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Harbour Spiel February 2012 issue

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January 2012 editorial: The case of the three point probe

By Brian Lee

 So there it was.

There could never be a better moment to confirm the story. It was at the book launch for The Doc’s Side: Tales of a Sunshine Coast Doctor, Dr. Eric Paetkau’s stack of stories about his past 50 years practising medicine on the Sunshine Coast. Paetkau had just finished reliving some of the mishaps that occurred from mixing medicine with some of the personalities from the old Sunshine Coast.

I hadn’t yet read the book but sat waiting for one story in particular. It was a story told to me a long time ago and one that would have taken place before I was born. I listened as Paetkau recounted tales about the very early days of the St. Mary’s Hospital in Garden Bay.

Of logging camp accidents and of good times spent with fellow doctors. Of house calls and crazy people. But he didn’t tell this story.

Afterwards, he asked his appreciative audience of friends and former patients if they had questions for him. I felt like he was speaking directly to me — because I had a good one.

Someone once told me a yarn involving three well-known doctors: Dr. Paetkau, Dr. Walter Burtnick and Dr. Alan Swan. It sounded plausible enough, but I had suspicions that it might be too clever to be true.

The three worked at St. Mary’s Hospital in Garden Bay and were good friends. But they were also each other’s doctor and, as such, they would have to perform examinations on each other. My version of the story goes that Dr. Swan was to receive a prostate examination from Dr. Burtnick.

Burtnick had Swan bent over a table in an examination room, facing away from the door. Though they were trusted friends, one can assume both must have been experiencing a little discomfort.

But, it’s likely that Swan, lying prostrate with his pants at his ankles while considering the girth of the sasquatch-like Burtnick’s finger, had the most to be nervous about. As Dr. Burtnick was about to deliver his prostate exam, Dr. Paetkau quietly let himself in the room holding a shushing finger to his smiling lips.

Burtnick carried on without giving away a thing. With his right hand, he firmly grasped his patient’s right shoulder to steady him while he performed the exam with his left. While the patient was in mid-palpation, Paetkau moved in quietly and placed his left hand on Swan’s other shoulder.

 

One can’t know what went through the mind of the deeply religious Swan as he nervously did the math but I guess he might have been confused, to say the least. After all these years, I can’t even be sure the names in this story land in the correct order — maybe it was Paetkau on the table?But with Burtnick and Swan both now gone, only he remained to verify it’s accuracy.

So, given the opportunity, you’d have thought I’d jump on him like a trampoline in a kangaroo daycare. But I didn’t.

Maybe I feared offending his young grandchildren sitting in the front row of the audience. Or maybe it was for my own selfish pleasure — I just didn’t want to risk ruining a good story.

Harbour Spiel January 2012 issue

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December 2011 editorial: Economic development starts at home

By Brian Lee

Up and down the Coast, one of the most consistently touted phrases in the recent election was "economic development." It’s funny because, only four years ago, development was a bad word. Most folks on the Coast thought there was too much of it or it was occurring too fast. Now that the little boom is a distant memory, it seems we’re back to where we were before. We just have more idle excavators.

Winter now means that, before you visit a business on, say, a Tuesday, you check to make sure they will be open. We also accept that a dinner outing is often spent dining eerily alone in a room of empty tables. So we put our heads together to attract what we once resisted.

But we should be realistic about what we can achieve — we’re stuck waiting for a looseing of purse strings just like everybone else. One thing we can count on is that Sunshine Coast economics is pretty simple — when times are good, more money travels to Langdale than to Horseshoe Bay. Now that times have soured, we can only control part of that equation.

It doesn’t matter how much effort we invest in developing our economy if we turn around and carry that money back off the Coast and hand it to the Kirkland family. I’ll go on record and say I’m opposed to big box stores coming to the Coast. You only need to drive through Kelowna to see how the character of the Sunshine Coast Highway would dissolve into a corporate sign field and expansive parking lots. But even though they might squelch our already fragile retail environment, the big boxes would hire local people and pay local taxes. In turn, the money that would have otherwise made the one-way trip on the ferry would filter back into our local economy and support our infrastructure.

We all have our reasons why we travel off-Coast to go shopping. Sometimes it’s a cost savings or sometimes it’s better selection but, every time we do, we’re plucking a feather from our own backside. And it’s even more important to shop at home in the winter because of a few inescapable facts about our future economy.

One is that it will rely on growth from an influx of aging boomers. That’s good but it carries at least one hazard — though retirees have money and spend it, many don’t stick around for the winter. I can’t blame them for that but it means the differences between the seasonal peaks and troughs should continue to grow.

Ask just about any business owner — retail or hospitality especially — and they’ll say they just hope to break even through winter. Many will also tell you it may soon be impossible to "keep the lights on year-round." That may mean that if there’s three or four choices for a dinner outing right now, it might drop to two. Or one.

The reality is that Pender Harbour and Egmont as we know it could cease to exist outside of the summer. There will still be people here but little else.

So this season, let’s make the effort to give local businesses a reason to keep the lights on for us.

Merry Christmas.

Harbour Spiel December 2011 issue

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November 2011 editorial: A call for more arms

By Brian Lee

When I was kid I was taught about the important roles provincial and federal politics had in our lives. That was fine. But little time was ever given to educating students on the finer points of municipal governance. I graduated school without even an inkling about how civic politics worked. Now I see what a folly that is.

I don’t think it’s cynical or defeatist to say a typical Canadian is unlikely to carry much sway in the federal or provincial arena. But we can have a direct impact on how our local government operates. Some constituents and organizations understand this and use it to their advantage. They’re the ones who attend the odd board meeting, submit letters, make phone calls and generally lift their voices above the fray.

It’s not a coincidence that they’re also the ones who are often the most successful in swaying decisions in their favour. The problem is that "they" are sometimes a minority who don’t really speak for the rest of us. It’s one reason why the upcoming municipal election is a fresh call to get involved with our local government.

We’re extremely lucky to have two capable candidates vying for the position of Area A director. Though both are well qualified, there will be an inevitable learning process as the winner acquaints himself with the SCRD machine. But even when he does get up to speed, no matter how effective he is, he will rely on folks in the community to offer insight on issues and even tell him when he’s screwing up.

The job of director is but one small voice at a loud table and in order to be effective, that voice needs backing. One shouldn’t underestimate the effect a delegation has on board discussions by just being in the room. And, if someone doesn’t push to get an item on the agenda, it may not get discussed at all. Directors are often forced to make tough decisions on our behalf but those decisions will only be as as informed as those he or she comes into contact with.

So I suggest we look at this election as a chance to regroup and renew efforts. A chance to reassess what the issues are and take a fresh stab at solving them. We sometimes overlook the considerable accomplishments that have taken place in the area during the past 10 years. Much of that work was, and is, accomplished by locals working together, pushing forward — or pushing back. And there are still many worthy projects calling out for help.

Your help.

Attend public meetings, sit in on board meetings or committee meetings (the agendas and minutes are all posted on the SCRD website) and assert some control in matters that concern our community. Pose questions to the director and offer your respectful input (while accepting that it may be ignored).

Whichever candidate wins this election, he’s going to need our help. He shouldn’t be seen as the captain of the ship but the rudder.

And as always, it’s our responsibility to guide it.

Harbour Spiel November 2011 issue

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Harbour Spiel October 2011 issue

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October 2011 editorial: Sixty issues later...

 

By Brian Lee

 This the 250th issue of the Harbour Spiel which, at 20 years old, is the longest running publication on the Sunshine Coast. It’s also five years ago that Myrtle Winchester approached me about taking the Harbour Spiel from her.

It caught me off guard and she didn’t give me a lot of time to think about it — or to get my first issue out — and it’s probably a good thing. If she had, I likely would have backed out. I understand now that overthinking is one of the many hazards of this job.

I encounter a minefield of sensitivities each month and I think it’s safe to say every issue has forced a few tough decisions that had to be made while under a cloud of mental fatigue. For the most part, I’m satisfied with the results and have very few regrets. So, I try not to take it too personally when I get accosted.

I keep a file in which I keep "favourite letters" or e-mails. It’s a habit I borrowed from another outfit I worked at that also printed words — it seems if you put words on paper, nasty people think you need their advice. This one came, fittingly, from a guy on Misery Mile last May:

"I live in Madeira Park... eliminate your editorial (groan) and idiot McClune’s garbage opinion on anything (does he pay you to publish his crap?) and you’d have a nice publication going for you."

Others just want to yell — every few months or so I arrive home on the evening after the Spiel comes out to some drunken voicemail telling me what I did wrong. And then there are the zealots who called up with all kinds of threats after April’s Stephen Harper "finger" graphic — from the fervour that stirred up, you’d have thought I published a caricature of Mohammed.

After 60 issues you’d expect it to be getting easier. But there hasn’t been one completed where I haven’t honestly confessed to my friend, the "idiot McClune" (who arrives from Comox to proof every issue) that, "I don’t think I can go through that again." Luckily that feeling only lasts until the day after the hangover wears off. In truth, I’m honoured to have the opportunity.

Along the way I’ve been helped by too many people to mention. First are undoubtedly the advertisers without whom there wouldn’t be a Harbour Spiel. I sincerely urge you to consider that the next time you’re shopping around because if there’s one crisis facing our community right now, it is the viability of our local economy.

Next are the regular contributors who ask for nothing yet submit unfailingly by deadline. Third is the support I get from folks who read it. The most gratifying part of the job for me is to hear how much people enjoy the Spiel. It’s what strengthens my resolve to continue publishing something that isn’t paralyzed by the all too common fear of offending someone.

I knew going into it that "you can’t please everybody," so I haven’t tried. Instead, I’ve tried to please myself and, in that, I know I’ve been succesful. Hopefully I can keep it up for another 60.

So, cheers.

September 2011 editorial: No country for single men (or women).

 By Brian Lee

 As summer ebbs and Madeira parking stalls return to their rightful owners, the shift in pace brings welcome relief for most. Squinting ahead, we can almost make out normalcy, picking its way back along the highway through the southbound train of boat trailers and minivans. Who doesn’t enjoy this time of year?

Single people, that’s who. Labour Day sets into play a predictable panic for anyone facing the unenviable prospect of spending a Pender Harbour winter alone. Like squirrels throttling up their already hyperactive pine cone hoarding, mate-less locals anxiously plot ways in which to avoid a prolonged celibacy.

It will come as no surprise that the romantic prospects available here are far more abundant in summer than winter. I’ve faced down our off-season solo many times and can offer a bit of advice to those lucky enough to already have a steady:

Go out and buy him or her some flowers, because the grass on the other side of this mountain is brown. Actually, there’s no grass at all — just dirt.

The spring that started out so promising with fresh faces arriving by the ferryload and days spent frolicking together at the lake slips away before you can stammer, "Do you wanna be my girlf... ?" And, though mine is a male perspective, I’ve been told that it’s just as daunting — and possibly even more so — for the wintering female. And if you’re gay, forget it.

It’s not that there aren’t other singles out there as eager to hook up as you are, it’s just that in a small town like this there’s not a lot of choice. Or you (and your immediate circle of friends) have already been there. By late-August, the prospect looms of a winter spent in the pub with the same seven people as last year.

So, like the squirrel, you double your efforts — it’s do or die. You chase down all the leads you passed up in July when romance seemed like a smorgasboard. It’s the bottom of the ninth and you’re looking for a Hail Mary buzzer-beater.

But your prey picks up on mixed metaphors and becomes wary. Call it "squeezing the trigger too tight" or the "unattractive odour of desperation," but there’s a point where, even if you meet someone suitably toothed and showered, it’s too late.

By Jazz Fest, that easygoing demeanor that was there when you had the whole summer of possibilities ahead is gone. It’s as if your pheromones have been poisoned, or at least diluted, by the pressure.

The resulting anxiety works to paralyze any remaining opportunity. Words are fumbled, jokes fall flat — the gazelles scatter. Sadly, there can be but one outcome for this hunter.

Here you go again.