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IN THIS ISSUE

• The editor looks back on 30 years of printing
• Bill McNair and Charles King comment on my story of the Depression
• Doris Dignard shares an important discovery
• Dick Monaghan forwards a story of a gambling grandpa
• Don Henderson´s story is about retired Canadians
• Peter Rollo sends one woman´s solution to a problem
• Carol Hansen´s story is about a grandmother in court
• Catherine Green and Tom Williamson suggest sites

These past few weeks have been a time for looking back for me, as you will have gathered from my reprinting the story of the Depression as I remember it. This week, I review my life in an unlikely trade for a woman:

Long before modern technology changed the craft forever, I was a printer,

A WOMAN IN A MAN´S TRADE

When I graduated from high school, the war was in its second interminable year and all the young men had long ago signed up, leaving no-one to begin an apprenticeship in the local printshop. Recommended by my high school principal for my "neatness, practicality, and methodicalness" (not for my brains nor brawn, obviously) I was given a job by Peter Campbell and his son, Don, who owned the small weekly newspaper, The Salmon Arm Observer.

During the year it took for the last apprentice to finish his time and become a journeyman, I did odd jobs - everything from sweeping the floors and the sidewalk in front to sending out the bills, with the occasional reporting of a Women´s Institute meeting or rewriting of an account of a local wedding or afternoon tea. One of my most trying assignments was to listen to Mr. Campbell tell stories of his youth in a brogue so thick I could only pretend to understand. He was a delightful old gentleman and I liked him very much, but it was still a trial to talk to him.

At the end of the year, I became the first woman apprentice anyone in the trade in British Columbia had ever heard of. I was sworn into the ITU, the International Typographical Union, "the biggest and best union in North America." Like the old hot metal printing, that union has now gone the way of the dodo.

I started at a salary of $7.00 a week. Every six months for the next five years I received another $2.00, so that by the end of my time I was earning $25.00 a week. Those were less expensive years, but if I had not been living at home I could not have survived on my wages.

It was a good thing I was built low and sturdy because the work was heavy and dirty. We worked with hot metal (a mixture of lead with some additive), an echo of the early days in the trade when the average lifespan of a printer was 28 years.

Much of the type that went into the newspaper was cast on the Linotype, a machine with so many moving parts that people would stand and watch, fascinated by its complexity. Those machines are museum pieces now, but in those days it was the fastest way of setting type, and over the next few years it became my special domain.

A number of sizes and fonts of type were housed in metal cases which fitted onto the top of the Linotype, and while most type was the size and font which appears in newspapers still, there were heads to set, and different types for advertisements and printing jobs, which entailed changing these magazines. They were heavy and awkward, but it never occurred to anyone (me included) that someone else should lift them for me.

The Linotype was not infallible, and if the interface where the hot lead was forced onto the recessed type faces was not tight, hot metal would squirt out of the lockup, often splashing the operator before he could move out of the way. Cleaning up one of those messes meant chipping off the solidified lead which had coated all the moving parts. There were no machinists in town, so we had to cope with the problems ourselves.

In addition to operating the Linotype, we set type by hand from a variety of trays which held fonts of all sizes and designs, from large wooden letters to tiny letters used for business cards or wedding invitations. The type was laid out in these cases in individual boxes, with lower case letters arranged at the bottom and capitals at the top - which is where the designation of upper and lower cases came from. The worst part of hand- set type was putting it away again, and we avoided it for as long as we could. The type would be tightly wrapped with string and stored on shelves (in case we needed it again), but eventually we would need it for another job and would have to sort it out into the appropriate boxes.

Headlines and larger type for ads were set by hand, but the stories were set on the Linotype. The "lines of type" were lead slugs set to the desired length, about half an inch high, with reversed type on top. (This is where we learned to read upside down and backward.) These slugs were arranged in columns, which were transferred to iron frames which rested on large slabs called stones. The type was fitted into the frames so tightly that the whole thing could be lifted and carried downstairs to the press. On rare occasions, they were not properly tightened and the whole thing fell onto the floor, which is where the expression "printer´s pi" came from.

The iron frames, or chases, were the size of tabloid newspapers, and four of them would fit on the big flatbed press downstairs. The flatbed was literally a flat piece of metal on which the frames were arranged, and it moved back and forth under a huge cylinder, which carried individual sheets of newsprint down onto the type and out the other side. Feeding the press was a dreary job, and sometimes a very hot one, flipping one sheet at a time onto the roller. The printed sheets went through an automatic folder, which turned out about a thousand eight-page newspapers every Wednesday.

Then, of course, the papers had to be delivered to the local stores, or wrapped and addressed and mailed. After the newspaper was finished, the type was washed with gasoline; Linotype material was thrown into a bucket to be carried downstairs to be remelted into pigs, and hand-set type was put away. For the rest of the week, which was 44 hours long, we worked on other jobs - letterheads, envelopes, hand bills, business cards, invoices, invitations...anything and everything that local businesses and people needed. We were the only printers in town.

For five years, during which the war raged on and was eventually won, I worked five and a half days a week, studying my lessons in printing while the foreman, Don Campbell, and I got out the newspaper and did all the other printing jobs that came in. Only during holidays did the ink stains come off my hands.

Toward the end of my apprenticeship, the paper was sold, and when I completed my time, the new owner told me he could not afford to keep two journeymen on staff full time, and I could not afford to work only three days a week. So ended my six years spent in that little shop.

CORRESPONDENCE

Bill McNair and Charles King wrote about my story of the Great Depression in last week´s issue. Charles enjoyed my reminiscences, while Bill wrote: In your autobiography of a youngster living in that small lumber camp, you always had one benefit: "running water." True, the water ran summer and winter, but it never ran hot, and it could not be turned off. Obviously, camps were built where there was access to water, and in the case of my dad´s outfit, it was Wilson Creek on Shuswap Lake, some 12 miles from Sicamous. I don´t doubt that the water is still running.

Doris Dignard passed along this

UPDATED PERIODIC TABLE

Lawrence Livermore Laboratories has discovered the heaviest element yet known to science.

The new element, Governmentium(Gv), has one neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312.

These 312 particles are held together by forces called morons, which are surrounded by vast quantities of lepton-like particles called peons.

Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert; however, it can be detected, because it impedes every reaction with which it into contact. A tiny amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second, to take from four days to four years to complete.

Governmentium has a normal half-life of 2- 6 years; It does not decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization in which a portion of the assistant neutrons and deputy neutrons exchange places.

In fact, Governmentium´s mass will actually increase over time, since each reorganization will cause more morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes.

This characteristic of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons reach a critical concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass.When catalyzed with money, Governmentium becomes Administratium, an element that radiates just as much energy as Governmentium since it has half as many peons but twice as many morons.

Dick Monaghan forwards this timely story:

THE IRS INVESTIGATES GRANDPA

The IRS decided to audit Grandpa, and summoned him to the IRS office.

The IRS auditor was not surprised when Grandpa showed up with his attorney.

The auditor said, "Well, sir, you have an extravagant lifestyle and no full-time employment, which you explain by saying that you win money gambling. I´m not sure the IRS finds that believable."

"I´m a great gambler, and I can prove it," says Grandpa. "How about a demonstration?"

The auditor thought for a moment and said, "Okay. Go ahead."

Grandpa said, "I´ll bet you a thousand dollars that I can bite my own eye."

The auditor thought a moment and said, "It´s a bet."

Grandpa removed his glass eye and bit it. The auditor´s jaw dropped.

Grandpa said, "Now, I´ll bet you two thousand dollars that I can bite my other eye."

Now the auditor could tell Grandpa wasn´t blind, so he took the bet.

Grandpa removed his dentures and bit his good eye.

The stunned auditor now realized he had wagered and lost three grand, with Grandpa´s attorney as a witness. He started to get nervous.

"Want to go double or nothing?" Grandpa asked. "I´ll bet you six thousand dollars that I can stand on one side of your desk, and pee into that wastebasket on the other side, and never get a drop anywhere in between."

The auditor, twice burned, was cautious now, but he looked carefully and decided there was no way this old guy could possibly manage that stunt, so he agreed again.

Grandpa stood beside the desk and unzipped his pants, but although he strained mightily, he could not make the stream reach the wastebasket on the other side, so he pretty much urinated all over the auditor´s desk.

The auditor leaped with joy, realizing that he has just turned a major loss into a huge win.

But Grandpa´s own attorney moaned and puts his head in his hands.

"Are you okay?" the auditor asked.

"Not really," said the attorney. "This morning, when my client told me he´d been summoned for an audit, he bet me twenty-five thousand dollars that he could come in here and pee all over your desk and that you´d be happy about it!"

Don´t Mess with Old People!

Don Henderson sends the story of

FOUR OLD RETIRED GUYS

Four old retired guys were walking down a street in Punta Gorda, Florida. They turned a corner and saw a sign that said, "Old Timers´ Bar - all drinks 10 cents."

They looked at each other, and then went in, thinking this was too good to be true. The old bartender said in a voice that carried across the room, "Come on in and let me pour one for you! What´ll it be, gentlemen?"

There seemed to be a fully-stocked bar, so each of the men ordered a martini. In short order, the bartender served up four iced martinis ... shaken, not stirred, and said, "That´ll be 10 cents each, please." The four men stared at the bartender for a moment, then looked at each other. They could not believe their good luck. They paid the 40 cents, finished their martinis, and ordered another round.

Again, four excellent martinis with produced with the bartender again saying, "That´s 40 cents, please." They paid the 40 cents, but their curiosity was more than they could stand. They had each had two martinis and so far they had spent less than a dollar. Finally one of the men said, "How can you afford to serve martinis as good as these for a dime a piece?"

"I´m a retired tailor from Boston," the bartender said, "and I always wanted to own a bar. Last year I hit the lottery for $125 million and decided to open this place. Every drink costs a dime ... wine, liquor, beer, it´s all the same."

"Wow! That´s quite a story," said one of the men.

The four of them sipped at their martinis and couldn´t help but notice seven other people at the end of the bar who didn´t have drinks in front of them, and hadn´t ordered anything the whole time they were there. One man gestured at the seven at the end of the bar without drinks and asked the bartender, "What´s with them?"

The bartender said, "Oh, they´re all old retired farts from Canada. They´re waiting for happy hour when drinks are half price."

Peter Rollo sends this story from Australia:

THE HAPPY COUPLE

An old man and woman were married for years even though they hated each other. When they had a confrontation, screaming and yelling could be heard deep into the night. A constant statement was heard by neighbours, who feared the man the most,

"When I die, I will dig my way up and out of the grave, to come back and haunt you for the rest of your life!"

They believed he practised black magic and was responsible for missing cats and dogs, and strange sounds at all hours. He was feared, and enjoyed the respect it garnished.

He died abruptly under strange circumstances and the funeral had a closed casket. After the burial, the wife went straight to the local bar and began to party as if there were no tomorrow.

The gaiety of her actions were becoming extreme, when her neighbours approached in a group to ask these questions: "Are you not afraid? Concerned? Worried? That this man who practised black magic and stated when he died he would dig his way up and out of the grave, to come back and haunt you for the rest of your life?"

The wife put down her drink and said: "Let the old bugga dig. I had him buried upside down."

Carol Hansen reminds us of why lawyers should never ask a Mississippi grandma a question if they are not prepared for the answer:

GRANDMA GOES TO COURT

In a trial, a southern small-town prosecuting attorney called his first witness, a grandmotherly, elderly woman, to the stand. He approached her and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know me?"

She responded, "Why, yes, I do know you, Mr. Williams. I´ve known you since you were a boy, and frankly, you´ve been a big disappointment to me. You lie, you cheat on your wife, and you manipulate people and talk about them behind their backs. You think you´re a big shot when you haven´t got the brains to realize you´ll never amount to anything more than a two-bit paper pusher. Yes, I know you."

The lawyer was stunned. Not knowing what else to do, he pointed across the room and asked, "Mrs. Jones, do you know the defence attorney?"

She again replied, "Why, yes, I do. I´ve known Mr. Bradley since he was a youngster too. He´s lazy, bigoted, and he has a drinking problem. He can´t build a normal relationship with anyone, and his law practice is one of the worst in the entire state. Not to mention he cheated on his wife with three different women. One of them was your wife. Yes, I know him."

The defence attorney nearly died.

The judge asked both counsellors to approach the bench and in a very quiet voice, said:

"If either of you idiots asks her if she knows me, I´ll send you both to the electric chair."

SUGGESTED WEBSITES

Catherine Green suggests this site for a great video of 400 dancers who had practised for eight weeks for a commercial shot in a train station in London. It looks like great fun:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3d3KigPQM

Michael Levenston posted a story for City Farmer News about Vancouver´s announcement that a portion of the city hall lawn will be converted into a community garden for people to grow food:

http://arunaurl.com/30l7

Tom Williamson sends the URL for a video of a homeless man in Santa Barbara and his pets. They are a family. The man who owns them rigged up a harness for his cat so she wouldn´t have to walk so much (like the dog and himself). At some juncture the rat came along, and as no one wanted to eat anyone else, the rat started riding with the cat and, often, on the cat! The dog will stand all day and let you talk to him and admire him for a few chin scratches.

http://www.youtube.com/v/D85yrIgA4Nk

Some positive housing news ... and a testament to positive human ingenuity. Can two people build a beautiful, functional home with a rubber mallet, a glue gun and a crow bar? Yes, they can. See what happens when computer science meets architecture:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82_6cH6JXHU

You may also read this newsletter online at http://members.shaw.ca/vjjsansum/ or http://nw-seniors.org/stories.html