Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Undated. Labeled #08

When I was in high school, I met a young man I admired tremendously. He was an incredibly fine fellow, and one of the most accomplished actors I have ever seen in my life. He could pick up a book of Shakespeare and read it like you would read a simple poem, with complete understanding and much feeling. He had been educated in England, and indeed I thought he was English for he had a soft English accent. He looked and talked like Sir Lawrence Olivier. Everywhere he went, he led people to think he was English. Actually, this lad was Greek. But he was ashamed of being Greek. Can you imagine being ashamed of your own nationality? I’ve never forgotten him for that one reason and in my estimation, he dropped down out of sight. Since then I have met many, many people who are ashamed of their racial background. This state of affairs is really pitiful, I think, because every race under God’s sun is so rich in its own culture and folklore; every race has contributed great men and very proud of it. Look back at the great Scot writers...the wonderful Scot music. But were I other than Scotch, I know I would be just as proud of the blood that flows through my veins. I often wondered if that Greek boy ever thought of the almost fantastically advanced Greek civilization that existed centuries ago with it’s great philosophers whose writing have never been equalled...it’s wonderful sculptors...architects...men of science and learning. Look at the Hebrew civilization, going back many, many centuries. The Hebrew contributions to civilization are manifold; the Hebrew home life is a model of perfection. Look at the Negro race, the Ukrainian, the Pole, the Russian, the German, each has behind him centuries of accomplishment by his father, his grandfather’s father, and his great grandfathers father. To be ashamed of your nationality, is unforgivable. Be proud of the blood that flows through your veins. 

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Undated. Labeled #13b

As I fetched him out of the bath last night, and stood him up to dry his small, hard little body with a turkish towel, he looked up at me and said, “Do I have to go to school again tomorrow?” I smiled a little and said, “ Yes, son, tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...for twelve long years you have to go to school.” Then he asked me why people had to go to school, and I must confess my eyes watered a bit, because my first little baby was bewildered...so bewildered, having entered a whole new world in one brief day. I felt sad because I knew that during that one day, my son had grown just a little way away from me. The thin edge of the wedge had been forced between us, and tho’ tonight he needed me very much, there would come a time, perhaps much sooner that I expected, when he would need me less and less, when he would become a part of the new world about him, and instead of watching somewhat apprehensively from the sidelines, he would get in step with the world, would conform with his fellow men, would become a statistic in an enrolment book instead of just my small, little, lost boy, who that day had entered his new, frustrating, bewildering world...a world of the realist...a world that has little time for dreamers...a hectic, frantic world that moved at a pace almost too frightening to think about. Why do you have to go to school?  Beneath my breath, I asked the same question, tho’ the emphasis was different...”Oh, why, why, why do you have to go to school?” Why do you have to learn that there is hate as well as love...that there is filth as well as cleanliness, that there is evil as well as good, that you will not always have your mothers comforting caress, and your fathers protecting arms. You have to go to school to learn, son, so when you grow up you can get a job and earn money and get married, and, I thought to myself, have babies of your own...and some day, when you are bathing your own little boy on the first day of school, you’ll understand how I feel, and perhaps you’ll cry a little too. “Off to bed, little man. Tomorrow is another day”

Originally broadcast in March, 1964 on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada.

Brotherhood week slipped by silently last month. A pity too, for our town, like yours, needs a little brotherhood. I have often wondered why the Canadian Council of Christians and Jews do not give more exposure to their credo. We would all do well to read it every day.  It goes like this:

WE BELIEVE: 

In the brotherhood of man under the Fatherhood of God.

That the fabric of Canada is strong and unique because the threads of many races and creeds are woven into it.

That every Canadian secures his own greater safety when he stands united with his fellows to uphold and defend the true spirit of democracy.

In unity without uniformity.

That we cannot demonstrate to other nations that ours is a better way of life unless all our citizens enjoy the same privileges and assume the same obligations.

That a man’s God given rights should not be violated because of his race, religion or national origin.

That the spirit of Brotherhood Week should season out thoughts and actions every week of the year.

That the education of every child should encourage his natural inclination toward brotherhood.

We believe that we can make this a better country for our children to inherit only if you and I strive unceasingly to stamp out prejudice, bigotry and discrimination.

Pretty tall thoughts, my fellow citizens.  I hope you’ll remember them.

Bloggers note: The “Credo” in it’s updated ‘gender-neutral’ form and now referred to as a “Vision and Mandate” is located here: http://www.cccj-ab.org/about.html

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. November 1963. Labeled #04b

Do you ever feel like you’d like to build a high wall around your children? I have felt this way so often lately. In every paper or magazine you pick up you read of the moral breakdown of our society. You read about John Profumo and his shabby affairs with Mandy Rice Davies and Christine Keeler. You read of great football stars like Karras and Hornung being suspended for placing bets on the games they played. You see Liz Taylor and Richard Burton setting the cause of matrimony back two hundred years. You read about a great star like Frank Sinatra playing host to one of the kings of the underworld at a swank Nevada lodge, and again of Sinatra’s efforts to “buy off” officials who were sent to investigate the case. You see what I mean about building a wall around your children? What has happened to our morality? Is the word “honour” no longer in our vocabulary? Is there no longer a place for “integrity” in our society? With the examples we set before our children, is it any wonder they are cynical and disillusioned? There was a time when men fought duels for honour and nations went to war for it. Perhaps it couldn’t be defined even then but men and nations felt it in their bones. A man of honour didn’t lie, cheat , take bribes, offend the defenceless or give in to cowardice. Honour meant living up to one’s word and holding fast to one’s self respect. Today we are raising our children in a fast-buck, back street morality society, and my heart goes out to them. We are giving these kids stones when they need bread. Somehow this trend must be reversed. Integrity must again have some meaning. I often wonder how long our society will lie there in the gutter before it decides to pick itself up and breathe some fresh air again. 

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. May 1963. Labeled #10a

It is hard to say when a child ceases to be child and becomes an adult. Long ago I decided that this occurs when the child first comes to realize that his parents are just human beings. To the father of small boys it is a frightening thing to realize that his kids think that “Dad can fix it!” No matter what the problem the young innocent thinks Dad can fix it. Perhaps it’s a broken toy, a faulty air gun, a plugged radiator on a hot rod, or even a parking ticket. Junior is sure that “Dad can fix it.” And then comes the day when father fails. Dad CAN’T fix it. In one brief moment the child grows up and learns that fathers and mothers are just people, subject to the same fears and heartbreaks that youngsters know so well. This is a terrible moment for a child for although they go through so many years of thinking that parents are nine feet tall and can handle anything that comes along, I think really they start to identify with parents the moment they find out they are frail humans just like them. I you are a young parent, don’t worry about that moment Junior finds out the truth about you. Chances re he’ll draw even closer to you than he is now.

Originally broadcast on Friday April 9th, 1965 on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada.

From time to time you have heard me mention an Uncle of mine who lived in Innisfail, Alberta.  A gentleman of whom I was extremely fond. We laid him to rest from a small chapel in the town yesterday afternoon. He would have been 92 next month. One thought kept reoccurring to me as I sat in that sanctuary. I kept wondering if the gentleman ever thought of himself as probably one of the most remarkable men who ever lived. Do you know that in all the years I knew him, I never heard him speak ill of anyone? Imagine that. I have never talked to anyone who didn’t like him. In that small town of Innisfail close to 200 people would show up at his birthday party. He served the town as Post Master for 41 years. He was a sportsman, musician, public servant, homesteader and husband and father. He did all these things with enthusiasm, devotion and dedication. Until the day of his death he could recall for his great grandchildren the time when he and his father walked from Calgary to Innisfail to take up their homestead. He remembered the coming of the railroad to Alberta and could relate true tales about the Indian bands that used to roam the slopes around the town. He never lost his zest for life. He was at the Calgary Stampede every year and wouldn’t miss a bull sale. When he was 90 years old he took our his fiddle that had long been laid away and started to play it again. He was the first one there when there was trouble and the last one to leave if he was needed. One gentleman remarked yesterday that here was a man who had everything in the world but money and of that he had no need. Citizens of Innisfail, who may be listening to me today, you have lost a great man. You cannot really ask more of life than 91 years and yet many tears were shed at his passing. The world will be poorer for his passing. James Edward Dodd will not go down in history but he has left a great mark on the town in which he lived and in the hearts of those who knew and loved him.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. January 1963. Labeled #12b

Educators across Canada have bee cautiously toying with the idea that some control should be exercised by school officials over the dress of the student body. I don’t know why they hesitate on this issue. It was interesting to notice in driving through 16 states last summer, that all schools required a certain standard of dress of their students. Even the smallest country schools required the young ladies to wear dresses, or skirts and blouses and the young gentlemen to wear slacks and jackets...No jeans...no toreador pants...no black jackets...no shirt tails hanging out...no duck tail haircuts. Frankly, when a young adult reaches high school. I think it’s about time he learned that society expects he’ll start acting like a reasonably  responsible citizen, and that among these responsibilities are certain requirements in dress and conduct. I don’t feel that sloppy freakish dress is in any way conducive to responsible thinking in the class room. I have seen some classrooms in our country, and in the best of neighbourhoods too, where the student body looks more like a bunch of sharecroppers than sensible kids intent on growing into useful citizens. The “article writers” will tell us that this is all part of their expression, their rebellion against conformity. I say “hogwash”. When a youngster reaches high school, it is high time he recognized a few rules and regulations for living in an organized society...and surely the least of these regulations is a reasonable attitude toward his dress. I am sure parents will see the benefit in any regulations which may be enforced regarding dress in our schools, and strongly support any action which may be taken to make such regulations work, if they are adopted.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. January 1963. Labeled #13a

Out in Canada’s great Northwest, there are two sources of weather information. First there is the Northern Alberta Weather Bureau, a highly scientific office manned by weather experts, who use only the latest methods to predict the weather. Our other source of weather is an ancient Indian Chief who comes in from the foothills every fall to tell reporters what kind of a winter we are going to have. The chief has nothing but scorn for the weather office equipment. He will tell us what to expect weather-wise by skinning a squirrel to see what colour the inside of the pelt is, or by checking to see how high up the spruce trees the cones are growing. It may seem a little ridiculous to someone who is not native to these cold climes to tell him that the old Chiefs forecast is the one most folks believe, but there is a reason. You see, the Chiefs forecast is usually a little more optimistic than the weather office. That's the one we believe because that's the one we WANT to believe. I'm firmly convinced that the old gent is somewhat of a rogue who keeps his position of respect simply by coming up on the bright side of the weather office reports. But as long as he keeps predicting mild winters with little snow, I'm on his side, regardless of the weather the follows.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. May 1963. Labeled #10

While looking through a magazine recently I came across these 10 commandments for teenagers. Although there was no author credit, I can say that the person who wrote these commandments is a very wise human being:

1)  Stop and think before you drink.

2) Don't let your parents down, they brought you up.

3) Be humble enough to obey. You will be giving orders your self someday.

4)  At the first moment turn away from unclean thoughts... at the first moment.

5) Don't show off when driving. If you want to race, go to Indianapolis. 

6) Choose a date who would make a good mate.

7) Go to church faithfully. The Creator gave you a week give him back an hour. 

8) Choose your companions careful. You are what they are.

9) Avoid following the crowd. Be an engine, not a caboose.

10) Better still, keep the original 10 commandments.

Well there is a lot to think about here for the young people. Why not get a copy of 10 commandments to pin up in your boy’s or girl’s bedroom.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Undated. Labeled #9

If you read the sports section of your daily paper, you no doubt noticed the story of the pathetic journey of Floyd Patterson from Chicago to New York following his defeat at the hands of Sonny Liston. Patterson drove through the night alone and wore a full beard and moustache so he would not be recognized. He was a completely despondent, beaten man. Anyone who has followed the career of the former champ knows that his managers never let him come up against any real trouble in the ring. If a worthy contender came along, the managers dodged and side-stepped to keep their boy away from danger. They made their deals with the pushovers and the softies. Did they do the likeable Patterson a favour? I think not. Yet, do not many of us do the same thing for our children day in and day out. We try to fight their battles for them, to run interference, to protect them against hurt, yes even keep them from the knowledge that they CAN get hurt in this old world. Many children today reach adulthood without once going to battle for themselves. Then when the first big trouble hits them, and they find out that father is no longer there to fix it, they go down with the first blow. We want to give our children some protection certainly, I submit that we do them a great service by letting them stand on their own 2 feet at as tender an age as possible. It's not always a nice old world and I believe children should learn that very young.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Undated. Labeled #1

There is a breed of person in this world for whom I have the deepest sympathy. They are the little people, the petty people, the bitter people. Their own lives are so empty, so filled with frustrations and hopelessness that they can see nothing of beauty about them. They look at a rose and cannot see the beauty of the bloom; they can see only that the roots are buried in the dirt. They watch a sunset and see little of the splendour of it as they weep that night comes too soon. They see a magnificent building being erected, but can only lament the fact that the foundation is set on hard, cold, drab cement. These are the small, desolate individuals, who are forever looking for a wound on someone's soul that they may pry open; the gossipy, petty people, who are constantly, as they say, "putting two and two together” to come up with the latest choice bit of news about this person, that person, any person at all. It matters not a bit to them that they don't know what they are talking about. They care little about the fact that many people may be hurt because of their actions. To them, it is an outlet, a twisted, sick habit. They are compelled by the drabness of their own lives to add colourful details to the lives of those about them. They are dangerous people too, for they snipe at everything sacred, everything good, regardless of who may go down under the hail of unfair invective. I repeat, I feel sorry for such people. There is so much beauty in life, they never see, for they are sick and only see the dirt. The next time you are tempted to gossip, ask yourself "is it true, is it kind, will anyone be the better for my having repeated it?"

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Undated. Labeled #12a

Saturday night, I was doing a little reflecting on the various duties of Mothers and Fathers. I don't know how it is in your house, but in my house, it's Mother who bathes the boys, and if I have my way, that's the way it's going to stay. On a recent Saturday, I had watched my three tigers from eight in the morning until eight at night, and in that period, they had moved everything that wasn't nailed down, been on top of everything they could climb, been over and under everything that had clearance, jumped from everything they could get up to, been hit by stones, sticks, bats, slabs, pots, cans, pans and hands. They had been run down by bikes, run over by wagons, and two of them had been thumped on the head with buckets of dirt. When they came in for their baths, I was firmly convinced I had fathered three pretty sturdy young bucks. After all, look at the abuse they had taken all day. It took me 2 minutes to learn that they were softies. When my wife got them in that water...BROTHER! I counted the bloodcurdling screams of agony. I got 15 from Gordon, 27 for Martin, and 13 from Gerald. There was no part of their body they didn't claim was injured beyond repair. They were broken, beaten, scuffed, bleeding, poisoned, fractured, maimed, sprained and suffering everything from seven-year-itch to bog spavin, and every ailment was grievously agitated by the application of soap and water. 

Mother, you earn your keep if you bath a boy or two every night. They may be young rippers all day long, but when the sun goes down and the bath water is drawn, when action gets underway in the chamber of horrors, I’d just as soon face a firing squad, as three grimy boys who need nothing so much as soap, water and  sponge. 

So here's to all mothers who can and do tame the roughest and toughest of boys and make them into softies and weeping sissies with only a bar of soap and bath tub full of water!

Originally broadcast in December, 1963 on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Labeled #4a

I read a most interesting and disturbing article last week. It concerned a new course being offered this year at the University of Ohio. This institution is offering a course in "relaxation." Now you may find this hard to believe, but it is so. The Dean of Physical Education when quizzed on the nature of this course said, "well, the pupils will just, you know, sit around and relax." Amen. This would appear to me to be the last straw. Our children are now being taught how to drive cars, how to dance, how to play games, and now how to relax. It frightens me when I compare the educational programs of the Soviet Union with those of our old country and United States. While Soviet youngsters forge ahead in advanced science and math, we all sit around and "relax." Heaven knows relaxation is important, but I always found that the matter of relaxation is closely associated with a maximum expenditure of energy. If the human mind and body is fully extended by a good honest labor, nature will see to it that relaxation will follow. I think it's high time our school got back to teaching the three R’s and a V. Readin’, Ritin’, Rithmatic, and Values.

Originally broadcast in December, 1963 on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Labeled #6a

If you are a constant listener to these little talks you know my feelings about education. I have always advocated a child going the whole course in learning. A young mother gave me cause to re-examine my position recently when she said “I’m fed up to the teeth with education”. She explained that every door seems to be closed to young people today unless they have a degree.  True, but is this bad? According to this mother it is and she has a point. “Who is going to mend your shoes in ten years?” she asked, “and who is going to fix the sink drain and point the roof and tailor your clothes and repair your car?” Her point was that we all can’t be university grads. There must be plumbers and mechanics and repair men and shoemakers, and these are all important and honourable callings for the person suited to them. Well, I think I have to agree with the lady, for what kind of a world would we have if we were all professional men? All the degrees in the world won’t unclog the plumbing when it stops up. There is no doubt about it, the world has need of a very wide range of skills. Maybe it is time we slowed up on the propaganda that a lot of letters after your name is the be-all and end-all of life.

Originally broadcast on April 30th, 1965 at 11:45 AM on CHED Radio, Edmonton, ALberta Canada

It has occured to me, as I’m sure it has to you, that the city of Edmonton could use a more articulate public relations department. Most people understand the problems of the city, and yet we all get impatient when we see so little action from city crews in cleaning up Edmonton every spring time. I am not saying that crews are not at work. They may be, but the process is much too slow. I ask these questions as I’m sure you do. When can we expect the sand and filth to be cleaned off the main thoroughfares? When can we expect to see the sweepers cleaning up the residential streets? When will the roads be fit to drive on and what roads will receive priority? When will the lanes be graded and cleaned up? When will the boulevards be raked and cleaned? When will the street washers be in the residential areas? If there is a master plan for the maintenance of the city, the taxpayer is seldom told. And so day by day, when we have to tolerate the dust and dirt caused by winters leaving, we become impatient and critical, and rightly so. The problem is compounded by the fact that after a winter like the last one, we are anxious to enjoy a little decent weather when it comes along. However, it is hard to enjoy a walk when the wind keep shipping the filth out of the gutter into your face. We track the salt and sand onto our rugs. It embeds itself into your clothing. It costs residents of this city thousands of dollars a year just for cleaning bills. How much more patient we’d be if someone at City Hall would issue a daily bulletin telling us what areas are being worked on today, where the crews will be tomorrow, and when each of us could expect action in our own district. Instead, it’s a guessing game and we all become more critical of the administration. One question keeps nagging at me. Does a master plan for city clean up even exist? How about that City Hall? 

Originally broadcast on April 14th, 1965 at 11:45 AM on CHED Radio, Edmonton, ALberta Canada

City council has tentatively reserved up to 11% of Edmonton’s river valley parkland for freeways. 370 acres of this precious land will give way to high speed freeways. It would appear that McKinnon Ravine and Mill Creek Ravine are also to be sacrificed for freeways. Anyone who drives a car in this city knows the city must find high speed routes and expand the city’s freeway system, but gentlemen, for the sake of the citizen of this city and for generations ahead, move slowly on this matter, Ladies and gentlemen look out your window right now. As you drive your car, look around you. What do you see? Snow, filthy streets, drab buildings, brown lawns, dirty gutters and sidewalks, and everywhere you look the mountains of mud and steel and cement that go to make a growing city. Do you see any beauty anywhere in this city? Think of it. For seven months every year you look at that dismal sight outside your window today. But in a few weeks the river valley and the ravines will be green and beautiful. We have them for such a short time. And now they must give way to freeways. Again I repeat. The traffic problems must be solved, but one wonders if certain members of council realize fully what they are doing. Alderman Angus McGugan was distressed to find out that freeway speeds would likely be 60 miles per hour. He said “I want something mid-way between a scenic drive and a freeway concept of travel”. To my knowledge sir, there just ain’t no such animal. When that freeway goes through the parkland, forget the scenery. Freeways are fast and furious business even when they pass through the most beautiful country in the world. You don’t see anything but cement and chrome bumpers. I respectfully submit that council should search diligently for some other answer to freeways. Once they are installed we have them for life and there is no turning back. There is precious little beauty in this cold Canadian city. Surely it is worth preserving. By the way, in case you’re wondering, I live in Ottewell so my interest in this matter is not coloured by my proximity to the areas in question.

Originally broadcast in December, 1963 on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Labeled #9a

I hope you are not one of those people who are offended by talk about unwed mothers.  Frankly, I think it’s high time we did talk about it, and seriously. I was reading a report by Ursula Gallagher, the US Children’s Bureau specialist on services to unmarried mothers and some of the statistics staggered me. The National Vital Statistics Division of the Public Health Service has estimated the number of births in 1960 to unmarried girls 17 and under to be 48,000. This figure represents about 20 per cent of the estimated 224,000 births out of wedlock that year. These are US statistics, but I would assume they would reflect the situation here in our own country pretty accurately.  I’m no authority, but I feel that one reason for this situation is the emphasis our society puts on being accepted. When they are 12 and 13, kids are being pushed into social situations that are way over their heads. Can you imagine a 12 year old boy going to a dance with a date twenty-five years ago? Today it happens in millions of homes right across the country. When they are 15 they get a motor scooter and the following year they have their own car. When they are 14 and 15 they are “going steady” and acting more like old married folks than their mothers and fathers. Then to top it off they have as their examples people like Richard Burton and Liz Taylor, Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice Davies.  No one can reverse these trends but YOU father and YOU mother, but I doubt you’ll do it.  After all, it would be TERRIBLE if your precious little lamb was not “accepted”.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio, Edmonton, Alberta Canada. Date unknown. 01

A few weeks back I will little piece about my late Mothers home remedies. There were one or two more which I forget to mention and have since recalled. My mother used to have a unique way to fend off germs. Not just some germs but all germs. She did it with what she called an asafetida bag. I wore one for three years from the time I started grade one until I finish grade 3. Mother made these bags by tearing up a small piece of cloth into about 6 inch squares. In the centre of the square she would put a cube of camphor and a clove of garlic. Then she'd gather up the four corners of the cloth, wrap a string around the gather, and tie it to my neck under my heavy drop-seat Stanfield underwear. I tell you, in a hot classroom you could smell young Forbes 50 feet away. As soon at the smell started to weaken Mother would put together another asafetida bag and we'd have a fresh go at those germs. Funny thing about it is this. My mother, when I was a kid, didn't believe in shots. I never had a needle in my arm until I joined the Royal Canadian Navy. All my other friends were inoculated and vaccinated for everything from hangnails to bog spavin, but my brother and I went unprotected except for mothers bags. The miracle of the matter is that while the other kids, protected as they were by the advances of modern medicine, we're dropping like flies with measles, mumps, chickenpox and whooping cough, my brother and I never got a thing. We had to be the healthiest kids in school. Naturally I would like to attribute this to mothers bags. No one should have to suffer as we did without some benefit, but in the quiet turning of my own considered judgment, I can see now why my brother and I never caught all those childhood diseases. Very simply, no diseased kid; in fact no healthy one either would get within 20 feet of us. The asafetida bags were just too much to take. Just one thing more. Those bags gave me a nickname which I carried with me for 25 years. They called me...Stinky.