THE RECORD
August 28, 2002

Fiat Lux

by Ed Deak

My shop at Powell and Victoria in Vancouver was hit by three break-ins in the early '70s. By the third time I was on first name basis with the old cop, who came out to take notes just before retirement. I gave him some photos of some of the paintings that were stolen, but he gave them back to me with: "Ed, the only investigation your case will receive is what I'm writing now in my notebook and then I'll transfer it into the big book at the station. We just don't have the staff to investigate minor break-ins. The only way you'll ever see your paintings again if the thieves get pangs of conscience and walk into the cop shop with them." Coming from a cop family myself, I was a bit shocked to say the least.

Vancouver had a red hot fanatic City Prosecutor at the time by the name of Stuart McMorran. He was doing everything within his powers to close down the Georgia Straight newspaper and all the topless and bottomless strip clubs in the city. He had some detectives going around every night, taking Polaroid shots of the dancers and the waitresses, trying to find some excuse to lay charges. I was pretty mad by then and so I said to my policeman friend: "What's going on when a whole squad is going around taking photos of go-go dancers, but there's nobody to look after break-ins?" "Damned if I know- said he- maybe ol' Stu is too cheap to buy his own pictures ?!"

Enter my insurance company which was collecting top monies from me for allegedly covering the loss of tools, equipment and contents. Among the items stolen were my typewriter, a Polaroid camera and the best camera I ever had, a Pentax K. The company refused to pay for the paintings, saying that we were in the furniture and not the art business, therefore the pictures didn't count as "contents", although they were for sale.

They also refused to pay for the typewriter and the cameras, as they didn't consider them "tools." I tried to explain that they indeed were most important in my business when I had to take pictures of items we were supposed to duplicate or to match, but it was no soap. Their standard answer was, something I have heard a few more times later: "If you are not satisfied, you're welcome to sue us!"

Then my agent suggested that I should try to claim the cameras through my home insurance. It worked. The cameras were worth about $250. at the time and they offered me $125., based on the estimate of what "they" would have to pay for them. So, I asked the woman who phoned if they would, please, buy me two replacement cameras, but she declined with the excuse that they were not in the camera etc., but in the insurance business. "If you are not satisfied, you are welcome to sue us!"

North America has more lawyers than the rest of the world combined, with the craftiest of them working for insurance companies. Suing an insurance company is like trying to grab something out from a tank full of hungry barracudas with your bare hands. I knew when I was robbed twice and all I could do was to shut up and take my lumps.

At the end of 1972 I was driving my Econoline van home on East 45 late at night, after a sudden snowstorm made the roads very slippery. The streets were deserted, but as I crossed Nanaimo St. I saw a full sized Chevy sliding sideways towards me on a slight hill. I pulled off the road, halfway on the sidewalk, stopped and kept shouting: "Take your foot off the brake!", but he just kept sliding towards me at hit the left front of my van with his right front.

His car didn't even have a scratch, but the front of my van vas a mess. The headlight was pushed into the cab, which was twisted out of shape, the driver's door was popped, bent and couldn't be opened or closed.

I patched up the van, as it was my only vehicle and needed it for my business. I fixed a new headlight in a bed of putty, tied it in with wires and masking tape. I must have used several rolls of masking tape to close the 2 inch gap at the top of the door and had to climb over the engine to go in and out of the vehicle. I went through the necessary 3 bids for the repair, which came to $400, a lot of money at that time. More that what I took home in a month, with three small children in the family.

The man's New York based insurance company sent me a cheque for $300 and demanded my signature on the release form. They didn't answer correspondence, their Vancouver representative brushed me off with that it wasn't his business. I drove my van for five and a half months, with that smashed up front, but they just laughed at me. Finally, I had no choice and wrote to the man who hit me that I'll be forced to take him to the Small Claims Court and he sent me a personal cheque to cover the damage.

The only accident of my own causing I ever had in my 47 years of driving in Canada happened in 1979, when my trailer took off on a patch of black ice, hooked on the bumper and forced my Dodge van into the ditch, where we ended upside down. A day and a half later I picked up my cheque for the replacement of the van at the Williams Lake ICBC office.

Copyright (c) 2002, West's International