For Elmer and Bryan

There’s a long-term care home that outnumbers all others when it comes to bringing me in to perform music for their residents. They are likely to be the first home where I’ll perform 100 concerts, a remarkable statistic.

Many of the interesting folks I’ve encountered there stand out in my memory, like the elegant concert pianist from Europe who encouraged me to keep playing piano (not my primary instrument); the Quebecois woman that repeated (over and over), “C’est bien!”; to a motionless man tilted back in his wheelchair, eyes closed, but always making the effort to give a weak clap, even mustering a kind word; plus others.

One man in particular fascinated me. His name was Elmer. It turned out I wouldn’t fully learn his story until after he was gone, but through the many times he was in my audience (30 shows?) I observed him with interest and humour. He looked remarkably like his namesake, Elmer Fudd of Bugs Bunny lore, from the jowls on his face to the shape of his head, even the same style of hunting cap with floppy ear-flaps—a hat so recognizable that we used to call it the “Elmer Fudd hat” (kids today wouldn’t understand).

Although always alert, he never spoke. His contorted tongue often wriggled outside of a mouth seemingly incapable of forming words. His bright eyes however always told me he was listening and enjoying our social time. I presumed it was some form of palsy that disabled him.

Long after he passed, a lady approached me after a concert in another nearby care home asking if I remembered him. She told me she was Elmer’s sister, confirming it was cerebral palsy (CP), but his story, as I would learn, was shocking.

When he was only weeks old, his sister said, Elmer was struck by lightning in the room where he lay—zapped nearly to death, severely harmed into “the only life he ever knew.” Amazed by my chance with her and her belated explanation, I still picture Elmer in my audience when I visit that facility.

CP is a point of personal advocacy. I’ve been lifelong friends with a guy enduring severe CP, Bryan Lamont. A thinking, feeling, sensitive man, unable to speak or walk, under Bryan’s twisted exterior is a poet. During the depths of the pandemic, Bryan put a shout-out on Facebook for musicians to put his poetry to music. As a seniors’ entertainer suddenly locked out of work, I gladly gave Bryan my time.

 Our first song is called “Super Ride,” about how his wheelchair is his “sports car” and his “motor bike.” Adapting his words to my music, Bryan participated in every creative step, from writing to the recording studio to joining me on stage to perform our song.

 You can listen to Super Ride on my “Jimmy’s Classic Radio Show” or “Skarni” YouTube channels.