Being an Air Force Brat, following my father around to his various postings, which were never under his control, I missed getting to know a majority of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.  I really never got to know my Uncle Lorne until we repatriated back to Canada from Germany and Dad got his last stationing at CFB Downsview in Toronto.  Our family lived in Fergus and dad commuted to and from the base.  Up to then, I hate to say, if I'd passed him on the street I would not have know who he was!

I had an interest in broadcasting and spent some time at the local cable station, where one day this tall, lanky fellow showed up and started talking to me.  I had no clue who this gentleman and after some time chatting, he said to me, "you've no damned idea who I am, do you Joe?"  I had to confess that I did not, so he introduced himself, and we got into a long chat about family, life and broadcasting.  Lorne has spent his early adult years setting up transmitters and cable antennae which took him all over North America. 

I survived my Grade 13 year in Fergus, in large part with Uncle Lorne's help.  I was, very literally, the proverbial duck out of water in small town Ontario.  I'd lived at various locations throughout eastern Canada, and Europe, while almost all of my classmates considered travelling to Toronto as a long journey, and Montreal was like going to the ends of the world!  Lorne had traveled extensively throughout Canada and the US and was an understanding ear.  Whenever my dad and I would come to loggerheads, Lorne would give me some manly advice.  

After finishing high school, I was off to Toronto studing at Ryerson for 3 years.  I didn't see Uncle Lorne much, but whenever I was in Fergus, we'd usually run across each other and have a coffee and a chat.  Lorne was a great listener, and a fine storyteller in his own right.  He also had a wicked sense of humour, as well as a penchant for bursting the baloons of those with over-inflated egos. 

When I finished my studies at Ryerson, I moved west: first to Winnipeg, then finally to Vancouver.  For more than 2 decades it was always a serious investment to fly to and from Toronto, and so I made a habit of flying back to join the family at Christmas every three years, which was about all I could afford to do.  Each time Uncle Lorne and I would hook up, have coffee or, perhaps, something of a more adult nature, long chats ranging wide over various topics from politics, to religion, to family, and work.  I was always impressed with his range of knowledge on various topics: Lorne was a very well informed man.  He and I also shared a detestation for bad managers, and used to get a chuckle telling each other about the various ways we would go about getting around the rules to get the job done.  He was also very much a family man, and I don't think he ever lost his concern for his children, or his step-children.

As time passed, I came to know what a fine craftsman Lorne was in woodworking.  It was always a joy to spend a most agreeable afternoon with the man in his basement workshop located under a pub on St. Andrews Street.  The stories flowed, as did the usige beatha (auld Scots for the water of life), and before either of us knew it the day had passed, and very agreeably at that!  Lorne would show me his various projects, and regale me with how he got them done.  He was a master scrounger when it came to finding quality lumber that was fated to go to the garbage-dump, and carefully taking these treasures and turning them into very beautiful, useful objects.  I have a set of salad bowls that he made and they are part of my special treasures that only come out on high days and holidays! 

The last time I saw my Uncle Lorne, my brother Stew and I had the thrill of having a 'boys day out' with the man.  We all headed down to St Catherine's to join our Aunt Muriel (Lorne's sister) and her family at her home.  The weather that day was letter perfect: warm, sunny, flowers in the garden were in full bloom, the trees provided welcome shade, and the quality of the company was absolutely perfect.  Stories of the Holman family flowed like sweet water, and Uncle Lorne and Aunt Muriel both had twinkles in their eyes.  That was a great day, and I hope that it gave my uncle a wonderful memory.

And so, in closing, I hope that Lorne finds good friends and family in the afterlife, with lots of good food, drink, and laughter.  I also hope he can turn his had at making harps, because I don't think he was much of a player.  When I think of the man, I'm reminded of the late Chief Dan George's line from the movie Little Big Man, "My heart soars like a hawk!"