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| | 4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, March 12, 1985 editorial comments Credit 'Where Due There was a time not too many years ago when Durham Region was just about everyone's favourite whipping boy. ref "In fact, when the Region was first created back in 1974, there was a lot of talk about open revolt from outraged groups of people, especially those in the rural areas, who feared their local identities would be gobbl- _ed up and then washed away in a sea of red ink. Certainly, the Region underwent some growing pains in mid-seventies and Durham bashing continued to be a popular pass-time. Indeed, this newspaper has published editorials critical of some aspects of Regionalism over the years. But let's give credit where credit is due. It's pretty hard these days to find much fault with Durham and the system. It seems to be working well, almost too well. In fact, the large number of newspaper and radio reporters who cover the regular meetings of Regional council often has a hard time coming up with stories. The meetings tend to be short, very routine and reporters are left to write stories about petty squabbles and bickering which in many instances would be better left out of the papers. . The recent budget approved by the council last week shows a net tax impact of 5 per cent on average across the eight municipalities that make up Durham. Some municipalities, like Scugog Township, are getting away with even less of an impact on taxes. It will be a 3.3 per cent hike here, or about $5,90 for the average home owner in the Township. : As Mayor Taylor commented, you can't really ex- pect to do much better than that. We agree. Financially, the Region seems to be in good shape, and in 1984, chalked up a large surplus of $1.7 million. Some may argue that maybe bad budgeting, but it is also an indication of prudent housekeeping. ~ Scugog Township taxpayers in 1985 will contribute $1,463,000 to Durham Region. That seems like a lot of money, and it is. But we believe the 14,000 people who live in this Township are getting good value for this contribution. We do not believe for one minute that a similar level of service for such things as social welfare programs, roads, sewer and water works, planning, subdivision ap- provals, and policing could be provided by the local municipality for the same amount of money. The economics of scale simply would not allow it, and the Durham Police Force is a perfect example. There is no way a small municipality like Scugog could pay for the extent of policing it gets from the Durham force: not just the number of officers and patrol cars which provide high visibility, but the back-up services like marine and winter snowmobile patrols, community service officers, youth bureau, and in the case of very serious crime, detectives and officers who have specialized training and expertise. Subdivision approval is another area. Region plan- ning staff now have the authority to grant full approval, something which used to be done by the provincial government in a process that could take a year or more. Now, it can be done in a matter of months. For Scugog Township to hire just one full time qualified planner would cost $40 or $50,000 yearly. We are not saying that Durham is perfect, not by a long shot. But it is working and working well, especially for smaller municipalities like Scugog. The cost to the taxpayers has not been ruinous. In fact, over the last five years, Regional taxes have increased at less than the inflation rate. In 1980, the average household in Durham contributed $202 in tax dollars to the Region. This year, in those same 1980 dollars, each household is paying $208. And from our experience with the Region, it has not grown into a monolithic, faceless bureaucracy where employees don't give a hoot about the people they serve. On the contrary, we have found that those who work for the Region are very much in tune with local issues ahd problems over which they have control and jurisdiction. The point of all this is that Durham is working. It is doing what it is supposed to do: provide a good level of municipal service at a reasonable rate. 9 3 Qases nw] s =) b IE POD#E © .. o ° * © ° @ 0 oo ° ° I) o o o 0 ° o " ° 0 oe © 0 ° [+] HOW THE HECK: \ ° ~ ° HAVE WE SPENT \ , a °? OUR YEARS BUDGET " o o| oF $140 MILLON [2] ALREADY 277° 0 o [o} o Oo 0 ° o. © ° ° 0 ° o o 0°. hatterbox by John B. McClelland + -- BEER IN THE SUMMER OF '68 As I write this, the beer strike in Ontario is heading into its 10th day. Whether the strike is still on by the time this issue of the paper reaches our readers remains to be seen. I suspect it will be, as there are some mighty big issues involved here. The industry appears determined to start a major switchover to aluminum cans, which are less labour in- tensive than handling the traditional bottles. The unions . want a guarantee of job security for its members; the brew companies say they can't guarantee every job, and presto, the taps run dry. The workers are locked out in what could be a long dry spell. Tavern owners are hopping mad because they can't nip across the border to New York to stock up, and they can't even get beer in other provinces, like Quebec. It's ironic that it takes a labour dispute to spotlight some of the archaic regulations that govern the sale of beer in this provirice, especially the sale through licenc- ed establishments. Some of these regulations have been around since before the days of Leslie Frost, and cer- tainly long before men and women danced naked on the tables in some of the licenced joints in dear old Ontario. But that's another story. Believe it or not, I have memories, vivid ones of the last time a labour dispute cut off the supply of suds in Ontario. It was the summer of 1968, and one of the reasons it sticks in my mind is that it was the summer I reach- ed the age of majority. 0.K., now you know. Any reader with a rudimentary knowledge of arithmetic or a han- dy pocket calculator can figure out my age. Big deal. 'Anyway, back in that marvellous summer of 1968, when yours truly came of age, legally, so to speak, I was actually looking forward to going into the local water- ing holes for a beer or two. And if some waiter said *'let's see some proof of age, pal," the drivers licence and birth certificate were out of the wallet in a flash. . But the strike hit, and I think it went on for something like 26 days, long enough for the taverns to run out of every brand. As the strike wore on, a joint I used to frequent was down to two brands: IPA and Black Horse Ale. You had to be desperate to drink either, but it was a hot summer and pretty soon even the last bottle of that stuff was gone. That summer, | was living in the Ottawa Valley, a part of this province separated from Quebec by the Ot- tawa River. There were (and still are) all kinds of places on the Quebec side where beer could be bought, and there were a lot of people who would run a van over to towns like Des Joachims or Chapcau, or Fort Colounge to stock up with as many cases of 24 as the truck would carry. Of course, that was against the law and the OPP used to keep a close eye on border roads, so anyone bringing back a truckload had to play a little cat and mouse game with the guys in the black and white cruisers. I never engaged in any of that kind of activity, of course. Not that I wasn't thirsty enough, but first of all, I didn't own a van and secondly, I was lucky to have enough spare cash for a case of 12, never mind a truckload. But I heard lots of stories of guys who tried to out- run the OPP along deserted back roads late at night, praying that the old truck wouldn't blow a tire and end up on its roof in the ditch with the precious cargo in the back running onto the ground. A lot of them made it and hustled the Quebec beer to their friends (at a price of course) and bragged about how easy it was to get the stuff back to Ontario. But a few didn't make it, and watched in helpless disgust as the OPP confiscated 15 or 20 cases of con- trabrand brew. I often wondered what the cops did with that beer, pour it down the sink at the detachment office? One hot summer night, myself and three friends were hoisting a few ales at a quaint little hotel on the Quebec side (I use the word quaint advisedly, for it was the kind of place not included in tourist brochures. In fact, it could get downright nasty in that hotel). Anyway, the four of us decided to pool our money and buy a few cases to take back to Ontario in the trunk of the car. Sure, it was a risk, but what the heck. We covered the 12 miles back to town without even spotting an OPP cruiser and were feeling pleased as punch. So pleased in fact, that we pulled into the park- ing lot of the local greasy spoon for some fries before heading down to a quiet spot by the river to snap the caps on that "illegal Quebec beer." We were feeling so pleased with ourselves, we didn't notice the town cruiser parked ahead in the shadows beside the restaurant. The local officer, who knew the four of us by name, also knew damn well where we had been and that there was a good chance we had a case or two in the trunk of the car. That cop didn't make a move until we had gone in- to the restaurant and were returning to the car with fries, burgers and a pizza. With a smile on his face from one ear to the other, he approached us, and I can still hear him say 'You guys must be having a party tonight?" We were caught and we knew it. But this local cop was enjoying himself and played the game for a few minutes, chatting about this and that. (Turn to page 6)