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| A Record of Gwendolyn MacEwen Poetry For Tomorrow |
THE STUFF WE FIND IN THE BOXES OF VINTAGE VINYL? SUPER TERRIFIC! OR A LITTLE CRAZY?
HE LET'S ME LISTEN TO SOME OF MY OLD FAVORITES - YES, LIKE "MALTON AND HAMILTON HOLDING THEIR OWN"
WARNING: I HAVE IMBEDDED A SHORT CLIP, OF THE COMEDIC WORK, OFFERED-UP BY WELL KNOWN CANADIAN COMEDY TEAM, MALTON AND HAMILTON, FROM THEIR NEWLY ESTABLISHED WEB SITE. I AM A BIG FAN. IT GOES BACK, FOR ME, TO THE EARLY 1980'S. BUT THERE IS MATERIAL ON THE CLIP, SOME READERS - VIEWERS MAY NOT APPRECIATE, OR FIND OFFENSIVE. IN TERMS OF TODAY'S STAND-UP MATERIAL, IT IS LIGHTER THAN LIGHT. THAT SAID, I'M NOT TRYING TO OFFEND ANY READERS, BY BRINGING THE WORK OF THIS DUO, BACK TO THE FOREFRONT. AS WE USED TO CARRY A BIG GRAIN OF SALT WITH US, TO THEIR PERFORMANCES, (FOR EMOTIONAL SECURITY) YOU MIGHT WISH TO GRAB ONE YOURSELF, PRIOR TO VIEWING. BUT IT IS AN IMPORTANT BIT OF CANADIAN ENTERTAINMENT HISTORY. SO PLEASE DON'T CLICK-ON, IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO POLITICAL INCORRECTNESS, SEXIST MATERIAL, POTTY HUMOR, AND ETHNIC REFERENCES. IT'S A SLICE OF COMIC LEGACY, AND JUST ONE OF THE INTERESTING RECORDS, WE OFTEN ACQUIRE, IN BULK VINTAGE VINYL PURCHASES. LATER IN THIS BLOG, I'LL OFFER AN EXPLANATION, WHY I FOUND THEIR WORK STRESS-RELIEVING, AND ANOTHER REASON WHY I HAVE ALWAYS SOUGHT OUT COMEDY, AND MUSIC, TO HEAL THE BATTERED SOUL. THE FINAL SEGMENT, OF THE CLIP, IS WORTH THE WAIT. YOU WON'T BELIEVE HOW GOOD THESE GUYS WERE AT MAKING MUSIC WITH FOUND INSTRUMENTS.....FROM A BICYCLE REPAIR SHOP. TO ME, AT LEAST, IT IS ONE OF THE FUNNIEST CANADIAN COMEDY CLIPS I HAVE EVER SEEN. BUT THEN, I AM A RATHER ODD CHAP, AND I ACTUALLY OWNED A SUIT THAT LOOKED A LOT LIKE THE ONES THEY'RE WEARING ON THE RECORD SLEEVE. WHICH SOMEWHAT EXPLAINS WHY I NEVER GOT INVITED TO FORMAL OCCASIONS.
FIRST OF ALL, I ENJOYED THE WORK OF THE CANADIAN COMEDY TEAM OF MALTON AND HAMILTON, BECAUSE, AT THE TIME, I NEEDED THEM. I'LL EXPLAIN LATER. IN THE 1970'S AND 1980'S, WHEN WE'D CATCH THEIR ACTS AT ONE OF THE LOCAL HOTELS, (AND WE THOUGHT WE WERE RAUNCHY), WE'D EVEN WINCE AT SOME OF THEIR MATERIAL. THAT WAS THEIR MISSION STATEMENT. HUMOUR BY INTIMIDATION. HOW TOUGH WERE THEY? IT WAS URBAN LEGEND, THAT MALTON AND HAMILTON COULD MAKE YOU PEE YOUR PANTS. WHY? PATRONS WERE SO NERVOUS OF BEING SINGLED OUT, AND MADE FUN-OF, THAT THEY WOULDN'T GO TO THE LOUNGE WASHROOMS UNTIL INTERMISSION. IT WASN'T JUST THAT THE AUDIENCE WAS BEING POLITE, AND WAITING FOR ONE, OF ABOUT FOUR BRIEF INTERMISSIONS, TO RELIEVE THEMSELVES. YOU WOULDN'T HAVE BELIEVED THE PANIC GETTING TO THE BATHROOM, BEFORE THE MASS OF HOPPING, CROSS-LEGGED TAVERN-GOERS, TRYING TO GET THROUGH THAT SWINGING DOOR IN TIME. TO SUGGEST THAT SOME PATRONS IN PAIN, USED THE SINKS INSTEAD, WOULDN'T BE A MISTRUTH. IT DIDN'T MATTER WHO YOU WERE, IF YOU GOT UP DURING THEIR SHOW, BECAUSE YOU WERE GOING TO GET IT! IF YOU HAD, WHAT THEY THOUGHT WAS A FUNNY HAIRCUT, OR A LOUD SWEATER, CORDUROY PANTS, OR HAIRY ARMS, THEY'D BE ALL OVER YOU LIKE A FUNGUS; AND IF YOU BLUSHED EASILY.....WELL, THEY'D MAKE FUN OF THAT AS WELL. WERE THEY POLITICALLY CORRECT? DID THEY MAKE CULTURALLY SENSITIVE REFERENCES? SEXIST? USE POTTY REFERENCES TO EXCESS? MAKE FUN OF NEWFOUNDLANDERS? ASIANS? THOSE OF POLISH ANCESTRY? IT WAS THEIR ACT. BUT WE HAD ALREADY BEEN EXPOSED TO ARCHIE BUNKER, THE LESS THAN POLITICALLY CORRECT LABOURER, FROM THE HIT TELEVISION SHOW, "ALL IN THE FAMILY." NOT THAT THIS GAVE MALTON AND HAMILTON FUEL FOR THEIR MULE, BUT BY TIME WE'D BE SITTING IN THE FRONT ROW, MOST OF THE MATERIAL HAD BEEN HEARD BEFORE. JUST NOT WITH THEIR PATENTED LOUNGE LIZARD-STYLE, MACHINE-GUN, RAPID FIRE REPERTOIRE, THAT BY ITSELF, MADE FUN OF EVERY COMEDIAN WHO EVER SET FOOT IN A HOTEL, OR SMOKE-FILLED LOUNGE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD, WHERE, WITH COMFORTABLE FAMILIARITY, YOU STUCK TO THE FLOOR ON THE DRIED REMAINS OF LAST NIGHT'S TOPPLED, AND SLOSHED JUG OF BEER.
THEY WERE A PARODY OF THEIR OWN PROFESSION, AND WHEN YOU LOOK AT THE COVER OF THE RECORD, ROBERT GAVE ME THIS MORNING, THE MAROON TUXEDOS KIND OF GIVE IT AWAY.....IF THE HANDS IN THE POCKETS DON'T. WHEN I HEAR THEM NOW, I HAVE A VERY DIFFERENT IMPRESSION, THAN I DID, AS A STARVING WRITER, WORKING IN THE COMMUNITY PRESS. BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S, LIKE PAUL RIMSTEAD'S DAILY COLUMN, MALTON AND HAMILTON'S ACT CHEERED US UP, FROM A JOB WE OFTEN DESPISED BECAUSE OF THE EMOTIONAL CHALLENGES. THIS MORNING, LISTENING TO THEM OVER COFFEE, IT SEEMED IN ESSENCE, AS IF THEY WERE MAKING FUN OF THEIR OWN ROLE, IN THE ENTERTAINMENT BUSINESS; AND EVERY STAND-UP COMEDIAN IN HISTORY, WHO HAD TO BREAK GROUND IN BARS WHERE ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN, AND LEARNING HOW TO DUCK, BOBB AND WEAVE, FROM FLYING BEER BOTTLES, WAS PART OF STANDARD TRAINING.....LIKE A BOXER OR A GOALTENDER. I ACTUALLY STARTED THINKING ABOUT COMEDIAN ANDY KAUFMAN'S, TACKY-TO-A-FAULT, LOUD, ABUSIVE CHARACTER, LOUNGE LIZARD, "TONY CLIFTON," (MOVIE "MAN ON THE MOON," WITH JIM CAREY). FROM AROUND THE SAME TIME PERIOD, AS KAUFMAN WAS USING CLIFTON IN HIS ACT, MALTON AND HAMILTON WERE DOING ROUGHLY THE SAME THING, BUT WITH MUSICAL COMEDY....AND THEMSELVES. I NEVER GOLFED WITH THEM, OR WENT FISHING, BUT I'M ASSUMING THEY DIDN'T ACT LIKE THIS OUT OF CLASS. AS YOU DIDN'T PISS OFF CLIFTON, YOU CERTAINLY DIDN'T DO IT TO "TWICE-THE-STRENGTH" MALTON AND HAMILTON, WHICH BY THE WAY, WAS KNOWN AS CANADA'S NUMBER ONE COMEDY TEAM. I DON'T KNOW IF THIS WAS TRUE, BUT IT'S WHAT WAS PRINTED ONTO THE COVER OF THEIR RECORD ALBUM. BUT I'LL TELL YOU ONE THING; THEY HAD A WAY OF CAPTURING THE ATTENTION OF THEIR AUDIENCE THAT WAS REMARKABLE. FLEDGLING COMEDIANS WOULD BE WELL SERVED, TO CHECK THEM OUT, BECAUSE THEY OWNED THE BELL OF OLD SCHOOL COMEDY.
MIKE HAMILTON AND WAYNE MALTON, HAD A WAY.....AND IT WORKED FOR ME
Every time I drive up or down what we used to call the Albion Expressway, which was the extension they made of Main Street, in Bracebridge, between Toronto Street and Anne Street, I always look at the hollow of urban landscape, which for some time was marked by a weave of tarpaulins, covering the brick of the collapsed historic hotel, "The Albion." Formerly one of Bracebridge's oldest buildings, I think it was Leishman's at one time; located across from the original Bracebridge Train Station. It had been considered a potential for restoration, some years back, until its weary bones finally gave out. While I'm sorry to recall Malton and Hamilton this way, I can't really reference the Albion Hotel, in Bracebridge, without making comment about being old and decapitated. The last time I went to one of their shows, was in the bosom of the landmark hotel by the train tracks, where tacky was good, and the jugs of beer were cold and cheap. I didn't take the time to count the bricks, but where they used to stage their show, was a literal crypt of building materials, from nails, Muskoka pine, to plaster. If there was a trace echo of those brilliant acts, it would have been a muffled one, in this new-century reality for the Albion Hotel. We all have to flatten out at some point.
When Robert asked if I had ever heard of this comedy duo, as he held up their record, found in a dusty box of attic treasures, brought into our shop, I was speechless. "It's even signed on the back, by Mike Hamilton," one of the dynamic duo. It was a stormy winter morning, and I asked if he would mind putting it on his turnable (he's a fraction-off being a full fledged audiophile, so cleanliness is indeed Godliness). So after a long period of study, and cleaning, he put the record on, and you know, for the first time this winter, I forgot about the weight and depth of snow on the roof of the house. I worry a lot about snow-load, as I don't want to wake up in a bed of ice splinters, and woodwork. For those few moments, I was back in the old tavern, jammed together with hundreds of other "hungry for entertainment" patrons, wishing to be abused, poked, and prodded by the stylings of two lads living the life. I think they liked their work. I hope they did.
I remember the first time I saw them in Bracebridge; my colleague in weekly newspaper reporting, Brant Scott, told me he was "buying" at what we called our "press club," and the treat of the evening, over and above watching the fights that broke out around us, was that Malton and Hamilton were in town.....and he knew more about them than I did. That day, that week, that month, had been burdensome like no other in the local news game....which city reporters would claim was soft compared to their assignments. There had been fatal car accidents, house fires, coverage of sick youngsters needing financial assistance, to pay for treatment, the usual depressing court coverage of crime, and the mundane study of local municipal councils, and the Board of Education. On that day, although it is a tad cloudy, we were looking to be elevated from what had become a drudgery. I hated getting the call to cover an accident scene, and especially if there were casualties. If I there was one reason I wanted to quit being a reporter, it was having to visit these horrific scenes. In our coverage areas, where we have a lot of high-traffic two lane highways, especially during the summer months, we might have received three calls each day, to chase the ambulances. We ran a scanner in the office, which I came to detest. But it was news. We had a responsibility to report on local happenings, not just the usual grip and grin photographs we buried inside the paper. While it may seem ridiculous to some, that reporters could suffer from post traumatic stress disorder, as might first responders, there were times we were on the scene so speedily, we beat the fire department and responding police officers. One of our reporters-photographers, John Black, used to have traffic flares in the trunk of his car, if he was one of the early ones to arrive at an accident. We would help wherever we could, and if asked, direct traffic if it was required. But what we saw in that twisted metal, did stick with us after we got home. On the occasion of Malton and Hamilton's visit, later that day, their show had a very liberating affect I've never forgotten. I don't know why everyone else was jammed into that lounge, but for us, it was a temporary relief to go with the beer on tap. As Brant told me about their act, and not wanting to get singled out, I probably consumed only a few glasses of beer during their acts, to manage trips to the washroom.
I have been thinking back to those days a lot, during the past year, but I'm not really sure why. I left active, day to day reporting in the early 1990's, after eleven years in the front line. I stood on the spot where a Huntsville based police officer was fatally shot, only a few hours after his death, and thought about penning a note of resignation when I got back to the office. I wasn't cut out for this work. I didn't mind reporting on local council, but I wasn't handling the tragic occurrences very well. But I didn't have a plan B. I could hardly pay rent as it was, and I know I was drinking way too much for my own good. This isn't a revelation about a couple of wild-eyed, garishly dressed comedians, saving my sanity, or leading me to another seven or so years in the same profession. I think they imprinted pretty heavily on me, the genuine need for comedy in my life, and the very real relevance, of laughing out loud at life itself. Life is guaranteed to have these tough moments, so better get used to them. I can remember almost choking myself to death, inhaling that cold beer, and pretzel dust, laughing at their jokes. Brant had to hit me so hard on the back, I almost lost consciousness from the blow, moreso than from what was now deep in my lungs. Malton and Hamilton made fun of my gagging, and I loved it. They may have even referenced our group of beer-swilling newsies, as members of the Klan or something like that, but we laughed with them. We sure weren't bashful but son of a gun, could they ever make us blush.
I remember being at a fatal head-on collision, on Highway 118, just out of town, with Brant, and him whispering to me, camera in hand, "Ted.....move your feet back." He said it at least three times, while I was trying to focus my camera. "All right, all right," I answered, and stepped back, expecting he knew what was best. He did. It was the first time in my life that I had blood on my shoes. To war correspondents, and big city news hounds, this wasn't earth shattering. For me, it was! Especially when Brant and I knew both victims. That was the other part of being a small town reporter. The so-called bad side. It was a long way from reporting on the events of the Horticultural Society, or on the opening of a new variety store. We knew a lot of people, and chances were, one day, it was going to happen....., that it would be violently imposed upon us; this kind of tragic situation we wouldn't be able to dodge emotionally.
It seems like an awful weight of responsibility, to put on the shoulders of two comedians, enjoying a gig at the local watering hole. I didn't tell them about my burdens. But over their several night stand, I let it all hang out, I'm telling you. I laughed until I peed my own pants, and by golly, I think my laughter made them pee their pants. A lot of laundry was inspired by their stay in our fair town.
We didn't seek mental-health assistance, after seeing tragedy unfold. We didn't have a clue what PTSD was, and even if we had known, we couldn't have limited our exposure any way.....like the first responders, it was our responsibility to present the whole news....as grim as that was at times. Town size has never had anything to do, with the severity of the emergencies within and around. As we suffered the other reality, of being of poor-income, and not having a lot of "mad" money, to pay for entertainment, Malton and Hamilton used to come-in on budget.....explaining why we had front row seats, every time they played the local Albion. What they did for the others in those crammed quarters? It took them away from pressing realities, for a short period of time. I'm just speculating about this, but I sort of think beer sales may have been down on those nights, because the show was too good, to miss any of it, due to intoxication. Bet they could have used that line as a show promotion. Less profitable for the hotels, but they sold lots of chips and pretzels.
I'm not really sure why I've been doing so many retrospectives of my newspaper days, over the past year. I left them abruptly in the early nineties, after a spat with a publisher, and decided to stick with freelance writing instead.....and of course, the antique trade. I wonder now, if it was the lingering issue, of never achieving closure from a short, but action-packed career....that possibly I hadn't want to leave in the first place. It did take years to adjust. I don't have nightmares or suffer panic attacks, or really anything I could call the impact of PTSD. As for reporting flashbacks, I live with them daily. A lot of people live with these recollections of tragic events. That's life. But for me, if I could laugh, that was oh so much better than crying.
As a reporter in re-training, I'm pretty rusty, so forgive my rigidity, as I try to reclaim some of the mojo I used to have, interviewing artists and politicians, athletes and celebrities. I'll write a piece about my interview with former Toronto Maple Leaf veteran, Bob Baun, who made my hand disappear in his.....during an interview back in the early 1980's....but I got to ask him that million dollar question....about scoring a playoff goal while having suffered, a few plays earlier, a broken leg. The writing staff back then enjoyed a lot of special occasions, when we'd be able to get close to celebrity acts. We liked that part of the profession. I was standing so close to the band "Teenage Head," at Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School, that I could have taken a dramatic (maybe not) photo of their finger nails. It's what I thought was a tad close, but that's where I was told to stand. Same thing happened at a Kim Mitchell Concert, when handlers put me in front of his speakers, which was like nothing I had ever experienced, short of standing behind a Snowbird's Tudor jet upon ignition. I actually saw my own heart beating through my compressed chest cavity. I was good, but couldn't honestly claim to my wife for the next week, "Sorry dear, did you say something." I stretched it five of those seven days, because it was fun to mess with her.
But although we didn't treat them as celebrities, and I offer my sincere apology we didn't appreciate their accomplishments, we did do a story about Malton and Hamilton, for an issue of The Herald-Gazette; but I don't remember much about it now. A couple of years ago, I recycled all my back issues. They were just the kind of irreverent blokes we needed back then, and we did call ourselves their fans.
On the web site, you will be able to read their biographies, which are pretty impressive, including the Guinness Book of Records milestone, for most continuous jokes told. These chaps played to large audiences in Canada, and the United States, and I don't know whether or not there is a Canadian Comedians' Hall of Fame, but their names should be enshrined. I'm not sure how they felt about playing to the audiences at the Albion Hotel, in Bracebridge, back then, or if they were hit by any debris I might have been responsible for; but seeing that record I used to own, brought back some neat memories.
They weren't everyones' cup of tea....or bucket of ale, but for us, they afforded us the comic relief we needed, to go another week or so, trying to maintain that freedom of the press thing.....which at times, carried a heavy tax.
Tomorrow I will look at the record by Canadian poet, "Gwendolyn MacEwen," entitled "OPEN SECRET," another of the vintage vinyl Robert acquired recently.
Thanks for visiting today. Much more to come.
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