TORONTO -- Paul King was a swashbuckling Canadian journalist, author, artist and consummate raconteur who roared through life with an unquenchable curiosity and joy of the moment.
"He was like a movie star - brimming with charisma; trailing cigarette smoke as he lunged ever forward; talking out of the corner of his mouth in a raspy commanding drawl - right out of a 1930s newspaper movie," said Ron Base, his long-time friend, fellow author and screenwriter. "He was unique, wonderful, irreplaceable and a helluva fine writer."
The life he led was the antithesis of the strait-laced religious family (his father was a United Church minister) in which he was brought up. After graduating from Toronto's Central Tech high school, his first job was as a window dresser at Simpson's department store. Soon bored, he went with a couple of friends to Miami and then to Nassau in the Bahamas where in 1955 he began working as a lifeguard at the British Colonial Hotel. It was his "softest job ever."
Most guests simply basked in the sun. Very few swam. Only one guest concerned him - a water skier who went out only when there were monstrous breakers which he attacked like a halfback. "It's fantastic exercise," he told Mr. King with broad grin.
"He's mad," complained Mr. King to another guest, who laughed.
"No, he's not," the guest said, "he's Britain's top race-car driver, Sterling Moss."
One morning, Mr. King was on lifeguard duty when his boss told him the beach had been privately reserved by honeymooners, actress Debbie Reynolds and crooner Eddie Fisher. "Debbie was sunning on a lounge chair and some guy was combing Eddie's hair," Mr. King said. "I dozed off until I heard Debbie screaming hysterically. She was pointing frantically at Eddie, arms flailing, a few yards out in the water. I reached him in seconds. He panicked, pushed me down and kicked my ear. I was gulping water, so I grabbed him by the groin and squeezed. Then I felt the sandy bottom and dragged him out. They left later that day without a word of thanks."
Mr. King returned to Toronto and began studying journalism at Ryerson Polytechnic, now a university. In the summer of 1958, he worked as an intern at The Vancouver Sun. His high-school sweetheart, Ivi Riives, followed him there and they were married before he returned to Ryerson and graduated with honours in 1959.
The Vancouver paper had liked what it saw and hired him as its entertainment editor and columnist. In his new job, he was enjoying the first half hour of the musical Oklahoma at Stanley Park's Theatre Under the Stars when a noticeably bald man sat down beside him and started humming along. When he began to sing the words, Mr. King complained.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," the man murmured.
"I finally snapped when I heard 'Poooor Jud is daid,' coming both from the stage and the seat beside me," Mr. King would write years later.
"Would you please shut up," he hissed.
After that, the man remained silent until the end of the performance. "I apologize," he said putting on his cap.
Mr. King stared at him. He knew the voice and, with the cap on, he knew the face. He'd been sitting beside Bing Crosby without a toupee.
"I feel like I just told Fred Astaire to get off a dance floor," he offered by way of an apology. Mr. Crosby whooped with glee.
Perhaps his biggest scoop for The Sun was the death of Errol Flynn. The famed Hollywood actor had arrived in Vancouver in October of 1959 to sell his yacht to a local stock promoter. Mr. King met them at a nightclub known for its ties to the mob. Mr. Flynn, then 50 and notorious for three statutory rape trials, was with his 16-year-old girlfriend. "Booze had bloated his once-handsome face, but the radiant smile remained," Mr. King wrote.
When the actor said he felt ill, Mr. King steered him through a side exit and into an alley. "He gagged up his booze and then groaned, 'Christ mate, I'm getting old.' "
They parted ways and agreed to meet the next day. Later, the stock promoter called to say they had stopped somewhere for a nightcap and that he should rejoin them. He dutifully arrived only to see an ambulance. Mr. Flynn was dead, felled by heart and liver disease.
832