Blessed be the miracle of modern fabric; you can actually see spring budding in Florida. Sixteen, 17, too self-conscious for 18, she moves in a sheer mauve body shirt out from the hotel lobby and into the wet tongue of the Fort Lauderdale evening air.
The bottom line is this: somebody in Brantford, Ontario, owes Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops Orchestra $51,975. The assistant general manager of the Pops, Gideon Toeplitz, a likable man who speaks with a strong East European accent, sent Mayor Charles Bowen a curt telegram last Aug. 24 threatening to sue if the City of Brantford didn’t come up with the money.
There he was, erupting: a telephone in one hand, a cigarette in the other and a coughing fit in between. The blaspheming of publishers is done in a special key, known only to writers, and Hugh Garner, once a choirboy, finds it with ease. “That crook.
When Toronto journalist Maggie Siggins set out to write a biography of John Bassett, she naturally called the famous broadcaster, ex-publisher and former owner of the Toronto Argonauts and asked for an interview. He turned her down, booming into the phone (before he slammed it down):
"Gace” is an attractive, wellgroomed 67-year-old Winnipeg resident who feels she has outlived her usefulness. Her children are grown and live far away. Her husband is retired, and spends most of his day at home “getting underfoot.”
One afternoon this winter, Tom Walker brought a colleague home to bask in the hot tub installed in the backyard of his Jasper, Alberta, home. It was nothing unusual for Walker, who dips daily after work. But when his wife, Carla, arrived home, she simply gaped at the men.
Early next June, some 65 students at Ottawa’s St. Patrick’s College will don black academic robes and mortarboards and march in solemn procession across Carleton University’s campus. As beaming parents watch, they will listen to a brief and simple benediction before receiving degrees in subjects that range from criminology to the liberal arts.
"The Devil has all the good tunes,” John Wesley said. But a Thursday night service of A Christian Church on a Hill, a Toronto charismatic group that uses the facilities of St. Paul’s Anglican on Bloor Street, finds a 19-piece band on the chancel and dancers in the aisles.
What makes him so lovable is his insouciance. Gibraltar may crumble, his back bench may fumble, but his arrogance is here to stay. Our PM, our playful Pierre, king of the costume party, has found his métier. What he really wants to do with the country is to go to a birthday fete once a week.
Here we go again. After a winter that was mercifully free of speculation about voting dates, Parliament, the government and the country have resumed the guessing and rumor-spreading of last spring and fall about when Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau will call the election.
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