Tommy Chong, pictured in 2018.Chris Young/The Canadian Press
Can you imagine famous stoner Tommy Chong printing a resumé and dressing up for a job interview? Never happened, of course. The 87-year-old comedian, musician and comedian tells The Globe how odd jobs in odd places – like this one smack in the middle of the Calgary Stampede – taught him about karma.
I started playing guitar in bands when I was 16 – is that a job? I did get paid, sometimes, but never anything substantial. If I wanted to make money, I’d have to pick up a task somewhere to make 10 or 20 dollars. Growing up in the country, especially if you’re poor without running water and an outdoor toilet like we were, there are lots of those odd jobs to be had. There’s water to be carried up from wells and old peoples’ lawns to be mowed. I delivered things on my bicycle sometimes.
Any job–job I ever had was because my friend went on vacation, and I’d take over for a while. I did that with girlfriends, too! I’ve never turned down one of those jobs, but I’ve never typed up a resumé or anything either. You have to have things to put on a resumé to have a resumé, which I don’t. I got as far as Grade 10, though it took a couple of tries. By Grade 11, I was turned onto pot and probably quit school the next day. I didn’t want to learn algebra; I wanted to be a musician.
Anyhow, this story’s from Calgary when I was probably 19. I was playing in bands by then, and we were getting pretty good. This was during the Stampede, because I remember the downtown was packed, and I had just finished playing an outdoor concert with my band. We made money by having our friends going through the audience collecting money.
That night was a very good night and we made like 1,000 bucks, which we split up. On my way home, all of a sudden, this old guy, a real rough-looking fellow who back in the day we’d call a hobo, came out from the dark. He said, “Can you help me?” I assumed he wanted money, and I would have given him some if he asked, but instead he said, “I have a job for you. Can you help me empty this boxcar? It’s down by the train tracks.”
I should explain here that in the country, when people ask you for help, you help them. If someone’s truck is stuck in the mud, you help push it out. I brought that idea with me to the city, so I said okay. He said he was going to get paid if he could empty the boxcar full of coal by morning. He’d been hired to clean it out and I was gonna be his assistant.
We were there the rest of the night, at least five hours, unloading coal by hand. At the end of the night, once the sun had come up, he said, “Give me your address and I’ll split the money with you.” I thought I’d never see him again, which was fine by me. I didn’t need the money, he needed the money, so he should have the money.
I went home at like seven in the morning, black with coal. My mother said, “What the hell happened to you?” I told her and she was a little concerned. She didn’t want me to get into any trouble, you know? At the same time, my mother had always taken in boarders and anyone who needed a place to stay. I’d learned that from her.
I reflect on that night a lot because I realize now that it was a test. Soon after, we got kicked out of Calgary and moved to Vancouver and my music kicked off. I believe the universe tests you all the time, and if you pass the test, you move on to the next level and great things will happen to you. If you don’t pass the test, you have to go back to the beginning and start again. These tests are what life is all about.
Oh, and the guy did show up like a month later at my house. I was gone by then, but he paid my mom some money just when she needed it. That’s karma, man.
– as told to Rosemary Counter
