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| O.P.P. cruiser positioned near Norwood Theatre after midnight viewing of Rocky Horror Picture Show early 1980's |
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| Early 1980's Air Ambulance at South Muskoka Memorial Hospital |
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| Bracebridge Firemen at scene of Manitoba Street Fire Early 1980's; Don Currie wearing oxygen tank |
I STILL HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR PHOTOGRAPHS AND TAKING THEM - BUT I NO LONGER OWN A CAMERA
FOLIO OF MY OWN VINTAGE PHOTOGRAPHS MAKES ME WONDER - IS THERE A PHOTOGRAPHER ITCHING TO BREAK FREE
NATO IS BUILDING UP MILITARY ASSETS, IN BOTH POLAND AND ROMANIA. SURVEILLANCE PLANES ARE MONITORING THE BORDERS, WATCHING FOR ENEMY CREEP, INTO THEIR COVERAGE AREA, THAT MIGHT SPILL OVER, FROM THE RUSSIAN "OCCUPIED" CRIMEA. THERE'S A LOT OF FEAR AND TREMBLING GOING ON IN EUROPE AT THIS HOUR. MAKES THE GRAVENHURST TAX BILL PALE IN COMPARISON, DON'T YOU THINK? BASED ON THE GUARANTEED POSITIVE RESULT, OF SUNDAY'S SNAP REFERENDUM, IN CRIMEA, (BECAUSE YOU KNOW THAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, OR ELSE), I THINK MANY IN EUROPE JUST ASSUME, FORCED COMPLIANCE MIGHT SPILL OVER ONTO OTHER NEIGHBOR COUNTRIES AS WELL; THAT RUSSIA WILL SENSE AN OPEN AND WARM INVITATION TO INVADE IF SCHEDULING PERMITS. IF YOU BELIEVE THE RUSSIANS, THEY'VE BEEN HEARTILY WELCOMED TO A MILITARY TATOO, TO SHOW OFF THEIR MARCHING AND GUN WAVERING SKILLS, GUARDING THEIR HOST'S PRIME SEA-SIDE REAL ESTATE. TO PROTECT THE INNOCENTS FROM THE EVIL INFLUENCES OF THE WEST. I GET NERVOUS WHEN THE RUSSIANS DECIDE THAT INVITATION OR NOT, THEY'RE DROPPING OVER FOR A LONG-TERM VISIT. IT'S THE "PUTTING THE FOOT DOWN" THING, THAT WORRIES ME THE MOST. SINCE THEY WELCOMED THEMSELVES TO THE ASSETS OF THE CRIMEA, I'VE ALMOST FORGOTTEN THAT GRAVENHURST HAD THE WORSE ROADS, SHORT OF DRIVING ON THE MOONSCAPE, THIS WINTER. UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES IT EVEN SEEMS MOOT, TO HAVE WORRIED WHETHER OR NOT, THE WINTER CARNIVAL MASCOT, SKOKIE, HAD BEEN DUMPED FROM THE MAIN STREET, THIS YEAR, OR THAT THE LOCAL BIA PLANS TO INVADE THE OUTER REACHES OF THE MAIN STREET, TO EXPAND ITS SERVICE AND TAXATION AREA. AH, BUT IT'S NICE BEING SAFE AND SOUND HERE ON HOME TURF. THE RUSSIANS AREN'T LIKELY TO VISIT US YET, AT LEAST FOR AWHILE. IT'S FUNNY HOW A WORLD EVENT OF THIS SUPER POWER PROPORTION, MAKES LOCAL STUFF SEEM SO DARN TRIVIAL AND DISTANT. DIGGING IN THE HEALS IS GOING TO HURT. JUST AS DIPLOMACY HASN'T ENDED THE WAR IN SYRIA, IT'S NOT LIKELY TO THWART THE CRIMEA FROM BECOMING UNDEMOCRATICALLY RUSSIAN. AND THEN THERE'S THE QUESTION OF QUEBEC SEPARATION FROM THE REST OF CANADA. THERE'S HARDLY TIME TO THINK ABOUT RUNNING A CAMPAIGN FOR THIS YEAR'S MUNICIPAL ELECTION. AS THEY SAY, THERE ARE BIGGER FISH TO FRY.
THE SCRAPBOOK PHOTOGRAPHS FEATURED ABOVE TODAY'S BLOG, WERE SNAPPED BY ME, BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S, WHEN I WORKED IN THE NEWSROOM OF MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, IN BRACEBRIDGE. I JUST RECENTLY UNCOVERED THESE HERALD-GAZETTE SCRAPBOOKS, THAT I KEPT-UP FOR THE FIRST YEARS OF MY EMPLOYMENT, IN THE NEWS GATHERING PROFESSION. ADMITTEDLY, I WASN'T A VERY GOOD PHOTOGRAPHER, IN TERMS OF TECHNICAL OPERATION OF A CAMERA, BUT I SEEMED TO KNOW HOW TO COMPOSE NEWS CONTENT, WITHIN A TIGHT BORDER. THE IMAGES ABOVE WERE IMPORTANT ENOUGH, BACK THEN, THAT THEY WARRANTED BEING GLUED IN THE BOOKS, WHICH WERE COMMENCED EARLY IN 1979. I'M MY HARSHEST CRITIC, SO THEY OBVIOUSLY WERE A LOT BETTER THAN THE HUNDREDS OF OTHERS THAT DIDN'T MAKE THE GRADE. I SHOULD NOTE HERE, THAT I CAUSED THE PREMATURE BALDNESS, OF ALL THE DARKROOM TECHNICIANS WHO WORKED WITH ME. THAT'S RIGHT! I CAUSED THEM TO PULL OUT THEIR HAIR IN HANDFULS. I HEARD THEM TALKING AMONGST THEMSELVES, ABOUT THE HOURS OF "DODGING AND BURNING," THEY HAD TO PERFORM, TO PULL A DECENT IMAGE FROM THE CRAPPY NEGATIVES I PROVIDED. I UNDERSTOOD THE DODGING AND BURNING THING, AS EXTRA STEPS THAT COST THEM PRECIOUS TIME ON PRESS DAYS.
THE PHOTOGRAPHS INCLUDE THE EMERGENCY SCENE, AT THE NEW SOUTH MUSKOKA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL HELI-PAD, (EARLY 1980'S), AND AN ACCIDENT PATIENT BEING REMOVED TO A TRAUMA UNIT, IN TORONTO, BY AIR AMBULANCE. I HATED TAKING THIS PHOTOGRAPH, BUT THE HELI-PAD WAS NEW, AND WE WANTED TO STUDY HOW IT WAS GOING TO CUT DOWN TIME BETWEEN A REGIONAL HEALTH-CARE FACILITY, AND CITY HOSPITALS. THE CHAP IN THE PHOTO WAS SOMENE I KNEW, AND THE INJURIES WERE LIFE-ALTERING. THE PHOTOGRAPH OF FIREMAN, DON CURRIE, (WEARING THE AIR TANK), WAS TAKEN AFTER A SERIOUS BUSINESS FIRE, THAT BROKE-OUT ON UPPER MANITOBA STREET, ALSO IN THE EARLY 1980'S, WHICH IF MEMORY SERVES, BEGAN IN A DOWNSTAIR'S FLORIST SHOP. THE PROXIMITY TO OTHER DWELLINGS AND BUSINESSES ON THE STREET, MADE THIS A PARTICULARLY DANGEROUS FIRE, IN TERMS OF THE RISK IT POSED, SPREADING RIGHT DOWN THE STREET. WITH THE FINE PHOTOGRAPHIC WORK OF THREE OF OUR REPORTERS, AND THE SET-UP OF GRAPHIC ARTIST, HAROLD WRIGHT, WE PUBLISHED A FULL PAGE FEATURE ON THE FIRE, AND THE FIREMEN WHO SAVED THAT SECTION OF STREET, BY CONTAINING THE BLAZE TO ONE BUILDING AMONGST A DOZEN VULNERABLE STRUCTURES. I WILL SHOW YOU THAT FULL PAGE SPREAD IN TOMORROW'S BLOG. THE FINAL PHOTOGRAPH WAS THE HAZY, LATE NIGHT IMAGE OF AN ONTARIO PROVINCIAL POLICE CRUISER, CIRCA THE EARLY 1980'S, WHICH WAS SITTING ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE NORWOOD THEATRE, (MANITOBA STREET) ON A NIGHT WHEN THE MOVIE "THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW," WAS PLAYING AS A LATE FEATURE. I LIVED IN THE FORMER HOME OF DR. PETER MCGIBBON, AND TO GET THIS PHOTO, LOOKING SOUTH ON MANITOBA STREET, I WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO SNAP THE PIC, FROM THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT. THE SCENE THROUGH THE VIEWFINDER JUST LOOKED NEAT, AND WE RAN IT IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, AS FEATURE SHOT OF LATE NIGHT THEATRE CROWDS, IN UPTOWN BRACEBRIDGE. THERE WAS NO BREAKING NEWS ATTACHED. I PROBABLY RAN A STORY ABOUT THE LARGE CROWDS THAT USED TO ATTEND THE MIDNIGHT SHOWINGS, ALWAYS POPULAR, IN THIS ERA, WITH THE YOUNG ADULTS. WE USED TO RUN PICTURES OF THE PATRONS DRESSED UP AS CHARACTERS FROM THE MOVIE. THERE WAS A MILD AMOUNT OF ROWDINESS, BUT VERY SELDOM, DID IT EVER ADD UP TO ANY VANDALISM OR PERSONAL ASSAULTS. A FEW TIMES. NOTHING MAJOR. THE POLICE ALWAYS MADE THEIR PRESENCE HIGHLY VISIBLE, JUST IN CASE.
AS I'VE MENTIONED PREVIOUSLY, I DIDN'T LIKE GOING TO EMERGENCY SITUATIONS, BUT IT WAS PART OF THE JOB. WHAT MADE IT A NECESSITY, UNFORTUNATELY, WAS THAT IF I RAISED MY ARM ON EITHER SIDE, I WAS GOING TO HIT THE SHOULDERS OF OUR COMPETITION, FROM THE BRACEBRIDGE EXAMINER, AND MOST LIKELY, GAR LEWIS, THE CAMERAMAN-REPORTER FOR CKCO NEWS. SO IF WE DIDN'T SHOW UP, AND THE EXAMINER RAN THE PHOTO IN THEIR NEXT ISSUE, I WOULD GET A GRILLING, ABOUT WHY WE HAD MISSED THE STORY ALTOGETHER. THE SAME WOULD HAPPEN, IF ONE OF OUR MANAGERS WAS WATCHING THE EVENING NEWS, AND SAW THAT GAR HAD PICKED UP ON, WHAT WE HAD APPARENTLY SLEPT THROUGH; OR POSSIBLY WE WERE HOISTING ALES INSTEAD, AT THE PRESS CLUB, DOWN AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ALBION; WHEN NEWS WAS, AS THEY SAY, "GOING DOWN." THE POINT IS, COMPETITION NECESSITATED US KEEPING UP ON THESE BREAKING NEWS EVENTS. BUT FOR TWO OF THESE PHOTOGRAPHS, I CAN TELL YOU HONESTLY, MY KNEES WERE WOBBLING, AND THE BIGGEST TASK, WOULD HAVE BEEN TO STOP SHAKING LONG ENOUGH, TO GET A COUPLE OF CLEAR SHOTS. SO I TOOK A LOT OF PHOTOS, TO MAKE SURE AT LEAST ONE WAS SUITABLY FOCUSED, TO PUBLISH IN THE PAPER. AS A REPORTER'S PRIVILEGE, IN THIS CASE, I HAD KNOWLEDGE OF AN ACCIDENT OVER AND ABOVE THE FAMILY IMBEDDED IN THE TRAGEDY. I HAD TO BE CAREFUL WITH THE INFORMATION I POSSESSED, AND HOW IT WAS RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC. WHAT MADE IT MORE DIFFICULT, WAS THAT ALL OF US, AT THE NEWSPAPER, KNEW THE FAMILY (OF THE PATIENT ON THE STRETCHER). THIS WAS THE MISFORTUNE OF THE JOB GENERALLY, BECAUSE IT WOULD HAPPEN WITH FATALITIES AS WELL, THAT I WOULD KNOW BEFORE THE FAMILIES DID; AND SOME THAT I DID KNOW ON A PERSONAL, FAMILY LEVEL, MADE IT EVEN MORE EMOTIONALLY DIFFICULT, TO WITHHOLD INFORMATION. EVEN IF I RAN INTO A PARENT, BROTHER OR SISTER, RUNNING TO THE HOSPITAL, I COULDN'T SAY A WORD TO THEM, EVEN IF THEY ASKED WHAT I KNEW ABOUT THE ACCIDENT. I'D JUST OFFER AN APOLOGY THAT I DIDN'T KNOW THEIR CONDITION, OR ANY CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE ACCIDENT, AND OF COURSE, IT MEANT I HAD TO TELL A LIE. SOME DIDN'T FORGIVE ME FOR THIS, AND I UNDERSTOOD THEIR CHAGRIN. I COULDN'T HAVE DONE ANYTHING DIFFERENT, UNDER THE RULES WE HAD TO OPERATE, FOR PRIVACY CONCERNS. WE HAD TO WAIT FOR THE OPP TO RELEASE THE INFORMATION, BEFORE IT COULD BE CONSIDERED IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN.
I HAD A HIGHER THAN AVERAGE FAILURE RATE, AS A PHOTO JOURNALIST, IN LARGE PART, BECAUSE I SIMPLY DIDN'T LIKE BEING IMMERSED IN THESE TRAGIC SITUATIONS. BUT I NEEDED MY PAY CHEQUE, LIKE THE REST OF US, WHO ALSO DIDN'T WANT TO COVER THIS STUFF, OR STAND AS CLOSE AS WE WERE FORCED, TO CAPTURE THE EMOTION OF EACH EVENT AND MISADVENTURE. WE SOLD A LOT OF PAPERS BECAUSE OF THIS COVERAGE OF COMMUNITY EMERGENCIES, BUT I WOULD RATHER HAVE BEEN GIVEN READERSHIP APPROVAL, FOR TAKING FEATURE PHOTOGRAPHS, DURING PLEASANT EVENTS. SO NO, I WOULD NEVER HAVE MADE A GOOD WAR CORRESPONDENT. I WAS OKAY WITH BIRTHDAY PARTIES AND SKATING CARNIVALS; GRIP AND GRINS, AND ANNIVERSARY SHOTS. THOUSANDS OF THESE, IN FACT, SO I WAS ABLE TO REBOUND FROM EMERGENCY PHOTOS, BY VOLUNTEERING FOR SOME OF THE ROUTINE PHOTOGRAPHS THAT MORE THAN FILLED THE WEEKLY PAPERS.
ONE OF MY FAVORITE PHOTO COLLECTIONS, ACTUALLY WARRANTED GLUEING THE WHOLE BOOKLET INTO MY SCRAPBOOK. IT'S FULL OF PHOTOGRAPHS I TOOK, FOR THE PROGRAM OF THE HUMPHREY SKATING CLUB, BACK IN ABOUT 1980. IT WAS ENTITLED "THE WIZARD OF OZ AND THE FABULOUS '50'S,"
AND WAS FOR THE CLUB'S APRIL SKATING CARNIVAL. I REMEMBER IT BEING A BITTERLY COLD WINTER NIGHT, AND HAVING TO DRIVE IN HORRENDOUS SNOW CONDITIONS, FROM MACTIER, NORTH ON HIGHWAY 69, TO THE INTERSECTION WITH THE HIGHWAY TO ROSSEAU. THE HUMPHREY ARENA WAS A SHORT DRIVE EAST, BUT WITH THE BLOWING SNOW, IT SEEMED TEN TIMES THE DRIVE. I WAS EXHAUSTED AFTER THE WHITE KNUCKLE TRIP, AND A LONG WORK DAY, AND WISHING THE PUBLISHER HADN'T FORCED ME INTO THIS EVENING GIG. THE SKATING MOMS AND COACHES WERE HAPPY TO SEE ME, WHICH WAS SURPRISING, CONSIDERING I WAS LATE, AND MY CAMERA WAS FROZEN; BUT THEY KINDLY HELPED ARRANGE THE SKATERS FOR ME, WHICH IS ALWAYS A MINEFIELD CHORE, FOR ANY ROOKIE PHOTOGRAPHER. THE KIDS WERE ALL DRESSED IN THEIR CARNIVAL COSTUMES, AND THE WHOLE PHOTO-SHOOT ONLY TOOK AN HOUR FROM BEGINNING TO END. STRANGELY ENOUGH, I ENJOYED THE SESSION, IN LARGE PART, BECAUSE THE MOOD WAS REALLY UPBEAT, AND THE WIZARD OF OZ WAS, AFTERALL, MY FAVORITE BOOK AND MOVIE. THE KIDS IN COSTUME WERE DELIGHTFUL, AND I WAS HAVING TOO MUCH FUN AT WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WORK. BUT IT WASN'T UNTIL I SAW THE FINISHED PROGRAM, "THE BEACON" HAD SET UP, AND PRINTED, FOR THE SKATING CLUB, THAT I KNEW MY CALLING WAS AS A FEATURE PHOTOGRAPHER, AND IT WASN'T SO BAD BEING A FEATURE WRITER EITHER. MY CONTEMPORARIES AT THE TIME HOWEVER, WANTED THE BIG NEWS COVERAGE, AND THAT INCLUDED ALL THE EMERGENCY DETAILS. SOMETIMES I COULDN'T AVOID THE FIRE AND ACCIDENT CALLS, BUT MY COLLEAGUES WERE ONLY TOO WILLING TO BARTER THEIR WAY OUT OF FEATURE GIGS, IN RETURN FOR THE VERY NEXT NEWS EVENT COVERAGE. GOING THROUGH THIS LITTLE, NO FRILLS, NEWSPRINT CARNIVAL PROGRAM, IT ALL COMES BACK INTO FOCUS. IT HAD BEEN WORTH THE TRAVEL NORTH AND EAST THROUGH SNOWY MUSKOKA, TO BE A PART OF THIS NEAT EVENT IN THE VILLAGE OF HUMPHREY, SITUATED JUST NORTH OF LAKE JOSEPH. I CAN STILL HEAR THE MAGICAL ECHO OF THEIR DISTANT LAUGHTER, AS I TOOK THOSE GROUP PHOTOGRAPHS. I WONDER IF THOSE SKATERS' PARENTS KEPT COPIES OF THE PROGRAM.
I STILL RECALL THAT NIGHT, AS ONE OF MY AWAKENING MOMENTS, IN THE NEWS GATHERING PROFESSION. EVEN THIS WINTER SEASON, IN AN ARTICLE I WROTE FOR A REGIONAL ONTARIO PUBLICATION, I FONDLY RECALLED THE TRIP, COMING FROM HUMPHREY THROUGH THE STORM, AND HOW NICE AND CHEERFUL IT WAS, TO ARRIVE IN THE VILLAGE OF ROSSEAU, THAT STORMY NIGHT; TO SEE ALL THOSE WARM, TWINKLING LIGHTS, FROM LOCAL RESIDENCES, DAZZLING LIKE JEWELS THROUGH THE SPRAY OF DRIFTING SNOW. I REMEMBER BEING TERRIBLY HUNGRY, AND COLD, AS THE HEATER IN MY DATSUN DIDN'T WORK VERY WELL; AND PONDERING, ON THE DRIVE THROUGH, WHAT THOSE CITIZENS WERE HAVING FOR DINNER AT THAT MOMENT. I SURE WOULD HAVE LIKED TO BE INVITED IN, TO THOSE BIG, BRIGHT, WARM KITCHENS. IT WAS A COPING MECHANISM, I KNOW, TO GET THROUGH THE STORM, (IMAGINING SUCH A PLEASANT RESPITE) AND WIND MY WAY HOME, ALONG SOME DANGEROUSLY ICY HIGHWAY, TO MY APARTMENT IN BRACEBRIDGE. IT'S QUITE SOMETHING, TO QUOTE A DRIVE THROUGH THE WINTER LANDSCAPE, THAT OCCURRED ON A SNOWY EVENING, BACK IN THE WINTER OF 1980. I THINK IT MAY HAVE BEEN A TURNING POINT IN MY YOUNG CAREER; A DESIRE TO STAY-ON IN THE NEWS BUSINESS FOR A WHILE LONGER. OR I COULD HAVE QUIT AND GOT A TEACHING DEGREE, TO ADD TO MY CREDENTIALS IN CANADIAN HISTORY. I STAYED. SOMETHING THAT NIGHT, MAYBE THE KIDS, POSSIBLY THE WINTER COUNTRYSIDE, MAYBE THE ROMANCE AND SENTIMENTALITY OF BEING A WRITER IN THE RURAL CLIME, SAVED ME FROM MAKING A SERIOUS MISTAKE. I WOULD HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE TEACHER ANYWAY. SO I MARRIED ONE INSTEAD.
LOVE VINTAGE PHOTOGRAPHS, JUST DON'T THINK I COULD HANDLE TODAY'S TECHNOLOGY
At times, I probably owned a hundred or so vintage cameras. I even had the original Brownie box camera, the heavy top-handled plastic unit, from the 1950's, that always took a good picture; and of course, the tell tale image of the photographer's thumb. My father's thumb appears in hundreds of photos, pasted into the family albums. Even when I bought him a nice Polaroid camera for Christmas one year, he managed to sneak the tip of his thumb into those "instant" photographs as well. I thought cameras, as old technology, would be cool to collect, in the years following my departure from the day to day newspaper chores. I had all kinds of neat bellows cameras, and even underwater units. When we opened our antique shop in Bracebridge, I needed inventory, and started selling off the collection. The best money I made, was off the high-tech underwater camera, I had picked up at a local flea market. I got paid twice for this one. The photographer I sold it too, for fifty bucks, met me for a coffee one morning, a few weeks later, and stuffed a hundred dollar bill in my hand, because he had made such a large profit on the re-sale. What a decent guy. But even after we closed the shop, to sell online instead, I kept picking up more old cameras if the price was right. Then when we opened the present annex, to the boy's vintage music shop, I did the same thing, and sold off all of my collected cameras. One of the key reasons, I suppose, was that camera collectors were making me look really stupid, when I couldn't answer anything but the simplest questions about the way they worked. I have never been technically inclined, and my father was worse than me. He'd take a toaster apart, and from the moment the first screw, or wire, was removed on a Sunday fix-it project, my mother started to scan the sale catalogues for a replacement. The same went for electric frying pans, blenders, electric knives and vacuums. So it began bothering me, that I was collecting the cameras, based on some background sentiments, of having once been a professional photographer, but now really just liked the way they looked on a shelf. So I decided that it would be best to release these vintage cameras, to customers who would appreciate them, more than for just the way they looked, in the illumination from a table lamp, as Martha Stewart home decor.
I still have a few of my cameras leftover, from those news days, and based on condition, they have no real redeeming quality value wise, other than to remind me emotionally, of some of the good, and bad moments, of being a news and feature photographer. I still have a photograph, that had been snapped by staffer, Harold Wright, after I wound up in the emergency room of the hospital, after injuring my ankle, running to get some fire shots. I was trotting down, what is known as the "Monck Hill," (actually known, in the annals of local history, as Cheese Factory Hill), to a fire at a residence halfway down, on the north side of the road. There were emergency vehicles parked up and down the hill, on both sides, and I had to run on uneven ground, because the walkways were compromised, with fire hoses and equipment. I got to an opening between the vehicles, so I could cut to the north side of the road, from the south. I should have expected it, but I didn't. Just as I was turning on the fly, to make the cross-over, a firemen wearing an oxygen tank, swung out from the back of a fire truck, and to avoid it, I "zagged," and quickly pulled my camera out of harm's reach. I got too far over on the lip of a drainage ditch, and rolled over heavily onto my ankle, and boy did it pop. The pain was unbelievable, and I fell onto the grass in a terrible drop and roll event, that was newsworthy on its own.
Once I stopped rolling, I immediately checked my ankle, and found a huge bulge where an ankle bone used to be, and by the minute, it was getting bigger. I couldn't put any weight on it, so I had to crawl up on the embankment of the property, rather awkwardly, even for someone injured, and managed to shoot a roll of film from a sitting position; looking through the gap between emergency vehicles. Ambulance personnel, on the scene for potential fire victims, saw me fall, and did come over to check out my ankle, assuring me that it was likely a bad sprain and not a break. I had a massive telephoto lens, and I used it to my best advantage. But the pain was pretty intense, and I took the first responder's advice, to go to the hospital for an x-ray. It wasn't a pretty picture, me hobbling and tripping all the way back up that hillside. Once in the hospital, I phoned Harold Wright, our associate photographer, and he raced to the fire scene for some more coverage, and then came to fetch me home from the hospital on crutches. The worse part? I didn't have health coverage, as my card had elapsed. That was back in 1981. I had to pay a hundred and fifty bucks out of pocket, and boy did that ever hurt. I did get a few good shots of the fire, sitting on my arse, along that hillside, so I was glad of that fact. I remember the fire department lads calling me "scoop" that night, whenever they passed me sitting there, wincing and shooting photos. "What's the matter there scoop, getting weak in your old age." Gosh, I think I was twenty-three. I learned from that misadventure, to keep an eye on firemen moving in and around their trucks, before trying to bypass them with a camera in my hand.
My most memorable emergency call, and photograph, actually warranted my first spot-news front-pager, in April of 1979. I was living in Bracebridge, at the time, commuting to MacTier every day. A late night fire call came in, while at home, and because I worked for the general Muskoka Publications as well, with sister papers, I took off to cover-it, just in case no one else was available. The fire was at a residence, in the Village of Uffington, east of Bracebridge, and my Datsun was the third vehicle at the scene. I was already out, shooting the eerie house fire, with nearby trees engulfed as well, before the main body of the fire brigade. At the time, it wasn't known if the owner(s) was inside or not. That's a real knee-wobbler, for rookie reporters, and I was feeling this way until it was determined no one was in the building. A dog was tied in the yard, but the firemen were able to get it away from the house, as one of the first details upon arriving.
One of the firemen I knew personally, warned me about the little explosions that were happening in the house, that could affect me, as I was getting too close without protective gear. This was the first time, as a reporter, that I learned about the way spray cans of paint etc., would fly-off like missiles, when they caught fire and exploded. Geez, these suckers were falling out of the sky all around my rented Datsun, that I was sure didn't have adequate insurance, as a work vehicle; one that was going to be parked at fire scenes around Muskoka. Only one of these flying cans had hit the car, and it did so on the roof, where the dealership likely wouldn't look, when I turned it back in. The car was getting a lot of soot and stuff landing on it, during the time I was on site, but in the light of emergency vehicles, and firelight, it didn't look like there had been any serious damage to the finish. I'd find this out for sure later. I had to wash it three times before I got all the soot off. The finish was a lot duller, I think, but it was a used car anyway, so it never became an issue at the end of the lease.
But that fire? It was a news photographer's bonanza, and I shot two rolls of thirty-six exposures. The editor of The Herald-Gazette, gave me a spot on the front page for the Wednesday edition. I was only four months into my reporting career, and this made a big difference to my attitude. My colleagues were a little ticked they didn't get the shot, and that a rookie beat them for front page exposure.
The disadvantage of getting the best "scoop" that week (I even beat the opposition press), was that I had to spend the whole night at the fire scene, as a direct result of my quick response to the emergency call. I didn't know this, when the fire trucks pulled up close behind me, but my efficiency tending the event, meant I was blocked from leaving, by not only the trucks behind, but by the fact, the firemen refused to let me drive over the fire hoses, which formed a web around my car. So I sat in my cold Datsun, and kept myself from falling asleep, and freezing to death, by making copious notes, about the routine work of firemen at these scenes; who spend hours after the main incident, mopping up the site, and carefully rolling-up the fire hoses. No easy task. This on-the-job learning, came at a good time, seeing as there were many other fires to attend, during the next ten years, working as a weekly newspaper reporter / editor. It was the last time I arrived at an emergency scene ahead of the fire trucks, and I was never again trapped by the matting of fire hoses. It took a cold night, with a very light sweater, and no working car heater, to learn the first rule of reporting. It's not about getting there first; it's who gets the best picture of the news event. I had been the only reporter at the fire, so obviously, I owned the front page that week. Not because I got to the scene before most of the first responders. So I adjusted my arrival protocols after this, and chuckled to myself, when other reporters would get wedged-in, like I did, on that belated and cold April Fools, of 1979.
I might find the resources, one of these days, to once again, purchase a camera; one of these new fangled machines, that are supposedly fail-proof. I'm just not too sure, if I'd be tempted once again, to respond to those emergency calls, to see if I still have the right stuff to be a news photographer, after all these years of relative solitude; reading the news, not reporting on it! Until then, I will content myself, looking at photos from past adventures, and ponder if I could ever do better, than what has already been accomplished, pasted into these dog-eared folios.
In case you're wondering, vintage cameras and equipment, are amongst our best sellers, in the antique wing of our family shop these days; but that hinges of course, on whether we have any left on the shelves. Supply and affordability is the issue. Surprisingly, most of the past sales, have been made to the under thirty crowd, especially the under-twenties, because apparently, they are now "museum" examples, of antiquated technology; the same as all my old typewriters, which have all been sold-off. What I used in the news business, only a short time ago, is now considered antiquated. I'm only fifty-eight, and yet I feel ancient, because of what I don't know and embrace of new technology. Suzanne thinks I should spend my day at the shop, working on an old manual typewriter, instead of this laptop; displayed, worts and all, huddled over an old desk, in a glass showcase; a sort of living diorama, exhibiting old time journalism in its fullest color, for the educational pleasure of all our young guests, who could never imagine such a thing, as a cordless typewriter. Or a guy like me, who is old enough to have used one, in those dark, primitive days, before the computer.
Thanks so much for joining today's blog. As usual, it has been a pleasure. Lots more to come. I hope they find the missing passenger jet. I would really like to think, Russia will return the Crimea back to The Ukraine. I want Quebec to stay in Canada, and for Olivia Chow to become the next mayor of Toronto. I'd really like the winter weather to cease and desist. How about you? Had enough yet?
SITTING IN THE BAR, HIDING FROM THE BOSS, AND A "CULT" STORY JUST WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR
WE COULDN'T BELIEVE OUT GOOD FORTUNE
IT HAS BEEN A CRAZY DAY OUT ON THE ANTIQUE PICKING CIRCUIT. WE STARTED THE DAY-TRIP AT 6:00 A.M., AND WE HAD ALL KINDS OF INTERESTING STOPS BETWEEN GRAVENHURST AND BRACEBRIDGE, AND IT WAS A DAY OF MANY EXCEPTIONAL FINDS. A GREAT OLD TWENTY INCH SCHOOL BELL ( CRACKED BUT STILL RESONATES), FOUR PAINTINGS, ONE OF WHICH DATES BACK TO THE LATE 1890'S, BY W.J. CRAMPTON, OF A BRITISH LANDSCAPE, SIGNED WITH PROVENANCE WHICH ALWAYS MAKES ME HAPPY. WE PICKED UP LOT OF VINTAGE VINYL, A TIDY VICTORIAN DRESSER, AND A VICTORIAN ERA OIL LAMP THAT I'M DELIGHTED WITH…..BECAUSE I COLLECT OLD GLASS AND OIL LAMPS. THIS IS A TWO FOR ONE DEAL. IT'S A VERY NICE PIECE OF VINTAGE GLASS, AND YOU CAN READ A BOOK BY ITS CHARMING FIRE-GLOW. IT'S LATE AFTERNOON AND SUZANNE HAS FINALLY FOUND A FEW MOMENTS TO PLANT THE FLOWERS THAT HAVE BEEN SITTING IN FLATS SINCE WE BOUGHT THEM LAST WEEKEND. THE FACT THAT WE ARE HELPING THE BOYS EXPAND THEIR MAIN STREET GRAVENHURST BUSINESS, HAS MEANT A HARRYING PERIOD LEADING UP TO OUR OPENING ON JULY IST. IT'S GOING WELL, BUT IT'S STILL MORE WORK THAN WE HAD INITIALLY BARGAINED. THE ROOMS SEEM TO SWALLOW THE HUGE VOLUME OF STUFF WE HAVE MOVED IN ALREADY. THE CEILINGS ARE HIGH, AND THE COLORS……THAT WE'RE NOT FUSSY ABOUT, MAKE IT SEEM SMALLER. IT'S AN ILLUSION. THERE'S LOT OF ROOM. WE'RE GETTING A LITTLE WORRIED WE WON'T HAVE ENOUGH TO MAKE IT LOOK NICE AND FULL. AN ANTIQUE DEALER'S WORSE NIGHTMARE. OPEN SPACE, WHERE INVENTORY IS SUPPOSED TO SIT.
IT WAS A BUSY DAY OUT ON THE LAWN SALE CIRCUIT. WE HAD A PARADE OF CARS DOWN OUR ROAD AT THE BREAK OF DAWN, TO VISIT ONE OF OUR NEIGHBORS SELLING OFF SOME HOUSEHOLD ITEMS. WHEN WE HAD REGULAR YARD SALES, WE'D START AT SUN-UP, AND HAVE OUR FIRST CUSTOMERS NOT LONG AFTER. WE SET UP IN THE DARK, TO PLEASE OUR EARLY BIRDS. WITH A LOT OF COMPETITION FROM OTHER YARD SALE HOSTS EACH WEEKEND, YOU'VE GOT TO WORK HARD TO GET AN EDGE. I USED TO LOVE HOSTING YARD SALES. WE JUST HAD BAD LUCK WITH WEATHER AND BUGS. WELL, WE LIVE NEXT TO A BOG. I LOVE IT, AND I'M GLAD WE HAVE IT, BUT IT DOES MEAN WE GET MORE BUGS THAN MOST OTHER NEIGHBORHOODS IN URBAN GRAVENHURST.
STILL LOVE THE ADVENTURE ON THESE SPARKLING SATURDAY MORNINGS, TOURING BEAUTIFUL MUSKOKA.
THE DAY THE CULT WALKED INTO MY BAR
AS I HAVE BEEN WRITING ABOUT BARS AND BAR-LIFE, REGARDING OUR WRITER'S CIRCLE OF THE 1980'S, I ALSO WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT AT LEAST PART OF OUR ESCAPE INTO THE MURKY DEPTHS OF THE LOCAL TAVERN, (THE FORMER ALBION HOTEL, IN BRACEBRIDGE), WAS ABOUT BUSINESS. WE DID HIDE-OUT THERE, BECAUSE NEITHER OUR PUBLISHER OR GENERAL MANAGER WOULD PASS THROUGH THOSE STORIED DOORS, IN CASE ONE OF THEIR BUSINESS ASSOCIATES OR CLUB MEMBERS, SPOTTED THEM IN A PLACE THAT SANCTIONED……AND ENJOYED STRIPPERS. WE DIDN'T ENJOY THEM. WE ENDURED THEIR PERFORMANCES. AT LEAST THIS IS WHAT WE TOLD ANY OF THE YOUNG LADIES WE MET THERE, TURNING OUR BACKS FROM THE NUDITY ON STAGE. "YOU CAN LOOK IF YOU WANT TO, GUYS……YOU'RE REPORTERS AFTER ALL." GEEZ, WE'D NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT……AND IF WAS PLAUSIBLE WE COULD DO A STORY OR SOME LITTLE DITTY ON THE STRIPPING PROFESSION, AND THEIR TOURS OF SMALL TOWN ONTARIO. I'M PRETTY SURE WE DID ONE, BUT IT WAS DANGEROUS BECAUSE OF THE COMPANY STRIPPERS KEEP. DOG-FACED BIG DUDES, WHO ALWAYS SAT AT A STAGE-SIDE TABLE, AND NODDED TO THE PERFORMER WHEN A MOVE HAD BEEN EXPERTLY TURNED, OR CLOTHING DISCARDED IN A MOST PROVOCATIVE WAY……LANDING ON THE OLD GEEZER'S HEAD IN THE FRONT ROW.
THE REPORTERS WHO USED TO MEET IN THE CORNER OF THE OLD ALBION, NOW A PILE OF RUBBLE, WHERE SO MUCH HISTORY WAS MADE (IN OUR JADED OPINION), USED TO BOUNCE IDEAS AROUND FOR POSSIBLE FEATURE NEWS. IT WASN'T THE MOST INSPIRING PLACE IN THE WORLD, AND THE MORE BEER WE CONSUMED, ON A HOT SUMMER AFTERNOON, THE MORE RIDICULOUS THE STORY IDEAS BECAME. THE STRIPPERS WEREN'T GOING TO TALK TO US, WITHOUT THEIR ROAD MANAGERS, AND A FEW OF THEM WERE SCAREY LOOKING INDIVIDUALS, EATING GLASS IN THE CORNER OF THE HOTEL, AND GROWLING AT ANYBODY WHO TRIED TO TOUCH HIS GIRL ON STAGE. SO WE BOUNCED AROUND A FEW MORE IDEAS, AND JUST SETTLED DOWN TO WHITTLE AWAY THE AFTERNOON IN AIR CONDITIONED DISCOMFORT. THE CHAIRS, THAT WE ASSUMED SOME FOLKS HAD DIED ON, AT SOME POINT, WEREN'T ALL THAT COMFORTABLE FOR LONG-TERM LOUNGING. IT'S CERTAINLY TRUE, THE MORE BEER, THE LESS THEY SEEMED UNCOMFORTABLE OR ICKY.
ON THIS HOT AFTERNOON, BRANT SCOTT (MY WRITING COLLEAGUE) AND I WERE GETTING READY TO PUT IN AN APPEARANCE AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE OFFICE. WE KNEW THERE WOULD BE A DOZEN MESSAGES AT THE FRONT DESK, ASKING US TO VISIT SOME LOCAL BUSINESSES, TO DO SOME FEATURE ARTICLES. SO WE SAT DOWN FOR ONE MORE PINT. BY TIME WE FINISHED IT, THE OFFICE WOULD BE CLOSED. WE'D JUST PUT THE BUSINESS FEATURES WHERE THEY BELONGED……IN THE GARBAGE NEXT TO OUR DESKS. WE HATED TO BE ASKED TO DO THESE MENIAL, RIDICULOUS FEATURE STORIES, OF BUSINESSES OFTEN ON THEIR LAST LEG. WHAT THE HELL COULD WE DO TO SAVE THEIR SHOPS AND INDUSTRIES. WE WERE PRETTY GOOD WRITERS, BUT NOT THAT GOOD.
HALFWAY THROUGH A COLD GLASS OF DRAFT BEER (WONDERFUL ON A HOT SUMMER AFTERNOON), THE SIDE DOOR OF THE HOTEL SWUNG OPEN, AND THE SILHOUETTE AGAINST THE SUNLIT BACKGROUND, SEEMED MUCH MORE INTERESTING THAN USUAL. A FEW THAT USED THE SIDE DOOR HAD BEEN KICKED OUT THE FRONT DOOR, AND CAME CRAWLING BACK WHILE THE BOUNCER WAS LOOKING THE OTHER WAY. THIS GENTLEMAN WAS CARRYING SOME KIND OF CASE, AND HE DIDN'T LOOK THE HOTEL-TYPE. HE WALKED DIRECTLY OVER TO OUR TABLE, AND ASKED IF WE WOULD LIKE TO BUY A CHOCOLATE BAR TO SUPPORT A SCHOOL PROGRAM IN WHICH HE WAS INVOLVED. BRANT AND I WERE LIKE TWO CUNNING VAMPIRES. WE KNEW RIGHT AWAY, NO SCHOOLS FUNDRAISE LIKE THIS, ESPECIALLY IN A DEN OF INIQUITY, WITH THE SMELL OF STALE BEER AND OLD COLOGNE. BRANT SAID HE'D BUY A COUPLE OF HIS CHOCOLATE BARS, IF HE'D LET US TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH OF HIM FOR OUR LOCAL NEWSPAPER. BRANT SUGGESTED THAT IT WAS WHAT WE DID FOR ALL NEWCOMERS TO TOWN. IT WAS CUSTOM. A POLITE TRADITION, TO MAKE OUR VISITORS SENSE THE OUTSTRETCHED HAND OF FRIENDSHIP, FROM STRANGERS. WHAT A LINE. FROM THE MOVIE "ANDERSONVILLE," ABOUT THE YANKEE PRISON IN THE SOUTH, DURING THE CIVIL WAR, WE HAD OURSELVES "FRESH FISH." BRANT AND I KNEW THERE WAS A STORY HERE. WE JUST HAD TO COAX IT OUT OF THE GUY.
THE CHAP AGREED, AND WE TOOK HIM OUTSIDE TO TAKE A FLICK. BRANT POSITIONED HIM UP AGAINST THE BRICK WALL OF THE HOTEL, TO TAKE A FEW PORTRAIT SHOTS, AND I FIRED QUESTIONS AT THE CANDY BAR SALESMAN. HE SAID HIS NAME WAS "JOHN JONES." YEA RIGHT! HE GAVE THREE DIFFERENT ANSWERS, ABOUT THE GROUP HE WAS REPRESENTING, BUT EVENTUALLY, HE GAVE US ONE NAME, THAT WOULD GIVE US A GREAT BREAK, FOLLOWING-UP WHAT HE WAS DOING IN TOWN. THE SLIGHT LOOKING MAN, SAID HE WAS WITH A LARGER GROUP OF SALES-PEOPLE WORKING THE TOWN, AND THROUGHOUT MUSKOKA, THAT PARTICULAR WEEK. HE TOOK THE MONEY FOR THE CHOCOLATE BARS, HANDED THEM TO US, AND WHEN BRANT ASKED IF HE WOULD LIKE A DRINK OF POP, THE GUY BOLTED. HE KNEW HE'D SAID TOO MUCH. HE LOOKED WORRIED, BECAUSE HE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO TELL SOME ONE AT THE TOP OF THE CANDY BAR CHAIN, HE HAD SPILLED THE BEANS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE PUNISHMENT WAS FOR THAT KIND OF THING, BUT IT WASN'T LOVE BOMBARDMENT THAT'S FOR SURE. AN ASS-KICKING MORE LIKELY.
CULTS WERE RECRUITING IN MUSKOKA, JUST LIKE EVERYWHERE ELSE
We drank up the rest of our beer (you didn't think we were going to leave it), and followed the guy up to Manitoba Street, and he never stopped looking back, and then breaking into a little trot, in order to lose us in the main street crowd at the time. We watched him jump into a car with other people, which sped off before we could get a license plate number. When we got back to the office, Brant started making some initial phone calls to sources he knew, who might be able to fill us in, on just who was permitted to sell chocolate bars for charity within town limits. Did they have a permit to do so? Had there been any complaints from other citizens or businesses? I won't go into the gory detail of all the sleuthing and rock-overturning, Brant was able to make some important discoveries. Now it's important to know that, during this time of the 1980's, there was a lot of attention being afforded cults and their recruiting, and the problem of getting folks sprung from these mind-controlling groups, once they fall into the system. There were a number of high profile cases, of family members pulling off daring rescues of their loved-ones, who had become members of these cult organizations……of which there were quite a few, some even operating fairly close to home. De-programming the brain-washed isn't any easy operation. Many of those who were rescued, didn't want to be removed, and the cult members, didn't make it easy to extract sons and daughters……many who turned over everything they owned, and money they possessed, to the welfare of the mother ship. What we found out about John Jones, is that he had been someone's son, indoctrinated by a savvy cult program, and was reduced to a chocolate bar drone, hustling sales in towns all over Canada. There was no charity here. This was a for profit deal, and the money was going to support a scary operation with world wide tentacles.
I can't for legal reasons, name the cult. Once we had determined what the affiliation was, and made a few phone calls to their headquarters, we had their legal staff breathing down our necks, suggesting very vigorously, that we drop the story, or else. We had uncovered a cult working the streets of our home town. Not only were they fundraising for their cause, they were also looking for membership. This seemed imminently more dangerous, than getting too many calories eating their chocolate…..that actually wasn't too bad. We ignored the threats of legal action, and we had the support of our publishers to take the story as far as we could. Head-hunting on our turf didn't please them, and we had a huge following for those issues that dealt with the story. Fathers and mothers were worried about the safety of their kids. And yes, without shame, we capitalized, and broadened our approach.
Brant was a brilliant sleuth, and he wouldn't stop until he truly got to the bottom of a story…..and there was no way of going an inch deeper. What he came upon, as a critical information source to help us, was a group, calling themselves, the Committee On Mind Abuse, or "COMA". It was operating in Ontario, and was an information group on cult activities and strategies they would routinely use, to advance their missions. They knew about the dangers of these cults, and had the assistance of some former members, who had been pulled from the abyss, by their family and friends…..often times by brute force, breaking into housing compounds, to free the subject of their interest. In fact, they had a gentleman helping them, who knew John Jones, when we sent him the photograph. His name wasn't John Jones, by the way, and I've forgotten what his real name was. He told us how this cult member's mind was so controlled, and his movements so restricted, that what we had taken a portrait-shot of, was just a shell of a former self. This is what he was useful for….and he obeyed his superiors. He would have been in his mid-thirties. He was of British heritage.
Brant and I met with some COMA members, and they actually sent-up spokespeople, from their Toronto office, including the former cult member, I had mentioned who worked with them, and we were able to get these reps a speaking engagement with the local Rotary Club, to let them know what was going on in their town. We tried to convince the principal of the local high school, to let them talk to kids at a small assembly, but he outrightly refused…..believing that instead of warning the kids away from cults, they might actually get attracted to that lifestyle. I couldn't believe they would turn this down, especially, as we were obviously on the recruiting map for this organization.
Our paper had three or more issues, of huge news features, following up the story. There were a lot of new leads, and we were getting tips that they were still working the streets, but in other Muskoka towns. They weren't scared off by the stories. So Brant wanted to know the down-side, of one of us, trying to infiltrate the organization. We knew where they were encamped, and how to get inside. This was the easy part. Getting out was a different story. Members of COMA thought we were brave and stupid at the same time. I remember telling Brant, as the possibility of doing this got pretty serious, that I'd crumble if there was any of "that love-bombarding" stuff, and I'd give us up as spies…..and then I supposed they'd have to kill us. I'm weak in the love bombardment department. This is exactly what they do, and it gets pretty dramatic, and exhausting the longer you stay. I would be the weak link right off the bat.
COMA advised us not to go. They were bang-on, and yet I think we would have had an amazing story to tell. These groups still operate around here. I've met a few in the past decade. When I'm approached to buy something, like a chocolate bar, from someone I'm sure isn't from here, I always ask what group they represent, and where the sale profits will be going. I remember the various names John Jones came up with, to blow us off, until he unintentionally spilled the beans, and gave us a real name we could trace. Cults look for those down on their luck. They shop for new members constantly, and at places where lost souls tend to wind-up……like train and bus stations….airports, and all night donut shops. They look for teenagers with no place to go, or have just been booted out of their homes for whatever reasons. Some might have money, but it's not always the criteria for recruitment. Once you're in, it's damn hard to get out. Their indoctrination program is thorough, and they will use whatever approach is necessary, to make you want to stay. Forcibly. I'm sure this happens. Getting your loved ones free again, requires strong intervention, and some have turned to professional rescuers, to get their kin back home.
There are many adults who inadvertently get involved with cults, due to circumstances of friendship, and social encounters. There are many documented cases of adults and even families, getting sucked into the cult vortex, and handing over all their material and cash wealth, for the cause! Homes, investments, and bank accounts. We knew we had a story, the minute the guy lied about this name, and tried to mislead us about the group he was working for, and supplying with considerable profits.
Yup, we were just sitting in the dark corner of the Albion Hotel, and a front-pager came right through that side door, right up to our table, and bit us right on our "nose for news." Sometimes it paid off big time, hiding out, and avoiding the jobs we despised, in order to get the few we adored. It was like fishing but nicer. And we never got sunburned. Just a little tipsy.
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