Graham Nicholas and Grady Kelneck Impress The Audience At St. James Anglican Church, Gravenhurst

Grady Kelneck, on guitar and Kevin Neal on Pedal Steel perform Saturday at St. James Anglican Church in Gravenhurst  Photos by Bet Smith

Graham Nicholas during his performance at St. James Anglican Church in Gravenhurst Photos by Bet Smith

GRAHAM NICHOLAS AND GRADY KELNECK PERFORM AT THE CURRIE'S SESSIONS CONCERT, AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH IN GRAVENHURST

AN EVENING OF FOLK AND COUNTRY MUSIC IN THE THROES OF AN EARLY MUSKOKA WINTER

     I AM BUT A JOURNEYMAN SCRIBE. NO ONE WHO KNOWS ME, OR MY BODY OF WORK, BIG ON VOLUME, BUT SHORT OF PULITZERS, WOULD DISAGREE. A WRITER-KIND WHO FINDS HIMSELF, ON RARE OCCASION, AND BY CURIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE, (AND TWO OF THOSE CIRCUMSTANCES ARE MY SONS), BEING THE REVIEWER-WITHOUT-PORTFOLIO, FOR THEIR "SESSIONS" CONCERTS. BUT FEELING QUITE INEPT, AT THE SAME TIME, COMPOSING MUSIC-MAGAZINE-QUALITY REVIEWS. THE KIND OF REVIEW THAT A PERFORMER MIGHT CUT OUT OF A GLOSSY MAGAZINE, AND PASTE INTO A COMPANION SCRAPBOOK, AS BEING A CAREER ACHIEVEMENT IN POSITIVE PRESS.
     POSSIBLY, BUT I CAN'T BE SURE, IT'S THE FAULT OF AN UNFETTERED IMAGINATION, AND UNRELENTING PENCHANT TO COLOR OUTSIDE THE LINES, WHENEVER AFFORDED THE OPPORTUNITY, BUT THE JOURNEYMAN GETS KIND OF CRAZY AT TIMES. MAYBE THE WEEK I SPENT A WOODSTOCK WAS TOO MUCH FOR MY OWN GOOD. I DON'T KNOW. BUT I GET ALONG. JUST NOT THE WAY OTHER FOLKS MIGHT LIKE, OR APPROVE. I AM NOT A MUSIC AUTHORITY BY A COUNTRY MILE, AND IN THE CITY INTERPRETATION, IF THAT SUITS YOU, "AN URBAN DOZEN MILES". I DO KNOW ENOUGH TO EMBRACE, AND CELEBRATE, A GOOD THING WHEN IT BITES ME ON THE NOSE. I AM THE PHANTOM WHO HAUNTS THE CHURCH BALCONY AT THESE SESSIONS CONCERTS; A MYSTERIOUS ENTITY WITH A LAPTOP, WHO IS OBJECTIVELY, PASSIONATELY, A WILLING HOSTAGE OF ALL CLEVER ENTERTAINERS. "MANIPULATE ME," I SAY. AND THEY DO! I GRACIOUSLY ALLOW THE MUSIC TO LIBERATE ALL THE PRE-CONCEIVED NOTIONS OF DAY TO DAY LIVING AT THAT POINT. THEY GIVE THIS HAPPENSTANCE REVIEWER, A RARE OPPORTUNITY TO OPINE, ABOUT ALL THE INSPIRATIONS GARNERED, DURING THE EVENING PERFORMANCES. PLEASE FORGIVE MY EXCESSES. PLEASE APPRECIATE, THAT I HAVE THE BEST INTENTIONS, WRITING THESE OVERVIEWS, BUT I AM A FREE SPIRIT; I SEE AND HEAR QUALITIES, THAT SOMETIMES SURPRISE THE MUSICIANS THEMSELVES. AGAIN, I HUMBLY APOLOGIZE, FOR NOT BEING OF THE CALIBRE OF REVIEWER, WHO COULD MAKE THE COVER OF THE "ROLLING STONE."
     THE SATURDAY EVENING CONCERT, PART OF THE "SESSIONS" SERIES, HELD AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, IN GRAVENHURST, WAS DEDICATED TO TWO INDIVIDUALS ON SATURDAY EVENING, WHO HAD INSPIRED THE CURRIE FAMILY, IN SO MANY DIFFERENT WAYS, OVER SO MANY YEARS. SON ANDREW WISHED TO PAY TRIBUTE TO HIS GOOD FRIEND, AND THEATRE MENTOR, LINDA HARBRIDGE, WHO HE HAD WORKED WITH, FOR SO MANY YEARS, WHILE WORKING AS A SOUND TECHNICIAN, AT THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE, WHO PASSED AWAY RECENTLY. SECONDLY, AS A FAMILY, WE ALSO WISHED TO RECOGNIZE ANOTHER MUSICIAN FRIEND, BRANT "BARNEY" SCOTT, FORMERLY OF THE BRACEBRIDGE BAND, "SOUTH PAW," CIRCA THE LATE 1960'S, EARLY 1970'S, AND A WELL RESPECTED COLUMNIST WITH THE BRACEBRIDGE HERALD-GAZETTE. I WORKED WITH BRANT FOR QUITE A NUMBER OF YEARS, AND WE TALKED ABOUT MUSIC FOR HOURS ON END. HE WAS A TRUE FRIEND OF MUSICIANS EVERYWHERE, AND IT IS NOTED, THAT THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS DEATH, HE WAS PLAYING THE DRUMS AS WAS HIS PASSION.
     I MET A YOUNG MAN, BENEATH THE ARCH OF A CHURCH DOORWAY, ON A COLD NOVEMBER NIGHT, AND I SHOOK HIS HAND. IT WAS CONCERT NIGHT AND THE KEEPER OF THE KEY HAD YET TO ARRIVE. AS SOON AS I HEARD HIS VOICE, I KNEW IT HAD TO BE MR. KELNECK, ONE OF TWO ACTS FOR THE EVENING CONCERT. HE HAD THE STRONG, HARDY HANDSHAKE I KNEW OF HIS FATHER, AND THE KIND EYES AND FRIENDLY SMILE OF HIS MOTHER. GRADY KELNECK, A PROFOUNDLY TALENTED, CHARISMATIC YOUNG MAN, WITH A POWERFUL BUT GENTLE VOICE; IN A MOST APPEALING COMPANY, OF THE ALLURING, HAUNTING PEDAL-STEEL OF ACOMPANIEST, KEVIN NEAL, OPENED THE EVENING PERFORMANCE, WITH THE SINCERE APPROVAL OF A MUCH LARGER AUDIENCE, THAN OTHER CONCERTS THIS PAST FALL SEASON. GRADY, THE SON OF IKE AND THE LATE ALICE KELNECK, ONE OF MUSKOKA'S WELL KNOWN MUSICAL DUOS, RAISED IN THE TOWNSHIP OF LAKE OF BAYS, NEAR BAYSVILLE, BROUGHT A CHEERFUL, HOMEGROWN CHARACTER TO THE EVENING, FROM THE DISTRICT HEARTLAND. WHEN I WAS TALKING TO GRADY, BEFORE THE SHOW, ABOUT HIS FAMILY'S LONG TIME STAKE IN THE HINTERLAND, OF BEAUTIFUL LAKE OF BAYS, IT REMINDED ME SUDDENLY, OF THEIR NEIGHBOR-ARTIST, RICHARD KARON, WHO HAD A STUDIO JUST UP THE ROAD. AS KARON'S BIOGRAPHER, I KEPT RECALLING HIS PAINTINGS OF THE MAGNIFICENT WILD PLACES, MOST SITUATED IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO THE KELNECK HOMESTEAD. I THOUGHT GRADY TO HAVE BEEN QUITE LUCKY, TO HAVE GROWN UP IN SUCH AN ENCHANTED PLACE, THAT WAS SEEN, AND DOCUMENTED IN THIS WAY, BY THEIR ARTIST FRIEND, RICHARD KARON. I DIDN'T TELL HIM THAT HIS PARENTS' NAMES HAD COME UP FREQUENTLY, WHILE RICHARD KARON JR., AND I, WERE PUTTING THE ARTIST'S BIOGRAPHY TOGETHER SEVERAL YEARS AGO. TWO HIGHLY CREATIVE FAMILIES, IN ART AND MUSIC.
    HAVING HAD THE BENEFIT, OF BEING TAUGHT GUITAR, BY WELL KNOWN COUNTRY SINGER / SONG-WRITER, DERIC RUTTAN, HE DEDICATED A SONG TO ERIC RUTTAN, (DERIC'S FATHER), WHO RECENTLY PASSED AWAY. THE RUTTANS HAD BEEN NEIGHBORS, IN LAKE OF BAYS, WHEN HE WAS GROWING UP. HE REMINISCED, WITH A PROLONGED CHUCKLE, ABOUT LIFE WITH HIS CREATIVE, WILDERNESS LOVING, PERFORMING PARENTS; RECALLING OCCASIONS WHEN, AS YOUNGSTERS, TOURING WITH THEM IN ONTARIO, HIS FATHER WOULD PULL HIM AND HIS BROTHER CASEY, UP ON STAGE, TO SING WITH THEM. IKE AND ALICE, WERE WELL KNOWN FOR PLAYING AT POLITICAL FUNDRAISERS, AND SPECIAL EVENTS, THROUGHOUT MUSKOKA-PARRY SOUND. THE KELNECKS PLAYED AT EVENTS FOR FORMER MUSKOKA MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT, STAN DARLING, AND FOR FORMER PREMIER OF ONTARIO, FRANK MILLER. THE KELNECK BOYS GREW UP WITH MUSIC IN THE HOUSE, AT SPECIAL EVENTS, AND EVEN ON THE ROAD, WHEN THEY TRAVELLED AS A FAMILY. AS A FORMER REPORTER WITH THE MUSKOKA MEDIA, BACK IN THE DAYS WHEN THE KELNECKS WERE ACTIVELY TOURING, AND PERFORMING IN THE REGION, I CAN SAY WITH SOME CONFIDENCE, THAT GRADY HAS INHERITED THE MUSICAL PROWESS, AND SMOOTH SINGING VOICE, I RECOGNIZED, AS THE ESSENCE OF HIS PARENTS; A SORT OF FAMILY HALLMARK, IN THE ENTERTAINMENT BUSINESS.
    GRADY PAID CONSIDERABLE CREDIT TO MUSKOKA, FOR ALSO INFLUENCING HIS MUSIC, AND FOR INSPIRING MANY OF THE SONGS HE WRITES TODAY. "I WAS RAISED IN THE BUSH," HE JOKED, NOTING IT WASN'T A BAD THING AT ALL, CREDITING HIS PARENTS FOR SHOWING HIM AND HIS BROTHER HOW TO LIVE PROSPEROUSLY IN THE RURAL ENVIRONS. COMMUNING WITH NATURE, FROM A YOUNG AGE, HAS ADMITTEDLY GIVEN THE YOUNG GUITARIST, SINGER / SONG-WRITER, A DEPTH OF AN OLD SOUL, BUT A KINDRED SPIRIT OF THE ARTIST. THERE'S A LOT OF THE HINTERLAND ESSENCE IN GRADY KELNECK. IT WAS A GREAT SHOW IN THE KELNECK TRADITION, OF SATISFYING AN AUDIENCE.

GRAHAM NICHOLAS A FASCINATOR OF THE TALL TALE AND CANADIAN FOLK MUSIC

     AN ANIMATED, FULL OF MISCHIEF STORY TELLER. A FOLK SINGER / WRITER, WITH A COUNTRY SPIRIT. A MAN WITH A GOLDEN VOICE, IF A VOICE CAN BE REPRESENTED AS BOTH A COLOR AND TEXTURE. A GIANT TALENT, IN A GIANT PACKAGE, BUT OF SINCERE MODESTY. BY GOLLY, GRAHAM NICHOLAS CAN ENTHRALL AN AUDIENCE. FROM THE MOMENT GRAHAM HIT THE STAGE, BENEATH THE MASSIVE CROSS OF HAND HEWN TIMBERS, OF VINTAGE CHURCH ARCHITECTURE, THE STORY TELLER / MUSICIAN, CRAFT-FULLY SPUN HIS FOLKISH WEB, AND THE NIGHT WENT PLEASANTLY FORTH. WITH A GARRISON KEILLOR-STYLE ENHANCEMENT, REGALING US WITH BOTH STORY AND SONG, AS INTIMATE AS A FAMILY CIRCLE OF ENTITLEMENT. MR. NICHOLAS MADE A THOROUGH ROUND OF HEARTFELT SENTIMENTS, THAT THE AUDIENCE COULD RELATE; STORIES ABOUT OLD BROKEN AND EVEN HAUNTED VEHICLES, FISHING TRIPS THAT BECAME FAMILY LEGEND; BIG LOGS HIDING BIG FISH, AND THE CITY SLICKER STORIES, WE IN THE RURALDOM OF CANADA, LOVE TO HEAR IN JEST. A HAPPY, STRING BEAN OF A FELLOW, WHO BRINGS HIS AUDIENCE INTO THE FOLD OF THE LETTERS, HE SENDS ABROAD, WITH THE GOOD NEWS ABOUT HOME AND COUNTRY. HE IS WORLDLY BUT LOCAL, NATIONAL ON THE BRING OF THE INTERNATIONAL, BUT WHAT HE TAKES MOST SERIOUSLY, AS A TRUE SIGN OF SUCCESS, IS THAT EVERYONE FEELS HAPPY WITH THE TRIP TAKEN AS A GROUP.
    CRAZY ME, THE WRITER-VOYEUR, "FANTASTICATOR," VIA HIS GOOD HUMOURED FOLK STORIES, AND ENGAGING MUSIC, I STARTED TO VISUALIZE HIM, FOR GOSH SAKES, IN THE CONTEXT OF A MUSIC VIDEO, OF ALL THINGS. GRAHAM COMANDERING THE HOOTERVILLE-TO PIXLEY "CANNONBALL," WEARING A SOOT LADEN ENGINEER'S HAT, LOOKING BACK AT THE PASSENGER CARS, TRAILING BEHIND, SINGING AND LAUGHING, GLANCING BACK WITH A SMILE, AND BARKING OUT HIS FOLK STORIES; HE'S ALSO THE CONDUCTOR AND THE BRAKEMAN. BUSY FELLOW THAT GRAHAM NICHOLAS. AND WE CLAP ALONG LIKE THE RHYTHMIC CHUG OF THE OLD STEAM ENGINE, HE'S THROTTLING DOWN THE TRACKS, MAYBE TO CANADA'S VERSION OF PETTICOAT JUNCTION. A SERIOUS PERFORMER, FOLK HISTORIAN, AND A FELLOW WHO HAS A LOT OF FUN DOING WHAT HE LOVES. AND WHEN WE FINALLY GET TO THE SHADY REST HOTEL, AND MEET UP WITH UNCLE JOE, WHO IS MOVING KIND OF SLOW, GRAHAM SINGS US ALL ANOTHER SONG.
    WE ARE ONLY TOO PLEASED TO LET THE MAN ENTERTAIN, AND SHOW US A DIFFERENT WAY OF GETTING TO THE PLACES WE WOULD LIKE TO SEE; IN REALITY AND IN FICTION, IN THE STRANGE COMEDY OF OUR LIGHTER SIDES. WHEN THE IRONY OF THE SHADY REST, A STEAM LOCOMOTIVE, AND A FOLKISH ENGINEER, GETS US TO AN ENLIGHTENMENT WE NEVER THOUGHT WE COULD ACHIEVE; BUT LIFE IS ONE BIG LEARNING CURVE ISN'T IT? WE SHAKE HANDS, WISH EACH OTHER WELL, AND AGREE TO RECALL FONDLY, THE CROSS COUNTRY TRIP, WITH ALL ITS CREATURE COMFORTS, AND SLIGHT EXTENSIONS OF THE TRUTH. HAPPY FICTIONS, AND UNIQUE SONGS, AND NEVER TAKING OURSELVES TOO SERIOUSLY, FOR GOING OFF THE RAILS NOW AND AGAIN. WE CELEBRATED THE FASCINATION OF SONG AND STORY, AS AFFORDED US BY A VERY TALENTED MUSICIAN, WISE BEYOND HIS YEARS. HE THANKED HIS AUDIENCE WITH A HAPPY SONG TO WRAP UP THE CONCERT. WE THANKED HIM FOR AN ADVENTURE BESTOWED. WITH SOOT IN MY BEARD, AYE, IT WAS A NIGHT TO REMEMBER.
     TAKING LIFE A LITTLE LESS SERIOUSLY. HAPPY ENDINGS. WELL, IT WAS BOTH. AN UPLIFTING WAY TO RE-ENTER THE TUG AND PULL OF AN EARLY WINTER ON AN AUTUMN LANDSCAPE. THANK YOU GRAHAM NICHOLAS. IT'S ALWAYS NICE WHEN A STORY TELLER MEETS ANOTHER STORY TELLER, WHO KNOWS HOW TO PUT IT ALL TOGETHER IN A TIDY PACKAGE, WE ALL LOVE TO OPEN. I LEFT THE CHURCH A FEW MINUTES EARLY, WHILE GRAHAM WAS PLAYING AN ENCORE SONG, AND HOW NICE IT SOUNDED, AND APPEARED, THROUGH THE MIST OF THE NIGHT AIR, IN THE ECHO OF THE GREAT HALL, AND THE LIGHT FILTERING THROUGH THE STAINED GLASS WINDOWS.
     WE WANT TO THANK GRADY KELNECK AND GRAHAM NICHOLAS, FOR SHARING THEIR MUSIC AND STORIES WITH US. IT WAS A NICE END TO A TOUGH WEEK OF SLUGGING THROUGH THE SNOW. THANKS ALSO TO OUR HOSTS AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, FOR ALLOWING US THE OPPORTUNITY TO USE THIS HISTORIC BUILDING FOR OUR CONCERTS. IT IS PART OF THE ATTRACTION FOR OUR CONCERT SERIES. WE KNOW THAT FOR SURE.
     I CONCLUDE THIS REVIEW WITH AN APOLOGY. I AM NOT A MUSIC REVIEWER. BUT LOVE MUSIC.

From the Archives - A Reporter's First Fire Call and A Front Pager

MY FIRST FIRE - A ONE LANE DIRT ROAD - A RENTAL DATSUN - NOT ALLOWED TO RUN OVER DEPLOYED FIRE HOSES - TRAPPED THAT NIGHT

THE EXCELLENT FEATURE SERIES, THE FIRST OF THREE, IN THIS WEEK'S THE GRAVENHURST BANNER / BRACEBRIDGE EXAMINER, LOOKING AT THE VOLUNTEERS OF OUR MUSKOKA FIRE DEPARTMENTS, BROUGHT UP SOME MEMORIES OF MY OWN RELATIONSHIP WITH OUR REGIONAL FIRE BRIGADES. SOME WERE GOOD RELATIONS…..SOME WEREN'T QUITE SO GOOD. AS A ROOKIE REPORTER, BACK IN THE LATE SPRING OF 1979, AT LEAST I THINK IT WAS, I CHASED MY FIRST BRACEBRIDGE FIRE TRUCK. (I USED TO DO THAT AS A KID ON A BIKE BUT THAT DOESN'T COUNT). I WAS WORKING AS A BRAND NEW…."GREEN AS THEY COME" REPORTER FOR THE GEORGIAN BAY-MUSKOKA LAKES BEACON, OUT OF MACTIER. I LIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE AND COMMUTED TO WORK. AS THE HERALD-GAZETTE WAS THEN A SISTER PUBLICATION, THE REPORTING STAFF OVER-LAPPED WHEN NECESSARY TO MAKE COVERAGE MORE EFFICIENT. SO WHEN I HEARD THE FIRE SIREN THAT NIGHT, FROM MY MANITOBA STREET APARTMENT, I MADE A MAD DASH TO GRAB CAMERA BAG AND A HANDFUL OF PENS, AND FLEW DOWN THOSE STAIRS TO MY NEVER-TO-BE-TRUSTED DATSUN. SON OF A GUN, IT STARTED ON THE FIRST CRANK. IT USUALLY TOOK ABOUT TEN TRIES TO GET SUCCESSFUL IGNITION. MY ADRENALIN WAS PUMPING, HEART POUNDING, AND IT WAS EXCITING STUFF…..FOR A LARGELY SPORTS, COMMUNITY EVENTS REPORTER. IT WOULD BE MY FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH A STRUCTURE FIRE.

I MUST EXPLAIN WHAT BEING A ROOKIE REPORTER MEANS. ADVANCEMENT AND TRUST DEPENDS ON OUTPUT AND THE MORE AMAZING THE STORY OR PHOTOGRAPH, THE MORE LIKELY YOUR BYLINE WILL BE SITUATED, FOR ALL TO SEE, BENEATH A "FRONT PAGER." ENOUGH "FRONT PAGERS" AND YOU'D BE ON THE WAY TO THE DAILIES OF THIS COUNTRY. HAVING VERY FEW CREDITS TO THAT POINT, I WANTED THIS FOR THE HERALD-GAZETTE. I'D ENJOYED SOME BIG FRONT PAGERS FOR THE BEACON, BUT THE HERALD PROBABLY HAD FOUR TO FIVE TIMES THE READERSHIP.

HOW EAGER WAS I? I BROKE SOME TRAFFIC RULES, FOLLOWED AN EMERGENCY VEHICLE LIKE A FLEA ON A DOG'S BEHIND, AND TRIED TO GET MY CAMERA PREPARED WHILE STILL DRIVING. I KNOW, I KNOW, I WAS BEING PARTICULARLY UNSAFE, IN THAT ATTEMPT TO BEAT THE OTHER MEDIA TO THE FIRE SCENE. ALSO, I SHOULD NOTE, I WAS SCARED TO DEATH OF FIRE AND ACCIDENT SCENES BUT THERE'S SOMETHING QUITE STRANGE ABOUT "HEAT OF THE MOMENT" STUFF, AND THE ALLURE OF BEING FIRST AT SOMETHING OTHER THAN THE COFFEE MACHINE EACH MORNING.

THE FIRE SCENE WAS, FROM WHAT I REMEMBER, PRETTY MUCH ON THE DIVIDING LINE BETWEEN BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST. I WAS FOLLOWING THE BRACEBRIDGE RESPONDERS THAT NIGHT. WHAT A NIGHT IT WAS! I WAS THE ONLY REPORTER TO ATTEND. IT WAS A GENUINE "SCOOP," FOR THE ROOKIE. THE EDITOR WOULD BE SO PLEASED.

There was only a single emergency vehicle ahead of mine, and it was one of the small fire trucks. If I had taken a moment or two, as I was legally obliged, I would have seen the four other emergency vehicles with flashing lights, chasing my bumper down that dirt road. At that point, I couldn't have pulled off the road, without putting the Datsun into the ditch, and that wouldn't have helped the firemen trying to get by. It was a very narrow road, with ditches and bush offering little forgiveness either way. We came around one sharp bend in the road, and the glow in the night sky was incredible. Eerie. Frightening. All the questions start pummeling your brain from the inside, trying to get out. Are there going to be casualties? Fatalities? Will the occupants have to be rescued? Should I help the rescue, or just take the photographs? This is an age-old dilemma for the press. I was pretty sure, I would help with the rescue and take pictures later.

When we came into the driveway area of the house, and an open field where we could park, the house was totally involved, and if there had been anyone in that structure, it was already too late to mount a rescue. It was a leg-wobbling vision in the night sky, with the forest as a background. The good news, before I go any further, is that the owner of the house was away at the time, and a dog that had been tied outside, was rescued without injury.

Also worth mentioning here, is that as a Bracebridge kid, and having played all my sports in town, and living in a 12 unit apartment up on Alice Street……and my father working at the local lumber yard, I knew most of the firemen, and they knew me…..mostly from my rapscallion pranks as a youngster. "Hey is that the Currie kid," I heard one of the fireman ask a partner. "Looks like him….what the heck's he doing here." I guess I didn't look like either a home owner or a reporter…..which really made them ponder my place in the emergency situation. Until, of course, I started to take photographs, and one or two firemen noticed I had a press sticker on the dashboard of my rental car.

As the fire event continued, some of the friends of our family, who were also firemen…..gave me some tips on getting some close-ups of the structure without fear of being blown to pieces, or hit by fallen debris. One of the fireman, who lived in our apartment complex, told me to watch for the shrapnel. "What shrapnel Bob?" I asked. "From those over there," he pointed to the sky. He was referring to the small fire balls from the spray cans, from paint to cleaners, setting off from the heart of the fire, like small rockets, raining down flaming metal everywhere. It was like the 24th of May fireworks. What was disconcerting, more than getting hit on the head, was the fact the old Datsun was getting smacked pretty hard by falling items, carried by the wind. I'd parked in a perfect spot, to catch the flaming debris. I spent more time trying to protect the car than taking photographs. Geez, it was like a volcano. The guy must have had a thousand half-full spray cans. So I got one of my important fire-truck-chasing lessons. When I decided to move the car out of harm's way……by golly, I discovered the good humor of the fire brigade ended at "Hello Ted," when I tried to drive over a hose in use. "Hey…..what do you think you're doing. You can't drive over the hoses." Gads. I didn't know. Honestly. "I'm new at this reporting thing guys……just tell me how I'm going to get out of here?" Two of the firemen walking back to the truck, just shook their heads. My friend Bob let me know, "Teddy, you're going to be here for awhile…..there are hoses spread out all over here, and there's no way out of the road." "Oh……dear," I responded. But I had my first real lesson on why it's not a good idea, to beat the first responders to an emergency situation. I sat in that cold car (I had a spoon-full of gas in the tank) for about four hours, watching the brigade douse the house fire. It was trial by error……experience by immersion. Yet I'm glad I was there…..because in four hours you get to see a lot of interesting stuff……situations most media-types would have missed……such as the incredible amount of work involved mopping up an emergency scene, and re-attaching all the hoses onto the fire trucks. I got to see it all…..uncensored. I got to see some very wet, exhausted but relieved fire fighters, who did not, during that emergency at least, have to think about the casualties, an event like this, could have caused.

I won't say they didn't have some fun with "Scoop" (what they called me), every time they walked past the car, and saw my nose pressed-up against the glass. I did it once…..only once…..and they never had to tell me about the hoses again.

I got the front pager in The Herald-Gazette that issue. In fact, it was hurried-up by the editor, because the paper was going to press the next day. How exciting. Over the years as "Scoop Currie," I got quite a few front pagers of which I'm still very proud. And I made a few friends of firemen…..who never let me forget the night we spent together in the Muskoka bush…….and the dimpling of my green Datsun, that was pretty black by sunrise.