IT'S NOT SUCH A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL

I have come to the conclusion that the world is basically divided into two camps: those who love Disney theme parks and those who hate them and everything they stand for. Ever since I was seven years old and my mother brought home the 45 rpm record of IT’S A SMALL WORLD, I dreamed of visiting this magical place called Disneyland.

I have yet to make it to Anaheim, but have been to Florida’s Disney World on three occasions. On one trip my brother and I stayed an entire week in a hotel within the park, completely immersing ourselves in the experience.


My first trip, however, was a different story. I had just played a New Year’s concert in Miami and had a few days free, so I decided to head north to Orlando. I recall the thrill I felt when I first saw the gates of the Magic Kingdom, and once inside I was determined to completely immerse myself in the glow of this wondrous place.


I felt a little conspicuous, a single man enjoying the Dumbo ride and the Country Bear Jamboree on my own, but I had been anticipating this visit since I was seven and was not going to miss the chance to fully enjoy the Disney experience. After several hours of glory I emerged from Cinderella’s Castle and heard, faintly in the distance, the siren’s song that had first ignited my burning desire to visit this place.


There it was; the “It’s A Small World” ride. Excitedly I joined the line of riders, noting that I was the oldest one there by a long shot, which I imagine was the reason the ride operator seated me by myself in the front row of the boat once we finally boarded.

For those who have never experienced this ride, let me paint a picture. A large boat with several rows, each seating numerous people, floats through various tableaux of what the 1950’s Disney designers assumed to represent the world’s many cultures. Creepy animatronic dolls, all of them frighteningly identical other than their skin colour, move around clumsily while the well-known Sherman Brothers’ song, “It’s A Small World After All” plays endlessly.

Of course this is magical to the average 7 year old, and I revelled in the memory of the hours I had spent playing that old 45. This ride might be old and outdated, but its very simplicity harkened back to a simpler time.

Then unexpectedly our journey came to a grinding halt. Something was clearly wrong with the mechanism that moved the boat, but I assumed it would soon be corrected. I then became acutely aware that I was the sole adult on the ride, sitting alone in the front row with dozens of small children behind me.

I turned around and found several kids already in tears, no doubt terrified that we would be stuck in this terrifying place forever. I attempted to talk to them but, as most kids today have rightly learned, one never talks to strangers - especially creepy guys sitting all by themselves on a children’s ride. I was beginning to feel like a Disney villain, kidnapping frightened children and spiriting them away to my evil island.

Miraculously the sound system had somehow managed to escape any breakdown, since the song continued to play. Incessantly. Relentlessly. The minutes ticked past. 10, 15, 20...all the while a chorus of hysterical children sobbed along with the mocking lyric, “It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears…”

How had I never realized how insipid this song was? The United Nations and the European Court of Human Rights have both banned the use of loud music in interrogations; the U.S. military even uses the term “music torture.” How had any evil-doer not yet discovered the power of this single recording?

Almost a full half hour into this ordeal, the boat finally jerked back into motion and headed toward the exit doors. As we emerged into the sunlight I dreaded what the mobs of panic-stricken parents were about to see. There I sat, front and centre, the evil Captain Hook with my crew of weeping children, waving feebly as we returned from Neverland.

Shortly thereafter Disney decided to revamp this ride. Perhaps they discovered that not everyone in the world looks the same, or that their song could far more easily be used for evil than good, or maybe they decided to no longer allow solitary adults to take a boatload of kids into a dark building for half an hour.

I’m not sure. All I do know is that, should I ever again visit It’s A Small World, I will be certain to take along two things. Another adult and earplugs.

Goofy and I share a tender moment.

www.randyvancourt.com

THE FAREWELL TOUR

“Like a Rhinestone Cowboy…”

The well-known lyric rang out over the warm late August evening as we all stood, hundreds of us, listening to Glen Campbell perform the kick-off to his Farewell Tour. The 2011 Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto was the beginning of his final international tour, one that will see him perform dozens of dates throughout several countries.

Earlier in 2011 Campbell announced to the world that he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Although otherwise in good health, his memory is fading, which is a terrible thing to happen to anyone, including folks who make their living remembering lyrics.

When you watch Glen Campbell pick a guitar you know you’re seeing a master at work. Every note placed exactly right, his hands fly across the fret board at lightning speed with an ease and grace that almost makes the instrument an extension of his body.

50 years in show business and over 70 albums have seen him take 74 trips up the charts, with 27 songs hitting the Top 10. Add in the hundreds of songs on which he performed early in his career as a session musician (everything from “Tequila” to “The Unicorn”) and toss in his time touring as a member of the Beach Boys, and his talent has been a major part of the soundtrack of the past half-century.

I recall watching “The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour” on television, listening to his countless records, and seeing him in the original film version of “True Grit.” During his concert he joked that it was probably his acting skills that helped win the Best Actor Oscar for John Wayne.

I noticed the other day that Tommy Hunter is also on a Farewell Tour. Canada’s Country Gentleman is taking one last opportunity to tour the country and perform for the thousands of people who love and remember his music.

What a great idea. Farewell Tours offer the chance to share memories one more time with people who love you. It doesn’t necessarily have to suggest that you’re getting ready to leave anytime soon. I mean, how many times did Frank Sinatra retire?

Everyone dreams about leaving behind a legacy, something for which they’ll be remembered long after they’re gone. Artists are in a great position for this sort of thing, as the act of producing a painting, song, poem or novel automatically means you’ve given a small piece of yourself over to immortality. Whether anyone enjoys what you’ve left behind is, of course, another matter altogether.

We have a natural need to feel that we’ve left that footprint, something that shouts to the world, “I was here. I made a difference.” Most of us barrel thorough our lives, never thinking of keeping a record of who we are or what we did. But nothing is more important, or easier, than leaving a legacy.

One example we have in Canada is an amazing effort called The Memory Project (www.thememoryproject.com). The goal of this project is to create a record of Canada’s participation in WWII and the Korean War, as seen through the eyes of thousands of veterans. If you are a vet, or know one who hasn’t heard about this endeavor, I urge you to check it out and share your memories.

For the rest of us who didn’t fight Hitler, this website can be an inspiration. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all started writing down our memories, our personal histories, our unique recollections of events we’ve lived and people we’ve known? If writing is too difficult turn on a recorder or video camera and recount your stories in your own words. This way our personal histories won’t be left to others to interpret, because only we can relate our own story first-hand.

The stories don’t have to be amazing; they don’t have to be about curing diseases or ending wars. Just share the simple tales, the funny anecdotes and family histories.

Anyone who has ever lost a loved one knows the feeling of wishing we could have just one more conversation together. Leaving behind our unique lives in our own words is the greatest gift we can offer.

Glen Campbell knows his memory is fading, so he’s making the gargantuan effort of touring one last time, to share his music with his fans. Tommy Hunter has decided it’s time to hang up his guitar but also wants one more opportunity to perform for his audience. Most of us don’t have the knowledge of when we’re going to leave this world, which makes it all the more important to tell our own story while we can.

This could be a good New Year’s resolution, to take the time to write or record the story of your life so far. Think of it as your own Memory Project because, let’s face it, none of us wants to think that we’re taking a Farewell Tour anytime soon.

And take inspiration from the words Tommy Hunter used each week for almost three decades to close his show, “And be the Good Lord willing, we’ll see you again real soon.”

www.randyvancourt.com

A CHRISTMAS REVEILLON

A CHRISTMAS REVEILLON

by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

'Twas the night before Christmas back home on the farm

And the wood stove was roaring to keep the house warm.

Papa in his nightshirt and Maman in her hat

Had just wound up the clock and had put out the cat.

I had turned down the covers and was just sliding under

When someone knocked on the door and it sounded like thunder.

Papa looked out the window and I heard him swear,

Well "Sacre maudit, it's your big brother, Pierre."

"Should we let him in?" he asked of Maman.

"He's carrying gifts and some good whiskey blanc."

She opened the door up, but then Maman said,

"It's very late, Pierre, we're just going to bed."

Well uncle Pierre laughed and he said, "Yes, I know

But it's your turn this year to hold Reveillon.

"We would have held it but our house is small

While your house is big and there's room for us all.

Aunt Denise has the turkey, Maman the tortiere

And you'd better get dressed 'cause they're all coming here."

Well the first to arrive was our fat cousin, Rose

And she kissed all the family before wiping her nose.

She had the twins with her, which was not at all strange,

I could tell by the smell they both needed a change.

Then cousin Jean-Paul, who is just five foot two,

He brought the beer and it was all he could do

To carry two cases from the truck to the door,

He said, "If that's not enough I can go back for more."

Aunt Denise then came in with a turkey so big

That Papa remarked t'was the size of a pig.

She laughed, "We'll have time for some drinking and fun

Then we'll all eat well when the turkey is done."

Theophile had his fiddle, Aunt Claire had some spoons

And we knew we were in or some old-fashioned tunes.

Then came uncle Paul and his daughter, Celine

And I stopped feeling grouchy and started to grin.

She kissed all the family and that was real nice

And I felt pretty good, because me she kissed twice.

Theophile took his fiddle and started a tune

While Aunt Claire joined in with a couple of spoons.

Then uncle Pierre said, "That makes me want to dance,"

So he jumped to his feet and he started to prance.

Uncle Pierre's a big man and he has a large belly

That shook when he danced like a bowl full of jelly.

Then Maman cried out, "You know Pierre, you're not small

And you're shaking the pictures all down off the wall,"

Old Joe, he got drunk (he's the family disgrace)

Sneaked into the kitchen with a grin on his face

And Grandmere remarked, "A good thing I went in

He was basting the turkey with a bottle of gin."

Grandpere was playing with the kids, in the hall,

They were shouting and laughing and having a ball.

They were getting real noisy when I heard Maman yell

"What are you kids up to, what's that awful smell?"

I was going to tell her but before I could start

One kid laughed, "It's Grandpere, he just made a big fart."

It was a fine party, of that there's no doubt,

Because nobody left, although several passed out.

And we sang the old songs that we all knew so well,

We drank and we danced and raised all sorts of Hell.

We ate up the turkey and drank all the beer,

Wished each other "Bonne Fete,"

and said, "We'll see you next year."

And Celine remarked as she gave me a kiss,

"What a shame Les Anglais don't have parties like this."

www.randyvancourt.com