A very revealing start to Kamloops Project on this Leap Day

Mel at his computer, just now, hoping he'll find a better picture to take for Kamloops Project day.

Happy Kamloops Project Day. I met a stripper this morning up at the Broadcast Centre. They said she was there to help celebrate Henry Small’s birthday, but I’m sure she was there to help kick off Kamloops Project Day.

Unfortunately, I neglected to get a picture of her, but she was wearing very nice leather chaps. I also neglected to ask her for her business card.

It was a good start to the day, though.

Later.... A little off the top — me, taking a picture of me getting scalped by John DeCicco at his Continental Barbershop on Kamloops Project Day.

‘Old’ is now an insult, not just a stage of life

A few years ago, I spoke to some Grade 3 kids at their school. That evening, one of them reported back to her parents that I “had wrinkly hands.”

Such input is important, as I’m a true believer that we should see our hands as others see them.

Feedback on aging isn’t always so kind. On the day you go from being not old, to old (and the question of when that actually occurs will be the subject of heated discourse for the rest of time), you turn into a loathsome, disreputable, reprehensible individual who should, really, be done away with.

Much in the same way as if you have coloured skin, are poor, disabled, unemployed, of the wrong religion, or otherwise undesirable.

Calling someone “old” is, nowadays, used as an insult. If someone disagrees with your opinion, and they know your hair is grey, you are dismissed as “old” in the same way you might be called a criminal.

It’s a form of discrimination and intolerance as surely as religious discrimination, racism, homophobia, or any of the other isms and phobias.

As someone who grew up with all the arrogance of youth and all the privileges of being white in a white society, I had no real appreciation for what it was like to experience discrimination. I’m beginning to get the picture.

In recent years, I’ve been subjected to being called “old,” “old man,” “Gramps,” and variations thereof. A few weeks ago, a teenager who didn’t like one of my columns dismissed me as “a bored old man with nothing better to do than harp on the achievements of others.”

She was incorrect on at least one point — I am not bored. Harping is quite an enjoyable way to make a living.

You might be surprised if I told you the names of some of those who have made such comments to me, which are as bigoted and as insulting as if I had slurred any of them about their colour or their religion.

“I think the best solution to solve the OAS problem is to instill mandatory euthanasia for all people reaching 65 years old,” a frequent commenter wrote on our website.

I think that was supposed to be funny, but most times age references are meant purely to be hurtful.

Having been in the public eye for quite awhile now, I’m more used than most to being flamed by those who disagree with me but, look, if you don’t like my opinion, is it possible to argue the point without personal remarks?

I’ll still write what I think of politicians who celebrate mediocrity, ho-hummers who settle for second best, and ship-disturbers who spend all their time tearing down instead of building up, but if you want to call me a cranky, ill-informed S.O.B. I’ll be fine with it.

Just, please, be more creative with your insults than “old.” And don’t even bother whining about how the older generation screwed everything up. Running the world isn’t easy — you’ll find that out when you get here.

Nelson Mandela was 75 when he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Mahatma Gandhi led India toward independence when he was in his late 70s. Adolf Hitler was a psychopathic meglomaniac well before he hit 30. Kim Jung Un is 28.

Who would you rather have in your corner?

Bear cubs were doomed by logic over compassion

It’s a fact of life that animal babies are cuter by a long shot than people babies.

You may argue the point but there is no comparison between a wrinkly, drooling, crying, pooping, all-round bad-looking human baby and a fuzzy, helpless, mewing kitten, puppy or bear cub.

You can snuggle animal babies. All you can do with human babies is change their diapers.

Cute, cuddly, but doomed.

Maybe that’s why we get so angry when we think an animal baby has been treated poorly. The news that two tiny bear cubs — all fur and fat feet, their eyes not even open yet — were “put down” instead of being sent to a refuge was bound to affect a lot of people emotionally.

From my vantage point, those two little guys deserved better. To hell with worries about whether they’d make it, whether they could be released into the wild later on, whether they’d somehow disturb the balance in their new environment.

We should have tried. They had at least a chance of survival and we didn’t allow it.

Maybe it was a mistake to remove the cubs from their den after loggers unintentionally ruined it (not to mention passing them around afterward to small children like plush toys). But, maybe, the mistake could have been corrected with a little less urgency to do the “logical” thing.

Really, what was the rush? Twenty minutes — not much time to wait before taking out the needles. The wildlife biologist, and the B.C. Wildlife Park, could surely have picked up the phone and looked for a better solution. But they deal in well-intentioned logic; their considerations are for the bigger picture, while the rest of us struggle in the moment.

When animal babies, or animals of any age for that matter, are in trouble, our protective instinct kicks in. If a cat is stuck up a tree, if a pelican is drenched in oil, if a whale is stranded on a beach, we’re there with fire trucks and volunteers and medical teams, sometimes to the tune of millions of dollars.

It seems a contradiction that we slaughter livestock for food and kill wildlife for fun without a twinge of conscience yet so readily spring to the defense of an animal in distress.

That’s not wrong. We are sentient beings ruled as much by passion as we are by reason. We tread a delicate balance between the two.

I reject the idea that we should place all our sympathies with other humans and stop worrying so much for the animals we share this planet with, any more than we should care only about those close to home.

It’s hard to draw boxes around how we feel. Watching a beloved pet die can’t compare to watching a parent or friend die, but, having done both, I can say that just as there are no limits to how much we can love, there are no limits to how much we can hurt.

Logically speaking, there are lots of black bears left. The species will go on as before. That doesn’t diminish the sadness we feel for those two cubs as individuals.

Maybe it’s unfair to vilify those who made the decision, but no one can be blamed for questioning the decision itself. Logically speaking.

Bridging viewpoints on name changes for public places

Flyin' Phil didn't get a bridge named after him, but he did get a statue.

For some reason, driving over the Gaglardi Bridge almost always brings politics to my mind, especially the folly of politicians who mess with things that should be left well enough alone.

Don’t know why.

Anyway, as I crossed the Gaglardi Bridge yesterday morning, the proposal to rename a part of town “Sagebrush” was tumbling through my brain like spilled ball bearings. There was something familiar about it.

The neighbours in the area above Sagebrush Theatre have been kicking the tires on the idea. City councillors didn’t fall all over themselves in support this week. Not a one, not even Donovan Cavers, sprang from his chair to shout “Hear hear! Let it be so!”

Indeed, Coun. Nancy Bepple advised caution, noting that a previous council — some members of which sit in chambers to this day — once tried to change the name of the bridge that connects the North Shore to the South, and met with a storm of protest the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Marie Antoinette got in trouble for serving cake for dessert.

That earlier council was near-unanimous in the decision (one member who shall remain nameless but now has the title “B.C. Environment Minister” in front of his name, was the lone dissenter, saying council should think about it for awhile. “If we rename the bridge after him we’ll have to raise the speed limit,” he said.)

The name change lasted about a week as the masses rose up, egged on by the local daily newspaper, which whipped them into a frenzy of indignation.

It was sort of interesting how it all came about. The long-forgotten mayor of the day, thinking that the late Phil Gaglardi, who built most of the highways and bridges in the province, deserved to have a significant structure named after him in the city he served for three and a half decades as a preacher and a politician.

Without Gaglardi, we’d still be crossing the Thompson River in rowboats. Wouldn’t it be a nice gesture to put his name on his bridge?

So, he presented a notice of motion to his fellow councilors. A couple of them liked the idea so much they said, “Why wait a week?! Let’s do it now!”

So they did.

It was, in some people’s books, one of the most bone-headed decisions ever made in those chambers. Today, of course, it would have carried through as a notice of motion and council could have taken into account whether residents had an appetite for the change.

What they wanted, it turned out, was a public lynching.

Is this a lesson for the Sagebrush group? Maybe, but since the neighbourhood is not currently called Overlanders, or anything else, and a thousand vehicles don’t drive through it every hour, it’s not the same as renaming a bridge.

The most controversial thing about the Sagebrush neighbourhood movement is the name of its new newsletter — The Artemisia Tridentata — probably because it sounds more like a surgical procedure than an information sheet.

Council had some good advice for the group this week — common usage is often the most important consideration in what we name local landmarks and areas. So wait until “Sagebrush” comes into common usage for the neighbourhood, then come back and see us.

That’s my strategy with Gaglardi Bridge.

No more moving forward; now we’re bending the curve

I spent a couple of joyless hours reading the budget speech today and trying to figure out what it all means.  On the one hand, but on the other hand. We shall continue to invest in health and education, protect our seniors, etc. etc.

Excellent outlook, B.C. one of the best places to be.

And we must bend the curve.

“Bend the curve?” What the hell is that? Is it like jumping the shark?

Some speech writer must have experienced a fine moment when that one came to mind. A new way of saying, “there shall be cuts.” Into the briefing notes it went.

So Finance Minister Kevin Falcon said, “We are bending the cost curve down” on health costs. Environment Minister Terry Lake said, “There’s a general recognition we need to bend the curve down.” Donna Lommer, the chief financial officer for Interior Health Authority, talked of “direction to bend the cost curve to three per cent.”

Good Lord. Check the press releases and websites of the Liberal MLAs in the next couple of days. I’ll bet “bending the curve” starts showing up everywhere.

The word is out. We are no longer moving forward. We’re bending the curve.

Everyone remembers Ivan McLelland and the Vees

Ivan McLelland is, understandably, well-remembered around here and elsewhere. I wrote about the legendary Penticton Vees goalie a couple of days ago and have heard back from some of his fans.

Sheila emailed me with this:

“Thanks for an early morning gift! I grew up in Oliver, lived in Kamloops for a decade and a bit, and am now retired in Victoria….. I often think about responding to some of your columns. Today I can’t resist. The Penticton Vees. Who in Oliver didn’t sit around the radio listening to the games. The Warwick brothers were our heroes. You knew if someone crossed one brother there would soon be a pile-up with the other two brothers coming to the rescue…. After I grew up and lived in other places I was surprised that not many folks remembered them. I still am. Thank you for remembering. Say hello to Ivan. It wasn’t just boys who loved the game… the Vees were our first celebrity heart throbs.”

Another fan pleaded, “Can I tag along (to coffee with Ivan)? Please!!!! I’ll be good, I promise.”

The Penticton Herald got in touch Monday asking for the OK to run the column about Ivan and our Daily News story about the Penticton Vees hat.

And Tom from Chase tells me he drove the Greyhound bus that took Ivan from Vancouver to Penticton when the Canucks sent him to the Vees. They got talking, Tom phoned ahead to his wife from a stop in Princeton, and took Ivan home for dinner that night when they got to Penticton.

“He was a super, super person,” Tom says.

A really lousy day, but then Ivan McLelland calls

Newspaper clipping of Ivan McLelland signed by the 1955 Vees.

The snow started early in the morning and was still pelting down like cold flapjacks by late afternoon. One of those days when you just want to hunker down, get the job done, and pick up a meat lovers’ pizza on the way home.

The jangle of the phone interrupts my concentration and I reluctantly pick up the call.

“Rothenburger,” I say, trying to sound cheerful.

“Mel? Ivan McLelland calling!”

Like a shot from a 50,000-volt Taser, the voice shocks my nerve endings into instant attention. I‘m momentarily paralyzed.

This is Ivan McLelland, the greatest goalie in the history of hockey, on the other end of the line. My boyhood hero; hell, every Canadian baby boomer’s boyhood hero.

“Hello?”

“Ivan, how you doing?” I manage to blurt.

Ivan McLelland, who backstopped the Penticton Vees to the 1955 World Ice Hockey Championships in Germany, blanking the Soviets 5-0 in the final game as he chalked up four shutouts and gave up only five goals in the tournament.

“Look at those boys mobbing Ivan McLelland!” screamed Foster Hewitt as the game — broadcast across the country — ended and the Vees swarmed their goalie in jubilation. “They’re just beating poor old Ivan to pieces!”

I was 11 years old. I’ll never forget it.

Understand, this wasn’t just a hockey game; it was the Free World against the “Commies,” considered at the time to be just plain evil. Worse than evil — they’d clobbered another Canadian team in the championships only a year earlier.

Ivan McLelland. The Warwicks — Grant, Dickie, and Billy, later mirrored as the brawling Hanson Brothers in those Slapshot movies.

Brother Grant was the player coach. He told the team if they lost to the Russians, they might as well book a flight to China, because there was no way they’d be allowed back into Canada.

“Since when were you ever a hockey fan?” you ask.

What you have to understand is that this was REAL hockey, played by men — admittedly, young men, in their 20s, some early 30s, on their way up to the Bigs or on their way down, but grownups. “Amateur” in terms of pay, but not in play.

This was the kind of hockey where shops all over the South Okanagan — in Penticton, in Oliver, in Osoyoos, in Peachland — were shuttered early on game night so everyone could catch an early dinner and begin the drive to the Penticton Memorial Arena, an uncomfortable wooden barn much like the one we still have in Kamloops.

The Okanagan Senior A Hockey League.  The Vees of old. There was never an empty seat. This was hockey. Stories about the team are like a bottomless cup of coffee.

And now, 57 years later, I meet Ivan McLelland on the phone. He’d been talking to our reporter Catherine Litt about a search for the history of a Penticton Vees hat, which turned out to be one that was worn by waitresses at the Warwicks’ café. Catherine let it be known to Ivan that I was a big Vees fan, a big Ivan fan.

So, in the spring, Ivan is going to drive up here and we’re going for a coffee, and he’s going to tell me about the book he’s writing about the Vees.

I’m going for coffee with the greatest goaltender in history.

Somebody really ought to do something about Royal Inland

Press releases from politicians, by and large, are a reaffirmation of our parliamentary democracy in which — short of defaming each other or shouting fire in a crowded theatre when there’s no fire — people can say whatever they like, no matter how dumb or unhelpful it is.

To take it a step further, this country is governed, at least to some extent, by press release. Also known as media advisories, they are the battlefield upon which opposing forces face each other, laptops and smartphones drawn and at the ready.

Those in government usually get to make the first move, and often have the best ammunition. They focus on churning out press releases about good news, such as funding for projects or community groups, or showing what good guys they are.

For example, the prime minister’s office Wednesday released the news — and stop the presses on this one — that Stephen Harper had a presented a flag to one Pierre Lavoie, president and founder of the Grand defi Pierre Lavoie, in honour of Flag Day.

Take that, you Opposition cads.

Indeed, in Opposition, the object is to draw attention to bad news — or what can be characterized as bad news — about something the government is doing.

Last week, every non-Conservative MP was sending out righteous entreaties that the Tories stop messing with Old Age Security, a worthy topic, to be sure.

Joyce Murray, for one, the Liberal critic for small business and tourism, representing Vancouver-Quadra, warned that any changes would widen the income inequality gap and might be “negative” for women and the disabled.

The Tories, her advisory stated, indignation slathering every syllable like jam on bread, were being “incredibly irresponsible” with such talk.

“Murray noted that, although there is a demographic change happening in Canada, weakening OAS is not the solution,” it said.

But no sign of a Liberal solution. We should, presumably, rest assured that whatever the government is thinking about, it’s going to be bad, and leave it at that.

This month’s Award for Nice Try In A Press Release, though, is reserved for someone closer to home.

Kamloops-North Thompson NDP candidate Kathy Kendall is beseeching, nay demanding that the B.C. Liberals fix the overcrowding situation at Royal Inland Hospital.

Friday afternoon, “for immediate release,” came the call from Kendall that “the B.C. Liberal government… take action on overcrowding” at the hospital.

“This situation calls in to question whether patients are getting the care they need in a timely manner when they are admitted to hospital,” Kendall quotes herself as saying.

“Terry Lake and the B.C. Liberals” must explain themselves. They must “work towards a solution.”

Again, the solution word, and the NDP will solve things when they make government.

“Adrian Dix and the New Democrat team are committed to strengthening the health care system in British Columbia. New Democrats are proposing practical solutions to reduce wait times and health care costs for B.C. families.”

And how will those practical solutions work, exactly? Will the NDP somehow come up with the multiples of millions of dollars needed for the expansion plans for Royal Inland Hospital?

Will they open some magical chest of cash that will open up more beds, build and staff more operating rooms? Maybe wider hallways?

Doesn’t say.

But, the message is clear: somebody really ought to do something.

Hey, who you calling a prison town, Osoyoos?

Chief Clarence Louie of the Osoyoos Indian Band at announcement of new prison.

Keith Lacey is very, very sorry.

The besieged editor of the Osoyoos (pronounced O-SOO-YUSS, not O-SOY-YOOS, please) Times apologized Monday for the things he said during a breathalyser encounter with an RCMP member week before last, and the things he later wrote about it.

In a post on the paper’s website, Lacey offers “a sincere and heartfelt apology” to Cpl. Ryan McLeod. “Deeply sorry,” Lacy writes. “Truly sorry.” “Deep regret.”

But, in my mind, he doesn’t go far enough. More on that in a moment.

Whilst perusing Lacey’s apology, another item on the website caught my eye. An editorial written last year (before Lacey joined the Times) suggested it was a good thing Osoyoos was out of the running for a new prison.

The jail, announced last week for Oliver, would have “cast a shadow on the sunny, welcoming nature of this resort town…. Regardless of how secure a facility might be, many communities with prisons are often tagged with a stigma.”

Therefore, much better idea to support Oliver as the site. At the official announcement, Osoyoos mayor Stu Wells (a fine fellow and a schoolmate of mine back when Osoyoos kids were bused to school in Oliver) called it “a real shot in the arm” for the area.

And, no doubt, even better since Oliver is 15 or 20 minutes away.

Oliver, by the way, a town of 4,500 people, will benefit by 250 permanent jobs for a facility that amounts to a big-box store with bars, as compared to the 400 jobs Kamloops will get if the gi-mongous mountain-range size Ajax mine goes ahead.

But what really gets me is this idea that a city with a prison isn’t a good place for tourists to visit. Though the South Okanagan city has a wonderful climate and a beautiful lake, Osoyoos will never have as much to offer tourists as Kamloops has.

If visitors mention anything, it’s the pulp mill; they don’t complain about the Kamloops Regional Correctional Centre because they don’t even notice it’s there.

Alcatraz aside, I wouldn’t call prisons tourist attractions, but the idea that a prison makes a city a scary place to visit is just dumb.

Now, back to editor Lacey and his apology, which is candid and, I have no doubt, “sincere and heartfelt.” Media have their miscues on occasion and must apologize when they do, but I haven’t seen this much grovelling since Larry decked Mo.

Given the vitriol that dripped from Lacey’s original editorial last week, the apology is appropriate, as far as it goes.

The closest Lacey comes to acknowledging his improper boast to McLeod about his clout as an editor is, “As a veteran journalist, I know the power of words and much of the language and comments I made about Cpl. McLeod in the performance of his duties were uncalled for.”

No mention, however, of having informed McLeod that “I am the editor of the newspaper and you will see the powers that I have,” as captured on video.

Of all that transpired that evening (and, how we’d all love to see that videotape), the implied threat to use his position in the media to respond against the RCMP member is the most seriously intolerable.

Yet, the apology makes no mention of it.

Editor does a roadside ‘oops’ caught on video

Keith Lacey, editor of the Osoyoos Times.

Our national police force has had its share of embarrassments over incidents caught on video. But it can cut both ways, as the editor of the Osoyoos Times discovered this week.

Keith Lacey, who runs the newsroom at the community weekly near the U.S. border, was not amused when he got stopped last Friday night by Cpl. Ryan McLeod and asked to blow.

The 50-year-old Lacey, who arrived in Osoyoos last November, had emerged from a restaurant-pub with his girlfriend and a bottle of wine. In a 1,400-word editorial published in the paper and on its website this week, he lambasted McLeod for treating him with “basically zero respect” and “humiliating” him.

The roadside breathalyser test showed the editor was OK to drive but Lacey was not assuaged.

The whole thing was, he said, “disgusting…. This is another example of a cop who abused his power.”

Lacey went on to write, “When I later informed him I was the editor of the local newspaper and was going to write about our little episode, he finally shut up and showed me some respect.”

Supt. Ray Bernoties, the officer in charge of B.C. RCMP Communications — those are the folks who handle media matters — replied to Lacey on Thursday.

“Well sir, I’m very pleased to report that there is a video of this incident,” he wrote in the letter, which the Times hasn’t posted. “The video was taken from the police car and includes audio of the entire interaction between you and the police officer. I have just watched the video and observed a very calm and professional member of the RCMP doing his job.”

Bernoties offered to post the video online for “the good people of Osoyoos.” Or, he’d be willing to drive up from Vancouver at his own expense and on his own time for a public showing.

Then, the knockout punch: “Allow me to quote you from the video sir. ‘I am the editor of the newspaper and you will see the powers that I have.’”

Ow. Not “I’m going to write about this,” but “you will see the powers that I have.” (It’s worth noting that using your position in the media as an offensive weapon when trying to resolve personal grievances is a strict no-no in the journalism biz.)

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” Lacey admitted when he picked up the phone yesterday, acknowledging the firestorm of public reaction.

“I don’t really want to do an interview.”

He confirmed the editorial was pulled off the paper’s website Wednesday and that a “clarification” will be issued in next week’s print edition. He’s “man enough to own up” to what he’s gotten himself into.

“You’re calling about Osoyoos, I assume,” the voice at RCMP E Division said when I called for Bernotie, who soon got back to me.

“I’m not trying to take a run at this guy (just) because he’s an editor,” Bernotie said, adding, “I’m not holding this video over his head.”

It won’t be released unless Lacey is OK with it, he said.

But, he continued, Cpl. McLeod (“a real nice, respectful, calm guy”) deserved to be defended, and the incident shows the public how police can do their jobs properly and still “be later slandered so publicly.”

And, maybe, it’s a lesson for at least one editor on the use of “power.”