Paul Godfrey is like Peter Pan…he never gets old. When he came to visit me at my downtown real estate office, it briefly crossed my mind that he might be interested in buying something. But alas, he didn’t react to the glittering marketing materials at all. He focused his precious time on catching up on our longtime friendship. Paul has many longtime friends, and he takes care of each one of us. When I began my foray into writing, doing an emotional piece about my son, the first person I called was Godfrey, who was then running The Toronto Sun. I told him that I had written a piece that I thought was perfect for his newspaper. He told me later that he had thought to himself, “Oh god, not another friend who wants to write”. But he asked me to send him the piece anyway, and promised to forward it to the appropriate editor. He called to tell me a little while later that the editor actually liked my story and would be calling me. “You seem surprised”, I pointed out.
“You have no idea how many ‘friends’ call me wanting to write”, he laughed. The most pressure he’s received, he says, was when he was president of the Toronto Blue Jays. “I even got a call from a friend of mine who was a dentist. He told me that he didn’t like ‘fixing teeth’ anymore, and would love to work for the Jays. He kept calling and pressuring me to find him a job within the Jays organization. “I’ll take anything”, he told me.’” “So did you find him something?”, I wanted to know. “Of course”, Paul said, “I found him a job taking tickets at the door. That didn’t go over too big”, Paul laughs, adding, “the doctor was indignant and said, ‘Why are you giving me such a terrible job’’ I reminded him that he said he’d take anything”. But the friend was bitterly disappointed. “‘I thought I’d be working directly with the ball players’ he told me, I pointed out that even I didn’t get to deal directly with the ball players and I was the CEO”, Paul laughs.
I don’t even know how Paul and I became friends, I was introduced to him at an event many years ago and was instantly his pal. I introduced him to my son Luke, years later, and one day Luke told me, “I went to Paul Godfrey’s office today”.”What? Is he your friend now too?”, I asked. “Well, I wanted to get his thoughts on a few things”, Luke said. Apparently the extremely busy Godfrey came out to share some ideas with Luke, who was with him for about two hours. “I’ve done that before too”, Luke said.
There are only 24 hours in a day, I don’t know how Paul does it. At the end of our visit, Paul felt bad. He felt he had done too much of the talking, I pointed out that he had tried a number of times to get me to talk about myself. “Normally you get no chance to talk at all”, I told him, “this was the first day I got you to tell a bit of your story”. I found out that Godfrey was brought up in the Kensington market area of Toronto, and graduated from university in Chemical Engineering. “The teacher figured out that there was a problem”, he tells me. “She asked me, “what’s wrong? You’re graduating as a chemical engineer and you don’t look happy” Paul says that he replied, “I’m not happy, I don’t want to be an engineer”. He adds, “Imagine, after four years of intense study and a degree, I hated my chosen path. “The teacher encouraged me to find something that I loved to do”. And not long afterwards, inspired by his teacher and his own mother who was involved in local politics, and who put his name forward as a nominee for alderman when she herself refused a bid to run, Paul ran and won, thus finding something that he loved to do. He succeeded in his 20’s and hasn’t stopped succeeding since. From being an alderman, to being Toronto comptroller, to head of the Toronto Sun, running the Blue Jays, head of Post Media, and constantly being asked to run numerous other companies.
Paul at 87 is a people person and a happy family man. And it shows. He is trim, dressed to kill, and is incredibly youthful. This is a guy who is excited about his life, his career, his sons, and his wife Gina, who I ran into in the grocery store several years ago and who said to me, “I’m really smart, I married Paul Godfrey”. And Paul is still going strong. As enthused about life as he ever was, he could give Tony Robbins a run for his money.
As he’s leaving my office, Godfrey asks me to help direct his car out of the tight parking lot. “I should back up and veer to the right side and then you can guide me out, right?”, he asks, haltingly, the only time I have ever seen him hesitant. Ahh, so there is something that Paul can’t do.
“No, no, I’ve got this”, I tell him, “I’m going to guide you to go straight back out of the lot, no veering to the right, and then take a hard turn to the left”. As I direct Paul, he easily gets out of the lot.
“That was great Sharon”, he tells me enthusiastically, adding, “you’re so good at this, I’m going to hire you at the Post!”. All of a sudden I feel like the dentist. “So I shouldn’t get my hopes up?”, I yell after him, “what you’re offering me is a job parking cars, right?”
He lets out his huge belly laugh as he pulls away.
COMPARE THESE PHOTOS – ONE TAKEN A FEW YEARS AGO, 2014, GREAT PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPTHER – DID SHE PHOTOSHOP? OR IS IT LIGHTING, BEST ANGLE, GOOD MAKEUP?…HMMM.
SECOND PHOTO BELOW TAKEN THIS YEAR 2024 BY MY SON LUKE, NO PHOTOSHOP, EYELIDS DROOPING, BROKEN NOSE, NO MAKEUP….. WHICH ONE DO I LIKE BEST?
Luke has been looking forward to Father’s Day for a long time now. His card is carefully painted and signed, and he’s got a long list of plans for the big day. Luke is always taking about his dad, but especially around Father’s Day.
“Mom, remember that long hike Dad and I took through the forest? We were gone all day, and you were so worried we were lost.” “Oh Luke”, I say, “you were only three then. How can you remember that hike?” But he does remember.
Luke and his dad were always together, fishing, hiking, planting in the garden – days that Luke loves to recall. I guess it’s not that unusual for a nine-year-old to be so crazy about his dad, but Luke’s dad died in a car accident more than five years ago.
Who would have thought that a three-year-old would not only remember, but cherish, the short time he and his dad had together? Everyone told me that Luke would forget – but everyone was wrong. Noone stopped to think about that larger-than-life bond between father and son.
I have watched as Luke’s mind adapted to life without a dad. But Father’s Day is still a big challenge.
I thought I had licked the problem years ago with my Band-Aid solution called Brother’s Day. The boys exchanged gifts and went to Canada’s Wonderland – whatever it took to escape the real meaning of the day. “Brilliant,” I thought at the time. but Brother’s Day came to a crashing halt last year when Luke announced: “Mom, other kids don’t celebrate Brothers Day – it’s really Father’s Day!” He assumed I simply didn’t know. Why else would I ignore Father’s Day?
Luke also confided that he had overheard some kids in school whispering that he would have nothing to do on Father’s Day, since he had no dad.
At first I was angry, but then I realized that I was as guilty as those kids, since five years earlier I had taken the “father” out of Luke’s Father’s Day, hoping to save him from the hurt and pain.
“But I want to celebrate Father’s Day”, Luke told me, and I realized that my little boy was growing up.
it was so much easier to deal with the toddler who said the funniest things in his attempts to understand the situation. At his father’s funeral, he’d indignantly noted that something was missing. “Where’s Dad?”, he mused,”why isn’t he here? I thought he’d be at his own funeral.”
I remembered the little boy who greeted his friend shortly after his dad died, yelling: “Kathleen, Kathleen! You won’t believe what happened! My hamster died and so did my dad.”
“What happened to the hamster?”, Kathleen relied.
The hamster was quickly forgotten, but not Luke’s dad. There were always signs that his dad was on Luke’s mind.
At a party one day, Luke blurted out, “My daddy’s dead…” All conversation stopped as embarrassed guests looked toward Luke. I gulped. “…but my mom’s realllly alive!”, he continued, saving the moment and giving me a description to live up to.
For a while, whenever the phone rang, Luke would yell, “I’ll bet it’s Dad!” One Christmas Eve when Santa – my dad – called to talk to the kids, Luke hung up on him saying, “I can’t believe that Santa didn’t put Dad on the phone.” I guess in a little boy’s mind, Santa’s workshop is as close to heaven as you can get.
But those days are long gone. Luke isn’t that little boy anymore. The easy Band-aid solutions don’t work. So what to do about Father’s Day? Well, since Luke has decided he wants to celebrate Father’s Day, we will be doing what he wants to do, what everyone else will be doing that day, honouring Dad.
And I think that it’s time for Luke’s classmates to realize what his mom has finally figured out, something Luke has known all along: that he does have a father, a wonderful father who’s alive and well and living in a little boy’s heart.
Amazing brace Why aren’t Canadian parents told about a Montreal invention used around the world to treat scoliosis?
Sharon Dunn, January 23, 2008 | MacLeans Magazine, edited by author Jan 16, 2024
‘Scoliosis’ – welcome to a lifetime of pain‘ was the dramatic greeting I got when I typed that one word into my search engine.
It all started innocently enough in 2001 when Jay, then 16, complained of a sore back. His back looked fine to me, but I took him to the paediatrician to be sure. “Your son has scoliosis, and now it’s too late,” the doctor told me, going on to explain that scoliosis, a sideways curvature of the spine, if caught while a child is still growing, can be treated with a brace to reduce the curve, or a surgically implanted rod to straighten the spine. We were referred to the Hospital For Sick Children in Toronto, where Jay was diagnosed with adolescent idiopathic (of no known cause) scoliosis, or AIS, the most common type of curvature of the spine.
During that first meeting, the surgeon said to my son, “If you ask me three times, I’ll do surgery.” Confused, I asked him what he meant. “I wasn’t talking to you,” the surgeon scolded. Intimidated, not a common trait of mine, I backed down. Even though my son was still a minor, I apparently had no say in the matter. When we left the hospital, my teenager said casually, “Well, I guess I’ll have fusion.” The surgeon had succeeded in making spinal fusion sound like a trip to the park. I soon found out that nothing could be further from the truth. Spinal fusion, introduced in 1911, is still one of the most dangerous surgeries performed today. Complications are surprisingly common and can include fusion failure, infections, numbness, and, more rarely, paralysis and even death. “Successful” surgeries have their own issues, mainly chronic pain, and more operations. Medical professionals may call it the gold standard in scoliosis surgery, but except in cases where it is absolutely necessary (serious spinal curves can lead to heart and lung problems), I couldn’t find anything golden about spinal fusion.
I was relieved when surgery wasn’t recommended for Jay after all. Following the visit to Sick Kids, we received a letter from the pediatric surgeon we had seen: “No treatment warranted at this time,” it said, though “lower posterior fusion may be necessary in the future due to pain or progression of curvature.” How could there be no treatment warranted, I wondered. Were we supposed to do nothing until surgery was needed?
I was writing for the National Post then and had managed to snag an interview with actress Isabella Rossellini, in town for the Toronto International Film Festival. Since time with her was limited, I cut to the chase. “I’ve read you have scoliosis. My son has it too,” I blurted out. A startled Rossellini sternly replied, “Don’t ever let him get the surgery.” She went on to explain she’d had spinal fusion and had been in pain ever since. The few minutes we spent together, she talked emotionally about her scoliosis, while her handlers flailed. This discussion wasn’t exactly what they’d had in mind. As she was being dragged away, her parting words were, “Remember, no surgery.”
Increasingly concerned, I sought out Dr. Walter Bobechko, a highly respected Canadian scoliosis surgeon who had relocated years earlier to practise in Dallas, Texas (he has since died). Through a mutual friend, he agreed to see Jay while he was visiting in Toronto. After his examination, the expert echoed Rossellini’s advice: “Don’t ever let anyone do surgery on your son.” He said that since Jay’s curves were under 40 degrees, and more importantly, since he was a male (curves are more likely to increase in females), he was at low risk for progression. “He’s one of the lucky ones,” I was told.
But Jay didn’t feel lucky. Although some scoliosis sufferers have no pain, his back pain was progressing relentlessly. Painkillers would often now appear on his bedside table when he was home from university. “My back is killing me, Ma,” he would tell me, but it would be almost three years before he would admit that the pain was constant — and almost intolerable. He had been trying to keep it from me so I wouldn’t worry. “This is seriously affecting my quality of life,” he finally confessed. His doctor’s solution had been to prescribe ever-more-powerful pain medications, medications that in spite of their devastating side effects weren’t solving the pain issues. In the prime of his life, my son was almost disabled from back pain.
I frantically searched for a solution, only to discover that the conventional treatment options in Canada are confusing, antiquated and controversial, even though AIS affects up to three per cent of the adolescent population, with one per cent going on to need treatment. It is one of the leading orthopaedic problems in children and tends to run in families. Mild curves under 25 degrees are virtually ignored in this country, except for a “wait and watch” policy. Beyond that, treatment options get downright scary. The traditional braces that are prescribed look like something from an ancient torture chamber. The TLSO (Boston-style brace) and the Charleston (nighttime) brace consist of a hard shell that extends from under the arms to the hips. The Milwaukee brace, used since the 1940s, is even worse: metal rods jut out from neck to waist. These were the braces my son was too late for? It is hardly surprising that many teens refuse to wear these ungodly contraptions, prompting one surgeon to tell me, “We’re getting away from bracing kids in Canada altogether, and going straight from ‘wait and watch’ to surgery.” The more I found out about scoliosis, the more frightened I became.
Online forums at the National Scoliosis Foundation’s website (NSF is a patient-driven, non-profit organization out of Boston; no such foundation exists in Canada) only added to my angst — heart-wrenching stories written by young people struggling to cope with the disabling pain of scoliosis. One teen, describing a constant state of mental fog from her prescribed narcotic drugs, and desperately seeking an alternative, begged for help; a young store manager described pain so excruciating he was forced to periodically collapse on the backroom floor of his workplace to try to get relief. He feared he would be fired — or be forced to quit. There were complaints about doctors who wouldn’t take pain seriously, doctors who said scoliosis didn’t cause pain. We’d heard that one before. Some older, more resigned scoliosis sufferers offered words of encouragement to the distressed teens, even as they themselves talked about years of constant, daily pain, operations, re-operations, and eventual disability. Good Lord, maybe my son really was headed for a lifetime of pain.
Heartbroken fo Jay, I hopped a plane to California where Jay was then living so I could try to help. An appointment with another top scoliosis surgeon, this one in L.A., turned up nothing new. Jay didn’t need surgery yet, we were told, and he shouldn’t be having so much pain. Here we go again, I thought as I caught Jay’s frustrated gaze. I was overwhelmed by the hopelessness of his situation. In my hotel room that night, after the dinner Jay could hardly sit through because of the pain, I began surfing “chronic pain management.” I couldn’t believe it had come to this, but there seemed to be no other solution. A pain clinic in Los Angeles popped up, touting a flexible scoliosis brace for children — and adults. A brace for adults? I was surprised to learn that the brace had been invented at Sainte-Justine’s Hospital in Montreal. Why had I never heard of it? The next morning I called Sainte-Justine’s and got through to one of the inventors, Dr. Charles Hilaire Rivard, a research scientist, orthopaedic surgeon and former head of surgery at the Université de Montréal. “Will your brace help my son?” I asked desperately, after telling him Jay’s story. “Yes, it will,” he replied confidently. The brace, called SpineCor, an elaborate system of elastic bands, applied with the use of software designed for each individual curve, had been created for 10- to 16-year-old children with AIS and was now being used on adults to relieve back pain. Since Jay was living in California, Rivard recommended Dr. David Gorrie, one of several California chiropractors who had been trained in fitting the brace by the Sainte-Justine’s team. “He’s scientific, and he won’t overcharge you,” Rivard promised. I was hopeful, but Jay, who had tried everything from acupuncture to physiotherapy, Thai massage, vibrating chairs, yoga, Pilates, and even Dr. Ho’s massage therapy (I gave it to him one Christmas), was skeptical. After all, I had discovered the brace on the Internet. “If I end up looking like Quasimodo . . . ” he threatened. But desperate for pain relief, he decided to try it, and on April Fool’s Day, 2007, was fitted with the brace to the tune of US$3,500. On April 2, feeling like a fool, I flew back to Toronto with her fingers crossed.
Within a couple of days, a disbelieving Jay reported that his daily back pain was subsiding — dramatically. And after a couple of weeks, the chronic pain that he had suffered for years was virtually gone. The brace was retraining his muscles, and in doing so, correcting painful postural problems caused by the asymmetry of his spine. My son was finally painfree for the first time in six years. I was elated, but miffed. Why hadn’t I heard about this great Canadian invention that had helped my son so much? I went to Sainte-Justine’s in Montreal to find out.
“Maybe the reason you’ve never heard of the brace [used in Quebec since 1993] is because they don’t want to use it in the rest of Canada,” Dr. Rivard told me bluntly. The SpineCor brace is used in 18 countries, including England, France, Germany, Australia, Spain, Switzerland and the U.S., but not in “English” Canada. Ten thousand children have been treated with the brace; it is distributed out of the U.K. worldwide. “No one in Canada wanted it,” an exasperated Rivard said.
A $12-million grant from the Quebec government in 1992 enabled Rivard to get the brace off the ground, and to begin research on the development of new instrumentation to be used in the place of fusion. The intellectual property rights for the brace are owned by Sainte-Justine’s.
Rivard credits his colleague Dr. Christine Collaird for coming up with the idea for the brace that, he says, “is keeping kids out of surgery.” Collaird, a pediatric orthopaedic surgeon who studied the biomechanics of the spine for 10 years and spent another four years developing SpineCor, said, “Unlike traditional braces, there is no muscle atrophy, and no side effects.” Rivard added that the “dynamic” SpineCor “uses the muscles. It’s like being in physiotherapy 24/7.”
The brace has been used on adults for only about two years, the goal being pain relief not straightening since the spine is mature. “No one thought it would help adults,” said Collaird. Still, Rivard admits that the brace doesn’t work for everyone. He continues to use the Milwaukee brace on children when the SpineCor won’t hold a large curve, and says that when a growing child gets beyond a 50-degree scoliosis curve, surgery becomes almost unavoidable. “Every time I fuse a child, I feel bad,” the Montreal doctor told me as his eyes welled up.
“It’s been so long and so difficult,” Collaird confided, as she rushed toward him with tissues. “Tell people I just want to help kids,” Rivard said. “I know it’s a complicated brace, but it works. Why aren’t the others using it?” Back in “English” Canada, I contacted Dr. Ben Alman, head of the orthopaedic division, and AIS specialist, at the Hospital for Sick Children, to find out why the hospital doesn’t use the Quebec brace. “The reason SpineCor isn’t used here is not because it is good or bad,” Alman told me. “It’s a financial issue. OHIP [Ontario’s health insurance plan] doesn’t cover it.” Hard braces are covered “at least partially,” he said. Are parents really not being told about this brace because of the cost? Alman added, “Part of the problem is that the brace is too new to know for certain long-term results.”
But the Canadian brace is not “too new” for two of the most prestigious children’s orthopaedic hospitals in the U.S. The SpineCor is used at the renowned Shriners Hospital for Children in Erie, Penn., and at the famous Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Md. Dr. Paul Sponseller at Johns Hopkins believes that the SpineCor brace “works for smaller curves, in patients who are very diligent about wear.” Although Sponseller also said that some patients do not respond to any kind of bracing, he added, “I have had some noticeable successes as well, preventing surgery in patients who may well have needed it.” Dr. James Sanders is the former chief of staff at Shriners and is now professor and chief of pediatric orthopaedics at Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester, N.Y. “While I do like the theories of the SpineCor,” he said, “it needs good testing to know if it is any more than just a nice-sounding theory.” Both Sanders and Alman refer to studies now under way to determine if any of the braces currently in use really work.
Some experts believe the best chance of avoiding surgery is in diagnosing curves early. In the U.S., school screenings are done in many states. Girls are generally screened in the fifth and eighth grade, and boys in the eighth or ninth grade. The method used is the Adams forward-bending test: the child bends over to a 90-degree angle while the examiner, standing behind, compares both sides of the back, looking for asymmetry, like a protruding shoulder blade. When the child stands up straight, the screener can also check for unequal shoulders, or an uneven waist. If a problem is noted, the child is referred to a doctor. Canada has no such screenings in public schools.
Many doctors think school screening is a waste of time, since they don’t believe there is an effective conservative treatment for scoliosis. Rivard disagrees. “I believe finding curves earlier, while they’re smaller and treatable, will keep some children out of surgery.” According to Rivard, fewer fusions are done in Europe due to their rehabilitative approach to scoliosis. “In Europe, the first line of defence for scoliosis is rehabilitative therapy. In Canada, the first referral is to a surgeon,” he says.
At Sick Kids Hospital, Dr. Alman told me that scoliosis patients with curves too small for traditional treatment (under 25 to 30 degrees) are now routinely referred to the hospital’s on-staff physiotherapist — but not for any active treatment. “Mainly to wait and watch and keep an eye on things,” he said. Joe O’Brien, president of the National Scoliosis Foundation, is appalled at that. “I’ve never understood the logic of ‘wait and watch,’ ” he told me indignantly. Also a supporter of school screening, O’Brien, who had his first scoliosis surgery at the age of 16, and four subsequent surgeries, said, “The only operation I regret was the first — it created all the problems that made the following surgeries necessary.” O’Brien has three children with scoliosis and has managed to keep them all out of surgery: one using the SpineCor. Asked about the Quebec brace, he said, “It did what it was supposed to do [hold the curve and prevent surgery].”
SpineCor also did what it was supposed to do for Valerie Goulet, a second-year journalism student at Université de Montréal who was fitted with the brace at the age of 15 due to a painful 25-degree curve. She wore it the recommended 21 hours a day for 18 months, and said, “I didn’t mind at all. I even had a boyfriend.” Before being fitted with the SpineCor, Goulet had been told she might eventually need surgery. “And that I must wear a hard brace,” she said. “I cried and cried.” Long out of the brace, her curve is stable at only 12 degrees (anything under 10 degrees is so mild it’s not even considered scoliosis). “I am so thankful that I met Dr. Rivard,” she said.
In the course of my research for this story, I made several unannounced visits to the busy Sainte-Justine’s spine clinic, randomly speaking with parents and patients, some in treatment, some in follow-up. Those I spoke with were grateful and had nothing but praise for the Quebec doctors. All were success stories. I also met 13-year-old Esme Tremblay from Ottawa, who might not be as lucky. Her worried parents, Michael and Ruth, told me that although their daughter’s curves were discovered three years ago, when they measured under 20 degrees, nothing was done until they advanced enough for a cumbersome hard brace, a brace Esme, like most youngsters, found too uncomfortable to wear. With Esme’s curves now measuring more than 50 degrees, Ruth, who recently discovered SpineCor on the Internet, said, “We’re getting in the game really late, so I’m not sure the brace is going to work.” Rivard has given Esme only a 15 per cent chance of success because of the large size of her curves. But the Tremblays want to try the brace anyway. “The Ottawa surgeon who recommended fusion for Esme downplayed the seriousness of the operation,” an upset Ruth told me. “He gave me the impression that it was no big deal.” Ruth begged me not to reveal the doctor’s name, “because we might need to go back to him for the surgery.” The Tremblays are looking for answers. “Why weren’t we told about SpineCor by our doctors?” Ruth wants to know.
Although there is increasing evidence that the SpineCor brace works for some people, Canadian doctors outside of Quebec continue to ignore it. Are some Canadian children undergoing spinal fusion that could have been averted if the Quebec brace had been prescribed? Rivard says that 78 per cent of his SpineCor patients are either stabilized or improved after SpineCor treatment, with 22 per cent going on to need surgery. Without the brace, he believes that at least 40 per cent would need fusion.
Nine months after being fitted with SpineCor, Jay is still pain-free, and calls the brace “bloody brilliant.” He refers to the inventors as “those geniuses from Quebec.”I’m so grateful, and was so excited about Jay’s pain relief, that I left phone messages for the Toronto and L.A. surgeons we had seen, offering to provide details about the brace so they could help other patients. Neither doctor ever called me back. I asked Rivard what would have happened to Jay if we hadn’t discovered SpineCor. “He would have wanted surgery,” Rivard said, shaking his head. “The pain from scoliosis can be that bad.”
Online, a 19-year-old California teen asks, “Has anyone else had success with SpineCor?” Also fitted with the brace by Dr. Gorrie, he says, “This is the first time I’ve been able to sit comfortably for years.” A 55-year-old woman who couldn’t stand and who was in constant pain until she was fitted with SpineCor, says she is now pain-free, her posture perfect.
Meanwhile, although not even on the radar in Canada, Rivard’s and Collaird’s work continues to gain respect worldwide, with some patients travelling to Montreal from as far away as San Francisco and overseas for treatment. Ruth Tremblay of Ottawa is resentful. “Why weren’t we given the chance by our doctors?” she asks, adding wistfully, “And we were only a two-hour drive away.”
Writers update below December 2024
After I wrote this story, studies were carried out in North America to test if bracing would work. The results were so dramatic, that the study was discontinued so that the control group of children who were not in braces, could get braced. Early results had showed that the children who were braced were having much better results than the unbraced control group.
Since then, a number of braces, including Spinecor, are now widely used in Canada and the U.S. for the treatment of scoliosis resulting in straighter spines for some children, and keeping many out of surgery. Bracing is now used for adults as well. Although too late to straighten the adult spine, bracing can help to lessen or eliminate pain, as in my son’s case.
For years my name was in Wikipedia under the heading of back brace as the number one reference. I’m now down around the bottom, number 7, with scientists and researchers ahead of me, as it should be. I am happy that I was on the right side of history, and that many kinds of braces are now used widely for scoliosis in North America. Check out wikipedia back brace and you can see the kinds of braces that are in use. If you would like to discuss, contact me at sharondunncom@gmail.com. I still get emails from people who have read the article and were helped by the brace. Best of luck! Bracing won’t help everyone but it helps many…it’s worth a try.
Still rompin’ Rocker Ronnie Hawkins talks about his health and future hopes — with laughter, ribald jokes and salty language
[Photo: Carlo Allegri, National Post] The ailing iconic said this week, “I’m spiritual, I’ve always had the Big Rocker on my side, always, when I was down and needed help.” [STONEY LAKE, ON]Ronnie Hawkins is in great spirits, and he’s looking really good. It can’t be easy being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, but you’d never know it from spending time with him.We are at Hawkstone, the beautiful property overlooking Stoney Lake, in the Kawarthas, a two-hour drive from Toronto, where Ronnie and his wife, Wanda, have lived for more than 30 years. Hawkins knows people are interested in his health, and he is happy to provide a medical update — interspersed with jokes, much laughter and salty language. He had quadruple bypass surgery in April, and seemed to be making a good recovery. “I was just getting ready to rock, baby, and then this stuff hit. I was itchy, I started to tingle in places I haven’t felt for a long time, and my urine turned almost black [from leaking bile ducts].” A call to his doctor and tests in July confirmed the worst: He had a cancerous tumour in his pancreas. In August, he underwent his second major surgery in four months. “And they had me up the next.. day after the operations. In the old days they made you lie there, and if you lied there for too long, they tagged your toe.”When I ask him whether he is receiving chemotherapy, radiation or other treatments, he shakes his head and says matter-of-factly, “Nothing. There’s nothing they can do. They went in, and it’s on a main artery, so they can’t operate.” Instead, he’ll treat himself. “I’ll just smoke some dope. I’m going to be signing some papers so that I can get medical marijuana. And I’m gonna blow another 30 pounds and then I’m gonna work out.”He is in no pain, he promises. “I’m taking more drugs than the Rolling Stones, so I ain’t feeling too bad. With these doctors and all the pain stuff [medication], I never felt nothin’.”And he praises his physicians in classic Ronnie language. “We’re living in the promised land. Jesus would have to break a heavy sweat to beat this team.” His future, he says, “depends on how the tumour grows.” He says this simply and without fear. There is an awkward pause, and the conversation turns to religion. “I’m spiritual, I’ve always had the Big Rocker on my side, always, when I was down and needed help. I’m First Baptist, but we First Baptists don’t have that good a retirement plan,” he says, joking as always. Then he adds, “I’m not afraid of dying, I’m not volunteering for f—— nothin’ and I’m gonna fight, but when it’s your time to go…”There has been a massive outpouring of support and concern since Ronnie’s health problems became public in August — almost 50,000 e-mails and phone calls, he says. “And healers are calling me too,” he adds solemnly, “but I’m going to go with the Swiss doctor’s new remedy.” There follows a joke involving copious amounts of oral sex that cannot be recorded here. It ends with the line, “And if you can survive that, cancer ain’t gonna kill you.” And with that he let’s go with his signature belly laugh.A private party at the Four Seasons was held for him recently, attended by former U.S. president Bill Clinton, music men Paul Anka and David Foster, comedian Whoopi Goldberg and Arkansas billionaire Don Tyson, among others. “They all laughed at my naughty act,” he adds. “I introduced the president to my Toronto friends, and I said, ‘Mr. President, these men have had as much trouble with women as you have.’ One half-second later, the president said, ‘I hope it didn’t cost them as much.’ ” Hawkins, a former Arkansas boy, feels strongly that the former Arkansas governor was dealt with harshly for his involvement with Monica Lewinsky. “When people look back to this, it’s going to be like the burning of the witches in Salem. It’s not right, getting into people’s sex lives. People are going to have sex. I’ve had it all by myself for years,” he says, and laughs again. Of David Foster, who played keyboard for him, he says he “looks like he’s doing pretty good for a side man.”Other famed musicians who got their start with Hawkins include Levon Helm and Robbi Robertson. He lets out his laugh. I ask him about a scar on his face. “A garter belt came loose, and nearly tore my head off,” he complains… The true story is close, it’s an old wound from a barroom brawl.Hawkins is as open with his money problems as he is with his health. As we take a walk around his property — he calls it Mortgage Manor — he mentions that he and Wanda “are as broke as the Ten Commandments.” I laugh, and he’s on a roll: “If it cost a nickel to s—, I’d have to try to vomit,” he says. Or how about: “My banker thinks I’m a communist I’m so far in the red.” Yes, he’s broke: “I’m just a redneck hillbilly from Arkansas who made $3-million and spent $5-million.”Which brings us to the Ronnie Hawkins Tribute at Massey Hall next Friday. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he says. “I’m supposed to make a lot of money, but I don’t know if you can make any money at Massey Hall. You have to fill that place just to break even.”Old friend Kris Kristofferson, as well as Amy Sky, Jeff Healy, Tom Cochrane and The Tragically Hip will be on hand to salute Hawkins. And who knows who else will show up.Of his future, he has big plans. “I’m going to make a documentary like The Last Waltz [Martin Scorsese’s 1978 film of the final concert by The Band] “with people like Bo Diddley and Lonnie Mack, a lot of the guys copied them,” he says reflectively. “They’re legends legends.” He pauses then continues. “And I want to do a recording with some of the old timers, Robbie and Levon, David Clayton-Thomas, James Cotton.” Another pause. “I ain’t goin’ easy, now that God’s givin’ me a chance to make some money.”Wanda comes in with the phone. “It’s Mickey Jones,” she tells her husband. “He just has to hear your voice.” Jones is a drummer from Texas, who was with Bob Dylan and Kenny Rogers & The First Edition. “What d’ya mean, you hear I’m not doin’ so good,” Hawkins roars into the phone. “I only went into the hospital for a little penis reduction,” and adds, “I’m goin’ to try the Swiss Doctor’s Remedy …”Hawkins is getting tired, so I quietly leave, with him still regaling Jones with his stories. Wanda walks with me to my car. “He’s not in any pain,” she says. “And I think we can all learn from him. He’s a perfect example of how you should accept what God has given you, and take each day as a blessing. We have so many people praying for us, and we believe in prayer. We believe in miracles.
Where Indiana Jones retired On the water with adventurer Ondaatje
[CHESTER, NS]Christopher Ondaatje, former financier, at his 100-acre home on Meisner’s Island, N.S. Living there and having lobster feasts with his kids is what it’s all about, he says. The beauty of the south shore of Nova Scotia is legendary. Quaint villages on the edge of the ocean, quiet summer playgrounds where local residents mix and mingle with the rich and famous without much ado. The area is a hot spot for American and European society: bank presidents, CEOs, authors, even former U.S. senators. The area is booming to the point where even movie stars are said to want in.But when I ask people on the streets of Chester to name this sea resort’s most interesting summer resident, Christopher Ondaatje is the most common reply.The Sri Lankan-born, British-raised philanthropist and former financier is a fixture in these parts for two months every year (spending the rest of his time in London, England). As I sit outside a deli called Julian’s, Ondaatje’s favourite place in Chester, I feel as if I’m meeting Indiana Jones. The adventurer and writer looks every bit the part in a well-worn, suede-brimmed cap and a striped pullover sweater that has seen better days. Ondaatje, on the other hand, looks great, tanned and fit, stopping to greet local residents who all seem to know and like him.The hugely successful Ondaatje takes my pen and starts to write in my notepad as he explains to me his latest project for the National Portrait Gallery, where he led the campaign to keep two important pieces of art in Britain, one the portrait of Sir William Killigrew by Sir Anthony van Dyck, and the other of prime minister Arthur Balfour by John Singer Sargent.Ondaatje’s philanthropy is legendary. He recently gave ?1,650,000 to the Royal Geographical Society, and contributed ?2,750,000 towards a wing of the National Portrait Gallery that would be opened by the Queen. I notice that even the Chester Playhouse has a bust of him in the Ondaatje Foyer and a plaque that reads, “Donated to the people of Chester August 24, 1992.””Can I take my own notes now?” I ask. Undaunted, he continues writing in my pad, obviously a man accustomed to being in control.”Chester is home”, he tells me, “remember we’re Canadian.” Ondaatje lived in Toronto “when it was the fastest-growing city in North America,” and he tells me that he benefited in the financial world because 1962-1987 was “the greatest 25-year wave in the markets.”In 1988, he sold everything, resigned all directorships, and shifted to London, “mainly to be close to the international literary world and The Royal Geographical Society.”Now I am where I want to be, doing what I want to do — running my foundation, trustee of the National Portrait Gallery, council of Royal Geographical.”He’s also a proprietor of the Literary Review in London, writes a monthly review for the Times, and his latest book, Hemingway in Africa, should be out this spring.Ondaatje insists on paying the tab (a wonderful trait of men who like to be in control), and takes me for a boat ride to see his house on his 100-acre property, Meisner’s Island, accessible only by water. Would he ever sell?”I can’t replace it, no amount of money,” he says matter of factly, “it’s priceless.”He proudly points to his 1938 wooden boat Ripple, winner of the 2000 Coronation Cup and a contender for this year’s cup.While on the ocean, Ondaatje explains his exodus from the financial world.”If it didn’t fit the formula, I didn’t invest,” he says adding that he always followed the value-investing teachings of Benjamin Graham and Warren Buffett.”My last two years [in the financial world] were the least pleasurable of my life, the game had changed, people had changed, the world was different.”Ondaatje continues, “I’m really lucky that I lived in the financial world from ’68 until the 80’s, because the current investment scene is fraught with hazards and deceptive accounting practices.” He says what particularly disturbs him is that people don’t understand the phenomenal debt structure of countries, banks, other corporations and individuals. “They’re all in debt, and there is absolutely no intention of repaying that debt,” says Ondaatje.”I predict”, he says, “that the purchasing power of the dollar will be 10% of what it is now in five years time.”He adds, “I may be wrong by a few years, but I won’t be wrong by much.”He says, “It’s time to be liquid, to survive, there’s a rough storm still to come.”About surviving: “I’m 70 years old, I’m 10 years younger than I was 10 years ago. I don’t have the pressures, I’m really lucky because I reinvented myself.”His advice? “Do what you love, back your passion, do things for other people.”I’ve had my day in the sun”, he adds, “I was lucky and I’m having a good time now.”Although he’s out of the financial world, Ondaatje says “finance is just like a drug, my adrenaline goes. I don’t even want to talk about it, let’s talk about dirty books, films, anything but finance.”During the excursion, Ondaatje points out landmarks in this small community that swells to only 1,200 in the summer. “This is what it’s all about. I like having dinner with my kids every night, lobster feasts, fantastic haddock and halibut.””This is Chester,” he sighs. “Heaven.”
“I’m worried – my parents are Jehovah’s Witnesses”
From the Sharon Dunn
I’m worried – my parents are Jehovah’s Witnesses Strange how Playboy models react to seeing the magazine for the first time
[ORANGEVILLE, ON] [Photo: Kevin Van Paassen, National Post] Bianka Matchett (left) of Orangeville, Ont., and U of T law student Jill Nelson — both 25 — are among 25 Canadian women featured in Playboy’s special “Girls of Canada” lingerie edition. I’m on my way to meet the “Girls of Canada” featured in Playboy’s brand-new special lingerie edition — at least that’s what the ad says. Canadian girls in lingerie? I don’t think so. Leafing through the magazine, I notice that most of the apparel is around the models’ waists, if it’s anywhere at all, with everything else completely exposed.”In Canada, you’re not considered naked if you wear slippers,” Gino Empry, Hugh Hefner’s promotions man in Canada, informs me. Empry has booked me for a luncheon date with two of the featured girls, but having looked at the magazine, I tell him I’ve lost my appetite. “Funny, it’s had the opposite effect on me,” laughs Empry, before asking, “Don’t you like it?”It’s not that I like it or don’t like it. I guess I’m just uncomfortable with nudity. Blame my childhood, my religion, my body, whatever — it’s just a fact of my life.Twenty-five Canadian models are featured in the magazine, which hits the stands today. Among them is Toronto radio host (Q107) Joanne Wilder. The first of the models I’m meeting today is 25-year-old Jill Nelson, a third-year law student at the University of Toronto. She is stunningly beautiful. Originally from Halifax, Nelson grew up in Ottawa. When she sees me holding a copy of the magazine that features her and the other Canadian girls in all their glory, she seems nervous.”I haven’t seen it yet,” she tells me. “Can I take a look?”I hand her the magazine and watch as she nervously turns to her layout. “There I am,” she laughs, adding nervously, “Well, there you go.”I like them [the pictures, that is]!” she says. Nelson, who spent two years in Montreal, at McGill, and two years at the University of Victoria before entering law, says that eventually she would like to be an entertainment lawyer and hopes this spread will lead to other things.”Like what?” I wonder aloud.”Maybe I’ll be a lawyer for this company, Playboy,” she tells me. “You never know.” She would certainly get the judge’s attention in a courtroom.She has been married for three years and insists that her husband and family are comfortable with her decision to bare all, but she does have one reservation: “I wish I could decide who gets to see the pictures and who doesn’t.” And she’s glad she didn’t do it (pose nude) when she was 18. “I’m happy that I waited until I was 25,” she says.Another model, Bianka Matchett, strides into the room. The Orangeville, Ont., native squeals when she sees that the magazine is out. I give her a copy and wait for her reaction. As she turns to her layout, she blushes as she looks at one of her pictures.”OK, my legs are really spread open there,” she says, then adds sarcastically with an eye roll, “My mother would be so proud.”She likes the shots, she says, but wants me to know that “this was the last set [of pictures] and I look so exhausted. I had my appendix out about three weeks before the photo shoot.” We inspect the photos and can find no sign of a scar. “Do you think they airbrushed it?” I ask her. She guffaws. “Are you kidding?” she says. “Of course they did. They could change my whole head if they wanted to.”Matchett, who is taking time off from her marketing courses at George Brown College, doesn’t model only for Playboy. She was recently featured in a more benign shot in a bathtub in a Home Outfitters ad.About the Playboy layout she says, “I’m worried about my parents’ reaction. They’re Jehovah’s Witnesses.” That comes as a shock to me. “I didn’t tell them about the shoot,” she says, adding that she’s most concerned about her dad. “I hope he doesn’t find out.” Oh, oh.”Why did you do it then?” I want to know. “I’m very impulsive,” she says. She explains she was at Hefner’s mansion when she was 21 (she is now 25) and was going to do a photo shoot at that time. “But I chickened out and I regretted it later,” she says before concluding, “I did it because I’m a little vain. I enjoy my body, I had the opportunity and I’m a bit of an exhibitionist.” So there.Matchett echoes Nelson when she says, “I wish I could filter who gets to see it and who doesn’t.” Still concerned about her parents, she frets, “They’re going to shake their heads, and that look of disappointment is going to be in my dad’s eyes.” In her own defence, she adds, “I’m spontaneous and very comfortable with myself, but in my parents’ house, I have a halo around my head.”If my parents were able to accept it … I feel bad because of the way that they might feel.””I don’t have any problems with it,” Jill, the legal eagle, volunteers. “But please don’t mention my parents,” she begs, concern crossing her face as well.The girls found their way into the magazine after an open call from Playboy that drew about 500 hopefuls. Empry assures me that Hefner makes the final cuts himself. “He makes all the decisions.”When I ask Empry about my chances of doing a layout, he says, “Very good.” But on the money end, he tells me I’m worth “about zero dollars.” That says it all, doesn’t it? And here I was about to pose naked for a mere half a million.By the way, the girls don’t get paid the megabucks I expected. I understand that even a Playboy centrefold, one who is a non-celebrity, gets only about $25,000. So would I do it if the conditions (the money and my body) were right? No way — my mother would kill me!
So six women walk into a bar … For female comics at Yuk Yuk’s life is a joke
The Yuk Yuk’s women, clockwise from bottom left, Anna Gustafson, Taryn Della, Susan Stewart, Martha Chaves, Jennifer Grant and Debra di Giovanni.[TORONTO, ON] One Sunday a month is ladies’ night at Yuk Yuk’s. Not the usual kind of ladies’ night — you know, free admission and a drink. In this case the female comics take over. They call themselves Broad Appeal, and on the day I talked to them the six women shown here were on hand.The group changes depending on who’s available but no matter which female comics are on the roster no one is safe — not the audience, not Julia Roberts and certainly not the Pope.Referring to the clogged drain that caused the sewers to back up near Downsview park when the Pope came to town, Debra di Giovanni, this year’s winner of Best New Comic at the Canadian Comedy Awards, observed dryly: “I wish it had happened to Bad Boy. Then Mel [Lastman] would have been down there in a flash, huh?”I asked the ladies if it is difficult to make a living as a comic. Their answer was a loud guffaw all around. “What living?,” said Giovanni. “I’m a receptionist by day.””It is possible to do it,” Martha Chaves, the producer of Broad Appeal, quipped. “I’m making a great living … compared to a comedian in Kabul.”Chaves is known mostly for her stand-up work but she also works in movies — John Q, for example. “I was the Spanish hostage, Rosa, with the baby that never stops crying.” She told me: “I heard that the real mother of the child I was holding was not allowed to look Denzel Washington in the eye,” because he finds it distracting. “But for me, it was really hard to look him in the eye because his eyes were on my bosoms.”When I asked Chaves to let me take her photograph, she insisted on rounding up all the women. Good Lord, I thought, how am I going to get six of them in the frame. But we managed. “We have to stick together, said Anna Gustafson.The women tell me they’ve developed quite a following over the two years Broad Appeal has been around, though “mostly among women and gays.” Stand-up Susan Stewart complained the average heterosexual guy seems to have trouble with her. “Oh, no, a woman comic,” she mimicked. “They give me back-handed compliments like, ‘You weren’t bad for a girl, or ‘You were kind of funny.’ “Actually, Broad Appeal is no-holds barred, come-and-get-it brand of humour. The six all feel there are stereotypes about women that must be broken — and they’re here to do it.As aspiring comedians they are all hoping that some evening a big New York agent will catch their act, or an established comic will drop in and be impressed.About a week or so ago, Kevin Nealon, of Saturday Night Live fame, showed up at the Yuk Yuk’s Toronto Superclub (224 Richmond St. W.) and performed. So has Howie Mandel.Surprisingly, the ladies say that being Canadian isn’t a problem on the road to fame. Indeed, women have it easier here than in the United States. They may not be laughing all the way to the bank, but at least they’re laughing.And audiences are too. But be warned, as with the scariest rides at Canada’s Wonderland, Yuk Yuk’s should put up a sign that reads: “Not for the faint-of-heart.”
“I’m lonesome, but I’m not lonely.” Lou Gossett Jr. talks about life beyond Hollywood
[Photo: Chris Bolin, National Post] Lou Gossett Jr. says he had a tough time getting work in Hollywood after he won an Oscar for his role in An Officer and a Gentleman. “I was hurt. I wanted to be treated like Harrison Ford.”[TORONTO, ON] I hadn’t realized that famous Hollywood actor and Oscar winner (for An Officer and a Gentleman) Lou Gossett Jr. was a singer until I saw him perform at Hugh’s Room last Sunday night during the Richie Havens concert. Apparently, Gossett wrote a song with Havens called Handsome Johnny, and he performed it with gusto on Sunday night. “I got chills up there with Havens,” he told me. “We’re united, we’re of like minds, on the same page. Our spirits have grown.”We’re having lunch at Gossett’s condo in the Yorkville area where he’s staying while filming the movie Jasper, Texas with Jon Voight. Lunch — angel hair pasta with seafood and spinach — is being made for us by Gossett’s Toronto caterers. A Thanksgiving duck is cooking in the oven, with sweet potatoes and apple soup (with smoked turkey) boiling on the stove. Gossett is having a group of his Canadian friends over for Thanksgiving dinner, including his co-star, Toronto actress Karen Robinson. Gossett calls her “one of the greatest actresses I’ve ever worked with.”Not yet accustomed to the changing Canadian seasons, Gossett, who now lives in California, is suffering from allergies. “Ultimately, I’m heading for the islands. It’s not only because it’s a fantasy lifestyle there,” he tells me, “it’s because it’s the last place they would drop the bomb.” His lineage is West Indian, American Indian (Seminole and Cherokee) and African.”Originally, I wanted to be a doctor because many of the people I loved died too young — my grandmother, my brother, my cousin. My dad died of alcoholism at the age of 53. I don’t go to funerals any more,” he says. “The last funeral I went to was my mother’s [she was 59]. When people close to me die, I choose a picture of them when they looked their happiest, and I put it up on the wall for a while.”Gossett Jr. gives David Susskind the credit for discovering him, and says his darkest days were, surprisingly, after he won his Oscar. “I couldn’t get any work after that,” he says. “First it happened to Sidney Poitier after he married a white woman.” Gossett says he believes the industry resented a black man winning the Oscar, saying that if Robert Downey Jr. was a black man he’d be finished in Hollywood. “It was my peers who gave me the Oscar, not the industry,” he says. “After that Oscar, I started destroying myself with cocaine and partying. I thought, ‘I’ll show them,’ but I was only destroying myself.”I wasn’t angry,” he adds. “I was hurt. I wanted to be treated like Harrison Ford.”He tells me that what he went through in Hollywood “forced me to go on my own and put more relevant roles on the screen. I did what I wanted to do, I was my own boss.” Gossett says he’s happy he doesn’t have to play the Hollywood game, “show up at certain functions and live a certain way.”Of his co-star Voight he says, “I see peace and acceptance in his eyes. We’re gravitating to each other. I like that man a lot, I have the maximum respect for him. I see his heart.”More than 20 years ago, Gossett adopted a homeless child he saw on Good Morning America. “I got up at 3 a.m. and this little boy, who I had just taken to California [from St. Louis, Miss.] was hiding and eating. He was afraid someone was going to take the food from him.” His adopted son is now a computer whiz. Gossett believes in giving back. “What you put out comes back,” he says with conviction. “There’s more to acting than sunglasses and limos.”Gossett, who has been single for nine years, says, “I’m lonesome, but I’m not lonely. I’m a loner, I’m my own best friend.” About love, he says, “You can’t go looking, it happens.” Although he does add there are “candidates” — “I have a lot of friends.”I love to be in love,” he concludes, “and it’s a privilege to be hurt in love because at least you feel. Romance is a wonderful thing.”Lunch is coming to an end. As a parting remark, Gossett says, “I never let my ego get in the way. Who buys the tickets to the movies? I don’t ever forget that — that’s the end result.”
Alistair MacLeod and the Cape Breton thing Should I mention the footprint on the back of his jacket?
[Photo: John Glenn Lowson, National Post] “You have to encourage the reader to turn the page, otherwise he goes out for a cheese sandwich,” says Alistair MacLeod, who is in Toronto for the International Festival of Authors.[TORONTO, ON]
‘There’s a false belief, particularly among young people, that if things are true, they are interesting,” fiction writer Alistair MacLeod tells me over breakfast at the Westin Harbour Castle Hotel, where he is staying through the International Festival of Authors. MacLeod is a pleasant-looking, bashful sort, so I don’t tell him there is what appears to be a footprint on the back of his suit jacket. He’s a popular enough fellow that I assume it’s his own tread, not that of an agitated reader or editor. “But that’s not the case,” MacLeod continues. “Put a tape recorder at the checkout of Wal-Mart for 20 hours and you’ll get 20 hours of ‘Thank you so much for shopping at Wal-Mart, your change is $2.10.’ “
MacLeod, a professor at the University of Windsor for 30 years (he retired two years ago), says this was an issue he had with students over the years. “They would say about their writing, ‘But it’s all true,’ and I would tell them, ‘Even if it’s all true, it’s not interesting.’ The truth may set you free,” MacLeod goes on to say, “but it’s not necessarily captivating.” He insists all of his characters are purely fictional. “I make them up,” he tells me, adding that the only thing real about his stories is that he sets them in the Maritimes, in Cape Breton, to be specific. “I set them in the Maritimes because that’s what I care about,” he says. “I’m from Cape Breton, too,” I tell MacLeod, expecting oohs, ahhs and you don’t says. He doesn’t seem impressed (so much for camaraderie).The restaurant is offering a buffet-style breakfast. “It’s expensive,” MacLeod warns me. “I’ve already eaten here.” “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “National Post is paying.” He looks relieved. While he’s having his photo taken, I wander over to have a look at the buffet. “If you see anything wild, bring it back,” MacLeod tells me. Since there’s something about a buffet that makes me want to get even, I get right to it and return with bacon, eggs, French toast, fresh fruit, breakfast rolls, granola, and a chef to help carry it all. MacLeod is happy with my choices.
“The bottom line in writing,” he tell me, “is that you have something interesting to say. I think that emotion, or strong feelings, is at the heart of all good literature. You have to encourage the reader to turn the page, otherwise he goes out for a cheese sandwich.” Ah, the cheese sandwich, with chocolate milk, of course — I’ve left books on many occasions for that very thing. The 67-year-old world-renowned short-story writer, who won the acclaimed International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award for his 1999 novel No Great Mischief, tells me, “I always wanted to write, even in high school and university, but I never thought I’d make a living at it.”
And a living he is making. The IMPAC Award, the world’s richest literary prize, put exactly $172,000 in his pocket. “How many copies of the book have been sold?” I ask. “I have no idea,” he tells me, adding that the book has been translated into 14 languages. “There were six judges from around the world,” he says. “If the book speaks to people all over the world, then it’s done what I’ve set out to do.” “Do you make a lot of money?” I ask MacLeod, thinking of his $172,000 prize.” Not an awful lot,” he adds. When I push him a bit more, he says, sarcastically, “Bill Gates isn’t trembling in his shoes that I’m going to be the world’s next richest man.” MacLeod, who received a PhD from Notre Dame, says that because he was making his money as a professor in Windsor for most of his life, he didn’t have to worry about deadlines or bills. He says about his stories, “I write them very carefully. I don’t do drafts, I change them sentence by sentence. You have to be very certain what you’re doing. I write the conclusion partway through. It keeps me focused — I think about what I want to say.” I mention that his wife, Anita (who, by the way, is a dead ringer for former Toronto mayor Barbara Hall), confided that he likes to write in a cabin, out back of their summer home in Dunvegan, Cape Breton. The couple, who have six children, five sons and one daughter, drive there every year in either their 1988 Ford Crown Victoria or their newer 1990 Ford Crown Victoria. (Somehow I can’t picture Bill Gates doing that.)
“What’s a perfect writer’s day for you?” I ask. “If I had the freedom to do what I wanted,” he tells me, “I’d write from 8 till 11 in the morning, and that’s it. I was at a point where I’d start writing at 10 p.m., and I was so darn tired I’d have to get coffee and splash water on my face. I couldn’t get the words right.” I recount to fiction expert MacLeod an experience I had with a literary agent when I passed him a piece of work that was fictional. “This isn’t fictional, it’s fact,” the agent told me. “But it’s not true,” I replied. “Yes it is,” argued the agent, “it must be true because it doesn’t read like fiction.” “Get a new agent,” MacLeod advises. “There are a lot of attitudes about fiction and music,” he tells me, adding, “there are no rules. Be careful of people who impose rigid rules upon you.” MacLeod says, “W.O. Mitchell called fiction ‘the magic lie.’ When you read fiction, you’re supposed to believe it’s true. Just like when you watch a movie, you don’t say, ‘There’s Harrison Ford pretending he’s a fugitive.’ Good actors are like good fiction writers, they convey the truth when they’re writing, but it’s not the truth.”
Breakfast is over and the buffet has long been removed from our grasp. MacLeod and I ate well (it’s a Cape Breton thing). He’s laughing a lot more now — maybe he’s become comfortable with me (also a Cape Breton thing). “Are you sure that’s not Barbara Hall you have up there in your room, I ask?” “No, no,” he laughs. Wife Anita, a pastoral minister, has already left, he tells me, gone home to Windsor to work. As I leave MacLeod, I’m glad I ate heartily, mainly because I’m in the middle of one of his books, which means I won’t be having cheese sandwiches for a while. If you’ve read Alistair MacLeod, you know what I mean.
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