I read today that it’s the 26th anniversary of the death of John Candy. John Candy was incredible. Take two examples from Planes, Trains & Automobiles alone.
This might be one of my favorite scenes in movie history. Every line Candy delivers is perfect, and each one makes me laugh harder and harder until I’m a weeping mess. His earnestness in trying to convince the cop that the car is road worthy is just amazing to behold.
But as Neil McCauley would say — “there’s a flip side to that coin”. In this case, it’s where Candy does a dramatic scene that shows just how talented of an actor he was. Steve Martin finally explodes and unloads every petty grievance he has with Candy’s character, taking cheap shot after cheap shot as Candy stands there, absorbing every verbal blow, before gathering himself to calmly explain why he is the way he is, and why he won’t apologize to anyone for it.
But there are many paeans to John Candy on the Internet. This post is less about his acting than what it was like growing up in Canada during his heyday.
We loved John Candy up there. We loved any Canadian who made it big in the States, but we really loved John Candy.
I grew up in a middle class Canadian suburb, and as was often the case back then, there was a certain subset of kids who felt the need to pretend their circumstances, and thus they, were much tougher than they really were. It’s why NWA hats and Raiders jackets started permeating my high school around that time. Those kids wouldn’t have lasted a minute in the places where those items truly meant something, but for some reason they needed to believe they were part of that world.
So it was then that around that time, some of those kids formed a “gang”. I use that term in the loosest possible sense. They called themselves, and I still can’t believe this, the “Cash Money Posse”.
The Cash Money Posse seemed less interested in any actual gang activity than promoting the idea that they were as tough and hard as they wanted to be perceived. Mostly, they just scrawled “CMP” on bathroom stall doors and school notices in the hallways.
After a few weeks of this, a new “gang” formed as a blood rival to the CMP. Anywhere the CMP wrote their initials, it was soon crossed out and replaced with “JCP”. For weeks, no one knew what JCP meant, or who was behind it. The CMP was furious. Threats were circulated, but it was mostly just hilariously pathetic. Their reputation as tough guys was being besmirched by the JCP, and worst of all, they had no idea who was behind it, and neither did anyone else.
This went on for a few weeks. One day I went to the library to study, and was sitting alone in a cubicle. A few feet away was a table with a few of the guys in my grade who hadn’t seen me come in and sit down. I could hear their conversation and they were talking about how much fun they were having screwing with the Cash Money Posse.
I couldn’t believe it — I had just stumbled into solving the biggest mystery that had been perplexing my high school. These guys were the JCP. Eventually, I stood up and walked around the corner and they all saw me and froze. They asked if I had heard them talking and I told them I had. They asked if I was going to keep their secret or rat them out, and I told them I thought it was hilarious that they were screwing with the CMP and that I wasn’t going to say anything.
I just needed to know one thing: what the hell did the JCP stand for?
They looked at each other for a second, then one guy shrugged and said, “we’re the John Candy Posse”.
John Candy forever.
