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Richmond Hill councillors may want to protect citizens within its borders by keeping a forest of hydro poles out of the Langstaff Jail Farm. But what about the citizens just across the line in Markham? The people of Langstaff have been living in limbo for five years, in the parkway belt freeze unable to change their homes or businesses without the express consent of the progincial govern- ment. A year ago, they mounted the longest, probably the costliest legal defence of their homes before the hearing officers on the Parkway Belt. BY SHARON BRAIN Wes Middleton came to Rich- mond Hill in 1919, Except for brief periods of exile to Headford and Richvale, he has lived here ever since. As a result, the officers recommended that Langstaff come out of the belt. Today, that recommendation is still out- standing. He was 89 last month. There’s enough history in his head to satisfy the most avid Heritage Hunter. ' The difficulty is rerouting the hydro lines around the Langstaff communitymThe alternative is to put the lines through the jail farm. . He left England when he was 15 and came to Canada with a half crowu in his pocket, to live with an uncle he had never met. Remove Langstaff from the freeze But by the time he got to Rich- mond Hill, he had a wife and daughter to support. Gone were the day; when hé -could pick up and head out West on the Harvest Excursion. Rumor has it that before he settled down, he was a spectacular dancer, and a hard man to beat in a foot-race. I also hear he had quite an eye for the pretty girls. There was emple evidence for that in the one he married. He held all kinds of jobs in those years. His main trade was that of brick-layer, a skill he learned in England, age 9. But he also did time at the Jail Farm â€" as a guard, his family is quick to point out. He delivered milk with the help of a horse who knew the route as well as he did, and worked for the North Toronto fire department. Later he ran the Vitafeed Plant on Centre Street. Still later, long past the time when most men are retired, he ran the cemetery. He couldn’t understand a man who didn’t work, and he respected one who worked hard. Once when I was with him, he stopped to pick up a fellow walking home. “Never drive past a man with a lunch pail,” he told me. At the time, I thought it was because he hoped there might be something good left to eat. There was always something left in his lunch pail for me. He loved public life and was town councillor for 25 years. He made lots of friends and lots of enemies. He was a very outspoken and determined man. Some people in my family have been known to refer to him as pig- headed. NEVER CAMPAIGNED He would never campaign. He always said the voters would vote Wes never changed Home unliva o! The Liberal us 80 cents evevy IOU! weeks; by maul $10 00 a you In Canada, 520 00 5 you oumdc a! Canada No local mall delwery where camel serwce musk; CLASSIFIED - 88‘4105. 38143373 The idea of the town simply Room Mum" - GOWII Manage: John C. ForguI - Advoniung Director Q Ray Pndloy Jr. - Field Sale: MIMOOI Guhum chvicluon - Ctrculation Divoctoc ‘ Nomun Stundon - Production Manson: Larry Johnnon - Nm Edllov MavkhamVnughan Eamon Ron Hldllll - Circulation Sumilol 10395 Yonge Street, Richmond‘Hill L4G 4Y6 Ontario comm HAROLD BLAINE "MUM" "03m MAXWELL ASSOCIATE sonon non WALLACE The Libeval 'is publisheq every Wednesday by Metvospan ‘ Communuv Newspapers annaa Noun Division, which also publishes Tho Banner in Aurora, Newmarkel, The Woodbndge Vaughan News. and the Bolton Enmvpviw PAGE A4 Thu Lmun METROSPAN ~ NORTH DIVISION all}: Eihtral Sharon's sunshine 10395 You 0 Small P.O. Box 350. MC ON. Ontario 1' LEPHONE ~ 8N~8l77. 881-3373 Eht Eihtral - tow cumulus, UOIH udulmu fluchmona Hull. um maluch uw II WMIDIIMV Sm:ch t.‘ w Mulvml banning hydro lines in the southern part of Richmond Hill is laced with stupidity. It is probably legally unenforceable; if such a bylaw could be imposed, it would only force hydro south of Highway 7. The entrance to Richmond Hill would still be marred by hydro lines. The only difference would be that the lines would be south of the town boundary so that the coun- cillors could say it wasn’t their fault. And Langstaff would be practically wiped out to make way for hydro. Richmond Hill may continue to think up bargaining ploys to get the best deal out of hydro to improve the looks of the lines before they arrive . But the fate of the people of Langstaff should not figure in the bargaining. Before things go any further, Richmond Hill and Markham, should ask to have the province officially take Langstaff out of the parkway belt zoning freeze, if only to show good faith. for him because they thought he was right, or against him because they thought he was wrong. He didn’t see how posters would change that. It never occurred to him there might come a day when people mighg not know the record of the men who were running for office. He lived in a time when people made their own fun. And so he coached a town hockey team for years. One of the town’s most illustrious clerks lost one of his famous front teeth when Wes Middleton was coaching him. He sang in the church choir. He loved music all his life and made sure his daughter played the piano and sang alto. He always said about her that he had only raised one child, but he sure raised a good one. I think it was because she was always in tune. FUNNY MAN He was a very funny man, and has a prodigious memory. He knows what happened the night the New Richmond Hill fire engine disappeared, and the name of the dog who wouldn’t let his friend leave the yard until he relinquished Wes' overalls. He also can recite poems, stories, and jokes, and will at the drop of a hat. Like all his family, he loves to perform. He instilled that love in me very early. I have never forgiven my mother for forbidding my recitation of that great anti- temperance poem that ends: true Stay pickled till they‘re 92. Grandad and I had planned for me to say it at the church Christ- mas concert. He loved to stir people up. But sinful, grin-ful, rum-soaked men Live for three score years and 10. And some, they say, I know it‘s Some people never change. When the nurse came in to take his temperature last week, he let her, but not until he had regaled her with a chorus of “Oh, You Beautiful Doll.” The real past of our com- munities is alive in people like Wes Middleton. Because Richmond Hill may have changed a lot since 1919, but he hasn’t. Ivuumnu ul 1m: leaul runluhl and any unmmocuod ‘v Nomumpcn lelled Thu nempaae‘ .mou and [M Audn Buvmu of Cuculamn WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 21. 1977 I want to write a little something about sports. - Now before you think that I’m after Fred Simpson‘s job, I had better set you straight. I am the furthest thing from a jock. At the game of golf I shoot a 91 . . . and that’s only the first nine holes. Put me on a hockey team and I’ll make the Leafs look like champions and when it comes to football I wouldn‘t know a quarterback from a hun- chback. Okay, Fred? Your job is safe. Iwill admit, though, that I do play a mean game of ping-pong but that’s only because I yell and scream a lot thereby frightening my op- ponent half to death. Remember Phys-Ed at high school? Well, that’s what this is all about. The very fact that my gorgeous body is still functioning at the ripe age of 34 is due only to my sly and cunning ways during my for- mative years. - The phys-ed program was explained to us and then Mr. B suggested some basic exercises to warm-up with. I want to state from the very outset that in my mind Mr. Babcock was one of the best . . . and probably still is. But even the best have the odd defeat . . . and I was one of them. ' Picture the moment if you will. There in the middle of the gym floor is Bill Babcock . . . white tee-shirt stretched to its limit over a solid chest . . . powerful tree-trunk legs . . . funny little whistle hanging from his neck and a stern look on his face as he watched the parade of Grade 9 recruits muster onto the floor. And here was I . . . FAT. When 13111 Babcdck, our RHHS Phys-Ed teacher, first laid eyes upon me, he probably ‘r‘n'ust‘ have considered a‘nothér job. By Bob Rice QUEEN' The latest in the one-sided battle of the sexes these days, has come from a feminist group with the soul-soothing name of WAR, (Women After Rights) which has decided it has unearthed another gross injustice to keep its cause alive. This time it‘s the cover of Maclean’s (that’s the new Canadian edition of Time) which has set the members to donning their WAR Tâ€"shirts in order to file â€" or maybe that should be fill out -â€" their protest. PARK And their protest? Well, it seems as if Maclean’s had the male chauvinistic â€" is there any other kind? â€" effrontery to display a woman on the cover of its last edition, clad in a red bikini, to illustrate its story on metric conversion. 'A kindly old tailor, armed with a calculator and a confused look, was measuring her bust. The WAR mongers immediately saw red. And some of them even noticed the color of the bikini. The whole thing was “disgusting,” one of the group said â€" I dare her to say that to the model who posed for the cover â€" and wanted quick redress in the form of an apology from the editor, plus other fringe benefits. The spokesman â€" so to speak â€" f0; L..- group said, also, that the cover "condones exploitation of women as sex o_bjects_.’_’ I must admit that, up to then, I had little sympathy for these women, whose paranoia, I felt, would have them seeing a male plot behind every cemeteyy stone. Afid I could easily see why the ex- pression “Make Love not War," found such easy acceptance. a ’ W'Vs Rchr7IoNo Hm LIBERAL C977. 90071/ The other side of the coin ) Knowing the area i??? helped in phys-ed I was doing okay to this point but from then on it all went right down the tube. He had to be kidding . . . ten pushups . . . no one can do ten pushups. It didn’t matter that most of the other guys were finished when I reached three . . . they were just a bunch of show-offs. I think Mr. B. realized he had a problem on his hands when I pooped-out on the sixth. How about situps then? Sure . . . why not. The only problem was that my tummy kept getting caught between my knees and my face. I must admit that I was game though, and gave everything a try . . . once. some of the others could shinny up and down the rope like monkeys. . .as for me. . .oh-well, I’m afraid of heights anyway. I wasn’t too bad at badminton but basketball just wasn‘t my cup of cocoa. In the good weather we were outside on the field, in the bad we stayed in the gym. And then there was the running. Mr. B. had laid out a course that started from the front door of the torture room, down Hall St., Richmond to Elizabeth, West on Centre, Richmond to Bridgeport, then back along Mill Street and into the back door. I remember that course like the plague. You see . . . I knew that neighbourhood like the back of my hand. I had it all planned. There I would go . . . at an impressive pace Mr. Babcock trusted us and that was his Achille’s heel. Now, we all know that every woman, without exception, is exploited that way, but there’s very little = id about all of us poor men who are slicted. I mean, we’Ve been very quiet about that kind of thing all these years, and I mention it now only to show you that we can see and understand the turmoil this can cause. Because, there’s no doubt about it, that, while it may seem like fun on the surface â€"- and even more so deeper down â€" it’s no fun being exploited as a sex object. But after that part about being ex- ploited as sex objects, I must admit I gave a bit. I mean, dammit, have you ever been sitting quietly in a corner at a dance, just fingering your belt loops, happy to be part of the wall, when some painted, chauvinistic hussy comes over and tries to I was also a bit upset that the editor would even give them the time of day, let alone guarantee a couple of them an audience. ' , , she’ll invariably man out, "that’s a beautiful suit you have on. Are those really your shoulders, or did the presser mislay his ironing board?” awnnn "rm nff vnfir “Just kidding, curly,” she’ll continue, running her fingers through your hair, the lust in her voice. only matched by the greed in her eyes. “Oh. I love those waves; what do you do. sleep on the bed springs?”A . down Hall T . . over to Elizabeth . . . five “Hey, c’mbn now, handsome, how By JIM IRVING BIT UPSET regional Viewpomt houses down Centre and then into my backyard via the neighbour’s property. A quick stop for refreshment (I told Mom that it was perfectly legal) and then across the street and over the fence to hide in some lilac bushes about at quarter-ofamile from the school. ' Iwas smart enough to let most of the fools go by before emerging from my hiding place and then I would huff and puff my way to the finish line. Pretty neat . . . huh? I guess that I misjudged Mr. B. on this one, though. Two events spoiled the whole plan. The first occurred whilst darting from my house to the hiding place . . . I should have noticed Mr. B.’s car coming down Richmond. The final straw came when I thought that the rest of the class had already passed the bushes and I jauntin broke cover and trotted toward the gym. about a little smile, this is supposed to be a party, not the first day of school.” GORGEOUS CREATURE “That's better. You don’t know what a smile does for you. “What? Oh, well, it ah, lightens up that five o’clock shadow of yours, for example, and makes that nervous tic around your eyes a little less noticeable. “Not that it isn’t kind of cute, I mean. “So c’mon you gorgeous creature, what are we doing sitting around here? Why don’twe go out on the terrace and catch the latest moon shot? “You’d rather dance? “Well, I was going to suggest that, too, but judging from the hole in your shoe, I thought that you might have had a bit too much in that department. And you’d like to do your soul searching some other way. I don’t really know who was more sur- prised, Mr. Babcock or me. He didn’t say anything as I collapsed on the ground. at his feet while the best runners in the group . . . rounded the final corner. ’Til , next week . . . keep in mind the words of the Millpond Philosopher . . . “there are many things still beyond our grasp . . . especially a piece of raw liver.” “You know, I’d just like to stroll with you down by the waterfront, the smoke from the tugboats mixing withyour after shave lotion, the sepulchral moan of the foghorns a perfect counterpoint to your v01ce. “Can’t you see that you and I were meant for more than just a slow fox trot in and around this lead-footed bunch; we could make a beautiful mosaic together, you sexy devil, you. “So why don’t you loosen your tie and let your hair down a bit? “Mixed metaphor? What are you talking about? Wes, yes, I see. Why do 1 always get these guys who want you to like them just for their minds?" I guess I should have tried harder during those years, Bill, on the other hand though . . . I’m still alive.