A backroad explorer who ‘lived and breathed’ pacifism
VANCOUVER— July 9 was Leonard Dyck’s birthday, but he wasn’t thinking about that.
In fact, he hadn’t remembered he was turning 64 until his sister, Doris Fleck, called. She asked for the “birthday boy,” and he laughed.
By her account, that was a “typical Len thing.” Perpetually focused on his family, botany and innumerable creative endeavours, occasions such as Dyck’s own birthday could slide by unnoticed if it weren’t for reminders from his more calendar-oriented loved ones.
The sound of his voice still rings crisp in Fleck’s ears, she said, challenging the unacceptable fact that he is now gone.
On July 19, Dyck’s body was found on the side of the highway in Dease Lake, B.C. Two young men would be charged with second-degree murder in his death.
Dyck’s death came as a shock to his immediate family, whom Fleck describes as highly private — as was Dyck himself. Colleagues of the esteemed University of British Columbia botanist painted a picture of a dedicated scientist with a wry sense of humour.
To his younger sister, he was a giant presence — a childhood idol turned adult best friend who charted his own path from the days of his youth in Abbotsford, B.C., all the way to Dease Lake.
As children, they were “inseparable,” even though they were 5 1⁄2 years apart in age. Fleck described her family as poor when she was growing up — they lived in a small home in Abbotsford’s Clearbrook area that she and Dyck would jokingly call “the shack.”
After Dyck was born, his parents, Henry and Helen, had three children, all of whom died young of an unknown illness — a loss for him despite his young age.
“He needed someone else, he wanted a sibling. He wanted someone else to share what he was going through,” Fleck said. “Len sort of invited me into his world. I would sit by the window and wait for him to come home.”
Their childhood pastimes of climbing trees and pretending to be Mission Impossible agents morphed over the years into routine brothersister outings to concerts and plays. Dyck took a wide interest in music and art, and whenever he learned something new, he was eager to take on the role of teacher so his younger sister could share in the experience.
It didn’t occur to her until she was older that, in addition to enjoying one another’s company, Dyck had also taken it upon himself to protect his sister, accompanying her, for instance, to concerts she probably would not have attended on her own in her young teenage years.
As a young man, Dyck had a voracious appetite for learning. While studying biology and botany at university, he would draw, play guitar and travel.
“He could have done anything,” Fleck said. “He could have gone into art, music. He chose science because it was the hardest thing.
“Len loved them all, but he also loved challenging himself.”
Dyck’s curiosity and individualism drove him to go on camping and backpacking adventures by himself — something he did every year.
“He loved going to national parks, seeing buffalo, discovering areas that were the road less travelled,” Fleck said. “He would pack in with some farmers’ sausage, eggs and a camp stove. He’s done that ever since he was a teenager.”
When Dyck got married and had children, they would accompany him on trips to places such as Alaska. Last month, Fleck said, Dyck’s two sons might well have gone with their father on his northern B.C. excursion, if they hadn’t had other plans.
Shortly after leaving for his trip in July, Dyck sent his family a message saying he’d be carrying on along the back roads north of his original destinations of Terrace and Stewart.
He would be found dead about 400 kilometres north of those destinations. Fleck said she doesn’t know, and doesn’t want to find out, exactly how her brother died, but called it a “terrible irony” for him to have died violently.
Their whole family “lived and breathed” pacifism, and Dyck had avoided travelling to the U.S. in recent years because the country’s gun violence disturbed him. When his father died and he had the chance to inherit a hunting firearm, Fleck said he was indignant in his refusal.
If there was anything positive to come of Dyck’s death, Fleck said, it would be that, in learning he had died, people from all walks of his life have been eager to share stories of their professor, mentor and friend. Fleck has taken comfort in those stories, even as she knows her private brother would have hated the attention.
“There’s so much sorrow — but there’s joy in the fact that he impacted so many people’s lives.”
Anecdotes Fleck had never heard before — about Dyck bringing groceries over for people, and cooking an impromptu fish stew from scratch after getting swept ashore on a boat outing with a friend — have been a balm.
Whenever Dyck was away, he kept in touch with the people he was closest to.
One postcard Dyck sent to his sister was written entirely in the poetic style of e.e. cummings, a poet she admired at the time. And every year, she looked forward to his elaborate and sometimes absurd Christmas cards, for which he might spend weeks drawing and writing something special — a story or a play.
He was a brilliant academic, Fleck said, and his brilliance extended to human connections.
“He would know what (his friends) were interested in,” his sister said. “He would talk to people in their own language.”
“There’s so much sorrow — but there’s joy in the fact that he impacted so many people’s lives.”
DORIS FLECK SISTER