Austin Clarke Another old friend bit the dust. I met Austin in the pilot in 1965. We assumed he was a student he looked studious always neatly dressed in a shirt and tie and a blazer. with dark-rimmed glasses, He kept pretty much to himself usually sitting in the front with enough light to read. Somehow we got together and had many great conversations over a year or so. He had unassuming intelligence, and curiosity and was a great storyteller. He mentioned writing a book I had never heard of. Then suddenly he wrote a piece for the Telegram or Maclean's or something entitled " I Have No White Friends".
I confronted him "Hey I thought we were friends." " ya we are friends he grinned and bought he drinks." I didn't mean it that way more political like' and we continued our friendly talks until he published a book and disappeared from the scene. A few years later I met him at the track with his wife and we had a pretty good day and went out for eats and drinks. I met him another day by himself. We had both had a terrible day and in further honest discussion discovered we had enough between us to put a $2.00 bet on the last race. We picked a horse and made enough to drive to the Pilot in his Mercedes, have a few beers, and laugh at our bad and good fortune.
Ran into him now and again at Art openings and the like and then met him at a book opening for Barry Callaghan.
and we reconnected when Barry and him used to go to Peterborough once a month for a writer's circle held by one of Barry's students who also happened to be a friend of mine. I visited him once in a while at his house but hadn't seen him for a dozen years until I called him last year he wasn't well and did not have much to say. he died soon after.
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