people from medical care and medicine? And whose bright idea is to keep them suffering?

This is not a matter of public opinion. It does not matter if it is but one person or a majority of the voting population. If a child is suffering and you have the ability to alleviate that suffering, and do nothing, then that is abuse of that child. It is not a legal matter; it is the difference between what is wrong and what is right. And wrong and right exist regardless of what you may perceive. Truth, justice, knowing the difference between right and wrong, and a vast host of other verities our ancestors have given their lives to uphold, actually do exist. They are real.

And for anyone to allow suffering, especially of the sick and homeless, in our ridiculously wealthy society, whether it’s your responsibility or not, is very simply wrong. It indicates a denial of what is real. It indicates a denial of the truth. And that is the path to a dedication to what is truly evil. That is the legacy we will leave for our children, because the universe will continue to go on and leave us behind.

So, dear Reader, what can you do? Above all, don’t endanger yourself. If you are moved, if you believe that the words you are now reading are real, whether they are printed on paper, on a computer screen or being read to you. If what you are reading now is real and not a part of some manipulative world you have dreamed up or been caused to believe. If you really believe there is right and wrong. If you believe Truth is what exists independently of our perception, then this is what you do.

Next time you are out walking, pick up a simple and humble stone, nothing special. Keep it with you. Put it on your desk, dashboard or whatever. Each of you, whether working in a library, handling a desk, patrolling, or just trying to make a living, knows that at some time we could have done something to save someone.

We simply acknowledge that there is a right and wrong. Maybe next time it will be different. Maybe next time we can make a small but significant change in the course of the universe. Just a little is enough.

Because we can see that as a crew man puts a pebble in his pocket and walks away, all there was to witness the death of a good man was a stone, and his only friend was a tree. And that’s the difference between what is real and what is not.