Dave was born in Belleville Ontario back in 1955. At that time his father Roy, Canadian Army Military Polce, was stationed nearby at the Picton Base in picturesque Prince Edward County. The arrival of a baby brother to Joanne and Susan may or may not have been viewed as a positive. His mother, Daphne, a British War Bride, seemed OK with it.

The Army soon sent the Johnson clan out to Shilo Manitoba. Daphne did not like Shilo. Within a year of that posting Roy said adios to military life. He had signed up in 1939 at 15 years old and had served in World War II, The Korean conflict as well as in post war Japan.

Next stop was civilian life in Niagara on the Lake Ontario. All went well. The Johnsons were not in the top tier financially, but they all worked, and their food supply never ran dry. Eventually Roy found employment with General Motors in St Catharines and that steady paycheck kept the fiscal wolverines at bay.

Over the decades Dave has earned money as a fruit picker, lawn mower, snow shoveler, bottle collector, dish washer, golf ball retriever, Christmas Card peddler, caddy, busboy, Pro Shop attendant, security guard, bartender, carpenters’ assistant, concrete pourer, bootlegger, driver, marijuana retailer, fiberglass polisher at a boatbuilder and bum boy at a sailing club. He also spent time at the General Motors plant in St. Catharines as an engine assembler and camshaft machinist. More serious careers included stockbroker and Portfolio Manager for two Canadian banks and as a retailer of Nissan automobiles, a fun job if ever one existed.

He holds a Business Economics degree from world famous Brock University.

Athletically he has always been subpar. He could not hit nor field a baseball. His golfing specialties were the long wayward drive and the flying putter. He could not tackle opposing football players with any consistency. His career percentage regarding shots made on the hardcourt is a single digit. Most of his sporting success came as a tactician in sailboat racing. That assignment would find Dave comfortably seated near the stern of the yacht pretending to do arithmetic in his head while chatting with the helmsman and dreaming of post race vodka. 

His body has yet to give up despite multiple broken bones, a broken neck, four heart ‘procedures’, hundreds of thousands of cigarettes, an equal number of beers and LSD trips numbering in the hundreds. He has a bi-monthly appointment with his local dermatologist for the removal of Squamous Cell Carcinomas that sprout like mushrooms after a good rain. His pacemaker goes through batteries as an Alaskan Tesla might. 

Not being the most handsome of men Dave was never able to Trick a girl into marriage and remains a bachelor to this day. He lives with a one-eyed cat at the Paradise Canyon Golf Resort in Southern Alberta, and he splits his time between there and North Idaho where he regularly mooches off wealthy friends and is known to skedaddle whenever the check arrives.

As a writer he finds grammar childish, correct spelling optional, plots nothing but tools of the bourgeoisie and third acts a waste of paper.