Delivering the news

My first job was delivery boy for The Sunday Detroit Times. I had about 30 customers. Hardly any lived close to the next on my route through a major part of midtown Windsor. I had customers in the Black neighbourhood, the Italian neighbourhood, up the stairs and down the halls in big apartment buildings on Ouellette Ave. and Giles Blvd., and in stately homes on Victoria Ave.

The Sunday papers in Detroit were the major editions for the week. They each had a lot of big specialty sections, colour comics, a glossy magazine and lots of advertising. Delivering Sunday papers was heavy slogging. I’d start out with a bundle in my carrier and another bundle in the big canvas bag slung over my shoulder. I had to walk with my bike all but the last quarter of the route.

I had this job when Ike and Mamie were being followed by Jack and Jackie at the White House, and Pearson was sparing with Diefenbaker were to head the government in Canada. Cars had fins or were tapered like B-movie rocket ships. The Union Jack and Canadian Ensign hung in the hallway at Victoria Ave. Public School.

The colour comics section, some 12 or 16 pages, was on the outside of The Sunday Detroit Times, with Dick Tracy and Prince Valiant on the cover. I figured those comics were the main reason people wanted The Times rather than The Detroit News or The Detroit Free Press. I looked forward each week to Prince Valiant’s adventures. [http://comicskingdom.com/prince-valiant ] Very early Sunday morning, I'd read Prince Valiant, then set off so my customers could read him too.

I realize now that my customers had me delivering those huge newspapers because they wanted the news, the features and even the ads. In those days, I was too young to know the value of news and the essential role of good journalism in society.

The Detroit Times was the first paper I knew that went out of business. Many have followed. I worry that there are fewer jobs today for good journalists and that people have come to accept all kinds of information in the absence of good journalism.

In journalism school, they taught us our job was to be cynical, to look at it all as circumspect. We learned to ask questions and consider all points of view before we wrote our stories. We believed journalists provided information that was filtered through our shit detectors. Our checklist was who, what, where, when and why, and no story was complete unless we attributed our sources. We stuck to facts and kept our opinions out of the story.

And advertisers had no place in the newsroom. Mr. Bradley, my journalism instructor, had been a managing editor at The Toronto Star. He told us that the Eaton’s department store company, which bought tons of advertising in The Star, called an editor to say a member of the Eaton family was in court for a driving infraction, and that Eaton’s did not want to see a word about it in the paper. The story would have been missed otherwise, but a reporter was sent to the court house and the story appeared on the front page, for no other reason than to show advertisers that they could not influence the news.

Today, I fear that’s changed big time. The wealthy few in society own the networks and news syndicates that bring us our news. These same people own most large corporations. They control the discourse and focus the public perspective. They lure audiences with sensation and leave out the context and in-depth analysis. We should all be concerned about the credibility and agenda of the organizations that bring us the news, and the waning neutrality of the people who write and broadcast news reports, unless, of course, we are aspiring to be North Korea.

The Sunshine Bicycle

My Dad came home and surprised me with a bicycle when I was in Grade 3.

We still lived in London. It may have been for my 9^th birthday.

In those days, there were no small-size bicycles. The bike my Dad brought home was way too big for me. I could not reach the pedals.

Dad tried to solve that by cutting blocks of wood and bolting them through the pedals. I tried riding it, but after a few falls, the bike got put away until I was big enough to handle it.

In Windsor a couple of years later, we put a big heavy-duty carrier on the handle bars. I used it to deliver The Sunday Detroit Times and, later, groceries when I worked for Clark’s Market.

The bike had a medallion below the handlebars that said Sunshine Bicycles, Waterloo, Ontario. As bicycles go, my Sunshine bike was a tank. Everything on it was bigger and heavier. The tires were wide balloon white-walls with tread like a car. The fenders were thick heavy galvanized steel. I remember I was in a bad collision with another bike one time. The other bike’s front wheel, fender and handle bars were all bent. My bike didn’t have a dent.

There were no gears or hand brakes. The brake was part of the back axle assembly. To stop, you back-peddled a quarter turn and pressed. This bike was so heavy, the brakes in the back axle sometimes wore out. When that happened, I had to get a replacement part machined to put the bike back on the road.

The heavy bike was dead last in a short sprint. It was work to get it going, but once it was cruising, it had enough inertia to make peddling and coasting almost effortless. When the overpass was being built through Jackson Park, my friends and I went to the top to see how far we could coast. My friends made it almost to Tecumseh Road. My bike took me nearly a full block farther.

The picture above shows me at about 15 with my little sister Shirley in the carrier. We are in the alley behind our house at 1115 Bruce Ave., in Windsor. The green garage had a dirt floor and was nearly too small to hold a car. The car in the picture is my Dad’s 1962 Plymouth Fury. It had push-button transmission and was the first car I drove when I got my beginner’s licence when I was 16.

Once we were old enough to drive, my friends and I stopped riding our bikes.

I took Driver’s Education through the high school with some other kids in my class. My driving instructor was Mr. Nash. He had a Rambler. I always thought that was funny. If you do not know why, Google Nash and Rambler.  

The FLQ Helped Me Choose My Career

October 1970. Ring any bells?

Front de libération du Québec (FLQ) were radical Quebec nationalist, separatists, whatever. The FLQ kidnapped a British consulate official, demanding the release of political prisoners in exchange for his life. He survived but the FLQ also kidnapped and killed a provincial labour minister. [Review the details at http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/october-crisis/.]

I was editor of the college paper in October 1970.

This was more or less by default. Two guys who had been putting out the paper were fired by the student council for printing too many swear words and rambling poetry. I was asked to step in because I had been the editor in the spring and was the only one who knew how to produce an issue. I didn’t really want the job anymore. I was thinking about working in advertising, not journalism.

During the October Crisis, Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau was cool and decisive when appearing before cameras, but history shows his actions were over the top in response to these kidnappers and their organization when he invoked the War Measures Act. Under this Act, hundreds of people who were thought to be possibly connected with the FLQ were arrested and jailed without due process. The Act also restricted freedom of speech and freedom of the press -- media could be shut down or individuals could be arrested for criticizing the government.

The restrictions on media may have deterred some comment in the major papers and networks. However, a student news service called the Canadian University Press distributed all kinds of great material in response to the crisis and the government’s reaction and disregard for justice. I printed some of it. For instance, on one side of a page I set out recent remarks by Quebec Premier Bourassa about the importance of equal justice and, on the other side, his remarks supporting the jailing of innocent people that he made during the crisis.

Printing this material could have been contrary to the War Measures Act. Under the Act, I suppose that I could have been tossed in the slammer as well, but I don’t think any journalists were arrested during the crisis.

The business students at my college, however, staged a protest about their college paper printing that material. Some carried signs calling me a traitor. They demonstrated at the president’s office, calling for me to be expelled from the college.

I thought, “Wow, this is great,” and decided the hell with advertising. Journalism is a lot more fun.

The War Measures Act had been created in 1914 and used during the WWI to round up and intern Ukrainians and others who might support the other side. The act was used again during WWII to intern Canadians of Japanese descent. The October Crisis was the only time it was invoked when Canada was not at war. The act clearly said it was there in case of an insurrection, nonetheless, the act was contrary to Canada’s Charter of Rights and Freedoms. In 1981 it was repealed. Canada no longer has an act that would allow government to limit freedom of speech or toss people in jail without due process… I would hope.

I remember Duke Ellington

Explosions of great art mark periods of history that stand out for us today. For instance, the Renaissance that followed the decay of the medieval empires, and the Romantic period at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. I believe that, centuries from now, the explosion of art in 20^th Century America will be in that same category.

One of 20^th Century’s contributions to history is jazz, and one of its greatest artists, I believe, was Duke Ellington. This is a man whom I actually met.

Ellington died in 1974, but his 110^th birthday is celebrated this year with a concert by the Duke Ellington Orchestra in Madison Square Garden, New York City. It’s not surprising that this musical tradition, born before the Second World War, still lives on and still plays that music live. A performance by the Duke Ellington Orchestra is unique, wonderful and it makes you happy.

I heard the orchestra on a cold night in 1977 at Lambton College’s gym in Sarnia, Ontario. They had played in Cleveland the night before, and no one would have faulted them for not making it to Sarnia. A fierce snow storm had made some Ohio and Michigan highways impassable. Even some people in Sarnia who had bought tickets had decided not to chance going out in that weather.

Part of my job as Information Office at the college involved arrangements for “big band” concerts.

The bus full of musicians and their truck full of instruments and equipment arrived in darkness shortly before show time. Someone went out for Kentucky Fried Chicken. I remember holding the door against the blowing snow as all the KFC cartons and drinks were brought in. The musicians ate as they changed and scrambled to get set up. Mercer Ellington, Duke’s son, was the band leader.

After a day of difficult travel and hardly a bite to eat, they blew the roof off the joint. Band members were young and old. One young sax soloist danced down the steps and through the audience as he played. I was amazed at the arrangements, the solos, the energy and quality of the musicianship.

A year and a half before he passed, Duke Ellington led his orchestra at the opening of The Wheels Motor Inn, a new hotel and restaurant. I worked for The Chatham Daily News at the time. Everybody who was anybody in Chatham was there. At the legal last call for the bar, Ellington said, “wait a minute. Is the mayor here?” He was. “Is the chief of police here?” He was. “Is there a judge in the house?” There were more than one. “Then keep the bar open and we’ll keep playing. No cop is going to raid this joint tonight.”

The next day, I was assigned to photograph Ellington signing the official city guest book. It was after the appointed 4 p.m. when he came into the room. Mayor Doug Allin and others were waiting. Ellington wore satin black slippers, purple silk socks, black tuxedo pants with shiny stripe up the seam, and ruffled white formal shirt, open at the top. His hair was slicked straight back to a wave of curls over the collar. His eyes were puffy. A middle-aged blond woman guided him by the arm, and gave him his sunglasses. “I’m not used to this daylight,” he joked.

I interviewed him briefly. I asked him the obvious question about not retiring. He said it was inspiring to come to a place like Chatham and to see people loving the music.

“After we closed 3 in the morning, I went to my room and wrote some new music until about 5 a.m. I have a command performance for The Queen across the big pond coming up this summer. She likes to hear something new when we play for her.”

From the Queen of England to Joe and Jane Blow in small-town Ontario, people loved to hear Ellington’s band perform and Ellington loved performing his music. His grandson leads the big band these days in concerts around the world. If you ever get a chance to hear them live, do yourself a favour. http://www.dukeellington.com/