LOCAL BOOKS HAVE A PLACE OF HONOR, AND I WILL ALWAYS BE PLEASED TO REPRESENT THE "AMBASSADOR OF THE SAXOPHONE"
"ONE DAY, I WAS STROLLING IN DOWNTOWN REGINA, AND I HEARD A MARCHING BAND PARADING DOWN THE STREET. AS THE BAND CAME CLOSER, I SQUEEZED MY WAY THROUGH THE CROWDS THAT WERE LINE UP ON 11TH STREET, JUST IN TIME TO SEE THE BANNER OF THE REGINA LION'S JUNIOR BAND COME INTO VIEW. THE CROWD CHEERED, THE DRUMS WERE BEATING AND THE BAND STRUCK UP A ROUSING MARCH. THE MEMBERS OF THE BAND WORE DARK PURPLE UNIFORMS WITH GOLD BRAID, LARGE GOLD PLUMES ON THEIR HATS AND WHITE SPATS ON THEIR SHOES. MY HEART ALMOST FELL OUT WHEN THE BAND MARCHED BY ME. I RAN ALL THE WAY HOME AND IN GREAT EXCITEMENT AND TOLD MY MOTHER AND FATHER ABOUT THE INCREDIBLE EVENT THAT HAD JUST TAKEN PLACE, AND I IMMEDIATELY ANNOUNCED THAT I WANTED TO BECOME A MEMBER OF THIS BAND." (PAUL BRODIE, FROM HIS BIOGRAPHY)
SURE, I HAVE A LOT OF REGRETS ABOUT THOSE OPPORTUNITIES I MISSED AS A REPORTER. IT'S NOT LIKE I DIDN'T HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY, ON ABOUT A THOUSAND OCCASIONS, TO PHONE PAUL OR RIMA BRODIE, AND ASK IF THEY'D GIVE THIS MUSKOKA SUN WRITER A FEW MOMENTS FOR AN INTERVIEW. INSTEAD, I'D LET SOMEONE ELSE, ANOTHER STAFF REPORTER DO IT, AND EVEN THOUGH IT WAS AN INTERVIEW I WANTED TO CONDUCT, MORE OUT OF PERSONAL INTEREST, WHEN IT CAME RIGHT DOWN TO THE MOMENT OF EXECUTION, SOMETHING ALWAYS GOT IN THE WAY. SO I HAVE TO CONFESS SADLY, I NEVER MET MUSICIAN PAUL BRODIE, OR FOR THAT MATTER, HIS ARTIST WIFE, RIMA. I HAVE HEARD PAUL ON VARIOUS RECORDINGS, AND I HAVE SEEN RIMA'S FIBRE WORK SCULPTURES. FOR WHATEVER REASON, AND THERE ARE PROBABLY A DOZEN, I PAID ATTENTION TO THE BRODIES COMINGS AND GOINGS AROUND THE GLOBE, WHEN HE WAS ON TOUR WITH VARIOUS BANDS OVER THE DECADES. I WAS INTRODUCED TO PAUL VIA THE LOCAL MEDIA, WHERE MOST OF THE INFLUENTIAL MOMENTS OF MY EARLY WRITING LIFE, IMPRINTED SO PROFOUNDLY. I PROBABLY HAD MY FIRST INTRODUCTION TO HIS SAXOPHONE PLAYING, BACK WHEN I WAS WITH MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, IN THE 1980'S. MORE SO WHEN I WAS ASSISTANT EDITOR OF THE MUSKOKA SUN. AND AFTER THIS, AS A REGULAR CONTRIBUTOR TO ALL THE MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS NEWSPAPERS, THAT CARRIED STORIES ABOUT PAUL AND RIMA, WHO OF COURSE, WERE WELL KNOWN BALA RESIDENTS, WITH A COTTAGE ON THE MOON RIVER.
SO EVEN THOUGH I NEVER GOT UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL, TO EITHER THE MUSICIAN OR THE ARTIST, AFTER READING AND SEEING SO MUCH MEDIA COVERAGE OF THEIR WORK AND TRAVELS, I FELT I KNEW THEM PRETTY WELL, LONG BEFORE THEIR RESPECTIVE BOOKS WERE PUBLISHED IN AND AROUND THE TURN OF THIS PRESENT CENTURY. I'VE GOT BOTH RIMA'S BOOK ON HER UNIQUE TEXTILE ART, AND I JUST PICKED UP ANOTHER SIGNED COPY OF PAUL'S BOOK THIS MORNING, ALL ABOUT HIS ADVENTURES AS A TRAVELING SAXOPHONE PLAYER, OF CONSIDERABLE INTERNATIONAL ACCOMPLISHMENT. I HATE THE FACT THAT SO MANY FOLKS LOOK AT THIS BOOK, ON MY SALE TABLE TODAY, AND ASK OUT LOUD, "SO WHO THE HELL IS PAUL BRODIE, ANYWAY. I'VE NEVER HEARD OF HIM?"
"THAT'S WHY YOU BUY THE BOOK, LADY," I MUMBLE TO MYSELF, IN A VOICE LOW ENOUGH, SO AS NOT TO BE HEARD. WHAT REALLY FRUSTRATES ME, IS THAT HE ISN'T BETTER KNOWN AND RESPECTED, ESPECIALLY HERE IN MUSKOKA, WHERE HE INVESTED A LOT OF HIS RECREATIONAL TIME. IN SCHOOLS FOR ONE THING. PAUL DEDICATED A HUGE AMOUNT OF HIS FREE TIME, TO FURTHER MUSIC EDUCATION IN CANADIAN SCHOOLS, AND THE STUDENTS LOVED HIS VISITS. THEY SURE AS HECK SHOULD REMEMBER HIM! NEWS COVERAGE OF HIS VISITS, WERE "IN THE PAPER," OR ON "THE LOCAL TELEVISION NEWS," OR POTENTIALLY, AS CLOSE AS A PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION OCCURRING RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM. FOR LONG AND LONG, HE WAS KNOWN FOR HIS AMBITION, AND BEING A FOUNTAIN OF ENERGY, ESPECIALLY WHEN IT CAME TO PERFORMANCES. IF I WAS WATCHING IT, SO WERE A LOT OF OTHERS. WE SHOULD KNOW HIS BIOGRAPHY. THOROUGHLY SO! YOU CAN'T READ HIS BOOK, WITHOUT LEARNING SOMETHING PROFOUND; LEARNING SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF AT THE SAME TIME. HE WAS AN EXCEPTIONAL MUSICIAN, EDUCATOR, AND CANADIAN, WHO WAS NOT ONLY AN AMBASSADOR OF THE SAXOPHONE, BUT IN MANY WAYS, AN AMBASSADOR FOR THE GOOD LIFE HERE IN MUSKOKA. HIS YEARS OF MULTI-INVOLVEMENTS, IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN, AND BY THE STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE HE UPKEPT TO A SHARP POINT, ARE A FEW OF THE DOZENS OF REASONS, HE WAS AWARDED THE "ORDER OF CANADA." PAUL AND RIMA AREN'T AROUND ANY MORE, SO I CAN'T INTERVIEW THEM IN PERSON. BUT I CAN DO A SMALL PART, BY SHOWCASING HIS OUTSTANDING BIOGRAPHY, AND SELLING RIMA'S BOOK IN OUR SHOP.
An Overture to a Rich Life
Ted Hegvik, of Seattle, Washington, was granted a great honor, when he was asked to compose an introduction, or "Overture," to Paul Brodie's biography. He knew him well, and the introduction paints a pretty good picture, of a young man who would become a huge influence on the people he worked with, and all the apprentices along the way, including students, who hung off his "every note," played on the saxophone. In Ted Hegvik's words:
"You are about to read the story of a remarkable life. And who better to tell the story than the man who lived it; Paul Brodie. But as these pages unfold, and we realize the journey this man has taken, we can't help but wonder. How does a person accomplish all this? In only one lifetime? And just by playing the saxophone?
"From boyhood, in the Midwest prairies of Saskatchewan, to the highest honour his country can bestow, the Order of Canada - that's quite a trip. And from his inaugural recital at New York's famous town hall, to his recent concert at the Scala De San Telmo in Buenos Aires; from the Chinese Orchestra of Hong Kong, to the Russian Philharmonic Orchestra of Moscow; from the University of Canberra, in Australia to the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City - the list seems endless. He has performed for inmates at the maximum security prison in Drumheller, Alberta - all members of the band were convicted murderers - and at the Nehru Library in India. He has played for the Inuit on the Arctic Circle - at Inuvik, Northwest Territories - and at the Teatro de Marcellow in the Ancient Roman Forum.
"Thousands of concerts all over the world, London to Tel Aviv, without the benefit of a manager or booking agency; more classical saxophone recordings than anyone in history, without the backing and funding of a major record company - how is it all possible?"
Ted Hegvik writes of his friend and colleague, "We tend to explain this kind of success with reasons we can identify easily - technical mastery, talent, fortuitous circumstances - but these are all really periphial. They may be important, and even necessary, but they don't, by themselves, make things happen. When people rise to the top of their profession, when they influence the lives of others, when they accomplish things no one has achieved before, it invariably comes down to one basic attribute; force of personality. In Paul Brodie's case, it is a winning combination of inner strength and outer charm. The gentle, soft spoken manner is complemented perfectly by a strength of will and clarity, of purpose that propel the events of his life. This was already apparent when we met as students at the University of Michigan, in the early fifties. Paul seemed to have burst out of high school knowing exactly what he wanted to do. It had taken me two years in a territory dance band, and two years in an army band, to arrive at the same place. There were only four major schools offering degrees in saxophone, and after much research, it was apparent that Michigan was the place to go. Larry Teal had just started the saxophone program, and William Revelli headed the instrumental Music Department.
"So there was Paul Brodie, full of fun and zest for life, and that incredible inner drive, although, I must confess, the outer charm still had a few rough edges. But while the rest of us were struggling to make our way in the new environment, Paul was launching his first big enterprise; the Stardusters. Within three months his new group was the most active working combo on campus, and Paul's education as a promoter and entrepreneur was on its way. It was an exciting time for all of us. Paul and I lived in the same rooming house, and soon discovered that we had more in common than our woodwind degrees. We had been raised only a few hundred miles from each other, in the adjacent fields of North Dakota, and Saskatchewan. We'd played saxophone in various groups, and even may have attended the same school band festivals. But what probably bonded us most, was the discovery that we had both been inspired by the great English saxophonist, Freddie Gardner. The influence has been with us ever since. Once you hear something that affects you profoundly, you can never un-hear it."
Again, it is Hegvik who paints the most insightful biography, of those early years of Paul Brodie's budding appreciation for ongoing musical adventure. "On graduation, Paul's momentum never flagged. He went to Paris and studied with world renowned saxophonist, Marcel Mule, while I stayed in Michigan, to get a Master's degree on Clarinet. He returned and moved to Toronto, while I married and moved to Florida, where I was Principal Clarinet of the Tampa Philharmonic. In Toronto, Paul's creative skills came into full flower (it's one of the funniest chapters in his book, and shows Paul's keen sense of the ridiculous). With no job and no connections, he began his performing career, which was to take him around the world. And he started the Brodie School of Music and Modern Dance; for twenty years it reigned as Toronto's most prestigious private music school, with a faculty of twenty teachers, most from the Toronto Symphony, and an enrollment of 650 students. His Summer Workshops brought in top saxophone professionals to present three intensive days of classes, and performance. And he started his recording career, again without backing or support. But his general accomplishment will always remain his beautiful marriage to Rima. Who can explain such a great marriage? Their differences complement, their similarities strengthen, and they support each other always. Rima is an extraordinary artist in her own right. A modern dancer, choreographer, teacher - she established the Brodie School with Paul. When the constant injuries of dancing had taken their toll, she began a new and brilliant career in woven sculpture. Not just one skill, but many, she mastered, each on the way to realizing a new creation, a new project. Paul speaks as enthusiastically about her work, as she does about the beauty of his saxophone tone (Rima once told me that when she first heard Paul, she thought he had altered his instruments acoustically in order to produce such a beautiful sound.) They inhabit the Arts comfortably, they enjoy life thoroughly, and they share the same acceptance of the preparation and hard work required by their crafts. It weaves through the very fabric of their daily lives, so a book about Paul is also about Rima."
He writes that, "Paul always thought big, as long as I've known him. He seems to start at the top, or the final objective, and work down from there. The World Saxophone Congress is a perfect example. Others might conceive of a similar idea - an exchange of ideas, an opportunity to hear other players in performance - but they wouldn't start with a world organization in the very beginning. And with Paul, one good idea follows another. In a collaboration with Eugene Rousseau, he set up an international convention and arranged to honour the great living figures of the saxophone; Sigurd Rascher, Marcel Mule, and Larry Teal. The rest truly was history. Once the networking started, the idea took off on its own. National organizations developed - ours is the North American Saxophone Alliance, with regional divisions and its own magazine. The Saxophone Symposium. Ken Dorn's Saxophone Journal grew into an international publication, to fill the need for more communication, and because of this greater communication, saxophone recordings flourish as never before. It is also typical of Paul that he didn't try to ride this new organization for his own gain. He has always shown a generosity of spirit rare in any profession. Saxophonists guard their turf and professional secrets, zealously, but Paul goes in the other direction. He is the first to volunteer information, music, guidance, anything to help another saxophonist."
"Listen to his Compact Disc, 'Paul Brodie and Friends,' and you'll see what I mean," wrote Ted Hegvik. "It brings together the great scope of his musical activities, and the beauty of that heritage. From the opening notes of the Saint-Saens 'Swan,' with the Beijing Orchestra, you'll understand immediately the universal appeal Paul Brodie has had, for audiences of every culture - the warm lyrical sound with the built-in-echo, and the feeling that this person is playing just for you, and telling you his story. As I said before, its a remarkable story. He's a remarkable man."
Sons Andrew and Robert, (the seldom agreeing proprietors, of Currie's Music), had the opportunity to see Paul perform, live on stage, demonstrating a variety of band instruments, when he conducted a music-appreciation assembly, one afternoon, at Gravenhurst Public School. Both budding musicians by this point, being a tad cocky about their own playing prowess, had to admit, when they came home later that day, "You know dad, that Mr. Brodie fellow, sure knows what he's doing on the saxophone. He put on a really good show for us," said Andrew, with brother Robert, this time, actually agreeing. From the first day their vintage music shop was opened, here in Gravenhurst, there has always been a copy of Paul's book for reference, and at least one for sale in their book rack. I have collected about ten, all signed, including several of Rima's books. They know his contribution to music was immense, and they respect what he did, in the concluding years of his life, largely on a volunteer basis, to mentor young musicians, and spread the word about the life-long, social / cultural advantages, of being associated with music, in all its many forms and styles. To the students he visited with, and instructed, he made these instruments seem like an extension of his own anatomy, as naturally positioned as if it was another arm, hand, or finger. He took some of the preconceived notions, and character-arrogance away, from what students may have thought about professional musicians; that kept many youngsters from getting involved in the first place. And he made music seem, so much more accessible; especially letting them know, it was possible to learn anything, and play anything, if students had the desire to learn an instrument of choice; and follow through, as he had, on his initial ambition, to be the best of the best. He let students know, that they could become as proficient as he was, if they were prepared to work, and study hard. He obviously has had an impact on both Andrew and Robert, who were so excited by the potentials of the music industry, after visiting with Paul, that they went right from high school, into their newly established vintage music shop, in Gravenhurst, where they covered rent initially, by conducting guitar lessons; making up two thirds of the shop's annual income. That was eleven years ago. They live and breathe music, and they feel privileged every day, to be involved in such a rewarding, dynamic, ever-changing profession. If Paul was still around, I'm pretty sure he would have become a regular visitor, of this studio, with a lot of other musician cronies, of which he was well acquainted. Ragtime piano player, Jack Hutton, of Bala, for one, and Mark Clairmont, for the other. Mark's father Hugh Clairmont, one of Muskoka's well known trumpet players, and band leaders, used to talk with considerable affection, about Paul Brodie, when he and I would casually discuss the local music scene, back in the halcyon days, when I worked for Mark's paper, "Muskoka Today."
You will never find a day in this building, not a single one, when we find ourselves naked; that's to say, finding ourselves without a copy of Paul Brodie's book, on at least the reference shelf, for quick consultation. It is still a book offering considerable inspiration around here, and is frequently called-upon for specific information, possibly to answer a customer's question. We always have four or five for sale, and in the past three years, we have sold a dozen or more. I still feel he needs to receive much more attention and reverence, in this region especially, where he loved to hang his hat, and climb into a canoe for a paddle on the Moon River. He's still fondly remembered by the citizens of Bala. There's still a haunting echo of his saxophone, deep in the hollow of the Moon River, mixed with the subtle trace whisper of a paddle, cutting the water, and the rippling of a phantom canoe upon a sunset's fire reflection. Everything about Bala is familiar to us, and Moon River has long become our refuge and source of rejuvenation," he concluded, of his important connection to the village and Muskoka.
Paul Brodie? A biography revered here at Andrew Currie's Music and Collectables.
I will have more on Paul Brodie, in tomorrow's blog. Please join me!
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Willow, The Novel by Wayland Drew film by George Lucas
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A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS - AND EVERY ONE OF THEM HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH A GOOD BOOK
TRACING BACK, BOOKS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PROJECT SOURCES
"THE VISION FORMED. BAVMORDA APPROACHED THE CRUCIBLE. IT HAD FILLED WITH MILKY FLUID, AND IN IT SHONE THE FACE OF FIN RAZIEL AS SHE HAD BEEN THOSE MANY YEARS AGO, STILL BEAUTIFUL, STILL RADIANT. OUT OF THE HOWL CAME THE GHOSTLY ECHO OF FIN RAZIEL'S VOICE: 'YOU MAY DEFEAT THE CHILD, BAVMORDA. THE MYSTERY OF THE CHILD IS LARGER THAN YOU, AND IN THAT MYSTERY YOUR REIGN WILL END. HERE IS THE SIGN, BAVMORDA.'
"FIN RAZIEL'S FACE FADED, AND THE MILKY FLUID FORMED INTO A SHIMMERING CIRCLE THAT BAVMORDA KNEW TOO WELL. EYES BLAZING, THE QUEEN LEANED CLOSE TO THAT HATEFUL MARK.
"LIGHTNING AND FIREBALLS CRACKLED OFF BAVMORDA'S FINGERS AND SLAMMED INTO THE BOWL, RICOCHETING IN ALL DIRECTIONS. THE OPAQUE FLUID SWIRLED INTO FOUL STREAM. WHEN THE BOWL HAD BEEN SEARED CLEAN, THE MISTRESS OF NOCKMAAR RAISED HER ARMS AND UTTERED A SOUND EVEN MORE TERRIBLE THAN HER LAUGHTER - A LONG WAIL OF HOLLOW TRIUMPH. SHE KNEW, AND ALL WHO HEARD HER KNEW, THAT NO MATTER HOW OFTEN SHE MIGHT BLAST THAT VISION IT COULD ALWAYS BE CONJURED AGAIN, FOR ITS ESSENCE LAY BEYOND HER POWER."
THE ABOVE PASSAGE, COMMENCES THE BOOK, "WILLOW," A NOVEL BY WAYLAND DREW, BASED ON A SCREENPLAY BY BOB DOLMAN, FROM A STORY BY GEORGE LUCAS, OF STAR WARS FAME. THE NOVEL WAS PUBLISHED IN 1988, BY BALLANTINE BOOKS, OF NEW YORK. I HAVE SEEN THE MOVIE AND IT WAS PRETTY NEAT.
"THEN, WHEN THE CHILDREN WERE SETTLED FOR THE NIGHT, WILLOW EMBRACED HIS BELOVED KLAYA, AND THEY WALKED A LITTLE DISTANCE AWAY FROM THE HOUSE, TO A SPOT WHERE THEY COULD WATCH THE MOONLIGHT ON THE BOUNTIFUL FIELDS OF UFGOOD REACH, AND THE SILVER EDDIES OF THE FREEN. THERE THEY STOOD A LONG TIME IN ONE ANOTHER'S ARMS, CONTENT WITH THAT SIMPLE LIFE, AT PEACE IN THE MYSTERY OF THAT GREEN WORLD."
A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY IN THE BACK OF "WILLOW," ACKNOWLEDGES WAYLAND'S OTHER LITERARY ACCOMPLISHMENTS; "WAYLAND DREW WAS BORN IN OSHAWA, ONTARIO, AND RECEIVED HIS EARLY EDUCATION THERE. HE BEGAN TO WRITE SERIOUSLY IN HIGH SCHOOL AND CONTINUED WHILE STUDYING ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE AT THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO. SINCE GRADUATION HE HAS COMBINED HIGH SCHOOL TEACHING AND WRITING (BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL). HE IS THE AUTHOR OF 'THE ERTHRING CYCLE,' A TRILOGY PUBLISHED BY DEL REY BOOKS. MR. DREW AND HIS WIFE GWENDOLYN LIVE IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE HE HAS TAUGHT ENGLISH FOR ELEVEN YEARS. THEY HAVE FOUR CHILDREN."
THIS WRITE-UP DOESN'T LIST HIS OTHER WELL KNOWN BOOKS, INCLUDING "HALFWAY MAN," "WABENO FEAST," "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE," AND HIS EXCELLENT STUDY OF THE ST. LAWRENCE WITH PHOTOGRAPHER, BRUCE LITTELJOHN.
IN THE BACK OF THE BOOK, THERE IS AN ADVERTISEMENT FOR THE "ALL NEW LUCASFILM FAN CLUB," SO THAT YOU CAN FOLLOW THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF WILLOW AND MADMARTIGAN. THE ADVERTISEMENT IS PICTURED ABOVE.
MY REGRET IS THAT I DIDN'T GET WAYLAND TO SIGN MY ENTIRE COLLECTION. SHORTLY AFTER I BEGAN WORKING WITH WAYLAND, IN OUR MUTUAL BID TO ORGANIZE THE BRACEBRIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, I STARTED TO COLLECT SOME OF THE BOOKS HE HAD WRITTEN TO THAT POINT. THEN WHEN I MOVED ON TO THE POSITION OF EDITOR, WITH THE BRACEBRIDGE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND ASSISTANT EDITOR WITH THE MUSKOKA SUN, WE WOULD RUN BOOK REVIEWS, AND ANY UPDATES ON HIS CAREER. SO AS THESE BOOKS BECAME AVAILABLE, I TRIED TO COLLECT MULTIPLES OF EACH. I JUST FORGOT ABOUT GETTING THEM SIGNED. AS I USED TO SEE WAYLAND ALMOST EVERY DAY, WALKING FROM HOME TO SCHOOL AND BACK, I JUST NEVER EXPECTED THIS SPRY CHAP WOULD SOON BE UNABLE TO WALK UP HIS OWN STREET UNASSISTED. THE LAST TIME I TALKED WITH WAYLAND, WAS (AS I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT MANY TIMES BEFORE), AT A "MUSKOKA INK" EVENT, FOR REGIONAL WRITERS, DURING A SPECIAL OUTDOOR READING, HELD AT WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM, IN BRACEBRIDGE; A PLACE WE HELD WITH CONSIDERABLE FONDNESS, AS WE HAD BOTH BEEN A PART OF ITS CREATION.
I HAD ENTERED A SHORT NON-FICTION PIECE, IN THE WRITING COMPETITION SPONSORED BY "MUSKOKA INK," THAT YEAR, AND WAS ONE OF THE WINNERS ON THAT OCCASION. WAYLAND AND GWEN HAD BEEN INVITED AS SPECIAL GUESTS. MY STORY WAS ALL ABOUT TORONTO SUN COLUMNIST, PAUL RIMSTEAD, AND IT GOT QUITE A FEW LAUGHS WHEN I WAS ASKED TO READ IT ALOUD, TO THE LARGE CROWD IN ATTENDANCE. RIMSTEAD HAD LIVED WITH HIS FAMILY IN THE BRACEBRIDGE AREA, AND HAD ACTUALLY ATTENDED CLASSES AT THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL. HE AND FORMER DETROIT RED WING GOALIE, ROGER CROZIER, USED TO SNEAK OUT OF CLASS, AND VISIT JOE'S BILLIARDS, ON MANITOBA STREET; WHERE RIMMER OF COURSE, USED TO THRASH THE SOON TO BE NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE NETMINDER. THERE ARE A LOT OF STORIES ABOUT RIMSTEAD'S YEARS IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND OBVIOUSLY, A FEW IN THE AUDIENCE REMEMBERED THE YOUNG LAD. AS A CUB REPORTER FOR THE ORILLIA PACKET AND TIMES, HE USED TO HAVE A PRESS CARD ATTACHED TO HIS BICYCLE, AND HE'D FOLLOW ALONG AFTER THE FIRE TRUCKS, TO GET THE BIG SCOOP. THAT WAS, UNTIL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT DECIDED, IT DIDN'T WANT HIM TAGGING ALONG; AND WOULD THUSLY PUT A FALSE LOCATION ON THE CHALK BOARD, TO THROW HIM OFF TRACK. I DIGRESS.
AT THE END OF MY PRESENTATION, SUZANNE, WHO WAS A TEACHER AT BMLSS WITH WAYLAND, TOLD ME THAT HE HAD BEEN TRYING TO GET MY ATTENTION, TO COME OVER AND HAVE A CHAT. HE WAS SITTING OFF TO THE RIGHT OF THE MICROPHONE, AND WE WERE STANDING AT THE VERY BACK; QUITE A DISTANCE AWAY. WHEN SHE TOLD ME THAT WAYLAND WAS MOTIONING ME, WHICH I HONESTLY HADN'T SEEN, I EXCUSED MYSELF, TO WALK OVER AND SEE HIM. BEFORE I COULD TAKE A STEP, I SAW HIM SLOWLY AND CAREFULLY WALKING TOWARD US. I KNEW HE HAD BEEN QUITE ILL, SO I HURRIED TO HIS SIDE, TO SAVE HIM WALKING ALL THE WAY BACK. HE WANTED, YOU SEE, TO COMPLIMENT ME ON MY STORY ABOUT RIMSTEAD, AND HE WANTED A COPY TO SEND, TO A FRIEND, WHO HAD WORKED WITH THE COLUMNIST, AT THE FORMER TORONTO TELEGRAM. IT RECALLED THE TIME, EARLY IN OUR RELATIONSHIP, WHEN HE COMPLIMENTED A BOOK OF SHORT STORIES, PHOTOGRAPHER TIM DUVERNET, AND I PUBLISHED, IN 1983, ENTITLED "MEMORIES AND IMAGES;" AND I REMEMBER STANDING THERE, WITH MY CHIN AGAINST MY CHEST, WONDERING WHY AN AUTHOR OF HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS IN LITERATURE, WOULD FEEL THAT OUR BOOK WAS EVEN MILDLY INTERESTING. WAYLAND WAS LIKE THAT AS A MENTOR. IT NEVER MEANT HE OFFERED PRAISE FOR WHAT WASN'T DESERVING, BUT HE BELIEVED IN THE POTENTIAL OF THE CREATOR, EVEN IF THE WORK DIDN'T MAKE THE MARK. HE FIGURED THAT IF YOU WERE WILLING TO PUT IN THE EFFORT, BRAVE THE CRITIQUES, AND SHOULDER THE RESPONSIBILITY, OF MAKING IMPROVEMENTS, YOU SHOULD RECEIVE CREDIT AND ENCOURAGEMENT. THE RIMSTEAD STORY WAS A CASE IN POINT. IT WASN'T A GREAT LITERARY ACHIEVEMENT ON MY PART, BUT IT WAS AN HONEST ATTEMPT TO PORTRAY THE COLUMNIST. IT WAS A CLASSIC EXAMPLE OF THE KIND OF MENTORSHIP HE WAS FAMOUS FOR BESTOWING, ON YOUNG WRITERS HE MENTORED. HE COULD HAVE CRUSHED ME, WITH CRITICISM, ESPECIALLY ON OUR LITTLE BOOK, BUT HE CHOSE TO TAKE A POSITIVE APPROACH; AND GIVE TIM AND I THE VALIDATION WE NEEDED, AS YOUNG ARTISTS, TO CARRY ON WITH OUR CREATIVE PROJECTS. TIM HAS BECOME ONE OF MUSKOKA'S WELL KNOWN AND RESPECTED PHOTOGRAPHERS, AND WELL, I'VE NEVER STOPPED WRITING FOR MORE THAN A FEW HOURS EVER SINCE.
WHAT WAS NEAT THAT AFTERNOON, AT WOODCHESTER, IS THAT WE HAD A CHANCE TO REMINISCE ABOUT ALL THE WORK, AND NEGOTIATIONS, IT TOOK TO BRING THE MUSEUM TO FRUITION. I RECALLED MEETING WITH WAYLAND AT HIS HOME, BACK IN 1978, TO DISCUSS THE POSSIBILITIES OF FORMING AN HISTORICAL SOCIETY. I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME WE BOTH STOOD ON THE GROUNDS OF THE BOARDED-UP OCTAGONAL HOUSE, THE FORMER RESIDENCE OF BIRDS WOOLLEN MILL FOUNDER, HENRY BIRD, TRYING TO IMAGINE WHAT IT WOULD LOOK LIKE WHEN RESTORED. IT WAS A LONGSHOT FROM THE BEGINNING, BUT WAYLAND WAS THE MAN TO LEAD THE CHARGE; AND THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HE DID, SUPPORTED BY CITIZENS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL PRINCIPAL, KEN BLACK, REPRESENTING THE BRACEBRIDGE ROTARY CLUB; THE ORGANIZATION THAT PROVIDED THE PURCHASE PRICE TO ACQUIRE THE WOODCHESTER PROPERTY. BUT WHAT WE BOTH RECOGNIZED, WITH AN EVER SO MILD, UNSPOKEN RECOLLECTION, OF PAIN AND SUFFERING, WAS THE REALITY THE MUSEUM PROJECT HAD DRAINED THOUSANDS OF HOURS FROM OUR RESPECTIVE FAMILY LIVES, INCLUDING THE PARTNERS WE DRAGGED INTO THE PROJECT. GWEN DREW WAS PIVOTAL IN THE RESTORATION AND MUSEUM DEVELOPMENT PROJECT, AND SUZANNE, MY PARTNER IN THE EARLY 1980'S, HELPED RUN THE MUSEUM AND ITS CULTURAL PROGRAMS, UNTIL 1990, OR SO, DURING THE TIME I WAS THE SITE MANAGER. BUT, ON THAT SUNNY AFTERNOON, IT WAS NICE TO LOOK DOWN OVER THE NEATLY MANICURED LAWNS OF THE MUSEUM PROPERTY, AND SEE PEOPLE COMING AND GOING FROM THE BUILDING, EXUDING SOME CONTENTMENT, THE SITE HAD AFFORDED A PLEASURABLE VISIT. IT'S WHAT WE INTENDED FOR THE PROPERTY A WAY BACK WHEN, BUT FOR MOST OF THE TIME OF OUR MUTUAL ASSOCIATIONS WITH THE PROPERTY, THERE HAD BEEN SO MUCH STRESS TO KEEP THE MUSEUM FUNDED, IN GOOD CONDITION, AND STAFFED, THAT WE NEVER REALLY GOT A CHANCE TO ENJOY IT THE WAY WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE. MANY OTHER VOLUNTEERS FELT THE SAME WAY. BUT FOR THOSE FEW MOMENTS, AT THE END OF ANOTHER MUSEUM DAY, AS THE ORGANIZERS OF MUSKOKA INK, BEGAN FOLDING UP THE CHAIRS, AND HAULING THE PODIUM BACK TO STORAGE. IT WAS A BELATED CELEBRATION, I SUPPOSE, FOR BOTH OF US, TO AT THAT MOMENT THINK BACK, AND BELIEVE, WE HAD DONE THE RIGHT THING, BY PUTTING IN ALL THOSE HOURS, TO BRING THIS BEAUTIFUL TREED LOCATION, ABOVE THE CATARACT OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, BACK TO ITS ORIGINAL GRANDEUR, AS A BRACEBRIDGE SOCIAL / CULTURAL, HERITAGE ATTRACTION. HE PATTED ME ON THE SHOULDER, WE SHOOK HANDS, AND WE WANDERED WITH OUR PARTNERS, BACK UP THE LIMESTONE DRIVE WE HAD BOTH RAKED FREE OF WEEDS, ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS; AND THEN HEADED-OFF HOME, WITH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF THE OLD HOUSE, FRAMED NEATLY IN THE REAR VEIW MIRROR. IT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW WAYLAND, AND FOR ME, IT WAS A POETIC LAST OCCASION, ON A PIECE OF MUSKOKA HILLSIDE, THAT AT ONE TIME, HAD FAIRLY OR UNFAIRLY OCCUPIED OUR LIVES.
THE MUSEUM PROPERTY HAS BEEN CLOSED FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS NOW, AFTER IT WAS DETERMINED, FOLLOWING THE COLLAPSE OF A WRAP-AROUND VERANDAH, THE HOUSE HAD SOME STRUCTURAL ISSUES THAT REQUIRED RE-CONSTRUCTION, AND RESTORATION GENERALLY. ALTHOUGH I HAVE NEVER BEEN ASKED TO CONTRIBUTE IN ANY WAY TO THE REVITALIZATION PROJECT, STILL UNDERWAY, I HOPE THE COUNCIL OF THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, WILL DO THE RIGHT THING WHEN WOODCHESTER VILLA IS FINALLY RE-OPENED; FOR WHATEVER IS INTENDED AS THE NEW-USE FOR THE OLD BUILDING - MUSEUM OR ART CENTRE. THE RIGHT THING? THERE SHOULD BE A HIGHLY VISIBLE ACKNOWLEDGMENT, POSSIBLY A HERITAGE MARKER, POSTED ON THE PROPERTY,S LISTING THE NAMES OF ITS FOUNDERS, OF WHICH THE NAME WAYLAND DREW SHOULD BE MOST PROMINENT.
FROM LOGGING CAMP COOKERY TO THE HOMESTEAD KITCHEN
One of the finds I hope to make some day, is to secure, with established provenance of course, a collection of handwritten recipes once used in a Muskoka, Algonquin, Haliburton, or Parry Sound logging camp.
I have researched the earliest logging operations in our region of Ontario, Canada, and have been particularly attracted to the "stick to the bones" creations that were baked, boiled, fried and simmered in those rustic camp kitchens. From the famous baked beans set in iron pots (with lids) beneath the hot ash of open fire pits (to simmer and flavor with ash through the day), to the huge pots of stew and soup on the camp stove......from lamb, beef, pork, chicken, venison and fish to fresh, golden brown bread, delicious pies, cakes, and maple syrup enhancements, all day, every day from the smoky camp kitchens, and outdoor ovens and fires.
It has often been noted, in various late 1800's journals I have read, that in order for a logging camp to keep its workers, the food had to be well above average. There were lots of camps operating in this period in rural Ontario, and word got around about which company was providing the best meals to their loggers. It wasn’t uncommon to have women from nearby homesteads, baking an assortment of breads, cakes and pies to transport to the camps, usually by sleigh; as the winter season was the period of the main cut of timber, and the late season haul across the snow to the shores of rivers and lakes for transport to mills; when the waterways of course were free of ice. Many camps did have outside bake ovens for bread. You can imagine what the scent of freshly baked bread and simmering beans would do to a logger with a budding appetite, invigorated for many long hours by sub zero weather conditions.
Lunches were provided to the men out on the cutting sites and while it held them over until their traditionally late dinner, it was a pretty impatient lot that arrived in the oil-lamp adorned dining hall, after a grueling day of cutting and hauling. A number of loggers, who penned journals, noted that in the stews and soups there was often more fat than anything else....and in the morning, if you were to see the large and deep covering of solidified fat on the surface of the cold remains, it might well make you feel nauseous. One observer noted that the fat was not always skimmed off the stew but rather stirred in for the next day’s offering. At that time it was thought the fat content would help the men better deal with the cold and rigors of the outdoor work. As for heart disease amongst loggers, well, there’s very little evidence of coronary problems. You simply had more chance of being killed, or seriously injured by a felled tree than death due to high fat content from the camp fare. From a long term perspective, you’re quite right to ponder if the shorter lives then, had something to do with excesses from the cooks of the day. What happened in the camps generally happened in the homesteads as well, so yes, fat was part of the nourishment considered a dietary requirement to help one survive between meals.
Most camps did keep up a pretty fair regimen of weekly deliveries to maintain vegetable and dairy supplies. So that unless the weather turned particularly violent for a long period, the camp kitchen received regular loads of that autumn’s garden harvest from a variety of suppliers in the closest communities. Homesteaders might have been able to provide meat and fresh eggs but probably didn’t have the vegetable volume to feed a logging camp. They might have sold the camp an array of preserves, jams, pickled items, cranberries etc. Camps used to have a limited pen of livestock to serve immediate needs of meat supply in particular, and it was common for a group of loggers to take to the field, on free weekends, to hunt and fish where possible, bringing back the catch for the benefit of mates and the camp cook.
I have only read one or two entirely negative stories about the culinary shortfalls of these logging camp kitchens. Most of the overviews straddle the line between good and acceptable, and the truth is, when you’re hungry.....as these folks were at the end of a hard day in the cold, culinary excellence would probably be wasted on the inmates anyway. There is particular attention however, at the deserts made for the loggers, and by most accounts, the freshly baked pies were fit for any fine restaurant the world over. All were baked humbly in wood-fired stoves in less than ideal conditions.
Bones were in plentiful supply, and nothing was thrown out until every last molecule of fat, marrow and flavor was drained out for the soup of the day....a hearty mixture of leftovers and filler. There was talk of deceased horses winding up in the brew, as many fell in the line of duty hauling logs, and were, as a rule, used as an available food resource, to make up any particular shortfall in dietary requirements. I’ve only ever read several of these claims but it certainly isn’t far fetched, and in fact makes perfect sense, to utilize every resource in the isolated circumstances these camps were often situated within. While some camps were close to habitations and suppliers, others were far more remote and needed large shipments of supplies instead of the smaller, frequent ones, for those operations near established villages and homesteads.
The most common negative associated with the logging camps and cookery, was the invasive scent of loggers without benefit of daily, weekly or monthly showers. There did seem to be a balance however, between the pungent aroma of workers and the scent of coal oil lamps, woodsmoke from the belching old stove, and the unmistakable smell of wet wool.....from the array of woolen-wear, coats and pants, hanging up to dry. Then there was the welcome permeation of steaming tea and strong coffee. After awhile, it all became irrelevant, except for the wafting aroma of hot food, which always found an eager appetite despite all the other intrusions of life in a logging camp.
Although I have a number of handwritten recipes that came from families who had kin involved in the logging camps of yore, I can’t say with any assurance these baked beans and stew recipes were once in the hands of the camp cook. One thing’s for sure, the camp cooks must have been a stalwart bunch to have endured the rough comments and reactions of so many critics throughout the day, who always had the company of a good and sharp axe should a complaint need to be registered. I have minor evidence of this fear of real and emotional distress, as camp cooks were changed suddenly to avoid camp revolt. There are other instances that the loggers themselves feared the scorn of the cook, and treated them with great respect and spirits (snuck into the camp) if they were available after hours. Heaven knows what a perturbed cook might add to the recipe if aggravated. It was a tough job regardless and turn over was high in some of the larger camps.
It would be a treasure indeed, to one day come upon a handwritten diary, kept by one of these lumber camp chefs, with an assortment of the daily fare that kept loggers well nourished.
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