Almost four decades later, I聽can鈥檛 remember if I told the Canadian on the train that Terry Fox had died, or if he told me.
It was 1981. We were on the British Rail run between London and Dover, a couple of strangers drawn together by the flags sewn on our backpacks. The car was crammed, no place to sit, so we stood in the aisle, exchanging news from home.
A girl from Quebec joined us. She didn鈥檛 speak English but had overheard Terry鈥檚 name. 鈥淨u鈥檈st-ce qui s鈥檈st pass茅?鈥� she asked. Terry didn鈥檛 make it, I replied in halting high school French. He died.
The girl began to cry, really cry, her tears falling freely as the train rocked and rocketed through the Kentish countryside. The other passengers looked at us in consternation, wondering what was wrong, but there was no point trying to explain.
You had to be Canadian to understand. You had to have been there.
So, here was my question for Fred Fox on Tuesday: Do people still get it?
Can they truly grasp what his brother meant to Canadians back then, or is Terry鈥檚 legend a vicarious memory, the stuff of folklore and history lessons that, like the Depression, the Second World War or the 鈥�60s, had to be experienced firsthand to really be understood?
Fred, standing beside the statue of his brother at Victoria鈥檚 Mile Zero, paused briefly, then replied: 鈥淚 think people do still get it.鈥� They do so because Terry鈥檚 story, which every Canadian schoolchild learns before they learn the names of the provinces, intertwines with real-life, relatable experience. 鈥淓verybody has been touched by cancer, in one way or another.鈥�
And yes, the values Terry personified 鈥� the Fox family is big on the word 鈥渧alues鈥� 鈥� mean as much now as they did then.
Sixty-two-year-old Fred, who was born 14 months before Terry, was in Victoria on Tuesday at the beginning of a cross-Canada journey on behalf of the Terry Fox Foundation and Sept. 15鈥檚 Terry Fox Run. Around the world 鈥� runs are held in more than 30 countries 鈥� more than $750 million has been raised for cancer research.
Canada is where the Fox name really resonates, though. In 2004, when the CBC asked the public to vote for the greatest Canadian of all time, the surprise wasn鈥檛 that Terry placed second, but that he wasn鈥檛 first (that honour went to Tommy Douglas).
Terry embodied the qualities we show when we鈥檙e at our best: humility, selflessness, determination, honesty, a quiet strength. He never appeared to care about the glory, could come across as gruff and tough 鈥� toughness having nothing to do with the ability to dish it out, and everything with the ability to take it. It would be wrong to call him fearless, though; you can鈥檛 have courage without fear. He was a combination of guts and goodness.
鈥淧eople recognized he wasn鈥檛 out there doing his run for what he could gain from it,鈥� Fred says. Sure, when Terry was first diagnosed, when he lost his leg at age 18, his focus was on himself, what his future might be, how girls would look at him 鈥� but then he started to see what cancer was doing to kids in the pediatric ward. 鈥淭hat impacted him so much.鈥� It made him want to help.
He raised millions for cancer research, but none of it went into his own pocket. After Terry鈥檚 cancer forced him off the road near Thunder Bay, Ont., 39 years ago this week, he came home to Port Coquitlam flat broke, Fred says. 鈥淚 had to lend him some money to buy our mum a Christmas gift.鈥�
That鈥檚 how Fred remembers Terry: not as an icon, but a brother. 鈥淢y memories of Terry aren鈥檛 about the Marathon of Hope,鈥� he says. They鈥檙e of a normal Canadian kid, one who idolized Bobby Orr and Darryl Sittler, who had to work harder than everyone else to make his soccer and basketball teams.
As Fred speaks, a steady stream of tourists 鈥� Japanese, Chinese, British 鈥� take photos at the Terry Fox statue. Sarnia, Ontario鈥檚 Jennifer and Kevin Snauwaert stop by after dropping off their son for his first day at UVic. They were only a few years old when Terry died, but yes, they say, what he represents matters not just to them but to their son, too.
鈥淚n every community,鈥� Jennifer says, 鈥渋t鈥檚 part of our consciousness.鈥�
