Newfoundland: Icebreaker and Song

 

Photo Courtesy of JC.Dwyer

“La la la la la, la la la la la,” a TSA agent at Logan International Airport sings as I collect my shoes and backpack from the tub on the conveyor belt.

“La la la la la,” I sing back to her.

Then we alternate lines: Sing, sing a song

Sing it simple, sing it strong

Don’t worry that’s it not good enough for anyone else to hear.

And we conclude, together: Just sing, sing a song.

“Someone else knows a Carpenters song,” the agent says, surprised.

If it weren’t for COVID, we might have chatted a bit longer. A nice icebreaker though, right?

The pandemic caused my wife and I to avoid getting on a plane since January 2020, when we flew to Nashville.

Because the total active COVID-19 cases in Newfoundland have been fewer than fifty and strict protocols have been in place on “The Rock,” we felt it was time to fly to visit our Northeastern neighbours again.

This would be about our 20^th trip to Newfoundland. We’d seen our fair share of icebergs in the summer, and we figured another November visit was in order. Who would we meet? What would we learn? Would there be snow flurries, as one weather forecast indicated?

At the Alt hotel, perched on the 5^th floor and overlooking St. John’s Harbour, I notice the Canadian Coast Guard Ship (CCGS) Terry Fox, it’s orange base in the cold North Atlantic water. Classified as a heavy icebreaker, the vessel named after a Canadian hero doesn’t seem to have any work to do yet. Cold, but not cold enough.

In the hotel lobby, my wife plucks Canada C3 from the “library” shelf. A giant book full of pictures and words, it documents the story of a Students on Ice initiative. Very little to do with hockey, I learn. Everything to do with breaking down cultural barriers and getting to know the complete Canada, from coast to coast to coast.

Every day, I read about this 150-day voyage aboard the MV Polar Princess, an icebreaker that traveled 23,000 kilometres—from Toronto, Ontario to Victoria, British Columbia.

Youth ambassadors, musicians, artists, journalists, environmentalists, scientists…these people of all colors and who spoke many languages opened their hearts and minds and tear ducts as they got down to business: connecting Canadians who might otherwise never meet to delve beyond the buzzwords of diversity and inclusion, reconciliation, youth engagement and the environment.

Tears, laughter, music, difficult conversations. Lingering sadness for missed opportunities mixed with tonnes of progress and hope, as far as I can gather, swelled together as the participants made their way about this great big country, including stops in Newfoundland and Labrador. That was in 2017.

Here in 2021, my wife and I walk along Water Street to visit the Terry Fox Mile Zero Memorial Site. A statue of the brave young man and plaques capture his quest to raise awareness and funds for those fighting cancer. For the uninitiated: Terry Fox commenced his Marathon of Hope here to commence his coast to coast (East to West) trek on April 12, 1980.

Imagine Terry, crossing Water Street and up a steep hill. And then all the way to Thunder Bay, Ontario before cancer caught up to him and took control of his lungs.

On two good legs, I walked to Fred’s Records on Duckworth Street. Fred Brokenshire, the store’s founder, died last month. I bought a piece of Newfoundland music history, Ryan’s Fancy – What a Time! A 40 Year Celebration.

Down at the other end of Water Street, on our last day here, my wife and I meet a couple of friends at Boston Pizza. Jon Drover, a member of Newfoundland’s premier party band, 709 tells us about their drummer, Jon Lane, who passed on in September. So sudden, so sad.

We chat about the music that binds us. Jon mentions his love of Nashville, where one top-notch act covered songs from Lenny Kravitz and the Carpenters. Jon couldn’t wait to witness whatever song was next on the set list.

I don’t know when my wife and I will be back to Newfoundland. The memories of this trip, like those of Karen Carpenter, Terry Fox, Canada C3, Fred Brokenshire, Jon Lane …well, I trust they’ll live on every time I play those Ryan’s Fancy CDs.

Thanks again, Canada. Merci, Maarsii, Qujannamik.

Montreal Top Twelve: The Best of the Belly of the Beast that Beat the Bruins

Fresh off a 3–1 loss to the Canadiens in Game Seven at the TD Garden, my wife and I drove from Boston to Montreal, the belly of the beast. There, we rendezvoused with an erstwhile stateside friend to enjoy the cuisine and culture—and to congratulate Canadiens fans on their victory.

I became, you might say, a Canadien and a Canadian spy, and present my top twelve observations and reasons to visit Montreal.

1.      Saint Louis. Our hotel attendant, a funny and amiable fellow who I‘ve canonized here, hailed cabs and pointed us in the right direction. (Mont Royal is to the north). Louis also told us that the Bruins used to stay at his hotel, on Rue de la Montagne, and he shared a funny interaction he had with Shawn Thornton.

2.      Wrap City. When we told one employee that he looked like Patrice Bergeron, he said someone in Boston told him the same thing. After some friendly hockey talk, we delighted in the food. I recommend the Fifth Avenue wrap and pistachio biscotti.

3.      The McCord Museum. From First Nations to “the Main” to Msr. Masionneuve, the videos, placards and artifacts revealed a wonderful history.

4.      The Hab hockey vibe. On Saturday morning, some five hours before Game One against the Rangers, I walked along avenue des Canadiens—in front of Le Centre Bell—as workers unloaded produce from trucks and television production crews set the stage for announcers. No crowd yet. Serenity surrounded me as I crossed Rue Stanley en route to Gare Centrale.

5.      Second Cup. A youngster wearing a Canadiens shirt listened to his father ask him, in English, what he wanted for breakfast. The father then ordered in French. My turn. I ordered, in English: a chocolate almond croissant to go with my Panini style egg sandwich and coffee, into which I sprinkled chocolate powder. At a nearby table, one Habs fan recalled a story about how he had secured last-minute tickets. I sat at my table and ate as I waited for the train.

6.      Chez Puckbite. Msr. Plouffe and his son, clutching a Canadian and an American flag, greeted me and then treated me to a tour of their home. Puckbite Palace is to hockey memorabilia and painting what the McCord Museum is to history.

7.      Habs vs. Rangers. Not being invested in the outcome, now that my team had exited the playoffs, afforded me relief from the drama and awarded me the joy de vivre de hockey as Puckbite shared his quirky color commentary from his living room. “Subban Incorporated,” he exclaimed as P.K. went end to end. The Canadiens would lose, and I took no solace in that.

8.      Cabbies: From Italy, Lebanon, Algeria and Haiti they had emigrated. All friendly in their own way as they drove us to restaurants. Grazie. Shukran. Merci.

9.      Lola Rosa. While waiting for the vegetarian lasagna, I opened the drawer at my table. It was stuffed with hand-written notes about love and misery and university life (McGill is a few blocks away). Some were funny, but I didn’t write them down and can’t recall them now. But I wrote one of my own. Please let me know if you’ve read it.

10.  Las Sala Rosa. Paella, sangria, limonada and a tortilla española. Muchísimas gracias.

11.  Modavie. Second floor at this bistro in Old Montreal. Chicken Drumette, so yummy. A snare drummer and guitarist accompanying Dray Wood, singing bluesy tunes. Tres magnifique.

12.  What does the Kitsuné say? I still don’t know what a fox says but can tell you that Kitsuné is Japanese for fox and the name of the espresso bar that imports, from a nearby bakery, the best spinach scone. An endearing ambiance (especially for a geography freak and writer), too: a giant world map on the wall and a globe atop a bookshelf containing The Purpose Driven Life (first edition). A most enjoyable Sunday morning, our last day in Montreal.

13.  (Baker’s dozen). Indigo. Blood and Daring. (It’s not about stopping pucks with the face or crashing the crease). John Boyko’s book, featured here on the Agenda with Steve Paikin, is great reading about Canadian-American history— not only for self-assuming Canadian spies like me but anyone interested in the (American?) Civil War.

Bruce Bell: Toronto’s Tour Guide and American Spy

“In the beginning, I always loved history,” says Bruce Bell, Toronto’s premiere tour guide, as he reflects upon his youth in Sudbury, Ontario. “Mom and Dad loved history. We as kids were always driving somewhere; getting in the car and going places.”

One such destination: Toronto, about a five-hour drive southeast of Sudbury, where not only the history intrigued him but also the architecture. When he was seventeen, Bell moved to the big city. Not to pursue a formal degree in either of his favourite subjects, though. With a walk-on bit part in the movie “Class of ‘44” (in 1972) on his resume, Bell returned, for good, to Toronto in 1973.

For twenty years, Bell bussed tables, acted, wrote and produced plays, and did stand-up comedy—he was a founding comedic member of Yuk Yuk’s Stand up Comedy Cabaret. “Never making much money,” Bell says, laughing, “but having a really good time.”

All this while, though, history tugged at his coattails. Was he really that passionate about acting? Bell recalls, “I was still reading up on Toronto history. Friends would come to Toronto, and I would show them around. And I realized: This is what I want to do; this is it.”

Not until his late forties, however, did Bell take action. “This is what I want to do” became “I’m going to do this.” He says, “I stopped whatever else (I was) doing, and (said) I’m going to become what I always wanted to be.”

“The Internet changed everything,” Bell says. The wonders of a Web site. Tourists contacted him. Business began to bloom, and so did Bell. In 1999, He began documenting Toronto’s history in The Bulletin, a widely-read community newspaper, and he wrote the book on the St. Lawrence neighborhood where he now lives. The St. Lawrence Market, in turn, named Bell its official historian in 2002.

The love of history his parents had instilled in him, his affection for architecture, and his performing experience: These factors guided Bell to his true calling, and he incorporates them all into his act. This walking, talking, taste-testing and teaching tour guide relishes the challenge every tour presents. An audience of one? Or twenty-five? Visiting from Ireland? America?

He tailors his tours to the personality and predisposition of his customers. “I can pretty much suss them out in the first couple minutes,” Bell says. “There are some people who are very serious about their history, and I enjoy that.”

Especially if said history buffs are Americans. “Nothing makes me more happy (than) if I get an American on a tour who knows his history, who knows a bit about Canadian history. That is so enjoyable, how we can go back an forth.”

To and fro, he says is the nature of American and Canadian history. We were once part of the same country, after all. American history students are familiar with the Thirteen Colonies, but they tend to forget about Canada’s influence on the States.

Bell loves taking Americans to two places. “I take a lot of them to St. James Cathedral,” he says. A loyalist haunt in the heart of the St. Lawrence neighbourhood, the cathedral served as a hospital during the War of 1812. Bell says the church is where many ex-Bostonians—descendents of the Mayflower who believed that God could not speak to a president—congregated here. These United Empire Loyalists, many of whom lost their property as America emerged as a nation to be reckoned with, set the foundation for Canada as an English-speaking country. “Our heritage,” Bell tells his audience, “is American.”

The other landmark Bell visits is Commerce Court, what some call Commerce Banking Hall There, Bell encourages Americans to imagine Penn Station in New York, as the grand and ornate edifice stood before demolition commenced in 1960. “This is what you lost,” he says to Yanks. “This is what was torn down in 1966 (demolition took three years). When you enter this bank, pretend you’re entering Penn Station and you’re about to catch a train to go to Philadelphia or Boston.”

New York and Boston: Both cities Bell has visited. “I really loved New York City a lot.” He hasn’t been to Boston since about 2002, but he’s eager to return. First, though, he’s going to revisit Chicago, to lead a tour. You see, Bell is more than than a connoisseur of Canadian culture, more than a trusted Toronto historian: He loves that which transcends our borders—the shared history, the architectural similarities, and the friendly ties. He is an American spy.

Additional reading:

Boston Globe Article (May 2012) by Paul E. Kandarian

Travel and Transitions (2005)

Commemorating Cooperation and Compassion: 9/11, Beyond Borders

As the U.S. honours loved ones lost on this date ten years ago, I keep close to my heart heroes on both sides of the 49th parallel. An except from AMHL Glory:

Presidents and prime ministers will come and go, so I’m talking about the residual, ordinary citizens in the U.S. and Canada who’ve done extraordinary things to extend goodwill beyond geographical borders.

During the horrors of September 11, 2001, the bravery of New York’s Fire Department, Police Department (and the less publicized Port Authority) is well-known, and should be; we know of the pluck of the passengers of Flight 93 that crashed in Pennsylvania; and we recall the image of a smoldering Pentagon. The carnage: 2973 dead (including twenty-four Canadians) and twenty-four missing.

But you may not realize the importance of the international cooperation between the Stars and Stripes and the Maple Leaf on that terrible Tuesday and the days beyond.

When the U.S. ordered all its flights that morning to land, Canada rose to the challenge.

NAV Canada, a private corporation that owns Canada’s civil air navigation, reports on its Web site that it was responsible for diverting 239 flights, most of which were en route to U.S. destinations, to Canadian airports. From St. John’s (Newfoundland) to Vancouver (BC) to Whitehorse (Yukon), Canada came to the rescue of some 33,000 passengers. In Gander, Newfoundland, about 40 landed without incident.

Where do you house, feed, and comfort more than 6,000 distressed, confused, and hungry passengers? Gander, population 9,651 and nearby communities like Lewisporte, that’s where.

Nazim-Amin, a flight attendant on Delta Flight 15, said that after landing in Gander without incident, passengers and crew spent nearly the next eleven hours on the plane, unsuccessfully trying to reach loved ones on their mobile phones because their communications providers didn’t have towers in Canada (or if they did, the phone lines to the U.S. were too jammed to reach anyone). Sleeping as comfortably as one can on a jumbo jet, everyone, including a thirty-three-week pregnant woman, waited for their turn to disembark.

And when they did, the kind-hearted souls of central Newfoundland, blanketed these passengers with more compassion in days beyond the initial tragedy. Returning to the States would take several days.

And the grateful passengers and crew, many from Atlanta, GA, responded in kind by creating the Flight 15 Scholarship Fund for their new-found friends in Lewisporte.

Love transcends borders, eh?

Thank you, Delta Flight 15 passengers and crew. Thank you, Newfoundland and Labrador. Thank you, Canada.

Canadian Spy: The Next Step

I’m taking this espionage thing to the next level, by learning French. Below is an excerpt of my first assignment en la cours de français, my first foray into introducing myself to francophones.

A Propos de Moi

Salut, mes amis. Je m’appelle Jim, mais ma famille et mes amis de hockey m’appellent Jimmy. Tout le monde pense que je suis Canadien. Je viens de Colorado—ou trois de mes quatre frères et mon papa habitent—mais je habite avec ma femme à Maynard. Je étudie le français parce que deux de mes amis de hockey parlent français, j’aime bien la musique de Céline Dion, y parce que ma femme et moi voyageons souvent a Canada. Nous adorons la Ville de Québec. Nous ne somme pas fans de l’équipe de hockey de Montréal, mais j’aime bien Patrice Bergeron, qui vient de Québec et qui joue pour les Bruins de Boston. Nous aimons les Bruins et le entraîneur, Claude Julien.

J’adore aussi lire les livres de Jacques Falla, Frank Delaney et George Plimpton; écouter et chanter la musique de les artistes canadiens comment Great Big Sea, Bryan Adams, y Les Ténors Canadiens; manger les beignes les démanche; et écrire de tout ces expériences.

Un de ces jours j’aimerais publier mon mémoire, Gloire AMHL: Une passion pour le hockey du matin (et beignes); écrire autres livres, et voyager à Nouveau Zélande—bien que ils ne pas parlent français allé.

CanadAmerica and Beyond: Amiable Exchanges, Part II

Continued from Part I
(image courtesy of Gooslane Editions and BTC Audio Books)
Sunday, May 30
US/New Brunswick Border

An hour after crossing the border (and then the road leading to St. Andrew and the safe house by the sea), my wife/driver nudges me awake. “We’re in St. John,” she says.

“We won’t be arrested this time,” she says as we approach the toll booths before the bridge. (She exaggerates as she recalls an incident at the same bridge: A few years ago, we deposited the proper coinage, but the payment didn’t register. We kept driving, thus triggering sirens to alert provincial officials that track us to this day.

After a nice meal at East Side Mario’s (I recommend the Tuscan Chicken Salad) and a friendly conversation with our waitress (whose favourite donut at Timmy’s is the Boston Cream), Indigo Books and Music beseeches us to indulge our benevolent curiosity in all things Canadian. So we drive up Westmoreland Road, and then enter the bookstore atop the hill.

An author sits at a table near the front of the bookstore. She’s ready to engage in discussion about or sign a copy of the book she has written: Don Messer: The Man Behind the Music.

“Who’s Don Messer?” I ask her and then wince with regret as I anticipate the response. I should know this.

Johanna Bertin is surprised that someone, who sounds as Canadian as I do, does not recognize the name of such an endearing iconoclast. Yet, in True North fashion, she is happy to forgive my faux pas and engages in a friendly dialogue about the subject of her book.

“He was more popular than Hockey Night in Canada,” Bertin explains.

What prompted her to write the book?

Bertin paraphrases what she has written in the acknowledgements I will later read, “Thirty years ago, when I first moved to Harvey Station, New Brunswick, I considered writing a biography of Don Messer. A friend of mine lived in his boyhood home in Tweedside, just a few kilometers from my home, and as we spoke of Don’s accomplishments, it seemed to me they warranted recognition and celebration…”

I say I’m going to return the book I had selected off the shelf for Ms. Bertin’s book, and she becomes gleeful.

Always happy, she says, to learn what another writer thinks.

Back at the stateside safe house: From what I’ve read so far, I’m glad I swapped books. Ms. Bertin has written a superb story about a man whose legacy will hopefully become more recognized and celebrated south of the 49th parallel.

Fuzzy Canadians

Image courtesy of Bluecherrydoughnut.com

I haven’t crossed the 49th parallel since July. But make no mistake: I’ve continued to spy on the Northland.

These covert operations come in various forms. First, I’ve been reading Canadians, Roy MacGregor’s colorful commentary on a nation’s fuzzy identity.

Early on in the book, MacGregor describes a scene centered by Pierre Trudeau’s passing:

“…At one crossing a woman held up a cherry paddle, a rainbow-coloured voyageur scarf tied carefully around it. At another, a man held up his country’s flag with his country’s perfect flagpole: a hockey stick…Construction workers crawled free of the hole they were digging near a culvert to stand in respect, the yellow front-end loader behind them stilled, its scoop raised in its own serendipitous salute.”

MacGregor’s coverage of Timbit Nation is as expansive as the country’s geography. From popular culture to fictional entities to sports, including references to Red Green, Anne of Green Gables, and the Grey Cup—MacGregor paints, as the best-selling book’s title continues “a portrait of a country and its people.”

I’ve referenced the book (which also includes one chapter dedicated to hockey) in my conversations with Canadians. Most didn’t recognize the prolific author’s name or his best-selling book.

Nor do they have the slightest clue about what Mats Sundin will do. Return to the Leafs? Become a Ranger? Retire? I doubt MacGregor—or Sundin himself—knows.

A book and a telephone have connected me to Canada. So has the media. I’ve contemplated the standing ovation for Sox outfielder Jason Bay, the less-heralded arrival of ex-Canadien Michael Ryder to Beantown, and the continued character development of Satchel Pooch, the Canadian dog in Darby Conley’s (not a Canadian) comic strip, Get Fuzzy.

My conclusions from this collective espionage? Americans are not threatened by Canadians but don’t quite understand them either. But then again, Canada doesn’t know itself either. I understand MacGregor’s contention that Canada is a conundrum: After much self-inspection, Canada has both an inferiority complex and an inflated ego.

Confusing? Read the book. Or maybe explore the links I’ve added to the site.

As for me, I’m eager to finish the book, talk to more Canadians on the phone, read the comics—and to cross the border again to continue my research.

Return to CanadAmerica, Part II: Double Good

Continued from Part I

I woke up from a nap and removed the thin, dark blue blanket covering my head.

“Any international security forces tailing us?” I asked my wife.

“What?”

Spy stuff, I tell her.

“Oh god,” she says and then refers to me as Walter Mitty’s donut-loving cousin.

I guess we’ve ditched the double agents, so I toss the blanket onto the back seat. Another mission accomplished…

From Grand Manan, we landed at Blacks Harbour and then drove to the safe house in St. Andrew’s.

After a two-hour nap, I watched a doubleheader—Oprah and Ellen—as cell phone coverage went from Rogers to AT&T to Rogers to AT&T.

My wife and I then walked west along Water Street, past the art gallery touting http://www.twocountriesart.com/ and toward Olde Tyme Pizza.

While we waited for the Hawaiian Pizza, I glanced back and forth at the two televisions. On the monitor to my left, the Weather Network updated us on highs and lows across Canada; to my right, a station from New York aired the People’s Court.

Walking back toward the wharf, we entered the new coffee shop in town. At Honey Beans we ordered two hot beverages. The new owners, who had moved from Alberta, were still getting things in order. They needed business cards, a Web site, and an American flag to compliment the Canadian one hanging outside, but my hot chocolate and my wife’s latte hit the spot.

With sundown still two hours or so away, we finished our treats while gazing upon Passamaquoddy Bay. We discussed the possibility of someday setting up a satellite spy operation here in St. Andrews, where we could observe activities from Canada’s Navy Island to Eastport, Maine.

Instead of watching the same fireworks that Eastporters would watch the reluctant spy’s wife and I walked back to the safe house to catch the pyrotechnics on Boston’s WBZ.

I fell asleep long before the first flare was fired, knowing that we’d have to slink from the safe house before the authorities could, unannounced, pop in on us.

On the road by 6:00 a.m., Walter Mitty's donut-loving cousin and his wife were at Timmy’s in St. Stephen and then across the border before the feds could say “foiled again.”

History and "Mission" Statement

“Canadian spy.” In due time, when AMHL Glory is published, I’ll reveal the person responsible for creating that moniker for me. I’ll let you in, though, on the history and evolution of my “mission.”

On the Fourth of July, 2006, while driving through New Brunswick, I first envisioned a separate Web site for readers who want to learn more about Canada. Content would be aimed Americans who would want to delve past the thick ice of silly superficialities and stereotypes: hockey freaks, Molson-minded Mounties, and eh-sayers who spell “center” with the e at the end.

Since that day two years ago, I’ve talked to many Canadians who don’t even follow hockey. I know Canadians, on both sides of the 49th parallel, who say PRAH-sess instead of PROH-cess. One Canadian goalie I know may as well pledge allegiance to Coors instead of Molson. And some stateside Canadians have no intention of returning home.

This site, then, is not only a source for enlightenment about America’s northerly neighbor but also a portal for disconnected Canadians who maybe haven’t seen the Sun (the Ottawa Sun, that is) in a while or who haven’t recently read the Globe and Mail.

In addition to links to mainstream media outlets and to satellite sites that shed light on Canada’s grass roots, I’ll deliver quick-hitting and reliable field reports (while dodging the authorities who track my every move.)

Canadianspy.blogspot.com is for Americans who want to avoid appearing on a Rick Mercer special, but the site is ultimately for Americans and Canadians—and anyone else who seeks insights about Canada. And my ultimate “mission” is to foster greater understanding between two great nations.

Oh, and almost anyone can become a “Canadian spy.” So if you’d like to pursue a challenging career in “covert ops,” or become a famous “field agent,” please send e-mail to jimfdwyer(at)gmail(dot)com.

Thanks for reading (and for not reporting me to the authorities.)

Jim Dwyer