True and Fascinating Canadian History
Vet of the Month: December, 2012
Reg.#23673, Staff Sergeant Brian Charles Carline
RCMP Vets. Ottawa, ON
If a poll were taken, let's say worldwide, I believe that most people would admit to two significant fears; cold and hunger. I am sure some people might say, for instance, that they have a fear of sharks, but for a Canadian, meeting Jaws on a beach in Nanaimo, BC is not likely. Nor is there a strong possibility that someone would meet a vicious, long toothed lynx in Fundy National Park, NB. For my argument, sharks and lynxes are outside the literary tee off blocks.
But, there is another fear which affects some people including me, which is, the dread of saying goodbye to a friend after the friend has been told that his life will be shortened due to cancer. My fear of farewell has affected me deeply over the past two weeks of December, 2012. It began with a message from one Troop mate, Roy Berlinquette which said that another Troop mate of ours, Brian Carline of Ottawa, had been diagnosed with brain tumours which were inoperable.
My fear had set in. I could not think of what to say to Roy upon hearing the disheartening news. And, if Brian had walked into our home, I would have fumbled my words as though I was a kindergarten child trying for the first time to pronounce 'hippopotamus.' Adult tongues get easily twisted too.
In my imaginary golf cart's rear view mirror, I could see Brian, Roy and my entire Troop. We were members of 'G' Troop 1964/1965. Our Troop was squaded in mid August 1964 and our Pass Out was about nine months later. At the commencement of training at 'Depot', most of us were about nineteen years of age. All of us had completed high school. No one in our Troop had a university degree, in fact, there was no speculation in the Force that recruits of the 1964 variety would ever need further education.
Our Troop's score card listed members from New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Québec, Ontario, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia. Brian was from Moose Jaw, SK. Roy hailed from Sudbury, ON and I was born and raised in New Brunswick. Two Troop mates, Riel Martel and Art Matte could speak no English upon their arrival at Club 'Depot', and in the mid 1960's, no part of the pro instruction tour was offered or provided in the French language.
One Troop mate, Tony Amor was a former member of England's London Metropolitan Police. For some years, Tony has been counted among 'The Missing Spurs' meaning his whereabouts are unknown. We hope that Tony will one day find our Troop's fairway.
Today, nearly fifty years after our Troop began an arduous training regiment, everyone in our Troop remains mostly intact and alive. According to my ear on the track, there have been many setbacks and surgeries but surprisingly, as I mentioned, everyone in 'G' Troop is living! By some miracle our Troop mates have kept in touch with one another. In 2004, we celebrated our 40th year Reunion at 'Depot' and the Troop turnout was absolutely astounding.
Looking back on life's fairway, I think our Troop was closely knit for a few particular reasons. First, there were strong similarities among all of us. To my knowledge, no one exhibited unusually strong physical skills which would set one distinctly apart, for instance; in Swimming, Equitation, Foot Drill, Boxing, Mat Wrestling, Physical Training or Firearms.
All of us were new to a new game -- which was policing. All of us learned together -- absorbing material then practicing new skills about policing as we progressed along over the dark, cold winter months. I recall Regina, SK in 1964, our Troop experienced Beatles but no warm, gulf side Florida weather. Sure, we had plenty of Stable brooms, but no one could afford a $19 Jack Nicklaus putter.
Secondly, no one was identified as being an outstanding learner. On the academic side, no one's score card in topics like the Criminal Code or Federal Stats were such that one's head would swell. Nor were there any Green Jackets given to Rhodes Scholars in our Troop in Driver Training. It didn't happen. Looking back, essentially everyone in our Troop suffered equally from the hardships, the horses, broken bones and horse bites, girlfriend break ups and the daily grind of the program. There were few or no celebrations or easy accomplishments. In the 1960's, according to my recollections, all the fairways at 'Depot' played long and rough. Mostly rough.
Finally, I think our Troop was special because I cannot recall anyone bickering in our Troop -- no one in the Troop had time to bicker. Our experience at 'Depot' was full time, every day and every week. Our Troop had a few hours free on Saturday afternoon but everyone was required on duty in the Stables for feeds at 5PM. If a horse was forcefully given to you for adoption or let's say as a prize, one would truthfully acknowledge that today's term 24/7 was in effect at 'Depot' a century prior to 24/7.
Third Class Constable Brian Carline arrived at 'Depot' from Moose Jaw, SK. sporting 225 beefy lbs. As a very tall man, he needed extra nourishment but it was of no value. Apparently stars in the Milky Way remain in a constant position in earth's sky, but Brian lost weight due to his constant motion on land. Fractions of a pound dropped off Brian faster than Sergeant Perry could shout 'On your toes, trot!' In 1964, although one might think of things to complain about, Brian never did. He was just exactly like the remainder of 'G' Troop -- all of us were in the same mind which I would describe as a huge feeling of pride and thankfulness of becoming a member of the Force.
There are times or events in all our lives which make us feel thankful and deeply appreciative. Today, for instance, is Christmas Eve. For the past two thousand years, the Eve Day has been marked as a time of anxiousness or excitement -- some event, different from all the rest, is about to take place. An event which has never happened before -- it is the birth of a very special baby into a family.
The Christmas event is so significant that the wait for the baby is observed world-wide and the celebration of the baby's birth willcontinue until the end of all time. Very personal beliefs of this baby's arrival at Christmas formed a meaningful cloud of memories in my mind. Memories of 'G' Troop and hopeful yearnings of a Christmas baby helped me to make an important decision last week. Setting nervousness aside, I decided to visit our Troop mate, Brian.
As it turned out, the decision for a short visit, in the middle of a fierce Ottawa snow storm, was one of the best decisions of my life. I'll share with you the reasons which made my visit to see a sick friend timely, comforting, loving and memorable. It all had to do with Brian's remarkable outlook on life, his unbelievable feelings of faith and gratitude for remarkable doctors. All his affection towards others was expressed at Christmas time -- at a time when his body and his mind are so painful and ill.
Catherine, my wife, knew well of my hesitancy to visit Brian. Over the previous two weeks since we had received Roy's discouraging note telling us of Brian's attack by cancer, I prowled the floors of our home like a cat searching for an escape. But, I drove over to their home with a determination to overcome my fears, and of hopes of seeing him, an 'ole Troop mate, though he was sick.
I was hesitant as I walked up to the Carline front door as I hoped that my visit would not be intrusive. Suddenly, to my surprise, Brian answered the door. He looked very frail. I froze. He smiled. For a moment, we both stood looking at each other. I remember the cold weather and the snow. In a flash, Brian shouted, 'Annette, come, Joe is here!' There was instant warmth to their welcome and of seeing me. I filled with tears. I mumbled something about not knowing what to do, and not knowing what to say. I needed not to worry, as Annette took my coat and Brian led me into their cozy living room. I hugged. He cried.
I can only express my visit to see Brian and Annette as surprising, loving and memorable. To jab start the conversation, I nervously and awkwardly asked Brian about his sickness and the time frame of cancer being detected. A golfer well understands the moment. One walks up to the tee and looks out over a short par three -- looks easy, real short. I guess I'll use my wedge.
But then the golfer's eyes focus more clearly. The flag is set on the rim of a tiny island, a weenie piece of property set down low about 100' out. The green now looks smaller than a size 7 Stetson. I recall thinking that talking with a friend about cancer is almost the equivalent of a nervous golfer squirming between the tee blocks. In conversation and in golf, it has been my experience that there comes a moment when one takes his best wedge shot and leaves hope, distance and miracles up to God. Here, in the Carline home, I only hoped that God was with me as Brian, Annette and I shared quiet moments. I was not let down.
Within a few minutes, Brian and Annete's conversation turned away from sickness and to hope. A gust of unexpected hope took me in a direction which I had not expected to travel. They set me at ease. They spoke of remarkable doctors, of remarkable, brilliant doctors. Doctors who were filled with inspiration and knowledge. Doctors who took the time to explain Brian's cancers and options for treatment. The doctors were realistic but hopeful. They announced that new treatments were presently available. They said new medicines were available. Brian would have access to the best of both; treatments and medicines.
Friends are so important in our lives. I too must remind myself of my friends. My visit to my friend's home turned into an unexpected early Christmas present which I did not expect. I thought that Brian and Annette could have blamed the world for his sickness. But, just the opposite was said and I was a witness to their wonderful feelings and optimistic attitudes.
Brian and Annette were so thankful and appreciative to the medical profession -- they turned their minds to wonder rather than to despair. No person could have resisted but share tears with them. I was spellbound by Brian and Annette's absolute reach for hope. It was quiet in their home and a wonderful time for being together.
But, while I was seated with them, I sensed that we were not alone.
As I listened to them share Brian's story, I could not help but notice that a Christmas crib sat on a nearby table between Brian and Annette. In the crib was a baby and nearby were Mary and Joseph.
Soon, I knew it was time to leave. Brian was tired. Our eyes were blurred. My heart wanted to stay, but I couldn't, so I decided to leave a portion of my heart in their home. My feet got me to the door then failed me. My fear returned when I realized it was time to say good bye. Annette gave me a huge hug. Brian waited then we hugged. My arms went around him gently and easily. My tongue got stuck somewhere in my throat. I couldn't talk but I could cry. I didn't want to say good bye so I didn't. I never say good bye if I don't intend too. Farewell is a better word but I didn't say it either. I just walked away with a promise to return.
It follows in tradition, that a miracle is declared only after an examination of the facts guided by stringent scientific protocols. But,I believe that small miracles come to people in a variety of ways. Miracles in my mind -- affected a change in my heart. And, this Christmas is so special for me because of the affection given to me by a long time friend, a Troopmate and his wife. Comfort came to me from them and from a precious baby in a crib.
Tonight, on this 2012 Christmas Eve, as Catherine and I prepare for bed, I will pray that midnight's baby, born for the entire world, will comfort, bring peace and strength to Brian, our friend our Troop mate.
Reporting from Fort Healy,
J. J. Healy
December 24, 2012
