It was my immense privilege and pleasure to have been given the opportunity to recount the amazing and often life-defining travels and memoires of the enigmatic and incomparable Bob McGuire. I was a boyhood friend of his two younger brothers, Ken and John, who were one year my senior, and one year my junior, in that order. It was the Fall of 1959, when my family and I moved to the quiet, suburban neighborhood of East 44th Avenue near Joyce Road in southeast Vancouver, B.C. Our house was just a few doors down from the McGuire homestead.While I quickly gravitated toward Ken, John and the other boys of similar ages living on the block, the older McGuire brothers, Bob and Mike were of a different generation. Not unlike my own older brother, they were visible to me, but mostly unapproachable. In those days, it was an unwritten rule that one kept to their own peer group and strayed neither too far above nor below it. However, it was always fascinating to surreptitiously observe the behaviors and life-styles of those “Cats,” we perceived to be worldly, and who we would one day attempt to emulate.Without the need for detailed explanation, my home-life as a youth was extremely difficult. It was filled with an over-abundance of negativity and external abuses. Thankfully, I attribute the rejuvenating qualities of friendship with Ken, John and the other boys from the block, as the defining factor that kept me more or less grounded and functional as a developing youth. Unfortunately, even with their positive influences, I still often felt like an outsider. While they all enjoyed childhood activities such as organized sports, musical endeavors, parental affection, family outings and the like, I experienced none of those. I was born first-generation Canadian, from blue-collar immigrant parents. I was trapped in a loveless, dysfunctional family dynamic where daily emotional existence was a struggle. I was not encouraged or even permitted to play sports, my parents were not interested in assimilating into Canadian society, nor did I have the ability to express myself in any way, shape, or form.Needless to say, as I grew, I developed no measurable athletic ability. I never participated in any organized club or sporting league, I was never given the opportunity to play a musical instrument, and even “Hockey Night in Canada,” that iconic Saturday evening television program religiously viewed every week by millions of Canadians, never graced our television set. I didn’t even own a bicycle. So, when all the other boys would go ‘riding’ for the day, I would be stuck at home, sitting on our front steps, waiting for them to eventually return.When my parents’ relationship eventually imploded in the early Fall of 1969 and divorce was their only recourse, I discovered an opportunity to improve my miserable existence. At the time, I was in my final year at Killarney High School and was hoping to graduate from there. The family house sold quickly and my parents were ready to move on. However, I had absolutely no interest in going with either one of them. By a stroke of what I now consider to be divine intervention, the Freeman family, who lived directly across the street from the McGuire’s, graciously offered to take me into their home, so that I could complete Grade 12 at Killarney. I believe that this was a turning-point in my life.This was also a time when we would see more of the elusive Bob McGuire, who when not out globe-trotting, would frequently visit his family’s home. His arrival was always an event. Amongst our circle of friends, ‘Bobby’ had become a near mythical personage. With his shoulder length, flaming red hair, frequent variations of outlandish beards and moustaches, and sporting the latest hippie attire, he cut a distinctive and unmistakable figure. Add the usual cadre of amigos and hangers-on that normally hovered about him, and you completed the visage of a psychedelic Messiah accompanied by his fervent disciples.One was always guaranteed a good time in the company of Bob McGuire. With his magnetic and uninhibited personality, infectious sense of humor, superior knowledge of current musical trends and world events, plus an all-around welcoming demeanor, he was just the sort of person that a group of long-haired, impressionable, teenaged wannabees would be attracted to. That was us!I can honestly say that the eight months I spent living semi-independently with the Freemans, attending school and interacting with my many friends on East 44th Avenue, was one of the happiest times of my life. In June of 1970, I graduated from high school and reluctantly moved away from the neighborhood where I had spent my formative years. I continued seeing the ‘old gang’ from time to time, but gradually those visits became less frequent, and then eventually stopped altogether. Invariably, my destiny now began pulling me in a different direction and it no longer meshed cohesively with my previous existence.I married younger than most practically-minded people would have recommended, and before my mid-20s, I had fathered the first of my two children, that were to become the foundation of my subsistence. Professionally limited by a lack of post-secondary education and possessing few technical skills or qualifications, nevertheless, I still wanted to better myself and provide my family with the best possible life-style. As a boy, policing had always interested me, and over time, I had read numerous articles and books involving the investigations of Scotland Yard, the FBI, Sherlock Holmes, the Texas Rangers, plus the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Although not certain if I stood a chance of acceptance, in late 1975, I applied to become an RCMP officer. In October of 1976, I finally received the call I’d been anticipating.During the ensuing twenty-five years, I served my community and my country as a proud and enthusiastic member of Canada’s national police force. The experience left an indelible mark upon me and still causes my chest to swell whenever I think back to my many accomplishments, or whenever I see someone wearing the iconic scarlet tunic, high-brown boots and Stetson hat. The inconsequential, youngest son of immigrant parents with no definitive talent and little hope of fulfilling a bright future, had now become a man of substance. Throughout the course of my career, and with the aid of my colleagues, we investigated and successfully concluded numerous local, regional and national criminal files. Years of diligent endeavor culminated in the year 2000, when I received the coveted ‘Police Officer of the Year’ award while posted in the diverse and always energized city of Surrey, B.C.June of 2020 was the 50th anniversary of my graduating class from Killarney High School, and my wife Mary, found a reunion notification on her computer. As she searched the site, her efforts were noticed by my old friend John McGuire and he reached out to me as a result. As they say, the rest was history. Since then, John, Bob and several others from our former social group have come together and rekindled our dormant friendship. After an absence from one another of nearly fifty years, I can’t believe my good fortune to have been reacquainted with this fabulous group of now mature men.Shortly before our first reencounter, I had self-published a paperback novel depicting one of my more interesting criminal investigations during the late 1980s. Several of the ‘boys’ generously purchased copies, and it became a point of discussion. During one of our visits, and with Bob in attendance, I discovered that during the majority of his earlier travels, he had faithfully maintained journals, and devoutly recorded his daily activities. Who would have guessed that a young man intent on entering the Guinness Book of World Records for bedding every unmarried woman on the European Continent and breaking the all-time ‘party-hearty record’ for a single human being, would have possessed the forethought to do that? In any event, when it was suggested that I acquire the journals and compose a unified and cohesive document highlighting these excursions, I jumped at the chance.Few people in this world get to realize their life-long dreams or achieve the pinnacle of their goals. Not so in Bob’s case. His aspirations manifest themselves, and his thirst for travel and accumulative knowledge was thoroughly quenched. He also very nearly entered the Guinness Book of World Records for his previously attempted exploits at lust and Bacchanalia, but sadly, just fell short of that accomplishment. However, after all was said and done, he did in fact traverse the globe several times over and positively impacted all those with whom he met. For me, it has been a true joy to chronicle his thoughts, his actions, and his encounters within this following memoir.H.J.P.