The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

PNY, a ' WATERLOO CHRONICLE. WEDNESDAY. Second Class Mall Registration Number 5540 The timing was perfect for Maurice Diotte last year when he won $1.2 million playing Lottario - just after he had been laid off from his draftsman's job. A blast of fresh air to ease the odious nature of unemployment. . The timing was not so perfect this week in the media however, when, regardless of intent, Diotte was painted a sponge on society for collecting $11,000 in jobless benefits in the past year in addition to his windfall. The implication was that Diotte was taking advantage of "the system" by accepting money when he was not in need. Nuts to that. The story is an utter distortion, unless the M-year-old Windsor resident, who reportedly "co-owns" a variety store with his wife Barbara, has been collecting pogey illegally. For its am, the Employment Department says its only concern is whether Diotte receives money for other work and is ready, willing and able to accept work.. .- .. -. . . And even if that's"the case, why warhik Scheme not uncovered until now by Employment Department officials who take great pride in spitting out such scams? _ . And that brings us back to the lottery windfall. Obviously, anyone who has $1.2 million dropped in their back pocket is going to breathe easier when it comes to paying bills at the end of the month. But the fact remains that for 20 years when he paid Unemployment Insurance premiums, Diotte was insuring himself against possibly someday being laid off. That day came last year, and as long as he abides by the rules, he has every right to collect benefits. That he chooses to gamble his money on provincially-run operations providing tax-tree prizes is his own business - and his own gamble. No one sheds a tear for any of us who week in and week out lose bucks on lotteries. so neither should we begrudge those their winnings when their numbers do come up. And likewise, we shouldn't consider lottery money won in the same breath with standard of living, the degree of need, or the propriety of living off the dole. - _ --. "I piid "into -it for 20iears," says Diotte. These are benefits and I'm entitled to them." This corner has no problem with that argument. Yuu have a job, you pay litC, you lose your job, UIC pays you. Isn't that the way it works? One can hardly blame the residents of Westhill Drive for reacting with a certain degree of caution, if not skepticism, to the region's engineering committee promise of imprnved maintenance fur the Ertt Street landfill. _ After all, 12 years of unfulfilled promises are not blown away as easily as some of the "landfill" has while residents have petitioned the region to live up to its end of an agreement struck in I973. But now the matter has received much publicity, and Engineering has recommended that improvements be budgeted for the 1986-87 budget. As a further gesture of goodwill/recompense, committee chairman Marjorie Car- roll has recommended that ways be investigated to begin now that which should have been done years ago. A good sign. Westhill residents have every right to howl "what took you so long," in this matter. But it the committee is good to its word on both counts, another fitting slogan will be "better late than never." Letters welcome W‘s-Mum About time published every Wednesday by Fairway Press, a division'of Kitchener-Waterloo Record Ltd., owner n 225 Fairway Rd. S., Kitchener, Ont. His right address correspondence to Waterloo otrtce: " Erb St. E., Waterloo, Ont. NN IL7, telephone 886-2830 Waterloo Chronicle attics is located in the Haney, White Law Office Building (rear entrance. upper Itoory Barking at the rear of the building. Open Monday to Friday woo a m to 500 pm, Publisher: Paul Winkler Manager: Bill Karges ___. _---..-- Editor: Rick Campbell MAE-é! F?1, 1985 established 1854 LITTLE old Susannah Moodie, the gentle. iron-hearted, misplaced English-woman, whose diaries have become the touchstone of Canadian Literature, the archetype of survival in the Canadian wilderness. She wrote the title of this piece. She was about as Canadian as my great-great- great-grandfather, who was digging peat and potatoes about the time she composed her literary masterpieces. And about as Canadian as FredeArk Philip Grove, a Finn, Swede, German - take your pick - who wrote intermimr ble stories about snow, after he moved A or escaped - to Canada. Ev'eryone, except me, begins his/her CanLit course with those two, They're dull, after a last? or two. But poor little old Susie's scenario would have crumpled into wept-over ashes if she'd gone along with me on a recent "roughing it" week- end True. there was bush. True, there were sumo weird characters about. True, the flies and skeeters were hostile, But roughing it? She'd have torn up her manuscripts and got on with making bread or maple syrup or digging a new backhouse, or whatever turned her crank, The roughest part of the trip was fighting the holiday traffic The second roughest part was listening to non-stop stories about deer that were shot at 600 yards, bear that were 12 feet tall, and giant fish that required three men and a block and tackle to get them aboard. Drove 60 miles. Flew 20 minutes. Camp had a fridge with ice cubes, hot and cold running water, a propane cook stove. and _ you won't believe this . a carpet sweeper. The only concession to the primitive was an outdoors john. and even this had a touch of the exotic: a wild rose growing between the two seats. Yes, I werit on a fishing weekend, as I threatened in an earlier column. Boys oh boys, it was rough. - _ Night before I left, one of "the boys" phoned and told me to bring some heavy line, because the muskies were moving in and gobbing up those tive-pound bass. I might as well have taken a piece of cotton thread from a sewing machine. Now, I'm not knocking it. I had a fine weekend. But it's a bit much when you have to keep moving your feet because someone wants to clean the carpet under them. And it's entirely too much when you see guys washing their armpits, at a hunting camp. in hot water. List time I was at a hunt' camp, the only thing we ever washed were our hands, and sometims our feet, when we fell in the lake, --" is written "They can tell you how many heads of horses and cattle there are but nothing about chil dren." C Roughit Bill Smiley Syndicated columnist KW Child Find ctrordinator Patti Brooks on the lack of statistics on child abductions compiled by Stats Canada. - SEE PAGE 9 I was expecting to rough it, and contemplated that the food would be camp food, mostly canned stew and stuff. Expected to eat some fish. - _ - Know what we had for dinner, first night? Young, tender leg or lamb, and not that frozen stuff. With mint sauce naturally. Fresh young carrots and potatoes. Dessert. Wine with dinner. Second night was pretty ordinary. Just two pork chops each, with apple sauce, and again, fresh vegetables And wine, And it wasn't just thrown on the table. The cooks served you at your place. All you had to do was push your wine glass or coffee cup past a bin. hairy arm, and it was filled immediately, Roughing it! Luches were pretty rudimentary, though. and by the second day I was getting sore that I had to make my own. There was nothing but sardines. tuna. cold lamb, ham, and eight pounds of salad, plus Camptrcll's soup du jour and fruit salad. with a bit of old cheese to top off. Breakfasts were sparse, however. A mere lour cups of coffee. three eggs. half a pound of bacon, and a big portion of fried spuds. plus toast and the best homemade marmalade in North America. Nobody was able to fish until midday, by which time the bass had also eaten and were sulking in the depths, Certainly didn"t get siciot eating fish. Seven of us caught two smallish bass, just before the plane arrived to fly us out. _ I know it sounds like a weekend at a big, rich resort. But it wasn't. The moment I arrived, I began to ‘feel uneasy. And my feeling grew These other guys weren't there to tish. They were there to work getting the camp ready for the tall hunting season, To the great dismay of myself and another guest, the regulars pulled out paint brushes, lawn mowers and other such horrors of civilization, and went to work Thcy painted and piled ttxod and slashed underbrush, and generally did so much manual labor they'd have all been on strike if asked to do so at home. The other old fighter pilot and l retreated into the kitchen and did the dishes. My hands are still all shrivelled up from doing dishes. Aside from that, I came home in pretty good shape. I thought I'd gained at least eight pounds. but the deer flies and skeeters took care of that. I lost two. My arthritic foot is destroyed for the summer. I've lost the hearing in my right car from trying to clout a mosquito with my left hand. while holding a five-gallon can ot gas in it. and my fishing tackle in my right hand, But that was nothing. compared to the owning poker games. in which everything is wihrexrept the joker,