Lifetime Sentences

By Jim Hagarty
1991

It comes as quite a disappointment to learn that the Canadian government has once again given in to protesters, in this case the group Victims of Violence, and killed – pardon me – cancelled a planned conference for murderers.

After all, killers have feelings too. (Well, okay, they’re a little short in the feelings category but they do have lots of rights, don’t they?)

At a low cost to the taxpayer of only $20,000, the government had planned to hold the three-day conference for 100 convicted killers – 13 women and 87 men – at Joyceville penitentiary near Kingston to examine how well treatment programs are working for long-term inmates. The convicts, all sentenced to life in prison, had also planned to discuss ways of lobbying Ottawa to drop the parole eligibility date for first-degree murder from 25 to 15 years.

The prison’s acting warden, Janis Grant, said correctional authorities and the inmates were planning to exchange ideas in a “brainstorming” session. One critic of that plan, who cannot be named, wondered whether or not it would be difficult to have a “brainstorming” session when there were so few brains among the proposed participants on both sides.

Picky, picky, picky.

The plan was to bus inmates to Joyceville from prisons across Ontario for workshops, speeches and “mingling.” Apparently, the event was becoming such a popular attraction, some inmates swore they’d kill to get there. They were promptly informed, however, that they had already fulfilled that part of the registration requirements.

In a similar vein, some had planned to go to the convention dressed to kill but this was being discouraged for the same reasons.

Nevertheless, given the acknowledged tendencies of the conference delegates, it was expected after a few of the “mingling” sessions, conference attendance would drop from 100 to about 75 by the second day and only 50 or so by Day 3. Some observers did concede this possibility as perhaps the only positive outcome of the conference.

Professional bleeding heart June Callwood was scheduled to speak at the conference. An informed source said she planned to tell the murderers that they are fine; that it is society that is all screwed up. It was predicted her speech would go over very well.

Workshop subjects were rumoured to range from, “Dress To Impress At Your Next Parole Hearing,” to “Changing Murder’s Image For The ’90s.”

One seminar entitled, “How Stereotypes Are Hurting The Serial Killer,” was to include suggestions on how mass murderers could enhance their public relations, tips such as marrying in prison, finding God, writing books, etc.

All in all, this conference had all the signs of knocking ’em dead, so to speak.

But then along came Victims of Violence, angry that those who had brutally killed their relatives and friends should be wined and dined at the taxpayers’ expense at a three-day conference. They wanted the $20,000 to be spent to help police solve more murders. And though they were successful in convincing the government to cancel the event, I fear they may have missed a glorious opportunity for at least a little revenge.

After all, anyone who has attended a three-day conference, especially a government conference, complete with workshops, seminars and lectures, would know how severe a punishment such an experience can be.

And after a few good government “brainstorming” sessions, the next lives some of those convicts might have thought about taking could very well have been their own.

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

I once owned a very old car.
As old, I guess, as cars ever are.
It was rusty and crude
When I drove it crowds booed.
It went fast but not very far.

By Jim Hagarty
2016

There is a beautiful old church in my town which is being torn down this week. I can hardly believe it. I haven’t been keeping up with the local news lately so it comes as a shock.

I have never been a member of this church, but it has served as a community centre for years so my family and I have had lots of reasons to go there. We will miss it.

There were not enough church members left to keep it going. In my town, there are a total of four churches of this same Christian denomination. Too many for a town this size. So the members of this church joined with the members of one of the others and moved to that other one. The one being demolished needed repairs and there was just not enough resources to do that.

Our community loses significant buildings this way and has lost them for years. And for years I have argued that once a building such as a church becomes such a beautiful and significant part of a community, it should become a community responsibility to keep it going.

If you think I am talking about taxes, you would be right. Not a popular position but once these beautiful old buildings are gone, they are gone. The community is diminished.

We are a tourist town. We have five live theatres and attract a million people a year to a place with a population of 35,000. Soon, there will be one less attraction for them to see.

That’s a shame.

Canadian blogger Al Bossence (thebayfieldbunch.com) posted these photos today of yesteryear’s methods of harvest in Huron County, Ontario.

By Jim Hagarty
1991

The other day, I asked an employee at a building supply store where they kept their pails of drywall compound. Very helpfully, he instructed me to follow him. When we got to the right aisle, I thanked him, grabbed a small pail of plaster off the shelf and turned to leave.

“Need any drywall tape with that?” he suddenly asked me.

“No, thanks,” I answered.

“How about nails? Corner bead?”

“I have lots, thanks,” I said, a trifle irritated.

In a coffee shop on the way home, I asked the waitress for a medium regular coffee to go.

“Would you like a fresh muffin with that?” she asked me.

“No thank you,” I answered, sharply. “Not today.”

And later the same day, after I’d placed my order for a cheeseburger and milkshake at a restaurant drive-through, a woman’s voice came back on the intercom:

“Any fries with that?” she enquired.

That was it. I couldn’t take it any more.

“I don’t know,” I yelled back. “What do you think I should do?”
There was a pause.

“I think you should have some,” said the woman, calmly.

“NO THANKS!” shouted I.

When I pulled up to pay, the woman smiled as she handed me my change.

“Personally, I just can’t resist those fries,” she said.

“Well then, I tell you what,” I said, through gritted teeth.
“You buy ’em and I’ll eat ’em!”

“Have a nice day,” she said smiling, not the least bit ruffled.
And as I sat in a park, eating my lunch with no fries, I asked myself an important question:

“Is it them or is it me?”

After a little soul searching, I had my answer.

It was me.

In this competitive age, when it’s getting harder and harder to make a living, all’s fair in pursuit of more sales, I concluded. It’s what keeps our economy going.

But now I am left to wonder why this marketing technique of asking people to buy just a little bit more than they’ve already agreed to buy, isn’t a more universally used strategy.

After you’ve bought 30 cattle at a livestock barn, for example:
“Would you like any sheep with that?” the auctioneer should surely say.

Or when you’ve ordered a new truck.

“Would you like a small car with that?” would be the obvious question.

Still, I sometimes long for the good old days when merchants sent you away from their stores with a feeling they were happy you’d spent a few dollars there.

Not disappointed that you hadn’t spent enough.

The changing colours of the leaves as captured by blogger Al Bossence (thebayfieldbunch.com) during his travels around Huron County, Ontario, Canada.

By Jim Hagarty
1989

I found a boy’s wrist watch on my lawn and suddenly, every 10-year-old boy in the neighbourhood has lost one.

The day I discovered it on the ground near a parking lot where some serious skateboarding had been taking place, I asked a group of boys nearby if any of them had lost a watch.

“I did,” a boy on a skateboard piped up immediately. “Whatzit look like?”

“You tell me,” I answered him, suspiciously.

“Ah, is it black?” he asked me.

“Yes it is,” I replied, encouraged.

“Ah, is it round?” the boy ventured.

“Yes,” I said again, but my doubts began returning.

“Ah, does it have numbers on it?” the boy said.

“Uh huh,” I agreed, by now convinced I was not talking to the owner of the watch.

“Well, that’s my watch all right,” he smiled, triumphantly.

“No it isn’t,” I said.

And, not the least bit disappointed, the boy skated away on his board to spread the bulletin on the Underground Neighbourhood Kids On Bikes Network that a watch had been lost.

Reaction was swift.

“You the guy with the watch?” another boy asked when I came to the front door.

“I am,” I answered, cautiously.

“Could I have a look at it?” he asked.

“No you can’t, “ I said. “Describe it for me.”

Like the first boy, he started off right. It was black, round, with numbers.

But then he got bogged down in those darned specifics.

“Ah, does it have those five Olympic rings on it?”

“No.”

The next day brought another boy to the door, in search of his lost watch. By this time, though, I decided to pass out a hint.

“It has a picture of somebody on it,” I said. “Who is it?”

“Ah, Hulk Hogan?” the boy said.

“No,” I answered. His other guesses – Randy Savage, Wayne Gretzky, and Indiana Jones were also all wrong.

Wednesday night, another watch hunter came biking up the driveway and I began to feel like a game show host asking contestants to choose Door No. 1, Door No. 2 or Door No. 3. And I discovered that boys have a terrific capacity to remember what a watch looks like, in general terms, but they have a heck of a time recalling the finer details.

After getting by the first few hurdles, the boy asked: “Does it have a calculator on it?”

It does not.

And I am still the keeper of the watch.

It’s black.

It’s round.

It has numbers on it.

Name the person in the picture . . .

And it’s yours.