Henry’s Blog

“No, Mr. Wishard…” By Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  December 29, 2020
Archives Bob Newhart immeasurably raised the public image of driving instructors when he unveiled his famous monologue about those brave souls who “face death in a thousand ways and never know if they will return home at night”. In 1955 I started my summer job, driving the famous white Joe Vine Diving School cars with their dual controls around Winnipeg, and Bob Newhart understood. “No, Mr. Wishard, you can’t make a left turn on this

“The Pain of Phantom Guilt”. by Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  December 26, 2020
Archives David and I met at Tim Horton’s where we had our regular coffee and every morning we compared notes about our activities and interests. He was a photographer by hobby and truck driver by profession. He had a lively sense of humor and a pleasant smile that spread easily over his bearded face. The conversation, on this particular Monday, now a long time ago, had been friendly and casual until he said, “I was

“The Limitation of Imitation”. By Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  December 23, 2020
Archives After it was established that we had been in the same class seventy years before in our prairie town, he began to tell me his story of the intervening decades after that long-ago grade six experience. His name was Neil and I remembered him playing soccer on one of our in-house teams. He now lived in Vancouver. He had been a moderately successful heavy equipment sales rep, he said, but he had met a
Archives The Uber driver seemed discouraged by his present immigrant circumstances. His new family, bright kids, showed promise while he was seeing himself as poor with little promise of the life he had imagined when leaving the poverty, crime, and political instability in his own country. He was near tears.  “Can I tell you a story?” I asked.   “Of course,” he replied.  My parents came to this country just shy of a hundred years ago,

“What will I Do…?” By Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  December 14, 2020
Archives The old couple, still very much in love, were sitting on their sofa as I entered their home. They were holding hands as their story came out bit by bit. They had been lovers when he went off to war where, as sergeant, he led his company off the landing craft and onto Juno Beach. What was left of his group eventually followed the tanks in the breakthrough into France. The iron ring on

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