How DId Gravenhurst Council Achieve A Town From A Hamlet

HONESTLY, HOW IN THE WORLD DID WE MANAGE GOVERNMENT IN THE OLD DAYS -

WITHOUT THE COMFORT BLANKET OF CODES OF CONDUCT AND MUZZLING PROTOCOLS

     I WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST OR THE LAST CITIZEN OF GRAVENHURST, TO WONDER OUT LOUD, HOW THE HELL COUNCILS OF THE PAST MANAGED TO ADVANCE OUR COMMUNITY FROM HAMLET TO TOWN, WITHOUT THE NEED FOR NECK-HIGH PROTOCOLS, AND A MOUNTAIN OF BYLAWS, THAT BY AND LARGE ARE IRRELEVANT AND SELDOM IF EVER ENFORCED.

     IT'S PUZZLING HOW THOSE POOR OLD, ILL PREPARED, UNDER-PROTECTED COUNCILS NAVIGATED FOR ALL THOSE YEARS, THROUGH TWO WORLD WARS AND A GREAT DEPRESSION, AND NUMEROUS RECESSIONS, AND SURVIVED AND PROGRESSED, TO THIS SUPPOSED NEW AGE ENLIGHTENMENT. THE TOWN WE HAVE TODAY WAS NOT BUILT BY THIS PRESENT COUNCIL, OR THE COUNCIL BEFORE THAT. SO HOW DID IT HAPPEN, THAT WE MANAGED TO CREATE A VIBRANT COMMUNITY WITHOUT THE APPARENT BENEFIT (PROTECTIVE PROTOCOLS) OF AN INSULATING CODE OF CONDUCT……A COMMUNICATION PROTOCOL, THAT TELLS OUR REPS HOW , WHEN, WHY AND WHY-NOT TO LIP-OFF.

     TODAY, OUR MODERN COUNCILS, THROUGHOUT THE REGION, SEEM SO PARANOID ABOUT LAWSUITS, THAT THEY WIND UP, IN PROTECTIVE MOOD, MAKING MORE MISTAKES ELIMINATING THE LOOPHOLES. IN THEIR BID TO OPERATE EFFICIENT, NON-CONTROVERSIAL FOUR YEAR TERMS, THEY SUCCEED IN DOING THE OPPOSITE. WHERE COMMON SENSE AND RESPONSIBLE, EDUCATED DECISION-MAKING, ONCE SUFFICED, TO RUN THE MUNICIPALITY, NOW THERE ARE SO MANY PROTOCOLS TO HURDLE OVER, TO FIND WHAT'S GOING ON, THAT MOST CONSTITUENTS SIMPLY REFUSE TO GET INVOLVED. DO YOU THINK I'M KIDDING. I TALK WITH LOTS OF FOLKS ABOUT OUR HOMETOWN EVERY WEEK, AND I'M SHOCKED BY THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO ADMIT THEY DON'T EVEN BOTHER VOTING. WHY? THERE ALL CUT FROM THE SAME CLOTH, THEY SAY. I THINK INFORMATION LIKE THIS SHOULD STRIKE A CHORD WITH OUR ELECTED OFFICIALS. IT SEEMS DEMOCRACY ISN'T WHAT IT USED TO BE, IN THE MINDS OF CANADIANS, AND THAT'S SAD. PART OF THE REASON FOR THIS, AND IT IS MANIFESTING WITH THE BLATANT DISREGARD FOR DEMOCRACY BY THE FEDERAL AND PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENTS, IS THAT THE ONLY DEMOCRACY WE SEEM TO BE INVITED TO PARTICIPATE IN ANYMORE, IS VOTE CASTING. AFTER THAT, DEMOCRACY IS A PALER SHADE OF WHITE.

     THE HALL MARK OF RESPONSIBLE GOVERNMENT THESE DAYS? IMPOSING A CODE OF CONDUCT ON THEMSELVES (COUNCILLORS), PRESUMABLY BECAUSE THEY DON'T KNOW HOW TO ACT RESPONSIBLY. JUST GUESSING HERE! OR TO GIVE THEMSELVES A REASON NOT TO TALK TO THE PRESS ABOUT ANYTHING THEY DEEM PRIVATE AND SENSITIVE……OR THAT MIGHT GET THEM IN HOT WATER, HAVING TO ACTUALLY EXPLAIN, TRUTHFULLY, HOW THEIR ACTIONS EITHER CAUSED OR RESOLVED A CRISIS. I GET THIS FEELING THEY JUST DON'T WANT TO BE SCRUTINIZED UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL. FUNNY THING THAT, BECAUSE IT'S NOT WORKING. WHEN DO YOU ABANDON A BAD IDEA? SINK WITH THE SHIP? OR SWIM?

A CONVOLUTED OPERATIONAL PROTOCOL

     Is democracy well served these days, with all the insulation being thrown on top? I often envision our council cowering, peering through tiny slits in the town hall palisade, looking for approaching enemies……which could be anyone who wishes to challenge their position on an issue. In this case, any one, especially a journalist with a few questions to ask. All our levels of government appear to feel similarly threatened, and most of us free thinkers, might seriously think "they're covering something up." They apparently feel it necessary to revise democracy, and our right to know, because of some legal precedent, of the modern ages, that apparently wasn't around for previous councils……and if it was, they ignored it, and followed sensible protocol, and provided answers to what we needed to know (without the run around or related evasive measures). Today it's just ridiculous what falls under the heading, "private and confidential." Personnel matters I understand. Union negotiations. I get it. Sensitive negotiations when a deal is about to be inked, I can agree with; being kept out of the public domain during the most fragile period, where a deal might collapse because of an information leak. We just rely on the fact, these elected officials will make the right decision on our behalf, or else.

     I see a sprouting interest in dictatorial rule, and councils becoming more party-like in their politics, and voting strategically to show solidarity. I like dissenters. I just wish there were more of them. My question is, shouldn't free-thinking elected officials feel smothered and fettered by these imposed encumbrances, that seem, at least from the outside (looking in), to discourage councillors from speaking out on issues they feel strongly about? While there has been a case recently, of a councillor speaking in opposition to a council initiative involving the implementation of a strict new town policy, it does seem relevant to bring up the allegations our representatives will be muzzled by the new protocol. You hate to think this can happen, dissenters being discouraged from going public with their grievances…..or when a council will vote as a party, based on a strategy, and not as individuals representing a diverse cross section of constituents in their wards.

     When the press asks for explanations about certain council actions, and reactions, they are fed ridiculously word-smithed excuses, and cliches, each assuring us we've got nothing to worry about……when in fact, in the past two years, we've had a lot to be concerned with, about whether the government is working on our behalf…..or to our general disadvantage. If democracy was best served with council attendance at photo ops and ribbon cuttings, we'd be a shining star of responsible government. If we actually swallowed the plethora of amusing anecdotes and analogies that some officials spew, to put out fires, we'd be the perfect "mindless" constituents, taking our medicine without a whimper. But we kind of see beyond the rhetoric of the day. When we are told that we moving forward through rough seas, I think of the Titanic. "What iceberg?" Geez, even when we hit one, can see it, smell it, touch it, and sense the water coming through the cracks the impact created, our leadership believes the best strategy, is to divert attention away from the crisis, and suggest we should all be looking at the big picture……even as we sink like a stone. "Keep them thinking everything is great," is what I'd expect in North Korea. But I'm not in North Korea. I'm in Gravenhurst, Ontario, Canada, and if there are problems at town hall, causing employees to come and go at an unusually brisk clip, we should have a town spokesperson ready to deal with the truth of the matter…….in an open and honest fashion. We have respect for confidentiality, in personal matters, but sometimes things impact hard on town pride……..and right now, many citizens are starting to doubt the present council can handle our municipal management. If you keep track of who is coming and who is going, over the past two years, yea, we have a lot of unanswered questions, and we do have to ask the press to help us out.

     With two years to go in the present municipal term of office, I don't expect a single change in the strategy from council; minimize problems and divert attention, internalize and sanitize, in order to give the impression town hall is a slice of heaven on earth. But by golly, we know differently, especially today, when we read about sudden resignations and curious dismissals…..but everything is just fine. No need to worry. We won't let little inconveniences block our forward momentum. To believe this however, would mean being deluded ourselves, and I don't think this is the case.

     I am disappointed, as usual, that election promises served only as a means to an end, and democracy proved useful on election day. As for the b.s. about transparency, now talk about being delusional. There are quite a few of us voter-kind really unhappy with comments like, "We can't discuss this matter." Well…… we know this can, and will be challenged by freedom of the press……and the public's right to know. One of these days, councillors are going to realize, they've got a voice, and the right to an opinion, and the democratic privilege to present it, barbs and all, for public consumption. For the first two years, only a few have taken advantage of the democracy they represent.

     I stress again, that municipal governance has nothing to do with team-play, or party politics. We are not served well by status quo and complacency. You have a voice. Use it or lose it. It's time to break rank.

     Thank you for joining today's blog. Please join me again soon.

Ted Currie, Mayor Of Gravenhurst? Free Beer?

SHOULD I TAKE A RUN FOR COUNCIL IN TWO YEARS? MAYOR CURRIE, AND FREE BEER FOR EVERYONE

GADS, A CURRIE AT TOWN HALL? COULD THERE BE ANYTHING WORSE?

     I WAS ASKED RECENTLY ABOUT RUNNING FOR POLITICAL OFFICE, WHEN THE NEXT MUNICIPAL ELECTION ROLLS AROUND TWO YEARS FROM NOW. I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO ANSWER AND SUZANNE THOUGHT THE PERSON SUGGESTING THIS WAS BEING SARCASTIC, POSSIBLY IN REFERENCE TO SOMETHING I'D WRITTEN ABOUT TOWN COUNCIL AND ITS PRESENT CONUNDRUM KEEPING UPPER MANAGEMENT EMPLOYED HERE. I'M NAIVE THIS WAY, AND I ASKED SUZANNE TO EXPLAIN WHY SHE THOUGHT THIS. SO I RUMINATED ABOUT WHAT HAD BEEN SAID, AND GUESSED THAT IT DID SEEM A TAD SARCASTIC, AND ALMOST A DARE TO "PUT UP OR SHUT UP." RUN FOR COUNCIL, IF YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

     WELL, HERE'S WHAT WOULD BE DIFFERENT. AS AN ELECTED OFFICIAL I WOULD BE QUOTED BY THE PRESS CONSTANTLY, AND STAFF WOULD HAVE TO HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH DOCUMENTATION REGARDING CODE OF CONDUCT. IF I'VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY, BY JESUS GET OUT OF MY WAY. I DON'T HIDE BEHIND THIS BLOG, AND I WOULDN'T LET COUNCIL MUZZLING….IF THIS IS TRUE, KEEP ME FROM REPRESENTING MY CONSTITUENTS, WHO WOULD HAVE FIRST, GIVEN ME THE UNCONDITIONAL MANDATE TO REPRESENT THEM IN A DEMOCRATIC FORUM. THERE ISN'T A PERSON ALIVE OR DEAD WHO KNEW OR KNOWS ME TODAY, WHO WOULD CALL ME A WALL-FLOWER. I MAY BE A TAD SHY WHEN WE FIRST MEET, BUT BY GOLLY, THAT'S THE LAST TIME YOU'LL THINK THAT IF WE MEET AGAIN. I THINK THAT COUNCIL TODAY IS FAR TOO POLITE, AND WORRIED ABOUT PROTOCOL, TO FREE-WHEEL THE WAY WE WOULD LIKE OUR ELECTED OFFICIALS TO ACT ON OUR BEHALF. AS MAYOR I'D BE IN THE DOG-HOUSE CONSTANTLY, AND ALTHOUGH IT WOULDN'T BE LIKE THE TORONTO DEBACLE, THE FOLKS IN THIS TOWN WOULD KNOW THERE WAS A SHIT-KICKER ON COUNCIL. WHY THE HELL ELSE WOULD I BOTHER, RUNNING FOR ELECTION, IF EVERYTHING I HATE ABOUT STATUS QUO REMAINED UNTOUCHED? THAT WOULDN'T BE ANY FUN AT ALL. ONE THING ABOUT IT, I'D HAVE A PROVINCIAL REPUTATION IN THE FIRST YEAR, AND THAT WOULD ENTITLE ME TO FREQUENT EXPOSURE IN THE CITY MEDIA UNDER HEADLINES LIKE….."MAYOR GOES ROGUE…..RUNS NUDE THROUGH COUNCIL CHAMBERS IN PROTEST OF IMPOSED MUZZLING."

     AS A COUNCILLOR, THE HEADLINES WOULD BE SLIGHTLY MORE APPROVING: "COUNCILLOR DEFIES MUZZLE ORDER BY TALKING LOUDLY TO EVERYONE ABOUT HIS SUMMER HOLIDAYS." OR, GET THIS ONE: "CRAZED COUNCILLOR EXPLAINS ABSENCE FROM MEETING, DUE TO ALIEN ABDUCTION."

     ABSURD AS THESE NOTATIONS ARE, I STICK BY THE RULE THAT HAS SERVED ME WELL OVER A LIFETIME. "I WON'T BELONG TO ANY GROUP OR ORGANIZATION THAT WOULD HAVE AN A-HOLE LIKE ME FOR A MEMBER."

THEN I REALIZED IT MUST BE A SUGGESTION IN GOOD HUMOR

     I told the individual, who had made this suggestion, that I most certainly wish I had the constitution, to sit around a table listening to routine municipal business, for hours and hours, but that I would most likely gnaw my arm off out of boredom. Or someone else's. I guess the point is, then, that how can you walk a mile in a council member's shoes, to feel what it's like to be getting hit with print shrapnel like the editorialists and bloggers are firing regularly. It's funny, you know, I never even thought about that when I first began as a cub reporter, covering councils in Muskoka Lakes and Georgian Bay. I knew my job was to act on behalf of the free press, and report what was going on. I didn't have a problem knowing what councillors felt about the progress of their council term, because I used to get a chance regularly to ask them for comments. It always surprised me just how much I would get, way beyond what questions I had asked, and that, dear friends, is what allowed me, and us as a reporting body, to understand the issues behind the council motions and debate. We could stay on or off the record, and have politicians trust our discretion with the information. I can't tell you how many times, we avoided goofing up on a story, because we had background information that showed us clearly where the shallow water got very shallow. It saved their asses and ours, by the fact we knew what the story was behind the main council issues. Today? Forget it? If I was an elected official, I would act the very same as those councillors I knew and respected…..because they wanted the story I was writing to be accurate. Infilling was protocol, and we were glad of it!

     Deep throat. Hey, I had deep throats (not the movie) all over the place, but it wasn't espionage. It was common sense. I got tipped off about big stories by councillors and even some of the mayors, who again, felt it was better for the reporters in attendance, to write responsibly, and avoid major "lawsuit" errors. Even after council meetings, I had the opportunity to sit down with almost any official I needed, and there were only a few in administration, that would try to thwart my access. One in particular had a whole bunch of tricks to throw us of course, and we just found a way around him. We had no choice. Our publishers wanted above the fold, front pagers, and we delivered. Sometimes it wasn't too flattering for councillors, but they still stood their ground, and their opinions, and would often phone to initiate a discussion with us. As I've said before, my era with The Herald-Gazette, waging war on our competitor, the Bracebridge Examiner, forced us to be on-guard constantly, and ever-digging for stories long after council meetings had concluded. The pressure on councillors was immense, and it does not compare today because there isn't the same level of competition. I'm sure they won't take my word for it, but the reality is, they have much less intrusive media than those councils of the past. This is changing and I'm glad. There are a lot of stories circulating out there…..which one is right? Well here's an idea. Meet with the press, without a ribbon to cut, and answer some tough questions without hiding behind a code of conduct policy……that does nothing to promote transparency.

     So when I ruminated further, scratching my hairless head, about this suggestion I run for council, possibly to get insight about the stress politicians are under to run our municipality, I got a little chuckle thinking how close I was to the inner sanctum of numerous municipal councils, from the late 1970's, to 1990. It was about as intimate as you could get without being married to the council reps. So as far as understanding what it's like to be on the hot seat, especially for Gravenhurst Councillors today, I think I'm as up to speed as I can be, without dragging myself to every council meeting……which, and this is true, I could not endure without requiring jumper cables to re-engage my will to live. Sorry for admitting this. It doesn't mean I don't care for council decisions because I'm particularly watchful in this regard. I just wouldn't want to be at the reporter's table or sitting as a council member, because, as they say, "life's too short."

     I will not make any comment about the present swinging door over at town hall. I expect they will fix this up. Fill the positions again and start where the others left off. I told council hopefuls it was going to be a long and painful four year term. I think my prediction has been fairly responsible so far. Where do we go from here? Make the last two years of this council term better than the first two. I hope the media persists with their council scrutiny, and I really hope that some council members step forward and give interviews for the press…….to show that the very idea of a "gag order" is nonsense. I really want to believe this isn't true but I'm concerned. And as I've harped on before, I would really like to see council play the next two years as independent voices, representing constituent concerns, and not playing "as a team." I've heard this a number of times, about teamwork and council as if it is a political party, with very few dissenters. We didn't elected a party. We elected individuals because we liked their personal commitments and character. The "team" concept is great if you're on a ball club. Just not on a municipal council. Council can still work together but not of a like-mind. There are too many contentious issues for that. Bracebridge Council was like-minded a few years back, and they sold off a century old park.

     I answered my friend, after some quiet contemplation, that I am an eager supporter of hometown values. I do appreciate the inherently difficult job of being an elected official. I did remind my buddy that the freedom of the press, allows for this kind of thing, where one might prefer only happy stories and lots of grip and grin photographs of our council in action. In short, I do understand the role of councillor in this town, and that I would love to liberate them, so that they would yell out, even at me, 'I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this any more." It would be refreshing to hear an honest appraisal of something. As for the suggestion that I might be best suited in one of those council seats, I answered like I did in a Muskoka Today column way back in the 1990's. "I will never run for political office no matter what the bribe." Did it twice in Bracebridge. Got hammered…..and at the bar afterwards, and flushed the whole notion of elected officialdom from my biography yet to be written. I'm a lover, and antique dealer, a writer, but by golly, a long way from being a politician. At least a good one. Wherever I go, my wife says I cause collateral damage. This is true enough.

     So if you think a box of chocolate bars, or tickets to the theatre, might convince me to run, it's just not enough. No, they don't make enough chocolate and I have a dreadful problem staying awake at the theatre. I suppose the comment about me running was one of those tongue and cheek taunts, to see if I'd come out and admit an interest two years in advance. The first thing I'd do, as an elected councillor in Gravenhurst, is eat the new code of conduct policy. Now what kind of fool does something like this. An old fool.

     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please visit me again…..any time. And as a big footnote, one I'm proud to announce, are you ready? I've been offered a monthly "historical sketches" column in the Gravenhurst Banner starting some time soon. I've just finished my first column which may or may not be called, "Gravenhurst Sketches." You know, my first column in the Bracebridge Examiner was "Antiques and Collectables," in 1978. I've written columns for many publications, including "Cold Coffee," "From the Bleachers," "The Auction Roll," "Coarse Golfing," and "Muskoka Sketches," for Muskoka Publication newspapers, and "Hometown Advantage," for Muskoka Today here in Gravenhurst. My critics thought I was too old to rebound in this new century. Just watch me. I'm a surprisingly youthful 57 when I'm not limping, and hunched over from years of writing abuse. I'll make a stunning corpse though. I can't let Suzanne read that last sentence. She hates me writing things like that, and would argue, she'd insist on a closed coffin. I love that woman.

SOME TRICKS FOR HALLOWEEN UPCOMING

NOT JUST ABOUT GHOSTS AND GOBLINS AT HALLOWE'EN

 NOTE: THIS COLUMN WAS WRITTEN IN ADVANCE FOR THE GREAT NORTH ARROW BUT SEEING AS MY BLOG FOLLOWERS DON'T GET THIS FINE PAPER, I THOUGHT IT WAS WORTHWHILE TO RUN IT TODAY FOR YOU FOLKS. A LITTLE HALLOWEEN TREAT EARLY.

By Ted Currie

     In my fist year working as a poorly paid cub reporter, for the community press, admittedly I had a lot to learn. It was on-the-job training for sure. A lot of mistakes were made in those first few years, and a lot of people took advantage of the green reporter with the hastily compiled notebook. Who of course didn't always ask the right questions, of the most reliable people. For this I suffered for my craft.

     If I wanted to keep my job, I had to learn fast. In a small town, and sparsely populated region, it was necessary to gain acceptance by whatever means was necessary. I bought a lot of lunches and a lot of beer. Being considered an outsider, working locally until a better job offer came along, meant many trials and tribulations for a rookie writer. I got scammed a lot in those days, by the locals having some fun with the green reporter. I just had to be careful where I got my news information, and expect to be offered some less than genuine news leads, that yes, sent me on many wild goose chases, you might say.

    While my so-called new friends were killing themselves laughing at how far they made me drive, and the ridiculous questions they gave me to ask the subject, (knowing I'd stir something up) I had to figure out counter measures to protect myself and the newspaper's reputation. I didn't want to get hauled into court for misrepresenting a news story, being accused of misquoting a source, or getting the article wrong because of horseplay, by those who thought such a thing was funny. It could have been a career-ender.

     There was a situation, and a great story hanging in the balance, that I heard about, after I'd already spent nearly two years in the community. By this point, I'd sort of figured out when and from who, I would get some crazy news tip, and simply avoid contact with them. But one day, I got a story-tip, corroborated by several friends who I trusted. I was working on a Hallowe'en feature article, and was looking for some local angles to make it a nice regional piece. Over a few cold pop one night, at my little cottage on the lake, these chaps spun a most interesting and hilarious story about a lady they had both known, in the village, from their youth, and how a routine Hallowe'en prank turned into an amazing tale of revenge and counter attack. Maybe this isn't a true story. All the parties immediately involved were either deceased or not to be found. I made the lads swear it was a true story, but as I had been duped before, I did take this story as a "Hallowe'en Yarn," and not necessarily as an actual reported occurrence, recorded on the police blotter. So here goes.

     Every Hallowe'en in the village, a certain chap, with mates, tipped over an elderly lady's outhouse. They didn't like her, and this was their way of letting her know what her approval rating was, at that moment, and time of the rolling year. She didn't care much for them either, and when they rode their bikes across her lawn, she'd take-off like an olympic sprinter, chasing them with a broom. They yelled back at her to "fly away you old witch," and she may or may not have extended them a middle finger in retreat. They didn't like each other, but it was pretty much run-of-the-mill stuff anyway. Except one thing.

     Every year, the old woman expected the outhouse to be on its side, on the morning after Hallowe'en "trick or treating." Every year, she had to call the neighbors to help set it back over the hole, so it could be used again. She was only glad not to have been inside, when the raid and toppling occurred. It is said, that from sunset, through until daybreak, she used a "thunder mug," or what is more properly called a chamber pot, to relieve herself. It would have been terrible to have been in the outhouse as it was tipped over, especially if the little pranksters, brought it down on the door-side, which would trap her for the night. She wasn't going to take any chances.

     On this particular Hallowe'en she'd got this idea, to give the local rapscallions a taste of their own medicine. With the help of two burly neighbors, who didn't like the teenage lads either, the outhouse was moved about five feet back (toward the house) from where it sat over the hole. As the attacks always seemed to be from the same direction, from the back of the property forward, she assumed the boys wouldn't see the hole on their approach, and before they could put their hands on the outhouse, they'd be waist (waste) deep in a hole of excrement.

     It wasn't a moonlit night. It was a dark overcast, near-rain Hallowe'en. At about ten o'clock she heard faint rustling in the back woodlot, and sense the outhouse attack was in progress. She had the rear window open to hear the results of misadventure, that would happen any minute. The boys did exactly what they had done the year before, and for about three years before that…..stepping over the fallen rail fence, getting caught-up briefly in the old raspberry canes, and then rustling the leaves that hadn't been raked, up to the backside of the outhouse. She could hear them giggling. In fact, she was so excited, she went to the backdoor, and opened it a crack. Her intention, once they fell into the hole, was to flick on the outside lamp, so she could get a look at the results of her prank on the pranksters. She was going to enjoy this.

     She listened for their footfall, as if counting the necessary feet before they reached the pit. All of a sudden, there was the sound of dismay. "Help. We've fallen into a hole," they yelled in unison. Well, it wasn't just any hole was it? "My God, I'm covered in poop," screamed one lad. "It's in my mouth….my nose, I'm going to puke," said one. While the other, of the two that had fallen in, yelled, "I'm going to get that old lady." The only thing the property owner had forgotten, somewhat, was the reality the lads might be stuck in the hole for some time, wading in feces. Once she felt they had probably learned a lesson, she put the back light on, and went out into the yard to get a step ladder, to help the trapped teens exit the pit. What she saw in that hole made her laugh. It is said she really let them have it, while they were gagging and sputtering in the dung. When she felt they had suffered adequately, and wouldn't likely be back to topple her outhouse any time soon, she dropped them the ladder, and watched the poop-encrusted youths climb out.

     Of course, with all plans of such revenge, there is always the possibility of a counter attack, when one leasts expects it. When the two lads had successfully climbed from the hole, and got some of the muck off their heads and shoulders, they saw an opportunity open to them, in the illumination of the back yard. As if it had been part of the plan all along, both boys nodded to each other, in acceptance, and while the old lady continued to scold them, they took off like it was a hundred yard dash. And it pretty much was. She had mistakenly left the back door open. So there they went. Running right through the house, taking a few moments to visit the bedrooms as well as the living room, and stepping on her favorite chair in front of the television. By time they exited her house, it can be said, they had a total real estate tour. The woman stood in her backyard, mouth gaping open, mumbling "I never thought they would do that!" "Happy Halloween," the boys yelled back, at the woman, now approaching the back door, with a hand over her nose. The moral of the story? If you're going to get even with those who topple your outhouse, make sure the doors of your house are securely locked. Or else!

     The article was a big hit. Was it true? Let's put it this way. I never let the truth mess up a really good story. Happy Hallowe'en to you.

     

Old Joe the Antique Dealer and Me

OLD JOE - A DICKENSIAN CHARACTER, I APPARENTLY RESEMBLE - 

AT LEAST MY WIFE THINKS SO - HOW ABOUT YOU?

     SUZANNE SNUCK QUIETLY AROUND THE CORNER OF OUR ANTIQUE SHOP, THE OTHER DAY, AND WAS GOING TO STARTLE ME FROM SLUMBER. YOU SEE, SHE HAS LEFT ME IN CHARGE OF THE SHOP, WHICH IS OPERATED OVERALL BY OUR SONS ANDREW AND ROBERT, WHILE SHE HAS GONE BACK TO HER DAY JOB. SHE BELIEVES I SLEEP ON THE JOB. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? SO WHAT IF I DID? I MIGHT NOD OFF FROM TIME TO TIME, BUT I'VE TRAINED MYSELF OVER THE YEARS, TO DOZE WITH ONE EAR OPEN. SHE HAS A PECULIAR FOOT-FALL I COULD IDENTIFY ON ANY TYPE OF FLOORING. SO WHILE I SUSPECTED SHE WAS COMING INTO THE SHOP, I WAS A LITTLE SURPRISED SHE PLANNED ON CATCHING ME MID-NAP. SHE EVEN ADMITTED IT. "I THOUGHT YOU'D BE ASLEEP," SHE PRONOUNCED ON HER POOR OVER-WORKED HUSBAND. IN MY THOUGHTS……"YEA, RIGHT, BEAT YOU AGAIN LADY."

     ON TOP OF THAT, WHICH WAS MILDLY OFFENSIVE, SHE THINKS I LOOK LIKE A CHARACTER PENNED BY CHARLES DICKENS, IN HIS BOOK, "A CHRISTMAS CAROL." HER EXACT WORDS WERE, "IF YOU HAD A SUITABLY RIPPED AND DIRTY BLACK FROCK COAT, AND A BEATEN-UP OLD TOP HAT, SITTING AT THE COUNTER, YOU'D LOOK JUST LIKE 'OLD JOE,' (IN THE CHRISTMAS CLASSIC). TO REFRESH YOUR MEMORY, OLD JOE WAS THE PROPRIETOR OF THE QUESTIONABLE ANTIQUE SHOP, WHERE THE UNDERTAKER AND TWO HOUSEKEEPERS MEET, AFTER SCROOGE'S DEATH, TO SELL ITEMS THEY HAD SCOFFED OFF THE BODY AND THE BEDSTEAD. SUCH AS A "WATCH AND FOB," "BED CURTAIN AND RINGS," AND A "DRESSING GOWN," THAT, AS THE MAID NOTES SO PROFOUNDLY, "THEY WOULD HAVE BURIED HIM IN IT." SO SHE TOOK IT FOR THE MONEY OLD JOE WOULD GIVE FOR SUCH FINE LINEN "WITHOUT A HOLE IN IT." AND AFTER ALL, SHE DID LEAVE THE UNDERTAKER AN ALTERNATIVE GOWN, MADE OF CALICO, WHICH SHE ADVISED JOE, WAS "JUST AS FITTING TO THE BODY."

     SO HERE'S THIS CRUSTY OLD BUGGER, THAT DICKENS PENNED INTO HIS STORY OF SPIRITUAL REDEMPTION, AND THE POWER OF GOOD AT CHRISTMAS, WHO HUNCHES AROUND HIS SHOP, WHILE CHILDREN SORT THROUGH THE OLD CLOTHES ON HIS BEHALF. AND MY WIFE THINKS I LOOK LIKE "OLD JOE." I'D EVEN BE OFFENDED IF SHE REMARKED THAT I LOOKED LIKE "OLD JOE" AT THE "SHADY REST" ON TELEVISION'S "PETTICOAT JUNCTION." NOW ACCORDING TO HER DESCRIPTION I'M OLD AND DICKENSIAN, SO I'M PRETTY SURE I SHOULD BE CONCERNED MY WIFE'S AFFECTIONS HAVE SHIFTED. ON THE OTHER HAND, LOOKING IN THE MIRROR, I'VE GOT TO ADMIT THERE ARE SOME DISTINCT "OLD JOE" QUALITIES TAKING OVER THE MY BOYISH GOOD LOOKS. APPARENTLY, I'M EVEN MORE FICTIONAL IN SILHOUETTE SET AGAINST THE SHOP LIGHTS. ISN'T THAT SPECIAL? AS I'M BIG ON TRADITION, THIS SHOULD BE A SPECIAL CHRISTMAS…..ME LOOKING THE PART AND ALL.

WHAT ARE THE PERKS OF LOOKING LIKE OLD JOE? ATTRACTING THE LADIES?

     So the fact that Suzanne references me now, as a character inspired from Dickens' pen, means in my mind, I'm looking the part of crusty old antique dealer with all its sundry attributes. I suppose I've been in the business long enough now, to have developed certain old-geezer attributes. You know, I've kidded about "Old Joe," so many times, and on each occasion when we watch the Christmas movie, with Alistair Sim as Scrooge, I am compelled by family tradition to say out loud, and with some hubris, (when the scene with Old Joe comes along), "Hey, they didn't ask permission to film me in the shop." Or, "Look, it's daddy going to work." Now if you know the scene in the film, it is quite profound, right down to the rusty hinges squeaking when the huge door opens, allowing entry for the undertaker and the maids-a-stealing. The cluttered rooms, with stuff hanging all over, is hardly representative of the shop we operate, but getting down to brass tacks, there are some personality parallels. My joints creak like the rusted hinges. I do have a beat up top hat at home, and believe it or not, I've got a frock somewhere here from my youth, when I dressed as "Riff Raff," at Rocky Horror Picture Show parties. Yea, it was a crazy youth and frankly, being old has its perks. For one thing, I never have to dress up as Riff Raff, or Frankenfurter to please a girl. "Dammit Janet!" Getting back to Old Joe, I kind of think the antique industry sculpts us this way, without us knowing it's happening. I've known more than a few antique dealers in my day, top hatted and frocked, who could step right into that scene without any movie patron knowing the difference. Dave Brown, my book collecting buddy, was a body double as far as I'm concerned. Old Joe didn't have a beard, so I've got that to my character advantage. It's the nose thing. No matter how many times I tell Suzanne I wasn't born this way, she doesn't buy the goaltender "nose break" thing. She once asked me if that was a "Titilest on the end of my nose." Geez dear, I'm sorry I have so many strange characteristics. 

     "You mumble just like Joe," Suzanne told me. "You were muttering to yourself when I walked through the door tonight," she said. "I was trying to do a word puzzle," I responded, feeling some necessity to defend myself against this character attack from a loved one. "I was just sounding out some of the words. I wasn't mumbling at all."  "You mumble and growl at people in line ups at the grocery store," she quipped. "Even the boys will back me on this one." I probably do this because I hate lining up for anything.

     I do know what she means though. I'm pretty sure she didn't mean to hurt my feelings, as she realizes my favorite author is Charles Dickens. I suppose that after three and a half decades in the antique trade, it would be logical that one would start looking like one of the Toby mugs we sell. Being around all this old stuff has to rub off on a person….right? I guess it's safe to say, I've become kind of a character suited to my profession, and that an historical novelist might one day tap me on the shoulder, to ask permission, to borrow my silhouette for a dustjacket illustration. I might even feel honored if this was the case. I was just a little surprised that my wife thought I looked several hundred years old, and would instantly appeal with "frock and top hat," to the very next film maker to pop by for a visit. Truth be known, it's kind of a compliment to me, because of this history thing I've been obsessed with all my life. It might have been nice if she said, "Ted, you look like Abraham Lincoln," or "Razsputin." She might have flattered me by suggesting I was the mirror image of "General Longstreet," of the Confederate Army, at Gettysburg, or "St. Nick" himself, from "Miracle on 34th Street"…… as my beard is fading to white, and my pot belly should entitle me to be jolly. But what she saw was "Old Joe," the second hand dealer, penned by a writing legend, suited to my craft, and my philosophies. "Yes but do you still find me a sexy beast," I asked, knowing full well she never found me a sexy beast, even in my glorious twenties. Ah, us oldly-weds. One thing's for sure, I will never draw parallels for her, because she has notoriously thin skin. I once called her a Martha Stewart clone, and she snapped back, "I'm a lot younger than she is!"

     Ever since she said this to me, I've started to fall into character, when customers cross the threshold. I've become very British and historic in a matter of only several weeks. I expect any moment, for the creaking old door to open, with a chill wind, and have the undertaker and two maids, pay me a visit. Some might say, as my mother used to, that I've got a vivid and "over-active" imagination. Well sir, it's kind of difficult to be a writer without both attributes. So all I can say, is that I'm getting ready for Christmas, when I can dress up and haunt the shop as a Dickensian antique / second hand dealer, playing hit and miss with those prevailing Christmas spirits. As for what Suzanne may get in her Christmas stocking this year……I'm betting it's a lump of coal.

     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please feel free to visit any time.

Happy Anniversary, Two Kids, Five Cats and a Dog

MY WIFE HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR - AND IF SHE DIDN'T…….I'D BE LOOKING FOR ANOTHER PARTNER

I REMEMBERED OUR WEDDING ANNIVERSARY

     MY MOTHER USED TO TELL ME OVER AND OVER; "TED CURRIE YOU'RE A BUM!" SORRY, THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID TO MY FATHER. WE HAD THE SAME NAME. MERLE TOLD ME, "YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO FIND A NICE GIRL TO MARRY." I WONDERED IF THAT MEANT I COULD MARRY AN "AWFUL GIRL." SHE ASSUMED YOU SEE, THAT BECAUSE MY HOCKEY EQUIPMENT SMELLED, AND I DIDN'T ALWAYS LIFT THE TOILET SEAT, THAT I WAS DESTINED TO BE A BACHELOR, ALONE IN A FILTHY APARTMENT……WITH A BUNCH OF NO GOOD BUMS HANGING AROUND. IT'S NOT THAT MY MOTHER DIDN'T HAVE FAITH IN ME, TO ONE DAY SETTLE DOWN AND HAVE A FAMILY. SHE JUST LIKED TO EMPHASIZE THINGS. MAKE IT APPEAR A DIRE SITUATION, WHEN IT WAS JUST A BLIP ON THE RADAR. SHE MEANT WELL. TRUTH IS, I DID HAVE A LOT OF HOCKEY PLAYERS AND REPORTERS HANGING AROUND MY APARTMENT, SOME BECAUSE THEY WERE SINGLE LIKE ME, OTHERS BECAUSE THEY WERE HIDING FROM THEIR ANGRY WIVES. MY BRACEBRIDGE APARTMENT BECAME KIND OF A HALF WAY HOUSE FOR THE LOST AND LONELY. THEY WERE HUNGRY TOO. AFTER A HOCKEY GAME ONE NIGHT, THEY DRANK MY MAPLE SYRUP WITH RYE, AND ONE OF THE CLOWNS ATE AN ENTIRE CHRISTMAS CAKE THAT HAD BEEN IN MY FRIDGE FOR TWO YEARS. IT EVEN LOOKED GREEN WITH THE FRIDGE LIGHT. HE HAD TO EXPLAIN TO HIS WIFE, THAT HIS MANY JAUNTS TO THE TOILET, HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE FOOD CURRIE WAS SERVING AS SEASONAL FARE.

     IT'S TRUE I HAD A FAIR NUMBER OF GIRLFRIENDS WHO TOLERATED THE HOCKEY EQUIPMENT, JUST NOT THE COMPANY I KEPT. FOR SOME REASON, THEY DIDN'T THINK IT WAS COOL TO HAVE A REPORTER'S ENTOURAGE GO WITH US ON DATES. HEY, THEY DIDN'T HAVE ANY PLACE ELSE TO GO. SUZANNE WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD HANDLE THE EXCESSES OF MY PROFESSION, AND SWEEP OUT THE HANGERS-ON WHEN THEY STARTED TO SMELL…..OR BELCH SOMEWHERE BEHIND THE SOFA, OR SLEEPING IT OFF IN THE BROOM CLOSET. SHE WAS SWEET WHEN SHE TOLD ME AND THEM, TO SMARTEN UP OR ELSE, AND AFTER WE WERE MARRIED, THE FREE LUNCH WAS OVER. THEY COULD COME OVER DURING THE EARLY EVENING HOURS, AND SIT FOR A CHAT. YEA, WELL, THAT WAS THE END OF THAT OLD GANG OF MINE. I WAS FORCED TO MATURE, SOBER UP, AND TAKE SOME MEASURES TO IMPROVE MY LIVING HABITS. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? SHE MADE ME LEAVE MY HOCKEY EQUIPMENT ON THE PORCH. AND A CAT BEGAN LIVING IN IT! TOMMY. WE LET HIM INTO THE HOUSE BUT THE HOCKEY EQUIPMENT HAD TO STAY OUTDOORS.

     IT WASN'T THE BIGGEST OR MOST LAVISH WEDDING IN TOWN, BUT IT WAS KIND OF A CELEBRITY EVENT. THAT KIND OF THING HAPPENS WHEN YOU'RE THE EDITOR OF THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER, AND IMBEDDED IN THE LOCAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY (AND THE NEW TOWN MUSEUM). I'M NOT BRAGGING, BUT WE DID HAVE SOME INTERESTING FOLKS SPEAKING FOR US AT THE RECEPTION, INCLUDING A PROFESSIONAL GOLFER, A FORMER TORONTO ARGONAUT, A NEWSPAPER PUBLISHER, A MUSIC DIRECTOR, SEVERAL BUSINESS MAGNATES, AND A BUNCH OF MY WRITING CRONIES WHO TOASTED US, BUT MOSTLY TOASTED THEMSELVES. SUZANNE WATCHED THEM OUT OF THE CORNER OF HER EYE, EXPECTING AT LEAST ONE OF THEM TO FALL INTO THE PUNCH BOWL.

     ON SUZANNE'S SIDE, THERE WERE SOME SIGNIFICANT MEMBERS OF THE LAKE ROSSEAU COTTAGE COMMUNITY, SUPPORTING THE STRIPP FAMILY, KNOWN FOR THEIR OPERATION OF THE WINDERMERE MARINA AND "THE SKIPPER" CAFE (ABOVE THE MARINA), AND THEIR CONNECTION TO THE OLD WOODEN BOATS OF MUSKOKA. I WAS YOU SEE, MARRYING INTO A FAMILY KNOWN FOR THEIR CRAFTSMANSHIP AROUND THESE OLD BOATS, SUCH AS THE "SHIRL-EVON," ONE OF THE LARGEST DITCHBURNS EVER BUILT, THAT SUZANNE'S FATHER, NORMAN, USED AS A LIVERY BOAT, TAKING COTTAGERS BACK AND FORTH TO THEIR RESIDENCES ON TOBIN'S ISLAND. EVEN OUR ENGAGEMENT PARTY WAS A MINOR MEDIA-EVENT, HELD AT THE MAGNIFICENT LAKE ROSSEAU COTTAGE, OWNED BY OUR FAMILY FRIENDS, SYLVIA AND ERNIE DUVERNET. THEIR SON TIM, OUR STAFF PHOTOGRAPHER, AND LONG TIME FRIEND, WAS IN MY WEDDING PARTY. AT THE ENGAGEMENT EVENT, WE WERE SURPRISED OUT OF OUR WITS, WHEN THE LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR OF ONTARIO SHOWED UP, THE HONORABLE JOHN BLACK AIRD. WE HAD ARRIVED IN NORM'S WOODEN LAUNCH, AND I'VE GOT TO TELL YOU……I WAS WAY OUT OF MY LEAGUE. I THINK I WAS WEARING SNEAKERS. SUZANNE'S MOTHER JUST KEPT GIVING ME THE EVIL EYE, AND SHAKING HER HEAD, WONDERING WHAT HER DAUGHTER WAS GETTING INTO….HER FATHER DIDN'T HAVE TO SHAKE HIS HEAD. HE JUST KNEW. I WAS GOING TO BE THE SON-IN-LAW HE NEVER WANTED……BUT WAS TOO DARN NICE TO ADMIT IT, IN ORDER TO SPARE MY FEELINGS. NOPE. HIS DAUGHTER'S.

      THE DUVERNET FAMILY THREW US AN AMAZING SUMMER PARTY ON THE LAKE, AND YES IT WAS THE WHO'S WHO OF THE LAKESHORE COMMUNITY. WELL KNOWN MUSKOKA HISTORIAN ROBERT J. BOYER WAS THERE AS WELL. SUZANNE'S COUSIN DOUG BILLINGSLEY HAD MARRIED BOB'S DAUGHTER, VICTORIA, SO NOT ONLY WAS HE ONE OF MY BOSSES, HE WAS ALSO ONE OF THE EXTENDED FAMILY. IN FACT, SON ROBERT WAS NAMED AFTER MR. BOYER, WHICH SEEMED TO PLEASE HIM. IT DIDN'T MEAN HE GAVE ME ANY LESS WORK AT THE OFFICE…..OR ANY SPECIAL PRIVILEGES OUR CONNECTIONS MIGHT HAVE INFLUENCED. WHICH WHEN MARRYING INTO THE SHEA AND VEITCH FAMILIES, AS WELL, MEANT WITH THE FIRST KISS AFTER OUR VOWS, THAT I BECAME A MUSKOKAN BY MARRIAGE. THAT WAS NICE, CONSIDERING I'D BEEN AN OUTSIDER FROM 1966 TO 1983.

     SUZANNE GREW UP IN THE VILLAGE OF WINDERMERE. THE FAMILY HOME WAS OPPOSITE THE BALDWIN'S RESORT, NOT FAR FROM THE WINDERMERE GOLF AND COUNTRY CLUB, AND WINDERMERE HOUSE. NORM AND HIS WIFE HARRIET (SHEA), PURCHASED THE LAKESHORE HOMESTEAD THAT HAD BEEN BUILT BY HIS FATHER, SAM STRIPP, OPPOSITE THE CHANNEL BETWEEN FLORENCE AND WELLSLEY ISLANDS. I USED TO GET A KICK OUT OF THIS, BECAUSE THE HOUSE AND THE COTTAGE WERE LESS THAN TWO MILES APART. WHEN THEY RAN THE MARINA, IT WAS A KIND OF TRIANGULAR RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN HOME, WORK AND RECREATION. OF COURSE, AS SUZANNE TELLS THE STORY, IT WASN'T THE CASE THEY WERE WEALTHY, BECAUSE WHEN THE SUMMER ROLLED AROUND, SHE WOULD MOVE WITH HER PARENTS TO THE SMALL APARTMENT AT THE MARINA, WHERE HER PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT WAS A FEW FEET OUT THE DOOR, TO THE SKIPPER KITCHEN. THE HOUSE WOULD BE RENTED OUT, AS WOULD THE COTTAGE AND THE GUEST COTTAGE UNTIL THE AUTUMN. LIKE MANY MUSKOKANS, SHE AND HER FAMILY WORKED FROM SUNRISE TO SUNSET TO MAKE ENOUGH MONEY TO PAY THE BILLS, TAKE A MODEST WAGE, AND HOPEFULLY HAVE ENOUGH MONEY TO WEATHER THE WINTER, AS THEY SAY.

I MARRIED INTO LOCAL HISTORY…..AND OF THIS, I'M SO VERY PLEASED

     I'd met Suzanne while both of us were students at Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School. It was in Brian Smith's geography class in fact. We hit it off well. She was a good student, who answered a lot of questions posed by Mr. Smith, and got decent grades. I stared out the window, hated school, wanted to be in a canoe on some Muskoka lake, and thought about writing a novel, profiling a student who becomes accidentally enchanted, becomes an author, who gets a nickel-an-hour-job working for the community press. Geez, what a stunted imagination I had back then.

     At graduation, I went off to York University with my three chums, and by that point, I'd gone through a fair number of girlfriends, who eventually found out this "writing" obsession, made me a distant partner, more concerned about walks in the woods, to compose chapters, than to steal a romantic kiss beneath a shade tree. Romance has never been my strong suit. I even refuse to hold hands, but that's more of a claustrophobia thing. I was given the proverbial heave-ho, by a long time girlfriend, for roughly the same thing as the others. So I went through a five year hiatus of dates here and there, and each ended as predictably as the others. I was asked to join Women Haters Anonymous, as their poster guy. It seems that being romantically involved with a reporter / columnist / historian was slightly lacking, and then of course there was the over consumption of booze. When Suzanne and I did meet up again, it was through two of my teacher friends at the time, and the event that put us together, strangely enough, was the Muskoka Winter Carnival. I was there loosely covering an indoor event at the Bracebridge Centennial Centre, and Suzanne came along with the girls to dance with Skokie the winter weasel.

     I often read the memorials written by writing colleagues, for their journalism mates who have, for a number of reasons involving excess, succumbed to poor health. Some are the result of old age. Many are the result of lives lived too hard, for too long. Young writers who became old before their time. I sometimes wonder what will be said of me, when the last of my writing colleagues shovel earth upon my coffin;  the testimonials of those writer-kind and historical types who knew me in life? I' pretty sure it will be like a roast, and the wake will be a dandy. My old buds will show up with a pole and dancers, I'm sure of it! Gads, how morbid is this? My point is, as relates to my bride, is that I'd really like my tribute to read as follows;

     "Ted Currie, writer, historian, (mild pain in the ass) and antique dealer, passed away the result of accidentally falling off his high horse. He is survived by his two musician sons, Andrew and Robert Currie, and his life-partner Suzanne, who is credited, with saving her late husband's life on many occasions, when he worked too long for his own good, was threatened with death by angry readers, who may have imbibed more than he should have, and who defended his honor with unyielding resolve, that somewhere under that thick, thorny exterior, was a decent Muskoka-loving man."

     Monday was our wedding anniversary. It was back in 1983 when Dave Whiteside, a teaching colleague, and former Toronto Argonaut, toasted our new married life, as did mentors in our lives, such as John Rutherford, the music man, and Jim McLeod, pro of the Windermere Golf and Country Club. We were honored that day by many who knew us from our respective former lives, who frankly had some doubts, whether Mr. Currie could ever settle down and be a good husband, and father. Their trust however, meant a lot to us, and it should make them feel some pride, that the blessing they gave us then, has served us in good stead ever since. I even became a Mr. Mom, for both boys, over a lot of years, and believe me, it was the transition you usually read about in the pages of Ripleys "Believe it or Not."

     As it relates to my obituary, or memorial editorials one day, I would like to pre-write a section, of quotes they can borrow. Instead of recognizing me, for my writing accomplishments…..there have been a few good ones, I would like to throw a final bouquet to my wife, for having put up with my eccentricities for all these years, allowing me to pursue my writing ambitions, and never once, throwing the towel in on a husband, who can be obstinate, moody, childish and standoffish, at the same moment in time. God love her for sticking with me, through a lot more thick than thin. She deserves the credit for my accomplishments…..mores than me. Honestly.

     I have had a good married life, and I can only hope my wife feels the same. We are kindred spirits. Even as polar opposites, we both come together like two peas in a pod, when family values are involved. Even before we had children, Suzanne and I made a pact. That we would never, ever use a non-family member as a babysitter. We were true to our promise. Those who know us, will appreciate how close we all are, and when new brides come along for the boys, well, we have a harvest table at Birch Hollow that sits six comfortably. I might call her the "old ball and chain," as she calls me, with unspecified affection, "the old bugger who wanders aimlessly around here," but when it comes down to the final kiss at bedtime, we are still the same good friends who made a marital promise, way back when…..to challenge every obstacle as a pair, laughing and crying, hoping and praying……but never giving up on the other, no matter what the consequence. I hope we made our respective parents proud, that the marriage they may have had doubts about, has lasted all these years…..with only a few little tiffs now and again.

     I didn't forget our anniversary even though she expected I would……like last year and the year before.  Deep down, she knows I'm hers for ever, and I guess…..by the fact she's still here beside me now, we've got a few years left to go of loving and sparring in the long tradition of a happy marriage.

NHL LOCKOUT REMINDS ME OF PURE RINK RAT FUN

THIS BLOG HAS BEEN INSPIRED IN PART BY THE CURRENT NHL LOCK OUT THAT THREATENS THE 2012-2013 SEASON.  IT IS A SAD REALITY THAT MILLIONAIRES CAN'T MAKE A DEAL TO SHOW SUPPORT FOR ALL THE LOYAL HOCKEY FANS OUT THERE WHO SPEND THE LITTLE MONEY THEY HAVE TO ATTEND GAMES, BUY NHL MERCHANDISE AND PROUDLY WEAR TEAM SWEATERS TO SHOW THEIR PRIDE. MAYBE BOTH PLAYERS AND TEAM OWNERS SHOULD TAKE SOME NEGOTIATION TIPS FROM RINK RATS THE WORLD OVER, WHO LOVE THE GAME OF HOCKEY FOR WHAT IT IS; NOT BECAUSE OF THE MONEY.

My Rink Rat Days at the Bracebridge Arena

My mother Merle used to tell friends that I spent more time at the arena than I did at home. Of course she was answering the question, "So where’s that son of yours?" From the winter of 1966, I was a full-fledged Rink Rat in Bracebridge. I had been a rookie Rink Rat at the Burlington Arena before that (my old hometown) and both rinks had many similarities.....the most important common-ice so to speak, was that the managers in charge of both had a kind heart for us kids having little else to do. We loved skating, we adored hockey, and we looked up to the senior leagues as if they were National Hockey Leaguers.

At both rinks, I’d show up for minor hockey, or public skating which was the best quarter investment a kid could make, and utilize every moment allotted..... and then I would sneak up into the bleachers for the afternoon hockey games. Most of us didn’t have the money to pay an admission to the games so the only choice we felt comfortable with....was, well hiding down below the seats until the paying patrons began to arrive. It worked pretty well in Burlington but the manager in Bracebridge was far more astute when it came to corralling wayward Rink Rats. It was as if he could read our minds because he knew exactly when and where to look if he needed help for any arena project. Geez, we thought we had hidden ourselves rather well.

Doug Smith was the arena manager when we arrived in Bracebridge. Doug was crusty but in a fatherly way. He would yell at you just as robustly as would your own pop, if you were doing something stupid or dangerous. At the time he was manager, the position was an all-or-nothing proposition, and one minute he’d be sharpening skates, the next taking tickets, serving up hot dogs from the snack bar, looking after some problem patrons, making sure the ice was properly cleaned, and dealing with backed-up toilets over-flowing. He had custodial staff but not really enough to keep up on all the inherent chores with running a big, big arena.

Doug knew instinctively that we were going to hide-out in the under-seat passage-ways that used to afford us a most amazing adventure, darting between dressing rooms and into the referee’s inner sanctum. Doug counted us on the way in and out, and he understood fully that those who hadn’t left at the end of minor hockey, or public skating, were in essence his available workforce. Back in those days the Rink Rats were recruited to clean off the ice in between periods and user groups, with long bladed snow shovels in preparation for the hand pushed water barrel on wheels; that used to spread a somewhat even coating of hot water on the ice surface. The rule.....we couldn’t leave any snow-clumps by sloppy shovel-work, that could be inadvertently watered by Bing with the barrel. He used to yell at us a lot to take another run with the shovel, if it looked like we cut corners. A frozen snow-ridge might have killed some unsuspecting forward on a breakaway, or have taken out a referee not expecting a frozen mound of snow to be under skate.

At intermissions, when we saw Fred "Bing" Crosby head down to the barrel on wheels, the Rink Rats dashed like mad to grab up one of the shovels to be part of the cleaning gang. I was lucky about every third dash because there were a lot of kids desirous of the honor to clean the ice.....especially at the intermission of an important, well-attended game. We thought the girls in our classes at school were watching us out there smoothing the ice. We were wrong of course but we didn’t find that out until years later. The girls were only interested in the players not the shovel brigade.

The reward for shoveling was a hot dog and the pop of choice at the snackbar. I was okay with that.....but it’s also known I would have done it without any more reward than being allowed to stay in that magnificent building a little longer. I could quite literally spend an entire day and part of the evening in that building without leaving for home. Saturdays during the winter were dedicated to arena occupation. I’d of course have to clear it with my parents but they always felt I was in good hands with an overseer like Doug Smith. Fred Crosby was also a tough guy to get around but he was still "Bing" and that meant dependable friend no matter what the circumstance. He could be yelling at you one moment to get down out of the rafters and flipping you fifty cents for some grub at the snackbar the next. Bing did not have the money to give away, and while I’m sure he was pleased to extend it as charity, he was not so well paid that it didn’t hurt his bottom line. Everybody it seemed hit-up Bing for phone money, a drink of pop, and when quite hungry, one of those wonderful arena franks.......that we topped up with an inch of ketchup and relish as vegetables of the day. The aura of the arena back then was inviting, exciting, and inspiring. We loved the whole aura of winter-time sport even as spectators.

As a young player, a goaltender to be specific, stepping out onto that ice pad, and hearing the small but noisy crowd react, was a dream come true. It was our own Maple Leaf Gardens, and whether we were playing or part of the audience, just being in that building put us into the heart of hockey history in Canada. I can still sit out there in an empty arena and sense the return of every one of those important Rink Rat moments. Heck I was so impressed with my own years haunting this place, that when a fellow newspaper reporter (The Herald-Gazette) and I formed a senior hockey team, we called it with some distinction The Rink Rats circa 1981. I understand the team is still going strong after all these years. I had to quit hockey because my body parts were failing and the rental hour was simply too late at night.....recovery in the morning didn’t occur until two days later. I was okay with retirement.

While Bing and Doug were just employees of the Bracebridge arena to some.....that’s only because they didn’t know just how far staff was expected to go, above and beyond, their job description, to run the site properly. They had no choice whatsoever, in adopting kids like us because frankly they couldn’t get rid of us that easily. Out one door and in the other. They just learned how to utilize our energies and we were just glad to be able to work out a deal, to allow us a place to stay, play and learn for a lot of wonderful years.

When I write about the human side of history in my hometown, these are the first two of many hundreds of names I recall quickly, as being unsung heroes, and the true architects, whether they knew it or not, of a good quality of living for so many of us. They gave us reasons to be protectors of local heritage, and in their company, we became the most fierce defenders of the Bracebridge Memorial Community Centre......and God help the vandal who defaced our home away from home. They made us proud of what we possessed as hometowners such that it would have been impossible for us to take anything for granted......and that’s why during the whole tenure of Doug Smith, I never once heard any youngster turn down his offer of temporary employment shoveling ice. It was an honor and a sign of mutual respect to be asked. I thank you Doug and Bing for so many fond memories.

A Teacher Who Lived For His Job, His Students

DAVE BROWN WAS AN OUTDOOR EDUCATION TEACHER TO THE END - DESPITE GOVERNMENT CUT-BACKS THAT DESTROYED HIS PROGRAMS

HAMILTON TEACHER WAS BORN THIS WAY

     THE CONSERVATIVE GOVERNMENT'S FISCAL BATTERING, IN THE LATE 1990'S, DESTROYED THE HAPPY ENDING OF DAVE BROWN'S TEACHING CAREER. SO WHO CARES? WE CAN'T ALL RETIRE AFTER WINNING THE GREY CUP, OR ACHIEVING SOME SPECTACULAR EXIT AWARD AT THE PLACE WE WORK. BUT AS THE PRESENT PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT FEELS COMPELLED TO DIVERT ATTENTION FROM THE AIR AMBULANCE OVER-SPENDING DEBACLE, BY TRYING A TORY MOVE TO BEAT-UP TEACHERS AND THEIR RIGHT TO COLLECTIVE BARGAINING, BY GOLLY, I HAVE A STORY TO SHARE. JUST FOR THE RECORD, IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE FACT MY WIFE IS A TEACHER, BECAUSE FOR MORE THAN THIRTY YEARS NOW, I HAVE DISTANCED MYSELF FROM COMMENT, WHENEVER THERE HAS BEEN UNION / MANAGEMENT STRIFE. IN FACT, AS FORMER EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, IN BRACEBRIDGE, DURING THE MAJOR TEACHER STRIKE IN MUSKOKA (1980'S), I STEPPED AWAY FROM EDITORIAL WRITING SO AS NOT TO GENERATE CALLS ABOUT CONFLICT OF INTEREST. OUR PAPER'S POLICY JUMPED BACK AND FORTH DEPENDING ON THE DEVELOPMENTS EACH WEEK, AND SOMETIMES IT SUPPORTED THE TEACHERS, AND OTHER TIMES, THE BOARD. WHILE I WON'T DENY OUR HOUSEHOLD HAS TO AVOID POLITICAL-TALK AROUND THE DINNER TABLE, WE SUPPORT SUZANNE AS A TEACHER……AND THAT IS UNCONDITIONAL. SHE HAS ALWAYS SUPPORTED ME IN MY PROFESSIONAL PURSUITS, AS SHE DOES WITH THE BOYS IN MUSIC, SO IT SHOULDN'T BE ANY SURPRISE THAT WE WILL ARGUE VEHEMENTLY AGAINST ANYONE, GROUP OF GOVERNMENT…..THAT TAKES A CHEAP-SHOT AT HER PROFESSION. THIS IS WHEN I GET MOST FRUSTRATED ABOUT WHAT'S HAPPENING IN OUR PROVINCE, BECAUSE IT HAPPENED BEFORE……AND IT HAD A DEVASTATING IMPACT ON A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE……DESTROYING AN OUTDOOR EDUCATION PROGRAM HE HAD SCULPTED FROM NEXT TO NOTHING ,TO ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING RESOURCE CENTRES IN THE PROVINCE. AND IT WAS ONLY A CLASSROOM BUT WOW WHAT A CLASSROOM.

HERE'S WHAT PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW ABOUT TEACHERS AND THEIR WORK DAYS

     Dave Brown lived and breathed outdoor education. Even now, well more than a decade after his death, I still run into people a dozen times each year, who knew him, or were taught by him, in the Hamilton school system. I've never heard any one, who knew Dave Brown, describe him as run-of-the-mill or just another teacher amongst thousands. A long time outdoor instructor with summer camps such as Camp Comak, near Dorset, and an associate with Camp Kandalore, a short distance away, Dave was highly skilled in the art of teaching natural history, and outdoor survival, to the young people of our province. He was an expert canoeist, and as far as a role model in the outdoors, Dave was an enchanter. Even as a young man, Dave wanted to be a teacher. There was only one time he had doubts, and after being upset by some Board policies he didn't care for, Dave took this short span of time in his life to run as a trustee, which was successful, and served faithfully as a Board of Education member. He hated it. He wasn't cut out to be an administrator, like his father had been, in executive management of the Hamilton General Hospital. Dave was a ground floor person, who just wanted to be allowed to excel and improve on an old model of education.

     One thing about it, he knew how to saddle up to board members and senior administrators, to push some of his projects and models to fruition. He was very persuasive. I know this personally, because he used to spend a lot of weekends at our house, before and after major outdoor junkets with his trademark yellow canoe, lashed to his old red Ford pickup. Without knowing it at the time, Dave was willingly giving me his biographical information, because he knew early in our relationship, that I would be the writer he was going to recruit to pen an outdoor education text. Dave died shortly after we began work on the project. I had a lot of information gathered, so that wasn't the problem. The main challenge for me, was "not" being angry about what had happened to this incredibly generous teacher, who never, ever got paid for his huge amount of over-time, working to improve his outdoor education centre, near the Botanical Gardens.

     Dave liked getting a pay cheque. He didn't get his pay, and then donate it to a charity. He was frugal, and put a lot of money into his obsession for non-fiction books. But what most people knew, who worked side by side the man for years, was that he enjoyed being a teacher……and would have shown up for work every day whether there was a pay day…..or not. Let me explain. When Dave shut down the outdoor education centre, at the end of the school day, he never stopped thinking about new displays for the room, more exciting upcoming field trips, and of course his pride and joy, the display cases at the Hamilton Board of Education head offices. I can remember him telling me about logging antiques he was gathering, with samples of stamped pine he had pulled from Muskoka and Algonquin area swamps, (on his days off), that would make-up the very next exhibit. I still have his rough diagrams, for these and other displays he was planning. He'd sit at a campfire, on some remote lake, and make these copious notes about the supplies he needed, the artifacts he could offer on loan, and reminders about the friends he would hit up for artifacts from their private collections. He'd beg stuff off me, and I'd loan him anything he wanted…..because it was going to help educate the young people he was so proud of, at the Hamilton Board.

     Dave and I talked often about retirement, and he had a plan for the future. He wouldn't set a date or make any commitment that it would be sometime in the next decade……just "when I retire." When the Provincial Conservatives waged their own stupid war with the teachers, and leveled cutbacks on school boards, administrators and trustees, who he thought were onside and his close friends, betrayed him in his mind, by looking at his outdoor education program as an easy and obvious expense to reduce. They didn't care that they were quite literally, destroying a man's professional life, who had always been the keenest, most faithful staffer, and greatly loved teacher. It didn't matter a hoot. The government of the day was too set on their agenda, to have ever looked at the collateral damage they were causing, and the impact on students who lost a hugely important program, staffed by an incredibly talented teacher. There was much more carnage than this, and a lot of programs met the same fate. I just happened to be close to this human disaster.

     When Dave phoned to tell me that he was being sent back to a traditional classroom, and that his outdoor education program had been cut from the curriculum, for the entire board, I knew it was the beginning of the end for my friend. No, I can't blame his death on government cutbacks. I would like to, because in many ways, I know it was the reason for his depression, and resignation that his usefulness to society had run its course. When he phoned a short while later to complain, that he was miserable in his new environment, and the students were even stealing the bones off his medical skeleton, brought from the resource centre, there was no mistaking that Dave wasn't going to last much longer at his post. It was only a few weeks later that he had asked for a medical leave, as his health was deteriorating. It wasn't because of rowdy students……because he knew how to deal with that kind of behavior, and it wasn't the result of losing his outdoor centre, because we know it was a serious disorder of the blood. It didn't help though, that his career had been uprooted, by government bean counters and assorted other toadies, who had never stepped foot in this fine man's enchanted outdoor education classroom. If the minister of education, had taken a small road trip, and a few minutes of time, to visit Dave's well appointed classroom, occupied by every kind of wild creature, alive and conserved, they would have known, two feet inside the door, that the teacher responsible for this collection, needed to be rewarded and recognized……for going above and beyond the call of duty. Of course, that would have required a minister who thought about such intricacies while making broad stroke slashes to funding. The Board should have stood up for Dave Brown, and found a way to keep him where he was……just a matter of re-payment of loyalty, so he could have retired content, his life had been well invested. This is what hurt him so profoundly that it brought him to personal agony. He was tossed on the heap of retired teachers, and he hated it. As long as he had the strength to conduct a walk in a forest or pasture, with kids in tow, he wanted to stay employed…..feel useful, and help youngsters related to the great outdoors.

     Dave Brown was as good teacher. I travelled on some of his outdoor walks with him, and students hung off his every word;…..and his tales of life in pioneer times, held them spellbound, as he described the hardships they endured in their drafty, ramshackle shanties on barren farmsteads. I'm not easy to hook. I hated school, and never achieved even close to what my boys and Suzanne did as students. So when this teacher, Mr. Brown, wanted me to work on his biography, I most definitely hesitated…….because I didn't think I could be fair, as I had only a few teachers in my school years, that I actually looked up to as role models. With Dave, my reluctance was short-lived. What I discovered about this consummate professional, was that he not only loved his profession, but couldn't see himself as anything else in life. Even though he was a highly successful collector of rare books, and could have made lots of money as a tree-remover, or building wrecker (he helped demolition industrial buildings for several Hamilton companies), he realized in his late teens, that he was meant to be an instructor. He worked beyond what he had to, in order to get a teaching certificate, and it can be said of Mr. Brown, that he never stopped the learning process, just because he had made it to the classroom. His was a life of learning, and what he knew, he passed on generously to his students.

     One day, Dave Brown showed up at our house, covered in mud. Head to toe. When I asked him what he had gotten up to, in order to get this mud-colored, he told me about an old white pine log, he had found a year earlier in a local swamp. He had marked it then, and planned to return to harvest it, for his Board of Education display case. It had a logging company stamp impressed on the end, which made it valuable to him…..and I suppose any one else who collects logging artifacts. He had some of the iron stamps used to make these marks, so he knew all about the significance of this particular stamp and company. He never stopped researching things like this. So he arrived back at the site, found the mark he had made on shore, and pulled his canoe up to the sunken log……which was huge. Dave worked at that log for hours and hours and yes, he was covered in leeches. He wrestled the length, which wasn't long but it was heavy, into the canoe, and then waded while pushing the canoe toward the shore. This was a school project. He had this idea for a display, and he was just grabbing up what he needed, one piece at a time, from wherever he could. He wasn't on the clock, and to my knowledge he never submitted a gas receipt, or asked the Board to pay for the chunk of preserved pine. He did the same kind of thing time and again for his resource centre. Like the time, one Christmas holiday, when a friend called him at home, to ask him if he wanted a boa constrictor that had died in the engine of an associate's car. The snake, you see, had escaped from its warm owner's apartment, and once outside, slithered into the first warm environs it found. When the engine cooled the cold blooded snake quickly froze to death. Dave had to work for hours, getting the frozen snake out of the engine compartment. It was to be used at his resource centre, to educate the students who were set to visit in the spring of the year. You want to talk about being spellbound. I've talked to lots of former students, who were bedazzled by that crazy environmentally responsive classroom. It would have pleased Dave, to know so many adults were still talking about their experiences in Outdoor Education……decades after their last farewell to Mr. Brown. He was a legend. But he only ever thought of himself as a teacher.

     There are thousands of teachers just as committed as Dave Brown. Teachers who use their own money, and volunteer hundreds of unpaid hours, to make their programs better and more dynamic for students. They don't do it for recognition. They do it because it's part of the job. Now some will think this is shameful, on my part, to play up Dave Brown, who for personal reasons, wished to work longer than what he was being paid for……and spend his own money on resources the school couldn't or wouldn't afford. The reality is, regardless, that many teachers in similar positions, have to do the same thing because of their own professional commitment, and passion for the job.

     The last few times I talked to Dave Brown, he told me about still going to the resource centre, and taking a few tours each week, for a stipend.  He was sick and discouraged, but to my knowledge, he never let those teachers or students down, who wanted Mr. Brown to run the tours. When we got word he had passed away, admittedly I was mad and in some ways it never diminished, because I believed with all my heart, he had died, in part, of a broken heart. He certainly had lost his will to fight the illness. I very much despise the fact, he had such a horrible end to an illustrious, successful career. I can't possibly blame the government of that day for his death…..because they didn't contaminate his blood. I can blame them heartily, for not looking and learning, before they slashed the budget, that ultimately killed his resource centre, and forced him back into the classroom.

     In the tangle of rhetoric on both sides of this new but old war, there are, believe it or not, teachers like the good Mr. Brown, who just want to pursue their careers to the best of their ability……who are the casualties of politics for politics sake. I don't expect the story of Dave Brown would cause more than a "sure he was" response, from the government, but it's not fiction.

     One thing Dave told me, just before he found out he was sick, was very disturbing to me…..being the spouse of a teacher myself. He said that he was invited, to join with a number of other retired teachers, who used to meet regularly for coffee at a local restaurant. He told me that, "they actually have it worked out, how long retired teachers live once classroom life is over." I don't remember what the number was exactly, but in that group of teachers he was referring, deceased colleagues were lasting about three years before succumbing. I just can't imagine talking about something like this, but let me tell you, I took it seriously. I've known teachers in this bailiwick of Ontario, who have had somewhat the same stats. The withdrawal factor apparently has something to do with it! I am worried about my wife, and the burden of her eventual retirement……as she, like Dave Brown, has imbedded herself in the profession from her late teens, and has never had a serious separation, even after the birth of our two children. I stayed at home, and she went back to work soon after.

     I have had close dealings with teachers. I have no interest in preaching about teachers being worth all the money they are paid. I'm just telling you folks, that there's a lot more to the profession, than the blaring rhetoric and critical headlines you read. This is the other side, I think you should know as well.

     Thank you so much for joining today's blog. Please visit again soon.