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WITBY FREE PRESS,WEDNESDAY,DECEMBER 18. 1985 PAGE S "I have sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man." - Thomas Jefferson THE CROW'S NEST by Michael Knell Come with me on a littie trip to beautiful downtown Whitby where a dedicated group of people are banging their head against a brick wall trying valiantly to tell the people of this community what they should already know. To wit: down- town Whitby is more than just a place to shop - it's the heart of this community; it's the birthplace of this community; it's the soul and essence of this com- munity. But, it appears to be dying a slow and painful death as local merchants report one of the slowest Christmas seasons on record. No body wants to shop down- town - the majority seem to prefer the plastic sterility of the shopping plaza. Rumor mill has it that a great many merchants are looking to sell their en- terprises - they can no longer maintain a committment that brings them little financial reward. The merchants are not happy. Ed Buffett, chairman of the Whitby Downtown Improvement Area Board spoke rather candidly to me last week about what the merchants are feeling. Not only are they frustrated, but they are also angry, not just at the community but at Whitby .Town Council for failing to realize that they, too, are entitled to a little support. And they mean more than platitudes about businessmen having to make it on their own. What they want is an even break. Ed told me that while many of the plans laid by the board in the last year can do some good, it may not happen in time to revitalize the downtown core. "What is disconcerting," Ed told me, "is that the merchants are having a very poor Christmas and the concern now is whether or not enough people can hold out until things improve. Think about that for a moment (especially if you are one of the seven men who sit around Whitby's council chamber). If you take away the diplomatic nicities and talk plain turkey the message is simple: Whitby is in great danger of losing its downtown core. Or as Ed put it to me: "If we don't get the traffic downtown, we're going to have a lot more empty stores on main street." Two weeks ago, I thiink it was, the annual Santa Claus parade through down- town Whitby was held. Many, if not a.couple of thousand people came downtown to see the parade. After the parade was over, they left. Few visited the shops and stores that were close at hand. Few stopped in any of the restaurants, to have a cup of hot chocolate or coffee with their family or friends. That afternoon, the downtown hosted Santa Claus for an afternoon of visiting the boys and girls of Whitby above Picture This on Brock St. S. Do you know how many came? Thirty-four. That's right, 34. The board promoted the event. They advertised in the newspaper, even this one. But no one was interested enough to go. Well, that's not exactly true or fair. People should go downtown because they want to, because downtown Whitby of- fers thèm something they want, they need and they can afford. Ed points out that the last major development in downtown Whitby was the construction of the Whitby Corporate Centre at the corner of Dundas and Green Sts. - a building that, to the best of my knowledge, still stands relatively empty over two years after completion. Since they started work on that building, there has not been a single new plan of development in the downtown core. But, over the same period of time, council has been practically falling over it- self to approve new shopping plazas scattered hither and yon throughout our en- tire community. It is time, in my humble - if loud, opinion to stop developîng those concrete squares in the subdivisions and start developing not only a faith but a little character in our community. Every day, I drive through the village of Markham. It's beautiful. It's more than obvious that someone has shown a little leadership and done a little plan- ning. They have made downtown Markham a place people want to be. They've built attractive new stores that all have a slightly Victorian theme. They offer a wide range of goods7and services. It is my understanding that Markham council is tough on non-downtown core commercial development. They have taken an active interest in the heart of their community. They realize that downtown gives their community heart, soul, a sense of continuity and a reminder of their heritage. If you want to see what downtown Whitby should look like, go to Markham and see for yourself. I don't fault the downtown merchants or Ed and his board. They have worked their butts off trying to make a difference. They've done everything they can. They fought for money to improve the streetscape. They got a new parking lot. They developed some long term plans. But it has been all for naught because people just aren't going downtown. Downtown Whitby needs at least four things: a major employer (one who has at least 100 people on staff); the abolition of absentee landlords (who don't appear to be doing anything to help improve downtown Whitby's image); some new and innovative development; and, an even break - not to nention a little leader- ship from Whitby Town Council. If Whitby Town Council put as much into developing the downtown as it did in- to trying to attract the new Toyota plant here, maybe the birthplace of this community would have a fighting chance against the malls. Trying to bring job creating industry to Whitby is a more than worthwhile pursuit - it is an ab- solutely vital function of council. But they also have an obligation to the people who are already here, who have already put their heart and soul into this com- munity. More than anyone else in town, Ed Buffett knows that downtown Whitby needs new development. "Until we get something like that," Ed says, "in downtown Whitby we're going to be banging our heads against the proverbial brick wall." I hope somebody is listening. Bob? Tom? Gerry? Marcel? Joe? Joe? Ross? WITH OUR FEET UP By Bill Swan Christmas came this year, as every year, on a Sunday in cut-your-own-tree lot, driven by relen- tless Arctic winds. Row upon row of adolescent pines whimpered in the cold. You might whimper, too, if people kept tramping through your living room bearing saws and axes and cameras, determined to slay you and your relatives, tie your remains to a car fender and carry you home to be displayed in a living room for two weeks. Humans call the season Christmas, a time of love and peace. No doubt evergreen trees have another name for it. But this is a commercial, cut-your-own Christmas tree lot. No one thinks about the trees. Greenpeace has not yet taken on their cause; because it is cold. the people suffer most. Those without hats are even now fighting off ad- vanced cases of post nasal drip. Arctic winds do that. From time to time the small groups of people stop to size up another tree. "They're all too short," says one voice. "The bigger ones are further back,' says someone else, pointing vaguely south through the acres of pines. Except that all the pines are the same height, and stand in soldier-straight rows. you might believe you are in a forest. "I want a spruce," says one. "They have no spurce. You'll end up buyîng one off a lot if you want a spruce." "The ad said they had both spruce and pine, comes the reply. "They've got to have spruce somewhere." "I saw the spruce on the way in here," someone says. "The tallest ones are two foot three inches high." "Spruce are better." "Who picked this lot? Why didn't we go to the lot we were at last year. Why do we always go to a dif- ferent lot?" But these complaints are part of the routine. Each year, the family makes a pilgrimage to a cut-your- own Christmas tree lot. Sort of a visit to a pine abat- toir. The day is full of little rituals. Young adults always appear bareheaded with no gloves. Their footwear always has holes. And snow or no snow, the wind always scuttles in from the north-west, bringing with it the coldest day of the year so far. The lot attendants burn trash in barrels to warm their mittens. But nothing can keep out the damp and the cold all day long, and by mid- afternoon they look frozen tired, with frost-pink noses. But the cold is part of the ritual. Picking a tree takes finesse and timing. Trees that look short, sparse and misshappen five minutes after you get out of your car take on a whole new beauty after you have tramped for half an hour through the pines and slush and ice, the drifting snow covering your foot- prints and the wind flicking at the uncovered edges of ears. The family pilgrimage includes aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, friends, his children, her childrne, The family pilgrimage includes aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, friends, his children, her children, theirs. This year, an infant has joined the procession. A fine time to watch her first Christmas tree slaughter: bundled on a hand-drawn sleigh, covered with a blanket, so the wind won't bother her face. So snuggled down, unable to see, the baby falls asleep, the warmest person that day in the whole twenty-acre forest. But Christmas is Christmas because it falls in December when the cold wind rattles out of the nor- th. Were this not so, selecting the right sacrificial tree would take hours, perhaps days, and under- mine fragile families. The average family takes 37 minutes to pick out a tree in December. Besides the north wind, the eternal law of the forest also dominates the day. Trees that look just right in the great forest of a tree farm grow to twice the size on the trip home. In the living room, the family carpenter must cut a hole in the ceiling to accommodate the height. Even so, the branches spread out to half cover the coffee table. SEl PG 6