A Gold Bug

I was standing in the buffet line-up when the elderly gentleman in front of me shouted at me. His voice boomed so loud, that at first I thought I was hearing a bass opera aria in the neighboring hall where the Toronto Opera Company was having their own meeting. Then he pointed to my plate and repeated: “Fill it up with shrimp, it goes fast.” I did. After piling my plate high, vigilantly balancing my overloaded tray and looking for an empty seat, I noticed him again. Out of courtesy for his age, or perhaps for his bass voice, I approached his table and asked permission to sit. His mouth was already full; he motioned me to sit down. That is how I met Bill Beatty.

He asked, and I summarized my life story. He kept asking one question after another. I told him in detail how I came to Canada, how I became a mechanical engineer, and more. I was amazed by his vast knowledge. He reminded me of my dad whose broad knowledge the Google search engine is still trying to emulate. This was the first time I heard the term “chief beggar” when we were talking about a mutual friend of ours, a fundraiser for Victoria College at the University of Toronto. Later, we both grabbed clean sets of extra-large dinner plates before racing to the sweet table, as we both preferred dinner plates over the small dessert plates that they had there.

He worked for the CBC radio for most of his life. With that voice, he could have been the best opera singer in the world. Combine this with his bottomless inquisitiveness and he must have been a great radio personality. When the topic of the AVRO Arrow came up, I told him how my thermodynamics professor, Dr. Hooper, was in tears when he told us his story of the Arrow in the classroom. Bill somberly said he had covered this on the CBC radio in great detail on February 20^th, 1959. Apparently, the AVRO Arrow was years ahead of its competition. What a sad story it was. We talked about music; he told me he covered the Elvis-the-Pelvis tour to Toronto on April 2nd, 1957. Now I was able to pinpoint his age a little better.

There was no way out of it. I had to invite him for dinner. Our home with a large swimming pool in the backyard, was always open for our friends. Bill and his lovely wife Shirley visited us a few times until his health no longer allowed him to travel. He had a funny way of dealing with his health issues. He blamed doctors, nurses, hospitals, cab drivers, and the weather, ceaselessly. When he ranted about his health, I had no clue what he was talking about: Is this word he is using a curse meant for doctors and nurses, or is he telling us his diagnosis in Latin, or was this some kind of sexual innuendo? Even my wife, a pharmacist, could not figure it out. Yet, he demanded and received our full attention, and we respected him a lot. For some reason, in spite of all his complaints about everything, and in spite of his choice words for his nephew in the federal cabinet at that time, he had a special way of making me feel like a prouder Canadian. He was the Canada in Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.

He used his words like an expert Swiss-watchmaker, except when he was talking about his health. I loved it. As a result of meeting him, I started liking the English language a lot more. It hit me that the love of language is a prerequisite for any creativity. It was only after that that I was able to write my first book and dozens of articles related to retirement planning.

I am fortunate that my path crossed Bill’s in the most serendipitous way. If he could read this story now, he’d say with his booming voice, “Droppings from a Trojan horse. Nothing more!”

I am crossing Bill’s name off my contact list with utmost respect. If I could bribe St. Peter and other border guards of heaven with a pocket full of gold coins just to have another lively discussion with him, I would. Meanwhile, I hope there is plenty of gold to keep him happy there.

Holding the 400-oz gold bar at the Goldcorp annual meeting, feeling like Mr. Goldfinger 
(worth currently about $750,000, give or take)