March 6, 1951 – January 4, 2024
Delivered at Larry Ruck’s Celebration of Life on March 15, 2024
Lawrence Ruck is one of my classmates that I have known the longest. We were in elementary and high school together, often in the same classes. I’m unsure what originally brought us together but I think you’ll see it was probably humour. God knew I needed to laugh growing up in a strict Mennonite home!
Today I want to share a few stories, most of them humorous, from elementary school, high school, post high school and that wonderful time called Retirement. I wrote a book called I Was A Teenage Mennonite: And Other Stories My Father Doesn’t Want Me to Tell and it’s from this book that I’ll share some stories about Larry and me.
Sir Alexander Mackenzie Elementary School Years
I remember one night in 1962, when I was 10 and Larry was 11, we attended a Leighton Ford meeting held in Vancouver. Mr. Ford was part of the Billy Graham Crusades. When the altar call came, Larry wanted to go down but he wanted me to come with him. Even though I had made that decision a number of years earlier, I think this bonded us together. We were now brothers. Brothers in faith. Brothers in Christ. And this is why I know, for certain, we’ll get a chance someday in heaven to relive some of these other moments I’m going to share.
I considered Larry a leader at elementary school. I didn’t know he was a year older than most of us in our class. I only found this out years later but I think it was a back/spine issue that made him miss Grade 1. Instead, he had to be in a body cast for part of the year, miss his first year of school, and go to Seattle for special treatments. Nevertheless, here is an example of Larry not letting the past stop him and rising to the top of the class in a volunteer capacity:
Mackenzie Elementary had a safety patrol that operated at the crosswalk of 41st and Windsor in South Van. Two patrol boys were stationed at each side of the crosswalk with a STOP sign and a third boy was the Captain that called out the signals to leave the curb and walk out with your sign to halt traffic as kids crossed to school in the morning and when they returned home after school. Boys were allowed to do this job in Grade 6 and 7. There were four teams that rotated through the schedule. After a year of doing the job, our Vice Principal Mr. Orness, called all the boys together and said, ‘Who wants to be a Captain next year?” Five of us—including Larry and I—put up our hands. There were only four Captain positions available so he had to make a choice. He pointed at me and three others and said, “You are our four Captains this year. And Lawrence, you’ll be the Captain of the Captains.” And that’s how Larry rose to the top. But the funniest line I heard was when Gary Smith blurted out after the fact, “You mean the only criteria to being a Captain was to put up your hand!?”
The Cane
Our friends are often the ones who get us into the most trouble, at least that’s what I discovered in grade seven. I was rarely away in elementary school but one day when I wasn’t in class, our Guidance teacher got sidetracked from his lesson plan–purposefully assisted by the requests of this class of grade seven boys–and spent the entire class talking about what it was like for him as a boy growing up in England, going to British schools and “getting the cane!”
Frustrated that he lost his lesson by being manipulated by this group of Lost Boys, he told the class, “That’s the last time I’m going to talk about the cane! The next time anyone asks me about it, they’ll get the cane!”
OK. Everyone knew what he meant, except me, because I wasn’t there. When our next Guidance block occurred, my friend Lawrence Ruck, kept whispering to me under his breath.
“Ask him about the cane?” he said.
“No, I’m not asking him about the cane,” I replied. This went back and forth until the setup took its natural course. I couldn’t stand it anymore and put up my hand.
“Yes. Can I help you?” said the voice at the front of the room.
“Excuse me, Sir. I was just wondering about the cane?” All heads swung around to look at me.
“What!? Get up here young man. I’ll show you the cane!” And as I took my place up front, he grabbed the blackboard pointer from the chalk rail and swatted me on my behind!
You’d think Lawrence had just won a Nobel Prize. He was smiling that satisfied smile of someone sitting in the catbird seat!
Friends! You can’t live with them . . . and you can’t live without them.
The Grade 7 Farewell Play
In my final few months of elementary school, our teacher, Mr. Alexander, decided that he would write a play for the boys to perform for the girls at our Grade Seven Farewell and Graduation night. Lawrence Ruck and I got the lead roles. The play was about some secret potion the two of us concocted and when we and our friends drank it, we would suddenly grow beards. This was all done through “George Lucas” like special effects: lights off, pull fake white beards out of our shirts, place under noses with elastic around our ears and presto, when the lights came on, we looked like a bunch of old hermits. That’s all the plot I remember.
Did we impress the girls? I have no idea. But they did impress us. In June 1965, some of the Grade 7 girls actually wore nylons that night and some wore a touch (too much) of their mom’s make-up. I think you can see that high school was, indeed, just around the corner.
The girls, and the guys, couldn’t wait to start all over at Jayo at the bottom rung of a new ladder.
John Oliver High School Years
And that story graduates us into high school at Jayo. In Grade 8, Larry and I were in Division 55, Mr. Pajala’s homeroom. He was the band teacher and we were both in the band. Larry played trumpet and I played, initially, a cornet so we sat quite close together in band class. Our second year in the band, Larry was still a trumpet player, but I was now on the baritone, sitting a riser above him, but at least two or three levels below him in musicality. One year after that I was on to the choral room—I had a girlfriend in the choir—but Larry continued with the band. He liked music: both playing it and listening to it. In fact I recall with incredible clarity in 1969, Larry walking quickly towards me in the first floor school hallway saying, “Have you heard it? Have you heard it?” “Heard, what,” I said. “The Beatles’ Hey Jude.” I said, “No!” “It’s going to be a classic, a classic!” he said. And indeed it was!
Larry liked making up names and sayings: four that involved me countless times are “Jeem,” “The Tank,” “Dat’s Right, Yonny,” and “You Mean…Yup!” #1 – Jeem was his name for me. Instead of Jim it was Jeem. I think it’s how his mom pronounced it and it stuck. The next three sayings I’ll read from excerpts from my book:
2 – Dat’s right, Yonny
“Dat’s right, Yonny!”
That refrain was heard over and over again whenever my brother, John, would ask my friend Lawrence (Larry) Ruck and I a question. Well, actually he didn’t ask us questions as much as he would make statements and then ask, “Right?”
And Larry would answer, “Dat’s right, Yonny!” Yonny was Larry’s stylized version of Johnny.
We think we may have been his inspiration to pursue the life of a scholar. And we know we’re the reason he’s Dr. Martens now.
3 – The Tank
“Dat’s right, Yonny!” was just one of many sayings that we would coin in our small circle of friends. We had a term for everything we felt was named improperly. For example, Larry even named cars. He named my ‘56 Chevy, The Tank. I even had script letters cut out of Mactac to place on the front dash to let everyone know its name; the name Larry had given my car. So let’s meet this Larry.
Besides individual church activities, we shared many crazy adventures at his house or mine throughout our school days. From working all through the night to complete our entire Physics 12 lab reports in one sitting, to all day Rook championships, we perfected the Whatya want to do now? question into actively seeking a new way to pass the day or night. Eventually, Larry was in our wedding party as one of my groomsmen. But long before our wedding we would spend many a foolhardy day playing cards, swimming, cruising in my ’56 or his ’58 Chevy, going fishing with Sig Thoss to Weaver Lake, or just eating and hanging out. And it all started at Sir Alexander Mackenzie Elementary School.
Larry was the Captain of the Captains, the star of the Grade 7 Farewell play, the Grade 8 rep on Student Council our first year at Jayo, and Larry and our mutual friend, Gary Smith, also became key musicians in the Senior Concert Band and the leadership of the Band’s executive.
4 – You Mean…Yup!
One of mine and Larry’s favorite expressions in those days was, “You mean…,” (pause, look at each other, raise your eyebrows, nod head and say) “Yup!” It meant nothing really, but it was our bizarre way of enjoying the mundane with a little something to throw people off. Even Mennonites have their quirky idiosyncrasies.
Incidentally, my Uncle Bill gave me The Tank after I had an accident in my Dad’s ’61 Chevy on a snowy Hope/Princeton Highway in Grade 12. Larry was one of the first people to ride in my new wheels. I had to drive The Tank up to retrieve my stuff from the car I wrecked a few days earlier and Larry came with me. When we hit another snow storm just after Hope he crawled into the back seat and hid his eyes! I think he was scared, but at the time I tried to believe he was on his knees praying for a safe arrival!
Post-Secondary Years
Helen’s Grill
Larry was the master of the one-liner. Evidence of this skill is clearly illustrated at one of our frequent stops at another greasy spoon cafe. I take you now to Helen’s Grill on the corner of 25th and Main in Vancouver.
The day Larry and I took our places at one of Helen’s tables, we expected we’d be in and out within a half hour. For some reason, the waitress just didn’t acknowledge us for about twenty minutes. And it wasn’t that busy. When she finally arrived, Larry said, “What!? Same day service?!
She was not impressed, but I was. A great line, well delivered, is a gem that sparkles long after the moment is gone. Right?
“Dat’s right, Yonny!”
Incidently, Larry, Cathy, Nena and I visited Helen’s Grill about nine or ten years ago for the first time since that What? Same Day Service story to check out what we remembered. And it’s still there at Main and 25th. This time we got good service, the coffee was fine, and we all enjoyed our sandwiches! But we’ll never forget Larry’s line that my Dad thought was one of the funniest he ever heard.
After getting married and having kids—both of us—it was harder to see each other on a regular basis. But one way we stayed in touch was through our high school reunions, and in the early years (the 10th in 1980, the 20th in 1990) Larry served on our reunion committee helping to find grads. He may have missed one (Our 30th in 2000?) but I have pictures of him in 2010 (40th), 2015 (45th—a one day cruise from Seattle to Vancouver), and the most recent one in 2022 at River Rock Casino (we had to wait two years because of Covid to celebrate our 50th grad reunion).
I also remember other surprise reunions that he attended like our 25th wedding anniversary party in 1998 and our 50th wedding last year in 2023 . But one reunion that we met up at in 2006 was the 75th anniversary of Sir Alexander Mackenzie Elementary and Larry had an incredible surprise for me. He had his original copy of our Grade 7 Farewell play we performed in June of 1965. He had kept it for over forty years! It was called The Orange Drink. Unlike the description I read earlier, I now knew the title and could read the full play. I realized there was also a dog involved in the story. And, although most of the boys looked like old hermits with their white beards, I had forgotten they were also frozen on stage in their desks until the mysterious orange drink wore off. Larry gave me his copy as a gift. He also stated at our 50th Wedding Celebration that while I could now consider myself an actor on TV and in movies, he was once the star of the play and I was just his supporting sidekick!
Retirement Years
Cathy and Larry – In 2013—for our 40th wedding anniversary—we connected with Larry and Cathy Meir when we found out she was a travel agent and she arranged for Nena and I and Wayne and Lia Craven to cruise the Mediterranean. It’s still our favourite cruise of all time and it was the least expensive one as well. Cathy found all sorts of perks like that for us and we’re indebted to her for taking care of our travel needs.
Golfing – Larry loved to golf and I have no golfing stories because I don’t, but I’m sure we’ll hear some from his golfing buddies.
Santa – You may not know that I play a lot of Santa roles in Hallmark movies and for the past seven years I’ve also worked at Grouse Mountain or Guildford Town Centre in November and December. Larry loved the Santa role, too! He would often grow a beard in the fall and wear a Santa hat during the Christmas season. If kids asked him—“Are you, Santa?”—he would tell them he wasn’t Santa but “Fanta” – Santa’s other brother!
When Larry lived with Nena and I for a few years, and we both had Santa beards, I’m sure the kids in the neighbourhood didn’t know who was who!
Speaking of our house and Larry’s time with us—I think he loved living there for a few years. It was supposed to be just a short time but Covid ruined all our plans. What did he like best?—Nena’s cooking! The two of them would plan meals and Nena would bring her creative touch to it all. They both also loved ordering Thai or Chinese food if the cooking bug didn’t inspire them! Two special meals, though, stand out for me:
First, was Nena making Paella for the first time and not being able to find fresh calamari. Larry took it upon himself to search grocery stores but only found fresh calamari at Illuminati, a Tsawwassen restaurant. Larry explained Nena’s dilemma and they gave him the calamari for free!
Second, Larry loved celebrating Robbie Burns Dinner in January. He would wear a Scottish Tam hat with fake red hair sticking out the back. And the first time he joined us for our dinner he said he’d bring the secret sauce. We didn’t know what that was. It turned out that it was Scotch which he would pour over his haggis!!
And I’d like to end with this final anecdote:
While at our house, Larry would watch a streaming Sunday morning church service from Eastside Church in Anaheim where my daughter, Tracy, and her family attend. Larry loved listening to the preachers, especially Gene Appel, the senior pastor. When he moved to the high rise in New Westminster where his sister Alice lived, he still watched the early service every Sunday morning. Then he would text Nena—she gets up early, too—and tell her what he thought. Here are his last three messages to her –
“Awesome powerful message today,”
“Wow, What an awesome message today,”
and the final one on December 31st when Nena sent him the text “Great message,” he responded with, “Yes, I am thinking about it.”
Four days later he passed away.
And if Larry was here today, I think he might tell us to give faith a chance. I really don’t know what he would say to us personally, but he used to tell me he always liked visiting my dad in Abbotsford—sometimes going by himself—and my dad’s recommendation to him was, “Look up, Larry, always look up.” Maybe that’s what he wants to tell us as well.
My dad passed away just seven months before Larry. Larry was affected by my Dad’s passing and he was quietly grieving at the graveside and funeral service on what would have been my Dad’s 93rd birthday. I like to think today those two are enjoying each other’s company as well as all the other saints and relatives that preceded them. I’m looking forward to joining them someday—but maybe not today!
You mean . . .Yup!
Rest in Peace, Brother Larry. You will be missed.
