It seemed just another typical Saturday morning at the coffee shop. Kids pointing at the donuts they wanted. Adults craving that first cup. A local by-election candidate had even set up shop at a corner table to bolster his door-to-door canvassers with coffee, donuts and a pep talk. But near the door, I spotted an older man wearing a blue baseball cap with a Royal Canadian Navy logo and the name “HMCS Toronto” emblazoned on it.
“Navy veteran are you?” I asked.
The tension in the room was palpable. It was the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in downtown Toronto. The media and a who’s who of the literary community were there. The jury sat quietly. The anxious nominees fidgeted awaiting the verdict. Tuesday night was the moment five Canadian novelists only dream about – a chance to win this country’s richest fiction prize, the Giller. Four were waiting to be told they were second-best. One learned from the envelope in (Giller founder) Jack Robinovitch’s hand that the prize was won.
“And the winner is…” the representative of ScotiaBank said, “Will Ferguson and ‘419.’”
“Wow,” Ferguson said in response. “I want to thank…” and the list went on. And yes, he thanked his mom. “Number four son did you proud.”
Earlier this fall, I challenged students in my college History of Broadcasting course. I asked them to find elderly residents in the GTA to talk about their memories of what is known as “the golden age of radio.” Not surprisingly, some of them went to seniors’ residences to find their sources. Others called on grandparents who had grown up in the 1930s and ’40s to recall the radio broadcasts that shaped their childhood. What I didn’t expect was a history lesson back from my own students. One group played a recording of their interview with an immigrant woman who was 90 years old.
“When I was a girl of 17 in Afghanistan,” the woman on the recording said, “I was never allowed to listen to the radio. It was something only men could hear.”
I sat elbow-to-elbow with history last Sunday. Many seated around me had piloted military aircraft in hostile skies. Others had gone aloft as Royal Canadian Air Force navigators, radio operators, gunners and flight engineers. But just as many had made history in the ranks of the volunteer association that gathers, preserves and celebrates the romance of flight in peacetime – the Air Force Association of Canada. Closest to me (and equally close to that history) sat Hugh Halliday, eminent Canadian air historian. We talked about current writing projects. It turned out he had research I needed and he offered it to me without question, without thought of compensation.
“The best way to preserve history,” Halliday said, “is to share it.”
During an awards ceremony at the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum on Oct. 14, 2012, Sen. Joseph Day presented Ted Barris with a Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal. The announcement issued with the award said, in part, “the medal is a visible and tangible way to recognize outstanding Canadians … who have built and continue to build this caring society and country through their service and achievements.”
Barris was nominated for the award by the Air Force Association of Canada. In a letter, Dean Black, the AFAC executive director, explained that the association “convened a committee that screened and ranked hundreds of applications from across Canada, using the selection criteria of recent and significant service to the association’s objectives of heritage, youth and advocacy.” Barris was among about 45 individuals chosen by the AFAC to receive the medal.
We don’t very often get the chance to witness a world’s record. Oh, in the Toronto area, we used to be able to walk by the world’s tallest freestanding structure, the CN Tower, until they built one taller in Dubai a couple of years ago. I once stood within a metre of the world’s biggest gem, the Hope diamond, at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. And I’ve personally witnessed a bunch of The Great One’s goal-scoring feats, some of which are world’s records I guess (the 50 goals in 39 games, for example). But I’ve rarely associated the province of Saskatchewan (where I lived for a while) with any world’s records. Then, this week, I got a note from an old friend, Dennis Fisher, in Saskatoon.
“We watched 249 combines harvest a [half] section of land in seven minutes,” he wrote me. “It was a Guinness World Record.”
My world of words has been turned upside down this week. One of our own has been accused of the worst sin in our profession – taking the ideas of another writer and presenting them as her own. According to Carol Wainio, an Ottawa-based blogger, in 2009 Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente wrote an editorial about something called enviro-romanticism. In her column, among other things, she wrote about non-governmental organizations.
“They believe traditional farming in Africa incorporates indigenous knowledge that shouldn’t be replaced by science-based knowledge introduced from the outside,” Wente wrote.
Sam Sniderman changed my Saturdays forever. Back in the 1960s, instead of sleeping in, savouring my coffee, wasting my morning, I high-tailed it downtown to Yonge and Dundas streets, to the store under the spinning-record sign to spend my money on vinyl. Yes, every Saturday morning I raced to take advantage of Sam’s door-crasher specials.
“The best music and the best prices,” Sam Sniderman used to say in his advertisements. But more than that, he also said, “Buy Canadian music because it’s the best.”
It didn’t take long. The trees have just started to turn. Outside town the low spots each morning are full of that chilly mist. The sandals have pretty much been moved to the back of the closet along with many of my short-sleeved shirts. But I wasn’t ready for this: I got a promotional circular from the place I usually take my car for oil changes.
“Get ready to winterize,” it said. “Cold weather’s just around the corner.”
Ottawa, I have learned, has the power to do many things. The federal government can influence the nation’s economy, with Bank of Canada interest rates, stimulus funding and, of course, taxation. It can choose to send the country’s armed forces to war. Ultimately, it has the power to draft, debate and generate the laws that change the lives of all Canadians. But this week, when I opened up one of the Toronto daily newspapers, a special federal government insert dropped out. And I discovered the feds have even greater power than I thought.
“Canada’s electoral map is changing,” the cover of the insert said. “Read about the proposed new electoral map for Ontario.”