A CARING HAND AT THE WORST OF TIMES

Ave atque vale, Walter Cavaliere.

The principal founding member of the Toronto Harm Reduction Coalition
has just stepped down from the board.

He is not putting himself out to pasture, although if that were the
case you would easily forgive him. He is 76 years old; he's earned the
right to cut back a bit.

But he will continue to work on Canada's national drug strategy,
advise the City of Toronto on matters of drug policy, counsel students
at Ryerson, and attend conferences around the world to learn more,
teach more and do more.

In honour of his service, the coalition paid tribute to him at its
recent annual general meeting. They gathered in All Saints' Church, on
the corner of Dundas and Sherbourne, a setting familiar to the
homeless, those in the grip of addictions and those who give them comfort.

Walter is a quiet, modest man, a listener and not a talker. But he
took a few moments prior to the meeting and we had a stop-start
conversation, as his friends and colleagues came by, smiled, reached
for his hand, threw their arms around his neck and thanked him for his
guidance, his encouragement and his unflagging kindness over the years.

In between hugs, the hero of harm reduction took me back to the
beginning. He'd been working in the theatre. "I was in New York,
off-Broadway, working in Edward Albee's company. I came here to work
at the Crest Theatre." He made his way around town as a stage manager
and an artistic director, he wrote and taught acting, and you know how
it goes in the arts -- a man has to make a living.

He began working at a distress centre, taking calls. That eventually
led him to take a degree in social work.

"I started working with kids in 1986. I was working with the most
difficult kids I could find, kids with mental illness, prostitutes,
addicts, boys and girls. I was doing street outreach in Parkdale. It
was difficult then. You could say, 'Don't do drugs,' but the results
were awful. Kids would do drugs anyway."

And then he heard about harm reduction.

The principle is desperately simple and frequently, often cruelly,
misunderstood: We can't stop some people from using drugs. No one can
save a corpse. Therefore, we had better do what we can to keep users
alive. While we're at it, let's try to prevent some of the diseases to
which addicts are prone -- especially those chronic illnesses that
linger long after users kick their habits.

And so now we have needle exchanges and crack kits, and perhaps one
day in Toronto we may have safe-injection sites for intravenous drug
users.

Walter said, "People who use crack want meaning in their lives. They
want better lives. It's a struggle. They deserve better lives. It's
not easy to get off cocaine."

He took a few more hugs and said, "There are some medications that we
know help certain people. There are amphetamines, anti-depressants and
there's coca paste."

I raised an eyebrow.

He said, "It's made from the leaf of the coca plant. It's
slow-release. We can't even get an experiment going here. If it works,
why not try it? I'm tired of seeing people die when their deaths could
be avoided."

We all ought to be tired of that.

And then the meeting was called to order, and the presentations went
as planned. There were plaques and teary speeches made in Walter's
honour by this city's elite nurses, public health professionals and
social workers. A former drug user stood and said, "I usually have
stage fright. I'm quite nervous. Walter is one of the few who ... his
friendship is ..."

When the man regained his composure, he said, "I was going through
withdrawal, separation. I'd lost my job. I had met Walter once or
twice. He gave me hope and strength to go through tough times. Walter,
I love you. You're my best friend. You're an authentic person."

Put that on a plaque.

Afterwards, there were sandwiches and fruit and people talked in small
groups. A woman I know -- a former prostitute, a former drug addict --
said, "Walter interviewed me once for a drug study. I remember he
allowed me to go to the bathroom to take care of my, um, needs. He had
very much to do with me making changes.

"I was in the life. I realized there were other ways. The level of
respect he gave me ... I made those changes. He just accepted me. I
love him."

Where's that plaque?

My friend is clean now, and she has a job. When I first met her she
had liver disease, a nasty side effect of the life she used to live.
But she is responding to experimental medication; her latest tests
show she is healthy.

Any room left on that plaque?

I wanted one last word with Walter. His work seems dangerous to me. I
asked him if he'd ever been beaten up. He laughed. "I was in a health
food store once when someone sucker-punched me. No idea why. But I've
never been threatened on the street. In all the years I've done this
work, I've never felt in danger."

Hail and farewell.