I hadn’t seen Clarence for several years, but I recognized his voice as soon as I stepped into the room.  I could tell from the cadence of his sonorous voice that Clarence was in full storytelling mode.  Clarence was a fixture at our family gatherings.  He was my Aunt Lottie’s son, thus my cousin, though he was 36 years my elder.

My father once told me that Uncle Maurice had introduced Clarence to the bottle when he was 17 and he had not experienced many sober days in the years that followed.  He never married, lived in a small house on his nephew’s yard and made a decent living off his farm despite his constant need of liquid refreshment.  He had lived in the Mossbank area all his life and could tell you just about everything that had ever happened around there.

After our family moved away, Clarence would make the two-hour trip to visit us once or twice a year.  It was usually after the beer parlour in Mossbank closed that he would feel this pressing urge to visit his Uncle Walter and he would arrive at our door about three o’clock in the morning.  My parents would invite him in and sit down in the living room to visit the night away.

On one of these occasions, Clarence carried a twelve-pack of beer in with him, set it down in front of the easy chair and opened a bottle.  When he got up to go to the bathroom, my father moved the box to the side of the chair where it was hidden from view by the padded arm rest.  When Clarence came back, he looked puzzled and remarked that he thought he had brought more beer.  Then he sat down, finished the bottle he had started and carried on visiting.  My parents shooed me back to bed about then and I never did find out what happened to that box of beer.

Another time, he told of how his nephew’s little children had come into his house one day while he was gone and started turning the dials on his gas kitchen stove, thinking it was a TV.  Disappointed at never getting a picture, they had given up and returned home.  Clarence returned home late and the first thing he did when he got in was light a cigarette.  The only reason he was still around to tell the story was that it was a hot summer day and he had left the windows open.  When he saw the dials on the stove, he realized how close he had been to becoming part of a giant fireball and told the story again and again.

Now in his late sixties he had quit drinking, but he was still happy to be with family and to have an audience for his stories.  The cause of his sudden sobriety was another story.  He had just moved into Mossbank and one cold winter night he left the beer parlour and couldn’t remember where he lived.  When he was found and taken to the hospital a couple of fingers were so badly frostbitten that they eventually had to be amputated.  He had no more longing for intoxicating beverages after that.

Clarence was a friendly, honest, caring man who did no harm to anyone but himself.  I don’t think he ever carried a grudge or had a problem with anger.  When he died, the Lutheran minister told us “all of Clarence’s problems are over, he is in heaven now.”  Did that minister know something the rest of us didn’t?  If so, I wish he had shared it with us.  I never knew Clarence to show any interest in religion.  Maybe he did meet the Lord in some quiet time alone, but if so, I don’t think he told anyone about it.

What can one say about Clarence and the life he lived?  It seems that he could have made so much better use of the admirable qualities that he possessed.  His family and friends truly mourned his passing, a unique part of our lives was gone.  I think the greatest impact on my life has been the realization that people like Clarence do not start with any evil intention.  They are simply well meaning people who have allowed themselves to become ensnared in an addiction.  The need to feed that addiction has prevented them from being the person they could have, and should have, been.