In celebration of...
Arthur Frederick (Art) McDonald
December 27, 1928 - October 30, 2018
It was 1948 when Art McDonald left his home town of Glace Bay, Nova Scotia on a train, to find a better life than the life of a coal miner. He arrived in what was called New Toronto at the time, and what we know of today as Etobicoke, Ontario. After a few short-term jobs at Production Castings and Mono Cup (a division of Continental Can), Arthur landed a permanent job at the John Inglis and Company, a major appliance manufacturing plant that was once located on Strachan Ave in the city of Toronto’s west end. Art worked at John Inglis for 38 years. John Inglis afforded Art a 4-bedroom home in Clarkson, Ontario where he raised his 6 kids (3 boys and 3 girls) with his wife, Elizabeth (Bessie). Port Credit, Ontario became his home in the end.
My father liked to dance.
It was something he learned to do as a young man
in the clubs back in Glace Bay.
When I was a small child,
I would dance with my father by standing on his feet
while he led me around the living room
to music blasting from the old hi-fi console.
He called me Duper.
My father also liked to sing.
He started singing at the age of 14
in the church choir down home.
He could always be heard whistlin’ a tune
or singing his favourite songs, a cappella.
He sang around the house.
He sang in the car.
He sang in the garden.
My dad liked working in his vegetable garden,
and feeding the birds.
He also liked the Rat Pack.
And singing songs popularized by Dinah Shore, like:
“Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy,
makes your eyes light up, and your tummy say ‘Howdy.’
Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy,
I never get enough of that wonderful, wonderful stuff!”
My dad liked blueberry yogurt.
And the salmon sandwiches my sister Teresa would make him.
He enjoyed music.
Popular music and traditional country music.
For a song to have a funeral by,
my father chose a favourite by Hank Snow:
”That big 8-wheeler rollin' down the track
means your true lovin' Daddy ain't comin' back, ‘
cause I'm movin' on.
I'll soon be gone.
You were flyin’ too high for my little old sky,
so I'm movin' on.”
My dad liked the Toronto Blue Jays, reading the newspaper,
and when my brother Donnie would give him a shave.
He also liked playing harmonica.
Memories of him sitting at the kitchen table,
stompin’ his feet and blowin’ hard into
an old Hohner mouth organ,
and drinking.
My dad really liked to drink.
Beer.
He also liked to smoke.
My dad liked it when I took him to see
Stompin’ Tom Connors at Massey Hall.
And when I took him to see Johnny Cash and June Carter
at the Ontario Place Forum.
He laughed when June’s shoe came flying off her foot
while she was dancing,
watching it sail straight out into the audience.
My dad liked when my sister Linda reunited him
with our mother.
And when my brother Dennis would take him
out of the nursing home to go shopping.
My dad liked his dog Dozer.
There are plenty of things to remember about my father.
And friends and others in my family will remember him
in different ways.
But I think I’ll remember him best,
singing.
For I heard him singing my whole life.
Songs like Lynn Anderson’s
“I beg your pardon. I never promised you a rose garden.”
Once when I put headphones on him at the nursing home,
his face lit up
and he started singing along with Hank Williams
at the top of his lungs:
“Hey, hey good lookin', whatcha got cookin'?
How's about cookin' somethin' up with me?”
Back in the year 2000,
my father watched Daniel, his youngest son,
die from cancer at the age of 38.
On his own death bed in 2018,
I heard my dad talk about my brother Daniel
to the fella in the next bed.
And then my dad started to sing.
With an old, gravelly, two-months-shy-of-90 voice,
my dad sang over and over again this waltz by Wilf Carter:
"Put me in your pocket, so I'll be close to you.
No more will I be lonesome and no more will I be blue.
And when we have to part dear, there'll be no sad adieus.
For I'll be in your pocket, and I'll go along with you."
Arthur is survived by his children Arthur Dennis McDonald, Linda McCutcheon, Donnie McDonald, Teresa March, Lisa McDonald, and his sister Teresa Owen. Arthur also leaves behind many grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
