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------- 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, May 7, 1985 'editorial comments wns wan AF APRA Make It Work! .It may be some time yet before the dust settles on Ontario politics following the provincial election last Thursday, but one thing for certain the people of this pro- vince do not want another election in the next few months. That's why it.is so very crucial for the three parties to make the minority government work in Ontario. There is no reason why it-should not work. It has in the past, quite nicely in the mid-seventies. While we can fully appreciate that the provincial Liberals, jubilant over the best election showing in years, may want to strike again while the irons are hot, we strongly believe there will be a considerable back-lash against the party which forces a too-soon election. So what happened in Ontario last Thusday when the Tories took a tumble to 52 seats and the Liberals climb- ed to 48, while the NDP managed 25 seats. There was probably no single factor accounting for the turn-around in voter preference, but a lot of fingers, including Tory fingers are pointing at the campaign run by Frank Miller and his tight circle of close advisors. Even Ross Stevenson, the Conservative incumbent in Durham-York called the campaign "un-imaginative", and that was an on-the-record comment. It is safe to say that a lot of Ontario voters simply did not like the way Frank Miller was orchestrated. They didn't like the perception that Miller wasn't calling the shots in the campaign' that his 'handlers' wanted to keep him puzzled, away from the press and away from that TV debate. If there is a lesson to be learned from this, it is that finally, voters are seeing through the "back room" manipulation of a leader and a campaign. They would much prefer to have everything up front, out in the open; "in short, a good old fashioned campaign where the leader wades into the crowds, holds the impromptu press conferences, and lets the people know what's on his mind, not just what's written in the briefing papers or on cue cards. But the vote was not entirely negative, not by a long shot. Liberal leader David Peterson is getting credit for running a strong campaign, as is Bob Rae with the NDP. And that's a fair assessment. Locally in Durham York riding, credit must go to Ross Stevenson for his strong personal showing in the face of province-wide shifts, and in the face of a challenge by two very credible candidates. - Liberal Don Hadden is a "local boy", a successful municipal councillor from Brock Township and he up- ped the Liberal vote in this riding by some 3000 ballots. He ran a decent campaign. Marg Wilbur also increased the popular support for the NDP by about 1000 votes, but like 1981, she finish- ed third again. One has to admire Mrs. Wilbur for her perseverance and dedication in a riding which obvious- ly does not have a strong preference for the New Democratic Party. Voters in Durham York were fortunate in this elec- h - tion to have three genuinely decent and credible can- didates, who ran clean, above board campaigns. It is a measure of Mr. Stevenson's personal popularity that he won by such a strong margin. He was a hard-working MPP over the last four years and has been successful in helping to bring numerous benefits to the riding. We cannot quibble with the voters choice in Durham York and we expect continued strong representation from Mr. Stevenson. If the three parties show a willingness to co-operate there is no reason why a minority government can't work. But we can virtually guarantee that if one party decides it wants no part of this arrangement and forces an elec- tion, the people of Ontario will show their resentment at the polls. We've had a federal election last September, a pro- vincial election last week, a municipal election coming up this November. That's quite enough, for the time be- ing. anyway. T T ---- TTR = iN CARL OATTE LL Poll PE RR ~ Nv by Cathy Robb chatterbox MORE MUTILATION Don't you just hate those people who do nothing but complain about their aches and pains? Like, when you ask them how they are, you don't really want to know about their World War II tennis in- jury, their hemmoroids or their nasal drip, but they tell you anyway. Usually with great enthusiasm, full-colour graphics and a Dolby soundtrack of accompanying moans and groans. And I'm just so incredibly lucky I'm not like that. I only complain about «eally serious aches and pains. And only when I'm close to death. Like the time I had cold sores. Or the time I had my wisdom teeth yanked out, which was last Monday and still extremely fresh in my mind. Not to mention my jaw, which feels like the en- tire Russian army is sitting there digging trenches. Uh, huh, after putting it off for a year, I. finally rounded up enough nerve to submit my mouth to Dr. Jack Cottrell, who has been nagging me worse than my mother. "You've got to get them out sometime,'"' he'd say. "They're going to really bother you some day." Well, I must admit, they were bothering me. At least one was. The darn thing was half in the skin and half out, leaving a convenient little pocket for food par- ticles to gather and subsequently rot. Thereby giving me extraordinarily bad breath, swollen gums and a whiney attitude toward life. So I went to Dr. Martin Shearer one day, unable to bear it any longer. "Please," I begged. 'Give me drugs." "You really should have your wisdom teeth pulled," he suggested reasonably. "Why don't you set up an ap- pointment on your way out?" What do you thing I am, insane? And while I'm making my appointment to get my mouth cut up, why don't I get an appointment to have my head shaved? Or my eyeballs plucked out? 'Gee, Dr. Shearer, I'm really busy. I just don't think I'm going to have any time in the next few months to get my teeth out. Maybe after Christmas ..." In other words Dr. Shearer, just give me a prescrip- tion and let me go home in peace. The last thing I want in the world is for Jack (the Ripper) Cottrell excavating in what I consider to be an extremely sensitive mouth, home of the world's biggest cold sores. Reluctantly, Dr. Shearer gave me drugs. Which cured my aching wisdom tooth for about three months. And forced me to go back to the dental building with my tail between my legs. "Please sir," | said, assuming my best Oliver pose, 'can | have some more drugs?" Well the good doctor wasn't so easy to bamboozle this time around and it took every bit of conniving on my part to snafu a prescription for antibiotics without promising to make an appointment for tooth removal. "But that's it,"' he snapped. "I refuse to give you any more pills until you make an appointment to get your teeth out." Does that sound like blackmail to you? It did to me too, so the next time my tooth gave me trouble, I by- passed Dr. Shearer and went straight to Dr. Cottrell, hoping he'd be easier to con because he's my boss's friend. : ~ He gave me the drugs alright (by this time I sound like a total junkie), but also managed to sneak in a reminder that, yes, your entire jaw will fall off and die if you do not get your wisdom teeth pulled SOON. Aw, heck, I thought. What am I gonna do? The pressure was coming from everywhere, even my boss was saying, "Pretend I'm your father for a minute. GET YOUR TEETH OUT NOW, or go to your room without supper."' I was surrounded, so I succumbed. And on Monday morning I walked up to Community Memorial Hospital, checked in at 7 a.m., and joy of joys, discovered four other suckers were getting their teeth yanked too. There was Larry, who also happens to be my. office insurance agent, who I felt like kissing when he said he was there to get his wisdom teeth pulled too. We were both so nervous -- we almost made a pact to just walk on out of there the same way we'd come in. With teeth and mouths intact. I kept thinking to myself -- I'm healthy. A hospital is for sick people. What the heck am I doing here and why am I going to subntit myself to needles (which I feared more than the operation itself), knives and a den- tal surgeon who also happens to be a town councillor I've misquoted a few times. "Jack," I said, just before the anesthetic knocked me out completely, 'you're not still mad at me for anything I've written about you, are you?" He just grinned, and I thought, I'M GOING TO DIE. But I didn't (too bad, all the male service clubs are thinking). And neither did Gail, who giggled with me before the operation took place, or Joanne, who had her mouth stuffed full of cotton when I met her in recovery, or Larry who worried about getting his stitches out, or the chicken little who said "*OWWWWW"' even before the nurse stuck the needle in his bum. Nope, getting your wisdom teeth out is a lot of. fun. You get at least five needles in your bum, which comes out of the hospital looking worse than your jaw. You get drugs that lay you flat on your back and render you totally useless for anything but soap opera watching. You get to miss a few days work. Yey!' You get (0 lose weight quick, since you can't eat anything but soup, orange juice and chocolate popsicles. (Turn to page 6)