Believing in Ghost and Bandy Legged Beasties

 

The Editorial below originally ran in The Great North Arrow   

on June 1st. 

     This evening I had the privilege of seeing the movie "Snow White and The Huntsman" and it was a great to end a hot humid day....which had been spent at Burls Creek and the Automotive Flea Market. We got some drums, guitars, a 1905 cylinder player with horn and some vintage vinyl. I love that sale!       

I have tried on several occasions, to make public presentations, depicting our picturesque region of Ontario, as “visually, characteristically, and spiritually haunted.” While my wife can attest to the fact, we’ve never actually lost any of the museum audience to outright slumber, or feigned illness.....or the sudden necessity to take-off and walk a dog.....any dog, when you begin a half-scholarly discussion, regarding the paranormal, you pretty much expect the skeptics and the science-subscribing folks to bolt for the door. I’m not trying to make converts at these lectures, so I’d just as soon they did leave. It’s a little humbling having folks depart early, from a presentation, but when you’re talking about ghosts, folklore, legend and other wee beasties and strange entities of the woodlands, it’s quite important to have an audience of the patient and tolerant. Versus those who are irritable with indigestion, and dislike anything that doesn’t rap like a hammer and nail, in regards to historical accuracy. It’s a hard sell. Ghosts? Are you nuts? Maybe!

    My mother Merle, claimed to have seen the ghost of her mother but would argue vehemently against such things. My dad, who saw great tragedy at sea, during his years in the Royal Canadian Navy, had no use for any discussion about paranormal anything. The two people I was closest to, when educating myself about ghosts and such, were not all that approachable on the subject. When I did begin writing about ghosts etc., and our family factored into a number of nationally-told paranormal stories, about apparition encounters, they would roll their eyes in a curious, but editorializing look that said, without a word being spoken; “Can you believe these people? Where did we go wrong raising Teddy”

    I’d become used to this early in life. When I first began writing, during my inaugural year in university, I did so as a poet. I was featured frequently in a local publication, and because my father named me after himself....(not my fault) well, a lot of his lumber clients, at Building Trades Centre, in Bracebridge, were pretty hard on the old guy. Amongst a tough group of loggers, lumbermen and contractors, and a merciless staff in the trade, poor Ted Senior got a razzing just about every day. So I changed my first name to the proper, “Edward,” but the fact was, he didn’t even like having to tell these ever-joking associates, his son was of the “poet-kind.” The girls sort of thought I was a latent beatnik. My dad assumed that poetry and "strange" went together. So here I am, looking forward to a life as a poet, and my father’s freaking out, about his potentially weird son,..... and that some of his more suspicious friends still thought it was really him......reciting verse in the closet. Geez what a mess. Instead of being congratulated as a young writer, getting some credits, my father thought I should join the navy to toughen up. I was offended at the time but I came to understand his perspective. His generation and his choice of friends, and taverns where he spent time, probably couldn’t have named a poet anyway……unless it was Robert Burns. They drank to his dearly departed soul. They vigorously chugged in company of the ghost of wee Robbie.

    So when, later in my writing career, I began working on paranormal-themes, and living the life of a hobby ghost-hunter, I’m pretty sure my parents thought about the hospital nursery, and the very real possibility their boy had been switched at birth. It wasn’t just my parents weirded-out about having a poet / philosopher in the house. My girlfriends couldn’t figure me out either. Every girl I went out with, before Suzanne, tolerated my bard-like musings, my thoughtful wandering through the woodlands, and my lengthy diatribes about life and beyond. I was their Jim Morrison but I couldn’t sing. Marion didn’t know I was a budding poet. She didn’t understand the notes I used to slip her. I thought it was a romantic gesture. She didn’t! Linda was a sweetheart in every way, and she thought my jottings were amusing.....which they weren’t supposed to be, but I couldn’t correct her. She was very sensitive. Gail was totally indifferent to whether I wrote a little or a lot, as long as when we went out in fashion, and that I was just the kind of guy who would put up his dukes, to defend her honor. She was a huge realist and had little if any use for a hanger-on philosopher. I could never discuss my devotion to the study of the paranormal, or supernatural, with Gail, because it wasn’t relevant to partying or shopping. Unless I could have produced a ghost for her close inspection and analysis. She would have put that poor ghost through the mill, and probably still have been undecided, after a battery of tests, whether it was a real ghost or a figment of imagination. Marilyn was a born-again Christian, and a wonderful gal, but she didn’t want to hear about paranormal anything. Only the Lord. Barbara was another charming girl who had no interest in my theories about anything, and it was a short-lived relationship.

    Suzanne enchanted me because she believed in woodland fairies, and had heard their singing in the sunlit woodlands of the old family homestead, in Windermere, on the shore of Lake Rosseau. She knew about fairy rings and moonlight revels, about Queen Mab, and all the other lore and legends I have adored for long and long. She had seen ghosts, known haunted places, understood that some things in life and times defy clear and total definition. And she was the lady who would teach our boys woodland lore, and about Aloicious, or something like that; the hobbit-like creature that lived in a hole at the base of a venerable old tree. Andrew and Robert went on hundreds of woodland hikes, looking for trolls and fairies, leprechauns and wee ghosties that drift through the moors of Muskoka and Algonquin where we spent so much time, traversing by canoe those misty lakes.

    Suzanne put them in creative situations to arouse their curiosity, and stimulate their bugging imaginations. They were invited to see the differences, up close, between what is real, and what is supposed, imagined and pleasantly engaged in passing dreams. They weren’t discouraged from finding truth in either, and letting it all into their hearts to fuel expectation. As musicians today, writing songs regularly, I’m pretty sure they owe some of their creative enterprise, to a mother who encouraged them imagine and dream, and concoct to their heart’s desire, out of the prevailing mystery, of a misty Algonquin morning; or the awesome fire of sunset, on a still northern lake.

    While my girlfriends of once, used to watch me work at a typewriter, or journal, and scowl, Suzanne has afforded me the freedom that a writer, poet, ghost hunter needs to hone his skills. She is never surprised by my assertions, of having just seen a ghost, and in all likelihood, she will reply, in response, “the one I saw had red curly hair,” or “was yours wearing a yellow shirt.” Suzanne has seen numerous ghosts, and together we have shared dozens of paranormal experiences, from encountering strange angelic singing, in the dark of the forest, to an actual visit with a guardian angel. We don’t think each other strange or obsessed by the so-called paranormal. We’ve shared the same page since we married, back in the mid 1980's. If I told either of our boys, that we had seen a ghost that afternoon, they would more than likely ask, "Take us to where you saw it mom." They wouldn’t think it odd whatsoever, because they have witnessed the unexplained themselves. Andrew was only a wee lad when he claimed to have seen a little boy, looking into his window every night, at about the same hour. It was the same house in Bracebridge, where Suzanne had two sightings of a little blond-haired boy, standing in her kitchen. It was the same house, where I had a bizarre dream about a little boy being killed in a bike-car accident, out front of our house. When I awoke in a sweat, from the early evening nap, I rushed to the window to see if either of our boys had been hit, and saw them both, with Suzanne, playing in the driveway puzzled by my chagrin. Both boys have grown up appreciating that there’s a lot we don’t know about life and after-life. We’re not foolish enough to box ourselves in, and know that the universe is a spectacular place in which to dwell; and there are no shortage of mysteries to uncover.

    A lot of folks I know, people from our neighborhood, and some work colleagues, already think we Curries are pretty odd. They will also tell you that we have never asked for their opinion, or frankly care what they think. We aren’t interested in racking up converts. As I opened this blog with a few lines about lecture-events, I’ve attended, the reactions are pretty typical.....the same as if you all of a sudden said to a family member, friend, work-colleague, something like, “Oh by the way, I believe in ghosts, do you?” They may make the sign of the cross and step back from the “nutter” you. Yet when I’d start getting into the meat of my presentations, of Muskoka and Algonquin legend and lore, Suzanne and I (we always worked together) could hold them spellbound for about two hours. I always brought lots of props. Not ghosts or wee beasties for their scrutiny, but rather, some allegedly haunted antique pieces, a portrait of a little girl comes to mind, along with compelling stories about things that go bump in the night.  And the reasons we should open our minds to those who have crossed over......and who wish to communicate with us, still spinning through this mortal coil.

   When I used to climb up on the hillside of Grey’s Rock, in Bracebridge, with my neighborhood chums, I could sit up on that bald, windswept lookout for the whole sunlit day, and never run out of inspiration.....often necessitating a passionate begging, for just a few more moments from my mates, anxious to move on to new adventures. They had no interest in knowing that for those precious moments, I was in company of the gentle arms of the paranormal, legend and lore drifting over the contours of smooth rock, as the wind sang in the outstretched evergreen boughs. I knew that the ethereal sensations were pulling at my heartstrings to create, to explore, to believe in what wasn’t tangible.....but to allow the imagination to drink it all in, much as what I believe motivated artist, Tom Thomson, standing on the shore of an Algonquin Lake, as a storm approached, seeing the spirit-side of legend, manifest in natural art form. When I’d climb up a particularly steep hillside, near the Muskoka River, with my girlfriend Gail, I’d pull away from a lover’s embrace, because I needed to feel that awe of being close to the edge, looking out over a sparkling lakeland.....to see the gnarled old trees and etched rock of history, and feel the spirit of the land surrounding me, in a sudden, unexplainable nirvana, making it necessary to jot observations, and wax poetic, deflecting romance as if it was a negative intrusion on a sacred moment. I never blamed Gail for getting cross with these mindful, unanticipated sojourns, when I truly invested my soul, to soak-up the inspiration so generously offered the bard-in-waiting.

    I was to take Gail to dinner one evening, the first winter I’d moved home, after graduating university. I had been on a late-afternoon cross country ski traverse, on a remarkable trail through an old homestead property in Bracebridge. I got so pre-occupied with the enchantments of the early winter landscape, I wound up out in this barren field, below a huge ice-covered rock face, with only the moonlight to illuminate my lengthy trip home. I was in a time warp, I swear, because that old abandoned homestead came to life. Of all the places I’ve travelled, and studied in Muskoka and Algonquin regionally, this was my most poignant spiritual adventure. Since the winter of 1977, I have written hundreds upon hundreds of editorial pieces, from short stories and poems, to feature articles for many publications, about and influenced by that old haunted homestead......where I witnessed a team of horses pulling a sleigh up the snow-covered lane.....saw lights in the half-fallen farmhouse, and heard Christmas carols being sung, when there was nary a soul other than the one on skis, who by the way, must have had a look of shock on his face the whole time. Trying to explain why I was late for our date, didn’t really fly. Telling your girlfriend you were delayed by companion ghosts, just isn’t credible to someone who has no such belief in the paranormal. Suzanne would have begged me to take her to the homestead......right then! Gail just rolled her eyes and ordered her dinner.

    I have arrived at this comfortable station in life, here at Birch Hollow, in Gravenhurst, where I can finally ghost-hunt, delve into the paranormal, run amuck through legend and lore, and get away with it! Over so many years living and working in this pleasantly haunted region of the world, and having my mind so full of the tales of the Historic Hudson River, as told by Washington Irving (Bracebridge Ontario, was named after Irving’s book, Bracebride Hall,) that I’m only too happy to seek out ghosts and hauntings across the region, hoping to find at least one headless horseman, or a phantom canoe on the Algonquin Lakes. I haven’t come upon them just yet, but I’ve got a few years left to search.

   In retrospect my old girlfriends would undoubtedly find it quite humorous and anecdotal, to find out their mate, of once, is still un-gainfully employed sleuthing out mysteries, hunting out suspected haunted houses, looking for fairy rings at first light, and cavorting with the rest of the allegedly undead, in this or that, all these years later. Suzanne, my editor, will sit down at this keyboard, and scan through the copy, making corrections or suggestions at the very least. We will possibly go for a hike in the Bog later, as the mist rolls and spirals-up through the lowland....our English moor in the Ontario hinterland, and stare out at the moonlit scene in front, and rejoice at its grandeur and dimension.......and think about all the glorious possibilities of earth and universe, the paranormal and supernatural, ghosts and sundry other specters that glide over this misty lakeland, as they have for centuries. And we will feel fulfilled, strangely enough, that we have enjoyed an enchanted existence, in spite of the drudgery of normalcy we shall return to soon, of hearth and home, work and capitalist society. Still no humor for poets and musings.

THE TRIPS WE ENJOY AS A FAMILY

YARD SALE PAINTING, FOUND IN GRAVENHURST THIS MORNING!

THE TRIPS WE ENJOY AS A FAMILY

My father Ed wasn't really a rambling guy by nature. He had simple interests and liked to sit and watch life pass by, usually from a lawn chair on the front lawn. He liked driving around in one of the many junkers we owned, but he could be just as happy sitting in front of the television, on a Sunday, watching hockey, baseball or football. So I don't know what motivated him, to insist on our Sunday afternoon motor trips. I loved to travel but I just didn't understand what he got out of them. My mother and I were never quite sure if his trips were an act of benevolence, to give us some diversity in the week, or because he was restless and needed to see the sights. We spent a fair bit of time at roadside, because something had fallen off the car, or was about to explode. We only had a new car once in my childhood, and it was also a piece of junk, that demanded we keep our travel plans, on a route where there were reliable service stations.

     I can remember as a child of about five or six years old, having regular trips, from our Burlington home, to Niagara Falls, and a little park he loved in Chippewa, where he hosted his famous barbecues. It was on these barbecue stops, that he honed his skills as the family chef. Ed actually became very astute as a cook, and for the last thirty years, of my parents' lives, he handled all the culinary responsibilities. He got his start flipping hamburgers over a charcoal flame, and losing at least half the meat to the exploding fire within, before he could lift them from the grill.

     When we moved to Muskoka, in the mid 1960's, he would pack-up the foam hamper, and we'd motor a few miles to a riverside park, north of urban Bracebridge, known as High Falls. It was a beautiful little woodlot, beside a large cataract, and all through the abutting woodlands, were creeks and curious little trails leading to nowhere in particular. But that didn't matter to an adventurous kid, from an urban neighborhood. The point is, my wanderlust today has a lot to do with those early days, motoring an hour or two from our home, to some location he thought we'd enjoy. I came to depend on this outings as quality recreation, and as our family was a small one, me being an only-child, it was a chance to rekindle relationships that got strained during the work and school week.

     My wife had similar experiences, and always enjoys an interesting motor trip around the region. The difference for Suzanne, is that her family lived in a scenic little community, known as Windermere, on the shore of Muskoka's Lake Rosseau, where her family ran a well known marina, immediately below the historic Windermere House resort. The distance between their house in the Village, the marina, where they also had an apartment, and the family cottage, wasn't a hike of more than three miles. From work to dock took about ten minutes. I lived in an apartment building as a kid, with a small front and backyard, and if it hadn't been for a little woodlot, across the road, I would have grown up in the hinterland, but confined to an urban neighborhood. So even when my father wasn't driving us some place, I was always on the move, by bicycle or on foot. It didn't matter. I adored variety, experience and adventure.

     Gradually, I became a collector. An antique dealer. The need to travel was necessary, because I couldn't stock a shop, from what I was able to buy locally. While I depended on mobility, and sometimes had to rely on a girlfriend to drive me from auction to estate sale, antique shop to antique mall, it was never a case of work trumping the recreation of travel. I was the same guy, who, as a kid, stared out that car window, onto the environs I was passing through. I made a good and silent passenger, because it all amazed me as an eager sightseer. Even today, our weekly adventures, antique and collectible seeking, are never more than fifty percent devoted to the business side, of attending sales or visiting shops. As I've explained in previous columns, this year, there is nothing, even a flat tire, (or muffler having fallen off), that will intrude upon what we find so amazing about the antique hunt. They all remind me of the swell days, when my dad refused to tell us where we were headed, until I could figure out, "hey, we've been here before."

     Suzanne and I never firmly establish an agenda for the a day's antique excursion. We may be as organized as having circled interesting yard sale notices, we found in the local newspaper classified. We definitely are aware of church fundraising sales, auctions in the region, estate sales, and flea markets before we hit the road, coffee and cookies in tow. We allow ourselves to be distracted, by those unscheduled, unknowns of the adventurous life. The other day, for example, I was driving our boys around to yard sales in our bailiwick, as they always look for vintage vinyl and old guitars. At one property, in a neighborhood cluster of sales, I asked my son Andrew if he could check out a painting on a small easel at the end of the driveway. I knew enough about the type of painting, in advance, to hand him money to make the purchase. Now that's experience for you. Buying without leaving the driver's seat. There were very few items at the sale, to begin with, so the only item of interest, was this original naive oil painting, as it turns out, from the early 1890's. The painting depicts a snow-clad shoreline, of a lake in England, and is both signed and has family provenance Andrew was able to gather on his short buying mission. I often do the same for him, when Suzanne and I are on the hunt alone, and we come upon old records and vintage musical instruments.

     But we enjoy the excitement that builds out on the hustings, and mixed with the social side, because we're always meeting friends and colleagues on the road, and at the yard sale. Saturdays become recreational, despite the fact dealers and collectors are out in force, hustling to beat the home decorators, and general mix of sale-goers who enjoy the interaction. We don't hustle as much as we used to, and our pace is well off what it once was, when we were running a small antique shop. We just rely on experience to work for us, and in the case of the English countryside painting, a good purchase was made, for twenty dollars; a painting that is worth upwards of $350 as folk art. We are dealers after all, so we do need to offset the costs of gas and vehicle, but not at the expense of killing ourselves to get to a sale, or an item, ahead of anyone else. We always make finds, and it is usually lucrative, but never as a compromise of the escapism we employ, to distance a little from the wearying work-week. We quite enjoy seeing all the buzz around these sales, and at flea markets and auctions, and we find the social encounters quite fulfilling and entertaining. I like the history of visiting old homes, where sales are being held. Visiting farms and 1800's circa farmsteads, for auctions and estate sales, and leaning against fence-posts, drinking in all the provincial history of the occasion.

     When we attend an auction, on an average, we will only find four or five items we're interested in acquiring, if bidding goes our way. Yet we might stay at the auction well beyond what we have either bought, or wish we had, just because of the interesting character of the sales. Each one is different, as is the mood. Some are quite cheerful, despite a recent death which necessitates the sale. Depending on the auctioneer, some of the sales are like carnivals, and the laughter is contagious. Others admittedly are far more reserved, and sombre, but may produce some amazing and historic antiques. Even if I can't afford to buy them, we often will stick around long enough, to see a grandfather clock, or pine flat-to-the-wall cupboard, or Hoosier, sold off just for reference. It's no hardship hanging around these sales, as there are always chairs or fence posts to settle upon, to watch the activities going on around you. I was at one sale, quite a number of years ago, when a gentleman bid and won a huge concrete dinosaur for his wife's home garden. "You didn't" was all she said, as the glare intensified. He bought it as kind of a joke, as he was kidding at the time with his auctioneer friend, and one thing led to another. The guy was so imbedded in the deal, he had become a celebrity at the auction, and if memory serves correctly, the story of the dinosaur move made it into the local press, as a human interest story. He had to get a small crane to move it the twenty miles to his house. It's true. His wife did have it placed near her garden. Hers was a very unique garden. The dinosaur itself, had been part of a display of similar beasts, at a small entertainment venue, here in Muskoka, known as Dinosaur Park, near Windermere. At almost every auction I've ever been to, something like this happens. It may not be a dinosaur, but it most certainly will be a case of "Why did you buy that ugly thing," or something similar, between partners. I used to do this as well, until Suzanne took my bidding card away. She keeps it tucked into purse, and I can only have it, if I declare my interests first. No concrete dinosaur for her garden.

     We seldom arrive back here, to Birch Hollow, without some interesting stories, about what we've encountered along the sales circuit.  We will have most certainly had meetings with our antique colleagues, and visited for awhile with antique dealers and second hand shop proprietors, and found out what's been going on in our industry. We will have seen deer crossing the road, partridges and ducks in the typical locations, and have, if we're lucky, seen an owl on a farm fence post, that has been hanging around looking for mice; and in course, watched a storm system beat down upon the land, until the breaking sunlight in its wake, reveals a rainbow over the low mist of the meadows. We will enjoy these scenes just as much as we have enjoyed our antique hunting, and stints at local auctions. It may even inspire us to have an unplanned picnic, just to watch it all unfold, in this beautiful hinterland of Ontario. Some times the paintings we buy, look just like the countryside we are passing by, and winding around, via the narrow dirt roads between highland and lowlands.

     I never really understood what my father got from our family outings. He wasn't interested in antiques, or anything specific about nature, that at least I can identify from memory. But he did enjoy the collage of experiences of the rural clime, and the pastoral scenes that seemed to calm him from his demanding profession in the building industry. I don't believe he'd make a special stop to watch an owl on a roadside stump, or get all emotional about a pretty sunset, yet I suspect it was much as an art patron pays respect to an impression of a scene, or an event. That while void of photographic detail, makes sense to a traveller, in the tranquil, dreamy blur of colors and shapes, witnessed while motoring through the landscape. He saw and experienced something he liked, and he shared it with us. My mother and I harvested what we liked of those trips, and it wasn't necessary to comply, or to share similar interests. We found it enjoyable to just be together, for those few short years of existence as a young family.

    Suzanne and I enjoy the liberation afforded by our motor trips. Our boys Andrew and Robert, young businessmen themselves, were raised as I was, as a youngster. We were joyful wanderers, who allowed ourselves the privilege of experience to dictate each day's adventure, and it took us deep into the realm of possibility, each and every time.

Gravenhurst Opera House, Board of Directors?

BOARD OF DIRECTORS IS NEEDED FOR OPERA HOUSE

ACCOUNTABILITY AND TRANSPARENCY -

     IN MY UNSOLICITED, BUT WELL-TUTORED OPINION, TO GET THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE BACK ON TRACK, IT NEEDS AN OVERSEEING BODY, SEPARATE FROM ITS PRESENT RELIANCE ON TOWN HALL. I SUGGESTED EARLIER THIS YEAR, THAT AN ADVISORY COMMITTEE BE CONSIDERED, TO WORK BETWEEN THE MANAGER AND COUNCIL, TO ASSIST RE-DEVELOPMENT OF THE KEY TOWN PROPERTY, AS AN ENTERTAINMENT VENUE, VERSUS THE LATEST APPEARANCE OF BEING AN OFFICE-EXTENSION OF TOWN HALL. IT DOES NOT GET ENOUGH ENTERTAINMENT THROUGH THE YEAR TO BE CONSIDERED A MAJOR PLAYER ANY LONGER. IT WAS, ONCE UPON A TIME. IT COULD BE AGAIN IF TOWN LOOSENED ITS GRIP ON THE REINS, AND INVITED THE COMMUNITY TO OFFER SOME SOLUTIONS.

     IF YOU CONSIDER THE AMAZING LIST OF PERFORMERS VISITING ALL AROUND US, ESPECIALLY IN HUNTSVILLE, FOR THEIR SUMMER ARTS FESTIVAL, AND AT PRIVATE ENTERTAINMENT VENUES LOCALLY, IT DOESN'T TAKE MUCH MATCHING OF SCHEDULED EVENTS, TO REALIZE WE'RE WELL OUT OF THE LOOP. EVERY YEAR IT'S THE SAME LACKLUSTRE PROFILE, AND DESPITE THE FACT WE DO HOST SOME EXCEPTIONAL AND EXCITING TALENTS, AND VETERANS OF THE MUSIC AND PERFORMING ARTS, IT'S NOT ENOUGH. GRAVENHURST COUNCIL KNOWS THIS, AND UNLESS THERE'S AN ACTION PLAN SOMEWHERE IN THE DEVELOPMENT STAGE, WE'RE STILL GOING TO BE HOPELESSLY MIRED DOWN IN THE SAME OLD, SAME OLD. YOU KNOW, THERE ARE TIMES WHEN "SAME OLD" IS HEART-FELT AND SOOTHING. OTHER TIMES, IT'S AN IMPEDIMENT TO MAKE WHOLESALE CHANGE. AT TIMES I HAVE, IN CONVERSATION, SUGGESTED IT MIGHT BE BETTER IF THE TOWN WAS TO LEASE THE OPERA HOUSE TO PRIVATE ENTERPRISE, IN THE ENTERTAINMENT FIELD, AND SIMPLY LOOK AFTER MAINTENANCE AND CASHING THE RENT CHEQUES. I DON'T REALLY LIKE THIS IDEA, BUT IT DOES HAVE MERIT. THIS IS WHAT IS BEING TALKED ABOUT. TO DENY THERE IS A BID TO MAKE CHANGES, IS JUST PLAIN AND SIMPLE DENIAL. THE UNFORTUNATE PART, IS THAT CHANGE IS BEING TALKED ABOUT ON THE STREET, AND NOT IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBER WHERE IT BELONGS. SO UNLESS THERE IS A DELEGATION SOME TIME IN THE FUTURE, PROMOTING THIS KIND OF OVERHAUL FOR THE PRESENT, I DOUBT VERY MUCH WHETHER COUNCIL HAS THE WILL TO RECOGNIZE THE MALAISE AS SOMETHING FATAL. MORE OF AN INCONVENIENCE AND TIME-WASTER.

     I HAVE CHANGED MY STANCE, A WEE BIT, SINCE I SUGGESTED, A WHILE BACK, THAT A CITIZEN'S LIAISON COMMITTEE SHOULD BE FORMED, TO CULTIVATE SOME NEW IDEAS FOR THE CHARMING, HISTORIC BUILDING IN THE HEART OF OUR COMMUNITY'S BUSINESS SECTION. I HAD THOUGHT THAT A LOOSELY FORMED COMMITTEE OF ADVISORS, AND CREATIVE MINDS, COULD HELP THE TOWN AND THE OPERA HOUSE MANAGER, COME UP WITH A MORE ENTHRALLING ENTERTAINMENT SCHEDULE. THERE ARE A LOT OF ADVANTAGES, TAKING THE PRESSURE OFF THE TOWN, HAVING TO BE ENTERTAINMENT ORGANIZERS AND PROMOTERS, WHICH IS WHAT IT COMES DOWN TO, AT PRESENT.

     I WAS INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT SOME OF THE PROBLEMS EXPERIENCED BY A WELL KNOWN THEATRE IN BRAMPTON, ONTARIO, THAT HAS SUFFERED A FEW FISCAL SET-BACKS, FOUND DURING AN AUDIT, THAT ALSO POINTED OUT THE FACT IT DID NOT HAVE THE ADVANTAGE OF A BOARD OF DIRECTORS, AS MANY THEATERS ARE AFFORDED. (TORONTO STAR ARTICLE, JUNE 7TH, "SHOCK AUDIT ENCORE FOR ROSE THEATRE") I THINK IT IS AN EXCELLENT EXAMPLE OF THEATRE MANAGEMENT DIFFICULTIES WITHOUT THE BENEFIT OF A BOARD OF DIRECTORS. FACING A MAJOR OVERHAUL, OF OUR OWN OPERA HOUSE, THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST COUNCILLORS MIGHT FIND THE ARTICLE AN INTERESTING READ. THE FACT THIS PARTICULAR THEATRE DOESN'T CURRENTLY HAVE A BOARD OF DIRECTORS MAY BE PART OF THE MANAGEMENT PROBLEM, THAT HAD GONE UNRESOLVED FOR NUMEROUS YEARS.

     THIS IS NOT TO SUGGEST THERE IS ANY RELATION OF CIRCUMSTANCE, BETWEEN OUR OPERA HOUSE, AND THE ONE I HAVE JUST MENTIONED, EXCEPT FOR THE FACT, IT IS MENTIONED IN THE ARTICLE, THAT THE THEATRE OPERATES WITHOUT THE BENEFIT OF A BOARD OF DIRECTORS. IT DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN'T HAVE PROBLEMS OF ALL SORTS, EVEN WITH AN ELECTED BOARD OF DIRECTORS; BUT THERE IS A MUCH IMPROVED OPPORTUNITY, WITH SUCH, TO PROMOTE THE CAUSES OF ACCOUNTABILITY AND TRANSPARENCY……A MUCH TOUTED IMPROVEMENT BEING PROMOTED BY OUR TOWN HALL RECENTLY. CAN SOMEONE FROM TOWN HALL, OR THE CITIZENRY GENERALLY, TELL ME WHY WE DON'T HAVE A BOARD OF DIRECTORS, TO CO-OPERATIVELY PROMOTE THE THEATRE, AND LIASE BETWEEN THE OPERA HOUSE MANAGEMENT AND TOWN HALL?  WHAT IS THE ARGUMENT AGAINST? IF WE TRULY WOULD LIKE TO SEE OUR OPERA HOUSE THRIVE ONCE AGAIN, WHAT HAVE WE GOT TO LOSE, BY TRYING A NEW MODEL FOR ITS GOVERNANCE?

     Town Council doesn't dance when I demand they should! Councillors don't bring me bouquets of flowers, or even offer me a coffee; even a paltry half hour of their time just to chat. They're not embracing a blogger's ideas as gospel, or as the "saving" critique for an entire community. Who knows best? The former newspaper guy / antique dealer, who got hold of a computer, and just can't let go of the past? Or Town Council, elected by the people, to look after their interests? Well, sir, if I truly wanted to make council dance, I know how. They know, that as far as the news business goes, locally, they have nothing to fear, except if the daily press starts poking around again. They don't have to fear a writer like me, and I have little reason, other than as a taxpayer, to offer them some advice. I'm not appearing as a regular deputation, and if they were to look back on the record of previous council agendas, for the past twenty plus years, they won't find my name attached to any delegation. Even during the fight to save The Bog, I didn't need to attend a Council meeting, to make a point, and create a stir within the community. I know how to bring people together, and I've got a fair amount of corroborating evidence to support my claim. In fairness, the issues I do get involved with are few and far between. I don't tag them for every little issue, I might perceive as being in the wrong direction.

    The right decision was made by town, in the case of The Bog, not because of a single agitated property owner, or one really gripping line in an editorial, but because the protest was growing, and becoming angry, in conjunction with many other situations occurring at town hall. It wasn't long after the sale of Gravenhurst Hydro, and on the cusp of Council deciding to buy a new town hall. Selling off surplus land was just too obvious and convenient to what plans the town had, with money needed elsewhere. I'd really like to believe it was the almighty "me" who single-handedly saved The Bog. I've had people tell me this. I should be flattered. But it's not true. It isn't anywhere close to the truth. The Bog was saved because the citizens of this fine town, decided to challenge the council decision, to dispense with an important urban wetland. What has always excited me about this, was that it demonstrated "people power," and it was mobilized with only a minimum of expense, which admittedly, we anticipated was going to cost a small fortune to protect the environment. The fundraising stage was coming. We didn't need to do a thing, except present a clear proposal to town council. "We're not backing down, and this is going to be a public relations fiasco….if you wish!" It was council's choice, which route to select. Backing down was the right thing to do. Surrender with dignity. And rather than high-five all over town, and pick-on them further, I have continued to thank councillors, and the mayor, for their change of direction, based on the new information they were presented at the time. I like that. I like being able to write about this, as an example of citizens and elected officials working together to make this town more durable, and resilient. We don't always have to be at odds. Agreements can be forged rather easily, in fact, if there is a will to invite participation in the process. It can be that way continually, if the perceived barriers between us, are hauled down, in favor of establishing long-term public co-operation…….. because it makes life and governance so much easier, and more equitable.

     I'm not going to take my theatre, "Board of Directors" proposal to the town for consideration. They know what I'm writing about, and councillors have likely thought about the same idea, over time, wondering what could be done to breathe some life back into our main street theater. I'm not preaching about this implementation, and I'm sure there are entertainment venues with problems, proportional to their elected boards as well. At this point however, when it appears status quo will carry on as it has for quite a few years now, what does council have to lose, by hosting a meeting, (at the Opera House) to find out whether the idea has any merit? I'm not sure whether it will manifest at the Brampton theatre, in the future, as a new model of administration, but the fact that many of these venues do have elected boards, some locally, I certainly can't see the harm investigating, whether or not, it would improve our chances of bringing a steady stream of quality entertainment, back to the former home of Muskoka Festival.

     The Town's support of the restoration project, of The Barge, in Gull Lake, is an example of outstanding stewardship. Council had to be reminded a couple of times about the full range of stewardship, but the bottom line is, like The Bog, a change of direction wasn't so hard to inspire. Once, that is, everyone was on the same page. The biggest problem facing The Barge, and its refurbishing, was the clearly fact, councillors were not big "Music on the Barge" followers. We had to try explaining the attendance figures, for the Sunday night concerts, and that proved to be very difficult. Although we had pictures, no one had ever taken a head count, to prove there were either 500 people in attendance, or the two to three thousand patrons, mid summer concerts often attract to the shore of Gull Lake. If you're not a regular patron to Music on the Barge, and you're asked to vote on spending approval for a big whack of money, to re-build its shivering timbers, how do you take an educated position, without the right information? With what was presented, over the past two years, from a variety of sources, councillors were gradually seeing that the summertime events were a little bit more involved than they had previously thought. A bit more economic potential than they had previously known. With patience and perseverance to represent The Barge, with the attention it deserved, we now have that beautiful chorus, of hammers pounding, and boards being cut into place, each day now, rebuilding an historic entertainment venue, know around the world. And I'm pleased to say, that some difficulties that had existed with several volunteers, has eased substantially, based on good will, and compromise, and of this folks, we are all winners in this town. The expertise we have regained is immeasurable. The Barge Manager spends a lot of time these days, in the nirvana of relaxed nerves. The show will go on!

     The town may be a tad oblivious to how The Barge manager operates, on an annual basis, to create the summer entertainment schedule. There may be a perception that Fred Schulz works alone. And that all the shows are of his selection, and within his rights to cancel one year's line-up in favor of another. No one of us would dare challenge Mr. Schulz on his decisions. There will be councillors who say, "See, there isn't a Board of Directors for The Barge, and it works out okay." Well, by golly, Fred knows the full but subtle democracy he needs, to run The Barge. In this most recent conundrum regarding The Barge's future, it took many more opinions and reactions from friends of the concert series, to let council know how important the old stage is…..to Gravenhurst. Not just to town council, or to a special interest group. It's bigger than that, and so was the response. If we had been forced to embark on a fundraising campaign, to save the structure, it was already being cultivated by the venue supporters the town didn't even know about. The Barge Debating Society is small or large depending on Fred's immediate need. It's that fundamental and simple. In an hour's notice, with a few phone calls, we could fill Fred's house, and his only worry would be, "have we got enough pop and food for everyone." The bureaucracy is pretty small, overall, but the pulse of the volunteers is very strong. You can watch it manifest for yourself, by coming to the Music on the Barge, this season, starting Sunday, June 24th, with The Muskoka District Concert Band. Concerts start at 7:30 p.m., unless changed for some other reason.

     Fred Schulz manages The Barge, and the concert series, eager for input. The close friends of the Music on the Barge program, are known by different names. Lately we refer to ourselves as "The Barge Debating Society," for lack of a formal title. We've been working with, and on Fred's behalf, for more than a decade at least. We aren't an official board of directors, but we feel comfortable enough with Fred…..and he thinks enough of us, that suggestions are taken seriously. As he feels comfortable asking us for physical help to set-up concerts each week, he admits to feeling just as liberal, asking us about the coming year's line-up, and if we have any suggestions for new groups, or verdicts on past performances. We love being a part of this advisory body, that isn't formal in any way, but is effective. It's the reason that the Barge Manager never has to worry about a lack of companionship, or a missing work-force when there's a crisis, or an unexpected challenge. None of us would think of challenging Fred's ultimate authority, to set the program as he sees fit, because we are his willing associates, not his overseeing body. We are all just as proud of the successes of The Barge, as he is, and I can tell you from years of experience with this chap, he will never, ever accept accolades, for anything, without crediting the body of volunteers and advisors, who are proud to work side by side, for the benefit of a truly unique entertainment tradition. I invite any councillor, or any ratepayer, to ask Fred his opinion about the Barge Debating Society, and whether or not, it's what I have just claimed as true. Subtle democracy, or whatever you call it, the truth is, well, it's just what a hometown does to help itself.

     In the case of The Barge, it does not need an elected Board of Directors. But it would be wrong to think it doesn't have one anyway. We don't have an official seal of approval, and that has never stopped Fred from seeking our input, for his own peace of mind. I can only compare it to the Opera House, in one way. Whether it is an elected Board of Directors, or a volunteer body of citizen advisors, it is an important tool in creating a co-operative, inclusive profile in the community. Input these days, may be seen by some, like the Federal Government, as a bad thing….something contrary and life altering. It can also be the life-blood that moves status quo out of the way, when the artery becomes plugged by indecision. I still like the idea of a citizen liaison committee with the Opera House, that works with the manager and the town, to come up with a future entertainment plan that we deserve. We are paying for a new roof on the Opera House. Then we should be using it as an Opera House, not as a convenient and central location for meetings as a mainstay.

     A blog pounded out by this blogger, won't be enough to convince council there is a better way to run the Opera House. It's not my place, to run it for them. But it is incumbent that they listen to those who have other ideas, that may be much more adaptable than what I have presented in the paragraphs above. The Opera House belongs to the people of Gravenhurst. The town council is responsible for its stewardship. They are obviously the go-to folks if you wish to present a festival there, or a major run of theatre performances. I wonder if they should be in the entertainment business in this fashion. Wouldn't it lighten the load, to have a committee or board of directors shoulder some of the burden, and improve liaison with the community? What's the down side? Conceding some authority? Depends how one looks at it. But there's no question in my mind, transparency is improved with public involvement, as a board, officially or unofficially.

     I don't want any reader to think that I'm drawing parallels with any other theatre in the province, except of course for the entertainers performing there. The Star story, "Shock Audit Encore for Rose Theatre," (Brampton), is an article worth knowing about……for information purposes. It was published on GT2, in the Toronto Star.

ROAD TRIP WITH SON ANDREW

     I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO OUR REGULAR BUYING TRIP THIS AFTERNOON, FOR OUR ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE BUSINESS HERE IN GRAVENHURST. IT'S A FABULOUS DAY FOR AN AUTO-RIDE, AND WE'VE GOT A FEW COINS TO INVEST IN INTERESTING NOSTALGIA AND MUSIC COLLECTIBLES……INSTRUMENTS AND VINTAGE VINYL. ANDREW AND I ARE GOING BY OURSELVES TODAY, AND WHO KNOWS WHAT WE'LL HAUL BACK TO THE SHOP. SUZANNE AND I ARE, FOR THE FIRST TIME, SERIOUSLY PARTNERING WITH ANDREW AND ROBERT THIS SUMMER, TO EXPAND THEIR BUSINESS FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS YEAR. I THINK THE BOYS HAVE EXPANDED FOUR TIMES BEFORE THIS, HAVING STARTED WITH THREE ROOMS UPSTAIRS, IN THE FORMER BUILDING THAT ONCE HOUSED THE MUSKOKA THEATRE (MOVIE THEATRE). WE ARE NOW THE ONLY TENANTS ON SITE, FOLLOWING THE DEPARTURE OF THE FORMER DANCE STUDIO, EARLIER THIS YEAR. WE HOPE TO HAVE THE EXPANSION READY FOR THE FIRST OF JULY. THE BOYS ARE HAVING A SOLID YEAR. IT COULD ALWAYS BE BETTER, BUT WE KNOW IT COULD BE A LOT WORSE. THE SUMMER VISITORS ALWAYS BOOST THEIR SALES BY AT LEAST TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT. BUT THERE IS FAR MORE YEAR-ROUND BUSINESS TODAY, THAN WE COULD HAVE EXPECTED SIX YEARS AGO WHEN THEY OPENED SHOP. THEY HAVE WORKED HARD AND WELL INTO THE NIGHT WITH LESSONS, AND EXTRA SOUND TECHNICIAN WORK AT OTHER ENTERTAINMENT VENUES. DESPITE WHAT YOU MAY HEAR ABOUT THE SHORTCOMINGS OF MAIN STREET BUSINESS, IT'S JUST NOT TRUE FOR ANDREW'S MUSIC……OR WE CERTAINLY WOULDN'T BE EXPANDING THIS SUMMER.

     I'VE GOT A LOT OF WORK TO DO IN THE MEANTIME. TODAY IS KIND OF A TREAT, ON THE BRINK OF A PRETTY CRAMMED SCHEDULE FOR THE REST OF THE SUMMER. DROP IN FOR A VISIT IF YOU HAPPEN TO BE IN THE VICINITY. HEY, IT'S LOOKING LIKE A GREAT YARD SALE SATURDAY. THE LIONS CLUB IS HAVING THEIR ANNUAL SALE AT THE PAVILION IN SAGAMO PARK, EARLY, EARLY, AND THE UNITED CHURCH IS HAVING THEIR ANNUAL OUTDOOR SALE A LITTLE LATER IN THE MORNING. MAYBE WE'LL SEE YOU OUT THERE.

     THANKS FOR JOINING TODAY'S BLOG. STILL HAVEN'T HEARD, OR READ ANYTHING ABOUT THE TERRENCE HAIGHT BEQUEATH, WHICH SHOCKS THE HELL OUT OF ME. OF NUMEROUS SOURCES THAT SHOULD HAVE PUBLISHED THE STORY, THERE IS NOTHING. THIS IS MY POINT, THAT WE ARE VULNERABLE, MORE THAN EVER, TO LESS RESPONSIVE AND INCLUSIVE NEWS REPORTING, WHETHER IN PRINT FORM OR ELECTRONIC. I'M NOT A REPORTER, AND HAVE NO DESIRE TO RE-ENTER THE PROFESSION. BUT WHAT I SEE HERE, IS A BIG VOID OF TRADITIONAL COMMUNICATION, AND NEWS SHARING, AND THE CITIZENS WILL FACE CONSEQUENCES. IF, ONCE AGAIN, NEWS ON THE TOWN'S PLAN TO SELL "THE BOG," HAD NOT BEEN PUBLISHED IN THAT WEEK'S COMMUNITY NEWS, WE WOULD HAVE BEEN TERRIBLY DISADVANTAGED. THE TIMELY RELAY OF NEWS MEANT THAT EVEN BEFORE THE INK SMELL HAD LEFT THE NEWS PAGES, WE HAD LAUNCHED OUR BLOG-SITE, AND LETTER TO THE EDITOR RESPONSE TO BOTH THE BANNER AND MUSKOKA TODAY. IT'S HOW THE MEDIA WORKED TO INFORM READERS. WE HAVE A WETLAND HERE TODAY, IN LARGE PART, BECAUSE OF MEDIA CO-OPERATION, AND NEWS COVERAGE. HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE, FOR NEWS ON THE BEQUEATH, EXAMINED ON TUESDAY, (AT LEAST TO MY KNOWLEDGE), TO BE SHARED, AS IT SHOULD BE, WITH THE CITIZENS AT LARGE. I'VE CONSULTED THE GREATER GRAVENHURST RATEPAYERS ASSOCIATION WEB SITE, AND FOUND NO UPDATE ON THE ISSUE. AS THERE WERE TWO PREVIOUS LETTERS TO THE EDITOR (MINE WAS NOT PUBLISHED, GO FIGURE), HIGHLIGHTING THE COUNCIL INTENTION, TO USE THE MILLION DOLLARS TO PAY DOWN THE DEBT, YOU'D THINK IT WOULD WARRANT SOME NEWS COVERAGE. EVEN IF IT WAS DEFERRED, OR BYPASSED ENTIRELY IT'S STILL IMPORTANT FRONT PAGE NEWS. THIS SITUATION, FOR THE CITIZENS OF GRAVENHURST, IS THE CANARY IN THE COAL MINE. WITHOUT THIS NEWS DYNAMIC FROM THE MEDIA, WE'RE FACING AN INFORMATION SHORTFALL WE HAVEN'T EXPERIENCED IN A TRULY LONG TIME. NOT EVERYONE CAN SIT THROUGH COUNCIL MEETINGS, AND UNDERSTAND THE INTRICACIES OF MUNICIPAL REPORTING. MIGHT A GRAVENHURST COUNCILLOR HAVE CONTACTED ME, TO OFFER WHAT IS PUBLIC INFORMATION. ARE YOU KIDDING? AND STRANGELY, MY FEELINGS REMAIN UNHURT. BUT REGARDLESS, THE INFORMATION HAS NOT BEEN PASSED ON, AS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN, IN THE MEDIA WE TRUST TO KEEP US INFORMED. WHY? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR THE FUTURE, AND OUR ABILITY TO STAY INFORMED?

     BEFORE THE RELEASE OF THIS BLOG, I FINALLY DECIDED TO CONTACT A SOURCE ABOUT THE BEQUEATH. I'LL LET YOU KNOW WHAT I FIND OUT. BREAKING NEWS. THE BEQUEATH SITUATION WILL BE REVISITED AGAIN AT A MEETING ON JUNE 19TH. I WILL PROVIDE UPDATES WHEN THEY ARE AVAILABLE. THE MATTER HAS NOT BEEN FINALLY RESOLVED WHICH AT THIS POINT IS POSITIVE NEWS.

Retail Clerks Take A Beating, Bequeath?

WE COULD BE A LOT NICER - THAN WE ARE

TAKING OUT OUR FRUSTRATIONS ON OTHERS - AND INFLICTING HURT SEEMS QUITE GRATIFYING

     I WAS IN A GRAVENHURST SHOP, ONE DAY, WHEN A CUSTOMER, AS FAR AS I WAS CONCERNED, WENT WHACKO ON THE STORE MANAGER. I WASN'T TRYING TO LISTEN IN EITHER, BUT NONE OF US ON THAT AFTERNOON, HAD ANY CHOICE EXCEPT TO LEAVE THE STORE ALTOGETHER, TO SEPARATE FROM THE DIN OF EXPRESSED UNHAPPINESS. EVEN THEN, WE WOULD HAVE TO PASS THE SALES COUNTER, WHERE THE ALTERCATION WAS TAKING PLACE. YOU JUST NEVER KNOW WHEN SOMETHING IS GOING TO GET TOSSED DURING ONE OF THOSE EPISODES.

     THE ELDERLY CUSTOMER UNLEASHED HER FRUSTRATIONS ABOUT EVERYTHING SHE PERCEIVED WRONG WITH THE STORE, AND I SUPPOSE SOCIETY GENERALLY. IT WAS LOUD AND IGNORANT IN EVERY WAY. EVEN THOUGH THE WOMAN DIDN'T SWEAR AT THE MANAGER, SHE DID EVERYTHING ELSE OFFENSIVE, EXCEPT DANCING NAKED ON THE COUNTER. SHE ACCUSED THE MANAGER OF A VARIED ASSORTMENT OF IN-STORE CRIMES, INCLUDING THEFT. ALLEGEDLY SHE MISAPPROPRIATED ON A DAILY BASIS. AT LEAST ACCORDING TO THIS VERY UPSET CAMPER. IF THIS LADY RECALLED LOSING TWENTY-FIVE CENTS AS A CHILD, SHE WOULD HAVE BLAMED THE STORE MANAGER. EVEN IF SHE HADN'T BEEN BORN YET, THE MANAGER WAS GOING TO BE BLAMED AS THE SOURCE OF SOCIETY'S COLLAPSE.

     THERE WAS QUITE A LINE-UP OF CUSTOMERS, WHO HAD A FRONT ROW VANTAGE POINT, TO HEAR AND SEE ALL THE ANTICS OF THIS INCREDIBLY INSENSITIVE WOMAN. NONE OF THEM FLINCHED WHATSOEVER. THEY SEEMED QUITE ENTRANCED BY THE TIRADE, ALMOST AS IF, GETTING SOME SICK PLEASURE OUT OF WATCHING THIS BROW-BEATEN MANAGER, SINK LOWER AND LOWER BEHIND THE COUNTER. AT THAT MOMENT, I HADF A STRANGE FLASHBACK TO BY YOUTH. I REMEMBER TRYING TO BREAK UP A FIGHT ONCE, WHERE A GROUP OF GAWKERS WERE ACTUALLY KICKING A VICTIM OF A KNOCK-OUT PUNCH. THEY WERE CONNECTING WITH THE MAN'S HEAD. WHEN I INTERVENED, THEY TURNED THEIR FURY ON ME. THESE PEOPLE HAD NO INTENTION OF STOPPING THIS BIT OF RETAIL ENTERTAINMENT, AND I COULD JUST TELL AT THIS MOMENT, HISTORY WAS GOING TO REPEAT.

     AFTER ANOTHER ROUND OF ACCUSATIONS, ABOUT STEALING MONEY, AND MAKING UNDERHANDED DEALS WITH CUSTOMERS SHE LIKED, THE MANAGER JUST STARTED TO CRY. THERE WAS A PERVSE JOY BREAKING OUT, AMONGST THE GATHERING, AS IF SOME GREAT INJUSTICE HAD FINALLY BEEN DEALT A DEATH BLOW. I COULD FEEL THE "SHANE" IN ME SURGING, AND I YELLED OUT, AS LOUD AS I COULD, TO GET EVERYONE'S INTENTION, THAT IT WAS TIME TO STOP THE BERATING. JUST AS I MENTIONED ABOUT BREAKING UP A PHYSICAL FIGHT, THE WOMAN AND THE CROWD TURNED THEIR SCORN ON ME, AS IF I WAS THE STORE MANAGER'S PARTNER IN THE CRIMES ALLEGED. IF I WAS HER DEFENDER, I WAS ALSO GUILTY. I DIDN'T SEE MYSELF AS THE DEFENDER OF STORE POLICY, OR THE MANAGER'S CHARACTER, BUT RATHER, AS A CONCERNED CITIZEN, RAISED WITH CHRISTIAN VALUES, WHO HONESTLY FELT THIS WAS OUTLANDISH VERBAL ABUSE, WITH A SUBSTANTIAL QUANTITY OF SLANDEROUS ALLEGATIONS.

     "MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS," THE WOMAN YELLED BACK, POINTING HER FINGER AT ME, AS IF IT WAS A GUN AND SHE WAS READY TO FIRE. I REMINDED HER A SECOND TIME, THAT SHE MUST CEASE AND DECIST, HER ATTACK, AND THAT I WOULD NOT "BE MINDING MY BUSINESS," UNLESS SHE BEGAN MINDING HER OWN. I SUGGESTED THAT SHE HAD EXPRESSED HER OPINIONS, AND THAT REPEATING THEM WAS UNNECESSARY, AS WE HAD ALL APPRECIATED HER ANGER WITH THE RETAIL ENVIRONMENT THAT DAY. IT WAS ENOUGH OF A BREAK IN THE ACTION, THAT SHE WAS FORCED TO REGAIN HER COMPOSURE, LONG ENOUGH AT LEAST, TO PAY FOR THE ITEM SHE WANTED TO PURCHASE. THE CROWD LOOKED AT ME, AS IF THEY WERE ALL CHERISHING THE IDEA OF KICKING MY ASS. IT WAS EVEN MORE WORRISOME, I THINK, THAN THE RIDICULOUS PERFORMANCE THE LADY HAD PROVIDED. THEY WERE PISSED-OFF THE SHOW WAS OVER PREMATURELY. I SUPPOSE IT ALL CAME DOWN TO THEATRICS GENERALLY, PRESUMABLY TO PROVE A POINT, ABOUT JUST HOW BADLY SHE HAD BEEN TREATED AS A CUSTOMER. I WONDERED LATER, IF I HADN'T BEEN THERE, HOW FAR THE ATTACK WOULD HAVE GONE, BEFORE THE MANAGER WAS FORCED TO CALL 911? I COULDN'T BELIEVE THERE WERE FOUR BYSTANDERS WHO SIDED WITH THE IRRATE CUSTOMER. TWO OF THE CUSTOMERS WERE REGULARS, WHO OFTEN CHATTED WITH THE MANAGER, BUT WHO ON THIS OCCASION, DECIDED IF A PUBLIC STONING WAS IN PROGRESS…….THEY'D JUST WATCH.

     I WAITED UNTIL THE LADY WAS OUT OF THE STORE, FOLLOWED BY THE OTHERS WHO HAD BEEN AT THE CHECK-OUT, ENJOYING THE SPECTACLE, AND I OFFERED MY WITNESS ACCOUNT, IF SHE DECIDED TO PURSUE LEGAL ACTION. WE BOTH KNEW THE LADY, AND THE FACT SHE ALLEGED THEFT, IN FRONT OF A SUBSTANTIAL AUDIENCE, CLEARLY OPENED UP A WIDE PATH TO A COURT DATE FOR SLANDER. SHE THANKED ME. SHE HAD NO INTEREST IN PURSUING THE CUSTOMER, OR MAKING ANY COMPLAINT.  BUT SHE DIDN'T NEED TO THANK ME…..AS THIS IS WHAT WE'RE SUPPOSED TO DO, IN SUCH CIRCUMSTANCES. IT WAS THE WAY I WAS RAISED. I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MANY SIMILAR SITUATIONS, MY MOTHER FOUND HERSELF, ESPECIALLY IF I WAS WITH HER, AND SOME PARENT ADMINISTERED CORPORAL PUNISHMENT TO A CHILD IN THEIR CARE. TALK ABOUT OPENING THE GATES OF HELL. MERLE WOULD PHYSICALLY INTERVENE, AND I ALWAYS WORRIED ABOUT HER GETTING ATTACKED AS A RESULT. FUNNY THING, THOUGH, THAT I NEVER WITNESSED ONE OF THESE EVENTS, THAT ENDED BADLY FOR ANYONE INVOLVED. SHE SEEMED TO KNOW WHEN A YOUNG MOTHER WAS ABOUT TO BURST FROM STRESS, AND IT WAS USUALLY THE ROOT CAUSE OF AN ANGRY OUTBURST. MERLE WOULD EVEN TAKE THE MOTHER AND CHILD INTO A RESTAURANT, AND BUY THEM A LITTLE TREAT, TO CALM THE PARENTAL CALAMITY…… THAT WAS USUALLY A SPUR OF THE MOMENT THING. THERE WAS NO WAY I COULD HAVE AVOIDED, OR WANTED TO AVOID, HALTING WHAT WAS HAPPENING IN THIS MAIN STREET SHOP. ALL I HAD TO DO WAS DEMAND A BREAK-UP OF THE ASSAULT IN PROGRESS. I DIDN'T NEED A SOAP BOX OR A BLOG TO DO WHAT WAS NECESSARY, AS A HUMAN BEING, TO HELP SOMEONE ELSE. SO WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE FOUR CUSTOMERS, WHO STOOD SO COWARDLY IN FRONT, WATCHING THE ATTACK AS IF SPECTATORS, GETTING THEIR MONEY'S WORTH.

     Yesterday morning, I was again reminded of this event, when I began small talk with a clerk in a gas bar, who had just been called an "f….ing bitch," by a customer. She wouldn't have told me, about the verbal assault, if I hadn't asked her how she was doing…..which is always part of my greeting wherever I visit. "It was going good until the last customer," she said. What was the customer complaining about? Society? The economic woes of the world? The fact he doesn't like what he sees in his mirror every morning? Who knows? But she said this was a routine for the customer, who has offered these unkind remarks previously, believing the clerk controls the gas prices, and is in cahoots with the major oil companies, to injure his rights to a prosperous life. Who really knows what goes on the big fat head of an ignorant bastard like that, other than hate and hate mongering. She explained to me that most of the employees get treated the same, and are often called worse names than she had experienced. Some verbal assaults were border-line threatening, and an inch away from physical assault. I asked about the overhead cameras, and she suggested that everything is captured on film, but nothing that was happening brushed on criminal-activity. It was morally incomprehensible, and disgustingly rude, but not criminal. If you were to sue everyone who calls a gas clerk a "f….ing bitch," you'd fill the court dockets for years to come…..and never get the kind of resolution you might expect for injustice and inhumanity. As well, she explained, there are often other patrons in the shop at the time, and hear the verbal assault, and do nothing to help out…….as if they are pleased someone else is stating their opinions. Would they intervene if the clerk was being physically assaulted? So what's the difference between the varieties of assault? I know. It's up to the courts to decide.

     I was in a grocery store, when a customer all of a sudden, took offense about something the young clerk had said to him. It couldn't have been anything terribly serious, but this guy went off like a roman candle. "Wipe that smirk off your face you little bitch, or I'll walk right into the manager's office and have you fired." It rolled off his tongue like it was a prepared speech. The girl looked frightened, and just stared at the man, as if expecting a round-house blow to the chin. He mumbled something back about the crappy staff they hire at the store, and how disrespectfully they act toward regular customer like himself. I thought to myself, "Ted, why is it that you always find yourself in this kind of situation." I felt sorry for the clerk, because whatever she had said to him, didn't warrant this kind of retort, which was as disrespectful, as he was claiming the store had treated him. He looked back at Suzanne and I, and we glared right through his thick head……and he knew it would turn ugly, if he said one more word other than "thank you!" We Curries don't see ourselves as moral avengers, but we also don't back down from getting involved, when there appears a genuine need to be an intervener. Most of the time, the situation can be eased entirely, by just letting the perpetrator know, there isn't a sympathetic ear in the vicinity. So why bother venting about the woes of personal challenge. The sales clerk had personal challenges that day. A day of being chastised for doing the job she was hired to perform. Nothing more, nothing less. Why did she deserve that kind of treatment from some smart ass, who really should have been tossed out of the store, by the seat of his pants. Suzanne held my arm. I'm short and bandy-legged but wirey. 

     This isn't a Gravenhurst situation. This is a world issue. While I don't want to give the impression, there aren't enough interveners to go around, I do think (and we've seen this before with murders), that many more people today have taken the oath of "not getting involved," to a terrible extreme. We've all seen and read about folks who have been attacked, stabbed, shot, beaten to death, in full view of curious voyeurs. Where have all the Shanes gone? John Wayne? The white cowboy hatted heroes, who stepped-up to defend the honor of the victim? I guess many have also watched and read news stories about interveners getting shot, stabbed and beaten-to death as well. Humanity has to count for something in our country!

     One evening, at another local gas bar, I was filling my tank, and looked down at something twinkling in the light from the overhead lights. After I finished pumping, I bent over and picked the item up. It was a bullet from a handgun. That much I knew, even though I don't own a gun, and have never fired one. It was small calibre, and the kind of bullet that would kill the chap in the kiosk. I took it in to the clerk, and suggested that he may wish to contact the Ontario Provincial Police, as it was found by the pumps of his service station. He looked at it, rolling back and forth in his outstretched palm, and I suspected he was thinking, "This may have been the luckiest day of my life." I would concur, even if he didn't give me any opportunity to comment. Whatever car that rolled free of, what lap it slid from, belonged to someone who, at some time, was prepared to drop it into the chamber of a gun, and discharge it at something or someone. This was in Gravenhurst. Not Barrie or Toronto. Right at home. This was one of our citizens, holding the bullet, who very well could have been a casualty of some really bad humor out there.

     Our clerks and employees face a lot of stuff in a given day. I've been known to be grumpy myself, and I'm sure a few clerks who've had the pleasure of serving me, have felt my inner frustration blooming. But I would never berate a clerk to make myself feel better, or empowered. There are a lot of numb-nuts out there, and evidence of this manifests everywhere. The other night, in a local food store, I found three frozen packages, someone had pulled from a cooler, left here and there, on shelves with bread, cookies, and sugar. This is the work of a.. hole, excuse my language. I should have added, "lazy a..hole." Have you seen the handiwork of these shoppers? I've even found these frozen meat packages, stuffed into the gum stands at the checkout. Now if they had decided not to buy the frozen food, all they had to do was hand it back to the clerk, and it would be put, in a timely fashion, back where it had been on display. A person who would, instead, prefer that the product be destroyed, is the same goof, that will stand at the counter and complain about the high food prices. Yes, there is a whack of self absorption out there, and it is affecting all our lives.

     And then, there are the charming customers, who will eat a chocolate bar and leave the wrapper on another shelf. I'm sure the staffers monitoring the store surveillance have some great stories to tell. I like to stare down the jerks who stand and eat grapes or berries in the produce section. I love being the guy that rains on their little parade. I asked one elderly gentleman, stuffing his face with strawberries, (throwing the tops on the floor) if he was aware of the watering method, used by the farmers who raised the berry crop. He looked at me puzzled, with strawberry juice dripping off his chin, and asked, "No," he answered, quite indignant, that I interrupted his feeding frenzy, that he didn't see as either theft or even rude behavior. (Especially for the people who would later slip on the debris he left on the floor). So I said I'd show him with a simple demonstration. I held my finger at waist level, as if it was the male appendage, and waved it around as if watering the strawberries. The guy never said a word, but beat a hasty retreat…..which after all, was as good as getting into a sparring match, defending all the reasons, he shouldn't be driving up the price of produce by stealing. I'm bad for getting involved with things like this, because the guy may have picked a fight, or whipped out a gun and shot me at the strawberry section. That's not the kind of glory I've imagined for my exit from this mortal coil.

     In fairness, I have to tell you another story, to show fair play here, and to point out that store clerks can also be jerks. Now for those of you who know us, or have read enough about our family to make a few character judgements, you'll probably feel we are righteous and God fearing enough, to avoid any foray into a criminal way of life. A few local councillors with the town and district here in Muskoka, might feel my comments and opinions are often "criminal," but that's just an opinion, not a fact. Suzanne is unbelievably honest, and feels huge guilt picking up a dollar coin off the sidewalk, fearing some little kid just lost her allowance, on the way to the candy shop. If a panhandler was to approach, with her doubts raging, she will hand off the found-money, as at least going to someone who needs it more than us. So one day, a few years ago, her integrity was tested at a food store, in Orillia. Suzanne was purchasing supplies for canning.  She had been making her mother's recipe for pickled beets, which make me crazy. They're my drug of choice. She puts enough down, to keep me in beets all winter. One year she made some for my father, and the next year he started doing them himself, with her guidance. So we were on a mission, in the later summer that year, to get large baskets of beets. We went to a place we often relied for fresh produce, and found some nice full baskets at a really good price. So we bought two baskets.

   Another couple, around our age, was doing the same thing, obviously, and were looking for beets. The gentleman had asked the produce clerk whether or not they had bushel baskets, and he said that they didn't, and all they had left was on display in these small baskets. The guy was a little intrusive on my personal space, so I kept looking back at him, wondering if we were going to be joined-at-the hip for the rest of our shopping adventure. I watched as he sorted the beets, and put more from other baskets on the two he was purchasing. The baskets were already full enough, and his looked really stupid. The awkwardly placed beets kept rolling off into the cart, when he tried to make them look, as if the clerk had arranged them in the first place. You probably can guess what happened next.

     Suzanne was just about to pull the baskets out of the cart, at the check-out, when the Duddley Doolright (not sure how this is spelled, but you get the idea) of the produce department, stopped her, and began removing beets from the baskets still in the cart, suggesting to her in very clear and audible terms, "Now this wasn't fair to the other customers, was it? I think we'll just put these back, where you took them from," he said, with the kind of intent and glare, that sends the message to everyone in the vicinity, "you stole these, you fiend!" So for the next minute or so, he culled our baskets of the beets he felt we had unreservedly hoisted from the other baskets. About two carts back, I saw the real beet-crammer, looking sheepishly, as we took the heat for his misadventure. The clerk had believed, you see, that we were one and the same.

   When I called him aside, and asked for an explanation, he told us how he had talked with me earlier about the bushel baskets I had wanted. Well, it wasn't from any internal frustrations I had that day, or for society generally, but I started to smell sulphur. Apparently I have a little devil in me. I told him that I had never spoken to him in my life. My wife hadn't spoken to him, and we had never complained about the size of the beet allocation in the smaller baskets. He told me how it was. How he saw me loading extra beets into the basket. I said something like, "Oh really," and "Well, sir, I think you are mistaken." He was so self assured his allegations had been correct, that he turned to walk away from me. So I accosted him once again, trying to be as polite as possible, under the circumstances. Which was bloody hard to do, with my Irish temper, as this bloke had just insulted my wife. I told him, how it was going to be, and if at any moment, my demeanor looked, as if I was an emerging Tony Soprano, that wold have been just fine. I demanded he offer an apology to my wife, and admit he had been mistaken. I let him know that he had the wrong couple, and I suggested he should consult the folks behind us, who also had beets in their buggy. Short version, he had a gander over at the red-faced gentleman's cart, and suddenly realized the case of mistaken identity. Suzanne got her apology. I didn't have to call him a turd, an a knob, or "f---king" anything, to make a strong point, that before you make statements alleging theft, you should be sure of your facts. Our act of disobedience was simple. We refuse to re-visit the store, and they're probably unaware of the protest anyway. But it certainly didn't require a loud shouting match, or fisticuffs to get the job done, and the point made.

     A guy in a gas kiosk the other day, was complaining about some transaction, the new employee couldn't figure out. It had something to do with points, and as I was reading the front page news of the local paper, I wasn't all that interested in his transaction. I perked up when he started to talk about international business, and the exploitations of multi-national corporations and the almighty oil and gas industry. I just got twenty bucks worth of gas, and had to pick-up Suzanne from the high school. Geez, it wouldn't have been too bad, if he had actually known what he was talking about. I wanted to ask him if he had ever actually read a newspaper, or just listened to those minute long market-updates on am radio? The guy was spouting off as if he was someone who actually knew what a derivative was, in financial wheeling and dealing; yet there were a lot of holes in his reasoning. He had this wild anticipation that the lady, now on her second day as clerk, (I asked) was working on the corporation's behalf, to steal his points. Possibly to go back in the oil drum. Deluded? Just a tad. Low self esteem? You bet! But you know, when it hits you in the face like this, being deluded, and stupid on top of that, means you are a menace to everyone's right to enjoy a good day on the job. Like the woman at the grocery check-out, who finds an item is not "on sale," as she had thought, and demands to speak to the top-dog, to make a complaint. Even when the kindly checkout person, shows the customer the sales flyer, the only retraction sounds like, "I didn't want it anyway. I'm not paying for it." If the customer had a lash to dispense, it would be whipped at the cashier, for being right. It might seem like "words" but the way in which they are used, can be particularly stinging, as if getting hit with some object……maybe even from an open hand. That's the intent. You won't go to jail for calling someone a bitch. You might if you hit them instead. Make no mistake, that the intent is to hurt. That's not right. And not just because of my Christian upbringing. Being nasty and thoughtless, is the marker of bigger problems, that have and will manifest in oh so many ways……and there's a darn good chance one of us will be in the line of fire. One day soon. Oh joy!

     Our boys often get disgruntled folks in their main street music shop, here in Gravenhurst. We don't have a manager. Don't have any staff. Just owners. No complaint department either. We entertain counter point, when it is relevant, and problems encountered with materials that have been purchased at the shop, are always handled with concern for customer satisfaction. If you, on the other hand, are just visiting for a claw sharpening session, well sir, we point and then open the door, and trust that it won't hit the customer's ass on the way out. But they will be going out. We have a strict policy about how wonderful our days are going to be, and we are a sanctuary for the peace-lovers and kindly amongst us. As for those who shop on the five-finger discount plan, we harvest our belongings, like records under the shirt, even before they leave the shop. They aren't accused of anything, at that point, but simply asked to pay, or replace the items they have hidden on their person. We're polite at least. Not like the clerk who accused my wife of beet swiping.

     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please visit again soon. Be cheerful, and enjoy the interactions of the shopping experience in our town…..which overwhelmingly is a positive experience.

TERRENCE HAIGHT BEQUEATH UPDATE - ISN'T ONE

     I HAD HOPED TO HAVE A RELAY OF INFORMATION FROM THE GREATER GRAVENHURST RATEPAYERS ASSOCIATION, REGARDING THE FATE OF THE TERRENCE HAIGHT BEQUEATH, OF A MILLION DOLLARS, THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEALT WITH AT THIS WEEK'S TOWN OF GRAVENHURST COUNCIL MEETING. I HAVE CHECKED ALL THE ONLINE NEWS SOURCES AND THE RATEPAYER'S SITE, BUT NARY A MENTION. POSSIBLY THERE WILL BE AN UPDATE IN TOMORROW'S "WEEKENDER." FOR SUCH AN IMPORTANT ISSUE, AT LEAST I THINK SO, THE LACK OF COVERAGE IS A LITTLE BIT TROUBLING. I'M NOT AN INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER ANY LONGER. JUST A BLOGGER. IF YOU DO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, I'D BE GRATEFUL FOR AN UPDATE.

If I Had a Million Dollars I'd Start A Newspaper

IF I WASN'T SO DARN OLD, I'D START A NEWSPAPER

I WOULD MAKES NEWS-FINDING A COMPETITION AGAIN

     I WOULD. MOST DEFINITELY. IF I HAD A MILLION DOLLARS. I'D START A LOCAL NEWSPAPER, AND HIRE SOME REPORTERS LOOKING TO MAKE A NAME FOR THEMSELVES. WE'D MAKE IT AN EDITORIAL PRIORITY, TO FERRET-OUT THE STORIES THAT HAVE BEEN COVERED-UP, AND TELL YOU ABOUT THE CONTROVERSIES BREWING BENEATH THE PUBLIC RELATIONS, OF LOCAL AND REGIONAL GOVERNMENT. OF COURSE WE'D LIGHT A PROVERBIAL FIRE BENEATH OUR COUNCILLORS' COMFORTABLE TOWN HALL CHAIRS, MAKING THEM AWARE OF THE TRUE MEANING OF ACCOUNTABILITY. OUR GRAVENHURST ISSUE WOULD BE LOADED WITH THE RELAY OF NEWS EVENTS HAPPENING IN OUR TOWN. A GRAVENHURST NEWSPAPER FOR THE PEOPLE OF GRAVENHURST. IT COULD BE THE MOTTO BENEATH THE MASTHEAD, OR PRINTED IN BOLD LETTERING, JUST BELOW THE NEWSPAPER'S OFFICIAL TITLE ON THE FRONT PAGE. MAYBE IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN INSTEAD, 'WE KICK ASSES TO PLEASE YOU." OR "THE NEWS THEY DIDN'T WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT!" I CAN SEE IT NOW. A NEWSPAPER ON A MISSION. POLITICIANS JUMPING BACK INTO THE RABBIT HOLES, STILL THERE FROM THE LAST TIME THERE WAS ACTUAL RIVALRY FOR THE WEEKLY NEWS. MAYBE I'D CALL IT "CURRIE'S BUGLE," OR THE "OLD BASTARD'S PRESS!"

     FOLKS, HONESTLY, I'D LOVE TO OPEN A COMPETING NEWSPAPER, BUT IT WOULD NEED A MONSTROUS AMOUNT OF MONEY TO SURVIVE, AND EMPLOY THE KIND OF REPORTERS WHO DON'T BELIEVE STATUS QUO EXISTS. TODAY, MORE THAN EVER, I MISS THE COMPETITION OF TWO "SHARK-BITE" COMMUNITY NEWSPAPERS, BATTLING-IT-OUT EVERY WEEK, FOR THE BIG STORIES. THEY DIDN'T INVENT THE BIG SCOOPS. THE STORIES WERE THERE, FOR THE REPORTER WHO DIDN'T TAKE "NO" FOR AN ANSWER. LOCAL COUNCILLORS DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE, WHETHER TO DEAL WITH THE PRESS OR NOT. OUR STAFFERS GAVE THEM NO OPTIONS, AND IF THEY WERE AVOIDING US, THEN IT WAS POINTED OUT TO OUR READERSHIP IN A FRONT-PAGER. WE FOUND THAT ELECTED OFFICIALS, GENERALLY, DON'T LIKE BEING PRESENTED IN THIS FASHION, SEEMINGLY EVASIVE AND PROTECTIVE OF INFORMATION, THAT SHOULD BE SHARED WITH CITIZENS. IT WAS THE PUBLICS RIGHT TO KNOW. WE WERE THE HUNTER-GATHERERS. I UNDERSTOOD WHY COUNCILLORS HATED OUR GUTS. I WASN'T INTERESTED IN BEING POPULAR, JUST GOOD AT MY JOB. A LOT OF POLITICAL BIG-WHIGS TRIED TO GET OUR NEWS STAFF FIRED, BUT NOT BECAUSE WE MADE MISTAKES IN OUR REPORTING, BUT RATHER, WE UNSETTLED THEIR STATUS QUO. THEY WANTED IMMUNITY. THEY DIDN'T GET IT. OUR PUBLISHER AGREED WITH US MOST OF THE TIME. FRANKLY, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE SAME ON MOST COMMUNITY WEEKLY PUBLICATIONS, ALWAYS VULNERABLE TO FICKLE ADVERTISERS, AND A CLOSE-KNIT READERSHIP, THAT AS A BODY, CAN END A WRITING CAREER QUICKLY. IT WAS ALWAYS A TOUGH BALANCING ACT, BECAUSE WE OFFENDED PEOPLE, JUST GETTING UP IN THE MORNING, AND HEADING OFF TO WORK WITH A KICK OF OUR HEALS. MEDIA PERSONALITIES AREN'T ALWAYS POPULAR. WE WERE POPULAR WITH SOME. THEY'RE THE ONES WHO BOUGHT US JUGS OF BEER AT THE TAVERN, FOR DOING A GOOD JOB AT THE PRESS THING. WE HAD JUST AS MANY FISTS DIRECTED AT US, WITH NO BEER-JUG ATTACHED, THANK GOODNESS. IT WAS A CRAZY AMOUNT OF FUN, BEING SHIT DISTURBERS. IT WAS WHAT THE TOWN NEEDED. AN END TO OBSCURITY AND CONVENIENT TRUTHS TO PACIFY THE MAJORITY.

     We're not finding out much about our community these days, via the media generally. It's not that we're not story-producing citizens, because that is anything but the truth. The reality is, the days of serious investigative reporting here, and the allure of competitive scoop-getting, are distant, faded memories. It is a great loss here, because it is more difficult than ever to stay informed. You have to jump from source to source, to piece together the scattered crumbs of information you can garner from each, just to get a bare outline of what has been happening at home. In our history, this is an unfortunate time, and it has allowed our respective councils, to operate the way they choose, knowing full well, the media will be very kind and generous to them, except maybe the dailies, on occasion, when there's bigger fish to fry. The last time we saw this, was more than a year ago, when the Toronto Star exposed alleged irregularities with the refurbishing work at the Recreation Centre, published over several issues, and then never printed anything more on the matter (at least to my knowledge). Even when a police report, following a lengthy investigation, revealed there was no criminal activity identified. Have you ever wondered why the Toronto Star didn't make some effort to re-visit the town they bashed, and offer a wrap-up article to explain the reasons for front-paging us. If there are ongoing legal issues, don't we have a right to know about its progress? Guess not! I asked council, some time ago, to request the Toronto Star to offer a follow-up to their investigation, which would be the polite thing to do after all. A lot of citizens, and the town itself felt pretty embarrassed about the whole affair, and it did spark a lot of angry outbursts from the citizens, who leveled some pretty aggressive responses back to town……assuming that the allegations made were true. I still think the town, on behalf of the citizens who were tarred by the same brush, deserve clarification of the story, if not an outright apology. If the Star thinks this isn't necessary, then it's the reason we need a competing newspaper in this town, that would find it imperative, to find out about things like this, and defend our honor. Or has this kind of chivalry gone out of fashion?

     There have been many who have tried to open newspapers in this province, and some in our region, and it has most often been the launch of a money pit, once the initial rush and sentiment of "freedom of the press," is flogged and rejoiced. It always comes down to being able to stay afloat, and get enough advertising to pay the rent of the commercial property required. Unless the staff has offered to work for free….which is certainly more fashionable today, than it was in my newspaper years, the wave of deficit-building commences minutes after the ribbon cutting. There are only certain people on earth, who could open a weekly newspaper in a small market area, and make the necessary profit to consider the project even remotely successful. It's a huge shame, and the future looks pretty bleak, if you have your heart set on, knowing about the really big stories incubating out there in very fertile ground. These are stories the citizens of this town need to know. Situations that do make a difference to the welfare of our community. Current events, and major decisions, that will come to effect many of our lives, yet we are kept in the dark. News is breaking out there, but because there's no competition, or passion to be the best media outlet serving the area, soft news and general features, take its place. So where does the news break? Or, when a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Are you sure the fridge light goes off when you close the door? I guess you have to be in the forest more often, and possibly sit in the fridge to answer the question. I worked with the kind of reporting staff, who didn't find that an imposition whatsoever. I'm so pleased I had a chance to work with the local media, when there was a hunger to present the news; a feeling of responsibility to offer the public a chance to see what was happening within their local government, that if we hadn't discovered, would have remained invisible forever. We have the same interests in investigative reporting, and controversial news, as the readers of daily publications, and viewers of television news programs. We deserve to have the truth about what's happening here, not just the soft version, and the press releases that are a long way from breaking or even particularly relevant news.

     I remember, while I was working as a news editor for the Gravenhurst Banner, circa 1989-90, getting one of those breaking news front-pagers, that despite being quite negative, was a really nice reward for paying attention to what was going on in the community around me. I was driving back from Bracebridge, one afternoon, and I noticed a car had pulled off the road, and into a driveway on property, owned at the time by Magna International, on District Road 4 in Bracebridge. Magna was the toast of Bracebridge in those years, because there was a plan to build an educational facility to train future Magna automotive industry technicians. It was to be an extensive and expensive project, and the town was pretty excited about their new relationship, with this well known internationally respected automotive industry. It had made huge headlines in The Banner's sister publication, The Examiner, and the town hosted a big event to announce the new and exciting relationship. There was a huge "Welcome to Bracebridge" sign on the property, if you recall, promoting the future site of the Magna development. It was a good news story then, and as it turned out, the "scoop" of really unfortunate news, I was about to get.

     I had a hunch there was a problem, and that the person on the property may have had something to do with real estate. I didn't confront the gentleman on the property, and instead went home and contacted Magna directly. What I found out was, with one call, that plans had changed, and a large whack of the acreage was going to be sold-off immediately. When I phoned Mayor Jim Lang, to get his opinion on the piece, there was some dead air on the other end. I dare say, I ruined his day, because this was to be a multi-million dollar deal, with a long term commitment to stay in the town. It wasn't much of an interview, and Jim offered an apology, that he would have to get more information, first-hand, before he could carry on an interview. I respected the tough spot he was in, as a mayor, and truthfully, I thought he handled it very well, considering the body blow he just received. Magna hadn't informed him of their decision, which made it a tad more difficult to adjust to, after all the initial welcoming fuss. Hey, stuff happens. Magna did what was right for them. They sold the property. Of course, it's still sitting empty. The town did what they felt was appropriate, welcoming the new investment, and in the end, I did what was necessary to get a story on the front page. Jim did not want to talk to me about this story, but he was such an experienced local politician, that he bit the bullet and did what was expected of him, as the town's spokesperson. I hate to say this, because it was kind of a negative story, but I liked having caught this scoop, before the competition press. They would have sooner or later. As they say, I was in the right place at the right time, and pondering, while I drove, about the urgent need for a really big story for the next edition. I got it! A scoop in both papers.

     Competition in the media business is never wrong. It might be inconvenient for those who hustle ad copy, and for those managers who want to see hardy profits, but competition always makes us better at what we do, in the reporting wing of newspaper employment. Our writing staff at the former Herald-Gazette, wanted to earn respect in the news enterprise, so that they could take a meaty portfolio to the daily press, and be taken seriously for city desk reporting positions. Quite a few reporters got their wish, and made it to the national stage. Look at former Toronto Sun columnist Paul Rimstead. He started out, working as a newspaper stringer, for the Orillia Packet and Times, as a teenager, chasing ambulances and fire trucks, to get a first hand story from the scene of breaking news. It is said he even had a press plate hanging off the handlebars of this bicycle. It's also rumored to be true, that the firemen used to put false addresses on their chalk board, in case Rimstead want to follow them. He got suspicious, and started asking others about the fire or accident scenes, and inevitably he'd wind-up exactly where they didn't want him. Paul didn't take "no" for an answer. For us, back in our newspaper days, Rimstead was a god, let me tell you, because he told it the way it was……and if you didn't like it, he'd gladly tell you to read someone else's column instead. He had a huge fan-base when he wrote for the Toronto Sun and its sister publications in Western Canada. He started off just like us. In his case, persistence and the news smarts, gave him the big break, we hoped would happen for us. While he is best known for his columns, it was his early hustle and perseverance, that got him noticed. He went from chasing fire trucks in his home town, to being one of Canada's best known and adored columnist - story tellers. This is what was endearing about the being a full fledged member of the press. A paid writer. You didn't have to tell any of us, what the holy grail was, or how you earned it…….we just had to read Rimmer, daily, to remind ourselves about the worth of hard work, and commitment. He wrote stories not to impress the subject he was interviewing, but to convey the way it was, and in some cases, those interviewed vowed never to talk with him again, like east coast boxer, dubbed "Canada's Fighting Fisherman," Yvon Durelle. Instead of writing a flattering editorial piece about Durelle's successes in the ring, he wrote it from a contemporary point of view. Life after the ring, worts and all. He didn't bypass Durelle's claims to fame, like the time he floored champion boxer Archie Moore four times, before getting knocked out himself in the 11th round. Rimstead didn't ignore Durelle's victories, and his boxing prowess, but he found a tragic side the public wanted to know. I'd always liked Yvon Durelle as a boxer, and the Rimstead article didn't change that whatsoever. I just knew much more about the man, than I had before.

     As I have written about previously, the sign of a wickedly solid newspaper issue, for me, was when the switchboard lights were dancing, about an hour after The Herald-Gazette hit the newsstands, in and around town. I'd walk in, and the front desk clerk would be traumatized by the number of hateful calls, wanting to tar and feather the editor. Not because we were wrong with the story, but because we ran the article at all!  They would have preferred the news to have remained ink-free. I remember one lady phoning, and reaming me for a full half hour, about a story we had on our front page. The only problem, as I read along with her, to make sure we were, as they say, "on the same page," it wasn't until she quoted the "dumb-ass" writer, that I was able to respond, with a chuckle, 'Lady, you've got the wrong paper." We had the same council story, and a lot of the quotes were the same, but they weren't from the same pen. You might think the lady would have offered an apology, because the difference of opinion, wasn't about our story. Well sir, she began berating me, about something we had done, the week before, that pissed her off. Oh well. It was part of the job, to take these complaints, and we did, and sometimes included them in the next week's follow-up story. You can bet we'd get a second phone call about that too. Once you call a newspaper office, to comment on a story, you became part of the news profile. We may not have used your name, but the comments were fair game.

     Wednesday mornings were always entertaining, especially if you liked excitement. I used to get a kick out of the advertiser appeasements that had to be made, when some business took exception to our brand of journalism. I remember having to visit an advertiser, with a reporter and the newspaper manager, to appease a business implicated in a column. The guy verbally pounded us for a half hour, for being irresponsible journalists, who as far as he was concerned, didn't deserve to have our (low paying) jobs. We sat there getting madder and madder, especially when the manager gradually sided with the businessman. So the writer, responsible for the column, took each issue raised, point by point, and on every point raised, the owner had to concede, the story had correctly represented what had happened. In five minutes we were able to refute each "shoot-from-the-hip" claim, that the paper had published inaccuracies. Even though we had nothing to apologize for, we were forced to do so anyway, just to keep the advertiser on side. This was the part of the job I hated more than anything. We'd have advertisers call us, threatening to pull out their ads because they didn't like the aggressiveness of our stories, or that we were picking on one of their friends in the community. Being editor was complicated by a lot of small-town factors, friendships and family, that got in the way. We didn't respect those connections and conflicts, as the reason to back off a story. So you will appreciate, our jobs were on the razor-thin line constantly. The respect for the credo of our profession, out-weighed the fear we'd get fired. The readership was our ace in the hole, because they wanted the "kick-ass" stuff, and although we were a conservative newspaper, through and through, we still found a way to live a little dangerously. Our attention to detail, and accurate reporting, kept us in trouble, but not because of errors we had made. We just kept telling the truth some folks despised.

     I remember on one occasion, when our ad manager convinced me to go and do a story about a struggling restaurant, that had been complaining about our paper's negativity. That made me angry by itself. Why the hell were we capitulating to a business, because we were doing our job reporting the news? It was our reality, when we let advertising staff intervene, where they didn't have any business to do so. I was two months behind in my rent, I had two pairs of underwear and three shirts, and two pairs of pants, both with distressed crotches. I had enough money for two suppers, and some baloney and mustard for lunch time. So when I was forced to attend this restaurant, to make the guy feel he'd won some moral victory, by golly, I wrote like John Steinbeck. It was the best restaurant review ever. Emotional, stirring, made you want to cry, then laugh, and then get in your car, and head to the place for dinner. Before the article was published, I took my lay-out knife and removed my byline, in the lay-out room, as was my right. The article was published, the customers flocked to the restaurant, and then the advertising department started getting calls. Bad ones. Terrible ones in fact. "How could you recommend such a horrible place," the callers yodeled to the receptionist. "The food was terrible. The service was awful. I'll never go there again." The business had only been about two weeks from closing, when I was sent out there, to do the review. I'm not a culinary expert, so forgive me for my weaknesses, to criticize a hamburger and fries. I paid for them by the way. Well, it was the last time I was ever asked to do this kind of business story, and that was fine for me. I offer a belated apology to all those customers I set up for a dining disaster. I was making a point.

     I read at least two publications every evening, three or four on the weekends, because I have never lost the interest in counter-point. Each paper offers a slightly different perspective. Sometimes, especially with the opinions of columnists, it can seem a night and day difference in editorial positioning. I like that. I feel well served by a critical press. I feel there are enough eager reporters, lusting after scoops and front-pagers above the fold, to keep me up to speed on the good, the bad and the ugly of what's going on in government, on the crime beat, in business and international affairs. Plus I watch every news program I can get without cable (I won't pay for it, because I'm cheap), and although the collateral damage, is that my wife thinks I'm obsessed, and ignoring her, I feel enlightened about the events of the world in which I live. I come from a family tree of avid news watchers, dating back to the small role we played in the Revolutionary War, as United Empire Loyalists.

     While they may not wish this to fall within their domain, because of the huge responsibility it represents, the Greater Gravenhurst Ratepayers Association, is our reporting mechanism today, in their coverage of Gravenhurst Council. They keep members informed, and have been highly successful, communicating council updates, and related municipal news, with eager ratepayers. In the case of the recent Terrence Haight bequeath news, from the town's committee network, thanks to a sharp eye, ratepayers were advised of the unusual move by council (to pay down the debt), before the newspaper published the first "Letter to the Editor," on the subject. I hate to put too much pressure on this important community group, but their astute study of council business, is imperative, to keeping us all "in the loop," and in a position where we can react, in a timely fashion, to situations we may not be comfortable with, as citizens and ratepayers. They should be heartily congratulated for the work they have done, since their inception, being our eyes and ears, covering the business affairs of Gravenhurst Council. No, we couldn't live without them, if we truly value being adequately informed.

     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please visit again soon. Thanks again for your ongoing support.