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4 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, January 20, 1987 Editorial Comments 'Tax Havens For.Banks? - Most average Canadians could probably care less whether the centre for international banking in Canada is in Toronto, Montreal or Vancouver. But the federal Conservative government apparently cares as last week the finance minister floated up a balloon that has a lot of pin_stripes on Bay Street running horizontal. Michael Wilson announced that the government is considering extending tax breaks to international banks that set up business in Montreal or Vancouver. "Tie rationale behind this peculiar move, presumably i is to force - a shift in this kind of business activity away from Bay Street to areas of the country where the economy is not quite so prosperous. What has Bay Street, the city of Toronto, and the Ontario govern- ment in a tizzy is the fact that the same tax breaks won't be available to banks operating in Toronto. The Ontario Liberal government is upset enough that it has set up a Legislative Committee to examine this idea and the first witness it wants is federal finance minister Mike Wilson. Surely, the federal Tories can't be totatly serious in their efforts "to throw as much money and benefits as possible at Quebec and not apply to the acknowledged financial heart of this country: Toronto. But then again when one ponders some of the moves the Tories have made in the last couple of years in awarding contracts and "building prisons in the middle of nowhere (sorry, in the middle of Brian Mulroney's home riding) one comes to the conclusions that just about anything is possible. ~ This is just another example of how much muddling Conservative ~ ideas end up pitting one area of the country against the other,.a sin that a former Prime Minister used to be accused of on a regular basis. "Aside from that, some average working Canadians who pay their . taxes, must be asking themselves just why the federal government - should be offering tax havens to international bankers, no mares where they locate. ~ Why can't they just pay their taxes like everyone else, and locate their offices strictly on the basis of what is best for business. Is the Canadian tax-payer supposed to give these international financiers a free lunch just to open an office in Montreal instead of Toronto? There have been a lot of strange and wonderful things going on in Ottawa under the direction of Brian Mulroney and his Conser- ~ vatives. This is just one more in a long list. Brian Mulroney and his cronies have been accused of being blessed with a lot of traits. Unfortunately, it seems, wisdom and com- mon sense are not among them. - The idea of tax breaks for the international banking community should be scuttled. If the banks feel they can do business in Canada, they'll open where they want and pay the going freight, including taxes. If Mulroney wants to hand out tax breaks to anyone these days, . how about the average Joe who is helpless to watch the tax 'man gob- ble more and more of his weekly pay stub? MALL I ASKED HIM WAS, "HOW'S BUSINESS?!" ~British- Columbia: Especially, when the same rules of the game would ~~~ : /, Te -- Who LAWYERS NOW ADVER (@) TISING, LE]S HOPE THEY DON J GEJ AS NOISY AS BEER COMMERCIALS - - - pe ra Ar the sus "F SHinii throug 4 When you Ze ) enn ¢ Youre splitting Co Whey, you 'ré 4p at \ Port Perry STAR . 235 QUEEN STREET - PORT PERRY, ONTARIO : Phone 985-7383 P.O Box90 LOB INO J: PETER HVIDSTEN Ch =) : 'Member of the . Canadian Community Newspaper Association Publisher dance e 3 ici and Ontario Community Newspaper Association , Advertising Manager AE Paik en om WR Port Perry Star Co Lid Port Perry Ontaro J.B. McCLELLAND Editor / Authorized as second class mad by the Post Officé Department Ottawa and tor cash CATHY OLLIFFE ayment of postage v cath News & Features | © Second Class Mail. Registration Nu LJ J > Ee) 265 'Subscription Rate: In Canada $15.00 per year Elsewhere $45.00 per year. Single Copy 35 Chatterbox by Cathy Olliffe MERRY CHRISTMAS, DAD q pelicys my father thinks he' s gone to heaven. At least, that was the look on his face Thurs- day night when a pick-up truck arrived carrying a lifetime dream. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's back-track a little first .. Bill Robb spent most cf his early years on one farm or another. His parents, along with his brother Don, lived on various farms around southern Ontario, starting out in the Shelburne area and moving gradually west, settling finally on a homestead near Victoria, Corners. His father, Samuel, a dedicated member of the Orange Lodge," as well as a no-nonsense farmer of Irish stock, préferred the rich, sweet milk of Guernsey herds. It was up to Billy and Don to help with the milking, the upkeep of the barns as well as fields of corn and hay. It wasn't an easy job, as any farmer knows, and it got even more difficult when Samuel, an older father to begin with, encountered ill health. Don had already started work on the CPR by this time, and it was up to young Bill to quit school and take over the major work on the farm. He con- tinued on the farm until he was 17, when he lied about his age, so he too could land a job with Cana- dian Pacific Railway, where he has worked ever since. In his early twenties, he met, courted and married Dorothy Hooper, the middle daughter of Markham Reeve Charlie Hooper ---- also a renowned local farmer. In the Hooper family, the girls worked on the farm just as much as their brothers. and Dorothy too knew her way around the barn. But like many young couples, there was no way they could af ford to buy a farm of their own. Instead, they moved to Toronto where Bill con- tinued to work on the CPR and Dorothy (until she became pregnant with me in 1960) worked as a secretary in a downtown office. Throughout it all, however, it was always their dream to move back to: the farm. They scraped and saved until 1979 when they were final- ly able to purchase 10 acres of land just north of Clarefnont. - With a converted chicken coop housing a a cou- . ple of stalls, ten acres should have been just enough land to hold a 'couple of beef cows, but it wasn 't to be. "By the timé they moved to Claremont, their "youngest daughter, Elizabeth, was extremely fond "of horses. With mostly her own money earned by working weekends at local horse barns, she fili- ed the converted coop with horses. I order to feed "the nags" (as my Dad fondly calls them), he planted hay on most of the 10 acres, and built pads docks on the rest. Between his job on the CPR and his work with. "the nags, there just wasn 't any time to think [-_ wits wi ete we 8 RCRA EIR GE Whee smwitgeiseid about a couple of cows. Not to 'mention there wasn't any space to put them. ' . The space problem was rectified last summer when he was forced to have a real barn built. Liz's first few horses multiplied to six and the barn, with its six stalls (plus an office and atack room) became a necessity. Still, even with the new barn, there 'wasn't enough space or enough moriey to invest in cattle. ~**Maybe next year," Dad said in the fall. 'But he didn't look too hopeful. . Which is why Christmas morning came asa complete surprise. "Open this first!" Liz insisted, waving a plain | white envelope in Dad's face. ~ _ It was early Christmas morning and not all the family had arrived yet. Opening gifts withdut the entire family present is a Robb taboo, so it was with great reluctance and much convincing on my sister's part, that my Dad opened the envelope. I can't recall exactly what it said, but the gist of it, written in poem style, informed my father that he was the proud owner of two yet-to-be- delivered beef calves. Well, I wasn't there to see this, but Liz says Dad's reaction was incredible. "He got all choked up, and I thought he was going to cry," Liz recalls. "He couldn't believe . it!" The calves weren't delivered yet because they weren't born yet. But Liz's connections promis- ed delivery within a week of birth. Since then, I swear, my; Dad has thought of little else. At last, on Thursday night, Liz took the phone call she had been waiting for. "Merry Christmas!" said the other voice on the line. What are you talking Abousre friend brusquely. "Your Dad's Christmas presents areready!' the voice replied. Well, needless to say, Liz let out a whoop that could be heard all the way to Toronto. About two hours later, the pick-up truck'ar- rived and Dad was there to lift out one of the pair, d quiet little creature with huge eyes, ears like airplane wings, and a tiny pink nose. He carried the calf from the truck like he was carrying Royal Doulton china, with 4 smile on his face ten acres wide. Both calves were housed in a converted stall in the old chicken coop, specially fitted with heavy plastic, heat lamps and tons of straw to keep them warm, ss. You should have seen my Dad that night. I've Liz asked her 'never seen him happier. He bustled around that (Turn to page 6)