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NS 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tues. November 6, 1984 editorial comments ~, (Hox ER oe | Harpy - = 2M a Yo Prove chatterbox by John B. McClelland ANOTHER MYSTERY Scugog Township is fast developing a reputation for un-explained phenomena. We have the infamous Island Light, of course, which has been the subject of more than one article in this paper. A lot of people have witnessed this mysterious light which can be seen on the connecting road between Concession 9 and 10 on Scugog Island. I've even seen it myself on more than one occasion, and even though I'm not the kind of person to believe in ghosts or stuff like that, I must admit that light is baf- fling and a little spooky. And from time to time we hear stories of the "'monster muskie" reputed to be lurking in the murky depths of good old Scugog. The fish could weigh as much as 60 pounds and there was a rumour floating around this summer that a cou- ple of local fishermen hooked this muskie and then were pulled around the lake for an hour before the line snap- ped and old "moss-back" flashed them a wicked grin before heading back to his lair. And we have heard from usually reliable sources that a white deer was spotted recently in a corn field east of Port Perry. Seems that a couple of local gentlemen were taking the long way home one night when they saw what looked like a pure white deer with brown ears. They got into a bit of an argument over whether the creature was in fact a deer as one claimed, or a goat, which may have been the case. My own feelings on this are if two guys can't tell a deer from a goat under a full moon, they should hang up the old Remington and stick to in-door sports. Anyway, my sources inform me that because of all the confusion between deers and goats, a very detailed booklet has been published complete with photos, show- ing all the fauna usually found in Scugog Township. I have seen a copy of this booklet and found it very helpful in clearing up a lot of confusion about deers, moose, big horn sheep and even the common mallard ducks. If you happen to run across the copy, grab it, for it has all the makings of a fine collector's item and would not be out of place on the kitchen table of any outdoor- woodsman. And speaking of mysteries, a lot of people are wondering just how a fishing boat made its way to the roof of a certain house on Mary Street in Port Perry Hallowe'en Eve. Again, relying on my usually impeccable sources, I'm told the boat, complete with dummy fisherman with pole and net, was waiting on the roof when the owner of the house returned home from working the night shift last Wednesday. Scugog Township is just alive with mysteries these days. Albino deer, fishing boats on the roof, and all kinds of interesting things, some of which are true and others which are just unsubstantiated rumours. This is one of the things I like so much about living in Scugog Township. Not a day goes by where we don't hear about something very unusual. I mean white deer in a corn patch in the middle of the night, monster muskie that drag a boat around the lake. Never a dull moment. I'm keeping a file on all the unusual happenings I hear about, and one of these days, I'm going to write a column using names, faces, and so on. Then I'll get out of town for a couple of months. WHERE'S THE GRAY? If you want to know what's going wrong with this country, it's all due to a lack of gray. The colour gray is synonymous with compromise, the old Canadian forte of give and take. There was a time not too many years ago when Canada was known around the world as a place where everybody was shad- ed gray. We compromised, we gave up a little to gain a little, we listened to both sides of a reasonable argu- ment and sought the common ground in trying to work out a solution. But today, gray is out. Black and white is in. There is no room for finding common ground on any issue any more. Canadians have become polarized in their think- ing and attitudes. Look at the issues that are front and centre in Canada these days: nuclear arms, capital punishment, abortion, violence, pornography, politics in general, free enterprise. There is no middie ground. People are either totally fer something or totally agin' it, and there is no way they are even going to listen to those on the other side. Advocacy groups have sprung up all over the place with one goal and that is to push and promote a single point of view over all others. Strident to the point of hysteria, they absolutely refuse to tread into that gray area which is so essential to conflict resolution. It has become fashionable to take a hard and fast position on an issue, and stick to it come hell or high water. I think we saw an example of this in the recent federal election. The Liberal Party has traditionally tried to base its support on a broad appeal, the art of compromise, trying to seek the middle ground. Cana- dians no longer seem to be in the mood for this kind of thing. They want their issues clearly defined in black and white, much the way American society operates. A lot has been written about the beating the Liberals took at the polls last September: the need for change, the poor campaign strategy, Turner's bumbling and fumbling, etc. (Turn to page 7) re What The Poppy Means To Me This coming Sunday is Remembrance Day. November 11 is the one day set aside each year where we pay tribute and remember the 114,000 Canadians who gave their lives in combat for this country. It is also the time of year when most of us will buy and wear a poppy. By doing so, we remember the dead and support the on-going work of the Royal Canadian Legion. The following essay titled 'What Does the Pop- Py Mean to Me" was written by Bonnie Turner of Seaforth, Ontario, and won first place in the . Legion's Senior Essay Contest. With Remembrance Day approaching, the Star feels it is fitting to re-print the essay in its' entirety. It was the twelfth of November the day after Remem- brance Day. The autumn morning was cold and dreary, and my mind was as cloudy as the drab sky above. Angry at the world and the people in it, | walked swiftly, lost in my own thoughts. Almost mechanically, | drew my coat around myself and sat down on the seasoned park bench beside the cenotaph commemorating the men killed in the World Wars and the Korean War. There | stayed, see- ~ ing no one who passed by and caring about nothing, but my own problems. Then, out of the corner of my eye, | noticed a stooped figure, slowly making his way in the brisk wind. With his head down, and gnarled hands clutching his overcoat, the old genteleman walked as though every step were an effort. Unaware of my presence, the man stopped near- by. He drew himself up with dignity. His eyes held a look of pride. Following his gaze, | saw that the old gentleman's eyes were upon the cenotaph, which was newly laded in wreaths. Probably he was a veteran of one of the world wars, | smiled and looked back to him. His eyes were no longer on the monument. He was star- ing into the grass, near the bench where | sat. Tears well- ed up in his eyes. Sadly he shok his head and started off down the street. | was puzzled. What object could make a man as | had just seen, so. distressed? My eyes searched the ground for what was lying there, and there it was ---- a poppy. It was not even real. Just a simple plastic pop- Py was on the ground. | frowned. How could such a forlorn little flower make a man so heavy-hearted? What did it matter? Remembrance Day was already over. Then | realized how much that poppy meant. That simple little flower was not just a scrap of plastic, it stood for important things. It was peace and freedom ---- not only mine -- but the peace and freedom of my family and friends and neighbours. Yet, it was more than these. That poppy was the soldiers. Soldiers fighting at Vimy Ridge and at Dieppe. It was these men fighting for their freedom, and freedom for the world. It was their families back home in Canada, lying there on the soggy ground. I shrugged. Remembrance Day was over. That pop- Py wouldn't matter again until next year. | tried to think of my own concerns, but | couldn't concentrate. My mind wandered. Once again | saw the old man's face as the tears came into his eyes. | saw the poppy, lying on the grass, and | was ashamed. Remembering the soldiers who fought for Canada, was not just a yearly obligation. Their gift of peace lasts all year round, and so should their memories. | had sat here, moments before, angry at the world, when those men loved the world so much that they gave their youth, many their lives for us. These were the people to be grateful to, not just on Remem- brance Day, but every day, for they were the ones who earned our freedom. For the first time that day, the world seemed friend- ly to me. | knelt down, rescued the poppy from the wet grass and proudly pinned it to my coat. The rest of the world might have thought it was just a battered and shab- by poppy, but to me it was special ---- for now | knew what it meant. PL LM ol es I ar aa ph SSI et Sasa nin ollie "a pe --