Simon Lono - husband, father, grandfather, advocate, orator, writer, mentor, friend - died Friday, May 24, 2019.
He was 56.When our friends are alive, we do not spend time thinking about the past. We do not think about how we met them, about all the things we did with them, or why it is that we like them.
When they are alive, we do not need to remember
because they are there, every day.
We only feel a need to remember, once they are not
there any more.
Simon Lono’s family and friends spent Saturday as they
are likely to spend a lot of days from now on.
They thought about him, remembered when they first met him, all the
things they had done together, why they loved him.
Simon is dead.
And so, we remember.
We recall.
Frantically.
As if the memories will make the hard truth go away.
As if the memories will replace all of the things that
could have been or would have been.
But that will never be.
Because there is a hard truth.
Simon is dead.
Killed by a rare disease.
In itself, entirely fitting.
He did not go easily.
He did not go quietly. He did not go without being Simon.
The last time I saw Simon he had just finished
negotiating with one of the doctors who gave him their very best care. He was negotiating for soup. The medication he was taking made it almost
impossible for him to eat. The doctors
were feeding him another way, but he wanted something on his tongue so that he
could taste it, savour it, even if it was something from the hospital kitchen.
I do not know for sure, but I suspect Simon persuaded
her. He got a bit of soup even though he
knew from bitter experience what the physical price would be for the moment of
pleasure.
He was good at that: persuasion.
Simon knew how to talk to people in a way they would
understand so that they would eventually come to see his point of view.
It was not a learned skilled, although he studied it
and honed it. It was not something that
came out of books.
He was born with it.
Simon came by his skills the way we all become who we
are. He got them from his parents. Simon pere was the son of Italian immigrants.
He fought for Canada in the Second World War.
He married Yolande, the daughter of a Quebecois family so old, so long
on the land, there were trees and rocks and soil in the family tree if you went
back far enough.
They moved to Newfoundland, where Simon Lono set up a
roofing business and made a good living putting the roof on all sorts of
buildings. Lono’s put the copper roof on
the Confederation Building. Simon fils used to tell the story of going by the
shop on the road to the airport – apartments are there now – where the
craftsmen would be cutting and forming the metal on the huge floor of the
workshop. He was fascinated by the work
and the people doing the work and wanted to learn about it.
Simon the son was like Simon the father. Gregarious, full of life, and humour. Happiest
with people around him. Passionate in
everything and about everything. From his mother, Simon the son got another way
of dealing with people, with charm and grace, and from both he got a love of
food and cooking. From them both he got the importance of family, good
or bad, good times or bad times. He got from them his openness, his sincerity, and his laughter.
Keeping up on political events locally and around the world.
Technology. Simon bought a 3D printer just before he went to Nova Scotia for the transplant and after he came home, Simon had a software package and all the materials to start making things. He was ready make something. Anything.
Space flight. Simon was looking forward to the 50th anniversary of the first moon landing so intently there was no way he had not seen anything about it online.
And collecting recipes for when he got out. Simon even had plans for a line of barbecue
sauces that he had already named Mama Lono’s.
Simon taught himself to barbecue the way barbecue is
done properly, in the southern states.
Talk to him during the summer and you would get the description of the
latest venture in the newly acquired, high-end barbecue. Of the roast on the lower level with a
brisket above to drip juices down onto the roast for extra flavour. He was almost giddy when he got a rack to fit
the barbecue that allowed him to mass produce chicken wings and legs.
He made food to eat but most of all, Simon made food
to share. He was not concerned for all the health warnings about red meat and
fats. He believed firmly that life was
for living, fully, richly, and enthusiastically. So he did.
I do not remember when I first met Simon Lono. It was so long ago that the memory does not
come no matter how hard I have tried. He
has always been there. Others have an
easier time.
Decent, honest, and principled, said the buddy in his
story.
Those three words turned up a lot on Saturday in the
flurry of private messages about Simon. They are words Simon would never use to
describe himself because there was not a bone in Simon’s body that would allow
him such an egotistical moment. But they
are words that the rest of us know made up Simon’s bones and sinews and soul.
They are why Simon was proud of the time he spent
working for a decent, honest, principled politician. He said so often, usually
privately, especially when one politician or another in the province proved
themselves to be the opposite.
But he did not say that as often as you might
think. Simon loved politics because it
was about people. He understood that
people come in all sorts and, while they sometimes faltered, they did their
best and for good reasons. Simon was a proud supporter of the Liberal Party,
but he recognized that decency, honesty, and principle were not only for him
and his Liberals.
His own words say it
best:
“Sorry but when
people believe that their political party is the only one which contains
politicians with integrity, credibility and substance, they are simply wrong. I
understand the frustration (I've been there) but it's simply not true.
“I've known
too many people in too many parties over too many years to simplistically
categorize political people into good or bad, worthy or unworthy, based on
their party affiliation.
“No party
has a monopoly on integrity, credibility and substance or, on the other hand,
foolishness, craven idiocy or grasping self-service. All parties contain people
that have more than a little of all those things, just like any other human
institution.”
Simon did not just work behind the scenes in politics. He ran as a candidate provincially and municipally. Others won. But what we should remember about
those failed attempts is what Simon stood for when he out his name on the
ballot and asked for support.
As a municipal candidate, Simon championed a code of conduct
for councilors. Act in the public
interest. Behave in an ethical, open, and transparent manner. Conduct public
business in a civil and respectful manner. Maintain open communications with
citizens of St. John's and staff of the City.
That was what Simon had seen growing up, it was what he believed and it
was how Simon behaved.
He also wanted the city to have an auditor general that would
help councillors behave according to those principles. He was proud to serve on the committee that
examined how to put such an officer in place.
Simon could
put his principles to practice. He was a
master of persuasive arts. He completed an undergraduate degree in
communications in Rhode Island. He
taught public speaking, coached both novice and experienced debaters alike,
inside politics and out.
In the 2005
municipal campaign, Simon also taught old politicians a thing or two. In a campaign that centred on crumbing
municipal infrastructure, a water main break in the East End offered an
opportunity. Simon seized it.
Simon called
local media and did an interview with Mike Connor’s from NTV on the spot. I went along as much for moral support as
anything else. What I got was a lesson.
The night Simon’s
media coverage of the 15-foot-high waterspout appeared, city council was in
heavy damage control mode. Council crews scrambled from sight when the cameras
arrived and - surprise, surprise - a geyser that was apparently unfixable until
a new part arrived and couldn't be tampered with for fear of cutting off water
to businesses and residents suddenly vanished. The thing was gone the next day
and fixed within two.
Mayor Andy Wells called him a nitwit.
And at that
moment, Simon knew he’d won the battle even if he lost the campaign.
Simon the
candidate was just another version of Simon the man. And Simon as a politician would have been the
same as Simon the citizen. He worked with his neighbourhood association. He helped to build the Lantern Festival. When he found out that he had a rare disease,
Simon became an advocate for the cause.
He worked nationally on behalf of people who were too few to make a loud
enough noise. He made speeches, talked
on open line shows, met quietly with
politicians to make the case for funds.
Simon was no
saint. He had an impish side. One of his
favourite bits of impishness was a banner he put up at the Health Sciences
Complex. It is still there on the yellow
brick road raising awareness of a rare disease.
Fed up with pointless bureaucracy, Simon went in one day and put up the
banner, without permission. Simon used to check on it when he had an
appointment and proudly announced that it had lasted. It is still there.
Decent,
honest, thoughtful, gregarious, humorous, kind, talented, passionate. These words describe Simon and he brought
them all to everything.
Of all his
passions, family was Simon’s greatest. You could tell by the way he spoke of them
all. Like his mother and father. The way Simon dealt with his mother was
especially memorable. He would speak to
her in English. She would reply in
French and they would go back and forth like that, each understanding the other
perfectly. Simon was fiercely proud and
supportive of his brothers and talked proudly of them and their families.
Simon had
two children - Simon and Diana - both of whom he adored. You could never speak to Simon without
hearing about them. He gained a second family through Deirdre, who became the
centre of his life, and their triumphs too became something he would joyously tell
you about.
Simon and
Dei met in one of those delightful, romantic accidents that do happen. Both
single after failed partnerships, their sons - Simon and Deirdre’s Sam - became
friends in school. Simon junior was
going on about his friend one day and after a few questions, Simon senior
realised that he knew Sam’s mother from years ago.
The two met,
went out, and fell madly in love. Simon had never been happier. Simon moved
into Dei’s house on Barnes Road where they navigated the sometimes tricky
waters of blended families. He grumbled through repairs to the house, using the
skills of managing tradesmen he had learned from his father. City Hall bureaucracy was not so easy to
master but things worked out.
Together,
Simon and Dei made a home and a family very much larger than they started
with. It was a family some of whom were
joined by blood, others by marriage, all within an enormous and expanding
circle of friends who were basically treated like family too. Simon loved
Deirdre’s Sarah and Sam and now their partners as much as he did Simon and
Diana. He was a proud grandfather.
The cats on
the other hand were not so fortunate.
Many were the phone calls interrupted by cursing and swearing as one cat
or another whined to be let out, whined to be let back in or attacked Simon’s
bare feet as he padded around the house in his robe, the cordless phone shoved up to his ear.
Simon and
Dei lived together for a long time after Simon first moved in. They were happy and they were content. That’s why it was a surprise one day to get a
phone call from Simon. He was not his
usual self. I suspected something was
wrong.
It was.
He wanted to
get married.
He’d never
done it before and so he was nervous. He wanted to get a ring and needed
advice.
Simon wanted
it to be perfect.
If I did not
know how much Simon loved Deirdre until that point, I knew it then.
Of course, there
was no doubt about how much the two loved each other. To old married couples,
they were sickening. They kissed. They hugged.
They held hands. There were
gentle touches to a shoulder or face.
And there
was the way they talked.
Not just to
one another but the conversation itself.
They fit together perfectly, even in politics, although she came from a
staunchly Tory background, and Simon a Liberal one of course.
And so, we
talked about them getting married. I
gave him some ideas. I think I told him
it wasn’t necessary because I could not think of two people already so
completely married to one another already.
That did not
matter. They got married the way two
people so well suited to one another and so much in love ought to get married: surrounded by the family they had created.
Now that
family, far wider than he likely ever knew, is remembering how they came to be
a family.
We do not need to be frantic about it. There is no danger we
will forget him.
Each of us
has a different story of Simon but it is really the same story.
The hard
truth, you see, is that while he is dead, Simon will never leave any of us.
-srbp-