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By Geoff Hoile * Nicki Land{;annd Jackie Stewart have done a reasonâ€" ably good job in recent years of leading the internaâ€" tional Grand Prix racing pack, but for my money they don‘t have the style and class of my favourite, ‘"the unerowned king of auto racing."‘ f Stirling Moss got the title from the press for his spectacular winning performances during his peak racing years (1954 to 1962) during which he won nearly every major Grand Prix race at one time or another, but somehow never realised the big dream of becomiâ€" ng the world driving champion. f After being nudged put of the world championship annually by Argentina‘s Juan Manuel Fangio in the years from 1954 to 1957 and by Australian Jack Brabâ€" ham after that, Moss spun out doing over 100 m.p.h. at Goodwood, England in 1962, ended his brilliant racing career and almost lost his life. It took rescuers nearly half an hour to pry Stirling out of the demolished I haven‘t tought much about the Grand Prix circuit for quite a while but reading in a Toronto paper that old Stirling is going to be racing in a vintage car race as part of the Molson Canadian Transâ€"Am Formula Atlantic at Mosport this weekend, kinda brought back the good old days. He gets to choose between a Fitch Whitmore Jaguar and a Formula One, twoâ€"andâ€"aâ€"half litre Cooper Classic, the same model he drove in winâ€" ning the 1958 Kentish 100 at Brands Hatch, England. Lotus Vâ€"8. He suffered a severe head injury, cuts to his face, a broken shoulder and several fractured ribs. Since then, Moss has confined his driving to vintage I‘ve raved on about the principals involvedâ€"those of a universal caring about people in need and not allowing racial preferences to interfere with our judâ€" gement. I say judgementâ€"it seems a logical termâ€"because the issue at hand is not strictly an emotional one. Cerâ€" tainly, there has been a good deal of emotion generatâ€" ed over the situation, both by critics and proponents. But basically, there is no question. We as people are obligated by our minds, hearts and souls to help peoâ€" pl(_e in need as much and as often as humanly possible. This week will be the last in my series of tirades about Vietnamese refugees. \ In view of that, there are certain problems we must deal with in a logical manner. I‘ve heard some people say we should not allow such a high number of refuâ€" geesâ€"80,000â€"into our land because they may bring communicable diseases. One article I read goes to great lengths to prove we may be succeptible to cerâ€" tain Asian parasites carried by the refugees But the solution is not to stop the flow of refugees. but rather to screen, test and treat them to avoid the spread of communicable disease But as I write, holed up in my study with the drapes drawn and the fan blowing. we‘re well into the second week of one of those scorching summer sessions that we masochists in this country endure and even enjoy. in a perverted way When it comes to the health of myself and my famiâ€" ly and the community as a whole, l have to agree By BILL SMILEY Hot nuff fer ya? By the time this appears in print, 1 may be looking through drawers for my longjohns. That would be typical of the weather in this Canada of ours We suffer, but we suffer with a certain pride. One wilted citizen will say to another dripping one, ‘"Ain‘t it a corker?"" And the other will respond. almost joyously. ‘‘Never seen the beat of it _ On the streets of our towns and cities. we duck from one airâ€"conditioned haven to another. catching our death of cold in the process. Smart people take a heavy sweater to the supermarket so they won‘t freeze their extremities, and peel right down to those extremities as soon as they get back into the street What a crazy way to live. Six months ago, and six months from now, we‘ll be doing the opposite, ducking from one overâ€"heated place to another. and bragging about the cold _Dr. Beth Huntington. associate medical officer for the Region of Waterloo explained the problem and the solution 1 wonder if there is another nation in the world that Howard Elliott (‘ (£F~ â€"â€"â€"According . _ Speaking of the good old days and Stirling Moss and all that stuff takes me back to the scene of the real acâ€" tion. I was working as a bartender in a 300â€"yearâ€"old Pb on the road between London and Oxford, England n the summer of 1961. The pub, the King‘s Arms, was one of three popular licensed gathering places in the village of Berkhamsted. car races around the world. In 1960 he won the first professional auto race ever scheduled at Mosport as ‘he added the Players 200 to his long list of victories. There is a section of the Mosport track called Moss Corner, in recognition of suggested design changes he made in 1960. Contrary to popular belief, the track is not named after Stirlâ€" ing; Mosport is merely the shortened form of motor sport. Normally the pace of business at the King‘s Arms was pretty casual in the early hours of a Saturday evening, with the locals making the rounds of the three High Street pubs to meet their cronies and deâ€" cide which of the public houses would get the bulk of their patronage that night. Husbands who had gotten out of doing the dishes on the excuse of walking the dog walked in. Young couâ€" ples, older couples, widows on the dole, young giris But every now and again, on a Saturday night, custâ€" omers would explode into the saloon bar in a mob, as if the devil were chasing them. They were good for business; they always drank a lot once they got in. The group members usually had nothing in common who looked older than they were, and professional people on their way home late from the office all strolled in at predictable hours to be swallowed up in the noisy crowd of regulars already jammed along the The problem, as Dr. Huntington put it, is that if medica) officials in the far east took time to do full testing for diseases such as TB, the entire process of feeding, housing and exporting the thousands of refuâ€" gees would be held up. First of all. the problem has already been dealt with to some extent by the region. People sponsoring refuâ€" gees are being asked to contact the region, so a public health nurse can come around the check the new resiâ€" dents. If a problem is foundâ€"and Dr. Huntington said there have been a few minor problemsâ€"the refugees _ Some testing is beifig done, Dr. Huntington said, but it isn‘t as thorough as local officials would like it to Another problem is immunization. Immunization agaipst diseases such as TB and polio usually takes a month or so to carry out, Dr. Huntington said. Since most of the }efugees are in the camps and out again in a short time, it isn‘t possible for authorities to carry out a full immunization program . So, yés, There is a threat from diseases carried by Vietnamese refugees. What is the solution? talks as much about the weather as does ours. I doubt it. Perhaps it is because we are rather shy and inarâ€" ticulate when it comes to opening a conversation. As a result,. we commence with, ‘"Cold nuff fer ya?",. or, "Hot nuff fer ya?", and can nearly always be certain that the person spoken to, even a complete stranger, as long as he‘s a Canadian, will respond with something like "Real brute. izzen it?" This retort covers extreme days in either winter or summer. If an immigrant, unfamiliar with our opening gamâ€" bits, makes a sensible remark about=\the weather, such as "My, it is unpleasantly warm today, is it not?,"" we go right on the defensive, with, ‘"Ah, this is just right. Wait‘ll the real heat wave hits. It‘ll slaughter ya _ It seems some of the refugees are not being adequaâ€" tely screened inâ€"or when they leaveâ€"refugee camps in places like Hong Kong. With the tremendous deâ€" mand on medical facilities in those camps, I can well imagine that‘s true. Or if a similarly untutored foreigner. just trying to We pleasant, says in February, ‘"Mein Gott, zis is a cold country in vinter, Hein?". we snarl, "Nah, she‘s mild this year, ya shoulda been here last winter Forty below for three weeks straight. _ Yes. there is a certain arrogance in Canadians when it comes to our weather. Nobody much likes rain and wind. But when it comes to hot and cold, we are fasâ€" cinated by temperatures. We exchange weather reâ€" ports. We remember winters and summers as far back as thirty years If some in;u‘sually urbane Canadian ventures to utter a, "Nice day, eh?~. we usually come back with a Bill Smiley e mm.m,mmtm-mr with one another other than a frantic desire to get the hell away from motor traffic on the High Street. They were literally running for their lives. â€" Five miles down a winding back lane (as in small English road) on the way to Oxford was the tiny hamâ€" let of Tring. And Tring happened to beâ€"the home of Stirling Moss. I have to admit I was never quick enough to get over the bar and into the street in time to witness the magâ€" nificent spectacle first hand. Berkhamsted is a very small place and just about anybedy on a bicycle could get in and out of town in just over 30 seconds. Secondâ€" ly, there was only one door to the street, and my only means of egress in that direction was adequately blocked by the mass of frantic locals rushing to trade their pedestrianship for a safer place at the bar. The stories told by those hysterical mobs â€" things like Peter Sellers standing up reciting poetry while Moss put the MG into a highâ€"speed controlled spin beâ€" tween two parked cars â€" were probably exaggerated, but they were very entertaining\nonetheless. From time to time â€" usually on a Saturday night â€" Stirling Moss and Peter Sellers would come rocketing around the snaky country curves in a highly charged state of alcoholic stimulation, Stirling at the wheel of his sleek MG and Sellers tossing bawdy gems of wit to the terrified pedestrians en route. ‘ & The shortest distance between two points is definiâ€" tely not a British road, dnd the five mile stretch from Tring to Berkhamsted most graphically makes that point. I guess it would be nice to see old Stirling doing his stuff out at Mosport this weekend, but if I could have had my choice I would far rather have seen him in his prime on the road to Tring. I, for one, would like to extend a welcome to the Vietnamese who have settled in our area. It must be comfortingâ€"thrilling in factâ€"to know that they are no longer refugees. They now have a home. can be treated by area physicians or hospitals. If everyone who is in contact with the new arrivals remembers the procedure established by the officials, there should be no problem at all with communicable diseases. And that as far as 1 can see it, is that. Medical faciliâ€" ties in this area are good, and there are adequate perâ€" sonnel to deal with problems should they arise. In view of the competent program established by Regional officials, we need not fear any health probâ€" lems from Vietnamese refugees. ‘ I‘m sure there are a glut of other arguments about this situation that haven‘t been dealt with by me, or anyone else. But this is not a question of is it really worth it?"‘ Rather, helping these people is something we must do. yabbut. ‘"Yabbut there‘s a big blizzard comin‘ in from the West." Or, ‘‘Yabbut it‘s supposed to rain all next Canadians know, without being told, that if a winter week has been sunny and sparkling, it‘s going to snow and blow on the weekend. They are positive that, if the summer has been ideal, warm and dry and delightful sofar, it will be cold and wet when it‘s their turn to go on holidays. The weather is so much a part of our national psyche that it‘s a wonder it hasn‘t crept into politics. On second thought, it has. Elections are carefully geared so that they don‘t occur in midsummer, when nobody gives a damn about politics, nor in midâ€"winter, when it‘s too cold to get out the vote One of these days, so enthralled are we with the weather, that we‘ll probably have a couple of guys running for prime minister wx are weather forecasâ€" ters. And the one who gives us the most horrendous forecasts will win in a walk I am not sneering at my fellow Canadians obsession with the weather. I am as bad as the next. There‘s nothing I enjoy more, on a winter day, than blustering in from the cold, tearing off my boots and overcoat, and asking all and sundry, "Did you ever see such a rotten winter?"‘ And sure enough, someone will reâ€" tort, ‘"Yabbut we had two feet more snow this time last year .