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The Citizen, 2005-10-27, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2005. PAGE 5. Other Views And your next PM is .. I've just been in a motel room with the next Prime Minister of Canada. The Quality Resort on Dogwood Street in Parksville, B.C.. of all places. I checked into room 306, tossed my backpack on the double bed, flipped on the TV and there he was, a pug-faced guy standing behind a lectern with an Empire Club of Canada logo on it. He was talking about our country and The Loud Cousin next door and the profound differences between the two. The guy looked anything but slick. In fact, he looked like an ex-hockey player and he talked like a meat-and-potatoes guy — with a brain. He didn’t use notes or cue cards or a TelePrompTer. The crawl line at the bottom of my TV screen identified him as Frank McKenna. Hell, I knew Frank McKenna. Used to be premier of New Brunswick, right? I knew he'd been down in Washington for the past while, knocking heads with U.S. diplomats as the Canadian ambassador, but I’d never thought about him much. Or heard him speak. I watched him for 25 minutes, standing there in room 306, my remote clicker in one hand, my room key in the other. "Son of a gun," I said to myself approxi­ mately. “This guy’s our next prime minister.” Understand that I have no inside information to base that on. It’s right from the gut. And it came from watching him on TV. Which was transformational in itself. I hardly ever watch TV anymore and when I do, I tolerate it more than enjoy it. To me, television is like some garrulous, dim-witted neighbour, half in the bag, yakking Stars’flight linked to Ontario politics Actor Warren Beatty is considering running against California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and it recalls a link he has to Ontario politics as dramatic as any of his movies. Beatty, a longtime Democrat, accused Schwarzenegger, a Republican, of governing by spin and photo ops and being a lackey of President George W. Bush. Beatty said he has not made a decision, but would not lule out running. U.S. media have dubbed it a race between Dick Tracy and The Terminator and it would create almost as much interest as that for the presidency. Beatty’s sister, Shirley MacLaine, in Toronto promoting her new film, added the only thing that might prevent him running is he has young children, by his actress wife, Annette Bening, yet another star. (It normally is difficult working such celebrated names into a Queen’s Park column.) Beatty and MacLaine emigrated to the U.S. from Nova Scotia and their link to politics here was through an uncle, Alex MacLeod, who moved to Ontario and was that rarity, a Communist or Labor-Progressive member of the legislature, from 1943-51. McLeod was admired by all parties for his erudition and oratory and after he was defeated Progressive Conservative premier Leslie Frost paid him the tribute “the opposition has lost 50 per cent its membership.” Frost found MacLeod work editing a government publication on human rights and writing speeches. MacLeod by now was disillusioned with Communism, particularly over its treatment of those in occupied countries, and Frost explained he never was a doctrinaire Communist, but a fighter for the underjjog. MacLeod wrote speeches for John Robarts, who followed Frost as Tory premier. One is remembered particularly, because in it Robarts about irrelevant stuff in a meaningless way. Watching and listening to McKenna was different. He connected. He made sense. As 1 watched, the thought unfolded in the back of my brain that we have all been living under an intercontinental cone of bullshit for some time. And it seems to me that Frank McKenna comes from somewhere outside that cone. As compared to, say, pretty well everyone else on the political front. Think of George W. and his monkey/weasel smirk. Think of Paul Martin and his endless, empty blather. Think of Stephen Harper dressed like Howdy Doody for a Calgary Wild West photo op. Or Jack Layton posturing behind his Charlie Chaplin soupstrainer. Gilles Duceppe in a hairnet. Actors, every one. And bad ones at that. They don’t call it the political stage for nothing. When’s the last time you believed anything you heard a politician say? I can't even remember. Well, yes I can, come to think of it - although the politician was a greenhorn. It was when Michaelle Jean became our governor general. The speech she made was so eloquent, so passionate and so obviously heartfelt it made me weep with pride. Eric Dowd From Queen’s Park welcomed Quebec premier Jean Lesage warmly to Toronto and expressed an interest in Quebec’s aspirations that launched him as a builder of national unity. MacLeod later did research and speech­ writing for education minister William Davis, Robarts’s heir-apparent, and had a small room on an upper floor where politicians and reporters, including this writer, trekked, seeking his insights, which he provided with calm, good humour and command of language. McLeod was crossing a Toronto street when he was hit by a car and killed. He left a son, David, then in his 20s and an aspiring politician. David became an aide to Davis as education minister and premier, particularly helping arrange his itinerary and virtually always travelling with him. This is how he came to be beside Davis in the most famous photograph of the premier, taken soon after his party chose him leader in 1971. Davis was visiting Ontario Place, the innovative entertainment centre the province had built on the Toronto waterfront. Davis never had been thought of as having charisma. He had been noted for small-town, short-back-and-sides haircuts and rumpled, brown single-breasted suits, but suddenly swapped them for stylish sideburns, double- breasted grey suits with lapels as wide as Hwy. 401 and ties to match. “Sure, sure.” my brutal inner cynic muttered. “She’s new to politics. She’ll learn.” Maybe not. Frank McKenna talked about our new governor general in my motel room this morning too. He pointed out how amazing it is that we belong to a country where a black Haitian woman can go from refugee status to the highest office in our land in her own lifetime. Couldn't happen down south in Land of the Free. Have to be born in the U.S.A, to become president. If a Haitian refugee can become our governor-general, it goes without saying that a former provincial premier turned ambassador has a pretty decent shot at moving into 24 Sussex, but it’s not a gimme. Besides, what are his strengths? He's an East Coaster — which means he doesn’t have the Bay Street connections of Paul Martin. He’s never been in federal politics, which means he lacks the Tony Soprano management skills of Jean Chretien. His speaking voice is kind of thin and squawky - nothing like the mellifluous church organ basso profundo of Brian Mulroney. But he’s got something. Something I haven’t seen or heard from any politician for a long time. It occurs to me that he is either the best actor I’ve ever seen in politics (and I lived through Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton) or he is that almost unheard of public figure: A Real Person. And if he can reach enough other Canadians the way he reached me in room 306 of the Quality Resort in Parksville this morning, I think he’s got what it takes to be Canada’s next prime minister. If we’re lucky. When Davis descended into the forum, hordes of teenagers rose and many reached out to him and Davis was snapped shaking hands and suddenly seemed like a rock star. The picture showed a different Davis and he liked it so much he used it as the centrepiece of a winning election campaign later that year. Standing beside him, as always, was David MacLeod- David left government quietly three years later, after being convicted of indecent assault, and went to Hollywood and his family helped him find work on movies including associate producer of such films as Reds, starring Beatty, and Ishtar, with Dustin Hoffman. But he was convicted of more sex offences involving boys and fled while on bail in 1989. The FBI put him on its most wanted list, the only time someone from Ontario politics has achieved such distinction. A decade later his frozen body was found on a Montreal street beside a can of lighter fuel from which police believe he had been drinking. Movies seldom have told more tragic stories. 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 guidsline. 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 Missing the familiar They say familiarity breeds contempt, but it's also often a comfort to know what to expect from something. There is a tourist place that has been much­ loved by our family for years. My husband and 1 first started visiting there in our early 20s, so suffice it to say it's been special for quite some time. The attraction for us then was this spot’s unique combination. While its history and architecture definitely made it a stop on the seniors bus trip routes, its night spots and personality appealed to the more youthful visitors. It was quaint, -fun, definitely for tourists, but surprisingly uncommercial and unspoiled. As our family grew, our children started to accompany us and fell in love with the variety of things to see and enjoy. In their eyes we revisited our initial enchantment. It soon became an annual trip until life interceded and scheduling became difficult. Over the last several years, our visits have been sporadic. The infrequency has allowed us each time we return to see the remarkable growth of this community and the loss of some of its charm. Where once it was ‘show the people a good time’, it’s now, like so many places, ‘show us the money’. This past weekend our family enjoyed a lovely time together in this place that had been so special to us for so many years. While it obviously still holds a warm spot in our hearts, we couldn’t help but notice how much had changed. Rather than the plain little motel we used to stay in, which was replaced long ago by a warehouse outlet mall, our accommodation was at an over-priced inn where every bit of entertainment comes with a price tag. Even ping pong paddles cost you. The restaurant where once all you can ea^ seemed worth it even to someone with a bird’s appetite can barely be justified now by the hearty diner, especially after an hour and a half wait for what turned out to be acceptable, but not the palate pleasing meal we remembered. And the wait staff that used to look, and act, as if they loved their job, now look too much like everyone else — wiser, wearier and a little jaded. There were little sounds of disappointment from our group about old haunts that had disappeared, about the crowds and the overly- commercial expansions that had been made. What had once seemed almost like our little secret, a nice, not extravagant, family outing was definitely big business now. None of this is to say we didn’t have fun. Being with family anywhere is as close to perfect as life gets. Add to that that this time we viewed a familiar destination through the wonder-full eyes of our five-year-old grandson and it had to be magical. Also, one can’t ignore that not all of the changes are bad. Some have even managed to add to the history and charm and provide extra interest. Let’s face it without some new additions even good things get boring To keep life fresh and spark interest you have to move forward. Yet, it’s often a little sad to see it happen. We come to love things for certain reasons, thus miss them when they’re gone. Their familiarity may have brought no surprises, but offered a predictability that was comforting. New experiences are exciting and necessary, but it’s the ones we already know and enjoy that we can anticipate with confidence.