a good man and true

This is for Norman Johnston, Nola's dad, who died early Sunday morning. He was 89.

I can't write a proper obituary for Norm; I only knew him the last few years of his life, and he'd lived over half of it before I was born, in times and places that sound like story now, but were just how things were. I don't know the exact date he was born, but he was the first of thirteen children, and their family lived on a homestead in northern Alberta. I've seen pictures; it was kind of a small place, and looked as if the wind had gotten a bit familiar with it more than a few times.

Norm had to leave school at fourteen to go to work, like a lot of fellows from big families. He joined the army in time for the Dieppe invasion. His unit was captured early, and he spent the rest of the war in a POW camp. I've seen pictures from that as well – posed photos of all the men in uniform, in front of their barracks, and little notes on the back to say which one was Norm. He's said it was pretty boring being there, and most of them got sick toward the end, as he did himself, with TB.

He met his to-be wife Helen in the TB sanatorium he was sent to when the war ended. She was also a patient there, and they hit it off pretty quickly. They got married, and lived happily ever after.

That's really what it all comes down to, fifty years or so of happily ever after. For a little while Norm had a photography studio in a tiny northern Alberta town, but it wasn't a real good way to make a living for a family. So he worked as a mechanic here and there, and later, after a successful night school course in accounting, as a parts-man for a large heavy equipment shop, from which he retired in 1980. They had lots of friends, and Nola, and bird watching and square dancing and gardening and all the rest. Helen died in the summer of 2000, a tiny bright wren of a woman, we all missed her badly. And now Norm's gone, too. He was a really sweet man. Okay, he was also an ornery opinionated cuss, stubborn as a mule, but sweet. And he was always glad to see me, you know there aren't that many people I can say that about.

So. Norm, you made a right good job of it all, when all's said and done. Take care of yourself, okay? We miss you.