I remember one day her calling me up (rotary phone) and she could hardly contain herself, she was so excited. She'd been on a shopping trip in downtown London and was passing through the menswear department at Simpson's when she spotted a clerk working there who she thought could have been Art Garfunkel's double. She was so adamant that this young man could pass for Garfunkel that she begged me to go downtown and take a look for myself.
We went there together the next day and loitered around menswear till we spotted him. Amazingly, she was right---the lad looked just like a young Art Garfunkel, the version with the non-receding hairline. I think I might have seen him a time or two after this, on my own shopping trips, but soon my trips downtown became more and more sporadic. Not only that, but Simpson's was bought out by the Bay and ceased to exist at that same location. For the longest time, I never even thought about the young Garfunkel lookalike.
Many years later, possibly more than thirty, I happened to be in the menswear department at the Bay in White Oaks Mall, looking for a pair of pants. Who appears to serve me but the same young sales clerk! Except that he is now a grown man, of course.
I want to tell him the Garfunkel story, of course, but I am not at that period in my life when I tell complete strangers intimate stories from my past, so I keep my silence. He is quite amicable and helpful with my pants purchase and we go our separate ways. In the intervening years, I see him from a distance a handful of times but that is that.
Then, just this past year, I am in the Bay and I run into him again. My only amazement with this is that I've done the math, figured he was a few years older than myself and should have quite rightly retired by now. I am now even more strongly wanting to tell him the Garfunkel story but I'm working and can't really take the time. I've also noted that his name is Ken, from the employee tag he wore. My father's name was Ken, and this struck a bit of a sympathetic chord with me, as well.
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| Kenneth Gordon Gregory 1945-2015 |
I was, however, at an age when I am more than happy to talk to strangers about stuff I never would have talked to them about as a young person. I also write a blog about pretty random things and it occurs to me that this story about Ken would be an interesting one to do.
In my head, my plan would be to go to the Bay some day when I had the time, find Ken, ascertain that he is the same guy from 1971, and tell him the whole Garfunkel story. If, at this point, he hasn't called security, I then plan on asking him if I can buy him a coffee or something on his break and do a little interview for my blog. Even take a pic.
This plan had been rattling around in my head for a few months when the unthinkable happened.
I was on Facebook the other day and someone had posted Ken's obituary, along with a picture of him.
The obit talked about his long career at Simpson's and the Bay so I knew it was the same man.
This saddened me, more than it otherwise might have, given the non-relationship we had. His obit was self-written and obviously he was aware that his days were short as he was writing. It was also one of the more beautiful pieces of writing you'd want to come across---full of family love, advice on not taking things for granted and suggestions for enjoying the simple things in life. Ken was obviously an insightful man and many nice things were said about him through online condolences.
Part of my sadness was the missed opportunity. There was something about Ken which made me want to sit down with him and just have a chat. I wanted to talk to him about the years on the job---I understand he held the same job for over fifty years, a remarkable achievement. Along with longevity like that comes a comforting sense of constancy---the few times I saw or ran into Ken always provided me with an instant link to my past. When I saw him the first time as that young man, working in the menswear department at Simpson's, I assumed that it was likely a temporary kind of job. That he then held that job and both enjoyed it and did well at it for all those years speaks volumes.
Ken was a dapper man who, as he aged, morphed from the Art Garfunkel appearance into someone closer akin to Tom Hanks, at least to my eye. I managed to find a couple of Facebook pics of him at a Simpson's reunion a couple of years ago and, amidst a group of casual, leather- and windbreaker-clad gents he stood out as...well...nattily-attired, I guess. I suppose this is another topic the two of us might have chatted about over coffee.
This is, of course, a bit of a cautionary type of tale. It is an example of putting off something you really want to do until it is too late and the opportunity has slipped through your fingers. The people around you, people who have always been there and that you can count on, will someday be gone. They may be gone without warning or they may simply slip out of your life while you were looking in the other direction. Ken, I think, would be in total agreement---do not take those people for granted!
So, rest in peace, Ken, and I'm sorry that we never met more formally. I never really knew you, but I kind of wanted to.
