Internet Payments

Secure & Reliable

Your data is encrypted and secure with us.
Godaddyseal image
VeraSafe Security Seal

Lethbridge Herald Newspaper Archives

- Page 5

Join us for 7 days to view your results

Enter your details to get started

or Login

What will you discover?

  • 108,666,265 Obituaries
  • 86,129,063 Archives
  • Birth & Marriages
  • Arrests & legal notices
  • And so much more
Issue Date:
Pages Available: 32

Search All United States newspapers

Research your ancestors and family tree, historical events, famous people and so much more!

Browse U.S. Newspaper Archives

googlemap

Select the state you are looking for from the map or the list below

OCR Text

The Lethbridge Herald (Newspaper) - January 26, 1974, Lethbridge, Alberta M, 1974 TIM UTMtMOOl MMLO-1 People of the south By Chris Stewart Never too old to help your brother THE VOICE OF ONE By Dr. Frank S. Morley Is one ever too old to be his brother's keeper to be concerned about the struggles of his fellows and try to do something to help them? "No, certainly ac- cording to 89-year-old Tom Chapman, the friendly Scot with the handshake tattooed on his right wrist. "There is always someone needing assistance and encourage- ment and there is no age limit Jin giving it." He sees no reason for quitting even though he's nearing 90. Observe him at the Southland- Nursing Home and you'll find him wheeling to dinner two of his disabled roommates or browsing through his stack of AA pamphlets in search of one suitable for the fellow he's attempting to help. Tom has been helping drunks ever since he (a non-drinker) turn- ed up at the organizational meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous at the Marquis Hotel 15 years ago when being a drunk was viewed disdain- fully and AA membership wasn't as popular as it is today. He was concerned about the problem of ex- cessive drinking then and still is and what's more he's deter- mined to do something about it. He will sit all night, if necessary, and reason, sip coffee, listen and try to counsel individuals but he ad- mits "Unless a person wants to quit I can't do much to help him." 7'I visited Tom on January 10, a very important date in his life. It was the 18th "dry" birthday of a mutual friend who had sought Tom out one wintery 1956 night when, torn between yet another "bender" or sobriety, he decided to win out. He had struggled unsuccessfully with this option for years but on this particular occasion was determined not to open another bottle. Instead he hitchhiked from Milk River to Lethbridge to find Tom. That visit changed his life. Today he is among Tom's many ad- mirers, many of whom also desperately craved "just one contacted Tom instead. Most of the results have been equally gratifying. A strange role for a teetotaller, you say. Maybe so, but it shouldn't be. Tom maintains "Being our brother's keeper means just what it says. Why leave the salvaging to ex-drunks alone? 1 Isn't it everyone's respon- 1 While Tom is justifiably proud of the 80 per cent who make it back to sobriety I have learned that it is Tom himself the AA members ad- mire. They showed it at their annual New Year's Eve celebration. The amount of back-slapping and handshak- ing (and yes, even hugging and kissing) accorded this handsome octegenarian thwarted his desire for anonymity. "Guess I was kiss- ed more than anyone he admitted shyly. When Les Kaskew, classification officer at the provincial jail learned Tom was being included in the People of the South series he said with delight, "Tom's contribution to Lethbridge has never been publicized and I certainly think it should be. He deserves tremendous credit for what he has done for alcoholics and it is high time he had recognition." "Wherever you haye miners you have drinking Tom told me "It's an oc- cupational hazard. If a bank clerk drinks heavily customers might complain but a miner, working away from public view, isn't under pressure to appear sober. He can become a recluse if he wants to." The same was true of the rock-cutters he worked with on the CN line near Kenora Their weekend binge would cost them their whole week's wages. "It's a he ad- mitted, "how five per cent of social drinkers eventually lose control." If he hadn't had serious- stomach surgery at the Mayo Clinic in 1947 he might have been one of these casualties. "If you drink, I wouldn't any warned his surgeon. Tom never has He has taken courses on alcoholism in Edmonton and Calgary and has attended AA conventions in both of these centres as well as inter- national conventions at Long Beach, California. He owns a history of the AA organization, autographed by one of the two founders and Tom's name is included in the AA world directory, enabling alcoholics around the globe to contact him. He advises wives of alcoholics to stay with their husbands and to quit fussing about it unless, of course, they are abused physically. "Join Al Anon and try to help he suggests. Tom wants to see teen- agers warned of alcohol's dangers. "They see per- suasive TV and press ads but can't envisage the resulting he laments. He believes teen-agers apprehended on liquor offences should be lectured by the police on the results of irresponsible drinking rather than fined. "Charging them only alienates them from the police instead of helping them to realize that the officers are their friends." He deplores the fact some young people leave home in a huff after quarreling with their parents and head for the nearest bar only to be arrested when thrown out at closing time. Afraid to go home and mad at authorities they frequently get into further trouble. "This is when they need counsel, not a Tom claims.- He wants to see a hostel or half-way house established, staffed by concerned volunteers offering kindness and counsel, where drunks (not A A members) could drop in for coffee. Why is he so oppos- ed to alcohol? Because he has sat too many nights with drunks who couldn't go home because they had none and heard them recount lost dreams fantasies now, min- ed by liquor. When the AA quarters closed for the night he booked them into a cheap hotel and gave them a two- meal voucher. "Did your kindness help I asked. "Yes, I'm sure it he answered thoughtfully, "Even though I was aware some weren't seriously trying to quit I knew they would be back later when they were. Showing an interest in them helped provide the confidence they needed." The Good Samaritan role suits this generous miner's son from He moved to Lethbridge in June, 1908 (the day a murder- suicide rocked the city) following a year as a CN diamond-driller east of Win- nipeg. He .poured cement for the city's new high-level bridge piers before landing a job at the Number Three mine managed by W. D. L. Hardie, the city's mayor in 1913. He and Jim Dow (who married Tom's cousin Jean, now 95 and residing at the Southland Nursing Home) boarded with Sandy McPheat in North Lethbridge. It was the year the Oldman River flooded. Tom was kept busy stacking sand bags to protect the mine. He recalls Bill White (now deceased) winning the 10-mile marathon around the treeless soccer pitch now housing the Gait Gardens, George Hauk driving bull teams north from Montana and Charlie Hanson building the Castle hotel. While Tom dug in the shafts, worked on the tipple cage and loaded box cars he completed, by correspondence, his third class engineer's papers. When he finished his exams at the Miner's Library he was ap- pointed third class engineer at the Number Six mine (employing 300 men) and later the Number Eight He worked with second class engineer Dave Aitken (deceased three years ago) for 40 years and under the Livingstone bosses Bob, Jack and Jim, hoisting as ,many as 320 coal cars per hour to the surface. The mine produced a total of 1200 tons of soft, household coal per day. Tom (one of the four third- class engineers out of 30 enginers at Number Six) is reputed to be the only one still living. Years later his oldest son Tom followed in his footsteps, serving as hoist engineer for 10 years along with his dad They even walk- ed to work together. Tom had purchased a lot in Hardieville and worth of lumber from the Subway Lumber Yard (enough to build a three-roomed house) but he had left his heart in bonny Scotland with Annie Mains. On pay nights when some miners wouldn't show up for the midnight shift at the Westrigg mine, east of Airdrie, mine engineer Frank Mains would send his daughter Annie to ask Tom to work a double shift. He never needed coaxing. By consenting he could walk An- nie home (en route to the a chance he valued. He proposed to her from Canada a one-woman he mailed her an engagement ring and sent for her in June, 1911. His plan to meet her train at Medicine Hat was foiled when she arrived 24 hours early. Instead of Tom meeting An- nie, she met him. Finding Tom not there she booked into a hotel for the night and was on the platform waiting for him next morning when his train pulled in from Lethbridge. They were married at the Presbyterian manse a few days later. Annie wore the mauve wedding gown she had fashioned and brought from Scotland. Jim and Jean Dow were attendants. They settled into Tom's house next door to the Dows, bought a horse and a second-hand two-seater rig and a cow which Annie milked better than Tom. She had an- nounced firmly, "If that thing kicks I'll never milk but luckily, for Tom, it never did. Their infant son Tom accom- panied them to Scotland in 1913 on what was to be their only trip "home." Tom added two rooms to his house as the family increased and in 1921 local house movers McAdoo and Van Home (with a team of 20 horses) moved the dwelling five miles east to a 20-acre site at Crystal Lake. He purchased additional land (farmed today by his son Tom's family) served on the school board and in 1930 bought a second-hand Model T Ford with flapping curtains for He returned to Lethbridge in 1935. After several moves within the city and following his J960 retire- ment the Chapmans settled at 726 19th Street South. Mrs. Chapman, a seamstress, was active in the White Cross Cir- cle of the First Baptist church. Highlighting their 1961 golden wedding anniver- sary was the presentation of a reclining chair and luggage set by the members of the AA. Following his wife's death 10 years ago Tom batched at home until moving to the Southland Nursing Home. Son Tom farms locally; Frank, a graduate of the University of Guelph works at the Summerland ex- perimental farm and Jim, an accountant, is in Vancouver. The Chapman's only daughter, Annie, who com- muted by horseback to LCI from Crystal Lake, won the gold medal when she graduated from the Gait School of Nursing in 1935 but died a year later following surgery. Her young niece, Mrs. Ron Sabo, nee Ann Chap- man, assistant matron at the Picture Butte hospital, graduated from the Gait 30 years later. Tom has six grandchildren and seven great grandchildren. At 89 Tom doesn't fear death. He has no bank account and sees no need of one. He says he's "laid up his treasure in heaven" not in wallets or old socks and has invested his time and energy salvaging lives, not accumulating dollars. He wants others to do the same. "Alcoholics Anonymous has no monopoly on the sobering- up he said. "The two founders were both church men who wanted sobriety and were determined to help themselves and their peers attain it. It's going to take everyone getting involv- ed the church, organizations and individuals if we are going to reverse today's increased drinking trends." I left Mr. Chapman, richer than when I had come Here was a spry, intelligent, win- some gentleman who "put his money where his mouth was" so to speak, who had actively practiced "being his brother's keeper" these long, long years. I'll never forget his warning. he said, "to an alcoholic one drink is too many and 50 are never enough." The mystery of hate A little four year old Mozambique girl was crying with hunger. A Portuguese soldier went up to her and put the barrel of his gun in her mouth saying, "Suck this." He then pull- ed the trigger and shot off her head. Why such stupid, revolting cruelty? A girl in White Rock, B.C. has made a collage showing the luxury and wealth of Canadian life, then in one corner has a little child with bloated belly dying of hunger. It is a picture without words asking the question Why is there so little love and so much selfishness and conse- quent suffering? In the British Weekly Fred Milson tells of driving through a village in Jamaica. It was very hot and his car windows were rolled down. As he passed a school girl dressed in a neat uniform with her brand-new satchel thrown over her shoulder she looked up at him and in a flat, unemotional voice which made her hatred worse she said, "Go home, white pig." Milson blamed her attitude on the 300-year exploitation of the Jamaican people, the wealth of the country being carried off to make fat livings in Britain. This may be true, but in Bermuda blacks are as prosperous as whites and not exploited Yet race hatred is seething everywhere. Out- side my church in Bermuda was a bus stop where children gathered after school. When I first went to Bermuda they used to respond and say hello, but later their eyes had become like marbles, hard and hating and silent. A young woman went out to her motorbike, a youth passing by knocked her down, then took a chain from his bag on his motorbike and beat her with it. The last I heard she was in hospital with a complete breakdown. During the Christmas season some young people in White Rock slashed the tires of cars parked outside a home where the owners were having a party. Next night they moved on to another house and did the same thing. Others tires were stabbed with ice picks. In his magnificent book "Love against Hate" Karl Menninger, the eminent psy- chiatrist, declares that the destiny of the human race is involved in the question as to whether love triumphs over hate. "Two contrary laws seem to be wrestling with one another said Louis Pasteur, "the one a law of blood and death ever imagining new means of destruction; the other, a law of peace, work, and health ever evolving new means of delivering man from the scourges which beset him." Hate, declares Menninger is a world sickness and this world sickness is a magnification of the individual personality, of the multiple miniature wars in the hearts of individuals, the war of human instincts and motives. Some time ago I wrote an article on a doc- tor's statement that to the medical man all men are the same inside. While this might be true from the point of view of biology or anatomy, it was not true of the thoughts and emotions, every man having a world of his own. One reader wrote a vitriolic letter full of hate and deliberate misunderstanding. The temptation was strong to write a reply, but I remembered Churchill's letter in reply to a savage attack calling him a murderer, coward, and liar. "I am very sorry to receive your wrote Churchill, "with the evidence it gives of your distress of mind. The fact that you do me the greatest injustice does not deprive you of my sympathy, since you have obviously suffered so much." Similarly Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, "You must have been most miserable, to be so cruel." One should be very gently with such people since they probably belong to the great company of the invisibly wounded. Menninger believes that love is the medicine for the sickness of the world and that the goal is not unattainable since to love is to live and man has within him a drive to live. He quotes Jesus, "God is and Plato who meant the same thing when he said "Love is the desire of the whole, and the pursuit of the whole is called love. "These are brave words when the news is filled with violence and hate, when all around one finds men and women rejecting love, breaking up their marriages, deserting their children, when Belfast is full of brutal bombing, inno- cent people are murdered in planes, people have been killed in Vietnam since "peace" was declared, and the Middle East remains explosive. Yet love remains the only hope of the world and, as Menninger main- tains, man must continue to hope. Only in love is there joy or beauty. SATURDAY TALK By Norman Smith vs amateur writers A year ago when this Saturday Talk petered in I said I'd try to be a listening post for you1 L Book review Tom Chapman Photo by If alter Kerber Pope John, a great diplomat "I Will Be Called John: A Biography of Pope John XXIII" by Lawrence Elliott (Reader's Digest P. Dutton Co., 338 pages, distributed by Clarke, Irwin Company For once The Reader's Digest penchant for coloring people noble and nice seems appropriate There is no doubt that Pope John XXIII was a truly good man. Even the conservatives in the Roman Catholic Church who were troubled by his liberalizing tendencies could not fault him for lack ot piety or moral practice. Exemplary as Pope John was in his behavior it was obviously his spirit that endeared him to all who encountered him, Catholic or Protestant or Atheist alike. He had a genuine love for all men No meanness clouded his relationships with others. An attractive humbleness was linked with an irrepressible sense of humor. In every way Angelo Roncalli was suited for the diplomatic role in which he was to spend most of his life in the service of the church. It is likely that his lengthy postings as Papal Representative to Bulgaria (1925-34) and as Papal Representative to Turkey and Greece (1935-44) constituted a kind of banishment He had already displayed liberal leanings while serving as secretary to Monsignor Radini-Tedeschi, bishop of Bergamo (1905-1914) and while at the Vatican in the service of Propaganda Fide The church in Bulgaria and in both Turkey and Greece was numerically small and faced with peculiar problems because of the attitudes of the governments Bishop Roncalli's natural diplomacy was honed to a high degree in these circum stances When Bishop Roncalli finally emerged again into a prominent place as Papal Representative in France (1944-52) it was because he had proved himself fit to tackle an unusually sensitive job. Tremendous bitterness pervaded post-war France where some bishops were being accused of collaborating with the Nazis. It required the utmost tact and under- standing to deal with the situation. Bishop Roncalli rose to the occasion brilliantly. Eventually, in what Bishop Roncalli thought was to be the end of his service, came the satisfying reward of being made Cardinal Patriarch of Venice (1953-58) He loved his life as bead of the church in Venice and was dismayed somewhat when it became evident that he was to end his life in the onerous position of Pope But he soon overcame his dismay and went on to become perhaps the best known Pope of all time. Here is a grand story that tempts the reviewer to write at such length that readers might feel it is unnecessary to read the book That would be a mistake because Lawrence Elliott has done a magnificent job of this biography and he deserves to have a wide reading of his work Interestingly enough, the biographer is not a Roman Catholic It was felt by the publishers that there would be an advantage in a non- Catholic writing this biography because it might be more objective This of course is a debatable point inasmuch as Pope John was so admired beyond the Roman Catholic Church that he was sometimes facetiously referred to as the Protestant's Pope No matter, the choice of the biographer was a good one and all people of faith and goodwill can read this book and be warmed and heartened by the goodness that is presented. DOUG WALKER for unusual speeches by unusual men. Today Robertson Davies is the man, and his recent speech to the Royal Canadian Academy of Arts separates the men from the boys in writing with that mix of wisdom and unabash- ed glee that makes him unique in Canadian letters. It was more than twice the length I must cut it to, and therefore twice as good but with his permission, here it is: Misgivings quickly became cold feet when I realized that I had undertaken to speak to an assembly of artists, painters, sculptors and architects. Then it suddenly broke upon me: the thing that binds all of us together in this room tonight is that we are, in our varying ways, professionals. I decided, therefore, that I might talk for a little while about what it is to be a professional. The word is by no means ill- understood. A professional is somebody who does something whole-heartedly, and in the public view, who is prepared to stand or fall by the public's judgment of his work. If he fails he makes no excuses, and if he succeeds he is not deluded. He knows what it is that stands first in his heart and his mind, and what it is that has first call on the best that is within him. We live in an age that is deluded, as never before in history, by the Cult of the Amateur. It used to be possible to define what an amateur was. The origin of the word implies that it is somebody who loves something, and the dictionary extends that to somebody who is fond of something, or cultivates a taste for something. Most decidedly it is not somebody who is up to his neck in something or has stak- ed his all on something. But in our time the distinction between professional and amateur is smeared. The amateur is, in virtually all instances, an imitator. Often he is a very clever im- itator. If, in the art of painting or sculpture, he sees a work which looks, to a superficial glance, formless and incoherent he thinks: "I can be formless and incoherent too; I can be formless and incoherent all day and every day; what's the difference between me and this fellow about whom everybody is making such a The difference is simply that the artist has found something very deep within himself which is also deep in the spirit of his time, which he paints as well as he can, and which calls to a kindred dimly perceived form in the spirit of the sensitive viewer. The amateur, on the other hand, is either copying or manufacturing the insight of the artist, and his painting may be, quite literally, as clever as paint, but art is not cleverness and his can- vas has no validity. His intuition and his in- sight are second-hand. In writing, as in painting, the whole concept of technique is now out of favor. There is good reason for it. During the last century many writers carried the refinement of technique to :t point at which it began to invalidate the real content of what was written. All sorts of technical horrors resulted: there were books that were so refined in' style, so gem- encrusted in structure and purpurate in vocabulary that it was quite hard work to read them. Technique had triumphed over matter, and the tail was wagging the dog. So writers and critics agreed to throw technique out of the window, in order that a new and cleansed prose might come in at the door. But alas, the new prose was in itself another technical device; people attempted automatic writing, in which they abandoned themselves to the dictation of their innermost selves; still others sought to strengthen their work by the plentiful use of words which had not previous- ly appeared in print except on walls of the least honored forms of architecture. As a usual thing these devices did not work, because most of the writers were thinking the things that writers had always thought, and they were not thinking, or feeling, with any special intensity or freshness. In addition there was an element encourag- ed by the fashions in education that made the lot of the writer more difficult than it ought to have been. Examples of fine literature went. Teachers decided that Shakespeare and the Bible and the classics of literature were too difficult for young minds to grasp, and so young minds ceased to have anything to feed on except what their teachers thought suitable for them. And consequently the com- mon standards of appreciation declined Grammar was discovered to be a tedious yoke laid upon freedom and vividness of ex- pression, so grammar was abandoned, and as grammar is, among other things, a kind of road-map to meaning, the concept of meaning was sacrificed. The ironic thing is that vividness and any real freedom of expression went with it. Frenzied efforts were made to teach creative writing. Teachers are now try- ing to cope with the discovery horrifying to the really modern mind that without dis- cipline there is no form, and without form there is no meaning, and that without mean- ing barbarism triumphs. The writer in Canada meets considerable numbers of people who do not think that writing is a form of art. I meet many of them, who tell me that they too would write if only they had the time. Sometimes they invite me to write a book with them; they will tell me about their relatives, and I will do the typing. They tell me that their greatest desire is to have time to sit down and write. I have to bite my tongue to refrain from suggesting that they might try writing standing up. Many ex- cellent writers have done so. Another sort of person known to every writer is the reader who does not believe in imagination. He does not think a writer ever creates anything. Obviously his novels are thinly disguised autobiography. And so they dig me in the ribs about the beautiful women with whom I have had affairs, or they scold me because I have said such awful things about my parents, or they demand to know where I fought in the First World War A variant of this type is the university student who believes that everything has a source, and that every writer is fed through a navel- string which is attached to another writer, probably dead. If I protest, miloiy, that I make up my own stuff, they look at me with the scorn Canadians reserve for a man who is lying about his bank balance. Why am I telling you all people say in bad plays when they have been spilling out their innermost confessions. Quite frankly, my dear friends, because I think you will understand Indeed, I know you will un- derstand because you are professionals, and you know what enthralment to one of the arts is, and what it asks. Mg 64545 ;