We had considered many options. People. Places. Past knowledge. We knew the subject – youth violence and alienation – required some very specific understanding of the causes and effects of the problem. We had plenty of college and university experts on hand because we worked among them. But somehow we sensed to get to the root of the problem, we had to get closer to the ground. There was a vital element missing in our approach.
It was experience. (more…)
In 1964, I remember U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson (LBJ) uttering these words: “We’re not about to send American boys … 10,000 miles away from home … to war.”
Johnson was promising to keep U.S. troops out of the war in Vietnam. In fact, his administration and the one following it sent more than 3 million American soldiers into an unwinable war. Nearly 60,000 of those young men died. They died of a broken promise. (more…)
The news nearly killed my mother. I believe that it hastened my father’s death. In February 2003, my father suffered a debilitating stroke that stole his two most precious faculties – speech and memory. Because my parents lived in Agincourt, paramedics rushed him to Scarborough Grace Hospital.
Days later SARS struck the same floor of the hospital where my father was recovering. Nevertheless, nurses told us they could isolate Dad sufficiently so that Mom could still suit up with PPE and see him. But then the Conservative provincial government, thinking it knew better than the health-care specialists, intervened.
“For his safety,” they told my mother, “we’re isolating your father in the new PPP (public-private partnership) hospital in Brampton.”
“How is my mother, living in Agincourt, going to be able to see my father in Brampton?” I asked the office of then health minister Tony Clement.
“She can communicate with him by fax,” they recommended. (more…)
It was the end of our shift. The boss, the owner of the restaurant, called a staff meeting. There were waiters, waitresses, cooks and the busboy staff – about a dozen of us. For several weeks we’d known that the head busboy was leaving the diner. So, we were looking to the boss for some kind of announcement about who would become the next head busboy. His decision was not unexpected. He gave the job to Denny.
“Denny’s been with us the longest,” the boss said. “He has the most experience. He has the trust of everybody on staff and all our customers. He’s the right choice for the position.”
Nobody, not a single person on our staff, disagreed. Everybody could see that the promotion had gone to exactly the right person. Denny met all criteria. So, he got the job. That’s the way it was done at a restaurant staff meeting I attended in the summer of 1966. (more…)
Earlier this week, a delivery van pulled up at my neighbour’s house. The driver hopped out of his vehicle. He was fully masked and went to the door, kept his distance, and ensured that the package was delivered into the right hands. He then photographed the street address of his delivery and was walking back to his van when we exchanged greetings.
“Pardon me for asking, but have you received a COVID-19 vaccination yet?”
“I don’t mind,” he said, “but no, not yet.”
“I’ll bet you do dozens of deliveries a day and run the risk of either being infected or infecting others,” I suggested. “Don’t you think you should’ve had a shot by now?”
“Of course, but the company hasn’t made it a priority.” (more…)
It’s one of those moments that’s haunted me for years. It was a Second World War story about army medics preparing for the invasion of France in 1944. Just prior to D-Day, some U.S. Army medics apparently saw assault soldiers being issued a new piece of equipment. Incorporating two-inch-square steel plates, and sewn into a canvas vest, the device would apparently protect the wearer against shrapnel and some bullet penetration. Today, police officers call it “body armour.” At any rate, the story goes that a D-Day medic asked the officer handing these things out, “What’s that?”
“Flak vest,” the officer said.
“What about giving it to us medics?”
“They’re for assault troops,” the officer said. “Besides, there’ll be so many casualties, you can have your pick of vests from the dead.” (more…)
Some friends and I got together this week. We were abiding by the no-more-than-10-in-a-bubble rule. Actually, there were only about five of us, and we weren’t even in the same neighbourhood. We’d gathered – as so many of us do these days – for a Zoom chat. After we’d caught up on all the latest, somebody sighed and wondered when we might all gather at a favourite watering hole again. There was a pause.
“Geez, I wish things were back to normal,” one friend said.
There was general agreement that sitting face-to-face, having the chance to give hugs to family and good friends, or enjoy a cool one on a patio together really would be great to have back. Later, however, I concluded there’s a great deal about the old normal I’d rather not return to. (more…)
All right. It’s time to take stock. I’m sure you are as sick of this lockdown as I am. Like you, I’m fed up not being able to hug members of my family. I’m frustrated each time I walk that I have to avoid friends and strangers on the sidewalk. I’m tired of sanitizing, distancing, minimizing, and washing my hands ’til they’re raw. And if I have to watch one more public service announcement or insurance ad on TV that ends with the same cliché, I may implode.
“It’s unprecedented times,” they say. “And we’re here for you.” (more…)