Have you ever said something unpleasant and afterwards regretted it? Did you kick yourself because you knew you shouldn’t have said it in the first place? That’s a double whammy, being slapped in the face twice with the same wet fish. How slow we are to learn. Either we’re so convinced of our propriety or we handle the anxiety of the moment so poorly, we go charging in with guns blazing and raze the place. As satisfying as it may be to dumbfound the opposition (and never mind any psychological entitlement to do so) don’t be fooled; being nasty is a losing cause. Among other fallout the very person you maligned may end being one of your dearest friends. The twists and turns of society!

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Living in a small community is being part of a family. As in a family the different members of a community are bound by common threads.

For Sarason, psychological sense of community is “the perception of similarity to others, an acknowledged interdependence with others, a willingness to maintain this interdependence by giving to or doing for others what one expects from them, and the feeling that one is part of a larger dependable and stable structure” (1974, p. 157).

McMillan & Chavis (1986) define sense of community as “a feeling that members have of belonging, a feeling that members matter to one another and to the group, and a shared faith that members’ needs will be met through their commitment to be together.”

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Glancing back on a lifetime of educational studies and the practice of law I thought some reminiscence about work habits might prove mildly diverting. Unquestionably my work habits were more plodding than ideal, not exactly the work of a Whizz Kid.  To qualify as ideal the scheme would had to have been both efficient and productive.  While I can claim some modicum of success with productivity I am less convinced that I was efficient.  Anyway what matters here and now is only a chronicle of how I worked.  I am not marketing my habits as a reliable instrument of erudition.

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Say what you will, I am convinced the recent disruption of my life was linked to the full moon. In this instance it was called the “Super Moon” or if you prefer the astronomical term, a perigee-syzygy moon which signifies the moon’s closest approach to earth on its elliptic orbit. The supermoon phenomenon has been associated with increased risk of events such as earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.  Its troubling influence upon my universe was similarly apparent yesterday.

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Considering its weightiness, the end of the world commands remarkably feeble engagement.  At least in the short run.  By which I mean few of us brood over the hot topic before its vitality is exhausted.  If given attention at all I wager that it achieves preeminence only when death is at our door and by then it is likely too late to be creative about getting there.  Granted there are those who for religious reasons contemplate the advantage of life after death but that is not the same as buckling down to the cerebration of what we’ll do until then. It may offend our democratic sensitivities to think we’re somehow manipulated in what we do, that we haven’t exactly got our hand on the tiller throughout most of our lives.  But that is pretty much the case.  While it is pushing it to say we’re all sheep, there is nonetheless merit in diminution of our lives as predictable in more ways than we’re prepared to acknowledge. Adequate reflection upon the subject is therefore timely and perhaps even urgent.

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While there are many private schools of every description in Canada and elsewhere, when I attended St. Andrew’s College, Aurora, Ontario in 1963 we flattered ourselves to be among a select group called the “Little Big Four” which applied to St. Andrew’s College, Upper Canada College (Toronto), Bishop Ridley College (St. Catharines) and Trinity College School (Port Hope). We had occasional reciprocal football games with Pickering College (Newmarket) and Lakefield College or “The Grove” (Lakefield) but they were considered outside the normal orbit.

All the buildings on campus had the settled appearance of brick and stone. Each of the residences was three storeys.  The oldest residence was MacDonald House (named after the first Housemaster) which then housed the boys of the Lower School.  The rooms in MacDonald House were dormitories of many beds in a large room. The four Upper School residences were housed in one long building overlooking the “Quad”, a large park-like area where the annual Cadet Inspection and Prize Day were held.  The rooms there housed two or four students.  Some of the rooms of Fourth House had been renovated to remove the old veneer and replace it with the a new modern though sterile look.  There still remained however a room with a working fireplace (which room I was fortunate to have as a House Captain in Lower Sixth Form).  In both the Upper School and Lower School residences there were rooms reserved for the Prefects who had the luxury of their own room. The House Captains in the Lower School shared a room. In each of the Houses was an apartment for the House Master and his family.  The Head Master and his family had a separate house at one end of the Quad.  The other Masters and their families lived in small brick houses surrounding the campus.

It was clear from the outset that students were expected to work hard at what they were doing, whether academics, athletics, drama, debating or whatever.  At every turn there was no tolerance for slacking.  To ensure the motivation was there, there were constant rewards.  Everything had a trophy of one sort or another.  Even just belonging to one of the four “Clans” (which was mandatory for everyone in the school) entitled you to a piece of identifying cloth to sew onto your school sweater coat.  Membership at every level was accommodated.  The “New Boys” were required to wear a bland blue tie which was by design shortly replaced with the striped school tie.  As other achievements were achieved different ties were awarded to identify position or accomplishment.  The so-called “Number One Dress” was grey flannels and blue blazer (with the school crest on the breast pocket).  This could be exchanged for the kilt (Gordon tartan) and blue blazer.

The Masters imposed strict terms of reference.  They were always addressed as “Sir”.  The Masters addressed the boys only by their family name.  If there were more than one Smith, then it was Smith I (pronounced “Smith Primus”), Smith II (“Smith Secundus”), Smith III (“Smith Tertius”), Smith IV (“Smith Quartus”) and so on (though I can’t recall a fifth denomination).  Among themselves the boys normally used first names except when referring to someone outside their Form.  Fourth Form for example was the equivalent of Grade X in the provincial school system.  Fifth Form was Grade XI; Lower Sixth was Grade XII and Upper Sixth was Grade XIII.

Athletics adopted a similar system of priority, the senior teams of any sport being First Team.  First Team members were entitled to wear a white sweater coat with red trim.  The standard school sweater coat was red with white trim. Apart from the usual sports of tennis, football, hockey and swimming there was a very active cricket group. Those boys wore white ducks, buck shoes and white cable-knit sleeveless sweaters.

Debating was popular at each of the Little Big Four schools.  This extracurricular activity blended nicely with the equal affection for Stratford theatre.  It was all about performance. In later years the debating platform was expanded to include competition between schools from all over the world.  The debates held with other schools of the Little Big Four attracted celebrated personalities (politicians and industrialists) as Judges.

During the school year the highlights were the football games with competing schools of the Little Big Four; the Christmas Carol Service in the Chapel; and the Cadet Parade through Rosedale in Toronto.  Each of these instances provided an opportunity for family and friends to entertain the students at local restaurants and golf clubs.  The only other time the boys were permitted to be absent from the school was for Sunday evening dinner which was almost guaranteed to be roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and mashed potatoes with gravy.  If the boys were senior enough (and the parents were lavish enough) they could also count on having a beer or a glass of sherry before dinner.

All students were required to attend Chapel every morning (Matins) and twice on Sundays (Matins and Vespers).  No one ever enforced prayer but everybody had to sing.  The flavour of each service was decidedly Anglican (Church of England) and such hymns as later popularized by the movie “Chariots of Fire” were among the favourites.

Everyone in the school participated in the Highland Cadet corps.  Some were part of the pipes and drums band.  In addition to having to keep one’s shoes polished there was the added aggravation of having to polish the brass buttons on one’s red tunic.    If you were a Prefect or House Captain you were entitled to punish misdemeanours by having the younger student polish your gear.  The hierarchy of cadets included Private, Corporal, Sergeant, Captain, Regimental Sergeant Major, Second-in-Command and Commanding Officer.

“Prize Day” at the end of the year was the crown for the year’s work.  Parents and friends were invited to enjoy the display of accomplishment for the boys. There was of course always a lecture given by some visiting personality; occasionally the lecture was directed to the boys alone and actually contained some entertaining material (usually as the expense of some of the current Masters).

While events at the school were unquestionably predictable, from time to time there were disruptions and misfortune.  A boy might be expelled for having gone off campus and returned drunk.  A boy who had enormous promise was abruptly removed from the school when his parents divorced.  A boy died in a field while walking in the winter from the Toronto airport to the school. There was once innuendo about promiscuity between an older boy (nicknamed “Horse”) and boys in the Lower School; sometimes the innuendo extended to the Masters but only to the extent of mockery.

There were two annual dances, one of a semi-formal nature, the other the Highland Cadet Ball.  For the younger boys who were often from other parts of the world, the “dates” were pre-arranged.  The girls arrived from one of the Toronto girls schools such as Branksome Hall or Havergal College and were effectively paired with one of the boys.  The Cadet Ball typically involved closer alliances.  Plans for that occasion included such extravagances as breakfast parties held afterwards.  The participants were chauffeured to the party which in some instances took place in nearby private residences or in a downtown Toronto Hotel. Once the party was in a private car of a train to Kingston, Ontario and back.

Years ago a dear friend of mine postulated there are four topics of conversation: sex, gossip, bodily functions and shopping.  When I questioned him about sex being a sub-set of bodily functions he dismissed it out of hand. He insisted upon the preservation of the two.  It shouldn’t have surprised me. He was notoriously licentious and derived huge comic gratification from rude noises.  Likewise he refined the etiquette of gossip (which he had elevated to the rank of Zena Cherry in the society pages of the Globe & Mail) to exclude the strictly functional purpose of shopping.  The four topics nicely captured the natural and fervent inclinations of my friend.

While there is admittedly something compelling about the reduction of human conversation to those four subjects, one mustn’t overlook the obvious limitation. They all have a decidedly visceral tone to them.  As clever as he was, my friend’s intellectual capacities were invariably overshadowed by his affection for the less cerebral elements of life.  And there is no doubt that he was hopelessly dedicated to pleasure.  The unfortunate corollary of such hopeless dedication is the risk of trivializing whatever else transpires. Hedonism tends by extension to preclude anything that interferes with it.  It also sanctions whatever it takes to get it.

I think my friend would have been disappointed to learn that in spite of the amused tolerance which others had of his focus in life, he wasn’t considered someone of much personal depth.  In fact everything about him was superficial.  After he had had enough to drink (which was regularly) he adopted an almost stage-like appearance albeit an entertaining one.  This however did little to promote his more intellectual side.  Normally this transparency was unimportant as the highly social environment contributed to the general levity of communication.  But if you were by chance separated from the herd with him alone, the conversation rapidly deteriorated;  as always, it was a matter of sex, gossip, bodily functions or shopping.

In the examination of social conventions one must of necessity dwell upon abstract concepts.  It isn’t after all the detail of personalities which is on the table; rather the broad strokes of human conduct.  The context therefore mandates a degree of removal from the personal elements of communication. Mastering theoretical discourse of sex, gossip, bodily functions and shopping is as such a talent worth possessing.  There was for example no question that my friend was a prime candidate for almost any social convention.  He was guaranteed to contribute to the proceedings and not sit on a chair in the corner for the entire evening.  This naturally leads me to conclude that the motivations of my friend were not to be diminished.  He may even have reasonably suffered a degree of shyness and introversion which he sought to compensate by such overtly brash behaviour.

There is generally enough about life that is serious without having to add purposively to its weight.  Here my friend unquestionably excelled.  By restricting the conversation to his chosen subjects he ensured the maintenance of what may be categorized as a level playing field for all involved.  There are after all very few people who, when they ask “How are you?”, really want to know.  It is both less mucky and far more assured of buoyancy to keep the conversation to sex, gossip, bodily functions and shopping.  If one insists upon going deep down into life and pulling everyone with you into the abyss, there are likely more appropriate venues for doing so such as your analyst’s office.

Things have lately become uncommonly heated on the pages of our local electronic newspaper The Millstone News.  This technologically advanced publication with its capacity to provide almost instant reporting and communication between its contributors and readers is now the established forum for daily vitriolic exchanges between our Mayor and those opposed to a proposed renovation of an existing hydro-electric plant on the Mississippi River in the centre of Town.  I have to say I admire the Mayor for the way he is handling the heat he is taking.  He is unwaveringly firm in his opinion that the project is well conceived and based upon sound planning, economic, heritage, engineering and environmental principles.  In fairness he has the support of an extensive body of bureaucratic mandarins whose education has presumably fitted them for analysis of this very type.  By contrast those in opposition to the project have regularly characterized the reports of the governmental bodies as mere pandering to the social elite and the interest of business generally.  The Mayor is naturally being painted with the same brush of favouritism and commercialism (all accordingly to the opponents at the expense of the “public interest” which the Mayor in turn has categorized as a “special interest group”).

There is seemingly only one person active in the daily debate whose infectious voice is comparatively down the middle.  That person has ostensibly come out in favour of the Mayor but only because that person is asking the opponents to do more than merely object to the project and to put forward factual reasons for their objection. Coincidentally I requested two people who are actively involved in the denouncement of the project to share with me their reasons. The first person began by inviting me to review the historical reports contained in The Millstone News to collate the many reasons for objection, adding that there were so many people who had objected as evidenced by an on-line survey and that there were examples of other government sponsored projects being quashed by organized public activity.  The second person, before turning the question onto me and asking what I thought, reluctantly stated that she was against the project though she hadn’t fully reviewed the reasons why.  When I pressed her for a reason, she said that she was afraid of what would become of the River.

Neither of these correspondents did much to satisfy either my curiosity about the merits of the project or my comfort level with the mechanism of objection.  I am also disturbed that much of the argument by the opponents is founded strictly upon the assertion of partisanship or inactivity by the Mayor and his Council, allegations which invariably fall short of conjunction with misguided or inaccurate decisions by the local politicians. There is certainly no concession whatever by the opponents that the evolution of inquiry into the project has brought to the forefront matters which reasonably were not previously considered by Council especially as the adjudication upon the merits of the project was by legislation reserved to the provincial government. The present ability of the opponents to see with purported 20-20 vision is not entirely deserved in my opinion. Nonetheless the Councillors are being roundly abused for apparent lack of foresight. It is no small coincidence the ad hominem nature of the debate is unquestionably fuelled by a brewing battle for the position of Mayor, the line of decision being drawn between him who supports the project and him who does not.  At this point it is safe to assume that all other issues germane to the management of the Town will take a back seat to this particular issue and that the fortunes of each of the prospective Councillors and Mayor in the upcoming municipal election will likely turn upon this issue alone.

While I can imagine that many of the opponents of the project would be flabbergasted to hear me say so, there is undeniably a sense emerging from this on-going debate that the majority of the opponents are new arrivals to the Town or even from “away” and that the silent majority (who are afraid to be tarred and feathered by these vocal opponents) are the native members of the community (which may also include traditionalists who haven’t a penchant for on-line surveys).  It doesn’t hinder the perpetuation of this demographic division that activist Maude Barlow and folk singer Bruce Cockburn have been enlisted as supporters of the opponents.  Inevitably when such lines are drawn the division further deteriorates into a schism between the savvy imports and the hay-seed locals which of course does nothing but add to the perceived animosity between the camps.

Politics being the blood-sport that it is, it is guaranteed that the substantive facts of this project will be lost in the unfolding of the more entertaining tangle between the parties.  Although there has been brief mention of the principal of the developer, he has until very recently perhaps wisely chosen to remove himself from the fray from the outset and has only lately succumbed to the taunts of the opponents to get into the ring.  Aside from the developer’s insipid response to the objections, it is my guess that the developer, relying upon the persuasive reports of the government and his legal entitlement to do so (perhaps along with the threat of Mandamus to force the hand of the government to act as it should in accordance with settled law) will get what he wants in the end.  There may however be delay precipitated by the recent decision of Council to freeze development of any nature in this area (“Heritage District“) for a year but this too may be the subject of legal attack on the theory that one cannot do indirectly what one cannot do directly.  My only caveat to this conjecture of outcome is that the laws of equity may yet be invoked to trounce the so-called letter of the law in favour of a more egalitarian or democratic result, a thesis in which the newly elected provincial government may decide it has a particular interest (or self-interest).  Whatever the result, things are heating up!

If you are reading this you are touching upon my latest web site, what was once my springboard to the upcoming municipal election but which has by virtue of my precipitous detour from that singular purpose subsequently degenerated to yet another personal blog on the world wide web.  All the serious and focused election stuff and anything else resembling academic orientation on the web site been summarily removed and proudly replaced by a catalogue of my own abstract waffling and codswallop.  Judging by the emails I have received in rapid succession this morning it appears that I am a literary hit.  Problem is, my popularity is seemingly based in China whence the associated email addresses emanate.  And based upon the text of the emails the correspondents have considerable difficulty with the English language.  All in all, not a glowing recommendation!  Naturally I am suspicious of the nefarious purpose of my admirers though with some effort I can extract a favourable word in the mix of computer-generated gibberish.

I don’t mind telling you that this is a hit but not in the good way.  I had for example modestly sought to generate flattering commentary about my blog from my friends by having discretely included my new web site address in the contact information of my email “signature”.  Either the inclusion was so discrete as to be unnoticeable or no one was moved to say anything in particular if indeed they even read what I wrote. A comment along the lines of the Chinese devotees would have been something.

Although this may illustrate a general marketing flaw I suspect the more relevant question is what keeps a failed writer going in the face of such obvious disregard?  The scope of the enquiry broadens swiftly as I extrapolate to a more general examination of what has kept me going for the past forty years.  Suddenly confronted with the lack of statistical support in this hitherto committed enterprise the possibility of prolonged self-deception on a wider plane takes on new vitality.  In retrospect I can appreciate the dearth of invitations to Government House and the complete absence of promotions of my candidacy to the Senate or the Supreme Court.

Nonetheless I persist.  It is perhaps a temperament of arrogance which allows me to do so; or it may simply be devil-be-damned!  Either way I am not about to throw either myself or my occupations overboard.  As far as I am concerned I’ve made it to the finish line and that alone is reward enough.  Getting through school and a career of law was a combined undertaking of no small import to my thinking.  Bloody work!  Every inch of it!  I cushion the weight of my defeat by recalling the successes of the nincompoops who have gone before me; I wouldn’t change places with any one of them!

There are so many measures of success that it defies any attempt to settle irrevocably upon one or the other.  Instead adoption of the generic, all-inclusive prescription is decidedly easier:  Does it work for you?  If it does, you’re a winner!  If it doesn’t, who cares!  I have never been one to accept mediocrity yet in this I am quite comfortable. It is rather like relinquishing the need to exert myself when bicycling.  Enough already!  All my life it was push, push, push.  I’m done with pushing!