Tag Archives: Elvis Presley

So Many Disturbing Questions

From my grade two art book, in Mrs. Williams’s class at West Ward Public School in Orillia, circa 1957. Yes, I saved it.

It’s obviously Elvis Presley because it looks just like him. But I kinda spelled his name wrong.

There are questions.

Either the female fan has two pens for his autograph, or she’s preparing to stab him with nails. Was she really a fan, or was she something else?

Elvis is playing his guitar left-handed. Why? Was it a signal?

Although I can’t make out most of the words in the speech balloon because they were coloured over with red crayon, I think I can read ‘A cat’ at the top, and maybe ‘bot it’ at the bottom.

Why were the words coloured over? Curious.

Was ‘bot it’ code for ‘bought it, as in ‘killed’? Did Elvis already feel he was going to buy it? Was he on the KGB hit list and he knew it?

Did Krushchev’s wife have  an x-rated crush on Elvis, which might not have sat well with Nikita, thus escalating the Cold War?

Who was cat?

Was Elvis actually singing? Or was it a cry for help?

And what about Mrs. Williams? Did anybody REALLY know her?




I Think It’s Good Anyway

Once again, for your possible reading enjoyment, some drawings from my grade two exercise book done at West Ward Public School in Orillia, and which I’ve managed to hold on to all these years.

Yes, some of you have seen some of this before, but I’ve added more this time, so that’s good right?

And as another added bonus, I include a photo of West Ward school in the process of burning to the ground in 1968.

But first things first, my art from grade two, lots of it, and which includes some Habs, a portrait of my teacher Mrs. Williams, along with Elvis Presley, which I spelled ‘Elive Prisie’.

If all this isn’t enticing, I don’t know what is.





















West Ward



Cave Paintings

I’m taking a break today, unless something big happens, like maybe an end to the lockout, or Scott Gomez scores a goal at his nephew’s peewee house league scrimmage.

Today, I’m going to go for a big walk (I’ve lost 22 pounds in three months), and I might even stop in at the local pub and gain a couple back again.

For now, some artwork from when I was in grade two, including a Habs portrait which I’ve shown before, and which a guy at the Montreal Gazette said I should frame. And along with the Habs portrait, I’m also including two Elvis Presleys (Elive Prisie) and baseball great Jackie Robinson. I gave Robinson white skin in this, but I think in grade two there was no such difference as black or white skin. Maybe we should all think like second graders.

Habs Slay Sens

That’s what we need to see next season. A Habs team skating, scoring, and playing tough in the process. A big 5-1 Montreal win over the visiting Senators. A statement made for next fall.

Take that, Ottawa. You got your ass whipped.

Erik Cole set the wheels in motion, scoring the first three goals of the game, a natural hat trick, and he would later come close about six more times. Imagine if he had scored two or three more on all those chances? He’d probably be handed the keys to a Cadillac by some hockey-mad Montreal car dealer. Just a sterling performance by Mr. Cole and a well-deserved first star. (I recently read in my bathroom trivia book that Elvis Presley gave away more than 80 Cadillacs over the years).

And that wild and crazy PK Subban, skating like he was possessed, a whirling dervish, having the time of his life. That’s a kid on a river, playing with pure joy, never tiring. Taking the puck and swooping and swerving and going end to end and getting back quickly to do the job at the other end.

If only he’d hit the net sometimes with that big shot of his.

It was also a feisty affair, beginning with Brad Staubitz and Zenon Konopka flailing away, and it became a steady stream of nastiness, penalties, and players being sent to their rooms. Ryan White was in the middle of most things throughout, and it’s a breath of fresh air to see the Canadiens play a rough, tough type of hockey, not backing down from anyone, sticking up for teammates, and making life miserable for those who come up against them. Opposing players might start calling in sick with the Montreal flu.

When White returned from a lengthy injury and Staubitz was claimed from Minnesota in late February, the look of team was altered in a most profound way. The team went from small and non-threatening, to slightly bigger and a whole lot more threatening. One more tough and talented player and we’d go through the league and roll over teams like Hell’s Angels on a drunken Friday night in Palookaville.

It was fine night for Habs, one of their finest of the season. Something to make us excited about for next year.

Random Notes:

Shots on goal – Ottawa 38, Habs 32. Carey Price was solid in nets.

Even though we don’t really want the points, it’s kind of fun to play spoiler. And if Ottawa isn’t careful they could find themselves out of the playoffs. They don’t have a spot locked up and Washington could overtake them and Buffalo could catch them.

Next Up – Saturday night when the Canadiens visit the Flyers in Philadelphia. I hope Montreal saved some of that toughness for those Philly bastards.

Reporting Live From The Press Box, Just Over From Foster And Bill

Tom at the Ryan Coke Experience suggested I do this and I thought about it and decided it might be fun. He said I should watch games from the Montreal Canadiens Memorable Games 10 DVD set, and report on them like they were live and had just happened.

So, live, from the press box in 1960, the game.



It’s a hustling, bustling night for scalpers outside the cathedral on Carleton Street as hockey fans, sensing history could be made, scramble to find a ticket to get in the door. And it seems that price is no issue as reports have come in that some are paying upwards of forty bucks for a seat, even high up in the greys, where it seems you’re watching from outer space.

And why are fans so anxious to witness game four of the Habs-Leafs clash tonight at the Gardens? Because the juggernaut which is the Montreal Canadiens, with four consecutive Stanley Cups already notched, are poised to win another, and fans feel it’ll be tonight. So the air is thick with excitement and anticipation, mixed with the feeling of resignation. Leaf fans know a home-team win might be asking too much.

And no wonder. The Canadiens rolled over the Chicago Black Hawks four straight in a lightening-fast semi final, and have won the first three against the Leafs in this final. It seems that this is a team that isn’t going to be stopped anytime soon. And they’re doing it with the aging and less-than-healthy Maurice Richard, who many feel will retire after this campaign.

My seat in the press box is just to the right of the Gondola, and I can see the father and son team of Foster and Bill Hewitt, poring over their notes and adjusting their microphones. Bill is the play-by-play man now, with Foster only adding colour, and although I can’t hear what they’re saying, I still glance from time to time to see their reaction to the game below. Foster was good, Bill’s even better, but neither of them can compare to Danny Gallivan in Montreal. But there’s no doubt, Foster Hewitt has seen a lot of hockey in his day. And down below, 14,000 fans sit and eat popcorn and read the Canadiens lineup in their programs, and yes indeed, know what is probably coming.

If the first period is any indication, Lord Stanley’s mug will certainly be hoisted tonight. The Canadiens are playing like they can taste it, and at the 8:16 mark, big Jean Beliveau, who’s proved time and again that he’s the heir apparent to the great Rocket, scores on a long shot that Toronto goalie Johnny Bower probably didn’t see. If he saw it, he would have stopped it, I’m sure. And then, just 27 seconds later, Habs defenceman Doug Harvey finds the twine in similiar fashion, with a long shot that also evades Bower.

Doug Harvey is in a league by himself when it comes to blueliners. He controls the game, as he is tonight, making those perfect passes, blocking shots in front of goalie Jacques Plante, and thumping when thumping is called for. There’s no defenceman in the world right now like Harvey, and it makes you wonder if somewhere out there, in some small Canadian town, a young guy may be learning his trade and will take over the crown which Harvey holds now. It’ll be interesting to see if anyone can become as good as Harvey.

Leafs’ coach and taskmaster George “Punch” Imlach must have had a lot to say to his team during the first intermission, because the boys in blue have come out in the second with more enthusiasm, more drive, hitting the post, storming Plante, but to no avail, and now, late in the period, Henri Richard, on a nice set-up from big brother Maurice, puts Les Habitants up 3-0, and certainly the partisan crowd knows now that the team in white, a powerhouse full of future Hall-Of-Famers, will be winning their fifth Stanley Cup on this night.

It’s just a matter of getting the third period over with. Beliveau, who I’m predicting will some day be captain of this great team, scores at 1:21 to make it four-nothing, and I know that somewhere in the depths of Maple Leaf Gardens, the Stanley Cup is being hauled out of its case and readied to hand over to league president Clarence Campbell, who in turn will give it to his old nemesis, the Rocket. 

The bell finally rings to end this affair, and the Leafs’ faithful give both teams a rousing applause. The Leafs have a nice team, with players like Frank Mahovlich, Tim Horton, Red Kelly, and Bob Pulford, but they’re no match for Montreal. Not this year, and not the previous four. Montreal was never going to be denied. It was in the stars. Beliveau, Bernie Geoffrion, Marcel Bonin line, all were sensational. Rocket, Pocket, and all-star Dickie Moore were dangerous on many occasions. Plante was spectacular, so was Harvey. The journeymen – Don Marshall, Claude Provost, Albert Langlois, Bob Turner and the rest, did their jobs magnificently. And Toe Blake stood behind the bench, fedora tilted back, and played his lines masterfully, like a great chess player.

I make my way down to the dressing room with Red Fisher, who’s been covering the Habs for five years now, and it’s bedlam as champagne is poured, toasts are made, players laugh and cry and hug their wives and kids, and much of my Brylcreem just got washed away when Geoffrion decides to give me a champagne bath. I have my stories, although Plante wanted to talk more about the toque he’d just knitted which he believes gives him inner powers, but on the whole, players just said they were happy and were going to savour things for a few days before they escape to their various homes throughout the country for a few months of well-deserved rest.

In the end, I walk out to Carleton Street, where the wind is blowing and rain falling, and make my way to my car. Tonight, there is no Cold War, no Krushchev or Eisenhower, no atomic bombs being tested, and no Elvis Presley corrupting our daughters with his voice and hips. No, tonight, everything is good. Everything is great. Tonight, the Montreal Canadiens win the Stanley Cup.

Part Two: Gaston Continues With The Tour Of Powell River.

I thought on day two of our tour of Powell River, I’d show you one of my palm trees in my yard, and a few other things to give you more of an idea about this place. For me, coming from Orillia, Toronto, Sudbury, Ottawa, and Calgary, this place is definitely a different change in lifestyle. The only downside I feel is that people in Powell River are kind of stuck because you can only drive 30 kilometers either north or south. After that, it’s an hour ferry ride, then a second one, which is a 40 minute one down by Vancouver. So it’s not easy to go for a Sunday drive.

But it’s a beautiful little west coast town, although I’m still waiting for summer to arrive.


If you really don’t want to drive and take ferries to get to Vancouver, you can fly in a small 12 seater that takes 25 minutes and costs about a hundred bucks. I’ve done it a few times and it’s excellent. This photo shows the view of Powell River fron the air. Gaston never has to pay because he just hides in a suitcase.

  Gaston and his ’56 Chevy sitting by the monkey tree with a palm tree in the background. Monkey trees are named monkey trees because they say it’s the only tree a monkey can’t climb. The limbs also look like a monkey’s tail.


 Gaston and shot of the ferry docked over in the distance, with the paper mill further back. Way up that way about 30 kilometers is a little fishing village called Lund, and people in town still talk about the celebrities that stopped there for gas and supplies for their yachts. People like Elvis Presley, John Wayne, Walt Disney, Kevin Costner. And I just heard that up in Toba Inlet, Michelle Pfeiffer has a place. And Colin James has a place over on Savary Island, just off Lund.

 In part three, Gaston and I go for beer and natchos at a local pub and discuss the draft.