North Bay Teachers College - Polaris Yearbook (North Bay, Ontario Canada)

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NORTHLAND In the town hall of Kirkland Lake, Ontario, there is a mural showing men lining up at the mine entrance to begin their shift. I have forgotten most of the details, such as, which of the once-famous Kirkland mines it is they are about to enter CWright-Hargreaves? , Lakeshore? , Teck-Hughes? , Sylvanite?y, or on what memorable date this particular shift went to work, other than that it was during the height of the gold mining era. There is also the strong suspicion that the picture, though honest and well-done, would probably never find its way into any renowned art gallery, but there is one lasting impression. Depicted here is the Canada I sought while still in war-torn Europe, here is the Canada I found some seventeen years ago, the Canada which adopted me and mine, and which I in turn chose for my country - not through an accident of birth, but consciously as an adult. What is it that makes this mural so outstanding, at least for me? Nothing is shown of the wonders of the Canadian landscape - the vast Arctic North, the endless prairies, the majestic Rockies - but then other countries have comparable wonders and beauty, and it is not for this that you would choose a new homeland. It is the very best, the essence of Canada, which is shown here - in the faces, somewhat tired but determined, of the men about to enter the mine, and in their names listed in conscientious small-town manner under the picture No roster of reputed heroes here, just ordinary men bent on a job no weakling would care for, men from all corners of the earth as demon- strated by their names, who even if they came here hoping to find the streets paved with gold had long since settled down to working for it - hard, dangerously, without glamour, This is the Canada of the mind, a community of people bound together not by common origin but by common goals, going about their work unostentatiously, maybe with a bit of grumbling as befits a gruelling job, but still ready to do their share, and let the next fellow have his, no matter how unpronounceable his name, how hard to understand his greeting. A decent but rather gloomy and not too inspiring picture to represent one's country in anyone's mind? Look outside. There is the living follow-up picture: the children of these men, black, brown and blond of hair, playing together in the schoolyard, laughing, calling to each other, proving their father's right. It IS all worthwhile, the loneliness at first, the mucking for gold , the sweat, the dreams. Here is the future now, carved by the men with the strange and silent faces, the Browns, the Laplantes, the Greatbears, the Pulsinskis, Benvenutos, Schmidts, SooLings, and all the othersg it reads like a roster of the United Nations. It is Canada today and tomorrow! And it is also the greatest challenge to all of us who want to take some active part in the further shaping of our country's future by educating its children. Swanhild A. Simmerling Form 3 COLLEGE DE PEDAGOGIQUE C with apologies to William Drummond 5 Although you don' know me, Ma nom ees Lee 'arris, To come to dees ecole Ie suis tres embaras. Ma brain she ees t'eek, Plaintee t'ing I don' know, But de qualification I got, So by gat me I go. Dey say dat cle teacher She ees ver-ee scarce, So I t'ink mebbe I try For bedder, for worse. De day she arrive, Le 12 du Septembre, Ma knee dey ees knockin', Ma t'aughts ver-ee sombre. I walk t'rou dat door, De auditorium she's feel, Dere ees no escape now, Ma fate she ees seal. De life at de college, She's so beesy an' gai, From top floor to bottom Leas' t'ree tam per day. Den down to de gym where We mak' beaucoup sport, M'sieur 'usband 'ee 'oller An' we dance an' cavort. Den out to de school We visite wan week, Teach beaucoup de children Mos' tam I feel seek. It's back to de college Pour write les exam, An' if we should fail By gar, what a jam! De exam she ees over An' now we mus' wait, For masters to mark dem An' tell us our fate. But if we don' mak' it, Don' lose de good cheer, Remember Pestalozzi, Try new job nex' year. Mrs. L. Harris Form 6

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LIVING UP TO TRADITION Larry's father had carried a canoe since he was twelve. All his brothers had carried a canoe by the age of twelve. Larry had now reached the age of fourteen and he was not following family tradition at all. It was a hot day on the portage and his father was around the bend talking to campers on their way back from Daily Lake. Larry stood by the lake staring at the canoe while the ominous cloud of family tradition hung over his head. Then with movements of determination, he pulled the canoe up and started lacing the paddles. He must get that canoe over the half mile portage before his father came back. He was just wrestling the canoe on to his back when he heard. Just a minute son. You have the paddles on backwards. Larry's heart sank. Now his father would laugh at his good intentions. The handles of the paddles always face the stern. His father undid the mass of knots and tied the paddles in expert fashion. Then after a long silence he added, Are you sure you want to carry this thing? Larry's face flashed with surprise. Then he masked his excitement and put a tone of nonchalance in his voice. In an off-hand manner he replied, Yeah, l can carry it. There's nothing to it. Alright, here put my coat on to pad your shoulders. Larry was sure he detected a hint of laughter in his father's voice. l'll show him, he thought, l'll carry that thing if it kills me. His father lifted the canoe up with awesome ease and said, Steady now, adjust the paddle blades on your shoulders and if you get tired, I will help you. Are the paddles comfortable, son? Now are you sure you want to carry it son? lt's heavy you know. No, I can carry it. Okay. came the reply and he let the full weight of the canoe descent on Larry's shoulders. The boy's legs bowed, he swayed sideways, then backwards and then he did a fancy rendition of a two step. He moved forward in a half run with his legs still buckled. He came to a dead stop, straightened and then took one unsure step forward, then another. He was in full control. He fortified himself mentally by telling himself that it was really light. Two minutes later, it got heavier, and five minutes later, he thought his legs were going to collapse. He could hear his father's foot- steps behind him. I can't put it down. he thought, he'd laugh, I'd be a disgrace. Sweat started to trickle down into his eyes and it stung. He squeezed his eyelids tight and then opened them. The trickle of salt water took a new route. He now had to blow the water droplets off the end of his nose. A voice came from behind. Stop son. l'll hold the canoe. Larry held his breath so as not to emit any trace of exertion and replied. No, don't bother, l'm alright. He was almost over the portage, there was not a muscle in his body that did not ache. He tried everything, from shifting the canoe to walking ara quick gait. The best method was to hold his breath for long periods of time and the mental concentration anaesthetized the pain. Only twenty yards to go, ten -- I'm here. Dad better hurry. he thought, No, l'll put it down myself. He started to squat in an undignified position and then got down on his knees. Somehow, he rolled the canoe off his shoulders and let it rest lightly on the ground. He saw his father coming up the trail. Have any difficulty, son? There was a note of pride in his voice. Larry stifled his quick breath and said, No -- not too much trouble at all. He wiped all traces of effort from his face with his forearm and added, In fact, I thought the canoe would be a lot heavier. Douglas Grant Form 6 108

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