Athot for the Day: Accepting Reality

There can be no doubt that human-existence is punishment for sin.

Sunday Fun: Live from Toronto - The Starlost, Wojeck

The Starlost




Produced here in Toronto, Canada, but actually an NBC initiative, The Starlost (1973 - 1974) helped fill an epic hole left after Star Trek finished its original run in 1969 (but continuing to burn up the "stripping" markets). From day one the series was to be produced on videotape in order to save money and to allow for extensive, and inexpensive, chroma key work: enhancing sets and backgrounds in addition to the expected "space" element. NBC set up a coproduction deal with Canada's CTV network, allowing for further budget savings. It should be mentioned that Glen-Warren Productions at that time was one of the most sophisticated and well-equipped television facilities in existence; one reason why key parts of Network (1976) were shot there.

Why do I know so much about this series? As part of my ongoing research on Canadian television programs The Starlost was an obvious target. I interviewed many people associated with its production — including writer Harlan Ellison, producer William Davidson, script editor Norman Klenman, designer Jack McAdam, and actors Gay Rowan and John Colicos — and ultimately wrote the insert liner notes for the show's DVD release, which I describe here.

My now academic interest aside: In September of 1973 my space-cadet friend and I sat down in front of the colour console in great anticipation. I stuck with the series but was not disappointed when it failed to be renewed for another season.

One of the most memorable things about the opening titles — in this case from the episode "Mr. Smith of Manchester" — is the catchy theme music.

Wojeck

Canadians, like Brits, like to mock their own television drama programs. "Typical BBC cheapness." How many times have we heard that? Here in Canada, that statement would probably ring out as "everything the CBC makes is crap". Of course those two national networks are not the only makers and providers of television fare in their respective countries, but you get the idea.

Wojeck aired on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's television network between September of 1966 and March of 1968. Season one was produced in black and white; season two, colour.

John Vernon is "Steve Wojeck", a big city coroner who works and cares for the people. With anti-BS fervour he tackles very real issues such as worker safety, health standards, racism, and, radical for television drama at that time, abortion.

Photographed here in Toronto on 16mm film, Wojeck's 'eye' was that of direct cinema documentary. The approach of "realism" enhanced the often excellent scripting, giving the stories some added punch. Had the series been produced on 35mm in the more conventional, and expected, studio style, it probably would not have been as effective.

Wojeck is a great series.

RCAF Brats: Hercules Trips of Note

A "flip" on a Canadian Armed Forces CC-130 Hercules built some of my fondest memories. As a military "dependent", or "brat", one gets occasional lifts on transport aircraft. In my case, a trip to England from West Germany, and back again, involved hopping onto a Herc.

Kids, brat kids, don't care about the luxury of a commercial airliner as much as the raw and open power of four Allison turboprops propelling noisily a military transport aircraft. During takeoff, especially, the racket is invigorating. But, my mother hated it. I can still picture her sitting opposite me. She slumped in her seat, obviously hoping the flight would be brief.

I remember a flight back to West Germany out of Gatwick Airport. The aircraft was packed: service people and their families, and individuals, occupying all available seating ― there is no designated seating on a Herc, by the way; no seat 12A. As a matter of fact, the seats would be better described as "webbing". As I sat against the forward starboard bulkhead, the flight suddenly, and without any warning, became a joy ride. We shot straight up from our seats and seconds later we were dropped with great force back down. Mere inches from my right foot a blur and a great sound: "Clack-cla-ClackClack!" The tethered cargo retaining shackles that were normally affixed to the bulkhead immediately beside me had also risen during the aircraft drop, but instead of falling back into position, they fell to the floor, missing me... barely. I asked my dad years later about that incident. He remembered it, too:

"If those hadda hit you there would've been hell to pay."

"What happened?"

"The loadmaster wasn't doing his job."


My sister served in our Forces for a few years in the 1980's. She was stationed for some time at CFB Cold Lake, Alberta. "Maple Flag", a training exercise, is hosted at the base every summer. A participant in these games is the Hercules. One day a compatriot asked Karen if she wanted to jump on board. She said yes.

During Maple Flag, Hercs will execute a series of evasive maneuvers. This process involves the pilot (a "Herc Driver") putting his or her machine into various attitudes: skids; power back; power full; turns; and so on. The idea is you are being attacked and such changes in the aircraft's flight attitude increases your chances of survival. During the twists and turns, flares are dropped in order to help 'confuse' any intercepting missiles.

It was hot. The Herc flew its special maneuvers over prairie fields. Karen started to feel unwell. It was too much for her system; too much to take. It was bound to happen.

As she held the special receiving bag in front of her mouth, she unloaded. A steady stream of stomach contents. A crewmember rubbed her back.

The aircraft landed back at the base. Karen: "The most humiliating part was I had to carry my bag of vomit off the plane."

I asked her recently who the crewmember was. "It might have been the flight engineer." I doubt it. He would have been in the cockpit, with the pilots. It was probably the loadmaster.

Welcome to England, Mate! Cheers!

My first trip to England as an adult happened in April of 1990. After my Air Canada Boeing 747 landed at Heathrow, and I had been processed at customs, I made the necessary trip down the airport's moving walkway to the exit doors: to be ejected into British society.

My stand on the walkway was the introduction part. A newly arrived Canadian needed a good taste of that 'angry Brit' behaviour — that stereotypical behaviour.

I heard a fast-approaching voice behind me. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me...." A young woman, with hands up, was pleasantly pushing her way past the standing crowd, obviously in a rush to get somewhere, like the end of the moving walkway. Another voice caught my attention; I looked over to see a scruffy-looking gentleman, a guy who looked like he could have been a grumpy brother of film director Stanley Kubrick.

"Ah, what makes you so privileged?" The happy vaulter answered: "Just making my way through." Like a schoolmaster who had to educate his Canadian students (tourists) he addressed us with a quick scan of his saucer-like eyes: "She must be from Birmingham!"

All I could come up with was: "Welcome to England!" — to myself.

Two Big Toho Studios Monster Fans

The combination of Godzilla and Toho film studios makes for a formidable tag team. The famous Japanese production complex is so synonymous with the rubber-made monster that it's hard to believe that it actually has produced non monster movies.

However, the purpose of this piece is to go for the studio's biggest star: Godzilla.

In September of 1988 I became friends with a chap who had been living in the same building as me. Richard and I hit it off right away once we decided to converse with one another. (We first crossed paths in late 1984 but it was a polite "hello".) He was in the midst of his physics master's degree program at the University of Toronto, and I, a recent film-school graduate, was working very occasionally as a designer on films and television commercials.

How tickled I was when he told me that he was a big fan of the Godzilla pictures. Making monstrous moves was a natural step for us.

A pot of tea, a bowl of unhealthy potato chips, two geeks in front of a VCR-powered television set: Godzilla; Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster; Godzilla vs. Mothra; King Kong vs. Godzilla; Destroy All Monsters; Godzilla, 1985; you get the picture.

Richard earned his PhD in Particle Physics, and is now working in Lost Alamos, New Mexico; and I stomped around in the film and television business here in Toronto.

Postscript: Richard responded to a certain post I had written in May of 2020: Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UFO Flicks). "You don't want to know what I think of UFOs (Oh yes I do!) . . . Every time science advances, it shows that there is nothing special about humans. We are probably some of the dumbest creatures in the universe!" (No comment.) Soon we'll be doing a little chat, the transcript of which I will post to this website.

Just No Luck on a Toronto Saturday Night

After recounting admissions recently to an old friend of mine regarding my lack of activity in the now-shuttered Brunswick House, I remembered an odd, though hardly unexpected, experience from another local attraction, The Madison Avenue Pub. “The Maddy" is a hot spot for local students — not just those from the University of Toronto — and professors and Annexians alike.

Years ago, when I was a regular occupant of the Maddy, I witnessed a potentially ugly incident. One night as I was leaving the establishment after soaking down with friends of mine, I heard a provocative discussion happening in real — but a bit blurry — time on the stairway leading from near the main entrance up to the second floor:

"Man! Give him his rubbers back!" Again: "Man, give him his rubbers back." And: "Come on, man!"

Remembering that I was carrying several packets of condoms in my left back pocket I made an offer to the swaying young bloke amongst the three who clearly was operating sans "rubbers". My kindly gesture might give the lad a night to remember.

"Hey. These are yours. They should last you the night." While tossing a "Thanks, Man!" he extended his right arm but inexplicably missed my personal space. I helped by intercepting his hand, a dance much in the way a Soyuz-Progress spacecraft might mate with the International Space Station. The cargo had been delivered. "Contact."

My hope was he would not notice the expiry date; that the alcohol had disconnected any primal urge to check the potentially prize-winning numbers on yellowing packaging.

As I took the two steps down to the main floor, I turned and looked up to my grateful pal: "Have fun... but be careful."

I spun a half-turn toward the opened exit door but a sweeping voice chased me:

"What'd'ya mean, 'be careful'?"

I wasn't so inebriated that I could not walk an uncountable pace. That was all I heard. No more "what?". He had probably already forgotten me.

As I walked north on Madison Avenue, a young man — they all seem young after you've punched a third decade in the head — approached with measurable non-precision and puttered a question to my broadside as he wobbled around me.

"Hey, man. Do you got any rubbers?"

"Funny you should ask. Sorry, Sam, I just gave the last of them away. Have a good night."

(I should have gone into business for myself. A tall, skinny, well-dressed, in a Metrosexual way, and sober guy is of the sort that must be equipped with condoms-for-sale. It all makes sense.)

A clarification: The above story is a work of creative fiction based on actual events. Not all details are authentic and certain liberties are taken in order to tell an entertaining story; I hope. ("Reality" drifts to the mundane.)

A Story: Discovering Film & Television Music

When I work on projects at home I will listen to music, or, if my task requires little concentration: discussions, spoken-word or narrated pieces. A few years ago, while looking for stuff to download from the wonderful BBC radio podcast site I noticed that British film reviewer/writer Mark Kermode had recorded a four-part series called "The Soundtrack of My Life".

 
Titled, simply enough, "Soundtrack Albums", the piece involved Kermode's memories of discovering film scores and soundtracks. He recounted how he began his love of film music. After these reminiscences, he went on to interview several filmmakers and composers.

I remember my first soundtrack album. It was from a film I had seen just months before, in 1975, at the Terra Theatre in CFB Borden: Rollerball.

Later, as I perused the LP record bin at Borden's PX (Post Exchange), I happened across the Rollerball soundtrack and learned then that there was a tie-in record. I bought it on the spot. This LP was not an original soundtrack in the traditional sense, but a compilation of music: A mix of Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky, Bach, and two more-contemporary pieces by Andre Previn composed specifically for the film. One of the catches for me was Tomaso Albinoni's "Adagio"; I remembered that it was used quite effectively in the Space: 1999 television series episode "Dragon's Domain", which I had also seen just a few months earlier. Now that I think about it, I played the Rollerball record a lot. It was not my introduction to recorded classical music — my parents had a good selection from that domain — but the choices, no doubt by the film's director, Norman Jewison, seemed to be a perfect blend for this then young listener.

My next album was the music to Space: 1999, which I was a little disappointed in, and a couple of years after that was Battlestar Galactica. (What's with all the sci-fi TV crap? Oh yeah, I was young.) A side note to the latter score: When I listened to it again, many years later, I couldn't help but notice the William Walton influence. This really comes through on one piece in particular.

No, I did not get the soundtrack to Star Wars in 1977. What turned me off of buying it, I think, was was my honest and raw reaction after a friend of mine lent me the two-LP set a few weeks before we saw the movie. (The album was actually available before the movie release itself in some markets.) As I had discovered Miklos Rosza's Ben Hur music the summer before — courtesy of my dad's original 1959 "Stereophonic" pressing of that album — the Star Wars music on its own sounded rather lame. When I returned the album to my friend I mentioned that I found the music to be "watery" and didn't even bother turning the first LP over to play "Side 2". (He too was not impressed. After all, this was the guy who got me into the German band, Kraftwerk.) Of course the music plays wonderfully well with the film and is a classic film score. Film scores, as composer Gerald Fried noted in an interview years ago, generally don't stand on their own as music. This is not a failing, of course, since they are designed, quite designed in fact, to play with picture and other audio elements. Those audio tracks can get quite crowded. Some scores do work on their own; it doesn't mean they are better scores, just that they can be listened to away from the movie. I've since acquired the Star Wars CD and I like the background music much better now as a standalone... the few times I've given it a spin. Oh, I bought the LP version in 1982.

The first 'original music' film score soundtrack LP that I remember getting was for Alien. I was very impressed, even though I had not yet seen the film. Speaking of film composer Jerry Goldsmith, for that's who I was speaking of in that case, later in 1979 he would produce his brilliant music accompaniment for Star Trek - The Motion Picture. (It's the best part of that slightly underrated film, I think. The theme tune, in particular, is one of the greatest of movie anthems.)

What's with all the sci-fi movie scores? Well, for starters, and to correct the whole notion that it's all about the space stuff here, there's the LP to the 1970 biopic, Patton.

I'm a fan of the late composer Jerry Goldsmith. His effect was best summed up recently by producer/writer Seth MacFarlane on a BBC radio show: "(Goldsmith) was an insanely talented guy."

There are others whose work I admire: (the great) Bernard Herrmann, Franz Waxman, Max Steiner, Elmer Bernstein, John Williams, David Shire, John Barry, Ennio Morricone, Ron Goodwin....

(Sorry, Han Zimmer's a B-rate film composer.)

Decades ago I stopped collecting film scores. The odd one would trickle down onto my shelf. I enjoy film scores best when they are with the actual film — with picture. Also, scoring today, 'the state of', is pretty pathetic. I'm speaking more of the Hollywood product. While smaller films are getting some fine work in that area, most "tent pole" pictures are tracked with overwrought orchestral parts of nothing (but noise). They're more rhythm-based. It's been this way for years. It's hardly a requirement that a film theme should consist of a memorable 'song', it really depends on the show, but, as film director Edgar Wright states so eloquently in the Mark Kermode program: "What's the most recent film score that you can really hum?" 

Good luck.

Ahh... ahh... ahh.....

Mr Wright wasn't whistling Dixie!

Okay, I'll cheat and hum the theme tune from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966). That just might be the soundtrack of most of our lives.

A Happy 94th to William Shatner — The Coolest!

Canadian actor and author William Shatner is, quite simply, the coolest man in this galaxy. Happy Birthday to a fellow Montrealer.

The bottom photo I selected as it was William Shatner's first appearance as Captain James "R" Kirk (the second pilot, "Where No Man Has Gone Before").

Leonard Nimoy was right when he said that "Jeff" Hunter was a fine actor, but when Shatner came on board as captain of the Starship Enterprise, Star Trek really came to life. Did it ever!

Corporate Shoot: Model Lisa at Centron Self Storage

Above is one of many photographs I took last September with model Lisa for Centron Self Storage here in Toronto.

Check out this pic from the same shoot. My approach as a photographer is to make the talent laugh, not only to alleviate any pressure there may be from the setups, but to make it look as though we all had a lot of fun. That way, smiles come through more naturally.

One thing I don't like are obvious stock-shot photos. (Hopefully I succeeded.)

Article Sample: Yukon Crews

While I was still a staff member in Toronto's film and television business, I wrote an article about the Canadair CC-106 "Yukon" transport aircraft — a machine I flew on as a child — and its service with the RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force). My target publication was Air Force Magazine. The book's editor was very helpful, providing parameters and reviewing my initial submission.

After receiving vital assistance from the Public Relations Officer at DND (Department of National Defence) Headquarters in obtaining initial contacts, I interviewed many people who flew the Yukon, or were aircrew. In pursuit of the story I travelled to CFB Trenton and held a group interview at the RCAF Museum (now the National Air Force Museum of Canada).

It has to be noted that 437 Squadron, main operator of the Yukon, was completely uncooperative. One of my helpful inside contacts eventually had to admit to me, "Simon, forget it". Wonderful.

Unfortunately my piece was "killed" before possible publication by Air Force Magazine after David Adamson, Squadron Commander of 437 Squadron during the majority of the Yukon's tenure, and someone I interviewed via telephone, decided to write an article on the machine himself. I, understandably, was grounded. (Adamson, like everybody I interviewed, without exception, was very pleasant and more than willing in contributing to my research.)

I have no plans to upload my entire "Yukon Crews" piece, but I thought I would post a few paragraphs. Enjoy!

***

The Canadair “North Star” flew with RCAF Air Transport Command for a number of years. This aircraft was essentially an upgraded Douglas DC-4 powered by Rolls Royce “Merlin” engines and it was a workhorse providing movement of people and cargo. Nearing the end of its service life in the late 1950s there were discussions as to what direction to take to replace the aging, and non-pressurized, North Star. The Boeing 707 and Douglas DC-8 jets were now beginning to enter civilian service, with cargo versions also hitting the market, but there was some pressure to have a Canadian company undertake development of a new transport aircraft. These details are beyond the scope of this article so I’ll cut to the chase: Canadair developed the Yukon by modifying the four-engine Bristol “Britannia” airframe and matching it to a new powerplant, the Rolls Royce "Tyne 2" (which was still under development at that time).

The first flight of a Yukon was made on November 15, 1959. Deliveries to 412 Squadron (VIP) began in mid-summer 1961. Veteran pilot Bill Cars explains the process of training pilots on the Yukon: “All the pilots that were selected to fly on the Yukon were all sent to Cartierville [Quebec] and we took the ground-school. Five of us were checked out by Canadair's test pilots. I was checked out by Scotty McLean, one of Canadair’s test pilots. As soon as we had been checked out then we came back down here [now CFB Trenton] with a couple of airplanes and checked out the rest of the guys . . . one guy ran OTU [Operational Training Unit] and three would work for him. I was going back up to 412 Squadron but we took all the rest of them and converted them on these airplanes." Once the pilots were converted onto the Yukon, then began an involved trial period. Cars elaborates: "We'd go on simulated trips, raising and lowering the landing gear five or six times, flaps five or six times, and so on. This was done to simulate multiple trips. We did a few long range trips here in Trenton. We took a couple of crews and flew over to Pisa, then from Pisa down to Leopoldville, and back up to Pisa and back home again just to see how it worked on long range trips. We took turns sleeping on the airplane and that kind of stuff. It was interesting work. It kept us going that summer."

___

Canadair completed twelve Yukons for the RCAF: Two aircraft went to 412 'VIP' Squadron and the balance to (reactivated) 437 Squadron.

However, the Rolls Royce Tyne 2 engines were to be troublesome for some time along with many teething problems with the Yukon itself, which only served to hinder the model from getting up to speed and providing regular service for the air force. Pilot James Lynch, who was to become the Squadron's Chief Safety Officer, remembers: “We had a couple of interesting things with the Yukon during the trial days. We had a case where Wing Commander Roly Lloyd [Commanding Officer of the training and development stage before the Squadron was formed] was coming back from a long-range flight and as they were approaching Montreal they had problems where they couldn't disengaged the 'auto pilot'. They tried to control the airplane and the ailerons wouldn't move at all. So the only way the aircraft could be maneuvered was rudder or powered back and forth. And they had no idea on Earth what had happened. The elevators were fine too. So they were able to jockey getting the airplane down with the reductions in power and rudder and so on." Once the Yukon had landed safely an inspection was undertaken and the culprit revealed. A large water tank located in the belly of the aircraft was used for various purposes, including providing drinking water. The tank's heater, needed for obvious reasons, failed on this flight and the liquid contents froze. Unfortunately some water had bled from its container and ran down and over the Yukon's control system. As Lynch explains, "The torque tubes got coated in ice; they couldn't turn. As it turned out, when they got to the lower altitudes to land, the things freed up and they were able to land the airplane fine".

Jack Maitland, then 437 Squadron Commander and pilot, found the process of getting the Yukon into a regular routine to be very trying: “We had a difficult first eighteen months just keeping them serviceable." Many of the early problems afflicting the Yukon were due to the Rolls Royce Tyne 2 engines. Maitland gives credit to the aircraft mechanics for getting hours out of the Tynes.

Once it was clear that the Yukon had successfully made the transition to full flying status Air Transport Command could do its job. Maitland adds dryly, “we started flying it in the summer of ’61 so by about Christmas of 1962, nearly eighteen months, we were able to more or less able to depart on time. Not always, but…." According to Maitland, the first official flight of a Yukon took place on January 2, 1962 (from Trenton to Marville) so there were many months of “official flying” before a degree of serviceability was obtained.

Pilot Jack Maitland poses with his "Yuke" in Moscow.

___

Operational flying accumulates many hours for the air crews concerned, and most of these hours would be straightforward and uneventful. Naturally, with all these trips over the years there are bound to be stories, funny ones and otherwise. To start, and due to the intrinsic nature of the Yukon which would typically be loaded with heavy cargoes, there are a few stories of the Yukon's nose going up, and not due to any takeoff procedure. Pilot Larry Byrne remembers one such story: “East Pakistan had a typhoon go through so we flew some girders for electrical towers and a bunch of blankets and stuff and that was our load. We picked them up from Trenton. My mom and dad lived in Lachine [Quebec] and I went over to their place for lunch while they were loading the airplane. My dad drove me back to the airport at Dorval; I couldn't see the tail of the airplane over the AMU [Aviation Maintenance Unit] and I said to my dad, 'oh my God, they've left without me!' So we drove around the corner of the thing and there was the Yukon sitting on its tail. They had loaded the stuff in through the side loader and they intended to push it forward. And they put this one set of girders on there and down she went. The thing that saved the airplane was they had a big wooden tie-down box in the back of the airplane and when the girders slid back they hit the box instead of hitting the pressure hull of the airplane and so they put a bridle on the front of the airplane and then slowly offloaded then lowered the thing and reloaded it properly. The only thing that was damaged was the seal on the door; and so we flew it back to Trenton and they changed the seal and the next day we were on our way to East Pakistan, and that was my check-ride. The captain was on that was Bill Cars.“

___

Prime Minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau was a frequent flier on 412 Squadron Yukons. He is also credited, by some, with helping reduce of the Canadian Armed Forces' size; the fallout, of course, is felt to this day. Burke opines: “(but) ironically he was probably one of the easiest persons to fly anywhere as a passenger, he really was.  He just did not have any use for a military." (Author’s note: Pardon me while I go and paint some machine guns onto my lawnmower.) Bill Cars remembers flying Trudeau out one night: “He stood up in the cockpit for the takeoff but it was night and there were lights all around… soon as the Yukon went out and because there was this weird climb he just went to the back.”

___

One thing that was obvious to me was the fact that the individuals I interviewed all had fond memories about flying on the Yukon — and a lot of fun was apparent in the rapport displayed during the group interview I did as part of my research in CFB Trenton. This really showed when I thought I would ask a seemingly innocent question — one brought on after hearing of some of the trips to a few 'hot-spots'. My question: “Were you guys ever armed?” This elicited an immediate reaction from Navigator Bob Burke: “We had security people. My god, I wouldn't give these guys guns!” Flight Engineer Bernie Hazleton chimes in with, “It's bad enough giving them a screwdriver”.

 ___

Pilot Doug Scott remembers the final days, “the Yukon retired on the second of April, ’71, and I retired on the ninth of April. They threw me out at the same time as the Yukon”. Pilot Paul Aubin transferred to the new Boeing machines when they came into service: “Going to the 707 was an ego trip but the Yukon was a great airplane, to think back… it was a wonderful experience.”

Pilot and 437 Squadron Commander David Adamson negotiated the purchase of the Boeing 707 which came into service with the air force in 1970 and completely replaced the Yukon the following year. Adamson found the Yukon to be “a bit of a challenge to fly”. He admitted to me that he was always happy to get back on the ground but is very proud of the aircraft's safety record. No Yukon was ever involved in any serious accident.

___

James Lynch sums up his feelings on the Yukon: “The aircraft was definitely a well designed aircraft. It was a very, very nice aircraft to fly. It really was a beautiful aircraft."

The Yukon and its implementation was a memorable chapter in Canadian aviation, certainly Canadian military aviation. It was an aircraft developed and flown to fulfill a requirement laid out by our armed forces and it performed admirably — as several people in this article have noted.  Unfortunately, because so few units were produced, coupled with the fact that Canadians seem to have a hard time 'caring' about most of what we do, especially regarding our military and the many successful and historically relevant exploits therein, this aircraft is destined to be all but forgotten by all but the most die hard enthusiasts. 

For those of us who had the pleasure or honour of flying on her as either flight crew or passenger, it was a memorable chapter. To me, the Yukon was a beautiful aircraft.

***

As I stated at the beginning of the piece, I interviewed many people involved with the CC-106 Yukon. They are:

Jack O. Maitland, Pilot and 437 Squadron Commander (Telephone)
David R. Adamson, Pilot and 437 Squadron Commander (Telephone)
Bill Cars, Pilot, Major Ret'd (In person, and Telephone)
James Lynch, Pilot (In Person)
Doug Scott, Pilot, Captain Ret'd (In Person)
Paul Aubin, Pilot, Major Ret'd (In Person)
Larry Byrne, Pilot (Telephone)
Bernie “Shorty” Hazelton, Flight Engineer, Chief WO Ret'd (In Person)
Geoff Brogden, Flight Engineer, Ret'd (In Person)
Bob Burke, Navigator, Captain Ret'd (In Person, and Telephone)
Don Bengert, Navigator, Major Ret'd (In Person)
Phyliss Sproul Gravelle, Flight Attendant, Master Corporal Ret'd (In Person)
Georgina “Andy” Andreanopolis, Flight Attendant, WO Ret'd (In Person)

Interview: 'Yukon' and Airline Pilot Larry Byrne

Canadair CC-106 "Yukon" transport aircraft of the RCAF.

As I've mentioned on this website before, my father was a career serviceman in the RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force) and, from 1968, after "Unification" had taken place, the Canadian Armed Forces. As a "dependent", or "brat", I was whisked about when I was growing up: RCAF Station St. Hubert, Quebec; RCAF Station Greenwood, Nova Scotia; RCAF Station (called "Canadian Forces Base" after 1968) Baden-Soellingen, West Germany; and finally, CFB Borden, Ontario.

In the summer of 1966, which I remember very well, too well, my next door neighbour, and best friend, told me with great enthusiasm, "We're going to Winnipeg!". He was bloody excited! I remember feeling a little down, partially because I'd be losing a good friend. I needn't have worried; days or weeks later my dad came home from work with the news that we were going to West Germany. That was exciting news for me. Bloody exciting! Not long after that, in October, I boarded a "Yukon" (or "Yuke") at RCAF Station Trenton for what would be a thirteen hour flight to RCAF Station Lahr, West Germany — which is where 437 Transport Squadron flew to in order to deliver service people and their families.

(I should note that not all former brats have fond memories of being the offspring of a military father — and/or mother — who was frequently "posted" to another location. In my time this would happen every four years or so. It has been said that it's stressful to move around constantly in your childhood, but I never had a problem with that; it was an exciting time. After all, being a brat was the only life I knew. Also, you tended to follow each other around. One guy I remember, Mike White, I knew in West Germany and was eventually re-teamed with him back in Ontario.)

Let's time travel forward to the summer of 2005: While enjoying a beer on a patio here in Toronto I was sideswiped by a flood of memories, helped no doubt by the alcohol, of the Canadair CC-106 Yukon. To make a long story short here I ended up researching and writing a piece on the Yuke and its crews. (I will post a sample piece tomorrow.)

One person I interviewed, in this case via telephone, was former Yukon pilot Larry Byrne. He was very pleasant and generous in recounting his memories of his time flying with the RCAF, and with American Airlines.


Simon St. Laurent: When did you join the [RCAF] and when did you start flying Yukons?

Larry Byrne: I joined the service in the summer of '52 and I commenced flying Yukons on January the 4^th, of ’62. It was ten years later.

SS: Were you a captain?

LB: Well, everyone starts out as a first officer, so when I started flying the Yukon, of course, I went to the OTU [Operational Training Unit]. As I remember, I think we were Course-1 on the Yukon. There were other people who had gone to the company and got, had their training and those were the guys who instructed us. You used to go through the OTU and then you’d fly as a first officer until your turn comes up for captain. And then you’d go back to the school again and go through with the tests, etc., and a check ride, and you’re flying as captain.

SS: Did you like flying the aircraft? Was it a pleasure to fly or was it a handful?

LB: Oh no, I enjoyed the airplane very much. It was a unique airplane at the time and I certainly enjoyed it. I can’t speak for other people but I liked the airplane a lot.

SS: Based on the Bristol Britannia, of course. New engines.

LB: We used to start out… it was interesting because, when we fly across the Atlantic at that time, about the only aircraft flying across the Atlantic were mostly pistons, and they were at lower altitude. We’d start out of Trenton at about seventeen to eighteen thousand feet, something like that, and then we could get a cruise climb that, there was so little traffic, we could actually get. You couldn’t do it today. But we used to get a cruise climb and we’d wind up over Europe at, you know, thirty-one/thirty-two thousand feet.

SS: The Britannia was a revolutionary aircraft in that way having turbines but it was just a little late as they say because the jets were right around the corner.

LB: That’s right, the same thing, of course, applied to the Yukon. The jets were coming and then, but at the time it was a very unique airplane.

SS: How did you feel about Canada adopting the Yukon and not going with the [Boeing] 707, which was actually the transport version, was actually coming out on the market or had been. Did you feel that was a good decision or you don’t really care? You just....

LB: Ah, frankly, no, I don’t care. I mean I flew the 707 when I got with American Airlines. Fine airplane… several different models of it. And, like I said, it was a fine airplane but at the time I never thought about Canada even considering buying the jet instead of the Yukon. After all, the Yukon was Canadian built too, you know.

SS: Yeah, it was built apparently, as I found out, because it was a bit of a work program because there was lack of work [at Canadair], and the government thought, 'okay, well we’ll just make an aircraft'. So that’s how the Yukon came to be and, of course, the commercial version; the CL-44. Of course, that’s not a concern of yours.

LB: Like I said, from my viewpoint that would have something to do with whether what airplane we should buy. If you got an airplane that'll do the job and it's built in Canada then I would say that’s the one were gonna buy.

SS: One concern that I know that David Adamson had. He was responsible because he was the squadron commander, wasn’t he? He was concerned about just the compatibility, because he said the problem with the Yukon, for instance, if it flew to some weird destination [and there was a need for a new or replacement part] there was not a commonality in parts.

LB: No, that is true. You were kinda stuck in a way because there just weren’t any around. I had an incident in Cyprus one time when we blew a couple of tires, and we wound up… they flew us in from an airbase on the south end, side of the island. They actually flew us in a couple of Britannia tires, which were too light for our airplane, but we put ’em on and they said that they would be good for a couple of landings. And all we had to do is get back to [RCAF Station] Marville [France], where we had tires of our own. As an instance, you know it was a problem if you got stuck some place in the boonies, you were stuck.

SS: Exactly, where obviously with the jets there was a little more commonality because more and more….

LB: You see there weren’t a lot of jets flying around at that time. I mean, the airplane was a little ahead of that, at least if my memory serves me right. The jets didn’t come along till after, or later. Let me put it another way... later on.

SS: We’ll talk in more positive terms, one thing I understand is pilots I’ve talked to are just amazed at the almost squeaky clean record the machine had for just serviceability and everything and, of course, no lives being lost and….

LB: No, and it was amazingly reliable. If I had anything that I didn’t like about the airplane was the fact that we had a heater in the tail and there was something that bothered me all the time about lighting a fire back in your tail (laughs).

SS: Was it an APU [Auxiliary Power Unit] or something?

LB: No it was a heater for deicing the empennage [tail] at the back, and like I said it always made me kinda nervous (laughs).

SS: But so you’re the same you never had any scares at twenty/thirty thousand feet or anything?

LB: No. No, I had nothing. I’ll tell you, Simon, I’ve been blessed in all my flying, [in] all my forty odd years I never had anything… really… serious.

SS: That’s great to hear.

LB: Some of my friends, my best friends and they’re very, very good pilots. Geez, every time they turn around it seemed to me they were losing an engine (laughs), or something was going wrong (laughs), but I was just very well, I was just absolutely blessed.

SS: So let me understand, Larry, when you left the RCAF, and as you said in an e-mail, they were polishing a desk for you.

LB: Yeah, that’s what was gonna happen.

SS: At what phase did you finish your tour with Yukons?

LB: Well I had already finished my tour on the squadron, I was then transferred to the OTU and I was instructing on the Yukon, and I guess I could look and get you the exact dates if that’s necessary but I… as I remember I spent around a year, maybe a year and a half, at the OTU and then my transfer was coming through. They told me that I was going to Ottawa to 'Personnel', and I just didn’t want to do it.

SS: You know if I flew myself, no way.

LB: Well, you know, if I thought that I was going to become a general or a staff officer or something… of some importance it would have been different, but I was a flight lieutenant and I was obviously, to my mind, was not going anywhere. And so some personal things entered into it and I decided I was going to kick over the traces as it were and I applied to several of the airlines and American called me and said 'come on down', and it was a good move for me.

SS: Now, of course, if you had have stayed with the [RCAF] at that point — the conversion over to 707s — that actually hadn’t happened with you. So when you went to American Airlines, they trained you on 707s?

LB: Oh, yeah. Well I started out on the Electra.

SS: The Lockheed Electra?

LB: Yeah, everybody starts at the bottom, and so you go in and I went to school and I became an engineer on the Electra. And I flew that for six or eight months and then I went to first officer school on the BAC111, and flew the BAC, and then I flew the 727, and then I flew the 707, and I flew the 747, and the DC-10.

SS: What did you think about the DC-10?

LB: Oh I loved the DC-10, it was a nice airplane.

SS: I’m old enough to remember the big accidents there.

LB: Oh yeah. Well, you know, in fact the aircraft... the first officer on that trip in Chicago when the engine came off, he was a classmate of mine. So, [I flew on the DC-10 for a] long time as a first officer. At the airlines you move with a very strict seniority system, and when I finished the DC-10 I went to captains' school on the 727. And then I flew out of the left seat in the 727, and then the 767, and then I wound up on the [Airbus] A300 – 600 model, the two man airplane. And that’s what I retired on.

SS: So when did you retire, Larry?

LB: Let’s see, in ah, July. I left a little bit early because the stock market was up, so July ’92. Thirteen years. With the airlines, of course, you might well know that when you’re sixty they throw you out and that’s it. But I didn’t have to go until October, till my birthday, but , you know, circumstances in the stock market, and my retirement was based on some of it was based on the stock market. So I decided to jump out ahead of time, and you’d take a small penalty but that’s all. And that’s when I left. And then I bought myself a Cessna 310 and I flew it for four or five years and I finally sold it a few years ago.

SS: So, do you fly recreationally at all?

LB: Yeah, my wife and I flew the 310 back and forth across the country [the USA] a couple of times, if guess. It was kinda fun flying around.

Toronto People Have a Certain Attitude

Out of stamps! Shoppers Drug Mart is still open; it has a Canada Post outlet.

Good. Just one lady ahead of me. And one person at each of the two 'wickets'. Line up. I'll be through in no time at all.

I had failed to notice that each of those two people had bags of parcels to mail. No rush. No panic.

After the woman immediately in front of me was called, the queue hardly contracted. About six or seven people had stacked behind me by that point. They entertained themselves with their smartphones. (How did we entertain ourselves during transit or waiting in line before those electronic devices came along?)

I had been stationed at the "next" position for about ten minutes when a middle-aged Asian gentleman in the process of being served turned to me and asked: "Do you want to go through?"

"No problem, sir. I'm in no rush at all."

About another ten minutes passed with me getting no closer to my postage stamp. Just one person from the lineup had ejected by that point. The rest stayed and waited patiently.

The Asian gent turned to me again and asked if I was sure I did not want to sneak in. I was fine with waiting. With a wide sweep of his eyes he addressed the whole lineup and said: "If this was Hong Kong everybody would be yelling at me."

Athot for the Day: Robotics

Recent advancements in technology have produced many wonderful toys, the most practical of which, at least for many in this increasingly disconnected world, might be the "Electric Monk Mk II": It does their thinking for them, so they don't have to.

Soviet Film Director Sergei Eisenstein

Sergei Eisenstein lived from 1898 to 1948 but in his relatively-short career built a significant body of work, including the feature-length films: Strike (1925); Battleship Potemkin (1925); October (1928); Alexander Nevsky (1938); and Ivan the Terrible (1944).

I've seen all of the above except for Strike. Eisenstein's pictures were wide-screen though they weren't wide-screen, epic in scope, passionate, and always about people. Emotion was always present, whether the themes were about fighting for individuals' rights or battling in defence of the beautiful motherland.

Back in 1988 or 1989 I attended a screening of Battleship Potemkin at the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM) here in Toronto. I had seen the film before, but like many a great film, it revealed something new. The famous "Odessa Steps" sequence, famous for its staging and editing, and emotive power, hit me with great force. The picture was moving. I realized I was watery-eyed. Violence shown as being exactly what it is. Senseless.

Although a 'silent' film, of course there was a music score. It was not the original Edmund Meisel score (quite probably the version with a compilation of Dmitri Shostakovich material) but the sequence's power was heightened nonetheless.

Which reminds me.

In November of 1989 the Toronto Symphony Orchestra played a couple of special performances: As Alexander Nevsky rolled in Roy Thomson Hall its score was played live-to-picture. A 'sound' film, Nevsky had been designed by Eisenstein in a such way as to avoid having music tracks playing under dialogue, which meant that in this live concert hall presentation the orchestra could light up between dialogue sequences. Director Eisenstein worked with composer Sergei Prokofiev to make cinematic magic — the melding of music and image, each serving the other. This score is, in my opinion, the greatest of all film scores. The absolute peak.

The presentation that day was magnificent. A showcase of how image and music fused as one becomes another art.

I should sit down and watch Strike.

Sunday Fun: In This Time of 'Donald Trump'

A few years ago, when I was a technical director at a film festival here in Toronto, I befriended a filmmaker from Manhattan. He, a rather pleasant chap, invited me out for a beer at a local pub — the now gone, but one and only, Betty's.

A discussion about films and festivals was to be expected. One thing brought up by the native New Yorker was the difference between Torontonians and his city-mates:

"You're nicer."

My response was along the lines of: "Really?"

"Yeah, you're... softer."

Later, I  told a few of my buddies what I had heard, and they too were a little surprised:

"No."

"Yes." A visitor to this great city made an observation. That's all.

I'm not a native Torontonian — my father was in the Canadian military (the RCAF part) for decades, which, in my case, meant I moved three times before I hit my teens — but I've lived here for many years and I've noticed that even Torontonians are, most of the time, Canadians.

Re: The Budget Will Balance Itself, Mark Carney, Cons

With Justin Trudeau stepping down in January as leader of the Liberal Party of Canada, and with that party picking a new leader, and therefore a new prime minister, I thought it was time to give a particular piece of mine from 2019 a final post.

Before I do that, however, I must note that Conservatives here are now freaking out over Prime Minister Mark Carney. It's rather surprising given the fact that the former Governor to both the Bank of Canada and the Bank of England made it known, before he was even voted-in as new LPC leader, that he was going to eliminate or dial back the infamous Carbon Tax. Conservatives are still upset, which is odd given the fact that Mr Carney officially put the special and "dividing" tax officially on hold yesterday. The leader of the Conservative Party of Canada, Pierre Poilievre, rattled and steamed incessantly with his mindless cackles of "Axe the Tax". He has now been effectively neutralized by Mark Carney's initiative. Nevertheless, Cons like to freak out — it gives them something to do, I suppose. (They think that Mark Carney was "installed". How silly and sloppy of me for forgetting that... "fact".) How do they even get through the day? Oh well, perhaps it's a vital and much-needed discussion for another day.

Here's the vital and evergreen piece in question that I posted on October 6, 2019....

... The Budget Will Balance Itself - The Partial Quote

Canadian prime minister Justin Trudeau gets some people going. A frequent attack on the PM is the very selective extraction of a certain quote by him; a line from a greater idea. This method is commonly referred to as "quote mining". (Out of context.)

In fact, Mr Trudeau was speaking about the Stephen Harper government's inability to present a strategy to stimulate economic growth. Economists disagree with one another to various degrees on how much such growth leads down the line to less government expenditures. The theory is that increased government revenues through taxation rolls ultimately to a decreased demand for outlays to departments such as employment insurance and welfare. Part of the PM's platform was to support infrastructure building, which hopefully would get the ball rolling and help lead to the above.

The original quote:

"The commitment needs to be a commitment to grow the economy and the budget will balance itself."

In its proper context the idea doesn't sound so harebrained.

An Admission 55 Years Later — Football or Fußball?

Something has been bugging me lately: a 'something' that revisits me every few years. And it's back and badder than ever. Lately I've been prone to tossing and turning at two or three o'clock in the morning, unable to sleep, because I did a certain "bad" almost fifty-five years ago.

In June of 1970 my family and I were visiting relatives in Bristol, UK; that month the 1970 FIFA World Cup was being held in Mexico. On the 14th of June, England matched with West Germany as part of the quarter-finals round and I watched this contest on television, live and in colour, with my British cousins. (This was just the year after the Beeb switched to colour broadcasting).

All is fine in my admissions thus far.

The problems start now: I was rooting for West Germany. Needless to say, appreciating the Brits' pride for their national football team, I kept my cheers a private matter. Even at such a young age I was hyper-aware that in the interest of self preservation it would be prudent of me to keep any elation to myself: I was contained in a room with British supporters; off-side behaviour of any colour could be bloody dangerous!

West Germany went on to win the match by a score of 3-2 and I was a happy young man.

Shortly after returning to West Germany, a German might have asked me: "Schadenfreude?"

"Me? No. For a reason of which I am not aware, known only to the recesses of my still-developing brain, I chose to support the Germans."

"Du bist ein guter Deutscher."

Perhaps.

Knowing the English football fans' predilection for being unwilling or unable to let certain histories "go", and having more than a few British relatives of my own, I decided to withhold this sensitive bit from my past. Only now am I able to come to terms with my Yellow Card.

I doubt they'll ever stumble upon this posting....

Notes from a Brat: The Military Base Boot

An important element of growing up a military brat is getting to understand a sense of community. Though I lived in a German town, two actually, for a few years, my other 'postings' had me a denizen of Canadian military bases: RCAF Station St. Hubert; CFB Greenwood; CFB Borden. With my family I lived in PMQs (Private Married Quarters). My school chums and friends and I were all "dependents" (offspring of fathers and/or mothers in the armed services). In a sense, we were of similar blood, and disciplined behaviour was expected of the offspring — one would think.

We lived in a protected community, of sorts. Admittance to the base was for authorized personnel only. An exception to this was for "Armed Forces Day", where the general public was allowed to visit the airfield to take in displays of various military flying machines and support equipment; certainly for Greenwood, as it was an air force base.

We "protected" kids lived a pretty charmed existence; lots of athletic fields and tennis courts; cheap movie theatres; ice rinks; swimming pools (don't mention "The Bardia"!); and, certainly in the case of Borden, wonderful woods, and an awesome "dune" sea (I wonder if that water can I buried is still there).

So, why would fellow brats jeopardize this standing by causing more trouble than what is usually expected, and tolerated, from young people? These kids would always get into trouble, and would be known to the base's MPs (Military Police), not to mention the population as a whole. Set one fire too many, smash too many windows, or mimic your favourite film or television JD, and your family's right to live on the base might be reviewed and re-evaluated.

It happened. And we were not surprised.

"The _____s got kicked off the base!"

We kids and teens would look down on this family. To us it was the ultimate brat humiliation as the news was big news in the community. Of course, what getting ejected from PMQs really meant was that it was the parents who paid the price. Off-base housing was more expensive, and involved a potentially long commute to work. For young Jim or Jane, it meant having to possibly make a lot of new friends in the dreaded and looked down upon civilian world. (The humiliation!)

When I lived in the German towns I made a point to behave myself. I'm guessing my father issued me at that time, no doubt while laughing, some sage advice: "Whatever you do, don't get into trouble with the Polizei."

This then denizen of Der Schwarzwald was a 'good' kid.

Humour: The Creative Writing Class

When I was going to high school, many and still-classified years ago, there was a push afoot to open up the curriculum and introduce programs not just "three Rs". One I took was Mr. Kelly's terrific "Creative Writing" class. It was a challenging but comfortable affair which nurtured the writing soul in me, and the souls of my fellow future Flauberts. ("Floberts? Doesn't he play for the Leafs? If he does he can't be very good.")

At the end of the year Mr. Kelly organized an "Academy Awards" for best writing in various categories. Over the course of a week or so we were to go through our classmates' writing files, which were open for all to see and review, and then make nomination lists. Mr. Kelly showed us an example of the trophy itself, a modified liqueur bottle. ("I want that bottle.")

One day I could hear a group of huddled students laughing and whispering. "This is so funny! He's hilarious!" Once I overheard this I sniffed with a terse "He can't be that funny!", and went back to my own writing, looking for just the right word.

Days later was Awards Day.

The air was tense with multiple categories.

"The Award for Best Male Humourist goes to... Simon!"

"Who, me?!" (Of course.)

I walked rather self-unconsciously to the front of the class to accept the award. I had been building, cultivating, a reputation for being 'out there', so I thought that since my fellow award winners thus far were self-consciously accepting their well-deserved trophies but not saying anything outside and above of "thanks", I should put my own spin on the festivities:

Once the prize was securely in my hands, I said, half-seriously, but with the utmost in modesty: "I have no one to thank. It was just me."

The class laughed, so too did Mr. Kelly, and immediately I thought, with newfound confidence, "Gee, I guess I'm not just funny looking".

It was a good class; a good bunch; good times.

Postscript: "As a comic, in all seriousness", as Bobby Bittman was prone to say: Brian Kelly was one of the outstanding teachers in my years of schooling.

CD: Lost in Space — Volume One (Williams)

Lost in Space

- Original Television Soundtrack -

Volume One

Music by

John Williams

GNP/Crescendo

1996

***

In early 1996, GNP/Crescendo Records released a six-CD set of music from producer Irwin Allen's 1960s telefantasy shows. Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1964 - 1968, ABC); Lost in Space (1965 - 1968, CBS); The Time Tunnel (1966 - 1967, ABC); Land of the Giants (1968 - 1970, ABC). In the set were two discs for Space.

At any rate, with the exception of some Voyage, the Irwin Allen shows were pretty terrible: fine, even great, when we were children, but at best we look now at them with a mix of nostalgia and "when I was a kid I thought this show was great".

Lost in Space — Volume One features the work of the one and only, John Williams.

Not long after the already-experienced dramatic television composer had been freed from his contract with Revue Studios, producer Irwin Allen signed him to score Lost in Space.

Williams is represented on this disc by his scores for the episodes "The Reluctant Stowaway" (the series premiere), "Island in the Sky", and "The Hungry Sea". All three are of similar sparkling and brooding colours, with a number of key themes: a musical platform for the Space Family Robinson and their interstellar adventures to come. (I dig those repeating three notes. Classic!)

End titles: John Williams' first LIS theme is surely one of the most unique television series theme tunes of all time and space.

Postscript: Back in the day, the composer went by the name of "Johnny" Williams, which is how his name appeared in Space's credits. However, for the release of this CD, "John" was it for reasons not lost on the reader.

CD: Lost in Space — Volume Two (Courage, Mullendore, Williams)

Lost in Space

- Original Television Soundtrack -

Volume Two

Music by

Alexander Courage, Joseph Mullendore, John Williams

GNP/Crescendo Records

1996

***

In early 1996 GNP/Crescendo Records released a six-CD set of music from producer Irwin Allen's 1960s telefantasy shows. Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1964 - 1968, ABC); Lost in Space (1965 - 1968, CBS); The Time Tunnel (1966 - 1967, ABC); Land of the Giants (1968 - 1970, ABC). In the set were two discs for Space.

At any rate, with the exception of some Voyage, the Irwin Allen shows were pretty terrible: fine, even great, when we were children, but at best we look now at them with a mix of nostalgia and "when I was a kid I thought this show was great".

Lost in Space — Disc Two features the work of Alexander Courage, Joseph Mullendore, and, of course, John Williams.

Courage is represented by two scores, for the episodes "Wild Adventure" and "The Great Vegetable Rebellion". The composer shows his range: from a floating waltz in a wild adventure with a green woman, to playful whimsy in fields of Debussian green. (I love that harpsichord.)

Mullendore's fitting and charming musical accompaniment for "The Haunted Lighthouse" features a memorable theme projected and developed from a piccolo to a tuba, with lush strings in between.

Two of these episodes ("The Haunted Lighthouse" and "The Great Vegetable Rebellion") are framed by a new Williams Lost in Space theme tune, one that hoped to frame tales of exciting adventures in the show's third and final season. (The Jupiter 2 spaceship was no longer committed to sit on just one planet for an entire season — banished by a low budget.) Unfortunately, Williams' new stab at a signature tune resulted in a piece that was undoubtedly driven high, but lacked the special uniqueness of his original theme ― a theme that did become removed from the campy, and ridiculous, television program that Lost in Space eventually became.

Postscript: Back in the day, the composer went by the name of "Johnny" Williams, which is how his name appeared in Space's credits. However, for the release of this CD, "John" was it for reasons not lost on the reader.

CD: Lost in Space — Volume Three (Salter, Stein, LaSalle, Williams)

Lost in Space

- Original Television Soundtrack -

Volume Three

Music by

Hans J. Salter, Herman Stein, Richard LaSalle, John Williams

GNP/Crescendo Records

2000

***

I'd forgotten I had this CD, probably because I grabbed it when the disc was released in 2000, then filed it away, somehow burying it in the process. Four years earlier, record company GNP/Crescendo released a 6-CD set titled "The Worlds of Irwin Allen", a fine sampling of scores from Allen's 1960s SF-fantasy television programs: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1964 - 1968, ABC); Lost in Space (1965 - 1968, CBS); The Time Tunnel (1966 - 1967, ABC); Land of the Giants (1968 - 1970, ABC). In the set were two discs for Space. The featured CD here was a follow-up volume, due, apparently, to the fact that the boxed set sold above expectations.

At any rate, with the exception of some Voyage, the Irwin Allen shows were pretty terrible: fine, even great, when we were children, but at best we look now at them with a mix of nostalgia and "when I was a kid I thought this show was great".

Lost in Space — Volume Three features the work of Hans J. Salter, Herman Stein, and Richard LaSalle, all of whom shared scoring responsibilities on the episode, "The Derelict". The special team wrote music to enhance the episode's strange and eerie alien environment. Special mention must be made of Stein's affecting "Family" theme.

Maestro Williams' score for "My Friend, Mr. Nobody" is a beauty, perfectly complementing the sweet story of Penny Robinson and her special friend.

Postscript: Back in the day, the composer went by the name of "Johnny" Williams, which is how his name appeared in Space's credits. However, for the release of this CD, "John" was it for reasons not lost on the reader.

A Story: The Dyte Hall Gang Strikes Out!

It's easier to come clean when fifty years have passed:

Dyte Hall was our local hockey rink when my family lived at CFB Borden. Along with Andy Anderson Arena, the Hall, a large brown-brick-faced structure, one which may or may not have been a purpose-built building, was the place where my ice hockey career began and ended. It was there where I scored my few goals and let in more than a few goals (my team was a bad one). On weekends I would often saunter over and catch whatever ice hockey action was on tap; at times my favourite sport was not on the schedule ("Broomball? No!").

One of my strongest memories of the hall, besides Nancy Getty blowing a puck by me as we attempted to thwart a girls' team, is of schoolmate Mike Walker skating across the ice between the face off circles in front of my goal and delivering one of his wicked slap shots: I caught the puck in the fore of my right arm, right at the joint, effectively doing my job; unfortunately, the disc of smokin' vulcanized rubber struck the seam in my protective equipment, rendering my catcher's mitt useless as it dangled beneath my now powerless arm. ("Systems Failure!") However, by shifting my hips I could get some life out of the glove. Thankfully the power loss lasted just a few seconds. A most memorable Sunday afternoon.

The most powerful memory for me of Dyte Hall did not happen on the ice:

The Base Borden Minor Hockey Association held a fundraiser one lovely weekend; one could buy a series pass in order to take in all the games, or single tickets. Since one of my friends had a pass, I decided there was an effective way to maximize its potential. My friends and I gathered in front of Dyte Hall and I, on the spot, hatched a plan:

"Okay, guys, this is what we'll do.... (inaudible)."

Fade to black.

As 'author' I initiated the devious cycle. With pass in hand I somewhat apprehensively and self consciously approached the ticket table. There was no problem in executing my plan; the pleasant ladies smiled and said "thank you". Once safely through the checkpoint I made for the mens' room and passed the pass through the opened window to one of my waiting buddies outside.

Repeat once, then:

Norman was next in line; as per the by now perfected routine he entered the special transfer room and proceeded to hand off the pass. Guess who decided to relieve himself at that moment....you guessed it: Norm's dad! A man born and bred in England could only say one thing after quickly figuring out what sneaky and reprehensible act played out before him:

(Something like) "You little bastard."

Needless to say I "heard" about it all afterwards, and Norm, being the son of a Brit in the Canadian Armed Forces, no doubt "got it" afterwards.

You must not forget, dear reader, that although the punchline did not involve me directly, I was the little fellow who drew up the heinous plan. To borrow a term from Leave it to Beaver's Wally Cleaver, I was the "little creep".