Myra & Byron

Introducing, first, my wonderful, cool landlady, Myra French, near 26th and Main.

She rented the house and controlled who lived there. The owner, Mr. Zimmerman, cared for her so much that when he died, it was written into his will that his son could not sell the house as long as Myra was alive. Her rent was to remain the same for her lifetime. I paid $60 a month for a bedroom, and I shared a large kitchen and bathroom.

I was invited there by Gail Irvine, née Turner, Bob Turner’s first wife, and I was approved by Myra. We had the main floor, which included a communal entrance. Myra lived modestly in the basement.

Myra rolled her own cigarettes, ate certain weeds from the garden, brewed her own beer, and listened only to CBC. She had a huge computer and wrote her life on it. She went swimming every day. Every morning she cooked stinky omelets. Every morning.

She once told me her husband had been an FBI agent who worked with Eliot Ness, and that he had committed suicide in front of the police station. Myra also had a way of talking that was purely her. She would stand in the doorway, not come in, just stand there and talk.

Years later, when I was married and living elsewhere, I had my small children. Myra had not seen them. We talked about getting together, and she said she would like to take them swimming. Then she added, very matter-of-factly, that since they were half Black, she knew Black folks could not swim. They sink.

What. I thought she was joking. She was not.

I had to educate her and tell her my babies were already swimming. “Wow,” I remember thinking, “such a smart lady.” She had simply never seen a Black person at the pool. Vancouver did not have a very large Black population then. I loved her so much. That is Myra French. No one like her.

This is Byron Black.

The Royal BC Museum holds a documentary on him. He was a linguistics professor at UBC, a Hare Krishna, and Vancouver’s Fellini. He was an extremely creative filmmaker, best known for The Master of Images, The Holy Assassin (which is where I had my first acting role), Flor Fina Pilapina, Mango Magritte, and a short titled Byron Black and Vincent Trasov: “My Five Years in a Nutshell,” which includes the time when Mr. Peanut ran for mayor. Yes, that is right.

Byron was a trip. He had a wife who called herself “Lulu du Ulul” (the last part is “Lulu” backwards). He also had a very beautiful, quiet, amazing photographer boyfriend, Yoshi Yoshihara. After a while, Yoshi and Lulu, whose real name was Susan Pritt, divorced, and then Susan married Yoshi. They had two children, moved to Denman Island, and created a successful miso product.

Byron loved Spike Jones, and he could mime “You Always Hurt the One You Love” with all the sound effects. He lives in Indonesia now.

(Please excuse my spelling. I am seriously dyslexic.)

These people were all my family. One month I could not make my rent. The only thing I owned of value was the harp that Bob Murphy’s father once gave me for my birthday. I told Byron I was going to sell my harp. He said he could help with that, so, feeling a bit depressed, I went for a long walk.

When I got home, I made tea and got ready for bed. When I pulled back the sheets, there was $60 cash. My rent. I knew it was from Byron. I am ashamed to say he did that on one other occasion, too. What a wonderful, kind friend.

We all watched out for each other.