Arne Sahlen bursts into our front door waving a pamphlet. He’s fundraising for a former Cambodian refugee who immigrated to Kimberley in 1989, his spine twisted from child labour during Pol Pot’s brutal regime. After years of initial success, he’s fallen on challenging times. Arne’s trying to help him out. Later that night, we make an online donation without fully understanding what we just donated to.

That’s Arne Sahlen: you trust no matter what he’s doing, he’s striving to make the world a better place.

As a child, following a rainstorm, all worms glistening, stranded on the road, Arne’s mom was called to school to explain why he was late. She described her son, mortified at the sight of these vulnerable wiggling worms, gently picking each one up, placing them carefully onto the safety of soft grass. “All these worms drying out, or driven over…” Arne says, “I couldn’t stand it! I’d pick zillions off the road, often missing my school bell.”

The next time I see Arne, we’re moving a piano into his friend Chris Green’s apartment. Chris has severe Cerebral Palsy, and has to be hoisted out of bed on a sling. Chris has always wanted to play piano. He and Arne believe it might be good therapy, that small motor movements may stimulate Chris’ brain and rebuild co-ordination lost to the devastating effects of the disability. “He has grip and can rest his fingers on the keys,” Arne says, “I’m sure he’ll be able to make some kind of music.” When a care-aid complains that grease from the piano dolly has soiled the hallway carpet, Arne calls the manager and leaves a message: “We’ll take care of it. This is amazing what happened today! Chris got out of bed. He sat in his wheelchair at the piano!” Arne’s enthusiasm is contagious. “We’ll figure it out,” he says. Chris, smiling, looks on, his cockatoo Mozart perched on his shoulder.

For those who don’t know Arne Sahlen, he’s Kimberley’s Beethoven-haired, warm-hearted minstrel, perpetually promoting recitals and fundraisers for benevolent causes. Flamboyant, and forever smiling, one day he’s Elton John playing keyboard at a summer market, the next, Brahms in a church hall.  As a highly-trained piano instructor, Arne’s guided countless students, many who’ve won major awards and pursued careers in music. In 1979, he won the Royal Conservatory Gold Medal for the highest Diploma mark in Canada in piano performance. In 2000, he received  the Governor General’s Caring Canadian Award for decades of humanitarian and artistic service.

Later that afternoon, Arne and I sit around our dining room piano. He tightens bolts on our wobbly bench. Often, he claps at the excitement of talking about music and helping others, “This is just great,” he says smiling. “Just great.”  His phone rings constantly with messages from students and friends. Then, Arne plays one note on the piano.

Everything becomes still.

It’s My Duty to Help.

I ask Arne about his history supporting charitable causes. He explains that 33 years ago he joined the Kimberley Cambodian Support Group (now Cambodia Support Group, CSG) as the first refugee family arrived in 1984.  Since then, CSG has resettled 204 Cambodians across Canada.  Arne, fluent in Khmer, Cambodia’s official language, has travelled for CSG to Cambodia 20 times to channel donor support, advocate for Cambodians in a development milieu fraught with difficulty, and respectfully embrace the Cambodian culture. He has been on Cambodian television dozens of times singing Cambodian songs and promoting the work of the CSG.  As well, Arne’s hosted dozens of refugees in his house, one so tormented he was afraid at first to pick up the phone. “Maybe Police coming if I mistake,” he told Arne.

Chanthavouth Hy (Vouth), a Cambodian tenor sponsored by CSG (2007) to study voice in Canada, emails from Cambodia: “Arne is known throughout Cambodia as a man of compassion and love. My Cambodian people and I owe him great deal. He showed us what it meant to be respected and trusted after decades of civil wars had broken our spirit into pieces. As Arne’s “adopted son”, I learned the value of myself and overcame my fear of what happened to me while still in Cambodia. He inspired and helped me transform my musical dreams into a reality. Arne makes the world a more beautiful place.”

Arne describes how he remains so committed to helping others. “It’s a “Fishhook Syndrome,” he says. “I see the whole story and it pulls me like a fishhook, especially in below-the-radar cases where one person can tip a balance and break negative cycles. And, I’m a stubborn Swede. I just don’t give up.” The fishhook syndrome can be a challenge for some. “I’m pretty hyper,” he says. “As a person living outside of the box, my passion can be hard for some people to deal with. At times, I can be perceived as an easy target, the one the wolves separate from the herd.”

“I’ve never gone looking for causes,” he says. “Often these things arrive on my doorstep. It tends to be the people whose needs aren’t being served by others. People start talking to me. I seem to project a bit of someone off the way, someone they can connect with.” Arne plays a few familiar notes on the piano and gets choked up. “These people need someone to stick by them no matter what,” he says. “I’m not afraid of minefields, physical or emotional. It’s my honour. It’s my duty to help.”

Arne credits his family’s commitment to charitable work and volunteering: “In both my bloodlines there’s an incredible legacy of helping others. It’s what we do.” His late Uncle Rudy found lost families or arranged adoptions for children adrift after World War II and was active in developing the early United Nations. “There are fourteen linear feet of documents about him in a California archive. Google Rudolph L. Bialuski,” Arne says beaming.

The next day, I post a portrait of Arne on social media. I’ve never seen such an outpouring of respect. Van Redecopp writes, “One of Kimberley’s citizens of the century.”  A Cambodian man, who Arne sponsored in Canada, messages Arne: "My God Father. I miss you. It is a privilege, a blessing to have you come into my life!"  A contributor to Arne’s fundraiser (GoFundMe.com/herosupport) writes: “If everybody had Arne for a friend, we’d all be fine.”

If People Chatted While the Music Played

I ask Arne how many piano pieces he can play from memory. “I have no idea,” he says. “Hundreds?”

“Really? You think that’s it?“ I ask.

“Ok, thousands,” he says, “including performance and teaching pieces.”

Arne describes the origin of his interest in music: “Both my parents had music in their bloodline. Dad played cello, organ, and conducted choirs, symphonies, and bands. Mom played piano, sang in choirs, and painted for 50 years. My parents bought the first-ever stereo record player in Prince Rupert. At their regular Musical Evenings, the guests arrived, chose snacks and drinks, then sat and listened to classical records: symphonies, concertos, and opera. If people chatted while the music played, they weren’t invited back. Music was to be respected.”

As a piano teacher, Arne Sahlen earns huge accolades from students across the Kootenays and BC, both in person and through Skype lessons: “Arne is so charismatic and nutty,” ex-student Franz Unterberger says. “He ingrained the style and grace of piano into my head. It wasn't until later in life that I realized how great it is to be able to play a musical instrument. I owe it all to him.”

“I travelled three and a half hours for my fabulous piano lessons with Arne Sahlen,” former student Meghan Schoonover says, “ He’s a master.” Another student describes how Arne makes music meaningful and come alive, yet also adds, “If it hadn’t been for your patience and understanding, I may have seriously considered quitting piano.”

Arne’s greatest musical passion and devotion is playing for seniors. “It’s one of the favourite things to do in my life,” he says. Often he’ll volunteer, playing piano at the Pines Special Care Home, Garden View, and Joseph Creek Village. Leanne Germaine, Pines activity worker describes Arne’s volunteer performances: “Seniors love when he comes to play the piano. He plays with such flair! Sometimes he plays upside down.”

(Arne: tell me more about this…what is it that makes it one of yr favourite things to do…)

People Will Ask

One day, many years from now, Arne Sahlen will be gone. People will ask, “How’d he do that? How’d he care so intensely? How can a heart be so big without breaking?” They’ll talk about this little boy, knees bent, back hunched over, his big hands reaching towards the road, towards these wiggling worms, their tiny hearts pumping, his tender touch, the cool damp earth. Both safe again, at least for now, at least until the next rainfall.