Posts with the Toronto tag

Barris Beat

Betrayal of the tribe

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George Maharis and Martin Milne in “Route 66” TV series.

Last weekend, I stopped at one of the service stations in town to gas up my car. As I painfully watched the LED readout of my gas purchase whiz higher and higher, a guy pulled up to the pump across from me. He was in town for the weekend car show, driving a Corvette, an early one, like the one Todd Stiles and Buz Murdock drove in the hit TV series Route 66. As he began filling his car, I caught his eye.

“This must be the least fun part of driving a car like that,” I said to the guy, “filling a gas guzzler like your Vet.”

“Not at all,” he said. “It’s my guilty pleasure.” (more…)

Barris Beat

Bad history that includes us

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Chanie Wenjack – never free to go home.

My first day at a new school nearly scared me to death. In September of 1956, my family and I had moved from a suburb in the east end of Toronto to a village outside the city. So, I had to go to a school I didn’t know, meet a teacher I’d never seen before, try to make friends among strangers, and then, try to blend into the classroom. The fact that I wore glasses, the only one in the class, proved equally terrifying, particularly when my new teacher fussed over me.

“Why don’t you sit at the front desk,” Miss Anderson told me.

I wanted to disappear. I thought everybody would pick on me for having to wear glasses. But the worst fear I faced was that I’d get lost walking home from school. (more…)

Barris Beat

An international day for aunts too

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Mary Kontozoglus with her grandchildren, Christmas 2020.

The family had gathered from all over the continent. Some from Maryland. Others from New York and Florida. We had travelled from Toronto to Allentown, Pennsylvania, where my mother’s “baby brother” George was getting married to his fiancée Mary. But I had a problem.

“The battery in my camera’s dead,” I moaned. “And I want to take pictures of the wedding tomorrow.”

Since we were all foreigners to Allentown, except Mary, my future aunt, none of us knew where to buy replacement batteries except for her.

“I can help,” Mary said. Remember, this is the eve of her wedding to the family’s favourite uncle. So, no doubt, she had a million things on her mind. (more…)

Barris Beat

Tell me, Prime Minister…

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RCMP Const. Heidi Stevenson at a public- service event in 2020. Cdn Press photo.

On Sunday, April 19, after as excruciating a night of pursuit as any known to her force, I’m sure, RCMP Const. Heidi Stevenson made the toughest decision of her life. She’d heard radio calls from a fellow constable nearby that he’d been shot by a murder suspect looking like an RCMP officer, driving what looked like an RCMP cruiser in Nova Scotia. She must have recognized the object of the all-night manhunt was taking deadly advantage of RCMP insignia to approach innocents and shoot them. She must have decided to at least try to take away that advantage. She spotted the impersonator and took drastic action.

“She rammed him,” Brian Sauvé of the National Police Federation told the Toronto Star, “and probably saved countless lives.”

Not, however, her own.

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Barris Beat

How much living space is enough?

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Most of these mansions or estate homes end up having two people rattling around in thousands of square feet of unused, unnecessary living space.
Most of these mansions or estate homes end up having two people rattling around in thousands of square feet of unused, unnecessary living space.

In most parts of Canada, they’re located in the suburbs where the lots are larger. In downtown areas they’re called mansions. In some older communities they’re found on former estates. In fact, out in the country, they’re described as estate homes. A few weeks ago, we were driving past a group of them north of Stouffville and an older passenger in our car gasped.

“Unbelievable aren’t they,” I said.

She nodded and reacted with an unexpected comment: “How on earth would anybody clean something like that?” she said.

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Barris Beat

Psychology of time

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WATCHFACEA few weeks ago, at Centennial College where I teach, we realized things were reaching a breaking point. Students faced a never-ending stream of deadlines. Faculty appeared completely stressed out. And everybody seemed at wit’s end. So, we invited in a campus counsellor to conduct a stress workshop. Eventually, she just asked straight out, “What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t seem to get things done,” one student said. “There’s never enough time.”

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Barris Beat

A brother’s keeper

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Bill Doig at the wheel of his favourite pick-up, Muriel, about 1977.
Bill Doig at the wheel of his favourite pick-up, Muriel, about 1977.

I think I can pinpoint the first time I ever felt self-confident.

It didn’t come on graduation day. It wasn’t contained inside that rolled-up education degree. I can’t even say I felt self-assured when I got married or with my first steps as a professional. You’d think a guy who had his first newspaper column published in high school, his first radio show as a teenager, his first book released in his twenties, would have loads of confidence. But no. The day I think I realized I had found my niche in the world was the day my brother-in-law Bill Doig gave me a friendly poke in the shoulder.

“You know,” he said, “you’re pretty good at what you do.”

I had only just left my hometown of Toronto for work a few months earlier in 1976. My wife – his wife’s sister – and I had only been married a year or so. She and I really had no car of our own (my folks had given us one). We didn’t have a roof over our heads (Bill solved that; he invited us live with them). We had very few possessions. Heck, we didn’t even have a credit rating. But somehow because I was (overnight) Bill Doig’s brother-in-law and working in the same city as he was, I suddenly became a somebody.

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