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1d iii 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, May 28, 1985 editorial comments The Budget A Start Faced with a deficit pushing close to $40 billion for this fiscal year alone, and a total national debt nudging the $200 billion mark, a lot of people were expecting Michael Wilson to lower the boom in his budget last Thursday. Obviously, both the current deficit and the on-going one are far too high, and the federal government has but two methods to juggle the figures: cut spending or raise revenues (read taxes). Wilson's budget didn't have the Draconian measures that some were predicting (or hoping for). Social welfaru and old age pensions have not been altered significantly, although higher income families will not get the same child tax credits, and those with tax- able incomes over $30,000 will be hit with a surtax of ten per cent on basic federal income tax. Smokers and drinkers will get nicked. A pack of cigs will go up 25 cents and booze by two per cent, but that can hardly be considered gouging. And there will be federal sales tax tacked on candy bars, pop, pet food and health aids. So what? A few tax shelters like the RHOSP have been ax- ed, but there's a big break for people thinking about tuck- ing a few dollars into an RRSP. One of the major items in the budget, of course, is the scheme to give all Canadians a tax free holiday of up to $500,000 on capital gains. This means they will be allowed $250,000 in capital gains in their lifetime before they pay tax on it. Most Canadians will never pay tax on capital gains. Mr. Wilson threw out a lot of figures last Thursday afternoon, and when it was all over, some special interest groups expressed dismay, including labour for the lack of job creation schemes and big business for the surtax and the fact the deficit won't be cut enough. It will likely be weeks or months before the accoun- tants .and tax lawyers sort out all the ramifications of Wilson's first budget, but one thing appears clear at this time. ; The Conservative government seems determined to come through with its promise of getting Ottawa off the backs of the private sector. " He has set the agenda for the private sector to create jobs, rather than schemes by government. Whether the private sector can fill the bill remains to be seen. It wasn't such a bad budget. In fact, if anything, the immediate critics are nght when they say it didn't go far enough in slashing the deficit. All Canadians from the middle classes to the wealthy, big business, and government employees will have to make some sacrifices as a result of this budget. The budget looks like the beginning of a new direc- tion to reverse a government spending spiral that went bananas over the past decade and simply had to be stop- ped That's exactly what Canadians have been saying for the past few years. The days of simply printing bucks to cover the costs are over, that's for sure. And Canadians are going to have to tuck in for the forseeable future if the ruinous "spiral of deficits is to be stemmed. Wilson's budget is a tentative start in that direction. Not In Life At the risk of sounding a bit like a whining chauvinist, we have to agree with the critics who are upset with Life Magazine for printing a special issue on World War 2 with nary a mention of Canada's contribution to the war effort. The special issue of Life, on sale now, runs to some 114 pages of photos and text. Almost incredibly, the name Canada does not appear once Naturally, there are plenty of photos of the American war effort: from lwo Jima, Rosie the Riveter on the home front, the carner Enterprise, Betty Grable's famous legs. the Battle of the Bulge and finally Hiroshima. It this special issue of Life was designed to com- memorate only the contributions made by the United States in the last war, one might be able to understand why Canada 1s overlooked. But it's not. There are stories and photos about Dutch, Belgian and French resistance fighters, a Yugoslav partisan; a Russian field nurse, the legless RAF fighter ace Doug Bader; a Japanese pilot with 64 "'kills;"" and a German U-boat officer who spent much of the war as a POW in the States There is even a full page devoted to German heroes like Rommel and test pilot Hanna Reitsch, an ardent Nazi, by the way, who remained loyal to Hitler night to (Turn to page 6) --~ NPAC STE a Gl SEW EAN MEET NAVE 8 by Cathy Robb chatterbox IN MEMORIAM The Kremlin knew that he was suffering - That the hills were hard to climb, So Stalin pressed the button And whispered, "Peace be thine." Away in the frozen hills of Siberia In a bar filled with Russian dancing girls so fair, Some day (I'll bring the vodka!), I'll meet my Lada there. : Gulp. They think I'm kidding. They ask me why I'm driv- ing my boss's van and I say, "*'My Lada blew up,' and they laugh. Realize I'm not laughing. Look at me fun- ny. And say, 'Are you SERIOUS?" Ninnies. Of course I'm serious. I'd never joke about my La-dee-dah, especially about its untimely demise. The orange kleenex-box-shaped vodkamobile was my first car. And everybody knows what strange love affairs people have with their first cars. It's sort of like their first loves. Gone, but hey, never forgotten. I knew from the first day I brought La-dee-dah home it was going to be fun. I had a new job, at the Gravenhurst News, as well as a new car, and I remember the dopey grin on my mug as I pulled up sharp in my new parking spot, fittingly behind the boss's Mercedes, dashed into the office and dragged the entire staff out to have a look at my new automobile. "C'mon Robb, let's go for a ride in the Commie car," leched my new editor. So John (his name, no relation to John B.) and three other flunkies from the production department piled into L.a-dee-dah for a coronation cruise. Not accustomed to a standard transmission, I fumbled fruitfully with the shift and clutch, before, uh huh, finding reverse. Which [| slammed the car into. zapped my foot off the clutch and stepped hard on the gas. The rest of that afternoon is history. So. in fact, is the Mercedes bumper, which had to be replaced I'm still wondering why I wasn't replaced--but hey. I was new and entitled to one (count 'em) mistake. By the time I finally figured out how to drive the thing, I was head over heels in love with standards None of this sissy automatic stuff for me. no wav. With the stick shift firmly in greasy palm, I'd zip from one (count 'em) highway to the next, shifting up and down and up and well, you get it. And with the spunk my La-dee-dah had. it was easy to picture myself as the Gilles Villenuve of the Russian set (no, make that Mario Andretti [ forgot Gilles was dead) What's more, my Lada was blessed with some secret charm that allowed me to drive way beyond any reasonable speed limit and still avoid speeding tickets. could cream amy-souped-up GTO for miles around. But when it was bad, well, let me tell you, it came THAT close to biting the bullet on several occasions. Every time I turned around the darn thing was sit- ting on a sidewalk somewhere, either with a flat tire or a broken muffler or something more serious, like a dead engine. I bought the car because it only cost me $5,000 brand new but since then I've invested at least another three grand in repairs. . Woe is my wallet. It sings the blues every time it sees the Lada dealership coming. In fact, it was doing some pretty heavy warbling about three or four weeks ago, when La-dee-dah decid- ed he needed a vacation and promptly quit in the Star parking lot. Not able or willing to fix the kleenex box right away, [let it cool its wheels for a while, stopping by to try and start the stupid thing every once in awhile. On one particular Tuesday morning, May 14th to be exact, the engine came THAT close to catching. The steady rolling whine was enough to convince me the La- dee-dah was seconds away from starting. I clicked the key to an off position and waited for a few minutes, so the engine wouldn't flood. Too late though, I thought, taking in a lungful of gas fumes. So I did what you're supposed to do when an engine floods. I cranked the key on and put the gas pedal all the way to the floor. Mere moments later, huge clouds of black smoke pillowed out from under the hood. I stared bleakly at the great thick wafts, and continued to stare as the smoke got all excited and transformed itself into flames. [ remember thinking, vaguely, I should really get out of this car before it blows up. The moment I stepped out of the car panic set in. I went dithering into the office, carrying on about fire departments and police and ambulances. And while I was dithering, Peter Hvidsten, my hero, was calmly putting out the campfire with a handy extinguisher. Two weeks later, the insurance people told me there was no point fixing the La-dee-dah and offered me a mitt full of money to make me feel better. Which it did. Money always makes me feel human. But I must admit to feeling a tad on the weepy side when I saw La-dee-dah for the last time, sitting on a slant in the corner of an Oshawa Lada dealership, scar- red. burned and plateless. I felt like a traitor, taking blood money and then just leaving it for the wreckers, all alone in an empty lot. Not that I should really be worrying. I'm sure La- dee-dah, my first true love, er, car, is in Russian heaven, hi-dee-hoeing on the dance floor of some sleazy Siberian tavern, flirting with the plump apple-checked Russian barmaids and drinking vodka, neat. Lada"s red AND dead. When my Lada was good, it was very very good and RA i 4 ho v or Co hho Li ih foci tad Sh ue Ol cin a ic i rR dt fee kd ae lh au it dui agnosie a SC coda RT Eg a na 1 rh A pg eat aE daa cat a a