You may have heard this story before, as I tell it with some frequency and with permission. He was brought to The Dale by a mutual friend. My first impression was that he cut an imposing figure: a man of heft, with a fist full of skull rings and a guitar slung across his back. I remember him looming over me and with an intimidating voice asking, “what IS this place?” I looked up and said, “we’re The Dale and you’re welcome to stay”. That was the beginning of our relationship. 

Snake Man, as he first introduced himself, lived in a local rooming house with snakes as companions. At the time, his life was very solitary. His early forays into The Dale were often fraught with challenge, as his anger could be quick and fierce. I could tell that he wanted community but struggled to know how to embrace it. It wasn’t uncommon for him to leave in a huff and not return for days. During one of his lengthier absences, three of us went looking for him. We called, knocked on his door and ultimately tried to throw pebbles at his third story window. We didn’t find him that day, but he heard about our effort. For Snake Man it was significant that we sought him out. It was a turning point for us. 

Along the way, as trust slowly built, Snake Man revealed more and more about himself, including his given name: Douglas or Doug for short. Doug became a fixture at The Dale, coming to every drop-in, every outing, every Sunday service. He would punctuate all of our gatherings with music by playing guitar and inviting others to sing. The two of us connected around music a lot, Doug strumming and me on the piano. Doug would form and join and break-up bands all the time, and so I counted it an honour that he assured me we would play together forever. He once dubbed us “Merinn”, which stood for Me and Erinn. Our other name was The Noisy Jesus Band, appropriate I thought given Doug’s preferred volume (LOUD) and, as he put it, our desire to play for God.

In addition to music, Doug loved drawing. He came to share how, as a child, he would spend all of his time with pen and paper. He attended Central Tech, a high school in Toronto known for its specialized arts program. Doug dwelled in fantasy, preferring to create monsters. This fixation nurtured a love for horror films and even led to an acting part in a B level movie called ‘Things’. Doug often asked us to pull up clips of the film on our phones to show others. He relished in seeing people’s reactions to his presence on the screen. As an avid movie fan, he was regularly encouraging us to have field trips to the theatre, which did happen a handful of times. Doug always wanted to document such experiences and would bring a random scavenged device (a phone, an ancient blackberry, a camera) to record it all. 

In the early days of our relationship, Doug could scare me. We once had a very difficult conversation in the Thrift Store, the location of one of The Dale’s drop-ins at the time. After a lengthy barrage of words from him, I was nearly at the end of myself and started to cry. The tears immediately impacted him, and I saw something change. It was as though the Doug I knew was hiding under the hard exterior finally came out. He softened. Over time, that softening continued. It’s not that there wasn’t any more anger, it’s that the management of it changed. It was less explosive. I think Doug began to trust that the things anger was masking were safe with us. I slowly began to feel safe with him too. 

Doug began to repeatedly offer me/us care. When Dion was falling with some frequency due to his MS, Doug said I could call day or night and he would come and pick him up. If a community member needed something, he would do his best to find it. He gave gifts with abandon. Albeit reluctantly, Doug even (occasionally) learned to turn down the volume on his amp or even go acoustic when appropriate. He became my constant musical companion at our Sunday Service, missing maybe a handful of Sundays over a decade. 

It was his missing two Sundays recently that caused us pause. We spoke this past Monday though, and then played phone tag during the week. He hadn’t been feeling well, and we were encouraging him to see a doctor. Joanna and I went to check on him on Saturday, which is when we found our beloved friend deceased. I am in shock. None of us can believe it. 

Doug, I don’t like writing about you in the past tense. In fact, I hate it. I want to share more things about you, like how much you love to eat chicken balls with sweet and sour sauce, how you think Jeff Beck was the greatest guitarist of all time, and how you became the unofficial archivist of The Dale. I am expecting you to sneak up behind me, put your hand on my shoulder and say your usual, “acknowledge me”. I want to play our favourite songs together and tell you we have time for one more. You showed me that it is possible for a person to change and experience transformation a little bit at a time, while not giving up one’s essence. You were unabashedly you, in good times and bad. I wish we could have helped more with some of your deepest challenges. And, I am so proud of all you overcame. Thank you for being my friend. Before parting ways, you would always say “Love you, God bless”. 

Love you Dougie. God bless. 

Douglas Gordon Bunston February 11th, 1952 – March 23rd, 2024