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TERRACE BAY NEWS AUGUST 27, 1970 BILL SMILEY'S COLUMN Once upon a time, summer travel was for the very rich. They went to Europe on a luxury liner, ate eight times a day, stayed at fashionable places on the continent, dressed for dinner, and all that jazz, while the rest of us sweated it out. The not-quite-so-rich, but still wealthy, flocked to the great lodges and summer hotels: St. Andrews by the Sea; Manoir Richelieu; Jasper and Banff. They were safe there from the hoi-polloi and subserviently served by secretly insolent bell- boys and waitresses. The moderately well-to-do had a cottage, perhaps a day's travel from home, with a back- house, an ice-box with real ice in it, coal-oil lamps and a rowboat. They lived quietly, simply, and went to bed with the whip-poor-wills. The poor, the working class, picniced in the park, attended ballgames, and watched parades. In the evening, they sat on the front porch, murmuring gossip, drinking lemonade, and listening to the cries of their young, playing run-sheep-run or red- light in the velvet dusk. Things have changed. The rich now fly to the Greek Islands, or Japan, or Rome, where they can live exactly as they could at home, but with slavies of whatever nationality assuring them that they are still the very rich. The not-quite-so-rich have deserted the big hotels and lodges, most of which are on the verge of bankruptcy. These places have, in desperation, become a haven for conventions and middle class poor tippers. The original inhabitants have fled to Mexico City, Scandinavia or the Carribbean, where they can still escape the hoi-polloi. The moderately well-to-do still, in many cases, have a summer cottage. But it is now two or three or more hours of maniacal driving. They now have indoor plumbing, a refrigerator, electric lights, and everything from a power cruiser to a canoe. Some are bereft because they receive only one TV channel. They seldom get to bed before three a.m. And the working class, as they used to be called when they worked? They hire a trailer and cover two thousand miles. Or they rent a cottage and sand- and-sun it for two weeks. Or they get together and fly into a fishing lodge: once reserved for millionaires. J There are a lot of reasons for the change. Everybody has a car. Highways are better. Holidays are longer and you even get vacation pay. And, of course, air travel on chartered flights has made it possible for people with nothing to go almost anywhere. The only people who are poor enough today not to travel are the young people. But that doesn't stop them. With rucksack and sleepingbag, they can cross the country on next to nothing. I'm not knocking all this. I think it's great. But I'm just beginning to wonder where and why I missed the boat, in this travel boom. We just got home from our big trip for the summer -- 110 miles to visit Grandad. My sister and her husband are in England. My brother and his wife send a card from a cruise on the Rhine. A colleague, with four children, drops a card from Virginia. A reader, Bob Cunningham of Omaha, has just encircled the Great Lakes. An old friend and wife are spending three weeks in Europe. And 'I sit in the back yard, with a six-mile trip to the beach as my Great Expectations. There's something wrong somewhere. Each and every one of those people has been telling me how broke he is for years. However, I mustn't be bitter. Just because none of those people can afford what they're doing doesn't mean I should be envious. I was a bit burned by a card from my daughter. She set off two weeks ago to hitch-hike to Vancouver with a friend. Her card says they are just about to leave Cape Breton, by ferry, for Newfoundland. Seems a rather circuitous route to Vancouver. With no money. Well, they may all think they're really seeing the world, but there are some pretty exotic things right around. here. For example, we might slide out tonight to a little fresh vegetable roadside stand, four miles out of town, pick up some sweet corn, eat it, and have a whiz-bang of an evening watching a re-run of Green Acres. There's not a one of them who can do that. Why is it other folk's babies say cut things, but our's iust say unprintable ones? TODAY'S CHILD Toronto Telegram Syndicate Keith is a lovable four-year-old with a disposition as engaging as his smile. Canadian Indian in descent, he is a slim, wiry boy with hazel eyes, brown hair and olive skin. He is a quiet youngster, shy at first, but soon makes friends. He enjoys other children and gets on well with them. Like most small boys, Keith finds cars and trucks the best of all playthings. He is an active young fellow but happy to be quiet if somebody will read to him. Keith has some eczema, and occasional attacks of asth- matic bronchitis, usually associated with changes in the weather. His allergies are being helped by a desensitization program and he is now able to eat foods that previously upset him. He still must avoid chocolate, cheese and citrus fruits and is also allergic to cat hair, dust and some weeds. This fine boy needs loving, relaxed parents in a home without pressures. His new family, especially his mother, needs to be prepared to wait for signs of affection. 'To inquire about adopting Keith please write to Today's Child, Department of Social and Family Services, Parlia- ment Buildings, Toronto 182.