Christmas In Muskoka; The Stories You Have Are Better Than Mine, Why Not Write Them Down This Christmas

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - THE STORIES YOU HAVE, AND CHERISH, CAN EASILY RIVAL MINE - YOU ALL HAVE INTERESTING HISTORIES WORTH DOCUMENTING

THE ART OF STORY-TELLING ISN'T A GREAT MYSTERY - KEEPING NAMES AND CONTRIBUTIONS OF THOSE WHO HAVE PASSED, CONTEMPORARY! ABSOLUTELY!

     WHEN ONE DAY, YOU FIND YOURSELF STROLLING THROUGH A REGIONAL CEMETERY, POSSIBLY IN UPTOWN UFFORD, WHERE WE HAVE FAMILY PLOTS, POSSIBLY YOU WILL READ MY NAME ON A TOMBSTONE, NEXT TO NORM AND HARRIET STRIPP; MAYBE EVEN GET A LITTLE SHIVER-SHOCK OF FINDING SOME FAMILIAR NAMES, AND THINK TO YOURSELF, "I KNOW THAT NAME." IF YOU WERE TO WANDER AROUND THE SMALL HINTERLAND CEMETERY, YOU WOULD FIND LOTS OF NAMES THAT I'VE USED IN THESE BLOGS OVER THE PAST THREE-PLUS YEARS. I SUPPOSE, IT WOULD BE NICE, FOR A FEW OF YOU FINE FOLK, TO LOOK KINDLY UPON MY FINAL RESTING PLACE, AND FEEL THAT DURING OUR RELATIONSHIP ONLINE, WE'VE SHARED SOME NEAT FOLK STORIES, DEBATED SOME PRESSING POLITICAL ISSUES, AND HAD A FEW HARDY LAUGHS AT MY EXPENSE. I'D LIKE THAT, AND SEEING AS I BELIEVE IN LIFE AFTER DEATH, I MIGHT ACTUALLY SLAP YOU ON THE BACK, (DON'T BE SCARED), AS THANKS FOR COMING TO MY OLD STOMPING GROUND FOR A VISIT. ACTUALLY, IN MY PERCEPTION OF THE AFTER LIFE, ALL YOU'LL NEED TO DO, IF YOU WANT ME TO HAUNT YOUR HOUSE, PLEASANTLY OF COURSE, IS TO THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS ABOUT THAT OLD-TIME BLOGGER, TED CURRIE. AND I'LL COME AND FIND YOUR MOST COMFORTABLE CHAIR, (YOU'LL SEE THE IMPRINT OF MY BEHIND) AND EXPECT A LIVELY SOCIAL OCCASION, WITH FOOD AND BEVERAGE. OH YEA, WELL MAYBE JUST THE SOCIAL FUN WILL BE ENOUGH. I'M NOT EXPECTING TO DIE ANY TIME SOON, BUT THAT'S WHAT SOME OF MY CLOSE FRIENDS FELT, AND THE NEXT THINK YOU KNOW, THEY'RE BEING REFERRED TO IN THE PAST TENSE. I'M JUST POINTING OUT, THAT MOST OF US, OR AT LEAST, THE VAIN AMONGST US, WOULD LIKE TO BE FONDLY REMEMBERED BY FRIENDS AND FAMILY. AS I'VE BEEN A WRITER FOR A LONG TIME, WITH A PRETTY FAIR SIZED AUDIENCE, SURE, IT WOULD BE NICE TO KNOW MY READERS WERE A LITTLE BIT SADDENED TO FIND OUT, CURRIE HAD EXITED THIS MORTAL COIL, POSSIBLY IN A BLAZE OF GLORY; SUCH AS WHEN ACTOR SLIM PICKINS, RIDES AN AIRCRAFT-LAUNCHED MISSILE, LIKE A BUCKING BRONCO, IN "DR. STRANGELOVE." WELL, MAYBE WITH A LITTLE LESS BANG.
     I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN AWE OF OTHER PEOPLES' LIVES. HONESTLY. I WOULD ENJOY TALKING TO YOU, AND UNCOVERING THE STORIES IN YOUR PAST, AND BRANCHING THROUGH YOUR FAMILY CHRONICLE; WHICH MIGHT WARRANT ESTABLISHING YOUR OWN BLOG. WHEN I WORKED IN THE NEWSPAPER INDUSTRY, LET ME TELL YOU, I HAD A CHANCE TO TALK WITH MANY FOLKS, WHO HAD ABSOLUTELY AMAZING BACKGROUNDS AND FOLK STORIES, THAT I WOULD HAVE LOVED TO WRITE-UP FOR THE PAPER; BUT USUALLY I WAS INTERVIEWING THEM FOR ANOTHER REASON. I WAS AWESTRUCK FOR MOST OF THOSE ELEVEN YEARS, AND I FEEL SO FORTUNATE TO HAVE BEEN PRIVY TO THOSE INTIMATE BIOGRAPHIES, THAT WERE MUCH MORE EXCITING THAN ANYTHING I HAD LIVED THROUGH IN MY YOUNG LIFE. I DEVELOPED A HUGE APPRECIATION FOR WHAT WE HUMANS POSSESS IN OUR MEMORIES, OF TRULY EXCITING AND EXCEPTIONAL MOMENTS, IN WORLD HISTORY, RIGHT DOWN TO THE FINE POINTS OF HOMETOWN HERITAGE. THE WAR YEARS CERTAINLY COME TO MIND. I'VE ALSO HANDLED PERSONAL PAPER COLLECTIONS, FROM ESTATES, AND BEEN ABSOLUTELY FLOORED, BY THE ACHIEVEMENTS AND ADVENTURES THESE PEOPLE HAD IN THEIR LIVES. I BEGAN LIVING VICARIOUSLY THROUGH THEIR STORIES, IMBEDDING MYSELF IN THEIR ADVENTURES, BECAUSE MINE WERE SO SUB-PAR.
     I'VE DRAWN ON PREVIOUSLY, A RECENT TORONTO STAR FEATURE SERIES, THAT TO ME, WAS ONE OF THE BEST EXAMPLES I'VE EVER HAD, ABOUT NORMAL LIVES, BEING TO THE CONTRARY, TRULY AMAZING EPICS! CONCURRING WITH THE STAR WRITER, ABOUT THE RELEVANCE OF DAILY LIVES OF OUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS. THE STAR REPORTER GOT PERMISSION, TO DO A NUMBER OF CONSECUTIVE ARTICLES, TO HIGHLIGHT THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A WOMAN, WHO HAD RECENTLY PASSED. IT WAS TO PROVE THE POINT, THAT WE ALL HAVE UNIQUE AND INTERESTING LIVES, WHEN WE EXAMINE MORE CLOSELY, THESE OFTEN OBSCURED INTIMACIES OF PERSONAL BIOGRAPHIES. THIS MIDDLE AGED WOMAN, DIED OF A BRAIN INTRUSION, POSSIBLY A BLOOD CLOT IF MEMORY SERVES, QUITE WITHOUT WARNING. THE STAR REPORTER FOUND OUT FROM FAMILY, DETAILS OF THEIR KIN'S WORK AND PERSONAL INVOLVEMENTS, WITH SPECIAL FOCUS ON BENEVOLENT ACTS SHE BESTOWED ON HER FAMILY AND COMMUNITY. SHE HAD EXPERIENCED MANY FAILURES IN RELATIONSHIPS, AND WORK HADN'T ALWAYS GONE ALONG SMOOTHLY, BUT SHE WAS DEVOTED TO HER FAMILY, AND PERFORMED MANY ACTS OF KINDNESS; TO HELP OUT WHEN THERE WERE EMERGENCIES, INFILLING WHERE SHE COULD. OVER THE SERIES OF ARTICLES, WE WERE INTRODUCED TO A VERY AVERAGE CANADIAN CITIZEN, WHO HAD BEEN A MAJOR SOURCE OF INSPIRATION TO HER FAMILY AND COMMUNITY. THE POINT OF THE SERIES, WAS TO SHOW READERS, JUST HOW AMAZING WE ALL ARE, WHEN IT, OUR BIOGRAPHY, IS GIVEN CLOSE SCRUTINY; AND NOT JUST THE POSITIVES, BUT HOW THEY HAVE DEALT WITH NEGATIVES AND DISADVANTAGES. IT WAS A HUGELY POSITIVE STORY, ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF HUMANS, INFLUENCING OTHER HUMANS, IN THE PURSUIT OF FULFILLING LIVES. THIS WOMAN WOULD NEVER HAVE RECEIVED A GLOWING OVERVIEW OBITUARY, WITHOUT THE TORONTO STAR'S FOCUS, BUT IT DEMONSTRATED CLEARLY, HOW WE ARE ALL INTER-CONNECTED, IN OUR LIVES; WITH ALL KINDS OF FASCINATING PEOPLE, WHO IMPRINT ON US IN SO MANY UNDETECTED WAYS.
     I HAVE ALWAYS FELT THAT MANY OF OUR REAL MOVERS AND SHAKERS, AND THE MOST BENEVOLENT AMONGST US, ARE OVERLOOKED IN THE FORMAL HISTORY BOOKS. OF COURSE THEY ARE. IF YOU INCLUDED ALL THE PERSONAL AND FAMILY HISTORIES, YOU'D REQUIRE A FORK-LIFT TO GET IT OFF THE RE-ENFORCED IRON SHELVING. SO I HAVE, IN MY OWN WAY, VIA THIS BLOG, AND MY NEWSPAPER COLUMNS DATING BACK THIRTY YEARS, ATTEMPTED TO HIGHLIGHT SOME OF THESE UNSUNG HEROES OF THE COMMUNITY, ALL WHO PLAYED A ROLE IN MAKING ME A BETTER, AND MORE PRODUCTIVE CITIZEN. THESE WERE FOLKS IN ALL WALKS OF LIFE, AND SOMETIMES, JUST NEIGHBORS IN THE APARTMENTS WE LIVED, WHO SHOWED MY FAMILY KINDNESS, AT TIMES WHEN WE WERE DOWN ON OUR LUCK. THERE ARE CERTAIN NAMES THAT ALWAYS COME TO MIND, AT AROUND THIS TIME OF YEAR, BECAUSE THEY HELPED OUR FAMILY GET THROUGH CHRISTMAS, WHEN WE DIDN'T HAVE MONEY FOR RENT, FOOD, AND PRESENTS. THEY OFFERED ASSISTANCE, AND EXPECTED NOTHING IN RETURN. RALPH MELVIN, FOR ONE, WAS THE MANAGER OF THE BRACEBRIDGE BRANCH OF THE BANK OF NOVA SCOTIA, DURING THE LATE 1960'S, AND WHEN MY MOTHER MERLE WORKED THERE, IN THE PRE-CHRISTMAS PERIOD, OF 1966, SHE TRIED TO ARRANGE A LOAN TO COVER OUR HOLIDAY EXPENSES. RALPH WOULDN'T APPROVE THE LOAN, BUT CALLED MY MOTHER INTO HIS OFFICE, AND HANDED HER AN ENVELOPE WITH SEVERAL HUNDRED DOLLARS, WE SUSPECT, FROM HIS OWN POCKET. HE TOLD MY MOTHER SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO PAY IT BACK. WELL, MY MOTHER PAID IT BACK AFTER ONLY A COUPLE OF MONTHS, BECAUSE SHE WAS FEROCIOUS IN THIS REGARD, NEVER WANTING IT KNOWN WE DIDN'T HONOR OUR DEBTS. HILDA AND WAYNE WEBER, PROPRIETORS OF THE ALICE STREET APARTMENTS, IN BRACEBRIDGE, LET OUR RENT SLIDE MANY MONTHS DURING THAT SAME PERIOD, THAT MY DAD WAS HAVING A TOUGH TIME LANDING A JOB. THEY WERE BOTH GRUFF AND DIRECT FOLKS, IN THEIR CONVERSATION, BUT BOTH WOULD GIVE US ANYTHING WE NEEDED, TO HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS. WAYNE WOULD MAKE A POINT OF COMING UP TO OUR APARTMENT, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, TO PUT MONEY FOR ME, ON THE BRANCHES OF OUR TREE. SURE, SOME TIMES HE DID FALL INTO THE TREE, BECAUSE HE HAD ENJOYED TOO MANY EGGNOGS, BUT HIS HEART WAS IN THE RIGHT PLACE.
     ALL THE RESIDENTS OF THAT APARTMENT IN THE 1960'S AND 70'S WERE OUR GOOD FRIENDS, WHO ALWAYS MADE THE CHRISTMAS PERIOD SO SPECIAL AND SHARING. I REMEMBER FINE FOLKS LIKE JOHN AND JOAN HARTNETT, GORD AND ALVA PARLETT, SONS MARK, MIKE, AND DAUGHTER LYNN; GARY AND MILLIE MARTIN, AND ALL THOSE WHO OCCASIONALLY SHOWED UP ON MY ROAD - RINK, TO PLAY THREE PERIODS OF HOCKEY, AGAINST THE BACKDROP OF BAMFORD'S WOODS. THOSE CHRISTMAS SEASON DAYS WHEN RANDY CARSWELL, DON CLEMENT, RICK AND AL HILLMAN, JIM NIVEN AND LARRY TOUGAS, USED TO CROWD UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT OF THAT ALICE STREET STRETCH, WHERE THE LEAFS WERE ALWAYS PLAYING THE CANADIENS, AND FOSTER HEWITT WAS IMITATED BY RANDY PERFECTLY. I'VE ALWAYS FELT, LIKE THE NAMES OF LIL & CEC, AND FRED AND MARY BAMFORD, THAT IT WAS SOCIALLY AND CULTURALLY IMPORTANT TO KEEP THEIR NAMES OUT THERE, IN THE CONTEMPORARY SENSE, AS CONNECTED TO THIS WRITER. I LOVED THOSE CORNERS STORES, RUN BY LIL & CEC, ON ONE CORNER OF TORONTO STREET, AND THE BAMFORDS ON THE OTHERS. I PURCHASED A LOT OF CHRISTMAS GIFTS FROM THEIR SHOPS, AND MOST OF OUR TREATS FOR THE SEASON. I ADORED THEIR CHRISTMAS DISPLAYS, AND COKE SANTAS THEY HAD FOR ADVERTISING, AND THE WAY THEY NEVER MADE US SNOTTY-NOSED, ALWAYS BROKE KIDS, FEEL BAD FOR OUR CIRCUMSTANCE. THAT'S WHY WE SPENT ALMOST EVERY PENNY WE EARNED, AT THOSE TWO STORES, BUYING THE TREAT THAT CAUSED OUR PARENTS TO PAY FOR EXPENSIVE DENTAL REPAIRS. OH WELL. WE HAD A BLAST. I JUST HATE THE THOUGHT, THAT THESE NAMES WILL BE FORGOTTEN, WHEN I STOP WRITING THESE BLOGS. NOT THAT THEY WERE MORE IMPORTANT THAN MAYORS AND RELATED POLITICIANS, BUSINESS MAGNATES, AND AWARD WINNING ATHLETES. BUT IN THAT FOLK HISTORY CHRONICLE, OF WHICH IS MY SPECIALTY, THEY SHALL NEVER BE OMITTED FROM HISTORY. I'VE SEEN TO THAT, OVER THE PAST THREE DECADES, AND ALL THESE RECOLLECTIONS ARE SECURELY ARCHIVED FOR POSTERITY. HOUS
     I HAVE NEVER CLIMBED A MOUNTAIN, RODE THE RAILS ACROSS THIS COUNTRY, BEEN A HOBO, A DRIFTER, AN ABSTRACT ARTIST, OR A BUILDER OF THE WORLD'S BIGGEST BUILDINGS, LONGEST BRIDGES, OR DEEPEST TUNNEL. I'VE HAD AN INTERESTING LIFE, MORE SO, BECAUSE OF THE TRULY UNIQUE PEOPLE I'VE KNOWN, AND BEEN INFLUENCED BY, FOR LONG AND LONG. I AM A STORY TELLER; A STORY BORROWER! I MAY SPIN AN INTERESTING STORY BUT I AM USUALLY NOT ITS TRUE ARCHITECT. I HAVE BEEN A STUDENT OF MANY INSPIRING MENTORS, WHO HAVE TOLD ME STORIES ABOUT ADVENTURES, AND EXCITING RELATIONSHIPS WITH FAMOUS PEOPLE, THAT HAVE GIVEN ME HUNDREDS OF STORIES TO DEVELOP, ALL ON THEIR POWERFUL INFLUENCES. THAT'S WHAT MY WRITING HAS BEEN ABOUT FOR THIRTY YEARS. I HAVE YIELDED TO THE ADVENTURES OF OTHERS, BECAUSE THEY'VE ALWAYS BEEN SO MUCH MORE COMPELLING AND FULL OF WHAT FOLKS LIKE YOU, ARE INTERESTED IN READING. I THINK OF MYSELF AS MORE OF A FACILITATOR OF FOLK STORIES, BUT I WOULD NEVER THINK OF STEALING THE CREDITS FROM SOME OF MY HERO MENTORS, SUCH AS HISTORIANS LIKE ROBERT BOYER, REDMOND THOMAS, BERT SHEA, AND CAPTAIN FRASER. POINT IS, I WAS BROUGHT UP TO BE RESPECTFUL OF OTHERS, AND TO PAY ATTENTION TO THEIR STORIES, BECAUSE, SOME WILL ASSIST ME IN OTHER WAYS, AND ON MISSIONS NOT YET UNDERTAKEN. IT WAS ABOUT SHARED WISDOM, AND I HAVE ALWAYS BENEFITTED IN THIS WAY, LEARNING FROM THE FIRST HAND EXPERIENCES OF OTHERS, WHO HAVE GONE WHERE I WOULDN'T DARE TO TRAVEL.
     THE OTHER PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG COLLECTION, FOR ALL THESE YEARS, IS TO PROVIDE A RECORD FOR MY SONS, AND THEIR FAMILIES TO COME. YEARS AFTER MY PARENTS DEATHS, I STILL HAVE A HUNDRED QUESTIONS ABOUT THEM, AND THE LIVES THEY ENJOYED AS YOUNGSTERS. MERLE AND ED TOLD THE SAME STORIES OVER AND OVER, BECAUSE THEY MADE THEM HAPPY, BUT THEY WERE HABITUALLY SHY, WHEN THE REPORTER IN ME, ASKED MORE POINTED, INTRUSIVE QUESTIONS, THEY DIDN'T FEEL COMFORTABLE ANSWERING. I DON'T KNOW WHY. I DO WISH THEY HAD TAKEN THE TIME, TO AT LEAST WRITE DOWN MORE DETAILS ABOUT THEIR EARLIER FAMILY LIVES, WITH STORIES ABOUT FAMILY MEMBERS I NEVER MET. MY MOTHER HAD A SISTER, MARJORY, WHO DIED OF A BRAIN DISEASE, WHEN HER CHILDREN WERE YOUNG, AND A BROTHER CARMEN, WHO BROKE AWAY FROM THE FAMILY AFTER THE SECOND WORLD WAR AND MOVED TO BRITISH COLUMBIA WHERE HE DIED SOME TIME LATER. I WANTED TO KNOW MORE. MY FATHER HAD THREE BROTHERS, DON, DOUG AND BILLY. WHEN MY GRANDMOTHER, A BERNARDO CHILD WHO MARRIED A LESS THAN GENTLE AND KIND IRISH HUSBAND, NAMED EDDY, LEFT HER CHILDREN TO THE CHILDREN'S AID, REPEATEDLY, WHEN IN EMOTIONAL PERIL, CAUSED UNSPECIFIED PROBLEMS WITH HER YOUNGEST BOY, BILLY. BILLY HAD BEEN INSTITUTIONALIZED FOR MOST OF HIS LIFE, AND DIED SHORTLY AFTER BEING RELEASED FROM THE HURONIA CENTRE, BACK IN THE EARLY YEARS OF THIS NEW CENTURY. THE ONLY DETAILS I EVER GOT FROM THIS PART OF OUR FAMILY CHRONICLE, WAS FROM MY MOTHER, WHO HATED MY GRANDMOTHER FOR HER PERIODS OF NEGLECT. WHAT MERLE DIDN'T KNOW, WAS THAT DORIS HARDING CURRIE, HAD BEEN AN ORPHAN IN ENGLAND, IN A FACILITY OPERATED BY DOCTOR BERNARDO, AND HAD BEEN SENT TO CANADA TO WORK AS A DOMESTIC, FOR A MINISTER IN SOUTHERN ONTARIO AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN. SUZANNE FOUND THIS THROUGH THE BERNARDO GROUP IN ENGLAND. IT EXPLAINED A LOT ABOUT WHY MY GRANDMOTHER WAS ALWAYS DIFFICULT TO DEAL WITH, AND SUFFERED FROM LIFE LONG EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS. MANY OF THESE CHILDREN WERE EXPOSED TO HARSH WORKING CONDITIONS, PHYSICAL ABUSES, AND I DARE SAY SEXUAL ABUSE AT THE HANDS OF HOST FAMILIES.
     POSSIBLY, ONE DAY, YOU WILL FIND AN INTEREST TO WRITE DOWN SOME OF YOUR OWN STORIES. WHILE THEY MIGHT NOT SEEM ALL THAT UNIQUE OR WORTHY OF A CORRESPONDING TEXT, IT MIGHT BE WORTH TALKING ABOUT THE DETAILS OF YOUR FAMILY LIFE, AND THE INTERESTING REALITIES OF YOUR ANCESTORS, THE PLACES THEY CAME FROM, AND THE ADVENTURES THEY UNDERTOOK IN THEIR RESPECTIVE LIVES. I'M WILLING TO BET, THERE ARE THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF IMPORTANT SOCIAL / CULTURAL HISTORIES WAITING TO BE HIGHLIGHTED AND SHARED IF SO DESIRED. DON'T BE MODEST. ONE DAY, FUTURE GENERATIONS WILL BE DELIGHTED THAT YOU TOOK THE TIME, TO DOCUMENT WHAT YOU KNOW AND HAVE EXPERIENCED ABOUT FAMILY AND COMMUNITY MILESTONES. THE FIRST RULE? LET SOMEONE ELSE BE THE JUDGE, OF HOW RELEVANT YOUR STORIES ARE, TO FAMILY AND LOCAL HISTORY. MOST PEOPLE, WHEN ASKED, IF THEY HAVE ANY INTERESTING LIFE STORIES TO RELATE, DECLINE TO COMMENT, BELIEVING THEIR PLACE IN HISTORY, IS TINY AT BEST. YET UPON INVESTIGATION, AN OLD REPORTER LIKE ME, COULD PROVE THE EXACT OPPOSITE TO HOLD TRUE.
     THIS IS WHAT MY BLOG HAS BEEN ABOUT OVERALL, AND I AM PLEASED TO HAVE BEEN ABLE TO ARCHIVE THESE STORIES BEFORE I CAN NO LONGER LIFT A FINGER TO THIS KEYBOARD, LET ALONE HOLD ONTO A PEN. I HAVE FORGOTTEN A LOT OF PERSONAL HISTORY, AND TALES FROM OLDTIMERS, THAT I NEGLECTED TO WRITE DOWN, HAVING THE MISTAKEN BELIEF, I WOULD BE ABLE TO TALK TO THEM AT A LATER DATE. I WANTED TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT GRAVENHURST MUSICIAN HUGH CLAIRMONT, BUT I WAS TOO LATE GETTING AROUND TO IT. I WANTED TO WRITE A BRACEBRIDGE HISTORY WITH LES TENNANT, WHO HAD A HUGE HERITAGE COLLECTION OF ARCHIVES MATERIAL, ABOUT THE LOCAL FIGURE SKATING CLUBS, AND SKATING CARNIVALS AT THE LOCAL ARENAS. I WANTED TO PURSUE THIS STORY, BECAUSE SUZANNE'S GRANDFATHER, SAM STRIPP, WAS THE PAINT-MASTER, WHO COLORED THE ICE FOR THE ANNUAL CARNIVALS. LES DIED BEFORE WE COULD INK A DEAL. THE LIST INCLUDES THE WHO'S WHO OF MUSKOKA. I RAN OUT OF TIME, AND SO DID THEY. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES AS ME. PUSH THE ENVELOPE. INTERVIEW THE ELDERS OF YOUR FAMILY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. WRITE DOWN RECOLLECTIONS ABOUT GROWING UP, AND HOW ALL THE FOLKS IN THE FAMILY INTERACTED. SOMETIMES, YES, IT CAN BECOME A LITTLE COLORFUL AND EVEN CONTROVERSIAL. THAT'S LIFE FOR YOU. POINT ME IN THE DIRECTION OF A FAMILY THAT DOESN'T HAVE A CLOSET FULL OF SKELETONS, AND I'LL SHOW YOU A WORK OF STRANGE FICTION. IT'S WHAT MAKES HISTORY INTERESTING FOR GOSH SAKES. WE NEED TWISTS AND DIPS, AND CROSSROAD DECISIONS, THAT AREN'T ALWAYS IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
     IN THE LEAD-UP TO CHRISTMAS, I WILL WRITE MORE ABOUT THE UNSUNG HEROES OF MY EARLY DAY IN MUSKOKA. MAYBE YOU EVEN KNEW THEM. NOT ONE OF THEM EVER THOUGHT THEIR INTERACTIONS WITH ME, WOULD EARN THEM A PLACE IN MY VERSION OF MUSKOKA'S FOLK HISTORY. IN THIS REGARD, I'M QUITE UNPREDICTABLE, BUT IN A MOST POSITIVE WAYS, OR SO CLAIMS MY BRIDE, WHO HAS BEEN PROOFING MY WORK EVEN BEFORE I'VE FINISHED WRITING IT. I HATE THIS, BUT SHE'S JUST SUPER EFFICIENT. SHE CATCHES A LOT OF SPELLING MISTAKES, AND TYPOS, SO I'M NOT GOING TO TELL HER SHE'S INTRUDING UPON MY SPACE, READING OVER MY SHOULDER. I USED TO WARN PUBLISHERS I WORKED FOR, TO NEVER, EVER DO THIS, BUT SUZANNE ISN'T MY MANAGER; JUST A KIND SOUL WHO HATES IT WHEN I SPELL SOMEONE'S NAME WRONG.

BRACEBRIDGE AND THE SPIRITS OF CHRISTMASES PAST - THE TOWN OF THE 1960'S AND 1970'S WAS A NEAT ERA TO EXPERIENCE

THE SMALL TOWN EXPERIENCE WASN'T LOST ON ME

     LIKE YOU FINE FOLKS, I ALWAYS LOVED WHEN THE FIRST SNOWFALL ARRIVED; INTIALLY AS PREAMBLE FLURRIES, ACROSS THE GLORIOUS MUSKOKA LANDSCAPE. AFTER SCHOOL, WE'D RUN BACK HOME, TO OUR HUNT'S HILL ABODES, DRESS IN OUR PLAY SNOWSUITS, ACCORDINGLY THICK AND RESISTANT, FOR HIGH IMPACT COLLISIONS, (WITH TREES); HOIST SLEDS UP UNDER OUR ARMS, AND START PREPARING THE OLD ROAD, LEADING UP TO THE SANDPIT, BEHIND THE WEBER APARTMENTS, FOR THE TRADITIONAL SLEDDING RUN. WE WOULD HAVE A NICE LITTLE COURSE ICED-OVER, AFTER A COUPLE OF DAYS WORK, WEATHER PERMITTING, AND THE OLD WHEEL RUTS, FROM THE DUMP TRUCKS, WITH THE MIDDLE HIGHER THAN THE OUTSIDE EDGES, WOULD SERVE MUCH AS A MAJOR BOBSLED COURSE, WHILE THE LEFT SIDE, WAS FOR WALKING UP AND DOWN WITH TOBOGGANS; SLEDS WITH RUNNERS AND THOSE ALUMINUM SAUCERS THAT COULD WHIP DOWN THAT HILLSIDE, WITH SPARKS FLYING OUT AROUND THE EDGES. IT WAS QUITE A SIGHT. THE RIDER DIDN'T HAVE THE SAME PERSPECTIVE AS WE DID, OR THEY'D HAVE BEEN SCARED TO DEATH, RUNNING DOWN THE ICE-COVERED SLOPE, IN DARKNESS, LIKE A WAR PLANE THAT HAD JUST BEEN SHOT OUT OF THE SKY. WE COULD CLEARLY SEE THE ORANGE AND BLUE SPARKS, THINKING THAT AT ANY MOMENT, THE WHOLE THING WOULD EXPLODE IN FLAMES. THERE WAS ALWAYS A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY AT THE TOP OF THE HILL, AS IF NOTHING BAD COULD HAPPEN ON THE WAY DOWN. THEN, ON A SAUCER, OUT OF CONTROL SPINNING COULD OCCUR, AND WHEN THE TIN ETCHED HARD, DOWN OVER THE EXPOSED GRAVEL, WHICH WAS INEVITABLE, ANYTHING COULD HAVE HAPPENED. I LIKED TO HAVE A SLED I COULD CONTROL. THE FUN SEEMED TO BE WHEN THE SLED WENT OUT OF CONTROL. ON OCCASION, A TOBOGGAN WOULD GO OUT OF BOUNDS, HALFWAY DOWN THE HILLSIDE, AND DRIFT RIGHT THROUGH THE GANG HAULING THEIR SLEIGHS UP THE OTHER SIDE. OH THE HUMANITY. BOOT AND BEHINDS IN THE AIR, FALLING AWKWARDLY BACK DOWN THE HILLSIDE. WHAT A FILM CLIP THAT WOULD HAVE MADE FOR THE EVENING NEWS. OR COMICS FOR THE FUNNY PAGES.

     IT WASN'T A LONG COURSE OR ALL THAT HIGH I SUPPOSE. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AN ELEVATION OF TWO STORIES, ACCORDING TO OUR APARTMENT MEASURE. WHAT MADE IT CHALLENGING, AND VERY MUCH LIKE AN EPISODE OF "JACK-ASS," WAS THE FACT, THE SLEDS HAD TO NAVIGATE A TIGHT RIGHT TURN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL, OR RUN INTO THE PORTABLE CEMENT MIXER, ANCHORED AT THE CORNER OF WAYNE WEBER'S CONSTRUCTION SHED. IF YOU DIDN'T HIT THE IRON WORK OF THE MIXER, THERE WERE LEFTOVER CEMENT BLOCKS, AND OLD FORTY-FIVE GALLON DRUMS A FEW FEET BACK. ON THE RIGHT SIDE, IF YOU TURNED TOO ABRUPTLY, THE SLED COULD CAREEN INTO TWO OLD TRUCKS, WAYNE, AT ONE TIME, HAD USED TO HAUL SAND FROM THE SAND-PIT. IT WAS SORT OF AN URBAN OBSTACLE COURSE, WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT NOW, AND ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS HILLSIDES YOU COULD USE FOR RECREATIONAL SLEDDING. IN FACT, WE USED TO HIT THESE RATHER FIRM AND FROZEN-IN REMNANTS OF THE CONSTRUCTION INDUSTRY, QUITE FREQUENTLY. WE SHOULD HAVE AT LEAST BEEN WEARING HOCKEY HELMETS. IT WAS JUST CONVENIENT TO US. MAYBE WE WERE A LITTLE LAZY, NOT FEELING LIKE CROSSING TOWN TO FIND A BETTER HILLSIDE. UNDER GOOD CONDITIONS, YOU COULD WORK UP A PRETTY FAIR SPEED, AND THE HOLLOW OF THE TIRE RUT, WOULD USUALLY KEEP YOU ON TRACK TO FINISH ON THE FLAT, IN BETWEEN LARGE METAL OBJECTS AND THE RETIRED TRUCKS. WE NEVER HAD EVEN ON BROKEN ARM OR LE; JUST A FEW BUMPS ON THE NOGGIN, TO SMARTEN US UP. IT WAS WONDERFULLY SCENIC AT THE TOP BUT IT DIDN'T FINISH IN THE KIND OF ENVIRONMENT THAT YOU WOULD LABEL PICTURESQUE. MY MOTHER AND HILDA WEBER, THE OWNER OF THE PROPERTY, HATED US PLAYING THERE, BUT WE WERE A LITTLE MORE SAVVY WITH THAT COURSE DESIGN, THAN IT MIGHT HAVE INITIALLY APPEARED. SO SERIOUS INJURIES WERE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN. IF WE DID GET HURT, WE DIDN'T REPORT IT TO OUR KIN FOLK, FOR FEAR HILDA WOULD SHUT THE SLOPE DOWN.

     EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, WE'D GET INVITED OVER TO JIM NIVEN'S HOUSE, UP ON THE HIGH END OF RICHARD STREET, WHERE THEY HAD A TREE-LINED SUICIDE DROP, WITH ROCK OUTCROPPINGS, THAT NO ONE EVER SUCCESSFULLY NAVIGATED, UNLESS YOU COUNT, ARRIVING AT THE BOTTOM, WITH BROKEN BRANCHES PROTRUDING FROM YOUR SNOWSUIT, AND SPITTING TWIGS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH....., AS WELL AS THE ARSE RIPPED OUT OF YOUR PANTS; FRICTION BURNS WHERE THE UNDERWEAR USED TO BE. WE'D START OUT ON A THREE PERSON TOBOGGAN, AND HALFWAY DOWN THE HILL, THERE WOULD BE TWO LESS RIDERS, BUT A LOT MORE SCREAMING, AS THE WOOD SLED BOUNCED OVER EXPOSED ROCKS AND GLANCED OFF NASTY LITTLE SHRUBS HERE AND THERE, ALL THE WAY DOWN. ONCE OR TWICE WE TRIED SLEDDING DOWN FLYNN'S HILL, ON RICHARD STREET, JUST BEFORE THE NIVEN'S HOUSE, AND THAT WAS TERRIFYING. WE'D USE THE HILLSIDE FOR OUR HOMEMADE GO-CARTS, BUT THEY AT LEAST HAD WORKABLE BRAKES. THE ONLY WAY TO STOP THE SLEDS OR DISCS ON AN ICY SLOPE, AS HIGH AND FAST AS IT WAS, INVOLVED TUCKING ONE'S HEAD TO THE CHEST, AND ROLLING OFF AT OUR OWN RISK. THE PROBLEM CAME WHEN TWO OR MORE DECIDED ON THE SAME EXIT STRATEGY, AND WOUND UP WADDING INTO A BALL OF HUMANITY, TUMBLING AND SLIDING DOWN THE REST OF THE HILL. JUST AS A CAR WAS TURNING UP THE STREET. WHAT A WAY TO GO!

     A FEW TIMES WE'D HIKE DOWN TO THE OLD TURKEY FARM, ON SANTA'S VILLAGE ROAD, BUT THERE WERE A LOT OF TERRAIN ISSUES IN THAT DEEP VALLEY, LEFTOVER FROM THE FARM DAYS. EVEN A GRASS MOUND COULD STOP A SLEIGH IN ITS TRACKS, AND CATIPULT THE RIDERS INTO OUTER SPACE. THERE JUST WASN'T MUCH IN THE WAY OF CLEAN, UNOBSTRUCTED TOBOGGAN HILLS IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. SO WE WORKED WITH WHAT WE HAD, AND THE MOST ACTIVELY USED AND ENJOYED, I DARE SAY, ESPECIALLY WHEN WE EXPANDED IT ONE YEAR, TO THE HIGHEST PART OF THE SAND-PIT, WHICH WHEN ICE-COVERED, WOULD GIVE US THE OLYMPIC LUGE SPEED. IF THE COURSE WAS A LITTLE SOFT, WE WOULD COME FLYING OFF THE UPPER LEDGE, WHICH WOULD HAVE MADE IT A THREE STORY HAIR-RAISING DROP TO THE BOTTOM, BUT GET STUCK ON THE FLAT PART OF THE CRATER, LONG BEFORE THE UPPER LIP OF THE ROAD DOWN. A FEW OF US, ON SAUCERS, WOUND UP IN THE MID SECTIONS OF THE EVERGREENS, THAT LINED THE LEFT SIDE OF THE SLOPE, AND A FEW OF THE MORE PROFICIENT SLEDDERS COULD EVEN SAVE THEMSELVES INJURY, BY GRASPING THE BOUGHS, AND REMAINING IN THE TREE'S BOSUM, TO AWAIT RESCUE FROM THE PIT CREW. I DID THE SAME THING ONE DAY, BUT INSTEAD OF CATCHING THE BOUGHS, MY MITTS WERE FROZEN, AND THE NEEDLES SLIPPED THROUGH MY HANDS. I SHOT RIGHT THROUGH THE BORDER TREES, AND RIGHT OVER THE EMBANKMENT WHERE HILDA HAD HER ROCK GARDEN. NOW THAT HURT. I LANDED WITHOUT THE BENEFIT OF THE SAUCER BENEATH MY CHEEKS, SO I WALKED WITH A LIMP FROM A SORE ASS FOR THE NEXT WEEK. NO WONDER MY KNEES AND HIP ARE WONKY NOW.

     IT WAS KIND OF A CRAZY COURSE, BUT YOU KNOW, AT AROUND CHRISTMAS, WHEN THERE WOULD BE A DOZEN KIDS UP THERE ON THE HILLSIDE, IN A DUSTING OF SNOW OVER THE HILLSIDE, IT WAS QUITE PLEASING VISUALLY.....IF I'D HAD THE GOOD SENSE TO CAPTURE THOSE MOMENTS ON FILM. AT NIGHT, WE'D BRING SOME COAL OIL LANTERNS, AND HANG THEM ON BRANCHES DOWN THE SLOPE. THIS MADE IT IMPERATIVE NOT TO FLY OFF THE TRACK. WE'D REALLY LOOK SPECTACULAR IN A BALL OF COAL-OIL FLAMES, IF WE TOOK OUT THOSE LAMPS. THESE NIGHTS, IF YOU LOOKED DOWN AT THE WEBER APARTMENT, AT THE BACK, YOU COULD SEE PEOPLE SITTING, OR STANDING AT THE WINDOWS, WATCHING US AT OUR WINTER SPORT. I CAN ALWAYS REMEMBER THE EXCITEMENT, COMING OUT OF THE BACK DOOR OF THE APARTMENT, AND HEARING THE VOICES AND LAUGHTER OF MY CHUMS, FILLING THE WINTER AIR. SOMETIMES WE PLAYED A COUPLE OF GAMES OF ROAD HOCKEY FIRST, AND THEN HIT THE SLOPES. IT WAS NEVER THE OTHER WAY AROUND, BECAUSE SLEDDING WAS A HIGH DEMAND RECREATION, AND WE'D BE SOAKED THROUGH, AFTER A COUPLE OF HOURS GOING UP AND DOWN THE HILL. MOST OF THE MOISTURE WEIGHING-DOWN OUR SUITS, WAS FROM A MASSIVE OUTPOURING OF SWEAT. WE SELDOM WENT SLEDDING WHEN THERE WAS AN ARCTIC CHILL. THAT WAS HOCKEY WEATHER.

     WE MADE THE BEST OUT OF THE LANDSCAPE WE WERE AFFORDED. THE HUNT'S HILL GANG STAYED AT HOME, WITH EXCEPTION OF BRIEF FORAYS TO SAMPLE OTHER SLEDDING VENUES, AND HOCKEY SURFACES, AND OF COURSE TO RELUCTANTLY AMBLE OUR WAY TO BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL. SO EVEN THOUGH WE HAD A SUICIDE HILL OVER AT NIVENS, AND A CONSTRUCTION EQUIPMENT CIRCUIT AT THE WEBER APARTMENTS, WE NEVER COMPLAINED ABOUT OUR LOT IN LIFE. WE JUST WORKED WITH THE RESOURCES AVAILABLE, AND OUR MOTHERS WERE ON STAND-BY WITH MEDICAL PROVISIONS, TO BANDAGE WHAT WAS CUT AND SCRAPED. THE MOST SERIOUS INJURY I EVER HAD, AS A WINTER SLEDDER, WAS WHEN I DECIDED TO WHIP DOWN THE HILL ON A SLED WITH METAL RUNNERS, ON AN ICED-OVER TRAIL. THERE HAD BEEN A PERIOD OF FREEZING RAIN I THINK, WHICH ADDED A BIT OF EXCITEMENT TO THE SPEED FACTOR ON THE SLOPE. EVERYONE ELSE NAVIGATED THE RUN FAST BUT SAFELY THAT NIGHT, EXCEPT ME. THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME I'D EVER TAKEN THE HILLSIDE, STOMACH DOWN. WHEN I BEGAN AT THE TOP OF THE SAND-PIT, I WAS DOING GREAT, WITH A BLUE LIGHTNING STREAK, UNTIL I GOT TO THE HUMP ON THE UPPERMOST SECTION OF THE OLD ROADWAY. THE SLED STOPPED DEAD FOR SOME REASON. I WENT FLYING OFF AT THE SAME BREAKNECK SPEED, BUT SOMEHOW SPUN AROUND, SO THAT I WAS SLIDING FEET FIRST, INSTEAD OF THE OTHER WAY AROUND. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN OKAY, IF I HADN'T STILL BEEN POSITIONED ON MY STOMACH. WELL SIR, MY COAT PULLED UP OVER MY HEAD, AS DID MY SWEATER AND UNDERSHIRT, AND I LUGED THAT LENGTH OF ROUGH ICE ON MY BARE STOMACH.....MUCH OF THE SKIN BEING LEFT ON THE HILLSIDE IN SMALL PORTIONS. IT LOOKED LIKE I'D BEEN SKINNED ALIVE. WHEN I GOT IN THE HOUSE, MY MOTHER GOT SICK TO HER STOMACH. IT LOOKED SO BAD, SHE THOUGHT I'D REMOVED MY INTESTINES. MY DAD TOOK A WASH-CLOTH AND CLEANED ME UP TO SEE WHERE THE HOLES WERE. ALL I WAS MISSING WAS A LAYER OF SKIN AND BODY FAT, BUT THERE WERE NO EXPOSED ORGANS. I WASN'T CRYING THEN. IT CAME LATER WHEN MERLE DECIDED THE ONLY TREATMENT FOR MY WOUNDS, WOULD BE IODINE. MY MATES COULD HEAR ME SCREAMING OUT ON THE SLOPE, WITH TOQUES ON, AND SLED RUNNERS ENGAGING THE ICY SLOPE. THEY PROBABLY COULD HAVE HEARD ME DOWNTOWN. THE NEIGHBORS WERE USED TO THIS KIND OF STUFF, SO NO ONE SHOWED ANY REAL INTEREST. I'M SURE THEY WERE WHISPERING, "AH, IT'S JUST THE CURRIE KID AGAIN. HE'S ACCIDENT PRONE. I DON'T KNOW HOW HE'S LIVED THIS LONG." I SUGGESTED I MIGHT NEED A COUPLE OF DAYS OFF SCHOOL. WELL, THAT DIDN'T FLY. NEITHER DID I. IT WAS THE LONGEST FORCED HIATUS I EVER HAD, FROM RECREATION, UNTIL MY SKIN GREW BACK. YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT A BIG SCAB. IT WAS MY NICKNAME FOR THE REST OF THAT WINTER, BECAUSE EVERYBODY, EVEN THE GIRLS, HAD TO HAVE A LOOK-SEE. "THAT'S HORRIBLE CURRIE....JESUS, PUT YOUR SHIRT DOWN WILL YOU?"

     WHEN I GOT INTO HIGH SCHOOL, AND THOUGHT OF GIRLS IN A DIFFERENT WAY, THAN JUST MATES TO PLAY HOCKEY AND BASEBALL WITH, I'D ACCEPT INVITATIONS TO GO SLEDDING UP ON LIDDARD STREET, WHERE IT INTERSECTS WITH AUBREY. IT WAS ALSO A CRAZY SLOPE, WITH ALL KINDS OF NATURAL OBSTRUCTIONS, BUT THE IDEA WASN'T AS MUCH ABOUT SLEDDING AS RECREATION, BUT DATING WITHOUT THE FORMALITY ATTACHED. A DATE DIDN'T INVOLVE RECREATION, AS FAR AS WE WERE CONCERNED. IT WAS JUST A PLACE TO CHECK OUT OUR COMPATIBILITY, IN A WHIP OF SPLINTERING WOOD AND SMOKING METAL DOWN THE HEIGHT OF THE EIGER SANCTION, WHERE, AT THE BOTTOM, MALE AND FEMALE WOULD CRUMBLE TOGETHER IN A HALF-EMBRACE, WITH A NEAR-ROMANTIC WARMTH TO IT; ANY INJURY BEING OF LESSER CONSIDERATION, THAN THE POSSIBILITY THE RIDERS HAD INADVERTENTLY HUGGED, OR TEMPORARILY HELD HANDS, AND LEARNED INTIMATELY, WHAT INSPIRED LAUGHTER, AND WHAT EXTREMES, IN TERMS OF DISCOMFORT, WARRANTED TEARS. LOOKING BACK, WE ALL HAD "FACE PLANTS" INTO THE CRUSTY SNOW, AND I SEEM TO RECALL WIPING THE ICE CHUNKS OFF LINDA'S FACE, AS WELL AS A FEW TEARS. I'LL BET SHE REMEMBERS THAT IT WAS ME WHO WAS CRYING. SHE MAY BE RIGHT. BACK IN THE WINTER OF 1972-73, MY SLEDDING PARTNER WAS LINDA DAWSON, A SWEET GAL WHO LIVED FURTHER ALONG ON LIDDARD STREET. WE ACTUALLY BEGAN DATING SHORTLY AFTER. WE'LL CALL THAT THE ALLURE AND ALCHEMY OF WINTER SLEDDING. I KIND OF THINK IT WAS THE TERROR OF THOSE WICKED RIDES DOWN THE TREED SLOPE, THAT BROUGHT US TOGETHER. FUNNY THING THOUGH. ONCE WE BEGAN DATING, WE NEVER AGAIN HIT THE SLOPES. LINDA LIKED TO ICE SKATE, SO THAT'S WHAT WE DID EVERY SATURDAY AND SUNDAY AFTERNOON, AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA. WE LET THE SINGLES USE OUR SLEDS, TO HOPEFULLY HOOK UP. YOU KNOW, I NEVER REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THIS, AS A PARTNERING RITUAL OR PRE-DATING, BUT THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT WAS, FOR A LOT OF TEENS, GROWING UP IN A SMALL TOWN WITH A LOT OF HILLS AND SNOW....AND FREE TIME.

     I ENJOYED THE WINTER SEASON AS A KID. I DIDN'T LIKE IT SO MUCH WHEN I LIVED IN THE CITY. I DIDN'T NOTICE THE COLD AS MUCH IN MUSKOKA, AS I HAD THE COLD, DAMP OF A BURLINGTON WINTER; AS THAT K NIFE-BLADED WIND CAME SWEEPING IN OFF LAKE ONTARIO....MAKING EVERY STEP TOWARD LAKESHORE PUBLIC SCHOOL, AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH. THERE WERE TIMES WHEN I WONDERED WHAT MY FATHER HAD BEEN THINKING ABOUT, MOVING US FROM THE CITY TO THE RURAL CLIME, BUT THAT WAS A SHORT PERIOD OF DOUBT....THAT FADED INTO THE FAMILY CHRONICLE, ONCE I STARTED ENJOYING THE PLEASURES GOD GAVE US KIDS IN THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION ON EARTH. I WAS HAPPY TO BECOME MUSKOKAN.

 CHRISTMAS IN BRACEBRIDGE - THE WIDE-EYED KID

IT WAS A CAREFREE TIME, WASN'T IT? I MADE THE MOST OF IT - I WAS EVERYWHERE A KID COULD GO - AND IT GOT ME INTO TROUBLE

I WAS A RINK RAT. I'D BE AT THE ARENA AT 7 A.M. ON A SATURDAY MORNING, AND IF I PLAYED MY CARDS RIGHT, I'D BE THERE TO JUST BEFORE SUPPER. TOWN LEAGUE HOCKEY, THIS TIME OF YEAR, OCCUPIED THE EARLY HOURS OF SATURDAY. THEN THERE WAS THE DISTINCT POSSIBILITY I'D BE CALLED TO TRAVEL WITH AN ALLSTAR TEAM, AS THE STARTING, BUT MOSTLY BACK-UP GOALIE. I WAS GOOD WITH THAT. THERE WASN'T MUCH GOING ON AT HOME, AND I LOVED HOCKEY IN ALL ITS SHAPES, SIZES AND CONFIGURATIONS. TRAVELLING WAS NEAT TOO. I COULD GET TWO GAMES ON A SATURDAY, OR MOST OF THE TIME, A GAME AND A PRACTICE. IN BETWEEN, I'D VOLUNTEER TO HELP MANAGER DOUG SMITH WITH ICE SHOVELLING DUTIES, WORKING WITH FRED "BING" CROSBY, WHO RAN THE BIG BARREL ON THE CART, USED FOR WATERING THE ICE…..IN THESE EARLY DAYS BEFORE THE TRACTOR, OUTFITTED FOR WATERING….AND THEN THE MODERN ICE MACHINE THAT SCRAPES AND WATERS IN ONE SMOOTH PASS. GEEZ, COME TO THINK OF IT, IT WAS THE 1960'S, AND WE WERE STILL USING THIS ANTIQUATED WATER-DRUM ON WHEELS. IT TOOK ABOUT FOUR LADS TO MAN THE SHOVELS, IN A ROW, TO CLEAN THE ICE IN A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME. WE GOT A QUARTER TO SPEND AT THE SNACK BAR, ALSO RUN BY THE ARENA. IT BOUGHT US A HOT DOG AND THEN WE'D MOOCH A POP ON TOP OF THAT…..AS WE FOUND DOUG AN EASY TOUCH. GRUFF, LOUD AND SOMETIMES DOWNRIGHT NASTY, BUT HE COULDN'T LOOK A THIRSTY KID IN THE EYE, WITHOUT SLAPPING HIS FACE, JUST UNDER HIS TIPPED-UP FEDORA, AND RELENTING TO THE WEE ONES BEGGING IN FRONT OF THE COUNTER.

IF I PLAYED DODGE AND DART A BIT, HIDING IN THE BLEACHERS, OR IN AN EMPTY DRESSING ROOM, A YOUNG FELLOW COULD GET INTO PUBLIC SKATING FOR FREE, AND THEN WITH CLEVER POSITIONING, WIND UP STAYING FOR THE AFTERNOON ALLSTAR GAMES. THERE MIGHT BE THREE BACK TO BACK IF I WAS ON A REAL WINNING SPREE. AND I'D NEVER BE OUT A DIME…..UNLESS OF COURSE, MY MOTHER HAD SPOTTED ME MY WEEKLY ALLOWANCE. I WOULD HAVE BLOWN THOSE TWO BUCKS ON "THRILLS" GUM, A SWEET MARIE BAR, LICORICE, ANOTHER HOT DOG, AND A COLD POP OR FOUR. IN TOTAL I DID PRETTY GOOD ON THESE DAYS, BECAUSE WITH WHAT DOUG GAVE US OVER THE DAY FOR SHOVELLING, AND THE MONEY I FOUND ON THE CONCRETE FLOOR BENEATH THE SEATS IN THE ARENA, I'D PROBABLY BLOW ABOUT FIVE BUCKS ON PERSONAL TREATS. AS WELL, I'D COME HOME WITH AN ARMFUL OF BROKEN STICKS, PUCKS, TOQUES AND MITTS I FOUND, AND A LOT OF OTHER SALVAGE LEFT OVER AFTER HOCKEY GAMES.

I think there was more fun attached to being a rink rat, than a hockey player back then. I was always a reluctant goalie. I loved street hockey, and playing net was fun. In a real game, where my teammates called me "sieve" after every goal, there wasn't a lot of enjoyment being wet, cold, and usually on the losing team. This did improve a tad over the years, and I actually got to be pretty good at guarding the net. I was even selected to attend the Red Wing Hockey School, operated by NHL'ers Ron Ingram and hometown boy, Roger Crozier, by the mid 1960's, already an all-star goaltender in that golden six team league. Roger told me, shortly before he died (I worked for his youth charity, the Crozier Foundation), that coaches at that time, figured I was on the way to being the next NHL prospect. When he told me, I inhaled part of a bun, and nearly choked to death. I couldn't believe that I would have ever been considered worthy of this extra attention, because of my good play. I was always led to believe, it was an act of charity, for us poor kids that particular summer. And by all accounts we were poor. At least that's what the other Bracebridge players at the camp told me, and the other poor blokes that had also been invited….."Yea Currie, they wanted to help some poor kids out…..and here you are." Hey, I was good with that, because I never once, faced even a smidgeon of denial that my family didn't have the proverbial "pot" to pee in. I was just glad to get out of the heat and enjoy the summer ice. I had to re-write my biography when I found out that Roger actually thought I had some talent.

Point is, the arena was my second home. My home away from home. At Christmas, it was a place to celebrate and "fascinate", and I'll tell you how, in future blogs.

Christmas In Muskoka; My Final Blog In This Format Will End January 1st; I'm Toying With the Idea Of Retiring

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - I DON'T KNOW WHETHER IT IS A WELL EARNED RETIREMENT, OR NOT - BUT MY FINAL BLOG WILL BE JANUARY 1ST

I NEED TO MOVE ON TO OTHER PROJECTS, LIKE TRAVEL FOR ONE, BUSINESS THE OTHER!

     I HAVE ALWAYS FOUND WRITING TO BE THERAPEUTIC. BEFORE NOW, I HAVE NEVER KNOWN IT TO BE EXHAUSTING. WHEN I BEGAN MY FIRST SERIOUS BOOK PROJECT, LIVING IN THE HOUSE OF FORMER BRACEBRIDGE DOCTOR, PETER MCGIBBON, I WOULD WORK UNTIL THREE IN THE MORNING, TURN-IN FOR A FEW HOURS, AND THEN BE BACK AT THE TYPEWRITER, IN THE ATTIC OFFICE, OVERLOOKING MEMORIAL PARK UNTIL LUNCH. I WOULD THEN WORK MOST OF THE AFTERNOON, AND FOLLOWING SUPPER, HEAD BACK UP AND REPEAT THE WORK SESSION, THAT WAS BECOMING QUITE NORMAL FOR ME.
   THEN WHEN I BEGAN WORK AS A REPORTER IN 1979, I WOULD WRITE THROUGH THE DAY FOR THE PAPER, AND THEN I'D WRITE MOST OF THE NIGHT FOR MYSELF. FOR SOME REASON, CALL IT YOUTH, I ALWAYS HAD THE ABILITY TO RENEW MYSELF, WITH ONLY A FEW HOURS OF SLEEP, AND LOTS AND LOTS OF COFFEE. MY GIRLFRIEND GAIL, DIDN'T GET ME, AND QUITE A FEW AFTER HER DIDN'T GET ME EITHER. WHEN SUZANNE CAME ALONG, WELL SIR, SHE FORCED ME TO RE-FASHION MY WRITING JAGS, SUCH THAT IT WOULD NOT DESTROY MY HEALTH. I HAVE ALWAYS BELIEVED WRITING WAS A SORT OF ELIXIR, A SNAKE OIL, THAT GAVE ME A DEEP RESERVE OF ENERGY TO HANDLE THOSE LATE NIGHTS AT THE NEWSPAPER, AND THEN AT HOME, AFTER EVERYBODY ELSE HAD GONE TO BED. SHE BEGAN MANAGING ME, SEEING AS I COULDN'T MANAGE MYSELF, AND IN NO TIME, MY QUALITY OF LIFE IMPROVED IN A HUNDRED DIFFERENT WAYS.
    I WAS STILL WRITING LIKE A MADMAN, BUT I WASN'T LIVING ON WHISKY, COFFEE AND POTATO CHIPS ANY LONGER. I OWE A LOT TO THIS FINE WOMAN, WHO HAS HAD TO DEAL WITH SO MANY ECCENTRICITIES, I NEED A FILE CABINET TO KEEP THEM ALL SORTED OUT. I WARNED HER BEFORE WE GOT MARRIED, THAT HAVING AN ANTIQUE DEALER, A NEWSPAPER EDITOR, AND A WRITER, AS A HUSBAND, WOULD BE NEAR CATASTROPHIC AT TIMES; AND WAS SHE ABSOLUTELY SURE IT WAS A CONUNDRUM SHE WANTED TO EMBRACE. I WAS SO PLEASED SHE SAID YES. IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF A MORE STRUCTURED EXISTENCE, FOR ME, AND A FAMILY LIFE THAT I MIGHT NEVER HAVE SEEN, THE WAY I WAS BURNING THE CANDLE AT BOTH ENDS.
     SUZANNE DESERVES A LOT OF CREDIT FOR KEEPING ME OFF THE BOOZE, AND MAKING ME SET TIGHT PARAMETERS FOR ALL MY WRITING PROJECTS, IN ORDER TO KEEP WORK AND RECREATION IN BALANCE. WRITING, YOU SEE, BECOMES AN OBSESSION, THAT BECOMES A NASTY TASKMASTER, COMMANDING THOSE IN ITS GRASP, TO WRITE UNTIL THE INSPIRATION IS EXHAUSTED. WHEN IT'S EXHAUSTED, I AM PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY DRAINED, AND WILL ARRIVE IN MY FAVORITE CHAIR, AND FALL ASLEEP IN THE MIDDLE OF WHAT SHOULD BE A SOCIAL TIME WITH MY BRIDE. WHILE SHE HAD BEEN ABUNDANTLY PATIENT, AND ALLOWED ME SOME EXCESSES, AND THE OCCASIONAL BEER AND WINE AT CHRISTMAS, I'VE PUT HER THROUGH A LOT, WHILE WRITING THESE BLOGS OVER THE PAST THREE YEARS. AS YOU MIGHT IMAGINE, I WRITE A LOT FOR A BLOGGER, AND CERTAINLY DON'T MEASURE UP TO THE MODEL OF THE PERFECT BLOG EDITORIALIST. LET ME EXPLAIN.
     FOR MANY YEARS, I HAVE HAD MUCH OF MY RESEARCH AND HISTORIES INFRINGED UPON, BY THOSE I CALL SURFACE SKIMMERS, WHO HAVE NO SERIOUS STAKE IN MUSKOKA, BUT LIKE TO ASSUME THE POSITION OF EXPERTS IN THEIR FIELD. THEY USE MY EDITORIAL MATERIAL WITHOUT WORRYING WHETHER I'LL FEEL COMPROMISED, AND SOMETIMES, THEY SWIPE MY IDEAS AND COPY, WITHOUT ANY CREDIT WHATSOEVER. THE BLOG, FOR ME, HAS BEEN GREAT FOR ARCHIVING THIS COPY, SO THAT THERE IS A DATE OF PUBLICATION, WHICH ASSISTS WITH OWNERSHIP ASSERTIONS. THIS WAS WHAT MY COMPUTER-WHIZ SON, ROBERT, SUGGESTED, AS A MEANS OF COPYRIGHTING INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY. I SUPPOSE THIS WILL SEEM A LITTLE PRESUMPTUOUS, SUGGESTING I'M INTELLECTUAL. IT HAS WORKED, AND STEERED A FEW INTERLOPERS AWAYS FROM USING MY BLOG AS A DEEP WELL OF STORY IDEAS, FOR THEIR OWN PROFIT-MAKING. I DON'T WRITE THESE BLOGS FOR PROFIT. BUT THEY WRITE BOOKS FOR FINANCIAL GAIN.
     I HAVE APPRECIATED ALL THE SUPPORT I HAVE RECEIVED SINCE I BEGAN MY BLOGS, FROM YOU FOLKS, AND ALL MY FAMILY HAS BEEN FANTASTIC, ASSISTING ME WITH EDITING WORK, AND COMPANION PHOTOGRAPHS, FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS. IT IS A HUGE COMMITMENT OF TIME AND EFFORT, AND I ACHIEVED MORE THAN I EVER EXPECTED, WHEN I BEGAN WITH ABOUT TWENTY READERS PER BLOG. UNFORTUNATELY, THIS VETERAN OF THE PROFESSION, IS STARTING TO RUN OUT OF STEAM, LIKE THE PETTICOAT JUNCTION "CANNONBALL." IT IS BECOMING HARDER AND HARDER TO COME UP WITH STORY IDEAS, TO KEEP YOU FOLKS ENTERTAINED, AND INFORMED, AND TO MUSTER THE STAMINA TO WORK TWO TO FOUR HOURS, OR LONGER, AT HOME, LATER IN THE DAY, TO PUT A BLOG TOGETHER THAT MAKES SENSE. I HAVE ALWAYS TOLD SUZANNE, THAT THE MOMENT WRITING BECOMES TOO MUCH LIKE WORK, IT WOULD BE TIME TO ENTERTAIN A CHANGE OF PACE, POSSIBLY EVEN RETIREMENT. IT HAS OFFICIALLY HIT THIS MARK. I AM EXHAUSTED. THE BLOGS ARE MUCH MORE DIFFICULT TO COMPLETE, AND NOT FALL ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH. THEREFORE, IT HAS BECOME ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TO FEEL COMFORTABLE THAT I'M PRODUCING "A" QUALITY COPY, AND NOT JUST A BLOG TO HONOR A COMMITMENT.
     I AM IN THE FINAL STRETCH OF MY 59TH YEAR. SUZANNE RETIRED A YEAR AND A HALF AGO FROM GRAVENHURST HIGH SCHOOL, AND I HAD PLANNED TO RETIRE THIS BLOG AT THE SAME TIME OF YEAR. SHE ENDED HER 31 YEAR CAREER IN JULY 2013, AT AGE 59. I AM HER JUNIOR, SO I HAD TO HANG IN A LITTLE WHILE LONGER, BUT THERE ARE CIRCUMSTANCES NOW THAT HAVE MADE ME HURRY UP THE RETIREMENT DATE. FOR ONE THING, THE BUSINESS SUZANNE AND I SET UP FOR OUR RETIREMENT YEARS, HAS BECOME SO SUCCESSFUL, THAT I SIMPLY CAN'T BUDGET THE TIME TO WORK ON THE BLOG AT THE SHOP. WHEN I COME HOME AT NIGHT, FORGIVE ME, I JUST CAN'T MANAGE A TWO HOUR JAG AT THE COMPUTER, AS I DID FOR YEARS. OUR SALES ARE WAY UP, INCLUDING OUR SONS' MUSIC BUSINESS, AND WE HAVE TO START EARLY IN THE NEW YEAR, BUILDING UP INVENTORY FOR THE SHOP, WHICH DEMANDS A LOT OF TRAVEL AND SOME REFINISHING WORK. WE BEGAN OUR ANTIQUE BUSINESS, IN 1986, WITH THE PLAN ONE DAY, OF HAVING IT AS A RETIREMENT BUSINESS. YES INDEED, IT HAS TAKEN CLOSE TO THIRTY YEARS TO GET IT RIGHT. WE ARE ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTED, BUT IT DOES MEAN WE HAVE TO PUT IN MORE HOURS, IN THE SHOP, AND ON THE ANTIQUE HUNT, IN ORDER TO KEEP UP WITH DEMANDS. I'M GLAD THERE ARE DEMANDS. USUALLY THE OFF-SEASON IN MUSKOKA, IN THE ANTIQUE PROFESSION, MEANS WE GET A LOT OF TIME TO WRITE AND READ BOOKS. NOT THIS YEAR. IT'S GREAT EXCEPT THERE AREN'T ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY. SEEING AS SUZANNE AND I HAVE BEEN FINE TUNING THIS BUSINESS FOR THREE DECADES, IT MAKES A LOT OF SENSE TO FOLLOW THROUGH WITH THIS BUSINESS SUCCESS, INSTEAD OF FLAILING AWAY AT BLOG WRITING, JUST TO KEEP MYSELF IN SHAPE AS A COLUMNIST. HELL, I STILL THINK I COULD PLAY THREE PERIODS OF HOCKEY, TENDING THE PIPES, BUT TRUTH IS, I PROBABLY COULDN'T SKATE THE LENGTH OF THE ICE WITHOUT DROPPING DEAD.
     THE OTHER SIGNIFICANT DEVELOPMENT, IS THAT ANDREW AND ROBERT, HAVE TEAMED UP WITH A LOCAL COUNTRY SINGER, AND A CELEBRITY DRUMMER, TO CREATE AN EXCITING CONTEMPORARY BAND, AND THEIR FIRST GIG IS THIS COMING THURSDAY IN BRACEBRIDGE. I'VE OFFERED TO WORK WITH THEM IN PUBLIC RELATIONS AND PROMOTIONS, IF THEY NEED HELP. THIS IS A BIG DEAL FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED, AND PROMISES TO BE QUITE EXCITING FOR GRAVENHURST IN THE FUTURE; THE MEMBERS ALL HAVE GRAVENHURST IN COMMON. I CAN'T RELEASE MUCH MORE THAN THIS AT THE TIME BEING, BUT I WILL AS SOON AS THE BOYS GIVE ME THE NOD. I'M NOT SURE ABOUT VENUE CAPACITY, SO I HAVE TO BE CAREFUL PROMOTING IT TOO WELL.
     SUZANNE AND I HAVE SOME TRAVEL PLANS IN THE FUTURE, ALTHOUGH SHE DOESN'T KNOW IT YET, AND I'VE GOT IDEAS TO UNFOLD TO ENHANCE OUR COLLECTIONS AT THE SHOP, THIS COMING YEAR, AS WELL AS TRYING MY HAND AT A FEW OTHER ARTISTIC PROJECTS AS A BUCKET LIST ADVENTURE. I BEGAN WRITING FOR PUBLICATION BACK IN THE SPRING OF 1978, AND WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A SHORT HIATUS PERIOD, I HAVE NEVER NOT BEEN A WRITER ON A MISSION. NOW, I WANT TO CEASE THE "MISSION" ASPECT OF WRITING, AND FOCUS ON A NUMBER OF OTHER AREAS OF INTEREST, THAT I HAVE PUT OFF FOR THE RAINY DAY THAT NEVER CAME. WE'VE NEGLECTED A LOT OF ACTIVITIES WE BOTH WANTED TO PURSUE BEFORE WE GET TOO OLD. TODAY, I FEEL TOO OLD. SO WE'VE GOT TO WORK QUICKLY TO JAM IT ALL IN. A LOT OF THIS ACTIVITY, WE WANT TO EXPEND IN OUR HOME DISTRICT, WHICH WE TRULY LOVE. WE DON'T HAVE A COTTAGE ANY MORE, BUT YOU NEVER KNOW. WHERE THERE'S A WILL! OR A MILLION BUCKS!
     THIS IS THE SECOND TIME IN THE PAST SIX MONTHS, THAT I'VE RETIRED. THE FIRST TIME, I GOT MAD AT MY WIFE BECAUSE SHE CHALLENGED HOW MANY HOURS I WAS SPENDING ON THE LAP TOP, AND NOT DOING MY SHARE OF CHORES FOR THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS, AND NOW, THIS IS ALL MY IDEA, BASED ON THE FACT I'M NOT AS VIGOROUS THESE DAYS, WITH TOO MANY RESPONSIBILITIES, AND THE ANTIQUE SHOP GROWING FASTER THAN WE ANTICIPATED.
     A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO, AN INDIVIDUAL CAME INTO OUR SHOP, AND TOLD US OF HER BUSINESS PLAN, TO OPEN UP A GIANT ANTIQUE SHOP TWO BLOCKS FROM US. LAST YEAR, WE HAD AN ANTIQUE SHOP LOCATE BESIDE US ON THE MAIN STREET. ADDING ANOTHER LARGE ANTIQUE VENUE WILL DO A NUMBER OF THINGS, INCLUDING STRETCH OUR CUSTOMER BASE, WHICH MEANS WE COULD LOSE REVENUE AS A DIRECT RESULT. ON THE OTHER HAND, WITH MORE SHOPS IN THE UPTOWN AREA, IT COULD BECOME AN ANTIQUE MECCA, LIKE THE OLD DAYS OF COOKSTOWN, WHEN IT WAS A BUSTLING COMMUNITY OF ANTIQUE SHOPS AND MALLS. I'M NOT TOO SURE HOW MANY ANTIQUE SHOPS ARE TOO MANY, BUT WE CAN'T REALLY WAIT TOO LONG BEFORE REACTING, AND BECOMING AS COMPETITIVE AS POSSIBLE BEFORE THEIR DOORS OPEN. IT SHOULD CREATE SOME COMPETITIVE PRICING, THAT'S FOR SURE.
     I AM GRATEFUL TO EVERY READER WHO HAS JOINED ME FOR PERIODS OVER THIS THREE-PLUS YEAR ADVENTURE IN WRITING. IT HAS BEEN A BLAST IN SO MANY WAYS, AND I SHALL NEVER FORGET THE MANY EMAILS I'VE RECEIVED, FROM THOSE WHO ENJOYED OR SIMPLY AGREED WITH THE BLOG CONTENT. I WON'T SAY FOR CERTAIN, THAT I WON'T USE THE BLOG SITE, FROM TIME TO TIME, BASED ON NEED OR OPPORTUNITY. I MAY ADAPT IT TO THE SHOP INSTEAD, SO I WOULDN'T WANT TO CONFUSE YOU ABOUT FUTURE CONTENT, BEING THE SAME AS IT HAS BEEN THESE THREE YEARS. I HAVE MOVED HEAVILY INTO SELLING OLD BOOKS AND ART, AND IF A BLOG IN THE FUTURE, IS PART OF THE DEVELOPMENT STRATEGY, FOR THIS WING, I SHALL FIND THE GUMPTION TO CARRY-FORTH. IT JUST WON'T BE AS GENERAL AS IT HAS BEEN. IN OTHER WORDS, IT WOULD BECOME A BLOG DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO OUR GRAVENHURST ANTIQUE AND MUSIC BUSINESS, AND OF COURSE, MY HAUNTED BOOKSHOP. I WILL MAKE THIS DECISION IN THE NEAR FUTURE.
     I WILL CARRY ON THIS CHRISTMAS SEASON SERIES, AND COMPLETE THE LAST GENERAL BLOG ON JANUARY 1ST 2015. NOW LET'S GET BACK TO CHRISTMAS 2014, AND MAKING IT A FABULOUSLY APPOINTED, MEMORABLE MUSKOKA CHRISTMAS.

CHRISTMAS IN BRACEBRIDGE -

THOMAS BLOCK FIRE WAS THE BIGGEST, MOST FRIGHTENING - CALAMITOUS TOWN EVENT I HAD EVER COVERED - NO ONE PERISHED - THANKFULLY

BY THE TIME I SQUISHED MY BEHIND DOWN INTO THAT EDITOR'S CHAIR, OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, (BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S), IT WOULD HAVE TAKEN THE JAWS OF LIFE TO SPARE THE CHAIR. FROM MY FIRST YEARS OF UNIVERSITY, I SET MY SIGHTS ON BEING A FUTURE EDITOR. IT TOOK A WHILE, AND SOME HUSTLING TO PROVE MY WORTH, BUT I FINALLY ACHIEVED MY GOAL. I WAS THE BOSS. I HAD THE CHAIR AND DESK TO PROVE IT. DID ANYBODY GIVE A RAT'S ARSE? JUST THE PUBLISHER. HE WANTED ME TO EARN MY KEEP, MOTIVATE THE STAFF, AND CO-OPERATE WITH THE TOUGH COOKIES IN THE PRODUCTION DEPARTMENT. MOST OF ALL, HE DIDN'T WANT TO GET A/ SUED, B/ VOID OF ADVERTISING.

WHEN I DID MAKE MY WAY TO THIS STATION IN LIFE, I HAD EXPERIENCED A PRETTY GOOD WORK-OUT ON THE LOCAL NEWS SCENE, STRETCHING FROM THE TOWNSHIP OF GEORGIAN BAY, MUSKOKA LAKES, AND BRACEBRIDGE. GRAVENHURST WAS STILL IN RANGE, BUT IT WOULD BE YEARS, AND A CHANGE OF EDITOR'S CHAIR BEFORE I BEGAN COVERING ITS MUNICIPAL COUNCIL, AND THE LOCAL BEAT. AS FOR HAVING COVERED ACCIDENT AND FIRE SCENES, I'D CUT MY TEETH ON SOME REAL DANDIES, AND DESPITE THE PROMOTION, I WOULD FOB-OFF AN ACCIDENT OR FIRE CALL ON ANYONE ELSE IN THAT NEWSROOM. MY CONSTITUTION WAS NOT SUITED TO THE KIND OF SCENES FIRST RESPONDERS HAD TO DEAL WITH. IF THERE WAS NO CHOICE, NO ONE TO HAND THE CAMERA TO, I DID WHAT WAS REQUIRED TO JUSTIFY THE PURPOSE OF OUR "NEWS" PAPER. I GOT MY WOBBLY KNEES JUST HEARING THE COMMUNITY FIRE SIREN, OR THE SCANNER WE KEPT IN THE OFFICE FOR EMERGENCY CALLS.

ON THIS BITTERLY COLD WINTER MORNING, SHORTLY AFTER CHRISTMAS-FESTIVITIES, THE CALL CAME OVER THE SCANNER ABOUT A FIRE AT A BUILDING ON MANITOBA STREET, AT CHANCERY LANE. I KNEW IT AS THE THOMAS COMPANY BUILDING, WITH LEGAL OFFICE UPSTAIRS, JUST BEHIND THE HERALD-GAZETTE BUILDING ON DOMINION STREET. I WOULD LATER THAT DAY, BE ABLE TO STAND OUT ON THE ROOF OF THE HERALD BUILDING, TO WATCH THE PROGRESS OF THE FIRE.

EVERY REPORTER WE HAD WAS CALLED OUT TO COVER THIS BREAKING NEWS EVENT. WHILE TWO PHOTOGRAPHERS HEADED DOWN CHANCERY LANE, TO GET SOME FRONT SHOTS OF THE BUILDING, I STOOD AT THE TOP OF THE LANE, JUST BEHIND THE FORMER BRACEBRIDGE TOWN HALL, BECAUSE I NOTICED A LOT OF SMOKE COMING FROM VENTS AT THE SIDE. I TOOK SOME SHOTS DOWN THE SLOPE OF THE LANE, CONNECTING TO THE MAIN STREET, AND SAW A FIRE CAPTAIN I KNEW AT THE BASE. WHEN STAFF FROM THE LEGAL OFFICE OPENED THE SIDE DOOR TO ESCAPE THE BUILDING, THE GLASS IN THE STOREFRONT BELOW, BLEW OUT, THE BURST OF AIR, TOSSING THE FIREMAN ARSE OVER TEA KETTLE, INTO THE ROADWAY. I GOT A SHOT BUT THE SMOKE GOT IN THE WAY OF A CLEAR IMAGE. THE SAME HAPPENED FOR THE PHOTOGRAPHERS BELOW, WHO, AT THAT POINT, DIDN'T KNOW HOW SERIOUS THE FIRE HAD BECOME IN MY ZONE. THE CUSTOMERS AND STAFF HAD JUST GOT OUT OF THE WAY IN THE KNICK OF TIME, BEFORE THE WINDOW EXPLODED.

FROM THIS POINT, INDEED, ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE.

The fire had been manifesting for some time before, inching through the openings above the numerous false ceilings in the store. Somehow, as I had been witnessing, the smoke was venting to the side, not the front, and it had not reached a serious degree of burn, until that morning's store opening. When the front and side doors were opened for customers and clients,I suppose it was acting as a sort bellows on the flames. Customers reported feeling very hot in the store, but the smoke wasn't an issue. It was exciting the building, in a less than obvious place.

After the window blew…..and we saw the fireman had escaped serious injury, I tried to talk to the business owner who was in shock at the time. I chased him up the lane, away from the fire, to get one or two sentences to use……as with events like this, print reporters were often asked to do "voicers" for regional radio and television stations. That's when I noticed the shards of glass that had injured his rear end…..obviously from the explosion at the front of the building. I left the rest to his son…..but it looked painful.

I'd never seen a fire accelerate like this one. It was obvious the fire had gotten into the nooks and crannies, enough to make it twice as difficult for firemen to douse. Within minutes of that window being blown out, the mood changed big-time. Spectators were fleeing and there were sirens everywhere. As we all know about these downtown fires, along the traditional, historic main streets in Bracebridge and Gravenhurst, it couldn't possibly be a simple, one building fire. It was the test to see if there were any firewalls between the old structures. I'm not sure now just how many of the buildings were gutted, but that it stopped before it hit Thatcher Studio. I'm pretty confident it affected three businesses, a medical office, and a law office upstairs. Fortunately no one was seriously injured. Emotional trauma. There was lots of that…..especially when, as historical record in Muskoka towns has documented, you could literally lose the downtown during one out-of-control fire event. There were a lot of gut-wrenching, nervous moments for all stake holders that day.

What was the saving grace, if memory serves, was that a "Tele-squirt" aerial firetruck was loaned by the Fire College, in Gravenhurst, which effectively stopped the progression from consuming other vulnerable buildings. It knocked the flames down, and gave firemen on the ground a better chance of stopping the carnage from heading north, or south, or even leaping west across Manitoba Street. The deep freeze made it a most unfortunate situation for firemen, who were quickly exhausted, carrying around ice on their backs and arms. The cold air and smoke made it hard for everyone to breathe, working on the ground level of the multi-building fire. I can remember spectators who had crept closer and closer over the long day, finding jewelry washing down the road from the shop. Rings were being found frozen in the ice for days after the event.

What had begun at about mid-morning, had carried on through the night….and I remember looking down on the fire scene, from the roof of The Herald-Gazette, and it appearing the mouth of a volcano. There was no roof structure left. Just an expansive, threatening, wavering glow in the sub-zero night air. As we said over and over again that day and night….and for the next week, "at least no one was injured." And you know, the owners of the property, rebuilt the structures that seemed beyond repair….and you can visit them today…..and see no evidence of that great winter fire, of once.

Over the past year, we've had several major fires in downtown Gravenhurst, and although I'm not employed as a reporter any longer, I still got those wobbly knees, and churning stomach, that always went along with the territory. I watched those fire fighters tackle that blaze, with the prowess I recall seeing so many times in the past. On both fires, I saw the terrible odds they were facing….old buidlings, many renovations in the past, all kinds of nooks and crannies for a fire to hide, and the looks of sincere regret……on their faces…..that they couldn't do more to stop the disaster in its tracks. No one can tell me, after my own years of experience covering accidents and fires, that first responders are void of emotion at times of crisis……just because they're used to difficult circumstances. No, they're mortal, and they wish for a better outcome from their efforts. Some times it just isn't possible, and I've identified this, from my own experience, in two recent Gravenhurst blogs.

I heard a smart ass, at the first downtown fire, back in the spring, say "Yup, they haven't lost a foundation yet!" Insensitive bastard.

As a wee footnote to this blog, I remember reporting on a side-bar story, of the fire that claimed Windermere House, a few years back. It was about the emotional state of a few of the firefighters, one who had been in tears, because, in some way, he felt that losing the building was the brigade's fault……that a landmark was lost because they couldn't beat the flames back. Do you think I'm blowing smoke. Tell me then, the last time you heard of a memorial service being held for a building……and for all those who fought the blaze. It was held at the Windermere United Church shortly after the fire, which was begun by the way, during the filming of a Hollywood movie. I was at that service, as my wife is from Windermere. We felt bad for the firemen, that they shouldered responsibility this way….when they had done everything possible to extinguish flames in that very old, very dry resort building. It was clear evidence for me, even though I had seen it in my photographs, showing firemen in action….for years, first responders take it on the chin every time…..and wish there was a positive outcome to each event.

Windermere House was rebuilt, as it was on that promontory, overlooking Lake Rosseau, and it is every bit the historic landmark it once was……but thoroughly modernized. No one had been killed or seriously injured in what could have been much more serious.

As a reporter who shadowed the firefighters of South Muskoka for more than a decade, I have the utmost respect for them, and confidence they will do everything humanly possible to maintain our health and welfare in the event of crisis. But don't think for a minute, they have any choice, about taking their work home with them……and that's something we need to know about their dedication….before we make insensitive comments…….about saving foundations, and such.

Thank you firefighters of Muskoka. Thank you all first responders.

Roger Crozier and The Detroit Red Wings; A Bracebridge Parade Covered By Paul Rimstead

The Bog in November. Photos by Rob Currie

CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - WRITTEN IN GRAVENHURST - A BIOGRAPHY OF A BRACEBRIDGE BORN NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE ALLSTAR

THE STORY BEGAN FOR ME AS A YOUNGSTER LOVING HOCKEY; THE BIOGRAPHY WAS LAUNCHED DURING THE CHRISTMAS SEASON OF 1993

     I CAN REMEMBER WORKING AT MY DESK, DOWN IN THE FAMILY ROOM, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW, SOMETIMES UNTIL TWO OR SO IN THE MORNING, FOR WEEKS ON END, TRYING TO GET DOWN A ROUGH, "STARTING" MANUSCRIPT, IN PREPARATION FOR A QUESTION I WANTED TO ASK ONE OF MY HOCKEY HEROES. SUZANNE WOULD FIND ME SLUMPED OVER MY DESK ON OCCASION, AS IF I HAD DIED ON THE JOB. FORTUNATELY, I WAS JUST HAVING A LITTLE NAP. "WHY ARE YOU PUSHING YOURSELF LIKE THIS," SHE'D ASK, WORRYING THAT I WAS DOING TOO MUCH WORK ON SPECULATION. I HAD NO IDEA THAT I WAS EVER GOING TO EARN A DOLLAR FROM ALL THE HOURS I WAS PUTTING IN, BUT I REALLY WAS ENJOYING THE RESEARCH, TOO MUCH TO STOP.
     IN THE EARLY SPRING, I PLANNED TO ASK ROGER CROZIER, IF HE WOULD ALLOW ME TO WORK ON A PRELIMINARY BIOGRAPHY OF HIS PROFESSIONAL HOCKEY CAREER, WHICH I FOUND TO BE QUITE ENTHRALLING. THE FIRST BIOGRAPHY WRITTEN ON ROGER, WAS ACTUALLY PUBLISHED WHEN HE WAS STILL PLAYING FOR THE DETROIT RED WINGS, ENTITLED "DAREDEVIL GOALIE," FROM THE LATE 1960'S, AND IT WAS A BIG HIT AMONG US LOCAL LADS, PLAYING MINOR HOCKEY IN THE SAME ARENA THAT GAVE ROGER HIS START. IT WAS A NEAT BOOK FOR THE TIME, AND PERFECT FOR THE JUVENILE READERS IT WAS INTENDED; BUT I WANTED THIS LOCALLY INSPIRED, POST HOCKEY CAREER BIOGRAPHY, TO RANK UP WITH OTHER SPORTS BIOGRAPHIES. IT WAS, AT THE TIME, ONE OF THE MOST PRECARIOUSLY DANGEROUS PROJECTS I'D EVER CONSIDERED, BECAUSE ROGER HAD, FOLLOWING HIS HOCKEY CAREER, BECOME A CORPORATE EXECUTIVE, WITH A MAJOR AMERICAN BANK, KNOWN AS "MBNA." ROGER, BORN IN BRACEBRIDGE, WAS LIVING IN PENNSYLVANIA, BUT HAD A SUMMER COTTAGE IN MUSKOKA, AND WAS AT AROUND THIS TIME, WORKING ON A PLAN FOR A CHARITABLE FOUNDATION FOR YOUTH, TO BE SET UP IN THIS PART OF ONTARIO. I DID KNOW THIS, AND IT MAY HAVE SPARKED MY INITIAL INTEREST, IN PUTTING TOGETHER A BIOGRAPHY, EVEN IF IT WAS ONLY PUBLISHED IN A MAGAZINE, AND NOT A BOOK PROPER.
     AFTER GETTING A ROUGH MANUSCRIPT TOGETHER, AND FEELING COMFORTABLE I COULD AMASS A PRETTY COMPELLING STORY, AT LEAST FOR THE BRACEBRIDGE AND MUSKOKA AUDIENCE, AS DID "DAREDEVIL GOALIE," I CONTACTED ROGER BY LETTER, TO ASK PERMISSION TO, AT THE VERY LEAST, CARRY ON WITH MY RESEARCH AND ROUGH MANUSCRIPT DEVELOPMENT. HE GOT BACK TO ME QUICKLY, AND APPROVED OF THE IDEA. I THINK THIS WAS THE BIGGEST BOOST A STARVING WRITER, LIKE ME, COULD HAVE RECEIVED AT THE TIME; BUT IT REALLY WASN'T A PROJECT I IMAGINED WOULD MAKE A LOT OF MONEY. THIS WAS A PRESTIGIOUS OPPORTUNITY, AND FOR THE NEXT SEVEN MONTHS, I WORKED LIKE A FIEND GETTING AN ACCEPTABLE DRAFT COMPOSED. I FOUND A WEALTH OF NEWSPAPER AND MAGAZINE COVERAGE ABOUT ROGER'S EARLY YEARS, AND SOME OF IT, HE HAD NEVER READ PREVIOUSLY. HE WAS A LITTLE TOO BUSY NETMINDING TO WORRY ABOUT THE PRESS COVERAGE.
     THINGS CHANGE. THERE WERE A LOT OF PARALLEL ACTIVITIES GOING ON AT THE SAME TIME, INCLUDING MY FRUSTRATING NEGOTIATIONS TO ACQUIRE EXHIBIT SPACE AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA, FOR A PROPER ROGER CROZIER DISPLAY. AT THE TIME I BEGAN THIS, THERE WAS ONLY ONE PHOTOGRAPH OF ROGER CROZIER, AND IT WAS IN STORAGE AND HAD SUFFERED WATER DAMAGE. EVEN THEN, IT TOOK STAFF SEVERAL DAYS TO EVEN FIND IT AMONGST OTHER STORED-AWAY RELICS FROM THE FORMER ARENA LOBBY, THAT HAD BEEN TORN DOWN IN THE 1970'S, DUE TO STRUCTURAL DEFICIENCIES.  I HAD QUITE A BIT OF OPPOSITION TO THIS REQUEST, FROM CURIOUS INDIVIDUALS, FOR REASONS UNKNOWN, BUT NOT FROM TOWN COUNCIL ITSELF, THAT SUPPORTED THE PLAN; IF I WAS PREPARED TO HELP MANAGE THE EXHIBITION OF MEMORABILIA. I DID THIS, AND ARRANGED FOR A BRACEBRIDGE ARTIST, MARY THRANE, TO CREATE A "PLAYING-IMAGE" PORTRAIT OF ROGER, DURING THE PERIOD HE DIDN'T WEAR A MASK, THAT WOULD EVENTUALLY FILL PART OF THE DISPLAY CABINET. WELL, IT'S A LONG, LONG STORY AFTER THIS, BUT MARY DID A FANTASTIC PORTRAIT, AND ROGER'S FOUNDATION, AFTER HIS DEATH IN JANUARY 1996, CONSTRUCTED A MASSIVE BANK OF DISPLAY CASES IN THE ARENA LOBBY, AND I GOT TO BE CURATOR.
     THE BOOK PROJECT NEVER CAME TO FRUITION. ON MY PART, IT DID. I WORKED WITH THE PUBLISHER OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, IN THE SUMMER OF 1994, TO PUBLISH A MULTI-PAGE FEATURE MAGAZINE, TO HIGHLIGHT THE CAREER OF ROGER CROZIER, WITH MARY THRANE'S ART WORK ON THE FRONT PAGE. IT WASN'T A BOOK, BUT IT WAS WELL RECEIVED BY THE LOCAL AUDIENCE, AS A COLLECTOR'S EDITION, MANY WHO REMEMBERED ROGER FROM HIS YOUNGER DAYS, PLAYING ROAD HOCKEY UP ON NORTH JAMES STREET; AND AS A TEENAGER, PLAYING ON SENIOR TEAMS BECAUSE HE WAS SO PROFICIENT AS A GOALIE. IN THE FALL OF THE SAME YEAR, MBNA PICKED UP THE ENTIRE FEATURE CONTENT, THAT HAD BEEN RELEASED VIA THE HERALD-GAZETTE, PUBLISHING IT IN THEIR WIDELY DISTRIBUTED NEWSLETTER. IT WAS SENT TO EVERY MBNA BRANCH IN THE UNITED STATES. IT WAS, YOU SEE, A TRIBUTE TO AN MBNA EXECUTIVE AS WELL AS BEING A HOCKEY BIOGRAPHY. AS A RESULT, I WAS FLOWN TO ROGER'S MBNA OFFICES IN DELAWARE, TO ATTEND A SPECIAL EVENT IN HIS HONOR, AT LONGWOOD GARDENS, AS HE WAS BEING HONORED BY THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA FOR HIS CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE ORGANIZATION.
     IN THE FALL OF 1995, I WAS EMPLOYED TO ASSIST WITH A MUCH LARGER, AND MORE THOROUGH BIOGRAPHY, THAT WAS BEING DEVELOPED BY THE BANK, WORKING WITH TWO OTHER AMERICAN SPORTS WRITERS, AND A RESEARCH ASSISTANT BY THE NAME OF CHARLIE WILSON. I WASN'T UPSET BY THE FACT, MORE SEASONED SPORTS WRITERS WERE EMPLOYED TO "AUTHOR" THE BOOK. I WAS JUST HAPPY TO PROVIDE WHAT EVER RESEARCH MATERIAL I COULD SCROUNGE-UP, FROM THE BRACEBRIDGE AREA, TO INFILL THE TEXT. AFTER ROGER PASSED AWAY, THE PROJECT CARRIED ON FOR A WHILE LONGER, BUT THEN CEASED, BUT I WAS GIVEN NO EXPLANATION WHY THIS HAD HAPPENED. IT WAS AROUND THE PERIOD ROGER HAD BEEN NOMINATED AS AN INDUCTEE TO THE HOCKEY HALL OF FAME. HE WASN'T VOTED-IN, BUT I HAVE LONG HOPED THAT ONE DAY, HE WOULD BE NOMINATED AGAIN, POSSIBLY WITH A DIFFERENT OUTCOME. I WAS STILL CONTENT HOWEVER, THAT THE PROJECT I HAD WORKED ON, LOCALLY, HAD BEEN RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC, AT THE VERY BRINK, OF ROGER LAUNCHING THE CROZIER FOUNDATION FOR CHILDREN, WHICH I WORKED WITH AS MEDIA DIRECTOR, IN MUSKOKA, FOR A DOZEN YEARS. I WAS ALSO CURATOR FOR THE BRACEBRIDGE SPORTS HALL OF FAME, AS A CROZIER FOUNDATION REPRESENTATIVE FOR THE SAME PERIOD. WHAT A GREAT ASSOCIATION IT WAS. WHAT I'VE NEVER WRITTEN ABOUT BEFORE, CAME LATE IN THE SUMMER OF 1995, WHEN I ACTUALLY INFORMED ROGER I DIDN'T WISH TO CARRY ON WITH THE JUST-LAUNCHED FOUNDATION FOR PERSONAL REASONS.
     INITIALLY I WAS QUITE UNIMPRESSED WITH THE CORPORATE INFLUENCES, AND PROTOCOLS BEING IMPOSED ON ME, AS A VOLUNTEER WITHOUT PORTFOLIO. I LIKED WORKING WITH ROGER BUT THE FACT THAT IT WAS BEING RUN LARGELY BY VOLUNTEERS, WHO ALSO WORKED WITH ROGER IN THE UNITED STATES, MADE ME FEEL LIKE AN OUTSIDER WITH LITTLE IN COMMON WITH EVERYONE ELSE. ROGER GOT MY NOTE OF THANKS, "BUT NO THANKS," AND SPENT CONSIDERABLE TIME ON THE PHONE THE NEXT DAY, TRYING TO CONVINCE ME THAT I HAD A LONG TERM RELATIONSHIP WITH THE NEW FOUNDATION, IF I WANTED IT; BUT IMPOSED ON ME, THAT THE MUSKOKA BRANCH WOULDN'T HAVE MUCH OF A FUTURE, IF I BACKED OUT OF THE AGREEMENT. I HAD NO IDEA ROGER HAD SUFFERED A RELAPSE OF PROSTRATE CANCER AT THIS TIME, AND I HAVE ALWAYS FELT HORRIBLE, THAT I CAUSED HIM CHAGRIN AT ABOUT THE WORSE POSSIBLE TIME. I AGREED TO STAY ON, AND HE OFFERED TO BEGIN NEGOTIATIONS WITH THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, TO BUILD SHOWCASES IN THE ARENA LOBBY, SOME TIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE. THIS CAME AFTER HIS DEATH UNFORTUNATELY BUT THE SHOWCASES WERE FABULOUS. I ALSO HAD THE CHANCE TO AWARD MANY THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS, TO HELP YOUNGSTERS IN NEED OF FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE, TO FINANCE HOCKEY AND FIGURE SKATING REGISTRATION FEES, THROUGH THE MUSKOKA CHILDREN'S AID. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW PROUD I WAS, WHEN IT WAS MY JOB TO HAND OVER CHEQUES FROM THE FOUNDATION, TO HELP FINANCE YOUTH RECREATION. I AM SO GLAD THAT ROGER BOTHERED TO CALL ME BACK THAT SUMMER DAY, TO ENCOURAGE ME TO STAY ONBOARD. NO REGRETS. I HOPE HE DIDN'T HAVE ANY.
     WHEN THE CROZIER FOUNDATION CEASED OPERATION IN MUSKOKA, I HAVE TO ADMIT, I WAS DEVASTATED BY THE NEWS. WHEN I HAD TO INFORM THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, THAT THIS HAD OCCURRED, I KNEW MY DAYS WERE NUMBERED AS THE HALL OF FAME'S CURATOR. I MADE IT EASY FOR THEM, BY SUGGESTING THEY MIGHT WISH TO FIND A SUITABLE REPLACEMENT, AS I HAD BEEN CURATOR FOR A DOZEN YEARS TO THAT POINT, AND WAS SATISFIED I HAD LIVED UP TO MY ORIGINAL PROMISE TO ROGER. I KNEW THAT THERE WAS SOMEONE ELSE INTERESTED IN TAKING OVER THE SHOWCASES, WHO HAD BEEN IN THE BACKGROUND, FOR SOME TIME, AND RATHER THAN ENGAGE IN A POINTLESS POWER STRUGGLE FOR CONTROL, I REMOVED MYSELF ENTIRELY. EVEN A YEAR AFTER THE FOUNDATION'S DEMISE, I REMAINED WITHOUT A SUPPORTING ORGANIZATION, WORKING ON MY OWN DIME; MAINTAINING THE SHOWCASES THE BEST WE COULD, WITH THE RESOURCES AVAILABLE. OUR WHOLE FAMILY HELPED OUT. WE HAD ALL ENJOYED WORKING WITH THE CROZIER FOUNDATION, AND HELPING TO RUN THE SUMMER SKATE AND HOCKEY CAMP WE FINANCED FOR LOCAL YOUTH; AND IT WAS ALWAYS A PLEASURE REPRESENTING THE NAME OF A HOCKEY HERO, WHO TO MANY OF HIS FANS, WAS A LEGEND IN HIS OWN TIME. I ALWAYS LOVED ANY OPPORTUNITY TO LET THE SKATE CAMP KIDS HOLD SOME OF ROGER'S HOCKEY ARTIFACTS THAT WE HAD ON DISPLAY, INCLUDING HIS HOCKEY STICK DATING BACK TO THE 1965-66 SEASON, WHEN HE WON THE CONN SMYTHE TROPHY. YOU COULD EVEN FEEL THE SHAPING OF THE HANDLE, WORN DOWN BY HIS HAND OVER MANY GAMES THAT YEAR. NOT LIKE TODAY, WHEN STICKS ARE CHANGED OVER-FREQUENTLY.
     PUBLISHED BELOW, IS A SHORT SECTION FROM THE EDITORIAL COPY THAT APPEARED IN THE HERALD-GAZETTE SUPPLEMENT, THAT YEAR, AND REPUBLISHED IN THE MBNA NEWSLETTER. AND I WROTE THE WHOLE BIOGRAPHY WORKING AT OUR GRAVENHURST HOUSE, AND YES, ACROSS FROM THAT SPLENDID URBAN OASIS, "THE BOG." IT'S TRUE. LOOKING OUT OVER THIS BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE, EVEN HELPED ME WRITE A SPORTS BIOGRAPHY.
THE TITLE OF THE OPENING EDITORIAL, WAS "SPORTSWRITERS PAINT A COLORFUL PICTURE OF A FAN'S DELIGHT; A SPRAWLING, TWISTING, HOCKEY OCTOPUS."

     "Ever since Sid Abel made his trade pass for Roger Crozier, the experts have been waiting for the Detroit coach to roll box-cars, in the National Hockey League goaltending gamble,' wrote sports columnist Pat Curran, in the Montreal Saturday Gazette on February 5, 1966. 'But the 23 year old ex-newsboy has turned out to be such a natural, opposing teams are starting to think the Red Wings's dice are loaded.' Curran writes in summary, 'When Abel made a deal with Chicago in June 1963, Howie Young for Crozier, the exchange was considered a headache for a bellyache. And when Sid passed off Terry Sawchuk, to keep the untried goalie, Abel appeared to be soft in the noggin.' The columnist suggested, 'Now it appears that the Detroit boss got the biggest bargain since Peter Stuyvesant bought Manhattan from the Indians. Crozier has not only been dependable in the Wings'cage, but time and again has come up with game stealing performances last season and again this schedule.' The 'bellyache,' Curran refers to, was painfully recurring bouts of pancreatitis. Pat Curran wrote, 'Crozier, fourth eldest of a family of 14, is one of the few right handed goalies in pro hockey, and many of his moves are considered unorthodox. But he's exciting to watch, as he bounces up and down, moves in and out like a cat to cut off the angels of opponents' shots. His reflexes are superb and he's cool as they come under fire.'
      In a cartoon drawing of Crozier, accompanying Curran's column in the Saturday Gazette, the caption reads 'In that two goalie system, Detroit's backup man is Hank Bassen, but the way Roger is going, Hank will end up with more splinters than a do-it-yourself carpenter.' Crozier, amongst a host of other curious nicknames, earned the title 'Radar Roger,' from the widely circulated Gazette, which claimed that his netminding had a 'lot to do with that Red Wings jinx over our Habitants.' And in fact, only three weeks before the article, Crozier had blanked Montreal 3-0. 'A big reason for the Detroit Red Wings lofty perch in the NHL has been the goaling of Roger Crozier,' claimed the Montreal publication. The NHL was taking note of the young goaltender's passion for winning. There was concern about his small build and flopping style, but the reality was still the same; the kid was stopping the puck and his team was winning consistently.
     Crozier did, however have his share of critics. For example, one of the stinging reviews came from one of hockey's best known and most celebrated goaltenders, Jacques Plante, who according to Sports Illustrated, writer Rex Lardner, who was quoted as saying Roger, 'would never make it as a goalie in the big time.' King Clancy of the Toronto Maple Leafs was another of Crozier's critics, joining a growing number of editorialists who continued to believe Sid Abel had made an enormous mistake, when he sacrificed Sawchuk for the rookie from Bracebridge. But Abel was comfortable with the move, stating confidently 'Crozier has the fastest hands of any goalie I've ever seen.'
     The Sports Illustrated writer, noted 'A superstitious youngster, who hates to fly in planes and always starts dressing on the left side to ward off any evil spirits that might be lurking. Crozier recently delighted his teammates after practice in the Montreal Forum, by leaping on sturdy Gordie Howe's neck, and riding him around the arena like a jockey.' Charles Halpin, a staff writer with the Official National Hockey Annual '67, highlighted Roger's first game in the NHL, which was painfully memorable for the rookie goalkeep. 'He will never forget his NHL debut in Toronto's Maple Leaf Gardens, in November 1963,' wrote Halpin. 'Roger was spectacular on his first night. The Wings were leading 1-0, when halfway through the game, big Frank Mahovolich unloaded one of this treacherous slapshots. The puck struck Crozier in the face. Fortunately for Roger it was flat when it hit him. He suffered a broken cheekbone but in spite of the injury, finished the game.' Halpin reported, 'Shortly after his recovery, he came back to the Detroit net wearing a mask. He helped the Wings down Chicago 5-4 in his first game but tossed the face protector aside before the first period was over.' The well known sports columnist added, 'Few goaltenders have descended on the National Hockey League in the past ten years with the impact of acrobatic Roger Crozier. This sprawling, weaving, twisting hockey octopus is a fan's delight, when he steps on the ice. NHL netminders don't perform the moves that the 24 year old goes through in the course of a hockey game, and still retain their composure.' The author suggests, 'But Crozier does this and more. This has prompted hockey observers to rate him as the greatest, most colorful goaling attraction to hit the hockey big top, since the invigorating Jacques Plante, came on the NHL scene in the early 1950's with his repertoire of tricks.'
     Revered sports columnist, Dick Beddoes, stated bluntly in the November 13, 1964, edition of the Toronto Globe and Mail, that the 'most talked-about player in the National Hockey League today, is a splinter of bone and shred of gristle who resembles a dissipated jockey.' Beddoes reported that 'Roger Crozier of the Detroit Red Wings, is living proof of one half of the dictum, that hockey is a game for little boys and gentlemen. John William Bower proves the other half.' Beddoes added in his assessment of Crozier, in the following critique: 'Toronto beat Detroit 3-1 the other night and afterward, George (Punch) Imlach exhibited rare magnanimty toward a rival. The noble curator of the Leafs shoved a black hat back on his glossy brow and said the Detroit defeat was no fault of Crozier's. 'You've got to give the kid a few marks. He's allowed what? Less than two goals a game? Less than two is phenomenal. If he was any better, he shouldn't be in this world.' Beddoes concluded, 'Roger Crozier's size and style are academic issues so long as he keeps the puck out. For the moment, the Detroit question mark is more of an exclamation point.'
     In March 1966, the Hockey Pictorial, which had previously referred to Crozier as the 'nimble ballet master of the Red Wings net,' published the following editorial, which paints a pretty clear picture of his rise to fame amongst many of the NHL's finest players. 'Roger Crozier of the Detroit Red Wings thrives on work - and he's had plenty of it since he came on the scene with a bang with a bang in the 1964-65 season. Stepping into the hot skate tracks of longtime Detroit favorite, Terry Sawchuk, he had to prove himself in a hurry. And he did, capturing the Calder Trophy as the NHL's outstanding rookie, and coming with a hair's breadth of winning the Vezina Trophy. He just lost out on the last weekend to Toronto's pair of Sawchuk and Bower. Again this year, he's putting up a game fight for the Vezina, and keeping Detroit right in the thick of things in the process. But at the time of writing he trailed the Canadiens's duo of Gump Worsley and Charlie Hodge in the Vezina race. If this keeps up, he may ask Sid Abel for an alternate.' 'Through 69.5 games of the 1964-65 campaign, Roger had a fine 2.42 goals against average, losing the Vezina Trophy to Chicago's Glenn Hall because of four goals allowed by standby Carl Wetzel, wrote sports scribe Pat Curran in a February 1966 issue of the Montreal Gazette. 'However, he was voted first time all-star while helping Detroit to the league championship. He chalked up six shoutouts, two more than Glenn Hall. Again this season, Crozier has become the key to the Red Wings's climb into first place. He's leading in the Vezina Trophy race and his seven shut-outs are just one short of the total earned by all other NHL goalies - Glenn Hall, 4, Johnny Bower, 2. Charlie Hodge and Bernie Parent.' Curran also reported that in one memorable game against Montreal, 'The Habs peppered Roger with 31 shots and his performance was so spectacular that one of the Canadiens' merely shook his head in disbelief after the game. 'If we had 100 shots, we  wouldn't have beat Crozier tonight.'
     In a critique of Crozier, written by columnist Red Burnett, the Bracebridge goalie received an uplifting review. 'Roger is an exciting young man to watch in action. He moves out as the attacker drives in, and then retreats, cutting down the angles. He usually makes a last-second lurch with the speed of a striking rattler to block or glove the puck. Some say he has the fastest catching hand in the business. Unlike most goalies, Roger uses the right hand and it becomes a blur when he reaches for a shot. He has been poison to the Leafs, who have dropped four of six starts to the Wings. Roger has shut them out twice and given up only one goal in three wins on his home Olympia ice.' One particular quote was written by Rex Lardner, columnist for Sports Illustrated (1964), who in my opinion, summarized the excitement Crozier brought to hockey during the pre-expansion era of the NHL.
     'Last week, the Montreals beat him to another four and tied up the league lead temporarily, but even in defeat, edgy Roger put on such a magnificent display of swan dives, lunges, lurches, kicks, and one-handed catches in stopping some 25 other Canadien shots, that rival coach, Toe Blake, went out of his way to offer congratulations. No one, said Toe, could have stopped the four goals that went in, and that made Roger feel better, for the moment anyway.'

MVP OF THE PLAYOFFS - THE 1966 SHOWDOWN AGAINST MONTREAL - WHAT A HIGH VIEWING TIME IN BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO

     Probably one of the highest electronic media listener and viewership days in Bracebridge, Ontario, came during the sixth game of the 1966 Stanley Cup playoffs, between Detroit and Montreal. Everyone in the Bracebridge area, hockey fan or not, wanted to know how Roger Crozier would hold up against the powerful Montreal Canadiens. After all, it wasn't every day that a local lad was asked to outsmart veteran sharp-shooters like Jean Beliveau and Henri Richard. After a truly amazing season, Crozier performed brilliantly in the finals against Montreal, leading Detroit fans to believe 1966 would be the year of the cup. Detroit shocked the Canadiens by winning the first two games of the best of seven finals. But Montreal overcame the Detroit lead and scored three consecutive victories. Crozier had suffered a painful leg injury but asked to be kept in the line-up. It was Brian McFarlane who summed up the sixth game best, in his popular 1972 book entitled, 'The Story of the Stanley Cup.' "The Canadiens completed their dramatic comeback with a 3-2 overtime thriller," McFarlane wrote, and 'Henri Richard played the role of reluctant hero. It was Richard who was credited with the unusual goal at 2:20 of the first overtime period, a goal which gave the Habs their second successive Stanley Cup. Dave Balon passed the puck from the corner in front of the Detroit net. He hit Richard on the knee, and the puck bounced in behind Crozier. Richard denied that he had swept the puck into the net with his hand. Richard added, 'A fluke goal, maybe, illegal no.' Balon added, 'A goal doesn't have to be pretty. It just has to go in.' Crozier's stellar performance earned him tremendous respect. The NHL Board of Governors vote him the winner of the coveted Conn Smythe Trophy as the outstanding player of Stanley Cup playoffs. When criticism arose from some of the Canadiens about the choice, Detroit Coach Sid Abel reportedly stated to the press, 'How in the world could they take it away from him? He stopped the Black Hawsk in the semi-finals and he stood the Canadiens on their ears in their own rink. He stopped Bobby Hull on breakaways and he stopped Jean Beliveau. You can't do more than Roger did for us.'
     Roger was presented with a gold Mustang convertible and $1,000 for his amazing playoff performance. He was given a parade through the streets of Bracebridge in his honor. Roger was nothing short of a hero, and his fans embraced the opportunity to meet the man who had so capably guarded the nets and brought them into the very heart and soul of the game of hockey.
      Sons Robert and Andrew and I were playing a two-on-one game of shinny, on our sideyard ice rink, the night I got a call from Roger's brother Greg, to tell Suzanne that Roger had passed away, at his home, after a courageous last battle, this time against cancer. We all stood on our skates, thinking about the past couple of years that we had worked with Roger here in Muskoka, even joining him in a summer season parade on the main street of Bracebridge, in celebration of an anniversary for Santa's Village. Andrew and Robert, in charge of candy give-aways, walked beside the vintage car, Roger was riding in, owned and driven by Bracebridge's hockey historian, Guy Waite. I had been able to convince organizers to allow Roger to join the parade, and I have to tell you, it was my proudest moment as a regional historian. Citizens all along the parade route, were waving and calling out to Roger, who remembered many of the folks from his younger days growing up in Bracebridge. It reminded me of the Paul Rimstead column, he wrote after the Roger Crozier Day festivities, in the late spring of 1966, when Roger was recognized by his home town for winning the Conn Smythe Trophy, and of course, the gold Mustang, that made it into the parade. I know I've presented the Rimstead column about this special occasion, a few months ago, but it really needs to companion today's blog. I have pulled it from the archives for those who might not have read it previously.

PAUL RIMSTEAD WROTE ABOUT DETROIT RED WING GOALIE, ROGER CROZIER

FUTURE N.H.L. ALLSTAR, AND NEWSPAPER COLUMNIST, SKIPPING SCHOOL TO PLAY POOL

     I know a lot about the history of Bracebridge. What's been written, and what hasn't been! Seeing as I've devoted a good chunk of my professional life, to researching and writing about local history, it's good then, that I know my stuff. What a waste if I didn't! I would certainly have let down a lot of fine mentors, who trusted, and truly believed, that I'd do something exciting in my life. Sooner or later! Well, something interesting at least! That, I have done. This history thing, isn't as boring as you think. It can actually get pretty exciting and controversial, if you play your cards right. My fault, according to my critics, is that I can be irreverent and risque, and invite too many paddlers into the canoe. I've never capsized, and I've never regretted looking at history with a critical eye, and asking intrusive questions, about its acceptance as fact. I don't believe everything I hear or read, and honestly, sometimes I don't even believe myself. That's why Suzanne is my right hand, and challenges everything I write. A so-called factual stress test.

     Maybe you know a lot about Bracebridge history as well. But you know, the early years in this town, have been so well documented, and repeated, so many times, in the contemporary sense, that they've become a tad over-exposed, and same-old, same-old. So I decided, for these "Sketches," to follow what I began, first in the 1990's, via the Muskoka Advance. I wanted to write about the period in Bracebridge, from 1966 onward, because it's what I knew from "actuality," meaning I lived the life. I was there when big news happened, and in many cases, I had either caused it, or at least, nearly been run over by it! Most regional historians, these days,  are more interested in the very early years of town life, and feel that contemporary history will only be ripe enough to pick, a hundred years from now. Yet the past fifty years has seen a tremendous amount of change in the town, and much of it has had a profound impact on its character, from the days when it didn't have a single traffic light, and horse drawn carts were the biggest transports of goods and services.

    The changes I experienced from 1966, through the late 1980's, were startling, to someone, like me, who happened to like the no traffic-light era, and the small town way of life. Our family moved to this small town, to escape the urban jungle, and here then, was the jungle finding us again. And in only a few short years. There was sprawl occurring in the hinterland. So as far as history goes, a lot of it occurred in this period of re-development, of what most of us recognized as the old home town. Some of it was a bit hard to take, especially if you were one who, say in late November, early December, who would race down to the Ball's Flats pasture, when the first full freeze-up, made a country mile of interconnected ice-skating pads. When it became a plaza area, the only contentment I had, was that I had been able to enjoy its last days of open ground. There were many of these dramatic urbanizing changes, and whether former town officials will agree or not, opinions of the citizenry were mixed. The politicians at town hall figured it was time to welcome development for our well being. There were property owners who finally got some big pay-outs, for holding onto land, some of it having belonged to their families, going back to the 1800's. There were locals however, who felt the town was selling out. Changing from what it had always been, into something they didn't recognize, for a handfull of magic beans. Promises that, by being open and accommodating to development, good things would happen to local economics. More money would destine us to be a happier population. Ours would be a sort of hinterland urban utopia on a budget. The more development we accepted, the more utopian it would become. I heard a lot of these claims as a reporter, covering councils across Muskoka during the 1980's.

     While there will be accounts of this period, written in the future, that brush over these concerns and objections, to the outward expansion of the urban boundary, to facilitate strip malls, once again, it's because the protests were in private conversation, more so than printed onto placards, and marched in front of town hall. The naysayers were kept well to the back, and there were no photographers to capture their protests for above-the-fold news images. I don't remember even one person, or part time environmentalist, chaining themselves to a tree or pasture post, to halt the loggers and earth movers. It doesn't mean there weren't protestors. Very few made it to the front pages, so when we look back, it may be mistakenly assumed, all was quiet on the development front. But it was very much a split community, when it came to approving development, and the promises being made, that it would all create jobs. As if, accepting these plazas, and strip malls, would eliminate unemployment then, and in the future. The promises were pretty much standard, offered by developers, pushing forward their agenda. There were unemployed during construction and after, and even today, the same situation exists, awaiting the very next promise of prosperity. But it was a very history-making time, and the town was changed forever. It actually didn't take long before the town was looking like a city-in-waiting, just as it still is today.

     So these columns will look at some of the lesser known, yet significant realities, of local history, that I dare say have been forgotten, in the pre-occupation for the older events of the chronology. It involves two fine local lads, and their accomplishments in writing and sports.

     Joe Defabrizio used to run one of the most popular businesses, on the main street of Bracebridge. "Joe's Billiards," located in the basement of what was once, the store-front A&P grocery store, was one of the best and preferred places for teenagers to get away, from the rigors of the school day. It stretched in operation over generations, and I remember talking to Joe, a huge booster of local athletics, especially hockey and soccer, about two of his most famous customers; Roger Crozier and Paul Rimstead. I think one of the two still owed Joe money for food consumed, but he seemed happiest to relay the story of two great young men, who by the way, never forgot him. Of course, both Rimstead and Crozier have since passed away, but Joe is still reminiscing, about all the young folks who found a respite and recreation in his famous hall.

     When I was writing a small feature publication, back in the summer of 1994, for The Herald-Gazette, to acknowledge the plan by Roger Crozier, to establish the Crozier Foundation for Children, I came upon a column written by Rimstead, originally for the Toronto Globe & Mail, that profiles his pool-playing buddy, of the Detroit Red Wings. The introduction to the article, reads as follows:

     "Well known author of the book, 'Cocktails and Jockstraps,' Toronto Star columnist, sports critic, story spinner, and all round good guy, the late Paul Rimstead, was a great source of inspiration during this research project, on N.H.L. goaltender Roger Crozier. The overview and personal recollections he wrote about his friend Roger Crozier, circa 1964-66, were remarkably insightful, and especially characteristic of the young Detroit goalie. And the columns, slightly irreverent, were just as characteristic of the style, that would later earn Rimstead a huge readership, that cherished his sense of humor, and his down to earth mannerisms, eccentricities and occasional but well planted editorial barbs. Since Rimstead has a family connection with Bracebridge, and he had been a student at Bracebridge High School at the same time as Crozier, plus having been co-editor of the "Beatrice Bugle," with his sister Diane, (hamlet north of Bracebridge), there was no way of bypassing his editorial assertions, as they pertained to an athlete who he believed had been shortchanged of respect; both by the media and hockey fans. Here are some of the editorial comments written by Rimstead."

     In the July 9th, 1966 edition of "The Globe Magazine," the publication featured a front page photograph of the 'Roger Crozier Day,' parade, with a story written by Rimstead. The event, which I attended at Jubilee Park (as well as having watched the parade), followed Crozier's outstanding Stanley Cup playoff series, against Montreal, and his being named the recipient of the Conn Smythe Trophy, as the most outstanding player of the final series. Crozier was on the losing team, but still won the newly established playoff award, given the year before, to Montreal's Jean Beliveau. Roger became the first netminder to win the award. I remember watching the final game, in our new home in Bracebridge, having just arrived in town, in February of that year. There was no way I was going to miss the big celebration, even though I didn't know my way around town yet, or where exactly Jubilee Park was located. I just followed everybody else.

     Rimstead wrote, "Roger Crozier, the NHL playoff's star, grew up in Bracebridge, so they held a day and parade for him. There was a parade with bands and VIPs, along with folks who knew him when! Every kid should have a chance to grow up in a small Canadian town. When you come from a place like Bracebridge, Ontario, population 2,500, when everybody is home, you're really somebody. When a local boy leaves home and makes it big, the way Roger Crozier did, they all know it. And if he turns out bad, well, they all know that, too.     "The city kid is a face in the crowd. He has his pals in the neighborhood and his school chums and perhaps a group of relatives, but he hasn't got a whole town. He never gets to know a place like the Fairgrounds, in Bracebridge, down there in the flat they call 'The Hollow.' Roger Crozier, if you don't know it, is the little guy who plays goal with the Detroit Red Wings, in the National Hockey League. He was standing in the Fairgrounds (Jubilee Park), a few weeks ago, and you wonder if it brought back memories for him.

     "Danny Poland got together with Chub Downey, another former Bear (hockey club in Bracebridge), who owns the Bracebridge Dairy, and Porky Mann, once a good softball player, and now the area representative for Parkdale Wines. They arranged the day for Roger, figuring the little guy deserved one, especially after his comeback last season. Crozier had won the Calder Trophy, as the NHL's best rookie, in his first season and narrowly missed winning the Vezina Trophy, as the top goaltender. Danny Poland and Mann decided to go all out and invite as many celebrities as they could think of. This was what was causing the delay at the Fairgrounds. The kids in Bracebridge don't get to meet many NHL stars, and they surrounded the special guests, autograph books at the ready.

     "There was Doug Barkley, the outstanding Detroit defenseman, whose career was ended when he lost the sight of one eye; teammate Bryan Watson, the 'pepper-pot' kid from nearby Bancroft, in Haliburton, Ron Ingram, Roger's close friend, and business partner, who plays for the Baltimore Clippers. Ingram spends his summers working at Roger's hockey school at the Bracebridge Arena. There also were the hockey heroes from the area, including Bobby Orr, Canada's greatest junior player, from Parry Sound, fifty miles north; and Wayne Rutledge, a goaltender from Gravenhurst, nine miles to the south. Rutledge played in Minneapolis last season and was voted the most valuable player in the Central Professional League."

     Rimstead wrote that, later in the afternoon, at an awards event for Bracebridge Minor Hockey, "Roger stood up, thanked everyone in his quiet, self-effacing manner, then announced that his family was donating a trophy to minor hockey, the next season, in the memory of 'Shorty' (Roger's father), who had died only weeks before the parade. 'Dammit,' you said to yourself. 'Dammit all to hell!' Shorty should have been here. He would have been the proudest little guy in the world."

     I came, in more recent times, to have quite a bit to do with some of those in attendance at this special "Roger Crozier Day," event. First of all, two summers later, I was awarded a week's instruction at the Red Wing Hockey School, courtesy of both Roger and Ron Ingram. I wasn't the only one to get the free week, but there's no way my family could have afforded this, if I had been required to pay even half the registration fee. I was a big fan of Wayne Rutledge, in his years as a Muskoka region auctioneer, and I did have the opportunity to discuss the years he played opposite to Roger, in Junior hockey, and then his years spent with the Los Angeles Kings of the NHL, as starting goalie with Terry Sawchuck, as back-up netminder, and then in Houston, of the WHA, where he played on three championship teams with Gordie, Marty and Mark Howe. Then with Roger, I became the curator of the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame, that the foundation had financed, at the arena, and I became public relations director of the Crozier Foundation in Muskoka.

     The highlight, for me, was when I was able to convince Roger, who was working as Facility's Manager, at MBNA (an American Bank), in Delaware, to participate in a special "Christmas in July Parade," recognizing an anniversary of Santa's Village. Roger, many years earlier, had actually been the engineer of the miniature train at the Village, and I have owned post cards, showing him at the throttle of the popular train. He agreed to ride in the parade, and Guy Waite kindly offered to drive him in his vintage car, a convertable; the four Curries, volunteered to walk along the route, handing out candy to the thousands of youngsters lining the parade route. It was a pretty awesome afternoon, with some interesting rewards. The best part, is that we pulled it off, and Roger had a blast.

     The large crowd, with a pretty good representation from the home town, that had gathered along the parade route, had no idea Roger was going to make an appearance. There was no advance publicity. There would have been quite a few young citizens who wouldn't have known his name, unless it was from the wad of old NHL hockey cards, they'd been collecting. I suppose, as the one who recruited him to join this parade, like the one in the summer of 1966, I could only hope, outside of a rain-free afternoon, he would be heartily acknowledged by those who remembered him, from back then; or who recognized him from those old hockey cards, many of us used to collect; or pegged onto the forks of our bikes, to rattle in the spokes like an engine. But I can admit, after all these years, I was scared that he wouldn't get much in the way of applause or waves, but as we rounded the corner by Kentucky Fried Chicken, onto Manitoba Street, and approaching where the Crozier family house once stood, people began waving and applauding for the NHL veteran, just as they had, during the parade of 1966. By time we got to Memorial Park, he was receiving loud cheers, with people pointing and waving, and trying to get his attention. Roger had a grin on his face, that warmed my heart, let me tell you. I couldn't believe how many people were yelling out his name, and following after the car. The parade, this time, wasn't in his honor, specifically, but boy oh boy, was I happy to find out, that the town had remembered him after a lot of years absent. Suzanne and I got misty-eyed, and so did Roger, because it was an overwhelming response, and many times Guy stopped the car, so Roger could talk with old friends, he hadn't spoken to in decades; team-mates he used to play with and against, in his minor hockey days back in the 1950's. I had worried unnecessarily that the townsfolk had forgotten him. It was, without question, one of my most memorable moments in Bracebridge. The only thing that would have made it better, is if one of those spectators, sitting with top hat and tails, had been the legendary Paul Rimstead. Would I have loved to get a photo of Rimmer and Crozier at the doorway of the former billiard parlor, "Joes" where they used to retreat, after skipping class.

     We didn't suspect it at the time, but Roger would have a relapse of the prostrate cancer, he had suffered from several years earlier. He would enjoy this parade, spend hours meeting with old friends, and soon make the official announcement, for the establishment of the Crozier Foundation; and host a fundraising gala, a "New Years in August" event, at the Bracebridge Centennial Centre, that made several hundred thousand dollars for the fledgling charity. Roger passed away in January of 1996. I will never forget that incredible parade in the summer of 1995, or the first one, way back in July 1966. I was at both these news events.

     You will be hard pressed, in Bracebridge today, to find any reference to Paul Rimstead, who became one of the best read newspaper columnist in Canada. And outside of the permanent collection, at the Bracebridge arena, you will find little else to acknowledge Roger Crozier, or for that matter, former Toronto Maple Leaf all star, Irvin "Ace" Bailey. A few years back, when the town council was looking for names to adorn subdivision streets, I suggested names found in the works of the Washington Irving book, "Bracebridge Hall," because of the fact, the town was named after its title. No go! I wasn't surprised. But I can't understand why the names Rimstead, Crozier and Bailey have not been used, in their honor, and ours. Maybe that will be my project in the future. I've done it before, and I've still got a few good years left to agitate.