I only had the pleasure of working across the floor from Ian at the Sun. I was told night shift in PrePress was quiet and boring. Anytime Ian was working was anything but.

A typical Ian night would have him taking out his frustrations on the soda machine, arguing the benefits of faking housekeeping incompetence at the beginning of a romantic relationship, and reading his Opinion Column responses soapbox style across the floor in Editorial over than the cacophony of the plate machines. The auto-biography he occasionally shared was part after school special and part extreme survival story.

It will be hard NOT to think of him. I will be able to hear him complain when my kids ask to watch Caillou and laugh when I take out my vintage lawn darts. I will remember the look on his face when someone debates the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. And I will hear many muffled, vulgar words when I eat a homemade Nanaimo Bar.

Rest in Peace.

I am so sorry to hear about Ian, I was thinking of him today and googled his name and found this page.

Since moving from Calgary to Edmonton, I have thought often of Ian. We were in an Art Journaling class at Wellspring together and loved listening to all his words of wisdom. What he added to our class was many hours of laughter but also sadness, we were all facing the same thing,

Cancer does not discriminate, but it does matter how you live your life when it hits you. Ian lived his life in a big way. He helped me through some hard times with his stories and laughter.

He is missed.

Beverly Feddema

Edmonton, Alberta

Sending my deepest sympathy to all the family. I only knew Ian for the last several months in the Wellspring open studio class. He will be sadly missed by all of us, along with all his witty, spontaneous remarks. He never failed to put a smile on our faces. Safe travels Ian. Betty Conklin

Kathleen, Jake and Jill,

Like many others who have posted, I, too, met Ian in Timmins. I was a 9th grader and he was in grade thirteen. In my eyes, he was very knowledgable, very funny and very wise. It is funny to think back on now, as “wise” and “18 year old male” don’t usually make their way into the same sentence. But through my 14 year old eyes, that was what he was. And he read Ayn Rand! And at least professed to understand her.

I left Timmins after a brief 18 months but Ian and I remained in contact sporadically for several years though it eventually petered out and we hadn’t been in touch in decades. I reached out, however, after I learned of his cancer diagnosis. What followed was a surprise to me – the contact morphed into a true email friendship, largely driven by Ian’s wonderful writing talents – his emails were always interesting, hilariously funny, empathic and, given this was post cancer diagnosis, often poignant. He had total command of and mastery over the written word. His writing abilities were both rare and exceptional – I was often in awe, to be honest.

We spoke only once by phone – a week before his death, when he no longer had the ability to email. I asked how he was, mentally, and he said, “oddly peaceful”. But he then immediately went on to say that he was concerned about Kathleen, Jake and Jill, and the impact his death would have on the three of you. It was clear to me that he drew great strength from you, and that you were the central pillars in his life. He was an intense man, and much of that intensity was focused on you. No question it carried with it a deep love.

My condolences to you during this difficult time. I know you have been aware for some years that this time would come but that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. Sending virtual hugs to you all, Kathy Caldwell

It was a bright and warm summer day in 1981. Ian and I were both off work and decided to take a road trip. At that point in our lives, we had each taken a roughly two year hiatus from university to decide what direction we should take from there. He had finished his pause and was back from his first year of Journalism school at Ryerson. I had just started my break. And as many of our friends had done, we always seemed to return home to Timmins, Ontario to work in the mines in order to build up some cash to finance our next step.

So we hit the road in my pick-up and found ourselves approaching Ramore. Now, Ramore was and still is a village off the TransCanada Highway about an hour’s drive east of Timmins. As we drew nearer, our conversation turned to the non-existent giant radar dish that used to sit atop the mountain (big hill, really) when we were younger. You see, during the Cold War, Ramore was the support town for a Ministry of Defence installation as part of NORAD’s Pinetree Line. A series of radar sites across the 50th parallel that could detect incoming aircraft should the Soviet Union attack over the Arctic Circle. Tense times.

The Ramore site had been decommissioned in 1974, and as curious young men with nothing better to do on our day off, of course it was absolutely imperative that we nose around to see what bits and pieces had been forgotten. As we drove into the village we noticed that the military buildings remained intact including several barracks. So we stopped at the back of one and walked in the back door.

The family that was now living inside was probably more shocked than we were. Maybe not. We apologized profusely and I was just backing out of the doorway, when I heard the young cub reporter spring into action. “I’m on assignment as a journalism student to research what has happened to decommissioned Ministry of Defence sites like these. Would you mind if I interviewed you?” Ian says just as calmly as if he had been asking for directions to the nearest gas station. I quite genuinely expected to see the Dad pull out his 12 gauge to usher us out the way we had entered. Nope. They invite us in and Ian sits right down and doesn’t he haul out his reporter steno pad and a pencil, and looks up at the family ready for that in-depth interview.

So after a nice lemonade and about about an hour of congenial conversation I managed to stop looking around like a squirrel trapped in a dog kennel. Ian asked numerous pointed questions about the cost of the real estate, the legalities of the transition process and if all the buildings had been converted to private homes, and so on. All the while maintaining his charming demeanour and writing on the steno pad. And when we were done, the dazed but friendly family sent us on our way with hearty hand shakes and a bag of homemade cookies.

I managed not to peel out as we left to continue our trip up the mountain. We were able to salvage some innocuous objects on the abandoned site for the sake of posterity, but the real prize of the day was watching Ian in action with the barracks family. I never did ask him where he had secreted that steno pad, but I’m convinced he took actual notes, which still may exist today, stored away for later reference. We had a good laugh on the way home. And I never ever played poker with the man.

Kathleen, Jill and Jake: I am so very sorry for your loss. As I try to work through my own grief I think of you and wish I could help, yet feel helpless. I know you are resilient and you have each other. And I am sure that your faith and your extended family at St. Paul’s will help to give you comfort and strength as the days pass. You are in my thoughts.

Beth: You have lost your big brother. I met you first when your family was camping at Kettle Lakes Provincial Park. Ian and I were tooling around on our bicycles and he asked me: “Hey, wanna meet my sister?”. Nina carried you out of the camper well swaddled and held you up so we could see. We gawked at your barely visible face as only boys of that age can, and then we were off on our next adventure. I can tell you that Ian loved you and when your name came up in conversation he always spoke of you endearingly. My deepest condolences to you.

Ian: It has been just over 52 very fast trips around the sun since my first day at Whitney Public School to start Grade 7 in 1969. My new guy warning light must have been flashing feverishly, because you came up to me and introduced yourself, and before too long we had become friends. Over the decades we shared many life experiences: elementary school, high school, a stint at Carlton University, summers working in the Timmins mines, road trips, hunting trips, a remarkably substandard apartment off College St. in Toronto, some truly excellent adolescent single malt scotches and the profound conversations that resulted, meeting girls who actually were willing to be seen in public with us – and marrying them before they changed their minds, serving as best men for each other’s weddings, starting careers, raising our kids, getting disconnected and gratefully reconnecting. It has been my distinct honour to be your friend.

Goodbye old friend. I miss you.

Kathleen, that's a wonderful obituary. I'm sorry I never met Ian in person but he certainly sounds like a complex and marvelously contrary human being. He could easily have been a member of our family! Hugs to you my friend.

My friend Ian and I were walking north on Moore Street, South Porcupine past Roland Michener Secondary School. We had probably been talking about favorite films (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?), or novels. Ian could recite a good chunk of Catch-22 by heart - all of Yossarian’s parts for sure. Or perhaps we had been talking about where we were going to go once we graduated in a couple of months. Ian’s ambition had not wavered from when I met him on our first day of high school. He would be a Writer. He didn’t know what kind yet … “just as long as it has to do with words”.

I don’t remember much of the conversation that day, but I do remember the weather that almost brought it to a standstill.

The spring breeze had gradually grown into a steady, freakishly strong wind. We tugged our jean jackets closer and stumbled forward as the gusts grew stronger. Leaves and dust swirled about. A branch as thick as my wrist, broke off a tree and skidded past, narrowly missing us. We lurched on like a couple of proverbial sailors.

I heard Ian laugh and then shout, “Never, ever… bow your head to the wind.”

He flashed that great, wide grin and I could see that far from daunting him, the wind had given him an energy that was close to ecstatic. He shook his head wildly, thrust an arm forward with Shakespearean flair and shouted out to the universe, “Onward!”.

Through the decades of our friendship, I would learn of other winds that Ian had already faced and the ones that were destined for his future. Winds that would have defeated a lesser man. I would also make the acquaintance of Kathleen, who would be the steadfast and reassuring presence at his back and by his side

I believe Ian is walking still, eyes forward, straight into a bracing but let us hope gentler wind.

Safe travels good and brave friend. We’ll continue our conversation on the other side.

Charles Baumert, Santa Fe, NM

I met Ian and Kathleen at Wellspring. He was a person with a marvelous sense of humour and life. I am honored to have met you both. My deepest condolences

Kathleen, Jill and Jake ... sending the warmest virtual embrace to you all. Shelley W.

Dear Kathleen:

Please accept my profound condolences on Ian's passing. Our paths crossed all too briefly at the Calgary Sun, which is my loss for the limited time I had to revel in his rambunctiousness and zest for life, which helped make the desk such a fun place to work.

Ray Djuff

Sad to hear of Ian's death. Our careers intersected briefly twice, at the St. Thomas Times-Journal and when I was with Sun Media Corporate Editorial. His Calgary Sun columns rarely made the national schedule, but when they did they were memorable and included a legendary rank about saving ducks landing on oil sands ponds. As a prostate cancer patient myself who was lucky to catch it early, I read with empathy about Ian's journey and the impact of cancer on family and friends. Condolences to Kathleen and family. Ian was a good one, in all his complexity.

- Wayne Newton, London, ON

I had the absolute honour and privilege of interviewing Ian as he was navigating cancer. I remember being so nervous and feeling intimidated by his journalistic talents. He made me feel so at ease with his direct unfiltered way, I admired that. I could have spent all day sitting around that backyard fire pit chatting about his wisdom and compassion he harnessed knowing time was expiring. Feel lucky to have shared moments with him. My heart is with those of you who loved him.

-Jill Croteau

We remember some very delicious meals that Ian cooked for us on weekend nights when we’d visit and have some rather lively discussions while Kath and Ian lived in Simcoe, Ontario. Ian borrowed one of our cookbooks and I think some tomato sauce splattered on it. The meal was truly worth it. We might try to cook it ourselves soon. Ian and Kath were the perfect hosting couple and very generous.