Mother Bear and Three Cubs Shot Dead

by Norm Richards



A mother black bear and her three cubs were shot dead on Wednesday September 22, 2010 in Birch River, Manitoba, Canada. These bears had no chance. Dogs drove them up a tree. The town is situated adjacent bear country. Efforts to scare them off failed. These efforts are clearly questionable. The bears are dead. What else can I say? A resident with a rifle was left with making a decision on the lives of these bears. Conservation authorities were not properly prepared. What else could have been done? These bears might still be alive and free if locals were more properly prepared. Do humans living in bear country deserve this? Who should answer for it?

Found a New Place to Dwell

by Norm Richards

Have you researched failed marriage? No, of course you haven't and why? You don't care. It's never happened to you or you're simply not married. Why bother knowing about it? I have a great deal going on in my life. Finding time to care about things outside my sphere of interest is difficult, we all say. But why do people read books? Why do we jog besides exercise being good for us? We need to escape. We want to relax, ease our brain from the all information world we live in. We seek entertainment. We want distraction. Why not, I say. When my marriage failed I wanted to know why. I didn't cheat, she did. Why? Books seemed a slim source to find out although I spent hours flipping through volumes of printed matter, none of which seemed to apply to my marriage. If my name was mentioned I might have paid attention. But no one was there to say, "Man, you blew it." I read on, motivated but with growing discontent until I found a book describing infidelity. Author Alexander Theroux describes his characters from his novel. The male character speaks of his ex-wife by saying;



Whenever I see her, her voice is changed, she looks unusual. The radiance she once had for me is no longer there, it's forced. The spirit of the person I once knew and loved is gone, somehow lost in a cloud that will never fade.



I was started to read this; amazed that Theroux knew the experience. With Theroux, I had a barometer.

I met with my wife, now separated for ten months. By now, she was living full time with the other man. I know he did desparate things to assure his position with her. The thought of it incensed me but I was unable to do anything about it. I needed to be away in another city to maintain my career and stake my own ground. I needed courage to go on. Her career change and mine were a demarcation point. I refused to go to a small town where she was restarting her career. I had to remain in a city to be a writer - producer. Our children were grown. My son would finish high school and get his first job. He would move out on his own but before that he remained with his mother while she co-habited with the other man. My son, not amused, kept in touch each week during this period. I wanted to be sure he knew I cared about him. He knew.



So I met with my wife again in a nearby city while she was on business. I made a point of residing there as a stop off point to get to see her while I sought work as a producer. Besides the feeling of ultimate loss and estrangement, the Theroux view was accurate. I had a way to measure my thoughts and feelings. Yet, I needed closure. After we separated, I had to know that we would not be together again. I found closure in this stop off city. I moved forward, her life and mine, now different. We've each gone our own way. She's since admitted she lives with some discontent and dissolution. It took some time for me to mend a broken heart but today my spirit is high and my soul is at peace having had these insights.

Rock Musicians and Bedbugs Don't Mix

By Norm Richards

I read the other day that bedbugs are the new problem. I don't think so. They have always been around. They're pre-historic, I swear. Part of this story was about getting increased hits on the subject of bedbugs on marketing web sites. This story reminded me of my own rub with the bedbug. Perhaps touring musicians are more susceptible to bedbug problems. We spend more time in old hotels then most people while being on the road. I gave up renting an apartment since it was an unneeded expense once I went on the road. I became somewhat rootless. I took a room where we played if the establishment we were hired by paid for it or not. I enjoyed the freedom that went with travel and the feeling of not beholding to anyone. It was kind of free spirited to do this.

While on the road, one night after playing, I checked in like a hooker buying a two dollar room. I hit the pillow hard. I was suddenly awakened less than an hour into a deep sleep. I sprang out of bed and threw on the lights in search of what hit me. My skin was crawling and something bit my ass. When I looked down where the shape of my body formed an outline in the sheets I noticed these little red bugs. I was so disturbed I washed and left the hotel in the middle of the night. I walked along in the dark with my small suitcase in hand. I ended up at a local dinner to contemplate the rest of my day. This sobering experience had me booking better hotels thereafter and even then I checked under the covers before turning in. You never know.

Rock Group Memories

I wrote the introduction to Jack Hebert's book. It's remarkable how close one remains to musician buddies over anyone else while the years pass. The moment we make contact he says, "Yer Face!" It's an inside joke taken from a day we mounted the stage at the Elks Hall for sound check and rehearsal. I told the guys a story about a woman who frequented bars in The Pas and made fun of familiar faces in the crowd. Musicians are more kin than kin themselves. This is the way we still acknowledge each other.

Introduction

A life and future began for me behind a blue drum kit set with two twenty inch cymbals made of the finest brass money could buy. One sizzled and the other rang with the warmest tone and flare one could ask for. Before me stood three guys handpicked from the cream of the crop. On my far right I'm blessed to be on stage with a young phenomenal guitar player who would come to play lead guitar through thick and thin. Directly in front of me on Bass stood a rather baby faced fellow with an excited voice and feel for what he was doing. On my left stood a strawberry blonde curly haired friend from catholic school to now I'd never known played a pretty good keyboard. Here we stood with our catalogue ordered instruments barefaced and ready. Someone said count four. I counted. A thundererous sound bounced off the back wall of the narrow hall and returned passing through our bodies as waves of glory. It made me smile with sheer delight. No one noticed the pleasure I felt. I focused my ears on the total sound. We moved together as one. I looked down. I found comfort in what I was doing. At no other time in my life had I felt quite this way. Yet this is just a warm up for what is to come later in the evening when the doors swing open and our peers come to dance. So long as we could duplicate this warm up with the main show everything would be right we thought.

This is something that has never changed in all these years since our musical lives began. Every number, every performance is a search for the perfect moment in our lives.

I'm proud to have shared this with Jack Hebert, the author of this book. If an industry involving music was to begin in our home town and one man could be found to have something to do with it, it would have to be my lifelong friend and fellow musician Jack Hebert. He carried equipment to halls and set it up when no one else did it or would. Jack came to my house to rouse me from a deep and content sleep. When I looked up it was twelve noon. He stood over my bed laughing. "Come on, let's go. Drop your cock and grab your socks. It's morning in the swamp! We gotta haul equipment," he says. I hurt and all I want to do is sleep. He won't have any of it. He's ready to start the next phase of his musical day and I'm forced to be part of it. His was an early lesson in taking responsibility for what we did. Jack has always been that guy.

The aforementioned is the introduction to 'My Seventh Heaven' a memoir of northern Manitoba's musicians. The introduction written by Norm Richards.

A photo of this group Symbols of Sound is found below.

Canada's Filmmaking Culture

My last Blog outlines the backstory of Tom Lamb's history I wrote for North Roots Magazine. I graduated from Vancouver Film School in 2000 with a feature script titled "North Boy." It has never been produced. Funding and development in Canada has remained a real roadblock. Without big brave executive producers attached and money to sustain, projects like mine just don't get off the ground. And yet, I keep an interest in Canada's film industry from a distance. After being active for many years, I've remained a non-member of Canada's producers organizations. I still dream of improvements. Occasionally, I make contact.

I wrote to Jim Shaw a few years back when he was engaged with the CRTC on the poor quality of what he sees coming across his cable company screens. I told him I agreed and supported him. Maybe, I was alone in that support since I spend no time discussing these views with other producers like I used to. Shaw fought a good fight and I respect the man for that. He wrote back to me. That was pleasing since I noticed he copied the prime minister of Canada, heritage minister and the heads of all the cable companies on our dialogue. Perhaps now that he's a real broadcaster and not just a cable guy, he'll find a way to put his money where his mouth is. So far he seems to be doing just that.

I wrote the new head of Telefilm Canada after she visited us here in July 2010. It's my hope that some positive changes take place in the industry and we see better films made. Here is the letter I wrote.

Attention: Carolle Brabant
Executive Director


Subject: On Screen Manitoba with Carolle Brabant

Thank you for coming to Winnipeg to speak to producers and film associated business representatives on July 6, 2010. I welcome your offer to consult further.

In the late 1980's, I helped organize and encourage independent producers when few films were made outside Toronto and Montreal. We partnered province to province to bring attention to our goals. We wanted access and opportunity. We formed producer associations with help from the Department of Communications prior to their name change to Heritage Canada. We brought together talks between broadcasters, Telefilm Canada and regional producers. CBC partnered with us and programs were developed and made. Regrettably, private broadcasters never fully participated. Over the years since, a great deal of expansion has taken place. You know the numbers and many of the successful films are record of the progress made.

In the early 1990s, I embarked on a co-production with CBC to develop The Tom Lamb Story. The film has yet to be made. It may someday be made but it will take support and new investment. I lost Executive Producer Don Haig when he died suddenly. That put me in turnaround along with other complications. CFCF Montreal had helped me develop the script further. I look forward to someday tell the Lamb family's screen story.

Meanwhile, I've had numerous lessons and I further developed my career. I graduated from the (VFS) Vancouver Film School screenwriting program. I had a successful run at Banff Centre for the Arts where I worked as production manager. Later, I moved on to Ottawa where I helped start the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network.

In 2006, I wrote a book titled "Greening of a North Boy." The book is well read and continues to sell. I've written feature story for North Roots Magazine gaining a massive readership throughout northern Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Nunavut. In 2010, I helped co-write and edit a book titled "My Seventh Heaven" a memoir of northern Manitoba's musicians over the decades since the fifties.

I found young digital equipped filmmakers today simply ignore funding bodies like Telefilm. They make their films and tell their stories no matter what. It was also my experience, fellow screenwriters at VFS scoffed at Canadian and embraced American and other country's films.

Part of the problem is we've under funded production. Making film in Canada has not been made attractive enough. Help to manage and maintain producer overhead remains a roadblock. Project to project advancement has suffered. How do we take risk without a trusted net to protect us from inefficiencies and inequities? It takes so long to develop and produce films here. banks and investors don't benefit from such a system. We need to speed things up and improve the way financing is done. I have some thoughts about that. The American studios do many things right and their know how can't be ignored. They learned a long time ago to never starve development and in turn, production. It's not worth it. No one makes money. Hits are important since it funds smaller films with artistic merit and helps expand industry further. I think we need to re-focus on this as a goal and I make this as a recommendation to consider.

It's my hope you share my views and where you do not, I would love to hear your views. For now, I'm glad you opened a dialogue across Canada seeking improvements. I'm happy to contribute where I can. I'm not affiliated and am open to consult. Thank you for your kind attention and I look forward to speaking with you again in the near future.

Yours Truly,


Norman M. Richards
Writer, Producer


Post notes: I dream we develop screenplay better. All else will follow.

That's my Blog today!

Remembering Tom Lamb

Remembering Tom Lamb

By Norm Richards

He's the great doctor of the north; Tom Lamb was so honoured at the University of Manitoba in 1969 for his legendary life and given an honourary Doctor of Laws degree. He grew up at Moose Lake, his father a trader and pioneer settler. Tom became Canada's greatest bush pilot and champion developer of the north. He literally invented everything he did.

"I had to, if you wanted to survive," he would say.

Lamb was first at most things. He got fish to market by plane when tractor trains were slow. He had his heart torn out losing teams of horses after falling through thin lake ice. He created habitat for growth and harvest of wild muskrat in the 1930s when no one else did. He helped feed and clothe the people around him when other northern communities wondered how government would do it.

Lamb and his wife Jennie would raise three daughters and six sons to live as fully as possible. Tom had them work hard and never look back. Lamb formed a great northern airline shaped out of a single engine Stinson Reliant aircraft he bought in 1931. Before his boys could consider any other career, they were already doing a full day's work with dad. Don't tell anyone, but they were flying planes before they qualified at flying school.

His sons and daughters had remarkable careers of their own. They served northern needs with honour and saved lives flying many to safety. Carol and Jock kept store at Moose Lake. Cal and Phyllis (Skippy) Lamb Gibson ran Cal's Cabs in The Pas. Cal took over a small garage from Frank Bickle. He turned it into a successful Chrysler dealership named Twin Motors. Tom's sons Greg, twins Don and Dennis, Jack, Doug and Connie all flew under the Lamb Airways banner. Each, expert in some area of the Lamb operations; Greg managed the Thompson base, Jack became company president, Connie, a proficient Cat and dragline operator, developed his skills working on the ranch before he was old enough to fly. He built many northern roads and remote runways. Doug spent much of his time flying in the high north. Dennis flew helicopter. Don had Tom's 7 Bar L prize Hereford cattle ranch near Moose Lake running smoothly. He flew even when eye-sight restrictions limited him. Each of the boys could do one another's jobs if called upon. Tom insisted.

I met Tom Lamb for the first time at Moose Lake. Resident Mary Bercier came to visit my grandmother. I'm eleven. I feel older. School is boring. I beg to travel to Moose Lake. I'm warned the trip's long and dangerous. Mom finally relents. The next thing you know I'm hustled into a dark blue Bombardier, ( we called it a Bombadeer ). It's an early cabin sized snowmobile used for freight and minimum passenger travel in the north. It cuts a swath through bush and out across barren lakes enroute to Moose Lake on winter roads.

We arrive after many hours sitting sideways like grunts going to war. It's dark when we arrive. There are no lights. I see only an outline of the house. Someone holds a flashlight as I step out of the snow machine. I recognize Mary's eldest son Ted. They speak Cree. I don't. I say words in English. Reaction is delayed as if unheard. I'm a stranger among caring faces. I wake next morning with a headlock on my little red stuffed bear. He's familiar while nothing else is. We become the subject during breakfast. I count six kids of all ages. I'm teased for loving my teddy bear. While I'm here, each day is marked with new experience.

The Bercier home sits high above the lakeshore. The house looks official by day. Batiste Bercier is Game Guardian. Two other buildings stand nearby. The terrain is bleak except the ice rink down on the lake.

I ask to visit next door. We enter. I see a white man whose complexion seems carved out of the Canadian Shield. He speaks Cree to a younger woman. Mary's middle son Melvin is with me. He asks her something I can't understand. While he's responded to, the man greets me in Cree. He switches to English and back to Cree again. He asks me who my dad is. We exchange a few words before I'm whisked out the door seeking the next adventure. Here I've met Tom Lamb for the first time. Later, I see him often in The Pas. Going to the post office brings people together. Dad exchanges jokes with Tom. I Love hearing my dad laugh so loud together with this colourful man.

My week at Moose Lake is marked with keen memory. I'm fitted with oversized skates and several wool socks. In my own element, I hit the big lake ice rink as if in charge. I meet many kids and get reacquainted with the Bercier brothers and their sister Ma Fille. When we were in the store Melvin asked Carol ( Lamb ) McAree if her kids can join us. He introduces me to Greg McAree and his sister Bunny. I'm fascinated with these fair skinned white kids speaking Cree. It's unique and I know it.

One night, lit by only a flashlight, we walk through the woods to Lucian's Store at Moose Lake Village. We watch cartoons and a western movie while sitting on homemade benches rolled out for the occasion in the middle of the store. The projector clacks away over my right shoulder while I sit in awe of my surroundings. We hustle down a snow covered forest trail afterward by light of the moon and nothing else. Someone flicks the flashlight on. We find our way home in 20-below weather but warm as toast, delighted with being alive in the moment.

In spring 1966, under the tutelage of Ron Davie, Tom's chief mechanic, I'm hired to assist where I can on the Grace Lake float and ski base near my home. School's not working out for me but I have plenty of hope for my future. I become a Lamb employee. After three days cleaning parts and trying to be useful, I'm assigned to help pilot Jim King move mining equipment. We fly north from Grace Lake in a Lamb workhorse, the single engine Otter aircraft equipped with skis for taking off and landing on snow and ice. Jim was a senior NCO in Air Cadets when I joined years earlier. Now he's flying for Tom. I'm impressed. This trip is a full story by itself but I'm convinced it would never have taken place unless Tom endorsed it. By now, Tom is semi-retired and the boys run everything. They have a fleet of nearly 20 aircraft and growing. Tom has a fight on his hands. Moose Lake is being flooded to make way for the Grand Rapids Dam. He's losing everything he worked for. He has a failing heart in this period when transplants are not common. He can no longer fly. I'm glad to have met Tom and lived during part of his era. Tom died at Christmas 1969, while on vacation with his wife Jennie in Hawaii. Jack and two sisters flew out to bring their mom home.

Tom's ashes were scattered by his youngest son Connie over his beloved Moose Lake and cattle ranch now covered over by dam backwaters. There was the biggest memorial service ever seen at The Pas for Tom Lamb. People came from everywhere to be with his family and celebrate the life they knew.

Tom believed in taking risk and would have stood behind his sons when they made a bid to improve north-to-south air service linked with east-west travel. But by 1981, with record high interest rates and extreme costs to operate, Lambair hit an obstacle they could not overcome. The bank holding their operating loan refused to support them further and the company went into receivership. Their assets were liquidated and the Lamb dynasty ended.

I wonder what folks think when they see the bronze statue of Tom Lamb in the airports and in the Leo Mole Sculpture Garden in Assiniboine Park. I can tell you that the Lamb family has continued to live their lives in dignity and respect. Jack wrote a book about his life in the north with many colourful photos to remember the times. Each of the brothers went on to work for others and continue to watch their children grow up to be happy healthy contributors to society.

This story was previously published in North Roots Magazine.

The 60s Rocked in The Pas - Three Hairs and a Hat

By Norman M. Richards

previously published in North Roots Magazine

Photo provided by Jim Moran

When they started out they called themselves The Venturas. Their name was derived from the well known American instrumental group called The Ventures from Tacoma, Washington. For their time they played an easy to listen to style of guitar based songs. They became major contributors toward the surf sound that largely emanated out of California. The Ventures had a nationwide hit in 1960 titled “Walk Don’t Run.” That song and many others were a major influence on scores of upstart guitar players. Lead parts were fed whole to guys tuned into it. Charles Nabess was one of them. American rock and roll was taking shape. Elvis Presley hit the biggest. Gene Vincent, Eddy Cochran, Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard had big radio hits. Buddy Holly, Bill Haley and The Comets, even Cliff Richard and The Shadows were an influence on Charles. Near the end of high school he began to imagine being in a band of his own. He met Larry Haynes who had the same thoughts. Jim Moran heard them talk and showed interest. Jim bought a basic drum kit. The boys acquired their first electric guitars.
Their first practice was in the Anglican Church Hall down by the river. They learned “Perfidia, Walk Don’t Run, Pipeline, Apache” and Jim had to learn “Wipeout” once other songs were ironed out by the guitar players. The Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. That was a home run measured by the influence felt by every kid in town. No one moved unless a Beatle song played somewhere. It gave repertoire for The Venturas. Charles’ younger brother Donald was invited to join the band. I was interested in drumming too. But, I started as a non- instrument playing member of the band and helped with equipment setups and sound adjustments at dances.
Donald brought another side to the band’s performance. He did an uncanny imitation of Elvis Presley. Mom told me their Uncle, Simon Nabess was good at impressions too. Indeed, something felt essential about what they did on stage. The idea came to change their name to The Essentials. Along the way, the band had girlfriends who handled the door and band business. In passing, one gal, attached to a local skating coach said he might help the band if they were interested. He had a keen interest in music and knew performance well.
The band was introduced to Mel Metzner. He began to assist the band with rehearsals first and soon took over business affairs as manager. He encouraged them and became close confidant not unlike Brian Epstein was for The Beatles. Mel was friendly but was all business around local kids. Mel had a stutter like country star Mel Tillis. That endeared him to band members who’d grown close to him. Larry Haynes more than the others, took pains to finish Mel’s sentences. A kind of short hand took place between Mel and the boys. He helped with costuming and advice on everything. Charles bought a Mosrite guitar like The Ventures played. Fender amplifiers were purchased and Jim ordered a white pearl Ludwig drum kit. Their style and sound improved. Jim adopted a top hat most thought he slept in. He always had it on. Since The Beatles set trends, everyone wanted Beatle haircuts. British and American rock groups joined in. Again, time and circumstance was ripe for change. Three Hairs and a Hat became their new moniker. They played dances out of town more often. It helped them improve. Another step in the band’s evolution was to write songs and record. Being a recording act meant larger purses and bigger venues. They knew it and wanted more. One day they went south to record.
On return, it was clear something had changed in the hair and hat camp. It was an uneasy time for the band. Not long before, they did a triumphant show on the Lido Theatre stage. The town was excited. Jim was at his best. He had energy never before displayed. The band shone at this moment in their lives. Yet, not long after returning from recording, the band and drummer Jim Moran parted ways. Jim felt let down over the recording experience. I was surprised. Jim’s showmanship gave the band personality and even credibility. The band had to reorganize and find a new drummer. Everyone else in town was playing with somebody so they went without a drummer while improving their own chops. Their age, experience and time spent in their hometown matured. The band outgrew younger audiences. They changed their name to The Fallen Angels and scooped drummer Bill Allard from the other leading group in town.
That year I came back from Alberta where I had broken my arm working on an oil rig. On substantial compensation and in recovery I could now afford to buy those drums I had been dreaming about. I catalogue ordered the best professional drum kit available from Wagner’s Jewellers. Not long after, word got out I had drums. Jack Hebert and Garry Wenger called to form a group. To complete the sound we asked Patrick ‘Paddy’ McLaughlin to join us on keyboards. I felt wanted and they needed me since Bill had joined the rivals. We learned top forty dance hits. Our first time out we played on a CBC Radio program recorded live on stage at the MBCI auditorium. Our first song was “Light My Fire” by The Doors. It went over well. We soon began playing dances under the new name Symbols of Sound. Things were simple then. We hung posters up at popular spots each week and the kids came in droves to our dances on weekends. On long weekends we did midnight dances just as the other band did.
After playing for more than a year, we developed a good following. Since the angels left town often it made room for us. There was an unwritten agreement between bands not to hold a dance the same night. One day, over chips and gravy at Bob’s Restaurant someone said let’s play Friday. The kids in the next booth pressed us on. We decided, no posters, no nothing to play. Three hundred kids showed up. Someone said the angels were playing in the other hall. We looked at each other surprised. No one knew. There were four loyal couples dancing over there. Our hall was full. It felt so good we went for late night burgers at the A&W Drive In. We drove around town in the grey goose (dad’s 52 Pontiac) till five AM wondering about our future while patting ourselves on the back for being good musicians. Bands broke up over incidences like this but the angels stuck it out. Soon after, they started playing bars and night clubs. For them, it wasn’t about pleasing a younger audience, for us it was an imperative.
In the fall of sixty eight I moved to Winnipeg to join a band. The angels became better known as Three Penny Opera. Bill stayed with the angels for a year. Eventually a handsome blonde guy named Sherman Murphy joined three penny on tour. I stayed in touch with Garry and Jack over the years. We made a small recording some years later. I moved through radio, film and television as a host, writer and producer. I still love the entertainment business. Maybe one day I’ll be famous for something I wrote for the movies. How about a rock fable?