CHRISTMAS IN GRAVENHURST

SOMETIMES IT'S JUST NOT WORTH THE EFFORT - TO QUESTION THE GENERALIZATIONS OF OTHERS

I DON'T READ THE PAPERS MUCH ANY MORE. I GET MAD AT WHAT GETS INTO THE PAPERS, AS EDITORIALS AND COLUMNS, AND WHEN I DO WRITE A LETTER TO THE EDITOR, MOST OF THE TIME, THE COPY IS HACKED AND WHITTLED DOWN, SUCH THAT IT LOSES THE POINT I WAS TRYING TO MAKE. SO I REFRAIN GENERALLY, UNLESS IT IS A MORE IRKSOME MATTER, ABSOLUTELY DEMANDING A RESPONSE.

WHEN I ENTERED YORK UNIVERSITY, I WANTED TWO THINGS IN PARTICULAR…..FOR MY MONEY INVESTED IN POST SECONDARY SCHOOL EDUCATION. I WANTED TO EARN A DEGREE IN HISTORY. CANADIAN HISTORY. WASN'T A BRILLIANT ACADEMIC ACCOMPLISHMENT, BUT I DID IT ANYWAY. THE SECOND OBJECTIVE, WAS TO BECOME EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, IN BRACEBRIDGE……THE FAMILY-RUN NEWSPAPER I'D GROWN UP READING…..AND SEEING MY NAME, PRINTED ON ITS SPORTS PAGES. I WAS A PRETTY FAIR GOALTENDER IN MINOR HOCKEY, AND I GOT A MODERATE AMOUNT OF INK IN THOSE DAYS. WHAT A THRILL IT WAS, LET ME TELL YOU, TO "MAKE THE PAPER."

While some saw it as a typically and politically conservative weekly rag, serving a small, rural community, I saw it as the perfect little mountain to climb, after graduation. I graduated in the spring of 1977, opened my first antique business later that fall, headed up a historical research project for the Muskoka Board of Education, with five staff, initiated the Bracebridge Historical Society, and the project to save Woodchester Villa…..Henry Bird's Octagonal house, in Bracebridge;….. got my first newspaper column on antiques and collectibles, in the fledgling Bracebridge Examiner, and to top it off, got a reporting gig, at the Muskoka Lakes-Georgian Bay Beacon, in the winter of 1979. And that was the route needed to eventually become editor of The Herald-Gazette. I was so focused on achievement, that I neglected a long time girl friend, and got dumped in the midst of my self imposed upward mobility.

I don't have any regrets. The relationship wasn't going to make it anyway….as she had been cheating on me, and I….was just as naughty. But for the next five years, I was a newsy with no distractions. I took everything twice as serious as I probably should have, and I made mistakes because I was so unmovable. But I learned by osmosis…. working with talented others. Brant Scott was one of my tutors, although on the masthead, I was his boss. Brant had begun writing as a student at Bracebridge High School, submitting a regular column, called "A Wee Biscuit," which was a somewhat irreverent column, in the early 70's, that captivated his school mates. It was timely and empowering to the students…..who needed something to blow off the stalemate of many, many generations of compliance to school rules of conduct. His column didn't lead to great rebellion or spark remarkable change in the way the school was run…..and he certainly was't a model student at any rate, who would have led by scholarly deed. But what he was writing about, was that liberating freedom to think and believe in what you want……and exercise the full scope of democracy…..and warned us, between the lines, that change doesn't come easily, or without progressive influence to do so. Profoundly so!

When I took the job as New Editor, initially, I was in awe that my reporter was Brant Scott. He was about four years older than me, and had lived a storied life by time he was twenty-five. Here was a guy who had experiences doing things I would have never dared, like riding a boxcar into Western Canada, and meeting up with the railway bulls….and the consequences afforded the hippy drifters, within their grasp. He'd been one of those drum playing music types, who had been in so many interesting situations, in those important years of profound change in our society. Here he was, looking for me to give him weekly assignments. Of course, that never worked out too well, as he was always, always ahead of me, with stories he'd ferreted up, using his powers of persuasion to massage a source. While the publisher gave me the job, I gave Brant all the reverence I could muster…..because he was a damn good writer, and a pretty fair mentor. Yet he was a little surprised one day, when I asked him if he'd be interested in starting up his old column, "A Wee Biscuit," for the readers of the 1980's…….a revamped, updated, irreverent weekly column about things that he liked about small town life, and things he despised. He couldn't believe I remembered his high school column, or that I would think so highly of it, to ask him to re-visit such a personal editorial project.

Brant did bring back the column, but after a few months, he asked if we could drop the title, and just head the column with his name. The first few columns had been everything and more, of what I had expected of his writing capability, and it didn't take long to agree with his request. I also had a column headed "Cold Coffee," which I eventually had to change because of Brant. He had a curious sense of humor….half wise-guy, half wiser-guy, and he loved to make fun of my new column (I also had a sports piece I entitled "From The Bleachers.") He had fun with that one too. When he'd introduce me to a friend, or to guests at a special event, he'd say, without even the slightest sign of impending grin, "Sally, I want to introduce you to the wall of meat who writes a column called 'Tepid Slime'." Or "Weak Tea," "Hot Brothel," and a wide array of other injurious headings. The "Wall of Meat" thing referred to my substantial girth at the time. He'd embarrass the crap out of me most of the time, but Brant knew that he was dealing with a prankster as well, because I was king in that department…….and my mates at university had to get therapy after I graduated…….because their new normal was to look for fiberglass shards, on the black toilet seat (after sitting on it), or shoe polish on the women's toilets (neat optics later, black cheeks cloaked by a thin nightgown)……having their garments removed from the show area, as a matter of routine, and being "penny-jammed" into their rooms, so that they missed classes. About five pennies wedged into the door stopped the tumbler from turning. You could hammer that sucker all day, and it not dislodge. I was a bad bastard. That's what my room-mates Rod and Ross would say today, if given a chance. I knew their trips to the bathroom, and made sure to hide the toilet paper every day. So for Brant, what he could do with cutting remarks to embarrass me with friends, and new associates, I made up for with practical jokes. He got things in his coffee…..let me tell you…..that would make you gag if I told you. So much for journalism.

Point is, we had a lot of fun as work-mates, along with some other reporter-photographers, and yet…….never, ever, did we take our job in print without the utmost respect for our reputation as a newspaper, and as writers proud of the integrity of their work. Brant would check, re-check, and check again, all of his facts and assertions before a story made it to print. While we used to get lots of angry retorts from readers, and those close to the story in question, it was never because of inaccuracy or context problems. I admired the man for taking on huge and controversial stories, and handling them with surgical precision. We both knew the consequences of making a mistake. It could cost our jobs and a lot of money if we were sued. He taught me a lot about checking my sources, and going as far as it would take, to cover all the bases……so that when the paper hit the newsstands on Wednesday mornings, we weren't going to be saddled with a controversy we couldn't defend. He set a standard I followed, but I was his boss. I couldn't have had more respect for a colleague than I had for Brant Scott…..who despite being the most sarcastic, quick witted chap I'd ever known, was the most serious reporter an editor could ever wish for…..and that's about ninety-nine percent of the job.

One day Brant came into the office with a towel. It was about mid-afternoon, so I asked him if he'd taken an impromptu shower. He hadn't, but got one any way. He'd been covering a little spot news you see, which the local fire department had to attend……. a garbage can fire in Memorial Park. So Brant thought it would make a photo for the back pages at least, for the next edition, and he stood focusing on the firemen dousing the garbage. Just as he was grabbing the last few flicks, he noticed a fireman look up from the can, and re-direct the water from the fire, onto the man with the camera. For the few seconds he was under attack, and still taking pictures, Brant believed it had been some malfunction of fire-fight equipment. As it turned out, the fireman thought it would be funny. It was funny for a second or two, until Brant realized it had been intentional. What do you say at that moment? Something like, "thanks you crazy son-of-a-bitch." Nope. Brant just mumbled a few things under his breath, and appeared genuinely shocked, a member of the fire department would do this to a reporter doing his job. Additionally, Brant had written quite a number of high quality feature articles about the fire department, and the Captain knew this wasn't a kindness bestowed for a kindness received. He got his apology, and the fireman was reprimanded. But Brant was kind of hurt by the incident none the less. He wasn't taking the picture to be a smart ass……but he was one who paid attention to even small stories, for all that they represented. If the pail had been closer to the wooden bandshell, it might have been a more significant event. He believe the community had a right to know what was going on in their community…..and he did his best to present the whole picture……at least what we could afford to spend, as a newspaper, on staff hours.

The reason for me bringing this up, is that this dutiful chap, without intending to, taught me valuable lessons about due diligence with my job, always checking sources, never relying on one side to tell the complete story, how to ferret out a liar, or a publicity stunt, and when to know how a politician was looking for good press, at a bad time. I watched Brant like a hawk, because I knew he was careful and sensible in proportion. We might have been wickedly hard on each other, with pranks and public acts of humiliation, but not with the newspaper. I'll give you one example of a misadventure Brant warned me about…..but I was too proud of myself to listen to a sensible criticism……given in advance of me reporting on a near drowning incident.

I was told by a managerial staff member, about a really excellent human interest story involving a friend of his. The story was this. Three youngsters had been playing around a swimming pool that still contained water…..and a skiff of ice that had formed on the surface had caught their fancy. What had happened, apparently, was that one of the youngsters fell into the pool, and was in a near-drowning situation, when one of the other lads, jumped in to save him. What a great story. I talked with the family, and one of the youngsters involved. It was a front pager. Keep in mind, I was pretty green as a reporter….but here I was editor by circumstance…..not by accomplishment thus far. So the paper hit the street, my story was compelling, and management thought I was golden. Brant on the other hand, had warned me to check all the sources…..not just a few, to make sure the story held water, so to speak. He had a suspicion, there was more to the story than I had recorded in my notepad.

Amidst the phone calls of appreciation for the story, and that an award for valor might be in line for the rescuer, came a rather disturbing phone call. It was from the parent of the boy who had been rescued. Seems the story wasn't quite as I had been told. The father told me, with great bellow of voice, that of course the boy had rescued his son…..that fact was clear. What was news to me, is that the rescuer was accused, by the victim, of being shoved into that same pool. There was no accident involved. Brant was staring at me all the while, with a huge smirk on his face, sipping the coffee I may have rinsed my sock in earlier. I got the message. I'd been duped by my own unwillingness to chase down all the folks involved, one way or other, to varify the story of the great pool rescue. Was I pissed. I remember taking the issue to the same manager who had given me the story……and suggesting we should both have a word with this friend, over this unfortunate turn of events. Suffice to say we got an apology and so did the victim……in print, on the front page, in the next edition. But it was clear, the whole mess could have been avoided, if I'd followed Brant's sage advice.

For as long as we worked together in those halcyon days of community press journalism, we challenged each other…..not just with pranks…..and there were some good ones, but to improve our writing and our story sleuthing. If anyone could have made me a more responsible reporter, and competent writer, it was the in-office, on-the-beat critiques we'd offer each other…..to make those bylines mean something more than just printed ink on a page. We cherished those opportunities to address our readership. We lived for it! It certainly wasn't for the big bucks. We had enough for beer at the end of the day, a little for rent and food, and not much left at the end of each work week. We would find the way to save a little money to buy the Toronto Sun, because our mentor of mentors was hometown lad, Paul Rimstead, who had one of the best read columns in Canada, at the time. He was broke too, and wrote about it with honesty and unyielding integrity.

When I read editorial content today, and opinion pieces that somehow slip past the editor, into the public domain, well, I think back to the old days, and how we ran such a tight ship………because it was our job……and while we might have been irreverent about some things……nothing got into the paper…..and I mean nothing (accept what I've already admitted), that we didn't know inside and out, before the press began to run. It wasn't about censorship or editorial vice. It was about fair and balanced editorials, that we intimately understood……which didn't mean we agreed with…..just that it was a responsible, accountable opinion, without libel attached…..which was our deepest, most profound concern.

Brant and I were caustic with our opinions, and tough on the reporting trail, and we didn't back away from difficult circumstances…..even if we were on our own time chasing down a story. We policed ourselves, to do better. I think we did. Our circulation, during those years, was the highest in the paper's history. I like to think readers liked our approach to news presentation.

I think we'd do the same today, if by strange circumstance, we were ever put together on a writing project…..paper or magazine. And you know what, I'd still pay attention to the a veteran's perspective…..it pays to follow good advice.