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CPKC Train G15-20 crosses Riverside Street in Milo, ME on 2/20/2026.
This would be the final run before retirement, for engineer Tony Goodine who I believe was the final Bangor and Aroostook employee left in train service on CPKC. Tony started out on the Bangor and Aroostook, before moving on through the various predecessors and was a regular on the jobs south of Brownville Jct, especially G13/F13, G15/F15, and G16/F16 over the last 6 or so years. Hopefully he is enjoying his much-earned retirement after 34 years of service and he will be missed.
CPKC
Train: G15-20
2/20/2026
Milo, ME
CPKC Bangor Subdivision
Work in progress summer 2017. Photograph by Mark Goodine, media director. 1. (left) "Painting for Henry Thoreau WIP 40 x 48 oil , 2.Stormy Weather 30 x 40 oil 3. Dawn 48 x 40 acrylic 4. 4th July Night 40 x 48 acrylic, 5.Log Pile 60 x 62 oil 6. Woodnotes V 50 x 40 acrylic 7.Three logs 30 x 40. Photos of all these works and more will be posted over the next few weeks.
THE PACE OF NATURE
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4613946-pace-of-nature-hardback
LOOKING OUT
www.blurb.co.uk/b/7144518-looking-out
IPSDEN IN WINTER
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4693698-ipsden-in-winter-rev-ed
LANDSCAPES OF IPSDEN
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4693349-landscapes-of-ipsden-rev-ed
RECENT PORTRAITS
www.blurb.co.uk/b/2931284-recent-portraits
DRAWING AND PAINTING by Kate Wilson
www.amazon.co.uk/Drawing-Painting-Materials-Techniques-Co...
PORTRAIT REVOLUTION
www.amazon.co.uk/Portrait-Revolution-Julia-Kays-Party/dp/...
Drone photograph by Mark Goodine .
THE PACE OF NATURE
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4613946-pace-of-nature-hardback
LOOKING OUT
www.blurb.co.uk/b/7144518-looking-out
IPSDEN IN WINTER
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4693698-ipsden-in-winter-rev-ed
LANDSCAPES OF IPSDEN
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4693349-landscapes-of-ipsden-rev-ed
RECENT PORTRAITS
www.blurb.co.uk/b/2931284-recent-portraits
DRAWING AND PAINTING by Kate Wilson
www.amazon.co.uk/Drawing-Painting-Materials-Techniques-Co...
PORTRAIT REVOLUTION
www.amazon.co.uk/Portrait-Revolution-Julia-Kays-Party/dp/...
Photo by Mark Goodine, giving a view of my studio at Walden with some of my current work for "Looking Out"
It is not often that one get's a birds' eyer view of oneself in action. This photo was one of a number taken by a drone operated by Mark Goodine whilst I was painting my signature work this summer/ From well over one hundred feet above the five foot canvas appears small. It depicts the small clearing in the woodland at Walden where I painted this work.THE PACE OF NATURE
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4613946-pace-of-nature-hardback
LOOKING OUT
www.blurb.co.uk/b/7144518-looking-out
IPSDEN IN WINTER
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4693698-ipsden-in-winter-rev-ed
LANDSCAPES OF IPSDEN
www.blurb.co.uk/b/4693349-landscapes-of-ipsden-rev-ed
RECENT PORTRAITS
www.blurb.co.uk/b/2931284-recent-portraits
DRAWING AND PAINTING by Kate Wilson
www.amazon.co.uk/Drawing-Painting-Materials-Techniques-Co...
PORTRAIT REVOLUTION
www.amazon.co.uk/Portrait-Revolution-Julia-Kays-Party/dp/...
C Tuna chapter 1... Going Nowhere Fast
Recalling the drinking memories can be more difficult
than other recollections for some reason. In the eighth grade I have very vague memories of tagging along with Paul Smith and walking from our school, Our Lady of Victory on Lambton Avenue in the Borough of York, up to Jane Street and down the hill to Smythe Park where we turned onto Blackcreek then a block or so down into this maze of streets with newer homes. We had a few drinks from his families bar, which was new to me, liquor kept over for other times. I don’t think we got drunk or anything but we got in trouble from the nuns when we returned a little late for afternoon classes. It was Mother Eleanor the saintly school principal who was upset with us. Her idea of punishment was to take you in her office talk to you in the kindest humane way then hand you a thin flimsy wooden coca cola ruler and ask you to strap yourself several times. She’ll be in heaven a long time that woman. What still impresses me more than the adventure into the Smiths’ liquor cabinet was the revelation of a new standard of living found in this area of new and modern homes with two bathrooms and showers, carpets and new appliances and things called recreation rooms. Of course the Smith home only had to house four people whereas we were seven in all, eight when dad was alive. In our end of the neighborhood generally described as York Township the homes were built in the thirties and fourties, driveways were mostly gravel, the homes for the most part were two stories, for some reason we always rented. Twenty six Victoria Boulevard was no exception.
I have a romantic recollection of drinking at a young age, stumbling down Weston Road near Eglinton at night hearing a car drive by blaring the new Animals hit of the day the haunting House of the Rising Son, when I play the song today it still resonates in a very personal way. This would have been in about 64 which made me sixteen at the time. That evening I ran in to Thomas Russell by the Churchill Restaurant owned by old Albert who was always dressed in a greasy white apron over a greasy white t shirt. He would have been in his sixties he was never shaved he had rotting yellow teeth, some were missing, his look was that of a pirate who’d had to much vino and his piercing black eyes looked right through you. Albert would serve you greasy french fries for a dollar or so. There was an ample oblong counter with stools that spun though somewhat rickety. Albert would take your order “fries and gravy” was my usual request, he would write this down on one of those yellow lined order pads, stick the pencil back in his ear and slowly walk to the kitchen which was in the back of the shop past banquet seating for fifty or more, there was never anyone in the place, we would rumour with each other that it was a ‘front’ for something but we never really knew what. We probably never knew what a front was either. The Churchill was a lot like Freds Lunch further on up Weston Road, that is to say like Freds a place that had had its heyday, a leftover from the bobby sox crowd and who knows what came before that fad. I do wish he had turned the deep fryer fat up to cook his chips as they were always limp and soggy. A successful jockey parked a shiny blue Lincoln Continental on the side street named Hollis, I think his name was Al Blue or Al Coy something like that. A fancy car in a working class neighbourhood would get your attention fast. The jockey looked like my old OLV schoolmate Chuck Paquette who came from New Brunswick and left school at fifteen and this was agreed on by the nuns as Chuck had a job to go to. There was bad news for me later that night, it was following a dance at The Church of the Good Shepherd that I’d been ejected from for being drunk and rowdy. A local cop named Danny Morrison whom I would serve many drinks to later in life at the Queensbury Arms busted me while I was pissing in the hedges of the church that ran along old Eglinton Avenue way before they built a super road and tore down several houses. That Danny, he thought he was Sherlock Holmes catching me having a leak, he said, “what do you think you are doing”? I looked him in the eye half wobbly from the drink and said, “Having a piss”! I was charged with drinking underage, he sent me to the station after calling a yellow squad car from a police call box attached to a hydro pole, only the police had the key to the call box, it wasn’t long before the squad car picked me up.
Back then they’d let you out in the morning with a summons to appear in court within a few days. By the time you were released you would have sobered up, possibly have had enough time to piss yourself, barf all over the cell and scratch your name in the fading yellow green paint besides those other names like Danny Abraham, Bob Latus, Eachie, Holmes and more. In the morning a big red faced copper would give you shit as you were about to leave, shouting things like ‘why don’t you join the Armed Forces and we don’t want to see you here anymore’.
The fine for such an event was about $25 dollars and my mom and her boyfriend paid it on numerous occasions. His name was Johnny Basala. He was a worker for the Township of York, drove a truck and some equipment for the works department. I don’t know how my mum met him but he was her boyfriend for a few years and he’d be over on Victoria Boulevard on Saturday nights with a case of beer and his green 56 Buick sedan. At fourteen or so I had the urge to drive, felt that driving would give me some status make a man out of me. Johnny gave me lessons. He would let me drive with him beside me up and down our street. The Buick was an automatic driving it was simple. Mom and Johnny would go to the Legion on Saturday nights and there they’d meet Agnes and Wally who were their equals at drinking, often they’d all come back to our house because mom had the kids and if we were left alone to long we might kill each other. I suppose they gave me a glass of beer or two but I actually don’t recall this, growing up in that drinking environment, it seemed normal to drink. There is that stigma of drinking with your parents, that generational separation where you did things and you didn’t tell them, they’d be the last people you’d tell. We’d play cards with Johnny, me and Sue and Kevin and Shane and Barbara who was quite young this being around 1964. The shoes Johnny was filling, those of my dad would have been difficult for anyone to fill. There was a difference in them, white collar blue collar sort of thing, religion to, Johnny never pushed the religion on you nor did he ever raise his hand, well, in that regard, it wasn’t his place. He’s been dead a long time now, died from drink related matters. I remember him coming over on Saturdays all shaved and smelling good, his hair in a sixties look, pushed back at the sides like a Hungarian Elvis. He always wore long sleeved banlon shirts and trousers, never shorts. Mom was happy, she had some company, I never gave it a moments thought that they might have been ‘doing it’ in the bedroom, I could never think that of my mom. Besides having been raised a Catholic I bought into the myths they spread and I guess I may have thought kids fell out of trees for all I knew about sex, sex education, there was no such thing! You couldn’t talk about sex, it was a common belief that if you masturbated hair would grow on your palm.
There were two pool halls in the area that I frequented Nicks on Weston Road south of Eglinton and Glenvalley Bowling and Billiards on Weston Rd. near Victoria then owned by John Shura a big rotund almost blind Honky of a man in his fifties. I say he was almost blind because his black framed glasses were as thick as the small coke bottles he used to sell us from the water filled cooler besides the cash register and pool ticket timer. The timer made that distinct time clock sound whenever a cardboard ticket was inserted to signify the beginning of your pool game, you paid by the hour, it wasn’t much, maybe a dollar or less per hour. The second floor hall had big ten foot by five foot Brunswick tables with built in sturdy brass scoring knobs. On a wall near the table there was a wooden pool cue rack and beside that there was another wooden scoreboard with moveable brass numbers and a small chalkboard to write other numbers in, gambling was strictly forbidden, but everyone did. There was a smelly bathroom at the back of the room, smoke hung from the ceiling curling into the long fluorescent tubes. Everyone smoked back then, smoked and drank.
My recollections are clear of getting older guys to grab us beer at the Brewers Retail outlet located besides the A&P store where the Facelle plant made their toilet paper. One guy who got us drinks was named Bud he was in his early thirties and hung out at Nicks he was the best pool player in that place and he had a hair cut like Tom Waits, a big section of hair was always falling off his head and over his eyes, it kind of made him look dumb but he wasn’t he was real sharp. I switched from hall to hall and got street smart and wanted to be cool, be like the other guys who all drank on the weekends this is how it started. Before long my mom was encouraging me to drink at home on Saturday nights so I wouldn’t get in trouble on the streets, also I suppose so I wouldn’t get thrown in the can for drinking underage the age of majority being twenty one at the time. By not being thrown in the can mom wouldn’t have to pay the fine.
Drinking was about the only vice in those years it was pre pot by about three or four years at least in our part of town. This always irks me, you seldom hear folk saying, ‘better not drink beer or next thing you know you’ll be using heroin’. Smoking tobacco was encouraged on billboards in magazines, on TV commercials, everywhere. You could buy a pack of smokes for thirty five cents it seemed everyone smoked. My mom smoked Players Plain I’d go get them for her at lunch time often at the local Loblaws store. The light blue packaged cigarettes were just there in racks by the cash register along with several other popular brands such as Matinees, Export A, Belvedere, Dumaurier, just saying the names you can sense the marketing of this sleek product. At the store I would pretend I was looking at comics or magazines then I would quickly grab a pack or two when the cashier wasn’t looking, I never did get caught in that store. I smoked a mans cigarette when I started at 17, Players Plain, or Export Plain or Buckinghams the same as my father had smoked. Later when I got sick of tearing my lips on the unfiltered brands I switched to Rothmans King Size and when I quit at about 35 when Christine was born I was still smoking Rothmans. The Rothmans plant was located up around Dufferin and Caledonia. When you’d go by the factory you could smell the fresh tobacco being processed into cigarettes. Billboards used sexy symbols to plant the smoking ideas in your head, when I went to University in the early 70s I could smoke in the classrooms, and I did nobody ever complained though I think they may have wanted to.
As I went through my teen years I changed friends numerous times, from my athletic days playing baseball and hockey I found that those people were not around at night hanging out, playing pool, new faces entered my life, people like Mark Goodine, Kenny Goobie, Peter Hooker, Gooch who died in a house fire, Don Humes, Bugsy, Mike Cooper, Joe McCormack also known as Eachie, Mickey Clare, Dave Wellwood also known as The Goat, G Man, Pee Wee, Rocco, Tom the Newfie, Benji, Dave White, Joe Stickley, The Murphy Brothers, Vern and Maurice Mersereau, The Crane brothers Brian and Barry, the McKendrys Tom and Brian, Steve Boros, my brothers were around, Alex aka Big Al, Kevin aka The Kid and Shane aka ‘Toot’ who passed on early in life, Brian Hishon, Brian Campbell, Rick Fordham, Russ Codlin, Tom Brolley, Rick and John Adams, John Adamson, Brian Day, Gary Duseault, Scotty Collins, Wayne Polyshin who wore his hair in a fifties style the front thrown up with a little part through the middle this was a waterfall, Paul Harding, Greg and Danny Middlebrook, Terry Tiveron, Paul Antaya, guys you’d run into at Nicks or the Glenvalley, the Kirkpatricks were a big family Gary, Alec and their sister Linda who knew Mary Sales from Weston with the bouffant hairdo like Shelley Fabres from the Donna Reed TV show who ended up marrying Tall Danny McDonald who hung out at Dufferin and Eglinton who was friends with Frank Cece who got shot by a woman and lived and Kenny Tanaka whose folks had a variety store on the Danforth and whom I had a fight with at the ‘Y’ dance one Saturday night before Kenny Od’d, for what its worth I won that fight, there was Larry Wrentz, Walt Husk, the Walfords, the Wilsons, and on and on.
Some of the guys went to jail real early, guys like Eachie who eventually got deported to Scotland and Kenny Goobie who did a stretch in the O.R. in Guelph when he was just sixteen. Then for a while we hung around Jane and Wilson at that pool hall downstairs next to the other Playboy clothing store and met a new set of friends, Callahan and Spence, some singer last name of Thomas would come around, Burwash Bert Osbourne had just moved to the area from Bloor and Christie and there was Roman Mills, Mike Rousseau who disappeared in the 80s and Bobby Brooks and Brian Wilson and Bobby Miller who did a long stretch, then up to Keele and Eel where the friendship base widened into some guys with Italian backgrounds, Dominic Sonita who became a great plumber, Bruno Big Thumbs Rumolo who moved to Italy, Johnny and Jimmy Russell aka JR who worked for the post office for thirty years, Mario DePoce who managed Michelin Tires, Jim Vella an expert placement manager, Rick Campbell who married Charlotte Wilson who had a kid shortly after, Mario Molinaro aka Mars who runs a restaurant and catering business in Mississauga, Jake the Snake Nash sells paper penguins to put on lawns and used to sell potato chips for a big company , John Bell who had two kids with Cathy Cece and whose brother Dave died while buying a quart of milk, Tony Flaim who went on to fame with several bands as the lead singer most prominently with The Downchild Blues Band, Moose MacKenzie a millwright at GM, Handsome John Sonita from St Clair who died when his Lincoln crashed on the way to the airport where he and his girlfriend were off to France to open up a chain of boutiques, George Holmes who got shot by his brother Glen at the Fairbanks Tavern and can talk about it, Erico another employment placement specialist, Gillies with the gold tooth, Al Kaye who had nasty Doberman Pinscher dogs, John Stoddart a syndicated writer with a national distribution who recently was the recipient of the prestigous Stephen Leacock award for humour, Steve Magnus John’s cousin who studied psychiatry, the Woods brothers Johnny and Jimmy who worked at Otis elevator downtown with their folks who ran the cafeteria, Carlo Vescio who died tragically after struggling with his addictions for years and worked in the clothing business, Guy Basato who also died young, Stan Primrose a CPR worker, Big Danny Abraham, Eddie Sprangler who got hit by a train playing chicken and when the guy he was playing with went to pick his body up there was no head! Bob Latus who helped cleanup the crack dealers in Kensington Market and died at the hands of a car late one night on Victoria Park Ave. he was carrying a pot of soup that one of the vendors in Kensington Market had given him to take home after the place closed down, Fat Jack Hamilton was in charge of train wrecks in south central Ontario for CPR, Big Bob Butler a member of the Black Diamond Riders who worked security at the Jamboree in Havelock before he died, Les Fleury had a stroke in his mid twenties and couldn’t drive his sharp Barracuda any longer, Dennis Azcue who we all called Dump because he drove a dump truck for Mazza Construction, Brian Cross whose dad owned the Fish and Chip store on Rogers Road where a big metal fish used to hang above the store doorway and they took it to their cottage on the Trent River in Hastings and painted it gold Brian and his wife Minny were large and I saw them in the Dominion store one time in the 70s shopping and I said “what are you looking for the diet peas”? They ran a few Submarine shops later in life in BC, after making a pile of dough they came back to Toronto and sadly died recently, a week apart. Kenny Osler aka Crazy Ivan who went through the plate glass front window at Chris’s restaurant on Eglinton Ave, Ross McNab who calls Bingo at St Clair and Weston Rd, Luce who is a card dealer in Las Vegas, the Metes Ralph and Jimmy who along with others hung around a place called Greenleaves a snack bar with a pool hall and a few bowling lanes and for some odd reason this name Greenleaves represented a Downtowness that was different to our usual places it was located next to the General Mercer public school on Old Weston Road close to Siverthorn and St Clair where Pinky Pincevero hung out with Little Vince and red haired Ralph, Billy Putsungas who made the news one day as he had been popped with a few ounces of smack and a half million dollars in cash, not bad for a corner boy and Danny Russell hadn’t yet died of cancer, Steve Warren a class dresser, Bill the Greek and his brother Paul whose lives ended way to soon along with Bills’s wife Marissa, Carl Pennik who seemed to spend more time in Kingston Penetentiary than out, Brendan McCarney who still fixes furnaces, Eamon Lever who found work in the pest control field, Tommy Kallo a city of York employee before amalgamation, Donny Robbins who I’d run into at the Hills while he worked for a dairy company and there was only one queer guy back then, ‘they were queers not gays’, his name was Roy Deshekel, and there were more people at the Studio pool hall across the road where Dave Usher and Stan Saltzman would gladly take your money. There was always someone at the York Restaurant run by Steve a swarthy Greek who seemed to be permanently buzzed on Ouzo, while back at Macs’ BP station across from the pool hall guys like Mike Reagan, John Adams, John Crossey, George Stevens, Pete Miller, Doug Professor MacMillan and his brother John who were Stones fans, Scott Taylor and his brother Reid and their friend Ian the violin player, Wes Moffatt, Gary Oldfield, George Brady, Bud Walford, Dougie Wilson and Sam Mule` ‘the Barber’ another TTC guy and a big guy named Ray hung around they were car guys, they owned cars, some of them fast cars, sooped up things one guy even owned an Edsel that had an automatic transmission operated by buttons located in the steering wheel it seldom worked. I moved in and out of each group easily not ever saying “he is my best friend.” I had hundreds of friends all over the west end and a reputation that I could handle myself as C Tuna which fortunately I didn’t have to demonstrate on many occasions. While hanging out with other guys like Mars and Holmes I got around an even wider area including St Clair Avenue from Lansdowne to Old Weston Road where it was a different story. Here the young guys, hung out with gamblers like Al Nuce and there was a young hooker with dyed black hair named Pat Cox. Once the Pepsi crew hired Pat for splashes at one of those seedy Lakeshore Blvd Motels. A few times we played craps in the schoolyards. We’d run like hell when someone yelled the cops were coming. Sometimes we’d sneak in the pool at Earlscourt Park when it felt like it was a hundred degrees out. Holmes lived at a house in York Township at 63 Lonsborough St where some real rounders lived, not pretenders, Danny O’Donohue who was a safe cracker and is doing time for being involved in whacking a mobbed up guy, and Pat O’Hagan another Irish wiseguy in the rackets also lived there. Those two robbed the Biltmore Odeon movie theatre in Weston they went in a back window and an old lady spotted them so the cops were called and they had put to much charge on the vault, blew it up and everything in it as well as a wall. The cops came and arrested them, Pat O’Hagan seated in the theatres chairs pretended to be sleeping said, “I must have fell asleep during the movie”, with that the black cop we all called Leroy went for him and O’Hagan threw a stick of nitro at him, the copper was so shook up he had to take the rest of the year off of work! The house was run by this woman Pat Zona she had hands like a bricklayer and one time on a Friday or Saturday night after Holmes and I had had some drinks she asked me how old I was, at the time I was seventeen and she said, ‘boy, you’re pretty round for your age”, Pat died of cancer in 03. There was Johnny Sombrero who was always seen driving around in a dust covered black cadillac two door slinked down in the seat like Marlon Brando his wardrobe was classic Wild Ones, slicked back duck tailed hair with curly cues at front a black leather jacket with all of these chrome do dads stuck here and there, very menacing, his club was called the Black Diamond Riders and these guys hung together, they were for the most part older and definitely not to be messed with, Sombrero is not his real name few people know his real name. There was a guy named Jack somethng or the other today he runs Canada’s most famous country picnic the Havelock Jamboree. Sometimes we’d go to Dundas and Keele, the Junction and terrorize that neighborhood, walking around in tailor made pants with stovepipe bottoms, Cuban waistbands, classy shirts, shoes from Europe, winklepickers that were pointed like a cowboy boot and excellent for giving the boots, in the summer many of us wore what we called 409s, I thinks that’s what they cost, other shoes from Ingeborgs were also popular with the dressers and a lot of the guys were great dressers buying tailor made strides from the Playboy Shop which had two locations and was run by the Bagnato family, we all had credit in the clothing stores like Al Basians on Weston Road, I still owe him a ton. As I look back on things I guess it was affordable to dress well few of us had cars and the expense that a car brings. We might not actually have been ‘bad’ however the image was that of hoods, short for hudlum. Some of us had fedoras that is felt hats with brims and silk trim and Holmes had a different hat for every day my favourite was the grey stock broker wide brimmed bowler he wore, at times we would carry umbrellas and walking sticks, real Dukes and we weren’t afraid to use them my wife Julia said we were like the gang in the Kubrick movie A Clockwork Orange.. I recall going to Yorkville one weekend night in the mid sixties when Hippies were becoming fashionable and us greaseballs would go and terrorize longhairs for something to do. So this one time I am more than surprised when our intended victim stands up for himself and informs us he’s a Vietnam veteran he had killed people over there, had ‘stuff’ jujitsu or karate training taught in the marines and could kick the shit out of us all if he cared to. Right there and then, on the spot I had an awakening. I would shortly afterward reexamine my path of being a drunken lout and become a stoned and drunken lout.
The Night John Lennon Died Chapter One by Charles Gregory
When I think back to those days in the early winter of 1980 I have to think much further back to the 60s and 70s to understand my loyalty to John Lennon in particular, not so much the Beatles per se, but later George Harrison also would have an important impact on my life as it was he who introduced me to a guru from India, Paramahansa Yogananda, by means of a book about George written by Geoffery Giuliano. Getting back to Lennon, I suppose my use of psychedelics played a huge roll in my placing John at the helm of the good ship Lollipop. As I recall, it may have been Dec 15 1969 when that big poster WAR IS OVER if you WANT IT in big letters with smaller letters and the words Happy Christmas John and Yoko was placed as a billboard at the corner of Eglinton and Weston Road, remember it was on the roof of that divey long restaurant on the south west corner, it had terrible booths and flourescent lighting, it was across Weston Road from the Church of the Good Shepherd and just before Jerry McGuires Mt Dennis body shop, in whose backyard I used to ditch the undelivered Mt Dennis newspapers. Anyways, that sign had a big influence on me, the sheer determination in the words the scope of those words. I mean, they are very impactful even today. There definitely was a psychological reaction and I believe though I have not read this elsewhere that the Lennons, John and Yoko and their team must have done a fair bit of research on this configuration of words and block lettering before having their world wide message installed. I recall laying in a empty lot covered in fresh snow alongside a young girl whom I was flirting with at the time (name withheld to protect the innocent) and the two of us making snow angels down by the new apartments on Emmett Avenue. The acid was good in those days, it totally freed me from thinking in a normal way, at times, I wonder if I am still high on it, as there has been a lasting effect, at least for me.
Lennon of course was like a God to me, yet today they whittle away at his imperfections which is hard to tolerate but probably true, just that back then, well, the press never told the truth, did they. Were they afraid of the power his wealth brought him, of his lawyers perhaps, if they even whispered that he and Yoko had a hankerin for a bit of smack now and then. Though it was much better for the race that we didn’t know that or god knows how many more smack users there would be, or better said, would have been, as sadly is the case with heroin use many of them died, including good friends of mine, from the Keele and Eglinton corner. Besides authors, I can’t think of anyone more influential in my life than John Lennon. He took it on himself after those Beatles years to write some intelligent, effective lyrics, Working Class Hero would be one of them, Instant Karma another, Mind Games, Imagine, one could easily compile a list of ‘motivational material’ that had its inception in his writings. Whether he took his role to play on earth more seriously is a discussion that musical experts may have, I am not in their league of wisdom.
And then, when those days were over, life became life as it is wont to do. University didn't quite work out, there was no discipline, or better said, no one to discipline myself and my behaviours, the drink and in more moderation hashish got me through, as well as a $1500. grant 'to go to school' the other part, I can’t recall how much a student loan went right to the school for tuition translate Professors fees. My friend and I Pete Kalci spent all our grant money in less than a month on booze in 71/72 at the U of Windsor where, fresh trappings made for a past less existence where one could if they wish start a new life. You could look up my story A Scholar for more details in the book The Bracelet available on PDF if so wished. I'm rushing here but I think it is worth the words. After school came a half year of more abuse at home at 121 Humber Blvd apartment #1313,, by you know who, and then a short rescue by friends Boomer and TJ who took me in when home life became impossible, their apartment was at Rochdale College where studies in drink and smoke were at the forefront. It is a bit of a blur, but after 6 weeks ill with some form of a hepatitis disease that makes your eyes yellow, I recall finishing my period of non-drink by poking someones eye with a beer bottle in a boozecan in the building on the first night of my release from doctors care, can I even recall why I did that? I am sure that I was not the antagonist even though my skull was cracked open by a large Galiano bottle and I was taken away for stitches. Anyways the buildings governing body kicked me out and I found myself living in a lovely flat in one of those grand homes on one of those fancy streets off of Bloor where I think some speed helped me envision men climbing the telephone poles and tapping my phone, the funny thing is I never had a phone! A plan was hatched to borrow a grand from a fellow and buy large quantities of pot, hash, mescaline, minute amount of coke which was making itself known and hire a helper to carry the drugs onto a plane and fly to Windsor to sell them to my school chums.
It was all going quite well in Windsor where if you laid a line or two out all sorts of doors would open that were previously closed to you. All manner of persons was glad to share their school grant money for a few grams of primeau hashish, and introductions followed to sell bigger and more of that lovely product. When I went home after a day of selling weed and such substances, briefcase in hand, I thought, looking quite spiffy like a Canadian Tony Montana in Scarface when I noticed these people sort of hiding in the corridors and on the phone in the Holiday Inn downtown where we were staying. They weren't miraculous apparitions as I found out when I entered the room and the 'helper' was not there to let me in, instead I was met by a couple of polyester suited narcos who pointed their guns at me, at least I knew better than to fight with someone holding a gun and pointing it at me. Suddenly there were four more of them all males, the ones who had been pretending to be on the elevator and talking on the lobby phones, the gig was up.
At the archaic Windsor Jail, I gave my religion as being Taoism from an Ancient Chinese variety of worship of the Natural. I can't specifically recall how long I had been high, but I would imagine it could have been close to three years. It took me six weeks to come down, and down I did when I awoke one morning, head shaven and on the Blue Goose bus motoring along the quatre zero un towards the O.R. in Guelph Ontario, at least I would be closer to home and the odd friend would come and lay a chunk of hash on me from time to time in the visiting room and if lucky a book by Herman Hesse. See more of these lock up adventures in the Bracelet under the title The Firehydrant. PDF available again on request.
Chapter Two The Night John Lennon Died by Charles Gregory
You, get the picture, like Lennon, I also had grown up, I was a dad now, a married man, there were more expectations of me than the single version had to deal with. Love can be a peculiar word. I think my relationship with Julia all these fourty seven years was a godsend, that is well known, who knows what turns I may taken had if we not been together sharing, our often unspoken love and respect for each other. Though there have been a few tense moments as there are in all long term relationships. I am the lucky one I often tell myself this.
This night that John Lennon died December 8, 1980 is crystal clear in my memories. Late in the fall we had moved back to Toronto from a home in Hastings Ontario. We had almost a year off, we had purchased a run down small cottage and rebuilt the insides, the entire time Julia was carrying Christine not quite to term as she developed Toxemia and was hospitalized prior to our plan for a natural birth, and a good thing to, as that Toxemia can take you out if not treated. Oh, I remember being in the waiting room where I had no idea what our life was going to be like after a child was born. And, I was right as everything changed. My friends Jack Hamilton (big jack) and Dave Wellwood (pee wee) came up to their cottage which was just down the road on Cedar Drive in Hastings. Jack drove into town a few blocks away and bought the thickest TBone steaks right from the butcher, and we cooked them up on char broiled BBQ and drank a ton of beers. The next day Jack lent me his shiny black four door Parisienne to go pick Julia and Christine up at the hospital. I remember pulling up to the front of the now demolished building, parking in a designated spot and the three of us made our way down via an elevator to the main doors to the waiting fancy car. We had a brand new baby seat, to put Christine in, she hardly weighed five pounds after she and Julia spent an extra week in the hospital getting healthier from the scare of Toxemia!
All this company came to celebrate and visit us in our tiny one bedroom home. It didn’t hurt matters that we were on the Trent river, that had lots of fish in it, pickerel, bass, both types large and small mouth and muskellunge, and geez we had a lot of company on the weekends, including my mom Gisele who got a ride up in the Chlroide company van with Shane, my brothers Shane and Kevin, other friends from Mt Dennis including Paul Einboden aka Hime, Glen Kyle, Larry Cartwright and Julias family that consisted of her sister Darleen who had a newborn son Danny and her ten or so year old son Kevin, her mom Joan and her husband Bert Julias dad. The house was tiny, I mean really really tiny, there was a couch in the living room that we picked up off the side of the road, I recall the brown vinyl it was made of, fortunately it pulled out so there was somewhere other than tents for people to sleep. The weekdays were quieter, but every weekend there was company, the likes of Moose and Carol and their two kids who were five and three, Pete Brennan and his squeeze, Frank Herbert and Kay Lie. Big Bob Butler and his wife Carol lived over by Frankford not to far away and some weekends he would come and set up his DJ equipment and blare music through gigantic speakers set up on a folding banquet table along with thousands of cassettes, cassettes were the thing back then! It was loud enough that Charlie the Hastings town cop came over one night parked his cruiser, walked over and politely asked if we could turn it down. Which we did of course.
Now I am told that when Chris was young she had colic, which I do not recall as every night after dinner I would hop in the tin boat and pull the rip cord on the 18HP Johnson outboard motor and soar down the river towards the islands and troll for muskie and the other fish that lived there. Now and then I would get a good one, the nicest I recall was a 22 pound Muskie that several of us posed with when caught and later over the years others posed with it, friends like Don Schmidt and Paul Smith and and John the Count and George Holmes as well posed with it. When I got home from fishing, the baby was asleep and after a bit of TV and some snack of milk and cookies we would go to bed in the tiny bedroom so small that we had to install a pocket door so the cradle would fit in there with us.
Our dog Zorba had some harsh blood in him as one of his parents went by the name of Boogie, and Boogie would know if you were afraid of him. Now and then the musician Ronnie Peters would come over for beers and that dog did not want him to go near the bedroom when Julia was in there prior to Christines birth, he’d growl just under his breath and show a handsome fierce looking set of teeth…in fact, that dog had a big mean spell and from time to time when I wanted to go into the bedroom his growl also prevented me from going in to my own bed! We quickly realized that dog had to go, or the baby might be in danger, through the local pound we found him a job as a security dog at a scrap yard, a place he was well suited to. That day I had to take him to the pound, is quite clear. Albert Julias dad was with me, he came up through the week prior to me picking Julia up at the hospital, we drove into Peterborough and went to the Humane Society. I was not in a good way, this nice young lady at the reception desk was asking me things, like, “how old is the dog, is he friendly, is he trained, has he had his shots” and so on and I just looked at her and handed her his leather lead and left, keeping the manly tears from rolling down my cheeks, Bert who was sitting in the olive green two door Mercury just looked at me and we went to the hospital. It had to be done. I had asked Ronnie who grew fields of pot and lived on a farm not far away at Jermyn Line if he would take the dog, his reply sort of explains it all, he said, “well geez Charlie, I could use a good dog, but that dog of yours he seems to have a bad attitude about some things me being one of them” he was right the dog had to go. If you ever had to get rid of a dog you will know how I felt. Years earlier while living in Toronto I was training the dog at the Dominion Store on Eglinton Avenue near Islington, we were on a grassy lawn the size of half a foot ball field. An elderly man wearing a spy rain coat, tan in colour and a fedora walked within twenty yards of us, I thought the dog was going to attack him, I got there in time to put his lead on and apologized. When we were rebuilding the cottage a neighbour would come and help with the electrical wiring and boxes, one day his son Allen just came barging into the house, innocently, shouting ‘dad, supper is ready’ and well Zorba went for him but I stopped him in time. Times like this, I wanna listen to Fred Eaglesmith sing his song, He’s A Good Dog.
The notion of driving thirty or so miles to work did not sit well with me. I refused to work in the bar game any longer, after numerous attempts on my life at clubs in Toronto, the last time facing guns during an angry confrontation at the Seaway Beverly Hills Hotel. The following day, some friends of ours had been found dead at Weston Road and Lawrence, maybe four of them, I had known two of the men quite well, Bill the Greek and his younger brother Paul, yes, they were all involved in the drugs trade in one way or another. The murderers were convicted and sent to prison. I was lucky that when it was my turn to speak in court a lawyer of my friend Mark Goodine spoke to the judge informing him I was a hostile witness and I did not have to testify nor did my co worker Shoesy. Though Mark was later killed himself a while later in a nasty way, I am grateful that that day he kept me off the stand. My days were numbered in Toronto. But, I had no idea I would have to drive to either Peterborough or Port Hope or Cobourg to find work to support the family, to pay the bills. I know I missed a job as the school janitor at the Hastings elementary, that would have been great, then my application to work for Nicholson tools located in Port Hope was almost successful, but that never panned out. The limited amount of funds we had earned selling our home in Toronto were being used up much to quickly. For example our plans to expand the home floundered when our cash flow got low, we did manage to put a twenty by twenty concrete foundation wall up and the boards on top to hold framing, but we went broke much quicker than I had anticipated, than either one of us anticipated. To avoid total collapse of our economy we moved back to Toronto, a few days at first at Pete and Janets home on Horsham Ave until we found a basement apartment on Sunfield Avenue in the Keele and Shepherd area. We put the Hastings property up for sale, but high interest rates were stalling the idea of a quick sale.
Someone, Pete again suggested I put in an application at the City of North York to work in the ice rinks for the winter. I did that and was hired on and quickly learned a lot of new things. How to maintain an artificial ice rink, first at a local pad with two warming areas in the Keele and Mapleleaf area of town. It was a big improvement on the rink at Pearen Park that I had played on as a boy, but it was the same idea, a side for pleasure skating and another side for hockey players. The facility was open from noon till ten or nine PM daily seven days a week. The ice had to be shoveled often and those who were playing would do it most of the time. At nights end I had to give it a good scrape, there was a snow blower if needed which was seldom. A long rubber hose was used to flood the ice. That work would be completed by 10PM, we got paid to be there until midnight, but I would just lock up and go home by 11 as the supervisor had already been by to check in that things were OK. The idea was that North York would first assign you to one of these easy to maintain places to see if they thought you were suited to working in a bigger arena. It was great, from time to time Jake Nash would come by, he was working for a chip company back then and he would show up, after hours with a mickey of whiskey to share gulps with me and shoot the breeze, at the time he was still dating Julias sister Darleen. The pay was good, I forget exactly how much, perhaps twelve bucks an hour, a shift premium, not many weekends off, but shit, I was happy to be able to look after the family.
After a month at Maple Leaf the city sent me to work at Victoria Park arena in the Victoria Park and Eglinton area of the city. I had no idea that North York was such a large area, much larger than my home township The Borough of York. At the new rink our boss was from Ireland, accent and all. He wore the North York uniform day and night, his first name was Danny, but you could not call him that, you had to call him Mr Briginns. At first they put me on midnight shift which I did not like, and I told him so even though it risked my new career. The next shift change they had me on days which was Ok cause you could learn things and see what was going on in the different departments that are within an ice rink, such as the stands, and the ice plant, and the operation of the Zamboni machine and so on. For the most part they had me cleaning up and I learned from a bunch of lazy bums how not to work, while being at work. I had more initiative than that and the foreman took me under his wing so to speak to make sure I made no bad habits. Days went by quickly, the most difficult issue was driving to work in this vast township. At the time there were two television shows that were made quite a fuss by some people who used the TV to medicate their lives, one was called Dallas, the other Knotts Landing. We watched both shows and it was to my benefit that the boss Dan also liked Dallas as he would ask me how the show went the odd time he missed a Friday night episode. The stands for spectators at the Victoria Park arena could accommodate about a thousand people and there were Junior B teams and Triple A teams that could easily fill the stadium. I took pride in keeping the stands clean and it wasn’t too long before I was being trained on the operation of the Zamboni. I was fine on the Zamboni with all its switches and levers until one day I got sent out to clean the ice when there were people in the stands. I found that unusually intimidating and I gently rammed the corners, as I had not slowed down enough when coming to the turns. You had to be quick with your hands, especially when you were leaving the ice and had to lift the back end, the water maker up as you pulled away from the gates and into the Zamboni bay. There was a lot to learn, but generally speaking I was catching on.
With a rent and a mortgage to pay on the cottage our funds were pretty tight. Some of the guys at the Beverly Hills heard we were back in town, one of them sent over a ham, an envelope contained some money, it was well appreciated. We were so poor, I recall one time being at the strip mall at Keele and Shepherd and finding a green twenty dollar bill! There were so many things that money could buy, we opted to get Julia a good haircut which pretty much used it up, that’s how poor we were. We could just barely meet our commitments, rent, gas for the car to get me to work, food for the three of us, the Hastings property monthly mortgage was around $200, every week I needed a case of beer, we lived week to week like many people do. There was nothing left for luxuries like going to the show or out for dinner or even picking up a pizza. Yet this was an alright situation for us and we were surviving, grateful to be able to pay our bills. Work was going well, I got transferred to the ice rink at Flemingdon Park where I got along well and my initiatives paid off as I had been told that they were going to offer me a full time position as a cleaner in one of the cities community centres once the ice rinks closed in the spring.
Julia and I were watching the television around 10pm on the night of December 8, 1980. There was a knock at the side door of the house we lived in at 34 Sunfield Road, North York. Two police detectives in suits showed me their badges and asked to come down to the living area of the apartment. They were there to charge me with the assault of one David Baker earlier in the evening. Julia protested and said this isn’t true as I had not left the house since getting home from work at five pm. Never the less I was charged with assault and released on my own recognizance with instructions to attend court in the future which would be sent to me via mail. This was ridiculous, just a blatant miscarriage of justice as I had been home all evening playing with Christine who was now 8 months old and she would take pleasure in scooting along the vinyl floors of the long apartment while in a kids wheeled walker. Every now and then we would give her a spin and send her towards the other end of the apartment, at one point, the floor dipped and acted as a propellant for the apparatus. She’d laugh and make her way back to us in the living room, from time to time being diverted in the kitchen where we would find her almost right in the kitchen cupboards playing with the pots and pans.
Bewildered by the odd set of circumstances I made a call to my brother Shanes place and found out that he had also been charged with assault and he knew that our older brother Alex and our brother Kevin had also been charged. We were stunned Julia and I sitting there in our little apartment, but not as stunned as the millions of fans of John Lennon were when it was announced during the nightly news that he had been shot and killed in New York City outside of the Dakota apartment building while returning home from a musical session. Our own issues clouded the feelings we should have been having upon hearing this sad news. Understandably I was upset with my predicament, with the police insistence that I had been somewhere else my poor wife being called a liar her words not being taken as the truth, and there was nothing we could do about it. The cops left, I had to get to bed as I was on day shift the next day at the Victoria Park rink. A week later a notice came in the mail to appear in court in an Etobicoke courtroom in March of 1981, much quicker than a trial today would take today. By this time we had found out that our sister Suzannes boyfriend, one David Baker had been badly assaulted in downtown Toronto and it was he that put the finger on the Gregorys.
Shane and I had our suspicions as to who may have beat this guy up, but we kept that to ourselves, we knew though, that is wasn’t he or I. Alex was just to spun out to have such a conversation with. Kevin lived downtown, hung around down town, knew lots of people downtown. Apparently it was a pretty serious beating, Baker ended up in the hospital while he mended from broken bones and cuts, someone even said that acid had been thrown on him. I would have to say he deserved a beating as he had been physically and mentally abusing our schizophrenic sister for a few years, if I am not mistaken he had done some foul thing to one of their children that thankfully the Childrens Aid had acted quickly on.
The court date came and the four of us appeared in court, no lawyers, the Crown prosecutor asked how we were going to plead, in unison we all said, Not Guilty Your Honour. The Judge asked the Crown prosecutor to present the evidence, the detectives Fric and Frac who had charged me and my brothers huddled with the Crown briefly. After which the Crown faced the Judge and said, “your Honour at this time the prime witness in our case one David Baker has not made an appearance in the court room, I have no choice but to ask that all charges be dismissed.” And that was it, the false lies told to the detectives were just that false lies. The Judge spoke to us before we walked out of the courtroom, he said, “your case is dismissed, and may I add that if I had to come to court to testify against the four of you I probably would not appear either”! And that is why there is one photo of us four brothers together outside an Etobicoke court room, a few months after The Night John Lennon Died. We never discussed any suspicions we had with each other, never did. Baker got what was coming to him, he has never been seen or heard from since. With the help of social agencies, Suzanne, got it together as best she could and lived the rest of her life with her mom and sister, the three children that she mothered never reached out for her in the adoption processes, she must have lived an unhappy life worrying about them…such is life. We continued to re-group our finances, that Christmas our old 70s Mercury died a sudden death and we found ourselves taking the TTC to moms for Christmas dinner on Ewart Avenue, pushing Christine in a cheap fold up stroller, laughing about our fortunes.
Thanks to Julia for listening and hanging in, also Lino for some clarifications, a special thanks to John Lennon. May I dedicate this to those who have passed both those we knew, and those we loved and hated.
Royal Canadian Navy Clearance Diver Petty Officer 1st Class Rene St-Pierre (left) and Clearance Diver Petty Officer 2nd Class Shawn Goodine, both assigned to Fleet Diving Unit Pacific, participate in room clearing exercises during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) 2014 on July 2, 2014.
U.S. Navy photo: Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Daniel Rolston/Released
Le maître de 1re classe Rene St. Pierre (à gauche) et le maître de 2e classe Shawn Goodine, plongeurs-démineurs de l'Unité de plongée de la Flotte (Pacifique) de la Marine royale canadienne, participent aux exercices de ratissage de l'exercice Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC), le 2 juillet 2014.
U.S. Navy photo : Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Daniel Rolston/diffusée
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Tania Goodine, Executive Vice President Engagement and Jennifer Dawson, Regional Manager Essex-Kent, engage attendees in a discussion of what prosperity means to each individual.
Photo by J. Amlin Photography
Royal Canadian Navy Clearance Diver Petty Officer 1st Class Rene St-Pierre (left) and Clearance Diver Petty Officer 2nd Class Shawn Goodine, both assigned to Fleet Diving Unit Pacific, participate in room clearing exercises during Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC) 2014 on July 2, 2014.
U.S. Navy photo: Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Daniel Rolston/Released
Le maître de 1re classe Rene St. Pierre (à gauche) et le maître de 2e classe Shawn Goodine, plongeurs-démineurs de l'Unité de plongée de la Flotte (Pacifique) de la Marine royale canadienne, participent aux exercices de ratissage de l'exercice Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC), le 2 juillet 2014.
U.S. Navy photo : Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Daniel Rolston/diffusée
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Photos taken during the production of NHPTV's award-winning Windows to the Wild series (February 2016). In the woods of Vermont, host Will Lange spends a day with naturalist Susan Morse. She tracks wild animals and their habits, teaching others how to spot the tiny signs of their passing that most of us never see. Producer: Phil Vaughn; producer/videographer Steve Giordani. (c) Photos by Adam Goodine Photography
Photos taken during the production of NHPTV's award-winning Windows to the Wild series (February 2016). In the woods of Vermont, host Will Lange spends a day with naturalist Susan Morse. She tracks wild animals and their habits, teaching others how to spot the tiny signs of their passing that most of us never see. Producer: Phil Vaughn; producer/videographer Steve Giordani. (c) Photos by Adam Goodine Photography
Photos taken during the production of NHPTV's award-winning Windows to the Wild series (February 2016). In the woods of Vermont, host Will Lange spends a day with naturalist Susan Morse. She tracks wild animals and their habits, teaching others how to spot the tiny signs of their passing that most of us never see. Producer: Phil Vaughn; producer/videographer Steve Giordani. (c) Photos by Adam Goodine Photography
Photos taken during the production of NHPTV's award-winning Windows to the Wild series (February 2016). In the woods of Vermont, host Will Lange spends a day with naturalist Susan Morse. She tracks wild animals and their habits, teaching others how to spot the tiny signs of their passing that most of us never see. Producer: Phil Vaughn; producer/videographer Steve Giordani. (c) Photos by Adam Goodine Photography
Exercise NIHILO SAPPER 2016
Sapper Clay Goodine, a members of 4 Engineer Support Regiment, Expedient Route Opening Capability, performs a dismounted surveillance of the area with a Combat Engineer Metal Detector during a route clearing through the old Bathurst Mines site outside Bathurst New Brunswick on 5 November 2016 during Exercise Nihilo Sapper 16.
Exercise NIHILO SAPPER is a large construction engineering exercise being conducted in Bathurst, New Brunswick from November 1 to 22, 2016 to provide hands-on technical training to ensure the Canadian Army is ready to deploy soldiers at short notice. During Exercise NIHILO SAPPER 2016, participants including 4 Engineer Support Regiment (4 ESR) will build a temporary 500-person camp south of Bathurst and participate in several construction and infrastructure upgrade projects within the community, including building a bridge that will be used by all-terrain vehicles, upgrading a trail, inspecting port facilities in the area, and conducting water purification operations and military training at a local mine site.
Lâexercice NIHILO SAPPER est un important exercice du génie construction mené à Bathurst, au Nouveau-Brunswick, du 1er au 22 novembre 2016. Il offre une instruction technique pratique pour veiller à ce que lâArmée canadienne soit prête à affecter des soldats à court préavis. Au cours de lâexercice NIHILO SAPPER 2016, les participants construiront un campement temporaire pour 500 personnes au sud de Bathurst et prendront part à plusieurs projets de construction et de modernisation de lâinfrastructure au sein de la communauté, notamment bâtir un pont qui sera utilisé par des véhicules tout terrain, remettre en état un sentier, examiner des installations portuaires de la région et effectuer des opérations de purification dâeau et un entraînement militaire à une mine locale.
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Photo by WO Jerry Kean/5 Cdn Div HQ Public Affairs
Exercise NIHILO SAPPER 2016
Sapper Clay Goodine, a members of 4 Engineer Support Regiment, Expedient Route Opening Capability, performs a dismounted surveillance of the area during a route clearing exercise through the old Bathurst Mines site outside Bathurst New Brunswick on 5 November 2016 during Exercise Nihilo Sapper 16.
Exercise NIHILO SAPPER is a large construction engineering exercise being conducted in Bathurst, New Brunswick from November 1 to 22, 2016 to provide hands-on technical training to ensure the Canadian Army is ready to deploy soldiers at short notice. During Exercise NIHILO SAPPER 2016, participants including 4 Engineer Support Regiment (4 ESR) will build a temporary 500-person camp south of Bathurst and participate in several construction and infrastructure upgrade projects within the community, including building a bridge that will be used by all-terrain vehicles, upgrading a trail, inspecting port facilities in the area, and conducting water purification operations and military training at a local mine site.
Lâexercice NIHILO SAPPER est un important exercice du génie construction mené à Bathurst, au Nouveau-Brunswick, du 1er au 22 novembre 2016. Il offre une instruction technique pratique pour veiller à ce que lâArmée canadienne soit prête à affecter des soldats à court préavis. Au cours de lâexercice NIHILO SAPPER 2016, les participants construiront un campement temporaire pour 500 personnes au sud de Bathurst et prendront part à plusieurs projets de construction et de modernisation de lâinfrastructure au sein de la communauté, notamment bâtir un pont qui sera utilisé par des véhicules tout terrain, remettre en état un sentier, examiner des installations portuaires de la région et effectuer des opérations de purification dâeau et un entraînement militaire à une mine locale.
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Photo by WO Jerry Kean/5 Cdn Div HQ Public Affairs
Photos taken during the production of NHPTV's award-winning Windows to the Wild series (February 2016). In the woods of Vermont, host Will Lange spends a day with naturalist Susan Morse. She tracks wild animals and their habits, teaching others how to spot the tiny signs of their passing that most of us never see. Producer: Phil Vaughn; producer/videographer Steve Giordani. (c) Photos by Adam Goodine Photography
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CAMP KINSER, OKINAWA, Japan — Master Sgt. Jeremy L. Goodine, left, explains the first event of a Truck Rodeo Dec. 9 to a group of motor transport Marines on Camp Kinser. The rodeo was a way of bringing the motor transport Marines on Okinawa together for friendly competition to test their driving skills and build camaraderie. Goodine, from Middleboro, Massachusetts, is a motor transport operations chief with 3rd Transportation Support Battalion, Combat Logistics Regiment 3, 3rd Marine Logistics Group, III Marine Expeditionary Force. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. William Hester/Released)
Photos taken during the production of NHPTV's award-winning Windows to the Wild series (February 2016). In the woods of Vermont, host Will Lange spends a day with naturalist Susan Morse. She tracks wild animals and their habits, teaching others how to spot the tiny signs of their passing that most of us never see. Producer: Phil Vaughn; producer/videographer Steve Giordani. (c) Photos by Adam Goodine Photography