The Brussels Post, 1976-07-14, Page 2
4000"11.1111111111TAKISHED
11172
Brussels Post
WEDNESDAY, JULY 14, 1976 ,
BRUSSELS
ONTARIO
Serving Brussels and the surrounding community.
Published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario
by McLean Bros. Publishers, Limited.
Evelyn Kennedy - Editor Dave Robb - Advertising
Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and.
Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association
Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $6.00 a year. Others
$8.00 a year, Single Copies IS cents each.
A secret weapon?
OCNA
Should moral considerations enter into a
traveller's plans to visit a foreign country?
Such an idea may seem strange to Canadians who
think of travel only in terms of pleasure. Carefree,
we go to any land that appeals to our desire for new
adventures or a return to familiar scenes. If we're
rewarded with interesting sights, beautiful views,
picturesque people and masterpieces of art or
architecture, that's about all we ask.‘
All of which seems perfectly innocent and
"broadening." Yet behind the scenes in many
countries are countless cases of human repression,
exploitation, jailing and execution without trial,
cruelty and torture. Such incidents are reported
almost daily in news media. And our reaction is:
"Thank God I don't live in that country!"
Then, conveniently forgetting all we've heard, we
pack our bags and fly to some of the countries where
these shocking conditions exist. Of course when we
arrive, the authorities screen us from all signs of
injustice and inhumane treatment of their citizens.
We tourists musn't be upset. We 'bring money
desperately needed by economically shaky nations.
By by-passing such oppressive countries in our
travels, we can cast a vote for human decency. Our
absence may go unnoticed. But we can live a little
better with ourselves. And we can tell travel agents
why some countries are on our blacklist.
If enough Canadians act on such convictions, some
tourist-hungry governments may get the message --
where it hurts!
(Contributed)
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Amen
by Karl Schuessler
Play is too long
Boy, do feel better now. For two whole
weeks I walk. ed around thinking I was the
only one whistling out of tune.
Then I happened to unearth a two week old
newspaper. See? Old news is good for
something. In my case, it comforted me. It
brought me the good news in its headline
about the first night opening of the Stratford
Festival play. It said, "Some Complain Play IS
Too Long."
I sighed. I smiled a satisfied smile. So I
wasn't the only one who squirmed and
wiggled my way through three hours of "Way
of the World".
So I wasn't the only one stoned to silence
and stupidity as I watched Maggie Smith
flutter and flit--and flirt--her way into a
marriage.
The reviews I'd read all said rave. A
triumph in wit and satire. Magnificent.
Brilliant dialogue. An excellent choice for
restoration drama.
So when a generous young man told me he
had four tickets to see the play, I jumped. He
offered to double date. And when he insisted
this was all on him, I wasn't ,about to refuse
such an offer.
He spent plenty- at least to me $5.50 a seat is
plenty. And that amount put us on the main
floor. That was good enough. But too bad
that it was back side.
The truth was I couldn't hear. The words
were coming at me, but I didn't make any
sense out of them. Good heavens, could I be
going deaf? Or worse yet. Could I be going
soft in the head? I wasn't making much sense
out of all those people mincing and prancing
around on the stage.
Their names were dillies. The "M"s had
it. Names such as Millarnant, Mirable and
Marwood. And so did the "W"s. Witwood,
Waitwell and Wishford. I could hardly keep
the characters straight. Male or female.
And the plot. Well , we can forget about
"that. I barely knew who I wanted Maggie
Smith to "dwindle into a wife" with. Arid the
play synopsis on the prir...ed program didn't
help that much either:
Miring the intermission I stood in terror
wondering if anyone was going to ask me, to
retell the story up to that pOint. I knew if I ever
had to Write an English exam on it, I'd flu nk.
Oh, some people did laugh. Wise souls they
were. ShoWing me ttp,Trying to intimidate
me. Trying to make me think I was some soft
dummy lounging on a soft seat.
But I had my defenses in line. If only those
actors would project. Get the mumbles out of
their mouth. And why didn't they turn
around? Look at me? How come their backs
were always to me? Why were they always
talking to every side but my side? • -
I strained forward. Hold on there, I didn't
catch that line? Couldn't you repeat it? Say it
over 'again. It must be cleyer. Some people
were chuckling.
If only I could hear them, then I'd
understand. Maybe I'd even laugh.
But then came the awful truth. When they
did face me , I heard a line or two. But I didn't
laugh. Great h eavens. I don't get it. Maybe I
am weak in the head cells.
I tormented myself for weeks. But that old '
news report lifted my load. Of course the
comments on the play weren't from the high
drama critics. They were from plain people.
One lawyer played it safe and would only
make one comment: "Long". Now who would
argue with that?
A diplomat ',of a M.P.P. said, "Well, it
certainly was different." Yes, who will
dispute that?
But a few people were willing to give their
names and venture into deeper waters. "It's
not my cup of tea" declared one woman. "It's
very hard to follow" admitted another.
"There's lots of fading in and fading out."
"It's bloody awful".
"We had a hard time keeping awake," said
one man. His wife' suggested it "was better
than Horlicks" for inducing sleep,"
Another lawyer braved the words, "It was
really tedious. It just went on and on."
And another ever braver soul — name
included -- admitted he couldn't comment on
the play because he slept through the whole
performance.
Ah, sweet words. Soft words that sooth
ears. My good old ears. Maybe they're not
that bad after all.
But I have a nagging feeli ng. It won't go
away. Maybe it's just that I belong to the
common mass and misery of Mental midgets.
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