My Dog
My dog doan bark.
My dog doan bark.
That dog bark.
His dog bark.
My dog doan bark.
He doan…..
Images
Happy Birthday, Kathi
Wasserman
Jack Wasserman? let me tell you a story…Pretty sure it was 1963. Ron and I headed downtown to see the aftermath of the Greycup. BC lost! There was a kind of riot (nothing like today’s riots but rambunctious enough) As we were walking along Georgia street Ron was almost hit by a water balloon. We were in front of the Georgia hotel and , looking up we could see where the balloon came from; a party about 6 stories up. Ron was incensed.(he was quite a scrappy guy in his teenage years) Dashing down the alley he was able to climb some boxes and grabbed the bottom ladder of the fire escape. Up he went (I followed, what else could I do?) We entered the party and Ron started yelling at people. Jack Wasserman was there and recognized Ron (He and Ron’s dad were great friends) Jack came over and spoke to us. He said that someone had called the cops and we should get out. Caution took over from valour and we went back down the fire escape. In Jack’s column next day he castigated the ‘Thugs’ that crashed his party. Didn’t mention that he knew who we were. I suppose in deference to Ron’s dad.
Flag Waving
Leigh Cross-1979
I was born an American, but I got over it. In 1967, the Viet Nam war was too much for a Korean war veteran, and I decided to emigrate. I had several countries in mind but visited Canada first. I crossed the border at sundown and watched the lowering of the new Canadian flag. To understand my elation, you would have to participate in an American, corpse-de-ballet, flag-lowering grovel, complete with saluting, bugle calls, triangular folding, glycerin tears and synthetic-rubber reverence. But that Canada Customs agent, with his hat on his head and his cigar jutting from his mouth like the proud bowsprit of a Grand Banks schooner, reefed the flag off the halyards, sauntered across the lawn dragging it behind him, balled it up and stuffed it into the trunk of his car on top of his spare tire, tool boxes and hockey armor.
“By God!” I exclaimed. “This country is for me!” so I emigrated and became a Canadian citizen as soon as I could.
Oh, please! Can’t we keep this? Can’t we please ball up all the empty, chauvinistic, maudlin, anthem-singing, flag-worshipping quasi-patriotism and stuff it south of the border where it belongs?
Vancouver, March 20, 1998