It was alternately heartbreaking and uplifting. It attracted a crowd of 100 or so at the early hour of 9 in the morning. And it inevitably reiterated that society will always respond strongly to a hero.
Thursday morning that hero was Gord Portman, the former street-level addict who turned around his seemingly unsalvageable life a couple years ago and then set out to create a monument to fellow addicts who ultimately lost their battle.
Just how brutal was Portman's life before he forcibly changed it? He'd dumpster dive for donuts and immediately trade them for drugs -- in the middle of the night. He'd use a pair of pliers on rotted teeth. He was homeless for 17 years.
Yeah, pretty bad.
But Thursday he hit the pinnacle of his comeback. The memorial bench he envisioned for the community -- a place where folks could rest and reflect on those they’ve lost -- was officially unveiled.
The location? Marina Way Park. The cost? Apparently $20,000 or so, half of which Portman raised himself before the City chipped in another 10K.
The design? Straight-up awesome.
This isn’t your run of the mill bench. It's artsy and it's stylish and it's seemingly built to take decades of abuse.
And it's big. Really big. Count up all the separate seats in the final product, and it’ll accomodate a dozen people simultaneously.
Preceding Portman to the microphone Thursday were three members of the local chapter of Moms Stop the Harm, all three of which have lost close family members to drug overdoses yet are brave enough to speak about it. Councilor James Miller, who worked closely with Portman as the concept bloomed and money was being raised, was there too.
Also speaking was Mayor Julius Bloomfield.
"Today is International Overdose Awareness Day," said Bloomfield. "It is a somber occasion. The theme this year is recognizing the people who go unseen. We're here to show our connection and willingness to try to stand together to try to put an end to this epidemic."
Bloomfield said the Portman initiative was a slam dunk.
"When Gord came to council just over a year ago, it was probably the easiest and certainly the quickest decision we've ever made," he said to some laughter. "To create a space for reminiscing, a space for families and friends to come and recall better times.
"This is a visual prompt that the impact of toxic drugs goes beyond just the individual. It affects everybody."
Portman's turn at the mic was emotion-packed. He spoke well but stopped himself several times, tears in his eyes, before continuing. And those tears weren't exclusive to Portman. Many in the crowd were outwardly crying.
"I was pretty emotional at the start," he told PentictonNow afterward. "I've lost 127 people to drugs now."
Portman's weapon of choice was methamphetamines. And he gave us a quick primer.
"It makes you feel like you want to run," he said. "It makes you shake. You can’t function. You can’t talk properly. It keeps you up for days. And then it can kill you.
"And the drug supply is so toxic right now. There's different potencies out there and drug dealers don't really give a crap. They're finding all sorts of stuff in the drugs. I've done methamphetamines with fentanyl in it by accident. It was not good."
Portman openly credits Penticton-based mens' recovery program Discovery House, where he spent 714 days in treatment, for giving him the strength to help him beat his addiction. And, he added, the bench is his way of giving back.
"I just wanted a place for people to sit and mourn their loved ones they're lost," he said. "I used to come down here a lot (to the nearby foreshore) and sleep on a rock right around the corner from here.
"So I pitched my idea to James Miller and showed him where it was. Then Ysabel Contreras (City Parks Planning and Capital Projects Coordinator) said she had a better spot for me. And here we are, not far from my spot. She's done a super good job on this."
At 50 years old, and looking good considering his years as an active addict, Portman is now a busy guy. Turns out demand is high for those who know the ropes but have kicked their dependency and want to make a difference.
"I'm the Hep (Hepatitis) C coordinator for OneSky (Community Resources)," he said. "So if anyone has Hep C, they deal with me now and I get them to the lab for bloodwork, get them medicated and call them to make sure they got rid of it.
"And I work for Penticton Overdose Prevention Society, driving an outreach bus two to three days a week. I know many of the people on the street. They trust me. I was out there with some of them."
He also works part-time with Discovery House as a support worker and with Interior Health as an outreach worker.
Portman says he just wants to give folks better options than he said he had before his stay at Discovery House.
"There wasn't much help back then," he said. "People treated me quite awful. They'd throw butts and bottles at me, spit on me. It was hard. I'm a good guy. I just needed to get clean.
"Now I'm showing people it can be done with hard work. Life is good."
And it may get better. According to Portman, other communities have now reached out to him, each interested in memorial benches for their own areas.
Watching and listening intently to Portman Thursday was 36-year-old Richard Thompson, a guy PenticotnNow has met before. We first encountered him a year and a half ago during his first month of treatment at Discovery House.
Now he's 19 months clean and employed at Discovery as a support worker and part-time fundraiser.
"Heroin was the big one," he said in explaining his situation, "but that kind of went away so it was fentanyl in the last couple years. But it was always opiates.
"I was living on the streets in Kelowna. But I pulled myself out."
Thompson loves Portman's bench and like many in attendance figured he did a wonderful job speaking to the crowd.
"Gord was one of the staff members when I came to the house," he said. "He's a big part of my life. So yeah, I think this is great. When he first told me about it I didn't think much about it, but it really happened and it come together fast."
Thompson says the bench "touches home," referencing his brother in law, who died from fentanyl-laced cocaine four years ago, and his own dance with the devil.
"I should be dead from it," he said. "I've overdosed countless times. Just in between detox and treatment, it was six times."
Yet Thompson was there Thursday, as was Portman and undoubtedly others in the crowd who've somehow lived to tell the tale.
As the years go on, that new bench should help spread the message.
