Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A8

The August killing of a First Nations man on a Saskatchewan farm has set the province on edge, igniting racial tensions. Joe Friesen reports on police documents that reveal new details about the shooting, and talks to a family in anguish

The flash of headlights in the darkness drew Debbie Baptiste to the window. Outside she could see a convoy of vehicles barreling down a quiet dirt road that runs through Saskatchewan's Red Pheasant reserve. The cars pulled in to her yard at speed and cut across the rainsoaked grass to surround the trailer.

"I think they're here for us," Ms. Baptiste said to her son William, who was watching TV on the couch.

The two of them went to the door. Thoughts of her son Colten, who was late getting home that night, ran through Ms. Baptiste's mind. He was the baby of the family, the one who normally stayed close to her. So many police descending at once couldn't be good news.

Four uniformed RCMP officers approached their trailer, while several others stood watch outside, Ms. Baptiste said. Some officers had their weapons out and were scanning the property as though they were prepared for trouble, according to several witnesses.

"Is Colten Boushie your son?" the officers asked.

"Yes, he is," Ms. Baptiste replied.

"He's deceased," one of the officers told her.

Ms. Baptiste couldn't comprehend what she was hearing. Colten was the gentle one, the optimist, the one who persevered when his crippled arm briefly prevented him from working. He was a ceremonial fire keeper whose certificates of good citizenship she'd kept in a folder since he was five.

She let out a scream so urgent and anguished that those who heard it recall it with a shudder.

She fell to her knees right there on the porch.

One of the officers said, "Somebody take her inside."

Ms. Baptiste lay on the floor of the trailer with her hands pressed to her head, rocking back and forth. The officers entered without asking permission and without offering much comfort, Ms. Baptiste said, an account confirmed by William.

"They were all in the living room. It was standing room only, all cops," Ms. Baptiste said.

The officers walked through each room with flashlights, waking William's two young sons.

"They searched everything, like they were looking for somebody, or something," Ms. Baptiste said.

The way they were treated struck them as callous, Ms. Baptiste and her sons later said. They want to know why, at a time of such distress, police rummaged through the family home, as though they'd done something wrong.

The RCMP have not provided a detailed response to the complaints raised by Colten's family, saying the matter is before the courts.

"These reports are concerning to us," Saskatchewan RCMP said in a written statement. "Full details will be released through court proceedings and we encourage the public and media agencies who wish to learn the circumstances to follow the court process."

Ms. Baptiste's son William said he knows they were searching the home because he had shut Colten's pet Chihuahua, Chico, in the closet, planning to jokingly tell Colten that his dog had run off because he'd been gone too long. When the officers entered the back room Chico, now free, ran into the living room.

After a few minutes an officer

tried to force a weeping Ms. Baptiste to her feet.

"He grabbed my wrist right here and he said 'Ma'am, get yourself together.' And I told him, 'No,' " Ms. Baptiste recalled.

She was in denial, begging the officer to take her to the body so she could prove it wasn't her son: "You've got the wrong person.

That's not my son lying out there. He's not dead. That's not Colten. It's somebody else," she told him.

He responded by asking if she was drunk.

"He said, 'Ma'am, was you drinking?' And I said 'No.' And then he smelled my breath," she said.

At her most desperate hour she recoiled. She felt insulted, hurt, confused. She hadn't been drinking. Why would they ask that?

William and his brother Jace Baptiste said the officers also asked if they'd been drinking.

They hadn't. They were waiting for Colten to return home. They even had his dinner ready in the microwave, they told the police.

An officer walked over and opened the microwave to check if this was true, an act so presumptuous Ms. Baptiste and her sons dwell on it every time they tell the story of that night. Would the officer have acted the same way in the home of a white family that had just been notified of their son's murder? Ms. Baptiste doesn't think so.

Tash and Marie Baptiste, relatives who had watched in alarm as the convoy of police vehicles swept in, were initially blocked from joining their family inside.

They were eventually allowed in, and their accounts match those of Ms. Baptiste and her sons.

They counted roughly a dozen officers inside and outside and at least six police vehicles surrounding the trailer. Police were searching the home and surrounding area and some had guns drawn. Tash and Marie said they gathered the two young children to shield them from the chaos.

"They were going in and out of those bedrooms," Tash Baptiste said. She remembers vividly that William's three-year-old son J.J.

was wide-eyed with fear.

"That kid wouldn't let me go," she said. "He was shaking like he was traumatized. He didn't know what was going on."

Jace said the officers were inside the house for about 20 minutes. When Jace asked why they were searching, the officers told him they were looking for Cassidy Whitstone, who had been with Colten earlier that day.

"The first thought that came into my mind was, "What did we do? Why are all these officers on us?," Ms. Baptiste said. "My son was the victim. But I thought that we did something wrong."

The killing of Colten Boushie has set Saskatchewan on edge.

On Aug. 9, 22-year-old Colten and his friends set out from the Red Pheasant reserve, about 150 kilometres west of Saskatoon, for a day of swimming and drinking.

The car they were riding in had a flat tire and they pulled into the yard of a local farmer named Gerald Stanley. What happened next is uncertain, but one thing is clear - Colten wound up dead. To summarize the competing views of the tragedy in their extremes: either Colten was the victim of a racially motivated killing, or Colten's friends were trespassers and thieves who met swift, vigilante "justice." There are a number of other possibilities, too, of course.

The farmer may have acted in self-defence, the gun may have fired accidentally, or it may have been something else entirely. As the court process plays out, tensions are high and the facts contested.

The aftermath has brought angry protests and signs that the white community is fearful of a backlash. One local pastor told the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix that Colten Boushie "is the Rodney King of Western Canada," and said his killing had unleashed a lot of hidden ugliness.

Hundreds of people gathered to protest outside the court house for Mr. Stanley's first court appearance, watched carefully by RCMP on rooftops, and there was anger when he was granted bail on a $10,000 cash surety. Five days after the shooting, Saskatchewan Premier Brad Wall called for an end to the flood of racist comments on social media directed at Indigenous people.

And in late September, after armed, masked assailants threatened a farm hand in the province, local news was flooded with stories of farmers arming themselves for the harvest season. In response to the growing tensions, including Facebook pages featuring photos of farmers carrying firearms, the RCMP superintendent held a news conference to ask residents to put their guns away. Mr. Boushie's killing lingered like an unspoken subtext.

His slaying has become a symbol of a broken relationship between indigenous people and their white neighbours.

The anger that fuelled protests outside the bail hearing for Gerald Stanley, the 55-year-old farmer accused of second-degree murder in connection with Mr.

Boushie's death, has not subsided. T-shirts and buttons saying "Justice for Colten" are common here, as is the feeling among indigenous people that the justice system treats them unfairly. Saskatchewan's First Nations chiefs say the RCMP has fostered that current of thought by linking the news of Colten's death to a recent surge in thefts in the area. The RCMP's first news release, which said two women and a man were taken into custody as part of a related theft investigation (for which no charges have been laid), provided "just enough prejudicial information for the average reader to draw their own conclusions that the shooting was somehow justified," Bobby Cameron, chief of the Federation of Sovereign Indigenous Nations, said in a statement.

Kimberly Jonathan, a vice-chief with Saskatchewan's Federation of Sovereign Indigenous Nations, said one of the principal reasons that violence hasn't erupted is that the Boushie family has called for peace. Ms. Jonathan, who urged that the shooting be investigated as "a crime based on race," said she met with Public Safety Minister Ralph Goodale and warned him of the seriousness of the situation.

"I said, 'You ought to thank the family, because they came out with peace in memory and love for Colten. They could have gone the other way and there would have been, and I'm not exaggerating, there would have been a lot more blood shed.' "But I said we can't promise it's going to continue that way, because of how the [justice] system has been lacking."

A preliminary hearing to determine whether there is sufficient evidence to proceed to trial is set for January. The case against Mr.

Stanley, and its success or failure, could have explosive consequences.

The Globe and Mail has obtained the police ITO (an Information To Obtain a warrant) filed to get authorization to search the Stanley farm. The document lays out in detail for the first time the police perspective on the facts of the case and the information gathered in the early stages of the investigation.

These documents are intended to persuade a judge to issue a warrant; they are not produced with balance in mind, nor do they weigh possibilities that run counter to police theories, but they must be full, frank and fair.

According to the ITO, that afternoon Colten Boushie and his girlfriend Kiora Wuttunee went swimming in the Maymont River with their friends Eric Meechance, his girlfriend, Belinda Jackson, and a young man named Cassidy Whitstone.

The young people had been drinking during the day and some of them said they were drunk, according to the statements they gave police. They were riding in Ms. Wuttunee's grey 2003 Ford Escape. At about 5:30 p.m. they arrived at the Stanley farm, after, according to the document, visiting a neighbouring farm belonging to the Fouhy family, where they "attempted to steal vehicles and items," the ITO says.

The story provided by Colten's family is that he and his friends were having car trouble. A police officer who was at the scene said the car had only a rim, no tire, on the front driver's side. According to Colten's brothers, Colten and his friends may have been looking for help.

Sheldon Stanley was helping his father Gerald build a fence when Colten and his friends drove up the gravel driveway from the main road that runs in front of their property. Leesa Stanley, Gerald's wife, was mowing the lawn a short distance away.

Sheldon told police he saw the Ford Escape slow near a pickup parked in their yard. Then he saw a young man, it's not clear who, but almost certainly not Colten Boushie, get out of the Escape and jump into the pickup. Then Sheldon said he heard the Stan..

leys' ATV starting up. Sheldon and his father started to yell, and the young man jumped back into the Ford Escape. Sheldon said the vehicle swerved in his direction.

Sheldon, who was carrying a large hammer, smashed the windshield of the Escape as it was reversing. His father, meanwhile, kicked in the taillight. The Escape lurched forward and collided with a parked car belonging to the Stanleys.

Sheldon said he saw two men get out of the Escape and run off, while two women, and Colten Boushie, stayed behind. At this point Sheldon said he went to the house to get truck keys.

While he was inside he heard two gunshots, and then as he stepped outside again, he heard a third.

He saw his father, Gerald Stanley, standing at the driver's side window of the Ford Escape with a gun in his hand. His father looked sick, Sheldon said. He said his father told him he was trying to scare the kids and the gun "just went off."

Gerald Stanley gave a separate statement to investigators. In his account he told police that after he kicked in the car's tail light, he went to get his gun. He says he went to a nearby shed where he kept what police believe was a Russian-designed Tokarev TT33 semi-automatic handgun (one of two handguns registered in his name), and loaded it.

When he came back to the car he fired twice in the air to scare the group. Two people got out of the car and ran away, he said.

Eric Meechance, in his interview, said he believes the bullets were fired at him because he heard two shots and could hear bullets buzzing by him as he ran away.

Gerald Stanley then agreed with the RCMP officer interviewing him that he "went up to the driver's side window and shot the male driver once in the head and killed him."

The bullet that killed Colten Boushie was fired into the back of his head, just behind his left ear. That was confirmed by the forensic identification officer who attended the scene.

According to Kiora Wuttunee, Colten's girlfriend, Colten was sitting in the car's back seat next to her as she slept. When Ms. Wuttunee awoke she saw Eric Meechance and Cassidy Whitstone get out and run. Colten clambered into the front seat and tried to make the vehicle go, but "it wouldn't go anywhere," as it had a flat tire.

Ms. Wuttunee says she saw a tall man in sunglasses approach the driver's side of the vehicle.

Without saying a word he shot Colten once in the head, she told police. She and Belinda Jackson got out of the back seat and tried to help Colten. When they opened the driver's door Colten's lifeless body tumbled out. He lay face down on the ground as blood trickled from his head. As she tried to come to grips with her boyfriend's slaying, Ms. Wuttunee said she approached Leesa Stanley, Gerald's wife, who was standing near the car. Ms. Wuttunee said she asked Ms. Stanley why they'd killed Colten. Ms. Stanley replied by saying "something about property," the ITO states. Ms. Wuttunee later told Colten's relatives the phrase was: "That's what you get for trespassing on private property."

Leesa Stanley told police that she did not see the shooting, because she was mowing the lawn a short distance away when the confrontation began. When she walked over to see what was happening she heard her husband yell "Oh my God." At that point she saw a body slouched over the steering wheel, and she believed the person was dead.

She told her son to call 911, and went over to Ms. Wuttunee and Ms. Whitstone. One of the women punched Ms. Stanley and knocked her down, but backed off when Sheldon Stanley shouted at her to stop.

After Colten's body fell out of the car, both Sheldon and Ms. Stanley say they saw the barrel of a .22 calibre bolt-action rifle lying near his body, with the stock and trigger missing. An officer said there appeared to be a live round in the chamber. There were no spent casings in the area. The police theory laid out in the ITO seems to be that the group had attempted to break into a vehicle on a neighbouring farm, where residents reported finding a broken rifle stock. The residents told police it appeared the stock broke when someone tried to force their way into a locked truck.

Mr. Stanley's lawyer, Scott Spencer, issued a statement addressing the details contained in the ITO.

"The ITO in this matter reflects the RCMP's earliest theory of the case and is of course not admissible evidence. The Stanley family will continue to respect the judicial process and will not comment until the legal process is complete," Mr. Spencer said.

He added that his preference would have been for the RCMP to seal the ITO to prevent the media from reporting on its contents.

"I encourage all to respect the judicial process and reserve judgment until all evidence is presented, and tested, in open Court.

To do otherwise will only compound the tragedy that has occurred and cause further pain to the Boushie family at the expense of Gerald's right to a fair trial. Now is not the time to cast stones or refuel the sometimes destructive debate that this incident generated."

About two dozen members of Colten's family gathered at the court house in North Battleford on a brisk September morning prepared to express their anger.

They carried signs saying "Justice for Colten," circulated letters to the Prime Minister about racism in Saskatchewan, and materials that decried the 1885 hangings of eight indigenous men in North Battleford convicted of crimes after the Northwest Rebellion.

The crowd was bitterly disappointed not to see Mr. Stanley in person. Many were angry that he was free in the community despite the gravity of the charge against him. Almost no one believes that the justice system will be applied to Mr. Stanley as it is to First Nations people.

"There's a history of this in Battleford. It goes back to the 1880s," said Alvin Baptiste, Colten's uncle. "We have hidden racism in this town. First Nations people never get a fair shake in the justice system at all."

That morning Mr. Baptiste and his niece Jade Tootoosis held a meeting with the RCMP's lead investigator and a senior officer from the force's major crimes unit in Saskatoon. They were joined by Chris Murphy, a Toronto criminal lawyer who grew up in Saskatchewan and has represented clients in the province. He said he was hired by the Boushie family to represent their interests and hold police and prosecutors to account. After the meeting, about 20 family members gathered in Alvin's backyard to discuss the case.

"This is what I said to the investigators," Mr. Baptiste began. "I told them we want equal justice.

This is our land, this is their land.

We have to share it, and I want equal justice for us, for my nephew."

He said the RCMP told him they are doing everything they can; the family would just have to trust them. Mr. Baptiste and Ms.

Tootoosis told the RCMP that the family is experiencing a lot of anger, a lot of sadness and that they're reluctant to trust police.

"That's part of the history with the RCMP but also part of this investigation. All they want is reconciliation, and they want the truth. They want assurances that they can start moving together with the police in a stronger way," Mr. Murphy said.

The family sat in a circle and listened to each speaker. Ms. Tootoosis told the family she was particularly troubled to hear from one of the witnesses, Ms. Wuttnuee, that the confrontation was fuelled by anger over trespassing.

"We share the land. To say they killed him for trespassing means they violated the Treaty. Nobody owns the land," she said.

At one point Colten's mother broke out in loud sobs, asking why this had happened to her son. She carried with her a folded sheet of paper from the local newspaper bearing a photo of Mr. Stanley, taken as he tried to hide from the cameras outside court.

"I keep this so I can look at the man that did this to my son," she said.

The pain she feels is palpable.

Later that day Ms. Baptiste hesitates before inviting a reporter into her home. She describes the field of raw sewage beneath the trailer, as their system hasn't been hooked up for about two years.

"Our water's shut off. Our sewer's not hooked up ... There are three broken windows that have not been fixed for two years," she says.

In the harsh Saskatchewan winter they all sleep in the living room with the oven door open and blankets stuffed in the broken windows to block the wind.

"We've asked for help but we're talking to deaf ears," Ms. Baptiste said.

She has a folder full of mementos and family photos on her kitchen table. The program from Colten's high-school commencement ceremony in Billings, Mont., from 2011, a junior historian award, a school-spirit certificate, a program from the 2005 Cascade County spelling championship, when Colten was one of two fifth-grade representatives from his school. She was proud of him, she says.

Colten had a neurological problem in one arm that affected his hand, she said, but he did not let it stop him from working. When he was still a teenager living in Montana he worked at a Mexican restaurant and later at a motel, where he worked his way up from housekeeping to a more senior role.

A few years ago Colten and his brothers decided to move to Canada, where her roots are. She said Colten dreamed of going to college and knew there were supports for indigenous people in this country. His brothers say they weren't prepared for the treatment they received as indigenous people in Saskatchewan.

"The racism, it's different in Saskatchewan. You can feel it. In Billings, it's not like that," William said. "I didn't believe it, until we came here. And this happened to my brother."

Colten loved to work outside, cutting lawns and felling trees for firewood, his brothers said. He recently got a qualification as a forest-firefighter. He had worked in the North as a catering employee in the fly-in camps, and wanted to go again to save money for a car, and to help his family improve their living conditions.

"I moved from Montana to Canada to be with my sons and we lived in this trailer and it was already trashed," Ms. Baptiste said.

"I used to get up in the morning and complain and whine and I'd say, 'Why do we have to live like this? Why do we have to be poor?' And he'd say, 'Mom, there's worse [off] people out there than us. There's homeless people out there that have nowhere to live. You're selfish, you've got a roof over your head.

Be happy [with] what you have, Mom.' And then I'd always stop myself and he'd always hug me and say, 'Mom, we're poor, but we're happy.' "She holds on to that memory.

Associated Graphic

The killing of Colten Boushie, a 22-year-old man from North Battleford, Sask., has united aggrieved indigenous communities, stoking racial tension in the province as the troubling details of his last day and the experience of his family emerge in police documents.

Gerald Stanley leaves his bail hearing in police custody in North Battleford, Sask., on Aug. 9.


Colten Boushie's mother, Debbie Baptiste, right, is comforted by elder Jenny Spyglass during Gerald Stanley's bail hearing.


Debbie Baptiste stands with former chief Sheldon Wuttunee outside her family's home on the Red Pheasant reserve.


A page from Colten Boushie's journal, in which he doodled and wrote about indigenous experiences in Canada.


A story of what happens next
'It's all melding together,' the Tragically Hip front man says on the band's tour bus, amid the frustration of a faltering memory. And while he's still creating and making plans, he's also trying hard not to get ahead of himself
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A12

None of what follows is to say that last summer's glorious national outpouring wasn't the astonishing thing it was, when the Tragically Hip and its lead singer, Gord Downie, diagnosed with terminal brain cancer last December, took a goodbye tour and stopped the country still.

The self-described King of the Hosers and his band had composed the true national anthems of a generation. The Hip's last waltz created something else again: a collective stillness that reminded millions of Canadians of what it meant to be here, and what it will mean when Gord Downie isn't.

But that was last summer. This story isn't about that. This story is about what happens to Gord Downie next.

'It's about patience, and respect'

On the band bus last Monday, halfway between Peterborough and Ottawa, Gord Downie is talking about reading and writing and listening to music, which means he is talking about his memory.

Two craniotomies since last December to remove a glioblastoma multiforme in his left lobe, plus radiation and chemo, have left him with an unreliable one.

For the ultra-literate, hyper-wordconscious Downie, this is a cruel fate.

You can see his scar, a sunken valley dropping down his left temple from under the ever-present fedora or ballcap. He has his hats made at Lilliput Hats in Toronto, "at College near, what's the name of that street, the one that's west of Spadina, but not as far as" - "Grace?" - "not as far as Grace. Oh, God, you know, starts with a B," and on it goes, until finally someone says "Bathurst!" and Downie says, "Good boy!"

and is so visibly relieved you would think his house had just been rescued from a flood.

"It feels like it's all melding together," is how he sometimes describes his memory. He can change subjects faster than a hockey team can change lines, but he always has, and it's not clear that it's not intentional.

Downie has been in Peterborough with five of the best musicians in the country - Kevin Drew, Dave Hamelin and Charlie Spearin of Broken Social Scene, Kevin Hearn of Barenaked Ladies and Josh Finlayson of Skydiggers - to rehearse Secret Path. It's a collection of songs Downie wrote with Drew and Hamelin, set to an animated film based on a graphic novel by Jeff Lemire, who is to graphic novels today what Downie was to rock in the late-nineties.

The songs, book and film tell the true story of Chanie Wenjack, a 12year-old Ojibwa boy who ran away from residential school in 1966 and died of exposure, 50 years ago on Sunday, trying to walk back home to his family, 600 kilometres away. It's Downie's latest, proudest project, and possibly his last. The next night, in Ottawa, where the band bus is headed, the lads are performing their rock opera for the first time at the National Arts Centre.

Downie hates the fact that he can't remember names, which leaves holes in his patter. He gamely tries to fill them. Favourite Dylan album? He can remember the album cover but not the name of Street-Legal. He knows Van Morrison made an album in four days, but no longer recalls that it's Astral Weeks. "Hey," he says to the group when someone asks, "do any of you know what my favourite Hip song is? What's the song, Vienna ... "Springtime in Vienna."

"Yeah. Good. Jesus."

His conversation flows like that now, forward but sometimes around. "I'm thinking the way I talk now is like the way a native person walks. And the way they talk. And if we want to take a moment" - he pauses - "and prepare our thoughts" - "no one's going to jump in. It's about patience, and respect." He appreciates the consideration more than he ever did before. "I appreciate it, because I just discovered it."

His portable pill box, mostly anti-seizure medication, has at least 50 compartments. He gets the pills from his younger brother Pat, a former sound engineer in Boston who has moved to Toronto to take care of Gord (Pat, 48, has separated from his wife, as Downie did from his before he became ill). "I can't be left alone," Downie says. "Apparently." Their older brother Mike, 56 (a documentary filmmaker and co-producer of Secret Path) is on the bus as well. They're the kind of family that under duress takes refuge in family. When their father, Edgar, died last Halloween, each brother took a souvenir from his belongings. Mike took his wedding ring; Pat took a gold chain; Gord took his false front tooth, which he carries in a jewel bag and occasionally produces in meetings. No further description necessary.

Downie has started to read again - he couldn't remember anything long enough to do so immediately after his operations - and can now put in 15 to 20 minutes with a book at a stretch. He feels stronger than he did, but doesn't know how long he has: His cancer is the kind that can change its mind. "But I may be one of the lucky ones. I'm reluctant to say, because I'm kind of throwing the snake eyes. What if I live another seven years, and people say, 'You asshole!?' " He worries more now about his emotional ledger. He has always tried to be like his father, "but it's impossible. Because I'm conveniently cutting out all the times I was a dick. But all the people forgave me for that. Or it feels like that. I think those people knew that I didn't want to do that, didn't want to be like that. And after this thing happened" - he makes a judo chop toward his head, his standard move - "they all were friends."

Still, his recovery has been uneven. A month after the first seizure last December, he wrote and recorded 17 as yet unpublished songs with Kevin Drew, in four days. The songs were about people who have meant something to him, and contain a detail only that person will recognize. Very Gord. It was a freer way of writing.

"I kept trying to write them in the way I'm talking to you, or the way I talked to, you know, Mansbridge. Taylor Mansbridge." This time it's an intentional joke. (He makes lots of those.) "I came home from that recording session thinking that I had reached the peak of the hill, the, you know, learning curve. And then two days later I had this horrendous seizure." That led to operation two, to chemo and radiation. Six weeks before the summer tour, he couldn't remember the names of his albums. He has recorded some music with the Hip since, but has written very little in his ever-present Moleskine notebook. He labels them with letters of the alphabet. He's up to Y. He says he's not worried.

He claims to forget the names of his kids, but it seldom occurs. Will he miss them? "I won't know, will I?" he asks, fake sneering. Louie, his 16-year-old son, is on the bus too, sitting on a bench under the bus-brown enamelized walls - it's like riding inside a large intestine - in the protective custody of all the people keeping each other company while Gord Downie fades away. Louie had a panic attack when he first learned his father had had a seizure. He's tall, skinny, wants to be a drummer.

He played his first gig last Saturday; his father, 52, was his roadie.

"That was exciting for me to see," Downie says. The band's name was Lois Lane - until they discovered that another band, a Dutch girl group, had already taken it.

Now Louie's band is considering Dutch Girl Group as an alternative.

The other name Downie never forgets is Edgar - his father's. The Downie boys worshipped him, and still do. Three days after they buried him, Gord Downie had his first seizure. It was a bad winter.

"He was so Zen," Downie says.

"And if you said that to him, he'd say, 'What's Zen?' " Edgar sat down when he peed, out of consideration for his wife and daughters. "We all do that," Gord says, and the brothers nod. "Small little guy." Edgar hated anything really frightening, really upsetting, really ugly. Downie now understands he was the same, but couldn't admit it as a teenager. "Maybe that's why I became a writer."

There's a long pause. "That could be my sensation as I'm going out," Downie muses. "'Oh, there's Edgar.' That'd be fabulous."

'If this is the last thing I do, I'm happy'

Today, the morning of the big show, 27-odd members of the Wenjack family are allegedly visiting Ottawa's Museum of Civilization. But Pearl Wenjack is hitting the Rideau Centre to shop.

"I wanted to do something, naturally," says Chanie's older sister as she makes her way to the indoor mall. "But I didn't know how." She had been praying to the Creator that she might get a call from Oprah Winfrey - "that's the only show we watch" - when, one morning a year and a half ago, the phone rang. "Hello?" Pearl said.

"Hi," a man's voice replied. "I'm Mike."

Mike Downie first heard about Chanie Wenjack in a short CBC Radio documentary in 2013. The story shook him. He'd heard of residential schools, but like most Canadians didn't know much about them. Mike began to dig into the story. He found a 1967 Maclean's story about Chanie's death, by Ian Adams. Mike told Chanie's story to his pal, the novelist Joseph Boyden, hoping they might write a screenplay together.

Boyden mentioned it to Gord, also a friend. The following morning, Gord called Mike. He too was hooked. It happened so fast it was almost weird.

When, according to one insider, Boyden's screenplay didn't seem to be materializing, Gord Downie started to write poems tracing Chanie's fatal walk down the tracks to home. The poems became songs and an album recorded three years ago by Kevin Drew and the band. The songs were followed (after Mike and Gord suggested it) by a graphic novel courtesy of Jeff Lemire.

Eventually, after Edgar's death, Gord's cancer and the Hip's famous last tour, Mike and his production partner, Stuart Coxe, persuaded the CBC to take on an animated film version of Lemire's book, to be attached to Gord's music. (It airs Sunday on CBC at 9 p.m. ET.)

All of which was impressive, but for the touchy question of cultural appropriation. Was Chanie Wenjack's story fair game for a bunch of white guys? As if to underscore the question, a (fairly) good-natured artistic rivalry sprang up: Boyden - who is of mixed Scottish and Anishinaabe heritage, and a friend of the Downie brothers - wrote a Heritage Minute about Chanie last summer, scooping the anniversary of his death. He also recently published Wenjack, a slim book, with a rival publisher. (The DownieLemire book is already scaling the bestseller list and being reprinted, despite a run of 50,000 copies.)

Boyden has also collaborated on a new album by A Tribe Called Red, a crossover First Nations hip-hop band. This game could be called Downies and Indians.

Mindful of their outsider status, Gord, Mike, Pat and a slew of First Nations elders went to Ogoki Post in Northern Ontario to visit Pearl Wenjack in September. The result was the Gord Downie and Chanie Wenjack Fund, dedicated to "cross-cultural education to support healing and recovery." Between the 1880s and 1996, 150,000 children were sent by the federal government to residential schools in Canada. More than 20,000 are thought to have died while at school. It isn't clear Chanie ever understood why he had to go away.

This is the darkness Downie and his cohort are drawn to. "I've spent my last 10 years with the Barenaked Ladies playing If I Had a Million Dollars," Kevin Hearn says. "It's a thrill to be part of something dark, something serious." But it was Gord who seemed to feel it most intensely.

He was muttering about Secret Path as he came out of one of his surgeries. During the tour he knew the lyrics to The Stranger, one of its songs, better than he knew the words to the Hip hit Bobcaygeon. There are spiritually inclined elders and partners on the Downie team who think the Secret Path project is making Gord Downie stronger.

"I didn't know there were residential schools up there until 12 years ago," Downie says. The more he learned, the more he wondered why he didn't know more about them, why they weren't talked about in school.

(The subject is only now being included in the history curricula of all provinces.) He thought the presence of a 10,000-year-old indigenous culture had the potential to make Canada unique in the world. Instead, "we decided to put them away in a third-floor bedroom and lock it. It's just baffling to me." Canada had never felt like a real country to Downie (as fans of his Hip songs know); without reconciling the twin solitudes of the indigenous and nonindigenous, which he considers to be a 150-year-project, it never will.

"You start looking at all this stuff," Downie observes, and "and it does start putting a damper on all the stuff we're doing to celebrate 150 years of nationhood."

Secret Path is his attempt to change that path in the uncertain stretch of time he has left. "If this is the last thing I do," he says, "then I'm happy." So far, it's working. The fund opened with $3-mil.

lion in major donations, but since the premiere on Tuesday has raised another $100,000 in small gifts. The average donation is $8.

'This is the only place to be'

At first, when the lights went down in the National Arts Centre on Tuesday, the audience didn't know how to react: It didn't know what it was watching. There was Gord Downie's familiar shovel-ofgravel of a voice, the familiar jean jacket with the lapel compass and a beaded poppy commemorating First Nations veterans. But everything else was unfamiliar: the six monitors to help him remember the words, the haunting, almost orchestral music, the spare chanting lyrics, the tom-tom pulse of the drums driving the starkly drawn boy's journey down the endless railway tracks in the huge animated film on a screen behind the band.

By the third song they were applauding. By the end, they were standing. The Governor-General was there, and you could hear the Wenjack relatives whooping it up in front. Placards throughout the lobby warned of an emotionally difficult evening, and offered professional counsel to anyone who needed some. (Several did.)

Weepers were asked to deposit their Kleenexes in birch-bark baskets, so their sadness could be burned away, according to native custom. The ushers collected 30 bags of snotty tissue by the end of the show.

Of course, as grave as Chanie Wenjack's story is, it was the added irony of Gord Downie's situation, his own looming stagger down the short track ahead of him, that gave the show its extra shudder. Never mind that the lyrics had been written three years earlier, before Downie was dying.

You could feel the resonance especially in the penultimate number, The Only Place to Be, as Chanie, frozen and hungry, lies down beside the tracks for the last time: I'll just close my eyes/I'll just catch my breath ... I've got lots of time/My whole life ahead/This is the only place to be. The end is very near by then, and in his fevered mind he sees his home, and his father, and happily leaves this world and enters whatever place it is the mere memory of someone can come from.

Then the final anthem rolled out, the lyrics riding over resolving chords: I feel here ... I hurt here ... I lived here, here and here, I die here, here and here. More places than we ever know, that is, more significant than we ever imagine.

That seems to be the way a life goes, whether it is white or native.

That was Gord Downie's point, and his retort to the anti-appropriationists.

"The white man will only listen to the white man," Claudette Commanda, a local Algonquin elder, said of the play's intentions.

"If Gord Downie's gonna be the white man that is going to go out there and raise the social conscience of Canadians and government, so be it." Sheila North Wilson, the Grand Chief of Northern Manitoba who had been with Gord up in Ogoki Post, took a more generous view. "One of the greatest gifts a man can give is to give his life for his friends," she said. "And that's what he's doing.

Decades later, that's what we'll look back on."

Maybe. Reconciliation has eluded Canada for 150 years, and while a more inclusive school curriculum is an improvement, it's still a long haul. On the other hand, three days after the Downies left Ogoki Post, Pearl had another call.

It was Mike again. The brothers wanted to build a log cabin next to hers. She couldn't believe it.

"That's where Gord wants to spend his last days, up there," Mike said. "You and I are gonna take care of Gord." Pearl is okay with that. She's taken care of dying people lots of times, and her brother-in-law is the local builder. He'll be cutting the logs in the spring.

And if the house becomes a visiting artist's residence after Gord dies, one of a future string of such houses on indigenous lands across the country financed by the fund, well, Mike Downie is a guy with a lot of ideas. Until then, Gord says, "I need to see my kids, so I'll go back and forth. I dream about it, but I don't want to get too far ahead of myself. Because of the feeling you get when you go up there. The people I've met, they're so beautiful." Which is another way of saying they don't judge you, because they too know what it's like to face extinction.

For a video about Gord Downie's Secret Path, go to

Associated Graphic

The story of Chanie Wenjack's tragic death, 50 years ago, has drawn the terminally ill Gord Downie into a reconciliation role for his country.


Gord Downie performs his new album, Secret Path, at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa on Tuesday. T

The show features haunting, almost orchestral music, spare chanting lyrics and a tom-tom pulse of the drums.


Pearl Wenjack, in Ottawa on Tuesday, prepares to take in the live performance of Secret Path, the story of her brother Chanie.


Saturday night with an old friend
As the NHL season unfolds, hockey fans will cheer the return of a familiar face to TV. Ron MacLean reflects on the fallout of Rogers' attempt to reinvent HNIC, his two-year hiatus in the hockey wilderness, and making peace (for now) with Gary Bettman
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

OAKVILLE, ONT. -- When Ron MacLean welcomes a reporter into his house, there are no overt signs of his status as Canada's hockey host.

Little of the memorabilia that accrues to someone who has spent more than 30 years around the NHL is displayed on the walls of his comfortable home in an upscale neighbourhood in Oakville, west of Toronto. The only signs that MacLean and his wife Cari are hockey enthusiasts are several paintings by Canadian artist Rod Charlesworth that feature winter scenes with hockey.

The reporter is there to interview MacLean about his surprising comeback as host of Hockey Night in Canada, regaining the role he held from 1987 to 2014.

Regardless of what happened the past couple of seasons, MacLean never stopped being the broadcast face of the game, and his bosses at Rogers Communications Inc. recognized that by a) giving him his old job back, and b) making him the focus of commercials promoting the show's new season, which starts Saturday.

Those commercial spots, which began appearing early last month, were as much a Rogers mea culpa as they were advertisements for Hockey Night. MacLean is back, they implied, and we hope you will be, too.

The flashy, high-tech look from Rogers' first two seasons of Hockey Night promos - heralding the company's $5.2-billion, 12-year deal for the NHL's Canadian broadcast rights - was gone. As gone as the former host, George Stroumboulopoulos.

There was no sign of the gleaming studio Rogers built for its new-look hockey broadcasts, which foundered on two years of declining ratings. The new spots follow the affable MacLean, 56, as he wanders through the newsroom preshow; in a voiceover, he talks about how Saturday night in Canada means hockey, and what that means to him.

It is Rogers saying we heard you, hockey fans, so on Saturday night - the first of the 2016-17 NHL season - MacLean will be back where generations of Canadians watched him for 27 years.

The unspoken plea? Please forgive us and come back to try on that comfortable old sweater.

The reaction on social media, which played more than a small role in driving away Stroumboulopoulos after two years as Hockey Night's new host, was equally warm and fuzzy.

"I LOVE this Ron MacLean commercial. This is exactly what #HNIC was missing last two seasons," was one of the typical Twitter responses.

MacLean thinks these unusual circumstances - beloved longtime host displaced by a younger, hipper broadcaster as part of an appeal to younger audiences, then wins his old job back when the ratings tanked for a number of reasons, not all to do with the new host - occurred because viewers still want to see the things and people they associate with hockey. And those viewers include the millennials who Rogers had hoped would gravitate to Stroumboulopoulos and the digital wonders of the postmodern Hockey Night set.

"My simple version of it is because hockey became so omnipresent in the new world order [after Rogers replaced CBC and TSN as national rightsholder], we were scanning the dial looking for the familiar one, the one we had known.

And we were having trouble finding that," MacLean said during a long conversation over egg-salad sandwiches and Perrier about his return, his love for the game and his refusal to leave Hometown Hockey despite his added duties.

"It's hard for me to speak to that," MacLean said when asked if Stroumboulopoulos's undoing was that he did not appeal to traditional hockey fans. The two weren't exactly friends, but they weren't butting heads, either.

"It's so unfair to George. It's unfair to everybody making those kinds of decisions.

"Through no fault of his own, George was a fresh face, so he didn't represent the brand that [viewers] were used to. We are creatures of branding, there's no question about that. That's probably as simple as it is.

"Now you know when you see me, it just reminds you of what you think, the branding is there.

I'm sure that's a big part of it."

MacLean had a dry run as Sportsnet's host during the World Cup of Hockey in September. That event was also used to get something out of the way that played a role in his removal two years ago: MacLean's relationship with NHL commissioner Gary Bettman.

Their history of contentious interviews, particularly during labour negotiations, became legendary as MacLean unapologetically took up the players' side of the debate. It culminated when Bettman was said to have vowed after an angry exchange during the 2010 playoffs that he would never come back on Hockey Night as long as MacLean was the host. MacLean said the fractious relationship likely played a role in his departure.

So, as the best-of-three final of the World Cup approached, MacLean and Bettman took up their positions for a live interview.

"We wanted to get it out of the way early, just so that it didn't become a little bit of a distraction," MacLean said.

But, first, there was a meeting with MacLean, Sportsnet president Scott Moore and Rob Corte, vice-president of Sportsnet and NHL production. "There was just a kind of gentle talk between Scott, Rob and me. Let's, whatever we do, not throw this right over the cliff on the first interview," MacLean said of the discussion.

Part of the problem, MacLean said, was that all of their interviews are live, and he admitted another part of the problem might have been his own aggressiveness.

"I understand why, if I was an owner or one of Gary's lieutenants, or Gary himself, it would feel like an ambush," he said.

"But it's in large part due to the nature of almost every interview I've done with him - it's live. So there isn't the luxury of allowing two minutes of spin at the expense of the truth. It becomes confrontational almost immediately. There's a moment of interruption which looks like disrespect. It's really challenging."

It has been pointed out that he's more aggressive with Bettman than with most other interview subjects.

"Sherali Najak is a producer I work with and he always says, 'Ron, are you doing it with a red heart or a black heart?' " MacLean said. "A red heart is where you've got a good generous spirit about you, and a black heart is when you're up to no good. And I'm not sure I've kept it on the red-heart side. I've got to figure that out."

As it turned out, the Bettman interview went smoothly.

MacLean, by choice, stuck to questions about the NHL's problems with participating in the 2018 Winter Olympics. Bettman, after answering the first question, looked at MacLean and said: "Welcome back."

"It wasn't an interview that would cause him stress, I think," MacLean said. "That's how I'm going to have to try and sort through as I go through this job - okay, get at the truth but maybe pull in your horns a little bit so he doesn't feel threatened, Rogers doesn't feel threatened.

Because they live on pins and needles, they're trying to be a good partner.

"I'm always telling Scott Moore, 'I know, but I'm also partners with the viewer.' They seem diametrically opposed sometimes."

MacLean also thinks he may have baited Bettman in the past because he knew it went over well with a lot of viewers.

"I've got to be really careful that I start to feel that temptation to satisfy the guy sitting at home. 'Oh good, look at him give it to the boss,' because we all like to. I know better than to be seduced by that bit of feedback."

Firing Stroumboulopoulos just two years into Rogers' ownership of the show was an enormous shock, not just to Stroumboulopoulos but also the viewers, although judging by social media it was more of a happy shock for them. After the announcement was made in June, Stroumboulopoulos announced on Twitter he was driving his motorcycle to his home in Los Angeles. Aside from changing his Twitter avatar to a picture of him and U.S. broadcaster Keith Olberman, who blasted Moore on Twitter for the firing, Stroumboulopoulos still has not made a public comment on the change.

MacLean has sympathy for Stroumboulopoulos, who took a vicious beating on social media.

MacLean says he was lucky the Internet was not around in March, 1987, when he replaced Dave Hodge on Hockey Night.

Hodge was fired by the CBC for tossing a pencil on-air to show his frustration and anger when the network refused to stick with a Montreal-Philadelphia game that went into overtime.

Hodge was easily as popular then as MacLean eventually became, but the angry backlash at the time was confined to letters to the editor or radio call-in shows.

"It would never have happened - I never would have taken over from Dave Hodge," MacLean said. He realized the power of the online world 15 years later when the CBC refused his salary demands and began looking for a replacement.

Twitter was still long way off, but e-mail had become ubiquitous. "I went through a contract squabble in 2002, and that was at the beginning of e-mail. There was quite a campaign across the country and that saved my job."

MacLean said he has not talked to Stroumboulopoulos since the latter was dropped as host. "For George it was, I'm sure, extremely difficult," he said.

The situation is the reverse of what happened to MacLean two years ago. When Rogers won control of Hockey Night, the company aggressively put its own stamp on a show it considered outdated.

"It was a different leadership time, a different philosophy maybe in how the show was going to be conducted," MacLean said of Rogers. "I don't blame them for trying."

The new approach in 2014 meant MacLean was only Don Cherry's sidekick on Coach's Corner on Saturday nights, and host of a new show, Hometown Hockey, on Sundays. The new show was broadcast on location from a different community in Canada every week, which started a punishing travel schedule for MacLean.

Despite the demotion, he said he never considered quitting.

Part of it was that he was still broadcasting hockey, and part of it was remembering something his mother did once while he was growing up in Red Deer, Alta.

His mother quit her job at a paint store on principle when her boss rudely showed a lack of respect one day. MacLean admired her stand but came to think it was a mistake.

"She came home, she just quit on a dime," MacLean said. "She blew out of there, said that's it, after all I've done for this guy, to be treated like that. She was in a lather when she came in the house, but she was really disappointed in herself shortly thereafter.

"She just felt she squandered her livelihood. They needed the money, mom and dad, and in a moment of impetuous rage she had bitten her nose off to spite her face. She felt she hadn't played it smart, and she'd given others the satisfaction of knowing that they could have their way, that they could push her out.

"I kind of had that lesson in my head, not that I was in a mood to have a rage or a fit anyway. As I said, I was excited about Hometown Hockey. I loved the concept and I thought it was a natural thing after 27, 28 years at Hockey Night."

His experience as a host for other events such as the Olympics and Calgary Stampede proved MacLean could handle himself outside of hockey, but he decided he would never be comfortable away from the sport he loves.

"[When] you become a jack of all trades, your storytelling is a bit haphazard because you're not really expert on the field," MacLean said. "I always feel a little guilty when I'm at the Olympics and suddenly I'm interviewing the race walker Evan Dunfee, who does a fabulous job in a great event, the 50-kilometre walk.

"I always felt interviewing was like lawyering, that idea of don't ask a question if you don't know [the answer]. I want to convey to the subject of the interview a little bit of a connection, a little bit of an understanding. That's hard when you're moving into different sports."

Viewers may not unanimously love his quirks as a broadcaster - the puns and the folksy manner - but there is no denying MacLean's affection for the sport, something Canadians demand from the host of their favourite hockey broadcast. He plays recreational hockey twice a week and makes appearances with NHL alumni teams. He was also a high-level amateur referee for many years, calling junior games around Ontario. Wife Cari is also an avid recreational hockey player.

That background in smalltown hockey is why Hometown Hockey held such appeal for MacLean even though he was losing a job he loved. Every week, he set up an NHL game from a different town in Canada.

Aside from broadcasting, MacLean also spent time mingling with local fans as well as hockey people he knows who happened to live there.

"It's just fun to do," he said.

"We know when we go to Grand Falls [Nfld.], you know we'll end up having a few beers afterwards with Terry Ryan Sr. and his son, and that'll be enjoyable.

Jim Ralph's in Newmarket. It's a fun show. It's lots of people getting out, having a hockey experience. Beyond that, I don't have to tell a reporter that there's always a nice little pub in smalltown Canada."

When Moore called MacLean to a meeting at a small restaurant in the west Toronto neighbourhood of Long Branch in mid-June to tell him he wanted him back as host of Hockey Night, MacLean said he would only do it if he could stay with Hometown Hockey as well.

MacLean said he would like to see a few changes to raise the profile of the Sunday show, which has struggled for ratings in its two years of existence.

Part of the problem is what plagued the other Rogers broadcasts - the collective mediocrity of the seven Canadian NHL teams. But there were too many bad games, often involving U.S.based teams with inconsistent start times, and they were frequently up against National Football League telecasts, not to mention the Toronto Blue Jays games and the baseball playoffs.

"When I see it start at 6:30 [Eastern Time] and it's the fourth quarter of the NFL, I wonder how can we possibly pull you away if you're a sports fan," he said.

The Blue Jays are back in the American League Championship Series, but there are no Sunday games scheduled in that series, which spares Hometown Hockey some strong competition. This season's NHL games are also better, as there is at least one Canadian team playing every Sunday night.

"We've got tons of Oilers games, five with Connor McDavid, and we've got the Maple Leafs three times I think," MacLean said. "I wish we had Toronto more because it's simple - big markets deliver big numbers. The schedule is good and I think the show will be good."

Once the official announcement about his return was made in June, MacLean said he started to worry about what might be expected from him. Then the answer came while he moonlighted as a host for the Summer Olympics and the World Cup.

"It's hard," he said. "You've got all these folks saying nice things about welcome back, we miss you, all that stuff. I was glad for sure to have the Olympics and the World Cup to just keep working and not sit and think about what the hell am I supposed to do that is so special?

"Nothing is the answer. Just do what you've always done."

Associated Graphic

Ron MacLean lives and breathes hockey, playing recreational and now, once again, serving as host of Hockey Night in Canada.


Ron MacLean plays recreational hockey twice a week in Oakville, Ont.


Is the province's ambitious plan to protect greenspace behind skyrocketing house prices in the GTA? Developers believe so and are fighting attempts to tighten how and where the region grows
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page M1

One Friday afternoon last May, IT consultant Zvonimir Petric left work to meet his wife.

She had been standing in line for five hours at a sales office offering new homes in north Burlington, a full day before it was to open. When he arrived, he found nearly 100 other people already waiting, all hoping for a shot at a yet-to-be-constructed detached house in one of the Toronto area's most desirable suburbs - and willing to camp out overnight to get it.

Someone was taking down names and warning that a "roll call" would be held every hour to ensure prospective homebuyers were still in line. Nobody even knew for sure what the prices would be. The couple soon decided it just wasn't worth it.

"There was just madness," Mr. Petric said. "In front of everybody, I go: 'Guys, you are all a bunch of dumbasses if you think you are going to pay this much money for a home and sleep here overnight.' " Many others would walk away the next morning upon learning the lots ranged from $850,000 to more than $1-million. Still, the development sold out.

Across Toronto's suburbs, people are trading similar realestate war stories, as newly built detached homes become a scarce commodity. So it should be no surprise many are now hunting for someone to blame for the Greater Toronto Area's increasingly unaffordable real estate prices. Pressure is mounting for a B.C.-style tax on foreign property buyers, even though it remains unclear just how much overseas cash is distorting Toronto's market. The federal government has already tightened its mortgage rules.

But the development industry insists it knows the main culprit: Queen's Park's 10-year-old anti-sprawl policies - the Greenbelt and the Growth Plan for the Greater Golden Horseshoe - both now under review.

In increasingly insistent lobbying, industry voices say these two pieces of legislation have cut off the supply of land for new houses, especially detached or semi-detached ones, and are responsible for driving up prices across the GTA.

But a chorus of urban planners and environmentalists call that idea absurd, and point to statistics that suggest there is enough land already earmarked for development to last decades. They counter by saying that developers are twisting the market by holding on to ready land.

The debate comes as Premier Kathleen Wynne's Liberal government ponders what to do about the overheating housing market, and whether to tighten - or potentially relax - rules meant to curb suburban sprawl.

In a series of press releases, studies and op-ed pieces, developers and aligned economists have made their case in recent months that the province's anti-sprawl policies are a driving force behind the skyrocketing house prices many fear are making homeownership a lost cause for a generation. That was the first argument former Progressive Conservative leader Tim Hudak made after he took over as head of the Ontario Real Estate Association last week: "As anybody who has taken Economics 101 knows, if you restrict supply and demand increases, prices are going to go through the roof, and that is happening."

It does sound like something out of a first-year economics textbook, and both policies, by design, are indeed meant to curb urban sprawl. The Greenbelt protects a swath of farmland around the GTA from development; the Growth Plan forces municipalities to build more new homes within their current boundaries, as well as to build more densely when paving over new land. That means more apartments and condos, and fewer detached houses with front porches and big backyards. Proposed changes from a recent task force chaired by former Toronto mayor David Crombie would tighten the rules.

The industry wants those rules loosened to make more land available so they can build more "ground-related" housing - semis, townhouses and coveted single-family detached homes - that the market demands. Increase supply, they say, and prices will come down, just like your economics textbook says.

Nobody believes the provincial policies are the only driver behind the real-estate boom, which is also being fuelled by record-low interest rates, an improving economy and the migration of 100,000 or more people into the Greater Golden Horseshoe region every year. Likewise, no one believes the policies don't have at least some effect on prices. But developers are increasingly pointing to the provincial policies as the major problem, as they also complain about red-tape and delays getting new developments approved.

"You will find that narrative - any builder you talk to will tell you that," says Brian Johnston, chief operating officer of Mattamy Homes, one of Canada's largest builders. But he mainly blames the provincial policies.

"They have created an environment where low-rise housing, ground-oriented housing, is in short supply," he said. "That's what people want, and it has created a problem."

Economist Frank Clayton, senior research fellow at the developer-funded Centre for Urban Research and Land Development at Ryerson University, estimates the sprawl-busting policies are responsible for a quarter to a third of the run-up in real-estate prices across the region. He admits this is essentially a guess, but says it is a conservative one.

He points out that builders in the GTA are now producing dramatically fewer new "groundrelated" houses than they did 10 years ago, and just a fraction of the coveted detached homes they put up a decade ago. And they are producing many more apartments and condos instead.

According to figures from the Building Industry and Land Development Association, in June, 2006, there were 985 new detached homes sold in the GTA, with another 10,823 available. In August of this year, builders sold just 318 such homes, and only had 592 more available. And while all types of property are soaring in price, the trajectory of the average price for a detached house is the steepest, soaring to $1.2-million in Toronto last month.

Complying with the Growth Plan, Dr. Clayton says, means the suburban municipalities that surround Toronto are not providing enough so-called "serviced land" for developers. That's undeveloped land, usually farmland, that has had sewers and water mains installed nearby, so it is ready for development. That shortage, he argues, is driving up prices.

While the Greenbelt and the Growth Plan were designed as environmental medicine to contain sprawl, preserve farmland and allow for public transit to serve new, more compact communities, Dr. Clayton says Queen's Park is ignoring what he says are the policies' major side effects.

"All I am saying is when you do something major like change the planning system ... you've got to look at costs and benefits," Mr.

Clayton says. "And all they've done so far is look at the benefits, they say, from the environmental side - less emissions from cars and so on. They have not looked at any costs."

Drive out of town through the 905, pass the last line of new subdivisions, and many of the farmers' fields you see are already owned by holding companies or developers. Some of that land is already designated for future urban development. Some of it is undesignated and sits in the socalled "White Belt," sandwiched on the map between the urban boundaries of the suburban municipalities and the Greenbelt, where development is restricted.

And according to the Neptis Foundation, an urban research think tank, there is more than enough land already designated for development to last the Toronto region decades.

Neptis says across that the Greater Toronto and Hamilton areas, 52,600 hectares has been set aside for development, including land added under the Growth Plan - land that was supposed to last until 2031. But in the past 10 years, only about 10,800 hectares was built on, or about 20 per cent of the available land.

More than 40,000 hectares - about two-thirds of the entire City of Toronto's land area - remains untouched. And at the current pace of land consumption, more than half of it will remain undeveloped by 2031, Neptis says.

The pace at which development consumes land has slowed dramatically since the 1990s, as market forces - demand for housing closer to transit, land prices increasing as communities mature - as well as municipalities themselves have prompted the building of more dense housing, long before the Growth Plan. In fact, little of the change in the build form of the GTA's suburbs in recent years can actually be attributed to the Growth Plan. Even though it was passed in 2006, municipalities took years to update their official plans and then fend off challenges at the Ontario Municipal Board before the new regime took effect, in some cases just in the last five or six years.

Plus, according to figures compiled by the provincial government, 800,000 detached houses, semi-detached houses and townhouses were in the planning pipeline for the Greater Golden Horseshoe in 2006, and about 540,000 are still to be built. Those 800,000 homes alone could accommodate as many as two million people, or 80 per cent of the projected population growth headed to the Greater Golden Horseshoe outside of Toronto - even without the hundreds of thousands of apartments also going up.

So this leaves the question of how much "serviced land" there is, and whether Toronto-area municipalities are keeping up with the demand. It has long been provincial policy that municipalities are required to have at least a three-year supply of serviced land ready and set aside for development. The chief planners of Peel Region, York Region and Durham Region all maintain they are meeting or exceeding this requirement.

Valerie Shuttleworth, York Region's chief planner, says that, while she supports the goal of the Growth Plan, she has her own problems with proposals to tighten it. She says rules to make new greenfield development even more dense need to be phased in.

But she maintains that her municipality still has a four-year supply of serviced land designated and zoned for "ground-related" housing, ready to go. For whatever reason, some landowners are not choosing to build on certain plots: "Developers choose when they go to market."

The idea that developers are sitting on land, waiting for prices to go up instead of building, is a factor many cite as a potential source of Toronto's housing squeeze. A TD Economics report from last year says rising land prices "reflect a significant amount of underutilized land in the GTA" and that landowners "continue to hold onto significant idle land, likely with the aim of hearing a higher profit on sale due to appreciating values."

Markus Moos, associate director of the school of planning at the University of Waterloo, said little research has been done to reliably measure the real effects of the Greenbelt and Growth Plan on the market. But he said urban economics have always held that a booming central area, where property is most expensive, drives price increases across an urban region.

Releasing more land with an eye to building more single-family homes far away from that centre wouldn't have the desired effect, he said, arguing that "location, location, location" remains a real estate agent's mantra for a reason: "There's a limit to how far people are willing to commute."

The argument that loosening the Growth Plan rules or freeing up Greenbelt land for suburban developers does not hold water with Toronto's chief planner, Jennifer Keesmaat, either. She says developers holding onto land are likely partly to blame.

But she adds that housing prices clearly show that demand for homes on the farthest fringes of Toronto's suburbs is nowhere near as great as it is for homes in central Toronto or in some of the 905's more established suburbs, where walkable neighbourhoods are clustered near transit, employment and shopping.

Toronto's problem is not unique, Ms. Keesmaat says, as cities worldwide, from London to Washington, are all experiencing similar skyward house prices: "Every growing city, Greenbelt or not, has an affordability crisis." ONLINE For more on urban sprawl, watch Growing Pains, a documentary about urban sprawl in the Greater Golden Horseshoe and how the Places to Grow Act is attempting to help municipalities build up rather than build out.


The Ontario government's Greenbelt and its regional Growth Plan were enacted in 2006. This past year, a panel led by former Toronto mayor David Crombie recommended 86 changes to the legislation.

Among them are two key changes that would affect the way suburban municipalities plan. One would increase the amount of new development that must occur within already built-up areas, to 60 per cent from the current 40 per cent.

The other change would force municipalities building on "greenfield" sites, outside their current built-up area, to plan more dense communities. The current standard calling for 50 jobs or residents per hectare would be increased to 80 jobs or people per hectare, a density that experts say still is lower than the density in Toronto neighbourhoods such as Riverdale.

However, some municipalities are concerned that new rules would require them to redraw plans that are already in the works, and put much-higher-density development in places where it does not belong in order to hit Growth Plan targets.

Meanwhile, developers say the plans will only exacerbate the problems with housing supply that they claim are helping to drive up the region's housing prices - an argument Mr. Crombie dismisses as a "canard," saying studies show there is ample land set aside for low-density housing.


One jurisdiction that has tried to cool overheating house prices by simply building more houses on the fringes of a urban area is Sydney, Australia. The state government in New South Wales brought in policies that sparked a building boom. However, despite a massive increase in the number of houses being built, real estate prices there have continued to rise even more sharply.

According to the Sydney Morning Herald, house prices are up 40 per cent since 2011, even though the number of new units completed has shot up 85 per cent. The reason, some local economists say, is that new houses account for very little of the overall market, which is predominantly resale houses.

The government there contends that housing completions are finally recovering after years of low numbers, and that the added supply of housing will have an effect over the next several years.


For years, the booming suburb of Brampton has been the leading jurisdiction in the GTA for new "greenfield" housing, with building on its outskirts accounting for more than 20 per cent of the total in the region between 2001 and 2011.

But according to a new study from the Neptis Foundation, an independent urban policy think tank, there remains a large amount of land left for the suburb to expand, even within the constraints of the province's density-demanding Growth Plan and the Greenbelt.

And not only that, despite warnings from developers that the GTA is running low on "serviced land," or land that is prepared for development with water pipes and sewers, Neptis says its analysis shows that, at least in Brampton, there is an ample supply.

Of Brampton's 8,740 hectares of greenfield land designated for development, 2,290 hectares have been built on in the decade since since 2006.

Of the 6,450 hectares remaining, according to the Neptis study, 1,200 hectares are zoned, approved or in the final stages of approval, and already serviced for development.

Almost all of that land is for subdivisions full of what the industry calls "ground-related" housing - detached homes, semi-detached homes or townhouses.

Even at Brampton's brisk pace of development, 1,200 hectares represent about five years worth of building.

"This may vary across the region," says Neptis executive director Marcy Burchfield. "But this clearly shows it is not an issue in Brampton."

Associated Graphic

Newly built detached homes are becoming scarce - and, some would argue, so is farmland around the Greater Golden Horseshoe.


The province is proposing new planning rules to increase the density of housing in the Greater Golden Horseshoe area.


An uneven recovery fuels anxiety - and Trump
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B8

ROCKFORD, ILL. -- One evening last week, Cathy McClure slid into a booth at the Machine Shed, a farmthemed restaurant near Interstate 90 in Rockford, Ill. She had just finished work at a nearby car dealership and she had a story to tell - the tale of what had happened to her and to her city in this halting economic recovery.

During the recession, the forklift company where she worked as a fleet manager shut down after being acquired by a firm in the Netherlands. The job had paid her $22 (U.S.) an hour and took her all over the country - California, Texas, Louisiana. After she was laid off, she was out of work for two years and nearly exhausted her unemployment benefits.

Then she landed her current job. It began as a part-time gig and eventually turned into a fulltime position, where she is now paid $14 an hour. The drop in her pay forced new habits: To buy groceries, she visits three different supermarkets to find the lowest prices on the items she needs. She uses the proceeds from an annual garage sale and holiday gift cards to scrounge together the odd vacation. Still, she considers herself fortunate.

It's not my first time meeting Ms. McClure: Back in 2010, we talked at a fair for job-seekers in this city on the Rock River, 150 kilometres west of Chicago. I have returned to Rockford to find out what happened to people such as her to better understand the economic anxieties affecting Americans on the eve of the presidential election.

Ms. McClure is typically a Democrat. She would like to see a woman become president. Mr. Trump scares her. But as of last week, before a video emerged that roiled the race, she was undecided about how to vote. "We need to do something about bringing back some of our jobs," she says. Indeed, she has a modest proposal for the chief executive officers of American companies who outsource jobs to other countries. If they move factories abroad: "They should live over there," says Ms. McClure, 58.

In this bitter and exceptional campaign, the state of the economy has played a starring role.

Donald Trump, the Republican nominee, says he can return the country to an age of economic glory by cutting taxes and ripping up trade deals. Hillary Clinton, his Democratic rival, has pledged to create new, well-paying jobs through a major infrastructure push, investments in alternative energy and help to small businesses.

Judging from Mr. Trump's rhetoric, the U.S. economy is in a world of trouble. That's far from true. The United States has regained all of the jobs it lost in the Great Recession, when nearly one in six workers became unemployed. The national jobless rate is hovering near 5 per cent, a figure that economists consider close to full employment, and the economy has grown for 88-straight months, one of the longest expansions on record.

Yet beneath those headline statistics, there is a reservoir of discontent. To understand why, just visit a place like Rockford, which was once a manufacturing powerhouse whose factories churned out machine tools, furniture, airplane parts and automobiles. The multitude of bolts and fasteners it produced earned it the nickname the "screw capital of the world."

Today it's home to 150,000 people and, even though the economy is undeniably healthier than it used to be, the recession left major scars, both financial and psychological. The unemployment rate has fallen from a skyhigh 17 per cent to about 6 per cent. All of the job-seekers I met six years ago are working again.

But all of them have taken major cuts in pay, ranging from onethird to one-half of their prior wages. They have fewer benefits than in the past and feel a keen sense of precariousness about their working life.

'Treading water'

When you listen to people in Rockford, it becomes apparent that the economic anxiety that is now prevalent isn't about finding a job. Instead, it's about finding a good job - one that pays well and provides for a middle-class standard of living. That worry gets to the heart of the weaknesses of this economic recovery.

While the national unemployment rate has fallen considerably, underlying problems remain.

Across the United States , there are 14 million people who are either out of work or stuck in parttime jobs when they would prefer to be working full-time.

Meanwhile, the proportion of Americans participating in the labour force has not returned to prerecession levels. In other words, there are a number of workers who have dropped out and are no longer looking for work at all (people who have left the labour force aren't counted in the unemployment statistics).

About two million workers are effectively missing, according to the Economic Policy Institute, a liberal think tank.

It's only in the past two years that the growing economy has begun to boost the income of a wide swath of American families.

Last year, the median household's income grew 5.2 per cent to $56,500, adjusting for inflation. That's the biggest annual jump since the government began tracking the figure. Yet, even with that increase, the median household's income is lower than it was in 2007, after adjusting for inflation, and perhaps even more importantly, lower than it was back in 2000.

"We have a decade and a half where lots of people have kind of been treading water," says Jared Bernstein, a senior fellow at the Centre on Budget and Policy Priorities and a former aide to Vice-President Joe Biden. "It would be a mistake to believe that a year or two of positive growth is going to wipe out the anxiety related to many more years of stagnation."

If you ask economists about the causes of that stagnation, they answer with a long list.

There is the accumulated impact of technological change, the effects of globalization and trade, the weakening power of unions, the decline in worker productivity and the mismatch between the education people receive and the jobs available. "The anxiety is real and it's justifiable," says Diane Swonk, an independent business economist in Chicago.

"But the reasons for it are complex and frankly don't fit into sound bites."

Gauging economic worries through polling can be tricky, since the answers tend to be tied to a person's political preferences. So, when a Democrat is in the White House, as now, Republicans express more pessimism about the economy. However, a recent analysis from Gallup suggests that Mr. Trump's supporters feel especially high levels of financial insecurity compared with their fellow Republicans.

And a solid majority of Americans feel the economic system is unfair, albeit for different reasons. A recent poll conducted for the radio program Marketplace found that 62 per cent of those surveyed felt the economy was rigged in favour of certain groups.

'A beater with a heater'

For those who lost their jobs in the last recession, the frustration is especially acute. To get back to work, people almost always have to take a more junior position in their field, pushing them backward both in terms of earnings and their career trajectory. Economists call this phenomenon "wage scarring."

Gary Voigt lives with that reality every day. Five or six times a week, he works a shift as a security guard at a foundry south of downtown Rockford. To get there, he drives a car he calls "a beater with a heater," a 22-year old Toyota that he bought for $1,000 last year. It was all he could afford and he dreads the day that it breaks down.

Back when Mr. Voigt graduated from high school in 1977, jobs were plentiful in Rockford. But the city's trajectory took a sharp turn for the worse during the recession of the early 1980s.

Local companies closed, moved or were sold and the unemployment rate soared to 25 per cent - a localized version of the Great Depression, notes Robert Evans, an economist at Rockford University. The city recovered in the decades that followed, but remained reliant on manufacturing.

Mr. Voigt went to work in the warehouse of an automotive fuse manufacturer right out of school and stayed there as a forklift driver for 30 years, eventually earning $17 an hour. In 2008, the company shut the facility and shifted all of its production to Mexico and Asia. Back when I first met him in 2010, he was worried about being out of work, but hopeful an opportunity would emerge. Now he sounds despondent.

"I just feel I missed the train," says Mr. Voigt, 58. "I feel useless. I feel like I'm wasting my life, it just sucks. I'm not making enough money. I'm just a bump on a log until somebody puts the tree through the shredder."

For the past six years, Mr. Voigt has bounced around different jobs. Through a temp agency, he got a job at a clothing warehouse and at a company that made steel for tools, but they didn't last. He delivered pizza for a year.

He went for two interviews at Target, to no avail. His current job as a security guard pays $8.50 an hour.

Kathy Oakes, 53, had a similar experience. She lost her job at a nearby Chrysler plant when it dropped a shift during the recession. She later found a job at a hospital sterilizing tools after surgery, which allowed her to make payments on her house, but the pay was $5 less an hour than she had earned at the car plant.

When workers lose their jobs during downturns, it's often difficult or impossible for them to regain their old level of income.

"People don't get back to their prior wages," says Till von Wachter, an economist at the University of California, Los Angeles, who has researched displaced workers. And "a slower recovery will keep workers in worse jobs for the long run."

For people such as Mr. Voigt, the predominant feeling is one of alienation and despair. He doesn't plan to vote in the election. "I don't care who gets in office, since I don't think they're going to do anything for anybody," he says. "They just want to tax the hell out of you."

A desperate tweet

About four years ago, Larry Morrissey, the mayor of Rockford since 2005, was up in the middle of the night, feeling desperate.

The city was still struggling with the deep impact of the recession.

Increasingly, Mr. Morrissey felt that spurring entrepreneurship was the way for Rockford to control its own fate. On an impulse, Mr. Morrissey sent a tweet to Chad Dickerson, the chief executive officer of Etsy Inc., the online marketplace for handmade products. "Has Etsy begun any partnerships with high schools or job training?" Mr. Morrissey wrote.

To Mr. Morrissey's surprise, Mr. Dickerson responded. A year later, Etsy rolled out a four-week training program in "craft entrepreneurship" for residents of public housing in Rockford. Since then, the program has spread to 20 other U.S. cities.

These are the small victories in what continues to be a long road for Rockford and cities like it.

Ever since the recession hit, Mr. Morrissey has thrown everything he can against the wall to see what sticks. He has reached out on Twitter to people such as Mr. Dickerson. He has travelled to China numerous times in an effort to woo investors. He has tried - unsuccessfully - to move forward a high-speed rail link between the city and Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. But he's particularly passionate about giving people ways to start their own businesses. The idea that "mom and dad corporation is going to take care of us" is a relic of the past, he says.

He understands, in a personal way, the unease that voters in Rockford feel. Like many others in the city, he is underwater on his mortgage - in other words, he owes more than the home is worth. Housing prices here have begun to recover, but have not regained the losses they suffered in the real estate crash.

A 47-year-old father of four children, Mr. Morrissey says families such as his "may be making a decent living, but they're feeling like they're not getting ahead, that they can't save, that they're constantly in a state of struggle," he said. "It feels damn near impossible to pay money for college and pay all of our health care bills."

After nearly 12 years in office, Mr. Morrissey says he's ready to do something different. He feels financial pressure to take care of his family, which includes a young son with autism. He says he understands the frustrations of people who support Mr. Trump, even though he'd never vote for him. There's the frustration that no one on Wall Street was punished for the wrongdoing that led to the financial crisis of 2008. There's the frustration of feeling that banks and hospitals are no longer local institutions, but instead minor parts of huge firms run by faceless people in faraway places. And there's the frustration with elected officials in Washington, D.C., and Springfield, Ill., the state capital, where, for more than a year, legislators have failed to pass a budget.

"When Trump comes in and promises to fix it all, there's something appealing to that," Mr. Morrissey says. "It's a classic strongman principle that's extremely dangerous within a democracy."

'Rockford doesn't suck. You do'

The week I visited Rockford brought a piece of good economic news: Yanfeng Automotive Interiors, a Chinese car-component firm, announced it will build a manufacturing facility in nearby Belvidere, about 20 kilometres away. The plant is expected to open next year and to create 400 jobs. Still, deep problems remain in Rockford, including an elevated crime rate. But against the odds, the city is making strides.

Its downtown is being rejuvenated: a main thoroughfare east of the river is lined with stores and restaurants, including a woodfired pizza joint, a café, a hip barber shop and a local T-shirt maker (the message on one shirt reads: "Rockford doesn't suck.

You do."). There is a new sports complex on the river, which is expected to draw teams for tournaments. A 50-room hotel is expected to open next to the complex, the first establishment of its kind in the area for decades.

Meanwhile, a couple of months ago, Cathy McClure got a surprise. Her former forklift company had decided to re-enter the Illinois market and was looking for staff. Would she be interested, the person wanted to know, in coming back to work for them?

She was offered $15 an hour to return in an entry-level position.

But her experience during the recession had left her cautious.

"Am I really going to play this game all over again?" she thought, knowing that a new round of layoffs or offshoring could be ahead. "It scares you when you lose your job at the age that I lost mine at." Instead, Ms. McClure negotiated a small raise with her current employer to $14 an hour and stayed where she was.

She's not sure what she's going to do on election day. She says she'll probably decide as she walks into the voting booth.

Maybe she'll even write in a candidate for the first time, she muses. The two main choices are just too distasteful for her.

Associated Graphic

Rockford, Ill. is seen in in 2009. The Great Recession left scars on the city that continue to affect it today, even though job losses have been erased since 2008.



The weekend's big outdoor hockey games are a chance for the Prairie city to take a bow and rejoice that the NHL franchise's story no long reads like a sad country song, Marty Klinkenberg writes
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

WINNIPEG -- It seems as though the whole city of Winnipeg is celebrating this weekend. On Saturday, alumni from the Jets will play for fun and bragging rights against their old rivals from the Edmonton Oilers. On Sunday, teams from both cities will compete in the annual NHL Heritage Classic. The Blue Bombers' 33,000-seat football stadium is sold out for each, and tickets for events leading up to the games this week were gone long in advance.

It was a pilgrimage for the thousands who poured into the MTS Centre on a rainy, chill-to-the bone morning on Friday to watch middle-aged men skate during lighthearted practice sessions. Rekindling memories, fans wore vintage jackets, and Teemu Selanne and Dale Hawerchuk sweaters, and delighted as guys well past their prime tugged at their heartstrings from the ice.

They roared when Selanne took a hard fall, not a single strand of his perfect hair out of place. They cheered as Bob Essensa, now the Boston Bruins' goaltending coach, lunged to make a nifty glove save. They laughed when, at the end, fond heroes from the past got down on their somewhat ample bellies and did push-ups before rising and saluting them with their sticks one last time.

"All of the heritage here and all of the memories probably inspired us to go five minutes longer," said Hawerchuk, a Hall of Famer who scored 379 of his 518 regular-season goals with the Jets. "We did five push-ups and I tried to get them to do 10, but was overruled."

Hawerchuk is 53 and the coach of the OHL's Barrie Colts now, and was appointed captain of the Jets' old-timers. The NHL's coveted outdoor game is being staged in one of Canada's most hockey-rabid and grateful cities, a place that suffered the heartbreak of once losing its team only to get one back six years ago. The Jets have one of the league's most prized rookies in Patrik Laine, and the club's owners are spearheading a downtown redevelopment.

It bears resemblance to what is going on in a fellow NHL city to the west, and it is no coincidence that the Jets invited the Oilers to join them in Sunday's big showcase.

They were rivals first in the World Hockey Association, and then became bitter opponents beginning in 1979 in the NHL.

"I think back to the 1980s, and what a powerhouse they were the whole time," Hawerchuk said. "Life changes and I've been out of the game for a while, and when I look back it was a privilege to play against them.

"I think for everybody this is a once-in-a-lifetime event. It's a celebration of hockey in the Prairies, featuring two Prairie towns. How good is that?" .

Jets remained a source of pride

There is a signed photo on the wall in Mark Chipman's office in downtown Winnipeg, a large print of Bobby Orr in flight after scoring the famous overtime goal that won the 1970 Stanley Cup for the Bruins.

The Boston defenceman was Chipman's favourite player as a kid - "My childhood hero," he said - and Orr sent a copy of the picture to him after it was announced in May, 2011, that the Jets were returning to Winnipeg after an absence of 15 years.

"To my friend, Mark, congratulations on your big win," Orr wrote.

Chipman was 10 when the Bruins swept the Blues to win their first NHL championship in nearly three decades, and he was a gangly 12-year-old when the WHA was established in 1972 with the Jets as one of the league's founding members. He and David Thomson, whose family owns The Globe and Mail among other entities, are the biggest shareholders of privately held True North Sports and Entertainment, which now owns the Jets.

Chipman spent countless hours watching the Jets in his youth, and they remained a source of pride when he attended the University of North Dakota on a football scholarship and earned degrees in economics and law.

"It was a badge of honour then to say you were from Winnipeg," Chipman recalled while seated at a table with a window behind him that overlooks a $400-million development called True North Square, which will become a jewel in the downtown core. "It was a big deal to say that we were an NHL city."

In 1995, when it was announced that the Jets were being relocated to Phoenix, Chipman was a principal in a group called The Spirit of Manitoba, which failed in a last-ditch effort to save the team. After graduating university, he spent 10 years in Florida as a criminal prosecutor before returning home to join his family's business.

"I was very involved in the process to keep the original Jets in Winnipeg," he said. He is an affable Prairie boy and a beerleague hockey player and as such, without pretenses. "I had a front-row seat and can honestly say it wasn't our fault. The city was starting to regenerate, but the economics of the league were going completely out of control.

"Losing the team only served to stiffen our resolve."

Almost immediately after the Jets left, Chipman began working with partners to lure a minor-league team to Winnipeg and settled on the Minnesota Moose, a failing franchise in the International Hockey League.

"We figured our best chance of getting back in the game was keeping hockey alive, and we invested in the next-best league available," he said.

Within three years, Chipman and associates established True North Sports and Entertainment, and began making plans to build a downtown arena. Merger talks between the IHL and the American Hockey League brought Chipman into contact with Gary Bettman, with whom he became acquainted during those painful days when the Jets were on their last legs.

In 2002, Chipman and a friend drove 2,100 kilometres to take in hockey games at the Salt Lake City Olympics, and bumped into Bettman while walking on the concourse. Chipman used the opportunity to catch the NHL commissioner up on Winnipeg's arena plans, and when they parted company a few days later each promised to keep the other apprised of any developments.

"He extended a great deal of hospitality to me that week and didn't have to," Chipman said. "I was a minor-league guy."

The $130-million MTS Centre opened in November, 2004, and served as the home rink of the then-AHL Moose. In 2007, Chipman was invited to New York to make a presentation to the NHL board of governors, and over the next several years had discussions with NHL teams seeking greener pastures. They came within an eyelash of landing the Phoenix Coyotes in 2009, when the city of Glendale, Ariz., came up with emergency funding 10 minutes before the final deadline.

"We had chairs set up on the floor of the arena for the press conference announcing we had purchased the team," said Chipman, who is now the chairman of True North Sports and Entertainment and governor of the Jets. "We knew there was a chance that Glendale could come through, and they did. In retrospect, that was a blessing because it gave us another year to prepare for an NHL team."

By then, Bettman had indicated that Winnipeg would be rewarded, and on May 31, 2011, Chipman officially announced that True North had purchased the Atlanta Thrashers for $170million (U.S.), and wasmoving them to Manitoba.

For more than a year, Chipman had been negotiating with the NHL, and kept it a secret from all but a few of his closest friends.

"It didn't make any sense to get people here all revved up when it was just a possibility," he says. "Through the process, the three most important things I learned were that we had to have a building, we had to gain the NHL's trust, and we had to keep our head down and mouth shut."

The Thrashers-turned-Jets made their Winnipeg debut at the start of the 2011-12 season and were immediately embraced by the city's hockey-mad fans.

They reached the playoffs for the first time at the end of the 2014-15 season, but lost more games than they won last year.

They are 2-2 heading into Sunday's meeting against the Oilers, and are coming off a victory on Wednesday in which they trailed the Toronto Maple Leafs by four goals. Laine scored the first three goals of his career that night, and he is surrounded by a nucleus of good young players.

"We have had a plan since Day 1, and that was to build a team and we have done that with our six first-round draft picks," Chipman said. "We bought a team but we were able to buy it for a reason. Most of the draft picks and prospects had been traded away, so we had to create our own.

"It was great the year we made the playoffs, but we are trying to build a team that can be there every year. We know a slow and steady pace will get us in a position to win the race."

During the Jets' first season, Chipman asked Bettman if Winnipeg could play host to the Heritage Classic, which has become one of the NHL's marquee events since its inception on a frigid day in Edmonton in November, 2003.

Chipman recalls watching that first outdoor game on TV, and marvelling at the 57,000 fans who endured minus-30 C temperatures.

Upon landing this game, he immediately invited the Oilers to share it with them.

"We have an incredible history together," he said. "We are both Prairie cities and hard-working cities full of great hockey fans.

They became the obvious choice of who we would celebrate our heritage with. A long friendship between us has developed over the years."

There is joy in the air

This weekend is not a defining point in Winnipeg. It is a redefining point, actually. It's a time for the city to celebrate the Jets and to show hockey fans everywhere what has been achieved.

The past is not forgotten, but the franchise's story no longer reads like a sad country song.

There is joy in the air, and a bright future. Construction cranes tower over the new downtown development, which sits on a piece of land surrounded by the Delta Hotel, the RBC Convention Centre, the Royal Winnipeg Ballet and the Jets' home rink.

Earlier this week, Bobby Hull, Ulf Nilsson and Anders Hedberg were inducted into a newly established Jets Hall of Fame. On Friday night, a sellout crowd filled the convention centre for a gala dinner where as part of the program Ron MacLean interviewed stars from past teams, Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier and Hawerchuck included.

Earlier in the day, MacLean recalled the scene at the Forks, a green space in downtown Winnipeg at the confluence of the Red and Assiniboine Rivers where 35,000 fans showed up for a save-the-Jets rally in 1995.

He remembered their gutwrenching last game in 1996, a playoff loss to the Detroit Red Wings, and talked about Chipman and his resolve.

"He is a guy who wanted to keep the Jets here all along and worked at it," MacLean said.

"Trying to resurrect them from nothing would have nearly been impossible."

And then, "I honestly think your love for the game supersedes the NHL."

Fans filled the arena and cheered the Jets of old on Friday morning.

In the dressing room afterward, Hawerchuk sat in front of his stall soaking it all in. At one point during the practice, he tried to draw up a play on a chalkboard beside the ice.

"The same old guys screwed it up," he said, laughing. "Some things never change."

He admitted that his body ached from using muscles he had not used in years.

"I am on the ice as a coach, but I can feel it in my legs and lungs," he said. "As a coach, I am not pushing hard out there every time."

Across the room, Brian Mullen was undressing at his locker. He had a scar on his sternum from open-heart surgery, and a cold can of Kokanee waiting in his stall.

"When the team left here, it was like a punch in the gut," said Mullen, 54, who joined the Jets in 1980 as a seventh-round draft pick and played for them in five of his 11 NHL seasons. "I knew what the Jets meant to people here and it was hard to take.

"This is a special weekend here, just a huge event.

"I didn't really realize what a big deal it was until I got in last night. Somebody in the lobby asked for my autograph. I was surprised anyone knew me."

Chipman, meanwhile, is looking forward to taking these next two days in.

"I struggle to articulate what it all means to me," he said. "I am blessed beyond my understanding to be this close to the game I love, and to bring this piece of history together for a few days.

"It is our community, and the city of Winnipeg that will be on display at centre ice on Sunday rather than our team and Edmonton. This is a chance for our community and organization to say we are really back."


1 First-ever NHL outdoor regularseason game for the Winnipeg Jets. They become the 22nd team to participate in such a game.

2 Second-ever NHL outdoor regular-season game played by the Edmonton Oilers, who hosted the first such game, the 2003 NHL Heritage Classic at Commonwealth Stadium in Edmonton.

2.5 Length, in kilometres, of hot dogs and smokies that is expected to be consumed by fans at Investors Group Field during the Heritage Classic Alumni Game and the NHL Heritage Classic.

4 The 2016 Classic is the fourth game in the Heritage series, following the inaugural contest in 2003, 2011 (Montreal at Calgary) and 2014 (Ottawa at Vancouver).

6 The original Winnipeg Jets and Edmonton Oilers faced off in the Stanley Cup Playoffs six times between 1983 and 1990, with the Oilers winning every series.

9 Participants of the Alumni Game on Oct. 22 who are members of the Hockey Hall of Fame, including Jets alumni captain Dale Hawerchuk and coach Serge Savard; and Oilers alumni captain Wayne Gretzky and coach Glen Sather.

19 The Heritage Classic will be the 19th regular-season NHL game played outdoors and the first of a slate of four outdoor games played during the 2016-17 NHL regular season (Jan. 1, Detroit at Toronto; Jan. 2, Chicago at St. Louis; Feb. 25, Philadelphia at Pittsburgh).

1,021,055 Total attendance for the NHL's 18 regular-season outdoor games, an average of 56,725 a game.

Source: NHL

Associated Graphic

Workers put the finishing touches to the NHL's Heritage Classic outdoor rink in Winnipeg at Investors Group Field, which is home to the CFL's Blue Bombers.


When the NHL returned to Winnpeg in 2011, the Jets owners patiently built the team the through the draft, with players such as Patrik Laine, who was the second overall pick in this past summer's draft.


Panicked moderates stampeding for the exits. Right-wing populists vowing all-out civil war. A leader incensed at treason in the ranks. Marcus Gee analyzes a remarkable week for the party of Lincoln, Eisenhower and Reagan
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F1

Joe Heck is in a tight race to win a seat in the U.S. Senate. The Republican Congressman from Nevada, a doctor who served with U.S. forces in Iraq, is up against Democrat Catherine Cortez Masto, a former state attorney general who would be the first Latina senator, if elected on Nov. 8. She is the preferred successor of Senate Minority Leader Harry Reid, aged 76, who is retiring.

If this were a normal year, Rep. Heck would be rooting for the Republican nominee for president and hoping the nominee would return the favour. Instead, he found himself standing at a rally outside Las Vegas last Saturday to make an extraordinary announcement.

"I can no longer look past the pattern of behaviour and comments that have been made by Donald Trump. Therefore, I cannot in good conscience continue to support Donald Trump, nor can I vote for Hillary Clinton," Rep Heck said. "My wife, my daughters, my mom, my sister and all women deserve better. All Americans deserve better."

Rep. Heck was part of a panicked dash by Republican candidates to abandon Mr. Trump, who shows every sign of going down in flames in the contest against the Democratic standard bearer, Ms. Clinton. A survey by USA Today found that by mid-week 26 per cent of Republican governors and members of Congress were declining to endorse Mr. Trump. Nothing quite like this has happened before to the Republicans or, for that matter, the Democrats. As USA Today put it, "There is no precedent in modern American political history for elected officials of either party to refuse en masse to support their presidential nominee."

Political parties prize unity above all. Breaking apart is their worst nightmare. Split, they become easy prey for their rivals. The picture of one of the world's most venerable political formations - the party of Lincoln, Eisenhower and Reagan - appearing to fracture just weeks before a critical election made for a startling sight. With an out-of-control leader in the saddle, the party that survived wars, depression and the Watergate scandal was galloping full tilt toward a cliff, with uncertain consequences for American democracy.

All of this means danger for the party, both on Nov. 8 and after. No matter how the election turns out, Republicans will emerge suffering from a profound identity crisis.

As newspaper headlines blared "civil war" this week, the Republicans' top brass tacked and weaved, trying to make it appear as if they were still members of a coherent political movement. Down the ballot, candidates who normally would have relied on the party's greybeards to guide them scrambled to save themselves. Some un-endorsed Mr. Trump. Some merely distanced themselves. Some - still nearly threequarters - stood with him.

Facing treason in the ranks, Mr.Trump snarled and snapped at the lesser creatures who dared to doubt him. When several women came forward in the press with accounts of unwelcome kissing and touching by Mr. Trump, he called it character assassination.

It was another just-stand-backand-gape sort of week in the weirdest election campaign of recent American history. No one had a real fix on where it would lead. Could Mr. Trump somehow prevail over Ms. Clinton without his party behind him? (Probably no.) Could the Republicans survive what almost looked like the deliberate self-immolation of their candidate for president?

(Probably yes.) Would Mr. Trump, like Samson shorn, try to bring the roof of the temple down on the heads of his disloyal followers? (It certainly looked that way.)

Much depends on the future of the GOP. One of the strengths of American democracy is the stability of its two-party system, which allows for peaceful alternation between centre-left and centre-right. Like the British Conservative party, the Republican Party has always been a broad church, encompassing everyone from countryclub conservatives to Biblethumping evangelicals, from free-market true believers to the American equivalent of red Tories. That has begun to change with the rise first of the Republican hard right and then of the populist, xenophobic Trump movement. Even if he loses next month - and one poll this week put him a disastrous nine percentage points back of Ms. Clinton - it is not clear whether that angry movement would burn itself out in the ashes of his defeat or take more lasting hold of the party.

Republicans have been wondering about their future ever since Mr. Trump, the real-estate mogul and reality-TV star, surprised the party leadership by taking an early lead in the Republican primary votes. But their divisions spilled into the open in spectacular fashion after his lewd comments about women, caught on a hot mike in 2005, emerged.

A host of leading Republicans deplored the remarks. When Congressional leader Paul Ryan said he would no longer campaign for the party's nominee, it was game on. Declaring that his shackles had been removed at last (when were they ever on?), Mr. Trump called the House Speaker "weak and ineffective" and seemed to suggest that part leaders were conspiring to thwart his campaign. As he put it, "There's a whole sinister deal going on."

The clash sent confused, divided Republicans running in every direction. Some lashed out at their fellows for knifing the party's candidate on the brink of the election. Former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee condemned the "bed-wetting, handwringing Republicans" who went back on their pledge to support Mr. Trump. Former New York mayor Rudolph Giuliani, the self-professed billionaire's most dogged defender, shrugged off his notorious remarks about women. "Men at times talk like that," he said on CNN.

Others, like Senator John McCain of Arizona, who had been holding their noses and supporting Mr. Trump, finally dropped him. "Donald Trump's behaviour this week, concluding with the disclosure of his demeaning comments about women and his boasts about sexual assaults, make it impossible to continue to offer even conditional support for his candidacy," said Sen. McCain. (Mr. Trump shot back by calling him "foul-mouthed.") Still others continued to hold their noses. Texas Senator Ted Cruz, who drew boos at the Republican convention when he failed to endorse Mr. Trump in his speech, said he supports "the Republican nominee" - even uttering his name was hard for Mr. Cruz - despite the inappropriate remarks caught on tape, "because I think Hillary Clinton is an absolute disaster."

The disarray in the party was so great that four members of Congress who had called for Mr. Trump to step aside changed their tune this week and said they would support him after all. In effect, they un-unendorsed him. Leading U.S. newspapers said it was a sign that a backlash from Trump supporters was causing a reverse exodus among Republican candidates.

Candidates for Congress face a damned-if-they-do, damned-ifthey-don't choice. If they renounce Mr. Trump, they risk angering his many supporters. Although Mr. Trump may be faltering in the polls, his followers still make up the bulk of the party base that turns out to elect, or defeat, candidates. In a Wall Street Journal-NBC News poll, 67 per cent of Republicans said members of Congress should keep backing the nominee. Only 14 per cent said they should tell him to pack it in.

If, on the other hand, Republican candidates keep backing him, they may lose moderate Republican voters, not to mention women, independent voters or Democrats tempted to switch sides.

That was the dilemma facing Rep. Heck of Nevada. The threeterm Congressman had been doing well, leading his Democratic rival in the polls even though she was the chosen heir to a veteran senator and a Latino in a state that is 28-per-cent Hispanic. Then came the Trump revelations. At first, he just called the nominee's 2005 remarks "disgraceful," stopping short of renouncing him altogether. He had, after all, been supporting Mr. Trump, even to the point of insisting that the U.S. nuclear arsenal could be entrusted to him.

But under attack from Ms. Cortez Masto for not taking a firmer stand, he ended his support. It was a risky move. He got scattered boos from the crowd when he made his statement last Saturday. Pro-Trump Republicans were soon jumping all over him, urging fellow members not to vote for candidates who abandon the party nominee. "By not endorsing Trump, he is supporting Hillary," said Diana Orrock, a Republican official from Nevada.

The red-on-red, intra-party skirmishing could easily escalate, and the defections from Mr. Trump accelerate, particularly if he continues to put up shaky poll numbers as election day nears. Republicans fear they could lose the Senate to the Democrats if Ms. Clinton wins big, and even their solid majority in the House of Representatives could be vulnerable, although that looks to be more of a long shot.

Many Republicans have been worried about Mr. Trump from the start, says John Hudak, a politics expert at the Brookings Institution, a Washington think tank. Still, as long as his antics didn't threaten to hurt members of Congress in their election struggles, he says, "they were willing to just tolerate him. But now that his problems are becoming contagious within the party, the party is reacting."

The way Mr. Trump has been responding to the revolt - lashing out at his Republican critics and making no move to unify the party - only pours gas on the flames. "Disloyal R's are far more difficult than Crooked Hillary," he said Tuesday on Twitter. "They come at you from all sides. They don't know how to win - I will teach them!"

"Trump has reached a point where it appears he is willing to take everyone down with him if he is going to go down, too," says Mr. Hudak. "Donald Trump has about a week. If he cannot turn things around by and during the next debate, the election is over. The more Republicans recognize the election is over, the more they are going to run away from Donald Trump, and the more they run away from Donald Trump, the angrier and more outrageous he will get, which will only hurt the party further, so it's going to create this vicious cycle for Republicans."

If that happens, and the party fails to win the White House and also suffers losses in Congress, it will have only itself to blame. For years, right-wing politicians, party operatives and talk-show ranters seeded the clouds for Mr. Trump with their conspiracy theories (Barack Obama is a secret Muslim) and prejudices (immigrants cause crime and steal American jobs).

Now the Donald has come home to roost. Most Republican leaders stood meekly by as he took the party by storm.

Most still say publicly that they support him for president.

Even Mr. Ryan did not actually pull his endorsement; he just said he would stop going to bat for Mr. Trump and switch to focusing on Congressional races.

Washington Post columnist Robert Kagan wrote that the Republican Party "has failed the greatest test a political leader or party can face, and failed spectacularly. It has abandoned its principles out of a combination of cowardice and opportunism.

It has worked to place in the White House the most dangerous threat to U.S. democracy since the Civil War. And perhaps just as revealing, it has in the process engineered its own suicide."

Another conservative Post columnist, George Will, said that the best the Republicans can hope for is that "Trump is the GOP's chemotherapy, a nauseating but, if carried through to completion, perhaps a curative experience." He said that they might even come to realize that "perhaps it is imprudent to nominate a venomous charlatan."

Republican moderates, too, say the party had it coming. "This monster Trump is one that the Republican Party helped create," said Richard Hanna, a congressman from New York State who is not running this time, in part because of his party's turn to the hard right. His remarks about women were "vile, as is Trump," he said on the phone from his upstate district, but "he is a natural-born predator.

He has no respect for anyone's wishes but his own." Rep. Hanna is one of a number of Republican politicians and officials who have said they are voting for Ms. Clinton.

Most aren't going that far. But, quietly, a lot of them are preparing for a Clinton win. Even the editorial page of the Wall Street Journal, a foe of the Clintons for two decades, was girding for the worst. "At some point Republicans running for the House and Senate may have to mobilize voters with an argument that they need them as a check on Hillary Clinton ... " it claimed in an editorial on Tuesday. "The next week will decide whether they need to pull that emergency lever." The New York Times reported that several Republican candidates for the Senate are already producing ads presenting themselves as a counterweight to a Clinton White House.

Mr. Trump himself sometimes seems to be laying the ground for a defeat, no easy task for a boastful candidate who poses as one of nature's winners. He has been saying for months that the political system is "rigged." Now he is warning that the election could be "stolen," telling supporters in recent days to watch out for those trying to snatch away his victory.

His critics said he was just working up ways to explain his coming loss. The Times called him "a candidate seething with excuses."

Obituaries for the party are premature. If it got through the forced resignation of Richard Nixon in 1974, it can get through the implosion of Donald Trump in 2016. It recovered, too, from the massive defeat in 1964 of Barry Goldwater, who also challenged party orthodoxies and try to pull it to the right.

Great institutions like the GOP are expert at survival. Many powerful people depend on it for their vehicle to success. They are unlikely to let it die. That may explain why no breakaway group has emerged from party ranks. No viable third party has emerged to challenge the existing two, either.

Regardless, the party's divisions seem likely to haunt it for years to come. Mr. Trump has whipped up powerful resentments. Others watched his remarkable rise and absorbed the lesson that populism and nativism can sell. The wing of the party that championed free trade, small government and robust engagement with the world - Republican verities for decades - has been pummelled.

The centrist Republicanism that defended individual rights and cared about the disadvantaged has become a minority creed. "I don't recognize the party I joined," says Rep. Hanna, who supports LGBT rights and reproductive rights for women.

So, what is a Republican in the 21st century? "The Republican Party is fighting for a freer and stronger America where everyone has the opportunity to achieve the American Dream," according to its website.

Republicans will be arguing about what on earth that means long after Donald Trump stops shouting from the campaign stage.

Marcus Gee is a Globe and Mail columnist and feature writer.

Associated Graphic

Above: Donald Trump making a dramatic entrance on the opening night of the Republican National Convention in July.



Despite its scale and dazzling beauty, there's a harsh truth to digest: Australia's Great Barrier Reef could be extinct by 2050. The Lizard Island Research Station offers a backstage look at how climate change is killing one of the natural wonders of the world
Special to The Globe and Mail
Tuesday, October 18, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

I didn't expect the vomiting.

The ferry churns in the choppy sea. With each rising swell, the sound of retching echoes across the swaying ship, packed with queasy tourists. A beefy man covered in tattoos staggers toward the outdoor vestibule, shouldered by a kindly crew member.

"You'll be okay, mate," he says, patting Beefcakes on the back.

"Let's get you some air."

Sweaty and seasick, I grab my barf bag and join the puking party, thinking one thing: There's gotta be a better way to see the Great Barrier Reef.

Turns out, there are 99 ways to see the world's largest living structure, and a tourist boat isn't the only one. It's why this woozy writer ventures 240 kilometres north of Cairns to Australia's Lizard Island, a far-flung protected park located right on the Great Barrier Reef. Because here on this idyllic isle, there's no commute to see colourful coral and marine life - just snorkel or dive from any of the 24 whitesand beaches.

Whether you're a tourist or a scientist, Lizard Island is one of the best places on Earth for reefspotting. And considering that many scientists believe that the Great Barrier Reef is critically endangered, now is the time to see this natural wonder just in case it vanishes forever.

I get my first glimpse of the magnificent reef from the air. For an hour, the tiny plane chartered to Lizard Island soars over waters swirling with 50 shades of turquoise, cerulean and sapphire blue.

"The reef's giving you a million-dollar view today," the pilot says into his mic.

It's an incredible aerial spectacle of the Great Barrier Reef, which spans 2,300 kilometres down the east coast of Australia.

This UNESCO World Heritage site is the only living thing on Earth visible from outer space, and is home to 3,000 coral reefs, 600 continental islands, 1,625 species of fish and countless other marine life.

Despite its scale and dazzling beauty, there is also a harsh truth to digest: The Great Barrier Reef is damaged and dying, but not from natural causes. Some (like The Guardian newspaper) are even calling this a "murder."

Human influences have resulted in a 50-per-cent decline in coral cover from 1985 to 2012, and despite recent conservation efforts, some scientists are predicting the Great Barrier Reef's extinction by the year 2050.

Of course, this reality flies under the radar: Most visitors flock to Lizard Island Resort for a luxurious eco-retreat rather than to witness a possible slow death of one of the natural wonders of the world.

I'm here for the reef, not relaxation. Soon, a tropical island appears in the distance, fringed with white sand and lush hills, and as the plane touches down, conjures images of King Kong's Skull Island. But it's far less ominous: If you've ever fantasized about being castaway on a dreamy, deserted island, this is your chance. Here in Lizard Island National Park, there are no shops, exactly one luxury resort and lots of lizards.

"Captain Cook named the isle," the pilot explains, helping me out of the plane. "His ship got stuck in the reef in 1770. Climbing to the hilltop to chart out a course, he kept seeing giant goannas everywhere."

Although the beach beckons, on my first day, I trek down the bumpy road to visit the Lizard Island Research Station. For 27 years, this leading institute for coral-reef research has attracted scientists from all over the world, and was recently featured on the TV series Great Barrier Reef, narrated by David Attenborough.

"The station was set up here because of its proximity to different parts of the reef," says Suze Garrett, our naturalist guide. "It's only an hour by boat to the outer reef, which keeps costs down, especially for new researchers. A lot of the science has to do with climate change."

Touring the facility, we get a backstage look at how climate change is endangering the Great Barrier Reef. Using clamps, Garrett reaches into an aquarium and warily pulls out a spiky starfish, currently considered an aquatic A-bomb of sorts.

"These crown-of-thorns can strip away a huge amount of reef," she says. "It can produce approximately two million eggs a month. Researchers have developed a single-shot lethal injection to kill off the crown-of-thorns."

With global warming, this coraleating culprit has morphed into a breeding machine and destroyed the reef in "plague proportions."

They feast on coral, sucking the tissue of all nutrients and colour and leaving a stark, white skeleton - all within one to three hours.

Since the 1980s, the Great Barrier Reef has lost half its coral, with the bulk of damage caused by this creature. The outbreak is so severe that the Australian government is funding dive teams to manually inject the starfish one by one. Scientists are doing what they can: The singleshot injection has limited success for the short term, but it doesn't address the devastation from cyclones or coral bleaching.

"It looks like someone ripped [the coral] off, dumped it into a bucket of bleach and put it back," says Garrett, holding up a bonewhite piece of coral.

When the ocean gets too warm for too long, the coral gets stressed and "bleaches" - spewing colourful algae living inside them and leaving behind a stark white skeleton. Without this source of energy, the coral starves, dies and eventually rots. Surveys have revealed that 93 per cent of the almost 3,000 individual reefs have been affected by bleaching, and an average of 35 per cent of coral is now dead or dying in the northern and central sections.

"We don't even know what we're losing," Garrett says.

"Because we haven't even discovered particular species. A lot of scientists believe that we've gone past the tipping point. So even if we stop what we're doing right now, it might be too late."

There's more than just a tourist attraction at stake. As I learn, the Great Barrier Reef contributes an estimated $5.2-billion annually to the Australian economy, and acts as the world's medicine cabinet, providing possible treatments for everything from cancer to heart disease. Suze plunges her hand into an aquarium and pulls out an oval-shaped coral. Cupped in her palm, the creature begins to drip a stringy goo.

"See that mucus?" she says. "It naturally protects against the UV rays. Right now, scientists are close to synthesizing it into a sunscreen pill that could significantly reduce skin cancers."

Absorbing all this info, I'm eager to explore the reef before it's gone forever. Back on the beach, I don a mask and flippers, and follow one of Lizard Island Resort's professional divers into the sea. Within minutes, I'm drifting over a sunken wonderland of colourful coral, clown fish and giant clams.

And then I see him. Lurking on the sandy floor, there's a pancakeshaped critter with a menacing stinger.

"It's a marble ray!" the guide says when we surface. "He won't hurt us, but let's give him some space."

What else lurks in these waters?

While marble rays aren't on my wish list, I'm jonesing to swim with sea turtles.

"Try snorkelling near the research centre," my guide says.

"We call it Turtle Highway. They love it there."

On my third and final day, a boat drops me on a deserted beach with a lonely stretch of powdery white sand. Here, it's desolate and quiet, with only the sound of waves lapping the shore.

For an hour, I snorkel around reefs and grassy areas, admiring the beaming coral and lively schools of fish until my legs ache.

Where are the turtles?

Suddenly, I see something bobbing in the water, and seconds later, I'm swimming with a sea turtle, side by side. It feels magical to be floating with this gentle creature, so close that I can almost touch his wrinkled face and checkered shell.

I get one last wildlife encounter before leaving paradise. Climbing aboard the boat, I turn around and wistfully gaze out onto the sea, looking for my sea turtle.

Instead, there's a black-tipped fin circling in my snorkelling spot.

"It's just a reef shark," the boat's captain says. "They're mostly harmless. Although he could bite off your leg."

Because that's how nature rolls in Australia - it's a fine line between dazzling and deadly. I'm a little rattled by the Jaws sighting, but not enough to want to depart from this dreamy island, which I hope will survive for future generations to enjoy.

"No one ever wants to leave Lizard Island," says the captain, revving up the boat's engine. "It's always one more day."

The writer travelled as a guest of Tourism Australia. The tourism board did not review or approve this article.


The best time to visit the Great Barrier Reef is from April to November, when rainfall is rarer, bringing clearer visibility and better snorkelling and diving conditions.

As the most northern resort on the Great Barrier Reef, the best time to visit Lizard Island is July to September. This is well outside of the wet season (which can bring cyclones), before the hotter summer months, and a season described by locals as "heavenly."

Whether you're swimming or snorkelling, wear a "stinger suit" - a full-body Lycra outfit that makes you feel like a Teletubby. But it'll protect you from both the sun and excruciating (and potentially deadly) jellyfish stings, especially during the higher-risk period from October to May. Many resorts and outfitters provide stinger suits for guests, including the Lizard Island Resort.


A member of the Star Alliance, Air New Zealand connects to most major Canadian cities and features overnight flights from Vancouver to Auckland, with a connecting flight to Cairns. Bonus: Break up the trip and do a free stopover in New Zealand or even the tropical Cook Islands.

Since the Great Barrier Reef is located miles offshore, some form of travel is usually required. Most day trips by ferry depart from coastal cities such as Hamilton Island, Cairns or Port Douglas, and take roughly two hours or more each way. Bring seasickness pills! If this option doesn't float your boat (no pun intended), there are many enchanting islands to use as a jumping point for reef exploration: from Hayman Island, a private isle marooned in the reef, to Lady Elliot Island, a tiny isle ringed by stunning corals and home to manta rays and green turtles. Of course, there's always the magical Lizard Island.


The Lizard Island Resort is situated right on the Great Barrier Reef, fringed with coral reefs and 24 powdery white beaches to explore. Accessible only by a one-hour chartered flight from Cairns, this secluded all-inclusive resort is the sole lodging on a protected national park and offers fivestar accommodation in 40 stylish rooms and suites.

There is also an excellent day spa, as well as tennis courts, swimming pool, fitness centre and beach club that arranges reef activities and fishing excursions. If you ask nicely, staff will arrange a gourmet picnic hamper for you to enjoy on a desolate beach.

Those seeking the pinnacle of luxury should stay at the resort's new villa - a twobedroom suite with a butler's kitchen, private eight-metre plunge pool, and expansive deck perched high above the Coral Sea.

While guest pampering is paramount, remember that the Lizard Island Resort is on a far-flung tropical island and some mainland offerings (such as WiFi) may be limited. Rates from $1,800 per night, twin share.


By "Reef Sleep": Departing from Hamilton Island, you can sleep on a floating pontoon at the Great Barrier Reef with Cruise Whitsundays. As the sun sets, watch for sea turtles and other creatures, while enjoying a gourmet barbecue on the deck. Then lie back on your swag bag, and stargaze late into the evening. Wake at dawn for one last snorkel or scuba before heading back. Rates from $440 per person.

By seaplane or helicopter over the Heart Reef: There's only one way to see this stunning naturally heartshaped coral: from the air.

Take a seaplane or helicopter tour from Hamilton Island, and get a bird's-eye view of this famous natural wonder.

The Heart Reef is a popular site for proposals and declarations of love. The pilot will help to make the flight special if you plan on making a romantic gesture. Rates from $600 per person.

By sea walking: From Green Island, secure your noggin with a space helmet, and then walk underwater with Seawalker. On a marked trail at the bottom of the reef, helmet divers come face to face with coral and fish life.

This is easier than scuba diving, because it requires only a 10-minute briefing versus a long diving course. Rates from $172 per person.

From a glass-bottomed boat or kayak: If you don't like crowded boats or getting wet, this is a fantastic option from Lizard Island. Led by a marine expert, a flat glass-bottom boat whisks over shallow reefs, as corals, turtles, giant clams and other critters appear underneath. The boat is smaller, accommodating up to 18 passengers, and allows for a more intimate reef experience. Or for the ultimate solitude, hop in one of Lizard Island Resort's glass-bottomed kayaks, and gently glide over the reef from the shoreline.

By cruise ship: From Cairns, set out the seas with Coral Expeditions, a boutique cruise line that accommodates up to 44 people on multiday excursions to the most colourful, pristine and rarely visited sections of the Great Barrier Reef. Explore the underwater world at your leisure on a glass-bottomed boat or snorkelling tour, or just laze on deserted tropical beaches or take a guided rain forest walk during stopovers.

Some trips include a morning at Lizard Island. But the best part? There's a resident marine biologist on board as your private guide, giving you the inside scoop on the reef.

Prices start from $1,596 per person, twin share, with no single supplement fee.

Associated Graphic

Top: Snorkelers swim above the Great Barrier Reef, near Lizard Island Resort, Australia. Middle: An aerial view shows a luxury lodge. Bottom: Visitors paddle through the shallow, teal waters.


A diver observes some fish in the Great Barrier Reef near Lizard Island Resort, Australia.


Joanna Slater and Affan Chowdhry take a close look at how Donald Trump's bellicose talk is riling up his core, undermining confidence in the electoral process - and flirting with all kinds of danger
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F3

LAS VEGAS -- Only 17 days remain until the U.S. presidential election, and Robert Kuniegel believes Donald Trump is poised to win a landslide victory. Only one thing stands in Mr. Trump's way, he says - rampant voter fraud.

So, on Nov. 8, Mr. Kuniegel will travel from his home near Scranton, Pa., to the heart of Philadelphia to conduct his own independent poll monitoring. He's recruiting a group of like-minded Trump supporters to join him. They don't plan to confront anyone, he says, but will photograph the alleged abuses they've read about on right-wing websites, like people being bused from one polling place to another.

Mr. Kuniegel has long worried about the influence of powerful elites and corporations in American life. But it's only during this campaign that he began to pay attention to conspiracy theorists like Alex Jones, who believes the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, were an inside job.

"The country's basically been overthrown by internationalists," says Mr. Kuniegel, a newly retired corrections officer.

"They would never put up somebody like Hillary Clinton, who's so openly corrupt, if they didn't feel they could do some shenanigans and steal the election."

In a stunning turn to a campaign that has broken with nearly every norm of American politics, Mr. Trump has repeatedly declared - in rallies, on Twitter and on national TV - that the election system is somehow rigged. The last-ditch manoeuvre is part of a long pattern of attempts by Mr. Trump to divide Americans, and could have lasting consequences.

At Wednesday night's debate in Las Vegas, he made a startling assertion in response to a question about whether he would abide by a cherished principle of American elections - that, at the end of a presidential campaign, the loser respects the result and concedes to the winner. Unlike any nominee in modern memory, Mr. Trump refused to uphold that tradition. "I will tell you at the time," he said. "I will keep you in suspense."

On Thursday, he turned his debate statement into a punchline. "I will totally accept the results of this great and historic presidential election - if I win," he told a cheering crowd in Ohio. He then pledged to honour "a clear election result," while reserving his right to challenge anything "questionable."

By making claims that the election system is beset by fraud, without any evidence, Mr. Trump has taken what was once the feverish fringe of American political discourse and placed it into the national spotlight. The question that remains for the country - and for Ms. Clinton, who is likely to become the next president - is whether this is a fever that will break on Nov. 8 or smoulder in the U.S. body politic and within the Republican Party for years to come.

Mr. Trump's rhetoric has raised fears that his supporters could engage in voter intimidation on election day in the name of uncovering ostensible fraud. And his unwillingness to declare that he will abide by the outcome of the election has introduced a destabilizing element into the most vulnerable period of the U.S. political calendar: the transition from one president to the next.

Mr. Trump's ultimate intentions remain murky. By keeping Americans in suspense about them, is he simply orchestrating a cliffhanger to keep people watching until the end of his highly rated political melodrama? Or does he seriously mean to contest the electoral results? If he does dispute the outcome, some believe, his goal is not to lead a new political movement but rather to start a new business: a right-wing television venture catering to his fervent supporters.

Whatever his goals, the Republican Party will have the unenviable task of picking up the pieces. This year's presidential campaign has revealed a party paralyzed by cleavages between its elite and its grassroots, and unable to neutralize the threat posed by a candidate like Mr. Trump. The reckoning ahead for the party promises to be a brutal one.

The realm of the preposterous For the people who deal with the nuts and bolts of U.S. elections, Mr. Trump's contention that the election result will be rigged against him belongs to the realm of the preposterous.

Indeed, Republican officials in charge of the voting process in Ohio, Georgia, Indiana and elsewhere have all publicly stated their confidence in the final counts.

Mark Braden served as counsel to the Republican National Committee for a decade and has supervised election recounts across the country. "Rigging the election system on a national basis is really impossible," he says. That's because national votes are organized by the states, and counted in a decentralized way at the precinct level. Plus, members of the two parties keep watch on each other both at polling stations and on county election boards.

There are also provisions for automatic recounts if the margin separating two candidates is slim.

Mr. Braden says it is unprecedented for a presidential candidate to question the integrity of the system prior to the vote, as Mr. Trump has done repeatedly.

"What happens if you win by 100 votes?" he asks. "Do you want to have been on record that the system is buggered?" While he's confident in the overall election process, that doesn't rule out occasional irregularities, Mr. Braden adds, especially in local elections.

Absentee ballots sent by mail have proved vulnerable to manipulation and, on occasion, poll workers have colluded to try to influence results. But research has shown that the number of such cases is minute: A study by Justin Levitt at Loyola Law School in Los Angeles found only 31 cases of voter fraud out of more than a billion ballots cast in the United States between 2000 and 2014.

Rick Hasen, a law professor at the University of California, Irvine, says that Mr. Trump's claims that the election is rigged undercuts Americans' confidence in the electoral process and could encourage rogue Trump supporters to threaten voters at polling places - or worse. Prof. Hasen pointed to a photo shared on Twitter in August by an avid Trump supporter in Florida: a pickup truck with a cage in the back and a caption saying he would watch for "shenanigans" at the polls and "haul" people away.

Mr. Trump's talk about elections being rigged sounds right to his core supporters. Part of their attraction to him is his apparent willingness to take on what he describes as a rotten system. Asked if the election is rigged, Blake Wassmann, a 20year old Trump supporter in Las Vegas, smiles and says, "It might be, because I feel that government is corrupt on the inside." He adds that he has no trust in either the media or the pre-election polls.

Jeffrey Voda, 47, another Trump voter in Las Vegas, expressed similar distrust while showing support for his candidate at Wednesday's debate at the University of Nevada.

"I just think the establishment, together with the Democrats, always seem to have some last-minute surprise - that's how they control people," he says. A fellow Trump supporter nearby is wearing a sign that reads, in large capital letters, "Rigged Biggly" - combining Mr.

Trump's assessment of the electoral system with an adverb the candidate helped coin.

Conciliatory or disruptive?

What will Mr. Trump say if he loses? Perhaps in the end, he will congratulate Ms. Clinton and move on to his next realestate venture. Or perhaps he will claim the election was stolen, undermining Ms. Clinton's legitimacy and setting off an unusually tense transition from one president to the next.

The peaceful passing of the torch is the pride of the American political system. Most historians agree that the country has maintained a track record of success in that department for well over a century.

The last hostile transition came in 1876. Republican Rutherford B. Hayes eventually became president after a hotly contested result amid widespread allegations of voter fraud. There was talk of two separate inaugurations for Mr. Hayes and his opponent, Samuel Tilden, says Edward Foley, an election-law expert at Ohio State University and the author of Ballot Battles. Some Democrats at the time dubbed president Hayes "His Fraudulency."

"In the U.S., we definitely don't have perfect institutions and we don't have perfect virtue among politicians. We have been fortunate for a century or so to have an adequate supply of both," Prof. Foley says.

"I would like to think that no one individual can destroy the system as a whole."

The last difficult presidential transition occurred in 2000, when George W. Bush lost the popular vote, but prevailed in the Electoral College, thanks to a razor-thin victory in the state of Florida. The month-long legal battle that followed centred on whether a recount could proceed in that state. Ultimately, the U.S. Supreme Court quashed the recount and former vice-president Al Gore conceded, saying it was time for the country to come together.

Mr. Trump has not shown a great capacity for similar graciousness. And, between social media and cable news channels, he could find platforms to continue his fight against an allegedly rigged system long after losing on voting day, if he chooses. In one scenario, he could attempt to form a thirdparty to rival the GOP.

But McGill University historian Gil Troy, author of The Age of Clinton: America in the 1990s, is skeptical about that prospect.

Building a third party requires discipline, infrastructure and an ability to forge the kind of alliances "that Donald Trump has shown a complete disinterest in building," he says.

A more likely role for Mr. Trump, should he lose, is that of disruptor, travelling across the country to speak at rallies, and perhaps even using a new television platform to undermine the Clinton presidency, and reap profits in the process.

Jared Kushner, Mr. Trump's son-in-law, recently floated the idea of a new Trump-backed television venture with investment bankers, the Financial Times has reported. Stephen Bannon, Mr. Trump's campaign chairman and the founder of right-wing website Breitbart News, hasn't denied such a possibility. When asked by CNN about the rumoured media venture, he simply responded, "Trump is an entrepreneur."

Into the wilderness For America's political class, the larger question is how to put the genie back in the bottle. Mr. Trump has rampaged through the Republican Party, rewritten how presidential campaigns can be run, and inflamed passions across American society.

One distasteful consequence of the election has been to embolden extremist voices.

"The spike in hate we've seen online this election cycle is extremely troubling, and unlike anything we have seen in modern politics," Jonathan A.

Greenblatt, the chief executive of the Anti-Defamation League, said in a statement this week.

"A half-century ago, the KKK burned crosses. Today, extremists are burning up Twitter."

White supremacists increasingly and openly espouse their beliefs online, viewing Mr. Trump's plan to build a wall on the U.S. border with Mexico and to ban Muslims from entering the country as part of their vision to protect the white race, says Ryan Lenz of the Southern Poverty Law Center, which tracks hate groups.

In that environment, calling the election rigged is a dangerous game. "To throw that question or that suspicion into the pool of gasoline that is the American radical right, who knows what's going to happen?

But it doesn't look good," says Mr. Lenz.

"I'm not just distressed by the election. I'm distressed by the consequences of this election. I think it's going to be long-term damage," says Donald Critchlow, a political historian at Arizona State University and the author of Future Right: Forging a New Republican Majority.

"It's going to take a while for the body politic to get healthy after this."

Prof. Critchlow sees the emergence of a one-and-a-half party system. In other words, an ascendant Democratic majority and a hobbled Republican party that drifts through the political wilderness after alienating Latinos and suburban voters with its 2016 standard-bearer.

There are parallels, he adds, with the Republican Party that was locked out of the White House for two decades beginning with the 1932 election of President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

That party also faced a demographic challenge. It had lost support of black voters, as well as white working-class and middle-class voters hit hard by the Great Depression, says Prof. Critchlow.

In theory, the GOP could also enter a period of rebuilding, take its cue from a fed-up electorate, and work more closely with Democrats. Ms. Clinton could be swept up in national pride at having elected the first female president in American history, adds McGill's U.S.-born Prof. Troy.

But these read like wishful scenarios.

"What I'm calling the great American stress test of 2016, which we're failing, will continue. And we'll continue to fail it," he says.

Mr. Trump's supporters see the election in even more dire terms. Mr. Kuniegel, the retiree who lives in Pennsylvania and intends to monitor polling places on election day, says that, if Mr. Trump loses, "the United States will be no more - no, really," he says. "We'll have elections, but sovereignty will slowly move to the international stage."

Mr. Kuniegel points to to a speech Mr. Trump gave this month in Florida in which the Republican nominee described "a small handful of global special interests rigging the system" and a "corrupt political establishment" with "virtually unlimited" resources out to stop him at all costs.

"That's the truth, there's nothing they would not do," says Mr. Kuniegel. "They cannot let him have it."

Joanna Slater is a U.S. correspondent for The Globe and Mail.

Affan Chowdhry is a reporter with The Globe.

Associated Graphic

Below: A young fan impersonating Donald Trump at a campaign event in Cincinnati may have to cope with fallout from his hero's actions when he grows up. 'I'm distressed by the consequences of this election,' says one observer. 'I think it's going to be long-term damage.'


Above: Voter wristbands at an advance poll in Chicago this week. There is now fear Trump supporters could disrupt election day in the name of uncovering alleged fraud.


... Trump fires up an Ohio rally at his first appearance after the final debate with Democratic rival Hillary Clinton, in which he repeated his allegations of electoral abuse.


Family matters
How Guy Laurence lost control
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B10

Joe Natale, the one-time chief executive officer of Telus Corp., spent the last weeks of summer on his dock at Lake of Bays, Ont., pondering two of the biggest moves of his life.

One was, quite literally, a move: Mr. Natale and his wife, Melissa Martin, had decided to relocate from the affluent suburb of Oakville, Ont., where they'd raised three daughters, to a home in Toronto. The second, more difficult decision was what to do next in his career - and when to get on with it.

He had been shoved aside in August, 2015, after just 15 months in charge at Telus and left the company late last year, following a short transition period. After such a bruising public exit, Mr. Natale was telling friends and colleagues in the spring that he planned to spend the summer relaxing at his cottage, then consider his work options in the fall.

But in the meantime, someone with huge power began to show an interest in him: Edward Rogers, son of the late Ted Rogers, the founder of Rogers Communications Inc.

The Rogers empire had been run since late 2013 by Guy Laurence, a British transplant who had been hired from Vodafone Group Plc, and quickly embarked on a huge restructuring.

By this summer, he had reason to believe it was finally paying off. When Rogers announced second-quarter results in July, Mr. Laurence could point to 65,000 new wireless contracts - double what analysts predicted - and surging wireless service and Internet revenue. The stock price, $46 when Mr. Laurence arrived, rose to nearly $59 in August, a record high. And the third-quarter numbers announced this week included 114,000 net contract subscribers, the most in six years.

He might have thought that numbers like that would protect his job, despite his often-bumpy relationship with members of the Rogers family. How wrong.

On Sunday, after a hastily called board meeting, Mr. Laurence was summoned to the Rogers head office and fired by Alan Horn, the chairman of the board.

By late Sunday evening, stunned senior executives were being briefed on a confidential call: Mr. Laurence was out, Mr. Horn was in as interim CEO, to replaced soon by Mr. Natale.

What happened?

Sources close to the company say that Mr. Laurence's undoing was his testy relationship with the children of Ted Rogers, and his blithe attempt to run the business as though it were a regular public company - and not one controlled by a sometimesfractious family with a deep desire to protect the founder's legacy.

In fact, sources confirmed that the Rogers board had its eye on

Mr. Natale ever since he left Telus last year. The long courtship to land him began in earnest about six months ago, with efforts to sound him out about the idea.

Support grew for dumping Mr. Laurence within the company's board too, driven by Edward Rogers, one of the most active members of the Rogers family, along with Mr. Horn and vice-chairman Phil Lind, longtime Rogers loyalists who were key players in its rise to become the country's largest wireless provider.

Mr. Natale likely won't join the company until some time in 2017 because of a non-compete agreement with Telus that is believed to expire next summer. But when he does, he'll find it an easy commute: on Sept. 21, he closed a deal to purchase a house on one of the more desirable streets in Rosedale, a convenient five-minute drive from the complex of Rogers buildings at Bloor Street East and Jarvis Street.

It is not the first time that Rogers has had a messy succession.

In 2013, Nadir Mohamed, the man who'd taken over after Ted Rogers's death in 2008, stepped down unexpectedly with no heir apparent in sight.

Thus began a months-long search for a new CEO that eventually brought Mr. Laurence to Canada. The hiring was championed by Edward Rogers, one of four Rogers family members on the board.

Mr. Laurence's first move was to crisscross the country on a "listening tour." He did individual interviews with dozens of executives and senior managers and heard from many more through a written survey of "seven questions" about how the company could improve. Mr. Laurence documented his progress with words and photos on "Guy's blog" on the company intranet site.

One of the last stops on his listening tour, in the spring of 2014, was a visit to Loretta Rogers, Ted Rogers's widow. It's believed that in that meeting he explained the rationale behind his plan to remove her children, Edward Rogers and Melinda Rogers, from their operating roles in the company - a delicate task that had broad support in the company's senior ranks. (Melinda Rogers was senior vice-president involved in corporate strategy while Edward Rogers held an executive vice-president role.)

Some close to the company say this move, and the way Mr. Laurence handled it, was the start of ongoing friction between the CEO and key family members, which would grow more acrimonious as time went on.

Still, Mr. Laurence seemed unaware the axe might be about to fall until the day that it did - perhaps thinking the company's gains in share price and wireless subscribers would insulate him from criticism.

While there was no obvious trigger or definitive clash with the family that sealed Mr. Laurence's fate last week, key directors in charge of wooing Mr. Natale worried that he was in danger of slipping away. Sources say that in addition to the Rogers job, he was considering an investment in a smaller company where he would take an operational role.

"He had options, too. So we had to move," said Mr. Lind said in an interview this week.

Mr. Laurence, Mr. Natale, Mr. Horn and Edward Rogers declined to grant interviews.

The role will give Mr. Natale a second chance to run one of Canada's Big Three wireless companies - under different circumstances than he'd been afforded at Telus. Mr. Natale was promoted to CEO there in 2014 - in part to keep him on the Telus team and away from Rogers - but former CEO Darren Entwistle remained a domineering presence, still actively involved in operations as executive chairman of the board.

Mr. Natale first joined Telus in 2003 and had ambitions to sit in the CEO's chair from the beginning. After a stint heading up the company's enterprise and small and medium-size business division, he took over the crucial wireless business following the departure of George Cope and others for BCE Inc.

Mr. Natale, whose leadership style is based on building good teams and encouraging the talents of his staff, thrived in the role. He spearheaded the development of its "customers first" revamp of customer experience, an idea some telecom veterans questioned at the time, warning it could erode revenues. But it paid off through reduced rate of customer turnover and lower marketing costs and has now become close to gospel at Telus, copied elsewhere in the industry.

Mr. Laurence made turning around Rogers's reputation for poor service his first priority when he arrived. He frequently recounts a story of arriving at customs when he first came to Canada. While waiting for the agent to stamp his work visa, he revealed where he was going to work, and the agent replied, "Welcome to Canada. Your service sucks."

Mr. Laurence instituted a new way of tracking progress on customer service that became evermore important at the company - and tied to performance bonuses - over the last two years: Net promoter score. Customers are asked to rate their experience and after subtracting the ratings of "detractors" from those of "promoters," a score is produced on a scale from minus-100 to plus-100. The higher the score, the more likely it is that customers would recommend the company or its services to others.

Rogers began tracking two types of NPS, one for front-line employees - call centre operators, field technicians and store agents - and one for the overall relationship people have with the company. Mr. Laurence and the new team of executives he recruited implemented new measures like an easier-to-understand bill, streamlined cellphone, Internet and cellphone packages, and a simple (and relatively affordable) international wireless roaming package. Rogers has been investing $100-million per year on customer service improvements and says it has made encouraging progress on the front-line NPS.

But improving overall perception of the company has been more difficult. At one point part way through Mr. Laurence's tenure, the NPS score for Rogers as a whole was minus-27, according to one source close to the company. (Rogers does not publicly disclose its scores.) And although Mr. Laurence had set an ambitious goal to turn the score positive, and Rogers says it has made progress on the NPS metric, it has been harder to repair the company's brand than many of its executives had hoped.

During a town hall-style meeting with hundreds of the top managers at Rogers on Tuesday, Edward Rogers and Mr. Horn reassured employees that the company was doing well, making strides on wireless subscribers and Internet sales, and that Mr. Laurence's sudden departure was not an indictment of their work.

But the pair also suggested that more work was needed on customer service as well as Rogers's outdated cable television product. And the meeting cast doubt on the future of some of Mr. Laurence's pet initiatives - such as Sharespace, a high-priced plan to renovate the Rogers's offices with open seating instead of cubicles to encourage more teamwork and collaboration.

Many believe Mr. Natale will be able to apply his experience driving customer relations at Telus to his new job at Rogers. While at Telus, Mr. Natale was also closely involved in the launch of its IPTV (Internet protocol television) product known as Optik TV, which quickly became a headache for western cable rival Shaw Communications Inc. as Telus gobbled up television market share. IPTV offers advantages like the ability to pause and restart on different TVs and watch content on a range of devices plus navigation menus that can browse content on services like Netflix as well as conventional TV stations.

Rogers faces the same challenge in the east, primarily due to competition from BCE's Fibe TV, and its own plan to roll out a next-generation IPTV service developed in-house has been in the works for more than five years and plagued by delays. Mr. Laurence prided himself on a reputation for delivering results on time, without excuses, but the project has taken far longer than expected to complete.

"Yes, I think it's very clear to everyone that our TV product is not as good as it needs to be and there are better products out there," Mr. Laurence admitted during an investor conference in September, adding that the company has a product it is proud of but still not quite ready to launch. "We'll introduce it in a beta format towards the end of the year... but I'm not promising that. We'll launch it when we're ready. It looks great, it is great, it will be great."

But IPTV, along with his other projects, will now remain unfinished business for Mr. Laurence, as Mr. Horn takes over as interim CEO. Mr. Natale signed a two-year non-compete agreement with Telus and while a source close to the Telus board says Rogers is currently negotiating with the company over an earlier end to the deal, it is unclear when he will be able to join the Toronto company and it could be as late as next summer.

"As with any leadership change, we expect Natale will need several months to fully learn the organization... adding to the timeline is Natale's non-compete commitment to Telus, on which we believe Rogers is currently seeking legal clarity," Barclays Capital analyst Phillip Huang wrote in a report this week.

"In any event, 2017 is now poised to be another year of transition for Rogers, following several years of disruptive changes," Mr. Huang added, referencing the CEO change in 2013 as well as the company's move to a wireless strategy that preferred higher-value customers over high volumes of subscribers (which saw Rogers report several quarters of low and even negative subscriber additions). "As such, we continue to stay on the sidelines despite Rogers' improving momentum."

Rogers has also paid a heavy price for its apparently fickle approach to leadership, at a time when it has slashed hundreds of jobs and paused dividend hikes amid concerns over cash flow and debt leverage. It paid Mr. Mohamed $26.8-million in 2013, a sum that included a $17.1-million retirement package, and has paid Mr. Laurence $32.9-million over the past three years, including about $10-million in cash signing bonuses and stock-based compensation to recruit him away from Vodafone.

In addition to that, Rogers' corporate filings indicate the company must pay Mr. Laurence $16-million in the event of termination without cause.

Associated Graphic

Out: Guy Laurence came into the Rogers family less than three years ago as the ultimate outsider. His failure to embrace that family may have been his undoing.


Edward Rogers, Ted Rogers's son, shown in 2014, was removed by Mr. Laurence as deputy chair of Rogers Communications.


On Sunday, after a hastily called board meeting, Alan Horn, the chairman of the board summoned Mr. Laurence to the Rogers head office and fired him.


Melinda Rogers, Ted Rogers's daughter, seen in 2013, was removed as senior vice-president, strategy and development at Rogers by Mr. Laurence.


In: With expertise in the Canadian telecom landscape built over more than a decade at Telus, Joe Natale is expected to drive a customer-service overhaul at Rogers.



The all-black palette that has become ubiquitous in everything from supercars to timepieces is creeping into the world of cuisine. Karen Pinchin introduces the most curious additions to baking this autumn - charcoal and squid ink
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page P42

In the winter of 1783, Grimod de la Reynière, a wealthy Parisian known as the "prince of gastronomes," served a black banquet staged as a funeral. In a candlelit hall adorned with black bunting, dishes were served to guests who were flanked by their own coffins. After being accused of madness, the eccentric host ordered the doors locked and guests were held hostage until almost dawn.

It is in this tradition that we are both attracted to and repelled by black breads. Not to be confused with dark Russian-style pumpernickel loaves, these breads are truly black, tinted with squid ink or powdered, food-grade charcoal. Big in Japan for years now, the trend is finally hitting North American menus.

For Ottawa chef Antonio Vacchio of Zolas Restaurant, the initial allure of black pizza crust was aesthetic. Using Indonesian coconut charcoal powder he orders online, Vacchio flavours his black dough with fennel pollen and rosemary, pinching it with white dough for a two-toned pizza. "It's a cool conversation piece," he says. "When it comes out of the oven, when you brush it with a bit of olive oil, it really pops."

One challenge for bakers is that it's nearly impossible to see when these breads are ready, as the tint obscures the rich chestnut-brown of a perfect crust. "When you're dealing with black bread, you never get to see that. So you have to be on it," says Vancouver baker and Tartine alum Annabelle Choi, who uses fine charcoal sourced from bamboo. "Even in the smallest amounts, you're changing the structure of your dough to make it more billowy, softer," she says.

And while the hue is striking, she says diners are often uncomfortable with it. "Visually, things that have gone black, we associate with carbon or mould. In nature we're attracted to things that are bright and full of colour," she says. "It jolts us because it's going against what we know. But if your foundation is black and then you have a garnish that's the exact opposite, it's jarring - and quite stunning."

* * *


The coconut filing adds a nice contrast to the deep hue of these classic croissants. Making croissants from scratch takes time, so start this recipe on Friday evening if you plan to serve them at Sunday brunch. Using a pre-ferment develops both gluten and flavour in the dough. Think of it as a cheater's sourdough starter.



1 cup all-purpose flour

1 tbsp charcoal powder

⅔ cup water

1/8 tsp active dry yeast


Pre-ferment (above)

2¾ cups all-purpose flour

2 tbsp charcoal powder

2 tbsp sugar

1¼ tsp salt

1½ tbsp unsalted butter at room temperature

½ cup water

¼ cup plus 1 tsp milk

1 tsp active dry yeast


250 g unsalted butter at room temperature


1 large egg

Pinch salt

1 tsp water

In a medium-sized bowl, mix the ingredients for the pre-ferment until combined. Cover with plastic wrap and ferment at room temperature for 10 hours.

In a large bowl, make the croissant dough by combining the flour, charcoal, sugar and salt. Rub the butter into the dry ingredients until well combined. In a small saucepan warm the water and milk until body temperature, sprinkle in the yeast and allow it to dissolve for a few minutes. Combine the liquids, flour and pre-ferment. Mix until combined.

Turn dough out onto a clean, floured surface. Knead for around 4 minutes until it has become smooth and elastic (it should make a small transparent "window" when stretched). Place dough on a sheet pan, cover well with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 2 hours.

On a clean, floured surface roll dough into a 10-inch by 20-inch rectangle, dust off excess flour. In a bowl, work the butter by hand until it has the consistency of toothpaste. Place the dough long side in front of you and imagine you're going to fold it into three, like a pamphlet. Spread all the butter on the left two thirds of the dough using your fingers or a spatula, leaving a ½-inch border. Fold the unbuttered right third over the middle third. Fold the remaining left side overtop. You should have 3 layers of dough, each separated by a layer of butter.

Turn the dough so the ends are facing left and right. Roll dough into a 10-inch by 20-inch rectangle and fold into thirds again. Place on a sheet pan, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for 1 hour.

Repeat the folding process, again folding the dough into thirds. Place it back onto the sheet pan, wrap well and freeze for 1 hour.

Make the egg wash by combining the egg, salt and water. Roll the dough into a 20-inch by 12-inch rectangle, with the long side closest to you. Using a ruler, mark the dough at 4-inch intervals along the bottom and top of the rectangle. Cut the dough into triangles 4 inches wide at the base. Make a 1-inch long nick in the base of each triangle.

Holding both sides of the base taught, roll it towards the tip, forming a croissant. Place the finished croissants on parchment-lined baking sheets, 5 per sheet. Brush croissants with egg wash, cover with plastic wrap, let rise until at least double in size. Gently egg wash a second time and allow the croissants to sit for 10 minutes uncovered.

Preheat oven to 425 F with the racks in the lower half. Put croissants in the oven and reduce temperature to 400 F. Bake 20 to 25 minutes, rotating trays after 10 minutes, until bottoms are browned. If in doubt, break one open to check if it's cooked. Allow to cool.

* * *


1½ cups coconut milk

1 cup unsweetened desiccated coconut

5 tbsp sugar

6½ oz cream cheese, softened

1 tbsp dark rum

¼ tsp coconut essence (optional)

1 large egg

Pinch of salt

1 tsp water

1 cup sweetened shredded coconut

Heat oven to 350 F.

In a saucepan over medium heat, bring coconut milk, desiccated coconut and sugar to a boil, stirring often, until thick and reduced by two thirds. Add cream cheese, rum and coconut essence if using. Stir to combine.

Split the croissant in half lengthwise. Fill each croissant and replace the top.

Mix the egg and salt with water. Brush each croissant with the egg and sprinkle with shredded coconut. Bake 10 minutes until filling is hot and top is browned.

Makes 10 servings.

* * *


The hot dog buns created for this recipe are tinted with squid ink, though cuttlefish ink will work as well. You will get 10 buns out of the dough, or shape the mixture into balls before flattening them to create hamburger rolls instead. Gochujang is a sweet Korean chili paste. If it's not available, substitute sriracha to your taste.



2 tsp active dry yeast

¾ cup warm milk

2 tbsp honey

1 tbsp plus 2 tsp squid or cuttlefish ink

2 large eggs

1 tsp salt

3 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading and shaping

¼ cup unsalted butter


3 tbsp melted butter

1 large egg

Pinch salt

1 tsp water

⅓ cup black or white sesame seeds

In a small bowl, sprinkle yeast over milk and let dissolve for 5 minutes. In another bowl, combine honey, ink and eggs. Mix well. In a large bowl, combine salt and flour. Add the milk and ink mixtures, and the butter, to the flour mixture and combine with a wooden spoon. Turn onto a clean, well-floured surface. Knead, adding more flour as necessary until dough is smooth and springy, around 4 minutes.

Place 1 tbsp of melted butter in a large clean bowl. Add dough and turn to coat. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and let dough rise at room temperature until doubled in volume, around 2 hours.

Turn dough onto a clean, floured surface and knock down. Divide dough into 10 equal pieces. Flatten a piece of dough into a small rectangle, and roll it up into a long cylinder, about 6 inches long, tapering the ends slightly. Repeat with remaining dough. Place buns on a parchment-lined baking sheet in 2 rows, equally spaced, with the seams down. Brush with 2 tbsp of melted butter. Cover with plastic wrap and allow to rise until doubled in size (1 to 2 hours).

Preheat oven to 350 F.

To finish, in a small bowl, combine egg, salt and water. Brush on buns and sprinkle generously with sesame seeds. Bake in lower third of oven until buns sound hollow when tapped. Drizzle with remaining butter and allow to cool.

Makes 10 buns.

* * *


5 large boneless skinless chicken thighs

1 small onion, grated

2 cloves garlic, minced

¼ cup gochujang (Korean chili paste)

¼ cup ketchup

¼ cup honey

½ tsp sesame oil

2 tbsp lemon juice

2 large eggs

½ cup flour

⅔ cup cornstarch

Oil for deep frying

1 large bunch watercress, washed

1 cup mayonnaise

Toasted sesame seeds

Shredded nori

Salt and pepper

Slice each chicken thigh into 6 strips. Mix with onion and garlic, and season with salt and pepper. Cover and refrigerate for 1 hour.

In a small bowl, mix gochujang, ketchup, honey, sesame oil and lemon juice. In another bowl, mix eggs and 2 tbsp of the gochujang mixture. In a third bowl, mix flour and cornstarch, season with salt and pepper. In a large pot, heat oil to 350 F.

Working in batches, dip the chicken in the egg, then the cornstarch mixture. Deep fry until golden, 7 to 10 minutes. Drain on paper towels. Repeat with remaining chicken.

To build sandwiches, spread mayonnaise on each bun, dress with watercress, chicken and gochujang mixture. Garnish with sesame seeds and nori shreds.

Makes 4 to 6 servings

* * *


Colourful toppings including cherry tomatoes, ham and parsley oil stand out on this tonal take on a gourmet pie. The recipe includes enough dough and toppings for two pizzas that, together, can easily serve four people as a main course.


1 tsp active dry yeast

1 cup warm water, plus more as needed

2½ cups all-purpose flour

2 tbsp charcoal powder

1 tsp salt

1 tsp sugar

1 tbsp olive oil

In a large bowl, sprinkle yeast over water and allow to dissolve for 5 minutes. Add flour, charcoal powder, salt and sugar. Mix well with a wooden spoon until dough comes together. If dough seems stiff, add an additional 1 tbsp of water.

Turn onto a clean, floured surface. Knead until dough is smooth and elastic but not overly tight, around 3 to 4 minutes. Grease a large bowl generously with olive oil, add dough and turn to coat. Cover with plastic wrap and let rise until doubled in size, 2 to 3 hours, or overnight in the fridge.

Makes 2 pizzas.

* * *


2 cups milk

1 bay leaf

3 cloves garlic, roughly smashed

5 peppercorns

¼ cup flour

6 tbsp unsalted butter, divided

3 tbsp grainy Dijon mustard

2 cups grated Gruyère cheese

1 large onion, sliced

1 small bunch parsley, stems removed

½ cup olive oil

1 cup cherry tomatoes

10 slices cooked ham, roughly torn

Salt and pepper

In a small saucepan over medium heat, bring the milk, bay leaf, 2 garlic cloves and peppercorns to a simmer. Simmer for 5 minutes. Turn off heat, cover and let infuse for 10 minutes. Strain and discard solids.

Clean the saucepan and return it to the heat with the flour and 4 tbsp of butter. Cook on medium heat for 3 minutes, stirring and being careful not to brown. Remove from heat. Whisk milk into flour and butter until combined. Return to medium heat. Bring to a boil and cook for 10 minutes, stirring often. Season with salt and pepper, and stir in mustard and cheese. Cool and refrigerate covered for up to 3 days.

Preheat oven to 550 F with a sheet pan turned upside down inside (if using a pizza stone, follow manufacturer's directions). In a frying pan over medium-low heat, melt remaining butter and gently sauté onion until soft but not browned. Season with salt and pepper. In a food processor, chop parsley and remaining garlic with a good pinch of salt. Add olive oil and set aside.

Divide pizza dough in half. On a lightly floured surface, roll and stretch the dough until it forms a thin, 12-to-15-inch circle. Carefully remove sheet pan from oven and place dough on the bottom of the pan, keeping the pan upside down. Return to oven and cook for 1 minute or until dough is cooked through. Remove dough from oven and dress with half of the Gruyère sauce, onions and cherry tomatoes.

Return the dough to the oven and cook for 5 to 7 minutes more, until pizza is browned and sauce is bubbly. Remove from oven and dress pizza with ham and parsley sauce. Cut and serve. Repeat the recipe with remaining dough and toppings.

* * *

Food styling and recipe creation by Michael Elliott for Judy Inc. Prop styling by Stephanie Saunders for Judy Inc.

Associated Graphic







For his sombre new album, You Want It Darker, Cohen sought the sounds of his youth - and found them in a Montreal synagogue. Robert Everett-Green traces the artist's deep and complex relationship with the city of his birth and the cradle of his longings
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R1

The path to holiness starts near a grey stone mansion, and skirts a stone lookout as it winds down the slope many in Westmount still call by its old name, Murray Hill. From the bottom of the park, it's an easy stroll down Côte-Saint-Antoine to Shaar Hashomayim, the synagogue with which the family of Leonard Cohen has been associated for some 150 years.

This is the route that Cohen would have taken from his childhood home on High Holy Days, when he went to the Shaar at age nine to say Kaddish for his father, and when he had his bar mitzvah. He may have traversed the familiar path in imagination much more recently, when he asked the synagogue's cantor and choir to sing on his sombre new album, You Want It Darker.

"He said 'I'm looking for the sound of the synagogue cantor and choir of my youth,' " says cantor Gideon Zelermyer, quoting from an e-mail he received from Cohen in November. He could have found singers near his home in Los Angeles to simulate the sound of a Jewish congregational choir, but instead returned to the place where the prayer books of his uncles are still tucked in a drawer in the family's third-row pew.

Cohen is 82 and fragile, and apparently much absorbed in thoughts of origins and final destinations. Recruiting the choir he heard as a boy is just the latest instance of his deep and complex relationship with Montreal, the city of his birth and the cradle of his longings.

"I have to keep coming back to Montreal to renew my neurotic affiliations," he wrote on the dust jacket of The Spice-Box of Earth, a collection of poems he published in 1961. More recently, and less playfully, he told an interviewer, "I feel at home when I'm in Montreal, in a way that I don't feel anywhere else. I just love it. I don't know what it is, but the feeling gets stronger as I get older."

Montreal for Cohen has been both a place to escape and a refuge. The family home on Belmont Avenue was certainly a safe haven during his childhood, from the privations of the Depression and from demonstrations by antiSemites. Home movies from the 1930s and 1940s show Cohen posing with the family's black chauffeur, skiing down the Murray Hill slope and skating on the rink he could see from his bedroom window.

Donald Brittain's 1965 National Film Board of Canada film Ladies and Gentlemen ... Mr. Leonard Cohen shows its subject, who had yet to make his first recording, wandering down the Murray Hill path while reading in voice-over from his 1963 novel, The Favourite Game. "The park nourished all the sleepers in the surrounding houses. It gave the children dangerous bushes and heroic landscapes so they could imagine bravery. It gave the muses and maids winding walks so they could imagine beauty. It gave the young merchant princes leaf-hid necking benches, views of factories so they could imagine power."

Cohen discovered the romance of Westmount, and its sadness, too, as his friend Irving Layton pointed out. He mythologized the chic women who "float into dress shops or walk their rich dogs in front of the Ritz." He was of that world; but as a Jew and a poet, was also separate enough to remark that "Westmount is a collection of large stone houses and lush trees arranged on the top of the mountain especially to humiliate the underprivileged."

There are a couple of large churches on the route Cohen would have walked to the Shaar.

He went to school with kids from those churches, at Roslyn Elementary and Westmount High, both imposing buildings where anglophone Christians and Jews mingled as they no longer do in the borough's more diversified school structure. Cohen biographer Sylvie Simmons says that between one-quarter and one-third of Westmount High students in Cohen's day were Jewish. He was exposed to Christian pageants at school, and had even gone to church with his Irish Catholic nanny, laying the basis for a lifelong fascination with Christian imagery and rhetoric.

Cohen's spiritual side never completely detached from the carnal, of course - Murray Hill had its "necking benches," where adolescent desire ran up against the stern sexual mores of the 1950s. From his earliest teen years, Cohen's Montreal also included the neon-lit zone of clubs and cabarets that flourished along St. Catherine Street, where he would dream on the sidewalk about the sacred debaucheries going on inside.

His first public performance with music was in one of those places, in the Birdland jazz club above Dunn's Delicatessen, where in 1958 he read a poem over an improvised piano accompaniment, a form of delivery made fashionable by Beat poets. His Montreal also included McGill University, where he imagined he was participating in a colonial rewrite of Brideshead Revisited, while serving as president of a Jewish fraternity.

He followed a centrifugal path away from the family home on Belmont Avenue, but also threw parties there for his poet friends.

He launched The Spice-Box of Earth there in 1961 - after a narrow escape from Cuba during the Bay of Pigs invasion - and posed for Brittain's camera in the panelled front room, while having tea with his mother. When he returned from Greece with his companion Marianne Ihlen, they settled first in the Belmont house, and it was there also that he brought Joni Mitchell when they were intimate in the mid-1960s.

Cohen in those days, with his tendency to mythologize his environment, advanced an unchanging image of Montreal, or at least discounted the notion of real development. "The streets change swiftly, the skyscrapers climb into silhouettes against the Saint Lawrence," he wrote in The Favourite Game, "but it is somehow unreal and nobody believes it, because in Montreal there is no present tense, there is only the past claiming victories." He rented a place on Stanley Street and sometimes lived there, turning it with a friend into an informal art gallery that flourished outside the Montreal gallery scene till it burnt to the ground.

He also loved to affect an outsider's view of the city he knew intimately and well, sometimes holing up at the Hotel de France at St. Catherine Street and St. Laurent, where he could pretend to be "on the lam" and unencumbered. The mentality crystallized in The Stranger Song, a song from his 1967 debut album about an emotional escape artist who always had a highway "curling up like smoke above his shoulder."

Montreal was the explicit site of another hymn to transient affection, Suzanne, set in the old city and its port. "The sun pours down like honey on our lady of the harbour," which every Montrealer recognizes as the figure of the Virgin on top of Notre-Dame de Bon Secours, extending her arms to bless all ships and sailors. Suzanne, Cohen told Maclean's magazine in 2008, "was never about a particular woman. It was more about the beginning of a different life for me ... wandering alone in those parts of Montreal." The beneficent Virgin was a personal landmark: "I used to go to that church a lot."

Once Cohen's musical career had begun in earnest, he followed the highway curling up like smoke, mostly to cities in the United States. But in the early 1970s he returned to do what he had till then energetically avoided: to settle and make a family.

He rented a place downtown overlooking Parc du Portugal, a postage-stamp green space with none of the expanse or romance of Murray Hill. Here, a block from the city's traditional spine on St Laurent, Cohen and partner Suzanne Elrod welcomed their infant son Adam in 1972, followed by daughter Lorca in 1974.

Cohen bought a house on the same block, which he still owns, and where, as he told an interviewer in 2006, he has done a lot of good writing at the kitchen table. It was here, too, one day in 1975, that an emissary from Bob Dylan's Rolling Thunder tour knocked on the door and asked if Cohen would sing with Dylan that night at the Forum (he declined).

It's a sober two-storey house in grey and sand-coloured brick, with grey windows and doors, and white curtains drawn in every window. No house has ever tried harder not to be noticed, and indeed there's more vivid stuff in the riot of graffiti on two disused buildings across the park.

A young homeless man was bedding down in the park's tiny gazebo the afternoon I visited, and elderly people held down the benches with their debates. From a few steps in either direction, you can see the cross on the top of Mount Royal and the mast of the Olympic Stadium - yesterday's vision of tomorrow, still "somehow unreal."

Much of the rest of Cohen's downtown haunts are gone: Le Bistro, the Parisian-style bar he described in Brittain's film as "an irresponsible sanctuary"; Hotel de France; Dunn's Birdland, and virtually all of the old club district. Ben's De Luxe Delicatessen, a favourite hang-out at Maisonneuve and Metcalfe, was demolished in 2008, and memorialized in a McCord Museum display two years ago.

Back at the Shaar, two large oil portraits commemorate the leadership of Cohen's greatgrandfather Lazarus and his grandfather Lyon, both of whom served as presidents of the synagogue. Lazarus, an enterprising immigrant from Lithuania, looks past the painter with rabbinical intensity, his long white beard obscuring the dark mass of his clothing. Lyon's direct gaze is more worldly, and the painter has given due attention to his well-cut three-piece suit. No doubt it came from the family's clothing business, where Leonard briefly and unhappily worked as a young man. His boss was his uncle Horace, whose name is written in a couple of prayer books in the Cohen family pew.

Cohen riled his uncles with The Favourite Game, which pilloried businessmen who sit in shul with little of the spiritual on their minds. But "there's a lot of emotion wrapped up in this place for him," says Gideon Zelermyer. "He wanted some kind of authentic Jewish connection."

Shaar music director Roï Azoulay did the choral arrangements for the album, with choir members Jake Smith and Conor O'Neil who also perform in the Montreal band Lakes of Canada. After initial demos of three songs in the Shaar, the choral tracks were recorded at a Montreal studio, to be layered with vocal recordings Cohen made at his home in Los Angeles, with son Adam, producer of the album.

It Seemed the Better Way, one of nine songs on the disc, begins with a choral intro based on an ancient melody associated with the priestly blessing traditionally done by the koheins - every Cohen in the congregation. In the album's title track, Zelermyer improvises on the single word Hineni - "here I am," said by Abraham when the angel of god calls to him to halt the sacrifice of his son Isaac.

"Hallelujah belongs to everyone," Zelermyer says, referring to the refrain of one of Cohen's bestknown songs, "but hineni is definitely and emphatically Jewish."

The lyrics of the album are filled with references to Jewish liturgy and scripture, but also include Cohen's customary and promiscuous use of Christian imagery.

"He's clearly a spiritual searcher, and he's always been pushing the envelope that way," Zelermyer says. The cantor shows me a selfportrait that Cohen sent him, with Hebrew text and the English inscription: "Just to have been one of them, even on the lowest rung," which Zelermyer relates "to Jacob's ladder, and the angels ascending and descending."

The contrary directions are important, and characteristic: not just up, but down as well, in the continual negotiation between spirit and flesh, elevation and shame, the holy and the carnal.

We are still receiving wisdom from Leonard Cohen, a Montrealer whose wanderings in all senses have cycled back to his native city, and whose teachings have so often been concentrated into a three-minute song.

Associated Graphic

Leonard Cohen is seen in his Montreal home in 2007. The city has played multiple roles in the poet's imagination and work.


Gideon Zelermyer, cantor of the Shaar Hashomayim congregation, and collaborator on Cohen's next album, is seen in the Sanctuary of the Shaar in the Westmount neighbourhood.


National Bank's slip-up in the oil patch
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B1

CALGARY -- Barry Olson's relationship with National Bank of Canada goes back more than a decade through two small oil companies he started. Now, the relationship is in tatters.

This month, his Calgary-based junior energy producer, Toro Oil & Gas Ltd., cancelled its credit facility with National and he won't rush to the bank for other services in the near future either.

It was the culmination of months of frustration for Mr. Olson, Toro's chief executive, who says he's been penalized by the institution despite the fact he's run his company conservatively through the oil-price collapse. The move followed decisions by National, the most active major lender to small and mid-size oil firms, to cut its $7-million operating line of credit and scrap an $18-million facility it had in place for specific projects.

For the latter, Toro was paying fees even though it did not use it.

"It really didn't cause too much of a fuss internally, but on a market optics perspective those things matter, because the market thinks you've got full access to $25-million, but indeed you've only got access to $7-million," Mr. Olson said in reference to the first cut. Toro issued stock to help shore up its balance sheet, but that $7-million credit line was cut to $4-million, and on Oct. 1, $2-million.

It all occurred after a semiannual redetermination of the value of oil and gas reserves last spring, the likes of which saw borrowing bases slashed throughout the industry by National and other lenders. Mr. Olson doesn't mince words about National's tough medicine, saying a "longterm relationship has been tossed to the curb."

"Toro has elected to terminate our operating line of credit with National as they continue to be disruptive to our ongoing business," he said. "We would rather not pay standby fees to a bank that will not allow us to use the facility in the first place and who constantly change the rules to their benefit."

Stories like Mr. Olson's are not rare in Calgary after two years of financial pain due to the oil-price crash. Several small producers have had to go to their shareholders to explain their credit capacity shrinking after tense meetings with National. The bank had worked for years to become the go-to lender and investment banker for the small and mid-size energy segment. That part of the industry was hit quickest and hardest in the downturn, and National's energy loan book became a major source of worry.

In its second quarter, it surprised analysts and investors with a $250-million sectoral provision - as much as 10 per cent of its energy lending - to account for bad loans. Including its credit card and commercial banking divisions, the bank booked a total of $317-million in losses. (In the previous quarter, the bank's total loan-loss provision was just $63million.) The losses were one of several factors that saw National's share price tumble 35 per cent from late 2014 to early 2016, following the drop in crude oil prices.

It is now seeking to shore up its energy business, and cut its risks, by courting larger companies with more financial wherewithal.

A key step in that effort is its recent hiring of three respected banking and research professionals who come with strong ties to the industry.

At the same time, National is trying to assure oil-patch executives that it did not cut credit indiscriminately and is still open to serving the junior sector, albeit a shrinking one.

"I want to be clear about that, because that's important to me," said Yanick Blanchard, National's Montreal-based head of corporate and investment banking.

"I know there's been a lot of negative talk about that; the reality is that we will have a $250-million loss in that segment, mostly the smaller size. ... So we need to reinvent ourselves because we don't see any new guys coming in with $5-million to $10-million saying, 'Okay we're going to start a company.' We don't see that.

"Our bet is that we're going to continue to be there for the smaller guy, for sure, because we're a bank that funds entrepreneurs in Quebec, Calgary, Toronto, across Canada. But if they're not showing up, we need to find another way to deploy our capital."

The bank must assuage concerns among oil-patch clients that there's a dichotomy between raising equity and corporate lending - one side of the business in search of fees while the other is reducing exposure. Another worry in downtown Calgary was that the bank was planning to exit the energy business altogether as the downturn dragged on - speculation that its CEO, Louis Vachon, put to rest in a conference call in June.

"There will be structural change to the industry, but the industry will continue to exist and we intend to continue to support the industry," he said.

Indeed, all the major banks have been careful to express their commitment to the sector, as producers and oil service providers coped with dwindling cash - and high debt levels - by auctioning off assets, slashing spending and laying off staff.

"That was kind of the mantra and National Bank was no different, especially earlier in the year when the Street was freaking out," said Meny Grauman, bank analyst at Cormark Securities Inc.

"All the banks were very careful to mention that they were in the oil business for the long haul.

They emphasized that they've seen cycles before and the impression you got was they learned from their mistakes. For a sector that is such a big user of investment banking services, they realize that it doesn't make sense to make enemies. You want to make sure your risk is protected, but you need these customers on the other side of this oil cycle."

"The energy sector is very important to the big investment banks," said Joe Kan, a veteran Bay Street headhunter. "At the worst of times, energy represents about a third of total capital markets revenue and at the best of times it represents closer to half."

It is in National's loan book that the energy bust hit hardest. Its top executives conceded they had failed to consider how dire conditions in the industry could get.

The bank rushed to cut its exposure as crude prices sank below $30 (U.S.) a barrel from more than $100, with spring borrowing-base evaluations representing the main event. Its energy loans were slashed to $2.5-billion (Canadian) in the third quarter of this year from $3.2-billion in the first quarter. Even healthy companies were caught up in what they considered to be a wholesale cut.

Heading into discussions with National and other lenders last spring, Delphi Energy Corp. had cut debt by a third and squeezed costs from its operations. But in May, its borrowing limit was shaved to $115-million, from $132.5-million. A month later, it dropped to $85-million, even though the company had not run afoul of its debt obligations. To shore up finances, it issued $60million in new debt at a higher cost.

The reduction came as a jolt.

David Reid, Delphi's chief executive officer, had built a 23-year relationship with the bank. Suddenly the lender was playing hardball, eager to cut its exposure to an industry in the throes of a generational slump. "It's a shotgun approach," he said in an interview. "Who can do it and by how much? The more you can do and help them, the more they're going to expect out of you."

For National, the smallest of the six major Canadian financial institutions, it wasn't a matter of being tougher on customers than the other banks, but rather a function of who its customers are. The juniors are known for lean operations but have less financial heft than larger rivals such as Canadian Natural Resources Ltd. and Suncor Energy Inc.

Now, with oil markets still shaky, the bank is attempting to add more of the industry's big players to its lending and investment banking client base. Its recalibration underscores broader changes in the energy industry - not least a sharp contraction in the junior end of business. Since the oil crash began more than two years ago, 17 Canadian oil and gas companies have filed for bankruptcy, law firm Haynes & Boone LLP said in a recent report, the vast majority being small.

That has accelerated a dropoff in corporate lending and financing fees that for years helped sustain a food chain of independent and bank-led deal-makers. As recently as five years ago, banks and investors alike poured in as oil prices rebounded to triple-digit highs and panic sparked by the financial crisis subsided. The cash flowed freely, and buzzwords carried weight.

"Frankly, all you had to do was just drop a name like Cardium or Viking and they were writing cheques," said Richard Thompson, CEO of Marquee Energy Ltd., another National client, referring to two prominent Western Canadian oil formations.

The industry's debt pile grew as drillers borrowed heavily to fund an emerging style of development that harnessed new technologies, often requiring in excess of $10-million for a single well. It was a hefty price tag that left Marquee and others overextended when oil markets began to buckle in mid-2014. Marquee has sold assets, cut staff and renegotiated its downtown office lease to save cash. But, still, in August, the company saw its borrowing base slashed to $50-million - less than half what it was two years ago.

Indeed, dozens of National clients struggled to cover basic expenses, let alone make debt payments, as the downturn intensified. Mid-cap heavy-oil producer Twin Butte Energy Ltd. was pushed into receivership by the lender in August carrying about $205-million in bank debt after a proposed takeover was torpedoed by the company's bondholders. It followed numerous other small players whose assets were auctioned off after they missed debt payments.

National helped ease investor fears by reassuring them that the higher provisions would cover any future risk resulting from the bank's lending in the sector. But it also reflects its outsized role as a lender-of-choice to more vulnerable producers and their service providers. Just 46 per cent of the bank's loans to oil and gas producers were considered investment grade as of the third quarter. That compares with about 52 per cent at Bank of Nova Scotia, another lender viewed as having relatively high exposure to the sector.

Mr. Blanchard says National has winnowed its client base to 90 companies from 125. It's now targeting bigger names that have weathered the oil slump and are expecting a return to growth, he said.

In investment banking, a new team is putting the plan in gear.

In August, the bank rehired a former National investment banker, Arun Chandrasekaran, from private-equity firm Stream Asset Financial Management, to lead the effort. It added Cristina Lopez, who had been an analyst at Macquarie Capital Markets Canada and vice-president of corporate development at PrairieSky Royalty Ltd., to the banking team.

National brought aboard Travis Wood, formerly with TD Securities, as analyst for large-cap energy companies. In recent weeks, Mr. Chandrasekaran has met with Calgary clients in an attempt to help patch up some strained business relationships and explain the bank's strategy in the oil patch, as has John Swendsen, the bank's vice-chairman of corporate and investment banking.

It certainly will not be a quick transition to a large-cap segment that is already well served by National's Canadian banking rivals as well as U.S. and international institutions. The energy banking business is heavily dependent on relationships within a city where most energy executives know each other, if not sit on boards together and socialize.

"Memories are long in this business," Toro's Mr. Olson said. "We would not rush back into a scenario with National should they offer it."

Associated Graphic

A Delphi Energy Corp. project in Alberta: Delphi's credit limits were cut even though the company had not run afoul of its debt obligations. To shore up finances, it issued $60-million in new debt at a higher cost.

'Memories are long in this business,' Toro president Barry Olson says. 'We would not rush back into a scenario with National.'


Agent of abuse
When young male models stepped forward to accuse Toronto agent Norwayne Anderson of sexual abuse, they exposed the ugly side of a world obsessed with beauty By Eric Andrew-Gee
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page M1

As usual, he was sharply dressed. Pointy black shoes, blue suit, a trench coat.

And thinner now - almost gaunt. Norwayne Anderson had become the sort of man that he liked.

Supporters trailed him into the courtroom, speaking in hushed voices. The modelling agent, a fixture of Toronto's fashion scene for two decades, was facing five counts of sexual assault and one count of sexual exploitation for molesting three young male models over a dozen years.

At times, Mr. Anderson seemed almost to be enjoying himself. When his lawyer at the time, Joseph Neuberger, told the judge his client was "a lot skinnier now than he was," owing to a bout of liver disease, Mr. Anderson gave an amused snort.

His insouciance would not last.

As two of his victims testified that morning in Toronto's Superior Court of Justice, Mr. Anderson's thick eyebrows knitted into a look of alarm.

The court heard about a man who lured teenagers into his care with promises of glamour and fame only to abuse them in ways that would leave marks of confusion and self-doubt for years.

Nearly 15 years after he was sexually assaulted by Mr. Anderson, one victim said, the experience had left him "messed up" and in therapy. (The names of the three men, two of whom were minors when the incidents took place, are protected by a publication ban.)

According to industry observers and insiders in Canada and the United States, it is a sequence of events that is all too common in the world of fashion - goes on in the shadows and rarely meets the spotlight of the criminal justice system. A complex of factors makes models especially vulnerable: the sexualized nature of their work, their youth and precarious position in the business, and a culture that discourages criticism of industry leaders.

Susan Scafidi, founding director of the Fashion Law Institute at Fordham University School of Law in New York, said the surprise in Mr. Anderson's case was not the assaults, but that they were prosecuted.

Mr. Anderson denied all the allegations against him, saying he never touched his clients inappropriately. In May, a jury sided with his accusers, convicting Mr. Anderson on five of the six counts he faced. The sixth, a sexual assault charge, resulted in a hung jury.

'Part of the job' I heard about Mr. Anderson's arrest from a friend, who e-mailed me a story about it almost exactly three years ago. He knew I would be interested - for years, I had been getting laughs with a breezy, self-deprecating story about my brush with the modelling agent.

When I was 18, one of his female employees spotted me on the street and said she liked my "look." Eager for a summer job before starting university, I accepted her offer to pose for him.

My look, however, did not please Mr. Anderson. Although I cut a waifish figure after half a year of backpacking on a tight budget, he concluded I had too much "baby fat" and needed to look more "gaunt."

By that time, the court heard, Mr. Anderson had sexually assaulted at least two male models.

The first victim he met in 1998.

John Smith (victims' names have been changed) was standing on the northbound platform of the Bloor subway station with a group of friends, when a tall, Jamaican-Canadian man approached the boys and said John should consider modelling.

Instead of handing over a business card, Mr. Anderson wrote his contact information on a Lotto 6/49 ticket. Mr. Smith was skeptical about the offer, coming from a stranger without credentials. But he was also flattered, he recalled at the preliminary hearing and later the trial, which is documented in court transcripts.

Eventually, Mr. Smith contacted Mr. Anderson, who told him to come by his home office near Queen Street East and Broadview Avenue, and bring Polaroid selfportraits. He went alone. He was about 16.

Mr. Anderson sparked the teenager's interest with grand talk of travelling to New York and building a portfolio, and took some photos of his new client in underwear and without a shirt. Mr. Anderson assured Mr. Smith "the body was part of modelling."

It was their second or third session when Mr. Anderson had Mr.

Smith change out of his boxers and into a pair of briefs and asked whether he had shaved his pubic hair. When Mr. Smith said he had not, Mr. Anderson asked if he could look anyway.

"He indicated that it was of some importance that he see my penis," Mr. Smith testified.

The agent used two fingers to pull out the elastic of Mr. Smith's underwear and looked at his penis for about five seconds. Mr. Smith said he entered what he later called a "non-reactive state."

"I don't recall saying anything," he said. "Part of me took it as part of the job."

Unwanted come-ons In an industry that revolves around the objectification of beautiful young bodies, often scantily dressed and needing to be manipulated by photographers, art directors and agents, opportunities for sexual abuse are rampant. The innocence of young models leaves them especially vulnerable, Ms. Scafidi says. "It's natural for a 16-year-old to think, 'Okay, I guess this is what we do here.' And to want to please the grownups. And that can lead to uninformed consent."

The modelling world is rife with stories of sexual abuse and impropriety. The former supermodel Carré Otis wrote in a 2011 memoir that when she was 17, she was raped by her agent, Gérald Marie, one-time head of the model management firm Elite Europe. (Mr. Marie has never addressed the allegation, although he was forced to resign from Elite in 1999 after video surfaced showing him boasting about plans to have sex with underage models.) Accounts of unwanted come-ons by the rockstar fashion photographer Terry Richardson, meanwhile, are common. (He denies these.)

Lower-profile cases at the margins of the industry are even more common. In March and April, the Toronto photographer Mark Holland was charged with sexually assaulting five women between the ages of 15 and 27, beginning in 1994 and as recently as this year. Mr. Holland is one of at least four Toronto photographers charged with sexually assaulting female models since 2012.

Although it receives less attention, the sexual exploitation of young male models is also a problem in the industry, Ms. Scafidi said. Male models have come to the legal clinic she runs at the Fashion Law Institute looking to break off contracts because bookers or agents have sought unwanted sexual contact.

'Ooze sexuality' At first, John Smith did not mention his experience with Mr. Anderson to anyone. In the summer of 2000, he was still represented by Norwayne Anderson Models, and attended a fashion show in Toronto's posh Yorkville neighbourhood with Mr. Anderson. That is where the modelling agent met Mark Wilson.

Mr. Wilson was also about 16 and remembers feeling "excitement" when Mr. Anderson told him he could be a model. He went to the agent's office for a photo shoot, and Mr. Anderson asked the young man to strip to his underwear and took photos.

When the photo shoot was over, Mr. Anderson sat at his dining room table and asked Mr. Wilson to come over. With his face at the teen's waist, he pulled down Mr. Wilson's boxer briefs slightly and said he should shave his pubic hair. Then he continued pulling the underwear down, and started stroking Mr. Wilson's penis.

"He spoke about being comfortable with my sexuality," Mr. Wilson later testified. Mr. Anderson said that to be a successful model, "you had to have a look of sex in your eye," and "ooze sexuality."

"I just sort of froze up," Mr. Wilson recalled. "I didn't know what to think or feel. I was in disbelief that it was happening, and I just wanted it to end."

Mr. Anderson continued, cupping Mr. Wilson's penis in his hand and moving his hand back and forth for about five minutes, trying to arouse the 16-year-old.

"I remember just trying to go somewhere else in my mind a little bit," Mr. Wilson said.

Afterward, Mr. Anderson told him the process was called "fluffing" and that it was "something that's done, in fashion ... to make models feel more comfortable being sexual."

Weeks later, Mr. Anderson brought up the incident in a phone call, and asked the young man how it had made him feel.

"I remember just laughing it off nervously," he testified.

Tough love Over the next decade, Mr. Anderson grew into an industry player, representing models who appeared in campaigns by Calvin Klein and Burberry, among many others. Mr. Anderson had a toughlove attitude toward his clients, said Marek Matwiejczuk, a wardrobe stylist and art director who has worked with Mr. Anderson and remains friends with him.

He said that approach instilled a sense of respect in his young clients. "He's sort of a mother figure.

He represented a model, and he would sort of put them in their place when they needed to be put in their place," Mr. Matwiejczuk said. "He was grooming them to become stars."

Mr. Wilson became one of those stars. His career flourished with Mr. Anderson. He had shoots for fashion retailers and glossy magazines alike, and still models parttime. Mr. Anderson remained his "mother agent," setting up gigs in Toronto and relaying bookings from abroad.

The 2000 assault was never repeated, and for years, Mr. Wilson kept it to himself. He and Mr. Anderson continued to see each other socially, going to nightclubs or Mr. Anderson's King Street condo.

It is relatively common for people in the fashion industry to hold off on reporting harassment or abuse, researchers and insiders say. A veteran of the Toronto fashion scene who asked not to be named to preserve her professional relationships said she had been sexually abused in the workplace and not reported it. The precariousness of many fashion jobs leaves those on the industry's bottom rungs vulnerable to exploitation.

"There aren't many jobs in the industry where you can make a living, and the people in authority really take advantage of that," she said. "How can it go on for so long? Because people have to pay their rent. And that's the really sad truth about fashion in Canada."

Men in the fashion world face especially tall psychic barriers to reporting abuse, Ms. Scafidi said, because of persistent stigmas around male vulnerability and gay sex.

"I think perhaps the reason we hear less about it is because there is even more shame among the young men, especially the straight young men," she said. "I think there is a sense that it is less than masculine not to be able to protect yourself."

'Bad-boy look' The tipping point came for Mr. Smith, who had long-since given up modelling, when he saw Mr.

Anderson in a club with a group of young men and decided that his abuse must still be going on.

Soon after, Mr. Smith called the Toronto police Sex Crimes Unit.

Mr. Wilson, whom he knew, soon followed suit.

Another client also went to the police with a claim of sexual assault. In court, he testified that when Mr. Anderson was photographing him in a hallway outside the agent's office, he grabbed the young man's penis over his underwear and adjusted it without asking. Several months later, he said, Mr. Anderson touched his penis for several minutes in the agent's office.

I met Mr. Anderson in that same office, around the same time. He paid me a series of rather stilted compliments - "You have a blueblood, bad-boy look ... like Prince Harry" - and had me pose for photos with odd directions, including a request that I put my thumbs in my pockets "like Marky Mark."

But my experience with Mr. Anderson was innocuous. My father accompanied me.

In January, Mr. Anderson appeared in court to face another count of sexual assault, also against a male model, whose name is protected by a publication ban. One condition of Mr.

Anderson's bail: that he not be alone with anyone under the age of 18.

Associated Graphic

Norwayne Anderson, a well-known agent for models, enters the University Avenue courthouse for sentencing on Sept. 15. He was convicted on five sex-related charges.


Housing forecast: Cool-down ahead
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B1

Analysts are predicting that Canada's housing market will take an immediate hit from the latest round of mortgage rule tightening Ottawa unveiled this month.

But they are divided on just how dramatic the effects will be.

Some say the changes - including higher qualifying rates for borrowers with low down payments, restrictions on how lenders use mortgage insurance and a crackdown on tax loopholes for sales of investment properties - will trigger a hard landing for the market. Others expect housing prices to keep rising, but at a slower pace.

"We believe that the new measures will both speed up and harden the landing that we previously expected to occur in the year ahead," Royal Bank of Canada economist Robert Hogue writes, "although they are unlikely to cause a 'crash.' " One reason it has been difficult to forecast the impact of Ottawa's new rules is that financial institutions release few details about their mortgage businesses, making it hard to estimate exactly how many buyers might be affected by the changes, or where they live.

This week, the Bank of Canada forecast that the tighter regulations will reduce the country's GDP by 0.3 per cent by the end of 2018. But even the central bank cautioned "there is considerable uncertainty around the overall impact of these new measures on the economy."

Analysts agree on one thing, however: The Canadian housing market is headed for a cool-down in the coming months.

Moody's Analytics and Brookfield RPS Prediction: Home prices will continue to rise, but price growth will slow from 7.9 per cent this year, to 5 per cent in 2017 and 2.9 per cent in 2018.

Time period: Now until 2021 U.S.-based Moody's Analytics believes that Canadian home prices will continue to rise over the next five years, but at a much slower pace thanks to the new mortgage insurance rules. Benchmark price growth will slow from nearly 8 per cent this year to less than 3 per cent by 2018.

Using data from the Brookfield RPS home price index, Moody's predicts that the only major urban market that will see prices fall will be Edmonton, while prices will continue to rise in other centres.

Vancouver will be harder hit by the slowdown than Toronto. By 2021, average single-family housing prices will have grown 6.7 per cent in Toronto, but just 1.8 per cent in Vancouver. Meanwhile, smaller markets including Saskatchewan and Newfoundland "are in for a rough two years."

Ontario will remain the country's strongest housing market for the next five years, although Moody's also pointed to a recovery for Calgary's housing market as well as for Saint John.

Moody's forecasts hinge on its predictions that oil prices will see a modest recovery and that the Bank of Canada will be forced to hike its key interest rate by two percentage points within the next five years.

Economist Will Dunning Prediction: Resale market activity could fall 25 per cent over the next two years. Prices could fall 8 per cent to 10 per cent. Housing starts will fall 15 per cent a year over the next two years.

Time period: Now through 2018 Economist Will Dunning believes the new rules will have a broad and significant impact on the Canadian housing market, so much so that he argues the risk that the changes would trigger an economic slowdown might now outweigh the risks of rising household debt that Ottawa is trying to address.

He estimates that roughly one-third of all new home buyers in Canada will be affected by the stricter "stress test" for fixed-rate insured mortgages. Of those, a quarter to a third may not be able to qualify for a mortgage under the new rules.

The rule changes will initially slash home resales by 6 per cent to 10 per cent. But Mr. Dunning predicts sales could slide as much as 25 per cent over the next two years given that decreased demand from first-time buyers will make it harder for some current homeowners to sell their properties to buy larger homes or downsize.

Housing starts could drop a total of 30 per cent, with a slowdown starting in the second half of next year and hitting bottom in 2018.

Home prices will be slower to react to the changing market, he says, with prices beginning to fall in the middle of next year and dropping a total of 8 per cent to 10 per cent by the end of 2018.

Alberta, Saskatchewan and Newfoundland will be hardest hit by the new rule changes, he says. Vancouver's market will continue to cool thanks to the new rule changes and B.C.'s foreign buyers tax, while Toronto will shift from "extremely hot" to merely "hot."

Mr. Dunning is the chief economist for Mortgage Professionals Canada, a mortgage broker industry group, but published his analysis of Ottawa's new rules independently.

Central 1 Credit Union Prediction: Resale activity will fall 10 per cent to 20 per cent. Prices will drop 5 per cent to 10 per cent. Housing starts will fall 10 per cent to 20 per cent.

Time period: Now until mid-2017 Home buyers could lose as much as 20 per cent of their purchasing power thanks to Ottawa's new income stress test for mortgages to borrowers with down payments of less than 20 per cent, writes Helmut Pastrick, chief economist for Central 1 Credit Union. Central 1 is a financial clearing house and trade association for credit unions in British Columbia and Ontario.

First-time buyers represent about 25 per cent to 35 per cent of the housing market and Mr. Pastrick estimates as many as three-quarters of "low-equity" home buyers will be affected by the tougher new qualification rules.

That will have a "domino effect" on the market, pushing down home sales, new home construction and economic growth, but encouraging the Bank of Canada to keep interest rates low.

While it will take several months for the changes to show up in national home-sales data, the market's reaction will be immediate. Home sales will fall as much as 20 per cent over the next six months, while prices will drop as much as 10 per cent.

Mr. Pastrick expects the change to have a more significant impact on less-expensive local housing markets, which tend to have a higher share of home buyers with low down payments than the costly markets of Toronto and Vancouver.

Even so, Mr. Pastrick predicts Canada is in for a "mild correction" and that the market will begin to rebound starting in the middle of next year, driven by continued low interest rates, along with population and income growth.

Bank of Montreal Prediction: Home sales will rise 5 per cent this year before falling back 5 per cent in 2017. Prices will drop 1 per cent to 2 per cent next year, after rising 12 per cent in 2016 Time period: Now through 2017 The new mortgage insurance rules will likely cause "broad softening" in Canada's market, with the most significant effects felt in what a trio of Bank of Montreal economists call the "terrible twos" of Toronto and Vancouver.

Ottawa's changes to capital gains tax rules and government-backed portfolio insurance will have only a modest impact on home sales, BMO says. But the more stringent income stress test for borrowers with low down payments will be a big hit to home buyers, particularly in the country's most expensive markets.

While the economists say it's hard to estimate how many buyers may no longer be able to qualify for a mortgage, they warned "the pool could be deep."

With the latest rule changes, detached houses are now firmly out of reach in both Toronto and Vancouver. But even condos will be a challenge for most Vancouver buyers with down payments of less than 20 per cent. Less expensive markets in Alberta and Saskatchewan will be less affected by the new rules, BMO says.

In the long run, the bank predicts the changes will make Canada's housing market more resilient. "By reducing the risks of a destabilizing price correction and a sharp retrenchment in household spending, the new rules should help sustain Canada's economic expansion," the economists wrote.

Toronto-Dominion Bank Prediction: Resale market activity could fall as much as 10 per cent. Average home prices could drop up to 1 per cent.

Time Period: Now through 2017 Toronto-Dominion Bank economists predict the new rules could affect 2 per cent to 3 per cent of all resale home transactions across the country and roughly 10 per cent of home buyers who take out insured mortgages.

In contrast to other economists, who say that less expensive housing markets will bear the brunt of the changes, TD's analysts believe the new rules will be felt the most in Toronto and Vancouver.

They estimate that tougher income testing for borrowers with down payments of less than 20 per cent has boosted the minimum income needed to qualify for a typical mortgage by $5,000 across the country. That rises to as much as $17,000 in Toronto and $20,000 in Vancouver.

Vancouver and Toronto are the likely targets of Ottawa's crackdown on foreign buyers and speculators who claim tax exemptions when selling investment properties, as well as new limits on portfolio insurance, a type of insurance for mortgages with down payments of 20 per cent and above, the economists say.

However, they predict the new rules will affect the entire Canadian housing market and "may dampen the still-fragile recovery" in oil-sensitive regions such as Alberta and Saskatchewan.

The recent round of mortgage-insurance rule changes come on top of other moves to cool the market. Those include Ottawa's plans to introduce risk-sharing for lenders who insure mortgages and separate rules announced last month by the country's banking watchdog, the Office of the Superintendent of Financial Institutions, requiring mortgage insurers to hold more capital against mortgages in high-risk segments of the housing market. TD also expects interest rates to creep higher over the next few years.

Combined, the measures will help push down home sales "to more normal levels" in overheated markets, the bank's economists say.

Royal Bank of Canada Prediction: 10-per-cent to 11-per-cent drop in home sales next year. Home prices will be flat or fall as much as 5 per cent.

Time period: Over the next year Ottawa's mortgage insurance rule changes will make it more difficult for Canada's housing market to achieve the expected soft landing, but aren't likely to set off a correction, writes Royal Bank senior economist Robert Hogue.

Mr. Hogue predicts that as many as 20 per cent of home sales will be affected by Ottawa's stricter stress test for insured mortgages with low down payments, although some buyers may still be able to qualify for a mortgage.

Nationally, home sales could fall as much as 11 per cent next year, a far more dramatic decline than the 3.7 per cent drop the bank's economists were forecasting before Ottawa unveiled its new housing measures on Oct. 3.

Royal Bank had also expected home prices to rise 2 per cent next year, but now believe the federal rule changes will push prices down 0.2 per cent in 2017.

In a separate analysis, the bank's equity analysts estimate that prices will fall as much as 5 per cent over the next year. That will push down that volume of new mortgage approvals by 12.5 per cent, from $275-billion in 2015 to $245-billion. The second analysis also includes the effects of OSFI's stricter capital requirements for mortgage insurers, which take effect next year.

Associated Graphic

Pessimism among analysts is growing after Ottawa's latest round of mortgage rule changes.


Artist led Indian Group of Seven
Considered the grandmother of contemporary indigenous art, she also drew on European influences
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S12

Daphne Odjig blended aboriginal experience with what she had learned from European artists to produce a uniquely expressive style of contemporary painting that helped propel aboriginal art out of the anthropology museums and kitschy gift shops into galleries of fine art - a tectonic shift in Canadian art history.

Works by the self-taught artist now belong to the collections of the National Gallery, the McMichael gallery, Wilfrid Laurier University, Indigenous and Northern Affairs Canada, Imperial Oil, Kamloops Art Gallery, the Winnipeg Art Gallery, El Al Airlines, and countless other public and private collections. Her paintings have appeared on postage stamps and been exhibited in New York, Los Angeles, Amsterdam, Tokyo and Lahr, Germany.

Her 1978 masterpiece, The Indian in Transition, an 8-metre-long mural hanging in the Canadian Museum of History (formerly the Canadian Museum of Civilization), has provided a colourful backdrop to many government announcements and awards presentations. The First Nations artist and curator Robert Houle has described it as a depiction of Ms. Odjig's "personal struggle as an artist, as a woman and as an Indian in modern Canada ... a monumental canvas fired with the same passion of social and political justice as Pablo Picasso's famous Guernica."

Its four parts depict the intact Indian culture, symbolized by the drum and protected by the mythic thunderbird; the arrival of a European sailing ship carrying white-faced men; the destruction of the culture and impoverishment of the indigenous people, symbolized by a broken drum and empty whisky bottle; and finally the rekindling of the culture and reappearance of the protective thunderbird.

Ms. Odjig herself lived the transition she painted: from the child of an Ojibwa father and an English mother raised on the Wikwemikong Unceded Indian Reserve, on Ontario's Manitoulin Island; to a young woman looked down on by her own white relatives on the mainland, to the point where she and her three siblings came to fudge their origins and change their name to Fisher (a translation of Odjig); to a proud reclaiming of her aboriginal heritage when she was 45 and the long-suppressed powwow was just being revived.

Reluctant to join in the dancing while on a visit back to her birthplace, she was soon drawn into the circle by family members: "I began to dance to the drum and I became an Indian," she later said.

Ms. Odjig died on Oct. 1, in a long-term care home in Kelowna, B.C., at the age of 97, after a long and fruitful artistic career. Her son, Stanley Somerville, who lives in Kelowna, transferred her there from her home in Penticton four years earlier, after she lost her husband. "I was holding her hand when she left us," he said in a phone interview. "Her heart finally gave out. There was no cause of death other than old age."

Daphne Odjig was born Sept. 11, 1919, in Wikwemikong (Wiki to locals) the first of four children of Dominic Odjig, the village constable of Ojibwa-Odawa heritage, and his English wife, Joyce Peachey Odjig. Dominic had fought in the First World War, and Joyce followed him home to Manitoulin Island as a war bride.

Ms. Odjig spoke Anishnabe until she left the reserve and lost her fluency. She had an idyllic childhood growing up in a house with hand-carved door posts that was built by her grandfather Jonas. Their home had no plumbing or electricity, but the family was relatively prosperous since they owned a team of horses, an apple orchard, pigs and dairy cows. It was the children's job to milk the cows before school and separate the cream.

Grandfather Jonas was a gifted stone carver with strong Christian values; he made all the tombstones in the local cemetery and would not tolerate any profanity in the house. The children went to a Jesuit-run school where art was a young Daphne's favourite subject; Daphne dreamed of being a teacher until she developed rheumatic fever and had to drop out of Grade 8. She remained fragile for the next three years and was often confined to bed. It was during this period that she grew close to her grandfather, who encouraged her to draw, and let her watch him work. "I was his little shadow," she later recalled.

Many years later she painted a triple portrait of her mother, father and Grandfather Jonas and called it Three Powerful Influences.

Her mother, Joyce, was fragile and lacked the strength to run a large household. Her energy was further drained when her mother (Daphne's widowed English grandmother) showed up with Joyce's eight younger brothers and moved in. According to the 1992 biography, A Paintbrush in My Hand by Rosemond Vanderburgh and Beth Southcott, the Odjigs were relieved when Grandma Peachey and her boys moved to Parry Sound, Ont.

When she was 18, her beloved mother and grandfather both died. Dominic Odjig quickly remarried and started another family. There was no place for Daphne, her brothers Donald and Stanley, and sister Winnie. The four adolescents moved to Parry Sound, but if they expected compassion or help at the home of their white grandmother and uncles, they were disappointed.

Jobs in Parry Sound were hard to find in the 1930s and not likely to go to Indians.

Donald and Stanley Fisher, as they were now called, eventually returned to the reserve on Manitoulin while the Fisher sisters headed south, having heard that there was work for women in munitions plants in Toronto following the outbreak of the Second World War. They found jobs at the Dr. Ballard's dog food plant and later at the John Inglis factory on the assembly line, making Colt Browning guns. In Toronto, no one cared that they were halfIndian. Daphne bought stylish clothes and professional art supplies for the first time. Tall and slim, she cut an elegant figure and had many admirers.

She discovered the library, with its books on art, and frequented the Royal Ontario Museum, the Art Gallery of Ontario, and Eaton's College Street, then an important showcase for artists.

Eager to learn the technique of oil painting, she visited the Ontario College of Art (now OCAD University) to inquire about studying there but could not afford to give up her job. She would teach herself to paint through intense solitary artistic experimentation over the next decade. She did not know other artists.

After the war ended, she moved to British Columbia to marry Paul Somerville, a Mohawk RCAF veteran with whom she had fallen in love in Toronto. She became stepmother to his son, David, from his first marriage, and in 1948, gave birth to their son, Stanley.

Paul worked in a psychiatric hospital but dreamed of starting a strawberry farm. The couple bought 30 fertile acres on Cultus Lake, B.C.

In 1960, before they could bring in their first harvest, Paul died tragically in a car accident. Two years later, she sold the farm and married Chester Beavon, a friend and colleague of her late husband at the psychiatric hospital.

Whenever she could, she painted furiously in the European Impressionist manner, read art magazines, visited art museums and sought out the works of Picasso.

When her new husband was hired as a community development officer in Northern Manitoba, the couple were posted to Easterville, a community of Chemawawin Cree displaced from their traditional fishing grounds by the hydroelectric dam at Grand Rapids. Ms. Odjig saw first hand the misery of indigenous people who were losing their soul-sustaining traditions and culture. She started filling her sketchbooks with pictures of the local people.

In 1964, she revisited her home village on Manitoulin Island and reconnected with her native heritage. From the older women of the community, she heard the legends of her people and gradually found a new subject matter and style for her paintings and drawings, influenced by Picasso's distortions but distinctly nonEuropean. From then on, she signed her work with her birth name: Odjig. She began to sell her work instead of giving it away and in 1967, had her first solo exhibition at the Lakehead Art Centre in Thunder Bay. That same year her work was shown at Expo 67, in Montreal.

Around that time she was commissioned by Dr. Herbert Schwarz to paint a suite of erotic images to illustrate his book, Tales from the Smokehouse. Curator and artist Bonnie Devine has called these paintings unique in the history of indigenous art.

Winnipeg was a gateway city, a meeting place of east and west where she finally found her peer group. She and her husband had moved there to start a small print shop, selling reproductions of her work. They later added the New Warehouse Gallery, which became a gathering spot and exhibition venue for a group of talented indigenous artists including Norval Morrisseau, Jackson Beardy, Alex Janvier, Carl Ray, Eddy Cobiness, and Joseph Sanchez, all hungry for recognition as serious artists. None wanted to be seen as an ethnographic curiosity. With them she cofounded Professional Indian Artists Inc., sometimes dubbed the Indian Group of Seven.

"I consider Daphne to be the grandmother of contemporary indigenous art especially for us Anishinaabe. She was instrumental in helping other artists blossom, too. She kicked in doors for us all," said Wanda Nanibush, curator of indigeneous art at the AGO.

By the end of the 1970s, Ms. Odjig was tired of running the gallery. She had received major commissions and needed time to paint. She was now moving away from legend paintings to expressions of her own feelings and history, as well as the history of her people. She and Chester sold the gallery and moved back to B.C. to Shushwap Lake, where she built a studio large enough for her murals. Thus began Ms. Odjig's most productive period as an artist.

Many honours were bestowed on her, including the Order of Canada in 1986, an Aboriginal Achievement Award in 1998, a Governor-General's Award in Visual and Media Arts in 2007, and seven honorary degrees. She was the subject of a play, The Art Show, by Alanis King, and of several documentary films, including one made for Japanese television. Chief Wakageshig presented her with an eagle feather on behalf of the Wikwemikong reserve, an honour previously reserved for warriors or great hunters.

In 2007-08 a major travelling retrospective of her work was organized by Ms. Devine, who teaches at OCAD University. It was seen in galleries across the country including the Art Gallery of Sudbury, the McMichael and the National Gallery in Ottawa.

And in 2014, the Indian Group of Seven, which Ms. Odjig helped to found four decades earlier, finally received a full retrospective, curated by Michelle LaVallee, that included 120 paintings and drawings. It was seen in the Winnipeg Art Gallery and the Mackenzie Gallery in Edmonton among other places. By then, not many of the group's members were left. Mr. Beardy died of a heart attack at 40, Mr. Morrisseau was destroyed by Parkinson's disease and alcohol, Carl Ray was murdered at 35, stabbed in a dispute over money.

But Daphne Odjig went on painting. In her senior years, she was an elder among Indian artists, a vivid silver-haired presence adorned with plenty of chunky turquoise jewellery. "She established a path forward for native artists," Ms. Devine said. "There was a template to follow."

Ms. Odjig leaves her son, Stanley Somerville; stepson, David Somerville; brother, Donald Fisher; granddaughter, Shannon; and a great-grandson.

To submit an I Remember: Send us a memory of someone we have recently profiled on the Obituaries page. Please include I Remember in the subject field.

Associated Graphic

Daphne Odjig smiles in front of her 1984 work Spiritual Renewal, on exhibition at the Kamploops Art Gallery in June, 2008. Ms. Odjig was widely celebrated for her influence on aboriginal art.


Tribute to Picasso (1986) by Daphne Odjig.


Toronto's fashion week has fallen apart before. But as Anya Georgijevic learns, its most recent cancellation may have more to do with a broader industry shift than a perceived snub by the U.S. company that had been running the shows
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L4

Like many Canadian designers, Jennifer Torosian was looking forward to presenting her Spring 2017 collection at Toronto Fashion Week (TFW) this month. The announcement on July 7 that the event's American owner IMG was shutting it down came as a surprise to her and the industry at large. "Since it was our fi rst season showing at TFW last March, we weren't aware of any red flags," she says.

Nor was Bernadette Morra, who, at the time, was editor-in-chief of Fashion magazine and one of the mentors for TFW's Mercedes-Benz Start Up designer competition. "The judging had already started from sketches," says Morra, who left her position at the publication last July. "I'd chosen the people that I thought should be seen by the judges."

Perhaps no one was more caught off guard than Robin Kay, the woman who co-founded the most recent version of the city's fashion week and sold the catwalk event for an undisclosed amount to IMG just a few years earlier. "I would never have sold the event if I had known it was to be a fouryear period," she says. "The purpose in selling the event to IMG was to build out Toronto to more global exposure. This was the promise of IMG."

In hindsight, the event's name change last March, from World MasterCard Fashion Week to simply Toronto Fashion Week, signaled the loss of sponsorship revenue that had been essential to the event's success (L'Oreal had been the title sponsor from 2002 to 2008 and LG held that position from 2008 to 2012). IMG cited a lack of local funding as the reason behind the closure. "We felt that our Canadian fashion footprint was not generating the local commercial funding that we really required in order for us to continue producing the event to the highest standard that, really, the industry deserves and the designers in Toronto deserve," Catherine Bennett, senior vice-president and managing director of IMG Fashion Events & Properties, told The Canadian Press in July. When reached by The Globe and Mail for this story, IMG declined to comment further.

But speaking with fashion insiders over the months since IMG's announcement makes it clear that there were other, more industry-wide, forces at play in Toronto. And despite concerns that TFW's cancellation might kill the city's fashion ambitions, it appears designers will emerge with more options than ever to market their collections.

The strategy for showcasing Canadian apparel has been evolving for decades. The Association of Canadian Couturiers held presentations in Montreal as early as 1954, and in 1956 the Garment Salesmen Ontario Market held their inaugural two-day, biannual show at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto. The event, a mix of designer booths and live presentations, was the leading showcase of Canadian fashion, especially after the Montreal organization folded in 1968. In May of 1975, The Globe and Mail reported that the Garment Salesmen Ontario Market attracted 4,000 buyers from across the country.

Ten years later, the Festival of Canadian Fashion made its debut, with 24 shows over four days. The event was sponsored by two of the country's biggest retailers, Eaton's and Holt Renfrew. Although it was initially successful, the event ended after only five years, reportedly losing $400,000. Next, cigarette company Matinée created the Matinée Fashion Foundation in 1992. The two-day event included generous grants for designers, among them Wayne Clark, Brian Bailey and Franco Mirabelli. After providing $50-million in business development funding and marketing support over 11 years, it ended in 2003, around the time a ban on tobacco sponsorship was introduced by the government.

Robin Kay established TFW in 2000; her goal for the event was to prepare Canadian designers for the international stage. "The main focus was to get designers runway-ready and export-ready," she says. "But fi rst, at home, to build a brand here." IMG became interested in acquiring the event soon after it took the reins of New York Fashion Week (NYFW) in 2001. Kay initially turned down its offer. "For a two-year period, IMG Canada worked as sponsorship agents along with the FDCC, and in 2011 we hired one of the IMG American fashion experts to assist and guide the production of the event in Toronto," says Kay. By the time it bought TFW outright in 2012, IMG had extended its fashion week model to other emerging style capitals including Berlin, Istanbul and Sydney. Under IMG's tenure, Toronto welcomed mass-market retailers like Sears, Target and Express into the fold, but presenting a more diverse (and less high-fashion) mix of labels neither helped grow the event's international profi le nor attract buyers. "IMG is a billion-dollar global corporation. And they failed," says Kay.

"I got the impression it was pretty sudden," says Morra. "Ultimately, looking back and understanding their strategy, I get it. The last time I went to [IMG's] New York Fashion Week in February, I was stunned at how quiet the environment was." She recalls that just a few years earlier, the venue was packed with sponsors. "They had completely scaled back sponsorships. When I asked about it, they said this was their strategy and that they wanted fewer, but more relevant sponsorships with deeper connections to the guests." (According to, NYFW is said to attract 150,000 attendees.) "Many of those people are going to make up a much more powerful group in terms of amplification of the hashtags and the sponsorship promotions," says Morra. "Could the 30,000 in Toronto come anywhere near those numbers? No."

Despite IMG's efforts to keep TFW going (at the last round of shows, consumers could buy tickets ranging in price from $45 to almost $1,000), a source that worked on the event and asked to remain anonymous says the fi nancial loss was too great. "Their parent company is [California-based talent agency] William Morris Endeavor," says the source. "If [IMG is] coming back and losing $50,000... I know it cost them a fortune to build those tents." Unlike Kay, IMG had no emotional involvement in the event.

When Kay and her FDCC co-founder, the late designer Pat McDonagh, launched the inaugural TFW in 2000, the City of Toronto was a founding co-sponsor, but government involvement has waned over the years. In the end, City Hall's contribution was the David Pecaut Square site where TFW erected its runway tents. Still, fashion week's cancellation raised alarms among local officials. "The City was of course concerned when we heard the IMG announcement, and on July 14, City Council adopted a Supporting the Growth of Toronto's Fashion Sector motion," writes Toronto's design sector advisor Laurie Belzak in an e-mail. The motion asks that council request the general manager of economic development and culture to consult with the fashion sector on the impact of the cancellation on the industry's growth, call a meeting to discuss the next steps, and fi le a report in the fi rst quarter of 2017, including best practices used by foreign governments in their fashion sectors. Belzak goes on to highlight that while the city has not been actively involved in TFW, it is a co-sponsor of the Toronto Fashion Incubator (TFI), an organization established in 1987 that provides subsidized studio space and other business development for designers. The TFI's Press & Buyers tradeshow was part of the official TFW calendar and will still run on Oct. 18 at One King West, a hotel in the fi nancial district.

Mercedes-Benz will not continue with its Start Up competition, however. "It was with regret that Mercedes-Benz Canada learned that IMG was saying goodbye to the fashion scene in Canada," wrote the company's public relations supervisor Nathalie Gravel in an e-mail. "Unfortunately, the MercedesBenz Start Up program can no longer continue to exist since its turnkey platform was fully owned and produced by IMG Canada." The initiative involved a countrywide search for emerging design talent. After regional competitions, the finalists would battle it out on the TFW runway every October for a $30,000 cash prize and a fully produced runway presentation the following spring. Last year's winners, Simon Belanger and Jose Manuel St-Jacques of the Montreal label Unttld, went on to score the Swarovski Award for Emerging Talent at the annual Canadian Arts and Fashion Awards (CAFAs) last April.

IMG took over TFW in 2012, at a time when most major fashion weeks were following a long-established model in which designers would show next season's collections six months ahead of their retail availability. Since then, many brands at all price points of the fashion spectrum - from Topshop to Rebecca Minkoff to Burberry - have adopted the see-now, buy-now model where clothes are available to purchase as soon as they appear on the runway. This year's NYFW introduced pop-up shops at key venues. Kay believes some of those components could have been introduced to Toronto by IMG.

Most recently, Kay has acted as a mentor for The Collections, a Toronto-based creative services group with a roster of emerging talent that includes the up-and-coming Torosian, the award-winning Sid Neigum (recently deemed "one to watch" by Vogue), and Chloé and Parris Gordon, the internationally acclaimed sisters behind Beaufille. When the IMG announcement was made, many fashion insiders looked to The Collections to take over fashion week, since their designer roster made up a significant portion of the TFW schedule. There was also a push for uniting different factions of the city's industry to present a more cohesive picture of local talent.

FashionCAN, a two-day event organized by Yorkdale Shopping Centre and CAFA in collaboration with The Collections will attempt to unite the industry with shows on Oct. 16 and 17. "We leapt at the chance to address a gap in the Canadian fashion calendar. Shoppers can now engage with Canadian fashion like never before and access the newest designs almost directly from the runway. This is good for our designers and the Canadian fashion industry as a whole, and makes a critical connection between fashion shows and sales," says Yorkdale's marketing director Lucia Connor.

The initiative will introduce the see-now, buy-now model to the city by providing a popup retail space where consumers can purchase current season garments as well as preorder items for spring. FashionCAN's runway will host many TFW regulars including Bustle, Stephan Caras, Mackage, Mikhael Kale and Pink Tartan.

In the weeks following IMG's cancellation announcement, speculation was rampant about who else might step in to capture a piece of fashion week's audience and remaining sponsorship pool, and a few other players are emerging. On Aug. 20, the organizers behind Toronto Men's Fashion Week (TOM) announced that they are planning to introduce a women's-wear component to their schedule in February. In late September, rumours started circulating that IMG sold the TFW event to a Toronto real estate developer with a history of involvement in the city's fashion weeks. It's safe to say that, despite the industry's initial fears, Toronto will not be wanting for fashion shows in the foreseeable future.

"The appetite is there and the talent is there," says Morra. "Now it's just a matter of refi ning and reconfiguring the business model so that it makes sense in today's see-now, buy-now world."

Associated Graphic


In Umbria, just a 90-minute drive from Rome, Ellen Himelfarb discovers some of Italy's most striking 'ghost villages' - towns of haunting beauty where mere handfuls of residents struggle to keep their way of life alive
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page T1

MONTECCHIO, ITALY -- A slender road winds between hills dense with woodland that could sustain us for weeks.

Shooting downward, the terrain suddenly opens up and we emerge into undulating green, fading to blue on the misty horizon. On distant hilltops, a medieval village, or two. With barely another soul on these roads, just 90 minutes from Rome, the car lurches into top gear. Something about all that open space means the girls in the back seat, normally hunched over barf bags or fixed nervously to the road straight ahead, are gazing out at the olive groves, having thrown caution to the wind.

As we cross the Tiber Valley into Umbria, I wish I could say I hadn't expected this. But from postcards and Pinterest and years of marketing, I knew exactly what to expect. I just hadn't believed it. The region is just as green and quietly quaint as they say. And empty. In August.

We need groceries, to stock up the kitchen of the rambling modernist villa we're sharing, at a ludicrously reasonable $100 per bedroom per night. So I pull off the exit for Montecchio and ease onto an upward spiral of tarmac - not so much a road as the incidental space between buildings from the Middle Ages.

Some way back, a sign has promised a supermercato, but before it gets to that I manage to wedge us awkwardly between low stone walls and iron barriers, at the dead end of a oneway route. In the great tradition of tourists getting into tight spots, three elderly men in flat caps watch from a bench, barely amused.Soon enough, though, I'm in the shop, running back and forth to the cash with zucchini, tomatoes, produce, milk jugs, cereal and rounds of focaccia, there being no means of carrying it around with me. The grocer weighs and scribbles his tally. His wife comes out of the back to watch. Nobody, it seems, has ever bought so many groceries.

The next afternoon we're following an untethered donkey around Parco dei Mostri, a jungle-knotted dale cut back to reveal stone sculptures carved in grotesque animal forms, mouths agog, eyes gaping. Commissioned by a grieving nobleman in the 1500s, it was restored only in the last 40 years - a sort of Angkor Wat in pastoral Lazio. So spectacularly creepy, it could be the most universally alluring attraction in the Tiber Valley.

And yet next door, in the elegantly peeling hilltop village of Bomarzo, life barely holds on.

Searching for a shop, a café, a single bench, we find nothing.

Our footsteps actually echo.

Finally, a resident. My husband, competent in Italian, strikes up a conversation. She wants to know why we've come, as if one requires justification for visiting the living history of 1,000 years, nearly 1,000 feet in the air. "Nobody comes here," she tells him. Looking out from Bomarzo's only stop sign, over a gorge combed with vineyards, I think: incomprehensible.

What will happen to the towns of central Italy when the seniors are gone, when the abbey is vacant and the swaddled grandchildren, shown off at the morning market by nonna, have moved to Bologna or Milan?

How will their children hold together family businesses, the oils and liqueurs produced by small holdings? I felt, suddenly, as if I were standing on the edge - not of a gorge but of an era.

My family are city people, dependent on new culture: theatre, galleries, cocktail bars, all within walking distance. That has gone for vacations as well.

When the kids were younger, flat pavements and wall-to-wall novelties were good; remote hinterland, bad. We once found ourselves, on the second night of a holiday, atop a mountain in rural China stricken with food poisoning, our only choice to cut and run.

We had forsaken Italy. It's not going anywhere; we'll get there, eventually. I'm glad we didn't wait long.

Another day, another village.

This time it's Civita di Bagnoregio; its population: 10. In fact, it's two villages.

We park in Bagnoregio, then walk along a brick road flanked by butchers with striped awnings and cafés out of Fellini. At the edge of town we purchase $4.50 tickets to cross a vertiginous bridge ending at a cliff topped with Renaissance towers and cottages built by the Etruscans.

But the volcanic-ash foundations are prone to landslides, and most of Civita has decamped next door. It has yet to be awarded UNESCO status, despite a fervent local campaign. All people have to help save this place at death's door are the tickets, and homemade banners screaming for more funds.

Every morning, merchants creep over to Civita to sell souvenirs and wine, to play music in the little square. But is anybody buying? From the empty chairs on the terraces and the echo from inside the medieval church, it didn't appear so. At last count, there were 20,000 socalled "ghost villages" across Italy.

The rise of volcanic tufo (tuff) is firmer beneath Orvieto, one of the most vibrant towns in Umbria. We begin our exploration from its base, where a 175foot-deep well, or pozzo, draws us deep into the cool earth via a double-helix staircase. It is barely signed from the road, and thus mostly ours for a damp half-hour.

Climbing back out is our warm-up for the route cutting through Orvieto's almost healthy town centre, selling designer clothes and antiques.

As the yellowed-stone villas close in to narrow the path, it lurches upward to a piazza acres wide and, at its centre, a cathedral of striking black and white stripes, almost on trend in its bold, monochrome motif. The Gothic façade is coated in gold mosaic, so in late afternoon it shimmers against richly painted ecclesiastical scenes.

If so many of its neighbours are dying, Orvieto is the opposite. It's near impossible to get a clear shot of the church, or even a seat on the curb opposite.

Masses come out of nowhere to line up at Gelato di Pasqualetti, an all-natural ice-cream parlour around the side.

In the queue is a couple from San Francisco who decided to move to town with their son after a single visit last spring. All the vast distances and Italian classes are worth it, they say, to experience the culture firsthand, before all that remains are big-box olive oils and frozen meatballs. But they've taken early retirement. Who else could afford to make a life here?

Back at our villa, I am rushing inside every hour to grab my camera. The sun's movement has an enchanting effect on the hillsides, filtering them with yellow, orange, green, blue. In the distance is Civitella del Lago, vaulted up over Lake Corbara, on the path of the Tiber.

After a gentle warning from our landlord not to attempt the journey on the poor back roads, my husband and I brazenly take the bait.

We're a minority, for sure.

Pushing our feeble engine up the steep approach, we idle behind gnarled old men, hunched from the effort of climbing, like exiles from the Thriller video.

Eventually, we pass, park in a communal lot outside the carfree zone, and wander in. At Trippini Market, past the medieval church tower, we buy a tin of olive oil named for the shop.

The Trippini family owns the groves down below - not to mention the B&B next door.

At midday, labourers in coveralls are sitting outside Bar Pazzi and filing into a two-storey tavern with views over the lake - called, unsurprisingly, Trippini.

It sits next to a municipal lookout, all new bricks and shiny iron lampposts, and someone has had the idea to place three picnic tables out on the edge of the precipice, in the shade of an old olive tree.

If there were glass between us, we'd be pressing our noses against it. We should sit down for fettucine with the local truffles, washed down with the area's exceptional Grechetto wine. Alas, lunch is waiting for us at home.

We head to the car through a scrum by the main road. A pair of roller trucks have managed the climb, however impossibly, to repair the old blacktop, and the entire village has come to watch - probably a Trippini or two, and the hunched old men.

"At least they made it," we said to each other. Then we bumped on down the road home.



Locanda Palazzone For the money, you get twostorey apartments with arched stone terraces and access to acres of gardens and the outdoor pool. Just outside Orvieto, the palazzo is remarkably well-kept considering it's one of Italy's oldest hotels, dating back to the 13th century. The owners make their own wine on site.

Localita Rocca Ripesena 67, +39 0763 393614;; suites from $294.

Ripa Medici An old-school townhouse with dark wood furniture and dramatic silk drapes, this B&B is a little bit town and a little bit country - on the edge of medieval Orvieto with views out to green, cypress-studded hills. Families or those with mobility issues will love the new groundfloor apartment, done up all in white, with its own terrace.

From here, you can walk to some of the finest gelato in the country, and the most spectacular cathedral this side of Siena.

Vicolo Ripa Medici 14; +39 0763 341343;; doubles from $94.

Borgo Fontanile This small farmhouse villa on the Tiber River has a pool, common rooms indoors and out and owners who cook for you on the outdoor grill.

There's a sheep farm on the property alongside the eponymous spring and an olive grove. Rooms are big, clean and have their own entrance.

The market town of Montecchio and the hilltop village of Civitella del Lago are each 15 minutes away.

Vocabolo Fornace 159, +39 377 179 9329; doubles from $86.


Il Fontanile Kids play on beanbag chairs out by the bank of the Tiber; adults clink glasses of Montepulciano and debate toppings for the wood-fired pizza. The owners make their own salume, sausage and fettucine.

Via Teverina 3, Montecchio, +39 (0) 744 951024;

La Pergola A sweet stone room with colourful bistro tables looks onto a private courtyard out back. It's refreshingly modern for village-Umbria, but the food is traditional: ragu pastas, grilled meats and creamy desserts.

Via dei Magoni 9, Orvieto, +39 0763 343065;

I Gelsi Fresh steamed greens come with simple cuts of meat that seep into wooden boards. But seafood - clams, prawns and calamari - is the thing here, piled on pastas or chopped into salads.

Localita Madonna Del Porto 53, Guardea, +39 0744 906085.

Associated Graphic

Civita di Bagnoregio in Umbria is made up of two villages. Civita has a population of 10 and most residents have moved to Bagnoregio. The volanic rock Civita is built on is prone to landslides.


The hills of Umbria can make driving perilous, but provide stunning vistas throughout the day.


The village Civita di Bagnoregio is beautiful, but prone to landslides and many locals have moved away.


The village and cathedral of Orvieto.


Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R1

Baby I've been down, but never this down I've been lost, but never this lost - Bruce Springsteen, This Depression H e was 60 years old, and in the jaws of a blackness without end, and his old friends were dying, and one autumn morning Bruce Springsteen found himself alone on a beach in New Jersey with his paddle board and his tears. Not just any tears, either: "Bambi tears," as he writes in his new autobiography, Born to Run. "Old Yeller tears. ... Fried Green Tomato tears."

But then he discovered, as many of us do at a particularly low point, or sometimes in a Bruce Springsteen song, that he was not alone.

An old woman walking her dog happened across this bawling man, having no idea who he was - that he was the Brruuuuuccee of legend, the rock stud of a million dreams - and she did a simple thing: She asked if there was anything she could do to help.

"I was sinking pretty low, and the beach was empty," Springsteen says over the phone from New York. "It was in September. I'll swim into November sometimes. I was going through a period of serious depression. This lovely woman saw me in some duress, and just started up a conversation. It was pretty sweet."

It was a reversal of the usual course of things. Normally, he was the musclebound shoulder people leaned on: the members of his E Street Band, for 40 years. His audience, for just as long, getting high on those threehour shows. The guy leaning out the window of his car on the morning of 9/11, yelling, "Bruce, we need you!" But even strong men crumble; they often do in his songs. So, to thank the elderly woman, he did the one thing he could think of: He promised her tickets to his concert. Rock 'n' roll had saved his life, over and over; why wouldn't he share the gift?

Possibly the woman went home with her dog and told the story of the strange man on the beach who offered her concert tickets. Possibly her grandchildren told her who the strange man was, and she went to the concert herself, and if she did she would have seen him come alive on stage. Nobody who has seen Springsteen live can doubt that it is where he is most himself. What's interesting is that he admits it: "In truth," he writes in his memoir, "offstage I never really had the ease or ability to enjoy myself very freely."

Over the phone, in his distinctive low-gear-on-gravel voice, he says: "I believe it's the same for most performers. You're looking for something, some place, where you feel comfortable, where you're able to express yourself; some place you feel safe. It was the answer to a lot of the conflicts I had as a child. It was a way of rebuilding the safety that I felt in my grandparents' house when I was young."

That house is at the centre of his spellbinding memoir, and of his life; he still dreams of it. "It was," he writes, "the greatest and saddest sanctuary I've known."

His grandfather rebuilt radios - a magical pastime - and his grandmother treated young Bruce like a king. In recent years, when he returned to his paternal grandparents' tiny house in Freehold, N.J., where he spent his early years sheltering from his unhappy father's scorn, he found it had been torn down to make way for a car park for the nearby church.

They had paved paradise, and put up a parking lot.

Equally crucial to his story is his turbulent relationship with his late father, Doug, a lonely drinker who suffered from an undiagnosed mental illness and who found little satisfaction in his only son, the long-haired, guitar-playing weirdo. It was a relationship that they mended, haltingly, later in life, when Springsteen had grown up enough to forgive. "My father and I were difficult together," he says, "but not so difficult that toward the end of his life we weren't able to be close and realize how much we loved each other."

His mother, Adele, the daughter of Italian immigrants, was a powerful, loving and supportive presence all through his life (she's still alive). She is the one who encouraged his musical exploration, he says. "If you build yourself a full life, you look back and you have the generosity to take a compassionate look at your parents' life. If you've been damaged permanently, it's much more difficult. ... I have friends who are completely estranged from their parents or their families. There's no real road to going back. If you're fortunate enough to have that road, it's good to make use of it."

It occurs to me that this, perhaps, is Springsteen's great gift, on top of his Herculean strengths as songwriter and a performer: He is the chronicler of each of America's ages. He was the horny teenager sweating it out on the streets of a runaway American dream, the working stiff waiting for the factory whistle to blow, the scarred boomer learning to live with his own failures and his country's at the same time.

In his songs, he also imagines his way into the life of a hobo, a factory drudge, a state trooper, a Vietnam veteran - and the crazy thing is that he has been none of these things. He's never had another job except for singing and playing guitar, which he took up after seeing Elvis and the Beatles on TV. He's never been a busboy or a babysitter or a clock-puncher, and when his draft letter came in 1968, he and his freak buddies took the bus to Newark and were judged unfit for military service.

Yet, he is America's great contemporary chronicler of the betrayed working class, from Darkness on the Edge of Town in 1978 to the anti-establishment fury of Wrecking Ball in 2012. I tell him that one of his songs, Downbound Train, has haunted me for years since I heard it on his 1984 album Born in the USA. This is how it begins: I had a job, I had a girl I had something going mister in this world I got laid off down at the lumberyard Our love went bad, times got hard Now I work down at the car wash Where all it ever does is rain Don't you feel like you're a rider on a downbound train "Huh," he says when I tell him this. Clearly he doesn't get asked much about Downbound Train.

But its themes are familiar, and the narrator is an archetype found in many of Springsteen's songs, a man who wonders why he's on a downbound train while the fat cats in New York and Washington are riding their elevators to the penthouse. These are the men and women who live in small-town New Jersey and Ohio and Pennsylvania, the same towns a teenaged Springsteen toured with his band in a clapped-out car he didn't even have a licence to drive.

He says: "What we see in the States at the moment are the results of 30 or 40 years of neglecting the effects of deindustrialization and globalization on a large part of the population. ... The world changed and a lot of people didn't have the ability or the circumstance or the preparation to change with it. That's a very difficult thing. If someone told me tomorrow that I couldn't play music any more, I don't know what I'd do. I'd be at a complete loss. If your steel mill shuts down, if your factory shuts down, and the job you've done for 20 or 30 years goes away, you're abandoned. You're orphaned."

An orphan might be susceptible to a demagogue with a grifter's confidence and a powerful line in empty promises.

Springsteen, as you might imagine, has many thoughts about Donald Trump, and not one of them is happy. "I hope Donald Trump goes down hard, and Hillary Clinton is elected president.

I like her; I think she'd be a very good president.

"Donald Trump is simply a very dangerous man who has ruined the political discourse of the nation, and is a real danger to democracy. He's taken his followers to a place that is beyond democracy when he talks about rigged elections. There's a lot of very, very dangerous talk out there that subverts democratic processes."

He's still irate about the financial crash of 2008, and is worried about the state of American political life, but it's not all bleak: Springsteen sees great hope in social-justice movements, such as Black Lives Matter. In 1999, he faced a disturbing moment when police publicly protested his song American Skin (41 Shots), about the shooting of Guinean immigrant Amadou Diallo by undercover officers in New York. Now, though, he takes heart from the protests that roil America's streets, unsettling though they are in the short run.

"If you look at the civil-rights movement, it looked like all hell was breaking loose, and of course it was. At the same time, the gains that were made in that time have benefited Americans from the 1960s to now. Now we're going through another period of racial tension to further the cause of justice. This often happens in an ugly and violent way, but it does push the nation to deal with its problems. Martin Luther King said that the arc of history is long, but it tends to bend toward justice."

And his own personal arc?

Now, at 67, it bends toward contentment, or something like it.

The man who had his first drink at 22, who proclaims to be afraid of living near the edge, found his own edge in depression, and has learned to cope with it. To that end, he has a support network consisting of his wife (and E Street band singer) Patti Scialfa, and their three adult children.

"Without her strength and calm," he writes, "I don't know what I would have done."

There's also that band of brothers he plays with, although the death of saxophonist Clarence Clemons left a ragged hole at its heart, and in his heart: "It created a hole in me that's never going to be filled. And that's life, once you get to a certain age.

You're going to end up with a life that has a lot of holes in it."

That's life, if you're lucky enough to survive it, and find yourself not running, but moving at a reasonable pace, enjoying the world in all its cracked splendour.

Associated Graphic


In his autobiography, titled Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen recounts how he has suffered from depression periodically.


The death of E Street Band sax player Clarence Clemons 'created a hole in me that's never going to be filled,' Springsteen says.


Jaswant's Kitchen is one of many small manufacturing companies setting up shop in Toronto thanks to the city's effort to replace large industrial factories with smaller, more entrepreneurial ventures
Special to The Globe and Mail
Thursday, October 20, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E1

Nimi Kular and her three sisters loved their mom's Indian home cooking. But when they asked for recipes, she'd tell them to add a pinch of this spice and a dab of that.

"Like most moms and grandmothers, she just threw things together," says Ms. Kular, a cofounder of Jaswant's Kitchen. "We could never get anything written down."

To help her daughters learn about Indian cooking, their mother, Jaswant Kular, began to mix up spice blends. "She knew if she didn't make it easy, it would be lost to our generation," admits Nimi Kular. The resulting mixes became wildly popular not only with her daughters but with friends and relatives. And the family began to think about marketing them.

"None of us had a background in the food business," says Nimi Kular. "It was really a passion project." The women rented a commercial kitchen in a friend's banquet hall when it wasn't in use. Together they'd roast, grind and blend the spices and package them for sale at local food shows and farmer's markets.

But as their business expanded, they faced a new set of problems.

They needed more, and readily available, space to work in, as well as specialized equipment.

What's more, they were plunging into unknown territory and sorely in need of advice from food industry veterans.

That's when Ms. Kular came across a website for Food Starter, a not-for-profit accelerator for food startups launched last November, and one of the City of Toronto's many initiatives meant to nurture home-grown manufacturing and food processing in the city.

The Kulars took over a small unit in the 20,000-square-foot building. "It's our own little space where we have our own equipment," says Ms. Kular. "And we're able to use some of the equipment that they have in the shared space - things like the huge industrial ovens we use to roast the spices. We'd never be able to afford them on our own."

Even better, other businesses on the premises can offer advice on food safety, production, marketing and accounting. When the Kulars were seeking a distributor, for example, other Food Starter businesses arranged introductions and offered insight.

Jaswant's Kitchen is one of many small manufacturing companies setting up shop in Toronto, thanks to the city's concerted effort to replace old-style large industrial manufacturers with smaller, more entrepreneurial ventures. Rather than focusing on low-cost production of commodity goods, these companies often create unique, custom products in the area of technology, hardware, fashion and food.

Food Starter works daily with dozens of such firms, says executive director Dana McCauley.

She believes the strength of Toronto's future economy depends on developing such home-grown success stories.

"Those companies will not necessarily be as tempted to move to the U.S. when they're offered all kinds of tax incentives," she says.

Indeed, while it may seem like madness to try to encourage manufacturing and processing in the heart of the city, it makes good sense, says Chris Rickett, manager of entrepreneurship services for Toronto. "Manufacturing is still one of the largest employers in the city," he says. It employed more than 130,000 in 2015, according to StatsCan.

What's more, the number of manufacturing firms has increased in recent years. "We attribute the growth to a lot more micro-manufacturing, as well as the 'maker movement'" of independent inventors, designers and tinkerers, as well as tech hardware companies, says Mr. Rickett.

"Part of making sure manufacturing continues to exist is making sure that people know it is this very creative job opportunity. It needs rebranding, and the maker movement is really good at that."

New tech tools help What's more, he says, new tech tools are making it a lot easier to open a manufacturing business.

"It used to be if you wanted to make a product, the process of prototyping that and getting it to market was very long," he explains. "Now you can prototype it down at the library, using their MakerBot [3-D printer], then put that prototype on Kickstarter and presell the product."

The upshot is that the timelines and barriers to starting a manufacturing company have been drastically reduced.

That doesn't mean, however, that opening a manufacturing or processing business in the city is easy. Space is at a premium, and labour costs are high compared with overseas locations such as India, China and Vietnam. Advice can be difficult to come by as well.

"We brought together a lot of early stage manufacturers as well as postsecondary institutions and incubators in June to try to lay out their pain points," says Mr. Rickett. "Now we're working with them to develop some solutions."

One of the major barriers is finding production space in the city, he says. Although there's plenty of prototyping space, "we find that piece of going to the next level of starting some smallrun production is missing," says Mr. Rickett. "As is getting access to mentors and training and advisory support on, say, developing supply chains, raising funding and marketing."

The city hopes to at least partially fill the gap with a new dedicated manufacturing accelerator to be built in a residential condo building at Dufferin Street near College. It will operate similarly to Food Starter, offering shared equipment and services, mentorship and support to fledgling manufacturers.

The project came about when builder Siteline Group Inc. applied to demolish 60,000 square feet of employment space at the Dufferin site several years ago to put up two residential towers. The city balked. "We don't want to lose manufacturing space, especially in the core," Mr Rickett says. So the city proposed a novel solution: If the developer were to replace every foot of that employment space in one of the condo towers, the project could go ahead. The builder agreed, and the project was approved in June.

Manufacturing and residential The building is still "a few years off," says Mr. Rickett. "But it will be the first time you'll actually see manufacturing in a residential building. It will be very unique to Toronto."

Mitch Debora, a co-founder and chief executive officer of Mosaic Manufacturing, says that having access to such a space would have helped him immensely in getting his business off the ground.

The germ of his business came from his experience running a small 3-D printing company to make some extra cash while at Queen's University. Inevitably, Mr. Debora received requests to print items in several colours and materials. "Believe it or not, that was just not possible," he says. "About 97 per cent of 3-D printers are limited to printing something in one colour or material."

Mr. Debora and his three cofounders smelled an opportunity and founded Mosaic Manufacturing. Their first product, the Palette, converts low-cost 3-D printers from single-colour to multicolour at a cost of $1,000.

A Kickstarter campaign to get the project off the ground raised $230,000, mainly from hobbyists, enthusiasts and artists - all of them willing to prepay for a product they wouldn't receive for eight months or more.

"That was really, really huge in terms of demonstrating demand from the market," says Mr. Debora. "Then we had to decide where to build this company."

Big-city pluses Toronto won out, largely because it offers access to angel investors and venture capital firms, as well as plenty of talent. "There's a really strong business and engineering talent pool in the city, which has helped us form a really strong core team," says Mr. Debora.

Mosaic wanted to manufacture its first 1,000 units in the city as well. "We didn't want to make the mistake of going overseas, running into a million problems and then folding because the quality of our product was low," says Mr. Debora. "Even though it's more expensive to produce them here, it means that there's no language barrier and little problems can be dealt with in a matter of hours, rather than weeks."

But finding space wasn't easy.

They looked at 10 to 15 properties over two months.

In the end, they chose an office building at Church Street and Richmond. "We don't do heavy manufacturing there, just assembly, quality control and shipping," says Mr. Debora. The other occupants include law firms and recruitment offices, so there's no one to bounce ideas off of or consult regarding manufacturingrelated issues.

Eventually, though, once the bugs are worked out, Mr. Debora expects to manufacture offshore.

"It makes so much sense to have them produced in countries where labour is cheap," he says.

Certainly urban manufacturers in Toronto can't compete with offshore locations in terms of labour cost. That's why many of the city's new manufacturers are smallscale operations focused on limited run, high-quality specialty items, says Tony Mammoliti, owner of YNOT Cycle.

Mr. Mammoliti started his firm with a single product - a Velcro pedal strap for cyclists. "Taking the product overseas wasn't an option," he says. "My order runs were very small." Neither did the equipment and expertise he needed exist in Toronto, "so I had to start my own little urban manufacturing business."

In 2010, Mr. Mammoliti cleared out a space in a friend's garage, bought a used sewing machine on Craigslist and started production.

His product line has since expanded to include bags, tool rolls and other bike accessories that are sold around the world.

And while he originally manufactured in the city out of necessity, what keeps him here, he says, is a focus on quality. "I've done some designing for other companies that then send the prototype to China," says Mr. Mammoliti. "The difference between what I send and what they get back is extreme."

Speed counts, too Another advantage of manufacturing at home: speed. "I can design something and have it out in a week," he says.

New online tools have had a tremendously beneficial effect on the city's small manufacturers.

YNOT has raised about $200,000 through Kickstarter campaigns in the past three years, and the platform gives the company a biggerthan-usual purchase order with higher margins, since the sale is direct to the consumer.

In addition, tools like Etsy (a global online marketplace) and Shopify (build your own online store) make it easy to find a market for products online.

Mr. Debora speculates that in two to 10 years, labour costs may not even be a consideration because 3-D printers may be able to do the manufacturing. "We can already 3-D print a flashlight and then pop the batteries in and it works," he says. "I think we're going to see some really disruptive technology in the manufacturing space."

The ultimate irony: That would effectively eliminate many of the high-value jobs the city has been working so hard to save.

Associated Graphic

Jaswant Kular, centre, with daughters Nimi, left, and Simran, work at the industrial kitchen that's home to their spice company, Jaswant's Kitchen, in Toronto.


The new (non-tech) tech luminaries
Not every founder of a technology-oriented startup has a tech background. Here are five non-techy entrepreneurs who saw a niche
Special to The Globe and Mail
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B10

There's a classic image of the tech entrepreneur - a young man dressed in a hoodie and jeans.

But as technology starts to play a bigger role in more and more fields, a new group of startup founders is emerging. They don't necessarily have tech backgrounds, but they are building tech companies to solve problems they were able to see only because of their experiences.

"A startup is someone with a great idea who wants to change the world," says Margaret Magdesian, a former university professor and medical researcher who founded the medical-tool startup Ananda Devices. "It can come at any age, to any person, from any background."

Professionals without tech backgrounds have been starting tech companies for years, says Aron Solomon, senior adviser for education technology at Toronto's MaRS Discovery District and innovation lead for the LegalX Cluster, which helps startups in the legal sector. He thinks it's becoming more common.

The most successful tech companies are founded by people who have a deep understanding of a problem, he says, and in areas such as medicine and law, that can come only with specialist knowledge.

Many of the tools released by tech startups with no first-hand knowledge of medical practice miss the mark, says Joshua Landy, the co-founder and chief medical officer of Toronto-based Figure 1, an image-sharing tool for doctors.

"These tools are only really good if they take something that you're doing that's hard and make it easy," he says, and the majority of apps aimed at doctors don't do that.

Still, according to Mr. Solomon, it's important for non-tech founders to have an understanding of technology.

"Even if they're not physically building it themselves, even if they're going to find a technical co-founder, they have to have an understanding of what they're doing because otherwise it's not going to work," he says.

Mark Hobbes, the chief executive officer and co-founder of Halifax-based FundMetric Inc., says that as a non-technical founder building a tech startup, he has developed a new level of respect for developers. But finding the right ones can be hard.

"You're relying on other people. The biggest challenge is you have to get someone technical to believe in you and you have to believe in them," Mr. Hobbes says. "You've got to take that leap of faith and you've got to share a common vision."

Allison Suter, the co-founder of Vancouver-based SimpleTax Software Inc., an online tax filing startup, says her business succeeded because of three key people. As a non-technical co-founder, she brought legal expertise, one of the co-founders brought business experience and the other brought technical skills.

"We happened to have the three right people at the right time, so there's an element of luck and then just sheer hard work," she says.

Here is how each of them got their start.


As a child, Mr. Hobbes attended an Easter Seals camp for physically disabled children. It was a life-changing experience. For some campers, it was the only week in their lives where they didn't feel different.

Later, as an adult sitting on the board of the group's Nova Scotia chapter, he says he wondered whether people who donated to the charity really knew the impact they were having.

At the same time, while he was working at a boutique advertising agency in Halifax, he noticed something; His business clients were increasingly using data to create more targeted campaigns.

His charity clients weren't.

They were raising money based on the old premise that to raise more money, you have to ask more people. "But what the data is telling us is that charities are going to have to know more about who their donors are, and why these donors want to give to that charity," he says.

That idea turned into FundMetric, which uses big data and predictive analytics to help charities learn more about their donors and automate the sending of targeted messages. A hospital charity could, for instance, send some donors messages about medical research, while others receive information about improvements to patient care.

Mr. Hobbes says a big part of the platform's appeal is that it allow charities to build and maintain relationships, especially with those whose donation was tied to an event, such as a walk or run. While those donors may be interested in a charity's cause, they don't usually come in contact with the organization itself, and thus end up being one-time contributors.


When Ms. Suter left her job as a tax lawyer, she didn't realize that within months she'd be starting a tech company.

The co-founder of SimpleTax, an online tax filing startup, says that while she liked tax law, she didn't enjoy being a lawyer.

"I never really liked my job," she says. "Going into the office every day, I didn't love. I didn't love the very traditional atmosphere of a law firm, I've always been a bit more entrepreneurial than that."

After two years of practicing, she left the field intending to become a wedding photographer.

But, that first April, when she looked for tax filing software to use for her new business, she couldn't find anything she liked.

Everything on the market looked and felt, she says, like it had been designed in the 1990s.

It was a problem her husband, Jonathan Suter, had noticed as well. A mutual friend who had a background in video game design, Justin Reynen, was also looking for a new project.

"We had a product background, that was my husband; we had a development background, that's Justin, our partner; and then my tax background. We were like, it can't be that hard to develop tax filing software," she says.

Having a subject matter expert on the team was essential, she says.

"Tax law is extremely complicated. I think we would have needed an accountant or a lawyer, somebody familiar with reading the income tax act and deciphering the jargon."


Mr. Forestell says his business had a problem - the snow removal side was growing faster than the summer landscaping work.

That meant he had front-end loaders and other pieces of heavy machinery sitting idle for more than half the year. It was "costing us a huge amount of money," he says.

He entertained a few ideas to solve the problem, but none of them seemed quite right.

"We were away on vacation and we were sitting on a beach in Florida and had a rental house through one of the sharing companies, similar to Airbnb," he says. "We were just sitting there, thinking about how great this was, and we realized, hey we should be doing this with our equipment."

That idea led to Dozr, the twosided online marketplace for construction equipment rentals that Mr. Forestell founded. It allows contactors, landscapers and construction companies to rent equipment they're not using to their industry peers.

He knew his company wasn't the only one that sometimes had a mismatch between how much equipment it needed and how much it had, he says.

Sometimes, contractors will purchase a specific machine for a single job. "It may sit for a year or two before the next job comes that they need that type of equipment again," he says.

And some pieces of equipment could be used by varied businesses - a tractor used for snow clearing can work just as well on a farm.

"Being a contractor, and knowing the problem so well, made us be able to come up with the solution," he says.


Ms. Magdesian was frustrated. Then a researcher at McGill University's Montreal Neurological Institute, she was having trouble with the spinal cord cells she was studying.

The only way to grow them was in a petri dish, but the cells don't grow in a dish in the same way they grow in the human body.

Instead of growing straight, they get tangled. It made her work harder, slower and more prone to error.

Her solution was to build a silicon mould with channels for the cells to grow in, similar to how they grow in the body. Her idea worked. "Instead of having one or two good cells, I had 120 and I could finally perform a lot of work," she says.

When she presented her idea, other scientists became interested.

"I started giving them away and, after a certain point, we decided to start selling them so that we could cover the costs. In one year I sold 2,000 units," Ms. Magdesian says. "Then a company called me and said they would like to buy 10,000."

That was when the university told her that if she wanted to keep selling the moulds, she would have to start her own company. It was the first time she'd ever thought of starting a businesses.

But, she says, she soon realized that by helping other scientists accelerate their work, she could have a bigger impact. "My mom died of cancer very early, and she had a lot of pain," she says.

"Whatever I can do to help accelerate research, I will do."


Doctors have been sharing medical cases since the beginning of the profession, Dr. Landy says.

"You buy old medical textbooks and it's just stories about all the different types of diseases people had," he says.

Historically, cases have been written up in medical journals and presented at conferences.

But young doctors are sharing cases through text messages and social media. "Now, that everyone's armed with an interconnected device with a camera, these sharings have become much more commonplace."

The startup Dr. Landy cofounded, Figure 1, shares pictures of medical cases in a way that protects the privacy of patients and complies with privacy laws and regulations.

Dr. Landy says he started thinking about the way doctors use social media when he was doing research about young doctors and medical education at Stanford University in California. But it was at a dinner with friends that the idea of a case-sharing network became a business idea.

Two of those friends became his co-founders. "It was serendipitous," he says. "Two weeks later they had pretty much dropped everything to focus on this one project, as had I."

Dr. Landy still practises medicine, working as a critical care physician in a Toronto hospital.

Balancing the time is a challenge, but he says it's worth it.

"Having these two careers is symbiotic," he says.

"Certainly, I could not do this job without having my medical career."

Associated Graphic

Margaret Magdesian was a medical researcher who came up with a new way to grow spinal cord cells. She then founded a company, Ananda Devices.


Employing voter algorithms, modern mapping software, and a whole lot of cynicism, writes Marcus Gee, American politicians have turned gerrymandering into a science
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F8

ASHEVILLE, N.C. -- Donald Trump says the election is rigged. His enemies are trying to steal it from him. That's nonsense, of course. Out-and-out cheating at the ballot box is vanishingly rare in the United States, thanks to a host of safeguards.

But he's right in one sense.

American politics is rigged. Both parties do the rigging, and they do it in plain sight, shamelessly and legally and even democratically.

They draw the boundaries of the country's electoral districts to their own advantage, grouping voters in a way that gives their party the greatest number of wins in Congress and in state legislatures.

Instead of the voters choosing the politicians, the politicians, in effect, choose the voters.

The process is called gerrymandering and it's as old as the United States. Patrick Henry, a hero of the American Revolution, is said to have colluded in redrawing a Virginia district in an attempt to thwart his rival, James Madison.

The word itself goes back to 1812, when the administration of Elbridge Gerry, governor of Massachusetts, created a revised map of electoral districts for the state Senate.

The new districts were designed quite deliberately to help his Democratic-Republicans, forerunner of today's Democrats, win as many seats as possible, and his Federalist rivals as few. One new district in the Boston area was thought to resemble a salamander. A cartoonist for The Boston Gazette, Elkanah Tisdale, took note and sketched a mythical salamander-like beast: "the GerryMander." Ever since, the act of drawing contorted electoral districts to tilt elections has been known as gerrymandering.

Of course, American politicians have evolved since Governor Gerry drew his beastly map. These days, they're a lot better at it.

Thanks to advances in mapdrawing software and ready access to online data about voters, U.S. political parties have turned the crude craft of gerrymandering into a science. The districts they draw often break every commonsense rule of district-making.

Instead of following natural geographical or political boundaries, such as rivers or county lines, they dodge and meander all over the place to gather like-minded voters together (a technique called packing) or split them apart (cracking).

Many of the resulting districts make Governor Gerry's look compact by comparison. One in Illinois is nicknamed the "earmuff district"; another, in Texas, "the upside-down elephant"; still another, in Pennsylvania, has been said to resemble "Goofy kicking Donald Duck." One judge said that a Maryland congressional district, this one engineered by Democrats, reminded him of "a brokenwinged pterodactyl, lying prostrate across the centre of the state."

First casualty: moderation Gerrymandering's critics say that it hardens the political divisions that are so evident in this season of Trump. When parties draw safe, secure seats for themselves, they don't have to reach out to moderate voters. The most important election becomes the primary, where party voters select the party's candidate for the general election. Primary voters tend to be party activists - leaning to the right of the Republican party and the left of the Democratic. Succeeding in the all-important primary means appealing to the extremes.

"Nobody has to compromise, because they know that their constituency is going to support them," says Jane Pinsky, director of the North Carolina Coalition for Lobbying and Government Reform. In her state, which has seen bitter struggles this year over issues such as a law that governs washroom access for transgender people in public buildings, "We've become increasingly partisan. The whole culture has become angry and vicious. It mirrors what's happened on a national level."

Creative map-drawing can widen racial divides, too. Many oddly shaped districts sprang from civilrights legislation designed to increase black representation in the halls of power. Their boundaries reach this way and that to gather in African-American voters and create so-called majority-minority districts that tend to elect black representatives, usually Democratic. The effect, though, is to bleach surrounding districts white.

That suits Republicans, because those districts often tend to vote for them. The result has been what was once called an unholy alliance between white Republicans and black Democrats.

A good place to see how gerrymandering works is Asheville, a city of about 90,000 in North Carolina's mountainous western corner. Every 10 years, when new census information comes out, state governments are required to look at the new data and redraw districts so that they have roughly the same number of voters. It's called redistricting and it's supposed to ensure that each person's vote carries similar weight.

In practice, it is gerrymandering time.

When the results of the 2010 census appeared, Republicans were in control of the state legislature - so they were the mapmakers. They took maximum advantage.

Asheville had been at the heart of the 11th Congressional District.

The city is a liberal bastion in conservative country, the kind of place where bumper stickers read "Jesus Saves, Buddha Recycles," the local spice emporium sells alderwood-smoked sea salt, and affluent retirees come to enjoy a glass of Pumpkin Up the Volume ale at the Wicked Weed brew pub.

It was represented by Heath Shuler, a six-foot-two former football star. He was a conservative Blue Dog Democrat, opposing gun control, same-sex marriage and abortion, but moderate enough to work with opponents to get things done in Congress. To put the boots to Mr. Shuler, the mapmakers simply carved a big part of heavily Democratic Asheville out of the 11th, leaving the district mainly rural and overwhelmingly Republican. With the writing on the wall, Mr. Shuler decided not to run for a fourth two-year term.

His replacement, Mark Meadows, is a rock-ribbed Tea Party conservative. He joined many fellow right-wingers - and Mr. Trump - in their campaign of lies and innuendo about Barack Obama's citizenship. "We're going to send Mr. Obama home to Kenya or wherever it is," he said at a 2012 rally.

Central Asheville, meanwhile, ended up in the rejigged 10th district, where incumbent Republican Patrick McHenry was comfortable enough in his still very conservative district to absorb the infusion of urban Democrats and keep his seat.

"We got carved up," says Asheville Mayor Esther Manheimer, a Democrat. "We used to be part of a district that a Democrat could win."

In a trick called "double bunking," or sometimes "scorpions in a bottle," the North Carolina mapmakers even put two Democratic state legislators in the same district, forcing one to drop out of the 2012 election.

Tough luck, say the Republicans, who had seen the opposing party lord it over them for decades when North Carolina was solidly Democratic. Asked if his party gerrymandered districts to hurt the Democrats, local official Jeff Foster says, "Sure. I also think they did it to us for 100 years."

The Republicans got their revenge. North Carolina, a closely watched swing state, split almost evenly in the 2014 midterm congressional voting: 51 per cent Republican, 49 per cent Democrat.

Yet the Republicans took 10 seats in the U.S. House of Representatives, the Democrats just three.

In a candid moment, Republican state legislator David Lewis said the party would have gone .

further if it could have. "I propose that we draw the maps to give a partisan advantage to 10 Republicans and three Democrats, because I do not believe it's possible to draw a map with 11 Republicans and two Democrats," he said during debate at a legislative committee.

The Republican success at sewing up North Carolina was part of a nationwide push. In his new book, Ratf**ked: The True Story Behind the Secret Plan to Steal America's Democracy, journalist David Daley, former editor-inchief of Salon, shows how, after losing the White House to Mr. Obama in 2008, the GOP struck back by launching a sophisticated campaign to seize control of state governments, thus giving it the power to gerrymander congressional districts.

Thanks to all the data that party operatives now have about voter preferences and attitudes, they could draw detailed, block-byblock maps to almost guarantee a win for their candidates. As Mr. Daley writes, "The same computer algorithms that recommend your next purchase on Amazon and know the exact Netflix show you want to binge-watch can also determine, in this time of hardened partisanship, how you are likely to vote."

Aimed at painting the electoral map Republican red, the effort was called REDMAP, and it worked like a charm. Republicans poured resources into state races and took many legislatures and governorships, then drew new GOP-friendly districts from North Carolina to Wisconsin.

It was so successful that the Democrats are copying it. This week, they announced that they are establishing the National Democratic Redistricting Committee, headed by former attorneygeneral Eric Holder, to prepare to win back ground for the party in the next round of electoral mapmaking after the 2020 census. Mr. Obama himself will get involved after he leaves the White House.

What can be done Is there hope for ending this peculiar form of American madness?

Not that much, sad to say. A handful of states, including California and Idaho, have done the sensible thing and given the job of redistricting to an independent commission. That's the way it works in Canada, where each province has a commission headed by a judge.

"The United States is the only advanced democracy in the world where politicians directly participate in the districting process," says a website, End Gerrymandering, that tracks the issue.

In the meantime, lawsuits have managed to alter some of the worst gerrymanders, at least those drawn on racial lines. A court ruling last February forced North Carolina to redraw the notorious 12th Congressional District, a bizarre squiggle, 120 miles long but just 20 miles wide, that ran along the I-85 interstate to gather up black voters who live near the highway corridor. One legislator joked that the district was so narrow that, if you drove a car through it with the doors open, you would kill every voter.

But judges have been more reluctant to outlaw districts drawn for solely partisan reasons.

Legislators themselves naturally resist handing redistricting to the courts or to impartial commissioners in the first place: If they did, they would lose a power that they have enjoyed since Elbridge Gerry's time. And what a magical power it is. American politicians can draw voting boundaries and influence election results more or less at their whim. While tut-tutting over Mr. Trump's rants about rigged elections, they're busily rigging districts left and right. Expect them to keep doing it as long as they can.

Marcus Gee is a Globe and Mail columnist.

Associated Graphic

Below: A year after Governor Elbridge Gerry's radical (and self-serving) redrawing of the Massachusetts political landscape inspired the Boston Gazette cartoonist's 'Gerry-Mander,' this version appeared in the April 2, 1813, edition of the Salem Gazette.

Stan Douglas's search to make it click
The Vancouver-born artist talks about his journey from theatre to award-winning photography
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L2

VANCOUVER -- On his 56th birthday, last Tuesday, Stan Douglas was calmly preparing to fly to Toronto and then on to Sweden, to be fêted and awarded the prestigious and lucrative Hasselblad Award. Resting against a wall in his large, purpose-built studio in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside was the only photograph he has ever bought from a dealer. It is a work by Lee Friedlander, from the U.S. artist's Factory Valleys series - a photo that in one seemingly simple scene includes the complex components of life in the industrial heartland of the United States: A factory, a highway, a house and, in the foreground, trees rising from the snowy ground - a thin, bare, natural barrier to the smokestacks and vehicle engines churning behind.

A very different artist, Friedlander is Douglas's favourite photographer. He is also a Hasselblad recipient - one of a long list of accomplished photographers to win the prize, worth one million Swedish kronor (roughly $150,000). Other recipients include Ansel Adams, Cindy Sherman and another internationally respected Vancouverite, Jeff Wall.

The prize also brings an exhibition at the Hasselblad Center in Gothenburg - marking the first solo show in Sweden for Douglas - "an artist of outstanding significance," the citation reads. An accompanying symposium has prompted some big-time career reflection as Douglas prepared his remarks for his speech.

"I kind of realized I only had one idea," he said during an interview at his studio. "Basically when I made this piece called Overture in 1986, kind of everything I've done since then was somehow embodied in that work."

Overture combined found footage shot by the Edison Film Company in 1899 and narration - an edit of the Overture from Marcel Proust's In Search of Lost Time. A train travelling through the Rocky Mountains emerges from a tunnel, travels along a section of track and goes back into the dark tunnel. (I have not seen the work as it no longer exists; Douglas - who deliberately made it impermanent - described it to me.)

Those ideas explored in Overture that Douglas refers to include the oscillation between suspicion (you're plunged into darkness and assume you're in the tunnel) and conviction (you see the tunnel walls); our understanding of the world being mediated by technology - the machine's-eyeview; and the uncertainty that comes with a slight change in the voiceover in the second part - an idea inspired by Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot, a play that was instrumental in Douglas's path to visual art.

Douglas was born in Vancouver and grew up near the University of British Columbia, going to school, he says, with the children of professors and bike-gang members. At Lord Byng Secondary, what he saw in art class - portraits and the like - didn't interest him. His main focus was theatre.

He had a job as a theatre usher and was hoping to go to the National Theatre School of Canada.

But a high-school production of Waiting for Godot proved a turnoff.

It was a mess - none of his fellow students had bothered to learn their lines. The production - a segment of the play - fell apart before it came even close to being mounted - a disappointment for Douglas, the would-be director.

Meanwhile, a teacher suggested Douglas visit the Vancouver Art Gallery - a place Douglas had never been. The VAG opened his eyes to an expanded definition of visual art and a more self-sufficient pursuit.

"I discovered art and realized I could make art by myself without all these collaborators," Douglas says.

He didn't completely give up on theatre - for graduation he performed a monologue from Beckett's Endgame - and the theatrical influence is apparent in much of his work.

At what is now the Emily Carr University of Art + Design, he studied printmaking and sculpture. Something clicked when he realized he enjoyed photographing his sculptures more than making them.

During and after art school, he worked in the audio-visual department at the Vancouver Art Gallery and later the photo department. He lied to get the job, saying he knew how to use a large-format camera. When it quickly became obvious that he couldn't, he was allowed to learn on the job. He became skilled at reproduction photography and bought himself a used Linhof camera, and was eyeing a career as a commercial artist.

"I never thought I'd have a career as a visual artist. I always thought I'd have to have another job," he says.

Early on, he worked with slide projections. Then came Overture.

It was shown at a self-produced midnight screening at Vancouver's Ridge Theatre to a handful of people. There was an even more dismal turnout for his first show in Toronto, he recalls, at the Funnel Experimental Film Theatre. But what the audience lacked in numbers it made up for in art-world heft: Artist Liz Magor and art curator and patron Ydessa Hendeles made up two-thirds of the audience. The other person was a guy Douglas knew from Vancouver - the bartender at a spot where the artist used to drink.

The CV on Douglas's New York dealer's website is long - 36 pages - and packed with exhibitions, prizes, publications and teaching positions. He is prolific and widely curious. He is voraciously interested in technology and history (especially forgotten history) - and tends to view things as an outsider.

Douglas is black in a city where one sees surprisingly few black people (an absence which was even more stark when he was growing up). And that feeling of being different has influenced his work. "There's often, in every work I do, there's some kind of outsider character who is the one I typically identify with," he says.

This may be most blatant in his 1991 30-second "monodrama" I'm Not Gary - where a white man crosses paths with a black man walking in the opposite direction at a strip mall and offers a friendly "Hi Gary. How you doin'?" The black man looks at the white guy.

"I'm not Gary," he says.

"It happened to me," Douglas says, recounting the real-life event on Vancouver's Commercial Drive. "Somebody thought I was someone named Tyrone. And he says, 'Hey Tyrone, how you doin'?' And I said 'I'm not Tyrone.' But for a second I thought, 'Am I Tyrone?' " he says with a laugh.

That involuntary response, the result of a routine being broken up (the routine being his actual name), is another theme which is repeated in his work.

Douglas's technological curiosity combined with his deep intelligence has allowed him to push technology's boundaries in the creation of new works. Consider Helen Lawrence, the 2014 play he co-created with TV screenwriter Chris Haddock, where live actors were immersed into 3-D digital environments; or the subsequent interactive installation and app Circa 1948, which inserts the viewer into two historical Vancouver environments.

Douglas's first dive into computer-assisted work was Every Building on 100 West Hastings (2001), a large-scale panorama, blended together digitally from individual photographs, of that block in the heart of the Downtown Eastside.

Across the street, on the north side of that block, rose the Woodward's Building - a development at the heart of Vancouver's gentrification debate. This is where Douglas's monumental mural Abbott & Cordova, 7 August 1971 (2008) presides over the entrance to the atrium. The work, commissioned by the developer, is a staged, cinematic scene from the Gastown Riot - an actual event where police clashed with propot-smoking youth. Douglas's work, made with extras ("actors look like actors"), depicts young protesters, police loading people into a van, an officer on a horse.

It's chaotic at the edges, empty in the centre of the intersection.

Douglas had never made a work like this and figured he needed some practice so he could work on his technical chops. "I hadn't really photographed crowds before. I never photographed horses before. And this was going to cost half a million dollars to shoot so I figured I've got to figure this out," he says, seated at a table underneath a version of the work hanging in his office. That became his Crowds and Riots series.

He enjoyed photography so much that he spent the next five years doing only that. "Just to sort of let people know I was serious," he jokes.

While Douglas is often lumped in with the so-called Vancouver School of photoconceptualists, he rejects that categorization. But Vancouver has remained home for Douglas, even as his international stature has grown.

"I like the environment - the setting, the air, the moisture, all those things. The quality of life you can have here is quite extraordinary. I also like the fact that there's not the same kind of things at stake in terms of an artistic career that you have elsewhere. If I were in some place like New York, I would be paranoid all the time about 'How am I doing?' And there are some morbid symptoms in places like Toronto and Montreal where it's just big enough that people can be satisfied with the local acclaim as opposed to sort of looking elsewhere."

The exhibition opening at the Hasselblad Center this week will include Every Building on 100 West Hastings as well as other photographic works. It will also include a new series, DCTs - digital images which are beautiful to look at but are very much about technology, specifically the mathematics of JPEG compression.

"I figured if you can turn an image into code - into writing - you can write an image," he explains. "So I got my programmer to reverse-engineer the way this technology works so I can actually write basis functions and coefficients to produce images."

Looking ahead to future work, Douglas is thinking about riots again - in particular, the 2011 riots that began with the protest in the London suburb of Tottenham. He is also considering a project in New York set in the future and a project in Vancouver set in the past - 1976. After dreaming up and realizing elaborate, meticulous projects over the past few years, it feels good to be in an R&D phase.

"I'm really happy to be looking at reading material, musing about material kind of aimlessly - until I find out how it's going to click."

Stan Douglas is at the Hasselblad Center in Gothenburg, Sweden, Oct. 18-Jan. 29 ( A new book will be published by MACK in conjunction with the award and exhibition.

Associated Graphic

Artist Stan Douglas says he never thought he would have a career in visual arts, which he was drawn to, and thought he would 'have to have another job.' Douglas, a black man in a city where there are few black people, uses that feeling of being different to influence his work.


Saturday, October 22, 2016


A Monday Arts story on Stan Douglas incorrectly said his film work Overture no longer exists. In fact, the Art Gallery of Ontario has a copy.

The appetite for luxury alcohol is growing, and it's not limited to Champagne. As Christine Sismondo reports, premium whisky, rum and tequila are being sought out by enthusiasts for immediate enjoyment, not future appreciation
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L6

In a perfectly appointed, modern-rustic cottage with surroundings of ripe grapevines climbing the base of Argentina's snowcapped Cordillera, 30-odd wine writers gathered earlier this year for the launch of a new $640 Champagne - Moët & Chandon's MCIII. A hushed and serious event, the focus of those in attendance was on the winemaker's explanations of the quality of the bottle and its stopper, and of course, the wine itself. Since it is a blend of several vintages, before MCIII was unveiled, everyone got to try the separate components first - one of which was so good that a few people mumbled their preference for it. I was in that latter camp. Although the final blend was mellow, creamy and had a nice minerality, it lost some of the smoky, rich toast flavour and lightly bittered finish of some of the straight vintage Champagnes we tasted throughout the night.

Perhaps anticipating a question about the price, chef de cave Benoît Gouez points out there's a growing global market for bubbly that costs more than the average person's monthly car payment. Ontario and Quebec's liquor boards agree: They've already put in an order for over 100 bottles between them.

"We've seen a lot of growth [in this market segment] in the past five years, with some categories being outstanding - like, double," says Paul Farrell, category manager for European wines in LCBO's Vintages.

"The categories that we've seen the most growth in are premium Champagne and ultra-premium spirits."

The growth of premium Champagne sales, Farrell says, is driven largely by bottle service at clubs, a niche market that has inspired the invention of new labels, such as Jay Z owned Armand de Brignac, a.k.a. "Ace Z-owned Ace of Spades" ($299.95), which seems to be taking aim at the h comparably priced Krug, the reigning club king.

The market for ultra-premium spirits, however, is a more complicated story. Research outfits such as Euromonitor International have projected that sales in the super-premium luxury spirits market will double between 2015 and 2020 - a figure that factors in optimistic expectations for a robust economic recovery in China. But industry insiders anecdotally report that the sales for super-premium products in China have not rebounded in part because of the existence of anticorruption laws that limit gifting in official circles.

As such, the super-rich in the United States and the United Kingdom are still playing a larger than anticipated role, as are drinkers in Japan and Germany.

Still, aside from a sound educated guess at the household income required to enjoy a $3,000 bottle of cognac, it's hard to know precisely who is doing the spending. For one thing, the consumption of luxury spirits is less conspicuous than premium fizz because it's less likely to take place in a hotel bar or nightclub.

Of the recent release of 100 bottles of $25,000 Glenlivet 50-year-old scotch whisky, for example, a few will be snapped up by licensed venues, but the majority will be sold to individuals. And, unlike 20 years ago, when we would have expected almost every bottle to disappear into a cellar to age and increase in value, many will be cracked open by enthusiasts upon delivery.

"People want to have exceptional moments with these spirits and they don't want to wait 20 or 30 years," says Noah May, wine and spirits specialist at Christie's Auction House in New York. "We have a real split between people who are buying them to speculate and people who want to enjoy them more or less immediately."

The market for super-luxury spirits at Christie's has grown wildly in the past 10 years, a change May attributes to an overall growing interest in food and drink. Compared to wine, spirits are relatively accessible. That said, not every lot is entry-level. On Oct. 21, Christie's offered a unique edition of the Glenlivet 50-year-old. Usually reserved for the distiller, "Bottle One" was auctioned off, with proceeds going to the Scottish Craft Council.

The liquid is beyond whisky. Dark red - almost port-coloured - it's rich in vanilla, fruitcake, caramel and icing sugar flavours. Slightly heavy on the tannins - as you might expect after 50 years of soaking in an Oloroso sherry cask - it tastes like Glenlivet, but with the volume turned up to 11, since the subtle notes you might discern in a younger scotch were pronounced and right up front. When I tasted it, I didn't leave a drop, though I spent a bit of time trying to analyze what exactly I was tasting. Bordering on something like an intriguing and complex, bone-dry sherry-like liqueur, it was missing that pleasing whisky burn.

The interest in this liquid goes way beyond flavour, however, and into esoteric territory. Laid down in 1966 by a previous distiller, it's more of a time capsule than a premium product. People talk about it in terms of liquid history, a personal connection to the past, a testament to the continuity of the distillery's flavour profile, as well as a celebration of 50 years of tradition and craft. With this in mind, the launch, which occured in September in New York, helped celebrate birthdays for two other venerable institutions - the 250-year-old Christie's (which got into the wine business 50 years ago) and the 50-year-old Metropolitan Opera House where La Bohème - a boozy little opera about people who hang out in taverns and can't afford to pay the rent - was performed.

It's not just high flyers in Manhattan who will have a chance to buy this special release; Canada will get a small allotment, too - further evidence of the critical mass of one per-centers, even in our seemingly modest market.

"The demand must be there for them to be bringing in all these special releases," says Chris McCrabb, head bartender at the Thompson Toronto hotel. "Since Toronto's growing so fast, it's getting more attention from spirits companies, but I think it also reflects a more educated market."

The demand he refers to extends beyond special whisky releases. The LCBO has 20 bottles of $1,009 Thomas Hine Triomphe Grande Champagne Cognac at the moment and nobody expects them to outlast the holiday season. Even on the lower end, where it was once okay to gift a nice bottle of super-tasty Hine Rare VSOP cognac ($95), an increasing number of people will show their appreciation for all that mom's done with a bottle of next-level refi ned Hine Antique XO Premier Cru at two-and-a-half times the price - $250 is the new $100.

Both these expressions are a steal: Hine Rare, with its bold fruit, full body, silky smoothness and subtle caramel, far outmatches other VSOPs in this price range. When I recently tried an upgrade to the XO Premier Cru, I recognized the signature taste of this house's cognac, but was drawn in by the elegance, maturity and spectacular structure.

It almost sparkles.

Quebec's liquor board reports a 50-per-cent year-over-year growth in sales of Rémy Martin's Louis XIII cognac ($3,100 per bottle), a number that exceeds the company's global sales of 30 per cent year over year.

It's impossible to quantify whether or not a liquor is "worth" the price when it gets beyond a certain cost, but I can report that this cognac is wildly aromatic and complex. Very few liquors have such pronounced candied fruit, chocolate, tobacco and spice notes, which can be identified immediately and last, seemingly forever, on the finish. Those who wish to trade up from run-ofthe-mill Louis XIII are in luck, too.

One bottle of a special Louis XIII blend, housed in a crystal decanter and packaged in a bespoke Hermès suitcase, will be released here. The retail price has yet to be revealed, but in the United States, the bottle netted $134,750 (U.S.).

Luxury tequilas and rums are piquing interest as well. This summer, for example, the LCBO hosted a special dinner with El Dorado distiller Shaun Caleb to mark the arrival of two cases of $3,500 Grand Special Reserve rum - a blend chosen from barrels laid down between 1966 to 1976 (as well as a splash of a special 1983 spirit), bottled to mark the 50th anniversary of the distillery and raise money for Guyanese highschool students. El Dorado has an extremely loyal following with rum drinkers, who love that the spirit is the result of old-school distillation methods that bring out a slightly funky tropical-fruit profile. I'll admit to being a part of the fan club and I was happy to discover that the Grand Special Reserve still tasted like ripe pineapple and banana but, in this expression, with pronounced dried date, chocolate and cinnamon notes. The dinner, as well as all the bottles, sold out.

On the tequila front, Alberta's Liquor Barn stocks a Patron Gran Burdeos Anejo for $499, but the real agave connoisseur will snap up the $1,499 Clase Azul Ultima Extra Anejo. Even five years ago, the idea of a bottle of tequila or rum over $1,000 was far-fetched.

Now, industry forecasters are tapping tequila as the next big super-premium product and high-end clubs and hotel bars consider them a must-have. "We've been discussing stocking the Clase Azul Ultima lately," says the Thompson's McCrab. "Just based on the number of people who drink the Don Julio 1942 as regular tequila shots." Admittedly, it's easy to approve of this choice, since it's the kind of vanilla-rich, citrusy-herbal agave spirit that could almost pass for cognac. The price per shot of 1942 at the Thompson: $29.


DON JULIO 1942 Aged in oak barrels for over a year, it tastes not unlike cognac. PRICE $139.95

HINE ANTIQUE XO PREMIERE CRU A blend of 40 cognacs exclusively from the Grande Champagne region. PRICE $250

RÉMY MARTIN LOUIS XIII Blended from many eaux de vie, each at least 40 years old. PRICE $3,100

GLENLIVET 50-YEAR-OLD From a single cask laid down by the last surviving descendent of the distillery's founder. PRICE $25,000


MOËT & CHANDON MCIII It took 15 years for the winery to perfect the blend. PRICE $640

EL DORADO GRAND SPECIAL RESERVE A blend of rums aged 33 to 50 years, including special aged pot still rums. PRICE $3,500

Associated Graphic

TASTING NOTES Warm tropical fruit, t, dried date and baking spice.

TASTING NOTES Raw honey, ney, vanilla sugar and caramel. amel.

TASTING NOTES Pronounced P candied fruit, ca chocolate, tobacco and spice.

TASTING NOTES Vanilla, Va fruitcake, fruit caramel ca and icing ssugar.

Two new books about Pierre Trudeau paint a portrait of an extraordinary man and a extraordinary time
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R14

Trudeaumania: The Rise to Power of Pierre Elliott Trudeau By Robert Wright HarperCollins, 365 pages, $32.99

Trudeaumania By Paul Litt UBC Press, 408 pages, $39.95

There are histories that make you feel the past isn't dead, and there are histories that make you feel it's a foreign country.

You might expect two new books on Pierre Trudeau's rise to be the first kind.

After all, we're arguably living through a second period of Trudeaumania - the kind of dramatic symmetry that can inspire a sense of history repeating itself.

But no. Trudeaumania, by Robert Wright, a professor of history at Trent University Durham, and Trudeaumania, by Paul Litt, a professor of history at Carleton University, are two very different books that are alike in giving a sense of how much has changed in our country since the now almost-ancient-looking date of 1968.

Pierre Trudeau's ascension to power amidst a sea of teenage kisses and rose boutonnieres is the stuff of national legend. But a granular look at how it came about makes the country Trudeau roused look downright exotic, in ways that are by turns dispiriting and hopeful.

The effect starts with pungent period detail, such as Lester Pearson having oysters and whisky for lunch on the day he announced his retirement. But it extends to almost everything.

Take the reaction Trudeau elicited during the federal election campaign. He was mobbed with a physical intensity that's hard to fathom now: Fans often came close to yanking him off the back of his limo, others pulled hairs from his head and one time, a group of girls kissed the hubcaps of his car.

Justin's supporters like having their picture taken with him. But they don't do the man physical harm in the throes of their passion.

It's remarkable how much Pierre encouraged the hysteria. He was single during the election and fairly open about the fact that he slept around. In the winter of 1968, Trudeau was photographed in the lobby of the Château Laurier with two Playboy bunnies. His swinging-bachelor reputation wasn't just a product of prurient media interest, either; Trudeau went out of his way to cultivate it. When asked about the monarchy on a stopover in Victoria - still a prim royalist bastion then - he replied brazenly. "I was in Saskatoon last night and crowned a very lovely queen," he said, "so I feel very warm toward the monarchy."

When he was provocative, people were listening. The national zeitgeist was cohesive in a way that seems almost incredible now. A columnist such as Peter Newman drove the conversation like no journalist in today's fractured media landscape could hope to. As one Pearson cabinet minister put it, "What Newman says this week becomes the conventional wisdom the next." (Trudeau, fatefully, had Newman in his corner.)

But it was TV, more than anything else, that dominated how politicians were perceived in 1968. With just a few channels on the dial, and sets in 95 per cent of Canadian homes, audiences were huge. An estimated 17 million people watched or listened to the last day of the Liberal convention that year, when Canada had a population of about 20 million.

Canadians saw Trudeau seduce the camera that night. His exploits included holding a red carnation, which had been proffered by a supporter, in his mouth like a tango dancer. He was a great, playful on-air performer, snapping his teeth at TV clapboards and pretending to spar with hanging mics. One of Trudeau's first big profiles on national TV was a CBC segment pegged to his installation as justice minister that featured shots of him driving around Ottawa in a silver convertible Mercedes and leaping off a diving board into the Château Laurier pool.

Even his serene, mask-like face was well suited to the frenetic medium of TV.

"This is your 'cool' TV power," Marshall McLuhan told him. "Iconic. Sculptural."

(The almost rubbery animation of Justin's face is equally well suited to the spontaneous selfie and the intimacy of Instagram, the essential media of his time.)

And yet, even as the press built Trudeau up, a combination of technological limitations and civic-mindedness restrained journalists in ways that now seem borderline ascetic. The televised leaders' debate in 1968 was boring by design, with a format devised to limit jousting between the participants. And TV election coverage was blacked out for 48 hours before polling day. In a sign of the medium's extreme self-consciousness and even self-embarrassment, Norman DePoe signed off from CBC TV's election night coverage in 1968 by intoning, "Good night, Marshall McLuhan, wherever you are."

The Canadian prophet of mass communication, whose gnomic pronouncements famously included "The medium is the message," has a recurring cameo role in these books. Robert Wright, who sets out to debunk the story of Trudeau as media confection, uses McLuhan as a foil. "In 1968, the message was still the message," he writes.

The Trudeau of Wright's book is less matinee idol than college professor. In this telling, Trudeau won Canadians over with the force of his ideas, especially the ones about Quebec, not with the wattage of his smile. The conventional narrative of Trudeaumania is "almost entirely wrong," Wright insists; a great federalist thinker such as Pierre Trudeau was hardly "the political equivalent of The Monkees."

Wright has taken on a straw man. Everyone knows Trudeau was serious and brilliant. He just happens to have been sexy and telegenic as well. A more sophisticated book would make room for both parts of the persona. But as a précis of the constitutional debates that roiled Canadian politics at the time, the book is fascinating. More than any other, this aspect of Trudeau's story requires a historical passport, and Wright provides one.

A Québécois public intellectual forged in the hothouse atmosphere of the Quiet Revolution, Trudeau was a product of his province - an irony that can be jarring to recall about a man widely seen as the founder, preserver and exemplar of modern Canada. In 1950s Montreal, he founded Cité Libre, an influential smallcirculation magazine that attacked Maurice Duplessis and his cronies, and later the Quebec nationalists with whom Trudeau had once made common cause.

It was in the pages of Cité Libre that the future Prime Minister formulated his analysis of Quebec and its place in Canada.

Trudeau sympathized with the national aspirations of his province - it was a natural response, he argued, to centuries of anglophone oppression and discrimination. But his next rhetorical move was a bold dash against the grain: He argued that Quebec should make itself into a modern and outward-looking society within a bilingual Canada, rather than turning inward and festering in resentment. "Open the frontiers," he famously cried. "This people is dying of asphyxiation!"

At a time of mounting separatist feeling and, easily forgotten, a steady campaign of FLQ attacks (even before the kidnapping of James Cross and Pierre Laporte, the terrorist group had been involved in more than 200 bombings), Trudeau's staunch federalism won him national attention. In 1965, he became one of Pearson's "three wise men" recruited from Quebec to run for the Liberals in that year's election.

His tough talk on Quebec - Trudeau called special status for Quebec "une connerie" (bullshit, essentially) and denounced the French spoken by most Québécois as "lousy" - earned the bitter enmity of many separatists. The atmosphere of looming political violence is surreal to remember. On the day before voting in the 1968 federal election, Trudeau controversially attended the SaintJean-Baptiste parade in Montreal. An FLQ cell had publicly vowed to assassinate him and anonymous death threats had poured into Montreal radio stations. Advisers warned Trudeau not to attend. He ignored them.

Sure enough, Trudeau's presence sparked a riot. The Rassemblement pour l'indépendance nationale, a group of separatist street fighters led by the firebrand Pierre Bourgault, chanted "Trudeau to the gallows!" and "Gestapo!" When they started throwing bottles at the reviewing stand, most of the assembled VIPs fled, but Trudeau stood his ground. TV footage of the Prime Minister facing down a Québécois mob cemented his popularity in the rest of Canada; he waltzed to an easy win. (Trudeau's sang-froid in the face of physical danger was consistently impressive. When he was told about a bomb threat at a polling place he had visited on election day, he replied, "Oh well, Russian roulette.") Litt and Wright have written complementary books and what they combine to give us is a portrait in panorama of an extraordinary man and an extraordinary time. Trudeau's emergence during a period of political crisis and cultural upheaval is just one reason there's no comparison to be made between Pierre and Justin.

Justin wears colourful socks? Pierre once wore an ascot and sandals on the floor of the House of Commons. Both Trudeaus are jocks, but where Justin jogs and boxes, Pierre was a judo brown belt, scuba diver, mountain climber and solo river canoeist who had mastered Canada's greatest waterways. Justin has a memoir to his name, but Pierre's essays on Federalism and the French Canadians came out in 1968 to critical acclaim and hot sales - a book of substance on the most pressing issue facing the country. Even Pierre's face - with its narrow eyes, buck teeth and vast forehead - was stranger and more challenging than Justin's Prince Valiant prettiness.

To his credit, Justin seems like a nicer guy than his father was. Pierre wasn't "accessible" or "relatable." He placed himself above voters - that was part of his appeal. And it came with a cruel streak that seems deeply unattractive today. Just to take one example: When he was unimpressed with a question from a student in Winnipeg during the 1968 campaign, he threw a dime at the young man and said, "Go buy a newspaper and learn something."

It's easy to be nostalgic for Trudeau père, with his haughty cool and lofty mind, while his son dominates social media with shirtless selfies and panda hugs. But Pierre's style of greatness was marshalled to a turbulent, troubled moment in Canadian history. If Justin is a lesser man, he's a lesser man for a happier time.

Eric Andrew-Gee is a Globe and Mail reporter.

Associated Graphic

Pierre Trudeau pirouettes behind the Queen in 1977. Trudeau's emergence during a time of cultural upheaval is why he stands out in Canadian history.


At helm during Alberta PC dynasty's end
'Gentleman Jim' remembered for his resilience and humility after election loss in 2015 ended party's four-decade-long rule
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S9

VANCOUVER, OTTAWA -- It was a measure of Jim Prentice that he accepted with dignity the most high-profile and humbling disappointment of his political career, and then he got on with his life. Not that the process was easy.

After a successful run in federal politics, including key cabinet roles, and the corporate world that combined to set him up for a shot at becoming Tory leader and, maybe, prime minister, Mr. Prentice instead won the leadership of the Alberta Progressive Conservatives. He became premier, taking the helm of a party that had governed Alberta for four decades.

He lasted about seven months, leading the party to a humbling defeat in 2015, and earning a sobering place in Alberta political history as the man at the helm as the PC dynasty ended.

"He took it hard like you would expect a leader would and maybe should," says Chuck Strahl, a former Chilliwack MP who sat with Mr. Prentice at Stephen Harper's cabinet table and was part of a circle of friends of the same age who travelled together and had "been through the fires" together.

"[Mr. Prentice] took the loss.

He shouldered it. He didn't dwell on it or become a miserable guy or anything. Even though it was a big, big thing for him, he was also a big enough man to move on from it."

Family, friends and colleagues of Mr. Prentice are remembering that resilience and humility after his death, with three others, in an airplane crash last week in Kelowna, B.C. The group was returning from a trip to play golf in the Okanagan community. Mr. Prentice was 60 years old.

Mr. Prentice was a lawyer who was also at home in the highest executive levels of one of Canada's largest banks, but he always dreamed of being a politician.

And while he seemed to have it all - brains, ideas, political savvy, a genuinely affable manner and a network of friends in high places - his career will be remembered as much for the valleys as the peaks.

Colleagues say he was a savvy cabinet minister. After the Conservatives won office in 2006, Mr. Harper relied on Mr. Prentice to grapple with tough files in Indian Affairs and Northern Development as well as Industry and Environment. He also was chair of the operations committee.

Mr. Prentice had an incredible work ethic and liked to delve deeply into policy issues, according to Stephen Kelly, his former chief of staff. Mr. Kelly remembers Mr. Prentice often giving his staff up to 400 pages of reading and briefing notes to review over the weekend.

"He had a level of energy that was really hard to keep up with," acknowledges Mr. Kelly, who would later follow Mr. Prentice to the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, where Mr. Prentice worked as a vice-chair and senior executive vice-president after leaving federal politics in 2010. "For him, Monday was the middle of the week."

"He could have taken a much easier path in politics, but he didn't," Mr. Kelly says. "He had a desire to serve that knew no end."

But Mr. Strahl also remembers "Gentleman Jim" as a truly nice guy in politics, who genuinely made others in the room feel like they had his complete and full attention because they did.

"He wasn't one of those guys that was looking over your shoulder trying to see who was the next guy he could shake hands with," Mr. Strahl said, calling that a rare quality in politics.

"Jim always made sure the person he was with felt like he or she was the most important person in the room."

In a 2014 interview with The Canadian Press, Mr. Prentice, himself, shed some light on the origins of his approach to people, recalling how he worked summers in a coal mine to raise money for his university studies.

"I always said I got my education [in the coal mines]. I learned teamwork. I learned respect for other people. I learned the fact that the smartest guy in the room is often not the guy you think is the smartest guy."

Later, in an interview with the CBC after he became premier, Mr. Prentice also recalled some advice from his father, once the youngest player signed on to the Toronto Maple Leafs. "He always reminded me you're only as good as your next shift and never to get too focused on your own press clippings."

Peter Eric James Prentice was born in South Porcupine, a neighbourhood in the northern Ontario city of Timmins. He was the son of Eric and Wilma Prentice. Eric Prentice played five games for the Leafs after being signed at age 17, and later became a gold miner. (Jim Prentice's uncle, Dean, had a long career in the NHL, playing for the New York Rangers, the Boston Bruins and the Detroit Red Wings.)

The family moved to Alberta in 1969, settling in west-central town of Grande Cache. Mr. Prentice earned a bachelor of commerce degree at the University of Alberta and a bachelor of laws degree at Dalhousie University in Halifax. But he was always clear about his interest in a political career. Even as a first-year law student at Dalhousie in the late 1970s, Mr. Prentice was open about wanting to pursue a career in politics. He even talked about becoming Alberta premier one day, according to Cecil Hawkins, a law-school classmate and longtime friend.

"I knew from the first time I met him that he was going to be a player," Mr. Hawkins says. "He was going to make his mark."

While at Dalhousie, Mr. Prentice suffered one of many political defeats in his life - losing a bid to be president of the student law society to a future federal court judge. It didn't help that he was a nervous public speaker, almost shaking at times, Mr. Hawkins recalls - a sharp contrast to the smooth political persona he would develop later in life.

"He wanted to be a politician and he forced himself to get through it," Mr. Hawkins explains.

Calgary lawyer James Rooney, a close friend and former law partner of Mr. Prentice, says Mr. Prentice probably lost more times than he won in politics.

But he kept coming back because had a strong sense of wanting to serve and ideas he wanted to see implemented, he says.

Mr. Prentice was defeated by an NDP candidate in a bid to win a seat in the Alberta legislature.

In 2002, he won the federal PC nomination in Calgary-Southwest, but stepped down when Stephen Harper, newly elected as leader of the Canadian Alliance, ran in a by-election in the riding.

A 2003 bid to lead the federal PCs ended in defeat to Peter MacKay.

Finally, in 2004, he won the riding of Calgary Centre-North for the federal Conservatives. In 2006, he entered cabinet.

Still, friends say Mr. Prentice worked hard at becoming a better politician. When Mr. Prentice was a cabinet minister, he would come back to Calgary on weekends and go door-knocking in his riding, even when there was no election looming. "He would do it for fun," Mr. Rooney says.

"He just loved to talk to people and see what they were thinking."

Throughout, hockey was a big part of his life. Jim Prentice grew up as a rink rat in northern Ontario, and continued to play hockey in adulthood.

"One of the things he would say is: 'You have to understand hockey if you want to understand politics because hockey is a team sport; it's rough-andtumble and then afterward you shake hands and have to get along,' " Mr. Rooney says.

In 2010, Mr. Prentice resigned from the federal government to work at the CIBC. Within four years, however, he returned to politics to seek and secure the leadership of the Alberta PCs. As premier, he sought to manage the province as oil prices plunged.

Katherine O'Neill, now president of the Alberta PCs, recalls Mr. Prentice convening a meeting with her where he made the case for her to run for a seat in the Alberta legislature. Ms. O'Neill, a former Globe and Mail reporter, was reluctant because she had young children.

During a half-hour meeting in his office, Ms. O'Neill recalls that Mr. Prentice talked about the need for diverse voices at the political table including younger people and women. The thenpremier described politics as not being merely a means of employment, but a means of serving the public.

"He talked about the fact that it's a lot of hard work and he understood the sacrifice. He said that it's really worth it in the end because you'll have good people making decisions and you can only have a stronger province."

Ms. O'Neill ended up running, but she was defeated in the 2015 election.

She said that after the PCs' defeat, Mr. Prentice quietly helped with fundraising, although he avoided any larger role. "He knew the party had to turn a chapter on what was happening and he had to turn aside."

Mr. Strahl said Mr. Prentice was immensely happy outside the spotlight. He was able to better juggle his commitment to family, including his grandchildren, and professional interests. He joined a Washington think tank earlier this year - the Canada Institute at the Wilson Center - and was working on a book about energy and the environment.

While Mr. Prentice leaves a notable political legacy, Mr. Strahl said his friend's family is key to what he leaves behind. "He was tremendously proud of them and, at this stage of his life, had a tremendous work-life balance that made sure he always had time for his family.

"He was well loved."

Mr. Prentice leaves his wife, Karen, three daughters and two grandchildren.

Associated Graphic

Alberta Premier Jim Prentice is reflected in the window of his campaign bus in Grande Cache, Alta., during the provincial election on April 8, 2015. He would go on to lose the election, but even though the loss was tough, 'he was also a big enough man to move on from it.'


Jim Prentice, left, stands with then-prime minister Stephen Harper during the Calgary Stampede in June, 2007.


Lessons from Martha Stewart on living well: 'We don't preach. We teach'
Special to The Globe and Mail
Thursday, October 20, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

While professing to have a penchant for tiny homes, Martha Stewart boasts no less than 21 kitchens in her various full-scale homes.

At 75, the lifestyle guru is as adamant as ever about romancing the home and globally building her brand in myriad new ways. This fall, she's teaming up with iconic hip-hop star Snoop Dogg to co-host a new weekly dinner party TV series.

And she's just launched a business called Martha and Marley Spoon, a U.S. meal-kit delivery service that offers the makings for cook-it-yourself dinners, for those who just don't have time to shop.

"Thoughtful good living is what I'm looking for," she told me after lunch recently at Hudson's Bay Queen Street store in Toronto, where she was launching a new line of bedding. Stewart proclaims her passion is "living style," a phrase she's coined and spun into a multimedia empire.

The Globe and Mail asked Martha Stewart about her love of cocooning, why she thinks jealousy is a good thing and the appeal of tiny houses.

You have managed not only to inspire but educate so many people on such a global scale.

Was this part of your vision in the first place?

I was raised by two schoolteachers so we were always being taught. We were taught to respect education and our teachers. And I loved my teachers. I remember all their names and used to have them over for lunch at my house.

Teaching is very important. But I'm not a preacher. I want to make that very clear: We don't preach. We teach. We want the information to be as good as it can be - as well-informed as it can be.

You were almost ahead of your time initially, understanding the need for cocooning and how our homes were going to play an increasingly important role in our whole sense of well-being.

Early on I met a woman, Faith Popcorn, who had a house in East Hampton where I had a house. She would be talking about the couch potato and cocooning. We ... totally agreed that being a couch potato was just such an inferior way to live.

Those phrases, like "cocooning," didn't mean sitting on the couch to me. "Couch potato" meant sitting on the couch. "Cocooning" meant making your home a more pleasant place, a place where you wanted to spend time with your family ... a good time.

Your line of products runs the gamut from items for the elegant home to the country home.

I know both these elements are very important to you.

I live in several different kinds of environments. And more and more, I want to live in a tiny little one room someplace. I just built a Taj.

We call it a Taj but it's a condominium for my peacocks, with two rooms side by side: one for the white peacocks and one for the blue peacocks, separated by a wire.

But it's 24 feet by 12 feet. It is the perfect size house really.

A tiny house.

Yes, and I love the whole idea of a tiny house. I think all of us probably spend too much time indoors, in too big, spacious places.

Yet, many of us love the idea of having more than one home ... Well, I have four homes plus an apartment. And I use them as laboratories, to try to work things out colour-wise, furnishing-wise, kitchen-wise. They're all different. And I know what's good, what works, what doesn't work. I have 21 kitchens right now. I have a hundred acres in Maine, in the middle of nowhere, and on that property I have a carriage house, and there are two living spaces above. In that space alone, there are three kitchens and they're all workable. And I have a guesthouse with a kitchen, and a tenant house with another kitchen that we just put in.

It's a Martha Kitchen from Home Depot, which is so beautiful everybody wants to stay in that building because of the kitchen.

So I install kitchens, and I see what works and what doesn't.

My East Hampton house has a giant island, which I thought was going to be so fabulous - but I hate it because you spend all your time walking around the island, which is just the wrong proportions for the rest of the room. But it's too nice to rip out, so I'm never going to rip it out.

But I've learned. I experiment.

When I'm designing, I try hard to try the things out on myself and see.

It seems as though you've got as many kitchens as some women may have frocks. There's always been an interesting synergy between home style and sartorial style. Are you inspired by what comes down the runways of the world?

Oh very much so. I love fashion.

I love going to the shows, meeting the designers and talking to them. They also like talking to me about the garden. So many designers are gardeners, which is my first big passion. And so the garden is sort of a meeting place for a lot of us. We love to grow things, we love to eat from the garden, we love to cut from the garden and you learn a lot doing these manual things yourself. It's the same as cooking. Cooking is another kind of leveller for good taste. What makes a good meal, what makes a good food.

The technological advancement of fabrications has been a great source of inspiration for so many designers. What about for you, and the types of things that you want to surround yourself with at home?

I spent a lot of time looking at home furnishings. What makes a comfortable bed? What is good mattress construction and what is the comfortable sheet? How many pillows do you really need? We spend so much time taking pillows off the bed and putting them on the floor ... Just go to bed. I don't want to do that. I want to get into bed and have the bed ready to climb into when you're in the bedroom. So we don't do a lot with fancy coverlets and things.

I think that is definitely a strong philosophy now running through the fashion world too.

We want to dress for comfort ... wear things that feel good, without all that unnecessary stuff that we've been piling on.

I think global warming has a lot to do with it too. I used to love coats. I have a closet full of them. In New York, you don't have that much cold weather any more, so investing in a coat or two every year is sort of unnecessary. But a shawl is so much cozier.

Plus a shawl can be multipurposed, tossed over a couch.

Yeah, you can do a lot of things.

And I think about those kinds of things and what makes sense in a home...

Your brand has such a lustre to it. Was it something you consciously tended or did it just grow out of a love of what you did?

Well everybody who works at Martha Stewart Living thinks that way. What makes a good home? What makes a comfortable home? What's sensible?

What's appealing? What's well made, what's affordable? Affordability is also a big thing that I think about, because I don't want to price myself out of a person's environment if I don't have to. And I learned that when I first started the business with Kmart, which was the largest retailer in America at the time. If you make a million of something, you can make it cheaper than if you only make 10. I learned all those economics through Kmart and that's why I love the idea of servicing and providing a large group of people with really nice things.

Your juggling act is inspiring as well and I often wonder how you manage to have that many kitchens, to be involved in that many different arenas, yet still remain grounded. What's your secret?

I just think it's spending enough time in each place to make it a positive statement. We photograph so many things in my homes and people know my homes by name. They know Skylands. They know Lily Pond. I open my garden in Bedford to many, many gardening groups.

My garden's still a work in progress but the letters I've gotten from the women - who are some of the best gardeners in America - are so nice and they understand what I'm trying to do with landscape. They understand that we eat from the garden, we enjoy the garden, we have animals in the garden. They understand that you're being successful in your life effort.

Any vulnerabilities that you'd admit to? Ever worry about your houses not being up to snuff?

Maybe it's jealousy. I like the word jealous. If I feel jealous when I go to somebody's home, that's kind of good because that's aspirational. I just visited a friend's home that I had read about and dreamed of what it would be like. He finally invited me to see the house and I didn't feel any jealousy whatsoever.

And I felt so good going home, because I didn't feel as though I was missing out on something.

But I like the jealousy thing, because it's the next something I can aspire to.

Well as long as you keep it in check.

Yeah, it's like you see somebody in a dress that you wanted and she looks so much better in the dress than you would have looked in it. That kind of jealousy is good.

This interview was condensed and edited.

Associated Graphic

Martha Stewart has launched a line of bedding: 'What makes a comfortable bed? What is good mattress construction and what is the comfortable sheet? How many pillows do you really need? We spend so much time taking pillows off the bed and putting them on the floor ... Just go to bed.'


'We Matter' campaign launched to buoy youth in crisis
Kelvin Redvers's social-media movement features empowering messages from inspiring indigenous Canadians, Mark Hume reports
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

VANCOUVER -- Kelvin Redvers's work to create a forum for speaking out about suicide among aboriginal youth started last summer when he visited the hamlet of Fort Resolution, in the Northwest Territories, where his mother grew up on the shores of Great Slave Lake.

Called the "We Matter" campaign, the video series is designed to use the power of social media to reach into the small native communities and lonely rooms scattered across the country where so many young aboriginals are struggling with feelings of desperation.

Mr. Redvers launched the national project publicly this week. A day later, the news was full of stories about another suicide shock. A 10-year-old girl from Deschambault Lake, Sask., killed herself, after three other girls in the province, aged 12 to 14, took their own lives over a fourday period earlier this month.

Native leaders called it a crisis, but Mr. Redvers said it isn't a new one. "It hasn't just surged lately. It's been going on for decades," he said of the wave of suicides in native communities.

In the "We Matter" videos, ordinary people and prominent aboriginals, such as the best-selling author Joseph Boyden, look directly into the camera and tell stories of hope, often underscored by their own harrowing experiences with suicide attempts.

"I want to speak to you from the heart, from a place that isn't always easy to speak from cause you are very vulnerable," said Mr. Boyden, whose work includes The Orenda, Three Day Road and Through Black Spruce.

"When I was about 15 years old, I knew that something was really wrong with me, but I put up a really, really good pretend face," he said.

"I held it in until it was almost too late. On my 16th birthday, I attempted to kill myself."

Mr. Boyden goes on to urge young people to talk about their fears and their pain, saying that if they can break the barrier of self-imposed silence they can get past their crises.

"I was lucky because what I tried to do didn't work," he said of his suicide attempt.

"Here I am, 34 years almost to the day later ... telling you what you've got to do is allow yourself to be vulnerable, to speak from the heart if you are hurting."

Mr. Redvers, who grew up in Hay River, Alta., said he was moved to action by the flood of aboriginal suicide stories in the media, and by his return visit to Fort Resolution, where he heard first-hand how the epidemic had hit one small town.

"In my mom's home community, you could talk to the people about the issue of suicide and, just in the past several years, they can count on their fingers, okay, this person died and this person and this person. And it's a town of only 400 people. So it's even a bigger problem than what hits the news," Mr. Redvers said.

He had an idea that if people started talking openly about the problem, and if they shared messages of hope, it might prevent more suicides.

"I hope that the numbers go down because of this campaign," Mr. Redvers said of the shocking suicide rate, which is five times higher for aboriginal youth in Canada than for nonaboriginals.

"I hope that we can create a movement so that all indigenous youth across Canada feel like there are others out there who care for them and who support them, and that this can start a dialogue in these communities, so people can start to talk about these things."

Mr. Redvers, whose sister Tunchai is also working on the project, shot his first two videos in Fort Resolution, one featuring an elder who went to residential school with his grandmother.

He quickly moved on to add messages from across the country, including some from highly successful native people.

Most of them tell emotional stories about times when they were so desperate, suicide seemed like the only solution.

The site is set up so people can upload their own messages, which Mr. Redvers will edit to fit the format.

He hopes the project will lead him soon to the Prime Minister's Office in Ottawa, where he wants to shoot a short, impactful video featuring Justin Trudeau and an aboriginal MP.

"We want both high-profile people and ordinary youth to post their stories," he said. "We would love some youth in northern Saskatchewan who are seeing the issues going on in their communities, to upload messages. But also we would hope that the Prime Minister would get involved ... and together they can show support for this cause."

British Columbia MLA Melanie Mark, the first indigenous woman elected to the B.C. legislature, is among those who face the camera and talk about why it is important to hang on.

Ms. Mark fights to control her emotions as she speaks: "You are not alone in whatever you are feeling right now. I've been there. I've been a teenager who went to school and got bullied."

She said she struggled with depression and at the age of 19 decided she'd had enough.

"I took a lot of pills and I thought my fight with what I was experiencing was over," Ms. Mark said.

"That wasn't the case. The Creator had another plan for me."

She said that, "when you feel your life is worthless and that you really should be dead," it is hard to believe there might be better days ahead.

But she urged young people not to give up, because the dark period she was lucky enough to survive gave way to a bright future.

"I'm 40 years old and I'm an MLA and I'm a mother of two daughters and my mom is 10 years clean and sober and life is so much brighter than I'd ever imagined," she said.

In another video in the series, the three members of A Tribe Called Red, an electronic-music group, urged young people to never doubt themselves and to know that they are valued.

"It's really important you guys understand how important you are, to us specifically," said Ian Campeau, whose professional name is DJ NDN.

"We make this music for indigenous youth and we try to strive to represent indigenous youth and we need you around and we love you very much."

Mr. Redvers hopes indigenous youth will visit the website at or the Facebook site at WeMatterCampaign and that they will share it with others.

"A lot of times people see these articles in the news about suicides and suicide pacts and hundreds of attempts in places like Attawapiskat, and they sort of feel disconnected. You want to help but don't know how," he said.

"This seemed like a venue we could create where everybody in Canada could have a hand in it basically, that people could feel connected to the cause."


The suicide rate for aboriginal men between the ages of 15 and 24 is 126 for every 100,000 people. For non-aboriginals it is 24. The suicide rate for women in the same age bracket is 35 per 100,000. For nonaboriginals it is five.

Filmmaker Kelvin Redvers is trying to address the suicide crisis in native communities by launching the "We Matter" campaign. His idea is to deliver short, powerful videos that send the message: "No matter how hopeless things feel, there is always a way forward."

Here's what some participants said:

Jack Linklater Jr., an Attawapiskat youth whose heroism was honoured last year for saving two of his nieces from a house fire: "I'm Cree and proud to be. ... My message to you, if you are having a hard time, look to the trees as it shows you to stand tall and proud. Look to the rock as it shows you the strength you need. Look to the river as it shows you to keep moving forward in life."

Tyra Hookimaw, Attawapiskat youth and hip hop fan: "Even though you are feeling like you can't do it, you can't get through it. You can. ... There are many, many, many ways you can help yourself.

For me, I had to start thinking positive. I had to appreciate what I had. ... I'd sometimes write what I was feeling in a journal."

Andre Morriseau, director of awards for the Canadian Council for Aboriginal Business: "I am proud of being as out as life could ever be. ... I really want to reach out and speak directly to our young, two-spirited people on reserves ... wherever you are. There is still a stigma about being two spirited, about being gay, and that is killing our youth across this country. ... What I want to say to you is don't hide, don't despair. ... Being two spirited is being yourself."

Don Burnstick, comedian: "I remember when I first heard of a suicide on my res. ... We were 12 and a woman shot herself with a shotgun. And me and my friends were sitting there and we were just trying to figure out how could somebody do that? Cause nobody did that when we were younger. Nobody just killed themselves."

Violet Beaulieu, elder: "At [the] age of 4, I was an orphan and placed in a residential school. ... We were abused and we went through hard times.

... We all grow up the same way. We go through a lot of hardships, but we can overcome that. Just think positive, like I did."

Michele General, mother who lost her son to suicide: "I'm here to tell you a few things.

One, you are beautiful. Two, you are loved. And three, we need you here with us. Those are a few things I never got to tell my son."

Associated Graphic

A number of indigenous Canadians have lent their stories of crisis and compassion to the campaign. Top row: Tyra Hookinaw, Jack Linklater Jr., Michelle General. Second row: Violet Beaulieu, Don Burstick. Bottom row: Andre Morrison, Joseph Boyden, Evan Adams.


Among the many participants in Kelvin Redvers's We Matter film project are youth from the Ulukhaktok community.


'We Matter' campaign aims to buoy youth in crisis
Kelvin Redvers's social media movement features empowering messages from inspiring indigenous Canadians, Mark Hume reports
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

Kelvin Redvers's work to create a forum for speaking out about suicide among aboriginal youth started last summer when he visited the hamlet of Fort Resolution, in the Northwest Territories, where his mother grew up on the shores of Great Slave Lake.

Called the "We Matter" campaign, the video series is designed to use the power of social media to reach into the small native communities and lonely rooms scattered across the country where so many young aboriginals are struggling with feelings of desperation. Mr. Redvers launched the national project publicly this week. A day later, the news was full of stories about another suicide shock.

A 10-year-old girl from Deschambault Lake, Sask., killed herself, after three other girls in the province, aged 12 to 14, took their own lives over a four-day period earlier this month.

Native leaders called it a crisis, but Mr. Redvers said it isn't a new one.

"It hasn't just surged lately. It's been going on for decades," he said of the wave of suicides in native communities.

In the "We Matter" videos, ordinary people and prominent aboriginals, such as the best-selling author Joseph Boyden, look directly into the camera and tell stories of hope, often underscored by their own harrowing experiences with suicide attempts.

"I want to speak to you from the heart, from a place that isn't always easy to speak from cause you are very vulnerable," said Mr. Boyden, whose work includes The Orenda, Three Day Road and Through Black Spruce.

"When I was about 15 years old, I knew that something was really wrong with me, but I put up a really, really good pretend face," Mr. Boyden said.

"I held it in until it was almost too late. On my 16th birthday, I attempted to kill myself."

Mr. Boyden goes on to urge young people to talk about their fears and their pain, saying that if they can break the barrier of self-imposed silence, they can get past their crises.

"I was lucky because what I tried to do didn't work," he said of his suicide attempt. "Here I am, 34 years almost to the day later ... telling you what you've got to do is allow yourself to be vulnerable, to speak from the heart if you are hurting."

Mr. Redvers, who grew up in Hay River, Alta., said he was moved to action by the flood of aboriginal suicide stories in the media, and by his return visit to Fort Resolution, where he heard first-hand how the epidemic had hit one small town.

"In my mom's home community, you could talk to the people about the issue of suicide and, just in the past several years, they can count on their fingers, okay, this person died and this person and this person. And it's a town of only 400 people. So it's even a bigger problem than what hits the news," Mr. Redvers said.

He had an idea that if people started talking openly about the problem, and if they shared messages of hope, it might prevent more suicides.

"I hope that the numbers go down because of this campaign," Mr. Redvers said of the shocking suicide rate, which is five times higher for aboriginal youth in Canada than for nonaboriginals.

"I hope that we can create a movement so that all indigenous youth across Canada feel like there are others out there who care for them and who support them, and that this can start a dialogue in these communities, so people can start to talk about these things."

Mr. Redvers, whose sister Tunchai is also working on the project, shot his first two videos in Fort Resolution, one featuring an elder who went to residential school with his grandmother.

He quickly moved on to add messages from across the country, including some from highly successful native people.

Most of them tell emotional stories about times when they were so desperate, suicide seemed like the only solution.

The site is set up so people can upload their own messages, which Mr. Redvers will edit to fit the format.

He hopes the project will lead him soon to the Prime Minister's Office in Ottawa, where he wants to shoot a short, impactful video featuring Justin Trudeau and an aboriginal MP.

"We want both high-profile people and ordinary youth to post their stories," he said.

"We would love some youth in northern Saskatchewan who are seeing the issues going on in their communities, to upload messages. But also we would hope that the Prime Minister would get involved ... and together they can show support for this cause." British Columbia MLA Melanie Mark, the first indigenous woman elected to the B.C. legislature, is among those who face the camera and talk about why it is important to hang on.

Ms. Mark fights to control her emotions as she speaks: "You are not alone in whatever you are feeling right now. I've been there. I've been a teenager who went to school and got bullied."

She said she struggled with depression and at the age of 19 decided she'd had enough.

"I took a lot of pills and I thought my fight with what I was experiencing was over," Ms. Mark said.

"That wasn't the case. The Creator had another plan for me."

She said that, "when you feel your life is worthless and that you really should be dead," it is hard to believe there might be better days ahead.

But she urged young people not to give up, because the dark period she was lucky enough to survive gave way to a bright future.

"I'm 40 years old and I'm an MLA and I'm a mother of two daughters and my mom is 10 years clean and sober and life is so much brighter than I'd ever imagined," she said.

In another video in the series, the three members of A Tribe Called Red, an electronic-music group, urged young people to never doubt themselves and to know that they are valued.

"It's really important you guys understand how important you are, to us specifically," said Ian Campeau, whose professional name is DJ NDN.

"We make this music for indigenous youth and we try to strive to represent indigenous youth and we need you around and we love you very much."

Mr. Redvers hopes indigenous youth will visit the website at or the Facebook site at WeMatterCampaign and that they will share it with others.

"A lot of times people see these articles in the news about suicides and suicide pacts and hundreds of attempts in places like Attawapiskat, and they sort of feel disconnected. You want to help but don't know how," he said.

"This seemed like a venue we could create where everybody in Canada could have a hand in it basically, that people could feel connected to the cause."


The suicide rate for aboriginal men between the ages of 15 and 24 is 126 for every 100,000 people. For non-aboriginals it is 24. The suicide rate for women in the same age bracket is 35 per 100,000. For nonaboriginals it is five.

Filmmaker Kelvin Redvers is trying to address the suicide crisis in native communities by launching the "We Matter" campaign. His idea is to deliver short, powerful videos that send the message: "No matter how hopeless things feel, there is always a way forward."

Here's what some participants said:

Jack Linklater Jr., an Attawapiskat youth whose heroism was honoured last year for saving two of his nieces from a house fire: "I'm Cree and proud to be. ... My message to you, if you are having a hard time, look to the trees as it shows you to stand tall and proud. Look to the rock as it shows you the strength you need. Look to the river as it shows you to keep moving forward in life."

Tyra Hookimaw, Attawapiskat youth and hip hop fan: "Even though you are feeling like you can't do it, you can't get through it. You can. ... There are many, many, many ways you can help yourself.

For me, I had to start thinking positive. I had to appreciate what I had. ... I'd sometimes write what I was feeling in a journal."

Andre Morriseau, director of awards for the Canadian Council for Aboriginal Business: "I am proud of being as out as life could ever be. ... I really want to reach out and speak directly to our young, two-spirited people on reserves ... wherever you are. There is still a stigma about being two spirited, about being gay, and that is killing our youth across this country. ... What I want to say to you is don't hide, don't despair. ... Being two spirited is being yourself."

Don Burnstick, comedian: "I remember when I first heard of a suicide on my res. ... We were 12 and a woman shot herself with a shotgun. And me and my friends were sitting there and we were just trying to figure out how could somebody do that? Cause nobody did that when we were younger. Nobody just killed themselves."

Violet Beaulieu, elder: "At [the] age of 4, I was an orphan and placed in a residential school. ... We were abused and we went through hard times. ... We all grow up the same way. We go through a lot of hardships, but we can overcome that. Just think positive, like I did."

Michele General, mother who lost her son to suicide: "I'm here to tell you a few things.

One, you are beautiful. Two, you are loved. And three, we need you here with us. Those are a few things I never got to tell my son."

Associated Graphic

A number of indigenous Canadians have lent their stories of crisis and compassion to the campaign. Top row: Tyra Hookinaw, Jack Linklater Jr., Violet Beaulieu. Second row: Andre Morrison, Michelle General, Don Burstick.


Among the many participants in Kelvin Redvers's We Matter film project are youth from the Ulukhaktok community.


Campaigning, it would seem, to be Troller-in-chief
The GOP candidate defends his taunts as harmless fun. But when does a noxious Internet sport become toxic to the body politic?
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F1

WINNIPEG -- With his belittling epithets, his late-night Twitter-lurking, his predatory remarks about women framed as "locker-room talk," Donald Trump could be considered the first troll to run for U.S. president.

For those unfamiliar with the dank underbelly of the Web, a troll is an online trickster who hijacks a debate by saying something inflammatory to upset the virtual community or incite anger. Maybe he means it, maybe he doesn't. It's impossible to know. The troll, usually anonymous, is ostensibly just out to get some lulz (a term derived from the acronym lol, for laugh out loud); if blamed, he might just say it was a joke.

Unlike lols, lulz are amusement at the expense of someone else, "humour" laced with menace. So when the GOP presidential candidate promises to jail his opponent, Hillary Clinton, as he did during Sunday night's debate, his campaign warns us that we should not take him "literally."

We're supposed to feel gullible, and absolve Mr. Trump of his intemperate remarks.

The culture of online trolling has undeniably infected the body politic - replacing political earnestness with entertainment, and accountability with impunity.

Its proponents, though, defend it as a more engaging and economical way to communicate than taking out ads and attending baking contests. Some strategists even see it as the future of campaigning.

"The Internet is about sensationalism, entertainment, and sound bites, and we've never had a candidate who's won on sound bites until now," says Vincent Harris, who ran the social-mediasavvy digital campaign for Republican candidate Rand Paul.

"Mr. Trump beat out very organized and professional campaigns with Facebook and trolling, his message was so widely seen. Our base just eats it up."

Why raise money to fund for those blanket, 30-second attack ads when you can Tweet attacks every 30 seconds instead? The more outrageous, in fact, the more likely that the Twitterati and the media will disseminate them. "You're shocking and aweing. That's entertaining," says Paul Trapnell, a University of Winnipeg psychology professor who has written on the topic."It has a cathartic value. People have always enjoyed cruelty."

Some of Mr. Trump's biggest supporters are the "alt-right" trolls who post racist, sexist and anti-Semitic memes to Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. These are the same kinds of groups who recreated Pepe the Frog, a cartoon meme, into a white supremacist, surrounding him with Nazi symbolism; they also created a memo of Pepe with a Trump hairdo.

Of course, we were later told these were simply pranks, but Ms. Clinton's campaign took aim at the frog, bringing even greater infamy to Pepe, and giving his creators something to lulz about.

"Now we have MSNBC and the Clinton campaign citing a troll story about a meme," gloated its creator to the news site The Daily Caller.

Mr. Trump seems to have absorbed the same approach: Stoke outrage, gobble up the lulz like Pac-Man, and deny responsibility.

Remember when he suggested that the Russians hack Ms. Clinton? Or that the former Secretary of State and President Barack Obama founded ISIS? Mr. Trump was either joking, he later insisted, or we should not take him literally.

Trolling can get physical, too.

Rather than returning to his seat after responding to questions in Sunday's debate, Mr. Trump would often hover behind his opponent like Archie Bunker without his recliner, glowering, pacing and pouting. It was trolling of a different kind: Twitter performed on live TV.

To penetrate this darkness hovering over the U.S. political horizon, The Globe and Mail travelled to Winnipeg. Far-fetched as it may sound, it is at the corner of Ellice Avenue and Young Street where one of the world's foremost experts on troll psychology is now studying. That's where Erin E. Buckels, a 33-year-old PhD student from the University of British Columbia, is working with Dr. Trapnell on what they call "the dark tetrad" of personality traits.

Along with UBC psychology professor Delroy Paulhus, the pair co-authored a 2014 paper, called Trolls Just Want to Have Fun, that garnered international attention. Far from their oftstated intention of teaching people a corrective lesson about their own failures or biases, maintains Ms. Buckels, trolls just want to humiliate. At least, that's the fun part for them.

Published in the journal Personality and Individual Differences, the trio's paper describes the pathologies of the dark tetrad: narcissism, Machiavellianism (a willingness to deceive), psychopathy (no remorse or empathy) and sadism, the last of which turned out to be the strongest motivation for those who troll.

"People who are high in dark-tetrad traits are very extroverted, dominant and more active online than others," says Ms. Buckels, a quiet, self-effacing woman for someone who delves into such dank corners of the Web.

When I first sat down with Ms. Buckels and Dr. Trapnell in the latter's crowded U of W office on a September afternoon, he asked that, for the purpose of good conversation, we turn off the lights.

"It's more relaxing to talk like this," Dr. Trapnell said, offering his visitor a burrito and small carton of 2-per-cent milk from the school cafeteria.

Ms. Buckels said she came up with the idea of a study while sitting around in the cafeteria at UBC's psychology building. She and several others were describing trolling to Dr. Paulhus, who has been studying "dark personalities" for 15 years. He saw a possible online analogue in trolling: a need for cruelty. So did Ms. Buckels. "Being a nerdy computer person, it just seemed obvious to me that trolls might be high in sadistic traits," she says.

As part of their study, they engaged random users of Mechanical Turk, an Amazon Web service through which workers are hired to perform tasks that computers cannot. Mechanical Turk provides a more demographically diverse survey group, than, say, university students. To assess those who use the chat boards at Mechanical Turk, they came up with a test called GAIT, the Global Assessment of Internet Trolling.

Participants were asked to rate several statements. Among them: 6 I have sent people to shock websites for the lulz.

I like to troll people in forums or the comments section of websites.

I enjoy griefing other players in multiplayer games.

The more beautiful and pure a thing is, the more satisfying it is to corrupt.

Of the four dark-tetrad traits, sadism was determined to be the overwhelming impulse among respondents. While that result isn't surprising, only about 6 per cent of those surveyed said they actually enjoyed baiting and humiliating others.

Which raises a larger question: Why is so much attention paid to the actions of so few? While these researchers say that they have not studied trolls' audience appeal, they attribute it to a kind of virtual rubbernecking. "It's a kind of schadenfreude," says Dr.

Trapnell. "It's motivated by a downward comparison."

The other dominant voice in this prickly field is Whitney Phillips, author of This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things: Mapping the Relationship between Online Trolling and Mainstream Culture.

For years, Ms. Phillips plumbed the murky depths of this subculture - and groups such as 4chan, the troll-infested message board best known for its cyberbullying, and for leaking nude photos of actress Jennifer Lawrence. This week, it was speculated that its users had hacked into the e-mail and Twitter accounts of Ms. Clinton's campaign manager, John Podesta. (It is also reportedly on the shopping block. So, for that matter, is Twitter.)

"Trolling means you never have to take responsibility when you hurt someone," says Ms. Phillips, who is co-authoring an upcoming book about trolling and the U.S. election. "It also perpetuates a victim-blaming logic. They can say, 'Don't you know how the Internet works? How can you allow yourself to be fooled?' " (Among the ironies here is that many Trump followers were quick this week to recycle the campaign's coded, anti-Semitic theories which name his sexualassault accusers of belonging to a global banking conspiracy to end U.S. dominance.)

Ms. Phillips says that the reason trolls and the alt-right have such an outsized presence is that journalists, authors (herself included, she says) and politicians amplify the hate by using it as a form of entertainment or as a punching bag of outrage. Even retweeting, or hate-posting on Facebook, are acts of complicity giving the trolls asymmetrical force.

The bigots found on some of these alt-right chat boards are what she calls "hipster Nazis" - people who are hurtful but in a throwaway manner. Commenting on the trolls study, she says she believes that the behaviour is more symptomatic of "unchecked privilege" than sadistic tendencies.

Trolling, she adds, has been a term in flux for decades, at one time attributed to deliberate online disruption, and later extended to the provoking of a strong negative reaction in any forum. Ms. Phillips says that there is a danger to attaching the term to Mr. Trump.

"It attributes to a lot of harassing and bigoted behaviour a kind of playfulness - and a rhetorical way out," she says, allowing the Republican presidential candidate "to say that he is not a racist," for example, "and he was just playing around."

Labelling someone a troll allows them to shirk responsibility, she says, a confusing proposition in politics, where truth - or at least truthiness - has been the norm. When a candidate hides behind a claim of irony, their rhetoric gets lost in a hall of mirrors. "The big deal is that we don't have a framework or blueprint of how to respond to this culturally," she says. "When people are coming at you with genuine bigotry and intolerance, it's easier. You can take them at their word."

Craig Offman is a feature writer at The Globe and Mail.

Associated Graphic

Trolls hijack debate by saying something inflammatory to upset the community and incite anger. Maybe they mean it, maybe they don't. It's impossible to know.


Tall Order
Meditation classes. Stress relief workshops. Wellness subsidies. After a survey of its young workers led Starbucks Canada to hike its psychotherapy coverage, Erin Anderssen asks whether millennials are revolutionizing benefits for the rest of us
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

Last summer, when Starbucks began hearing from employees at five forums across the country, the company didn't expect mental health to become the top talking point. The forums were targeted to staff between the ages of 18 and 24, and, hosted by the company executives, were an invitation to discuss youth issues. But in each city, their employees kept bringing it up - not only struggles with depression and anxiety, but grief, work-life balance, care-giving stress.

The result of the forum was Starbucks Canada's announcement earlier this month of an increase in coverage of psychotherapy to $5,000, one of the largest amounts of coverage in the country. Starbucks undoubtedly crunched the numbers and saw the advantages - good PR, a healthier, happier work force that misses fewer shifts. But it was still millennial employees who raised the issue first.

The move by Starbucks is an example of the way that millennials - those employees in their mid-20s and 30s - are contributing to a pro-active conversation on workplace health in general - one more oriented toward preventative medicine, positive mental health and well-being.

Google and Facebook are famous for their millennial-friendly extras. But benefits experts say there is a growing trend for more traditional firms to follow suit, in part to attract and retain younger employees.

That includes expanding employee assistance plans, creating more holistic benefits around fitness, providing advice to reduce stress around debt and adding digital mental-health services - in part to attract and retain millennials. At ATB Financial in Edmonton, for instance, employees can trade benefit credits for vacation days and a "wellness" account that can be used widely, for example, for new skis or yoga. At National Leasing in Winnipeg, the head office added a nap room and gym and now runs an annual week of mental-health programs, including daily meditation classes and motivational speakers - an idea conceived by one of its many millennial employees after a first-hand experience with a mental-health issue.

For all the rhetoric about entitled millennials, these changes are a good deal for everyone. And not only does a decision such as Starbucks's help spur more companies along and balance some glaring inequities in Canada's health-care system - particularly access to an important treatment such as therapy - it's also good for the country.

As Krishna Patel, 24, who works for a Toronto insurance company, puts it, "You want to have options, so you aren't just going to a doctor and popping pills."

Benefits wouldn't decide a job choice, but all things being equal, she says, they would tip the balance. "Not providing these services seems outdated, conservative and regressive," she says.

"Even if I don't use it, it's a sign they care about their employees."

No wonder millennials want coverage for gym passes and therapy and individual health spending accounts that let them use their benefits for the services they want. This is a generation that came of age during stigma-busting campaigns, such as Bell Let's Talk, and as mental illness entered the common parlance of celebrities. They have been urged - by their teachers, doctors and parents - to seek help when they need it. Owen Kelly, a psychologist in Ottawa, says that among his younger patients, "there is a increasing recognition that some of what we have labelled a 'medical problem' also falls under the category of a human problem."

And yet, as provincial health ministers meet with their federal counterpart Jane Philpott to haggle more money out of Ottawa in health-care transfers, we should not expect a golden pot of cash to add new services for mental health. The government farthest along in creating a publicly-funded program for therapy is Quebec.

Their scientific health agency has released two reports making the case for it and another is expected next year to propose how to do it. The price tag for publicly-funded therapy in the province was estimated around $450-million, a small sliver of Quebec's $32-billion health care budget. But Health Minister Gaétan Barrette, who praised the move by Starbucks, has already said that Ottawa will have to kick in much more than it's promising just to keep hospitals running properly - let alone expand areas such as home care and mental health.

Companies have done the math: Wellness programs pay for themselves in productivity, employee satisfaction and reduced absenteeism. Millennials come with their own unique demands, leading a push for online and virtual services and a wider range of therapies, such as mindfulness and resiliency training, according to Lori Casselman, a former Sun Life financial executive, now working as chief health officer for LEAGUE, a digital health insurance company. "They are a force for change," Casselman says. "We can learn a lot from what they have been accustomed to - being more transparent, more self-aware. Because of that, we are seeing more of a reduction in the stigma around talking about mental health." The push for flexibility and faster access to resources is something, she says, "other generations are benefiting from because the industry has to respond." And, she says, while young employees won't choose a company for its benefit package, they do treat it as "reflection of workplace culture" as Krishna Patel pointed out.

But companies are only patching up - not fixing - a big hole in Canada's mental-health-care system, one in which wealthy, working Canadians get better access to the science-based treatment. The Starbucks benefit is a good one - it doesn't limit the type of therapy (although it requires employees to see a licensed social worker or psychologist), it doesn't require a doctor's referral and it's large enough to make a difference. (The company's previous $400 plan was in line with what many companies still offer - barely enough to cover a couple of sessions with a psychologist.) But coverage is only available to Starbucks employees who work more than 20 hours a week, which is about two-thirds of their 19,000 Canadian employees, according to company estimates. And, as one barista in Ottawa pointed out, it might be hard for someone dealing with a mental-health issue to be available for every shift or to perform under pressure during busy times and they are still dependent on an understanding manager. "My skepticism is that it's one of those things that looks good on paper," she said, asking that her name not to be used. "But how will it translate into real help for the people I work with?" The consequence of telling more people to seek the help they need is that they will actually expect to get it when they come looking - true for both the public health-care system and the workplace. "If I have an employee who is willing to come forward and share that kind of information with me," Casselman observes, "I better be well-equipped to respond to that as a manager."

Fadi Dawood, 30, a historian at the non-profit think tank NATO Association of Canada, and a lecturer at Lakehead University in Orillia, describes "a generational schism. Most of the individuals who control benefits tend to be baby boomers, and those who are entering the work force are saying, 'you can't have the same expectations.' " In his parents' day, he suggests, there was no mental-health awareness - an employee complaining of depression or anxiety would be more likely told to get over it and work harder. But his view of his peers - and his students - is that they have a more complex view of mental health and are less likely to see shame in a therapeutic tune-up. He sought a short course of therapy himself at university, when stress was starting to interfere with his work. "Some of the coping strategies I learned, I continue to use in my life," he says.

More significantly, he is willing to talk about it, though still with some trepidation. "If companies want a healthy workforce," he says, "[covering therapy] is probably one of the most important things to provide."

Alec Toller, 28, suggests the view around therapy has shifted for his peers, including among men, who have traditionally been more resistant to seeking help. He has gone himself, for a bout of moderate depression and anxiety. "I didn't want to be dependent on a drug to feel better. I wanted to to change the behaviour rather than my brain." But a full course of therapy was only affordable because of coverage he received through the Directors Guild of Canada while working as an assistant picture editor. Like Dawood, he uses the lessons from those 12 weeks in other parts of his life - "not just to not feel better, but to feel really good." Now studying for his masters in psychology - in part, inspired by his positive experience in therapy - he argues there's an ethical concern also at stake, beyond the economic case for business. "We have to make mental health truly accessible. It can't be a service for the wealthy."

Don't count on the the push for more flexible, accessible, individual benefits, and best-evidence treatment to lighten up. Coming up behind the millennials is another generation, even more tech-savvy, with even more mental health awareness. "Youth are taking over the conversation," says Connie Coniglio, the executive director of BC Mental Health and Substance Use Services.

"Hopefully, that will produce a shift in the way we all see things and the way services are delivered."

With their insistence that employers see through on their wellness talk, their wish to make mental health a priority in the workplace, and their desire for benefits that actually cover their needs and for treatment that actually works - those millennials, they have some nerve.

Associated Graphic


Most companies are patching up a hole in Canada's mental-health-care system instead of fixing it. But the Starbucks benefit doesn't limit the type of therapy given and is large enough to make a difference.


A train too far
Renters are the biggest users of public transportation, but they are being displaced along transit corridors
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S6

For all the talk about the affordable housing crisis, the missing link has been transit.

When Martin Fernandez faced eviction from his Metrotown rental last June, one of his biggest concerns was moving to a neighbourhood that wasn't walking distance to transit. Mr. Fernandez, who makes around $3,000 a month and has two small children, wondered how he'd do the grocery shopping.

One of his biggest fears was the idea of having to buy a car.

"If my kids need clothes, we go to Metrotown mall. We have many things here," he told me.

People like Mr. Fernandez depend on proximity to transit for survival. Since the majority of transit users are renters and low-income earners, building low-cost housing around transit would seem obvious.

But overwhelmingly, dense, free-market condo developments have been the priority around transit stations. The result is an increase in property values that has displaced the renters that need transit the most. In the Metrotown area of Burnaby, and near the Evergreen Line in Burquitlam, old rental buildings are being torn down to make way for pricier condos.

It's a state of affairs that has exasperated housing advocates like Kishone Roy, chief executive officer of the BC Non-Profit Housing Association. Mr. Roy, like a growing number of others who've studied the issue, says that no transit plan should go forward without a plan for affordable housing. The housing crisis simply can't be fixed without the transit piece.

"It is extremely backward public policy that the only people that can afford to live along transit lines in Metro Vancouver are people who can afford a car - and the people who need transit can't afford to live along those transit lines," says Mr. Roy.

"It's happened for an array of reasons, including lack of government participation in the affordable housing market.

There's been an abdication of the government's role in housing that's created mass homelessness, a rental housing crisis, and this weird development problem we have in Vancouver, where we have transit investments, but no housing investments at the same time."

That means building dense, affordable housing around transit lines that are already in the works.

"It's a game of diminishing returns, because when you lose that housing along the transit line, then you have to build somewhere else, and then they will need more transit out there.

You can spend less and get more, if you plan these things together.

"The last thing you want is affordable housing and rentals to be so far off in rural areas and suburban areas you have to build more transit to get out to them," says Mr. Roy.

The National Household survey of 2011 shows that almost one in two renter households in Metro Vancouver, which comes to 106,000 households, make less than $50,000 annually It shows that as income declines, transit use goes up.

However, the use of transit by homeowners stays flat.

Municipalities are limited.

They can't create zoning only for rental housing. But New Westminster Mayor Jonathan Coté says there are still ways to successfully promote rental stock, both new and old.

He has made it clear to developers that protecting existing rental stock in New Westminster is a priority.

"We are upfront that we do not support the rezoning of those properties. That wouldn't prevent people from tearing down or redeveloping a rental building, but it does take away the incentive [for redevelopment]. So, over the last three years, we haven't had a single demo request for a purposebuilt rental building, which is different than what we've seen in other communities in the Metro area near transit or anticipated transit.

"The most affordable housing you have in your community is the affordable housing you already have," says Mr. Coté.

As a result of New Westminster's efforts to protect existing housing stock, while pushing for new rental, it has become one of the region's most affordable municipalities.

The municipality has offered incentives to boost new rental, such as offering density bonuses and reducing requirements for pricey parking stalls. Since New Westminster's rental housing policy came along in 2013, the city has gone from two to three decades of almost non-existent new rental development to 1,000 new units being built in the last year.

As a result of the incentives, nearly half the developer applications in New Westminster last year were for rental buildings as opposed to condos, according to Mr. Coté.

And, incredibly, not one developer has applied to demolish an existing rental building, according to Mr. Coté. He says the program has exceeded expectations.

"Statistics that have come out recently indicate renters are far more likely to use transit than other tenure types, and we might be actually be shooting ourselves in the foot if we are in a way displacing rental units and places where low and moderate income earners are able to live close to transit, and moving them away from transit and redeveloping with brand new condo buildings that may be larger in terms of density, but have fewer transit users.

"No doubt the intensification of land use is critically important, but so is the dynamic of housing tenure, and making sure there are people living around transit stations that fit the demographic of people who need it most, and are most likely to use it."

Andy Yan, director of the Simon Fraser University City Program, says that 54 per cent of people that use transit for work are renters, according to the last census, in 2011. One-third of new immigrants rely on transit. By the time the new census is released next year, those figures will undoubtedly have gone higher.

The median income of renters is $34,000, about half that of owners, according to city of Vancouver data. Vancouver provides nearly half of all rental housing in the Lower Mainland. The city does already give priority consideration to rezonings that are 100 per cent rental in areas close to transit.

The city's assistant director of planning for midtown, Kent Munro, says the city pursues and encourages purpose-built rental around transit. For example, Grandview-Woodland is undergoing a new plan to add density. About 65 per cent of the Grandview-Woodland neighbourhood is made up of renters, and they live in older rental stock.

The area is also within walking distance of transit. The fear is that redevelopment due to new zoning will displace those residents. Mr. Munro has said a "pace of change" policy is going to limit redevelopment of rental buildings in the first three years of the plan. It remains to be seen whether merely slowing the inevitable tide of redevelopment will actually work to protect the community. But Mr. Munro is on board with the idea that transit is a key piece of affordability.

"It allows people the choice to not have a car and to reap the resulting savings," he says.

The timing is better than ever to connect housing with transit.

The province has committed $355-million to affordable housing over the next five years, as well as $246-million for transit in the region. For the first time in 25 years, the federal government is involving itself in the question of affordable shelter. It has kicked in $2.3-billion over two years for affordable housing across Canada. It's kicked in another $370-million for transit in Metro Vancouver as part of the first phase of infrastructure funding. And TransLink is committing $125-million for regional transit.

One idea is that the feds make their new transit funding conditional on municipalities creating affordable rental housing located near transit hubs.

There is another big-picture reason that transit-oriented-affordable housing plays a crucial role.

Home ownership is our No. 1 method of growing and securing equity for old age. As home ownership becomes elusive, millennials and other low-income residents getting their careers under way must find ways to cut costs if they are to build equity.

"With part-time or precarious employment, they are not going to qualify for mortgages, ever," says Mr. Yan. "The fact of the matter is, at least on a national basis, about 20 per cent of the population in Canada will be lifelong renters. Home ownership is one of the major elements of wealth generation.

How do we engage with the fact that they're not going to be homeowners?

"It's a triangle: transportation, jobs and shelter."

Paul Kershaw, a University of B.C. associate professor and founder of Generation Squeeze, which advocates on behalf of young Canadians shut out of the property market, says we can't address affordable housing without addressing transit costs.

In 1976, it took five years for a first-time buyer to save for a 20per-cent down payment. Today, it takes 23 years, according to Generation Squeeze research.

Renting for a lifetime may not be the end of the world, says Dr.

Kershaw. But the transition for young Canadians has been a shock, and there's the question of how they will save for their old age if home equity isn't in the cards. Cutting major costs is a key solution.

"We need to recognize that that's a major adaptation we are asking of the younger demographic in this region to make, and that's happened very quickly, and we need public policy to meet them somewhere in the middle."

Associated Graphic

A SkyTrain makes its way through downtown Vancouver in June. As home ownership becomes an impossible dream for many, having rental units close to transit is important.


Pacioretty navigates the subtleties of leadership
Thursday, October 13, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

MONTREAL -- The Montreal Canadiens' twin inner sanctums - dressing rooms at the club's practice facility and at the Bell Centre - are cavernous, oval-shaped spaces which present challenges when it comes to speechifying.

Habs captain Max Pacioretty recently decided he needed to be closer to the action. So after seven years of sitting at the far end of one of the two wooden benches that line the room, he has moved to the middle, literally at the centre of it all.

Beside alternate captain Brendan Gallagher, Pacioretty sits under a photo of Hall of Fame captain Émile (Butch) Bouchard.

Directly across on the other long bench are Andrei Markov and the newly arrived Shea Weber, also alternates; the fourth alternate, Tomas Plekanec, is a few feet away from Gallagher.

"When you have to speak and you're at the end of the locker room, you just don't feel as vocal or as powerful, so we made a couple of changes," Pacioretty explained recently.

Pro sports teams fetishize intangibles and it feels particularly true of hockey where they often seem to outweigh skill or talent. The Habs have put a sizable off-season premium on character and leadership, and it's clear Pacioretty has also been working on self-improvement in that regard.

Rearranging the seating - something Pacioretty first considered during the lost season of 2015-16 - is just one of the self-appointed tasks the big winger has undertaken in recent weeks, although he says the removal of the oft-ridiculed "No Excuses" slogan from the walls of the Habs' dressing rooms wasn't his handiwork.

When new players arrived in town - Weber, Alex Radulov, Andrew Shaw - Pacioretty made a point of taking them out to dinner and providing advice about life in Montreal.

In training camp, he did the same with a number of the team's prospects; teenage defenceman Mikhail Sergachev and secondyear winger Nikita Scherbak rated a captain's lunch.

If anyone's wondering, yes, he's working diligently on improving his French, but no, it doesn't come all that easily.

As he embarks on his second season as captain, the Connecticut native has a stronger grasp on the subtleties of a role that is part social director, part concierge service, part inspirational leader, and part mediator.

It also involves setting a mood.

"The atmosphere in the room is why there are captains in the NHL," Pacioretty said.

These things are tricky to gauge for the outsider, but there is a "new dawn" vibe about the Habs; new personnel on the ice, subtle but meaningful changes to the physical environment, and adjustments to the club's website and branding - it is no longer "Le club du hockey."

In any case, the captain appears to be in a relentlessly buoyant mood.

Perhaps it has to do with the ruddy good health of goaltender Carey Price - notwithstanding the cold bug that is keeping him out the season-opening game.

The Canadiens begin their season in Buffalo on Thursday night against the Sabres.

Price might mean more to his team than any other player in the league. Or maybe it's because Pacioretty himself is finally back to peak fitness after breaking a bone in his leg 14 months ago, an injury that threw off the following summer's conditioning program (doctors also forbade him from doing any leg workouts for most of last season).

It might even be related to the fact the Habs' mix of personalities has been significantly altered with the new arrivals and departure of larger-than-life P.K.

Subban - a facet of the story that will be endlessly dissected this season.

Fundamentally, a happy room is a winning room, which is why the Habs' workplace was a glum and ill-tempered place last season. The legendarily self-critical Pacioretty says the team's failings in his first year as captain brought its lot of personal lessons.

"I'm still pretty hard on myself, but I do it privately, and learn to forget about it, which is much easier with a family," said the father of two young children. "I can't be hard on myself and have that rub off on my teammates - then we lose confidence as a group. It's the biggest challenge of being a captain."

The 27-year-old has also read widely about other athletes and how they deal with things such as stardom and slumps. Golfer Tiger Woods and basketball alltimer Michael Jordan hold particular fascination because of their singular, all-consuming focus on competing (he can relate, he said, but only to an extent).

He has also perused popular leadership books like The Hard Hat, and found last year that reading up on other athletes' hardships can provide a muchneeded distraction.

"It instantly makes you feel better. We're not perfect, last year we were very upset with the way things went. In the moment it was very, very hard to be positive and put that stuff away. But there were times when I could both tune it out and twist it into a positive because of some of these books that I've read," he said.

Leadership is the subject of a voluminous scholarship, it has been dissected at great expense by every institution from the military and multinational companies to governments and their departments - NASA recently concluded a year-long experiment that sought, among other things, to crack the code of team dynamics for an eventual manned mission to Mars.

The term reached buzzword status long ago in the NHL, but it's not as straightforward a concept as the word typically implies.

For one thing, it has little in common with the brand usually associated with rigidly hierarchical organizations or the techniques employed by CEOs or military leaders.

Essentially, when hockey people talk about leadership, what they really mean is credibility.

"You can't be fake. That's the biggest thing, as long as what you're saying is you ... it doesn't matter if you say two words or 200. If your teammates trust that you're authentic, that's good enough for us," Pacioretty said.

The word "fraud," conversely, is among the game's most stigmatizing slurs, down there with "selfish."

All sports attach great importance to individual leadership qualities, but the NHL is different. Even the most dominant players in hockey typically log less actual game time than preeminent players in football, basketball or even baseball (pitchers being the exception).

"It's not a situation like Jordan - you can't just put the team on your back and go out and score 50," Pacioretty said. "There are 23 guys in here; there's only so much one individual can do."

It's an unenviable position: responsibility with limited authority.

At least Pacioretty can share it with others, including Price, the emotional and spiritual centre of the team who would almost certainly wear the "C" if goalies were permitted by league rules to be named captain (they are not).

Since leadership is intangible, its effect can only be measured at the margins. And yet the Habs have invested heavily in it this season with the acquisition of Weber and the two-time Stanley Cup-winner Shaw, who identifies holding others to account as a key component of a selfregulating dressing room ecosystem.

"If I'm making the same mistake over and over again, I expect to be called on it, and not just by Patch," he said. "It's what builds the love in the room."

Coincidentally that's one of Weber's fortes - he is a master of the sidelong glance and withering gaze - and helps explain why he enjoys not only immense credibility but actual reverence in hockey circles.

It's a reputation league, and Weber's is golden.

Subban may be a younger, more talented and more exciting player, but no less an authority than Team Canada coach Mike Babcock has praised Weber, the "man-mountain," for having the kind of presence that transforms a room.

Notwithstanding the analytics community objections to this kind of talk, this is not a minor point. Studies have suggested a link between "transformational" sporting leaders - who are driven by strong ideals and both care for and challenge their peers - and their positive effect on motivation. They make people want to try harder.

Gallagher, another player who hockey folk say typifies the leader-of-men archetype, said in a recent interview that "when you're in a team environment, you look across the room and you need someone to lead the way. Some pull guys with them, others lead from behind by encouraging people."

Like many of his peers, Gallagher believes leadership is both innate ("you can't teach it") and widespread ("anyone can step up and be a leader").

Players and managers in the NHL don't generally see a contradiction in that statement. Perhaps it's because notions like character and leadership mean a great deal, until they don't.

Every team is a tightly knit unit in October - last fall the Habs were talking about how close the team was. By January, however, the good vibes were just a rumour.

The Habs may well respond to this new infusion of leadership, and to Pacioretty's efforts to inspire his teammates.

Cohesiveness and dressingroom accountability, however, don't help you score on the power play. They won't fix deficiencies in defensive zone coverage.

So teams overvalue these qualities at their peril.

Associated Graphic

Max Pacioretty, starting his second year as captain of the Montreal Canadiens, is looking to boost his team's spirits after a disappointing 2015-16 campaign in which the team failed to make the playoffs.


A nose for business
Olivier Baussan, the poetic founder of French beauty brand L'Occitane en Provence, is still as enamoured with the region as when he first distilled its rosemary oil 40 years ago
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L11

With so many new organic beauty brands now on offer, it's interesting to reflect on one of the originals. L'Occitane was born out of one man's passion for his homeland, France, and its romantic culture. Olivier Baussan, a native of Provence, was 23 when he started experimenting with distilling the region's flora he so loved. Soon, the entrepreneurial literature student began producing essential oils and shampoos from rosemary and lavender, selling his wares at local outdoor markets. Two years later, in 1978, the first L'Occitane boutique opened in the Provençal village of Voix. Baussan then found an abandoned soap factory in another regional village, Manosque, where he used traditional methods to produce a line of vegetable-based soaps.

Still based in Manosque to this day, L'Occitane went public in 2010 and now boasts shops in more than 90 countries around the world. I asked the 64-year-old about the evolution of his brand, the passion behind it and L'Occitane's newest skin-care collection.

Your passion for Provence is palpable, and you've helped ignite a similar passion for your hometown in other places around the world.

What is it that inspires you about this magical part of France?

Everything inspires me in that beautiful region! Provence is a name that makes me dream about warm colours, scents, wild landscapes and sunny, quaint villages. The sounds of steps on tiled floors, wooden shelves full of books, long lunches and children's laughter... It is my childhood, the road which led from my parents' farm to my school; it's three kilometres of olfactory pleasure, heightened by the song of the farmers as they harvested lavender in the summer, or while they gathered olives when the first flakes of snow arrived.

Provence, for me, is like a world where you can take time to live and enjoy. It definitely has something absolutely magical, and I am so happy I had the chance to share it. However, the person who succeeded in initiating a similar passion throughout the world is more L'Occitane En Provence CEO Reinold Geiger than myself. The shops he designed spread to the world that special feeling of well-being you have when you are in Provence - something warm and peaceful.

You launched your brand in the 1970s, at a time of great idealism and optimism. While there's been a return to '70s in terms of fashion and style, the world is a very different place now. Still, all your products continue to feel so relevant.

Why do you think that is?

I think the reason why those products continue to feel relevant, as you say, is just because they are absolutely simple, and they answer very simple needs which do not change with the trends. When I founded L'Occitane in 1976, my dream was to give people the pleasure of smelling and using natural products, essential oils distilled in a simple way, and this authenticity has remained one of the brand's key pillars today.

You were inspired to start L'Occitane almost by accident. Tell me about that old contraption you found along the highway as young man that essentially was the start of it all.

It all began with a rusted old still I bought from a farmer at an antique market for the price of its copper. That's true, it was completely by chance - a kind of "love at first sight" thing. Once I bought it, I started to grow anxious, a little afraid of that responsibility. I wondered whether I would be able to make it work. It's an impressive piece of machinery. All I had were some basic technical guidelines, but I did make it work, and I distilled my first plant, rosemary. When I saw the first few drops of essential oil dripping out of the tap mixed in the water, it was marvellous and I knew something special was happening.

And how readily accepted was this new enterprise to those around you? Were there some naysayers at first, or did you always feel you had the support you needed?

L'Occitane was raising questions when I founded it, and I think I was considered quite a crazy man, an idealist. Indeed, in the '70s, it was the glory days of chemical products and I was one of the only people to truly believe in natural cosmetics. I wanted to make a change on my own little level. And people loved it. It was amazing. All the packaging was very simple. People would come to us with their already used pack and fill it again to avoid consuming too much. I also created a formula that generated great enthusiasm for the consumers. They could come to the shops, fill their bottles themselves, and stick the label on it. The early days of recycling and do-it-yourself! There has been such a strong movement in the beauty business in recent years to get back to basics using pure, natural ingredients in products. But this was a notion you were hip to from the beginning. Why do you suppose you saw through that particular lens?

It wasn't actually a gamble on the future of the cosmetics market, not at all. It was just a personal will to develop natural products and to buy the ingredients directly from the growers. And many people were like me, they wanted to celebrate the beauty of nature - they were sick and tired of having their bathrooms filled with the artificial odours of mass soaps and artificial essences. It was perhaps not something we saw or felt was a beginning, but rather, something we created ourselves.

The competition in the skin-care business these days is wild, but that hasn't stopped you from recently launching a brand new skin-care collection. What is so revolutionary about this new line?

First, it's revolutionary because it is the first time the brand is launching a product with an ingredient from the sea: Jania rubens algae. It is not coming from just any sea either, it is coming from the crystal-clear sea of Corsica, and it is revolutionary for the cosmetic market as well. It is the first time Immortelle essential oil and Jania rubens algae have been combined in a cosmetic formula.

It took L'Occitane many years of research and tests to find the perfect anti-aging synergy, combining this new ingredient with the Immortelle flower. Both are able to benefit from the same protected ecosystem in Corsica and are connected by the vital force of the sun. These two factors contribute to the concentration of their precious molecules. The sun boosts the concentration of active ingredients in Immortelle, and it promotes the production of calcite by Jania rubens, facilitating the regeneration process.

You were also among the first - if not the first - to bring the wonders of shea butter into the mainstream market. Tell me about that first trip to Burkina Faso, and why you felt this was something that women around the world were ready to embrace?

I was at an airport when I heard about shea butter for the first time.

As I learned the story of this sacred tree, its nuts harvested exclusively by women, I decided to change the destination and take the next flight to Ouagadougou. It is an incredible ingredient, I could see it immediately. It was the Burkinabé women who taught me all the properties of the nuts. I couldn't guess the world would love it, but I knew it was great and I wanted to use some for L'Occitane, not only for the product itself but also for the people of Burkina Faso. At first, just a dozen of women were involved, and now there are over 10, 000 women working with L'Occitane. Shea butter has become a cult ingredient for L'Occitane, and this partnership has helped pave the way for the economic emancipation of the women of Burkina Faso.

Another one of your important causes is fighting blindness and supporting the visually impaired.

Why that particular cause?

We decided to fight avoidable blindness because, as a sensorial brand, we believe that we have to fight for one of our most important senses, sight. Since 1997, L'Occitane has written the names of products in braille on the packaging wherever possible, in order to make it accessible to everyone and raise awareness about visual impairment.

You're so passionate about philanthropy and making a difference in peoples' lives.

Why has giving back become so integral to who you are and to what L'Occitane represents?

The L'Occitane Group has always been sensitive to others and we fight for many causes. It is more than a philosophy though, it is a commitment. The [L'Occitane] Foundation was created in 2006, after 30 years of support to charity projects. The aim was to give further impact to the brand's early commitments, which were there since the beginning and at the core of the brand.

This interview has been condensed and edited.

Associated Graphic

SIMPLY DONE Olivier Baussan (top) launched a legacy of naturally crafted beauty products in 1976, when he created essential oils and shampoos using ingredients from his hometown in Provence. With stores in over 90 countries, his brand has worked with women in Burkina Faso to create its iconic shea butter products (above left), and launched a new luxe skin-care line (above right) made with a unique type of algae sourced off the coast of Corsica.

Millennials and the cohort following them are aware of the world's crises, experts say. But they'll need help from parents and others if they're going to cope with these challenges - and overcome them through activism and philanthropy
Special to The Globe and Mail
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E1

When Haviva Ford was just 8, she decided she wanted to do something to help kids around the world.

Ms. Ford and her mother had been reading Iqbal, a book about a young Pakistani boy who had been sold into slavery, and it made a big impression on her. When a pamphlet came in the mail about fundraising projects for UNICEF, Ms. Ford decided to take action. She organized a bake sale to raise money to fund the organization's School-in-a-Box, which supplies materials for a teacher and 40 students during large-scale health emergencies.

"I wanted to be able to send somebody my age something they didn't have," says Ms. Ford, now 16 and a Grade 11 student in Toronto. "That was the first time I was aware of other conditions around the world."

Since that first endeavour, Ms. Ford has made leadership in activism a part of her life. She has organized UNICEF fundraisers every year, and she's been involved with worldwide development charity We for more than five years, joining her school's Me to We club in Grade 5 and organizing fundraising campaigns such We Scare Hunger and We Are Silent. Ms. Ford plans to go on a volunteer trip to Ecuador with We and took part in Me to We's Take Action Camp in Peterborough, Ont. this summer.

"It was the best week of my life," says Ms. Ford of her week at camp. "It was cool because I met so many people that were passionate about the same things as me, which was nice when you go to a school where people don't really talk about that."

Ms. Ford says her experiences with We have led her to think about a career in international development, and she's passionate about tackling issues such as child labour and ending the stigma around mental illness.

She says that even though she is a teenager, she feels empowered to make change in the world and hopefully influence others to do the same.

"I have never been a very confident or outgoing person, but when I am doing something that is involved with We, I feel like I can do anything," she says.

In a world full of complex challenges, from environmental degradation to disrupted industries and xenophobia, Ms. Ford's positive attitude at such a young age seems like a welcome sign that her generation will be a force with which to be reckoned.

State of youth But while some teenagers are confidently making waves and leading the charge to do good, what's less clear is how the rest of her cohort is doing. As Canada turns 150, the question looms: How well are we empowering kids to become the leaders of tomorrow?

U.S.-based demographer Neil Howe, who has authored many books on millennials (born in the 1980s and '90s), says it's hard to know what kind of leaders of Ms. Ford's generation will become before they actually get there. (He calls that generation - kids born in the 2000s and beyond - the Homeland Generation, but they are also known as Generation Z). But Mr. Howe says that because they are the children of crisis, never knowing a world without 9/11 and terrorism, they likely have a lot in common with the Silent Generation, who were born between 1925 and 1945.

"If you look back historically at these children of crisis and war, you find some interesting traits, because they tend to be raised in these periods by parents who are very protective," says Mr. Howe.

"As young adults, they tend to be very risk-averse and very wellbehaved in general. The Silent Generation grew up as kids during the Great Depression and World War II. They came of age after the crisis, with a famous reputation for fitting in and conformity."

The Silent Generation also tended to be collaborative, he says. "They had all these committees, they loved making sure that everyone was treated fairly. I think that's one of the great strengths of the Silent Generation and it brought us the civil rights revolution and made sure that the law treats individuals fairly. [There's] a lot of empathy with this generation."

Mr. Howe says a movement toward teamwork and community is already well under way with millennials and that will continue with the generation behind them.

"By the time that they come of age, certainly by the time they are leaders, it will be an established fact," he says. "A society which is much more communityoriented, and government that is doing a lot more to serve the needs of people collectively."

Role of parents Jennifer Kolari is a Toronto-based child and family therapist and author of Connected Parenting: How to Raise a Great Kids. She's worked with parents and kids for two decades, and she says that when it comes to empowering our kids, today's parents could be better at it.

"In fairness to the young kids today, they are divergent thinkers, they're passionate, they can think outside the box, and so, in some ways, I would say we've done an okay job," she says.

However, Ms. Kolari sees problems ahead for kids whose parents "snowplow," or constantly clear the way for their kids by removing all adversity from their lives. "Not catastrophic adversity, but the healthy normal struggles that make kids strong, makes them a great leader."

The parents that are up till midnight doing their children's homework or running to school with the forgotten gym shorts are keeping their children from feeling like they can handle challenging circumstances, explains Ms. Kolari.

"I think it's all done from a place of love. We want our children to be happy, but what's actually happening is that children are not having enough negative experiences or healthy adversity to build the emotional hardware in the brain that you need to handle adversity when it comes."

Her message to parents is to trust their children enough to let them figure things out themselves, because that's the path to empowerment.

"Give your kids messages of confidence, listen to them, hear them, connect with them. It's the connection that makes them resilient," she says. "And then step back and say, 'I trust you. You can learn from your mistakes, and mistakes are not terrible things, mistakes are necessary things.' Every mistake we've ever made has helped us improve and be better at something," she says.

Never too young Craig Kielburger, co-founder of We, says his organization has made empowering kids one of its main missions, and it has done so by teaching youth they can take responsibility and become leaders even at a young age.

"There's piles of research that show when a young person becomes engaged, they make more responsible life choices," says Mr. Kielburger. "They develop grit and perseverance, they're more likely to succeed academically, they develop life skills, they become active citizens. So all these great things for the young person and then, of course, a huge impact on the causes that they're advancing."

In Mr. Kielburger's view, even young children can learn responsibility and that their actions can have positive influence. That's why We focuses its programming on kids as young as kindergarten-aged.

To help instill a sense of empowerment in children, Mr. Kielburger says it's important to teach them the idea of service.

"If we could get young people involved in service learning at a young age, they learn a sense of responsibility to their community and to the world," he says. He notes a study of youths in the We organization that showed that 19 per cent of their alumni ended up creating something, whether it was a company, a social entrepreneurial enterprise or a nonprofit organization.

In Mr. Kielburger's opinion, the best long-term job creation and entrepreneurial project Canada could launch is to ensure every young person gets involved in a meaningful service project. To emphasize the point of youth service, he says We is launching a campaign in honour of Canada's 150th anniversary, asking a million Canadian kids to take a pledge to serve and take action.

"Young people are creating a very different paradigm of addressing the issues of our time, and we have to support them and we have to get out of the way," he says.

For Ms. Ford, being involved in activism has not only strengthened her own confidence, but had an impact on the people around her.

"Now that I'm able to be more confident and speak up about [my activism], more and more of my friends are actually interested in it, which is really cool," she says.

She has this advice for kids wanting to take charge and pursue an activist project of their own: "Do it, and don't be afraid."

Associated Graphic

Haviva Ford, who keeps a journal to record her We activities, says she has found kindred spirits in the youth movement. At a recent Me to We camp, 'I met so many people that were passionate about the same things as me,' the Toronto teen says.


Haviva Ford of Toronto says her involvement with We has given her strength, and she encourages other teens to be as confident in their activism. 'Do it, and don't be afraid,' she says.


With 'first real tests' passed, Trudeau's defining ng challenges loom
One year into his term, the PM has had many opportunities to stumble, though his popularity has only increased. But improving aboriginal re elations and his pledge to grow the middle class are major hurdles his government has yet to overcome
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A8

OTTAWA -- There's an inside joke in Justin Trudeau's government: "This is going to be the first real test."

It's a wink at the oft-written warning that Mr. Trudeau's popular government is finally facing the challenge that will pop the bubble. It was such fun that PMO staffers had interns count up more than 80 "first real tests."

Mr. Trudeau's plan to withdraw CF-18 fighters from air strikes on Islamic State was a challenge for relations with allies. The Paris terror attacks might have shaken the resolve to resettle 25,000 Syrian refugees. Slow growth ballooned the deficit. A court deadline forced the passage of a bill legalizing assisted suicide.

There was nannygate, elbowgate and aides' relocation expenses.

But Mr. Trudeau has proved more resilient than anyone expected.

It has been a year now. Mr. Trudeau's Liberals are more popular, not less. It is almost unprecedented.

But turn back to a year ago and no one really expected this Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.

Justin Trudeau the campaigner ran on making the economy roll again, wearing a hard hat at campaign stops and promising big infrastructure programs so voters would see a picture of construction cranes in the skyline.

Instead, the single biggest issue that has taken up Team Trudeau's time, attention and political calculus is one that sat on page 38 of the Liberal platform, climate change. From the first premiers meeting and Paris summit, a federal-provincial deal on greenhouse gas emissions, and the approval of an oil pipeline, have been on top.

But undeniably, Mr. Trudeau has put the first real tests behind him - and revealed unexpected things about how he'll face the next ones.

Symbols, sequencing and scripts In August, on his first official visit to Beijing, Mr. Trudeau deliberately undersold the gifts he brought for Chinese President Xi Jinping and Premier Li Keqiang: two medallions bearing the image of Canadian doctor Norman Bethune, still a hero in China for tending Maoists fighting the Japanese in the 1930s. And, Mr. Trudeau noted, they were part of a limited run struck in 1973 and presented by Pierre Trudeau to Mao Zedong.

This was symbolism. Conservatives might choke on the Mao connection. But in Beijing, it tugged on sensitive chords in Chinese culture: layers of history, filial ties and respect for longterm relationship-building. It was no accident.

By now, Canadians have seen Justin Trudeau's instinct for symbols. On the day he was sworn in, it was the "Because it's 2015" answer for why he chose a genderbalanced cabinet; in December, he was waiting at Toronto's Pearson airport for the first plane of Syrian refugees.

They are carefully planned.

Most people don't connect with policy; symbols represent something - gender equity, or welcoming refugees. "We don't do photo ops," one aide said. "We do symbols."

There is careful sequencing. Mr. Trudeau's ministers were given 300 tasks in mandate letters - but launched consultations, delaying decisions, on more than a hundred. Finance Minister Bill Morneau's first budget pointedly omitted figures for future healthcare transfers to provinces - that would have meant conflict with premiers, and the Liberals wanted progress on climate and pensions first.

In office, Mr. Trudeau changed the PM's script. He kept up wading into crowds across Canada, travelling 78 days in Canada in the first nine months of 2016, compared with 77 work days in Ottawa, according to his office.

He is spokesman and CEO, trying to connect outside the Ottawa bubble.

But the unscripted politician has gone surprisingly quickly. He once objected to politicians "spun and scripted within an inch of their life," but now his news conference answers are rote talking points.

Global celebrity PM "It was like going to Cannes, or TIFF," one diplomat said privately. The "it" was the September opening of the United Nations General Assembly, a once-a-year event that attracts world leaders to New York. Mr. Trudeau was the star, so other Canadian officials were in demand, too.

Even Mr. Trudeau's inner circle never expected global diplomatic celebrity.

It started with Filipino women screaming at the APEC summit last November. U.S. President Barack Obama invited him to a March state dinner; other leaders piled up invitations.

"He gets some teasing about his international celebrity, but that really misses the point," said Roland Paris, who served as Mr.

Trudeau's foreign policy adviser in his first months in office.

"When people, including other leaders, want to meet with him, hear what he says, to be seen with him, that's an instrument of influence."

In the time of Donald Trump and Brexit, Mr. Trudeau is hailed abroad as contrast: promising "inclusive" growth, promoting diversity, trade and internationalism.

Another surprise: A politician portrayed as callow proved a confident summiteer, tested at four summits in his first six weeks. He was inexperienced, but not awestruck; he'd met world leaders as a child.

Mr. Paris was impressed by Mr. Trudeau's ability to distill information, draw conclusions, decide what points matter - and get them across in "diplomatic speed-dating" encounters. "He can communicate tough messages, too. I've seen him do that," Mr. Paris said.

Mr. Trudeau smoothed over the withdrawal of Canadian jets from Islamic State strikes by sending more trainers. He reset relations with major trading partners in the United States and Mexico. He made China a generational priority, but sought to bring public opinion along in steps. China eased a canola trade dispute, and released Canadian missionary Kevin Garratt from jail - and Mr.

Trudeau's concessions included talks, but just talks, on an extradition treaty.

Year One gave Mr. Trudeau a global stage, and he used it to reset Canada's relationships. The next tests mean defining direction.

Mr. Popular's challenge Is this Trudeaumania again? No. "After six months of Pierre Trudeau, people were rather tired of him," biographer John English said. "Maybe not tired, but they fell into the opposition camp."

Not with Justin Trudeau. His election let loose pent-up demand for change - support shot up after voting day, and has mostly drifted higher since, pollster Nik Nanos said. Mr. Nanos warned it's not real: Leaderless opposition has left little alternative.

The last PM who rode high for a year was Jean Chrétien, who faced fractured opposition. But his first year was known for inaction.

Mr. Trudeau's government has been active and taken risks. It resettled 25,000 Syrian refugees.

It overturned two decades of Canadian political wisdom with a spending budget and a $30-billion deficit.

The Liberals ticked off promises from Chapter One of their platform - tabling a middle-income tax cut and establishing the Canada Child Benefit for lower-income parents.

And they scored an unexpected coup: A vague promise to work with provinces to "enhance" the Canada Pension Plan turned into a surprise June deal that once seemed impossible, given differences over raising premiums. But Mr. Morneau used Ontario's threat to create its own expanded pensions to bring provinces to a compromise.

The first real tests are in the rear-view mirror. But the big, knotty political challenge of his mandate remains what he said it would be: growth for the middle class.

Now the problem isn't so much spreading benefits as growth itself. It took the Liberals eight or nine months to hammer out the infrastructure funding deals with the provinces, so the idea of a quick economic jolt faded.

"Innovation" is a buzzword, but there's no policy yet. A growth council yet to recommend policies. Growth policies were left to year two.

Mr. Trudeau set other tests that won't be quickly passed. A promised new relationship with indigenous peoples was started with the symbols of an inquiry into missing women, new access to government leaders and an "unprecedented" $8.4-billion in the budget, the Assembly of First Nations national chief said. But already some chiefs wonder why their communities haven't yet seen the money, he added.

The biggest surprise was Mr. Trudeau's drive to pull off an ambitious political balancing act on climate change and Alberta oil. His promise to both strike a deal with provinces to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and get Canadian oil to export markets was ridiculed as the convenient fantasy of a campaigning politician. But in office, he has assembled pieces of a deal.

Behind the scenes, Mr. Trudeau's government built a close partnership with an Alberta NDP government that had promised the same political bargain, and allies in Ontario and Quebec.

B.C.'s Christy Clark - whose cooperation is needed to sell approval of the Trans Mountain oil pipeline - won federal approval for a pet natural-gas project.

With big provinces onside, Mr. Trudeau's October announcement that he will impose a carbon price lowers the boom on a few.

Now it comes to a head. Mr. Trudeau's government is rushing to sign a climate deal with most premiers Dec. 9 - less than two weeks before the deadline for approving the Trans Mountain pipeline. Both moments promise to set off a political chain reaction. Both will be of Mr. Trudeau's making. Few expected he'd ever put it to the test.

Associated Graphic

Justin Trudeau has changed the PM's script while in office: According to the PMO, he spent 78 days travelling across Canada in the first nine months of 2016, compared with 77 work days in Ottawa.


Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F2

It's unfortunate that there weren't four debates between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump organized for the U.S. election. If there had been, we could have named the whole series The "Rigged" Cycle, opening with Das Whinegold and ending with Trumperdämmerung.

As it is, we'll have to settle for calling this trilogy The Lord of the Whinge.

The debates were a three-part epic tale of a struggle involving a short person menaced by the landlord of some largely vacant tower real estate and his cadre of henchman. Most of these were once living souls, some previously powerful men among them, now reduced to a shadow of their former selves in his service.

That the short person does not, in many people's view, cut a traditionally heroic figure is turning out to be part of the story's allure.

Before I abandon this Tolkien metaphor, it has to be said that Julian Assange, creeping along the edges of the news cycle, desperately trying to reclaim his precious lost relevance by leaking Democratic National Committee campaign e-mails, likely on behalf of the Russians, is clearly the Gollum in this tale.

I would warrant the Ecuadoreans have at least investigated installing a gaping pit of lava in their embassy. How could they not hope that Julian's madness and obsession, or at least attempts to get the neighbour's WiFi signal - they've opted to end his use of theirs, for attempting to interfere with the U.S. election - might somehow land him inside a volcano.

Either way, it's doubtful he has much of a part to play for good or ill.

Forget achieving high office - most people in the world would never get a date again if the contents of their e-mail were made public, and yet there's little to remark upon in WikiLeaks' heavily hyped document dump.

Despite the drama, many on the right, including Mr. Trump himself, are trying to wring from them, the e-mails of the DNC are mostly remarkable only for their almost singular dullness, expressed in an arch tone.

The internal correspondence of the DNC reads like the bastard child of 1,000 pages of minutes from a condo-board meeting and an Edith Wharton biography.

News that the campaign considered other slogans before settling on the one ultimately used might not be a revelation to the American people.

I imagine no one thought election campaigns were delivered by storks. Well, maybe Mr. Trump does. His own campaign has been guano-rich, after all, and no one involved with it seems willing to say where that's been coming from. Combined with his bizarre, alarmingly medically illiterate answer on the subject of abortion (he seems to have been given a note at some point saying "All your uterus are belong to us" but was way fuzzy on the details) during the debate, one shudders to think what his opinion on anything delivery-related involves.

Mr. Trump has benefited from low expectations like a toddler.

There has been a general, "Whoa, he kept his pants on - that has to be a win!" from a number of pundits after his early performances.

Certainly things went badly for Mr. Trump in the first two debates, wherein he rambled.

Called upon to answer a question, Donald reflexively babbles.

Watching him during the debates was like watching 14years-old-and-haven't-read-theassigned-chapter-of-The-GreatGatsby-in-time-for-class me run for president. He also sulked, lurked and, over all, behaved like a man who doesn't understand that a debate is live television.

Nobody is going to fix it in post, Donald.

All of this was glossed over by his most ardent fans. It felt like he could have walked on stage for this week's debate and bitten the heads off live kittens for 90 minutes, and his supporters would have responded with "Look, he's not a career politician and, anyway, Al Gore started it."

The nation's indulgence does, largely, seems to have ended on Wednesday night. Third time was "You've got no charm."

America has been grading Mr. Trump on a fiercely dramatic, indeed dizzying curve, but on Wednesday he proved himself entirely unable to learn, and a nation seems to have finally lost patience.

The power of the whinge is a temptation to everyone, of course - even the most pure-hearted of us enjoys a good whine - but only a true master of self-pity like Donald Trump could take a question from the moderator about the direction the Supreme Court should take in interpreting the Constitution and immediately make it about that time Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg was mean to him.

That is what Mr Trump managed to do mere minutes into Wednesday night's debate - and that was before people thought he'd lost control.

The total loss of control happened, many observers agree, only when Ms. Clinton remarked that he "choked" by failing to bring up his supposed marquee promise to build a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border at the latter's expense when he met with Mexican President Enrique Peña Nieto.

It's worth noting that even in a national debate - the purpose of which is to determine which of two contenders is best suited to lead the nation - a woman is still well-advised only to "remark" upon such a thing. A woman in that situation would be ill-advised to "declare," "accuse" or even "say" anything at all, if it can be avoided.

Likeability, ladies, likeability.

Smile! At this point, Mr. Trump's tone shifted, as we've seen it shift before. He became alarmingly pissy. Mr. Trump does not respond well to criticism. One almost hopes, for his own sake, he doesn't become president.

They do tend to take a lot of ribbing.

Last week, he tweeted his response to a frankly quite tepid Saturday Night Live debate parody: "Watched Saturday Night Live hit job on me. Time to retire the boring and unfunny show. Alec Baldwin portrayal stinks. Media rigging election!"

Honestly, if Donald Trump had skin any thinner, they'd have to carry him around in a bucket.

His rapid-fire interjection of the word "Wrong!" made a surprise reappearance in the third debate.

That must have sounded like nails on a chalkboard to his team.

He boasted about how nice the room in own his hotel was during a debate segment ostensibly about altruism versus selfinterest.

He repeated his set-up to a million punchlines - his direct stimulus to the comedy industry - that "nobody has more respect for women than I do. Nobody. Nobody has more respect."

If anyone reading this is interested in getting in on the ground floor of the next big horror franchise, I've got it: a world in which "nobody has more respect for women than" Donald Trump.

He refused to say whether he would accept the outcome of the election if he lost, promising only to keep America "in suspense."

To Trump, whether or not his nation is still a stable model of democracy is a cliffhanger in his reality TV-show life, but arguably Mr Trump's pièce de résistance was snarling "Such a nasty woman!" at Ms .Clinton, who had just, again, remarked, "But what we want to do is to replenish the Social Security Trust Fund ..." Also, the following, and perhaps most telling exchange actually took place.

Clinton: "Well, that's because he'd rather have a puppet as president of the United States, and ..." Trump: "No puppet, no puppet."

Clinton: "And it's pretty clear ..." Trump: "You're the puppet!"

Clinton: "It's pretty clear you won't admit ..." Trump: "No, you're the puppet."

Why is that telling? Because it was about Vladimir Putin. Donald Trump has tweeted about wanting to be "best friends" with the Russian President. He has repeatedly refused to denounce anything Mr. Putin has done, from invading Ukraine, to murdering journalists, to hacking into the DNC's servers and leaking information stored on them with the intent of interfering with the American democratic process. A number of government and civilian experts with knowledge of the leaks have stated that they are confident that the Russian government is behind the hacks.

Mr. Trump often gives the impression of caring more about this planned pal-ing with Mr. Putin than he does about the presidency. He has stated his plans to possibly meet with him before he's even inaugurated, he's that eager.

Becoming president seems to be a means to this end.

The mystery of why many of Mr. Trump's supporters have not been swayed by reports - or taped admissions - of the candidate's appalling behaviour toward women, small contractors and businessmen, you name it, is best viewed through this Putin lens: It doesn't matter that Donald Trump is not a good guy, because he is the kind of bad guy many Trump voters imagine they'd be if they, too, were billionaires.

Mr. Trump is a blank slate upon which they can project their fantasies of wealth and power, and it seems increasingly clear that Vladimir Putin is to Donald Trump what Donald Trump is to those supporters.

Associated Graphic

Supporters of the Alec Baldwin-attacking candidate display a bobblehead doll as they gather at the start of a rally with Donald Trump in Delaware, Ohio, this week.


No one gets out of here unscathed
Win or lose, writes David Shribman, Donald Trump and his campaign have reshaped not just the Republicans, but their Democratic rivals, too
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F8

She's up, he's down - but even staunch Democrats do not believe he's out.

Donald J. Trump is perhaps the most resilient figure in modern American political history. And, despite the lead Hillary Clinton built after last weekend's shocking sex-banter video and second presidential debate, a Trump victory still remains a possibility.

Regardless, the upheaval his campaign has caused will have implications for American politics whether he triumphs in November or is humbled, in the world's eyes, if not his own, on Election Day.

That's because, more than ever, the 2016 election is all about Mr. Trump. His comportment and political profile have the capacity to overhaul politics in a fashion with only two North American precedents: the four election victories of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and the ascendancy of Pierre Elliott Trudeau, both of which changed the character of their respective countries.

Win or lose, the Trump campaign has raised some vital questions about the future of American politics.

What happens to business Republicans after Trump?

American executives tend to be conservative - comfortable not with the new, muscular conservatism but instead with the oldfashioned kind, which takes its form in dark grey haberdashery and bland politics. They prize thrift in commerce and in business, restraint in fashion and in style, reticence on the golf course and, later, in the club house or, to employ the phrase of the moment, the locker room.

Mr. Trump defies all that. Everything about him, from the knot in his tie (too fat) to his 757 on the tarmac (too showy), and from his rhetoric on the stump (too fiery) to his style in debates (too spontaneous, too pugilistic) is at war with this classic American business type.

No Republican president since Warren G. Harding, whose sexual adventures, sometimes in a White House closet, defied Republican discretion, has been remotely as defiant of Rotary Club restraint as Mr. Trump.

Chief executive officers of Fortune 100 companies are the customary targets of Republican fundraising efforts, yet not one of them has contributed to Mr. Trump's campaign.

The United States Chamber of Commerce customarily is in lockstep with GOP presidential nominees. The chamber and Mr. Trump have sparred over trade and business policy.

In short, Mr. Trump may run a big business, but big business has no affinity with him and, in truth, is far more comfortable with Ms. Clinton. Which raises the next question.

What about the Democrats' traditional role as the sentinels of working Americans?

A Trump victory would change the identity of the Democratic Party as dramatically as it would transform the Republican one.

But even if he loses, the party's profile has changed.

"The Democrats have become a barbell," says Todd Gitlin, a Columbia University sociologist and author of The Bulldozer and the Big Tent: Blind Republicans, Lame Democrats and the Recovery of American Ideals. "It has two big bulges - the professional class and the minorities - and very little in the middle. I'm not sure how stable it is."

The customary shorthand of American politics since Mr. Roosevelt's election in 1932 is that the Democratic Party is the enemy of business, and the worker's friend.

Blue-collar voters "are our natural constituents," says Michael Dukakis, the 1988 Democratic presidential nominee, from his home in Massachusetts.

But "you have to connect with them, every single household." adds the former governor. "Otherwise, they can feel neglected and could be peeled away. They are our people but you have to talk to them and tell them how important they are."

So, just as Mr. Trump's election may nudge business into the Democratic column, workers are drifting into the Republican one - because the appeal he has had for the working (even if unemployed) voter has been the surprise of Campaign 2016.

Richard Nixon in 1968 and Ronald Reagan in 1980 sought the blue-collar vote, and commentators even had a name for the factory workers and labourers who were congenial to the Republicans: Reagan Democrats. But the movement of blue-collar voters into the Trump camp is of an order, and significance, far greater than what happened in Mr. Reagan's victory over the feckless Jimmy Carter more than three decades ago.

Mr. Trump's campaign, which has promised to bring jobs back to Rust Belt cities and to renegotiate trade agreements, including those with Canada, may create a permanent alliance between Republicans and working-class Americans - and, in the process, overturn decades of political assumptions.

What becomes of the Republican establishment?

"The Republican establishment would go into hiding if Trump wins," says former New Hampshire attorney general Thomas D.

Rath, who has worked for the GOP presidential candidacies of Nelson Rockefeller, Bob Dole, both Bushes, Lamar Alexander and John Kasich.

Whether he wins or loses, Mr. Rath says, "the hope would be that the urgency of this moment is overtaken by a different reality in the long term." His fondest hope: a more traditional and sober Republican Party.

Members of the Republican establishment do not belong to the same species as business Republicans. There is scant overlap. Indeed, in the last two generations, the only figures to belong to both groups were former Michigan governor George Romney, a onetime chief of the American Motors Corporation, and his son, former governor Mitt Romney of Massachusetts, a private-equity executive. Both had serious presidential ambitions.

The establishment includes governors, Capitol Hill lawmakers and former presidents who generally favour balanced budgets, international trade agreements, global engagement and cautious but unambiguous support for civil rights and liberties.

These figures tend to prefer moderate conservatism, and are not purists who regard compromise with contempt. They do not assail programs such as Social Security, the retirement supplement enacted in 1935, and Medicare, the health-insurance program for the elderly enacted in 1965 - the two most important American social-welfare initiatives of the last century. They have provided the Republicans with presidential nominees since 1968, with the possible exception of Mr. Reagan, although in the end he broadened the establishment's definition sufficiently to include his adherents.

This group is personified by former president George H.W. Bush and former senator Dole of Kansas, who was the Senate majority leader and unsuccessful GOP presidential nominee in 1996. Mr. Trump has waged war against the GOP establishment, even assailing the younger Mr. Romney as a "loser" and ridiculing the Bush family. While Mr. Dole has endorsed Mr. Trump, Mr. Romney, both Bush presidents and Jeb Bush, the former governor of Florida, have made it clear they will not vote for him.

Although unlikely to drift into the Democratic Party, members of the establishment are exceedingly uncomfortable with where Mr. Trump is leading the party they controlled for generations.

The struggle between this group and a Trump administration would be a compelling element of the new political era.

If Ms. Clinton prevails, establishment Republicans will be in a difficult two-front war, playing the traditional "loyal opposition" role against the a Democratic president even as they battle to wrangle their party back to its traditional moorings.

And what about conservatism itself?

No one believes that the current nominee of the Republican Party is a conservative.

That is an unassailable statement and, given the trends in the GOP, a remarkable one. There has been a dramatic change in American politics in the past several years, with the two rather bland, undisciplined major parties, each with watery creeds, being transformed into powerful ideological forces with unprecedented discipline and rigour.

For generations, the Democrats had a conservative rump, based in the segregationist South, while the Republicans had a liberal wing, based on the East Coast, in cities along the Great Lakes and in the Pacific Northwest.

Today's Democrats are liberal, and today's Republicans are conservative. No wings, no rumps.

The traditional overlap on Capitol Hill - where conservative Democrats could ally with Republicans on fiscal matters, and liberal Republicans would ally with Democrats on domestic matters, especially civil rights - has vanished. The most liberal Republicans in Congress are now more conservative than the most conservative Democrats.

That wasn't the case even at the end of the Bill Clinton era. Now the Republicans have selected a nominee who has the potential to reverse the predominant political trend of the era.

The most aggrieved elected officials today are stalwart conservatives, favouring low taxes and a strict interpretation of the Constitution - political figures who only a year ago believed they had transformed the Republican Party in their image. It was a notion Democrats were only too glad to embrace, and promote, in TV ads and newspaper op-eds. Senator Ted Cruz of Texas, perhaps the GOP's most outspoken conservative, may have endorsed Mr.

Trump last month, but he did so without enthusiasm, and, in the eyes of many, without credibility.

These conservative Republicans constitute perhaps the unhappiest group in American political life in a generation. What they do - where they go - once was an American sideshow, but in recent years moved to the centre of the political big top.

How they respond to the Trump challenge, and how they choose to move forward next year, is the biggest unknown in American politics.

David Shribman is executive editor of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, and a Pulitzer Prize winner for his coverage of U.S. politics.

Associated Graphic

Robert John Burck, a.k.a. the Naked Cowboy, performs outside Trump Tower, the Republican candidate's New York home.


Blurring the lines of mystic visions
At the AGO, a sumptuous collection born from a (possibly generic) epiphany
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R3

Pretty much all of us at one time or another have felt an indissoluble union with the universe. This sensation, of a seemingly boundless oneness beyond life's quotidian rhythms, usually comes unbidden, without the aid of drugs, often in natural settings but not exclusively so.

For many, maybe even most, such moments are, well ... interesting - pleasurable mysteries, nice interludes from the sheer in-your-faceness of the material world. (But, again, not exclusively so: Henry James's dad was famously blindsided by an "insane and abject terror" - "a vastation" - while staring into a fireplace in May, 1844.) Some might even deign to call them spiritual, but not get much more descriptive than that. The moment proves fleeting. The phone buzzes. Your kids wonder if you can drive them to Dairy Queen.

For others, though, the experience is nothing less than an epiphany - an intuition or infusion of the divine in the universe and an unignorable, life-changing prod both to explore that intuition and to manifest it somehow in one's being and the world.

Eleven years ago, Katharine Lochnan had just such a "powerful sense" of this "divine immanence and transcendence," as she puts it, while searching and researching her Celtic roots in Ireland.

It happened on a September's day as the veteran Art Gallery of Ontario curator stared at the Burren, the famous limestone karst landscape in County Clare.

Shaken and stirred, she returned home to enroll in classes in religion, spirituality and mysticism at Regis College at the Toronto School of Theology, University of Toronto. (She's now just five courses short of a master's degree in theological studies.)

She also took painting lessons to help put the "mystical element" into a painting she was doing based on photos from the Ireland trip.

More importantly, at least for the art-going public, Lochnan's passion has resulted in her lead curation of a new, staggeringly ambitious sprawler of an exhibition at the AGO. Opening this weekend, Mystical Landscapes: Masterpieces from Monet, Van Gogh and More is at once a feast for the outer eye of the senses and the inner eye of the soul - more than 90 works created between 1880 and 1930 by 37 artists, mostly painters, from lenders in 14 countries, including Canada, hung (mostly) on clean white walls.

Five years in the making, it's a joint project of the AGO, which enlisted guest Canadian curators Roald Nasgaard and Bogomila Welsh-Ovcharov to assist Lochnan, and the Musée d'Orsay in Paris. The last will be the exhibition's second (and final) berth after its Toronto run ends Jan.

29 next year. (Opening March 13, the Paris show will include about 16 works unavailable to the AGO and be titled Beyond Stars: The Mystical Landscape from Monet to Kandinsky.)

Lochnan, who became the AGO's senior curator of international exhibitions in 2014 after 38 years as its curator of prints and drawings, has organized Mystical Landscapes around seven or so themes. Their titles include The Life Journey and the Mystic Way, Monet and Spiritual Enlightenment, Landscape and the Dark Night of the Soul, and The Cosmos and Mystical Experience.

I confess to being of two minds about the decision to use the prism of mysticism as the exhibition's organizing device. I take the point that the urbanization, industrialization, materialism and aggressive nationalism of the late-19th/early-20th century provoked a spiritual crisis among artists of all stripes, some of whom sought consolation in either deep engagements with traditional religion or journeys into more esoteric, often non-Western realms. I take the point, too, that the ineffability and subjectivity of the mystical experience makes it a natural subject for the visual artist. After all, he or she trucks in symbol and metaphor, atmosphere, portent, dreams, the decisive moment frozen in time, the potency of colour. Only music is likely the better medium to convey the mystical experience, even to the point, possibly, of inducing such an event in the listener.

On the other hand, the notion of the mystical is so broad, ambiguous and slippery as to be almost too inclusive and capacious. A truly epochal art show, to my mind, has to have a kind of essential/it-could-only-be-thus quality - something Lochnan unequivocally achieved with her magisterial Turner, Whistler, Monet: Impressionist Visions exhibition of 2004-2005. Mystical Landscapes is a great show of often great beauty, accompanied by a sumptuous catalogue. But it's dogged by the sensation that it could be the prototype for another show and another show (and another) with the same theme but a completely different cast of creators each time.

Moreover, since spirituality and mysticism (not all spiritual experiences are mystical, of course) have long informed art practice and content, is it really all that radical to argue that, for example, the melting majesty of Monet's Rouen Cathedral: The Portal and Tour d'Albane in Sunlight (1893), included here, can be construed as an illustration of Buddhist immaterialism ("First there is a cathedral/Then there is no cathedral/Then there is," as Donovan might have sung in 1967) as much as an embodiment of Impressionist principles? Best, I think, finally, to see the show as an extraordinary, lovingly installed collection of works connected by various affinities of theme and content (paths, groves, vistas, skies, crossroads, suns, mountains, dawns, dusks and reflections abound), without getting too hung up on it as a magical mystical tour.

As its subtitle suggests, Mystical Landscapes is salted with big hits by big names. Besides the eight (!) Monets, there are four Gauguins, two Georgia O'Keeffes, three Arthur Doves, six Maurice Denis canvases and three van Goghs. Included among the last is one of the master's greatest oils, Starry Night over the Rhône, lent by the d'Orsay. Finished in Arles in 1888 just two years before his death, it glistens with such freshness you'd swear van Gogh had painted it only last week. And what painting! Every bold, beautiful, luscious stroke can be seen on the canvas. Also on view: individual pieces by Piet Mondrian (a stunning apple tree/mandala), Egon Schiele (a bleak, dense Landscape with Ravens, from 1911), Edvard Munch (a psychedelic sun scene) and Ferdinand Hodler, plus a good showing from Canadians Lawren Harris, Tom Thomson, Emily Carr and Frederick Varley. (Varley's harrowing Gas Chamber at Seaford, from 1918, is an exhibition highlight, in fact. It will be interesting to see how he and his compatriots fare with the French public and critics next year.)

Yet, for all this "celebrity," one of the exhibition's greatest strengths is the attention it accords lesser-known artists, or at least artists relatively unfamiliar to North American patrons. They include: France's Charles Marie Dulac, a Franciscan lay friar who's given his own suite here in which to display a selection of 22 near-evanescent, deeply calming lithographs and a handful of equally contemplative paintings; Fernand Khnopff, a reclusive Belgian Catholic who worked largely in grisaille to produce unpeopled scenes of great stillness; and William Degouve de Nuncques, another Belgian, whose The Pool of Blood (1894), is one concentrated nightmare of a painting.

However, for most, the real discovery is likely going to be Sweden's Eugène Jansson (18621915). He's represented by four large, fin-de-siècle works in Mystical Landscapes, three of which are absolute knockouts, equal, almost, to the best of van Gogh, Munch and Whistler. The three are very much of a piece - vast, seething voids of rich nocturnal blue, flecked with misty white, simultaneously suggesting water, sky, light and the writhing, oceanic yearnings of the human subconscious. Dare one pray for a solo Canadian exhibition sooner rather than later?

Not all the unknowns, utter or relative, are as rewarding, of course. Wenzel Hablik's Crystal Castle at Sea (1914) may be a national treasure at its home in Prague's National Gallery. Here, though, in the last, darkened space of the AGO show, it's more kitsch than cosmic, the kind of art you imagine in the cafeteria of the original Starship Enterprise. The same goes for G.F. Watts's The Sower of the Systems (1902), positioned near the Hablik. Its depiction of God hurling the cosmos into existence might have wowed 'em in Edwardian England - but today He looks like the inspiration for the "hairy thunderer" in Deteriorata, that satirical spoken-word hit of the early 1970s. Marvel Comics fans likely will think "Galatacus" or "Silver Surfer."

Such flubs are, of course, inevitable in a showcase as big and ambitious as Mystical Landscapes. The AGO should be applauded for again stretching its sinews, as it did earlier this year with Outsiders: American Photography and Film, 1950s-1980s, to originate an international-calibre exhibition.

Mystical Landscapes: Masterpieces from Monet, Van Gogh and More opens Saturday at Toronto's Art Gallery of Ontario for a run through Jan. 29 (

Associated Graphic

Mystical Landscapes includes more than 90 works created between 1880 and 1930 by 37 artists provided to the Art Gallery of Ontario from lenders in 14 countries, including Canada. Among the paintings on display: above, Eugene Jansson's Dawn over Riddarfjarden; left, Vincent Van Gogh's 'The Starry Night over the Rhone at Arles'; below, Edvard Munch's 'The Sun'.


A life devoted to the passion of theatre
Celebrated dramaturge guided, championed - and inspired - works of Canadian playwrights
Special to The Globe and Mail
Thursday, October 13, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S6

Iris Turcott loved writers. In her long, fruitful career as a theatre dramaturge, she became a matriarch to the rock stars of Canadian playwriting: Ronnie Burkett, Judith Thompson, Brad Fraser, Tomson Highway, Daniel MacIvor. A loud, abrasive matriarch, mind you, with a taste for cigarettes, whisky and cheerfully outrageous obscenities, whose love could be as tough as it was tender.

Mr. Burkett, the marionette maestro who counted Ms. Turcott as both a collaborator and close friend, said she was the rare person who could bring big artists with big egos to heel.

"These were not easy personalities she was working with. We're all needy, awful people really," he said with a laugh. "But the fact that we all clung to her and let her talk about our work in such an honest, brutal way, says something about how much we respected her."

Ms. Turcott, who died on Sept. 22 of cancer in Toronto at the age of 62, has been hailed by those artists as a "warrior" in her championship of Canadian writing, a fearless "sherpa" who guided the work of prominent playwrights across the country, from Joan MacLeod on Vancouver Island to Robert Chafe in Newfoundland. But she gave her expertise equally to younger writers, whether as an educator (notably at the National Theatre School in Montreal) or as the resident dramaturge at Toronto's Factory Theatre, where she nurtured such promising up-andcomers as Charlotte CorbeilColeman and Joseph Jomo Pierre. She found time for budding talent, no matter how green.

Factory Theatre's artistic director, Nina Lee Aquino, recalled how she once proudly showed Ms. Turcotte the writings of her seven-year-old daughter, Eponine Lee. "Iris read them very thoughtfully," she said. "Then she barked at me, 'Call your daughter in! I want to speak to her.' " A nervous Ms. Aquino obeyed and Eponine came in for a closed-door meeting with Ms. Turcotte. Eponine emerged smiling and Ms. Turcott claimed to have found her intimidating.

"Which was very funny, coming from Iris," Ms. Aquino laughed.

"Then she told me, 'Your daughter has a gift. You have to encourage her to keep writing, no matter what.' " Next to her own son, Merrick, Ms. Turcott's all-consuming devotion was to the theatre, especially the dramatic text.

Born Iris Noreen Turcott on July 9, 1954, in London, Ont., she was the youngest child and only daughter of Doris (née Davey) and Allan Turcott, an auto mechanic. Her cousin, veteran producer Paul Wells, remembers her as a voracious reader from an early age, and an astute one.

"She could finish a book more quickly than anybody I've ever known," he said. "And she had a better understanding of the book, too."

She attended London's South Collegiate Institute and was involved in community theatre before leaving for England to study at the City Literary Institute in London. Back home, she earned an honours degree in English and drama at the University of Western Ontario and a degree in education at the University of Toronto. Although she acted, directed and co-founded a young people's company, Playbill Theatre, her true calling was to the little-understood field of dramaturgy. Joining Toronto's Canadian Stage in that capacity in the early 1990s, she went beyond the job's narrow definition as a specialist in dramatic writing. Working closely with playwrights, she would encourage them, challenge them and, when necessary, advocate for them.

When Toronto theatres were shying from Palace of the End, Judith Thompson's harrowing drama about the Iraq invasion, Ms. Turcott insisted that Canadian Stage produce the play. It turned out to be one of the playwright's most acclaimed works, winning two major international awards. "If Iris had not pushed and pushed," Ms. Thompson said, "the play would not have been produced here at all."

Ms. Turcott also had no qualms about pushing established playwrights in new directions. Brad Fraser was already a celebrated enfant terrible for his controversial plays Love and Human Remains and Poor Super Man when he began what would be a long association with her. "It was Iris who said to me, after my play Martin Yesterday, 'Step away from the gay, angry [material] and try something different for a while, Brad,' " Mr. Fraser said. "She was the first person I went to with a new play, before I showed it to anybody else," he added. "You knew she wouldn't judge you and would understand what you were trying to do, even if you weren't quite succeeding at doing it yet."

Mr. Burkett said he would have long discussions with her about his ideas for a play, sometimes a year before actually beginning to write. "She didn't find the act of writing mysterious and precious," he noted. "What she found mysterious and almost spiritual were the conversations to get the thing written. And then, once it was written, she was absolutely brutal with her red pencil! A different side of her came out."

After 17 years at Canadian Stage, her position was cut in 2008 during a financial crisis at the company. She freelanced for a time, until Factory Theatre hired her in 2013. Among the writers she worked with, there was novelist and playwright Anosh Irani. When he emigrated from India as a young man with aspirations to become an author, she was one of the first people he sent his work to. "She gave me a lot of confidence," he said.

"She responded with so much passion."

She could also be an instigator, Mr. Irani added. "One time, we were talking about my family, I was telling her a story, and she said, 'That would make a great play.' That became My Granny the Goldfish." Daniel MacIvor tells a similar tale, in which Ms. Turcott patiently listened to him talk about his dog and then insisted he write a play involving one.

The result, The Best Brothers, became one of his most popular comedies.

Not all the plays Ms. Turcott worked on were successes. She had her share of misfires, but it said much about her influence that she was sometimes criticized more harshly than her playwrights.

In 2012, when Factory Theatre's board dismissed founding artistic director Ken Gass and many big names in the theatre community boycotted the company in protest, she remained on as the calm in the eye of the storm.

"She kept the place afloat when we were still in transition," Ms. Aquino said. "She made sure the heart of the place kept beating."

More than that, she played mentor to Ms. Aquino. "She dramaturged my leadership. She was the guide that I needed to find my voice and my place at Factory."

Ms. Turcott's extended family included many of her theatre colleagues, who would drop by her downtown Toronto apartment for tea or visit her in the summer at her rented cottage in Port Stanley on Lake Erie. There, she loved to swim, play poker and talk about theatre. Bonnie Green, an associate producer at the Stratford Festival and perhaps her closest friend, said they made a Saturday ritual of checking out garage sales. "It was a pretty swell way to hang out with Iris Turcott - driving around Port Stanley, looking for vintage dishes, laughing our faces off at anything and everything."

Ms. Turcott's sense of humour was one of her salient traits and didn't desert her even after she was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer this year. Visiting her during her illness, Ms. Green remembers seeing Ms. Turcott's dog, Honeybee, drink some water and then start to cough.

"Iris glared at the little dog and said, 'Don't mock me.' " She stepped down from her job at Factory Theatre two seasons ago, but was working as a dramaturge until to the end. Alberta playwright Matt MacKenzie was staying with her and she was assisting him with a new play the night before she died.

Among those who visited her in her last days was Mr. Fraser.

"It was inspiring to see how accepting she was of what was going on," he recalled. "She said, 'I'm not sorry, I don't regret anything, I feel really good about my life and I'm ready to die.' " She leaves her son, Merrick Anderson, the child of her relationship with the late Keith Anderson; her brothers Tim and Michael; and her nieces and nephews.

Over the years, Ms. Turcott was honoured with the George Luscombe Award for mentorship, the National Theatre School Award for excellence in teaching, the Playwrights Guild of Canada's Tom Hendry Award and the Harold Award.

"For all her outrageousness, her quest in life was for beauty," Mr. Burkett said. "She wasn't just a dramaturge fulfilling a job like an editor; she had her own philosophical and spiritual view of what theatre and language should be, and what they could do to an audience. With Iris, you always knew you were dealing with a giant brain and a giant heart, and a giant investment in the bigger idea of what theatre is."

To submit an I Remember:

Send us a memory of someone we have recently profiled on the Obituaries page. Please include I Remember in the subject field.

Associated Graphic

Iris Turcott fostered young authors and encouraged well-known playwrights to explore new materials, in new ways.


'I wanted the film to feel like Roth's writing'
Ewan McGregor and his American Pastoral cast try to untangle Hollywood's book-to-screen 'Roth Problem'
Special to The Globe and Mail
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R2

Call it the Roth Problem: Brainy writers and directors fall in love with Philip Roth's novels - their boxes-within-boxes structure, their dense thickets of ideas, their soaring wordiness.

And then they struggle to make movies from them, because, well, boxes-within-boxes structure, dense thickets of ideas and soaring wordiness aren't exactly cinema-friendly.

Two of Roth's early, more comic novels, Goodbye, Columbus and Portnoy's Complaint, were turned into successful films in 1969 and 1972. Hollywood then left Roth alone in his mountain cabin to type for the next 30 years. But beginning in the late 1990s, the magnificence of his America trilogy (American Pastoral, I Married a Communist, The Human Stain) drew Hollywood out again, resulting in a string of films: The Human Stain (2003), Elegy (2008), The Humbling (2014) and Indignation (2016). Some failed; some came thisclose to succeeding.

On Friday, American Pastoral joins them. It's based on Roth's most towering novel, which won a Pulitzer. (How good is it? Halfway through Page 1, I was flooded with certitude that it was a masterpiece - Moby Dick, the one for which Roth had been hunting his entire writing life.)

In it, Nathan Zuckerman (Roth's frequent alter ego) goes to a 45th high-school reunion, where he hears the story of Swede Levov, a football golden god who inherits his father's glove factory in Newark, marries a Miss New Jersey named Dawn, whisks her off to a farm, where they raise their adorable daughter, Merry, and live happily ever after - until 1967, that is, when America stops wearing gloves, Newark erupts in riots and Merry rebels against everything her parents are and do.

She joins a radical group that bombs a post office. Someone dies. She disappears. And everything Swede ever stood for or wanted or was becomes meaningless.

"The people who inherited America's good fortune after World War II, its promise of wellbeing and energy and possibility, felt it was a wonderful thing to enjoy that bounty," Jennifer Connelly, who plays Dawn, told me when the movie premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September. "And then the next generation felt it was reprehensible to live that life. It's about the establishment and dismantling of a dream."

"It raises so many questions," she goes on. "Was there something wrong with that life? Or is it just a natural process that the next generation doesn't appreciate the one before? Was Swede culpable? Is there something in the cultivation of a pastoral existence, the denial of wilderness, that is untenable? The film doesn't give us the answers, but it's an interesting conversation to have."

Absolutely. At the same time, it's also the Roth Problem. These are difficult, ambitious ideas for a two-hour movie to address, especially since the novelist is allergic to providing explanations.

"Some people say, because Swede leaves his religion [Judaism] and social class behind - the idea of non-assimilation - maybe that's why Merry does what she does," Ewan McGregor, who plays Swede and also directs the film, says in a separate interview. "I think Roth is saying, 'She does what she does because that's what she does.' There's no rhyme nor reason for any of it."

Not surprisingly, the film had a long gestation. Lakeshore Entertainment, which also made The Human Stain, optioned it upon publication. Screenplay drafts piled up. McGregor and Connelly signed on. A director came and went. Eventually, McGregor - who always saw it as a father/ daughter story and felt keenly that his own daughters soon would be leaving him, albeit for university - took the giant leap of making it his directorial debut.

The script was trimmed to lower the budget, and David Strathairn and Dakota Fanning came aboard as Nathan and Merry.

"I didn't come to it, like [braying voice], 'Okay, I'm going to direct Philip Roth's novel!' " McGregor says. "But I didn't shirk from that or let it influence me."

Before he became director, he hadn't read the book; after, he "lived in it" from the end of 2014 until they shot in September, 2015. He had the audio book, read by Ron Silver, on endless loop in his car, "just to soak it in," McGregor says. "Sometimes, I felt I'd got it and sometimes I didn't. It changed day to day.

Like any great writing, it challenges thought and argument, even within your own head. But I want to make cinema that's about characters, and is complicated, and makes audiences feel.

So I was nothing but happy and excited to be doing it."

He didn't watch other films that had been made from Roth's books. But over the years, I've done stories on them. I spent two days on the Quebec set of The Human Stain, which stars Anthony Hopkins, Nicole Kidman and Gary Sinise (as Zuckerman). I talked to Tom Rothman, Lakeshore's founder, who admitted, "I've been obsessed with the book. But when I said I was going to make it into a movie, believe me, I was alone. People said I was absolutely nuts."

The Human Stain's director, Robert Benton, was a seasoned pro who'd made Kramer vs. Kramer and Places in the Heart, but he acknowledged the responsibility of adapting Roth. "I was afraid the book was too dense and complex," he said. "It has a deep regard for Greek tragedy.

It's about a man who betrays his family for the right to his own individuality. It's about the deep, unresolvable tension between individual freedom and the requirement of community."

Just before Benton began filming, a friend wrote him this note: "A movie is not a book, it floats above the book. It's related to it, but independent of it." Still, the weight of expectations was palpable.

Years later, I interviewed Sarah Gadon just after she'd finished playing Olivia, a troubled university student, in Indignation, for the writer/producer James Schamus, who was also making his directorial debut. "James being a professor, he gave us reading material and things to watch, like we were taking a course," she said. Not only did she read Roth, she also read Sylvia Plath, because Schamus believes Roth based Olivia on Plath.

"James is so detail-oriented, he even had me write like Plath," Gadon said. "I copied out her handwriting for hours and hours.

No one is going to pick up on that, but it meant something to James." These are the kinds of rabbit-holes Roth-lovers hurl themselves into.

Fanning, who deliberately didn't read Roth's American Pastoral until after she finished filming, felt the literariness of her scenes without defining them as such. She shot most of them at night, while covered in movie dirt that quickly became indistinguishable from real dirt. "They're kind of weird," she says. "Merry's not your average character. The things she's saying are kind of strange. They feel kind of strange in your mouth."

In terms of timeliness, American Pastoral worked out. Black Lives Matter protests across the United States eerily echoed the Newark riots' imagery in the film. "The front pages of newspapers while we were shooting could have been stills from our set," McGregor says.

Directing was as fulfilling as McGregor hoped it would be: "I've worked on movie sets for 23, 24 years, with this extraordinary array of directors. Felt how it works or not works. Soaked up all that information." He relished being open to all ideas, yet having final say. "If someone asks, 'The blue one or the red one?' you say, 'The blue one,' " he says.

"You don't really know why it's right, but it is. And then it's the blue one - that's what's nice about directing. Ha ha ha."

But Roth's framing device, which he uses in many novels - here, Zuckerman at the reunion - remained McGregor's most perplexing challenge. "Structurally, it's a tricky one; it caused us the most effort in the edit," he admits. "But in my mind, the opening frame was always Zuckerman alone in his car, I don't know why. And then him introducing the story in voiceover. It's a lot for the audience to take in.

But I thought it was important."

I press: If it's troublesome and distancing, why not scrap it?

"He's Roth," McGregor says, grinning. "There's something about his words. The voiceover, its written words. There's a beauty to it.

I didn't want to make a book.

But I wanted the film to feel like Roth's writing." The Roth Problem in a nutshell.

The only person unfazed by the Roth Problem seems to be Roth himself. A week before TIFF, McGregor heard that Roth had seen American Pastoral and liked it, which thrilled and relieved him. I didn't tell him what Roth had said to Rosenberg when Rosenberg bought the rights to The Human Stain: "The only problem I'll have," Roth said flatly, "is if your cheque doesn't clear."

Associated Graphic

Ewan McGregor is the latest director to take a stab at interpreting author Philip Roth's work.


How Couche's founder built a global giant
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B1

Alimentation Couche-Tard Inc. once tried to buy retail colossus 7-Eleven Inc. Now, the Laval, Que.-based merchant of gum and gasoline is locked in a fight with its Japanese-owned rival for global convenience store supremacy.

The revelation is contained in a soon-to-be-released biography outlining the story of CoucheTard founder and executive chairman Alain Bouchard. Titled Daring to Succeed, the book chronicles Mr. Bouchard's little-known climb from poverty living in a trailer with five siblings to the top echelon of Canadian business.

It was an aggressive, risk-taking climb, one motivated by a desire to make his own life and not depend on others after his father lost everything in a bankruptcy. As Quebec's francophone majority was experiencing its own ascension during the Quiet Revolution in the 1960s, Mr. Bouchard launched himself into a decadeslong entrepreneurial effort to build Couche-Tard that eventually made him a billionaire.

And the story is far from over.

Couche-Tard is on track to tally earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation and amortization of $2.9-billion (U.S). next year on sales of $50-billion. That could make it Canada's biggest company by revenue, eclipsing all five big banks, George Weston Ltd. and Loblaw Cos. Ltd. and drawing it alongside U.S. giants Pfizer, FedEx and Coca-Cola. The company is already the world's largest convenience store operator as measured by corporate-owned outlets. 7-Eleven runs a largely franchised network.

If it had swallowed 7-Eleven, Couche would have been top dog a lot faster. But Mr. Bouchard misjudged his rival's willingness to sell.

"I'm used to casting many lines in the water because I'm a fisherman," the Couche-Tard founder said in sketching out his takeover strategy in an interview with The Globe and Mail earlier this month. "But it was a bit bold to proceed as I did with the Japanese. You don't go fast like that with them."

Couche-Tard first approached 7-Eleven in 2005. At the time, the Canadian company was riding high after taking over the Circle K Corp. chain from Conoco Phillips - a game-changing deal that cemented its push into the United States and gave it an instantly recognizable brand. Meanwhile, 7-Eleven was rebuilding following a recapitalization that saw majority control of the U.S. company pass to its Japanese affiliate ItoYokado as a subsidiary under Seven & I Holdings Co.

Mr. Bouchard flew to Tokyo to meet with Masatoshi Ito, founder of Ito-Yokado. The face-to-face was held at a restaurant in Tokyo and Mr. Ito was already there when the Canadian and his entourage arrived. Both men had interpreters and they quickly got to the heart of the matter.

"I told him what our intention was, that I thought our two great companies in North America were very complementary and that we had an advantage to merge," Mr. Bouchard recalls.

Mr. Ito listened, asked a few questions, then provided a long reply to the Canadian relayed through the interpreter. 7-Eleven had a nice business in Japan, he said. In the United States, it's not the the best but neither is Couche-Tard. Neither company is anywhere near as good as operators such as chains Sheetz or Wawa, so it would probably make sense if they worked to improve their standing separately before contemplating anything else.

"When she came to the end of her translation, [Mr. Ito] gets up and pulls out a little disposable camera to take a photo of my reaction to what he just said," Mr. Bouchard marvels with laughter.

"Later on, he sent me the photo.

And that was the end of that."

Today, antitrust concerns would make a merger with 7-Eleven extremely difficult. Recent deals including the purchase of CST Brands Inc. will vault CoucheTard's store count in Canada and the United States above 10,000 versus about 8,900 for 7-Eleven.

The two players are by far the most dominant in terms of sheer geographical footprint in the two countries, with Speedway a distant third.

If it's not a deal partner, 7-Eleven nevertheless represents a serious foe for Couche-Tard around the world.

The Japanese company, under pressure from activist investor Third Point LLC, said Oct.6 it would speed up expansion in North America by accelerating acquisitions. It also plans to bring a greater number of Japanesestyle convenience store elements to its stores in Canada and the United States, including more fresh food and hot-snack counters.

Both Couche and 7-Eleven are consolidators in an industry still dominated by small chains. The Japanese firm is cash-rich and has outbid Couche in many takeover battles in the past, Mr. Bouchard said. With higher multiples being paid at the moment for convenience store assets, that trend seems set to continue.

Mr. Bouchard sees two clear advantages Couche has over its rival. One, its market currency, which he said is higher because its performance is better. His team estimates that CoucheTard's network is roughly twice as profitable as 7-Eleven's on a perstore basis. Two, its status as a Canadian company, which he said could help it win mergers and acquisition contests in China and other Asian countries where 7-Eleven is hobbled by its Japanese roots.

That edge might be overstated.

But history suggests it would be unwise to bet against Alain Bouchard. Time and again, he has proven his skill at making deals and turning underperforming stores into profit-making machines through tactics such as forcing landlords to renegotiate leases. Early on, he sometimes did the renovation work at stores himself, bashing down walls and installing coolers.

After helping grocer Provigo build out its new Provi-Soir corner store network in Quebec as an executive in the late 1970s, he became a franchisee but was forced out over a merchandise issue. A bailiff served him with an eviction notice at one of his stores. His wife at the time, raging over the treatment he was receiving, gave the company's delegate a furious warning: "One day, we will buy you out!" That's exactly what happened.

Years later, during a news conference to announce CoucheTard's purchase of Silcorp, owner of the Mac's and Becker banners, a reporter asked Mr. Bouchard: What's next? Entering the United States, he answered. The company's shares promptly lost 8 per cent over the next several hours as investors bet yet another Canadian company would tank crossing the border.

What's happened since - a several-fold increase in the stock price - shows it took some time for the market to appreciate Mr. Bouchard's formula for cornerstore retailing: Nix the traditional hierarchy and costs of head office and give local managers decisionmaking power while keeping tight control over operations through standardized reporting and a healthy culture of emulation. As for acquisitions: Don't overpay.

It hasn't all been glory, of course. A short-lived attempt to break into contact lens manufacturing was abandoned. The purchase of Dunkin' Donuts' Quebec network was an outright failure.

"I bought the lame duck when I should have made a play for the whole chain," Mr. Bouchard acknowledges.

Daily operations of the company are now in the hands of Iowa-born Brian Hannasch, who took over as chief executive officer from Mr. Bouchard in 2014. It's Mr. Hannasch who's in charge of driving organic growth while Mr. Bouchard steers the deal making at a time when new competition is bearing down from a multitude of players such as Inc. and McDonald's.

When Mr. Hannasch first joined the company more than a decade ago, Mr. Bouchard and Couche's three other founders invited him north for a fishing trip, the biography recounts. He had expected a few casual boat outings, interspersed with long sessions of beer drinking and card games. What he got was serious fishing, excellent wines and a stack of songbooks.

"I thought it was a joke," Mr. Hannasch said. "We were going to sing. And I do not sing!" Thus the American was initiated into the inner circle of Couche-Tard's Québecois builders.

Alain Bouchard is serene these days when asked about the slap to the face shareholders delivered him over a proposal to let the founders retain the special stock rights that give them control of the retailer - set to expire in 2021 under a special sunset clause. Previously blaming "investors in Toronto" for blocking their effort to keep a grip on the company, he now says he believes a solution can be found to settle the matter.

"The size of our company works in our favour," he said, adding he has no plans to relinquish control or stop working. "My fundamental business principle is if you stop, if you just tread water to maintain what you have, you go backwards. I think we still have lots to do."

Associated Graphic

Alain Bouchard, the founder of Alimentation Couche-Tard, stands outside a store in Laval, Que.


The reign of the townhouse begins
With detached homes out of reach for most Vancouver buyers, a more compact alternative has struck a chord
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S6

Developers in the Lower Mainland say they are building to meet a surge in demand for townhouses, both the compact urban kind, and the big-as-ahouse kind for boomers who aren't quite ready for a condo yet.

Typical townhouses used to include a backyard with detached garage. But with land costs at a premium, the oldstyle townhouse no longer makes sense. Now, the "stacked" townhouse has become the norm, since the units, built sideby-side and top and bottom, take up less space but can still come with underground parking and private outdoor spaces. The compact form also offers relative affordability and buyers have caught on; the market for townhouses is booming.

"A little while ago, I predicted the death of the townhome," says Jason Turcotte, senior development manager for Cressey Development Group. "I'll qualify that today by saying it's still true - but it's the death of the traditional townhome, and that applies beyond the borders of the city of Vancouver.

"What's happened is the development industry is starting to meet those requirements in a slightly more dense form. And that's why you are seeing the production of more of it. That dovetails with the 30-something buyer that now cannot afford to buy a single family house."

It dovetails too with the rollercoaster ride that the detachedhouse market is starting to take.

The attached house is starting to look like a more stable product.

Royal LePage statistics released this week show that the median price of a bungalow in Vancouver went up 33.5 per cent yearover-year, to $1,288,520. That's not surprising, says Randy Ryalls, Royal LePage Sterling Realty general manager. The unbridled enthusiasm in the market only started slowing due to consumer fatigue in the spring.

"The market we had in the spring was unsustainable by any measure - it was nutty," says Mr. Ryalls.

"I think you will see an adjustment in the detached market more so than the townhouse or condo market. Most people would say they have already seen a correction in the detached market, for sure.

There's no question we are not able to sell a house right now for the same price we could in the spring. But condos and townhouses are doing just fine."

More granular data from SnapStats shows that adjustment is already happening. There was a 16-per-cent price drop in detached houses on Vancouver's west side in September. The median sale price dropped from $3.55-million in August to $2.99million. Out of 617 houses listed, only 10 per cent sold.

However, 40 per cent of westside condos and townhomes sold that month, holding steady with a median price of $665,000.

On the east side, 54 per cent of condos and townhomes sold, with a median price of $475,000. In north Vancouver, condos and townhouses rose 23 per cent in price, to $590,000.

In Tsawwassen, condos and townhouses shot up 40 per cent. Only west Vancouver's condo and townhouse sales dropped in price, by 23 per cent.

Overall, according to the stats, the attached market is holding far steadier than the single-family house market.

However, the detached-house market in much of the region remains unaffordable for the average household income - and nobody expects it to become affordable again. That means there's a pent-up demand for the townhouse. The city of Vancouver is encouraging such development, and developers are responding.

"We've been increasing zoning opportunities by changing the zoning," says Anita Molaro, Assistant Director of Urban Design for the city. "They are definitely building more now because they are able to."

The city started allowing the stacked townhouse in 2013, with the Norquay Village neighbourhood plan, followed by another stacked townhouse zone in Marpole.

The new Grandview-Woodlands plan includes townhouses, so city staffers are writing new zoning that will go to council for approval next year, says Ms. Molaro. She says they're including stacked townhouses in phase three of the Cambie Corridor, too. It's part of a citywide effort to use townhouses as transition zones between higher-density buildings and singlefamily houses along arterial roads.

Eric Andreasen, vice-president of sales and marketing for Adera Development Group, says the townhouse demand far exceeds supply. Adera has built 13 residential projects at the University of British Columbia, and they're currently marketing townhomes as part of the new 106-unit Virtuoso. It is 75 per cent sold. He says the last 18 months have been "amazing."

"If you can assemble a big enough lot with the right zoning, you can do townhomes - not several hundred units, but 30 or 40 units type of thing. But they are spoken for pretty quickly, because there is a ton of demand. It's a higher price bracket [than a condo], but there are enough people that can afford it.

"Where a single family house might be around $2-million, your townhomes are going to be 60 or 70 per cent of that. It's still a lot of money. But you have people who want to stay close to the core of the city.

That's the niche that townhomes fill."

Mr. Andreasen says demand is equally big outside city limits.

The developer is also marketing the last phase of South Ridge Club in South Surrey, which is made up of 72 executive townhomes with rooftop patios around a private club house with pool, movie theatre and other amenities.

The first phase has sold out and the second phase has about 11 units left. He expected to sell to downsizers, but many of the buyers are young couples and families.

"South Surrey has dramatically transformed over [the] last eight or nine years. There are single-family houses still going in, but there is an enormous number of townhome applications going to the city."

Cressey has been busy marketing townhomes to both ends of the market - the wealthy and the young buyer that can't afford a house.

With the 40-unit McKinnon, Cressey is marketing luxury townhomes in Kerrisdale that are around 2,500 square-feet and, according to Turcotte, are priced around $1,200 a square foot. Cressey has two more proposals underway on the east side, at Commercial Drive and Pender Street, and another at Kingsway and Knight. They're considering stacked two and three bedroom townhouses for both. The two bedrooms would be around 1,100 square-feet and the three bedrooms around 1,250 square feet. He says the starting price come in well under $1-million.

The developments make sense in areas where single-family homes aren't insanely priced, says Mr. Turcotte. And houses on major roads are usually more reasonably priced, anyway, which makes small land assemblies easier. So, the popularity of the townhome, he says, is due to a combination of zoning and regulatory conditions, but also simple economics.

Mosaic Homes has been building townhouses throughout the Lower Mainland for the last 16 years, and vice president of marketing Geoff Duyker says he's also seen a surge of interest.

This year, the developer sold nearly 100 townhomes at its Kitchner project in Morgan Heights in South Surrey in a two-month period. Mr. Duyker says they'd normally expect to take a year to sell that many homes. So they fast-tracked another, bigger, 200-unit project also in the Morgan Heights neighbourhood, which went on the market this month. They sold more than 50 townhomes on the first day of sales.

Those homes sold anywhere from $400,000 to $800,000. A house in the same neighbourhood, he says, would sell for around $1.5-million.

In Vancouver, Mosaic is building the Edward at King Edward and Yukon, which will include townhomes priced at around $1-million. That's a lot less than the $2.99-million median sale price for a detached house on the west side in September.

In terms of price, Mr. Duyker believes the townhouse is at or below where the single-family starter house was five years ago.

"It's made me wonder, 'what is this shift?' " says Mr. Duyker.

"And I really believe it's the escalation of single-family home prices, and the lack of accessibility and supply of a single family home.

"It's a monumental shift in housing expectations. You had many young buyers and young families holding out for a single family house and they have reconciled that fact that it might just not be in their future. The townhome is the next best option."

Associated Graphic

Adera Group's Greenway project in South Surrey features 72 'executive townhomes' with rooftop patios and a shared clubhouse with pool, movie theatre and other amenities. Eric Andreasen, vice-president of sales and marketing for Adera, says most of the new buyers in Greenway are young couples and families.


Breaking up can be as devastating - and often more unexpected - in a platonic friendship as it is in a romance. Zosia Bielski reports
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

It was the last year of high school and she was new and weird: a ballerina in dingy clothes who made dark jokes and threw her feet up on her desk during French, where she was the most fluent student. I desperately wanted to be her best friend.

When we'd arrive to her family's big Forest Hill house for lunch, she'd alternately squeal at her little white dog, glare at her older sister, sift through fashion magazines and stare blankly at the TV, worrying about what her injured knee would mean for her dance career.

In hindsight, it's clear that my new friend was a brassy but depressed teenager. At 17, all I could see was that she was way cooler than me. I hoped to keep her attention for as long as possible.

The first sign of trouble came at the movie theatre where we'd gone to see the syrupy 1996 romance The English Patient. My friend asked if we could sit a seat apart so she could "concentrate"; it seemed unusually cruel. After that her interest waned. As we headed off for different universities, our contact evaporated.

As far as friend breakups go, it was a cakewalk: my friend had given me the slow fadeout.

Other options include ghosting - disappearing without so much as a word - or the hard cutoff, enumerating all the wrongs that you have been silently stewing over for years in a letter or a text or Facebook message.

Sometimes initiating a friend breakup is part of a larger editing process in your adult life, of deciding you won't take crap from anyone anymore.

No matter how women go about "breaking up," what's clear is how bad we are at it. Women are often stunned by how drastically communication can break down between friends who have been talking deeply about everything for years.

"It's a hard thing for me to grapple with," said Melana Roberts, a Toronto policy strategist who had a close friend of a decade go AWOL on her.

Roberts, 27, and her friend had been in a rich but sometimes competitive relationship. Then, two years ago, after a night out, a disagreement about the best route home escalated, followed by another spat a week later.

When they met in person a few days later to talk, Roberts said the friend declared, "I don't want to do this any more."

"She was obviously very hurt by something I'd done, by some element of our relationship. Instead of being able to convey that, all she had was anger," Roberts said.

"It made me reflect on a tendency that I find in a lot of women: It's so much easier for them to express anger than it is to be vulnerable. They want to be strong."

Roberts is frustrated that the experience left her little opportunity for self-improvement since she still has no real sense of what brought about the dissolution.

But it did force her to rethink how she hopes to interact with friends in the future should things ever go south: with honesty.

There isn't a template for friend breakups the way there is with romantic splits. Most of us still put substantially more effort into our romances than we do into our friendships, which we expect to magically hum along. It often seems harder, riskier and more out-of-line, somehow, to confront a friend and ask her to work on something than it does to voice expectations with a spouse. That doesn't mean women don't hold high standards for their friends.

Women are much more likely to forgive their opposite-sex friends than their girlfriends, says Mahzad Hojjat, senior editor of the forthcoming anthology The Psychology of Friendship. She has also found that men are much more likely to forgive their same-sex friends than female friends.

"Everybody is less forgiving of women," said Hojjat, a psychology professor at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth.

"Women have much higher expectations of each other in friendship. They are more critical of each other and they penalize each other more."

Teenage girls are far more likely than boys to block their former friends and delete their photos together on social media, according to a 2015 study from the Pew Research Center, a Washington, D.C.-based research organization.

Hojjat says the stakes are so high in female friend breakups because women disclose so much to each other: "The closer you are to someone, the more it hurts."

Even so, many of us don't fight as hard for failing friendships as we do when our romantic relationships are in trouble. "Somehow, a lot of friendships just fade away if there are problems," said Hojjat. "In romantic relationships, we tend to confront our partners and ask for explanations."

Psychologists are now looking at how we behave with our friends over a lifetime. A recent European study of college freshmen found that even though socially alluring narcissists were able to make friends quickly, the sheen wore off. Narcissists had trouble keeping friends - unlike quieter people with "emotional intelligence."

Loren Abell, a British lecturer in psychology at Nottingham Trent University, recently helmed two studies on women's friendships and Machiavellianism.

Abell's studies of more than 400 women age 18 to 69, published in the journal Personality and Individual Differences, found that Machiavellian women make the worst girlfriends: they confessed that they had embarrassed their besties, made them feel guilty by sulking and consciously undermined their confidence in the past.

"We go into friendships and relationships for the support and the emotional closeness," said Abell. "But for women who are higher in Machiavellianism, relationships are basically: 'What can I get out of it for me?' " Abell discovered that some women actually take pleasure in their friends' misfortunes - they don't deserve friends, really - and yet managed to maintain long friendships, with the average union spanning a decade.

Why do people put up with it? Because they have shared history, or they fear conflict.

"A lot of the women reported that they just got used to it: It became routine," said Abell. "Or they would defend the friend and say, 'It's just who they are.' " Abell hopes her research will help women reflect on their friendships. "We don't want women to sit back and take it," she said. "It's emotionally damaging to be in a relationship like that. If a friend is making you feel embarrassed or guilty or playing on your feelings, you might have a think on that."

Having grown tired of thoughtless and ungrateful behaviour, Toronto image consultant Vanessa Dawe cut ties with a friend last year. "We would get together for four hours," said Dawe, 26. "Three hours of it would be her complaining about her job, her agent, her health, her family, her landlord. Three hours would go by and she'd say, 'Oh my god! How are you?' Then I would give my CliffsNotes version."

The nail in the coffin, said Dawe, was an elaborate party she threw at her friend's request.

With just hours to spare (and after Dawe had run around shopping for $300 worth of food, booze and supplies) her friend phoned to cancel because she was "tired," Dawe said. "I was in the middle of making meatloaf," she recalled. "I washed my hands and picked up the phone again and said, 'You've got to be kidding me.' " Dawe let her feelings cool down and "broke up" with the friend via Facebook messenger a week later. She waited for a response but none ever came.

My own long-lost friend reconnected with me in 2008 with some help from the Internet. The friendship was again brief as we got pulled into our own orbits of careers and boyfriends - low drama, all around. For many former friends, though, there is painfully little chance for closure. They can haunt us in the city, the way some exes can.

In the end, we often take the loyalty of our friends for granted - hence the shock when they get fed up and bail. The surprise factor is one reason friend breakups sting so hard.

"With a romantic breakup, usually there's a buildup. People aren't happy," Dawe observed.

"When it's a platonic breakup, someone is usually blindsided."

In her own life, Dawe lost the convenience of having a local friend who was always down for "mojitos and manicures," but she got over it.

"Now no one's pretending," she said. "There's no pressure to keep up false pretenses: 'Oh! My bestie!' "

Associated Graphic


Former besties Katy Perry, left, and Taylor Swift, above, have been feuding for years. A fan recently asked Perry on Twitter if she'd be open to collaborating - the answer was, 'if she says sorry, sure!'


Tech all-stars pay it forward
Special to The Globe and Mail
Thursday, October 20, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E2

One sign of a healthy startup ecosystem is when successful entrepreneurs reinvest in the next generation of young businesses.

These Canadian technology gurus are looking for financial returns, yes, but also the chance to mentor a new player and keep a foot in the game, without having to relive the exhausting task of building a company from scratch. Brenda Bouw asked six entrepreneurs about what motivates them and why they just can't walk away


After selling her e-commerce platform ShopLocket to PCH International in 2014, entrepreneur Katherine Hague knew she wanted to use her windfall to support other startups. Today, Ms. Hague is an angel investor and founder of Female Funders, a network for female investors.

It was angel investor Heather Payne who helped Ms. Hague launch ShopLocket and today inspires her to invest in other startups now that she has the financial means.

"Angel investing has always had this special place in my heart," says Ms. Hague. She also has a "soft spot" for female entrepreneurs, in particular after hearing a statistic that only 2.7 per cent of venture-capital-funded companies had a female chief executive officer.

"I have a personal interest in changing that number. If I can do my small part by writing a cheque, then that's something I want to do."

Some of the companies she has invested in include online marketplace CareGuide Inc., construction project platform Bridgit, online real estate company Zoocasa, e-gaming analytics platform Repable and the hair extension business Locks & Mane.

Angel investing has given her the chance to learn about other companies and industries. It also led her to her most recent job as CEO of Locks & Mane.

"For me, it has really turned into this incredible way to survey the landscape and see everything that's going on and get to know some amazing founders," says Ms. Hague, who is based in Toronto.

To date, she has invested in more than a half dozen startups while making sure not to put too much money in just one company.

"A lot of first-time investors make the mistake of making one investment. They love one company and write a cheque. Statistically that's a horrible idea because 90 per cent of startups fail," she says.

"If you can't afford to write lots of cheques, then maybe you shouldn't get started in this game."


Entrepreneur twins Jonathan and Joshua Bixby made their money building and selling two startups - content management company IronPoint Technology Inc. and cloud service platform Strangeloop Networks - before launching careers as angel investors.

Today, the B.C.-based brothers invest via their company Stanley Park Ventures, which focuses on Canadian financial technology players such as Koho and Lendful Financial Inc., and healthcare startups in the United States including Alavida Health Inc. and Blue Mesa Health Inc.

The Bixby brothers' aim is to make money while supporting startups in sectors where they have experience.

But it's about more than just business, says Jonathan Bixby.

They also must like the founders as people. "I feel like I've earned the right to not work with jerks," says Mr. Bixby, adding that founders and investors can spend a lot of time together. "If I don't want to go out for coffee with you on a regular basis, I don't care how good your business is, I'm not investing."

Mr. Bixby compares the experience to speed dating, but with a lot more money at stake.

"Sometimes, you actually know within the first three minutes" whether the partnership will work.


Entrepreneur Daniel Debow started the angel investor part of his career after he sold Rypple, a startup he co-founded and led, to Salesforce in 2012.

His first investment was, which helps media companies to launch their own streaming platforms. Mr. Debow chose Muvi because he knew and believed in its founder. Torontobased Mr. Debow has invested in about 50 startups since then, all based on the founders.

"That has been a common theme. I invest because I believe in people," Mr. Debow says. Other examples include teaBOT, which has developed a robot that brews fresh cups of customized looseleaf tea in seconds. He also has invested in the construction industry app Bridgit and Thalmic Labs, maker of a gesture-control armband.

"I view it as much about paying forward as I do about classic investing to make money," Mr. Debow says. "At the end of the day, I hope that, at some point, I'll make my money back and do even better on it, but I'd be lying if I said the primary motivator was to make money."

Angel investing is also a whole lot of fun, Mr. Debow says. "I never understood as an entrepreneur how much vicarious joy you can take in the success of others. It's a great feeling."


Harley Finkelstein's first foray into entrepreneurship was at 13 years old when he wanted to be a disc jockey and nobody would hire him.

He is the first to admit he was "talentless," but that didn't stop him. He started a T-shirt business that helped put him through university. He also failed a few times, with a slipper business and online nursing uniform operation.

After finishing law school, he began working with Tobias Lutke to launch Ottawa-based e-commerce platform Shopify.

The runaway success of Shopify provided Mr. Finkelstein with the funds to invest elsewhere. Today, he's a mentor and investor in a handful of startups as well as a "dragon" on the TV show Dragons' Den. "I think it's really important for those of us who have had any success - especially in Canada where there is a smaller entrepreneurial landscape - to pay it forward."

Some of his investments include the medication delivery company PopRx, online restaurant delivery firm Skip the Dishes, and Akira Medical Ltd., which provides on-demand access to health-care professionals. Mr. Finkelstein has invested in about a dozen companies. "I believe I have a responsibility to help people who either need advice, through mentorship, or more importantly, with a little bit of capital."


Michele Romanow's first business was the Tea Room, a sustainable cafe at Queen's University, a venture she started with two other engineering students that still exists today. Bitten by the entrepreneurship bug, she went on to co-found a caviar company in New Brunswick, which went well until the 2008 financial crisis hit.

Later she took a job in e-commerce strategy at Sears Canada.

Then she co-founded the deals website and then the app SnapSaves, which was bought by Groupon Inc. in 2014.

Today Mr. Romanow is a Toronto-based angel investor and a "dragon" on CBC's Dragons' Den and co-founder of Clearbanc, a financial services startup for freelancers. Some of her outside investments include Daily Delivery, an online food delivery platform, robo-adviser Wealthsimple and a few e-commerce companies she can't yet name.

She looks for firms in growing markets. "It's about choosing an entrepreneur who is not going to give up," she says. "A lot of times it's not about the size of the cheque, it's about giving someone the opportunity to call me when they're having a really dark day and have me remind them that I've felt that way a thousand times myself. "I think I do know what it takes - because I've done it myself - to build a startup and a successful company."


After selling the company he cofounded, AbeBooks, to Amazon in 2008, Boris Wertz began investing in early-stage startups as a full-time job. He lost money at first but gained experience about being on the other side of the startup success story.

Today, he describes investing in startups as "one of the most fun jobs you can have."

He invests both personally as an angel investor, in companies such as the reading and writing platform Wattpad and crowdfunding platform Indiegogo, and through his Vancouver-based venture capital fund Version One Ventures.

He has invested in about 30 companies. He says he chooses companies where he can make money but also offer advice.

"Hopefully, given my entrepreneurial background, I can help them because I've been through some of these stages, I've made some mistakes and can pass on some advice.

"For me, it's a super interesting job to stay close to startups in technology, and turn it into a full-time career as well."

When looking at where to invest, Mr. Wertz looks closely at the founders.

"The ones that quit early have no return and people who pull through can create a valuable company," Mr. Wertz says.

Associated Graphic


Rooted in goodness
This beet and blue cheese ravioli dish combines the best of fall flavours
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L11

October is an exciting time of year: The weather calls for cooking warm, comforting food for family and friends. A rich pasta stuffed with a velvety, creamy filling, like the one I've created here, makes for the perfect fall meal.

In this pasta dish, which is on the fall menu at Market, my restaurant in Calgary, and is quickly becoming one of our guests' favourites, I have paired blue cheese with beets.

The robust flavour of aged and roasted blue cheese complements the sweet, earthiness of a root vegetable. This seasonal flavour combination pairs nicely with other classic fall dishes.

Feel free to garnish the dish with whatever you would like. Here, I've suggested a pine nut milk, which you'll want to make the night before. At the restaurant we add pickled seared leeks, tarragon oil and fried beet tops as shown in the photo.

If you make this recipe at home, take a picture and post it on Instagram. Tag me (@seanymacd) in your posts so I can see your creations.



3 medium-sized red beets

½ cup water

1 orange

⅓ cup red wine vinegar

¼ cup olive oil

½ teaspoon salt For the beet puree, place one of the beets in a medium-sized pot. Cover the beet with water and place on the stove.

Bring the pot to a boil and simmer for about an hour. Keep topping up with water as needed. Check the beet to see if it is cooked by poking with a fork.

Once cooked, strain the water off and let the beet cool slightly.

Using a paring knife, peel off the skin and trim the ends of the beet. Discard the peels, cut the beet into small pieces and place in a blender. Add the water and a splash of olive oil. Blend until smooth. Reserve the puree.

For the grated beets, using a peeler, peel the skin off of the two remaining beets. Trim off the tips and place on the cutting board. Grate the beets with a medium-sized cheese grater into a bowl.

Season with salt and lay on a paper towel-lined baking tray to dry. Leave in a warm place for about two hours.

Squeeze the juice out of the orange into a small bowl. Add the red wine vinegar, olive oil and salt. Set aside until plating for use as dressing for the grated beets.


½ cup pine nuts

2 cups water

1 teaspoon salt

1½ teaspoons sugar Place the pine nuts in a sauté pan and toast over medium-high heat until aromatic and slightly light brown in colour.

Transfer the nuts to a bowl and pour water on top of the nuts. Cover with plastic wrap and place in the fridge overnight (about 12 hours).

After 12 hours, transfer to a blender and blend until smooth. Pour the mixture back into the bowl and let sit in the fridge for another two hours.

Pour the mixture through a chinois or cheese cloth. Discard the chuck and reserve the milk. Stir in the salt and sugar until dissolved. Reserve in the fridge until use.


2 cups flour (plus extra for dusting)

3 egg yolks

2 whole eggs

1 tablespoon oil

¼ cup beet puree

1 teaspoon salt Place the flour in a pile on a clean cooking surface. With two fingers, use a circular motion to make a well in the centre of the pile.

Combine the rest of the ingredients in a blender. Blend until fully incorporated.

Pour the mixture into the well in the flour.

Slowly incorporate the flour into the liquid by moving your hand in a circular motion in the egg mixture, gradually pulling the flour in. With the other hand, slowly push some of the other flour into the mix. After the egg mixture begins to get thicker, mix all of the ingredients with both hands to form the dough.

Once the dough has formed, knead the dough using the heels of your hands.

Knead the dough for about 10 minutes, allowing the gluten to form. You can test this by pressing a finger into the dough.

It should bounce back slightly and feel smooth. Wrap the dough tightly with plastic wrap and place in the fridge to rest for at least 30 minutes.


1 cup onion, julienned

½ cup blue cheese

1 teaspoon white wine vinegar

1 tablespoon orange juice

1 tablespoon chives, finely sliced

1 cup mascarpone Salt


2 eggs, beaten

For the filling, preheat oven to 350 F.

Place the onions in a medium-sized pot over medium heat. Once the onions start to sweat, turn the heat down to low.

Cook the onions on low for about 40 minutes, stirring occasionally. The onions should caramelize and smell very sweet. While stirring, scrape the bottom of the pot to stop the onions from sticking. Deglaze the pan with water if needed. Once the onions are brown in colour, transfer to a baking tray lined with parchment paper to cool.

Place the blue cheese on a baking sheet and put in the oven. Roast for about 15 -20 minutes, or until the cheese has slightly melted and started to colour slightly on the surface.

In a food processor, combine the roasted blue cheese, caramelized onion, vinegar and orange juice. Pulse until combined and mixed well. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and allow to cool down to room temperature.

Cut the chives, and then add the mascarpone, chives and salt to the bowl.

Fold all of the ingredients together until fully incorporated. (The blue cheese mixture must be cool to stop the mascarpone from splitting when combined.) Reserve for filling the raviolis.

For the raviolis, pull the pasta dough out of the fridge to temper slightly. Cut the dough into quarters. Take one quarter and, using a pasta roller on a hard flat surface, roll out the dough starting at the thickest setting.

Place the rolled out piece of dough on the table surface, and dust it with flour if the dough is too wet. Take one side and fold it back into the dough 1/3 of the way and take the other side and fold it on top. Folding the dough produces layers and folds air into the dough, which makes for a better pasta. Repeat this process about six times on the thickest setting.

Next, roll the dough on the next thinnest setting. Continue this process until you have reached the second-thinnest setting.

If the dough feels too wet, dust it with flour. If it is too dry, spray a little bit of water on it to moisten it. The pasta should be thin enough to see your hand through it slightly, but not so thin that it stretches when you touch it. If you do not have a pasta roller, use a rolling pin or wine bottle for this process.

Lay your pasta sheet out. Fold the pasta sheet in half horizontally to crease it and pull back apart. Using a small spoon, scoop small balls of ravioli filling and place on the pasta sheet about 1 inch from the edge.

Leave room in between each ball of filing, about 3 to 5 inches. This space is needed to produce the folded edges.

Egg wash around the filling. Fold the top half of the pasta sheet over the bottom half, starting from the crease in the pasta sheet. Be sure to fold slowly and press outward to push out the air so no bubbles form. Pat the dough between each filling bump to create a seal.

Using a ring cutter or pasta cutter, cut the raviolis. Be sure to leave a gap between where the filling is and where you cut to produce a flap.

Place the finished raviolis on a baking tray dusted with flour or semolina flour.

Cover with slightly damp towel to ensure the pasta doesn't dry out. Discard the trimmed pasta dough and repeat this process until all the pasta dough is used.

To cook the pasta, place a large pot filled with water over high heat.

Season the water heavily with salt.

In a small sauce pot, heat up the pine nut milk slightly.

Once the pasta water is almost boiling, add the raviolis. Keep water at a gentle simmer.

Once the pasta begins to float, wait another 30 seconds and pull them from the water. Toss them with butter and season with salt.

Pour the pine nut milk on the plate in the centre. Place raviolis on the plate on top of the pine nut milk.

Dress the grated beets with the orange vinaigrette, season with salt, plate and serve.

Serves 4.

Associated Graphic


Advocates, owners say pot-shop policing inconsistent
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page M1

On a warm fall day, the distinctive smell of dried cannabis buds wafts out to the sidewalk of a busy midtown Toronto street.

WeeMedical on St. Clair Avenue will at times leave its front door open, providing a clear view for passers-by of what is for sale. Far from secretive, the retail operation is located just a few doors from a donut shop where it is not unusual to see a parked police car. It was one of the 43 dispensaries where Toronto police executed search warrants in late May of this year, yet it's business as usual now, open seven days a week.

A few kilometres south, at Green Buddha on College Street, a Blue Jays-cap-wearing employee barely glances up from his phone as he sits behind a counter topped with a number of glass jars filled with different strains of cannabis. A colleague was charged with drug trafficking offences a few weeks back, but this appears to be of little concern. "It wasn't me," said the employee, who then resumes scanning his phone.

It's been nearly five months since Toronto police raided dozens of storefront marijuana dispensaries in an attempt to crackdown on the illegal industry.

The city-wide sweep, called Project Claudia, led to nearly 200 trafficking-related charges and the arrests of 90 people. The city's Municipal and Licensing Standards division also issued nearly 80 sets of charges related to bylaw infractions (such as operating without a business license).

This week the city announced the owners and employees of six dispensaries had pleaded guilty to bylaw infractions and were ordered to pay fines ranging from hundreds of dollars to $4,000. Of the 138 Toronto dispensaries investigated by the city this year, it believes 85 have shut down.

Dozens of others, however, continue to operate as the industry, users and frustrated officials wait for the federal government to announce its plan for legalizing marijuana.

In the interim, police continue to lay criminal charges. Since the mass raid, search warrants have been executed against some two dozen dispensaries, as recently as this week, according to Toronto police.

"One gets shut down, another one jumps in," said Neev Tapeiro, the owner of Cannabis as Living Medicine, which has been in operation for 20 years as a dispensary and a compassion club for medical users. His business was one of the ones raided by police in Project Claudia and while Mr. Tapeiro said he can't say much about his criminal case, he is frustrated with what happened.

"The police did not distinguish between medical and recreational dispensaries," he said. (Both are illegal, though medical dispensaries want proof that clients have Health Canada's approval.)

While there is no grey area in current criminal law or city regulations, what remains unclear is why police allow some to remain open while others are subject to enforcement. Toronto police spokeswoman Meaghan Gray said the service takes a number of factors into consideration before moving ahead with a search warrant, including complaints from the community and proximity to schools and parks where children play.

"The Service also has to balance the operational requirements of any given division," Ms. Gray wrote in an e-mail.

"With other criminal factors to consider, the Service is unable to focus all resources on marijuana storefronts alone ... the law is not grey; these storefronts are operating illegally. We will continue to enforce the law as it stands to the best of our abilities."

The police force's approach has raised the ire of operators, who range from small retail operations that have been caught selling marijuana to any customer, to more formal clinics that require medical documentation.

"It is completely arbitrary," Toronto defence lawyer Paul Lewin said. "Whether you will be targeted seems to depend on the view of the police division in that part of the city. It is also making the ones that get to stay open super rich," he said.

Mr. Lewin, whose law firm website states that he specializes in "cannabis law," questions whether the crackdown on dispensaries is about public safety and health concerns, or an attempt to reduce competition before the federal government determines who can sell marijuana through their licensed outlets. "We are now using the criminal law power to sort out the marketplace," Mr. Lewin said.

The Public Prosecution Service of Canada said that charges have been withdrawn against two businesses charged in Project Claudia. No other cases among the 43 have been resolved or gone to trial. Federal Crown attorneys seem to have a "low level of enthusiasm" in dealing with these cases, Mr. Lewin said.

That view is echoed by fellow defence lawyer Benjamin Goldman. "This is a mess that has been dropped in the laps of the federal Crown's office downtown. Crown attorneys, on the ground level and judges are asking what we are doing with all these cases," said Mr. Goldman.

"This could use up a huge amount of court resources."

In an e-mail, a spokeswoman for the Public Prosecution Service of Canada, Nathalie Houle, said, "The PPSC prosecutes the laws that are presently in place.

There is a large number of cases and they are proceeding through the system."

If the criminal side of Project Claudia is moving very slowly, that is not the case when it comes to enforcement by the city.

"This is against the law. The law is very clear," said Tracey Cook, executive director of Municipal Licensing and Standards.

"When there is a different regulatory regime, we will enforce that regime."

City prosecutors are active in provincial court, seeking fines and shut-down orders against dispensaries. "We are also trying to educate property owners," said Ms. Cook. One of the city's powers includes the ability to seek restrictions on a landlord found in violation of certain bylaws from being able to lease to any business for two years.

"It is an effective tool," she said.

Toronto Mayor John Tory said he stands by his strong support for Toronto's campaign of raids by police and city bylaw officers. "We are in a limbo period," Mr. Tory said, repeating pleas for "clarification" from Ottawa on how marijuana legalization is going to proceed.

But he made no apologies for what police or city bylaw staff have been doing in the meantime - busting illegal operations about which he said the city receives many complaints.

"I think that law says what the law says," Mr. Tory said.

"And I think most of these [dispensaries] in my view, are illegal, and they are certainly a continuing concern of residents and retailers in the city of Toronto."

Toronto city council opted not to regulate the industry, in contrast to the city of Vancouver, which adopted a new bylaw last year that permits licensing businesses that advocate for medical marijuana use. The bylaw does not regulate the sale of marijuana, though, since that is outside the powers of the city. A spokesman for the city said that, to date, a total of eight medical marijuana retailers or compassion clubs have been awarded business licences.

Toronto's enforcement approach earns praises from former politician George Smitherman, who is involved in two medical marijuana companies seeking production approval from Health Canada. He said dispensaries are misleading the public into believing they are serving people with legitimate medical needs. Only producers approved by Health Canada can distribute to customers with medical authorization, although not through a retail location.

"This is a black-market industry operating as a retail establishment," Mr. Smitherman, a former provincial cabinet minister and mayoral candidate, said.

Not everyone on the medical marijuana side of the industry believes that enforcement against dispensaries is the proper course of action at this time.

John Fowler, president of Toronto-based Supreme Pharmaceuticals, which is a Health Canada-approved producer, said it is time to look at the bigger picture. "Prohibition does not work. The problem is this, you are not going to shut dispensaries down by laying charges against the kids who work behind the counter," said Mr. Fowler. "If your goal is to get rid of the unlicensed seller, you have to move much more quickly to provide a regulated framework," he said.

Mr. Tapeiro is also calling for the government of Justin Trudeau to speed up the pace of implementing its campaign promise. "Now we are hearing that slow and steady is the route. It is very frustrating," said Mr. Tapeiro, who makes reference to the Le Dain Royal Commission, which recommended in 1972 that possession of marijuana be legal in Canada. "That was under Pierre Trudeau," he said with a sigh.

Associated Graphic

Toronto Police officers carry evidence bags out of the Cannawide dispensary during a Project Claudia raid in May.


Generations of society women and celebrities have gravitated to Carolina Herrera's collections. On the occasion of her 35th anniversary in business - and the release of a new book chronicling her career - Nolan Bryant talks to the designer about her unconventional start and enduring style
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L8

'I remember meeting Carolina and her husband Reinaldo at a party in New York about 1974, and thinking they were the most elegant couple I'd ever met," says Bob Colacello, Vanity Fair's special correspondent. "They were like MGM movie stars from the 1930s, but at the same time totally cool and hip - without trying to be."

It was not Carolina Herrera's first time making a fashionable splash. While speaking to her in her sun-filled office on New York's 7th Avenue in early August, she tells me that when she was 13 or 14 she "wanted to become a vamp like Marlene Dietrich, with a cigarette holder."

She may not have followed Dietrich into screen siren stardom, but Herrera has certainly made a glamorous mark on the world of fashion. Her entrée was different than that of many of her formally trained peers. "My family, they were all very well dressed. I didn't go to fashion school because I had fashion school at home," says the 77-year-old designer when asked about her formative years surrounded by stylish women. "I grew up with beautiful women dressed in a wonderful way."

Herrera has an accent, an aural souvenir of her birthplace, Caracas, Venezuela, but speaks with the unabashed confidence for which New Yorkers are known.

And it's fitting, because Mrs. Herrera, as she is referred to around the office by her legion of stylish staff, is fi rst and foremost an American designer. Her debut collection was shown in New York 35 years ago, and ever since, the Carolina Herrera New York collection has been made in her own atelier in the city's fashion district where designers like Bill Blass and Norman Norell got their start.

The new book Carolina Herrera: 35 Years of Fashion, released earlier this fall and published by Rizzoli, pays tribute to her storied career, and this season, her designs arrived on the racks at Holt Renfrew for the fi rst time. Both are proof of Herrera's continued design innovation and influence.

Herrera's story is one that reads a bit like a fairy tale: Born into an affluent household with a lifestyle that revolved around tennis, horses, world travel and wildly social relatives, her brief first marriage was followed by a second union to Reinaldo Herrera Guevara.

The couple settled in the Big Apple in 1980 - the same year she made her first appearance on Vanity Fair's best-dressed list - and a few years later, at the suggestion of the high priestess of fashion, Diana Vreeland, then special consultant to the Metropolitan Museum of Art's Costume Institute, Herrera launched her line.

"I went to see her because I wanted to do something with my life," Herrera says..

"I said, 'I have a plan to design materials, textiles.' She said, 'Please, no, what a boring idea! Why don't you try and do a collection?'" The seed was planted and d Herrera got to work.

When she came back to Vreeland with her "little collection," the one-time Vogue editor or gave it her stamp of approval with a succinct, "This is it, go!"

In April 1981, she presented the pieces at the Metropolitan Club on New York's Upper East Side. "I was so happy, I didn't know what I was getting into!" Herrera says with a laugh. "It was so much fun. I had live musicians playing Cole Porter songs and the whole of New York was there. It was about glamour, it was about femininity, it was about elegance and chic - everything that I still stand for."

In Carolina Herrera: 35 Years of Fashion, there is a photograph of legendary clotheshorse Nan Kempner at the show, and images of Vreeland, Andy Warhol and Bianca Jagger. "In fact, C.Z. gave a dinner for me that night at Doubles," she says referring to society stalwart C.Z. Guest, the wife of polo champion Winston Frederick Churchill Guest.

I ask what her design contemporaries in New York thought about her transition from client to competition. "Bill Blass was my great friend," she says. "I used to be dressed by him, by Oscar [de la Renta], Geoffrey Beene, Calvin Klein - all of them."

She says it was Blass who helped her the most. "He showed me how many models I would have to have for the show. He gave me the names of the girls. He was a good, girls good friend. Halston goo was amazed that I wanted to become a wan fashion designer. He fash said, 'Are you sure you said want to get involved in wan all tthat?' He couldn't understand it."

und Over the next O three-and-a-half dethre cades, the line evolved cade into a favourite of both celebrities and her society peers and has transcended generations with its gen sophisticated aesthetsoph ic. ""You never know where you are going whe to arrive. When you do something new in your life do you think you know where exactly you are going to end up? No!" Herrera says. "You have a vision. I didn't know there was going to be so much work involved. I didn't know that it was going to be a serious one. I thought I was going to do a collection, and come back to my house, but you have to do it all the time."

"There were those in the fashion world who doubted [Herrera's] commitment and relevance along the way, typecasting her as a high-society dilettante stitching up froufrou frocks for her fancy friends," Colacello says. "She proved them wrong, both with her huge success and the beautiful, modern clothes she creates." Herrera herself seems pleased to have proved those naysayers wrong.

"Here I am, after 35 years, sitting here and talking to you," she says.

On the morning of our conversation, the time slot in her busy calendar before our interview was blocked out for a fitting - a wedding dress for the daughter of a friend (she doesn't name names, so I didn't dare ask). The fi rst wedding dress Herrera designed was for Caroline Kennedy, the daughter of her friend Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, who at the time, in late 1980s, was being dressed almost exclusively by Herrera. It was that dress for Caroline's wedding to Edwin Schlossberg in 1986 that helped launch the Carolina Herrera bridal collection, which makes up a large part of her business today. "Jackie left her on her own with me to do it. She didn't interfere in anything," she says of the experience, an anecdote Herrera is keen to retell to the occasionally imperious mother of the bride.

After staging large shows at Bryant Park and Lincoln Centre during New York Fashion Week for years, Herrera recently moved her presentations uptown, showing her designs inside The Frick Collection, a gilded mansion turned museum on Fifth Avenue. "It's a beautiful way to show," she says. It's very civilized and it's all about the clothes - it's not about the spectacle." Around 200 clients, editors and buyers are invited to the show and "everyone gets front row so they don't have fights!" she says with a laugh. "Before it was 1,200 people at Bryant Park; now we get emails asking 'Why didn't you invite me?'"

Taste is ever-changing but it seems that Herrera's brand of elegance is still in demand. "For me, elegance is connected with beauty and fashion. It has always been and always will be," she says. "To make women look beautiful, that's what we want, no?"

Associated Graphic

SHOW AND TELL Carolina Herrera greets the audience at her collection's Spring 2016 show (top left). At former Vogue editor Diana Vreeland's book launch at Mortimer's restaurant in 1984 (top right), Herrera (second right) is pictured with Vreeland (left) and socialite Iris Love (middle). Herrera accompanies a model on the runway during the finale of her ready-to-wear fall collection in 1981 in New York (left). Bianca Jagger and Andy Warhol attend one of Herrera's shows in 1981 (above). Renee Zellweger wears a Carolina Herrera dress to the Paris premiere of Bridget Jones's Baby in September (right).


CAROLINA COVERED Released earlier this fall, the book Carolina Herrera: 35 Years of Fashion is the first to chronicle the designer's career.

Where the races are down and not so dirty
While Trump, Clinton slug it out in the national spotlight, campaigns for records keeper or soil conservation officer are more modest
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A4

ASHEVILLE, N.C. -- It's showtime for candidate Drew Reisinger. The crowd at a Democratic Party picnic has devoured the hot dogs, potato salad and brownies. The candidates for more senior offices have given their speeches. Now it's his turn.

Like an experienced politician, he takes the microphone off its stand and moves around as he speaks. "I'd be honoured if y'all would consider having me back there to represent you," says Mr.

Reisinger, who is running for a second term. "I am fighting for good government and good record management."

Wait. Good record management? That's right. Mr. Reisinger is running for Register of Deeds, an office that puts him in charge of such things as property deeds, marriage licences and death certificates. In North Carolina, this is an elected position.

That may seem weird to Canadians, but in the United States it is perfectly normal. Americans seem to vote for practically everything, from president down to (in one Vermont town) dog catcher. While Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton duke it out for the right to hold the world's most powerful office, Americans are also preparing to cast ballots on Nov. 8 for sheriffs, judges, county commissioners, school trustees and host of lesserknown and often obscure government positions. By one estimate, the United States has more than 500,000 elected officials, high and low. Many states have elected coroners; voters in Florida elect members to local mosquito-control boards.

In Buncombe, a mixed urban and rural county in the mountains of western North Carolina, a typical ballot will run two pages and list more than threedozen posts. Along with president, governor, lieutenant-governor, and member of the senate and house of representatives for both the state and federal governments, they include state auditor, commissioner of agriculture, commissioner of insurance, appeals-court judge and district-court judge. The lucky voters of Buncombe County even get to vote for a supervisor of soil and water conservation.

More about him later.

Mr. Reisinger's name sits at the bottom of the first page of a sample ballot. He admits some voters don't get that far, perhaps succumbing to writer's cramp or just confusion. When he asks voters to support him, their first response is often to ask what the heck a register of deeds does. Even so, he got 69,697 votes the first time he ran, in 2012, besting his Republican rival's 52,961.

He is confident of winning again, but, just in case, he has raised about $15,000 (U.S.) for a re-election effort that includes mailings, phone calls, doorknocking, yard signs and a wellproduced website,

Topped by a picture of Mr. Reisinger with his wife, Katie, and toddler, Simon, it proclaims that "Drew is running for reelection in 2016 because he loves serving the people of Buncombe County as the steward of our essential public records."

Great, but do they really have to elect someone to do that?

Why vote for a bureaucratic position that in most countries would be filled by an unelected civil servant? Don't Americans take this whole democracy thing a little too far?

Such questions occur to any outsider, but after talking to Mr. Reisinger, a fresh-faced, earnest 33-year-old who cut his teeth working for the election of Barack Obama, second thoughts creep in.

Mr. Reisinger admits the position is an anomaly, created by a colonial governor three centuries ago to limit land disputes by keeping a secure record of deeds and other ownership documents. Still, having to face the voters keeps him on his toes.

"If the people of the county aren't happy with the work we're providing or the customer service, or think we aren't keeping up with the latest technology, then they have the power to throw us out, and I think that's kind of a cool thing."

He says that since taking office from an elderly man, also a Democrat, who had held the post for more than three decades, he has been working to bring the office into the 21st century. He and his staff of 16 have digitized property records going back to the 1700s. They have brought in an online marriage licence application. They have made it possible for new parents to order a birth certificate from the hospital room instead of trekking into the register's office in downtown Asheville, seat of the county government.

One of his first acts as register was to work with county commissioners to cut his salary, from the generous $128,000 paid to his predecessor to about $80,000.

Mr. Reisinger proudly notes that his office has been digitizing historic slave deeds, making it easier for historians and ancestors to see them. His office issued the first marriage licences to same-sex couples after samesex marriage became legal in North Carolina in 2014. Would he have tried this hard to make things easier for people if he didn't depend on their votes to keep his job?

Mr. Reisinger has political opposition to goad him on. Republican Pat Cothran, who ran against him in 2012 and is giving it another go, thinks it's silly to have an election for such an apolitical job, but says she has to run in order to defeat the poorly qualified and "irresponsible" Mr. Reisinger. Once, she says, he closed his office in a snowstorm, costing the county money when other employees claimed compensation for working while his people were getting a break. Sounding a bit Trumpian, she says that, with business degrees and years working in the field of insurance and deeds, "my qualifications and experience are unparalleled and far exceed anything Drew can offer." Besides, he is from Florida and "my ancestors settled here in the county in the 1800s."

Theirs isn't the only below-theradar election in Buncombe County. Republican Jeff Foster is preparing for his own re-election fight, if you can call it that. Mr. Foster, a civil engineer, is chairman of the board of supervisors for the Buncombe County Soil & Water Conservation District.

What's that? He admits that, for most people, it's a head-scratcher. Even the mayor of Asheville, Esther Manheimer, concedes with a laugh that she doesn't really understand what Mr. Foster does.

For the record, soil and water boards were set up across the country after the Dust Bowl crisis of the 1930s with the aim of encouraging better farming practices that would prevent erosion.

Like many government institutions that exist simply because they exist, they live on, their workings unknown to most of the public. Mr. Foster's job is to chair monthly meetings of the five-person supervisory board.

He draws no salary for filling the post. Why is it elected? "I don't know that I have the official answer for you," he confesses.

Unlike Mr. Reisinger, Mr. Foster has no serious rival. His only opponent on the ballot is Alan Ditmore, a local character and population-control activist who talks about how contraception can save the world. But, like Mr. Reisinger, Mr. Foster takes his date with the voters seriously.

He plans to buy a couple of ads in the local paper and put up about 50 election signs around the county. He will do that personally, driving from place to place and planting them in likely spots, usually near streams, rivers or other bodies of water. "It's a water and soil position, after all," he says.

Mr. Foster, too, sees some merit in facing the electorate. "I have to look the people in the eye who I represent," he says. "If I'm embezzling funds or cheating or giving buddies special consideration, everyone's going to know about it. So it keeps you a little more in line."

A skeptic would say he is only trying to justify his existence.

That's one way of looking at it.

But in Mr. Reisinger and Mr. Foster, we find two committed public servants running for offices that they care about and facing the voters they serve. As odd as these elections are, there is something admirable in that.

Associated Graphic

Drew Reisinger, with wife Katie and son Simon, is seeking another term as Buncombe County Register of Deeds. 'If the people of the county aren't happy with the work we're providing ... then they have the power to throw us out, and I think that's kind of a cool thing,' he says.


Magic in the country
Owners had two pre-Confederation log cabins made into wings of their house, then unified them with a timber-frame great room
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page G5


Asking price: $1,100,000

Taxes: $4,848.00 (2016)

Lot size: 50 acres

Agents: Geon van der Wyst, Royal LePage Real Estate Services Ltd., and Reid Hilton and Gail Crawford, Chestnut Park Real Estate Ltd.

The back story

Patricia Rockman and Bryan Moran had searched a long time for a country property when they finally found the right mix of rolling fields, wetlands and forest in one 50-acre parcel in Ontario's Grey Highlands.

The two are doctors and avid nature lovers who enjoy being outdoors in all seasons. They are also deeply interested in the principles of the influential architect and design theorist Christopher Alexander.

The couple purchased the land, which had been carved out of a 100-acre farm near the town of Markdale and began making plans with a builder to construct the house.

They would be guided by Mr. Alexander's books - including The Timeless Way of Building and A Pattern Language - which describe a vision of architecture that looks into the future but also draws on ancient traditions.

But driving through the countryside a few weeks later, they saw a "for sale" sign in front of an 1855 log cabin.

"We stumbled across one of the log cabins erected on the side of Airport Road," Dr. Moran says. "That had us change direction."

The building, which originally stood in nearby Neustadt, was about the size and shape they had already planned for the master-bedroom wing. Their contractor tried to discourage them from incorporating the cabin into their design, Dr. Moran recalls. He was worried about the lack of right angles and straight lines in the antique structure. But the couple appreciated the heritage quality and embraced the principles of sustainability and using reclaimed materials.

So the couple parted ways with that contractor and brought in Victor Snow - an Orangeville builder with a zeal for conserving heritage buildings - to shepherd the project. Mr. Snow located another log cabin from the 1850s in Bracebridge, Ont.

They decided to make that a second wing of the house. They worked with architectural technologist Pamela Farrow, who helped them with plans to join the two cabins in the middle with a timber-framed great room.

Steven Vassallo was brought in to tackle the landscaping soon after the house was built.

"Ten years ago, this was just a meadow," he says of the land.

This craggy landscape south of the Bruce Peninsula was not very hospitable to the pioneers who cleared it for agriculture, Mr. Vassallo adds.

"This is rough land from an agricultural point of view."

Over the years, small family farms have endured increasing struggles in the face of big agriculture. As many farmers moved on, city dwellers bought up properties for ski chalets and country homes. The undulating hills and stony terrain make the area popular for walking, hiking and skiing today. Also, those small farmers who grow vegetables to sell at market or for community-supported agriculture favour the area because it hasn't tended to draw the big operations that use pesticides and chemicals.

"There's not a lot of spraying going on," Mr. Vassallo says.

The more organic approach creates a better environment for the weekend visitors, too, he points out.

Once the house was complete, Mr. Vassallo spent a winter getting to know the terrain and mulling over sightlines, then set about building fences and digging gardens. He has been a steward of the land and gardens ever since.

The house today During one sojourn in the area, the couple were out hiking with friends and came across a lovely little house sitting in the landscape. They knocked on the door and introduced themselves to the occupants, who invited them inside.

"Do you know who Christopher Alexander is?" they asked.

"Of course," the reply was.

Somehow in this rural area, they had come across another couple who had designed their house along the same principles.

The meeting and visiting the other house also reinforced to the couple that they were on the right path.

"It's not large, it's not pretentious. You walk into it and you feel magic," Dr. Moran says.

They, too, wanted to create a dwelling that ignores grandeur and instead focuses on the way people want to live, Dr. Rockman says. The couple studied the way the sun moved during the day and designed the house to take best advantage of the light.

The two pre-Confederation cabins were integrated into the design of a 5,000-square-foot house with three full bedrooms and bathrooms.

Three additional spaces can be used to increase the number of bedrooms to six.

The large, arched entry doors were reclaimed from a Caledon church. Many other elements are contemporary.

"We really didn't want this heritage house - it's a mix of new and old," Dr. Rockman says.

She points out that the timber-frame great room in the middle is designed to feel cozy and comfortable rather than cavernous. The kitchen's heated concrete floors, stainless-steel appliances, soapstone countertops and steel and glass shelves are a blend of traditional and new materials.

The kitchen, she adds, has a large window looking toward the road so that occupants can always see visitors approaching the house. It also faces a large garden of herbs and vegetables, and an orchard of apple trees rescued from a development site and transplanted on the farm.

The kitchen is well-designed and the prep areas are open to the dining and living areas so the chefs never feel isolated.

"It's a very social kitchen," she says. "When you're entertaining, you can still be really involved with all the people."

The house encourages intergenerational living and interaction between people, Dr. Moran points out. Knee walls provide extra storage space, but they also created tunnels for the couple's three children to scoot through, for example. A rustic wooden ladder up to a loft is fun for kids to climb.

The house is full of details such as changing floor and ceiling levels, curves and reveals.

"What's around that corner?" Dr. Moran says of a change in direction. "It creates a comfort and an interest."

There are also small nooks everywhere "because people gravitate towards alcoves for comfort," Dr. Moran says.

Mr. Snow's son, stoneworker Reed Snow, built the fireplace in the great room and some of the stone fences outside.

On the lower level, lots of cubby holes were created for storing ski boots and snow shoes and other gear. Beaver Valley Ski Club is a short drive away.

Outside, Mr. Vassallo has cut walking trails throughout the property. There is a wetlands, a pond and a stand of hardwood trees. Adjoining conservation lands are preserving the area's flora and fauna.

Mr. Snow was also able to locate an old barn, which has been rebuilt on the property.

Dr. Rockman and Dr. Moran had planned to hold their wedding in the meadow, but the remnants of a hurricane were whipping through the area at the time so they had the ceremony and party in the barn instead.

Meanwhile, over the years the family became good friends with Tita Ang-angco and Tim Warner - the couple who first showed them their own small house.

Dr. Rockman and Ms. Angangco later went on to establish the Centre for Mindfulness Studies, which offers retreats in the country for people wanting to learn about mindfulness and meditation.

Favourite features The master-bedroom suite is formed from one of the original settlers' cabins.

"The space feels fantastic," Dr. Moran says. "You're surrounded by the logs."

A set of doors faces east and opens to a small porch, where the couple often have coffee while watching the sun rise.

Above the bedroom, a loft area provides a serene space for yoga and meditation.

A large bathroom has a walk-in shower and a deep tub next to a window overlooking the fields.

Just outside, a Jacuzzi whirlpool bath is set in the ground and surrounded by rocks and low shrubs.

"It's very private," Dr. Rockman says.

Associated Graphic

Owners Patricia Rockman and Bryan Moran studied the way the sun moved during the day and designed their 5,000-square-foot house to take best advantage of the light.


The timber-framed great room in the middle of the house melds two log cabins, while there are also small nooks throughout to provide comfort to those inside.


Lost-language revival empowers speakers
Royally recognized efforts to restore the Kwanlin Dun's Southern Tutchone language reverses trauma caused by residential schools
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

WHITEHORSE -- Riley Vance is perched on a wooden horse in his Whitehorse-area daycare when he starts singing about tidying up in Southern Tutchone, an aboriginal language with fewer than 50 fluent speakers left.

The three-year-old's ditty is the fruit of an effort in Yukon's Kwanlin Dun First Nation to teach dozens of children words and phrases in the endangered language daily at a local head-start program. They now have the first ever children's book in the language. "We're at a critical stage with our language with only a few fluent speakers left, so it's been exciting to have them singing nursery rhymes," said Erin Pauls, who runs the Dusk'a Head Start program.

The Kwanlin Dun's work has received royal attention. Prince William and his wife, Catherine, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, sat down in Whitehorse in late September with 25 children, an elder and the Southern Tutchone children's book, which tells the story of William the moose searching for his son George. (The characters were named in honour of the royal visit.)

It is all part of an unprecedented effort by First Nations across Canada to save their struggling languages as fluent elders die off, the legacy of the residential school system's attempt to suppress indigenous culture. First Nations leaders say that with forecasts that half of their elders will be gone within six years, the added sense of urgency has been channelled into children's books, elementary-school programs, smartphone apps and other initiatives. Local leaders in Kwanlin Dun, a self-governing First Nation of 1,200 people who live in and around Yukon's territorial capital, say they had to act quickly or Southern Tutchone would face extinction.

While the instruction has helped slow the decline in speakers and has increased the quality of Southern Tutchone spoken on the streets of the Kwanlin Dun, councillor Sean Smith said the language is still at risk.

"We're losing three or four strong speakers a year. We only have about 50 left. It was critical we develop these language programs quickly," said Mr. Smith, who is teaching his oneyear-old daughter the language.

Ms. Pauls, the manager of Dusk'a head-start program, said the visit by the royals was surreal, as Prince William sat for nearly a half hour and spoke from the book in her community's endangered language. "They asked me if there were enough resources for language revitalization and the state of efforts. They were asking the right questions and they were funny and down to earth," she said after the visit.

A copy of the children's book, Hide and Peek, is now being given to each kindergarten and Grade 1 student in Whitehorse. Funded in part by the Prince's Charities Canada, the Southern Tutchone book comes with an app that lets children see and hear it read by elder Lorraine Allen, who did the translation.

The elder was moose hunting when the royal couple arrived and nearly missed the ceremony.

She headed back to the hunt soon after. While the Kwanlin Dun's current teaching system revolves around elders, the children's book is an attempt to make the language instruction more sustainable over time.

"Statistics Canada forecasts that in the next six years, half the elders will be dead. There isn't a significant written history, a lot of languages are in a near-death experience," said Mike Parkhill, who wrote and illustrated the children's book.

Mr. Parkhill has helped create more than a dozen books in a number of aboriginal languages.

He told The Globe he quit his job as an academic director at Microsoft when he learned about the state of many of those languages.

"It's not like Russian, where if you forget the language, you can go back to Russia and learn it," he said. "These words have been passed down over thousands of years, and people have to train for 20 years to get the stories right."

One of the projects he is helping with now is a computer program for Ojibwa communities in Northern Ontario that will give its users hundreds of possible conjugations in Ojibway for more than 13,000 verbs.

While Ojibway is a relatively healthy language with thousands of speakers, Brent Tookenay said he hopes the tool will help increase the vitality of spoken Ojibway in small First Nations communities where English is often used. "The point was to have it in our schools so someone could look up, 'How do I go to the store,' and they'd know quickly," said Mr. Tookenay, who is the CEO of Seven Generations Education Institute, an educational program in Northern Ontario. Based in Fort Frances, the institute is helping create the tool.

"I don't know if it's in danger, but we're racing against time as knowledge keepers in our communities, our elders, pass on.

Hopefully, this translator tool will help," he said.

Much of the First Nations language loss in Canada was caused by the residential school system, where a policy of assimilation led the federal government to fund schools that attempted to stamp out aboriginal languages. Traditional practices were banned, and survivors have reported that they were beaten if they were caught speaking the languages they learned at home.

"Many of the elders had such a bad experience in residential school that they ... speak English to shield [the children]," Mr. Parkhill said. The damage of the residential school system is still clear today. Many Kwanlin Dun elders who are still fluent in Southern Tutchone or Tlingit grew up in extremely isolated areas and were not sent to the schools.

Mr. Smith learned Southern Tutchone from his grandmother, who avoided the schools by living on the land. However, his mother and father were sent there. Teaching the once-banned language to the youngest generation is a way to make them feel empowered, he said. "This is reversing residential schools, it's reversing what happened. It's so powerful for the elders to see that light," Mr. Smith said.

Former Vancouver mayor Sam Sullivan is leading an effort in British Columbia to revive Chinook, a trade language invented more than 200 years ago to ease communications between coastal First Nations and settlers in the Pacific Northwest.

Chinook is not an aboriginal language but a highly simplified amalgam of aboriginal, English and French sounds. With only about 1,000 words, it is like a language "stripped to its underwear," according to Mr. Sullivan, who is currently a Liberal MLA.

"This is a time when aboriginal and non-aboriginal people came together and created something that we can be proud of. It was based on trade, not war. The whole history of British Columbia is in that language," he said.

The language once had more than 100,000 speakers, and has left place names and words that are still commonly used in British Columbia today. However, only one fluent speaker is left, Mr. Sullivan said: Jay Powell, a 78-yearold former anthropology professor at the University of British Columbia.

"A lot of loggers knew it well and spoke it, especially after they had a few drinks. Up until 1975, it was easy to find people on the coast who spoke it. As far as I know, I may be the last person who is quite fluent. I might be a museum piece," Prof. Powell said.

As an anthropologist, his area of focus was First Nations languages of the north-west coast. He is also the last speaker of a language used by the Hoh Tribe in Washington State. He said he is concerned by what he is seeing as First Nations lose their elders.

"I've spent 60 years creating and teaching language programs and none has been a success," said Prof. Powell. "Every First Nations language in British Columbia is in trouble. We've been trying for a lot of years, and so far there aren't many people, if any, who have learned to speak a First Nations language to fluency from schooling."

Associated Graphic

Jay Powell, the last remaining speaker of Chinook, a language blending aboriginal, English and French sounds, is pictured at the MOA at UBC on Friday.


Prince William and Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge laugh as stories are read to children by Lorraine Allen, a Kwanlin Dun elder (right), in Whitehorse, B.C. in September.


Advisory group offers economic prescription
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A1

OTTAWA -- Dominic Barton, the man tasked with drawing the blueprint for Canada's economic future, and a council of advisers have come up with a plan to lift the country's faltering growth prospects: Increase immigration targets by 50 per cent to 450,000 people a year, create a new department to increase foreign direct investment and build a national arm's-length infrastructure bank A group of external advisers to Finance Minister Bill Morneau will call on the government this week to dramatically increase the level of immigration and foreign investment coming in to Canada to stimulate a sluggish economy in future years.

Their recommendations include increasing immigration by 50 per cent to 450,000 people annually over five years while easing the process for highskilled and entrepreneurial foreigners to come here; building a new department to entice foreign direct investment into Canada; and creating an arm's-length infrastructure bank.

The recommendations were confirmed by several senior sources who spoke with The Globe and Mail.

The infrastructure bank, seeded by federal money, would co-ordinate the building of large-scale projects such as electrical grids, highways, ports and transit systems, with a goal of tapping $4 from private financiers for every $1 from Ottawa, sources said.

The 14-member Advisory Council on Economic Growth, chaired by Dominic Barton, global managing director of the consultancy McKinsey & Co., will deliver its first three recommendations to Mr. Morneau in Ottawa on Thursday. The council, which includes venture capitalists, institutional investors, business executives and academics, plans to present up to 20 ideas in the coming months intended to help Canada boost economic growth beyond forecast levels of less than 2 per cent annually through 2030.

The minister is expected to announce plans to act on at least one of the recommendations in his fall fiscal update, sources said.

"My sense is [the government is] keen to receive these recommendations as soon as possible," said one source close to the council.

"That probably tells you they want to do something."

In a speech to a Public Policy Forum summit in Ottawa last week, Mr. Barton said "We're going to come up with ... bold ideas that will actually jolt the system and get implemented."

Expanding and improving the immigration process would address a key concern raised by fast-growing Canadian tech companies.

Many say visa approval times for foreigners with high-level executive experience or in-demand skills can drag on for up to a year, and that coveted recruits who would otherwise move to Canada are not willing to put their lives on hold for so long when they have multiple opportunities. As a result, many tech firms say they have either lost out on key hires, or been forced to have such people work for them outside Canada.

"The current immigration process is overwhelmingly convoluted - even Kafkaesque," said Tobi Lutke, CEO of Ottawa-based retail software firm Shopify, Inc., which is hiring hundreds of people this year and has lost recruits because of immigration delays.

"The people we need to bring to Canada are not building widgets that Canadians otherwise would. The people we are recruiting ... are the teachers that help us scale [up]. If we want to build the best companies in the world here, we need to allow the best people in the world to move here."

Such thinking has guided panel members, who believe that increasing immigration and making it easier for skilled foreigners to move to Canada can increase the pool of people with the training, ambition and drive to create substantial economic value and help support Canada's aging population. For example, a recent study by the National Foundation for American Policy said more than half of Silicon Valley startups valued at $1-billion (U.S.) or more were founded by immigrants.

The panel is calling for employers in technology and other expanding sectors to be exempt from the time-consuming process of proving no Canadian could do a job they want to offer to foreigners for senior positions or specialized roles, such as data science or digital marketing. Foreign students who have studied in Canada should have an easier time immigrating, the council also believes.

In addition, the council will recommend in the coming months the creation of a national body to help Canadians develop their skills and training for more technical jobs of the future.

Council members are pressing Ottawa to create a department charged with increasing the level of foreign direct investment in Canada, which has expanded by just 2 per cent annually since 2005, well below the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development average of 7 per cent. Canada is seen as a relatively difficult place for foreign firms to invest, while fewer than 20 of Canada's trade commissioners are devoted full time to seeking out foreign investment. Several U.S. states, and countries including Ireland and Mexico, have hundreds of employees dedicated to that task.

Sources say the new agency would have 60 to 70 employees - not bureaucrats from other departments but people with relevant experience. They would promote Canada as an investment destination and serve as a "one-stop" source of information and links for foreign investors to local talent, universities, local-industry players and supply-chain networks. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau's mandate letter to Trade Minister Chrystia Freeland last fall called on her to create an "Invest in Canada Office."

The council's call for an infrastructure bank likewise echoes a Liberal election promise to provide low-cost financing to municipalities for infrastructure projects. However, the council and Mr. Morneau are now looking at a more ambitious plan in which the bank would gather and prioritize large projects that could earn revenue, such as electrical networks, and that attract billions in added international investment.

Council members Mr. Barton and Michael Sabia sketched out the infrastructure bank idea at the Public Policy Forum summit last week. "The idea of having some sort of central agency that can help us deal with those things with institutional investors makes eminent sense," Mr. Morneau said at the same event.

The council and government officials are anticipating some resistance to the recommendations.

Immigration Minister John McCallum and Innovation Minister Navdeep Bains say they support more immigration, but acknowledge facing some opposition from within the government. Several recent polls - including one conducted for Mr. McCallum's department - found little support for increased immigration.

Mr. McCallum said in an interview on Tuesday that he is not prepared to go as high as 450,000. But he suggested the number will rise from current levels of 300,000 when the government releases its 2017 immigration targets by Nov. 1.

"This is a somewhat controversial issue, especially when you talk about numbers that high," he said. The minister said no final decisions have been made.

Attracting investors to infrastructure will involve some degree of privatization - either for new projects or selling federally owned assets. A recent Public Policy Forum report said airports, water and waste-water infrastructure are the likeliest candidates.

However, public-private partnership projects have drawn criticism in Canada and abroad, while political meddling has created the kind of uncertainty international investors do not like to see, including efforts by the Ontario Liberals to change the terms of the privatization of Highway 407 set by the previous government.

The council recommendations are not binding, but panel members have worked closely with ministers and bureaucrats since the group's launch in March.


Finance Minister Bill Morneau's Economic Advisory Council on Economic Growth:

Dominic Barton (chair), global managing director of consultancy McKinsey & Co.

Elyse Allan, president and CEO of GE Canada

Katherine Barr, venture capitalist with Mohr Davidow Ventures

Jennifer Blanke, chief economist, World Economic Forum

Kenneth Courtis, chairman, Starfort Investment Holdings

Brian Ferguson, president and CEO, Cenovus Energy Inc.

Suzanne Fortier, principal and vice-chancellor, McGill University 6 Carol Anne Hilton, CEO, Transformation

Carol Lee, CEO, co-founder of Linacare Cosmotherapy Inc.

Christopher Ragan, associate professor of economics at McGill University

Michael Sabia, CEO of the Caisse de dépôt et placement du Québec pension fund 6 Angela Strange, partner, Andreessen Horowitz

Ilse Treurnicht, CEO, MaRS Discovery District

Mark Wiseman, senior managing director of BlackRock Inc.

Associated Graphic

Dominic Barton chairs the Advisory Council on Economic Growth, which will deliver its first recommendations to Finance Minister Bill Morneau on Thursday.


Big school? Small school?
Hands-on internship or research opportunity? Consider your must-haves before choosing a university. As students and administrators across Canada reflect on their schools, ask yourself what you want
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 – Print Edition, Page P4

I want ... to be an entrepreneur

Aidan Heintzman, project management student, Ryerson University, Toronto

I transferred to Ryerson from the University of British Columbia. My father was working at a company at Ryerson's Digital Media Zone and he asked me to check it out.

At Ryerson, students are encouraged highly to do things outside of the classroom [and] participate in extracurricular activities. We get course credit for a lot of the projects we work on.

There's this huge support network around students and doing interesting things. I've met probably 10 per cent of the smartest students, the most driven students I've ever met, out of the business school when I started a project helping the homeless, and through that I've been connected to five other faculties.

It's an environment that's almost intoxicating because there's so much to do outside of school. There's almost too much to do, because every week you might meet some other student you might be able to help. I think it's really good for a developing student.

* * *

I want ... the bright lights of the city

Scott Robinson, associate registrar, admissions and recruitment, University of Calgary

With the big-city life, there are a lot of opportunities to access a lot of cultural activities, great restaurants, great entertainment and so on. A city like Calgary has a lot of energy. It's a young city with a young average age, so there are a lot of things that cater to a young demographic. Arts and culture are part of that.

Access to those cultural activities separate a big city from a small centre. Moving on to the academic side of things, there is also an advantage in being able to access co-op and internship opportunities. For example, we have the second largest number of head offices in Canada per capita, and that's great for students because they can get into those corporations and find opportunities for their future careers.

* * *

I want ... peace, quiet and tranquility

Carissa Kocsis, student, Peter B. Gustavson School of Business, University of Victoria, B.C.

I took a tour of campus before I decided to choose this university and I just felt it was a great fit for me. It's so nice to kind of be at one with nature while you're studying and while you're learning. That being said, there are so many courses here at UVic that really focus on that aspect. I know there's an ocean sciences program and opportunities that you can take part in at UVic that really work with the natural landscape.

And even if you're not choosing to study that, it's great to go to the Quad, sit under a tree and study there in an environment that really fosters creativity and lets you enjoy the fresh air and beautiful landscape.

* * *

I want ... research opportunities

Robert Baker, vice-president of research, McMaster University, Hamilton

In listening and talking to students there's no question that students pay attention to the prestige of a school. So if I use words like Oxford and Harvard, these jump to your mind as prestigious places, largely because of the research that goes on there, and students want to go to prestigious institutions.

For students who are really thinking about their futures, they're going to realize that interacting with faculty members who are directly involved with research gives them a lot more opportunities than going to a school where basically you're being taught by someone who was simply interpreting a textbook or talking about what someone else has done as research. I think that makes a difference.

It provides opportunities for students to get involved in things directly. So if you're coming to a school with strong research programs, you have an opportunity to get involved as part of your undergraduate program and certainly your graduate program. If you're going to a school that doesn't have a lot of research, you don't have those opportunities. The labs aren't there, the libraries aren't there. So there's an opportunity even at an undergraduate level to get involved in a research program, either in the summertime or as part of their coursework.

* * *

I want ... a prestige school

Ollivier Dyens, deputy provost, student life and learning, McGill University, Montreal

I think we're close to 250,000 alumni living around the world, and an institution like McGill, with all its history and its success, triggers a lot of passion in people. So people on campus and our alumni have a very strong sense of belonging, and they want to help and they want to be there. So if you come to McGill you also come to a huge network of people who will probably help you if you get in touch with them, and this is what we're doing with our alumni relations, making sure our graduating students have better connections to our huge alumni network.

It also means that all of these alumni help McGill in different ways - politically, financially, giving us opportunities. So you don't only come to university; you come to a huge network of people who believe in the institution and want to keep it a thriving institution.

* * *

I want ... work and internship opportunities

Sreejita Sengupta, accounting student and co-op participant at Ernst & Young, Brock University, St. Catharines, Ont.

Most of my decision was based on my family. My brother had done a co-op program and so had my cousins and they had all recommended it. When I looked into co-op programs, I saw it could give me an edge over the competition because I would be getting my foot in the door. I would have actual knowledge of skills that are applied in the industry and also give me a chance to get to know what people look for in an employee.

It was such a great decision overall. The co-op interview experience not only gave me a lot of exposure to employees in different firm cultures but also let me decide which path I wanted to choose and which firm culture suits me.

It's getting a head start in the real world. I thought it was the best decision of my life. Honestly, it gave me the understanding that a classroom experience didn't give me. It allowed me to apply what I had learned in class but also get a deeper understanding of why things are done, rather than "this is what you should do." And it expanded my network.

* * *

I want ... a diverse social scene

Arig al Shaibah, vice-provost, student affairs, Dalhousie University, Halifax

There is the unique history and engagement with local communities, but then also the large number of international students, so I think that is a draw for students who are looking at having that pluralistic environment that's reflective of our Canadian culture and our global world.

Our population is 15.7 per cent international and we represent more than 115 countries. We believe that enriches the learning environment, inside and outside the classroom.

One of the things that relates to that is we have a Community Day during the first week of school. Incoming students right off the bat learn about how they're becoming not only members of a scholarly and intellectual community but a new social community and how to be good neighbours not only on the campus but also in Halifax and Nova Scotia.

* * *

I want ... a close relationship with my professors

Courtney Adams, acting director student recruitment and development, Brandon University, Brandon, Man.

When we survey students, we find the main thing that has drawn them to Brandon University and has kept them here is the small class size; the opportunity to get to know their professors and fellow classmates; and the opportunity for research assistant positions or teaching assistant positions.

Many of our courses have fewer than 30 students. Obviously, first-year courses are a little bit larger, but relative to big universities, we're only looking at, in some cases, 100 students or 80 students or 50 students. Relative to other universities those are tiny.

* * *

Responses have been edited and condensed.

Associated Graphic



Senior hosts grow exponentially with Airbnb
Fixed-income retirees join the sharing economy, signing on as hosts in unprecedented numbers
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B6

When Ruth Donsky's grown children moved out of her Toronto home, she looked at their empty bedrooms and spied an opportunity.

"I thought, I'm a little old lady with a house and a garden and two kids' bedrooms with no one in them," says Ms. Donsky, 68. "I should be renting them out."

And that's what she did, signing up as a host with the home-sharing platform Airbnb to bring in some much needed income to supplement her retirement savings.

"It's not a lot - this is the first year I've made more than $1,000 - but I think it's a wonderful thing to do in retirement. You get to work from home," says Ms. Donsky, a former independent school teacher who retired three years ago without a company pension.

She rents out rooms for $68 to $90 a night, depending on the season, in her semi-detached residence near Lawrence Avenue and Yonge Street. It's not a downtown location, and in her first couple of years she had very few guests. But this past summer she had more in one month than all the previous years combined.

The popularity is growing on both ends. Hosts aged 60 and older are Airbnb's fastest-growing demographic. Senior women make up nearly two-thirds of all senior hosts. They also get the highest ratings from guests.

"Seniors are signing on as hosts at a faster rate than the rest of the population," says Aaron Zifkin, Airbnb's Canada country manager. According to surveys done for the company, Airbnb hosts in Canada make an average annual revenue of $6,500.

Citing a 2015 company report, Mr. Zifkin also notes that while hosts from the general population are growing at a rate of 85 per cent, year over year, among seniors, however, hosts are growing at a rate of 100 per cent.

"There are more than 5,600 of them alone in Canada and we have another million-plus [senior hosts] worldwide," says Mr. Zifkin, adding that the reasons are pretty simple.

"Seniors come to Airbnb to earn a bit of money to pay for extra expenses. But it's not just the increased earnings. It's the whole component of social inclusion that comes with being an Airbnb host.

"This is a generation that grew up in an era where travel was about meeting people. It wasn't about scoring the perfect selfie."

An older demographic represents a departure from the company's origins in 2008 as a makeshift bed and breakfast run by a couple of hard-up millennials. Brian Chesky and Joe Gebbia were roommates who supplemented their San Francisco rent by letting out three air mattresses squeezed into their communal living room.

The concept has since taken off.

Airbnb today is a $25-billion company and growing - with more than one-million current listings in 34,000 cities and 190 countries around the world, Mr. Zifkin says.

It is free to post a listing, but Airbnb charges guests a booking fee and charges hosts a service fee ranging from 3 to 6 per cent depending on the length of stay.

"A three-day stay comes to around $12, every time it's different," says Colin Gillies, a 62-yearold Airbnb host in Toronto at Dovercourt Road and College Avenue.

Mr. Gillies first signed onto Airbnb as a host in 2013. Trained as a graphic designer, he ran his own business. His wife is retired.

When forced to shutter his business for health reasons, Mr. Gillies looked for a way to earn extra money.

"It's been a lifesaver," remarks Mr. Gillies. "I wasn't going to perish. I had some savings. But Airbnb gave me the opportunity to have a little fun in my life and meet people. So it was a little selfish."

Adding a kitchenette to a third storey once occupied by his children, he rents the whole floor for $125 a night, earning more yearly than the average host.

"I think a lot of retirees might not have set aside enough to get by on and so the extra income brought in as an Airbnb host bumps up their savings," Mr. Gillies says. "But it's also a way to meet people. I think many older people are starved for company and conversation."

Meeting others is also why Michele Hall of Vancouver first signed on as an Airbnb host three years ago.

"I love the camaraderie," says the 66-year-old retiree, an empty nester who rents out her grown daughter's former bedroom for $59 a night in the East Village. "I really don't like being on my own."

Becoming an Airbnb host has meant she no longer lacks for company.

Recently, Ms. Hall travelled with guests who had stayed in her home for two months. "They were more like roommates," she says. "We ended up becoming friends."

Ms. Hall won't disclose how much she earns as an Airbnb host but says it's below the national average. As she travels so much she can host for only limited periods.

She lives mostly on her government pensions. "I am barely scraping by. But Airbnb has allowed me to live comfortably."

The seniors paint a rosy picture and that's because, for the most part, their experience with Airbnb has been positive. They aren't out to become real-estate moguls; they just want to use their most important asset, their homes, to generate extra income.

"I have had only one bad experience, and it was with a guest, a young man, who celebrated a job promotion by getting drunk," Ms. Donsky says. "He came back to the house late at night and slammed doors. I was furious.

The next day I called Airbnb and asked, 'How do I get him out?' They had my back all the way."

Ms. Donsky tells the story to counter what she calls "all the negative press" generated by critics who say Airbnb's unprecedented growth is turning neighbourhoods into high-traffic areas, reducing access to affordable housing, and costing the hotel industry not just revenue but also jobs.

But retirees who rent out a few spare rooms in their home aren't the problem.

"If it helps seniors to supplement their income and they don't remove units that could be rented out in the existing housing market, I think it's a great opportunity for them to share their homes if they are present," says Thorben Wieditz, spokesman for, a national coalition of tenant associations, housing activists, the regulated hotel and bed and breakfast industry, rate payers associations and condo owners.

"In general we would support any type of home sharing as long as it doesn't remove existing units from the available housing stock. ... Research has shown that most problems we are concerned with originate with an absentee landlord renting out an entire property," Mr. Wieditz says.

Ms. Donsky says that Airbnb invites tourists to live like locals and share in the values of their hosts. Those who might not fit in can easily be kept at bay, Mr. Gillies adds.

"The premise of the sharing economy is building what is called social capital which basically means even though people don't know you, others have experienced you and they leave comments behind for others to read," he says.


5,600 The number of Airbnb hosts who are 60-plus years old in Canada. That's almost 10 per cent of hosts in Canada.

$6,500 Amount an Airbnb host in Canada typically earns annually through home sharing.

60 The average number of days Airbnb hosts in Canada rent out rooms in their homes in a given year.

49% Percentage of senior hosts who say their primary reason for hosting was financial.

Source: Airbnb surveys

Associated Graphic

Colin Gillies, 62, on the rental floor of his Toronto home. 'It's been a lifesaver. I wasn't going to perish ... Airbnb gave me the opportunity to have a little fun in my life and meet people,' he says.


Michele Hall, 66, of Vancouver signed on as an Airbnb host three years ago. 'I love the camaraderie. I really don't like being on my own.'

Lost-language revival empowers speakers
Efforts to restore Southern Tutchone, spoken by the Kwanlin Dun Nation, help reverse trauma caused by residential schools
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A15

WHITEHORSE -- Riley Vance is perched on a wooden horse in his Whitehorse-area daycare when he starts singing about tidying up in Southern Tutchone, an aboriginal language with fewer than 50 fluent speakers left.

The three-year-old's ditty is the fruit of an effort in Yukon's Kwanlin Dun First Nation to teach dozens of children words and phrases in the endangered language daily at a local headstart program. They now have the first ever children's book in the language.

"We're at a critical stage with our language with only a few fluent speakers left, so it's been exciting to have them singing nursery rhymes," said Erin Pauls, who runs the Dusk'a Head Start program.

The Kwanlin Dun's work has received royal attention. Prince William and his wife, Catherine, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, sat down in Whitehorse in late September with 25 children, an elder and the Southern Tutchone children's book, which tells the story of William the moose searching for his son George. (The characters were named in honour of the royal visit.)

It is all part of an unprecedented effort by First Nations across Canada to save their endangered languages as fluent elders die off, the legacy of the residential school system's attempt to suppress indigenous culture. First Nations leaders say that with forecasts that half of their elders will be gone within six years, the added sense of urgency has been channelled into children's books, grade-school programs, smartphone apps and other initiatives.

Local leaders in Kwanlin Dun, a self-governing First Nation of 1,200 people who live in and around Yukon's territorial capital, say they had to act quickly or Southern Tutchone would face extinction.

While the instruction has helped slow the decline in speakers and has increased the quality of Southern Tutchone spoken on the streets of the Kwanlin Dun, councillor Sean Smith said the language is still at risk.

"We're losing three or four strong speakers a year. We only have about 50 left. It was critical we develop these language programs quickly," said Mr. Smith, who is teaching his one-year-old daughter the language.

Ms. Pauls, the manager of Dusk'a Head Start, said the visit by the royals was surreal, as Prince William sat for nearly a half hour and spoke from the book in her community's endangered language. "They asked me if there were enough resources for language revitalization and the state of efforts. They were asking the right questions and they were funny and down to earth," she said after the visit.

A copy of the children's book, Hide and Peek, is now being given to each kindergarten and Grade 1 student in Whitehorse. Funded in part by the Prince's Charities Canada, the Southern Tutchone book comes with an app that lets children see and hear it read by elder Lorraine Allen, who did the translation.

The elder was moose hunting when the royal couple arrived and nearly missed the ceremony.

She headed back to the hunt soon after. While the Kwanlin Dun's current teaching system revolves around elders, the children's book is an attempt to make the language instruction more sustainable over time.

"Statistics Canada forecasts that in the next six years, half the elders will be dead. There isn't a significant written history, a lot of languages are in a near-death experience," said Mike Parkhill, who wrote and illustrated the children's book.

Mr. Parkhill has helped create more than a dozen books in a number of aboriginal languages.

He told The Globe he quit his job as an academic director at Microsoft when he learned about the state of many of those languages.

"It's not like Russian, where if you forget the language, you can go back to Russia and learn it," he said. "These words have been passed down over thousands of years, and people have to train for 20 years to get the stories right."

One of the projects he is helping with now is a computer program for Ojibwa communities in Northern Ontario that will give its users hundreds of possible conjugations in Ojibway for more than 13,000 verbs.

While Ojibway is a relatively healthy language with thousands of speakers, Brent Tookenay said he hopes the tool will help increase the vitality of spoken Ojibway in small First Nations communities where English is often used.

"The point was to have it in our schools so someone could look up, 'How do I go to the store,' and they'd know quickly," said Mr.

Tookenay, who is the chief executive officer of Seven Generations Education Institute, an educational program in Northern Ontario. Based in Fort Frances, the institute is helping create the tool.

"I don't know if it's in danger, but we're racing against time as knowledge keepers in our communities, our elders, pass on.

Hopefully, this translator tool will help," he said.

Much of the First Nations language loss in Canada was caused by the residential school system, where a policy of assimilation led the federal government to fund schools that attempted to stamp out aboriginal languages. Traditional practices were banned, and survivors have reported that they were beaten if they were caught speaking the languages they learned at home.

"Many of the elders had such a bad experience in residential school that they ... speak English to shield [the children]," Mr. Parkhill said.

The damage of the residential school system is still clear today.

Many Kwanlin Dun elders who are still fluent in Southern Tutchone or Tlingit grew up in extremely isolated areas and were not sent to the schools.

Mr. Smith learned Southern Tutchone from his grandmother, who avoided the schools by living on the land. However, his mother and father were sent there. Teaching the once-banned language to the youngest generation is a way to make them feel empowered, he said.

"This is reversing residential schools, it's reversing what happened. It's so powerful for the elders to see that light," Mr. Smith said.

Former Vancouver mayor Sam Sullivan is leading an effort in British Columbia to revive Chinook, a trade language invented more than 200 years ago to ease communications between coastal First Nations and settlers in the Pacific Northwest.

Chinook is not an aboriginal language but a highly simplified amalgam of aboriginal, English and French sounds. With only about 1,000 words, it is like a language "stripped to its underwear," according to Mr. Sullivan, who is currently a Liberal MLA.

"This is a time when aboriginal and non-aboriginal people came together and created something that we can be proud of. It was based on trade, not war. The whole history of British Columbia is in that language," he said.

The language once had more than 100,000 speakers, and has left place names and words that are still commonly used in B.C.

today. However, only one fluent speaker is left, Mr. Sullivan said: Jay Powell, a 78-year-old former anthropology professor at the University of British Columbia.

"A lot of loggers knew it well and spoke it, especially after they had a few drinks. Up until 1975, it was easy to find people on the coast who spoke it. As far as I know, I may be the last person who is quite fluent. I might be a museum piece," Dr. Powell said.

As an anthropologist, his area of focus was First Nations languages of the northwest coast. He is also the last speaker of a language used by the Hoh Tribe in Washington State. He said he is concerned by what he is seeing as First Nations lose their elders.

"I've spent 60 years creating and teaching language programs and none has been a success," said Dr. Powell. "Every First Nations language in British Columbia is in trouble. We've been trying for a lot of years, and so far there aren't many people, if any, who have learned to speak a First Nations language to fluency from schooling."

Associated Graphic

Jay Powell, the last speaker of Chinook, a language blending aboriginal, English and French sounds, at UBC Friday.


From drones to Alfredo sauce, projects produce results
In partnership with business, colleges take on challenges such as extending the life of a pasta sauce or mapping forests
Special to The Globe and Mail
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E2

From the kitchen to the great outdoors - and many other places in between - students and faculty at Canada's community colleges, institutes and polytechnics provide the brains and brawn to help get products and inventions to market.

These schools added more than $190-billion to Canada's economy in 2014-15, according to an EMSI study released Oct. 5 by Colleges and Institutes Canada (CICan).

Every fall, Research Infosource Inc. releases data on how much colleges and the like earn in research dollars. The top 50 research schools earned a total of $158-million in fiscal 2014, the 2015 report said.

While information from the 2016 report won't be released until later in October, with the full report out Nov. 17, the research income the schools pulled in during 2015 has remained "pretty level," Research Infosource chief executive officer Ron Freedman says.

"Previously we saw a period of rapid growth for a number of years and that growth has levelled off, but the number of partnerships and projects as well as the number of students involved in the research is increasing," Mr. Freedman says from his Toronto office.

While universities tend to collaborate with larger businesses such as multinationals, he points out that colleges more commonly form key partnerships with local industry - mainly small and medium-sized businesses (SMEs), which account for more than 40 per cent of private-sector GDP according to Industry Canada.

In college partnerships, SMEs don't just get access to highly skilled student and faculty researchers, they also get the benefit of colleges' machinery, equipment and facilities "that they may not be able to afford on their own or need only on a short-term basis," Mr. Freedman adds.

Research Infosource says a key metric for college research is the number of active and completed formal partnerships and projects, which generally get private and public funding support, including from governments. In fiscal 2014, the top 50 schools were involved in 2,093 active research partnerships, compared with 1,810 in 2013.

So what projects have been on the applied research plates of some of Canada's colleges and institutes of late? Here are just a few of them: .

Alfredo sauce gets extended life Kailey Gilchrist, sole proprietor of NONA Vegan Foods Ltd., gave George Brown College's Food Innovation Research Studio (FIRSt) in Toronto a meaty challenge: Extend the 10-day shelf life of her mother's cashewbased Alfredo sauce recipe, without changing the ingredients, to make it a more economically viable product.

In five months, FIRSt senior food scientist Rob McCurdy and culinary management student Hayley Turnbull, who has since graduated and is now a chef in British Columbia, increased by more than five-fold the shelf life of the sauce, which is sold at Whole Foods.

"We improved [Ms. Gilchrist's] raw materials, standardized her processes - we just changed the way she made the product, and ... she was involved all along the way," Mr. McCurdy says. "We just modified some of the ingredients to make it more process friendly," improving the product's appearance at the same time.

Completed in October of 2014, the partnership has solidified the relationship George Brown researchers have with Ms. Gilchrist, who this year was named Futurpreneur Canada's Entrepreneur of the Year.

"She wants to do more work with us to investigate line extensions," Mr. McCurdy says.

A drone for forest mapping KBM Resources Group's relationship with Confederation College goes deeper than just partnering with the Thunder Bay school for a recent project using drones for aerial surveys of northern forests.

The natural resources consulting firm, which is based in Thunder Bay and has an office in Prince Albert, Sask., specializes in aerial surveys, environmental consulting and technical services for clients in the energy, forestry, mining, transportation and utilities sectors.

KBM Resources partnered with Confederation College in a project comparing the quality of data acquired using unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs or drones) to current industry methods, including the use of manned aircraft outfitted with LiDAR, high-resolution mapping cameras, and positioning and data storage equipment.

KBM Resources has also hired numerous Confederation forestry program students for field work, including resource inventory surveys, says Stéphane Audet, who runs the company's UAV division.

In the now-completed project that began in 2014, student and faculty researchers studied whether drones offer new potential for more accurate and costeffective aerial surveys of northern forests.

"Since the [drone] research ended, it has allowed us to get a certain level of confidence to deliver an accurate product, and it's now another data acquisition tool for us - primarily for measuring stockpiles," Mr. Audet says.

"They [drones] fly at a much lower altitude than manned aircraft and can capture data below the cloud ceiling. These systems will cover up to 15 square kilometres per day, making them more cost effective for smallerscale jobs."

The KBM Resources-Confederation partnership allowed the company to "investigate a new opportunity and at very low cost, and now it's using some of the results," says Colin Kelly, the school's director of applied research.

Getting parents in the digital know Reaching parents with digital tools so they don't forget that important school meeting or miss out on what's happening in their children's classrooms is the focus of a two-year research project at Cégep de Jonquière in Saguenay, Que..

The project targets "parents with a low level of digital literacy" and aims "to draw a picture of access and use of digital tools made by the parents, to design and implement a communications strategy to equip them in supporting their child throughout their schooling," according to a Cégep de Jonquière release.

Josée Thivierge, an educational consultant who is leading the work announced in February, says that "disadvantaged parents may not have a computer. If they do, they may be shy about using it.

"We are looking for the best ways to reach parents who are not in front of computers all day long," she adds.

The first year of the project focuses on exploring parents' access to digital tools and how they use them. The aim of the second year will be to design a communications strategy and ways to put that plan in gear, so more parents will become comfortable using electronic tools.

A special outfit for Parkinson's patients Even when creating garments for medical purposes, comfort and ease of wear count.

It's one reason London-based medical device company Movement Disorder Diagnostic Technologies Inc. (MDDT) turned to Fanshawe College's school of design in London, Ont., for help in the development of a "motion capture suit" and "tremor arm sleeve" for people with Parkinson's disease.

A Fanshawe release says the suit and the experimental TremrTek sleeve aid in more accurately reporting and assessing tremors (which can occur in the hands, arms, legs, and face), providing vital information for doctors to decide the best drug therapy and dosage for individuals with Parkinson's - a chronic, degenerative disease of the nervous system.

The suit, which can be adapted for home use and mass production for commercial purposes, also features design elements for ease of wear and durability: large, simple-to-use zippers and belting features, mesh underlay for breathability, anti-skid fabric to tighten the sensor pockets against the body to more accurately read tremors, and pockets for 51 sensors located at key areas of the body.

Dan Douglas, dean of Fanshawe's Centre for Research and Innovation, says the project, undertaken by graduate Louise Marchand under the guidance of design professors, "demonstrates the trend toward cross-sector research and innovation activities and, in this case, by the merging of fashion with technology to develop a product for the health sector."

"The collaborative efforts between MDDT and Fanshawe College allowed us to address an unmet patient need in medicine," says Jack Lee, chief technology officer at MDDT, adding the designs incorporate "comfort and practicality into new medical technology."

Associated Graphic

A project at Confederation College in Thunder Bay tested drones for aerial surveys of northern forests.

George Brown College in Toronto was given the challenge of extending the 10-day shelf life of NONA Vegan Foods's Alfredo sauce.

Rowe driven to succeed
The first nominee to the Supreme Court from Newfoundland has dedicated his life to learning
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A6

In Malcolm Rowe, nominated to be the first Supreme Court of Canada judge from Newfoundland and Labrador, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has chosen a man with a deep connection to the land, people, culture and politics of his native island.

Although he has worked in the upper reaches of government and the courts, the 63-year-old Appeal Court judge has not led an ivorytower kind of life.

His story is a common one in the province. His parents were from 400-person fishing villages - his mother from Lamaline on the province's south coast, his father from Seldom, on Fogo Island, off the northeast coast. His father, who was born in 1912, went to school until Grade 6, when his father said he was needed on the family fishing skiff. It was a remote world without electricity or roads. His mother, who is still alive, went to school until Grade 10. Eventually, they moved to St. John's for opportunity.

From his father, Justice Rowe got his work ethic, according to his younger brother, Derrick. His father worked in a warehouse, and after he reached mandatory retirement, he got a job as a school janitor, and worked into his 70s. Next, he made fishing nets in the basement at home to sell to merchants up until his mid-80s. "He just worked. That's all he ever did," Mr. Rowe said. (Justice Rowe, who faces a public nomination hearing on Tuesday, declined to be interviewed.)

From his mother, who worked in a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients, he got his academic bent. His mother's aunt, a woman born in 1866 known as "Nanny White," taught him to read when she was in her 90s. When she died, she left the family her house, and so the two boys grew up in a kind of middle-class comfort, Mr. Rowe said.

"From the moment I opened my eyes, Malcolm read," his brother said. "When he was young, he read everything."

Both brothers (there are no sisters) went on to excel.

Derrick is a leading businessman. He has been the chief executive officer of Fishery Products International, a leading seafood company based in St. John's, and is currently executive chairman of Bluedrop Performance Learning, an e-learning company, and chairman of the board of Tennis Canada.

Malcolm went off to Ottawa, where he became a foreign service officer, an adviser to Conservative justice minister John Crosbie and a lawyer in private practice. A Liberal, Brian Tobin, brought him back home, where he eventually became the head of the province's civil service before being named a judge.

In making such a large leap from their origins, Derrick credits their parents for supporting their choices in life. "It's just an absolute commitment to whatever you want to do, giving you absolute confidence. We were never told what to do, ever. We were always told to do our best and we could achieve anything we want.

It just seems like a simple equation. There was never any pressure."

Justice Rowe, who is married and has an adult daughter, a lawyer in Toronto, is driven. Not only in his career, but also in activities he does for fun.

"If he's going to kayak, he studies it; he practises it; he trains; he makes sure he's got the best technique. He will study it to death," said Des Sullivan, a St. John's businessman and former adviser to two premiers. "He never does anything lightly."

Another friend tells a similar story of how Justice Rowe became an accomplished skier. "He didn't just take up skiing. He would research the equipment, buy different equipment, hike to remote locations, ski down and hike back up," Mark Dobbin, president of Killick Capital in St. John's said.

"That's a pretty intense way to ski.

You get the maximum experience doing it that way."

And Justice Rowe has become so adept as a sailor that, in the summer of 2015, he captained a two-person, 28-foot sloop on a 32day trip around the entire island province, stopping in 30 coastal communities to meet people along the way - another maximum experience.

"I think Malcolm is a guy who's always challenging himself," said his lone crew member, friend Jim Mitchell, a retired policy consultant and civil servant from Ottawa.

"He's a real adventurer, but he's very organized and careful and disciplined."

Mr. Mitchell said he brought along Thomas Piketty's Capital in the Twenty-First Century, a 700page economic history of the past two centuries, on the trip. He never got around to reading it - but Justice Rowe did.

Justice Rowe's intense drive explains how he became proficient in French. (Mr. Trudeau made functional bilingualism a requirement for the Supreme Court job.) "He said he was going to learn French," his brother recalled. "Trust me, he's bilingual."

The Office of the Commissioner for Federal Judicial Affairs confirmed in an e-mail to The Globe and Mail that he surpasses federal criteria for functional bilingualism. The flip side of his perfectionism may be a tendency to be sharp-tongued with lawyers in his court when they fall short of his expectations.

"He was more than prepared to lend a sympathetic and open ear to an unrepresented litigant," said Geoff Aylward, a lawyer in Paradise, Nfld. "But when it came to lawyers, Justice Rowe could be very forceful and very blunt in his approach, more of the old school, so to speak. If you had a thin skin, Justice Rowe was a person you might not wish to appear before frequently."

From 2002 until this year, Justice Rowe has been a volunteer at Action Canada, a national leadership development program. "My deepest sense of the country came from being in the North, in Nunavut, Yukon, the Northwest Territories, Haida Gwaii and Nunatsiavut [Labrador]," he wrote in his application form, describing his experiences in the program.

Grace Pastine, litigation director for the B.C. Civil Liberties Association, was one of the young "fellows" mentored by Justice Rowe.

"I and all the fellows were really dazzled by the depth of knowledge he has about how government works, about the legal and political history of Canada, and particularly Atlantic Canada," she told The Globe.

The group took a small boat out on a rough sea to visit a remote village in Nunatsiavut, an autonomous Inuit area. "About half the advisers were up top, overcome with sea sickness. Malcolm Rowe was holding court down below, telling us all about the history of Labrador and Newfoundland, the cultural and political history. The fellows were rapt," Ms. Pastine said. "He was an absolute font of knowledge, speaking from no notes whatsoever. He's the type of person who could give a lecture on almost any topic and you would come away feeling like you had just heard from someone who had written a treatise on the subject."

Ian Binnie, a retired Supreme Court judge, recalled encountering Justice Rowe when he was a senior adviser to Mr. Crosbie, a key Newfoundland and Labrador member of the federal cabinet.

Mr. Binnie was then a lawyer. Justice Rowe "organized a Coast Guard helicopter in 1990 and flew with our team of lawyers and experts around the various south coast outports affected by the threatened loss of fisheries in the gulf. We had a series of 'town hall meetings' to explain our case to the local people presided over by Malcolm - he is an amiable Newfie with a courtly manner and a rather perceptive sense of humour and was obviously welcome wherever we went," Mr. Binnie said in an e-mail.

The contest for the Supreme Court job became one in which not only legal qualifications but different kinds of diversity - racial, gender, regional - competed with one another for attention from Mr. Trudeau.

"As I look at my business career and my life," Mr. Dobbin said, "a recurring theme is you need a diversity of backgrounds and viewpoints within an organization.

Malcolm's experience in government, in law, on the bench and just as a Newfoundlander - that's a diversity that I think is good for the Canadian fabric."

Associated Graphic

Malcolm Rowe

An advocate for peace and women's rights
She and her cousin, Thérèse Casgrain, launched groups tackling issues from nuclear arms to pay equity
Special to The Globe and Mail
Tuesday, October 18, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S8

Raymonde Chevalier Bowen was born into a life of privilege and became a strong supporter of many social causes, including women's rights, nuclear disarmament and antiwar efforts.

In 1960, along with her cousin, the political reformer and late senator Thérèse Casgrain, she was one of the founders of the Quebec branch of the Voice of Women. At a time of deep global insecurity, the VOW drew together thousands of women across Canada opposed to nuclear weapons.

"She came from a very political family," said long-time friend Pamela Sachs, who joined Mrs. Bowen in the VOW at the time of the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, which many historians say was the closest the world came to a nuclear war between the United States and the Soviet Union. "Ray was trying to stop the spiral of nuclear armament."

Mrs. Bowen, who died on Sept. 24 in Ormstown, Que., of natural causes at the age of 97, worked for decades for the cause of peace, especially during the Cold War, as well as the political and economic rights of women.

Along with her VOW work, she also helped to found the Fédération des femmes du Québec.

The late nineteen fifties and sixties were a time of widespread public fear about nuclear war, the testing of nuclear weapons and the radioactive fallout that spread from test sites. The VOW wrote letters to the federal health minister, pointing out the rising danger from nuclear tests, and in 1962 a 300-member VOW "peace train" went to Ottawa to present petitions to the government.

"We want as many women to come as possible," Mrs. Bowen, who was in charge of publicity, told the Montreal Gazette before the event. "It's hard for many to get away - they have children in school or at home. It means finding babysitters."

In March, 1962, Mrs. Bowen and Ms. Casgrain travelled to Switzerland to voice support for nuclear disarmament at an international conference. The VOW was written about in newspapers across the country, mostly in neutral or favourable tones, although a Canadian Press report from Geneva opened with a note of sarcasm: "Two 'desperately respectable' Canadian women tried with some perplexity Sunday to make the voice of their sisterhood heard at the 17-nation conference on disarmament."

Raymonde Chevalier was born on July 18, 1919, in a house known as Bois-de-la-Roche, in Senneville, on the western tip of Montreal island. The large château-style home, at the heart of a 600-acre agricultural estate, was built in the 1890s by her grandfather, Senator Louis-Joseph Forget, a prominent player in Canada's financial and business sectors and one of the richest French Canadians of his day. Her mother had married Armand Chevalier, a banker, and Raymonde's family lived in another large house on the estate.

Actor Christopher Plummer also grew up in Senneville and, although he was 10 years younger, became close friends with young Ray, as she was known.

The two were part of a group that made amateur dramatic films in the 1930s.

"I practically grew up with Ray, her family and friends," Mr. Plummer said. "She hypnotized us all with her daredevil energy, her wild humour, her dark glamour and, of course, those deep beautiful eyes."

The Chevalier family also kept a home in the elegant, upperclass area of downtown Montreal once known as the Golden Square Mile. Mrs. Bowen once said the first time she knew about class distinctions was when she read Lady Chatterley's Lover. (Despite its racy reputation, the D.H. Lawrence novel was more a critique of England's landed social class.)

Her first involvement in social activism was with the Montreal Civil Liberties Union, which fought against the so-called padlock laws brought in by the government of Premier Maurice Duplessis. The 1937 legislation, officially known as the Act to Protect the Province Against Communistic Propaganda, allowed police to padlock the doors of organizations such as communist newspapers.

(It remained in effect until 1957, when it was struck down by the Supreme Court.)

Mrs. Bowen's involvement in various causes was influenced by her cousins, Raymond Boyer, a McGill University professor and high-profile left-wing activist, and Ms. Casgrain.

"Thérèse Casgrain was one of the women who got the vote for women in Quebec in 1940. Thérèse was very active in the peace movement and together they helped found the Voice of Women in Quebec," said Marianne Roy, Mrs. Bowen's eldest daughter.

"She and Thérèse were on the founding board of the Fédération des femmes du Québec, which to this day is the main women's organization in Quebec," she noted. A March, 1966, article in La Presse was accompanied by a picture of the founding members of that group, including Mrs. Bowen, Ms. Casgrain and Monique Bégin, later a federal Liberal minister of health.

Their group fought for issues such as equal pay for work of equal value, and pushed to see more women in political leadership, especially in provincial and federal cabinets. The group's early work led to a number of changes in Quebec, especially in labour law.

Though she and her family and friends were influenced by the atrocities of the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s, her pacifism also developed through personal experience in the Second World War. Her youngest brother, Frederic Chevalier, a pilot with the Royal Canadian Air Force, was killed in March, 1942, while laying mines off the coast of Holland. He was 21.

She was active in volunteer work on the home front during the war and, in 1940, she married Desmond Farrell in the family chapel at Bois-de-la-Roche. He would soon serve as an RCAF pilot overseas. Squadron Leader Farrell's Wellington bomber went missing on June 7, 1944, leaving her with their two-year-old son Dominic, always known as Nick.

In 1945, she married Group Captain Georges Roy, a bomber pilot who had been shot down over Germany on his 33rd mission in October, 1944. The couple settled on her family's estate in a house that was designed to accommodate the needs of her husband, whose leg had been amputated in a German hospital.

They had three daughters, Marianne, Danièle and Michèle, and divorced in the mid-1960s.

She continued to live at her home in Senneville and also had a house in Montreal. While working as a real estate agent in the city, she met and eventually married Colonel William Bowen, a decorated officer who had fought in Normandy and Holland.

"Despite having three military husbands, she hated the military and most governments," family friend Roman Jarymowycz said, adding that she once had "a doormat of Brian Mulroney and Ronald Reagan at her front door."

"She was a great woman," he said, "and a unique, quite indescribable, Canadian."

Her friend Pamela Sachs recalled that Mrs. Bowen attended Remembrance Day ceremonies in Montreal wearing her first husband's medals as a symbol of respect for those who died in the war. But she would never refer to Germany as "the enemy," as she thought that too militaristic.

In 1982, the Bowens sold their home on the family estate in Senneville and moved to a 100acre farm in Elgin in southern Quebec. They worked their small holding, with a large vegetable garden, geese, ducks and chickens, which she exhibited at the annual Havelock Fair, and some sheep and pigs.

After her husband's death in 1998, she lived alone, although two of her daughters had properties nearby. Her last political battle was against the establishment of a large commercial pig farm near her property.

She leaves her son, Nick Farrell, and her daughters, Marianne, Danièle and Michèle Roy.

To submit an I Remember:

Send us a memory of someone we have recently profiled on the Obituaries page. Please include I Remember in the subject field.

Associated Graphic

Raymonde Chevalier Bowen, born into a wealthy family, began her social activism at a young age, fighting against Quebec's so-called padlock laws.


Should I go right into a business degree?
Whether to study business at the undergraduate level or get a broad education first and then get a graduate degree such as an MBA depends on the interests and career goals of the student
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 – Print Edition, Page P37

PICTURE A YOUNG HIGH-SCHOOL GRAD. She's personable, good with numbers and has always had an entrepreneurial bent. She has her heart set on being a business person. Let's call her Janet.

Now, should Janet dive right in and get an undergraduate business degree? Or should she learn more about the world first, perhaps get a degree in the humanities, or maybe specialize in a marketable field such as engineering, and then take that broad education or specialized skill and pursue a master's in business administration later on?

Some fields require students to get a broad education first and learn the profession later. Medicine, for one. Law is another. But business education is different.

An undergraduate business degree works for some people. It gets them right into the job experience they want.

For others, particularly those in more traditional business fields such as finance, an MBA is still crucial. Remember, not only do business students learn to sell something, they also must learn to sell themselves to companies and investors in their chosen area of business. And so the decision on whether to study business in undergrad or in grad school highly depends on the individual.

Kareen Sarhane, for instance, got a bachelor of commerce at Queen's University in Kingston. She used the degree to get into advertising at a Toronto-based agency, and she feels her BComm was enough. Paper credentials at a graduate level count for little, she says, compared with talent and experience in her industry.

"I've spoken to people who have gone to an MBA program," she says. "You don't really learn anything that you don't learn with a BComm. You just are now in a [learning] environment where there are people around you who have professional experience."

So, for her, a BComm gave her the business training she needed. What a BComm student gets less of, she feels, is the same kind of learning that occurs in graduate school; that is, learning from past experience. When you get an MBA, the learning stems "from personal knowledge and experience," she says, whereas during a BComm, students are doing more textbook-type learning, "dealing with case work and hypotheticals."

Ms. Sarhane indicated that a BComm lets a student get more immediately hired and directly into their chosen area of business, getting that crucial work experience, whereas an MBA is more about career advancement based on higher educational credentials. "I didn't feel I needed to waste my time doing something like that, because the career path that I've chosen doesn't really require it," she says.

Her friend Shannon Hamilton, on the other hand, feels differently. She went the other route and got a broader education first. This included a BComm, but also a bachelor of arts in economics at Queen's.

A business consultant with Accenture, specializing in customer experience for banks, retailers and consumer goods companies, she has left to get an MBA at Northwestern University's Kellogg School of Management in Evanston, Ill.

Her old job in Toronto is waiting for her when she returns, but she feels an MBA will open new doors at her company and at others that her BComm likely wouldn't have opened. In the middle of her MBA degree, she has had an internship with Google, working on customer-service strategy.

An MBA, as opposed to simply a BComm, still counts significantly for getting higher management positions in industries such as banking or telecommunications, but it also comes down to an enhanced education, Ms. Hamilton says.

"For example, in a leadership class or an ethics class, if I've actually been in that situation [that's being studied] and so have my classmates, we bring that to the conversation. That's just a different level of learning and engagement with the material that you just cannot have without a few years of work experience," she says.

In the end, there is no right or wrong decision, experts say. Every student's career goals and interests are different. But there are certain attitudes that exist in different sectors that students should be aware of. And that is ultimately the takeaway from the two women's differing views.

Ms. Sarhane pointed to a belief in the world of advertising, if not among some younger companies and startups, too, that an MBA seems old-fashioned and the antithesis of the startup attitude. A BComm suffices. But Ms. Hamilton notes that in the more institutional side of business, an MBA is still a required stamp.

They both indicate, though, that a business degree, whether undergraduate or graduate, depends entirely on what the student makes of it. An MBA, for instance, can be very self-directed, Ms. Hamilton says. "If you choose to go very deep into something, the resources are there for you. But if you choose to get a more generalist education, you can do that."

Joseph Doucet, dean of the Alberta School of Business, says that undergraduates have just as much flexibility to tailor their degree to their interests. If a student decides to pursue a BComm, they should still have some of the same focus and self-awareness as a grad student. In other words, a student can make a BComm a highly focused and specialized degree.

"When I speak to new students - new undergraduate students at the university - one of the things that I like to emphasize to them is that it's good to have a plan. It's good to have ideas regarding what you might do and how your life and career might unfold," he says. "But it's also very, very important to understand that there will be many twists and turns, and you will never end up where you plan on ending up."

Of course students should be aware of the job market, but they should not base their academic and career paths solely on that, he contends. It's more important to know one's true interests. That makes them more distinct in the business world and potentially open more doors.

"It's not a bad thing to think about careers and career potential - and not just about salaries and employment rates. It's fine to think about that, but I think it's more important to think about what interests people, where their passion is, what their talents are," he says.

It is also important to note that business schools offer many different degrees, from a BComm to an MBA, to executive MBAs and dual degrees (in which the graduate portion of the degree is sped up), or even specialist master's degrees, such as in finance or real estate. This allows people to get business training at many different phases of their career, beyond simply a BComm or MBA.

Still, one risk, especially in the digital economy, is that an MBA can seem old-fashioned or unnecessary in companies that are less institutional. Jobs in these companies are often a combination of being highly specialized and yet fluid, with employees expected to adapt to new specialties quickly.

"I'm in a creative environment, so it's a very different world," Ms. Sarhane says. "But I do know a lot of people who work in more traditional organizations, which have a lot more hierarchy, a lot more structure. And definitely, I've heard that if you don't have a postgraduate education, whether it be an MBA or whatever, you're not taken seriously or even considered."

For Ms. Sarhane, getting into the field of her choice with a BComm meant contacting people and researching jobs on her own. "You'll never see a startup come and recruit from the school," she says.

And that's why, as Dr. Doucet at the Alberta School of Business says, the choice of business degree has to be based on personal interests and one's own chosen career path.

Associated Graphic

Kareen Sarhane's bachelor of commerce from Queen's University got her a job in the advertising industry.



While a BComm worked for her, for others, a graduate business degree may work better, Ms. Sarhane says.

Barry Hertz talks with the bold British filmmaker behind one of the best movies of the year, American Honey - a devastating and profound portrait of youth in revolt
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R1

Quick, imagine the most insufferable movie you can. Would it be almost three hours long?

Focus on barely recognizable teens engaged in barely legal activities? With lots of close-ups of insects and filth and general decay? Oh, and would Shia LaBeouf inexplicably be there, too, along with the worst rat-tail haircut in the history of rat-tail haircuts?

If so, then we have all just collectively imagined the new drama American Honey. But while the film does indeed feature all those queasy elements - plus copious nudity, enough racially tinged profanity to rival a Quentin Tarantino script and more, more, more - it is also something of a miracle: a hypnotizing work of profound artistry that paints an exquisitely devastating, emotionally exhausting portrait of the United States' lost youth.

Of course, knowing that American Honey is an Andrea Arnold film makes all the difference - there is no other filmmaker working today who can spin such scenes of skeezy misery into high art. From her early short film Wasp to her features Red Road, Fish Tank and a bold retelling of Wuthering Heights, the British director has proved herself to be the reigning champion of what I'm going to haphazardly dub Squalor Cinema - films that aggressively explore the corners of society that most moviegoers would rather ignore, but are all the more mesmerizing for their ability to reveal intense slivers of overwhelming beauty between the cracks.

Arnold's work is a kind of controlled chaos - impulsive, raw and ultimately rewarding - which is no surprise given how the filmmaker tends to operate. "I remember I was at Sundance for Wuthering Heights in 2012, and I was supposed to go back home to start on making [American Honey]. The driver was taking me to the airport, and suddenly the sun came out over the mountains of Utah, and it was so staggering and I thought, 'What the hell am I doing?' " Arnold says over the phone from London. "I was going to make a film about America and I hadn't spent any time here, so how am I going to write about it if I don't see it? So I got to the airport, rented a car and took a road trip."

That impromptu road trip would be the first of many for Arnold as she crisscrossed the United States for several years, travelling up and down both coasts and through Middle America in an effort to flesh out an idea she had been sitting on since reading a 2007 New York Times article about "mag crews" - ragtag groups of itinerant teens who sold magazine subscriptions door to door, when not partying to excess in cheap motels.

"I tried to go to places where either the mag kids could come from - these small towns with endless horizons, a lot of space between them with nothing to do - and where they went to sell," Arnold, 55, says. "And I started to experience what it was like for kids on those crews. I hung out with them, and then at some point, we started casting them."

Although it was a slow process, it was an intense one, with Arnold and her crew eventually collecting a dozen or so mostly amateur actors to populate her crew of reckless, raging teens. Even the film's lead actress, the spellbinding first-time performer Sasha Lane, was found by happy accident on a beach in Panama City, Fla.

"There was another girl who was cast for quite a long time, but about three weeks before production, she had personal reasons why she shouldn't go through with it. So I got on an airplane, and just hung out on the beach," Arnold says. "We found Sasha three or four days in, and it was complete luck. She turned out to be amazing, and I rewrote the part for her as we went along, every single day, just sitting in my hotel room with my laptop as we tried to keep going."

The only experienced actors to appear in the film are Riley Keough (The Girlfriend Experience, Mad Max: Fury Road) as the mag crew's conniving boss, and LaBeouf, as the group's top salesman, a volatile charmer who takes an interest in Lane's naive newcomer, Star. (On working with the notoriously erratic LaBeouf, Arnold is beyond diplomatic: "I'm somebody who likes people who have personality, and he's got lots of personality. I make my own mind up about people when I meet them, so I didn't have any qualms about that.") Despite their air of celebrity, though, Keough and LaBeouf are quickly stripped of any presumed marquee sheen by Arnold, with both actors expertly disappearing into the rest of the awkward and irrepressible ensemble. And together, under Arnold's empathetic eye, the cast paints a devastating portrait of an oft-ignored generation, what might otherwise be dismissed as American trash.

Which is where the complications begin. Ever since American Honey premiered at the Cannes Film Festival this past spring, certain critical corners have worked hard to dismiss Arnold's work as mere poverty porn, a fetishization of rural misery. But that argument ignores both Arnold's own background and her artistic process.

Born to a 16-year-old single mother in the housing projects of Dartford, Kent, near London, Arnold grew up in much the same circumstances as the female protagonists across her filmography - isolated and desperate for an escape, of any sort. For Wasp's Zoë, that exit plan comes in the form of a chance encounter with an old boyfriend. For Fish Tank's Mia, it's her mother's charming new boyfriend. For American Honey's Star, it's LaBeouf's charming predator. But for Arnold herself, it was, perhaps unbelievably, the dance floor: At 17, she won a spot at London's Laban Dance Centre, which eventually led to her attending the American Film Institute in Los Angeles.

Simply put, Arnold knows just how important that rare combination of determination and luck is involved in escaping one's lot, and as a result, her work never resorts to sentimentality or exploitation. It's partly why she shoots in a 4:3 ratio, which looks like a square on the big screen: Arnold's films emphasize only the people in the frame, rather than their surroundings - which make for intensely personal narratives that are rooted in respect and emotional autonomy. It's a humanist method of filmmaking that separates the people from the societal clichés that might otherwise define them.

Also, she does her research. "I had only spent time in New York and L.A., which seem like islands to the rest of America, so I knew I had to explore," Arnold says of her various road trips. "It was kind of surprising, and one of the things that shocked me were the amount of drugs everywhere. I was going to areas looking for a certain kind of demographic, so it was a specific thing that I was doing, and I don't want to say [drugs] were everywhere.

"But these areas have been decimated by industry closings, shops are all closed," she continues. "It's a kind of time gone by, and you can see it because the buildings are still there. There's plenty of people still living in these towns, but there's not much to do for work. Which is important - where do you go from there?" It's a question that Arnold must now face as well. Like a good deal of her big-screen colleagues, she has dabbled in the world of premium television, recently directing three episodes of Amazon's hit series Transparent. But that doesn't mean she's abandoning the world of film, either.

"It was quite freeing and liberating, to be working on something that was already there, that was not totally my responsibility toward the cast and the crew," she says. "But I still want to do my own work - I can't help myself once one film is finished, I feel another gnawing away at me. I have to go after it. It's like an addiction."

Wallonia rejects CETA in current form
Many in Belgian region's capital say deal threatens agriculture and leaves them vulnerable to vagaries of multinational corporations
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A7

NAMUR, BELGIUM -- When the Canada-European Union trade agreement was unveiled three years ago, it was hailed as a historic opportunity for Canada and a model for trade relations around the world.

But now the fate of the deal rests here in a picturesque part of southern Belgium called Wallonia that's littered with relics of past economic promise - rusting steel mills and closed coal mines.

Few in Wallonia's capital of Namur have much time for the Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement, or CETA, as it's called. For them, the deal threatens agriculture, tramples on local decision-making and leaves them even more vulnerable to the vagaries of multinational corporations. And they shrug when asked if it's fair that because of Belgium's federal system, Wallonia has an effective veto over a sweeping trade deal that encompasses more than 500 million people, stretches across 29 countries and involves $15-trillion in economic activity.

"It's not an issue of size," says Wallonia's First Minister Paul Magnette. "We are a parliament with constitutional rights and we can ratify or not an international treaty, so we have the same power, the privileges, as a national parliament and we simply make use of those powers."

On Friday, Wallonia's parliament did just that. By a vote of 46 to 16, members of parliament approved a motion instructing Belgium's national government not to sign CETA in its current form. It's a fateful decision since the EU has said CETA must be approved by all 28-member states.

This is the poor half of Belgium, home to 3.5 million people, where unemployment hovers around 16 per cent and the local economy is reeling from a decision last month by Caterpillar to close a plant, putting 2,000 people out of work.

The local economy was at the forefront during two hours of debate on Friday. MPs from all parties insisted that they were not against trade, or Canada, or Europe. "We say yes to trade with Canada. No to the text as it stands," Socialist MP Olga Zrihen said.

There were a few voices of dissent, notably from the centreright Mouvement Réformateur party, which called CETA an opportunity for Wallonia.

"There will be consequences if CETA fails," said Virginie DefrangFirket, an MR MP. Wallonia will be isolated and cut off from our friends in Canada, she said. Raising her voice above the heckling, she added that Wallonia's leftist coalition was turning the region into "the Cuba of Europe."

This wasn't the first time Walloon politicians had rejected CETA. Parliament adopted a similar motion last April, and only revisited the issue because of intense lobbying by Canadian and European officials who produced an "interpretive declaration" that promised to clear up any misunderstanding about how CETA would be applied. Those efforts, which continued right up to Friday morning, left MPs more exasperated than convinced and led many to decry the backroom dealing.

"Every two hours, every three hours we receive papers changing the text," Ms. Zrihen said after the vote. "Is it really a correct, a responsible, political way of doing things?" Mr. Magnette said the interpretive declarations were meaningless because they weren't binding.

"We get elements of an interpretive declaration every day and I really appreciate that but it's not a very transparent, not a very open game. So I would simply plead for going around the table to put things clearly and transparently."

The vote in Wallonia also revealed the deep divisions in Belgium between the prosperous Dutch-speaking north and poorer French-speaking south. Belgium has six parliaments divided along regional and linguistic lines. To date, the two French-speaking parliaments - Wallonia and the Federation of Wallonia-Brussels - have passed motions rejecting CETA, whereas the agreement has been backed by the national parliament and the legislature in Dutch-speaking Flanders.

The standoff means the Belgian government cannot sign on to CETA when European ministers meet next week to approve the agreement. That meeting was supposed to be a prelude to a special Canada-EU summit in Brussels on Oct. 27 where Prime Minister Justin Trudeau would sign a final copy of the agreement. That trip now looks doubtful.

Canadian and EU officials are scrambling in the wake of Wallonia's vote to try and salvage the deal, but the feeling among many in Namur is that CETA is a long shot at best. They are adamant that their decision wasn't a sudden rejection, or an attempt to voice some kind of displeasure at Europe.

"We've said already more than one year ago to the representatives of the European Commission and also to the Canadian representatives that we had some problems with the text as it stands," Mr. Magnette said. "We have asked for a reopening of the discussions, not of the whole thing but we have a precise list of things which for us are not clear enough in this treaty. We haven't had answers so far."

Ms. Defrang-Firket was less hopeful. "I hope it isn't dead. But Wallonia has sent a bad signal," she said after the debate.

For Hélène Ryckmans, an MP for Ecolo, which is similar to the Green Party, CETA requires almost a complete overhaul. For example, she said the agreement uses a "negative list," meaning it applies to every part of the economy unless otherwise stated.

That differs from a so-called "positive list," which would specify only areas where the treaty applies, something she believes would better protect the economy. She's also concerned about the treaty's creation of an Investment Court System, a dispute-resolution process that allows companies to challenge domestic regulations. And she said CETA could force Wallonia to pay compensation to companies injured by a local regulation.

For people like Michel Cermak, Friday's vote was a victory. He's part of an umbrella group called CNCD 11.11.11, which has been fighting CETA for months, including organizing a 15,000-strong march against the treaty last month in Brussels.

"Today one of the elected assemblies in Europe has listened to these voices and has said we just cannot accept 1,600 pages [of CETA documents] as they are with a yes or no vote," he said. Mr.

Cermak pointed to mounting opposition to CETA in Germany, France, Spain and Austria, a signal that the agreement has tapped into deep-seated discontent.

"There is a general feeling all across Europe that the people we vote for have less and less power," he said. "People want to take back control, take back control of regulation and protecting their rights.

And stopping CETA and [a similar proposed deal with the United States] is just the first step of this process."

There are wider lessons for Britain and the EU in Wallonia. Since Britain voted to the leave the EU last June, Prime Minister Theresa May has indicated the country will push for a so-called "hard Brexit," a complete break from the EU followed by a new trading alliance. The Canada-EU deal has been cited repeatedly by Brexit backers as an example of the kinds of deals Britain can conclude once free of the constraints of the EU. But that now appears less certain and senior ministers in Ms. May's cabinet have expressed concern at how easily the Canadian deal has been derailed.

And for the EU: If it can't reach a deal with Canada after seven years of negotiation, how could it reach one with the U.S. or Britain? That's a sentiment Canada shares.

"If Europe is incapable of signing a progressive trade deal with a country like Canada, this will send a clear and unfortunate signal," said Alex Lawrence, a spokesman for Trade Minister Chrystia Freeland. "CETA remains a top priority for Canada. We are still working with our partners in Europe to conclude this agreement."

Associated Graphic

Wallonia's First Minister Paul Magnette, centre, meets with protesters of FUGEA, a federation of breeders and farmers, ahead of a Walloon parliament session in Namur, Belgium, on Friday.


Showdown over water looms for A Alberta reserves
A dispute between the Alberta government and the province's aboriginal communities over who controls rights to water is near its crest. Matthew McClearn looks at the history involved and the challenges yet to come
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A8

Alberta's provincial government and several First Nations appear headed for a showdown over who controls water on aboriginal lands, one that risks leaving some reserves without water during droughts.

The province asserts jurisdiction over all water within its borders, including on reserves - a notion some First Nations reject.

"We always had an unwritten belief that our water underneath us is ours," said Carol Wildcat, consultation co-ordinator for the Ermineskin Tribe, one of the affected First Nations. "It doesn't belong to anybody else. Alberta, I know, probably states otherwise ... the audacity of them, eh?" As Alberta prepares for droughts, it is pressing First Nations to accept water licences that it acknowledges would not provide water reliably during shortages. Graham Statt, assistant deputy minister at Alberta Environment and Parks, said it is crucial for the province to oversee water licensing. "It would be very difficult to achieve our ecological and environmental outcomes otherwise." But some First Nations are devising their own systems for managing water on their lands, openly defying the province.

The dispute's origins were set in motion more than a century ago.

In 1894, Alberta adopted a principle known as First-In-Time, First-In-Right, a system for administering water rights that was already popular across western North America. (It's often known by its acronym, FITFIR.) FITFIR prioritizes licences based on issuance dates; during droughts, "senior" licensees are entitled to their entire allotment before anyone else gets a drop.

Many of Alberta's approximately 50 reserves never acquired licences. Their water use was largely overlooked for most of the past 120 years, said David Percy, a law professor at the University of Alberta. "It wasn't as if First Nations were taking enough water out of the river that anyone was going to get upset about it."

That changed in recent decades as certain watersheds became stressed amid population growth, climate change and other factors, and as the province moved to mitigate these stresses. "When your basins are approaching full allocation, the ideal situation for an administrator would be to tidy up all the water licences," Prof. Percy observed.

It's difficult to quantify how many First Nations are offside the provincial licensing system.

Alberta's provincial government provided The Globe with data on historical and current water licences issued to First Nations (or the federal department of Indigenous and Northern Affairs).

Using geographical information system software, The Globe mapped those 91 licences to a federal map of indigenous lands in Alberta. Many reserves had multiple licences covering a variety of uses, from communal water systems to watering livestock and crops.

Dozens of other reserves appeared to have no licences for any purpose. But that doesn't necessarily mean they're offside the provincial licensing system.

Some reserves get all the water they need from individual wells, cisterns or truck-fill stations. Others may be supplied by a neighbouring municipality or regional water line. Water licences aren't required in such scenarios.

"Strictly speaking, every reserve has water," says David Laidlaw, a research fellow at the Canadian Institute of Resources Law at the University of Calgary. "So it's potentially a problem for every reserve in Alberta."

In 2006, Alberta approved a water-management plan for the South Saskatchewan River Basin.

Recognizing that the basin was already oversubscribed, Alberta stopped accepting applications for new licences and offered the last licences to First Nations.

Dorothy First Rider, a councillor with the Blood Tribe, said pressure from the province to accept a junior licence increased that year and has remained high since.

In 2014, the province created another water-management plan for the Battle River Basin, in which Ermineskin and the neighbouring Samson Cree Nation are situated. It proposed a limit in water allocations that, once reached, would block all future licence applications. Again, the province offered junior licences to First Nations.

First Nations contacted by The Globe and Mail balked at the offer. "It just means last in line, that's what it means," Ms. Wildcat said. "It's rude. Why am I last when I've been here prior to 1905?" (Alberta was created that year; Ermineskin was formally established in 1885.)

First Nations fear junior licences might not provide water during droughts - a risk confirmed in government documents. "Applicants seeking new (junior) licences in the Battle River Basin must recognize the risk to water security is high," reads the 2014 water-management plan. "Analysis of flow requirements and relative seniority to other licences in the basin suggests that a new (junior) licence holder is likely to receive water 3 out of 10 years."

The Battle River basin appears primed for future droughts. Last year the World Resources Institute published the Water Risk Atlas, a Web map depicting water scarcity around the world. Large swaths of Africa and the Middle East are depicted in angry red hues, signifying water-stressed areas. Nearly all of Canada, a comparatively water-rich country, is deemed lower-risk. The Battle River Basin is Canada's largest exception: The atlas characterizes it as high risk and predicts water stress will worsen.

Mr. Statt said issuing senior licences to First Nations "would have implications for downstream users and other communities as well - other Albertans, frankly." But he played down aboriginal concerns about being left high and dry by the FITFIR system. "We certainly wouldn't let something like a licensing regime get in the way of ensuring that access to safe drinking water is being provided," he said.

The threat of junior licensees being cut off remains theoretical, Prof. Percy said. During previous droughts, Albertan water users negotiated agreements through which all users voluntarily reduced consumption.

Prof. Percy acknowledged the legal risk to First Nations is nonetheless genuine. Clayton Leonard, a lawyer with MacPherson Leslie & Tyerman LLP who represents several First Nations on water issues, said it's naive to expect his clients to rely on the negotiation process - in part because Alberta created mechanisms allowing water licences to be bought and sold. "Licence holders would not want to agree to share water, for free, when their licences now have significant economic value," he said. "I don't think there's a good enough relationship between the local municipalities and the First Nations for a water sharing agreement during a drought to be easily arrived at," he added.

The parties seem to have reached an impasse. Alberta said in a 2013 report it believed it had satisfied its obligations to consult First Nations on the Battle River water management plan. Mr. Leonard said all alternative proposals his clients offered to the province have been rebuffed or ignored, and the province continues to insist his clients accept junior water licences.

Ermineskin and the neighbouring Samson Cree Nation responded by enacting their own water laws. The Blood Tribe/Kainai First Nation says it is considering following suit. Mr. Leonard said his clients have informed Alberta they will never accept provincial jurisdiction but don't intend to sue the province. "The ball's in Alberta's court," he said.

Prof. Percy said litigation would carry high stakes for both sides.

And the implications could be felt across the country, because Canada's courts have never determined what rights First Nations have to water. "It's a huge unanswered question in Canadian law," Prof. Percy said.

Asked about the reserves' defiance of provincial jurisdiction, Mr. Statt was firm. "Legally, the province controls and administers all water in the province, except for within national parks," he said. "That's where we stand."

Associated Graphic

Chief Ermineskin, right, is seen atop a horse in 1885, the same year the Alberta First Nation that shares his name - Ermineskin Tribe - was founded.

As Alberta prepares for droughts, the province is pressing First Nations to accept water licences that it acknowledges would not provide the resource reliably during shortages.


Carol Wildcat, consultation co-ordinator for Ermineskin Tribe, a First Nation affected by Alberta's looming water-rights showdown, says the province's approach to the matter is 'rude.'


With Dylan, the times are always a changin'
Even in the 1960s, many argued music was the new literature, and Dylan was not just the next Guthrie, but the next Hemingway, too
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A7

Bob Dylan's self-titled debut LP stiffed in 1962, the year Judy Garland's Judy at Carnegie Hall won the Grammy for best album.

Around the water coolers at Columbia Records, the mockers called the 21-year-old new folksinging thing "Hammond's folly," in reference to John Hammond, the legendary talent scout who signed him to the label.

What the button-down recordlabel types didn't know was that popular music was about to change, and that Mr. Dylan would be one of the paradigm shifters.

On that eponymous first record, Mr. Dylan contributed only two original songs, including Song to Woody, a message to Woody Guthrie, the hospitalized bard whom Mr. Dylan had sought out upon his arrival in New York from Minnesota two years earlier.

Though his first album showed Mr. Dylan's masterful understanding of his hero's vernacular, it was, in retrospect, mere throatclearing.

On his 1963 follow-up, The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, the young troubadour with a corduroy cap, scrawny voice, rough-cut guitar licks and howling mouth-harp had taken the baton outright.

Protest songs Blowin' in the Wind and A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall forecast the doom and upheaval of the 1960s that would follow, with the latter anthem establishing Mr. Dylan's role in the popculture disruption.

Fifty-three years later, Mr. Dylan has won the Nobel Prize in literature, joining Kipling, Yeats, Hemingway, Shaw, Steinbeck, Beckett, Toni Morrison, Pearl Buck and others in the honour, "for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition," said the judges.

New poetic expressions? Mr. Dylan was a legend by the time he was 25, and many had argued way back in the 1960s that music was the new literature and that not only was Mr. Dylan the new Woody Guthrie, but the next Hemingway too.

The Times They Are a-Changin' from 1965 wasn't jive. "As the present now, will later be past," Mr. Dylan sang, "the order is rapidly fadin', and the first one now will later be last."

The song established singersongwriters as a vital new sort, and marked Mr. Dylan as the first in rank when it came to a folk music movement unparalleled in potency previously or since.

The man even instigated his own sub-genre - how many "next Bob Dylans" would come, go and otherwise fall short of the standard set by the stranger born Robert Zimmerman from Hibbing, Minn., who flunked out of the University of Minnesota after just six months for reading the wrong books?

He remembered staying up nights reading Kant instead of dealing with Living With the Birds for a science course. Mostly, he was restless. "I couldn't stay in one place long enough," he recalled.

That impatience would agitate and motor Mr. Dylan's whole career. He began his investigation into singing and guitar strumming at the age of 10. Five years later, he wrote his first song, dedicated to the bombshell Brigitte Bardot.

He had a sponge's capacity to soak up music: Hank Williams, Jelly Roll Morton, Carl Perkins, early Elvis Presley, Mr. Guthrie and all manner of blues performers.

In 1959, in Central City, Colo., Mr. Dylan secured his first gig, at a low-end strip joint, as he would later recall: "I was onstage for just a few minutes with my folk songs.

Then the strippers would come on. The crowd would yell for more stripping, but they went off, and I'd come bouncing back with my folky songs. As the night got longer, the air got heavier, the audience got drunker and nastier, and I got sicker and finally I got fired."

The folk-music scene in Greenwich Village was bustling at the time of Mr. Dylan's arrival in early 1961. A piece by The New York Times' critic Robert Shelton, who caught the scruffy songster at Gerde's Folk City, heralded Mr. Dylan's ascension.

Mr. Shelton described the cherubic 20-year-old upstart as a "cross between a choir boy and a beatnik," with clothes that

required tailoring and talent that was bursting at the seams.

"His music-making has the mark of originality and inspiration, all the more noteworthy for his youth," wrote Mr. Shelton, who also referenced Mr. Dylan's penchant for puckish myth-making and biographical obliqueness.

"But it matters less where he has been than where he is going," Mr. Shelton concluded, quite rightly, "and that would seem to be straight up."

By 1965, Mr. Dylan absolutely was up and ready to move out.

The album Bringing It All Back Home was a vital progression to electric-based folk-rock.

And while the song Mr. Tambourine Man was mellow, it alluded to something hallucinatory, about the smoke rings of his mind and a trip upon a magic swirling ship.

"Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me," Mr. Dylan sang.

"In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you."

Many would follow Mr. Dylan.

Titan bands such as The Beatles and The Rolling Stones followed his lead and began composing more insightful lyrics.

With Mr. Dylan as its voice, a folk-rock generation was born, but not without growing pains.

This folk land was no longer everybody's folk land when Mr. Dylan showed up at Newport Folk Festival in the summer of 1965 with a Sunburst Fender Stratocaster that plugged into an amplifier and shocked the traditional folk-music nation.

Mr. Dylan's juiced performance has been mythologized and overanalyzed, but whether or not Pete Seeger actually took an axe to the power cables behind the stage doesn't really matter.

Winds were blowing and Mr. Dylan was obeying his muse, with no particular loyalty to anything or anyone else.

In the same year, Mr. Dylan released Highway 61 Revisited, a full-on rock record with Alan Kooper on organ and Michael Bloomfield on an absolutely electric guitar. The now classic Like a Rolling Stone was a revolution in C major - the last step from Woody Guthrie protégé to rock god.

Touring the record with The Hawks (who would become The Band), Mr. Dylan was famously confronted with dissension from his audience.

On May 17, 1966, in Manchester, England, Mr. Dylan and his band were roaring through the semipsychedelic part of their set, plugged into an especially potent sound system. They were about to light into Like a Rolling Stone when a betrayed acolyte in the dark hall bellowed "Judas!" to which Mr. Dylan responded, "I don't believe you. You're a liar!"

He then turned to the band and ordered them to "play it ... loud."

That same week, Mr. Dylan released his double-LP masterpiece Blonde on Blonde, with tracks Most Likely You Go Your Way And I'll Go Mine and the bluesy opener Rainy Day Women #12 & 35.

Often misinterpreted as a druggy insistence - "Everybody must get stoned" - the song is a comment on the backlash caused by unconformity. It was a taking of offence Mr. Dylan knew well then, and the dissatisfaction from some critics and some fans would continue to dog him as he made his way.

Since Blonde on Blonde, Mr. Dylan has zigged and zagged, soared and sagged.

He still tours doggedly; he was was on the bill last weekend (with Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, Neil Young, the Who and Roger Waters) at the Desert Trip festival in Indio, Calif., and will be there again when the shows are reprised this weekend.

Chances are he will not repeat himself. It's not in his DNA. "Have I ever played any song twice exactly the same?" Mr. Dylan once asked rhetorically. "I don't do that." Some of his fans wish he'd be more faithful to the original recorded versions.

Tough luck.

"With my thumb out, my eyes asleep, my hat turned up and my head turned on," Mr. Dylan told Time magazine in 1963. "I'm driftin' and learnin' new lessons."

And teaching many, too.

Associated Graphic

Bob Dylan plays his acoustic guitar in New York in September, 1961.


It grieves me so to see you in such pain. No, really, it does. Really
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page F2

Allegations that he is a serial sex offender are piling up against Donald Trump. He finally has an actual breathtaking skyline-darkening tower with his name on it.

This might be less of a concern for his party were these allegations not piling up upon an actual taped admission, gleefully given by Mr. Trump, that he is in fact a serial sex offender.

What's a party to do with that? Where do you go? Is it as simple as blithely changing one's campaign slogan to "Hey, America, Donald Trump really wants to take you furniture shopping"?

It's been interesting to watch the American right - those willing to admit that Mr. Trump's run for president poses a problem for every reasonable, compassionate, informed person on the planet, and we think possibly some dolphins - grapple with their current situation.

On the one hand, there have been what would be touching displays of loyalty, were they directed toward someone who'd never advocated banning all Muslims from entering his country and who had never been recorded staking a sexual claim on an elementary schoolgirl. On the other hand there have been vicious and very public attacks within the ranks.

I will admit I have been enjoying the Republican Party's amateur stage production of the film Heathers, and yet there are moments in these turbulent days when I catch myself feeling a knee-jerk sympathy for Republicans. Watching many of them hopelessly trying to avoid being associated with almost everything Donald Trump has ever said or done without actually suggesting their candidate shouldn't be president of the United States is like a watching a turtle lying on its back, waving its little legs in the air.

Sure, it's a snapping turtle and it tried to bite your finger off, and it has made it clear, in its own snapping-turtley way, that, were it in charge of such matters, it would radically curtail your reproductive freedom. But, come on, look at the little guy, rocking back and forth; how can you not want to flip him back over again?

And so, in the spirit of "even cold-blooded reptiles don't deserve to be left lying in the middle of the freeway," I'd like to offer the American right some guidance. Let me start by saying that the problem is primarily psychological: It's all inside your head; that much is plain to see.

The answer is easy if you take it logically. I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free. There must be 50 ways to run for cover.

I'll be begin by addressing some common pitfalls that many beginner disavowers are falling into but which can be avoided with a few simple steps: 6 In an effort to give the impression that you have some semblance of control over your own party and can therefore be trusted to govern a nation, try not to imply that your opponents are actually the ones responsible for your party's nominee selection.

The "You, with your liberal ways, have caused us to carefully stoke a fire for many years, cover ourselves with gasoline and jump straight into it" defence does not inspire the confidence you seem to think it does.

It doesn't matter how liberal, or non-white or "politically correct" their very popular candidate may be, your own party could still have chosen to nominate literally anyone other than an an angry bag of orange Jell-O who, far from being a successful businessman is America's astoundingly uncharming answer to Bertie Wooster - if Jeeves ran Breitbart News and Bertie allegedly sexually assaults women at 39,000 feet.

He is your nominee, you picked him, then you backed him. He didn't pull a sword from a stone.

When you are disavowing a candidate this polarizing, you are going to lose some, possibly most, of his hard-core supporters. In the long run, this is a good thing. If you keep those particular supporters around, they will just continue to nominate Trumps.

Should you start feeling sentimental about their support, take a long hard look at the proTrump memes posted under every Hillary Clinton tweet.

So much clearly enjoyed effort is put into these vile creations.

Maybe Americans need to start quilting more. Seriously, it's like Nazi Etsy down there.

Saying "I denounce his comments and the behaviour that it incites. I believe that Mike Pence would be the best nominee for the Republican Party" is a pretty good example of disavowal.

I'd say, "Share your work with the whole class," Representative Scott Garrett of New Jersey, had you not had your people follow your statement up by promising that you will, however, of course, be voting for Donald Trump.

That's a fail.

Calling Mr. Trump's actions "indefensible" is more of a conversational gambit than a disavowal, if you do it while you're still endorsing the man for president, Paul Ryan.

Try practising disavowing in front of your mirror. Just stand up straight, look yourself in the eye and say: "I don't think Trump should be President. I saw the last debate. I am seriously starting to worry that Donald

Trump is just running for office as a really roundabout way of getting people to explain the news to him."

Also, while I understand, given the circumstances, wanting to be both a heartbeat away from the presidency and a million miles away from the actual president, disavowing your candidate is not the same as pretending your candidate doesn't exist, Mike Pence.

Lonely children often invent imaginary friends and this can be quite healthy. But when you're an adult and you're nominated for vice-president and you find yourself onstage in a nationally televised debate introducing the American people to your invisible running-mate, Harvey, the Fiscally Responsible Rabbit Who is Not Best Friends with a Russian Bear, it might be time to think about spending more time with your family.

Leave Beyoncé out of it. I really shouldn't have to explain this to you. Whatever it is (unless it's a playlist), just leave her out of it.

We've reached the point in the American election where it's possible to entertain, at least for a split second, the notion that Mr. Trump's campaign team planted The New York Times story that broke late Wednesday alleging that Mr. Trump sexually assaulted two adult women (many more allegations followed). Their motive? To bury the stories from that morning, which reported that he routinely "waltzed in" on naked and almost naked beautypageant contestants.

Because he owned the Miss America and the Miss Teen America pageants, some of these Misses were as young as 15.

Who knows? It's conceivable that, in a campaign this unhinged, someone thought introducing some adult victims might be step one toward their candidate's rehabilitation.

Last week, when the "pussy tape"story broke, it crossed my mind that, Mr. Trump's support among what he prefers to frame as "inner-city Americans" being low, someone on his team was hoping to bury the story about how he had just doubled-down on the guilt of the thoroughly exonerated Central Park Five - just some innocent black men he tried very hard to get executed back in the 1990s.

If there was ever a time to disavow, it is now, Republicans.

Look, it's really not my habit to intrude. Furthermore, I hope my meaning won't be lost or misconstrued. But I'll repeat myself at the risk of being crude: There must be 50 ways to lose that bugger.

You got nothing to lose, Cruz.

He just keeps lyin', Ryan.

Unstitch those lips, Mitch, and get yourself free.

Come on, Chris Christie, do you get sick of being shifty?

Send his bags to Mar-a-Lago, Marco, and set the GOP free.

Associated Graphic

A prediction from the All-Seeing Trump, a satirical attraction in New York this week.


Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A9

Washington Redskins There had been complaints about the football team's name since the 1960s. The Oneida, an Iroquois nation that operates a casino near Syracuse, N.Y., had the economic muscle to launch a national "Change the Mascot" campaign against the team in 2013. The campaign bought radio ads. It got a clinical psychologist to write a report on the harmful impact on natives of the continued use of the "R-word."

Since then, some prominent sports journalists, such as Peter King and Bob Costas, have agreed the name is inappropriate. U.S. President Barack Obama publicly suggested it was time to change it. Acting on an earlier complaint, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office cancelled the Redskins' trademark registration because the team's name and logo were disparaging to natives when it was filed in the 1970s.

Team owner Daniel Snyder said that, as a lifelong fan, he will not yield. "We'll never change the name," he told USA Today in 2013.

"It's that simple. NEVER - you can use caps." Baltimore Bullets/Washington Bullets For 10 seasons, the team played in Baltimore, Maryland's largest city, with the slogan "Faster than a speeding Bullet." In 1973, owner Abe Pollin moved the franchise to Landover, near the District of Columbia, where it became the Capital Bullets, then a year later the Washington Bullets.

By the mid-1990s, Mr. Pollin said he wanted to change the team name because he didn't like its association with Washington's high rate of gun violence. The team was renamed the Washington Wizards when it moved to a new arena in 1997.

The name, which was selected from a contest short list that also included the Sea Dogs, Express, Stallions and Dragons, caused some controversy because Wizard is a rank in the Ku Klux Klan.

Atlanta Braves Once a Boston-based team called the Red Stockings, the franchise became the Braves in 1912, a name it kept except for a five-year period in the 1930s when it was known as the Bees. The club moved to Milwaukee in 1953, then to Atlanta in 1966.

While in Milwaukee, the team introduced a mascot called Chief Noc-A-Homa (knock a homer). At Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, Noc-A-Homa had a tepee in the left-field seats and would come out to dance every time a team member hit a home run. The tepee was removed in 1983 to make room for more seats From 1969 till Noc-A-Homa was retired in 1986, the character was played by Levi Walker, an Odawa native. The team has also phased out its old logo featured a screaming native head.

However, in 1991, a new controversial custom started with the Tomahawk Chop, a nod to outfielder Deion Sanders, who had played college ball for the Florida State Seminoles, where the fans also made such a gesture.

Ottawa TomaHawks After Ottawa was awarded a franchise in the National Basketball League of Canada, its ownership group, spearheaded by local businessman Gus Takkale, decided to keep the team name under wraps until the official launch.

The group didn't conduct any focus-group testing. "We wanted to trust our instincts," team consultant Ken Evraire told the Ottawa Citizen. "We didn't want to fall into the trap of having a great name and then focus-group it to death to the point where you go, 'Ah, it doesn't work, let's go with something safe.' " The name they picked was the TomaHawks, which, Mr. Takkale said, alluded to a powerful slam dunk.

Within a day after that 2013 unveiling, the ensuing uproar forced the team to change its name. Rebranded the SkyHawks, the team played one season, then was kicked out of the NBLC because of financial problems.

Edmonton Eskimos At the start of the 20th century, several teams in Edmonton were known as the Esquimaux or Eskimos. Reportedly the moniker was adopted as a defiant embrace of a Calgary sportswriter who had mocked the Edmonton rugby team. The modern-day franchise carrying the name joined the Canadian Football League in 1948.

There was little debate about the name until the fall of 2015, when a yoga class was cancelled at the University of Ottawa amid concerns over cultural appropriation. The Ottawa Citizen argued in an editorial that the Eskimos, who had an upcoming game in town, were a more significant example of cultural appropriation.

Natan Obed, president of Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami, Canada's national Inuit organization, agreed. "The word Eskimo is not only outdated, it is now largely considered a derogatory term," he said in a comment piece in The Globe and Mail.

Mr. Obed had a meeting with team officials earlier this year. It was described as cordial, but no changes followed.

Cleveland Indians Once known as the Cleveland Naps after its star player-manager, Napoleon Lajoie, the team became the Indians in 1915 after "Nap" left and owner Charles Somers polled local sportswriters for a new name.

According to the Cleveland magazine Belt, the now-controversial logo of Chief Wahoo, with its hooked nose and toothy grin, was commissioned in 1947 by the owner of the time, Bill Veeck.

The team has gradually been phasing out the Chief Wahoo logo. It disappeared from caps and helmets, to be replaced by a block C.

"We do have empathy for those who take issue with it," team owner Paul Dolan told the Cleveland Plain Dealer last spring, explaining how the image is no longer the team's primary logo.

Still, top sellers on the team's online shop include several hats, shirts and hoodies with the logo. The Indians website also provides printable stencils of Chief Wahoo for Halloween pumpkin carvers.

Florida State Seminoles Since a student vote in 1947, Florida State University's athletic teams have been called the Seminoles, after the local native people who survived in the Everglades region.

After the U.S. National Collegiate Athletic Association decided in 2005 to prohibit colleges from using "abusive" native imagery, FSU got a waiver because the school had permission from the Seminoles to use their name, having established a long partnership with them and consulted them in the past.

"The Seminole Tribe of Florida wishes to go on record that it has not opposed, and, in fact, supports the continued use of the name 'Seminole,' " a tribal council resolution said.

The relationship between the school and the Seminoles ranges from retiring a team mascot at the request of the tribe, offering scholarships for Seminole students and changing the name of a booster club from Lady Scalp Hunters to Lady Spirit Hunters.

McGill University Redmen/ St. John's University Redmen In New York, varsity teams at St. John's University were known as the Redmen, originally because of the colour of their uniforms. However, students adopted as team mascot a cigar store Indian statue and the team logo eventually featured a caricature of a native man in feather headdress. In 1994, the school changed the team name to the Red Storm and fans voted for a new mascot, Thunderbird.

In Montreal, McGill University, which had a similar name for its male varsity teams, took a different approach, removing nativethemed logos but keeping the name because it did not originally allude to aboriginal people.

Chicago Blackhawks The club acquired its name when it was founded in 1926 by the coffee merchant Frederic McLaughlin, a former army major who had served in the 86th Infantry Division. The military unit was nicknamed the Black Hawk division because many of its soldiers were originally from Illinois, a territory once inhabited by the Sauk natives led by Chief Black Hawk.

The team's name was spelled Black Hawks until 1986.

Mr. McLaughlin's wife, dancer and actress Irene Castle, is credited with the original design for the Blackhawks logo.

In 2013, the National Congress of American Indians cited the Blackhawks as one of the sports teams that "continue to profit from harmful stereotypes originated during a time when white superiority and segregation were commonplace."

NHL's smallest goalie is a big inspiration
At 5-foot-10 and 170 pounds, the Leafs' Jhonas Enroth is an endangered species in an era of gigantic netminders
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S6

TORONTO -- Jhonas Enroth bent forward in his net and slowly slid back into it, letting the back of his helmet press against the cross bar as he awaited the next shot.

At the other end of the Toronto Maple Leafs practice rink, his counterpart, Frederik Andersen, filled the goal, his enormous 6-foot-4, 230-pound frame doing much of the work for him.

If Enroth is jealous, he doesn't let on.

"We're trying to play the same way," explained the smallest goaltender in the NHL, who will back up one of the biggest in the league this season. "We're trying to use the same save selection in different situations.

But he might be able to stay back a little bit more and I'll be a little bit more aggressive."

He has to.

No position in hockey has become more size-obsessed than goal. While the increased speed and emphasis on puck-handling has opened doors for small defencemen such as Boston's Torey Krug and forwards such as Calgary's Johnny Gaudreau, the butterfly position and blocking style has had the opposite impact on netminders.

Over the past 20 years, being able to take up as much square footage as possible - like Ben Bishop, Tampa's 6-foot-7 behemoth - has become one of the most important traits for a hockey goalie. It's hurt the little guys such as Enroth, most of whom are now relegated to the minors and European leagues.

Last season, for example, the average height for a starter in the NHL was 74.5 inches - the tallest in league history and almost three inches taller than what it was in 1995-96.

No goaltender under 6-foot-1, meanwhile, started more than 38 games.

Off the ice, in street clothes, Enroth isn't tiny. At 5-foot-10 and 170 pounds, he looks athletic and agile, much like promising Leafs rookie Mitch Marner.

They're the two smallest players on the team, but not out of place.

In the goal, however, Enroth is an endangered species: almost extinct.

But he is also an inspiration - even to bigger goalies, established NHL stars and goalie coaches who have witnessed the small Swede in action up close.

They know he has something special.

"He's the most composed goalie I've ever seen," Leafs prospect Garret Sparks said after sharing the ice with Enroth in training camp. "Obviously he's not leaning on his size to make saves. He has to be in perfect position and reading the shots perfectly off the stick every time. It's something I see him do that I'd like to implement more into my game - his level of control and understanding of where pucks are going and the save selection."

"Jhonas is a great goalie," said Vancouver Canucks netminder Ryan Miller, who played several seasons with Enroth in Buffalo.

"His anticipation, his compete levels, are strong. He'll steal some points for the Leafs."

Enroth grew up in Stockholm, the middle of three hockey-crazy brothers who all went on to play pro. He was the only goalie, and he began training when he was 12 with Thomas Magnusson, Sweden's head goalie coach and someone who is widely regarded as the top coach at the position in Europe.

But it wasn't until Enroth was drafted into the NHL - as the Sabres' second-round pick in 2006 - that he learned he was undersized. It's a label he has been fighting since.

"I've always had a chip on my shoulder [since then] because I'm a smaller guy," Enroth said.

"I want to prove to people that I can play."

What Enroth learned from a young age from Magnusson has helped make that happen. He learned the technical side of the position - that good positioning, spatial awareness and understanding of puck physics could trump anything.

Those who understand the nuances of goaltending explain that the only reason Enroth has been able to beat the NHL trend of relying on huge goalies such as Andersen is by using his mind, including long video sessions during which he analyzes how he can better fill the net.

Enroth now intuitively knows, more than most, where he is at all times and how much net he is covering.

"Jhonas's biggest asset is his ability to read the game," Magnusson said. "He is a master of 'box control' - he knows how much net he covers in any given situation, and he has a plan how to fill that space."

"He's always studying what he can do better," added Mike Val.

ley, the Dallas Stars director of goalie development. "You can have big goaltenders that have lots of holes, but he's like this little square box that moves around and just fills space. I think he's an incredibly talented goalie. He also has a lot of mental strength. He has the ability to go in and win games for you."

Enroth seemed almost an afterthought when the Leafs signed him on a one-year, bargain-basement deal at the end of August. He played well but sparingly last season in Los Angeles, and Toronto is his fourth NHL team in three seasons. "Too small" is often the reason given by executives around the league.

Even though Andersen has the big contract and is expected to get the bulk of the starts, Enroth could be a big factor for the Leafs. Andersen is coming off an injury and is hardly a proven commodity himself.

And, minus the one season he spent in Buffalo, when the Sabres were tanking to try to get Connor McDavid, Enroth's save percentage is close to the NHL average.

With Andersen struggling to open the season, Enroth made 24 saves in his first start as a Leaf on Thursday night in a 3-2 loss in Minnesota. The Leafs, 1-1-2, are in Chicago on Saturday night to face the 2-2 Blackhawks.

Enroth excels in close games, something Valley says is due in part to his incredible patience.

Enroth is 11-5 all-time in shootouts and has the best save percentage (.757) of any active goalie who has faced at least 50 shots in the skills competition.

"Jhonas can stand up on shots that most people are going to drop and reach for," Valley said.

"He has that ice in his veins to be able to outwait guys. I wish I could take a lot of his skill sets and incorporate them into a bigger goaltender."

"I've always been of the philosophy that there's always one right answer, as a goalie, when you're making a save," Sparks said. "There's always one spot where you need to be and there's always one save selection that you'd want to use. He just makes the right decision every single time."

At 28, Enroth knows his chances of becoming a No. 1 goalie in the NHL are fleeting.

He called spending nearly two months without a contract in the summer "nerve-racking."

He is hoping that the NHL's proposed changes to goalie equipment - which will slim pants and upper-body equipment, potentially this season - will help smaller goalies, as they will take away more material from bigger bodies.

He also argues that teams need to give more goalies like him a chance and stop the trend of only drafting 18-yearolds that are 6-foot-2 and above.

There can be exceptions to the rule, Enroth says.

He is one of them.

"I like to look at myself as a fighter," Enroth said. "No one likes to lose. We're all trying to make a name for ourselves and trying to take that next step in our careers and trying to be successful with the team."

Associated Graphic

Toronto Maple Leafs goalie Jhonas Enroth, seen in a preseason game against the Buffalo Sabres in September, says he looks at himself as a 'fighter.'


Five decades into its life, Moshe Safdie's attempt to bridge urban density with suburban space remains one of Canada's most monumental structures. But despite its rigid facade, Kristina Ljubanovic suggests Habitat 67 is a building that continues to be reinvented as residents remix its interiors
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page P38

In 2017, as Canada's confederacy turns 150 years old, Montreal will be celebrating its own milestone - the city's 375th anniversary. Plans are underway to mark its almost four-century-long history, including projects like the illumination of the Jacques Cartier Bridge. The party starts in December, affording Montrealers a full 375 days of arts, culture and entertainment.

But beyond the pomp of the three-digit celebrations, another big birthday is coming down the pike (or the St. Lawrence Seaway, as it were). Nearly fifty years ago, Montreal hosted the Universal and International Exposition, Expo '67. The six-month event was the crown jewel of Canada's centennial and, some claim, the most successful World's Fair of the 20th century.

Habitat 67, the radical experiment in prefabricated, stacked city dwelling, is the city's most iconic built legacy from that heady time. The idea for the housing complex, which developed out of architect Moshe Safdie's thesis at McGill University, is as intriguing now as it was then: All the amenities of suburban life (openness, privacy, access to greenery) within a modular system of units set in an urban context. It was a prototype for a new way of living in cities, "but it did not proliferate," admitted Safdie in a talk at the 2014 TED conference. Still, visiting the complex today and seeing how its mix of design-savvy residents have both adapted and maintained its spaces, it's clear that Habitat continues to inspire new ways of living.

Perched on the edge of Parc de la Cité-du-Havre, with views to Montréal and the river, Habitat is a building that's all exterior. "Each house was an entity in itself, recognizable in space," said Safdie in his 1970 book Beyond Habitat. But deconstructing the housing block to reveal open-air pedestrian streets, communal plazas and private gardens proved an expensive enterprise that the dream of prefabrication could not offset. So the project was scaled back, from the originally planned 950 modules, or cubes, to 354, resulting in ten storeys and 158 apartments, some of which have since become conjoined, reducing the number to 148.

Resident François Leclair is thankful Habitat is the size that it is, claiming the original plan would have overwhelmed the site and views of the waterfront. Leclair purchased his first unit in 2001 and hasn't looked back. Since then, he's rented that original three-cube apartment, lived in others (including Safdie's own four-cube residence) and is in the process of renovating his latest.

"I'm playing monopoly," says Leclair. If you can imagine a three-dimensional game board, Park Place is Leclair's tenth-floor, two-cube unit with a "million-dollar view." (According to Leclair, this is how former Prime Minister Jean Chrétien described it to the flat's previous owner, Paul Marcel Gélinas).

Leclair is as full of insider anecdotes about the complex as he is asceticism for Safdie's scheme. That combination of enthusiasm and resolve make him Habitat's affable warden and he has served as president of the partnership committee that oversees the building's management. He balances fiercely defending the architect's original intent with making concessions for increased efficiency wherever possible.

There are structural reasons Habitat needs to be maintained as a fait accompli. As the rules and regulations issued to residents in 1987 explain emphatically: "Each unit is load-bearing. It not only carries the weight of the units above it, but through its torsional rigidity, is part of the whole structure. A modification of one unit can potentially affect not only its own structural integrity, but that of other units."

But if there are restrictions on the exterior, there's plenty of room for play in the interior of the cubes. Leclair, with architect John White of WZMH Architects, has stripped his newest purchase to its concrete shell. They've opted to flip the unit's floor plan on its head, reserving the lower cube for private functions like sleeping and bathing, and putting the more social spaces upstairs, with access to the aforementioned million-dollar view.

Maria Varvarikos and Dexter Peart have also adapted their unit, purchased in 2006, for a changing lifestyle and family structure. Their over 2,100-square-foot residence, straddling the sixth and seventh floors of the complex, is a living testament to the flexibility of Safdie's interior spaces. "They're just cubes - you need to reprogram them," says Peart.

Varvarikos, who founded the boutique PR agency ZOÏ, with offices in Montreal and New York, and Peart, who runs the accessories label Want Les Essentiels with twin brother Byron (who also lives in Habitat with husband Stefan Weisgerber), moved in prior to having their daughters Kaya and Sierra (aged six and three, respectively).

At times, they've considered a more conventional family home, but Varvarikos says "the lifestyle and everything they get out of Habitat is so much more valuable," including the important lesson, baked into Safdie's youthful experiment, that "there's still room for great ideas - and not all great ideas remain ideas, some get executed."

The recently remodelled kitchen, by Italian kitchen designer Pedini, expands into a spacious living and dining area. Custom built-in cabinetry in American walnut by Jason Burhop at Kastella opens up to reveal dolls and coloured pencils, while upstairs, the girls' room and adjacent den is a looser repository. The cubes are evidence of a work (and life) in progress.

Not more than a hundred steps from Varvarikos and Peart's unit, Kaya and Sierra can knock on the door of their uncles. The Peart-Weisgerber residence is a total environment, replete with pocket doors and uplighting (inspired by Safdie's original details), a newly added solarium and refined touches like Ralph Lauren wallpaper in the bedroom, porcelain tile for the outdoor deck (covering the well-worn concrete) and framed vintage Expo '67 postcards in the bathroom.

Byron Peart calls giving over an entire cube of their three-cube space to living and entertaining functions indulgent, but concedes that the unit, fitted out in collaboration with designer Maria Di Ioia (who is also responsible for the Want Les Essentiels stores), is a perfect amalgam of Peart's Swedish design leanings and Weisgerber's German functionalism.

"When you're able to build something from scratch, which we did with the interior of our place, you really have the opportunity to make it your space, to make it a home," says Weisgerber. "The outcome is an extremely personal result," agrees Peart, even though each apartment is a variation on a standard module.

It may not be perfect cohabitation, but that's what makes Habitat a real neighbourhood, along with the complexities that come when one's roof is another's garden, which is another's view.

"There are so many different people who bring their own culture, their own heirlooms, their own design sensibilities and aesthetics," says Bryon Peart. "The building is static, but everyone's homes are unique and personalized."

Associated Graphic


NEIGHBOURHOOD WATCH Habitat 67 in Montreal (far left) is made up of 354 modules divided among 148 homes. While the exterior structure can't be altered, residents often play with interiors as in the Peart-Varvarikos apartment (left) and the Peart-Weisgerber space (below).

IN THE RAW François Leclair (above, centre) is in the middle of revamping his 10th-floor unit (top) to take advantage of the view. Maria Varvarikos (right) and Dexter Peart (far right) recently updated their flat with a Pedini kitchen and Kastella cabinetry (above).

WORK IN PROGRESS Stefan Weisgerber and Byron Peart (far left) expanded their apartment by building a solarium onto the terrace (above). The rest of the home (top left and bottom right) is equal parts design savvy and practical.

The biggest obstacle I faced in learning to dance? My brain
Special to The Globe and Mail
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

When the salsa instructor told us to take one step forward, my brain lit up with fear.

I don't know how most people learn to dance - at awkward, drunken, teenage parties? - but the lesson and skill had eluded me. Like driving, which I only learned at the age of 38, I'd always found a way around it. If you can't drive, then live downtown and ride a bike. If you can't dance, be somewhere else when the DJ drops the beat. Or marry someone who doesn't expect it of you.

Except at your wedding.

My partner, Victoria, had always been a good sport - she knew dancing made me nervous and never pressured me. And when we told our neighbour and friend, who owns our local grocery store, that we were getting married, he insisted that we hold the wedding there. Vic fell in love with the space, from the refurbished wooden-beam ceiling to the long centre aisle that could easily be converted from a stockpile of olive oil to a walkway for a bride and groom. I liked that there didn't seem any space to dance.

It wasn't until our DJ, Amy, asked where the dance floor would be, that I realized I hadn't gotten out of anything.

Though we moved quickly to the next subject, I felt shameful and cowardly. The idea of explaining why I wasn't dancing with my wife at our wedding seemed more preposterous than finally learning to dance. I decided that it was time.

If you don't know how to do something, a good first step is asking someone who does. So I contacted Phil Villeneuve, a YouTube star who dances, carefree and unchoreographed, around public spaces in Toronto, including the Reference Library, the Eaton Centre and a Chinese buffet.

More than two million people have watched Villeneuve dancing, unfettered, listening to music on his headphones that only he can hear. I didn't need to be him, but I felt he could point me in the direction of unsophisticated competence and a little more confidence.

"First off, find your rhythm, if you don't have that, then we have a lot more work to do," he told me. "Secondly, make a playlist of stuff you like, bring it with you when you're out in public and put it on. Feel free to move your shoulders, your feet, your neck, a little hip action, snap your fingers. ... This will help understand how magical music and rhythm is, everywhere you go, all the time." Basically, Villeneuve said, just start with the basics.

So one Wednesday night, when Vic was out of town, I cycled over to Elevation Dance Studio on Yonge Street in Toronto for a Level 1 Salsa class.

There were about 20 students in the studio.

As soon as were facing front, required to move our bodies in the one-two-three back and forth of a beginner's salsa step, I panicked. The idea of being on display, of doing it wrong, sent waves of fear rippling outward from my primitive brain to every part of my body. "Run," these brainwaves said. "Run away so you don't have to do something that scares you."

I finally knew, instantly, how every uncomfortable home cook felt when I - someone for whom cooking comes easily - told them not to worry about following a recipe. I always tell beginner cooks that they'll learn more from mistakes than successes, to keep trying and that confidence will come in time.

Until that moment, I'd understood so little of how these people felt in the kitchen. Empathy flooded in, for every inexperienced home cook whose knife grip or sautéing motion I'd corrected, for how it feels to look at a piece of beef, with clear instructions on how to cook it, but paralyzed with fear that you're going to screw it up.

"Learning takes longer as you get older," Fergus Craik says. A cognitive psychologist at the Rotman Research Institute at Baycrest Health Sciences in Toronto, he studies learning, memory and attention in regards to aging. "But there's never any point when learning's not possible."

Craik says that one trick to learning and memory is to relate new information to some established body of knowledge.

Past your mid-20s, it's harder to do that spontaneously. "But," he says, "you can get around that lack of spontaneity by making some meaningful connection to the information."

The meaningful connection was no problem. I wanted to dance with my wife. So I knew what I had to do. Literally putting one foot in front of the other, I began to dance.

I mean "dancing" in the sense that shifting the gears in a car without putting your foot on the gas can be called "driving."

There was no magic, no spontaneous transformation into a hip-swinging, cocksure Ryan Gosling.

Rather, I painfully repeated the step-back-step instructions for 20 minutes, the salsa teacher coming over to correct my movements that were too fast, too slow, too jerky, too out of sync, until I'd gotten that one thing right.

And I knew that, if dancing is at all like cooking, my improvement, however slight, would be inevitable, if I just kept at it.

With a goal of going from terrible to barely competent, I then enrolled in Beyography, a Beyoncé choreography class at the dance studio. As the only bald, middle-aged male in a room full of twentysomething women, I struggled to keep up with the dance moves for Sweet Dreams, a video I'd never seen from a song I'd never heard.

Every time I absorbed another half-dozen steps, pivots and snaps, the teacher, Nicky Nasrallah, added the next collection of shimmies, spins, struts and bum-wiggles, squeezing the first set out of my short-term memory. By the end of the two-hour lesson in humiliation, I was perpetually three beats behind everyone; sweating, sputtering, my arms flailing about, as if searching the air for clues to the next move in the dance routine that everyone else seemed to know like they'd been studying it all semester.

I was a mess. But I didn't quit.

I spent time with a private tutor until the wedding costs got me too freaked out about money.

Then I practised on my own.

Listening to music in the car, at the gym or in the kitchen, I nodded my head, training myself to count beats properly.

Victoria, who I had still not told of my secret project, starting noting an unusual bounce in my step. By the day of the wedding, I wasn't afraid to dance.

There were plenty of other freefloating anxieties, the usual assortment of family conflict, performance stress and icecream sandwich delivery, to keep me occupied.

Mostly though, I wasn't afraid because I'd put the work in. I'd spent three months getting into the habit of dancing around the kitchen to whatever was playing.

Nothing fancy. Not showing off.

Not falling behind. Just a casual, confident, two-step.

When DJ Amy began to pump out the hits, I came running to the dance floor. We danced the night away, with no one but the bride suspecting what a hurdle it had been.

And it's a repudiation of the adage that you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Or maybe that it's that I'm not a dog, but a grown man and a husband, ready and capable to keep learning new tricks.

Associated Graphic

The idea of explaining why he wasn't dancing with his wife, Victoria, at their wedding 'seemed more preposterous' to Corey than the act of learning.

Why it's time to drop the 'midlife crisis'
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

What's the point of the midlife crisis? Not the actual experience, but the term. In the half-century since its coinage, "midlife crisis" has become a bloated catch-all thrown around reflexively to express our every unexamined bias, deep-seated fear and trite mockery regarding middle age. If we are going to understand our 40s in all their messy complication, we need to put the phrase behind us.

Canadian psychoanalyst Elliott Jaques meant something very specific when he christened the term "midlife crisis" in 1965. Why, he wondered, did so many male geniuses - and yes, it was only guys - experience personal catastrophe in their late 30s? Why do others respond to the anxieties of midlife with greater creative output? And why does a third group make the leap to the accomplished works that define them as artists?

He used luminaries to illustrate his point. Mozart, Chopin, Rimbaud and Purcell all died between ages 35 and 39. But Bach was little more than a tutor until the age of 38.

Then there was Dante, who didn't begin writing The Divine Comedy until he was 37.

The answer, argued Jaques, depends on how they responded to the fears, limitations and yes, too, the possibilities of midlife.

Whatever you may think of this theory, it meant something very specific. Now, half a century later, "midlife crisis" has morphed into a pop-culture stereotype. Think Kevin Spacey in American Beauty or Frank the Tank going streaking in Old School: a pathetic man who, faced with fear of death or soul-crushing monotony, tries his damnedest to recapture his youth, always to the eye-rolling frustration of his wife.

On one hand, that familiar stereotype reduces the midlife crisis to a tiny set of behaviours exhibited by a tiny subset of society. On the other, the term is remarkably flexible.

For proof, look no further than the dozens (hundreds, thousands) of "Are you having a midlife crisis?" quizzes online. In 2013, the Mirror, a British newspaper, listed some of the "symptoms," including "Taking up a new hobby," "Suddenly wanting to learn a musical instrument," "Worrying over your thinning hair" and "Buying a very expensive bicycle."

Learning to play piano is laudable, not a crisis. Buying a shiny new bike hardly puts you among the existentially desperate. We bend the phrase to include almost anything, rendering it basically meaningless.

One reason that "midlife crisis" has become the ultimate dumping ground for any change in behaviour, however slight, between 40 and 60 is because it's all we've got. "People have really only heard one term for psychological development and change in midlife, and the term is midlife crisis," says Elaine Wethington, a sociologist at Cornell University in New York state.

In 2000, Wethington conducted a phone survey of 724 people between the ages of 28 and 78. More than a quarter said they had experienced a midlife crisis, a term they were free to define for themselves. The average age of crisis was 46. Some said their crisis was because they realized time was slipping away from them. Others blamed it on a divorce. Others said it was prompted by losing a job.

"Most boiled down to 'something happened that made me re-evalute my life,' " Wethington says. "That's a pretty minimal definition." She considers herself in the camp of sociologists who believe the midlife crisis is a myth.

Ioanna Sahas Martin's selfdefined midlife crisis began shortly after she turned 40. She was promoted to a management position and was on the road for work five or six times a year.

Meanwhile, she and her husband were raising three children between the ages of 5 and 9. Every day, her thoughts weighed on her.

She worried she wasn't a good enough mother because she wasn't doing "all the things that are on Pinterest." She feared that in devoting herself to her career and her family she had never taken the time to discover who she is as an individual. Then her mother was diagnosed with cancer. The disease took her quickly.

"It was a definite, very precise crisis moment that had been preceded by two or three years of increasing busyness, increasing stress and increasing pressure," says Martin, who is 46 and lives in Ottawa. She became depressed, then took what turned out to be an 18-month leave of absence from work, during which she rediscovered her love of creative writing and organized a trip overseas with old friends.

It was a crucial period of reckoning, she says. "I realized that something was going to give, and it was either going to be me, my marriage or my health," she says.

Today, she's developed an important, but fragile, work-life balance. What's distinctive about a midlife crisis as opposed to any other crisis, she says, is that there is an "underlying element of existential questioning" that accompanies it.

"Is it helpful?" she says of the term. "To the extent that labelling something helps us to understand it more clearly, whether for ourselves or in feeling compassion towards others, and to the extent that it normalizes an experience and helps you realize that you're not weird or alone in feeling the way you do, yes I think so."

Social scientists still aren't sold.

"I have been looking and looking for many years, and there is, I can honestly say, no proof for the universality of a midlife crisis," says Susan Krauss Whitbourne, a psychology professor at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. "It's just become one of those things that people talk about without any critical evaluation."

Of course, people in their 40s lose jobs and get divorced and have affairs and panic that time is running out. Social psychologists aren't denying any of that.

What they object to is the idea that there is anything unique or definitive about these crises.

"People do have crises in the middle of their lives. But that doesn't mean there is a midlife crisis that is a normative crisis that most people, or even many people, experience," says Alexandra Freund, a developmental psychologist at the University of Zurich. "There is no evidence in the literature that more people experience a crisis in midlife than at any other point in time."

In other words, a crisis during midlife is not proof of midlife crisis. That may work for researchers, but for the rest of North America, "midlife crisis" has far too much deeply ingrained cultural resonance to abandon. Its force pulls us - but I tend to agree that that force tends to limit our thinking and narrows the aperture of our vision.

Evaluation and discernment are impossible when only one term is meant to describe every change in a life over the course of a roughly 20-year period - especially one with built-in negativity.

"Crisis" implies a judgment that might often be unfounded.

Midlife is definitely tumultuous in every way: in our relationships, our careers, our bodies and selves. If we are to begin to make sense of it, what we need most is a set of fresh eyes, not one clouded by stale clichés.

I think I agree with the sociologists - it's time to drop the "midlife crisis."

If you want to share stories of your own 40s, please get in touch. Dave McGinn can be reached at, or share your thoughts online using the hashtag #globehalftime.

Associated Graphic

Ioanna Sahas Martin went through a self-defined midlife crisis shortly after she turned 40. For her, it was a 'very precise crisis moment' preceded by years of stress and pressure. During her 18-month leave from work, she rediscovered her love of creative writing.


Special to The Globe and Mail
Thursday, October 20, 2016 – Print Edition, Page D8


1966-1970 The first Corolla set the stage for future export success by adopting features such as a floormounted shifter to suit European tastes, a relatively large 1.1-litre engine for North America and standard amenities unexpected in its price class, such as back-up lights. At a time when many European small cars were rearengined or front-wheel drive, the Corolla's conservative layout featured front engine, rear-wheel drive, solid rear axle and cartspring rear suspension. It was offered in two- or four-door sedan, two-door wagon and coupe versions, and was smaller than today's subcompact Yaris hatchback.


1970-1974 By the time the E20 launched, more than one million Corollas had been sold in less than four years. The company not wanting to mess with success, the basic front-engine/rear-drive (FR) formula continued. Curvier styling was accompanied by an increase in size, though overall length was smaller than most modern subcompact hatchbacks. Pushed by a young designer who was a fan of European-style rallying, a highperformance double-overheadcamshaft (DOHC) 1.6-litre engine joined the common 1.2- or 1.4litre engines.


1974-1979 The world's first oil shock had North Americans suddenly caring about fuel economy and the Corolla was positioned perfectly to exploit the sudden attraction to small, imported cars. Still hewing to the FR layout, the E30/E50 grew in width while adding more body styles, including a pillarless hardtop, and a three-door liftback that was especially popular in North America. The design, sharper and more angular, was honed in the wind tunnel for the first time. Toyota's stated goal was to solidify Corolla's foundation, while development leader Shirou Sasaki insisted the Corolla should not "strive to be the honour student in the area of costs."


1979-1983 The new body shape was touted as aerodynamic, with a slanted nose and higher rear deck.

According to Toyota lore, chief engineer Fumio Agetsuma had taken it to heart when the president of an advertising agency commented on the similarities between a horse-drawn carriage's springs and those of the Corolla.

Another cautious mechanical modernization saw the switch to rack-and-pinion steering - but only on models with the base 1.3litre engine. This generation of the Corolla was also the first to feature a diesel option; and, when equipped with the twincam engine, featured four-wheel disc brakes. For the first time, body size edged past four metres, but even the sedan was still smaller than today's subcompact Yaris sedan.


1983-1987 Taking a deep breath, Toyota reengineered the Corolla into a modern front-wheel drive design.

Ironically, however, the versions that stayed with rear-wheel drive were destined to spawn one of the best-loved Toyotas of all time.

The sedan made the switch to FWD and was joined by five-door hatchback models to suit European tastes. Actually, there were two five-door versions, one with a longer, curved rear profile that design chief Agetsuma predicted "will create a new trend in world car designs. The wagon continued on the old FR architecture - and so did the coupes in their notchback and liftback forms. At the same time, the trusty 2T-G twin-cam engine was replaced by a new 4A-GE twin-cam that had four valves for each cylinder.


1987-1991 Corolla's next redesign came as Toyota perceived a societal shift away from materialism, and adopted a theme of "high-quality time." Styling evolved to an elegant simplicity, and all models switched to the front-wheel drive architecture. One exception was a four-wheel drive version of the wagon, a quasi-SUV that preceded the Subaru Outback concept by almost a decade. In 1988, the first Canadian-built Corollas came off the line at Toyota's latest "trans-plant," in Cambridge.


1991-1995 Throughout Corolla's development, its makers strove to up the quality ante, but that process may have peaked with the seventh generation. Like a "good year" for wine, the Gen-7 Corolla is considered one of the marque's more memorable iterations.

Toyota may have learned buildquality lessons from establishing its luxury brand, Lexus. As well, the Japanese yen was hitting historical lows against the U.S. dollar in the late 1980s, giving Toyota an export-cost advantage .The car itself grew again in size [though still smaller than a current Yaris], with a shape that emphasized an abundance of curves. Up to eight body styles were offered globally, but only the sedan and wagon came to Canada. An available 1.8-litre engine was the biggest yet offered on a (non-diesel) Corolla.


1995-2000 For its next redo, Toyota turned to Honda - Takayasu Honda, the Toyota engineer who led development of the Gen-8 car. It was launched with environmental and safety issues coming to the fore, and an appreciation for "simple and sturdy" goods was taking the place of the taste for luxury. Toyota removed weight from the sedan to improve fuel economy while still improving rigidity for crash safety. The new asceticism was certainly evident in North America, where the lineup was pared down to just the sedan, albeit with a new allaluminum 1.8-litre engine - the 1ZZ-FE that was manufactured in Canada between 1995 and 2007.


2000-2006 Generation 9 made a clean break from the basic architecture of Gens 5-8. The shape came from Toyota's European design studio - a first for Corolla - though the new twist-beam rear suspension was arguably less sophisticated than the previous fully independent rear. The 1ZZ-FE engine got a power bump to 130 horsepower.

With typical Corolla customers getting older and turning more to utility vehicles, the coupe was canned. North America got its own utility body style that blurred the distinction between wagon, hatchback and MPV - the Matrix. For 2005, Toyota created an XRS version with a 2ZZ powertrain from the Matrix XRS. But the stereotype as a "bland transportation appliance" was too entrenched for enthusiast drivers to get their heads around the idea of a hot-rod Corolla sedan; the XRS Corolla and its Matrix counterpart checked out of Canada after the 2006 model year.


2006-2013 Launched as a 2009 model in early 2008, added flair was mostly visual: 15 mm lower and a whopping 60 mm wider than the '08.

Combine that with steeply raked windshields, and the new model had a stance that could credibly be called athletic. At the same time, the reworked Matrix got a new profile that was borderline coupe-like. It contained Canuckfriendly features such as door pockets large enough for an icescraper, and pedals spaced to accommodate size 10.5 men's winter boots. The addition of telescopic steering adjustment cured what some had called a long-arm/short-leg driving position on the previous design. An all-new 1.8-litre base engine lifted horsepower to 132 from 126, while the XRS was resurrected, now with a torque-rich 158-hp, 2.4-litre engine instead of the former all-revs-and-no-torque 1.8 screamer.


2014-present The E150 Corolla was replaced by the 11th-generation Corolla for 2014 and the dynasty continues.

As Corolla marks it official halfcentury on Oct. 20, worldwide production should have reached 45 million. Current models use cameras and lasers to help drivers avoid collisions, stay in lanes and navigate at night - semi-autonomous technologies that come standard in a package called Safety Sense.

Goodbye, Guy: Why a visionary CEO failed
Tuesday, October 18, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B1

Guy Laurence arrived promising a revolution at Rogers Communications Inc. He leaves behind a company that is vastly changed, but still suffers from legions of unhappy customers and confused employees.

His sacking is proof that you can't violate the two immutable rules of the Big Red Machine. One, don't cross the Rogers family.

Two, you must produce results.

Mr. Laurence did too much of the former and not enough of the latter, and that is why he's gone.

Full disclosure: I spent two years inside Guy Laurence's Rogers as a mid-level grunt in its media division. I arrived in March, 2014, two months before he unveiled his strategic plan, which he called Rogers 3.0, and resigned this past spring to rejoin The Globe and Mail as editor of Report on Business.

I could count on my fingers the number of times I interacted with Mr. Laurence, but the experience was always pleasant. He is an engaging person and an excellent speaker, never better than when he was on a stage or in small groups, laying out his vision to the staff.

Yet all that charisma didn't translate into success. And for most of my time at Rogers, the air was thick with discussion of the CEO's mistakes. It was said that he failed to cultivate allies in the Rogers boardroom and alienated members of the founding family.

He rebuilt his senior executive team mostly with outsiders and declined to put a single woman on it.

Wireless subscriber numbers have improved under Mr. Laurence and the company's push on Internet services has also been seen as mostly successful. But the company is still bleeding cable TV subscribers as customers either cut the cord or migrate to its rival Bell, which sells internet-protocol television service (IPTV) under the Fibe brand. Rogers' plan to develop a new cable TV product using similar technology to Bell has been repeatedly delayed.

Earlier this year, the company surprised investors by failing to increase its dividend payment amid concerns about its $15-billion long-term debt. Rogers has also struggled to show it was making good return on its 12year, $5.2-billion deal for national NHL broadcast rights - which was signed after Mr. Laurence was named CEO, but before he officially started the job - and make other media ventures pay off.

The company said last month it will shutter its video streaming service Shomi, recording a $140-million writedown in the process.

The move to displace Mr. Laurence now appears to have come in part because of the existence of a credible replacement in Mr. Natale.

"The board has made a decision and it was greatly influenced by the fact that Joe Natale was available," Phil Lind, vice-chairman of the Rogers board of directors, said in an interview. "Joe is seen as the most valuable player that's available."

Mr. Natale is no stranger to the Rogers board. When the company was looking for a new CEO in 2013 before hiring Mr. Laurence, many telecom observers believe Rogers was interested in Mr. Natale, one of the architects of Telus's successful customers-first strategy, which has led it to the lowest churn of wireless subscribers in the industry. Telus's desire to retain Mr. Natale is said to have been a factor in his promotion to CEO in May, 2014.

However, long-time Telus CEO Darren Entwistle remained executive chair of the board and never fully surrendered operational control. In August, 2015, he took the CEO job back and Toronto-based Mr. Natale departed later that year. His compensation last year included a $6.2-million "transition payment" that Telus said was due in part to his two-year non-compete clause. Telus declined to comment Monday.

Mr. Natale has deep roots in Toronto. Sources close to the executive said he took some time off before considering his employment options, including opportunities outside the telecom business. That may explain why Rogers sought to lock him down now, before he is eligible to work for the company.

"You should look at this as the opportunity to secure the services in due course of Joe Natale, and that's a unique situation and that's the one we moved on," Mr. Horn said on a conference call with analysts Monday, responding to a question about whether Mr. Laurence's term was cut short.

Mr. Horn could only say that Rogers is "working on" the issue of timing and when Mr. Natale will be free to start. Meanwhile, Mr. Horn said the company would continue to pursue the strategic vision Mr. Laurence put in place and had dubbed Rogers 3.0, a reference to his role as the third CEO of Rogers, following Ted Rogers and Nadir Mohamed, who became CEO after the founder's death in 2008.

"Our view is we've got a great management team and the team has been delivering," Mr. Horn told analysts. "I met with them this morning and got a commitment that the team is focused and they'll have their teams focused on delivering the results for Q4 and beyond, if necessary in terms of the transition."

Rogers non-voting shares were up almost 14 per cent this year as of the close of markets on Friday. The stock gained about 2 per cent in early trading Monday morning, but closed for the day down 0.29 per cent, or 15 cents, at $54.19.

In its third-quarter earnings report, Rogers said it added a total of 114,000 contract cellular customers in the third quarter, well above analyst expectations for about 69,000. Revenue at that unit was up 3 per cent to $2.04-billion.

Rogers' profit for the quarter slipped 53 per cent to $220-million, which it attributed to the wind down of Shomi.

On an adjusted basis, Rogers reported earnings of 83 cents per share, lower than consensus estimates of 88 cents per share.

Revenue across the company increased 3.2 per cent to $3.5-billion.

In a statement announcing the move, Rogers did not give an explicit reason for the CEO swap. Edward Rogers, who is the deputy chairman of the board, remarked, "We have appreciated Guy's leadership over the last three years."

"He has moved the company forward re-establishing growth, introducing innovative programs like Roam Like Home, while getting the company ready for its next phase of growth. On behalf of the Rogers family and the board, I'd like to thank Guy for his competitive spirit and many contributions."


For the three months ending Dec. 31, 2013 Blended average revenue a user:

Rogers: $58.59

BCE: $57.92 Telus: $61.86 Wireless churn:

Rogers: 1.34 per cent

BCE: 1.29 per cent

Telus: 0.97 per cent Wireless subscribers:

Rogers: 9.5 million

BCE: 7.8 million

Telus: 7.8 million

For the most recent quarter Blended average revenue a user:

Rogers (Q3, ending Sept. 30, 2016): $62.30

BCE (Q2, ending June 30, 2016): $64.32

Telus (Q2, ending June 30, 2016): $64.38 Wireless churn:

Rogers: 1.26 per cent

BCE: 1.15 per cent

Telus: 0.90 per cent Wireless subscribers:

Rogers: 10.1 million (includes 154,000 prepaid subscribers added after Rogers acquired discount wireless carrier Mobilicity)

BCE: 8.2 million

Telus: 8.4 million

Andrew Willis, James Bradshaw

Associated Graphic

Guy Laurence, then CEO of Rogers, is seen in the Hockey Central studio in May, 2015.



Student won't let schizophrenia stop him
The new stresses students face when they enter university can trigger anything from mild stress to serious mental-health issues. But there are ways to cope
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 – Print Edition, Page P32

THE FIRST YEAR of postsecondary education can prove challenging for any student.

In addition to likely being away from home for the first time, they suddenly need to juggle studying with no one looking over their shoulder, exam pressure and managing relationships with new friends and professors.

For James Lao, those factors were just the tip of the iceberg.

Currently a part-time student taking a university access course at Wilfrid Laurier University in Waterloo, Ont. Mr. Lao is 10 years removed from a life-changing diagnosis.

As a 19-year-old in his first semester at Conestoga College in his hometown of Kitchener, Ont., he was juggling a part-time job and six courses at school, in addition to his personal hobbies of boxing, martial arts and running. Then a curveball was thrown into the mix - his first episode of schizophrenia.

"It was just like a nervous breakdown," Mr. Lao says now. "I had too much stress in school and I had too much to do."

His mother took him to the local hospital, where he ultimately ended up spending a total of six months between two facilities undergoing treatment and counselling. "It's like your life unravelling," he says of a mental disorder for which the average age of onset is 18 in men and 25 in women.

Mr. Lao also relied on the resources provided by the Canadian Mental Health Association, and after three years of using its services, he signed on as a peer mentor, where he now helps out three times a week as a volunteer. He also speaks on mental health in local high schools and runs a monthly art workshop for people with mental-health issues.

He has also returned part-time to postsecondary education, taking such classes as a humanities course at the University of Waterloo and an arts course at Wilfrid Laurier.

He says it took him two or three years to get a sense of health "that wasn't miserable," and which finally allowed him to return to school. Living at his family home, Mr. Lao is taking his studies one course at a time at local schools in the area, and he dreams of being an English professor one day.

His struggles have also taught him a few things about the postsecondary education experience.

"The first year of university is probably a very different situation because it's different from high school," he says. "You're trying to independently learn, just trying to manage, and then once you've got the gist in the next semester or the second year, you're good from there."

He advises students to improve their study and mental-health habits before coming to university. His own personal recipe is to study for 45 minutes at a time before taking a 15-minute break to recharge before going at it again.

"There's a concept I do called self-care," he says. "When you feel too stressed, just go for a walk or just stop doing homework or stop doing your activities and have a little bit of stress relief."

For many students, university can represent a life-changing period of their lives, not only from an educational standpoint, but from a health standpoint, too.

"The period between 13 years and 25 years is the period in the lifespan when most of the mental illnesses can be diagnosed," says Stanley Kutcher, a psychiatry professor at Dalhousie University in Halifax and the Sun Life Financial Chair in Adolescent Mental Health.

"So 70 per cent of all mental illnesses can be diagnosed by age 25 and the big ones - schizophrenia, major depression, anxiety disorders, eating disorders, substance abuse - they all come on mostly between 12 and 25."

But Dr. Kutcher cautions that people can overreact.

"Sadness is a normal part of life; crying is not a mental illness," he says. "Being anxious about an exam is a good thing, not a bad thing."

Dr. Kutcher says a lot of students would do well simply to follow the four cornerstones of good health: sleep, exercise, good nutrition and surrounding oneself with good friends.

"We know that what's good for mental health is good for physical health and viceversa," he says.

To provide for students' mental and physical needs, Dalhousie University has its own health services clinic on-site, with 10 physicians on hand to attend to students. They offer psychiatric services and last year brought in a social worker as part of the team.

The university also offers an online app, Welltrack, which offers 24/7 support to students in the form of a self-help program that targets depression, anxiety, stress and some phobias.

"It just offers another alternative for students to be able to reach out for help and engage with our services without physically having to come into our offices," says Verity Turpin, the assistant vice-provost of student affairs at Dalhousie.

Another thing that Ms. Turpin says the students are asking for is more peer support - being able to go to their peers and discuss their challenges - so the university is looking at launching a new peer-support coaching model this year.

It is an approach that is endorsed by Natalie C, a recent graduate of the University of Waterloo, who preferred not to use her full name because of the stigma still associated with mental-health issues.

Ms. C entered school in the fall of 2010, but left after a month and a half because she was battling an eating disorder, returning to resume her studies in the spring of 2011.

While she acknowledges in hindsight that she probably should not have started school at the time, she says her stubbornness took over.

"Keep in mind that I wasn't really thinking straight at that point," the 23-year-old says. "The thought was 'I will go to Waterloo and everything will magically get better.' In hindsight, it definitely wasn't a good idea."

She says the change in environments from school to university, with its large classes and many strangers, was especially challenging for her, a self-confessed introvert.

And despite improvements in the way society views mental health, she says mental illness is still not an easy thing to acknowledge.

"There's still a large amount of stigma against saying 'I'm not doing well' or 'I'm having some problems' and I think that staff and faculty and parents need to be open about the fact that stuff might be going on during this transition," she says.

Ms. C says she relied on counsellors and doctors at the university health services in her third and fourth years, but one of the things that really helped her was volunteering for an initiative called Burst Your Bubble, a peer-education team that was started at Wilfrid Laurier University.

"I found it was good because I was able to interact with other students on campus and have that platform to talk about stigma and mental illness and misconceptions and everything," she says.

Tay yab Rashid, a psychologist and researcher at the University of Toronto Scarborough, says that the mental health of students should be a prime concern for universities looking to bring out the best in them. His solution is a simple one, though.

"Mental health should be a mandatory course in the first year," Dr. Rashid says. "There is no way out other than that. You don't need to call it mental health; you can call it life skills."

Associated Graphic


James Lao, now a part-time student at Wilfrid Laurier University, was diagnosed with schizophrenia at 19.

Inside the new Q (again)
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R1

It would be tempting, as CBC Radio's flagship arts and entertainment show Q takes yet another shot at relaunching next Monday with new host Tom Power, to focus on what is missing from the mix rather than on what is present: No Jian Ghomeshi, the ignominious original host who hasn't been seen in public since his second trial for sexual assault was called off last May after he signed a peace bond; no Shad, the collegial rapper-turned...

broadcaster who debuted to high hopes in April, 2015, but then limped along for 16 months before getting the vaudeville hook last August; no full-throttle two-hour live relaunch at the Glenn Gould Theatre in front of hundreds of invited guests, featuring appearances by Tanya Tagaq, Chilly Gonzalez, Marc Maron and a white-man rap by Peter "P.

Manny" Mansbridge.

Also gone? The theme song penned by the musician Bahamas which was unveiled at that April, 2015, relaunch; a raft of regular contributors; and just about all of the show's standing features, including both the pop culture and sports panels.

Many of the behind-the-scenes crew have left, too: About twothirds of the show's current staff of 18 were hired only within the past two months, after CBC summarily announced Shad was out in favour of Power.

Still, focusing on what is gone may mean overlooking the intriguing process of reinvention that is underway.

"We started with a clean slate," explains Jennifer Moroz, the show's new executive producer, who comes to Q after well-respected stints at both The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulos and CBC Radio's The Current. Sitting in her second-floor office at CBC's Canadian Broadcasting Centre on Front Street earlier this week, she adds: "It's not a new show, but it is a new show."

"We have a new host who's very different from the other two hosts in the last 10 years.

We have an opportunity to build something - not only to [Power's] strengths, but we real.

ly have a chance to play with the format a bit. Which, after 10 years, frankly - regardless of what was going to happen - is time to do it."

Power, 29, is a St. John's bornand-bred folk musician (he still plays with his Newfoundlandbased band, The Dardanelles, though he has lived in Toronto since 2012) who has been a charismatic presence on CBC's airwaves for the past eight years, first as host of Deep Roots and, since 2011, as host of Radio 2 Morning.

He was on the short list of prospective hosts when Shad got the nod, but may have been lucky that he wasn't tapped for Q's first post-Ghomeshi iteration, given the pressure at the time for the show to prove it could regain its footing so quickly after the crisis. Now, with the audience bottoming out, there is nowhere to go but up: The show's average-minute audience last June was 168,000, down 28 per cent from two years earlier; only about 120 U.S. stations carry Q, down from a high of about 180.

Within the CBC bureaucracy, responsibility for the new-new Q has been moved from the Talk department to Music, reflecting a desire for a tighter focus on arts and entertainment rather than the broader notion of "culture," Moroz says. The overall sound of the show will be "more musical," with greater effort put into creating a distinctive sound that will stand out on the radio dial.

While she doesn't want to single out any particular influences on the new sound, Moroz acknowledges that slickly produced podcasts such as NPR's Invisibilia and RadioLab, as well as CBC's Out in the Open, hosted by Piya Chattopadhyay, are kindred spirits.

And while the long-form interviews that were mainstays of Q since the beginning aren't going away, there will be fewer.

"You know how sometimes you have talk programs that are blocks of interviews - and some of them are terrific, but that's not what we're going for here.

We want layered use of sound throughout the show, so that sonically it really does jump out."

Still, she hopes Q will be able to react to breaking arts stories as they unfold. "In a live daily show, everything can't be really highly produced. But, to the extent possible, I'd like to sort of marry those two worlds, and bring in the layer of sound and production that you hear on those weekly podcasts that have high, high production values."

The goal is to produce a show that is both accessible to casual listeners and still meaningful to hard-core fans of the artists who appear. Moroz says that, when the new staff conducted a "blue sky" brainstorming session last month, "one of the terms we came up with is, we want to be like an inclusive record store clerk."

While she's speaking, Power pops into Moroz's office for a few minutes, on his way up to the studio to record an interview with members of the Sam Roberts Band, which will air in the first couple of weeks. He admits he's not an expert in all of the subjects Q will cover, but then, he's only the face of a large team behind the scenes.

"I felt some insecurity about my knowledge on certain things, walking into the show," he says. "But I've surrounded myself with real experts here.

The level of expertise on this show, in various forms, in various genres, is really remarkable.

Creativity as well." His job, he says, is to "ask questions that people will want to have answered: 'Why does this matter to me? And what's the humanity behind it? Why should I feel something and why should I listen to it? And why should I read it?' " Moroz and Power head up to the studio, a secondary space that is normally used by CBC Music's First Play Live recording series, with better acoustics than Studio Q. From now on, this is where they'll do many of the interviews with musicians who come in to perform.

Power is in his element here, a quick-witted charmer who has an easy rapport with the guests.

As the band plays, he stands off to the side of the studio, nodding his head in time to the music while glancing at the pages of prepared notes he holds in front of his chest, looking like a cross between an earnest undergrad debater and a boy-genius record producer.

Every so often, a producer in the control room speaks into Power's headset, and the host nods almost imperceptibly.

In between tunes, Power probes the band's leader Sam Roberts on the development of the new album, and the need for an artist to keep evolving; it sounds as if Power could be thinking about Q itself.

After three songs, it's time to wrap up the segment. "Sam, I had such a great time talking to you," Power says.

Roberts replies: "Same here.

Good luck with this - the next chapter for you."

"Yeah, Shelagh Rogers does The Next Chapter," Power quips, and the control room dissolves in laughter.

Associated Graphic

Musician Sam Roberts, left, speaks with Tom Power, the new incoming host of CBC Radio's Q, before taping an interview on Wednesday. Power, a quick-witted charmer who has an easy rapport with guests, is in his element in his new position.


The kindness of Catherine Keener
How the actress and her director Alan Gilsenan brought Carol Shields's benevolent novel Unless to the screen
Special to The Globe and Mail
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R2

At the corner of Bathurst and Bloor Streets in Toronto, you can see the familiar twinkling lights of the orange and yellow Honest Ed's marquee. The edifice, which first opened in 1948 and is named after its late proprietor Ed Mirvish, is a city institution. Yet despite its charm, its history and its importance to the community that has snaked through its asymmetrical staircases and picked through its inventory for decades, Honest Ed's will soon be plowed into the ground and replaced with what Toronto may need the least: another cluster of residential towers.

It is this bit of foreknowledge that makes Alan Gilsenan's adaptation of Canadian novelist Carol Shields's Unless all the more bittersweet. The film, a co-production between Canada and Ireland, premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival last month and stars homegrown talent Hannah Gross and film legend Catherine Keener. Unless is set - like its literary source material - along the city blocks that hem in Mirvish's rambling store - and the film is a testament to both the historic intersection and to the pastiche of characters whose lives cross and commingle on its gritty sidewalks.

The streets themselves become a central character in Unless, which tells the story of a tightknit middle-class family cast into panic and philosophical introspection when eldest daughter Norah (played with stunning equanimity by Gross) is inexplicably found panhandling outside Honest Ed's. Norah doesn't speak, she barely eats or washes; she only sits wrapped in a fraying quilt holding a cardboard sign with the word "goodness" written in felt marker.

The film presents its audience with a portrait of the city's precariously housed and those who - while the rest of us rush to our destinations - sit silently with open hands. It's an emotionally charged thought experiment that wonders what it would take for the rational mind to one day buckle - for all of us to suddenly reject the web of social conventions that keep everyday life humming.

This is the third of Shields's novels to be adapted to film, and there will always be purists who don't believe a movie can do justice to the original text (particularly when that text is as introspective as Shields's), but with Keener in the role of Norah's mother Reta, a writer and translator herself who narrates the story to us, Gilsenan's film is an astonishing homage to the original.

In an interview during TIFF, Gilsenan admitted that he had read The Stone Diaries and was aware of Shields's work, but "had a slight prejudice against her.

"I had thought that somehow she was this gentle writer for women," says the Irish director, who was happily proven wrong when his wife passed her copy of Unless across the bed to him one night, insisting it would make for a great film. From there, Gilsenan adapted the 2002 novel into a screenplay and visited Toronto to see the pivotal intersection of Bathurst and Bloor for himself. "I couldn't believe the kind of circus lights, the kind of Tom Waits magic of that building; it was extraordinary."

Then, of course, came the magic of casting Keener as the lead.

Keener, 57, has been a working actor since 1986 and has chosen her roles wisely - a mix of Hollywood titles and indie gems, from Being John Malkovich to Capote to her celebrated work with director Nicole Holofcener. Nominated for two Academy Awards as a supporting actress, her raspy-yetsing-song voice is distinct and her talent unparalleled. Gilsenan quickly recognized his casting luck. "Any discerning person I know who loves cinema, who loves art, loves this woman, and there couldn't have been anyone better for this part. This woman never tells a lie. In every take there's always truth.

"I think a lot of directors just want yes-men, puppets," Gilsenan adds, but that's not what you get when you hire Keener.

"I think I'm perceived as difficult by people," Keener says. Yet this perception is not something that deters her from speaking up on set. "One thing I do have is the capacity to say no. I can do that any time I want."

It is clear from talking with both Gilsenan and Keener that, in this instance at least, the relationship between actor and director has been a generative and mutually appreciative one. "I love working with actors - it's fun to sort of turn each other on - but the collaboration between the director and the actor is most exciting for me," says Keener, while Gilsenan insists that Keener "would be a great director" because "she has a genuine facility with actors that is generous and respectful - it's not the star bulldozing her way in, it's genuinely respectful and genuinely helpful."

When asked if she has her eyes set on the director's chair, Keener pauses. "Yes. I'm just quiet about it. Frankly, I would like to find something that I feel competent at doing, or have some sort of zeal for," she says. "I'd love to direct something, but I don't know what that is."

Like Unless the novel, which invites the reader to consider what goodness might mean not only in abstract terms, Unless the film stretches itself toward the truth of the good. Gilsenan's camera takes us inside the cramped halls and spartan dormitories of a local women's shelter, captures a street kid dancing by himself over a subway grate to imagined music, and holds in close-up the quiet melancholy that flickers behind Norah's eyes. The film reveals the delicate balance of intimacy and estrangement that underpin our closest relationships, a tightrope that the director saw paralleled on set. "There was a lovely rapport - it was pressurized, it was a tricky, tight schedule - but there was a lovely rapport among the actors that was generous and gentle. I love that," Gilsenan says.

"You come together, you're total strangers, you're forced into a weird sort of intimacy, and then sometimes you disappear and don't see each other for months."

Keener speaks in similar terms about the intimacy of the film's 21-day shoot, which largely took place outside Honest Ed's at night and in the frigid cold. "It was a very contemplative time. The mood was right for that, and Toronto's mood fit it perfectly, in the dead of winter, and on that street," the actor says. She goes on to recount how during the night shoots, passersby would try to intervene when Keener (in character as Reta) would shake Gross or yell at her to snap out of her monastic stupor. In one instance, Keener ran into Honest Ed's after the scene cut to try to find a woman who had attempted to intervene. "I felt so badly afterwards," Keener says - but she also explains that in those instances, she recognized the kindness of strangers. "When put to the test, people are so good, that's how I feel. What that woman did, that was goodness to me, and it happened all the time making this movie," she says.

"Those moments of beautiful humanity revealing themselves to us."

Associated Graphic

Catherine Keener, twice nominated for the Academy Award for best supporting actress, co-stars in Unless. Adapted from the Carol Shields novel, the film is set in and around Toronto's Mirvish Village and chooses the city's precariously housed as its subject.


The world hears Jordan Smith's voice
Winning NBC's reality show has launched the American's career into Adele territory
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E3

Jordan Smith is an unlikely success story. After failing in his first attempt to get on the The Voice, NBC's singing competition, the 22-year-old Kentucky native tried a second time and went on to win Season 9 after catching the judge's attention with his searing rendition of Sia's Chandelier.

Since then, Mr. Smith has become the biggest selling Voice contestant in the show's fiveyear history. His debut album, Something Beautiful, came out last March, soaring to No. 1 on the iTunes and Amazon album charts, with a reported 1.2 million tracks sold to date. His following is so huge that one of his Voice performance recordings, of the Queen song Somebody to Love, bumped Adele's platinum-selling Hello off the iTunes list.

Mr. Smith next airs his powerful falsetto on a new holiday album, 'Tis the Season, and a tour that includes a stop in Toronto as part of the We Day celebrations. Performing as part of the celebrity lineup assembled for the event, Mr. Smith is also a We Day ambassador. He says he is committed to sharing his story of personal and professional triumph, and with that goal in mind spoke with The Globe and Mail in an interview touching on fame, failure and the next phase of his career.

You had a breakthrough 2015, winning Season 9 of The Voice and emerging as the hit show's fastest selling artist to date.

This year you have followed up with a debut album, TV appearances, a June wedding and a holiday disc, your first. What drives you?

What an incredible year it has been. I'm so grateful for all the amazing opportunities that I've had so far and I know that the best is yet to come. I am driven by many things. Like most, I am dedicated to my new family, and knowing that I must provide for them pushes me to be better and work harder with each new milestone. I am also inspired and encouraged by the countless stories I get to hear of how my music influences others. The state of our hurting world is one of the greatest motivators in my life. I can see that people need to feel loved and accepted, and knowing that music can help bring us together makes it worth all the hard work.

Success hasn't come easily. You actually tried out for The Voice in 2014 and failed, moving on to study music business at a U.S. college while continuing to sing in your church choir. If you ever felt like giving up, what made you stay the course?

Like many who have experienced any kind of personal success, I definitely experienced times when I felt like giving up.

Growing up, my parents taught me that the path with least resistance is most often also the path with the least reward.

Knowing that music was my passion, I was determined to find a way to build my talent into a career, and I believed strongly that The Voice was my way. That strong belief kept me pushing toward my goal.

You have spoken publicly about battling fear and disappointment. How will you translate what you went through to a We Day audience of kids who might be experiencing the same thing?

We all deal with fear. Sometimes our disappointments can cause us to feel afraid of trying again because it might result in a person failing. I have experienced feelings of doubt and fear many times in my life and I do my best to use that experience to encourage others. My story with The Voice proves that overcoming disappointment is possible.

But I also want my positive attitude as a person to be an example. I want to demonstrate to others what is possible when you work toward a goal for the right reason. If I can be an example to just one person, I have succeeded.

When growing up, who was your role model and why?

One of my greatest influences in my life was my grandfather. He was the leader of our family and he taught me many lessons. Just by watching how he lived and treated others, I learned the importance of putting the needs of others before your own desires. He was the hardest worker I've ever known. Hard work is a value he instilled in his children and grandchildren.

He also battled Parkinson's disease for many years, and seeing his positivity and strength during the toughest times taught me the importance of outlook and perspective in life. He was a great man.

For your new holiday album, 'Tis the Season, you teamed up again with Canada's David Foster who co-produced your debut release, Something Beautiful. How would you describe your relationship?

Not only would I call David Foster a mentor, but I consider him a friend. Working with him has been a tremendous learning experience and it has also been extremely fun. He is beyond talented and he has worked with some of the most talented artists ever. During my time in the studio with him I realized that he was pushing me to become a better singer and a smarter musician. I hope to continue working with him in the future and making more great music together.

You are touring this fall with Amy Grant and others. How do you prepare for and also handle life on the road? You have spoken often about protecting your voice, so how does your routine change when travelling?

When you're on tour the most important thing you have to focus on is preserving your health and voice. Small things like taking vitamins and washing your hands often can help a great deal. To make sure your voice is in the best shape possible, it's important to do thorough routine vocal warmups and exercises that keep the voice active and strong. It's also very important to get lots of rest and use proper singing technique. There are lots of factors to think about when touring, but I always have a great time. I'm looking forward to sharing my new Christmas album with the world and performing some of my favorite songs of all time with these other amazing artists.

Do you still watch The Voice, and if so what do you feel when watching the new crop of hopefuls singing their hearts out, dreaming as you once did, of recognition?

I am so proud to have been a part of The Voice and each time I watch a new episode I get butterflies in my stomach. I miss the experience of being on the show every week. The people are amazing. The set is beautiful. And the entire show has such a positive, friendly atmosphere. When I watch the new contestants I can only think about what they must be feeling. I also feel happy and excited for them because I know just how rewarding the experience can be. The most important part is to have fun and enjoy every moment. Just being there is a dream come true.

Associated Graphic

Jordan Smith has a tour this fall and a new Christmas album. But he keeps a close eye on The Voice, the TV show that made him famous. 'Each time I watch a new episode I get butterflies in my stomach.' E.


King Bhumibol was face of Thailand
Death of much-loved monarch, whose 70-year reign came to symbolize a 'worldview' for country, raises questions of identity for Thais
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A5

BEIJING -- Thailand's King Bhumibol Adulyadej, the world's longest-reigning monarch and one of its wealthiest, has died, ending a 70year rule and creating new uncertainty over the future of a country with a turbulent political past.

The much-loved Bhumibol was 88 when he died in Bangkok, surrounded by family, some of whom who had raced back to the capital this week as his condition worsened.

Some Thais spent recent days wearing pink, a colour royal astrologers have associated with the King's well-being, and signing get-well books.

Some travelled from more than 1,000 kilometres away, local newspapers reported, a sign of the national esteem commanded by a regent who ruled so long few can remember the country without him. On Thursday afternoon, as rumours of his death spread, people gathered in Bangkok, waving flags and chanting, "long live the King!"

With his death, "what really passes is not him or even the monarchy, it's like an entire mentality and almost a worldview" of what it means to be Thailand, said David Streckfuss, an independent academic and author.

"What's frightening for many Thais is not merely the passing of the King and an age - but for those people, they simply can't conceive of a Thailand that's not like" the idealized version put forth by the palace, which has endured in a country never fully colonized by western powers.

The King suffered from Parkinson's and had in the past decade endured extended periods of hospitalization. He had barely been seen in public over the past year.

The palace said he had suffered infections, heart surgery and, more recently, an "unstable condition" that left him in need of a ventilator.

Bhumibol's death is expected to launch a lengthy period of mourning that could, in its early days, include the closing of bars and cancellation of entertainment events, a shift that could temporarily impact tourists to the country.

Observers also warn that the military junta currently ruling Thailand could crack down to prevent any conduct or speech deemed disrespectful of the King as the country urges an atmosphere of grief.

Thai stocks and the baht tumbled this week, a reflection of fear among investors over the country's prospects without the King.

With the military in control, however, unrest is not expected to break out.

But without the long-lived face of the monarch whose image adorns household interiors and billboards alike, Thailand faces searching questions of identity.

"Who has the right to govern here? Is it the military and coups and forced constitutions? Or does it come from elections and democracy?" Mr. Streckfuss said.

Complicating matters is the expected successor. U.S. diplomatic cables released by Wikileaks described Crown Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn, 64, as a philandering playboy disliked and distrusted by other members of the Thai elite.

He seems unlikely to equal the public love devoted to his father.

Born "Baby Songkla" in Cambridge, Mass., in 1927, Bhumibol was educated in Switzerland. He ascended to the throne in 1946 when his brother died of a gunshot, suddenly making him regent of a country whose language he, at the time, did not speak perfectly.

The 70 years of his reign were marked by political instability in Thailand, a constitutional democracy riven by frequent military coups, destructive protests and occasional bloodshed.

But Bhumibol himself became a photo-snapping, saxophone-playing object of deep affection, a charismatic leader revered as a national "father" for championing the cause of the underprivileged, offering help in times of disaster and benignly ruling over the "land of smiles."

The bespectacled King has been a "symbol of unity that has tied Thailand together," said Kriengsak Chareonwongsak, an academic and former politician. He is "revered and respected for what has been done over his long reign."

But the image of a beatific King has been questioned by critics, who call Bhumibol an interventionist monarch whose maintenance of sovereign power stunted the development of democracy.

"His political activeness has often fomented conflict and cleaved deep fissures among his people," wrote Paul Handley in The King Never Smiles, an unauthorized biography whose publication was strongly protested by Thai officials. The book is banned in Thailand, and in 2011 a Thai court sentenced an American man to two-and-a-half years in prison for translating several chapters.

The image of the Thai monarchy is protected by the world's most harsh and actively prosecuted lèse majesté laws.

Mr. Handley calls Bhumibol a leader who "assimilated the idea that his position, and he himself, had accumulated matchless wisdom and insight into the ways of man and the cosmos," making him a solitary figure "best equipped to direct his people and kingdom."

His life's work was to revive "the prestige of the palace as the unifying sacred core around which his country revolved," wrote Andrew MacGregor Marshall, author of A Kingdom in Crisis.

Others have suggested the King was merely the figurehead over a network of influential palace advisers and royalists. Whatever the case, the palace amassed great wealth under him.

In 2010, Forbes ranked Bhumibol the world's richest royal, with assets under the Crown Property Bureau of $30-billion (U.S.). More recent estimates exceed $40-billion.

In securing his position, Bhumibol tacitly or directly partnered with the generals who enacted Thailand's numerous coups, his critics said. The country's periods of military rule were plagued by corrupt governance that "exacerbated the social problems they were expected to solve," Mr. Handley wrote.

The turbulence of the past 10 years, in particular, has marred Bhumibol's image among some Thais, particularly in northern stretches of the country where pockets of secessionism have arisen in the anger over military crackdowns on political protests.

In May 2010, the military opened fire on protesters. More than 80 civilians died, some shot at a temple, and civil unrest caused billions of dollars in damage.

A new round of protests in 2014 resulted in another military coup, and the army has remained in control since. An interim constitution gives the military "absolute authority without any accountability, and they have shown themselves very willing to use that authority," said Sam Zarifi, the Asia-Pacific regional director for the International Commission of Jurists. Critics have been silenced and jailed.

Among critics in Thailand, Bhumibol's legacy has become one of "either a very weak King who was used by various political and military factions, or a very deluded man who helped orchestrate some of this," said one observer, who spoke on condition of anonymity since the country jails those who impugn the monarchy.

The King's image as peacemaker, won in 1992 when he arbitrated an end to violent protests, has been corroded, the observer said.

Still, affection for the King is real, and widely felt in a nation that credits the palace with modernizing Thailand into a manufacturing hub and global tourism destination that is now among south-east Asia's wealthiest.

"There's no doubt that the country has witnessed tremendous development, and he is exceptionally beloved," said Mr. Zarifi.

"The Thailand of even 20 years ago is very different from the country today."

Thailand's King Bhumibol was a unifying figure in a deeply polarized country. Obituaries

Associated Graphic

A woman cries at a Bangkok hospital on Thursday. King Bhumibol Adulyadej, the world's longest-serving monarch, was treated there.


Parties pack in fundraisers before ban
Ontario MPPs, including Premier, squeeze in series of cash-for-access events before changes in political donation laws take effect
Thursday, October 13, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A1

TORONTO -- Mere hours after the Ontario legislature unanimously passed the Premier's campaign finance reform bill at second reading last week, Kathleen Wynne led a crew of five cabinet ministers to a $1,000-a-plate fundraiser at a banquet hall in the Toronto suburbs. The Oct. 4 event - the Liberals' Central Trillium Reception in Vaughan - was just one of an avalanche of fundraisers all three provincial political parties are squeezing in before the events are banned at the end of the year.

The legislation, Bill 2, would prohibit corporate and union donations and slash annual contribution limits to $3,600 starting on Jan. 1. The Premier has also vowed to amend the bill to ban all provincial politicians from attending fundraisers. The Liberals brought in the reforms after a series of Globe and Mail reports on the province's cash-for-access fundraising system, in which corporate leaders seeking to do business with government paid up to $10,000 for time with Ms. Wynne and members of her cabinet.

Now, MPPs across the spectrum are trying to get in as many fundraisers as they can under the wire.

Progressive Conservative MPP Vic Fedeli bills a Nov. 24 luncheon at Toronto's Albany Club as "Fedeli's Final Funder" and asks corporations and unions to contribute one last time.

"As you are likely aware, fundraising rules are set to change at the end of the year. MPPs will NO LONGER be able to accept corporate or union donations," Mr. Fedeli wrote in an e-mail to prospective donors.

"As this is the last time I can ask ... please dig deep and donate to your maximum."

An invitation for an Oct. 5 "Northern Grit" reception featuring Energy Minister Glenn Thibeault and Transportation Minister Steven Del Duca at Peter Pan Bistro in Toronto, billed the $700-a-person evening as "special" and warned "tickets are limited."

And a mass e-mail from NDP president Mary Rita Holland last month urged donors to help the party "build a fund for the future before the fundraising rules change."

In total, the Ontario Liberal Party's website lists 18 events for the nine weeks between Sept. 26 and Nov. 24. These include at least three with Ms. Wynne, the Trillium reception, a $1,000-ahead evening on Oct. 6 with International Trade Minister Michael Chan at the offices of geothermal company Menergy in Richmond Hill and a $300-a-ticket garden party on Oct. 30 in her Don Valley West riding.

The Progressive Conservatives list 15 fundraisers between midOctober and early December, including six with leader Patrick Brown. Among Mr. Brown's events are a $1,000-a-person reception on Oct. 20 at the home of Toronto food wholesale executive Gregg Badger, and a $500-aticket evening on Nov. 21 at the offices of Gowling WLG.

Exactly how many fundraisers are taking place is hard to determine. Last spring, both Ms. Wynne and Mr. Brown pledged to start posting all events on their parties' websites ahead of time, but the rule has been followed inconsistently. The NDP does not post any public list of upcoming fundraisers.

Liberal spokeswoman Patricia Favre would not say whether the party had stepped up its fundraising in anticipation of Bill 2.

"We continue to operate under the current rules, as do both the PCs and NDP. Our commitment is to post all events prior to them taking place, and that's what we've been doing," she wrote in an e-mail.

Mr. Fedeli said he supports banning corporate and union donations, but fears that after the rules change, he will not be able to raise enough money for workrelated expenses, such as printing booklets and some travel, that the legislature does not cover. "I would like to collect all I can under the current rules while those rules are still in place. I think it's only fair to ask for the corporate and union donations while we're allowed to."

Mr. Fedeli said he did not see the need to include his Final Funder on the party's public list because he had already e-mailed the invitation to "thousands" of contacts, including some reporters. "It's certainly not under a rock anywhere. It's out there every day."

NDP provincial secretary Karla Webber-Gallagher wrote in an e-mail that the central party office is planning one fundraiser: a $1,995-a-head "Vision Dinner" at the Royal York Hotel on Nov. 17. She said individual riding associations are holding events, but did not provide a list.

"Since we widely publicize our party events and fundraisers through social media and other means, as do our individual riding associations for local fundraisers, it is not our practice to publish a full calendar of events on our website," Ms. Webber-Gallagher said.

Lobbyists are also continuing to promote the fundraisers. Chris Benedetti of Sussex Strategy Group, who represents several private electricity companies, circulated information about the "Northern Grit" fundraiser. Mr. Benedetti said he has noticed an uptick in the number of fundraisers.

"It does seem to be that the frequency of events has increased, particularly amongst constituency associations from all three parties. We tend to be receiving invites from the PCs, Liberals, and NDP on a weekly basis," he wrote in an e-mail, explaining he circulates information about upcoming fundraisers as part of his lobbying business to keep clients and contacts in the loop on events that may interest them.

Two other registered lobbyists - Craig Brockwell of Solstice Public Affairs, who lobbies for a mining company and a construction law firm; and Arthur Lofsky, who represents insurance brokers and the real estate industry - were listed on the organizing committee of a Liberal fundraiser in August. Mr. Brockwell is also a regional representative on the Ontario Liberal executive.

Mr. Brockwell said he promotes and attends fundraisers for all three parties as a way to meet business and union leaders who may want to hire his firm.

"This is just one of those roles ... that would help promote our business to potential clients," he said in an interview, adding he has never received preferential treatment from politicians for his clients as a result of his efforts: "As far as getting calls returned ... [fundraising] has never helped me in my capacity as a lobbyist for any client, for any employer."

Mr. Lofsky did not respond to a request for comment.

Despite this final push, donations appear to be down. As of Wednesday, Elections Ontario's real-time disclosure portal showed the Liberals had raised $4.2-million for 2016. By comparison, the party received $8.9-million last year, $10.2-million in 2014 and $9-million in 2013.

The PCs have raised $4.9-million so far in 2016. While that figure is already higher than the party's take for all of 2015 - $3.1million - a hard-fought leadership race last year attracted many donations that might otherwise have gone to the party. The PCs collected $8.2-million in 2014 and $8.1-million in 2013.

The NDP raised $1.2-million in 2016, not far off last year's $1.9million, but a far cry from 2014's $3.3-million and 2013's $3.1-million.

Real-time disclosure, however, shows only donations to the central party office and not contributions to individual constituency associations, which are published in annual financial statements.

lost language revival empowers speakers
Royally recognized efforts to restore Kwanlin Dun's language reverses residential-school trauma
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S1

WHITEHORSE -- Riley Vance is perched on a wooden horse in his Whitehorse-area daycare when he starts singing about tidying up in Southern Tutchone, an aboriginal language with fewer than 50 fluent speakers left.

The three-year-old's ditty is the fruit of an effort in Yukon's Kwanlin Dün First Nation to teach dozens of children words and phrases in the endangered language daily at a local head-start program. They now have the first ever children's book in the language.

"We're at a critical stage with our language with only a few fluent speakers left, so it's been exciting to have them singing nursery rhymes," said Erin Pauls, who runs the Dusk'a Head Start program.

The Kwanlin Dun's work has received royal attention. Prince William and his wife, Catherine, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, sat down in Whitehorse in late September with 25 children, an elder and the Southern Tutchone children's book, which tells the story of William the moose searching for his son George. (The characters were named in honour of the royal visit.)

It is all part of an unprecedented effort by First Nations across Canada to save their struggling languages as fluent elders die off, the legacy of the residential school system's attempt to suppress indigenous culture.

First Nations leaders say that with forecasts that half of their elders will be gone within six years, the added sense of urgency has been channelled into children's books, elementary-school programs, smartphone apps and other initiatives.

Local leaders in Kwanlin Dün, a self-governing First Nation of 1,200 people who live in and around Yukon's territorial capital, say they had to act quickly or Southern Tutchone would face extinction.

While the instruction has helped slow the decline in speakers and has increased the quality of Southern Tutchone spoken on the streets of the Kwanlin Dun, councillor Sean Smith said the language is still at risk.

"We're losing three or four strong speakers a year. We only have about 50 left. It was critical we develop these language programs quickly," said Mr. Smith, who is teaching his one-year-old daughter the language.

Ms. Pauls, the manager of Dusk'a head-start program, said the visit by the royals was surreal, as Prince William sat for nearly a half hour and spoke from the book in her community's endangered language.

"They asked me if there were enough resources for language revitalization and the state of efforts. They were asking the right questions and they were funny and down to earth," she said after the visit.

A copy of the children's book, Hide and Peek, is now being given to each kindergarten and Grade 1 student in Whitehorse. Funded in part by the Prince's Charities Canada, the Southern Tutchone book comes with an app that lets children see and hear it read by elder Lorraine Allen, who did the translation.

The elder was moose hunting when the royal couple arrived and nearly missed the ceremony. She headed back to the hunt soon after.

While the Kwanlin Dün's current teaching system revolves around elders, the children's book is an attempt to make the language instruction more sustainable over time.

"Statistics Canada forecasts that in the next six years, half the elders will be dead. There isn't a significant written history, a lot of languages are in a near-death experience," said Mike Parkhill, who wrote and illustrated the children's book.

Mr. Parkhill has helped create more than a dozen books in a number of aboriginal languages. He told The Globe he quit his job as an academic director at Microsoft when he learned about the state of many of those languages.

"It's not like Russian, where if you forget the language, you can go back to Russia and learn it," he said. "These words have been passed down over thousands of years, and people have to train for 20 years to get the stories right."

One of the projects he is helping with now is a computer program for Ojibwa communities in Northern Ontario that will give its users hundreds of possible conjugations in Ojibway for more than 13,000 verbs.

While Ojibway is a relatively healthy language with thousands of speakers, Brent Tookenay said he hopes the tool will help increase the vitality of spoken Ojibway in small First Nations communities where English is often used.

"The point was to have it in our schools so someone could look up, 'How do I go to the store,' and they'd know quickly," said Mr.

Tookenay, who is the CEO of Seven Generations Education Institute, an educational program in Northern Ontario. Based in Fort Frances, the institute is helping create the tool.

"I don't know if it's in danger, but we're racing against time as knowledge keepers in our communities, our elders, pass on.

Hopefully, this translator tool will help," he said.

Much of the First Nations language loss in Canada was caused by the residential school system, where a policy of assimilation led the federal government to fund schools that attempted to stamp out aboriginal languages. Traditional practices were banned, and survivors have reported that they were beaten if they were caught speaking the languages they learned at home.

"Many of the elders had such a bad experience in residential school that they ... speak English to shield [the children]," Mr. Parkhill said. The damage of the residential school system is still clear today. Many Kwanlin Dün elders who are still fluent in Southern Tutchone or Tlingit grew up in extremely isolated areas and were not sent to the schools.

Mr. Smith learned Southern Tutchone from his grandmother, who avoided the schools by living on the land. However, his mother and father were sent there. Teaching the once-banned language to the youngest generation is a way to make them feel empowered, he said.

"This is reversing residential schools, it's reversing what happened. It's so powerful for the elders to see that light," Mr. Smith said.

Former Vancouver mayor Sam Sullivan is leading an effort in British Columbia to revive Chinook, a trade language invented more than 200 years ago to ease communications between coastal First Nations and settlers in the Pacific Northwest.

Chinook is not an aboriginal language but a highly simplified amalgam of aboriginal, English and French sounds. With only about 1,000 words, it is like a language "stripped to its underwear," according to Mr. Sullivan, who is currently a Liberal MLA.

"This is a time when aboriginal and non-aboriginal people came together and created something that we can be proud of. It was based on trade, not war. The whole history of British Columbia is in that language," he said.

The language once had more than 100,000 speakers and has left place names and words that are still commonly used in British Columbia today. However, only one fluent speaker is left, Mr. Sullivan said: Jay Powell, a 78year-old former anthropology professor at the University of British Columbia.

Associated Graphic

Jay Powell, the last remaining speaker of Chinook, a language blending aboriginal, English and French sounds, is pictured at the MOA at UBC on Friday.


The trick to performing culinary magic
Budding chefs go beyond classics to embrace the exotic
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E1

Blame it on the punk appeal of chef Anthony Bourdain, the Joey Ramone of kitchen sensibilities; or Bill Buford's book Heat on working inside the pecking order of Italian-cuisine divo Mario Batali's kitchen; or even the amusingly stilted English overdubs on the original Japanese Iron Chef series.

The mini media empire of celebrity chefs, cooking shows and cookbooks has inevitably changed the expectations of what is possible for students entering culinary school.

Long gone, say the instructors, are the days of college cooking programs that simply focused on knife skills and Julia Child-type French recipes.

Now it's about taking ingredients from around the world and whipping them up with a wide diversity of increasingly specialized kitchen skills and workplace management. For colleges, it's also about leading students into the high-pressure culture of contemporary kitchens.

"On one level, we always stick to what we call classic cooking techniques - but adding to that.

Our industry always changes.

Technology changes. Trends change. Styles of cooking change," says Craig Youdale, dean of Niagara College's Canadian Food and Wine Institute.

"It's a huge challenge for culinary schools to try and balance the two, to create someone who has that base knowledge to be able to work anywhere, but at the same time be very aware and knowledgeable about where trends are going and what techniques and technology are available."

Take radicchio lettuce or Belgian endive. They used to be special ordered from Europe. "Now I can go to Sobeys and get it," Mr. Youdale says.

The exotic has now become commonplace. Lemongrass or Mexican peppers, once limited to Thai or Mexican restaurants, are now staples for home cooks. It means students can excel with a wider variety of influences.

But there is still a need to master the grunt tasks, while also creating magic with each dish.

Niagara College is putting this kind of bend-over-backward kitchen work ethic on display with its participation in global competitions - it won the right to represent Canada in the Culinary World Cup in Luxembourg in 2014 and the American Culinary Classic in Florida last year. It won gold and silver medals in both competitions and is now heading to the World Culinary Olympics in Germany this month. Think Iron Chef, but with national teams.

Yet in practice, culinary education is still largely about the basics and the ability to learn every station in a professional kitchen.

"Regardless of what type of restaurant, that base level is fairly common across the board, whether you're at the Royal York, Buca or Richmond Station [two Toronto restaurants], you're always going to need those basic skills to survive," Mr. Youdale says.

Christine Walker, academic chair of George Brown College's Chef School in Toronto, says fundamental knife skills are always going to be important. Yet a lot of dialogue takes place between colleges and restaurant owners (as well as hotels, hospitals and other food services businesses) to teach students what the industry is demanding.

"What are the trends coming up in the industry that we need to be making sure our students are knowledgeable in," she says.

"Nutrition is one that a few years ago, we realized we need to put a stronger focus on - still teaching fundamental knife skills, but making sure we're talking about nutrition. How you can make this healthier, how you can change this recipe."

Classes have a mix of slow pacing to master skills and fast pacing to learn to work under pressure. "But now it's much, much bigger. We make sure we talk a lot about sexual harassment and their rights and to make sure that they are informed," Ms. Walker says.

Work placement in professional kitchens is also key. George Brown's program puts an emphasis on students broadening their résumés. If they have worked in restaurants, they may need stints working on recipe testing or in hotel kitchens. But what is difficult to teach is the sheer pace of restaurant work.

"A typical day in the summer is arriving at 10 in the morning, start prep, start getting reading and setting up your station for lunch service, which starts at 11:30," says Robbie Aggarwal, 19, who graduated from Niagara College and is on the school's cooking competition team. He currently works at Two Sisters Vineyards at Niagara-on-theLake. Lunch service generally entails 130 to 160 customers, plus walk-ins.

"So for four hours, you're just kind of busting out orders. You're in the zone," he says.

"Lunch ends at 4, and by then you're still taking orders. You clean up your station and do any more prep you need for dinner service. At the same time, you're going to the bathroom, you're trying to eat something. And then you have zero time for yourself before it hits 5 o'clock, and you already have 20 people at the door for a 200-plus cover service [200 or more expected customers]," Mr. Aggarwal says.

That kind of pace can be learned only on the job. "I think they can't prepare you for that 200 dinner cover service, or that 14-hour day, because how would they teach that?" Yet finding a job is relatively easy compared to other fields, says Mr. Youdale at Niagara College. "If you ever want to be gainfully employed, pretty much anywhere you go in the world, being a cook is definitely one of those positions."

However, "for those who want to excel and move their way up, it's like any profession. It becomes tougher and tougher the higher you go," he noted.

"They come into the industry, and they want to be like that chef they see on TV. They want to make their own menus, and they want reviewers to come taste their food, and they want to express themselves creatively. I think most chefs look for that."

The problem is that "it's not that type of job. You've got to pay your dues," Mr. Youdale says.

College programs and their close connection to restaurants can be key for getting into the profession. "It's not just about how to cook, it's also about networking and who you know," says Jeremy Gilligan, who is 45 and went back to school to pursue cooking as a career change.

Still, it comes down to work ethic. "They always say in our profession, 15 minutes early is 20 minutes late. You've got to show up half an hour early to get your station set up. There are a lot of things you don't get paid for," Mr. Gilligan says.

"I started out at garde manger [hors d'oeuvres and salads], then entremet [vegetables and sides], then saucier [sauces] for three years. When you get to that point, you're going to go through all the positions."

And that's what culinary programs have in common with celebrity chef media. It's the ability to do anything in the kitchen, while whipping up minor miracles.

Associated Graphic

Jeremy Gilligan is on Niagara College's team going to the World Culinary Olympics.


Robbie Aggarwal is also on Niagara's team going to the Culinary Olympics.


Aleppo's fate weighs on archeologist
Director-general of antiquities and museums willing to work in both government-held and rebel-occupied territories to protect sites
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A4

In the past year or so, Maamoun Abdulkarim has taken to calling himself "the saddest museum director in the world."

He's said it often enough, in speeches and interviews, that it's become akin to shtick. In fact, he said it to this writer this weekend in Toronto where Sunday afternoon he was scheduled to deliver the second annual Aga Khan Museum Lecture, titled Heritage and Conflict: Syria's Battle to Save Its Past.

Shtick or no, the self-description happens to contain a huge boulder of truth since Dr. Abdulkarim, 59, is the director-general of antiquities and museums for the government of Syrian President Bashar al-Assad.

With a staff of 2,500, Dr. Abdulkarim has overseen some 34 national museums and 10,000 heritage sites spread across the country since the then-minister of culture named him to the post in the summer of 2012 - a little more than a year, in other words, after Syria was rent by the civil war that has become only more uncivil in the years since. If there's an end in sight, it requires a very high-powered telescope to see it.

Unsurprisingly, Dr. Abdulkarim said, in the thickly accented English he began to learn only two years ago, that he feels "30 years older than I am. I live in a tragedy and through the tragedy you cannot feel that you are young."

The fate of Aleppo, Syria's largest city, seems to weigh particularly heavy on him as incessant attacks by Syrian and Russian planes have reduced much of it to rubble. "If the war continues, we will lose Aleppo," he said. "It will become like Warsaw in 1944," when the Nazis embarked on an all-out razing of the Polish capital.

Married to a fellow archeologist, father to a 10-year-old daughter and a son, 13, Dr. Abdulkarim is what you might call one of the "good guys" of the Assad regime, whose long-standing pariah status in the West as a torture state has only increased as a result of the civil war.

A secular Muslim of ArmenianKurdish ancestry, he claims in fact not to be paid directly by the regime but rather through Damascus University where he'd been director of its archeology department and where he still teaches graduate students each Thursday. "My job is free." And this means a high degree of autonomy, he said. "I can be more free in what I say." And "[if] the government doesn't respect my work, I leave my job."

Dr. Abdulkarim is perhaps most famous for his decision in August, 2012, to close all of Syria's museums, then later, as the civil war intensified and the Islamic State appeared on the scene, to remove the 300,000-plus objects they contained to unspecified safe havens. He did not want, he said, a repeat of the looting and destruction of cultural treasures that occurred in Iraq in 2003 with the defeat of Saddam Hussein.

Today, Dr. Abdulkarim says his department saved 99 per cent of Syria's museum collections.

Sometimes, this was just by a whisker: The treasures from Palmyra's museum, for instance, were spirited out of that ancient city the evening of May 21, 2015, just three hours ahead of its occupation by IS fighters who three months later would blow up the 2,000-year-old Temple of Bel and, in October, topple the 1,800-year-old Arch of Triumph.

Dr. Abdulkarim also is famous for his willingness to work in government-held and rebel-occupied territories throughout the country to protect and preserve sites from damage and destruction, illicit excavation and export.

"We are brothers. ... If you are not with the government, it's not my problem. My problem is, how can we together save the heritage in your area, your city, your village?" he said. "I appeal to all Syrian people: We should work together. Otherwise, we'll be condemned by all future generations. There is not one heritage just for the Assad government and one for the opposition groups. ... That heritage, too, belongs to all humanity." Is it any wonder that in the fall of 2014 he was awarded the first Cultural Heritage Resource Prize from UNESCO?

To some, Dr. Abdulkarim may seem like a character in a novel by John Banville, Graham Greene or Brian Moore - the individual who pledges allegiance to what he believes is the greater good while ignoring, playing down or forgiving the failings and crimes of the movement he serves, even as these failings intensify.

Does he see his job as involving such a moral quandary? It seems not. "It's clear for me," he replied.

"I was condemned in 2012 by many institutions worldwide because I accepted to work with a public situation depending on the Syrian government. ... But how can I help the cultural heritage if I am outside of Syria? Of course, it's a government situation but the government gives me good autonomy to be professional and scientific in my work."

"If we have a problem with the politics," he continued, "it's not up to me. I am not director of humanitarian affairs or human rights etcetera. My duty, my responsibility - how can I save the heritage - is a project of peace.

Because I have the power to be possible, to push both sides to work together.

"But what's happened to the Syrian crisis, it's a question - but it's not my question. It's a question for another political man and humanitarian ... I am happy with my colleagues that we saved this heritage for the generations.

I am happy that my children never can condemn me that I am not a good papa. The knowledge of regimes, governments is nothing for me; the knowledge [that matters] is, Who can help me?" Yet for all this dedication and focus, Dr. Abdulkarim has not entirely been the willing soldier in the cause of cultural heritage.

When the minister of culture, a former university colleague, first asked him to assume the directorship of antiquities, he declined. And even when he did accept, he told his wife it would be for six months, maybe a year.

He stayed until 2014, then announced he wished to resign and return to university. However, a new culture minister asked him to remain until Aug. 15, 2016. When that date rolled around, yet another minister, also a friend, was in the portfolio.

He agreed to accept Dr. Abdulkarim's resignation but bleated, "How can you leave me?" A compromise followed: Dr. Abdulkarim said he'd stay for just one more year.

In the meantime, the directorgeneral continues to be one of the most-travelled Syrian officials in the West, his stint in Toronto occurring less than two months after an appearance at the Edinburgh International Culture Summit.

At interview's end, Dr. Abdulkarim said his hope, "through all the situations and adversities, Canada will decide to be involved with Syria through UNESCO, through Aga Khan, through any way. But do not leave Syrian heritage alone through this crisis."

Associated Graphic

Maamoun Abdulkarim, shown Sunday, was in Toronto to deliver the second annual Aga Khan Museum Annual Lecture.


Tuesday, October 18, 2016


A Monday news story on Syrian antiquities incorrectly said Maamoun Abdulkarim is 59. He is 49 years old.

Canada reads
In two new books, Charlotte Gray and Jane Urquhart dive into the country's past
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page R18

The Promise of Canada: 150 Years - People and Ideas That Have Shaped our Country By Charlotte Gray Simon & Schuster Canada, 378 pages, $39.99

A Number of Things: Stories of Canada Told Through Fifty Objects By Jane Urquhart, illustrations by Scott McKowen Patrick Crean Editions/ HarperCollins, 227 pages, $32.99

Next year, Canada will celebrate its sesquicentennial. (By the end of the year, you'll be sick of the word.) Embedded in this anniversary is a chance to take stock of where we have been, and where we are, both as a country and Canadians.

Arriving at the party a little early, two of Canada's most prominent authors have just published books that attempt to tell our manifold story.

Charlotte Gray's The Promise of Canada examines the idea of Canada from the position of a biographer "who believes that the ideas and actions of individuals can shape larger social changes, and those changes, in turn, mould national identity."

Impressive in its purview of Canadian history, while providing portraits of a few living Canadians, such as Margaret Atwood and Preston Manning, Gray has chosen eight Canadians to probe the mythos of Canada, from George-Étienne Cartier's role in Confederation ("One hundred and fifty years later, the federal system that Cartier envisaged is the basic building block of Canada's uniqueness," Gray writes) to Emily Carr's magnificent artistic ability to Tommy Douglas's struggle for universal health care in Saskatchewan, which later led to Canadawide coverage ("The fight to introduce medicare into Saskatchewan remains a turning point in Canadian history").

Some of the people Gray includes are lesser known. We learn the nuances of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms in a chapter about Bertha Wilson, Canada's first female Supreme Court judge. Gray writes that "the vast majority don't even know her name," but also shows how Wilson's interpretations of the Charter influenced Canada for the better. She "protected vulnerable minorities from over-intrusive state power and defended the individual rights of all citizens," and was influential in the Morgentaler right-to-abortion case in the late-1980s. While five of the seven Supreme Court judges ruled in favour of Morgentaler, it was Wilson's written opinion (which included the line "it is probably impossible for a man to respond, even imaginatively, to such a dilemma [unwanted pregnancy]") that really affected women's reproductive rights.

Canadian history isn't all auspicious, though, and Gray especially acknowledges this fact with a chapter on Elijah Harper, the indigenous NDP MLA who, in 1990 said "no" to the process that would expedite the endorsement of the Meech Lake Accord, a proposed amendment to the Constitution of this country that sought to "recognize Quebec as a 'distinct society' " but made no attempt to acknowledge indigenous concerns.

Gray recounts how Harper launched indigenous issues into the mainstream Canadian conversation. What's more, Gray writes, "the messenger himself embodied in his own story the whole painful history of relations between indigenous and non-indigenous Canadians." In Harper, we read about the indignity of residential schools, the poverty on remote reserves, as well as more recent indigenousrights crises, such as Oka. While there is still a very long way to go in addressing indigenous concerns, "there has been significant change since 1990," Gray writes. Some will no doubt disagree with this assessment.

Still, The Promise of Canada is a true feat and it manages to highlight some of our most important stories. Some readers might feel that Gray left out a cause, symbol, or person (for example, there's nothing on hockey here) but she does a good job of packing in as much in as possible.

"There is no master narrative for Canadian history: there are too many stories to package into a tidy, tightly scripted identity," she writes, and yet, I'd venture to say everyone who reads this book will learn something they didn't know about our country. Painstakingly researched and thoroughly engaging, The Promise of Canada is a pleasurable read, and, what's more, it's edifying.

In A Number of Things, awardwinning novelist Jane Urquhart chooses to celebrate Canada's anniversary by looking at material objects that represent facets of our culture. For instance, Urquhart details such items as the rope said to have hanged Louis Riel; places, such as Danceland in Saskatchewan (which she calls a "cathedral of dance"); and Canadian ephemera, like a bird feeder ("Canadians," writes Urquhart, "believe in the miracle of birds"). In recounting these objects, readers are privy to a kind of curated archive of Canadian sensibilities and histories, complete with beautiful illustrations by artist Scott McKowen.

In a chapter about "codfish," for example, we read about the collapse of the livelihood for many Newfoundlanders in the early 1990s when the cod industry fell apart, devastating a culture. Another chapter focuses on the "Staffordshire dogs" that feature in L.M. Montgomery's fiction, actual objects that can currently be found in the University of Guelph's archives. We read about Montgomery's life in Charlottetown and beyond with the china dogs as a somewhat tenuous anchor. Because the chapters are so short (most are fewer than four pages) it becomes difficult in some cases to really connect to the object being discussed. The question arises: Why the Staffordshire dogs? Similar to Gray - who admits a personal slant when she says that she chose her subjects because their "contributions speak to me as a Canadian" - Urquhart acknowledges that she picked objects "that interested and moved me," and that she's not "in a position to make judgments about what should and shouldn't be included in a list of things Canadian." Fair enough. But where both authors rightfully concede that there is no way that they could offer a definitive picture of Canada (it is inevitable that some important things will be left out), the seemingly incongruous nature of some of the objects included ends up obscuring the book's raison d'être. Neon, for instance, doesn't seem like something particularly Canadian, at first.

What Urquhart is referring to, however, is the Five Roses sign in Montreal (and its earlier incarnation, which had a different name). The chapter makes the argument that "words have power. We change and rearrange them to suit our purposes" - a reference to how the language legislation of 1960s Quebec shifted discourse. But seeing as the chapter is only 11/2 pages, detailing the idea of "neon" is pretty slight.

When A Number of Things succeeds it is because Urquhart is an evocative writer. Echoes of her novels' strengths can be found - she writes with an ethereal, emotional tangibility that is both nostalgic and energetic.

But that sublime style doesn't always hold the book together.

Still, both books - through what they've included and what they've left out - encourage readers to consider the question: What does Canada mean to you?

Dilia Narduzzi is a Hamiltonbased writer. Her work has appeared in The Globe and Mail, Maclean's and other publications.

Associated Graphic

Beautifully illustrated, Jane Urquhart's study of the ephemera - such as a bird feeder, the canoe and a good old tractor - speaks to Canadians' sensibilities and histories.


JIM PRENTICE, 1956-2016
The 60-year-old Prentice was widely revered as a centrist bridge-builder and devoted public servant
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A10

CALGARY, KELOWNA, TORONTO -- Jim Prentice, the stalwart conservative politician who rose to the rank of senior cabinet minister before serving a tumultuous short term as Alberta's premier, died late Thursday with three other people in a plane crash just outside of Kelowna.

Mr. Prentice's death left many in his home province, and across the country, in shock. Despite his political highs and lows, the 60year-old who moved with ease between political, business and First Nation communities was revered by many as a centrist bridge-builder and devoted public servant.

He had spent the past year building an identity beyond his public life, including working on a book about energy and environmental issues, after his Progressive Conservative party's monumental defeat to the Alberta NDP in the May, 2015, provincial election. He was inseparable from his wife, lawyer Karen Prentice, and had three grown daughters.

"Words cannot begin to express our profound shock and heartbreak at the news that our beloved husband, father and grandfather, Jim, has died in this tragic event," the Prentice family said in a statement.

Mr. Prentice had been on a golf trip to B.C. this week, according to reports. He was travelling back to Calgary by Cessna 500 business jet with Ken Gellatly - the fatherin-law of Mr. Prentice's daughter, Cassia Gellatly Prentice - and two other people, who have not been identified, when the crash occurred.

"To lose two family members at once is unbelievably painful," the statement said.

RCMP said they were first alerted to the crash by air-traffic controllers shortly after the plane left the Kelowna airport around 9:30 p.m., said Corporal Dan Moskaluk, a spokesman for the force.

It took several hours for local officers and a nine-member search and rescue crew to reach the crash site, which is on a heavily wooded slope of private ranch land about 18 kilometres north of Kelowna. They found no survivors.

"The site itself had catastrophic damage," he told reporters at a news conference Friday afternoon.

The B.C. Coroners Service arrived on the scene Friday and two teams of investigators with the Transportation Safety Board were expected to get there Friday evening. The coroners will lead the recovery process while the TSB will try to determine what caused the fatal crash.

Words of condolence for Mr. Prentice's family came from all levels of government and all parties on Friday. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau issued a statement saying Mr. Prentice brought deep convictions to his work in law, business and politics.

"He was broadly respected in the House of Commons - across all party lines - for his intelligence, commitment and honest straightforward approach on tough issues. I greatly enjoyed the time I spent working closely beside Jim in the House."

Rona Ambrose, federal Conservative interim leader, said Mr. Prentice was "a pillar of Canada's conservative movement." Her voice cracked with emotion when, speaking to reporters in the House of Commons, she addressed Mr. Prentice's wife and their three daughters, Christina, Cassia and Kate.

"We hope that you are comforted by the incredible respect and gratitude that's being shown to Jim across the country."

Alberta Premier Rachel Notley, who lost her own father - the groundbreaking Alberta NDP leader Grant Notley - to a plane crash in 1984, said "there are no words adequate for moments like this, as my family knows very well."

And Stephen Harper, for whom Mr. Prentice was a senior minister for four years in Ottawa - and who provided the former prime minister with friendship, advice and a steady hand in cabinet - said he and his wife, Laureen, were shocked and saddened by the news.

Friends, family and political confidantes were seen going in and out of the Prentices' innercity Calgary home throughout the day Friday.

Mr. Prentice was born in South Porcupine, Ont. He moved to Alberta as a teen and part of his often-told back story included looking out the window of his family's station wagon at the Rocky Mountains, and determining he had found his true home.

He trained as a lawyer but his true passion was politics, a career that began with backroom work for the federal Tories in the 1970s and an unsuccessful provincial run in 1986. In 2003, he ran for the federal Progressive Conservative leadership to replace leader Joe Clark, but lost to Peter MacKay.

But he found electoral success as an MP in the 2000s.

Known as a moderate conservative, he played an integral role in bridging the divide between fiscal hawks and Red Tories in the federal Conservative Party. Mr. Prentice was a federal cabinet minister in Mr. Harper's government from 2006 to 2010, handling the Indian Affairs, Industry and Environment portfolios.

With no indication that he would be given a near-term opportunity to run for the leadership of the federal Conservatives, Mr. Prentice left politics in 2010 to become a senior executive at CIBC. However, he was drawn back into the public sphere in 2014, when he threw his hat in the ring to lead the provincial Progressive Conservatives. While he easily won the leadership race that year, the general election on May 5, 2015 was a different matter.

In a turn of events no one would have predicted even weeks before election day, Mr. Prentice - premier for just eight months - led Alberta PCs to a massive defeat after 44 years in power.

Friend and former federal cabinet minister Chuck Strahl said Mr. Prentice had to carry the sins of more than four decades of governing the province.

"He took [the loss] very personally. He said as much on election night. He shouldered his responsibility for that," Mr. Strahl said.

"In reality, he reaped the whirlwind. He didn't sow it. He reaped it."

Since then, Mr. Prentice worked away from politics. He had a strong reputation in the country's oil patch, where he previously worked as an adviser for pipeline company Enbridge Inc. and, more recently, for private-equity firm Warburg Pincus LLC.

As a lawyer, he also had a special relationship with First Nation communities, and worked on a number of key aboriginal land claims. Jim Boucher, chief of Alberta's Fort McKay First Nation near Fort McMurray, said "Jim was a friend to our people, and he approached our relationship with honesty, integrity and a genuine desire to understand our issues and concerns."

The former premier's close-knit political circle is still mourning Progressive Conservative MLA Manmeet Bhullar, 35, who died in a highway crash just 11 months ago and had been mentored in politics by Mr. Prentice from the age of 10. On Friday, Calgary Mayor Naheed Nenshi recalled how the young Mr. Bhullar and Mr. Prentice met, more than 25 years ago when the Sikh community was struggling to establish itself in the city and was trying to get Calgary's first gurdwara built.

"They faced a lot of opposition from a community that didn't know much about their faith," Mr. Nenshi said. "They were represented by an idealistic young lawyer who fought for respect, acceptance and diversity. That lawyer was named Jim Prentice."

Reports from Jeff Lewis and Sunny Dhillon

Associated Graphic


Trump, narcissism and diagnosis as political sport
Monday, October 17, 2016 – Print Edition, Page L1

The consensus as to Donald Trump's psychiatric issues is nearly unanimous. "Textbook narcissistic personality disorder," according to clinical psychologist Ben Michaelis, quoted in Vanity Fair. He is just one of many who have reached the same conclusion. Noting his motor mouth, chronic inability to pay attention and shockingly deficient impulse control, others diagnosed Trump as a severe case of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Tony Schwartz, Trump's ghostwriter for his 1987 bestseller, The Art of the Deal, reported that his client had no attention span and fidgeted "like a kindergartner who cannot sit still."

In an election cycle where a candidate has been accused of unprecedented misconduct, including the latest allegations of sexual assault by multiple women, psychiatrists are bypassing the long-held professional standard, called the Goldwater rule, which stipulates that no psychologist should make a diagnosis of a person he or she has not examined face-to-face.

As a stressed electorate tries to make sense of a campaign unlike any other, they're demanding to know: What is the root of Trump's bizarre displays?

Making inferences about someone's mental health is common sport with public figures. We don't have the same data a psychiatrist or psychologist might have, but as candidates' histories are revealed in biographical articles or books, and their behaviours are scrutinized in public forums, certain patterns become clear.

What we perceive as the adult personality often reflects compensations a helpless child unwittingly adopted in order to survive.

Such adaptations can become wired into the brain, persisting into adulthood. Underneath all psychiatric categories, Trump manifests childhood trauma. His opponent Hillary Clinton evinces her own history of early suffering, even if milder and far more muted in its impact.

The ghostwriter Schwartz reports that Trump had no recollection of his youth. There is always a reason for such amnesia.

People have poor recall of their childhoods when they found reality so painful that their minds had to push memories into the unconscious. "I don't like to analyze myself because I might not like what I see," Trump admitted to a biographer.

According to biographers, Trump's father was a workaholic, a ruthless, cold and authoritarian man who believed life is a competition where the "killers" win.

Donald's elder brother drove himself into alcoholism, a common escape from pain, and to an early death. The younger, favoured child is now self-destructing on the world stage.

Lying is such an endemic aspect of Donald Trump's personality that he does so almost helplessly and reflexively. "Lying is second nature to him," Tony Schwartz told The New Yorker. "More than anyone else I have ever met, Trump has the ability to convince himself that whatever he is saying at any given moment is true, or sort of true, or at least ought to be true."

How are such patterns compensations? Not paying attention, tuning out, is a way of coping with stress or emotional hurt.

Narcissistic obsession with the self compensates for a lack of nurturing care. Grandiosity covers a deeply negative sense of self-worth. Bullying hides an unconscious conviction of weakness. Lying becomes a mode of survival in a harsh environment.

Misogyny is a son's outwardly projected revenge on a mother who was unable to protect him.

Trump's opponent also appears to have learned reality-denial at an early age. Her father, too, according to biographic reports, was harsh, verbally abusive, and dismissive of his daughter's achievements. The opaque persona many now see as inauthentic would have developed as young Hillary Rodham's protective shell.

In an anecdote related by the former secretary of state herself as an example of salutary character building, four-year-old Hillary runs into her home to escape neighbourhood bullies. "There is no room for cowards in this house," says her mother, sending the child out into the street to face her tormentors. The real message was: "Do not feel or show your pain. You are on your own." More than six decades later, the candidate hides her pneumonia even from her doctor and from those closest to her. Repeatedly she has overlooked her husband's outlandish infidelities, defending him against disgrace - no doubt suppressing her own emotional turmoil in the process.

It is not surprising that when the Oxford University psychologist Kevin Dutton analyzed the candidates, he scored both Trump and Clinton in the upper quintile of self-centred impulsivity and cold-heartedness. Trump rated high on traits of psychopathy, between Idi Amin and Adolf Hitler.

We Canadians are no strangers to political leaders whose childhood suffering formed their personalities and infused their policies. The journalist and Stephen Harper biographer John Ibbitson characterized our former prime minister as "autocratic, secretive, and cruel." A journalist described him as "chilly and inscrutable," while his former chief of staff recalled him as "vindictive, prone to sudden eruptions of white-hot rage over meaningless trivia." These traits, too, are uniformly markers of trauma.

Unsurprisingly, Harper also resisted discussing his childhood.

No infant is born a bully, cruel or cold-hearted. Well-nurtured children mature naturally past infantile self-regard, develop impulse control and find empathy. They learn to feel and regulate their emotions. In the case of those who do not, there is pain they are unable or unwilling to confront. Their development was distorted.

A political leader in denial of his trauma may be so little able to bear his core pain, fear and weakness that he will identify with the powerful, disdain and attack the vulnerable. Or, behind a false persona, she vows to support the downtrodden while kowtowing to the rich and dominant.

What does it say about our society that such deeply troubled individuals frequently rise to the top ruling circles, attaining wealth and power and even the admiration of millions?

We need not be perplexed that a Donald Trump can vie for the presidency of the most powerful country on Earth. We live in a culture where many people are hurt and, like the leaders they idolize, insulated against reality. Trauma is so commonplace that its manifestations have become the norm.

People who are anxious, fearful and aggrieved may be unable to recognize the flaws in those seeking power. They mistake desperate ambition for determination, see grandiosity as authority, paranoia as security, seductiveness as charm, dogmatism as decisiveness, selfishness as economic wisdom, manipulation as political savvy, lack of principles as flexibility. Trauma-induced defences such as venal dishonesty and aggressive self-promotion often lead to success.

The flaws of our leaders perfectly mirror the emotional underdevelopment of the society that elevates them to power.

Retired physician Gabor Maté is a Vancouver author and speaker. His next book, The Myth of Normal: Illness and Healing in a Toxic Culture, will be published in 2018.

Associated Graphic

Above, Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Clinton speaks at a rally on Wednesday in Las Vegas. Left, Republican nominee Donald Trump holds court at a rally in Ocala, Fla., on the same day. When Kevin Dutton, an Oxford University psychologist, analyzed the candidates, he scored both Trump and Clinton in the upper quintile of self-centred impulsivity and cold-heartedness.


'We Matter' aims to buoy youth in crisis
Kelvin Redvers's social media movement features empowering messages from inspiring indigenous Canadians
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A15

VANCOUVER -- Kelvin Redvers's work to create a forum for speaking out about suicide among aboriginal youth started last summer when he visited the hamlet of Fort Resolution, in the Northwest Territories, where his mother grew up on the shores of Great Slave Lake.

Called the "We Matter" campaign, the video series is designed to use the power of social media to reach into the small native communities and lonely rooms scattered across the country where so many young aboriginals are struggling with feelings of desperation.

Mr. Redvers launched the national project publicly this week. A day later, the news was full of stories about another suicide shock. A 10-year-old girl from Deschambault Lake, Sask., killed herself, after three other girls in the province, aged 12 to 14, took their own lives over a four-day period earlier this month.

Native leaders called it a crisis, but Mr. Redvers said it isn't a new one.

"It hasn't just surged lately. It's been going on for decades," he said of the wave of suicides in native communities.

In the "We Matter" videos, ordinary people and prominent aboriginals, such as the bestselling author Joseph Boyden, look directly into the camera and tell stories of hope, often underscored by their own harrowing experiences with suicide attempts.

"I want to speak to you from the heart, from a place that isn't always easy to speak from 'cause you are very vulnerable," said Mr. Boyden, whose work includes The Orenda, Three Day Road and Through Black Spruce.

"When I was about 15 years old, I knew that something was really wrong with me but I put up a really, really good pretend face," he said. "I held it in until it was almost too late. On my 16th birthday, I attempted to kill myself."

Mr. Boyden goes on to urge young people to talk about their fears and their pain, saying that if they can break the barrier of selfimposed silence they can get past their crises.

"I was lucky because what I tried to do didn't work," he said of his suicide attempt. "Here I am, 34 years almost to the day later ... telling you what you've got to do is allow yourself to be vulnerable, to speak from the heart if you are hurting."

Mr. Redvers, who grew up in Hay River, Alta., said he was moved to action by the flood of aboriginal suicide stories in the media, and by his return visit to Fort Resolution, where he heard first-hand how the epidemic had hit one small town.

"In my mom's home community, you could talk to the people about the issue of suicide and, just in the past several years, they can count on their fingers, okay this person died and this person and this person. And it's a town of only 400 people. So it's even a bigger problem than what hits the news," said Mr. Redvers.

He had an idea that if people started talking openly about the problem, and if they shared messages of hope, it might prevent more suicides.

"I hope that the numbers go down because of this campaign," Mr. Redvers said of the shocking suicide rate, which is five times higher for aboriginal youth in Canada than for non-aboriginals.

"I hope that we can create a movement so that all indigenous youth across Canada feel like there are others out there who care for them and who support them, and that this can start a dialogue in these communities, so people can start to talk about these things."

Mr. Redvers, whose sister Tunchai is also working on the project, shot his first two videos in Fort Resolution, one featuring an elder who went to residential school with his grandmother.

And he quickly moved on to add messages from across the country, including some from highly successful native people.

Most of them tell emotional stories about times when they were so desperate, suicide seemed like the only solution.

The site is set up so people can upload their own messages, which Mr. Redvers will edit to fit the format.

He hopes the project will lead him soon to the Prime Minister's office in Ottawa, where he wants to shoot a short, impactful video featuring Justin Trudeau and an aboriginal MP.

"We want both high-profile people and ordinary youth to post their stories," he said.

"We would love some youth in northern Saskatchewan who are seeing the issues going on in their communities, to upload messages. But also we would hope that the Prime Minister would get involved ... and together they can show support for this cause."

British Columbia MLA Melanie Mark, the first indigenous woman elected to the B.C. legislature, is among those who face the camera and talk about why it is important to hang on.

Ms. Mark fights to control her emotions as she speaks: "You are not alone in whatever you are feeling right now. I've been there.

I've been a teenager who went to school and got bullied."

She said she struggled with depression and at age 19 decided she'd had enough.

"I took a lot of pills and I thought my fight with what I was experiencing was over," Ms. Mark said. "That wasn't the case. The Creator had another plan for me."

She said that, "when you feel your life is worthless and that you really should be dead," it is hard to believe there might be better days ahead.

But she urged young people not to give up, because the dark period she was lucky enough to survive gave way to a bright future.

"I'm 40 years old and I'm an MLA and I'm a mother of two daughters and my mom is 10 years clean and sober and life is so much brighter than I'd ever imagined," she said.

In another video in the series, the three members of A Tribe Called Red, an electronic-music group, urged young people to never doubt themselves and to know that they are valued.

"It's really important you guys understand how important you are, to us specifically," said Ian Campeau, whose professional name is DJ NDN. "We make this music for indigenous youth and we try to strive to represent indigenous youth and we need you around and we love you very much."

Mr. Redvers hopes indigenous youth will visit the website at or the Facebook site at and that they will share it with others.

"A lot of times people see these articles in the news about suicides and suicide pacts and hundreds of attempts in places like Attawapiskat, and they sort of feel disconnected. You want to help but don't know how," he said. "This seemed like a venue we could create where everybody in Canada could have a hand in it basically, that people could feel connected to the cause."

Associated Graphic

Clockwise from Left: Tyra Hookimaw, Jack Linklater Jr., Violet Beaulieu, Andre Morriseau, Michelle General and Don Burnstick appear in the film We Matter.


A battle that has been playing out for decades has heated up in recent years. Franchises with questionable mascots and logos are increasingly under pressure to get with the times, but some critics say such demands are only made when a team is hitting its stride
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A8

When the Sportsnet broadcaster Jamie Campbell announced on Twitter this week that he would be joining those who are conscientiously objecting to the use of "the name of the Cleveland baseball team" - that is, the Indians - he punctuated his tweet with the hashtag #NotYourMascot.

It turns out that even some of those who've been in the Cleveland Indians organization are offended by the use of their own mascot.

On Thursday, Mark Shapiro, who left his position as president of the Indians last year to become president and chief executive of the Toronto Blue Jays, revealed that, when he was with the Cleveland team, its controversial mascot - a buck-toothed, red-faced grotesquerie known as Chief Wahoo - was "troubling to me personally."

Early in his career, working as a team spokesman, "I distanced myself from the fact that it personally bothered me," he said.

Eventually, under his leadership, the team replaced Chief Wahoo - considered by some to be a piece of racist iconography right out of Jim Crow America - with a block letter C as the primary logo. "I'm proud of that," he said, taking care to note that he was just offering his opinion, since he was no longer part of the team. "I think there will be a day, whenever that is, that the people who are making decisions [in Cleveland] decide that Chief Wahoo's no longer fitting.

But people in this city, over 90 per cent of them are deeply, deeply passionate about Chief Wahoo and wanted it to be part of their team."

This week, though, those deep passions have run headlong into a movement that, in Canada at least, has quickly jumped from the fringes of social media to the mainstream. And while the Indians, like the Washington Redskins and other sports teams that have come under fire in recent years, are refusing to budge, there is a growing belief that First Nations names and iconography are no longer appropriate for such use in 2016.

The battle pits traditionalists against those promoting increased cultural sensitivity, often with the urgency and viral appeal to emotion of hashtag advocacy. And it comes amid a season in which Toronto is perhaps feeling particularly motivated to address racial sensitivities, after reports of some Blue Jays fans yelling ugly epithets at a Korean and two African-American members of the Baltimore Orioles.

Though the fight has been playing out for decades, the movement for change has gained traction in recent years.

Last November, Justice Murray Sinclair, the chair of Canada's Truth and Reconciliation Commission, said it was time for sports teams to recognize the harm that names such as the Redskins have on young indigenous people. This week, the Ontario Human Rights Commissioner Renu Mandhane called on news organizations to abstain from using the Cleveland team's name.

Shame is one tool at the disposal of protesters, but the teams may also find themselves motivated to make changes if they find they can no longer cash in on the intellectual property, such as names and logos.

In 2014, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, acting on a complaint by Native American activists, cancelled six trademarks owned by the Washington Redskins on the grounds that they were disparaging to that minority community. Earlier this month, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected an application by the Redskins to hear an appeal of the decision.

Mr. Campbell is perhaps the highest profile broadcaster to declare a boycott of such team names, in advance of the American League Championship Series pitting Cleveland against Toronto, which begins Friday. His decision was inspired by the long-time Blue Jays radio broadcaster Jerry Howarth, who revealed earlier in the week that he hasn't used the Indians name - or referred to the Atlanta baseball team by their name, the Braves - for more than two decades.

Others quickly followed, including CBC Radio's Scott Regehr, who was inspired in part by his indigenous colleague Jesse Wente noting sharply in an on-air interview that, contrary to the suggestions of some traditionalists, "these symbols don't honour us."

"I've lived in different parts of Canada - Yellowknife, Whitehorse - where there are large First Nations populations," Mr. Regehr said in an interview on Thursday. "I have many, many friends within that group, and I know that if I were to ever use the word 'Indian' in common conversation, I would be told: 'No, we're First Nations, we're aboriginal people. We're not 'Indian.' A number of them find it repugnant. So I'm not interested in using the name any more, in association with the Cleveland baseball team."

He added that, after announcing his decision on Wednesday's broadcast, he had received a heartfelt letter of thanks from a mother from northern Alberta who identified as Métis. "We can never put ourselves in the shoes of a visible minority and know how they're feeling about things," he said.

On Thursday, Ontario Premier Kathleen Wynne tweeted that she was "taking a swing at Cleveland's team name," and thanked Jerry Howarth for "standing up to hurtful, racist names."

Rogers Communications Inc., which also owns the Blue Jays, is backing the decisions of Mr. Howarth, Mr. Campbell and whoever else might choose to join them. (The on-air team at Toronto soft-rock station CHFIFM, which is owned by Rogers, declared they too would abstain from saying the Cleveland team name.) "Jerry's position is something we support," said Scott Moore, the president of Sportsnet and NHL Properties.

"This has been a big discussion point for many years, and we've disucssed it with the commentators in the past and have left ot to their discretion and their personal decision."

Down in Cleveland, there are few signs of a groundswell for change, even though a small annual protest has been held each opening day of at least the past 25 Indians' seasons. "It's not a front-page issue here," observed Doug Lesmerises, a sports columnist with

It was only bubbling up now, he suggested, because the Indians are finally winning. "They haven't been to the World Series since 1997, and in the ensuing two decades I feel like this discussion has advanced - like the discussion of the Redskins name. And I feel the Indians haven't been part of it because they haven't been the relevant, as a team."

"If the Indian make the World Series, would it perhaps be the beginning of the end of Chief Wahoo, and perhaps the name, becuse all of a sudden them [winning] bring more of a spotlight on this issue?" Mr. Lesmerises mused.

"The city has been having a renaissance, to a degree, having just successfully hosted the Republican National Convention; the Carvs just won their first [NBA] title in 52 years; the Indians are having the best season in two decades. And we're talking about if their name and thier logo are affected." he noted. "The disucssion is completly legitimate. But is that what you want to be talking abour, when your city and your team are succeeding? I would think not."

With a report from Robert MacLeod in Cleveland

Chinese signs divide resort-area owners
Some defend bilingual signs on private property to deter influx of fall visitors while another labels them 'tourism racism'
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A4

Near the edge of Canada's iconic Algonquin Park, a vibrant scene beckons: a riot of red, gold, amber and orange reflected in the shimmering waters of Oxtongue Lake.

The spectacular autumn view has sparked a surge in visitors to the region, from Canada and around the world. The only problem is, a picturesque lakeside road with its popular vantage points, is all privately owned.

That particular road has five resorts and multiple residences and many of the owners are fed up with the influx of leaf peepers.

They've blanketed the area with do-not-enter signs in English and - to the dismay of some locals, who worry it makes the community seem racist - Chinese.

Scott Hayden, owner of the Blue Spruce Resort, put up six of the signs on his beachfront property, calling it a matter of safety and clarity. English-only signs haven't worked, he says. So he translated them with the help of a Chinese student.

"It's just a private-property thing," says Mr. Hayden, who believes most visitors who stop during peak leaf season are new Canadians of Asian descent.

"They've never seen the coloured leaves before, and they want to see them. But we can't have that many new people each year.

After a surge of day-trippers caused concerns last year, the township this season blocked access to the road, putting up local-traffic-only signs. But the leaf tourists keep coming, drawn by aggressive marketing campaigns that advertise the area's fall splendour as a must-see.

There are local fall-colour reports (peak leaf at Algonquin Park was Oct. 5), webcams and lists of best spots to go. Visitors can zip line, ride ATVs, take a helicopter ride, go on driving, bus or boat tours.

Tourism has mushroomed in the past five years (though fall visitors are hardly new: Tom Thomson painted the autumn leaves; so did A.Y. Jackson of the Group of Seven), leaving some residents feeling as if they are paying a price for the region's economic success.

Algonquin Park issued nearly 8,000 day-use permits over this past Thanksgiving weekend, an increase from last year. Lineups to enter the park were kilometres long. Even on the midweek day The Globe and Mail visited the area, there were tourists from Japan, Switzerland, Taiwan and China, along with Canadian-born visitors. Some stood on Mr. Hayden's dock, seemingly unaware of the signs, enchanted by the leaves. "Just beautiful," says one foreign student, on reading break from University of Toronto.

Mr. Hayden says people are knocking on his cottage doors, asking to use washrooms. The ditches become littered with toilet paper and rubbish. People stand on his dock to take pictures, take out his pedal boats without asking, park on his property and block the fire hydrant. Two guys last week flew drones from his beach to take pictures. ("Very cool! But, I'm saying, you can't do it on my property!") "My customers should have some expectation of privacy when they're paying to stay here," he says. "I had customers from last Thanksgiving say they're not coming back because it's just too crazy."

He says the signs aren't racist.

"If we had an issue with a different group, be it Italian or French or German, the signs would be in that [language]. But this is the demographic group that's here right now."

"We've got God's gift to colour here, but we don't have the infrastructure to deal with it."

Tracie Parrott, who lives nearby and owns a strip of lakefront property on Oxtongue Lake Road, is appalled at the signs.

"I was very disheartened that instead of welcoming ... the signage in the area was excluding and deterring," she says, adding that she believes it is "tourism racism." "It bothered me that our community was so unimaginative." For example, "we could have offered walking tours of the road, with alternative parking. What a great way of promoting our area, instead of shunning anybody."

Avvy Go, clinic director of Metro Toronto Chinese & Southeast Asian Legal Clinic, sees the signs as an example of racial bias.

"You don't have to single out a particular group of people. I'm sure the Chinese are not the only ones driving up to Algonquin or Muskoka to look at the leaves," she says, suggesting a universal symbol would be more appropriate. "They may have legitimate safety concerns, caused by a large number of city people showing up. But you don't have to single out a particular group."

On Oxtongue Lake, one resident, who declined to give her name, sits on her veranda, facing the lake - and 10 Keep Out signs in English. She doesn't like the look of them. But even with the signs, she still had people looking for washrooms, and standing on her beach.

She's never had anyone be rude. But "I don't like picking up dirty diapers out of my fire pit."

She figures not much can be done. "They're coming to see the leaves, and when they come this way, this is the first place where they see them. It's just natural that they're going to stop."

At the other end of the road, Jenny McGuire put signs and yellow tape across her White Birches Cottage Resort to deter people. Thanksgiving weekend was still rough. She and her son spent it patrolling the property, asking people to leave.

She's worried about liability, should anyone get hurt, and about losing existing customers.

"Last year, it was just as bad. I lost two cottage rentals because of it - they said there's too many people on the property," adding that one trespasser attempted to take a canoe - without a life jacket or permission.

She plans to put up similar English-Chinese signs to Mr. Hayden's next year. "I don't understand the idea of thinking it's racist if you're posting signs, when that's the majority of the people coming to this area at this time of year."

Across Highway 60, Algonquin Outfitters, which rents canoes and sells camping gear, had a hectic weekend. Rich Swift, the owner, estimates Thanksgiving traffic volume has climbed by at least 75 per cent in recent years, fuelled in part by social media.

He understands why. "It's an iconic Canadian experience," he says.

He believes the provincial government could alleviate the pressures, by installing more temporary restrooms and public facilities, along with better information on where to stop and the importance of disposing of rubbish.

As for the signs, if any go up next year, Ms. Parrott hopes they will be in English and in pictures, so they're not singling out any one group. "We are an international destination. And to me, it's 2016 - we should be inclusive."

Associated Graphic

A visitor takes photos of the colourful fall foliage on Oxtongue Lake, near Algonquin Park, on Wednesday.


Resort owner Scott Hayden posted English and Chinese signs on the Blue Spruce Resort property on Oxtongue Lake Road.

As final debate looms, Utah emerges as conscience of GOP
Wednesday, October 19, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A1

PROVO, UTAH -- In an election already beyond belief, one of the biggest surprises is unfolding in Utah, a deep-red state where Donald Trump is struggling to secure a Republican victory and a political nobody is surging in the polls.

As Mr. Trump and his Democratic rival, Hillary Clinton, prepare for their final debate confrontation on Wednesday evening, a large chunk of voters in Utah are sending a different message: neither of the above.

The revolt against Mr. Trump's candidacy has been months in the making. His rhetoric about Muslims, immigrants and refugees has long disturbed the state's Mormon voters, who make up more than half of the electorate. But the release of a video this month in which Mr. Trump brags about groping women has opened the door for an unprecedented outcome in November.

In a normal presidential campaign, Utah votes Republican in large numbers. "Any Republican with a pulse should be able to get into the 60-per-cent range" in Utah, says Quin Monson, a professor of political science at Brigham Young University. Mr. Trump's recent performance in polls represents "a meltdown of epic proportions."

Two surveys in the last two weeks have shown that the race in Utah is effectively a three-way tie.

A poll released Monday by Rasmussen Reports found Mr. Trump, Ms. Clinton and a first-time candidate named Evan McMullin each taking roughly 30 per cent of the vote. Mr. McMullin is a 40-year-old Utah native who once worked for U.S. House Republicans and for the Central Intelligence Agency. He launched his campaign in August. If he does manage to win Utah, it would be the first time in 48 years that an independent candidate has won electoral votes in a presidential contest.

Utah is one of several states where Mr. Trump's candidacy is unsettling the electoral map. In Arizona, for instance, where Republicans have prevailed in nine of the last 10 presidential contests, Ms. Clinton is drawing closer to Mr. Trump.

But Utah is the only place where an independent has a fair chance of winning. People in Utah "are voting their conscience and their values, rather than their potential political clout," says Steven Zobell, a 69-year-old retiree in Provo. He's planning to vote either for Mr. McMullin or for Gary Johnson, the Libertarian Party candidate. "Neither one is terribly impressive, but at least it's a choice."

The enthusiasm for Mr. McMullin is more palpable up the road at Brigham Young University. It's owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Mormon Church, and nearly all the students are Mormon. As bells peal from a tower and crisp autumn air flows down from the Wasatch mountain range, the grubbiness of the presidential race feels far away.

Emily Hoffman, 22, voted for Ted Cruz in the Republican primary but is doing everything she can to support Mr. McMullin.

"He's a good person who has integrity and will defend the Constitution. I just felt like I could trust him," she says. Mr. Trump "is foul-mouthed and doesn't respect women and that's not how a president should be."

Mr. McMullin is "sober and humble and even though it's not exciting, it's probably what we need," Daniel Montez, 26, a graduate student at BYU adds. A few weeks ago, he joined the campaign as a volunteer and last Friday, he helped hand out 5,000 flyers for Mr. McMullin . "It shows people that you don't have to be afraid to vote for someone else - that you don't have to be afraid to do what you believe in." Mr. Trump has spent much of his campaign saying things that alienate Mormons. As a religious minority with a not-so-distant history of persecution and displacement, Mormons are sensitive to anything that sounds like discrimination on the basis of religion.

Prof. Monson, the political scientist at BYU, notes that stories are passed down within his own family about the journey his ancestors made to Utah in the mid-19th century, pulling handcarts and facing violent mobs along the way. "No one really uses the term 'religious refugees,' but that's what we were," he says.

Utah is the only state with a Republican governor to reaffirm that it welcomes Syrian refugees.

In recent years, Mormon leaders have also advocated a moderate approach to immigration reform in the United States.

"A lot of the rhetoric that demonizes or divides just doesn't resonate" in Utah, says Boyd Matheson, a former chief of staff to U.S. Senator Mike Lee and president of the Sutherland Institute, a conservative think tank in Salt Lake City.

In an environment where Mr. Trump was viewed with distaste, the release of the 2005 video of him bragging about sexually assaulting women put him beyond the pale for many voters.

A day after the video emerged, the Deseret News, a newspaper owned by the Mormon Church, printed a scathing editorial calling on Mr. Trump to withdraw from the race.

"What oozes from this audio is evil," the paper wrote. Mr. Trump's rhetoric shows "a willingness to use and discard other human beings at will," a characteristic that is "the essence of a despot."

Democrats in Utah are watching the developments with cautious optimism. They're under no illusion that Ms. Clinton is growing in popularity. But a win by an independent might help disrupt the long Republican stranglehold on the state's politics.

Some Utah voters express a dislike of Mr. Trump but say they'll probably vote for him because their biggest priority is protecting a conservative majority on the U.S. Supreme Court. That majority, they believe, is critical to preserving the rights of gun owners and restrictions on abortions.

"I can't defend half of his policies and three-quarters of what he says on TV makes no sense," says Norman Thurston, a member of Utah's state legislature, of Mr. Trump. But if the choice is between Mr. Trump and Ms. Clinton, Mr. Thurston will vote for the former because of the president's role in nominating Supreme Court justices.

Still, Mr. Thurston is keeping a close watch on Mr. McMullin's campaign. He attended a packed event that Mr. McMullin recently held in Provo. If Mr. McMullin maintains his surge in the polls, indicating he could actually win the state, "then I would have to take a serious look at who he is and what he stands for," Mr. Thurston says.

"The message that Utah is sending is we want something better," Prof. Monson says. "Evan McMullin is a perfectly good vehicle to make that statement.

He's not ready to be - or going to be - president, but do people think he's a decent human being? Yes."

Associated Graphic

Evan McMullin, an independent candidate, has emerged as a serious contender in Utah.


Daniel Montez, a 26-year-old graduate student at Brigham Young University, is supporting Mr. McMullin for president.


Child in Aleppo pleads for world's help
'I'm not a terrorist, I just want to live and no bombing please,' seven-year-old Bana Alabed writes in Twitter feed followed by 73,000
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A3

AMMAN -- 'We are dying."

The three-word message - which followed a video that captured the sound of artillery shells landing somewhere in the darkness - burst through the cacophony on Twitter late Thursday, leaving 73,000 followers worrying about the fate of a seven-year-old girl trapped in the besieged eastern half of the Syrian city of Aleppo.

Bana Alabed and her family didn't die on Thursday night, though her mother Fatemah told The Globe and Mail that they didn't sleep a wink as Russian warplanes relentlessly dropped bombs nearby. Bana and Fatemah are among 275,000 people trapped in eastern Aleppo as forces loyal to Syrian President Bashar al-Assad tighten a monthold "starve-or-surrender" siege of the rebel-held enclave.

"It was a night of bombing, this morning too and today, numerous airstrikes happen," Ms. Alabed wrote in an exchange of e-mails and instant messages on Friday. She apologized for worrying the followers of her daughter's Twitter postings with the "we are dying" message - which was followed by 20 hours of silence from the account - but suggested that it was normal for Aleppo residents to think each night might be their last.

"Bombs started again this week and many people like close to 200 are dead. We normally have a dose of bombs as routine, getting scared and fearing for your family is just normal," she wrote.

The media-savvy Ms. Alabed warned that many more would die if the international community didn't do something to force a halt to the Russian air strikes and the Syrian army's siege of east Aleppo. Told she was in contact with a Canadian journalist, she tailored her appeal directly to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, as well as U.S. President Barack Obama.

"If you can make my daughter and I message [seen by] Justin and Obama, we will be grateful," Ms. Alabed wrote. "I say, Obama and Justin, please jump in and save 275,000 people using your power, if you don't we will all die."

That's not necessarily hyperbole. Staffan de Mistura, the United Nations special envoy for Syria, warned last week that the world could witness "another Srebrenica, another Rwanda" if nothing was done to end the siege. "In a maximum of two months, 21/2 months, the city of eastern Aleppo may be totally destroyed," he said.

The battle for Aleppo - which had two million residents before the war, making it Syria's most populous city - may be a key in determining the outcome of the bloody civil war. When antiregime rebels seized much of Aleppo in 2012, it was seen as a sign Mr. al-Assad was no longer in control of the country, that his regime's days might be numbered. Retaking it would be a major step toward Mr. al-Assad's declared goal of reconquering all of bitterly divided Syria.

In a war where the human costs can be too staggering to contemplate - more than 400,000 Syrians have died since fighting began in early 2011, and millions more have been forced to flee their homes - Bana Alabed has become a name, a face and a cause that many outside Syria can associate with and root for.

The top "pinned" tweet on her Twitter page is a photo of Bana - a flowery pink barrette stuck in her long brown hair - sitting at her desk with her doll and an open English textbook (her mother was an English teacher before the war). The Sept. 26 photo is captioned "Good afternoon from Aleppo. I'm reading to forget the war."

Asked to describe an ordinary day in Aleppo, Ms. Alabed focused on what her daughter was going through. "Her school is destroyed, right now she is home afraid because many of her friends [were] killed ... a close neighbour friend was killed near us when her house [was] bombed. The garden where Bana used to play is also destroyed by barrel bombs."

The plain-spoken appeals for peace - including moving videos in which Bana addresses the camera in her improving English - have captivated the outside world, while apparently infuriating Mr. al-Assad himself. The Syrian President spoke about the account in an Oct. 6 television interview, calling it "not a credible source" and saying the author was affiliated with "terrorists or their supporters."

Syria and Russia routinely refer to the anti-government forces in eastern Aleppo as "terrorists," a claim bolstered by the fact that an al-Qaeda-linked group fights alongside more moderate U.S.backed militias in the city.

"Sir Assad," Bana quickly replied in a tweet she signed herself on Oct. 6. "I'm not a terrorist, I just want to live and no bombing please."

Confirming the authenticity of the account is almost impossible, given the safety risks the family would have to take to prove they are indeed in east Aleppo. All photos and videos of Bana and her brothers Mohamed, 5, and Noor, 3, are taken inside a nondescript apartment. Asked to verify that she was indeed Bana's mother, Ms. Alabed sent The Globe and Mail a photo of the little girl in a white dress inside the same apartment.

Ms. Alabed and her daughter have also come under criticism from Twitter "trolls" who say the account's English is too good, and the family too sympathetic, to be real. Bana has posted appeals to Twitter asking for @AlabedBana to be given the blue "verified" checkmark in order to distinguish it from accounts with similar names that have been created specifically to undermine her credibility. "Anne Frank wrote her diary with a ballpoint pen, yrs b4 its invention. I tweet from Aleppo, in perfect English, with electric power being down all day," reads one spoof "Banana Alabed" account.

Ms. Alabed said she believed the Twitter critics were working for either Mr. al-Assad or Russian President Vladimir Putin. She said she became deeply worried when Mr. al-Assad mentioned her daughter's account, and now fears the family could be targeted for punishment as the Syrian army tightens its siege.

But she won't be scared into silence. Ms. Alabed said she started the Twitter account last month hoping it might help get the world to do something about what was happening to Aleppo.

"I just wanted to share what Bana was [saying], she really wants help for us and I wanted just to share what she has to say about her life ... we are so desperate, so I created [the account] in attempt to get us attention so at least someone will see us and decide save Aleppo."

Bana, she said, had one simple message on Friday after they survived Thursday's bombs. "Bana says, I want to go back to school, can you make bombs not fall on schools."

Follow me on Twitter: @markmackinnon

Associated Graphic

Twitter photos posted by Bana Alabed, centre, show bomb damage in the Aleppo neighbourhood where the seven-year-old Syrian girl and her family live. Photo at left shows the house where a school friend of Bana died.

Lenders to shoulder more mortgage risk under Ottawa's plan
In response to hot housing market, deductible proposed for insurance payouts on defaulted loans
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B1

Ottawa has unveiled plans to introduce a deductible into Canada's taxpayer-back mortgage insurance system, a move that could force the country's financial institutions to shoulder more of the risks of the hot housing market.

The proposal to require risk sharing for mortgage lenders, outlined in a 22-page public consultation paper put out by the Department of Finance on Friday, represents the first step in what could be the most significant retrenchment of the country's mortgage insurance program since the system was set up in 1954.

It comes as the federal government has been under mounting pressure, both domestically and internationally, to tackle rising household debt levels in Canada as well as soaring home prices in Toronto and Vancouver.

"Experiences in other countries have shown that high household indebtedness can exacerbate an adverse economic event, leading to negative impacts on borrowers, lenders, and the economy," federal officials wrote in their consultation paper. "A high level of public sector involvement, for example through government guarantees of mortgage loans, may dampen market signals and lead to excessive risk taking."

Under Canada's current mortgage insurance system, taxpayers shoulder virtually all of the costs of mortgages that default, paying lenders for lost principal and interest, as well as for the costs of foreclosing on a property, such as legal fees and property maintenance.

Financial institutions are on the hook for little, if any, of the costs of dealing with defaulted mortgages. Taxpayers guarantee 100 per cent of the costs of mortgages insured by Canada Mortgage and Housing Corp. and 90 per cent of the costs of CMHC's private sector competitors.

According to government figures, 56 per cent of the roughly $1.4-trillion in outstanding mortgage debt in Canada is insured, although that share has been declining in recent years owing to several rounds of rule tightening by Ottawa since the 2008 financial crisis.

CMHC controls little more than half the market, with $523billion in total outstanding insured mortgages as of the second quarter.

Genworth MI Canada Inc.'s share was roughly 32 per cent of total mortgage insurance premiums as of last year, while Canada Guaranty Mortgage Insurance Co. had an 11-per-cent market share, according to estimates from rating agency DBRS Ltd.

The government's consultation paper lays out two scenarios for risk sharing that would see lenders absorb between 5 and 10 per cent of the total outstanding value of a defaulted mortgage. Ottawa is also proposing to implement the deductible in the form of a fee for lenders. Mortgage insurers would continue to pay out 100 per cent of mortgage default claims, but then charge lenders a fee based on the total value of mortgages on their books that default in a given quarter.

That structure would protect CMHC's $426-billion mortgagebacked securities programs.

Ottawa has been quietly studying the idea of risk sharing since CMHC chief executive officer Evan Siddall first raised it shortly after taking the helm of the Crown corporation in 2014. But the release of the consultation paper marks the start of formal negotiations with industry that will run until Feb. 28.

Financial institutions declined to comment on the government's proposal on Friday. In a statement, the Canadian Bankers Association said that it is "looking forward to engaging constructively with the government during the consultation process."

However, when Ottawa introduced the idea of lender risk sharing earlier this month, the CBA warned of "negative side effects," setting up what could be a heated exchange between Ottawa and lenders, who say that they already share risks associated with the housing market.

Half of the portfolios of the bigger banks consist of uninsured mortgages. Those that are insured, the banks point out, come with significant costs related to underwriting and management. Since mortgage defaults will likely hit other products, such as auto loans and credit cards, which aren't insured, banks say they already have a strong incentive to lend appropriately.

Privately, however, the majority of Canada's biggest banks have started to embrace the idea of some form of risk sharing, admitting they've felt more pressure to scrutinize their portfolios and to play ball with a new Liberal government that is more prone to intervention than its Conservative predecessor.

Risk sharing represents a more significant problem for the country's non-bank lenders, whose funding relies more heavily on selling insured mortgages to investors through CMHC's mortgage-backed securities programs.

In a paper put out in December, the Credit Union Central of Canada warned that a deductible on mortgage insurance could be a major blow to its industry, which controls roughly 15 per cent of the mortgage market.

"If a deductible is significant, the likely impact will be increases in mortgage credit costs for consumers and a reduction in mortgage credit availability for some aspiring home buyers," the trade association wrote. "The impact of these changes will be most significant for lower-income Canadians, Canadians living in rural/remote regions, or in areas with a fragile economic base."

Ottawa estimates the measures would add 20 to 30 basis points to lenders' mortgage costs, although mortgage insurance premiums would likely fall, meaning consumers are unlikely to face sharply higher costs for insured mortgages. (A basis point is 1/100th of a percentage point.)

Any risk-sharing plan would apply only to new mortgages and would be rolled out gradually, needing as long as 20 years to fully take effect, the government said.


Canada's housing rules have been revamped six times since 2008.

October, 2008: Ottawa reduces the maximum amortization period to 35 years, effectively killing the 40-year mortgage; introduces a 5-percent minimum down payment and tightens loan documentation standards.

April, 2010: The government clarifies debt-servicing standards, limits refinancing to a maximum of 90 per cent of the property value and imposes a minimum 20-per-cent down payment on investment properties that are not occupied by the owner.

March-April, 2011: The government reduces the maximum amortization period to 30 years, limits refinancing to a maximum of 85 per cent of the property value and withdraws government guarantees on low loan-to-value non-amortizing secured lines of credit.

July, 2012: Reduces the maximum amortization period to 25 years, limits refinancing to a maximum of 80 per cent of the property value, imposes a maximum total debt service ratio of 44 per cent, a maximum gross debt service ratio of 39 per cent and introduces a maximum purchase price of less than $1-million.

February, 2016: Imposes a minimum down payment of 10 per cent for the portion of a house priced above $500,000.

October-November, 2016: New stress tests ensure that the debt-servicing standards for all insured mortgages must meet either the mortgage contract rate or the Bank of Canada conventional fiveyear posted mortgage rate (whichever is higher). As well, eligibility criteria for highand low-ratio insured mortgages will be standardized.

Source: Department of Finance

Associated Graphic


An inverted condo for Bankview
Calgary architects pitch a project that turns multifamily development on its head
Special to The Globe and Mail
Saturday, October 22, 2016 – Print Edition, Page S4

A proposed 78-unit condo building is shaking up Calgary's speculative development model in a bid to bring families, diversity and a sense of community to a small corner of the inner-city neighbourhood of Bankview.

Village, designed by local architects Modern Office of Design + Architecture (MoDA) and being developed by RNDSQR, will be a $20-million development which, if approved, will feature four distinct unit types: studio, loft, condo and townhouse, all under one "pixelated" roof-scape.

"We're still in the conceptual stages," says RNDSQR co-founder Alkarim Devani, "but we're hoping to have permit applications in by the end of the year and we're working towards a 24month project timeline. We're currently addressing some of the community concerns with a traffic study and looking at how we can support the public infrastructure around the development."

This will be RNDSQR's second development in Bankview and their largest multifamily project to date.

Architects and MoDA co-founders Dustin Couzens and Ben Klumper say their design turns the traditional approach to condo building entirely on its head.

"We've inverted the typical topographical approach, putting a top layer of two and three bedroom townhouses on the rooftop rather than at the plinth of the building," says Mr. Couzens. "Those units then cascade down to ground level. Underneath them is a wedge of microunits and condos."

Mr. Klumper says the end goal is "to have a construction worker living next to a student, living next to a family, living next to a white collar worker, living next to a retired couple, and ultimately to create a diverse community living under one roof. That's why we called it Village."

The largest townhouses in the development are planned at 1,100 square feet while the smallest studio will be just 475 square feet and there will be around 30 unique floor plans within those units. Wheelchair accessible single-storey options will also be available at grade level.

"Henry Ford once said 'You can have any colour as long as it's black' and that's how we feel about the options on the market in Calgary right now," says Mr. Couzens. "We know Calgarians want more than that.

Economies of scale will limit just how many unique floor plans the developer can go with but we're pushing that aspect."

Affordability is also high on the agenda. "There will be 78 units and only 58 parking stalls to keep costs low and also to encourage alternate modes of traffic among residents," says Mr. Devani.

The entire Village will total a little over 62,000 square feet but Mr. Couzens and Mr. Klumper are confident that their "modulated density" approach will create an exterior "with a human scale."

"The building will taper down to just two storeys where it meets the street corner and grow to six storeys towards the rear. It's important to respect the streetscape, especially in an established community like Bankview. This formation also means we create light and views within the whole building."

The overall effect is striking; multiple unit rooftops create a mini-skyline. Mr. Devani says his company is focused on building "beautiful legacy projects" for the city.

"Look at Habitat 67 in Montreal; it's one of the greatest pieces of residential architecture in Canada," he enthuses. "That's what we're aiming for here.

Something that will stand the test of time and something people will love."

Aesthetics aside, the graded height of the building combined with the "pixelation" of the units also masks its ambitious density.

"Density in Calgary is kind of a bad word," says Mr. Klumper.

"We're not New York or London and we've never had to deal with density but we can't keep densifying at our perimeter, it's not sustainable."

"Areas of suburban sprawl use two and a half times more energy than inner-city areas of density," adds Mr. Couzens. That's just one of the many compelling reasons why density is a great thing for a city's core."

"Density also creates safety, reduces crime and draws critical mass to allow for mixed use," he continues. "We don't believe people living in the inner city should have to get in their car for a carton of milk or a bouquet of flowers. Those amenities should be there but you need critical mass to make that work."

To realize the project's other vision; diversity, Mr. Couzens and Mr. Klumper were challenged with creating an attractive townhouse proposition for families and integrate it within the condo building.

"We knew we had to pay attention to the attributes people love about traditional single family homes and capture those attributes," says Mr. Klumper.

"Having done that, we hope we can sell to even the more conservative clients."

"Human scale, living over multiple levels, a large backyard; these are the things that single family homeowners value so we prioritized those things," adds Mr. Couzens.

While the development's townhouses won't quite have full-size backyards, they will have over-sized patios which will be graded in such a way as to create a "backyard community" on the rooftop of the building.

"We want people to be able to see and speak to their neighbours across the 'backyard fence' in this development because that's part of the experience of living in a single family home."

Nora Spinks, chief executive officer at the Vanier Institute of the Family, says allowing families to return to inner city living by providing appropriate housing and affordability has many advantages to a city.

"Research shows us that reducing commute times means people spend more time with their family, they eat with their family, they engage more with their community, they take more exercise. The social and community benefits are huge."

She also claims an increasing number of architects and developers are creating spaces which reflect a modern family and community structure.

"Traditionally, families would have had a pyramid structure with more children than adults and a supporting cast of parents and grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins. The World Health Organization describes today's modern family as a beanpole," she explains. "There are fewer extended family members and people are living longer. With the beanpole family, if something happens to one member, the whole pole collapses. There's less support."

Replacing that family support with community support, says Ms. Spinks, means "rethinking the way in which we as a society builds homes, streets, condo developments and whole cities."

"Support is crucial, if you don't have it, you're going to manufacture it. We're seeing that from urban planning to architecture. People are creating 'villages' on many levels."

Associated Graphic

Artist's rendering of Village, a 78-unit condo in Calgary's Bankview neighbourhood, designed by local architects Modern Office of Design + Architecture (MoDA) for developer RNDSQR.


The developers wanted to create a building complex that allowed for density on a 'human scale,' with amenities and neighbours close by.


Fighting for market share in growing robo field
Entry-level and mid-market investors are underserved, experts say, leaving a niche for startup Invisor Financial Inc.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016 – Print Edition, Page B16

Pramod Udiaver looks at some portfolios and sighs. As an example, he singles out one from a 40-year-old who holds a 2020 target date fund.

The auto-rebalancing product would be careening toward a conservative asset mix, perfect for someone retiring in four years, but not the person holding it. This kind of stuff stresses Mr.

Udiaver out: "Not because they didn't understand what a targetdate fund was. It's because a colleague of theirs told them it was a good product."

In May of 2015, after more than a dozen years with the TorontoDominion Bank, he and friend Dan Poole launched Invisor Financial Inc. One of the first "robo-adviser" services in Canada, it requires no minimum balance for an account, and focuses on building client portfolios based on broader financial goals while trying to be productagnostic.

Canada's automated investing sector has grown very busy since then, leaving smaller firms such as Oakville, Ont.-based Invisor clamouring for clients among big-hype startups such as Wealthsimple and big-bank entrants such as Bank of Montreal's SmartFolio.

With demand for these online advisory services heating up, Mr. Udiaver and Mr. Poole hope to clinch a chunk of the growing market by shaving investment decisions down to their core - a client's end goals - and by framing themselves as a nimble, lowcost competitor.

It is not easy, but it's slowly working, Mr. Udiaver says. "Even after a year and a half, we're still working on creating awareness of this segment - that this is an option for the mass market," he says. "The more players in this space, the better for all."

Mr. Udiaver was born and raised in India, and joined TD in Canada in 2001, working in a number of different areas of asset management. He met Mr. Poole, a lifelong insurance professional, in the Mississauga cohort of his Queen's University accelerated MBA course in 2005.

They kept in touch for years, deciding to strike out on their own together after realizing they shared a mutual frustration over the motivation behind some financial advice. In particular, Mr. Poole was frustrated by "the conflict created by distribution and manufacturing in the same organization" - the motivation, in other words, to recommend products that could financially benefit the adviser or their firm.

He and Mr. Udiaver left their corporate jobs in mid-2014 and began setting the groundwork to launch Invisor. It took a selffunded year of building the technology infrastructure and backand-forths with regulators before they launched. When they finished raising seed capital in May of 2015, Invisor opened up shop, positioning itself as a personalized and personable service - regularly noting the real adviser behind your portfolio is a phone call away.

"We would argue that there is a big segment of the mass market which is not even served," Mr. Udiaver says. "We try and serve that segment of the market that we really believe needs help, needs advice. Most incumbents are not really addressing that need."

The seven-employee company is registered as a portfolio manager in Ontario, British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba. Investment management fees start at 50 basis points for a client's first $250,000 - similar to heavyweight competitor Wealthsimple - and drop as low as 30 basis points as balances get higher.

Mr. Udiaver and a second staff adviser build portfolios for clients largely with exchange-traded funds, as well as some F-class, or fee-based mutual funds, with the goal of minimizing the management expense ratios passed down to the client. They offer funds from BMO, BlackRock iShares, Invesco and Vanguard. The clients, meanwhile, aren't charged trading fees when their portfolio is rebalanced.

This is all part of being a goalfocused advisory service, rather than a product-focused one, according to Mr. Udiaver. "It's really about a top-down approach, as opposed to a bottom-up approach that exists today in the mutual fund world, where the focus is really about selling a mutual fund," he says.

Invisor is still trying to define itself, a year and a half after opening - both against traditional advising competitors and new, similar self-directed services from incumbents.

Pauline Shum-Nolan, a finance professor at York University's Schulich School of Business and president of PW Portfolio Analytics, says that robo startups such as Invisor can stand out in the field by being fully transparent about their portfolios, laying out exactly how they're constructed and performing against benchmarks. Invisor already does this to some degree. "Put comfort in the investor's mind to generate credibility," she says.

Chuck Grace, a wealth-management consultant and finance lecturer at the University of Western Ontario's Ivey Business School, says that Invisor was smart to position itself as primarily goalfocused. "That's where every financial conversation needs to start. Many of the firms aren't doing that," he says. But Invisor, he says, "needs to get beyond that in the hurry." That includes recognizing that focusing on its low cost can be "a race to the bottom," and therefore Invisor should offer a suite of services.

That happens to be what Invisor has in mind. The company is about to release a suite of financial tools, as well as an onlinefocused insurance offering that leverages Mr. Poole's history in the industry.

Where Invisor could really win clients, Mr. Grace says, is by marketing all these offerings to potential clients who've been historically sidestepped. "The midmarket and entry-level market has traditionally been difficult to serve cost effectively, and as a result has been a little underserviced. I'm not saying it will be easy to enter those markets, but it'll be easier than other alternatives."

One potential tactic, Mr. Grace says, might be to reach out to specific niche markets with Invisor's value proposition - say, analytically minded engineering students on the cusp of building wealth who would enjoy playing with the service.

While the company has seen some small growth, Mr. Udiaver says, "you need to get up to a level of scale before it's meaningful in real numbers. So we know we're going through a phase to create that awareness."

Mr. Poole suggests that it's their competitors who'll help them reach that scale, pointing to a recent campaign from "one of Canada's big banks" about new, lower mutual fund fees.

"What that's doing, really, is helping identify an issue in the market, which is expensive products," Mr. Poole says. "Cost is important. Cost does matter. And that's why you should look not only at traditional providers and the large incumbents, but smaller, nimbler competitors who are willing to offer you a service at an equal or lower cost."

Associated Graphic

Dan Poole, left, and Pramod Udiaver, the co-founders of Invisor. They met in a Queen's University accelerated MBA course in 2005 and decided to strike out on their own in 2014.


Back to school again - but with enthusiasm, purpose
Many older students are drawn to one- to two-year diploma or certificate programs that offer hands-on experience
Special to The Globe and Mail
Friday, October 21, 2016 – Print Edition, Page E5

A somewhat vague Google search changed Matthew Berezan's career trajectory.

The Vancouver resident was employed as a youth worker a few years ago. While he enjoyed helping young people, he found that his job, which involved a fair amount of administrative work in planning summer- and school-break programs, wasn't as active as he liked.

As someone who grew up playing sports in his hometown of Edmonton and who went on to play Ultimate Frisbee at the international level, the thought of being at a desk all day for the rest of his working years was unfathomable.

Mr. Berezan found himself doing an online search along the lines of "counselling + physical activity."

Results turned up a program in therapeutic recreation at New Westminster Douglas College.

The profession helps people overcome barriers such as illness or disability or improve their quality of life through leisure or recreational activities that they are intrinsically motivated to do.

After poring over the website and learning a bit more about the field, Mr. Berezan gave up his full-time job and headed back to school at age 29. He is now in his second year of a fouryear degree program.

"I only learned about it about half a year before I started the program," Mr. Berezan says. "I got a textbook from one of the courses to really know what I was going to get myself into, then decided it was the right thing for me. It was pretty quick."

It is not uncommon for adults like Mr. Berezan to return to college to embark on a new career or sharpen their competitive edge in an increasingly competitive job market, one that still has not fully recovered from the economic downturn.

There are no national statistics on so-called "mature" students - the term used to describe those aged anywhere from 19 to 25 and above who did not pursue postsecondary education straight out of high school. But schools track the makeup of their students. At Douglas College, of its 12,161 students registered this fall, 21 per cent are mature students (aged 25 and up) and 30 per cent of those attend full-time.

What is clear is that mature students tend to face a different set of challenges compared with those who are leaving home for the first time. On top of their courses, many mature students juggle family and parenting duties along with full- or parttime work. Some keep or take on jobs to avoid student debt; others have no choice, in some cases because their family income is too high to qualify for governmental tuition support.

Mr. Berezan works part-time as a support worker to two men with developmental disabilities and also as a youth worker at a local community centre. Having previously studied political science and geography at the University of Alberta, then at B.C.'s Simon Fraser University, he found that a few things were different upon his return to college.

"I was definitely a little bit nervous going into a classroom where most of the people were going to be in their late teens or early 20s," he says. "I'm working part-time, because my goal is to not take out any student loans.

Sometimes it feels like a bit much, but I'm making it work."

That members of this demographic typically have more on their minds than pub night is one reason Douglas College offers a separate orientation specifically for mature students. Eric Glanville, manager of the college's office for new students, says that most have questions and considerations that students coming straight from secondary school don't.

"There tend to be some pretty common concerns when people are thinking about coming back to school," Mr. Glanville says.

"They're concerned about succeeding academically, especially if it's been a few years since they've been in the classroom.

They may be worried that their study skills are a little rusty or worried about being able to keep up academically with kids who just came out of high school."

Mature students also commonly feel unsure about integrating socially and being part of the broader campus community, and many say they are concerned about finding enough time in the day to balance all their obligations and cross off items on their to-do list on a regular basis.

Mr. Glanville says that all of those worries can be addressed.

"What we like to tell them is that for each of their concerns, they have a strength they can call on," he says, noting that mature students are more likely to succeed academically because they have a clear goal in mind and are more disciplined in terms of doing what is necessary to succeed.

Mature students are enrolled in nearly every program the college offers, Mr. Glanville says, but many are drawn in particular to those with a hands-on or applied component; not surprisingly, one- to two-year diploma or certificate programs also appeal when compared to fouryear programs. Fields that are especially popular among mature students there include nursing, psychiatric nursing, therapeutic recreation, and social work.

The cost of colleges compared with universities is a clear draw; college courses, Mr. Glanville says, cost about 40 per cent less than university courses.

More affordable postsecondary education is especially important for students who may be returning to college because of unexpected circumstances.

Dwayne Reeve, president of Parkland College in Saskatchewan, explains that some mature students come to the college because of workplace injuries.

"Sometimes we do get individuals in for retraining, a plan not of their design," he says. "Also, some people come because of a life event - a divorce or the death of a spouse - and they ... need to look at something that will give them a greater chance of economic freedom."

Many mature students are drawn to skilled trades, Mr. Reeve says. He strongly suggests mature students seek out a college's career counselling services before registering to ensure they get exactly what they need.

Mature students also serve as positive role models for younger students.

"Anecdotally, we have a large number of multigenerational families, also. It's quite common in the aboriginal community for people to return later in life to set a good example for their children or grandchildren," Mr. Reeve says.

For Mr. Berezan, returning to school has advantages when it comes to enthusiasm and drive.

"I'm excited about the program," he says. "When I'd studied before, doing poli sci, it was something I was interested in, but it became clear it wasn't what I wanted to do going forward ... Now, it's much easier to be engaged with the program because it's something I'm really interested in and want to be doing."

Associated Graphic

There are no national statistics on mature students - those aged 25 and up. But, for example, at Douglas College in New Westminster, B.C., of its 12,161 students registered this fall, 21 per cent are mature students.


Max Factor
The fashion industry's latest creative darling is a 25-year-old Torontonian whose secret weapon in an X-acto knife. Randi Bergman learns how Maxwell Burnstein cut, pasted and posted his way to the top
Friday, October 14, 2016 – Print Edition, Page P30

Maxwell Burnstein talks too fast for me to get a word in edgewise, but I don't need to ask too many questions. I recognize a yiddishe kop when I see one. For the uninitiated, I'm referring to the kind of dexterous Jewish mind that knows how to spot a good opportunity and act on it real quick. Of course, it's a skill not limited to our tribe; it's just one that's instantaneously familiar to me.

The 25-year-old whippersnapper arrives for our coffee date with an overstuffed folder, filled with a selection of his latest collage work. There's an image of It-girl Cara Delevingne superimposed onto Rome's Trevi Fountain; a shot of a woman in Prada's Fall collection, slivered down to her brocade; and a few Canadian models whose faces mesmerizingly repeat within themselves. It's just a sampling of his prolific portfolio, which he's been building at a breakneck pace in the 18 months since graduating from Ryerson University's School of Fashion in Toronto. In that short time, he's managed to collage covers for both Elle's Mexican and Croatian editions, worked out lucrative partnerships with several hoteliers including W and The Drake, and created a jewellery campaign for Holt Renfrew, all while building a 35,000 follower-strong Instagram account.

Burnstein has a lot more than clip art on his mind. "Beneath the artist is a businessperson encapsulating a rare combination of design and entrepreneurship," says Robert Ott, chair of Ryerson's fashion program. It's this diverse skill set that makes him a leader among a new generation of image makers who are shaking up the way clothing and accessories are consumed.

Burnstein traces his love for photomontage back to his bedroom in Halifax, Nova Scotia, where he lived until he was a teen, before relocating with his family to Toronto. Walls were covered with GQ spreads and images of a pre-Simple Life Paris Hilton until he moved on to more sophisticated subject matter. "Collage was what I did for fun. It was innate," he says. It wasn't until collage became a component of the Ryerson curriculum that he saw it as his way into the upper echelons of the fashion world.

On Instagram and Tumblr, collage work was beginning to pique the interest of the industry. Artist Kalen Hollomon was spinning his subversive account into collaborations with Vogue and The Weeknd. Brands like Prada and Céline were debuting cut-and-paste ad campaigns. In the weeks following his graduation, Burnstein began a self-imposed 30-day art challenge, during which he tasked himself with creating something new each day and sharing it on Instagram. "At first I was doing it to round out my portfolio, but the reaction went viral," he says. "I got a tremendous amount of likes and feedback and almost immediately started having different websites, magazines and blogs reach out to me for collaboration opportunities."

His big break quickly followed: The chance to collage for Elle Mexico's profile on Italian designers Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana last November. The feature led to Burnstein's name being given a permanent place on the magazine's masthead as a contributing artist and his work is now featured in its pages multiple times a year. Most recently, his collage of a Gucci dress curled up within a blown up graphic of its own snake print covered the magazine's spring 2016 trends issue. "His manual art is something that amazes me," says his collaborator, Elle Mexico art editor Dalia Pallares. "He always Snapchats me his process, because he knows it's something that really excites me."

Pallares is referring to Burnstein's analog technique, which he's keen to highlight as something that differentiates him from his peers. While most of today's mixed-media collages are created digitally, Burnstein makes his images with an X-acto knife, a glue stick and paper. "I'm trying to showcase the fine-art practice in a way that's consumable in this digital era," he says.

Another key difference is Burnstein's source images, which are generally original photographs produced for his projects. This past summer, he collaborated with designer brand Baja East and photographer Alexander Saladrigas on pieces that will be featured in W's Union Square location. "Maxwell has an incredible work ethic and it translates in his work," says W's New York marketing manager, Tanya De Costa. As part of a year in residence with the hotel group, more of his pieces will be featured in other properties. "There's a unique combination of fashion and art that's highlighted in such an engaging way," she says.

As much as he prefers to keep things simple with his creative practice, Burnstein uses today's boundary-less social media world to exploit it. "Instagram is an opportunity for me to connect with people that are completely inaccessible in every other way," he says. Burnstein's Instagram account acts as a living, breathing portfolio, while building his own personal brand. "I have every leading industry member I would want to work with at my fingertips."

When I ask Burnstein who his heroes are, he references the likes of Jeff Koons and Damien Hirst, two pop artists who are unabashedly commerce-minded. Koons, whose most famous work is a statue of Michael Jackson and his pet chimpanzee, Bubbles, has been vilified by purists for commercializing art, yet he's ranked as the highest-valued living American artist. In 2008, an auction of Hirst's animals preserved in formaldehyde brought in $198 million (U.S.), the highest amount ever generated by a living artist at auction. #8220;I'm not going to starve," he admits when I suggest the correlation between the Koons-Hirst approach to marketing and his own. "Or if I starve, I'll do it in the W Hotel."

Later this year, Burnstein will mount exhibitions of his work at both W's Koh Samui Thailand resort and its Washington, D.C. hotel - just in time for the U.S. inauguration. They will be two more examples of how his chutzpa is paying off within the art and fashion worlds. As the patron saint of creative hustle, Andy Warhol, once said, "Making money is art and working is art and good business is the best art."

* * *


Leather coat, $18,500 at Hermès ( Berluti sweater, $2,608, Dries Van Noten turtleneck, $605 at Holt Renfrew ( Sport trousers, $250 through

Grooming by Angie Di Battista for Davines Hair Care/M.A.C Cosmetics/Plutino Group. Photomontage by Maxwell Burnstein.

Associated Graphic


CUT COPY Maxwell Burnstein's photomontages, for collaborators including the W New York Union Square (top) and Toronto's Drake Hotel (bottom), play with the scale and silhouette of designer garments, layering in elements to emphasize unique textures and details.

Trump's chance of winning is now remote
Videotape in which Republican presidential nominee boasts about groping women is causing many supporters to bolt
Saturday, October 15, 2016 – Print Edition, Page A18

A weekly look at what we've learned about the 2016 U.S. election.

Trump is going down so ugly, it's dangerous

Beginning with his performance in his first debate against Hillary Clinton and culminating in the release shortly before the second debate of a videotape in which he boasts about groping women, Donald Trump's chance of winning the presidency went from decent to very remote.

As a parade of women alleging sexual assault has pushed his campaign further into the ground, the Republican nominee has responded with as much grace as you might expect. He has implied his accusers are not attractive enough for him to have assaulted them, literally surrounded himself with women who say they were assaulted by Bill Clinton and promised to use the presidency to jail his opponent.

But perhaps most worrying is the way Mr. Trump is whipping supporters into a