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Page 4, Terrace Bay-Schreiber News, Wednesday, July 23, 1986 Terrace Bay Schreiber News The Terrace Bay-Sch Co. Ltd., Box 579, Terrace Bay, ADVERTISING COMOM (uk 2 aco. eo ae ae ee Conrad Felber As Perey BAR ARR Se ae are F Gayle Fournier PRODUCTION MANAGER ge te ae Mary Melo reiber News is published every Wednesday by: Laurentian Publishing Ontario, POT 2W0. Telephone: (807) 825-3747. Joan Greenwood Single copies 35 cents Subscription rates per year in-town -- $14.00 out-of-town -- $18.00 Member of Ontario Community Newspapers Association and The Canadian Community Newspapers Association. Editorial Lane in vain The Ministry of Transportation and Communications is at it again. They have recently turned down a number of requests, including some valid ones from the Lake Sup- erior Board of Education and Terrace Bay Township Coun- cil. Now the MTC's Thunder Bay District office has, in effect, put the kibosh on another excellent suggestion, this time from Gilles Pouliot, the MPP for Lake Nipigon. Pouliot had asked the Ministry to consider the poss- ibility of a paved lane on the highway shoulders between Schreiber and Terrace Bay for the exclusive use of cyclists and pedestrians. The reply from the MTC office said the Ministry understands Pouliot's concern and admitted that the use of the highway by cyclists can be '*hazardous."' But the Ministry added that its "order of priorities' does not permit the MTC "sufficient funds" for such a pro- ject. This is not surprising, since the majority of that Ministry's budget always goes to southern Ontario, while Northern roads acquire potholes and speed bumps. Pouliot's bicycle lane proposal, as Pouliot said himself in a News interview on the topic last week, is not something '*farfetched," so the MTC should at least have a serious and objective look at the feasibility. of the idea, instead of merely promising to "review" the situation. By Conrad Felber AARRRRGH! A cry of rage rents the still morning air as the editor pounds on his keyboard in a feeble attempt to exorcize his frustration. I don't ask for much, do I? I try to do a good job here at the News, and I think I have been pretty suc- cessful for the most part, if I do say so myself. But, once again, my fav- ourite pet peeve rears its ugly head. I am, of course, referring to the nasty habit of some local folks who simply refuse to let me know when something newsworthy is going on in my coverage area. Allow me to be a little more specific. The proverbial straw that broke the equally proverbial camel's back was the arrival of an old-style steam locomotive in Schreiber last week. This would' ve made for a fine By Arthur Black It's probably just the last vestigial traces of the Sixties Hippy I once was (Yes, Virginia, shoulder-length tresses once cascaded from that Sahara skin above my eyeorows) -- but I still get a kick from seeing ex- perts with egg on their faces. It happens less often than one might wish, given the plethora of experts out there. We have veritable platoons of market analysts, census takers, social demographers and freelance pollsters all armed with stop watches, clip boards, flow charts and computer printout. And you have to admit, they usually have their 'tsubject matter"' (that's us) pretty well nailed down. They can predict everything from what color of socks we'll buy to how we feel about Free Trade. They forecast our taste in popsicles and political leaders, lawn ornaments and "'lite" beer, and usually they're dead on -- or at least close enough to justify their inflated fees. Usually... but not always. Take the case of convertibles for instance. Back in the mid-70's the newspapers and TV news shows were awash with mournful tales about The End of an photo and good publicity for CP Rail _..too bad I didn't know about it un- til the train was leaving the station! See, I was in Schreiber that even- ing and everything, at a Township Council meeting, when suddenly we all heard a steam engine whistle. At first, nobody said anything about it, but then during a break in the session, one of the Councillors pointed out to me that perhaps I should zip down to the train station to get a photo of the famous locomotive. I did exactly that, only to see the train's tail-end fading away in the dis- tarice by the time I got there. I also noticed some townsfolk gathered at the station. It was obvious they had all appeared to see the steam engine. Funny how they all knew about it, but yours truly, the editor of the town newspaper, was once again left in the profound darkness of utter ignorance. Now, some of'you may believe / was at fault for not finding out about this event on my own. Well, as I've said before, I am not psychic. I have to be informed ahead of time when something is going to happen, unless I come across a notice or poster on a store window. Needless to say, there was no such notice about the an- tique locomotive, and so I failed to get a photo of it (9872/43 &!!!). Gentle readers (to borrow a Harlan Ellison catchphrase), I take great pride in my work, so I can't help but get a tad peeved when I miss such a noteworthy event. I hate to repeat myself, but please take the time to give me a call if you know if something going on. I would greatly, appreciate it, really. OK, enough about that (at least for this week). As some of you may know, I was born and raised in the sprawling metropolis of Sudbury, Ontario, and so I like to keep up to date on things going on back there. Recently, a number of Sudbury parents lost a court case in which they were trying to prohibit the Lord's Prayer from school. The majority of these parents are not of the Christian faith and thus they feel their children are being ostracized by the daily re- cital of that Christian liturgy. The court disagreed. J am disgusted. Whatever happened to that little thing called the Bill of Rights? What- ever happened to Freedom of Rel- igion? Or does that not apply to school kids? I am certainly not against the Lord's Prayer per se, but I am against having it (and any other prayer, Christian or otherwise) in- voked in a public school. I have felt this way since being in grade school myself. Every morning we all had to stand to say the prayer...all of us, that is, except for one Asian friend of mine, who (out of his own faith) re- mained seated. I can imagine how miserable he felt, for I know how it is be different. I pray that the court's decision will be appealed and subsequently over- turned...and soon. Era. The convertible car -- our belov- ed ragtop -- was dead. Detriot wouldn't be making them anymore. Why? Well, there were concerns about their safety, for on thing. But more importantly, professional automotive soothsayers were quite certain that North America's long love affair with the convertible was finally over. In-car air conditioning was the latest thing, along with improved car stereo systems. Neither inovation functioned very well in a vehicle that was little more than a rolling wind tunnel. Besides, the experts assured us, times had changed. North Americans weren't doing so much of that lyrical up-hill-and-down-dale country driv- ing any more. Nowadays they spent most of their driving time enmeshed in snarled-up urban traffic patterns -- stop 'and go, creep and crawl -- waiting for the light to change or for the police to move some balky vehi- cle to the side. Nobody wants to sit in a traffic jam with the top down, wreathed in gasoline fumes and engine exhaust. Detroit believed the experts. Con- vertibles were killed. The last one -- a Caddy El Dorado -- rolled off the assembly line in the spring of 1976. There was just one minor flaw in the experts prognosis: it was wrong. The automakers may have ceased production of ragtops, but that didn't stop people wanting them. Sudden- ly, used convertibles were in demand and the price shot skywards. Another phenomenon appeared too. People were buying brand new conventional cars and taking them to "conversion shops" where they paid to have the cars decapitated, the frames strengthened and a polyvinyl, folding, motorized convertible top grafted on. Detroit and its experts remained aloof too the consumer statement that was being shouted right under their noses -- or at least most of them did. One fellow did notice that something was going on. On a hunch, he ship- ped a brand new 1980 Chrysler K Car to a custom body shop in California. There the car was rebuilt as a con- vertible and shipped back, under wraps, to the gambler who had com- missioned the job. He decided to take his custom convertible for a little test spin through the streets of Boca Raton, Florida. Pandemonium. The guy was all but mobbed by hungry convertible cravers wanting to know where they could order one. Fortunately, he was just the man to ask. His name was Lee Iacocca. Within the year, Chrysler was turn- ing out Le Baron convertibles and selling them as fast as they came off the assembly line. By 1983, all US automakers were tripping over themselves in a frenzy of imitative topless car production. Not that convertibles are ever likely to swamp the car market. They will always be a specialty item, not for the timid, the old at heart or anyone who prefers to blend in with the scenery . Still, there comes a time in every male's life when his idea of vehicular nirvana centers around a dream machine that is fire engine red... with wire wheels... hollywood mufflers... Frech headlights... ...and the top down. A lot of us went through the topless craze during our teenage years. A few of us can expect a second burst o fragtop lust when we go through our midlife crisis. Me? What do I drive? Oh, well. it's a... four-cylinder station wagol actually... Japanese... Very sensib' but kinda gutless, really... Colo: Well, I guess you'd have to say it sorta... beige. Ah, but tucked under the front se Ihave this great pair of thin, Frenc leather, backless Gran Prix racir gloves. Mid-life crisis, I'm ready for y