LISTEN; THE NEXT POLITICIAN WHO STARTS A SENTENCE; ...LISTEN!

You need to travel to Newfoundland and Ireland, in the early fall ( best weather) and visit the pubs and restaurants to really get a feel for how well the inhabitants use the English language. It's scrummy.
Oscar Wilde said the only revenge the Irish ever got on the British was, we learned to write and speak their English Language better than they.
And, you never hear an Irish  politicians start a sentence, especially in response to a question, with  ... LISTEN. They might say it if they are offended by something you said; "Now listen here Sir. Let me tell you something."

You cannot watch any of the political interviews or chat shows on TV these days without hearing the politicians start almost any comment or answer with; Listen. ( The lesser used pause word is LOOK. Equally irritating but not near as popular)
Not just in North America either. I heard Tony Blair, former PM of Great Britain, say it far too often last week. Indeed I've heard President Obama use it. That was all I could take. The inculpatory evidence is clear to all lovers of the Language; This is a sin against our language.
I'd love to hear the interviewer interrupt the speaker, after a few times with the listen thing  and say," Hey, I am listening to you over here. I asked you the Damn question, didn't I.? Stop asking me to listen!"

Now, I know it's a mental trick, used to slow down the conversation while he or she formulates quickly what to say but Damn it, I can't take it anymore. It is the definition of irritating for any of us with half a brain.
When someone asks you a question or makes a statement that might have a little smoke of accusation in it, do you say listen, before you answer?  I just start answering. I don't need the, listen because I presume they are listening, since they asked the question.
If they need a mental stall, cough or chuckle or say; "Could you repeat that stupid question, please?"

"Is it true that your writing has been described as, wanting Mr. Dwyer?
My answer? "F--k you, with some respect."
Or should I say,
" Listen; F--k you, with some respect"
I can only say that when I not sure the person is fully listening to me or I want to be rudely emphatic. I am sure the smart ass journalist would answer, with comment on the listen part.
"Well I was and am listening to you, Mr. Dwyer and by the way,  listen to this, F--k you too!"

Now that is one of the few time you can open a response with, Listen, in a conversation or interview; If you think the other party is not listening or for emphasis and maybe once in the conversation but not every response. 
Anyway, that kind of retort is sure to end the interview and you can go on your way, without having to listen to that ignoramus Journalist.

I am not sure when this Listen business started to dominate our political discourses on TV.  I don't remember it being prevalent until recently, say ten years ago. Notice too, if the interview is in print, you rarely see the 'Listen,' written. The writers edit them because they are too prevalent and  irritating when read.
There. I am glad I got that off my chest!

If you agree or this commentary strikes a cord on your aggravation graph; Write a letter to the editor of your local paper to protest;Listen and re tweet this column please. We gotta stop this. The Facebook and Twitter links are below. Let's stop being told to listen by the damn politicians.

Novella; Michael Burke by Jon and Frank Dwyer

This book was an attempt to tell our family history and to give the reader insight into the character of our  Burke /Dwyer family and their lives in Tilting Harbour, Fogo Island Newfoundland.

My Mother Gladys, was the descendent of Thomas Burke who arrived there in the 1750's and they fished cod for 250 years alongside the descendents of Thomas Dwyer, my father's ancestor,
who arrived in the same era. They intermarried and thrived. The book was inspired by John Carrick Green of Tilting and a historian of note in Newfoundland. ENJOY   The book was published in Canada .

Please follow this link:( it is a novella and a relatively short read.Take your time and return as often as you like.)

Michael Burke The Novel

GETTING OLDER ISH. STILL IN PLAY.

I live close to a Toronto subway station and we see a lot of folks rushing to and fro. Mostly they never look up if I am standing on the porch but we see a lot of humanity. People are usually in a hurry and don't look around. They have days to fill and plans to implement.

I walk our dog Jack in the morning. He is actually my wife Jean's dog, and he looks to her for most of his needs. And, I notice since I have reached a certain age, other men my age will often look at me quickly, knowingly and one of us may say, good morning and the other will reply.

Often the reply is cordial, I find, but deferential in a way that only older guys know. "Morning Sir." Or a more than cordial nod. It's what I think is a code guys in their 60's understand. We are acknowledging our lives are in the last innings but we are still playing. Not as vigorously but we are out here. There is a certain respect guys our age grant to others in our league but you gotta know the unspoken code.

Don't intrude or ask probing questions. Just be respectful. In your look at me, look like you understand, a life has mostly been lived and it had it's moments, failures, disappointments and highs, but now we are closer to the 9th inning than the 7th inning stretch, which was our last breather.

If you are fairly well and don't have any co-morbidities, like heart disease, diabetes or arthritis you can still take a drink or 5 some days. For now... You know it's all in your genes and did your dad pass on any poor health history.

The knees and hips hurt some of us and some have already had replacements. Me, I am Gibralter          ( famous last words) I drink wine every day. Sometimes a cocktail. I have business deals pending. I wake refreshed. Nothing worse as Mark Twain wrote, "as the sleep; Which does not refresh."

My family are engaged and my wife is a marvel of the best companion you could hope for.
Tomorrow I am meeting a man I went to The Franciscan, St Francis Seminary with, fifty years ago on Staten Island, New York, 1965 when we were 15  - 16. He was from Toronto, I from Montreal. He was a great guy and an athlete.  Neither of us went on to the priesthood. I talked to him many times over the years and last year they held a reunion on the Island at the seminary, which is now virtually closed, but I could not attend. He is a successful lawyer. I'm looking forward.

What more could I hope for?

The Naishional: LAZY SHIFTLESS ATHLETES

The Naishional: LAZY SHIFTLESS ATHLETES: August 18, 2014                When we were kids, it was often said that a messy room, appearance or desk, was an indication that we were ...

I'M DYING OVER HERE AND YOU'RE MAKING JOKES.

My good friend Ed Fitzgerald is a retired journalist and TV news producer-director, who worked all over the world for Canadian and American broadcasters. He now lives in Ottawa on a comfortable pension and has managed to keep his sense of humor intact. We chat by phone a few times a month. He is my son Jon's Godfather and we are both privy to the machinations of our personal lives and history. The chats are always fun and serious. Ed always was a great story teller and insightful, so his narratives are revealing and funny.

This week we talked about our ages; I am in my mid 60's and he a few years older. It seems his passport is up for renewal and he was faced with a decision. Ed has had a few health issues and he is a cancer survivor. He was much braver dealing with and about talking about IT than I would have been. Now his passport is expiring and  had to decide whether to renew his passport for 5 years or 10 years. The cost difference was not a lot, he said but; "I could buy a great bottle of Irish whiskey for the difference and if I die and waste that money, I am going to be pissed.

I laughed so hard I almost dropped the phone but then realized I needed to have a similar chat with my wife soon. I have a life insurance policy which is term and it comes due and must be renewed soon, my agent explained.The payments are reasonable and will increase depending on whether I choose to renew it for 5- 10- or 15 years.  How long do you think you will live, my wife asked when I explained the dilemma.  Thinking about Ed's reasoning I said"We are talking about a financial loss of  a CASE of great Irish Whiskey and a CASE of Chardonnay, (her favorite drink) if I guess wrong," I replied. She laughed and said; " Go for 15. If you are wrong, I promise to use the some of the beneficiary benefit on the drink and  share it with all our bereaved  friends and family.

I don't know how the hell I got this old. Yesterday I was forty four and I woke up and I was sixty four. Like a Rip Van Winkle move. Now conversations are taking place we never would consider having before. Humor is a great way to go along with it but in you quietest moments, when you wake at four in the morning and your wife is sound asleep and you let your imagination go nuts; .Jesus Mary and Joseph how in the name of all that is unholy did I get here so quick. That's what I can't get my head around. My wife Jean looks like she is forty four still and I look Sixty four.

And it's not the God thing and fear that he'll be mad at me.(Although there are a few decisions I made that I might like to do over) If he is there; Well he is God and enlightened. He can't be mad at me for not knowing if  he or she existed. I could hedge my bets and pray to him as Mark Twain suggested but I hate myself when I am hypocritical. My dad and I had talked once in fun about it all and he was a great faith man and loved his Catholic Church and all it's trappings, including the fear. It gave me pause but he promised me if he died before me, as was likely,  he would try to send me a sign. He died peacefully in 1988 but no sign, except today when I step before the mirror to shave every morning; I see his face in mine and my eyes are his...

THE MYSTERY OF PHILLY LEE AND HAL C. BANKS

In 1958, Philly Lee my first cousin died in a car accident in Upstate New York, on the highway from Montreal  to New York  City. He was driving his new Volkswagen Bug and was alone in the car. I was eight years old.
It seems he fell asleep and hit a transport truck parked on the shoulder of the road. His mother Mable  my mother's sister and her husband had also immigrated to Montreal with my parents, from Newfoundland in 1949, around the same time Newfoundland joined Canada as it's 10th province

Aunt Mable was married to Phil Lee from Petty Harbor, Newfoundland who was a great, man's man and very funny. They had a girl Marie and a boy Philip jr, who we called Philly. He was a air traffic control operator in training at Dorval International Airport in Montreal, after a stint in the Air Force. He was 21.
His death became a great mystery which the extended family of Dwyer and Burke talked about for years after.

It seems Philly had been in Newfoundland visiting family and flew home that fateful day on a plane owned and operated by the Sea fearers International Union. It's infamous president; Hal C. Banks was also on board. He was a reputed tough guy who had arrived from USA in 1949 to bust the Communist controlled Shipping Unions. He built a high profile reputation and was often written up in the Canadian media. In 1964 he  skipped the country, just ahead of the RCMP ,who were about to arrest him on a variety of charges. He died in1985.

 The RCMP visited Philly's parents after the funeral but it seems they were tight lipped about Philly's activities and told no secrets or tales, if indeed they had any. They told them there was no foul play suspected, even though Philly had phoned his mother from the Dorval airport and said he had landed in Montreal and would be home soon. Uncle Phil and Mable were far too emotionally overcome to press for an answer. Philly was not married but was in a very serious relationship with a pretty young woman I used to see in our church. At the funeral she sat with Philly's family and cried her heart out.

Philly, at 21 was the oldest of my generation of youngsters who were coming fast and furious in those early days. He was handsome and charismatic and used to own a motorcycle before he was persuaded to trade it for the car. All the family men were doing well in their new city, most working in construction. My mother, Gladys Burke had a brother Joe and two sister and my father had two brothers and 3 sisters who had also made Montreal home in the previous five years. It was becoming a real Newfoundland outpost. The family was tight and parties consisted of Newfoundland songs and recitations and chat about how the cod were running at home.

Aunt Mable was destroyed by the tragedy and soon had a shrine to The Blessed Virgin, built outside out little church (which the Dwyer and Burke  men had spearheaded building) on the South Shore of Montreal Island.
At the funeral parlor I saw my first dead man. He looked great but Aunt Mable sobbing, took me by the hand and escorted me to the half open coffin and had me put my hand on Philly's forehead to see how cold it was. I could have done without that.

The years ran on and over time many of the family group moved away to Toronto and Boston and a few went home to Newfoundland but the mystery of Philly's death was never solved and his memory faded.
Sometime in the 1990s I visited my Uncle Joe Burke(who since died ) in Montreal and over a chat he told me he had done a renovation at the home of senior RCMP officer and had told him the story of the mystery of; why Philly died in an accident  on the road to New York City when he had told his mother he would be home soon. The officer said he would see what he could find. As he was cluing up the job and leaving the officer said he had found and read the file on Philip Lee and his relationship with Hal Banks and would tell him him if really wanted to hear it. Uncle Joe said he thought about it but finally said : "No, he didn't."

YOU MAY NOT LIKE CONRAD BLACK BUT YOU HAVE TO RESPECT HIM.

My Wife, Jean O'Byrne Dwyer  and I were sitting at the bar in the main floor lounge of the Chateau Laurier Hotel in Ottawa ( One of my favorite bars) a few years ago, enjoying a libation when I noticed a copy of Conrad Black's new book a few feet away. I inquired with the bartender how it came to be there, as he was in a jail in Florida. It seems the evening before a nonfiction book award had been held in the very place and copies of all five of the nominee's books including Mr. Black's were available to the attendees. Some were left behind.

I had been reading his columns in the National Post, which he wrote each Saturday from Jail and was so impressed with his candor that I e-mailed him at his address which was at the foot of the column; cbletters@gmail.com. Not long after he replied, much to my surprise. He thanked me for my comments and encouragement. He could have easily run home to Britain or Canada and down faced the mean American legal system but he remained unbowed and unrepentant. I immediately pulled out my iPhone and emailed Conrad Black; "I am sitting at the Bar in the Chateau Laurier, having a drink with my wife and your new book is on the bar from last nights non-fiction awards presentation, which I am sure you were made aware of." I hoped he found the note comforting from his jail cell, knowing he was still in play in Ottawa. He wrote back shortly and thanked me again for the news.

I felt he had been railroaded, at best, but that's the thing about Conrad Black. He taunted his accusers as they drafted a case around his expenses, which is, as a great friend and lawyer once told me; They always go after the expenses because it's so easy to manipulate. You either like or hate Conrad. And he's not easy to like especially from a distance but you have to respect his honor, toughness and resolve. And if you don't, your sense of fairness needs adjusting.

I followed his trial as closely as possible and was astonished how he had held his ground and maintained his familiar demeanor and dignity. I was waiting for it to falter especially when he was convicted and sentenced but he didn't show it. Oh I think in his quietest moments, late at night, alone in that bunk he asked the question; Lord why have you forsaken me?

From jail, good reports abounded about his kindness, encouragement and the classes he offered his fellow inmates. And he soldiered on, won an important Supreme Court appeal (itself no easy job), was released for a short time until his judge  Amy St Eve re-sentenced him for a shorter time, just for good American measure.

On May 4 2012 at 67 years of age Conrad left jail and returned to Canada. He had served 42 months of an original 72 month sentence. The amount of cash he was supposed to have squandered, reduced and made to look almost silly, given his job the size of his company and earning power.

Around that time my sons Patrick and Jon were looking to restart their well liked, private, speaker series; 'Discussions at the Bistro' and as Jon was a friend of the owner  and chef of Spendido restaurant in Toronto,  Chef Barry they agreed to hold it there and Jon asked me if I could write and ask Conrad Black if he would be the first speaker. After some negotiating he agreed (Spendido is a favorite of his and his wife, Barbara Amiel).

The series featured a fine 3 course dinner with great wines and then, the guest speaker was introduced by Jon. In lieu of a fee, everyone of the 80 diners would get a signed copy of his new book. The evening sold out in a day.

I was excited to finally meet Lord Conrad Black and he was a delight. Friendly, engaging, funny and after a long Q&A and some great food and wine and his talk, he held back and sat down with us for a quiet drink and chat in the empty restaurant. My only disappointment was his famous, smart wife Barbara Amiel was a no show.