We are here at Amchitka, and I can’t write about it. It is all too fresh and overwhelming. Fortunately, Kieran has done a wonderful blog about our experience here, which you may want to check out. Later I will try to set something coherent down.
Meanwhile, on a MUCH lighter note, in my last blog I promised to talk about what my Mom, Chuck Berry, Pink Floyd and Bono all have in common. So here goes. (Warning…Bono story included. I know many other Greenpeacers have Bono stories…bring ‘em on!)
It all comes down to food. Good cooking and good music are inextricably entwined in this story, and on board the Espy. Raymond, the ship’s cook -- whose combined Dutch, Indonesian, Chinese and Italian heritage have resulted in black wavy hair, brown skin, and a love of a great variety of cuisine -- is de facto DJ of the deck where many of our cabins reside. His music blares out into the halls as Samantha – 23 year old assistant-cook/kitchen goddess who sports a ponytail and an uncannily calm, elegant bearing – chops and dices while Raymond sautes and boils. Our dinners are accompanied by Sinatra, Swing, Classic Rock, and you may find yourself heaping your plate with a vegetable medley or fried chicken while getting down to the sounds of Mr. Chuck Berry. Swabbing the deck…the type of chore we all…almost all…do between 8 and 9 in the morning…goes faster to Pink Floyd, unless you are in a melancholy mood, in which case just let your tears mingle with the soapy water in your bucket.
Meanwhile, back home, my mother is cooking. I know this even though I haven’t talked to her for the two weeks I’ve been on the Espy. How? Because besides founding Greenpeace with a few other souls my mother is known by friends, family and the many visitors she is always inviting to dinner for her gourmet meals, and when not in the kitchen is to be found shopping at Granville Island Market for the freshest produce in Vancouver or rifling through one ot the hundreds of cookbooks on her shelves. Picture her now, five feet on a tall day and wearing a white chef’s hat bigger than her head, pounding dough to the sound of Pavoratti, serenading the entire block around her house through the giant speakers my father always insisted our house contain.
You may be wondering where Bono fits in to all this. At this point in the story I must introduce my brother-in-law Ed Montague, a lawyer and a very persistent fellow who happens to be a huge U2 fan. When he heard the band was coming to Vancouver a few years ago he said, "Hey, Bono is a big Greenpeace supporter, I bet he’d love to meet a founder of Greenpeace, why don’t you invite him to dinner at your Mom’s?
Right. Like Bono would happen by for a bite and a brew at the home of total strangers. I ignored the insane request for awhile but Ed (like all lawyers) is so stubborn that I finally wrote the Great Man just to get Ed off my back. The response? Dinner was out of the question. Surprise! However, Bono would like to meet my Mom, if he had time. I had to give Ed credit at this point. Credit, and a big hug, and then dance around the room for a minute.
Three o’clock on the day U2 was to open in Vancouver, Ed got a call: my Mom and entourage (Ed, myself, and our spouses) were to be backstage at 7 pm. Passes would be waiting. Needless to say, we were a tad excited.
When we entered the green room…having first been escorted through at least three security details…we bopped around like idiots wondering whether to partake first of the chilled wine, beer, or snacks, and taking dumb photos. My mother sat serenely on the couch, holding the history of the beginning of Greenpeace that Rex Wyler penned, and one of the original Greenpeace buttons, presents she thought Bono might like. As forty minutes ticked by, then forty-five, then fifty, our spirits fell. We weren’t going to meet the Man after all. Of course it was silly to think he’d actually show up...as if he wasn’t busy enough.
And then, just when all hope was lost, in he strode, clad in black and those trademark green shades (that his eyes are very visible through). "Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy," he sighed, putting his arm around her. "You ruined my life."
It was Greenpeace, he confided, that first inspired him to activism. He asked if she had any earplugs and everybody laughed until he pulled out a pair. It was hard to imagine how, minutes before walking onto the stage, a rock star could be so focused on the comfort of a petite 84 year old woman, how he could be so entirely present, or how he could submit so graciously to posing for a photo.
During the concert he dedicated a song "Original of the Species", to Dorothy, and the next day U2 posted Ed’s photo of Bono and Doro on their website with a link to Greenpeace.
As we walked down the stairs to the floor after the concert everyone stood back, making way for the elderly lady with the smooth white hair. Dorothy, they called, reaching out to grasp her hand. Thank you.
My mother smiled back, and only on the way to the car, having passed all the crowds, did she pull out her nitro inhaler and take a couple of puffs. I don’t remember what, if anything, any of us ate that night, but if Bono ever does come to dinner, you can bet my Mom will have something good on the table. Meanwhile, on the Espy, it’s dinnertime. Until tomorrow then…