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"TAR" 2003 Obituary


TARABAS o@ca.on.manitoulin.howland.little_current.manitoulin_expositor 2003-06-04 published
Joan HANER (née BOCK)
After a courageous struggle with cancer on Wednesday, May 28, 2003 at the age of 68.
Beloved wife of Harold for 25 years. Cherished mother of Jim STEWARD/STEWART/STUART (Debbie,) Bud STEWARD/STEWART/STUART, Debbie WHALEN (Terry), Lorrie STADNISKY (Steve), Heather BOUCHARD (Eric), Shelley SAGHAFI (Abdi), Kevin STEWARD/STEWART/STUART (Liz) and Pamela BORETZ.
Loving grandmother of 27 and great grandmother of 21. Sister of Ruth STEELE (Jim,) Rosella HARRISON (Orville) and Evelyn TARABAS (Pete.) Daughter of the late Ernest and stepdaughter of Frances BOCK. Aunt to several nieces and nephews. Friends called the Arthur Funeral Home and Cremation Centre on Friday, May 30, 2003. The funeral service was held on Saturday May 31 with Reverend Phil MILLER officiating. Interment Greenwood Cemetery.

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TARASCO o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2003-03-12 published
By Declan NEARY Wednesday, March 12, 2003 - Page A24
Father, friend, raconteur. Born August 22, 1949, in Taylorstown, County Amtrim, Northern Ireland. Died October 4, 2002, in Toronto, of heart failure, aged 53.
Like the late Fred Rogers of television's Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, John DICKSON/DIXON was a gentle, sweet-tempered, softly spoken, unassuming man. He was also blessed with a wonderful and, at times, mischievous sense of humour. Besides rugby and music, he loved poetry and had learned a vast repertoire of poems by heart. The Highwayman and The Cremation of Sam McGee were among his favourite party pieces.
John was born and grew up in Northern Ireland. About Ulster's great religious divide, he liked to joke, "Ma and Da made a huge contribution to our wee town. They had 14 of us, and we weren't even Catholic."
"At home, John was known as The Quiet Man, " said younger brother Robert. "He was a good listener, but also loved to chat and tell stories."
As a qualified electrician, John went to London in 1969 to work for Harrods. In the summer of 1970, he telephoned his brother Brian in Toronto to say he was coming to Canada. When Brian asked for an approximate arrival date, John replied, "Oh, tomorrow."
From the day he set foot in Toronto, John was a tireless member on and off the field of the Irish Canadian Rugby Club. He played wing forward, mostly for the second team, and was willing to have a go in any position on any of the club's three teams. He was club president in 1992-94; since 1997 he was manager of a team, attending twice-weekly training sessions and every game, his Canon camera often dangling from his neck.
John also enjoyed a long playing career with The Leps (The Leprechauns) Irish Canadian Rugby Club's over-35 team. During a rugby tour to the British Virgin Islands in 1987, he was one of seven Leps who endured a harrowing night aboard a rudderless yacht as it was tossed about in rough weather in Drake's Channel. I was on board to witness John's quick reactions to protect his fellow Leps from serious injury or a worse fate.
John married Gloria-Jean TARASCO in 1972. They had a daughter, Amy, now a law student at the University of Western Ontario.
"When I was a child, Dad cooked my meals, read me bedtime stories, and made sure I'd memorized all his favourite poems, song lyrics, and scripture verses, " said Amy. "After my parents divorced when I was 13, all of the time I spent with my father was one-on-one. We were truly great Friends."
John loved living in the Beaches area of Toronto and indulged his passion for running along the boardwalk every day. Once, on the porch of his home, John handed his visiting Irish nephews, Stuart, 15, and Derek, 13, a fat cigar and bottle of Carlsberg each. When the boys' parents saw the carry-on, John said, "Relax, we're just warming up before we head off to Jilly's, " a nearby club featuring female ecdysiasts.
John had a 28-year career as a technician, and manager with Bell Canada.
Shortly after leaving Bell in 2000, John was strolling along Queen Street East and noticed that many of the buildings needed sprucing up. A week later, typical of his sense of spontaneity, he opened a power-wash business, kicking it off by going door-to-door, handing out flyers to potential customers. The business did well.
John always appeared to be in robust health, and his sudden passing from heart failure was a tremendous shock to family and Friends. At his memorial service, many people spoke warmly about this all-round decent man with a mellow voice. His brother George said succinctly, "John came to Canada by himself. He made many Friends."
Sadly, he left us much too soon.
Declan NEARY is a friend of John DICKSON/DIXON.

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TARRANT o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2003-06-21 published
TARRANT, Dr. Michael - April 15, 1937 - June 17, 2003
Dr. Michael TARRANT died peacefully at home in Calgary on Tuesday, June 17. He leaves to mourn his wife of 40 years, Elizabeth Jean, and his children, Neil (Alison), Paul (Rosalie) and Sarah (Sheldon) and his grandchildren Evan TARRANT, Eric, Bronwyn and Michael TARRANT and Kathryn DOUGLAS/DOUGLASS. Michael was pre-deceased by his granddaughter Avery TARRANT. Michael was born in Yorkshire, England and went to school in Chesterfield. He received his undergraduate education at Cambridge University and he completed his medical training at University College Hospital in London, England. He interned at University College, the Whittington and the City of London Hospitals; and he did a residency in pediatrics at Queen Elizabeth Hospital, London. He came to Calgary in October 1964 and worked as a family physician serving his patients and community for over 38 years. Initially in group practice at the Cambrian Clinic, he joined the University of Calgary Family Medicine Clinic in 1977. Michael had been an active staff member at the Foothills Hospital since 1966. Michael served as Residency Program Director for the Department of Family Medicine, then as the Undergraduate Coordinator for the U of C Medical School. His commitment to the development of the Rural Family Medicine Clerkship over these 15 years has been a great service to education and society. Medical students and Family Medicine residents will always remember Dr. TARRANT. He enjoyed participating in the History of Medicine Society. Michael was an original member of the National Research Group of the College of Family Physicians of Canada, and was Alberta's coordinator of the National Influenza Surveillance Project. He was particularly proud of his Viral Watch program that he directed for 26 years. In 2002, Michael received the Reg L. Perkin Award as Family Physician of the Year. Michael's passions in life were his family and his practice as a family physician. His grandchildren filled him with great joy and happiness. Funeral Services will be held at Westminster Presbyterian Church (290 Edgepark Blvd. N.W.) on Monday June 23rd, at 3: 00 pm followed by a reception at the Calgary Winter Club (4611-14th Street North West) If Friends so desire, memorial tributes may be directed to a charity of choice. To e-mail expressions of sympathy: Subject Heading: Michael Tarrant. In living memory of Michael Tarrant, a tree will be planted at Nose Creek Valley by Mcinnis & Holloway Funeral Homes' 'Crowfoot Chapel', 82 Crowfoot Circle N.W., Calgary, Telephone: (403) 241-0044.

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TARZWELL o@ca.on.york_county.toronto.globe_and_mail 2003-12-05 published
Wilfred A. SPECK
By John TARZWELL, Friday, December 5, 2003 - Page A22
Cub Scout Akela, pilot, leader, friend. Born July 7, 1924, in Toronto. Died October 18 in Ottawa of leukemia, aged 79.
You always knew when Wilf was in the room. Not that he was loud, exactly. Just a warm, bright, physical presence. You knew something exciting was going on, and that if it wasn't being done quite right, it would soon be hijacked down the path of correctness. At least, correct as Wilf saw it.
Whether leading a flight of gleaming Starfighter jets at Mach 2, or teaching yet another batch of unruly, grubby, fascinated Cubs how to apply direct pressure to a hypothetical severed artery, there was always a right way, and he'd help whoever needed it.
Wilf was great with people. From dealing with the lowliest aircraftsman second class on parade, to mingling with his exalted brethren of the Masons and the Shrine, to negotiating the complexities of Ottawa's Anglican Diocese, you could be sure he'd be in there, advising, wheeling and dealing, moving the organization along in the paths of righteousness. He got real pleasure out of making the world around him better.
Frequently, that process was extremely difficult. Sometimes, when he worked as an accident investigator for the Royal Canadian Air Force's Directorate of Flight Safety, he'd come home terribly depressed, having separated the remains of yet another of his fellow CF-104 pilots from tangled wreckage. The bitterness rarely came out, but whenever he talked about "garbage picking," you knew things had been very bad. Yet, he went on doing it, because it would save other lives later, and he was good at it.
A Toronto boy, Wilf (with help from the air force) showed his family a fair whack of the world's geography first hand. From basking in the Southern California sun, to vibrating hypothermically in the iron grip of winter in Cold Lake, Alberta., to careering along narrow mountain passes in Switzerland with a Volkswagon microbus full of shrieking offspring and Friends, he took them places they'd never dreamed of.
Wilf endured far more than his share of tragedy. The deaths of two dear daughters (Marilyn, the quiet one, and Debbie, the wild one) in separate traffic accidents were particularly hard to bear. When his beloved and endlessly patient wife Jane succumbed to cancer a few years back, it was the heaviest possible blow.
Wilf's own struggle with leukemia was both too long and not long enough. Once, at the peak of the severe acute respiratory syndrome epidemic, he was taken to emergency. He noticed an admitting nurse sneaking nosefuls of cool air over the top of her quarantine mask. As it had a thousand times before, the pugnacious chin elevated itself, and an eyebrow rose magisterially in her direction. Silently, using the barest of gestures toward his own horribly uncomfortable mask, he unfolded for her the enormity of her misdeed. She blushed crimson, snugged down the mask, and once again, the world came into line according to the Wilf principle.
Wilf's legacy is four surviving strong personalities; Rosalyn, Valerie, Ron and Jennie, and a raft of grand-and great-grandkids who all, mysteriously, seem to know just what they ought to be doing at any given moment, even if they don't always choose to. The occasional surrogate progeny shares their sense of loss, of profoundly missing a golden, powerful, sometimes infuriating force of nature.
Once upon a time, as the Cold War was threatening to heat up, Soviet and Allied air forces would probe each other daily for weak spots. Some of the pilots, when they'd been out conducting the nation's business at 60,000 feet would ask, "Well? Didya feel safe last night?" -- implying that you were especially well protected when they were out there personally on patrol.
Yes, Wilf. We all felt very safe.
John TARZWELL hung around the SPECKs' house a lot. They hardly ever had to throw him out.

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