TWO PAINTINGS, FOUND OUT ON THE ANTIQUE HUNT - FOLK ART AND THEN SOME!
THE PAINTINGS PUBLISHED ABOVE, ARE TWO OF SIX PANELS, I PICKED UP THIS WEEKEND, WHILE TOURING IN THE HURONIA AREA OF THE PROVINCE. THE FOLK ART PAINTING OF THE HARBOR, IS ACTUALLY A VERY RECENT CREATI0N, BUT DONE IN A BEAUTIFULLY NAIVE, FOLKISH STYLE, WITH BRIGHT COLORS, AND SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF MARITIME FOLK ARTIST, MAUD LEWIS, GOD REST HER SOUL; I THINK SHE MIGHT HAVE APPROVED OF THE MARINE DEPICTION. IT IS PAINTED ON MASONITE, AND SIGNED A. COLIN. .
THE SECOND PAINTING, FRAMED UNDER GLASS, IS MY FAVORITE. IT'S AN ORIGINAL SIGNED WATERCOLOR, BY WELL KNOWN CANADIAN ILLUSTRATOR, ARTIST, GEORGE MENENDEZ RAE, 1906-1992, FORMERLY OF MONTREAL, WHO BECAME BEST KNOWN, DURING THE YEARS OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR, AS THE CREATOR OF THE COMIC-BOOK CHARACTER, "CANADA JACK," PRESENTED FOR THE FIRST TIME, IN THE 1943 ISSUE OF "CANADIAN HEROES;" WHICH WAS USED AS AN EDUCATIONAL COMIC FOR THE SCHOOLS, TO PRESENT WAR NEWS IN A MORE PALATABLE FORMAT.
GEORGE RAE WAS BORN IN NEW YORK CITY, BUT SPENT MOST OF THIS LIFE, LIVING IN CANADA. HIS HEYDAY WAS DURING THE 1940'S AND 50'S, WORKING AS A FREELANCE ILLUSTRATOR, FOR COMICS, MAGAZINES, BOOKS AND FOR PERIOD TRADING CARDS. HE BECAME THE PRESIDENT OF THE ART CLUB OF MONTREAL. HE WAS SPECIALLY RECOGNIZED, WITH THE JOE SHUSTER AWARD, AS A CARICATURE ARTIST; SHUSTER, OF COURSE, BEING CONNECTED TO THE CREATION OF THE SUPERMAN COMIC. IT IS A WONDERFULLY NOSTALGIC DEPICTION, MOST LIKELY FROM A SCENE IN RURAL CANADA. IT HAS THOSE GREAT SCENE COMPONENTS TO REMIND US OF YESTERYEAR; A STEAM LOCOMOTIVE, A YOUNGSTER, DOG, AND A HORSE REARING UP AGAINST THE PLOW AND PLOWMAN, IN THE FIELD TO THE RIGHT. THERE'S A LOT OF MOTION IN THIS SCENE, AND TO ME, IT WAS ONE OF MY BEST FINDS SO FAR THIS SUMMER. REMINDS ME A LITTLE OF OUR OWN ILLUSTRATOR, ARTIST, FRANK JOHNSTON, FORMERLY OF GRAVENHURST. THERE ARE MANY SIMILARITIES. YOU CAN ARCHIVE BACK TO SEE SOME OF FRANK'S WORK THAT I'VE PUBLISHED IN THE PAST THREE MONTHS OR SO.
GHOST HUNTERS, GHOST TOURS, AND PARANORMAL SLEUTHS -
I WRITE ABOUT GHOSTS AND PARANORMAL ENCOUNTERS - I DON'T GET PAID FOR MY EFFORTS - OR SELL MERCHANDISE OFF THE BACKS OF THE DECEASED
Gads, I'm all about free enterprise. I buy and sell antiques, art and books, afterall, in order to pay for the electricity to run this laptop contraption; and occasionally afford a nice meal at one of our area restaurants. In reality, I don't get a pay cheque for writing these blogs, and unless I'm contracted to write a biography, or company history, I don't pull in a single dime of profit. This is my choice, to forfeit a pay cheque in return for creative freedom. I gave up writing for publications, that beat their writers into submission, shackled to their hundred pound codes of conduct. I constantly felt muzzled by publishers and editors. Seeing as it is hard to restrain me, and I've tangled with a few editors who no longer want to see my face at their window, I've maintained a longstanding relationship with the "free" lance aspect of writing. Yup, I write for free. And every time I get on this machine with a keyboard and glowing screen attached, it's like I'm either Peter Fonda, or Dennis Hopper, in the movie "Easy Rider," and I travel, unencumbered to wherever I want, when I want. I can't tell you how liberating it is, to just be able to create without an overseer, leaning over my desk, telling me I've written too much, too little, or an article without bite. I contributed a heritage column to a local publication, two years ago, as part of a weekly commitment, and I pulled it after the first week, when I found the editor had butchered it, and removed one of the key paragraphs of the piece. When I asked why my copy had been seriously altered, I was told in no uncertain terms, that as editor, "it's the way the cookie crumbles. Get over it!" So I quit the publication after one column insert, with the advisory, "You shall never butcher me again!" I find it hard to read this publication any longer. But it reminded me again, why it's so pleasant, doing this writing thing, without having to worry about outdated and ridiculous media protocols, that restrain creativity, rather than encourage it!
The only problem, these days, is when folks feel entitled to borrow my ideas, to claim as their own, and I might add, for profit. If you've been a follower of this blog, for any more than a month or so, you'll realize that I never use any reference material whatsoever, without giving full disclosure, as to where the material came from, and all those who may be connected to its content, or source of origin, including manuscript ownership and publisher. If I didn't write it, I have to let you, the reader, know who is responsible for the content. I don't have a bibliography running after each blog, but I make reference to source material in the first section of these heritage columns; because it's a legal responsibility. I have great respect for the authors I quote, in this blog, and most recently, Johnny Moon, from his diary, the original document being in the hands of its stewards, the Town of Bracebridge. I want to re-introduce these authors back into the contemporary scene, to take their rightful place amongst modernist historians. It's just the right thing to do. As I mentioned yesterday, that I have just recently acquired a book, written by Redmond Thomas, formerly of Bracebridge, it is my intention to re-introduce his outstanding stories about the old home town, that are just as important today, if not more, than they were when it was originally published. But don't think for a minute that I'm getting rich doing this, because even though I'm on a recognized Google blog site, and I'm close to achieving 250,000 views since I began three years ago, there hasn't been any money earned as a result. But then again, I wasn't looking for that elusive pot of gold anyway. I just wanted the extra exposure, and this is exactly what I got.
About four years ago, I asked my son Robert, the technical wizard around here, about concerns, my "ghost" and "paranormal" stories were getting poached by sundry interlopers, who were taking it past the "reading for enjoyment" aspect, and using what I wrote, in part, to bolster their editorial copy, in "for-profit" books. I was concerned about copyright, and intellectual property, and that's when he started to laugh at me! I laugh at him, and he laughs at me! It's a fun relationship. That's our father-son thing in a nutshell. "Then why don't you set up a blog, to publish all your ghost columns together, under a heading like 'Muskoka and Algonquin Ghosts'?" What he meant by this, was that I would actually be registering the exact time, day, month and year, the piece was published, so that to prove copyright, I'd be able to hit-back at some folks who've been borrowing ideas and material, from work I've been publishing, in a variety of newspapers and magazines since the 1980's. Seeing as I've written a lot of new material, in the past three years, it has certainly made sense to publish these blogs, as a sort of archives registry, so I can fight back when poaching occurs.
I wrote about this awhile ago, but I want to repeat it once again. I was in a second hand book shop, and Suzanne handed me a book of paranormal related tales, some regional, and sure enough, I was quoted; the material being taken right from my blog-site. No permission was given. The author didn't write or call, to let me know some of my material was going to be used; and asking whether I would give permission to use the subject copy. By the way, I've never turned down a request like this, and never once asked for a penny in return. A credit is fine. But I'd still like to be respected enough, to be asked before I find it, in a for-profit publication. What really ticked me off about this inclusion, that I wasn't aware of previously, is that it was exactly why I had asked Robert about the blog in the first place; and how I could protect my work from poachers. The same author I had been trying to stop-up from using my work, had just been out shopping, and took what was desired, to support the case. If I had been asked to do an interview, nicely, and with respect to my stake in the actuality of the ghost-event, I would have been quite willing to participate. Now, not so much, or for any other project from this individual. Actually, I have a number of ghost hunters on my poo-poo list, which brings me to the point of today's blog. Methinks I'm about to be poached once more, and I'm making a pre-emptive strike back.
Every writer or artist, song-writer, creator in any field, will have justifiable concerns about material and idea poaching. My losses are a lot less than if it was corporate poaching, for product manufacturing. It's not like I'm being infiltrated for a secret recipe for my world famous burgers of fried chicken. But as my body of work, is one of my most significant possessions, to hand off as inheritance, to my sons Andrew and Robert, I get a little sensitive about what might be left of intellectual property, long before I make that heavenly climb toward the bright light; presuming of course, this is where I'll be headed, according to God's plan for me. So I guess, in order to preserve a little for my boys, to manage appropriately, for their gain sometime in the future, I need to smarten up, and protect what should to be protected. I suppose I've been a little too trusting for my own good, but what can you do? I live in a sort of permanent spiral of yesterdays. Everything it seems is retrospective for me; including wondering if I brushed my teeth this morning? I'm pretty sure I did.
I'm one of the earliest Muskoka writers, in the contemporary sense, to seriously address the issue of paranormal activity, in some of the old buildings in South Muskoka. It was about 1982, when I took an enormous risk, running a full page feature story, in The Herald-Gazette, about local haunts, and ghosts generally. The manager of the paper thought I was nuts, and told me our advertisers were going to be unhappy about this "ghost" story thing, and inevitably pull their ads from the very next issue. As it turned out, I was right and he was wrong. It was one of our best newstand weeks. It wasn't a sensationalist ploy, to get readers, because it was pretty low-key when it came down to presentation. Staff photographer, Harold Wright, set up a magnificent time lapse photograph, of a little girl, crossing a room, and it was just a perfect amalgamation that week. I didn't even get a single phone call of objection about the full page story. I did, as a direct result of this feature story, become connected with Canadian ghost-sleuth, and well known writer, John Robert Colombo; and I participated with a small story of my own, for inclusion, in one of his national publications, about Ontario hauntings. It was John Colombo who told me to get cracking on a book of Muskoka ghosts, in the 1990's, and he agreed to write the opening column, for a 24 issue feature series, I was writing, about regional hauntings, for The Muskoka Sun; just before the turn of the new century. So excuse me, but I've kind of marked my territory.
Since then, I've had ghost and paranormal related feature stories published in "Curious; The Tourist Guide," over eleven issues, and twelve parallel columns, written for "The Great North Arrow." I've probably written a hundred or so blogs about paranormal events, and sundry other ghosts, in the past five years; intensively so, in the past three years. If I seem a little impatient with my contemporaries, it's with just cause. Andrew most recently, had to inform an author, on one of these sleuthing missions, that he wasn't interested in co-operating on a particular segment of local ghost research, because, "My dad handles all our ghost stories himself." Not the greatest testimonial, I've ever heard, but it shook the interloper off his shoe. Apparently, using my name as a "cuss-word" acts like bear repellent. Anything to do with me, up close and personal, turns them off their mission. I kind of like that. So today, I'm just bouncing this familiar ball around my court, on news that the paranormal investigations around here, are once again, bounding to the forefront, in the almighty quest for publicity; but it just better not be at my expense. It's my experience that these ghost hunters aren't very good at picking up the "vibes," as they say, because mine are pretty strong, like the reverberation of a depth charge dropped onto a submarine. I want to be consulted before content and ideas are borrowed for someone else's material gain. It's not about the money, but it is about the validation. I don't like surface skimmers; meaning those who poach the work of others, who aren't interested in conducting full scale, no holds barred research, to qualify their work as scholarly, or even close. As a long term historian, I will work with anyone who shows an interest, and a trace amount of respect, for what I've spent a lot of my life researching.
As I was thinking about a topic for today's blog, Andrew let me know about a new group of paranormal activists, and well, the steam started belching out my ears, like the George Rae painting, of the locomotive, pictured above. Well, I got my column idea, as a result of this message from my son, who showed me the corresponding video. Which is all fine and dandy, until the day I watch this media exposure, and find myself an unwilling participant. This may read as if I am a "horn-blower" of epic proportion, and stingy with my resources. You know this isn't true, right? The problem, however, is quite the opposite. The reality is, I've always been modest about accomplishments, and seeing as I don't sell my material, except if I've been hired under contract, my work apparently is seen as having grown wild, and free to harvest. It's my fault, for not creating greater safeguards, in the past, but this is being built in at present, because I have no choice; if that is, I want to be able to offer my boys a shred of half decent inheritance, that they might one day, put into a sort of Currie Compendium; which you never know, might find a buyer or two locally. And even afford them a glass or two of bubbly to toast the old man.
I have a lot of paranormal stories in reserve. I just haven't published them at this point; but they're coming down the pike. They're going to be anchored in this blog, and I'm going to be watchful of any snitching going on.
I should clarify one important difference, between my take on the paranormal, ghosts and the spirit kind, and what is usually the whole nine yards of hunting them for sport. I don't believe spirit encounters are entirely happenstance. I believe they are signs from those who have crossed over, and have a purpose with the individual thusly exposed. Every contact I've had with the angel kind, and with apparitions, has carried a message I have come to understand. I didn't clue in as fast as I should have, but eventually I got the message. They reminded me of something else, and each one had an impact on my perception of where I was living, what I was doing with my life, who I was associating with, and what important points about life, I was missing, and needed to upgrade. As a believer in the philosophies of well known medium, John Edward, who had the television show "Crossing Over," (among many books on the subject of spirit connections) I validated all these so-called spiritual experiences, as signs from the other side; and that I should pay attention to what they might mean; if anything more than a sort of courtesy call from a loved one, to check up on how our family is doing. When I think back on most of my alleged paranormal experiences, there is only one that falls outside the bounds, of what I consider a message from the other side, to help me, not scare me half to death. This is the story published below.
SO HERE'S AN ORIGINAL, TO SHOW WE HAVE TRUST IN ONE ANOTHER -
WHOEVER OR WHATEVER WAS CHASING US, CAME TO US ON A MOONLIT AUGUST NIGHT
Back when our family lived up on the east end of Alice Street, deeply inset on the plateau of topography, we knew as "Hunt's Hill," named presumably after the pioneer banker of the same name, our lawn was a gathering place on such summer nights, particularly those of late August; the smell of ripening backyard gardens permeating the still-warm air. The sound of voices and visuals of so many patio lanterns like a Kim Mitchell song.
The Hunt's Hill lads, of which I was one of the founders, used beautiful nights like this, to ride our bikes with reckless abandon, and stopping only, to catch our breath after a foray through a neighbor's yard, or to play a practical joke on an unsuspecting home owner. On these warm August evenings, there would always be a small gathering of apartment residents on the lawn, in a half circle, with pints of ale, cocktails starring Tom Collins and Harvey Wallbanger, and maybe some late night barbecued wieners for the kids to enjoy. We'd set up our own chairs, or blanket on the lawn, to lay and stare up at the universe, all twinkling and alluring, qualifying, what some of our other friends were calling us at the time. "Space cadets." We were good with that!
On this particular evening, four of us lads, had been lounging in the front yard, in one corner, our elders in the other, beside the stunted pine tree. We decided to go over to Lil & Cec's corner store, for some pop and chips before closing, and we took our time walking the half block there and back. That's what we did mostly in those days; dawdling, lounging, pondering and wandering. On our bikes we were a different species of youth. Wild and crazy guys. But on this night, we were just talking and laughing, and playing jokes on each other, enjoying the last few days of summer before school start-up, that dreaded first week of September.
We were coming back from the store, with our purchases, tucked neatly in bags for easy carrying. There were voices of other folks in the neighborhood, sitting in their backyards beneath the glow of patio lanterns. I'm pretty sure we had entered the 1970's, when this event occurred. We had walked halfway up the street, before hitting the intersection with Alice Street, when we heard what sounded like a raging, snorting bull coming up from behind us. First of all, being mouthy and getting into trouble, made us targets all over the place in those days. I think at first, we thought it was a rush on us, being perpetrated by a few of our late-teen adversaries, as payback for hitting their crappy hot-rods with eggs, and or any of the other stuff we could be held accountable. Like in all the other cases of retaliation, we did what came natural. Ran like hell. But there was nothing coming from behind, except the clear, frightening sound of running, pounding feet on the tarmac.
I have been having paranormal encounters for most of my life. I suppose that's what happens, when you've had an audience with an angel, in your youth, as I experienced during a lengthy illness when I lived in Burlington. (You can archive back to find more out about this angel visitation). So I was always keenly aware of weird occurrences like this, and from a young age, I had accepted there was more to life than what met the eye, day to day. I suppose then, I was more open to experiences like this, than my mates, who were pretty scared at that moment; as could be determined by the speed which we were travelling to head back to our safe haven.
What we couldn't figure out, was how the sound was manifesting behind us. What marvel of sound projection, was allowing someone to send Washington Irving's "Headless Horseman," after us, possibly as Ichabod Crane had suffered, to then get hit with a flaming pumpkin tossed by said horseman. Whatever it was, that was chasing us, was definitely invisible. It wasn't a silhouette in the moonlight, or a vaporous apparition, moving with fervor. It was definitely the sound and intensity of pursuit. One that we cold only presume, was of injurious intent. Like I said, we had a lot of enemies in that town.
We were neck and neck making that run for what we believed, was the family "hallow" ground of the Weber Apartments. When we rounded the corner onto Alice Street, and still being a fair trot from the front yard, the sound of the foot fall (by this point, definitely not the sound of hooves), we were pretty sure, that any second, we would be pulled from behind and knocked out of the group by our invisible pursuer. We could hear heavy breathing from behind; almost like the snorting of a horse in a big race. A few of us confessed that we could feel hot breath on the back of our necks, but this almost certainly was the act of a stimulated imagination, bringing up all kinds of horrible scenarios.
The hot pursuit lasted around the corner, and it went through our minds, that the pursuer was actually about to pass us, by the sound of the footfall, and the judged distance, and speed, directly behind our fleeing foursome. When we looked ahead, to the lamplight shining on the front lawn, we noticed it was a lot darker than when we left, and that the outdoor lamps had been turned off, obviously because residents had retired indoors by this point. Gosh, we had no one on the lawn to help us out. No defenders. We were all alone to face whatever was chasing us on this night.
I had pretty much resigned myself, at this point, to the fact at least one of us was going to be caught, and given a good thrashing, for reasons unkwown. But this realization, by itself, didn't slow us down. We'd been beaten up before, and we'd survive this one as well. It could be said with considerable honesty, even by our parents, that we deserved in return, what we dished-out by our actions, and pranks around the neighborhood. If this was a prank, it was one of the best retaliations I've ever experienced.
For some reason, we jointly thought, that once we hit the grass of the front lawn, in front of the apartment, we would have been protected by our peers. Saved by parents and guardians, sitting in that half-circle on the lawn. They weren't there. We were left to fend for ourselves, from whatever our pursuer intended. We just kept running flat out, refusing, by this point, to even look back in case we saw the devil himself, in track shoes, hunting for our souls.
We hit the grass at full speed, and the sound of thunderous footfall didn't let up, except the sound changed, as if adjusting to the impact of running feet hitting a soft cushion. It was definitely still behind us, even onto the grass. On the approach, I was trying to figure out, how we could get the front door of the apartment open fast enough, to avoid breaking the glass, thusly killing the first kid through, and dodging our adversary coming up fast behind.
Well, I have no idea how we managed, to get that door open, without crashing through it, and all four of us, made it safely inside the apartment foyer, in only seconds. Each of turned to see what was going to crash into the now-closed door. We all stood there gasping for air, as the door rattled with a significant thud, as if something had hit the outside, closing it tightly against the framing of the doorway. There was no image attached to the sound. No apparition. No strange curling mist, no devil's face, hobgoblin, vampire or martian invader. What the hell had been chasing us for that block from the corner store? If only we could have put a face to our pursuer, we would have felt better. Unless it was the face of a werewolf. Now that wouldn't have been pretty.
We stayed in the foyer for quite awhile, speculating on whether the unidentified creature of the night, was still lurking out in the darkness, waiting for my mates to head to their homes. And as I said to them, on the way to our apartment, "Guys, good luck." They took their sweet time, and it may have even been the case, I armed them with baseball bats from our locker, and some hockey gear, in case they took any body blows from the headless horseman, or whoever. The event ended as quickly and strangely as it had begun. None of us had a clue, what had almost overtaken us, but it really wasn't the case of four over-active imaginations. We had all heard the heavy footfall behind us, and we had every reason, initially, to beat a hasty retreat. Was it a practical joke via some loudspeaker, from somewhere close, giving us the impression we were being chased to our doom? No one ever took credit, if that indeed was the case.
Possibly then, it was a spirit of some neighborhood bully, from years before our time, who on moonlit nights like this, used to play similar pranks on punks like us. All I do know, is that we were chased by something large, and with considerable determination to teach us a lesson, about our own local misconducts. It never happened again, in that ballywick, but it was something we never forgot; but we kept it to ourselves for a lot of years, fearing it might be used against us, as being cowards of the night!
Ghost of the Archives
SPEAKING OF WEIRD FINDS - LOOKING THROUGH EPHEMERA FILES, I FOUND MY 1982 "STORY ABOUT GHOSTS"
I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS PAGE FOR YEARS - SO I ASKED DAVE BROWN TO HELP ME OUT
IT'S TRUE. I WRITE ABOUT GHOSTS A LOT. SOME PEOPLE PLAY WITH ELECTRIC TRAINS. I KNOW FRIENDS OF MINE, WHO STILL (BUT WON'T ADMIT IT) COLLECT HOCKEY AND BASEBALL CARDS. I DON'T MAKE FUN OF THEM, AND I CERTAINLY HAVEN'T TOLD THEM ABOUT MY OWN CLOSET, THAT IS FULL OF HOCKEY CARDS. MY WEAKNESS, IS THAT I ENJOY MY RESEARCH WORK, LOOKING AT THE HISTORY AND LEGACY OF GHOSTS. I HAVE HAD THE GOOD FORTUNE, OF MARRYING A GAL, WHO NOT ONLY BELIEVES IN GHOSTS, BUT HAS HAD NUMEROUS ENCOUNTERS SINCE CHILDHOOD. JUST AS I HAVE. SO I NEVER HAVE TO FEAR BEING RIDICULED BY FAMILY, AT LEAST. FOR ME, AT LEAST IN PRINT, MY RELATIONSHIP WITH THE PARANORMAL, OFFICIALLY BEGAN, IN PRINT, BACK IN THE EARLY SPRING OF 1982. I'VE HAD REASON TO RE-VISIT THAT OCCASION TODAY, FOR PURPOSES OF THIS BLOG. HOPE YOU WILL FIND SOME OF IT INTERESTING. IF YOU FIND ALL OF IT INTERESTING, THEN YOU'LL LIKE SOME OF THE WORK TO FOLLOW.
SO I ASKED MY DECEASED BOOK BUDDY, DAVE BROWN, IF HE COUJLD SPARE ME SOME EARTHLY TIME. I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS "TALKING TO DEAD PEOPLE" THING, SINCE HE PASSED AWAY BEFORE THE TURN OF THE PRESENT CENTURY. HE DOESN'T REACT QUICKLY, BECAUSE THERE ISN'T ANY URGENCY ON THE OTHER SIDE, TO GET TO WORK. IF THERE'S A BOOK I CAN'T FIND, OR A DOCUMENT THAT'S MISSING FROM A FILE DRAWER, I CASUALLY ASK MR. BROWN, IF HE MIGHT BE ABLE TO SHOW ME WHERE I DEPOSITED IT OTHERWISE. NO KIDDING. THE LONGEST DAVE HAS EVER TAKEN TO FIND WHAT I NEED, WAS ABOUT TWO WEEKS. I THINK THAT WAS BECAUSE I'D BEEN MISSING HIS SUBTLE SIGNS. AS I NOTED BEFORE, WHETHER OR NOT THE SPIRIT-KIND ARE HELPING ME OR NOT, I'M RESULTS ORIENTED. IF I HAPPEN TO FIND WHAT I'M LOOKING FOR, FRANKLY, I DON'T CARE HOW MY BOOK OR DOCUMENT CATCHES MY ATTENTION, AS LONG AS IT DOES EVENTUALLY ARRIVE ON THE SCENE. SOMETIMES THIS WILL EVEN INVOLVE THE COLLAPSE OF A PILE OF BOOKS, OR LANDSLIDE OF DOCUMENTS OFF MY DESK. OOPS, THERE IT IS! IF DAVE WASN'T RESPONSIBLE, I CAN ACCEPT THAT. IF HE WAS THE BOOK FINDER IN FACT, WELL THEN, "GOD BLESS THE OLD BIBLIOPHILE," WHO USED TO SPEND TIME AT OUR HOUSE. SO TO GET TO THE POINT, I ASKED IF DAVE COULD HELP ME FIND A NEWSPAPER FEATURE I WROTE, IRONICALLY, ON GHOSTS, WAY BACK IN APRIL 1982. I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT THIS FEATURE SEVERAL TIMES ALREADY THIS WINTER SEASON, WHILE DISCUSSING SOME OLD HAUNTS. I JUST HAVEN'T HAD THE ORIGINAL NEWSPAPER. SO I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE PRUDENT, TO FIND THE ISSUE, AND BORROW SOME OF THE RESEARCH MATERIAL THAT WENT INTO THE MULTI-PAGE FEATURE ARTICLE. SO HERE IS HOW THESE THINGS MANIFEST, AND HAVE BEEN MANIFESTING FOR YEARS AND YEARS. LIKE I WROTE EARLIER, I SWEAR BY RESULTS, AND I KEEP GETTING THEM. DAVE, THE CLERK GHOST? I DON'T THINK SO. I JUST THINK HE'S NOT FINISHED WITH OUR WORLD JUST YET.
ALL YESTERDAY, I BEGAN THINKING ABOUT DOING A BLOG, ABOUT A COLLECTION OF EARLY 1900'S MINUTES BOOKS, FROM AN ODDFELLOW'S LODGE, IN TORONTO. I MAY HAVE EVEN WRITTEN A SMALL PIECE ABOUT THEM THIS WEEK, REFERRING TO THE IMPORTANCE OF THESE RECORDS, BECAUSE OF OBSERVATIONS THAT ARE OFTEN INCLUDED WITHIN. IN THESE FOUR BOOKS, PURCHASED FROM A LOCAL AUCTION, THERE ARE HISTORIC REFERENCES TO ECONOMICS IN TORONTO 1915 TO 1930), INFLUENZA OUTBREAKS IN THE CITY, THE DEATH OF MEMBERS, AND TIDBITS OF SOCIAL HISTORY, REGARDING ODDFELLOW SOCIALS. THERE'S ALSO QUITE A LOT TO BE GARNERED ABOUT THE HISTORY OF THE BUILDINGS THEY OCCUPIED DURIN THIS TIME. I KNEW THEY WERE STORED ON A SHELF BY MY LIVINGROOM CHAIR, AND I WAS GETTING THE URGE TO SEEK THEM OUT...BUT I HAVE MANY ITEMS AHEAD OF THE BOOKS, TO USE FOR STORY DEVELOPMENT. I WENT TO BED LAST NIGHT, THINKING ABOUT THOSE BOOKS, AND FIRST THING THIS MORNING, WHILE BRUSHING MY TEETH, I WAS ONCE AGAIN GETTING THE MESSAGE. "LOOK AT THE MINUTE BOOKS." SO AFTER FEEDING OUR LIVESTOCK, "THE CATS," I DECIDED TO HAVE A LOOK AT THE BECKONING BOOKS. SHORT VERSION. THERE WAS MY FULL PAGE FEATURE ON GHOSTS, FOLDED INSIDE THE FIRST BOOK ON THE PILE. I DON'T GET A SPOOKY FEELING WHEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPENS. I JUST THANK DAVE, AND FEEL PRETTY GOOD THAT I'VE BEEN REPATRIATED WITH WHATEVER I WAS LOOKING FOR. SO THE ELUSIVE GHOST STORY WAS IN MY HANDS. NOW THE JOB WAS FOR SON ROBERT, TO TAKE SOME PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE PAGE FOR POSTERITY, IN CASE I LOSE IT ONCE AGAIN. WHICH BY THE WAY, IS GENERALLY THE CASE WITH A FILING SYSTEM LIKE MINE. SUZANNE SAID TO ME, SMILING EAR TO EAR, "YOU WOULD BE LOST WITHOUT DAVE, WOULDN'T YOU?"
THE PAGE INCLUDES A REMARKABLY WELL EXECUTED PHOTOGRAPH, BY MY ARTIST-COLLEAGUE, AT THE TIME, HAROLD WRIGHT, AND WAS A STAGED PHOTO SHOOT, ON A LONG EXPOSURE, OF A YOUNG GIRL WALKING ACROSS A DINING ROOM, BEHIND A LARGE TABLE. HAROLD'S PICTURE GOT A LOT MORE ATTENTION THAN MY ARTICLE, AND I HAVE TO ADMIT, IT WAS A COMPELLING IMAGE; AND IN FACT, EVEN THOSE WHO RESEARCH AND DOCUMENT GHOSTS, SUGGESTED THAT IT COULD BE USED TO ILLUSTRATE MANY FIRST-HAND ENCOUNTERS, OF THOSE WHO HAVE COME FACE TO FACE WITH RESIDENT SPIRITS. FOR EVERY COMMENT I GOT ABOUT THE ARTICLE, WE GOT TEN ABOUT THE QUALITY AND DYNAMIC OF THE PHOTOGRAPH. MOST BELIEVED IT WAS THE REAL THING....AND I REALIZE IT WASN'T IDENTIFIED IN THE CUTLINE AS A STAGED PHOTO. OH WELL. BUT BOY WAS IT A GREAT COMPANION PIECE TO MY RESEARCH. THE SECOND PHOTO, WAS OF MY ATTIC WINDOW AT THE MCGIBBON HOUSE, ON THE THIRD FLOOR OF THE FORMER DOCTOR'S HOUSE, WHERE I USED TO WRITE NIGHTLY, FROM THE WINTER OF 1977 UNTIL 1979. IT LOOKED OVER THE PRESENT MEMORIAL PARK BANDSHELL, ON BRACEBRIDGE'S MANITOBA STREET, AND IT WAS WHEN I FIRST GOT TO KNOW THE RESIDENT GHOSTS THAT USED TO WANDER ITS AGED HALLS. THE BUILDING WAS TORN DOWN TO MAKE WAY FOR A NEW OFFICE FACILITY.
THERE'S A SHORT PIECE, THAT I INCLUDED AS PART OF THE FEATURE, THAT A FRIEND WHO WORKED IN A SHOP, DOWNSTAIRS IN THE MCGIBBON HOUSE, RELATED TO ME, WHEN SHE HEARD I WAS DOING THE GHOST ARTICLE. I CHANGED HER NAME TO "ELIZABETH," BECAUSE, AT THAT TIME, IF YOU CLAIMED TO HAVE SEEN A GHOST, YOU WERE A NUT-BALL PLAIN AND SIMPLE. NOT BEING CONCERNED MYSELF, I WENT AHEAD WITH THIS FEATURE, EVEN THOUGH THE PAPER'S MANAGER WORRIED, I WAS GOING TO COST THE HERALD-GAZETTE SOME ADVERTISERS. SO MY DEAL WITH HIM, BASICALLY FOR MY JOB, WAS THAT IF WE LOST OUR ADS, OR READERS, I WOULD WANDER OFF INTO THE SUNSET. IF THE NEWSTAND SALES WERE UP THAT WEEK, THEN I WANTED A RAISE. NEWSTAND SALES WERE EXCELLENT, AND AS IT USUALLY TURNED OUT, I DIDN'T GET THE RAISE. BUT WITHOUT QUESTION, AT THAT TIME, RUNNING A FULL PAGE SPREAD LIKE THIS, WAS RISKY BUSINESS. BUT THEY TOOK A CHANCE THEN, AND ON MANY OTHER PIECES I WROTE DURING THE NEXT EIGHT YEARS OF OUR SOMEWHAT TURBULENT RELATIONSHIP. I'M A BIG "FREEDOM OF THE PRESS" ADVOCATE, AND OUR STAFF WRITERS, WHO WERE EXCELLENT AT WHAT THEY DID, LOVED TO PUSH THE PROVERBIAL ENVELOPE. THERE WAS NO STATUS QUO STUFF WHEN WE RAN THE HERALD-GAZETTE, EXCEPT THE "OUR YESTERDAYS," COLUMN, WRITTEN BY LONG-TIME EDITOR, ROBERT BOYER. WHEN BOB WOULD LOOK OVER MY COPY, WAXED AND ROLLED ONTO THE "FLATS" (WHICH WERE SENT TO THE PRINTER), HE'D CHEW THE END OF HIS CIGAR LIKE IT WAS A WAD OF GUM, AND SNORT A LITTLE, BUT NEVER ONCE DID THE MAN DISCOURAGE ME FROM TRYING NEW THINGS....WITH THE PAPER HIS FAMILY HAD FOUNDED. I LIKED THAT ABOUT BOB. DESPITE BEING OLD SCHOOL ABOUT THE NEWSPAPER BUSINESS, IN HIS HOME COMMUNITY, HE DIDN'T TRY TO STOP THE CLOCK, OR WISH IN ANY WAY, TO OPERATE IN A STATUS QUO SITUATION. HE JUST DIDN'T WANT ME SCREWING WITH HIS WEEKLY COLUMN. WHEN I WENT TO WORK WITH BOB, AS AN ASSISTANT EDITOR OF THE MUSKOKA SUN, IT WAS THE BEST TIME OF MY YOUNG WRITING CAREER, BECAUSE BOB JUST WANTED ME TO WRITE, AND WRITE AND WRITE. IF I HAD PUT BYLINES ON EVERY STORY I WROTE, FOR THOSE MONSTER ISSUES, I WOULD HAVE HAD TWENTY TO THIRTY LARGE ARTICLES EVERY WEEK. I WANTED EXPOSURE, AND BOB GAVE ME A LOT OF WHITE SPACE BETWEEN THE ADS, TO FILL AT MY DISCRETION.
GETTING BACK TO THE STORY TOLD TO ME BY ELIZABETH. IT DIDN'T HAPPEN IN MUSKOKA, BUT IT WAS THE FIRST TIME THE STORY HAD BEEN PUBLISHED. BY THE WAY, BECAUSE OF THIS FEATURE ARTICLE, I WAS APPROACHED BY JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO, ONE OF CANADA'S BEST KNOWN GHOST SLEUTHS, AND HE OFFERED ME A CHANCE TO BE A SMALL PART OF HIS NEXT BOOK OF GHOST STORIES. HE EVEN SUGGESTED I SHOULD WRITE A BOOK OF MUSKOKA GHOST STORIES, AT SOME POINT, AND I HAVE, FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, DONE JUST THAT, BUT KEPT IT ON-LINE VIA THESE BLOGS....RATHER THAN KILLING TREES TO PUT OUT A BOOK INSTEAD. JOHN EVEN WROTE THE OPENING COLUMN, FOR A SERIES OF GHOST STORIES I WROTE, IN THE LATE 1990'S, FOR THE MUSKOKA SUN, WHICH CARRIED OVER 22 WEEKS THAT YEAR. MY ONGOING WORK AS A HOBBY GHOST SLEUTH, WAS DEFINITELY ADVANCED BY THE GOOD MR. COLOMBO, AND THE SUCCESS OF THE FEATURE ARTICLE, ILLUSTRATED ABOVE. IT WAS MY FIRST SERIOUS FORAY INTO THE SPIRIT WORLD, YOU MIGHT SAY, AND IT CARRIES ON THE SAME TODAY. SO HERE ARE A FEW SNIPITS OF EDITORIAL MATERIAL, FROM THAT SPRING ISSUE, OF THE BRACEBRIDGE HERALD-GAZETTE.
THE RECOLLECTION OF "THE ROOM"
April 7th, 1982 - "In a recent interview with The Herald-Gazette, a young Bracebridge woman, talked openly about a ghostly encounter she had experienced, as a young girl, living in the Lanark County area of rural Ontario. Elizabeth, not her real name, has worked in Bracebridge for several years, and resides near the Village of Port Carling. She maintains the following story is true as she experienced IT, while living in an older home in Lanark County with her parents.
"Growing up in our household, it was quite normal to accept the presence of a ghost or spirit. It was not unusual to hear our mother tell the air, after our inner kitchen door would slam against the wall, 'If you are friendly, come away in....if not, out you get!' Elizabeth tells of her early experiences.
"My brother and sister always tried to out-scare the other, and always succeeded in scaring themselves instead. The house was the first stonehouse to be built in Lanark County. Its sturdy walls kept back the cold winds that winter would throw at her. On the back was an old fashioned summer kitchen, made entirely of wood and glass, very much neglected over the years. The last tenant appeared to have used it for storage, even though it was cooler in the summer for cooking, or so we thought. It was always intriguing to discover something new in it. The first couple of weeks after we had moved in, we explored the room above the back kitchen. The stairs were unusually well designed; a half spiral staircase that made definite creaks when we walked on them. Creaks we heard many times, working their way down, and into the back kitchen, while we were nowhere near.
"It was always a very definite creaking; very deliberate. There was no wind to blame for the noises. I had, on numerous occasions, felt a strong presence in the room I nicknamed the 'studio.' There were personal belongings and photographs packed tightly away behind the aperture in the wall. Both my brother and sister thought it very amusing that I didn't like it in there. Somehow, I had always felt as if I was intruding. It was as if I knew that the room was occupied. To me, to have looked through the dusty old boxes, was an invasion of privacy that I wanted no part of. I guess I felt deep down, that if I respected the privacy of the past, it would respect mine."
BELIEVING IN GHOSTS, A MATTER OF HISTORY
"Ever since the dawn of mankind, people have believed in ghosts. The fear of the unknown, the certainty that there was something, somewhere out there, bigger than life, beyond its pale, and more powerful than anything walking the earth, has persisted throughout the ages," wrote Catherine Buxton, author of "Haunted Houses," published in 1971. "What exactly is a ghost? In terms of psychic research, a ghost appears to be a surviving emotional memory of someone who had died traumatically, and usually, tragically, but is unaware of his / her death. Ghosts then, in the overwhelming majority, do not realize that they are dead. Those who do know they are dead are confused as to where they are, or why they feel not quite as they used to feel. When death occurs unexpectedly or unacceptedly, or when a person has lived in a place for a very long time, acquiring certain routine habits and becoming very attached to a premises, sudden, unexpected death comes as a shock. Unwilling to part with the physical world, such human personalities then continue to stay on, in the very spot where their tragedy, or their emotional attachment, had existed prior to physical death," notes Huxton.
Thousands upon thousands of books have been written on the supernatural. Ghosts have inspired writers from literally, the "dawn of mankind," as Huxton continues. "Ghosts do not appear on command, and even spending the night in a haunted house might produce nothing more than a stiff neck or the sniffles. Then again, one might walk into a haunted house unaware of that fact, and might have an experience quite unexpectedly. Such is the thrill, and the uncertainty of following a ghost - one can never be sure what might transpire."
Author Victoria Branden, in her book, "Understanding Ghosts," published in 1980, noted that "For the last hundred years or so, people have refused to take the subject of ghosts very seriously. The supernatural has been relegated to the occultists and crackpots, although a small group of parapsychologists, has striven doggedly to approach it scientifically and unsuperstitiously." Researcher Eileen Sonin writes, "There are several different ways that a ghost makes its presence known, and I think I have experienced most of them." Sonin, author of the 1969 book, "Ghosts I Have Known," suggests that "I have seen a ghost, heard a ghost, and touched a ghost, even smelt a ghost. It is a quite well-known phenomenon that sometimes when a spirit is near, the place is filled with an over-powering perfume. Sometimes almost sickly sweet, at other times it is a beautiful scent of flowers."
Sonin includes a story about a house she lived in near Kensington Street in London, England, with her husband. The small cottage-like building was to be only a temporary residence, until final arrangements were made for a new house, they were intending to purchase. One room of the house, which she maintains seemed pleasant in appearance, made her feel unhappy and distressed upon entering. "I subconsciously tended to avoid it (room). It was so sad. Even if you were in a really jolly mood when you entered, five minutes later, you would feel deeply distressed and unhappy. No matter how hard you tried to shake it off, misery settled like a cloud around you. The only other feature of the cottage, that somewhere close by, was a child who cried continuously. It really upset me. I tried to find out where the crying was coming from, but could never pinpoint it in any of the neighboring houses."
The intensity of Sonin's unhappiness increased. She and her husband decided to vacate the house and seek accommodations elsewhere. Upon telling the real estate agent, who had been looking after the cottage, the Sonins learned more about the house. The former owners of the house had had a little girl aged three. The parents used to leave the tiny girl alone for long hours and she would cry alone in the house for hours on end. "She was a sweet little thing he told me. One day she managed to climb to the window ledge of the upstairs sitting room. Her father, driving into the garage, saw her and called to her to climb down. Laughingly, she waved to him, over balanced and fell out of the window, onto the paved courtyard below. Her skull was fractured and she died instantly. The crying child, I murmurred to myself, and he nodded." The agent told them that other tenants of the house had heard the crying as well, and had felt the discomfort the cottage bred.
According to Susy Smith, author of "Ghosts Around The House," there are four different types of ghosts. One type of ghost, she explains, is a "deceased human serving notice; the second is an hallucination - plain and simple; the third is an out of body experience, bilocation, being in two places at once; and the fourth is the veridical after image, poltergeist or telekonesis." "Poltergeists are certainly the most unpleasant of all psychic phenomena. They suggest to the serious student of the occult that even on the other side, there are some kinds of malevolent entities, who seem to delight in persecuting, and at times injuring innocent unfortunates. There seems to be no reason for the childish rapping and the stupid throwing of all kinds of objects," suggests Victoria Branden, author of "Understanding Ghosts." "There is no doubt about it, ghosts are arbitrary, difficult, confusing, and befuddling. They are also very interesting," writes ghost researcher, Susy Smith.
In the words of Shakespeare, through the mouth of his character Hamlet, saying of his dead father; "And we fools of nature, so horridly to shake our disposition, with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? To which I answer: Why is this? Because it actually happened to me. Wherefore? We do not know. What should we do? Keep an open mind."
Thanks for joining with me today, for a little fireside chat about....ghosts. See you again soon
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