Powell River writer and singer-songwriter Pat Buckna began his music career in Calgary in the 1970s, spent a number of years in the Arctic including a stint as a photographer-reporter for a community newspaper, and was responsible for bringing over 750 performers to the NWT pavilion at Expo '86. In 2019, he wrote and published Only Children - A Family Memoir - and runs a small recording studio on Texada Island. He lives in a small Canadian coastal community two ferries north of Vancouver, BC.
Embedded Files
Teenage Pat Buckna at his the typewriter 13 years before he was a journalist.
Ordinary People
Ordinary People
The editor calls me into his office.
“There’s no story here,” he says, tossing the pages across his desk, my words covered in slashes, dozens of phrases, entire sentences underlined or scratched out. His comments, in red ink—NO!, IMPOSSIBLE!, and RE-WRITE!!!—shriek from the margins.
I tried to follow his advice, wrote a strong lead, included all the details—what happened, who, when, and where—repeated the story three times in increasing detail, just as he said, even read it aloud to myself.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Reporting has nothing to do with opinion. Observe, then write what you see. There are three types of readers: those who only look at headlines, others who read the first sentence and move on, and a few desperate souls who make it through an entire story.”
I leave the editor’s office, wander back to my desk, and finish a movie review for tomorrow’s entertainment section. I’ve convinced him to let me try my hand at something different.
Our movie theater is in an old steel Quonset hut across from the gas station. First-run movies seldom make it to town. By the time they arrive, they’re as stale as the popcorn sold at the concession. But movies are still movies. With little else for entertainment in the evenings, the theater does a thriving business.
Last week’s film, *Ordinary People*, is a story of a teenage boy and his parents trying to cope with the death of the boy’s older brother, who drowned after the two teenagers’ small boat capsized in a windstorm.
Everyone who saw the movie identifies with one of the characters. Some feel as guilty as Conrad, the surviving son; others are as angry and detached as Beth, the mother who’s withdrawn from her husband and blames her younger son for the death of her favorite son. Others empathize with the father, Cal, who tries to confront his family’s grief but gets trapped in his own muddled emotions.
One man tells me the only person who makes any sense is Dr. Berger, the psychiatrist. Another says, “The doctor’s full of crap, just like his friend.” The more people I speak with, the more I realize how much impact this movie has had. Some blame the son and agree with the mother; others condemn the mother for leaving. A few believe the father should have done more. Most are just glad the tragedy didn’t happen to them.
Instead of writing about the acting or the plot, I focus on the characters as regular people, just like those I’ve spoken with. I describe their reactions to the characters without taking sides, making judgments, or including my own opinions.
When I finish, I drop my draft on top of the pile in the editor’s in-basket. The next day, the paper publishes my review. Several folks, including the editor, compliment me.
“I’m glad you took my advice at last,” he says. “I hardly had to change a word of what you wrote. That must have been quite the movie. Too bad I never saw it.”
“Me neither,” I say.
~ Pat Buckna
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