27 YEARS AGO; AN AMAZING FAMILY REUNION IN MONTREAL JULY 1987

Well, we, my son Patrick and I are excited to be able to post a historic family documentary that my 1st cousin Allan Dwyer , now Dr Allan Dwyer, who arranged with his brothers ; Don, Tim and Brian to film our family reunion in July  1987. A two day event on the Island of Montreal. If
 you are not a relative, watch it anyway. It's full of fun and great characters and freezes a day in time 1987. Incredibly beautiful children and parents. Many of them are now highly successful and fine citizens.
Let me begin again. My sister Mary Dwyer came up with the idea that we would have a family reunion of the Burke Dwyer tribe who arrived from Ireland on Fogo Island Newfoundland in the mid- 1700's. and lived there for 200 years and then moved on to USA and parts of Canada. The woman married  fellas with names like  Dalton, Bauregard, Lee, Cato, Iwaszczenko,Mockler, Jette. gentlemen all. Over 60 people attended.

Mary organized the whole event. Saturday night at  Holiday Inn outside of Montreal, because Montreal was the landing point for almost all the families migration. And many Burkes and Dwyers were still living there . Dinner with  speeches Saturday night and Sunday on St Helen's Island, in the St Lawrence River all day Sunday. The video of the Saturday dinner is unfortunately too dark to do it justice but the Sunday sunny picnic was a hangover bonanza and funny funny. The children, who were all there as you will see, are all now in their late 20's and 30's and have children of their own. Most are all first cousins.

Many of the older folk are passed on and a few of my generation as well.
Notably; Jack and Steve Hauser, brothers, of Boston. The best looking men God ever put breath in and the sweetest and finest, both died; Jack in 1989 His mother and father Carm and Charlie in 1990, and Steve in 1991. Very tough, sad time for the family. My dear brothers Patrick ( Paddy) left in 2010. The Great Uncles and Aunts; Mable Lee, Aunt Helen Dwyer,  Ben Dwyer's wife ( A Saint of a man)  and my Mother  and father Gladys Burke Dwyer and Frank. Uncle Joe Burke and his great wife Alice Dwyer Burke.
 Another sweet, civilized man was Carl Beauregard. Boston.  Brother and sister,Joan and Michael Dalton. New jersey. They were children of my mother's sister ,Aunt Kit Burke Dalton and Jim.  Finally Our dear Uncle Peter Dwyer, who hosted the Saturday night talks  is still going strong at age 87 in Toronto. He has been a beacon.


The first video is  dark, as the lighting in the ball room was low                                                              but Video 2  is great and all outdoor

General Assembly 2014: Obama U.N. Speech [FULL] Today | The New York Times

THIS COULD BE THE BEST SPEECH OF PRESIDENT OBAMA'S  LIFE
IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN IT; DO SO, I URGE YOU.
HE HAS BEEN SEEN AS RECLUSIVE LATELY BUT IT HAD MEANING
AND SET HIS TONE FOR A MORE THOUGHTFUL APPROACH TO WAR.

Someone Please Replace The Expression; 'Think Outside The Box.'

I really don't understand why I can't get all in a tizzy over climate change but I can't and never could to date. I think I just could not decide, 100 per cent, that the climate was changing because of our polluting ways. It seemed to me we are living in a country, Canada, which not long ago, in the overall scheme of time, that was covered in ice and it melted and receded leaving a pretty good place to live and work. Our pollution is a problem and we are right to be cleaning up our act. It's smart and good for our health and ya, it's probably responsible for some or maybe a lot of our climate change storms but not all of it.

Now Naomi Klein has a new book out called,'This Changes Everything.' Naomi is another reason why I can't be a dogged anti-pollution guy. She is way too smug and smart.

A lot of smart folks are also saying we need to develop a new kind of Capitalism. I can't say I know a lot about finance but I can say, over the years capitalism has been blamed for a lot of sins and rightly so. The banks behavior during and leading up to the last great failure of the capitalism system, particularly in USA was sinful and venile.

Some say it's like the story of the scorpion and the frog. The frog gives the scorpion a lift across a river on a promise that the scorpion would never bite and poison it, but as they neared the river bank, it did just that. "Why did you do that?" asked the frog. "Because I could not help my nature." The Scorpion replied.

Financial banks are like that too and need to be regulated and even then, they will find new ways to screw the depositors, like derivatives. Over the last 20 years, the banks have sidelined a lot of low income folks by disallowing anyone with poor credit to open an account and access their systems and all that contains. Like debit cards and payroll deposits and so cheque cashing and pay day loan stores have popped up everywhere across North America. In fact there are more pay day loan shops open today than there are McDonalds Restaurants in North America. In fact the pay day loan business has become so lucrative that the banks are buying them; Quietly.

It's also a credit to the Obama administration of justice staff, that the banks in USA have paid hundreds of billions in fine and penalties for their malfeasance in their dealings with the American tax payers, from Mortgage derivative fraud to fraudulent home mortgage repossessions. And this week a USA Federal Jury found The Arab Bank guilty of supporting terrorism from an uprising during   early 2000.
Risk Management means ; fuck off  we are not lending to you or investing in your company. If we do, we own you...

Finally, I could never understand why companies, particularly public traded companies have to increase sales and profits, year over year. If a company sells one million widgets successfully and pays investors a dividend and pays it's bills and employees, year over year and is healthy, why does it have to grow every year. Why not give itself time to grow more slowly and not make mistakes. Or have to borrow large sums to buy other widget companies, so it can show growth, that way.

The person who can come up with a new, fresh expression to replace; "THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX." Will rule the world and be forever, the hero we all need...PS; Will Radcliff, The inventor of the Slush Puppie died ,74. RSP  

'We Are A Dream Of God

Dr. Wendy O'Flaherty is a professor of History and Religion at the University of Chicago. Thirty odd years ago she wrote a book where she spoofed (and I am paraphrasing here) that, as the Hindu people say, when we dream it often seems so real that when we wake we almost can't believe it was just a dream we experienced. I was listening to an interview she was giving on CBC radio. It was about her new book where she makes this analogy:

What if this life of ours is just that; a dream of God and when he, or she, wakes, well that's the end of the world. Or the end of our world and we die. Just like when we wake from a dream the story of the dream we were having ends. It's kind of funny, interesting to think about, but it opens our imagination to the what if's of life. Unless of course you believe the story of the Garden of Eden and how God parted the Red Sea for the Israelite's. Or he sent his only son to earth to be tortured and crucified on a cross cause we were so sinful, he needed atonement. That's a scary dad.

Isaac Singer the great Jewish writer and thinker, who lived for a long time in New York City, was asked in an interview with Pierre Burton, also in the 1970's, who was himself an atheist, why he believed in God, and he answered with this story;

There were two men who got stranded on a deserted island, and one day one of them walked down to the beach and eventually returned with this watch. "What's that?" the other asked. The first man explained, "It's a watch and it tells time by going around the dial every 12 hours". "And who made it?" the other asked. "No one", he replied, "it just formed on the beach from all the minerals and stones. "Well that's impossible," the other said.

So Singer continued, "We know a watch is too sophisticated to just make itself. Someone had to make it and if we agree on that, then we have to agree that the human being, which is infinity more complex also had to be made by someone and I call that someone God." Great story. I never forgot it;

I grew up as a Catholic, and my fear of God and his wrath was complete, but as I got older I changed and that fear, I reasoned away. I figure if God is real he would never be mad at me for not believing in him. What reason could he give for that. Other than making the world and all it's glories, he has never shown me a sign clearly that he is watching my every move, and if I don't behave as the Catholic Church ordains, I am somehow going to be punished when I die and punished well. All loving Gods don't behave like that.Basically I decided that God was much nicer and more enlightened than our christian religions tell us he is.

I think when I die he's going to say, "Well Ignatius, or Frank, you scored about 75 per cent on that little test but it was fun right? You got to live your life in one best countries of the world. And you learned a lot. You certainly were human and imperfect and didn't always do the right think, but hey, wanna try it again?" And I'm going to say, "You mean a do over? God, No. I think I'll just hang out here with you guys and watch the show down there. OK?"

Writing Novels And Paddy's Funeral

When I was at college, in Toronto in the late 1960's, I really liked the IDEA of being a writer. I can't say I decided to be a writer because I really felt I would never be able to write, as I had neither the talent or anything important to say to the world. I tried and would start novels with great excitement but rarely got beyond the first paragraph. Literally. It just didn't come. Twenty five years later I sat down at my new Apple computer one day and started a story. The first line read;

"When I left the doctors office I had lost all sense of thought and time. I crossed Lawrence Avenue and walked East to the Rouge Go Train Station. As I climbed the stairs to the platform, Lake Ontario came into view, like the opening scene of a movie."

The next morning and every morning for three months after when I sat before the keyboard and typed the story fell out of me like it was per-recorded in my head. It was a somewhat scary and exhilarating and mysterious feeling. Every day I wondered as I began to write, if the magic voice, as I called it was going to appear in my head.  I am not saying it was a great story or wonderful prose but it was on paper, it made sense and if one could get beyond my terrible editing, it was ok.

I entitled it, 'Act As If Ye Have faith'. I came to understand that it, the story, had to have formulated in my subconscious over the years of reading and viewing. I decided it was a creative experience that I had heard other writers talk about and it felt great. I didn't talk to anyone really about the experience, except my great supportive wife and reader, Jean. I submitted it to a few literary agents and publishers but they all rejected it. So I let it sit and went back to working and making a living.

A few years later 2006, I tried another story. I sat and wrote the first paragraph. Three months later I had written another 62,000 word novel, I entitled it, 'Canada, The Novel'. I didn't want to struggle with the publishing of it and selling and the rejection so I published it online on a web site I built and offered downloads free. Indeed I am certain I was one of the first to do so and got some attention from TV and because I could track who, and how many folks were downloading it. I know the Privy Council in Ottawa did as did the Prime Minister's office. In fact the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) office did too because, I suppose, they were mentioned in the story. Over 9,000 people downloaded it all over the world. Then the web site Read Toronto serialized it for 30 days. It was great fun. True story. (see the story link for the sample of the news reports I received)

In 2008,  I wrote, 'Michael Burke', with my son Jon. It is a 30,000 word novella,we self published  and has sold quite well in Newfoundland with the help of Ron Young, my friend and founder of Downhomer Magazine. Recently the book was optioned for movie rights and I was, just this week, a guest at Newfoundland Film Development corp.'s TIFF party (Toronto Film Fest.) The book is a true story of our ancestors life in 1850's, novelized. We shall see what the future holds...

A few years ago my brother Patrick 'Paddy' died in Toronto. He was a sweet man and boy and unfortunately could not control the drink. It killed him. The entire family tried to save him but it was no use. He was never going to quite drinking, he once told me. At his funeral in Pickering, next to my parents grave, we buried his ashes after a small funeral. The priest proceeded to deposit his ash urn which was wrapped in a lovely velvet purple bag. It looked like that great bag you get when you buy Crown Royal Canadian Whiskey and it had a gold braided tie rope at the top.

"Do you want the bag left on?" He asked piously as he was about to lower it. "Yes," I said, "it looks like a Crown Royal Whiskey bag and Paddy would love that."

"Mr. Dwyer," he chastised, "that's not appropriate."

"Oh Father, if you knew my brother, you would not feel that way." A few chuckles made the day lighter. I am sure Paddy would have approved.


Link to the story: Author posts novel online for free

Author posts novel online for free

Author posts novel online for free

First Rapper, Robert Service Recitations.

Back in the day, before there was Radio and Television, much less the Internet, poetic recitations were common at parties, as a form of entertainment. In 1904-05 the poet, Robert Service published his 1st book of poems which went viral, 1905 style.
 His poems ,The Shooting of Dan McGrew and The Cremation of Sam McGee were the best know poems or recitations in the world, literally. They became known by the Intelligentsia, as; Newspaper poetry. But Mr. Service by 1910, was the richest writer in the world. His books of poetry were selling all over the world and folks were reciting them in every Pub and bar. They were fun, Entertaining, in fact  they were the first Rappers of poetry

Robert Service wrote those poems in The Yukon, Canada where he was working as a bank clerk. Canadians claim him as one our own but the fact is, he was born in Scotland in 1874 and came to Canada in 1898. By 1908 he was living in Paris, France and never came back to Canada. Why? Because he was hanging out with the likes of Earnest Hemingway and James Joyce. They did not consider him an Artist like themselves but he was the making a fortune from the sale of his books and everyone knew his name.

I wrote a play with Jon Dwyer my son, based on his life and works; 'Good Evening I'm Robert Service.' We bring him back to life, on stage (He died in 1958)  and we work shopped the play before audiences in Toronto last year at the Arts and Letters Club and Dora Keogh's Pub in Toronto with David Ferry as Director and Adam Brazier as Mr. Service. We hope to take it further soon. But it was well received. They are great, busy theater men, both. We were lucky to get them.

My Uncles, Gilbert Dwyer, Peter, Bill and my father Frank were fine performers of Service recitations and others at family parties when we were growing up. (Truth be told; Uncle Gilbert was hands down, the best actor.) And it was not any Tom, Dick or Harriett who could pull this off successfully. They didn't read the poem; They acted them out. Voice, emotion, presence.

Recitations were a true staple of  parties  thru the 20  Century and early 21st and Service's works were their Shakespeare.  They were funny, smart and always had a twist at the end.
 If you would like to read the play, e mail me at frank_dwyer@rogers.com. I will forward you a copy.
It has Mr Service telling poignant, funny stories about  his life and from time to time he performs a few of his famous recitations.

But there were a few poems which Gilbert and Frank liked but they had no idea where they came from or who wrote them. I offer them here for your entertainment and to help improve your stand up routine;

An Angler's Love Letter

Dear Maggie the Trout are elusive,
In fact, their  most frightfully fly,
And though I am seldom abusive,
My stock of expletive is dry;
I've practiced all manner of cunning
with deftness exceeding fine,
And being quite out of the running,
I thought I'd drop you a line;

I am not altogether contented
with matters just now as they stand;
Though gossip no doubt  has invented,
The stories my fancy expand;
But this of all horrors is clearest
Some beast with the venom of stealth
Is dangling in front of my dearest,
A hook that is baited with wealth.

Don't rise, take a tip from the fishes
who've crippled my patience at last;
Don't list to the magical swishes,
Of he who maneuvers the cast;
It isn't with love he has baited
The barb on the end of his line,
And if to some hook you are fated...
Oh may it dear Maggie be mine.

Memorize it and recite at your next party, preferably late in the evening when wine has worked it's magic.  You'll be famous.

Lastly;
A Pious Parson;

A pious Parson, good and true, went sailing o'er the seas,
When suddenly there fiercely blew, a strong and sweeping breeze
He thought the storm, the ship would wreck, his heart was sore afraid,
So he sought the Captain on the deck and found him undismayed.
The Captain seeing his awful fear;
Led him up to where this preacher of the Lord
Could hear the sailors curse and swear;
Now, you will see the captain said, if danger hovered nigh;
They'd all be on their knees instead and be prepared to die.
The Parson saw these words were true;
And was amazed just how the sailors knew,
Just when to curse and swear.
Later on, another storm, came fiercer than before
The Parson heard with wild alarm the ocean's angry roar;
He sought the deck, in eager dread, to near the Sailors get;
He listened... and he bowed his head;
Thank God they're swearing yet

You're on your own .Go Entertain...

The Sinking Of The Francis P. Duke, 1947.

On December 17th 1947, The Francis P. Duke, sailed out of Fogo Island Harbour, Newfoundland. The 42 ton Lunenburg style schooner was owned and operated by Skipper Paddy Miller, my great uncle, and his sons, of which there were four. My father, Frank, was 35 that year and was now a 1st officer working for the Miller family business alongside his 1st cousins and uncle Paddy. His mother Mary Miller Dwyer was Skipper Paddy's sister.

Frank loved the sea and had sailed on Miller's many schooners to the Grand Banks fishing, and he told me many a hair raising story about the Great Atlantic. The Millers were renown merchants and had been so since the early 1800's. Skipper Paddy, like his father Paddy Miller Sr., was a hard taskmaster, my Father told me and he tolerated nothing but 100 per cent effort and drive from his sons or crew.

On December 17 1947, my father Frank Dwyer was home in Tilting Harbour (the other side of Fogo Island) with his wife and three children, but knew his cousins Bill and Ignatius (Naish) Miller were heading out with a catch of Cod to deliver to the Fisherman's Union Trading Company at Catalina. Then, maybe on to St John's, but Christmas was near and could not be missed. Bill Miller, 33, was the Captain for the journey and Ignatius, 21, was his 1st mate. (I was named for him when I was born in Montreal in 1950). There was also a crew of 6. All Fogo residents and most were seasoned mariners.

My father told me this story often, and he said he was concerned as a storm was brewing that morning and it looked like it could be big. He said, Bill Miller was a very competent Skipper and had grown up on these great ships and was certainly not afraid of a little rough weather. But Bill was in a hurry.

By morning as the storm raged, Captain Paddy became concerned and went down to the telegraph office and called the operator in Seldom, who told him the Duke had not arrived there. He knew their only hope was that they had rode out the storm and crossed Bonavista Bay and sought shelter.

Everyone on the Island soon knew the news story and were listening to the radio broadcasts and praying for good news of the crew. Two days passed before pieces of wreckage started to wash ashore near Shag Rock, near the town of Valleyfield. Then a couple of bodies. All hands were lost it was soon discovered.

The 1947 Christmas on Fogo was a sad one. Ignatius's body was never recovered. The dead were;
Captain Bill Miller, Ignatius Miller, Donovan Bryan, Wilfred Buckle, Stewart Keefe, Maxwell Payne, Augustus Pickett.
Skipper Paddy and his wife Aunt Agnes were devastated as were the families of all the men. Many had left wives and children. My Father went up to the Miller house in Fogo and the old man was staring out  the window as dad arrived. "They're gone, my boys, Frank," was all he could muster.

Two years later my father, having voted in a referendum to join Canada as it's tenth province, left Newfoundland and moved his family to Montreal, now a Canadian citizen. He said he knew he could do better for his children. So after roughly 200  years out of Ireland, and years of fishing and struggling, he moved on.

In 1963 he returned with my mother and I was allowed to tag along. We flew in a Trans-Canada Airline Vanguard. It was exciting and as we left 10 days later for home in Montreal, I was glad of the heritage and history and the people were amazing, but would not miss the;  no electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing. Today Fogo Island is a fully modern and equipped community with a rich rich heritage and  the fisherman still thrive with their modern boats and equipment.

The ghost of the Francis P. Duke still lives on as do the many other tragic stories that the Island produced as tough men and women lived and laughed and loved. All too human.

We Are All In This Together

I was always a loyal listener to CBC Radio. In 1973, I got a job working for KAWASAKI  MOTORS as a dealer rep and they moved me to Moncton, New Brunswick. I was making 350 bucks a week and had a great expense account. I was 23, not married or involved and, man, did I have fun.

My job was to get up every Monday and leave my really cool bungalow on the Shediac River, which I bought for 15 thousand dollars, and travel the maritime provinces including Newfoundland and visit  our Kawasaki Motorcycle and Snowmobile dealers in the four province's. I had a new Chevy Impala with a great sound system and I listened to the CBC daily, starting with Peter Gzowski's 'This country in the Morning', three hour long, out of Toronto, and broadcast nation wide. When Peter died and the show was no more, it was a great blow to our country, Canada.  Truly.

A couple of times a year they flew me to Toronto for sales meeting but I was doing a good job and they were happy with me. My trips to Newfoundland were my happiest. I had first cousins (my father's brother Bill's children .He was a prince) in Grand Falls and they were very kind to me. Clarence was a new lawyer starting a practice and his sister Patricia became a great friends, to this day. She eventually married Frank Fagan who was an excellent businessman and humanitarian and they had two fine sons in St John's, Andrew and Richard. Both became doctors MD's but sadly Richard died a few years ago from cancer in his 20's. Heartbreaking.

Eventually they learned to cope and suddenly, last year Prime Minister Harper offered Frank the post of Lieutenant Governor of Newfoundland and Labrador and they accepted. So now they are Honorable, which is appropriate.

I don't listen to the CBC as much as I used to. But I still miss Peter Gzowski. Luckily for me, on one of my trips to St John's my cousins introduced me to my future wife, Jean O'Byrne. She was a physiotherapist recently recruited from Ireland by the  Government of Newfoundland 1975, due to a shortage of physio's in the province. Three months later we married in Toronto and Yamaha transferred me back to Toronto.

My family had arrived in Newfoundland some time around 1750 and settled on Tilting Harbor, Fogo Island, some 15 miles off the north east coast. There they fished cod, which was plentiful and grew a garden of potatoes and some vegetables and practiced the Catholic faith with a fearsome devotion.

Life was harsh and death was a common part of life, whether it was childbirth or disease or even the common flu. The village of Tilting, was the commercial fishing capitol of the island and many a great Lunenburg style sailing vessel was built on it shores. Their history is long and steady, as they rarely left the island except to sell their catch and buy supplies in St John's. I wrote a novella with my son Jon called "Michael Burke", which is available on Amazon Kindle, for a token price. ( it was recently optioned for the movie rights)  Michael Burke was an ancestor from my mother's family, the great Burke family of Waterford, Ireland.

When I could, I would visit Fogo Island and stay at my aunt Cecilia's wonderful home. Her children were married and moved away by then, and her husband, Lons Donahue, had died a few years before. Now he was a saint. The feather beds she had were ancient and coma inducing. I never had a better sleep, before or since. She was my mother's eldest sister and she lived late into her 90's, dying, not more than a few years ago.

Through all of these days, the CBC Radio was my companion.