Thursday, October 31, 2019

The Rhetoric of War

1991

The first time I was a guest expert on a TV news show the topic was the Rhetoric of War. The hiccup was I didn't know what the word rhetoric meant.

It was going to be a learning experience.

The invitation came early in 1991, days after the first gulf war started. That was the war to recapture Kuwait from Saddam Hussein and the Iraqi army.

At the time my friend Edward Trapunski was the Executive Producer of a show called NEWS: Not Exactly What it Seems on the Vision TV station. Another friend David Schatzky was the usual host but Edward's wife, another friend, Ellen Roseman was the guest host for the show I was invited to.

My only previous TV exposure was in the late 1960s. A bunch of us from my fraternity were invited to do a stunt on an episode of Laugh In. It had something to do with with melting a block of ice with our body heat. We were paid with a new pool table for the frat house. Worth the trouble. 

I was not the least bit reluctant to do the NEWS show. The idea of being on TV was on my subconscious bucket list. Maybe someone would see it. A little notoriety. 

I was one of three invited guest commentators.

The first was a PhD student from York University studying semiotics. Another word I didn't know. I soon learned it was the study of the meaning of signs and words. So, for example, the phrase Collateral Damage was in the news. It was a short form way of saying that a lot of women and children were being killed and maimed without actually saying that.

He thought the USA was in the war for the oil. That was a new thought to me. He also said the media kept saying Collateral Damage to cover up the human cost of the war. And that was a good example of how the rhetoric, the spoken words, covered up what was really going on and that led to the war being more popular than it should have been.

The second guest was a University of Toronto  professor of Aristotelian thought. I think his role was to comment on the rhetoric of war with a nod to Aristotle's thinking about ethics. I never knew what this man was talking about or maybe I just didn't understand. 

Edward invited me on the show because he thought my advertising background, with its heavy reliance on words, would deliver an important perspective. A nice compliment.

At the time I was naive politically. I was in favour of the war. I saw it simply as good vs. evil just as CNN portrayed it. 

I had about a week to prepare for the show. The web was still in its infancy then so I went to the library to do my research. First I did a dictionary search to find out what rhetoric meant. That was only slightly helpful. I got a rough idea but needed to dig deeper to develop opinions. My advertising background was useless.

I asked the librarian to help me find some books which got me part of the way there. I learned rhetoric was very complicated as people could use words like statistics, that is, to shape the facts any way they preferred. 

I found this quote which helped me develop a point of view I could bring to the show. 

"It's good to keep wide-open ears and listen to what everybody else has to say, but when you come to make a decision, you have to weigh all of what you've heard on its own, and place it where it belongs, and come to a decision for yourself; you"ll never regret it. But if you form the habit of taking what someone else says about a thing without checking it out for yourself, you"ll find that other people will have you hating your friends and loving your enemies"

Think that sounds wise? Malcom X said that in an advice for children book. 

The show went off pretty well. I was totally surprised by the PhD student. I didn't know anyone who was against the war and the idea that the USA was involved to steal oil was beyond me. The U of T professor said nothing memorable. 

I acquitted myself reasonably well. The highlight, of course, was quoting Malcolm X on national tv.  One client let me know he saw the show. A little notoriety. 




My Bucket Lists So Far

The shooting spree at the gun range with my friend Dan was watershed inspirational. I began the day without a useful bucket list. By the end of the day a new one was under construction.

It would be a lie to say there was an original list. But I've given some thought to what should'a been there. 

Top of the list was travel in central Asia. The idea originated when I, when 12, read a book called The Asiatics by Frederic Prokash. It chronicled the journey of a young man across Asia in the 1920s. I said to myself "that sounds cool" and memory filed it. Nine years later in late June 1971 I was in Seville backpacking across Europe, I met a couple of French guys who were headed overland to Nepal. So guess what, when I got to Istanbul and saw a flyer promoting a four day bus ride to Tehran I jumped at the opportunity and traveled across Asia on my own. I saw Kabul, Kathmandu and the Taj Mahal from the bottom up. That is on a dollar a day. 

Another flyer got me a bucket list checkmark in 1973 when I was living in Ottawa and saw a flyer at work advertising skydiving for beginners. Within a couple of weeks I had my first and only two jumps under my belt.

One more flyer item. In 1990 Margie and I were in Lyford Key in the Bahamas getting certified to scuba dive. A checkmark on its own. A flyer on the wall of the dive shop promoting a shark dive caught my eye. I got turned on and the next day another bucket list checkmark in the bag. 

So far because I responded to flyer invites I see that I am more reactive than proactive. I suppose my brain has a bucket list lobe, that stores my list out of sight, but responds to opportunities put in front of me. I can say something appeared on my list when it was easy to say "yes I'll do that". This likely is related to issues I've had with impulse control. 

So what else was bucket list worthy in the first half of my life.

This one is really post hoc, esoteric and opportunistic. During my first trip to Israel while touring the Church of the Holy Sepulcher I found myself alone in the lowest crypt of the church. Closest to ground zero where Jesus was crucified and buried first. That's not bucket list for me but carving my initials in the centuries old wooden beams next to the tortured letters others had dug into the wood, some more than a thousand years old, well that's on the list. I'm glad I had a pen knife with me.

I've been a guest on TV discussion shows,  invited as an expert. Check.

I've had articles published in business publications. I was even paid once; my first article in the Report on Business. Check.

I was a judge at the CHIN Bikini contest for nine years. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. 

My second trip overseas in 1972 produced a checkmark. My intention was to spend the Christmas holiday hitchhiking around Spain but when I was offered a ride to Morocco I said "sure" and ended up in Goulimine a town at the western edge of the Sahara desert. 

I've been on eleven father son golf trips with my son Stephen. That's special because I don't remember even one time I was alone with my dad.

I've been studying Torah, albeit haphazardly, for the last couple of years. Sounds cool. Hard thinking. Check. 

And I suppose the gun range shooting spree  was an original list item that didn't get done early but spurred me to get back in the game.

So what's on the new list.

Already accomplished is a ride on the Yukon Stryker the newest dangerous roller coaster at Canada's Wonderland. That entered my list after I read about it in the paper. Check. 

Still to be done: Timbuktu, ride a motorcycle, jet ski, break 80, have dinner at the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong, enjoy a class about the teachings of C. S. Lewis, learn to play Heart 'n Soul on the piano. 

And, oh yeah, get one of these memoirs published. 













Dolores's Funeral Surprise


I didn't really get to know my sister Dolores until 1992 when I had more time on my hands.

My sole childhood memory of Dolores was after I was driven back to the city from summer camp without being told why. At home Dolores sat me down, clasped my hands and explained why everyone in the house was crying. My dad had died.

I was nine. She was already married. While we lived close by for the next six years, there was no relationship across our 15 year age gap.  Then I moved to LA with my mom.

I arrived back in Toronto seven enjoyable years later. For the first year I worked for my brother selling wigs retail followed by two years in the UofT MBA program. Infrequent Friday night dinners meant some visiting. But no connection with Dolores.

For the next 20 years there was some but not much contact. She ran a small dry cleaning outlet in The Path. When nearby I visited to talk and take advantage of free dry cleaning. Those visits were nice but we were interrupted by customers. So brief. Our families saw some but not much of each other. And there could be no alone time even if we were in the same room.

It was after 1992 that I really got to know Dolores. I started working from home then, in charge of my own time. 

Many of my clients were downtown so I was still able to drop in on Dolores at work to say hi. More lengthy visits materialized when she stopped working and was home during the day. Since I wasn't anchored I was able to visit her at home for long conversations for the first time. Her children were grown and there were grandchildren in the picture. Lots to talk about there. Our mum was in a Toronto nursing home so details to review on that file. But mostly we talked the talk of people getting older; aches, pains, family dynamics, politics, regrets, complaints, bucket lists. She edging toward seventy and me fifty-five. No shortage of topics. 

Then a massive stroke killed her in April 2001. She had been overweight and smoked. No surprise that she passed relatively young. Sad for me. I really liked her and knew I would miss our time together. It was nice to have made friends with her. 

Her burial was at the small Lambton cemetery on Royal York Road. 

As the long procession walked the casket from the hearse we passed gravestones going back dozens of years.

One caught my eye. Someone who had died November 25, 1947. 

That's the day I was born. 

My first instinct was to consider whether his soul became my soul when he died. I rejected that notion immediately. He could have died later the same day so someone else would have got his soul.

Then I was pulled back to the funeral and forgot about my discovery for the moment.

But I never forgot entirely. About three months ago I took a break from my busy schedule and went to the cemetery to pay respects to Dolores and find my soulmate's grave.

His name was Joseph Baker. Born April 13, 1886.

A week later I went to the Metro Research Library to look up obituaries and see if I could learn about Joseph Baker. No luck. Nothing in the Star, Telegram or Globe and Mail microfiche files. 

I did discover that a few other people died in Toronto the day I was born. Eeery. Maybe one of them was the previous owner of my gently used soul.

Later I was able to research Joseph Baker on Ancestry.com. I discovered he arrived as an immigrant from Poland in 1907. In Toronto he worked as a tailor and lived on Chestnut St. His eldest son Max would be 100 years old if he's still alive. 

I have relationships with Dolores's children, a nice legacy. And the discovery of my birthday partner adds to that legacy.