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on wor Atl Lr ES) \] 3 3 \ 'Y 4 4 1] Ry x SEEN « IN Xs ert SBACR & SLE OE BASEN Editorial Comment ~~ We've heard quite a bit these days about a mysterious silent majority, that wise, responsible, God-fearing-but-invisible backbone of our society that we so often use to explain away the things that the visible, vocal majority has done. Here in Scugog Township, there might be a rare sighting of this unique phenomenon. Concermed citizens (surprisingly enough, that describes supporters of the pen, too) have put all their hope in this wispy segment of our population when they: asked Scugog Township council to reopen the issue of the proposed penitentiary. Assuming that it is this yet-unheard of majority that has the key to turn the decision around, penitentiary proponents hope that council's earlier Now industry - with a slight delay The five or six industries needed to equal the revenue that would have been generated by the penitentiary, became a little more visible last week when Region drilling operations struck water near the existing wells along the Oshawa road. Water, after all, is what everyone is waiting for to bring prosperity to the area. Water for industries to hook into, and water for new industry workers and their families to drink. We shouldn't get too excited yet. Although preliminary investigations show the site to be promising, no one is sure whether there is enough pressure there, or even it the well is drawing from the same body of water that feed the existing wells. In that case, it would be like two straws in a chocolate malt: Scugog's silent section decision has generated enough of a charge to turn the tide. In other words, to get the silent majority off their butts. The group, with some evidence to back it up, tried to prove that the anti-pen petition was not valid. Not only were there obvious discrepancies, but supporters think the validity of even a properly-conducted petition is at best only one indication of the public's view, something that could be considered, but not used as a basis for any decision. Perhaps the group's best argument, however, is a - >. TERY Pes ky that those in the community who saw the penitentiary as an advantage here were lulled into a no-action attitude by repeated statements made by councillors about their apparent support of the penitentiary. Up until the negative vote, say proponents, everyone thought it would be positive. The demand to reopen the question was only the first, and easiest, step in the process. And it might all prove to be an exercise in futility when the end result turns out the same as the original vote. Making the difference in this case, will be the responsibility of the silent majority. Remember When...? 50 YEARS AGO Thursday, July 23, 1925 Mr.F. A. Kent, Port Perry, ' has been appointed to the Directorate of the Canadian 'National Exhibiion to fill the vacancy on the elective board brought about by the elevation of past pres- ident Robert Miller to a Life Directorship. Mr. Kent represents the Horticultural Section. On Thursday last week, Dave Dowson collided with an automobile whileriding on awheel along Queen Street at the Library corner. His wheel was badly broken and the auto wheels passed over his legs. Mr. L purchased the R. Bentley has McKee -Jewelry and Stationery stock . Feeds two, but goes down a heck of a lot quicker. But even if the well proves the answer to our water problems, there is the problem of hooking the new found water into the system. The region has already indicated in its four-year forecast that actual hooking into the system wouldn't take place until 1976. We've repeatedly heard developers express their impatience over Scugog's water problems, and wonder if they will wait. And then there's the possiblity of $1,040 increase in lot levies for Port Perry developers, suggested by the Region's works department as a way to pay the massive bill for the water and sewer system upgrading work. : and has moved into the McKee store. bank made one more step toward keeping itself on the map as a place where real accidents happen. Whitter and Mr. R. Till had what proved to be a very serious' misfortune. When turning back on the road after meeting a buggy, the car made a leap for the ditch and only stopped after it had smashed a telephone pole. Both men were quite serious- ly injured. Bill Smiley Well, that big heat wave through the end of June and into July puts the lie to all those pessimists who claim our summers are changing, getting cooler and damper. That was a real, old-fashioned scorcher. Even our big, old high-ceilinged house, surrounded by shade trees, warmed up to the almost-uncomfortable point after a week of high blue skies and hot yellow suns. Farmers were worried, and a lot of people who had to work through the heat were -suffering and I had room for a lot of sympathy for both as I lay on the beach and wondered whether I should go in for another duck to cool off. I have lots of sympathy, but no feeling of guilt, because I have paid my dues, slugging it out in the heat many a summer when other people were cooling off outside and inside. There were several years of working as a serf on one of the big passenger boats that used to ply the Great Lakes. We worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week. That was in the days when a weekend was just a long weekend, with no holidays for- the working stiff. Most of the summer I enjoyed thoroughly when we were '"'up the Lakes", sleeping under blankets at night, and revelling in the hot clear days and cool nights of The (continued on page 5) Joys of summer Lakehead, or Thunder Bay, as it's now known. * But down at the lower end of the seven-day run at Windsor and Detroit, it was another story. That was then, and still it, the muggiest, funkiest, just plain hell-hottest .place in North America. Even the passengers perspired heavily. The crew didn't perspire, nor even sweat. They ran like waterfalls, When you hit the Detroit River, you knew it. First, by the filth of the water, Secondly, by the lack of any semblance of breeze. Third, by the stink from the breweries of Windsor. There was no air conditioning in those days. If you had a fan kicking around, tired air, you were lucky. The passenger cabins were airless. The crew's quarters, most of them without windows or portholes, were virtually unbreathable in. And the stoke- hole, where the black gang fired the coal into the furnaces, was an inferno. Why there wasn't mutiny down there, I'll never know. But we were young and healthy and had no unions to tell us how we were being exploited (which we were). So after cleaning up the boat and standing under a tepid shower, it was on with some clean duds and out to sample the joys of a night in Detroit: big-league ball games, burlesque shows and something the Yanks called beer. It was pretty heady stuff (not the beer) for a 17 or 18 year old. Some of the boys had a little trouble making it up the gang-plank. Then it was up to the top deck, because there was no use trying to sleep in our quarters, and sit there, naked, as the boat glided up the river, into Lake St. Clair, and the first signs of a breeze again. No sleep, and a 12-hour day ahead, but who needed it? Then there was a summer working in a factory in Toronto. Most of the factory was air conditioned (it had become practicable by then) as the plant turned out film and cameras. But guess who got to work in the machine shop, down in the bowels, with the lathes and the welding machines and the temperature about 96? In hot weather, and I swear it was hot all summer, the guys down Jo were in a foul mood throughout their shift. I honestly believe that, in the various summer jobs I've had, I have sweated enough to fill the tank of one of those new solar-heated homes they're talking about- something like 40,000 gallons. And there's another type I feel sorry for. That's the weekly newspaper editor. Of course, they're so spoiled now that some of them even have, as I understand, air conditioning in their offices. But in my day, the office took the full blast of the summer sun from about noon on. Outside on the street, long cool girls in shorts and tops, and little, cool, brown kids in even less, sauntered along, ablivious to the heat. Inside, the editor stewed and sizzled, trying to shake off pieces of paper that stuck to his damp hands, trying to explain to advertisers why the paper was coming out late, wondering if there would be any advertising next week, and trying to wring an editorial out of a soggy brain. Maybe I'll check things out with some of my old weekly colleagues at the convention this summer in Saskatoon. I'll expect a cool answer, 'Yes, sympathy, but no guilt feeling. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take my grandbaby out to the beach, where we will sit in the cool sand with the waves washing over our legs, and look at the girls in bikinis, and dig holes in the wet sand, and splash each other, and jabber at each other in that special language that nobody else seems to understand, and give not a single thought to all the poor, steamy, smelly masses working today. Never mind, chaps, I've got a rotten sunburn. The Argyle Syndicate Ltd. On Thursday last, Green- Mr. C v *