Lovable Loser Hockey Tournament March 10th-12th Part 3

THE IDEA WAS HATCHED FOR THE LOVABLE LOSERS HOCKEY TOURNAMENT, INITIALLY, AS A WAY TO SATISFY TWO NEEDS FOR THE RINK RATS

WE THOUGHT, WITH GOOD INTENT, THAT PROMOTING A TOURNAMENT FOR "LOSERS" WOULD GET IMMEDIATE MEDIA ATTENTION, AND BOOST OUR FUNDRAISING CAPABILITIES

     Rink Rats were solid team-mates on the ice, and good friends as civilians. We did quite a few things together, because we found a lot of common ground, let's just say, that we would never have guessed we had, when we first met in a crowded dressing room, judging the quality of each others skates, sticks and hockey pads. All recreational hockey players judge new members of the club, initially, by the skates they're wearing. It moves on and up from there. First off, it was obvious we were all of modest income, and not looking to commit to expensive gear in the early going, of a new relationship with a bunch of lads with undetermined qualifications, and commitment to show up each week to justify coming out in the first place. What happened over time, was that we found shared interests in business and hobbies, and social activities, which broadened the more we got to know each other. It's important to know this, because it was the mortar than bound us together as a club, and as a benevolent group serving the needs of the community. It was very much a democracy, although Brant Scott and I did much of the early organization work, such as arranging ice time at the Bracebridge arena, and getting enough players to cover the seasonal costs. We had a pretty agreeable bunch, which was nice, because we threw some early curves at them, when we mustered support for early fundraisers, to set the tempo we wanted for the future. Very early on, Brant developed some heart problems, that limited the amount of time he could play, in any one game, but he continued with his support in other ways. Ed Kowalsky stepped in early in the team's chronology to take-on some of the tasks facing us, when putting on exhibition hockey games, which necessitated considerable investment of time to make sure there were no problems on game night. In those years, because of our association with Muskoka Publications, and specifically The Herald-Gazette, we were reminded constantly about representing our business in the most positive light. We had to walk a tight-rope in this regard, and it meant attention to detail, and for Brant and I, we couldn't have pulled these events off without team effort, right down to co-ordinating ticket sales, and assisting arena staff with crowd control and clean-up when the game concluded. We came to expect an awful lot from the Rink Rat players, and they delivered. The creation of the Lovable Losers' Hockey Tournament, was a sort of dividend for the players, who wanted more action for their recreational investment. We had no problem selling our mates on the tournament idea, or volunteering to make it come to fruition. We could have used twice as many volunteers to handle all the jobs, but we got by each year, and truth be know, many players from other teams, chipped in to help us out. Now this was epic for us, and showed very clearly, how sportsmanship went well beyond the ice surface.

     I really don't know how much money we raised for the Bracebridge Blades Precision Skating teams, in the early to mid 1980's, but I think it was quite substantial. I know we gave money to the Recreation Committee of the Town of Bracebridge, to help fund a new ice resurfacing machine, when the old tractor finally kicked the bucket. I'm pretty sure we began giving money to other groups in the last half of the 1980's, and early 90's, but I can't be sure due to the fog of near-senior age.

     This five part series of retrospectives about the formation of the original Rink Rat hockey club, and the annual Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament, is dedicated to the fine work of the club and tournament organizers, now ready for the ceremonial face-off on Friday afternoon, at the Bracebridge arena. It will mark the 30th anniversary of the tournament, and pretty much the 35th anniversary of the team itself. I was in on both inaugurations, in 1980 and 1985 respectively. This is the occasion when the historian really feels part of the history he's writing about.

     Just as The Herald-Gazette Rink Rats were media darlings from the 1980-81 winter season, because, of course, we were promoting our weekly newspaper, which belonged to the broader Muskoka Publications, the creation of the Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament came along in much the same fashion and zeal for headlines; a few lads sitting around dodging the work of the day, and thinking about recreational opportunities instead. We used to do that a lot in the newsroom, where we were supposed to be writing front page copy, to fill in the white spaces between the advertisements.

     Heading to the mid 1980's, we had pretty much dropped association with The Herald-Gazette, in media references, which hinged on the fact our newspaper wasn't as big on offering us free advertising space any longer, or extending cash to offset event costs. I was still working at the newspaper, but Brant Scott had moved on to other writing gigs. Ed Kowalsky took his spot as a co-manager of the Rink Rats, which had recently merged with The Wombat hockey club, from the Tuesday, eleven to midnight ice slot. I honestly can't remember all the details about how we organized the first tournament, around the old coffee urn, with a very loose board of directors, other than what was provided by the general membership of the newly merged team.

     I just wanted to add this little note, to the Rink Rat history, because it's deserving of mention. It was Brant Scott who first negotiated with the manager of the Bracebridge Parks and Recreation Committee, to get our ice slot; yes, that amazingly awful eleven to twelve slot every Wednesday night, or what we came to know as the "divorce" hour. The manager them, was Tom Robinson, and boy oh boy, did we have a tussle with him for quite few years, trying to weasel deals on rental costs, and also, securing a better ice time. Tom used to hate to see us coming through his office door, but over time, we actually looked forward to the for-fun locking of horns, but it always worked out for the best. When Tom took an upper level job with Parks and Recreation, we had to negotiate with an understudy - several who didn't last long in the job, until Jack Sinclair, who we had known from our own high school days, took over, and gave us a great break in price, but guaranteed us, in the same breath, that unless we suddenly became royalty, we'd have to stick with the last rental hour of the day. To arrange the tournaments, we always had great support from Parks and Recreation management, which made things a lot easier on organizers, stressed with hundreds of other details.

     I can't remember all those who were sitting around the coffee urn, talking hockey, on that day, the name "Lovable Losers" came to mind, other than I put it up for consideration, and was probably the first to put it into print, via The Herald-Gazette; but most likely The Muskoka Advance, the Sunday "free" publication that I was editing at around this time. The original idea, was to create a tournament without any pretense that winning was the end-all. The concept was to reward the "best sports," of the losing squads. It was a provincial and possibly national first, that a hockey tournament wasn't going to make a big deal out of the club that took top honors in each category of play. It wasn't the case, that the best performing hockey teams wouldn't be recognized, but rather, it wouldn't be a tournament where excellence, on the score-sheet, was going to be the headline grabber at the end of play. It was, instead, going to be a celebration of recreational hockey, where sportsmanship ranked higher than the number of victories notched. Seemed like a good idea, to get our tournament some regional "ink" in the community press, and some air time on regional radio and television stations. Worked according to plan, that's for sure! Who the hell would think of starting a tournament that praises the losing clubs? The Rink Rats, that's who!

     In those first few years, running the tournament, we had lots of problems with some of the teams we had selected to join with us. We had note done our own due diligence, to sit down with each of the teams entered, before the tournament got underway, to make sure, it was crystal clear, organizers had instructed the referees, to eject any player for fighting, or showing extreme unsportsmanlike conduct. Oh boy, it didn't take long, in that first tournament, to find out what can happen when the rules of the specific tournament are not clarified before teams hit the ice. Ed Kowalsky was in charge of officiating on these matters, and there were quite a few ejections as I recall, and most definitely a considerable amount of unsportsmanlike conduct. We took a lot of heat from pissed-off players, but not issuing any apologies, and even in the years following, we had to discipline entire teams for violating our code of conduct. And yes, some teams were, let's just say, "smoking-up," in the dressing rooms, which was really nuts, considering we had a team made up of Ontario Provincial Police officers, also entered in the tournament. Ed, a constable himself, had his hand full keeping all this all under control, while I co-ordinated the upstairs bar, and food services. On another occasion, a suspended player, made an ovation, at the food concession, that he might just make a complaint about the way we were keeping the side-of-beef hot, without a large oven at our disposal. He was a tad vengeful and this was how he was going to get back at organizers. Suzanne was way ahead on this one, and could prove the temperature under foil, was more than adequate to avoid any health issues. She was a teacher, who was, that term, also in charge of culinary arts and catering at Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School. The players lined-up for their hot beef sandwiches, that were selling fast by the way, pushed the unhappy camper away from the counter, while scolding him for, of all things, being a poor sport. It was a highlight for me, that's for sure, where the players themselves were policing the event for us.

     Each year, when it came to selecting teams for the tournament, all the problems of the previous event(s), were analyzed and weighed-over, and of course, there were teams denied entry, because of actions and reactions witnessed during play, and in the auditorium where some bad actors found their performance stage. It wasn't a huge problem, in part, because there were often numerous players in the hall, from the OPP team, which did soften the situation down to a dull roar. In my years of association with the tournament, we had only a few serious disruptions of sportsmanlike play, which according to stats of other major tournaments in the region, was pretty mild, in respect to the number of players involved in the three day tournament, and the number of teams registered. We learned over time, to visit with each team prior to them going on the ice, just to act as goodwill ambassadors, more than anything else, and to make sure everyone understood the zero tolerance rule for unsportsmanlike conduct; which was more about fighting than cussing at the referees. We didn't like that either, but we let the refs decide what was in-bounds, and what was penalty material. They were great refs because they kept tight control right from the beginning of each game, and penalized all those who were showing early signs of unwanted aggression. For a media-friendly event, with a lot of coverage potential, each tournament, we didn't want to make headlines for hosting a "brawling" tournament, when we were advertising the virtues of being able to lose with dignity.

     During the last tournament I was involved in, with the Rink Rat hockey club, as an assistant coach, I had two memorable situations occur. First of all, I nearly had my toes severed, when Wayne Klager, a mountain of a man, lost his balance coming up the several stairs to the player's bench, fresh off the ice, and came down with his full weight, and skate blade, onto my soft shoe, on my left foot. I have never suffered such incredible pain first of all, and it was my first serious hockey injury, since I first began playing at seven years of age. And I was a goalie for most of this time. Although my toes weren't severed, they were cut-up and blackened. The pain lasted for months after, and even though no bones were broken, there were many disruptions with blood flow, tendons and affected nerves. To this day, by golly, I can tell when bad weather is coming two days away. I think about Wayne every time they start acting up. It wasn't his fault. It was mine, for not having steel toe boots on, much better for mingling with big lads with sharp skates.

     The second situation that developed, unfortunately, involved the host club getting in a small but significant on-ice fight. One of our smaller, less proficient players, had been knocked to the ice by an opposition defenceman, and a Rink Rat forward, sensing it was necessary to avenge the body check, which was fair according to the refs, dropped his gloves and grabbed the sweater of the offending player. From behind the bench I tried to call the forward back to the bench, the moment the gloves hit the ice. It marked the first time in Rink Rat tournament play, that a full fight had broken out, and there was nothing we could do, in order to stop it from escalating to involve other players. It was the first time I became the only dissenting voice, and it was admittedly a little weird, to be chastised by others on the team, who for some reason, thought I was betraying the Rink Rat code, by yelling at the perpetrator wearing the emblem of "the Rat". The fight that got most attention, for the spectators, was between myself and another assistant Rink Rat coach, who took great exception to my reaction. He felt that our player had done the right thing under the circumstances, based on the check to his under-sized team-mate. While it didn't come to blows, it was obvious to me, that the entire team on the bench sided with my new adversary, and I must admit, it was the moment, when I realized my time with the club was pretty much over. I couldn't agree with this point of view, even if it was one of those all-for-one, one-for-all moments, in the heat of battle. We were the hosts of a tournament that was devoted to sportsmanlike play, and seeing as I was intimately involved in establishing this as the rules for the event, in the first place, I did feel it was time to back away quietly, and allow the futurists of the club, to deal with the event constitution in their own way. I would be remiss to avoid mentioning this small, brief downside to a great club, and tournament history. History is influenced by all kinds of occurrences, positive and negative, so for this historian, it was just another chapter of many, and I found my contribution wasn't particularly desired any longer. It's not like it was the beginning of a trend, or anything like that, because the club and tournament have operated well, and fairly, for all these many years. And it's all that really counts, in the final tally of what makes something successful, or on the other side, a failure. You don't hit a thirty year anniversary without dealing with obstacles, and overcoming them. Now, for the record, I was in a hockey fight myself, but I was playing that day for The Wombats, not the Rink Rats, and it was in a pick-up game, not the Lovable Losers Tournament. Even then, the only reason I put my hands up in defence, was to block the blows from my opponent, who had ripped off my helmet, and was beating me over the head with it. Still felt bad about being in a dust-up regardless.

     The most serious injury that occurred, was on one of the final hockey nights of the season, during our eleven to midnight time slot, on the particular Wednesday night, when Ed Kowalsky, our netminder, and Phil Langois, an opposition forward during our scrimmage, raced at each other, in order to get to the puck first. It was right up the centre, and Phil was flying down the ice. Ed thought he could skate out, and dive on the puck before Phil could get to it; and the collision was horrific. Phil was literally catapulted by momentum, and obstruction, into the air, coming down awkwardly on his leg. If memory serves, Phil wound up behind the net, against the boards, sprawled on the ice with obvious breaks to his leg. Ed was unscathed. It was one of those hockey plays that occur over and over again, without so much as a scratch to opposing players. This one ended badly, and Phil had to contend with months of being in a cast.

     The only other time I can remember a serious injury, in a Rink Rat scrimmage, was when I took a hard wrist shot on net, and the opposing defenceman, Peter Renick, put his stick in front, and the angle of the blade deflected the puck sharply upwards, smashing him on the tip of his nose. It was a slider because I didn't want to hurt anyone standing in front of the net at that moment. The ramp that was created by the stick blade, gave the puck the sudden, sharp lift, and I felt horrible when I saw it hit him. At first I thought it had hit him in the eye. It was his nose, and I believe it had been broken. I was pretty sure this was the doctor's opinion at the hospital. It's quite true, that I was known as having a hefty wrist shot, and frequently passed the puck at waist level, simply because I had poor skills in this regard. I remember the night Gil Scott, brother of Brant, took me aside, after one particularly wicked pass, to the throat, and demonstrated the proper way to pass a puck to a team-mate. Not at mouth or waist level. I had been a career goaltender, shooting pucks with a heavy, fat stick, until we commenced the Rink Rats, and I found my opportunity to become a late-in-life right winger. I did eventually learn how to keep a pass on the ice, but it took a couple of seasons of being reprimanded.

Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament Part 2

LOVABLE LOSERS HOCKEY TOURNAMENT MARH 10th-12th IN BRACEBRIDGE, HOSTED BY THAT OLD GANG OF MINE, THE RINK RATS

IN THE BEGINNING - WE JUST WANTED SOMETHING TO DO, IN ORDER TO PASS THE WINTER SEASON

     THIS SHORT SERIES OF BLOGS WAS PREPARED TO RECOGNIZE THE 30TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE ANNUAL LOVABLE LOSERS HOCKEY TOURNAMENT, WHICH WILL OFFICIALLY BE ACHIEVED WHEN THE PUCK IS DROPPED, COURTESY LOCAL DIGNITARIES, THIS FRIDAY COMING FRIDAY AFTERNOON, AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA. I HAVE ALSO THOUGHT IT WORTHWHILE TO INCLUDE THE EARLY, AND FOUNDING HISTORY, OF THE RINK RAT HOCKEY CLUB, WHICH IS NOW IN ITS 35TH YEAR OF PLAY, YOU MIGHT SAY. WHAT MAKES ME SOMEWHAT OF AN AUTHORITY, BEYOND THE FACT I'M A REGIONAL HISTORIAN, AND SHOULD KNOW THIS STUFF BY HEART, IS THAT I WAS ONE OF THE DUO WHO HELPED ESTABLISH BOTH THE HOCKEY CLUB, AND THE TOURNAMENT, BACK IN THE 1980'S. I'M THRILLED BY THE FACT BOTH ENTITIES ARE STILL ACTIVE IN BRACEBRIDGE AND AREA, AND STILL FUNDRAISING FOR DESERVING COMMUNITY GROUPS AND ASSOCIATIONS. WE HAD THIS AS A FUTURE PLAN, WHEN BRANT SCOTT AND I HATCHED A PROPOSAL, TO START A PRINT-MEDIA CELEBRITY HOCKEY CLUB, TO PLAY EXHIBITION GAMES WITH OTHER MEDIA ORGANIZATIONS, TO RAISE FUNDS FOR, INITIALLY, THE BRACEBRIDGE BLADES PRECISION SKATING TEAMS, UNDER THE DIRECTION OF COACH HAROLD SHER, ALSO A MEMBER OF THE HOCKEY CLUB. WE WERE ALSO PROUD, A FEW YEARS LATER, TO HAVE MADE A SIGNIFICANT DONATION TO A FUND, TO HELP THE BRACEBRIDGE RECREATION COMMITTEE FINANCE A NEW ICE-RESURFACING MACHINE. WE WERE OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS, WHEN WE SAT DOWN TO PLAN THE VERY NEXT FUNDRAISING PROJECT. THE PUBLISHER OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, HUGH MACKENZIE, WAS KIND ENOUGH TO LET US USE THE PAPER TO PROMOTE OUR BENEFIT GAMES, AND DID GIVE US A START-UP DONATI0N TO HELP WITH FIRST YEAR ORGANIZATION. I DON'T ALWAYS GIVE THE HERALD-GAZETTE, NO LONGER PUBLISHING, THE CREDIT IT WAS WARRANTED, BECAUSE WE GOT THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS IN AD SPACE FOR FREE. OF COURSE, THE POSITIVE EXPOSURE THE RINK RATS PROVIDED BACK THEN, GAVE US A PRETTY NICE EDGE OVER THE COMPETITION. ESPECIALLY WHEN ONE OF THE OPPOSITION REPORTERS, WOUND UP PLAYING FOR THE RINK RATS.

     The first thing which needs to be established, is that the founders of the Rink Rats were not the kind of everyday blokes a service club, or fraternal organization, would want as members. Brant Scott and I may have been well known as local writers, and weekly columnists back in the early 1980's, working for Muskoka Publications, and specifically The Herald-Gazette, from the white office building at 27 Dominion Street, but we were fiercely independent and refused politely, many requests to join community associations. I was a member of the Bracebridge Historical Society at the time, but it didn't impose on my personal philosophies whatsoever. Our reasoning for not joining community clubs and associations, paralleled the line from the movie "Annie Hall," when Woody Allen comments, that he wouldn't belong to any group that "would have a guy like him for a member." This is what makes the start-up of the Rink Rats a little strange from the fellowship side of things. We just agreed that rather than having to keep coming up with feeble excuses, why we couldn't join other groups, declining invitation after invitation, it would be mildly appropriate therefore, to start our own charitable organization; where, by golly, we would write-up the constitution and the bylaws, and come up with a mission statement long before we hit the ice, on the first night we gathered at the Bracebridge arena. Brant and I were both minimalists back then, so the constitution was pretty thin and the bylaws even thinner. We covered it all with the mission statement, that we would base the whole nine yards of the team's future, on nothing more than goodwill between those who liked to play shinny, first of all, and who secondly, weren't adverse to playing exhibition games representing The Herald-Gazette, which did, afterall, give us a bit of seed money to get the "puck sliding." We rigorously enforced the "for fun" rule, and we only had a few lads who didn't like our laid-back protocol. It's true, we probably made it uncomfortable for anyone who tried to wrestle authority for the club into their dominion. Brant and I had our ways, let's just say, and those who stayed on with the club, learned quickly to accept, that we were the kind of media personalities, who were going to provide lots of ink to make the Rink Rats a stand-out team in the public domain. We were true to our word. Not in athletic prowess, and championship calibre play, but in terms of public recognition.

     As it would all mature, soon after establishing the club, Brant with his column, "A Wee Biscuit," and then just under his name, "Brant Scott," later on, and my column "Cold Coffee," which then morphed into "From the Bleachers," we had a huge amount of newspaper space each week, to promote the players and the projects, the Rink Rats took on throughout the year. In a couple of years, our team members became well known names in the community, because of this ongoing exposure; and they were all good sports, especially Dave Whiteside, who we wrote about frequently, continually dropping the fact that he was a former Toronto Argonaut who we claimed, quit pro football, in order to play for the Rink Rats. We had, in our ranks, well known Muskoka artisan, Jon Partridge, and artist Doug Dunford, as well as professional skating coach, Harold Sher, newspaper photographer / writer, Michael Hilborn, and many others who were stand-outs in their profession, and who we could boast about being onside with us media darlings, to fundraise for the community. Over the years we had quite a few celebrity skaters join with us, in our play in both tournaments and exhibition games. When Brant had to pull our because of an ongoing health problem, Ed Kowalsky, a local constable, took the reigns, and became the unofficial president of the club, while I stuck to media relations and publicity.

     We all got along. Brant and I, and then big Ed, had no problem working with these fine lads, as both team-mates and volunteers for fundraising. We had, without intending to, created a sort of recreational service club, with a willingness to be very "public" in whatever projects we initiated. Even the opposition press couldn't avoid covering Herald-Gazette Rink Rat exhibition games, and add to this, the fact Bracebridge Examiner reporter, Mike Gavin, was also a Rink Rat a few years after we had organized. We were getting mentions in the electronic media, especially when we'd issue a hockey challenge, because most of the stations had celebrity teams they were sponsoring in respective coverage areas. So for the 1980's, as an entire decade, there was no shortage of exposure for those playing on our team. We weren't getting press because we had a stellar team, but rather, due to the fact, we were able to raise quite a lot of money, being rather poor hockeyists, but pretty good showmen.     No fooling! Brant and I sat many nights, in the dimly lit corner of the Albion Hotel Press Club, in Bracebridge, basking in the successes of the club, mostly in the media, not because we were a championship-bound hockey team. We had sponsorship offers coming at us from local businesses, all the time, even across the jug of draft beer, at the hotel, and when we needed a float for the Santa Claus parade, and one of us mentioned it in our columns, we could well have a dozen offers, a few hours after the newspaper hit the store shelves, on Wednesday mornings.

     The interesting part of team-building, is how many friendships were made on and off the ice, that had Rink Rat influences. It even developed an unspecified number of business relationships. We would golf together, go on fishing trips as Rink Rat mates, and come together for socials at any time of the year we felt the need for a club meeting with fringe benefits. It was a club, with a loose constitution, without a single bylaw ever being put forward, let alone written down, or passed by majority vote; there was a sense of goodwill that has obviously become part of the club tradition, and most certainly its broadening legacy.

     I wanted to share some of the archives material I have written in the past four years, as anecdotal retrospectives of those halcyon days of the fledgling Rink Rats, and the founding of the Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament. You may not have known this, but my wife served up a nicely cooked, (falling off the bone) side of beef, at the second Lovable Losers Tournament, making for some incredible sandwiches for our guests; the same year as I won the table-top hockey game playoff, to settle which teams would move on in the tournament, the following Sunday. Our young lads, Andrew and Robert, were at the arena for most of those hockey weekends. It was a great family time, as well as being a dynamic event to be part of.....and I'm not just saying (writing) this, because I was one of its founders. It's also true, that it would take a couple of weeks for everyone to come down from the exertion, mental and physical, of putting on such an ambitious tournament. There were a lot of players to keep happy because we would have considered it a failing, if we had heard players complaining about their treatment, as our guests, in the days and weeks following each springtime event. There were shortfalls, and a hell of a learning curve, that really was just an upward experience, because each tournament brought new challenges, some we hadn't anticipated let alone, knowing how to overcome easily. Ed Kowalsky was never one to shy away from conflict resolution, and I can't tell you how much we leaned on him, to get us through the tough patches of organization, and deployment. But then, the same could be said for the rest of the club, on those occasions of special events, and everyone seemed to enjoy getting involved making an event a winner. Ed Renton, another one of our star goalies, was one of those never-say-never players who helped manage the tournament, (and exhibition games), which in a few years, required a lot more manpower to handle the growing popularity. The fact it has survived, and thrived for thirty years, as of this coming weekend, attests to the determination to succeed.

     I extend credit to those Rink Rats who carried on from the old days, like Gord Dawes, who is still a mover and shaker at nearly a hundred years of age. Only kidding Gord. You don't look a day over ninety. Humour. Now that's been a Rink Rat trademark from the beginning. By the way, I did forget a few players from the early years, when I wrote yesterday's opening blog, about the club's founding in the early 1980's. I should have included the names of Gino Ferarri, Dan Barnes, Terry Hrynk, Paul Monk and Vito, but God forgive me, I have forgotten his last name. Just for the record, meeting places for the Rink Rats back then, including the Wombats and after the amalgamation of the clubs, went from the news room of The Herald-Gazette building, on Dominion Street, to the tables of the North Villa Restaurant, where the Norwood Theatre expanded some years ago with another screen, the Albion Hotel on Main Street, The Holiday House (Now Inn at the Falls), my apartment in the former home and office of Dr. Peter McGibbon, on Manitoba Street, next to Reynold's Funeral Home, and both Ed Renton's, and Norm Levesque's recreation rooms, where the tournament planning was initiated in those fledgling years of the mid to late 1980's.

     The stories that infill the rest of the five part series, range from a memorial tribute to the Rink Rats first goalie, Harry Ranger, and as well, for Brant Scott, the club founder, and various other stories that I thought worthy of penning for posterity, about the way the hockey club became our social outlet, at the same time as we benefitted from the recreational opportunities associated with skates, pucks and sticks. I reiterate, that knowing the Rink Rats and the Lovable Losers Tournament has survived for all these years, with a new generation of hockeyists, makes me feel it was all very much worth the effort, to create the team as an

outreach organization, that tournament spokesman, Gord Dawes, can attest, is still committed to the promotion of sportsmanship in hockey; and dedicated to fundraising for worthy causes, within the community. Instead of hoisting a championship trophy over their heads, at the end of each tournament, the more important reality, is that the team basks in the knowledge, they have once again, made enough money by their dedicated efforts, to contribute to another local initiative that desparatly needs funding. I think this is the trophy, as legacy, that really counts when play is over for another year, and team-mates recall the season that was!

     From the archives: regarding the legacy of the Herald-Gazette Rink Rats, here are few memories for the scrapbook.

HARRY RANGER WAS THE KING OF THE RINK RAT HOCKEY CLUB

THE POOR GOAL-KEEP WAS DESTINED TO GAME AFTER GAME OF "HE SHOOTS HE MOSTLY SCORES"

     WHAT COULD YOU SAY, TO THE SMILING WEE LEPRECHAUN OF A MAN, LOOKING UP AT YOU WITH THAT PUZZLED LOOK THAT SAID, WITHOUT THE NEED FOR A SINGLE SPOKEN WORD…., "WHAT? I DIDN'T DO THAT!" FOR THE RECORD, YES HE DID! HE DID THESE KIND OF THINGS ALL THE TIME. BUT ONLY TO THE PEOPLE HE REALLY CARED ABOUT. TRUTH IS, WE KIND OF LOOKED FORWARD TO HIS HORSE PLAY, BECAUSE IT WAS ALWAYS IN GOOD FUN.

     YOU COULD HAVE RESTED YOUR ELBOW ON THE TOP OF HIS HEAD, IF YOU HAD WANTED TO…..AND HE WOULD HAVE LAUGHED IT OFF.  BASHFULLY GLANCING UP AT YOU, WITH THOSE DEEP, TWINKLING EYES, IT WOULD COME AFTER HE HAD JUST GIVEN YOU A "WET WILLY?" WHICH OF COURSE WAS A WET FINGER….. HIS FINGER, HAVING BEEN IN HIS MOUTH, BEFORE BEING STUCK IN YOUR EAR. THAT'S ONE OF THE FIRST MEMORIES THAT CAME TO MIND, WHEN BRANT SCOTT READ MY EMAIL THIS MORNING. HIS REPLY BACK THIS EVENING, WAS AS A FORMER TEAM-MATE AND PRINT-INDUSTRY COLLEAGUE, WHO HAD PUT UP WITH THESE PRACTICAL JOKES EVERY DAY FOR YEARS. I HAD LET BRANT KNOW THAT OUR MUTUAL FRIEND, RINK RAT HALL OF FAMER, HARRY RANGER, HAD PASSED AWAY EARLIER THIS WEEK, AT HOME IN BARRIE. 

     SO HERE'S A HOCKEY STORY TO HEAD-UP THIS LITTLE MEMORIAL TRIBUTE TO A FALLEN RINK RAT.

    WHEN HERALD-GAZETTE COLUMNIST, BRANT SCOTT, ("A WEE BISCUIT" WAS ALWAYS MY FAVORITE OF HIS COLUMNS), CAME INTO THE NEWSROOM, TO SEE ME, ALL ENTHUSED THAT WE HAD JUST GOT A HOCKEY GIG FOR OUR NEW MEDIA TEAM, I WAS AGHAST, BUT DIDN'T WANT TO SHOW MY FRIGHT RIGHT AWAY. IT COULD WAIT. I KNEW THE TEAM HE WAS TALKING ABOUT, AND THEY WERE JUST SHY OF N.H.L CALIBRE. I LISTENED IN AWE, BUT MOSTLY FEAR! HE WAS TELLING ME, WHAT HE THOUGHT WAS GOOD NEWS, THAT WE HAD A HOCKEY GAME REQUEST, TO PLAY UP IN THE VILLAGE OF MACTIER; WITH A TEAM SO HUNGRY, IT ATE THE COMPETITORS WHOLE. NOT EVEN ANY LEFTOVERS FOR THE MINOR TEAMS TO FEED OFF. MY FIRST JOB AS A CUB REPORTER, WAS FOR THE GEORGIAN BAY-MUSKOKA LAKES BEACON, IN UPTOWN MACTIER. I WENT OUT FOR A GAME OF PICK-UP WITH THE SAME TEAM, IN THE EARLY WINTER OF 1979, AND PLAYED THREE PERIODS OF NET. IT WAS A SIXTY MINUTE HORROR THAT UNFOLDED THAT NIGHT, WITH FOUR MAN BREAK-AWAYS ALL THE TIME. I WAS BLACK AND BLUE ALL OVER, FROM SLAP SHOTS FROM EVERY ANGLE ON THAT SHEET OF ICE. WHEN THEY ASKED ME OUT FOR A SECOND NIGHT OF HORROR, I POLITELY DECLINED. I WASN'T HEALED FROM THE FIRST EVENING OF HOCKEY-RUGBY. 

     I IMMEDIATELY RESPONDED, "THAT'S GREAT BRANT, BUT HOW ARE WE GOING TO GET HARRY UP THERE? I'M NOT PLAYING NET AGAINST THOSE GUYS, EVER." IT WAS BACK IN THE EARLY 1980'S. WE HAD JUST ORGANIZED A NEWSPAPER SPONSORED HOCKEY TEAM, AND HONESTLY FIGURED WE KNEW WHAT WE WERE DOING. HARRY RANGER KNEW HOW BAD WE WERE, BECAUSE AS IT WAS SAID OF HIM, IN THOSE DAYS, "HE HAD MORE RUBBER LANDING ON HIM THAN THE RUNWAYS OF TORONTO'S AIRPORT." THAT WAS TRUE. BUT YOU KNOW, AFTER THE GAMES WE GOT POUNDED, A FEW BEERS LATER ON, ALWAYS SEEMED TO EMPOWER US, TO MAKE BIGGER AND MORE DARING CHALLENGES. THE PROBLEMS ASSOCIATED WITH THIS, WERE THAT A FEW OF OUR BETTER PLAYERS, REALLY DIDN'T LIKE BEING HUMILIATED EVERY GAME WE PLAYED. SO WE WERE FORCED TO LIE TO THEM, IN ORDER TO GET A FULL TEAM OUT. SO BRANT AND I, IN THE MIDDLE OF A WORK DAY AT THE NEWSPAPER, TRIED TO FIGURE A WAY OF SOFT-SELLING IT TO HARRY, SO HE WOULD AGREE TO MAKE THE TRIP. HE WAS OUR GOALIE AND NO ONE……AND I MEAN NO ONE, WOULD VOLUNTEER TO STRAP ON THE OLD PADS. I WAS A CAREER GOALIE AND I EVEN REFUSED. I WOULD RATHER HAVE BEEN A HALF ASS FORWARD THAN A BEAT-UP GOALIE. SO MUCH FOR HARRY.

     WE CONVINCED THE KINDLY, GENTLE, DIMINUTIVE OLDTIMER, THAT THE MACTIER CLUB WAS GOING TO LEND US A FEW PLAYERS, AND HE WOULDN'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE NORMAL RINK RAT FARE, OF BEING PUMMELED ALL GAME LONG. IN RETROSPECT, AND BY THE WAY, I DID APOLOGIZE FOR LIEING TO HIM…., HARRY DID COME WITH US, AND HE BELIEVED OUR COVER STORY RIGHT UP UNTIL THE PUCK DROPPED, AND HE COULD CLEARLY SEE THE RINK RATS WERE SPORTING THE SAME WAYS, THE SAME INCOMPETENCE, AND THAT WAS NOT GOOD FOR HIM.

     AT ONE POINT IN THE FIRST PERIOD, WHEN HE COULDN'T SEE BECAUSE THERE WAS SO MUCH SWEAT DRAINING INTO HIS EYES, DRIPPING DOWN THE LEATHER OF THE MASK, HE SAID TO ME, IN A SHORT HUDDLE IN THE CREASE…."CURRIE, YOU SON OF BITCH. YOU LIED TO ME AGAIN."  LIKE THE RINK RATS WERE FAMOUS FOR, WE STARED INTO THE DRAGON'S DEN, LAUGHED AT ADVERSITY, WHACKED OUR STICK SHAFTS AGAINST HARRY'S TORN PADS (THAT ALWAYS SHED HORSE HAIR ON THE ICE) AND SAID, WITH CONVICTION, "HARRY, WE'RE MOUNTING A COME-BACK. HANG IN THERE." AS WE WENT BACK INTO THE NEXT FACE OFF, HARRY COULD BE HEARD MAKING SOME PACT WITH GOD, OR FOSTER HEWITT, TO SURVIVE LONG ENOUGH TO GET BACK INTO THE LOCKER ROOM…..FOR THE BEER HE MAY, OR MAY NOT HAVE HAD, TUCKED INTO HIS SHOE FOR MORAL SUPPORT. AT ONE POINT IN THE THIRD PERIOD, WE SAW ALL THESE MACTIER LADS DOING CARTWHEELS, AND PIROUETTES BEFORE FALLING TO THE ICE. HAROLD SHER, A FIGURE SKATING STAR ON HIS OWN, TOLD HARRY TO STOP TRIPPING THEM, OR THEY'D BEAT THE REST OF US UP. "I'M NOT TRIPPING THEM," HARRY YELLED AT HAROLD, "IT'S THE DAMN HORSE HAIR AND STRAW COMING OUT OF MY PADS. IT'S ALL OVER THE FRONT OF THE NET." HEY, IT WORKED FOR US, AND IT'S HOW WE SPRUNG HAROLD FOR OUR ONLY GOAL IN THE GAME.

     I THINK HE LOST TEN POUNDS THAT GAME, AND YOU KNOW, THE LITTLE FELLOW STOPPED AT LEAST HALF THE SHOTS ON NET, AND ALTHOUGH ARGUABLY THE SCORE WAS A LITTLE BIT LIKE, WHAT YOU'D SEE IN BOLD LIGHT, ON A FOOTBALL JUMBOTRON, WE RINK RATS GAVE OURSELVES A LOT OF GOODWILL POINTS, FOR JUST MAKING IT TO THE FINAL BUZZER, WITHOUT HAVING TO RAISE THE WHITE TOWEL OF SURRENDER. "I'LL NEVER BELIEVE ANOTHER THING YOU TELL ME CURRIE," SAID THE WHIPPED RINK RAT NETMINDER, AS HE MADE A BEE-LINE FOR THAT FLASK OF COLD ALE. BREEZING PAST THE REPORTER, ME, WHO WAS ALSO COVERING THE GAME FOR THE HOMETOWN PRESS. THE HEADLINE WOULD READ, "MACTIER LIONS EAT RINK RATS FOR GOOD CAUSE." I KNOW. I DROPPED THE "B." HEY, IT WAS A FEATURE COLUMN IN GOOD FUN, ALTHOUGH HARRY WAS TRYING TO LAUGH IN THE DRESSING ROOM, NOTHING WAS COMING OUT, BUT A SPITTING, SPUTTERING DIATRIBE THAT SOUND LIKE, "YOU BASTARDS!" HIS LONG TIME FRIEND AND NEIGHBOR, ALISTAIR TAYLOR, WHO MAY HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO AT LEAST FIVE OF THE THIRTY GOALS, BY ACCIDENTALLY CLEARING THE PUCK INTO OUR OWN NET, WAS TRYING TO CAJOLE THE TWO INCH SHORTER "HARRY" BUT NO PROMISES WERE HAVING ANY IMPACT, EXCEPT WHEN HIS PRAYERS WERE ANSWERED; "FOR GOD'S SAKE MAN, GET ME ANOTHER BEER."

ALWAYS A CHEERFUL FORMER GOALIE

     As regular visitors to this blog site will recognize, my heart never left its position with the old Herald-Gazette, in Bracebridge. It was my dream job. My friends were there, and that included Harry and his wife Sheila, who worked in our printing shop, then known as Muskoka Graphics; tucked into the dank, ink-scented rear part of the familiar thin, white, two story building, on Dominion Street; looming so pure and historic, at the intersection with Quebec Street. It was a job I looked forward to, each morning, and I didn't mind staying late. I would spend part of each day chatting with the printing staff, including Jimmy Wright, another master of the machines, and one of the Rink Rat founders. I was mesmerized by the printing machines, and Harry would patiently describe the process, and what they were working on, at the time. He had a smile and an anecdote every time we visited, and honestly, and conveniently, he could play me like a cheap violin. He had a great sense of humor, and he loved to play practical jokes on me, (and Brant) and I was a "sucker," taking the bait every time…..only to look around, and notice all the other staff killing themselves laughing. I may have reminded him of this cajoling, when I had that goal-crease meeting with him, in MacTier. "Hell if you can't take a joke Harry," I probably uttered, in one of about fifteen retreats, trying to convince him to stay in the game. I told the lads on the bench we might have to duct tape him to the posts, because he was talking about pulling himself for a sixth attacker. And this was only the first period. I told him that night, that even if he was to expire in the middle of the game, we would have to fake-it, and prop him up against the cross-bar until the final buzzer. "Currie, I'm quitting this team," he'd mumble, as I skated away laughing. You could hear him hitting the goal-posts with his stick, and I knew those chops were for my benefit. He was thinking of my shins at the time.

     My proudest moment, was when I was asked to attend a Loveable Losers Hockey Tournament, in the late 1990's, a tournament still run by the Rink Rats in Bracebridge, and was asked, during the opening ceremonies, to come out to centre ice for a special presentation. There I was, side by side my two great Rink Rat chums, from the original Herald-Gazette years, Ed Kowalsky, and Harry Ranger. We were there to receive our official retirement sweaters, with names on the back, and a rousing testimonial by Gord Dawes and Ed Renton, for our years of service to fundraising in the community, and hopefully good sportsmanship toward others. I looked down at Harry's little bald head, wrapped my arm around it, and whispered, "I'm sorry you old fart, for hauling your ass to MacTier that time." He looked up, with a huge smile, and very softly, replied, "God will get you one day Ted….and when he does……"

     God got Harry first. My old hockey and work buddy, passed away on Monday evening, after a brave battle with lung cancer. On Monday night, I actually thought about Harry, and the Rink Rats, for no apparent reason, yet I think now, he was letting me know he had moved on from this mortal coil, ready for the next challenge of existence. As I do very much believe in the after-life, and our ability to communicate with those who have crossed over, I'm talking to him already, and well, begging him to go lightly on me, when it's my turn to head heavenward. He'd relish the idea that I'd be worrying about this…..sensing that even in heaven, there can be a little hell going on…..and that even God likes the occasional practical joke; within reason of course. He might lose that heavenly finger, or be sent back to earth as a porcupine, if he tries a wet willy on the big guy.

     Harry used to love telling me that he was related to Toronto Sun columnist Paul Rimstead, from up Sudbury way, and therefore, having him and Rimmer up there, means God's got a full compliment of jokesters to make the heavenly experience even more heavenly.

     I wish to extend my heartfelt sympathy to the Ranger family. Harry had an amazing life force within, and a goodness that I felt in my heart, even after many years of being distant from one another. That was the aura of Harry Ranger, and it was as infectious as it was beautiful. I have known a lot of characters in my day, who influenced me in my writing career, but very few have had the impact of Harry Ranger…..a good sport through and through. A kindred spirit who gave more than he ever received…..but he was happy to do so.

     I even helped Harry and Sheila, and the residents of Balsam Chutes, save the old Stephenson Road bridge, back in the 1980's, that had once been the bridge over the rapids at Bird's Mill in Bracebridge. After it had been replaced, it was rebuilt over the Muskoka River, on the Stephenson Road. It was a beautiful old bridge but it was in structural distress, and neither Huntsville or Bracebridge had an appetite for paying for the repairs; as it was a town-line structure in a sparsely populated area. It was only a couple of football field lengths from Highway II. If the bridge was closed, it would have meant a much longer drive out to Highway II7, and then north and south on Highway II. It was done this way in the winter because the hill on the highway side, across the bridge, was a monster that couldn't be plowed in the winter season. Well sir, little Harry and his team of Save Our Bridge residents, fought the good fight, and saved the old bridge. Even though it was serious business, we had a lot of fun working on it together. You just couldn't work with Harry, even for a minute and a half, and then say the experience was unremarkable.

     We are all better, kinder humans for having known Harry Ranger, goaltender extraordinaire!

Lovable Losers Hockey Team Tournament Upcoming

LOVABLE LOSERS HOCKEY TOURNAMENT HITS 30 YEAR ANNIVERSARY - HOSTING RINK RAT HOCKEY CLUB CELEBRATES 40TH ANNIVERSARY

IDEA FOR HERALD-GAZETTE RINK RATS WAS ESTABLISHED IN THE FALL OF 1980, OVER BEER AT FORMER ALBION HOTEL IN BRACEBRIDGE

    I have a well earned limp, My hands and knuckles are pretty beat-up, and my crooked nose, broken many times over a career, was smashed awkwardly to each side of my face, depending on which angle  the slap-shot arrived;  or the way a high stick, in a goal crease scrum, caught under my mask; or the fist of an adversary found me unawares. When folks, mostly out of kind consideration (a few mean spirited), ask why I favor my left leg, I tell them it is the result of a joy for competitive sports.

    I loved playing hockey and didn't mind my coach Donny Thur yelling at me for letting a soft one into the net. I played net for most of my hockey days, and with baseball and football in the alternate seasons, I hurt my hip and hands something fierce. I'd do it all over again, pain and all,  if God gave me a chance. I feel my little limp, as I hobble today, was well earned over thousands of hours on ice. It was Roger Crozier himself, the late great netminder of the 1960's Detroit Red Wings, who taught me his drop-and-stop acrobatics when I attended his Red Wing Hockey School as a kid. It was former Toronto Maple Leaf Bucko MacDonald, who showed me how to administer a hip check, although there wasn't much call for a netminder to get that aggressive. He gave me an old fashioned hip check, of which he was well known for back in the 1950's,  as a demonstration, and I watched my skates pass my head on the tumble down the ice. He at least picked me up and checked that my head was still attached.

     After a lot of great fun in Bracebridge Minor and Senior Hockey, I worked with several other hockeyists to establish a team to be known as The Herald-Gazette Rink Rats. I cheated retirement by another decade and a half, until the hip just wouldn't forgive the excesses any longer. What a thrill to find out that the Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament, which was begun by OPP Constable Ed Kowalsky and I, then editor of The Herald-Gazette, more than three decades ago, is still a going-concern. It will be held at the Bracebridge Arena from March 10 to 12th, Ed and I were presented with special team sweaters several years ago, and invited to a centre ice ceremony by our old club for the 30th anniversary in 2015. We both wear our sweaters around the house, just not on the ice any more.

     It is why I have always been a sports nostalgia collector and I've got a mountain of hockey cards and vintage equipment to show for it! You may know from previous stories that I was Curator of the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame for 12 years, appointed by Roger Crozier, and I got to handle some amazing hockey heirlooms in those years. Sports is still a major component of our antique business and it always will be. I wrote this brief history of the very early years of the club and the tournament for the 30th anniversary celebration, and in respect to a fine club and amazing tournament, I thought I'd run it once again in recognition. 

     I looked in the mirror, a few minutes ago, and noticed my eye lashes are quickly disappearing. My hair line is now at the back of my head, and I have strange lumps instead of the knuckles I was born with, that has something or other to do with the rigors of fifty-nine years of hard living, and a lot of that time spent playing hockey. In my era of hockey, you learned to play while injured, and I never remember a time being hauled out of the net to tend a wound, unless there was a lot of blood, or asked if I knew my name, or place of residence, after suffering a particularly stiff body check, or blow to the head. There was no replacement goalie dressed anyway, so we sucked it up, and got on with the game. No kidding. It was a tough sport. I think that of all the years I played hockey, from the age of seven, in Burlington, and then, in Bracebridge Minor Hockey, onto netminding for Winter's College, at York University, my happiest years were playing recreational hockey with the Rink Rats. What great and enduring memories, when everything else about me, it seems, is falling apart; and oh heck, there goes another eyebrow hair down into the sink. It brought back a recollection of the only hockey fight I was ever in, with opposition player, Robbie Ketch, who, in pulling my helmet off, also removed my left eyebrow in the tussle. He found it later in the palm of his glove. I did the same once, but it wasn't a fight. We were playing a "for-fun" game in Baysville, against a team from Huntsville, and when I collided with an opposition forward, dropping my glove and stick in the process, as well as ourselves flat on the ice, imagine then my surprise, when I resumed play, and later found a huge clump of beard, between my palm and the stick. I check out mine, and it was fine. I then looked back down the rink, and saw the guy I collided with, asking a team-mate what was wrong with his beard; sensing it wasn't even at the bottom, or for that matter at the top either. "Jesus Christ Ted, you ripped the guy's beard right off; better keep you head up, he's got a wild look in his eyes." I thought about giving him the remnants of his beard, but I decided that would be provocative and injurious to my health. I think his wife may have liked the idea, of him having to get a beard trim anyway to balance things out. Aches and pains from the excesses of yesteryear, are a lot easier to take, when you mix it all with the good memories of those days of our lives, when we lived for that evening or weekend game of shinny, and the good company of like minded individuals, who thought chasing a puck was better than most other off-hours recreations. Except having a cold beer and reliving the big plays and bigger saves.

     Here's how I became a Rink Rat. And, for the sake of argument, how I am paying for all the fun back then, right now!  

     Gord Dawes, long-serving spokesperson of the Bracebridge Rink Rats Hockey Club, sponsors of the annual Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament, now on the cusp of recording its 30th anniversary, this weekend, invited me to participate in the opening ceremonies, this coming Friday afternoon; and well, I'm feeling my age admitting this, "as one of the original old farts from that first group of athletic misfits, from back in the winter of 1980-81." I won't be around this coming Friday, and admittedly I'm a little shy of pomp and ceremony anyway, but no fooling, I am very honored to have been offered this invitation. Back a few years now, I was invited to participate in the opening of the tournament, as a VIP, with my former team-mates Harry Ranger, our first netminder, and Ed Kowalsky, our second goal-keep, and it was skin-tingling honor, to be presented with Rink Rat sweaters with our names printed on the back. We were very humbled that day, because we never imagined that we would be given any credit for beginning, of all things, a for-fun hockey team, that could only get a late night ice slot every Wednesday night. But there was more, much more, and the real story here, is how Gord Dawes, and the new "but still mature" team-mates, with roots all the way back to 1980, have kept this good intention alive for thirty-five years. The tournament that Ed Kowalsky and I put together, to celebrate "losing" while recognizing the good graces of "winning," back in 1985, is going to have its 30th anniversary Friday, at around 3:30 p.m., when dignitaries and opposing players line-up to drop the first puck of the tournament.

     I want to commence this five day, five blog celebration of the early Rink Rat years, and the founding of the Lovable Losers Tournament, by dedicating this portion, of a much bigger story, to my former team-mates who have passed away. Brant Scott, a wonderfully talented writer / reporter / columnist, who worked with me at The Herald-Gazette (Muskoka Publications), passed away this past autumn season, and he was most definitely the originator of the idea, of renting ice time at the Bracebridge arena, for some weekly shinny. I remember the day we started shooting the breeze, as they say, over a cup of coffee in the news room, at 27 Dominion Street, sometime in the early winter of 1980. We were supposed to be writing copy for the next week's issue of the paper, but what the hell. Recreation was a more important concern, that day, necessitating as well, a trip for a glass of beer at the local press club; which by the way, was a corner table at the former Albion Hotel, opposite the Bracebridge train station. The idea was to create a "print media" hockey team, which could be used to promote The Herald-Gazette (we needed money from the publisher to finance our recreation), and we would find various "electronic media" teams to play in future charity events. So from the very beginning, there was the master plan, to create a team that would be both high profile, and a fundraising body in the community. Oh, yes, and we would have fun preparing for those future games, by having amazing social times, every Wednesday night over quite a few winters.

     Brant Scott, was also the founder, of one of the town's most successful fundraisers, at the Bracebridge arena, when he was able to coax revered Toronto Sun, Calgary Sun and Edmonton Sun columnist, Paul Rimstead (formerly of Bracebridge) to call the play by play from the gondola, for our benefit game against the "CKVR NO-Stars." When I got to the game early that night, there, standing by themselves in the lobby, was Paul, in his big white Stetson, with Miss Hinky, his partner, who we had read so much about in his daily page three columns. And before we took to the ice, Paul came into the dressing room to visit; and gosh, when he came up through the dressing room door, for the official puck drop a half hour later, he was staggered by the size of the crowd that night. We had hoped for several hundred, but instead filled the place to overflowing, with nearly 1,800 screaming fans. At first, we thought they had come out to see us! I'm sure the "No Stars" thought the same. Wrong! They came out to pay tribute to Paul Rimstead, a former drop-out student at Bracebridge High School, who had become one of the best known newspaper personalities in Canada. It was also a chance to meet the author of the newly released book, "Cocktails and Jockstraps," which was a collection of some of his finest feature columns. Brant Scott had hit a hockey milestone, before the club was a full year old. The groups benefitting from the charity event that night, were the Bracebridge Blades Precision Skating teams, under the direction of coach Harold Sher, who was also a Rink Rat club member.

     Harry Ranger, who also passed away in recent years, was a former printing plant technician at the Herald-Gazette's "Muskoka Graphic" publishing division, and, because no one else would do it, became our first goaltender. I was a career goalie but refused to tend the pipes because I knew what that position, on a very weak team, meant in accordance to incoming high speed rubber. Harry, was the heart and soul of that first team, and we all became such good friends, that it spilled over to fishing trips, golf tournaments, and many road trips to neighboring rinks. We owed a lot to Harry, for braving the many five man break-aways, especially when we played the MacTier Lions one bitter winter night, and were taught a pretty hefty lesson about our hockey prowess, and how we didn't have any. The Lions gave Harry Ranger the "player of the game" award, because he held them to only fifteen goals, when normally, for a similarly deficient team, they would have netted at least twenty. Harry aged ten years in one night. We aged five years just watching him get pummeled. Half the time, we couldn't look because so ugly.

     One of the Rink Rat bright lights, from my era, Kim Hammond, also passed away a few years back. He had become a Rink Rat when our fledgling club merged with a Tuesday night group of lads, we called "The Wombats." It was at a time, when the eleven at night time slot was causing us to lose players, and we needed to bolster our ranks. Kim, at the time, was playing for the Wombats, but would soon be known as one of the most gentlemanly players to ever strap on the blades, for either the Wombats, or the combined Rink Rats; and his passing stunned all of his former team-mates and friends. It was a great loss to the community.

     One of the keenest of all the Rink Rats, from my era, of the 1980's and early 1990's, was a thin, lightly built, tenacious, and dedicated forward, by the name of Kevin Peak, who loved playing hockey, and looked forward to each season, and every Wednesday evening through the winter; and just hated when we arrived at the last game of the year. I would play recreational football with Kevin in the off-season. Kevin unfortunately suffered from emotional maladies, most of us didn't know about, finding out too late, to be able to reverse a course of action, that would become a terrible personal tragedy, for himself and family. Kevin and I were close friends back then, and travelled together for all our "away" games, talking about daily stuff along the way, often regarding our respective life and times, and of course our young families. I remember travelling to a game in Port Carling one night, with Kevin in the passenger seat, and him turning to me casually, near Milford Bay and without any sense of urgency, to ask whether or not I was aware of the deer running alongside the car (on Highway 118), and that in all likelihood, it was going to try to cut in front, somewhere down the road. I guess the deer got it in its head, that I was actually chasing after it, and it was going to have to employ some type of evasive action to get away. Kevin knew about this kind of thing. He understood the habits of deer, and it may have saved us on that winter night. Sure enough, it's what eventually happened, and I would have hit it right in the rib cage, if I hadn't lessened our speed to let it pass me. I though my heart was going to leap out of my mouth. It was a big deer and we would have been sent into a slide, and there was oncoming traffic heading our way. He was calm and cool, and kept on with his conversation about everything else, but a now safely departed deer. Now that was a memorable hockey road trip.  

     The Rink Rats hockey club, sponsored many other fundraisers for the Bracebridge Blades, such as when we played "The CFTO Television Bassett Hounds," and "The Flying Fathers," one of the holiest and dirtiest teams we had ever faced-off against. I still have the certificate that made me an "Honorary Flying Father," which I often show my sons, to show them just how divine I was as a hockey player. I still have painful memory of the many trips, unanticipated hip checks, and back of the leg slashes from those holier than thou Fathers; who played a mean game of hockey by golly.

     The original Rink Rats hockey club, entered a float in the Bracebridge Santa Claus Parade, one winter, with the skaters of the Bracebridge Blades, acting as cheer leaders, and we once promoted an interesting challenge of skating prowess, at one of our benefit games, between our fastest skater, over several laps of the ice surface; Mike Smee, (his dad was in the movie "Peter Pan" - just kidding) against Shelly Peever of the Blades. Shelly kicked Mike's arse, finishing way ahead, and the crowd went wild.

     The biggest lark we pulled, was courtesy Harold Sher, who set up a game in Sundridge I believe, where he was running a summer skating program, in conjunction with a hockey school. The hockey instructors included professionals and high ranking junior players from the area, and they were looking to play a number of "for-fun" games with other local clubs to kill some time after work. Harold admitted to me, before we got the game organized, he had been telling these rather excellent hockeyists, for quite some time, that he played with a similar group of former pro players in Bracebridge each winter. I think he had given my resume as having played with the Maple Leafs, and the Buffalo Sabres, before retiring in Bracebridge as a newspaper columnist. He did the same with about twelve of our lads, who didn't have a clue about this before actually hitting the ice that night in the near north.

     A few of us drove up with Ed Kowalsky, one of two goalies we would employ that night. The other was a young goalie by the name of David Brown, of Bracebridge, and this game pretty much ended his hockey aspirations. Harold had claimed Kowalsky had been mentored by Johnny Bower, and played for both the Leafs and Montreal, and Dave Brown had been signed to the Rangers I seem to recall. When we hit the ice, I mean that, (on our asses), we did draw some attention from the players on the other team, skating around their end zone. When the game began, Harold started to show off, and as he was a skating professional, in his day job, he did net a couple of goals early in the opening period to buzz the confidence of the pros. After the halfway mark of the first period, you could tell that the opposition was sensing they had been the victims of a hockey hoax, because we couldn't get out of our own end, even when we were all alone, back there, ragging the puck. We had been trying to kill the clock from the opening face-off. They finally determined Harold had misrepresented us, and it was time to teach him a lesson. Well sir, we paid for his excesses let me tell you. We had to replace Ed after the first period, because of exhaustion, trying to stop the barrage of rubber, and only being successful on a quarter of the shots. David Brown, after the first fifteen minutes of the second period, and about eighty shots, pulled himself out of the game to catch his breath. We knew he had done this, because there was suddenly less room on the bench, with two goalies sitting at the end, and an empty net while play was still going on. "I can't take it anymore boys, I'm done," said Dave, when he finally caught his breath, while he buried his face in a towel, that I had just wiped my skates with. After he finished spitting out pieces of friction tape and ice chips, he appeared to make the sign of the cross while looking heavenward. Ed finished off the period, and then they both shared the third period, and bandaged each other during breaks, from the injuries sustained in one of the most brutal games in Rink Rat history. The best part of the game was the social time afterwards at the local watering hole, where the truth came out, about our non-relationship with anything remotely connected to professional hockey. Harold had a dry sense of humor, but this was one of those real, live, laugh-out-loud occasions, when he introduced us by our day jobs. Writers, police officers, printers, artists, and carpenters.

     For the past half decade, at strange intervals in my normal heritage-themed blogs-writing, I have enjoyed the occasional hiatus to write about my past relationship with the Rink Rats, and of course, the Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament. This is what I would like to present this week, as an online promotion for those contemporary Rink Rats, who devote time each year, to put on this fundraising tournament, that as the title characterizes, promotes "sportsmanship" in organized senior level hockey. It is a collection of stories, written at various times, when I would suddenly find myself, as mood dictated, recalling some incident, or conversation, or even gathering, that was Rink Rat related; possibly at that precise moment, wishing I could meet with those lads again, to reminisce about the good old days, of pucks and sticks, cold old arenas, and colder beer, enjoyed in many curious and storied locations around the region. I have put this small collection of happenstance stories together, for the first time, largely for the benefit of today's Rink Rats, who may not fully appreciate the legacy that they have bolstered, and broadened by their ongoing association with not only the team, but the tournament that carries their name. It's unlikely, that in future histories written about the Town of Bracebridge, that the exploits and contributions of the Rink Rats, will warrant the dedication of a chapter. Seeing as I'm the most likely candidate to write that history, should one be launched, well, here is the material an historian like me, would wish to include as a collective of fact and anecdote; to somewhat explain the social significance of what might be seen by others, as only a recreational tidbit, unimportant in the grand scheme of other headline grabbing historic milestones. In my way of thinking, the Rink Rats have become embedded in social / recreational history, without needing any provincial, national or international championship trophy to hoist over their shoulders. They have demonstrated that goodwill, sportsmanship, and charitable acts, are hugely influential to the chronicle of life and times here in South Muskoka. Their generosity to many important sports initiatives, and community organizations, can not and should not be minimized. We need these folks, these incredible volunteers and perpetual good sports, to mentor the younger generation, who one day, will hopefully want to wear a sweater with that well known logo of "The Rink Rat." By the way, the design for the hockey sweater, was arranged by my old friend, Sid Plested, of downtown Rosseau Falls, who got his artist mate, Chris Minz, then of Windermere, to come up with a concept for the hockey-playing "Rat," and it has survived, as wearable art, for thirty-five years, and 30 years of Lovable Losers Hockey Tournaments. Now that's what I call "enduring" and the players "stalwart," for keeping the team going for all these years.

     The collection of stories from my archives, will hopefully reflect the great respect I have for the new era Rink Rats, and Gord Dawes in particular, who are still shouldering the charitable work we commenced as a fledgling team in the winter of 1980. I write this with respect for some of the founding Rink Rats listed below, who made my eleven years with the club, so much fun, and so profoundly memorable. Some of these players included, Scott McClellan (now of Australia), Mike Gavin, Dave Whiteside, Doug Dunford, Gil Scott, Brant Scott, Harry Ranger, Ed Kowalsky, Jim Wright, John O'Byrne, Jon Partridge, Gord Martin, Harold Sher, Alistair Taylor, Charlie Tryon, Harold Wright, Gary Ford, Ray Dart, Terry Curtis, Kevin Peak, Peter Renick and Mike Hilborn. This doesn't include the Wombat contribution of players, that arrived in and around the 1982-83 hockey season. Some of these players included Ed Renton, Kim Hammond, Jerry Moore, Wayne Moore, Dave Anger, Barry Salter, Tim Uren, Ron Ricker, Dan St.Michael, Norm Levesque, Phil Langois, Wayne Klager, Fred Clayton, Bill Hodge, Jim Learmont, Robin Summerly and Gord Dawes. I offer the historian's apology, in advance, because I know there are names of players, in those early years, that I've forgotten; and as unacceptable as this is, I will add more names in the future, to make up for my shortfall.  

     I wish the Rink Rats all the best for their upcoming Lovable Losers Hockey Tournament, always a pre-spring time classic, and hope they will benefit in some small way, of knowing they are part of a legacy with semi-deep roots in South Muskoka sports and community history.

     Have a great tournament. Part 2 of 4 tomorrow.

Cookbooks and Handwritten Recipes

COLLECTING OLD COOKBOOKS AND HANDWRITTEN RECIPES……STRANGE? BUT TRUE, AND VERY ENJOYABLE AND SOMEWHAT PROFITABLE

I HAVE ONE "BIBLIO" MAGAZINE LEFT - AND IT CONTAINS MY FAVORITE FEATURE COOKERY ARTICLE

     IT HAS A PICTURE OF AMERICAN NOVELIST, TOM WOLFE ON THE FRONT COVER, CASUALLY LEANING ON A LADDER. THERE'S AN ARTICLE ON THE FAMED WRITER INSIDE. THE SHORT-LIVED MAGAZINE, "BIBLIO," WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITE ALL-TIME PUBLICATIONS, BUT IT WAS ONLY IN PRODUCTION FOR A SHORT WHILE. AT LEAST TO MY KNOWLEDGE, OF THIS MAGAZINE, AIMED AT "EXPLORING THE WORLD OF BOOKS." MY INTEREST OF COURSE, WAS THE WORLD OF OLD BOOKS.

    I HAD THREE DIFFERENT MONTHS OF THE MAGAZINE TUCKED AWAY SAFELY, IN MY ARCHIVES; THOSE WITH FEATURE ARTICLES THAT ADDRESSED SOME OF MY MAJOR BOOK COLLECTING INTERESTS. NOW I ONLY HAVE ONE LEFT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS ABOUT MY ARCHIVES, THAT MAKES IMPORTANT STUFF DISAPPEAR….OR VAPORIZE. THE ISSUE I HAVE LEFT, HOWEVER, IS THE FEBRUARY 1999, NUMBER 2, OF VOLUME 4, AND IT CONTAINS A CRITICALLY IMPORTANT ARTICLE, ON "THE JOY OF COOKBOOKS - A MIDWESTERN SANCTUARY FOR BIBLIOPHILES, GASTRONOMES, AND OENOPHILES THE WORLD OVER," BY WRITER ROY MEADOR. ROY MEADOR, BY THE WAY, IS A BOOK COLLECTOR, AND WAS A CONTRIBUTOR TO THE "BIBLIO" MAGAZINE, AND HE JUST HAPPENED TO RESIDE DOWN THE ROAD, FROM "THE WINE AND FOOD LIBRARY," IN ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN.

     THE ARTICLE ON THE SPECIALTY BOOK SHOP, BEGAN ON PAGE 42, WHICH IS PRETTY WORN DOWN NOW, AND UNCEREMONIOUSLY FOLDED, AT THE TOP AND IN THE MIDDLE FOR REFERENCE. THAT'S PRETTY GOOD, CONSIDERING HOW MANY OF OUR COLLECTOR FRIENDS HAVE READ IT, AND HOW OFTEN I'VE CONSULTED IT, WITH SUZANNE, SINCE THE WINTER OF 1999. IT GAVE US A LOT OF INSPIRATION, YOU SEE, ABOUT CREATING SOMETHING SIMILAR IN GRAVENHURST, ONTARIO. SO IT'S TRUE, I HAVE VERY MUCH OBSESSED, FOR FAR TOO LONG NOW, OVER THIS WONDERFULLY ENLIGHTENING FEATURE STORY, ABOUT JAN AND DAN LONGONE, AND THEIR INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN, "WINE AND FOOD LIBRARY." ACCORDING TO THE AUTHOR, ROY MEADOR, "THOUGH MANY FEEL CALLED TO VOCATIONS THAT MIGHT INCREASE CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING, FEW WOULD LIKELY THINK OF FINDING SUCH A MISSION AS A PURVEYOR OF COOKBOOKS. BUT FOR JANICE LONGONE, AND INTERNATIONALLY KNOWN DEALER OF GASTRONOMIC AND ENOLOGICAL BOOKS, THAT'S EXACTLY THE VALUE SERVED BY STUDYING 'OUR CULINARY ROOTS.' THE PROPRIETOR OF THE WINE AND FOOD LIBRARY, IN ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN, TRACES HER INTEREST TO HER YEARS AS A GRADUATE STUDENT AT CORNELL. HER HUSBAND, DANIEL LONGONE, WAS WORKING TOWARD HIS PH.D, IN ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, AND SHE STUDIED CHINESE AND INDIAN HISTORY. THEY DEVELOPED FRIENDSHIPS WITH FOREIGN STUDENTS, AND THEIR CONVERSATIONS TURNED TOWARD DIFFERENT NATIONAL FOODS." THE COUPLE, ACCORDING TO MEADOR, STARTED TO DELVE INTO THESE INTERESTING ETHNIC RECIPES, BUT THEIR INTERNATIONAL FRIENDS WANTED MOST OF ALL, TO HAVE A "TYPICAL AMERICAN MEAL," INSTEAD OF THEIR OWN ETHNIC DISHES.

     THE AUTHOR NOTES THAT, TO FIND OUT, WHAT THE "TYPICAL AMERICAN MEAL," REPRESENTED IN CULINARY TRADITION, "SHE LEARNED NOT ONLY THAT SHE WAS A GIFTED NATURAL COOK, BUT THAT FOOD HISTORY IS A CRITICAL PART OF THE HUMAN PANORAMA - AND THAT THE KITCHEN AND THE BOOKSHELF ARE EMPHATICALLY CONNECTED."

MAKING FOOD A BUSINESS WITHOUT OPENING A RESTAURANT

     In 1973 the Longones, with considerable education in the field, opened the Wine and Food Library, after closely examining "the need for a bookstore specializing in the vast number of books and related materials on food, wine, and the culinary arts." According to the article's author, Jan was the food specialist and Dan was the wine expert. The response to the specialty shop was positive, and it became obvious, soon into the venture, they had made a life-changing move for the better. Roy Meader reported that, "The Longones' start-up inventory included two large purchases of new and out of print cookbooks, from an Ohio store, and a Michigan book dealer. Today (circa 1999) the Wine and Food Library stocks about twenty thousand items - 'spanning the five hundred years of printed history, from the rare and scarce to select recent works of importance,' as noted in their catalogue of cookbooks available.

     The reason I've held onto this magazine, was not only because it was an article that profiled a business I wanted to parallel one day, but because it appealed to me as a book collector at the same time. By time this article appeared on the magazine store shelf, I'd been collecting old books for about fifteen years, selling them for ten of those years. I had apprenticed with a well known Ontario book collector, Dave Brown, of Hamilton, Ontario. In fact, even by this time, I was working on his biography, which included a split study between his career as a leader in provincial outdoor education programming, and his reputation as a huge collector of non-fiction; mostly natural histories, regional Canadiana and Americana. Dave used to lodge with us, when he was coming back from one of his canoe trips, up north, or while on a buying trip, and Suzanne and I got our tutorials on being astute old book buyers and sellers. Even though Dave didn't sell books, (but wasn't adverse to trading), he told us hundreds of stories about rare book shops, and major book sales, he had attended, in Ontario and United States, and where he often found his most valuable treasures (resources).

     Dave kindly offered us some great advice about how to make major purchases, and to buy astutely at auctions. Dave knew every trick in the trade, and he could count many of the most prolific auctioneers, in the Hamilton area, as his friends. At the time of his death, he had close to 100,000 books jammed into in his Hamilton bungalow. Some of his collection was donated to McMaster University. Point is, when he knew we had an interest in old cookbooks, we could expect a box of them, each time he arrived here at Birch Hollow. He would buy a thousand books at one auction, and he would separate any culinary titles and cookery related booklets for us. His rule was simple. He didn't want us using his trade secrets in the business, to intrude upon his activities, and that included when traveling with him on buying junkets here in Muskoka. I played the role of dutiful apprentice, and let him do the talking, when it came to delicate negotiations at estate sales. He would show me where the old cookbooks were situated, and then he would give his opinion on the books' rarity or uniqueness, as far as its historical value. Some regional Canadiana (particularly Quebec and the Maritimes) and Americana, that had small printings, are obviously more collectible and valuable, than those printed for an international market. Or those that had been reprinted numerous times, and really didn't have anything too enticing to offer.

   The good Mr. Brown never set down precise book values, because he didn't wish to corrupt his underling, encouraging reckless quests for the so called holy grail. One day, he took a new book price guide I had just purchased, from a local book shop, closed it, put it under his arm, and tossed it unceremoniously in a closet. His point. Don't hinge book collecting on price guides. Valuations come with experience, and an understanding of the book industry as it has existed and prevailed from the beginning. "You will learn more from those involved in the book enterprise Ted, than you'll ever find in those kind of books." He just taught me to be frugal and demanding in these situations, and not wind-up buying books that were of lesser quality, just because the packaging was elegant. I can't tell you how much his friendly tutorials, over dinner and an evening glass of wine, have helped us become better book buyers, and even in the area of cookbooks. Truthfully, Dave really didn't know much about cookbooks, at all, but he knew an awful lot about rarity, and the significance of having a book, with important information, by an accomplished author, that was in demand by the world…..not just a neighborhood or a few buyers. In his mind, the possessor of critical information, had significant power, and almost immeasurable capability to market it…..based on prevailing demand. Sometimes books and authors fell into disregard, when theories were disproven, and beliefs debunked. He looked at cookbooks as he would regional histories, and natural histories, and he knew the kind of books and publishers, that would have only printed small quantities, thusly increasing their value and desirability, especially if they became source books of research, for other future histories.

   He had a nose for books, and he pushed us to learn more, and never be so cocky, as to feel, dishonestly, that we knew it all. He kept us grounded. Right up to a few days before his death, he was still offering advice on our book acquisitions, and we appreciated every bit of expertise he passed on, over our years of collaboration. His biography? It sold out! He had been a popular Hamilton teacher, well known Ontario outdoor educator, and a very well known book collector. And he was our personal instructor. And when we open our cookery heritage collection, on Canada Day this year, we will name it after Dave Brown, our mentor in old books.

     So over time, we have continued buying and selling books, but admittedly, we have found it necessary to down-size a tad, from the many thousands of texts we had jammed into our small house here in Gravenhurst. What we decided to do, some time ago, was to narrow down our book titles, and specialize in the acquisition and selling of rare and out of print cookbooks, which we have been doing for quite a few years, but not as a specialty. Along with this, as I've mentioned previously, Suzanne and I have been collecting regionally found "handwritten" recipes, which we find amazing and under-recognized works of social / cultural heritage, and will, by this coming summer season, have a catalogue, and potentially a data base, of these individual recipes found in and around Muskoka…..some dating back to homesteads from the 1860's. We are not collecting these handwritten pieces from all over the country, or the world, but rather, for historical relevance, trying to stick to what has been used, in household culinary arts, in this region of the Province of Ontario. We do think there are regional Muskoka differences, especially going back into the pioneering period, which began in the late 1850's. This was a difficult region to settle, and to suggest pioneers had to be hale and hardy to survive, would be a gross understatement. Many settlers didn't survive. Many homesteads failed. Thousands of emigrants arrived here, only to find they did not have the grit and knowledge of farming, it would take to turn pine forests and rock strewn fields into working, arable farmsteads. So the homestead cooks, working on recipes they had brought from overseas, were forced to adapt to what was available in supplies, locally, and what could be grown in a short summer season. Truthfully, they were the real heroes of frontier life…..and we want to recognize their efforts helping to build the foundation of our present towns, and municipalities, by stubborn resistance, and the ability to adapt to unrelenting, harsh realities, in order to feed their families……and survive on their backwoods homesteads.

     As Roy Meader points out, in his article,…. the interest in culinary heritage, is not solely limited to those who actually cook. As so poignantly expressed by well known author, Joseph Conrad, commenting on the purpose of the cookery book,….. it remains, "the only product of the human mind altogether above suspicion." Conrad, according to Meader, wrote, "The purpose of a cookery book is one and unmistakable. Its object can conceivably be no other than to increase the happiness of mankind."

     I will not part with this dog eared copy of Biblio Magazine, and when we finally are able to bring our little cookery heritage section, to fruition, in our present antique shop in Gravenhurst, we will have this fine publication, and insightful article about the Longone family, by Roy Meader, available as a primary resource….free to use by all our cookery lovers, who have come for a little look-see.

1953 First Edition of "Country Wines", By Mary Aylett

1953 FIRST EDITION OF "COUNTRY WINES," BY MARY AYLETT - RECIPES OF OLD TIMES FOR A CONTEMPORARY TIME

WHERE DO YOU GET THE RECIPES FOR COUNTRY WINES? OLD COOKBOOKS? HANDWRITTEN JOURNALS? OR WORD OF MOUTH?

     THE SMALL FORMAT, 1953 EDITION, IN HARDCOVER WITH DUSTJACKET, IS VALUED, BASED ON PRISTINE CONDITION, UP TO FIFTY DOLLARS, IN AMERICAN FUNDS. IT DECREASES IN VALUE IF THERE IS ANY DAMAGE, SUCH A STAINS, RIPPED PAGES, DAMAGED SPINE AND CLOTH-COVERED BOARDS. IN THE CASE OF THIS LITTLE BOOK, SOME FORMER OWNER, WHO WAS POSSIBLY GIVING THE BOOK AS A GIFT, CUT-OFF A SMALL PORTION OF THE DUSTJACKET, ON THE INSIDE-FRONT, TO REMOVE THE BOOK'S PRICE TAG. IT TAKES A SMALL PORTION OF THE VALUE OFF, AS DO TWO SMALL STAINS, AND SOME SCUFFING OF THE DUSTJACKET AROUND THE EDGES. OVERALL, WITH A CLEAN TEXT, AND LOOKING WELL CONSERVED, THIS HANDSOME LITTLE BOOK WILL BE LISTED FOR FIFTEEN DOLLARS. WHAT IT POSSESSES IN CHARACTER, IS ALL WITHIN ITS EDITORIAL COPY. IF YOU'VE NEVER THOUGHT MUCH ABOUT THE ISSUE OF "COUNTRY WINE," THEN YOU PROBABLY HAVEN'T SPENT TOO MUCH TIME WORRYING ABOUT THE PRESERVATION OF OLD FOLK SONGS, OR FOLK ART. THE RECIPES IN THIS BOOK, ARE MUCH LIKE FOLK SONGS, BECAUSE SO MUCH IS BASED ON TRADITION, PASSED ON TO THE NEW GENERATION, ON AND ON THROUGH THE AGES. THE RECIPES ARE ALTERED AND ENHANCED TO SUIT THE MODERN TASTE, BUT AS WAS THE CASE, BACK IN 1953, VERY FEW OF THESE WINE MAKERS, IN THEIR HUMBLE ABODES, WORRIED ABOUT COPYING DOWN THE RECIPE FOR THE POSTERITY OF OTHERS. BUT, IN A SMALL WAY, THIS WAS ADDRESSED BY MARY AYLETT, IN THIS FASCINATING LITTLE STUDY, PUBLISHED BY ODHAM'S PRESS OF ENGLAND. THE BOOK DID GO INTO LATER REPRINT. IT IS A TIMELESS PIECE, IN REALITY, AND ONE THAT WILL FIT INTO 2014, JUST AS IT DID IN 1953, WHEN IT FIRST ARRIVED ON BOOKSHELVES.

     "THE IDEA FOR THE BOOK ORIGINATED IN THE AUTHOR'S PERSONAL QUEST FOR WINE RECIPES, WITH WHICH TO UTILIZE THE PRODUCE OF HER HUSBAND'S WELL KNOWN VINE-YARD IN KENT. AS SHE BECAME MORE INTERESTED, MARY AYLETT BEGAN TO WRITE DONW AND COLLECT THE RECIPES THAT SHE GATHERED FROM VARIOUS NINETEENTH-CENTURY BOOKS, HAND-WRITTEN COOKERY BOOKS, AND ABOVE ALL, BY WORD OF MOUTH FROM COUNTRY FOLK THEMSELVES. IT IS THIS VERY EXTENSIVE COLLECTION OF RECIPES FOR TRADITIONAL COUNTRY WINES, INCLUDING MANY THAT HAVE NEVER BEFORE BEEN PUBLISHED, THAT FORMS THE SOLID BASIS FOR THIS UNUSUAL AND DELIGHTFUL BOOK." SO NOTES THE INSIDE FLAP OF THE DUSTJACKET. NOW, WHAT DOES MARY AYLETT HAVE TO SAY ON THE SUBJECT?

     "BY FAR THE GREATER NUMBER OF THE RECIPES WERE COLLECTED AT THE BACK DOORS OF LITTLE COTTAGES, OR FROM OLD, OFTEN HANDWRITTEN COOKERY BOOKS, AND FROM MEN WHO REMEMBERED ONLY THAT THEIR MOTHERS USED TO MAKE SOME ESPECIALLY FLAVOURED WINE. IN SUCH CASES EXPERIMENT HAD TO SUPPLY THE DEFICIENCY. I DO NOT SUPPOSE THAT I SHALL EVER KNOW THE NAME OF THE OLD FARM LABOURER, WHO ONCE LEANED OVER MY GARDEN GATE, ONE SUNNY DAY, WHEN I WAS PICKING MY RED-CURRANTS, AND SAID: 'MY OLD MOTHER USED TO MAKE LOVELY PARSNIP WINE,' BUT I AM GRATEFUL TO HIM NONE THE LESS. HE TOLD ME, NOT ONLY HER RECIPE, BUT HOW TO MAKE IT CLEAR AND SPARKLING. MISS FISHER, OF SHOTTENDEN, WHO GAVE ME FOUR LARGE STONE JARS, AND LENT ME THE BOOK IN WHICH, FOR MORE THAN HALF A CENTURY, SHE HAD COLLECTED RECIPES, WRITTEN IN A LABORIOUS, UNLEARNED HAND, HAS BEEN UNDER THE BEECH TREES IN THE VILLAGE CHURCHYARD, THESE MANY YEARS.  SHE WAS A LITTLE DISORDERED IN HER MIND FOR SOME TIME BEFORE SHE DIED, AND HER FAMILY SAID THAT, POOR SOUL, IT WAS A BLESSED RELEASE; BUT TO ME IT WAS A DISASTER, FOR SHE WAS A FAMOUS WINE-MAKER, AND SHE WAS GONE ALMOST BEFORE I HAD BEGUN MY OWN EXPERIMENTS.

     "THEN THERE IS AN OLD GENTLEMAN, LIVING AT DOVER, WHO CARES NOTHING FOR THE WORLD, AND WITH WHOSE NAME I HESITATE TO TAKE, WHAT I FEEL HE WOULD REGARD AS A LIBERTY. HE IS RATHER AN AWESOME OLD MAN AND HIS VIEWS UPON MODERN LIFE ARE DECIDED, AND A LITTLE HARSH. HE WOULD RATHER POTTER FOR AN HOUR OR TWO IN HIS CELLAR THAN WATCH THE FINEST SHOW ON EARTH. WHEN NEXT YOU DRIVE TO DOVER ON THE LONDON ROAD, YOU WIL PASS A ROW OF INCONSPICUOUS MID-VICTORIAN HOUSES, COMFORTABLE, WELL-TO-DO, AND DULL, BUT ONE OF THEM HIDES A SECRET. IF YOU WERE TO MOUNT THE GREY CONVENTIONAL FRONT-DOOR STEPS, TO RING THE BELL AND TO BE ADMITTED, YOU WOULD FIND AN ENVIRONMENT VASTLY DIFFERENT FROM THE ONE YOU HAD EXPECTED. ABOUT A CENTURY AGO, WHEN THE BUILDER OF THE ROW OF RESPECTABLE FAMILY RESIDENCES, WAS ABOUT HIS BUSINESS, ONE HOUSE THREATENED TO DESTROY THE UNIFORMITY OF THE TERRACE. IT WAS A FINE OLD JACOBEAN HOUSE, AND ITS OWNER REFUSED TO ALLOW IT TO BE PULLED DOWN, BUT, BEING A MAN OF HIS TIME, HE SYMPATHIZED WITH THE BUILDER'S DESIRE FOR SYMMETRY, AT ALL COSTS. SO THE VICTORIAN FACADE WAS MOUNTED ON TO THE OLD AND LOVELY HOUSE; THE BUILDER WAS SATISFIED, AND THE OWNER, HIS SON'S SON, HAVE LIVED THERE EVER SINCE. THERE WAS A LITTLE DAMAGE DURING THE LATE WAR, BUT IT WAS NOT SERIOUS. ACROSS THE THRESHOLD OF THIS INTERESTING HOUSE, ONE ENTERS ANOTHER WORLD. BENEATH THE OLD PANELLED ROOMS, LIE COMMODIOUS CELLARS, AND THEY ARE NOT EMPTY AND NEGLECTED, AS ARE SO MANY OF THEIR KIND TODAY. THEY ARE FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH BARRELS, BOTTLES, HOGSHEADS, FIRKINS, DEMI FIRKINS AND CASKS, MANY OF THEM, BY THEIR APPEARANCE, AS OLD AS THE HOUSE ITSELF. THE WINES ARE ALL OF THE OLD GENTLEMAN'S OWN BREWING, FOR HE GAVE UP BUYING FROM ABROAD MANY YEARS AGO, WHEN HE QUALITY OF IMPORTED WINES FELL BELOW WHAT HE WAS PREPARED TO TOLERATE. SOME OF HIS BREWS ARE THIRTY YEARS OLD, AND TASTING THEM IS AN EXPERIENCE THAT DOES NOT OFTEN COME ONE'S WAY IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY. THEY WERE MADE FOR LOVE AND NOT FOR TRADE."

     ACCORDING TO MARY AYLETT, AUTHOR OF THIS WONDERFUL BOOK, "MANY OF MY RECIPES WERE FOUND IN UNLIKELY PLACES. THE ONE FOR MARROW RUM CAME FROM A MUSIC TEACHER AT A HIGH SCHOOL. SHE CAME FROM LINCOLNSHIRE, WHERE SHE ASSURED ME IT WAS ONCE MADE IN EVERY COTTAGE, THOUGH SHE HAD NOT TASTED ANY FOR YEARS. MR. JARRY, A DISTINGUISHED ENTOMOLOGIST, ONCE CAME TO SEE US ABOUT THE DEATH-WATCH BEETLE IN OUR BEAMS, AND STAYED TO TELL ME ABOUT THE MEAD HIS MOTHER MADE IN SUFFOLK, FROM THE HONEY FROM HER BEES. TREACLE WINE I GOT FROM AN OLD REPROBATE IN OUR VILLAGE, WHO WAS OFTEN SEEN IN A STATE OF ALMOST INDECENT HILARITY, IN THE DAYS WHEN THE 'LOCAL' WAS SOMETIMES CLOSED FOR A WEE, ON ACCOUNT OF SHORTAGE OF SUPPLIES DURING THE SECOND WORLD WAR. I REMEMBER, TOO, THE MIRTH THAT WAS PROVOKED WHEN A SMART LONDON TRAVELLER, PAID A POUND A BOTTLE FOR WHAT HE THOUGHT WAS EXCELLENT WHISKY, THINKING IT TO HAVE BEEN WORTH MUCH MORE, AND THAT HE WAS 'PUTTING ONE OVER,' ON THE YOKELS,. IT WAS TEN YEAR-OLD DANDELION WINE.

     "IT IS AMONG SUCH SCENES AND FROM SUCH PEOPLE THAT THE FOLLOWING COLLECTION OF RECIPES HAS BEEN MADE. MOST OF THEM ARE VERY OLD; MANY OF THEM HAVE NOT BEEN PRINTED BEFORE; THEY ARE IN THE REAL TRADITION OF FOLK ART. A STUDY OF OLD COOKERY BOOKS IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM WAS REMARKABLY UNFRUITFUL. THE MAKERS OF COUNTRY WINES WERE EITHER COTTAGERS OR BUSY LADIES, OF THE MANOR, BREWING THEM ALONG WITH THE BEERS, POTIONS AND POSSETS OF THE STILL ROOMS. COOKERY BOOKS OF ALL PERIODS UNTIL THE NINETEENTH CENTURY DEAL MOSTLY IN UNUSUAL RECIPES TO GRACE MY LORD'S TABLE; THEY WERE TOO COSTLY TO BE BOUGHT BY HUMBLE PEOPLE, WHO HAD TO RELY ON MEMORY AND TRADITION FOR THEIR KNOWLEDGE. HOW MUCH HAS BEEN LOST, OF COURSE, WE CAN NEVER KNOW. COUNTRY WINES WERE SIMPLY MADE, BY SIMPLE PEOPLE, WORKING WITH THE ORDINARY EQUIPMENT IN THEIR HOMES. THEY KNEW NOTHING OF SCIENCE, BUT TOOK WHAT NATURE PROVIDED AND FERMENTED IT IN NATURE'S WAY. USUALLY IT WAS GOOD; NOW AND AGAIN, 'SOMETHING WENT WRONG WITH IT,' THEN THEY PROBABLY CURSED A LITTLE AND THREW IT AWAY. THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN NO HAPPIER EMPLOYING SCIENTIFIC METHODS, WHICH ENSURE THAT THOUGH THE WINE IS NEVER BAD, IT IS NEVER VERY GOOD EITHER. OUR ANCESTORS WERE SPARED THE MONOTONY THAT AFFLICTS US, AND THEY MADE SOME WONDERFUL WINES. IF ANYONE DOUBTS THE POTENCY OF THE BREWS LET HIM HEED THE FOLLOWING CAUTIONARY TALE. WHEN I WAS YOUNG, AND NEWLY MARRIED, MY HUSBAND AND I MOVED FROM LONDON TO A SMALL VILLAGE IN THE HOME COUNTIES. WE REGARDED THE VILLAGE AND ITS INHABITANTS AS IF THEY WERE PART OF A CHARMING, STYLIZED COMEDY, AMIABLE RUSTICS, RURAL INNOCENTS. WE WERE, AFTERALL, VERY YOUNG."

     "ONE FINE SUNDAY MORNING, IN SPRING, WE WERE CROSSING THE VILLAGE GREEN ON OUR RETURN FROM A LONG RAMBLE, WHEN WE MET A MAN WHOSE ACQUAINTANCE WE HAD ALREADY MADE, ON SOME SMALL MATTER CONNECTED WITH OUR NEW HOUSE. HE WAS A RETIRED POLICEMAN, AND AFTER THE USUAL EXCHANGE OF COMMENTS UPON THE WEATHER, HE INVITED US TO STEP INTO HIS SMALL ROSE-CLAD COTTAGE, TO MEET HIS WIFE, AND TO TRY HER COWSLIP WINE. WE WERE CHARMED AND AT ONCE ACCEPTED. THE COWSLIP WINE PROVED TO BE EXCELLENT, AND THE GOOD LADY APPEARED TO BE DELIGHTED WITH OUR APPROVAL AND PRODUCED SPECIMENS OF MANY MORE FOR OUR TASTING. WE TRIED THEM ALL WILLINGLY; POTATO WINE, DAMSON PORT, ELDERBERRY AND RASPBERRY AND MANY MORE. WE CONSIDERED OURSELVES TO BE SOPHISTICATED DRINKERS, AS WAS THE FASHION IN THE BLOOMSBURY OF TWENTY YEARS AGO; THE WINES HAD NO 'KICK,' AND WE THOUGHT OURSELVES QUITE SAFE IN MIXING SO MANY SO FREELY. INTERESTED AND ENTERTAINED BY THE AMUSING TALES OF VILLAGE LIFE AND BY THE LIGHT AND DELICATE WINES, ONLY THE OPENING OF THE CHURCH DOORS REMINDED US THAT WE HAD YET A MILE TO GO BEFORE REACHING OUR HOME FOR LUNCHEON. WE THEN TOOK A POLITE FAREWELL OF OUR HOST AND HOSTESS AND STEPPED OUT ON TO THE GREEN; THEN WE REALIZED THAT WE HAD BEEN INDEED, DRINKING ALCOHOL. WITH CONCERN WE GAZED AT EACH OTHER'S WAVERING OUTLINES, AND WERE OBLIGED TO CLING TOGETHER FOR SUPPORT AND TO MAKE OUR WAY ACROSS THE GRASS IN FULL VIEW OF THE MOST RESPECTABLE PEOPLE IN THE DISTRICT, FROM WHOM OUR CONDITION COULD NOT BE DISGUISED. MOST OF THE BEST PEOPLE NEVER RECOVERED FROM THEIR FIRST SHOCKED SIGHT OF THE NEW TENANTS OF HONEYSUCKLE COTTAGE, BUT THE POLICEMAN AND HIS WIFE NO DOUBT ENJOYED THE JOKE."

     THE AUTHOR NOTES, "THIS OLD COUPLE WERE GREAT PROFICIENT, BUT THEY GAVE NO SECRETS AWAY. FROM THEM I LEARNT NOTHING BUT CAUTION, BUT IT WAS A VALUABLE LESSON. COUNTRY WINES VARY MUCH IN STRENGTH AND POTENCY, ACCORDING TO THE CONDITION OF THE FRUITS, THEIR MATURITY AND THE ABILITY OF THE MAKER, BUT EVEN THE MOST DYNAMIC NEVER PRODUCE A HANGOVER. THAT IS A PRODUCT OF SCIENCE; IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE ART OF WINE-MAKING, WHICH YIELDS ONLY MIRTH AND GOOD HUMOUR, TWO COMMODITIES WHICH IN THIS AGE ARE IN SADLY SHORT SUPPLY. I FEEL, THEN, THAT IT IS TIME TO SAVE WHAT IS LEFT OF SUCH A SIMPLE, VALUABLE AND ONCE WIDELY PRACTICED ART, WHICH CAN BE A SOURCE OF INNOCENT PLEASURE TO ALL; A WHOLESOME ADDITION TO A WOEFULLY DEPLETED DIET, AND NEW STIMULUS TO A SADLY WANING HOSPITALITY."

Antiques With A Little Extra

ANTIQUES WITH A LITTLE EXTRA - HOW DO YOU KNOW A PIECE OF ANTIQUE FURNITURE, OR ANYTHING ELSE OF "VINTAGE", IS PARANORMALLY CHARGED?

WELL, LET'S FIND OUT, WITH A LITTLE EXPERIMENT BETWEEN A CENTURIES OLD LAPTOP DESK AND A CENTURIES OLD WRITER (I'VE BEEN AROUND FOR TWO CENTURIES ALREADY)

     The are fictional accounts of magic wardrobes, trunks, quilts, and masks, that bring about strange realities, in supernatural ways. There are stories of haunted doll cradles, that rock themselves, organs and pianos that play by themselves, in the wee hours of the night, and a particular cane that is said to have been so enchanted, that it walk itself down the middle of a local road. We still own a portrait that, when the Victorian child is unhappy with something in the house, will hang crooked, either right or left. It has been happening since we acquired her in the early 1990's. It would take a book of ten thousand pages to document even a small number of the claims that have been made, in only the past century, about antiques having so called special powers, and enhancements of the magical proportion. Seeing as we have owned a number of these pieces, it's a little easier to attest, to just how profoundly one can be influenced by an inanimate object that simply refuses to adhere to the rules of, well, being inanimate!

     At a time, earlier in this new century, when our family was actively buying and selling on eBay, there was a most curious situation one evening, when son Andrew and I took an interest in an acoustic guitar up for auction, that was said to he "haunted." We love that kind of stuff, and because of the story and the low asking price, we registered a bid, and for about ten minutes, in the final hour of the sale, we were the top bidder. There was quite a story attached, about the kind of activity this old guitar got up to in the wee hours of the night, playing itself in essence, but I'm not sure now if it played a particular song, that might have been a favorite of a former owner.

     Another bid was made, pushing us to back-bidder status, and for the next half hour, we began a war with another eBayer, over who was going to be top dog when it came down to the final few seconds of the auction. Then came the threatening email. The first of many! The individual bidding against us, demanded we cease and desist, as he wanted to purchase the guitar. He made it clear that if we actually won the bid, great harm would come to us, particularly from the guitar itself, that was not only spiritually possessed, but had a mean streak about a mile wide. We have had some crazy stuff like this happen before, but never in the midst of active bidding, and certainly it was the first, when actively seeking a listed "haunted" guitar. I don't like being threatened, a character trait that has been with me since infancy, (when I'd let my teddy bears know when to step-down when hogging the bed). We kept bidding, and this eBayer continued to send us threatening emails, right up to the last few minutes of the sale. It got pretty nasty, and the bidding went wild, with this chap finally winning the guitar. I thought about reporting him to eBay, but it was just easier to get on with our lives, minus an allegedly haunted acoustic guitar. Point is, the number of visits recorded, on this auction, showed very clearly, that by using the word "haunted" in a listing, you're pretty much guaranteed a substantial audience of, well, gawkers, if not buyers. The guitar sold for way, way over its value, based on condition. It was disturbing to get the threatening emails, and it sort of proves what kind of folks are attracted to the weird and whacky items listed for sale.

     This is an extreme case, and we obviously ran into a bidder with a huge passion for either that particular guitar, or just the fact, it was claimed, by the seller, to be possessed by that little extra oomph, possibly from a musician who met a tragic end. There are no shortage of stories involving haunted antiquities, including guitars. In the casual sense of what I might describe as an "enchanted" or "haunted" antique, what I really mean is this; that the subject piece inspires a feeling in the possessor, that is passed along, much as one gets a shock off a metal door latch, in the winter months, due to a build-up of static. In my case, it usually happens that I get this sparked attention, when I'm looking through some antique venue, and something or other compels me to turn in its direction, resulting in my eye, catching a glimpse of a piece that has a curious but unspecified energy. I can't get past these pieces without, at the very least, stopping for a closer look. It doesn't happen often but when I'm drawn to a piece, after many years of being influenced by what is ambiguous but usually quite powerful, I figure, what the heck, "I might as well see what this is all about." As a balance point, to make my argument, think about the possessions you own today, that may have belonged to members of your family, dating back many generations, and ponder the reasons it's important to keep it in the contemporary sense. Why not sell it? Why not give it to another family member right now? While this does hinge a tad on your belief in life after death, would you expect, that with all the respect and passion you have for those particular heirloom pieces, a little of you would be passed on, after death, to carry-on the relationship. Maybe, in the afterlife, you're not happy about the jerk who purchased this same antique piece, from the estate auction; which by the way, you didn't want your relatives to have, to disperse your worldly possessions. If you were in a ghostly state, and wanted to send a message to the new owner, with a little spark attached, how would you resolve the issue of unacceptable ownership. Some ghost hunters might suggest the spirit-kind would do everything possible to encourage the owner to sell it to someone else, or donate it to a more worthy cause. Maybe a museum would be a better choice. Can a spirited piece bring about bad karma? There will be those who will say yes, and others will be less convinced this is possible. Can an inanimate object be cursed? Same thing. There are those who will swear to this, as being highly possible, while others will scoff at the idea. The curse of King Tut's tomb is a case in point. This involved death to a number of interlopers who may have, as well, laughed about the idea, fate may look unkindly upon them.

     When I write about "enchanted" pieces, what I really mean, is that the subject article inspires me, in any number of ways, about its past; much as if a ghost, if there is such a thing (I've seen more than a few), seems to be looking for someone or some place and may actually be asking for assistance from the living. I have been ultra sensitive this way for most of my life. While I can't pin everything on my angel dream, experienced during a serious ailment, when I was about six or seven years of age (written about previously in this biographical series), it does for me, mark the beginning of a sensory perception I don't pretend to understand. When I'm drawn to an antique or collectable item, which can be big, small, light or heavy, I know from the moment I touch it, that it was owned by someone once, who had a vested interest in how it would fare in the future. I've always felt, in these situations, that the piece had a regretful aura, attached to it, almost begging to be taken home by someone appreciative of such enchantments. This doesn't mean to suggest that every enchanted antique I come upon, will be hauled home to Birch Hollow. These pieces are one in ten thousand that I look at, and study for purchase, every year, at thousands of individual antique venues. And, I should also note, that even then, I may only buy one or two pieces out of a hundred found, because the aura is such, that it approves of me, and I want to benefit from its inherent energy.

     Consider the little fold-down antique laptop desk I wrote about in yesterday's blog. If you were to have an opportunity to use it, as I have in the past few weeks, since getting it as a Christmas gift from son Andrew; and that you would be allowed time to write upon it, as a former owner might have, before for example, the Battle of Gettysburg, during the American Civil War. At the beginning of the relationship between you and this plain, several hundred year old wooden desk, maybe the only buzz you get, is the fact it is so old yet still very useable in contemporary times (despite the fact you can't plug it in, like the laptop I'm using now). As you work on it, penning a letter to a loved one, as a test of its level of enchantment, let the desk influence you! Nothing unusual so far? A slight feeling of heritage maybe? Now if I was to suddenly reveal, that the desk you are working on, writing a letter, was once owned by American President Abraham Lincoln, outside of the realization you were holding a several hundred thousand dollar antique, might you feel a little surge of energy in possessing and using something with such amazing provenance. Can you, by sensory perception, feel the intensity of a very spirited man? In contrast, what if you were to learn instead, that the small antique desk, had been used by C.S. Lewis, the author of the "Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe," which introduced the way to the magical land of Narnia, through the great wardrobe in his house? But what might be the sensation, at your finger tips, if this desk instead, had been a proven possession of the infamous murderer, Jack The Ripper, who terrorized Victorian England? Is it possible to feel evil through old wood. This may have been the desk top that this legendary murderer used to pen letters. Wow. Then again, what if it was proven, beyond doubt, to have belonged to Herman Melville, the author of "Moby Dick," and that somewhere in his unpublished papers, he had made reference to the kind inspiration he got from his trusty little side-kick writing surface; that helped inspire him to write his greatest story?

     I could go on and on, because it is a subject that fascinates me. Partly, because I know how I feel when I come in contact with pieces, that carry a little extra provenance, into the present tense. It is hard to explain. Which is why I expend a lot of verbiage but seldom feel I've done a great job, of explaining what it means to own haunted old stuff. For me it's just a feeling, but one that has for long and long, appealed to me so much, that it does work to my benefit, especially as relates to creative enterprise. If an antique piece, whether a Victorian era painting I find enchanting, or a rocking chair that soothes my aching bones, gives me that little spark from its provenance, in whatever form it arrives, and encourages me to sit down and write for several hours or more, well, gosh, this is a resource I can live with! Much like the baseball player who carries a rabbit's foot for good luck, why would I ever poo-poo what I have taken from the relationship to my general advantage.