Winnipeg Free Press

My wife Kathy rarely takes the mental effort to dislike anyone so imagine my shock when she admitted to taking a severe dislike to Judy. In fact Kathy is downright rude to Judy calling her names that should not pass a lady’s lips. Kathy constantly questions her judgment and her reasoning and has even spent hours on the internet attempting to prove that Judy is just plain wrong if not secretly deceitful.

Not that Judy has ever expressed an unkind thought about Kathy. In fact, Judy has offered kind advice to both of us. Judy has shown remarkable restraint when we have ignored her recommendations. She does not pout or provide criticism and her manners are impeccable.

However, sometimes people do take an unaccountable dislike to someone else for no reason whatsoever so now I have to choose between my wife of 37 years and my friend Judy.

It was a difficult decision but I have now made the choice and Kathy has won hands down.

Tomorrow I will erase Judy’s identity and change the voice in my GPS from Judy to Jack who has a British accent. It can only be hoped that Kathy and Jack will become excellent chums.

Sigh. I sure will miss Judy.

                                                        -30-

Brenda Templar was married to Mike. That caused a problem.

Mike Templar was enamored by all women. You can find a picture of Mike right under “skirt chaser” in Webster’s dictionary. He had been married twice before he met Brenda and  according to the popular reasoning, Brenda should not have been surprised at what happened after he left his wife and formed a relationship with her. 

But love is blind and it led, in this case, to a monumental public scandal. So let us get right to it.

Brenda  was out of town for a convention.

 Mike was lonely those 6 days and today was his birthday.

Mike’s girlfriend was his boss. They got together shortly after Brenda left and decided to have an intimate meal in her wood frame two story house. It was mid-winter.

Surf and turf were consumed. Candles were lit. Frankly, some people might call it a romantic occasion. However we should not speculate.

Shortly after supper they retired upstairs.

Possibly they were comparing notes on company policy. Possibly not.

The romantic candles were left to burn amongst the leavings of their meal.

As determined by the arson investigator the electric furnace cut in at one point. It moved the sheer curtains which momentarily covered the burning candles.

The wooden staircase acted as a flue for the flames.

With incredible speed the home was ablaze. The couple had scant seconds to save their lives.

A neighbor noticed the raging fire and notified the volunteer fire department which arrived as fast as eager firefighters can travel.

It was almost 40 below F.

Amidst the scramble to control the blaze, strange incident reports kept coming back to the assistant fire captain.

From One: “Sir, there is an injury. The owner of the burning home appears to have a broken ankle after jumping from the second floor.”

Assistant fire captain: ” Advise ambulance staff and transport.”

Firefighter: “But sir, she is totally naked and it is -40 F.”

Assistant fire captain: “Well cover her for God’s sake, and then transport.”

Second Firefighter: ” Sir, there is a naked man behind that tree. He steps out every few moments to see how the woman with the broken ankle is doing. He appears to be uninjured but judging from his … ah, um, you know, he is very cold.”

Assistant fire captain: “And you say he is completely naked too?”

Firefighter. “No sir, not completely naked. He has his socks on.”

The house burned almost to the ground.

It was a small town. Everyone knew who the naked participants were.

It was midwinter and everyone was bored.

Unlike police and social workers and several other groups, firefighters DO NOT sign an oath of confidentially.

Town residents had a field day with the story.

The female boss was fired.

The wandering husband endured the smirks of local residents for awhile but took his new wife (fresh from her course) and quickly and quietly left town.

The moral of the story you ask?

Don’t get caught cheating on your wife by a small town fire department.

Also, when stepping out on your partner to celebrate your birthday bash, blow out the candles after your intimate meal and before you unwrap your gift.

                                                    -30-

Stan hadn’t even told his wife anything was wrong with him. However, for some unknown reason she accompanied him on his annual physical. Just as the they were finishing the doctor asked if there was anything else about his health Stan wanted to talk about.

“Just this little bump on my head.” Stan remarked.

After making the rounds with a series of specialists and undergoing a battery of tests Stan was told that he had a particularly fast growing form of cancer throughout his body. There was no help for it, his doctors would make him comfortable but in a matter of weeks, not months, Stan would die.

Stan’s wife Marge tried to pretend it wasn’t happening and so did he.

He continued to go out for coffee with the guys each day and watch endless old westerns on television. Marge retreated into her computer and the games it contained.

They never discussed arrangements or told their children until the very end.

I was there trying to undo a snarl in Marge’s computer the day Stan died.

He gave an odd sigh and slid forward. His face came to rest in his lunch.

I was rising from my chair to assist him when Marge made her insistent demand.

“Don’t. Please.”

“Leave him be.”

“Let him be alive just a little bit longer.”

About 20 minutes later she started to softly cry and we began the ritual that officially ends life by calling 911.

I did not write this blog to depress you but I learned a great deal from Stan’s death and I made a list. While you are well and preferably before you retire you should;

1. Make sure each of you know all about the state of your finances. This includes which bills are paid automatically using direct bank payments.
2. Know where the important papers are kept and keep your wills up to date.
3. Never assume you know which one of you will die first. Stan always assumed that Marge would fail first because she was sickly so he opted to receive his full pension with no regard for his wife should he predecease her. Marge was an American housewife without even Canada Pension to fall back on.
4. Discuss your after death preferences with your partner. Talk about a service should you desire one and certainly discuss whether you prefer cremation or burial. Preplanning makes a death so much easier on the surviving partner. Do you want a headstone? If so, what would you like on it? I want mine to give basic details and one additional line “He made me laugh.”
5. If you are able, release your spouse to remarry after your death. An aging body is something we all must tolerate but loneliness is best avoided.
6. If your partner is failing and there is nothing medical personnel can do, make it clear to your spouse what your wishes are regarding a DNS (Do Not Resuscitate) This warning should be placed on the medical file.
7. Tell your spouse if any body parts may be harvested from you after death for medical research or the treatment of someone else.
8. Make it very plain in your will who your administrator is to be should you no longer be in a condition to speak for yourself.
9. Should either of you lie in a coma or vegetative state make it clear that you do not expect the mobile partner to attend the hospital every waking moment. Give examples taking into consideration the fact that your spouse needs some time away from the situation.
10. In lieu of flowers. Find out what charity your partner likes best.

Life can be short but you can have some control over the events leading up to your death and you can help ensure that your spouse knows what your wishes are if you die.

On the third day Annabelle Lee panicked and she then called 911.

After having established a relationship with a gentleman named Earl Tate in our small park she became increasingly concerned when he suddenly stopped answering his telephone and no amount of pounding would summon him to the door. To make matters worse Earl’s vehicle remained stationary in his driveway, a sure sign to Annabelle that something was seriously amiss. Serious action was called for.

The police arrived first followed by the ambulance and then the Alamo fire station rescue unit at last showed up . Maybe rescue workers can’t afford the really loud sirens.

The cop spoke to Annabelle and then banged on Earl’s door. Two ambulance attendants looked on in mock seriousness. The four firemen took turns looking in all of Earl’s windows. A general discussion took place and then the rescuers sort of milled about in some kind of organized confusion. What specifically happened next forced me into the realm of speculation.

I speculate that one of the firemen must have seen a kitten in one of Earl’s fruit trees because pretty soon all four firemen were keenly interested on gazing upwards into the lower branches of an orange tree.

Now, everyone knows you can’t see lost kittens worth a darn with all that hanging fruit in the way but these daring volunteers had experience in that area.

They removed their firefighter helmets and transferred the fruit from the tree to those hats. Have you ever wondered why firefighters have such large headwear? Undoubtedly it is because they have experience in removing items to establish clear visibility!

I am sad to report that they never did rescue that kitten but I can assure readers that they tried hard, and that a vast quantity of fruit was moved before the rescue squad was satisfied that there was no cat to rescue.

Meanwhile Annabelle was having a fit.

Emotionally charged, she began gesturing that the cop do something, anything, to assure her that her new lover was not in danger.

The cop said something to the firefighter. It apparently moved that man to the point where he had to make a decision between saving a kitten and performing a rescue for a city resident.

I am proud to tell you that this man put down his helmet of oranges and without a second thought for his own safety, grabbed a fire axe and approached Earl’s door.

What happened next is the stuff of which legends are born.

The door opened on its own accord!

There stood Earl, safe, healthy and clearly embarrassed.

He explained that he wanted no part of Annabelle Lee and that he was just monitoring the phone and her visits against her overly affectionate attentions.

Red faced, Annabelle left the park along with the ambulance and the entire rescue squad. Even the oranges disappeared.

The cop, however, stayed. Within our hearing he explained that on future occasions the police will expect Earl to be more direct with his female companions. What the policeman actually said was “From now on you tell you own woo-man yourself you do not like her no more, OK?”

Since Earl’s wife died about 6 years ago I have witnessed him move at least 5 female companions in, and out, of his home. In three months he may live to be 92 years old. If he behaves himself.

                                                    -30-

Like everyone else I watched with only a vague interest, news reports from the Independent Truckers in Canada and the United States. Then, I remembered the words of one presenter at the Emergency Measures college about 15 years ago. He said that this continent has suffered wars, a major depression, flu epidemics and nuclear spills but there was one disturbance that we could never overcome in the short run such as one or two years. As best I can remember, here is what he said.

“If the independent truckers in one or both of our countries organize a successful strike action we will begin to run out of essential goods in 3 to 5 days. We can define essential goods as fresh vegetables, salt, medicines, fresh fish and just about everything else we consume from toothpaste to woodscrews.”

I went looking for a trucker to interview and I found one in Charlie who preferred I not use his last name.

Here are some of the questions and some of the answers.

Q.   “We hear stories of $4.00 a gallon diesel and how this increase is financially forcing truckers to their knees. Are independent truckers really being forced out of business or is this just another ploy to get money from the government?”

Charlie. “Ask that question that way at a truck stop and someone will probably hand you all your teeth in a doggie bag but the quick answer is yes, it is pretty much true that the whole industry is suffering.”

Q. “Pretty much true?”

Charlie. “Well, like everything else, the whole situation is not cut and dried. You can’t just point to the $2.00 diesel increase and say there. That increase did it. No, it is just the final straw. Each year things seem to get worse. The highway patrol in most states and particularly Ohio, depend on truckers as a rolling source of income. You have to pay your fines up front and last time I was stopped I was going two miles over the speed limit. I had to pay $57 dollars to the “excessive speed’ and a $47.00 court fee in advance for a total of $104.00. All this for traveling two miles over the limit while being passed by every car on the highway! ”

Q. “Does this apply to Canada as well? Are Canadian police tough on truckers?.”

Charlie. “Canada is a lot like Pennsylvania. If the cops stop you it means you’ve probably done something wrong. For the most part Canadian cops are honest.”

Q. “Anything else you like about Canada?”

Charlie. “Canadian bureaucrats don’t try to peck you to death like a gaggle of geese. As long as a trucker sticks to the designated truck routes and follows basic rules they leave you alone.”

Q. “Back to the main question Charlie. How likely is it that either Canada or the United States will experience an independent truckers’ strike in the foreseeable future?”

Charlie. “You will see a large organized strike in Canada the very day hell freezes over because it just isn’t going to happen. They don’t call them independent truckers for nothing. No one but no one can tell that group what to do and make it stick. However something much worse is far more likely to happen.”

Q. “And that is ….. ?”

Charlie. “A critical number of them will go bankrupt and as soon as enough do and there just aren’t enough truckers to fleece and lettuce goes up to $15.00 a head, then it will be too late to fix the mess.”

Q. “Will you quit too?”

Charlie. “I already have.”

                                           -30-

My Hispanic friend, Rudy, is possessed of a great common sense.

As we walk our 2.5 miles each morning we discuss politics and religion and other events in the news. Rudy is a generally calm fellow and I take his advice on all manner of subjects but one topic makes him angry.

“I take great exception to those winter Texans who come down here and cross the border into Mexico to give to the poor. Why do they do this? Do they know the problems they make for the poor people and the Mexican government?”

I replied that I hadn’t thought of it that way. Would he provide examples?

“Ok, said Rudy, do you know the lady on the corner who feeds homeless cats?”

I nodded yes, I knew of her.

Rudy. “When all the people go back home at the end of the winter those cats starve. A few live on for awhile eating the rabbits and birds they can catch but most starve. The surviving few are picked up by the animal control and put to death. Now do you think that lady did such a wonderful thing? Those cats had kittens while she fed them, kittens that animal control had to slaughter!”

I replied that people are not like animals.

He agreed but added “No, people are not animals but winter Texans cause the poor a lot of suffering.”

He continued. “Individuals and religious organizations make people gravitate to the border areas where they are provided with homes, clothing and food. These same poor people had houses in Mexico proper before and their standard of living was not great but they were caring for themselves after a fashion. Now they are packed along the Mexican border with no way to feed themselves in the summer months. They are plagued by bandits and poor health. Some women are tempted into prostitution to feed their families and the men attempt dangerous trips to enter the United States illegally. A bunch of them were just killed in car accidents the other day just east of here.”

“After a while they stop looking for work and just look out for the best relief group in the area, the poverty association that provides the best deal. Some of these agencies are only scams to collect relief money in the northern states and transfer it to the scammers pockets down here. Everyone, it seems, is using the downtrodden, poorly educated Mexican people to further their own self interests.”

“There are signs in the stores in Mexico. They say Please Don’t give money to our children, they should be in school. Please don’t turn our children into beggars! Do those signs make people stop throwing money are the kids? No. It makes the winter Texans feel too good and to hell with the kids.”

Rudy is an American Hispanic who, as I have said, feels strongly about the manner in which we go about in helping the children.

I firmly believe he has a point.

-30-

I received my first clue about what was going to happen to me in the first few moments after I turned my keys over to the dealership.

What had begun as a small electrical problem with the automatic door looks on my 3 year old vehicle was going to turn into a spending spree at a dealership I can’t name, all because my flavour of religious persuasion did not match that of the establishment. The Internet had informed me that the model of my van in that particular year suffered from periodic loss of power to door locks owing to a fuse problem and the average cost to rectify this was, on average, about $82.00

A young woman assisted me in filling out the trouble form. She also wanted to know if I was aware that God’s blessing was available in the waiting room. The customer lounge area was covered in reminders of the fires in the burning lake in Hell that awaited those who had not accepted Jesus as their personal saviour.

I was in a Christian car dealership where the staff would accept my offer to repent my earthly sins. Every single staff member I met seemed more interested in the state of my soul than the problem I was having with my vehicle. I was continually reminded not to trample the blood of Jesus under my feet and to accept HIM into my heart.

At the end of the day I was ready to give them the car just to get away. Accepting a statement for the total of $268.18 for replacing the fuse and temporarily interrupting the battery power to accomplish that, I was actually happy to pay to escape the establishment.

I am also happy to report that my day of religious instruction had no lasting effects on me.

To all readers I have but one message, “Bless You and may I take this opportunity to tell you about the seven point soul inspection and attitude adjustment offer at Christian Motors for only $29.95.”

                                           -30-

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

I was driving along, minding my own business, when I spotted a very large bird staggering along the road. I stopped to investigate.

It was a full grown owl. Obviously the bird had been brushed by a vehicle because although it appeared unhurt it was not fully conscious either. Obviously I in the same state of mind because I extended both index fingers and picked the thing up. Then it did what owls do. It clenched his claws tightly around my digits and there we were, hunter and captive. 

The more I tried to dislodge that bird the tighter he clenched my fingers. We stayed married for about half an hour before Mr. Owl realized I was probably too big to eat and he allowed me to escape.

It is always nice to hear that someone else can be as thoughtless around wild creatures. My friend Paul owned a large Canadian motel in a small Manitoba town and one day a female tourist brought in a wounded Ferruginous hawk. These tremendous creatures can have wing spans of 53 inches. She wanted Paul to save this bird explaining that it is on the endangered species list and needed care and attention until it was better.

Without thinking he grabbed the hawk around the upper body and asked his buddy Sam to take over the desk. I’ll let Paul tell the next part of it.

Paul. “What could I have done? I made my living making tourists happy. How hard could it be to look after a bird even if the bird weighed half a ton? I carried it with the legs dandling over my groin area but at the last moment I had to extend my right index finger to open the sliding glass doors to the shed in the back yard. Now the bird was over my right leg. I was no sooner out the door when the thing extended its legs and got a strangle hold on my right thigh muscle. I’ll let Sam tell the rest of it.”

Sam. “As soon as that hawk clamped down on Paul’s leg I knew what would happen next so I stood between the lady tourist and the window. I asked outrageous questions about the state she lived in and I implored her to remain in town for the coming festival even though I knew she was only passing through. This was kept up until Paul limped back behind the desk.”

The lady immediately wanted to know how the hawk was managing.

“He is as snug as a bug in a rug.” Paul replied. (Indeed, the hawk was as snug as a headless bug in a rug but who needs details?)

Next our tourist lady wanted to know if Paul thought the bird would pull through.

“We can only make him as comfortable as possible and let nature take its course.” (We’ll make him as comfy as a dead hawk can be at the bottom of an empty banana box and let nature turn him into worm food.)

Paul. “I told her it was nice of her to rescue him all the while thinking of what might of happened had that hawk regained consciousness a second or two earlier. Also, I was pretty sure that I was bleeding to death.”

We all do things that seem like a good idea at the time but at least I never chased a skunk like my friend Richard Pugh. That deed also proved unwise.

                                                     -30-

The legal term for snatching a baby is “making an apprehension.” On behalf of the Manitoba Government I used to do it all the time. In fact, I did it 163 times in all before getting into a better position as welfare officer. However, let me tell you about the last infant I snatched because it was literally a smash and grab job.

It was a warm summer morning and a person came to the front desk to report that an infant was alone in a car across the street. The baby appeared to be in some distress. Along with a colleague I investigated. The infant was in the front seat and appeared not to have enough strength to cry. The car metal was blistering to touch in the early morning sun. I sent my partner back to the office to call the rescue squad, an ambulance and the police, in that order.

He had been gone just seconds when I noticed a brick in the grass beside the road. Making use of that object the baby was freed from the sweltering vehicle in another few seconds. The infant’s outer clothing was removed just as the rescue truck rolled up and only a minute went by before we were joined by the police and ambulance. They all looked kind of disappointed that there was nothing left to break but at least the ambulance crew had someone to transport.

All those flashing lights attracted the attention of the staff in the Realty Company where the vehicle was parked and pretty soon I was confronted by a very frightened and very humble woman. The police had told her that I must make the decision to return her baby.

In the office she broke down. “My husband is going to kill me.” she said.

“Tell me how your baby ended up in the blistering heat in that locked car.” I inquired.

To make a long story short the lady had been told to come to the reality office for a minute or two and sign some papers. She parked in the shade and left her child for only a minute or two.

However, the minute or two stretched first to ten and then to fifteen minutes. As this was happening the sun rose into the sky, clearing the building and exposing the car. If that person had not passed by and noticed the plight of that baby it very easily could have died. Infants have very poor inbuilt heat and cold controlling mechanisms. The child was released from hospital later that day and I did not process the paperwork I should have filled out to protect myself for damaging the vehicle.

Sometimes things just work out. I returned the baby having considered that parents sometimes make mistakes. The lady did not blame me for damaging her car as would probably happen today.

Of the other 162 children apprehended, only two were taken because of physical abuse. Most of the rest were aboriginal kids suffering from neglect. It felt good to move on from the nasty business of child apprehensions.

                                                     -30-

His real name was Bruno Schufflen. The guys at the plant just called him Rocket Man because the German Army stationed him at Peenemunde during WW2. When I first met him his wife was trying to kill him.

At first she would just wake up shrieking at him in German in the middle of the night thinking that he was her first husband. She got more of his notice when she emptied his bank account and hid the cash throughout the apartment.

However, what brought Bruno to my attention was when he complained to the police about the numerous attempts she apparently made to kill him. I remember some of the incidents I recorded:

Mrs. Schufflen tried to bash him with a frying pan.

Then she waited for him behind the front door with a baseball bat.

With the door to the bedroom wedged shut she managed to get an arm into the room and stab him through the foot with a butcher knife while he slept.

The police honestly didn’t know what to do about her and so, following a case conference, it was decided that if she could be certified mentally incapable, we could put her into the locked ward of the local nursing home.

It was decided that the task of finding Mrs. Schufflen mentally competent or incompetent would fall upon me because really, we had no solid proof that she did these things to her husband. I was, after all, “in the barrel” meaning that week I was on call.

I interviewed Bruno and found that he said his wife thought it was 1944 and that her husband was stealing her silver and fine linen and was selling them on the black market.

“Would she allow me into the apartment?” I asked.

“She would if she thought you were an official from the German government.” he replied.

“Won’t she find it odd that I am speaking English?” I asked.

He said “Put a swastika on any official looking piece of identification and it might work. She is crazy. Speak the little German you know too.” he insisted.

Back at the office Brenda, one of the secretaries, knew how to write calligraphy. I asked if she would put the following writing under the departmental insignia “Prufer Hans Schmidt - Gestapo” and could she check the encyclopedia and put a little swastika below that? (My German is even more rusty now but on the face of it, that wording was my intention.)

Naturally, Brenda asked if this was some kind of joke because she was really busy. I told her that it was to get me into the German lady’s house and the conditions of the case.

“It will most likely get you dead too.” muttered Brenda, but she did it. At the time I was 24 years old and pretty sure I could never die.

After borrowing a black leather coat and putting the “identification” into a plastic jacket I picked up my “back up.” He was one of the most sarcastic constables I’d met up to that time and went to see my potential client. A basic psychiatric evaluation is an attempt to see if a patient is orientated in time and place. One must ascertain if they know the local or country political leader(s) as well. At the time, if the individual failed this test, they could be compelled to undertake an exam by a psychiatric expert who would determine what was in their best interest.

With my bored looking backup down the hall and around the corner I knocked at Mrs. Schufflen’s door. Immediately every German phrase, word or greeting left my mind. I ended up talking in a German accent and I remember I sounded a lot like the fat German soldier in the old series “Hogan’s Heroes.” Mrs. Schufflen was impressed by Brenda’s calligraphy and thought it not the least odd that I sounded like a character in a TV sit-com.

“I have come to arrest your husband!” I declared.

She was delighted. I demanded to know the last time she had seen him and she was only wrong by about 30 years. The poor woman was also on the wrong continent and she certainly didn’t know she Canadians governed her. Asked to collect her essential things she was only too happy to allow my captain, Constable Sarcastic, to escort her to the official vehicle that would spirit her away to safety. Then I did something extremely stupid.

I went back to the apartment to ensure that the electric stove was off and nothing dangerous was plugged in. Remember all that money that was scattered about? In the following weeks Bruno never did find it all. In follow-up interviews I’d catch Rocket Man gazing my way suspiciously. I couldn’t really blame him, I should never have entered his apartment without a witness. (As an aside I’ll tell you a secret I didn’t find out for many years. If you suspect that someone has hidden something on your property ask a narcotics officer. They know all the best places to hide things.) He was also more than a little annoyed to find that we could not cure his wife and naturally blamed his primary contact with “the system.”

About two years later Bruno stopped me on the street and said he had great news. He had found all of his money. Some had been folded into a curtain rod and the rest was stuffed inside a hollow door.

After the Rocket Man incident I decided to hang up my Gestapo shield. My supervisor didn’t think the incident was the least bit funny. Supervisors are like that.

                                                       -30-