Rose's Cantina

About two years ago, the doctors told Viggo Kanstrup he had inoperable liver cancer, and had a few months to live, tops. Viggo took it in stride. He'd been ill for a while, felled by a stroke, and then pneumonia while living in B.C. He was eeking out his days in a hotel, like some sort of Steinbeck character, playing a few jazz gigs, and spending his days in the library. Viggo had no expectation of forgiveness from his family. He had been involved in a couple of scandals over the years, and simply expected to "fade away," as he told me later. But the trajectory of his senior life changed, suddenly, when his son Erik arrived to scoop him up and bring him back to Ottawa. All had been forgiven, and he was welcomed home by his kids and second wife, Francoise, who adopted him like a stray pup. Like a lot of musicians I've known, Viggo took the "papa was a rolling stone" lyrics to heart. But now in his sunset, he was planted, and loving it. Viggo was...

You won't see many pictures of Peter Fleming. That's because Pete was more of a "behind the scenes" guy. He was like that character Red in Shawshank Redemption , who could get things for you from time to time. Pete was a force around the National Press Club for years. He'd often be seen at a back table with Gus Cloutier, the House of Commons' Sergeant-at-Arms, and many of the honchos who worked on the Hill. Charlie Lynch would be at the table, along with Shirley and Tom Van Dusen Sr., and Art Lamarche. On a Friday afternoon, they'd be holding court, downing bottles of wine, slurping pea soup and chowing down on roast beef. The gang was there every Friday for decades. It was always a fun table, and they were gracious enough to let stragglers like me join them. I learn a lot. I laughed a lot, too. Unlike myriad other tables in the joint, when you sat down, you parked your ego -- and shop talk -- at the door. This was story time. A lot of people...