About Me
1960-1980
My name’s Roger Clark, I live in Vancouver, and I’m a recently retired English teacher. I grew up in Calgary in the 1960s and 70s, and worked as a paper-boy, bus-boy, porter, geo-physics field assistant, and a student hiring officer. I went to school in Calgary and Paris, and to university in Kingston, Geneva, Calgary (M.A.), and Vancouver (Ph.D). I was an English teacher for about 30 years, mostly at Douglas College (in New Westminster). I like to travel, learn languages, watch Netflix, meet with friends, play golf, and write — even on Mexican beaches ...
With Ian at Furry Creek Golf Course, north of Vancouver.
A photo biography
My parents were raised on farms on the prairies. Their ancestors came from the British Isles and Holland. Old photos (like the one above of my mother’s parents) make grandparents look remote and austere. Yet they were down-to-earth, tough, hard-working, and above all friendly.
In Carlyle, Saskatchewan, with my mother's mother in 1984. Maisie loved to chat over coffee, play cards, grow her own vegetables, and do her own baking (my eyes mist up when I think of the summers we spent at her cabin — and the smell and taste of her jam cookies … soft, buttery…). She stayed in her home till her mid-nineties, and she lived happily till she was 99.
1960-1964
My mother's father on Carlyle Lake, where we went most summers in the 60s.
Mom, with crazy sun-glasses (Allan looking forward and Brenda looking aft).
Top: mom (with normal sun-glasses), dad, and grandpa. Bottom: me and Allan with packages; Brenda facing off with grandpa's dog Ruff.
My dad's mother was a friendly, tough old bird, with Dutch ancestry and a large portrait of Queen Elizabeth in her bedroom.
My parents met while my father, a lawyer from Edmonton, was working in small towns in southern Saskatchewan. My dad eventually worked for the Calgary branch of the French oil company Elf-Aquitaine.
My mom worked as a teacher and (many years later) as a director in the B.C. Ministry of Health.
In Hardisty, Edmonton. What is that thing on my head, a bonnet? Is it fair to blame all my strange ideas on my parent's choice of clothing?
Beyond the diving tower, Carlyle Lake was an unnerving expanse, with dark green ropes of seaweed and murky depths ... The shallow end was fun though!
1964-1975
In the backyard of our Calgary home, to which we moved in 1964. My younger brother Scott is shading his eyes, I'm sporting a dapper black jacket and tie, Allan's thinking about quitting Sunday school, and Brenda's posing for a fashion magazine.
One of our many forays into the Rockies. I'm waving to the birds.
The French Quarter in New Orleans, 1971. I think my parents dressed us like that so they wouldn't lose us. I'm Waldo.
In front of the Washington Monument, 1971. I can't bear to look at the shirts I wore!
Summer camp, 1971. I look happy at this point, but this didn't last. This so-called 'Christian camp' had counsellors who were interested in more than spirituality. This is one of the few childhood memories I despise. I look at this in Campfires.
A mediocre right-wing, I was a fan of Yvan Cournoyer and his Montreal Canadiens.
Next to the '67 Fury in my Royals uniform.
I loved badminton!
Ice-fishing on the Chain Lakes, Alberta. I'm apparently giving thanks for our catch ...
My best friend Marshall is on the far right of the previous picture and in the middle here. We were inseparable throughout elementary school.
At the lake with my beloved Suzuki 90. I used to ride around with a blue-eyed Italian-Canadian girl, but of course it all went south — as I recount in Train of Memory.
With Scott, Brenda, and mom, at our cabin on Rosen Lake, B.C. I was proud of the wooden basket I made in shop.
Stonehenge, 1974. My dad, Allan, and I drove from Scotland to Italy.
With Allan on the French Riviera, 1974. Right: a psychedelic version of the Exotic Garden in Monaco (maybe I miss those bright Waldo shirts after all…)
Leaning Tower of Pisa, 1974.
On one of our many trips to Canadian cemeteries in Belgium and France.
One of the fallen — my grandmother’s older brother Willie.
A sad entry written by my grandmother in one of her photo albums.
1975-1980
My dad got transferred to Paris and Geneva for several years. Here Allan and I are taking a crash-course at the Alliance Française in Paris, 1975. I'm at front, sulking. Allan's behind me in the snazzy vest.
McDonald's break, Paris, 1975.
Behaving badly on our Rue de Berri. For an account of my interest in drugs and my bad behaviour, see The Tiny Pyramids of Ra.
For later — and less hallucinogenic! — versions of Paris, see ✧ Le Bijou, ✧ The Floating World, and ✧ The Priest’s Dilemma.
In Sweden with friends — Jim from New Jersey and Martin from Stockholm.
When I was 16, Ward and I travelled down to Italy and Greece with Jim — sleeping in hostels and on beaches.
Slumming it, with Ward, 1976. Greece on 5 dollars a day was actually possible.
My transition back to Calgary wasn’t a smooth one — as I write about in Seeing Double. I finished high school at an open Catholic school, at which point I indulged in far too much pot, LSD, and mescaline. I also became living proof of what Marilyn Manson said so elegantly about the misfortune of hormones and high school: “if you have pimples, the girls aren’t gonna fuck you.”
Hold on a minute — girls don’t like pimpled drugged-out misfits obsessed by Led Zeppelin and Carlos Castaneda? Perhaps I just didn’t meet the right girls… In any case, here’s the chronology: from happy (and hyper) little kid … to willful rebel … to morose teenager:
I surfaced from my grade 12 blues by spending the summer on a farm in Quebec (on a live-in bursary program). I spent six weeks listening to the separatist teachers (who I got along with fine), reading James Bond novels in French, visiting with the mother of the family, and devouring her Sunday-night tartes au sucre (maple syrup pies).
I then worked as a porter at the Four Seasons Hotel in Calgary, after which I spent three months in Fribourg (in French Switzerland), with a wonderful old lady, her three children, and their grandchildren. I learned to make french fries, watched the TV series Claudine, and developed an interest in early history. I also audited a course on gallicisms at The University of Fribourg. The plan was to improve my French, take the mandatory first year at a university in Canada, and then take a year at The University of Geneva.
After working on a geological crew in Quebec and New Brunswick, I went to Queen’s University (in Kingston, Ontario) for a year (taking courses in English & French literature, Greek & Roman History, and Western Intellectual History).
In the Spring of 1979 I worked another several months on the same geological crew (this time in the Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia). I then went to Quebec City to visit my best friend at Queen’s, Suzanne.
I then joined my family in Geneva, where I took courses at the university (geography, history, and sociology). I also met Monique…
In Geneva with Brenda and Scott, who changed his name to Clark (he liked the way it looked on a playbill).
My girlfriend Monique on a camping trip.
Monique with her mobylette in Geneva and in the mountains.
My mom, sister, and I returned from Geneva via Asia in 1980. Here are two unfiltered shots from Mussoorie, a hill station in Northern India.
Crossing a foot bridge over the Ganges, Rishikesh, India, 1980.
A scary cab ride back to Delhi, 1980. At one point some poor villager literally ended up on our hood.
With Brenda in a pachinko parlour, Tokyo, 1980.
With Brenda at my grandma's apartment in Edmonton. Brenda was doing her B.F.A. there; I often came up for badminton tournaments while working on my Bachelor of Arts in English.