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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2000-09-20, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2000. PAGE 5. Other Views One of these days, Alice — po-w! There are a lot of things to see in New York. Art galleries. Greenwich Village. The Empire State Building.Radio City Music Hall. Even Central Park if you've got a death wish. Me? I think my first stop of choice would be the New York Port Authority Bus Terminal. That's where all the Big-Apple-bound buses from all the small towns in North America end up. It’s also where you’ll soon find my favourite piece of public art - and I say that without having even seen it. It's a full-size, thousand-pound bronze sculpture of the world’s most famous bus driver: Ralph Kramden. You don't know Ralph? Then you are either green of horn and damp in the nether auricular regions, or you’ve spent your waking life in an unelectrified nunnery. Ralph Kramden was a TV inspiration of the spherically awesome actor Jackie Gleason. As Gleason played him, Ralph was the squawk-first, regret-later husband of Audrey Meadows in the TV series called The Honeymooners. Ralph wore a uniform, carried a lunch bucket, and made life ‘interesting’ for his long-suffering wife Alice and his upstairs neighbours, Trixie and Norton. And when he wasn’t doing that he was driving a city bus around Brooklyn. Which is why a statue of Ralph will shortly grace the front entrance of New York’s Port Authority Bus Terminal - and also why said institution gets a grateful doff of my baseball cap. Life, never a smooth path Just think back to all the changes that have taken place over the past decade (or as long as you can think back) and count the number of things that are no longer what they were or, even in your opinion no longer as good as they were. I would imagine that the list is pretty long and you probably feel a certain frustration at the seeming inability to stop matters from going in the direction you feel is not the right way. There was a time when you could fly to another country and get on the plane just by showing your ticket. You did not have to worry about any security checks or having the plane blow up or hijacked while you were in it. Yet the same security checks are very much an integral part of our travelling experience and you probably share with me a longing for the day when the world seemed to be a safer place in which to live. Over the past 25 years a number of movements have gathered steam. One is nationalism and those without a homeland with its own national borders are frequently willing to go to any lengths, including violent ones, to correct this perceived wrong. Just look at the separatist movement in Quebec but the same is to be found all over the world. One glaring example is that of the Kurds who have no homeland but are located in no less than four different countries: Iran, Iraq, Turkey and Syria. Others frequently in the news are the Basque movement in Spain and Chechmans in southern Russia or even Kashmir which is torn between India and Pakistan. Another undesirable trend, in the eyes of many, is that of globalization. People frequently fear what they do not understand md there is no doubt that this current trend Joes have some negative characteristics. It ends to take decisions out of the hands of Because finally, somebody got the idea of public art right. Canada does not have a great record in this department. Back in 1968, a mural depicting the history of flight by Greg Cumoe was unveiled at Dorval Airport in Montreal. U.S. Customs Officials spied a bomb-dropping American pilot in the mural who bore an uncanny resemblance to then-U.S. President Lyndon Johnson. Said officials blew a collective head-gasket and demanded immediate removal of the entire mural. The Canadian Department of Transport, being the Consortium of Chickenbleeps they are, (President Johnson WAS carpet-bombing Vietnam at the time) complied cravenly and instantly. We don’t even do monuments to our own aeronautical history well. A trip down Toronto’s University Avenue will eventually fetch you up against one of the most ghastly pieces of public art ever perpetuated on a free people anywhere. It is called The Canadian Airmen’s Memorial. It was meant as a tribute to the many brave men and women who served in Canada’s air forces. It is shockingly ugly - about two storeys worth of bronze squished into a Gumby-like human figure reaching up to a stylized bird. Raymond Canon The International Scene domestic producers and to a degree also 'of governments. A look at Canadian companies that have gone global reveals that they are far more likely to emphasize their internationalism than they are their Canadian origin. The same, however, can be said for similar companies in other countries. Our economy appears to be at the mercy of forces beyond our border which are beyond our control. Then there is the arrival of the computer right down to the personal level. My use of the computer has made life a lot simpler for me in my work but I have no idea where we will be with this mechanism 25 years from now. E- commerce has become a buzz word, with fortunes being made or lost almost overnight but I think my uncertainty is shared by just about everybody who uses a computer in the business world. I recently attended a workshop at which I got the feeling the governments' biggest concern was how quickly they could tax transactions over the internet. (Why am I not surprised?) One of the things that teaching economic history has taught me is that the forecast of dire consequences are seldom realized. I recall the doom and gloom which followed the arrival of the automobile, the decision to do without telephone operators or to switch from steam to diesel or electricity or even nuclear power. Certainly there have been changes and sometimes difficult ones but our success in handling these changes depends for the most We've done worse. Anybody remember Voice of Fire? It’s a painting 18-feet high and eight feet wide consisting of three vertical stripes - blue, red and blue - which the National Gallery of Canada purchased on your behalf and mine, back in 1981 - for a mere one point eight million taxpayer dollars. This being Canada, anyone with the temerity to point out that the painting is crude, uninspiring and could have been executed by an exuberant black Labrador with a paint brush duct taped to its tail, is dismissed as a pre­ literate Philistine. Then there’s my favourite: Vanitas: Flesh Dress for an Albino Anorectic. The title may be banal, but the exhibit certainly wasn’t - 60 pounds of raw pork and beef arranged as a woman’s dress and sponsored by the - wait for it - National Gallery of Canada - back in 1987. The joyous sense of oneness as bluebottles and horseflies co-mingle with wriggling maggots! The thrill of watching meat rot and stink before your eyes! Does Art get any more profound than this? Ralph Kramden would have known how to handle an exhibit like that. He would have looked at it suspiciously from under the peak of his bus driver’s cap, then his eyes would have bugged out, his fists would have balled along the thighs of his bus drivers uniform, his complexion would have transfused into an urgent magenta and he would have roared: “One of these days! One of these days! POW!!!! Right to the moon!” part on our ability to harness these changes for the good of humanity. Then again as a child I recall vividly the great depression followed by a world war of unprecedented intensity. Those formed the background to my life when I left secondary and I frequently wondered if I, who, had escaped the war by a couple of years 'A/ould find myself on the firing line in yet another war. Yet again the world seemed to come to its senses at the last minute, as it frequently does, and we heaved a collective sigh of relief. In short, living on this planet entails a rocky ride with varying degrees of intensity. Someone once said that this reality stinks but it is the only reality we have. Letter Continued from page 4 where eggs come from and seldom get a chance to learn about farm safety. For these reasons, we as farmers need to continue to get the message out, to tell our story about why we do what we do, to teach our children about agriculture. What better way to do this than the Slice of Huron? I am on the Slice of Huron committee and we are looking for more people to help make this happen. The next organization meeting is Oct. 16 at 8 p.m. at the Seaforth Public School Library. Come out and help us demonstrate and teach over 1,000 school children our story, how a wide range of diverse farmers and agri­ business work with nature’s best. The tentative date for Slice of Huron is around April 10. To get involved, please call me at 519-345-2149. Sincerely, Charles Regele Committee member of the Slice of Huron and Vice-President of Huron County Federation of Agriculture. Bonnie Gropp The short of it Blasts from the past They don’t make them like that anymore is something I’m sure most would agree with. However, that this fact might come as a relief to some people was a bit of a reality check for me recently. If I might digress for a minute, dinnertime around our household when I was quite young was full of conversation and people. However, by the time I had reached my teens, it was down to Mom, Dad, me and the TV. Thus, as an adult, I resolved that television would not play a factor in our household at mealtimes, preferring instead to have the sounds of dining muted by music. And so I get to my original point. The other evening over dinner I was enjoying the charms of Gershwin, certain the majority would agree with my choice. However, when I was compelled to stress the aforementioned axiom to my punk-loving son, the only kid among us, it was to have my older brother-in-law surprisingly spit back, “Thank goodness!” Weil, quite frankly I was stupefied. I love music, most kinds, most times. But I will admit a penchant to be somewhat stuck in the past, often even further back than I can actually remember. Thus the fact that someone of my generation would be less than enchanted by songs which are melodious in both music and lyric admittedly came as a bit of a surprise. If purely for nostalgia, the tunes of yesterday put a skip in my step, a song in my heart and a smile on my face. My '■appy reaction to In the Still of the Night is rivalled only by my goofy grin at Itchycoo Park. I was thrilled therefore to discover while at work, a radio on the internet that offers a vast selection of styles from which 'to choose, commercial-free and without the unlunny humour of disc jockeys. I was not only keen to stay at my computer, but did so with a lighter soul. Something happens, you sec, when I hear Sam Cooke's honey sweet tenor serenade me with Only Sixteen or The Left Banke’s lilting Just Walk Away Renee. Certainly all music has the power to affect you. The blues can move you, classical music can embrace you and punk can make you... well, want to hit someone, I suppose. But only the oldies can make this boomer feel like a kid again, with that same free spirit, naivety and reverie. When it comes to the real old stuff, like Gerswhin, Glenn Miller or Berlin, I am a youngster delighted by the afternoon matinee musical on television. Hey Paul, and I’m a child listening to my brother and sister harmonize. The Twist and I’m showing my parents and sibs a thing or two on the dance floor. Fortunate Son and I’m a hippie-in­ waiting. The memories of my life have been told and re-told to me through music. More often than not nowadays, the tunes emanating from th^ stereo are questionable in their musicality. I do enjoy, I admit, groups such as Green Day or No Use for a Name. I like some of my husband’s more recent rock and roll favourites. But I staunchly maintain that the way it was when it comes to music will always be my fondest. It’s a notion I voice frequently. Stairway to Heaven will soothe me probably while on my way there. That the tunes my kids enjoy will have the same staying power, will hold the same magic, is doubtful to me.