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Times-Advocate, 1984-01-25, Page 50 4' Tim•s-Advocate, January 25, 1984 i Imes -. dvocate Times Established 1873 Serving South Huron, North Middlesex Advocate Established 1881 & North Lambton Since 1873 Amalgamated 1924 Published by l.W. Eedy Publications limited LORNE EEDY Publisher JIM BECKETT Advertising Manager BILL BATTEN ROSS HAUGH Editor Assistant Editor HARRY DEVRIES Composition Manager DICK JONGKIND Business Manager Published Each Wednesday Morning at Exeter, Ontario Second Class Mail Registration Number 0386. SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Canada: $22.00 Per year; U.S.A. $60.00 C.W.N.A., O.C.N.A. CLASS 'A' and 'ABC' Rhetoric solves nothing The purchase of a new tank truck surfaced as ex- pected at last week's meeting of the Exeter and Area Fire Board, but the issue of sharing in its cost was basically side-stepped in favor of pursuing the possibili- ty of repairing the present tanker. That, of course; could reduce the size of the expen- diture, but does nothing to settle the principle involv- ed. It's not only the size of the expenditure that has to be settled, but also the apportionment of that expenditure. Exeter's representatives on the fire board had a mandate from council to solicit a more equitable ap- portionment of the costs on the basis that the tanker wa$ primarily for township use. While that mandate dealt with the purchase of a new tanker, it is difficult to not envision it covering a major repair or replace- ment of parts of it, especially when discussion in- dicated that a piece -meal replacement will eventual- ly cover the whole. An initial question is why it took a conflict over cost sharing to prompt the board to consider the possibili- ty of the less expensive repair or partial replacement route in the first place. There appears a chance the con- flict could end up saving taxpayers in all four municipalities several thousand dollars in the short run, so it certainly has its bright side. However, that question is still secondary to the one regarding thecost apportionment that is in conflict. Exeter council representatives left themselves safely straddling the fence, at least temporarily. Mayor Bruce Shaw outlined the "extremes" the town could take while at the same time noting they want what is reasonable and fair and that there are good arguments in between those extremes. That's political rhetoric that does nothing to in- dicate Exeter's position, either present or future. Tem- porarily side-stepping the conflict does little more than prolong it to the advantage of no one. To a considerable degree, it's the same type of rhetoric which has been used by Exeter officials in their suggestions that the town sips are not con- tributing enough to the rec board budget deficit. - They've cast some aspersions as to the fair play of their township neighbors and engaged in some sabre rattling, which is a negative form of negotiation un- warranted among friends. Surely the time has come for the rhetoric to be replaced by specifics. Which of the extremes, or point between those extremes, are they going to choose in the matter of the tank truck? In the periodic comments on recreation, Exeter of- ficials have used words and phrases such as "ine- quitable", "not a fair share", "Usborne should pay a little more" and other meaningless expressions. Is a little more $500 or is it $5,000? To argue that something is inequitable, while at the same time not having a cor- responding suggestion based on some facts as to what is equitable, doesn't even open the door for debate let alone prompt some voluntary response from those whom one would- hope to elicit a response. With the figures soon to be available from the rec staff regarding the complete financial operation of facilities and programs, Exeter council should draft a specific proposal to the other Municipalities regar- ding cost sharing for both the tank truck and recrea- tion and then open negotiations where the principles and specifics can be reasonably debated by the elected officials and ratepayers involved. Ivory tower rewards There are a variety of reasons why people apply for promotions, the most common being to improve one's salary, foster a sense of achievement and under- take new challenges. Most people recognize that with the new challenges there is usually an incease in the amount of respon- sibility to assume and often .an increased work load. There are always exceptions, of course. In a published interview with a recently appointed vice- principal at a secondary school in Huron, the winning candidate indicated he had applied for the position because he was simply too busy with his adminstrative duties and teaching in his former capacity as a depart- ment head. Hopefully, the new vice-principal is enjoying the reduced activity which he sought as well as the increas- ed salary which goes with the position. However, the inference appears to be that, should he still find the schedule a little too hectic, he could always apply for a principal's or superintendent's postion. So near... and yet so far away A philosopher once said the unexamin- ed life is not worth living. What better time for an introspective journey backward than the beginnitag of a new year? Well, I did, and I wish I hadn't. A tour of my personal archives has convinc- ed me that I, like the fabled poor little match girl, have been fated to be only an observer of the passing parade. From the wrong side of the pane. Though I have often been in the right place at the right time, nothing has happened. ' First, I grew up in Clinton, but had the poor judgment to leave long before two- time Governor General award-winning writer Alice Monro moved in to give the place some glamour and prestige . My high school commercial teacher went on to marry Walter Light, who now commands a salary of more than one-half million annually as president of Northern Telecom. (1 have heard that Mrs. Light is as down-to-earth and likeable now as when 1 knew and respected her as Miss Margaret Miller. ) A Royal visit to Newfoundland provid- ed the circumstances for my best chance for a break -through. Alas, it never materialized. The Queen and Prince Philip were scheduled to land at RCAF Station Torbay, Newfoundland, to be of- ficially welcomed to Canada by Governor General Vincent Massey and Prime Minister John Diefenbaker. The plan call- ed for the federal representatives to im- mediately hand the Royal party over to Premier Joey Smallwood and his provin- cial dignitaries, and retire gracefully from the scene. r t. Did we get to meet the Queen? No. As my husband was President of the Of- ficers' Mess at the time, we were asked to stay behind, watch on TV'while the Commanding Officer, his wife and other senior officers were presented to their Reynolds' Rap by Yvonne Reynolds Royal Highnesses, and stand ready to greet the federal party when they came to the Mess for refreshments before wing- ing back to Ottawa. The hand that typed these words has lightly brushed the fingers of our nation's first native governor general, briefly grasped the hand of Dief the Chief, and been warmly clasped by his charming wife Olive. Results? Zero. My husband's posting to Ottawa im- measurably broadened my chance to be at least a footnote in the chr%nicles of time. I don't count being taken to lunch in the parliamentary cafeteria, or seeing one-time Justice Minister Pierre Trudeau on the Sparks Street Mall, or exchanging smiles and hellos with Davidson Dunton while we passed each other on the stairs of Carleton University. I would just as soon forget a telephone interview with the abrasive Charlotte Whitton, and award myself a bare one- half point for being introduced to Romeo LeBlanc, guest speaker at a meeting of the Ottawa Women's Press Club. (The current minister of public works was Trudeau's press secretary at the time.) Fate was determined to give. me another chance, but I blew it, too. Our first address in Ottawa was four doors from the domicile of Robert and Louise Johnstone. At the time Bob (as we called him) was a junior executive with the Bank of Canada. Louise didn't have a floor polisher and often borrowed ours. I remember she entertained (not us) exotically, serving dishes like blueberries and sour cream at a time the only sour' cream I knew about was the kind I found in the pitcher the next day, after it was accidentally left on the kitchen counter all night. Robert Johnstone is now waiting impa- tiently to replace hero Ken Taylor as Canadian consul general in New York, and Louise's nickname "Popsie" pops up in each of the letters written for U.S. and Canadian newspapers by Sondra Cotlieb, wife of our ambassador to Washington. By the way, we haven't heard from the Johnstones for years. Getting the per- sonal autographs of beauty queen Karen Baldwin at an Exeter fashion show, and of astronaut Neil Armstrong at the Wingham plowing match, are poor consolation. Okay, Socrates. i did as you asked, and you socked it to me. Who wants to find out she is nothing but a smudged noseprint on the outside of the glass on history's window? s "Spare a buck for a Lotto ticket to get me back on my feet?" Spreading like the plague If you read in the papers one of these days about some middle-aged guy go- ing berserk and punching a pretty young waitress or bank teller right in the mush for no apparent reason, you'll know it was I, driven finally over the brink by that inanity to end them all, "Have a nice day It may happen in a restaurant. It will be just after that waitress has served me lukewarm soup, followed by filet of sole. The filet will turn out to be of the boot variety, rather than the sea varie- ty, and I will just have broken a tooth on it. As I am fumbling fragments of bone out of my face, she will sashay off to serve another customer, hips twitching, and toss over her shoulder at me a gay "Have a nice meal, now." That's when Iwill let her have it. Or it might occur on a Friday afternoon, in the bank. The weather forecast is for blizzards, I'm in a snarky mood, on my way to have two teeth extracted, and my ar- thritis is giving me a fair- ly lively foretaste of hell. And this young teller, her feet aching, slaps down my withdrawal, summons an exhausted smile from down around her pan- tyhose, and chirrups, "Have a nice weekend, eh?" It's not the grammar or the verbiage I object to. It's the utter insincerity of the suggestion.- It means just about as much as if the speaker blew his/her nose and spat into the wind. And it's pretty obvious where it came from. It's one of those American imports that should be banned at the border. It has crept across via the airwaves, issued in treac- ly tones by signing -off dise jockeys and game show MCs. And it has been copied by Canadian media peo- ple, who ape automatical- Sugar and Spice Dispensed By Smiley ly the mis, pronunciations of their U.S. counter- parts, such as eggsacution for "execution" and noshus for "nauseous." From there it has spread like the Black Plague into our airlines, hotels, restaurants, and even our sacred institu- tions like the• banks. I haven't been in a bordello lately, but I'd be willing to bet that when a customer totters off shaky and un- shaven into the cold dawn, the madame will coo after him in dulcet tones, "Have' a nice day, now." I have a strong suspi- cion the damn thing originated - in the deep south, along with such heart -felt maxims as "Y 'all come back real soon, y'heah." Which means, roughly, if you want to be ripped off again in our j'int, we'll be hap- py to oblige. I refuse to believe all those waitresses, air stewardesses, bank clerks are spouting this garbage from deep in their hearts. Those gals are tuckered out. They don't give a did - dle whether we drop dead, as long as we do it in front of somebody else's wicket. No, they've been coerc- ed into this phoney farewell by the Simon Legrees they work for, the type who think that if the clerks utter such slop in the Holiday Inn in Texas, they shoulddo the same in. the Holiday Inn in Toronto. And they're the guys I have it in for, not the poor underlings, forced to soil their lips with an artifical cynical so -long that raises the hackles on the likes of me. At first I responded to this silly utterance with a reluctant and very concise "Thanks, You too." As I became more disgusted with the obvious falsity of such as the den- tist absentmindedly mut- tering "Have a good day" just after he'd drilled two and yanked one, my response subsided to a grunt. Next step will be to look one of the idiots who issue this inanity right in the eye and camly ask: "Are you kidding? Who told you to say that? Do you mean it? What do you care what kind of day I have? I don't really care what kind you have. This might make a few of the more sensitive one blush. But most of them would just drop their jaw and wonder whether old Smiley had got into the sauce, to make him so snarly. It may take stronger measures, and I hope many of my readers who agree with me will join in putting a halt to this per- nicious poop. If it happens in a public place, perhaps we should call the manager and say This young lady/man is interfering in my private life, in my democratic right to have a rotten day/weekend if I feel like it. Now you, buster, just tell her never to insult another customer with that silly saying, or I'll take my business elsewhere." This is the only language understood by the type of turkey who thinks such garbage as "Have a good day" is good public relations. Hit him where it hurts. In the P.P. panic pocket. Perhaps I am over- reacting. I have been known to do this in connec- tion with Celsius, metric, politicians of every hue, greedy unions, misleading advertisements, town engineers, school ad- ministrators, and abut 12,000 other things, in- . eluding the highway rob- bers known as garage mechanics. Maybe it will pass away, along with other such worn -to -the -heels ex- pressions as "That'll be the frosty Friday" and "All righty" and the ubi- quitous "Turkey", which seems to coyer a multitude of mental and physical abberrations. But in case it doesn't, keep your dukes up, you purveyors of "Have a good...." Computers can't do thinking As I said last week, we can expect some exciting, frightening changes wjth the advent of the com- puter age. About four years agq I was shown a computer for . the first time. Oh, I had seen the great big ones at the university years ago. Whirling tape reels, flashing lights, and whir- ring slots that spat out those little punched cards as fast as the eye could blink. Being no mathemati- cian and no computer science major I realized that i had no hope of ever touching one of the beasts. Besides, what good were they, other than messing up my hydro bill. with it, since I'm a regular klutz with anything mechanical. How would I Perspectives By Syd Fletcher Then, I was shown one of these micro -computers that were just out on the market. It looked like a typewriter with a built-in TV screen. I wondered if it would break if I fiddled WM ever understand those weird marks and funny symbols on the screen? What if it blew up? Rest assured. It didn't blow up and despite the sophistication and capabilities of the com- puter anyone of normal in- telligence (and that means you or you wouldn't be reading this) can operate or program a computer. If I can do it, anyone can. Just remember that a computer is just a machine. It cannot think. It has no intelligence and can only do what is told to do. It works with amazing lightning -like speed but it is totally dependent on the humans who program it. Next week, an explana- tion of what a computer really is.