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Second Class Mall Registration Number 5540 PAGE 6 - WATERLOO CHRONOCLE, WEDNESDAY. MAf3_CH 13, 1985 The announcement was made Monday by Secretary of State and Waterloo MP Walter McLean, and no doubt Van Mossel's contributions to the multicultural community make her a worthy representative. Let us be one of the first to offer our congratulations to Lorna Van Mossel of Kitchener on her appointment to a citizen court judgeship in Waterloo Region. However, the circumstances surrounding the steps leading to the appointment of Van Mussel leave a bad taste, and McLean best be ready for the pack of wolves at his door later this week in Ottawa. You see, Van Mossel's post was most recently held by Geraldine Copps of Hamilton, who was appointed to the position in 1976 to recognize the contributions her now-invalid husband Vic made to public life. Copps' most recent three-year term ended Feb. 15, but her hopes for reappointment were dashed with the confirmation this week that the Tories had selected Van Mossel. 'rhequestion we have for the McLean gang is why was Geraldine Copps replaced? We are especially interested after hearing of quotes McLean made in Monday's daily press concerning Copps' daughter, the feisty, outspoken Liberal MP Sheila Copps. It certainly seems clear that in addition to backsliding on his condemnation of patronage practices while a member of the Opposition, McLean, or more specifically the federal government, has other motives in mind in bypassing Copps this time. If the move is based on merit alone, or even with patronage overtones, then we can , live with that. But to be brutally blunt, we suspect the Tories have scalped the mother to stab at the daughter, haven't they? The way we see it, Copps' original appointment was a patronage posting of a different sort, but still patronage. Any appointment is, unless it is made by an impartial selection committee, a realm in which governments do not qualify. We all pretend to abhor patronage, but it has been, is, and will remain a fact of political life. No big deal, not eVen for Walter, despite what he would have had us believe last August or September. McLean is absolutely justified in stating that Tory government appointments, while to be expected, should cast no aspersions on the people serving before them. No argument there, either. But, allowing that patronage and merit are part of the process, if Geraldine Copps these past nine years had performed her duties in exemplary fashion, then we still have every right to question why she was passed over this time. Especially when in Quebec, similar appointee Francoise Laporte, widow of murdered Liberal labor minister Pierre Laporte, was just returned to an identical position. Making this an even stickier wicket is an explanation McLean coughed up - choked on would be more like it - on Monday that smacks of out-and-out revenge for the manner in which Geraldine's daughter has treated the government. A manner, we hasten to add, that one would expect from any loyal member of the Opposition. . So what Walter? So what? Her daughter's comments should have no bearing whatsoever on the treatment of the elder Copps. Such childish comment we might expect from a grade sixer in social studies class. Hardly though, from a class individual who has been installed in a responsible and high-profile role and who should be expected to reflect that position in both comment and action. "You check the reebrd," McLean barked, "what her dayghty"s hgdto say about the government." The lesson in a nutshell here is that McLean could and should have let the matter take its course without joining in the mudslinging. It is not a move that, in time, is terribly hard to comprehend, if not condone. He should have left it at that. Instead, by openly participating in this eye-for-an-eye Charade, McLean is not only betraying his long-established principles, but also is leaving himself personally open to criticism for a situation over which. we surmise, he had very littlv with)! in the first place Easy, Walter . published every Wednesday by Fairway Press, a division of Kitchener-Waterloo Record Ltd., owner 225fairway Rd. S., Kitchener, Ont. Waterloo Chvomcle omce us Ioca(ed m the Haney, Whlle Law Otttcat Bonding (may enhance upper ttoor) Parking at the real ot the budding Open Monday to Friday 9 00 a m lo 5 00 o m address correspondence to Waterloo omee " F.rb SI F. _ Waterloo. Ont NZJ ll.7, lelephune 886-2830 Publisher: Paul Winkler Manager: Bill Karges Editor: Rick Campbell established 1854 r-----" is written An old friend died recently, and though I was saddened, news of his death brought back some warm memories. He was Captain D'Ait Hudson. I'd always called him Dalt, thinking it was short for Dalton. When I saw the fancy D'Alt in his obituary, my mind began toying with the noble ancestors in his background. He had many of the traits of an aristocrat: a hawk-like profile, an impatience with fools, a grand courtesy with the ladies. My wife thought him a perfect gentleman. He wasn't perfect. but he was a gentleman. When I first met him, he was long retired from his career as a captain on the Great Lakes, though he occasionally skippered some rich man's yacht down the inland waterways to Florida. , He didn't drink, but he told me with a glint in his eye that he'd been a "heiler" as a young fellow. However. he did smoke, a pipe. which rarely left his mouth, even when he was playing billiards. And that's where we met - at the billiard table in the curling club. There was no one else around, and he asked if I'd like a game. I modestly told him I hadn't played in years, neglecting to add that I'd been something of a pool shark when I was in high school. I made a few decent shots, though he beat me easily. He was a 75-year-old shark. We played a few more times and some of my old skills came back and l was able to give him a game, occasionally nuking a win. We enjoyed each other's company. though there were three decades between us. We played the same kind of pool. needling the opponent. trying to talk him out of shots. but never with malice, and a straight face and "tough luck" when the needler's ploy worked or the opponent scratched or miscued. When D'Alt learned that I had sailed for five summers on the Lakes, he was delighted. We began to exchange yarns, found that we knew many people in common: Capt. Bill Taylor of the ill-fated Noronic, Capt. Harold Miller of Wiarton. and others. We had shared the shabby beverage room of the old Mariaggi Hotel in Port Arthur, as it was then. We'd both been through the Big Storm of '37 or '38. In short, Cap took me as his protege, as a sailor and a pretty fair billiards shooter. He loved to entice passers-by into playing a game with me, always introducing me, craftily, as “a M rl 5143133 "We try to convince our employees that they're not butchers. they're chicken surgeons.“ Meat Cortmsction Inc. partner Ron Koopman "tt the [mu-mum: of his product Bill Smiley Meet again Syndicated columnist When it became clear that l was no easy mark, D'Alt came up with the idea of a club championship tournament for Russian billiards. This would bring in the local sharks, and some real competition. high school teacher." This would ensure an easy win for the victim, as it was obvious that school teachers could never be pool sharks. We finally attracted the attention of another boat which towed us ignominiously to shore. We finally got to a telephone and he called his son, Doug, and told him in no uncertain terms to come and get us. Two or three hours later we were home, by car. Left the boat, brought the fish. D'Alt was in a fairly black mood and unusually tacitum. I was chuckling inwardly but didn't say a word. It was not my pride that was hurt. Typically. he insisted) take all the fish. I stopped curling and we saw each other only occasionally, but the old warmth was there. Maybe I'll meet,you again, D'Alt, at that big billiard table in the sky. Then the old devil would stand by and chortle to himself as I cleaned the vietim's clock, loser buying the drinks. He organized it, put a plaque on the wall, and play began. He didn't take part, though he could have won it handily. My first opponent, the terror of the local pool halls, scared him when he brought his own custom-made cue. I beat him. My last opponent, a brilliant but reckless player, won the first two games ( it was best three out of five). Somehow, mostly due to his dashing but dangerous play. I won the next three. We filled our quota and started for home. At least we started to start for home. But the motor wouldn't catch. He tried everything, including some language I'd never heard before. Nothing worked. D'htt Wis delighted and promptly had my name affixed to the plaque. It's still there, as far as I know. Then there was the time he took me fishing for bass, out in the Bay. He had a stubby, roomy, trusty old boat that chugged out to the fishing grounds while we exchanged anecdotes and lies. So there we were, two men in a boat, half a mile from shore. D'Alt was furious, with himself, the boat, and the world. Here he was, a renowned Captain, helpless. marooned at sea in a tubby little launch. with a guest aboard. - SHE PM”: 10