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A Father’s Stern Slaps

Kathleen Wynne, the Premier Of Ontario, Canada, had a video released targeting men for raping women (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2ZSZrGc-O8). This is a continuation of an attack on the male that has been going on in the west for decades.

At the end of World War Two America women visiting the Soviet Union asked Russian women why they treated their men with so much deference.

The Russian women replied, “You have to understand our men were all we had between us and Adolf Hitler.”

“In my country we had an iron curtain and knew it. In your country you have an iron curtain of the mind and don’t know it,” said a young Russian last year.

“You’re right. Some of us do know it. The rest do not and do not want to,” I replied.

John Taylor Gatto in his essay AGAINST SCHOOLS (reprinted on this site) and in his landmark book, THE UNDERGROUND HISTORY OF AMERICAN EDUCATION, warns of what happens when the young are robbed of the presence of older human beings.

http://thesestonewalls.com/gordon-macrae/in-the-absence-of-fathers-a-story-of-elephants-and-men/

http://www.cbsnews.com/news/the-delinquents/

You want to know why young men are raping women? It is for the same reason those young elephants raped rhinos.

STAY OUT OF SCHOOL

I was 18 years old. When I researched on my own the essential subject of history I found much that was not in the school texts. When I spoke with my teachers they said, “We are not allowed to bring that up.” By accident I discovered that the editions of Shakespeare and other great writers used in schools had had everything that might offend a mother cut out. My gut told me everything I had been taught was a lie. My parents say I was wrong. Everyone said go to university. I was fed up with sitting in classrooms. I have news for you. They are wrong.

Montesquieu: “We get three educations. The first is from our parents, the second from our schoolmasters, the third, life. The last makes liars of the first two.”

Albert Einstein: “It is, in fact, nothing short of a miracle that the modern methods of instruction have not entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry; for this delicate little plant, aside from stimulation, stands mainly in need of freedom; without this it goes to wrack and ruin without fail. It is a very great mistake to think that the enjoyment of seeing and searching can be promoted by means of coercion and a sense of duty.”

George Bernard Shaw: “My schooling not only failed to teach me what it professed to be teaching, but prevented me from being educated to an extent which infuriates me when I think of all I might have learned at home by myself.”

Bertrand Russell: “Men are born ignorant, not stupid. They are made stupid by education.”

Ivan Illich: “School is an institution built on the axiom that learning is the result of teaching. And institutional wisdom continues to accept this axiom, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.”

Ellis Marsalis to his sons Branford, Delfeayo and Wynton: “Most teachers say you should go to school to get your degree to have something to fall back on. Aside from being a huge lie, that also creates a very high level of mediocrity, because nobody who really believes that is going to take the leap of faith required to be a serious artist. Stay out of school.”

David Mamet: “Invent nothing. Deny nothing. Stand up. Speak up. Stay out of school.”

Jane Jacobs: “I had wonderful teachers in the first and second grades who taught me everything I know. After that, I’m afraid, the teachers were nice, but they were dopes…I have a lack of ideology, and not because I have an animus against any particular ideology; it’s just that they don’t make sense to me…they get in the way of thinking. I don’t see what use they are…University and uniformity, as ideals, have subtly influenced how people thought about education, politics, economics, government, everything…We are misled by universities and other intellectual institutions to believe that there are separate fields of knowledge. But it’s clear there are no separate fields of knowledge. It is a seamless web.”

My high school principle told me when I was 18, “You the wrong attitude. If you leave this school today you will starve in two weeks.” Had I not left I would have starved.

Most young men are afraid of danger. I was not.

I read a lot of science fiction stories in my teens. In my favorite ones the hero was always a young boy who went into the forbidden zone. There he discovered what was needed to save his people. I have spent my whole life in the forbidden zone. God help you if you can’t.

Hunter S. Thompson at 17: “Which is better? To stand safely on the shore or to risk the waves, perhaps to die.” I’m with Hunter. He wrote FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS.

A young “poet” from Medellin, Colombia whom I wanted to introduce to Toronto emailed me:

“I am so sorry for saying this, but the project cannot go on due to what you told me yesterday, it is dangerous for me. Though it is a great opportunity and a good start for my projects I would not feel comfortable working in that environment.
“It was a big pleasure to meet you, and I really appreciate the fact that you came to me without masks yesterday, I know that you are a good person, but overall you are a man and Even the civilized man does not give a step without his shadow the untamed savage.
“You are a good teacher and I have learnt a lot during this two months, I will remember what you told me about life, about education, about knowledge and about happiness, so I basically just have thanks for you and I hope later I could meet you again and talk as if we were both men, and no, Man-Boy.
“Without more than thanks and apologizes, I hope you understand the situation.”
Words from real poets:
“Which is the Real One?” by Charles BaudelaireI once knew a certain Benedicta who filled earth and air with the ideal, and whose eyes scattered the seeds of longing for greatness, beauty and glory, for everything that makes a man believe in immortality.But this miraculous girl was too beautiful to live long; and so it was that, only a few days after I had come to know her, she died, and I buried her with my own hands one day when Spring was swaying its censer over the graveyards. I buried her with my own hands and shut her into a coffin of scented and incorruptible wood like the coffers of India.And while my eyes still gazed on the spot where my treasure lay buried, all at once I saw a little creature who looked singularly like the deceased, stamping up and down on the fresh earth in a strange hysterical frenzy, and who said as she shrieked with laughter:”Look at me! I am the real Benedicta! a perfect hussy! And to punish you for your blindness and your folly, you shall love me as I am.”

But I was furious and cried: “No! no! no!” And to emphasize my refusal I stamped so violently on the earth that my leg sank into the new dug grave to my knee; and now, like a wolf caught in a trap, I am held fast, perhaps forever, to the grave of the ideal.”

— Charles Baudelaire, {Paris Spleen} —

Crazy Jane Talks with the Bishop
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
`Those breasts are flat and fallen now
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.’`Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,’ I cried.
‘My friends are gone, but that’s a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart’s pride.`A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.’
Because I walked out of high school I got real teachers.
Among their number were many the world does not know and some the world does. Among those it does know were John Herbert, author of the landmark play, FORTUNE AND MEN’S EYES; Jane Jacobs, author of the pivotal book THE DEATH AND LIFE OF GREAT AMERICAN CITIES; Judith Merril, the mother of modern science/speculative fiction; Al Aronowitz, the man who wrote the first positive press about Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs and Jack Kerouac and who, meeting Bob Dylan in a laundromat, introduced him to Allen Ginsberg. I got fierce drunk one night with Jerzy Zaborski, a Tibetan Lama who had accompanied the Dalai Lama on his first journey across Canada. Jerzy said, “You are a Crazy-Wisdom-Yogin. That is the highest compliment I, as a Buddhist, can pay.” I looked it up. Crazy-Wisdom-Yogins are wild men not afraid to make love.
A Toronto writer, Joe Fiorito, wrote, “Reg Hartt teaches the way Neal Cassady drove a truck.” Who was Neal Cassady? Look him up. That is one helluva fine compliment.Will Sloan
Will Sloan emailed me after I posted this asking that I remove the description of him as hot. He said it is embarrassing.
Embarassing? There is the triumph of our school system. It produces men without balls, eunuchs.
A fellow I know told me how as a young student he had been invited to record his music by a new man on the block. “After I finish school,” he said.
In his place another fellow named Reg stepped up. The world knows him today as Elton John.
The good thing is that most of the young men and women who have come into my life have fire in their bellies.
In 2004 a 20 year old man walked in to see THE WIZARD OF OZ played to PINK FLOYD’S THE DARKSIDE OF THE MOON. I said, “You look just like Walt Disney’s PINOCCHIO.” He said, “I am playing the tail end of the whale in Disney On Ice.” You can read about him here: http://www.goldenskate.com/2004/03/hamel-showcases-unique-talent/.
Alex asked if he could live here. I said, “Sure.”
As a direct result he created a figure skating company, LE PATIN LIBRE, which is revolutionizing the world of figure skating (http://lepatinlibre.com/en/).
“I know that you are a good person, but overall you are a man and Even the civilized man does not give a step without his shadow the untamed savage.”
That untamed savage is what we most must embrace.
Wrote Henry Miller in AN OPEN LETTER TO SURREALISTS EVERYWHERE, “”So long as (man) cannot operate as a savage or less than a savage, and think as a god, or better than god, he will suffer…A man who is full of God is outside of faith…When a man is truly creative he works single-handed and he wants no help. A man acting alone, on faith, can accomplish what trained armies are incapable of doing. To believe in one’s self, in one’s own powers, is apparently the most difficult thing in the world…Whenever an English artist of any value has arisen he has been marked as Public Enemy No. 1.”
In India 400 men castrated themselves so they could meet God (http://www.indiatimes.com/news/india/guru-gurmeet-singh-convinced-400-men-to-get-castrated-to-meet-god-now-theyre-really-angry-230604.html).
Why would God want to meet men with no balls?
So, Will, don’t email me asking me to remove this because I won’t. If that means I don’t see you again, well, the loss is yours.
And to the little boy from Medellin, 10494778_820424941302439_1106321314476298150_n IN PLACE OF A CURSETHE ROAD NOT TAKENhere is THE CORE OF MASCULINITY by Rumi.

—Reg Hartt.A Father's stern slaps
REG HARTT @ THE CINEFORUM, TORONTO

AGAINST SCHOOL John Taylor Gatto.

How public education cripples our kids, and why

I taught for thirty years in some of the worst schools in Manhattan, and in some of the best, and during that time I became an expert in boredom. Boredom was everywhere in my world, and if you asked the kids, as I often did, why they felt so bored, they always gave the same answers: They said the work was stupid, that it made no sense, that they already knew it. They said they wanted to be doing something real, not just sitting around. They said teachers didn’t seem to know much about their subjects and clearly weren’t interested in learning more. And the kids were right: their teachers were every bit as bored as they were.

Boredom is the common condition of schoolteachers, and anyone who has spent time in a teachers’ lounge can vouch for the low energy, the whining, the dispirited attitudes, to be found there. When asked why they feel bored, the teachers tend to blame the kids, as you might expect. Who wouldn’t get bored teaching students who are rude and interested only in grades? If even that. Of course, teachers are themselves products of the same twelve-year compulsory school programs that so thoroughly bore their students, and as school personnel they are trapped inside structures even more rigid than those imposed upon the children. Who, then, is to blame?

We all are. My grandfather taught me that. One afternoon when I was seven I complained to him of boredom, and he batted me hard on the head. He told me that I was never to use that term in his presence again, that if I was bored it was my fault and no one else’s. The obligation to amuse and instruct myself was entirely my own, and people who didn’t know that were childish people, to be avoided if possible. Certainly not to be trusted. That episode cured me of boredom forever, and here and there over the years I was able to pass on the lesson to some remarkable student. For the most part, however, I found it futile to challenge the official notion that boredom and childishness were the natural state of affairs in the classroom. Often I had to defy custom, and even bend the law, to help kids break out of this trap.

The empire struck back, of course; childish adults regularly conflate opposition with disloyalty. I once returned from a medical leave to discover that all evidence of my having been granted the leave had been purposely destroyed, that my job had been terminated, and that I no longer possessed even a teaching license. After nine months of tormented effort I was able to retrieve the license when a school secretary testified to witnessing the plot unfold. In the meantime my family suffered more than I care to remember. By the time I finally retired in 1991, I had more than enough reason to think of our schools – with their long-term, cell-block-style, forced confinement of both students and teachers – as virtual factories of childishness. Yet I honestly could not see why they had to be that way. My own experience had revealed to me what many other teachers must learn along the way, too, yet keep to themselves for fear of reprisal: if we wanted to we could easily and inexpensively jettison the old, stupid structures and help kids take an education rather than merely receive a schooling. We could encourage the best qualities of youthfulness – curiosity, adventure, resilience, the capacity for surprising insight – simply by being more flexible about time, texts, and tests, by introducing kids to truly competent adults, and by giving each student what autonomy he or she needs in order to take a risk every now and then.

But we don’t do that. And the more I asked why not, and persisted in thinking about the “problem” of schooling as an engineer might, the more I missed the point: What if there is no “problem” with our schools? What if they are the way they are, so expensively flying in the face of common sense and long experience in how children learn things, not because they are doing something wrong but because they are doing something right? Is it possible that George W. Bush accidentally spoke the truth when he said we would “leave no child behind”? Could it be that our schools are designed to make sure not one of them ever really grows up?

 

Do we really need school? I don’t mean education, just forced schooling: six classes a day, five days a week, nine months a year, for twelve years. Is this deadly routine really necessary? And if so, for what? Don’t hide behind reading, writing, and arithmetic as a rationale, because 2 million happy homeschoolers have surely put that banal justification to rest. Even if they hadn’t, a considerable number of well-known Americans never went through the twelve-year wringer our kids currently go through, and they turned out all right. George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln? Someone taught them, to be sure, but they were not products of a school system, and not one of them was ever “graduated” from a secondary school. Throughout most of American history, kids generally didn’t go to high school, yet the unschooled rose to be admirals, like Farragut; inventors, like Edison; captains of industry, like Carnegie and Rockefeller; writers, like Melville and Twain and Conrad; and even scholars, like Margaret Mead. In fact, until pretty recently people who reached the age of thirteen weren’t looked upon as children at all. Ariel Durant, who co-wrote an enormous, and very good, multivolume history of the world with her husband, Will, was happily married at fifteen, and who could reasonably claim that Ariel Durant was an uneducated person? Unschooled, perhaps, but not uneducated.

We have been taught (that is, schooled) in this country to think of “success” as synonymous with, or at least dependent upon, “schooling,” but historically that isn’t true in either an intellectual or a financial sense. And plenty of people throughout the world today find a way to educate themselves without resorting to a system of compulsory secondary schools that all too often resemble prisons. Why, then, do Americans confuse education with just such a system? What exactly is the purpose of our public schools?

Mass schooling of a compulsory nature really got its teeth into the United States between 1905 and 1915, though it was conceived of much earlier and pushed for throughout most of the nineteenth century. The reason given for this enormous upheaval of family life and cultural traditions was, roughly speaking, threefold:
1) To make good people.
2) To make good citizens.
3) To make each person his or her personal best.

These goals are still trotted out today on a regular basis, and most of us accept them in one form or another as a decent definition of public education’s mission, however short schools actually fall in achieving them. But we are dead wrong. Compounding our error is the fact that the national literature holds numerous and surprisingly consistent statements of compulsory schooling’s true purpose. We have, for example, the great H. L. Mencken, who wrote in The American Mercury for April 1924 that the aim of public education is not

to fill the young of the species with knowledge and awaken their intelligence. . . . Nothing could be further from the truth. The aim.. . is simply to reduce as many individuals as possible to the same safe level, to breed and train a standardized citizenry, to put down dissent and originality. That is its aim in the United States . . . and that is its aim everywhere else.

Because of Mencken’s reputation as a satirist, we might be tempted to dismiss this passage as a bit of hyperbolic sarcasm. His article, however, goes on to trace the template for our own educational system back to the now vanished, though never to be forgotten, military state of Prussia. And although he was certainly aware of the irony that we had recently been at war with Germany, the heir to Prussian thought and culture, Mencken was being perfectly serious here. Our educational system really is Prussian in origin, and that really is cause for concern.

The odd fact of a Prussian provenance for our schools pops up again and again once you know to look for it. William James alluded to it many times at the turn of the century. Orestes Brownson, the hero of Christopher Lasch’s 1991 book, The True and Only Heaven, was publicly denouncing the Prussianization of American schools back in the 1840s. Horace Mann’s “Seventh Annual Report” to the Massachusetts State Board of Education in 1843 is essentially a paean to the land of Frederick the Great and a call for its schooling to be brought here. That Prussian culture loomed large in America is hardly surprising, given our early association with that utopian state. A Prussian served as Washington’s aide during the Revolutionary War, and so many German- speaking people had settled here by 1795 that Congress considered publishing a German-language edition of the federal laws. But what shocks is that we should so eagerly have adopted one of the very worst aspects of Prussian culture: an educational system deliberately designed to produce mediocre intellects, to hamstring the inner life, to deny students appreciable leadership skills, and to ensure docile and incomplete citizens – all in order to render the populace “manageable.”

 

It was from James Bryant Conant – president of Harvard for twenty years, WWI poison-gas specialist, WWII executive on the atomic-bomb project, high commissioner of the American zone in Germany after WWII, and truly one of the most influential figures of the twentieth century – that I first got wind of the real purposes of American schooling. Without Conant, we would probably not have the same style and degree of standardized testing that we enjoy today, nor would we be blessed with gargantuan high schools that warehouse 2,000 to 4,000 students at a time, like the famous Columbine High in Littleton, Colorado. Shortly after I retired from teaching I picked up Conant’s 1959 book-length essay, The Child the Parent and the State, and was more than a little intrigued to see him mention in passing that the modern schools we attend were the result of a “revolution” engineered between 1905 and 1930. A revolution? He declines to elaborate, but he does direct the curious and the uninformed to Alexander Inglis’s 1918 book, Principles of Secondary Education, in which “one saw this revolution through the eyes of a revolutionary.”

Inglis, for whom a lecture in education at Harvard is named, makes it perfectly clear that compulsory schooling on this continent was intended to be just what it had been for Prussia in the 1820s: a fifth column into the burgeoning democratic movement that threatened to give the peasants and the proletarians a voice at the bargaining table. Modern, industrialized, compulsory schooling was to make a sort of surgical incision into the prospective unity of these underclasses. Divide children by subject, by age-grading, by constant rankings on tests, and by many other more subtle means, and it was unlikely that the ignorant mass of mankind, separated in childhood, would ever reintegrate into a dangerous whole.

Inglis breaks down the purpose – the actual purpose – of modem schooling into six basic functions, any one of which is enough to curl the hair of those innocent enough to believe the three traditional goals listed earlier:

1) The adjustive or adaptive function. Schools are to establish fixed habits of reaction to authority. This, of course, precludes critical judgment completely. It also pretty much destroys the idea that useful or interesting material should be taught, because you can’t test for reflexive obedience until you know whether you can make kids learn, and do, foolish and boring things.

2) The integrating function. This might well be called “the conformity function,” because its intention is to make children as alike as possible. People who conform are predictable, and this is of great use to those who wish to harness and manipulate a large labor force.

3) The diagnostic and directive function. School is meant to determine each student’s proper social role. This is done by logging evidence mathematically and anecdotally on cumulative records. As in “your permanent record.” Yes, you do have one.

4) The differentiating function. Once their social role has been “diagnosed,” children are to be sorted by role and trained only so far as their destination in the social machine merits – and not one step further. So much for making kids their personal best.

5) The selective function. This refers not to human choice at all but to Darwin’s theory of natural selection as applied to what he called “the favored races.” In short, the idea is to help things along by consciously attempting to improve the breeding stock. Schools are meant to tag the unfit – with poor grades, remedial placement, and other punishments – clearly enough that their peers will accept them as inferior and effectively bar them from the reproductive sweepstakes. That’s what all those little humiliations from first grade onward were intended to do: wash the dirt down the drain.

6) The propaedeutic function. The societal system implied by these rules will require an elite group of caretakers. To that end, a small fraction of the kids will quietly be taught how to manage this continuing project, how to watch over and control a population deliberately dumbed down and declawed in order that government might proceed unchallenged and corporations might never want for obedient labor.

That, unfortunately, is the purpose of mandatory public education in this country. And lest you take Inglis for an isolated crank with a rather too cynical take on the educational enterprise, you should know that he was hardly alone in championing these ideas. Conant himself, building on the ideas of Horace Mann and others, campaigned tirelessly for an American school system designed along the same lines. Men like George Peabody, who funded the cause of mandatory schooling throughout the South, surely understood that the Prussian system was useful in creating not only a harmless electorate and a servile labor force but also a virtual herd of mindless consumers. In time a great number of industrial titans came to recognize the enormous profits to be had by cultivating and tending just such a herd via public education, among them Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller.

 

There you have it. Now you know. We don’t need Karl Marx’s conception of a grand warfare between the classes to see that it is in the interest of complex management, economic or political, to dumb people down, to demoralize them, to divide them from one another, and to discard them if they don’t conform. Class may frame the proposition, as when Woodrow Wilson, then president of Princeton University, said the following to the New York City School Teachers Association in 1909: “We want one class of persons to have a liberal education, and we want another class of persons, a very much larger class, of necessity, in every society, to forgo the privileges of a liberal education and fit themselves to perform specific difficult manual tasks.” But the motives behind the disgusting decisions that bring about these ends need not be class-based at all. They can stem purely from fear, or from the by now familiar belief that “efficiency” is the paramount virtue, rather than love, liberty, laughter, or hope. Above all, they can stem from simple greed.

There were vast fortunes to be made, after all, in an economy based on mass production and organized to favor the large corporation rather than the small business or the family farm. But mass production required mass consumption, and at the turn of the twentieth century most Americans considered it both unnatural and unwise to buy things they didn’t actually need. Mandatory schooling was a godsend on that count. School didn’t have to train kids in any direct sense to think they should consume nonstop, because it did something even better: it encouraged them not to think at all. And that left them sitting ducks for another great invention of the modem era – marketing.

Now, you needn’t have studied marketing to know that there are two groups of people who can always be convinced to consume more than they need to: addicts and children. School has done a pretty good job of turning our children into addicts, but it has done a spectacular job of turning our children into children. Again, this is no accident. Theorists from Plato to Rousseau to our own Dr. Inglis knew that if children could be cloistered with other children, stripped of responsibility and independence, encouraged to develop only the trivializing emotions of greed, envy, jealousy, and fear, they would grow older but never truly grow up. In the 1934 edition of his once well-known book Public Education in the United States, Ellwood P. Cubberley detailed and praised the way the strategy of successive school enlargements had extended childhood by two to six years, and forced schooling was at that point still quite new. This same Cubberley – who was dean of Stanford’s School of Education, a textbook editor at Houghton Mifflin, and Conant’s friend and correspondent at Harvard – had written the following in the 1922 edition of his book Public School Administration: “Our schools are . . . factories in which the raw products (children) are to be shaped and fashioned.. . . And it is the business of the school to build its pupils according to the specifications laid down.”

It’s perfectly obvious from our society today what those specifications were. Maturity has by now been banished from nearly every aspect of our lives. Easy divorce laws have removed the need to work at relationships; easy credit has removed the need for fiscal self-control; easy entertainment has removed the need to learn to entertain oneself; easy answers have removed the need to ask questions. We have become a nation of children, happy to surrender our judgments and our wills to political exhortations and commercial blandishments that would insult actual adults. We buy televisions, and then we buy the things we see on the television. We buy computers, and then we buy the things we see on the computer. We buy $150 sneakers whether we need them or not, and when they fall apart too soon we buy another pair. We drive SUVs and believe the lie that they constitute a kind of life insurance, even when we’re upside-down in them. And, worst of all, we don’t bat an eye when Ari Fleischer tells us to “be careful what you say,” even if we remember having been told somewhere back in school that America is the land of the free. We simply buy that one too. Our schooling, as intended, has seen to it.

Now for the good news. Once you understand the logic behind modern schooling, its tricks and traps are fairly easy to avoid. School trains children to be employees and consumers; teach your own to be leaders and adventurers. School trains children to obey reflexively; teach your own to think critically and independently. Well-schooled kids have a low threshold for boredom; help your own to develop an inner life so that they’ll never be bored. Urge them to take on the serious material, the grown-up material, in history, literature, philosophy, music, art, economics, theology – all the stuff schoolteachers know well enough to avoid. Challenge your kids with plenty of solitude so that they can learn to enjoy their own company, to conduct inner dialogues. Well-schooled people are conditioned to dread being alone, and they seek constant companionship through the TV, the computer, the cell phone, and through shallow friendships quickly acquired and quickly abandoned. Your children should have a more meaningful life, and they can.

First, though, we must wake up to what our schools really are: laboratories of experimentation on young minds, drill centers for the habits and attitudes that corporate society demands. Mandatory education serves children only incidentally; its real purpose is to turn them into servants. Don’t let your own have their childhoods extended, not even for a day. If David Farragut could take command of a captured British warship as a preteen, if Thomas Edison could publish a broadsheet at the age of twelve, if Ben Franklin could apprentice himself to a printer at the same age (then put himself through a course of study that would choke a Yale senior today), there’s no telling what your own kids could do. After a long life, and thirty years in the public school trenches, I’ve concluded that genius is as common as dirt. We suppress our genius only because we haven’t yet figured out how to manage a population of educated men and women. The solution, I think, is simple and glorious. Let them manage themselves.

**  09/2003 Harper’s Magazine.

* John Taylor Gatto is a former New York State and New York City Teacher of the Year and the author, most recently, of The Underground History of American Education. He was a participant in the Harper’s Magazine forum “School on a Hill,” which appeared in the September 2001 issue. You can find his web site here.

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An atheist Communist gets healed while “believing” Christians do not.

http://news.nationalpost.com/2015/03/21/conrad-black-the-shabby-shallow-world-of-the-militant-atheist

The one thing clear to me reading Conrad Black on Christianity is that he does not understand his subject.

St. Paul makes it clear that if I have faith it is because God chose that I have faith. If I lack faith it is also because God chose that I should lack faith. A non-Christian can say this is bull. A Christian has no choice in the matter. Black is not alone in media writers who claim to have faith who show so little understanding of the faith we are called to.

Here is the story of Louis Olivari, an atheist and a Communist, who was healed at Lourdes while many who claimed to be believers were not. Why Olivari and not the others? The answer is in his story. See if you can find it.

The amazing confession of a paralyzed Communist who was cured–and converted–at Lourdes:

Until a short time ago, Louis Olivari was an atheist and a. Communist. He also was an “incurable” paralytic. His family and friends in Nice, France, induced him to go to Lourdes, where he was suddenly “cured.” Today he is being persecuted by his former Communist comrades because he is a devout believer in God. Here, told exclusively for The American Weekly, is Louis Olivari’s own story of his amazing experience. –THE EDITORS

It is not for me to say whether I have been miraculously healed or not. All I know is that I was cured at Lourdes and I believe firmly in God after having rejected Him since childhood. My Communist comrades turn their backs on me now, but I have found a new friend, a blind boy named Georges Torelli. I owe it all to him.

I was born May 2, 1913, in Nice. My father was killed in the 19141918 war and I was brought up by the State. I was 14 years old when I went to work at the Saint Roch Hospital in Nice, where I became an electrician. In April this year the electrical installation of Saint Roch had to be modernized. It used to be a monastery and the walls are very thick and hard. I was on top of my ladder knocking holes in them on April 18 when I suddenly felt dizzy. I had never had any illness, except childhood ailments, before. I had just time to get down the ladder when I went out–unconscious, I was taken to the dispensary, where efforts were made to revive me. and then taken to the Pasteur Hospital, a few miles from the center of Nice.

The next morning, on waking, I realized with horror that I couldn’t move my right arm and right leg. I was then moved to Dr. Jean Duplay’s ward–he is the nerve surgeon there–who diagnosed a hemiplegia (the paralysis of one side of the body) caused by the rupture of a brain artery. The rupture was checked but after one month’s treatment I still couldn’t use my arm or leg. I was then sent by ambulance to the Saint Roch Hospital, where a Mr, Gausserey and Miss Fernande Leroi began massage treatments and functional re-education of the limbs. On June 15, I left the hospital, but I could only drag my right leg with great difficulty and my arm was still paralyzed. They could do no more for me. Dr. Michael Salvadori, my family doctor for 10 years, and the hospital doctors gave me very little hope to be able to work for a very long time, if ever. I was discouraged and worried, as I have three children and my wife to support. Jean-Louis is six; Josiane, nine; Joseph, 10. My eldest son, by my first marriage, is 22 and had just been recalled to fight in Algeria after serving three years in Indo-China as a volunteer parachutist.

My wife and I and the younger children live in two rooms and a kitchen on the fifth floor of a house in the old part of Nice. In my leisure hours, as I belonged to the Party, I did the work of treasurer for the Saint Roch Communist cell. “I’m done for!” I said one day to Canon Testoris, Chaplain at Saint Roch Hospital. “I’ll never be able to work again.”

“Why don’t you go to Lourdes?” he asked. “There is a pilgrimage leaving Nice on July 31.”

I just shrugged my shoulders and said: “That would be the limit–I, who believe in nothing, to go and get mixed up in that comedy.”

That evening my wife came to see me. I was staying with my sister and brother-in-law, Joseph Garnero, in Villefranche, as I could not climb up the stairs to my own apartment. I told her about the Canon’s suggestion and, to my surprise, she agreed that it was a good one. I thought to myself: “They are all nuts.”

Nevertheless, the idea took hold of me and I began to think that I had nothing to lose except my pals would jeer at me. I spoke to some of them about it and they, too, said: “Go–it can’t do you any harm.” My brother-in-law drove me to see Dr. Strobino, a Nice practitioner and member of the Lourdes Medical Commission, to ask his advice. He told me that to be admitted in the pilgrimage a patient must be considered incurable or difficult to be cured by the medical corps. He examined me and made out my record. I learned later from the General Secretary of Saint Roch that it referred to me as “incurable.” Since they said I might be cured at Lourdes, to Lourdes I’d go. But I firmly decided not to take the baths or do any praying.

On July 1, Jean-Louis Cardon, a Nice Municipal Councillor and voluntary stretcher bearer for 19 years at Lourdes, came to drive me to the station. Escorted by him, Dr. Strobino and several religious nurses, we were 85 patients. We arrived in Lourdes the next morning at 6:30 o’clock. I was hungry and wanted my breakfast at once. But the nuns and stretcher bearers said that everybody must go to the Hospital of the Seven Sorrows, where we were to stay, and then to the Esplanade, and Mass. Several thousands of pilgrims were on the Esplanade in front of the Basilica, some on stretchers, others sitting on benches, and all praying aloud, imploring the Virgin Mary to cure them. I wasn’t very much at ease in all this but I saw two little boys sitting on a bench and decided I would be happier with them. They reminded me of my own children. I sat between them and started chanting. On my left was Georges Delprano, 10 years old, asthmatic from birth. On my right was Georges Torelli, also 10, blind from birth and a beautiful child. He told me he had been to Lourdes with his mother for nine consecutive years, that the doctors thought he had a tumor on the brain, but that after an operation he still did not see. He was sure that one day the Virgin would cure him. These two children were so nice and touching that I stayed with them to go to Mass and it was only after all this that we could have breakfast at the Seven Sorrows Hospital.

The boys and I found chairs and they held their bowls of coffee and bread in their hands. As I could use only one hand, I held the bowl between my knees. I was eating so badly that Georges Delprano teased me a bit and we all laughed about it, for we had become great friends. After breakfast, Torelli’s mother came to take him, and I went with Delprano to the Grotte, where he lit six candles to the Virgin. I thought it might do good to Torelli and my mother, both believers, and I lit two for them.

Before leaving the Grotte, I saw Delprano kissing the stone near the famous source and I did the same although I still did not believe. All that afternoon I refused to have a bath in the famous piscina or to go to Mass. But the next afternoon I was sitting on the Esplanade with Del- prano and a man from Brittany when Miss Zanatta, a nurse from Nice, said to me: “What are you doing there? Why aren’t you having a bath?” She held me solidly by the left arm and with the help of a stretcher bearer gently but firmly took me to the piscina in spite of my protests. There I was undressed by two stretcher bearers who said a prayer I had to repeat after them. It was then that I heard little Georges Torelli praying in a loud voice in the next cabin. It completely upset me. One would have a heart of stone not to believe in God, hearing that. I had a sort of veil in front, of my eyes and as they helped me down the three steps into the bath, I cried out: “If You exist, please, God, cure this boy, who deserves it more than I! Let him see the sun!”

When the man plunged me into the water I saw a sort of enormous white and silver cloud, my whole body stiffened and I felt a terrible shock. I learned later that I wasn’t in the water a minute. I got out alone, walked up the three steps as in a dream. My body was mottled from head to foot. I felt so queer that I passed my hand over my eyes and head, and I heard the little Delprano boy scream: “Mr. Olivari is using his right arm!” It was only then that I realized that I could move normally. My cane was on the floor. I lifted the chair I had sat on before the bath right over my head and held it for a minute with my right arm. I dressed myself without any help while the stretcher bearers prayed. They took me to the Medical Enquiry Bureau, where I was examined by several doctors for over an hour. I was cured. The news spread like lightning and I was surrounded and questioned on all sides. I went to the Basilica to confess and receive the Holy Communion, which I had not done since childhood. I believed in God.

The next day. with the Chaplain from Nimes, I gave Georges Torelli (I now call him by his pet name, Jojo) a bath in the piscina. He celebrated his “Premiere Communion” in Lourdes and I was his sponsor. He was overjoyed about my cure. I pray that God will give him his sight soon. I am sure He will. We left Lourdes on July 7. Two days later I returned to work at the Saint Roch Hospital, where my Communist, fellow workers turned their backs on me, refused to eat with me, mocked me and treated me as a hoaxer and false brother. Soon I couldn’t stand it any more. I asked to be transferred to the electrical workshop at the Pasteur Hospital. I arrived there on August 18. But the word had been passed on, and the Communists of Pasteur gave me the same treatment. I am waiting to be transferred by the Nice Municipality to the Hopital de la Charite, when a place is open. There are no Communists there. It is not I who have refused to remain friends with my fellow workers. It. is not my fault if I believe in God now.–THE AMERICAN WEEKLY.

Luke 18: 8 “Do you think when I return I will find so much as one person believing?” (https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+18%3A8+&version=NIV).

The above rendering of the passage from Luke is not on Bible Gateway. Nor is it elsewhere on the web. It is from a uniquely powerful translation of THE NEW TESTAMENT which I found at the home of my uncle, Douglas Hartt, in Ottawa. At the time my uncle was Director General of Public Works Canada. Before entering the Civil Service he had studied to be a priest. I no longer have that copy of THE NEW TESTAMENT. I tore it up in front of a Bible Idolator when I said to him, “You can not worship this book.”

The three sentences:

“What is the difference between Judaism, Christianity and Islam?” asked the host of a party I was at.

“A Jew is the adopted child of God. A Christian is the begotten child of God. A Muslim is the slave of Allah,” I replied without thinking about it.

“Yes!” shouted a young Russian.

There in those three sentences lies the reason why Judaism and Christianity are superior to Islam. The Children of God will always be superior to the slaves of Allah (who says in The Koran, “I have no son.”).

The differences between Islam, Judaism and Christianity are many but the chief difference is that in Judaism and Christianity we are raised by God to equality with God. This calls us to absolute self reliance for God does not ask for help, need help nor pray for help. God stands alone. So must we.

Letters: In defence of atheism (National Post)….

 

RON T. ENNIS/FORT WORTH STAR-TELEGRAM

Re: The Shabby, Shallow World Of The Militant Atheists, Conrad Black, March 21.
Militant atheism has been so successful a whole generation of schoolchildren now know absolutely nothing about Christianity. It will soon be hard to discuss the teachings of Jesus, given so few people will know what he said. If anything is winning this debate, it is ignorance.
John Clench, Vancouver.


I am an anti-theist in that I believe the good deeds done by religions do not compensate for the evils committed throughout the world in the name of God. I am sure Conrad Black has as much difficulty understanding my position as I do in trying to understand how a person with his obvious intelligence and education can believe there is a Juju in the sky who created our universe. But what offends me is, he states because of my beliefs I therefore lack moral and ethical principles to guide my behaviour.

Thou shalt not kill; thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not commit adultery; thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife (although I may be a little iffy on that one); honour thy mother and father; thou shalt not bear false witness; and do unto your neighbour as you would have him do to you. Not a bad set of guidelines I try to live by. Mr. Black believes these to be the words of God, whereas I believe them to be the words of ancient Jewish scholars reached by logical and practical reasoning. For him to believe it is impossible for me to live by these guides without the intervention of a Supreme Spirit is arrogant nonsense.
John M. Dewey, Victoria.


Conrad Black states, without qualification, “all educated Christians, including Darwin, acknowledge evolution.” His statement is erroneous in at least two ways.

There are dozens of Christians with PhDs in scientific fields who feel free to question the “truth” of evolution. Some of these are employed by Creation Ministries International, a leading creationist organization with a major branch in Canada.

Charles Darwin was not a Christian when he was promoting evolution. Near the end of his life, he called himself an “agnostic” (a term coined by his friend Thomas Huxley), but much earlier than he “gradually came to disbelieve in Christianity as a divine revelation,” so he writes in his autobiography.

By 1851, with the death of his favourite daughter, Annie, Darwin “took his stand as an unbeliever,” according to biographers Adrian Desmond and James Moore in Darwin: The Life of a Tormented Evolutionist.
Richard Peachey, Abbotsford, B.C.


I have been a happy atheist since I figured it out at around age 10. Thirty-five years on, I can assure Mr. Black my rational, godless world is full of awe, majesty, wonder, fulfillment and joy. Further, I live a good life, full of generosity and kindness to others, not merely to escape an eternity of punishment by a vengeful deity, but because I know it is the right way to live.

If, by comparison, Mr. Black’s world requires a fictional god to lend it beauty and purpose, or to tell him right from wrong, then I choose my world, because his is clearly the shabbier of the two.
Steven Glover, Winnipeg.


Conrad Black’s attack on “militant atheism” and his defence of religion is a masterpiece of illogic. The essence of religion is faith, which makes it a species of fantasy, regardless of how Thomas Aquinas tried to reconcile it with reason. Religion can neither be proved nor disproved because both processes require evidence. The rational response is to dismiss supernatural claims as arbitrary; the onus of proof is on he/she who asserts the positive and one cannot disprove the arbitrary.

Religion offers no rational explanation for any current unknown; for example, if God created life, then who created God? And it’s false that without religion “there would be no serious ethical conceptions.” Ayn Rand used reason — the opposite of faith — to logically integrate the observed facts of reality and human nature, including the subconscious mind, into the ethics of rational egoism, which rejects the ethics of sacrificing others to self or self to others.

Since atheism only states what is not to be believed, one cannot use the irrational actions of certain atheists as an argument for religion.
Glenn Woiceshyn, Calgary.

FAITH WITHOUT WORKS IS DEAD AS ARE WORKS WITHOUT FAITH.

Until 1970 I neither believed nor dis-believed in God.

Then something happened to me personally that caused me to have a change of heart.

In time all will experience that change of heart.

St. Paul also writes that the pure in heart see only purity.

I make no claim to being pure in heart. I do, however, see only purity. I also see confusion, darkness and willful ignorance. In time these things will pass away.

I don’t go to any church be it Roman Catholic or Protestant. I used to go to them but the people who go to those places made it clear to me that I am not welcome in them. For that matter, neither was Jesus.

“A man’s reach should exceed his grasp…” I said in a church.

“We won’t have that here!” shouted the congregation as a whole. They rose as one to show me the door.

I hailed a passing cab.

“What happened there?” said the driver.

“I said,’a man’s reach should exceed his grasp.’ I never go to, ‘or what’s a Heaven for?’ They shouted, ‘We won’t have that here!’ and threw me out.”

“My God, they are all losers,” said the cab driver.
Here, from: http://www.stjosephschurch.net/leoxiii.htm is the Vision of Pope LeoXIII.

Vision Of Leo XIII

For many the chief obstacle to Faith are the actions of those who claim to have faith.

The literal meaning of the word “sin” is “to miss the mark.”

In this vision, which occurred on October 13, 1884, Satan asks for more power over those who will give themselves to his service and for 75 to 100 years.

At the extreme limit of the 100 years requested we come to 1984 (was it by accident George Orwell chose this?).

My point? Time is up.

We are now at the turning point. We are, in fact, in 2015 31 years past it.

There is a saying in the East, “The nearer the temple the farther from The Buddha.”

In the West there is the saying, “The nearer the church/synagogue/temple the farther from God.”

Conrad Black is like many who profess themselves to be Christians. I very much doubt he’d drag himself out to my presentations.

I also very much doubt he’d drag himself out to listen to the words of itinerant son of a carpenter whom the learned of his day despised.

Frankly, I, myself, would have a hard time doing that.

I returned to Toronto from Hollywood in 1970.

I had gone there at the invitation of a friend. I hoped to pursue a career in motion pictures.

I returned to Toronto to become part of what was then the most despised place in the city, Rochdale College.

I had no money.

“I want to be part of this,” I said to then Rochdale President Peter Turner.

“What can you do?” Peter asked.

“I can give you a film program,” I replied.

Said Peter, “Then you are Director Of Cinema Studies.”

As part of Rochdale College I smoked pot and hashish, did LSD and mushrooms and made love with many men and women.

In fact, I still do all those things though today not as much as I would like but then probably enough for what is good for me.

God does not ask us to put on a false face. He asks us to wear our true face.

God pays no attention to the words on our lips. God looks into our hearts.

When we ask only for our self God knows that we are still children. When we ask for everyone God sees that we have grown up.

Said Meister Eckhart, “We have the seed of God in us. Hazel seeds produce hazel trees. Pear seeds produce pear threes. God seeds produce Gods.”

A few years back, in 1992, after getting grief from the owners of a bar who had invited me to show films there I said to those who had come out, “Come with me.”

I brought them down to my home which was just down the street.

“We like this!” the people said as they walked in.

Cecil Taylor, who plays piano brilliantly (and also not the way many choose to hear it played) said, “The key to success in the arts is to find some small place in your own city where you can present your ideas without interference. Do that and the whole world comes to your door.”

I heard that from my friend Chloe Onari, who with her husband, Bill Smith, ran THE JAZZ AND BLUES CENTER in Toronto. Their store was where THE BEATLES, THE ROLLING STONES and many others around the world bought music.

In that moment I knew I had found my small place. Today, over twenty years later, my small place is listed in the world’s number one travel guide, THE LONELY PLANET, at the very top of its list of places to see in Ontario and in Toronto.

Not that the learned in Toronto nor many in Toronto’s officialdom value either myself or this place.

They don’t. But then in the day when he walked the earth who among Rumi’s peers imagined that when their names had become dust his name would still be alive? How could the men who passed sentence of death upon Socrates (who all thought so highly of themselves) imagine that as time passed they would be remembered as the men who put to death the greatest man of their hour? They could not. Neither could those who demanded Jesus be put to death imagine what would follow.

You would not find many who thought highly of themselves at my programs at Rochdale.

On the street people would say, “If only you would run your programs somewhere else we would come.”

After Rochdale was shut down people in the media writing stories on my work would often say, “We will leave out Rochdale.”

I always replied, “Why? It was the best thing I did.”

In April this year I will be reading from my self published work THE NIGHT THEY RAIDED ROCHDALE COLLEGE.

Conrad Black never came to any presentations there (nor here).

I sent a copy of it to one woman who had come to those presentations. She had been a regular at my programs from her arrival in Toronto in 1968.

“My mother adored you,” one of her sons said when we met on the street. I replied, “And I your mother.”

She sent me back a hand written note. Frankly, it does not get better than that.Jane Jacobs  1

As for Conrad Black, he’s a good guy, I’ll grant him that. He has been much slandered. Anyone who has read the documents regarding the charges for which he was sent to prison knows that he was found not guilty on all the charges. What he was found guilty of were minor charges that had nothing to do with the major charges. His condemnation serves as a condemnation of the entire American justice system. Forced to walk a hard path he walked it well setting an example to us all.

Like God, I prefer the company of honest atheists to dishonest Christians. All of this below came to me because I had faith. This is just a very small part of what I have been given and of what I continue to receive.

John, in his first letter, wrote, “You have no need that any man should teach you.”

I placed my faith in those words. They have borne fruit in my life beyond the wildest dreams of avarice.

I say with authority that comes from experience, “You need not that any man should teach you.”

Please get the Hell out of school.

As for Satan, well, Satan can only do what God allows him to do. He had to ask God for more power and more time.

God gave Satan more power and more time because God has faith in us to stand the test.

That faith is well founded. To fear Satan is to grant him power he does not have. Further Paul writes that in the end even Satan will be clean.

God does not condemn us for making love.

The damned are damned in the Last Judgement for lack of love.

Jesus says to them, “You saw me hungry, you saw me homeless, you saw me sick, you saw me in prison, you saw me naked, you passed me by.”

The damned say, “When did we this to you?”

The Lord replies, “When you did it to the least of my brothers and sisters you did it to me.”

Think upon that you “Christians” who have more money than you know what to do with and bitch about our welfare state.

As for the slaves of Allah, well, whether they know it or not, they are not slaves. They are my brothers and sisters in Christ. So are those thinks themselves atheists.

Those “Christians” who damn Muslims reveal themselves to be those who have given themselves over to the power of Satan as he asked of God in 1884. Their day passed in 1984. Pass them by.–Reg Hartt, 26, 3, 2015.Black Elk 2

 

Jerzy Zaborski

Postcard From Emo

Postcard From Emo

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In 1968 I devoted myself to living the life THE I CHING TEACHES. In 1992 a high ranking Tibetan Lama who had accompanied the Dalai Lama came to my presentation on the Sumerian story of Gilgamesh. He stayed after. For hours that seemed like minutes we talked about things few dream about.

In 1968 I devoted myself to living the life THE I CHING TEACHES. In 1992 a high ranking Tibetan Lama who had accompanied the Dalai Lama came to my presentation on the Sumerian story of Gilgamesh. He stayed after. For hours that seemed like minutes we talked about things few dream about.

Ellis-Marsallis-1 Elwy-Reg Chuck-Jones-Christmas-Card-0014.TIF1_ Chuck-Jones-letter Cineforum-steps Amazing-Impact Best-place-to-take-a-date right

I make a point of following Cocteau's advice. So should you.

I make a point of following Cocteau’s advice. So should you.

mamet David Beard solomon 887543_10151276981021044_687852744_o 20100823-cineforum

He got that right.

He got that right.

starve 2

Margaret Meade, "Never underestimate the power of one person to change the world for the better. All too often that is all that does it."

Margaret Meade, “Never underestimate the power of one person to change the world for the better. All too often that is all that does it.”

kerouac_quote Jack-Kerouac-Quotes-4 Untitled

It is easy to bear the contempt of the mediocre (who, after all, are the only ones who feel contempt) when a man as celebrated as Chuck Jones send me a Christmas card like this.

It is easy to bear the contempt of the mediocre (who, after all, are the only ones who feel contempt) when a man as celebrated as Chuck Jones send me a Christmas card like this.

George Carlin Rubaiyat-Of-Omar-Khayam2Jane Jacobs  1

 

You are right. 19 years old

A note from Jane Jacobs thanking me for giving her a copy of THE NIGHT THEY RAIDED ROCHDALE COLLEGE. Praise does not come better than this. "You will starve in two weeks if you leave this school today," I was told when I was in High School. Had I not left I would have starved.

A note from Jane Jacobs thanking me for giving her a copy of THE NIGHT THEY RAIDED ROCHDALE COLLEGE. Praise does not come better than this. “You will starve in two weeks if you leave this school today,” I was told when I was in High School. Had I not left I would have starved.

Old ideas are sometimes found in new buildings. New ideas need old buildings.”–Jane Jacobs.

One of Jane Jacobs’ sons said, “My mother adored you.” “And I your mother,” I replied.

I imagine she got many fan letters. I do not imagine she sent many out. I am fortunate to have received one of the few she did. Over a beer in her home she told me, “The best part of what you offer is what you have to say.” I thought of all the people who have told me they would come to my programs if only I would not speak before them.

She saw street posters as the newspaper of the street. For over fifty years I have been under attack by people who poster for hire who see postering only as a business. The last few years have seen those attacks get increasingly vicious and mean spirited. It is a great shock to see one’s self pilloried from utility pole to utility pole as a pedophile.

Laura Lind, in EYE, wrote, “Reg Hartt’s Cineforum is everything Jane Jacobs writes about.”

That is true in the fullest possible sense.

“Reg Hartt is underfinanced, overworked and snubbed. We should be paying tribute to him.”–David Beard, CINEBOOKS, 1980.

Nothing has changed since David Beard made that statement in a Toronto STAR articles those many years ago.

I am the last person on earth the people who pick THE JANE JACOBS prize would choose to receive that prize.

That is fine by me as I had and have her love.

The most shocking thing about being smeared by Dr. Jamie was not his attacks. The man clearly has something deeply wrong with him. I am just one in a very long list of people who have felt his sting several of whom he has done his best to get murdered.

The most shocking thing was and continues to be the apathy of those who make an issue of their public concern.

I am not going to be supporting people like Kathleen Wynne, Olivia Chow, Mike Layton, Joe Cressy and Adam Vaughan all of whom stayed silent. These last few weeks the attacks on my posters (see below) have gotten increasingly virulent. My emails and phone calls to those who should be responding met with no response.

The word “hypocrite” is the Greek word for actor. As we say daily actors get well paid for faking in the reel world what those of us in the real word do for pennies. When the going gets rough for actors a stunt person takes over. When the going gets rough for us we find that we stand alone.

It is lost on many today the hero of the parable of “The Good Samaritan” is not one of the people called by office and profession to help but one whom those people view with absolute contempt.

Thus it came as no surprise to me that a complete stranger, Oliver Moore, in THE GLOBE AND MAIL, did what no one in this city’s media could and should have done.

It also came as no surprise that it was from the office of former Mayor Robert Ford that help was extended and continues to be extended.

John Tory, it seems, is everything that Rob Ford is not.

That is our loss.

For Ford despite his failings is not a man to turn his gaze from those in need of his help nor is he one to cross the street.

The man may be a character. The important thing is that he has character.

As for THE JANE JACOBS PRIZE, as I said, I have her love.

Nothing anyone can give me in her name can measure up to what she, herself, gave me.

My CINEFORUM deliberately receives no money from any branch of the government.

You won’t find me invited to speak at TIFF, The Bell Lightbox, dialogues on ideas or any of those places.

THE BELL LIGHTBOX is in a new building. As Mrs. Jacobs said, “Old ideas are sometimes found in new buildings.”

THE CINEFORUM is in an old building.

One of Canada’s greatest writers, Pierre Berton, gave his last public reading here.

THE GLOBE AND MAIL asked his agent why one of Canada’s major writers was giving a reading out of Reg Hartt’s row house on Bathurst Street.

She told them, “Pierre loves Reg.”

Put that in your pipe and smoke it you actors at TIFF.

When I was 17 my high school principal shouted at me, “YOU HAVE THE WRONG ATTITUDE! IF YOU LEAVE THIS SCHOOL TODAY YOU WILL STARVE IN TWO WEEKS!

Had I not left in two weeks not only would I have starved I would also never been one of the few to receive a fan letter from Jane Jacobs.

I hope Rob Ford recovers from his bout with cancer. The trans-gendered brother of the little native girl who has experienced a complete remission from her cancer through turning away from conventional therapy lives with me. I know cancer can be beaten.

I also would like to see Rob Ford again in office as mayor. We, the people the Wynnes, Chows, Laytons, Vaughans and Cressys do not return calls to need someone who will answer our call.

That, by the way, is most of us.

“New ideas are found in old buildings,” said Jane Jacobs.

She found new ideas here. You will as well. Drop by and become a regular.

She was.

Not too shabby for a high school walkout.–Reg Hartt, 3/13/2015.

A tip of the hat to Graeme McEachern. Michael Valpy Chandler Levack Joe Fiorito

John Kricfalusi came to my programs at Innis College in the late 1970s. He was studying animation at Sheridan College. There his teachers showed him what they thought he should see. I showed him everything. Not only that I welcomed him into my life.

John Kricfalusi came to my programs at Innis College in the late 1970s. He was studying animation at Sheridan College. There his teachers showed him what they thought he should see. I showed him everything. Not only that I welcomed him into my life.

Jerzy Zaborski

Postcard From Emo

Postcard From Emo

Jane-Jacobs Jane Jacobs 8 Jane-Jacobs-Reg-Hartt Jane Jacobs 4 Chuck-Jones-Christmas-Card-0014.TIF1_

Dr. Jamie Strikes Again

Multiple posters

Multiple posters advertising a typing service. I met the man posting these and gave him a copy of the City of Toronto Poster Bylaws. He has been ignoring them for years. These are pictures both sides of a kiosk. He has six flyers posted where only one is permitted. I have seen him post twice that number and more on each side.

DSC00085Q: What is a community poster?

A: Examples of a community poster include: posters that identify missing persons, pets or items, promote citizen participation in religious, civic, charitable, or non-profit activities such as posters that advertise festivals, community events, local artistic and cultural events, local community services, and political ideas.

Q: Where can I place my community poster?

A: A community poster may be placed on a utility pole located on a boulevard or on a City of Toronto kiosk or public message board on a TTC shelter.

In this video you will see posters covered over by posters placed by James Gillis of Dr. Jamie’s Events Promotion, Campus Postering and The Toronto Street Poster Alliance. These pictures were taken Friday, March 6 and Sunday, March 8, 2015. You will also see oversize posters placed on Utility Poles by Dr. Jamie (many covering other people’s flyers)

Q: How big can the poster be?

A: The poster can be no more than 22 centimetres by 28 centimetres in size.

Dr. Jamie’s poster advertising his service is 44 centimetres by 56 centimetres in size.

Past history of Dr. Jamie:

Dr. Jamie’s (James Gillis of Dr. Jamie’’s Events Street Promotion and Dr. Jamie’s Used Police Auction Bikes) Street Poster Campaign to Get Terry Ross murdered: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=an6wuSoPjlc

Daniel Goggin talks about being asked to certify unsafe bicycles by Dr. Jamie, being asked to use bike parts salvaged from the ashes of the Queen Street West fire and about being targeted by Dr. Jamie in a street poster campaign designed to get him murdered: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v96QfcjaR2U

Jean-Paul Re talks about working for Dr. Jamie:

People talk about their experience buying bicycles from Dr. Jamie. Past employees of Dr. Jamie talk of being ripped off by him:

http://www.yelp.ca/biz/dr-jamies-bike-clinic-toronto-2

http://www.yelp.ca/not_recommended_reviews/dr-jamies-bike-clinic-toronto-2

Globe And Mail Feature on Dr. Jamie’s Street Poster Campaign to get several people murdered:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/toronto/toronto-alternative-theatre-founder-stands-up-to-bullying-threats/article549053/

Lawrence Solomon: Jane Jacobs rules as Ford strikes a blow for film freedom:

http://www.nationalpost.com/m/wp/tag/blog.html?b=news.nationalpost.com/2011/02/16/lawrence-solomon-jane-jacobs-rules-as-ford-strikes-a-blow-for-film-freedom&pubdate=2015-03-03&t=mayor-ford

Daniel Goggin On Being Poster Smeared By Dr. Jamie:

Dr. Jamie’s Street Poster Campaign Smearing a former employee he owed money to:

From a past employee of James (Dr. Jamie) Gillis:

“I can’t believe Jamie has done that stuff to you. Terry I can believe, he really hated him. I remember that when I was first working with Jamie he was fucking this fourteen year old girl who was addicted to crack! What an asshole. I thought that he would have self-destructed by now, but he is a stubborn bastard. So yes, I can write a letter for you if you wish… not sure if that would help anything…You could think about suing him, maybe there is someone out there who might help you, it’s libel and it destroys your livelihood for him to have a public campaign like that. I mean there is a reason people don’t put up posters like that. But is there a point? I doubt he is actually hurting you that much and I’m sure there’s always been people who hated you. He just gave the girl money, and she was clearly an addict. He bragged to me about how many times he fucked her and how old she was. Terry might remember that too. In any case morally I think that’s a lot more questionable than anything you or I have done. You can go ahead and put up a poster if you like, and give my name to whoever. If you give my name to someone as a character reference, or you ever need to call me, then my number is…..”

I confirmed what was written above by speaking with other people who worked for Gillis at that time. I found not only did he repeatedly rape the girl he also had himself filmed doing it. I found no one would listen. Somewhere in this city there is a young woman dealing with the trauma this man inflicted on her. She is the niece of a man who was a police officer in 14 Division. But then, she was also a crackhead.

 

Who will you help?

 

 

A RIN TIN TIN DOUBLE BILL

WHERE THE NORTH BEGINS (1923) his first starring film and THE CLASH OF THE WOLVES (1925)110829_r21220_g2048-1200 mastered from 35mm print materials held by the Library of Congress.

4pm Sunday, February 22, March 1.

The Cineforum, 463 Bathurst Below College Across From The Beer Store. 416-603–6643.

At a time when human actors were paid $150 a week Jack Warner was paying a dog, Rin Tin Tin, $2,000.00 a week.

Rin Tin Tin  was praised by everyone from the Russian director Sergei Eisenstein, who posed for a photograph with him, to the poet Carl Sandburg, who was working as a film critic for the Chicago Daily News. “A beautiful animal, he has a power of expression in his every movement that makes him one of the leading pantomimists of the screen,” Sandburg wrote, adding that Rinty was “phenomenal” and “thrillingly intelligent.”

At the first Academy Awards Ceremony in 1929 the overwhelming vote for Best Actor went to Rin Tin Tin. Unfortunately the people in charge anxious to establish that the awards were serious and important, decided that giving an Oscar to a dog did not serve that end. so it went to distant second Emil Jannings instead.

You can read more on line about Rin Tin Tin here:

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2011/08/29/the-dog-star

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rin_Tin_Tin

https://rintintinthefirst.wordpress.com/

https://marymiley.wordpress.com/2012/03/04/rin-tin-tin-the-life-and-the-legend/

“You raise good dogs.”

As a kid in New Brunswick I was terrified of dogs. The last thing I thought of doing was owning one.

That changed when my first dog, Lady, came into my life.

I raised one of her pups, whom I called Reefer, from birth. One day when I called his name a girl walking a beautiful German Shepherd said, “Reefer? That’s a strange name for a dog.” I asked, “What do you call yours?” She replied, “Fellatio.”

One day I came home to find tubes of dog food everywhere. He was unable to swallow his food.

I took him to my vet who, unfortunately, was away. Nonetheless, I left him at the Vet clinic.

Two weeks later the vet ran tests. “No dog has survived with what he has. The muscles in his esophagus have stopped working. It is something particular to German Shepherds and to Shepherd mixes. I think you should put him down but if you want a second opinion you can take him to the Veterinary College in Guelph,” hesaid.

Guelph had him a month.

When I went to pick him up he was skin and bones with deep crevasses between the bones where the skin had shrunk.starving-dog

“No dog in this country has survived with what he has,” the specialists told me.

I asked, “What about outside the country?”

“Two,” they said.

I replied, “If two outside Canada did one in Canada will.”

I had to have him drink from a running water tap standing up so that gravity would take the water down to his stomach. Similarly, I had to feed him standing up with his dish on a table top. Then, for half an hour after I sat with him with him standing between my legs his head on my lap. This way gravity took the food down to his stomach. At all times I kept him sitting up. I tied his collar so that he could not lie down. If he had fluid would have gotten into his lungs. He would have drowned.

When I walked him people seeing his emaciated frame would shout, “FEED YOUR DOG!”

I suffered them in silence. I learned fast that none of them were interested in listening.

Gradually he got his weight back.

Six months later as I was preparing his food I heard a voice in my head that said, “I am okay now, you know.”

“Are you?” I said.

I put his food and water on the floor.

One in Canada did.

That is one of the things I have done of which I am the proudest.

When I walked my dogs people would say, “You raise good dogs.”

I would reply, “I treat them just like people.”

At that they would get all sappy until I said, “Of course, I treat people just like dogs.”

Often when people heard that they snarled.

In that snarl I saw just how they would treat a dog.

It never occurred to them that if I treated dogs just like people then, of course, I treat people just like I do dogs.

My last dogs, George and Spike, went to glory years ago.

Today I have cats.

As a kid I never wanted cats.

I can’t imagine living without them now.

But dogs or cats none of the animals I have lived with and am living with came by my choice.

They just wandered in and said, “This is my home.”

Just like many of the people I have shared this place with.

From THE NEW YORKER:

Rin Tin Tin was born on a battlefield in the Meuse Valley, in eastern France, in September, 1918. The exact date isn’t certain, but when Leland Duncan found the puppy, on September 15th, he was still blind and nursing, and was nearly bald. The Meuse Valley was a terrible place to be born that year. In most other circumstances, the valley—plush and undulating, checkered with dairy farms—would have been inviting, but it rolls to the German border, and in 1918 it was at the center of the First World War.

Lee Duncan was a country boy, a third-generation Californian. One of his grandmothers was a Cherokee, and one grandfather had come west with Brigham Young. The family ranched, farmed, scratched out some kind of living. Lee’s mother, Elizabeth, had married his father, Grant Duncan, when she was eighteen, in 1891. Lee was born in 1893, followed, three years later, by his sister, Marjorie. The next year, Grant took off and was never heard from again. Lee was a great keeper of notes and letters and memos and documents. In thousands of pages, which include a detailed memoir—a rough draft for the autobiography he planned to write and the movie he hoped would be made about his life—there is only one reference to his father, and even that is almost an aside.

After Grant abandoned Elizabeth, she was unable to care for her children. She left them in an orphanage in Oakland. Neither she nor the children knew if they would ever be reunited. It wasn’t until three years later that she would reclaim them.

In 1917, Duncan joined the Army. He was assigned to the 135th Aero Squadron, as a gunnery corporal, and was sent to the French front. His account of this time is soldierly and understated, but he vividly recalled the morning of September 15, 1918, when he was sent to inspect the ruins of a German encampment. “I came upon what might have been headquarters for some working dogs,” he wrote. As he strolled around, he saw a hellish image of slaughter: about a dozen dogs, killed by artillery shells. But hiding nearby was a starving, frantic German shepherd female and a litter of five puppies.

From the moment he found the dogs, Duncan considered himself a lucky man. He marvelled at the story, turning it over like a shiny stone, watching it catch the light. He thought about that luck when it came to naming the two puppies he eventually kept for himself—the prettiest ones, a male and a female. He called them Rin Tin Tin and Nanette, after the good-luck charms that were popular with soldiers in France—a pair of dolls, made of yarn or silk, named in honor of two young lovers who, it was said, had survived a bombing in a Paris railway station at the start of the war.

In May, 1919, after the Armistice, Duncan returned to the United States. It would have been easier to leave the “war orphans” behind, but, he later wrote, “I felt there was something about their lives that reminded me of my own life. They had crept right into a lonesome place in my life and had become a part of me.” Before they reached California, however, Nanette developed pneumonia and died, and Duncan got another German shepherd puppy, named Nanette II, to keep Rin Tin Tin company. After Duncan had been back home for a while in Los Angeles, where Elizabeth was then living, he began to feel restless and anxious. He experienced spasms, probably as a result of his war service, and he found it difficult to work. His one pleasure was to train Rinty, as he called him, to do tricks.

By then, Rinty, a rambunctious, bossy dog, was nearly full-grown. He had lost his puppy fluffiness; his coat was lustrous and dark, nearly black, with gold marbling on the legs and chin and chest. His tail was as bushy as a squirrel’s. He wasn’t overly tall or broad, his legs weren’t particularly muscular or long, but he was powerful and nimble, as light on his feet as a mountain goat. His ears were comically large, tulip-shaped, and set far apart on a wide skull. His face was more arresting than beautiful, his expression pitying and generous and a little sorrowful, as if he were viewing with charity and resignation the whole enterprise of living.

German shepherds were a relatively new breed, and very new in this country, but their popularity was growing quickly. Duncan got to know other shepherd fanciers, and helped found the Shepherd Dog Club of California. He decided to enter Rinty in a show at the Ambassador Hotel, in Los Angeles. An acquaintance named Charley Jones asked if he could come along. He had just developed a type of slow-motion camera, and he wanted to try it out by filming Rinty.

Rin Tin Tin and a female shepherd named Marie were competing in a jump-off for first place in the “working dog” part of the show. The bar was set at eleven and a half feet. The judge and show officials gathered beside it for a close look. Marie took her turn, and flew up and over. Rin Tin Tin then squared off for his leap. “Charley Jones had his camera on Rinty as he made his jump and as he came down on the other side,” Duncan wrote. The dog had cleared the bar at almost twelve feet, sailing over the head of the judge and several others, and winning the competition.

Something about watching Rin Tin Tin being filmed stuck with Duncan. In the weeks that followed, he was seized by a desire to get the dog to Hollywood. “I was so excited over the motion picture idea that I found myself thinking of it night and day,” he wrote.

In 1922, Duncan married a wealthy socialite named Charlotte Anderson, who owned a stable and a champion horse called Nobleman. The couple had probably met at a dog or a horse show. Still, the marriage was curious. Duncan was good-looking and was always described as a likable man, but he spent all of his time with his dog. It’s hard to imagine him presenting an alluring package to a woman like Anderson, who was sophisticated, older than Duncan—he was twenty-eight, she was in her mid-thirties—and had been married before. It’s even harder to picture Duncan having a romantic life; he made no mention of it, or of Anderson, in his memoir.
Duncan’s devotion was to his dog. When he wasn’t training Rinty to follow direction—which he did for hours every day—he took him to Poverty Row, in Hollywood, where the less established studios were. The two of them walked up and down the street, knocking on doors, trying to interest someone in using Rinty in a film. This wasn’t as implausible as it might sound: in those years, bit players were often plucked from the crowds that gathered at the studio gates. Moreover, in 1921, a German shepherd named Strongheart had made a spectacular and profitable appearance in “The Silent Call.” Strongheart was the first German shepherd to star in a Hollywood film, and his grave, gallant manner and the still-novel look of German shepherds caused a sensation. The dogs were now as sought after in Hollywood as blond starlets. Duncan probably brushed past other young men with their own trained German shepherds, all inspired by Strongheart, as he went from door to door.

Then Duncan got a break: he secured a small part for Rinty in a melodrama called “The Man from Hell’s River.” Rinty—who is not in the cast list but is mentioned in the Variety review as “Rin Tan”—plays a sled-dog team leader belonging to Pierre, a Canadian Mountie.

In time, Rin Tin Tin made twenty-three silent films. Copies of only six of those films are known to exist today; “The Man from Hell’s River” is not among them. All we have is the movie’s “shot list,” which was a guide for the film editor. Parts of it read like a sort of silent-film found poetry:
Long shot dog on tree stump
Long shot wolf
Long shot prairie
Long shot dog runs and exits
Long shot deer
Long shot dog
Medium shot girl
Close-up shot little monkey.
And, at the end:
Med shot dog and puppies
Med close-up more puppies
Med shot people and dogs.

Rinty was soon cast in another film, “My Dad,” a run-of-the-mill “snow,” which is what silents set in wintry locations were called. It, too, was a small part, but, for the first time, he was given a film credit. In the cast list, he appeared thus:
Rin-Tin-Tin ………………….. By Himself.

Finally, Duncan got through the door at Warner Bros. One of the smallest studios, Warner Bros. had been founded in 1918 by four brothers from Youngstown, Ohio, who set up shop in a drafty barn on Sunset Boulevard. That day, Harry Warner was directing a scene that included a wolf. The animal had been borrowed from the zoo and was not performing well. According to James English’s 1949 book, “The Rin Tin Tin Story,” Duncan rubbed dirt into Rinty’s fur to make him look like a wolf, and persuaded Warner to give Rinty a chance to try the scene. Rinty performed brilliantly, and Warner liked what he saw. He agreed to look at a script that Duncan had been working on for Rinty, entitled “Where the North Begins.” While writing it, Duncan had studied the dog’s facial expressions. He was convinced that Rinty could be taught to act a part—not just to carry a story through action but “to register emotions and portray a real character with its individual loves, loyalties, and hates.” A few weeks later, Duncan got a letter from the studio: Warner wanted to produce his screenplay and cast Rin Tin Tin in the lead.

Production began almost immediately, with Chester Franklin, an accomplished director, in charge. Claire Adams, Walter McGrail, and Pat Hartigan—silent-film stalwarts—were cast opposite Rinty. The film was shot mostly in the High Sierras. “It didn’t seem like work,” Duncan wrote. “Even Rinty was bubbling over with happiness out here in the woods and snow.” Rinty sometimes bubbled too much, chasing foxes into snowdrifts, and, once, attacking a porcupine, which filled his face with quills. Otherwise, Duncan was proud of the dog’s performance, which included a twelve-foot jump—higher than the one at the Ambassador Hotel.
To advertise the film, Warner Bros. distributed promotional material to theatre owners which included ads, guidelines for publicity stunts, and feature stories for local newspapers. The features were meant to make the filming of the movie seem almost as dramatic as the movie:

HUNGRY WOLVES SURROUND CAMP Movie Actors in Panic When Pack Bays at Them GREAT RISK OF LIFE IN FILMING PICTURE THE MOVIES NO BED OF ROSES Chester Franklin, Director, Tells Hard-Luck Story of Blizzard.

The publicity stunts, which studio marketing people referred to as “exploitation,” included suggestions that theatre owners “get a crate and inside it put a puppy or a litter of them” for the lobby (“You will be sure to get a crowd”); partner with a Marine recruiter and place signs outside the recruiting office saying “WHERE THE NORTH BEGINS AT THE [BLANK] THEATRE is a thrilling picture of red-blooded ADVENTURE. Your adventure will begin when you join the marines and see the world”; or, as one, titled “HOLDING UP PEDESTRIANS,” proposed, “Get a man to walk along the principal streets of the city stopping pedestrians and asking them the question, ‘Where Does the North Begin?’ and upon their answering (or even not answering) he can . . . tell them it begins at your playhouse.”

When “Where the North Begins” was released nationwide, Variety declared, “Here is a cracking good film for almost any audience. . . . It has the conventional hero and the conventional heroine, but Rin-Tin-Tin is the show. . . . A good many close-ups are given the dog and in all of them he holds the attention of the audience closely.” Another review praised Rinty’s eyes, saying that they conveyed something “tragic, fierce, sad and . . . a nobility and degree of loyalty not credible in a person.”

The Times was more ambivalent, and made the first comparison between Rin Tin Tin and Strongheart: “This dog engages in a pantomimic struggle that is not always impressive, at least not nearly as realistic as the work of Strongheart,” but adding that Rin Tin Tin “is a remarkable animal, with splendid eyes and ears, and he seems to be wondering what all this acting is about.” Motion Picture Magazine’s story “The Rival of Strongheart” went further, noting that Rin Tin Tin “is now competing with Strongheart for the canine celluloid honors.”

The film was a hit, earning more than four hundred thousand dollars. Strongheart had set the pace, but Rin Tin Tin had become a star. Thousands of fan letters were arriving at Warner Bros. each week. “Where the North Begins” was playing all over the country, and, as was typical with popular films, most theatres extended its run as long as people kept showing up; movies were such a new form of entertainment that a hit film was a spectacle, a national event that everyone wanted to view. Still, the movie wasn’t at the level of Strongheart’s “The Silent Call,” which had broken attendance records in Los Angeles, where it was shown eight times a day for thirteen weeks.

Most of the German shepherds who followed Strongheart and Rin Tin Tin in Hollywood had just a burst of fame and then were forgotten. Among the many dozens were Wolfheart and Braveheart, Wolfang and Duke; Fang, Fangs, Flash, and Flame; Thunder, Lightning, Lightnin’, and Lightnin’ Girl; Ace the Wonder Dog, Captain the King of Dogs, and Kazan the Dog Marvel. They played serious, heroic figures in films that, like them, are now mostly forgotten: “Aflame in the Sky,” “Courage of the North,” “The Silent Code,” “Avenging Fangs,” “Fangs of Destiny,” “Wild Justice.”

In real life, too, the dog hero was having its day. In 1923, Bobbie the Oregon Wonder Dog walked alone for six months from Indiana to Oregon, to find his owners; in 1925, a sled dog named Balto led a team carrying diphtheria antitoxin to Nome, Alaska, saving the town from an epidemic; in 1928, Buddy, the nation’s first Seeing Eye dog, began guiding a young blind man named Morris Frank.

Even so, Rin Tin Tin was singled out. He was praised by everyone from the director Sergei Eisenstein, who posed for a photograph with him, to the poet Carl Sandburg, who was working as a film critic for the Chicago Daily News. “A beautiful animal, he has a power of expression in his every movement that makes him one of the leading pantomimists of the screen,” Sandburg wrote, adding that Rinty was “phenomenal” and “thrillingly intelligent.” Warner Bros. got thousands of requests for pictures of Rinty, which were signed with a paw print and a line written in Duncan’s spidery hand: “Most faithfully, Rin Tin Tin.”

From the start, Rin Tin Tin was admired as an actor but was also seen as a real dog, a genetic model; everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece of him. He and Nanette, who often appeared onscreen as his “wife,” mated, and Duncan distributed the puppies among some of Rin Tin Tin’s most celebrated fans. Greta Garbo and Jean Harlow each owned a Rin Tin Tin descendant, as did W. K. Kellogg, the cereal magnate.

To promote “Where the North Begins,” and subsequent movies, the studio sent Duncan and the dog on promotional tours around the country. They appeared at hospitals and orphanages, gave interviews, and visited animal shelters and schools. When describing a visit to one shelter, Duncan sounded as if he were telling the story of his own childhood through Rin Tin Tin. “Perhaps if I could have understood, I might have heard Rinty telling these other less fortunate dogs of how his mother failed in her terrific struggle to keep her little family together. Or how he, as a little war orphan, had found a kindred spirit in his master and friend, also a half-orphan.” Of course, Rin Tin Tin’s mother had actually succeeded in keeping her family together in the bombed-out kennel. It was Duncan’s mother who, for a time, had failed in her struggle.

In the evening, Duncan and Rinty would go to a theatre where a Rin Tin Tin movie was playing, and afterward come onstage. Duncan usually began by explaining how he had trained the dog: “There are persons who have said I must have been very cruel to Rinty in order to get him to act in the pictures,” especially in the scenes where the dog is shown “groveling in the dust, shrinking away, his tail between his legs,” which Rinty did in “Where the North Begins” and in many films that followed. Duncan would then demonstrate how he worked with the dog, saying that it was best to use a low voice with “a tone of mild entreaty.” He didn’t believe in bribing Rin Tin Tin with food or excessive praise: he rewarded him by letting him play with a squeaky rubber doll he had first given to Rinty when he was a puppy. At this point in the show, Duncan would run Rinty through some of his tricks—his belly-crawling, his ability to stand stock-still for minutes on end, his range of expressions from anger to delight to dread.

One such night, according to a writer named Francis Rule, Duncan began by calling Rinty, and then, for laughs, scolded him after he strolled lazily onstage, stretched, and yawned. “There then followed one of the most interesting exhibitions I have ever witnessed,” Rule wrote, in Picture-Play Magazine. As Duncan led Rinty through a series of acting exercises, “there was between that dog and his master as perfect an understanding as could possibly exist between two living beings.” Duncan “scarcely touched him during the entire proceedings—he stood about eight feet away and simply gave directions. And it fairly took your breath away to watch that dog respond, his ears up unless told to put them down and his eyes intently glued on his master. There was something almost uncanny about it.”

Everywhere Duncan and Rinty appeared, the dog was treated like a dignitary. In New York, Mayor Jimmy Walker gave him a key to the city. In Portland, Oregon, he was welcomed as “a distinguished canine visitor,” and was met at the train station by the city’s school superintendent, the chief of police, and the head of the local Humane Society. Then Rinty made a statesmanlike pilgrimage to the grave of Bobbie the Oregon Wonder Dog. During the ceremony, according to one report, “Rin Tin Tin with his own teeth placed the flowers on Bobbie’s grave and then in a moment’s silence laid his head on the cross marking the resting place of the dog.” The next day, at Portland’s Music Box Theatre, Rinty was presented with the Abraham Lincoln humanitarian award and medal for distinguished service.

In 1924, the studio began work on “Find Your Man.” The director was Mal St. Clair, and the writer was, in the words of Jack Warner, a “downy-cheeked youngster who looked as though he had just had the bands removed from his teeth so he could go to the high school prom.” The youngster was Darryl Zanuck, the son of a professional gambler; Zanuck had come to Hollywood from Nebraska, when he was seventeen. One of his first jobs was writing ads for Yuccatone Hair Restorer. His slogan, “You’ve Never Seen a Bald-Headed Indian,” helped make Yuccatone a success, until bottles of the hair tonic fermented and exploded in twenty-five drugstores, and the company was driven out of business. Zanuck left advertising to work for the director Mack Sennett and, later, for Charlie Chaplin. Mal St. Clair had also worked with Sennett, and several of his films had included dogs.

The movie that Zanuck had in mind was set in a remote timber camp. He and St. Clair acted it out for Harry Warner, with Zanuck playing the part of the dog. With Warner’s approval, production started almost immediately. Billed as “Wholesome Melodrama At Its Very Best” that starred “Rin Tin Tin the Wonder Dog,” the movie was a “box office rocket,” in Jack Warner’s words.

The next Rin Tin Tin movie, “Lighthouse by the Sea,” was also written by Zanuck and released in 1924. It concerned a pretty girl and her father, a lighthouse keeper who is going blind. Warner Bros. even held screenings for the blind. There was a narrator onstage who described the action and read the intertitle cards, which included “He’s so tough I have to feed him manhole covers for biscuits!,” “This pup can whip his weight in alligators—believe me!,” and “I thought you said that flea incubator could fight!”

Zanuck always acknowledged that Rin Tin Tin had given him his entrée into Warner Bros., but he later told interviewers that he disliked the dog and hated writing for him. Even so, he wrote at least ten more scripts for Rinty, all of them great successes. By the time he was twenty-five, Zanuck was running the studio.
Rinty’s films were so profitable that Warner Bros. paid him two thousand dollars a week; even at that, Rin Tin Tin was a bargain. Around the Warner Bros. lot, he was called “the mortgage lifter,” because every time the studio was in financial straits it released a Rin Tin Tin movie and the income from it set things right again. Duncan was given every privilege: he was driven to the set each day, and he had an office on the Warner Bros. lot, where he sifted through the fan mail and the little mementos that arrived for Rin Tin Tin.

Duncan had never imagined this part of the equation. He started buying snappy clothes and cars. He bought land in Beverly Hills and built a house for himself and his mother. The house is now gone, and it’s hard to know much about it; in his memoir, Duncan talked mostly about the kennel he built for the dogs. Then he bought a house in North Hollywood for his sister, Marjorie. His biggest splurge was on a beach house in a gated section of Malibu, where his neighbors were Hollywood stars.
On top of the movie income, Rinty was signed to endorsement deals. An executive from Chappel Brothers, which had recently introduced Ken-L Ration, the first commercial canned dog food, was so eager to have Rin Tin Tin as a spokesperson that, in a meeting with Duncan, he ate a can of it to demonstrate its tastiness. Duncan was convinced. Rinty was featured in ads for Ken-L Ration, Ken-L-Biskit, and Pup-E-Crumbles brands, with the slogan “My Favorite Food! Most Faithfully, Rin Tin Tin.”

Of the six Rin Tin Tin silent films still available, the most memorable is “Clash of the Wolves” (1925). Rinty plays a half-dog, half-wolf named Lobo, who is living in the wild as the leader of a wolf pack. The film begins with a vivid and disturbing scene of a forest fire, which drives Lobo and his pack, including Nanette and their pups, from their forest home to the desert ranchlands, where they prey on cattle to survive. The ranchers hate the wolves, especially Lobo; a bounty of a hundred dollars is offered as a reward for his hide. In the meantime, a young mineral prospector named Dave arrives in town. A claim jumper who lusts after Dave’s mineral discovery (and Dave’s girlfriend, Mae) soon schemes against him. Mae happens to be the daughter of the rancher who is most determined to kill Lobo and who also doesn’t like Dave.

The wolves, led by Lobo, attack a steer, and the ranchers set out after them. The chase is fast and frightening, and when Rin Tin Tin weaves through the horses’ churning legs it looks as if he were about to be trampled. He outruns the horses, his body flattened and stretched as he bullets along the desert floor, and, if you didn’t see the little puffs of dust when his paws touch the ground, you’d swear he was floating. He scrambles up a tree—a stunt so startling that it has to be replayed a few times to believe it. Can dogs climb trees? Evidently. At least, certain dogs can. And they can climb down, too, and then tear along a rock ridge, and then come to a halt at the narrow crest of the ridge. The other side of the gorge looks miles away. Rin Tin Tin stops, pivots; you feel him calculating his options; then he crouches and leaps, and the half-second before he lands safely feels long and fraught. His feet touch ground and he scrambles on, but moments later he plummets off the edge of another cliff, slamming through the branches of a cactus, collapsing in a heap, with a cactus needle skewered through the pad of his foot.

The action is thrilling, but the best part of the movie is the quieter section, after Rin Tin Tin falls. He limps home, stopping every few steps to lick his injured paw; his bearing is so abject that it is easy to understand why Duncan felt the need to explain that it was just acting. Rin Tin Tin hobbles into his den and collapses next to Nanette, in terrible pain.

In an earlier scene in the movie, one of the wolves is injured and the pack musters around him. At first, it looks as if they were coming to his aid, but, suddenly, their actions seem more agitated than soothing, and just then an intertitle card flashes up, saying simply, “The Law of the Pack. Death to the wounded wolf.” So we know that the other wolves will kill Lobo if they realize that he’s injured. Rinty and Nanette try to work on the cactus needle in his paw surreptitiously. But the pack senses that something is wrong. Finally, one of them approaches, a black look on his face, ready to attack. Rinty draws himself up and snarls. The two animals freeze, and then Rinty snarls again, almost sotto voce, as if he were saying, “I don’t care what you think you know about my condition. I am still the leader here.” The murderous wolf backs off.

The rest of the plot is a crosshatch of misperception and treachery. Rinty, fearing that he will still be killed by his pack and attract harm to Nanette and their pups, leaves, so that he might die alone, and his wobbling, wincing departure is masterly acting. Dave comes upon Rinty as he is on his death walk. Knowing there is a bounty for the dog, he pulls out his gun, but then gives in to his sympathy for the suffering animal and removes the cactus thorn. (Charles Farrell, who played Dave, must have been a brave man; Rinty was required to snap and snarl at him in that scene, and there are a few snaps when Rinty looks like he’s not kidding.) Dave’s decision to save Lobo is of great consequence, because, of course, Lobo ends up saving Dave’s life. Lobo chooses to be a dog—a guardian—and protect Dave, rather than give in to his wolf impulse to be a killer.

The film has its share of silliness—a scene in which Rinty wears a beard as a disguise to avoid being identified as Lobo, for example—and, to the modern eye, the human acting is stilted. But “Clash of the Wolves” shows why so many millions of people fell in love with Rin Tin Tin.

By the middle of the twenties, the movie business had grown into one of the ten biggest industries in the United States. According to the historian Ann Elwood, almost a hundred million movie tickets were sold each week, to a population of a hundred and fifteen million. In 1928, Warner Bros. was worth sixteen million dollars; two years later, it was worth two hundred million. It still had the reputation of being second-rate, compared with Paramount or M-G-M, but it was expanding and innovating. It had launched a chain of movie palaces, with orchestras and elaborate, thematic décor—Arabian nights in one theatre, Egyptian days or Beaux Arts Paris in another—and, best of all, air-conditioning, which was rare in public buildings, and even rarer in private homes.

In 1927, four Rin Tin Tin films were released, and during breaks in the production schedule Duncan and Rinty were on the road doing stage appearances. Duncan hardly had a life at home. Charlotte Anderson had filed for divorce. She said she didn’t like Rinty, and didn’t like competing with him. In the proceedings, she charged that Duncan didn’t love her or her horses. “All he cared for was Rin Tin Tin,” she testified. An article in the Los Angeles Times noted, “Evidently, Rin Tin Tin’s company was so much pleasure to Duncan that he considered Mrs. Duncan’s presence rather secondary.”

Otherwise, the year was a high point for Duncan. The four films—“A Dog of the Regiment,” “Jaws of Steel,” “Tracked by the Police,” and “Hills of Kentucky”—were box-office hits as well as critical successes. The Academy Awards were presented for the first time two years later, and, according to Hollywood legend, Rinty received the most votes for best actor. But members of the Academy, anxious to establish that the awards were serious and important, decided that giving an Oscar to a dog did not serve that end. (The award went to Emil Jannings.)

Even without the Oscar, Rinty was in the news all the time. He was frequently given an honorific: the King of Pets; the Famous Police Dog of the Movies; the Dog Wonder; the Wonder Dog of the Stage and Screen; the Wonder Dog of All Creation; the Mastermind Dog; the Marvelous Dog of the Movies; and America’s Greatest Movie Dog. In 1928, a review of Rin Tin Tin’s film “A Race for Life” began with the question “Strongheart who?” ♦

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2011/08/29/the-dog-star

This is Hollywood's top canine actor, Rin Tin Tin, in only his second film. He free-lanced with FBO and other studios, before signing with Warner Bros. He was a brand new puppy when found in a bombed German dog kennel during WWI by an American Corporal, Lee Duncan. The intelligent and highly trainable Shepherd would eventually receive over 12,000 fan letters a week during the 1920s. Most don't realize he was named after a one inch tiny French puppet that was often given to American soldiers for good luck. This wonderful one sheet is unique in that it does not have a dangerous stunt or imperiled scene as its focus. Instead, it dramatically emphasizes perhaps the best quality of any top breed...unconditional loyalty. The handsome leading man he's guarding is Johnnie Walker, who was billed in 1920 as "America's Favorite Son," after acting in one of the silent era's most wildly popular films, Over the Hill to the Poorhouse.

This is Hollywood’s top canine actor, Rin Tin Tin, in only his second film. He free-lanced with FBO and other studios, before signing with Warner Bros. He was a brand new puppy when found in a bombed German dog kennel during WWI by an American Corporal, Lee Duncan. The intelligent and highly trainable Shepherd would eventually receive over 12,000 fan letters a week during the 1920s. Most don’t realize he was named after a one inch tiny French puppet that was often given to American soldiers for good luck. This wonderful one sheet is unique in that it does not have a dangerous stunt or imperiled scene as its focus. Instead, it dramatically emphasizes perhaps the best quality of any top breed…unconditional loyalty. The handsome leading man he’s guarding is Johnnie Walker, who was billed in 1920 as “America’s Favorite Son,” after acting in one of the silent era’s most wildly popular films, Over the Hill to the Poorhouse.

Wild Justice (United Artists, 1925). One Sheet (27" X 41"). Peter was a German Shepherd dog who might have been as famous as Rin-Tin-Tin or Strongheart if it wasn't for a tragedy that took the dog's life early. Peter was brought from Germany in the early 1920's by his friend and master Edward Faust. He did some small scenes in several films and was so well trained and so daring that he was called upon to perform stunts for several of the big dog stars. He was finally given a leading role in the movie, The Silent Accuser (1924). The dog would make only four films before being shot dead by an enemy of his trainer. This great adventure tale stars Peter in his second lead role, who brings the killer of his owner to justice in the wild frontier.

Wild Justice (United Artists, 1925). One Sheet (27″ X 41″).
Peter was a German Shepherd dog who might have been as famous as Rin-Tin-Tin or Strongheart if it wasn’t for a tragedy that took the dog’s life early. Peter was brought from Germany in the early 1920’s by his friend and master Edward Faust. He did some small scenes in several films and was so well trained and so daring that he was called upon to perform stunts for several of the big dog stars. He was finally given a leading role in the movie, The Silent Accuser (1924). The dog would make only four films before being shot dead by an enemy of his trainer. This great adventure tale stars Peter in his second lead role, who brings the killer of his owner to justice in the wild frontier.

Where the North Begins (Warner Brothers, 1923). One Sheet (27" X 41") Style A. This was Rin-Tin-Tin's first film in which he was featured and would catapult him to the highest ranks of Hollywood stardom over the next ten years. He would save the struggling Warner Brothers Studio with the profits from his hugely popular films.

Where the North Begins (Warner Brothers, 1923). One Sheet (27″ X 41″) Style A. This was Rin-Tin-Tin’s first film in which he was featured and would catapult him to the highest ranks of Hollywood stardom over the next ten years. He would save the struggling Warner Brothers Studio with the profits from his hugely popular films.

Where the North Begins (Warner Brothers, 1923). Lobby Card Set of 8 Warner Brothers Exhibitor Book (Warner Brothers, 1926-1927). Tracked by the Police (Warner Brothers, 1927). Photoplay Edition Book 2 Tracked by the Police (Warner Brothers, 1927). Photoplay Edition Book 1 The Lone Defender (Mascot, R-1940s). Lobby Card Set of 8 The Lightning Warrior (Mascot, 1931). One Sheet The Lightning Warrior (Mascot, 1931). Herald 2 susan-orlean-inscribed-rin-tin-tin-the-life-and-the-legend-new-york-simon-and-schuster-2011 1 star_957_228_228 rintintingrave rintintin Rin-Tin-Tin Lot (Warner Brothers, 1927). Photoplay Books 4 Rin-Tin-Tin Lot (Warner Brothers, 1927). Photoplay Books 3 Rin-Tin-Tin Lot (Warner Brothers, 1927). Photoplay Books 2 Rin-Tin-Tin Lot (Warner Brothers, 1927). Photoplay Books 1 Rin-Tin-Tin Charlie Chaplin (Pathe, 1920s). Special French Affiche rin_tin_tin_C Rin_Tin_Tin_610_407shar_s_c1

I grew up with RIN TIN TIN on television. These comics are from that series. I did not know then that the original RIN TIN TIN had been one of the biggest stars in the history of the movies.

I grew up with RIN TIN TIN on television. These comics are from that series. I did not know then that the original RIN TIN TIN had been one of the biggest stars in the history of the movies.

rexfeatures_783433_2108095b PD50031776_421825l_2108094b PA110021 interview-with-susan-orlean-author-of-rin-tin-L-W8vKIz edward-a-bellande-with_rin-tin-tin-1925_web Clash-of-the-Wolves-380 3346953633_1bfd4c66ed_z 1325662428_RinTinTin

March At The Cineforum

March At The Cineforum, 463 Bathurst, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5T 2S9 (416-603-6643) All films hosted by Reg Hartt.

Monday, March 2, 9, 16, 23, 30.

7pm: THE ZECARIAH SITCHIN LECTURES

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zecharia_Sitchin

http://www.sitchin.com

http://www.sitchiniswrong.com

Tuesday, March 3, 10, 17, 24, 31.

7pm: 1ooth Anniversary Presentation… THE BIRTH OF A NATION (1915) Directed by D. W. Griffith. Scored by Reg Hartt.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D._W._Griffith

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frNv-tVBafo

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3p1T3sVX4EY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjseJAM6GqU

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Birth_of_a_Nation

http://www.nationalreview.com/article/413950/birth-nations-centenary-armond-white

Wednesday, March 4, 11, 18, 25.

7pm: INTOLERANCE (1916) Directed by D. W. Griffith. Yes, the Blu-ray is great. It is missing footage, however, that ought to be there. This copy is from a European release. It has many stunning scenes I had never seen before. But then European audiences could handle stuff the censors over here would at that time not let us see.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intolerance_%28film%29

Thursday, March 5,

7pm: THE GREATEST QUESTION (1919) D. W. Griffith.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Greatest_Question

Thursday, March 12,

7pm: THE GIRL WHO STAYED AT HOME (1919) D. W. Griffith.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Girl_Who_Stayed_at_Home

Thursday, March 19,

7pm: DREAM STREET (1921) D. W. Griffith.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dream_Street_%28film%29

Thursday, March 26,

7pm: LADY OF THE PAVEMENTS (1929) D. W. Griffith.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_of_the_Pavements

Asian Gay Cinema

Thursday, March 5,

9pm: Gohatto (Taboo) (1999) Nagisa Oshima.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gohatto

Thursday, March 12,

9pm: Markova: Comfort Gay (2000) Gil Portes.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markova:_Comfort_Gay

Thursday, March 19,

9pm: Farewell My Concubine (1993) Chen Kaige http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Farewell_My_Concubine_%28film%29

Thursday, March 26,

9pm: East Palace, West Palace (1996) Zhang Yuan.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/East_Palace,_West_Palace

Saturday, March 7, 14, 21, 28.

7pm: THE SALVADOR DALI FILM FEST

Sunday, March 8, 15, 22, 29.

2pm: THE FABRIC OF TIME (2007) David Priest. We live in a world where science and religion have often been on opposing sides. But is all that changing? For the first time, science and religion have come together to uncover an age-old mystery. Who was Jesus Christ? What did he actually look like? And can the story of his death and resurrection now be proven as true? Viewers around the world are in the jury box as newly found scientific discoveries are presented by scholars, scientists, and historians in an unflinching search for evidence — nothing has been held back. Could it be that actual documentation of this amazing story is still available today? Is it possible that a single fiber from an ancient artifact might hold the answers? And has science found a way to unlock the hidden information contained in the artifact that could provide a link to the past-one that might explain the universe in a whole new light and give hope to people around the world? Did Christ leave us physical evidence that only now with quantum leaps forward in science, are we able to understand? Have scientists actually been able to produce a full three dimensional image of Christ? See the evidence and decide for yourself in THE FABRIC OF TIME: Are the Secrets of the Universe Hidden in an Ancient Cloth?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11-VgO0NHfI

3pm: Reg Hartt’s Cartoon Festival

Tired of seeing the great classic animated cartoons if yesteryear cut to bits for television? Tired of explaining to kids who do not believe you how great these films once were before they got bowdlerized? Tired of this dreary, coldest winter in 13 years and need some laughter? This is the program for you.

5pm: Herman Hesse’s SIDDHARTHA (1972) Conrad Rooks.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siddhartha_%281972_film%29

7pm: KID DRACULA [F. W. Murnau’s NOSFERATU (1922) set to music from RADIOHEAD’s KID A and OK COMPUTER].

9pm: WHAT I LEARNED WITH LSD (2014) Reg Hartt.

Reg Hartt Celebrating 50 Years In Toronto…

Fifty years ago this year I arrived on the streets of Toronto from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario.

That morning the principal of Sir James Dunn Collegiate & Vocational School in the Soo had told me, “You have the wrong attitude. If you leave this school today you will starve in two weeks.

That night I arrived in Toronto with just enough money in my pocket to buy a beer. I was 17. Drinking age was then 21. I did not let that stop me.
I walked into The St. Charles Tavern on Yonge Street. No sooner did the waiter drop a beer in front of me than the police walked in.

“Drink your beer and talk with me,” said an older man.

“You are new in town. Do you have a place to stay?” he said when the police left.

The next night a much better dressed man who said he was a film producer and offered to get me a job in the industry told me the fellow I had gone home with the night before was not a good person.

“There is a bed in the basement,” he said when we got to his place which was out in the middle of no where.

“Turn around,” he said when I got to the bottom of a very narrow stairwell.

I looked up to see him standing at the top of a very narrow stairwell with a hammer in his hand.

He said, “Give me what I want or I will kill you.”

Many years later in Joseph Campbell’s HERO OF A THOUSAND FACES I read that when we put our foot on the path of the hero first we meet an older person who helps us after which we meet an older person who harms us.

Fifty years later I can honestly say that if I had not left school that day I would have starved.

Reg Hartt 9 - CopyJohn-KricfalusiNot only that. John Kricfalusi would never have created REN & STIMPY.

 

 

 

Girls don’t count as much as boys do.

“I can’t believe Jamie has done that stuff to you. Terry I can believe, he really hated him. I remember that when I was first working with Jamie he was fucking this fourteen year old girl who was addicted to crack! What an asshole. I thought that he would have self-destructed by now, but he is a stubborn bastard. So yes, I can write a letter for you if you wish… not sure if that would help anything…You could think about suing him, maybe there is someone out there who might help you, it’s libel and it destroys your livelihood for him to have a public campaign like that. I mean there is a reason people don’t put up posters like that. But is there a point? I doubt he is actually hurting you that much and I’m sure there’s always been people who hated you. He just gave the girl money, and she was clearly an addict. He bragged to me about how many times he fucked her and how old she was. Terry might remember that too. In any case morally I think that’s a lot more questionable than anything Reg Hartt or Rob Meade has done. You can go ahead and put up a poster if you like, and give my name to whoever.  If you give my name to someone as a character reference, or you ever need to call me, then my number is  …………..”

A waitress up the street was raised in the same schools in which Native Canadian boys were sexually abused. When they started to receive money she mentioned to one of her regulars who is a lawyer that she, too, had been abused in those same schools. He told her,”Wrong gender.”

After Rob sent me this I spoke with others who had worked for Jamie at the same time. They confirmed the story and added that he had had himself videotaped having sex with the child.

Astonishingly this information caused no one I know in the media to move. Toronto MLS continues to allow the man to rape the city’s postering bylaws.

The confirmation that Gillis is behind the attacks on myself came from a lawyer to whom the man showed the letters he had written.

This man informed me that Gillis (“Dr. Jamie”) had gone through the ashes of the Queen West fire sifting out bicycle parts from Duke Cycle which had gone up in the flames. Told the parts were not safe he used them anyway.

One writer, John Semley, said, “No one cares about Dr. Jamie.”

Margaret Meade wrote, “Never under estimate the power of one person to change the world for the better. All too often that is all that does it.”

John certainly will not be changing the world for the better.

He has lots of company.

It is a shame people care less about the abuse of girls than they do of boys.

I care equally about the abuse of both.

I also care about the fact that while the Supreme Court of Canada defended street postering as FREEDOM OF SPEECH for those without access to mainstream media THE CITY OF TORONTO is allowing one man to usurp that right for his private gain.

My friend Jane Jacobs called street posters “the newspaper of the streets.”

The fact that so few journalists seem to care about this most basic of newspapers is something she wrote about in her last book, DARK AGE AHEAD.

Can’t argue with her findings. The dark age she foresaw in 2006 I see in 2015.

From here on it gets worse.

Of course the day will come sooner or later when this man who has been leaving anonymous death threats on people’s telephones for over twenty years encouraged by the fact that officials who should be stopping him allow him to continue in his abuse will finally go too far.

On that day the officials will say, “NO ONE TOLD US. WE DID NOT KNOW.”

That is what they always say.

I know this. Somewhere in Toronto there is a woman who was repeatedly sexually abused (and filmed) by a man old enough to be her grandfather who also supplied her with crack cocaine.

The girl is the niece of a police officer who at that time was, according to Terry, in 14 Division.

I can just imagine the view she has today of humanity. She is right to have it.

Gillis has done many hideous things to myself and to others. But this exceeds in hideousness every thing else he has done.

And this is in Toronto, Canada today.

So don’t for a moment imagine those who remain silent ought not to be ashamed.

They aren’t. They never will be. That is the real shame.

I hope she makes it through the Hell in which she has found herself.silence-equals-death-keith-haring-poster It will not be easy.

This is James Gillis aka Dr. Jamie. He is a real piece of...

This is James Gillis aka Dr. Jamie. He is a real piece of…

 

 

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Martin Niemöller (1892–1984)

One morning a few years ago as I went around the city with flyers for my programs I saw posters everywhere denouncing a fellow as a police informant.

This man had handed out flyers in front of Active Surplus on Queen Street West. Then he began putting up posters for Jame Gillis of “Dr. Jamie’s Events Postering,” (also called “Campus Postering”). I knew the man well. I also knew the reason for the posters attacking him. His employer, “Dr.” Jamie owed him a lot of money. Rather than pay his past employee Dr. Jamie was trying to get him killed.

Many, if not most, of the panhandlers on Queen Street West are crack addicts.

Previous to the poster campaign Gillis had come up from behind the man while he was passing out flyers for Active Surplus. He knocked him down. Then he began kicking him. The attack was witnessed by a police officer who wanted Terry to file charges. Terry said he was not a rat. He refused to file charges. Had he done so many, including Terry, would have been spared a lot of grief.

The posters that I saw were labelled TERRY THE RAT. Here is the video I took of them: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=an6wuSoPjlc

They are scary.

I got on the telephone to everyone I knew who might be able to help. I also emailed many.

Out of all that only one person acted. She worked in the office of Toronto’s then Mayor, David Miller. She sent the info to the police chief. The hate poster campaign targeting Terry stopped.

Then the attacks began on myself and others.

I found my flyers torn up into tiny bits. They were then placed in clumps behind posters put up by Dr. Jamie.

That was in 2012. Those attacks continue to this moment.

During the spring when former City Councillor Adam Vaughan was running for Parliament the attacks got even more vicious than they had before. I thought surely Adam, seeing them, would act to finally stop the man. I dropped by Vaughan’s campaign office where I spoke with the people in charge. They thanked me for coming in.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to thank Adam or his office for. They did nothing.

I ran for Council myself but then pulled out in favor of Joe Cressy.

“That is hate. The police should act against it,” said Joe when we talked.

He said that if he got the office he would act.

While Joe talked the talk he has yet to act.

“Dr. Jamie” continues to destroy both my posters and those of others. He ignores the City by-laws when it comes to size restrictions. He continues to rip off the people who make the mistake of working for him.

Said John Semley, who had written a piece previously that would have been better left unpublished, “No one cares about Dr. Jamie.”

I am not the only person Gillis has targetted in his hate campaigns.

For some reason the City By-law officers will not act to enforce the By-laws.

In his first big campaign against myself he plastered the city with posters denouncing myself as a pedophile. That is the worst possible smear that can be brought against a person.

One of his past employees, Robert Meade, emailed me: “I can’t believe Jamie has done that stuff to you. Terry I can believe, he really hated him. I remember that when I was first working with Jamie he was fucking this fourteen year old girl who was addicted to crack! What an asshole. I thought that he would have self-destructed by now, but he is a stubborn bastard. So yes, I can write a letter for you if you wish… not sure if that would help anything…You could think about suing him, maybe there is someone out there who might help you, it’s libel and it destroys your livelihood for him to have a public campaign like that. I mean there is a reason people don’t put up posters like that. But is there a point? I doubt he is actually hurting you that much and I’m sure there’s always been people who hated you.He just gave the girl money, and she was clearly an addict. He bragged to me about how many times he fucked her and how old she was. Terry might remember that too. In any case morally I think that’s a lot more questionable than anything Reg Hartt or Rob Meade has done. You can go ahead and put up a poster if you like, and give my name to whoever. If you give my name to someone as a character reference, or you ever need to call me, then my number is ……”

What have I learned from all of this?

I have learned that I have to be strong enough to stand alone.

I have also learned that should anything like this ever happen to you, you had better be strong enough to stand alone.

Some people have done what they could. Nothing anyone so far has been able to do has stopped Dr. Jamie.

I have also learned that I have more inner strength than I ever dared dream I had.

My father always stood up for people when they were done wrong.

It hurt him deeply when no one stood up for him when his turn came to be done wrong.

It broke his heart.

I learned from my father not to expect anyone to stand up for me.

Nonetheless, it is important to stand up for others. I do that.

That is one of the reasons why people like John Semley say I am crazy.

First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Socialist.
Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

Martin Niemöller (1892–1984).

I have learned something Martin Niemöller could not learn.

I have learned how few listen when we do speak up.

If you want to number yourself among those few who do listen speak up.

If not, well, as I said, I have learned from this how strong I am.

We all have to be strong enough to stand alone.

When we do, remember that throughout history it is the few who have mattered.

Said Margaret Meade, “Never underestimate the power of one person or handful of committed people to change the world for the better as all too often that is all that does it.”

Standing alone I know that I am not alone.

I believe Joe Cressy is a sincere man. Somewhere along the way once he got in office his “handlers” perhaps said, “Joe, don’t get involved. You could lose votes.”

With the vicious homophobia he has spewed I thought our current Premier of Ontario, Kathleen Wynne (herself a lesbian) would speak up.

I thought wrong.

I thought XTRA! (the gay paper) would speak up. I thought wrong.

Canada’s Supreme Court Defended Street Postering as Freedom of Speech for those without access to mainstream media. They did not do that so that a small number of people could make a business out of postering. They did that so that you and I can get our word out.

Here is where you can contact the people who are supposed to care. So far they have turned a deaf ear. So speak LOUD.

Thankfully, not all of them are deaf.

One person who did listen and who did act is Tom Beyer of former Mayor Rob’s Ford’s office.

And there we have it. The people we think would listen don’t.

The people we are told won’t listen do.

Never let the bastards grind you down. Thank you for listening.–Reg Hartt, 2, 2, 2015.

silence-equals-death-keith-haring-poster

http://www1.toronto.ca/wps/portal/contentonly?vgnextoid=c3a83293dc3ef310VgnVCM10000071d60f89RCRD

http://www.parl.gc.ca/Parliamentarians/en/members

http://www.ontla.on.ca/lao/en/members/

And, finally, 311@toronto.ca .

http://www.blogto.com/film/2012/02/the_cineforum_bids_goodbye_yet_again/

http://reghartt.ca/cineforum/?attachment_id=3984

https://nowtoronto.com/news/cineforum-folding/

http://reghartt.ca/cineforum/?p=13722

http://reghartt.ca/cineforum/?attachment_id=4057

http://reghartt.ca/cineforum/?p=3428

http://www.hotvids.co/V/mIP17OeXDCg

 

Dr. Jamie’s Used Bikes

In addition to postering Dr. Jamie runs a used bike business.  Here from the web are words from some of the many he has ripped off:

http://www.yelp.ca/biz/dr-jamies-bike-clinic-toronto-2

 

dr jamies bike clinic dr jamie 001 Dr Jamie 1 Dr Jamie 2 Dr Jamie 3 Dr Jamie 4 Dr Jamie 5

 

 

 

 

One of the most refreshing things I saw yesterday was when I opened this trash container to put a bundle of hate posters where they belong. Someone else had done it as well. When you see them please do the same.

One of the most refreshing things I saw yesterday was when I opened this trash container to put a bundle of hate posters where they belong. Someone else had done it as well. When you see them please do the same.

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The film he is calling kiddieporn is Pasolini's SALO: 120 DAYS OF SODOM which I am showing NOW so you can see it at THE CINEFORUM and decide for yourself what should be done to the one behind this hate-filled campaign.

The film he is calling kiddieporn is Pasolini’s SALO: 120 DAYS OF SODOM which I am showing NOW so you can see it at THE CINEFORUM and decide for yourself what should be done to the one behind this hate-filled campaign.

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