MOST PEOPLE now concede that the right to strike is a basic human right, essential to the spirit and practice of democracy. The right to strike is no more and no less than the right of any man to refuse to work under conditions which do not suit him; to use the demand for his services to drive a better bargain for his services.
FRED BODSWORTH has been in this office and this magazine so frequently during the past four years that we have almost come to regard him not as a regular contributor but a member of the staff. With this issue he moves right in as a staff writer.
A WINTER sun is shining sharply on a snowless Park Avenue, which is exactly sixteen stories below this apartment in which I am writing. From my lofty pinnacle I can see the skyscrapers standing sentinel against the encroachment of the river which is gleaming like slightly tarnished silver.
WHEN the British Columbia Government blew up last month it marked the end of an experiment in Canadian politics. It’s an experiment sometimes urged upon Ottawa— coalition of the “free enterprise” parties against socialism. But last month, after eleven years, the B. C. coalition arranged its own suicide when Premier Byron Johnson fired Herbert Anscomb, Finance Minister and Progressive Conservative leader, for flouting the cabinet.
Canadian scientists have turned the deadly atom into a dynamic healer. Three hundred times more powerful than radium and six thousand times cheaper, radioactive cobalt looks like our best bet yet in the war against cancer. And only Canada is equipped to produce it
WORKMEN still swarmed over the new Saskatoon hospital being literally built around a small thick-walled room when nurse Dorothy Hayes ushered in a sixty-one-year-old man. Dr. Sandy Watson motioned him to lie face down on the couch in the middle of the room, then adjusted his position with careful precision.
Fed-up with being accused of hiking meat prices to pay for a penthouse in Miami this butcher lays the facts on the block and makes mincemeat of some of his complaining customers
WHEN I was five I got out my little red wagon and delivered a parcel of meat for my grandfather, an Old Country butcher who had come to Canada in 1908 and opened a meat store in Peterborough, Ont. I knocked at a door and said to a little old lady: “My Grandpa said fifty-seven cents, please.”
Conclusion ON THE NIGHT of March 29, 1885, the sleeping citizens of Toronto and other Eastern towns and cities were awakened by the shrill high bugle call of assembly announcing that out in the Saskatchewan north, which they knew only as a land of buffalo, Indians, halfbreeds.
The frail and lovely lady novelist intercepted a right to the jaw, but the way it worked out a sardonic critic called O'Connel took the full force of it
RONALD R. SMITH
I OPENED my door. Victoria, Philippa Clarges’ maid, stood on the step. She handed me this note: “Robert, it is essential, vital that I see you. I need your sympathy, advice, counsel. Philippa Clarges.” It was characteristic Clarges—the style of the summons and the shunning of the mundane telephone.
For five years Canada stalled on immigration and lost thousands of desirable citizens to Australia. Now our gates are open but our most adaptable settler, the British family man, finds it hardest to get in
HISTORIANS may look back at 1951 as one of the great turning-point years of Canada’s history. After five postwar years of halfheartedly humming and hawing over immigration Canada last year finally embarked on a forthright policy that looks at last like a genuine attempt to make up for lost time.
As soon as he moved to the country Bob was surrounded, and for years now he’s been battling little enemies that fly, creep and sometimes defeat him by just going “squeek” at three in the morning
ROBERT THOMAS ALLEN
MOST THINGS in this life, I’ve found, never turn out quite the way you expect. When I was seventeen, dreaming of someday becoming a free-lance writer and being able to live where I pleased, I always pictured myself with one foot on a rail fence, chewing a piece of timothy and looking into the sunset or sitting in a leafy glen, or in the shelter of a sand dune, with my writing pad on my knee, looking a bit like a picture I’d once seen of John Galsworthy.
New Brunswick’s capital is the kind of place a man can fall in love with at first sight. And very soon h’s eating fiddleheads, angling for salmon in the St. John, or even writing verses and stopping to chat with Lord Beaverhrook
FREDERICTON, New Brunswick’s odd and exciting little capital, has the elegance and grace of a scholarly old aristocrat but the earthy humor and horse sense of a robust young farmer. Sitting under tall elms on the banks of the St. John River, it shows its split personality at every turn.
How would you like to always find a parking space when you want it, get an empty table in a restaurant and quick service in half-empty shops, enjoy first-class holidays at third-rate prices? It’s all yours if you’ll take this advice for easier living
THERE IS at least one wise man in your town who has figured out how to avoid most of the hectic jam of modern life. He rides to work on a half-filled bus, shops in uncrowded stores, lunches in a quiet leisurely café, and when he drives the family downtown there is never a traffic jam and always a parking space.
THE world is too much with most of us, hut, usually, we take on the chin whatever comes and do nothing about it— except maybe grow an ulcer or two or yell at the kids. It's somehow comforting to realize that there are a few individual souls who, pushed beyond measure by the machine age, have done something about it.
ANNE OF THE INDIES: Pirate queen Jean Peters and her scurvy swabs in an absurd buccaneer mellerdrammer, probably an acceptable attraction at Saturday matinees. The swashbuckling cast includes Louis Jourdan as a cryptic French gallant whose romantic attachments seem fairly devious to your correspondent.
Willie MeWhirtle was a writer of no little fame, Until, that is, he brought out a book of what he Thought was poetry, and all the critics worthy of The name, panned it, and said: “How could it be, When almost anyone can understand it?“ Now Willie had heen making lots of money rhyming June with moon, and the information that he was Less than a sensation as a hard, came hard, and Caused him to sink into a sort of gentlemanly swoon.
ST. STEPHEN, in New Brunswick, and Calais, in Maine, claim to be the world’s best examples of international friendship. The towns, on opposite banks of the St. Croix River, are linked by a bridge. When there is a fire on either side of the border the fire departments of both communities respond to the alarm.
Fire engines shrieking by Summon little boys from play. No one asks the reason why — Boys are simply made that way. When such incidents arise. Boys abandon bats and balls. Little girls, made otherwise. Go on playing with their dolls.
The Warrior Who Fights on From Paradise (Jan. 1), an article on the life and teachings of the Prophet Mahomet (Peace be upon him), has amused and intrigued most of the Muslims living in North America. The recent assassinations of Muslim leaders and the disputes over Iranian oil, occupation of the Suez Canal zone, and the French Morocco issue, have been attributed to the “imperialistic inspiration of Mahomet.”
The Morning After—You are as old as you feel before breakfast, says a medical authority. We would not have believed it possible for any human being to be that old.—Oshawa (Ont.) Times Gazette. Spectrum Saga—Life is certainly colorful. We are either trying to get out of the red or get rid of the blues.
ROUND about this time every year I find myself trapped in an easy chair looking at somebody’s vacation photographs. I wouldn’t mind if I could get my hands on the whole stack and go over them at my own pace, stopping to look at all the girls with nice legs and doing a double-shuffle when I come to rocks, buildings and uncles.
AN EDMONTON businessman lost six hundred dollars when his safe was blasted open and robbed. A few weeks later when he got a bill from a department store he found that the burglars had bought their safe-cracking tools there and charged them to him.