I am speaking of course of some of the Feminists who this past Saturday marched in Washington and the few other places around the world where they are legally permitted to do so.
As an aside, one of the Themes running through many of my Blogs is my theory that over the course of the last 60 years or so most everything has changed in society for both good and bad.. as I have said: 'What was up ...Is now Down; What was Inside...Is now out; and Everything Else is now Backward.
One area in this theme that I have not spent much time on is with respect to modern Feminism or more to the point - Radical Feminism. I do not believe the latter has proven to be a boon for Women and it sure as Hell has done nothing useful for us men.
From the extensive reading I have done I get the feeling that if I asked 10 different women what exactly they were marching for on Saturday past...I could expect to receive 10 entirely different answers.
I can hear you now saying they were marching against the Donald Trump Candidacy and you'd be partially right. But Extreme Feminism has been around a lot longer than Trump has been in the news. So there is more to it...much more.
The cute little hats in today's title of course refer to the off colour statements by Trump but the language I heard emanate from the mouths of the Feminist Leadership would make the most red-necker blush. If I had a vote in this past November's Election I would not have voted for Trump precisely because of his most boorish comments and I made that perfectly clear in my blogs leading up to November 8. I am equally dismissive of those on Saturday whose antics exceeded even his own.
For me, I believe that radical feminism is all about hating men...it is about destroying and not building up...about dividing and not uniting.
Men - especially White Men are easy targets. We are branded neanderthals, sexual perverts, racists...whatever pejorative name that comes easily to mind. But you know as well as I do, that is not true.
Simply stated, Radical Feminists are using men as scapegoats in an effort to make themselves seem more important than they are.
They are not more important...they are our equals.
But like all who point the blame, for their own perceived shortcomings, on others they are destined to fail and society will continue to be the poorer for it.
As I see it...
'K.D. Galagher'
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Monday, January 23, 2017
HOW THE OLDE TOWNE HALL ESCAPED THE WRECKER'S BALL.
Built in 1884, the Olde Towne Hall was positioned right in the centre of our quaint town, along King's Highway 2, then the main thoroughfare between the mega cities of Toronto and Montreal.
It was a monster of a red brick structure...at least for a village the size of Brighton, situate in close proximity to picturesque
So let's review for a minute its uses during my formative years:
It provided a small office for our police force which usually consisted of one officer. I believe in an earlier Blog I had mentioned that Dido Simpson was our sole police force during the 40s,50s and 60s. I never met Dido since he spent all of his time driving around town in his relic of a car --- an olde Studebaker. He was so short, all you could see of Dido, when he drove by, was his well worn grey fedora. But like the RCMP, Dido 'always seemed to get his man' !
In looking back ...with all the driving he did, I cannot help but wonder if his main source of income came from mileage claims?
And the Hall included a jail cell. Its inhabitants usually limited to our town's drunks (all two of them - usually one at a time) and as you walked outside on the path beside the open barred window, you could often hear a drunk inside swearing it off.
Our village's almost antique fire truck also called the Hall home. It was located beside the jail, in the north end of the building. Our's was a volunteer fire department and boy could those guys get to the fire truck in jig time. I have mentioned in previous blogs that winter was one of their busiest times since they were called upon weekly to put out fires in the town's garbage truck caused by the townsfolk throwing live coal embers into the trash.
It was also used as a Provincial Court Room - where most charges dealt with such issues as drunk driving, theft and assault. A circuit court judge came round on Wednesday's to hear and adjudicate these cases. One of the main judges hailed from Brockville - a city some 100 miles east of Brighton. I got to know Judge Runciman quite well in the 1970/80s and even then he was still complaining bitterly about the inhuman working conditions he was forced to endure in the bowels of the olde Hall.
Our town council too held its monthly meetings in the Hall's downstairs chambers. This was one group that surprisingly did not complain about their spartan surroundings. I attribute that to the fact that in those days being a member of the town council was more an honourary position accompanied by very low pay. Their main focus was to keep realty taxes low, so being housed in depression era conditions was bearable for them.
The other group that seemed to be okay with their lot was our hardworking maintenance crew under the able supervision of foreman Bud Simpson. I remember he once trapped a beaver that had suddenly appeared one day in the little creek that flowed beside my parents' home. You had an issue... Bud and his Boys would come to your aid.
As an aside, I remember I had a trip coming up to Kitchener and since I was working at that time at Brintnell's Mens' Wear I decided to drop into Kitchener's Greb Shoe Plant. One our our customers was one of Bud's Crew by the surname of Dusenbury. Mr. Dusenbury took an extra wide work boot, a size we did not carry. I returned to Brighton with a proper fitting pair and felt pretty good for my effort. Mr. Dusenbury too was quite impressed saying he never before had such a good fitting boot.
Next time I saw him I naturally asked how he was enjoying the new boots. "Don't wear them" he caustically replied. Turned out his fellow workers had teased him for wearing less than manly boots. I guess Greb Shoes were just too advanguard.
My greatest memory though concerns the Cub Scouts - ages 8 to 11. Our meetings took place on the top floor where in the past live travelling theatre entertained the local denizens. My good friend Johnny who like me lived on Sanford Street close to the Town Hall and I were often the first to arrive - even before our two women leaders. The doors never seemed to be locked and indeed in those days most doors were left open throughout the village with the obvious exception being the Town Jail. (Although I expect Jesse James would have had little difficulty in picking its lock).
But even though the Hall's doors were unlocked - the lights were not on. The only lights on in the Upper Hall were exit lights with their dim presence. But even with such reduced lighting we were able to see the numerous paintings affixed to the walls of Brighton's illustrious forefathers with their sinister faces and beady eyes watching our every move.
It scared the bejeebers out of us!!
Finally, the Olde Hall was not without a tragedy.
In earlier years and before my time, a Halloween Party was held on the infamous second floor and one young girl, I think her name was Flindall, came in contact with a candle. Her costume was made out of highly inflammable material and she quickly perished in the ensuing fire.
Some 70 years on, I still think of that unfortunate little girl when my mind takes me back to the Olde Brighton Town Hall.
As I see it...
'K.D. Galagher'
It was a monster of a red brick structure...at least for a village the size of Brighton, situate in close proximity to picturesque
Presqu'ile Park on the sandy shores of Lake Ontario.
The following services called it home:
- Police & Jail
- Fire
- Provincial Court House
- Town Council
- Town Maintenance
It also provided a handy meeting spot for our cub scouts in the days well before beavers.
In earlier years, it was used for travelling opera, live theatre, and other special events such as Christmas, Easter and Halloween Parties.
By the time I came in contact with the 'Hall' it was in poor repair but nonetheless still well and truly utilized.
In this Blog, I am going to deal more with its uses during my youth in - the 1950s and 60s, but first want to get back to how the Olde Towne Hall escaped the Wrecker.
By the early 1970s, the Town Hall was virtually a vacant, run-down mass. The tenants had fled to a new Town Hall, new Fire Station, new Court House and so on.
It really was not worth saving and talk had matured to the point where general agreement was coalescing around the need to tear the nearly 90 year olde structure down.
But as today's title suggest, the Hall escaped that fate ...at least sort of. In the summer of 1973, as providence would have it, one of Ontario's first tornadoes ripped through Brighton and in so doing took with it our beloved Town Hall. It was the only complete structure totally destroyed by the storm. My parents home, just a minute walk north of the Hall, lost its chimney along with our very productive and much missed pear tree.
Of greater loss were the 100 year old maples that lined both sides of Brighton's main drag ... they were torn out by their roots like flimsy pieces of dead grass.
So no Wrecking Ball but... reduced to dust and rubble nonetheless.
In earlier years, it was used for travelling opera, live theatre, and other special events such as Christmas, Easter and Halloween Parties.
By the time I came in contact with the 'Hall' it was in poor repair but nonetheless still well and truly utilized.
In this Blog, I am going to deal more with its uses during my youth in - the 1950s and 60s, but first want to get back to how the Olde Towne Hall escaped the Wrecker.
By the early 1970s, the Town Hall was virtually a vacant, run-down mass. The tenants had fled to a new Town Hall, new Fire Station, new Court House and so on.
It really was not worth saving and talk had matured to the point where general agreement was coalescing around the need to tear the nearly 90 year olde structure down.
But as today's title suggest, the Hall escaped that fate ...at least sort of. In the summer of 1973, as providence would have it, one of Ontario's first tornadoes ripped through Brighton and in so doing took with it our beloved Town Hall. It was the only complete structure totally destroyed by the storm. My parents home, just a minute walk north of the Hall, lost its chimney along with our very productive and much missed pear tree.
Of greater loss were the 100 year old maples that lined both sides of Brighton's main drag ... they were torn out by their roots like flimsy pieces of dead grass.
So no Wrecking Ball but... reduced to dust and rubble nonetheless.
So let's review for a minute its uses during my formative years:
It provided a small office for our police force which usually consisted of one officer. I believe in an earlier Blog I had mentioned that Dido Simpson was our sole police force during the 40s,50s and 60s. I never met Dido since he spent all of his time driving around town in his relic of a car --- an olde Studebaker. He was so short, all you could see of Dido, when he drove by, was his well worn grey fedora. But like the RCMP, Dido 'always seemed to get his man' !
In looking back ...with all the driving he did, I cannot help but wonder if his main source of income came from mileage claims?
And the Hall included a jail cell. Its inhabitants usually limited to our town's drunks (all two of them - usually one at a time) and as you walked outside on the path beside the open barred window, you could often hear a drunk inside swearing it off.
Our village's almost antique fire truck also called the Hall home. It was located beside the jail, in the north end of the building. Our's was a volunteer fire department and boy could those guys get to the fire truck in jig time. I have mentioned in previous blogs that winter was one of their busiest times since they were called upon weekly to put out fires in the town's garbage truck caused by the townsfolk throwing live coal embers into the trash.
I remember one day walking along the main street when the fire truck came wheeling around the bend in highway 2 when one of our firefighters - Ed Boes, lost his footing and fell hitting his head on the pavement. Ed was one tough dude and was soon back to fire-fighting but for that particular day, the fire truck was obliged to leave him behind.
Our town council too held its monthly meetings in the Hall's downstairs chambers. This was one group that surprisingly did not complain about their spartan surroundings. I attribute that to the fact that in those days being a member of the town council was more an honourary position accompanied by very low pay. Their main focus was to keep realty taxes low, so being housed in depression era conditions was bearable for them.
The other group that seemed to be okay with their lot was our hardworking maintenance crew under the able supervision of foreman Bud Simpson. I remember he once trapped a beaver that had suddenly appeared one day in the little creek that flowed beside my parents' home. You had an issue... Bud and his Boys would come to your aid.
As an aside, I remember I had a trip coming up to Kitchener and since I was working at that time at Brintnell's Mens' Wear I decided to drop into Kitchener's Greb Shoe Plant. One our our customers was one of Bud's Crew by the surname of Dusenbury. Mr. Dusenbury took an extra wide work boot, a size we did not carry. I returned to Brighton with a proper fitting pair and felt pretty good for my effort. Mr. Dusenbury too was quite impressed saying he never before had such a good fitting boot.
Next time I saw him I naturally asked how he was enjoying the new boots. "Don't wear them" he caustically replied. Turned out his fellow workers had teased him for wearing less than manly boots. I guess Greb Shoes were just too advanguard.
My greatest memory though concerns the Cub Scouts - ages 8 to 11. Our meetings took place on the top floor where in the past live travelling theatre entertained the local denizens. My good friend Johnny who like me lived on Sanford Street close to the Town Hall and I were often the first to arrive - even before our two women leaders. The doors never seemed to be locked and indeed in those days most doors were left open throughout the village with the obvious exception being the Town Jail. (Although I expect Jesse James would have had little difficulty in picking its lock).
But even though the Hall's doors were unlocked - the lights were not on. The only lights on in the Upper Hall were exit lights with their dim presence. But even with such reduced lighting we were able to see the numerous paintings affixed to the walls of Brighton's illustrious forefathers with their sinister faces and beady eyes watching our every move.
It scared the bejeebers out of us!!
Finally, the Olde Hall was not without a tragedy.
In earlier years and before my time, a Halloween Party was held on the infamous second floor and one young girl, I think her name was Flindall, came in contact with a candle. Her costume was made out of highly inflammable material and she quickly perished in the ensuing fire.
Some 70 years on, I still think of that unfortunate little girl when my mind takes me back to the Olde Brighton Town Hall.
As I see it...
'K.D. Galagher'
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)