Cathy Janie McLean and Raymond Neil Tomlin were married at Pilgrim United Church in North Edmonton, the church Cathy had attended with her family since moving to Edmonton to begin high school, on a near frozen Edmonton Saturday, December 19th, 1970 afternoon, at 1:30 p.m.
Outside the sun shone, the weather a nippy but not unseasonable -35°. There were several in attendance who expressed their dismay that the sun was streaming into the church during the ceremony, something which I never quite understood. For me, it was like being blessed by God.
The marriage occurred almost a year-to-the-day since I had first met a bedraggled dirty-blonde, long-haired Cathy, very much a hippie, huddling with her friend and University of Alberta roommate, Joy, who were at the Royal Towers Hotel in New Westminster, as we waited for the Greyhound bus to transport us into Vancouver. Long story short, Cathy and I, and Joy and my friend Charles, hung out over the next few days, prior to Cathy and Joy returning to Edmonton. In the spring of 1970, I hitchhiked out to Edmonton, without any prior notice to Cathy of my intention to do so, and stayed with Cathy for a week, when we made love for the first time.
Cathy travelled out to Vancouver with her mother that summer in 1970, and rather than return home with her mother, Cathy remained in Vancouver. By mid-August the two of us were living together. Four months later, on Saturday, December 19th, 1970 the two of us were married.
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The best man at my wedding was Bren Traff. Here’s a very brief, 6-second clip of Bren recorded in 1967, as he was starting off his CKLG 20-20 newscast. Later Bren would take over weekend CKLG-AM mornings, and later still, with almost every other deejay in town, move to a renewed CFUN — which had dropped its money-losing CKVN, Vancouver’s Voice of News format, returning to a tried-and-true rock ‘n roll format in the 1970s. Bren had been my best friend from 1966, right through until February 1972, which is a story to be told on VanRamblings another day.
In addition, another friend of mine, Hal Weaver — who, at the time, was the morning rock jock at CKVN — asked if he could be a co-best man at the wedding; I asked Cathy if that was alright with her, and she said it was fine. At some point, I’ll write about the last show, on CJOR from midnight to 6 a.m. Hal performed, a show he called Sunday Morning Coming Down, flat out the best radio programme in all of Vancouver radio history.
Hal Weaver is considered by many to have been one of the best, straight ahead Canadian-born rock jocks — a title he shares with others, including Daryl B. and Terry David Mulligan. Hal had a dynamic personality and voice to match. In 1968, J. Robert Wood hired him at CHUM Toronto, where he stayed for two years before moving to Vancouver’s CKVN in 1970. Hal died of throat cancer at the age of 28 in December, 1971, in Surrey, B.C. At the time Hal asked to be a co-best man, he’d already been diagnosed.
Cathy mother’s Myrtle insisted that Cathy stay at her home, just down the street from the church, in the days leading up to the wedding, while Hal, Bren and I stayed at a nearby hotel. The only time Cathy and I saw one another in the week leading up to our wedding, was when we met with the church pastor to talk about our vows, and our commitment to one another. Most of those meetings with the pastor had Cathy and I arguing with one another — if I recall correctly, the arguments were a consequence of an utter lack of maturity (not to mention, quite a bit of insecurity) on my part.
Cathy also insisted on changing the vows to read, “As long as we both shall love“, from “As long as we both shall live,” a change the pastor opposed, but Cathy dug in her heals on the issue, and of course got her way. That particular changing of the vows should have been the first hint I recognized that this was a marriage not to last for the long term — but I was so head over heels in love with Cathy that the thought never occurred to me.
[A digression. I would like to present photos of our wedding at this juncture in today’s story, but I have no photographs of the wedding in my possession — when we divided up our belongings in the early 1980s, Cathy took possession of the wedding photos, more to please her mother than for any other reason … my children tell me she still has the wedding album]
Nonetheless, Cathy and I were married, spending our wedding night at a fancy downtown Edmonton hotel, a gift from her mother (along with a brand new car she’d bought the two of us — recently, I’ve written about my daughter being a little too bourgeoise for my tastes; that well-practiced bougie aspect of how Megan presents herself to the world, and lives her life, comes directly from her mother & grandmother, the latter a Southam).
As you can see in the photo atop today’s column, I was pretty much smitten with Cathy (I think the only other person I know who looks at his wife as I do in the photo above is Seth Klein, when he looks at his wife, Christine Boyle). Once at the hotel, Cathy and I did what we usually did — we got stoned, which was a major feature of our life together during my university years in the early 1970s, along with a very active sex life.
Together, the two of us watched a Peter Sellers movie (although he had only a small part), The Wrong Box, on TV, snuggling with one another on the bed. About half an hour into watching the show, and nicely buzzed, Cathy retreated to the washroom, emerging in a blue, diaphanous and very short silk negligee — which, as you might imagine, did not remain a part of her dress for very long. We woke up the next morning very tired, indeed.
The marriage was a tempestuous one, not troubled exactly, but demanding at times, and overall for the first seven years, a great deal of fun, filled with love, betrayal, travel, an immense amount of sex (five times a day, every day for a decade, sometimes more), and on my part, a great deal of learning on how to be a productive and influential person in this world, as for all the years we were married, Cathy dressed me (“This is what you’re wearing today.”), edited my essays and other writing, and transformed me from an east side slum dwelling kid devoid of social skills into a presentable, and sometimes erudite young man. No Cathy, no Raymond Tomlin, at least not the Raymond Tomlin you have all come to know.
