Gord, you were a true good friend all those years ago and still are. When Irene and I first heard of and read the obituary the word curmudgeon came up we knew it was you. I would have called it false bluster because you never could pull off curmudgeon as you couldn’t mask the smile from your eyes. We could fill pages with all the good memories and would have preferred to do this with you rather than without you. So I’ll only touch on the highlights as I remember them. How did you get that magnificent roll-top desk (spotted and bought from a neighbor) home to the family garage? This was likely your start in “picking & collecting”. Responding to JC (Jim Chalmers) our choirmaster that there were “two versions" of the 3 letter word that refers to your back side - as he had just lost it and called you one. Becoming French translator in a dockside FLQ saturated Montreal Harvey’s at Expo 67. The staff was so impressed by your French they laughed, appreciated the attempt and asked us all what we’d like in English. Neither of us was too well grounded in Vancouver when we watched Neil Armstrong land on the moon. Was it the Yamaha or Motto Guzzi that we (you) took off on from Kingsway Cres at that blistering curve 100 yds from your house? Remember as we pushed it back to the road we could see the bike just missed by inches a fire hydrant on one side and a tree on the other. Summers on your bike either heading for Muskoka or making up time heading to the Agincourt Yard. Conversely, winter nights riding the Budd Car from Agincourt to North Toronto Station, climbing through the fence to make “last call” at The Ports of Call on Yonge St. You stood with me when I got married and Irene and I both loved you like the brother you became. We’d known each other a long time but, much too short in retrospect. Irene and I will both really miss you Gord. Thanks.