“He was outside on their property in Lister.”
When I got a sad and very unexpected call on Saturday that Joe Meers had died, I just had to ask where Joe had died. It isn’t a question that I normally would have asked under the circumstances, but it seemed important — I don’t know of many people who were more attached to their rural property than Joe and his wife, Lika.
“It’s how he would have chosen to go,” I said to his daughter, who quickly agreed.
It’s hard to imagine a world without Joe Meers. He has long ranked among my most unforgettable characters.
Not that I knew him intimately, but on our occasional chats and visits I inevitably left smiling, thinking this planet was a better place for his presence on it.
For as long as I can remember, when the word judo comes up, I have immediately thought of this small man, a man who was the epitome of what martial arts study can do for an individual. He carried with him a quiet confidence. He was the sort of man you’d want to have at your side if you were in trouble.
I once visited Joe and Lika’s house in town to do an interview for a story about his retirement from the Creston Judo Club. They were Old World hosts, gracious and completely accommodating. My reputation as a wine lover preceded me — “Would you like a glass of wine?” Joe asked, gesturing to a bottle and glasses already set out on the table.
I couldn’t help but laugh. No thanks, I demurred, it’s a little early. I think it was probably about 10 a.m.
“How about a cup of coffee?” Lika offered. I accepted and soon we were sitting at the dining table, sipping our coffees and enjoying a selection of baked goods.
Joe and Lika were tremendous characters to visit, let alone interview. Breathtakingly beautiful, even in her advancing age, Lika has a razor-sharp intellect and packs more life into her very fit body than a dozen of most mortals. She is a brilliant artist, creating hand woven tapestries from wools she spins and dyes herself. One of her pieces is in the Vatican.
Joe was less voluble, but no less interesting. He had prepared a file on his history to help me with the story, so I really only needed to get a few quotes. Among the anecdotes I heard was a story I’ll never forget. They told it in tag-team fashion, interrupting each other, completing the other’s sentences and laughing when the voices collided.
Following is an excerpt from the story I wrote afterward:
The couple had driven to Banff from their Calgary home for a day of skiing, and parked their vehicle beside a large motorhome. It was the last parking space available, but the beefy American driver told them to move their car because it was too close to his own vehicle. When Joe ignored him, the large man pushed him down. Joe had been at a disadvantage, holding his skis on his shoulder and wearing heavy ski boots. When the American began to kick him, Joe got up from the ground.
“Lika, hold my glasses,” he said.
In seconds, his adversary was on the ground, gasping for air, with the smaller Meers on top of him.
“Had enough?” Joe asked him.
After the sputtering bully had returned to the confines of his motorhome, his two large sons came out to see the source of their father’s humiliation, and proceeded to threaten Joe.
“Do you want to be next?” he asked.
They beat a hasty retreat.
Joe retired as head of the Creston Judo Club at the age of 86, not because of his age but because of an accident he had the year before, when he was thrown from his quad while out cutting firewood in the bush near Yahk.
“If it wasn’t for the head injury I had last year, I wouldn’t be quitting,” he told me.
It’s difficult to measure the value of a life, but if Joe Meers is only judged by the number of young lives he has influenced and inspired, he will be deemed to have been among the very best.
My deepest condolences go out to Lika and Joe’s family, and his countless friends — everyone involved with the Creston Judo Club among them. His was a life well lived.
Lorne Eckersley is the publisher of the Creston Valley Advance.