A character passes

Community remembers Foster

Foster Bailey has died. Foster was a character—instantly recognizable by his support of the local hockey team, predictable pranks, his bicycle and his distinctive manner of speech. He was a fixture on Main Street for most of his nearly 72 years.

His greeting of recent years consisted of a card bearing his birth date, Oct. 13, 1939, as well as the number of years he had been volunteering with the Wellington Dukes.

He was proud of his team and his role with the club. When fire destroyed the rink in 1973, Foster rode his bike to the Glenora Ferry each day. He would spend the day going back and forth on the ferry selling raffle tickets to visitors who were trapped with him on the boat for 20 minutes at a time.

Then, when it closed some 37 years later, Foster was there to drop the first puck in the final game ever played at the DukeDome.

Foster was developmentally challenged likely from birth. He was the fourth child of Charlie and Madeleine Bailey. He arrived considerably later than his sisters. The first thing one noticed about Foster was his slurred, sometimes barely comprehensible speech. With time and patience one could extract from his clipped words the gist of his message.

He wanted to be helpful particularly in maintaining village streets: filling potholes and cracks with cold patch or flagging traffic around a water main break. No one asked him to do it—he just did it.

T h o u g h helpful at times, Foster could also be a “pill” according to some. He had a habit of running away and hiding, often with most of village out looking for him. One lifelong resident recalls the entire school emptying to scour the village looking for Foster. Meanwhile, Foster had found a high hiding spot and watched in glee as folks scurried about trying to locate him.

But even those whose memories of Foster are less glowing remember warmly how certain families including the Baitleys, Channells, Greers and Lavenders watched out for him.

Foster in his younger days.

Foster lived at the family home on West Lake on the edge of the village. When his father and then his mother passed away Foster spent more and more time around the arena and the ball diamonds.

That is where Garry Lavender was—either as coach or manager. Lavender took Foster under his wing—watching out for him, giving him odd jobs and bringing him along to out-of – town games.

Tod Lavender, Garry’s son, says as far back as he can remember Foster was always around—either at the furniture store, the funeral home or at his parents’ home.

Tod Lavender says Foster didn’t understand personal boundaries well.

“Mom tells the story of waking up startled one Sunday morning to find Foster standing at the foot of her bed. ‘What’s for breakfast?’ asked Foster.”

Tod also tells of the time Neal Turner was coaching the Dukes. His netminder was having a poor game and had let in a couple of soft goals. Foster came up to Turner on the bench and told him to pull the goaltender. Assuming the direction was coming from Lavender, he replaced the netminder. But, a bit annoyed, he pulled Garry Lavender aside after the game to say that he was the coach and that he didn’t appreciate being told how to do his job.

“What are you talking about?” said Garry.

“Foster told me that you wanted me to pull the goalie,” said Turner.

Of course Garry had said no such thing. Foster had made the call. So when Garry saw Foster next he ‘combed’ him pretty good.

Foster’s only response was,“Well, we won didn’t we?”

At his wake on Monday, everyone had their favourite Foster Bailey story to tell.

“They all came to remember him,” said Tod Lavender. “He was a character who touched many, many lives in this community.”