My hairline’s past receding / My teeth are end of term / My chest is strangely sunken / My gut has left the firm / And south of the equator / within a nest of white / reclines the flaccid spigot / I empty thrice a night.
Such are just a few lines from Bill Richardson’s hilarious new book entitled The First Little Bastard to Call Me Gramps: Poems of the Late Middle Ages. The author, humourist, and former CBC broadcaster faces growing old with a wicked wit, and in turn has penned a perfect stocking stuffer. Bill and I recently chatted about the book and his West End neighbourhood.
What inspired you to write a book of verse?
My father was a great reciter of verse. I think he was quite typical of his generation in this regard. He could rhyme off poems like The Shooting of Dan McGrew or The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere. So my poems were written as a sort of tribute to my dad, who died about a year and a half ago.
You actually won’t become a "legal” senior for several years. Are you truly offended when people think you’re older than you are?
I'm not offended, exactly, but I get a little miffed when I'm treated deferentially by the young. The other day in a restaurant I'd ordered something on the small side and when the server came to clear the table and saw that I'd cleaned my plate, she said, "My! Didn't you do well!" It took all the strength I could muster not to use the C word. I know she was well intentioned, but it did sound a little like something one of the chirpier medical aides might have said to my father in his care home. Ominous.
What role did social media play in the book?
I'm not much of a social media dabbler, but like pretty much everyone else I'm on Facebook, and I began posting the poems there just to amuse myself and my community of friends. I was spending long stretches with my dad, and they were a kind of therapy, I guess. So was gin. Facebook was a good testing ground for me – if my friends liked them, if they shared them, I took it as a sign that something was working. The poems were all tinkered with considerably before publication as a book, but the first drafts of many appeared on Facebook.
Did your West End neighbourhood provide subject matter?
I don't refer to the West End in any precise way, but certainly things I've observed come into play. The other day on Denman, I witnessed scooter gridlock on the sidewalk outside of the Tango meat emporium – one walker was also implicated – and I was sorry the book was already published because it's exactly the kind of thing that might have found its way in. There's a poem called (Exact) Change is Certain which is about the strange compulsion people on the shady side of 50 feel about paying with exact change. I mean – what is that about? I'm always digging around in my pockets now, as though my finding the necessary 35 cents, rather than the 50 that's readily available, is actually going to make a whit of difference to anyone. Go into pretty much any store in the West End and you'll see that playing out.
Bill Richardson is hosting Allanlujah, a benefit for the Performing Arts Lodge, 581 Cardero, on Wednesday, Dec. 9, featuring readings by actors Allan Gray, Allan Morgan, and Patti Allan, and Bill himself. 'The First Little Bastard to Call Me Gramps' can be found at better Vancouver bookstores.
