Gentle Man Ben

Posted on October 10, 2015 under Storytelling with 4 comments

One of a kind

As I do most mornings, I head off to The Landing for an early walk. It is a place of beauty and serenity. And it is a place of friendship. The regulars are there just about every day except in the winter, when the river overflows its banks, turning the gravel covered trail into a skating rink. Today is different. It feels different and it looks different. A fog hangs over the water. It is hard to see a hundred yards ahead. I am looking for a familiar face, a barrel chested man who walks his trusty canine, Bailey. He is one of the regulars.

Often on my morning walks I can hear him before I even see him, as he greets other walkers. Benny is as gregarious as they come and has a voice that is jovial and distinctive. But not today. His voice has been stilled. And even though the sun comes up part way through my walk, the fog has not lifted in my head. How could someone so vibrant be gone?

I got to know Ben Druhan through running. He wasn’t a marathoner like his decorated wife, Charlene.  He would laugh when I suggested that he try to qualify for Boston … maybe a Boston cream pie, he would say, but certainly not the famed road race. Benny was the best one man support team that you could hope for. Eternally optimistic and cheerful, he would hop in his truck with Bailey and drive the backroads when a group of us was out on one of our long runs. He would grab the morning paper and stop every 5k or so just to make sure his charges were doing OK. I travelled to the Boston Marathon with him and Charlene on two occasions, trips that I’ll never forget. I can still see him at his familiar perch along the side of the road just outside of Fenway Park.

He was a pillar of strength in his home parish of St. Joseph’s, serving as a reader at church, and was one of the driving forces in bringing the Community Centre project to fruition. It seems only fitting that his friends and community came there yesterday to share tears of sorrow and laughter with his family.

Benny was a well-known collector of old Volkswagen vehicles and made many trips across the continent to buy cars and take them home to be restored. He and his close buddy, William, were fixtures at the Highland Games Parade. These cars were his pride and joy and on warm summer days you’d see him driving around with the top down, accompanied by Charlene and Bailey, enjoying one of those simple pleasures in life.

He was an engaging personality and a terrific story teller. And that laugh of his was simply infectious. He loved going to the camp with his buddies and enjoyed recounting the legendary bacon saga. Apparently they had a massive cast iron skillet at the camp, and one morning Benny was on cooking detail. He grabbed a large package of bacon, heated up the pan and within minutes that distinct and wonderful aroma filled the cabin. He and his two buddies sat down a short while later and plowed through a feed of bacon and eggs. Benny seemed to think that there was more bacon than usual. Upon investigation, the fellow who had purchased the groceries reported that he had bought two pounds of the salty delicacy.   Ben went to the garbage and hauled out the discarded package. The label clearly stated that the three of them had just consumed 2 kilograms of bacon!

Benny was extremely well read and could carry on a conversation with anyone on any topic. He had the common touch. We had many conversations about politics, business, sports and religion on Saturday mornings after a run, when we would congregate with our spouses for cinnamon rolls and coffee. This was a routine that we all enjoyed.

Benny was generous with his time and was also not reluctant to pull out his wallet to support worthy causes. I know of many acts of charity that will never become public. That was just his style. He “paid it forward” long before that catchphrase became fashionable.

And did I mention sweets? Benny and I were forever discussing the merits of sweets, in particular, pies. No, not that kind of pi.  Although I’m sure if you asked him about π, he could tell you what it was and likely had a story about it in his incredible memory bank. Any time we got together to share a meal, I made sure that we didn’t skimp on dessert. I am trying to picture us arm wrestling for the last slice … he with those powerful forearms.

Ben was a great guy, plain and simple. He worshipped his family, especially the grandkids. He loved all small children and could engage them just as easily as he charmed the grownups. I have seen him down on the floor with that big grin on his face, just hanging out and playing.

The fog will eventually dissipate, but the memories of Ben Druhan will forever linger.

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