I’ve always remembered a story activist Jim Deva told me during an interview in 2008, not long after he and his lifelong partner Bruce Smyth made the difficult decision to sell their business, Little Sister’s Book and Art Emporium on Davie Street.
The story took place at the height of the epic battle he, Smyth and bookstore manager Janine Fuller fought against Customs Canada, now called Canada Border Services Agency, in the 1980s over the seizure of gay and lesbian books and comics they ordered from outside of the country.
Deva told me about one day, during that decades-long fight against censorship, when he found himself standing on the steps of the Supreme Court of Canada in Ottawa.
“Someone took a photo of me standing on those stairs,” Deva said. “I came out of there at one point and looked around and I was absolutely amazed. There had to be 20 or 30 lawyers and all of these community activists around and I realized they’re all here for us. It was a very moving moment.”
Maybe the reason that story has stayed with me for so long is because of how much it meant to Deva, who died unexpectedly Sunday after falling off a ladder while trimming bamboo in the backyard of the West End home he shared with Smyth. He was 65.
To say this city’s LGBT community has lost a voice is an understatement. The reason I use the term LGBT instead of the extended LGBTTQ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Two-Spirt and Questioning)considered more politically correct today, is that Deva told me a few years back he thought the community was becoming one made up of “alphabet people.”
“That might make me some kind of dinosaur,” Deva told me at the time, laughing.
Deva was never afraid to say exactly what he was thinking, which is refreshing at a time when many others will only speak to a reporter via press release. But Deva always made time for me, no matter how busy he was, and I was always guaranteed a good quote or two. His insistence in speaking his mind and doing the right thing cost Deva dearly over the years. He invested two decades and huge amounts of money in the Canada Customs case, and in attacks Deva always assumed were motivated by hate towards gays and lesbians, the store was fire bombed three times — in 1987, 1988 and 1992.
When I interviewed Deva about the sale of the bookstore, he gave me a list of conditions any new owner would have to meet before he’d OK the deal, including a passion for human rights and community activism — and keeping Fuller on as manager. The list made me smile because at the time, and ever since, I had the feeling Deva might not be quite as anxious to sell the store as he was making out to be.
But to call Little Sisters simply a “store,” is a disservice. Over the years, the hole-in-the-wall tucked into a tiny plaza off Davie Street became a place of action, a safe place for those just coming out to seek advice and solace, and a place to buy some of the funniest, albeit naughtiest, greeting cards available.
It was at the store where Smyth gathered with family and friends Sunday night just hours after the news of Deva’s death spread via social media.
Longtime friend Barb Snelgrove said the crowd gathered at the store was simply “gutted.”
“He was a wonderful man and a wonderful friend,” Snelgrove told me Tuesday. “Jim always had your back and you could trust in the knowledge he’d be there for you no matter what. The time for healing might be now, but it’s going to be a long one.”
A celebration of Deva’s life will take place this Saturday, Sept. 27, from 3:30 to 5:30 p.m. at St. Andrew's Wesley Church. Rev. Gary Patterson is officiating as previously requested by Deva and Smyth. The family requests no flowers, but instead please donate to the LOUD Business, LOUD Scholarship Foundation, a cause near and dear to Deva’s heart.
