Cayle Chernin

– by Rosie Shuster

CAYLE CHERNIN

Cayle Chernin was my best friend, my soul sister, and an honorary Shuster. We met as teenagers in the '60s in Eli Rill's acting class in Toronto. Together we had our consciousness raised by feminism and lowered by sex, drugs, and rock & roll.

In the mid-'70s in LA we shared a suite at the fabled Chateau Marmont Hotel. Cayle knew everyone from "Jack" on down the food chain.

With her mad people skills, she bonded easily. Indeed, she got along so famously with my dad, I was sure if my mom went first, Cayle would wind up my step-mom.

Time was elastic for Cayle. How did she pack so much in when she moved at such a leisurely pace? Cayle loved life and she loved art and she took exquisite delight in the blurred boundaries between them.

And she was full of surprises. She read to the blind. She helped smuggle hoards of Jews out of Syria. And then suddenly, she morphed into a blonde gentile actress named Lorraine Sinclair. Lorraine performed a killer one-woman show of Erica Jong's Fear of Flying in a hole-in-the-wall theatre inside a subway station.

A year ago, when it seemed my mom was dying, Cayle stuck by my terrified jet-lagged side in the ER all night long. When I was told there were absolutely no beds to be had upstairs, Cayle skilfully schmoozed the beleaguered night nurse, bonding with her over provincial budget cuts and over-worked nurses' schedules. Miraculously a bed appeared.

In June, 2010, Cayle was diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer. Refusing to feel sorry for herself, she kept working. Supported by her husband, actor Dwight McFee, Cayle did a play, a feature film sequel which she' helped to initiate, a voice-over and a TV show. Then, from her orchid-filled salon in Palliative Care, she taped a podcast, hosted an acting class, recorded a two-hour ACTRA interview and dubbed lines for Down The Road Again.

One grim night when the cancer was winning, I came home fried from visiting Cayle in the hospital and flipped on the tube. Eerily, in front of an island of groceries, I saw that beatific Cheshire grin. I lunged for the phone. "Cayle, are you in a commercial?" "Yes," she purred slyly. "Twas me - amidst the meat."

Arguably, Cayle had the best smile ever. A dentist's daughter, she was flossing right up to the end. Cayle, we shall miss who and what we were, when we were with you. Keep grinning down at us from that big bowl of stars.

Rosie Shuster wrote for Saturday Night Live. She is the daughter of comedian Frank Shuster of Wayne and Shuster fame.

Bob Clout

– by Jim Calarco

BOB CLOUT

"The curtain came down on the final act of the life and times of Bob Clout on Sunday, September 4, 2011. Produced by Donald and Helen Clout, Bob debuted in St. Catharine's on January 20, 1934. He leaves behind his leading lady Pat and in supporting roles his children, Mark, Barry and Kelly." (North Bay Nugget, 09/06/2011)

I first worked with Bob in 1973 in the Woody Allen play, Don't Drink the Water. Over the next 38 years we appeared together many times both in film and on stage and the one thing that remained constant was his love for performing and his unwavering insistence that I learn my "damn lines."

Bob was a true Renaissance man. He wrote, directed and acted but was also an accomplished athlete who excelled in baseball, canoe racing and basketball. His love of adventure took him from the Queen's garden party at Buckingham Palace to the jungles of Indonesia where he discovered that he really did not like snakes.

He once observed that the one good thing about getting parts at his age was that they tended to be roles that required him to sit down for most of his scenes.

Bob is also remembered for his wacky sense of humor. After leaving a film project, Bob insisted that we had to wait outside in the pouring rain for another ten minutes. When I asked why, he replied, "Because that's how much time I have left on the parking meter."

Bob Clout was and is a good friend to those of us who knew him. He will be missed and always remembered.

"This was a man!" Wm. Shakespeare

Peter Donaldson

– by Colin Mochrie and Deb McGrath

PETER DONALDSON

In William Shakespeare's Timon of Athens, the title character is described thusly: "Every man has his fault and honesty is his." The author could just have easily written these words about the actor who portrayed Timon, hundreds of years later, in one of the finest performances ever seen at the Stratford Festival. The truth that
Peter Donaldson shared in every performance of every character he portrayed was no different than the truth he lived every day of his life.

Pete was an actor's actor, loved by his colleagues for his professionalism and his seemingly effortless talent. Pete set the bar for everyone he worked with. He thrilled, scared, and inspired audiences. He held dear the craft but never the trappings.

Pete was a golfer's golfer. He had a powerful and beautiful stroke, the envy of anyone who had the pleasure to play with him. He held dear the game but not the trappings of the golf world.

Pete was a man's man. Comfortable whether sailing a boat, building a deck, tinkering in the garage or just sitting back with a drink and telling stories, naughty and nice.

Pete was a passionate family man. And in this passion he was happily caught in the trappings. He adored his girls: wife Sheila McCarthy, daughters Mackenzie Grace and Drew Donaldson. Watching Pete love his girls sometimes made your heart skip a beat, the love was so quietly intense.

There should be a new phrase: a friend's friend. Pete was always there for those in his circle. He would help you when you were down, ground you when your head was too big and fill your heart with pride when you needed it.

We did not know Pete terribly long, but we will keep him close with a lifetime of missing him.

Wayne Robson

– by Chris Potter

WAYNE ROBSON

I've been feeling such a sadness whenever the thought of Wayne's passing returns to the front of the queue for 'the things I worry about'.

It was 1989 when we first met. I was 29 and trying to accumulate ACTRA qualifying credits. I landed a TV commercial that would move me one step closer to becoming a card carrying union pro. I think you needed 1000 credits back then... or maybe it was 6... it seemed like 1000.

When I arrived on the set the morning of the shoot, I began to talk and take pictures of everyone and thing. As was my custom at that stage of my 'career'. I approached each job with the same thorough process. As a set visit.

Sensing, perhaps that I was possibly 'newish to the biz', Wayne acknowledged me with a warm hello. I recognized him. Although I didn't know his name, I knew that face.

I tried to stay calm. But inside I was wanting to call people. He was a 'famous guy'. He introduced himself as Wayne. We made some 'actorly' conversation and he returned to his newspaper.

I studied him throughout the day, the way he worked. He knew all the 'film set lingo'. He had a calm cool style. An approachable nature. We spoke again. He surrendered the names of some shows he'd appeared in. I hadn't heard of any of them but that was okay because I could only get TV reception by putting my bare foot on the antenna input of my TV. By acting as a grounding source I could enjoy 3 channels. One channel was in Italian. I don't speak Italian but grew to enjoy the sound of it. Anyway none of this could side-track me from knowing he was famous.

Wow, such a pro, I thought. So 'famousy', so 'uniony'. I was so happy to have met him.

Many years later, at my first ACTRA gathering, 'famous guy' was the first to greet me and make me feel welcome. He also borrowed money but I had forgotten about that until now. (That was me kidding.)

Thank you so very much Wayne Robson, for having given us all that feeling of warmth and welcome that was so consistently your good nature over the many years we knew each other. And 1000 ACTRA credits for all of the laughs!

You will be fondly remembered.