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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1972-07-05, Page 2IfTeekIMED 18'42. russas Post ,inviser Wednesday, July 5, 1972 Serving Brussels and, the surrounding community published each Wednesday afternoon at Prnssels, Ontario by McLean Bros. publishers, Limited. gvelyn Kennedy - Editor 'Tom. Haley - Advertising Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association. Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $4.00 a year, Oilers. $5.00 a year, Single CopieS 10 cents each. 'Second class mail Registration No, 0562. Telephone 887-6641. Parade recalls past A grand celebration The centennial celebration is over. The last of the formal program concluded Monday evening but it will be some days before the village returns to normal. There is no doubt that the cen- tennial was an unqualified success. The well conceived program attracted large attendances at each event with top interest being centred on the parade on Saturday. The thousands who lined the mile long Parade route saw what undoubtedly was the largest and finest parade ever to pass over Brussels street. It was a fitting recognition of the 100th birthday of the village. The celebrations provided a two- fold opportunity. First of course in the minds of many was the reunion of families apart for many years and the renewal of friendships held in suspense by miles and years. The centennial too was an occasion when we could exhibit the features of the village of which we are so justly proud to the hundreds upon hundreds of visit- ors - a new school, a medical centre, a legion hall, well kept homes and neat tidy streets. But there was another aspect to the centennial celebration and that was the opportunity given to us of this generation to pay tribute to the foresight, perseverance and capacity to create possessed by those who went before and who con- ceived the community that has become Brussels. It s as a lot of work for the dozensof centennial association officials and committees and for those in cooperating organizations. But it was worth it. The centennial advanced the name of Brussels over a wide area in a manner and to an extent that money could not buy and at the same time permitted those of us here to share with hundreds of former residents and visitors our pride in our community. Largest in 100 years The 52 page centennial issue Of the BruisSels Pest, whiCh was published last week, it the larg- e* issue of the paper to be published in the paper's 100 Yew* history. In anticipation Of increased interest in the edition the usual PreSS run was extended to 3000 dotes. of this number 1000 copies were given to the deriten.6, There's nothing more unnerving for and old pilot than to be flying with some- body else. Especiully somebody who he thinks could not come in fourth in a three-legged race. And that's exactly the situation I found myself in last Saturday morning. I was just gagging over my first fag and cuppa when the phone rang and a cherry voice, sounding as though it hid' been up with the cows, informed me that it was go- ing to fly over and see me. For a minute or two I thought I was going to have to go out in the back- yard and wave a sheet, as my mother used to do when her sons were flying in the vicinity of our home town. Strange- ly enough, that worked, and my kid bro- ther would do a loop and a couple of slow rolls to prove that he'd seen dear old Mom out there waving her second- best sheet. However, it turned out that my call- er was serious. He owes me some money and wanted to find out how much, before his mortgage ran out and I jack- ed up the interest rate. He hadn't had a statement for two years. Well, I pulled myself to-gether and agreed to pick him up at the local air- port. I knew perfectly well what he was trying to do. He was trying to im- press me. After all, any guy who has a pilot's licence and can go flipping around the country is going to convince somebody of something. Looking about as sly as Peter Lorre, I knew I wasn't going to get any money out of him, so I thought I might as well burn up some of his petrol. We got into this flivver. I looked around for a parachute. None. I look- ed around for safety belts to strap my- self in like a mouse in harness, as we did in the old days. Nothing but a seat belt. We lumbered off the ground. It was like riding in a ten-ton truck after driv- ing a Jaguar. The scenery was fantas- tic: lakes and Swamps and islands. I even picked out our high school, which looked like a devastated area. My wife wasn't out in the yard waving a sheet, so I missed our house. But we lumbered. Nary a loon. No slow rolls or steep turns when your guts go down into your crotch. Sed- ately, I think, is the word that would best expregs our flying. Rather like an old lady running a washing machine. Don't think I didn't enjoy it. There's nothing quite se exciting as hurtling along at 130 miles an hour and 3,000 feet. It's almost as thrilling as a game of euchre. The only thing that reminded me of the good old days was when, after we'd jogged about for half an hour, he said, Where the hell's that airport?" That was always one of my troubles: finding the airport. I said blithely, "Oh I think it's over there somewhere." And sure enough it was. We landed, after a fashion, and I was pleased to see that modern pilots at least know enough to land into the wind. In my day, we used to land down- wind, and got quite exasperated when the control officer kept shooting off red flares to tell us to go around again. Well, I took our guest home for lunch and we figured out some kind of fin- ancial arrangement that would baffle a Philadelphia lawyer. Took him back to the airport and saw him off. As far as I know, he made it, though a bit wobbly. Then we spotted some young fellows preparing to do some sky-diving. One• of them, an old student of mine, rushed up, said hello, and volunteered that this was his first jump. So we decided to watch. We'd known him since he was a bit of an altar-boy. I tried to reassure him by asking which leg he thought he would break, whether he wanted cremation or a regular church service, what kind of flowers he liked, and such. He took it very well, face growing whiter, sweat streaming. After a great deal of mudding around, which seems inevitable when people play with boats or.aircraft, they took off, three of them. We watched the perfect blue sky as the aircraft clinbed to height. Then out. came a brilliantly-,coloured chute. It even opened. And it descended into a thick bush, about three miles away, Two more chutes blossomed, drifted down, and both landed right in the middle of the air- field. When the first One went into the bush, I bet my wife $50 to a filter cigarette that it was John Cardwell, our young friend. It was. A rescue force went out and after half an hour found him dangling from a maple tree. Hy some strange alchemy. I knew it was John. I'd tried to teach him English. He wasn't hurt, and it was a fine Saturday, and I think take up flying again, and Maybe even sky-jumping. Sugar , and Spice by Bill Smiley Mall Committee without charge for use in connection with the registration. The price of 50 cents per copy, established by the ann. mittee, was applied in the case of copies sold b y the Post and other dealers in the Village. The publishers have agreed to donate 40 cents from each of these sales to the committee.