This is a touching story for me personally, as this boy and his team play at my arena in London. Argyle Arena and the Clarke Road Trojans will miss him dearly!!!

Former water boy never gives up
Sat, March 24, 2007
By IAN GILLESPIE, FREE PRESS COLUMNIST



B.J. Lawrence, his health failing rapidly but never one to complain, wipes away a tear at a special ceremony yesterday. (Ken Wightman, Sun Media)

In the beginning, B.J. Lawrence did all the things any regular water boy would do.

He'd fill up the water bottles and spread them out along the bench. He'd open the gate for the players as they hustled on and off the ice. He'd pick up the hockey jerseys in the dressing room after a game.

You know, regular stuff.

But B.J. has a condition known as Niemann-Pick type C. His mother, Debbie Lawrence, describes it as a bit like multiple sclerosis, cerebral palsy, Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and Lou Gehrig's disease "all in one."

Most kids who have it, she says, don't live past age 12. Her son is 20.

And as his abilities deteriorated, B.J. stopped doing the regular stuff for the hockey teams (and the football and rugby teams) at Clarke Road secondary school.

There came a time when B.J. couldn't screw the caps off the water bottles, so a coach would do it for him.

Then there came a day when B.J. couldn't fill the bottles, so somebody did that, too.

B.J. had to change what he did, and the way he did things. But he never complained and he never stopped trying and he never stopped showing up.

And the funny thing is, the people around him changed, too.

There was a time, for instance, when B.J. couldn't stay upright on the hockey bench anymore.

So the players just started sandwiching him between them, squeezing him tight from both sides so he wouldn't topple over.

There was a time when B.J. would phone assistant coach Dave Richards.

But after his memory started to fail, B.J. would call the teacher five or 10 or sometimes 15 times in a single day, because he'd forgotten he'd already called.

"Hey, Mister R!" he'd say.

Fifteen times a day. But that was OK.

And sometimes when Richards was having a bad day, he'd stop and think about B.J. for a moment. He says it would help put things in perspective.

B.J. used to regularly tape some of the players' hockey sticks. But then there came a time when he couldn't do that. At least, not very well.

As Richards recalls, there came a time when you could take one look at a stick and you'd know B.J. had taped it.

But that was OK, too. And the players -- who tend to be fairly sensitive about how their hockey sticks look -- just played with them, anyway.

B.J. used to deliver little pep talks in the dressing room. He'd urge the team to "stay out of the penalty box" and "shorten your shifts" and "get a couple of goals."

And yesterday, during a special ceremony at Clarke Road secondary school, B.J. uttered another of his regular comments: "Let's get this show on the road!"

But there was nothing regular about it.

Because yesterday, the staff and students held a special graduation ceremony for B.J. They didn't want to wait until the regular graduation in June, because nobody knows what kind of condition B.J. will be in by then.

The hockey teams showed up -- even players from the rival Lucas squad -- and they formed a tunnel with their sticks as they wheeled him into the auditorium. It seemed like most of the school showed up, too -- many wearing orange and some openly weeping at what they heard and saw.

They gave B.J. a diploma. They gave him a special hockey jacket. And they unveiled a special jersey with a big No. 1 on the back and proudly declared that nobody at Clarke Road would ever wear that number again.

Val Charron, who taught B.J. for nearly four years, says that in many ways B.J. has been more of a teacher than a student.

"Nothing ever stopped that guy," she says.

"He was always positive, he was always happy, he was always there . . . I've never met anybody like that."

Clarke Road principal Marty Woollings says B.J.'s discipline, dedication and unfailing optimism set an example for one and all.

"I think this boy brings out the best in all of us," he says.

There's absolutely nothing regular about that.

Now that I have wiped away the tears, I can see to type. Yes they were tears of sadness for this young man that seems to have more heart and drive than most of us put together. But they were also tears of happiness. It seems that he has a wonderful "extended" family also. My thoughts and prayers go out to all, and I hope he is well enough to make the ceremony in June. He deserves two of them.