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I PAGE 6 â€" WATERLOO CHRONICLE, WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 1, Second Class Mail Registration Number 5540 established 1854 Waterioo Chronicle is published every Wednesday by Fairway Press, a division of Kitchenerâ€"Watertoo Record Ltd., owner. Publishing address 225 Fairway Rd. S., Kitchener, Ont. Address all correspondence to Waterioo office, 45 Erb St. E., Waterloo, Ont. N2J 1L.7 Telephone 886â€"2830 News and Sports line 886â€"3021. Waterioo Chronicle office is located in the Haney, White law office building (rear :gm.wloa)APmumnaofluM.OpmmnoFm-yOa.m. p.m. s Manager: Bill Karges Editer: Rick Campbell s Circulation manager: Greg Cassidy Display advertising: Helen Smiley, Paula Hummel, Gerry Mattice Classified advertising: Marie Kapshey Editerial: Melodee Martinuk, Mark Bryson (news); Richard O‘Brien (sports) Circulation: June Toushan, Jerry Fischer Typesetting and Composing: Publisher: Paul Winkler . While their detractors will doubtlessly dismiss the move as a cheap grab for publicity, we applaud the policy established by Comark Services Inc. to put an end to Sunday shopping at the corporation‘s recentlyâ€" acquired Robinson‘s department stores. _ The decision, which impacts on the two Twin City Robinson Ogilvy‘s stores and others across Ontario, backtracks on a former policy that in effect condoned the breaking of Ontario law behind the smokescreen of freedom of choice and the need to meet competition head on. Such a policy is still in widespread use by many chain stores and larger independents who realize large profits by openly challenging Ontario‘s Retail Business Holiday Act; the act currently prohibits large stores from opening holidays and Sundays unless they close Saturdays. Hundreds of charges are routinely served on violators of the Act but prosecution is on a holding pattern until the Supreme Court rules on the validity of Sunday openings, likely sometime next month. There is no question that decision will be unpopular with some, perhaps even a majority of people, but in the meantime, it is refreshing to see a major chain acknowledge that until laws are changed, they are to be abided by. â€" _ Or, as new Robinson‘s president Garth Mitchell has been quoted as saying: "It‘s not legal to be open on Sundays and we won‘t be." Exactly. Who knows, perhaps the Supreme Court decision will rule in favor of wideâ€"open Sunday shoppers. That would please many, especially shoppers and retailers in large metropolitan areas like Toronto. For many of those operations, the almighty buck is of absolute concern. And that translates into Sunday openings. Other excuses such as convenience are nothing but red herâ€" rings. But here in Kitchenerâ€"Waterloo (where the buck is also of concern),we have many retailers and conâ€" sumers whose sentiments are shaped by such factors as traditional family values, religious beliefs and so Waterloo Chamber of Commerce‘s recent survey on the issue shows that 62.74 per cent of respondents (total survey: 86 respondents) did not approve of Sunday openings locally, 22.3 per cent did, and the rest were uncommitted. Certainly there are those who view the current law ‘"as a ass.‘"‘ They are entitled to that feeling. But in a day and age where traditional values and respect for authority are constantly under the gun, Robinson‘s new owners deserve credit for making a move that reflects commendable corporate citizenship. Refreshing Fairway Press sersy a 1 â€"It is written Every day on my way to work, 1 pass the old Waterloo train station on Regina Street and wonder what our city would be like if that site was a thriving depot/restaurant, with folks hustling and bustling their way to work in the city, back and forth to universities up the road, or dropping in for an elegant night‘s entertainment. The vision is not focused entirely on the physical building; for whatever reason, I have always been infatuated with rail travel and view it as not only a traditional mode of transport, but also one of the most practical, most exciting, most, well yes, roâ€" mantic. And that is why I stand here today, guilty as the next guy for many of the woes of rail transit, specifically governmentâ€"run VIA Rail, that have been widelyâ€"publicized in recent days. Managerial woes, not my fault. Bonehead government decisions, the inability to see the forest for the trees, I take no blame. But what I am as embarrassed as ashamed about is, while I sing the praises of rail travel, while I dream about how things were in days gone by, while I often hope pur Waterloo station might someday be resurrected into a facility to again reflect its once proud status, I admit to, in my entire lifetime, taking the train twice. Sum total. Two round trips. Some total. You see, I am one of those Canadians who feels that train service is an essential part of our heritage. I want it, you want it, we all want it, but we almost never use it, most of us anyway. Who do we blame for our misguided affection? Jesse James? Pierre Berton? Transport Minister John Crosbie? The folks who run the Cannonball on Petticoat Junction? The two trips I did take by train, both out of Union Station in Toronto, were memorable. The first, by necessity, was to visit a young woman in Trenton. I took the train not to create an artificial aura of romance, but because the rad sprung a leak in my ‘66 Valiant during the Christmas holidays a few years back. So I hopped on the twain, Dwayne, after wandering around Union Station soaking up the atmosphere, the tradition, and Ithoroughly enjoyed the entire experience. I stretched my legs several times, cased out each individual in the car, and when train personnel came around to check my ticket, I pretended I was Richard Attenborough in the Great Escape, wondering whether my German accent would convince them of my feigned ancestry. The other time? A New Year‘s weekend in Montreal to see the Habs play the Soviet Red Army. The game of course, won by Montreal 5â€"2, was the highlight, but the activity on the train rides back and forth from Toronto were a close second. The cardâ€"playing, the carousing, the time to chat with friends about childhood experiences, the moments in the bar car, spent with no one but Fleeting Hopes that the young woman in the I am a railroad romantic. "I‘ve had glasses fall off the rack in the bar, tea cups jiggling on their saucers. How can I run a dining room with this happening? x The rail thing Rick Campbell Chronicle Editor Hotél Waterloo GM Peter Cadman on Erb Street construction â€" SEE PAGE 1. corner sipping the gin and tonic might strike up a conversation. And as long as I live, I will never forget John the Drunk from Toronto, his faced all smashed up from biting the Montreal sidewalk at 4 a.m., getting on the train for the trip back to the Big City, wishing everyone a Happy New Year, then collapsing in his seat with his leather jacket draped over his head. Because of a delay, we spent the next eight hours on the train before arriving in Union Stationâ€"and not once did John move a muscle. Not once. My hope is that this character is still around to tell the same story. Come to think of it, I‘m not so sure I even saw him get off the train... There are other reasons why 1 simply adore train travel. No, I do not have now, nor ever did own a train set. But whenever I see them, in department stores, shopping malls, antique shows, I always have to be yanked away from them. I could watch them for hours, going through the same tunnels, around the same mountains, switching the same tracks. Does this make me strange? I also have a vivid imagine when I hear of train travel in the old days, like way back in the 1930s and 40s, heck right up to the early 60s when train travel was supplanted by air travel and automoâ€" biles as the more popular mode of transportaâ€" I listen to my mother tell about how her father would drive from their Lake Simcoe cottage Friday evenings to pick up weekend guests at the train station. I got a chance to play the venerable Scarborough Golf and Country Club on the shores of Lake Ontario this year, and gushed at the thought that half a century ago, golfers would travel by train for weekend packages, stay at the club golfing, dancing, relaxing, then hop back on the train to go home Sunday evenings. I often wonder what Union Station was like during those rowdy Grey Cup weekends two decades ago when Westerners would roll into town, some literally, on the rails. Or what it was like in the 1950s and 60s when National Hockey League teams used rail transportation almost exclusively, and how it would have been to be a fly on the wall in some of those bar cars. I hear of my relatives‘ ski trips to upper state New York during the 1940s, and wish I was part of the onâ€"train poker game with Paul Newman in The Sting. I think it just fine that NFL color commentator and former football coach John Madden hates flying and spends days travelling across the United States by rail to get to his next destination. I received my first real kiss while Gordon Lightfoot‘s Canadian Railroad Trilogy was playing in the background. And yes, someday I‘d like to travel across my country by rail, to truly gain eyeâ€"level appreciation for all its beauty. Was I born 50 years too late?