Mike Demers
Mike Demers,
I write this letter as the business of making a living prevents me from attending the memorial service for Michael Demers. I thought the best I could do given the circumstances was to compose a letter that someone could read to those in attendance.
Mike and I literally lived in the same block when we were young and unbeknownst to the both of us at the time we went on to influence each other in a way that would determine how we would spend the remainder of our lives.
I am approximately a year and a half older than Mike and though we did not attend the same school the fact that we lived in the same block ensured that we were bound to meet.
I started playing the guitar, literally, in the summer of ’69, but long before this Mike and I fashioned fake guitars out of cardboard and odd pieces of wood and we loved to sing along with the rock and roll music of the time. My sister, who is five years older than me, was constantly playing people like Chuck Berry, Little Richard, and, above all, the Beatles.
We entertained ourselves for hours with an old monophonic record player singing along with the above artists and many others from the mid to late 1960s. I still recall singing songs like Please Mr. Postman, You Really Got a Hold on Me, Tutti Frutti and others.
It was almost a given that once we hit our early teens we would put away our cardboard guitars and start trying to play in earnest. We loved to watch any rock concert that came on T.V. and one of our favorites was Don Kirshener’s show, though I’ve now forgotten what the show was actually called. I remember how blown away we were when one night we saw the Doobie Brothers performing the album “The Captain and Me.” You know, songs like “Long Train Running,” “China Grove,” “Listen to the Music,” “Rockin’ Down the Highway” and so on.
We were a constant source of inspiration to each other and loved to impress each other with some riff we had learned to play. The heavy blues rock of the late ‘60s became a staple for us, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, Ten Years After and many others too numerous to mention here. If it weren’t for Mike I don’t know that I could have practiced as much as I did. Like I said, we were a constant source of inspiration for each other.
Well, as we became more proficient on our guitars we began to play whatever covers we could until we at last managed to amass enough repertoire to look for gigs. I distinctly remember calling a booking agency known as Milro Entertainment. Now you may remember, if you spent any time in Edmonton, that Milro was a name coined by the two individuals who owned the agency, Big Miller and Mary Roth. Some of you may know these names.
Big Miller was of course a recognized trombone player, and he was big in more ways than one. Big Miller was a black man who was probably just shy of three hundred pounds. Think of Howlin’Wolf and you will get the right impression. Mary Roth, almost the opposite of Big Miller, was a petit and demure white woman, though to this day I am not sure if she was a musician or not.
Well, to make a long story short, we both thought that they would reject us out of hand as a couple of incapable youngsters. Much to our mutual surprise and amazement they started booking us immediately. We played taverns in small towns, community halls and junior high school dances. Things were different back then, and though the bar managers knew we were underage, they would merely say to us, “just make sure you don’t drink too much.” That certainly wouldn’t happen today. It was a great opportunity as we actually started to develop some real skill on the guitar. It was also tremendously exciting for a couple of fifteen and sixteen year olds.
In short I don’t know if we could have done it without each other, that’s how close we were in the early years.
Like so many close friends the exigencies of life eventually forced us to move on and we saw less of each other as the years went on. However, when you are as close to someone in your youth as Mike and I were you remain dear to each other ever after.
As you know Mike eventually moved to Victoria and went on to be a music therapist, helping troubled youth by using music to help them improve their self-esteem and their sense of identity. He did more for young people than I can possibly describe here.
My last memories of Mike are from his work as a tribute artist. As you probably know Mike had a good deal of success as a Roy Orbison impersonator, and I managed to see his show a number of times when his band played in Edmonton. I remember saying to him jestingly, “I don’t know if I should call you Roy Demers or Michael Orbison.” I still recall how some of the audience were quite surprised when he finished one of his shows at the Century Casino and before doing anything else he walked directly to my table and gave me a big bear hug.
Mike was an exemplary person and a loving human being, and I must say it is with some sadness that I realize he was cut short from doing what he loved, playing music and entertaining people. He even had a European tour booked with his Roy Orbison tribute until the grim reaper stole it from him.
Enjoy your life and be kind and helpful to people, as in the end we are all just “passengers” here, passing through this life and eventually passing away. Mike certainly spread a lot of light while he was here on this journey we call life.
Mike, dear old friend, I couldn’t have done it without you. By the grace of God I hope someday to see you again in the Kingdom of Heaven.
Mike, rest in peace. I loved you then when we were young, I love you now, and I will love you forever.
Goodbye, old friend, and as Horatio said to his dead friend Hamlet, may a host of angels sing thee to thy rest!
(And as for me, thanks for listening folks!)
