In 1914, 30% of households had a telephone and 20% had electricity; less than 20% had a cooking stove and less than 10% had a car. The crackle of radios, the hum of refrigerators, and the gurgle of clothes washers had yet to enter homes. Jim and Ella Cudbird of Carlaw Avenue in Toronto welcomed a son into this world on December 4, 1914. They named him Beverley Swann Vassar Cudbird.
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| Dad with his Mum - Spring/Summer 1915 |
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| Dad's First Day at School - Sept. 1919 |
His eyes were on the clouds and stars as he went on to university. Meteorology won over astronomy and so began his career as a weatherman.
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| Trinity College, U of T 1937 |
He married his "American Beauty" in November 1944 then swept her off to Newfoundland, where he was posted during WWII.
After the war, they lived in Ottawa for a time where, in 1947, their first daughter was born. The 1950s saw the family settling in the Toronto suburb of Etobicoke. Two more daughters were born, me in 1953 and my younger sister in 1959.
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| Dad's Girls - 1962 |
Dad's career progressed at great speed as computers began to appear. He was a key figure in the development of weather data processing techniques. In the 1960s that expertise took him to Nigeria to assist in that country's entry into the digitizing of weather data. For this work, the federal government awarded him the Canadian Centennial Medal in 1967 for having provided valuable service to the country. My wedding in 1975 offered the perfect opportunity to wear the medal.
A cancer diagnosis in the late 1970s did not stop Dad from doing what he loved - forecasting the weather. He retired from Environment Canada and became the staff meteorologist for radio station CFRB. I like to think he pioneered that media role. Of course, radio has some definite advantages over TV; presenters don't have to worry about what they're wearing, and as in my Dad's case, one doesn't even have to be in the studio. Most of Dad's broadcasts came from the upstairs den in my parents' condo in Etobicoke. If you listened carefully to some of those broadcasts you could hear the chattering of the two teletype machines that spewed out the latest observations and forecasts on reams of newsprint paper.
Dad inspired my love of photography. He began with 35mm slides to which in the sixties, an 8mm movie camera was added along with a "portable" tape recorder, all of which were slung over and around his shoulders throughout the family trip to Europe in 1964.
Dad also loved Dixieland Jazz, Willie Nelson, and military brass bands, especially the Coldstream Guards. Broomstick in hand (instead of a rifle), he marched around the living room often with his daughters following in behind. Sometimes he added a deliberate and exaggerated limp to his step.
He loved the New York Mets but was happy to embrace the Toronto Blue Jays - as long as the Mets weren't in town!
Happy Father's Day, Dad!
I posted this a year ago and I repeated it here today because I just saw Dad this morning as I was tending the garden. I was talking to the plants as I do, when I heard his voice over my shoulder. He too was talking to the plants, noting how the tomatoes were coming along, and then he started whistling a very familiar tune which soon we were singing together, "There'll Be Blue Birds Over the White Cliffs of Dover." Then we rolled right into, "We'll Meet Again." And then he was gone. I suspect he caught a glimpse of Dame Very Lynn's arrival in heavenly realms. I can imagine him taking my mother's arm, "Come on Irene, let's go say hello." And off they walk hand in hand, singing together.
Bless their hearts.
©2020 April Hoeller
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