After a rusty nail, a toast, and his favourite Miles Davis song, Richard Stainsby passed away at home, surrounded by his family.

Rick was born on February 29th 1952, setting himself apart from the start by making his entrance a month early and on a leap day. At just four pounds twelve ounces, Sally Jane Power and Harry “Pete” Stainsby gently brought their “Ricky” home to his first home in Scarborough. Shortly after his first birthday, the Stainsbys packed up and moved their growing family to British Columbia – a few months later, Rick became a big brother to his beloved sister, Jill. During their three-year stint in Vancouver, they played in Stanley Park and welcomed another sibling to the family – Mark was born in 1954, just before their move back to Scarborough. Back home, John arrived to complete the family a year later. Four kids in four years made for a busy bungalow, and Rick wore the badge of big brother with pride. He would continue to lead the Stainsby pack with humour and love until the very end.

He always made it seem like growing up in Scarborough in the 50s had been idyllic – every time anyone ever ventured out there, he’d ask them to “say hello to Scarbra” for him. As kids, the Stainsbys would spend their days playing road hockey, pulling practical jokes, and only coming home when the lights went on. He’d also go carolling with the church choir until someone eventually told him that he had no voice. He’d joke that that was when he lost all faith.

Scarborough was also the place he made lifelong friends. Thomson High introduced him to his best friend Mike – for some reason, the two of them were deemed responsible enough to be in charge of their epileptic classmate whenever he had episodes. Bonded by duty, the two of them would go on to carry out other respectable feats together – when they were bored, they’d go on drives where one would control the gas and the other (while blindfolded) the wheel. It was the 60s.

Rick always believed in both playing and working hard. His father eventually built him a desk and a room in the basement where he could escape his siblings and study. They all attest that everything he did, he worked hard at. The straight As he earned were the product of hours spent at that desk, putting his head down after volleyball games and late nights with friends.

After grade thirteen, he set off to Glendon to study sociology. There, he met friends who became family, began running, and through classes discovered an interest in social work. Back then, he thought he might work with inner city folk as a storefront lawyer. Although things were getting more serious, he still made time for fun. During that time, he celebrated his 21st birthday at the iconic El Macombo – famously downing 21 beers before returning to Scarborough.

As school wrapped up, Rick started to think about what would be next for him. Defending people’s rights sounded like a good challenge, he thought, and so he applied to Canada’s top law school at the time. Naturally, he was admitted.

Shortly after graduation, Rick drove a U-Haul down from Toronto to San Francisco and hitchhiked through the U.S. It was the last big adventure before law school. His travels through the Grand Canyon and National Parks (as well as his long hair and tiny shorts) are documented in honey-hued film. While reminiscing on that time in his life, he maintained that sleeping under the stars was always infinitely better than in a tent.

On his first law school exam, Rick finally earned his first and last C. He headed back to his desk and made sure that never happened again. Not only did he end up excelling at Osgoode but he found his purpose in life, and made some of his best memories both on and off campus.

Despite his love for Scarborough, Rick set out to discover other parts of the world after university. As if law school hadn’t been enough of a challenge, he figured he’d try his hand at a Master’s of International Law in Aix-en-Provence before landing a job. Between French lessons and hikes in the mountains, he’d sit in front of his typewriter to work on his thesis. After his defense, he went off to hand out his freshly updated CV to the best humanitarian agencies in Europe.

Canada, however, kept a hold of him a little while longer. Rick took a position in Ottawa, where he worked as a clerk on the refugee board, presenting cases. There, he also began to dedicate more time to his passion of running, spending hours training along the canal. It was also there that he did his first triathlon, and ran his first marathon in under 3 hours – even after a train stopped him in his tracks for a full five minutes.

Three years later, he received an offer from UNHCR to head up their newest office in Canberra (from Sydney, much to Rick’s dismay). On weekends he would run by the beach and explore the Australian wildlife – once, on a visit to a koala sanctuary, Cher asked him to take her photo. He would never forget that encounter.

Two years after, he was quickly promoted to headquarters in Geneva. His work there took him all around the world – from refugee camps all over Southeast Asia, Africa, and South America, to offices in Canberra, Geneva, and Caracas, and even a house in Port-au-Prince where he was once held hostage. Luckily for us, he managed to talk his way out of the latter, refusing to call the authorities and “rat on refugees” even when weapons came out.

The days were often long and the stakes were high, but Rick never doubted that he had taken the wrong path. Working to protect the most vulnerable was the driving force of his life, and the reason he could take so much pride in what he did. Although he was never one for the spotlight, he was in his element lecturing judges around the world when the focus was on protecting refugees.

When Rick met Lastenia at UNHCR in Geneva, he suddenly started to have to make more runs to the ground floor to “file” empty folders or discuss “cases”. Soon after, he began joining the Latino group’s nights out to practice his Spanish. When they eventually started dating, they quickly agreed that their age gap was no issue – it wasn’t like they were going to get married after all. Three years later, though, they were engaged. Their marriage, which they celebrated with a family barbecue in JUST DO IT t-shirts, lasted just over 30 years.

After more celebrations in Honduras, the newlyweds moved to Venezuela in 1992. Although it was not made official, while he was there, Rick Stainsby called himself Señor Canales to make things easier. Despite having to use seven keys and go through just as many doors to safely enter their first apartment together in Caracas, they cherished every minute of it. The honeymoon phase, it seems, made it all feel like the city of love. Once they left, Rick could finally reveal that his secret code name when on mission with the UN was “Túcan”. Fitting, for the colourful adventure they’d had there.

In 1994, Rick and Lastenia (Chiquita, to him) decided it was time to go back to Canada. Two years later, they welcomed a daughter, Anna. Rick claimed her face came to him in a dream the night before she was born, and they spent her first week curled up on the couch, listening to jazz on the stereo. Soon after, Michael joined the family. His arrival made the family complete, and made Rick’s dreams come true – he couldn’t believe how happy he was to have an active child like him to play with. Throughout their life, he would document both tender and funny moments in a file he’d later turn into a book called Anna and Michael: In Their Own Words. He held many important titles throughout his life, but his favourite was always Papa.

Even as life got busy, Rick still made time to return to his this-time-proverbial desk. On weekends, after going on runs with Lastenia or bike rides with the kids, he would become a student again, learning everything (and then some) about the history of jazz and classical music, and challenging himself to read and review 100 Classic Books. Later he would take the same approach to learning how to play poker and bridge.

An adventurer at heart, it was important to Rick to share that joy with his family. So, in 2004, they packed up and set off for France, believing it would only be a year abroad. That year somehow turned into six. It was hard to leave the life they’d built there – the group of friends and their dance parties, the UN culture, the travel, the cheap bread and cheese – but eventually, it was time to come home.

Back in Toronto, Rick continued to work for refugees. He returned to the refugee board as a senior legal advisor, training board members on refugee status determination. On his lunch breaks in the winter, he would hand out thick socks to unhoused folk near his office. He did so quietly, until Lastenia questioned what he could possibly be buying at the Bay once a week. Eventually, and humbly, he confessed.

In his last few years as a lawyer, Rick moved to appeal division serving as the Legal Advisor to the board until he retired at 68, still just as passionate about his work as he’d been thirty-five years prior.

When he fell ill, he found solace in the fact that he’d never waited for retirement to start living. He’d taken the trips, ran the marathons, danced, coached, even sung (much to his family’s dismay). Beyond that, he’d realized quite early on that the essence of life lay in giving. He had dedicated his whole life to those in need. As sad as he was to leave his family, he was calm knowing that his job here was complete. In a letter to his children, he shared that he knew he wanted to make the world a better place. “Find the thing you like and use that to make a difference. I had an interesting life while doing it. I am leaving a happy man.”

There is no doubt that Rick left the world better than he found it. He touched thousands of people through his work, and countless more in the generous way he lead his relationships. He will live on through his family and everyone else he inspired along the way.

In his final days, he spent time celebrating his life with family and friends, laughing at the memories of the life he got so much out of in seventy years.

He did good. He was happy. He was loved. We should all be so lucky.

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In lieu of flowers, we ask friends and family to donate what they can to support cancer research.

https://supportthepmcf.ca/ui/PDPMemorial/p/e5cb26d9cded475898ecf57cb1a92f1e