Tatervox In concert at:
The Canadian Cancer Society's Relay For Life

We are proud of our charity work. 

On June 23, 2001, we played a very early morning concert for the relay teams raising money for the Canadian Cancer Society.  We had a great time and each of us was touched and inspired by the event.  This is an article by Randy expressing what it meant to him.

Wish I May - Wish I Might  ...
 By Randy Broten

Mud Street.  Who in his right mind would name a street Mud Street?  The green glow on the dash said that it was 11:40 pm and I had promised to arrive ten minutes ago.  I peered through the windshield hoping to see someone I could ask for directions – something I only do under extreme duress.  Lots of luck!  I saw boondocks – that’s all.  The boondocks of Stoney Creek!  I did notice that the sky was lit up off to my left and gladly left the street called Mud.

The Canadian Cancer Society's Relay For Life was in full swing.  I was directed through the crowded parking maze and parked as close to the sound stage as possible.  I left my car and hurried across the parking lot.  When I came to a pathway, I stopped and stared.  I had never seen anything like it.

This path was lined with glowing lanterns on both sides.  So were all the other walkways.  Not a few dozen lights, or a few hundred - but thousands.  Softly flickering beacons that emitted a living warmth.  There was a light fog nuzzling the lampposts overhead.  This intimate ceiling shimmered with the reflected light.

I knelt down and looked closely at one of the lanterns.  It was a simple white paper bag with a candle inside.  I soon learned it was called a luminary.  On the outside was written the name Ron Spencer, a date and a few other details.  Ron had lost his battle with cancer.  So had the next person, and the next, and the next ... I looked at about ten before I found a person who was listed as a survivor.

People stepped around me as I knelt and read name after name my mind awash with emotion.  I rose and walked towards the music stage.  I felt a catch in my throat when I saw the word "HOPE" on a hillside spelled out with the seemingly endless luminaries.

I joined up with my band mates and we gathered our gear to get ready for the concert.  We had a half hour or so before we were to play.  When all was ready, I slipped away and meandered again along the paths of light.  The silvery warmth of the candles, the glowing fog, and the soft murmur of people walking and talking sent my mind sliding down an old and aching pathway of its own.

In July of 1987 on a similar warm night with a low fog and with a giant full moon that turned Lake Ontario to silver, I sat on a Toronto General Hospital bed staring out the window.  My mother’s hand was in mine.  I could feel her laboured breathing to the depths of my soul.  Her battle with cancer was lost at 3:42 that unbearably sad morning.

I found a lovely lady who took my $5 and gave me a candle, a bag and a marker.  She put her hand on my shoulder when she saw I faltered writing my mother's name.  I took my mother's luminary and set it along the pathway overlooking the stage where I would be playing.  I wanted her to hear me play.  I wanted her to hear the songs I had written.

A karaoke band was onstage.  I went and found my friend Garry and talked him into getting up and singing  with me.  I picked an old Johnny Horton song "The Battle of New Orleans".  We were awful.  My mother would have loved it.  She loved Johnny Horton.  And she loved me too.

I know two things about cancer:

In Canada, more than forty percent of us will be diagnosed with cancer

And more than 20% of us will die from it.

"Wish I may - wish I might
Have the wish - I wish tonight ... "  

I wish for a cure.

My thanks to the Canadian Cancer Society, Dofasco, MDS, Tatervox and everyone who was there.  You swept me off my feet and touched my heart.

I especially thank Lynn Broten , the lady who gave me life, gave me the gift of music, and who loved me unconditionally - my mother.  

Lost to cancer in July 1987.