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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Expositor, 1984-03-28, Page 2SINCE 1860; SERVING. THE COMMI.jhiiTY FIRST • A Incorporating l3russe(4 PSS$ N ` 10 Main Street n Published in SEAFORTH, ONTARIO Every Wednesday morning JOCELYN A. SHIVER, Publisher RON WASSINK, Editor: KATIE O'LEARY, Advertising Representative Member Canadian Community Newspaper Assoc Ontario Community Newspaper Association and Audit Bureau of Circulation Ontario Press Council Commonwealth Press Union International Press Institute Subscription rates: Canada $18.75 ayear (In advance) Outside Canada $55.00 a year (In advance) Single Copley s 50 cents each SEAFORTH, ONTARIO,WEDNESDAY, MARCH 28, 1984 Second class mall registration Number 0698 527-0240. Go Bantams! For the first time in 30 years, a Seaforth minor hockey team will vie for an all -Ontario championship. The Seaforth Bantams realized their goal of playing In the finals when they won their semi-final series over Caledonia Sunday night. The midget team, who also played, in the semi-finals lost their series. But more Seaforth fans attended midget games than bantam playoff games. But it's the support of the fans that can help win a hockey game. This was evident when the midgets played a game. last week to an almost capacity crowd. The fans went wild, especially when the team scored three goals in 20 seconds to win. The bantams, like the midgets, need the support of their Seaforth fans If only for the sake of people cheering them on to show they appreciate the team has made it to all -Ontario. And cheering Is what the team needs. Sunday night, the arena was packed with fans. Though there were fewer out-of-town supporters than home -town, the out-of-towners out yelled and out cheered Seaforth, 2-1, This overwhelming show of support boosted the morale of the opposing team. Seaforth players, after the game, said they wished Seaforth had been more vocal. Let's try for a full house this Friday when the Bantams play their second game against Sutton in Seaforth. The team will not only need your vocal support, but also financial support. Bring your horns, bells and voices and cheer on a team which will play in the ail -Ontario finals for the first time In three decades. Other fans make noise and cheer. Why can't we? It could make the difference between winning and losing. As bantam coach Charlie Akey says, "We're at the door and alt we have to do is kick It in." Let's help him! Rape is no joke Rape Is no joke. That's what the four men ,found guilty of raping a 22 -year-old woman on a barroom pool table In New Bedford, Massachusetts discovered after being sentenced from six to 12 years in prison for their crime. The gang rape, which started out "Just as a Joke", occurred while other men in the bar cheered like they were at a baseball game. But It has ended with serious consequences for all Involved. The rape itself was an unexcusable act of violence. What Is even more disturbing is the attitude by most of the others in the bar which condoned and even encouraged the rape to take place. The men in the bar did not act to help the. woman. The two Men acquitted of rape charges were accused of encouraging the attack yelling "Do It!" every day, women of all ages live with the possibility that they could be raped. To the potential victim, there is nothing funny about such a brutal violation. And, every so-called Joke about rape condones the act itself. Most people will agree that the gang rape which happened In Big Dan's bar in New Bedford, Mass. was a serious crime. But, to prevent such a crime from occurring again, we should all take a long, sober look at our own attitudes. If we were standing in that bar the night of Mar. 6, 1983, what would we have done? - S.M. Got a beef? Write a letter to the editor SEAPORTH' .G ON members did a super Job cooking a.meal for. the Legion Ladies Auxiliary on Saturday night. But the guys did have some problems. Gord Scott received a helping hand from his wife, Barbara to put on his apron, The apron was actual lye pinsstripers uniform. Charlie Wood, above, was chief conk and Cleave Coombe, top left, assisted In the vegetable department.. (Wassink photps) Weddings should be special There's something about spring that brings the crazy out in most people. The ,proverbial saying, "a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love" is especially true at this time of year. Spring is a time when a couple talks of marriage. And many do get married. Even before April showers have a chance to bring May flowers, brides-to-be are feted at "showers" - showers where there is no rain, or for that matter, alcohol. Meanwhile, some grooms -to -be are cele- brating their last moment of freedom in a friends driving shed, at what's called a stag party. And don't for a minute think the guys are enjoying a cup of tea while they play, "drop the clothes pin in the bottle with your hands tied behind your back and at the same time hold an egg on a spoon between your teeth" game. The pre -wedding parties aren't all that bad. Sure the girls eat too many sweets and the guys imbibe a bit too much, but it's the weddings themselves that are getting out of hand. If weddings continue as events to see who can outdo the other, then who can blame couples for living together, SENSE AND NONSENSE by Ron Wassink Marriage for most couples is a special occasion. Sure there are times when the best man paints the letters "HE" and "LP" ,on the bottom of a groom's shoes so that wen 'the couple knelt for the blessing, the guests had'.a chuckle. Getting married is serious business, or it , used to be. It's also big business. There's the hall to rent, caterers to hire, band to reserve, and photographer to smile at. WANT TO BE ON TV But some marriage ceremonies aren't sacred anymore. Today, couples, are vying for television coverage, hoping to make it on the prime time TV shows such as "That's • Incredible" or "Real People". They may 'even be trying to get into the Guii#ess World Book of Records with their unusual wedding. Who would ever think of getting hitched In a burning house? A Georgia couple did. The pair walked into a burning house,_ repeated their wedding vows while the groom's fire department buddies controlled the blaze by hosing down hot -spots. The couple wore yellow raincoats and the bride'$ veil was treated with aflame retardant. Wheep jhe•ai , minute. cet•eMPO Wilasspyefz,. ARAM M., �laL engulfed the house. How do you like_ that for a hot relatie hip? Here's another.' Two lovebirds got off 'on fitness. Their idea was to get married while they jogged for 10 kilometers. The problem was finding a preacher to perform the ceremony while running back- wards. The bouncing couple were wed; and held hands from start til finish. Let's hope their marriage doesn't wear out as fast as their running shoes will. FELL FOR EACH OTHER Then there was the couple that just fell for each other. They made it on live television. Boyfriend and girlfriend leaped out of an airplane along with the minister and completed their vows before they hit -the ground. Yes, they were wearing parachutes. A soggy relationship was the climax of another wedding when a couple along with their wedding party did their thing on water skits. The minister didn't ski backwards—but used a bullhorn to pronounce the pair husband and wife. The bride looked fabulous in her water soaked wedding dress. It used to be that church parlour weddings . o ,tg (justjcesnf , e„peaFe) marriages were,—. M aLa,-many,casessthey. still are... ... Marriage is the starting point of a couple's life, Weddings weren't always splashy, keeping -up -with -the -Jones affairs. By keep- ing a wedding ceremony simple, anything that happened -afterwards would make a marriage that much more exciting. Now all the excitement happens on one day, whether. it's jogging or a burning house. The day-to-day routine of being husband and wife must certainly be boring after the fire's been put out and the parachute deflated. Could this be the reason for the increase in divorce rates? A sense of community is almost alien It wasn't the kind of place you'd be likely to pick out to stop to eat if you were just driving down the highway but since it was right next door to the motel we were staying at and the next restaurant was miles away, we tried it, From the outside, it wasn't much. It's early 1950's•' packing -crate architecture didn't make the kind of impression that would stop you ,from passing on to the nearest golden arches if you were a stranger to the city. Neither did the appearance that sales of paint weren't soaring in this town because of this restaurant owner. it was a bleak building behind a bleak parking lot on a bleak urban sprawl strip on the outskirts of a southern Ontario city. Inside wasn't encouraging either. The floor had tiles missing. The benches looked like they'd been reclaimed from a junked school bus. The wall decoration was mostly calendars and posters for hockey games. TO THE EDITOR War experiences wanted To the Editor: For the past two years, I have been researching a book detailing the experi- ences of Canadians who served or worked in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam Era. To date, i have confirmed several hundred Canadians who served with U.S., Australian and New Zealand Armed Forces m Vietnam as well as Canadian troops who served with the series of International Controls Commissions between 1954-73, Canadian journalists, doctors, nurses and others whose duties ranged from covert operations to rescuing orphans. I am appealing to your readers, who may have served or know someone who did, to, contact: Doug Clark, 7 Douglas Crescent, Fergus Ontario, NIM ICI. 519-843-4019. Thanking you in advance for your assistance, i remain, Yours truly Doug Clark Donations help disabled Dear Citizens of Seaforth & Area: On behalf of the Ontario March of Dimes I wish to express my sincere appreciation to all who were involved with our recent campaign. It is only through the assistance of our dedicated volunteers and your generous contribution that our organization is able to help disabled men and women to live full and equal lives. I am pleased to inform you that $2360 was donated and it has been forwarded to head office in Toronto. If you still wish to make a contribution You may forward it to Boat 142, Seafotth, Ont. Thelma Coombs Campaign Chairman Ontario March of Dimes Seaforth & Area ...411mmimlef ma.) BEIIND THE SCENES by Keith Roulsto.n But It must have something goJi'ig,for it. Theparkingiot was full of'pickup`trieks and the vans of local carpenters and ektricians. The stream of people coming in the door was •cdnstant. The•booths were mostly5full. 'The food? It was good solid, Canadian fare. Nothing great. Not even incredibly cheBut after 10 tniautes sitting at a table by the door it became evident why this place was popular. The owner exchanged a teasing banter with customers when they paid their bills. He poured a cup of coffee and took a muffin from the jar and went over and sat dnwn with one customer, then waved a sign to the waitress not to charge another customer whom he owed a favor to. An old tractor pulled up in the parking lot and the owner hobbled in to the restaurant on crutches: By the time he arrived the waitress had a table set and a coffee waiting forhim and then scolded him good-naturedly when he picked another table than the one she'd prepared. People here on the edge of the city came here more for the sense of community than for the food. That was the secret. There is an instinct in people that is as strong as the instinct to eat: an instinct to relax with people we know and enjoy being with. it's an instinct that seems almost alien in the modern world. The specialists from big businessmen sitting in front of computers figuring where the population trends say a new fast food restaurant should go, to the government tax people who want to be able to reduce everything to a computer code, seem to want to rid us of this unfortunate need but people find a way to find a community anyway. it's almost like an underground society today. The chamber of commerce of that city won't point with pride to that shabby restaurant -on the edge of town. it will point instead at the shining new downtown shopping mall, the huge hotel complex on the other side of town, the strip where McDonald's and Barger King and Mother's flash their beckoning lights at potential customers. But in that dilapidated little restaurant, humanity goes on. And in a way, that's more important than anything the fancy places can offer, Dad was the worst driver I knew Driving down the highway last Sunday night, i found myself cursing with a fine, taut vehemence that sounded vaguely familiar. The object of my affection was an approaching driver who refused to dish his lights, and I nearly went into the ditch in a combination of blindness and rage. When I had cooled down (,•,tried to remember where I'd heard those particular phrases before, in just that tone. Then I knew — my Dad had used them,in identical tones and an identical situation, about 55 • yearsbefore. Except that he had gone in the ditch. i guess my father, and i say it with pride, was the worst driver that ever came over a hill right smack in the centre of the road. He wasn't reckless, careless or a showoff. He was just an incredibly bad driver. Of course he was about 40 when he bought his first car: I believe it was a 1923 Chev. He was the steadiest man alive, but every so often he'd do something on the spur of the moment. That's the way he got the car. Plunked down the cashtook a driving lesson, which consisted of twice around the block, and drove it home. He tore in the gate at full bore, completely forgot hove to stop,' and went right through the back of the bares— never forget the annual trite to the cottage in the "Old Chev" as it is still fondly known in the family. It was about 85 miles, and an all -day journey in those days, My SUGAR AND SPICE by Bill Smiley Dad would be up bright and early and would lash all the heavy luggage to the bumpers, roof and rtinningboards. As soots as breakfast was over, he'd go out, walk around the Old Chev, give the tires a kick and climb in'. There he'd sit and honk the horn angrily, while my mother ran around the house like a demented person, grabbing up babies, lunches, jars of preserves and all manner of things. Then, with us kids piled in the back, on topofthe bedding, we were off, with a great grinding of gears and lurching until we got ora the open road. After ten miles or se, ray Mother would be almost relaxed, whets Dad hadn't hit any loose gravel and had managed to avoid several cars coming , from the opposite direction. • But then we'd come to a detour. In those days, the detours weren't the simple swing -outs we have now, oogs a highway construction job. They were s'Tieer tests of nerve andkill. with wobbfey Woodenbridges, cliffs of crashed rock; holes you could lose a hippo in and murderous bits of bog The next five minutes were sheer terror. We kids clutched each other in the back seat, all eyes and white as paper. My mother clasped the baby close to her breast, dropped her head and moved her lips rapidly. My Dad glared ferociously at the hazards, ground his teeth and pressed through, hitting the holes with a bone -jar- ring drop, skidding perilously near the edge of a minor precipice, and confounding the blasted idiots who had created the detour. Limp and sweafing, we were always glad of the flat tire that inevitably followed the detour. We'd pile out, hop the fence and dash about like animals let out of a cage. My mother would head thankfully for the shade of a tree and change the babes diaper, while Dad changed the tire, with appropriate incantations. Next major panic was getting the Old Chev onto the ferry. We had to cross the Ottawa River, and it was a great thrill each year. But watcfling,Dad trying to get that car ontothe ferry was enough to mark a child for life. Year after year, when he saw my father drive up, the ferry captain would roll his eyes and run for help. He'd enlist the engineer, the wheeisman, and every inno- cent by-stander, warn them, and arm them all with large chocks for throwing before and behind the wheels, Eventually, Dad would get the Old Chev wedged across the ferry so that nobody else could get on or off. The skipper would throw up his arms, shrug eloquently to the rest of the waiting cars and cast off. Dad would sit triumphantly in the car, ready to scare everybody out of another year's growth when we got to the other side of the river. There was only one other, obstacle that really put us through the wringer, and that was The Big Hill, a few miles before we reached the lake. We'd go down a long, steep hill and right back up another one, longer and steeper. Each year we prayed we'd make it. Each year we all threw body English into the halting climb. And each year, Dad would forget to change into low soon enough, and stall about 20 feet from the top. Then there was the dreaded ordeal of backing down for another run, and the final ignominy of going and fetching the farmer with his team, after three futile and fearful attempts. Nowadays, when 1 see a movie about teenage hot -rod drivers, playing "chicken" and taking supposedly awe-inspiring chances, I just sneer, One trip to the cottage in the, Old Chevy with my Dad, and those punks would never have the nerve to climb into an automobile again.