REMNANTS OF A HURRICANE - AN OPERA HOUSE WITH A PARTLY FINISHED ROOF - AND HOBGOBLINS
I HAVE RE-PUBLISHED A HALLOWE'EN STORY THAT APPEARED IN THE OCTOBER ISSUE OF THAT FABULOUS LITTLE MONTHLY NEWSPAPER, "THE GREAT NORTH ARROW," BECAUSE I REALIZE IT'S KIND OF HARD TO FIND A COPY, IN THIS SOUTHERN CLIME. THE PAPER IS PUBLISHED OUT OF DUNCHURCH, ONTARIO, AND I THINK THIS IS THE SECOND YEAR ANNIVERSARY COMING UP. IT'S AN OLD FASHION, FUN FORMAT, AND TAKES ME BACK TO THE DAYS WHEN WE HAD A HUGE COMMUNITY OUTREACH AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE, WITH COLUMNS FROM BEATRICE, PORT SYDNEY, UTTERSON WEST ROAD, BAYSVILLE, DORSET, PORT CARLING, WINDERMERE, ULLSWATER, BENT RIVER, BARKWAY, MILFORD BAY, WITH REPORTS COMING FROM THE WOMEN'S INSTITUTES, 4-H CLUBS, AND ALL THE SERVICE CLUBS FROM THE ENTIRE DISTRICT. BACK ONE HUNDRED YEARS, IT WAS MOSTLY THIS KIND OF COMMUNITY NEWS MAKING UP THE EDITORIAL CONTENT IN OUR WEEKLY PUBLICATIONS. I LIKE THE NORTH ARROW'S TRADITIONAL APPROACH TO MODERN TIMES, AND IT WORKS. THE SMALL TOWN PUBLICATION IS DOING VERY WELL SERVING THE REGIONS NORTH OF MUSKOKA, AND FOLKS ARE GLAD AGAIN TO HAVE THE PRINT CONNECTION TO ONE ANOTHER. THIS IS LIKE THE COMMUNITY NEWS I JOINED MYSELF AS A CUB REPORTER BACK IN THE LATE 1970'S, AND IT FEELS NICE TO BE A PART OF IT AT THE OTHER END OF MY CAREER AS WELL.
STORMY WEATHER FOR MUSKOKA
HERE'S A PREDICTION. JUST CALL ME "TED THE ENCHANTER!" CONTRARY TO SOME UNTUTORED OPINION, I'D SAY IT'S PRETTY UNLIKELY THE OPERA HOUSE ROOF WILL BE REPAIRED BY THE END OF THE FIRST WEEK IN NOVEMBER. AND HERE'S ANOTHER PREDICTION. IF IT DOESN'T RAIN INSIDE THE OPERA HOUSE, WITH A HALF FINISHED ROOF, THEN IT MUST BE AN IRISH BUILDING, WITH FOUR LEAF CLOVERS PRESSED BETWEEN THE WOODWORK FOR GOOD LUCK. THE UPCOMING TORRENTIAL RAIN, COURTESY THE STRONG ARM OF A FRANKENSTORM HEADED OUR WAY, MIGHT SEEM TO SOME OF US FEAR MONGERS, A WEATHER "GAME CHANGER" FOR THOSE WHO REPAIR AND ADMINISTER THE REPLACEMENT OF ROOFING. IF IT STAYS AS DRY AS MY JULY GARDEN, THEN CITIZEN PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED. IF IT DOES RAIN INSIDE……THERE WILL BE MANY EMBARRASSED FACES AT TOWN HALL, TRYING TO EXPLAIN, LIKE LUCY TO RICKY, WHAT AN ACT OF GOD MEANS. WITH THE HUGE RAINFALL PREDICTED OVER THE NEXT FIVE DAYS, WITH HIGH WINDS, EVEN BRAND NEW ROOFING IS GOING TO GET A WORK-OUT. SO HAVING A VULNERABLE ROOF SUCKS.
NOW IN CASE COUNCILLORS ARE THINKING I'VE GOT A BET THAT THE MAKESHIFT COVERING WON'T HOLD, AND WHAT FALLS OUTSIDE WILL ALSO DRIP INSIDE, THE TRUTH IS QUITE THE OPPOSITE, AND I MOST DEFINITELY WANT THE OPERA HOUSE TO COME OUT OF THIS RECONSTRUCTION WITHOUT BATTLE WOUNDS. IF HOWEVER, THE ROOF BECOMES A TAD POROUS OVER THE RAINY DAYS AHEAD, THEN WE NEED TO KNOW……WHY IT HAD TO HAPPEN THIS WAY? WHAT WE'RE HOPING, IS THAT IF THERE IS A PROBLEM, AND DAMAGE DOES OCCUR, THAT THE TOWN WILL MUSTER UP THE COURAGE TO ADMIT THIS, AND NOT FORCE THE CITIZENS TO DEMAND AN ENQUIRY TO FIND OUT INFORMATION THAT OCCURRED IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. SO THEY'VE GOT SOME TIME TO MULL IT OVER, AND MAKE SURE THE PATCHING AND TARPAPER ROOFING IS GOING TO HOLD IN HIGH WINDS AND POUNDING RAIN. AS I NOTED IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG……AS GOD DIDN'T REMOVE THE SHINGLES THIS LATE IN THE SEASON, IT'S NOT FAIR TO BLAME GOD FOR A TRACE OF HURRICANE EITHER.
A HALLOWE'EN FAVORITE
THE FOLLOWING STORY IS A LITTLE BIT IN THE TRADITION OF "YES VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUSE," ONLY THIS REPEATED ONE IS FOR HALLOWE'EN, AND WELL, DESERVES TO BE RE-RUN FOR THOSE WHO DIDN'T READ IT THE FIRST TIME. THERE'S A MORAL SOMEWHERE HERE, ABOUT GIVING SOMEONE CRAP, AND THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD. THERE ARE ALL KINDS OF PRANKS AT HALLOWE'EN, BUT THIS ONE WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITES FROM THOSE COMMUNITY NEWS "GATHERING" DAYS, IN MUSKOKA. THE RUNNER-UP TO THIS, FROM MY CHILDHOOD DAYS IN BRACEBRIDGE, WAS WHEN A BUDDY OF MINE PUT A FLAMING BAG OF DOG POOP ON A GUY'S PORCH, KNOCKED ON THE DOOR, AND THEN RAN AND HID BEHIND HIS CAR IN THE DRIVEWAY. GEEZ, WAS THE HOMEOWNER EVER PISSED-OFF, WITH A POOP COVERED, SMOKING SHOE. SO MUCH SO, THAT WHILE CURSING US AS DEMON-SEEDS, HE GRABBED THE CAR KEYS (CAUSE WE COULD HEAR THEM JANGLING AS HE RAN), AND JUMPED IN HIS CAR. THE PROBLEM WAS, MY BUDDY WAS STILL BEHIND THE BACK WHEEL, ON HIS BELLY, TO AVOID DETECTION. WE PULLED HIM OUT FROM BEHIND THE CAR WITH ONLY SECONDS TO SPARE, BEFORE HE WOULD HAVE BEEN CRUSHED TO DEATH. SO THEN, WE COME TO THE STORY OF A COUNTRY OUTHOUSE, MINDING ITS OWN BUSINESS, ON THE EVE OF HALLOWE'EN. ENJOY. YOU HAVEN'T EATEN RECENTLY HAVE YOU? YOU MIGHT WANT TO WAIT A FEW MINUTES. WOULDN'T WANT ANY UPSET TUMMIES, THE RESULT OF RE-TELLING HISTORY. NOW IF YOU HAVE AN OUTHOUSE, SAY AT YOUR NEW HOUSE SITE, OR WORK LOCATION, YOU MIGHT WANT TO THINK TWICE ABOUT RE-SITUATING IT PRIOR TO THE BIG EVENING. THERE MIGHT BE SOME COUNTER-PRANKSTERS READING THIS BLOG, COMING UP WITH REACTIVE STRATEGY….JUST LIKE THE BOYS IN OUR STORY.
NOT JUST ABOUT GHOSTS AND GOBLINS AT HALLOWE'EN
Specially written for the October issue of The Great North Arrow
In my first year working as a poorly paid cub reporter, for the community press, admittedly I had a lot to learn. It was on-the-job training for sure. A lot of mistakes were made in those first few years, and a lot of people took advantage of the green reporter with the hastily compiled notebook. Who of course didn't always ask the right questions, of the most reliable people. For this I suffered for my craft.
If I wanted to keep my job, I had to learn fast. In a small town, and sparsely populated region, it was necessary to gain acceptance by whatever means was necessary. I bought a lot of lunches and a lot of beer. Being considered an outsider, working locally until a better job offer came along, meant many trials and tribulations for a rookie writer. I got scammed a lot in those days, by the locals having some fun with the green reporter. I just had to be careful where I got my news information, and expect to be offered some less than genuine news leads, that yes, sent me on many wild goose chases, you might say.
While my so-called new friends were killing themselves laughing at how far they made me drive, and the ridiculous questions they gave me to ask the subject, (knowing I'd stir something up) I had to figure out counter measures to protect myself and the newspaper's reputation. I didn't want to get hauled into court for misrepresenting a news story, being accused of misquoting a source, or getting the article wrong because of horseplay, by those who thought such a thing was funny. It could have been a career-ender.
There was a situation, and a great story hanging in the balance, that I heard about, after I'd already spent nearly two years in the community. By this point, I'd sort of figured out when and from who, I would get some crazy news tip, and simply avoid contact with them. But one day, I got a story-tip, corroborated by several friends who I trusted. I was working on a Hallowe'en feature article, and was looking for some local angles to make it a nice regional piece. Over a few cold pop one night, at my little cottage on the lake, these chaps spun a most interesting and hilarious story about a lady they had both known, in the village, from their youth, and how a routine Hallowe'en prank turned into an amazing tale of revenge and counter attack. Maybe this isn't a true story. All the parties immediately involved were either deceased or not to be found. I made the lads swear it was a true story, but as I had been duped before, I did take this story as a "Hallowe'en Yarn," and not necessarily as an actual reported occurrence, recorded on the police blotter. So here goes.
Every Hallowe'en in the village, a certain chap, with mates, tipped over an elderly lady's outhouse. They didn't like her, and this was their way of letting her know what her approval rating was, at that moment, and time of the rolling year. She didn't care much for them either, and when they rode their bikes across her lawn, she'd take-off like an olympic sprinter, chasing them with a broom. They yelled back at her to "fly away you old witch," and she may or may not have extended them a middle finger in retreat. They didn't like each other, but it was pretty much run-of-the-mill stuff anyway. Except one thing.
Every year, the old woman expected the outhouse to be on its side, on the morning after Hallowe'en "trick or treating." Every year, she had to call the neighbors to help set it back over the hole, so it could be used again. She was only glad not to have been inside, when the raid and toppling occurred. It is said, that from sunset, through until daybreak, she used a "thunder mug," or what is more properly called a chamber pot, to relieve herself. It would have been terrible to have been in the outhouse as it was tipped over, especially if the little pranksters, brought it down on the door-side, which would trap her for the night. She wasn't going to take any chances.
On this particular Hallowe'en she'd got this idea, to give the local rapscallions a taste of their own medicine. With the help of two burly neighbors, who didn't like the teenage lads either, the outhouse was moved about five feet back (toward the house) from where it sat over the hole. As the attacks always seemed to be from the same direction, from the back of the property forward, she assumed the boys wouldn't see the hole on their approach, and before they could put their hands on the outhouse, they'd be waist (waste) deep in a hole of excrement.
It wasn't a moonlit night. It was a dark overcast, near-rain Hallowe'en. At about ten o'clock she heard faint rustling in the back woodlot, and sense the outhouse attack was in progress. She had the rear window open to hear the results of misadventure, that would happen any minute. The boys did exactly what they had done the year before, and for about three years before that…..stepping over the fallen rail fence, getting caught-up briefly in the old raspberry canes, and then rustling the leaves that hadn't been raked, up to the backside of the outhouse. She could hear them giggling. In fact, she was so excited, she went to the backdoor, and opened it a crack. Her intention, once they fell into the hole, was to flick on the outside lamp, so she could get a look at the results of her prank on the pranksters. She was going to enjoy this.
She listened for their footfall, as if counting the necessary feet before they reached the pit. All of a sudden, there was the sound of dismay. "Help. We've fallen into a hole," they yelled in unison. Well, it wasn't just any hole was it? "My God, I'm covered in poop," screamed one lad. "It's in my mouth….my nose, I'm going to puke," said one. While the other, of the two that had fallen in, yelled, "I'm going to get that old lady." The only thing the property owner had forgotten, somewhat, was the reality the lads might be stuck in the hole for some time, wading in feces. Once she felt they had probably learned a lesson, she put the back light on, and went out into the yard to get a step ladder, to help the trapped teens exit the pit. What she saw in that hole made her laugh. It is said she really let them have it, while they were gagging and sputtering in the dung. When she felt they had suffered adequately, and wouldn't likely be back to topple her outhouse any time soon, she dropped them the ladder, and watched the poop-encrusted youths climb out.
Of course, with all plans of such revenge, there is always the possibility of a counter attack, when one leasts expects it. When the two lads had successfully climbed from the hole, and got some of the muck off their heads and shoulders, they saw an opportunity open to them, in the illumination of the back yard. As if it had been part of the plan all along, both boys nodded to each other, in acceptance, and while the old lady continued to scold them, they took off like it was a hundred yard dash. And it pretty much was. She had mistakenly left the back door open. So there they went. Running right through the house, taking a few moments to visit the bedrooms as well as the living room, and stepping on her favorite chair in front of the television. By time they exited her house, it can be said, they had a total real estate tour. The woman stood in her backyard, mouth gaping open, mumbling "I never thought they would do that!" "Happy Halloween," the boys yelled back, at the woman, now approaching the back door, with a hand over her nose. The moral of the story? If you're going to get even with those who topple your outhouse, make sure the doors of your house are securely locked. Or else!
The article was a big hit. Was it true? Let's put it this way. I never let the truth mess up a really good story. Happy Hallowe'en to you.
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