Lake Scugog Historical Society Historic Digital Newspaper Collection

Port Perry Star, 20 Jun 1989, p. 6

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6 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, June 20, 1989 The out Perey Slav 235 QUEEN STREET - PORT PERRY, ONTARIO PHONE 985-7383 FAX 985-3708 The Port Perry Star is authorized as second class mail by the Elsewhere $60.00 per year. Single Copy 50¢ EDITORIAL Publisher - J. Peter Hvidsten Editor - John B. McClelland News/Features - Cathy Olliffe News Reporter - Rob Streich Darlene Hlozana BUSINESS OFFICE Office Manager - Gayle Stapley Accounting - Judy Ashby Billing Department - Louise Hope ADVERTISING Post Office Department, Ottawa, for cash payment of postage. PRODUCTION . i Ell Second Class Mail Registration Number 0265 Annabell Harrison Advan lain Cos dinater - Yalsrie Eis " 9 s Representative: Subscription Rate: InCanada $20.00 per year Trudy Empringham Anna Gouldbumn Member of the Canadian Community Newspaper Association Ontario Community Newspaper Association Published every Tuesday by the Port Perry Star Co. Lid. Port Perry, Ontario Retail Sales - Kathy Dudley, Linda Ruhl Editorial Comment TAX WOES A lot of people in Scugog Township and elsewhere in Durham Region sat up and took notice when they re- ceived their property tax bills recently. With a combined mill rate increase this year of just a tad under 15 per cent, every property owner will be pay- ing more tax. But some will be paying a lot more than oth- ers. Some did a real double-take when they discovered their tax bill would be 20 per cent, 30 per cent, even 40 per cent more than last year. They are the ones hit with the double-barrel whammy of a 15 per cent mill rate hike and re-assessment based on 1984 market values. Some people are so upset with the property tax hikes, they have formed a group and intend to do some lobbying to keep spending down (see story on front page this week) Not that there hasn't been some warning of the pend- ing tax hikes this year. Over the last few months, this jour- nal has carried several news articles, columns and editori- als about the budget woes that both levels of local government and the school boards were experiencing. As numerous provincial governments have found out -over the last 30 or 40 years, property tax reform is a tough and sticky wicket. Calculating assessments based on ac- tual market values may not be perfect, but at least it is fairer and more equitable than other systems. it starts with the premise that two pieces of property of approximate equal value on the retail market should pay approximately the same taxes. Many municipalities, including Toronto, have not implemented market value as- sessment because many of the swings upward would be too dramatic and too hot to handle, politically speaking, that is. Our criticism on property taxes in recent months has been aimed not at market value assessment, but rather at ~ the mill rate increase which stands at just under 15 per cent. The school board component this year went up 15 per cent, the local (Scugog) government share went up ljust over ten per cent, and the Regional tax bite jumped a whopping 19 per cent. These are too high. There is no way that govern- ments and school boards should be hiking their spending at double the inflation rate. We all know that Durham Re- gion has been growing by leaps and bounds in recent years, which in turn means more demand for services like schools, police forces, fire protection, garbage collection and disposal and so on. But the question that must be addressed is this: what good is all this growth, the increase in population, if exist- ing residents get tagged with 15 per cent tax hikes.to help pay for this growth. Maybe the people who make the final decision on new subdivisions, apartments and condos should be making an effort to slow the populations growth patterns down so that the infrastructure of soft and hard services can be put in place gradually without coming down with single year double digit tax hikes. We are not sure just what the citizens action groups . can do-about high taxes. Certainly, the local or regional council or school board are not going to roll the hikes back this year. ' But at least a lot of people are shaking off their com- placency, a trend which we noticed in recent years seemed to be creeping into society. People are angry, and if noth- ing else, they are at least going to start asking a lot of (Turn to page 12) » on on = 1 " a S : / a A Yn je Q NN i : SSE SE Jaa SERIE Chatterbox ¢ by CATHY OLLIFFE THE FINAL BELL Time stood humid and still and the round white clock was as big as every child's worst nightmare. | stared at that clock, willing its hands to move with every ounce of concentration in- stilled in my grade six anatomy, but the hands were apparently glued in one place and the 3:30 bell was two hours away. it was so hot. So incredibly, unbearably hot in Mr. MacLennan's classroom during that last week of school before summer vacation. Out- side the sun beat down through a dreamy haze, where not one living thing moved in the James Robinson Public School yard. Inside, we might as well have been dead. Science fiction movie corpses were livelier than we were. The heat steamed around us and we sweated, unadorned adolescent per- spiration piquant as fine cheese. Mini-skirts were still sharp in those days (I used to beg my mother to turn up the hem just a little high- er, and then regret it when | had to bend over to fetch a drink from the water fountain) and boys were still allowed to wear shorts to school. So there was plenty of bare flesh to be suctioned to the school board's cheap plastic chairs. Lolling like dogs in the noonday sun, our legs stuck to chairs, minds wandering to the promise of freedom only Says away, we tried only half-heartedly to pay attention to Mr. Ma- cLennan's year-end review. With a round little paunch encased in a well-worn suit, shiny at the knees and elbows, he meandered back in forth in front of the blackboard, chalking English notes in careful script. His voice was long and sonorous, and he seemed to care little that his students were oblivious to every word. The lights were turned off, in an effort to combat the stifling heat, and that is how | re- member classrooms in the last week of school., Dim, sweltering places where educa- tion wds vague and unimportant, and the only thing that mattered was time passing until the final bell on the final day of the year. And the - moment that last bell rang through the halls, | came alive. ~ Hardly bothering to look at my report card or even say good-bye to friends, | took off like a shot for home, running down Windridge Drive like a quarterback with nine 300 pound tacklers on his heels. This was it. The begin- ning of summer, oh yes, the start of a Sep- tember-is-a-century-away motherlode of fun. Mom and Dad were loading up the car when | raced up the driveway. "Get your suit- case," they said, "and don't bring everything you own." Lady, our Heinz 57 furball, was dashing around everyone's legs, getting in the way and tripping my little sister. My brother and | helped stuff blankets and groceries and boxes and packages into our beleagured old Ford, which was bursting at the rusty seams when the two adults, three kids and one pant- ing hank of hair were installed inside. "Did everyone go to the bathroom?" Mom or Dad or both would ask, and we'd all say yes, except my little sister who would claim she didn't have to go (and thus would be herded back into the house for a last minute meeting at the porcelain express). Finally, less than an hour after the final school bell, Dad fired up the Ford engine and the Robbs were on their way to Haliburton, to Twelve Mile Lake, to the cottage and a sum- mer in paradise.Of course there were Si0ps along the way. My parents listened to persis- tent whining about us having to go to the bathroom, about being hungry and the prover- bial questions, "Are we almost there? How much longer?" Two hours later, we were tearing around the yard checking out the lake temperature and the water level, inspecting our rooms and the outhouse, while our parents unpacked and gave us orders to help (which we joyfully ignored). The classroom clock, the heat, Mr. MacLen- nan were forgotten. Summer had arrived. 1 i 4 | | 1 { A A Sa SL

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