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| Next Currie's Session Event on Friday August 15th, advance tickets $10 and $15 at the door |
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| November 1971 First Issue of The Toronto Sun with Paul Rimstead on his familiar page 3 |
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| From left to right-Ray Farrugia, Andrea Ramolo, Andrew Currie and Tom Wilson with his new "old" radio in the studio of Andrew Currie's Music in Gravenhust. |
AT THE TIME, I WAS READING THE FIRST EDITION OF THE TORONTO SUN, FROM NOVEMBER 1ST, 1971 (A REALLY LATE HOME DELIVERY)
I must remind myself to scold the paper boy (or girl) for delivering my paper late. A few decades late in fact. It just arrived on my doorstep, but instead of a newsie dropping it off, it was a friend who knows we like old stuff like this.
I was planning to write about former Toronto Sun columnist, Paul Rimstead, today. A couple of days ago, a friend of Andrew and Robert, thought their father, the man in the studio who writes these blogs, would be interested in a well preserved, first edition, of The Toronto Sun, dated November 1st, 1971. I bought two copies the day it hit the news stands on November 1st. 1971. One was to read and the other went right into plastic, to companion the last issue of the "Toronto Telegram." By this act, without knowing it, I joined thousands of other Canadians who had done the same thing. We never expected that the news run, for that issue, of The Telegram, had been boosted by many thousands, to use up the news print I suppose. The same with The Sun. There seemed to be a lot then, in 1971, because many folks but two or three copies, which may explain why there are still so many in circulation, and of course, under thick plastic. As many figured that owning the final issue of the Toronto Telegram, would one day offer an investment dividend worth hundreds of dollars, it also explains why the price of these well preserved "farewell" issues, has remained under ten bucks. To get rid of two that I owned, I had to include them with the actual tin Toronto Telegram news stand, Suzanne had brought from the Windermere Marina, after her family sold the business in the early 1970's. Even then, I only got sixty bucks.
The Toronto Sun falls into somewhat the same category. So many saved the first "Joe Zuger" issue, that today, they are only worth about five bucks, even in pristine condition. The one with that great picture of the injured Hamilton Tiger Cats quarterback, Joe Zuger, with his helmeted head, on the ground, struggling to pull himself up after a duo tackle by Argos, Jim Corrigal and Jim Stillwagon. The Tiger Cats beat the Argos, 23-15, to advance to the semi-finals, but they lost Zuger with a separated shoulder. I used to own about ten of these first issue Toronto Suns, not because I was a Hamilton fan, but because on page three, there was Paul Rimstead's first column, inking the page under the heading "It's not much like Bassett's Old Place;" which of course, referred to the shift of staff, from the former Toronto Telegram, owned by John Bassett, to the antiquated digs of the "Eclipse Whitewear" building. Which according to the directions given by Rimstead, read "next door to Farb's Car Wash, and across the street from the King's Plate Open Kitchen, where you can buy a beef steak pie for 50 cents. Another publishing empire has opened on King St." This was how Rimstead, or "Rimmer" opened his column, for that first issue.
To get ready for today's editorial, I started reading Rimstead's column, trying to figure out, how I was going to fit it into a story about my planned upgrades, for a better, more relaxing book room here at our Gravenhurst music and antique shop. It will be the first vintage book shop in the world, me thinks, to have as its patron saint, a newspaper columnist. Yup, I plan to have this page of The Toronto Sun framed, and Rimstead's books, "Cocktails and Jockstraps," and "Dammit Rimstead," right at the entrance of the room. I won't call it the "Paul Rimstead Book Room," because he wouldn't have liked all the fuss. But I want patrons of our shop, to realize, just how much a bookman like me, appreciated the quality of his writing, and his many newspaper accomplishments, in a short life of only 52 years; becoming one of Canada's best known, and well read columnists with the Toronto Sun, The Edmonton Sun and The Calgary Sun. Best part. He went to class (sometimes) at the same school I did, in Bracebridge, and published one of Muskoka's favorite newspapers, with a circulation of under 25 copies; known with neighborhood affection, as "The Beatrice Bugle," a hamlet community north of town. His sister Diane was co-editor. So where am I going with this? Well, as I was reading Rimstead's column from 1971, I was suddenly thrust into a television procedure I remember from about that vintage. "Ted Currie, Antenna wrangler!"
Andrew's friend, and Canadian folk musician, Andrea Ramolo, who came to the shop on Sunday, for a visit, with well known musician friends, Tom Wilson (known from the bands, "Blackie and The Rodeo Kings", "Junkhouse", and "Lee Harvey Osmond"), and Ray Farrugia, (of "Junkhouse" and "Lee Harvey Osmond"), told him that she and bandmate Cindy Doire, of the band, "Scarlet Jane," were going to be on the sound-stage, for the live-music portion of CTV's "Canada AM" on Tuesday. First of all, we forgot what day it was, which is normal for most of us, "work-every-day-through-the-summer" Muskokans, on all holiday weekends. So when Suzanne heard the news duo, announce that "Scarlet Jane," was going to be featured this morning, she started yelling all over God's half acre, here at "Birch Hollow," trying to get everyone in front of the television. These were our mates, who were going to be on television. (We really get excited about things like this).
Well, gosh, there were cats and a dog running helter skelter, thinking that Suzanne's rousing of the troops, meant an unanticipated bonus feeding. With about three seconds to spare, we all gathered around the vintage boob tube, to watch our friends perform their well known, and hauntingly tantalizing single, "Aching Heart." It was worth all the scrambling to get into the living room, except the pets, gathered in front of their food dishes, wondering "what the hell!"
To footnote this, is quite necessary. It was a real throw-back to 1971. We don't have cable at Birch Hollow, because I'm too cheap. And we only get one channel. CTV. So just as my dad used to ask me to hold the antenna, in various locations, to pull in the hockey finals, instead of hearing the static-interupted voice, of either Danny Galivan, doing the play by play from the Montreal Forum, or Bill Hewitt from Maple Leaf Gardens, my "ballet of the antenna," provided a clear, audible signal of "Scarlet Jane." As a result of the critters running back and forth across the signal field, I had to keep adjusting my position, which would have looked awfully funny, if I'd been on a video clip; all to the sound of that wonderfully compelling melody, of "Aching Heart," featuring two talented musicians, Andrea Ramolo and Cindy Doire.
I bet I was the only person in the world, this morning, to start off the day with a coffee, a copy of the November 1st issue, of the Toronto Sun, reading Paul Rimstead's first column for the new paper, and then having to do the antenna "soft-shoe" shuffle, to keep a television signal. Talk about a nostalgia burdened family. So the four Currie's will well remember the morning we saw "Scarlet Jane" on television, in part, because of all the interesting old-time stuff going on here, in our urban homestead. We'd rather of course, see them perform live, and believe me, as a family business, we're working on bringing the two exceptional performers to Gravenhurst, sometime this calendar year. Can't say when, or where, or even how, but Gravenhurst will be a welcoming place, when they do make a playing-visit.
As for the morning show, we saw ninety-five percent, in focus, and well, the other five percent not so much. After Scarlet Jane's performance, Suzanne put her hand on my shoulder, and said, "Next time, move your hips to the right, your gut to the left, and your head turned to the fireplace." "But then I wouldn't be able to see the show," I complained. "At least you'd be able to hear it," she answered, reminding me at that moment, what my father Ed used to tell me, when I missed those overtime, Stanley Cup winning goals; and even the replays, because that was, next to the winning goal, the most important aspect of the complete televised-game experience. I was the best kid on our block, to my father, for those two hours, when I held that antenna in the perfect position, to afford the clearest picture. "Ah, dad, come on, I want to see the game too." When us kids would compare notes about the hockey game the night before, without much surprise, we shared the story of "antenna" holding. What a Godsend was cable? "We'll check it (the replay of the performance) online, later today," she said, while hustling us out the door, as we were late opening the shop. "And you know, when you think about, why don't we just pay for cable." It must be the old Scot in me, so I answered, "I'm okay with holding the antenna, if we can switch around now and again." "Yea, right, your shows are hour long, and Scarlet Jane's song was about three minutes. Why is that fair?" In 1971 my mother Merle had a similar showdown with my father, when she told him to buzz-off when he tried to get her to long-term adjust the antenna; which meant holding it a little to the left, a bit to the right, and maybe even over her head. Not long after this, we got cable. I have a feeling history is going to repeat.
We like "Scarlet Jane," wherever they play, and you can and should check them out online.
www.scarlettjane.com/
NOW BACK TO RIMSTEAD AND TORONTO SUN "ONE"
"The wooden stairs (of the Eclipse Building) have worn grooves in them, and the elevator will carry as many as three people at one time," wrote Paul Rimstead, in his first Toronto Sun column. He was referring to the new digs, many of the former Telegram staffers moved into, as part of the new Toronto and regional publication, "The Toronto Sun." Rimmer's position on page three became a tradition, and would eventually be joined by the daily Sunshine Girl directly below, or a little off to the side.
"We should apologize for the squeaking sound of the elevator but we have assurance that there is really no need to worry. And if it ever fails to make the trip, there is a set of steel fire stairs built onto an outside wall. Frankly, the fire stairs might be quicker."
Rimstead writes, "When the elevator finally stopped, I did not know whether to turn to the right or climb the steel ladder which leads to a loft above. You turn right. Now the scene might startle you for a moment. People are sitting around on cardboard cartons and the decor is, well, sort of Canadian factory. Publisher Doug Creighton, our old managing editor at The Telegram, shares his office with executive editor, Peter Worthington, who played second base on The Tely ball team. It was not designed the same as John Bassett's office at the old place. There is no rug. Just a wooden floor. It is spacious, however, about 12 feet by 14 feet, and the walls are genuine brick, painted a rather sickly green with long dust streaks to break the monotony."
"At the old place, when I was tired, I could sleep on a cot in the women's washroom. Here I have to climb up on a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, about six feet high, and it was not nearly as comfortable," he complained, of the Eclipse Building's hospitality shortfalls. "A major discovery was made early yesterday morning, when someone found a dusty old electric kettle among some other junk. A guy made a quick trip to a Mac's Milk store, and eureka, we had coffee. This was especially important yesterday morning following The Telegram wake at the Press Club. The Sun of course, is staffed entirely by former Tely employees, which means that every person who worked on this first issue, was hung-over. A coffee table was set up yesterday and someone wisely put out a large bottle of aspirin tablets and some Alka Seltzer."
Rimmer adds, "The guys in the photo department, which matches the rest of the office, ceremoniously hung the first picture ever developed on the premises on their door. It shows the three of them, Jac Holland, Dave Cooper, and Norm Betts, standing there, their arms around one another. If you happen to call the office, by the way, the noise in the background, is from the UPI teletype machine which is located only three feet from the switchboard."
The columnist concludes, "This is going to be the most exciting experience any of us have had, and it gives you a good feeling to sit amid the debris and think about it. You can put your feet up and look into Editor Worthington's office, where there is a clean spot on the window, just large enough to see the view. This, of course, is not the Toronto skyline the way those other papers down the street have it. But you can watch the people of Toronto, out in their backyards hanging out their laundry. And that is what The Sun is going to be all about. If, indeed, the world likes an underdog, then Toronto should have a love affair with this one."
The advertisement, directly below Rimstead's column, was for a 1971 Ford Mustang, priced at $3,338, from Church Motors. There was a headline on page 44, reading, "Bike crash kills top guitarist," Duane Allman, age 24, of the Allman Brothers." Another news story, under the heading, "Drain Erie and farm it," reported that, "A Toronto engineer says he knows the way to solve pollution of Lake Erie - drain the lake and turn it into farm land. Frank Ogden says that by building a dam near Detroit and excavating the Niagara River, above the falls, the lake could be turned into more than five million acres of new farm land." The headline above this reads, "Author says Bobby Kennedy Marilyn's friend, but no scandal," and 590 / CKEY News had, a full page add on thirteen, with pen sketches of their staffers including, Bob Rice (who visited with us at the shop some time ago) and Dini Petty, in the traffic helicopters. Other staffers listed in 1971 were Charles Templeton, Jim Hunt, Charles Whiting, Bob Crabb, Jim Ward and Joe Morgan.
On the sports' page, there was another article, by Rimstead, asking readers, "And Where's Shack." "What I want to know is, where is Eddie Shack? The last time I covered hockey, back when there were only six teams, Shackie and his big nose were with Toronto. On Saturday night I looked down the list and saw a bunch of strange names, Darryl Sittler? Now who in the heck is Darryl Sittler? I met him at a beauty contest this summer at Cedarbrae and I thought he worked for Simpson's. Where are Bower, Brewer, Duff, Kelly, Mahovolich, Horton, Armstrong and all of those guys who used to play here? The only names I recognized Saturday night, when the Maple Leafs tied the Minnesota North Stars, 1-1, were Keon, Ellis and Bobby Baun, my neighbor out in Pickering. It was a good thing that it was Keon who scored, his first, incidentally, of the season. Had it been anybody else, I would have had to go up and ask for his name. I was fortunate too, that it was Murray Oliver who tied it up, for that hotshot Minnesota team. He was around in the old days, too. And, by golly, there was that old beer-belly Gump Worsley in goal for the North Stars. I can see that it is going to take a little time to adjust. But, frankly, a 1-1 tie never did excite me very much. So I decided to spend my time instead, on trying to acclimatize myself to the changes. I called Keon yesterday afternoon, in New York, and made my first mistake. I woke him up. 'Well,' he said, yawning as he spoke, 'I guess the traveling takes more out of you now. It's pretty well the same schedule, but we make longer road trips. And we never get those long lay-offs, Sunday to Saturday, that we sometimes got a few years ago.' And then he told me something that surprised me. Apparently they are playing in a new rink in New York. It's a good thing I did not go to last night's game. I would have wound up in an empty lot where the old Gardens used to be." Rimstead concludes, "When I travelled with the Leafs years ago, a guy named George (Punch) Imlach was the boss. Now they have some fella named (John) McLellan."
I concur. I'm still back in the days of the Original Six. What the hell happened to me? It must be this hangover with antiques. I can't seem to stay contemporary for very long.
The reason I plan to honor Paul Rimstead, in my revamped book room, is that his work, his writing skill, and irreverence via his columns, kept me in the news business myself, ten years longer than I really should have lasted. I started getting pissed off with my publisher, on about the third day of employment. It didn't get any better for the rest of the decade. Thank God I could get my hands on the Toronto Sun, through those years, because Rimstead experienced and wrote about, many of the same stand-offs with the publisher-kind. If you were a Rimstead follower, back then, the highlight was when management turfed him to the back of the paper, for his alleged lacklustre performance, and he fought the decision through his column, for the benefit of readers, and glory be, won back his page three profile. I can't tell you how many hundreds of brow-beaten reporters toasted him, on the day he was once again, on what would become the highest read page in the Toronto Sun. I know I would have eventually kicked the publisher right in the ass, if it hadn't been for the calming influences of Rimmer, back then, who fought management and prevailed, through his words, not the toe of his boot.
I'm just glad, that he didn't write a column, about the time, he got stuck in Ted Currie's hockey jersey, during a benefit game at the Bracebridge Arena, between the Herald-Gazette Rink Rats, and the CKVR Television No-Stars, from Barrie. Reporter Brant Scott and I wanted him to don one of our team's original sweaters, the one with a sinister rat on the front, for the front page of that week's Herald-Gazette. "Well sir," as Paul would have written. "that's when the lights went out." He took his white stetson off, removed his jacket, and tried to put the small blue jersey over his head, and somewhere between the shoulders and his belt, it got stuck, such that he couldn't see, and was finding it hard to breathe. It had got stuck on his stomach, which by his own admission was a tad large. It looked like Harry Houdini in the last stages of escape from a straight jacket. Rimmer was going the opposite direction, but by this point, we had no option, if we didn't want to watch the celebrity columnist suffocate in the hometown dressing room. Three players stepped in to pull the sweater back over his head, and in a few minutes, the color returned to his cheeks. Gads, we almost killed Paul Rimstead, with my number nine jersey. Imagine that headline. "Newspaper hockey hounds strangle rival columnist with jersey number nine!" He was a good sport, and even joined us for a toast of beer, following his near death experience, even when he was supposed to be off the stuff. We crowded around Rimstead as if he was the Dalai Lama.
To that point, early in the 1980's, this benefit game, with Paul Rimstead calling the play by play from the gondola, attracted the largest crowd in arena history. There wasn't even standing room. The fans came to see Rimstead. We just happened to be playing a benefit game at the same time. Hell yes! There should be a statue of Rimmer in Bracebridge instead of the newly proposed "Santa Claus," bronze. The inscription below could read, "This one's for you," as he used to end his "O'Keefe Ale" commercials.
He'll at the very least, get a room dedicated in his honor, here in Uptown Gravenhurst, where, truth be known, he used to hunker down at Hugh Clairmont's house, at the bottom on Bay Street, and where, at least on one occasion, according to my old writing mate Hugh, he was so under the weather, after a night of interviews, he had to read his column over the phone to a secretary, or miss that day's deadline. He may not have been a hero to all, but dammit, he was a hero to me.
Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Be sure to look up the group, "Scarlet Jane." You won't be disappointed!
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