The Lion Heart: Remembering Randy Ponzio

"Have you seen our friend? He's been missing since Tuesday, and we're very worried about him," I asked two First Nations women on Hastings, just metres from the corner of Main Street.

"Oh dear ... we feel for you. Our women have been missing for years. We haven't seen your friend but I hope you find him," one of them said.

I was almost in tears.

My suede boots were soaked from the wet, slushy snow that fell last Thursday. That night, we canvassed along the dark alleyways of the Downtown Eastside looking for our friend, Randy Ponzio.

Randy had been missing for two days and, according to friends, he was last seen at the Keefer bar. As soon as word spread of Randy's disappearance, his nearest and dearest banded together to get information on his last whereabouts.

Speculation grew among friends and family, well-meaning strangers and curious Facebook spectators. Is he on a bender? Is there a third party involved? Are we having a hard time finding him because he didn't want to be found?

An outpouring of concern for Randy flooded the Facebook group and event page "Can You Help Find Randy Ponzio?" We were thankful for the media attention on the case; it prompted more people to keep their eyes and ears open.

There was no news for two more days, until the morning of Nov. 20th, a Sunday. There are no words to describe how devasted we felt when it finally came.

Randy's body had been found in a room at the Balmoral Hotel. A call had been made to police at about 5 p.m. the day before, on Saturday, reporting the discovery.

Like most of our friends, I had a hard time sleeping. Randy was on my mind. One of his songs ran in my head: "It's bigger than you and me .. It's about love, peace, foundation, family ..."

On Monday, we held a vigil for Randy to honour his legacy, passion and light. Hundreds of our friends gathered at the corner of Granville and West Georgia, where he used to busk, and sang his songs as we mourned the loss of a great soul.

His family was present for the event, along with his ex-wife, three children and girlfriend, who celebrated a bittersweet birthday that evening.

Randy was born on June 10, 1976, and raised in El Paso, Texas. He was the eldest of three children; he had two sisters, Valerie and Crystal. His parents, Randy Sr. and Rubi, raised him in a religious home. His father, a reverend, taught him generosity of spirit and what it means to give and help the less fortunate.

A humanitarian and an activist, Randy went to the Philippines to help establish a birth clinic and a feeding program for pregnant mothers and malnourished children -- an initiative that is still in operation today.

"I can remember when living in the Philippines and overwhelmed by the sights of working with malnourished children, I would quite often listen to Bob Marley, and it was instant revolutionary fuel for me to keep pushing and keep working with these little, innocent kids," Randy said.

When he moved to Vancouver four years ago, he was humbled by the openness and support he received from the local music community.

"I was absolutely floored by the talent that is so dominant in this beautiful city. The musicians welcomed me with open arms on every level, from playing shows to showing up for my early gigs. I can recall a show I did where literally, I had been in the city for two months, and then a party of, like, 40 fellow musicians I had met showed up," Randy once said.

Randy was a fixture in the local scene, regularly busking on the streets of Granville, as well as playing gigs and open-mic nights at the ANZA club, and Calabash Bistro, hosted by Foundation Radio. He was equally supportive of fellow musicians' projects and often collaborated with them -- JUNO award-winner Shad, for example.