Never underestimate how much of a difference you can make

This was a very sobering experience and came as quite the surprise. My last post asked my "friends" to help me with the most important decision in my life. I am alone here in London with no friends to talk to and I hoped that people who I felt had been close friends in the past would give me their advice. With the exception of a handful of people, frankly people who were not what I would call "close" friends, not one of the people I asked for help from responded, even those who knew me very well for years.

Yes, I left the Okanagan in 2007 to go to Panama, so it's been seven years and I guess even your friends forget you after all those years, but I have kept in touch through Facebook and emails. The ironic part is that many of those same people have connected with me asking my advice. I chatted with them on Facebook or by phone and gave them all the time they needed, often several hours, but when the tables are turned and I ask for help, they're nowhere to be found. Sad.

One of the factors in thinking about moving back to the Okanagan was to reconnect with what I thought were my many friends. I had such great memories of all the great times we had over the years and thought it would be great to share some new times together. Apparently I am incredibly naive and stupid.

Without hopefully being too dramatic there has been a fourth option that I didn't mention in my original post. There have been times over the last few years, starting with being ripped off for everything I owned in Panama, really dark times when it all seemed to be too much to handle. Discovering that the girl I loved, the one I moved to London for, cheated on me with someone else she met on the internet, which broke my heart. Being forced to go to a shelter and lying in filth sweating in hundred degree heat trying to sleep. Getting kicked out of the shelters when the government screwed up. Sleeping on the floor of a colleague's office. Finally getting a job at Home Depot and my own apartment, then having my hours cut back to a minimum and I couldn't pay my rent. Going without my vital medications for six weeks and ending up in hospital, resulting in painful peripheral neuropathy that has ended any physical activity. Researching and applying to over a thousand companies for a job, with no response. The government denying my application for a disability pension because I missed the deadline for a Medical Report because I could not find a family doctor in London. Getting wrongfully dismissed from the worst job in my life at Stream and taking a year to get paid. Being turned down by three different Meet-Up groups with no explanation.

The worst time in all of this was when my diabetic specialist put me on Oxycontin, a narcotic, with no warning about the side effects. My life went from working long hours on the computer every day trying to get anything going, to lying on the couch all day, crying because I was so depressed. My seventh floor balcony looked awfully inviting many times. The struggles I had fought so valiantly, like the heartbreak of missing my kids, suddenly became overwhelming and I didn't see the point in continuing to fight. I had lost my will to survive.

I was very fortunate that I did fight back a little and researched the Oxycontin, only to learn that one of the major side effects was thoughts of suicide. In all there were seven side effects and I had all of them. I called my family doctor for advice on how to wean myself off this dangerous drug and I got back to normal. I had come far too close to ending it all. Part of the reason I asked for advice from my "friends" was to avoid making another mistake.

The fact that so many "friends" didn't think enough of me to give me just a few minutes out of their busy lives speaks volumes about who I thought I was to them. It has certainly given me a different perspective on my options.

I do again thank those who did take the time to try to help me.


Friends, I'm asking for the most precious gift you can give - your time

Those of you who know me know what a mess the last few years have been for me. Everything that could go wrong went wrong and I ended up at one point living on the streets. It was not a good time and it was a real low point, but I've managed to sort of get back on my feet.

Now I'm faced with one of the biggest decisions of my life and I'm really struggling with it. I need some help from those who know me well. I hope that you value the friendship that we had enough to invest a few minutes in giving me your honest opinions here. I don't have a single friend here in London so I'm lost being on my own. Much as I've tried these past five years in London, I don't have a "significant other" to talk to. First time in my life I've been alone and the timing could not be worse.

As I see it I have three options; one, to continue to struggle with my business, getting it to the point where I could sell it and improve my options. Realistically that would take probably three years, at which point I will be 68 years old with maybe not a lot of time left. I might mention here that I have doggedly applied for over a thousand jobs with not one response. Not all that surprising, I mean who is going to hire someone so close to retiring at 65? I don't get to tell them that I went bankrupt and I don't have a nickel to spare. Retirement is not an option, at least until they put me in a box.

The hardest part of staying here in London is that, first, I loathe this city more than any place I've ever lived in my entire life. The people are cold and arrogant. Those who know me really well would find it very hard to believe I was turned down by three different Meet-up groups, all with no explanation as to why. That really hurt and made me angry. I never had that kind of brush-off when I first arrived in Kelowna, in fact, the opposite was true and I soon had a very large group of wonderful friends. The city is dying because of all the employers who've closed up shop. Thousands of good paying jobs have been lost over the last couple of years. There's very little to do here. The rivers and lakes are too polluted to swim in. The ski hill is a joke, more a bump than a hill. Much of the business district is empty stores. Not exactly the place to be optimistic about growing a business in.

The other part of living here breaks my heart. When I first came to this area I held out hope that I would get to see my two children and all the grand kids. My son did make a half-hearted attempt to see me two years ago and that was it. I haven't seen my beautiful daughter in over twenty years now. She has two kids I've never met. My therapist suggested I might well live out my life and die and still have never been in touch with them. But the other two options mean I will never ever see any of them again, and that is a very hard decision to make.

So, option two was to return to the place I love - the Okanagan, but, you know that saying, "you can never go home again"? My life in the valley could not have been any better. I had wonderful friends. I danced my ass off at the Corral and had so many great dance partners. I owned three boats during my time and was out on the water as often as I could be. I water-skied, even learning to slalom. I downhill and cross-country skied. I snowmobiled around Kelowna and Revelstoke with my Dad, my brother and my brother-in-law. My son and daughter came out for the best three weeks of my entire life. I roller-bladed and skated. I even paraglided. My Dad and I went dirt-biking for more than ten years and every single ride was awesome. I played racquetball every week in the winter and I played in the pool league for over ten years. Life was very good.

If I was to return to the Okanagan now, well, first my Mum and Dad are both gone. I am estranged from my brother and sister for very good reasons. I don't have a boat or a dirt-bike or a snowmobile or skis or a racquet or anything I would need, even if I could do any of those things, which today I can't. My peripheral neuropathy means I can barely walk, let alone dance or ski. Not going to happen, so my life would just be full of regrets. My friends have all moved on or scattered across the country. Sure, it would be nice to see them again and get in a few hugs, but it would never be the same. Kelowna is also a very expensive place to live so it would be a struggle on my measly pension. More on that in a minute.

Most unfortunately I also hurt some people when my business failed. I went down owing a lot of money and my goal to see the house I gutted and rebuilt over a year and a half fell apart when one of the Westbank Chief's said in the press that anyone who bought on native land was "stupid". I ended up with a very beautiful white elephant. Then the "friend" I left living in the place let the snow build-up so much that the roof collapsed. I lost everything and not a lot of people would exactly welcome me back.

The third option, one I have researched to death, partly because of my not so great experience in Panama, is moving to Ecuador. The place I have researched has spring-like weather all year long, so no snow and no humidity. The cost of living is very cheap and there's a very good chance that my health will improve by eating better and living in the mountain air. The people are friendly and Ecuador is fast becoming the best place for people to move to or retire. I have started building a website, WelcomeToEcuador.ca, which is designed for Canadians looking to visit or move to Ecuador. The government has just increased the tourism budget significantly and there are a lot of opportunities everywhere, especially Real Estate. My dream is to travel around the country on my dirt-bike, taking pictures and writing a blog for the website, plus getting advertising to give me a little extra income.

Here's the financial differences. When I turn sixty-five I no longer receive ODSP, which right now pays for my meds to the tune of about seven hundred dollars a month; however, I'm told that I will be able to continue to get assistance from the Feds. Right now I am receiving my small CPP, just under five hundred dollars, which I took early to survive. I will then get my OAS, which should be around five hundred as well, but then I also get the GIS because my income is so low, and that will be about four hundred dollars. All tolled it will be about fifteen hundred dollars a month, not enough to live here comfortably because my rent is "geared to income" so they will take about six hundred and fifty dollars in rent, far more than my apartment is worth. If I were to return to the Okanagan I wouldn't be guaranteed to get any assisted housing, so my rent anywhere is going to be expensive.

The issue with moving to Ecuador is that I am not allowed to receive the GIS if I am out of the country more than six months, so I would lose that. I would be hopeful that I can supplement my income with the website after six months, but there's no guarantee on that. Without any other income I would be left with about a thousand dollars a month, but my current meds in Ecuador would be about three hundred dollars. The government has just passed a law about a national health care plan which I could join as soon as I am a permanent resident. It's about seventy dollars a month and covers all prescriptions.

So, if you've read this, you are a true friend and I thank you. Please share your honest opinions, good or bad. I'm usually a pretty decisive guy, but this one has me in knots, mostly about my kids. No matter what, that's the tough part.


A day that changed my life forever

August 16th, 1969, the day I got married.

How I met my soon to be bride was funny. I was at a house party with my then girlfriend, Bev Jackson when Janice and her friend Lynn came walking down the stairs. At the time I did not know that Lynn had already warned Janice about me, saying I was a "sucker for blondes" and Janice had beautiful long blonde hair.

As soon as I saw Janice I jumped up and went over to her and said, "Hi. I'm Gary. Will you marry me?" She replied by telling me to f*ck off. I told her that we were going to get married and that she might as well accept it now. I don't think I got much further that night. No surprise there. She no doubt thought I was a lunatic.

What I didn't know and never really thought or cared about was that she had a pretty steady boyfriend, Doug. It didn't sound like a great relationship as he was a control freak. She seemed terrified of him which I didn't like. Somehow Janice and I ended up going out somewhere and when we came home to her parent's place Doug came screaming up in his hot car. Janice was just getting out of my car and, true to form, he went for her and not me. Just then her mother came out of the house, sensing trouble, and tried to calm things down. That's when, shocking as it was, Doug split in Janice's face and stormed off. Both her mother and I could not believe he just did that but it was what it was. Pretty demeaning, not to mention gross.

In all honesty Doug was a pretty big boy and, if he couldn't have Janice I figured some day he would go after me. I'm a lover, not a fighter, so I wasn't looking forward to it, but I knew no matter what I would fight for Janice.

We were at a school dance in Bramalea and I was dancing with different girls I knew when all of sudden these arms are flailing away at me trying to punch me. I had no clue who it was but I just tried to keep him bent over towards me so he couldn't get a good shot in. I assumed it was Doug but something wasn't right. When they broke us up and I was outside someone finally told me it was Brent, a friend of mine, who, for some unknown reason, thought I was hitting on his girlfriend, which I wasn't. It was my one and only fist fight and it sure was a weird one.

The fall before I met Janice my parents were planning to sell their place and move to BC, but they couldn't sell and my Dad decided they would wait until the following spring. At the time I was working at the bank and playing in the band, so I doubt I would have gone with them anyway, but the decision became easy after I met Janice. Doug had eventually given up and Janice and I were together. We had a ball doing all kinds of things together and I was in love with her from the moment I first saw her. She got along great with my parents and my family, which was important to me. One thing led to another and she got pregnant. There was never any question about us getting married so the plan was on to get married as quickly as possible.

We got married in what was Streetsville at the time by the Reverend David Busby, who was more known for buzzing around town on his Harley than his sermons. After the pictures we headed to her parent's place, planning on having an outdoor reception, but as we got closer the heavens opened up and it poured rain. We were terrified at the thought of all her Scottish relatives and my English ones being trapped together in the house. No doubt chaos would rein supreme and there was a good chance of a fight or two once they started drinking.

Our fears were for nothing. They all got along famously and didn't seem to care if Janice and I were there or not. My favorite moment was when her cousin Billy fell all the way down the stairs with a case of beer he was carrying and after he landed at the bottom all he asked was if he had broken any beers. He was quite the character.

As we got ready to leave because we were heading off early on our honeymoon to Cape Cod my Dad gave me the room keys for what was the Thunderbird Motel at the time, not the classiest place in town. We had been planning to just stay at my apartment and leave from there, but Dad seemed so tickled that he got us the room for our wedding night so off we went. When we got in the room and sat on the bed we heard a tinkle sound. My crazy father had ripped open the box spring and put a child's tinkle toy in, no doubt expecting we would discover it as we made love. Unfortunately that didn't happen and it was the first sign I got that this marriage might not be what I was expecting. Janice slept soundly in the bed while I sat at the foot of the bed on the floor wondering what happened.

The next morning we were in a bit of a rush because we had a long trip ahead of us and we now had to go home first to grab our bags. We checked out and got in the car and then Janice remembered the tinkle toy still in the bed. She worried that if they discovered it they would probably go after Dad for the cost of replacing the box spring. So I had to go back in and ask for the key, pretending that we had forgotten something in the bathroom. After I managed to dislodge the fairly large toy I realized I had nothing to put it in so I got to walk through the lobby carrying the toy, to some very strange looks from the staff who knew it was our wedding night.

Despite the horrible wedding night we did manage to have a good trip to Cape Cod, well, maybe except for one incident. We had checked into a nice motel on the Western Summit in Massachusetts and Janice was feeling the romance of the place I guess. We were both naked and just getting up to put our clothes back on when the door flung open and in walked a member of the staff with an elderly couple, showing them the room they obviously thought was vacant. I was just outside the bathroom so I ducked in and I think Janice jumped back in the bed. The next morning when we went down for breakfast who should be sitting at the next table? Yup. The elderly couple who had barged into our room.

The rest of the trip was good except we overstayed our welcome in Cape Cod because it was so cold and we hoped the next day would be warmer. It wasn't and I ended up driving straight back fourteen hundred miles in one very long day because I had to be back at work.

Our marriage lasted twenty-three years but there weren't a lot of happy ones.


How it all started

Way, way back in the last century, at the tender age of fifteen, I was sitting in the cafeteria at high school and, for some unknown reason, I started drumming on the table with two plastic knives. A guy came up to me, Chris Hayes, and asked if I was interested in joining a band with his friends, Don Thurston and David Kirk. Sounded like fun so I said "sure".

The next thing I knew I was the drummer for the group, The Tempests. It's too long ago for me to remember how we came up with that name but it worked for us. We started playing at various functions at our high school and I learned the first lesson of becoming a musician - girls love guys in a band! I went from relative obscurity to being a virtual chick magnet, which would last for my entire career.

The defining moment in whether this was just a hobby or more serious came when we went to what were called the Pepsi dances at the CNE, where I got my first taste of Jon and Lee and The Checkmates. They were simply awesome and I couldn't keep my eyes off Jeff Cutler, their amazing drummer. These guys were the very definition of soul in the sixties in Toronto. Not sure where Lee is these days, but Jon Finley is still playing and still sounding great. Michael Fontana, the keyboard player, went on to play with many huge groups, like Rhinoceros, Blackstone, The Electric Flag, Downchild Blues Band and many more. Jeff would go on to join the Crazy World of Arthur Brown band.

At one point Vic Dimitroff, a keyboard player, joined the band and we started practicing downstairs at his parent's place. His mother was always doting over us, bringing us food and checking if we needed anything. She was very proud that Vic was in the band. One day we see her coming down the stairs followed by someone. To our considerable shock it's Michael Fonfara! Mrs. D taught him piano and he had dropped by for a visit. To our delight he sat down at the keyboard and blew us away.

Don't remember why we broke up that particular band. The next version was Zac Marshall on keyboard, Alan McQuillan on rhythm guitar, Nolan Yearwood on lead guitar and me on drums. We started out as the Bow Street Runners and ended up as the goofy HappyFace Band. This group lasted almost ten years and we played some amazing gigs. We only played on the week-ends, usually for very good money for sports teams and corporations like Pepsi. We must have been okay because we were always booked for the following year wherever we played. Some of those corporate gigs were really great because they fed us great food and usually gave us some drink tickets as well.

Just a few of the more memorable gigs over the years -

We were booked into the little hick town of Meaford and while we were setting up a couple of the good ole local boys showed up to check us out. One of them asked me if we were any good. I said I thought we were cause most people liked our music and we tried to play a good mix for all ages. He replied that he hoped we were because the band last week-end had sucked and they threw them and all their equipment into the lake. I hoped they liked us, and, thankfully, they did. We had a lot of very expensive equipment.

Our agent booked us to play the North American Hockey League in downtown Toronto. Sounded like a good gig because we always had a good time playing for sports teams. What we didn't know was that this was the North American Indian Hockey League. Our very white, attractive wives and girlfriends were with us and they were soon getting hit on by very drunk Indians, so we sent them home. Our contract always called for us to quit at 1:00 o'clock, so Nolan thanked everybody for coming and said our good-nights. The next thing we know a very mean looking Indian comes up and tells us to keep playing. There didn't appear to be any arguing with him, so we kept playing right up until about 2:00 o'clock when things started getting really rowdy. There were fights breaking out everywhere and ashtrays flying. In all our years of playing I don't think we ever broke down our equipment faster.

In those days we used a big bread truck to move our equipment. As we turned the corner at the rear of the building we came across hundreds of natives all swarming and fighting with each other. We could see they were rocking a police car attempting to turn it over. It was a virtual riot and we were terrified. Just then the same big native who had told us to keep playing hollered out at the crowd and they parted like the Red Sea to let us drive out. We were never more thankful that they liked the band.

Our agent called us at the last minute to play a gig at David and Mary Thomson Collegiate on the Saturday night. Only when we got there did we discover it was their senior prom and they had been expecting the Downchild Blues Band, who had cancelled at the last minute. We were a lot of things but the Downchild Blues Band we weren't. Our first set was met with all of them sitting at the tables in their tuxes and gowns and no one got up to dance.

As we huddled at our table wondering what to do, Alan said "leave it to me" and he got up on stage by himself. He said, very nicely, that he was sorry we weren't the band they expected but that we were going to play and enjoy ourselves like we always did no matter what. He told them that they had obviously spent a lot of money to be here at their prom and that they had a choice. They could sit there and sulk or they could make the best of it and get up and dance. He then proceeded to sing his favorite song, The Western Tech Whore, colorful language and all. He soon had them all laughing and clapping as he sang and the rest of us slowly made our way onto the stage. As soon as he finished Zak started tinkling the keyboard and saying he hoped they would all get up and dance. I think we played something a little newer, don't remember what, but no one got up to dance and we figured this was going to be a very long night. About half way through the song a brave couple got up to dance and they were soon joined by almost everyone in the room. It turned out to be one of the best gigs we ever played and all the kids came up and told us how much fun they had.

That gig was a good lesson for a later one. At the time we were The Clyde Valley Show Band and we could easily be mistaken for what that name sounds like, all om-pa-pa and all. We were booked into the German Club who expected us to show up in leather shorts and all. Again, Alan got up, gave his little speech and played his song and, before we knew it, they were all up dancing away. I think right after that gig is when we changed our name.

Our very best gig was being the house band at the old Club Bluenote at Yonge and Gerrard. The club was the place for top name entertainers who were playing in Toronto to come over after their shows and do a couple of songs. We backed people like The Ink Spots, The Platters and many more. It was quite the learning experience because these groups obviously expected us to just know their music. Even though at the same time I was working full-time at the bank, so there wasn't a lot of sleep every week-end, it was a great time in my life.

For a few months we were also one of the house bands at the old Maple Leaf Ballroom on St. Clair Avenue in Toronto. We usually played there about every two weeks if we didn't have anything else booked. My only memory of this place was that after a while the wives and girlfriends got sick of listening to the same songs over and over so they stopped coming. It didn't take us long to find four very friendly girls to dance with and spend the evening with. The hot-blooded Nolan was even dumb enough to find two "regulars".

After a few months of this cozy little set-up our wives and girlfriends suddenly decided to all come for someone's birthday. We were all terrified at how our "regulars" were going to react. At one point while we were on stage we saw a couple of them talking to our wives. When we came off stage we didn't know what to expect but it turned out all our other girls said was how much they enjoyed the band. Whew! Very classy of them.

Our last gig was one of the wildest ever. We played for the Metro Toronto Police Association and we assumed they would be a pretty reserved bunch. Boy, were we wrong! They were maniacs on the dance floor. Half of them were drunk out of their minds and really let loose. I guess being so proper at their jobs this was a chance for them to go nuts and they sure did. It was a great gig and a fitting way to end it all. It was great while it lasted and I have nothing but fond memories of the years I played. All I have left is the loss of my middle range hearing from all those years playing in front of the giant speakers. lol


Ten years of good times

Like most people I played a bit of pool if there was time to kill and a table in a bar somewhere. I was never particularly great at it, but I enjoyed the game. Until I moved out West I never really had time to play on a regular basis in a league, plus for many years I worked all over the place and seldom would be able to make a regular playing time.

No question that the Okanagan is truly a four season playground and there's so much to do at every time of the year. Although the winters are mild, it gets dark by four o'clock so most activities like skiing are reserved for the week-ends. I started looking for things to do in the winter. I signed up to play racquetball in a Tuesday night league. Most Thursdays I went to the Corral to dance. The only thing that appealed to me on a Monday was the local pool bar league.

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Best birthdays

Having had sixty-four of them you would think more of them would stand out in my mind. Obviously where you are, who are your friends and your family situation all affect how you celebrate your birthday. Maybe it's the ravages of aging but I don't remember any particular birthday as a kid or even during my marriage.

My first memorable birthday was while I was first staying with my parents in Westbank. My Dad came and woke me up early and said there was a phone call for me. It was my darling friend, Lenny, calling me all the way from Turkey to wish me a happy birthday. Now that's special.

No sooner had I hung up the phone on her than I got a full-face cream pie from my Dad. My BFF, Wade, had put him up to it. Nice start to the day. Only Wade could dream this up and I wondered what he had in store for me for the rest of the day.

At the time I was working at a client, Central Valley Trucking and I didn't even think they knew it was my birthday. Sure enough Wade had delivered a pie the day before and they nailed me with it. Made for a stinky day at work and I was happy to hit the shower when I got home.

The plan was to meet at the Corral so naturally I was on my guard. The darling manager, Meryl, said she wanted to see me in the back pool room. You guessed it. They nailed me with yet another cream pie. The problem was all I could do was wipe off what I could. What was left just turned sour and stunk like hell. My lovely dance partners kept telling me how gross I smelled. Thanks, Wade.

The next memorable birthday was my fiftieth. Unbenounced to me, my friend Karen Falloon had worked tirelessly to arrange a surprise party for me at the back of what I think was Dakotas. The ruse was we were meeting my parents for dinner. When we got there she asked me if I wanted to play some pool at the back while we waited for them. The doors opened and there was my parents and at least fifty of my friends, some of whom had traveled a long way to be there. It was a wonderful surprise and one of my best birthdays ever.

Another great one was at the Corral, of course. Lots of my close friends and my dance partners were all there and insisted on buying me a shot. After about thirteen of them my memory of the rest of the night is very fuzzy. The funniest part was a couple of days later went I went to the Corral everyone was congratulating me on how well I rode the mechanical surfboard. The only problem was I had no memory of it. Amazing that I was so drunk and still managed not to fall off.

cake_03Yet another one of Wade's excellent cakes.

Birthday celebrations have certainly gone downhill since I left the Okanagan. The only birthday I had in Panama was spent having a few beers and playing pool.

Since returning to Canada and especially in London where I have no friends birthdays have just been another day with little meaning except that I'm getting older. No fun at all.


Taking Stock

Every once in a while I take stock of my life, partly because it's therapeutic and to see what I was thinking at the time. One of my regrets in life is that I have not recorded either my words or in pictures many things in my life. Video is a much more prevalent part of our society these days, but it wasn't way back when my kids were growing up. Particularly because I am now estranged from my children it would be nice to be able to watch videos of them growing up. Both my son and daughter were heavily involved in sports, yet I don't have a single picture from all those years of hundreds of games.

As for recording my life, you never think at the time that you will ever begin to forget some of the things you experienced during your life. I have been more diligent about it over the last few years, but I never recorded a word before that. I wrote a poem when my son was born and I wrote a poem for my daughter when I moved out West, but that's about it. On one of my many infamous cross-country trips between BC and Brampton, a trip that takes just over forty hours, I had a recorder with me and from that I produced a novel, carefully transcribing every word and printing it. It was about two inches thick on standard 8 1/2 by 11 paper and I called it My Body Time because that was the note I added on every recording. To his considerable credit my Dad actually read it. Somewhere, somehow it got turfed and I don't have the computer file anymore so it's gone, which I regret. It would be fun to not only remember the trip, but to see what I was thinking about my life and future at the time.

So, where am I now? It seems like any record of the things that have happened to me over the past few years has been a tragedy. If it weren't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all. Nothing has gone right, from my health to where I lived, to family, really nothing. Somehow I keep plugging along, believing that by some miracle things will turn around and get better, but it never seems to work out that way. I've certainly had some low points, like lying in the sweltering heat in a men's shelter, wondering if this was the bottom. Things got a little better when I got a job, lousy as it was, to getting an apartment through London Housing and having a little money in my jeans. It wasn't enough though because they, Home Depot, didn't renew my contract and I was back on welfare again.

That was back in December of 2010 and it was also a time my health took a very bad turn. Because I had no money I went six weeks without my meds and ended up in hospital. My sugars were off the charts and I came close to buying the farm. I don't remember five days before I finally managed to get to the hospital. They just monitored me until my sugars came down, gave me three days of basic meds and sent me on my way. Thanks to my doctor at the walk-in clinic, who reached into his own pocket and together with a pharmacist got me my urgently needed meds, I survived. I had had an ongoing battle with Ontario Works, trying to get my meds before it was too late. I wrote them a letter advising that there would be a letter on my cold dead body clearly implicating thing them in my death because they wouldn't help me. Within an hour of delivering the letter I got a call to come in right away. They issued me a drug card, a bus pass and money to buy food.

My job each and every day was to check all the job boards, read the local papers online and research any companies that might be hiring. I also worked with Goodwill, who sent me on a wild goose chase to take courses for my passion - employment counselling, only to have it all fall apart when it turned out to be a post graduate course and I did not qualify to take it. I also went through Leads, whose mandate is to find employment for the disabled, which, by now, I was. They were hopeless and never helped me in any way. In our meetings they would call up a job board, which I knew by heart, and tell me to apply for jobs I had already applied for.

One of the jobs was at a call centre, for which I applied online months before. Out of the blue I got a call from them asking me to come in for an interview, which I did and was hired to start right away. I was praying that they didn't do a CRC (Criminal Record Check), but they did. I figured it was just another job I lost because of this stupid mistake from twenty-five years ago! I was surprised when they called and asked me to explain what happened. The HR person just kept saying that it was twenty-five years ago, so they went ahead and hired me anyway. I was so grateful at the time to finally land a job, but I had no idea what I was in for. They turned out to be the worst employer I've ever seen in my whole life and the stress of the job got so bad that I was shaking all the time and my blood pressure, normally ridiculously normal, was really high and my sugars were off the charts, in the high twenties and low thirties. My doctor said I was a poster boy for a heart attack. I learned about getting Medical EI, so I went off on medical leave to try to calm down, and to find a better job.

My doctor supported my leave, signing the forms required for both my company and EI, showing a return date of sixty days. I hoped this would give me time to find something better, but no such luck. As the sixty days approached the company called me to ask if I was coming back or needed more time? Medical EI runs for fifteen weeks, so I went back to my doctor to get an extension. Instead of continuing to support me he flipped out about not being my family doctor, saying he shouldn't be signing these forms. I might mention that I have been trying to find a family doctor for three years. As we were talking he was writing something on the original form. When I got home I was horrified to see that he had written "open return to work", something I had told him the company specifically would not accept. I scanned and emailed it to HR anyway. Naturally I got a call a few minutes later.

They would not accept this form and told me to find a family doctor to fill out the form correctly, even though they were well aware of how impossible this was. As my benefits were about to run out I contacted EI to see what to do. The agent I spoke with was very helpful and told me they could extend my benefits to the maximum fifteen weeks if I brought in the certificate. She said they accept an "open return" because this happens all the time. I went down to Services Canada to deliver the form, only to meet with a real bitch who looked at the form and said because it was signed on August 20th they might claw back my benefit payments. As if things could not be bad enough! I called my employer to return to work now that my benefits were expiring and I had no choice, but they want a clearance certificate from my family doctor. They know I can't get this because I can't find a family doctor, so now my benefits are about to run out and I can't return to work. So frustrating! Enough to drive me to drink, if only I could afford it.

On the health front things have improved a little. Thanks to increased meds, especially larger doses of insulin, my sugars have moderated considerably. I'm even getting some sixes and eights in the mornings, something I haven't seen in years. My feet continue to be a problem and I'm in pain 24/7, making sleeping really difficult. Walking is no joy either. I've recently discovered a new cream that's helping a bit, but it's no miracle cream. My biggest health challenge is not being able to do anything physical, which I've always done, and the thirty-five pounds I've packed on because of all the insulin.

On the family front things are still sad and confusing. My son came to London back in March and we managed to only squeeze in a forty-five minute visit after seventeen years apart, but he said we would get together "soon" and have a better visit. I was hopeful that I could somehow see my three grand kids, two of whom I have never met. Weeks later and after he hadn't answered several text messages, I called his cell phone, only to learn it wasn't his phone anymore. I started leaving increasingly concerned messages on Facebook, all with no answer. After weeks of trying I sent a not too happy note reminding him that he had done this to me three times already and asking what's going on? He finally responded with a really cruel message, saying in part that I wasn't his real Dad and had no right to see his daughters. Like a knife in my heart. He blocked me on Facebook and said that was the end.

My daughter has made no attempt what-so-ever to contact me after I drove across the country in the dead of winter to see her back in 1994. My wife's new hubby hid her away and would not let me see her. He also wouldn't so much as let me have coffee with my wife of twenty-three years, so that says it all. I did find my daughter on Facebook, but she also blocked me and reported me to Facebook for posting a picture of her. Really sad what people do to each other. My kids both encouraged me to move out West seventeen years ago to be with my mother, who we felt was dying of cancer and didn't have long to live. I never knew that the result was them cutting me out of their lives forever.

On top of everything else going on I had no choice but to file for bankruptcy. Revenue Canada had garnisheed my wages to the tune of 30% plus 100% of my vacation pay. London Housing was already taking 30% and I could barely survive, so living on 40% was impossible. Several people who came to my rescue or believed in me and loaned me money got drawn in to the bankruptcy, which I regret more than anything. I hope I find some way to still pay them back for their faith in me. I keep praying that my lottery ticket will hit and I can reward them big time. I figure the odds are fifty fifty - I could win or I could lose.

Friends and love life are still non existent. For a guy who loved being surrounded by many friends and pretty well was always involved romantically, being alone has been a killer. My last relationship was with the woman who I came to London for and that ended tragically when she screwed around on me. My life revolved around her and her lovely daughter, who I got along with so well. It all ended so abruptly and hurtful. I can't help but think I wouldn't be in this God-forsaken town if it wasn't for her. Can't believe it's been three years since I moved here. I have to find a way to get out before I go crazy. I had asked for a transfer to Chilliwack from my employer, but they won't do anything until I return to work here.

Oh well, there you have it.


Costa Rica or Bust

September 29th, 2012

It was that time again. Three months since my last "out of the country" trip required for my tourist visa. The friend I had gone with before, LizAnne, had just received her pensionado visa, so she didn't need to leave the country again. I really didn't want to go and spend four days sitting in a room by myself at the hostel in Sabalito.

I was also very worried, with the new immigration laws in Panama, that I might have problems coming back into Panama and would be lost without the language skills. I thought of going to Puerto Viejo this time, just to check it out for my websites, and my friend, Magaly, wanted to come along. Having no money (another story) I decided to get creative and I emailed a number of hotels in the area, offering to do a story for our website. One, Banana Azul Guest House, offered me a special rate of $25 a night, much less than the normal $79, so we booked three nights.

Did lots of research on the various bus schedules, David to Changuinola, then to the border, then to Puerto Viejo and we were heading off early Thursday morning. My worker guy, Amilkar, suggested we rent a car and he would drive us to the border, and possibly all the way to Puerto Viejo if he could get the car into Costa Rica. It would only cost us $15 more than the bus, so that sounded like a good deal. He was to take the bus to David early to get the car and then pick us up around nine. As usual with Amilkar, he didn't show up until 10:00, and we were off.

He said he knew a "shortcut" going to Caldera and then connecting with the highway to Bocas, which would "save us" an hour or more. The word "shortcut" is always dubious, and this turned out to be true. We ended up on roads that a four by would find challenging, so we ended up crawling along, trying to avoid the huge rocks that would rip the bottom of the little Toyota off. No time saved at all, although much more adventurous.

We took the turn-off for the highway to Changuinola and this relatively new highway is beautiful, except for the oh so scary old railway bridge you need to cross. They are building a new one right beside it. Not a moment too soon. We crawled across the broken wood pieces, worried the wheels were going to drop into any one of the large gaps.

We finally made Changuinola around four something, Panama time and headed to Panama immigration. The last time I had entered Panama it was on a Sunday and there was nowhere open to buy the necessary stamps, so the border official had just initialed my passport. At the time I remember wondering if this might be a problem for me if I got stopped for ID in Panama. It was now!

We stood in the stifling heat for an hour, watching the frenzied officials run back and forth between offices, on the phone and in heated discussions about what we were going to do. Finally they got it sorted out, with much help from Magaly, and let me pass.

The bridge between Panama and Costa Rica is beyond description. This old railway bridge is literally falling down around you and even walking across is an adventure. It's hard to believe big tractor trailer trucks use it. When a truck comes across you have to do your best to get out of the way or be killed.

We got to Costa Rican immigration and filled out our forms to enter the country. Magaly handed my passport to them and they did their thing, then stamped it. As soon as she handed her documents to the official I saw him shaking his head back and forth and knew this was not good. Although her documents were perfectly valid in Panama, the customs guy would not accept them for Costa Rica. This sent us into panic mode. We had no idea what to do. Magaly was obviously upset, but she said she had no choice but to return with Amilkar to Boquete and not go.

Just then a guy who had been watching all this came up and, in perfect English, suggested he might be able to help. I knew this would come at a price, so I asked how much. One of the best lines I've heard from anyone was when he said, "open your heart". lol. I said my heart said twenty bucks, so he said to go to a restaurant and come back in an hour when his boss had gone home.

We spent a very worrisome hour going over all the options, finally deciding, out of desperation, that we would just continue on and take our chances at getting stopped. Even if we got stopped I simply suggested that we had stopped at customs and, for whatever reason, the official had forgotten to stamp her documents. Bad plan, I know, but we were desperate.

I sent Amilkar back to the border to see what was happening and he phoned me and told me to come to customs. Her documents were all ready to go, magically, after paying the ridiculous bribe of $40 of course. $20 for him and $20 for the customs guy.

So now we went looking for the bus to Puerto Viejo, which I knew cost about three dollars each. We asked at the restaurant where we catch the bus and they directed us to the bus terminal. A guy standing nearby at the restaurant said we had missed the last bus, which had left at 4:00. Obviously upset at more problems, we thought we should go to the depot to check this out for ourselves.

When we got to the terminal another guy said the next bus was at 6:00, which meant about a half hour wait, but at least we could get a bus. Then yet another guy reminded us that Costa Rica was an hour behind, so that meant we had to wait an hour and a half. Not great, but at least we could take the bus as planned. So we said our goodbyes to our friends, and prepared to wait by the parked bus.

A few minutes later I guy came up to us and asked what we were waiting for? When we said the bus to Puerto Viejo, he laughed and said we would be waiting a long time, because the next bus wasn't until the next day! Naturally he was a taxi driver, who offered to take us for the princely sum of $40!!! By this point we were growing ever more frustrated, and we had no real choice, so we loaded into his taxi.

No sooner had we traveled a few hundred meters down the road than the driver slowed for the police check. Magaly and I quickly realized how foolish it would have been to not have her documents correct. Had we not done this and taken our chances, not only would she be sent back, but Amilkar was gone. I told the driver we were staying at Banana Azul and he said nothing, so I assumed he knew where I meant. We hit Puerto Viejo and he pulled up in front of Casa Verde and stopped. When we asked what were we doing here, he said that is where we said. When I said, no, I had clearly said Banana Azul, he had no idea where that was. We stopped to ask someone and soon discovered it was twenty minutes back out of town.

When we finally made it to the hotel, hours after we planned to arrive, the only good thing that happened was that we were greeted warmly. I gave them the briefest of details on how challenging it had been to get here and the first thing I said was now I didn't have enough money to pay for our hotel when we arrived, as I had promised. They said not to worry. Go put our bags in the room and come down for a drink.

With all the problems we had that day neither of us had eaten a thing, so we were starving. We dropped our bags and headed to the restaurant/bar. Michel came up and said, on behalf of the hotel they would like to offer us a free drink of our choice. We met Franklin, the bar tender extraordinaire, who made us two of the best drinks I have ever had in my life. We then had an amazing meal, Cordon Bleu with vegetables to die for. This was obviously a very expensive place and we had no idea what the meals cost, but we were so frazzled we didn't much care at that point. We later learned it was $10, which was a bargain for such an amazing meal.

After more drinks and a fantastic meal we headed up to our room. The room was amazing, with an incredible attention to detail. Photos and knick-knacks and beautiful hand laid tiles in the bathroom and plants and hand crafted wood furniture. It was completely open to the outside, which made me wonder about insects. In researching hotels in the area they all made mention of mosquito nets, but our room didn't have one. Turned out we didn't need one and we slept like babies with the doors wide open and the ocean breeze and the sounds of the waves.

We awoke early to the sounds of light rain on the roof. It soon stopped and it's amazing how quickly it turned warm. We showered and headed down to the restaurant and had a delicious breakfast - real bacon (one of the owners is Canadian, so naturally bacon is high on his list), homemade tostada and excellent fried potatoes with peppers and onions. A great start to a "new" day.

We headed off down the beach on the twenty-five minute walk to town and wandered around checking out the town. There was nowhere to get colones in Panama, so we stopped at the Bank of Costa Rica to exchange our dollars. I wish I had taken this opportunity to check that my debit card worked as my bank, HSBC, had told me it would.

We stopped at Might Rivers for ice cream and met Lealea, the owner. We had delicious chocolate ice cream in waffle cones and shared some great conversation with her. She mentioned that because Costa Rica was so expensive she traveled over to Panama "all the time" to shop for groceries. When I said that must be such a pain going through immigration all the time, she said, no, she just walks across the bridge and never stops. The only time she does stop is, like me, when she is doing her Costa Rica/Panama three month trip. I had to wonder at spending my $40 now for Magaly, if Lealea just goes back and forth all the time! Crazy!

Headed back to the hotel, showered and changed for dinner. Michel had told us that there was an excellent steak house run by Argentinians where you could get an actual USDA steak. We weren't sure about walking the beach at night, but Roberto told us all we needed was a flashlight, which, of course, we didn't have and the hotel was out of them too. Magaly showed me that her amazing little phone had a flashlight, so we headed off. We remembered from our walk down during the day that there were a number of little streams we had to cross, but Roberto assured us it was low tide and we should only have one "small" one to cross.

We fumbled along in the dark and eventually came to the "small" stream. It was not so small. I had to take a run at it and jump over and barely made it. Magaly wasn't so sure she could make it and it was quite comical to watch her count down one, two, three and not actually jump. Eventually she took off her shoes and waded across.

We found the restaurant and I had my very first real steak in eight months. We each got two bacon wrapped filet mignons, cooked to perfection. We started with salads that came with a most unique and tasty homemade dressing. Fresh warm bread. Two very good drinks. Pricey at 27,000 calones, but worth it, and everything in Costa Rica is pricey.

After dinner we wandered around town, taking in the nightlife. Lots of open air bars with great music playing, some of it live. I had a craving for chocolate and we remembered going by a place called "Bread and Chocolate" so we attempted to find it. As we got there they were just closing the door, but the guy said we could still buy something to go. I got the best piece of chocolate cake I have eaten in my life, and Magaly got a brownie that she said was equally amazing. About 4,000 calones for both.

Earlier we had gotten the phone number for a "taxi" guy who agreed to only charge us $3 for the ride to the hotel, as opposed to the $4 everyone else charged. We quickly discovered that Magaly's phone didn't work in Costa Rica, as she had been told it would, so we had to take another taxi from the taxi stand in town.

Magaly had been receiving numerous text messages from her kids back in Boquete, but for some unknown reason, she couldn't send them replies. When we got back to the hotel I thought I would try my Skype and it said the messages were sent okay, but the kids never got them. Frustrating!

The next day, Saturday, our first task was to head to the bank to get more money, then we were heading off to Punta Uva, a beach we were told was very secluded and perfect for swimming and snorkeling. Our driver stopped at BCR and I went into the ATM. My card didn't work and all we got was some cryptic message in Spanish that even Magaly couldn't understand. We had passed this huge line of people waiting to get into the actual bank, I thought, and we knew we would be standing there for at least an hour before getting into the bank. I asked the driver to go and check with the security guy that my card would work in the bank and he said yes.

After standing in the hot sun for an hour we finally got close to the door. I could not figure out why they only let one person in at a time and wondered why only one staff would be working on a Saturday. As we got close to the door I saw the sign on the door that they closed at noon, and it was a few minutes to noon. I could only envision that, after standing there for an hour, they were now going to close in front of us. The security guard soon started handing out numbers to the people in line, so this looked promising.

It was finally our turn and we entered what we thought was the bank, but it was only one teller in a small cage. I handed him my debit card and he immediately said "no". After an hour I was in no mood to hear "no". I showed him the symbol on my card, which was the same one as on the bank, but he said this only worked for Visa, which I did not have. I tried to suppress my growing anger and explained to him that we had asked the security guy, an HOUR ago, if the card worked and he had said yes. Didn't matter at all to this guy and he simply repeated the "no".

Now we were in real trouble. I did not have enough money with me because it is never smart to travel anywhere with a lot of cash and my bank in Panama had assured me that my card would work. I called Michel at the hotel and explained my predicament. He said to come back to the hotel and we would figure something out. I was hoping that Michel would allow me to write him a cheque and give me the cash.

Just before we had left for Costa Rica I had changed my PayPal account to my prepaid MasterCard from my now defunct bank account. Michel suggested he could use PayPal to make a payment to the hotel and then give me the cash. I had no idea how much money was left on my card but tried to get something on it. To my considerable surprise it worked! We could still eat!

So we headed back to town, intending to rent a scooter for the day. We figured we would go out to Punta Uva for some beach time, the go back to the hotel to shower and change, then head into town for dinner and back. We wouldn't need to return the scooter until mid day the next day, so we could make a lot of use out of it to travel around and save a lot in taxi fares in the process.

The driver took us to the scooter rental place and I asked Magaly to check exactly what they needed to rent a scooter. After the fiasco at the bank I just was expecting problems now. She came back saying just a credit card, so we paid our driver. Smart man. Luckily he didn't leave us.

I handed the girl my card and she immediately told me it was no good, because it didn't have the raised lettering. I explained that I did not want to charge the rental to the card; I would pay cash. No good. She said she needed the raised lettering to run it through the machine. I explained she had the numbers and the ID from the back of the card and if we took with her damned scooter she could charge the card. No good.

By now I was losing my patience with Costa Rica and all the challenges we had already. I asked her why people in Costa Rica made it so damned difficult for tourists? Her answer? "Well, if you don't like it maybe you need to go to another country." The Puerto Viejo tourist board would just LOVE her attitude!

Thankfully we saw our taxi driver sitting across the road, waiting to see that we were okay, which we were not. We asked him to take us part way out to Punta Uva and drop us off and we would walk the rest of the way. He showed us where he would drop us off and that it would be about an hour walk from there.

Despite wearing my 45 sunblock the previous day Magaly has gotten a bit of a burn on her shoulders, so we thought walking the beach for an hour in the blazing sun was probably not a good idea, so we headed down the road. We had been told there was a trail through the jungle beside the road, but, of course, there was no trail. There was almost no shade on the road, so it was not good for Magaly's burn. We managed to find a store along the way where I bought her a sun umbrella, so that was better for her. We asked where this trail was and were told to turn at the Internet place.

We walled and we walked and we walked, forever, but finally came upon this little grass shack in the middle of nowhere with a sign that read "Internet". The trail was right across the road and it lead down to the beach. Although there was little more shade available there, it was the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. We walked and we walked and we walked. I thought we would soon be back in Panama, it was so far, but we eventually, two hours later, came upon Punta Uva. There are no words to describe how amazingly gorgeous this beach was.

We were starving and knew there were two restaurants at Punta Uva. We came to the first one, which was so beautiful, with little private thatched huts with one table. We were greeted by Pancho who made us two more amazing tropical drinks and brought us the menu. There was so much to choose from. We decided on salads and hamburgers.

When they brought the salads, the presentation was just amazing. The large square bowls were filled to overflowing with excellent greens and they had placed little flowers around the outside of the bowls. They were delicious.

The cheeseburgers were equally amazing. They were huge and were on the most unique tasting bun, more like a pita bread than a simple bun. They came with the most delicious, obviously homemade, fries. We finished off with chocolate sundaes, which were the only small disappointment because the ice cream had bits of ice in it, no doubt because it is a challenge to keep ice cream in this climate.

When we talked to Pancho about our web site he had Mark, the owner come over and talk to us. He told us they had only been open about a month and a half, and offered to email me some more info for our site. We had also been served by the lovely Anna, who wandered around in her bare feet serving people. All so very tropical. We had arranged with our driver to pick us up and the other restaurant at six, so we headed off to find it. Yet more walking, but we found it, had a Coke and headed down to wait on the beach. We enjoyed the most beautiful sunset. Our driver showed right at six and we went back to the hotel.

We fully intended to shower and change and head into town to see the nightlife on a Saturday in Puerto Viejo, but we laid down, just for a quick nap, and woke up the next morning. No doubt because of all the walking we had done and we were exhausted.

Sunday was by far the best day we had on our trip. We had originally planned to return to Panama on Sunday, but I realized we had not crossed until about 5:00 Panama time on Thursday, so I hadn't spent the required 72 hours out of the country. Although this had not been a problem when we returned through Rio Sereno, the challenges had at this border at Sixiola made me think we might have trouble. If they made me wait until 5:00 o'clock there was no way for us to get back to Boquete by bus at that hour. So, we decided to stay at least one more night and return on Monday.

We were enjoying our breakfast of pancakes with fruit, when Roberto came up and asked if we were interested in going on a tour he was organizing for the guests. First we would visit the sloth rescue center, the visit the "chocolate lady", then get to swim in a mountain waterfall. It sounded good, so we said yes.

We left for the sloth rescue center at 10:30 and traveled for about forty-five minutes up towards Limon. The most amazing part of the trip was that, after traveling the mostly four by four roads in the area, we were on a perfect paved highway most of the way. We didn't think any such thing existed in Costa Rica.

Although the presentation was a little long, and it annoyed me that it was only in English, even the movie, which meant Magaly hardly understood a word, it was interesting. We especially enjoyed seeing the babies. They were all so darned cute!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From there we headed up towards Bribri to visit the "chocolate lady". She was quite the treat herself, taking us to see the cocoa tree on the property, then giving us a demonstration of all the steps required to end up with chocolate from the fruit. She only spoke Spanish, but a girl who I assume was her daughter, spoke perfect English and translated as her Mum spoke. At the end of her demonstration they offered us a chance to taste a wide variety of different flavors of chocolate, some pretty strange, like pepper chocolate. Naturally they had lots of product for sale, but, as much as I like chocolate, the thought of it melting in the van stopped me from getting any. In her own cute way Magaly had been giving me or denying me permission for chocolate anything on the trip, and the frown on her face told me I best not buy any anyway.

From there we headed further up the mountain, past Bribri, where we stopped for some much needed junk food, at my request because I was starving. We parked the van and started up the mountain. It was a most arduous journey as we crossed back and forth across the river, stepping on slime covered rocks and doing our best not to fall in. Three of our group didn't manage to avoid falling in, and one guy watched his camera disappear down the river. The trail grew ever more slippery and steep and it was incredible that no one bought it on the way up.

Yet one more crossing and the waterfall came into sight. Again, no words can explain how gorgeous it was. Everyone quickly stripped off down to their suits and headed into the pond beneath the waterfall. Even this was a challenge as the water was way over your head and we had to shimmy down a slime covered tree laying in the crevice between the rock walls to get to the waterfall.

Stupid me, when I reached the waterfall I jumped into it, not realizing that the water was cascading down several hundred feet from above. It hit my body like so many pieces of concrete. It was an instant full body massage. Not painful, but very intense, to say the least.

The trip down was a little better and this time no one managed to fall in. It all took a couple of hours to to the trip, but worth every second of it. An experience I will never forget.

We had been told to try the bank in Bribri, the National Bank, so our driver graciously agreed to stop for me. No luck though, as we only got yet another cryptic message that even he couldn't understand. I was growing more panicky as we had no way to pay our hotel bill, but neither bank had worked, so we didn't quite know what to do. Washing dishes for a very long time came to mind, although we certainly would not mind staying longer at the hotel. lol

Monday we planned to have one full day just lying on the beach at Punta Uva, just to try to avoid any more problems, get some sun and totally relax our last day, to be ready for no doubt yet more challenges on the trip back to Panama. I talked to some of the other guests and a couple agreed to share the taxi with us to Punta Uva.

It turned out that two of them had forgotten that they were scheduled to go rafting and had left leaving their apologies. Skylar also said he was going to grab a bike from the hotel and go into town, so we ended up going alone. On the tourist guide map for Puerto Viejo it showed that the Punta Uva lounge was closed on Mondays, so we were glad we had planned the trip for Tuesday.

When we mentioned to a girl at the desk how much it was to get to Punta Uva, she said she had a friend who ran an actual legitimate cab with an actual meter. We soon met Kale, who drove a clean new four by with air! When we got to Punta Uva the meter read 4,500 calones, about $9, much cheaper than the private guys. We made arrangements with him to pick us back up at 4:00 o'clock. He said he had to go to Limon, but he should be back. If not he would get his partner to pick us up.

We had borrowed some beach chairs from the hotel and set them up in the shade. We laid our towels out in the sun, intending to catch some rays later, then go for a swim. Not an hour later the sky started looking very threatening. We laid down on our towels and were glistening in minutes. It was so hot and the sun was so intense. Just as we planned to go into the water there were some lightening strikes and the sky looked even more threatening. We decided it was best to avoid going into the water and headed up to the restaurant, which, of course, was closed. Can't win for trying.

One of the locals explained that there had been several events planned for the area on Mondays, so the restaurants had all decided to close on Tuesdays instead. GGGrrrrrrr! She said one might be open, the one we had stopped at before, so off we headed for yet more walking. After the challenging climb the day before, neither of us were in the mood for yet more walking, but we were starving.

To our considerable delight the restaurant WAS open. Yippee! We had one of the best meals ever there. Huge salad and had the penne and Magaly had a chicken sandwich. We were stuffed.

The sky had opened up and it looked like it was only going to rain all day now, so we had the restaurant call Kale to see if he could come early. He was still in Limon but would send someone else. It turned out to be a private guy, who, once we got back to the hotel, tells me it's 7,000 calones, about $14. I protested, informing him that we only paid 4,500 calones to go in the other direction. No good. He wanted his $14. More ggrrrrr.

Can't remember which night it was now, but one night we had gone into town to eat at Chilly Rojos, a place that had been recommended to us by the hotel. It was a fun place, absolutely packed but the owner offered us a drink at the bar while we waited, which was about two minutes. We enjoyed an excellent meal of chicken falafel. Very tasty and not too expensive. Only about $10 for both of us, minus the not so good drinks. Small and bar mix.

When we had first booked the hotel Colin had said we could stay in the Ocean View room, up on the second floor for one night, but we would have to move for the next two nights, into the sloth rooms, which were in the separate, original house. To our delight after the first night they said they had managed to reorganize and we could stay in the same room.

When we decided to stay another two nights they didn't have room at the hotel, but Michel gave us the "little house" which was where he had lived when he first came here from Montreal, and which was just a short walk down the road. It had a bedroom and a kitchen, which meant we could now cook and avoid the expense of eating out. It was a very cute, very Costa Rican house with a thatched roof and a separate building with a suicide shower and a separate toilet room. All very quaint.

Monday we had gone into town and shopped for dinner and breakfast stuff - bread and coffee and juice. That night we cooked together for the first time. The hamburger had looked a little dubious at the market, more gray than pink, so we had bought frozen patties. We had hamburger with my special mushrooms, fried potatoes with onion and delicious fresh green beans. Felt like we were married and in our own place. Fine with me!

Much to our regret we had to leave on Wednesday. We had arranged for Kale to pick us up at the hotel at 8:00 o'clock to get us to the bus which left at 8:30. We were up at six and ready early so we headed to the hotel to pay our bill, hopefully, and have one last breakfast at the hotel. Michel most graciously agreed to let me write a cheque, so that wasn't a problem. The problem is only that I barely have the money to cover it, but that's yet another story.

After the expense of getting here we were pleased that the bus to the border was only 1,500 calones, $3 each - a whole lot better than the $40 cab ride here. It took just over an hour to reach the border at Sixiola. Just before we got there I reached into my pocket and found the keys for the little house. I thought I remembered Michel saying they only had one set, so I panicked at what to do to get them back to him. I asked a taxi at the border if he would take them back, but of course he didn't know if he would have a fare or not that day. Our ever so helpful "guide" at the border suggested he would take them to the bus driver who could leave them at the ticket office in Puerto Viejo for someone from the hotel to pick up. This came with a price, naturally. He wanted the equivalent of $10, but he got what change I had left on me, about $4.

We were in and out of Costa Rica customs in minutes, walked back across the bridge and stopped at Panama customs. I had this lump in my throat and could almost feel myself shaking at what might happen, with the new law and all the challenges we had the first time crossing. I was dealing with moving and watching our luggage so Magaly took my passport in. Except for not having change to pay my $5 fee, everything went smooth, to my considerable relief. I should learned by now that this only meant something bad was about to happen.

We asked where we caught the bus to Changuinola to get the bus back to David and were quickly informed that there was a strike on and there were no buses running between Changuinola and David. There was a guy with a van who would take us to Almirante instead and we could get a bus from there to David. Instead of the $3 naturally it was $10 a piece instead. We had no real choice so we piled into the van with a whole lot of other people.

When we got to Almirante we were surprised to see a gorgeous highway coach sitting there, the kind with air and a washroom and comfortable seats. I just knew it couldn't be ours, but it was! For the very first time on this whole trip I was pleasantly surprised, because the fare to David was only $7! A true bargain compared to everything we had been experiencing the last six days in Costa Rica.

We had planned to catch the bus back to Boquete, but quickly realized we would need to pay extra fares for all our luggage. I suggested we see if we could possibly find a cab who would give us a good price. We got off the bus and Magaly approached a taxi, who agreed to take me to my place, then Magaly to hers, for $15, not much more than bus fare and then taxi fares back in Boquete.

We got home around three, exhausted, totally broke, but happy to be back in Boquete. I was welcomed home by even more problems with the house, but I won't go into that here.


Just had to post this old email from February 2009

Just when you think it can't possibly get any worse, Boquete has been experiencing unusually high winds and driving sheets of rain, something unheard of at this time of year - normally the "dry season". The river has again flooded and the gale-force winds have brought trees down everywhere, disrupting services like water and power.

Here at Casa Hell, Vista Grande, the driving rains caused flooding of the ceilings and walls in my apartment, leaving pools of water on the floor. The winds blew out the pilot on the hot water tank, so we had no hot water, just as I was about to take a much needed shower. Even though I had no idea how I would manage to get down to relight the pilot with my surgery, I was going to try. Then the water went out completely. Apparently trees had come down on the water line somewhere and they had no idea when it would be repaired. To switch to our backup tank I have to climb up on a ledge to open the valves, something I could not possibly do without opening my stitches up, so I started texting my faithful worker to come and change it over, but got no response.

I laid back down to watch TV until I could get a hold of him and the winds took the satellite out, leaving me with no TV. By now it was early evening and I was beginning to panic not being able to get a hold of my worker. As hard as it is to sit up and work, my computer was all I had, so I thought I would try. Then the power went out. Just as I was about to go crazy with all this, the police showed up. Despite my telling my tenant to please lock the gates, he had left them wide open, so the police just walked in. I did not understand what they wanted, but it has something to do with my expired visa and they are coming back today. No idea what might happen out of this one, and it worried me that the officer sounded so serious, especially when I did not understand him. I am worried enough that it might be that I am in the country illegally, but now I am also worried it might be about my unpaid hospital bill. I don't know how they deal with that kind of thing in Panama. I have no money to pay it, so there is nothing I can do if they are going to arrest me over it. I had given my bank card to my friend, Magaly, to see if I have any money left for food or meds, but she called me to tell me all the bank machines in Boquete are down. Just keeps getting better and better.

So I am left with no money, no water, no power, no TV, totally panicked about what the police want and no one to help. I called SKY TV this morning and they say it might be up to three days before they can come and restore our service. My worker finally showed up, telling me he had no charger for his phone and that is why he didn't respond. He also has lost his truck because it needed hundreds of dollars of repairs he can't afford, so he can't do much to help me.

I am hesitant to even ask if it could get any worse because just when I think it can't, sure enough, it does.

I hope you are having a much better life.


The Truth and Nothing But The Truth

The few people who know this story have all encouraged me to write a book about it. Now that I'm off on medical leave, in part because of the stress this situation has caused me and how helpless I feel, I thought it might be time to lay it all out. Part therapy just to vent, but maybe someone, somewhere will read it and learn from it and avoid the mistakes I've made.

There are many idiots in this story, not the least of which is me, but the point is to show just how messed up your life can be if you make just one fatal mistake. It's about getting caught up in a system that's incompetent at the least and filled with frustration at not being able to get anyone to pay attention to your plight. No matter what you think you know, you don't have a clue what it's really like unless you have experienced it first hand. Right from the start many people have said they could not believe things could ever get this bad, but they did.

Up until I started to work for the lift-truck division of American Hoist I had had a number of unmemorable jobs, starting with the TD Bank right out of school. I worked hard to support my family and kept my nose clean. I was working for Able Plastics, a company that extruded foam and I was caught between the husband and wife owner battles on a daily basis. I saw a small ad that TCM was looking for an Administrator of sorts. I met with Gerry Waterhouse, the GM and he hired me on the spot. At this point the company was very much in start-up and had done about two hundred thousand dollars of business. They were housed in a very small warehouse unit, but were expecting a very large order of trucks from Japan. My first job was to find us bigger space. I found a building for lease on Davidson road and spent the next few days negotiating a lease with Rod Rice of Rice Construction. The building was empty so we took possession and built some offices we needed and spruced the place up a bit. It was perfect and we moved in right away.

Business got very crazy very quickly. Our line of trucks was very well received in Canada and our dealer network grew rapidly. Part of my job was to order trucks based on our forecasts, which was tricky because we were looking at three month lead times. I setup a visual planning board which worked really well because I not only knew what was coming and when but also who it was sold to. This allowed the dealers to not only plan sales but also their important rental equipment.

Another part of my job, with my assistant, Betty White, was the preparation of what we called Floor Plan contracts. This gave the dealer up to ninety days interest free to pay for the trucks, unless they sold them ahead of time, in which case payment was due in thirty days. The contracts were sent over to American Hoist's Head Office for signing and sending out to the dealers, then keeping track of the status on each truck. I had volunteered to handle this part after the contracts were signed because I knew the credit limits of the dealers and spoke to them on a daily basis so I would know about sales and units assigned for rental. It only made sense because I needed to know what was in their inventory to better project their needs. Head Office refused and wanted to keep it in-house with them.

The trouble started when I started getting phone calls from our more responsible dealers telling me that they had been calling and calling our Head Office to find out what the pay-out was on a truck they had sold. This then led to me finding out that none of the dealers had ever received a single contract from us! I immediately scheduled a meeting with Head Office to ask what was going on. I met with our controller who showed me a huge stack of contracts that he "hadn't got around to yet". I asked how he knew what trucks were at the dealers; what ones they had sold and what ones were on rental and, most importantly, how much the dealer owed us? He "hadn't had time to setup a system yet". He basically blew me off and told me not to worry about it and just go sell more trucks.

Before I knew it we had sold six million dollars of trucks to our dealers, but still had no clue where the trucks were or how much the dealers owed us. I saw it as a house of cards that was soon going to collapse. Just one dealer taking the money and shutting down would bring us down. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I got a call saying that the load had shifted on the next ship and all the trucks, $187,000 worth, were saltwater damaged and could not be sold. I contacted our insurance agent and setup a meeting with him to view the trucks when they arrived. I was busy scrambling to place another order when Terry, our Service Manager came in to tell me the damaged shipment had arrived. He commented that, in his opinion, they weren't all that damaged and maybe we could figure out a way to make some money here. I really never thought much about it or really understood what he meant. I wish I had.

The shipment was stored in a closed off compound at the back of our lot. I met with the insurance agent and appraiser and they both agreed that because these trucks were, in essence, "vehicles" there were all kinds of safety guidelines with using them and, because we could not see any hidden damages, the trucks were not to be used and the insurance would pay for the entire shipment, in full. We had to sign documents stating that we understood that the trucks could not be sold as original equipment and we were to have all the material scrapped. Again Terry hinted that it was a shame to see all those valuable parts go to a scrap yard when they were worth a lot of money in his opinion.

A few days later Sam Osmond, our dealer in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia suddenly showed up at our office. I assumed later that Terry had called him to come and look at the "parts" we had in the yard. Terry sent Sam up to me to see if he could buy the shipment. I explained to Sam that we had been paid in full for the shipment and ordered to scrap the entire shipment. There was simply no way that he could buy something that American Hoist no longer owned and had signed off on. As usual with any dealer who visited us, we took Sam out for dinner and drinks. Sam had apparently talked to Gerry and Terry and they had agreed to sell the shipment to Sam for $30,000 cash. Not only did this not feel legal I knew Sam and he was going to sell some of the trucks complete, which could get us in a heap of trouble if there was ever an accident. After much talk and way too many drinks, it looked like I was part of it whether I liked it or not. I rationalized that American Hoist had been paid in full, so they lost nothing. We couldn't do anything other than send them to the scrap yard because American Hoist could not possibly sell them, so it all made sense to me.

When it came to who was going to collect the cash, of course Terry hid in the shop and wouldn't even talk to us. Gerry explained that his absence would be too noticeable, but I could go there under the guise of auditing his lift truck inventory, which no one would question. Being incredibly naive at the time I didn't think about the plane ticket, the hotel receipts or charges to my credit card. Not too bright, I know. I returned with the money and divided it between the three of us. Mine went into my freezer and we always laughingly referred to it as our "cold hard cash". We never did anything special with it really; just paid bills when we were short. Before long it was gone and forgotten.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time before this house of cards collapsed and we were out of work, we started planning our Plan B. Obviously our contracts prevented us from having any discussions with TCM even though we knew they would suffer in the long run when we collapsed. We started researching other companies who had reputable equipment and settled on a company called NYK. As with any major equipment from overseas it's a chicken and egg situation. Dealers need to place orders for the manufacturer to believe there is a market and agree to give you the distributorship for Canada. First we made contact with NYK and expressed interest in taking on the line for Canada. We were invited to a meeting in Chicago. Next, and hugely important to our success, we met with the Bank of Nova Scotia to discuss floor plan financing. It just so happened that our timing was perfect because they were looking to get into heavy equipment financing. They offered a six month interest free floor plan, plus they agreed to give us a line of credit for the first shipment which we estimated at $250k. Next we invited all our potential dealers to a meeting in Caledon, where we wined and dined them, giving each of them a loft suite. The next day I gave them a very complete and effective sales presentation on the NYK line in other parts of the world. They were already hollering out "where do I sign" when I introduced the rep from BNS. The financing plan completely blew them away and they couldn't give me the orders fast enough. We sold out most of the planned original shipment in one day!

Orders in hand, all financed, we jumped on a plane to Chicago for our meeting with NYK. I'll freely admit we were both feeling a little cocky after all this unexpected early success, but we both felt confident that NYK could not refuse us the rights to Canada. I had already drawn up a distribution contract based on the TCM contract with American Hoist, and, most importantly from our experience with the Japanese with TCM we knew how they do business. It is vastly different from how we do business in North America, so we knew how to approach the negotiations. I still remember as the plane was about to land in Chicago I asked Gerry what we should say our company name was. He asked me what I thought and I said I liked "Canada Lift". He agreed and our company was born. (Sidebar - years later, after I had let our name registration lapse, I learned that Coca-cola had applied for the name for a new drink they were planning. We could have been rich!)

We stayed at the Chicago Ohare Hilton only because it was right across from the airport, one of the craziest in the world to get around. As soon as we got settled we called our contact for directions to their office. After all the bowing and introductions we got down to business. We knew how proud a people they are so instead of hitting them over the head aggressively as most North American business people do, we let them have control over the meeting to honor them, knowing that we had an answer for every question they would pose. Some of it we frankly made up on the fly, like where was our warehouse (we didn't have one) and so on, but the big questions, like our national dealer network and, most importantly, our sales blew them away. They were shocked and impressed that we had such faith from our dealers in a product that they didn't even know. The contracts were signed and we had the distributor rights for Canada. We explained that we had the letter of credit in place from BNS, but they faxed our order to the factory before even getting any confirmation from the bank. Talk about faith!

After the meeting, again knowing how they operate, we were invited to dinner at the best Japanese restaurant in Chicago, on their nickel. I have no idea what the bill was for the six of us, but I'm guessing close to a thousand dollars at least. I don't remember the meal too well, but I do remember that I fell hopelessly in love with Sandy, one of our servers. She was blonde and gorgeous. I was feeling overly confident after the score we had just made with getting NYK, so I asked her if she had ever been to Japan? She said no, but added that she would like to go. Of course our Japanese friends were listening to every word and getting a real kick out of what was happening. They weren't too helpful when they suggested it would be a good idea for me to visit the factory now that we were their distributor in Canada, and they would pay for me to fly over. My thoughts were only on Sandy and not any fork-lift factory, but the flirting was becoming all too real. Gerry said she sounded serious and I should go. Finally, as our meal was wrapping up, she came over and very seriously said okay. She would go with me. She only worked at this restaurant this night of the week and she had a few days off. Gerry handed me his gold American Express card and said to go ahead. I deserved it for what I had pulled together with everything to get the distributorship. Airfare was $2400 each and I had his card, but I knew it had to be paid back and, as a new company we had a lot of upcoming expenses to cover. To fly off to Japan with this beauty, tempting as it was, didn't feel very responsible. I wondered what our Japanese colleagues would think of someone doing something this irrational. To my considerable regret I told her we couldn't go right now, but maybe in the future. I often wonder how my life might have changed had I gone. (Gerry reminded me later that you have to fly to LA first and then to Japan. For the cost of flights to LA I could have had a night with the girl of my dreams and then said we had to go back because I was needed in the business.)

Our business with the Japanese complete we said our good-byes and headed out of the restaurant. It was too early to go to bed and we were both on such a high we wanted to go somewhere for a drink. Next thing I know we are in a cab heading downtown. We had asked our driver to take us somewhere where we could hear that famous Chicago blues. He said he knew a great place. He let us out in front of the Black Cat club, which looked like a blues club and we headed on in. The first thing they did was ask us each for a credit card. When I questioned why they said it was only for ID purposes if the police showed up for any reason. That sounded strange, but we wanted into the club, so we both gave them our cards. (I can hear you smirking already) The club was unbelievably dark, but we were led down to a table close to the stage. Before we knew it we were surrounded by these gorgeous girls asking us to buy them a drink, and being, well, friendly to say the least. Our server comes over and asks if we would like to "buy a round"? We say sure and order beers for everyone. Every ten minutes or so our server comes over and asks if we would "like an other round". We were both very distracted by what the girls were doing and never really paid any attention to the growing number of beers on the tables.

At this point I should mention that we had a meeting at 10:00 o'clock in Philadelphia and an early flight at 8:00 to get there. It was now about five o'clock in the morning and we still had a half hour cab ride back to our hotel. By this point Gerry was almost passed out but my head told me we had to get out of there. I asked for our bills. There are simply no words to describe what happened next. The server brought our bills and I looked at mine in the dark haze, with my girl draped over me and saw the total - $540! This can't be right. How much is beer in the States? Seeing the look on my face, my girl asked if I understood how it works? After my obvious NO, she said a "round" was ten minutes with the girls and cost $60, NOT the beers I thought we were ordering. I quickly hollered at Gerry to come to the washroom to figure out what we were going to do. Of course he also had a bill for $540. Here we were in downtown Chicago, surrounded by all kinds of frightening characters and we had been played for fools. I suggested we get upset and tell the server no one told us what a "round" was or we would never have ordered any. We stumbled back to the table and called the server over. As things got a little heated I noticed a big black guy behind us reaching into his coat pocket for a gun. It didn't seem like a good time to argue. We had just signed the contract of our lives and I envisioned us being found in an alley, shot to death. Seemed like a very bad way to finish our trip. I told Gerry to just sign the bill and let's get out of here. I did the same, while protesting to my lovely companion. She said she felt sorry for me and said maybe there was a way should could make it up to me. When I said we were staying at the hotel at the airport she said she wanted to come, but she had no money for the cab. (Yeah, more snickering) I gave her $20 for the cab.

As we headed back to the hotel, fuming and angry at how we had been duped, I reminded Gerry that not only was it $540 each, but that was US funds. At the time the dollar was about .90 US, so the bill would be even higher. Our bills also went to our homes, so I wondered exactly what they would say on them. Our wives would have a fit when they opened the bills. How were we going to explain that? We got back to our hotel and were laying on our beds considering whether we should try to sleep at all or just get ready to leave. After a moment of silence I said "I don't think she's coming". Gerry laughed and said he didn't think his was coming either. We had been duped even more. We did make our meeting in Philadelphia, only I don't even remember what it was about. No wonder.

So we returned to Brampton, contracts in hand and started figuring out our next move. The shipment wasn't coming for a while, and most of it was sold anyway, so there wasn't really any urgency at the moment. As luck would have it the situation with the lack of contracts at American Hoist was becoming critical. They had no clue what was what and had not had a single payment from any dealer because they could not tell them what they owed, not to mention that nothing out there at the dealers was covered by a contract. Situation critical. It was decided that I would visit all of the dealers coast to coast to carry out a complete inventory of all stock; what was in inventory, what had been sold outright and what trucks were in the rental fleet. I started in Dartmouth on Monday and ended in Calgary on Friday. Dealers in the forklift business like to party and drink, so it was a hard week for me.

(Another sidebar to the story - on the flight from Dartmouth to Montreal there was a guy and a very beautiful girl sitting behind me. The guy was going on and on about how wonderful he was and she was answering him politely, but I could tell she wanted to be anywhere else than stuck beside this guy. As we left the plane I commented on how patient she was. She laughed and said he sure was a piece of work. As we went down to get our luggage I made some small talk, telling her why I was here and asking her what she was doing here. She said she was in Montreal to see her cousin. As we chatted I noticed that just about everyone from the flight had picked up there luggage and left. There was no sign of Barb's luggage or mine. I could not believe that the luggage Gods could be this good to me, but they were. After all the luggage had been picked up and everyone was gone there was still no sign of ours. We went down to the missing luggage office and filled out our claims. My dealer, Rene, was picking me up and as we were walking out to the car she asked him where her hotel was. He said it was on the way to my hotel and told her to jump in. During the ride to her hotel Rene said we were meeting with some of his staff and going out for dinner, and asked Barb if she had any plans. I could of kissed him. She hesitated for a moment, but then said she wasn't meeting her cousin until the next day, so she agreed to join us for dinner. Rene offered to come and pick her up later.

As we headed to my hotel Rene could not stop saying how beautiful she was and that he thought she liked me, which, given how hot she was, I didn't quite swallow. Later we had a wonderful dinner and when we got back to my hotel there was a night club across the lane from the hotel. I asked if she danced and she told me she LOVED to dance, so we headed in. She was an amazing dancer and we danced for hours. When it was time for her to go back to her hotel, which wasn't far, I said I wanted to see that she got home safely so I would go with her. In the backseat of the cab things got so hot we fogged up the windows and gave the driver quite the show. When we got to her hotel there was no way I was leaving in the middle of such passion so I went in with her. It turned into the night of my life. We were crazy lustful for each other and we made love seven times, a record for me. In the morning I asked if she wanted me to drop her off at her cousins and she started crying. She told that was a lie and that she was here to go to the abortion clinic because she was pregnant! That one came as quite the shock but I took her to the clinic on my way back to my hotel. It was a very sad parting because I felt I should stay with her to see her through this tough procedure. She insisted she would be okay and didn't want me to mess up my plans. She gave me her phone number and said to call if I wanted to. I never saw her again.)

When I finally made Calgary to see Skip I was pretty wasted and just wanted to get my work done and go to bed. He would have none of that, of course. He drove a big Lincoln with, believe it or not, horns mounted on the hood. I remember noticing a gorgeous blonde in a convertible in front of us. Skip asked me if I wanted to meet her? When I asked how he was going to arrange that, he said he would just hit her gently at the next light. We would then need to exchange information and I could ask her out. I laughed, but to this day I don't know if he would have done that or not. I was so tired and still thinking of Barb that I didn't want to be crashing into any blondes.

I came back to the office the following Monday, armed with full disclosure of what the dealers were to be billed for and what was still on floor plan. Naturally I couldn't get a meeting with Head Office to go over all this to straighten out the mess they had made.

Friday afternoon a bunch of lawyer types and plain clothes RCMP showed up and escorted Gerry and I off the property. We were advised to turn ourselves in voluntarily or we would be arrested at our homes. There was no indication what we would be charged with. When we turned ourselves in the list of charges was extensive and didn't really seem to fit what we thought they were charging us with. Even though I was no lawyer I could not see how they would be able to convict us on anything because American Hoist had not lost a dime, no matter what.

In talking to employees and lawyers we soon learned what was the most ridiculous story, one that would be funny if the results weren't so tragic. Joe Barone, the President of American Hoist, and not the brightest light, had heard all these stories about the damaged trucks being sold, the meeting in Caledon with all the dealers and my trip across the country. He figured there had to be this giant conspiracy against American Hoist where the dealers were selling trucks and not paying us and working with us to destroy TCM. He reported his thoughts to the RCMP who, we were told, spent over two million dollars flying around the country interviewing all our dealers to back-up the conspiracy theory. Not only did the dealers tell them there was no conspiracy, but they also clued them in on what a mess American Hoist's financing plan was in. The RCMP learned a lot, not one bit of which supported Mr. Barone's theory. Some time later the Crown Attorney admitted to me that we were charged only because the RCMP had spent so much money chasing a ghost that someone had to pay.

We knew that they had nothing more than receipts that I was in Dartmouth and that's not illegal, plus they couldn't prove that American Hoist lost a cent, so where was the fraud? We rented an office and warehouse in Oakville and got ready for our first order to arrive. The dealers were getting a great response selling the line and we knew once this original shipment got out there it would be clear sailing. Our BNS rep had dropped by several times and offered to meet with any new dealers we signed and help us in any way possible. Suddenly he called one day and asked if Gerry and I could come down to their Head Office in Toronto to meet with "senior staff". On our drive down we were actually thinking that the big wigs just wanted to meet with their new high-flying clients. Maybe take us out to a ritzy dinner at their private club?

We took the elevator all the way to the top floor and were ushered into a large boardroom where a number of obviously senior execs were sitting at the table. We were in good spirits as we introduced ourselves, right up to the point where one of them, after thanking us for driving down, advised us that they had "rethought" the idea of offering the floor plan financing and were getting out of the business. Well, there went one of the most attractive parts of our dealer program, but we knew we would find someone else to handle it. It was a setback, yes, but not life threatening, that is until they also informed us that they were pulling the letter of credit for the current shipment that was already in transit across the ocean. Now that was a killer! We protested long and loud that they had put all of this in writing to us and this would kill our company. They refused to talk about it and we left. We went to see a lawyer in the same building and, after explaining what happened, he responded that we would no doubt win, but it would take at least ten years and he needed a fifty thousand dollar retainer. His words still echo in my ear, "in Canada it's not about getting justice; it's how much justice you can afford." Gerry actually ended up going to Japan to explain what happened with the bank and trying to keep things afloat but they were scared off by what the bank had done and the deal fell apart. The shipment did actually arrive and BNS stored them in an outside compound even though they were mostly electric lift trucks, so they basically destroyed them. They were eventually sold off at auction for a fraction of what they were worth originally. Even after everything they had done to us the bank came after us for the shortfall of some one hundred and sixty thousand dollars. I sent them a response telling them we would be only too happy to explain what happened in a public courtroom. We never heard from them again.

Obviously now completely broke by the time the court date was coming up I had no choice but to go with a Legal Aid lawyer, who turned out to also be an idiot. As the court date approached I became more and more panicky because I was working at Indal Products in Weston as the Customer Service Manager and had no clue how I was going to explain my absence. The court system is a nightmare and you are never really sure if your case is going to go ahead or not until the very last minute. Once the date was confirmed I felt I had no other choice than to come clean, even if it was going to cost me my job. My President was not the most compassionate man and he could be brutal with people. I was nervous as hell when I asked if we could meet after work around seven when I knew everyone else was gone. It might help to know that I was instrumental in figuring out that the Accounts Payable girl had embezzled over a hundred thousand dollars from the company by creating phony vendors and writing small cheques to them over the years. She was let go with no charges, I guess because there was no chance of recovering any money and the company didn't want the bad press. Anyways, Jon LeHoup, the President, had been very complimentary to me for uncovering this fraud.

So, seven o'clock comes and I am literally shaking. I know in my heart that Jon has every right to fire me and this is clearly what I expected. After laying out the entire story to him I was beyond shocked at his response. Instead of firing me he asked me what he could do to help. He told me to take all the time I needed for the trial and we would say I had a family emergency out West, plus he offered to speak to my character either at the trial or sentencing. Some time later he did appear at my sentencing hearing and spoke glowingly about my performance at work and how I was an invaluable employee who would be sorely missed if I had to do jail time keeping me away from work. I believe he was instrumental in the judge sentencing me to weekends so that I did not lose my job, for which I am forever grateful. I was only sorry that we had to keep this all so secret because I wanted the employees at work to know just how amazing Jon had been to me. Anytime a colleague said something negative about him I was bursting to tell them otherwise.

The trial itself was a complete farce. Sam got on the stand and played the dumb nuffie card, pretending that he knew nothing about any of this "fraud". He had simply seen some parts in our yard and offered to pay for them. When asked why he didn't question paying thirty thousand dollars in cash instead of a cheque to American Hoist he again played dumb and just said that's what we had told him he had to do. Not only did he get off scott free but he also made a fortune selling the "parts" as trucks, including putting some in his rental fleet, exactly what we told him he could NOT do.

Gerry did take the stand and although he also tried to play dumb, the jury just didn't believe him. He was very nervous on the stand and tried to laugh everything off, but even I didn't believe what he said. I told my lawyer to put me on the stand and I would simply tell the exact truth of what really happened. I knew there was no conspiracy to defraud and no fraud. I could prove I had done my job exactly as I should have and that no one lost a penny. He was such a dork and really didn't comprehend the facts. I had been writing out index cards during the trial and handing him the questions to ask, but he never got to the point or managed to get the jury to fully understand that I was not guilty of all the charges that had been laid. He didn't even touch the whole issue of the RCMP running around the country trying to expose this giant conspiracy that didn't exist.

The jury threw out seven of the eight charges and found Gerry and I guilty on one count of fraud. We were both sentenced to week-ends in the Metro West detention centre, Gerry riding on my coat-tails of all the great character references I submitted. He had none. What has always interested me is why no one ever asked who the third person was who was involved. Terry was never charged with anything. The other thing is that if we were found guilty of a thirty thousand dollar fraud, why was there no restitution? Regardless of the decision from the jury I think the judge was smart enough to figure out what a debacle this had been and that American Hoist had not been defrauded out of anything. In his charge to the jury he reminded them that the evidence had to be clear that there was either a conspiracy or a fraud, suggesting that the jury, like him, consider who lost anything here. Too bad the jury never got it.

We did our time, which was brutal. I think every kid should be forced to spend a weekend there and they would think twice about ever doing anything wrong. When you check in you leave any valuables at the entrance. You are strip searched for any drugs or weapons then given your jumpsuit and your paper thin blanket for your filthy bed. You keep you head down at all times and never make eye contact with the guards, who you call "boss" if they ask you something. You eat slop and play cards all weekend with nothing but time to kill. There's some serious characters in there who are waiting to be transferred to other prisons or jurisdictions and you just hope they don't jump you. You rarely speak to anyone to avoid any chance of an argument.

After a few weekends we were offered a chance to do community work instead of sitting on our ass all weekend. We both jumped at the chance to get out and we did things like peel hundreds of potatoes at various churches or clean-ups. Everyone looked down at you like a common criminal and you were treated like dirt. I tried to make the best of it and was always bright and cheery with people I met outside. They soon realized they had nothing to fear and we had some laughs. The three months went fairly quickly although it was really tough to explain my absence on the weekends, especially from hockey. I had never missed a single practice or game since Chris started playing and my sudden absence would certainly be noticed. My wife could only say that I was working, a pretty lame excuse because everyone knew I would never miss a game.

Near the end of my sentence my son's team won a trip to play in Lake Placid in the Olympic arena. It was breaking my heart that I could not be there. I mentioned it to one of the people I was volunteering with and, being a fan and having a son in hockey, she knew how important this was to me. She pulled some strings and the next thing I know the guard is calling me and telling me I have a pass to go but I have to check in Sunday night when we got back. I was beyond thrilled that I got to see him play in such an amazing place although it was really tough to explain where I had been for three months. I don't know if anyone ever believed me.

So, life went on. There were many difficult times through all of this. One was telling my son that I had been convicted. We went for a drive up to Heart Lake and when I said I needed to talk to him about something he started tearing up and asked me if I was dying? When I said no, he asked if we were splitting up? Somehow this softened the blow a little when I told him the truth and what was about to happen. The other tough part of all of this is how my wife just abandoned me after I was charged. She spent the money with no problems, but she never once supported me in any of what happened. We never spoke about it. She never came to court, even for my sentencing. It was somehow all my fault and she wanted nothing to do with it. I was on my own. When I look back I should have left her there and then, but I was stupid and I hung around for many more years and it never got any better.

Story over? Nope. One thing my boob lawyer had said to me was to keep my nose clean and my record would be expunged in ten years if I was a good boy. During this time I had been traveling back and forth to the States and I always worried I would get stopped and they wouldn't let me in, but nothing ever happened. When it had been over ten years since my conviction and I was traveling through the States often, with no issues, I figured the lawyer was right and my record was gone.

Boy, was I wrong!