David A. Johnstone

David A. Johnstone

August 4th, 2025
DAVE JOHNSTONE – EULOGY

Good afternoon, everyone,
Thank you for being here today to honor and remember the life of our father, David
Alexander Johnstone. Your presence speaks volumes about the love, the laughter, and the
impact he left behind.

For those who may not know us, we are the children of Millie (Edzerza) and Dave
Johnstone—Maureen, Norma, Lori, and Derek. Our sister Patricia, their firstborn, left this
earth early as an infant but has always held a quiet place in our hearts. Dad also had a
daughter, Deb McLaughlin, before meeting Mom. Deb lives in Ontario with her husband
and three sons, and are very much a part of our extended family.

Dad – known as Davy back in Nova Scotia and only David when his mother was serious –
was born on May 31st, 1935 in Thorburn, Pictou County, Nova Scotia, to Fraser
Johnstone and Mary (Flynn) . He celebrated his 90th birthday this year. He was the
eldest of four children, with his brothers Bobby and Johnny and sister Helen Anne close
behind.

He grew up on “the Old Row” and “the New Row”, a stretch of homes in a small, tight-knit
mining community. As Dad would say, “It was a good place to grow up.” Life on the Row
was gritty and real – full of tough lessons and lots of heart. It shaped his sense of that
famous Johnstone feistiness.

Dad left school around the age of 16 – he and one of his classmates, Helen, put a
garden snake in the teachers drawer one day at lunchtime, just for the fun of it. It wasn’t
long before the teacher claimed it was Dad, and although others stood up for him,
(lying) saying it wasn’t , Dad took the blame. That was it, he quit. He and his buddy Brian
then left, down the back alley of the school.

Dad moved quickly into working life, starting with his friend Brian aka “Squeaky” Murphy
at a sawmill. They made $4/day with room and board. He used to laugh when telling us
how Squeaky “ate everything in sight and stole all the cookies.”

Dad soon found himself working in the McBain coal mine alongside his father – Papa
Stout who was one of the supervisors. He also had a brief career of boxing – one match
ended in a draw, following a full shift in the mine that same night. His brother – Uncle
Johnny said he could’ve easily won that fight if he had followed the cheering crowd
shouting ‘use your right, Davy, use your right’. Dad said they’d pay him $5 a fight, and it
would be a good workout for the whole body.

It wasn’t long before Papa Stout told him ‘this mine isn’t going to go on forever, you
better go find another way to make a living’. Dad then made a decision that would
define his life. As he left the mine one day, he tossed his lunch box into a pond and said,
‘that’s it’. He headed west – hitchhiking, hopping freight trains, and navigating shelters
with buddies, Gumpy, Earl and Ray. There were many adventures on these trips. Dad
would share stories with us and his grandchildren, with a twinkle in his eye, and much
elaboration with his arms and voice.

Dad developed a close knit group of friends growing up in Thorburn, with whom he
maintained life long lasting relationships despite the long distances between them.
He never lost his connection to family and Nova Scotia sending regular letters,
important news by telegram and of course, parcels at Christmas.

As kids, we remember the ol ‘give me a number, Millie’ moments.
Dad would get that long distance feeling, and he’d yell ‘give me a number, Millie’, and
away he’d go, calling as many old friends in Nova Scotia, and elsewhere that he
could. One friend, Phippy Stewart would sing ‘Danny Boy’ for him regardless of the time
of the night. This practice has been carried on by some of his kids.

To the very end, Dad surrounded himself with all things that reminded him of Nova
Scotia, including his Thorburn coffee mug, Thorburn 150 baseball hat and Johnstone tartan blankets.
It was in the early 1960’s that his journey west eventually led him to Good Hope Lake,
where he started his highway career, and met his Millie. Here they started their life
together and began a family. He was a perfect fit to the lively Edzerza crowd.

As the story goes, Dad was at the gap pumps and happened to look up, and saw mom
in the window. He remembered feeling so awestruck at how beautiful Mom was that he
lost focus putting diesel in his truck instead of gas; from then on they grew to know
each other through their love of dancing. They were married at Atlin, BC in 1963.
Dad wasn’t one to show much affection but in recent years, it was easy to see how his
eyes lit up when he saw her, and he always signed his cards to her with sincerity in his
signature, ‘David A. Johnstone’. This past April, as their 62nd wedding anniversary rolled
around, and his memory was fading, he said to the fellows sitting beside him at the
Chalet – ‘I’m going to ask her for her phone number, to take her out on a date’. In that
simple statement, we saw the depth and steadiness of his life long love for mom.

After a few years with BC Highways, Dad worked on highways across the Yukon – Ross
River, Tutchitiwa, Carmacks, and finally, Whitehorse, where he retired in 1997.
Retirement brought summers in his garden growing potatoes, radishes, carrots and
Swiss chard, mowing the lawn and fish camp; falltime brought the adventures of
cutting wood at his secret wood spot on the Atlin Road. Those who were invited to go
along felt privileged and Millie’s lunches of salmon sandwiches and treats were always
a hit amongst the guys. Many an hour was then spent stacking that firewood for his beloved wood stove.
Winters brought a hot wood stove, and an immaculately shoveled driveway, at the first
sign of a snowflake.

Dad was always up for a walk, and had a path in the neighbourhood that he walked
faithfully over the years. It is our plan to have a park bench located along this path, in
his honor.

Spring time, often meant a trip to Cuba (or somewhere warm) with Mom, reconnecting
with old friends and soaking up the sun, often in his eye catching speedos.

But Dad’s story is so much more than the places he worked or the routines he followed.
It’s the spirit with which he lived.

He was feisty, kind, generous, and full of humor.
He taught us to “do the right thing”, and never to do anything half-assed.
“Get up, brush yourself off,” he’d say, “and get back to it, keep your chin up. ”‘giv-r-shit”
But, most importantly, he taught us ‘not to put on airs’ … stay humble and real. Through
the way you speak and act, and be good to people.

Dad had a legendary love for people. He was deeply curious and always asked about
you – your work, your stories, your life. Right up until the end, even through the fog of
dementia, he asked questions to bring out the human element. He remembered how to
connect, not through facts, but through feeling.

And he was a man full of sayings. Colorful, vivid, and classic, here’s some of them:
– “Lord thundering Jesus.”
– “Hotter than the hinges of hell.” We’ve chuckled each time we’ve heard him say
this – it’s about being angry, we’ve gathered.
– “oh, it’s a dandy”; often referring to ‘someone’, or a beautiful day. It truly was a
dandy of a day, the morning he passed, with a bright blue clear sky – he would have
been quick to comment on that. And,
– “100%”
– “Right On”
– “Son of a gun” (she was a good ole girl) – disbelief, kind of like his “never saw that
before”…
– Often when enjoying a special meal, such as at Christmas or Easter – you’d often
hear Dad say, just like his father- Papa Stout did, “I wonder what the poor people are
doing”. Dad would pause, looking at his meal, with gratitude. He was so thankful. It was
his way of reminding us to remember how fortunate we were that we had this good
food, and good life, and to remember those who did not.

He often would be heard describing someone as ‘having it up here, common
sense’. He wasn’t much for folks with big words, or showing off. He believed in ‘the
ordinary person’, and prided himself as being just that. When Prince William and
Princess Kate came to town, he was in the front row of the street meet and greet. He
had a quick chat and laugh with Prince William, and what he was quick to share with us
after was ‘the common sense’ he had and that he was an ordinary person, a good chap
(pointing to his head).

And lastly, of course, the classic, often shared as he said goodbye to us and visitors,
leaving their house:
– “Take your time leaving, but hurry back”

Dave was a man of deep passions and simple joys.

He loved a good meal. Especially Mom’s cooking. And in these later years, he was quick
to say, ‘thank you’ and comment favourably on the meal. He cleaned his plate but also
always shared with the lucky person sitting next to him.

Many a good feed of lobster happened around May 31st for his birthday, with the family
learning how to cook, and crack the lobsters for eating, along with mom’s potato salad.
Dad loved boxing in his early years, dog mushing while in Carmacks but mostly he loved
hockey throughout his life. He often proudly commented that Lowell McDonald, an
NHL’er, came from where he grew up.

And he loved the hockey rink. Both on the bench, assisting with coaching the Nannock
Warriors, playing on the ice (and until 85, on the Old Timers Team), and also often,
positioned in a certain corner spot at the Takhini Arena with his coffee cup, where all
the hockey crowd would stop to say hi and engage in the hockey talk.

He loved fish camp; all the work of getting the net ready, carrying water, getting
firewood, packing the sockeye salmon up the hill and then the visits with family and old
friends around the campfire; he would begin planning and packing, and repacking for
the trip in the springtime.

He was a sharp dressed guy. He loved his plaid shirts, long johns (often worn year round
in later years), slippers, his baseball caps (a collection of) and of course, his wool
socks. These were his ‘steady’s’.

And Dad loved music. Often, he could be found in his car waiting for Mom with the
music blasting, sorting through first his 8 tracks, cassette tapes, and later CDs. A good
fiddle tune such as Maple Sugar and Crooked Stove Pipe would bring him alive, of which
you’ll hear today. Music was with him to the end.

He loved a good party, and to dance, whisking us around the dance floor, while whistling
in our ear. We have great memories of watching mom and dad gracefully move around
the dance floor.

During Covid, he and mom discovered the Facebook ‘Nova Scotia Kitchen Party’
sessions, and they would bring happiness to his afternoon.

Dad also loved a good scrap—this started on the Old Row, continued in the boxing ring,
outside the Sunset Lounge and on the ice.

One of his old friends told us he wondered why Dad would hand him his hat, and say
“hold this”? He came to realize that’s how he knew there was gonna be a fight’.
He played hockey into his late 80s. Some would say he was an intense player—others
might say “dirty.” Many remember the ‘pain of the welts’ he inflicted on the ice. Either
way, he spent enough time in the penalty box to make it his second home. Dad shared
this love of hockey with Derek, and his grandchildren.

He passed on this adventurous spirit to his family, encouraging exploration and
connection through travel and meeting people and doing things. When one of his
grandsons was choosing a university, Dad suggested Victoria – not just for the
academics, but for the people. “That’s where you’ll meet people from everywhere in the
world and make connections,”. And he was right.

Dad loved his grandchildren, easily chatting with them, eager to hear what they were up
to and share a laugh. You’d hear ‘right on’ (fist moving) or ‘100%’, with him affirming and
encouraging them.

More recently with the arrival of great grandchildren, his days were easily brightened
with their visits, and with the new babies, telling us quite firmly, ’watch how you hold
their head’.

In this last week, we’ve been touched and overwhelmed by stories and messages from
those who knew him. Thank you.

We’ve heard how your time with him impacted you, his family and friends.
We have heard about how those sparkling blue eyes and friendly way made people feel
special and acknowledged. He liked to hear your stories. It filled him up.

Remembering his 85th birthday, during covid, he gave a heart-warming speech to us –
and in it, he was most pleased with all who came, his friends, old work buddies,
family. He felt your love.

Though we grieve today, we also celebrate a life lived fully. Dad may be gone from our
sight, but never from our hearts.

Mom said it best: “He was one of a kind”.

Rest easy, Dad. We’ll carry your teachings, your stories, your laughter, and your love with
us, always.

And so, in the words he so often used when we left the house:
“Take your time going… but hurry back.”