A NEW / OLD-TIME COUNTRY BAND RE-EMERGES - "GRANT TINGEY & HIRED GUN," FEATURING DRUMMER, JOHNNY FAY FROM THE "TRAGICALLY HIP"
AS PROMISED, (AND THANKS FOR BEING PATIENT) I AM NOW ABLE TO LET MY READERS KNOW, ABOUT THE NEWLY RE-LAUNCHED COUNTRY BAND, WITH A DEEPLY IMBEDDED GRAVENHURST CONNECTION, THAT HAS ITS FIRST PUBLIC GIG THIS THURSDAY, AT THE WELL KNOWN GRIFFIN GASTROPUB IN BRACEBRIDGE.
THE RE-EMERGENCE OF THE FORMER COUNTRY BAND, "GRANT TINGEY & HIRED GUN," FEATURING UBER-TALENTED DRUMMER, JOHNNY FAY, OF THE ICONIC CANADIAN ROCK BAND, "THE TRAGICALLY HIP," WAS LAUNCHED FROM THE SAME GRAVENHURST STUDIO, WHERE I'M SITTING COMFORTABLY TODAY. IT'S BEEN HARD TO KEEP A LID ON THIS IN-HOUSE STORY, BECAUSE WE HAVE A LOT OF PRETTY TUNED-IN MUSIC LOVERS, VISITING OUR SHOP, WHO HAVE SEEN JOHNNY FAY COMING AND GOING FROM THE STUDIO. HEY, IT'S A SMALL TOWN WITH A BIG GRAPEVINE. SO WE CAN'T BLAME THEM FOR WONDERING WHAT'S GOING ON BEHIND CLOSED DOORS. LET'S JUST SAY WE'VE HAD QUITE A FEW DAWDLERS HANGING AROUND THE STUDIO DOORS FOR THE PAST FIVE MONTHS OF PROJECT DEVELOPMENT. WE'VE HEARD A LOT OF RUMORS, NONE BEING TRUE OF COURSE, BUT WE STILL DIDN'T FEEL COMFORTABLE RELEASING THE NEWS, UNTIL THE BAND'S FIRST GIG WAS BOOKED. BUT WHERE DID IT GET IT'S START?
A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO, MY MUSICIAN SONS, ANDREW AND ROBERT, WORKED WITH WELL ESTABLISHED COUNTRY SINGER / SONGWRITER, GRANT TINGEY, OF GRAVENHURST, TO RECORD HIS HIGHLY PERSONAL SONG "VAL, MARK AND ME," ONE OF MY FAVORITES, WHICH THEY ACTUALLY WENT ON TO PERFORM, AS A TRIO, AT THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE, AS PART OF A TALENT COMPETITION. DURING THE STUDIO MIXING PROCESS, ROBERT PLAYED THIS SONG OVER AND OVER, AND NOT ONLY DID IT IMPACT ON ME, THE "WRITER IN RESIDENCE," BUT OUR CUSTOMERS WERE ASKING SUZANNE REGULARLY, WHO WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS AMAZING SONG, THE COULD HEAR THROUGH THE DOOR. AT THIS POINT, GRANT WASN'T IN THE STUDIO, BUT BECAUSE ROBERT HAS TO PLAY BACK THE SONG, AT A HIGHER VOLUME, MOST DIDN'T BELIEVE US WHEN WE TOLD THEM, IT WAS JUST A RECORDING. THEY WOULD EVEN TRY THE DOOR KNOB OF THE STUDIO, BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO SEE THE PERFORMER WITH THE DEEP, RICH VOICE.
EARLY THIS SUMMER, OUR FRIEND JOHNNY FAY, WAS IN THE STUDIO VISITING WITH ROBERT, AND ANDREW, WHEN IT CAME AROUND TO THE DISCUSSION OF LOCAL MUSICIANS WE WERE WORKING WITH, AND RECORDING. ROBERT PLAYED THE GRANT TINGEY SONG FOR HIM, THAT THEY HAD PERFORMED AT THE OPERA HOUSE. JOHNNY WANTED TO HEAR MORE OF GRANT'S MUSIC, AND WELL, HE LIKED IT ENOUGH, TO JOIN-IN AS THE DRUMMER, DURING PRACTICE SESSIONS IN OUR STUDIO. SINCE THEN, IT HAS MORPHED KINDLY, INTO A RE-EMERGENCE OF GRANT'S FORMER BAND, WELL KNOWN IN THIS REGION OF ONTARIO, FOR ITS BRAND OF BAKERSFIELD-BEAT COUNTRY MUSIC. GRANT'S INFLUENCES HAVE COME FROM LEGENDARY COUNTRY PERFORMERS SUCH AS BUCK OWENS, FARON YOUNG AND GEORGE JONES. HE HAS TWO RECORDS TO HIS CREDIT, AND HAS, IN HIS EARLIER FORAY INTO COUNTRY MUSIC, TOURED HOLLAND, ONTARIO, AS WELL AS HAVING PLAYED IN THE UNITED STATES. A MAN WITH A POWERFUL, COMMANDING VOICE, SOME OF HIS FINEST AND MOST RECOGNIZABLE WORK, CAN BE HEARD IN SONGS, SUCH AS "STUPID ME," "VAL, MARK, AND ME," "NO MORE HUGS AND KISSES FOR LORETTA," "I'VE GOT SOME THINGS TO DO," AND "WALK THIS WAY AGAIN."
HAVING DEVELOPED A WORKABLE REPOIRE WITH GRANT TINGEY, DURING THE RECORDING OF "VAL, MARK, AND ME," ANDREW AND ROBERT WERE ASKED TO JOIN THE BAND AS THE "HIRED GUN" COMPONENT, WITH GRANT'S SON, BLAKE, ALSO A TALENTED GUITAR PLAYER; AND WHEN JOHNNY FAY OFFERED TO PLAY DRUMS FOR THE REVAMPED BAND, THE GROUP WAS HONORED TO HAVE HIM AS A BOTH A PERFORMER AND MUSIC-SCENE MENTOR. "HE HAS BEEN TREMENDOUSLY HELPFUL TO US, SINCE HE JOINED OUR PRACTICE SESSIONS, AND WE'RE LOOKING FORWARD TO OUR FIRST PUBLIC GIG WITH HIM, ON THURSDAY NIGHT. HE HAS INSPIRED US TO WORK HARD, AND BE PATIENT, TO GET THE BEST SOUND POSSIBLE, AND HIS INSIGHTS HAVE CERTAINLY GIVEN US ADVANTAGES WE WOULDN'T HAVE HAD OTHERWISE. THIS WILL BE A PROFESSIONAL HIGHLIGHT FOR ALL OF US, AND I HOPE HE'LL HAVE A BLAST AS WELL. WE HAVE GREAT ADMIRATION FOR HIS SUCCESSES WITH THE "TRAGICALLY HIP," AND IT'S KIND OF A DREAM COME TRUE, TO HAVE THIS KIND OF ASSOCIATION WITH SUCH A TALENTED MUSICIAN."
"IT'S A PLEASURE WORKING WITH BOTH JOHNNY AND GRANT, AND THE PRACTICE SESSIONS HAVE BEEN AMAZING FOR THESE PAST FEW MONTHS," ADMITS ANDREW, THE BASS PLAYER IN THE OUTFIT. "AT FIRST WE DIDN'T KNOW HOW IT WAS GOING TO WORK OUT, BUT WE'VE BEEN GETTING ALONG PRETTY WELL, AND OUR SOUND HAS BEEN IMPROVING A LOT, DURING THE PAST TWO MONTHS OF PRACTICE. WE'LL SEE IF IT ALL COMES TOGETHER AS WE'VE PLANNED, WHEN WE PLAY THE GRIFFIN ON THURSDAY. IT'S PRETTY EXCITING TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH THESE TWO TALENTED AND EXPERIENCED MUSICIANS. WE JUST HOPE WE CAN LIVE UP TO THEIR HIGH STANDARDS."
I'VE HAD THE VERY GREAT PRIVILEGE, TO HAVE LISTENED TO THE PRACTICE RECORDINGS OF THIS COUNTRY BAND, FOR THE ENTIRE PERIOD THEY'VE BEEN WORKING TOGETHER. AND ALTHOUGH, AS I'VE CONFESSED, OPENLY AND HONESTLY, TO NOT BEING A FINELY TUNED MUSIC-SCENE CRITIC, AS A MUSIC LOVER, I KNOW WHAT I LIKE. I ACTUALLY ASK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDINGS EVERY DAY, WHEN I'M TRYING TO COME UP WITH BLOG IDEAS, AND BY THE END, I'VE ALWAYS GOT LOTS TO WRITE ABOUT. MUSIC LIKE ART, IS SUPPOSED TO INSPIRE. WELL, GRANT TINGEY, AND HIS BAND, CONTINUE TO INSPIRE ME. I JUST HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO WRITE ABOUT THE NEW GROUP UNTIL NOW. BELIEVE ME, IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT.
I WILL HAVE ADDITIONAL MATERIAL ON GRANT TINGEY & HIRED GUN IN THE NEAR FUTURE, AS THEY PLAN FOR UPCOMING PERFORMANCES WHICH OF COURSE, WILL INCLUDE PLAYING AT A GRAVENHURST VENUE SOMETIME IN THE NEW YEAR.
CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - WHAT I LIKE ABOUT CHRISTMASES PAST, AND THE SPIRITS THAT ENJOY HAUNTING ME
When I've admitted in the past, that I see dead people, it's not a negative situation for me whatsoever. It's true, I am haunted by these wayward spirits, but I'm not scared of them. Actually, I'd feel dreadfully uninspired, if they didn't occasionally lean on my shoulder, tap me on the back, or whisper in my ear, to ask if I remember the time we played shinny, on a frozen pond down on Ball's flats, in Bracebridge. Or times when we sat beside each other, getting our "ears lowered," when our mothers sent us, with a couple of dollars tucked in our pockets, for Saturday morning hair cuts. Maybe sitting at the counter of Irma's Restaurant, at the corner of Chancery Lake, and Manitoba Street, having a Sunday morning order of thick toast, talking about the Maple Leaf game from the night before. No matter how many times I go into Precision Music, in the same location, I can still see the ghost of my father, and his old lumber mill friend, Harry Rutherford, sitting at the counter, laughing about their differences of opinion. Harry was a die-hard Leaf fan, and my father, (and I hated this) was a Montreal Canadien booster. I don't know what this means in the spirit sense, but I can also see the ghost of myself, as I was back them, sipping my pop between my two elders, talking over my head. I remember the day I swallowed a large ice cube, and it stuck in my throat. I wasn't really choking but it seemed a little precarious in my own mind, what might happen next. And it was Harry who had the hottest coffee, as he drank it black. It helped me melt the cube down far enough, that I could swallow it. I remember being quite frightened, and Harry giving me some money for the juke box, to calm me down after all was resolved in my throat.
Sometimes when I visit the same retail space today, with Andrew, I just wander about, thinking of those Sunday mornings, with my dad, one of the few times in the week, we got to spend any time together. I feel I should apologize to the proprietor, for not appreciating the true depth and significance of his contemporary shop, because I'm preoccupied thinking back to another era. I do this mindful dawdling thing all the time, but I will never reference it as a curse. If I wonder about anything, it's why I feel, and can visualize, all these old spirits wandering about, in places I used to meet them in life. I seem quite helpless, to avoid them, and cancel out the scenes, in part, because I feel there's is an important message attached; but I can't always figure what it all means. My mother always felt I over-analyzed everything, so I'm taking her advice, by just accepting my fate; having the kind of sentimental old heart, that for all intents and purposes, encourages the interplay between intimate history and its contemporary counterpoint. I'm a sort of spiritual steward I think, keeping track of this most passive of hauntings.
There is a point, in the life of a crusty antiquarian, a lover of history, and collector of antiques (old stuff), when one has to choose between living in the past, as a preference, or being of a contemporary perspective, while still enjoying occasional dalliances with the past. There are lots of times, when I wonder if I'm too far over the line, and ridiculously traditional, to be, for example, a thought provoking, contemporary, "in the now", writer. I know I'm provocative! People tell me this all the time. That I provoke argument where previously everybody was happy to leave well-enough alone. Obviously, I can write about contemporary issues, but as you will no doubt recognize of my past blogs, I rely heavily on historical precedent routinely, to support my arguments. It doesn't suggest it's a death knell, of open minded reasoning, to obsess about the past. Without question, however, pining for the past isn't entirely good either.
As my historian colleague Tom Brooks, seemed to live contently in both the worlds of an American Civil War, Confederate soldier, as a re-enactor, and then happily and profitably, as an everyday bloke, who was also a capable book-keeper, it seemed he had managed to keep it all very proportional. He did wear Confederate attire, to fit the season, and the steed he was riding, but when we talked, it was always very contemporary but with an unmistakable historical aura attached. I could talk to him about politics and the economy, but with some distraction for me, it may have been the case, he was in full regalia that particular day, as if still with his Confederate regiment; getting ready, as it was, to rejoin his outfit. I have had many colleagues in the profession of preserving and representing history, who were like this, but not in costume on a daily basis. I don't have a single vintage frock in my closet, stove-pipe hat, or steed awaiting my call. My pre-occupation is different, and possibly more intense in the scholarly sense. I am hemmed-up a lot these days, because I see a huge distancing from important precedents of our past, especially in our Muskoka communities. Possibly it is a wide-spread reality. History is nice to have around, for tourists, and occasional researchers, but not something we need to consult on a regular basis. I have much less faith in the modernist politicians, for example, who are comfortable there are museums and archives collections, to handle heritage conservancy. When it comes to drawing from governmental history, they know about bylaws on the books, and the immediate history of their own work on behalf of the municipality, but if the requirement was to go back fifty or a hundred years, or even more, they would be lost in a research abyss. I understand how daunting it might be, for a non-historian, to delve into obscure documents, by the wheelbarrow-load, just to find one or two important details related to a contemporary issue.
There are times, and it always happens around Christmas, that I find myself wishing, like Dickens character "Scrooge," to have a spirit messenger, take me on a return visit to Christmas past. I suppose most of us have these sentimental yearnings at this time of the year, when we wish to re-connect with our parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and siblings who have passed. Just this morning, driving along Muskoka Beach Road, I was thinking about how much I would like to see my father again; as it was on Tuesday mornings, that I used to visit him at his Bracebridge apartment. I have the same feelings, when we get a call at home, on a certain day, and time of the evening. If it's around the supper hour, I expect to answer the phone, and hear Charlie Wilson's voice on the other end. Charlie was my archivist friend who worked on the biography of Roger Crozier with me, as an employee of MBNA, an American Bank, where Roger had worked as a corporate executive. Charlie was a hobby Civil War historian, and we had some great chats about the battlefield at Gettysburg, and other heritage sites important to the conflict of the 1860's. If the phone was to ring at around seven in the evening, I might expect to hear the voice of my old book collecting mentor, Dave Brown, who never identified himself, but started right into a story, as if resuming exactly where we had left off in a previous conversation. Dave died in the late 1990's, and Charlie, early in this new century. Along with my other archivist pal, Hugh Macmillan, who liked to call in the late afternoon, I was immersed in deep and profound history-chats, as a matter of constant recreation. Maybe it's true what my mother said, about having too much of a good thing, for your own good.
I travel with this history-loving-thing, and whether I'm walking down the main street of Gravenhurst or Bracebridge, and last week, Huntsville, I'm amalgamating my acquired recollections of each community, and imposing them on the contemporary scene. In Bracebridge it is far more unrelenting, because as a kid, I pretty much lived on Manitoba Street, that in my opinion, was a "happening" place back in the mid to late 1960's. It's not fair, I suppose, to the contemporary business owners and modernist politicians, but honestly, I can't walk down the main drag, without seeing a plethora of ghosts from my past. Nothing with a fright attached, but unsettling, in that I can't avoid recognizing them as entities, even long, long after their demise. It isn't a case of delusion, because there are no fictions attached to these reminiscences. They were all citizens of our communities, and they walked these same stretches of sidewalk, wandering into these historic buildings, that I might casually saunter into for old time's sake each Christmas season. But do I want these apparitions to cease? No way! I need them as part of my casual comforts as an historian. To satisfy my need for inspiration, I like to see their faint but still visible images, trailing up and down the streets, as they did in life, to validate the character they added to our neighborhoods. Maybe this reads as the folly of an oldtimer, who has become lost in time. I worry about this, truth be known, and if it wasn't for the way I can emerge at will, from these retrospective moments, I might have to seek professional counsel. I don't talk to them. That would be delusional. But I respect their immortal stake in the towns they helped create and diversify. They are the reminders, in my cluttered mind, that we are the mortals, the champions of the modern era, who carry the torch for those who led us in the past. I don't expect that we should pay them too much attention, or obsess about their curious intrusions, but carrying on with the traditions and precedents they helped establish, isn't a foolish enterprise either. From my perspective, then, we always have crowded streets, and if I could paint a picture of what I see, it would be a colorful piece of folk art, as Grandma Moses might have painted, depicting the spirits of Christmases past, and present. I'm not much of a futurist, so I leave this to your vivid imagination, to infill that part of the profile.
Maybe, as a reluctant modernist, I deny myself an unobstructed vantage point to study the townscapes as they are; being consumed instead, by they way they were when I was growing up. I like to think that I am able to bridge the gap, and appreciate the composite values of the ages, as a compliment to the future. To me, it isn't a jumble of entities. It all makes sense, just as Stephen Leacock's "Mariposa," was "storied" because of its past, but played-out, in his sketches, by a contemporary cast of characters. You can not judge a community by its present tense realities. That's my point. The overview I possess, and will never abandon of our communities, has been very substantially influenced by what I understand of their respective histories. I am an unapologetic cultural historian, and recreational dreamer, and Christmas never ceases to amaze me. I suppose there are worse ways to live, than to be in the markedly beautiful situation, of mingling with those friendly old spirits that still haunt the places they used to dwell. They bring with them something marvelously providential, a folklorist needs to spin a good story.
Whether you believe in ghosts, or wayward spirits, apparitions, or the ability of those who have crossed, to communicate with the living, I'm reasonably sure, at some point in your life, and travels about the old hometown, you have had the strange feeling you weren't alone with your thoughts. Possibly it was coming into a familiar shop, and swearing you could hear the voice of a former clerk, who had long since departed this mortal coil. Or heard someone calling from far down the street, through a veil of December snow, that sounded like your mother. Which would be impossible, of course, because she has passed. It could be a sensation of a hand touching yours in a bank line-up, where you used to stand with your father, while helping him do his banking. The laughter from a restaurant table, that makes you turn around, because you swear it was identical to your uncle's chortles. Maybe hear someone calling out your name, as you remember from childhood days, when rambling with chums along the main street, checking out the shops on Saturday mornings. When we sense them, hear them, and think we have even seen them, we most often dismiss them as the mind playing tricks. It could have been the sound of the wind moving a rusted old sign board, or banging a shutter on a window. To deny our perception, something spiritual tried to get our attention, is quite normal. But what if we didn't deny our senses, as Scrooge learned to trust, in his Christmas Eve spent with the spirits? Maybe we would find enlightenment and fulfillment we never expected to possess.
The Rink Rats Tribute Is Dedicated To Former Team Mates, Brant Scott and Harry Ranger
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The Herald Gazette Rink Rats and Bracebridge Blades and a 1980's circa Santa Claus Parade.
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BRACEBRIDGE AND THE CHRISTMAS SPIRITS - THE SANTA CLAUS PARADE - THE RINK RATS HOCKEY TEAM OF ONCE, LONG AGO
IN SUPPORT OF THE BRACEBRIDGE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAM
ONE QUIET AFTERNOON, PROBABLY ON A SNOWY THURSDAY JUST LIKE TODAY, BACK IN THE LATE FALL OF 1981, THREE HERALD-GAZETTE, AND TWO MUSKOKA GRAPHICS EMPLOYEES, GOT TOGETHER AT THE COFFEE URN, MIDWAY BETWEEN THE PRINTING COMPONENT OF MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS, AND THE NEWSPAPER OFFICES......AND AFTER COMPARING REASONS WE HATED OUR JOBS, STARTED TALKING ABOUT "SAY LADS, WE SHOULD START UP A HOCKEY TEAM."
I WAS ONE OF THE STAFFERS, BRANT SCOTT, AND HAROLD WRIGHT, THE OTHERS, FROM THE NEWSPAPER SIDE, AND THERE WAS JIM WRIGHT AND HARRY RANGER FROM THE PRINT DEPARTMENT. HARRY, BY THE WAY, PASSED AWAY THIS YEAR. HE WOULD BECOME OUR FIRST GOALTENDER, ON THE FLEDGLING "HERALD-GAZETTE RINK RATS." BRANT, A REPORTER AND RESPECTED COLUMNIST, AUTHOR OF "A WEE BISCUIT," RAN WITH THE IDEA, AND SOON HAD CONVINCED PARKS AND RECREATION MANAGER, TOM ROBINSON, TO AFFORD US SOME LEFTOVER ICE TIME AT THE COMMUNITY CENTRE. I THINK WE STARTED OFF THAT SEASON, PAYING TWENTY-FIVE TO THIRTY BUCKS AN HOUR. THE HITCH? OUR ICE TIME BEGAN AT 11:00 P.M. AND ENDED AT MIDNIGHT. IT WAS AN AWFUL TIME TO PLAY SHINNY, BUT THE RINK RATS BECAME A SORT OF FRATERNAL ORGANIZATION WITHOUT US EVER INTENDING TO CREATE MORE THAN A "NO FRILLS" OUTLET, FOR FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES OF OUR NEWSPAPER. I SHOULD NOTE, BEFORE I GO ANY FURTHER, THAT, THANKS TO FOLKS LIKE GORD DAWES, THE RINK RATS ARE STILL ICING A TEAM EVERY YEAR, AND DOING THE SAME KIND OF FUNDRAISING WORK AS WE COMMENCED BACK IN THOSE FIRST FEW YEARS. THE ONLY THING DIFFERENT, OTHER THAN A FULL TRANSITION OF PLAYERS, IS THAT "THE HERALD-GAZETTE" HAS BEEN DROPPED FROM THE TEAM NAME. THE PAPER ISN'T PUBLISHED ANY MORE, AND THE LETTERS FROM OUR OLD OFFICE BUILDING, THAT SPELLED IT OUT, ARE NOW IN A CARDBOARD BOX TUCKED IN MY SHED.
BRANT AND I BOTH USED OUR NEWSPAPER COLUMNS TO RUSTLE-UP SUPPORT FOR OUR NEW HOCKEY CLUB, AND HE WAS ABLE TO WEASLE SOME COMPANY MONEY, TO RUN A CHARITY GAME AT THE ARENA, BETWEEN US AND THE CKVR NO-STARS; AS A SORT OF PUBLIC LAUNCH OF A MEDIA "SPECTACLE" TEAM IN BRACEBRIDGE. THE CAMERAS LOVED US BABY. OUR CAMERAS. BRANT WAS ABLE TO ORCHESTRATE MASSIVE PUBLICITY, WHEN WE DID EVENTUALLY TAKE ON THE ELECTRONIC MEDIA, AND HE WAS SO THOROUGH, HE WAS ABLE TO CONVINCE TORONTO SUN COLUMNIST, PAUL RIMSTEAD, A FORMER BRACEBRIDGE KID, TO COME NORTH FOR THE GAME AS THE CELEBRITY ANNOUNCER. RIMSTEAD WAS JUST LAUNCHING A NEW BOOK, AND BRANT HAD DONE SOME PROMOTION OF IT IN HIS COLUMN. GLORY BE, RIMMER AGREED, AND IT WAS HIS PRESENCE AT THE GAME, AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, THAT FILLED THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA TO OVER 1,700 FANS. IT SURE AS HECK WASN'T THE DRAW OF THE RINK RATS OR THE NO-STARS. WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO DRAW THREE OR FOUR HUNDRED INCLUDING FAMILY MEMBERS. HOMETOWNERS WANTED TO SEE THE KID WHO USED TO CHASE FIRE TRUCKS, AS A STRINGER FOR THE ORILLIA PACKET AND TIMES. THE KID WHO USED TO HANG AROUND JOE'S BILLIARDS, ON MANITOBA STREET, WITH SOON-TO-BE HOCKEY ALL-STAR ROGER CROZIER. RIMMER AND HIS PARTNER, MISS HINKY, WERE THE STAR ATTRACTION. IT WAS GOOD TO SEE, THAT FOLKS IN BRACEBRIDGE WANTED TO SHOW THEIR RESPECT, AND PRIDE, FOR HOW PAUL HAD MADE IT TO THE BIG LEAGUES OF NEWSPAPERS, LIKE THE TORONTO SUN, AND SISTER PUBLICATIONS IN EDMONTON AND CALGARY. COMPLETE WITH STETSON, PAUL RIMSTEAD WITHOUT KNOWING IT, LAUNCHED A RECREATIONAL HOCKEY TEAM THAT HAS LASTED ALL THESE YEARS.....BASED ON GOODWILL AND BENEVOLENCE BACK TO THE COMMUNITY. IN FACT, THE RECREATIONAL FUNDRAISER, "THE LOVEABLE LOSERS TOURNAMENT," HELD EACH MARCH, WAS THE RESULT OF THE WORK OF THAT SAME GROUP OF NEWSIES AND FRIENDS. I EVEN CAME UP WITH THE TITLE. BACK THEN, ED KOWALSKY, WAS THE MOVER AND SHAKER, AND KEPT IT UP FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS, UNTIL EXHAUSTION AND BROKEN BODIES CAME INTO PLAY.
THIS ISN'T GOING TO BE A FORMAL HISTORY OF THE RINK RATS. MAYBE ONE DAY. WHAT INSPIRED ME THIS CHRISTMAS, WAS THE FACT I ACCIDENTALLY, FOUND TWO OLD PHOTOGRAPHS, WHEN RIMSTEAD'S BOOK, "COCKTAILS AND JOCKSTRAPS," FELL BEHIND MY DESK.....AND WHEN I BENT OVER TO PICK IT UP, NOTICED MY RINK RAT KEEPSAKES HAD BEEN DISLODGE. THEY HAD BEEN IN THAT BOOK SINCE AROUND THE TIME OF THE BENEFIT GAME. THESE ARE PUBLISHED ABOVE, AND WERE TAKEN SOMETIME, IN EITHER 1982 OR 1983, DURING A SANTA CLAUS PARADE THROUGH DOWNTOWN BRACEBRIDGE. THE PHOTOGRAPHER WAS HAROLD WRIGHT, FROM THE HERALD-GAZETTE PRODUCTION DEPARTMENT. WE WERE PROBABLY PROMOTING THE CKVR BENEFIT GAME, BECAUSE I'M UP ON THE TRUCK WEARING MY OWN STETSON, RIMSTEAD STYLE, AND THE GIRLS IN SKATING COSTUMES, WERE REPRESENTING THE BRACEBRIDGE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAM, THAT WOULD BE THE RECIPIENT OF FUNDS RAISED. THE CHAP WITH A STICK, HELD UP TO HIS CHIN, FURTHER BACK IN THE PHOTOGRAPH, IS THE BLADES COACH, HAROLD SHER, WHO WAS ALSO ONE OF THE ALL STAR RINK RATS. WE ONLY HAD TWO ALL STARS. HAROLD WAS ONE. MIKE HILLBORN, THE OTHER. BOTH COULD RAG THE PUCK FOR A HALF HOUR, TO LET US GET OUR BREATH BACK. THE REST OF US WERE JUST HAPPY, TO STILL BE ABLE TO SKATE UP AND DOWN THE ICE A COUPLE OF TIMES EACH GAME.
IN THE PHOTOGRAPH, ARE A FEW OF THE RINK RATS OF THE DAY, CIRCA 1982. THEY INCLUDED, BRANT SCOTT, READY FOR THE FACE-OFF, JIM WRIGHT, CHARLIE TRYON (ON THE VEHICLE), ALISTAIR TAYLOR, DRIVING THE TRUCK, ED KOWALSKY, HAROLD SHER, ME ON THE FLOAT WITH HARRY RANGER, TUCKED INTO THE EVERGREENS. THOSE LADS ON GROUND LEVEL, PLAYED SHINNY ALONG THE ENTIRE PARADE ROUTE, SOUTH ON MANITOBA STREET, AND WERE THEY EVER EXHAUSTED BY TIME WE LANDED BACK AT THE ARENA. ALISTAIR, HARRY AND I, WERE IN GOOD SHAPE. THE OTHER PHOTOGRAPH FROM THE TOP OF A BUILDING WAS ALSO TAKEN BY HAROLD, BUT I'M NOT SURE NOW WHERE THAT LOCATION WAS EXACTLY. WE ALL HAD A GOOD TIME THAT AFTERNOON, AND THE BLADES SKATERS WERE ALWAYS WILLING TO HELP US OUT......AND OFTEN PUT ON PERFORMANCES DURING THE INTERMISSIONS OF OUR BENEFIT HOCKEY GAMES. BY THE WAY, I HAVE A CERTIFICATE THAT AFFORDS ME "HONORARY FLYING FATHER" STATUS, AFTER A BENEFIT GAME WITH THOSE FINE CHAPS, SEVERAL YEARS AFTER THE "NO-STARS," GAME. NOW THAT WAS A GAME OF HOLY HOCKEY IF EVER THERE WAS ONE.
I'M TRULY SORRY I NEVER KEPT A COMPLETE LIST OF RINK RATS IN THOSE EARLY YEARS. SOME PLAYED FOR A SEASON OR TWO, WHILE OTHERS LASTED THROUGH MOST OF A DECADE. I RETIRED FROM THE RINK RATS IN THE EARLY 1990'S, AFTER WE MOVED TO GRAVENHURST. IT WAS ONE THING TO WALK TWO BLOCKS TO THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA, FROM MY OLD APARTMENT IN THE MCGIBBON HOUSE, ON MANITOBA STREET, BUT QUITE ANOTHER TO DRIVE IN ALL KINDS OF WEATHER FROM GRAVENHURST FOR THOSE LATE NIGHT GAMES. I SAT OUT FOR A FEWS YEARS, AND MADE A ONE GAME COME-BACK, WHEN GORD DAWES SUGGESTED THERE WAS A SPOT TO FILL ON THE BENCH. I KNEW I COULD BE A GOOD BENCH WARMER. WHEN I TRIED TO SKATE, GOSH, IT WAS LIKE THE DAY MY MOTHER FASTENED BOB SKATES ONTO MY WINTER BOOTS, AND SET ME LOOSE ON A STRETCH OF RAMBLE CREEK IN BURLINGTON. AS I ALMOST KILLED MYSELF THAT DAY, I SHORT-SHIFTED MYSELF THAT NIGHT AT THE ARENA, AND WHEN THOSE SKATES CAME OFF....THEY NEVER WENT BACK ON. THEY'RE STILL HANGING OFF THE WALL ON THE VERANDAH, WHERE I LEFT THEM THE MORNING AFTER THAT FINAL GAME.
SOME OF THE KINDLY SOULS, WHO HELPED US FUNDRAISE IN THOSE YEARS.....AND WHO MADE THE RINK RATS A LOT OF FUN TO BE ASSOCIATED, INCLUDED PLAYERS LIKE JON PARTRIDGE, GORD MARTIN, PETER RENNICK, DAVE WHITESIDE, JOHN O'BYRNE, ED KOWALSKY, ALISTAIR TAYLOR, JIM WRIGHT, BRANT SCOTT, GIL SCOTT, DOUG DUNFORD, DAN BARNES, GINO FARRARI, HARRY RANGER, HAROLD WRIGHT, HAROLD SHER, SCOTT MCCLELLAN, JERRY AUCOIN, KEVIN PEAKE, TERRY CURTIS, MIKE GAVIN, DAVE BROWN, AND MIKE HILLBORN. IN THE LATE 1980'S, TO KEEP OUR TEAM AFLOAT, AFTER MANY DEPARTURES DUE TO OLD AGE, WE AMALGAMATED WITH OTHER RECREATIONAL HOCKEYISTS, AND CREATED "THE WOMBATS," WHICH WAS THE TRANSITION POINT, FROM THE OLD GUARD TO THE NEW, BRINGING GORD DAWES, THE HEART AND SOUL OF THE NEW ERA RINK RATS, STILL GOING STRONG. SOME OF THE NAMES FROM THIS TRANSITION PERIOD, OF THE NEW RAT SQUAD, WERE LADS LIKE GERRY MOORE, WAYNE MOORE, ED RENTON, ROBIN SUMMERLY, RON RICKER, NORM LEVESQUE, KIM HAMMOND, PHIL LANGOIS, BARRY SALTER, TIM UREN, DAVE AUGER AND A DOZEN OR SO MORE, THAT HONESTLY HAVE SLIPPED MY MIND. NOT MY HEART. JUST MY CREAKING OLD MEMORY.
WE USED TO ASK THESE SENIOR RECREATIONALISTS, WITH THEIR KNOBBLY KNEES, TO GIVE OF THEMSELVES ON THE ICE, TO KEEP US FROM BEING HUMILIATED ON THE SCOREBOARD, AND WE ASKED EVEN MORE, WHEN WE PUT ON FUNDRAISERS TO HELP COMMUNITY GROUPS. THEY DID SO GENEROUSLY AND ANNUALLY, AND IT'S NEAT TO LOOK BACK ON THE CLUB AND REALIZE HOW MUCH HISTORY HAS ACTUALLY BEEN MADE, BY A SMALL HUDDLE OF MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS EMPLOYEES, SHIRKING WORK THAT DAY, ABOUT THIRTY-THREE YEARS AGO. WE'D LIKE TO THINK SO ANYWAY.
BACK IN THE EARLY PART OF THE CENTURY, THE MODERN ERA RINK RATS HONORED ED KOWALSKY, HARRY RANGER AND I, AT CENTRE ICE, AT THE START OF THAT YEAR'S LOVEABLE LOSERS HOCKEY TOURNAMENT. NOW THAT WAS A PROUD MOMENT, TO STAND WITH THOSE TWO OLD RATS, AND WE ALL APPRECIATED THE RECOGNITION. WE WERE EACH PRESENTED NEW HOCKEY JERSEYS WITH OUR ORIGINAL RINK RAT LOGO, WHICH BY THE WAY, HAD BEEN DESIGNED FOR US, IN THE EARLY 1980'S, BY A LOCAL ARTIST, CHRIS MINZ, FORMERLY A TALENTED ART STUDENT AT BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL.
TWO PLAYERS OF THE RINK RATS PASSED AWAY RECENTLY, AND IT WAS QUITE A BLOW TO THE KINSHIP WE'D ALWAYS HAD ON THE TEAM. KIM HAMMOND WAS THE FIRST TO PASS AWAY, SEVERAL YEARS AGO, AND JUST RECENTLY, IT WAS HARRY RANGER, BOTH KIND SOULS WHO BROUGHT GOOD HUMOUR TO THE CLUB, AND TO ANY EVENT WE PARTICIPATED. THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES.
I LOVED THOSE YEARS. I LOVED THOSE GUYS. I LOVED THE ADVENTURE....THE "AWAY" GAMES, AND THE WAY WE WORKED SO WELL TOGETHER......NOT SO MUCH ON THE ICE, BECAUSE WE SUCKED, BUT IN, AND FOR THE COMMUNITY. BACK THEN, WE RAISED A LOT OF MONEY TO HELP THE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAM, AND WE PUT A FAIR BIT OF CASH INTO THE PURCHASE OF A NEW ICE-RESURFACING MACHINE FOR THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. I KNOW THAT SLEDGE HOCKEY GOT A LOT OF SUPPORT FROM THE LATTER DAY RATS, AMONGST MANY OTHER WORTHWHILE COMMUNITY PROJECTS AND INITIATIVES.
MERRY CHRISTMAS RINK RATS. I WILL NEVER FORGET YOU GUYS.
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