Time For a Writing Hiatus As A Blogger

IT'S TIME FOR A WRITING HIATUS AS A BLOGGER - TO WORK ON MY UPCOMING SERIES ON ARTIST TOM THOMSON

I'D LIKE TO DO IT ALL, BUT MY BODY IS FALLING APART

     In the past year, well, you know as friends of this blog, I've had a half dozen legitimate situations arise, which have forced me to take hiatus periods from blogging; they've all been good reasons at the precise moment I decided to take the break, and a little like tag team wrestling, but without anyone outside the ring to tag to take over. On occasions when I've felt, for a variety of reasons, felt exhausted and frankly, all-written out. I've had to use my archive materials on many occasions, because I simply couldn't muster a new blog. I appreciate having a great audience, and I always take my writing challenges seriously, and with good cheer, but there are times these days, when my body and mind are unwilling to participate in my excesses. I suffer from back, shoulder and leg problems that are proportional to the way I work at this laptop, and like carrying a fifty pound bag of potatoes on your back, the repetitive side of things beats down everything that resides below.
     This year, our antique business is on track to have one of its best years ever, and it will have everything to do with an anticipated tourist season boom here in South Muskoka. Last year we were caught of guard, in the antique wing of our Gravenhurst business, and the so-called tourist season lasted well past Thanksgiving. This year, with lower prices at the gas pumps, and the much lower Canadian dollar, we are expecting it to be even more demanding than last summer, which honestly, put stresses on our family I couldn't believe. We are a family business and we are both management and staff. We can not possibly complain about having too much business, but unfortunately, finding time for lunch and well, writing this blog, was difficult last year, and will be almost impossible once March Break arrives, because this is when the surge began in 2015. For a beleaguered retail sector, in small town Ontario, this is something to rejoice, and, obviously, take advantage of as much as possible.
     Suzanne, my long suffering partner in this antique enterprise, needs my help during the day, and while she sympathizes with my passion for writing blogs, I can't let her shoulder all the work while I sit in a comfortable chair, in an air conditioned room, playing at this laptop for my own posterity. So I hope you understand, that this time, the boss has spoken, and if I want the kind of happy retirement both of us have been preparing for, since the late 1980's, having a nice little antique enterprise, I have little choice but to sacrifice something, and unfortunately, it has to be this daily blog.
     Additionally, I am working on a year-plus feature series on the life and work of Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, for the wonderful little publication I write for, known as, "Curious; The Tourist Guide," scheduled to begin in June of this year, and it is going to be quite a challenge; a sort of culminating series on Thomson, who I have been writing about since the mid 1990's. July 2017, will mark the 100th anniversary of his death, of alleged drowning, in Alqonquin Park's Canoe Lake. My series, if everything goes according to Hoyle, will end with the October 2017 issue. The series is going to take a lot of research and many rough drafts of columns to get it right. It's not a series I can rush and nothing I've written so far, even in these blogs, will work for a year-plus series. So I haven't given up writing that's for sure. I will occasionally have editorial pieces for our Currie's Antiques facebook page. Suzanne has not threatened to leave me, or catapult me into a neighbor municipality, if I don't cease and desist my blogging activities. But she deserves a break and I'm the fellow who has to give it to her; and freeing up some shop time is a good first start.
     This blog, at this date, has had approximately 312,000 views, and of this, I am full of gratitude for my readership. How could I be anything but flattered and feeling fortunate to have made so many new friends over the nearly four and a half years I've been working on this site. But damn-it, I'm feeling like an eighty-five year old Swede (remember those commercials on television), and I haven't hit my sixty-first birthday yet. This writing thing has hurt my body as much as playing hockey for so many years. I'd like to see if abstinence from this keyboard, will help my poor old gnarled hands and particularly, my fingers that hurt with each depression of one of these keys. We'll see. There's lot of back copy in my archives to peruse in my absence. One day, I may decide, especially if my aches and pains don't subside, to simply return and "suck-it-up" as my hockey coach Don Thur, used to say, when I came to the bench with an injury, I felt was somewhat worthy of sympathy. "Back in the net Currie. The back-up goalie has the trots. And none of these other guys want to take a turn at goaltending." I'm going on hiatus for awhile to help Suzanne gear up for the summer season, and hoping, the rest from this keyboard will help my body heal.
    Thanks for all your support in the past four-plus years. You've made an old writer a very happy fellow; feeling validated is a pretty big deal to a journeyman writer who, by the way, doesn't have a room, or even a shelf (or even an inch of wall space) devoted to the display of awards received from my peers in this profession. But the only award I ever needed, to pound out this copy for all these years, was knowing that a few readers out there, rather enjoyed tuning in daily, to see what I was up to, at 7 p.m. each night, on that particular day, during that week, and month, and pray tell, to find out the reason for my latest hop-up onto my beat-up old soap box; the one I climbed onto in order to complain about municipal politics and of course, the inconsistencies of parking enforcement in our town, still a big issue for me. But every blogger has to call it quits sooner or later, and I'd prefer that my curtain call wasn't at the insistence of the grim reaper. Fare thee well good friends. Thanks. And cheers!

Early Photographs of Muskoka Should Be Celebrated

OLD PHOTOGRAPHS AND THE WORK OF EARLY PHOTOGRAPHERS IN OUR REGION SHOULD BE CELEBRATED

ARCHIVED PHOTOGRAPHS NEED TO BE SEEN, AND ENJOYED AS THE WORK OF ART THEY REALLY ARE

     Every now and again, in this wonderful region of the province, I take an unanticipated whack in the chops, for getting too big for my britches; surprised once again, to learn of my new and adjusted place in the pecking order, of rank and file local historians. I'm now about one rung up, on the ladder, above an eighth grader, but well below even those who casually talk about historical stuff at coffee shops and church bazaars. This punitive down-ranking, is the result of posturing by others, who, presumably, with some idea of the "celebrity", associated with the position, have decided to insert themselves as newfound authorities on the subject of local history. By the way, there is no such celebrity status afforded the local historian, who spend most of a lifetime trying to save what others wish we'd lose. As a self proclaimed history lover, relatively new in the field of study, how easy it is apparently, to become a well heeled historian, with related privileges to comment, in the contemporary sense, on all things historic.
   This morphing of "amateur becomes professional," thing, comes without, what most of us veterans of the profession, would consider necessary background, before making forays into what can be a precarious and complicated domain. Where, to make even small errors, amongst many who do know the chronology, can be embarrassing for those involved. There are, you see, many active and up to speed family historians, who will find errors, and correct with vigor, in all those areas of their vested interest; errors which are not only unacceptable, but the kind of protocol slight, that can whip around like a two headed viper. Apparently, it is quite easy these days, to become an historical spokesperson, and mover and shaker about what is deemed historic and what isn't. I don't have patience for those who want to fast track themselves into a discipline, that takes decades upon decades of study, to get even close to getting stuff right. There's that whole apprenticeship thing, which by the way, beyond hearsay to the contrary, is entirely necessary. It may seem like calling yourself an historian these days, is sexy! Everyone of note will want to saddle up to you. And let's not forget, that you will also get invited to all the big parties in town, and be afforded privileges average citizens can only dream about. It just isn't so! Surface skimmers in my profession don't last long, but they sure are annoying.
     The vintage postcard image of Bracebridge, prior to the construction of the iconic silver bridge, shows the calm scene above the town falls, just above the rapids, on the north branch of the Muskoka River. The boom across the river catches logs coming down the river. Today the boom doesn't stop logs as much as it does inhibit canoeists from getting into the fast water on the brink of the galls. In the centre of the photograph, you can see the lumber piles of the Saw Mill, (which the Tennant family operated on the site in the years before the establishment of Northern Build-All in contemporary times) at this time of the late 1800's early 1900's, and the buildings of Birds Woollen Mill closer to the river's edge. The photograph would have been taken from an area between the rise of Hunt's Hill as it borders, and cradles the river, up to the location where Woollen Mill founder, Henry Bird, built his octagonal house, in such an elevated position, as to afford him the opportunity daily, of being able to look down on his operation below from his office, located on the north side of the house he called Woodchester Villa. It was also called "The Bird House," where all "the Birds lived."
     In the public stashes of town archive collections, in the major Muskoka towns, there are literally thousands of antique images profiling the early days of our respective Muskoka communities. These images are catalogued, safe from environmental damage, and kept for the posterity of the future. The problem of course, is that the present is often excluded from what may be offered more generously to future generations; being a more liberal approach to the very purpose of archives, and what happens to be stored in these places of considerable mystery to the general public. Much of the value of these important images, that so proficiently document our past, right from the homestead chronicle of the 1860's, still in the fledgling years of photography, and photographic studios, is their honest profiling, and portraiture of how it all began, how it soon progressed, and who was doing all the work to advance the cause of a home village. I'm willing to bet a left or right arm, depending on my need for one or another at the time," that an alarming majority of residents of our towns and villages, have no serious historical knowledge of Muskoka history, and what it looked like, as it was being recorded along the way to the period we call modern times. History isn't being revered as it once was, and certainly not exploited as it should be, to make sure more of the local citizenry appreciates the wealth of material they've paying to have stored-away for our supposed betterment. Somewhere down the line of course. But when will that be? The immediate problem, and I've warned about this many times in the past five years, is that local historians are winding down their work, and the average age defines us as a band of senior citizens. Our numbers are declining, and advocates being reduced, which should herald the arrival of understudies to take up the reins from us who may wish to retire from active duty one day soon. We are also the folks who hold councils responsible for funding heritage projects, and conservation requirements, including the continued well being of community archives, wherever, and whatever cubby hole of building space, as municipal holding, this happens to represent; some smaller and more obscure than others. When advocacy for these heritage resources is reduced, it's to be expected town councils might consider cutting the thin stipend they provide at present; endangering archives status in the years following. When the will of council, as a whole, wishes to cut spending, well sir, history and its kind, are pretty much always in the line of fire for reduced budgets. In my years with the Bracebridge Historical Society, managing Woodchester Villa and Museum, every year was the same horror of funding cutbacks to overcome. We didn't have a spare dime to acquire anything other than essentials to run a public museum, and nothing to enhance our collection of artifacts and archives; of which we had no right to even possess, because of our longstanding problem of humidity control, which we couldn't afford to improve upon, such that we could get and keep the funding agency's approval.       The unfortunate reality, is that many of these antique photographic images that are important today, and would be viewed with considerable interest and enthusiasm, even by the business community, are safely filed in storage cabinets in climate controlled archives rooms. There are few if any full time archivists, and adequately financed archives programs, to facilitate the kind of public outreach initiatives, that would put these works of art on exhibition more regularly, as a promotion for our Muskoka communities. The resource value, and material worth on the open market, of these rare old original photographs, is known of course, by all those charged with keeping them safe and secure; but the public is generally excluded access to these images, simply because they don't know where they're stored, how they can be utilized in terms of research or project interest, or just what is available by catalogue, to be viewed. "Out of sight, out of mind," is the prevailing situation, for these collections, which in my mind, as an advocate of public exhibition of our relics, is a shame in so many ways.     There are thousands of citizens in Muskoka, who have never truly embraced the history of their home region, because they haven't been exposed to it, as would be optimum for the welfare of historical relevance; which at times, seems a much lesser concern to the majority of citizens than it should. Considering the fact, that some of these same citizens, could one day become our municipal councillors, in charge of heritage and archives funding, it would really be a sensible preventative measure, to more aggressively introduce these folks to the inherent value of accumulated heritage resources; before it's decided, sometime down the road, to suspend funding for these materials, due to a profound lack of interest based solely on ignorance to what they represent as public resources. We own them as citizens, but we aren't at all sure what they actually represent as bits and pieces of our heritage.
    There has been a noticeable watering down of historical zeal in the past decade, and it takes an historian to appreciate this. We have lost quiet a few of our historian colleagues, and those dedicated to making sure our heritage is gainfully and responsibly preserved. There have been few apprentices following-up on the work of these elderly historians, showing any real interest in assuming the roles for the future, and as I've noted many times in the past, disinterest and general budget malaise, could mean serious cuts in future funding for something most people assume takes care of itself; and isn't visible to the general public on a day to day basis. How much does it cost to keep a small community archives up and running? Is a qualified archivist needed to look after the paper and photographic heritage it possesses? Does the acting archivist have money for acquisitions of important local collections? Do local councillors know the intimate details of how a community archives functions, and what their future holds in store, in terms of financial commitment? Do they know where the archives collection is kept? Has the archives collection ever been appraised for insurance purposes? Is there any significant value to these old photographs and boxes of paper heritage, representing the decades of our town's past? Or are these collections only for historian and authors of books profiling local history? There is a lot of mystery surrounding archive collections and not just in Muskoka. But taxpayers should have the right to question why we have such materials, if they aren't housed in more accessible locations, to promote more active use, as such a resource should provide by its most basic and fundamental function serving the host community.
     Councillors might be shocked out of their socks, to know how much their public archives collections are worth, especially in terms of the valuations of Muskoka collectables on the open market. Maybe these folks would turn-on to the real dimensional values of community archives, if they knew how valuable they would be, if put up for auction. I am pretty sure, they have no idea of valuation but they should, regardless, investigate this aspect of stewardship, beginning with a rough appraisal. If they had a better idea of the multi-thousands of dollars in their possession, and under their stewardship, in the form of these archive materials, maybe they'd be more interested in taking their possessions out for a little air-time now and again, to show the public what they own, as homeowners. What great promotional material is available upon request, to wow visitors to our region, who, for example, may never have seen photos, up close, of Bracebridge's Irvin "Ace" Bailey, the star hockey player of the 1930's Toronto Maple Leafs. Our hockey heritage is a big deal in South Muskoka but you'd never know it from what is currently for view in the public domain. There are thousands upon thousands of outstanding vintage images that are works of photographic art, that should be treated this way, and celebrated with regular exhibitions. But, you see, there is a shortage of money to do this, as much as is warranted, of such a wealth of stored, unappreciated material, and not nearly enough volunteers to pull it off, in terms of regular rotating displays for all those who want to know more about the place in which they dwell, or the region they love to reside seasonally, and visit otherwise.
     I love sharing paper and photographic heritage when we can acquire it; and anything we happen to have in our personal archives, at present, is shared regularly with historians and archives volunteers; and of course for reader appreciation, as you would realize, from what has been published on this blog site, and on our business facebook page. A majority of these are not for sale items because I need them for my own work, but I wouldn't think of concealing them from public display. Sometimes my finds, in the way of Muskoka heritage photographs and paper collections, are shared only moments after discovery, because I'm so darn pleased they have been uncovered for our mutual benefit. I don't own a single locally significant image, of heritage quality, or paper work, that hasn't been shared at least once in the past five years; sometimes twice to three times, depending on the background story they are to companion on this blog. The most exciting one recently, was the sketch we found last fall, which we think may have been drawn by Dr. Norman Bethune, while he was a patient at the Calydor Sanatorium, here in Gravenhurst. We have made numerous attempts to get some assistance on identification of this image, by national art and Bethune historians, but alas, they haven't shown even the least bit of interest giving us a response; letting us know it is either an original, or not, or that they simply can't be certain. We are a persistent lot, and we have welcomed public input to help us determine whether it is, or isn't the work of the Gravenhurst born artist. We have had some interesting comments back, since we published the image on this blog site a few weeks back; much, much more than from those professionals who have had access to the image, but have never been able to offer the slightest assistance. It's my experience, that the public is quite appreciative of being invited to participate in all types of heritage discussions, and asking assistance, opens yet another door, to welcome opinions worth knowing about; inclusion is something many are not used to, in these matters, and requests for input, something that happens very rarely these days. I don't know whether we have an original sketch by Dr. Bethune or not, but I'm sure glad of the assistance received thus far; and the sketch will remain in Gravenhurst with our family as stewards, because we do, at the very least, believe it is a rare art piece showing the Calydor Sanatorium, as it was during its years of operation, up to the time the property was purchased by the federal government, to be used as a Prisoner of War Camp for German Soldiers, 1939-1946.
     It would take many years to republish all the rare, antique, vintage, and nostalgic original photographs, in the possession of archives establishments in the District of Muskoka. But every now and again, there needs to be exhibition opportunities in the public domain, so that taxpayers, who are helping to fund conservation of these resources, know how and why their money is being spent for heritage posterity. Of course it's worth it. If you owned material with this kind of value, wouldn't you do everything possible to guarantee its safe keeping? Of course you would! But if it's never seen, and few if any know where it resides as a collection, then why is it worth funding? If it is a resource we can't take full advantage of, why support its integrity financially? Why not sell the works, and raise money instead, for infrastructure improvements in each municipality that we badly need?
     I will continue publishing these heritage materials, that Suzanne and I acquire throughout the year, from a wide array of sources, some by donation, and others because we have laid out a considerable cash investment, for the privilege of representing, and presenting the material to you via our sites. When we are finished with our collection one day, when the mood for full retirement tickles our fancy, we will donate the materials in our possession to a community archives we feel passes muster, in terms of municipal funding and support. We have already given many historic pieces, including heritage documents, to regional museums and collections, that can benefit their users, by having these rare resources.
     It makes us feel pretty good to make these donations when we can. We'd just like to see more funding, and resources dedicated to making these archives and collections more accessible to the public, than they are at present. First, municipal councillors need to know more about what they own in this regard; I'm not convinced, at present, they know all they should, in order to back funding increases and expansion of services. We need to exhibit our artful resources, because they represent much more than history; they show our character as it was, and how it has bloomed ever since. We can't fully appreciate what we represent as a community, unless we factor in the way we began, and have aged through the centuries, to arrive at this time of contemporary destiny. But we have the evidence. But it's stored out of sight, and you know what that inspires.

Photographs Of News Events Are Of Particular Interest To Collectors

PHOTOGRAPHS OF NEWS EVENTS ARE OF PARTICULAR INTEREST TO COLLECTORS

FINDING SOME VINTAGE PHOTOGRAPHS OF BREAKING NEWS EVENTS, CAN BE HIGHLY VALUABLE AND HISTORICALLY SIGNIFICANT

     I have old photographs that depict anglers at their craft, hockey players chasing the puck, carpenters erecting houses, builders at task, railway men, preachers, teachers in the class, livestock grazing, wildlife in pastoral scenes, farms yards; churches picnics, sporting events at arenas, real time images of cityscapes, townscapes, and charming countryside hamlets. I own a bazillion old portraits and then some, and, yes, in my collection, are dozens of spot news photographs from a bygone era, as shown in the published images above. These are images taken of several accident scenes, in the Orillia area, snapped by an amateur photographer, and not by a news reporter getting for coverage. I actually prefer acquiring photographs that have never been published previously, (and never intended to be) of news events, some minor, some major, taken as snapshots, without any idea of ever having them published in newspapers or magazines for financial gain. I look at these as being the most honest representations, initiated out of curiosity, but without any particular focus on framing as a reporter would impose, knowing what the editor of the home newspaper wants for news coverage, as far as photo content. Each editor has a different interest in news photography, cropping of images, and subject material acceptable to their publication's readership.
    When I worked for The Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge, back in the 1980's, we had a strict policy about how much we would show in terms of the carnage (debris field) at accident scenes. Especially those involving fatalities. On one occasion, I slipped up as editor, when I didn't spot something that should have been obvious, on a frame selected from a contact sheet of negatives. It would prove offensive to a quarter of our readers and especially friends and family of the victim. In the corner of the photograph of the destroyed vehicle, that had been involved a rollover on a country road, a small portion of yellow tarpaulin was visible in the front page, above the fold, news flick. It was a great hard news photograph and was taken by a cracker jack reporter, who always got us fantastic front pagers each week.
    Most of us, and not just newspaper / media folks, who chase first responders for breaking news events, realize that yellow tarpaulins at accident scenes, are typically used to conceal the deceased, on the ground, having been thrown from vehicles, or ones who have yet to be freed from vehicles, for any number of reasons. The morning this picture greeted customers on the news-stands of our community, I began getting nasty phone calls, and in fact, some personal threats that I certainly hadn't anticipated when we decided as a news department, to run the image on the front page. When it was drawn to my attention, that the tarpaulin was clearly visible, meaning a loved one was still in that car, I nearly fainted. It was our rule as a news staff and publication, never to be this graphic, and it was tough to convince friends and family that it was not our intention to reveal so much; but I drew the line on them telling us we were wrong to run the picture of the car in the first place. I informed them, that despite the terrible realities of the accident, which killed one and injured two passengers, it was news the public had a right to know more about, and we were, afterall, a newspaper given this task of representing news responsibly. I was wrong to have published this particular photo, and I paid the price for months after this, but learned just how sensitive our readership was, and how close to the line we had been in the past, presenting these accident scene photos.
     My point is, that our reporters framed photographs of news events, with the camera lens, as if they were going to be published on the front page of our newspaper. An amateur photographer, not saddled with that responsibility, of returning to the newspaper with a suitable image the readership approves, takes random, helter skelter flicks, without the restrictions reporters often must adhere because of publishing protocols. This means that these photos are not in any way taken for publication qualities, or staged, which could simply mean a reporter waiting, camera in hand, for the perfect opportunity, the perfect composition of carnage and first responder, to click the shutter.
     Here's an example. Back in the early 1980's there was a serious fire in a house on Manitoba Street, in Bracebridge, which started in the retail shop below. When we got there, just after the fire department arrived, we numbered three news photographers compared to the opposition publication's one reporter. It was a very, very attractive scene for news photographers, because there was lots of illumination from the street, and the fire department lamps, and despite it being late at night, it seemed like daytime for us with cameras slung around our necks. It was even the case that our flash units were really only infilling a small amount of light onto our subjects; the trained lenses tightly framing the actions and reactions of the first responders, going in, and coming out of the burning building. Fortunately, other than the obvious exhaustion of fire fighters, there were no injuries during that event.
    But here's the thing. We were conspiring as a threesome, to run a photo spread in the next issue, while still on the site of the fire, planning on using the best photographs from the bunch, which added up to about a dozen rolls of 36 frame film. That got me in trouble let me tell you. As the fire was reduced down to a smoldering ash inside a now hollow building, we were pondering when the huge front window was going to be smashed out; as in previous fires, it was usually the first or second big smash we'd hear, when we arrived on scene. This being done by firefighters, to avoid it blowing out when air pressure builds from the fire, such as with the air currents associated with backdraft. Breaking it in advance could avoid it exploding into a crowd of emergency responders, sending dangerous glass shards into the air with considerable propulsion. I've watched it happen, and seen the result of unprotected bystanders getting cut from flying glass. Considering we had all the images we needed to fill two full newspapers, but could only afford a single page photo spread, we decided to get one last shot, of the front window being smashed by a fire fighter. We supposed, that for no other reason, than it had survived the entire time of the raging fire, without so much as a fracture on the large double glass pane, that it would be neat to capture on film when it was finally smashed to smitherines. With cameras ready, we watched a fireman step up to the side of the window, on the outside, and with a determined perfectly aimed, one handed swing of a fire axe, smashed the glass pane while our power winders on the cameras, gave us an almost moving picture profile of the last act of a fire having been fully extinguished. It's not like the window could be saved or anything, but we new, as reporters, having covered hundreds of fire events, it would have to go anyway, for safety reasons, and for reporting posterity, we wanted to catch the moment of impact. Yup, it was the next best thing to asking the firemen to do it, so that we could capture it on film. After all that, I think we decided it wasn't dramatic enough to make the grade of the photo spread, and probably hit the cutting room floor.
     A hobby photographer, as we see today in the billions, utilizing their camera phones to capture newsworthy occurrences, aren't as concerned about winning a photographic award, as they are demonstrating their prowess as cub reporters; with the idea that a news media outlet will pick it (a good newsworthy image or video) up for their viewership. It's certainly the case today, publishing the best images of an event or news happening, becomes an objective. Whereas, in the day the photographs above were snapped, the individual with the camera probably had no intent of sending it, or them to a newspaper, with hopes of landing a front page spot. And, making a little cash for the effort. It's why they are sought after, right back to the very first photographic images. Amateur photos are innocent, naive efforts, to capture interesting scenes and events, without the restrictions professionals place upon themselves, to get the best result and perfect images for media use. It's not that there is any shortfall in this effort, at providing perfect images, suitable for publication. Gosh, it's admirable and profitable to do so! It's just that in terms of being collectable, I'd sooner have a photograph that has never been published before, or professionally taken, such that the person who took the flick, if they were alive, would be astonished that something they had captured by little more than happenstance, and good fortune, would merit such admiration from the future, because of innocent framing of real life in real time.
     Consider the importance of all camera images, all photographers, all camera holders, amateur or professional, who snapped photos in the hour before, and hour after the asasination, of President John F. Kennedy, in Dallas, Texas, that November day in 1963. Was there a second shooter? Who was in the crowd that day, in various places and situations, along the route the President's motorcade was to follow? Were these images sought by investigators, wanting to know if there were any known individuals, other than Lee Harvey Oswald, who might have had interest in killing the American President? There have been many instances of amateur photographs being used to solve crimes. And you've undoubtedly seen many times, on the television news, how amateur video has assisted police, or in some cases, revealed police abuses, leading to charges and discipline being administered. But of course, today, there is an obsession with recording actions and reactions, and it has, in itself, led to abuses and misrepresentation; citizens becoming reporters and interpreting news, without any qualifications as journalists, who know there's more to a story than what a picture, or video reveals of actuality. In the old days, this wasn't as much an issue, as the media then was a mere shadow of what it has become today, as far as relaying news, and its publication for a world wide audience; which has become an almost instantaneous reality, from the very second of an occurrence unfolding.
     As an old-time reporter, used to strict protocols of operation, I am both astonished, and a little alarmed, at what few qualifications are needed to make the nightly news these days. I like the quick coverage, in the cause of the "public's right to know," but there is that proverbial slipper slope that in some cases, has already become the new normal. In my era of reporting, I might have made twenty-five bucks, if a daily newspaper picked up a photo I'd taken of a major event, or celebrity sighting. It meant a case of beer that week. And a nice photo credit. For an amateur who got an even better photo of the same event, or celebrity? Not a dime. Simply because it was kept under raps, in a photo album or box, as one would expect of the handiwork of a hobby photographer. So when, after all these years, the settling of an estate, for example, finally releases these important images that were never meant to be made pub\lic, (or that have been previously published), it's an exciting bazinga moment for the new owner; which I always hope will be me. There is a value in these old spot news photographs, especially ones that have never been viewed by anyone else than friends and family of the hobby photographer.

Old Photographs Carry A Lot Of Weight In Historical Circles

OLD PHOTOGRAPHS CARRY A LOT OF WEIGHT IN HERITAGE CIRCLES

DATED TOWNSCAPES, MAIN STREETS AND BUSINESS IMAGES FROM BYGONE ERA VALIDATE WRITTEN HISTORIES - OR THE OPPOSITE

     A PREAMBLE NOTE: I got a late start on today's blog for a number of reasons, some intimate to Currie family traditions. We like to punk each other and sometimes, at work, it does affect productivity. We are notorious practical jokers, and I've been known to slip apple cores and spent tea-bags in son Robert's shoes, amongst dozens of other pranks, like hitting him in the back of the head with pizza crusts, and chicken wings, amongst other items of a food characteristic. He retaliates by trying to distract me when I'm writing in his studio, because he knows it drives me nuts; I hate repetitive things, like taps dripping and finger tapping, as he will perform when he knows I'm most vulnerable. Sometimes forcing me to erase an hour's work because I've started to write three columns in one, none of them making sense. Today he began beating me senseless with the performer, "Psy's" big new rap techno "whatever" song, "Where'd you get that body; I got it from my daddy," and that old crowd pleaser, "Gangnam Style," and another one that involves the Teletubbies, singing something that sounds like "I Fink You're Freeky," which I have to tell you, was everything and more involving "freaky." I don't often surrender to my son, because that isn't cool. But by golly, the little fellow got to me today, and before long, I had to erase two half written columns. I had to beg him to stop. As much as I like the music, it isn't the kind of background you want, when writing short stories and heritage features. As if I had yelled out "uncle," he relented, and found someone else in the building to torture with music and Youtube videos. I will get him back when opportunity prevails, and it may involve some elaborate planning to get just right. So I'm sorry the feature today is a little less meaty than usual, but the stoic oldtimer get punked by his kid.
     The marquis "vintage" photograph today, from our personal archives, is the one published above, showing Reverend Joseph Ewing Reid, and his wife Maud, in their canoe, paddling most likely on Lake Joseph, where they first vacationed in Muskoka, before purchasing their small Browning Island cabin, on Lake Muskoka, shortly following the end of World War I. Reverend Reid was in charge of the Alhambra Church in Toronto at this time.
     Shown today above, are another three interesting photographs, from our personal archives, having Muskoka significance. The two urban scenes are of the Town of Bracebridge, one (with negative damage in mid-zone of the image) being a late 1800's view to the north, from area of the Queen Street hillside, where at one time the Victoria Hotel was situated, looking down on the rapids above the town falls, where the Bird's Woollen Mill was located. The hydro building throwing off water from the river, is still in this location today. At the bottom right you can see the heavily braced wooden walkway leading north, to the bridge across the rapids, but to the south, the walkway climbs the hill where the hotel was once located. The large building in the middle of the photograph with what appears a spire, is the Provincial Court House. Where the damage to the photographic image is situated, in the picture, would be the British Lion Hotel. Beside the road, at the bottom of the image, are strewn logs, stored above the rapids, which you can't see because of its depression below the rock of the embankments. There would be a log chute on the other side of the train trestle, to the left. Today you would see the trestle and the silver bridge from this same angle. In the area where the logs are visible is now a municipal parking lot. The open tower at the top, slightly north of the centre of the image, marks the location of the Bracebridge Fire Hall. This picture was taken well before the early 1900's completion of the federal building and clock tower, that became the town post office on Manitoba Street, which in this frame, would be prominent on the urban landscape at the far north horizon. Woodchester Villa, the estate owned by Henry Bird, Woollen Mill founder, was up this same hillside of the Victoria Hotel, convenient so that the proprietor of the mill could look down on his mill, from his home office, and catch the occasional glimpse of an employee sneaking an early smoke break.
     The second image of the business area of Manitoba Street, was snapped in the year 1947, and shows the federal building and tower, of which I was referring, and the Queen's Hotel, on the bottom left, which became known as the Patterson Hotel in my vintage of the 1960's, owned by Fenton Patterson. I remember the signage at the intersection of Manitoba Street and Thomas Street, advertising the direction north and east to Baysville, Dorset and Algonquin Park. Straight down the street, looking south, you will see the other side of the Birds Woollen Mill. It also shows part of the hillside, where the photograph, shown above, was taken back in the late 1800's. You will also notice that the vehicles on the east side of Manitoba Street, are park on an angle, while the cars on the west side, have been parked parallel. This is one of my favorite Bracebridge photographs, and with the exception of the angled parking in front of the federal building, this is much of what I remember of the way it was, when we moved to Bracebridge in the late winter of 1966. There were of course business name changes, and shop locations, in the nineteen years between the time of this photograph and our family's arrival in 1966.
     The third undated photograph published today, shows a railway crew, working on the replacement of ties, off a special cart designed for this purpose. These type of railway photographs are quite rare and are highly collectable. It was found in Muskoka, at an estate sale, but there was no identification on the back, of where it was taken, the year, and did not include any names of the railway hands working on this difficult task, of replacing damaged and rotting ties. With the hydro and phone line poles visible, and the overalls and hats worn by the men, it's likely the photograph was taken in the later 1920's to 1930's; possibly even a later Depression era photograph. We sure would like to know more about the image. As I collect railway related photographs and memorabilia, this one is from my personal stash of vintage flicks.
     Thankfully the images published above today's blog, weren't tossed out by either previous owners, or those who came to inherit them from the older generation. These are precious records to be enjoyed, first of all, and learned from, secondly. The fact the second and older Bracebridge photograph is dated, makes all the difference to us historical types, who make comparisons all the time in our research and essays regarding local heritage. I've made many references in previous blogs, to the Queen's Hill, and this photograph would have been taken from that hillside, where the Carnegie Library sits at the top. The hotel is on the east side of Manitoba Street. Bill Anderson's Barber Shop (and art studio), in my vintage as a hometowner, would have been on this bricked corner, which would have had large windows in the front. When Bill was running the shop, his was on the corner, and Mrs. Green's gift shop was in the adjoining space, a few feet north of his storefront. It was on this corner, quite a few years earlier, that my old friend Bill "Willy" Andison, and his chums, from his childhood prior to the Great Depression, snuck around in an undetected stealth move, in order to give them clear shots at the milk wagon horses, trundling up the steep incline, with their sling-shots. When several of the small rocks hit the horse's rear quarters, providing a substantial sting, it reared-up, lifting the wagon on its back end, sending a torrent of milk from tumbling large cans, raging down the hillside. The lads got their laugh and beat a hasty retreat behind the Queen's Hotel, where, according to Willy, they planned another practical joke on local citizens and delivery vehicles, that provided interesting targets for those same snappy slingshots. I can't look at this same building today, no longer a hotel of course, without imagining Willy and his mates, sneaking up from Thomas Street, weapons in hand, looking for an old nag to excite.

Putting Names and Locations On Old Photographs Is Worth The Effort Of Identification

The goalie is wearing a Bears sweater from Bracebridge but we aren't sure about the "Cubs". We have a hunch the picture was taken at the old Port Carling arena.

A photo from the 1930's of friends of Rev. Joseph Ewing Reid but not taken in Muskoka.

A photograph of Maude Reid and her daughter, Mary at their Browning Island cottage on Lake Muskoka.

WE HAD THOUSANDS OF OLD PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED TO THE NEWSPAPER FOR PUBLICATION

SOME OF THEM WERE REMARKABLE FOR WHAT THEY SHOWED, THAT WE DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT OTHERWISE

     There wasn't a week that went by, when I worked for Muskoka Publications, and The Bracebridge Herald-Gazette, that we didn't get submissions of old photographs from citizens of the town and region. We used to publish a large number of these vintage images, to go with regular features, and because we used to run them on the inside pages, for the owners, to see if any readers might be able to identify those people shown in group photos, from fraternal organizations, to school photos, hockey and lacrosse club pictures, to overviews of barn building bees, church construction, funeral processions and events held during the annual Bracebridge Fall Fair, held back then, at Jubilee Park. We were pretty fortunate, because a majority of our readers in the late 1970's, and early 80's, were the kin of community founders, some having intimate knowledge of the photos, and the circumstances, as to why they were snapped by a mix of professionals and hobbyists; trying to capture the highlight moments of town accomplishments. We often got, in return, the names of those in the pictures, or at least some of the citizens, and information on the community event featured; whether a hockey game, trophy presentation, or special parade that didn't involve Christmas celebrations. Unfortunately, it is harder to have these photographs identified today, as they were back then, because most of those citizens, who had this knowledge, and experience, have since passed away. There are fewer citizens today, who know much about the town's history, and aren't particularly concerned about old photographs and whether they're preserved or not, let alone properly identified. Which means, they are the most likely, to toss these historically sensitive and important antique images into the trash; items they may have been handed as inheritance from parents and grand-parents, some dating back to the founding of Bracebridge in the late 1850's. What is conserved of photographic images today, even with our best efforts, is only a tiny wee fraction of what was available; and may still be stuffed in attics and cupboards today, by those who don't know what to do with them in the contemporary sense.
     Here's the problem, that has existed for all the years that these antiquated images have been considered expendable. Most public libraries and community heritage committees, and the archives they may be responsible for, have limited space and resources available to handle the thousands of heritage papers and photographs folks might be willing to donate. Most of these owners would love the idea of donating these heritage relics, belonging to their own family chronologies, pleased to know there would be something gained for the community and region, in possessing and displaying them for public consumption. The space limitations and shortage of climate controlled storage facilities, suited to the safe-housing and conservation of paper heritage, is by itself, preventing citizens from making large donations of these heirloom collections, which could greatly enhance the work of local historians. I know by experience, how executors of estates have handled these collections in the past, and it makes me nauseous to think about it now. Garbage bins lined up outside the house, to accept the trash. That's what it has come down to, in the final clear-outs of these family estates and businesses, where a death has necessitated closing up operations, and homesteads, creating a bulk of materials no one wishes to claim, having little or no value. Add to this, the fact, that many vintage photographs, and heritage paper items, only have historical value to folks like us, but have very little value when it comes to resale in the antique profession. Thus, if an executor, or a benefactor of an inheritance, was to approach an antique dealer, in an attempt to sell these collections, large or small, unless there are key pieces, with vintage advertising for example, such as pictures of general stores, with visible advertising of "Coca Cola" or, in this location of Ontario, steamship, hotel, (resort) or boatworks advertising, or points of reference (like a hotel or navigation company office), valuations will most like by done by the pound or skid-load. But as I explained in yesterday's blog, that you can archive back to read, it takes an historian, more so than an antique dealer, to pick out what has historical implications that may not be obvious to anyone else. This is not a cheap shot at antique dealers, for not knowing their local history, because I am one, and an historian at the same time. We have antique dealers who contact us regularly, because of a photo, or paper collection, they've purchased, wishing for us to take a gander, to see if there is anything of local heritage significance we might be interested in acquiring, before it's offered in their shops or antique mall booths. We really appreciate this kind of opportunity, and we will make purchases of those items we feel are important to the enhancement of local knowledge, for the historians in the coming generations; and we are always willing to share with local heritage groups when we come upon something they can benefit from.
     It is always better to enquire first, before turfing what may be an historical jewel, that will help historians better understand the periods of our own history; which by the way, is like a million piece puzzle, still missing nine hundred thousand pieces. Yes, it is that kind of shortfall, in part, because so much heritage, in the visual sense, of photographs, has been disposed of without the least consideration to its importance to our home towns. I detest it when someone comes into our shop, and sees some of the old regional and town photos on display, and admits to just having thrown out four or five boxes of old photographs, thinking that no one would be interested in them. I want to scold them amongst other things, but I suppose it's the case, they simply didn't know that I would accept them by the box load, and be the curator of the collection, to forward them to the appropriate museums and town archives after sorting. Museums and archives just can't always handled the large quantity, but are willing to accept smaller submissions, that are perfectly related to their specialties and resource interests. I used to play hockey and golf, for recreational adventure. Although not nearly as physically beneficial, and they can be kind of smelly, I love to immerse myself in these newfound, donated collections, because historical discovery is always an adventure to me, and to Suzanne, a former school librarian and history teacher. We've spent some of our most memorable moments as a couple, up to our necks in old paper and vintage photographs, questing for the next big heritage find, that in some way, will finally set the record straight as far as what it was like here, way, way back. Old general photos don't lie. They reveal history honestly and without prejudice, and on many occasions, debunk what historians have been claiming, in print, for decades.
     Not all old photographs are valuable in either the monetary sense, or their heritage integrity. Most are just interesting old photographs of people, places and things. They have a relevance as nice images from a bygone era. In context however, of a large collection, they do tell a story, and one that may be of critical importance to struggling family historians, for example, trying to piece together related chronicles; to fill out the branches of family trees they've been hired to foliate with names. You'd be surprised to know just how many resources we can go through, in this quest of knowledge; some answers possibly being kept in those boxes stuff into your attic, basement, hall cupboard, or stashed in the cubby hole beneath the stairs.
     If you know of someone facing the unenviable conundrum of having a large photo collection, or vast amount of heritage documents that no one else wants, to buy, or as a donation, you can always contact us through this blog, or the Curries Antiques facebook page for free advice, or as the collection's rescuer. Let us help out so that we can lessen the losses of heritage items in the future.
     We are certainly interested in purchasing large collections as well, but the value depends on content, and not on the age of the items included. Victorian family photographs are worth pennies, unless the photographer and the studio happens to be of interest to collectors and museums with a particular zeal for an artist, such as Muskoka's Micklethwaite, who operated a travelling photo studio, which was simply an enclosed wooden cart, that could be both his (and his assistant's) mobile home and dark room, pulled by a horse across the region.There are photographers to watch-out for, because they have a relevance to Canadian history, such as Notman Studios, in Montreal. We're glad to help owners of these collections identify and evaluate what is in their possession, of either monetary value or historic significance. Just don't throw them out!
     More on vintage photographs in tomorrow blog.

Vintage Photographic Images Hold A Vast Amount of Information

OLD PHOTOGRAPHS DON'T LIE - IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR TRUTH, VINTAGE IMAGES HOLD A VAST AMOUNT OF INFORMATION

THE PHOTOGRAPHS THAT CAN PROVE HISTORIANS WRONG - THEY'RE WORTH A LOT TO FOLKS LIKE US, TRYING TO SET THE RECORD STRAIGHT

     Old photographs are still the best bargain in the enterprise of antique hunting. Many dealers will keep a small stock of old family photos torn from albums, which are often sold separately, in their shops or antique mall booths. Generally, they help bring the price of all the photos down, by association. It's common knowledge they don't sell well, and there are a million images out there, especially from the Victorian era. Unless they can be identified and localized, they're not worth much money at all. Putting some better images in with the commons, as they are referred, tends to repel a lot of browsers, in too much of a hurry to spend the twenty minutes to a half hour, looking through the hundred or so cards in the box. They are most often unidentified and prices range from three dollars to five or six, depending on the size and content. I will take the time to go through the images, but not for any significant antique value, because the reason they're in these bins, in large volume, is due to the fact someone already took the good stuff out. Instead, I study the photographs for historical relevance, and any information posted on the backs, and every now and again, I find a gem that everyone else, including a lot of antique speculators, missed in their quick scans through the piles. What I'm looking for is well beyond the obvious, and the most significant images have a connectedness to historical events, such as the American Civil War, and anything with early representations of steam trains and railway lines, and of course the peoples of the First Nations, which can be very valuable. Getting a regional photograph for example, of a steam locomotive crossing a trestle bridge, pulling passenger cars, with identifiable background buildings or landmarks, is always a winner if you're interested in historical prominence and investment photographs; because you will be happy at the way the five bucks invested, becomes a thirty or fifty dollar image based on content. It does take a pretty weighty historical background to spot these photographs, and this a cross over, where antique valuations and heritage relevance can reach for the top, you might say, depending on subject matter. In other words, the dealer knows that by content, a vintage photograph can sell for a large amount of money, such as, for example, images of Muskoka steamships from a bygone era. The historian, who isn't interested in flipping the image for a quick profit, is at a disadvantage in this case, because dealers generally have more money to invest initially, knowing they will be getting the money back, plus a dividend; whereas, the historian will wait for years before selling it, if they sell it ever. I have an advantage in that I play for both teams.
     A colleague in the history gathering profession, told me, in front of colleagues, that I was wrong to state that Bracebridge Artist, and Barber, William Anderson, had a former shop in the corner of the former Patterson Hotel on Manitoba Street, at the intersection with Thomas Street. The clock tower of the old federal building is situated on the south corner, and the hotel is on the east side, north corner. It was formerly known in antiquity as the Queen's Hotel, and the hill it is built upon, the Queen's Hill.
     I was aghast, and it seemed he was grandstanding to make me look bad, in front of my peers, for whatever reason. I had written numerous published feature stories about the former Anderson Barber Shop, and part-time art studio, with my own recollections of getting my hair cut there twice a month, on Saturday mornings, either before my hockey games or immediately after. This is where I watched Bill painting his wonderful landscapes, set up in a corner of the shop, making a cup of tea, and then returning to cut my hair for another few moments, until inspiration struck, and he again picked up a brush, mixed some oil paints, and added more detail to a Muskoka River cataract, or the leaves of an autumn forest.
     For a few seconds, I was dumbfounded by his statement, and my open mouth showed that very clearly. The others in attendance weren't sure about it, but figured I was most likely wrong in my assertion. This happens a lot, because I'm usually up to my ears in historical debates, debunking someone else who has mistakenly committed an error in identification. I assured my colleagues that I wasn't mistaken about this, and knew where I had sat in the Patterson Hotel complex, to get my haircut. I was a little insulted having to make this defense of my honor. I left our casual meeting vowing to find evidence to validate my side of the story.
     It took a little time, because there weren't a lot of old photographs from the mid 1960's, taken of the old hotel, looking up the Queen's Hill toward the Carnegie Library. I asked my school chum, Ross Smith, whose uncle Fenton Patterson had owned the property back in that vintage, and he confirmed it for me. It was also confirmed as having been in the location I stated, when a new building owner, only a few years ago, told me about finding small paintings by Bill Anderson in a cubby hole in that part of the building being renovated, with other obvious paint marks left by the highly skilled artist, and proficient barber. I have since seen photographs to confirm this as well. It was of critical importance that I clarify this historical fact, because of all the writing I've done about Bill over the years. It would have been a real set-back for me, if I had been wrong about location. Vintage photographs, when observations from oldtimers aren't forthcoming, are of great importance in setting the record straight, when it comes to disputed locations and just about everything else historians like to debate as being incorrect. So if I seem overly aggressive about the worth of old photos, to confirm historical assertions, it's because I've found myself in similar situations of dispute over facts, and been able to recall vintage images that don't like about these things. No, they weren't doctored, or photo shopped. They are honest, trustworthy depictions, and keep historians honest, when occasionally they go off script, and begin re-writing heritage to suit the information they have available at the time.
     I had to move an old upright tool chest, last evening, owned and used, once upon a time, by my father-in-law Norman Stripp, of Windermere, one of the region's well known wooden boat restorers. When he passed away a number of years ago, and we had to clear out the family homestead, and workshop, not to mention the Stripp cottage on Lake Rosseau, we came upon a lot of keepsake pieces like the tool chest, where Norman had kept his best woodworking tools, used on restoration projects, on some of the finest wooden boats in the district, including Ditchburns, and the well known family owned launch, the Shirl-Evon, one of the biggest of the Ditchburn line of watercraft, made here in Gravenhurst. It was presented to son Andrew, who has followed closest in his grandfather's footsteps. Instead of working on old boats, Andrew repairs vintage guitars and other stringed instruments. I digress, as usual. As Andrew has no place to store the big, side-loading wooden box, (and it happened to be empty of its tools when I needed storage in an emergency), I found a use for it, in the meantime. Yup, it was full of old photographs that I'd forgotten I owned. I'm like the absent minded professor, except I'm a hobby archivist with a crappy sense of recall. I'm good in most ways of conservation, but I tend to forget where I put material away for safe keeping. No box, suitcase, drawer or case in our house, gets away with having a little extra room within, because I have needs, you see; lots of space required to house thousands of pieces of old and collectable paper, and of course vintage photographs. Last night, when I decided to move the neat tool cabinet, to another room, where it was more urgently needed, I happened to open the lid which exposed about five hundred photographs that I haven't seen in two years; but was looking for in every other cabinet and dresser drawer in the house. I don't lose archives materials, but I do lose track of them from time to time, which always makes it frustrating when I'm working on a project like this, and can't find the photographs or ephemera that I know will reinforce a story-line I've been working, on for this blog or other publications.
     I had an associate historian contact me before Christmas, to beg help finding some supporting images for a book he was writing, and I was entirely agreeable, knowing exactly where I had stored them for safekeeping. He had ten requests, and I knew for sure, I could fill eight easily, and most likely all ten, considering they would be relatively easy to locate, once I got home that evening. Cripes, I tore three banks of my archives apart, trying to find them for the gentleman, who needed them immediately. I didn't find even one of the items he had requested, and I had to offer a sincere apology, for misplacing them at the worse possible time. I don't think he believed me, and I'm sorry about this, because most historians depend on this sharing back and forth; and if I needed something from his collection, would he also claim to be unable to find the stash of what I required? Well, when I opened some of the drawers in the old tool chest last night, there were eight of the ten images requested, tucked securely in two tidy, moisture free compartments. I was forgetting where I put things thirty years ago, so it's nothing particularly new, to have to freak out a little, before my scattered archives collection, reveals what I'm searching for, at that moment. I just make the mistake of volunteering the materials as a next-day service, and that's the problem in a nutshell. It's not so much the result of memory loss, or old age, but the fact I have a very large collection of archives material, particularly photographs and negatives, and because of the volume, and the fact we live in a small house, I have to be particularly resourceful, about where I store them with security in mind.
     Published above, are three images found in the old tool chest, one being a family portrait taken by a Gravenhurst photographer, by the name of H.W. Callichan, presumably from the decade of the 1890's. The individuals are unnamed. The second photograph is of a group of workers, also unidentified, as well as their place of employment, although it is most likely a Bracebridge image from the late 1800's. The third photograph, definitely not taken in Muskoka, shows a group of three men, who may have resided locally, standing on the high ridge above a sprawling valley and waterway, with train tracks visible on the bottom right corner. None of the three photographs are properly identified, as to who is pictured, and there are no locations noted on any of them. Still, I would rather own them, than not, even if they don't have any useable provenance, to research them properly. Occasionally, I will get an email from one of my readers, who recognizes the background of an old photograph, or someone they know, or recognize as a family member, making the exercise of re-photographing them, and republishing the images online, a more prosperous endeavour. Using media opportunities to gather information on these old unidentified images works about twenty percent of the time, if we're lucky, and because most are purchased as a lot, having one image identified can have implications on all the others in that particular collection; and give us a place in which to start a more active regimen of research. We'd love to identify them all but that is impossible, considering the passage of time, and the fact many of the families that lived here in Victorian times, may have only left tombstones behind, and no other kin folk to help identify these wonderful old photographs. When you have an old building in the photograph, and can have it identified, either by other reference material, such as Muskoka histories, there is a good chance of getting others in the same grouping localized; and that can set off a whole new round of investigation.
     Over the week, I want to offer some of the other interesting regional images I found in the old tool box, just in case you might be able to help us out, by identifying the people shown, and the backgrounds which would be of enormous assistance. I hate it when we have a brilliant photograph that could tell a great story, muzzled, because we are missing even the most minute details, especially of photographer, studio, and locale.
     Take care of your own family photographs, and for gosh sakes, make a plan to identify them for the benefit of future generations, and, well, historians like me, who will inevitably one day, own them whether you like it or not. As an antique dealer, I have purchased many photo and letter collections from possessors, who got them indirectly from estates, where the last line of he family had passed on, and no other person connected wanted the excess baggage of old photographs and correspondence. Yup, that's where we come in to save the history they inherently possess. Call us scroungers if you like, but we have saved a lot of regional and Canadian history, but stopping this material from being thrown own or recycled, as trillions of pieces have been over the centuries.

I Called The 14 Point Spread!

I CALLED THE 14 POINT SPREAD - PEYTON MANNING AND THE DENVER BRONCOS WIN THE 50TH SUPER BOWL

IT WAS A GREAT DAY TO KICK-BACK, ENJOY A TAIL-GATE PARTY, EVEN IF IT WAS IN OUR LIVINGROOM - BUT AT LEAST I DIDN'T GET USHERED OUT FOR BAD BEHAVIOUR

     I won, I won. I never win, but this time, I sure did! Suzanne was making a puzzle in her new sewing room, here at Birch Hollow,  the boys were at the shop hosting a "record listening" social, (what the heck is that all about) and here I was, on Super Bowl Sunday, without anybody to care, or celebrate with me, when I stood up at the end of the game, shouting out for the neighbor's benefit, "God Bless you Peyton Manning, God Bless you!" The day, in my opinion, of being a football fan, was well invested, even if it did get me some snide comments from the sidelines, and nasty looks, when I had to be surface-swept, occasionally, to be cleared of food debris, sports magazines and daily newspapers, spread over me like a big comfortable media and food quilt. Hey, it's one day out of the year, and I got all my chores done in advance, including Monday's recycling boxes.
     On Saturday, in this blog, I predicted that the Denver Broncos would win the 50th anniversary Super Bowl, by a handsome spread of 14 points. While all the expert commentators, who are paid to know a lot, and then some, about the professional football they're overviewing, were pretty much unanimous, that the Broncos were going to lose. But knowing the way veterans can use experience like a gentle battering ram, I had faith in Peyton Manning, who wasn't given much chance to out-perform the Carolina Panther's, quarterback, Cam Newton, admittedly one of the finest quarterbacks in the National Football League today. What the commentators neglected to factor in, was that old, and often volatile mixture, of good old heart and soul. Manning had only just come off the injured list in the fall, and off the bench a few games ago, where he had been riding the pine as a back-up; still a little rusty, from his time recuperating. And when it came to the way the season had begun, and the fact fans, some of his own, had been booing him, for being unable to complete passes, and get, and keep the club, in full throttle, I suppose there was reason to feel he wasn't up to the challenge of a Super Bowl, so soon after re-joining the squad. This veteran, guaranteed a place in the Hall of Fame, even if he hadn't led the team to victory yesterday, was bound to turn-in a stellar performance, and you could tell from the early going of the first quarter, that his team wanted to win this honor for him, as the ultimate sign of respect; and for commentators, they should have known this was going to be a major incentive, beyond the Super Bowl ring and trophy. It was a battle of the defences which meant less action in the end zones, but it suited Manning perfectly, where all the veteran attributes paid off. He kept his cool while Newton got flustered, and it showed, especially when at the end of the game, on his own fumble, he opted not to dive for the loose ball, when he might well have recovered it! Turnover! And it sure wasn't apple. It was a game changer! The nail in the proverbial coffin! Broncos were going to win. What a swell way to end a career, if that's what he intends to do in the months ahead. I'd like him to stay on, I really would! But the ringing in my ears, is that we got a Super Bowl victory for 2016. And little old me, called it! Maybe I should be sitting on the pre-game panel of football experts, all, by the way, who forgot the ways and means, of veterans, to come through when it counts. I keep telling Suzanne that she should show me more respect, because I'm a veteran, but she just laughs, grins cheek to cheek, just before the angry scowl, when she finds a moisture ring on the table where my drink was sitting. Non alcoholic of course. She came out of her room to watch the halftime show, while I walked the dog. When I got back, I asked her who won? "Cold Play lost," she said. Then she went back to finish off her puzzle, and the bowl of popcorn she snuck by me, when it was a first and goal stance for the Broncos. Nice eh?

     Admittedly, I did feel a little naked sitting there in my perfectly contoured-to-my-body chair, getting ready for the game yesterday, without having like minded mates at my side, taking turns at armchair quarterbacking. I love that stuff. But here's the succession of events that has left me, as a crowd of one, for the big games like the Super Bowl. My sons used to love hanging around for the Super Bowl games, especially back in the days when we were collecting hockey, baseball and football cards (and memorabilia), when son Robert was a meat-eater, barbecuing ribs and chicken wings for our tail-gate suppers. Ah, the shrimp trees. Now we won't afford ourselves the meat, or the shrimp, and Robert is a vegetarian, and oldest lad Andrew, has turned away from sport entirely. When I asked him if he was going to come home to watch the big game with his old dad, he laughed, said he had a prior commitment, which turned-out to be a social encounter with a bunch of record-lovers, (I still can't believe this was better than watching Peyton Manning) and then offered this overview. "Dad, I'm not interested in football." It was like a spear through my psyche. You see, that's what an early introduction to music did to our house of sports. They preferred to play their guitars and drums instead of slapping around a hockey puck, firing a fastball over the plate, and tossing a Hail Mary pass, with the pig skin, down the lawn for a touchdown.
     Another reason for my self imposed exile, is that I gave up drinking as a means of celebration. I used to celebrate way too much, and it was hurting my body and my marriage. I could go to Super Bowl parties in the old days, and come back two days later, with shipping stickers all over my shirt, and the sense I'd been travelling all over the country, but not with my consent. Suzanne was not impressed by my conduct, and suggested numerous times, in that first year of marriage, it was time to change my ways, sober up, and get rid of my drunken friends. She put most of the blame on them, and I didn't correct her, coward that I was. I don't know why, back then, I needed large quantities of alcoholic beverages to enjoy the big games, whether hockey, baseball, or football. I didn't drink when I watched golf, which Suzanne assumed was a route to pursue, once she had me cleaned up of my other bad sport's enthusiast habits. When I divorced myself from booze and those who consume it to make themselves feel more festive, I had to give up a lot of social encounters as a result. Two reasons for this, were, I was no longer any fun to be with, and secondly, I didn't want to be in their company, because they got excessively loud, repetitive in their arguments, eager to box on the front lawn, and a little too aggressive telling me that I was dampening the mood of the party. It's true. I had never before appreciated how little I had in common with those who I considered my best friends, who seemed to be more like-minded when we drank together drink for drink. I tried consuming pop, drink for drink, at the local watering hole, but they would start talking stupid, and all I was getting was a sugar buzz. I'm sorry to insult the guys this way, many who were my hockey, baseball and football team-mates in recreational play, but the booze differential was just too much for me to enjoy myself in conversation. I "made my own bed," and just started to go home right after the weekly games, and eventually, I got tired of the whole social enterprise, that always seemed to have booze as a source of inspiration or reward. Keeping in mind, that we always had booze in the dressing room, for after the game, yet there were players who drank between periods. I felt the odd man out, and not just because I am odd.
     Booze and sports went all the way back to the minor leagues, where I'm sorry to say, it was as prevalant as in adult recreational play. I can remember coming back from a road trip, in the back of a truck, and having gotten into the coach's personal stock of cold beer. Three of us were drunk by time we got back home, and imagine my surprise, when I fell out the back, at the front of the arena, and looking up, I saw my girlfriend standing over me, telling her girlfriends to call an ambulance for her obviously injured boyfriend. "He's not injured," my mate laughed, a beer tucked into the pocket of his jacket. "He's hammered just like me." Now, this girlfriend, a wonderful lass, did not believe I drank anything stronger than ginger ale, and refused, even at this point, of acknowledging I was one who would drink under age. Well, I was eighteen at that point in time, so I was inside the line when it came to being able to legally consumer alcohol; just not in the back of a truck. And her father, who was a police officer, would not look upon my actions kindly, or continue to allow me to see his daughter; if that is, he had known my conduct on that evening. The poor girl was horrified and although it didn't, by itself, end our relationship, it was a quarter of the last straw, that's for sure.
     I realized, sitting in the livingroom yesterday, by myself, that I had depended on the company of booze way too much, back in the old days; when for example, I could be found, and heard, well above the din of shunting in a rail yard, myself thusly tighter than a ceremonial drum, yelling and screaming at the television, as if I could connect by this means, with the coaches and quarterback, possibly with underwear over my head, pulling for my favorite team. And possibly swinging off the chandelier until it came crashing down. So sitting there, yesterday, as lonesome as I was, with the occasional recollections of my old days, and ways, of enjoying sports, was not in any way endearing to the sober judge that I was, and remained for the entire Super Bowl; and post game show as well. I actually watched every play, and enjoyed the nitty gritty of the match, whereas, under the influence, I would have missed most of it, either getting another beer, or being lined-up at the bathroom door, with the other booze-hounds who came for the game, but got sidetracked by story telling, as influenced by the beverages they consumed in copious amounts.
     Sure, I would have liked to have my sons with me, for the big game, but what would the purpose be, if they were just sitting there to please me. I would have worried from start to finish if they were having a good time, and I would have dismissed them early anyway, because it would have cut into my fun, to have them bored and texting through the great plays. I realized finally, other than the creaking joints and sore muscles, that I'm getting older and, gosh, a lot of my old cronies are now pushing up daisies; below the snow that is! I sobered myself up, in spirit, thinking it more important to have generated a happy family, that still sticks together, than what was likely to be the outcome of having a drunken sports fan as a father. I can more easily accept association with football, hockey and baseball haters, than not to have had a family at all. Of this I am thankful, that the spirit of sports finally took hold of me in earnest, and forced me to watch my favorite matches stone cold sober. For most of yesterday's game, I had our cat Zappa, kneading into my armpit, my knee-cap, and my shoulder, which wasn't quite the same as once upon a time, but I also didn't have to spend any money buying rounds either. I had a bubbly water, with a hint of lime, and some fine food that Suzanne whipped up, as a special treat for game time; and I had a nice, cozy, satisfying day, enjoying sports the old fashioned way; without any need for stimulation beyond the excitement of the main event.
     I'm not going to blame my bad habits with booze on my father Ed, because I never ever saw the man intoxicated. I also never saw him watch a game of anything that required a puck, stick, ball, or ten yard first downs, without a bottle of O'keefe ale at his side. It was his way of loosening up from the stresses of his work week, and it for him, was part of what made these sporting occasions special for him. So, whether he knew it or not, the big negative was that I began associating sports the same way, from a very young age. I got to the point where I couldn't watch a game without a treat of alcohol. My lack of willpower, got me into a lot of trouble with this social / recreational drinking, and I missed a lot of great games when beer supply became of greater significance, than the great plays of the game itself.
     I stopped hard core drinking, as I've noted previously, back in the late 1980's, for family reasons, and although I will gladly drink a beer, given to me as a gift at Christmas, or on my birthday, I haven't been influenced to rejoin what was a horrible habit, that cheated me out of watching some of the best games of my lifetime; because they became secondary to social enterprise. So sitting
through yesterday's game was a pure joy, and that's the best way I can describe it, feeling all toasty inside, that one of my favorite quarterbacks ever, got the big win, from the big club, he helped inspire. My victory toast? Suzanne and I met for a cup of tea, for the post-game show, in the British tradition of polite, refined, reserved celebration. I'm only kidding about this, because I was at a soccer match between Blackpool and Nottingham Forest, and our side (being Forest) won that day; and boy oh boy, did the fans ever let her rip that day. I made the mistake of wearing a nice coat and a Nottingham scarf, which did not appeal to the Blackpool fans. Oh well!

The Corner Store With Cracker Jack and Lucky Elephant

THE 1960'S, THE CORNER STORE WITH CRACKER JACK AND LUCKY ELEPHANT-

WHAT WERE THE INFLUENCES OF LIL & CEC'S VARIETY STORE?

I CAN TELL YOU HONESTLY, I KNEW ABOUT NOSTALGIA AND THE FEELINGS OF SENTIMENT IT INSPIRES, LONG BEFORE I KNEW WHAT IT ACTUALLY MEANT BY STRICT DEFINITION. EVEN AS A TRINKET CHASING KID, I KNEW THAT THE PLACES I VISITED TO GET MY TREATS, WERE OUT OF THE PAGES OF A HISTORY I HADN'T YET READ. LONG, LONG BEFORE I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE NEAT TO BECOME AN ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE DEALER, I WAS INTUITIVELY AWARE THAT MY SURROUNDINGS WERE GOING TO CHANGE SOON. THESE OLD CORNERS STORES WERE GOING TO BE REMOVED OFF THE LANDSCAPE BY WHAT MY PARENTS USED TO TALK ABOUT……AS TRENDS IN REDEVELOPMENT AND URBAN SPRAWL. I REMEMBER WHAT THE CITY LOOKED LIKE, AND IT WAS A SERIOUS MATTER, AS FAR AS I WAS CONCERNED, IF THE CITY WAS TO INTRUDE UP THIS LITTLE TOWN I HAD COME TO ADORE……AFTER OUR OWN GREAT ESCAPE FROM SOUTHERN ONTARIO.

IT WAS THE LATE 1960'S IN BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO. IN BURLINGTON, WHERE WE HAD RESIDED UP UNTIL THE WINTER OF 1966, URBAN SPRAWL WAS QUITE PREVALENT, AND SACRED PLACES I'D KNOWN AS MY PLAYGROUND, HAD ALREADY BEEN SERIOUSLY COMPROMISED BY THE MID 1960'S. SO I HAD A MINOR INKLING THAT THE LITTLE "MOM AND POP" CORNER STORES, IN BRACEBRIDGE, HAD ALREADY PASSED THEIR PEAK. I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND ALL THE NUANCES OF COMPETITION, AND THE LAWS OF SUPPLY AND DEMAND, JUST THAT IT WAS GOING TO BE A REAL SHAME TO LOSE THOSE WONDERFUL OLD SHOPS……FILLED WITH SO MUCH NEAT STUFF.

I'VE ALWAYS FELT I LIVED SOME TIME BEFORE. WHEN I PASS A PLACE AND GET THAT STRANGE FEELING, AS IF I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE, WALKED THESE SAME STREETS, PLAYED IN THE ADJACENT FIELDS AND PARK, YET HAVE NEVER BEEN IN THAT LOCALE IN THE PAST. IT WAS LIKE THIS THE FIRST TIME I WENT INTO THE FORMER "BLACK'S VARIETY," ON BRACEBRIDGE'S TORONTO STREET. IT BECAME "LIL &; CEC'S," AND THEN "FRASER'S" BEFORE I LEFT THAT NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE MID 1970'S. THE SHOP, UPDATED OF COURSE, STILL OPERATES, BUT NOW IS KNOWN AS THE "QUIKEE MART." THERE WAS ANOTHER CORNER STORE, ON THE OTHER END OF THE SAME BLOCK, KNOWN AS BAMFORD'S VARIETY, AND WAS PART OF THE WOODLEY PARK GUEST COTTAGES, THAT OCCUPIED THE LARGE LOT BETWEEN THE TWO STORES. I LIVED IN THE WEBER APARTMENTS, ON ALICE STREET, WHICH WAS DIRECTLY BEHIND BOTH STORES. I HAD EASY ACCESS, YOU BET.

IT WAS DURING THE LIL & CEC YEARS THAT I SPENT MOST TIME IN THAT NEAT LITTLE SHOP, WITH ONE OF THOSE COKE MACHINES WITH THE METAL TRACKING, AND ICE COLD WATER TO NAVIGATE. NEVER GOT ONE OF THOSE POPS OUT EASILY OR WITHOUT NUMB FINGERS.

BAMFORD'S STORE WAS WHERE MY MOTHER MERLE, WORKED PART TIME, AND IT WAS JUST OUT OF THIS WORLD, AS FAR AS INTERIOR DECOR. IT WAS A SMALL SHOP, WITH A CUBBY HOLE FOR THE CLERK TO SIT, WITH THE PACKAGES OF CIGARETTES ON SHELVES BEHIND. IT WAS CROWDED WITH ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING A CORNER STORE SHOULD HAVE, PLUS A LOT OF MERCHANDISE BEST SUITED A HARDWARE AND GROCERY STORE. I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY JAMMED SO MUCH INTO SUCH A SMALL SPACE. THEY DID HAVE A STORE ROOM, BUT IN THE SHOP, EVERY INCH, EXCEPT THE NECESSARY WALKWAYS FOR CUSTOMERS, WAS OCCUPIED WITH INVENTORY DISPLAY, INCLUDING THE CEILING. THERE WAS MORE STUFF HANGING OVER YOUR HEAD THAN WAS ON THE SHELVES. IT WAS JUST A DIFFERENT KIND OF MERCHANDISE. I WOULD BUY MY COMICS OFF BAMFORDS, AND MY MOTHER USED TO TIP ME OFF WHEN THE NEW SHIPMENT HAD BEEN DELIVERED. I REALLY LIKED MAD MAGAZINE BETTER, SO I HAD HUNDREDS OF THESE AT ONE TIME IN MY LIFE. THEN, ACCORDING TO MY WIFE, I GREW UP.

THE LOCAL HUNT'S HILL LADS USED TO DIVIDE OUR ALLOWANCE MONEY UP BETWEEN THE SHOPS. THE TREAT ITEMS WERE PRICED ABOUT THE SAME, BUT THERE WAS NO PORCH TO SIT ON AT BAMFORD'S. JUST A CONCRETE PAD, AND CARS COULD DRIVE INTO A PARKING SPOT RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SHOP, THAT LEFT YOU SUCKING EXHAUST FUMES. THAT WENT BACK TO THE STORE'S HEYDAY, AS A TOURIST AND CAMPING RESORT. SO IF YOU WANTED TO GET OUT OF THE MOTOR POOL, YOU COULD SIT ON THE STOOP AT LIL & CEC'S, AND THEY'D ONLY KICK YOU OFF AT STORE CLOSING….WHICH WAS LATE ON THOSE HOT SUMMER NIGHTS. THEY ALWAYS HAD THE AIR CONDITIONING CRANKED WAY UP, SO WE LINGERED A LOT OVER THE CENT CANDY DISPLAY, ENJOYING THE COOL RESPITE FROM THE STEAMY ENVIRONS OUTSIDE.

THE POINT IS, AND I'M NOT SURE HOW THIS WAS SEEDED IN MY MIND, BUT I LIVED WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT NOSTALGIA WAS, AND THE SENTIMENT IT INSPIRED……AND REPRESENTED, IN THE GRAND SCHEME OF THINGS, EVEN BEFORE I KNEW WHAT IT MEANT BY DICTIONARY DEFINITION. I HAD A BASIC IDEA OF HISTORY BUT THERE WAS JUST SOMETHING COMPELLING ABOUT THE OLD SHOPS, THAT BEGGED MY UNDIVIDED ATTENTION……MUCH AS IF IT WOULD ONE DAY BE OF CONSIDERABLE IMPORTANCE. EVEN THOUGH I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND MY FEELINGS ABOUT THESE PLACES, AND CERTAINLY DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RE-INCARNATION (IF I'D BEEN A FORMER OWNER OF A SHOP LIKE THIS), I PAID ATTENTION THROUGH THIS ENTIRE PERIOD, ALMOST AS IF I FEARED MISSING SOMETHING I WOULD NEED LATER. LIKE THE RAW INFORMATION TO PUT THIS ANTIQUE BIOGRAPHY INTO PRINT. I STUDIED THESE SHOPS, TRYING TO SECURE THESE MEMORIES FOR POSTERITY. AS SOON AS I'D POP IN THE DOOR OF THOSE SHOPS, I FELT THIS TIDAL WAVE OF SENTIMENT THAT AT TIMES MADE ME SAD, FOR NO APPARENT REASON, AND AT OTHER TIMES, JOYOUS THAT I STILL HAD AN OPPORTUNITY TO ENJOY ITS LAST FEW YEARS OF OPERATION.

SO WHAT HAPPENED AS A GENERAL PANG, OF KINSHIP TO THIS WAY OF LIFE, ALSO GOT SPECIFIC, ABOUT WHAT I WAS SECURING IN THESE CURIOUS HOLE-IN-THE-WALL CORNER STORES. WITH MATES, WE SPENT LOTS AND LOTS OF MONEY, AND INVESTED HUGE AMOUNTS OF TIME, BUYING AND ENJOYING THE MERCHANDISE WE WERE ABLE TO PURCHASE THERE. YOU KNOW, THE TREASURES FOUND IN LUCKY ELEPHANT PINK POPCORN, CRACKER JACKS, HOSTESS POTATO CHIPS, BURIED TREASURE ICE CREAM CONES, AND THE LIST GOES ON AND ON. THEN THERE WERE THE PACKAGES OF HOCKEY AND BASEBALL CARDS, WITH THE ROCK HARD, THIN CHEWING GUM. THERE WERE "MONSTER" CARDS WHEN I STARTED COLLECTING, ADDING TO MY SMALL COLLECTION OF "MUNSTER" CARDS, THE OFFSHOOT OF THE TELEVISION SHOW, AND OF COURSE "BEATLES" CARDS, OF WHICH I HAD STACKS AT ONE TIME. THIS WAS THE DAY, HOWEVER, WHEN CARDS WERE TOSSED AT SCHOOL, IN GAMES LIKE "CLOSEST TO THE WALL" WINNING THE LOT. I WAS GOOD AT THIS BUT THE CARDS WERE DESTROYED ON THE ASPHALT, AND CONCRETE SURFACES, WE SLID THEM ACROSS. THERE WERE ALSO COLLECTOR PICTURE COINS THAT CAME IN CHIP BAGS, THAT I REALLY LIKED. I'M NOT SURE OF THIS HOWEVER, THOUGH I DID GET THE JELLO PICTURE COINS AS WELL;…..CARS AND PLANES IF NOT MISTAKEN. I MAY BE WRONG ABOUT THIS. I'M NOT SURE WHAT SHERIFF PUDDINGS OFFERED IN THEIR PACKS. MY FAVORITE COLLECTIBLE FROM THIS TIME, WERE THE PLASTIC WAR PLANES FOUND IN HOSTESS CHIPS. I HAD THE WHOLE COLLECTION AT ONE TIME, UNTIL MERLE DECIDED TO GIVE THEM TO SOME LOCAL KIDS WHEN I WENT OFF TO UNIVERSITY.

THE PERIOD WHEN COKE HAD THE SPECIAL EDITION CAPS WITH NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE PICTURES ON THEM, WAS A DANDY AS WELL……AND WE STILL HAVE A FEW FROM THOSE DAYS. OUR FAVORITE, AS A FAMILY, IS THE ONE OF ROGER CROZIER, THEN OF THE DETROIT RED WINGS. AS ALL US CURRIES WORKED WITH ROGER IN LATER YEARS, WITH HIS CHILDREN'S FOUNDATION, WE ACTUALLY FOUND OURSELVES VISITING SPORTS CARD SHOPS, TRYING TO BUY BACK WHAT I HAD AS A KID. ROGER WAS A HOMETOWN HERO, THAT'S FOR SURE, AND HAD A PARADE IN HIS HONOR, AFTER WINNING THE CONN SMYTHE TROPHY, IN THE 1966 STANLEY CUP PLAYOFFS AGAINST MONTREAL. I REMEMBER HE WAS AWARDED A GOLD MUSTANG FOR HIS GOALTENDING PROWESS. SO WE COLLECTED EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING WITH HIS NAME ATTACHED. IN BRACEBRIDGE SPECIFICALLY, THIS ALSO GENERATED A HUGE INTEREST IN HOCKEY CARDS FOR THE REST OF THE 1960'S.

YOU KNOW, I HAVEN'T REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THIS PERIOD, AS BEING A BIG INFLUENCE ON MY ANTIQUE HUNTING CAREER. I KNOW IT WAS, ESPECIALLY WHEN I PUT THESE RECOLLECTIONS IN PRINT, AND FORCE MYSELF TO RE-LIVE THOSE EARLY HUSTLING TIMES IN MY LIFE, HOARDING "BOUGHT AND FOUND" STUFF INTO MY PARENTS SMALL APARTMENT. IT DID SORT OF BECOME AN OBSESSION, TO COLLECT, BECAUSE OF THIS OFTEN REPEATED ISSUE OF SUPPLY AND DEMAND. WE WERE CONVINCED, YOU SEE, THAT HOSTESS WAS GOING TO RUN OUT OF WAR PLANES, OR THAT THE PROMOTION WOULD END BEFORE OUR COLLECTION WAS FILLED. WE SUSPECTED THE HOCKEY PLAYER BOTTLE CAPS WERE ALSO BEING HOARDED BY OTHERS, RUINING OUR CHANCES OF GETTING A COMPLETE SET. THE SAME FOR HOCKEY CARDS, AND ALL THE CARDS WE COLLECTED, INCLUDING "THE MONKEES" I BELIEVE. IN FACT, IT WAS A BRILLIANT STRATEGY BY THESE COMPANIES, TO CREATE COLLECTORS OUT OF THIN AIR. I DID THE EXACT SAME THING WITH CEREAL BOXES. I HAD TO BUY HONEYCOMBS, WHEN THEY CAME OUT WITH A BRILLIANT COLLECTION OF WESTERN FIGURES, AND WAGONS, AND I'M PRETTY SURE, CUT-OUTS ON THE BACK OF THE BOXES, TO MAKE FORTS FOR THE CAVALRY TO DEFEND. THE CEREALS WERE EXPENSIVE, AND WE WERE BROKE MOST OF THE TIME, SO IT WAS A LOW PRIORITY ON GROCERY NIGHT, TO BUY ME HONEYCOMBS, WHEN CORN FLAKES WERE MUCH CHEAPER. I BEGGED A LOT IN THOSE DAYS.

SO TO GET MORE MONEY TO BUY MORE PRODUCTS CONTAINING BURIED TREASURE, WE WOULD HUSTLE-UP EMPTY POP BOTTLES FOR THE REFUND. ON SOME DAYS, WE COULD GATHER UP FIVE TO TEN BUCKS WORTH OF EMPTIES, AND THAT BOUGHT A LOT MORE PRODUCT. MY MOTHER THOUGHT I WAS STEALING MONEY FROM SOMEWHERE, AS SHE COULDN'T BELIEVE I COULD FIND SO MANY EMPTIES LAYING AROUND. HERE'S THE THING. THE LOCAL "JAMES DEAN" WANNABES, USED TO HANG AROUND THOSE SAME STORES, ESPECIALLY LIL & CEC'S, DRINKING POP AND EXCHANGING GIRL STORIES. WE'D WAIT TILL COOL AND THE GANG DEPOSITED THEIR POP BOTTLES IN THE TRASH. THEY WERE TOO COOL TO CASH THOSE BOTTLES IN FOR THE SMALL REFUND. SO THEY EITHER HANDED THEM TO US, WAITING ON THE STORE PORCH, OR TOSSED THEM IN THE GARBAGE….JUST TO MAKE US GET IN TO FISH THEM OUT. LOTS OF PEOPLE WOULD SIT IN THEIR CARS, AFTER COMING OUT OF THE SHOP, READ A LITTLE OF THE PAPER, AND FINISH A BOTTLE OF POP BEFORE DRIVING AWAY. I HAD LOTS OF FOLKS YELL AT ME, "HEY, CURRIE, WANT THIS POP BOTTLE." I'D HAVE JUMPED OVER THEIR CAR TO BEAT ONE OF MY BOTTLE COMPETITORS. I'D BE RIGHT BACK AT THE COUNTER, BUYING MORE TREATS WITH THAT LITTLE EXTRA INSIDE. YES, IT WAS BONKERS, AND I COULD HAVE BOUGHT A HOUSE WITH WHAT I SPENT ON TRADING CARDS, TOY PLANES, PICTURE COINS AND BURIED TREASURE THEME-STICKS, BUT I WAS DOING WHAT MADE ME HAPPY. AND THEN SPENDING A LOT OF TIME VISITING THE DENTIST…..WHO I THINK WHOLE-HEARTEDLY SUPPORTED MY EXCESSES.

SUZANNE, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DISTRICT, GROWING UP IN WINDERMERE, ON LAKE ROSSEAU, HAD A BIG ADVANTAGE OVER ME. HER FAMILY OWNED AND OPERATED THE WINDERMERE MARINA, AND "THE SKIPPER," THE SNACKBAR IN THE UPPER LEVEL OF THE LAKEFRONT BUILDING. THEY SOLD LUCKY ELEPHANT, AMONGST OTHER TREASURE FILLED MERCHANDISE, AND PATRONS USED TO DONATE THEIR PRIZES, TO ADD TO A LARGE DISPLAY OF FOUND OBJECTS ADORNING A CAFE SHELF. WHEN WE WROTE A SMALL BOOK ABOUT THE SKIPPER, IN THE LATE 1990'S, MANY PEOPLE COMMENTED THAT THIS WAS STILL A VIVID MEMORY TO THEM……THE FAMOUS LUCKY ELEPHANT PRIZE PARADE.

SUZANNE AND I BOTH HAVE SOFT SPOTS FOR THOSE DAYS, AND THE PLACES WE WORKED, SHOPPED, OR VISITED OCCASIONALLY, THAT DIDN'T SIMPLY INSPIRE US AS TODAY'S COLLECTORS, BUT MADE US APPRECIATE THE QUALITIES OF WHAT MAKES SOMETHING COLLECTIBLE…..SOMETHING PERSONAL AND MEMORABLE. FOR ME, COLLECTING STUFF WAS ALMOST SECOND NATURE, AND IT SEEMED TO DEVELOP LIKE A PIMPLE. ONE MOMENT IT ISN'T THERE, AND THE NEXT, IT'S PART OF WHO YOU ARE. I DIDN'T THINK OF IT, AS THE BEGINNINGS OF A LIFE-LONG PROFESSION. I WROTE ABOUT IT LOTS, ESPECIALLY WHEN I HAD A COLUMN IN A PUBLICATION KNOWN AS THE MUSKOKA ADVANCE, BACK IN THE 1990'S. I DID A COLUMN ABOUT MY OWN YOUTH, GROWING UP IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE I DEVOTED MANY COLUMNS TO THOSE WONDERFUL CORNER STORES IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD…….WHERE TRUTHFULLY, I CUT MY TEETH AS A FLEDGLING COLLECTOR. I DIDN'T KNOW HOW SERIOUS IT WAS GOING TO BECOME. I CAN TRACE A LOT MORE INTERESTS IN ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES, BACK TO THOSE EARLY DAYS, STUDYING THE CORNER STORES, AND THE INVENTORY THEY USED TO STOCK. I PARTICULARLY HAVE AFFECTION FOR THE ADVERTISING SIGNS AND DISPLAYS, FROM GUM RACKS (WE HAVE A COUPLE), TO THOSE CARDBOARD BACKDROPS SENT BY COKE AND PEPSI FOR THE CHRISTMAS PERIOD. THERE WAS A CULTURE WITHIN THOSE SHOPS, WHERE SMALL WAS GOOD, AND IT WAS GOOD TO BE SMALL……AND WE WERE VERY SATISFIED SMALL CUSTOMERS.

LIKE I NOTED EARLIER IN THIS COLUMN, MY MOTHER DECIDED TO GIVE A LOT OF MY COLLECTIBLES AWAY, WHEN I REGISTERED FOR UNIVERSITY. THERE WAS AN ELDERLY WOMAN, WHO LIVED NEAR THE STORE, WHO HAD TAKEN IN TWO GRANDCHILDREN DUE TO DOMESTIC PROBLEMS. THE KIDS ADMITTEDLY HAD LITTLE TO PLAY WITH…..AND AS MY MOTHER USED TO SAY, "YOU'VE GOT WAY TO MUCH, AND YOU NEVER PLAY WITH IT ANYMORE." MERLE USED THAT ARGUMENT THROUGHOUT MY CHILDHOOD, WHENEVER SHE PLANNED A TOY CULL. THAT MEANT I HAD TO HIDE MY "A" QUALITY MATERIAL. ON THIS OCCASION, I WAS AWAY AT THE TIME, AND WHEN I ARRIVED BACK HOME, MY FAVORITE TOY…..GAME, WAS GONE. MY MUNRO TABLETOP HOCKEY GAME. SHE GAVE IT TO THE KIDS, ALONG WITH BAGS OF MY CORNER-STORE NOSTALGIA. I WAS FURIOUS. WHY COULDN'T SHE HAVE ASKED FIRST? ONE DAY, A SHORT WHILE LATER, WHILE ON MY WAY TO GRAB A COLD BOTTLE OF POP AT THE CORNER STORE, THE GRANDMOTHER CAME OFF HER PORCH TO MEET ME…….TO THANK ME FOR HELPING OUT HER GRANDSONS, WHO HAD LEFT THEIR PARENTS HOME WITHOUT MUCH MORE THAN A CHANGE OF CLOTHES. ALL OF A SUDDEN, WHAT HAD BEEN A GRIEVANCE WITH MY MOTHER, BECAME AN ACT OF BENEVOLENCE. I'D BEEN GIVEN TOYS IN MY TIME AS WELL, SEEING AS WE WEREN'T ALL THAT WELL OFF OURSELVES. I WENT FROM FEELING ANGRY, TO BEING QUITE CONTENT, THAT WHAT I HAD COLLECTED IN MY YOUTH, WAS GOING TO BENEFIT THE ASPIRATIONS OF TWO YOUNG FELLOWS, WITH A LOT OF DISCOVERY TIME YET TO COME. THIS PROBABLY DID MORE FOR ME, AS A HUMAN BEING, THAN ANYTHING ELSE, BECAUSE OUR WHOLE FAMILY HAS BEEN WORKING WITH CHARITIES EVER SINCE, HELPING THE LESS FORTUNATE…….AND FEELING VERY GOOD ABOUT SHARING WHAT WE HAVE BEEN FORTUNATE TO ATTAIN IN OUR LIVES.

I ADMIT HOWEVER, I WOULD LIKE TO GET A CIRCA 1967 TO 69 MUNRO HOCKEY GAME, WITH THE EXPANSION TEAMS, TO PLAY IN MY RETIREMENT. IT WAS A FANTASTIC, DURABLE, HIGHLY ENTERTAINING GAME, THAT THE HUNTS HILL LADS PLAYED OVER AND OVER, IN SOME INCREDIBLE PLAYOFF HOCKEY. I WAS KNOWN AS A TABLE TOP HOCKEY "SHARK." CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? MY MATES OUTSIDE OF CALLING ME DORK, JACKASS, DROOPY DRAWERS, AND PATCHES, BELIEVED ME TO BE A "HOCKEY SHARK." THE ONLY DISADVANTAGE OF ATTAINING THIS LEVEL OF ACHIEVEMENT, WAS THAT NO ONE WOULD PLAY ME ANY MORE. IT'S JUST THE NATURE OF A SHARK TO PLAY ROUGH. THAT'S WHY MERLE GAVE IT AWAY. OH WELL, I BET THOSE KIDS HAD A BLAST. I'D LOVE TO HAVE ONE TO PLAY OUR BOYS, ANDREW AND ROBERT……UNTIL, OF COURSE, THEY TOO RECOGNIZE "THE SHARK" RESIDING COYLY, IN OLD DAD'S CLOTHING.

THANKS FOR JOINING TODAY'S BLOG. MORE ON THE WAY.