The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

a tii afd ™ ied Ld RR TT. aR tun. rd Te TE Ea 0 ve, WE Rae TT RR en FL povin, Adil aie, ce antiiibooontve. oils aud or oii oie ymin ins sui bl ac ae JHE Setedi SS CO a 6 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, September 9, 1986 Letters Accusations in letter unfair Dear Sir: In reply to Mrs. McKean's letter in the September 3'rd issue of the Port Perry Star, | would appreciate the opportunity to say the following: To live in a country where one has the right and opportunity to express their thoughts, ideas and opinions cannot and never should be taken lightly. I would hope that Mrs. McKean is aware of the responsibili- ty that goes hand in hand with that right In a short telephone conversation she admitted to me: "oh...I don't know you." Yet, it appears she knows me and well enough to accuse me of being not responsible, a spoil- ed brat and resigning before all the crucial work had been done for the 1986 fair. May | ask her the following questions. 1. Your opinions, are they solely yours or someone elses? . 2. Do you think it would be an idea to thoroughly check on one's facts before making a public statement? 3. Do you absolutely believe your accusations to be accurate and factual? : 4. Do you have any first-hand knowledge of who and what makes an Agricultural Fair successful? 5. Have you at any time in the past, in any capacity, worked on and with an Agricultural Society? 6. Did you make any attempt to personally contact any of the Direc- tors that resigned, prior to your let- ter, to inquire as to their reason for submitting a resignation? Yes, | have an interest in stating my position as a resigned communi- ty volunteer worker with the Port Perry Agricultural Society, but should I have to defend myself? I, along with the executive, directors, members, sponsors and friends have worked diligently over the past eight years to achieve what is con- sidered by most, to be an excellent horse show. In closing 1 would like to say that I have been and will always be aware that any section of an Agricultural Fair is only one spoke in a very large, oak wheel. To describe my feelings of being on that team, being involved in this com- munity, for me is not impossible. "PROUD" would be a good start. May I suggest Mrs. McKean, that you give the above questions some of your time and consideration and hopefully you will find a few moments to publicly answer my let- ter. If you wish to telephone or visit with me to discuss any of the above matters, I welcome the opportuni- ty. I'll put on the coffee pot and will you bring the apple pie? Yours truly, Janet Johnson, Port Perry. Gets involved with Fair Board Dear Sir: I have lived with my family in Port Perry for the past 23 years. | must admit that the Port Perry Fair was one of the many attractions I have taken for granted in our town. I have never worked with the Fair Board to assist in the presentation of the Annual Fair. | have taken ad- vantage of the fair, either as an at- tendee or as part of a concession to sell tickets or present a program that I was, at that particular time, involved in. Our kids have entered different catagories as they were (From page 5) ris wheel running on the midway. Trying to make the best of a bad situation, we. purchased enough tickets for our four year old to ride the ferris wheel twice; once with Dad and then with Dad and Mom. She had her first ride and was quite happy. We said we would view the fair and then come back for one more ride. Within twenty minutes - we were back and the midway was all closed up and no one even in the ticket booth. We were left with 12 tickets of no use to us except wasted money and a very upset four year old. Now tell me why on Kid's Day, this should be allowed to happen? Having been involved with organizing events on a volunteer basis, I know the hard work and long growing up but I have never entered myself. This year I had the opportunity to become involved with the Fair Board and found it a very enlighten- ing & enjoyable experience. I am amazed at the number of people who are involved with the presentation of the Annual Fair & the number of hours these people donate to our community. I found present and those past members I approached as well, as numerous non board members (but fair workers) extremely helpful in Fair a disappointment hours people put in, but there comes a time when events are of no use and result in a lot of wasted man hours. Please, if the Port Perry Fair is going to run next year (a gentleman at the Fair was kind enough to give me its history and you should be pro- ud), please don't let the same situa- tion happen. Fairs are for all those who are kids at heart and it is most upsetting to walk away from something you looked forward to all summer with just a feeling of disappointment. "Perhaps a school most needed in this community would be better use of the space. : Respectfully, Susan Schofield Port Perry Winter Fair. for sure. Chatterbox (From page 5) Film Festivals? Who needs 'em. Not Toronto, that' ble for the Censor Board). the knife. ty, don't they' After this column was written, the Censor Board an- nounced that it would relent and allow one of the two films in question to run un-cut for the Festival. Apparently, this decision took the personal interven- tion of Ontario Commercial and Consumer Relations minister Monte Kwinter (his department is responsi- But there is a catch. The film called *'The Dev'l in the Flesh' a French-Italian production must only be shown once during the Festival. If the film is to be distributed in movie houses across Ontario, it must be re-submitted to the Censor Board, presumavoly so the 24 seconds of questionable material can be excised with Gads, they do thing funny down there in the big ci- assisting or guiding me in a role which I was a real novice. I had a great deal of fun and a definite pleasant learning ex- perience with my involvement in the 1986 Port Perry Fair. I would like to publically thank those workers for their patience and help. I would also like to compliment the people of this area for pulling together and presenting a really "fun" fair. : Several ideas were presented for future fairs which certainly in- dicated many folk (local as well as visitors) are interested in helping, where they can, to present en- joyable future fairs. Sincerely, Bev. Muir, Port Perry, Secretary-Treasurer, Port Perry Fair Board. Memories shed light Dear Sir: I am interested in the picture of the Sterling Bank and Garage at North Myrtle. Although I left the district early in 1924 and my recollections that far back are somewhat hazy, I still might be able to throw some light on the question. My impression is that the Sterling Bank opened for business in the ear- ly 20's, in what had been an old church. It did not remain there much later than 1923, because short- ly thereafter, the Sterling Bank branches were taken over by the Standard Bank, which had branches in Brooklin and Port Perry. (The Standard Bank later became part of the Canadian Bank of Commerce.) As I remember it, the bank was north of the C.P.R. tracks on the east side of the highway and fron- ting on the side street which ran east past Beacock's store to the Grain Elevator. I do not know who occupied the garage in 1923. However, the Sterl- ing Bank buildir~ was later moved across the highway and Aylmer Cook operated his Garage Buisness from it for many years. : I hope these few brief comments from an oldtimer will prove interesting. Sincerely. A.M. Lawrence, Port Perry PORT PERRY A site for sore ears by Diane Lackie Some years ago I settled upon a pleasant street in Port Perry, or rather, Port Perry settled upon me -- tree-lined, lapping-laked, bird-songed, laid back, and QUIET. The ideal small country retreat. Except for Highway 7A ribboning through the south of town, most city sounds were heard at a distance -- the Oshawa shift change hours, the occasional jet three miles up climbing towards Europe, the in- termittent bark of a petulant pup. In summer, small cruisers wash- ed their way between Scugog marinas and local children splashed at Birdseye or romped at the playground. Utopia. Then reality struck. I recently had cause to be convalescing quietly at home on the same pleasant street in Port Perry. Did I say quietly? My daughter- in-law, a city type accustomed to clangour, had just remarked on how quiet Port used to be, but not any more. I pricked my ears: I radared the situation. She was right. Twenty years have brought audible changes. From roaring traffic to rumbling construction, this isn't the euphonious paradise it once was. My every nerve is flexed and raw. Let me elaborate. Six cawcous bandido crows in the pine start the morning in concert with the earthmovers, bulldozers, cememt mixers and workmen (when they aren't on strike) at the new school. Giant flatbed conveyances, a parade of gravel trucks, and assorted vehicles rumble to service Cornish School. Work noisily stirs on other construction sites throughout town. Commuters hit 7A for southern destinations, a steady stream of swishing automatons. A neighbour's | parrot is put out to air, strenously vocalizing, while nearby robins screech protective insults over their most recent hatch. The cat meows through the pane at them, breakfast-minded. Small planes take to the ozone and dip dangerously low over hydro line horizons. An ambulance screams into action fast on the soundwaves of a departing Durham Regional siren. Before long, the hospital whirlybird thunders in from the west and jolts my windows loose as it sinks onto the helipad two blocks away, claims it's cargo, and clamours off to a city medical centre. The window panes barely settle into their frames again before the day's harvesting begins. - It has been a wet summer, downpour following downpour. The grass is verdant and lush: so let's cut it -- again and again. Mowers of every invention crank into action, whittling, trimming, barber- ing, clattering, rattling, chattering - a Babel of Lawnboys. From ride'ems to whippersnippers, the din goes on. . It's two o'clock now, the cicadas are tuned up, and low in the western sky (there's that west again), clouds well up, lightning forks and thunder tintabulates. Let's pelt that grass once more! Satan's on the move. Alarmed, the mowers dive for cover. The trees dance a dangerous jig as the wind rushes over the lawn, hail tympanies a rhumba on the roof, and two massive old maples on the eastern neighbour's property line go crashing into oblivion, victims of Ma Nature's caprice. At least the mowing --- and the robins ---- have stop- ped' for now. But as the air clears and the thunder growls off towards Bowmanville, what's that I hear? Chainsaws! The Port P - '» massacre begins and screaming trees bite the dirt in tidy c..uuxs. The saws' teeth aren't the only ones set on edge at this new sound. : The clearing heavens have also drawn out gaggles of neighbourhood girls and boys. A few younger boys raucously float flotsam in a nearby drowned ditch, while the older ones get up friend- ly games of bounce the ball, suitable, of course, to the season -- foot- ball, basketball, a puck for hockey is a variation of a theme. Bounce, bounce, bounce, to the beat of a far-out, way-up amplified tape deck. Van Halen scores indeed. They shoot! They score! Over and over! Now what? dy Bong, bong, bong, thirty-seven times repeated to emphasize its point, whatever that is. The hyperbolic Catholic Church bell has once again made its sonorous statement and stunned the senses -- clear to Columbus. My door frames jitter, just as they did at high noon, and will again several times on Sunday, Saturdays at five, every evening at six, and perhaps in the wee morning hours, too. Need I be reminded so cacaphonously how much nearer I'm getting to Thee? Remember, this is a convalescent opining here. Time for the evening rush hour now. Autos swoosh back from the city, punctuated by the odd obstreperous motorcycle uproar and frequent eighteen-wheelers, whose antics will continue all through the less-than-silent night as they stutter into fourth gear on 7A at the Ottawa Street junction, fitting competition for those muttering bells. It's also almost time for the midnight cowboys to hit the 'highway to heaven.' The bars are closing, or the party's just winding up at the church hall. Time for the shouting and cursing matches, door slamming, tire squealing, double doughnut demos. Let's sliow those Regionals how to make our motors whine, our wheels howl, our radios blast as we erupt on the unsuspecting neighbourhood like Black Bil- ly himself. For some, this might just be the very last screamer. Can't have any keeping the peace in Port, especially if it's Saturday night. No wonder the neighbour's dog just down the hill sets up some sym- pathetic vibrations of his own until dawn cracks the east. With the dawn, the local geese arise and honk their way to early feeding grounds. If it were November, the pandemonic hunters would soon take care of that sound. Blam, blam, blam would reverberate the rifles, supplanting the ingenious farmer's pop-popper used to scare the birds from his summer crops, somewhere north of town. Each season has its own sounds: snowplows in winter, motorbikes in summer, and those guns of autumn -- that sort of thing. Speaking of seasons, I haven't even dared to mention the Lake Scugog annual recreational carnival. From January to December, the seasonal fun goes on -- snowmobiles clamouring over the Lake's frozen surface in winter in frenzied packs, giving way to vibrating motor launches in May churning up the milfoile and bearing revellers about the bay -- the Mo-glow boys and girls of summer. Party time! That lone dog's harmonics are beginning to sound good now that I have just given ear to some notes wafted from the local pig roast. Mo-down! Entertainment tonight! (Turn to page 7) aR a i reti Ltul A I Ka Rd ho rr .------ a