He is a rangy, craggy man in tweeds who somehow contrives to look like most of the things he is—a 65-year-old onetime engineering student turned English professor, a Westerner who has lived most of his life in eastern Canada, a Baptist turned Roman Catholic.
May I raise a protest at the failure of your interviewer to bring Albert Johnson (Interview, February 7) to the topic that is the subject of a growing flood of letters to MPS and to newspapers throughout the country—the national catastrophe of the CBC?
Before Pierre Trudeau went to Washington late last month the “irritants” between Canada and the United States were mostly buried in a flurry of diplomacy. By the time the Prime Minister got to the White House, where he acknowledged he is “always a little bit moved and perhaps even intimidated,” they seemed to have vanished completely.
Their names are virtually unknown in the rest of Canada, their faces unfamiliar even in Quebec. But when Premier René Lévesque rose to address the Montreal Chamber of Commerce in February, he was flanked by men who are members of a group that will be critical to the success of Lévesque's fledgling Parti Québécois government in the months and years to come.
What all promising cities need is a few good literary feuds and so it is appropriate that Toronto, all puffed up with self-importance these days, is apprenticing also in the field of the literary sandbox. There is an air of Bloomsbury vendetta about, with practically each week providing new eviscerations, trampled reputations and crushed intellects for the delighted voyeurs, spattered with blood on the sidelines, to contemplate.
For sick irony, few can equal Idi Amin Dada. As the world reacted with outrage to the news that the Anglican Archbishop of Uganda, Janani Luwum, and two government ministers had met violent deaths, Uganda’s President for Life was blandly telling delegates to a conference of African, Caribbean and Pacific states in Kampala of his concern that “so many people in other parts of the world are dying because of their political activities.”
Aside from doing wonders for retail sales and helping lead-footed drivers avoid tickets for speeding, the Citizens Band radio craze had made impact on little more than the English language, most notably in the nicknames division. Then came one of the worst blizzards in eastern North America’s history and suddenly the CB was able to strut its stuff—as an electronic St. Bernard. Storms may never be the same again, now that the “good buddies of the airwaves” have shown what their radios and imaginations can do.
The story you want is part of the Maclean’s Archives. To access it, log in here or sign up for your free 30-day trial.
Experience anything and everything Maclean's has ever published — over 3,500 issues and 150,000 articles, images and advertisements — since 1905. Browse on your own, or explore our curated collections and timely recommendations.WATCH THIS VIDEO for highlights of everything the Maclean's Archives has to offer.