The shooting days were long, stifling hot, extremely physical, and the altitude in Durango was high. The Western costumes were made of leather and were incredibly heavy to wear. For some of the scenes where they were passing over a river on horseback, the bulky costumes were also accompanied by a wet suit underneath.
It was obvious to some that during this time John was in a lot of pain, although he never complained. The crew had noticed John was uncomfortable, he would stand differently until ‘action’ was shouted and then he would ignore the pain and act his heart out – it is one thing to act and play a character well, but to act and pretend you aren’t in pain at the same time must have been exhausting. Chronic pain is exhausting.
A common theme you will find throughout this book, is that, unsurprisingly, everyone loved working with John. He had a knack of just getting on with people, they felt welcome and safe in his presence and he got on well with crew and cast alike. He appreciated everyone was far from home and according to boom operator, Mark Jennings, “He would throw a party every few weeks, each time having a mystery bartender - which of whom was always John dressed up as somebody different. He gave all the ladies a box of chocolates and a dozen red roses on Valentine’s Day and not to leave the men out, he gave them each twelve glow-in-the-dark condoms”.
Costume dresser, Donna Meyer, recalled, “On Ash Wednesday we were going to be shooting an hour or so out of town. He knew that most of the Mexican crew was Catholic and that with our very early morning calls and long days, most of them would not be able to get to church. So he made arrangements with the Priest of the church he had been attending, to travel out to where we were shooting to bless and give ashes to any of the crew members who wanted it. It was the most thoughtful thing I'd ever seen.”
As much as he tried to make everyone happy, Dave Thomas, an old compadre from the Toronto Second City comedy troupe, told me that John wasn’t having the best time there, ‘…and John could have a good time wherever he was’. He was also reported to have told hotel staff that he was tired and he just wanted to go home and see his family.
At the end of a long day on 3rd March 1994, just a few days before shooting was due to finish, John rang his co-stars to tell them how pleased he was with the scenes that day, he made a spaghetti dinner for his assistants and went to bed. In the early hours of 4th March John Candy suffered a massive heart attack. Personal Assistant Frankie Hernandez received no response to wake-up calls, so he broke into John’s apartment. He found John half on, half off the bed like he was putting his shoes on.
He was gone.
The world was shaken, his family and friends devastated, his fans left in disbelief.
However, luckily for us, legends like John Candy never really die.
This is part of his story.
The Beginning
Canada is often referred to as the land of immigrants, something the country has always been proud of. In fact when Canada became a country in 1867 their first ever Prime Minister was an immigrant from Scotland, Sir John Alexander McDonald. In 1937, John Buchan (Governor General of Canada from 1935-40) said immigrant groups, ‘Should retain their individuality and each make its contribution to the national character’, a philosophy that has actually been carried forward and today can be found in Canada’s Multiculturalism Act.
In June 1913, Charles Archibald Sidney Candy left London for a new start. He departed from Avonmouth, Bristol, UK, via The Royal George passenger ship and emigrated to Quebec. His intended occupation was as a farm labourer. Charles’ wife, Jessie Maud Mary (nee Banks) – who liked to be known as Maud - along with their sons Jack (11), George (10), and daughter Dorothy (7), were soon to follow him on 25th October 1913 via the Royal Edward passenger ship. The gruelling journey would take just under three weeks.
Two years later the Candys were settled in Toronto and Maud would give birth to another boy, Charles, and in 1917 they would have their final child, another son, Sidney James Candy.
An unusual name, ‘Candy’ is actually of old French origin, it made its way over to England, after the Norman Conquest in 1066. The origin of the name is a little unclear, although there are suggestions it could be a topographical name for someone who lived by a water channel, ‘conduit’, a ‘conductus’ that eventually evolved to Condi, Cundy, Condie, Candi, Candie to Candy. There may also be a locational explanation if someone was from Conde in France (although personally I like conduit - for later on John would certainly be a ‘conduit’ for laughter).
Whilst the Candys had moved to Canada, another significant family were emigrating from the Ukraine. Although the precise dates are hard to find, Frank Michael Aker and Jozefa Stefaniuk (or Josephine as she was known) met and were married in Manitoba, Canada in 1916. Frank had several jobs including stationary engineer (sometimes known as an operating engineer) and labourer, and Josephine was a stay at home Mum to their six children, Elizabeth Anne, Clarence Walter, Evangeline, Frances, Ken and Barbara.
Eventually two worlds collided: Sidney Candy and Evangeline Aker would meet, fall in love and get married in February 1946 at St Peter’s Church, Bathurst Street, Toronto.
1950 was quite a year for Canada; the baby boom was in full swing after World War ll had finished in 1945, in January the first non-stop trans-Canada flight was made and in August Canada joined the United Nations to fight in the Korean War. As sport is next to religion in Canada, it’s also important to mention in 1950 The Edmonton Mercurys represented the country and won the Ice Hockey World Championships, and the Canadian Football Team The Toronto Argonauts qualified for the playoffs for the first time since they had won The Grey Cup, the championship in Canadian football, in 1947.
There was also another huge highlight, however those outside of the Candy family would not realise just how magnificent this occasion would be until years later. On 31st October (Halloween) 1950 in Newmarket, Ontario, Canada, the most wonderful baby would be born. Enter John Franklin Candy. It was always a high source of amusement that Candy should have been born on Halloween, the day when children go from house to house trick or treating for candy. John was the younger brother to Jim who was two years his senior.
A Roman Catholic, working class family, the Candys lived on a quiet street in King City. Sidney had fought in World War II serving in Germany and North Africa as part of the Scottish Regiment of the Canadian Army. According to John his father never got over his experience, he told Parade magazine in 1992, “He’d wake up in sweats. He bounced from job to job. He finally got his own used-car lot – Champion Motors”.
Newmarket is in the York Region of Ontario, with the East Holland River running through it. A small town that grew fast in the 1950s-70s as its proximity to Toronto led to a building boom – it’s located between the bustling City of Toronto and the picturesque county, so it was able to retain small town charm whilst benefiting from big city amenities. The population went from around 5000 to 11000 in this short time. It had everything - heritage, business, sports and culture.
The Candys were a happy family, but the unthinkable happened in 1955 when John’s father, Sidney, suddenly passed away from a heart related problem at the young age of 38. John was only five years old at the time and as you can imagine this was an absolute tragedy for his family. How do you even contemplate something like that, let alone live with it at just five years old? John's dad had left and he didn’t know why, no one explained where he had gone or what had happened. This event would haunt him throughout his life and later he would talk about it in interviews, “I didn’t know why he died. I never understood it. Later, when I had kids I realised how much I missed him, I didn’t have a role model.”
Charles A.S. Candy (John’s Grandfather) also lost his life at a relatively young age to heart problems, so it appeared there may have been an inherited heart disease or weakness.
Psychologically losing his dad would affect John for the rest of his life. Losing one’s father at any age is hard, however the loss of such an important person at such a yo
ung, tender age is something that would hit anyone not once, but repeatedly throughout their life. Grief sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It’s watching your friend’s talk to their dad, their dad picking them up in the car, the banter, love and discipline – realising you would never have that relationship, as well as the fear that you will forget what they sound like for memories can be hard to hold from a young age. For any young person the grief can be repeated every time you see a scenario you did not experience yourself.
There isn’t that much information about Sidney, however I can imagine he was a tall man (Evangeline was quite short compared to her boys), brave and courageous to have fought in the war, and to be so traumatised by the things he had seen whilst in service he must have had a heart as big as John’s. If Sidney had been in service today he would have likely been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) but unfortunately back then the condition would not have been recognised nor treated. Although Sidney's heart condition was likely inherited, the amount of stress caused by PTSD would certainly have not helped.
With the loss of her husband, heartbroken but stoic, Evangeline moved her family to live with her parents in a small, post-war bungalow 217 Woodville Road, East York. Woodville Road is quite a sweet, humble street. The house, considering at one stage it gave a roof over four adults and two children’s heads, was most modest, but the neighbourhood was safe and there was a real sense of community. John later remembered, “It was a very traumatic time for her. She was very young to lose her husband at that time, two young boys, very courageous. She wanted to take care of us”.
East York was the only borough in Canada separated by the Don River, until 1998 when it was amalgamated into a “megacity” with Toronto. Back when John was growing up around 71% of East York was made up of English and Scottish descent. Alcohol was not served in East York restaurants until the 1970s.
Evangeline (Van) went to work at Eaton’s College store, which was once Canada’s largest department store, a retail and social institution with its doors open for 130 years. Whilst Van was working to take care of her boys, John was practically living in the Donlands Movie Theatre, which was a stone’s throw at the end of Woodville Avenue, the road where they lived (come out of number 217, turn right and walk a hundred yards or so). He was captivated by the characters on the big screen, memorising scenes that he would act out for his mother when he got home, which she always found highly amusing. After so much trauma I can imagine it gave John great pride and satisfaction in making his mother laugh, cheering her up with his impressions and shows. Maybe this was where the comedy seed was sown? In fact looking at many of the comedy greats from around a similar time such as Gene Wilder or Robin Williams, it was the joy of making their parents laugh that led them into comedy.
John’s generation also had the TV boom. Much later on in interviews he talked a lot about watching TV as a youngster, making up his own characters and putting on shows in the basement “I have no idea how I got here. Nobody ever told me I was going to be a great comic. I did hear that I was going to turn into a TV if I kept watching it”.
Growing Up
John went to Holy Cross Catholic School where he was an altar boy and later attended Neil McNeil High Catholic Boys School. Neil McNeil was a big influence on John and years later on one of his annual visits to the school he said, “My success is simply rooted in the values and discipline and respect for others that I was taught at Neil McNeil”. He learned to play the clarinet (a skill which stayed with him when playing character Yosh Schmenge and Home Alone’s Gus Polanski - even if he didn't play live, he knew how to imitate playing well) and was involved with the school council.
He had fond memories of school, one of which he recalled in an interview with Robert Crane for Disney Adventures Magazine in 1991. When asked “How old were you when you knew you were funny?” John’s reply: “I think I was in high school when I became aware that I possessed a sense of humour. I went to an all-boys school in Canada and we had quite a collection of class clowns. One time the guys put someone’s Volkswagen between two trees. It was impossible to get out.”
It was through high school he first met his friend Jonathan O’Mara. The best friends became acquainted when O’Mara joined the dance committee as a way of getting into the dances and seeing the pop groups that played at Neil McNeil. “You had to be 16 to get in,” said O’Mara. “We had the best dances in Toronto and I met members of The Guess Who, The Box Tops, The Left Banke, Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels and many hot Toronto bands.” O’Mara’s job was to sell socks to the other pupils as they were not allowed to wear shoes in the gym because they scuffed the floor. “John was working with me. I liked him right away. He was light-hearted and funny and we both enjoyed mimicking the teachers, most of whom were Irish priests. We just started hanging out after that.”
This friendship would be incredibly important for the next couple of years. John and Jonathan became close and were each other’s confidants.
With a great work ethic from age 14 onwards John always had a job, delivering papers, working in shops, door to door sales with most of the money made going to his mother. For a while John worked in a pet supplies store. He always had his sense of humour, once when working he bumped into O’Mara’s Mother, in his hand he had a knife. When asked what he was doing with it, he replied in a deadpan manner that he was, “just going to trim the tails off the latest batch of gerbils”.
The friends used to hang out after work as O’Mara reminisces “I worked in a convenience store on weekends and school nights. I would close up at 11, mop the floors, restock the shelves and trot around the corner to the bank to make a deposit in the night box. Many times, John would wheel in around 10:30, sit on the counter, and we'd chat as I closed up.”
If the pair didn’t have dates they spent Friday or Saturday evenings driving round in John’s car which was an old Chevrolet nicknamed “The White Knight”, they would “cruise around, talking and listening to music”. There is something about driving around that helps people open up to each other, like it’s a licence to be honest, John would tell O’Mara everything. “He would talk about his insecurities and his weight and often despaired of ever looking ‘normal’. He would talk about his dad's heart condition and wondered if he would inherit it. His father was in his thirties when he died. Anyway, those late night drives are the best thing I remember about John. We really got into deep, personal issues. We loved the same music. I remember when Simon and Garfunkel's ‘The Boxer’ and ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ came out. We loved those songs. They were so depressing! They just fit.”
John even taught O’Mara the art of road rage, well he tried at least…“When driving, John would often let out a stream of expletives that would make a sailor blush, whenever he was cut off in traffic. I used to marvel at this. Not being one to curse in those days, John decided I should have cursing lessons. The next traffic offence, I was supposed to do the swearing. I would let out some pretty tame stuff and John would say, ‘That's terrible, O'Mara! You call yourself an Irishman! At best, that was a D+ so shape up, mister!’ It was pretty hilarious, really.”
Growing up John found his love of sport; hockey, football and fishing. At high school he was on the Canadian football team, and had the nickname of “The Pink Panther”. Jim Clarke was captain of that football team, he recalls “Football has two part teams. The offensive team tries to score points; the defensive team tries to prevent the opposing offensive team from scoring. I was the quarterback on the offensive team. However, John played on the defensive front line so my first impression was I was glad I did not have to play against him or be tackled by him. I always referred to John as a gentle giant. He was always good-natured with a great sense of humour. As a player John was a formidable tackler, but because of his size and weight he was assigned a front defensive line position whose goal was penetration more than pursuit.”
In their Junior year they won the City Championship, the team were ecstatic! Joh
n had hopes he was heading for a career as a professional football player, with a dream that he would play for the team he had always supported, the Toronto Argonauts. Much to John’s disappointment he had an accident in his Senior year which left him with a really bad knee injury, putting a stop to the professional football career, leaving John feeling down and wondering what was next. John then decided he wanted to join the forces and help in the Vietnam War.
Ted Schmidt arrived to teach the boys at Neil McNeil in the late 60s. Schmidt found it ironic that Irish priests were running the school and yet none of them wanted to teach religion, they felt their education had been second rate and they just weren’t prepared to answer the deep questions kids had in the 60s. For Schmidt, that was why he was there and why he had gone into teaching in the first place, saying that “I have always been a social justice Catholic”.
As well as being a religious teacher, Schmidt was also a counsellor which is how he met John. John would go in just to chat, and as Schmidt recalled, “I didn’t know he was going to be famous, to me he was just a kid in his last year at High School.” John would talk about his background, how is father had died young and looking back Schmidt realised that John’s love for Neil McNeil was that they “were really second parents to him”. Living with both his mum and Aunt Fran, John sometimes just needed to talk and tease out some of those questions that all teenagers have. With the mutual respect that was shown, it turns out this would morph into a lifelong friendship.
When John sat down and told Schmidt he wanted to go and help in the Vietnam War, Schmidt was aghast. “Usually as a counsellor you don’t be too direct, you let kids come to their own decisions, but I was so horrified that he wanted to go and fight”. As they were in Canada they had a window on America and they could see how ugly the war was. Schmidt had a friend who was a Marine; he brought him into the school to talk John out of even trying for Vietnam. John thought he knew what he was getting himself into as one of his uncles had died in World War 2 “I said to John, ‘these are different people, this is Vietnam’. He was really appreciative of the fact I had tried to intervene, only later he realised that this would have been a catastrophe. 48,000 American and Canadian kids lost their lives, not to mention the 2 million Vietnamese”.
Searching for Candy Page 2