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The Citizen, 2003-10-29, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 29, 2003. PAGE 5. Other Views The American way of death My favourite news story this month? No contest: the one that emanated from the leafy undulating bowers of Toronto’s most famous marble orchard - Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Just about everybody who was anybody in Hogtown is planted in Mount Pleasant. Glenn Gould is buried there, as is a raft of blueblood Westons, Eatons and Masseys. Why, even Canada’s 10th Prime Minister, William Lyon Mackenzie King is interred in Mount Pleasant, and you’re welcome to visit his gravesite. But if you pull out a Kodak Instamatic to immortalize the moment, you’ll be busted faster than you can say Svend Robinson. Last month when two ten-year-old grade school kids tried to take a photo of King’s headstone as part of a school history project, a security guard ran up and told them they were facing a fine of 150 bucks if they pressed the shutter release. What’s more, the Rent-A-Cop’s boss backed him up. Dennis Moir, director of cemetery services for Mount Pleasant, told a reporter that it was company policy to “protect the information” on headstones. “The bylaw is to protect the people who are buried there,” Moir explained. Uh....Earth to Mister Moir: the permanent residents of Mount Pleasant no longer need to be shielded from unwelcome publicity. They’re dead, Dennis. Besides, it’s not like Mackenzie King’s gravesite is hidden from public view. There’s a huge bronze plaque by the headstone, courtesy of the federal government, outlining King’s accomplishments — in both official languages. McGuinty aims for squeaky clean Liberal Premier Dalton McGuinty keeps emphasizing his ministers and staff should keep their noses clean, which shows he knows a lot about his party’s weaknesses. The new premier warned his MPPs to “beware of human frailties” and said political staff he appoints will undergo unusually rigorous screening hoping they can avoid getting into conflicts of interest, particularly in using positions for personal gain. McGuinty must have been guided by what happened after the last Liberal government under premier David Peterson took office in 1985, although he was not in the legislature at that time. Before Peterson could get the furniture straightened out in his office. Liberal staff and ministers started to become involved in an unprecedented succession of indiscretions and this contributed to the Liberals eventually being defeated and removed from office. Peterson’s campaign jnanager in the election, Ross McGregor, sent letters to businesses suggesting they hire his public relations consultancy because he had special access to government and the premier had to deny it and cut their connections. Elinor Caplan, chair of management board of cabinet, which has a finger in all government operations, was forced to resign after her financial consultant husband was found to have advised a company when it obtained $3 million aid from the province, for which it gave him a bonus. This broke a rule that ministers’ spouses are not permitted to have interests in firms contractually involved with government. Caplan has found a more congenial life as a minister in Ottawa and her son David was sworn in as McGuinty’s minister for renewing public infrastructure. Rene Fontaine, minister of northern There’s a photograph of Prime Minister King in his, well, prime. There’s even a Canadian flag fluttering over his grave. The man was one of the most successful (and eccentric) politicians this country ever spawned, and the cemetery authorities are doing everything in their power to ensure we all forget him. How quintessentially Canadian. And how unlike our Yankee Doodle Dandy cousins to the south. To Americans, death isn’t something to be spoken of in whispers, it’s a curtain call. A last hurrah. Consider Gene Roddenberry, the man who gave us the TV show, Star Trek. No mumbled prayers and an anonymous parking spot six feet under for Gene. He arranged to have his body cremated and the ashes tamped into a shotgun-shell sized aluminum tube. The tube was then slipped into a satellite launch vehicle and flung into space to orbit the earth for eternity. There are other options for Americans. There’s a firm in Georgia called Eternal Reefs where clients can have their mortal ‘cremains’ kneaded into an environmentally safe concrete ball and lowered into the Atlantic Ocean to become an integral part of reef rehabilitation. Eternal Reefs charges customers a little under $5,000 U.S. to swim with the fishes. development and mines, had to resign after he failed to disclose publicly he owned shares in a mining company. As minister, he could have made decisions affecting their value. Two successive solicitor generals, responsible for police and under a special duty to uphold the law, were sent packing. Ken Keyes had alcohol served on a police launch and violated the law that permitted consumption only in a residence or licensed premises. Joan Smith turned up at a police station and enquired about a family friend who had been arrested, which could be seen as an attempt to influence police to go easy on a friend. Peterson’s most senior aide, Gordon Ashworth, left after being found accepting a free refrigerator and home decorating arranged by Patti Starr, a Liberal insider and lobbyist for a developer who presumably would have expected something in return. Four other ministers were relieved of their posts after they either accepted larger election donations than permitted, or donations from a charity Starr controlled, which also breached the law, or had family who accepted Starr’s largesse, all of which put them under some obligation.. The New Democrat government that succeeded the Liberals had almost as many resignations for indiscretions, but most were not as serious, because the NDP became over­ sensitive and fired ministers at the mere hint of Tick off the Jersey mob and they’ll do the job for free - but you only get the cement galoshes. Perhaps the most American send-off of all is available from a California concern called Celebrate Life. For as little as three grand, the folks at CL will take one’s ashes, cram them into various roman candles, pinwheels, starbursts and blast them off over the ocean in a fireworks extravaganza as the sun goes down. Their brochure says “Fireworks are accompanied by favourite musical passages (of the deceased)....special effects include red- white-and-blue fireworks exploding to Proud to Be an American ...also green fireworks lighting up When Irish Eyes Are Smiling ... (Naw. If I was going to go out that way I’d want The Doors doing Light My Fire or Mick prancing out Jumpin’ Jack Flash.) And for those who don’t want to be shot into space, dropped into the ocean or stuffed into a firecracker, there’s always the Big Chill. A Swedish scientist by the name of Susanne Wiigh-Masak has been freeze-drying the corpses of pigs and cows. She immerses the bodies in liquid nitrogen, then she bombards them with sound waves to shatter the stiffs into a bazillion pieces. Wiigh-Masak points out that her method uses no fossil fuels and doesn’t pollute the atmosphere with smoke. Plus, she says, the odourless powder that remains behind makes great potting soil. I can see Mackenzie King going for that. As a guy who ‘counseled’ Ottawa hookers, asked his dead mother for political guidance and talked to his shaving mug, King was more than a little potty in real life. a scandal. Zanana Akande for instance was dropped because tenant' in a house she owned complained she was rent-gouging and, although a rent review tribunal cleared her, she never was returned to cabinet. Will Ferguson stepped down after a woman claimed he helped her escape from a girls’ training school when both were teenagers, but although a court cleared him, he was not reinstated. The Progressive Conservatives under premiers Mike Harris and Ernie Eves jettisoned Chris Stockwell and Cam Jackson for having lavish expenses and Steve Gilchrist because critics made public he had a conviction for tax evasion long before being elected an MPP. But other departures such as those of Bob Runciman and Jim Wilson were for the more technical faults of their staffs making public confidential information on individuals and they were quickly reinstated. The Tories, although they have never been given credit for it, have by far the best record for keeping their cabinets intact and this is perhaps the one Tory feat the Liberals will try to emulate. Letters Policy The Citizen welcomes letters to the editor. Letters must be signed and should include a daytime telephone number for the purpose of verification only. Letters that are not signed will not be printed. Submissions may be edited for length, clarity and content, using fair comment as our guideline. The Citizen reserves the right to refuse any letter on the basis of unfair bias, prejudice or inaccurate information. As well, letters can only be printed as space allows. Please keep your letters brief and concise^ > Bonnie Gropp The short of it Fun or not? Who’s that knocking on my door? It’s that time of year again, that up and down, back and forth, forget about relaxing after a hard’s day work time. I have to be honest. I’ve never considered myself a big fan of Halloween. Oh, certainly as a kid it brought me my share of enjoyment (highjinks) - as well as cavities, sore stomachs and when I was older, grounding. Ideas about what you were going to be, the houses you needed to visit for the biggest score filled friendly chats for weeks. And the actual night was always fun. When I was tiny it was all about the candy, unimagined riches of chocolate and sugar never seen at at any other time of year. By pre­ adolescence it was the thrills and chills of being out on your own with a group of friends. The evening darkness was the backdrop for tremulous excitement, making even the familiar strange. As we giggled over our anonymity, that of others could terrify. But as an adult, as the big night approaches I really struggle to find the charm. The threat of mischief and vandalism, costumeless big kids with pillowcases chock full of candies, and the aforementioned chaotic hopping up and down to answer the door when all I want to do is sit with my feet up, fail to inspire excitement. With the exception of the tiny trick-or-treaters, those little cuties dressed like the hero du jour, who comprise perhaps a third of the total number knocking on my door, I wouldn’t miss it if Halloween suddenly dropped off the calendar. At least that’s what I always say. For weeks before the big event I grumble about spending money so I’ll have enough goodies when kids come to mooch them from me I bemoan the silliness of the wnole practice, and complain about how it destroys an o herwise pleasantly quiet night. And decorate for Hallowed ? Forget it. I don’t like black and orange. I’m sure not fond of skeletons and I don’t need the extra work. I am Fright Night’s answer to Scrooge. But then a funny thing starts to happen. A feu days before Oct. 31, I generally find myself rushing around to buy a pumpkin and make a face, as it were. After all, if my costumeless house doesn’t deter the happy Halloweeners, and it never seems to, then I might as well create some seasonal welcome, I suppose. The clock continues to tick down to the big night, and I’m suddenly thinking about a costume for me. I should dress up for work, for handing out the treats. What can I be? What will I wear? Then my voice of sanity prevails asking me “Why do I care?”. Now too often when I ask people around my house a question I don’t get an answer. Therefore I was certainly going to answer my own. And what I realized is that I care because I’m not a total fuddy-duddy. I still have a sense of the child, a level of silliness. And I care because I know that the dread always dissipates with the first tiny thump on my front door. The fact that this happens just as I’m finally sitting down to my supper matters not a whit, as before me stands cherubic-faced devils, bewitching witches and tiny ghouls and goblins. So essentially I guess I would have to say it’s the idea of Halloween that’s not so popular with me. It may not be Christmas, it may not be a birthday but once I get there it’s really not so bad.