Father Heffernan and The School Yard Grid Iron

BULLIES THRIVE IN THEIR DELUDED SENSE OF ACCOMPLISHMENT - I WAS ON THE END OF THEIR FISTS

     FATHER BERNARD HEFFERNAN WAS SIMPLY KNOWN, IN MY SCHOOL-YARD DAYS, AS "FATHER." AS GOD IS MY WITNESS, AND I MEAN THAT, I THOUGHT HE WAS A FATHER IN THE PARENTAL SENSE, AND IT TOOK ME MONTHS TO FIGURE OUT IT WAS INSTEAD HIS RELIGIOUS CALLING, AND HIS ASSOCIATION WITH THE CATHOLIC CHURCH ACROSS THE ROAD. I ALWAYS WAS A SLOW LEARNER.

     FATHER HEFFERNAN HAD ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA, THAT AT THE TIME HE WAS ORGANIZING GAMES OF FOOTBALL, AT RECESS, BACK IN ABOUT 1966 OR SO, AT BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL, HE WAS RECTIFYING AT LEAST TWO DEBILITATING ISSUES FOR THIS NEW, NOT-ADJUSTING STUDENT. FIRST OF ALL, I HAD JUST ARRIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE, FROM A CITY SCHOOL. AT THAT TIME, BEING A NEWCOMER TO A SMALL TOWN SCHOOL REQUIRED YEARS OF TRYING TO IMBED INTO THE MIX OF MUSKOKA-ROOTED KIDS. BEING "ONE OF THE LOCALS" WASN'T EASY…..AND SOME WOULD SAY EVEN TODAY, IT'S OUTRIGHTLY IMPOSSIBLE. UNLESS YOU MARRY INTO A LOCAL FAMILY. EVEN MY PARENTS FOUND IT NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE, TO SHAKE THE CITY-STATUS, THAT FOR SOME REASON, WAS THREATENING TO SOME LOCALS. MAYBE THEY SAW US AS THE KIND OF INTRUDERS, WHO WOULD TRY TO CHANGE THE TOWN, BASED ON OUR MISGUIDED CITY ATTITUDE. I'M NOT EMBELLISHING THIS, AND IT WASN'T UNTIL MANY YEARS LATER, AFTER MARRYING A LOCAL GIRL, WITH ROOTS BACK TO PIONEER TIMES, THAT I COULD FAIRLY CLAIM TO BEING A MUSKOKAN……BY MARRIAGE ONLY.

     SECONDLY, BEING FROM THE CITY, AND DISRESPECTFULLY VIEWED AS AN INTERLOPER, WHO NEEDED TO BE TAUGHT SOME COUNTRY MANNERS, I WAS THE TARGET OF THE SCHOOL BULLIES. ONE GENTLEMAN, WHO WAS FROM A WELL-OFF FAMILY OF LOCAL MOVERS AND SHAKERS, DECIDED ONE RECESS, THAT HE NEEDED TO IMPRESS THE YOUNG LADIES OF OUR CLASS. I WAS STANDING BY MYSELF, WATCHING EVERYONE ELSE ENJOYING THE SCHOOL DAY HIATUS, AND THIS CHAP WALKED RIGHT UP TO ME, AND WITH BOTH HANDS ON MY CHEST, KNOCKED ME TO THE GROUND WITHOUT WARNING. I BANGED MY HEAD AND TWISTED MY ANKLE ON THE WAY DOWN, AND I WASN'T IN ANY POSITION TO SCAMPER OFF TO SAFETY. I JUST STAYED ON THE GROUND, BECAUSE IT REDUCED THE HEIGHT TO FALL FROM AGAIN, IF ON THE OFF-CHANCE, HE PLANNED A SECOND UNPROVOKED ATTACK. HE DID EVERYTHING BUT PUT HIS FOOT ON MY CHEST, LIKE HE'D BAGGED BIG GAME, AS A SCHOOL-YARD HUNTER.

     THE GOOFY KID JUST HOVERED THERE, DARING ME TO GET UP FOR SOME MORE OF THE SAME. AS QUICKLY AS THIS KID HAD ATTACKED ME, CAME THE DEFENDER I DIDN'T KNOW I HAD. A TALL YOUTH, FLEW AT MY ATTACKER WITH MINOR FURY, AND KOCKED HIM OVER, JUST AS I HAD BEEN TUMBLED ONTO MY HEAD. PAUL DUFF HAD WITNESSED THE ORIGINAL BULLY TACTIC, AND REACTED TO DEFEND THE NEW KID. FUNNY THING THAT! PAUL WOULD BECOME A LIFE-LONG ACQUAINTANCE, AND WHENEVER WE MEET IN OUR BUSY LIVES, IT'S JUST LIKE THAT DAY IN THE SCHOOL YARD, WHEN THAT BIG HAND ARRIVED IN MINE, AS HE PULLED ME UP FROM THE GROUND. EVEN IN OUR HOCKEY PAST, HE WAS THE ONE PLAYER ON OUR TEAM, FOR MANY YEARS, THAT AFTER A GOAL WAS SCORED ON ME, HE'D ARRIVE TO WHACK MY PADS, SHOWING SUPPORT FOR A VERY BUSY NETMINDER. OTHERS ON MY SQUAD TOLD ME TO "SMARTEN UP CURRIE, YOU SEIVE," AND "YOU'RE GOING TO COST US THE GAME STUPID." EVEN IF I HAD ALLOWED TEN GOALS, PAUL WOULD NEVER HAVE REACTED DIFFERENTLY. WHEN HE WAS ON THE ICE, I PLAYED BETTER AND MORE CONFIDENTLY. NO KIDDING. THIS WAS HOW ONE KID, OUT OF HUNDREDS I INTERACTED WITH, MADE A LIFELONG IMPRESSION ON ME, BY BEING THE CHAMPION OF GOOD SPORTSMANSHIP. EVEN THE COACH COULD HAVE LEARNED SOMETHING FROM PAUL'S POSITIVE APPROACH. I KNOW PAUL GETS KIND OF SHY WHEN I WRITE ABOUT THESE INCIDENTS, BUT NONE THE LESS, WE NEED TO BE REMINDED HOW MUCH INFLUENCE "GOOD" CAN HAVE ON THE WAY WE ALL LIVE. FATHER HEFFERNAN WAS THE SAME, BUT I DON'T SUSPECT HE KNEW THE EXTENT OF WHAT WENT ON IN THE SCHOOL-YARD WHEN HE WASN'T THERE. WHEN HE DID ARRIVE, EVERYONE PERKED UP, AND GATHERED AROUND HIM.

THERE WERE MORE BULLIES - LOTS MORE

     At the time Father Heffernan was organizing the milling-about students, into games of recess football, he may have suspected there were bullying problems at the school. It wasn't hard to find a bloody nose, or a black eye amongst the upper grade kids. He would pop over, from the church, at morning recess, and sometimes the lunch break, and recruit all the wall-standers, and aimless strollers, to join with the eager athletes, already tossing the pigskin around the yard. Father wouldn't allow you to sit-it-out. Even if you didn't like football, or even hockey, he had a way of coercing even the non-athletes, to participate in the sportsmanship of pick-up competition. In that mix were pacifists, the over and under weight, the jocks, and the thugs. Even the toughest, bulging eyed, ornery thug, was subtly diminished by Father, and put into a team structure where the group counted more than the individual.

      If there was any exceptional performances, it was based on athletic capabilities, smart play, and networking with other team-mates……such as handing off the ball to a faster runner. Father was a tough player himself, and he was always one of the team-mates……side by side some of the toughest, and meanest kids I'd ever known. The tough kids, who wanted to play with their fists on my face, went from dreading the arrival of Father Heffernan, with a football under his arm, to yelling at the church, if he wasn't on time; reminding him that we needed his direction to start the game. Father was clever in this way. He did this on purpose, to show us how a pick-up game, whatever it is, can bring a schoolyard together. Bullies, non-athletes, and jocks all on an equal basis, until that football was snapped. It was surprising how quickly the bullies out performed the more athletic students, and the kids who weren't too interested in sports, became sleeper-players, who could suddenly erupt with a startling, hurtling end-to-end run for a touchdown, or catch an over-the-shoulder pass for a major gain of yards downfield. Even when Father didn't show up, we knew what to do with spare time, and some open field. He was teaching us, you see, how to channel our energy into something that made more sense, than pummeling each other before class. He gave us a template and we copied his directions. It did make a difference, especially to me. I was a pretty good footballer, as I had played in an organized league in the Mountain Gardens neighborhood of Burlington. It's amazing how my profile changed. Some things took a little longer. Let me explain.

     I had made a mistake one day, in my early relationship with the school, and the town generally. It's not that I did anything wrong, and I don't have any regrets about my involvement, but it did change my life and opinion about school in perpetuity. I don't like going in schools. Yup, I've got some bad memories. Of this, I do have regrets, as I married a teacher, and I get asked to attend school events frequently.

     A chum of mine, from my neighborhood, was getting beat-up regularly by a band of thugs. They waited for the kid after school, and they were such craven cowards, that they travelled together as a pack. The ringleader didn't participate in the "hunt and detain" mission. He had henchmen for this operation. My friend would get separated from his other mates, who were also scared they would be drawn into the mob beatings, by defending the victim. I was walking across Memorial Park one afternoon, with this poor chap, and all of a sudden, we were swarmed by these toadies, who didn't want me…..but they most certainly intended on thrashing my mate. Now I may be scrappy with words, but I wasn't a great fighter. If I was given a chance to prepare, I could box my way out of a corner, but nothing that could parallel "Shane," and his ability to whip five or six guys in a saloon brawl. But the beating they administered on these kids at our school was always severe, at least in my opinion as a reluctant witness.

     As I stood back and watched in horror, as they gave the kid a savage barrage of fist and kicks to the stomach, I yelled at them, probably mentioning "a-holes" or something similar, and that they should stop hitting my friend. It was heartfelt, and held every value in my human condition, but it meant that the gang had its newest victim. They stopped beating my chum, and tore off across the park, in pursuit of the new kid to town…..who had dared insult the little irish gang leader, who thought he had a God-given right to terrorize students he didn't like. My outburst cost me weeks and weeks of beatings. In the school yard most of the time! He worked in a group of three but most often there were five in the party….which wasn't very festive for me. Two held me by the arms, usually against a wall, (out of sight of the teacher on duty), and the mobster would start punching me in the face. He was very precise about where he hit me. It was always on the jaw. Two shots to the left and two on the right side. He never asked for money, my lunch, or for me to do any favors. He wanted a human punching bag, and I was his until he got bored. He was a sick puppy, let me tell you, and it brought up a whole bunch of family issues, at a time when I could hardly open my mouth to eat or talk. My parents were old school. They strangely believed it was survival of the fittest, and I had to learn how to defend myself. I always resented this, by the way, and it is not how I raised my own boys.

     My mother and father were tough cookies, without a doubt. Merle was short but fearless. She came from a well off family in Toronto, but she had lots of siblings to wrestle with, and she grew up somewhat of a tom-boy, unafraid of using her dukes to prevail upon a bully…..often her sisters and chubby brother. My father was of Irish ancestry, and had survived the mean streets of Cabbagetown during the Depression, and then as a sailor in the famed North Atlantic Squadron of the Second World War, he was by immersion, and survival skills, a tough son of a bitch. My mother had no idea how many times my father's nose had been broken, even after they began dating, but I think once, he remarked, in conversation with a house guest, about the dozen shots to the beak, he had sustained over the years. Which by the way made it look like a golf ball on the end of a thumb. The problem was that they believed their only son had to be almost brutally tough to survive. So tough, that they kept telling me, when I came hope with a face black and blue, that I needed to defend myself, and raise my dukes against the school bullies. I didn't have much opportunity to explain, how it wasn't a one on one situation. I wasn't Shane. I was just a big eared kid, at a new school, scared out of my mind, that the next beating was going to kill me. Now in case you're wondering…., the only reason it continued was that Paul Duff was unaware what was going on. My attackers were clever to stay out of the main play area of the school. I can still see their rat faces, lusting after the visible fear the victims showed, before and during the assaults.

     There came a day, when my mother Merle had no choice but to talk with the principal, Neil Haight (now Father Haight), about the problems with the gang. He said he was unaware of the problem, but he wasn't surprised the boys named, would be involved. He told my mother to have me come to his office, on the very next occasion there was an assault. Well, it didn't take long. That next morning, I was grabbed, thrust against the wall, and the only difference with this attack, was that it was one of the toadies that got to hit me in the face……which I suppose was a reward for loyalty. This bloke made one mistake. It was hitting me on the end of the nose. It really hurt. So I did what my mother would have done. I let go a field-goal weighted boot to his privates, dropping him like an anchor onto the tarmac. Guess what? Of all the blows that had been administered by the gang, the only one witnessed by a teacher, was my kick to his groin. I was physically hauled into the office to get the strap. At least that's what I assumed happened in there. But going through my mind at that time, was that I had earned the strap, fair and square. I was so mad I wouldn't feel a thing. The good news is that Mr. Haight was aware that I was going to be fighting back against my assailants. Merle had told him as much. The short version of this story, is that the gang was punished, my mates and I were set free at last, to play and walk home without being beaten up.

     It was at this time, that Father Heffernan was bringing us all together, for games of football. The newly disciplined gang was brought into the school yard games, and imagine this…….we were playing on the same team, and handing off to one another, in order to get a touchdown for the good guys. What a transition from adversaries to team-mates. Father Heffernan knew it would work. He was clearly aware of the problems of the school yard bullies, and he also knew how positive it could be, to expend all this surplus energy as recreation. He took away the pent-up frustration and anger, that gave these bullies the reason and power to be asses. He showed all of us, what it would mean on a grid-iron, when the bad guys and the pacifists, were on the same squad, with the same mission; to put points on the scoreboard. What Neil Haight had accomplished by administrative protocol, with what Father Heffernan set straight outside, on the playing field, meant an end to bullying for the rest of my public school days. God bless those men. I have to tell you, I was at the end of my tether, and I was ready to ditch school altogether, if the beatings had continued. When I hear this issues today, well, I take them seriously. When my kids were bullied, at the same school as I attended, I made an exception about my dislike for schools, and marched into the principles office, to nip it in the bud. It's a proactive solution that's needed, and unfortunately, even in our town, there are too few Shanes to go around……and Father Heffernan isn't organizing recess football anymore.

     If you suspect there is bullying going on…..with your kids or grandkids or the kid next door, then step up to the plate, and get them some help. Someone getting involved, saved my life.

     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please join me again soon.

Head Injuries As A Kid Playing The Canadian Game

CONCUSSIONS POSSIBLY LEADING TO PREMATURE DEATH? MANIFESTING OTHER HEALTH PROBLEMS? WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT BEATING THE BODY HAS LOTS OF CONSEQUENCES

     IN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, ONCE A REPORT ON THE HEALTH PROBLEMS THAT MAY ARISE, BEYOND THE DAMAGE CAUSED BY MULTIPLE AND SERIOUS CONCUSSIONS, THE MANAGEMENT OF FULL CONTACT SPORTS, PARTICULARLY, WILL HAVE SOME REASON FOR CONCERN ABOUT HOW TO MOVE FORWARD. THERE IS A NEW REPORT, I'VE JUST NOW HEARD ABOUT, THAT RELATES OTHER DYSFUNCTIONS AND PREMATURE DEATH, TO THOSE WHO HAVE SUFFERED NUMEROUS MAJOR CONCUSSIONS. THEY ARE LOOKING AT FOOTBALL AND THE QUARTERBACKS, WHO APPARENTLY TAKE THE MOST BODY JOLTING, HIGH SPEED HITS OVER A LIFETIME IN THEIR SPORT. SO WHAT HAS BEEN LEARNED IN THE PAST HALF-DECADE, ABOUT THE CONSEQUENCES OF REPEATED BRAIN INJURY, ESPECIALLY IN SPORT, HAS ENLIGHTENED THE SPORTS' WORLD, AND PARENTS FEEDING THE SYSTEM WITH THEIR YOUNGSTERS…..HOPING FOR EVENTUAL PROFESSIONAL CAREERS. THE MEDICAL EXAMINATION OF INJURED BRAINS, BELONGING TO DECEASED FORMER ATHLETES, FROM WRESTLING, FOOTBALL AND HOCKEY, IS NOW DRAWING CRITICALLY IMPORTANT CONNECTIONS TO SOME ATHLETES' PREMATURE DEATHS. IN A PRELIMINARY STUDY, THEY HAVE FOUND OTHER TROUBLING DYSFUNCTIONS RELATED TO BRAIN INJURY, THAT COULD BE A GAME CHANGER TO SPORTS MANAGEMENT…….AND CERTAINLY, FOR PARENTS, WHO NOW ARE FINDING MORE REASONS TO BELIEVE THIS CONTACT SPORTS THING, MAY HAVE A LONG TERM DISADVANTAGE TO THEIR YOUNGSTERS. BOY OH BOY. IF WE KNEW THEN, WHAT WE KNOW TODAY. IT BEGS THE QUESTION, HOW MANY FORMER ATHLETES, PROFESSIONAL OR OTHERWISE, HAVE LIVED IN THE HORROR OF MAJOR HEALTH ISSUES, IN PART, THE CONSEQUENCE OF BRAIN INJURY. THIS IS THE SHARP TIP OF THE ICEBERG. THERE'S A LOT MORE TO FIND OUT, AND I THINK THERE WILL BE A NECESSITY TO RE-THINK HOW WE TREAT THE HUMAN BODY, IN THE PURSUIT OF CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHIES, AND BIG, BIG PAYCHECKS. WILL IT BE WORTH IT, TO SUFFER THESE NEWLY IDENTIFIED MALADIES, JUST TO MAKE A BUCK…..OR TO ENJOY A LITTLE AFTER WORK RECREATION?

WE ALL HAD TO GET BACK IN THE GAME

     There were a few mentors, way back when, like all-star netminder Roger Crozier, of the Detroit Red Wings, who believed I had a crack at the big leagues. He told me so when we met back in the mid 1990's in Wilmington, Delaware, when I was down there to cover an award he was receiving for exceptional community service. Roger, at the time, was working for the American bank, MBNA, as a corporate executive with Facilities Management. When I was a kid, he had extended an invitation to me, as a local goaltender, from a modest income family, to attend his Red Wing Hockey School, at the Bracebridge arena. I know it was the time of the race riots in Detroit, because we had a lot of city kids at the camp as well, and he and staff kept them in Muskoka longer, because of what was happening at home.

     He told me at our luncheon, in front of witnesses, that I was considered one of the best minor hockey goalies at the time, but I think he used the words "showing promise," but from a former original six ace goaltender, my old heart nearly flipped out onto the floor. I couldn't believe I was considered above average as a goalie. Roger wasn't the kind of guy to embellish, so I know he was giving me an honest appraisal of the way it was……at least on the local hockey scene. I really enjoyed the camp. I do have a problem with my hip now, and I've always wondered if it had anything to do with the exercise drops with my heavy pads, that I had to do over and over and over, to get it right. I had to stand against the boards and drop until I couldn't get up again. Every day of the camp, it was the same exercise. I didn't like that part of it, because all I thought about was the scrimmage. I just wanted to play the sport I loved…..not train for it. This may explain why, after numerous injuries, including pucks in the throat, I'd had enough by my twenties to hang up the pads for good.

     Roger by the way, suffered many injuries, including a shattered cheekbone, from a shot taken by Frank Mahovolich of the Toronto Maple Leafs. It was Roger's first professional game, at Maple Leaf Gardens, with family in attendance. He wasn't wearing any face protection. He knew what it was like to suffer for his craft.

     When I was playing minor hockey, the intensity of training depended on the coach we had, and the league we were playing in at the time. I was given the opportunity, in the early ranks, to play both "Town League," or "House League," as they call it  today, and "Allstar" which meant traveling throughout the region, with the potential of going on to provincial playoffs if we were good enough. I was the first string goalie on my town league team, because we didn't have a back up. I was it. In the ranks of all star, I "rode the pine" a lot, and I got the call when the starter got beaten to a pulp. After a succession of six or seven goals, they called on me to play. There were times when the ace goalie decided not to show up, and usually against the toughest opponents. I can't tell you how worrisome it was, to look over at the bench, and know there was no replacement if I got injured, or the goals against started to look like a football game. So I lived with both. Lots of goals against and many injuries. Unless I was suffering from the loss of a leg or arm, I was staying in the net. It didn't matter how I felt, because it would have been much worse, if I had insisted on pulling myself from the game. My team-mates would not have taken this well at all, and it would have meant that one of them would have had to become a make-shift goalie. You did what the coach, and even my parents advised. "Suck it up! It's just a little blood…..get over it!"  "Shake it off Currie," my coach would yell, as I tried to get my breath back, after taking a slap-shot to the throat.

      I remember playing in Baysville, during playoff rounds one year, when one of their forwards got tight in my crease, and wouldn't move. So my defense came to the rescue, but in the altercation in my goal crease, the Baysville player's stick came up fast, and the blade splintered on impact with my mask. Believe it or not, four shards of hockey stick, lined around my eye socket, but nothing actually hit the tissue of my eye-ball. I couldn't take my mask off. I looked like I ran face first into a porcupine. I went to the bench, and the coach plucked out the splinters, applied some antiseptic to the cuts, and sent me back to the net. There was no back up goalie, and we only had enough manpower for two complete player changes. When my sweat hit those cuts, boy did that smart. But this is the way it was, right through much of my minor to junior hockey days. The only justification for leaving the game, was sudden death. I mean that. I can remember taking a slapshot to the inside knee (my pads didn't have inside leg protection that they do now), and basically being unable to stand on the leg. Even my parents were yelling from the stands…."Come on Ted, shake it off." Even if I'd taken a crack to the head, the cheap seats where my parents sat, were going to erupt in typical yelling and screaming. "Come on, it was just a bump on the head. Get back in the game." I asked my parents to stop coming to the games. They complied. They never understood why I asked them to miss my games, but it had everything to do with insensitivity. These were just two parents out of millions, dear friends, who acted the same way. It wasn't manly to cry, or ask for medical assistance, unless you were tripping in your own blood.

     Even as a photographer, covering major hockey events over the years for the community press, I saw fights and injuries, that impacted the head, and despite a player being knocked out cold, they'd be back in the game as soon as they came to, and could hold a stick. They probably didn't know who they were, or whether they were playing golf or hockey, but the argument was, you have to be tough to survive in hockey. That was fine for a coach and manager to say. They weren't the ones getting sticks over the head, or pucks in the throat. I saw players struggle to their feet, after getting pummeled in a hockey fight, who should have been taken directly to the hospital. I got into a lot of scraps with coaches back then, for writing columns about things like, "went to a fight last night and a hockey game broke out." I detested the level of violence I was having to watch, as a reporter, and it did manifest when I got a chance to write an opinion piece. Most of these players had no idea the potential damage they were causing themselves, getting medical advice from coaches and ill prepared trainers. You'd just watch and want to cry, studying some poor bastard trying to pick up the teeth that had just been beaten out of his mouth. I've had this happen right in front of my goal crease. Each time, in my opinion, it was the result of excessive and retaliatory force. Not an accidental hit with a high stick. There were a lot of anger issues I saw up close and personal. Yet the kids felt compelled to stay in the game, to please the coach and parents, and potentially the hockey scout team management always claimed would be in the bleachers watching the game. A lot of kids were duped in this fashion. "Hey you guys. If you want to make a name for yourself….tonight's the night. There'll be scouts in the stands." It was b.s. one hundred percent of the time for our team. It got kids to play aggressive and that was what the coach intended to happen.

     The point is, that I had so many hits to the head, wearing totally inadequate equipment (as a goalie), that my brain is probably a lot like swiss cheese today. We did what we were asked. We'd take a hit, shake our heads to clear our vision (which worked sometimes), and got back into the game. I can remember a goaltender, during practice, taking a wicked slapshot in the family jewels. The kid was doubled over. Now in the 1960's and early 70's, most up and coming goalies used ordinary cups for protection. The reality was, these tin and cloth affairs wouldn't help much, if there was a rising, direct hit. So this guy is gagging, doubled-up on the ice, and the coach tells him that the way to stop the pain, is to get up on the skates, and jump up and down to ease the pressure from the injury. So here is this poor sap jumping up and down and getting sick to his stomach. I heard the coach laughing with one of the players, that he was having fun with the netminder, and that it certainly wasn't a cure for what was ailing him. It was in fact, probably the worse thing to do under the circumstances. And when coaches like this guy, told us to "shake off" our injuries, pretty much with the same disinterest, we wanted to please our coaches and our fans so much, we staggered back to our positions, tearful but willing to help the team win another game. I hated it then and I despise it now. It still goes on. I can't even imagine how many young lads had major concussions in minor hockey, and were never treated for the injury. Like I say, if you didn't have a body part severed on the ice, you were given a few minutes on the bench, maybe some smelling salts, and readied for the next shift.

     I have a hard time containing my anger about this, because I remember some pretty rough cases, where a hospital visit was needed for injured players. The definition of injured was the pivotal question, and the evasive definition. With what we know today, about the ravages of traumatic brain injury, especially left untreated, we must wonder as a sports loving country, just how much lifelong suffering, has been caused by shortsightedness and outright neglect……based on, "We didn't know we were doing anything wrong."

     There will be those macho folks who will claim…."what a pussy that guy is…….geez, he probably gets nose bleeds when he farts." Truth is, we could do with a lot less tools like this calling the shots. Hey, my parents were tools in this regard, and they had this belief, that if I was a cry-baby, I might just turn out left of centre-ice.

     Watch your kids and grandkids and take injuries seriously, so they don't need a machine to breathe for them, or a cane at twenty.

     Thanks for joining this blog-atorial. Please visit again soon.

When Gun Play Enters Politics, In Canada EH?

WHEN BAD THINGS HAPPEN IN CANADA - WHY US?

WE DON'T THINK GUN PLAY WILL ENTER POLITICS

     FOR MOST OF MY LIFE, IN CANADA, I'VE HAD EVERY REASON TO BELIEVE WE ARE A PROFOUNDLY DEMOCRATIC AND SAFE COUNTRY. IT DOESN'T MEAN WE HAVEN'T EXPERIENCED TERRIBLE MOMENTS IN HISTORY, SUCH AS THE FLQ CRISIS OF THE 1970'S. IT'S JUST THAT WHEN WE GET A TEASER BEFORE THE NIGHTLY NEWS, HEARING ABOUT AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT, WE AUTOMATICALLY THINK THE EVENT MUST HAVE OCCURRED IN THE UNITED STATES. IT'S HOW NAIVE AND A LITTLE DELUDED WE ARE, THAT WE DROP OUR GUARD ABOUT WHAT CAN HAPPEN ON THIS GREAT BIG BEAUTIFUL CONTINENT, WHEN ANGER MANIFESTS WITH DEADLY FORCE.

     THE NEWS ABOUT THE RECENT SHOOTING AFTER THE QUEBEC ELECTION, SURPRISES US TO A STUPOR. YET BASED ON THE EVENTS SOUTH OF THE BORDER, AND IN OTHER COUNTRIES OF THE WORLD, THIS REALLY ISN'T AS EXCEPTIONAL, AS WE FEEL NOW, MULLING OVER THE CANADIAN WAY THAT STOPS THIS NONSENSE IN ITS TRACKS. DEBATE, PROTEST, CARRY A PLACARD, REFUSE TO PAY YOUR TAXES, BUT NEVER, EVER SHOOT SOMEONE BECAUSE YOU'RE PISSED OFF AT A POLITICAL OUTCOME.

     THE CHAP WHO CARRIED A RIFLE AND FIRE-STARTING MATERIALS TO THE PQ VICTORY CELEBRATION, FOLLOWING THE PROVINCIAL ELECTION IN QUEBEC, WEARING A BATHROBE AND A MASK, WAS A PRETTY RECOGNIZABLE FIGURE, IF WE WERE LOOKING FOR PEOPLE WITH ILL INTENT, AS WE SHOULD BE. ESPECIALLY WITH ALL WE KNOW ABOUT POLITICALLY MOTIVATED VIOLENCE. AND THE POTENTIAL OF UNSTABLE PEOPLE TAKING MATTERS INTO THEIR OWN HANDS, PREVAILING THEIR BRAND OF JUSTICE, TO MAKE THINGS EVEN. A WEAPON IS DISCHARGED. ONE DEAD, ANOTHER SERIOUSLY INJURED. THE MAN WHO FIRED THE FATALS SHOTS, KNEW HIS WAY AROUND A FIREARM. A LODGE OWNER IN NORTHERN QUEBEC, WE ARE TOLD, HE WASN'T A NEWBY WITH AMMO AND GUN. WHAT TURNED HIM FROM WILDLIFE TO HUMAN LIFE? POLITICS? WHY THERE WASN'T MORE THAN ADEQUATE SECURITY AT THIS EVENT, BEGS THE QUESTION, WHETHER THEY TRULY APPRECIATED THE ESCALATING WORRIES ABOUT THE ISSUE OF QUEBEC SEPARATION?

    IT'S A PRETTY BIG ISSUE, EVEN FOR US IN ONTARIO, SO WE CAN IMAGINE JUST HOW DIRE THE SITUATION IS FOR SOME FIGHTING-MAD RESIDENTS OF QUEBEC. HOW BAD IS IT? IT'S ONE THING FOR PEOPLE TO BE SELLING OFF THEIR PROPERTIES IN THE PROVINCE, AND PLANNING TO MOVE AWAY, BUT A PRETTY SERIOUS TWIST TO GRAB UP SOME FIREPOWER, TO MAKE A SHARPER POINT. AS FOR HIS STATEMENT THAT HIS ACTIONS WILL "WAKE UP THE ENGLISH," MAY WORK THE OPPOSITE, TO INFLAME EMOTIONS, AND INCITE ADDITIONAL VIOLENCE. 

     AND THERE ARE A LOT OF EMOTIONS BEING STIRRED, AS THOSE WHO DON'T WANT ANOTHER REFERENDUM, POTENTIALLY, HAVE TO FACE THE RHETORIC AND CRUEL POLITICAL DEBATE, FOR THE NEXT FOUR YEARS. WAS IT THE CASE THIS ANGRY CONSTITUENT, HAD SIMPLY SNAPPED UNDER THE PRESSURE OF A POLITICAL REALITY? TRYING TO FIGURE HIS MOTIVES OUT, IS FAR MORE COMPLEX, THAN ATTEMPTING TO EXPLAIN HOW A BIG LAD, WITH A RIFLE, HANDGUN AND FLAMMABLE COCKTAIL, WAS ABLE TO GET SO CLOSE TO THE PQ LEADER. IT SEEMS ABSURD TO MANY OF US PEACE-LOVING, LIGHT-HEARTED CANADIANS, THAT ANYONE WOULD TAKE POLITICS THIS SERIOUSLY. LOOK AT THE TURN-OUT FOR THE LAST FEDERAL ELECTION. A HUGE WHACK OF CANADIANS COULDN'T HAVE CARED LESS ABOUT THE OUTCOME. THIS SAME MISERABLE TURN-OUT HAPPENS A LOT THESE DAYS, ESPECIALLY IN MUNICIPALITIES, WHERE RESIDENTS OFTEN FEEL ONE POLITICIAN IS AS GOOD AS THE OTHER……AND WHAT'S THE POINT OF VOTING? THIS ISN'T MY OPINION, BUT IT IS A TROUBLE ONE THAT IS SPREADING THROUGHOUT OUR COUNTRY.

    TO BECOME SO ENRAGED WITH THE TIDE OF PROVINCIAL POLITICS, THAT A BULLET IS THE "DECIDER," IS DEFINITELY A POWDER-KEG SITUATION WE HAVEN'T KNOWN TOO MUCH IN CANADIAN POLITICS…..BUT FRANKLY, SOMETHING THAT MAY BECOME FAR MORE PREVALENT IN THE FUTURE. WHAT CONCERNS ME, IS THE MISUNDERSTANDING, IN POLITICS, OF HOW MUCH RAGE EXISTS OUT THERE, WITH GOVERNMENT GENERALLY. THE STAFF MIGHT BE PRETTY GOOD AT TROUBLE SHOOTING IN PARLIAMENT, BUT I'M NOT AT ALL SURE THEY REALIZE THE TRUE MEASURE OF DISILLUSIONMENT BY CANADIANS, SOME WHO HAVE BEEN OUT OF WORK FOR YEARS, AND WHO MAY HAVE LOST THEIR HOMES AS A RESULT. AFTER YOU'VE LOST EVERYTHING YOU CONSIDERED IMPORTANT IN LIFE, WHAT IS THE DOWN SIDE, IN A DELUDED, ANGRY STATE, OF TAKING A POT SHOT AT A POLITICIAN? DELUSION WORKS THIS WAY. I COME BACK TO THE FACT, THEY HAD VERY LOOSE SECURITY FOR THIS VICTORY GATHERING IN QUEBEC. WHAT WERE THEY THINKING? OBVIOUSLY THAT NOTHING WAS GOING TO DAMPEN THE ENTHUSIASM OF THE EVENING. IT'S A FACT OF LIFE AND PUBLIC PROFILE, AND WELLING-UP ANGER WITH A DEMOCRACY MANY SEE AS FAILING.

     I REMEMBER GROWING UP, AND HEARING MY DAD TALK ABOUT THE HORRIBLE DIEFENBAKER DECISION, TO SHUT DOWN THE AVRO ARROW. I STILL HEAR THAT TO THIS DAY. I WAS GLUED TO THE SET DURING THE FLQ CRISIS, AND I WAS ABSOLUTELY STUNNED WHEN A MURDER WAS ASSOCIATED WITH WHAT HAD BEGUN AS A KIDNAPPING…..THAT WHILE NOT BENIGN DIDN'T HAVE TO BECOME A FATAL CIRCUMSTANCE. AND I GREW UP FAST IN THE 60'S, FIRST WITH THE CUBAN MISSILE CRISIS, (AND PEOPLE BUILDING FALL-OUT SHELTERS IN THEIR BACKYARDS) THE ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENT KENNEDY, THEN HIS BROTHER BOBBY, AND MARTIN LUTHER KING. THEY WERE AMERICAN TRAGEDIES. THINGS LIKE THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN IN CANADA. THEN CAME THE FLQ, AND OUR SAFE NATION WAS A LITTLE LESS SO. THIS WEEK WE HAVE LEARNED THAT WE ARE JUST AS VULNERABLE TO THE PLANNED ASSASSINATION OF OUR POLITICAL REPRESENTATIVES, AS ANYWHERE ELSE ON EARTH.

     THEN WE HAPHAZARDLY FORGET THOSE WHO ARE INTENSELY PASSIONATE ABOUT THE DEMOCRATIC PROCESS. UNHAPPY WITH WHAT THEY SEE AS A THREAT TO THEIR CIVIL LIBERTIES. TO HUGE EXCESS SOME TIMES. OBSESSIVELY SO. THEN THERE'S THE MENTAL ILLNESS THAT LURKS LIKE A SHADOW, FRIENDS AND FAMILIES KNOW EXISTS, BUT REFUSE TO CONFRONT. THE DEEP-SEEDED HATRED THAT FUELS TRAGIC EVENTS OF GUN-PLAY. A POLITICAL INTERPRETATION, BY THESE DELUDED INDIVIDUALS, THAT GOVERNMENT IS ROTTEN TO THE CORE. ANGER TURNS TO HATE, AND HATE TO RESIGNATION THAT SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.

     I AM A PACIFIST. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SO. I WOULD RATHER USE WORDS TO MAKE A POINT. I WOULD RATHER USE DEMOCRACY AS IT WAS INTENDED. BUT ONLY THE FOOL, WOULD DENY JUST HOW ANGRY CITIZENS ARE, IN THIS COUNTRY, ABOUT THE ETCHING OF MODERN DAY POLITICS OVER-TOP OUR HISTORY, AND THE WAY DEMOCRACY IS SEEN AS BEING VIGOROUSLY DIMINISHED, BY POLITICAL TAMPERING…….WITHOUT SEEMINGLY A CARE HOW THE PUBLIC FEELS ABOUT THE APPARENT SURRENDER OF RIGHTS AND FREEDOMS AS CANADIANS. WE DON'T JUST GET POLITICAL AT ELECTION TIME. WE DON'T GET INTERESTED IN THE WELFARE OF DEMOCRACY, WHEN IT'S TIME TO ELECT A NEW GOVERNMENT. AND WHEN A NEW GOVERNMENT IS ELECTED, WE EXPECT THEM, DESPITE THEIR POLITICAL STRIPE, TO PRESERVE THE RIGHTS GUARANTEED BY THE CONSTITUTION. HOW MANY CANADIANS FEEL DISENFRANCHISED FROM GOVERNMENT? HOW MANY CANADIANS FEEL THEY HAVE LOST THEIR VOICE IN GOVERNANCE? FOR SOME CITIZENS, THERE IS A BREAKING POINT. IT'S JUST HARD TO TAKE, THAT THIS DISENCHANTMENT REACHES THE POINT OF AN ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION, AND THE DEATH AND INJURY OF THOSE NOT INVOLVED IN A SINGLE POLITICAL DECISION. THEY WERE BYSTANDERS. IN THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME. YET THE DELAY, GETTING PAST THESE VICTIMS, MAY HAVE SAVED THE PREMIER ELECT FROM A TRAGIC FATE.

     IT'S NOT JUST THAT A SHOOTING OCCURRED. IT'S NOT JUST THE CASE A MADMAN HAD HIS MOMENT TO PLAY THE "EQUALIZER" STRATEGY. WE NEED TO KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HE WAS THINKING IN ADVANCE OF THE SHOOTING. HOW DID HE FEEL GUN-PLAY WAS GOING TO SOLVE THE POLITICAL CRISIS, AS HE ASSUMED THE PQ VICTORY HAD HERALDED? WAS HE PLANNING TO BE A MARTYR, IN THE ATTEMPT TO SAVE THE FEDERATION? OR WAS HE JUST CRAZY-CRAZY? 

     HOW DOES SOMEONE GET THIS MAD AT GOVERNMENT, THAT RAGE EQUATES DEATH AS FAIR PLAY? EVEN THEIR OWN DEMISE BECOMES IRRELEVANT! WE SHOULD PAY ATTENTION TO THIS WEEK'S SHOOTING, NOT JUST IN REGARDS TO A BREACH OF SECURITY. WE SHOULD FIND OUT HOW MANY OTHERS OUT THERE, FEEL THE GUNMAN WAS JUSTIFIED. WE'D BE JUST PLAIN STUPID NOT TO APPRECIATE THAT SOME DISGRUNTLED CANADIANS WOULD HAVE FELT THE SHOOTING WAS JUSTIFIED, BUT THE TARGET WASN'T ACHIEVED. COPY-CATS. I THINK THE DOOR HAS BEEN PULLED WIDE OPEN, FOR ALL OF US TO SEE, THAT BAD THINGS HAPPEN IN CANADA TOO. IT'S NOT JUST AN AMERICAN THING, AS WE LIKE TO OPINE, WHEN WE HEAR ABOUT MASS SHOOTINGS ELSEWHERE…..WHEN HISTORY SHOWS, WE'RE AS VULNERABLE TO VIOLENCE AS ANYWHERE ON EARTH. WE JUST HATE THE THOUGHT OF IT.   

     THANK YOU FOR JOINING TODAY'S BLOG. PLEASE JOIN ME AGAIN SOON.

     AS A FOOTNOTE: I HAVE BEEN THE SPOUSE OF A TEACHER FOR 31 YEARS. THERE ISN'T A DAY THAT GOES BY, THAT I DON'T WORRY ABOUT INSUFFICIENT SECURITY WHERE SHE WORKS, TO PROTECT STUDENTS AND STAFF. WHEN I HEAR OR READ ABOUT A SCHOOL SHOOTING, I IMMEDIATELY REACT, BY SUGGESTING IT'S TIME FOR HER TO RETIRE. SHE ASSURES ME THERE IS SECURITY, AND AN EMERGENCY PROCEDURE TO QUELL THE EVENT, AND LOCK-DOWN THE FACILITY. I'M GLAD SHE IS SECURE IN THIS WAY. BUT IT DOESN'T DO A DARN THINK FOR ME. THERE'S A NEW REALITY OUT THERE, AND IT'S HAPPENING FAR TO FREQUENTLY, AND IT SEEMS ABUNDANTLY CLEAR, YOU CAN NEVER BE TOO CAUTIOUS. ALL WE HAVE TO CONSIDER, IS HOW A GUNMAN, THIS WEEK, WAS ABLE TO PENETRATE WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SECURE FACILITY, AND CAUSE SUCH HUMAN CASUALTIES. AS THERE ARE NO SHORTAGE OF WEAPONS OUT THERE, AND A LOT OF ANGER, IT WOULD SEEM TO ME, A GOOD TIME TO INVESTIGATE OUR INSECURITIES…..FINDING THE HOLES IN WHAT WE BELIEVE TO BE SAFE, DISCOVERING INSTEAD, IT LEAKS LIKE A SIEVE.

The Changes Of The Seasons - Neighborhoods

THE CHANGE OF SEASONS - OUR TOWN -ALL NEIGHBORHOODS

THERE ARE GOOD TIMES AND TIMES NOT SO GOOD, BUT WE ARE HOME, AND THIS IS HEART-FELT

     WE ALL HAVE MOMENTS IN OUR LIVES, WHEN WE WONDER HOW THINGS WOULD HAVE TURNED OUT, IF WE HAD MARRIED DIFFERENTLY. IF WE HAD LIVED SOMEPLACE ELSE, WORKED AT ANOTHER JOB, AND HAD THE MONEY TO BUY A BIGGER HOUSE, LIVING IN A MORE ELEGANTLY APPOINTED NEIGHBORHOOD.

     IF WE HAD FOLLOWED OUR INSTINCTS INSTEAD OF OUR HEART, WOULD WE BE HAPPIER TODAY? IF WE HADN'T MADE THE DECISION TO MOVE WEST OR EAST, AND OPTED TO STAY WHERE WE WERE BORN? A TRUE HOMETOWN. FROM BIRTH TO DEATH. OR IS IT ALL PRE-PLANNED? HAS IT ALL BEEN PRE-DESTINED? HAVE WE REALLY HAD ANY CHOICE WHATSOEVER, IN THE CHANGES THAT OCCUR, SOME MORE PROFOUND THAN OTHERS; THAT CHANGE OUR DIRECTION SLIGHTLY AT TIMES, AND SEVERELY ON OTHER OCCASIONS?

     MOST OF US ONLY THINK OF THESE THINGS, WHEN WE FIND OURSELVES FACED WITH THE SUCCESSES OF OTHERS, OR FAILURES FOR THAT MATTER, AND WHEN AT SOCIAL OCCASIONS, WE LOOK AT AN OLD FLAME AND WONDER, JUST WONDER MIND YOU, WHAT LIFE WOULD HAVE BEEN LIKE IF THE PARTNERSHIP HAD ENDURED?  THEN WHEN YOU DISCOVER, THAT THE REASON SHE, OR HE, AS IT MAY BE, ISN'T AT THE PARTY, IS BECAUSE OF A TRAGIC MISHAP RESULTING IN THEIR FATALITY. THERE IS AS MUCH AGONY IN THIS MINDFUL WANDERING, AS THERE IS JOY AND EXPECTATION. WE CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT WE WANT, AND SOMETIMES WHAT WE WANT WILL HURT US BADLY.

     WE ARE MORTAL…..AND WE CAN'T OUTRUN OUR FLAWS. WE CAN'T HELP THINKING ABOUT THE "WHAT IFS" OF LIFE. AS AN EXAMPLE OF HOW NAIVE I AM, I CONTINUE TO BE ASTONISHED EACH YEAR, WHEN HEARING ABOUT ACQUAINTANCES OF OURS, LEAVING THEIR SPOUSES FOR A LOVE INTEREST, AFTER DECADES OF MARRIAGE. I MUST CONFESS THAT I'M  ALWAYS PROFOUNDLY STAGGERED BY THESE PERSONAL CALAMITIES, BECAUSE MOST OF THE PARTNERSHIPS THAT FAIL, SEEMED ABOUT AS SOLID AND ENDURING AS YOU COULD EXPECT FROM A STORY-BOOK ROMANCE. MANY THAT I'VE KNOWN, BEGAN IN HIGH SCHOOL. FROM ANY LONGTERM RELATIONSHIP, YOU GATHER THE "HOW DO YOU DO IT" QUESTIONS. SURE, A FEW BLIPS AND LASTING DIFFERENCES OF OPINION, BUT NOT A TOTAL COLLAPSE. EVEN IN THE PAST MONTH, I'VE BEEN SHOCKED TO FIND OUT ABOUT THESE MARRIAGES GONE BUST. GEEZ, IF THIS IS WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF ACQUAINTANCES, WHAT'S GOING ON IN THE LARGER BALLYWICK? IS THIS A GROWING TREND? JUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS? IS SUZANNE LOOKING TO IMPROVE ON THE OLD FART IN THE CHAIR BESIDE? GADS, I BETTER SHAPE UP, OR I MIGHT BE SHIPPING OUT, IF THIS REALLY IS A DEEPENING TREND. ONLY KIDDING DEAR, HOW COULD YOU DO BETTER THAN ME? I DON'T THINK I WORDED THIS RIGHT. HOPE SHE'S HAD A GOOD FIRST DAY BACK AT SCHOOL, SO THAT WHEN SHE READS THE LINES ABOVE, SHE'LL CHUCKLE INSTEAD OF GETTING INFURIATED. FOLKS TELL ME I'VE INFURIATED THEM, AND THAT'S GOOD SOME OF THE TIME, JUST NOT WHEN IT'S YOUR PARTNER. I'VE SLEPT ON THE VERANDAH BEFORE. IT'S NOT SO BAD.

THE HOMETOWN HAS SEEN IT ALL

     I think it's what I liked most about the book our town was named after, and the author who obviously was a student of what neighborhood chemistry is all about….and was like in his day. William Henry Smith's book, "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil," published in 1862, is still enormously popular amongst scholars, who find its simple, basic approach to human nature, in the collective of community, still relevant to the new age neighborhoods, where life and relationships flourish, successes are rampant, joy is forthcoming, and pleasure is attained by the sheer exercise of waking each morning, to see another beautiful day emerging through the sun-glow. But with joy comes sorrow, and with success, one must appreciate those who, on the contrary, experience unspecified but damning failure. With the appreciation of pleasure, can come the sudden shift of unpleasant circumstance. As William Henry Smith points out, through the text of his well known philosophy of "commonplace," that one can not appreciate the true measure of joy without knowing dismay. The weight of tragic circumstance is what it is, based on the parallel height of triumph and ecstasy. If no one ever died, how would we know how to express ourself after the fact? To appreciate grief, there must be a parallel (opposite) reaction, such as the wonderful feeling, at hearing the plaintive cries of a newborn. Yet within moments of birth, in this same community of commonplace, someone might also die. Within moments of each event, we are flooded with conflicting emotion, and forced to make sense of what seems the perils of life itself……that there are so many crossroads from the first moments of existence, until the end.

     There are times, here, when we are stunned by news of a tragic death of a young person, and there doesn't seem to be any answer to our questions. Even long held faith can be rocked by this community news, which casts upon all of us, the guilt that companions a sense of failure; our inabilities to stop what seems a growing inevitability. When we see a churchyard full of young people, mourning a friend, who took his own life, what can we make of the scene, other than to feel, as they, that somehow our society, our town, the neighborhood, friends and family have failed to protect our kin. What did we miss, that might have re-shaped the future? How could we have intervened? Was it a failing of friends, to have missed the warning signs, or was it the case, no one could have seen this type of tragic circumstance manifesting in the weeks and days before? Was it a failing of our modern community; that admittedly is now a place, where we don't know each other the way we used to…..when neighbors borrowed cups of sugar and lawn mowers, and passed the time of day with easy conversation. Are we distancing from those stereo-typical days made popular in the 1960's by "Andy of Mayberry?" Or were we ever like that? I think we were. I'm willing to bet we were. Closer then. Much closer! 

     It can be proven time and again, that intervention can work. There are as many cases, I'm sure, when help doesn't change the outcome, more than to delay it for the time being. It is the commonplace of life, even as Smith saw it, and wrote about it in "Gravenhurst," that these are the vulnerabilities of life overall. We are susceptible to all the influences, all of the time, and while it might appear our social conscience might prevail, and change the course of our lives for the better, we can not stop the meteor from eventually landing on our heads. Even the safest bunker, will be useless in the event of a catastrophic weather event, or the launching of a missile from one hometown to another. There are things we can control, and much of it, beyond our capability to endure. When I looked at the youth gathered to pay farewell to their friend, I wondered aloud to my partner, if these associates, at their age, really understand what death is all about. Do they truly understand the finality, and the mysteries associated with demise, such that they appreciate what this loss will remind them of in the future. Will they think badly of their hometown? I don't expect many of them have seen the movie, "It's A Wonderful Life," to get a Hollywood philosophy, about what life and the neighborhood will be like, without those citizens who left life prematurely. The history that "their demise" will change us, by their absence. The change in the network of friends, and relationships, and the turns at the crossroads for the rest of their lives. It's not just the loss of one person, but the loss to each who had a distinct, day to day relationship, that will now be forced at the crossroads, to make turns they didn't anticipate, or that they might never have chosen, without the influences of a sudden death.

     As with the well known play, "Our Town," this is the cycle of life. As I can not imagine my life without Suzanne, and the company of my lads, I know one day, my time in this mortal coil will expire, and like those young people consoling one another on the church lawn, there will be a gathering of my friends and colleagues, and they'll wonder how things will change without a daily blog, or the occasional newspaper column, or even the familiar hobbling of an old journalist / antique dealer, heading for another day in the family shop on Muskoka Road. Life goes on. I'd like to think the bells will ring a little, and there will be a few tears shed, and maybe even some nice words spoken by those who knew me best. But moments after the dust hits my coffin top, and the wake has commenced, it should come as no surprise that the stock market is still ticking away, and the world hasn't lost any of its momentum. The seasons are what they are, and joy and sorrow still mingle with daily lives, in the chapters of successes, and failures, hopes and aspirations, actuality and reality, in our minds at each crossroad we arrive at……wondering which way is best for us. But never being able to refuse, the command to make a decision. Right or wrong. There is no loitering allowed. 

     Thanks for joining today's blog. Please visit again soon. Give a little thought about hometown then and now. Have we changed? Do we still care about our neighbors? Why have we drifted apart, even though our properties still abut?

1907 Town of Gravenhurst Electric Power Banquet

OOPS, IT WAS A 1907 MENU FOR THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST NOT 1909

PAPER HERITAGE ALL OVER THE PLACE, IF YOU'RE INTERESTED IN THE HUNT

     IN ONE OF OUR ANTIQUE HAUNTS, IN ORILLIA, WE WERE ABLE TO PICK UP A NICE PIECE OF GRAVENHURST HISTORY, TO GO ALONG WITH THE NEAT OLD CABINET WE PURCHASED EARLIER THIS SPRING, FROM ONE OF OUR OLD TOWN HOTEL ESTABLISHMENTS. THE CABINET, THAT LOOKS LIKE IT MAY HAVE HOUSED TOBACCO PRODUCTS, HAS A GLASS DOOR AND SOME INTERESTING DECORATION, AND MOST LIKELY CAME FROM THE PERIOD OF THE 1870'S TO 90'S, JUDGING BY THE CARPENTRY AND NAILS USED. WE JUST RECENTLY SOLD A BRAND NEW RUBBERSET SHAVING BRUSH AND BOX, WITH A CERTIFICATE INCLUDED, THAT WAS QUICKLY SNAPPED UP, FROM OUR SHOP, BY A LOCAL COLLECTOR WITH AN INTEREST IN REGIONALLY IDENTIFIABLE PIECES. WE SUPPOSE THERE ARE A FEW OF THE MENUS OUT THERE, PROBABLY IN THE ARCHIVES, BUT THIS ONE IS OURS….AND IT'S CERTAINLY THE KIND OF FIND YOU LOVE TO MAKE ONCE IN AWHILE, BECAUSE OF ITS LOCAL HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE AND RARITY.

   THE SMALL MENU IS SHOWN ABOVE, AND IS ACTUALLY DATED MONDAY, EVENING, OCT. 7, '07, INSTEAD OF WHAT I CLAIMED LAST EVENING, TO BE 1909 INSTEAD. I DIDN'T HAVE IT IN FRONT OF ME, AT THE TIME OF WRITING. STILL NO EXCUSE TO MAKE SUCH A MISTAKE, AND THEN CALL MYSELF AN HISTORIAN. JUST AFTER THE HUGE CHANGES IN THE HYDRO ELECTRIC SET-UP AT SOUTH FALLS, OVER THE LAST THREE YEARS, THIS IS QUITE APPROPRIATE. SOUTH FALLS (AT MUSKOKA FALLS) WAS VITALLY IMPORTANT TO THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST, AND POWER GENERATION.

     THIS IS A SMALL, MODESTLY APPOINTED CARD, BUT WITH THE KIND OF PROVENANCE WE MUSKOKA DEALERS LIKE TO HAVE IN OUR RESPECTIVE SHOPS. THEY ARE HARD TO COME BY, THESE DAYS, ESPECIALLY WITH INCREASED COMPETITION FOR PAPER HERITAGE ITEMS. IT'S OF COURSE WHAT MAKES THEM SUBSTANTIALLY MORE VALUABLE. SCARCITY AND DEMAND ARE THE KEY COMPONENTS IN DRIVING UP THE PRICES. THE CARD ISN'T IN MINT CONDITION, BUT IN THIS CASE GOOD IS ALL RIGHT TOO.

PAPER HERITAGE IS OFTEN NEGLECTED OR THROWN OUT

     When we had our shop in Bracebridge, a lady came in with some estate items she wished to sell. Her father had recently passed away, and they had been cleaning out both the house and the family business. This gent had kept almost every invoice since the company had begun business over several generations. The books she had to sell me were basically worthless due to condition, and the fact, they were undersized book club editions, and fiction, which I don't usually buy unless its an early Charles Dickens, Washington Irving, Herman Melville, Joseph Conrad or the good Mr. Poe. A "J.M. Barrie" first edition is always interesting, and I wouldn't turn away an early edition of "Alice in Wonderland," or "Wizard of Oz." The problem with fiction, versus non-fiction, is that the books have to be in perfect condition, and have their dustjackets also in great shape. Non-fiction is sold largely on content and rarity, and condition isn't quite as important.

     While the woman was standing at my counter, she happened to notice some of the paper heritage, old invoices and documents in my showcase. She turned white when she started repeating some of the prices. "My God, I think I've just thrown out a fortune in old paper father had in his filing cabinets," she said. "Is this stuff really that valuable?" The short answer is "yes," but it depends on what the material represents, where it's from, the historical significance, and the signatures on the documents. While we sell paper heritage from all over the world, if and when we make such acquisitions, the biggest seller regionally, has a Muskoka base……and the best of the best will have a marine theme. It might be steamship related, or having something to do with the boat building industry in our town, or around the lakes. I knew a fellow who sold a Ditchburn Boat Works seal, for about a hundred bucks, and I started to hyperventilate at the news. Without a doubt, such a stamp would represent at least five hundred dollars, because it can still be used. Even a Ditchburn seal on a piece of paper is worth a couple of bucks each. Think of the possibilities of being able to keep printing company seals. You would have to print a lot to water-down the market, as the name and brand "Ditchburn" is made of gold these days.

     The paper collectibles the woman threw out were not of the greatest value, but from the period of the early part of the 1900's, a nicely written and unfaded invoice, or document, could sell for between five and ten dollars to a collector. Now let me footnote this, that Muskoka ephemera is hot now, and although I have a problem with some areas of these price increases, such as with crested hotelware (because they weren't made here, just marked for a resort in our region), these local handwritten documents and receipts have a solid provenance to the actuality of the day and season in our region. You can learn a lot about a period in history, and the local economy, reading through a box full of old business receipts.

     Actually, I've talked to hundreds of customers, in similar situations, where they felt sick, about tossing out these items, from their own family estates, because they assumed there was no value attached. I've known people who have thrown out drawers of old letters, some from the war, that had a family value even if they weren't actually put up for sale. There are lots of collectors who desire these pieces of history, for a variety of reasons. And while I'm not suggesting that it's a good idea to sell off family love letters, left by a parent or grandparent, even if they are war vintage, there are many of these pieces of correspondence, that weren't mushy or even particularly intimate, because of the censors they had to pass through, before being delivered. So rather than toss them in the garbage, they should consider putting them up for sale.

     The same with old photographs. It is so disturbing to know that people will toss out old family photos, because of some dislike for their kin. I've gone to garbage boxes, even recently, and seen boxes of paper nostalgia and photographs, mixed in with the garbage of the day. These things have a monetary value, and as well, they represent our collective heritage in this country, on this continent and on the good old earth. We've lost a lot of important history this way, due to ignorance, plain and simple.

     Not all invoices are valuable. If you have paper heritage items, with provenance of a railway, steamship line, stage coach line, or a regional boat builder or seller, then you have something of undetermined but significant value. But believe me, there is value. And there are lots of buyers out there, looking for what you may have in a box, tucked in the attic, or on a basement shelf. Before you get the idea to toss it all out, re-assess what you have, and don't be afraid to ask questions, of dealers like me……who know how to find collectors out there, either from a shop setting, or world-wide via online sales.

     I'm happy with our Gravenhurst find this week, and it will be on sale in our shop as of Tuesday this week. It will sell quickly. But I'd like more. Boxes more. I've never known the demand for Muskoka collectibles, to be as high as it is right now. The problem is, trying to convince citizens to stop turfing the good stuff, and then trying to sell me musty books and broken chairs instead.

     Thanks for joining today's blog. I hope you'll come back again. Happy Labour Day weekend. Hope you had some rest and relaxation before the start of another season of work. Wasn't it a great weekend weather-wise? What a summer season this has been in Muskoka. If our local businesses didn't do so well…….then they need to re-tool or close-down, because this was a high traffic, bustling tourist season, and I've watched a lot since the summer of 1966, our first July and August as Muskoka residents…….and no longer summer visitors. I hope we see our tourist friends right up to the New Year. With the weather lately, we might still be wearing shorts. Geez, maybe we could have expanded the Music on the Barge Season to Christmas. Now wouldn't that be something. Hey, what about New Year's at Gull Lake Park. If they can do it outdoors at Niagara Park, we can do it on The Barge on beautiful, snow clad Gull Lake.

     Only kidding Fred. I just wanted to see if you were still paying attention.

Frank Miller And Jim Snow and The Tie That Got Cut

JAMES SNOW GAVE ME A GREAT PHOTOGRAPHIC OPPORTUNITY - AT FRANK MILLER'S EXPENSE

     WHEN I'VE MENTIONED THE PHOTOGRAPH ABOVE, IN PREVIOUS BLOGS, SOME HAVE DOUBTED THE STORY. SO HERE IS THE PHOTOGRAPH. I WAS MOVING SOME BOOKS BEFORE WE HIT THE ROAD THIS MORNING, FOR A LITTLE SIGHTSEEING, ANTIQUE PICKING MOTOR TRIP, AND THE OLD PHOTOGRAPH, FROM THE 1980'S, FELL OUT AND LANDED ON MY FOOT…..FACE UP. I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS IMAGE FOR THE PAST YEAR. THIS IS HOW IT HAPPENS FOR THIS LESS-THAN-NEAT ARCHIVIST.

     BRIEFLY, I WAS AT THE OFFICIAL OPENING OF A NEW HUNTSVILLE OVERPASS, BACK IN THE 1980'S AND THE RIBBON CUTTING WAS TO BETWEEN THE MINISTER OF TRANSPORTATION, JAMES SNOW, ON THE LEFT, AND MUSKOKA MPP, AND TREASURER OF ONTARIO, FRANK MILLER. JIM CAME UP TO ME A FEW MOMENTS BEFORE THE OFFICIAL RIBBON CUTTING, TO ASK A FAVOR. HE WANTED TO SURPRISE FRANK BY CUTTING OFF HIS TIE, INSTEAD OF THE RIBBON, PULLED TIGHT ACROSS THE ON-RAMP OF THE OVERPASS. HE TOLD ME TO WATCH FOR HIS SIGNAL, AND SNAP THE SHOT. I HAD A MOTORWIND ON THE CAMERA SO I PROBABLY GOT FIVE OR SIX WITHIN A FEW SECONDS, OF JIM SWITCHING FROM THE RIBBON, TO FRANK'S TIE. SO HERE IT IS…..MY FAVORITE AS A NEWS PHOTOGRAPHER. THE ONLY ONE BETTER THAN THIS, WAS A PHOTO OF MUSKOKA MP STAN DARLING, GETTING A HAIR OR SOMETHING IN A HAMBURGER, AT A LOCAL FALL FAIR, AND LOOKING AT THE HALF-EATEN BURGER WITH GREAT CURIOSITY…..AND SOME CONCERN. WE RAN IT. ACTUALLY, WE RAN A SEQUENCE OF THREE IMAGES OF STAN EATING THAT HAMBURGER. AS REPORTERS, WE LOVED TO CATCH SOMETHING DIFFERENT, WITH OUR POLITICAL REPRESENTATIVES, BECAUSE THE USUAL "GRIP AND GRIN" STUFF WAS SO BORING AND PREDICTABLE. SO JIM SNOW DID ME A REAL FAVOR THAT DAY, AND I'VE NEVER FORGOTTEN IT. HE HAD A GREAT SENSE OF HUMOR. FRANK ROLLED WITH IT, AS USUAL. BOTH MEN HAVE SINCE PASSED, BUT I'VE GOT TO TELL YOU, BEING IN THEIR COMPANY MADE REPORTING SEEM SO MUCH MORE EXCITING, THAN THE USUAL DAY TO DAY PHOTO-CALLS, AND FEATURE STORIES WITH NO MEAT ON THE BONES. THEY SUFFERED FROM BOREDOM JUST LIKE US, AND SO, SOMETIMES, WE JUST DIDN'T FOLLOW PROTOCOL. IN THIS CASE, JIM LED THE WAY.

A GOOD TIME WAS HAD BY ALL - BUT WE STILL WORKED ON A DAY OFF

WHEN WORK IS A JOY, IS IT STILL WORK?

     FROM THE VERY EARLY DAYS OF OUR RELATIONSHIP, BEFORE OUR WONDERFUL AUTUMN WEDDING, SUZANNE AND I WERE TRAVELLERS. NOT WORLD TRAVELLERS. NOT EVEN CROSS-CANADA ROAMERS. EVEN PROVINCIALLY, WE WERE MORE REGIONAL IN OUR MOTOR TRIPS. IT'S NOT THAT WE HADN'T TRAVELLED FURTHER AFIELD IN OUR LIVES, BUT WHEN WE BEGAN MAPPING OUT OUR FUTURE TOGETHER, WE DECIDED TO DO WHAT SATISFIED OUR INTERESTS FOR ADVENTURE. SURE, WE DID THE RELAXING, COTTAGE-DOCK THING, AT THE FAMILY COTTAGE ON LAKE ROSSEAU. BUT WE WANTED MORE. WITH THE ANTIQUE TRADE BEING AT THE HEART OF IT ALL, WE TRAVELLED AS PICKERS IN THE MID-1980'S, AND HIT ALL THE NEAT HOLE-IN-THE-WALL SHOPS FROM PENETANG, MIDLAND, OWEN SOUND, COLLINGWOOD, MEAFORD, WYEVILLE, AND OVER TO SUTTON, JACKSON'S POINT, BEAVERTON (WE'VE GOT A SOFT SPOT FOR BEAVERTON WHERE WE SPENT LOTS OF TIME), KESWICK, PFEFFERLAW, LINDSAY, FENLON FALLS, AND THEN UP TO MINDEN, HALIBURTON, DORSET, DWIGHT, HUNTSVILLE, AND UP TO MAGNETEWAN, BURK'S FALLS, BACK OVER TO ROSSEAU, AND THE REST OF THE MUSKOKA EXPERIENCE. BUT THERE ARE A THOUSANDS MORE PLACES WE LOVED TO VISIT AND STOPOVER FOR A PICNIC, LIKE BAYSVILLE, AND STOUFFVILLE, AND THE LIST GOES ON AND ON.

     

OUR MAIN LOVE IS MUSKOKA - AND WE WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT IT

      Admittedly, we always loved coming home at the end of the day, exhilarated, with lots of stories, and pretty much exhausted from the long drive. We'd arrive home with a vehicle stuffed with the finds of the day, and feeling as if we had thoroughly combed the countryside for Canadiana. We were excellent pickers in those days, when there were a lot fewer antique dealers to compete with…..and far more second hand shops with exceptionally low prices. The important aspect of these motor trips, was that we had a chance to experience our region, Ontario, and the people who reside and work in these fascinating little communities we got to know. As I have written about a thousand travel pieces, and still do for "Curious; The Tourist Guide," and the "Great North Arrow," I need trips like these to gather editorial material for future feature stories. So there are no wasted trips, even if we do come back with a lesser selection of collectibles than we did once upon a time. Suzanne and I have had some great fun out there on the road, and met up with many interesting folks, at museums and historic sites, antique shops, flea markets, at churches and community centers, where charity sales were being held. Sometimes I hate the fact it has come the time of day, when we have to head back home. Not that I don't want to come home, because I love our region of the province. Just that I don't want the good times to end.

     For those who know us, you'll appreciate that we took our boys, Andrew and Robert on the outings from the time they were newborns and they can say, if asked, they've had thousands of travel miles in this province, and a lot of it by canoe in Algonquin Park. We used to leave early on a Saturday, for a day trip to Algonquin, but before we got there, we would have hit every antique shop, yard sale and flea market found along the way. If we stayed for a few days, we even crossed the park to the east gate, and hit the antique shops on the way to Ottawa. They began buying as well, with their allowances, and it's how they got into the vintage music industry today…….finding old vinyl and musical instruments from a very young age, on these same mild but interesting regional adventures. But it wasn't work in the traditional sense. It's why their business today isn't a burden to them generally……because it was honed by our many picking trips, north, south, east and west.

     On our day off, Sunday, of the Labour Day weekend, we were off traveling again as a family, after all these years. It is always a treat when the four of us can get together, on a weekend, especially if it involves a road trip, good food (we love dining out), and hunting the kind of neat stuff we sell at their Gravenhurst shop. We have never found it a hardship in this way. Even though "taking a day off" should mean laying on a sunny dock somewhere, listening to the waves washing against the shore, we find recreation in our occupations. Picking! Buying and selling old stuff. When I was editor of the former Herald-Gazette in Bracebridge, the only thing that kept me sane, was our weekend automobile tours, and general antique hunting. I looked forward to it all week. I had to grit my teeth a lot, in the newspaper office, because I didn't get along with my overseers, who felt I should work more for less, as well as deliver newspapers. Can you believe that? It may have been the one time in my life, that I actually felt I was about to catch fire, by spontaneous combustion, and if I was right, I planned to dive onto the manager's desk, and spread the carnage. Antique hunting lowered the core temperature, whenever I felt a meltdown was coming.

    Some folks relax by fishing, hiking, or biking but what has worked for us, has been a togetherness thing, and all tied up into the business of antiques. Today we had a blast and got really neat stuff in some intriguing places. I arrived home with a large 1970's model plane, minus the working engine, mid 1800's rope bed, with just the boards front and back, that I'm going to make into a quilt rack for my partner to display her latest finds. Suzanne got a circa 1909 ceremonial menu, for a celebratory dinner, in recognition of the opening of the South Falls power supply to Gravenhurst…..(I don't have it in front of me at the moment, but will present in on this blog tomorrow…..so tune in). What a gem. Found it in Orillia. Suzanne got some vintage handmade dresses from the 1950's, a bag full of sewing collectibles, and a toy sewing machine she'll place in her store showcase. The lads got lots and lots of vintage records, an acoustic guitar and some drum gear. But it wasn't work. It was just a shopping adventure. When I write about working seven days a week…..well, technically, this is work, "hunting" these pieces. It just doesn't seem like work, and it never has, since their mom and pop got together, and had some of the most enchanting, wonderful motor trips through this beautiful countryside. I always like the harvest season trips the best. Today was no exception. The first stop. Egos Farm, southwest of Orillia, toward Medonte, where we once again, got our fresh peaches and cream corn, beautiful small potatoes, beans, late strawberries, peppers and the most incredible butter tarts. Wow. A culinary work of art. Yup, it was a good start to the day, and it ended just as it began. Us wishing for the very next opportunity, to have another sightseeing trip throughout our picturesque part of Ontario.

     We have always maintained the same attitude, that if this antique hunting and picking thing, ever becomes boring, or too much like work, we'll quit and take up something else. So far, knock on a big chunk of wood, we haven't run out of the zeal we have for travel and discovery. How about you? Do you enjoy an automobile trip through the hinterland? A chance to see how the rest of Ontario's rural population lives and works? I have always enjoyed re-reading the biography of the comedian / actor, W.C. Fields, who was a great enthusiast of motor trips without having any destination planned…..that might limit the spontaneous connections with places and the people who lived there……and there were many examples of trips that lasted days and weeks longer than was originally assumed by those close to the actor. He and mates loaded the automobile with food and beverage, and all the comforts that would fit onboard, and they travelled to the horizon and beyond, stopping for fabulously elegant picnics, a favorite of the eccentric Fields. And then they were off again, to destinations unknown……where the road took them. We have a little tighter budget of time, in which to enjoy this recreation, but we jam a lot into a short period of time. I hope the boys will think back fondly on these great family adventures, and it would please us to know end, to think they will offer their future families the same opportunities, to explore the province and country they reside.

     We've got some real work to do at the shop tomorrow, and it will involve lifting, shoving, repairing and getting ready for the fall season in the retail environs. Ah, it's still a pleasure to be working at something you enjoy this much. A young person we know, was complaining some time ago, about not enjoying his present job. I'm sure it's true, and I suggested he look at making improvements in his life, and working toward the establishment of his own business…….which, admittedly, is one of his choices but finds it hard to afford. Since my boys began their shop, on a shoestring budget, they have known the difference, between having a job to pay the bills, and having a way to pay the bills……and it's the same for us, that we occupy ourselves in a field we know we can excel, and profit, without feeling the weight of any ponderous length of chain, dragging behind. So many working stiffs feel this way. It's unfortunate but possibly, not irreparable.

     Thanks for joining this Labour Day weekend blog. Hope you're having some time to recuperate after a busy summer season. Maybe you've taken the summer off, and are already relaxed and raring to go on autumn projects. Good for you. Please join me again soon.

We Are Taking A Day Off To Enjoy Muskoka

WE ARE TAKING A DAY OFF, AND WE WILL OFFER NO APOLOGY - IT'S TIME TO BE TOURISTS FOR A DAY OUT OF A SUMMER SEASON

     IT HAS BEEN A GOOD SUMMER FOR BUSINESS. I HOPE IT HAS BEEN AS POSITIVE FOR ALL OUR OTHER MAIN STREET, AND GRAVENHURST BUSINESSES. WHEN WE EXPANDED THE BOYS VINTAGE MUSIC AND COLLECTIBLES SHOP, WITH A COUPLE OF ROOMS FULL OF ANTIQUES, WE KNEW THE ODDS WERE STACKED AGAINST HAVING A SUMMER TO BRAG ABOUT. IT'S HOW WE OPERATE, US CURRIES. WE ARE CAUTIOUS TO THE EXPONENT OF TEN, UNTIL WE KNOW ALL THE NUANCES OF THE PREVAILING MARKETPLACE. IT HAS TAKEN THE BOYS SIX YEARS TO FIGURE OUT MAIN STREET RETAIL. IT WAS A LOT EASIER LEARNING ALL ABOUT ANTIQUE AND VINTAGE INSTRUMENTS, DRUMS AND SOUND EQUIPMENT. THEY FOUND OUT EARLY IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE BUSINESS COMMUNITY, TO DO THE "TURTLE," AND PULL THE HEAD OUT OF HARM'S WAY, WHEN CONTROVERSY REARS-UP. WHEN WE ASSISTED THEM THIS YEAR, TO EXPAND INTO ANTIQUES GENERALLY, AT THE FORMER MUSKOKA THEATRE BUILDING, ACROSS FROM THE OPERA HOUSE, WE HAD THE SAME POLICY. KEEP OUR HEADS DOWN, AND AVOID ALL…..AND I MEAN ALL INTERACTION WITH THE POLITICS OF THE BUSINESS COMMUNITY. I'M SORRY TO SAY THIS, BUT WE WILL NEVER CHANGE OUR MINDS ON THIS, AS PRESENTLY WE'RE TOO BUSY DEALING WITH CUSTOMERS, TO WORRY ABOUT INTRUSIVE ADVICE ON HOW TO GET AND KEEP CUSTOMERS SHOPPING IN THE DOWNTOWN CORRIDOR. CUSTOMERS JUST WANT US TO DO OUR JOB, AND KEEP THE SHELVES STOCKED, AND THE ANTIQUE FURNITURE COMING IN WEEKLY. WE ALL FEEL SUCCESSFUL WHEN CUSTOMERS LET US KNOW THE SHOPPING EXPERIENCE AT THE STORE WAS ENJOYABLE. EVEN IF THEY DIDN'T BUY A RECORD OR A GUITAR STRING, IT'S PLEASING TO KNOW WE'VE PASSED MUSTER IN THIS REGARD. WE'VE HAD A FEW LOCAL MERCHANTS IN, TO SEE WHAT WE'RE ABOUT, AND THAT'S FINE. IT'S NOT LIKE WE EXPECTED TO BE CONGRATULATED FOR INVESTING IN GRAVENHURST'S MAIN STREET. THE BOYS DIDN'T GET IT SIX YEARS AGO, SO WE WEREN'T REALLY EXPECTING A BASKET FULL OF FRUIT, OR EVEN A PAT ON THE BACK. WE DON'T NEED IT. AND WHEN WE READ ABOUT ANOTHER DOOM AND GLOOM WINTER SEASON, AND HOW GRAVENHURST IS GOING TO DISAPPEAR INTO THE ABYSS OF IRRELEVANCE BECAUSE OF THE LACKING ECONOMY, WE'RE STILL GOING TO SHOW UP FOR WORK WITH BELLS ON, AND SURVIVE AS WE HAVE BEEN FOR MORE THAN HALF A DECADE. AS FOR THIS SUMMER, WE ARE ENORMOUSLY PLEASED WITH THE END RESULT, AND WHILE WE MIGHT ARGUE WE COULD HAVE DONE BETTER, THE FACT IS, ON A TIGHT BUDGET, WITH MINIMAL ADVERTISING, WE HAD JUST THE RIGHT VOLUME TO MAKE IT COMFORTABLE ALL ROUND. HAVING TOO MANY CUSTOMERS IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS, ISN'T THE HARBINGER OF FINANCIAL SUCCESS. WE LIKE TO VISIT WITH OUR CUSTOMERS, AND THIS SUMMER, THE GREAT PART, WAS THAT WE CONNECTED WITH CUSTOMERS WE HAD, AT OUR FORMER SHOP, ON MANITOBA STREET IN BRACEBRIDGE IN THE EARLY TO MID 1990'S. THIS WAS A BONUS. WE MADE A LOT OF CONTACTS WITH OUR COTTAGER FRIENDS, AND MANY COLLECTORS WE HAVEN'T HEARD FROM IN AWHILE…..SINCE WE DECIDED TO TAKEN ON RETAIL ONCE AGAIN, AND MINIMIZE OUR ONLINE SALES, WHICH WAS ADDING UP TO WAY MORE WORK THAN WE WANTED IN OUR RETIREMENT YEARS.

A DAY TO TRAVEL, EAT, AND RELAX

     We have decided to close our doors for the next two days, in order to catch a brief respite before the first week of September. We've had a few people question how we could be tired after only two busy months out of the year. Considering that we're only a part-time "seasonal" business, to some observers, it would seem a small price to pay, staying open on holidays and Sundays. One hundred percent of these people, have no idea, how much work is involved with Andrew Currie's Music and Collectables. It is a hugely demanding enterprise, because the boys are attached to many other freelance work situations, and also give drum and guitar lessons most week-nights. They come home at nights, absolutely exhausted, and of this I can attest, to just how committed they are to the business they created. It started off admittedly as a kid's dream. Five seconds after opening, they became adults, in a highly competitive business environment. They picked one of the more difficult industries to get involved, because their knowledge has to be thorough, and their ability to play the instruments they sell……of a professional calibre. 

     When they began their business together, six years ago now, they had to deal with a thousand shortfalls. They didn't have a bundle of money to invest. They didn't have one penny of a bank's credit, or a kind benefactor to hand them guitars to sell on consignment. Robert and Andrew had to work hard and long, and be as resourceful as possible, to make rent, and have a little money left over to hustle up inventory. I can't tell you how hurtful it was, and still is, when someone will make a stupid comment, about the fact we don't have as much inventory as shops in the city. They will offer the critique that we are inexperienced, and don't understand the music business, they way they know it……again based on their overview of urban area business enterprises. And someone will occasionally attempt to assess their business, as a modest affair, that is more of a hobby than a profession anyway. It's hard for my mannerly, gentlemanly lads, to keep comments to themselves, even though they feel insulted and hurt by these cutting remarks from patrons, who feel it important to raise themselves above others, if only in their short-sighted minds. I've had many chats with the boys recently, about letting this stuff slide. As I have told them many times before, the number of these interventionists is few, compared to the patrons who love to visit with the boys, and enjoy the hometown atmosphere. And of all things, they are a hometown business first. It's how they designed it to function. It was never intended to copy a Toronto music store. It has become a meeting place of music lovers, from all over the continent, (no kidding) and you never know what well known musician you're going to bump into, pawing through the vintage vinyl, or strumming an acoustic guitar in the sound studio.

     Our boys were born and raised in Muskoka. Some call them Muskoka-billies. They are the kin of original Muskoka pioneers, from the 1870's. They can walk into the Muskoka Lakes Museum, in Port Carling, and see their great-great grandfather's dug-out canoe on display. They can go to the antique and classic boat show, and see the Ditchburn, "The Shirl-evon," that once belonged to their grandfather, Norm Stripp, one of Muskoka's legendary wooden boat restorers. And when on occasion, some mouthpiece questions them about their knowledge of Muskoka, or insults our region for any of a number of reasons, they will recoil, as if about to pounce. They are as proud of Gravenhurst and Muskoka as they are of their family. There was a time, most recently, when they were talking with a friendly customer, who happened to be boasting about her Muskoka roots, as if she was talking to a couple of city kids who decided to open a local guitar shop on a lark. I remember Andrew's eyes twinkling, when he told me, that he waited for the right moment, to tell the young lady that….."well, I'm related to Muskoka Wolves." According to Andrew, she nearly jumped out of her skin, with that very special mention of wolves. No, the lads weren't raised by wolves. But truthfully, they are part of the legacy of "The Wolves." The girl, astonished by the reference, asked him to explain this claim to fame. "My family in the old days, were known as the Three Mile Lake Wolves." She was speechless, for those few moments, Andrew explained the connection to the pioneer family in Ufford, known as the Sheas, who often arrived in Bracebridge in the late 1800's, looking for a little rough-housing. In fact, they would link arms, and walk down the middle of Manitoba Street, looking for someone to challenge them to a fight…..or a brawl. Yes they were feared. They also represented a significant membership in the Orange Lodge, and they may have been looking for some Catholic brawlers, when they linked arms in those days. They beat a waiter at the old Queen's Hotel, because he stepped on their dog's tail at the table.

     The lady, standing in their shop, was kin. She had never met the boys. This had changed in a very profound way. Being a descendent of a Three Mile Lake Wolf was okay. Yup, they were locals for sure!

     The boys only growl when some of their adversaries leave the shop. They don't turn into werewolves or anything weird, by the first light of the full moon, but they do get awfully irked, when someone who doesn't know them, assumes they do……and affords them less consideration than they deserve. Not because of their wolf legacy, or that they might wish to fight those who mock them, but by the fact, they are of tough pioneer stock, and are loyal Muskokans and hometowners, quick to jump to its defense, when someone oversteps their right to opine in the shop. So when someone dismisses their business casually, or diminishes them as hobbyists in the music industry, I can appreciate, how difficult it is for two hard working lads, to refrain from ass kicking them out the front door. We still lock arms, us Curries, but it's more to restore our confidence, after some hurtful comments, than to initiate a donnybrook based on family history. For those who have taken the time to get to know both boys, they appreciate this wolf-like loyalty to tradition. And they turn up every Saturday morning, when their mother sends in fresh baking for our gathering of friends. This is the business our critics miss, because they're not invited.

     The Gravenhurst chapter of the Three Mile Lake Wolves, are taking a couple of days off. They are well earned, and true to our commitment, as a family, that there's more to life than money. We are going to head out on the open road, and who knows how far we'll get…….or how much fun we're going to have. We're pretty good, at cramming a lot of action into one day. It's all that's left of the summer season. We worked seven days a week till today. And we're beat. Even wolves get tired. Drop into our shop someday. If you're coming in for Saturday cookies, let us know in advance, so Suzanne can make a little bit extra.

     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Please come and visit again soon.