Death will come, always out of season.  Big Elk, the Omaha First Nation chief and orator, spoke those powerful words long ago.  And so death has come to our beloved friend, colleague and advocate for the north, Ben Meisner. 

Yes, Ben lived a long, productive and colourful life, but his sudden passing was still a shock to us all.  I first met Ben almost fifteen years ago when I was invited on to his radio show to talk about the Active Voice Coalition of which I was a spokesperson.  The Coalition was a newly formed group made up of labour and community activists who had come together to fight provincial government cutbacks.

Sitting across the table, Ben grilled me relentlessly, posing hard, but fair, questions, peering over the rims of his spectacles and often raising a finger to make a point.

But, afterwards, walking me out of the broadcast room, he was very warm and friendly.  In his comments, I caught a glimmer of a man who, in the midst of his small “c” conservative views, had a deep sympathy for the “little guy” and others pushed around by giant corporations or treated with contempt by high government officials.  I remember leaving the radio station thinking that I had taken a shine to this tall, older man with hunched shoulders and a gruff on-air manner, even though our views differed on various issues.

It was several years later, after I got to know him a lot more, that I learned he came out of a hardscrabble early life.  His father, as a result of trauma suffered during the Second World War, was hospitalized and never recovered.  His mother, cheated out of a pension and flung into poverty, scrubbed floors to put food on the table for the family.  Herself illiterate, she insisted that Ben go to school to learn how to read and write, and, above all, to stand up for himself.

In 2003, not long after I first met Ben, the provincial government broke a key election promise and moved to privatize BC Rail.  This news landed like a bombshell in Prince George and the Interior of the province.  Many had voted the Liberal government in with the understanding that the railway would stay publicly-owned.  Many, including Ben and veteran journalist Ron East, who I also greatly respect for his stand, felt betrayed.

A diverse group of us, the Committee to Save BC Rail, came together in the community to fight the privatization.  Our ranks included railway workers, community activists, business people and the BC Federation of Labour.  As momentum grew, Ben, speaking out on radio, cast a stern and critical eye on the entire rail scheme.

His radio show had such clout and such a large audience that even the higher ups in Victoria grew worried. Indeed, that became evident in wiretap transcripts submitted later during the BC Rail corruption trial.  David Basi, aide to the provincial Minister of Transportation and eventually accused of breach of trust, had gone so far as to arrange “planted” phone calls into Ben’s show all the way from Victoria in an attempt to sway opinion in Prince George in favour of selling off the railway.

In the course of this struggle to save the railway, a special bond was forged between us that was never broken, over even shaken, in the years that followed.  Pressured to let up in his withering criticism of the rail deal, Ben refused.  His position always had been that, as a radio host, he would speak his mind and tell the truth as he saw it.  For him, freedom of conscience was paramount, especially at a time of ever expanding monopolization of the media, as well as the intrusive power of big government.

Indeed, there never was any question about it.  Faced with having to choose between a prestigious, well-paid job and standing on principle.  He chose the latter and never looked back.

Yet, of all those who stood up to oppose the rail deal, Ben, more than anyone, took the biggest hit.  Forced out of his position as host of the most popular radio show in the Interior.  Shunned by some of the high and mighty in the community who should have known better.

For many a man of Ben’s age, such a fall would have meant shuffling off into retirement in some southern clime.  Instead, Ben, and his beloved partner, Elaine, a talented, veteran reporter in her own right, took on a daunting new challenge.  To build a news and opinion website in the region, 250 News, right from scratch.

And they did.  Bringing together a team that my partner Dawn and I, and others were proud to join, and very soon, gathering an audience that mushroomed in size year after year.   Out of the thin, elusive air of digital media and a lot of hard work, a top-ranked, highly influential news site was created, not only for the region, but for the province.  It was an astounding feat.

As the publication grew, ties previously broken during the BC Rail controversy were mended or, at least, re-established.

Ben, as editor of 250 News, practiced what he preached.  In all the years I have submitted columns, he never took issue with any of the content, even though I am sure he didn’t always subscribe to the same views.  “Send it in, Bud,” he would say to me over the phone in his telegraphic speaking style.  “We’ll put it up!”

As editor, he was always a fierce defender of all the writers, reporters and staff of 250 News.  When submitting our columns, we have always known that he, and Elaine, as publisher, were in our corner defending our right to express our opinion.

That being said, on occasion, I had to consult with Ben and Elaine about a particular column that might have resulted in legal action.  Ben was the ideal person to seek out for advice on such matters, of course, having skated “near the edge” many times during the course of his career.  And, yes, once in a while over the edge.

Throughout his career, Ben always stood up for ordinary people.  Whether it was saving the Nechako River or organizing the huge health rally in 2000 that gave rise to the Northern Medical program, if he believed in your cause, he was there with you, often behind the scenes and out of the limelight.

Ben was a man of many parts.  How can the essence of his personality and what he stood for as a journalist be described?  Perhaps a story from his past is best.  After all, Ben was a masterful storyteller, a raconteur, as the French term it.  He bewitched and mesmerized you with the authority of his voice, and the way he could modulate from a stern grilling, to thundering, to mocking, to chuckling, and then into understanding, humility and heartfelt sympathy in the course of a conversation or an hour long radio show – his discourse always punctuated with a quick wit and bang-on, earthy expressions.

No matter the topic, however, his stories always seemed to have a sliver of wisdom embedded in them like agate or crystal in an outcrop of rock.

One story Ben told me over coffee at his house one morning has always stuck in my mind.  Back when he was still a young reporter in Manitoba, he was known as one of the “gumshoe crowd” – a reporter, he explained, who got close to ordinary people and understood their way of thinking.

A woman came to him claiming that her sister’s son, a 14 year old boy, was being molested by a prominent school trustee in the community.  Ben followed this trustee around for a couple of days but was getting nowhere.  So he met with the janitor at the school and developed a plan.  Ben came up with the idea of planting a tape recorder in a school vent – at that time wiretaps were neither legal or illegal, but couldn’t be used in court.

Then the mother and son came forward.  Ben went to the news director with all the evidence, and the news outlet carried the story with all sorts of information nobody else had.

The police approached Ben and demanded he hand over his sources for the story.  Ben refused.  There was no way he was going to endanger the janitor and his other sources.  In court, the magistrate, who was sympathetic, explained to Ben if he didn’t hand over the evidence, Ben would have to go “through that door” – gesturing towards the doorway to the jail cells just off the courtroom.

Ben again refused and was locked away. With a grin on his face, Ben told me of how, on the second night in jail, the wife of the magistrate snuck him in a mickey of whisky.

On his fifth day in jail, the janitor came forward and told police about the recording and how he had been involved.  Ben was freed.  The school trustee was eventually tried and convicted.

As we sipped our coffee that morning, Ben explained that, as a young reporter, the experience had taught him several things.  First of all, the importance of never revealing a source.  Secondly, that “the real people who support you are the rank and file of the community.”

Echoing that sentiment in a later conversation, Ben added that, in his  opinion, the key to being a talk show host was to be a voice for the common people and never to be afraid of anyone, no matter who they were.

Ben had innumerable other stories just like this which he could peel off from memory like leafs from a wonderful book.

My last experience on radio with him was a vivid one.  It was November of 2014 in the lead up to the heated municipal election in Prince George.  Ben was the host on CFIS Radio, and Elaine, Bill Phillips, editor of the PG Free Press, and I were the guests.  Ben was in his finest form, telling jokes and shooting out questions like the crack of a whip.  He could have been the conductor of an orchestra that day, coaxing the best out of us in terms of conversation and opinion.  We had a great time.

Ben passed away on April 2^nd with his journalist boots on.  Still in the fight.  Still in the game.  Still with the same zeal and passion as a top notch reporter half his age.

Back in 2006, he once related to me what he thought was most important when a person passes away.  “It doesn’t matter how rich you are or how many honours you’ve received,” he said, as he leaned forward, meaty hands gripping the arms of his chair.  “When they lower you into your grave, the one question to be asked is ‘Did you keep your word?’”

Ben, my friend, you kept your word.

Rest in peace.

Peter Ewart is a columnist and writer based in Prince George, British Columbia.  He can be reached at: peter.ewart@shaw.ca