A Message from Keith

Keith Gylander was one of the first, if not the very first, friends I made when we moved from Manitoba to Alberta, by virtue of living next door to us in Leduc. (The photo above captures him in Grade 9.) Today I received an unexpected email from Keith, which read, in part:

I am sorry to have just learned of your father’s passing, a year and 10 days ago today.

I remember touring Leduc and riding down 46 Ave the summer before last on my motorbike, lamenting the status of what is now left of my parents' once-proud home (gulp). Your mom and dad were out front and I pulled up to the curb, unrecognizable with my loud bike and full-face and shield-tinted helmet. Still, your father came happily walking up to me to say hello. Even after I took off my helmet I still needed to tell him who I was - ha ha.

He was the same jolly, friendly and outgoing man I knew him to be from the day I first met him 40 years ago (gulp - the sequel). As I rode away from our brief chat, it felt good to know that at least some willowy tapestries still connect us to the whimsical days of youth. He is a good man.

Keith and I exchanged some news, but this part of his message (published here with his permission) really moved me. It was nice to know that people still remember Dad fondly, and nice to hear that Keith and his family are doing well. Over the last few years many people in my life have endured struggles of all kinds, but the ties of friendship and family help us all pull through. Thanks so much for the note, Keith. 

Granular Band

Some Ungood Photography: I suspect I shot this with my old Kodak 110 camera, and that the flash didn't go off, resulting in this incredibly noisy picture. Battle of the Bands in Leduc, February 1986. 

Unhappier Accidents

Here's another collection of photos that went wrong. Poor lighting, bad focus, bad composition, underexposed, overexposed...how many photographic sins can you spot? 

Leduc Lightning Storm

One night in the late 1980s, my friend Keith and I visited the graveyard in Leduc; it may even have been Halloween. I shot some photos, including this one; I believe I achieved the affect by shooting the tail lights of Keith's car while jerking the camera. I think it turned out pretty well. 

Keith's Photobomb

Keith and I wound up winning a couple of awards when we finished Grade 6. While Mom was dutifully photographing Sean and me to mark the occasion, Keith dove in with a distant but effective photobomb.

I don't remember much about Grade 6. The Language Arts workbooks were purple; I was scared of the custodian; a girl scratched by left ring finger so deeply I had a scar for years; I was small enough to hide inside the truck tires that served as playground equipment. 

Frisbee Follies

Yesterday's post included a Frisbee. I don't remember what happened to that glow-in-the-dark model, but the pink Wham-O that preceded it met a bitter fate sometime in the mid-1980s.

My next-door-neighbour and friend Keith and I were winging the Frisbee back and forth across the front yard with all our strength, when suddenly Sean ran between us. I don't remember if it was Keith or me that flung the Frisbee at exactly the wrong moment, but the catastrophic result is forever seared on my mind: the flying disc was broken in twain by Sean's head. Sean himself fell crying to the ground.

Fortunately Sean was more startled than hurt, but I still find it amazing that the impact was severe enough to shatter the disc. It wasn't quite broken in half, but it split in two all the way from one end to the other, the two halves held together by just an inch or so of plastic at the rim.

Play safe! 

My Favourite Games (Arcade Edition)

Over the years I've played a lot of games, and they've brought me a lot of joy. It only just occurred to me that I've never chronicled my appreciation for those games, so over the next few days I'll share some memories of my favourites.


Whenever I visited my cousin Darwin Jones in Devon, we'd head downtown to play Space War. I loved this game for its complexity; you could choose all kinds of variables, including inertia, gravity, how the edges of the screen behaved and so on. It didn't hurt that one of the ships looked like the Enterprise, and the other like its symbol.


Pac-Man seems pretty old hat now, but when Keith Gylander and I first encountered it at a fish and chips restaurant in Leduc one summer in the very early 1980s, we were hooked. Gameplay is simple but challenging, with the pace growing more frenetic with every level.


At the height of the video arcade craze, Leduc had at least three or four dedicated arcades, plus other machines scattered throughout the city (the roller rink, the used book store, the convenience store, etc.). I played Wild Western pretty obsessively in the arcade closest to Leduc Junior High school; it was nestled on the first floor of an apartment complex. I liked Wild Western for the music and its relatively complex gameplay; not only could you ride and shoot in all directions, you could jump atop the train and gunfight the desperadoes from on high.


I played Berzerk at the 7-11 on 50th street in Leduc. I was amazed by the robot voices, and fighting my way through the mazes gave me the feeling of being on a real adventure, though of course there was no way to truly escape the robots; eventually, you were doomed, as was the way of things in most arcade games.


I loved the movie Tron, and when the game came out I leaped at the chance to enter its world, user-like. Four games in one! You couldn't beat that in 1982. The lightcycle chase was my favourite, even though I wasn't very good at it.


Defender was probably the most challenging game I attempted back in the day; its multiple controls and relentless enemies ate up my three ships with astonishing speed. But having a noble mission - rescuing the spacemen trapped on the planet - provided excellent motivation for me to keep on pumping quarters into the machine. I played Defender in the arcade that used to exist on the top floor of the then-new theatre on 50th street, not far from the 7-11 where I played Berzerk.


Galaga had great audio effects and a really neat feature that kept me coming back: the bad guys could capture your ship, but if you managed to set it free with another ship, it would join with your second ship for double the firepower (and double the exposure to enemy fire, of course).


Star Castle wasn't as popular as a lot of other games, but I enjoyed its clean vector graphics and free-flowing gameplay.


Discs of Tron was played in a neon-lit wraparound cabinet that really drew you into the game. The immersive experience was helped by smooth controls and simple but challenging gameplay; just knock your opponent off his perch with your flying discs, while preventing him from doing the same thing to you.


If I had room for one arcade game in my home it would be the Star Trek Strategic Operations Simulator; specifically, I'd want the sit-down version with the controls on the armrests. Star Trek has a hit-and-miss history when it comes to game adaptations, but this is a great-looking, great-sounding space shooter, with authentic effects and great voiceovers from Spock and Scotty. "Entering sector 1.6..."


Atari's Star Wars simulation was another excellent adaptation, this time giving players the chance to assault the Death Star itself, complete with emulated John William's music and character voices. The cabinet featured a very solid two-handed flight control stick that made you really feel like you were flying an X-Wing.

Of course I played dozens of other arcade games during those golden years of the 1980s, but these are the ones that stand out in my memory. I shudder to imagine how many quarters slipped through my fingers during those years, but they led to many hours of great entertainment. 

Deactivated Listening

I've been taking a Foundations of Leadership course through Mount Royal University, and the course ended today with The Art of Listening. Today's class included practice in active listening techniques, which reminded me of an embarrassing incident from my past...

During either Math or Science class in Grade 10 or 11, my friend and next door neighbour Keith Gylander was speaking to me. For some reason, I tuned out completely and turned to look the other way.

"Earl, I'm still talking," Keith said dryly, and my attention snapped back to him. I was utterly embarrassed, and to this day I can't remember what could have possessed me to be so rude. I certainly wasn't listening actively - or at all! 

That Day in Math Class

One day in high school - or perhaps it was junior high - during one of those rare moments when the teacher was out and we were free to talk, my friend Keith engaged me in conversation. He talked for a few minutes and I listened and nodded, and then I turned away, thinking of other things.

"Earl," Keith said. "EARL."

Startled, I returned my gaze to Keith.

"I wasn't finished talking."

I blushed beet red, as was my wont in those adolescent days, and nigh unto now I feel bad that I wasn't giving Keith the undivided attention he deserved. He usually had something intelligent and interesting to say, so the fault was entirely mine. I can't explain this bout of uncharacteristic rudeness, and it haunts me still. 

A Study in Gold

Sometime in the early summer of 1986, my friend and next door neighbour Keith Gylander (left) and I got together to study for our English 20 final. Mom or Dad, for whatever reason, decided to preserve this moment on film, and along with it my stylish banana-yellow pants and loud multicoloured shirt. I would have fit right in on Miami Vice. At least we did well on the exam. 

Klondike Days, 1982

In 1982 my I attended Klondike Days with my next door neighbour Keith Gylander. I took this photo with my little Kodak from the top of one of the Ferris wheels. What wonders could be found in the Coliseum of Thrills? I can't remember.

This Tidal Wave boat ride didn't go high enough to fully invert, at least not that I recall. I wonder what those machines at the left are excavating?

This photo's pretty bad - I was thirteen! - but it captures the gaudy colours of the midway.

The Antechamber

"Ungood Art Day" is one of my favourite features over at Jeff Shyluk's Visual Blog. Jeff is a real artist, so his failures are more compelling than the average hack's triumphs. The average hack's failures, therefore, fail to meet the "ungood" bar and instead strain to achieve merely doubleplusungood.

Once again I've stumbled across an hold high school photo that's beyond my capabilities to restore, so instead I've played with layers and brushes and blending tools and filters to craft this mess. In the original photo my high school friend Keith is playing guitar in a dimly-lit auditorium. My old Kodak 110 didn't have a powerful enough flash to illuminate the scene, so Keith is mostly lost in shadow. A few overhead spotlights and a tiny floor light gave Keith a slight glow. I selected out Keith and threw a stained glass filter atop everything else. I duplicated some of the cells, simply because there weren't enough light sources to create enough virtual glass. (I'm not sure why there's a large expanse of cells in the middle of the image, because the area is pitch black in the original photo.)

A nifty YouTube tutorial showed me how to paint fun glowing orbs, so I naturally abused the technique and painted ten when three or five would probably have done the job.

The scene wound up looking as though Keith is playing the role of a young guitar player recruited by beings from another dimension to bring rock to their universe. Hence, "The Antechamber," where Keith waits to cross to another place.

Rocket Cycle

I believe this is the only photo ever taken of the three-speed bicycle I owned for several years in the early-to-mid 80s. This bicycle is infamous for two moments seared into my memory.

One summer day, I met with my friends Paul, Jeff and Vern to cycle around my Leduc neighbourhood. Racing through back alleys was a common enough pastime in those days, careening around blind corners without helmets or padding of any kind. Many knees were skinned, many shins filled with tiny bits of gravel, many skulls bruised. On this particular occasion, Paul, Vern and I wound up far ahead of Jeff and we loitered at the end of an alley waiting for him to catch up.When Jeff came ripping around the corner, I shoved my bicycle forward a couple of feet, directly into his path. Jeff doesn't believe me to this day when I make this claim, but I really meant to pull back in time so he wouldn't hit my bike.

Sadly, my reactions weren't fast enough. Jeff's front wheel slammed into my front wheel. And then the world slowed down. My bicycle spun 90 degrees to the left with me still straddling the seat, giving me a perfect view of Jeff's shocked features as he careened over his handlebars. My jaw dropped as I read the betrayal creeping its way across Jeff's face; he screamed "Whyyyyyyy?" as he flew through the air. Jeff corkscrewed in midair almost gracefully, but landed flat on his back on the hard-packed dirt of the alley. A cloud of dust was kicked up by the tremendous impact, and Jeff's body left an impression in the dirt road, just like a Looney Tunes character.

After we finished laughing, we hastened to make sure Jeff was okay. Fortunately Jeff's body has evolved to absorb tremendous amounts of punishment over the years; his pride was more wounded than anything.

I got my just desserts a couple of years later, showing off for my brother Sean and our next door neighbour Keith, who were outside on the front lawns of our houses. I pedalled to top speed, intending to slam on the rear brakes in the driveway and skid to a stop. But when I angled into the driveway I squeezed the front brake rather than the rear and was flung over the handlebars as the front wheel locked up. I'd begun to scream "Rocketman!" as I approached the driveway; it turned into "RocketmAAAHHHHHHH" as I slammed into the earth, the left half of my body hitting soft grass, the right half hard sidewalk.

The impact left me with a nice set of bruises and it destroyed the bike. The front wheel was bent into a V, the brake lines ripped off the handlebars, the frame twisted. Considering the damage to the bike, I counted my lucky stars that I wound up just a little sore.

I miss that bike.

The Realm

In 1985, Keith Gylander, Mark Lede and I shared a communications class at Leduc Composite High. I believe it was called Communications 21a/21b, and covered film studies. One of our assignments was to write a script for a short film, but Mark, Keith and I decided to go one better and shoot our script.

Sadly, both title and film are lost to time. To my shame, I lost the only VHS copy shortly after graduating from University. It was pretty good, too - a 1984-esque tale of mental manipulation. I played the hero, a man rebelling against the system; Mark, I seem to recall, was in charge of torturing me. The film ended with me on a morgue slab, covered in a clear plastic sheet; you can see Mark and Keith posing on that set below.

Mark and Keith earned 95 percent, while I turned in a separate script that scored 98 - something about a man being led to execution. I was a little embarrassed that my unfilmed script scored higher than one that had produced an actual movie, and I don't believe I ever told Mark and Keith, or if I did it was with some degree of unworthiness.

I only remember one line, one of Mark's: "For if you give your mind to the Realm, you will be strengthened as the Realm is strengthened." If I'd kept my mind on the Realm, maybe I'd still have the tape.

Keith and Mark pose before the slab that was to hold my body.

Keith on Rhythm Guitar

Keith Gylander was my next door neighbour in Leduc; he was an outgoing, athletic kid, not really that much like me but we did spend a lot of time together bike riding, tossing around footballs or frisbees or playing with action figures. In fact, one day Keith and I were whipping a frisbee at each other with all our strength when Sean ran between us. Keith's powerful toss slung the frisbee right into Sean's head at exactly the wrong moment, knocking Sean over and splitting the frisbee in half. Poor Sean was okay in the end, but he developed a pretty colourful bruise.

I've told this story before, but shortly before the release of The Empire Strikes Back he and I were playing with our Star Wars action figures. At a dramatic moment on confrontation between Luke, Leia and Darth Vader, I had Darth Vader intone solemnly..."Luke...I AM YOUR FATHER." It blew our minds when, just a few months later, that line was repeated nearly verbatim in the film. (I failed to predict the relationship between Luke and Leia, though.)

Keith played rhythm guitar in Sever, and as an adult he went on to serve at least two terms as one of Beaumont's town councillors. I last saw Keith at his father's funeral a couple of years back, and it's remarkable how little he's changed; I mean that in the most complimentary way.

The Lost Worlds of Earl J. Woods

As I continue to sort through forty years' worth of photos, scrapbooks, records and memories, I stumble across reminders of lost works. Over the years, misadventure and carelessness have cost me a number of creative projects, now gone forever:

1) A short film made in high school with my friends Keith Gylander and Mark Lede. For a class project, this really hung together, with above-average scripting, music, editing and direction for its era and the age of its creators. Lost, along with about 90 minutes of behind-the-scenes footage, when I used the only videotape copy to apply for a job after university. The employer never called back, and I lost track of where I'd applied.

2) About half of the epic House Party role playing game rules meticulously crafted by Jeff Shyluk and me. What remains is still pretty amusing, but both of us were so heartbroken by the loss of the bulk of our work that we never returned to complete the project.

3) An entire notebook containing short story ideas and a detailed account of the University of Alberta Star Trek Club's 1992 voyage to Los Angeles.

4) A commercial for a fake soda pop, Ozone, directed by me for another high school project. Accidentally taped over, along with a bunch of footage of high school friends that I would have loved to review.

5) Most of my online work from the early days of the Internet, short stories, poems and essays posted on the various Edmonton-area BBSes.

Naturally most of this stuff means little to anyone but me and perhaps a small circle of friends and participants. I still regret the loss. Objectively speaking, none of the items listed above have cost the world much in terms of great cultural achievements (with apologies to the friends who helped me out with some of them), but those works were mine (or ours). Each story or video or fragmentary notion represented the imagination of a particular group of people at a particular point in space and time. I'm sorry they're gone.

On Wings of Balsa

On April 25th, a fellow named Steve Eves broke a world record by launching the world's biggest and heaviest model rocket, a 1/10 scale Saturn V.

When I was younger, model rockets captured my imagination. I only wound up launching a few, with varying degrees of success, but I always had fun.



One day in 1983, Keith Gylander, Ron Westman and my brother Sean and I (Sean's the young one in the middle) crossed the street to East Elementary and launched a model X-Wing, purchased several years before in Leaf Rapids, assembled only days before this launch.



Unfortunately, I forgot to stuff the protective wadding into the nose cone, so the parachute flare damaged the 'chute and the model plunged to earth instead of floating down safely. So this rocket had one and only one launch. But for a few moments, we all slipped the surly bonds of Earth and rode in that tiny plastic cockpit, heading for the stars.