At first, I was angry. I read the mayor’s statement on the public service page of the Cosmos (Sept. 17, 2020): He said, and this is a direct quote from Uxbridge Mayor Dave Barton:
“A local paper without it’s (sic) integrity is meaningless.”
I was furious. Then, when I simmered down, I felt disappointed … disappointed that this community’s chief elected administrator would consider the newspaper of record in this township, the Uxbridge Cosmos, without integrity or meaning. (more…)
A few days ago, my daughter – who’s recently joined me on my morning walks – posed a provocative question:
“How come we haven’t got a bridge in Uxbridge?” she asked.
I didn’t have an answer. But it occurred to both of us that we have an opportunity to change that. Since construction crews have ripped open most of the main thoroughfare through the downtown to make way for the renovation of the underground flow of the Uxbridge Brook, here might be an ideal chance.
Why not, we thought, somewhere along that now gaping throughway for storm and other water passageways, make an effort to include some sort of bridgeworks that might reflect our name? (more…)
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.
I’d overlooked it for years. I think it was back 2006 when a number of us organized a weekend to celebrate the township’s anniversary. We were artists, shop owners, civic workers and town boosters volunteering our time. Leading up to the event, we’d looked for a place to meet. That’s when financial specialist Brian Evans offered us a room at his Toronto Street office. I stepped into his board room for that first meeting and noticed a collage of photographs of a turn-of-the-century building framed on the wall. I’d never seen that Edwardian-era building before.
“What and where was that?” I asked.
“Don’t you know?” someone responded. “That was our original post office.” And when I asked where, they all said right where the new post office is today. “They knocked down the old one and threw up that new one.” (more…)
In one of the first notations he jotted into his combat journal, First World War soldier Sam Sharpe recorded the actions of his rookie Canadian battalion. The 116thOntario Country Regiment was experiencing its baptism of fire in France. It was April 9, 1917, the first day of the battle of Vimy Ridge. His men were not fighting German soldiers, but laying wire in communication trenches on the Allied side of the Western Front. L/Col. Sharpe noted that his men endured a hail of artillery shells as they worked. Members of the 116th were wounded or killed, including one of his closest friends in the battalion.
“It is awfully sad,” Sharpe wrote. “Lt. John Doble was killed instantly by a shell, while leading a wiring platoon. Ontario County is paying its toll in this great struggle.”
This Sunday – for the 100thtime – at the 11thhour of the 11thday of the 11thmonth – we will gather at the cenotaph at Brock and Toronto streets in Uxbridge. (more…)
He was only 18, back in 1955. He didn’t speak a word of English when he and his parents arrived from Italy. And his skills were few; he knew how to sharpen knives, so his father could butcher what livestock the family had raised for food. But when John Zentana arrived in Canada, none of that mattered. The basic criterion for entry to this new country was simple.
“Are you all prepared to work?” immigration authorities asked.
“Anything,” John’s father promised. (more…)
When I left on a short holiday, about 10 days ago, this fall’s municipal election in my home own looked rather dull. While the mayoral contest and the regional council races were shaping up to be competitive, the number of candidates running in our wards left several virtually uncontested and even on the verge of proclaimed winners. Within the span of my holiday, though, the picture changed radically. To quote a friend of mine:
“It’ll be democracy, after all!” (more…)
During her speech at the Sam Sharpe statue unveiling, last Friday night, MP Jennifer O’Connell became emotional as she explained that the day before, Members of Parliament had voted unanimously to install Tyler Briley’s sculpture of Sam Sharpe in the Centre Block of Parliament in Ottawa.
And when Seamus O’Regan, the minister of veterans’ affairs, quizzed her about the community groundswell of support in Uxbridge that had brought this motion to the House, he seemed genuinely impressed.
“Who are these people?” O’Regan asked her. “What is it about Uxbridge?” (more…)
Sometimes it’s as subtle as the songbirds in the backyard going silent. Other times in the house, the cats curl up together in a corner. In a more obvious example, my pet Kerry blue terrier pants as if he’s just completed a marathon run cross-country, and I know there’s a thunderstorm in the area.
I remember the story, a few years ago, about an earth tremor in the state of Maryland. And Mike Blanpied, a U.S. Geology Service expert, reported that just before the quake, animals responded because they were more sensitive to the slightest shaking.
“Animal earthquake prediction,” he called it. (more…)
The demolition had been going on for over an hour. Layers of roofing, above the second floor were now caving in. Rafters that hadn’t seen the light of day for over a century and the walls that could tell stories of many of those years came cascading down. It was all quite controlled. With the precision of a surgeon, the excavator operator was bringing my neighbour’s house down piece by piece.
But suddenly the excavator shovel – Murray Huntington’s industrial scalpel – powered down. Huntington opened the excavator door, stepped out of the cab and climbed over the debris that had been the second floor.
“What’ve you got?” I called out to him from ground level.
“Maybe you can use this,” Huntington said.
And he gently tugged at a few of the floorboards atop the pile of rubble to reveal some paper. He’d spotted it in the debris, brought it down and handed it to me. It was a newspaper. (more…)