OLD LEFTIES NEVER DIE
Even in their 70s, they continue to hum union songs on Labour Day
True confession: In my distant youth — almost 70 years ago — I attended a Communist summer camp.
I want to lay this out in case Pierre Poilievre becomes prime minister. I'm afraid he may reduce my old age pension on the grounds of long-ago Marxism. Maybe there will be a fenced-in camp for old Lefties ...
OK, enough irrational paranoia. I'm 75 years old, 76 in late August. And my politics — while comfortably left of Poilievre — are small-L liberal. And large-L lazy.
But not totally indifferent. I read the editorial page columnists of my former employer, the Montreal Gazette. I subscribe to the online New York Times and faithfully read Maureen Dowd, Tom Friedman, Frank Bruni et al. I'm addicted to Facebook, where friends post great jokes and videos of their pets and/or children. When they post politics, it's pretty much in line with where I'm at.
I faithfully watch the television news ... the 9 p.m. edition, in time for my 10 p.m. bedtime. I usually watch the news alone because my partner hits the hay earlier than I. That's because our two miniature poodles tend to arise at 5:30 a.m., while the old guy tries to snooze until 7-ish.
But I'm drifting away from the confession I started to write about: political summer camp.
I should make it clear that Beaver Camp in Quebec, circa 1954, wasn't run by the doctrinaire Khmer Rouge. And it folded unceremoniously after Nikita Khrushchev denounced 1930s Stalinist terror in the Soviet Union. I was a little squirt whose appreciation of left-wing politics was a Pete Seeger concert at Beaver Camp. I still listen to the Talking Union CD, full of Seeger and the Almanac Singers' warbling classic union songs. I can still sing Solidarity Forever and Which Side Are You On. But I don't inflict them on my partner or anyone else.
During my time at university, I lived near the campus in a large old house with several rooms and, over the years, many roommates. We socialized in socialism.
That was then. Some principles endure, however. Though my time at the Montreal Star and, subsequently, the Gazette, I was a loyal writers guild member. I was annoyed by a colleague who whined about union deductions on her paycheque.
During a brief writers strike at the Star, I was unmarried and consequently assigned to an overnight picket line. A few fellow bachelors and I marched up and down a dark, deserted sidewalk.
Pete Seeger didn't join us. And at least it wasn't a Montreal winter.
Fast-forward to retirement age: Nice pension income, no deadlines (except a monthly date for this column) and a partner who worked in management at the Gazette.
I spare her the Talking Union CD, but I still hum a few tunes on Labour Day.
I'm so old I can remember Stanley Cup parades in Montreal. There hasn't been one since 1993. And I'm at the age when huge downtown gatherings may be a bit difficult.
Dare I annoy readers in Vancouver, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg, Ottawa and Toronto by pointing out that my beloved Canadiens were the most recent Canadian team to win the Cup?
And it's been more than 30 years.But there are Cup hopes a mari usque ad mare, as our Canadian national motto says. There are good and great players in the aforementioned cities. So maybe the Cup will head north ... in time for my partner to wheel me to a parade.
Moving along to warm-weather sports, we have Blue Jays baseball. I used the wrong pronoun: YOU have Blue Jays baseball. I
haven't recovered from the fact that the Expos left Montreal 20 years ago. And despite some Montrealers who love baseball and yearn for a return, I can't see the game coming back to my beloved city.
No stadium. Not enough passionate baseball fans.
We'll just have to make do with hockey, football and soccer.
I was a little squirt whose appreciation of left-wing politics was a Pete Seeger concert at Beaver Camp. I still listen to the Talking Union CD, full of Seeger and the Almanac Singers' warbling classic union songs. Mike Boone