Loading...
HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2007-03-15, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 2007. PAGE 5. Bonnie Gropp TThhee sshhoorrtt ooff iitt Elected politicians as a group are usually classed near the bottom of popularity polls, but lieutenant governors picked by prime ministers, often because of friendship or patronage and with titles reminding of the last vestiges of colonialism, ironically are at the top. The latest to demonstrate this is James Bartleman, who is leaving the post that nominally is the highest-ranking in the province, ahead of even the premier, after five years to unprecedented praise. One explanation is politicians have to do dirty work like raising taxes and breaking promises. Lieutenant governors are supposed to be politically neutral and perform mostly ritual duties, such as signing laws and reading throne speeches written by governments, which offend no-one. But the lieutenant governors have developed a tradition over the last three decades of rolling up their sleeves and promoting worthy causes and it cannot be said any in that time has been a dud. Bartleman had been a career diplomat and senior adviser on foreign affairs to Liberal prime minister Jean Chrétien, who appointed him, but lacked the earlier privilege of most of his predecessors. He is an Aboriginal, the first in the post, and as a child lived with his family in poverty in a tent. As lieutenant governor, he focused on Aboriginal concerns, particularly the need to improve literacy, and prompted donations of more than 1.2 million books. Hilary Weston, before him, the glamorous wife of a grocery tycoon, had made fairly limited contributions to public life, but had qualifications that included her husband played golf with Chrétien and is godfather of one of his grandchildren. But Weston as lieutenant governor quickly protested not enough was being done for youth, offending the Ontario Progressive Conservative government of the time, dug in her pocket to help and fought the stigma some attach to schizophrenia by revealing a brother’s struggle with it. Hal Jackman, a multimillionaire businessman who ran unsuccessfully and raised funds for the Conservative party, was awarded the honour by Conservative prime minister Brian Mulroney. Jackman as lieutenant governor rounded on his own by complaining business was not investing in the future and Ontario was a safe place to invest notwithstanding its free- spending New Democrat government, bought historic documents for the province and funded visual arts. Lincoln Alexander, a former federal Conservative minister, also was appointed by Mulroney and as the first black lieutenant governor urged business to improve race relations, saying it could not sit back and pretend racial discrimination would not affect it. He also stressed his own life starting as the son of a railway porter, which should have inspired some black youth. John Black Aird, yet another wealthy businessman, raised funds for the Liberals and was appointed by Liberal prime minister Pierre Trudeau and showed unsuspected warmth, particularly for the physically and mentally disabled, whom he championed after attending a games for them he called the most moving event he had ever seen. He had parties for them in the stately lieutenant governor’s suite, learned sign language so he could communicate with the deaf, finished one throne speech with a blessing in sign language and appealed on TV for a liver donation that helped save the life of a three-year-old girl. Pauline McGibbon, the first woman lieutenant governor, said she “had to try harder because I’m a woman. Women aren’t allowed much leeway for failure.” McGibbon started making the post less formal, inviting her cleaning lady to her first reception at the legislature and breaking protocol before a packed house in Maple Leaf Gardens by hugging captain Darryl Sittler, after he presented her with a hockey stick signed by the Leafs. McGibbon also visited more places than previous lieutenant governors including the home of this reporter, waltzing through the front door one night announcing “I’m Pauline McGibbon.” The writer had to point out she was looking for a house across the street, but it gave him airs to boast at times he was the only person ever to kick out the much admired Pauline McGibbon. Music and lyrics Consider the humble hamburger. Seldom has a popular human food combination – one ground beef patty, one bun – been more basic. This is of course, before the garnishes – slice of onion, tomato, dill, plus mustard, relish, ketchup, mayo, etc, etc, – which are what makes the humble hamburger so enduring. And endure it has. The nucleus of the hamburger – a thin slab of ground beef seasoned with onions – is almost as old as our country, having emigrated from the Hamburg, Germany back in the 1870s. It was another 30 years before somebody had the notion to stick the patty between two slices of bread. By the turn of the 20th century, the hamburger was a popular treat in much of North America. It made its official international debut at the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, Missouri. That’s one theory. The truth is, the hamburger’s origins are lost in the mists of time. Naturally, half a dozen towns and cities have jumped to declare their burg the birthplace of the burger. For obvious reasons, Hamburg, Germany believes that it deserves the honour. But the village of Hamburg, New York makes the same claim. They say the hamburger was born at their Erie County Fair back in 1885. Villagers throw a “Burgerfest” each summer to celebrate. You’ll never guess what they serve. New Haven, Connecticut has also made a leap at hamburger immortality, claiming that a local greasy spoon, Louie’s Lunch, invented the hamburger as a snack for harried businessmen back in the early 1900s. They should get points for longevity, at least – they’re still churning out hamburgers at Louie’s, although you wouldn’t recognize the product right off. The folks behind the counter at Louie’s are hamburger purists. They serve your meat patty on toasted bread, not a bun. And if you ask for ketchup or mustard you’ll get your hand slapped. Only cheese, onion and tomato allowed. But anyone researching hamburger supremacy has to give consideration to the town of Seymour, Wisconsin. The story goes that back in 1885, a local by the name of Charlie Nagreen was having trouble unloading fried meatballs at his restaurant, when inspiration struck. Charlie took his meat flipper, mashed a meatball flat as a hockey puck and slid it into a bun. “Try this,” he told a customer. “I call it a hamburger”. The rest of the world may not buy Charlie Nagreen as creator of the hamburger, but his townsfolk do. Seymour’s chief tourist attraction is its Hamburger Hall of Fame. There you’ll find the world’s largest hamburger. It weighs in at just over eight tons. Did you want fries with that? It hasn’t always been a smooth ride for the hamburger. Back in the days of the First World War when North Americans were none to fond of all things Germanic, a lot of patriotic re-branding went on. The town of Berlin, Ontario became Kitchener. And the hamburger became ‘Salisbury steak’. But by the end of the war, North America’s favourite fast-food snack had its original name back and it stuck – so much so that it spawned a host of imitators. The ‘cheeseburger’ made its entrance in the early 20s, followed by beefburgers, baconburgers, fishburgers, steakburgers, porkburgers and chickenburgers. Then fast food fryboys really got inventive. In the 1940s turtleburgers appeared in Florida, followed by oysterburgers, oceanburgers, octoburgers and, umm…gatorburgers. Guess. There are other burger mutants. Lobsterburgers and crabburgers of course. Not to mention buffaloburgers, rabbitburgers, goose-, duck- and even spamburgers The only Canadian nominee to Burgerdom’s Hall of Fame that I could find: mooseburgers. I had one in Kenora, Ontario about 10 years ago. Dee-lish. The most grotesque riff on the humble hamburger? I nominate Burger King’s Double Whopper with Cheese. Downing one of these monsters is the caloric equivalent of eating five chocolate bars, 10 fried eggs or chug-a- lugging five pints of beer. Nutritionists reckon you’d have to walk a brisk nine miles to burn one off. Most inventive hamburger offshoot? Well there’s a restaurant in my hometown that sells a burger bun filled with choice lamb. A Lamburghini of course. Almost as clever as the name of a chickenburger that’s sold in a pub near Glastonbury Abbey – Knights of the Round Table country – in southern England. Naturally, the treat appears on the menu as…Chicken Excaliburger. I’m sure King Arthur would have approved. Roundly. Arthur Black Lieutenant Governors win popularity Words have tremendous power. They can charm, wound, mislead. String them together just the right way and they can create magic. No secret to readers here that I’m a pretty big fan of words used well. I could spend hours with them. I’ve even been known to shake my head in wonder when a masterful writer crafts simple words into a thing of beauty. But I’m also a big fan of melody. Recently asked what is more important to me in a song, the music or the lyrics, I was surprised to discover I didn’t have an immediate answer. So never one to shy away from introspection I was determined to find out. First thought, lyrics of course. As proof of this argument my mind was drawn to Gordon Lightfoot’s Song for a Winter’s Night: The lamp is burnin' low upon my table top The snow is softly fallin' The air is still within the silence of my room I hear your voice softly callin' If I could only have you near To breathe a sigh or two I would be happy just to hold the hands I love Upon this winter night with you Nothing fancy here, but the words transport you to a place and feeling. I can hear the fire crackling, see the dawning light, and understand the need to be with a loved one. But, then I wonder what it would mean if those words hadn’t been set to a soft, flowing melody as well. If the tune had been twangy country or hip hop would I even have noticed the words? Not likely. Music is the first attraction. Good lyrics make me fall in love with the song. And I don’t think I’m alone on that. Consider children. When our grandson was a toddler dancing to some of the music in our home, I suspect he was not motivated by what the musicians were saying. Rhythm is taught in the early years. While it could be argued that it’s an integral part of both words and music, there’s little doubt that it is in the latter form it gets a child bopping. An early childhood educator I questioned agreed that while there are some song lyrics that will entertain little ones, it’s generally the music that they initially enjoy. Music is about mood. Probably nowhere is this more evident than with the angst-ridden adolescent. But was it the angry lyrics of a young and raging Alanis Morissette that first drew in a bevy of pubescent girls in the mid- 1990s, or the tone of the tune? A good melody can stand alone (love Pretty Donna); lyrics need music to be a song. Poetry is melodic, but those words need to be pretty darn good to pull you in on their own. Beautiful music can take the focus from mediocre lyrics (though perhaps not for long) whereas even the exquisite verse of Leonard Cohen couldn’t have done much for something as musically mundane as Achy Breaky Heart. None of this, however, is about one being more important than the other. Removing instrumentals from this argument, it otherwise takes good music and lyrics to create a song worthy of attention. The music charms you and the lyrics complete the spell, whether it’s of mischief or romance. It may not be the words that get you swaying, but they’re guaranteed to make the dance a lot more interesting. Other Views Did you want fries with that? Eric Dowd FFrroomm QQuueeeenn’’ss PPaarrkk Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy you must have somebody to divide it with. – Mark Twain Final Thought