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TM A TI I ES. 4 PL 5 TI pa. 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, Feb. 5, 1985 ditorial comments The Guy Has Guts Somewhere just west of Winnipeg this week, on the bleak winter prairie where the mercury can plunge to bone chilling depths, there is a story of courage hop- skipping along towards the distant Pacific coast. Steve Fonyo's name is making its way into the minds and hearts of Canadians; a 19 year old who lost a leg to cancer now running across Canada in an effort to raise money to fight this killer disease. Fonyo calls his odyssey "Journey for Lives, and he started with little fanfare last March 31 in St. John's, Newfoundland. Last week, he reached Winnipeg, a distance of more than 5400 kilometres. Still ahead is the Canadian prairie and the depths of winter. It is indeed a story of courage for more than one reason. Firstly to run on one leg through the Canadian winter is a near impossible task. Secondly, when young Fonyo started out, a lot of people more or less brushed his efforts off, and sneered he was only interested in cashing in on the publicity of his famous predecessor. Along the way, he has had disagreements with the Canadian Cancer Society. But anybody out looking for a brief moment in the . glare of publicity would long ago have packed in this - idea. Steve Fonyo is still on the road, bound and deter- mined above all to reach his goal: the Pacific Ocean. And, his efforts so far have raised a little more than half a million dollars to be used in the fight against cancer. Sure, there are still the inevitable comparisons to another young man whose heroic efforts and untimely death in the process touched an entire nation. But obviously Steve Fonyo doesn't care. He has his own mission and he's doing it his way. People are tak- ing him seriously. Last week in frigid Winnipeg, the citizens of that ci- ty turned up to give him the warmest welcome yet on his long journey. He was invited to drop the puck at a Winnipeg Jets hockey match. And then he was back on the road. His perseverance in the face of all kinds of adversity (man- made and natural) is truly something to warm the spirits of all of us this bitter winter. The guy's got guts, that's for sure. He's proving that with every step. It's a nice story for a change, and the very least we ~ can do is wish him well. - Thanks A Lot It the story of Steve Fonyo is one of courage and determination, the efforts of Mrs. Marion Lee of Port Perry on behalf of crippled children are touching and heart-warming. No, Mrs. Lee is not running across the country. But at the Sunday Snowarama, she turned over $1,071 in pledges and handicapped youngsters all across Ontario will benefit from this. Mrs. Lee's effort was sparked partly by a tragedy in her own life: the death of her son Bill in a car acci- dent a couple of years ago. According to Mrs. Lee, Bill "loved to help other peo- ple." and he was an avid snowmobiler. For the past two winters, she has raised pledge money for Snowarama in her son's name. Last year, it was about $700; this year over $1000. She put aside $5 per week out of her own pocket, and the rest came from friends and co-workers at the Chrysler trim plant in Ajax. It is her way of helping Snowarama and crippled kids, and at the same time honouring the memory of her son. Mrs. Lee, of course, is not unique. There are many, many people in this community and all across the coun- try who go out of their way, and give that "little extra" to helping those less fortunate than themselves. And thank goodness for all those people. - In a world that seems more and more dominated by the selfish, the cruel dnd vicious, it is gratifying to know there are plenty of individuals who still care enough to make things a little better. To the Marion Lees and all those like her, we say nice going, and thanks. SAY, HARRY, WE HAD BETTER PUT ON A FEW EXTRA UN\TS, IF THAT NEW SNOW REMOVAL BY-LAW COMES INTO EFFECT, 0 9 A OAL PLATTEY PORT PERRY STAR. 8S J chatterb OX | by Cathy Robb . MY NUMBER IS 25 Call me a country hick, but until the other night I'd never set eyes on those citified contraptions folks call phone bars. You know what I'm talking about? The kind you hear advertised on Rock 102 and other Buffalo radio sta- tions, with free drinks on ladies night, wet t-shirt con- tests and all the chicken wings you can eat. Well, I had occasion to, uh, experience one of those bars first hand. Sort of an investigative reporting assignment, you might say. An in-depth look at phone bars. I mean, you know and I know that I wouldn't hang out in one of those places UNLESS I was working, right? Oh, pity the hardworking reporter. Anyways, it's Thursday night and I'm out with some old high school buddies I haven't seen, well, since high school. And for me, high school means Markham On- tario, a place that has grown faster than Jackie Gleason's waistline. I hardly ever get back to visit my old cronies from Markham, but when I do, I'm always overwhelmed with the changes in this once quiet village. When I was 18 and living in Markham (that was when the town wasn't much bigger than Blackstock, when Pierre Elliott Trudeau was still cute and the drink- ing age was still 18), the Grade Thirteen class used to hang out at the only bar in town, a sleazy dive of a place nicknamed The Wood. Nowadays, it's a strip joint and the only people who go there are dirty old rubbies who can't focus their eyes enough to notice the faded red felt wallpaper on the walls or the puke-stained carpet on the floors. But it wasn't quite that bad when Markham High School's graduating class hung out there on a Wednes- day night, tossing back vodka and orange juice and dan- cing to inane disco sounds of K.C. and the Sunshine Band. So when my good friends Mark and Allison sug- gested going out for a pint, I thought, The Wood? Heck no, sez Mark, who rhymes off a whole slew of nifty bars that have sprouted up all over Markham since the days I used to live there. One of the imbibing establishments on his list is his personal favourite, a roadhouse-style dance bar called Footloose, where Mark has recently earned himself a spot in the finals of the Footloose Dance Contest. But what really sets Footloose apart from the other neighbourhood bars isn't the dance contest -- it's the phones. Each table has it's own touch-tone phone (look- ing just like something Ma Bell would charge you for) and a number, which hangs over your table. So if, for example, you see some good-looking guy or girl at table 42, you just pick up your receiver, dial 42. and voila! The phone rings at table 42 (unless it's busy). the person picks it up, and you have a stimulating conversation. Then the person asks you to dance, kisses you goodnight and marries you the next day. Well, not quite, but you know what I mean. What's even more fun is just picking-numbers at random, not knowing who is sitting at the table, and not really caring. That way you can actually get to know a person a little bit before you judge them (or they judge you) on the basis of looks. Which is the hardest part about meeting anybody new, I think. In most situations, folks-of the opposite sex see you before they talk to you, pre-judge you on the basis of looks, and never discover that you're a nice per- son under all those zits. If only, I've always thought, people could talk to each other BEFORE they decide they're not interested, a whole lot more people would be a whole lot less lonely. That's why the phones are so neat. With great zeal we dialed number after number, talking to vegetable growers, drunken jerks, stock brokers and sound engineers. : The key, we discovered, to a great conversation with each one, is to start things off with a catch phrase. A line. Something funny or unusual. By just saying "Hi, how are you," you've already established yourself as one of the crowd. Bor-ing. . Whereas if you say something dopey like "Hi, what did you have for breakfast?" the person on the other end of the line will think- a) "Hey, wow, what a witty person' or b) 'Hey, wow, what a weirdo." In either case, you've got the person's attention and can proceed from there. On Thursday night we tried every catch-line we could think of. Like, ""Avon calling. We've got that truckload of bubble bath you ordered sitting in the parking lot." Or, "This is Joke Survey Inc., and we were wonder- ing if you could contribute a joke, clean or otherwise, to our survey sheet. When we discover who's the fun- niest guy in the bar, we'll buy him a drink." Or even, 'Ma Bell calling. Where's the money you owe us for the last bill?" Believe me, it works. The only problem is fending off these people once they set their minds to coming over to your table and setting eyes on you ---- face to face. And while I'm not a great fan of lying, a little white lie is particularly handy in phone bars if you don't want somebody visiting your table. All you have to do when they ask you for your table number is lie through your teeth. Tell them you're the 300 pound blonde chick at table 8 or the lady that looks like Brigitte Bardot at table 32. Never, never ---- unless you want to meet them -- -- reveal that you're hiding under table 25 After all. even on genuine telephones, you're bound to get a bad connection sometimes.