The Twisted Biography of the author
ANTON VON STEFAN
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Part eleven - a gothic echo off the mountains
Some years after reading his Gothic Horror Stories on Mayne Island in British Columbia, ANTON VON STEFAN took on writing a bi-monthly column in a local, fledgling newspaper. Initially known as the Commercial Drive News, it was a local paper specific for this unique and vibrant part of Vancouver. With time, the founding editor expanded his scope of information bringing to press noteworthy items ranging from Granville Street in the west to the Royal City of New Westminster in the east. This also brought about a name change and the paper, for which our author wrote, became known as The City Drive News. Herein, there was a wonderful opportunity to write an opinion column on virtually any subject a person desired. With the state of British Columbia’s political fibre being just short of a comical tragedy, one was really never in need of new, often times far-fetched, material from which to draw. Every week, some new scandal came to light, a situation that has sadly changed little over the decades.
After a little more than three years in circulation and at a time when the paper just seemed to be moving into its next phase of expansion, the newspaper was purchased outright by a third party. With the loss of its founder at its head, the full-colour newspaper, which was free to the public, soon went out of print. In a way, it was simply a few years ahead of its time, as within a decade, two similar, free papers, the Vancouver Metro, and the 24 Hour News became very successful in this type of market. Thus, with the demise of The City Drive News, our author was again able to devote all of his time to his gothic tales.
Writing is but one of the many interests of our author. Within a year of joining the Pacific Ski Club, he had met a number of new friends, all of which lived within the vicinity of his new Vancouver residence, a house situated between Commercial Drive and Fraser Street. Among these fresh acquaintances were a couple of saxophone players (one is actually a music teacher--recently retired--and plays a number of other instruments including the piano), a few accordionists, a trumpet player and a trombone player who was of Irish and German heritage. This last fellow also knew how to play guitar. He was well versed in almost every good Irish beer drinking song ever written and knew most of the words. On ski trips and pub-crawls, there was always a live band on the chartered bus. Our writer soon became interested in taking up the guitar. It must be said that most of his good friends initially wished that he had not. Since then, thankfully, he has imporved and is actually teaching basic guitar to others.
Being left handed (which may help in writing the devil’s gothic fiction) and having friends who all had right handed guitars, ANTON VON STEFAN took it upon himself to play this portable instrument with his right hand instead of his left. That, most unfortunately, made it more difficult to transfer any kind of natural rhythm into his strumming hand. The end result was years of music that was most painful to one’s ears with a concerted effort being made by the novice to play any song with the correct musical beat, a task in which our author has been at least partially successful (see paragraph above). It was specifically because of his newly acquired musical ‘talent’ that another opportunity arose in which his Gothic Horror Stories were read to the public at Sun Peaks Ski Resort a few years later.
Our author has never been one to hold back on any particular task he puts his mind to. One of his mottos is: “If it is worth doing, do it to excess”, an adage that he has lived by and which ought to have put him in the grave years ago. Over the years, and shortly after he had joined the Pacific Ski Club, he took on many executive positions with this not-for-profit society including News Letter, President and Tours Director. It is in this last position that he booked a new year’s trip to Sun Peaks Resort and was informed by another good friend of a brand new hotel (at that time) called the Pinnacle Lodge.
The manager of the Pinnacle Lodge heralded from Germany. He soon let it be known that he loves to play guitar and suggested ANTON VON STEFAN bring up his own instrument for the après New Year’s Eve party. This unequivocally did occur, and while three quasi “musicians” played (another member on the trip also plays guiar; and, unlike our author, is quite talented thereon) after the New Year was rung in, the guests of the hotel stayed up, thoroughly enjoying the songs being played. The wine and beer flowed well into the wee hours, each musician taking his turn at leading a favoured song, with the occasional guest or group of listeners joining in. As the evening waned, the crowd thinned. The third member of the trio had sensibly left for bed a few hours after the group began their spirited operatic renditions, but the manager and our author were still trying to break ever guitar string on their instruments. It was by now well after four-thirty in the morning. At about this time, the last couple still listening excused themselves, and the manager thought it was a brilliant idea to take their boisterous music out into the open night air so that others might also enjoy their ‘harmonious talent’. Our author, whose fingers had been worn to the bone (not having practiced enough to have sufficient calluses on his finger tips), was actually in agreement with the departing guests and was looking for a polite way to end their duet. It was his intent to possibly ski in the late afternoon of this new year. Not wishing to be the one to break up the wonderful night ‘too early’, he kept up with the song and the spirit of the moment.
As a reesult, the two songful gentlemen wandered from the lounge through the hall and into the lobby, never missing a beat as they displayed their choral form to anyone who was still awake or had been newly awakened by the din. Then, pushing open the large, glass front doors, the manager, who happened to be leading the current song, stepped out into the snow and was surrounded by the clear, cold, sparkling, mountain air. With his voice and his instrument distinctly calling out into the previously still night, he continued walking and was well out in the front parking lot before he noticed that ANTON VON STEFAN had sensibly let the doors close, turned the inside lever to the locked position and was waving good-by to his musical friend. As the manager’s wife had left an hour earlier and had told her husband to walk on home when he was satiated by song and by wine, the good fellow amicably waved back, kept up with his current song, and wandered leisurely down the road, in the freshly falling snow.
Six months later, the phone at the author’s country estate south of the fair city of Vancouver rang and a person as yet unknown to our author asked for him by name. As the ‘butler’ had the day off, ANTON VON STEFAN answered mentioning that it was indeed he who held the Vancouver end of the line. The gentleman identified himself as the owner of the hotel at Sun Peaks, asked if the author had indeed spent New Year’s Eve at the Pinnacle Lodge, if he had played guitar in the lobby and lounge until well after four in the morning of January 1st, and if he had pushed the hotel’s manager out into the freezing cold, locking that employee out of the establishment for the night.
"Yes. All of the above are unquestionably true." Undaunted, our author added. "Am I now permanently banned from ever returning to this fine abode?"
The hotel owner laughed and replied that his manager had thoroughly enjoyed the evening’s events and had recanted the saga of that eventful night numerous times throughout the spring. This employee had also mentioned that ANTON VON STEFAN wrote English Gothic Horror Stories.
As it turned out, the owner had just received a booking of 24 guests arriving from Los Angeles who wished to be entertained by the reading of a Gothic Horror story. He wished our author to come up and read at least one of his unpublished tales of terror to these foreign clients. As the date requested conflicted with a most important family affair, one at which both of the author’s octogenarian parents were to attend, he had to pass on the more than generous offer. The arraignment proffered included a paid return flight from Vancouver to Kamloops, limousine transportation to and from the airport, two night’s accommodation at the Pinnacle Lodge, and a round of golf. Luckily, our author has a good friend, a retired FM radio announcer, who turned out to be a former classmate of the hotel’s owner. This gentleman was more than happy to stand in for ANTON VON STEFAN. Thus, from the mountains of British Columbia, in the lovely alpine resort of Sun Peaks, to a most anxious crowd of two-dozen southern Californians, the lines of two of our author’s Gothic Horror stories were read. The event was a unanimous success, and the author’s friend mentioned that he would gladly repeat the reading at any other city or town worldwide, should the opportunity ever arise.
Go to: Part Twelve of the Twisted Biography
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