March 2, 2000
Meeting Fotheringham - THE COMMENTARY
By Joseph Planta
VANCOUVER - If you’ve been reading this column for a while now, you’ll know that I’ve been ass-kissing to Allan Fotheringham, because he’s my hero in life. He’s arguably the best column writer in this country today, with the exception of maybe Vaughn Palmer and Robert Fulford. Well, at the NDP Convention a couple of weekends ago, I met Dr. Foth himself.
Leona Lin, my trusty side-kick and the best photo editor I’ve ever hired, (I’ve only hired one so far,) was instructed by me to take my picture with any politician or famous face, I could spot and chat with. We were staking out the area on the upper level of the Coliseum, and we couldn’t find anyone to talk to. Then out of the corner of my eye I spot someone schlepping up the stairs from the bottom level. He was a short man wearing a hat, and a brown coat that nearly touched the floor. The man was carrying a bag, and looking for something. I immediately knew it was Foth, because the face was child-like looking as ever, and he had his glasses on a string hanging from his neck. (He probably had no less than $6,000 worth of clothes on, but they were of the ugliest colour one has ever seen.)
I approached him, saying, “Mr. Fotheringham?” He responds, “Yes...” wondering who the hell this kid is that’s approaching him. I proceed to ask for a photo, because I’d rather die than fail to get my mug next to Foth’s. We pose, chatting and I tell him I’m his biggest fan. “Well, I’ll need every fan I can get,” he responds and I laugh hysterically like an idiot, but it’s Allan Fotheringham damnit! We chat for another second and I thank him ever-so graciously.
I have nearly ripped Leona’s ears off, badgering the poor girl on developing the Foth picture. She stalls, and I get apprehensive, ready to sacrifice the poor girl for screwing up the process of keeping that moment on photo paper. I saw the shot a couple of days ago, and it’s like the biggest thing in my life. Me and Allan Fotheringham! Or, more appropriately: Allan Fotheringham and me.
I was actually surprised that I met him. I never thought he’d be in town let alone, this Provincial convention since he’s successfully in the handles of Central Canada. I’ve been telling folks ever since, I could croak tomorrow, and no matter the cause of death, I’ll die a happy man, because I met... Allan Fotheringham. No one can write like him and I’ll gladly surrender in front of my putter and say I’ll never write like him now or ever. He’s a guy who can tell it like it is and do it with such style, humour and grace, it’s unexplainable.
Ain’t I lucky? I think I am. Read Fotheringham on the very last page, every week in Macleans.
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