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Tony Kingsmill – Making Whistler A Brighter Place

"I wasn't what you might call a fighting soldier. I was a fixing soldier." Captain Tony Kingsmill, recipient of the Military Cross I was never much drawn to the obituaries. I mean, c'mon.
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"I wasn't what you might call a fighting soldier. I was a fixing soldier."

Captain Tony Kingsmill, recipient of the Military Cross

 

I was never much drawn to the obituaries. I mean, c'mon. Reading about dead people? Seemed like such a maudlin thing to do. I never saw the point really. Never saw any reason to stray onto those pages in my daily paper peregrinations.

My wife, however, was a keen obituary reader. I never really understood her reasons for going there. Even when she tried to explain it to me. It was her thing. Certainly not mine.

But things change. Now - with the passing of my wife and my father and a clutch of close friends all in the same year - I find myself inexorably drawn to the obituary section of my morning paper. Don't know why exactly. It just seems the thing to do these days.

It's a fascinating read actually. And a great exercise in story-building. I look for names that I'll recognize, or younger birth dates than my own, or interesting or offbeat tales. I look for courage. And humour. And hope. And compassion. But mostly I look for inspiration.

And sometimes I find what I'm looking for.

It was the picture that caught my attention. That familiar craggy face. Open smile and squinty, happy eyes. Totally guileless. Totally true. I know that face, I said to myself. But it was the first sentence that really got my memory banks spinning.

"After a wonderful 90 years of truly great living," started the obituary in Tuesday's Vancouver Sun , "we're sad to announce that Hugh Anthony Gault (Tony) Kingsmill passed away peacefully on May 19th surrounded by his loving family."

What an inspiring opening, I thought. What a novel contained in those 30-odd words. So positive. So generous. Sure, there was sadness expressed at this man's passing. But not an ounce of regret. And that's so rare. Think about it. Can you imagine experiencing nine decades of truly great living? Can you imagine someone writing something like this about you?

In the case of Tony Kingsmill, those words were particularly apt.

One of the most positive-minded people I've ever had the pleasure to meet, Tony did indeed live a great life. Ask anybody who knew him. The guy was blessed. But it's not like he was smug about it or anything. Au contraire. A Whistler original - and a man whose feelings for this place ran very deep - Tony was also the kind of person who seemed much happier giving than receiving.

Maybe there's a connection there...

You could see it in the relationship he had with the love of his life. Gregarious and outgoing - enthusiastic, energetic, outspoken and fun - Tee Kingsmill would have certainly been considered a handful by some husbands. But not by Tony. You could see it in his eyes. You could see it in the way he smiled when Tee took off on one of her stories. They were a team. They were buddies. They were one soul in two bodies.

In a strange way, that's how most of their friends saw them too. "Tee-and-Tony" was one word. They were a package deal. You rarely got one without the other...

But it's not like they didn't have their own lives. They did. It's just that they seemed to enjoy each other's company so much. And that too was inspiring.

There are people in this world that touch us in profound ways without really meaning to. People who don't even realize the impact they've had on our lives. Don't you think? I'm not sure if it has to do with luck, or kismet, or just being in the right place at the right time, but every now and then someone you meet will subtly change the way you see the world.

Funny how things happen too. Is it just a coincidence that one of my earliest nights at Whistler was spent under Tee and Tony's roof? Probably. I mean, it's not like the circumstances were all that strange. It's just that the consequences were so enormous.

It was the early 1970s. I was a struggling student-athlete in Vancouver still chasing my Olympic dreams. A ski racing friend of mine from back east, Robin Kingsmill, was also attending SFU that year. One day she accosted me in the library. Did I want to go up to Whistler with her and spend the weekend at her uncle's cabin?

What a delicious dilemma. Technically I wasn't supposed to be skiing. But the idea of splitting town and getting out from under the mildewed blanket of a Vancouver winter was just too seductive to ignore. Besides I badly missed sliding on snow. How could one weekend away hurt? I decided to take Robin up on her invitation.

An engineer with Alcan, her uncle Tony Kingsmill had moved his family from Montreal to the West Coast in 1967. Already a keen skier, he had discovered Whistler soon after arriving in Vancouver and had immediately bought a weekend place there.

I don't remember much about the cabin. It was at Creekside, somewhere behind the Husky Station. What I remember though was the ambience there. I was welcomed into the Kingsmill home like a long-lost friend. It was like I'd known these people all my life.

As for the skiing, it was everything I'd been told about the place. Challenging and difficult and wild and untamed, Whistler redefined the skiing experience for me. I fell deeply in love. Although I didn't know quite how I'd manage, I vowed to myself that one day I too would become a Whistlerite.

That weekend trip to the Kingsmills completely discombobulated my life. No longer was I satisfied doing laps in the SFU pool. All I could think about was making turns in the Whistler powder. And it didn't take long for fantasy to become reality.

Meanwhile, the Kingsmills were pursuing their own love affair with Whistler. By 1987 they were full-time residents here. They weren't the first senior citizens to make their home in this community. But they certainly were among the busiest.

A professional engineer for most of his life, Tony had re-invented himself as a real estate salesman at Whistler. Why the heck not? The guy was only 67 years old.

"I couldn't quite face total retirement, you know; I felt like I needed something to do," he admitted to me some years ago. And then his face had creased into a huge smile. "So I rode the lifts and sold homes at the same time. It was kind of fun that way..."

Fun indeed. And if you needed a volunteer for anything, you could always call on Tee-and-Tony. The couple was up for all sorts of shenanigans.

"Those were really great years," Tony continued. "The community was just coming together, the resort infrastructure was just coming together - it was like the blooming of Whistler. And the people living here then were so much fun. There was so much positive spirit in the air. I wouldn't have missed those years for anything."

But Tony would rarely let the conversation dwell on him. "I just read your piece on the last of the great river log drives in Equinox Magazine ," he'd tell me. "It was fascinating." Or "I enjoyed you taking Blackcomb to task in Ski Canada last month for their misleading advertising photos. Well done." He was incredibly loyal that way. But honest, too. If I missed the mark he'd be quick to let me know.

The years passed. By the time the new millennium arrived, Tony was finding it difficult to ski. And shovel the snow. And walk on the ice. Despite his best efforts, Whistler in winter was proving to be a difficult place for an 80-something. By 2002 the decision was made. Tee and Tony were moving back to Vancouver.

I used to see them every now and then shopping in Kerrisdale. Tee was still the outgoing, gregarious gal she'd always been. But Tony was definitely moving slower. Somehow he looked diminished in this new urban setting. "I never really wanted to move from Whistler," he told me last year. "But I really had no choice. It's just not set up for someone my age..."

I kept telling myself I had to get it together and get his story down before he passed away. But tragedies in my own life kept intervening. And now it's too late. Still, I guess this is better than nothing.

Anyway - I know where I'll be at 4:00 p.m. tomorrow (Friday). I'll be at the Vancouver Yacht Club, crutches and all, raising a toast to a wonderful friend. As his obituary concluded "we have all been blessed to have known Tony and our lives have been so enriched by knowing this kind and gentle man."  May his memory be cherished for years to come...