Where to begin, eh? Sometimes the simple things become utterly complex on account of the interrelated nature of events and memory and friendship and even where we came from.
Let me start by saying that my friend Aydon Charlton passed away last week. Aydon was a family friend, as we might say, and yet more than that. His parents and my parents were good friends back in the day, in the old north end of Regina,Saskatchewan. He was older than me by perhaps a decade or so, more of a friend to my older brother Tom than to me. Yet through our family connection and our church, St. Peter’s Anglican (since desanctified) we knew each other.
When I arrived at the University of Regina English Department, Aydon was very much present, completing his MA. I may not be remembering this correctly but I believe his thesis was on Wilkie Collins, which was unusual enough to be memorable even all these decades later. (You know doubt remember, dear reader, that Wilkie was Charles Dickens’ great companion, and the author of a very fine novel, The Woman in White.) (Among others.)
We were part of the same cohort, acolytes of an eccentric, charismatic prof, my namesake Eugene Dawson, as well as his colleague, Ray Mise. They were Americans, exotic to us Saskatchewan boys, I guess. They were hard drinkers and so we learned to be too along with learning a few things about literature and literary criticism. I think I can say that Gene had more influence on my development than any of my other teachers. Aydon probably would have said the same of Gene, but maybe including Ray as well. It was an interesting and profound introduction to the world of arts and letters, to say the least
You can say what you like about Facebook, and it would probably be true, but it brought Aydon and I together years later and we had some good conversations over the last few years. He was fond of sharing photos of his parents, and I would be sure to comment as I remembered them fondly.
In a few of those exchanges, Aydon told me the story of his father turning an unassisted triple play at the St. Peter’s annual church picnic. Remembering some of the congregation of the time, choristers and lay readers and the like, that didn’t seem like that big a deal to me, but in Aydon’s mind it was one of the great athletic feats of the Twentieth Century. It was obviously important to him, he told me that story at least three times. Who was I to argue?
This picture is of me in my Senators Little League uniform. It was a good team year in and year old, coached by the legendary Joe Resch whose son Glen played goalie for the New York Islanders and the Colorado Rockies. During one of my seasons with the team, I fell into a miserable hitting slump. There didn’t seem to be any hope to get out of it. I began dreading our games.
One evening, Aydon’s dad Phil came over to our house, not to visit with my dad, but to see me. He had with him a Sports Illustrated magazine with an article on hitting by the great Ted Williams. A little research tells me that it was likely the July 8, 1968 issue featuring “Ted Williams on the Science of Hitting” on the cover. Phil gave me the magazine, saying “I hear you’ve been in a bit of a slump. Maybe this will help.”
I read it. Did it help? I’ll say! I distinctly remember the next game coming to bat in one of the later innings when Joe Resch turned to the guys in the dugout and said, “Here comes Stickland again. He’s 5 for 5 tonight! Man oh man!” The power of the written word, friends.
When Aydon told me the story of Phil turning the triple play, I countered with the Ted Williams story. It was a funny kind of bonding, later in our lives. All the more poignant now that he’s gone. Aydon was a good man with a brilliant sense of humour. Requiescat in pace.
A tribute to the Blue Jays and their return to the World Series. And to remember and honour Aydon and his dad, Phil.
Thanks for reading!
eugene stickland 