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Page 4, News, Tuesday, July 14, 1992 --_------------ "Editorial: The Terrace Bay - Schreiber News is published every Tuesday by Laurentian Publishing Limited, Box 579, Highway 17 at Mill Road, Terrace Bay, Ont., POT-2W0 Fax: 807-825-9233. Office hours Tuesday-Friday, 9-5. Second class mailing permit 0867. Member of the Ontario Community Newspaper Association and the Canadian Community Newspaper Association. Why do people go through gruelling cross-Canada runs? When Terry Fox did it, we admired his dedication and his ability to beat the odds. When Rick Hansen did it, we cheered because he complet- ed what Terry wasn't able to finish. When Steve Fonyo did it, well, it was kind of nice, since he had overcome adversity as well, but there was a sense he was riding on somebody else's coattails. But after that, it got a bit silly. In case you don't know what these three people have in 'common, they've all run across Canada--in Hansen's case, he wheelchaired across a good part of the planet. What they start- ed, however, was an avalanche of people running across our great country, raising money or "awareness" for an endless assortment of anonymous--though mostly worthy-- causes. What's wrong with that you might ask? Why shouldn't these people punish themselves to the extreme, go through rain and wind and frost and sun, climbing hill after hill, fend- - ing off transport trucks and bad drivers, breathing in exhaust fumes and cow manure, all the while adhering to inhuman travel schedules? It's their lives, after all. The reason is that it's already been done, and done to death for crying out loud. The novelty's gone. A cross Canada run that raises a few hundred thousand dollars for a worthy cause is nice, but the money probably could be raised through a cou- ple of really big bingos or raffles, and the poor runner could have been saved the trouble, time and the risk of having a fatal heart attack. And even more importantly, it takes some of the shine off of what Terry Fox and Rick Hansen accomplished. Imitation may be the highest form of flattery, but familiarity really does breed contempt. The first time we heard someone was running--or in Hansen's case, wheelchairing--across Canada, it seemed an awesome, almost impossible feat. But today, when we hear someone's coming to town en route to Victoria or St. John's (depending which way they're headed), raising awareness about some cause or another, we're more inclined to roll our eyes and say "not again" than be impressed. It's almost on par with telephone soliciting--the gimmick is old and it just doesn't have the effect it used to. That's not to say that anybody should try to outdo their pre- decessors by crossing Canada while doing a handstand or while naked to try and get our attention. It's the concept that's old, and people who use it are tainting Canadians' memories of the original heroes. Don't get me wrong--I realize that it takes an incredible amount of stamina, courage and dedication to walk, run, rollerblade or whatever across a country the size of Canada. But it takes the same qualities to repeatedly bang your head against a brick wall, but if you're going to do it, don't tell me you're doing it to raise awareness of the destruction of the rainforest--like Nike says, just do it. I don't mean to trivialize the accomplishments of the peo- ple who have, literally, followed in Fox and Hansen's foot- steps. But putting yourself through the kind of punishment and risk involved in that kind of endeavour just doesn't make sense anymore. So the next time you hear that someone's running across Canada, you can react in a number of different ways: sarcastic (wow, I hope they don't get hit by transport truck or any- thing); hostile (sure would be a shame if someone were to run them down); Wayne's Worldish (that's something I've always wanted to do--not) ; or, if you're really struck by the event, you can start your own cross-Canada tour to raise awareness of the fact that there's too many people running across Cana- fla Single copies 50 cents. Subs. rates: $18 per year. Seniors $12 (local); $29 per year (out of 40 mile radius); $38 in U.S. Add GST to yearly subs. BONO cicteasinties ye Advertising Rep... Conds we (25 Admin. Asst......... Publishev.............. A. Sandy Harbinson Advertising Mgr....Linda R. Harbinson ..Darren MacDonald seus Cheryl Kostecki sched Gayle Fournier Tel.: 825-3747 CNA om] cn = ? eS) o-- SS Lulu's goes way of the dodo In 1989, the Tories bulldozed the Free Trade Agreement through Parliament. I knew that the agreement was tantamount to popping Canada's natural resources into a shopping cart and pushing it across the 49th parallel, but I said nothing. In 1990, the Tories stacked the Senate with bumboys and yesmen to insure passage of the Gouge and Screw Tax. I knew the tax was no more than a calculated snatch and grab, a plot to plunge governments jammy fingers even deeper into the Canadian taxpayers pocket. Yet I stood idly by. I uttered scarcely a peep when Mulroney's minions gutted the Armed Forces, @ destroyed passenger train ™ service, and treated Canada's Medicare system to that fine old Chinese surgical tradition, the Bi Death of A Thousand Cuts. Still, my lips were sealed. Nosiree, Bob. It takes more than a bunch of politicos systematically unravelling my country sinew by sinew to get my dander up. But this time, by thunder, they've gone too far. The Tories have closed Lulu's. Well, not personally, I suppose. I don't imagine John Crosby and Joe Clark and Mike Wilson showed up with a flying wedge of bailiffs to nail the "For Rent" signs across Lulu's front door--but hey! It is the dreadful palsied hand of the Tories that's been on our economic tiller for the past (Lord, has it only been) eight years. Hard times closed Lulu's. And who are YOU gonna blame for hard times? Beg pardon, madame? Who is Lulu, you ask? Not who--what. Lulu's is--or was--Lulu's Roadhouse, of Kitchener, Ontario. It just happened to be the biggest damn bar in the entire world. It's true. You can look it up in the Guinness Book of World Records. Lulu's boasted a stand-up bar that stretched for 340 feet, which is about the length of a Arthur Black football field, or, if you prefer, one Greyhound bus longer than the Statue of Liberty, from torchflame to tippytoe. But to tell you the truth, Lulu's had many facets more captivating than that overachieving beer counter. The place was cavernous--as big as an aircraft hanger. It could handle 2,500 thirsty patrons at a time. Picky patrons too. Lulu's was studded with satellite bars where you could order (at your peril) goofy alcoholic concoctions with even dopier names. And then there was the clientele. It's tough to describe the regular crowd at Lulu's, but if you recall the famous bar scene in the movie Star Wars, that's close enough. On any given night you could expect to run into bikers, chartered accountants, punk "rockers, urban cowboys, yuppies, bimbos, bozos, preppies, good ole boys and sundry unclassifiable UFO's. And what brough them all to Lulu's? The part I haven't mentioned yet. The certified best reason to enter the mad world of Lulu's. The entertainment. Lulu's was a pop time warp. They brought in acts you hadn't heard in 25 years. And lots that you had. Chuck Berry. Fats Domino. The Everly Brothers. Buddy Rich. James Brown. They all played Lulu's. So did Neil Sedaka and Del Shannon and ancient Jazz Greats like Billy Butterfield and Slam Stewart. The Drifters and Little Richard were slated to play there this summer, but that won't happen now. The World's Biggest Nightclub is, as they say, in receivership. Which means that on any given night from here on in, 2,500 would-be patrons with a thirst for strange drinks and wonderful entertainment have nowhere to go. Twenty five hundred edgy people. Every night. If I was a Tory Politician, I'd be checking real estate in Pago Pago.