HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2012-10-25, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2012. PAGE 5.
Aword or two on behalf of the postcard.
I know – they’re hopelessly old-
fashioned. Went out with hoop skirts
and Penny-farthing bicycles. Imagine sitting
down to ‘write a card’ to someone. First, you
have to think of something to say, then you
have to look up their mailing address and
finally you have to cough up – what is it, close
to a buck now? – for a stamp. Finally, you have
to find yourself a post-box (good luck with
that) to drop the card in.
Oh yes – and brush up your penman-
ship skills so you don’t come off looking
like a drunk or a chimp playing with a
ballpoint.
Put yourself through all that when you’ve
got the option of hauling out your cell
and tweeting them in a nanosecond?
Ridiculous.
And yet…there’s something about a
postcard that no BlackBerry, iPhone or
Android device can match. A postcard is from
me to you – not from one URL to another. And
the fact that so much time passes between
thinking of writing it and popping it in the mail
means ‘consideration’ is involved. You have
time to think about what you’re saying. It’s not
just tap it out and press ‘SEND’.
There is one other, ah, factor that makes me
personally fond of sending postcards.
I happen to have several thousand of them in
my attic. Unused. They are blank on one side;
the other side shows a photo of me under the
banner BASIC BLACK. I used to host a
weekly radio show on CBC by that name. I
retired 10 years ago and while cleaning out my
office I noticed three boxes of unsullied Basic
Black postcards stacked by the garbage can. I
asked the janitor what was happening with
them.
“They’ll be shredded, I guess.”
A high, keening wail filled the halls of the
CBC. It was the wraith of my ancient departed
Scottish grandmother wailing “Och, aye, ye’ll
no be wastin’ those, laddie.”
And I didn’t. I took those boxes home and
for the past 10 years I’ve been scribbling on
their backsides and sending them out to
whoever tickled my fancy.
A friend asked me if I didn’t feel a little
weird, sending out postcards advertising a
radio show that’s been off the air for a decade.
Not at all, I said. I look on them as tiny retro
gifts from an age gone by which I send to
people I admire. What’s more, postcards
impose necessary brevity that is almost poetic.
The reduced message area means you really
have to think about what you write – no room
for discursive ramblings about weather, your
wonky knee or the hapless Blue Jays.
As for whom to send a card to – for that I
take the advice of a writer named James
Mangan, who says those postcards and letters
matter a great deal – even if all they say is
“Attaboy!”
“Write to the author whose story gave you a
delightful half-hour last night” say Mangan.
“Write to the cartoonist whose strip you
devoured this morning; to the teacher who
inspired you 20 years ago, to the doctor who
saved your baby’s life; to your old employer to
show him there was something more between
you than a paycheck.”
You get the picture. There are dozens –
probably hundreds – of people you’ve
fantasized about patting on the back and
saying ‘Well done” to. A phone call is a bit
over the top and a tweet or an e-mail would
just be, well, a tweet or an e-mail.
Perhaps it’s an Air Canada flight attendant
who found your missing wallet or a
Paralympics wheelchair racer who made your
heartstrings twang. A grocery clerk who
smiled when you needed it badly; perhaps a
politician who did the right, instead of the
expedient, thing. The world is full of people
who are better than they absolutely have to be.
Won’t you send at least one of them a note or
postcard to tell them so?
Attaboy!
Arthur
Black
Other Views Just a card to say: way to go!
Sure, there’s a different section of this
week’s issue of The Citizen (Help
Wanted) for this announcement, but here
goes: Apparently Mr. Big & Tall Menswear in
London is hiring.
This comes after Justin Hutchings of London
popped by an internet memorial page for 15-
year-old Amanda Todd, the B.C. girl who took
her own life after being tormented and
blackmailed on the internet. Among the
thousands of messages wishing Todd the best
in the next life, Hutchings wrote “Thank God
this b---- is dead.”
This was done, he said in a subsequent
interview, in an attempt to “stir up the pot”
saying he was curious how people might react.
As a result of his experiment, in addition to
drawing the ire of pretty much everyone in
North America with internet access, Hutchings
has been forced to kiss his illustrious career at
Mr. Big & Tall Menswear goodbye.
Since his dismissal, Hutchings has taken the
high road (or at least he seems to think he has)
pointing the finger at society at large and
people who have come out in support of Todd
after her death.
“It was more or less a social experiment than
anything, just to see if I could put the most
blasphemous thing on there,” he said in an
interview with the Toronto Star. “I did this
because if there was so much caring and so
much emphasis on the fact that people actually
care now that she’s dead, then how come
society didn’t step in when she was alive?”
Profound Hutchings. Profound.
Unfortunately the majority of people who
have come out against bullying as a result of
this incident didn’t know Todd prior to her
death, and for the vast majority of her ordeal,
she suffered behind closed doors, a fact
Hutchings is no doubt aware of.
In the internet world, we call what this
moron did trolling. Trolling is a relatively new
phenomenon, so don’t look in a dictionary for
its meaning, but Wikipedia says “a troll is
someone who posts inflammatory, extraneous
or off-topic message in an online community...
with the primary intent of provoking readers
into an emotional response.”
Yes, it’s true. These are people who have
nothing better to do with their time than find an
issue people are passionate about and go the
other way simply to throw some chum into
shark-filled water to see who will bite.
Todd, in death, has touched so many people.
There are many who feel that on the internet,
people reveal too much of themselves and
there are people who have felt the sting of
bullying.
Often the bullied can only be identified
during their school years. In the real world,
everyone is able to start over again, hiding and
pulling through what they went through as
children. So Todd’s story was one millions of
people could relate to in one way or another.
Many people have made it through the tunnel
Todd couldn’t bring herself to find the end of
and many have shed tears watching the girl’s
final internet video, where, defeated, she
shuffles through a set of cards telling her story.
Like Todd’s tormentor (until ‘hacktivist’
group Anonymous went to work and
discovered his identity) the internet allows
anonymity and the ability for the gutless to talk
tough for the first time and they’re making the
most of the opportunity.
The worst part is that Hutchings no doubt
feels like he’s better than Todd’s tormentor,
while in reality they’re cut from the same cloth,
just this time, Todd isn’t around to take the
abuse.
Trolling for dollars
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
There’s a guy like me in every Crime
Stoppers Jail and Bail in Huron County,
I guess - I’m the guy who got the funds
for the fundraiser.
Finskies, tenners, cabbage, clams, milk,
dough, duckets or anything else... within
reason that is.
It wasn’t always that way. I came to the Jail
and Bail when I was just 27 years old and I
was one of the few people in the happy little
jail cell family who owned up to what I did.
They said I put a negative spin on the news.
I told them that when news is unhappy, it’s not
my job to fix it. I can’t spin it, that’s a job
for the spin doctors, not me. They also
say I cheer for the Habs. Well I do, so
incarcerate me. I did all those things, I planned
all those things, but I never planned on getting
caught.
However, I did get caught. It bought me a
season’s pass into the Jail and Bail. The event
has no time off for good behaviour or
indefinite stays, but they fixed it so I would
have to pay to get out, one way or another.
The judge said that cheering for the Habs
was a heinous, heinous crime, but I guess
that’s all the in past now.
Given a chance, I wouldn’t do what got me
put there in the first place, but I don’t know if
that’s what they mean when they say
rehabilitated.
Anyway, it’s not me I want to tell you about;
I want to tell you about a guy named Brad
Knight. But before I can tell you about Brad, I
have to explain a few other things about
myself.
It won’t take long. As I said, I’m the guy
who can raise funds for you. That doesn’t just
mean I can get the bills for the Jail and Bail;
you know, the kind of things people are willing
enough to part with. I’ve got hundreds of
those. Some times though, you need bigger
cash for other adventures. You need those $50
bills. I’ve gotten those. I even took pictures
and donated some scratch myself for a CT
Scanner. It’s sitting in a hospital up the lake
now.
You may also remember some of the local
public schools holding their little bake sales
and silent auctions. Now, sure, those things
usually go well, but I helped to the best I could
and bought some nice things to further their
goals.
So, when Paul Josling came to me earlier
this year and asked me if I could help raise
money, I said it would be no problem at all.
And it wasn’t.
Brad got to the cell before me, he was in for
questionable ethics, and though we never
talked about it, I could bet I know what he
would say.
Like everyone else in the joint, he was likely
there because he was a victim of judges with
hearts of stones, or incompetent lawyers, or
police frame-ups or just simple bad luck. In all
my time at that Jail and Bail Cell, there were
only a handful of people I believed to be
innocent. Over time, Brad convinced me he
was one of them.
The prosecution really had an open-and-shut
case with Brad, or so I was told. The trial only
lasted because the prosecutor had plans of
running for mayor and wanted the public to get
a good long look at his mug.
The courthouse became a three-ring circus
with spectators getting in line in the wee hours
of the morning despite the rain and the cold to
make sure they could see Brad.
The way the story went down is that he was
as cool as cucumber and, in the end, I think
that worked against him.
Had there been remorse, had there been
some waver in his voice, some anger at the
mayorally-inspired prosecutor, he may not
have gotten the hefty fine he received. In the
end though, he got what he got.
Over time, Brad managed to find his way
out. This wasn’t Hollywood. There were no
Rita Hayworth posters, no rock hammers, no
crawling through miles and miles of only-
God-knows-what. He just raised his bail and
was released.
He got out and got free and who knows
where he is now. Once upon a time, there were
rumours he would head for a place just past the
Seaforth border; Egmondville, and that in
Egmondville, by a screen fence in an oft-
contested dog park, there might be a tin buried
with enough money to get out of the area and
get somewhere warmer like maybe some place
in Mexico where the Pacific is blue. Some
place like Zihuatanejo.
I suppose I’ll never know until I get myself
a shovel and start looking. One things for sure,
whether I do or I don’t, it always comes down
to one of two choices; Get busy living or get
busy dying.
In case that was confusing, I’ll explain a bit.
For the past few weeks I’ve been raising money
for the Huron County Crime Stoppers Jail and
Bail held in Seaforth on Oct. 17. I wanted to
use my column to put out a plea to help me
raise the money but, with the possibility of me
getting a ride in that big ol’ police cruiser with
a shiny new pair of bracelets, I wanted to keep
as few people knowing about it as possible.
After all, it’s not often that you see a man
getting pushed into a cruiser in the middle of
the day in downtown Blyth and I wanted there
to be some shock and awe.
In the end I didn’t serve all that much time.
I came in with a lot of cash thanks to my
friends, family, local council members and
coworkers and, within 15 minutes (and four or
five phone calls), I had raised enough money,
over $700, for Crime Stoppers, that they were
comfortable letting me out.
My exact crime was my “Negative
Disposition” in my job and my personal life
and my bad habits, like playing violent video
games and cheering for the best damn NHL
team there is (or would be if the season was
back in) the Montreal Canadiens, were also
held against me.
I want to say thank you very much to
everyone who donated and helped me out. It’s
always good to give back to the community
especially in ways that benefit organizations
with a mandate to help the community.
Freedom has never tasted so sweet
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den