by John Scott- Special to the Observer
Feb 3, 2022, VOL. 3 ISSUE 12
“Back by popular demand” doesn’t apply if nobody actually asks you to return. So I’ll simply say “I’m back.”
I have no doubt I wasn’t missed and I take full responsibility for all the negative events that have happened from the time I arrived in Fort Erie until now.
When Sweet Sue (Party of the Second Part) and I arrived, Fort Erie was enjoying an amazing population boom. According to the Canada Census numbers, in the years from 1961 to 1971, Fort Erie had grown by 156%, from a paltry 9,027 to an impressive 23,113 people. Once I became the editor of The Times-Review all that changed.
In the next 10 years, the growth was a meager 4.3% and the population struggled to reach the 24,000 mark.
Friends and family, of course, tried to soften my sense of shame by pointing out that Fort Erie grew so quickly in the previous decade only because it was made into a Regional town and gobbled up Ridgeway, Crystal Beach, Stevensville and all the territory between there and Black Creek.
But I knew better. Short of wars and plagues, population numbers don’t stop surging for no good reason. And I couldn’t help concluding that I was that not-so-good reason.
“Was it something I wrote?” I have asked myself repeatedly. “Did I do or say something that made local young couples decide not to have children? Was this column so much of a distraction that marital duties were neglected? Was I just too entertaining?”
Obviously, that had to be the reason. Now, after all these years, I still live ignominy.
If you doubt my arguments about my negative impact, just look around you. Where did all the industry go? Why did the racetrack close? Why do storms ravage the town? What’s the real story behind the hospital’s “temporary” closure?
I know. And now, so do you.
As with any form of rehab, I must start by acknowledging that I have — and I am — the problem. I have the cursed touch of “devastating humour” — so hilarious that I wreak havoc on those whom I would attempt to entertain. And, that’s not funny.
For those who once read Scott-Free and had their lives altered, I do most humbly beg your forgiveness. It’s not enough to say I didn’t know what I was doing. In truth, I did try my hardest to be humorous. I never would have guessed it could come to this.
For those who have never seen my column, I must express my regrets at having left you to pick up the pieces of the community I have so tainted. Half a century of misery has been my legacy.
Fortunately, I still have time left to change and make amends. Perhaps I can write something that will undo the hurt and help rebuild the ravaged town I left behind. But, do I dare put fingers to keyboard?
With the wisdom of age, perhaps I can get back to being that sweet and mild little Johnnie my family once loved. Now I understand why they told me “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll cut out that funny stuff.” I can only try.
For your part, the mission is much more simple. Despite whatever feelings you might have now or in the future, I beg you to stifle your laughter and overt expressions of mirth as you read this column. A little snicker or a twitch at the sides of your mouth might not hurt, but can we really take that chance. It’s a slippery slope from giggles to guffaws.
One of my British ancestors, Sir Walter, tried to be a humourist. He succeeded so well the nation was thrown into turmoil.
You probably thought the famous “stiff upper lip” was symbolic of a resolute, stoic population. In truth, Uncle Walter forced the government to impose that facial facade on the population in an attempt to project determination during the continental war that was raging. Waterloo would have been a resounding French victory if the English had shown up giggling.
So, resolve yourself to approach my conundrum with sober restraint. Otherwise, you’ll just be enabling my behaviour and dooming the town to further decline. And, once again, I would be sentenced to live a life of shame and regret.
Please help me help myself.
