A photo in-hand is worth…

Photo of Dr. Carl Puterbough, taken in early 1990s by Fred Phipps, with wartime image of Puterbough as pilot trainee in background.

A friend and I got talking about our grandchildren the other day. Writer Peter Jennings and I were kind of comparing notes about our granddaughters. It turned out both granddaughters celebrate birthdays this fall, and Peter shared a magical discovery.

“You know what I got her for her birthday?” he said. “An Instax Mini 9 camera.”

I admitted to PJ that I had no idea what he was talking about.

“It’s an instant print camera,” he explained. “It takes a picture and spits it out – developed – within a minute.”

“You mean like those old Polaroid Land cameras.”

“Yup! And she loves it.” (more…)

Back to class with vision

Where my first elementary school teacher, Marjorie Watkins, helped me see the light.

I don’t remember my very first day at George P. Mackie Public School, just off Kingston Road in Scarborough. But my parents would probably have remembered. Soon after I entered Grade 1, my teacher, Ms. Watkins, sent a note home for my parents.

“Why is Ted squinting?” she asked in the note. “I moved him to the front of the class, but I don’t think that’s enough.” (more…)

Eyes and ears on crime

My neighbour was out walking his dog, recently. We got talking and he asked me if I generally locked the doors on the family cars in the driveway overnight. I asked why. He said early one morning, recently, he opened his front door to let the dog out and saw several young people pulling on car doors across the street, testing to see if any of the cars had been left unlocked. I asked if the kids knew he was watching them.

“Sure,” he said. “I called out to them, and they stopped in their tracks.”

I should point out that my neighbour’s dog also noticed the youngsters fiddling with the car doors too. But my neighbour didn’t send his dog chasing after the intruders (although she might have licked them to death). He had a more valuable tool in his crime-fighting kit. (more…)

Deny. Delay. And die.

Ted Arnold instructed aircrew cadets for combat roles overseas in WWII.

The last time I spent time with Ted Arnold was in 1991. He had contacted me about his Second World War story. So, I travelled to Port Hope and interviewed him. We communicated again later in the year when he was holidaying in Florida. And while I thought of him often after that, I never actually saw him again. His son Rick contacted me some years later.

“We were wondering if you could help us?” he asked.

I said I would try and then Rick explained that his father had slipped through the cracks at Veterans Affairs Canada. Partly because he was born in Argentina, but mostly because he fell into an odd category as a veteran, the system had denied him veteran status, and therefore funds to cover the expenses at an assisted-living facility in Ontario.

“As you know,” Rick Arnold went on, “he’s not entitled to a veteran’s pension.” (more…)

An unwritten book

Student Neil Powers during his placement at The National Post in early 2018.

He came to my office a bit tentatively. He didn’t want to impose. It was early in the semester – back about three years ago. At the time, teaching journalism at the college where he’d enrolled, I told him it was my job to listen and offer feedback. And frankly, I told him, I welcomed the interruption. His whole face broke into a genuine smile and he settled into a chair across from me for our first conversation. Not as teacher and student, but as fellow writers.

“I know you’re an author,” he started, “and I want to write a book too. But I don’t know where to start.”

I should have asked Neil Powers, the mature student across from me in my office at Centennial College, what he wanted to write about, but I never did. (more…)

Not even in the Greys

First on radio, then on TV’s “Hockey Night in Canada,” play-by-play announcer Foster Hewitt gave audiences a sense of being right in front of the action.

Monday night I was driving. I was on the edge of the range of the radio station broadcasting the Leafs-Bruins Stanley Cup playoff game. It was late in the third period. The signal faded momentarily just as play-by-play announcer Joe Bowen’s voice rose in intensity describing an up-ice pass from Mitch Marner to Patrick Marleau. And just before the radio signal dropped out completely I heard Bowen shout out his patented exclamation:

“Holy Mackinaw! What an enormous goal!” With that goal, the Leafs won the game, 4-2. (more…)

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Double the Christmas gift.

As I wrote last column, welcoming a baby grandson into the world was truly a gift. That was the First Day of Christmas. On the Second Day of Christmas, I went looking for a gift for my sister. I searched and then I found a photograph, taken of the two of us about 1972. So, I went to a local photo place and the guy said he could duplicate it, but that he didn’t normally adjust for contrast and brightness.

“But in the spirit of the season,” young Michael said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Thoughtful, I’d say. Unexpected gifts are the best. (more…)

Backyard stories for the universe

Reading room as a broadcast studio.
Reading room as a broadcast studio.

We sat down on a couple of plain chairs at a wooden table. We both splayed reference papers and notes across the table in front of us. The setting could easily have been his or my summer kitchen. Then, after some casual conversation, he hit the start button on a pocket-sized audio recorder in the middle of the table.

“It’s a warm sunny day,” he started. “I’m seated in a reading room in Port Perry Library overlooking Lake Scugog…”

I couldn’t resist. “… And under normal circumstances, we should be down at the lake enjoying the water,” I interrupted.

“But we’re not,” he continued. “This is the inaugural podcast of ‘Durham Past and Present.’” (more…)

Water, water everywhere. Not.

Hosing water around at the worst of times.
Hosing water around at the worst of times.

I saw a man in Toronto, the other day, doing the most decadent thing you can imagine. He was washing a bunch of leaves down the street with water from his garden hose. Spraying the water, full blast, onto the asphalt!

“Where’s your head?” I almost shouted at him, but didn’t. “Up your… hose?” (more…)

Mother Corp on my mind

The old CBC Radio building on Jarvis Street in Toronto was home to a different generation of broadcasters.
The old CBC Radio building on Jarvis Street in Toronto was home to broadcasters with a different set of priorities and ethical standards.

I’ve been asked the question a lot over the years. It’s an issue some of friends feel compelled to put to me whenever it comes up. And I feel compelled to respond. But friends and peers have asked it of me repeatedly these past months, in particular, this past week.

“What’s with all this rottenness at the CBC?” people ask. (more…)