Garry Benson was a magnificent man. Of course, he had his faults and he’d made mistakes as have we all but in the great arc of his life he was a magnificent man. And he died very recently. I’m seventy-two years old so for the most part I am not caught unaware when an old friend dies but Garry’s death did catch me by surprise. I found out on Facebook and from the comments it appears most of his friends were also caught short. So I have been reflecting on my times with Garry, chewing on every last morsel from the heaping plate of special memories.

I knew he was sick. He had been fighting cancer for a long time something I found out in the most ‘Garry Benson’ way. He was disarmingly optimistic and enthusiastic about life and for me a great spirit with whom to spend time. Here was a man who had been knocked down several times but always found a way to get back up, dust himself off and move on, gaining strength from it all. He was an immensely successful man, the senior partner in Benson Law, a prestigious Kelowna law firm, and a man of significant influence and a man without airs. He had no pretense about him.

I remember a time when I was doing some work for hIm and had to get to get some instructions. So I texted Garry.

“Morning Garry. I know you’re busy but can you advise me when you would like to proceed?”

He replied within a couple of minutes.

“Hi Tony, hope you’re well. Say look this may have to wait a couple of weeks. I’m late for a thing at the hospital this morning. I’m having my lung out today.”

It turns out that everything had happened very quickly. Diagnosis to surgery with no time to think. Just do. It was a stunning text to receive on every level. It was glib and droll and it was funny, in that moment, and it was pure Garry. Take the hit, feel sorry for yourself for ‘two minutes’, square up, deal with it and move on. Some of us find courage in these moments, I don’t yet know if I will when my time comes but my friend Garry did. He was a brave man.

Garry was quick with a laugh, zestfully grabbing ahold of a funny story to share, his twinkling eyes announcing his laugh. As he used humour to lubricate shared conversations he also used humour to battle his battle. That’s what he was doing when he texted me back in that ‘oh I’m just off on an errand, be back to you soon’ way. He must have been scared but he wasn’t about to have me be scared with him. I love that story and I hate it; it was a lesson in how we can live and face our futures with strength and generosity, mindful of others as much as ourselves. I may not be able to measure up but I will aspire to his example.

And then there was ‘Garry’s Table’. In Kelowna there are two Cactus Clubs, a popular place for lunch or dinner and as well, Garry’s other office. He preferred the uptown Cactus Club. When you entered the restaurant and told the host that you were meeting ‘Mr. Benson’ you would be taken to ‘Garry’s Table‘, a six seat table by the rear entrance to the patio. It was always left reserved for Garry, used or unused which helps underscore just how much he was valued at the restaurant. For those of us who have broken bread with Garry at his table in the Cactus Club this will always remain a fond memory. This was his happy place, an extroverts Disney, with its endless parade of friends, acquaintances, business associates and clients. He played the room like a maestro, warmly greeting other customers, his quick smile delivering a silent greeting to a table across the room, his eyes always alert, always paying attention to the task at hand. As surely as Garry had an office at Benson Law, ‘Garry’s Table’ was his office as well. It was something to see and witness and through it all Garry was an engaging, stimulating, enthusiastic host, as interested in his guests stories as he was in reciting his own. I will miss my place at Garry’s Table.

In all my time with Garry only once did he even hint at troubles ahead and it was at the Cactus Club.

“You know what sucks about getting older?” he asked without betraying his hidden secret.

“Getting older sucks about getting older.” he laughed, not waiting for my response to wreck his punch line. As I think back I now know he was onto it, the dark path that lay ahead.

Garry was using humour to ‘spit at the Devil’, to steal himself for what was coming, to light the way. It’s what it is best used for. That and just feeling better, something to do with drawing vast amounts of oxygen into our brains in a short period of time results in either laughter or hyper ventilation. One good, one bad.

My last conversation with Garry was just a few days before he died. He gave no hint of just how sick he was. I could tell of course that he was labouring. He had one lung and had recently recovered from a long stay in ICU. He must have known he was in peril but he would not have me know. We spoke about his plans to go hunting in Northern Alberta this fall, in his new 32′ RV. When he learned my wife and I were going to Mexico this winter he invited us to come and stay in his place in Puerto Vallarta. He talked animatedly about visiting us next spring at our place in Deep Bay on Vancouver Island.

His story is remarkable beginning as it did in Northern Alberta, recalling as a child how the elders of the Beaver Lake Cree tribe took the children into a winter camp to escape the RCMP and Catholic priests coming to take them to residential school. He shared many, many other memories some thrilling, others disturbing but all part of a story that I recognized was an important one to tell. I had urged him to let me collaborate with him to write that story, the importance of it underscored by the most recent revelations about our treatment of First Nations. And finally on that last call with him he told me it was time and we set out a plan to move forward with that book. I know now it can never be written.

Garry survived all that but he would not have you see him as a survivor. Life had humbled him as it does all of us in due course but he was indomitable, unwilling or unable to cry ‘uncle’ where many of us would have done so. I came to understand that Garry had come into my life and changed me. He shone a light on the path ahead and I will always remember him as a brave, proud and magnificent man, a good man. I will miss him.

There will be a service for Garry and hundreds will attend to honour him, together bearing thousands of anecdotes and memories, a tribute to this rare man who had lived among us.

As for me, I’ll revisit Garry from time to time and for as long as my memory is up to the task each time I visit, he and I will be laughing and sharing stories and drinking some delicious wine.

We will be seated at ‘Garry’s Table’.