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PAME a - “16100 we. may JUNE 12. was Soemtd_utlrtitratierrtNtmatteri. W18“ published every Wednesday by Fairway Press. A month ago in this space we made the comment that Ontario taxpayers would not soon suffer another provincial election gladly. They still won't. We also called for the three parties entangled in the tough Tory minority situation to display their true colors to make the system work. True colors? Ugh. More like gaudy co-ordinates. So gaudy, we're not so sure another election would be a bad idea; in fact, we call for it if for no other reason than to apply a collective kick in the pants to our provincial game players. On many fronts, a provincial election so soon after May Day is an absurd proposition - especially through politicians' eyes. Those who waged and won fair and square last time don't deserve it; it flies in the face of fiscal responsibility; candidates and parties can ill-afford to run another contest so soon; indeed, it would be difficult to drum up voter enthusiasm for such a move. Still, faced with the alternative of an accurately-labelled unholy alliance and a promise-them-everything sinking ship, does not the feeling exist that perhaps, just perhaps, the people of Ontario are again cast as monkeys in the, middle in this latest version of Let's Make a Deal? Haven't shenanigans of the past month given ample proof that fiscal responsibility must be accountability’s bridesmaid if any sense is to be made of the legislative process at Queen's Park? Instead of showing the voters of Ontario that they could work within the ultimate democratic process - minority rule - the soon-to-be former champion and two challengers have resorted to little more than malodorous wheeling and dealing. Wasting little time in seizing the opportunity to become top dog (in itself, not an unreasonable plan of action), the Liberals cuddled under the bedsheets with the NDP, concocting a two-Year agreement eliminating the prospects of election for that duration while serving up a mixed bag of socialist treats that effectually renders the NDP's role su- perfluous. And why the marriage? Liberal leader David Peterson knows that his future is now, nd that he needs support to carry the coup. But to this 'ii',?i',i's', He could have had IIthe NDP's support for a song, but nstead coddles them Ii e a spoiled grandchild. NDP boss Bob Rae, for whatever inexplicable reason portrayed as the gent holding all the cards, is fearful for his political existence, knowing full well an early election call would blow his party right out of the water. But he calls everyone's bluff, hooks up with the Liberals, and ensures NDP survival, at least for two years, when even his party's most faithful supporters will wonder if a move to the Liberals is not in order. Meanwhile, the gang-up couldn’t have come at a worse time for the Tories, saddled with a leader desperate to retain personal as well as party power in the face of almost certain ousters on both fronts. And we say saddled with a degree of disappointment, still maintaining that had Frank Miller mapped his own destiny, rather than being waylaid by party hacks and flacks. the PCs would not today be sitting in their self-constructed ejection seat. But there they sit, strapped firmly in place after Miller's grovelling throne speech last week, while the unholy alliance waits eagerly, finger on the ejection button, for the formal Tory turfing and the instituting of its, own grand design. All that stands in their way, it would appear, is Ontario Lt.-Gov. John Black Aird at the overall controls. a "people person" described " being willing and able to make the tmtgtt decisions. He'll never face a tougher one as Lt.-Gov., and given the goings-on of the past month, we wouldn’t blame Alrd in the least if he sent 'em back to the start with instruction to do it right this time. Send 'em back Letters welcome a division of Kitchener-Waterloo Record Ltd., ownev 225 Fairway Rd. s., Kitchener. Ont. address correspondence to Waterloo "tee: a an. St, E., mm. Ont. NN tta, telephone “an w-oct-tsc-c-tcat-io-u-tts-tass. $5uihtttrtg (to. only-non. upon ttttor) PM at the my ot In. holding Ouch My to Fray 9:00 an to 5:00 pm. 'putriisher: Paul Winkler Manager: Bill Karges Editor: Rick Campbell BY THE time this appears in print, I'll be - hold it now; don't faint; don't have a heart attack: it's not a suicide note; it's worse than that - I'0 be a Senior Citizen! What a moment. On the second of J une, in the year of Our Lord 1985, in the reign of our sovereign, Elizabeth H, under the domain of a jumped-up Irishman, I shall be 65, and enter the golden years. But. I‘ll be able to go to the movies at half-rate every second Tuesday. I'll be able to shop for groceries at five per cent off every third Thursday. as long as l have my birth certificate, passport, and driver's license handy. I'll be able to get on a bus, if there are no other passengers, at haifrpriee. 7 7 r----" is written Oh, yes, I'0 be rich. The old age pension and the Canada Pension Plan will come flowing in, and at the end of a year, I'll probably owe only $3,000 income tax on them. I've been waiting enviously for this. Many of my friends are senior citizens. and have joshed me jocularly about being so young. "Why dort't you become a senior citizen? It's great. Free medical care. Half price on shrouds. The hatred of the Yuppies, who have to pay taxes to keep us going." One friend of mine has a pass that enables him to ride the transit system of his home city all day, free. He hasn’t done it yet. but it's pretty intriguing, if you have nothing better to do than ride buses. Mind you. I don't mind all these perks pouring in, but there's a graver side. Rather a stiff proposition. " they say around the cemetery. You’ve used up most of your three score and However. I have no regrets, except a few hundred. It's been a good life, and rm ready to face my Maker, or even the President of the Senior Citizens Club, with a terrified face. I had a remarkably happy childhood. thanks to a kind. rather inarticulate father. who slapped my ear only once. and for very good reasons. I had a wonderful. warm mother, who only beat me with a yardstick or flyswatter when she was going out of her mind with my antics. My siblings were about as good as you come across, in the average lifetime. i loved sports and hooks. And girls. Played a fair game of football and baseball, lousy hockey. Read everything in the town library by the time I was fourteen. Fell in love, deeply. at least tii",'.', "Mr vile tells me I have man pounce building furniture than I do with her. Bill Smiley Syndicated columnist ' senior eighteen times. Wish 1 had a few of those old loves right now, to comfort me, like Kind David, and help out with their old age pensions. Wherever they are, I hope they're kissing their grandchildren. in- stead of me. I was a poor student in high school. Took seven years to get through. Not stupid. Just uninter- ested, like most other kids. And I had a summer job. which began in April, which didn't help. That summer job was one of the most gruelling, and happy, times of my life. Worked my way up from night porter (cleaning lavatories and polishing brass) to day porter, doing same, to linen-man, controlling all the linen on board: towels. sheets. napkins, etc. A positimrof great power. possibly next to the captain and chief engineer. Went to college, thanks to my principal. who discerned some light amid the murky depths. Almost failed my first year, thanks to Sylvia, a beautiful Brazilian from Rio. Went to war, thanks to the RCAF. Wasn't killed, " obvious. But was shot down and spent the rest of the war behind barbed wire. It wasn't bad, in retrospect. Hungry but not hopeless. Back to college, fairly sceptical, if not cynical. Met my true love, married her, and spent a year in the sanatorium. with suspected tubercuiosis, while my wife had a bun in the oven, as we crude and licentious soldiery used to say. A Graduated, somehow. in honour English. Fell into the weekly newspaper business by accident (death of a brother-in-law). Spent eleven years there, leaning the fascination of wedding and funeral reports. F Switched into high school teaching, learning the fascination of twelve jaws out of twenty. chewing gum. ruminating like cow; -- _ Retired at 63, to the great glee of my English staff. who (a) thought I was senile; (b) thought! wasn't tough enough with the people they didn't like; he: thought there should be a firm hand at the ti r. Well. that's about it. By the way. this is not an obituary. That will be much grander. It's already written. T" It's just a brief history of an ordinary Canadian who stumbled (my one pit-hole to “other: work. war. marriagé; bringing up two Michal“; the, drug days. and trying to keep his head on tiruigttt. Seagram Museum barrel carving qruoer Ellwood Sweet -Aqilril PAGE ll