Sunday 31 January 2021

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Tuesday, October 4, 1960

Every day you read in the papers a whole list of folks who are getting divorced. I guess there are lots of reasons for it, but I'll tell you one reason a lot of folks don't want to live together anymore. It's that they can't stand to look at each other across the breakfast table. No kidding. How long has it been since you looked at your wedding pictures? Dig them out. Look at them and then compare THAT couple with the couple that sat down to Sunday breakfast a couple of days ago. There are a lot of comedians making a lot of money out of this theme but it's too true to be funny. Once people get married too many of them just don't give a hoot. She comes down to breakfast and her hair looks like it's been done in the mixmaster, all sticking out like she stuck a wet toe in a hot socket. She is wearing an old pink housecoat that's torn and has pablum on the front and no make up. She looks like tugboat Annie on shore leave. When she was married she had an hourglass figure but now all that sand has gone to the bottom. And look at father. That athletic man who stood beside her on the big day used to be 45–32–38. Now he's 45 anyway you want to cut it and the great corporation hangs out over a low slung belt like a weather balloon teetering on a cliff. She asks him to shave and he says "why, who’s comin’ over?" He hasn't held a car door open for her since the wedding day and if she waits for this once familiar courtesy she'd freeze to death outside and he say "get in. It's not locked.” How about it? Am I right? Are you the same attractive gal your hubby married? And father, how about you? Sure we all wrinkled up and get gray, a few hairs may drop out but we can still all be attractive to our partners, if we really care. Remember, your appearance is like life. You just get out of it what you put into it and with father time chipping away at you, the job gets harder every day.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

In an editorial that reeked with self-righteous pomposity, the Edmonton Journal last night zeroed in on radio "open line" shows. Day by day, this, I am loath to use the word, “newspaper", becomes more ridiculous.  This anonymous editorial writer says with reference to "open line" shows, "there can be no escaping the fact that a sense of responsibility must be exercised by those in authority. Freedom and license are different things." And again, "some radio station authorities may not want to tone down their open line programs in the belief that the more sensational they are, the more listeners they will attract." Sensational? Who is the journal to criticize radio for being sensational. Pick up any issue and count the girly photos. On page 22 of the same issue that carried this ridiculous editorial we have a girl all decked out in a bikini. The journal carries this picture as a fashion note. I have never seen a suit like this worn in this area. On page 26 they show a picture of the queen stepping over a fence. Although her Majesty's modesty could not possibly have been better preserved the journal captions the picture "the queen shows her legs." Then for good measure on page 27 the journal runs a picture of another scantily clad maiden who has been elected Mademoiselle France. Now certainly this must be news. Let's face it, the whole wide world has been waiting breathlessly for weeks just to find out who was to be crowned, what was it, oh yes, Mademoiselle France for 1965. Well, I don't intend to even attempt to defend Canadian broadcasters. Our record speaks for itself. They are as a group, dedicated, responsible members of the community. I just get sick and tired of this sixth rate excuse for a newspaper taking pot shots at radio when they have so many skeletons in their own closet. I had hoped when Basil Dean took over at The Journal we might see some enlightened policy prevail, but I find I still have to buy the Los Angeles Times and the San Francisco Examiner every week just so I can find out what is going on in the world and so I won't forget all the newspaper can be. Basil Dean has done one wise thing however. He has removed from the mast head of the journal that ridiculous slogan "one of Canada's great newspapers.”

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

It has occurred 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 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 thoroughfare’s? 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 winter’s 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 finally comes along. However, it is hard to enjoy a walk when the wind keeps whipping the filth out of the gutter into your face. We track the salt and sand onto our rugs. It embeds itself in our 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 the city cleanup even exist? How about that City Hall?

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Mrs. Ella Mary Marshall is 87 years old. I read about her in the San Francisco Examiner. I'd like to tell you a bit about her because she can teach us all a lesson or two. Mrs. Marshall lost her husband in 1964. He died after six years invalidism which wiped out their life savings. And so at 87 Mrs. Marshall went back to work. At 87 mind you. Today she gives her services as a skilled stenographer and typist at the Mission Neighborhood Center. She works a five day week. On Friday she attends the meetings of a service club. She makes regular trips to Reno, Nevada, where she plays the odd slot machine and a bit of Keno. She is planning another trip to England which she visited a year and a half ago. In short Mrs. Marshall lives a full, active and productive life. She says, "I never dwell in the past. What a good can that do with so much to be excited about in the present. As for worrying about the future, why should I?" "I've managed to get along pretty well up until now. I rather look forward to reach 100 before I have to slow down. Age is something printed on a calendar and has a little measure for the individual" says Mrs. Marshall. She goes on to say, "the thing to do with life is live it, making the best of everything and laughing a lot. Almost anything, even your own trouble can be funny. The trick is to develop a humorous point of view." Finally Mrs. Marshall says, "I love people, and quite a few of them seem to like me. I try to use some of my experience to teach me how to be agreeable. It's the least one can do in a world full of unnecessary tensions." Well, I hope Mrs. Marshall lives her 100 years. The world has need of such people. I thought as I read about this remarkable 87-year-old lady, of the many people I know in their 20s, 30s, and 40s who have more or less given up on life. They are in ruts over their head and have no desire to get out. They have few interests and their minds are closed to new thoughts and new adventures. If you are such a person I hope this little tale about this dear lady in San Francisco will cause you to take another long look at your life and how you are spending it.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

If many of these thoughts deal with maritime matters, people and places, it is because I have a deep affection for the people of that area. Go where you will in Canada, you'll find no one like a Maritimer, nor will you find another Canadian to match his wry sense of humor. I sat, one evening many years ago, with an ancient seaman on the jetty at Digby, on the Funday coast. The old man was telling me about a terrifying experience he had on the first boat that ever took him to sea. In attempting to haul in a big one off the coast, his hand became so entangled in the line that when the fish fought back, the fisherman lost not only his glove, but the fourth finger of his right hand.  This was the finger on which he wore an ancient family ring which had been passed on to him by his grandfather. He went on to relate how 10 years later he caught a huge fish in the very same spot where his finger and ring had gone into the deep. "I had a feeling about that fish," he said, in all seriousness. "And so I took him home in the cart and with the utmost care, I started to cut him up. Now I know you'll find this hard to believe,”, he said, "But what I am about to tell you is God's truth. As I told you, I had a feeling that this was the same fish who had torn off my finger and possibly swallowed my grandfather's ring, and when I cut him up, what do you think I found inside him?" He asked. "The RING”, I said excitedly. "No, BONES," said the old fisherman. Like I say about Maritimers, love them but don't always believe them.


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Following is one of the most profound definition of love I have ever read. It was written by a very young lady whose life was lost in a car accident, a most unforgettable girl, I assure you. "You may like me or not, it makes no difference. If you ever need my help, I am with you. Often we can help each other by leaving each other alone; at other times we need a hand-grasp and the word of cheer. What your condition in life is will not prejudice me either for or against you. What you have done, or not done will not weigh in the scale. If you have been prudent and wise I congratulate you; unless you are unable to forget how wise and good you are – then I pity you. If you have stumbled and fallen and been mired in the mud, and have failed to be a friend to yourself, then you of all people need friendship, and I am your friend. I could not exclude you if I would. But if I should shut you out, I would then close the door upon myself and be a prisoner indeed. I offered no reward for being loyal to me, and surely I do not threaten you with pain, penalty and dire disaster if you are indifferent to me. You cannot win me by praise, promise or adulation. You cannot shut my heart toward you, even though you deny and revile me. Only the good can reach me, and no thought of love you send me can be lost. There are no dues. I do not demand that you shall do this or not do that. I'll issue no commands. I cannot lighten your burden, and perhaps I should not if I could, for men grow strong through bearing burdens. If I can I will show you how to acquire strength to meet all your difficulties and face the duties of the day. If you err, it is not for me to punish you."

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

I got a kick out of the Journal For Dissent article by Manville farmer, Mr. C. M. Finley. I appreciate Mr. Finley's position, that daylight saving does really complicate the job of the farmer. However his article contained two bits of pure mythology which deserve comment. Mr. Finley says in answer to a city man's request for the Alberta government to approve daylight saving, “They wish to play golf or go to the lake or have a little longer to watch a ball game. Is it right that these playboys should be given prior consideration to the farmer." First Mr. Finley, if I may presume to speak for the "playboys" in the city, there are no ball games to watch an hour longer. Second, most Edmonton businessman are on the freeway at 7:45 headed for the office. Perhaps I am not typical, but I know there are thousands like me who don't get home until 7 or 7:30 at night. I don't own golf clubs, and have no lake cottage. Like you farmers Mr. Finley we playboys are just a bunch of hard-working fellows trying to make a living. The other mythological statement I want to comment on, taken from Mr. Finley's dissent, "It is to the everlasting credit of Mr. Manning and his government that they have taken time out from their busy lives to understand the problems of the farmer." I am glad they are trying to understand your problem sir, because I get the distinct impression they couldn't care less about mine. One of Mr. Manning's deputy ministers told me so last week. I went to seek the advice of this official, and went in good faith. I had to have a ruling from him. I was told that the Manning government was not concerned with the radio broadcasters or the advertising agencies. This official said, "I'm not telling you anything I haven't told every other radio and advertising man in the city." So you see Mr. Finley, because of this officials personal feelings and the feelings of his government, if I am to believe what he said, my position is prejudiced. I never did get his ruling. All I got was what these Manning people call "the philosophy behind the law." But here's the biggest laugh of all. The question I took to this official concerned a giveaway show. He told me the Manning government frowned on anything that even suggested something for nothing. Now doesn't that sound ridiculous from a representative of a government that was swept to power on the strength of a promise to give away $25 a month to everyone in the province.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Monday, May 17, 1965

“THE GUY IN THE GLASS"


When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf. 

And the world crowned you king for a day; 

Then go to the mirror and look at your self, 

And see what that guy has to say. 

For it isn't your father, or mother, or wife,

Who judgment upon you must pass – 

The fellow who is verdict counts most in your life – 

Is the guy staring back from the glass. 

He's the fellow to please; never mind all the rest, 

For he's with you right to the end; 

And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test, 

If the guy in the glass is your friend. 

You may be like Jack Horner and "Chissel" a plum, 

And think you are a wonderful guy – 

But the man in the glass says you're only a bum 

If you can't look him straight in the eye….


You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years, 

And get pats on the back as you pass; 

But your final reward will be heartache and tears. 

If YOU’VE cheated the man in the glass.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

I have recently read two articles concerning the elusive Loch Ness monster. This is the creature that is reported to appear in this Scottish lake from time to time. According to legend, the monster has been doing so for hundreds of years. An organization of scientists has now planned a most elaborate expedition in order to either confirm or deny the existence of this world famous sea serpent. All that is fine, just so long as nothing definite comes out of this adventure. Frankly, I am getting more than a little bored with science as it coldly strips the mystery from all of our phenomena; as it goes about explaining everything I have held in awe since childhood. For example I clung to the idea that thunder was the good Lord's chariots rolling across the heavens until I was 14 years old, in spite of what my teachers, my parents, my pals and the meteorologist tend to say. Although today I am 42 years old, I still have to fight a strong impulse each December 24 to leave cookies and milk for Santa. You see, I am one of those rare individuals who still finds it necessary to believe there are still some mysteries in life over which we mere mortals have no control. Let them look for the Loch Ness monster. Let them use radar and asdic against the sea beast. All I ask is that they never really find the monster; even if he doesn't exist.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Father Flanagan started it when he said, "There is no such thing as a bad boy." This was the motto of his famous Boys Town. Then the theory was enlarged upon, and it became "there are no such things as bad children, only bad parents.” I wonder if that is not just about true. I read an interesting article recently by Brigadier General Carl Turner, US Army Provost Marshal for Europe. He states that in Europe, nobody speaks of "juvenile delinquency." The proper term one is told is "parental delinquency.” One of our pet theories about delinquency, that it is born out of poverty and underprivileged, is certainly refuted in Europe. General Turner points out that the US communities in Europe have excellent schools, churches, and recreational facilities. Scouting, organized athletics and social activities provide wholesome outlets for youthful energies. In theory then, juvenile crime among US families should be rare. Instead it is the greatest problem the US Provost Marshal has to face. It is his contention that parents hold the key. Too many parents substitute generosity and indulgence for parental guidance. They allow their children to run with no check on where they are going or what they are doing. It is significant that in US communities abroad, parents are held accountable for the conduct of their children. Perhaps environment is not so important as we had thought. Perhaps it is not a matter of crowded schools and lack of social programs. Perhaps General Turner had put his finger squarely on the answer to our own growing delinquency problem when he says "a healthy home life is a full ounce of delinquency prevention.”

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

During the last federal election campaign, a friend and I were discussing a certain Canadian commentator. I said, "the man is certainly brilliant, but he changes his opinion so often." My friend said, "yes, that's what proves his brilliance. It is only a stupid man who never changes his opinion.” I thought about that statement and really, it is very true. It takes a big man and a smart man to reevaluate the situation as they develop and change his own attitude regarding the situation. In our own lives we have seen partners in a marriage at loggerheads because each sticks stubbornly to some conviction that has been proven wrong. We even see it on our highways when some thoughtless driver ends up in the wrong lane but refuses to acknowledge his mistake by moving over where he should be. The person on the other hand who simply goes where the wind blows is equally weak-spirited, but when you see an idea grown threadbare, or find that you have outgrown an attitude, then it's time for a change. It is a sign of weakness to be constantly changing your thinking, but a change at the right time is surely a sign of strength. I think it does something great for your character when you can look objectively at an attitude you've held close and say, "by Jove, I've been wrong as could be on that point and I'll admit it.” There is a little sense in holding onto some thing that no longer has meaning just to satisfy your own egotistical pride. There is an old Japanese proverb that states it so well. "The bamboo which bends is stronger than the oak which resists.”

Saturday 30 January 2021

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - January 11, 1961

I am a great Ann Landers fan. This girl makes a lot of sense. There was a letter in there the other week from a teenager who had a real problem. She said she just couldn't settle on any one boyfriend… She went out with a different one now and then and was getting a very bad reputation for being fickle. This kid was 14 years old. How about that? 14 years old and she's worried about being fickle. When I was a teenager, and it's not that long ago, a girl would walk to school with Charlie, spend recess with Fred, drink a malt with Bill at lunch, walk back to school with Alf, dance with Bert, Harvey, Gord, Max and Oscar at the teen dance after school, go home with Murray and have another malt in the evening with Orv before going to a movie with George. She never worried about being fickle. She was getting a little fun out of life and getting to know a few fellows before she decided on the special one. That went on while she was 14 - 16 - 18 and yes sometimes until she was 21. It was the natural thing to do. But today if a gal isn't going steady by the time she's 13, she's having cat fits and she figures it's a life on the shelf for her. We used to put a ring on a girls finger when we were about 25. Today these kids put a ring through each other's nose before they are dry behind the ears. Apart from all the dangers of this business, I'd say the teenager of today is missing a great deal out of life. You'll never know what other flavors are like if you always order chocolate. But then again maybe these kids today are just born old……just plain born old.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

After living in this province all my life I should supposed be used to some of the wild ideas that originate with the Social Credit Government, but every now and then they still shake me. I took such a shaking when I read about their proposed "Sky Café", a restaurant which would be 300 feet above ground, and situated at the old government house, 127th St. and 102nd Ave. The minister of Public Works and the Provincial Secretary seemed somewhat nonplussed because 100 Glenora residents protest of the proposed "Sky Café." My goodness is it any wonder? The area for which it is proposed is still a beautiful residential district. The grounds of the old government house are extremely beautiful and provide an oasis in the middle of what is fast becoming a concrete desert. And into this they want to stick a 300 foot high café. When Centennials, Royal Visits and other great occasions come along, governments seem to lose their heads completely and start building pylons, and spheres and monuments and other completely useless things to mark these occasions. The Social Credit Government has done such a wonderful job on their Lodges for senior citizens. Why not extend that project for Centennial? We are trying to raise sufficient money in Edmonton to complete a new clubhouse for the Boys Club. What better way to celebrate the Centennial than by investing in our youth and thus assuring the next hundred years. Why not grants to the people and organizations who are working with the blind, handicapped, mentally retarded, or even more parks for all Albertans to enjoy, or projects to clean up and develop some of the lake resorts around Alberta. I am sure that we can all think of better ways to spend money than sticking a café we don't need 300 feet in the air. Perhaps the Social Credit Government wants to build a monument to perpetuate its own memory. Don't worry fellow, Albertan's will never forget the Social Credit Government and who knows, with your track record you may still be here for the next hundred years, so please… no sky café.


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Al Williamson collapsed at the dock and was carried to the hospital Friday after having been convicted of forgery in the "dear HAL" letter case. You'll recall perhaps that Williamson was charged with sending a letter to prime ministerial aid Hal Dornan in the name of Premier W.A.C. Bennett of British Columbia, asking for support of an application by US millionaire Harry Stonehill for landed immigrant status. Williamson admitted writing the letter without the expressed authorization of the Premier. His defense rested on the claim that he had a general authority, based on a special relationship with the Premier and strengthened by his faithful service to the Premier, to write the letter. Such relationships are very common in government. The point that bothers me with this case is that Premier Bennett, the one man who could have cleared up this whole matter, was never called to the stand. This seems to be a growing trend in our society. If your station in life is sufficiently high, you have a certain immunity. Why shouldn't premier Bennett clarify the picture by defining for the court, Williamson's authority. Why shouldn't Lyndon Johnson go to the stand and speak on the Bobby Baker case? Why shouldn’t Prime Minister Pearson be called on to give some answers in the recent Ottawa mess? Was it in all these cases that the investigators didn't want to embarrass the government? What do you tell your teenage son? "If you get far enough up in the government you don't have to answer for anything?" That phrase I used "don't embarrass the government" is the phrase I hate most in the English language. Possibly because of the nature and power of our own provincial government we have lost sight of the fact that any government is our SERVANT, not our MASTER. We vote our officials into office and we can blessed-well vote them out if we so desire, so let's stop mollycoddling them and insist that they abide by the same laws, rules and regulations that apply to every citizen. 

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Our local newspaper ran a beautiful picture in early April. It shows a little boy, maybe 10 years old, asleep in bed. Clasped in one outstretched hand is a trophy present it to him for achievement in the junior hockey Atom division. Nestled in his other arm, is a teddy bear. I love this picture. If you have sons you'll understand why. I have never raised a daughter, but it seems to me that between childhood and adulthood in girls there is really not a very radical change. Adulthood appears to be just the logical extension of baby-hood. Play houses are replaced by a real home. Baby dolls are replaced by children of her own. With a little boy, it's different. For a time he too is a small, frail little creature. He grows up loving cuddly things like teddy bears and he needs the warmth and love of a mothers arms. But soon, too soon, he must start to kick free of all these soft and gentle things. By the time he is five or six he must start to embrace things that belong in the man's world, things like hockey sticks and pucks, baseballs, footballs and boxing gloves. These are hard, harsh things, completely different from the world he has known. Make no mistake about it, this period when a child is part baby and part boy is a very difficult time. If you don't believe me, go to the local boxing club sometime and see the seven year old tiger fight back the tears when he loses the match. Everything in him says cry but the world demands of this one that at seven, he be a man. Although mother will never know, it's not always easy to be a seven year old boy.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio - Wednesday, June 3, 1964

Something wonderful happens to people when they become grandparents. I don't know exactly what it is, but along with a slight hardening of the arteries, comes a softening of the heart. All of you listening who visit granny with your kiddies know what I mean. Remember when you didn't like turnips, your mother stood there and stuck them down your throat till you gagged. But… with the grandchildren she says… "now, now… if he doesn't like them he doesn't have to eat them, here… we’ll give him a sucker”. And do you remember when you were six, your dad said, "you need money, go out and earn it". So you got a paper route and carried 900 papers through sleet and fog and hail and rain and ended up with a permanent twist in your spine. Now every time your child gets within shouting distance of grandpa, the old gents starts tossing folding money. And do you remember how your mother used to meet you at the door on a wet day and say “take off your shoes and your stockings… you're not coming in here with those filthy feet”… and you stand in the rain taking things off so you could make it to the basement. But not with the grand children. They've got 20 pounds of mud per foot and granny says… "come in, come in, you'll catch your death of cold… sit right here on the broadloom and take off those muddy shoes". And do you remember when you tried to get a word in edgewise when the parents were around. You'd say, "Daddy, I gotta go to the…”, and he say… "will you be quiet!! Children should be seen and not heard". But with the grandchildren… Ha!… It's "let them express themselves". So they barge right into the middle of a discussion on atomic fallout with… "Betsy White has a kitten with six toes on one foot”. And do you remember how your dad used to whale the daylights out of you for doing something wrong… like breathing… and he’d make you go out and cut the willow stick he was going to use to thump you. Now raise your hand to your own kid and grandpa yells… "don't hit him… you'll give him a complex. He'll feel rejected”.

And do you remember when you used to reach out for the white meat when you had a turkey at Christmas and your dad would say… "you'll eat what’s put on your plate". But now… grandpa eats the extreme north end of a south going turkey and never bats an eye, and the grandchildren don't even know that there is dark meat on the bird. Or, yes, there's something wonderful that happens to grandparents. But what we have it otherwise? No, I don't think so. I just hope when my children bring their kitties home to me, I get as soft headed and soft hearted as my parents were with my offspring.


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Tuesday, May 25, 1965

I thought I'd take the family camping this year. This is something we have never done, and quite honestly, I looked into it in the interest of economy. Then too, there is something genuine and challenging in setting up a camp in the wilderness; living; cooking; sleeping in the great outdoors.  Because I am a novice, I got a book called "guide to family camping." Reading that book blew my enthusiasm for the adventure sky high. In the first place there is a checklist of 125 items I should have for a minimal camp. There is a further checklist of 180 items of clothing that my family of four boys would require. Naturally, with a family of six people I'd have to have a large tent, something the size of the Sportex would seem sufficient for my purposes. Then there would be six ground sheets, six air mattresses, six sleeping bags all required to bed down for the night. Of course there would have to be stoves and things like that, plus camp tables and chairs, in case we were forced indoors to eat. Bad weather can occur in this country you know. One passage in the book intrigue me.“ "Carry a small ditty bag for needles, thread, buttons, pins, large spikes, small nails, glue, extra flashlight batteries, bulbs, pliers, wire cutters, extra valves for the mattress pump, some patching material, whistles, several different kinds, and of course lots of extra waterproof matches." Of course. Also recommended was a "survival kit" which scared the pants off me. The passage on survival reads as follows. "We have scattered several small compasses throughout our gear. When we get into the bush, every member of the family has his own survival kit containing some waterproof matches, a bandage or two, some fish hook and line, a hatchet, hunting knife, a folding saw, and any other odds and ends one might need if he were lost." Funny they didn't mention the distress rockets. Now here's the payoff. "All these survival items are placed in a waterproof bag and buttoned into the shirt pocket.” The paragraph on survival says of course you have to train the kids how to use all this gear. That in itself would take three summers. I'm an old man, and I can't read a compass. I know exactly where I am when I look at one but I haven't a clue where I've come from or where I'm going. Well, after checking off this book on happy camping and all the things I’d  need, I figured it would cost me about $4500 including the cost of a new, more spacious car to accommodate the family and the equipment so what I'm going to do is fly the family to Europe on Air Canada for a month on the Riviera. It will be considerably cheaper.


Friday 29 January 2021

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Monday, May 4, 1964

In the good old days of music, way back in the years B.B. (before Beatles) song writers used to write many truisms into the popular songs of the day. There was one old song that told a story worth remembering. It was called Back In Your Own Back Yard.  The words, in part, went like this: "You'll find that heaven of blue is waiting for you, back in your own backyard. You'll find your happiness lies right under your eyes, back in your own backyard.”  The same story has been told many ways. “ The grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence, or far away fields look green". The gist of the whole matter is that we should stop envying those who appear to have a better lot in life than we have and start enjoying those many blessings we do have. I guess it is just human nature for men to envy someone else, but I have often found that while I was looking through the neighbors fence at some thing of his I'd like to have, he was doing the same to me. Life has a way of balancing things out. No one person gets all the blessings, just as no one person has all the woes. Over the long haul, we all must laugh a little and cry a little. We will have a good days and bad.  We will have fortune both smile and frown upon us all. It is a happy man who can go through his life content with what he has right there in his own backyard. If you have your health, three meals a day and a roof over your head; if you have a few people who love you, then what more can you ask. If you figure you've had nothing but bad brakes, remember this old proverb; "I complained because I had no shoes, and then I met a man who had no feet". 

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

How long has it been since you read a movie magazine? I know these publications are very popular with the youngsters, but I would suggest, mother and father that it's high time YOU read one. After digesting some of this trash, your teenager is going to require more than a small lesson on “values".  Here is a partial list of the articles contained in one popular movie magazine available at your corner drugstore. "Liz asked to leave Mexico… shocking scenes of nude love." “Those bedroom shots that rocked Hollywood… all the nudes that's fit to print." “The men who make Ann-Margret sexy… good girl or bad." Need I go on? I am certainly not advocating censorship. That is not the answer. I do suggest however that if impressionable young boys and girls are going to be exposed to this type of trashy publication, parents should be aware of the dangers. We want our children to grow up into well-adjusted, happy adults. It is therefore up to every parent to show the child that the good old father-loves-mother formula is still the very foundation of our civilization. Show them that there is still some decency in the world, even though it's getting harder and harder to find. Show them that Liz and Burton notwithstanding, there is still some sanctity in the state of matrimony, and make them believe that regardless of what they read and see, there is nothing to compare with the excitement that comes when husband and wife look down into the crib at their first, perfect newborn baby.  For the Young today as always, there is only one road. They often difficult and sometimes lonely straight and narrow.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

I wonder how many of you ladies listening to me this morning think of your success being quite remarkable. The other night while driving home very late I was listening to the news on the radio in my car, and the news was bad. Wars… rumors of wars… revolt… revolutions… missiles… death and destruction.  And then I passed the Royal Alex Maternity Hospital,,, and up in the case rooms many lights were burning. New lives were being brought into this troubled world… by women like you. George Bernard Shaw once said that women know instinctively, even when they are echoing male glory stuff, that communities live, not by slaughter and death, but by creating life and nursing it to its highest possibilities.  My friends, isn't that true? There never has been a time in this troubled world when things got so black that women folk gave up hope and stopped having little ones. Come wars… come floods… come storms… come strife… come hatred… come what may… women know that life must go on.  Tho’ men continue to scheme and devise ways and means to destroy life, women go on creating new lives to love, teach, and nurse to their highest possibilities.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

I have a good friend who is a psychiatrist. Or perhaps I should say I have a good psychiatrist who is a friend. A couple of years ago, when I was a patient of his, he told me I was an idealist. It came as a bit of a shock because I've been trying for 39 years to be a cynic. Isn't that a terrible thing to confess? I confess it now only because in all that time I never really made the grade. I was a lousy cynic. But why "work" on being cynical? I feel sure a good many of us do. Why do we not work that hard on being idealistic? I used to think that I couldn't get hurt if I was a cynic. If I didn't expect much of myself and my fellow man, then how could I be disappointed by human failures, my own included.  It was pretty obvious to me at the time that if I was to survive in this world, I'd have to get people in the proper perspective and the first person I had to get in perspective was myself. I had always been ashamed of my loftiest  instincts. Most people are. They equate these lofty motives with weakness and that is why today we seldom have a genuine kind word to say to each other. We think a lot of kind things but we are so slow to voice them. But I am digressing here. As I said, I had to first except myself for what I was. I had to forget the many mistakes I have made, and acknowledge the many weaknesses I had, and start from there. Once I accepted that I had just as many failings and weaknesses and prejudices as the next I was prepared to accept these same qualities in my fellow man. But you can't stop there. Next you must accept your own good and worthwhile qualities. We all have so many. When you begin to recognize them in your self, you start to look for them in others. That's when you start to get along with folks and really like them. Can I say this one more time. "There is so much good in the worst of us and so much bad in the best of us, that it will behoove any of us to speak ill of the rest of us”.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

My Mothers Hands – Olive Felt


She leaned against the kitchen range, 

Not very stooped not very gray 

For sixty three. She had just filled 

The woodbox, with some to spare 

In case it snowed, and poured five pails 

Of water on the reservoir.  And now

She leaned against the stove.


We asked where she had been what 

She'd been doing, what was new. 

Sam Johnson had a boy, McCleets 

Were sick. She's been to a reception 

For her cousin who had just moved in 

A house with his new wife.


It was in town, the house was full, 

They had so much to eat. She said 

She's been ashamed of her hands – 

(She called them “han’s“ she didn't 

Go to school) they were so rough,

So full of cracks, she hid them 

in her dress. She looked at them and 

Hid them now again, leaning against 

The kitchen stove.


"Your hands," I said, "But what can you expect? 

You should be proud of them for all they've done, 

For they represent. 

Six babies, mama think of that". 

You took us to the fields in shocking, 

And while you milked you kept us in the barn 

And hung the lantern out of reach 

Above our heads. Your hands did that.”


"I was so strong them days," she said, 

Self-conscious now from so much praise, 

And stood there looking at the floor,

Her back against the stove, 

Her hands around that old, old rod 

We used to hang our socks and mittens 

On when it was cold.


"Those hands -“ I said and I felt overwhelmed 

With all there was to tell. "We helped, we helped 

With everything, but while we were in school 

They did the work. Until we could ourselves 

They made our clothes, so Rough they caught the silk 

And made that scratching noise we never liked. 

Your hands did that.


At college you sent dimes - eight dollars 

Once in cardboard banks. They came from eggs, 

They emptied ashes from two stoves, 

They carried water, slop and feed, 

And straw to make the nests, 

And gathered eggs while snow blew in 

Between the boards. 

They washed and ironed, cooked for extra men - 

And hungry too - with lunches twice a day, 

Five meals sometimes, and sometimes six, 

And now you hide them in your dress.


She bit her lip and tried to hide the tears, 

I saw she never thought before of what they've done. 

She being too busy, too busy thinking 

What to eat and how to keep the store bill down, 

And when to can meat, the apples, vegetables 

And all the things she watered 

In the garden. Even the flowers, she kept 

Them through the drought, petunias all around 

The porch, nasturtiums and a lot of others too.


I felt so sorry, watching how she stood, 

Biting her lip and holding back the tears. 

I thought this means so much to her, 

More than the dress goods that my sisters 

Sent when they were teaching: 

More than the movies that we take her to: 

More than her trip up North last summer. 

We should have mentioned it before! 

Until today - she's sixty three - she never knew, 

She never knew that she has lovely hands.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Monday, March 20, 1967

Most of us have our children when we are pretty young. I'm sure the prospect of raising a child doesn't frighten most young parents at all. It is when the child starts to grow, physically and mentally, that we finally realize what a great responsibility we have undertaken.  The older we grow, the more we realize that life can be rough and tough. It is then we begin to worry about this life we have started, and the job of shaping that life takes on new dimensions. Well, how do you shape a life? How do you prepare a boy for manhood? I have my own ideas, you know doubt have yours.  I'd say that in shaping a boy, it is important that you give a great deal of yourself to the lad. Give him all the answers you have, but at the same time lead him on to the many unanswered questions that exist in the world today. Give him confidence in his own thought but at the same time point out the folly in that thought when it becomes apparent to you. Let your own good habits rub off on the lad. Work with him, play with him, Study with him and if need be, cry with him. When the sordid and shabby side of life becomes apparent to him, do not shield him from the truth. At the same time, expose him to beauty and goodness at every opportunity. Above all explain to him that since God does not expect perfection, neither do you. Show him that there has only been one perfect human on this earth, and tell him that He died on a cross.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Thank God for mothers. I have always marveled at these little gray-haired ladies with their amazing insight and wisdom. We men, as we grow older and push onward and upward in our various fields, are apt to become a little impressed with our own accomplishments. We work very hard… we accumulate… we build… we are recognized… we become the president of this… a director of that… a board member here and a secretary-treasurer there… and when our faces appear on the front page or our names show up in the news casts, we feel pretty satisfied that we are making our mark in life.  But mother never sees us as others see us. Regardless of how famous we may get… no matter if the world should be set at our doorstep, mother wouldn't care. She looks at us with the same eyes that beheld us as wee baby boys and nothing will ever change that. And it's a wonderful thing really, because we men are apt to become pretty pompous from time to time, and we need mother to say to us as we leave to be made president of the $50,000 a year club, "put on your rubbers, Charles,,, I don't want you to get your feet wet”.  Or to say after you've made a TV speech accepting the leadership of this or that worldwide organization… "you didn't look so good Charles… have you been eating enough?". Yes… we men… filled as we are with the glory-stuff, need mothers very badly to remind us that regardless of how big we grow in the eyes of the world, we are really just overgrown little boys in long pants.

Originally broad act on CHED radio - Date unknown

I joined the Royal Canadian Navy when I was 19. Up until that time I had led a fairly sheltered life. I had received the average amount of pampering from my parents and the usual amount of discipline from my teachers.  Then overnight, I became a “new entry seaman,’ no more or less important than thousands of other Canadian boys. I arrived in Halifax one cold, dark, damp November night and was hustled to a gigantic depot where I shared sleeping quarters with over 200 men from all parts of the world.  The following morning I was picked up at dawn and taken to the Naval barracks. There I was issued a kit, checked in and out of campus offices, poked in the arm with needles, yelled at, hustled about, inspected and examined until I felt like a side of beef. As is the custom with new recruits, not one single soul treated me as a human being. In just a matter of hours I had lost my name and become number V50531. Late in the afternoon, after I had completed this process known as barracks routine, I was taken to meet the Chief Petty Officer under whose command I would remain for four years. As I entered his office he held out his hand and with a smile on his face, welcome to me. At that moment he made a friend of me forever. Over the years I have kept in touch with this man who is now a permanent radio executive. I shall always remember him as the only man of some 200 who treated me like a human being on November 17, 1942.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Friday, February 17, 1956

My Mothers Hands


A pair of gentle hands that smoothed life’s path. 

And led a child's unwilling steps aright; 

That bravely strove to ease my pains and cares -

That my mothers hands could make my troubles light.


Through school days, too, her hands were always there 

To seek my comfort or to share my fame; 

Their tender class held more than mother-love - 

Told me I must always "play the game”


And now, no longer young, and worn with toil, 

Yet dearer still to one who understands; 

‘Tis I who mean to lift all cares, all trials, 

And give them rest and peace - my mothers hands.

Thursday 28 January 2021

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - date unknown

 I have never seriously considered either the curses or the blessings of the nudist way of life. I can't really say I have strong feelings one way or the other about sitting around in the buff with congenial company discussing whatever it is that nudists discuss when they get together.  If I have any leanings, I think perhaps they are toward the Puritan but I am not sure if these feelings stem from my Baptist background or the stark realization that by and large the human form is somewhat more appealing when covered with at least something. However, I am not without sympathy toward our nudist friends and one in particular. That "one" is the lady or gentleman, and you'll notice I can see that one can be a lady or gentleman, in their birthday suit, who is in charge of the membership drive for the Edmonton Chapter A.S.A. Sunbathing Society. Can you imagine what an unsuccessful summer it has been for this poor soul. Since there are no professional nudists; and perhaps we could argue that point too; I assume that those who might be interested in the naturalist movement are just people like you and me. (Perhaps even that remains to be seen)  what I am driving at here is that nudists must somehow make a living and that usually means a 9-to-5 job Monday through Friday leaving only the weekends for some worship and yet every weekend, the sky opens up and the rains come down. In a way I have to admire the nudist, for like the rest of us, they are eternally hopeful for every weekend this ad appears in the Journal. "Sunbathing Society. Your local A.S.A. Charter club Helios Edmonton now excepting memberships. Families interested make contact P. O. Box 222 Edmonton.”  You know I have almost been tempted to answer the ad just to see if on weekends like this past one, the nudist all get together in some secluded rendezvous, Doff their oil skins, and bask together in the heat of the sun lamp.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Thursday, March 22, 1962

ESSAY ON MAN


Man is what a woman marries.


Men have two feet, two hands, and sometimes two wives, but never more than one collar button or one idea at a time. Like cigarettes, men are all made of the same material, the only difference is that some are better disguised than others. Generally speaking, they may be divided into three categories - husbands, bachelors, and widowers. An eligible bachelor is a man of obstinacy surrounded with suspicion. Husbands are of three varieties - prize, surprise and consolation prize. Making a husband out of a man is one of the highest plastic arts known to civilization. It requires science, sculpture, and common sense, faith, hope, and charity – mostly charity. It is a psychological marvel that a soft, fluffy, tender, violet-scented, sweet thing like woman should enjoy kissing a big awkward, stubbly-chinned, tobacco-scented thing like a man.


If you flatter a man, it frightens him to death, and if you don't you bore him to death. If you permit him to make love to you, he gets tired of you in the end, and if you don't, he gets tired of you in the beginning.


If you wear gay colors, make-up, and startling hats, he hesitates to take you out. If you wear a little brown toque and tailor-made suit, he takes you out and stairs all evening at a woman in Gate colors, make up, and a startling hat.


If you are a clinging-vine type, he doubts whether you have a brain. If you are the modern type, an advanced and independent woman, he doubts whether you have a heart. If you are surly he longs for a bright mate, and if you are brilliant, he longs for a playmate. If you are popular with other men, he is jealous, and if you are not, he hesitates to marry a wallflower. If you please him, he seldom mentions it, but if you displays him, he never fails to tell you about it, especially if you are his wife.


That's all!


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

When I was in school, I remember learning a little poem which urged the reader, "to be the best of whatever you are." I thought of that little poem many times during my life and thought what wonderful advice that really is. Be the best of whatever you are. I have met so many people who are ashamed of their occupation. They are always discontent because in their own eyes… and probably no one else's eyes… they have relegated their own activities to the realm of an importance. But after all… does it matter a hoot what a man does, so long as it's honest and he does his job well? The crowning fortune of a man is to be engaged in some pursuit which finds him employment and happy, whether it be making baskets… canals or statues or songs. And if you think the other fellow has a great job,,, a job that brings rich rewards socially and financially… talk to him about his job… you'll find that like you, his work is long and hard and not often too rewarding. But if he honestly likes his work… and does his job to the very best of his ability, he will be happy. And I think you will find too, that the man who has gained great success at a high executive level will hold the Shoemaker, who can build a magnificent pair of shoes from leather, or the gardener, who can do wonders with seeds and soil… in great respect. So stop worrying if your job lacks glamour. Just be the best of whatever you are. People will respect you right along the line and you will be a happier individual.

Wednesday 27 January 2021

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

My friend Antonio is a barber.  He came to Canada two years ago from Italy, where he sang in the opera. We've had some good times, Tony and I, like a few weeks ago when touring company presented Rigoletto in our town. Tony phoned me, all excited and insisted I attend with him as his guest.  Although I am no great opera fan, I did enjoy the familiar music of this old classic. Last week, because I wanted to repay his kindness, I took Tony to a wildlife film dealing with the conservation of the Whooping Crane. On the way home Tony was silent. "What's the matter my friend?" I asked.  He said, "I was amazed to see 2000 people there tonight when they were only 800 at the opera a few weeks back." He scratched his head and went on. "Do that many people care about the hooping Crane?." "Yes, I'm sure they do," I explained.  "We care very much that they are not all killed off." "But it doesn't seem right," Tony said. "There are at least 2000 people in this city who care about what happens to the Whooping Crane, but only 800 who give a hoot what happens to the opera singer.”  His point was well taken, but I think I put his mind at ease a moment later when I said, "Tony, my friend, we Canadians care enough about the Whooping Crane's AND opera singers not to allow the shooting of either."

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Today most of us receive our wages for the results we achieve in our various undertakings. It is too bad we are not paid for our endeavors and intentions instead.


I once had a man working for me who gave every last ounce of his effort to the job he was doing.  Year in, year out, he was on the job 15 minutes before he was required to be. While he was there, he worked constantly, overlooking coffee breaks and extended lunch hours and those other excuses we all find for slacking off on the job every day.  This man did not, however, do a very good job. He DID nonetheless do the BEST job of which he was capable and for that reason he was a valued and beloved employee.


So many of us punched in and out of our jobs every day and think that simply because we were there, we gave of our best. We never stop to consider that so often we just go through the motions. Too frequently we do not really put our shoulders to the wheel and go all out all day for the dollars we are paid.  I guess it is a good thing that man has not yet devised a computer that measures the amount of real endeavor we give to our jobs. You know, you can read a great deal into a man's character by his blood shot eyes and worn shoes.  If our intentions were in the same way made apparent, dealing with people would be so easy. Then, only double dealing would be hard.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

About 2 years ago I went through the most painful and heartbreaking time of my life. My beloved mother, about whom I felt very deeply, passed away suddenly. My brother and I had the very distressing duty of breaking up the family home of over 40 years. It was a beautiful home about which I have the most tender feelings.  When I went back there after the funeral I had a great urge to simply lock the door and leave the place intact. It seemed a sacrilege to disturb this place that had been her home for so long. Everything inside those walls reflected the beauty and graciousness of the woman we had just lain to rest.  And yet, as we started to take pictures from the walls, and to pack away the fine old China and linens she has so treasured, I could see that these things were not my mother, or even OF my mother.  They simply reflected the qualities in her that had made her so beloved by all who knew her. These were material things that somehow lost much of their meaning with her passing. Many of these items, because of necessity found their way into other less hospitable places, but, in spite of my original feelings, this really doesn't matter for my mother left to those who knew her so much more than these items of cloth and metal and wood.  She left goodness and hope and faith; understanding and love, and what is the price tag on these? When I leave this world behind, it is my sincere hope that I can leave to others, in a spiritual sense, as much as has been passed on by my mother.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

I am probably the world champion non-joiner.  I suppose I shouldn't confess that since our society has great need of chairmen and directors and boards of governors. However, I have had the course. I found that by doing a bang-up job for the Scouts, I was the automatic choice to do the same job for the PTA, the Rover Boys and the Campfire Girls.  I thought I had it rough until I read of Mr. and Mrs. George Morris of Baltonsborough, England. Between them they cornered so many voluntary posts that they had to stay home nights, writing official letters – – TO EACH OTHER!  The blow off came after four, long hard years, when Mrs. Morris as clerk of the village school governors had to write a very nasty letter to Mr. Morris regarding a schoolyard flood. The unfortunate Mr. Morris, you see, was secretary of the village hall committee. That did it.  He resigned, sending copies of his resignation to himself and to his wife. "The only good thing about our old arrangement," said Mr. Morris, "is that it did save postage. We just handed the letters across the table to each other.”


And that's our little story for this time neighbors. It's rather short today, but I am rushed. You see this is my week in the chair at the meetings of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to the Common Sheep Tick, Alberta division.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Perhaps you read in your newspaper recently about the St. Louis businessman who visited Albert Schweitzer at his mission hospital in Lambarene, Gabon, in Africa.  The American found the good doctor working an 18 hour day in the tropical heat. His routine demands of him that he walk some 5 or 6 miles every day. Remember please that he is 88 years old. He finds time each day to play the piano or the organ and to sing songs.  He gives Bible lectures daily without fail. Alone he raises $250,000 to meet his hospital budget. And most important he administers to the sick, regardless of the circumstances, motivated only by a reverence for life.  The St. Louis businessman took his son with him to Africa. During his discussions with Dr. Schweitzer, the boy went to brush an ant from the doctors sleeve. Dr. Schweitzer intervened saying, "we might break its legs!" It is hard for us to truly appreciate the greatness of this human being, who's concern extends even to the lowly aunt.  Is this little piece is being written, two brave young Americans are somewhere out in space circling the globe. It amazes me that men should be capable of engineering such a feat and still be incapable of learning Dr. Schweitzer’s simple theory of reverence for life.  Where is the profit if we learn all the secrets of the universe and still are unable to make our peace with the man down the street whose skin does not match our own. And where better could this lesson be learned than at the knee of Dr. Albert Schweitzer, surely the most godly man who today walks the face of our troubled earth.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

If you have ever lived through a hurricane, you know it to be one of the most awesome and terrifying experiences man can endure. It was about 8 PM one Saturday evening back in 1944 that I saw and heard a full scale hurricane.  The storm warnings went up early in the evening and then there fell over Deepbrook, Nova Scotia the most frightening silence you could imagine. The sun went down hot, red and bright over the Annapolis basin and water was as smooth as polished steel.  Not a bird could be seen or heard.  There was not the slightest trace of a breeze and the sky was completely free of clouds. And then, within minutes it hit. Trees were uprooted and torn to pieces. Small craft were dashed to bits along the shore and a jetty was reduced to scrap wood. A twenty foot dory he was picked up and thrown a quarter-mile inland. The building we were in shook like a leaf in the gale but somehow held together even though similar buildings went down before the storm.  It was fierce and elemental strife like I had never seen and I was both frightened and fascinated. There was nothing we could do to stop it or reduce the fury. We were bystanders as nature went on the rampage; completely helpless against the forces greater than man has ever devised.  I have never forgotten that experience and today, when I have spent a restful time beside some still lake drenched in sunlight and cooled by gentle breezes, I think again about the night of the hurricane and to myself I say, "old mother nature, today you are at your best, but I have seen your fury, and you have my deepest respect.”

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

It has been said in so many ways.  The Chinese said… "the longest journey starts with a single step." Another way of saying it goes like this... "all things give way to a steadfast mind." There is very little you can accomplish, if you want it badly enough – – if you'll work to do it or get it – – if you'll have enough faith to get started.  Samuel Johnson said this… "all the performances of human art at which we look with praise and wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance; it is by this that the quarry becomes the pyramid, and that distant countries are united by canals.”  If a man was to compare the fact of a single stroke of a pickaxe, or of one impression of a spade, with the general design and last result, he would be overwhelmed by their disproportion; yet those petty operations incessantly continued, in time surmount the greatest difficulties, and mountains are leveled and oceans bound, by the slender force of human beings.”


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

Eric Nicol wrote a very humorous article in the Edmonton Journal last week regarding the many commercial uses to which our new Canadian flag has been put.  Although I thoroughly enjoyed the article, the subject is pitiful rather than humorous. On a recent trip from Las Vegas, the full impact of the new Canadian flag hit me. Like so many Canadians who are somewhat at a loss to know why, I am nonetheless always glad to get back across the border into my own country, but this last time it was different, because there, flying from a tall flag staff was our new flag. It felt good. We drove across the border and stopped in Lethbridge for breakfast. I looked down at my placemat, and sure enough it was the Canadian flag.  There was a spot of beef gravy here and there and ketchup stain somewhere else. I looked about the restaurant, and at every place was the same placemat. That was around the middle of March. Since then I have seen the new flag on cigar lighters, bathmats, key holders, plastic change purses, bumper stickers, tobacco pouches, and sweat shirts.  I'd say these items are running a good second to the JFK Memorial bric-a-brac you see at every novelty counter.  Well, these commercial interests will always be with us I guess, but what a pity the federal government didn't enact some powerful legislation prohibiting such use of the flag when it was first decided upon. I understand some such legislation is now being shaped, but I think we are locking the door after the horse has gone.  I can just picture what will happen when some of our American tourist friends, having dined at that restaurant in Lethbridge, see a new Canadian flag fluttering in the breeze atop a building. They’ll look at the flag, turn to each other and say, "that's not the new Canadian flag. There are no gravy spots in the upper left-hand corner.”


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Friday, March 19, 1965

Right at the this moment, I know at least three young ladies who want desperately to get married.  I know at least three mothers, who think their daughters should not at this moment get married.  They are the mothers of the three girls who desperately want to get married.  What can a mother do at a time like this, mother or a father for that matter. Well — I'd say this — give the youngster all the CONS and none of the PROS (they have enough of these on their own without YOU helping out) and then let nature take it's course.  One of the rights and privileges of man is to make his or her own mistakes, and regardless of all the MANY, MANY hundreds of reasons you can give the young people for not getting married… they'll probably go right ahead and marry… and the odds are good they'll be pretty happy too. Here's a little poem I kind of like. I shall have to remember it if I ever have a daughter and if ever some man wants to marry her.


Advice to a daughter


"Daughter," I said. You have reached the age 

Where advice from your father is needed. 

I will take from the book of experience a page, 

And I want you to take it and heed it.”


I quoted aloud as she paced the room – 

(Daughter has a wonderful carriage)

“It's all right to listen to love in bloom, 

But run if a man mentions marriage."


Now, daughter was always an obedient child, 

Coming real close to perfection, 

But her calculations were somewhat wild – 

Daughter ran in the wrong direction.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Friday, February 5, 1960

We like to think of ourselves as being pretty honest, and I guess for the most part we are. But I think you'll agree that we all have many faces. We have the face we show to the boss… another face we saved for the preacher, there's a separate face we have for the police officer who stops us when we've gone too fast through a school zone… yet another face the kids see.  Yes, we all present a different front to the world from time to time and I suppose there is no harm in that. The harm could lie in not really knowing which is the real you. Did you ever meet a fellow who told so many whoppers and put on so many fronts, that he started to believe his own publicity. It can happen. You can assume so many different personalities that you actually lose your original identity.  How do you find the real you? How do you know the genuine from the artificial? The real you is the fellow who faces you every night in the bathroom mirror. That's the boy with whom you have to be honest. Each night, make peace with him and don't worry too much about the rest of the “you’s” you have left scattered throughout the day.  If you are honest and pleased with the man who looked at you in the mirror every night if you stand there alone, I'm sure that's all the good Lord expects.

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Monday, August 22, 1958

Autumn is a great time of year for fathers and for sons. It's a wonderful season for dad to get to know his boy, and for that boy to get to know his father.


You see, fall is the season when we clean up the old musket and head for open country to hunt. And father, what a mistake you make if you overlook this opportunity to show your lad the fundamentals of good sportsmanship, rules and regulations that mark a good hunter, and yet can be applied every day living.  This is your chance to let that lad see that his dad lives according to the rules…that he obeys the law even when there is no enforcement officer looking over his shoulder. It's a chance to teach all the many natural wonders of our world… to exhibit to the boy the fact that we are so dependent one upon the other…to show him the important role the farmer plays in our economy and that by playing the game with him, he'll play the game with us.


It's a chance for dad to spend an entire day with his youngster in close communion with nature and with one another, without any interference.  Here is an opportunity to show the boy that it's the fun of the hunt that counts, not the size of the bag... but there is real joy in being outsmarted by one of God’s creatures just when you feel your smug best. The field is a proving ground for a lad. He gains a great respect for firearms… he learns infinite patience as he sits possibly for hours waiting for a chance at a flight of swift ducks… he gets the glow of a great wonderful tiredness that comes from slugging it out across open fields and through wet marshes, and he sees his dad possibly for the first time in a new setting… and it's all man-to-man.


My friends, I repeat… autumn is a wonderful season for father and son… and please remember this… the father that hunts with his boy today will not be out hunting FOR his boy tomorrow.

Sunday 24 January 2021

Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown

This story was supposed to have come out of British Columbia this past summer. It goes like this. "The other night a friend of ours passed a forlorn stranger who was struggling to change a tire on a big Cadillac in the driving rain. Our friend pulled over, as it was a lonely stretch of road, and insisted on lending a hand, despite the strangers protests that he'd get drenched. A week later a truck arrived at our friends home and the men unloaded a large color television set, a gift from the roadside stranger. The accompanying note read ‘I appreciate your helping me change that tire’. Sincerely, Perry Como.”  A real nice story, and as I say it was supposed to have happened in B. C. The story has been checked out with Perry’s press agent. "Good Lord, has that story cropped up again?" He groaned.  “For the past six years Perry has been reported changing tires in almost every state of the union and most Canadian provinces — mostly in places he's never visited. One columnist even printed it.” In other words there was no truth in the color TV story. However, isn't it a great tribute to this fine gentleman and wonderful entertainer that people WANT to believe it? This is the way myths are born.  The encouraging part of it all is that here at last is a false rumor that does somebody credit.

Originally broadcast on CHED Radio - Tuesday, October 25, 1960

I suppose you have often heard someone say, when a situation appeared very clear, that it was "black and white". The expression means that things are clearly defined. Black and white I used to know about, but as I get older I find there is a much more important color. That color is gray. I have come to the conclusion that nothing is black-and-white, nothing so clearly defined that there are not shadings on both sides of the line. There will be many who say that if you believe that there is NOTHING clearly defined, then you don't believe ANYTHING.  Perhaps that is so, but if it is so, it is a very rewarding thing because it means that you go through life with an open mind. You continually wait for further returns to come in. You close your mind to no line of thought.  I suppose every man should reach a point in his life when he should be in a position to sum up to the best of his ability at least some of the things in which he believes, but I am very fearful of those people who arrive at a summing up early in their lives and assume that what they believe is right, and all else is folly.  They miss so much by going through life with blinkers. I'd like thinking, talking, investigating and comparing. I love to go against the tide of public opinion, not out of obstinacy or because I do not necessarily agree; I go against the current because I find so much worthwhile thought splashed up in the backwash, thought that would not come to life if everyone agreed. There is a great fight going on for the minds of men. It is important now to teach our children to think. They must not be spoon fed ideas that reflect the thinking of the past generation. They should be, MUST BE encouraged to work out their own conclusions based on investigation, comparison, tall clear thinking and the rubbing and polishing on their brains against those of others. One thing I do believe without qualification… wisdom is only found in truth and truly there is black, there is white, and many, many shades of gray.


Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Monday, August 11, 1958

By the time your boy is 10, he has learned more than he will absorb during the rest of his life. The period between two and ten puts an especially mighty burden on the father shoulders, because being a god is a pretty exacting job - yet he must face up to the job or fail in the most important mission for which he was placed on earth.


For the average boy to develop into a law abiding citizen, a fathers example and precept is a must. What he does will be the blueprint for the building of his sons character.


If he brags about short practices at the dinner table, his son believes forever after that to skin a sucker is perfectly legitimate.


If he lies to the cop who stopped him for speeding, his son will disregard Sunday school teachers who say lying is sinful; and if the old man runs through a stoplight while Junior is in the car, traffic lights become something to ignore if you can get away with it.


If his father is gentle and considerate with mother, his son will without question treat all her sex with consideration. Be unjust and domineering toward your wife, and your daughters-in-law will be justified in cursing the day you were born.


Drink to excess before your son and he will think drinking is smart. Because of you, alcohol assumes a glamour that is hard to forget, and he may wind up on skid Row because of your thoughtlessness.


Drag your son along when you visit art galleries or museums and explain as best you can the story of past greatness.  Take him to see good shows that have withstood the test of time and he will be more apt to enjoy them when he gets big enough to understand them. 


Leave good books and magazines scattered around the living room and give your boy books on his birthday, anniversary and at Christmas - books that have delighted boys for generations. Although he will devote a large part of his time to comics, he has wasting his time on such reading and will cultivate a taste for what is proper for a developing mind. 


A little boy's mind is like a garden; the seeds you plant there in grow either into weeds or flowers; both are hard to dig out.