A memorial bench and treasured memories swept away by flood
David John Simon of Conestogo Born: April 4, 1941 in Kitchener Died: April 8, 2016 of pulmonary fibrosis
Following the Grand River’s recent flooding, David Simon’s widow worried the bench that had been placed in his memory on the river’s edge might have been swept away. She was right. Sonja Simon stood with her tiny dog on the spot where the bench once stood beside the Conestoga golf course and all that remained was the stone base.
The wooden bench, handcrafted by friend Tom Nitsche, was gone and along with it, memories of a special place on the banks of the Grand, a place that David had always called “my office.”
This secluded bit of nature was where David would find quiet, hear the soft burbling of the normally smoothly-flowing river and watch as birds soared and butterflies flitted. It would also be where David would take friends.
“I was visiting him at his house once and he said ‘Want to see my office,’” said long-time friend, John Lackner. “I knew he had an office in his house but we walked right past it, out the back door and across the green.”
Their destination was that special place on the river where at the time, a splintered old bench stood. After his death, the new bench, with a brass memorial plaque, would take its place.
This new bench became a place where the family could come to remember and to grieve.
“It’s in a spot he loved so much and we feel that, whenever we go there,” said daughter Kate Simon-Hendel, who was recently photographed on the bench on her wedding day.
The family also had a special gathering on Father’s Day. Kate said, “We took a bottle of Champagne and toasted him.”
Kate put out a plea on Facebook for sightings of the bench and so far, there have been more than 2,000 messages of sympathy. The incredible response might be the emotional impact the story had on people — as well as the impact of the man himself, a man who
seemed to know just about everyone.
As Sonja said, her husband was a “people person,” the kind of guy who couldn’t walk 10 feet down the street without stopping to chat with someone.
David, an ardent sports fan and community volunteer, was a social butterfly, “a big personality,” said Sonja.
“He’d be the guy who would go to the market and buy loaves of (fresh) bread then drop it off here and there.”
Born in Kitchener during the Second World War, David spent the first four years of his life with his mother while his dad served in the armed forces as a police officer. In 1950, he suddenly had a baby sister, Christine.
David, though smart, was not interested in academics and was, according to what he told his friends, “disinvited” to continue studies at his Catholic high school so he switched to a public school.
After graduating, David considered following his father into the Kitchener police force but on the day he was about to sign up, he was also offered a sales job with Hiram Walker and Sons Distillery.
David chose the sales job and never regretted his decision.
John, a retired cardiologist and former chief of staff at St. Mary’s Hospital, first met David as a patient. He knew David was a man with a lot of character.
“His reputation preceded him,” said John. “He had a great personality and always had everyone laughing all the time.”
Kate added, “He was the consummate salesman, a great story teller and excellent in sales.”
When Hiram Walker closed its Canadian sales division, David was out of a job after more than two decades working for the firm.
He dabbled in other jobs, including driving a limo, but nothing captured his interest. Working part-time at the golf course did suit him. First, it was in the couple’s backyard.
John said his friend had been a capable golfer but he also saw the golf course as a prime place for socializing. Whenever David spotted friends on the course from his backyard windows, he’d hop into his golf cart and zip over just to say Hi and offer them a cool drink.
That was David to the core, never missing an opportunity to connect.
John spoke of David, a longtime heart patient, coming to medical appointments at the cardio clinic on Pine Street and always showing up with a box of muffins for staff.
“They called him the ‘Muffin Man,’” said John, noting David had many friends and acquaintances and remembered everyone’s name.
He was also the guy you wanted to go out for dinner with because in minutes “he’d have the waitresses eating out the palm of his hands.”
David was charming but in a genuine way.
Sonja met David at the Waterloo Tennis Club. He was a divorced father of three daughters, Nancy, Susan and Peggy, and after they married in 1978, he added one more girl to his collection: Kate.
David was already in his mid-40s when Kate was born and being an older dad with a liquor sales job meant Kate had an unconventional childhood.
“My dad probably exposed me to adult things much earlier in life than other children,” said Kate.
The daughters also recalled their father’s annual recitation of “’Twas the Night Before Christmas” where he usually ad-libbed, adding funnier lines such as “And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but eight drunken reindeer attached to a beer truck.”
Massachusetts-based daughter, Peggy Simon, remembered her father organizing annual golf tournaments for family and friends, an event he called Canusa, a name blending the two countries. It often happened in August when she’d come home for a visit.
“After the round, at a cookout he would round up random things from the house to give out as prizes,” said Peggy.
There will be another game held this August in memory of David and Kate hopes his missing bench will be found by then.
“It was like a punch in the gut, it felt like we were losing him all over again,” she said.
“It had become a symbol, where we felt close to him.”