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| Muskoka-Parry Sound M.P. Tony Clement will be the show opener on Saturday Night at St. James Anglican Church in Gravenhurst |
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| Circa. 1977 painting by Muskoka artist Ross Smith |
RESPECTED CANADIAN FOLK / POP MUSICIANS, FAYE BLAIS, AND TRICIA FOSTER, TO PERFORM IN GRAVENHURST -
MUSKOKA-PARRY SOUND MP, TONY CLEMENT, SINGER-GUITARIST, WILL OPEN SATURDAY EVENING'S "SESSIONS EVENT," AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH
"WE'RE REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO OUR 'SESSIONS EVENT,' ON SATURDAY, AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, OUR FIFTH AT THIS CHARMING VENUE SINCE LAST SPRING," REMARKED SHOW PROMOTER, ANDREW CURRIE, LINGERING OVER COFFEE THIS MORNING, LOUNGING WITH HIS DAD; WHO ALSO DOUBLES AS PRESS STAFF, MEDIA RELATIONS, AND GOPHER AROUND HERE; AND WHO ALSO WRITES-UP CONCERT NOTICES AND REVIEWS, AS PART OF THE FAMILY EFFORT, TO BRING ENTERTAINMENT TO OUR HOMETOWN.
"WE'RE EXCITED TO HAVE TWO OUTSTANDING PERFORMERS, FAYE BLAIS AND TRICIA FOSTER, WELL KNOWN ON THE CANADIAN INDY MUSIC SCENE, AND OF COURSE, WE'RE REALLY PLEASED THAT OUR MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT, TONY CLEMENT, ACCEPTED OUR INVITATION TO OPEN THE SHOW FOR US; NOT TO GIVE A SPEECH, FOR THE OPENING CEREMONIES, BUT TO ACTUALLY PLAY HIS GUITAR FOR US. BET YOU DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS A PRETTY FAIR GUITAR PLAYER AND SINGER, BEYOND THE POLITICAL, GOVERNMENT SIDE OF HIS RESPONSIBILITIES TO MUSKOKA-PARRY SOUND AND CANADA."
"WE'VE KNOW MR. CLEMENT FOR AWHILE NOW, AND HE DROPS INTO THE (MUSIC) STUDIO OCCASIONALLY, WHEN HE'S IN TOWN, AND HAS A LITTLE DOWN-TIME BETWEEN ENGAGEMENTS," REMARKS ANDREW, IMPATIENT TO GET BACK TO TENDING HIS MUSIC SHOP. "WE KNEW HE LIKED TO PERFORM, AND WE JUST OFFERED HIM AN OPENING SPOT, BEFORE THE MAIN PERFORMANCES BY FAYE BLAIS AND TRICIA FOSTER. THEY WERE VERY SUPPORTIVE OF HAVING MR. CLEMENT START OFF THE EVENING. HE'S COMING WITH A DRUMMER, AND I APOLOGIZE THAT I DON'T KNOW WHO THAT IS, AT THE MOMENT. IT WILL BE AN INTERESTING MIX, OF MUSIC STYLES, CONTENT AND PERFORMANCE, AND WE HOPE OUR GUESTS WILL ENJOY A NIGHT OUT IN UPTOWN GRAVENHURST. IT'S NOT ABOUT HOW LARGE THE AUDIENCE IS, BUT MORE SO, HOW EVERYONE FEELS, CONNECTED AS GOOD NEIGHBORS, TO THE VENUE AND THE MUSICIANS. IT WAS DESIGNED THIS WAY, AFTER OUR ORIGINAL GATHERINGS WE HOSTED AT THE BACK OF OUR MUSIC SHOP A YEAR AGO. THEY WEREN'T HELD TO SET ATTENDANCE RECORDS, BUT TO GIVE MUSICIANS A TRULY INTIMATE EXPERIENCE WITH THEIR AUDIENCE, IN A VENUE THAT GAVE EVERY APPEARANCE OF A RECREATION ROOM. THE MUSICIANS, AND EVEN ONE COMEDIAN, LIKED THE UP-CLOSE-AND-PERSONAL OPPORTUNITY, TO TRY OUT NEW MATERIAL, AND GET FEEDBACK IN CONVERSATION DURING BREAKS. A LOT OF THESE FOLKS ARE ON THE ROAD, TOURING CANADA, AND OCCASIONALLY NEED TO LIGHTEN THEIR LOAD, AND RUN SOME NEW MATERIAL IN A RELAXED SETTING. THEY WANT FEEDBACK."
HE SAYS, "RE-LOCATING THE "SESSIONS" SHOWS, TO THE HISTORIC ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, A BLOCK AWAY FROM OUR STUDIO / SH0P, IS GREAT FOR TRANSPORTING EQUIPMENT, THAT WE CAN ROLL IN ROAD CASES, OVER TO HOTCHKISS STREET. THE VENUE IS CHARMING, INSPIRING, AND THE ACOUSTICS ARE WONDERFUL IN THE CHURCH; AND THE COMMITTEE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE BUILDING IS WONDERFUL TO DEAL WITH, AND OBLIGING IN EVERY WAY, TO HELP OUR MONTHLY EVENTS SUCCEED. WE HAD TO MOVE FROM THE STUDIO BECAUSE THE AUDIENCE NUMBERS WERE GROWING FOR EVERY SHOW, AND IT WAS GETTING A LITTLE CRAMPED. WE HAVE A MUCH BIGGER CAPACITY AT THE CHURCH, AND IT JUST FITS NICELY AROUND THE KIND OF NEIGHBORHOOD, HOMETOWN SHOWS, WE WANT TO PROMOTE. WE KEEP IT SIMPLE. AND WE WANT THE TICKET PRICES TO REMAIN AS LOW AS POSSIBLE. WE CAN DO THAT WITH THIS VENUE. SURE, WE'D LIKE TO SEE EVERY SEAT IN THE CHURCH OCCUPIED BY EAGER PATRONS, BUT WE'RE REALISTIC ABOUT THE GROWTH PROCESS, AND WE'RE JUST PAST OUR FIRST YEAR OF OFFERING THESE MONTHLY CONCERTS. WE REALIZE IT'S GOING TO TAKE TIME TO CATCH ON. IN THE ENTERTAINMENT BUSINESS, THE LEARNING CURVE IS NEVER ENDING, SO WE'RE EAGER TO PICK-UP EXPERIENCE AS WE GO. WE DO LISTEN TO CRITIQUES FROM OUR PERFORMERS, AND FROM OUR AUDIENCE. WE'VE BEEN CHANGING HOW WE ORGANIZE, AND PUT ON THE SHOWS, BASED ON THIS INPUT. WE SET THE GEAR IN MOTION, AND PROVIDE THE SET UP AND VENUE, BUT WE DEPEND ON OUR PERFORMERS TO LEAD THE WAY; AND WE'RE GLAD TO FOLLOW."
"OUR FAMILY HAS PUT ON MANY CONCERTS IN THE PAST, HERE IN GRAVENHURST, AND THERE HASN'T BEEN A SINGLE ONE THAT WE DIDN'T LEARN FROM; SOMETIMES LEARNING TO THE CONTRARY, THAT WE SOMEHOW SLIPPED UP, FORGETTING IMPORTANT DETAILS, EVEN EQUIPMENT, AND LIVING WITH REGRETS. BUT WE'RE STILL DOING THIS CONCERT-THING, SO WE LIKE TO THINK WE'VE IMPROVED IN OUR CAPABILITIES TO EXECUTE. JUST BECAUSE THEY'RE SMALL VENUES, WITH ONLY A FEW PERFORMERS AT A TIME, DOESN'T MEAN THERE AREN'T A LOT OF INDIVIDUAL COMPONENTS TO MAKE IT ALL WORK. WE'VE BEEN WORKING ON DETAILS FOR THIS COMING CONCERT, FOR THE PAST MONTH, AND WE'RE STILL REMINDING OURSELF, ALMOST DAILY, WE'RE STILL TOO FAR BEHIND TO RELAX. TRYING TO CATCH-UP ESPECIALLY WITH DETAILS OF PROMOTION AND RELATED PUBLICITY. IT MIGHT BE A LOT OF WORK, BUT THE END RESULT OF HAVING A GOOD SHOW, AND HAPPY CONCERT-GOERS, MAKES ALL THE PREPARATIONS WORTH THE EFFORT. WE LOVE MUSIC. AND WE LIKE PROMOTING OUR HOME TOWN AS A GOOD PLACE TO LIVE AND A UNIQUE COMMUNITY TO VISIT. WE CERTAINLY WANT TO PLAY GOOD HOSTS FOR OUR GUESTS. QUITE A FEW OF THE MUSICIANS WHO HAVE PLAYED HERE, AS PART OF OUR 'SESSIONS" EVENTS, HAVE EXPRESSED THEIR INTENTIONS, TO COME BACK TO GRAVENHURST AGAIN. NOW THAT'S THE MUSIC WE LIKE TO HEAR. I THINK IT WOULD BE GREAT SOME TIME, TO HAVE THE MAYOR AND TOWN COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVES, COME FOR A SHOW, OR ANYONE CONNECTED WITH THE CHAMBER OF COMMERCE OR THE LOCAL BIA. WE'LL EVEN GIVE THEM A TICKET. SEEING AS THEY'RE INTERESTED IN ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT, AND BOOSTING CULTURE AND RECREATION OPPORTUNITIES FOR CITIZENS, IT WOULD SEEM EVENTS LIKE OURS, WOULD BE WORTH INVESTIGATING. SO FAR WE HAVEN'T HAD ANY LUCK GETTING THEM TO OUR EVENTS, BUT WE ETERNAL OPTIMISTS ABOUT THINGS LIKE THIS! ONE DAY!"
THERE ARE STILL TICKETS AVAILABLE FOR SATURDAY NIGHT'S CONCERT, FROM ANDREW CURRIE'S MUSIC AND COLLECTABLES, LOCATED ON MUSKOKA ROAD, IN GRAVENHURST, OPPOSITE THE OPERA HOUSE. TICKETS ARE FIFTEEN DOLLARS PER PERSON. YOU CAN ALSO PURCHASE TICKETS AT THE DOOR, THE NIGHT OF THE EVENT. DOORS OPEN AT 7:30 P.M. "EACH OF OUR SHOWS IS UNIQUE AND PROUDLY CANADIAN, AND THIS ONE WON'T BE ANY EXCEPTION," NOTES THE SHOW PROMOTER. "WE'D LOVE TO SEE YOU THERE. PLEASE COME AND INTRODUCE YOURSELF TO US. THERE WILL BE AN OPPORTUNITY, DURING BREAKS AND AFTER THE SHOW, TO MEET THE PERFORMERS."
A WEE ANECDOTE OR TWO ABOUT MY OLD HOMETOWN, AND THE ARTIST / GAS JOCKEY, ROSS "HOSS" SMITH
I ASKED MY PAINTER FRIEND, LONG AGO, AND AS A FAVOR, TO PREDICT MY LIFE'S ASPIRATIONS - ON CANVAS
THE OTHER NIGHT, SON ROBERT (NOW WHISKING HIS WAY TO IRELAND WITH TRAVELING PARTNER LUKE THOMPSON), ASKED ABOUT A LITTLE PAINTING, THAT HAS BEEN HUNG FOR AT LEAST TWENTY YEARS, IN A SOFTLY LIT ALCOVE, ABOVE A LONG RETIRED GRAMOPHONE CABINET; ONE THAT BELONGED TO SUZANNE'S GRANDFATHER, SAM STRIPP OF WINDERMERE. IT'S A RATHER BRIGHT, CHEERFUL PAINTING, HAVING AN ODD PLACEMENT, CROWNING A SCULPTED WOOD BOX WITH A DARK PATINA, STILL POSSESSING ITS PHONOGRAPHIC MECHANISM, THAT UNFORTUNATELY, BECAUSE OF MISSING PARTS, NO LONGER WORKS. I ASKED HIM TO TAKE IT DOWN, TO LET ME HAVE A CLOSER LOOK, BEFORE I TOLD HIM THE STORY; THAT'S WHEN HE GOT THAT LOOK ON HIS FACE, AS HE OFTEN DOES, WHEN I BEGIN VERBALLY, AND SLOWLY UNFURLING SOME TEN THOUSAND WORD EXPLANATION, HE USUALLY FINDS BORING AND UNREMARKABLE. HE'S A POLITE YOUNG FELLOW, AND WILL LISTEN FOR HOWEVER LONG IT TAKES, FOR THIS OLDTIMER TO ACTUALLY GET TO THE POINT. I DON'T INTEND TO MAKE THIS EXPLANATION A LIFE-LECTURE, SO I JUST EXPLAIN, AFTER HANDLING IT FOR A FEW MOMENTS, THAT IT WAS DONE BY MY CHILDHOOD CHUM, WHO WAS ALSO A GAS JOCKEY AT HIS FATHER'S ESSO STATION, IN UPTOWN BRACEBRIDGE, KNOWN AS THE 'UPTOWN GARAGE', (BECAUSE THERE WAS, YOU SEE, A 'DOWNTOWN GARAGE' AS WELL); THE "UPTOWN" WAS BETTER KNOWN, AS "TED SMITH'S GARAGE." BEFORE THIS, I TELL HIM, SLOWLY WITH FEELING, THAT IT WAS KNOWN, AS "PATTERSONS." OWNED BY ERNIE AND FENTON PATTERSON. FENTON OWNED THE PATTERSON HOTEL, AS WELL, BY THE WAY, AND DROVE A BOAT OF A CAR, A TRADEMARK PINK CADDY, THAT HE USED TO PARK OUT FRONT. ROBERT IS ALREADY GETTING WEARY, SO I DISPATCH HIM WITH THE SHORT VERSION. TED'S SON, ROSS, "PAINTED THIS FOR ME WHEN I WAS IN MY FINAL YEAR AT YORK UNIVERSITY. HE PAINTED IT FROM A PHOTOGRAPH I HAD GIVEN HIM, OF MY DREAM CABIN ON THE WATERFRONT." "OH," ANSWERED ROBERT. "THAT'S NEAT." HE BACKED AWAY SLOWLY, JUST IN CASE I PLANNED TO COMMENCE A PHASE-TWO EXPLANATION, WHICH WOULD HAVE MEANT AT LEAST ANOTHER THIRTY MINUTES OF APPEARING INTERESTED. NO NEED TO BURDEN THE YOUNG FELLOW, WHO WAS PACKING FOR HIS TRIP TO THE OLD COUNTRY; AH, THE LAND OF THE SHEAS AND CURRIES, FILLING OUT THE BOUGHS OF THE FAMILY TREE.
ROSS WAS MY FIRST SCHOOL CHUM, BACK IN GRADE FIVE, SHORTLY AFTER I ARRIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE, TRANSFERRING FROM MOUNTAIN GARDENS PUBLIC SCHOOL, IN BURLINGTON. MY FATHER HAD ACCEPTED A JOB AT SHIER'S LUMBER COMPANY, AND IT NECESSITATED MOVING OUR FAMILY NORTHWARD TO THE HINTERLAND OF SOUTH MUSKOKA. ROSS AND I REMAINED CLOSE FRIENDS RIGHT THROUGH THOSE PUBLIC SCHOOL DAYS, ONTO TO BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA LAKES SECONDARY SCHOOL, A BLOCK SOUTH, AND THEN TO YORK UNIVERSITY IN THE FALL OF 1974. ROSS WOULD MAJOR IN FINE ARTS, AND I WAS INTENDING TO BECOME A FAMOUS CANADIAN AUTHOR. OH WELL, ROSS BECAME AN ACCOMPLISHED PAINTER, AND ART MENTOR, AND I BECAME AN HISTORIAN WHO WRITES A LOT. WE EVEN BOARDED TOGETHER, WITH ANOTHER SCHOOL MATE, ROD BALDWIN, IN A NEAT VINTAGE RESIDENCE OWNED BY RITA WILSON, OUR HOUSE-MOTHER, WHO INTRODUCED US TO STUFFED PEPPERS AND HOMEMADE HARD TO REPLICATE SALAD DRESSING; AND BY IMMERSION, INITIATED US, IN DOMESTIC, HOUSEHOLD SCIENCE, REGARDING THE IMPORTANCE OF WHAT WE CAME TO KNOW AS "THE BOARDING HOUSE REACH!" IF YOU WANTED THE LAST STUFFED PEPPER OR DINNER ROLL, YOU HAD TO KNOW HOW TO STRIKE FAST, WITH THE BIG REACH. ROSS WAS GOOD. REAL GOOD.
ROSS EVENTUALLY GOT TIRED OF MY PRANKS, OF WHICH I HAD QUITE A REPERTOIRE (HIDING THE TOILET PAPER EVERY MORNING), AND MOVED INSTEAD TO A RESIDENCE AT WINTER'S COLLEGE. I EVENTUALLY JOINED HIM IN MY FINAL YEAR, BECAUSE I GOT TIRED OF THE HOUR LONG BUS RIDES TO AND FROM THE BOARDING HOUSE, NEAR JANE AND BLOOR STREETS. IN THE RESIDENCE, MY CHUM'S ROOM WAS A SOCIAL OASIS, AND HE ALWAYS HAD FOOD. SEEING AS FEW OF US HAD ANY EXTRA MONEY, BEYOND THE SCRIPT WE BOUGHT-INTO, AS RESIDENTS (MEAL PLAN), HE ALWAYS HAD POP AND CHIPS AS A TREAT FOR GAMES OF EUCHRE AND WATCHING TELEVISION. IN MY FIRST YEAR, WHEN ROSS HAD A SURPLUS OF SCRIPT CASH, HE TOOK ME TO DINNER A COUPLE OF NIGHTS EACH WEEK, AND SPRUNG FOR MANY LUNCHES. AS HE WAS, IN HIS YOUTH, ROSS WAS GENEROUS TO A FAULT. IF YOU LIKED ONE OF HIS PAINTINGS, BEFORE YOU COULD OFFER TO BUY IT, HE'D ALREADY LIFTED IT OFF HIS EASLE AND PRESENTED IT AS A GIFT. "JUST WATCH THE PAINT," HE'D SAY. IT ISN'T DRY YET." ON MY LAST DAY, HE SHOWED ME ALL THE PAINTINGS HE WAS GOING TO THROW OUT, THAT HE HAD DONE AS PART OF HIS FINE ARTS COURSE. I LIKED THE NUDES. HE KNEW THAT! THE DROOL GAVE IT AWAY. "I'M NOT LETTING YOU THROW THEM OUT, ROSS; GIVE THEM TO ME," I SAID, GRABBING AS MANY PANELS AS I COULD, TO STOP HIS MARCH TO THE DUMPSTER. I KNEW THEY WERE LESSON WORKS, OR STUDIES, BUT TO ME, THEY WERE THE FLEDGLING ART PIECES, OF AN ARTIST WHO WAS GOING TO HAVE A SUPERB CAREER AHEAD. THE BIGGEST SHOCK, WAS ON THE ARTIST'S FACE, SEEING ME HOARDING HIS WORK. I SUPPOSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS A COMPLIMENT. IT WAS, BUT HOARDERS DON'T SHOW MUCH EMOTION, JUST AN EAGERNESS TO LOAD THEIR ARMS WITH STUFF.
"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO MAKE GAIL HAUL THESE HOME ARE YOU," HE ASKED, BUT SUSPICIOUS THAT IT WAS EXACTLY MY STRATEGY. I WAS SILENT FOR A REASON. MY GIRLFRIEND, AT THE TIME, GAIL SMITH, WAS AGHAST, AT WHAT I PRESUMED WOULD FIT INTO HER VOLKSWAGON BEETLE. IT WAS THE CRAZIEST LOADING ENTERPRISE EVER; AND WE LEFT NOTHING BEHIND. I THINK ONE OF THE WOOD STRETCHERS CUT THE CEILING FABRIC OF HER CAR, BUT I FOLDED-IT OVER SO GAIL WOULDN'T NOTICE IT WHEN WE WERE UNLOADING AT MY HOUSE. DO YOU KNOW SOMETHING? I GAVE AWAY EVERY ONE OF THOSE ROSS SMITH ORIGINALS, TO THOSE HOUSE-GUESTS OVER THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS, WHO ADMIRED THEM. ARTISTS DON'T USUALLY LIKE THEIR SKETCHES, OTHERWISE ROUGH WORK, GETTING INTO THE PUBLIC DOMAIN; BUT THESE WERE FOLKS WHO REALLY LIKED HIS WORK, AND AS I HAD ENJOYED THEM FOR A LONG TIME, I THOUGHT THE LEAST I COULD DO WAS SHARE THEM WITH OTHER ADMIRERS. ALL EXCEPT ONE PAINTING. A PAINTING HE DID FOR ME SPECIFICALLY, TO REFLECT SOME OF MY VALUES. ROB, BY THE WAY, IF BURDENED BY THIS EXPLANATION, WOULD HAVE BEEN SOUND ASLEEP, IF HE HAD STILL BEEN LISTENING TO MY RECITAL OF FACTS AND ANECDOTES.
I HAD ENORMOUS RESPECT FOR ROSS, EVEN AS A STUDENT ARTIST, BACK WHEN HE WAS WORKING AT HIS FATHER'S GAS STATION, ON MANITOBA STREET, WHERE HE WOULD TOUCH-UP PAINTINGS IN BETWEEN CUSTOMERS. AS I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT MANY TIMES, FOR VARIOUS REGIONAL PUBLICATIONS, BRACEBRIDGE, IN THOSE YEARS, WAS A LITTLE MORE CULTURAL THAN THE CITIZENRY REALLY KNEW. AT THE BOTTOM OF THE QUEEN'S HILL, LESS THAN A BLOCK AWAY, THERE WAS THE STUDIO / SHOP OF BRACEBRIDGE'S PAINTING BARBER, BILL ANDERSON, (MID TO LATE 1960'S) AND SOUTH A LITTLE FURTHER, THERE WAS BOB EVERETT, THE FAMOUS PAINTING / PHARMACIST. BOB USED TO GOING ON PAINTING JAGS WITH GEORGE THOMSON, BROTHER OF LEGENDARY CANADIAN LANDSCAPE ARTIST, TOM THOMSON. YUP, IT WAS KIND OF AN ENCHANTING ERA, WHEN I WAS A KID, GROWING UP WITH A RURAL ARTS COMMUNITY THAT, WHILE HAPPENSTANCE, AS FREE TIME PERMITTED, WAS STILL A CULTURAL CARNIVAL. ROSS WAS BEST KNOWN, BACK THEN, FOR HIS COLORFUL LANDSCAPES OF THE RURAL TOPOGRAPHY AROUND CAMEL LAKE, NEAR THE HAMLET OF BEATRICE, ON WHAT IN ESSENCE, IS THE NORTHWARD EXTENSION OF MANITOBA STREET, PAST THE FIRST HAMLET OF FALKENBURG. HE USED TO SPEND A LOT OF HIS FREE TIME AT THE FAMILY COTTAGE ON THE LAKE, AND LOVED TO PAINT HIS IMPRESSIONS OF THE HINTERLAND, THROUGH THE CHANGES OF THE FOUR SEASONS. I ADMIRED HIS WORK SO MUCH, I ASKED HIM TO DO ONE FOR ME, OF A SUBJECT I FELT WOULD BE AS MUCH BIOGRAPHICAL, AS A PRETTY PICTURE TO MOUNT ON THE WALL. I WAS FASCINATED BY WATERFRONT LIVING AND RECREATION, AND THE CAREFREE EXISTENCE OF LIVING ON A DOCK ON THE BAY. THE LYRICS OF A SONG I TOOK TO HEART. SO IN THE LAST MONTH OF MY FINAL YEAR AT YORK, I HANDED ROSS A PHOTOGRAPH I HAD TAKEN ON A TRIP THAT WINTER, AND ASKED IF HE COULD INTERPRET IT, IN HIS OWN WAY, THAT WOULD INSPIRE ME FOR MANY YEARS TO COME. TALL ORDER. THE INTERPRETATION PART WASN'T AS HARD, AS MAKING IT INSPIRATIONAL. HE KNEW WHAT I MEANT. THE PHOTOGRAPH, AS STRANGE AS THIS MAY SEEM, SEEING AS I'VE HAD A LONG RELATIONSHIP WITH ALGONQUIN PARK, AND THE MUSKOKA LAKES, WAS TAKEN AT DISNEY WORLD, FROM THE PADDLE-WHEELER, THAT RUNS ON A RAIL ALONG A RIVER COURSE. ALL I REALLY CARED ABOUT, WAS THAT CABIN ON THE PLATFORM OF DOCKING, WHICH DEMANDED I TAKE THE TRIP TWICE TO GET A PERFECT PHOTOGRAPH. IT'S THEY WAY I WANTED TO LIVE OUT MY LIFE. GOSH, I WAS EIGHTEEN AT THE TIME. WHAT THE HELL DID I KNOW ABOUT THE REST OF ANYTHING, LET ALONE THE REST OF ONE'S LIFE? ALL I KNEW, IS THAT THIS ONE FRAMED IMAGE, ABOVE ALL ELSE, GAVE ME THAT FEELING OF MODEST LIBERATION, WHERE I COULD RESIDE WITHOUT THE STRESSES OF NINE TO FIVE WORK; AND FISH FOR MY DINNERS, BAREFOOTED, WHILE SWINGING MY LEGS OVER THE EDGE, LIKE A KID WITH NARY A CARE IN THE WORLD. THE REASON HE DIDN'T PAINT-ME-IN, IS SIMPLE AND PHILOSOPHICAL, ALTHOUGH HE WILL NEVER ADMIT THIS. HE KNEW I WAS IN A DREAMWORLD OF ASSORTED NON-REALITIES, TRYING TO FIND MYSELF, AND HE WASN'T GOING TO ADD TO MY DELUDED THINKING, BY ACTUALLY SKETCHING ME INTO THE SCENE; HIS REMINDER TO ME, THAT LIFE ISN'T LIKE THIS, FOR SOMEONE WHO JUST PAID THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO GET A UNIVERSITY EDUCATION, AND WOULD GRADUATE MUCH POORER THAN WHEN ENTERED. BUT HE GAVE ME THIS DEPICTION ANYWAY, AND IT HAS INSPIRED ME CONTINUALLY; OR WHENEVER I THINK BACK ON THOSE FIRST POST-GRADUATE DAYS, BEING TOLD I DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH EXPERIENCE, FOR ANY GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT, AND THAT WITH THE NEAR BURDEN OF A HISTORY DEGREE, I WASN'T QUALIFIED TO WORK IN LIBRARY, LAND REGISTRY OFFICE, RESTAURANT GIFT SHOOP, HOSPITAL JANITOR'S ROOM, OR AS A PAPER DELIVERY MAN. WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN DEEPLY DEPRESSING, WAS MITIGATED THEN, BECAUSE OF THIS LITTLE, UNASSUMING FRAMED PAINTING, OF WHAT I WAS ASPIRING TO ACHIEVE. WHICH IN ESSENCE, MEANT BEING LIBERATED IN MIND, IF NOT IN THE PHYSICAL SENSE, OF BEING ABLE TO LIVE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS; A CABIN ON THE WATER.
FUNNY THING, BUT I NEVER DID GET TO ENJOY THIS EXACT STYLE OF CASUAL, RUSTIC WATERFRONT LIVING. BUT IT'S LONG BEEN MY "PORTAL" PAINTING, THAT ALLOWS ME TO ESCAPE WHEN FRUSTRATED, FULL OF ANXIETY OR FEELING IN NEED OF A RESPITE, BUT NOT HAVING THE MILLION BUCKS IT WOULD COST TODAY, TO HAVE SUCH AN ABODE, ON A MUSKOKA WATERWAY. ROSS, WHO KNEW ME VERY WELL, WOULDN'T HAVE THOUGHT FOR A MOMENT, THAT I WOULD WIND UP IN A PLACE LIKE THIS, ANYWAY, AND AS HE ALSO WENT TO SCHOOL WITH SUZANNE FOR A FEW YEARS, WOULD APPRECIATE MY CHOICE OF DIGS, WASN'T GOING TO SUIT HER LIVING INTERESTS. NICE COTTAGE YES. SHACK ON THE DOCK, NOT SO MUCH. LIKE I STATED EARLIER, ROSS AND I GO ALL THE WAY BACK TO GRADE FIVE, AND HE'S A PRETTY GOOD JUDGE OF CHARACTER; AND I WASN'T FOOLING HIM A BIT, WHEN I EXPLAINED HOW MUCH I WANTED AN ISOLATED, SIMPLE, POET'S LIFESTYLE, SOMEWHERE IN THE JUNGLE OF LIFE. IT STILL HAS SERVED ITS PURPOSE, UP TO, AND INCLUDING THE PRESENT, AS SUZANNE AND I CONTEMPLATE WHAT WE WISH TO DO IN OUR TRUE GOLDEN YEARS; AS WE TRY TO FIND THAT ELUSIVE, AFFORDABLE GOLDEN POND. MAYBE SOMEONE WILL GIVE US A SHACK ON A DOCK, ON A RIVER'S EDGE, LIKE THE ONE PORTRAYED IN THIS PAINTING. OR, WE WILL REMAIN HAPPILY HOUSED AT BIRCH HOLLOW, IN THE LIBERATED SPIRIT THIS PAINTING REPRESENTS; AT LEAST TO ME, BECAUSE I RECALL WHY I NEEDED ROSS TO PAINT IT IN THE FIRST PLACE. THERE WAS A LOT OF LIFE TO LIVE, AND I WAS SCARED TO DEATH ABOUT ITS OBLIGATIONS. END OF STORY.
ROSS HASN'T BEEN ABLE TO PAINT MUCH THESE DAYS, HAVING HAD SOME MUSCLE AFFLICTIONS IN HIS ARMS AND LEGS, THAT HAVE LIMITED HIS TIME AT THE EASLE. I MET WITH HIM RECENTLY, IN BRACEBRIDGE, AND THE PROGNOSIS LOOKS GOOD; BUT I REMINDED HIM THAT IT MAY GO ALL THE WAY BACK TO THOSE TIMES, WHEN WE DITCHED SOME OF THE LIMBERING-UP EXERCISES, IN HIGH SCHOOL PHYSICAL EDUCATION CLASS. JUST LIKE OUR TEACHER TOLD US MIGHT HAPPEN, WHEN WE GOT A LITTLE OLDER. NOW WE BOTH HAVE A LITTLE LESS HOP-SKIP-AND-JUMP FOR OUR DAILY WALKS.
FOR ALL THE MANY YEARS, I'VE KNOWN ROSS, WHO I DUBBED "HOSS," BACK IN PUBLIC SCHOOL, AFTER MY FAVORITE BIG-BONED CHARACTER ON THE TELEVISION SHOW, "BONANZA," HE HAS NEVER ONCE, AND I MEAN THIS, ALLOWED ME TO HAVE THE LAST WORD. WELL, THAT'S ONE POINT FOR THE WRITER VERSUS THE ARTIST. THANKS HOSS, FOR PAINTING MY BIOGRAPHY.
A LITTLE ANECDOTE OF INSPIRATION ON A RAINY DAY IN OCTOBER
Do you find it hard to lighten up? Get mad when things don't go your way? Do family and friends try to avoid you, like the plague, when you come home from work snarly; or find you irritable even in the midst of something recreational? Well, the story below, may not change your mood, or even inspire a trace chortle; but if you mull it over for awhile, you might get something more out of it, in terms of general lightheartedness. It happened to me. I was an eye witness. It made me think about my own penchant for being far too serious, too much of the time. It's a true account, taken over by the patina of urban legend. But here goes!
I was a referee employed by the Bracebridge Mens Recreational Football League, more than a decade ago, and on this particular autumn Sunday afternoon, I was one of four referees during the season's championship game. It was a good game, even from a referee's perspective, which can be rather narrow in focus. We each had our areas to survey, so it's not like we were watching it on a television monitor, and then making the calls.
The teams were evenly matched, in this touch-football grudge match, but in the second half of the game, it was obvious emotions were getting a tad raw. In my years connected with the league, there had been a few dust-ups, but very few worth noting beyond the ceremonial throwing of the penalty flag. This game had the potential of some angry showdowns, as the clock wound down, and the score was only a few points in separation. The head referee for the game, was Fred Dean, an off-duty officer with the Bracebridge Detachment of the Ontario Provincial Police. We had met several times in the second half, because we were worried about some of the minor altercations, and insult hurling, sensing the need to pause the game for a little inspirational chat with team captains. In the last scrum, Fred said, "Boys, let me handle this. I think I know what will shake them up a bit."
We watched the play of the game, but we were more interested in what Fred was up to, and may attempt, in an effort to put some fun back, in a very tense championship playoff. There was a bit more name calling, pushing and shoving after the play ended, but Fred just spoke gently to the adversaries, and reminded them that they weren't playing in the National Football League. There wasn't much time left on the clock, and tempers were definitely flaring, and the winning team was trying to suck as much time out of the clock as possible, without being whistled-down and penalized. I could see Fred had a serious look on his face, but that didn't translate into anything more than an uneasy calm. No words were spoken, and no flags thrown.
The quarterback, on the team behind on the scoreboard, was running a hurry-up offence, and was certainly adding to the tension on the field. With a couple of minutes left, the QB went back to pass down field, and after evading several attempts by the opposition to tag him, behind the line of scrimmage, he unloaded a rocket downfield. A textbook "long bomb," but with a lot of speed attached to it. There was a receiver open, and ready to make the catch, and if memory serves, there wasn't a soul between him and the goal line. It very well could have won the game for the QB, who was known to possess, what I used to call, a deficit sense of humour.
A split second before the receiver could touch the pig-skin, the white and black striped Fred Dean, crossed in front, with an Olympian's speed, intercepted the pass, as if it had been intended for him (and him alone), and he ran like the wind, through all the on-field players, and scored a touchdown against what turned out to be, the losing team. The bewildered players, on both teams, just watched the striped man run down the field, and then slam down the ball into the turf, thrusting his arms in the air, to celebrate what none of us could explain; at least easily.
He met the players in a large scrum at centre field, following the unusual turn of events, in the midst of wild cheering from the fans, (who thought it was a great move) and lectured, very kindly, each and everyone of the participants, about taking the recreational elements of the game far too seriously. What should have been a demonstration of good sportsmanship, and kindred spirits in recreation, had become a ridiculously serious grudge match. Fred, who took a big risk doing this, interception thing, was of the belief, the whole demeanor of the league had been corrupted, and this was the final straw. He didn't say too much, and the game was won by the team that had been ahead, for most of the second half. What I did notice, was that players, at the end of the game, had something extra to talk about; especially what expectations were for the very next season. I recall Fred telling player associates, that the referees "enjoy being out on the field as much as the players," but that when it gets ugly out there, "we'd rather be doing just about anything else, than associating with you guys!"
Fred couldn't referee the next season because of illness. The last time I spoke with him, was one Sunday morning, when he stopped to visit with us refs, between games. Referee-in-chief, John Rutherford, asked him how he was coping with his illness, and Fred, bright eyed and cheerful, as was his manner, looked at us, and then back at John, saying very calmly, "Well, boys, I'm dying." John Rutherford, not missing a beat, asked, "How are you coping with that, Fred." "I'm good John. I'm okay with it." He then wished us all well, and a good game coming up, and with a determined stride, headed off home across the field. I never saw him again. But I had this story to rekindle, about the way Fred Dean made us all lighten-up, to what recreation is all about.
Did the players want to beat him up, for ruining their championship game. There was anger, no question. But Fred's intention shone through it all, and there wasn't a player connected with either team, that day, who didn't get the point of what his interception, and resulting touchdown, meant in the grand scheme. It was a life lesson. Even the refs learned how to cope with tense situations, after that, although I don't believe another similar intervention ever played out; at least in the next several seasons I participated. Sometimes remarkable events just happen this way, out of thin air, and we pause a few moments, to contemplate, whether it was a divine intervention, to save our lives, or just one of those things! I won't ever forget Fred Dean that's for sure, and I think, that, in itself, is a very good thing, arriving from a spontaneous gesture, of what could only be considered unfettered goodwill.
Thanks so much for joining me today. It's a pleasure as usual.
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