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Pe Pn SE a rete Yo re Ny, - ZA = ad a Fond A a rad Cp res and A Yo 0 2 ~ Le h, a Ce 5. ST d=) i NT Bae 4 og J; Rel Ne Sr) >, oe a = Le Ty fo " rar er Gs A Re tT SR "uw Behe Uw SL GAT a re Gre RR OS GS a ~ STEN EY -- Te Bde. Ci a TY Ew Hospital Funds Obviously, Durham Region council is not the place these days to go looking for tax dollars to help pay for expansions to hospitals in several Regional commun- ities, including Port Perry. It is not surprising that Regional council last week rejected flatly a suggestion from the District Health council that municipal tax dollars be made available for hospital expansion. Councillors no doubt are mindful of the fact that Regional government already spends some 25 per cent of the tax dollars collected from property owners, and that there is widespread public resent- ment against Regional government generally. But even if Regional council did agree to set aside tax dollars for hospital expansion, the political in-fighting that would occur over which hospitals get the tax dollars would be horrendous. Hospitals are a delicate and tricky business. Regional council routinely gets into all kinds of parochial political battles trying to decide where to spend money on such mundane things as sewer and water pipes. High profile, public issues like hospital expansions would be something else again. If one accepts the principle that municipal tax dollars should be used for hospital construction and expansion, it would be far easier and more workable if this money came directly from the local municipalities. However, the Durham Region Act forbids local municipal councils from ear-marking tax dollars for hospital expansions. Maybe that section of the legislation should be changed to allow local councils to spend tax-payers money in that way. This would certainly eliminate many of the problems Regional council would have to wade through if it decided to ear-mark tax dollars for these purposes. If a local council had the right to grant money for hospitals, local tax-payers would know precisely where the dollars would be spent and for what reasons. If there were any "political" problems with these decisions, they no doubt would be sorted out when local elections rolled around every two years. There is something disturbing about the fact that a request was even made last week to Regional council for setting aside property tax dollars for hospitals. Is this an indication that provincial money for these purposes has indeed all but dried up? Are we seeing the first writing on the wall that if people want expanded and improved medical facilities in their communities, they will have to help pay for them through their property taxes? If this is the case, the outlook for property owner, already burdened under a large tax load, is going to get worse, not better. Health care, after all, is a provincial responsi- bility, not a municipal one. Canadian Hero Canada shed a tear early Sunday morning with the news that cancer had finally claimed the life of Terry Fox. ~~ Medical reports of his condition all last week were grim, but when the doctors made the announcement, they said he died with dignity, with his family at the bedside, and without equipment to artificially prolong life. There is no question that Terry Fox is truly a modern Canadian hero. Tributes from every corner of this country, from the average Canadian to those holding the highest office have been made about this remarkable individual who touched Canadians in a way that no other person has. The news of his death came within days of an announcement by the federal government that a stamp will be issued to honour the achievement of Fox's Marathon of Hope. The government had previously rejected the idea of a stamp because it is policy to issue stamps only for individuals who have been dead ten years. However, because of intense public pressure in this case to bend the rules, production of the stamp was "ABOUT POSTAL SECURITY. . SOMEBODY SOLE THE SERVICE!" "speeded up and it likely will go on sale within a couple of months. The stamp will not honour Terry Fox himself, but rather his Marathon of Hope achievement which . began quietly last spring and then had to be stopped after some 3600 miles when Fox developed cancer in his lungs. It is difficult to comprehend sometimes, but this young man raised $23 million for cancer research. Already some of that money has been allocated to researchers working to sort out the mystery of cancer. Hopefully, the final result of the Terry Fox phenomenon will be a major breakthrough in finding a way to control or even cure this disease. But at the same time it is fair to say that Terry Fox has come to mean more than just raising money for cancer research. His Marathon of Hope represents a symbol for individual courage, determination and the human spirit and will. Fox told the country through his deeds that there are no obstacles that can't be overcome, and that we must not shy away from any challenge, no matter how severe it may seem. t There are all kinds of lessons that can be learned from Terry Fox and his achievement, but possibly a quote attributed to Fox best sums it all up: "The hurt has to stop somewhere.' : SPRING FOR JUNE Man and woman, this is some crazy country. Whoever first said it: "Eight months of winter, and four months of bad sleighing,"" wasn't far off the mark. You're hanging up the snow shevel with one hand, and reaching for the lawn mower with the other. 3 Your lilacs just start out as the mosquitoes start zoning in. You huddle off oill smiley minding the store?" Started out, to get the department back in business. Was seized by a six footer and told I had to help eat a cake. The cake was delicious. It must have cost them thirty cents each. The singing of "Happy Birthday" was the most caco- honous sound I've ever heard from a mixed group. Went to lunch. The ladies in the cafeteria gave me a nudget toward retirement, too. to work in early May with snowboots, scarf and overcoat, plus headgear. Two days later, you embark in the same outfit, and it's like being in a sauna. Then you're into June, and anything can happen. One morning a frost, the next a heat wave, then a thunderstorm. And all around you things are growing like maniacs: mostly grass and weeds and children. The children are OK., but you can have the weeds. And you can mow the grass. Poets get a bit silly in spring. They talk about - the tiny - crocuses peep-their wee heads through the sullen earth. Show me a pound of asparagus growing like mad, and you can have eight pounds of crocuses. And they use all sorts of other images. I think it was Walt Whitman who wrote about grass of God's green handkerchief dropped. Well, mine doesn't drop. It shoots up as though the devil himself were pushing from below, and it grows about six inches in six hours. Did you every try to mow a handkerchief? June is pretty rough, especially for a teacher. I dropped in on a colleague yesterday. His eyes were glazed, and scattered around him were about 100 essays to be marked. He vaguely recognized me, dropped his head on his desk, and moaned "Isn't it a bastard?"' I patted his head and rubbed his back, and when he came around, I agreed, "Yes," When I was an editor, the coming of summer was rather a pleasure. I always made Opening Day of the trout fishing season in May. In June, I knew the advertising would fall off, because the merchants knew the summer tourist trade would make up for those bleak spring days of March and April. And then I looked forward to the summer, when I could sit in the office with one eye on the typewriter, and one on the tourists walking by; some like young gazelles, long-legged and brown as Masdai warriors with breast-works; others with the gait and shape of hippos; still others with the questing snout, the short-sightedness, and the short tempers of rhinoceri; and always the children, golden, round, and sleek as speckled trout without the speckles. Those were the days. But, as I grew more mature, June took on a different tint for me. It meant I was one year older, and not a bit smarter. And today I realized, with a real touch of paranoia, that they're out to get me. I'd forgotten all about my birthday, as I usually do and my wife almost invariably does. In home form period this morning, my kids started half-heartedly singing, "Happy Birthday, Les," Well, my name isn't Les. So I just moaned a bit and told them to shut up. I thought it must be the birthday of some rock star. Then I realized they were grinning at Les Lawe, a five footer who has had to be moved because he was pushing over six foot girls when they weren't looking. : Hey. It struck me. It was my birthday too. I announced the fact, trying to steal a bit of Les's thunder. The response was terrific: "How old are you, Mr. Smiley? When are you gonna retire?" I responded by telling them they all had to write the final exams. They wouldn't believe me. They seldom do. Then I crashed down to the English workroom for a smoke. There were eight teachers in there. I asked, 'Who the hell is RAE RAATHAD 7A Completely for free was a piece of pumpkin pie, with a single, burning candle in the middle of it. At least the candle didn't go out while I carried my macaroni and tomatoes into the dining-room. A goodly symbol. But I took two puffs to blow it out. A not-so-goodly symbol. About then I began to realize the whole plot had been choreographed by some-one after my job, not-so-subtley saying it was time I retired. I went over the potential power-hungries, the dissients, the ladies to whom I'd told to stop crying on my shoulder. I couldn't think of one with the brains to orchestrate it or the ability to step into my heavy shoes. Last straw was getting home and finding on the back porch a bottle of home-made pickle relish, sitting in a bowl of ice, with a message: "Roses are red, violets are purple, And we know June 2 is your birthday too." - It had to be my neighbour, whose son-in- law has the same birthday, and who makes great chili sauce. She's in on it, too. Now I know how those African prime ministers feel. Juju everywhere. _ Es gat iL a... 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