WHAT LIBERTIES ARE FAIR GAME THESE DAYS, WHEN THE MEDIA KISSES ITS OWN ASS!!!
HERE'S AN IDEA? LET THE READERS GIVE THEIR OPINION, BEFORE CLAIMING YOUR PRODUCT IS THE BEST THERE'S EVER BEEN
It's my general opinion, and it has a fair foundation on which to build, that the local media in Muskoka, these days, loves itself way too much. You don't even have to read between the lines, to appreciate how much they believe they can do no wrong. How perfect they are, such that we should be thankful to have them as guiding lights. I beg to differ, as I usually do when it comes to critiquing the local media, of this new century. If I was to time myself, a voracious reader, how long I hold these media products in hand, each week, based on what I'm interested in reading, including the classified ads, it would be an under ten minute experience. Yes, I am an expert on local media, just in case you're wondering how I dare to offer this overview. I wonder if advertisers, of these products, would be interested, by survey, to know how long the products are in readers' hands, because this is a very big concern, no different, than when I was working as an editor with Muskoka Publications. The deal was, and it wasn't wrong-headed, that the longer a publication stayed in your hands, and in the house, to be consumed by other members of the household, the more value it was to the businesses, that had invested their hard earned money to advertise. Makes sense, doesn't it? It's why we don't advertise in print. The mutual admiration crap is way too much for some of us, reader-kind, who sometimes recycle the papers, before even looking at them! I worked my way through the Muskoka media, in a day and era, when there were exceptional issues, every single week, as far as investigative reporting, and event coverage; so what I'm reading these days, as propaganda, about how great it is to have such outstanding media products, frankly, makes me gag. In my years with the community press, we never thought of ourselves as special, and we never thought for a moment, that the most recent issue, was the best we could have produced. But we knew what it meant to compete, and do so for the privilege of working on the very next issue. Here's the big difference, between then and now. Our readers were our biggest concerns, even over the meddling of advertisers, who thought they were the big cheese, calling all the shots. Yes indeed, it was a day, not so long ago, when the reading public, the subscribers, and those who purchased their papers from local shops where we had Herald-Gazette racks, told us in no uncertain terms, how well we were doing as writers and photographers. They would phone our management and felt no compunction about complaining if we screwed-up. Even a little bit. It made us, who loved our jobs, and wanted advancement, work harder and more thoroughly to win credits; so we took critiques to heart.
Today, the local media, all very corporate and well funded, send their publications either via snail mail, or tossed into our respective driveways, on publication days. As much as publishers would like to compare the years of newspaper heritage, the "then and now," they are obsessed with, there can't be any comparison, other than with newsprint and ink, because the success of our papers was based on paid circulation; not free distribution. We had to battle the Bracebridge Examiner every week, to try to make a little headway, by bumping up our newsstand sales. If our newsstand sales were hale and hardy, then we could count on a percentage of that number, turning onto our subscription offers. We were only as good, as our weekly sales were registered, by the accounting department, as being better, average, or worse than usual. There was nothing better for us, in the news and feature department, than to find out, we had enjoyed an amazing week of sales. Back in those days, if you hit 6,500 paid circulation, it was considered the nose bleed level of accomplishment for that decade, which for me, represented 1979 to 1989.
I can always remember getting livid with the advertising manager, in the early 1980's, when he'd issue a survey, of for example, a church congregation, in town, to get their opinion on the issue that particular week, and then present us with the results. We almost walked out, in protest, a couple of times, because it wasn't a general, or let's just say, a proper, well circulated survey, of unbiased questions, that would offer-up the best cross section of our community; in order to receive back, a proportional and relevant collection of filled-out returns. To pacify us, he would then decide, to ask for a wider opinion of our readership, by placing a survey-advertisement in a future issue, and every one of the four or five he did, during my tenure, always came back favorably to the writing staff. There were critiques, that's for sure, and Judith Brocklehurst was generally considered our best columnist, a little ahead of Brant Scott, and then there was my "From The Bleachers," column, in third place out of three staff writers. So like this blog, I kept changing it up to make inroads with the readership. That's the name of the game. In the mid 1980's, I moved to The Muskoka Sun as a mainstay, and wrote a different style of column, on both golf, and auction sales. The Muskoka Sun was a free summer paper, and a damn fine one, but I'll tell you this; editor Robert Boyer asked for feedback and he wasn't fooling, when he'd say to me, munching down on the soggy end of a cigar, that we have to give the readers what they want. Bob always had more critiques coming in, than we ever knew about ourselves, and he would touch base regularly, with some of his friends in the cottage community, to make sure we were still at the top of our game. Bob was anything but status quo, when it came to production of the Muskoka Sun, and it was the reason we would have 100 plus page issues, several times during the summer. This was an exceptional level, and every staff person paid the price of the publication's success; writers and lay-out staff would be half-nuts by the time the flats were ready to go, off to the printer. Five seconds through the shop door, the next morning, Bob would have the paper open on Norm Tanner's counter, behind the front desk, to make sure everything had been printed in an acceptable way; meaning no poorly-inked pages, and no upside down pages or headings. Crazy stuff like that happened, and you just hoped it wouldn't happen to the Muskoka Sun. I watched Bob get angry, a dozen or so times in my decade of service, and it wasn't pretty; but always sternly polite, and a situation he would use as a precedent, ever after, to prove his point about due diligence, and our failure to execute.
Amongst staffers, especially at the end of a work day, hot, bothered, and needing a beer, we never, ever, congratulated ourselves in advance. We may have been satisfied that we did the best we could, under the stressful circumstances, but never became so cocky, that we jumped the gun and celebrated, before we saw the finished product roll off the press; or when it arrived in bundles for distribution. Then, and only then, could you relax a tad, at least until the phones started to ring, from readers and advertisers, letting us know about errors and related misprints; logos in ads that had fallen off, and black and white ads that oops, were supposed to have full color. The usual stuff, in a newspaper day and week, and as we never admitted to being perfect, accepted the criticism, if it was our fault, and vowed to make up for it, in the very next issue.
I really despise when the media today, in this region, decides that it has a perfect right, to set the record straight about the newspaper legacy in our district. They don't know the half of it, and I'd be surprised, under examination, if they could even make it to the "half" level. First of all, if you read this column regularly, I have a real problem with those who adjust history to suit their own agendas; as if by proclamation, a privilege, no less, of having your own newspaper, or magazine with a massive circulation. I have always had an issue with these kind of liberties taken, and although I don't have the vehicle to counter punch their right hook, I simply won't have their version be the only opinion of events. There are some important tidbits of background information, that have to be considered first. For decades upon decades, the success of local publications depended on paid circulation. This was a figure that our advertisers could ask to see, and compare our circulation, with the competitor, which in my years of editorship, was the Bracebridge Examiner. Each week meant a new challenge to win over readers, and increase circulation, and yes, we did take it seriously, because it all hinged, every bit of it, on the quality of our writers and photographers to make a worthy product. We didn't toss issues of the Herald-Gazette, in town driveways, for free. The only newspapers that we gave away, were to our advertisers, as a gesture of goodwill, and "thanks for advertising with us!"
To make extra money, after son Andrew was born, I filled in a position as a delivery driver, for both The Herald-Gazette and later The Muskoka Sun. I got fifty bucks a week for The Herald-Gazette, and nothing for the Muskoka Sun. I started delivering the summer paper with my newspaper colleague, Scott McClellan, and when he moved on, and I decided to quit the route myself, I was then told by the publisher, delivery had become part of my job description by immersion. Well, that didn't fly, and he soon had to find a new driver. The point of mentioning this, is that I had a rare opportunity, to deliver the papers I had a hand in writing, and producing. It's amazing what critiques I could get from the newspaper sellers out there, and boy oh boy, was it blunt and honest. I would have people trying to rip open the bundles themselves, to get their weekly issues, and when they'd make comments about our paper, or the competition Bracebridge Examiner, I listened carefully. Some of the best advice I ever had, in my role as editor, came from street and shop level, because it was always spontaneous and from the hip, so to speak. It was sort of like the television show, "Undercover Boss," which is one of my favorites by the way, and very few of the customers, and shopkeepers who I talked to, had any idea I was either the editor, or the assistant editor. So they let it all hang out, and I'm glad they did. I may have felt, in the early going, that the job was beneath me, as a publication manager. After awhile, I began looking at the position, as being a rare opportunity, to see the publication from the ground level market point of view. Thus, the delusion of grandeur, of being editor, was stomped on, as it should have been! Delusion is a career killer. Or, at least it was in my day. I heard lots of bad stuff in the mix, so it wasn't the case, our newspaper was receiving only rave reviews. But it's what we needed to improve our product. It's what the local media today requires, but it seems to rise above the din of discontent, when they write their own acceptance speeches for awards they anticipate are soon to come. If they were as wonderful as they like to portray, in so many ways, then they would let us, the owners of those driveways, have a shot at offering a critique, via a survey. Bob Boyer said to be once, when we were talking about improvements he was making with the layout of The Muskoka Sun, that "We will know we've done a good job, when our readers tell us so!" So what kind of feedback did Mr. Boyer expect, from the readers? Here then was another advantage of being a delivery driver for those few years in the mid 1980's.
Being part of the editorial staff, of Muskoka Publications, and delivering the papers each week, also afforded me one of the most revealing aspects of the whole newspaper enterprise. "The returns!" Part of the delivery responsibility, after depositing the new issues, was to pick up the returns from the previous week. This could be horrifying some weeks, when I would have to haul home a large number of unsold Herald-Gazettes, or leftover Muskoka Suns. It gave me an inside track, to learn more about the successes and failures of each issue, and it often conflicted with our own opinions, of having put out a good and solid edition. When I'd get back to the office, on Muskoka Sun Thursdays, I hated when Mr. Boyer would ask me about "the returns." Sometimes, I would have a huge load to take to the dump later in the day, and I would try to find a transfer location, so as not to draw a lot of attention; because it wouldn't look good, to see thousands of papers being thrown away, especially, if the person coming up from behind, happened to be one of our advertisers. No advertiser wants to see an unopened newspaper, they have paid to advertise in; or a subscriber, who may make the offhand comment, "I'll just wait till the end of the week to get my paper, from this dumpster, instead of paying for a subscription. I don't care if my news is a week old." I used to get a lot of comments like this, because it would always take ten to twenty minutes to clean our the company van. I tried to keep them to one corner of the dumpsters, and disguise it somewhat before I left, by opening papers of the broadsheet Herald-Gazettes, so dump browsers wouldn't see, quite so clearly, how many returns made it to the dump. When we had recycling in our neighborhood, we did this versus dumping them in the trash.
If Mr. Boyer, had known the volume of returns, from outlets across Muskoka, he would have been profoundly upset, and I always felt a little bad for saying things, on my return, like "It was a good week Bob," or "Good news, we had less returns this week!" He had a tough job looking out for the paper so we didn't want to do anything to discourage his enthusiasm; because no one else on staff wanted to take the paper over, and that included me. I agreed to work below Bob as an assistant editor, but I would never have volunteered to replace him, because this seasonal paper, was more stressful per issue, to get to the printer, than the weekly Herald-Gazette. It was a tabloid format, but it had a greater core of advertisers, that pushed up the pages, especially toward the Civic Holiday weekend, in August. When it slipped over the hundred page count, every writer on staff, was pushed to come up with quick editorial copy; because Bob hated to use camera ready media releases from the province or federal government. A lot of newspapers benefitted from these releases, to fill in editorial holes, at the page composition stage of production. Not us. We could use the "canned copy", if we re-wrote them, and put our bylines on top. It can be said of Bob Boyer, that he lived and breathed, for the success of his publication. So, yes, on occasion, I didn't tell him the complete truth, when he asked about returns for that particular week. So it does make me a hypocrite, to some degree, yet it was only between Bob and I; it's not like I was misrepresenting circulation to the general public, to create a better image than we deserved. I admit to covering over the issues I was forced to dump. But I never perpetuated this in ink, by over-stating our successes, or purposely under-stating our failures. It was week to week in those days, because we were vulnerable to public appetite.
If the publications on the market today, that have blanket circulation, were forced back to the old days, of having to earn their credits, by building a paid circulation, what would those numbers look like? Or would the truth be inconvenient? They know the truth, and that's a fact.
The fact that our main business core newspaper offices, are all but done today, is a sad state of affairs; a subtle, now you see it, now you don't, admission, of what has been lost through the decades, due to changes of ownership.
The fact that investigative reporting is pretty thin and weak, these days, is a disservice to our municipalities; because without a keen, in-your-face reporting brigade riding these folks, like they got used to, in my day, as far as getting the news, give me a break. Local councillors have never had it so good, and those with experience, realize how kindly the press has become in this new century. As for holding them accountable, yea right? I told a Gravenhurst Councillor this, awhile back, and she really didn't know what I was talking about. Why would she know this? It was before her time on council. I couldn't adequately explain, just how unsettling it would be, to our councils at present, if for one month today, we could return to the old way of doing business. When reporters called, and called, and called, and when a councillor, for example didn't call back, it would make that a really neat part of the front page story; "Councillor refuses to comment when given opportunity!" I adored the power of the press, of once, long ago. It's what we need back in this region.
I haven't totally given up on the idea of running for Gravenhurst Council, in this coming October's municipal election, because the status quo in this town is shocking, especially when it comes to new candidates replacing the old stock of complacents. And if I did run for office, I'd start poking at the press, right away, to sharpen their pencils, get a fresh new notebook, and come to see me for a chat; because if I happened to be elected, I won't be muzzled from offering my opinions. The constituents deserve this for a change.
We need a press corp in this region, that digs for news stories. A band of determined reporters, trying to make names for themselves, by exposing cover-ups, and the ones that have never been followed-up due to lack of interest. Let the readers of these publications, make their choice, for which media product is the best, and most thorough, representing our region, its wants and needs. Move away from the mirror of self-admiration, and get into the real world, where competition never ceases, and where standards are always measured on best performances. Not perceived best performances.
Propaganda is always propaganda, and a waste of paper and ink. We didn't willingly surrender our interests in having a main street newspaper office. It was taken away, without us being asked. Hey, it's private enterprise, so it was all fair and square. But as to whether a publication is all its cracked up to be, sorry to rain on your parade; but internal approval means nothing to a discerning readership, insisting on being their own judge of the subject product's quality. Simply because the editor or publisher has the deluded thinking, their product and content is the best of the best, doesn't mean we, the readers, are just as deluded.
Thanks for joining me today. Remember, the opinions above are mine, and they are based on experience with the Muskoka media. There's no left field stuff about it. I was there when some of our newspaper history was being made. And for the history I missed, I have researched and then written about, to bring myself up to snuff. Just in case you're wondering.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
REASONS WHY BEING A SMART ASS WITH AN AUCTIONEER IS……WELL, STUPID AND DANGEROUS
THE RIGHT TO BE A BUFFOON, VERSUS EVER WINNING A BID AT AN AUCTION
BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S, I BEGAN WRITING A REGULAR "CURRENT EVENT" COLUMN FOR THE LOCAL PRESS, CALLED "THE AUCTION ROLL," WHICH RAN IN THE "MUSKOKA SUN" I BELIEVE. I WAS PROUD OF THAT WEEKLY EDITORIAL PIECE, AND IT GAVE ME QUITE A BIT OF LATITUDE, AND A LITTLE EXTRA PRESTIGE AT AUCTIONS, IN OUR DISTRICT (MUSKOKA, ONTARIO).
MY AUCTIONEER FRIEND, ART CAMPBELL, WOULD ACTUALLY STOP THE AUCTION MIDSTREAM, TO ANNOUNCE TO THE AUDIENCE THAT "MR. CURRIE (SCOOP) HAS NOW ENTERED THE BUILDING," OR "YOU WRITERS ARE ALL THE SAME……YOU COME LATE AND LEAVE EARLY, AND THE BIG NEWS ALWAYS HAPPENS, EITHER BEFORE OR AFTER." ART AND I HAD LOTS OF AUCTION DEBATES, OFTEN AT THE FRONT COUNTER OF OUR ANTIQUE SHOP, ON BRACEBRIDGE'S MANITOBA STREET. ART WAS A GOOD SPORT, AND HE COULD TAKE ALL KINDS OF FRIENDLY RIBBING. SUZANNE USED TO HATE THAT I WAS BEING SINGLED-OUT AT THESE SALES, BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT ART WAS TAKING SOME CHEAP SHOTS, BECAUSE HE HAD THE PUBLIC ADDRESS SYSTEM, AND I ONLY HAD FACIAL EXPRESSIONS TO SEND BACK TO THE CROWD. I USED TO RAG ON HIM, ALMOST WEEKLY IN PRINT, ABOUT THE DELAYS OF HIS AND OTHER AUCTIONS; WHEN INSTEAD OF "LOTS" THEY WOULD SELL ITEMS, LIKE CHINA CUPS AND SAUCERS "ON CHOICE." OBVIOUSLY HE FOUND THAT YOU COULD MAKE MORE MONEY SELLING "ON CHOICE," VERSUS HAVING TWENTY-FIVE CUPS AND MATCHING SAUCERS SELLING TOGETHER TO ONE SUCCESSFUL BIDDER. SELLING ON CHOICE, FOR DOZENS OF ITEMS, THAT THE ESTATE OWNER POSSESSED, IN SMALL COLLECTIONS, DROVE A LOT OF US ANTIQUE DEALERS NUTS. SOME OF US HAD TO HIRE STAFF TO COVER OUR SHOPS WHILE AT THE SALES. SUZANNE WOULD RUN OUR MAIN STREET BUSINESS, WHILE I ATTENDED THE AUCTIONS. SO I'D TAKE SOME FRUSTRATION OUT ON ART, VIA THE COLUMN, BUT REALLY, ALL THE AUCTIONEERS SERVING THE AREA WERE DOING PRETTY MUCH THE SAME THING. DEPENDING HOW MANY COLLECTIONS THE PERSON HAD, IT COULD ADD TWO HOURS ONTO A SALE. SOME WOULD START AT 10:00 A.M. AND GO UNTIL 7:00 P.M. MY PLEA TO HIM, WAS THAT BUYERS WERE GETTING FED-UP AND LEAVING THE SALE ENTIRELY, WHICH KIND OF DEFEATED THE PURPOSE OF SELLING "ON CHOICE," AS A MEANS OF GENERATING MORE VALUE FOR THE ESTATE…..OR SALE HOST. THE LAST THING AN AUCTIONEER WANTS TO SEE, OTHER THAN STORM CLOUDS FOR AN OUTDOOR SALE, IS THE AUCTION FAITHFUL (DEALERS IN THAT MIX), DRIVING AWAY WITHOUT A FULL LOAD LASHED ONTO THEIR TRUCKS, OR HANGING OUT OF THEIR VANS.
I WROTE A NUMBER OF COLUMNS ABOUT AUCTION SALE HECKLERS. THESE CHARACTERS, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, GAVE ME A LOT OF THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT, AND THESE WERE SOME OF MY MOST POPULAR COLUMNS, ACCORDING TO READER SURVEYS. MY FAVORITE STORY, INVOLVED MY OLD FRIEND, AUCTIONEER LES RUTLEDGE, OF GRAVENHURST, AND MY FIRST DAYS FOLLOWING THE AUCTION CIRCUIT HERE IN MUSKOKA. I DIDN'T KNOW LES THAT WELL, EXCEPT FOR OUR NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION. WE HANDLED HIS WEEKLY AUCTION ADVERTISEMENTS FOR THE HERALD-GAZETTE. SO I'D MEET UP WITH HIM AT THE HERALD-GAZETTE FRONT DESK, WHERE HE WOULD BE, ON MOST MONDAY MORNINGS, EMBROILED IN AN ARGUMENT WITH OUR CLASSIFIED CLERK……A CHEERFUL GERMAN WOMAN, NAMED IRENE, WHO ENJOYED SPARRING WITH LES…..AND I KIND OF THINK, THERE WAS SOME PLEASURE ON HER PART, GETTING HIM SO PISSED-OFF, HE'D TIP HIS BIG STETSON BACK ON HIS HEAD, AND START GROWLING LIKE A HUNGRY SPRING BEAR (WANTING TO TAKE A BITE OUT OF SOMETHING OR SOMEONE). I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I STEPPED IN BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM, BEFORE ANYONE SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTED. IF LES STARTED ROTATING HIS CANE TIP, INTO THE CARPET, SUCH THAT THERE WAS SMOKE RISING, IT WAS TIME TO DEFUSE THE STAND-OFF. ALL OF US TOOK TURNS EASING THE NEGOTIATIONS AT THE FRONT DESK, BUT HONESTLY, THE BACK AND FORTH DIGS WERE REAL-LIFE COMEDY. THEY BOTH HAD KIND OF A DARK SENSE OF HUMOR ANYWAY, AND I THINK LES NEEDED TO EXERCISE A LITTLE EMOTIONAL STRETCHING, FIRST THING ON A MONDAY MORNING. BY THE WAY, LES ALWAYS GOT HIS DISCOUNT, IF THERE HAPPENED TO BE AN ERROR IN THE AD COPY, WHICH OCCURRED WAY MORE OFTEN THAN IT SHOULD HAVE…..ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING LES WAS A GOOD CUSTOMER, AND PAID DEARLY FOR HIS NOTICES. I DON'T KNOW WHY, BUT OUR LAYOUT STAFF SCREWED UP HIS AD WEEK AFTER WEEK. THANK GOD HE NEVER GOT LOOSE IN THE BACK OF THE SHOP.
LES WAS QUITE ELDERLY AT THIS TIME. HE WAS A SUBSTANTIAL HUMAN BEING, AND HE WAS NOTORIOUSLY SHORT OF PATIENCE AS AN AUCTIONEER. HE AND I GOT ALONG GREAT, AND MANY TIMES, HE'D FIGURE OUT THAT SUZANNE AND I WEREN'T WINNING MANY BIDS, ON THINGS LIKE HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE (AS NEWLYWEDS WE DIDN'T HAVE MUCH MONEY TO SPEND ON HOUSEHOLD ITEMS). EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, LES WOULD TAKE MY BID, AFTER A FEW MINUTES OF BACK AND FORTH INCREMENTS, AND ALL OF A SUDDEN, HE'D STOP THE SALE AND ANNOUNCE, "SOLD TO MY NEWSPAPER FRIEND, MR. CURRIE." WELL, AN AUCTIONEER ISN'T REALLY SUPPOSED TO DO THINGS LIKE THAT, BUT IT WAS A KIND GESTURE, AND YOU KNOW, WE STILL HAVE QUITE A FEW OF THOSE PIECES LEFT HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW. I THINK ABOUT LES A LOT, THESE DAYS, ESPECIALLY WRITING THESE BIOGRAPHICAL COLUMNS. HE IS IMBEDDED IN MY PYSCHE, OF WHAT IT HAS MEANT BEING INVOLVED IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE FOR ALL OF THESE YEARS. HE WAS ONE OF MY EARLY TUTORS, BUT WOULD HAVE SCOFFED RATHER GRUMPILY, AT THIS KIND OF UNEXPECTED CREDIT, IF I HAD EVER ANNOUNCED THIS DURING AN AUCTION HIATUS. HE'D HAVE BEEN EMBARRASSED AND YOU DIDN'T WANT TO DO THIS TO LES. HE WASN'T A TOUCHY-FEELING KIND OF GUY. NO HUGS. JUST HARDY SLAPS ON THE BACK, AND A FEW LAUGHS ABOUT THE WILD WAYS OF THE GOOD OLD DAYS. WHEN YOU ATTENDED A LES RUTLEDGE AUCTION, ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN. HE WAS A SCRAPPY GUY, AND EVEN THOUGH HE WAS SLOW MOVING, OVER-WEIGHT, AND QUITE ELDERLY, HE WAS STILL A MOUNTAIN OF A MAN. HE HAD A WAY WITH WORDS THAT WOULD HAVE MADE ANY WORDSMITH ENVIOUS. I WATCHED HIM VERBALLY UNDRESS, AND THEN BOTTLE-UP, DOZENS OF LOUD MOUTHS, AND PROBLEM PATRONS, IN THE YEARS WHEN I WAS A REGULAR AUCTION GROUPIE.
THE GUY JUST WOULDN'T SHUT UP - AND THAT REALLY ANNOYED LES
Les Rutledge was a later years auctioneer. I believe he had been a railway man before this, and was known as a hard living, hard playing chap, who dearly loved and defended his family. I remember once, at a senior league fastball game, in Bracebridge, when I was a kid, sitting next to Les in the bleachers. I didn't know who he was, but by golly, was he loud and aggressive. I was sitting next to several young men, who were yelling at a number of opposition players, and specifically, one player on the Gravenhurst team. One of the player's was his son, Keith, and when the name calling continued, especially referencing the "Rutledge" name, in a most adverse fashion, Les pushed his Stetson back for a better view, huffed and puffed a little, tapped one of the spectators on the shoulder, and said something like, "The fellow you're calling a bum, happens to be my son," he said. "Why don't you go from around the backstop here, and say that to his face when he comes in off the field……I'm sure he would be willing to talk to you about it." His words were gentle, in comparison to the volume of smoke coming out of his ears, and the red sparks in his eyes, as if an inferno was engaged in his soul. "Maybe you're a better player than he is……so what are you doing sitting up here in the bleachers son?"
One of the first auctions I took Suzanne to, was here in Gravenhurst, where Les was not only well known, but revered in his circle of acquaintances. It was an outdoor sale to settle an estate, and there were some interesting antique furnishings, we wanted for our future house, still a few years away. As it usually happens to me, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I found myself beside a loud mouth wearing a ball cap off to the side of his head. If I hadn't heard a word he said, before this, I would have thought he was going to do exactly what he did to Les. He looked the part of a blurt-for-a-laugh heckler. But still, as is my tradition, I just ignored the warning signs, and it wasn't long before this total goof, started making smart-ass comments about every auction item, Les was dealing with, and even taking pot shots at some of the bidders themselves. If we could have blamed it on alcohol, possibly he could have been removed with justification. It's not that Les wasn't used to critical comments from the cheap seats, but not every time he went to sell something else. The guy was a sort of "Foster Hewitt," type, of the former "Hockey Night in Canada" broadcasts, who felt compelled to provide the play by play. On this day, Les tried to keep his focus. It was hot, and he was getting tired with the work it was taking, to get through the large quantity of sale items. Having some background with Les, and knowing some of the warning signs…..like the sound of a rattlesnake before it strikes, I told Suzanne that we were going to have to move our pile of purchases, and get away from this guy quickly. The apocalypse was imminent.
You could tell Les was annoyed. Several of the helpers that day, were trying to cool things down, and let the mouthpiece know, he was being rude to the other bidders, because of his constant interruptions. His comments were just dumb. It was obvious all he wanted to do was get a laugh from the audience. Some times he did get his moment of glory, when two or three of his cronies, in the cluster of people near the podium, laughed out loud. If he had actually been asking sensible questions, or making reasonable suggestions, instead of the verbal horseplay, that was getting real tiresome by the halfway point of the sale……I'm pretty sure Les would have preferred to let it all pass. Then it happened. All those who knew Les intimately, inhaled and held their breath, for what seemed to be an eternity. He had a look of jagged stone, that was quite frightening, even from a distance. All eyes were fixed on his movements on the platform.
This time, he stopped the bidding on an item up for auction, initially because he couldn't concentrate on the cadence any longer, because of the jerk's constant chattering. I watched him push his trademark Stetson back on his head, wipe the sweat off his forehead, stop to pull up his trousers, regain a firm grasp of the cane in his hand, and saw that first powerful, confrontational step off the small riser, that elevated him for the sale. He walked through the audience, that parted very swiftly to let him pass (these were the regulars, who had seen this before), and with cane elevated to jousting level, he approached the trouble-maker. With body language alone, he let this tool know, his outbursts would no longer be tolerated. He was almost nose to nose, and the chap was as white as his Stetson. The guy couldn't even blink, he was so scared, looking at this huge chunk of humanity, who with his cane, made what many of us believed, was a threat to cause bodily discomfort …….if he spoke just one more word during the rest of the sale. I don't remember what he said, because most of us were sure Les was going to knock him onto the ground. But he was quite tactful, and never raised the cane to striking position, and most of the crowd applauded him, when all was said and done. Les was a minor folk hero around here, because of this ingrained tough love characteristic. When he turned around to go back to the podium, to finish the sale, people were slapping him on the back. "Way to go Les…..that'll teach him." The scrawny chap was lucky that day, Les was in a relatively good mood. Me thinks he would have had an unmistakable wood grain imprinted upon his forehead, from the auctioneer's cane, had he offered one more auction critique…..when nose to nose in the scrum of bidders, moving close to catch all the impending drama about to unfold. Maybe there were some people disappointed that day, he hadn't fulfilled their fantasy, by creaming the loudmouth, then and there. But it was the Les Rutledge I knew, from many misadventures at the Herald-Gazette front desk. I can remember walking into the office one morning, and finding the clerk in tears. When I asked what was wrong, she said, "I just heard Les died yesterday." Funny thing that! Her Monday morning adversary, had expired, and she was going to miss their little over-the-counter debates, about billing rates. We were all shocked that day, because he was just one of those colorful characters you run into, who captures your attention……and not always for the best reasons. Les was always kind to Suzanne and I, as was his son Wayne, who would later take over his father's auction tradition. Wayne was a fascinating guy as well, and I'd like to share some stories of our relationship with him, in the next several blogs.
The point is, if you're going to be a court jester, go and find a location where there isn't an auction ongoing. It's just plain stupid to heckle the auctioneer, who inevitably has the authority to stop the bidding, if he so chooses, and offer no other apology than…."I'm sorry, I didn't see (or hear) your bid." Well sir, the heckler never won a single item in that day's bidding. Les had a good memory too, so there wasn't much chance he was ever going to win a bid, at any of his future auctions either. I've been at dozens and dozens of sales, where these penny-for-your-thoughts showboats, feel they have to entertain the audience, by bellowing their comedic one-liners…..which after a couple of hours, stir nothing more than angry grumbling, and threats of bodily harm. If you are genuinely interested in securing items from the auction, by placing the winning bids, then it is imperative, to mind your manners. Having a pissed-off auctioneer, pretty much guarantees that the going won't be fruitful that day. Not every auctioneer, who is heckled, tackles the perpetrator as aggressively as the good Mr. Rutledge. Many just prefer to issue a casual warning, or to pause for a gentle word with the intrusive bidder; but honestly, short of being on a hockey rink, I've never witnessed anything as powerfully informative, as the afternoon, Les Rutledge pounded down hard, off that wooden podium, to set the record straight……about what he felt was fair comment, and what he believed was insulting to his reputation as a country auctioneer. He had spunk that's for sure.
Please join me tomorrow, for a look at the work of his multi-talented son, Wayne Rutledge, a former professional hockey player, a glazier, and a hell of an auctioneer. Thanks for dropping by today for a visit. Lots more to come, if you can stand all the excitement and good humor of the "lighter side of antique hunting." See you again soon. Cheers.
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