Taking it off ends with male stripper taking off

Halifax Daily News
Saturday Sept 1 1984

Women have stuffed as much as $300 into his g-string but stripper Danny Eastman says they won’t be seeing it again in public.

Danny, who goes under the name of Italian Stallion, says he’s quit his job at the Lighthouse Tavern on Barrington St. and “after I quit they fired me.”

He says the dispute was caused by the preference of a female stripper, Misty, who is in charge of the dancers, for another stripper, Bruce.

Danny said he enjoyed the job, which he started last January, until Bruce came on the scene six weeks ago. “Bruce is a nice guy and a good dancer,” he said, “but he started going steady with Misty and she started giving me a hard time.”

First, he says, the tavern cut his shows from three a week to two. Then, after he arrived 30 minutes late for an act, his wages were cut from $40 to $25 a show.

“I told them the only reason I was here was for the fun ot it and put in my notice. I said I’d do my last show this Saturday night.”

After Danny told Q104 Radio that tonight would be his last show, he said the tavern fired him and barred him for life.

A tavern employee who refued to give his name said Danny was fird and barred for drinking on the job and threatening other dancers. The wage cut was passed on to all dancers, he said, and Misty wasn’t playing favorites.

“I wanted to go out in style,” said Danny, “but they say if I go down there Saturday they’ll call the cops.”

He says his presence will be missed. “Hundreds of people have told me and the club that if I ever leave they’re not coming back.”

But his public career is over, though he may strip for private parties.

“I just want to settle down and try and find myself a girl friend, somebody who’ll take care of me.”

That may not be as easy at is sounds. “If I took some nice girl to a restaurant it would be pretty hard for her if the waitress recognized me and called me the Italian Stallion.

“I think some women think I’m a whore or something. I wish I could find a nice girl that would just be happy with me.”

He said he enjoyed the job “because I like dancing and don’t mind taking my clothes off.

“A lot of girls told me I’ve got a nice bum and I do my best to shake it around and do what they like.”

His act includes chains and whips. “I’d swing the whip around and carry on with it and take the chain and put in around myself— nothing serious.

“Women have their sexual fantasies and, in a clean act, I do my best to make them think about going to bed with me.

“I never realized how wild girls can be. They seem so respectable and quiet, they just don’t let anybody know about their feelings. They’re embarrassed to put money in my g-string in public, but they will at private parties— I’ve made up to $300.”

He says people like his act because “when I’m up there I smile all the time. I’m happy and people say it looks like I do it because I want to.”

Though some men get jealous “I try to make the boy friends happy by not staying around too long. A lot of guys have put money down my g-string in respect.”

Drone collage

I flew this drone over Halifax for a year or two, capturing scenes downtown and even flying out to George’s Island in the harbour. Unfortunately I crashed it into a tree while doing a job for a real estate agent. Drones need experienced pilots and spotters on the ground. Next time I need a drone video I’ll hire one.

Chebucto Big Band

I played alto sax in this band for a few years and wanted to do a video that would show their work and help them get bookings. They still use it. Because the scene was very dark I mixed video with shots from a still camera which does a better job in dim light.

Space fantasy

2.8 kids see cheap imitation of good space fantasy

Halifax Barometer
July 1978

Haligonians are regularly buttonholed by pollsters seeking thier opinions on all kinds of products from political parties to booze.

One of thes days surveyors will question local movie audiences as they line up outside a theatre:

“Good afternoon, sir, I’m with Mindless Movie Marketing. We’d like to ask you and your family a few questions. First, are you a regular movie-goer?”

“Yes, we’re typical nuclear family members trying to enliven our tawdry, lower0middle-class existance by taking in a few thrills on Saturday afternoon.”

“Then, as experienced movie fans, why are you taking your 2.8 children to see this show, a ceaep imitation of a successful space fantasy with only the barest thread of a plot, poor characterization and almost no violence?”

“Because, I’m a product of the TV generation and can barely read or write. But I am very visually sopohisticated and so are my illiterate kids.”

“Then you don’t care if the film offers penetrating insights inito the dynamics of the human condition through the director’s artistic use of dramatic devices or an actor’s sensitive interpretation of a leading character?”

“No, not particualrly. I just like to see lots of action. My kids don’t even care about that. All you have to do is flash a bunch of bright colors and play some rock music. That quietens ’em right down.”

“But what about sex and violence? Don’t you want orgies with whips and midgets?” Or how about someoby’s brains being mashed to a pulp?”
“Well that stuff is okay, but my favorite kind of violence is a bunch of shiny space ships blowing up in all different colors with great, big booming noises.”

“You like mostly colors, eh?”

“Yup. Red, green, blue– as long as they’re bright.”

“What about actors?”

“Only if they’re shiny.”

Most of the actors in Battlestar Galactica are shiny, especially the armour-plated villains. The heros are chocolate brown or burnt umber, the subdued hues denoting the seriousness of their roles.

Otherwise the whole show might have been filmed throug the tail-light lens of a 1957 Cadillac. The film sparkles. Novas glow like splintered rubies against a diamond-studded ebony background. Creamy white space jets with rally strips and smoking exhausts duel to the death while bloated, filigreed motherships with hulls of steely blue glide silently by. Pilots sweat into oxygen masks, their eyes rivetted on fluorescent green instrument panels flashing computerized drawings and terse messages like “situation critical.”

Inside the giant mothership are beautiful girls and handsome men, all clad in jumpsuits, running around and pushing buttons in frenzied panic as shiny alien beings destroy their fleet. Lorne Green gathers his metallic blue tunic with gold piping about him and grits his teeth.

This latest entry into the cosmic western genre is a poor imiatation of Star Wars. The acting is putrid for themost part, special effect are always unimaginative and so is the plot, which is bascially mankind fighting for its life while girl meets boy and boy meets dog. Still, thre’s no violence, unless you include whole planets being blown up, so you can take your 2.8 kids to the matinee without fear of traumatizing them for life.

The Disney show Hot Lead and Cold feet is far better fare if you’re looking for family entertainment. Before the main feature at the Penhorn Mall you’ll meed Thaddeus Toad of Wind in the Willows fame, a classic Disney cartoon short, that I first saw when I was ten years old. It rated four stars in my book then and still does. Toad gets clapped into prison after a romantic affair with one of the first motor cars and his friends conceive a daring raid to prove his innocence.

Unlike their cartoons, Disney films often reek of motherhood and apple pie values. Hot Lead is no exception. A pixi-like Salvation Army precher with two flaxen-haired children faces a rough and tumble battle with his own twin brother, a rowdy western gunslinger over his rich father’s estate. All ends happily as usual with the gunslinger converted, the town cleaned up and the do-gooder marrying the beautiful school teacher.

In the meantime we are treated to some very competent caricatures of life in a rough frontier town complete with devious plots and shady deals all aimed at undermining the preachers chances to win the contest.

If you’re still looking for family fun, don’t go to Redeemmer, the most mindlessly violent bore in years.

The story idea is good. A man gets revenge on his former school mates by inviting them to a high school reunion, locking them inside an abandoned building and exterminating them, one by one, with various imaginative and symbolic methods.

Now comes the stupid part. To achieve some sort of intellectual respectability, the vengeful killer is cast as a psychotic priest whose pulpit pounding ravings on sin provide the rationalization for his six murders. Adding this spiritual mumbo-jumbo to the film soups up the plot a bit and allows the director to fool around with his lights to create a supernatural atmosphere of doom and foreboding but is it’s dishonest. The portrait of a religious fanatic as a potential killer may be a legitimate interpretation but this film only creates a viscious sterotype to be exploited for its thrill value.

Despite the story idea and its numerous opportunities for suspense, the film is boring. One by one the victims die by their own swords ar at least the priests’ interpretations of their sins. Except for the painstakingly explicit blood and guts scenes, the show is repetitious.

Victimes are shot, stabbed, drowned and burned as the camera fastidiously records every detail including one close-up of a maggot-infested eye. It’s enough to make you swear off meat, church and pretentious movies. Not to mention class reunions.


Make it candid

Make it candid

Daily News
Oct 31 1985

Picture the humble portrait photographer on assignment.

He is a fussy, worried-looking man with a permanent squint and a list to starboard caused by lugging 20 kg of equipment.

His pictures are technically perfect, which is why public relations department of Monolith Corp has asked him to photograph their newly-appinted vice president.

When he gets inside the broadloomed office he’ll draw more high-tech equipment from his bag than a physican would need to perform open heart surgery.

With the efficiency of long experience he will place tripod, lights and camera around the room while various functionaries look on.

The subject will pat his hair “Do I look alright? ”

“Yeah, you look fine,” our man will say as he consults his light meter. He’ll have to hurry to avoid a parking ticket.

He will manipulate his subject like a mannequin, raising his chin a centimeter, batting down a stray lock of hair and straightening his tie.

Then comes the moment of truth: “Well now,” he will say with manufactured cheer. A LITTLE SMILE!”

The hearts of assembled functionaries will flutter as the vice presidential mustache twitches. The photographer will press the shutter. His superb equipment will respond with an eye-searing flash. Two more flashes will follow as the photographer brackets his shots. The session will be over.

Later, the photographer or is assistant will make crisp, grainless prints of the vice presidential face as it looked at the moment of most opportune mustache-twitching.

So here, at last, is the point. All the equipment in the world won’t help you make a good portrait if all you can think of to do is ask your subject to smile.

Photographers have figured out all kinds of gimmicks to get rid of the deathly grimace that usually results on such occasions. I once read of a studio photographer who read poetry to his models. He said it made them look intrigued.

I asked a company director to recite the first poem he’d ever learned. He looked like an eight-year-old as he recalled the lines to a silly ditty about electricity. It was a good pic.

More thoughts on the manufacturing of pictorial spontaneity:

• Give our subject something to think about. I’ve asked people to perform mental tasks like counting backwards by 9s from 100 with varied results.

One young office girl looked sexy as she posed for a company head shot and revealed a suprising facility with numbers. Another stuck out her tongue.

• Give them something to sing about. People can look surporisingly angelic. One of my best-ever shots involved a lady welder who posed with her equipment and sang God Save The Queen.

• Get them to cock their heads. One of my most difficult subjects, a police chief, told me I had 30 seconds, then folded his arms and stared straight at the wall. I asked him to tilt his head about 20 degrees to the left and look directly into the lens. The manufactured quizzical expression made him look like a probing tough-minded cop.

• Pay attention to posture. I often tell subjects to keep their feet in one place and follow me with their eyes as I move around them. The subtle twisting of their bodies make the photo more dynamic.

• Hide behind your camera. Your nervousness vanishes as you look through the viewfinder concentrating on purely technical matters like lighting, depth of field and composition. When you see what you like, click.

• And here’s the best trick of all: stop playing tricks. Set up your camera, look over the top of it and smile at your subject. They’ll smile right back.

Editorial, Hants Journal

My first editorial for the weekly Hants Journal, Windsor NS

Life on a Small Town newspaper.

Hants Journal
Jan 8 2010

There’s something peculiar about people who choose to work on small town newspapers. The job is not rewarding in the conventional sense: the hours are long, critics are numerous and the pay– well let’s not talk about the pay.

So why do we do it? We can trot out all kinds of pomposities, like saving the world and shining the light of truth into dark corners but we’re fooling ourselves. In fact if we shone that light of truth into our own minds, we’d probably find something entirely different and not so flattering.

Scratch most good reporters and you’re likely to find a curious ten-year-old, a kid more likely to poke a dead cat with a stick than bury it, all in the spirit of irreverent curiosity.

We had a perfect example of small-town journalism the other day. Reporter Christy Marsters took a phone call from a woman who said her chicken had just laid what was probably the biggest egg in the whole world.

Most people would have dismissed that phone call, but Christy was swooning with delight as was the entire newsroom.

We gleefully planned how to take a picture of this alleged egg. Should we include the chicken? Would it co-operate? Was it even alive? Perhaps the owner would pose with the egg or maybe we should shoot it alone so it could be shown at its exact size allowing readers to compare it with their breakfast.

Alas, our front-page story disappeared the next day when our source phoned to say she could no longer find the stupid egg. “First time somebody ate my story,” Christy moaned.

This, believe it or not, is what we love. And so, we’re betting, do you. You’d have talked about that story and laughed about it. And in the process, if you’ll forgive our high-minded justification, we’d have built a stronger community, strengthened the ties that bind, just by talking about a chicken egg.

So here’s an assignment for the readers still with us: find us a story. Let your inner ten-year-old loose and tell us what occupies his or her mind. We promise, as seasoned journalists, to leave no stone unturned in our never-ending search for the truth behind the most irreverent inquiry.

–Stu Ducklow

Nudist camps no place for boobs

Nudist camps no place for boobs

Halifax Daily News
Sept. 18, 1985

A breast is just like an elbow, says a Halifax man recently enlightened by his experience in a nudist colony. It’s just another part of the body.

Our informant, a middle-aged businessman in metro, asked us to withhold his name. We’ll call him Bob.

Married for 25 years, Bob and his wife had become jaded vacationers, travelling through Europe and the Caribbean to various tourist spots. But 18 months ago on a vacation in London, Bob heard about a vacation spot where clothes are optional.

“It intrigued me. I asked my wife if she’d like to go.”

They left immediately for Cap d’Agde, a resort in southern France that includes four apartment buildings, banks, retail stores and several miles of sandy beach.

They arrived on a chilly day in May, she says, so most tourists were wearing clothes and everything looked normal.

But the sun rose in a a clear sky the next morning and Bob confessed to a feeling of trepidation before venturing outside their apartment. “I suppose it was something like jumping into cold water.”

He took the plunge, steppping out in his birthday suit and ran straight into his next-door neighbour. She was a beautiful lady in her 50s,said Bob, clad in nothing more than a smile.

His wife came out a moment later wearing only her high heeled shoes.

In the week that followed Bob learned some intersting things about human behaviour.

“You get real close to people. I can’t explain it — I don’t know why.

“When you take it all away you’re left looking at the person. There could be a millionaire and a pauper talking together, but you’d never know. They’re just two human beings.”

There were no sexual overtones, says Bob, and this gave a more human dimension to ordinary encounters. “One day I was looking for a grocery store and I met this gorgeous girl. But all I wanted to do was find this grocery store and all she was doing was giving me directions.”

This new-found innocence disappointed some peopel. “One beautiful model said she’d never come back again. She said nobody paid any attention to her.

“If you saw that girl on a textile beach (that’s what nudists called beaches where people wear clothes) you’d follow her with your eyes. You might say she had a cute bum or was well stacked. On a naturist beach you’d find yourself looking at her eyes and listening to her voice.

“You judge people by their character, not there bodies. As for pretty girls, when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.”

Even in banks customers go naked, he says. “At least you know they’re not carrying concealed weapons.”

Staff there and in retail stores wore clothes, he says, but customers are expected in the buff, even in cloting stores where no changing rooms are provided. “There’s nothing to take off— you’re putting it all on,” says Bob. “After a week, clothes feel constricting.”

Bob says the three-mile beach was nude for about two-thirds its length with more modest bathers from outside the community confined to one end of it. There was no fence around the resort but the placement of roads and buildings discouraged access by onlookers.

You could walk from one beach to another but you’d have to have a reason for being there.”

Bob and his wife enjoyed their two-week vacation so much they booked a two-week stay at the naturist Paradise Lakes Resort in Florida through Continental Travel, of Halifax. Other travel agents also offer naturist tours.

Nudist resorts are no cheaper than normal ones, he said, but you don’t need as much spending money. Naturists are seldom tempted away by local tourist attractions and as long as they’re naked they don’t have pockets to put money in.

The Three Faces of No

The Three Faces of No

Halifax Daily News
July 16 1984

Mary is watching television. Husband Charles enters the room and changes the channel.

She speaks in an irritated tone: “Charlie, I was watching that. Please change it back.”

And, to her ever-lasting wonder and amazement, the sky does not fall in. She does not collapse and die. Nor does Charlie. He doesn’t even walk out the door, never to return.

Instead, he switches back to Mary’s channel and grumbles about her assertiveness training class.

“People’s capacity for irrational thinking is phenomenal,” says Nina Woulff, a director and clinical psychologist at the Atlantic Child Guidance Centre who runs weekly assertiveness training classes at Mount Saint Vincent University.

“Some fears are so catastrophic they keep people from being assertive. We have to smoke out the fear.”

Many clients, for example, think terrible things will happen if the say the wrong thing at a party. Everybody will look at them, they tell her, or they will be asked to leave. Their host will never talk to them again or hate them forever. So they keep quiet.

One way to confront those fears is to act a little bit odd, says Dr. Wouldff. Here are some tasks given to clients:

• Ask people on the street what time it is. When you finally get to somebody who deson’t have a watch, look at your own watch and tell them the time.

• Get on a crowded elevator and announce each floor as it goes by.

• Walk into a Chinese resataurant and ask if they make enchiladas.

Walk into a drug store and ask for polka-dotted condoms.

“The purpose is to prove you can do it and you won’t die. The sky does not fall in. Other people don’t die, though they may look a bit confused. There’s nothing really offensive in what they’re doing, they’re just acting a bit odd.”

Her 12-member groups used to be all-female, “but lately men have been more assertive about getting assertiveness training. They’ve been a little slow on th uptake but they’re finally catching up.” Now nearly half the people paying the $70 fee are male. Both sexes have similar problems but there are differences. Men are more concerned with being perfect; women with being liked.

Her typical client is a middle-aged mother, working part-time with several teenagers living at home.

“She is the quintessential doormat,” says Dr. Woulff. “She believes her purpose in life is to meet every request made by her family. She tries to fulfill her self-imposed fate with incredible rigor and wonders why, at age 45, she feels depressed, bitter and hard-done by.”

Without being aware of it, “she has become a slave. Everybody else can say no and express their own ideas, but she doesn’t have those rights.”

In the group she rediscovers the basic rights she gave away long ago, like the right to be different, express opinions, to say no without justifying it and to make requests of other people.

Since childhood some people are taught that self-sacrifice equals goodness. “That equation has to be changed. We teach them that unassertiveness is lying, and that’s not good.”

But it is good to be assertive and honest, she tells them. And, at the end of the seven-session course, most clients believe it.

“People have changed so much that their friends don’t recognize them,” says Dr. Woulff.

Even their posture changes. In the first week clients often sit curled in on themselvs with hands clasped together. They speak in a thin, high voice, stare at the floor and end every sentence with a question.

After seven weeks they sit in a more relaxed manner and dress in colors they like. They make eye contact and speak with conviction.

Clients also act differently. “They start rocking the boat —they’re not the same old doormat. Their families say “I wish you’d never started that assertiveness training class’.”

Relationships usually improve because “most people prefer to live with someone who is honest,” says Dr. Wouldff. “If you can express anger much beter, you can express loving much better.”

But not always. “Some people want a partner who is only an extension of themselves.” Often they are violent, with words as well as fists.

“In maybe 10 per cent of the cases, a person has to stop and think, “am I going to stay in this relationship?” Occasionally people have used the group to give them the strength to end a relationship.”

But you don’t hve to be inconsiderate to be assertive. People who are demanding, pushy and disrespectful of others are merely aggressive. Assertive people make requests, not demands, in a clear, honest manner without being pushy. They listen to others but protect their own interests.

But you don’t have to sound like the voice of sweet reason, either. Dr. Woulff has to coach clients to sound angry and annoyed if that’s how they feel.

“Assertiveness is not easy. It may be fun, playful and humourous, but mostly it’s hard work. No pain, no gain. It’s easier in the short run just to do what people want you to do. But in the long run you stay enslaved and embittered.”

Parksville’s midway

Parksville’s Midway

Step right this way sir!

Parksville Arrowsmith-Star
Aug 31 1976

Short-changing customers could probably increase Ron Hale’s gross income by 10 per cent at Parkesville’s Midway.

“It’s unreal how many kids can’t count,” says Hale, who ran his own janitor service in Calgary for 11 years before opening the midway here four years ago with used fairground equipment.

But kids always get their change back. When the Midway first opened, customers counted their change carefully, expecting to be robbed. Now they check their wallets at the ticket booth before going on a ride, se says, and that form of acceptance has been a long time coming.

At first, local residents were wary of the village midway. “The first year, I made a few mistakes. I wasn’t used to a small town, and everybody’s got their sniffer in your business.”

His reorded music was too loud, for instance, and at least one resort owner complained repeatedly. So, when his loudspeakers were stoen, he never bothered to report it. “They were just meant to go.”

And his donkey was too loud, as well. It brayed in the middle of the night, and even sparked an editorial in a local newspaper.

He gave the animal away.

At one time or another, Hale’s had a whole menagerie of farm animals, including skunks, rabbits, chicks, ducks, guinea pigs, a sheep, a goat and a pony. The kids loved it, and so did he, especially the goat, which ate cigarette butts and kept the grass mowed. But you can’t harbour an animal in the village, so they’re gone too.

Running a midway is just like farming, says Hale, who finds his profits directly connected to the amount of overcast in the sky.

Though business is down this season, he’s seen worse. His first year, marred by a ferry strike “was a disaster.” His second season was good, but cold-weather affected his third season and this year is much the same despite his opening in April, a month early

The end o f August usually finishes his seaon, and he packs his equipment home.

During off-season he’s worked at odd jobs, but this year, he intends building a house for his famiyl. His retired father runs the ticket booth while his two sons and daughters, aged 10 to17 help around the grounds. His wife works full time and during the off-seaon last year he became a house-person, a role he didn’t like bit.

Next season may be his last in the community park. He finds the location too far from the highway and when his five-year lease with the village is up, he may buy land near the highway out of town, spending some money to improve it.

Though he’s never had an accident during operating hours, his biggest expense is insurance. All nine rides are inspected when they’re greased, about every three days, and there’s never been a structural failure.

Though he’s accepted as one of the crowd by people in travelling carnivals, he feels his operation is much safer than travelling shows “where it’s just slap, dab, get ‘er goin'”.

One kid got the thrill of his life when the car he was riding on came loose, he said,”but the mother was more scared than the kid.” And one youth was hurt playing tag on the trampolines after hours. After that, Hale posted a sign ordering customers to stick to one trampoline, rather than bounce all over the area.

It’s teen-agers that are the worst headache for Hale, but younger kids more than make up for it. “It’s the expression on their faces.” Running the midway is “the reverse of normal business. Usually you have somethng to offer that people need, but don’t want to pay for. Here, people spend their money with smiles on their faces.”.


Signs of tension but cultures co-exist.

Daily News
Sept. 30 1975

Officially, at least, there are no “hippies” living in the Slocan Valley.

Such terms ruffle the feathers of people working for the department of human resources, the RCMP or the human rights commission.

When pressed, however, members of the above government agencies make vague references to “members of the counter culture”. And that culture is extremely varied, they hasten to add.

Nevertheless, there is a conflict between two troups of people in the Slocan Valley, according to provincial Labour Minister Bill King, who called it “a very unhealthy situation” at a news conference last week.

Most people here call it a “a tempest in a teapot.”

Mr. King also referred to a “near-riot” in Slocan Village where people were beaten and kicked allegedly because some of them were on welfare.

But Cpl. Wayne McLaren, of the RCMP’s Crescent Valley detachment has another view of that incident, which happened Aug. 4.

“It was an incident that quite frequently happens in a bar on a Saturday night anywhere,” he said in a telephone interview.

Two people were charged with a total of four counts of common assault and one charge of assault causing bodily harm after a fight broke out at 6:30 p.m. in the Slocan Inn, Aug. 4, he said.

Cpl. McLaren added there are a lot of transient youth in the valley in the summertime, “and that’s subject to controversy,” but he knows of no organized campaign against them.

Social worker David Maxwell, who lives and works in Crescent Valley, said there are definite signs of tension between groups but the situation’s getting better.

“It’s a free-floating kind of prejudice” against people trying to live alternative lifestyles, he said, but it’s not based on any hard information.

The biggest cause of bad feelings between groups is the fear of some parents that their children will be introduced to drugs.

The second biggest cause of hostility, he says, is swearing, especialy if the taboo is broken by women.

Mr. Maxwll divides Slocan Valley residents into three groups that, he says, identify each other pretty well: Doukhobors, Anglos and freaks.”

The last group is composed of two factions: those who are chronic losers and those who seem to have a clearly defined dirction. “There’s a difference,” he says. “They may both be on welfare, but there’s a difference in approach. If there were jobs, they’d be out doing them. The other people are loafers, just along for the ride. They’ll drift on when they get bored, just like they’ve gotten bored with everything else.”

About one-third of the freaks in the valley are the losers, Mr. Maxwell estimates, and they’re giving the others a bad name.

Most of them are street freaks who move out to the country becuse that’s the thing to do, he says. Many of them use marijuana, but there are few dealers among them, and they don’t sell to local people, he says.

“It’s not fair to lump them all together,” said Mr. Maxwell. “There’s good and bad in every group.

“Some people are very definitely making it out here.” There are several organized societies working for changes in the valley, a lot of craftspeople doing woodwork, weaving, potery, stained glass making and even making wood stoves. Several farms are now almost self sufficient, he says. Some residents go to Vancouver in the winter to make money to improve their land.

The tension between groups is most evident in the children, says Mr. Maxwell. He says three of his clients had their cars vandalized by juveniles in the area.

Charges that most longhairs are on welfare are unfounded says Bill English, of the department of human resources.

“Most people, it doens’t matter whether they have long hair or short hair, really want to be self-sufficient,” Mr. English said. “They just do it different ways.” Though the deparment doesn’t have information on the nature of welfare recipients, Mr English said there are no more people on welfare in the Slocan Valley than anywhere else and there’s not a disproportionate number of young people on welfare in the Valley compared to other areas, he sid.

“The far greater majority of Slocan people are self sufficient,” said Mr. English, and those who are on welfare have a legitimate excuse.

“The labour picture is getting worse, rentals near town are hard to get and expensive. I don’t think a lot of people on welfare just sit around and do nothing,” he said.

Nelson is a pretty tolerant town, he said, but only up to a certain point. In the summertime when the transient population incrases and a lot of young people go barefoot in the city, “there’s a lot of mumbling.”

Ken Hughes who has covered incidents of discrimination under the human rights commission for the past two years said there is more discrimination against longhairs in Nelson than there is in the Slocan Valley.

‘It’s an archaic kind of thinking among “squares” — if that’s an appropriate term— that fails to recognize the rights of other people to do their own thing,” he said.

Most complaints from Slocan Valley residents that are documented in writing come from a pretty hard-core group, he said. He’s only had a couple dozen” such doumented cases in the last two years.

“Not a day goes by without phone calls,” he said, usually dealing with longhairs who have been refused serivce in pubs. Most discrimination problems are fixed up informally on the phone. About 95 per cent of such complaints are quickly solved, he said.

“The Slocan Valley is not a nest of trouble any more than any other area,” he said. There’s a fine group of people in the Valley, but neither side is lily white. I wish they would come together and talk it out.”

Most people who come to the human rights commission complaining of discrimination, do so because of the deparment’s word of mouth reputation, he said, but there are a lot more discrimination problems than the department knows about.

Pat Roberts, a probation officer who covers most of the Slocan Valley, said the so-called hippie element contributes little to criminal activity in the Valley.

“They’re expected to have drugs,” said Ms. Rogers, but that’s the extent of their criminal activity. As far as violent crimes, “not by hipies.”

Most breaking and entering and mischeif incidents are caused by children from better homes in the area, she said.

Within the Valley, hippies are accepted, she said. But on the fringes, where they’re not so easily accepted, the trouble starts.

She said there is more tenion at Mt. Sentinel School near Crescent Valley on the edge of the Valley than there is at W.E. Graham Secondary School in Slocan, inside the Valley.

Though many of these people need social assitance to get started in the Valley, they’re definitely not all welfare bums, said M. Rogers.

More longhairs in the Valley seem to know what they want and they’re doing it,” she said.

“In Nelson, it’s the in thing to grow long hair, but they don’t know what they want to do.”

Most people seem to disagree that the tension reported in the valley is the inevitable result of a large influx of people in recent years.

“People need scapegoats,” said Bill English. “Right now, it’s hipppies and draft dodgers.”

Ken Hughes agrees: there’s a certain kind of militancy that looks and finds thiings that aren’t there on both sides.”