*Note: This is a special blog post written in honour of what would have been my graduating class’ (I didn’t graduate) 30-Year Reunion, which I am unable to attend.
Once upon a time, there was a young woman who decided she wanted to be a Broadcast Journalist. This was due, in part, to a much older ex-boyfriend who had done exactly that, and partly to an admiration for female journalists of the day such as Barbara Frum, Hana Gartner, Adrienne Clarkson and (*whispering) Pamela Wallin.
The application process was fairly straightforward: fill out the college application, and send it along with an audition tape (there may have also been an essay, but I’m not sure) and the application fee. I was lucky that my parents lived near Loyalist College…I was spared the whole student loan nightmare that many of my fellow students were subjected to (surviving on Kraft Dinner…aaack!). I was accepted, and started the course with about 19 other students in September of 1982.
At 21, I was one of the oldest students in our class. I felt infinitely more mature than the mostly 18 and 19-year-olds in the rest of the group! I remember feeling sorry for the kids who had come from the Maritimes…they were so far away from their families!
Within the first month, I had (unwillingly) earned a nickname: “Wendy Shoots, She Scores”. This was courtesy of our journalism prof, Phil R., who thought it was hilarious…he also teased Lisa M. mercilessly about being from Dingwall, Nova Scotia! I took a lot of flak from other students for my homemade tape recorder case…it didn’t occur to me when I made it that putting “Wendy B.J.” on the side in big letters might be a bad idea.
Classes that year were a bit of a blur (although I did go to them)…I remember the soporific quality of Len A.’s Broadcast Journalism and the Law class, and struggling to pronounce Russian names in Ken B.’s Foreign Language Pronunciation class. I was happy to get an exemption from Typing…I passed the test with flying colours…the test machine was a far sight better than the 1940’s Underwood I had learned on at home!
The school had its own radio station, which was staffed by the Broadcast Journalism and Radio Broadcasting classes. There were more than a few pranks played: one time, a fictitious story about The Flintstones was inserted into an unsuspecting newscaster’s copy. There was at least one instance of news copy being set on fire while the news was being read on the air (glad that wasn’t me!).
I was always nervous doing radio news…somehow, seeing the mike in front of me was intimidating! I always did well on airchecks though…my voice was naturally low, which I supposed made it easier for me than some of the other girls!
One of my favourite things was producing radio documentaries…I spent hours in the studio editing tape with a razor blade! I still have some of them somewhere…
The heart of our school life was the Radio Lounge…all the fun happened there! That was where my classmate, Steve S., got his nickname: he was playfighting with his cousin, Kent Mo. one day. One of the Broadcast Journalism students, Brad S., hollered: “Look…it’s “Chunk” Norris!” From that day forward, no one ever called Steve by his real name again.
Chunk was the oldest in our class at 26…he was one of the few students who had a car: a Mercury Comet, which became known as “The Chunkmobile.” A bunch of us used to bum a ride back into Belleville after school with Chunk…I was the only girl, and often ended up sitting on someone’s lap (I’m sure my mother would have been upset to know that I was usually not wearing a seatbelt!). Later on, the Chunkmobile became “The Vomit Comet” on account of the powerful smell that erupted one day and never went away, even though Chunk made his best effort to get rid of it…
Another fun part of Loyalist College for me was the “Pubs”: I loved music, and saw many acts live that I otherwise wouldn’t have been exposed to: Lee Aaron, Matt Minglewood, Murray McLaughlan, etc. I was probably one of the few students who didn’t go to Pub just to drink…
I spent a lot of time hanging out with the folks from the Radio Broadcasting classes…they seemed to be closer than my own classmates, and had way more fun! I went to several parties at various students’ apartments…I remember at least one Toga Party, Tequila Sunrises (didn’t drink them…just watched them being made and consumed), and dancing to Stray Cats rockabilly. There was the M*A*S*H* party on John St. where I started dating my (now ex) husband, Radio guy, Kent M. (we were introduced by Radio girl, Becky W., at an earlier gathering at the Doc’s Hotel).
One party stands out…it was the one and only time I was ever drunk in my life: this one was at Broadcast Journalism guys, Ed L. and Greg V.’s apartment on Front Street. Ed and Greg were two of my “Chunkmobile” buddies…the day of the party, I got dropped off with them at their apartment since I lived in the country and didn’t want to have to get my mom to drive me back into town for the party later. I planned to just “hang out” until the party started…Kent had to work that night, so he would come and join me after his shift was over at 11 p.m. We got to the apartment around 4. I remember somebody asking me if I wanted a drink. “Do you have any rye?” I asked. They did, but no ginger ale, which is what I usually mixed it with. Greg had gotten a large root beer at McDonald’s on the way home, and still had a lot left…he offered me the rest to mix with the rye. Stupidly, I agreed.
It was about 8 p.m. when I started feeling really sick…I spent the next three hours in and out of the bathroom. When Kent arrived, I was ready to get out of there. We had to walk several blocks to the rooming house where he lived…some of the sidewalks were under construction…my arms and legs were not cooperating at all! We went to Kent’s room, where I lay on his bed as the room spun around, and wished for either death or my mom to come…she came at midnight to take me home. Lesson learned…I never got drunk again!
Beside the Doc’s Hotel, we also liked to go to Dolan’s, and Copperfield’s. Songs like Laura Branigan‘s Gloria, Men at Work‘s Who Can It Be Now?, Alan Parsons Project‘s Eye in the Sky, and J. Geils Band‘s Freeze-Frame all remind me of that time.
When summer came, I went off to Ottawa for six weeks and did my internship at CFRA Radio. It was there that I got the first inkling that perhaps I didn’t have the personality to be a journalist…I was a basket case nearly every night…I was wrapped up in all the stories I’d had to cover…a lot of them were upsetting! I did get to see Prince Charles and Princess Diana on their visit to Canada though…I was told by my News Director to get some tape of the Princess’ walkabout. I was having difficulty controlling my boom mike in the wind…Diana was saved from a possible concussion by a burly RCMP officer swatting my mike away from her head! Needless to say, I didn’t get my tape!
The second year of our course was mainly television. I loved doing the newscasts! However, dragging heavy video equipment around to get stories was not my cup of tea, especially when it was very likely you could arrive at a venue with a completely dead battery pack! Editing videotape electronically was not my forté either…
In October of 1983, Kent got a job offer from a new radio station in St. John’s, Newfoundland: CKIX-FM…I was sure I couldn’t live without him, so I quit school and moved to the Rock (we were married less than a year later, and have two daughters together).
I’m grateful that I went to Loyalist College…it was the first time that I ever felt I “belonged” to a group…I was very much a loner in high school! I made many wonderful lifelong friends (including my future husband), and the skills I learned in our course came in handy later on in my writing/non-profit communcations careers. If it weren’t for Loyalist College, I would probably not be living in the Maritimes, my adopted home of the last 30+ years!
Have a wonderful reunion…wish I was there to see you all!
I’m Not a Ghost, But Yesterday I Played One in Real Life…
This isn't me...I'm a lot taller! (photo from daddytypes.com)
Have you ever had one of those days when you wonder if you’re invisible, a mere figment of someone else’s overactive imagination? That was my day yesterday…all day!
It all started in the morning, after I arrived at the bookstore and sat down at my computer. As per my routine, I updated our store’s Facebook page with a “Today in History” fact and a book relevant to it, and added a daily quote about books. Then I opened my Hotmail. Since it was Monday, there were lots of new blog posts to comment on…
I opened the first one, read it, typed my comment and posted it. Everything was going swimmingly until I reached the fourth new post. I read the post, chuckled heartily, wrote a pithy reply and hit the “Post Comment” button, making sure to tick the box so I would receive notification of further comments. The page refreshed, and my clever comment had disappeared into the vast realm of cyberspace, never to be seen again! After a few choice words (none of which were nice), I reconstructed my response as best I could, and attempted to repost. ARRGGH! Gone! I thought, “Maybe it’s my computer.” I rebooted, and reopened all my windows. Version #3 of my formerly hilarious comment was a mere shadow of its earlier incarnations, which I suppose doesn’t really matter, because it vanished too! I gave up on that one…I was sure that person’s blog had technical difficulties.
I opened the next new post in my e-mail. Another brilliant post! I congratulated the writer on his wit and writing skill, and sent my compliments hurtling once again into Never Never Land! I tried once more (are you familiar with Einstein‘s definition of insanity: doing something over and over and expecting different results?). Remembering one of the tag lines from The IT Crowd, “Have you tried turning it off and on?”, I not only rebooted, but flipped the router off and on as well. That should do it!
With my Hotmail window reopened, I clicked on another new post. This one was about blogrolls, a topic dear to my heart. I offered my input in a couple of paragraphs, and confidently “posted” my comment. NOT! I looked around and briefly considered sticking my head in the oven, but our microwave was far too small…Instead, I sent an urgent-sounding e-mail to WordPress Support:
Subject: My Comments are Invisible!
I made comments on other people’s blogs (multiple times). I saw: NOTHING!!! (one time when I was smart enough to copy and paste a comment before I sent it, I got a notification that it was a duplicate comment…still nothing showed up!). I expected my comments to be visible!
I have cleared my cache and rebooted my computer (twice).
Help please!!!
Wendy
A little while later, I got a nice e-mail from a “happiness engineer” at WordPress apologizing for the “inconvenience” (at that point I’d been trying to post comments for more than an hour!) and advising me to send details to Akismet (the spamcatcher). “They’ll be able to sort you out.” I really hoped that somebody could…and maybe they could fix my problem with commenting while they were at it! I sent a similar e-mail to Akismet, explaining my difficulties and imploring them to do everything in their power to remedy them! I continued to read new posts, but knew that commenting on them at this point would probably be useless…I also wrote this post so that my friends would know that I wasn’t ignoring them on purpose. I contacted a couple of the bloggers via Facebook, one of whom told me that my comments had ended up in her spam bucket.
In the afternoon, we had some of our regular customers come into the bookstore: a couple of book dealers from Fredericton accompanied by a friend who was a book collector. The collector inquired about books by Mika Publishing (which happens to be located in Belleville, Ontario near where I grew up). I checked our database, and found we had a Mika book about Lunenburgh, and asked Dad to locate it in its box with the other Loyalist-related material. I went into the other room with one of the book dealers to find something for him. Dad came back with the book and asked me what he should do with it. “Show it to the guy who asked about Mika books!” I replied.
“Why…is it Mika?” Dad asked.
“Yes!” I answered, barely concealing my annoyance. Is this thing on? After Dad left the room, the dealer I was talking to burst out laughing…
“I wouldn’t have believed that if I hadn’t heard it for myself!” he said.
“Multiply that by 9 hours a day for 11 years,” I answered. “And he lives with me too! It’s a wonder I still have my sanity.”
Jim came and picked up Anna and I, and we headed for home. Hope had an appointment at the after hours clinic for 6:15, and we would have to hurry if we wanted to eat before we left again!
We bolted some Sloppy Joes and fries, and arrived early at the office. The doctor wrote a prescription for Hope. We took it to the drugstore and dropped it off…the woman at the counter told us it would be ready in about twenty minutes. To kill time, we went to the dollar store and looked for things that Hope and Brianna needed for school projects. We amassed quite a pile of stuff between the three of us, and took it to the checkout (there was no one there). Eventually a clerk came from the back and called to us from the other counter, “I can help you over here!”
“I was afraid of that!” I answered while smiling through gritted teeth, as I tried to scoop up our 57 items to move them.
“Oh, I can help you with that,” she said, cheerfully. We paid for our purchases and went back to the drugstore. There were six people in line at the prescription counter…Hope and I took our place at the back of the line. The customer who was holding up the line had a prescription that her insurance company wasn’t covering the full cost of, and she couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that she needed to ask her doctor to call them. We’d been in line more than ten minutes when one of the pharmacists came out and asked if anyone had any questions or if we were all picking up prescriptions. No one had any questions.
The pharmacist asked, “Who’s next?” and a lady who’d been standing off to my left (not in line) piped up.
“I’m just here to pick up my prescription.”
I thought, “That’s what we’re all here for, Lady…that’s why we’re in this line.”
She continued, “I was here before…I just came back!” Guess who got served before I did! I had Hope pinch me to make sure I really existed…
When we got home, I went to my computer and opened my e-mail. Still no response from Akismet, but I decided to give commenting another shot. I picked a blog I’d already tried to comment on, and typed a message about commenting earlier, explaining that the comment had probably gone into the spam. I crossed my fingers and toes as my mouse hovered over the “Post Comment” button. I clicked it. SUCCESS! Hooray!
Apparently, I’m not a ghost after all!
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