Congratulations to my dad who just turned 80 years old today!
He has much to feel proud about. Son of a farmer, but with different ambitions to make it as a businessman in the city, my dad started out completely from scratch, and created a million dollar Canadian business which was at least partly a precursor to the internet.
My dad cut a niche in the Canadian -- and the worldwide -- market for 'teaching and advertising machines' that combined two parts of the business: the hardware; and the software. Sound familiar? To be sure, the technology was rather archaic compared to what we enjoy today, but still, the concept was there, and some of the more 'earthbound' parts of the technology were there before the technology exploded upwards and outwards into 'cyberspace'.
If you are old enough, you might remember the days when a teacher might turn out the lights in a classroom, turn on a Carousel slide projector and show slides that would project onto a screen that was pulled down over the wall.
Well, my dad's business went one step further than the Carousel slide projector and converted the slides into what looked like a VCR cartride before I believe there were VCRs. (I will have to check to see when VCR were invented and how long they were in business.) The cartridge was then inserted into one of my dad's teaching/advertising machines with both parts being sold to my dad's retail customers (much like a VCR and a VCR machine)and that was the essence of my dad's business. Sometimes the customer would have their own slides that could be converted; other times, my dad's business would either delve right into, and/or contract out part of the work, to complete the actual 'film-making' part of the business.
The two products -- the teaching/advertising machine (the hardware) and the slide cartridge (software) were 'married' together and sold to the retailer who wanted to either show 'advertising' to his or her customers (they used to be in hardware stores and the like) -- the predecessor of what you can now see in more sophisticated HD technicolour at gas station pumps as you are filling up your gas, or in washrooms as men and women are taking care of their personal business.
In the mid-1970s, while I was working at my dad's business during the summer between my different years at The University of Waterloo (1974-1979), it was not unusual to hear my dad talking about 'building an information highway'....to 'create a software library' of different 'generic' educational films such as 'learning French' or 'learning the metric system' or any of a thousand other educational and/or advertising possibilities (try 'millions' of exploding possibilities as we watch the internet unfold today and expand at an exponential rate faster than any of us -- or a thousand of us -- can come close to keeping up with).
At the height of his business, my dad was going on trade missions all over the world, building his business in England, doing his 'thing' in the boardroom of McMillan Publishers, England, if my memory serves me right, he was selected to go on a Canadian trade mission to Japan, he was on a trade mission to Brazil...he was constantly doing business with his main U.S. supplier... and I am sure there are many trade missions elsewhere I am forgetting.
On the community level, my dad as President of The Don Mills Baseball Association, in conjunction with Kiwanas, around the late 60s, early 70s, with the help of important people who were working with him, built the baseball side of Bond Park from the bottom up...putting in new diamonds, a food concession booth, baseball stands, baseball lights, and baseball fences...
Some of my fellow baseball team mates there went on to establish strong careers in sports or elsewhere...Mike Palmateer, goaltender for the Toronto Maple Leafs; Dan Hill, folksinger; Rob Bowman, one of my best friends at the time, now a professor in music history at York University. Rob introduced me to Bob Dylan and 'Highway 61, Revisted' -- 'Like A Rolling Stone', 'Ballad of A Thin Man', 'Desolation Row'... in my townhouse basement, as we played 'ping pong' together. And he introduced me to the 'roots of the blues' in our late teens as he was interviewing the blues masters for the rock magazine...'Beetle Magazine'...and together, on the second floor, overlooking the rail, we watched the fabulous shows of...Muddy Waters, 'Howlin' Wolf', John Lee Hooker, John Hammond, Buddy Guy...and more...
There were some great individual and team performances that came out of this time period. My brother threw a very rare 'no hitter' at The CNE 'Tyke' or 'Atom' Baseball Tournament one year. When I was in my late teens, I coached a 'tyke' or 'atom' allstar baseball team (kids that were a year younger than my brother) with my dad. With all due respect to everyone else who went through Bond Park, this was probably the most talented group of very young athletes that I have ever seen pass through Bond Park (and their were some very talented teams at older age levels with Mike Palmateer playing shortstop, pitching, and catching.) Most of tykes my dad and I coached that year (9, 10 and/or 11 year olds) were playing all star hockey during the winter for one of the most talented hockey teams in Toronto at that time -- The Don Valley Hockey Club. (With connections, they practised at Maple Leaf Gardens early Sunday mornings.)
Anyway, one of our baseball tournaments that year was in Brantford, Ontario. We ended up in the finals against the Brantford team. In the best pitching duel that I have seen at that age group, we lost a nail-biter in the finals, 1-0. Wayne Gretzky was pitching for Brantford.
In politics, my dad, during these years, was a political and community activist, involved with politicians and their campaigns at the municipal level of Don Mills, and Toronto, the provincial level, and the federal level. At different times, he has supported both Liberal and Conservative Politicians. My dad has always liked Stephen Harper. (I have usually had mixed feelings about him.) Perhaps my father's biggest disappointment was not seeing Preston Manning voted Prime Minister of Canada. His basic opinion was that the Liberal Party and the Canadian media stereotyped and 'trashed and destroyed' The Reform Party as a 'right wing extremist, and religiously based Political Party. (Almost sounds like the Bush-led Republicans although I don't think Preston Manning was that far right wing. I am not sure. I still want to read his biography.) It might have been interesting to see where Preston Manning and The Reform Party might have taken Canada. Would it have been a better or worse place than we are today?
My father is now retired (and healthier than I am). He is also a very good Canadian, Romantic Poet. You can find his work on the 21st Century Romanticism blogsite of Hegel's Hotel: DGB Philosophy.
I dedicate Hegel's Hotel to my dad -- when he said he liked the name 'Hegel's Hotel', I kept it -- Hegel's Hotel is dedicated to my dad's visionary idealism and to his community activism, to his many achievements in the business world, the community and political world, and to the romantic idealism in his Canadian poetry.
I will include below us here, a collection of twelve of my favorite poems of his...
Thank you, Dad, for all you have given me in terms of a tremendously intelligent, passionate, and caring role model to follow:
-- dgb, April 2nd-3rd, 2009.
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'The Big Bang'
This is the anniversary
Of my world,
The big bang
When everything began.
The stars looked new
And wonderful,
My universe spun around you.
What began so simply,
Grew,
And so did I,
Like life itself.
How weak I was,
And you so strong to see,
Deep within my soul
And in your wisdom,
Set me free.
Of this our day,
We pause our climb,
And look around;
So high,
Yet still your feet
Stand anchored
There upon the ground.
I think my thoughts,
And go my way,
And dream of what might be.
You smile and soothe
My worried brow.
I look around, and see you,
Everywhere
In flowers that bloom,
And birds that sing,
In air I breathe,
In everything.
When I look back,
I see you there;
When I look forward,
You're also there.
My pal,
My friend,
My love,
My wife.
-- Gordon William Bain
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For A Bag of Coal
The winds had blown snow over roads and the fence,
The days had passed slowly, the cold was intense.
A family sat huddled to preserve any heat,
The mother sat rubbing her children's small feet,
The father was working a job far away,
No help could he bring to the family that day.
The frost made cathedrals seem real on the panes,
Nothing was moving, not even the trains.
From the edge of the huddle, a boy slipped away,
Outside in the snowbanks he looked for his sleigh.
Scarcely nine the young boy heard a voice to him say,
"Go out and get coal. I will show you the way."
Across the deep banks he pulled his small sleigh,
Through wind driven snow, the boy found his way,
He rapped on the window of the one grocery store,
The owner came rushing and opened the door.
"Hello Mr. Barkley," said a voice in the coat,
"Its coal that I need sir, We're in a bit of a boat."
The kindly old man brought the boy in the store,
Put him close to the stove, his clothes on the floor.
"A fifty pound bag sir; can you make it a loan?
I'm in a hurry you see, I need to get home."
With a rope from the store the coal tied to the sleigh,
A wave and a thank you, and the boy was away.
"Well," said the man, his hair tinged with gray,
"I somehow got back with the coal on that day.
I knew from that moment, I could be my own man,
So long as my Lord kept hold of my hand."
I've come back from away where riches I've found,
In far away forests, and from rocks in the ground.
This was the house; it's here that I see,
The faces I long for to look back at me.
He smiled from his seat in the room he was born,
Looked at the stove that had once kept them warm.
"I've been my own person, strong in heart and in soul,
By remembering the day I went looking for coal."
-- Gordon Bain, October, 2008.
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The Orchestra Played A Love Song
When I was young, I dreamed my dream,
As I turned a handle that made the cream,
While feeding cows, and cackling hens,
Grunting pigs in smelly pens.
I dreamed of you, imagined your face,
The way you would walk with queenly grace.
While in the fields, wheat sheaves to stack.
Long flowing gowns, men dressed in black,
Of concert halls, with kings and queens,
Were all a part of my childhood dreams.
I grew. One unsuspecting day, I saw you,
Walking tall, elegant, and in my heart, I knew.
On my arm, you danced; softly, as a feather falls.
To my mind came visions of concert halls.
Cymbals crashed, the drum roll grew,
The percussionist stood, and it was you.
The maestro turned, baton in hand,
As though the score had all been planned,
The spotlight paused, then moved along,
The orchestra played a love song.
We walk now, where once we ran,
A pause to celebrate where it all began,
A pride in our children; their children too,
Lives we have shared while each of us grew.
The places we've been, the people we've known,
Our love for each other, and what it has grown.
We celebrate the past, but reach out to the new.
Listen my darling, can you hear it too?
The orchestra is playing
a love song for you.
-- gordon william bain, Thursday September 4th, 2008.
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A Stake Of Gold
I crouched in the door of The Last Drop Cafe,
When out of the freezing cold,
Came a man of strength, who took my arm,
And spoke of finding gold.
'Come', he said, 'Stand tall my friend.
Look north with eyes that see.
If it is only the past you live,
Then the future can never be.
You can die as quick on a southern beach,
As under a frozen tree.
It isn't the beach that warms the soul,
It's God's love for you and me.'
I looked in his face as he spoke my name,
I felt warmth instead of cold.
By looking at things in a different way,
I found my stake of gold.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
February, 2002.
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Growing Up With Dad
Father image of stories told,
Arms that would not give.
I was young, and he was old,
I wanted free to live.
No matter the place, nor what I did,
His shadow followed me.
To him, I would always be a kid.
He could not set me free.
Sadly then, I rang the bell
And we began to fight.
I slipped away from his magic spell
And into my silent night.
I didn't know that when we fought
It would all turn out so bad.
I know now that what I sought
Was to be just like dad.
GWB, Gordon William Bain
October, 2003.
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The Dog That Climbed The Tree
There is a story told
By young and old,
Of a dog that climbed a tree.
The old and wise,
With failing eyes,
Say that could never be.
But children smile,
And all the while,
Retell it as thought the truth,
It happened they say,
On a sunny day,
In a tree of ripening fruit.
Buddy barked long
At the birds of song,
And all that would steal the fruit.
Until a flash of red
From the forest bed
Shrilled like a piper's flute.
With the gauntlet down,
They crowded around,
Forest people wanted to see,
How Buddy would fare,
From up in the air,
If a dog can't climb a tree.
'Oh no,' said the badger,
And shook his head,
'Dogs can't climb,
Buddy will soon be dead!'
'Ah,' said the rabbit,
'If I were him,
I would run away,
At the slightest whim!'
'No,' said the fox,
'He must use his mind,
If ever an answer,
He's going to find.'
The squirrel leaped high,
In a move to fly
Past Buddy the mighty pup.
The threat was huge,
As the predator moved,
But the dog would not give up.
The wind had blown,
When the tree had grown,
In time it had learned to lean.
Buddy just glared,
His teeth were bared,
He ran with a mighty scream.
Buddy ran the slant,
Althought dogs just can't,
He was suddenly up the tree.
And there was his foe,
With nowhere to go,
Just as surprised as he could be.
People say,
That on that day,
The enemies made a deal.
For a total reprieve,
The squirrel could leave,
If he never again would steal.
The story here
Is one of mirth,
But the moral is there to see.
Face up to trouble,
And don't give up,
Because dogs can climb a tree.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
2002 or 2003? Precise date unknown
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An Ode to a Cook Stove
Pause gentle stranger, and stay a spell.
Imagine the story I have to tell.
You see my door, and note its name.
And wonder if it is one of fame.
The richness here is what I've baked,
And the happy people who sat and ate.
For I was a part of a hundred lives.
Ten thousand times,
I worked for them, and heard their sighs.
A life begins, another dies.
They are the people you now call old.
For them I strived to break the cold.
I cooked their meals
And warmed their night.
When all else failed,
I brought them light.
Pause gentle stranger and shed a tear,
For the forgotten memories buried here.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
February 2002.
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Trains, Trails, and Creosote Stains
Long swaths cut through a forest green.
Railroad engines powered by steam.
But no rails now in wait for trains,
Charging through with wood and grains.
Occasional trestle, overgrown ties,
Creosote stains where memory dies.
For some who walk and remember when
Steam engines pounded the wood and glen.
Nostalgia comes, old eyes form tears
Happy memories of former years.
Beautiful island of reddened shale,
Now boasts long miles of nature trail.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
October 2003.
A Blade of Grass
I sat on a bench as the world rushed past.
Aware of the dew, and a blade of grass.
The warming sun had begun its climb.
The grass, the dew and a need for time.
From out of the morning, a sudden breeze.
Played hide and seek among the trees.
The grass blade trembled, the wind went slack.
Dewdrops were moving along its back.
Then down they went along the stem.
Where thirsty roots were awaiting them.
High in the sky the sun looked down.
Dewdrops now safely underground.
It stood there proudly in its cloak of green.
I was in awe of what I had seen.
How infinitely wonderous is nature's task.
The sun, the dewdrops, and a blade of grass.
GWB, Gordon Bain
October, 2002.
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Permission to Dream
White clouds in my window, a backdrop of blue.
The scent of red clover, the shimmer of dew.
I breathe deeply, and watch; purple finch are at play.
I'm in love with the picture. It's a beautiful day.
A far distant rumble, I turn with a start.
Blackness is tearing my picture apart.
Flashes of yellow cut through a dark sky.
Two forces move closer, so like you and I.
Rain begins falling, the threatening storm.
Now a canvas on which a new picture is born.
Beautiful rainbow of gold, red and green.
Symbol of hope, permission to dream.
Framed by my window, now etched in my mind.
Mother Nature the painter -- one of a kind.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
September, 2003.
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Lure of The Spider
I walked in the morning, my feet wet with dew,
The gardens in splendour with things that they grew.
Respite from big business, its smiles made of paste,
No tolerance in nature for chameleon waste.
I smiled with thought, then stopped at a bed.
At my feet was a spider, she was building a web.
Three silken lines were first put into place,
Circular strands made a hammock in space.
Around and around went the weave and the wrap,
She crossed in the middle and finished the trap.
The sun glinted down, the wait then began,
To lure the unwary at the heart of her plan.
Breathtaking beauty, gentle wind and the sky,
From out of the bushes along came a fly.
It casually landed, then tried to move,
Advantage the spider, its victim would lose.
How close seem the life games of nature and man,
Was my thought as I turned, my briefcase in hand.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
November, 2003.
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The Happy Waitress
"My life is quite ordinary, not exciting at all,"
Said the young waitress as we spoke in the hall.
"But surely," I asked, "that cannot be true,
The room comes alive when you do what you do.
Many times we have watched you without being seen,
At home with the rich, or with those in between.
An old man seems friendless, he comes in all alone,
Moves to "his" table, you welcome him home.
Two people sit down, one is ill and in pain,
Your smile is contagious, you call them by name.
We watch as you move, the room comes to life,
Love of job, like white linen under food, fork and knife.
But it is your love of people that sets you apart,
And makes you so special, I speak from the heart.
Each day touching lives, in what you say and you do,
Using gifts and a talent that comes to but few."
-- Gordon Bain, October, 03, 2008.
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My Valentine
There was this close encounter with death,
On the road through a trillion trees.
A frigid cold like none on earth,
The two of us in a place where all things freeze.
One moment was all it took to feel,
The crush of eighteen tires.
God's hand reached down and found us,
Among the metal, glass, and wires.
In New Brunswick, the wind and snow still blows.
From the mountains come frozen air.
Brave travellers pass the snow filled ditch,
No sign that we were there.
On this day when lovers proclaim in verse,
Their love to sweetheart or wife.
I raise a brandy and toast our love,
My darling, you saved my life.
You smile and love is there,
And here, inside my heart.
You are my soul, and so it is
From day to day, throughout my space and time,
You are my valentine.
GWB, Gordon William Bain,
February, 2005.
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