From Tabusintac to Tokyo | Page 9

with a plethora of individuals both high and low,

smart and stupid, is to work well with others.
In those days, my personality could charitably be described as
"obnoxiously misanthropic". After many years of shock, psycho and
drug therapy, I have improved to the point where my significant other,
the charming Ms. D, will describe me as "misanthropic". But I digress.
At various times in my professional life, I have been asked to mentor
someone. In my own contrary way, I have tried to make the case that
mentoring is a two-way street. People will not necessarily accept your
mentorship just because you think they need it. In my not-so-humble
opinion, it's not just about giving advice and telling someone how to do
something; it's also about providing an example for someone to follow
but they have to want to follow the example. (Something that's always
bothered me: If you lose your mentor, does that mean you're
demented?)
It turns out that I was looking for a mentor. And I was lucky enough to
find one.
Locutus, when I met him, was definitely a different box of rocks. I
realize now that he couldn't have been much more than 45. Looking at
him now in his seventies, he really hasn't changed that much, although
gravity has worked its evil magic on him.
As the Dean of the Biz Admin School, Locutus was no lightweight. He
was smart, sarcastic and cynical. A grumpy exterior disguised a heart as
big as all creation.
In his role as Don of the residence, Locutus had an open door policy.
That is, the door to his apartment in our residence was literally open
during the evenings. Anyone could waltz into his living room, pour
themselves a cup of something approximating coffee and then plunk
their butts into a chair and join the conversation.
Did I also mention that I'm a bit paranoid and resistant to change? I
didn't pay very much attention to this new Don. I had liked the old Don
just fine and had seen no reason for the change. But someone suggested

that I go in to have coffee. And one night I did. For the next three years
of my life at Bridges House, Locutus' place was pretty much my social
centre.
Let me paint you a picture of Locutus' sanctum. A two-bedroom, not
very spacious apartment on the second floor of Bridges. As Locutus
was, at minimum, a two pack a day man, there was a certain
atmosphere that can only be described as heavy. Antique tables of
many descriptions and in a variety of repair held up lamps, coffee cups
and books. Oil paintings covered the walls. Although I didn't like his
art then, being a follower of the Playboy School of Photorealism,
Locutus had excellent taste in the works he purchased.
Pieces of large and oddly shaped pottery took up space in the corners.
Large, shapeless loveseats provided seating for guests. Metal cauldrons
about the size of crock pots were situated here and there in the living
room…Locutus' version of ashtrays.
There was a small bookcase for those in the room who did not wish to
engage in conversation. In some cases, several conversations went on
simultaneously.
Depending on the time of day, the event or holiday, food might be
served. This could take the form of "Soupe à la Garbage", that is,
whatever Locutus might have kicking around in the fridge. Anchovy
pizza also sticks in my mind for some reason. Guest chefs were always
welcome to whip up something in Locutus' tiny, not very tidy, kitchen.
Dinners would frequently continue long into the night with coffee
being replaced by alcohol of many descriptions. Locutus was the first
person I encountered who bought his booze by the case so that he had a
selection of wine, liqueurs and spirits for all occasions. Most people I
had known up to then bought one bottle, then drank it until they fell
asleep or were arrested.
Every Saturday, Locutus would get up early, bundle a few brave,
sometimes hung-over souls into his Datsun and drive down to the
Farmer's Market to buy food for breakfast.

That's right, almost every weekend, a hearty breakfast was to be had for
nothing except the willingness to be polite to everyone else in the room.
As a starter, there was freshly made cider. If you were really hurting
from the night before, you could add a dash of rum from the bottle right
next to the cider. I recommend this even if you're not suffering.
Huge amounts of coffee would be consumed. Locutus would shuffle
into the living room, announce what was on the griddle and take orders.
At some point, the breakfast rush would peter out and Locutus would
have his own breakfast, tidy