THE pavement was too treacherous for their favorite pastime: automobile poker. They’d played that ever since they’d become partners. Next car to pass would be Marty’s, the one after would be Joe’s. They’d make poker hands from the numbers on the license plates.By OCTAVUS ROY COHEN22 min
No matter what the CBC does somebody doesn't like it and says so. But the job of trying to please all of the $2.50 customers some of the time with our native mixture of culture, corn and Canadianism goes right on while the bugbears of television growl on the doorstepBy PIERRE BERTON16 min
“It was a good punch, one I’d been working on for nearly 15 years. I let it go...” Seconds later Young Corbett was licked and the kid from the Vancouver waterfront was champion of the world
The Canadian Seamen’s Union — once strong and respected — had to die for the greater glory of the Communist Party. Here’s how it was killed — a frightening, firsthand expose of Red strategy in Labor by an ex-Communist who witnessed the betrayal of 10,000 Canadian workers from the insideBy T. G. McMANUS13 min
Inspector-General Barry ruled the British Army’s medical corps in Canada with a bossy efficiency in a thick cloud of rumor and legend. Then, after 53 years’ service, a shocking secret came outBy James Bannerman13 min
Don’t let our pet Jasper fool you with his comic charm. In the fur, bears can be tougher than traffic cops with sore heads. They don’t know their own strength and will sometimes help themselves to the hand that’s feeding themBy FRED BODSWORTH11 min
MARGATE is two and a half hours from London by train. Margate is on the sea. In August the crowds from London are so large that the sands are completely obliterated by the human concourse. When the summer is over most of the hotels close and the boardinghouses, with their traditional names of “Seaview,” “Mon Repos,” “The Beach” and “Hillside,” clean themselves up and then go to sleep.By Beverley Baxter9 min
Harry Boyle, the man who dishes up those highbrow Wednesday Night sessions, is an ex-hobo who used to write horror stories for the pulps and who likes his music schmaltzy. Yet one night he spent $16,000 of your money on artBy H. C. POWELL8 min
Max Ferguson, a well-groomed university man who loathes cowboy music, is the same Ol’ Rawhide who is denounced in Parliament and adored by his fans for his zany half hour of amusing mimicryBy ROBERT THOMAS ALLEN8 min
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