Good old Cliff Gordon July 22/20

 

Thoughts on porcupines chewing a roof

                                    By Robert LaFrance

            Walking across my backyard, I tripped over the dog, Fang, and fell headlong onto a pile of brush. “Why, you no-good pile of useless garbage,” I said gently as I reached for a club to beat Fang, then changed my mind (shifted my head) about canine abuse.

            It all reminded me of a story told to me by an old fellow named Cliff Gordon. He was one of the ‘pay by the week’ residents of the St. Francis Hotel where I lived in Vancouver and was a great storyteller. (He was the gent who persuaded me to quit smoking in 1973, and I have always been grateful.)

            One morning in 1972, I came down from my room and sat in the lobby listening to Cliff tell a story about a blind man and his dog in Ernfold, Saskatchewan. The blind man and friend (Cliff Gordon) were sitting on a front porch when the dog walked in front of the blind man, then stopped and unloaded both #1 and #2 on his owner’s new suede shoes. As a matter of fact, they were new, blue suede shoes.

            “Then I just about fell off my chair when the blind man – whose name was Gregori – reached down and petted the dog on the head. I asked him why he was petting the dog that had just peed and dumped on his new shoes. His new suede shoes.

Here’s what Gregori said: “I was just making sure where his head was so I could give him a good swift kick in the ass.”

(The reader will notice that in the second paragraph of this column I referred to Cliff Gordon as ‘an old fellow’. He was 74. I just suffered my 72^nd birthday. Makes you think.)

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Ever read back-to-the-land magazines? The ones where a family, having tired of city life, chuck it all in the sewer system and move to the country. Every issue has a story about this city family who made that transition “off the grid” and lived happily ever after.  They had decided to live simply in a country home “off the grid”.

            According to the blurb at the front of each magazine, anyone can get out of their dead-end job in the city and live the good life in rural Canada. All it takes is some ‘initiative and hard work’. Within a matter of months they will be in their new  comfortable home..

            The thing is, those new houses in the country are in the $300,000 range in any man’s army, and is complete with pool and all the various accouterments we rural folks have come to enjoy, like a $75,000 windmill and solar heating system. We and all our neighbours have a similar system, but the electricity is mostly produced from hydro power and oil. We call it NB Power.

            This magazine and others like it as well as television programs like “This Old House” show renovations that are far beyond the average person’s wallet or purse. They talk about these wonderful heaters and cookstoves that save thousands of dollars a year in fuel but they forget one little detail: the heater costs $131,244.12.

            Anybody can build one of these homes, the article would probably go on, “if they have a Master’s Degree in Mechanical Engineering, a similar one in architecture, and a million dollars in the bank, plus a 6-figure balance in a Cayman Islands bank.                                                                     *******************

            Some people have bad luck, have you noticed? More than their share, and we all hope we don’t develop this condition. The Perfessor is one of those types.

            In 1964, when he and I were both in grade 11 at SVRHS (as it was then) we also were both in air cadets, the old 625 Squadron, and we were both picked to go on the Senior Leader’s Course at Camp Borden, near Barrie, Ontario. The Perfessor was already  a bit of a legend for his attire (always sloppy and stained), because no matter how hard he tried to be clean and neat, something would happen.

            In our final parade in which about 900 of us highly polished cadets were out getting inspected, one lone pigeon flew over and dropped his load of bombs. The white squishy material landed on one and only one cadet’s shoulder, and it was about ten seconds BEFORE General So-and-So arrived at the Perfessor’s location.

“Bad luck, old boy,” was the General’s only comment as he passed by quickly. He was British, and therefore prone to understatement.

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Speaking of credit ratings (who was speaking of credit ratings?), many people with credit cards are paying interest rates well up into the double figures, say 27%. I won’t employ the word ‘usury’, but if the shoe fits.

It is said that Jesus drove the money-lenders from the temple, but times have changed I guess. Now those money lenders are honoured members of society, and rather rich. I refer to people like the CEOs of the Royal Bank of Canada and Bank of Montreal.

This morning, something occurred to me that should not only make me a zillionaire, but should take those bankers down a peg. I was patching my garage roof where a porcupine had been chawing away when I thought: “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander”.

Nowadays one is lucky to get 1% interest on his savings account but his credit card may be charge 27% at the same time. If one were to have a credit balance on his VISA or Mastercard would they PAY interest at the rate of 27%?

My guess is ‘no’. Your thoughts?

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