HAPPY CANADA DAY, EH!

HOT DISHES FILLED WITH PRIDE!

Tracy Watson remembers a less stressful time in her life, albeit she hides it well behind a smile that would melt a tax collector’s heart.
She was hosting Canada Day golf tournaments as a beer rep for Molson when the country was infatuated with her company’s "my name is Joe and I am Canadian” patriotic pitch
The economy was on Viagra, people were drinking, eating out and buying big toys. Heck, even Santa Claus was having trouble keeping up with The Joneses.
Watson, now 40, had a regular paycheque boasting impressive numbers. Tums and Rolaids were for everyone else. If only the happily-ever-after story ended right there.
Tearing a page out of Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream speech,” Watson did an about face – it’s pronounced about not a-boot – and decided to try working for herself.
“So Canadian, eh? Worry more and work harder than ever for less money,” she laughed Friday while charming customers at her Hot Tommy’s eatery on Townline Road in Abbotsford.
It will be a year this August since she and business partner Michelle Esau dipped into the restaurant business, having purchased the quaint place from Tommy Kelly.
There are no plans “yet” to change the name to Hot Tracy’s or M-m-m Michelle’s – customer suggestions – but everything else is under review as the owners grapple with a sluggish economy and more competition.
But optimism is my dear Watson’s strength – and the No. 1 challenge, she figures, is getting people to her industrial park location for the first time. Getting them back has been less an issue, thanks to excellent food, atmosphere, homemade sauces, salsas and reasonable prices.
To that end, Watson has been visiting businesses in the ’hood, dropping off menus, letting them know about her takeout service and offering encouragement.
“There are a lot of small and new business owners right around us doing what we’re doing – growing slowly, hoping for better days. And it’s so encouraging when you see companies really take off.”
Her small eatery is open Monday to Friday, serves alcohol and “attitude” and tinkers with its menu and décor, inside and out on the patio.
There are minor sports pictures, murals, newspaper clippings, a Tracey Street road sign, some racing posters and a new Bring on the Heat towel stapled to the wall near the bar – behind all the Vancouver Canucks paraphernalia.
Watson promises to change the look over time, but filling the restaurant is her immediate priority.
“I have to admit, it drives me crazy when we’re not busy. I know more people are eating at home these days to save money, but it still makes you worry.
“. . . I have staff to pay, food to prepare, bills to pay. Sometimes it just sucks being an adult!”
Her mission is to spread the good word about the safe, Cheers-like atmosphere at Tommy’s.
Watson will be out promoting Hot Tommy’s next month with a golf tournament and she plans to have a crab bake at this year’s air show.
She also has plans for Friday afternoon barbecues, private parties and some form of catering to go with the new takeout service.
“The mind is working 24/7. I’m trying to stay really positive, seeing people fill the seats.”
Perhaps her “gamble” and the grand opening of Chances Abbotsford down the street is telling her something.
Either it’s sometimes you have to be lucky to be good, or in small business – as one Canadian poker star stated recently – “I hope to break even this week. I need the money!”

THE THRILL(ER) IS GONE – RIP!

OPTIONS FOR SUMMER FUN ARE END-LIST

Publisher Fred Armstrong is one of those out-of-the-closet Star Wars geeks who can rattle off all the characters and recall episode “classics” as if this sci-fi schlock really mattered.
Because your scribe has slept through every Star Trek and Star Wars offering, I resist “Ewoking” over to his office to hear about “The Force” and “The Jedi Council,” stormtroopers, droids or the so lost GPS-less space crew that makes TransLink look efficient.
And negotiating my “kling-on” pay with Fred in Star Wars lingo – So-Solo(w) – hasn’t helped my Take-Home Empire strike back.
Please don’t tell him I think his space opera obsession is a tad whacked – he still signs my cheques. If he insists Chewbacca is one misunderstood beast, or that Darth Vader is getting a little Wookie on the side from Princess Leia, so be it.
We get along fine otherwise and he offers ideas – some good – like in today’s edition.
The proud father, who coincidentally has given plenty thought to keeping his son busy and out of trouble with school ending today, suggested a list of 101 Things To Do This Summer, some with the kids, some with adults and some, dare I say it, solo. Yodaman, boss!
Fred’s list included “great” Star Wars classics – methinks his son might have more fun getting into trouble, but I digress.
We took Fred’s ideas, polled the office and friends and we beamed up a zillion ideas. So, who better than to whittle that down to 101 than Cam Tucker, our young, hard working, talented (coffee-fetching) contributor who used his “end-list” energy to whip up this fun stuff for summer.
And speaking of lists, Canadians were recently asked to come up with suggestions for naming a potential Gas Tax Holiday and the most popular choice was St. Vaseline’s Day.
Other noteworthy suggestions included We’re All Fools Day, HollowGestureWeen and Tanksgiving.
A recent list of things that make you go “hmmmm” revealed that No. 1 on most people’s minds was: Why do psychics have to ask your name? Folks also wondered if nothing ever sticks to Teflon, how do they make Teflon stick to the pan? And why do they put Braille on the drive-through bank machines?
There are countless facetious lists circulating on the Internet, including one featuring names of children’s books never published – i.e. How to Blackmail Older Siblings For Fun and Profit, Why Can’t Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends? and Potty Time For Dummies.
We are also inundated with lists of songs, books, the sexiest, richest, most powerful, most eligible and weirdest people.
Male-bashing lists are popular for some crazy reason. No. 1 on a recent poll was Grow your own dope, plant a man and All men are animals, some just make better pets. Runner-up was Honk if you want to see my finger!
But perhaps the ones we’re most familiar with are the grocery, laundry and things-to-do-at-home-before-you-even-dare-think-about-golfing lists that consume our busy, waking hours.
We hope you enjoy Cam’s collection. If you have ideas that you’d like to see incorporated in these pages over the summer, please let us know.
Or better yet, send us your lists! And may the force be with you (wink, wink).

GREAT 'GRANDPAS' LET IT RIDE

About 15 minutes into my wait to fork over property taxes at City Hall on Friday, two women behind me are ranting about the increased digits soon to divorce their bank account. Hasta la vista, savings!
Plan A, they reason, is solely to blame for this agonizing atrocity. It is, they insist, the mother of all indecent taxes, the one civic expenditure that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
Curious, I asked the louder one if she had visited the new facilities. She quickly shot back: “Why would I? Didn’t want them and we certainly can’t afford them.”
Sort of mentioned I was spending the night at a concert, inside the new arena, where Canadian Music Hall of Fame icons Randy Bachman and Burton Cummings were the main act.
“Those grandpas?,” she mocked. “What else do you do for excitement on Fridays, stay home and read?”
Ecstatic there was no chance I’d be sitting next to this mother of all downers later in the evening, I returned to minding my own business and waiting to have my pockets picked by the busy city clerks.
What I should tell the two women, however, is they missed one spectacular show.
While Bachman, 65, and Cummings, 61, had the crowd fully engaged at “Hello,” their splendid set had 60-something-year-old women pumping their fists in the air to Let It Ride or swooning to the timeless ballad These Eyes. Priceless stuff.
The entire evening was like a magical jukebox. Plunk in a quarter and for the next two hours you heard the mega-hits from BTO, The Guess Who, Bachman’s and Cummings’ solo careers, the tunes you likely danced to, drove to, barbecued to, partied to, or made the van rock to (wink, wink!).
The fact these Canadian legends shared top spot in the charts with the Beatles in their heyday, before iTunes, 24/7 music channels or the Internet, really says something about their mass appeal.
With apologies to the one-hit wonders and Idol wannabes, these two Western
Canadian seniors represent the real deal, the consummate showmen who still understand the concept of giving people their money’s worth and leave them craving for more.
They didn’t drop F-bombs, they didn’t use pyrotechnics, gimmicks or nearly naked dancers (hello Britney!). They just played. And the standing ovations from song No. 3 onward Friday proves the blue-collar formula still works.
Cummings can still hit all the notes and he can still work a room with his charm. He doesn’t need to lip synch to recorded tracks.
Bachman can still play a mean guitar, albeit his gut-crunching sound of the BTO days has mellowed, perhaps out of respect for his many fans now wearing hearing aids, or plugs!
Still, when he strikes the first few chords of American Woman, Takin’ Care of Business or Rollin’ Down the Highway, the smiles appear on faces as if
people’s memories are being refreshed of where and when they first heard the tunes.
Bachman and Cummings gave props to Winnipeg, the Prairies, our soldiers, our flag, the West and the Abbotsford crowd for still spending money to see them.
It was great (and rare) to attend a concert and not go home smelling like Tim Felger’s favourite plant. Or deal with hearing loss for days after.
And it was really inspiring to see two “grandpas” proudly sing You Ain’t See Nothin’ Yet like they were just starting out.
And it was fun hearing the crowd sing back the encore lyrics to the super seniors who made this particular Friday night extra special, taxes be damned.

LEGENDS TAKE CARE OF BUSINESS, EVERYWAY

– GORD KURENOFF PHOTO
Randy Bachman, left, and Burton Cummings opened their show Friday night at the Abbotsford Entertainment and Sports Centre with their Guess Who hit Running Back to Saskatoon, and for the next two hours belted out some of the best music ever written or performed in this country.


Hey Abbotsford, we have to break it to them doubters gently – we have arrived as a legitimate entertainment mecca.
For the first time since the Abbotsford Entertainment and Sports Centre opened its spanking-new doors, scalpers were busy outside the facility hawking tickets to see two Canadian icons perform their memory lane song magic, hit after hit after hit.
Burton Cummings and Randy Bachman, who seem to have nicely repaired their on-again, off-again relationship, orchestrated a hit parade lovefest, reeling off tunes from the Guess Who, BTO and their respective solo days.
They gave props to Winnipeg, the Prairies, our soldiers, our flag, the West and an American woman, while a near sold-out crowd clapped, danced and sang along for the nearly two-hour show.
At one point in the entertaining evening, Cummings told the fully engaged audience that it was only the second stop in their summer tour and that he was a bit nervous.
When he asked if fans liked what they had heard so far, the hall of fame musicians received their first of many standing ovations.
They also made a point of singling out Susan Jacks in the crowd, the former Poppy Family star who had the monster hit Which Way You Goin’ Billy?
They performed such classics as These Eyes, Takin’ Care of Business, Let It Ride, You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet, Clap For The Wolfman, Undun and No Sugar Tonight.
Booker T. opened the show, performing a number of his early hits and tunes that have found their way on to movie soundtracks.
Read Gord Kurenoff’s column in Tuesday’s Times for more on Friday night’s superb show.

WE'RE HOCKEY NUTS ALL RIGHT!

The first time I met TV sports director Earl (the Pearl) Seitz in Kamloops, he was applying a makeshift sign to the rickety press box inside the venerable Memorial Arena.
His not-so-artistic offering, looking like one of those No Girls Allowed gems from a young boy’s treehouse, simply stated: No Cheering Allowed Up Here!
It seems that some rival radio types, who loved “covering” game nights, were singing and dancing to the Blazers’ theme song Takin’ Care of Business after every goal, yelling at the refs for “bad calls,” heckling visiting fans and shouting food orders to the concession stand directly under our grease-stained soles.
Seitz, a wise journalist with a loyal following, insisted there should be a healthy church-state relationship between the WHL team and media – at all times.
He taught this sporty scribe plenty about the “unwritten rules” of covering big-league hockey and its “what is said on the bus stays on the bus” culture, the egos, the sensitive subjects, the way to report not-so-pleasant news and live to work another day.
I still have two Kamloops Blazers jerseys in my basement office, and I’m sure an Abbotsford Heat uniform will be added once there is such a creation.
But while I’m a hockey nut at heart and a bit of a homer (no relation to The Simpsons!), I won’t be cheering from the press box at AESC. And I won’t be dancing to The Heat Is On or yelling at refs.
In fact, if history repeats itself, the team will likely be yelling at us after a lengthy losing streak or after reading not-so-glowing stories, such as Friday’s gem in the Times, explaining how our city had to shell out $350,000 (more or less, but probably more) to install therapeutic hydro pools in the AHL dressing rooms to “meet league requirements.”
It seems our cash-strapped city, stuck for spare coin in every department, has a special “contingency fund” for AHL “oversights.” Too bad Mission Memorial Hospital’s emergency ward – which is in some danger of closing due to a budget shortfall – doesn’t have an AHL sugar daddy, but I digress.
If we are real “partners” with the Heat, as certain councillors suggest when they spend our money, why won’t they tell us who those worthy “partners” are?
We know who owns the Vancouver Giants, Chilliwack Bruins, Kamloops Blazers and Vancouver Canucks. Who owns the Heat? And, if that’s none of our business, should we continue to pay for AHL upgrades without asking exactly who benefits?
Mayor George Peary, who inherited Plan A and the many challenges that go with it in an economic downturn, knows the “extra-sensitive issues” surrounding this team and the many taxpayers already yelling “uncle” over the escalating costs of staying afloat on The Good Ship Abbotsford.
Peary is a brilliant dude and was a great hockey player – heck, he still “stickhandles” like a pro when asked about AHL costs.
But when you have residents waving white flags at suspect spending and tax hikes during these recessionary times, and with federal/provincial deficits guaranteed to grow in the weeks ahead, don’t you think it’s time to stop the Good Morning, Vietnam shtick?
This so-called “contingency fund” is not play money; it’s taxpayers’ money now being used for luxuries instead of emergencies. And while the latest $350,000 cheque may not seem like a lot to the AHL or NHL – or some on the
city payroll – it represents at least six more cops, teachers and nurses, or another day of keeping an emergency ward open to save lives.
Enjoy your new taxpayer-funded hydro pools, “partners,” whoever you may be!
Ever wonder why we have a civic cash crunch?

PU2 SCANDAL IS A REAL STINKER!

Depending on whose brochure you read or believe in this hockey-crazed city (wink, wink), we’re either the City in the Country, Sport Town Canada, A Place to Explore, the Bible Belt or Home of the Heat.

And despite intermittent cries of still being the No Fun City from some bored-to-death socialites, Regina Dalton thinks we just might be the No. 1 “potty animals.”
And no, we’re not talking wacky tobacky, potty all the time types (sorry Tim Felger). Nope, we’re talking crappy conditions in our city’s porta-potties, made worse by rising temperatures and irregular maintenance.

Now, before we dive into the Smell From Hell controversy – or PU2, with apologies to the SE2 folks – you should know that Dalton has been accused of being a “shtick-disturber” on more than one occasion.

But before you label her “anti-Abbotsford,” “anti-progress” or a “negative Nellie” unfitting of a Chamber of Commerce membership, you need to understand she has a good heart, sharp mind, limited disposable income and a genuine appetite for black and white truth in this much-too-grey world.

Is she wrong to ask if the city will subsidize the new American Hockey League team? Is she wrong to ask for a guarantee that her tax money won’t be used for chasing Calder Cup dreams or flying millionaires-in-waiting across the country to shoot and pursue pucks?

Is she wrong to question pay parking in parks or lack of parking at the new hospital and arena? Is she wrong to question attempts to raise revenues by “special” Abbotsford gas taxes?
And why won’t anybody give her the answers?

Dalton hasn’t been mean-spirited in her quests. She hasn’t called for staff reductions, the demolition of facilities or programs, or the mayor to take a pay cut in these recessionary times.
She has, instead, questioned civic tax hikes, spending priorities, spending habits, department budgets and the expensive and frustrating efforts to go through Freedom of Information to obtain “public” information.

Several years ago, before media convergence and “right-sizing” in newsrooms (wink, wink), we called her passionate council-watching habits “investigative reporting,” but I digress.
While Dalton and I have agreed to disagree on several occasions over the years, I have nothing but respect for her and the local “political watchdog posse” she hangs with as they try to ensure the city they call “home” isn’t being mismanaged or run as an exclusive club that only benefits insiders, friends and those with season tickets.
All conspiracy theories aside, let’s get back to the latest big stink.
Last week at Albert Dyck Park – home of a man-made lake and amazing waterskiing feats – more than 100 sun-worshippers were gagging over the deplorable condition of porta-potties. Seems it stunk so bad it made onions cry.
Seems like folks were forced to ski or play Frisbee with one hand while plugging noses with the other. Dalton tried to find out who should be looking after this mess and-or potential health hazard and was unsuccessful trying to find anyone who cares.

Seems she brought a similar matter to the city’s attention on April 6 when athletes taking part in a field lacrosse tournament drove to a gas station to use the washroom instead of dealing with a gut-wrenching porta-potty on the event grounds.
Should the city have “sanitation engineers” – with odor eaters and extra rolls – on call during big events or busy weekends?

And if somebody is already responsible for this job and just isn’t getting-r-done, will we ever know if he or she is in “deep sheet” for messing up?
Stay tuned.

TALK ABOUT A MAN WITH THE TIMES!

Our pre-provincial election issue became a post-election present for the victorious Abbotsford West MLA, Mike de Jong, who may soon become B.C.'s new Attorney General. Stay tuned!

BAILOUTS FOR THE PRIVILEGED?

NEW MICKEY MOUSE RULES FOR TRAVELLERS?

RUN FOR WATER – THEN THE OXYGEN!

Run For Water website at www.runforwater.ca

This event at Mill Lake is excellent and fun!

Hard-working organizers believe that this worthy cause, to quote Bono of U2, is not about charity, it's about justice! No argument there.

I dragged my butt out to the Abby starting line with two days training – next year I promise to train harder (maybe a week!). Guess the volunteers didn't like the fact it took me four days to finish a 5K. Guess I misunderstood the starter's love for camping. Me bad!

One of the kind organizers said I could improve my running time by shaving my legs and arms. I figured "shaving" off the burgers, milkshakes, chocolate bars and all-you-can-eat buffets might do the same, too.

Next year's run is May 30. See you there folks! I'll be the one with the "naked" arms and legs!!!

SURVIVING THE DARKER DAYS!

Barring a miracle via judicial recount – and Jeb Bush eating a few ballots – Wally Oppal’s career as provincial politician and attorney-general appears headed for oblivion.

Coaxed to surrender a safe Liberal seat in Vancouver-Fraserview to run in Delta South at the request of Premier Gordon Campbell, Oppal admitted following his 32-vote defeat on May 12 that there is “an intense amount of dislike for the [B.C. Liberal] government . . . and a bitter feeling we just didn’t listen [in Delta South].”
While that riding may have tuned out the Grits and Oppal, it was less than a dozen years ago when everyone in Abbotsford wanted to hear every word Oppal had to say.

On Oct. 16, 1997, in New Westminster Supreme Court, Justice Oppal found Terry Driver – a.k.a. the Abbotsford Killer – guilty of murdering Tanya Smith, and guilty of attempted murder of her friend Misty Cockerill.
That unforgettable horror story, which played out for two years in this community, is now the subject of a fascinating book – Through the Valley of the Shadow – authored by retired and respected police officer Rod Gehl, who worked on the high-profile case.

For those who lived here through the manhunt, you will recall a time when real fear gripped the community. While drugs and gangsters have tarnished the peaceful, Bible Belt image over
the past decade, nobody stayed indoors because of the Bacons or Johals – yet as Gehl reminds us in his book, streets were deserted and Halloween was almost a non-event while police played their “cat-and-louse” game with Driver.

In this quick-fix day and age where we’re used to seeing CSI: Miami wrap up a case in under an hour and still leave time for a few cheesy one-liners from Horatio Caine, Gehl does a great job illustrating how tough the case was and how Driver’s ego eventually did him in. The killer’s voice – recorded by 911 and later played on radio stations – was recognized by his
mother, who turned him in.

Few things in the book I didn’t know despite covering the case: Driver attended Smith’s funeral with his two children; lawyer G. Jack Harris advised Driver not to offer fingerprints to police, but the killer figured he hadn’t left any DNA in his footsteps and went ahead with the
incriminating evidence; the police working on the case paid for a new headstone for Smith after Driver defaced the original; and Driver’s mother and brother were eventually given the $10,000 reward money for turning him in.
While I wondered how Driver could leave home and do his evil deeds and taunt police via phone calls without his wife ever becoming suspicious, the book explains how Driver had a “scanner chasing” habit that was deemed to be “normal” behaviour by his family.
In fact, on Friday the 13th (October, 1995) when Driver killed Smith, he had reported a stolen bike to police earlier in the evening in one of his many cruises around the city.

Gehl’s book gives props to those who worked around the clock and to the co-operation between the law enforcement agencies that came together during the city’s darkest days.

Not only will proceeds from the book go to victims of crime, but we learn that Cockerill has become a healthy mother, an inspiring survivor and someone who helps victims in this community repair their damaged lives.

The disturbing book also reminds us that our police, even with limited resources, are still smarter than the crooks – and the good ones aren’t afraid of working, fighting or dying to keep it that way.

Just ask Terry Driver.