So I think that makes me a real Canadian. (Winnipegers: how do you pronounce "Portage"?)
Drove in a luxury U-drive car, from southwest of Toronto. I didn't drive, so I was in the back seat with the down-at-the-heels middle-aged hitchhiker we'd picked up, and his bottle of rye. The heater conked out north of Superior at 5 a.m.
We were travelling cheap because the Liberal Party had only paid gas money.
The Liberal Party?? Yes, I took money from the Liberal Party. We'd formed a Liberal club on campus. Why? Because there wasn't one. And because when we did, the student council gave us money, which we used for organizing a strike. We weren't
really Liberals. But then the Liberal Party started inviting us places. That's how I ended up drinking Benedictine & brandy in Marcel Prud'homme's hotel room in Winnipeg. (And, uh, dancing my first dance with Colin Thatcher's nephew or cousin or something, in the seedy Algonquin Hotel in Toronto.)
Winnipeg. We had a ball. Except for when the three of us were lighting up a joint outside the convention hall and I lit my hair on fire, and for the rest of the day people who came within six feet of me kept screwing up their noses and saying "ew, what's that smell?" (Real Young Liberals were such a shiny-haired lot back then, not really Basi's Boys material at all, and I'm sure they never inhaled, let alone ran grow ops.)
After that little catastrophe, we went into the hall, where they were singing O Canada for some reason. We decided to stay at the back and lower our heads and raise our right fists. Some years later, I bought some trashy book by Lubor Zink* at the Sally Ann, musta been "Trudeaucracy", and discovered that he had written us up as "the Red Guard of the Liberal Party". hahaha.
And that's all I remember about Winnipeg. It was cold in Winnipeg. But was it a dry cold?
______________
* "Do you remember a party you attended at the Press Club last month?"
"Vaguely."
"Do you remember being bitten on the shin by Lubor Zink?"
"Sure, but it wasn't anything serious. He barely drew blood."
"Well, that's how it all begins. Now, whenever a full moon is out, you become a rabid, raving, big C Conservative. ..."
http://collection.nlc-bnc.ca/100/200/300/aardvarks_eyes_press/les_pages_aux_folles/book_1/01LPAF98.htmFor Mr. ZINK, a veteran journalist who was often ridiculed for his staunch anti-communist views, the crumbling of communist governments in Eastern Europe was the ultimate vindication. "He knew he was right and the fall of communism made him feel very good," said Mrs. ZINK. ... "He was one of those rare journalists whose assessments seemed extreme at the time, but were understatements a mere five years later," Toronto Sun columnist and former Sun editor Peter WORTHINGTON wrote recently. "Few of those who used to mock him realized how courageous and true he was." Mr. ZINK was ridiculed over the years, often by peers who, in the words of one former colleague, felt he was a "one-trick pony who never got over the communist era."
http://www.ogs.on.ca/ogspi/200/o200r004.htmWell, that was putting it mildly. The man was foaming at the mouth mad. But what he wrote about me was damned funny.
"The problem I find with most right-wing columnists (leaving aside my obvious political bias) is that so few of them seem to have any kind of a sense of humour. Lubor Zink (probably Canada's most fervent anti-communist columnist, now deceased) could occasionally turn out a humourous piece, but the current crop of right-wingers are merely (and consistently) tedious to read."
http://realitystick.blogspot.com/2004/07/lord-of-right-wing.html