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Three of Freight Australia's G class locomotives led by G523 head a SCT services from Melbourne to Perth through the curve at Redhill in South Australia's Mid North - 2 March 2002.
There are quite a few on this photo compared to the last time I snapped a 24 in central Bristol. The route has been upgraded to B9TL operation (as First 37757 WX09KBK illustrates) and the branding has gone from a temporary vinyl to a full lime green optical assault.
In the background, there's something missing off a plinth too....
www.flickr.com/photos/77751183@N07/49465303546/in/photoli...
The age difference between the two vessels is not as great as one would think by looking at them. The Gato Class Submarine USS Cobia, on display at the Maritime Museum, was constructed in late 1943 while the Kaye Barker across the river started life as the Edward B. Greene a mere eight years and two months later in January of 1952.
it's the 22 so you get double the trouble. :) Wanted to show the difference it temperature during develop changes the image. The left image was develop in the Impossible project cold plate, place under my arm for 5 minutes. The right image was placed on a cold granite countertop in the the IP cold plate to develop. Both images were taken a few minutes apart in same location.
PX100 silver shade used in sx-70 natural light.
difference |ˈdif(ə)rəns| noun
a point or way in which people or things are not the same: the differences between men and women.
• the state or condition of being dissimilar or unlike: their difference from one another.
• a disagreement, quarrel, or dispute: the couple are patching up their differences.
• a quantity by which amounts differ; the remainder left after subtraction of one value from another: the gross margin is the difference between the total cost of the goods and the final selling price.
• Heraldry an alteration in a coat of arms to distinguish members or branches of a family.
verb [ with obj. ] Heraldry
alter (a coat of arms) to distinguish members or branches of a family.
PHRASES
make a (or no) difference have a significant effect (or no effect) on a person or situation: the law will make no difference to my business.
with a difference having a new or unusual feature or treatment: a fashion show with a difference.
ORIGIN Middle English: via Old French from Latin differentia (see differentia) .
Sometimes the differences are not so distinct.
FYI - Just some minor color correction and cropping here...no digital trickery.
I was in two minds about buying this leopard print ‘Peggy’ skirt - I’ve already got plenty of those, of course. Now I see it on, it’s definitely become one of my favourites.
January 2008.
The sublets I've lived in for the past years have been rental apartments. Now I'm subletting a condo. That makes me think about the big difference between the stairwells in the buildings where people own their flats and where they rent.
Just take a guess if this is rental or condos.
This street is not unlike some recent shots but with some differences. I thought there was what was known as a bit off a gyuck in the line up there but it is a set of points to change from a double into a single. Are they policemen in the distance????
Niall McAuley identified this street as Blackrock Road, Cork. He also provides a streetview link and a link to an article in the Echo from 2014, I have included an extract of the relevant section below:
"When initial survey works were carried out last year workers uncovered old tram lines and cobbles that were found intact under the road surface. The tram lines operated in Cork city from 1898 to 1931, running from Blackpool to Douglas, Summerhill to Sunday’s Well and Tivoli to Blackrock.
The trams, run by the Cork Electric Tramways and Lighting Company, ceased operation in September 1931, largely due to the increasing popularity of buses. The Council plans to incorporate the tram lines into the redevelopment of the harbour."
Photographer: Fergus O’Connor
Collection: Fergus O’Connor Collection
Date: 1900 - 1920
NLI Ref: OCO371
You can also view this image, and many thousands of others, on the NLI’s catalogue at catalogue.nli.ie
2014 Singing Aurora Doll, boxed.
Review of 2014 Aurora Singing Doll
The new singing Aurora doll has many differences from the previous singing Aurora doll (released in 2012) and also from last year's singing dolls. She is 11'' tall (actually 11 1/4'' to the top of her head, or 11 1/2'' to the top of her hair), is dressed in the peasant Briar Rose outfit (without crown or necklace), is barefoot, and sings 25 seconds of ''Once Upon a Dream'' in a single segment when her left wrist is twisted. The 2012 singing Aurora doll is 17'' tall and dressed in her pink Princess outfit, with gold crown and pink heels, and sings 45 seconds of ''Once Upon a Dream'' in three segments when a button is touched in her right palm. The 2014 singing Aurora comes in a large box with large plastic window under a outer cardboard cover that is decorated with scenes from the movie Sleeping Beauty on the inside. That is similar in design to some of the collectible Mattel dolls of Disney characters from the 1990s. The 2013 11 1/2'' singing dolls had two outfits and one or two figurines of their sidekicks. This 2014 doll has only one outfit, but many more sidekicks, including a five animal depiction of the Mock Prince. Two of the larger animal figures, a rabbit and squirrel, are flocked to imitate fur. She also comes with a plastic basket, that she used in the movie to collect berries. Finally, the 2014 doll is $29.95, which is almost the same price as the 2012 17'' doll (which was $29.50), and $5 more than the 2013 11 1/2'' dolls.
Aurora's outfit consists of a satin dress and shawl. The dress has a black bodice, light purple skirt and light green blouse, all sewn together. The shawl is dark magenta, is single ply but hemmed, and a simple rectangular piece of cloth. It is tacked to her bodice near the waist in two places, which I left as is so it wouldn't fall off the doll. Her outfit is completely glitter free. It is simple but elegant.
Her hair is golden blonde, with gentle curls falling to her hips. She has some straight bangs over her forehead, and her iconic curly bang to over her left eye. It was divided into to sections in the back for shipping, but was easy to even out using my fingers.
She has violet eyes glancing to her left. There are a couple of short thick eyelashes at the far corners of her eyes. She has light rouge on her cheeks, and dark pink lips forming a friendly smile. Her face is very beautiful, from all angles and quite movie accurate.
She has the body of a 2013-2014 Classic Princess doll, except for her left arm. Twisting her left hand will start her singing ''Once Upon a Dream'' for 25 seconds. The wrist doesn't turn completely around, but does tilt up and down like a normal ball jointed wrist. Note that her left elbow is not jointed. Her right arm is fully articulated, with ball jointed wrist and elbow that have full freedom of movement. She has ball jointed hip, rubber legs with internal knee joints, and fixed angled feet. With bare feet she looks like she is tip toeing through the forest.
Purchase and Product Information
I just received today (Monday June 30) the dolls I ordered from the Disney Store last Monday, June 23. They included two copies of the new Singing Aurora Doll, and the new Jasmine and Maleficent dolls. All the boxes were crushed by the shipper, except for the Maleficent doll, strangely enough. It was as though someone sat on the shipping carton. However, all the dolls themselves are in perfect condition, and I am a deboxer, so it isn't that big a deal to me. However, I do want a copy of the Singing Aurora doll to keep in mint condition in the box, so I will be returning one of them to the store to exchange for a good copy when they get the singing dolls in.
I will post photos of the Singing doll boxed, during deboxing, and fully deboxed.
Aurora Deluxe Singing Doll - 11'' - Sleeping Beauty
$29.95
Item No. 6070040901048P
US Disney Store
Released online 2014-06-23
Purchased online 2014-06-23
Received 2014-06-30
A Wonder
Hearts will be singing as Aurora's song goes winging from our deluxe doll who serenades forest friends with the immortal tune Once Upon a Dream when hand is twirled. Beautiful golden hair and satin costume lend further enchantment!
Magic in the details...
• Fully sculptured Aurora deluxe singing doll
• Twist doll's wrist to hear Once Upon a Dream
• Lush rooted hair with beautiful styling
• Satin Briar Rose costume with shawl
• Includes basket accessory
• Comes with 11 forest friends on 7 play pieces, including the ''Mock Prince''
• Arrives in Storybook display box with self-stick fabric closure
• Celebrating the return of Walt Disney's Sleeping Beauty on DVD and Blu-ray Disc
The bare necessities
• Ages 3+
• Requires 3 LR44/AG13 batteries, included
• Plastic / polyester
• Doll 11'' H
• Play pieces up to 5 1/2'' H
• Imported
Safety
WARNING: CHOKING HAZARD - Small Parts. Not for children under 3 years.
...... with a bit of a difference !
I was asked to make this topper with a John Deere tractor, bride and groom but with the addition of the bride's pony.
As these toppers are on a 5" base it was a bit of a tight fit to get everything on it and the best way was to have the pony lying down.
I've never modelled a horse before, so it was a bit of a learning curve ! Especially as this pony has lost his left eye and just has a socket, which I was asked to replicate.
Incredibly too when I was finalising the order with the bride, I discovered she lived in my home town !!! I have sent these toppers as far as Australia and New Zealand but have never had to deliver one up the road before !! ;o))
Modelled freehand in polymer clay.
I'm very ambivalent about today, for multiple reasons. On the one hand, I'm happy for my daughter on her 18th birthday, because what girl doesn't like a birthday, getting presents, going out to eat, etc…? But on the other hand, it had a very sad undercurrent. Family circumstances are a strain (to put it mildly). I hope and pray, at this point, that a bit of adult wisdom comes along with this birthday, and my daughter realizes exactly how much of a difference this day can make in her life. Happy birthday and good luck, Abbey. I love you, I worry about you and for you every day of my life.
Denholm ICD then 2008 & now January 2015
The end of an era as another long standing Bristol company calls in the demolition crew and ceases trading!
Model Nariko Okawa
Photographer Nariko Okawa
When I was young(er), I used to bug my parents for coins to play the Spot-The-Difference machines at the Arcade. They were hours of fun.
So, I thought, lets do one.
Now it is your turn to spot the difference.
Love,
Nariko Okawa
*another thing for you to have fun with the image: at different angles of the computer screen, the opposite skin looks slightly darker than the other! well, at least, on my screen, can someone confirm this?*
Just to show you parts of the photo without HDR treatment. The top bar and right-bottom is unedited, middle bar and middle-bottom is photoshopped, and bottom (and left) is HDR.
Also view: The Difference (1)
3 Exposures: -2, 0 and +2.
Letterpress coaster series we produced for Anthem! www.anthemww.com Besides turning out beautifully (mainly due to good appropriate design work) the piece is also a good example of using 2-color printing and other letterpress learning.
*Thanks to Skeletalmess for the texture*
We took a series of shot way back in the spring involving this large magnifying glass!
There were some really funny ones of The boys and their Dad.....
....but this one made me a little un-easy, at first I couldn't put my finger on it, then as I was going through my archives the other day I spotted this one again.
It made me think of the cyclops, you know the mythical, man eating one of Greek mythology. We'll I wondered where all these myths originate from, was the cyclops once upon a time, a normal, albeit very tall, one eye man. Did he lose this eye through an accident, or was he born with this deformity. If it was the latter, you can imagine he would have been hounded and persecuted for looking different.
I'm rambling here, to get back on track, this shot made me think about deformities, and how people react to them. We all look and stare, when we see some one who is different, some people may do this discreetly, some may do it openly, some laugh or point, make jokes or shout out obscenities.
What ever we look like, we are all human, and like to be treated with respect and compassion. It makes me so sad to see people staring at someone who is different, or ushering their children away, because they think this person may do them harm.
I got very angry one day when speaking to a person who had a fourteen year old daughter, who was a little intimidated by someone with learning difficulties in a shop (they were just talking a little louder than usual & gesticulating wildly), This person in question, gave the opinion that anyone with learning difficulties, or deformities shouldn't be let out in public, as it was too worrying for the general public, and her children shouldn't have to see these things! I went ballistic, it made me hopping mad, I couldn't believe that, she held these opinions, let alone voiced them, and thought them acceptable.
I think in this day and age, what with the media bombardment we have daily through the medium of advertising & TV. We are engulfed with images of the perfect face, the perfect body, all attainable at a price, we are in danger of becoming clones because it is becoming unacceptable to be different.
Why should we be identical, the human race, is unique, we are unique, each and everyone of us, and we should celebrate that fact.........
Find 8 differences but don't post the answers in here. FlickrMail me your answers and I'll name the winners and eventually the answers here as well in this Scavenge Challenge thread.
Entry for Scavenge Challenge February 2013: #1. Spot the differences!
Make up your Mind to Make a Difference
We’ve made up our mind to make a difference and unleashing human potential is our mission. Here’s how we do it…The Philanthropy of TheDOJO through Project Based Leadership Training. If someone is looking to make a difference in our world a simple start is performing an act of kindness for a child (most likely it will be remember throughout their life). Donate a toy with us this holiday season, see how below.
20,000 Smiles
Last year TheDOJO Toy Drive raised 230 toys for Toys for Tots, a military organization who distributes the toys to children who are without. Last year 20,000 toys were handed out, that equates to 20,000 smiles of children. What better way to instill a sense of hope in a child’s heart than through compassion? Toys for Tots also donates, all throughout the year, toys to children in our locality that are victims of disasters such as storms and house fires.
A martial arts education of intelligent curriculum curated by Sensei Dan Rominski at his martial art school located in Rutherford NJ. Visit our website www.thedojo.org Self-Defense for children at (201) 933-3050 or email SenseiDan@TheDOJO.org
Visit our website www.thedojo.org
Children Learn Focus, Discipline, Self-Control, Concentration, Fitness, Confidence, Respect, Have Better Self-Esteem, Healthy Eating and Self-Defense.
Adults Learn How to get and stay in shape, Stress Release, Fitness, Healthy Eating, Slow start program (come as you are), a coach in every class, Confidence, Focus, Self-Discipline, Positive Peer Group and it’s Fun!
Parents, Download your FREE Report The 7 Steps for Parents: Preventing Childhood Sexual Abuse Click HERE to visit our website
danrominski.squarespace.com/c...|/sexual-abuse-prevention
Sensei Dan is available for Scheduled TALKS & PRESENTATIONS.
Get more information about our Martial Arts Education of Intelligent Curriculum involving Everything Self-Defense at TheDOJO located in Rutherford NJ.
Contact Chief Instructor: Owner Sensei Dan Rominski at (201) 933-3050 or email SenseiDan@TheDOJO.org
Visit our website www.TheDOJO.org
TheDOJO - 52 Park Avenue, Rutherford, NJ 07070 - Phone: (201) 933-3050 - Text us for info here: (201) 838-4177
Our e-mail address: SenseiDan@TheDOJO.org - Our Facebook page: Like us at TheDOJO or Friend us DanRominski
Youtube Channel: www.youtube.com/user/DanRominski - Our Twitter www.twitter.com/danrominski
Instagram: www.instagram.com/danrominski
A link to where our school is on Google Maps: www.google.com/maps/place/TheD......
If you live in the Rutherford, NJ area and would like to inquire about our programs, reach out to us at the phone and/or e-mail or text addresses above. -Sensei Dan
Read our Blog at senseidanromisnki.blogspot.com...
Read our blog at www.DanRominski.Tumblr.com
We Teach Children, Teens and Adults from Rutherford, NJ; East Rutherford, NJ; Carlstadt, NJ; Kearny, NJ; Lyndhurst, NJ; Woodridge, NJ; Hackensack, NJ; Belleville, NJ; Bloomfield, NJ; Nutley, NJ; Clifton, NJ; Montclair, NJ; and surrounding areas.
No Matter The Martial Art we’ll help you accomplish your goals through our expertise or help you find a school that will best suit you.
Karate, Judo, Jujutsu, Juijitsu, Jiu-jitsu, Goju Ryu, Shorin Ryu, Kendo, Iaido, Aikido, Mixed Martial Arts, Grappling, Daito Ryu Aiki Jujutsu, Ryukyu Okinawa Kobudo, Shorin Ryu, TKD, Tae Kwon Do
Make up your Mind to Make a Difference
We’ve made up our mind to make a difference and unleashing human potential is our mission. Here’s how we do it…The Philanthropy of TheDOJO through Project Based Leadership Training. If someone is looking to make a difference in our world a simple start is performing an act of kindness for a child (most likely it will be remember throughout their life). Donate a toy with us this holiday season, see how below.
20,000 Smiles
Last year TheDOJO Toy Drive raised 230 toys for Toys for Tots, a military organization who distributes the toys to children who are without. Last year 20,000 toys were handed out, that equates to 20,000 smiles of children. What better way to instill a sense of hope in a child’s heart than through compassion? Toys for Tots also donates, all throughout the year, toys to children in our locality that are victims of disasters such as storms and house fires.
A martial arts education of intelligent curriculum curated by Sensei Dan Rominski at his martial art school located in Rutherford NJ. Visit our website www.thedojo.org Self-Defense for children at (201) 933-3050 or email SenseiDan@TheDOJO.org
Visit our website www.thedojo.org
Children Learn Focus, Discipline, Self-Control, Concentration, Fitness, Confidence, Respect, Have Better Self-Esteem, Healthy Eating and Self-Defense.
Adults Learn How to get and stay in shape, Stress Release, Fitness, Healthy Eating, Slow start program (come as you are), a coach in every class, Confidence, Focus, Self-Discipline, Positive Peer Group and it’s Fun!
Parents, Download your FREE Report The 7 Steps for Parents: Preventing Childhood Sexual Abuse Click HERE to visit our website
danrominski.squarespace.com/c...|/sexual-abuse-prevention
Sensei Dan is available for Scheduled TALKS & PRESENTATIONS.
Get more information about our Martial Arts Education of Intelligent Curriculum involving Everything Self-Defense at TheDOJO located in Rutherford NJ.
Contact Chief Instructor: Owner Sensei Dan Rominski at (201) 933-3050 or email SenseiDan@TheDOJO.org
Visit our website www.TheDOJO.org
TheDOJO - 52 Park Avenue, Rutherford, NJ 07070 - Phone: (201) 933-3050 - Text us for info here: (201) 838-4177
Our e-mail address: SenseiDan@TheDOJO.org - Our Facebook page: Like us at TheDOJO or Friend us DanRominski
Youtube Channel: www.youtube.com/user/DanRominski - Our Twitter www.twitter.com/danrominski
Instagram: www.instagram.com/danrominski
A link to where our school is on Google Maps: www.google.com/maps/place/TheD......
If you live in the Rutherford, NJ area and would like to inquire about our programs, reach out to us at the phone and/or e-mail or text addresses above. -Sensei Dan
Read our Blog at senseidanromisnki.blogspot.com...
Read our blog at www.DanRominski.Tumblr.com
We Teach Children, Teens and Adults from Rutherford, NJ; East Rutherford, NJ; Carlstadt, NJ; Kearny, NJ; Lyndhurst, NJ; Woodridge, NJ; Hackensack, NJ; Belleville, NJ; Bloomfield, NJ; Nutley, NJ; Clifton, NJ; Montclair, NJ; and surrounding areas.
No Matter The Martial Art we’ll help you accomplish your goals through our expertise or help you find a school that will best suit you.
Karate, Judo, Jujutsu, Juijitsu, Jiu-jitsu, Goju Ryu, Shorin Ryu, Kendo, Iaido, Aikido, Mixed Martial Arts, Grappling, Daito Ryu Aiki Jujutsu, Ryukyu Okinawa Kobudo, Shorin Ryu, TKD, Tae Kwon Do
A significant difference between this trek and my previous trek in the Everest region, is that we have seen very few porters. Most of the goods being carried to the villages further up the valley is being carried by mule trains.
Bonkers clearly thinks that Naomi should give him her dinner. Naomi has a different opinion (not to mention being bigger, smarter, and stronger (but with much duller claws) than Bonkers).
via Instagram #Israeli border police detain and search 6 #Palestinians leaving school in the #Hebron neighborhood of Salimeh. #TAKE_ACTION YOU can take a stand against injustice. YOU can resist oppression. Make a difference, click here: bit.ly/CPT_Donate #Assault #Detention #israelioccupation #freepalestine #peace #love #apartheid #israel #occupation #nonviolentresistance #oppression #Palestine #Hebron #الخليل #المقاومة #فلسطين #الاحتلال #שלום #אהבה #צדק #ירושלים #חברון #פלסטין #الحرية
Today is "Red nose day" in the U.K. it's a big charity event lasting all day, this years slogan is "Do something funny for money" you can see more info here
The Firehydrant..chapter one..Busted..an excerpt from a story set in 1973/74
After that first court appearance in the Windsor courthouse I was sitting in the back of the paddy wagon being transported along with a few other criminals to the county bucket a five minute or so ride from the courthouse. I was still pretty high, if you look at it from a different perspective, I’d been high for about four or five years. Once, years earlier at the Don Gaol in Toronto, I was serving a four day weekend when these two cool hip looking Yankee dudes asked me what the prices were on the streets for weed and hash, shit like that. They had all the hippie trappings, long hair, hawk like features from looking over their shoulders too often. Briefly I thought maybe they were cops, plants, but they were Americans and had just left the O.R. in Guelph where they knew my buddy Coop de Grasser who was the head of the inmate committee at that time. I knew the difference in body language and voices from that of common pigs, they gave me that term, “we’ve been high for seven years, then we got busted” they had a Cheech and Chong quality about them especially in the eyes, they were crazies too, coming from California I could grasp their earlier introduction to the Herb.
Sitting in that wagon, (nic nac paddy whack, paddy wagon gonna take ya back, lock ya up and thro away the keys) handcuffed to some murderer or child molester, it just didn’t feel right, or seem right. I was not in the same criminal category as “those” criminals. They were bad, I just sold recreational drugs, which made people happy. I looked out the unmarked vans wired windows at some familiar sights. There was the Ambassador Bridge the Hippies at school had marched on the year before protesting for an end to the war in Vietnam while the Simon and Garfunkel song A Bridge Over Troubled Water played over loudspeakers. It was the same bridge Pete Kalci and self used to score the Hookers, buy the case of Ripple Wine, cross over to attend the Ravi Shankar and Traffic concerts. The very same bridge that took you to Ann Arbour and all the hip people living near those Michigan campuses. I was feeling greasy, very dirty, sweat was stinking up my armpits, my new blue leisure jacket was all wrinkled from being used as a pillow in the police station cell the night before where I once again carved the initials CTuna into the institutional paint.
Prison is a very sobering experience. That morning in the courtroom a man in his thirties, a violent robber, he threatened the people he robbed, gave them a smack with a gun to get their attention, you’d think this guy was rock solid, wouldn’t crack, no matter what. He started to ball when they gave him eight years in Federal Penitentiary, His lawyer had pleaded for leniency as he had a wife and a new baby on the way. You could tell the judge wasn’t swayed by this plea bargaining, he had to protect society from this monster repeat offender. Downstairs in the dungeon like remand cells I stayed away from him he was so emotionally distraught he might of lashed out at me.
You don’t get to pick your company in jail. At the county prison where I would be held for six weeks waiting for my trial and sentencing I was put through the usual routines, fingerprinted, again as I had already been fingerprinted at the police station the night before when I was arrested. At the county jail your clothes are taken from you and put in a bag with your name on them. The intake officer instructs you to have a shower in this big stall that was doorless. Afterwards you are instructed to stand there while a another officer sprays you for lice with a pressure mister that resembles a brass plant and weed sprayer similar to one you would use in your garden to kill bugs. All loose things like lighters, smokes, pills, cough candies, change, had been put into a manila envelope with your name on it at the police station downtown. This included my teacher/friends Don and Carol’s car keys to their car which I had parked on one of the upper floors at the Toronto Airport before taking the flight to Windsor. The paddy wagon driver another pink faced anglo saxon refugee handed that manila envelope over to the guard on duty when we arrived through the heavy steel gates and through a small brick lined tunnel into the courtyard of the very old county jail, the steel gates clanked shut automatically.
The desk guard had each of us answer some rudimentary questions, sex, race, age, education, religion, he looked startled and upset when he heard I was Taoist (pronounced Daoist). This was my spiritual flavour of the month, a Chinese faith based on the worship of Nature.
My bed for the next six weeks was located on the second tier of the three tiered old thick stone building built I would think in the last century. On this tier there were three other wards each ward holding a dozen cages/cells/cribs, each cell comprised of a steel bed a dull once stainless steel washbasin and a similar steel toilet without a seat, a piece of four inch square stainless steel was mounted above the sink, the mirror. The tier was designed to allow a single guard to patrol all four wards on the floor from the command centre located in the centre of the unit. There were always two guards on each floor one in the booth, the other always roaming. A roll of toilet paper had been issued to me as well as a cheap toothbrush and some tooth powder a threadbare facecloth and a towel big enough to dry your face and hands. A twenty five watt bulb glowed in the ceiling above, it would be on from six in the morning, till lights out at ten.
Home Sweet Home. My roommates were of various criminal backgrounds, there was a tall skinny biker with greasy yellow hair like the kind a worker at a wrecking yard might have, he was in for rape, his partner slept in the next set of cells, a portly unshaven fellow possibly related to a black bear or Kentucky mountain person, he was also in for rape, the two of them belonged to the Loners M.C, the local biker club. Next to me in the adjoining cell was a guy named Bill Hoskins who was quiet, had a scared look on his face, hadn’t shaved in a while, slightly receding, looked a bit like Garth Hudson of the Band, he was in on a smuggling marijuana charge and was not pleased with his circumstances. Little Mikey was the ward comic, shit disturber, go between, who was the one who bridged social classes and intermingled with all types, a chatterbox. There were a few quiet chaps and there was a young likeable guy all tattooed with crudely tattooed LOVE and HATE on his knuckles who it seemed had spent most of his young life in jail. He was just hoping to get sent to a prison in the area The Burtch Institution, he spoke of Burtch the way we would usually talk about home. Besides this motley crew there was one guy who everyone liked, I don’t recall his name, it might have been Jim he was coming down from using junk, he was dark haired and sort of reminded me of the Veteres from my youth, my neighbourhood Mt.Dennis, this Jim, he was street wise, quick to talk, he’d been around for his young twenty something age.
In very quick fashion a new person is sized up by the powers on the ward of any prison in any country, and it isn’t very long before the new prisoners place in the prison pack is established. For some reason my popularity irritated the power and after a few days I was asked to give the bad guys smokes while we were out in the small yard strolling around getting fresh air, I gave this some thought and passed out a few TMs as tailor made cigarettes were called but not without some resistance, the bikers weren’t very pleased to have a smart ass comparatively wealthy guy like myself around who might wrestle the minds of the weaker members of the pack from them.
As usual I became quite popular, my ability to tell stories and write stories about the fabled life in Toronto, the apartment building full of drugs (Rochdale) had every ones eyes bulging out. By this time two black brothers from Detroit were in the same ward with a minor infraction, they passed themselves off as bona fide black 'gangstas', I bought their story, they needed a connection to some crystal meth in TO and I turned them on to a pair of bikers who were living in the west end and whom I thought might appreciate the referral. As it was I had a list of phone numbers hidden in my shoes under the lining which along with some of my street clothes I was allowed to wear after they had been fumigated and cleaned since I was on remand and not yet officially a ward of the government. The black guys got bail fast, I never saw them again. Later in life the guys I referred them to paid me a visit as I worked the day shift at the Queensbury Arms, they weren’t pleased with my introduction. It could have been curtains for me, had I not been able to think on my feet. They thought the black guys may have been cops..
There was a crooked screw (guard) on the floor who for a price would smuggle in drugs and other contraband for those who had money and cravings. His name was Sidney and he was very tight with the diverse criminal element. In every prison man ever created there have been bent guards. Up to this time in life I had only known the soft side of Windsor, the niceties of the University scene, this was a much different perspective as the other folk I was now incarcerated with thought this situation as one of their schools of higher learning, a step in the ladder of criminality.
To help make time pass we played cards at the larger than picnic table sized metal tables that were bolted to the floor along with metal benches that were also bolted I suppose so no one would use them to hit each other with. A box shaped colour TV set sat in one corner of the ward. It was hung on one of those hospital style adjustable mounts and it was only put on at certain times, in the evenings from 7 to 10 or a bit later if something that was important was being shown. On weekends that TV might be on all day, starting with cartoons in the morning, which I recall quite a few of the people enjoying, then sports, and then hockey at night. There wasn’t much to do on weekends everybody’s routines ground to a halt.
The news story of the day was Richard Nixon’s impeachment from office. The previous year it seemed as if I had lost touch with events in the world. On reflection it may have been a lack of interest in the news that television and other media fed you. Lacking very many options at this time I began to join the herd and watched and laughed at All in The Family. The dreaded hockey games were on Saturday nights. Hockey is a Canadian staple and there were fierce conversations about various teams. Being so close to Detroit made for a lively rivalry, there weren’t as many teams in the league, it was an easier sport to appreciate.
Besides these time fillers I wrote pages and pages of short stories, some lyrical, like poems or songs. One in particular was a rhyming story about a “Gypsy Caravan” that parked under the full moon and where my lost love wept for me as I’d been sent to war. There were numerous verses and choruses, it was in my eyes a grand work. Several of the inmates would gather around the table as I would recite these stories, I recall Jim the Junkie giving the story his blessing and that was quite important for me as his sense of beauty and appreciation was different than the others. The other prisoners on remand held him in awe for some reason, he was like a Robin Hood type, a criminal All Star born and raised in Windsor. He got out on bail and a short while later word filtered back that he had died of an overdose of heroin and I always felt good that I had painted this nice scene for him of gypsies and love along a riverbank in golden days, like a Van Morrison lyric and his praise still ranks with the praise of others given me over the years.
Perhaps that is where my new nickname came from, that story about the gypsies. Around then someone tagged me with the title ‘Gypsy’ and it stuck right through my prison life. It took a while at first to get used to the new title, after all, nicknames were nothing new to me, as a kid I had been called Brooks by Bud Walford after Brooks Robinson the ballplayer with the Baltimore Orioles, Barb Sue Kevin and Shane often called me Weaver “Hey Weave” when we were younger playing cards on Victoria Blvd, then early on I used to carve my initials into the poured concrete sidewalks all over our area called Mount Dinky. C Tuna I would carve, using a stick or a piece of rock. Around this time there was a cartoon character called Charlie Tuna who was seen in tv advertisements for the Starkist Tuna company, there was a jingle with the ads and the ads were based on the premise that only the finest Tunas were good enough for Starkist customers and old Charlie a suave, Jackie Gleason type of Tuna with slicked back hair was always thrown back in to the sea. C Tuna was scraped also in the odd prison cell of Toronto’s #12, #31 and #52 Divisions as well as the gritty Don Gaol and now Windsor. One time, in Toronto I woke up from a drunken stupor and a police man at the #52 Divison asked me, “are you Charles Gregory aka C Tuna?” I replied I was, and was curtly charged with being drunk in a public place. I went back to sleep and was released in the morning, I couldn’t have been much more than sixteen.
My long relationship with the drink started around fifteen or so. While hanging out at Nick’s Pool Hall on Weston Road near Eglinton I met guys who were a bit older and liked to drink, especially on the weekends. An older guy named Bud a good pool player would go to the beer store and buy us a box of beer, I had developed a taste for it. Today, when I reflect on this behavior I have difficulty in recalling why I drank so much to the point often of blacking out as the consumption of beer became mixed with that of hard alcohol, whiskey, scotch etcetera. A common Saturday night would find me drinking a dozen beers with a mickey of Johnny Walker red as a chaser. At one time, I had been arrested six weekends in a row for drinking under age, drinking in a public place, drunk and disorderly…My mom was fed up bailing me out on Sunday mornings at the local police holding cells, located in the police stations, 31 division and 12 division. The fine for such behavior was usually $25 or $35 dollars or three days in jail. Not once do I recall anyone saying, this boy needs counseling. I may have been such a ‘tough nut’ that they felt it would have been a waste of time.
My friend George Holmes loved shouting out “here comes Tuna Fish” up at the corner of Keele and Eglinton during my greaseball period. This period took place between frat days and hippy days. Around town in my greaseball days that name C Tuna was recognizable up in the Junction, over on St Clair at Blackthorn and as well at Lansdowne and St Clair, also farther west towards Jane and Wilson and in Weston proper. I suppose the greasers up at Dufferin and Eglinton like Kenny Tanaka and Danny MacDonald had also known my AKA. It wasn’t that I was a prize fighter or anything a moniker was more a Title like that of a knight or a duke, sort of a right of passing, like a coming of age. Lots of guys had nick names just like the TV gangsters of the day, or the good guy bad guys in cowboy films. Names that quickly come to mind are, Hook, Coop de Grassser, Gooch, Scarecrow, Mars, Jake the Snake, Crazy Ivan, Fat Jack Hamilton, Mod, Vern the Tern, Dump, Butler, The Kid, Toot, Count, one guy, my friend Dave Wellwood had several nick names, The Goat, News, The General, Pee Wee and on and on.
Chassly Gangbusters was a favourite of the Hook and Coop years, Herbie used to like calling me Storch it was his invention he’d say it ‘Storch’ then back off a few steps in case I’d give him a smack, I always gave him a nasty sneer when he called me that. Charlie, Chuck, Chas, but almost never Charles. My name comes from a friend of my dads, Charles Bishop who died in the second war. Lately Schmiddy has been calling me the Kaliph of Keene which I really like. In the tradition of moms father Leon Yamel, actually Noel Lemay I’ve often tagged myself as Selrahc Yrogerg, this dates back to my saying words backwards while I waited to get on the field at the Smythe Park baseball league.
After a few days in the ward I could almost feel the drugs leaving my system and after two or three weeks I’d never been so clean, voluntarily. Even when I had the Hepatitis at Rochdale earlier that winter I was toking the finest hash and bud available. I must admit there was a new clarity to my mental comprehension, I could not adjust myself with other substances, alcohol included.
The food was awful, repetitive, I smoked like a chimney, there was a few hundred dollars in my pocket when I was picked up, I don’t recall the figure exactly. These funds in prison buy a lot of tobacco! To keep the peace I gave out as many smokes as required to avoid the bad guys wanting to shank me. We played cards night and day to pass the time, if anything I can remember that in particular, the time passing real slowly. That’s what more seasoned guys were saying that once you got where you were going, once you were sentenced you would find that your days took on structure and time was easier to do. This kind of time, waiting to be sentenced is called Dead Time and rightly so.
Michael Snyder the lawyer supplied free via the government legal aid program was a little lame in court during my first appearance. I took him aside and chewed him out. I wrote a letter to the court system, maybe the judge or the Attorney Generals Office, I’m not sure. The crooked screw Sidney read the letter and informed the lawyer of my dissatisfaction this got his attention and he did a fine job afterwards. I wonder if that letter ever made it out of that place.
Bill Hoskins as it turns out was in for a serious smuggling rap that he was not telling any of us about. He was on a sailing boat that had come up from the Bahamas area loaded with marijuana. The pot was hidden in false walls built into the customized ship, tons and tons of gange. As advisory counsel for my defense he nixed my hand written ten page dialogue about my historical accounting of the events leading up to my arrest, from the dysfunctional family situation with big Al at home which I used as my starting point in the dialogue, nixed the U.I.C. appeals process where I was cut off pogey for quitting my position without proper reason, nixed it all. He said to get a bunch of people to write letters who could speak for your good side, which in point of fact wasn’t so long ago, just the previous year I was bringing the teachers apples and cleaning the chalk off of the blackboards.
Turns out Sidney the crooked guard did me a favour by reading the mail that I had addressed to the law society and others regarding my lawyers lameness. When the lawyer caught wind of this he rushed in to appease me. Three weeks in the bucket passed and I was anxious to get on with things, when asked how I wished to plead it was a no brainer, I pled guilty. In court the judge found me guilty of all the charges, trafficking in narcotics, marijuana, hashish, peyote, acid, there was no blow left and I guess they didn’t bother to analyze the salt like crystal meth, there wasn’t much of it. I sat in the dock, again resolved, resolved not to break down and cry when sentenced like that other guy had done. I had to wait three more weeks for sentencing as the judge had asked for a pre-sentence report, which is like a record of your life, the details of your life, your failures and your successes if any. I recall finding this worrisome, although in my mind, having recently attended university under trying (at home) circumstances as a mature student, I felt I was on the right track, just jumped off the track momentarily.
That morning back in the court holding cells this big young Coloured man, I repeat, this was a big, strong athletic mean and angry twenty year old who wore those thick soled, tan coloured boots that motorcycle riders wore in the day, Fry Boots was their name. A diddler, a full grown twenty something farm kid from the sticks had just been returned to the holding cells in the basement of the court house, he walked with his head down, ashamed and afraid at the same time. As if in a movie the cell area was dimly lit an invitation for terror.
The farm kid went into a cell at the back of the block, none of the cell doors were locked. In court it came out that a couple of young girls had been molested the day before, quite young, under ten or so. You know how they say the jail system has its own way of getting folk, well this kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That big negro boy took his hatred out on that boy, he went into that cell and put the boots to the farm kids face, his gut, his balls, his legs, you name it, he got hit real hard. Nobody, no prisoner, no guard interfered I just watched stunned, I didn’t try to break it up, I just watched in my own kind of terror, that’s the way it can be in prison for diddlers they get no mercy, they are garbage. The guards very slowly came and broke it up, put the diddler in a solitary area, by this time his assailant had left the cell, he just brushed pass us all, me the other prisoners, the guards and took a seat in a cell holding his head in his hands, the screws never even bothered to ask what had happened, then we all went to the jailhouse in the paddy wagon, the diddler got separate transportation. Funny, I never saw that black guy again, he may have gone up to court and been given bail.
At the county bucket they put the diddler in a cell on my ward. That night we got him there as well but in a different way. Myself and others made a mixture of shit and piss, cold tea, spit and saliva, toilet water any vile substance we could find and poured it all over him as he lay in a back corner of the ward, not saying a word, afraid for his life, afraid to say anything, I mean we really humiliated him, I was a big part of this humiliation, this hazing, it was worse than a military blackballing. I’d been involved as a recipient in a mild fraternity hazing, I suppose that is where I got the idea. Over the years I’ve had a lot of remorse about this event but I still hold that this punishment, this prison tar and feathering was better than him losing his life, his balls or an eye or an ear.
They moved the big scared blonde haired blue eyed farm boy diddler from the ward that night put him into solitary confinement. In the visiting room the next day Frankie Herbert’s dad Frank Sr. came to visit, my first visit in nearly a month. Mr. Herbert worked as a travelling salesman for a big novelty company, he toured Ontario selling kitschy stuff like bingo markers, and roulette wheels and all sorts of things fundraising organizations use in their work and that large corporate stores stocked. At the same time Frank Sr. was visiting the diddler was visiting his dad, telling his dad through his pulverized face that I was one of his enemies, one of the perpetrators of his black eyes and bruises. That diddler, he don’t know how close he come to dying in that cell downtown. Frank Sr. he just looked at this farm kid with the shiners, looked at me, Frank Sr. he knew what the score was, he just shook his head, my father figure, surrogate dad visiting his son in gaol. Years earlier, Mr. Herbert had put up bail for me when the RCMP had placed a bag of pot in our groups car (actually a stretch Cadillac limo) as we tried to enter the Rockwood Festival. We had heard via the radio that everyone was getting busted that heading to the concert so we had stopped and stashed our goods in the woods, a ways from the entrance. The other five people were given bail but I was refused because of a previous minor offence. The charges were all thrown out in court later. I told the RCMP, this guy last name of Ryan, that if I saw him on the streets, I would kick the shit of him!
A couple of university school chums paid a visit one day after I had been sentenced, Tim, a bright musician type from the university showed up with my old baked and breaded sardine dinner girlfriend, Mary Lewis. That was kind of them to show up at that depressing place, it was the last time I ever saw or heard from them except when I contacted Mary Lewis and she sent me a year book from the university. A book I looked at maybe twice then mysteriously wrapped in several windings of masking tape for thirty years and hid in a milk crate with several old photo albums on top, securing its hiding place, was that my soul in that book? Who was that guy?
Bill the Smuggler had a birthday card sent in from someone on the outside, in the card, on the nose of the clown they had poured some liquid LSD and Bill did some, offered me a taste, I declined, felt the surroundings not conducive to a good trip. Bill laid some on the bikers to secure their loyalty. Now here you have these three or four biker types running around all looney, higher than kites, grooving to the little AM radio playing in the corner, digging the tunes, staring at hallucinations only they could see. In a way it was like the lawyer in Easy Rider getting turned on, except these were bad guys, getting all soft and mushy, I stayed in my crib that night until the party settled down. I think I was scared the bikers might be able (through the power of acid) be able to see my true feelings for them. Like many a night I read to sleep. Dostoyevsky offered imaginable experiences to escape to.
Next day in the yard the bikers were hovering together, conspiring, they were good at that, at joining forces, intimidation by numbers. At some point this middle aged black inmate took an epileptic fit, started shaking all over, fell to the ground, I thought he had been shot, the guards blew their stupid whistles they thought someone had beaten the guy up. We all had to stand at attention while the screws came and took the fellow away on a stretcher. It was a cool forty five degree F morning, the sun was shining. The heavy grey cloth winter coats we’d been issued had to be turned in when we went back inside, it felt so good being out in the yard, the fresh air, the bit of Spring green showing on the small lawn. Another inmate pointed out where they used to do the hangings, there remained a shuttered doorway a few levels up I was also shown where they used to bury the bodies they had hung, this was becoming a real adult experience.