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Toe Tapping Johnny Clarke

Written by Lorna Dancey, as told by Johnny R. Clarke

Johnny was sitting in his easy chair finishing his afternoon coffee while listening to Hank Williams Jr sing, “How a Country Boy Can Survive.” The early afternoon sun was stretching its rays to the corner of the living room, drawing his attention to the shine. He noticed his old violin peeking out of the corner and picked it up, wiping the dust off. Realizing he hadn’t thought about it in a long time, he sat back down and started tapping his toe, losing himself in the memories of days gone by.

Suddenly, he was 19 years old, in a different time and place, sitting on a wooden chair playing his violin in the corner of Bill Roberts’ cabin in Fort Vermilion, Alberta. He looked over at his partner George, who was keeping rhythm with his guitar. Their love of music flowed through the two-room cabin that was filled with furniture a few hours earlier. It was Friday night, and like the weekends before, they organized the kitchen parties because they loved to play and entertain the communities. People were dancing, laughing, swapping stories or sharing a meal everywhere he looked.   They gathered in neighbour’s homes and kitchens every weekend and danced the night away with friends nearby; everyone was welcome. Johnny scanned the room and couldn’t help but smile. There was nothing else he would rather do than live his life playing music for others.

They entertained the crowd with songs from Don Gibson and Elvis Presley, which everyone loved. Trying to concentrate and keep the rhythm to the music, Johnny looked over at George, and he had the biggest smile on his face. Johnny could hear George quickening his pace with his guitar and glancing over at him as if he was challenging him. Johnny nodded and picked up his pace; they were going back and forth, trying to keep up with each other, laughing; the crowd stopped to watch this dynamic duo go toe to toe with each other, some clapping, others cheering. Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny caught the shy smile of a lovely lady watching him; she looked down and blushed. Johnny smiled and suddenly, distracted, fell out of tune. The crowd responded with laughter. He may have lost the challenge, but her smile was worth it.

Johnny’s love of music began at 14 when he was introduced to it in school. He learned how to play piano and then the accordion. The first song he ever learned was “Three blind mice.” The best way for him to learn was through the songs. He knew by feeling and by sound. Some could say music saved his life. It gave him a purpose and filled his heart with something other than the painful memories of residential school.

Johnny was born on March 15, 1941, at Fort Fitzgerald. His three brothers and sister lived there until their mother passed away. Then, they were taken to the Fort Vermilion Residential School, where they were severely mentally and physically abused. His sister died the first year, and he and his brothers stayed for five years before his dad remarried and brought them back home. Before this happened, they had a wonderful life. His dad had purchased a cow and always had fresh cream and milk. In the winter, he remembers going out to check the rabbit snares with his older brother; he would catch one or two rabbits a few times and always felt proud. When they returned home after residential school, his dad purchased a team of horses and made a living hauling water for other people. He didn’t make much money, but enough to buy food and clothes. In the winter, he moved freight to the Little Red Rivers store when the store ran low on supplies. As they grew older, the boys got small jobs after school, during the summer and on holidays working for local farmers.

When Johnny was 18, he worked at Smith’s sawmill with a friend, making 70 cents an hour. They roomed in the bunkhouse, and one day, they were flipping through a Sears catalogue, and his friend Leo said, “Let’s order a violin.” The  violin was $9, and they agreed they would each pay half. Surprisingly, the violin came quickly, and they were excited when it arrived. Johnny pulled it out carefully, admiring the polish and the sleek surface. He had never seen anything more beautiful. While admiring its beauty, they noticed it had no strings and didn’t come with a bow. How are we going to learn how to play this? They got creative and used some baling wire and a spool of thread, attaching the thread with spruce gum from the spruce trees to use as rosin on the bow.

In 1962, they went to Fort Smith and started playing at parties. It wasn’t often they received payment for their performances, not because they weren’t any good, but because no one had any money, but to Johnny, that didn’t matter; music was everything to him. He smiled, remembering when they first started playing together and lost tempo. They were distracted by the people in the room, which happened twice. They were made to turn around so they would keep their rhythm and beat.

A noise outside startled him out of his thoughts, and he noticed the time. Grateful for his memories, well, most of them, he set the violin back down, remembering he had it for 50 years. Johnny slung his golf club bag over his shoulders and headed to the door. Realizing he had forgotten his keys, he walked into the kitchen and stopped. On his fridge were photographs of all his loved ones, and they were smiling at him. Johnny stood there for a moment, feeling thankful for the life he had. Those photographs remind him every day what he is grateful for. He opened the front door, and the sun shone; he grabbed his favourite Titleist ball cap from the coat rack and walked out down the wooden stairs smiling. Life, when you’re younger, is so different than when you’re older. He has such good memories, but when you’re 80, it is different. Back then, there were always parties with lots of music, friends and good times. He started humming a tune, smiling to himself, and thought back to when his singing could make people happy or bring tears to their eyes…