School's Out, Forever

True story:

Three years ago, during our last months in Vancouver, I was working on an anthology of historic Canadian speeches. Among the thirty-seven, I included an address delivered by Arthur Meighen in 1921 at Vimy Ridge. He wasn't much as a prime minister, but Meighen was a skilled orator... and his words were his own.

In the Introduction I wrote that as a boy Meighen had been a member of the St Marys Collegiate Institute Debating Society. The name meant nothing to me; I didn't even know where St Marys was. Four months later, we stumbled upon the town while house hunting in southern Ontario, and ended up buying a place right next to the old Collegiate Institute.

Since it opened 136 years ago, the building – now Arthur Meighen Public School – has lost its grandeur. Pretty much everything that made it beautiful has been stripped away or hidden behind bland extensions. Still, it was a smalltown school that produced a prime minister. There's something inspirational in that.

Friday saw the final classes at Arthur Meighen Public School. The building is too old, they say. Those studying in seventeenth-century buildings at Université de Laval will not understand. Never mind, the developers have spoken. Its replacement sits on farmland adjacent the town's new Meadowridge subdivision.

Out there are also the subdivisions named, by God, after what the contractors had to eradicate to build them – Birch Hills (named after the grove bulldozed away preparatory to laying the foundation), Vineyard Acres after the rows of Concord grapes plowed under to make way for them.

– Peter DeVries, Reuben, Reuben

Despite a good effort by some dedicated, intelligent souls, the honour bestowed on Meighen will not be transferred. The new school, which opens today, is named Little Falls. We're told that was the town's original name. It wasn't, of course.

So much for education; so much for history.

Thanks to my old pal Chris for hunting down the DeVries quote.

Addendum:

Discovered in the school dumpster.

Related posts:

Meighen as Monster

That's 'EN', Not 'AN'

Thanksgiving Day Advice

from Good Reading, Second Reader (Toronto: Educational Book Co., 1931)

"Prescribed for supplementary reading in British Columbia"

Limited Time, Limited Editions (2/6)

No Man's Meat

Morley Callaghan

Paris: Edward W. Titus at the Sign of the Black Manikin, 1930

"I have had printed of this edition five hundred and twenty-five copies on Verge de Rives, of which five hundred copies for subscribers and twenty-five copies, numbered 501 to 525, for the press. The entire edition is signed by the author. This is no: 165 E.W.T."

I'm pretty sure that this is the first signed, numbered edition I ever bought. At the time I was writing for television – a daytime soap, if you must know – and felt pretty flush with cash. How flush? Well, I plunked down US$125 for this novella from Callaghan's summer in Paris.

It's that old familiar story. A husband and wife entertain a female friend. The guest ends up sleeping with the man to pay off a gambling debt. Everybody is unhappy... until the wife realizes that she's in love with her gal pal and the two run off together. Saturday night, Sunday morning.

The novella didn't appear in Canada until 1978 when Macmillan published it in No Man's Meat & The Enchanted Pimp. Its dust jacket makes for interesting reading:

...when No Man's Meat first appeared in 1931, its frank treatment of perverse sexuality [whoring? bisexuality?] made it unsuitable for a commercial house, and it was privately published in Paris by an avant-garde press. Since then the limited edition of four hundred copies [525, actually] has gained widespread fame by word of mouth. Its early notoriety has been softened by Edmund Wilson's description of the piece as "a small masterpiece", and the original edition as become an underground classic, changing hands for two hundred dollars and more.

Thirty-two years later, there are plenty of copies listed online for US$60 (US$35 without slipcase). How to explain its decline. The internet has certainly played a part, but I think the real blame lies with Macmillan. In making the novella more accessible, the new edition took away much of the mystery – No Man's Meat isn't nearly as risqué or quirky as the title suggests.

Stoddart re-resurrected the novella in 1990, but you'd never know it from their jacket copy, which implies that No Man's Meat is a new work. I believe it was the last book that Callaghan lived to see published.

Note: That's Titus not Tutis.

This:

Not this:

Limited Time, Limited Editions (1/6)

Hetty Dorval

Ethel Wilson

Vancouver: The Alcuin Society, 1967

Typographer: Charles Morris/ Illustrator: Gus Rueter

"This is number 230 of an edition limited to 375 copies which was produced especially for members of the Alcuin Society."

Anyone looking for evidence of the neglect shown Ethel Wilson, British Columbia's greatest novelist, might want to consider the prices being asked for this unusual edition. An elegant production, with a five-page author's introduction that appears nowhere else, it can be bought online for as little as US$25. Twenty years ago, during those heady days of bookseller catalogues, I paid C$75 for this copy. At the time, I thought it was a fantastic bargain.

And it was.

October 1st

October looks to be a month of deadlines. There'll be fewer words and more pictures, beginning with Frank Newfeld's cover illustrations for The Journal of Saint-Denys-Garneau.

I'm intrigued by this book. Hector de Saint-Denys-Garneau stands with Émile Nelligan as the country's great French language poet; his journal provides some disconcerting glimpses into the soul of a man who was plagued by inner turmoil and self-doubt. That said, I admit that much of my attraction has to do with the book's publishing history. The Journal of Saint-Denys-Garneau appeared in 1962, yet there had never been an English language collection of his verse. In fact, John Glassco, spent more than a decade trying to interest publishers.

When finally published by Oberon in 1975, The Complete Poems of Saint-Denys-Garneau won the Canada Council Award for Translation.

The Journal and The Complete Poems enjoyed just one printing each. Isn't it time they were reissued? An obvious bind-up, I think.

On a somewhat related note: Last week, the 28th John Glassco Translation Prize was awarded to Louis Bouchard and Marie-Elisabeth Morf for their work on Verena Stefan's Fremdschläfer, published as D’ailleurs by Editions Héliotrope. Now, there's news you won't see in today's revamped Globe & Mail.

On another somewhat related note: Saint-Denys-Garneau has been on my mind since Jean-Louis Lessard's recent series on the man's work, and because I'm right now preparing my biography of Glassco for publication. Consider this the first plug.

Trudeau Redux: Compare and Contrast

John Lennon, Yoko Ono and Pierre Trudeau, Parliament Hill, 23 December 1969.

Chad Kroeger and Stephen Harper, 24 Sussex Drive, 11 April 2010.

Related post:

Trudeau Redux: Compare and Contrast II

Pierre Elliott Trudeau, Ladies' Man

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden:

A Study in Public Seduction

Michelle Le Grand and Allison Fay

Don Mills, ON: Greywood, 1972

It was ten years ago today that Pierre Trudeau died. Does he haunt us still? I suppose so, though his influence has diminished... as has the country's. Let's face it, the man never encountered a reception like this from last week:

Enough.

I Never Promised You a Rose Garden is a sequel of sorts – "a study in public seduction" from the same publisher that four years earlier told us "how pierre elliott trudeau seduced canada with the lights on". Readers of Private Eye will be familiar with the content: a photo with wacky word balloon. This one looks like it could have come from the magazine's 18 December 1970 issue (cliquer pour agrandir).

You get the idea. The picture sets the theme, mixing politics with personality, casting Trudeau as Casanova.

The pseudonymous authors, apparently "two very political and disillusioned housewives", pitch some pretty varied attempts at humour. At times they venture into sensitive territory...

... before descending into jokes one would not dare make today.

There are no knee slappers here, though political types will be interested in the photos, most of which I've not seen elsewhere. Thumbing through the thing I caught myself ignoring the captions, returning in time to catch this:

Poignant and prophetic, n'est ce pas?

Object and Access: A 64-page staple-bound paperback. Ten copies sit on university library shelves, with a further two at Library and Archives Canada and the Toronto Public Library. A half-dozen copies are listed online at between US$4 and US$10. One Winnipeg bookseller has pulled away from the pack, asking US$25 (and adds US$12.25 shipping when three bucks will more than cover it).

Fuddle duddle.

Community Service

The Globe & Mail, 26 September 1953

When Liberace Winks at Bobby Gimby

When Liberace Winks at Me

Bobby Gimby and Johnny Wayne

Toronto: BMI Canada, 1954

One day I'm arguing with a friend that earlier times weren't necessarily "more innocent times", the next I come across this sheet music in a local shop.

Gimby was the first musician I could name. His "Ca-na-da" took root in my four-year-old brain and, like all good commercial jingles, has proven to be a hardy perennial.

And make no mistake, "Ca-na-da" was a commercial jingle; something to sell the centennial.

"Respectfully dedicated to LIBERACE, America's favorite performer", "When Liberace Winks at Me" is just as catchy. I found it here in this "Liberace Medley". The song begins at 6:49, but you'll want to see the whole thing.

Dear "Fan Club President",

I'm dropping you this line,

I'm sorry to have to tell you

I really must resign.

I've found another idol,

He's as charming as can be,

I really can't describe

The strange effect he has on me

I start to shake,

I start to shiver,

Every fibre in me really starts to quiver.

It's a feeling very close to ecstacy.

That's what happens when Liberace winks at me.

You can't compare his charming manner

With an ordinary Jerry, Joe or Jim.

And when he sits there at the piana

No one can hold a candelabra to him.

I never work,

Just dilly dally,

Since I fell under the spell of this Svengally,

I just sit there spellbound facing my T.V.

That's what happens when Liberace winks at me.

I start to blush,

I start to stammer,

And my pulses start a pounding like a hammer.

I'm bewitched as any fool can plainly see.

That's what happens when Liberace winks at me.

It's really very, very simple,

'cause he makes me feel just like a royal queen.

And when he winks and shows that dimple,

I start to hug and kiss my television screen.

I go beserk,

I start to tingle,

And I'm so gosh darned glad that I'm still single.

When he drops that eyelid, I just shout WOE-EE!!

That's what happens when Liberace winks at me.

I start to whirl,

I'm getting dizzy,

I'm in a haze, I'm in a haze, I'm in a tizzy

I'm a victim of a strange new sorcery.

That's what happens when Liberace winks at me.

International readers and those too young to have been exposed to "Ca-na-da" may be interested in the clip below, which was shot one chilly spring day at Expo 67. A 48-year-old man in robes, dubbed "The Pied Piper of Canada", leading skipping schoolchildren in song...

Seems like a more innocent time.

Trivia: "When Liberace Winks at Me" was one of several songs Gimby wrote with comedian Johnny Wayne (of Wayne and Schuster). The Canadian Encyclopedia tells us that they had their greatest success with something called "The Cricket Song" (1956) , recorded by Ray Bolger.

Q: How many times can I mention Bobby Gimby in one month?

A: Two.