My Opinion
Jan. 29/26
PETER GZOWSKI AND ME 1975. From my yet to be published book, ‘Thanks For The Memories’. A funny and poignant look back at the bygone days of broadcasting where I tell it like it really was! Sample..Chapter 11
Peter Gzowski, famed Canadian radio host, photo above, was coming to Halifax. CBC was trying to launch him into television, and had decided to try a smaller market. It was exciting. Gzowski was brilliant on radio, and now he was trying to branch into television right here in our Halifax studios. I was told that for one of the live national tv tapings, I was booked to go on with him as his sidekick. What an opportunity! Think Ed McMann and Johnny Carson. I would be Ed McMann in this scenario. I was thrilled. I hadn’t been at CBC Halifax for very long, only for a few months. At 22 years old, I had been hired as a story editor for a three month contract position, a job where I didn’t exactly excel. In my very first report, for example, I took a sympathetic look at striking postal workers, interviewing them while they swilled beer and complained about the government. The switchboard lit up and callers demanded “to get those idiots off the air and take that nut Sharon Dunn off with them”. There were hundreds of calls, all bad. I was in the front lobby watching the switchboard and crying. The head of the CBC for Eastern Canada, Keith Morrow, decided he wanted to put me on as the 6 o’clock tv news where I would ‘cause less trouble’. They had tried me a few times, and I was popular on the anchor desk. But since I would be the first woman in CBC Halifax’s history to get a staff position as an announcer, I was being put through my paces while auditioning for them. There was a notion by the centarian males in charge at the radio building that a woman would not be able to stand up to the ‘rigours of the job’ as they put it. And I needed their approval to get my confirmation on staff. If they denied me, Morrow couldn’t save me, I would be off the air as an anchor. And since anchoring was really the only thing I seemed to be doing right, the pressure was on.
The week that Gzowski was in town, happened to be the very week that my trial period was ending – the decision now had to be made to either keep me on staff, or fire me. It was incredibly stressful because I was given a ton of duties, a punishing lineup for the week – things a male announcer had never been asked to do. For example – I was slated to anchor both the 6 o’clock tv news and weather one night, then work the midnight shift doing the late tv news, plus the hourly radio newscasts, and back in the early am to host radio’s Information Morning. It was gruelling. I also had to host the afternoon radio show, I forget what it was called back then, but one of my guests was to be Peter Gzwoski. I was not good at all on radio, and I didn’t need this extra pressure.
Live on the hour-long afternoon radio show, after the hectic twenty four hours leading up to it as described above, I saw Gzowski and his producer, Alex Frame, enter the control room and chat with our show’s producer. During a break, the producer came on my headset and said, “Great news, Sharon, Gzowski has agreed to host the entire show with you”. “What?”, I mouthed silently. This was supposed to be only a five minute interview with him. I glared at our director through the glass that separated us, I wasn’t happy about this at all. Gzowski was the best in radio in all of Canada, and I wasn’t even close, as a matter of fact, I was probably the worst in Canada on radio. I was going to look bad, really bad, and I knew that the powers were listening today, and that they were already hoping and praying that I would screw up, so they could get rid of me. This could not happen at a worse time! Gzowski casually entered the studio, got miked up and was ready to go. I did a short interview with him about his television debut, but after that, even though he stayed, I just got on with the show, as though he wasn’t there, only announcing to the audience that, “Peter Gzowski wants to stay in the studio with me, so he’s in the house.” Other than that, I ignored him. As the show continued, I wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise. I conducted several phone interviews, while an exasperated and muzzled Gzowski began gesticulating to his producer in the control room. “She won’t let me talk”, he was mouthing. Finally, the hour-long show came to an end, and I turned to Peter and said, “Well, thanks for being here.” “Why are you thanking me?”, Gzowski asked, obviously irked, “you wouldn’t let me say anything”. I responded with, “Well, you insisted on staying, but since you’re not from the Halifax area, you don’t know any of the local issues, so there really was nothing you could have added to the program anyway.” With that, I signed off to the audience, and we were off the air. Gzowski was understandably upset, and his producer was furious. Good lord, was this my last task at CBC Halifax before I was fired? I assumed so. I quickly left the studio and was immediately escorted into the conference room by security where a number of suits were waiting for me – the uptight radio bosses! The old guys who never wanted me here in the first place, the old guard who felt that a woman didn’t belong. They were all lined up. Here it comes, I thought. “We just want to let you know”, said John, the head manager and my biggest critic, “that we have all agreed that you are staying, we are confirming you on staff today, as the first female announcer at CBC Halifax!” “You are?”, I said, in disbelief. They were all smiling and nodding. “Yes”, John said, adding, “it was the radio show you just hosted that put us over the edge, and brought this unanimous vote for you…” “But..I, I don’t understand”, I began to sputter. “Good work taking control”, John said as they all applauded. I would later find out that in Halifax there was always resentment when the bigwigs from Toronto came to town and tried to show Halifax how to do it. They loved that I shut out Gzowski. If I had let him shine, and he would have, I would have been dead in the water. Instead, the very next day I was sent my confirmation papers, which included my retirement date! I was safe at CBC for life, if I chose to stay.
Something else happened that day, I was sent a memo from Gzowski’s people that ‘Peter Gzowski will not be needing your services to appear on his tv debut after all’. I think the trade was in my favor, since his tv show never took off anyway. He was the best there is on radio, I was far from it. My only shot to look good when he was by my side, in a radio studio, was to shut him down and I did. When I think back, I was very smart in my 20’s. I wonder what happened?
______________________
Jan. 26/26
Food For Thought – The Case For The Feeding Tube
Douglas and his mom Catherine in photo above
I have a good friend who is caring for his elderly mom at home. Last year, at the age of 95 and in fragile health, Catherine took a spill and ended up in Sunnybrook Hospital in Toronto requiring knee surgery. She was in a terrible condition for weeks. I was with her son, Douglas, when the hospital called. He put the phone on speaker, and I heard the rep say: “we called to ask if you would like us to remove her feeding tube?” He thought for a few brief seconds before replying. “If the feeding tube is helping her, please continue with it”. The hospital rep politely added: “Um, usually, when we call family members about this, most of them will request the feeding tube be removed. But you are asking us to continue with it, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct”, he said, “if it is helping her, please continue.” He was resolute.
I thought it was interesting how he said it in that way, giving the hospital the final choice. It was up to them to decide if the feeding tube was helping her. “Also”, the rep said, “she has been saying that she wants to die…” My friend quickly retorted, “Oh, don’t listen to that, she’s been saying that for years”. The conversation over, the hospital kept the feeding tube in, thus keeping her alive. And his mother, who was at death’s door, has been back at home for months now. Her son also refused to put her in a facility, which had been recommended by doctors. Instead, he bought a hospital bed, put it in the living room of the family home and is taking care of her from there himself.
“While still in hospital, her food intake was about 20%, at home she is up to 130%”, he boasts. And don’t be fooled by the burger and fries in the photo, they were brought in by yours truly. Douglas is a wonderful chef so she usually eats very healthy, but like all of us, enjoys some fun food once in a while.
I don’t blame anyone who has a loved one’s feeding tube removed, if a hospital suggests it. My own mother passed away after her feeding tube was removed. I have several siblings who made that choice. I wasn’t a part of the decision making process, because, as they told me later, they kept it from me worried that I would be emotional and would want to keep the tube in. I didn’t judge them for their decision to keep me in the dark, and I know that I would have struggled with taking out the tube. I guess there is no right or wrong with a difficult choice like this. It’s just that being with my friend, who so easily made the decision to keep his mom alive, is inspiring. I was a fly on the wall for the conversation, I heard him make the choice confidently, and I heard the medical rep take direction from him, and not push the point. Families have a terrible choice to make in these situations, but the hospital handled it well, with sensitivity – they were respectful, and followed his instructions without judgement.
As for my friend’s decision to keep his mom alive? “I don’t feel it’s my decision to decide when she dies”, he told me. And to go so far as to take her home with him? “She wants to be home and I want her home”, he insists. Catherine seems to be enjoying herself. She has started drawing and sketching again. Her oil paintings from her younger days are hung throughout their home. Life is good, she is happy in her own living room, watching back to back old black and white films on the big screen all day, her art supplies within reach, her devoted son by her side…
by Sharon Dunn
———————
CAPE BRETON ISLAND –
MY SHANGRI-LA.
Shangri-la generally refers to an imaginary, beautiful and idyllic place, often remote and perceived as a utopia. Utopia itself is defined as an imagined, or, state of things, in which everything is perfect. Maybe Cape Breton is not thought of as ‘perfect’ by everyone, since it historically has been an economically deprived place, where many folks toiled endlessly underground in coal mines and above ground at the former Sydney Steel Plant to try to eke out a living in the harsh winter climate. But it is not an imagined place either, it is very real. And to me, born and raised in Sydney, Cape Breton has always been both my Shangri-la and my Utopia.
Breathtakingly beautiful, even as children we would call our summer place, located on the Bras D’or Lakes, ‘God’s County’. The land was ceded to my ancestor, Elsbeth Campbell, who arrived on its shores in 1803, toting seven sons. Her husband, their father, had died on the boat ride from Scotland. Being of Scottish heritage on my mother’s side, there are many ghost stories about Elsbeth still gracing the shores, and there have been sightings of her throughout the years, such stories generally told on dark windy nights, in front of an outdoor bonfire. My mother’s brother Uncle Jim, who died in the 50’s, has also been seen since, either looking out the window of his cottage, the first building off the highway, or standing by the bridge, which we had to cross on our way home late at night. As kids, we would run home screaming, usually a couple of our boy cousins chasing us through the woods, to scare us even more.
But it wasn’t just the boys, or the stories about figures from the past that affected us. I’ve always believed there was something in the wind in Cape Breton, and there still is. Case in point, a couple of years ago, I was at the cottage, where I still spend every summer. With me was my son Luke and his wife Monica. We were on the patio, it was a dark and windy night, late summer, my brother next door had already returned to Ontario, as did the rest of the cousins. It was family land, we were the only ones in the countryside ‘down below’, as it was called, far from the highway. And my place was the furthest down, right on the water. It was spooky nights like this that would really make one’s imagination take off. We were playing cards, and trying to figure out what the prize would be for the night’s winner. “How about the winner gets to pick the movie we’ll watch?”, I said. My competitors both agreed, and Luke, who was ahead in the game at that point, said, “if I win, I want us to watch ‘The Conjuring’”. I had heard about the movie and knew that it was about demonic possession. “I don’t watch anything like that”, I responded, adding, “okay Monica, we can’t let Luke win, so what do you want to watch?” “The Conjuring”, she said, echoing her husband. So their chances of winning had just doubled. ‘What about you?”, she asked. “If I win, I want to watch an episode of Dr. Quinn”, I replied, “something nice and tame”. They laughed and we kept playing, Luke’s luck kept improving and I was really worried that he was going to win. “Luke, I’m not watching a movie about demonic possession”, I repeated a few times, as the wind whipped through my hair, and the night seemed even darker…Finally, Luke pulled a card from the deck, and said, “Mom, if you can guess this card, and I do win, you’re off the hook, you won’t have to watch The Conjuring”.
“Three”, I said, quickly, without even thinking. “Of what?”, he asked. “Of clubs”, I replied, offhandedly. He turned the card around – it was the three of clubs! My first thought was: ‘when did Luke learn to do card tricks?’ Then I realized it was no trick, and I felt a chill go up and down my spine. “Someone is here, trying to help me”, I said. No one pooh-poohed me. We all sat in stunned silence. “That’s scary”, Monica said. “Not really”, I replied, “whatever, or whoever is here, it’s a good force, keeping me safe from that movie”. A little rattled, we finished the game. Luke did win, by the way, so I didn’t have to watch The Conjuring. But do you think anyone watched The Conjuring that night? Nope! No one went near it.
I know what you’re thinking. No big deal, just a coincidence. A 1 in 52 chance of picking the right card – so what? And you’re right, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal…but I could tell you other stories of things that went bump in the night – strange things that have occurred on these shores and in these woods many times over the years, things that are not so easy to explain away. Stories of forerunners (deceased relatives coming back from the dead to warn of bad times), and of legless spirits floating through the forests, and on the beach, late at night. How about the sounds of young children laughing and playing at the brook at 3 am? No one dares go out to check, since we all know that our kids are safely tucked in bed asleep. And eerie lights that appear out of nowhere to lead us home safely on the darkest of nights. Maybe something from another dimension? Or times gone by? Perhaps my Scottish ancestors taking care of their clan? But whatever is in the wind, in that beautiful ocean breeze, I can’t wait to get back there to my Shangri-la and the magic that is Cape Breton Island. And don’t even think of messing with me. After all, I‘m obviously protected…
by Sharon Dunn
June 12/25 Wondering if I’ve I ever worked a day in my life?
Starting with school. I thought it was fun -recess, lunch, laughing in class, I loved reading, especially aloud to my classmates, which made be popular with the teachers. In high school, I ended up President of the Student Council, Top Debater and, at graduation, Student of the Year. When I reviewed it all, I decided that I must be exhausted after that, so I spent the next three years in university, just having fun and chillin. Since I didn’t love getting up in the morning, I only signed up for afternoon and evening classes. And since the high school I’d attended was an all girls convent, I decided that when I signed up for courses in college, it would only be with the best looking professors, as well. But I did go through those years with my first love, a medical student. When I graduated, he seemed to think that we were getting married, I had other ideas. I took off for grad school in Montreal. And although I loved the city (maybe too much), I was bored with the program. so I quit and came home to Cape Breton. I didn’t feel good about quitting since I was never a quitter but I wanted to work in TV. My lifelong dream was to be a TV news anchor. I remember as a 10 year old, an aunt telling me that ‘girls can’t read the news on tv’. I also remember thinking, ‘that’s crazy, I can already read..”. I didn’t understand that gender was the issue, and in hindsight, for me, it never was.
Three months home from Montreal, I walked into the local tv station, CJCB, and begged my way into a job. Shortly thereafter, I was hired as the first female TV news anchor at CBC Halifax. Initially hired as a story editor to do my own reports on whatever stories I wanted, I was quickly elevated to 6 o’clock news anchor because my stories were causing a lot of trouble. For example, one of my first reports was a sympathetic look at striking postal workers. Consider that. I filmed them sitting in a big hall, swilling beer, and complaining about the government. You get the drift? The switchboard lit up with viewers spewing obscenities, which came down to, “get those f***ing postal workers off the air and take that a**hole Sharon Dunn off with them”. From then on, I sat on set, serenely serenading the news to viewers. Ok, I wasn’t that serene on the anchor desk, I would laugh and get real at the worst times, but the audience liked my, er, imperfections in this environment. Many viewers would call in and say that I reminded them of Mary Tyler Moore on her news show. Management was happy too, so I had the run of the place – free rein to be myself for five years, and then five more years at CBC in Toronto. In both cases, I was on the 6 pm news so I didn’t have to get up in the morning. My days involved me coming into work around noon, having my hair and makeup done, maybe do an interview with the celebrity of my choice or our financial advisor, and then hit the airwaves. Does that sound like work to you? Me neither.
I left my tv career to have my first child and I never looked back. Having a child could have felt like serious work, but my husband, who was older, and had grown kids already, had agreed to a child only if I agreed to have a full time nanny. Umm – that was easy to agree to. I remember a photo from when my first son was 6 weeks old, he and his nanny. She looked exhausted, I was fine. My husband had hoped the nanny would free me up to travel with him to his horse events (he was a racehorse breeder). Imagine his surprise, when he realised that the nanny and our son were coming too, wherever I went. I was always with my son and then the next son. (John had easily agreed to a second child). DId all of this feel like work? Of course not, I had a nanny/housekeeper. Our nanny who was with us for 18 years, until her death, didn’t even want payment throughout her time with us, she just wanted a family to live with. And we all loved her like family..still, I insisted on paying her. I know what you’re thinking, I’m a saint.
None of this was work, even after my husband died when my kids were 3 and 10, I still had Kay the nanny. I didn’t want to leave the kids for work, so I became a day trader to make money from home. This was in the 80’s. I was buying and selling all of the tech stocks daily – Apple, Research in Motion, Celestica, Google. I had no idea what I was doing, but I was averaging a profit of about 35% a year. It was easy to make money. With my kids in school, I was up in the mornings now, and on the stock exchange when the bell rang. It was fun and it didn’t feel like work.
When my youngest son was 7, I wrote a story about his relationship with his dad, I wrote it because Father’s Day was coming up, and in school Luke had painted a card called Brothers Day. I had changed the day to help my children cope after their father died, and I would take them to Wonderland every Brothers (Fathers) Day. But the kids at school were making fun of Luke because he didn’t have a Dad. So I wrote a story, my first, and called it Luke’s Dad. I sent it to The New York Times. The idea was to tell his classmates that Luke did have a Dad. The last line in the story read: “Luke does have a father, a wonderful father, who is alive and well and living in a little boys heart”. The Times took the story and syndicated it worldwide. Friends, and enemies, were shocked. They asked me why I would send my first story to the NY Times, the biggest newspaper in the world. “Well, they need stories too”, was my reply. They all thought that I was an idiot for sending my first essay to the Times. None of this felt like work by the way. The National Post hired me as a regular columnist shortly after that (thank you to then editor in chief, Ken Whyte). I would write a couple of columns a week for them over the next number of years, until it started feeling like work and then I quit.
Just after that, I got involved with a young boyfriend and lost my focus. Next thing I knew, I had lost all of my money, at the hands of an unscrupulous stock broker who basically wiped me out by throwing everything I had into penny stocks. I hadn’t noticed what was going on, since I was so focused on the boyfriend. In tears I went to see a real estate mogul friend of mine, crying over losing my shirt. “I have a project in the Caribbean”, he told me, “there’s a lot of money in it”, he said. I had to get out of town, so I said yes. “But first we have to convince the board of directors that you’re the top agent in North America”, he told me. “Ok”, I said. I wasn’t even an agent, but I got on the phone with the board and when they balked at me, I pointed out that they hadn’t sold for ten years, so what the hell did they have to lose. They hired me, commission only. They put me up in a beautiful villa on the water for free. I was in my lovely office a lot, meeting very exciting people, but it didn’t feel like work and even better, I sold like a mofo. And all of a sudden, I had everything back. I replaced all of the money I had lost. I think if I added it all up, it would be almost to the penny of what I had lost, but I didn’t bother to add it up because that felt too much like work. I now had freedom and money again. By the way, money is freedom.
Since then, I’ve helped a few clients with their real estate developments, on Canadian soil. It’s not work, it’s fun, although I do get paid for it.
So that’s where I stand now. Is my work career done? What work career? None of it was work. I still write – a couple of big stories recently, one for the NY Times, the other for National Post. I was diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago. so I made some money from my critical care insurance and I didn’t need chemo, only a lumpectomy and radiation, so that was good, especially the money part. And I just got the results of my ‘one year after surgery mammogram’, and I’m free of cancer. So all is good and I still have never worked a day in my life. Maybe I’ll get a job after all. I’d like to act in a big downtown play. I can’t sing for beans but I’ve got a booming voice, maybe I can put it to some good use…I’ve been on the earth for a long time, but I still feel like an 18 year old. I wonder if I’ll ever get a real job…probably not..
Apr. 14/25 When my son, Jay, asked ChatGPT to summarize The New York Times Modern Love story by Sharon Dunn, here is the instantaneous answer he received: “Sharon Dunn’s Modern Love essay, titled “Even his Parents Were Younger Than I Was”, was published in The New York Times on November 15, 2024. In this piece, Dunn explores the complexities of a romantic relationship marked by a significant age difference. She candidly reflects on the challenges and societal perceptions that come with dating someone much younger, including the moment she realizes that even her partner’s parents are younger than she is. Despite these hurdles, the essay delves into the genuine connection and affection shared between the couple, highlighting the nuances of love that transcends age.”
It’s this last sentence from AI that gets to me: ‘the nuances of love that transcends age’. Why, I couldn’t have said it better myself! I love ChatGPT
Apr 10/25. It shocks me that there is still so much racism around. Recently, a now ex friend commented that he would never sell his house to a Jew. Excuse me?? Another acquaintance said, ‘I don’t like those people’, when I showed him a card from an Indian medical professional that I was seeing. Excuse me?? ‘Do you like dark skinned people?’, a very white person recently said to me. ‘You keep that up, and I’ll only like dark skinned people”, I retorted. These folks aren’t kidding. They resent that, as one said, ‘Canada has changed with all the dark people walking around’. “Isn’t is grand?”, I replied, “to walk among so many exciting cultures, with exotic food and warm hearted souls”. And aren’t we lucky to live in a place that is one big melting pot? I love it!! Others? Im not so sure..
March 1/25 What can I say about the happenings in the Oval Office. As I wrote on substack: ‘Worried sick about what happened in the Oval Office today. Terrified to say too much, being advised, ‘don’t get into this’. But watching a victim (Zelensky) get further victimized is distressing, to say the least. Never thought I would witness anything like this is my lifetime. When Trump took over in January, I remember one of his first orders of business was signing a declaration for ‘freedom of speech’. Freedom of speech? Doesn’t the western world already have freedom of speech? I watched the reporters on CNN yesterday, also shocked at what transpired and giving their honest assessment of the situation. Could their uncensored voice be taken away one day, silenced if they don’t tow the line? Is there reason to worry that it could ever happen? After today, one has to wonder. And as far as Canada is concerned, do we have reason to worry? I have a contact who has a contact with Interpol, and when asked, ‘do we in Canada have a reason to worry?”. The response was “damn right you do”.’
Feb. 9/25. I just dumped a friend. She told me that I was jealous of Melania Trump. Huh? I have never gone Melania’s route, have never had botox, fillers, plastic surgery, or worn a Zorro style hat to hide my eyes. I have a breast half sliced off from cancer, I have male pattern baldness (and I’m not even male) that I have to hide with hair extensions, and I have a broken nose from a fall during a hike in the Cape Breton Highlands in 2018. Yet, let me announce for the record, I am not jealous of Melania Trump, and for all of the money in the world, I wouldn’t trade places with her. Would you?
Feb 7/25 Death of Newspapers in Canada
Gone are the glory days of a heavy newspaper being delivered to my door. They are now skeletons of what they were in the past. In a recent story I wrote for The National Post, I was told that I would be in the weekend section, but I was the weekend section. I’m not complaining by the way, just stating a fact. I think the Post does a great job and have always liked the paper. But I also wrote a piece for The New York Times. Now that Saturday paper at my door is heavy and dense, including three glossy magazines. The Times is not suffering at all, but the Canadian newspapers are. They’re basically going under. When I worked at the Post, editor in chief Ken Whyte, who hired me, gave me free rein to write whatever I wanted, sometimes up to four columns a week (I will always be grateful to him by the way), the paper was thick then, and now it is so lean. Everything will end up online soon, and I will miss the excitement of the news at my door in the morning. I already do…
Feb. 7/ 25
I am proud of Canadians and our reaction to the tyrant’s words and actions. I don’t believe that someone like Trump could ever be elected to anything in our great country.
Feb 4/25
I have added a section called New Stories. If you go back to the main page and scroll down you will see it. My latest is about a pedophile priest named Anthony O’Brien, now deceased, and never found guilty by the Catholic church. He stalked and terrorized me when I was between eight and ten years old, in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. I know I’m not the only one, and suspect there have been many victims from the East and as far as Toronto. I’ve always been afraid to tell the story but here it is. I gave the script to a Toronto newspaper a few months ago, but it wasn’t published, first time it’s being seen is here..I want other victims to know that they’re not the only ones victimized by this lunatic..one survivor I met was raped at knifepoint by O’Brien..sorry it took me so long to come to terms with this..
Apr 5/25