By: Devin R. Heroux
The recent call for a byelection in the Saskatoon Northwest constituency on Oct. 18 should have brought an end to a Saskatchewan Party attack advertisement. However, the ad kept running.
The ad shows excerpts from legislative proceedings involving New Democratic Party, Dwain Lingenfelter. Under the Rules and Procedures of the Legislative Assembly of Saskatchewan, “the use of the audio-video tapes of the legislative proceedings shall be forbidden during any Saskatchewan provincial election or by-election.”
Saskatchewan Premier Brad Wall, announced the byelection on Sept. 22 to fill the vacant seat left by the departure of MLA Serge LeClerc. According to New Democratic Party House Leader, Kevin Yates, the Sask. Party continued to run the ad until Sept. 26. Yates says this government continues to walk a fine line when it comes to respecting the rules of government.
“The bottom line is that this government knowingly and willingly went ahead with the ad when they knew it was against the rules and law. If they don’t respect the rules why should anyone else?,” said Yates.
Speaker of the Legislative Assembly Don Toth, also a Sask. Party MLA, denies that the government disrespected the rules of government. Toth’s duties include notifying the Legislature when rules need clarification, and said this situation is a perfect example.
“This is a clear issue. And the important thing to note is that it’s a rule, not a law. I asked the Sask. Party to remove the attack ad with the audio-video clip in it, and they did. It’s a very simple matter.”
The Sask. Party maintains this is just another case of the NDP trying to make negative news out of a non-issue. Sask. Party House Leader, Dan D’Autremont said making a big deal out of something this insignificant is petty and looks bad on the NDP.
“This is clearly NDP spin, just more negative NDP spin. They are making a mountain out of what really is a non-issue.”
Lost in all of this is the importance of the by-election, which will bring up much debate until constituents vote on Oct. 18. D’Autremont says this recent NDP complaint will not stop his party from using ads during this by-election.
“All across North America, everybody hates attack ads,” said D’Autremont. “But they work.”
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Frozen in Time - JRN300 - T.Elliot
By: Devin R. Heroux
You can still send mail to Keeler, Sask. but there may not be anyone there to pick it up. Red faded letters can barely be made out.
Keeler, Saskatchewan
Post Office
S0H 2E0
The resemblance of a village sits still, almost frozen in time, waiting for all those people that once lived there to come back home.
“To give you an exact number of people living there is tough. I think there are about 12 people picking up mail at the post office these days,” says Ken Purdy.
Purdy and his family have been farming the land around Keeler since 1911. He still lives in his 1951 house with his wife Sandra. The two make their living farming Saskatoon berries on land that was once occupied by wheat. Together they have watched the community die. On March 31, 2003 when a government issued water advisory warned of Keeler’s water being no longer safe to drink, the end drew near.
“It’s sad. There’s nothing left of it anymore,” says Purdy. “I didn’t do enough to keep the town alive.”
Purdy still carries guilt about Keeler dying. As families left, buildings closed, and the passion for his hometown diminished, he stopped caring. Today, the Purdys have no one to meet at coffee row. The pace of life is slow and a car passing by on the gravel road to town is a rarity.
“There’s just nothing for people here anymore,” says Purdy. “Why would a family want to move here? That’s quite a commitment.”
The picture is bleak. Combines and seeders lie worn, rusted, and feeble in unkempt fields from years without use. An old flower-patterned chesterfield field sits dilapidated out front of an abandoned house. Ball diamonds that once played host to summer tournaments and after school pick-up games sit empty. Wood from house frames litters the ground like skeleton bones. There is an eerie silence that hovers over what once was a thriving town.
Irene Bishoff moved to a farm five miles from Keeler in 1971. She used to organize community dinners, dances, and the annual fall supper. The last fall supper was served in 2005. Now she can only reminisce about a time that seems so long ago.
“In 1981 there were 38 families in the area. They were young, mid 20s and 30s, and we just had a great community,” remembers Bishoff. “The weekends, well, it just rocked here.”
At the intersection of Elgin St. and Railway Ave. sits the Keeler hotel. It was the place to be on Friday nights. The locals would pack the undersized building. Now it resembles nothing more then a structure waiting to be blown over. Wires from the sound system drape down from the walls with nothing to plug into. The roof holding up the second floor has collapsed. And the urinals are filled with leaves. A sign attached to what was once the bar reads “Nevada Cards Available Here.”
Duncan Keeler spent many nights at the hotel. His great grandfather founded the village in 1910. Keeler, who watched the people come and then go, can be found living in the school now. It closed in 1970. The red-bricked building that was built in 1921 towers over the rest of the rundown buildings like a castle. Keeler has it all to himself. He still works as hard as ever.
“I’m busy these days. There’s always something I can be doing. It doesn’t matter if people are here or not, I’m always going to be busy,” says Duncan. “I guess I have to keep up the family name.”
The family name has fallen off the map. Keeler doesn’t even have a sign on the highway anymore. It’s a story that’s becoming all too common in rural Saskatchewan. The lure of the bigger centre is deteriorating small town life. For Purdy it was only a matter of time before he saw the last night at the Keeler hotel.
“This world has changed a lot. There’s a few of us that remember the good old days, but 20 years from now there won’t even be memories,” says Purdy.
You can still send mail to Keeler, Sask. but there may not be anyone there to pick it up. Red faded letters can barely be made out.
Keeler, Saskatchewan
Post Office
S0H 2E0
The resemblance of a village sits still, almost frozen in time, waiting for all those people that once lived there to come back home.
“To give you an exact number of people living there is tough. I think there are about 12 people picking up mail at the post office these days,” says Ken Purdy.
Purdy and his family have been farming the land around Keeler since 1911. He still lives in his 1951 house with his wife Sandra. The two make their living farming Saskatoon berries on land that was once occupied by wheat. Together they have watched the community die. On March 31, 2003 when a government issued water advisory warned of Keeler’s water being no longer safe to drink, the end drew near.
“It’s sad. There’s nothing left of it anymore,” says Purdy. “I didn’t do enough to keep the town alive.”
Purdy still carries guilt about Keeler dying. As families left, buildings closed, and the passion for his hometown diminished, he stopped caring. Today, the Purdys have no one to meet at coffee row. The pace of life is slow and a car passing by on the gravel road to town is a rarity.
“There’s just nothing for people here anymore,” says Purdy. “Why would a family want to move here? That’s quite a commitment.”
The picture is bleak. Combines and seeders lie worn, rusted, and feeble in unkempt fields from years without use. An old flower-patterned chesterfield field sits dilapidated out front of an abandoned house. Ball diamonds that once played host to summer tournaments and after school pick-up games sit empty. Wood from house frames litters the ground like skeleton bones. There is an eerie silence that hovers over what once was a thriving town.
Irene Bishoff moved to a farm five miles from Keeler in 1971. She used to organize community dinners, dances, and the annual fall supper. The last fall supper was served in 2005. Now she can only reminisce about a time that seems so long ago.
“In 1981 there were 38 families in the area. They were young, mid 20s and 30s, and we just had a great community,” remembers Bishoff. “The weekends, well, it just rocked here.”
At the intersection of Elgin St. and Railway Ave. sits the Keeler hotel. It was the place to be on Friday nights. The locals would pack the undersized building. Now it resembles nothing more then a structure waiting to be blown over. Wires from the sound system drape down from the walls with nothing to plug into. The roof holding up the second floor has collapsed. And the urinals are filled with leaves. A sign attached to what was once the bar reads “Nevada Cards Available Here.”
Duncan Keeler spent many nights at the hotel. His great grandfather founded the village in 1910. Keeler, who watched the people come and then go, can be found living in the school now. It closed in 1970. The red-bricked building that was built in 1921 towers over the rest of the rundown buildings like a castle. Keeler has it all to himself. He still works as hard as ever.
“I’m busy these days. There’s always something I can be doing. It doesn’t matter if people are here or not, I’m always going to be busy,” says Duncan. “I guess I have to keep up the family name.”
The family name has fallen off the map. Keeler doesn’t even have a sign on the highway anymore. It’s a story that’s becoming all too common in rural Saskatchewan. The lure of the bigger centre is deteriorating small town life. For Purdy it was only a matter of time before he saw the last night at the Keeler hotel.
“This world has changed a lot. There’s a few of us that remember the good old days, but 20 years from now there won’t even be memories,” says Purdy.
Right on Par - JRN300 - T.Elliott
Right on Par
Devin R. Heroux
It’s been said that golf is a gentleman’s sport; Murray McMaster personified this. McMaster, who always wore his best, including his freshly pressed khaki pants, could often be found on the lush green fairways of Riverside Golf and Country Club in Saskatoon. McMaster had one playing partner over the years.
“It didn’t matter if I wasn’t winning with Murray, because he wasn’t the best golfer out there,” remembers Saskatoon Mayor, Don Atchison. “For me it was all about Murray’s friendship. He was always going to be my golf partner.”
Murray Malcolm McMaster came from humble beginnings. Growing up as the youngest of three boys in Manola, Alberta, he learned to look after himself early on. When he was 11-years old, his mother died. The tragedy of his mother’s death transformed McMaster’s life early on. Perhaps it was this experience that would catapult McMaster into a lifetime of success.
“He was the ultimate salesman. It didn’t matter if he was selling himself, an idea, or the next piece of furniture that was ready to be sold, he was very convincing,” said Jennifer Heroux.
Heroux is one of three daughters McMaster had with his wife, Jean. The couple, with kids in tow, spent most of the their early years together in Moose Jaw. There, McMaster found himself in a prominent role with the Saskatchewan Wildlife Federation. He served as the President of the Federation from 1972 to 1974.
During this time McMaster was able to increase SWF’s membership by 4,000 to almost 22,000 members. He also implemented new conservation-orientated programs and developed a new central office in Moose Jaw. McMaster’s is best known for his 1972 legal action against the provincial government alleging that the province was not properly allocating and spending money collected for the new wildlife development fund. The suit never came to court, but created provincial change that included 23, 760 acres of land purchased by the province to protect wildlife habitat.
He wrote weekly newsletters and newspaper columns, hosted a wildlife television show, and made appearances at almost every wildlife fundraiser. Despite McMaster always being in a position of power, Heroux remembers that he always made sure he remained their dad when they needed him.
“He had the ability to make you lfeel like you the most important person in the world. It was a duty for him to ensure that we always had what we needed. A duty to provide for his family,”said Heroux.
After his time in Moose Jaw, McMaster and family moved to Saskatoon where he would become part-owner of Simpson Sears and the Saskatoon Sun. Days were long, as McMaster was up before the crack of dawn, and got home late in the evening. He missed family dinners regularly because of his frantic lifestyle. Kathy Tunnicliffe is the oldest daughter in the family. She remembers his busy pace.
“He would always say yes to everyone, and then have to figure out a way to get out of it because he overbooked himself,” recalls Tunnicliffe. “He was the ultimate people pleaser.”
But despite how busy McMaster was, he always made time for golf. He was an avid player who enjoyed being seen at the Country Club. Known by many on the course as the “Coca Cola man” because of his love of the beverage, he could be found sipping his can of Coke and swinging his club on a daily basis. Years of hard work, and having an innate ability to manage money, McMaster had money, lots of money. Nobody ever knew it.
“Around the course people always wondered how Murray could afford being out at the Club. He was just so humble and modest that you wouldn’t think he had the money he did,” said Atchison. “He really was a salt of the earth kind of guy.”
Late in life McMaster fell ill to cancer, and his golf games became fewer and fewer. Undeterred by the sickness that eventually took his life, he would show up at the course with a smile on his face, excited about the potential of another game of golf. Heroux remembers how the game kept him going at a time when things got really rough.
“He took the game very serious early on in life, but it was interesting as his daughter to watch how less and less serious he took it as he grew older. I guess he realized what was really important,” said Heroux. “Towards the end the score never mattered, he was just happy with a par.”
Above all, McMaster was the ultimate gentleman on the course. His attention to the rules, respect for etiquette, and professionalism manifested into all aspects of his life. On Jan. 16, 2002, McMaster finally succumbed to his cancer. Atchison, to this day, still loves to recall their playing days.
He had a higher handicap then me, and was always feeling bad about not making a shot when we needed it,” laughed Atchison. “We’d get back in the car and the first thing he would say is, ‘I helped today, right?
Devin R. Heroux
It’s been said that golf is a gentleman’s sport; Murray McMaster personified this. McMaster, who always wore his best, including his freshly pressed khaki pants, could often be found on the lush green fairways of Riverside Golf and Country Club in Saskatoon. McMaster had one playing partner over the years.
“It didn’t matter if I wasn’t winning with Murray, because he wasn’t the best golfer out there,” remembers Saskatoon Mayor, Don Atchison. “For me it was all about Murray’s friendship. He was always going to be my golf partner.”
Murray Malcolm McMaster came from humble beginnings. Growing up as the youngest of three boys in Manola, Alberta, he learned to look after himself early on. When he was 11-years old, his mother died. The tragedy of his mother’s death transformed McMaster’s life early on. Perhaps it was this experience that would catapult McMaster into a lifetime of success.
“He was the ultimate salesman. It didn’t matter if he was selling himself, an idea, or the next piece of furniture that was ready to be sold, he was very convincing,” said Jennifer Heroux.
Heroux is one of three daughters McMaster had with his wife, Jean. The couple, with kids in tow, spent most of the their early years together in Moose Jaw. There, McMaster found himself in a prominent role with the Saskatchewan Wildlife Federation. He served as the President of the Federation from 1972 to 1974.
During this time McMaster was able to increase SWF’s membership by 4,000 to almost 22,000 members. He also implemented new conservation-orientated programs and developed a new central office in Moose Jaw. McMaster’s is best known for his 1972 legal action against the provincial government alleging that the province was not properly allocating and spending money collected for the new wildlife development fund. The suit never came to court, but created provincial change that included 23, 760 acres of land purchased by the province to protect wildlife habitat.
He wrote weekly newsletters and newspaper columns, hosted a wildlife television show, and made appearances at almost every wildlife fundraiser. Despite McMaster always being in a position of power, Heroux remembers that he always made sure he remained their dad when they needed him.
“He had the ability to make you lfeel like you the most important person in the world. It was a duty for him to ensure that we always had what we needed. A duty to provide for his family,”said Heroux.
After his time in Moose Jaw, McMaster and family moved to Saskatoon where he would become part-owner of Simpson Sears and the Saskatoon Sun. Days were long, as McMaster was up before the crack of dawn, and got home late in the evening. He missed family dinners regularly because of his frantic lifestyle. Kathy Tunnicliffe is the oldest daughter in the family. She remembers his busy pace.
“He would always say yes to everyone, and then have to figure out a way to get out of it because he overbooked himself,” recalls Tunnicliffe. “He was the ultimate people pleaser.”
But despite how busy McMaster was, he always made time for golf. He was an avid player who enjoyed being seen at the Country Club. Known by many on the course as the “Coca Cola man” because of his love of the beverage, he could be found sipping his can of Coke and swinging his club on a daily basis. Years of hard work, and having an innate ability to manage money, McMaster had money, lots of money. Nobody ever knew it.
“Around the course people always wondered how Murray could afford being out at the Club. He was just so humble and modest that you wouldn’t think he had the money he did,” said Atchison. “He really was a salt of the earth kind of guy.”
Late in life McMaster fell ill to cancer, and his golf games became fewer and fewer. Undeterred by the sickness that eventually took his life, he would show up at the course with a smile on his face, excited about the potential of another game of golf. Heroux remembers how the game kept him going at a time when things got really rough.
“He took the game very serious early on in life, but it was interesting as his daughter to watch how less and less serious he took it as he grew older. I guess he realized what was really important,” said Heroux. “Towards the end the score never mattered, he was just happy with a par.”
Above all, McMaster was the ultimate gentleman on the course. His attention to the rules, respect for etiquette, and professionalism manifested into all aspects of his life. On Jan. 16, 2002, McMaster finally succumbed to his cancer. Atchison, to this day, still loves to recall their playing days.
He had a higher handicap then me, and was always feeling bad about not making a shot when we needed it,” laughed Atchison. “We’d get back in the car and the first thing he would say is, ‘I helped today, right?
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
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