I have a friend who is a forest ranger. Much of his time during the summer months, is spent several hundred feet in the air in his lookout tower. From this lofty perch he can see 100 miles in all directions, out of over the treed mountain sides on which he stands guard. He had an embarrassing experience last summer. A fire started at the very foot of his tower, the only spot he could not see from his lookout. I thought about this fellow when I read of the many Canadians who jumped on airplanes and went to Selma earlier this month. Although I admire their motives, I could not help but ally myself with those who believe that we are neither willing to see nor to correct the troubles that start right on our own doorsteps. Frankly speaking, that should be our first responsibility, the importance of other good works not withstanding. I drove through the town of Hobema again last weekend as I have done from time to time over the past 35 years. I thought as I look at the desolate countryside and the shacks and the unfortunate people walking aimlessly in the mud by the roadside, how little has been done for these people in all these years. Privileged Canadians. Who is trying to kid whom? If you want to suppress a people; if you want to drain them of every worthwhile characteristic, take away their self respect. Hitler did this in his concentration camps simply by making them all takeoff their clothes. We have done it to the Indian by giving him a small piece of usually bad land and a handout every now and then. My friends, there is a fire at the bottom of our lookout tower. It is our Canadian Indian people. When and how are we going to put out the flame?
Saturday, 6 February 2021
Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown
We hear a great deal these days about "status" and "status symbols". There is a hoary old joke in the business world concerning the granting of a washroom key to the young man who reaches a certain level of the upper echelon of "the organization". Certain clothing styles are said to mark the young man who has "arrived" and of course once you've made it, you wouldn't be caught dead in anything but a Coupe de Ville. This business can get pretty ridiculous, as witnessed in a story to come out of an ad agency in New York last month. It seems a junior executive was promoted to the middle executive level, but the decorators inadvertently installed wall-to-wall carpeting in his new office. Now a MIDDLE level executive simply does NOT rate wall-to-wall carpeting in his office. That bit of status stuff is strictly for TOP LEVEL executives. What did the head office do? They called back the decorating firm and had them clip a foot margin off the carpet, all the way around the office, and this restored the organizational equilibrium. Stop the world, good neighbor, I want to get off.
Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown
She flopped down on the chesterfield and heaved a great tired sigh of relief. She was tired… so tired she felt she couldn't face another day. All three of them had been monsters since the moment they rolled out of bed at 6:30 that morning. The second youngest got up first and proceeded immediately to wake the baby, who began screaming for his breakfast… and screamed for half an hour until it was ready. And then it began. The two oldest were at it all day long. They fought over toys… they fought at the table… by fought about who had the best trike… they fought until you’d think they were mortal enemies instead of brothers… the products of a happy home and well-adjusted parents. There had been three skinned knees…four peonies dug out of the neighbors garden… a broken window… a broken spoke in the front wheel of the oldest new bike… a glass of spilled milk all over the clean tablecloth. Three times she searched the neighborhood for them, to bring them home to meals they didn't like and wouldn't eat without a full hour of threats, begging's and near bloodshed. When they came in off the street to go to bed, their clothes were jet black with fresh tar off the new hardtop… there was sand in their hair… and every inch of exposed skin was blacker than the ace of spades. How could they get so dirty? Three separate outfits they’d worn that day and the wash hamper was loaded again. But now, finally, after threats of violence, they had apparently fallen asleep. She rested for a moment… wondered if it was all worth it… wondered if hers were extra bad kids or just normal. Then she raised her tired body out of the chair, and returned to the bathroom to clean up the mess left from three grimy baths. Clothes went into the hamper… socks too… towels, a bit shady, but good enough for one more day, went back on the rack… the bathmat back in place, and then she picked them up… three pairs of small, worn, canvas shoes, laces broken… heels crushed from small feet pushing into the shoes without unlacing them… soles thin and all three pair - dirty as sin. She looked at them… shook her head and then she heard it… a warm, kind, understanding voice that seemed to spring from the very soul of her… and it said Dash "those little feet have so far to go." Those little feet have so far to go. Her eyes filled with tears… a slight smile cropped over her face and a great overwhelming love enveloped her… and she crept silently upstairs to cover them and to kiss them in their sleep.
Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown
I was listening to an interesting interview with veteran actor Pat O'Brien the other day and he mentioned he was writing a book. He does not aspire to any great literary career, but said in writing his book he was reminded of "the good old days when making pictures was fun." He went on to say that it was not fun anymore. Often when we radio people get together, we talk about the days when radio was fun. It's really not the same anymore. I imagine many of you out there are finding the same thing, regardless of what you do for a living. It used to be fun. Now it's just serious business with very few laughs thrown in. Well, where has the fun gone? Most of us are making a great deal more money than we did when we were having all the fun. The mortgage doesn't present a problem. We eat well, have a pretty good wardrobe, belong to this club or that, drive a much better car than we used to, and yet we long for the days when life was more fun. I think part of it is that we have all become so blessed professional. I know that is true in our business. We research everything right into the ground. We are a society that is concerned not with "how good” but "how much and how many." There was a time when we acknowledge that the other guy had to make a living too but today competition has decreed that only the biggest and the best shall inherit the earth, and some good places, some good products, some good people have gone down the drain. It's a little sad isn't it? Maybe that is why we don't laugh as much as we used to. Maybe that is why the fun has disappeared. I think possibly we are all a little sad because every day in someway or other each of us contribute a little something that makes this less and less a "people to people" world.
Originally broadcast on CHED radio - Date unknown
I saved this one for one week. I thought it better to wait until the children were out of ear-shot. The kid next-door started it all. "Mr. Forbes, does the Easter bunny really lay all of those eggs, or does he just deliver them for a bunch of chickens?" How’d you like to be hit with that one at 8 AM Easter morning. "Ask your dad, son,” I said. "He told me to ask you. He said you were a bit of a know it all." The lad came back. I am highly respected in my neighborhood. Well you just can't leave a question like that hang. Somehow a kid has to reconcile himself to the role of the Easter bunny in today's society, but frankly I didn't have the answer. I phoned Al Oeming at the Alberta game farm. "Al, does the Easter bunny lay all those eggs or does he just deliver them for a bunch of chickens?" Al said "what is this, a rib?” I said "no Al, I've got to know. Can a rabbit lay eggs?" "Not in my experience," he answered evenly, "but every day we encounter something new and strange in the animal kingdom. Come on now, who is this? Is this a rib?” I finally convinced Al that it was me but he didn't have the answer. I have to say this for him though, he put me onto a chap at the University of Alberta who was a lot of help. He said he really didn't know if the Easter bunny laid all those eggs, but that he can sure ask Uncle Wiggly and the Good Fairy, who were right in the next ward. Finally a light went on. Who knows more about bunnies than playboy magazine? I put through a call to Playboy headquarters in Chicago. I talked to Janet Pilgrim. If you read Playboy you have no doubt followed Pilgrims Progress. She fields questions like mine. I asked her about bunnies laying eggs. She said, "as a matter of fact, our bunnies don't work on Easter." "But are you sure they don't do a little moonlighting?" I asked. She was sure. So frankly, old know-it-all, never did get an answer for the boys. I told the kid that it wasn't polite to ask because only the bunnies HARE-dresser knows for sure. Next Easter, I'm staying indoors.