A Lesson Learned

My Dad and I had Edmonton Eskimo season's tickets throughout the 1960's. Their home field back then was Clarke Stadium.

We were returning home from a game one evening when a shabbily dressed man approached us. He asked my Dad, "Sir, could you spare a dollar? I haven't eaten in a couple of days and..."

Trying to appear grown up, I told the man to "get lost and get a job".  I've never forgotten the look of disappointment in my Dad's eyes.

"Forgive him," he said to the man. He then gave him a five dollar bill and all the change from his pocket. The man thanked him and walked away. We continued on our way to the car until my Dad stopped me.

"Do you know why that fellow asked me for money?" I said I didn't for sure, but I figured he'd use it for booze. 

"That's actually none of your business and it's probably not true. Do you realize how easily that fellow could be me? Do you get that?"

I was shocked. "Well no, of course not. You'd never let that happen."

"It wouldn't be my choice but what if I lost my job? If I wasn't able to find another one quickly and missed a couple of house payments, we'd be without a home. I'd become overwhelmed and who knows? Maybe I'd start drinking, just to feel a little relief, and no-one would hire me even if I was qualified. It wouldn't take long to run out of friends and family to help, especially if I was constantly boozing it up. Before long I'd be in that fellows shoes, asking strangers for help. Can you think of what else I could do?"

I couldn't imagine an alternative and I said as much. I was suddenly overwhelmed with shame.

"Look," he said, "there's a saying. 'There but for the grace of God goes you or I.' Try to remember that." 

From that day forward I looked at people differently. Fate can be  cruel and we should never lose sight of that. We can prepare as much as we like but in end, we have little control over our fate. Helping others when you're able isn't a "fix" per se, but it certainly doesn't hurt.

Career Redux - TELUS Revisited

A definite advantage of working for TELUS was the opportunity to change careers without leaving the company and God knows, I've never been one to dismiss an advantage.

I began with a 7 year sales career in Broadcast Services, working for long time AGT Sales Manager, Clare Manulak. Clare introduced me to the nuances of the communications business, sales in general and customer service in particular. He showed me the possibilities of a future in business communications where I never dreamed one existed. Clare furnished me with a solid ethical foundation in business principles. He was a rare combination of leader, taskmaster, worry wart and salesman and he combined all that with a mischievous sense of fun. He was also a family man and due in part to my age at the time, my lessons with Clare had as much to do with life as they did business. I'm forever grateful and I'll never forget him.

My next stop was a training gig in intracompany services then on to Special Accounts Billing, or SABS (a.k.a. "The Job From Hell", a terrifying assignment deserving of its own post, which I'll write if I ever complete therapy).

After that nightmare I earned a position in Desktop Support, under Manager Charlie Stone. My Area Supervisor was an outgoing, affable Englishman, Steve Roebuck. In a very short time Steve taught me how to analyze a situation prior to starting the task, a skill I'd re-use through the remainder of my career. He was a leader with a heart, a quirky sense of humor we happened to share but above all, Steve was a "company man" in the best sense of the term. He was proud to work for TELUS and he had little time or patience for peers who didn't. I couldn't have agreed more.

In time I moved on to Internal Operations, a vaguely titled but heavily responsible area with another dynamo mentor/boss, Gary Lakusta. Like many of my peers, I mistakingly interpreted his impeccable grooming, fine suits and outgoing manner as arrogance. At times Gary appeared "too good to be real," "a hustler", "all flash, no substance" and so on. Still, before I went to work for Gary we had occasion to interact directly. I was surprised to find him open and attentive, a breath of fresh air in an often stodgy environment.

As it turned out, Gary's alleged "arrogance" was in fact, confidence. In our 3 years together I developed something of a swagger myself, though like Gary, I had to be certain I could deliver before I brought it out.

I would have continued with Gary for a longer period but there were budget cuts and his area was downsized. Unfazed, he left for much greener pastures outside of TELUS within a year or two. Unfortunately, this marked an end to my string of personally rewarding jobs and it would be years before I rediscovered career happiness.

TELUS and Ed Tel merged. Generally, the grass root workers of both companies noticed a degree of disruption but due in part to common unions, the differences were slight. Middle Management was another scenario. We TELUS management employees were informed early on, the management teams from the "little phone company that could" were going to lead our newly combined enterprise to the promised land. TELUS managers had just better step up to that, or step off, that simple.

From what I came to know, the "little phone company that could" actually couldn't, not as a profit centre anyway. Their vehicles, administration, billing and engineering costs were funneled through the City of Edmonton budget. Their minimal hardware and toll profits didn't pay for anything. I paid, as did all Edmontonians, through a magical little fund known as "the mill rate". Within weeks, the inmates of the little phone company that could were running my asylum.

Al Toft, my first boss under the new regime, had originally been with AGT. When AGT became TELUS, he switched to Ed Tel. After leaving Ed Tel for a better paying gig with a supplier in Seattle, he asked for, and received, his old ED TEL job back, only now it was with a newly merged TELUS.

His reasoning for all this flitting about was a complex family issue. His wife and two boys had little enthusiasm for living anywhere but in their original home in St. Albert and unfortunately, Al was paying the price.

I'm getting a little ahead of myself. I knew nothing of the aforementioned until after Al tried to fire me, so picture this. I'm assigned to the world's unhappiest man, a circumstance of which I'm unaware. Talk about the uncertainties life can throw at you!

At our very first meeting, Mr. Toft advised me that despite my 3 consecutive "surpasses expectations" ratings and their accompanying bonuses, I did not have the formal education required to effectively do my job and as a result, for the first time since I'd been hired 18 years prior, I was on probation. With that, he assigned me a rudimentary task to be properly completed and on his desk by 8 the next morning (it was now 5 p.m.), and he added, "Your job depends on it."

I turned in my task on time the next morning. He scanned it, said it was "okay" and immediately presented me with another task. Again, I was advised, "Your job depends on it."

He tried this routine one more time before I'd had enough. I turned, quietly closed the door and in a tone just above a whisper advised, "Al, go f**k yourself." He came out from behind his desk and exclaimed, "This is was a test, and you failed miserably. You're finished. Pack your desk and leave....NOW!"

I said, "I know our Director (Chuck Kiel) is also ex Ed Tel but, unlike you, he's no idiot. Let's go see him." Al all but ran to the Director's office, leaving me in his wake. As I arrived seconds later I heard Al say, "Hamilton refused a direct order, then he cursed...at ME! I demand his instant dismissal!"

Chuck didn't get up at first. He glanced at me, took in the wonder that was Al Toft, and finally spoke. "Brian, you're fine, it's all good. Please excuse us for a moment."

I all but ran out the door but I quickly found a safe spot to eavesdrop on Chuck's little talk with Al. "HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? YOU'RE FIRING A GUY YOUR SECOND DAY HERE? And whaddya mean he disobeyed a direct order? Who do you think you are? COLONEL F*CKING KLINK?!?" 

Mr. Toft went on a 4 week stress leave and it was a few months before I encountered him again. By then I'd landed a Change Management job working for Tim Lau. I was conducting classes to all TELUS IT employees, rolling out and explaining the new company wide Change Management System. Al attended one of the sessions and it was clear the man was in serious distress. At the sessions end after everyone had left, we had a post class exchange where he described his ongoing professional and personal problems at length. I listened attentively, then I suggested he go fuck himself; not my finest moment. 

The next time I heard from Al was roughly 5 years ago, via e-mail. He asked if I'd give him a business recommendation. This time I just said no.

I'd been with TELUS for 17 years before taking the Change Management job, working alongside Ian Luty in Edmonton, and Mary Lyall and Deb Buxton in Calgary.

Going in, Deb and Mary were known in TELUS IT circles as personable professionals with an impeccable work ethic and no fear of effort, albeit informed effort. At times Deb could play the hard-ass "bad cop" to Mary's angelic "good cop" but their roles weren't that closely defined. They were always prepared at the onset, any opposition had already been anticipated, discussed and rectified by the time the meeting was called. This rendered nearly every objection moot. Their experiences in founding and managing the TELUS Help Desk, also known as SPOC, in Calgary gave them a profound advantage in mapping changes to the TELUS corporate environment.

Ian and I both had a degree of overall IT knowledge and I brought effective oral or written communications skills to the table. Within a very short time, we melded to form an efficient team. Not unexpectedly, Ian, Deb, Mary and I also became the best of friends in the process.


Originally Tim Lau was TELUS Change Management, pretty much all by himself. Something of a visionary, Tim researched formal Change Management processes in other corporate environments and eventually designed and implemented a custom built system for TELUS; a major, bordering on miraculous, accomplishment.

When TELUS merged with BC Tel, our team was surprised to learn that they too had a formal Change Management system. Tim's developmental counterpart for BC Tel was an absolute firecracker, Ms. Leslie Hansen. The two had never met and while they built their respective systems in mutual anonymity, it was astonishing how similar their end products were. They'd even arrived at the same software solution, "Remedy". As a direct result of Tim and Leslie's efforts, our transition and eventual merger was about as seamless as it could be.

When Tim moved on, Leslie took charge of TELUS Change Management proper. Her "go-get-'em" attitude and extensive IT knowledge base made her a perfect fit. As luck would have it, the team she had in place in Vancouver fit in very nicely with ours. However, we did notice a few systemic differences. The BC team saw their role as more observant than proactive. While we organized and oversaw nearly every aspect of a given system change, BC was more likely to report solely on change results. They'd participate in the planning only if requested by a project team and unlike the Alberta team, they were rarely involved in the actual implementation.

It took a degree of time and effort but little by little, we managed to show our BC counterparts the value of personally leading at least the major system changes from planning through to implementation. In turn they drew our attention to the dangers of micro managing and we adjusted our procedures accordingly. Leslie had always wanted it done that way, so it really wasn't exactly a tough sell.

Information Technology is seldom a static environment career-wise and in time, Leslie too moved on. Her replacement was another top-notch, superbly capable ex BC Tel Manager, Brenda Neill. Well versed in the myriad aspects of Information Technology, Brenda brought a somewhat calmer though no less effective presence to the table and my career continued to flourish.

As life would have it, IT Change Manager would be my final position with TELUS before retirement. It was an exciting, labor intensive and professionally fulfilling time. The area would come to define me as an employee and a person. This transformation was due in no small part to the friendship and camaraderie I shared with Deb and Mary. These two eventually became my best friends within TELUS certainly, and to a large degree outside the Company as well.

Progress was made at a steady pace and soon the simple, non-comprehensive work was rolling out smoothly. Within months of our coalition, we began receiving higher level projects, system changes where any service interruptions or failures could conceivably impact TELUS nation-wide or in one case, Canada's national security.

Over the next few years our professional bonds flourished until eventually we seemed to know what one of our peers wanted or needed, often before they did. The personal payoff; our professional arrangement eventually evolved into personal friendships.

As I neared the appropriate age and compiled the required number of service years, I was offered a very generous retirement package. The timing wasn't perfect but it wasn't bad, so my family and I took it. My sole regret was not being able to tell Mary and Debbie in person. I had them on a conference call within moments of finding out, but the experience was a little hollow compared to being with them.

We stay in touch regularly though neither Mary nor Deb are currently employed with TELUS. After a brief respite, both are flourishing in the Information Technology world with other companies.

I worked with Golf Town for a time, but now I'm retired for real.

People such as Clare, Steve, Tim, Ian, Leslie, Brenda, Deb, Mary and many more will always hold a dear spot in my heart and I know with certainty, I'm a better person for having had them in my life.

The Good Person

                We heard the wailing even before the bus had come to a complete stop. The other passengers heard it too and we all watched the front door with a mixture of curiosity and dread.

The door opened and a young fellow stumbled aboard. Roughly 20 years of age, he was sobbing and shaken but somehow managed to produce a bus pass. The driver quickly glanced at it, then stared stonily ahead. My fellow riders and I looked everywhere but at the young man. His high pitched keening cries continued as he stumbled down the aisle. Finally, he took a seat. 

I’d seen him on the bus before, though never in this state. I believe today’s politically correct term for his condition is “mentally challenged”. Under normal circumstances you’d barely notice him. He usually gets on the bus, takes a seat and spends his journey smiling at everyone. Every now and then he may quietly talk to himself, but you’d never pick up on it if you weren’t listening. Today was obviously different.

As his crying continued unabated, I glanced nervously in his direction. To my dismay I realized he was searching desperately from face to face, seeking any available source of comfort. I knew I couldn’t allow this to go on and because everyone else was riveted on their newspapers or staring out their windows, I found myself calling out to him in a voice much louder than I’d intended. “Hey pal! What’s wrong?”

With tears streaming down his face, he eventually focused on me. His voice rose a full octave as he exclaimed, “I’VE HAD A VERY BAD DAY! I’VE HAD A VERY BAD WEEK! I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON WITH ME ANYWAYS!”

I quickly moved to a seat directly across from him. “You don’t have to yell anymore. I’m right here. Just tell me what’s happened.”

I handed him a tissue and he blew his nose loudly. “THIS GIRL AT WORK, SHE CALLED ME STUPID!”

“Okay,” I pleaded. “Tell me exactly what happened but please, lower your voice. You’re scaring everyone.”

We both glanced around the bus and noticed almost everyone watching us intently. Even the driver glanced back at us every now and again through his rear view mirror.

“Well,” the boy sniffled, “I made a mistake where I work and she got really, really mad at me. She yelled, got all red and worst thing of all, she said I was stupid! I HATE that!”

When I asked where he worked, he responded with the name of a downtown recycling company. Our conversation continued. 

“And you know the worst part?” he asked. “Except for bosses nearly everyone who works there is like me. Even this girl is! We’re all sort of stupid but a good person doesn’t say that to another person, and I’m a good person!”

“Well, it certainly seems that way”, I responded. “It’s Friday. Do you two have the weekend off?” When he nodded I continued, “I’ll tell you what. Just relax this weekend and think hard about all your friends at work. I’m sure just about everyone there likes you, right?” Again he nodded, this time with obvious enthusiasm. “When you go back to work on Monday, walk right up to that girl and tell her that not only are you a good person, so is she.”

He appeared puzzled for a moment then he said, “I’ll do it and you know why? Because most of the time she is a good person! Maybe she had a bad day too.”

“Yes, or even a bad week, like you,” I smiled. He grinned back at me.

Just then a thought struck me. While my initial intention had been to quell a disturbance, the result was much more profound, for me at least. I had witnessed another person’s despair quietly evolve into acceptance and finally to a self-realization that few could ever comprehend. I’d encountered a truly dignified man in a time when such people seemed to have attained endangered species status. His ability to have faith in himself despite personal adversity was an attribute I could only dream of acquiring.

At that moment the bus arrived at our terminal. As we disembarked I asked my new friend if he was feeling better. 

“Yes I am,” he replied. “Do you have any candy?”

As luck would have it, I had a brand new roll of Lifesavers and I handed them to him immediately. “Keep the roll,” I said. “You deserve them.”

He carefully unwrapped the package and popped one into his mouth. He thanked me and as he walked away I heard him murmur, “I am…a good person."

Innocence Lost 

                                 On a recent Sunday afternoon I had occasion to drive through my old neighbourhood. The circumstances that brought me there are unimportant but the crisp air and bight sunshine was more than enough to lead me down an old side road and slow my vehicle to a crawl.

As I drove memories of my youth swept over me. I found myself picking out homes of old friends, wondering if they lived there now and how their lives had turned out.

My elementary school was still there, though it looked considerably less foreboding than I remembered. On this day it seemed ordinary and small, but I recalled a time when I couldn’t imagine setting foot in a building as large!

I remember walking to school, taking care to stay on the west side of the sidewalk, as the east side was the realm of the older boys. There were no written rules per se but once school started, you were soon informed that the east side was inhabited by all-powerful masters of the universe and therefore, not your dominion. Unless you wanted your books and school papers strewn over a city block, you were careful to know your place. Of course one day you'd be old enough to patrol the east side and vengeance would be yours!

There was Mr. Harridin's house. Dark, mysterious and completely cloaked in a shroud of huge evergreens, everyone knew this was no ordinary house. Any man who stayed home all day, as Mr. Harridin did, and never came out except to retrieve his mail and glare at us had to be a spy! Which country the old scoundrel represented was unclear but we were consistently careful to maintain absolute silence when we passed. World War II had been over for 15 years but the Cold War was very much alive and it was our patriotic duty to ensure we didn't divulge any national secrets.

On my way out of the neighbourhood I turned the corner to the north end of my elementary school. To my surprise I came upon a scene that caused many cherished memories to flood over me. I quickly parked the car, got out, leaned against the trunk and watched the proceedings in amazement.

In the small lot between the community skating rink and the school there were roughly a dozen boys between the ages of 10 and 13. They were playing field hockey. Using splintered hockey sticks and a tattered tennis ball, they raced up and down the field, pausing only to argue and gesture dramatically or to rescue the ball from under a car. Their faces were scarlet with exertion and rage and while many wore NHL jerseys and new hockey gloves, quite a few resembled my old gang, sporting their older siblings or parents oversized gear, their ragged sweatshirts hanging to the patched knees of their jeans.

It always seemed odd to me how we’d picked that particular spot to play field hockey. There were plenty of other areas we could have used, many of them schematically appropriate and closer to our homes. Yet because this place was adjacent to the actual community rink, it made perfect sense for us to play there, and only there, but what amazed me on this day was that these kids had continued the tradition! I was certain they’d not been instructed to go there but somehow, they’d followed our logic. I found the notion simultaneously amazing and comforting.

After watching for a few minutes I noticed a woman in her early 30s striding purposefully toward me. Her crossed arms and the angry set of her jaw told me she was not about to exchange pleasantries. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

I blurted out my story about having lived here as a child and explained how I’d stopped to watch the kids play hockey, just as I’d played as a boy. Even while speaking the words, I felt an internal easiness.

“Look, my son’s one of those boys and I don’t know you from Adam. You’d better leave before I call the police.”

My initial reaction was extreme outrage. My first thought was to lash out at her with the same venomous disgust she’d shown me but of course, I didn’t. Instead I said nothing, got back into my car and slowly drove away. She watched me until I was out of sight.

As I left from those grand old memories I was overcome by sadness. It wasn’t so much that one can never go home. Time and it’s inherent lessons have taught me that lesson. It wasn’t even the woman with her angry eyes and fiercely protective manner. Given the circumstances of the moment and the social climate of the day, I empathized with her position. I didn’t blame her.

That evening I sat in my chair and contemplated the events of the day. I realized the hollow sensation that caused my throat to constrict and my eyes to mist did not concern a specific person or thing. Rather, I found myself grieving for an innocent time lost, likely to never to be regained.

Doug

I had a friend growing up, Doug, and from the time he was six or seven he acted, looked and carried himself like a girl. This behaviour was beyond his control. By the time he hit his mid teens he was fighting it with every fibre in his being, but to no avail. 

Doug's parents seemed unaware of his difficulties and as the middle child of 5 kids, he occupied a rather low place on the family totem pole. Frankly, his entire family were not particularly pleasant people.

He tried out for baseball, soccer and even hockey, though he could barely skate. He was always the first cut. 

Doug would pick fights with guys over almost nothing and lose them all, badly. As his sole friend, this was hard for me to watch. The few times I tried to step in, Doug became angrier with me than the fellow he was fighting, so I'd stand by and watch like everyone else. I vividly recall a feeling of self-loathing wash over me.

Once we reached high school, Doug tried dating girls. He never "liked" guys in a sexual way, he much preferred girls but his inborn femininity prevented him from taking on a fully masculine role. This was confusing for most girls we knew and as a result, Doug didn't date much. He went to grad with his cousin. To say Doug was confused is an understatement. 

He developed a friendship with my Mom. She was always more accepting of Doug than his own family. She first became aware of his situation when I brought him home after one particularly nasty scrap. He had a small cut over one eye. Mom cleaned him up and simply talked to him. Their friendship was immediate and instantaneous. Doug would drop over once or twice a week, usually under the pretense of seeing me, but he'd talk to my Mom almost exclusively. I didn't mind. On the contrary; I was happy for him. It was great to see him actually connect with anyone, including my Mom.

After meeting Doug, my Mom and Dad made a point of telling me how some people "differed" from the norm. They explained that quite often, behaviours weren't a choice, they simply...were. I can see now how their viewpoint was rare for the time, but I've always appreciated the fact they shared it with me.

In a recent interview with Diane Sawyer, Caitlyn (formerly Bruce) Jenner said, "Imagine waking up every morning, despising yourself for your body and your feelings, then throw in an overwhelming sense of self-disgust. That is my reality every single day." I recalled Doug saying something similar to me when we were in our teens.

Unfortunately we lost track of one another a few years after high school. Doug stayed in touch with my Mom for a time but eventually their friendship faded as well. 

Doug got into hardcore drugs, did some jail time and died of lung cancer at 44, single, broke and alone. My Mom and I were the only people at his funeral. No-one from his family attended.

Had I been in Doug's situation I'm not sure I'd have followed Jenner's route, but I sincerely wish that option had been there for him. 

A Solid Guy, A Solid Life          

I lost a childhood friend recently to diabetes related issues and eventual organ failure. I’ve known Jim since we were 6 years old and except for a gap of about 15 years, we’ve always stayed in touch. His wife Michelle asked me to write a childhood memory to be included in his eulogy to be read by his favourite 2 nieces. 

One of my earliest memories with Jim involved us playing catch in my front yard, something we did often. On this particular day I was also babysitting my 2 year old brother, Bruce. He would stand inside at the front screen door and watch us, usually without incident, but not this time. 

On this occasion Bruce managed to open the door and tumble down the 5 front steps. Once he landed he was screaming bloody murder and one of his tiny legs was twisted at a weird angle. I immediately tried standing him up several times to no avail. 

“Stop doing that,” yelled Jim. “His leg’s broken!!” to which I responded, “It can’t be! My parents will kill me!” 

At that precise moment Mom and Dad pulled up.

As it happens, one of the cement sidewalk slabs at the base of the steps had never been poured properly and the side nearest the steps stuck up roughly two inches. My Mom was always on my Dad’s back about fixing it but to date, he hadn’t.

My Mom ran up screaming, “WHAT HAPPENED! HIS LEG’S BROKEN!” 

Enter my best friend and personal hero, one James Edward Short.
“Mrs Hamilton, we were playing here in the yard with Bruce and when he ran back to the house, he tripped over that sidewalk block.” I believe my Dad’s exact words were, “Oh shit.” Mom turned on him like a ravenous lioness and I was suddenly off the hook.

Now I don’t want to have you believe that Jim was a liar. He was more of a pragmatist but that’s not the point of this story. Jim showed he was a true friend that day and for the rest of his life. It was that quality that put him on a slightly elevated personal pedestal, to me anyway. 

Jim Short was a solid guy and I miss him dearly.

My Dad and the "Ef Bomb"




When I was in my pre-teens my friends and I always often had a game of tackle football directly across the road from my house. The action was hard core, we had no pads or helmets but no-one cared. As a result of this intensity, the air was often rife with very loud, extremely crude cussing.

One Sunday afternoon I was mowed down by a block from behind and as per custom, I jumped up and unleashed a venomous string of obcenities at the cretin who dared to perform this henious act.

About mid bellow I noticed my Dad, leaning on his rake, watching and listening from our front yard. 

We kept playing for a time afterward and at game's end my Dad motionrd me over. As I recall, our conversation went something like this.

Dad: "You guys play really well. I wouldn't be surprised if you all make your high school teams when the time comes."

Me: "Thanks!"

Dad: "One thing I didn't like was all the swearing, particularly the 'f-word'. Tell me, have you ever heard me use it?"

Me: "Uh...no."

Dad: "Well I have, three times. Because I use it so seldom, no-one expects it but when I do use it, people listen. It's a great word but if you use it constantly, it loses all impact."

Me: "I'd never thought of it like that."

I've tried to remember Dad's lesson but sadly, I fail more often than I'd like. I did pass my Dad's advice along to my son James, and I'm pleased to report he's done a much better job of following it than I ever did. 

Good on him I say.