Category Archives: Its Dave Time
White wedding
Double Feature
Christmas in Kerrisdale
This year will be the first time I celebrate Christmas without mom. Every year, My mom and dad had a big party near Christmas at our house in Kerrisdale. It was a lot of work and an important event. My father was a businessman, and many prominent men would attend with their wives. Everybody dressed up; the women wore fancy dresses and jewellery: the men wore custom-tailored suits, starched shirts and silk ties. I didn’t understand what it all meant, but I knew it was necessary. Then, of course, everybody smoked and drank. It was the sixties; cocktails were the order of the day. My brother and I helped serve drinks and listened to the chatter. My father was an executive in the forest industry, which was very powerful and drove the economy.
We made sure to top up Uncle Wally’s drink, Rye and Ginger. He was a Marine Biologist that travelled the world; He was a brilliant man who liked to drink and smoke. After a few drinks, we could hear his distinctive voice above all the others: “Trudeau is a goddam cocksucker,” He would say, referring to Pierre, our Prime Minister. Then he would laugh hysterically. Finally, my mom would rush over and say, “Time to go to bed, boys.” She looked like Doris Day, Glamorous and radiant. It was her house, and she was the star. My brother and I listened from the top of the stairs. Earlier that day, we had discovered a new dish, Tomato Aspic. “Would you care for some Ass Pick?” said my brother Duncan. “Yes, I enjoy Ass Pick,” I replied. My father gave us a smack on the back of the head.
A couple of days later, our Dalmatian got the Christmas turkey and made a run for it. My dad chased him around the house; of course, I laughed, so he smacked me as he chased the dog. Sixties Dad’s could drink, smoke and hit the kids. It seemed normal at the time.
One year we went to our Aunt Helen’s house for Christmas dinner. She served Cornish game hens, which grossed us out totally. They looked like cute little birds. Then she got drunk and tried to cut my brother’s hair. We left early. Grownups drank a lot back then.
When I was ten years old, I joined the choir at Holy Rosary Cathedral. It was the first time I sang to an audience, and it changed my life forever. The biggest show was midnight mass on Christmas Eve. A brass band and organist were in the balcony with an adult choir. The organ had thousands of pipes, and the natural reverb in the stone cathedral was hauntingly surreal. The boy’s choir was at the side of the altar where we could watch the spectacle. I sang a solo to one thousand people. That was the beginning of a life in music. The subsonic from the organ pipes made me aware of the power of low frequencies. My solo was in Ave Maria, but the best song was ‘Angels we have heard on High.’ The boys and adult choir, brass, and organ came together for the finale. That night I became an entertainer. Churches can convey a compelling message and bring people together. That night was a rite of passage for Me and many others.
When I learned to play the flute, my favourite Christmas songs were ‘God Rest Yee Merry Gentlemen’ and ‘We Three Kings.’ Both were in the Aeolian Mode and had a medieval feel. ‘O come Emanuel was another favourite of mine; it is E minor, both mournful and inspiring. Finally, ‘Good King Wenclelas’ is written for Boxing Day by John Mason Neale, who wrote ‘O Come Emanuel.’ I developed those songs to suit My playing style and played them often. I was Catholic, but the Protestants had better Christmas carols.
Years later, I went out with some friends to play carols at old folks’ homes. Big Mike, Kim, Ian, and my girlfriend, Jennifer. We dropped into a senior’s home near Oakridge with our makeshift choir. I played flute, and the others sang. Mike was a massive guy with a beautiful clear voice; we had gone to Europe with the school choir the year before. We were pretty good: Mike and I performed ‘O Come Emanuel’ as a Duo. It was a show-stopper. Big Mike passed away a few years ago, but I can still hear his high, clear voice harmonizing with my flute. The old folks were delighted.
Our next stop was at Chalmers Lodge near 12th and Granville. We wandered into the lobby and sang a couple of songs to a very appreciative crowd. Then, one of the staff came up and asked me what organization sent us. I said, “We just came to sing some carols” she kicked us out; we smelled like weed.
Woodward at Oakridge had the most fantastic Christmas display. Santa had a natural beard, and there were actual reindeer; the Woodwards family owned the Douglas Lake Ranch and had a small herd of reindeer for this purpose. They hired dwarfs as elves, but We called them Midgets. We bought our Christmas presents at Oakridge: Mom got something nice from Birks. After I left home, I got a pendant from Birks for mom that said, ‘My name is Joannie, take me home with her phone number on the back. She loved it. Two weeks after Christmas, venison was available in the meat department.
My mom was an artist; she painted a beautiful angel on a piece of plywood for the front door, resplendent with red, silver and gold glitter; we always had a giant tree and decorated it as a family. Dad had to secure it with wires so our cat named ‘Mary Christmas’ could not knock it over. When we were teenagers, we sat around the dining room table with glue, felt pens and construction paper. We were making dirty Christmas cards! Well-hung reindeer, big-breasted snow women and many other holiday classics. My parents welcomed many kids to the house; it was a fun place to be. The kitchen and bar were always open.
At Magee High School, I produced a Christmas musical about Mrs. Claus trying to keep Santa from eating the reindeer. ‘We love you, Mrs. Santa Claus, ‘Protect us from your Husband’s Jaws’ was the significant production number. I also ran a Christmas tree lot to raise funds for the choir’s European tour. When I was about 12 years old, I talked in rhyme for a whole week before Christmas. Yes, it drove my family around the bend.
Chris
Everybody knew. Chris was the first of three drummers to audition. Halfway
through the first song, it was over. Chris had a steady meter, power, great feel,
and an uncanny ability to set up shots. The two other drummers waiting to audition
recognized his talent. The third drummer to try out was Mitch; I said I would
call him. “No, You won’t,” He replied, and he was right.
Chris and I worked together for seven years. We drove thousands of miles and
played countless gigs. Chris was the most dedicated musician I ever knew. The
metronome was his constant companion, and he practiced obsessively on his
practice pad. He had a spot on his thigh where the nerves were dead from continual
drumming. Boop Bop, Boop Bop, all the rudiments; slow at first, then
gradually faster. He had talent, no doubt, but all that work made him something
special. He often rented a room in my house; we spent a lot of time together.
There were four different bass players in the band during that time, and he continued
working with Bruce, another fine musician and friend, for many years after
the Fins disbanded.
The drums are the pulse and punctuation of a rock band. Counting in, setting
the groove, supporting the vocalist snd pushing soloists, he was the leader on
stage. Chris was always focused on the task and possessed a smooth and energetic
demeanour. He made us all better; his dedication was infectious.
But enough about that – Chris had a dark sense of humour. He was fun to be
around. All the practice made him comfortable and confident on stage; Chris always
encouraged us to entertain the crowd. On a tour of the Mideast, he did a
photo essay on camel toes, actual camel toes. On travel days, he was my
pharmacist. “Okay Dave, whadda You got” was his opening line after Sunday
breakfast, before the long drive to the next gig. I would empty my pockets and
do a “Show and tell.” Acid, hash, weed, a bottle of Jack etc., Chris would carefully
guide me through the day as he drove; “Better eat a chunk of that hash
now, and wash it down with some Jack.” That was Chris, always trying to help.
We had some movies we repeatedly watched – Scarface, Monster Zero (Japanese
Sci-Fi), various Clint Eastwoods and of course, the noble Monopoly tradition
that was unique to The Fins. Women loved Chris, but he was often suspicious
or unaware of their interest. One week in Kimberly, a waitress named Kim
had a massive crush on Chris and planned to take him home on Saturday night.
She showed up at the bar (it was her day off) and got pretty drunk. We said
goodnight to Chris and planned our evening Monopoly game without him as she
led him away. As we were getting ready to roll, in comes Chris with his usual
three-pack of 7-11 hotdogs. “She passed out; deal me in,” he said with a huge
grin. It was clear that playing Monopoly with the band was his personal choice.
Another road trip found Chris, me and a lovely blonde woman in the ‘Roxy Rowboat’
my inflatable rubber raft. We were rowing around Osoyoos Lake, reasonably
drunk. We got in an argument about who we would be on Gilligans Island.
Chris and I wanted to be Mary Anne, and the woman thought I should be the
skipper. But, of course, she wanted to be Mary Anne too, and a heated discussion
ensued. Chris and I did the only sensible thing we could think of and threw
her off the raft. After a few minutes, we looked over and saw her standing on the
shore in her white cotton dress, soaking wet, waiting for Chris. I dropped him off
on the beach.
It is impossible to explain the bond of friendship or how much he influenced me
as a musician and person. The songs, the laughs, the inside jokes; I loved the
guy. Calm, confident, professional, always prepared. A natural leader in his
unique quiet way.
We were playing at the Overlander in Williams Lake when Chris knocked on my
door. “Let’s go shopping at Saan,” he said. Saan was like a low-brow Zellers; we
went shopping for props for the evening show. “I think you need to wrestle Elio
tonight,” stated Chris. So, we got black Isotoner gloves, a black Balaclava and a
pair of black double knit underwear. The plan was to come out in my Dayton
boots, Balaclava, black briefs and gloves to fight Elio. As the band played ‘Peter
Gunn,” I strode out in my outfit and challenged Elio, who put down his guitar
and dove on me. We fought a ridiculous wrestling match for five minutes, only
stopping to sniff the stripper’s pole. The crowd was dumbfounded, speechless.
Years later, I rented a sound system to a country band that played at the Overlander.
The bar owner told them about it.
After the Fins, Chris went on to play with the immensely talented Mike Norman
for many years, live and in the studio. Unfortunately, when Mike lost his battle
with Cancer, Chris lost a friend and many gigs. Bruce Morrison, a former Fin and
Chris played with Rick Tippe from 1994 through 2011. Chris collaborated with
Simon Jarrett in Rocket Science and worked with a wide range of musicians.
Talent without baggage; that was his way. Unfortunately, Chris fought Cancer for
many years and passed away in 2020. However, we always stayed in touch and
had a Fins reunion for two nights in 2017. His playing was sublime. The band
got together every year to play Monopoly and talk about old times. Chris was a
great player and fun to be around. More than anything, he was my friend.
Elio
Elio joined the Fins band at the same time as Chris. Elio played bass, and Chris was the drummer. Together they brought a lot of rock and roll energy and experience. Both had worked together in various bands, so we got a lot better instantly.
Elio was a great singer; he also had a ton of stage presence. We joked around with the crowd constantly. His repertoire was enormous; he would play and sing hundreds of rock classics; of course, he had trouble remembering lyrics like most great singers. Both of us fronted the band and fed off each other’s energy. The band became very popular; if we made a mistake, I stopped the song and made Elio do pushups: of course, I had to do them too. As a bandleader, I was responsible for any screw-ups on stage. Wresting was another thing we did; the crowd loved it.
I worked with Elio for seven or eight years, mostly six nights a week. He never took a night off. He always gave 100 percent on stage: that is what made the band infamous, and it formed the basis for our unique friendship. There is no equivalent to the fun and fellowship in any other occupation. Our lives were music, laughs, girls, drinking, drugs and travelling to new places every week.
Here are some Elio fun facts: He ….
• • • •
• •
• •
Needed three pillows (no one knows why)
Brought garlic to restaurants, especially Italian places
Has no middle name
He is a terrible speller (I took great pleasure correcting the lousy spelling on his set lists). Conversely, he had a great sense of pacing. He would arrange the songs in a specific order to maximize variety and build excitement. Once, at The Yale, an audience member came up and told us how good the pacing was. We had a good laugh.
He was a wide receiver on the SFU football team; he had a shot at playing professional football but was injured and turned to music for his livelihood, much to our benefit.
Elio’s dog was named Rocky, and he wrote a song called ‘Big Rocky
Boy’. Rocky was a big black dog ,he would come out and wag his tail while the band sang his theme song after a road trip.
He had an annoying habit of ordering a pancake late at night when we stopped for a meal on the road.
Would get in trouble for cooking in the hotel room on his hot plate: once in Nelson, he got caught cooking a steak with garlic. He said that he was making coffee.
He did a thing called “lobe” where he would slap Your shoulder and then grasp the earlobe between the index and second finger, simultaneously stimulating the earlobe with his thumb. It became our standard greeting, the band’s secret handshake. He would invariably say “Big fella, Big Shooter” as he “Lobed” people. It freaked some people out.
Elio loved to do physical comedy, like pretending to smash his face on a door, ending up on the floor. When the dice rolled off the table during a Monopoly game, we would bang on the table as he jerked his head back, grimacing in pain. We always sat next to each other during those games. I can still remember all the Super Bowls we watched on the road.
He was a great singer; Elvis, The Beatles, AC/DC and everything in between. He never missed a note, never lost his voice. Elio also had a fantastic falsetto and could sing super high notes or parts sung by women.
We liked to party and get high. One night in Golden, we took LSD before the last set. A couple of pretty waitresses at the club invited us to a big party, so we went. Logging is a major industry in that area of the province, and there are many sawmills as well. We noticed that many of the loggers had missing fingers, or had them partially cut off. Elio and I were way too stoned to look away. “What are You looking at?” said one of the locals angrily. He did not like having a couple of musicians staring at his deformed hands. Eventually, everyone appeared to be missing body parts ,even the women. Our drummer Chris dragged us out of there just in time. We went to a park and stared at the stars. The stars did not mind that we were staring , they had died thousands of years before. That was one of the hundreds of adventures we shared over the years.
After ‘The Fins’ we formed a band called ‘The Cheezogz”. We played at the Eldorado Hotel when a guy walked up to us. “This band is the same as ‘The Fins,'” He said, “same guys.” “Different guys,” we retorted. “Same songs,” he insisted. “New fresh and exciting songs” was our answer. “Same stupid jokes,” he insisted, “wrong again, all-new material,” was our reply. “You’re wearing the same shirts,” he said, referring to our colourful Hawaiian classics. “Busted,” was all we could say.
Elo went on to play in many other bands like Doug and the Slugs. He was and will always be a world-class entertainer.
I will always treasure the good times we had together.
Otis
Otis !
trips with him and sat in the front of his Cadillac. His girlfriend sat in the back.
Chariots
Chariots of the Gods
The year was 1975, and I was tripping around Mexico with a Texan named Gary Alonzo.
Gary and I shared an interest in Mayan history, so we decided to visit Palenque, a
renowned Mayan site. We’d seen the block-buster doc. ‘Chariots of the Gods,’ a film
based on Erich von Däniken’s book, where, he asserts, the Palenque
sarcophagus reveals an astronaut atop a spaceship. This, we had to see.
We hopped a southbound bus, reaching Palenque the following morning, where we
spent the day exploring the extensive ruins. Palenque was impressive, but—no surprise
—the outer space sarcophagus was anti-climactic as it resembled countless Mayan
carvings—sans astronaut! We called it a day and turned in early at a nearby hotel.
The next morning, a local told us of a nearby field of hallucinogenic mushrooms and
explained that there’d be loads of magic mushrooms as it had rained the night before.
Twenty minutes later, we reached a mushroom-laden field where three men were sitting,
gorging on their share. We asked, “What kind of mushrooms can we eat, and how
many?” They responded with “Purple” and “Eat as many as you want.”
So, we did.
Creating a path through the damp grass, we ate our way through the field. After a while,
I said to Gary,” We didn’t have breakfast, and I’m full. Don’t you think we’ve eaten
enough?” We glanced back at the guys who were now a few hundred yards away and
noticed only footprints on the path we’d forged. There were no mushrooms in sight; we
had eaten them all.
We barely made it back to where the three guys were sitting. One German, one
Spanish, and one Dutch; they’d all arrived separately that morning. Having already
eaten their share of mushrooms, they invited us to join them. We were all quiet at first. I
remember flying, high above looking down at the five of us. As the mushrooms took
effect, we laughed and laughed until our sides’ ached. Five guys, five countries, four
languages, and a motherlode of mushrooms made for tricky conversation, but the one
thing we agreed on, ‘Chariots of the Gods’ was a BUNCH OF CRAP, and Erich von
Däniken was WRONG!! Rolf, the German guy, said it best, “Von Däniken is voller
scheisse.” Every time we tried to mimic him, he corrected us in his crisp German
accent, making us howl with laughter.
Two days on, recovered from the mushrooms, we said farewell to our new friends and
resumed our travels. The Mexican mushroom escapade changed my life forever.
Years later, I learned that von Däniken had been entirely discredited by archaeologists.
It turns out the alleged astronaut was a traditionally dressed Mayan man, making
customary hand gestures; the rockets were serpents and the flames, serpents’ beards.
Von Däniken falsely states that the sarcophagus (sculpture) was from the Copán Ruins
in Honduras rather than Palenque.
Ultimately, five strangers tripping on Mexican magic mushrooms were right, and the guy
who wrote the best-selling book was voller scheisse.
CLINT
Years ago, my wife Donna, 11-year-old son Eddie, and I decided to catch the latest Star Wars movie. We drove downtown in the family car—a vintage 1965 Dodge Polara, bought our tickets, and joined the line.
‘The Bridges of Madison County’ with Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep was playing at the adjacent theatre. I’ve been a Clint Eastwood fan since age 12, and I know this much is true; Clint should never be in a ‘chick-flick.’
I glanced over at the guys in the ‘Bridges’ line and jokingly asked, “How can you possibly see this movie? Clint is our hero.” After all, there are two kinds of people in this world, those who go to chick movies and real men. I was only kidding, but the guys turned away while the women shot me dirty looks; Donna and Eddie pretended they didn’t know me.
Suddenly, a police car pulled up alongside us on the Granville Mall. The car screeched to a stop, the cops leaped out to chase some crooks, and in their haste, left the driver’s door open. A bus came speeding past, taking the door right off the police car! The crowd cheered while a young policeman shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands in defeat. The bad guys got away.
“This is a sign!” I called to the men in the other lineup. “You mustn’t see this movie,” then, quoting Clint, I said, “Go ahead, make my day.”
As we exchanged Star Wars highlights driving home, a woman babbling on her cell phone pulled up alongside us. She was annoying, so I mimicked her by pulling faces and talking loudly into an imaginary phone; Eddie followed my lead. She freaked out! So, Donna turned the corner, and we drove away. The woman caught up at the next stoplight and told us we were losers with our crappy old car and that we couldn’t even afford cell phones! The three of us laughed until we cried. What a day!

The Half Time Show!
The panel of idiots breaks down the game of football while cooking dinner.
Starring dave Chisholm, Mark Steffich and Dave Maye. Cecil English videographer, Tim Hearsey director.