 
# Bulling, Related Problems and the "Stupid" Professor

# Jon Van Loon

# Copyright 2013 Jon Van Loon

# Smashwords Edition

#

## Warning!

You are about to read a monograph by me the "stupid" Professor, (Full Professor with PhD University of Toronto now retired) but with only grade nine capability in spelling, vocabulary, grammar and syntax. Due to a learning disability my visual and auditory memories are only in the 40th and 60th percentile ranges respectively. Although despite these problems I have several peer reviewed and well received science books published by major publishers together with a medley of other academic achievements; throughout life I have suffered persistent severe verbal bullying abuse for a variety of individuals suggesting that I was/am stupid.

The facts here-in have only with great difficulty been extracted from a miasma of memories and notes scratched on odd bits of paper. As a consequence of being unable to compose this type of document using conventional chapters strung together to form a continuous manuscript, this memoire is comprised of a sequence of events accumulated over a lifetime of suffering verbal bullying.

It is important to note that I was not subjected to cyber bullying and hence what follows lacks experience with this one of the vilest forms of modern bullying. Despite this gap the reader will identify most of the common traits of tyrannical and ruthless bullies to be present in my experiences.

Thus I hope by writing about my experiences of life as a "stupid" Professor, much of which is related to my learning disability it often resulting in reprehensible verbal and written abuse; others who suffer from any type of bullying will hopefully find an important degree of inspiration from my ultimate success in life.

Many of the incidents described have been published by me elsewhere but have in most cases been recomposed to emphasize the bullying components.

I hope this properly defines for the reader the structure and content of the manuscript below.

## Preface

One fall a laudatory front page article in a popular Toronto newspaper featured a celebrated, widely sought after, multi scholarships awarded, secondary school graduate. This scholastic hero had achieved nearly perfect grades in his finishing year and after having been pursued by a plethora of Universities was shown proudly entering his Institution of choice, the University of Toronto. Through implication and probably rightly so, students of this calibre were being showcased as possessing the raw material that would not only ensure academic distinction, but after graduation allow attainment of eminence and provide an example of the typically high quality standards exhibited by their alma mater. What a boost of pride such high standard student acquisitions must also be to the University Alumni.

Individuals like me could never able to hope to receive such accolade. In fact I was said to be stupid by most of my peers. Why did this seem to be my reality?

Cast in a different format; how did my being bullied evoke learning and emotional horrors beginning in early grade school that continue to this day to manifest themselves? It was certainly not the day a frustrated public school teacher threw a blackboard brush bouncing it off my head, after ripping up the unintelligible title page of my assignment. Nor did acquiring a mark of -29 in a typing test initiate my feelings of angst. Then what about achieving a rating of 98 on an IQ test? No, my unidentifiable "stupidity" was revealed much before these incidents.

My being bullied dilemma emerged simply enough. In grade 4 I was still unable to spell straightforward words such as their and always correctly, in marked contrast to the rest of the class who had ceased such errors. Even after much practice with my harried but sympathetic mother, no matter how hard I tried, these words most often appeared spelled as thier and allways. Ever try solving arithmetic equations with a likelihood of number reversal or dropping terms as happened to me when executing a lengthy solution? Even on lined paper my assignments seemed fated to have written material slanted at odd angles down the page. And my organizational skills promised disaster leaving my working places arranged in a hopelessly arbitrary mess. Exacerbating my memory difficulties with recalling material when answering questions later on in my schooling was the knowledge that the time allotted for an exam was usually only about 2/3 of what I would actually require. For these deficiencies I was regularly told I was for example stupid, loonie and an idiot.

An assessment of my "stupidity" predicament reveals 2 watershed factors among others. The first of these relates to reading comprehension and the second to an unexpected commitment by a wonderful teacher.

Probably the Alpha and Omega of my academic difficulties lay in understanding what I struggled to read and listen to and much of the bullying about my alleged stupidity resulted thus. Although able to read sentences I could usually not comprehend what they meant or having achieved this then would not remember this material even upon reaching of the same page. This point must be stressed because although a root cause in my childhood years of my "stupid" moniker this problem was a particularly devastating obstacle in my later professorial pursuits **.** To illustrate, new scientific laboratory equipment was acquired frequently. Such was usually accompanied by thick Instruction Booklets. As the head of the lab I was expected to proficiently and confidently demonstrate the intricacies of these often complicated new devices. In recognizing the futility of attempting to read the instructions I would begin a random practice pushing promising looking buttons. Most times not only was success not achieved but the equipment would suddenly come to life in some unknown fashion often becoming unstable and I would have to quickly pull the plug to prevent possible damage. Perceiving disaster a certainty I would hand this duty to a senior researcher together with the instruction booklet as often as not still sealed in its original container. What an embarrassment when my junior sometimes blindsided me with the homily; "when in doubt why not read the instructions"

With this erudition other problematic issues I struggled with become more understandable. Unlike the teacher who resorted to blackboard brush violence to vent his bullying frustrations others were much more subtle in their reprimands. Upon observing my spelling difficulties many were prompted to ejaculate; "use a dictionary to determine the correct spellings". Unfortunately this route was disabled in my case. My horrible spelling prevented location of most words from my dictionary. Others harped on my unsuitability for the academic stream what with my low IQ, a failure in grade 11 French and horrible reading skills I had no hope of ever acquiring a satisfactory status for University entrance.

Although bullying by classmates and teachers had large part convinced me of my stupidity, somehow a flickering vestige of self-confidence remained. I refused to give in.

## Introduction

I was born in 1937 and am thus 76. Recent attentions focusing on the phenomenon of bullying made me realize that in my day this was the word that referred mainly to acts of physical menacing and physical violence. Today the term bullying relates to a broad spectrum of acts both physical and mental including cyber attacks of threatening, intimidation, belittling, browbeating and being made a laughing stock. These later were commonly not treated very seriously in my time by society. You just took your lumps be they verbal or physical and only a "chicken" succumbed. This was a serious deficiency of that time

Belittling, browbeating and being a laughing stock were factors I lived with much of my life.

Considering the plethora of forms that make up bullying each can have its own disabling serious effects on the recipient. This story referring mainly to belittling, browbeating and being made a laughing stock from an intellectual stand point was inflicted by many levels of humanity. The bullied Individual, me, almost succumbed to my accuser's contentions that I was indeed stupid.

This account will sometimes take place in unusual locales and include amusing foibles and sad observances, which have arisen here in Toronto and from when I lived and did scientific work for short intervals in many countries all the continents except Antarctica.

Cyber Bullying

It is crucial to stress from the beginning that cyber bullying was not an issue during my upbringing. This form of very debilitating bullying coming as it did with the advent of computers and related devices often imparted through the social media is an experience that I cannot directly relate to. Its precursor, in a commonly employed tactic, similar material in written form was transmitted in anonymous hand delivered notes and by mail. Admittedly this manner of bullying never reached the vileness that cyber forms have now achieved.

However those of you who suffer any type of bullying including the more recent cyber type will relate to most of the details that follow. This is because the bullies have typical characteristics to and use degrading verbalizations and physical threats in a manner that will be easily identified with. It must be stressed that the following chronicled offences in my case begin in grade school and are detailed from then continuously through adulthood. That I successfully resisted the intended purpose was a combination of encouraging loved ones, inspirational individuals that wandered into my life and even luck.

Self Worth-(A positive Self Worth being the Ultimate Goal)

Generally speaking the following approximates what we view as self worth and its nuances.

"I'm me and what the Hell can I do about it"? Langley, towards the denouement of his seemingly irrational Fifth Ave New York existence, utters this frustratingly terse self appraisal in E. L. Doctorow's epic study of 2 eccentric brothers in "Homer and Langley". This succinct and cryptic message jolted me to the realization that as we zig-zag along life's corridors from birth to maturity this just about sums up our ultimate fate. The only question to be resolved really is how "I" became "Me" and how you became or will become you.

Change comes to the world through the attitudes and deeds of individuals. As Ghandi stated, "You must be the change you want to see in the World". Our daily attitudes and actions piggy-back upon our perception of our self worth.

World leaders effect the major changes in the world. It is hard to imagine a humble Head-of-State; two important living examples to my mind might be the Dali Lama and Nelson Mandela. Of course in the recent past Gandhi springs to mind. On the other hand humility unlike notoriety sometimes results in persons of importance being enveloped in a shroud of obscurity. It is not uncommon to think of an important life changing discovery but then be unable to remember the mastermind.

Names such as Mao, Hitler and Stalin stand out not only due to their deeds but because of their, violence, self hype and demands for subservience. The desire to intrude into the limelight is a trait much too common in the human race.

Self opinion and our actions there-from is the engine that powers the tenor of our daily living and often strongly affects the esprit of our family friends and colleagues. Development of self worth can be a complex progression of factors or it may be dominated in large part by a single circumstance, such as being continuously bullied.

Spirituality, whether represented by a conventional religion or subjectively devolved, can be the most important component in self expression and in the treatment of others. In this regard sudden changes in spirituality such as becoming a born again Christian, can result in a lock step change in self worth perception.

The opinions of others in this case taunts about my supposed stupidity received directly or from an intermediary or even just presupposed, affect our perceived stature. This latter category may even be a false declaration by individual(s) that is deliberately demeaning based on a variety of factors such as jealousy.

Mental and emotional makeup and adverse changes therein can be immense factors in influencing the sufferer's interpretation of wellbeing. Closely related is physical health, with serious childhood maladies and degenerative diseases particular challenges to the nature of self perception. Mental and physical challenges have both genetic and environmental components'.

There are those who deliberately purvey a false sense of positive self worth. Although frequently obvious to others over time this impression can superficially, but publically clad their real vexatious feelings. Because of the impossibility for these individuals to consistently camouflage the real nature of their feelings close associates, friends and family are seldom deluded.

Success or lack thereof in a vocation whether as a homemaker and/or in external workplaces can have an exceptional influence on self opinion. A confident individual can much more easily construct their opinion in this matter without undue influence being absorbed from attitudes of bosses or colleagues. Our perceived contributions to the betterment of mankind through vocation and related activities such as volunteerism can be important components within this category.

An event of cataclysmic proportions at any point in our lives can suddenly change self perspective. A classic example for many would be causing the death or serious maiming of a child in a car collision in which they were the driver. Perhaps surprisingly the effect on the individual's perception of the event would often differ little whether the incident was their fault or not. The death of family member or close friend although not primarily related to self perception can become such through qualms over important things inadvertently left unsaid or through incidents of perceived mistreatment of the deceased.

Deserving of particular consideration in matters of self estimation are family life, interactions with friends and associates and upbringing. A crucial factor herein is the proximate external environment in which we evolved throughout our formative years. In this regard an individual friend or foe can sometimes emerge as a dominant determining factor.

Of particular related relevance these days is the phenomenon of bullying. In contrast to the recent past the proliferation of devices such as computers and smart phones has caused cyber bullying to emerge as a potentially vicious problem particularly among youth. In the extreme the nature of cyber and/or physical bullying influence on self worth can be so devastating that instances of suicide have sometimes resulted.

Particularly surprising is the frequent failure of an individual be it friend or family member, through logical reasoning to effect a favourable alteration in another's self worth perception. Even professional consultations and the use of medication can often be unsuccessful.

One must hope to journey through life's astoundingly complex carnival of events and experiences with a positive self appraisal, very hard under stresses such as bullying. After all it deserves stressing that the demeanor of others with whom we live and deal on a daily basis is strongly affected by the nature of our own behaviour and outpourings be they vexation or pleasantry. In this increasingly multicultural environment in which we live in how we are perceived by others with vastly different backgrounds is a strong determinant in the tenor of the community.

## Early Days- (Mainly School Days)

Jail had never really been a part of my life plan. But there it was, an ugly possibility, staring me in the face. I was an idealistic young researcher without fear of publishing the truth, or what I strongly believed to be the correct chemical results. The reality of being challenged by one of industries giants in a court of law and suffering serious intervals of self doubt engendered by being called stupid was quite at different level of encountering fear. This event that precipitated a near calamity is briefly mentioned here because it was to an important degree obliquely a result of my early days of being bullied and will be detailed much further down in this manuscript.

Every person has stories to tell so why would am I inflicting mine on you? Perhaps it is because many people have told me that a wider audience would find them useful, sometimes uplifting, occasionally distressing and sometimes amusing. Bullying has become such a dominating issue especially among young people these days that I thought this story that transpired in a cloud of bullying, but had a happy ending might be helpful to young people and their parents who are attempting to contend with this issue.

My birth in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada was about as uneventful as could be imagined. Hamilton, a small, highly industrialized city (now about 500,000) was continuously and perhaps unfairly dominated by the shadow of the great metropolis of Toronto (now the third largest urban region on the Continent.). I a tiny baby, resting in my mother's arms at St. Joseph's Hospital had no indicators to suggest that I would be found to be learning disabled, bipolar, be the subject bullying, ravished by red ant's in Brazil, cornered by a poisonous King Brown Snake in Australia or that I would experience the sorrows of Apartheid in South Africa to name just a few of the worldwide experiences which would intersect my ever twisting pathway. In fact my very religious (Christian), sheltered, upbringing had all the indicators of just the opposite.

My close family consisted of a mother and father, a younger brother and sister and dotting maternal grandparents (granddad and gommy) who lived for much of my tenure in Hamilton on the third floor of our house. We were not close as siblings (though we respected and loved one another) because of vast dissimilarities in interests, attitudes, outlooks on life, learning abilities and a nearly 4 year gap between each of our ages. Learning disabilities were not diagnosed as such in school systems until the 60's and thus my learning problems were a verdict waiting to be made. Unlike my mother I put my tribulations down to stupidity. My views of this being the truth were exacerbated by my brother who had something resembling a photographic memory. He learned and obtained high marks throughout his whole formal education to the Full Professor (Phd) level and I admire him for his fine work at that time and in his teaching and research. In the case of the latter I tried to read one of his recent publications and was unable to follow his good science. My sister is 8 years my junior. She is intelligent, did well in school and had her own set of friends. Both my brother and sister remained close to the Protestant Christian Church and have done and continue to do fine works within the church and in various important charities. It is only yours truly (and perhaps my favorite-granddad) who strayed far from the family anointed fold but tried and am still trying, within my own terms of reference, to contribute to what is "good" for this world and my fellow human beings.

Steam trains were the fact in my preteen years and these I loved with a passion. My fondest early memories were always with my granddad. On Friday evenings, despite a severe heart condition, he used to walk with me riding my tricycle the 4 km from his house to the railway yard to watch the shunting process. He would sit chain smoking on an unconformable railing and stay without complaint until I tired, then he would have to carry both me and my conveyance home. He must have had the family learning disability because around my father he would pick up the newspaper in a show of reading but in private I used to have to read him items of interest. I doubt if either of us remember much of the news columns. I never really knew much about his employment situations. He drilled oil wells in SW Ontario and later worked in a print shop. It was my guess that he had little formal education. They likely made children in his day, showing a hint of mental slowness, drop out to work. Yet he was anything but stupid, as even I could detect his quick mind in many endeavors. My father spent a sabbatical at Columbia University in New York City and we had an apartment at 122 St and Broadway, now a slum. Granddad and gommy came also. Granddad used to take me to the open cut of the B'Way subway line. During the years gommy and granddad lived with us my mother was confined to bed a great deal with what was eventually terminal breast cancer. I remember my mother telling me that the day my granddad paid for my fourth years university text books was the proudest one of his life. The idea of helping me in my higher education, when he had none, was overwhelmingly emotional for us both.

My father spent his evenings at Service Clubs, Lodge and woodworking in the basement. My grandparents bought a TV at an early stage in this technology in Canada and I would spend any free time with granddad as he chain smoked watching sports. He particularly liked wrestling. (These were the days before this activity became so much of a theatrical presentation). I smoked myself after that time, 1,5 packs per day, so it is amazing that I don't yet have lung cancer to add to my medical medley.

Thick, hand cut, slabs of bacon dripping onto our plates and 2 strong tasting eggs from barnyard run chickens, graced our plates every time gommy cooked breakfast in the third floor kitchen. There was nothing from health experts at that time linking saturated or trans fats with heart disease. Cholesterol was a term we had never encountered. Thus such a breakfast was considered "hearty" and "wholesome" and a necessary start to a healthy day's eating. Bread or toast, slathered in butter was also a necessity but none of this whole grain nonsense either, just the bleached white flour variety, if you please. Providing bulk to the system was also not a recognized as healthy practice at that time.

Gommy was a fabulous cook in her own style and her desire to please granddad and me knew no bounds. Her main mantra in life was to give pleasure and good care to others, which in turn was her satisfaction. I can't once remember her thinking of herself. Upon my graduation from Mc Master University she gave me a gold ring with the University crest and the year of graduation 1959. Except during operations this ring has never left my finger. Today the graduation year has worn completely away but the eroded crest remains. She bought the ring from her own little savings. To the day she died I was the apple of her eye.

My mother and gommy were my strongest fan club, a role taken over by Maureen when we married. Many a night at the foot of her sick bed I would try to persuade my mother how dumb I really was a notion that was ground into me by my many detractors, but she was having none of such "nonsense". Yet she felt she had to be the disciplinarian in the nightly absence of my father. She was always afraid I would do something that would disgust my puritanical and hard driving father. This role I later (after her death) much appreciated, at the time kept us from forming the type loving of relationship I desired. Hugging and kissing was typically not practiced between parents and children in those days. There was, none-the-less, a strong bond between her and me. Her very painful and extended illness should have exuded a greater thoughtfulness from me. For example I regret that I missed recognition of her 25 fifth wedding anniversary with other than a gift. As the eldest sibling I should have at least organized a family party!

It was impossible to be close to my father. He did however inspire in me my lifelong love of nature, something I am extremely grateful for. Much of this was acquired while he put me through my paces in required gardening duty. Other times he took me on a walk in the woods and identified wild flowers that I loved. He hated it if I disturbed him about school work or personal problems and refused to be of assistance. Perhaps his high level vocation in the school system kept him from wishing to participate in this area within the family. I remember many years later the day I told him I was learning disabled and handed him a copy of my book entitled-My Learning Disability Advantage-his eyes welled up full of tears, as he proclaimed how sorry he was, "but he reminded me such problems escaped identity in his day". This was a very true statement and as I have indicated, this discovery about myself did not occur until my 40's. In his later years he had bypass surgery for a heart condition. As he lay in early recovery I bent over and kissed his lips. It was my stepmother at the time who had to tell me how much that meant to him. Perhaps from then on a new bond had formed, not extremely close, but something new and important none-the-less.

What's wrong with this picture?

My reading, spelling, vocabulary and grammar will always be at a grade 9 level which means among other academic problems, I achieved a horrendous -29 mark in grade 10 typing. This occurred because there were too many spelling errors in the small amount of typing I accomplished over the test period. One finger typing capability on computer keyboards is my fate. Worse these problems are due to a learning disability and the latter has no cure according to a 2008 study at The University of Michigan. Yet I earned a PhD. In Chemistry and became a Full Professor at the University of Toronto.

Some much more noteworthy persons said to have had learning disabilities include, Albert Einstein, Walt Disney, Thomas Edison, Abraham Lincoln and Alexander Graham Bell. Living examples in this category encompass, Tom Cruise, Cher, Magic Johnson, Jay Leno and Will Smith.

Ten percent of the population is learning disabled, meaning about 100,000 of the students in an area the size of the Greater Toronto Area are presumable learning disabled and would benefit from special attention. Orton in 1937, my birth year, was the first to describe this problem. Discovery and organization came much too late to for the development of programs for testing and remediation during my tenure in the elementary and secondary school systems. These deficiencies together with a measurement of my IQ as being 97 encouraged fellow students to call me stupid and a retard. Fights with school officials to remain in the academic stream through secondary school were necessary. The commonly used term at that time, dyslexia, meaning reading blindness, did not begin to encompass the large number of perceptual handicaps that now comprises the detailed systematized field of learning disabilities.

It was only at the age of 40 that my problem was identified, at which time my visual memory was discovered to be in the lowest 40% of the general population, with my auditory memory only in the 60th percentile. My unquenchable drive to succeed cancelled this. Much of my achievement involved self development of coping strategies that totally changed my learning patterns.

I must stress that I am also manic depressive (bipolar) but live in the manic state most of the time. This may account for why I accomplish more than might be expected from someone in similar mental/emotional circumstances.

Students today have a distinct advantage over me. Identification and beginning the remediation of these difficulties can now occur as early as grade 3. Parents sometimes balk at having their children tested, feeling a stigma is attached to learning disabilities. Some students, in fear of adverse peer reaction including bullying, are tempted to choose a similar rejection. Thus the reason for this comment is to illustrate through my own case that a reasonable intelligent person with a learning disability has every chance of achievement at a high level. This can best be expected with early identification and delineation of the difficulties, followed by remediation, including the learning of the coping strategies. These are now much improved from schemes that brought my success. Excellent programs are now available throughout the elementary and secondary school system.

Here follow a few illustrations of my typical academic struggles and the upset feelings, intimidation and browbeating that resulted.

A teacher announces a few weeks ahead that a test or examination will be given on a certain date. If I have not already begun my study program it begins the day of this announcement. By examination time I have laboriously constructed summaries and summaries of summaries, and studied these through perhaps fifty or sixty times. In answer to my question on his preparedness on examination day, a classmate tells me, "Oh, yes, I read the course over two or three times last night and I am ready to write." We finish the exam; go home, come back a few days later and receive the marks. If this is French, I may have obtained a mark in the sixties and I am momentarily very happy. What a good mark for me in French! Seeing my mediocre grade, my classmate is stimulated to volunteer his - an 85! After only two or three readings of un summarized material. What a hell of a life this is! It's not fair! Of course, it's not fair, but who said life would be fair? Am I going to let such "unfairness" ruin my life?

For the third time this same teacher ripped my assignment to shreds consigning the pieces to the waste basket with a theatrical flourish. His instructions had been to produce a report in a neat fashion, complete with a well laid out cover sheet. I began with the rest of the class to research and write the report. By the end of the first classroom work period, several classmates had finished the assignment. Most of us needed to complete the remaining work at home. The next day most students, including myself, handed in the fruits of their labours. Despite many attempts, I had been unable to centre the title and accompanying diagram on the cover sheet. Additionally, my best attempt was marred by eraser markings and other smudges. The teacher caught sight of this as I timidly placed the report on his desk. This occasioned the initial volley of invective that was to grow into a crescendo of disparagements when, after several more evenings' work, the product was still not to his satisfaction. No one else in the class received this blandishment.

The following invective was typical in my early years.

Fellow students could be very upsetting. "Jeez, you're so stupid, you should be back in kindergarten," or, "You're a school inspector's son, you shouldn't be so stupid."

When I first arrived at the fence the chickens would scatter back towards the center of the coup. Soon however their curiosity got the best of them and they would come back to investigate. "My, Samantha looks lustrous and beautiful today, and Charley must have been fighting again; he's lost some feathers." These were the infantile musings that went through my mind as I pressed against the chicken coop fence.

In the 1940s there was a small farm next to George R. Allen Public School in Hamilton. At times of severe frustration I could seek solace with the chickens. There was a grove of bushes between the school yard and the chicken coop where you could hide from people in the playground. I spent a good deal of time before and after school and during recess in quiet commiseration with these chickens. There was one hazard. The farmer had been plagued by pranks from the more aggressive members of the student body. As a result, when he caught you near his chickens you had to be fleet of foot or risk a good smack across the back from his homemade straw broom.

But often it was impossible to escape from the onslaught of classmate criticism. To obtain relief I developed a trance-like nervous blinking habit with which I stared down any critic. I remember wondering how many times I would have to blink before they would stop and I would begin counting 1, 2, 3, 4, ...

"Jon, why don't you read? There are so many excellent books that you could enjoy." Contrary to what my mother thought, I **was** reading. I read everything I was forced to read at school in order to satisfy course requirements. But I didn't read, as others did, for pleasure. Of course, the simple explanation was that for me reading was not a source of pleasure. If I began a page of prose it was likely that by the end of the second sentence I had forgotten what the first sentence was about. Most certainly when I got to the bottom of a page I had forgotten content that had been expounded at the top. I was unable, without resorting to "tricks" (to be explained later), to follow a story line. Even with these "tricks" I was unable to follow the subtleties and nuances that make a storybook character live. Deep seated upset at this deficiency that so disappointed my mother prevailed.

Amazingly (to me) many years later I did begin reading Dickens, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky and other authors of the great classics. It was then fashionable to say you were doing so. But I could not and still cannot, follow the page by page story lines using normal reading techniques.

How well I remember her caustic comments as time and time again I made errors in the simplest tasks. It became so frustrating that I was often unable to concentrate and found myself idly gazing at sparrows flying to and from their hiding places in the ivy vines outside her window.

Languages were my particular nemesis. The obligatory French courses troubled me particularly. Because of my visual memory travails, I spelled phonetically and this was a particularly serious problem in my French. Also remembering verb declensions provided a hopeless challenge. My parents at my mother's insistence provided private tutoring in this discipline. It is with dread but some fondness I remember these sessions. The dread was for the continued ineptitude and associated emotional outbursts I knew I would display in front of the frustrated instructor. Although I hated having to be tutored and unfairly reprimanded I strangely developed an affection for this elderly misshapen spinster and her 19th century house. The elderly teacher wore a long skirted, woolen suit, thick stockings heavy shoes, and a blouse with a nondescript scarf bunched up at the bodice. Her edifice was entered through stained glass, walnut, double doors from whence one drifted over dingy scatter rugs, through mysterious, musty, almost ghostly rooms to a tiny study nook at one side. Here a small dark, desk and 2 chairs provided the means for taking lessons. In this era no means existed for a private person to obtain pages of copy to work from, necessitating the procurement of a text dissimilar to my course text, to work with. The drill proceeded with an assignment and my completion of the labor thus entailed. Occasionally I found myself dosing off to the twitter of the above mentioned sparrows nesting in the Ivy outside the window. Then while shaking her head in a frustrated fashion she would draw a multitude of red lines through the errors. This was followed by some repetition of the corrected errors on my part, loud invective about my supposed recalcitrant, repetition of errors, followed by a massive assignment of homework.

To have tutoring in the 1940s and 1950s was to admit to the world how stupid you really were. Only a imbecile needed tutoring in those days. Fortunately, although this is still somewhat the case today, we are now much more enlightened and tutoring is not nearly the black mark it used to be.

My parents also held the view that musical skills were nearly as important as academic achievements. And so at a very young age I was enrolled in private singing lessons. I greeted this new opportunity with enthusiasm. But the fact that I achieved a second place standing at my first music recital did not encourage my parents to proceed further. There were only two contestants in my age group and besides it was obvious, even to the uninitiated ear, that my offerings sounded much like hail on a tin roof.

Mr. Stone loved to talk with his students and we always began the lesson with a quick reminiscence on the week's activities. He was so predisposed to talking that it was easy to protract the conversation. I must confess that I often sidetracked him in this way on purpose, so that he would not discover how little progress I had made during the previous week. It was usually about five minutes before the lesson was slated to end when Mr. Stone would suddenly look at his watch and with a gasp bid me to begin my trumpet playing. When my ministrations proved to be something less than he expected he would attribute this to my being rushed. Then, visibly shaken, he would proclaim that next week I should study the same passage again and for sure we would not waste so much time in conversation. But these good" intentions were always forgotten by the time next week rolled around. As a result, after about a year of weekly lessons, I had barely progressed through a beginner's music book.

Mr. Stone and my parents were very loath to attribute my limited progress to a lack of musical skills, so they blamed my difficulties on my fat lips. They hypothesized that the trumpet mouthpiece was too small for my fat lips and I was implored to attempt the euphonium. This instrument, which could be described as approximating a small tuba with the range of a trombone, possesses a larger mouthpiece. My protagonists reasoned that large lips could be much more suitably accommodated by the euphonium mouthpiece.

Sadly, there was little change in my musical prowess after the switch of instruments. It was now obvious to me that I could not learn to read music. Alas it turned out my reading deficiencies extended to music. Despite this realization, I was seconded to the high school orchestra. The notes appeared like ants scurrying about on the page. I could never find my place on the page and so faked it. The orchestra leader, though constantly berating me for my errors strangely would not let me quit.

It used to incense me that some of my friends could just read material in a course through the night before an exam and get 80%. I had to abandon negative emotions of poor unfortunate me exacerbated by taunts of about my alleged stupidity and reorient with a positive attitude that I too could succeed if I was willing to work especially hard.

Although throughout my years of schooling my learning disability had not been identified as such I knew standard methods of learning were not effective in my case. Thus I adopted approaches that work for me and other people that are now, like me thus inflicted.

Besides coping strategies, secrets for success for problem learners include a strong sense of motivation coupled with self discipline. Because concentration amongst persons with learning difficulties is hard to maintain for extended periods, work in repetitive relatively short concentrated intervals followed by short periods of a favourite relaxation is helpful. Developed advantages over normal learners should including superior study habits and methods, better organization-help from parents here may be essential, read more efficiently- locate the main points and concentrate on these and considering examinations exciting challenges.

Details of academic coping strategies are not very relevant here and are now too numerous to detail. Two of the more unusual that I developed follow. In one colours are assigned to represent complex concepts assigned so that primaries, shades thereof and secondary colours provided a vivid ordered, easily discernible, pattern. To prepare for examinations I did summaries on index cards of a course and then did summaries of the summaries until the whole course had been summarized by category onto one card in a manner that the material can be duplicated from memory on the back of the exam paper.

A learning disability can be masked by a variety of personal traits such as, laziness, apparent stupidity, irresponsibility, lack of motivation, inability to concentrate, poor performance at school and problems in the home related to untidiness, disorganization and mistakes in routines. As a result, until diagnosed those other of you with a learning disability can also suffer continuous severe and unfair verbal abuse. Such abuse commonly in my case emanated most stridently and continuously from individuals who themselves acted in an unjustified superior manner.

As you must have been concluding a shambles might be a polite way to describe the prevalent methodology of my education in the Hamilton Primary and secondary schools. This had nothing to do with the system itself, which was as fine as existed anywhere in North America. The techniques of learning followed a constant and non varying pattern. Nothing was yet available for special needs learners. Disorganization through a complete lack of this skill on my part was my hallmark. Poor concentration, typical of the learning disabled prevented a smooth flow of learning. Perhaps worst of all, my reading/retention skills were lacking. If I read a page I had forgotten the content at the beginning of the page when I came to the end. Thus my comprehension of what I read approached zero. Emotionally these "inadequacies" were triggers for an overwhelming drive to find a different methodology and pathway for success.

I have always been unable to write in a proper cursive handwriting. No matter how hard I try it comes out as mostly printing and only partly writing. In the grade school that I attended a student was allowed to switch from pencil to pen at the moment he could prove a facility in written script. I was the only student who was forced to retain the pencil through the entire eight grades. What an embarrassment! Likewise, regardless of how much effort I expended, my school work was messy. I made stupid errors, in the estimation of my teachers and school mates and comments like this were a frequent emanation. It seemed to many a clear case of underachievement because of flashes of brightness in a few subjects.

Images of teachers, in threatening stances hovering over my desk as I tried to organize projects, haunt my memory. Frequently I misspelled words and as a result was sent to the blackboard in front of the class to write these items repetitively and of course also managing to misspell the offending term at that location. These episodes often made me lose my cool and express myself inappropriately. My "favorite" instructor once threw a blackboard brush at me from the front of the class which bounced off the top of my head. He also tore the title page off a submitted project because I had failed to distribute the material in an orderly and neat manner, something that was unattainable for me with my visual memory problems.

The vice-principal and his committee had been almost prophetic. There were many "down times" when even I felt sure my performance would be a disaster. Grade 13 was a harrowing experience. I had to give up all sports and most other favoured activities that were not related to passing my year. But when the final marks were all in, I had passed every subject. Unfortunately, my overall average was only about 61%, insufficient to get me into Engineering at Queen's University. Although Queen's was my first choice, I also applied to Engineering at Toronto, second, and Science at Western, third. I was refused entry at both these institutions as well. In a moment of despair, I sent my records to McMaster and was unexpectedly accepted in Mathematics, physics and Chemistry, the first year science stream. Apparently my father had spoken to the Dean of Science, a personal friend who agreed to my acceptance. In a half joking manner Dad told me, "I got you in, you will have to get yourself through".

Looking back now, I realize how lucky these events were. Engineering required a relatively high level of math, but many sciences didn't. At McMaster in first year I failed one of the less rigorous math courses, so you can imagine what my fate would have been in Engineering. Amazingly, by the end of fourth year university, I had obtained four A's and one B in my core geological and chemical courses.

Finally revenge from the benefits of my tediously acquired learning skills came at University. Here many of the undisciplined "read it over the night before crowd" began to suffer declines in their grades, while I was attaining A's and B's. Despite this type of academic success my intimidation continued here and on many other fronts.

In addition these strategies plus a manic drive to succeed eventually paid off in my PhD. But having reached this pinnacle but without the breadth of capability in other areas proved to be another target for those intent on intimidation.

My years of "stupidity" went on defying any rationale for more than half of my life. The fact that I earned a PhD and officiated on the Committees of Conferences in my research field combined with being a plenary lecturer at several major conferences certainly should have persuaded a reasonable person that he was not stupid. On the contrary I felt I had "tricked" my way to this stage and believed that something would suddenly happen to drag me down in public resulting in periods of severe depression At the age of about 45 I began to see learning problems similar to mine being identified in one of my children and these were labeled a learning disability. Upon further research and from the knowledge of my daughter's high intelligence I had myself tested. Wonders of all wonders, I had a bad learning disability! Still it took me years to come to grips with my status. Suffering also from bipolar problems it was lucky I didn't' end up permanently in a mental ward-I had been there confined for short periods as will be detailed later. Most of my life was spent either depressed with depression related to learning problems or manic, doing much more than I should properly handle. ( In manic states I bought multi items such as coats, cameras, electronics-tape players and TVs for every room I had always been one to accept, even seek out, challenges, within and outside my university duties beyond what the available time would allow. I always did these without fault. Shedding some of these in the light of my new status was a problem of quite a different stripe. Never show that you are doing a capable job in a position that you might need to relinquish. It seems you can never concoct a reasonable enough motive Somehow I found myself with 3 teaching/research appointments, almost unheard of elsewhere additionally another chairperson was trying to purloin my services as well. The University knew I had accepted positions with UNESCO and the World Bank and allowed my participation. I will never regret my decisions to do the above outside consultancies as they were my joy, my way to see the real world and provided me with endless story fodder. Fortunately I had never sought positions in Administration so had never had to waste time dealing with persons whose complaints neared zero in the scale of world problems.

Self pity is a common and difficult to defeat problem for those of us with problems that lead to bullying.

Why do I have to work so hard for such a poor result? It is easy to feel sorry for oneself and think "why me?" Even self hate can be the consequence of years of such thinking. There were many times when I wondered if it was worth continuing at such an intense pace. Also why then does it always seem that someone (often anyone) seems luckier than I am? (More recently walking through a children's cancer ward put things in better perspective). Non-the-less I fret that my life would be so much more productive academically, socially and almost in any way made more fruitful if I were able to make myself believe fully what I am now writing and give up the time-wasting and energy-consuming activity of self-pity.

If by feeling sorry for oneself a person were able to evoke something positive I would, by now, likely have won at least one Nobel Prize. If the time I have wasted, am wasting, and will continue to waste in self-pity, self-deprecation and other acts of just plain selfishness were added together most people would be happy with this accumulated time as a guaranteed life expectancy.

I had a group of several friends in my neighborhood. These included one with whom I engaged in electronic and phone tapping projects. With a few others I played football, hockey and baseball in season. I remember vividly how frequently Mrs. J used to run across the park to reprimand our loud and colorful but vulgar swearing. The comfort level among these few was high even with me.

Athletics were also a passion despite being quite inept at most. (I seemed to be inept at many of the more important things in life, conventional learning, spirituality, avoiding my detractors and now athletics.) I made some Varsity teams in football and ice hockey but was a bench warmer. Any passable skill I possessed in athletics was perhaps in long distance running and ice hockey coaching. In running I won 1 20 km race and I completed 3 full marathons in under 4 hours in middle age. Meanwhile I frustrated my family by jogging every weekday to the university a distance of 20 km. Manic anyone?

Practical jokes were also an important diversion during my university years. I engaged in these probably to try to achieve rare approval from my peers as being "one of the boys'. The one that most strongly sticks in my memory, was when (we, his grad. Students) pulled out the Professor's desk from the wall and nailed a large, fresh fish to its back area and then pushed it back tight against the wall. With time, of course the stench became almost unbearable in the office. No one said a word or removed the offending item. After a year or so and we had long forgotten the incident the prank was discovered. Nothing was said, except that one day I found that a pair of expensive new shoes I had removed, before entering the laboratory, to prevent there contamination with small drops of chemicals, had disappeared and had been replaced by an unsightly pair of old damaged shoes about 2 sizes too big! In another more dangerous stunt a number of us tied the Professors secretary into her chair and then rolled it on it's casters out into the middle of a busy Toronto street. Fortunately no harm occurred but I perhaps conveniently forget how the event was resolved.

I was fortunate to be loved by and marry the beautiful, talented, delightful and ethical Maureen Kern, an institution that has in our case has lasted 51 years. I must confess that she stuck with me through some extremely trying times, some noted above, mostly of my making most related to my bipolar vicissitudes. For example she bore the brunt of child rearing. Strangely I had no interest in travel, until Maureen unwittingly convinced me of the desirability of this activity. Little did she suspect that after overcoming my fear of flying I, in my typical manic way, to further my career, would adopt the activity at such a frenzied pace. Although Maureen loved travel as much as or perhaps more than I; too often she was left for extended periods to tend the "nest". Despite her dedication to the family she has managed to travel to many of the more interesting areas of my work.

Spirituality can sometimes become a problem that daunts the bullied. Attempts to evoke redress for issues that are causing this difficulty from a supreme being through faith and prayer may appear to fail. The following is what transpired in my case.

Before attending McMaster University, while still living in my sheltering home in 1955 (age 18), I thought Christianity was the only religion of importance in the world. I believed that Christian Missionaries had done nothing but good in their work. Protestantism was in my mind the only road to a glorious location called "Heaven". Religion can have in theory comfort fallback positions for the bullied.

Then "IT" happened; in my first university year I was required to take a course on religion, given by a tough, no nonsense, middle-aged, ex-army Chaplin and Professor, whose first words were, "Can someone please prove that there is a God?" It became immediately obvious that Christian concept of "Faith" was foreign to him. I can mark this as the most frightful and confusing instance in my life. Peering back 52 years I now can also count this as a very defining important event in my life.

Einstein realized this at an earlier age and said it better as follows. _"Through the reading of popular scientific books I soon reached the conviction that much of the stories in the Bible could not be true. The consequence was a positively fanatic (orgy of) free thinking coupled with the impression that youth is intentionally being deceived by the state through lies: it was a crushing impression..."_

Thus together with the uncertainty within me brought on by my sense of stupidity; slowly I began asking myself questions about all core issues in life. As time elapsed all concepts of importance in spiritual areas were subjected to inquiry. I became the thorn in the side of the Christian Education Department at the family Church and after my wedding and move to Toronto I soon left the Church. Perhaps surprisingly without the physical proof, I believe in The GOD of all decent religions. Noting that radicals have existed in most religions and that these must not define the "Whole of that religion", my spirituality can be expressed by the view that The GOD Created the Universe(s), the laws of physics and mathematics and little more can be said, faith playing no greater part in my thinking. The direct knowledge I now posses on the disastrous condition of the environment and having seen the poverty that defines most (in numbers of people) of the world sickens me. Also possessing the knowledge that Mao alone murdered, knowingly starved to death, or threw into prisons to die in total, 70 million Chinese and also being aware of other serious human related tragedy; I believe the rectifying of these is not God's problem but ours. Again to borrow from Einstein, he declared his belief was _, "not in a God who concerns himself with the fate and actions of men"._ In a broad context humans have been referred to as civilized, in my mind we have yet to act in a manner to really deserve this designation.

Reaching this conclusion in a more direct and vivid way at an earlier time than most, I tried to make an impact mainly through education and research. I must hasten to add that during this time Maureen, my wife and School Director has also devoted her life to education thus by skills and example shaping young minds and providing tools for solving life's problems.

I moved to Toronto for graduate school education (University of Toronto) and to follow my fiancée Maureen Kern when she came here to teach. Toronto and Markham (a suburb) have been my homes with my family for nearly 50 years. How my loving Maureen has put up with the vagaries of my existence for 51 years boggles the mind. This seeming aberration, to not put too fine a point on it as yet, that will become obvious throughout. . I must confess that she stuck with me through some extremely trying times, some noted above, mostly of my making most related to my bipolar vicissitudes. For example she bore the brunt of child rearing. Strangely I had no interest in travel, until Maureen unwittingly convinced me of the desirability of this activity. Little did she suspect that after overcoming my fear of flying I, in my typical manic way, to further my career, would adopt the activity at such a frenzied pace. Although Maureen loved travel as much as or perhaps more than I; too often she was left for extended periods to tend the "nest". Despite her dedication to the family she has managed to travel with me to many of the more interesting areas of my work.

Three children and to date, up to 10 grand children-2 being step grand children, have graced our lives, providing us with pride and sometimes intriguing challenges throughout. Our children listed from oldest to youngest are Lisa, Melissa and Jon Jr. Grand children enumerated by the same criteria are Megan, Landon-Brittany, Alex, Stephanie-Jaime, Jenah, Jordene, Gabby-Maya.

## Professorial Days

It's not difficult to find individuals with serious challenges unrelated to your own.

A strange air of happiness pervaded a Markham/Stouffville Hospital doctors office. The doctor was 30 minutes late a fact that usually engenders annoyance and a restive mood among patients.

Suddenly a fit of coughing erupted to from an enormous woman, thundering with a volume which mirrored her stature. In an instant the doctor's secretary appeared with a glass of liquid which she poured down the cougher's throat between spasms. Abruptly the coughing ceased and a smile appeared. The effect was so instantaneous and unexpected that it prompted a comment that surely the liquid had to have been vodka. The afore mentioned opinion emanated deep from within a wheelchair positioned next to the sufferer and was followed by voluble spasms of laughter from the same source. The laughter was so intense it caused the wheelchair to begin shaking. Typically hesitant to stare at a person in a wheelchair, I none-the-less cast a glance in that direction. To my surprise there lay what appeared to be a tiny elderly woman so bound up and covered with blankets that it looked like a conveyance of laundry supporting a head. One could not help but suppose that a serious medical problem resided within the very shriveled confines of that laughing females anatomy .

To pass the time I was stimulated to engage in friendly banter with those forbearing members of the waiting room and our conversation was frequently and unaccountably accompanied by bursts of merriment from within the bowls of the wheelchair. Had I been the suffering personage of this conveyance there would undoubtedly only have been a self pitying silence. Upon directing questions to this amazing woman I discovered a rich Toronto and then Markham history consisting of an abundant life of high level social activity that she hosted from several historical homes in which she had lived. From the dates mentioned in her conversation I judged my respondent as more than 70, certainly closely similar in age to me. Yet her demeanor, attitude toward life and view of the future was full of hopefulness and mental stimulus in the form of literature, the performing arts, musical concerts and educational TV. Each of her answers was bright, full of humour and often heartfelt laughter.

After the 30 minute demurral, instead of sneaking in through his inner office entrance, the tardy doctor entered purposefully and confidently through the waiting room front door acknowledging everyone by name, as he passed. Upon reaching the wheelchair he paused and made a special effort to pronounce something meaningful and light which was received with a bout of chortling which again set the wheelchair into a quaver. Taking the handles himself he then glided this patient quickly into his office leaving the rest of us to our continued but more subdued, deliberations. Immediately there was a general sense that something inexplicably uplifting had disserted this room.

Somehow other people's challenges like the above and their success in overcoming these fade into the back of our memories quickly. Thus I find myself thinking predominantly and selfishly of my own and so my mind is too soon back in continued self-centered as follows.

My challenges are multitudinous. Although most were lifelong their identities awaited discoveries gained through advances in 20th Century Mental and Emotional "Sciences". The quotation marks around- Sciences-are not meant to slight or demean these crucial fields. They only serve to indicate that, at least in my estimation, these disciplines have an element of subjectivity not as obviously present in the traditional experimental sciences.

Computers have become the accepted and virtually the only means of realizing written communication but I resisted these for many years before becoming a compulsive practitioner.

I am able only to type with one finger. Even then I often spend several second intervals trying to locate a letter. Additionally I spell phonetically, can't tell many times when a letter should be double or single and have only grade 9 skills in syntax. Strangely I find a letter and then frequently hit the one beside or leave out a letter entirely. A particular frustrating and sometimes fatal (in math calculations) ramification is my preponderance to letter and number reversal. When I look at my work and see the ubiquitous misspellings, boldly defined by a red underscore, I employ Spell Check. Sometimes this tool is unable to provide any assistance because of my weird phonetic conception of word notations A good example of this is when I tried to spell "seizures" as I did, phonetically, in a section bellow and I typed "caesures". Spell Check was of no assistance. ("Hey Maureen, how do you spell caesures", then rings down the hall). Always undiscovered by the digital aids is my frequent, uncalled for, use of capital letters at the beginning of a word in the middle of a sentence. The Mind is a strange entity because I have achieved a reasonable vocabulary (memory phenomenon) but augmented frequently, I must admit, by the indispensible and highly recommended word processor Thesaurus Cleverkeys.

As well as being learning disabled I am Bipolar, (Manic Depressive- as I indicated above, it once was more descriptively termed). Again this was not definitively discovered until later 40's. Prior to that these undefined symptoms were treated with high doses of the drug, Valium. Sometimes even injection doses were administered when I was admitted to Mental Wards. (From time to time suicidal tendencies erupted in my manic stages of achievement frustration). The Bipolar discovery, of course, came with changed medication strategies. Lithium, a drug discovered to treat this problem, accidentally, I soon discovered I could not tolerate this drug. This begat the end of lithium and initiated trials of a medley of other medications resulting in twice daily ingestion of a whole pharmacy like amount of different prescription drugs. Such a procedure helped for many years but has finally resulted in irreparable damage related to body balance. Hence I now am fated to wonder the streets of Markham's Swan Lake community imitating a village drunk! There has been one possible redeeming factor to my bipolar condition and that is that I have lived in the manic state much of the time which may account for my incessant drive to achieve all of which is described in detail below. Side effects of this, of course have been poor judgment in many areas and buying sprees. I am a bird fanatic and also, for a time, had 50 aviary and caged birds in the house at one time. My bird book collection including many identical duplicate titles covers 5 shelves. Needles to say I am limited to only one low limit credit card and Maureen owns the house and car.

I normally drive my cars until they are ready for the junk yard. Only then do I purchase a new model. That's why it was unusual for me to have a used car that was good enough to sell. Knowing that a private sale would realize the maximum amount of money, I composed an advertisement and posted it on the bulletin board on the main floor in the University of Toronto, Mining Building, where I worked. On the morning of the next day, the door to my office rattled to the powerful knocks of the Associate Departmental Chairman. He looked at me somewhat quizzically and shouted, "Jon, take down that car advertisement immediately from the bulletin board. I can't imagine any geologist, especially a faculty member, who would spell the word 'mining' incorrectly. It's really embarrassing to the department!" I ran down the stairs and sure enough I had written, "Room 324, Minning Building". This chairperson had been a particular thorn in my side reprimanding me harshly about this and other matters despite knowing of my problems related to spelling and other related factors.

A frustrated laughter emanated from the secretary cubicles in the Institute for Environmental Studies office. The Director appeared to enquire as to the problem. A secretarial spokes-person pleaded; do we really have to type Van Loon's poorly composed research papers?

This was an incident I overheard while checking for mail in the outer office. The Director stated a firm yes, since research papers were scarce from the Institute in those early innings of its incarnation in 1969.

On the one hand are elicited feelings of admiration and awe of the courage and determination you have exhibited in addressing your handicaps; on the other hand, as you must appreciate, is a certain incredulity and cynicism with a system that enabled you to reach your current position, for which, by most standards, you are clearly unsuited."

"Alas! I am sorry to report we have had to conclude that we cannot offer to publish .... "

I had sent the manuscript for review two months before receiving the above reply. I sent this document in response to an enthusiastic offer to consider my material for publication. This publisher had recently released a book on living with diabetes and hence was favourably disposed, at least in principle, to consider a parallel type of manuscript on learning disabilities. A week before receiving the dire letter containing the rejection statement, the editor had sent me a communication, that outlined in a very negative tone, the many hurdles the manuscript would have to clear before being accepted. I should have been ready for rejection, but I had rationalized myself into an optimistic position in spite of the letters. Thus it was a crushing blow to my ego when this rejection came so quickly and so eloquently a week or so later. The rejection letter contained one and one-half pages of singly spaced lines. Most of the content was highly critical, but undoubtedly accurate, such as, "In matters of grammar, spelling, sentence construction, organization, focus, repetition, there is extraordinary work to be done." This was a job that the editor was not willing to do " ... because of the excessive and unusual editorial costs that would be incurred in working with you .... "

Considering these comments the second to last sentence of his letter was a complete surprise. He stated;"Yours is a story that is, in _Reader's Digest_ parlance, unforgettable."

Beads of perspiration break out on my forehead. My arm and hand seem like leaden weights. As I watch what I am writing on the blackboard, material in my brain comes out completely mixed up. I don't seem to be able to remember the details of the problem's solution. Several abortive attempts are made to start the solution. Then I remember the correct first three lines, but the following four I write down are from an unrelated topic. In addition, in going from line two to three, I leave out a complete term in the equation. "Good God," I remonstrate to myself, "can't you even do the simple problems? How can you possibly expect your students to do even more difficult questions on exams?" But I did and I still do expect this from students!

As an Assistant Professor at the University of Toronto in 1965 I was required to begin lecturing. Initially I gave a few lectures on my specialty in other professors' courses. A few years later I had a course offering of my own. Just prior to my stroke I had the equivalent of one and one-half full courses each term, with labs. These are mainly at the fourth-year level. Perhaps this sounds like a success story. Certainly I had achieved a level of success as a lecturer. However, the road to the fourth-year courses was anything but smooth.

After only a year or two of lecturing from the blackboard, it became apparent that I had a severe difficulty. In my earlier years I was required to lecture on environmental science to a class of 200 first-year engineers. During one class on water pollution I realized I had forgotten to bring a map of the Great Lakes. It would have been difficult to give the lecture without such a diagram, so part way through I sketched a map on the board. Engineers are a difficult sell in the classroom at the best of times. They usually talked, laughed and flew paper airplanes during the lecture. As I made my Great Lakes sketch, the level of laughter was much greater than usual. I thought this was a bit rough. My artistic capabilities were poor but surely they did not warrant such hilarity.

Somehow I got through this incident and the rest of the lecture. After most of the students had left, one of the bolder ones, who had been sitting at the back making plenty of noise, swaggered up to me as I waited for the lecture hall to empty. He blurted out, "Van Loon, how could you be so stupid as to draw the Great Lakes backwards?" I turned quickly around to look and sure enough, I had drawn a mirror image of this region!

By itself this would not have warranted giving up the use of a blackboard. However, there have been many more similar incidents and other similar student reprimands. These include writing equations with missing or reversed terms, equations with reversed proportionality signs and even reversed chemical structures. As a result, I stopped using the blackboard almost entirely. In fact, I was so frightened about teaching erroneous material that I placed everything on carefully checked slides or overheads. Even after several years, however, students still vociferously point out minor errors in these. Hard copy of the fully corrected version was then circulated to each class. This turned out to be a useful approach in another way. Instead of wasting time lecturing on this material we were able to hold discussion sessions with questions and answers relating to the content.

I once gave a chemistry exam in which there appeared a question requiring a relatively simple algebraic calculation. This exam was held in a large hall seating about 200 students doing a variety of different exams. Part way through, one of my own students, in a loud voice, announced that he thought some important piece of data for the calculation-based question was missing. I told him to be quiet and finish the rest of the exam while I worked through this one to check on his query. I began the calculation. Part way through I realized I couldn't finish. I struggled and struggled, but without success. In desperation I dashed three blocks to my office to get the solution. You guessed it, the student was correct! I had left out crucial data!

Since undergraduate classes were large I cannot remember a particular student who made these intimidating about my work but the sum and total related to me being intellectually deficient and thus were collectively bullying in nature

Once, a respected colleague wrote to ask if I would prepare a chapter for a book he was editing. The next day, after much deliberation, I replied that I was very honoured but would be unable to participate in this project because of the already heavy burden of my writing commitments. I was about to scribble across his original letter that I had given my answer and to note the date this had been completed when the phone rang. Upon replacing the receiver, and without writing anything, I threw the letter onto the side of the desk and continued to work. Some three days later, his letter again caught my eye. Without giving its contents much thought I wrote to my associate that I was very honoured and would be pleased to accept his invitation to write the chapter. About a week later, I got a phone call from a very confused and bemused colleague asking which side of my split personality he was talking to now and whether my final answer would be a yes or a no!

Thank goodness for email, now days, so that such dichotomies are less likely to occur.

About half-way through my comments at one staff meeting I began to stammer and shake. The words came only haltingly and what words there were, did not necessarily have anything to do with the business at hand. Again I had forgotten what I wanted to say! This embarrassing occurrence results when I do not, before hand, summarize on paper the points I wish to cover. Additionally, I must be brief in my reply so that I do not lose sight of the topic. Most of my colleagues ramble on almost effortlessly from relevant point to relevant point not once glancing down at any notes. As well, their eyes sweep back and forth through the audience. In sharp contrast when I am speaking, I lock onto some inanimate object, fearful of catching someone's gaze. I do this to avoid seeing any hint of a negative mannerism from my audience that might altogether prevent me from continuing. If I am unable to politely avoid visual contact, for example in a one-on-one encounter, I sometimes catch myself closing my eyes in the middle of a conversation as I continue to talk.

Rumours frequently came to my attention that one particular staff member was making fun of the stupidity that this type of repeated performance he felt this represented.

A related problem, extending until today, magnifies this difficulty, after everyone has had the chance to argue a point, I rarely find the consensus containing any of the points that I might have made. The reason for this is likely twofold. First, I am unable to argue well even if I have written important points down. Second, I wonder whether attendees listen very carefully when I speak. I have so often made garbled statements somewhere during the duration of my comments that I fear the audience turns me off, probably in the belief that what I say will not likely be useful anyhow.

Preparation of research papers is a long and arduous task even for those without learning disabilities. Several times during my career, because of my poor memory and bad filing system, I prepared a manuscript (sometimes even a book chapter) twice. When this happened, it is amazing for me to see the great difference in quality that often exists between the two attempts. For some undetermined reason, the first attempt has invariably been better. What a terrible waste of valuable time and effort this was, especially for someone like me who struggles so fiercely just to finish each writing assignment.

Office Chaos

Where could I have put my NSERC grant form? The possibilities were endless. It might be buried on my desk, in files under grants, NSERC, research project titles or elsewhere.

Because of my lack of organizational skills, my desk contained teetering piles of unfinished manuscripts, textbooks, returned book manuscripts, spelling cards, "to do today" schedules, scraps of paper that should have been discarded and used coffee cups. This was always the case and much of the material was in constant danger of falling on the floor (sometimes even into the wastepaper basket!). From time to time my phone number index and even the phone disappeared from view for days at a time. Sometimes, mysteriously, my desk became well organized again. This usually occurred when I had been away from work for a few days. (I guess my colleagues, who share the office, did this to improve the office ambiance).

When something was lost the best bet was to go through all the material on my desk. In most cases the lost article was found. This was a very time-consuming process that might take anything from a few minutes to several hours! Much the same issue is extant today.

For years my filing system consisted of files jammed helter skelter into file cabinet drawers. Materials were so badly inserted that often the drawer could not be closed because of papers protruding upward at all angles. Even worse, the filing had no system. A given item could be anywhere in six drawers in 2 filing cabinets. The greatest problem was that the file titles were so ambiguous that a particular document might be found in any number of individual file locations.

Finally the problem was thinly breached, thanks to my teenage son After his efforts I had a filing system based on file colour and topic, I sometimes found an item in less than ten minutes. Another difficulty became apparent once the files had been put in better order. In some instances I found files with almost identical titles. Couple all this with the problem that there was no guarantee files had been put back and it is obvious why I have often assumed an item I wanted was lost. Frequently I redid all the writing and photocopying of missing items. Then while looking for something else the missing file turned up. Perversely, this seemed certain to occur just as I was laboriously finishing the duplication process.

Covering one wall in my office were bookshelves that extend about thirty feet long and about eight feet high. These contain a random assortment of material - papers, monographs and periodicals that, unlike my files, still remained completely un-systematized.

Also complicating my office existence were several tables, other desks and chairs that very neatly blocked effective access to my office working area. Strewn on top of these was a variety of parts from scientific equipment, abandoned computers, CRT monitors and odds and sods of books, papers and files. To add the final touch to the office chaos there were items of clothing (I jogged to work and frequently, washed and shaved in a large lab sink and dressed in my office). Spare shoes, cloths cardboard boxes, a coffee station, a live parrot and a small assortment of plants completed the office disarray.

The department chairperson, the one I mentioned above was always in my face about my problems despite knowing these were to be expected due to my learning difficulties, on one day seeing this mess stated in his haranguing manner with me; "all this clutter indicates a cluttered mind".

The reader may wonder what useful purpose a parrot could serve in a professorial office. In reality, he served a very important function. I frequently found that visitors overstayed their welcome. After the visitor had been in my office for about ten minutes, the parrot started to screech. This behavior was brought on because the parrot had been subjected to nearly uninterrupted scientific babble. For some reason, either to enter the conversation, announce his annoyance at being subjected to such drivel, or perhaps because he thought he had better answers than I did, he decided to join the cacophony. The result was almost always the same. The startled visitor scanned furtively about the office looking for the source of the noise. Whether he found it or not, each screech was of such high volume that the visitor very soon reached the breaking point and left the scene. It was a source of amusement for me to establish just how long each individual would put up with the noise before leaving. I think the record belongs to a former resident research assistant. She left me after about eight years. Likely this was as much to improve her salary level as to escape the parrot.

It is important to stress to the reader that my office foibles were a vestige of my poor organizational skills. Help from my wife, teenaged son and daughters has been indispensable in improving my daily routines as has important input from a few thoughtful colleagues. Despite this assistance, I will always be fated to endure some degree of inefficiency and the resulting eternal seeming disparaging comments.

The above are just a couple of the demeaning events typical of those that peppered my professional life

We saw it in the Trees and the Ice but I was Too Inept to Recognize This!

One of the most crucial problems facing the world today - Climate Change - could have been publicized in a unique format by extrapolations from work done in our laboratory as early as the early to mid 70's. But the impact of our findings in this now overwhelmingly active field would most likely have lain mothballed in the literature. In any case we would certainly not have ranked amongst the Climate Change pioneers since a few high profile researchers had already published research results at least 2 decades earlier. In accord with the history of environmental awareness and action for change, gems of this nature remain abeyant, lost within the bowls of readily available, frequently read sources for many decades, until a crisis develops and is publicized by high profile activists, in the case of Climate Change, Al Gore.

Great researchers typically have the propensity for divining important peripheral phenomena that flicker amongst the shadows during the pursuit of their main research topics.

We were doing an historical study stretching back into the 1880's of environmental lead and mercury levels. The historical nature of our study was relatively unique from an environmental standpoint. Lead, a constituent of gasoline exhaust until only recently, could readily have been used as an accurate indirect beacon of levels of carbon dioxide emissions from vehicles. Mercury is a volatile trace constituent of the effluvium from coal burning and would have served as an definite concurrent valuation of carbon dioxide from coal consuming electrical power generating plants prevalent until the late 90's. Coal burning was also dominant historically for home heating and a variety of industrial purposes, its use rising sharply with the advent of the Industrial Revolution. Thus had I been perceptive we could have easily calculated data related to anthropogenic carbon dioxide pollution, with a unique historical perspective.

Scientific literature records that lead and mercury contamination from the environment is assimilated in trace amounts by plants from soil moisture travelling up from the roots and from rain water that falls on the leaves. Tracking of lead and mercury levels with time was performed by analysing tree trunk cores from trees in the Toronto area in 1976. We also had data from samples collected systematically in the Greater London England area during a 1968 conference. Tree trunks, as is commonly known, have an internal ring structure with each ring representing a year's growth. We found trees in the Toronto and London areas that were more than 100 years old. By boring into these trees with a hollow brass boring instrument we could remove long cylindrical, pencil shaped, wood cores that retained the internal ring structure. The core was then cut carefully at each ring boundary thus representing 1 year and each segment thus obtained was kept in a vial with the year of the ring marked on the label. By so doing we had a separate yearly segment for an approximate 100 year interval beginning in the 1870's. Each of these separate ring samples was analysed for lead and mercury and the results plotted on time graphs.

The majority of us suffer from tunnel vision focused too specifically on the matter at hand. Additionally I lost concentration upset that I might make a stupid conclusion or mistake. As the reader can see this bully implanted sense of stupidity also partly self inflicted from my school days hampered my innovative free thinking in many ways. Further to this point:

In a related study during the mid 70's one of our lab members was part of a team that traveled to the Northern Polar Regions to take cores down through the ice cap. Using standardized methods the team leader cored down through the ice covering a time interval of approximately 100 years. Somewhat akin to tree cores yearly markings could be identified in these cores. Our colleague was able to acquire small chips of these layers for lead and mercury analysis.

In each sample material our results showed a steady increase in lead and mercury over the 100 year interval, with a dramatic accelerating increase in the later years. This then indicated that lead and mercury pollution was steadily increasing in the Toronto. London and polar areas sampled over this period. Since lead and mercury levels obtained thusly can be correlated with the accompanying greenhouse gas carbon dioxide we could have predicted problems related to anthropogenic carbon dioxide pollution, with a unique historical perspective. Really perceptive scientists would have made these associations.

In Toronto radio broadcasts that I was contracted to give on the now defunct AM 680 CHFI in the late 60's and throughout the 70's, I often mentioned the overpopulation problem that would soon exist; indicating that we would pollute ourselves off the face of the planet if countries like China and India began to demand and adopt our standard of living. Although at that time the US and Canada, despite having a relatively small population, produced the greatest percentage of the worlds carbon dioxide emissions. Notwithstanding unprecedented industrial growth elsewhere, as I write (2012), North American sources still constitute one quarter of the total.

China and India are presently developing industrially at a rapid pace. In large part, particularly in China, inexpensive dirty coal power plant technology pervades. The coal reserves in China are immense making any hope that their stated claims to switch soon to greener energy questionable. Blame for this impending tragedy rests appreciably with Developed Countries where demand for inexpensive consumer goods has escalated steadily. China and other SE Asian countries will happily provide such items for us and for their own spiralling internal demands using 'dirty technology'. China is presently the world's second largest economy with consequent levels of carbon dioxide emissions increasing prodigiously. Thus why did I not project overpopulation as the driving force behind rapid carbon dioxide emission increases? Although convinced of this problem in my own mind the derogatory statements by many over my career about being stupid haunted me. Please remember that I was convinced despite many successes that I might make a stupid statement and embarrass myself as my detractors would suggest. This of course was my own problem in that I lacked the guts to override what others said about me.

There seems that even an important failure in research perception can have amusing sidebars. Her are 2 instances.

While on a conference held London England I took the opportunity to collect roadside soil samples to compare the lead values found therein with those I had already collected and analyzed in Toronto. Upon arrival back in Canada I had trouble getting samples through Canadian Customs. I was halted although I stated on my custom forms that I had no foodstuffs, betrayed by a large carry-on bag of vials containing obvious organic matter. The Customs Officer peered suspiciously at my samples. I was held up 2 hours while personnel tried to determine if the contents were edible and although no one said so, more probably whether they were drugs. In those days there were no drug sniffing dogs or rapid tests there-for.

My sampling team member in the ice core episode mentioned above had access to a snowmobile and hence as a compliment to our polar data I requested that he snowmobile around the adjacent area in a 50 mile diameter taking surface samples of the snow to determine present lead and mercury background levels. We acquired about 85 snow samples in this related activity. Upon analysis of these snow melts we were finding astoundingly high levels of lead. It was impossible to believe that these could be truly representative of existing conditions. Much time was spent testing our vials and sampling equipment for possible lead contamination with no satisfactory explanation arising there-in. It was only during a casual conversation about snowmobiling hazards in this barren region that the source of the contamination became clear. Apparently the sample vials were stowed in a carefully sealed canvas sample bag at the rear of the snow mobile. To take a sample a spotlessly clean vial was retrieved from the sample bag, opened and given a precautionary rinse with deionised water. A sample of snow retrieved from the snow surface nearby without using any sampling aid was simply scooped inside and immediately the vial was resealed and stowed.

To improve initial ignition of snowmobile engines in the below zero conditions in the area high test gasoline was commonly used despite regular grade being manufacturer recommended. Turns out that these 'carefully' acquired samples having come from snow samples in an area at the rear of this transportation they were heavily contaminated with tetraethyl lead from the nearby exhaust thus making them useless for the intended purpose.

It is important to point out that we were not doing earth shattering or fundamental research. Thus I cannot even claim to have tread in the shadows of great scientists. One of the furthermost, whose name we all recognize, is Einstein. Quoting again from him we see how high such greats aim. In conversing with a female colleague in Berlin, he stated _, "I want to know how God created this world. I am not interested in this or that phenomenon, in the spectrum of this or that element. I want to know His thoughts, the rest are details."_ I on the other hand spent my life with research on the "details".

How would you feel if you were a Professor with a learn disability? Proud, confident, that if you could achieve this position you could achieve many others milestones? Just the opposite resided within me. After spending much of my life under a volley of browbeating I possessed a good deal of self doubt, i.e. the "stupid" professor syndrome. Surprisingly adopting a simple minded attitude toward proceeding turned out to be a big help to my research career.

It was imperative to accomplish quality research that could pass pier review and hence be publishable in the premier journals in your field. Thus I assessed the situation as I perceived it in my situation. I decided I needed to adopt the simple but non-the-less elegant approach. Thus I set myself and those in my laboratory the task to develop less complicated, less complex and less expensive tools to do important tasks,

Medical and environmental fields stood out vividly against the back ground of fields where my group could make a contribution. The latter was particularly visible and important and some vital aspects meshed well with the expertise of me and my group. Our expertise was in trace element analysis using mainly a simple but terrible sounding name, atomic absorption spectroscopy. It is interesting to note that in 1965 when I first had the opportunity the environmental problems were poorly defined and little research was occurring in this area. Much that was of this paucity was being covered at the University of Toronto.

Universities at least those with high standards were highly compartmentalized in the 1970's with important core disciplines, eg. Physics, Mathematics, Chemistry and English. This made it difficult to cross borders. There were some other offerings such as Geology and Biology. Students were required to take the core subjects in each discipline. Because of the difficulty involved few made the effort to bridge disciplines. This multidisciplinary areas such as environmental studies languished.

Because of my appointment as an analytical chemist in the Department of Geology my first research had to be in the area of rock analysis. But it was not long until I defied my orders and slipped over to work relating to the environment. This occasioned no end of verbal threatening adversity and my Chair tried to have me fired. The Dean was sympathetic to environmental initiative overtures and happily for me, refused the request. I immediately joined a group at the University attempting to from "The Institute for "Environmental Science and Engineering" later "The Institute for Environmental Studies". It was my hope and that of the others at that time that the Institute would a fellowship of experts from the disciplines. Upon its formation I obtained a cross appointment thus legitimizing my research. Additionally I had published a few papers at that early time, which was unusual for new faculty. This was the beginning of a career full of more controversy!

I professed, above, an attitude of self doubt and thus after every manuscript submission I expected negative reviews, upon giving a scientific presentation I expected questions that I would not be able to answer. In fact I was always expecting to fall from any pedestal and be totally discredited in the minds of my peers. Despite this I expected high standards from myself and my students.

Imagine my surprise and delight when against all odds, in my mind at least, I received an invitation to spend a sabbatical working with Sir Alan Walsh at the CSIRO Division of Chemical Physics in Melbourne Australia. Sir Alan, the Inventor of Atomic Absorption Spectroscopy, apparently had been interested in the way we were publishing methodology using his technique in a simple way to solve environmental problems. (It might have also helped that the division had also received a request from someone they didn't particularly like for the same position.)

Far from working with the great man I found myself working under the Senior Scientists in his group. This was the most fruitful interval in my life as I learned hands on and through lectures so much that my ignorance and self doubt lower to the point I was actually building a small degree of confidence.

Although never working directly with Sir Alan, come late each Friday afternoon he intercepted me and suggested that we retreat to his office for a "wee" glass of Scotch. It seemed that after one or 2 more wee glasses of scotch Sir Alan's motivational stripe emerged. It was during one of these sessions that he provided me with what became my most important view of achievement. He stated; "when you think you have engendered an important accomplishment take care because this is often not the case. If you examine this feat closely you might well have arrived at a commendable plateau. However careful foresight most often reveals something else misting through above this current elevation which is begging to be discovered". Although this became my career touchstone I never was really capable of this higher level of performance.

Publishing Honest Results can be Hell

They were Cool but bright days in early May 1972. A friend and colleague and I were studying the fish population and water quality of a suite of lakes near an industrial city in Central Ontario. Emanations from the cities smelters were sulphurous and metal bearing in nature. Nets had been set at strategic points to allow an estimation of the fish population. The acidity was measured institue and water samples were taken and stabilized for lab analysis.

The numbers of fish being caught were few and those that were turned out to be elderly indicating that these species, mostly trout, were unable to spawn under the existing conditions. Other scientist could use scales rings and the calcium content of reproductive organs to age the fish. Our host, a trapper and hunter, made the most delicious fish stews from our catches eaten with sour dough bread slathered in butter it was a delight. (The fish had been taken in gill nets and were not in a fit state for release). During all this enjoyment and good science little could we see the threat of a possible jail incarceration looming on the horizon!

A confidential Government report was compiled using our results. It was on behalf of the local indigenous people who depended of fishing for a large part of their livelihood. The story becomes hazy at this point. Whether the government or an independent body of indigenous peoples sued the large industrial complex for pollution of the large suite of lakes that we found almost bereft of fish and highly contaminated with metals and acid I don't know. All I do know for sure is that soon we were being sued for publishing erroneous results and hence slandering the company in question. Jail was a distinct possibility.

We had been one of the few laboratories in North America using standard reference samples to attempt to verify our results. Thus it was beyond our understanding how the challenging industry could claim their results showed ours were 10 times too high! I was too frightened to attend the trial (intimidation type bullying laid on continuously since early days at school and in my work environment had placed me in this condition.) and any way our lawyers had the input and presence of my coworker and all my results. The industry was now trying intimidation tactics by threatening slander and other consequences that could easily result in a jail sentence.

Our law suit against this imposing company had finally came down to the last day and it was clear the judge could not tell which side was right. Then suddenly and very unexpectedly a very brave but anonymous person from within the industry snuck out a document on their letterhead showing that the company results in truth actually agreed with ours. Immediately the industry settled with the Indigenous people, affected, for the full amount! The law suits against us fell to pieces. (I finally did complete the "jail" story). Sometimes beads of perspiration still break out on my forehead when I think of this quandary. Sometimes you are certain of your veracity and still have doubts. This is much more serious in individuals such as me who have the constantly inflicted feeling of being stupid always in the back of their minds.

Perhaps we had not learned our lesson well enough about tackling big corporations!, because a year or so later a few of us from the lab went down to Southwestern Ontario to investigate the contamination of Lake Erie by another prominent Industry. This Industry had a year or so previously been the subject of a notorious TV program relating to another pollutant.

In this case we were investigating Phosphorous as (phosphate), the so-called limiting nutrient. This element achieved this name because its low level in most lakes, compared to other nutrients, prevents harmful algal blooms from forming. Thus any plentiful amount in the outflow from industry or other sources causes an undesirable green slimy algal bloom event. (It might be important at this point to indicate the deleterious nature of algal blooms-other than their unsightliness and impediment to recreational use of the water body. Another more serious problem arises when the algae dies and decomposes, a process which utilizes dissolved oxygen and hence results in its depletion in the water. The loss of dissolved oxygen seriously affects fish populations, particularly the desirable fish that are commercially important and those that are of greatest interest to anglers).

We found astoundingly high levels of phosphate, in the aqueous effluent of this Industry. We reported this to the press, but by the time it appeared the story was general enough that it seemed that the Industry had not stopped emitting the original pollutant which had caused such an outcry the year previous and which they had promised to stop. That night I was curled up in a ball on the bed crying in fear that there would be a phone call from the Industries lawyer. Sure enough the phone rang. I asked Maureen to answer because I couldn't. But instead of a lawyer it was a high level company representative apologizing for the situation and promising that immediate action was coming! We never found out the total story about the phosphate situation. This was only one of many sources of phosphate from both the US and Canada into Lake Erie, the shallowest and least voluminous of the Great Lakes. Thus in the 70's and 80's the Lake had a serious problem as far as algae was concerned. Many of these sources have been much diminished or eliminated. Thus Lake Erie is much improved for both swimming and fishing for 10 or 15 years. It was only recently that I read a report indicating the siruation has recently deteriorated again.

Building Confidence

In the following I must write a smidgen of material on which I base our research confidence. One must also assume we knew how to properly operate the equipment.

I was starting to realize that as long as we continued to use Standard Reference Materials together with each batch of samples we ran, with these interspersed randomly in the set and if the results on these agreed with the accepted values of the standards we should be able to feel confident in our sample results.

A note on Standard Reference Samples is essential. This information is important for everyone that is prescribed blood tests. Appropriate standard samples for this blood samples are used routinely to ensure the results obtained and reported to your doctor are correct.

First of all what are these? They were being produced by Trusted Groups such as The National Bureau of Standards in Washington D.C., The Environmental Protection Agency also in Washington and The National Research Council in Ottawa, Ontario.

How did the samples become standards? They consisted of stabilized waters, blood samples, 100 pound amounts of leafs such as Orchard Leaves, Tomato leaves and others which were expertly homogenized, split into many 100's of small bottles and then some of which were sent to trusted laboratories which could analyze them for as many elements as possible by as many analysis techniques as possible. Upon receipt of the results back the supplying Agency processed them statistically and concentration values for the elements were assigned accompanied by a standard deviation (a statistical range within which you can expect the result to fall and still be considered correct). These samples together with a certifying document can be bought by labs like mine as long as they are available. We always carefully stored a stock of standard samples and used them. It might be interesting to note that we became, in time, a lab to whom a few of these Agencies sent samples for help in the standardization round.

Did you get all that? I have included this so that any experts don't overly criticize our statements of fact and in the hope blood sample result recipients will feel more confident about the values on the report.

It is also just as important to obtain representative samples of the sample materials to be analyzed. Most often this means taking several grab samples whether of liquids or solids and then homogenizing them well. Equally important is to exclude contamination and to keep the samples stable until analysis. In some cases a few constituents had to be determined on site.

Here and there I have referred to "trace elements/elements. Before leaving the bulk of the scientific scene in this manuscript it is important to define "trace" in this context. It generally refers to anything at parts per million and below levels. A part per million is 1 divided by 1 million or one millionth of, in this context, a metal or other element.

Finally, to finish this section, what did we do that gave me the opportunity to live here and there and work for short periods on all the continents except Antarctica?

It was becoming imperative in the 70's to be able to determine not only the elements but their compounds as well. This was patricianly true because the compounds of the element, for example the methyl compound of mercury is much more toxic than elemental mercury were more toxic than the element itself. Some of these elemental compounds could pass both the blood brain and the placental barriers. So disciplines such as e the environment and medical science were affected.

Up to that time these compounds were done using million dollar equipment only available in the larger laboratories possessing expertly trained staff both of which existed in the wealthier more developed countries. This left "developing countries", which often had the worst pollution, more rudimentary labs and personnel not familiar with sophisticated techniques, adrift.

As we were doing similar research, I noticed a recent publication by Doug Segar in Miami, the first time the idea had been published in which 2 pieces of relatively cheap commercial equipment were combined which could determine elemental compounds, one element at a time. Hence we published our paper just finished on selenium compounds but done with a homemade $100 device to replace one of Doug's commercial devices. We extended the idea even further and made the unique combination of 2 homemade devices which could do 4 types of elements as their compounds simultaneously. We did analyses for real samples. This ws an important new development.

It is only fair to say I had a few spectacular failures related to research initiatives as well. I remember clearly the misadventure surrounding the development of an inexpensive ultrasonic nebulizer (a glorified type of scientific sprayer). Good research money down the drain. Then I wrote a book manuscript on Plasma Source Mass Spectrometry, panned vigorously the reviewers

Still our other work prevailed and the idea of being able to do pollutant analysis work cheaply and easily with our successful elemental analyzer described above and being able to employ personnel having been trained carefully but with less expensive training methods appealed to many countries and their scientific groups. It is for this reason that I began with my worldwide teaching and research adventures.

Difficulties in social situations

As usual, I was most uncomfortable. I looked around the living room. Almost everyone had split into small groups, most in animated conversation with each other. Here and there, but still very much a happy part of the assemblage, were individuals who said little or nothing. They were content to take part by listening attentively. I stood there in the doorway hoping not to catch anyone's eye, pretending to be busy with some small chore. At the first hint that someone was heading my way, I quickly retreated into the hallway. It embarrassed me to have to talk to anyone. I feared making serious errors or interjecting something into the conversation that was unrelated to what was being discussed. In other words I was frightened of doing or saying something stupid.

One still unfortunate, aggravating factor surrounding social events for me is that I am often falsely considered an authority on a wide variety of subjects simply because I possess a PhD. Because of this, when an argument or discussion needs an arbitrator with the final word, I am frequently nominated. Never mind that the discussion is about health, politics or movies. In the minds of many people a PhD. represents the pinnacle of knowledge, PERIOD. Most PhD's I know tend to be relatively narrow in their range of expertise. In my case, the situation is even worse. My range of expertise is so narrow that if it were turned sideways it might disappear altogether. Because of my poor memory I know less about matters outside this narrow range of science than probably anyone else at a party. For example, in the case of movies, I frequently cannot remember the plot and the actors' names, let alone any details, two or three days later.

One particular individual that gave me constant trouble was himself very adept at remembering events, movies, news in the print and visual media. In the middle of parties he would frequently with a smirk on his face button hole me and ask a question in a loud voice pertaining to one of these subject areas. When I was unable to answer his question in the same loud voice he would brow beat me in a multitude of ways and make me appear stupid.

As a result this and other similar experiences I refuse to attend most parties and have few good friends. On the average outside the family I probably attend only 3 parties a year. These I go to "screaming and shouting" in the car on the way. Not counting my family, this leaves me with 3 or 4 good friend and about six acquaintances. In addition, as a former baseball and hockey coach, I had weekly interactions with ten or twelve adults who also volunteered their skills at a sports club near my home in Toronto.

One type of social responsibility that I found particularly difficult were events that took place associated with professional activities at the university. Since retirement I have not gone back to the University for any Reason. Activities including undergraduate welcome parties, staff Christmas parties and social hours associated with visits from world renowned scientists were particularly difficult. Because of my acute problems in carrying on conversations and in being with people at an elevated intellectual level, I refuse to attend such events.

Games such as bridge, chess and charades are popular social activities. Because of my poor memory I am particularly hopeless at games requiring good recall. It is difficult for me to bear the unspoken, but strongly implied, "I wonder why a PhD. plays bridge or chess so poorly?" One of my colleagues could recall bridge hands and the details of how they were played several rubbers back and he was often "needling" me that I was prone to make identical and predictable stupid errors in sequential games.

Traveling abroad as frequently as I did each year to present my scientific research at conferences meant that, out of courtesy, I receive many invitations into people's homes. To avoid inflicting my social gaffes on these generous and unsuspecting people, I have developed a large repertoire of excuses. These include sickness, pet allergies, jet lag and conflicting engagements. I have become truly superb at relieving myself of social obligations at the last moment.

Probably related to my proneness to making errors in answering questions in social situations I developed the habit of closing my eyes often when speaking with a person. This makes me feel less venerable not being able to view the persons expression relating to the impression I was making

Strangely, the lack of friends is not a severe difficulty for me. I have become a relatively happy "loner." My fetish for gardening, computers, electronics, photography keeping up 24 homemade 6 and 8 core CPU desktop computers running health and environmental research for world class research teams on the World Community Grid, provide ample opportunity to fill the voids caused by a lack of friends.

Fear of self embarrassment and owing favours to others (that I might be unable to fulfill) are constantly in my thoughts. Additionally, I have little patience with the idiosyncrasies and weaknesses that are ever present in the character of others. Unjustified self pity often dominates the conversations of even the truly "advantaged" Canadians of today and this to me is unforgivable. On the other side, the self aggrandizement and outright self promotion that characterize the conversations of some is also despicable. Although I possess many of these weaknesses myself, I have no desire to hear the often booze inspired diatribes on the advancing fringes of these problems that occur at parties. I have little patience with those (unfortunately, large numbers of people) who indulge themselves in these "games", ever trying to paint a self pleasing but distorted picture of themselves. None of my few friends and many family members are this way.

There were a variety of "happenings" in my work at the University that were only distantly social in nature. A good example is a seminar delivered by a visiting scientist. Over the years I have found such events very difficult to handle. These talks are usually only slightly related to my work. I felt frustrated about my inability to follow and then participate (through questions) in such presentations. To my professional detriment I usually did not attend either the lecture but especially not the reception social afterwards.

My refusal to attend departmental parties for fear of saying something stupid was not only a black mark against me professionally but was hard on Maureen who like normal people enjoyed such events. Imagine having to make suitable conversation in a room full of very intelligent PhDs?

Despite my negativities on friendship, I find myself desperately wanting to be liked. In conversations with others I go out of my way to insert compliments, frequently making myself the butt of jokes. Often I write short complimentary notes to colleagues who have done something well either large or small. Despite this, except in one case I seldom remember receiving any such comment by either a colleague or a "friend." My family I must stress is very

Self doubt can be an especially paralyzing sensation. The learning disabled person grows to expect failure and unfair criticism in many "normal" activities. I frequently find myself apologizing for a mistake whether it is my fault or not. I recently caught myself apologizing when someone else stepped on my foot. Likewise, I frequently say thank you even when I have done something for someone else.

During a recent visit to the dentist, the teenaged, vivacious receptionist handed me the dreaded dental insurance claim form with the request that I sit down in the waiting room and fill in the details. This I did, returned to the counter and handed it in before resuming my seat in the crowded waiting area. A few moments later as I was absent-mindedly scanning a magazine, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. It was the receptionist standing over me brandishing the form. She bent down toward my ear. Then in a voice that I am sure could have been heard outside on the street she blurted, "Surely Mr. Van Loon, we can do better than this! Everything is on the wrong lines and you've signed where the dentist is supposed to sign." All conversation in the room stopped and I could feel a multitude of eyes disapprovingly scanning my claim form. It is impossible under such circumstances not to feel incredibly stupid and put down. For me, even the simplest activity can turn into a nightmare.

"I know what I want to say, but I can't say it. Oh, Oh, I feel so stupid!" These were the frequent protestations of my father-in-law in the several years following his stroke. He was terribly embarrassed to even answer the phone or try to deal with salespeople, tellers and others whose help he required daily. He never knew it, of course, but every day I encounter this same difficulty. Many times I have tried to make a cogent argument at staff meetings, at conferences, or even in my own home only to discover I could not extract onto my tongue the phrases that I had formulated in my mind. This, coupled with a poor memory for the points I wish to make, often leads to Foolish, poorly related statements, when I attempt to join in important discussions,. It is too bad I cannot insert the audience into my head because they might be amazed at the several excellent points that are trapped, forever, therein.

After the whistle blew, the time-clock kept running. This evoked a very nasty reaction from the parents of the other hockey team, which was then losing by a single goal. Even much higher levels of criticism cascaded down when I mistakenly left the penalty timer off for one of their players as play resumed. I found myself being accused of deliberately sabotaging their team's chances.

To be helpful (I thought), I had volunteered to be timekeeper at some of the minor hockey games for the hockey organization my son had joined. From the beginning, however, the experiment had been a disaster. The hockey timekeeper's console consisted of several toggle switches, rather than the pressure sensitive buttons of today, all designated for different, but important, operations. No matter how much I practiced, I still managed to employ the wrong combinations. This appeared to me to be a result of my left-right problems and an inability to process events quickly enough. Sometimes, in a panic to quickly respond to an important development in the play, I threw the set of switches into almost a completely opposite set of combinations than were needed. Although even "normal" timekeepers made some errors, I never saw situations as badly dealt with as by me. It was incredible to many of my ho hockey colleagues that a person possessing a Ph.D. could do so poorly. As might be expected, I was asked politely to retire from this duty after only a short time.

I was frequently amazed at the facility with which many of my colleagues set up equipment and performed meaningful research. I typically plodded through to my goal without an optimized planned _modus operandi._ If relatively long procedures were involved I often found myself unable to correctly follow the prescribed steps. To make matters worse, when I turned these instructions over to my assistant, in most cases, he quickly succeeded in completing the work. The daily occurrence of such happenings and the onslaught this would bring on my ego resulted in a lack of self confidence. I have been bashed around so severely in these incidents that I have grown to believe that I am wrong whether proved so or not.

A chemist who was dealing with complicated chemical procedures and equipment who could not follow instructions properly is hard to imagine. This meant I frequently was faced with asking one of my Research Group to start equipment running the initially. More commonly, I never learned to use the equipment to its fullest potential.

Battles with Writing

It was long a mystery to me how a person like me could acquire a Ph.D., become a professor and be a research scientist writing books and research papers. This conundrum was such a difficulty to me that, as I mentioned earlier, I spent a great deal of time (and money) in sessions with psychiatrists. In fact, because I did not know I had a learning disability and because I really believed I was stupid, I frequently became severely depressed. As a result I spent three intervals in hospital wards.

As stated earlier sometimes I overheard the typing personnel laughing at some of the misspellings and saying such things as, "I think he just puts a letter where he feels it looks good." Condemnation of one kind or another concerning my "sloppiness" has followed me through my professional career. I have been a relatively prolific writer of scientific material. Since my early years at the University there have always been a variety of manuscripts to be typed that ranged from book chapters to research papers to articles for trade journals. Frequently there were several manuscripts on the go at one time and these arrived at the typing pool in a group. At the best of times this occasioned a collective groan from the secretaries. I must comment that I do sympathize both with the teachers who laboured with me over the years and friends who work with me now. There is no question it is terribly difficult to have patience and understanding with me in such circumstances.

Because of my difficulties I am constantly encountering pitfalls that can easily be breached by normal learners. It was necessary for me to publish the results of my scientific research. No matter how hard I try, my written submissions also occasioned severe criticism by referees and editors, particularly for poor spelling and grammatical deficiencies. I commonly receive statements such as, "The science is sound, but the presentation is unbelievably poor for such a prestigious laboratory." Recently I have broken a cardinal rule by which I had previously lived. I asked for help from one of my sympathetic associates in screening my papers. My manuscripts are now always corrected by this colleague before being sent to a journal. Of course, this makes me feel very stupid.

In a related incident, the only negative comment (by the reviewer) one of my published books on chemistry received was as follows:

"There are a variety of errors in spelling, grammar and chemical formulas, which could have been easily caught if the manuscript had been carefully proofread."

Of course the reviewer could not know that I had proofread the manuscript very critically and laboriously, but had missed errors because of my poor visual processes.

It is important to stress the difficulties that arise because of my poor writing abilities. Many of my audience will undoubtedly be struggling in a similar way. I shall never forget the following, which occurred in the early years of my job at the University.

In the early years of my scientific work the comments I received on my writing efforts from journal editors were enough to make a grown man cry. Perhaps the most cutting comments I ever received were the following:

I had made the statement that from a table in which the pH values were going up it was obvious that the acidity was increasing. Of course, just the opposite is true and the reviewer wrote, "I would expect such a mistake perhaps from a Geographer (many of whom, unfortunately, try to dabble in the science of environmental studies). However, from a Chemist this is unforgivable! Reject the paper."

Beamish, the senior author, with his characteristic tenacity, began his part of the chore. The manuscript, which had already been three years in preparation, was subjected to additional severe modifications and corrections over the next seven months. It was immediately resubmitted. Imagine our horror when three weeks later a letter came asking us to allow the publisher out of the contract. All this time, hours of frustration, blood, sweat and tears and now rejection! Beamish, in the meantime, had become seriously ill and was recovering slowly. This news and the uncertainty it implied about the publication future of an important segment of his life's work was, in my view, a devastating blow from which he never fully recovered.

I could neither anticipate nor expect any further help from Beamish. The predicament was mine. Every time the dilemma crossed my mind I broke out in a cold sweat. Indeed, it got so I could not broach the subject without a torrent of self-pity mixed with a strong desire to throw the manuscript in the garbage. However, forcing myself to begin I wrote to a variety of new publishers. Within a few months we had negotiated another contract. Again changes, which were made over what seemed to be an eternity (actually about six months) were essential. But this time the publication process was completed.

In retrospect, this was for me the turning point on the tortuous pathway to professional respectability. I had used strong self-discipline in a task that seemed to involve insurmountable odds and had won. I was now confident that the mechanism for modest success was in place. All that was essential was an overwhelming tenacity to the task. Never mind that the route was, and always will be, severed with seemingly un-brechable chasms. Ignore the fact that these impediments do not exist for many of my colleagues. I was now confident that the bridges could be constructed and the roadbed built, albeit laboriously, to successfully overcome these difficulties.

Conference Foibles

I enjoyed some success as a conference speaker and in fact gave 2 Plenary Addresses and several Invited Lectures. But sometimes these were not without a component that implied stupidity.

At my first International lecture at a prestigious conference I came unprepared for a horrible consequence. As I lectured away on the Atomic Absorption Determination of the Rare Earth Elements a procedure developed in my laboratory my confidence grew. However there was one delegate in the first row who sat through the entire presentation with a discussed look on his face. I presumed he must be having a bad day. However to my horror when the period for asking questions arrived this delegate leapt to his feet and stated; "What idiot would propose determining the Rare earth elements by Atomic Absorption"? Of course that idiot was me! Although I managed a respectable rebuttal it was clear the other delegates basically agreed with my detractor. What an example of a professional Bully this scientist was. He apparently repeated this performance on others at many conferences. Trouble was that my inherent feelings of stupidity were stirred once again.

Disasters such as this contributed greatly to the developing view that I must learn to stop worrying so much about what others think of me

It is important to stress that monumental difficulties still occur frequently in my life (and will undoubtedly in yours). In the face of such frustration it is logical to ask how one maintains the self-discipline and motivation to continue. Many times I can devise no convincing answer other than the memory that I once succeeded in the face of insurmountable odds. Luckily, although the details (feelings, sequences and actual mechanisms evoked to resolve the problem) have long since faded into the persistent mists of my memory, the overall confidence that the solution of the problem left, has never totally disappeared.

Although I have now reached a new and much higher plateau on the scale of emotional stability, I still find myself using my learning disability as an excuse not to force myself toward difficult achievements. It is from this perspective that I realize I might never have attempted a Ph.D., nor undertaken to write scientific textbooks had I known of my disability earlier. The motivation to prove to others, but even more importantly, to convince myself, that I was not stupid, had forced me to academic achievement.

An International challenge that I undertook was partially successful but had a colossal embarrassment component. I was asked to deliver one of three keynote addresses at an important international conference being held in Europe. My first reaction was to turn down the invitation, but eventually I agreed. One year before this event I had summarized all the important science that I felt I should present. This was then formulated into a very simple slide format. Throughout the year I updated the material. Then the slides were finalized several weeks before my departure.

My address was to be on the last day of the five-day conference. Because of my fears that I might fail in this task, I did not attend the first four days. Instead, I stayed in the hotel and rehearsed the talk. In addition, and because there would be a question period, I continuously reviewed related material that I had summarized on cards.

Nine o'clock on the fifth day of the conference my talk began. Part way through the presentation it came to my mind that I was doing well. Thus I gained momentum and finished with a flourish. Just as I was congratulating myself on pulling it off, the Chairman asked for questions. The first (and last) was as follows

A colleague from the United States stated, "A student I met had read your recent book and he suggested that I obtain it for use in my laboratory. Could you please tell me the title and publisher?" Believe it or not, I could not remember the title! I had to admit this before the audience of 800 scientists. My instant reaction was: I am sure they were all thinking, "If he can't even remember the title of his own book, how good could the science have been in his lecture?" Not surprisingly, no more questions were forthcoming and I knew there were many who could not understand my stupidity in this eventuality.

"There were so many spelling and grammatical errors that I refuse to correct any more! Van Loon would be well advised to hire a professional writer."

Many times during the preparation of my most recent book I quit and threw the manuscript into a corner, but sooner or later I found myself working on this material again. A scientist acquaintance wrote a monograph on a topic of applied chemistry in the specific discipline area where I work. I admired this colleague for his contribution. His book, however, represented a challenge. After evaluating the contents, I realized that the material was most useful to the relatively small fraction of scientists who were lab managers and academics in this field. On the other hand, there were the majority of workers whose job it was to use these techniques in the laboratory. Thus it came to mind that I could make a very useful contribution by writing a good book for this relatively large group of "users".

Because of my problems, my capabilities for reading or formulating theory were limited. On the other hand, I had to turn all my energy loose onto applications of the technique. Facility in this regard could give even me an edge in writing a book of an applied nature. My learning disability makes it necessary for me to put concepts in very simple terms, so I can understand them (in my summaries, my scientific articles and my teaching materials). Thus any scientific book that I might undertake would have to be written simply and clearly - factors that could also give me an edge in explaining complex procedures to the practical user.

After about a year of writing I had completed one-third of the manuscript. This got me sufficiently psyched up to keep going. How could I possibly throwaway a year's work? By adding more and more practical material, always at the expense of theory, I was able to push myself through to the end. In **my** eyes this type of book would be of greater use to more chemists than my colleague's book and therefore I would be succeeding in an important challenge

I was highly motivated by the goal and what I knew could be a surprisingly higher level of achievement for a person of my capabilities. Even when I wanted to stop and destroy the manuscript (which occurred several times), I was able to force myself to continue. This happened in spite of a nervous breakdown and hospital stay, which occurred towards the middle of the job. Because of this health problem, I had to ask for (and was readily given) more time by the publisher.

On one occasion during the manuscript preparation I had to speak with international conference colleagues about my proposed book. Several told me they had also tried such a project but had given up. They predicted I would do the same. A few commented that it would be futile to write a book on this material because the subject matter would be out of date before publication. This was indeed true for those on the forefront of the subject. But for the majority of practicing chemists, I knew such a book could be extremely valuable for a protracted period to come. Such criticism just gave me more reason to finish and prove the critics wrong.

Always, after publication of a book, the writer must wait anxiously for reviews. In a way, this is like the actors in a Broadway play waiting for reviews in the morning paper. The difference is that it takes three to six months for scientific book reviews to appear and hence there is too much time to contemplate the outcome. During this period worry dominated to such a degree that I purposely refused to read any book reviews for fear of finding them unfavourable

It was only after my brother wrote to congratulate me on a review that I had the courage to read one.

In the first sentence the reviewer stated, "This useful and very readable monograph will be of particular value to those practicing analysts who daily wrestle with problems .... " I didn't have to read further. I had achieved my goal of writing "simply" and for the majority of scientists who actually do the work. In my view, a learning disabled person can be ideally suited to write such material. He must write simply or he could not even follow what he himself has written. Such books then were of great value to the actual practitioner. Within a few months, over 90% of the copies of the book had been sold.

Upon receiving the first few copies of my first book I took them home for my family, one for each. They were all so proud oohing and ahing over what a fine book it was. Then suddenly my wife said to me, "There's an error here." I wondered how she could find an error in my chemistry, since she is not a chemist. "Oh," she said, "but it's not your chemistry. You've spelled your daughter's name wrong in the dedication!"

To make things even worse, this happened again in my next book. What monuments to my learning disabilities!

There, on the cover for every scientist to see was "Chemical **Analysis** of Inorganic Constituents of Waters". Perhaps the most startling error that I made in one of my books was in this title. Almost any analytical chemist will tell you that the word "analysis" must be changed to " **determination** " for the above title to be correct. This error was punched home to me by a Brazilian colleague in a three-line letter, which went as follows: 'When I saw the ad for your book in the CRC catalogue, I resolved to send the enclosed material (some basic chemical definitions that all chemists should know including the 011£ governing my erroneous book title). Greetings from Brazil!"

Overdoing it to Try Show My Critics (and myself) I was Indeed Competent and Capable

To mask daily demeaning occurrences, I believed that the more I did, the more chance I could build up a positive image to stand in the reflection of the disaster that would ultimately strike when my stupidity finally won. Luckily, instead of making me give up, problems became a tremendous challenge. I wanted to test how much I could handle. And so I began accepting all the invited lectureships that were offered. During one period in England I gave seven talks in the span of six days. Then I accepted the position of General Chairman of the most prestigious conference in my field. Along with all this I increased my rate of scientific research and publications (some research was now being done on my living room floor and in my basement in the evenings). Strangely none of this counted as success to me and I argued this point vociferously with family and doctors.

Not surprisingly I was stricken with a stroke, due to overwork, while working the equivalent of 2 fulltime jobs at the University and in China simultaneously. Although I suffered little physical damage, my mind took a severe hit. This was defined by confusion and loss of trains of thought. Worst of all my ability to do research and teaching was disabled where-by it was necessary to leave all my University duties.

The reader must be wondering how a scientist could remain in the forefront of his subject without at least normal reading capability. Must he not stay abreast of the literature, reading hundreds of papers each year? The answer is that I was barely able to keep up. For this reason the advice from the psychologist to quit my job, which she gave after discussing my learning disability, was probably insightful.

It is crippling to be a professor and research scientist but to be unable to learn normally from books and research articles. The written word still remains virtually a mystery unless I use "tricks" to help elucidate the material. Most importantly, the concepts must be transformed into a pattern that is easy to assimilate and placed in written or computer files for easy reference. Even then, this transformed material is not permanently in my memory, but must be restudied frequently until used. For this reason my long-term memory consists of summary cards and notes that can be retrieved for review as required.

Apart from the problem of remembering meanings, there is the matter of "seeing" international traffic signs properly and then their correct interpretation. Even something as commonplace as driving a car can be a problem. The adoption and exclusive use of international traffic signs will be a particular hazard to the learning disabled. For example, an arrow with a line through it means do not turn in the direction of the arrow. Frequently, at first glance, I do not see the line and my first reaction is to turn in the direction of the arrow. In order to avoid such a potential disaster, I must consciously ask myself what I am seeing, particularly enquiring whether a line is present or absent. Obviously, at freeway speeds such lengthy processing can be dangerous to the all drivers and passengers health!

In a related matter, because of my inability to tell right from left quickly, signs such as "keep left" or "squeeze right" must be positioned well ahead of the applicable area in order to evoke a correct response. Likewise, a driver flashing his directional signals immediately prior to making a turn may find me taking the wrong corrective action unless I have appreciable time to consciously process his indicated intention.

Of course, in some ways my knowledge of this problem provides a counter-balance. Because I must be alert at all times, I think I drove more defensively than others. Finally at age 60 after a stroke on my first return to the psychiatrist he stated as follows. "Please hand me your drivers license". Startled, I retrieved the form from my wallet and complied. Holding the object in his hand, he asked; "May I tear this up?" Seeing that I was at a loss for words he replied, "It will be much easier and less officious this way than if I need to fill in the forms to have the authorities pull your ticket." It then came to my mind that perhaps I did not even deserve to be driving in the first place anyway. It was a shock, but I assented.

_"I suggest you resign your position and find an environment much less intellectually stressful_ _."_

I have alluded to this suggestion having been made just in passing above. Here are some relevant details of my discomfort

After three extended stints in hospital wards for emotional problems, and because of my emotionally-related accounts of the pressures associated with my daily work in academia, I received the above advice from a sympathetic psychologist.

At 50, I felt completely burnt out and totally devastated emotionally. Each time I eased myself back into the university working environment, it was as though the next day might be my last. Yet I had found it impossible to accept the psychologist's recommendation. What would I do? How could I continue to support a family? In a half-hearted attempt to put the advice into practice, I took correspondence courses in horticulture. Gardening has been my all-consuming hobby, but when a decision had to be made, I just couldn't leave the university.

I have lived away from Toronto for many periods in my lifetime. In several instances these intervals have been outside Canada (Australia, Japan, Brazil). Frequently during the first few weeks of my stay, I have become so agitated over these new and unknown surroundings and the pressures associated with everyday life in my vocation that I have found myself at night crying and promising myself to go home. Fortunately cooler heads won out and I did not abandon any of these projects. Anxiety caused by sudden changes in life is common among the learning disabled. Despite traveling to over thirty countries on five continents, I still feel uncomfortable in new surroundings.

Like most people, my mood seems to be a complex product of positive and negative factors related to past, present and future occurrences. But I am Bipolar. At times, my foibles seemed to outweigh my positive qualities and I felt very depressed. I could exist in this depressed mood without being even remotely aware of any specific cause. In an attempt to improve the situation, I tried to remember what negative factors were involved. This is a classic Catch-22 situation. My memory is poor, so I couldn't remember the cause and this resulted in another round of depression. If the problems were rediscovered, I wrote them down in order to have a chance at rectification. It boggled my mind to be unaware of what actual, and usually obvious, problems existed to have caused my black mood. But I would forget this is typical of being bipolar. There were instances when I think I was depressed simply because this had become my dominant mood. Thus when my mind was unable to detect any blatantly positive factors it just automatically reverted to the depressed status quo.

The instant I awoke, intense feelings of foreboding blanketed my thoughts. I knew that if I didn't throw back this encumbrance instantly with the bed clothes, I was unlikely to arise at a decent hour. I propelled myself from the bed to the floor before I had time to further develop these negative feelings. Non-the-less back they came.

Daily during my depression phases I had to force myself to complete routine chores that most people seemed to accomplish without effort. I looked at my "to do" list for the day. There were several urgent phone calls awaiting my attention. I found myself afraid to call! Unopened mail was scattered across my desk. I was particularly afraid to open mail related to financial aspects of my research grants.

Many of my feelings of foreboding arose from a deep-seated lack of self-confidence. As I slowly ticked off the obligations on the "to do today" list, I found myself loaded down with the fear that I would drown in a sea of difficulties before completing the day's chores.

The great fortune in my bipolar existence is that the manic phases dominated. Thus the intervals described above were relatively infrequent but still briefly destroyed my creative flow

And I think that I am hard done by?

It sounded like an animal scratching amongst forest litter for food. As I approached more closely I could see garbage in a casement under the store front porch moving up and down as though being tunneled through by an animal. Whatever it was, it remained fully covered and did not appear for me to make identification. I thought nothing more of the incident and returned to my Campinas, Brazil hotel room.

Several days later, passing the same spot, a similar scene presented itself. Garbage that had been thrown into the casement under this porch from a neighboring restaurant was again alive as though being scavenged by some neighborhood animal. This time, however, as I reached the store in question the garbage parted momentarily revealing a small human figure. The body was so small, frail and covered in rags that I was unable to identify its gender. Its eyes were very large compared to the face and were sunken in huge cavities. The facial skin was tautly stretched over the bony relief. A tiny chin, normal nose and large ears completed its visage. A bulging stomach was the final clear indication that this child was suffering from severe malnutrition.

The problem is common in developing countries. In the northeast part of Brazil thousands of children do not receive proper diet each day and are slowly wasting away. In this weakened state the child easily falls prey to serious diseases such as dysentery and typhoid fever. Even something as common as a cold virus can have fatal consequences for a child in such a weakened condition.

Education is virtually unknown in such settings, and a child with a learning disability would most assuredly have no hope of achieving even the most rudimentary skills.

I have been fortunate, through travel, to have encountered and hence been made aware of such problems. Thus it is more difficult for me to feel unjustly treated here in North America because of my learning disability and bipolarity. My problems are indeed miniscule when compared to this. Yet everything is relative and if a North American has not been confronted with such misery it is common for him to feel downhearted and even hopeless when facing learning disability difficulties even in this very sheltered and bountiful part of the world.

Invent one of the most important devices in the world and have it roundly rejected for years! Now here is a story where an individual really has a serious reason to feel brow beaten.

Alan Walsh (mention in other contexts above) as part of the war effort, was required to provide chemical analyses for war-related industry in Australia. An example of a required and crucial chemical test was the determination of the levels of metals contaminating used aircraft engine oils. Knowing this, it was possible to predict when the engine was going to fail without needing to disassemble the whole engine. After the war, similar difficulties faced the food, agricultural, mining and metallurgical industries. Like his colleagues, Sir Alan had been impressed with the great difficulty and time-consuming nature of such tasks using existing techniques. With these approaches, it would be essential to have large numbers of highly trained scientists to do the work. Such a brain trust was not available in many of the smaller countries such as Australia and Canada. It was with this strong motivating factor that Sir Alan developed the relatively simple technique of atomic absorption spectrometry.

It seemed certain that such a development would be immediately put to use by the chemists of his age, but quite the opposite was the case. For five years there were very few accounts of its use. Difficulties and discouragements fostered by early, poorly designed commercial equipment forced Sir Alan to produce a competitive instrument. Because of an Australian Government regulation he was not able to share in the patent rights to his own invention, so he gave the equipment away to "selected" scientists. These researchers readily demonstrated the overwhelming simplicity and usefulness of the technique and this stimulated industry to produce better equipment.

Surely at this point Sir Alan would receive worldwide acclaim. Again, the opposite was closer to the truth. Many scientists pursuing more conventional approaches and jealous of this important contribution, tried to discredit his pre-eminent position in this discovery. Others, particularly those companies with a vested financial interest in existing equipment for conventional approaches, attacked his findings endeavoring to show that important points in his conclusions were in error. Fortunately neither group was successful in their denigrations and Sir Alan, after ten years of frustration, finally received the accolades he deserved.

Strangely, however, he has never directly profited, monetarily, from his discovery. Despite multi-million dollar industry profits, Alan was, if anything, in a loss position financially.

The vast majority of us will never be associated with a discovery of such a magnitude. However, if we were, it is likely that the severe difficulties Sir Alan encountered would cause us to abandon the project. Certainly this would be the case for me. When I cast back in my mind and call up the image of this simple, unassuming, fun-loving scientist who, despite overwhelming adversity, reached the pinnacle of scientific success, I am ashamed at my depression over my much lesser problems.

## Stories of Oppression

Is wide spread oppression not the ultimate in bullying? The first 2 stories below are examples from my experience of inspiring examples of resistance to Oppression.

Brave Young Peoples Resistance to Wide Spread Oppression

In the 1980's with Madam Mao still alive but in prison a few last vestiges of the Cultural Revolution had not yet been removed. It was common to be challenged by what appeared to be ordinary citizens suddenly donning red arm bands in an effort to assert authority in a haphazard manner. Slogans of political and cultural discord appeared overnight and materializing as graffiti on giant placards and on the sides of buildings in key locations. It was common for dissidents to just "disappear". Dreary Government stores still controlled the retail market. But something new was stirring; citizens in general were beginning to demand a few Western style amenities. Television, although highly censored, showed glimpses of a previously little known lifestyle. Tourists were becoming more common and even penetrated previously forbidden areas bringing tales of life beyond the strict confines of Chinese totalitarianism. A tiny hint of life with as yet unattainable freedoms was penetrating the masses and appearing as not too distant possibilities, particularly amongst the students. Global broadcasts, in 1989, spotlighting the figure of one man impeding a monster tank in the student uprisings in Tiananmen Square, became the symbol of impending modern autarky and rights. The fact that these insurrections were then defeated in a horrendous bloodbath quickly followed by vociferous worldwide condemnation, provided momentum for initiation of these changes.

In the large cities in the 80's there were still rivers of bicycles mostly singly occupied but also including family versions comprising 2 seats and a child carrier massed on city thoroughfares typified on a grand scale by Chagun Ave. in Beijing. These were dotted only here and there with single motor vehicles surrounded like a duck in the masses of geese that cover Swan Lake in the fall. Unlike the duck which could redress this problem by taking flight the motorized conveyance had to attempt to maneuver into a single lane meant mostly for buses and service vehicles or be manipulated slowly along within the throng. Crossing this wide roadway as a pedestrian was an adventure, something I would be incapable of at my present age and dottiness. Eager cyclists with one foot pulsating on the pedal left their positions the instant the light turned green and because of the short period of time between light changes, unless one was capable of a hundred yard dash, the phalanx of bicycles inevitably bolted off before the crossing had been completed, leaving pedestrians stranded in a frightful position with bicycles careening to the left and right. Other signs of the persistence of technological backwardness included a preponderance of steam engines still lugging freight off most main lines

Cities were still frequently claustrophobic, where multitudes of people swarmed on narrow sidewalks of the busy shopping areas. One day thus ensconced I found myself being dragged along the inside lane, when suddenly the crowd swept me unwillingly through an open door and into a shop. Inner city residential areas were typified by narrow laneways across which one could almost shake hands with a neighbour. Thus cars and other large motorized vehicles were excluded.

Strangely the preponderance of pedestrian traffic on foot on bicycles and by rail was then the upside of China and most other developing countries worldwide. Pollution, though often excessive due to poorly regulated industry and power generation, was not further exacerbated by the large magnitudes of vehicular exhaust typical of developed countries. Not so today; in the understandable dash in these jurisdictions to acquire Western style amenities not only has industrial and power generation capacity skyrocketed with continuing poor choice of fuel types and absence of harmful emissions control but streets and highways are choked with petroleum powered vehicular traffic. Can we condemn the developing nations which have risen to become the source of nearly 50% 0f global pollution and rising? Or might we wish to examine our own complicity, as outsourcers to these countries of production of most of our consumer products, produced therein cheaply due to slave labour level wages and lack of concern for environmental damage.

Even Extreme Oppression Fails to Destroy the Truly Great

Like electrified ether it pervaded decisions of government, determined the actions of all peoples and ultimately gave the non-white majority their freedom. From his lowly prison cell for the extent of his stay his unending ubiquity swirled as the determining force throughout Apartheid South Africa. Of course it was the fear of this indefinable energy that kept Nelson Mandela in charge.

Although I never encountered Mandela in the body in my trips to South Africa I almost immediately recognized his overpowering presence in the irrational actions of governance that stumbled forth in reaction to the certitude of his influence.

Tap, tap, tap, for 25 years in the blistering sun Nelson Mandela shaped pieces of white stone in the prison called Robben Island to meet meaningless government regulations. To the Warders cry of wakker, staan op he arose at 5:30 am, used his cast iron "sanitary bucket" known as ballie, then shaved and cleansed his body in the few inches of water held in a dish shaped porcelain lid covering this contrivance.

Mandela's prison environment, particularly during apartheid, provides the only real method of putting the necessary exclamation mark on any account of being in the South Africa at that time. This is most particularly because although he was forced in body to endure the inhuman physical conditions his spirit could not be suppressed. So what of this insult to humanity?

Geographically Robben Island is about 12 km west of Green Point in Cape Town and roughly 8 km directly south of Blouberg Provincial Reserve.

Famous mainly as a penal colony Robben Island has over all an unsavory reputation. Early on during low water it was connected by land it was inhabited with black tribes. Very shortly after colonization by the Dutch in the 1600's it was used to house prisoners from various Dutch colonies in Asia and Africa. It also has the dubious distinction of at one time housing a leper colony. Its notoriety comes in large part from the maximum security prison constructed here and operated between 1961 and the early 90's to imprison the three thousand or so political prisoners, mainly involved in the anti apartheid movement. Few prisoners ever escaped the island, the most notable escapee being its first detainee who somehow swam the distance to shore through opposing currents and shark infested waters.

The island was a shipping hazard particularly in the early days when the sail ruled the seas. Light houses have been built and rebuilt over the years and are pretty well unnecessary in these days of radar and GPS. The locale was militarily fortified during the second world war.

Conditions on the island are very arid and most of the 1 km wide island is only a few meters above sea level. Today the location has been named a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1999 and houses a Museum. The museum was established in 1996. Its mission is to maintain the unique and universal symbolism of the Island and among other things contribute to the socio-economic development and transformation of South African Society. To this end I might hasten to add that although no longer a prison its mission for the future is not unlike the past where the incarceration of one man and a few other dominant confederates provided a universal symbolism that unintentionally for its Apartheid Jailers and their leaders lead to the socio- political transformation of South African humanity.

Union Bullying

After my stroke I spent about 5 years just lying around the house, feeling sorry for myself and doing nothing useful. Maureen, my wife, was still working full time and so I was not under foot, or the whole episode wouldn't have lasted even 5 weeks. But in any case, she finally became fed up of returning home to find me in the identical position, sitting on the sofa, as when she had left. There was no evidence that I had even moved since the lawn was uncut, the garden full of weeds and no supper was on the BBQ. I lacked the motivation to even clean the BBQ, so on this point, she was probably glad that I had not ruined some meat by attempting its use. My usual manic behavior was still manifest, but only in that I was unable to sleep more than 2 to 3 hours per night and was reading through the complete stories of Dickens for the second time. Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky had also been completed and I was beginning on Gogol and other Russian authors, whose names have drifted from my poor memory over the passage of time. All this reading activity was actually a bit of a feat considering my learning disability reading handicap.

One morning out of the blue, after getting ready for work Maureen commanded me to get into the car. She drove without any explanation to the Donner Lodge parking lot and commanded me to get out and go in and ask for a volunteer's job. Then she reversed quickly back onto the street and drove away. Donner Lodge, a rather pedestrian quality retirement home, did not rank on my list of good career choices. As I stood there feeling like a typical homeless waif in a Dickens novel, I was comforted by the thought that I would most certainly be refused. In fact it came to mind just to turn on my heels and walk back home without even entering, and lying that I had been turned down. This latter thought took flight however, when I remembered that Maureen always seemed capable of seeing through me and extracting the truth. Thus I was horrified, bewildered and in many other ways in discomfiture, when the friendly woman in charge said she was thrilled to have acquired another volunteer.

My work was scheduled for two days per week, including free lunch and as time moved along my old enthusiasm returned and I began to even look forward to my work. Such could not be said though for the free lunches, which lived up to the reputation of institutional food in every insipid regard. When I happened to comment on this to my boss, the Physiotherapist, she kindly began driving us to the local restaurant, where I enjoyed excellent fare. She also enjoyed the lunches, although she was on a diet, the type in which food portions had to be pre-purchased as part of the plan. These dietary allotments were not only diminutive, but unappetizing and amusingly after consuming one of these offerings, she regularly could not resist the temptation to purchase a desert, or a plate of fries and yet was continuously complaining that her diet plan was not providing the desired result.

The patient base at Donner Lodge consisted of 70% Dementia patients, mostly Alzheimer in nature. As a large city run organization with full medical facilities, all stages of severity of these problems were represented, providing a wide range of challenges. Typically, family interest in the affected family member, varied from daily visits to total disregard. As Dementia proceeds the patient becomes less and less aware of every facet of daily life, while even losing control of bodily functions. Towards the end, the family members suffer much more severely than the afflicted person. Sad cases of the patient declining to the point of not even recognizing a close family member, often produced very emotional responses from their family. Worse still, patient cognitive abilities varied daily. Family members might arrive and suddenly become very excited, thinking a vastly improved recognition of family and surroundings was a sign of permanent improvement. In fact these temporary high points were just a blip on a decline curve. Part of a volunteer's purpose was to attempt to explain, but in a kindly way, this typical behavioral pattern, without totally dousing the flames of enthusiasm. In my case, while finding this initially severely challenging, I became more polished with time.

As the assistant to the Physiotherapist, my main job was to aid patients that were requiring therapeutic exercise. I had a fairly hard and fast routine that I was supposed to enact and this involved the following. First I was to chase down wheelchair patients and bring them to the physiotherapy room. This "chase down" phrase was a slight exaggeration in the majority of cases, as the requisite patient could usually be found asleep in the TV lounge. As many of them were nearly deaf they usually had the electronics at ear splitting volume. Waking them was always a potentially dangerous act, depending on their current demeanor. I then wheeled them into the Physio room and strapped their feet into a stationary bike. This unit when activated revolved their feet and legs at a prescribed rate and for a fixed time interval and was strangely termed exercise, despite no effort on the patient's part. After this "strenuous" activity, I unstrapped their feet and wheeled them back to repose again in the TV lounge. And so it went, one after the other, until the entire group had been exercised. If I was lucky a patient or so would require the application of heat for strains and pains and I might be required to perform this treatment, with a careful choice and application from the abundant heating pads available.

Now it may have entered the reader's mind that my pursuits so far described might be a bit mundane and lacking in challenge and perhaps even utterly boring and if so this has been very perceptive. I never could handle boring work willingly and as a result, I looked for alternative tasks. These tasks, which I could easily perform, were supposedly the purview of the regular staff, but in my view were going begging. Strangely such initiative was not appreciated and as a result my position at Donner Lodge was becoming more and more tenuous.

Increasingly horrified by the needlessly slow pace of many of the Nurses and particularly the Ward Aids, I continually overstepped my volunteering boundaries. Even the Doctor seemed to me to be incompetent, although there were some Nurses and Aids who were excellent. The majority of incompetent staff was mistreating patients more by errors of omission, than by any physical abuse. Unfortunately, all regular workers on the wards belonged to a strong union, which protected their lazy behavior.

I did a number of things which incensed the unions. One involved my favorite patient, James, who I came early to visit for a half hour or so each day before my work began. James suffered severely from angina attacks and as a result had been prescribed the habit forming painkiller Percocet and became quite contrary if its administration should be delayed. When this occurred he would beg me to hunt down the medication cart and the Nurse in charge and procure his medication. Although I usually persuaded them to give it to me, such an act was of course highly irregular.

Other acts which put me at odds with the union were things like finding a male patient who was left in a dirty diaper for hours on end and either raising hell about this situation or in a few cases performing the job myself. These latter actually involved two volunteer infractions against the union members; 1. Purloining a clean diaper from carefully tended supplies while the attendant was on coffee. 2. Actually then performing the task. Well you can probably get the drift of how I was now mounting up union infractions on a regular basis, some of which were coming to the attention of senior management.

Perhaps the coup de gras was when I was discovered closing the eyes of a deceased patient who had been left unattended for several hours in his bed. Or it might have been when the physio had taken sick and retired home for the afternoon and I decided to finish the session on my own. The union did the usual posturing which ended with the threat of strike action if I did not desist. When this in my case proved ineffective, I received the fateful summons to the Director's office. Apparently my actions were threatening a precipitation of a serious problem and unfortunately were grounds for dismissal, after 5 years as a volunteer at Donner lodge. It wasn't much consolation when she added that I was the best volunteer amongst the bunch.

Residual Timidity When Facing Domination

One of my more memorable working sojourns, was boarding in a small, three bedroom bungalow, located in Tacoma street in Southern Sydney.

The landlord, Brett, was a character not easily forgotten. In the category of obtuse reasoning, have you ever questioned the action of people that insist that entry to a house be gained from the back door, even when the front door is much more convenient? Brett supplied me with a single key to the house, that being for the back door. To enter the house by this method, access began through the front gate, up along a side walk and through a back yard gate with a sticky latch, along another side walk, before finally reaching the back door. Naturally, I initially believed this was to ensure the cleanliness of the front entranceway for arriving guests. But no, whenever a guest did ring the front door bell, Brett would shout, "would you please mind going round to the back and I will meet you there?" And no, the front door was not inoperable. This remained for me, one of life's mysteries.

Arrangements for my housing had been made months before my arrival in Sydney. My bedroom contained an immense wardrobe, that graced half of my five meter bedroom wall and reached from floor to ceiling. The lower third section of this monstrosity contained lockable drawers and poked one meter out from the wall, while the upper remainder consisted of conventional shelving. My total travelling possessions were contained in a smallish suitcase and appeared miniscule as they were scattered about in two of the six dresser drawers. Apart from a large window which graced the end wall my bedroom, there were only two other objects. One of these was a conventional 250 cm diameter waste basket. The other, the piece de resistance, was without any doubt what I dubbed my "Belf". This, my sleeping accommodation, consisted of a conventional issue army cot 90 cm wide by 2 meters in length and stood 50 cm high from the floor. It was shoved up against the front wall by the door and was adorned with a single grey polyester blanket and a foam pillow that was wider than the cot. The name "Belf" was a natural, because although it was my bed, it looked more like a low slung shelf. The contrast between my bed and the monstrosity wardrobe was amusing indeed. Had the dresser drawers been continuous along its length, instead of only half this span, I could easily have used one as a much more spacious bed. The only other tenant in this boarding house was a scientist from Scandinavia. This gentleman's bedroom accoutrements included a Queen Size bed, but a much less ostentatious dresser.

On the east side of this bungalow was a two acre horse farm, from which strange noises and offensive smells trespassed day and night. For this reason, Brett and the farm's owners, remained in a constant state of heated confrontation. I had noticed early on in my tenure, Brett's propensity towards frugality and his often futile attempts to solve life's problems. Aroused from my bed one night by the sound of loud offensive mutterings, I proceeded to the front lawn. Here I found myself viewing Brett in a state of great frustration, planting in the ditch in front of the offending horse farm, a closely spaced row of 10 to 20 cm high Eucalypt tree seedlings. Although it was obvious as to his intent, I could not prevent myself actually enquiring about this action. He commented wryly that he was unable to pass up his good fortune in finding a conservation organization which was supplying these saplings in large quantities, free of charge, to anyone having permission to locate such on any needy block of land. This largesse became in his mind the golden opportunity for a defensive wall against the farm's irritants. Aside from the fact that he was locating these in the local Council ditch, for which permission would be highly unlikely, I couldn't help picturing, decades from now, a mass of spindly trunked trees providing protection for some future owner.

Our landlord's avaricious nature once again came to the fore on Sydney's one day per year, when householders could place all their accumulated junk on the curb for collection. During the week preceding this event, Brett organized his boarders, relations and friends and presented them with detailed instructions and selected routes for travelling neighbourhoods early in the

day. A list of objects he was looking for was given to every participant. On the day a variety of listed items were duly discovered and transported back for his approval. My discovery of a large wheelbarrow was a particular success, despite a 0.5 m jagged hole in the centre of its tray. To render this treasure serviceable our multitalented landlord fashioned a plywood patch that remained loose over the hole when in use. Attempts to bolt this to the badly rusted tray only caused the hole to become bigger.

Frugality also dictated an odd arrangement for the laundry. The washer was contained in a tiny ramshackle building attached to the house, but with access only from the side yard. The plumbing was installed by Brett and had about the same utility as the 15 cm high Eucalypt sound barrier in the ditch. Our opportunistic landlord had been presented with a cheap plumbing package deal that he could not pass up. In this case, pipes of insufficient diameter were installed and this factor, together with multitudinous leaking problems, caused frequent shut downs of the automatic washer. To complete a load of wash it was necessary to sit outside the laundry shack and while slipping and sliding in the leaked water flowing out the door, reset the machine many times for each load. The clothes were then pegged on a three meter long line to dry. Since Sydney's Fall weather is characterized by frequent sudden drenching downpours, during this period a vigilant watch was essential to achieve success. Often I would take advantage of my wonderful dresser and use the massive drawer space as a clothesline, simply by hanging my laundry over the fronts of these units. Fortunately the slight delaminating of the flimsy wood on the drawer fronts, caused by the wet clothes, went unnoticed during my tenure.

Another of Brett's colourful activities was his home beer brewing operation. Although seeming to be part of his parsimonious tendencies, I also think he believed that he was able to out brew the commercial operators. The scale of his brewing and bottling operation are of particular note. Brewing was carried out in 10 to 15 carboys, each with a 4 litre capacity. Carboys are containers used for transporting fluids and these carboys bore a suspicious resemblance to those used for the dispensing of reagents, in the laboratories where he was employed. When the beer was brewed and it was time for bottling all the usual suspects reappeared. Most I remembered from his trash picking brigade. Brett used two kitchen sinks and several twenty litre galvanized containers, to very thoroughly wash and rinse his immense collection of stubbies. These were then lined up row upon row on newspaper, which covered both the living room and the dining room floors. Using funnels, also suspiciously resembling laboratory issue, helpers then filled the stubbies row after row. Finally these were laboriously capped by Brett himself, without the help of a mechanical capping device. Storage took place in a hole dug into the soil under the kitchen. Needless to say it was important to consume each batch within a few months. This was accomplished largely on weekends, when Brett and his cohorts (never including me) went "prospecting for gold" in the Blue Mountains. During my residence, the only thing of value retrieved on any of these trips, was a large ugly looking blue lizard, which was released into the garden to control some undefined insect problem.

On the occasion of my departure and much to my amazement, Brett treated the tenants and his girlfriend to a trip to a Chinese restaurant. A very friendly and efficient waitress presided. We had a delightful feast and no expense was spared. When the bill came I was horrified to see that our host intended to leave no tip. I was assured that tipping (1980), was not practiced in Australia. None-the-less, I secretly spirited out of my pocket the usual tip commensurate with this service in Toronto and left it on the table after the others had left. Incredibly next morning this largesse appeared exactly as proffered on my dresser! Apparently Brett had meant this to demonstrate that he had managed to have the last word on matters of financial proprietary. Incidentally Brett said his goodbye at the backdoor of the house, leaving me to stand at the front gate with my bag, waiting for the cab to the airport.

## A Few Stories to Show a Degree of "Normalcy" and Amusement was sometimes present in my Life

The following stories written by me have appeared elsewhere in print but in some cases as necessary reconfigured for this book. These are to encourage those who have suffered and are suffering oppression or bullying that the problem although it may never go away may often fall away into some truly good times.

Teenage Immature Attempts to Bolster My Ego

Growing up in an outer suburb in a hoity-toity area in Hamilton Canada had many challenges. Unfortunately for us, my father had bought into the suburb, before any of its opulence became apparent. As an illustration of the rising status, the house across the street which was built after we moved in, was constructed replete with a bowling alley in the basement! We were relatively insolvent at the time and fitting in was like pushing the proverbial camel through the eye of a needle. It was the beginning of my intense rebellion against convention, while the rest of the family struggled to adjust to this upper class environment. We were one of the few Protestant families in the neighborhood, so fortunately for me, my parents were against me fraternizing with the local youth, who held different religious beliefs.

My farming experience, also described further in this book, arose as one of the consequences of my dislike of traditional family protocols and through my friendship with a high school classmate, Quinton Moseley. A copious drinker, he was quaintly nick named 'The Alch'. From an early age he was like me, unconventional in spirit and for this he was generally frowned upon by the other male students. Moseley lived on the family farm in the Ancaster district, a 30 minute drive from my home and instead of attending a one room school nearby, his family felt it important to enroll him in a city school. He was one of the most handsome guys in my memory and again using the curious teen slang of the day, he was "built like a brick shit house". Shit house is in reference to the outhouse, in the days before indoor plumbing arrived and was still evident in some of the local farming districts at that time. Despite his outcast status, his charisma and attractiveness enthralled plenty of teen females.

I was really into sports and befriended Quinton thinking that by working on his farm I could improve my physical attributes and thus transition from bench sitter, to a prominent player on the hockey and football teams. Quinton showed plenty of enthusiasm for an assistant on the farm. However as could easily have been predicted, my mousiness remained and although I grew very much stronger, I remained chained to the benches as a substitute should an injury occur. Considering my overprotective parents, it was a wonder that my family abided this friendship. Luckily Quinton's parents were strict Protestants and due to very inventive subterfuge, neither sets of parents became aware of the drinking and any other bizarre activities.

Ah but what about the Alch's girls, the dream of every teenage boy; they were numerous and mostly could be defined as bimboesque in appearance and demeanor. They adored handsome Quinton but would give me nary a second look and I had to be satisfied with the thrill from an unintentional brush of a body part, or some other such unintended encounter. To illustrate our shenanigans, Quinton had his own car and used to thrill a packed car of myself and 4 or 5 of his female attendants, by performing dangerous chicanery, like driving at break neck speed through the main intersection of the city. This intersection had no stoplights at that time, so a porcine Constable was assigned to directing traffic. When we careened through, Quinton would turn off and on the ignition key, which in the old automobiles of the day, occasioned a loud backfire and produced a dense blue smoky cloud. A glance back revealed the startled Constable wavering to and fro coughing, expectorating and cursing into the midst of the intense haze of exhaust! Because the Constable was alone while directing traffic and the subsequent haze obscured his details, Quinton was never pursued or had his license number recorded.  
Quinton had a penchant for danger. Lengthy practice sessions at slow speed produced the following exhibition of frightening stupidity whilst driving. On a quite gravel road, with the car full of his favourite females, Quinton would speed along and spying an oncoming vehicle, would throw open his door and project himself out into space. With the door fully open, his hands clasping the armrest and his feet on the running board, I would be left to control the steering, by leaning over from the passenger seat. Amidst loud screaming from within, Quinton would wait for the last moment, before propelling himself back into the car and resuming driving as though nothing had happened.  
A strange addendum to Quinton's story concerned the consequences of his marriage and subsequent profession. His wife took an intense and immediate dislike to his former friends and submerged him in her own circle of companions. He was also required to abandon drinking. After obtaining an Engineering degree, he eventually arose to become the Canadian Head of one of America's largest farm equipment firms. My one time colleague in rebellion was not only lost as my friend, but became a bulwark of business and societal convention.

Walking on Water and Related Debacles

Several decades ago, an environmental pollution problem was brought to the attention of the wildlife division of the Canadian Government. The apparent culprit was a notoriously polluting lead and zinc mining and smelting operation in a low arctic location in Canada. A bio-scientist colleague working in this division and myself, were chosen to travel to the area and mount an investigation. As an analytical chemist, I had worked with this colleague before on similar issues, so we had a well grounded plan for such research studies.

Our investigation was concentrated on the many small lakes that dotted this area, with a view to do water chemistry and fish health studies. For this project we were provided with a modified large utility vehicle. This truck had been equipped with all the requirements for off and back road maneuverability and safety. Large heavily lugged tires provided high clearance above the ground and traction for muddy rock strewn terrain. Most importantly the vehicle possessed a winch often required if we skidded into ditches and found ourselves in positions impossible from which to drive back onto the road. Of equal importance was the cage like device of welded steel piping that surrounded the front of the truck, to prevent front end impacts from perforating vitals such as the radiator.

Our rented cabin for this mid May investigation was located about 50 km along a rough rural road in from the main highway that had brought us from Winnipeg. We drove with particular care on the recently thawed soft muddy local roads. After the trip we arrived as two very tired scientists, ready for bed. Unfortunately the temperature that night was below freezing, so we took the precaution of unloading any items that might be harmed by the severe cold. It was fortunate that we did, as morning broke to reveal that a 10 cm snowfall now blanketed the region. This not unusual for May, but still a debilitating occurrence, meaning a work delay for a couple of days until the hot spring sunshine could melt the snow.

At this pause in proceedings we made our first serious error in judgment by deciding, as a simple act of courtesy, we would walk over to the mine office to inform them of our mission. To our gratified surprise we were made welcome and were treated to hot coffee and stuffed with tasty sweet rolls. During our discussions we divulged our delay in investigations due to the snow. This revelation occasioned an even greater surprise, when the mine manager invited us to make use of the company Twin Otter float plane complete with pilot. The only constraint was that only one of us could be taken so that weight restrictions related to takeoff from small lakes could be met. We accepted with much enthusiasm knowing that 1 day of plane operations would equal 4 or 5 in the truck and best of all there would now be no delay. Having had plenty of prior light plane experience, I was chosen for the job and packed myself and our sampling gear onboard. Upon the pilot's arrival he was motioned over for a pre-flight conversation with our new friend the mine manager.

As we taxied away from the dock I thought I detected a bit of a smirk on the face of the pilot but thought little of this. I placed the regional map on my knee and in conversation after takeoff mentioned the name of the first lake on the list. Everything seemed normal as we proceeded in the direction on the plane's compass that I had predicted from the map. Strangely however, minutes later I was alarmed to discover that we were beginning to overfly the first lake. I quickly let the pilot know and in one fluid motion he thrust the stick forwards which caused us to rocket downward in a steep dive. We were both thrust forward towards the ground as far as tight seat belts would allow. Then at what seemed to be a few meters above the lakes surface and under a horrendous downward feeling thrust, the plane was maneuvered into a horizontal direction. A moment later we touched safely down on the lakes surface.

I was in a complete state of disarray, having regurgitated my sweet rolls and coffee, this gooey mixture now flowing freely into my lap and onto the floor. The fear of God was clearly stenciled in my features. Calmly sweeping his gaze over to me the pilot without as much as a by-your-leave said; "okay, you can now open your door and step out onto the float to scoop up your water sample".

We sat in the plane, the propeller rotating slowly. The pilot glanced absentmindedly over both his gloved hands, blew his nose and politely waited. After about 5 minutes had transpired and I still remained comatose, he matter-of-factly stated; "perhaps you would rather go back to the dock and we can do this again when you are feeling better". Thus ended our experiment with courtesy visits to companies we were about to investigate.

Despite my initial aviation disaster, we finished our first stint of sampling after the snow had melted using the truck for the job as originally envisaged. Samplings were scheduled for 3 times a year over a 2 year period. The next incident of interest in this research study occurred the following June.

The previous years experience suggested that May weather was too unpredictable and thus our next year's first season sampling session was scheduled for mid June. Typical weather then was hot days and cool nights. These were accompanied in the day time by a persistent attack of Black flies, followed by Mosquito filled evenings. To stay well clear of the mine and smelter property, we rented a cabin belonging to a Moose and Deer Hunt Club 30 km away, but still well within the area of investigation. Our cabin, replete with an interior covered in mouse poop, was on a beautiful lake that included a dock. Last season's work already having determined that the fish population had deteriorated disastrously due to acid and metal emissions from the smelter, the presence of a fishing dock was a bit of a conundrum.

After a long day's sampling in temperatures reaching the high 30's, we would return to the cabin hot and sweaty and covered with bug bites. We would then immediately crash near the icebox and slake our thirst with a few cold ones. Once we'd had a chance to recuperate, we'd flip beer bottle caps to ordain the fall guy to clean up the perpetually renewed mouse poop in the kitchen. One particularly oppressive evening when my erstwhile colleague fell to this task, I took the occasion to walk out on the dock.

The lake water was crystal clear and the water at the end of the dock was deep and unimpeded by dangerous rocks. Checking the temperature with my hand, I encountered refreshing water in the low 20's. The Mosquito onslaught was beginning to take hold, so without further cogitation I walked quickly to the shore end of the dock. Then with a run at top speed, I traversed to the end of the dock and still fully clothed, dove as far out from the dock as was possible heading straight towards the lake bottom.

Suddenly a shocking reality struck. The lake was thermally layered with the top 20cm having the 20 degrees C temperature. Within a fraction of a second I found myself knifing down through the layer below that was still at the winter temperature of 4 degrees C. My perception of this catastrophe set in somewhat gradually due to the waters slow permeation of my relatively heavy bush clothing. When full exposure to this thermal disaster occurred I managed to surface almost instantaneously. This was followed by what appeared to my colleague, now standing on the dock, the best imitation of walking on water that had been rendered since biblical times.

Having survived this potential disaster I assumed the remainder of our sampling project could be finished without any serious hitches and indeed this turned out to be the case. On the evening of the final day we packed our gear, gassed up the truck from the barrel on board, banged the door shut on our residential mouse warren and hit the road, seat belts firmly fastened. The roads being hard packed and dry, we were making speedy progress in the twilight, west toward the main north-south highway. We appeared the picture of success, men who had finished a tough job and could not travel quickly enough back to civilization and our families. I was at the wheel and we were joking and laughing, attentions diverted by this delightful palaver when the truck suddenly stuck what resembled an impact with a brick wall. An eerie silence ensued. Our vehicle was at a dead stop the wind screen had shattered, the engine ground to stillness and we were both stunned into speechlessness. Strange and unusual smells began assaulting our slowly recovering sensibilities. We were in the center of a clear road and we stepped from the truck onto the road stumbling to the front of the vehicle where a sorry sight began to emerge. The heavy protective pipe caging was missing; the trucks front end was in tatters with smelly antifreeze lying in puddles beneath. Worst of all blood and skin fragments were hanging here and there amongst the wreckage, but the object that had been hit was conspicuously absent. Suddenly I heard the ominous sound of retching as my colleague reached the victim first. Rounding to the passenger side of the truck I encountered a horrid sight. In the ditch illuminated by the light of a flashlight, were the mangled and torn body parts of an immense black bear.

We decided it would be suicide to remain in the truck until first light in case another negligent driver might crash into our wreck. This was before cell phones, so we opted to walk what we estimated to be about 8 km to the main road to obtain help. It seemed like the longest 8 km that we had ever traversed.

The short version of this experience was that I avoided being charged with a driving offense, but not without an embarrassing dressing down from the local constabulary. A kindly local prospector drove us to a town with a bus station and the truck was towed to the city with our samples that had been stored in the rear of the vehicle, fully recoverable and undamaged.

Revenge, although not a scientific emotion, was sweet. Based on our work, this mining and smelting company was charged with a variety of environmental offences. The main antecedent of the charges was their blatant nose thumbing at well established environmental edicts. Thus especially given the torturous fiascos implicit in achieving this goal, I was never happier with a scientifically presaged outcome!

The _Great_ Dog Shenanigans

Many years back when the family was young we were the proud owners of a sequence of Labrador Retrievers, first a black called Smudge followed by two yellows. Despite any external variations such as size and colours, they all shared a penchant for chronic disobedience, hyperactivity and excessive strength. I took particular pride in having large active dogs and detested toy dogs such as poodles. Consistently our dogs partook in obedience training at the best schools and easily passed these courses. For whatever reason though, they also consistently dismissed this accomplished skill in favour of their former unruly behaviour. There were many recriminations among family members as to the reason for this result, but the only logical conclusion that seemed to hold up was that I was the culprit for persistent lack of enforcement. So-be-it, these lovable canines always seemed to be more intelligent or perhaps more crafty than I. The family accused me of being too lazy to enforce their hard won skills, but I think I was just too easily shammed. Of all these dogs Smudge was the biggest offender. With the benefit of hind sight I often wonder if some of this malefaction could be off loaded as Smudge's revenge for always being called Sludge by a partially deaf, elderly member, of our family.

Our Labs were always great walkers and I was a rabid jogger. Problematically though Smudge, used to pull me almost to severe injury. It made me mad that no matter how fast I jogged she could keep up just by walking faster. One day she was so energetic that I thought I would speed the outing by taking her on a long downhill stretch until she was actually running. I was so successful that she had me up to my top speed and a little out of control. I had forgotten that at the bottom of the hill there was a sharp right angle turn. By the time this problem came into view I could not slow her down sufficiently and she made a perfect turn and continued racing up the street. Meanwhile I failed to negotiate the turn and crashed flailing through someone's hedge. I was in a mess of bleeding scratches and was crawling along on all fours. The hedge owner came running out and I thought was looking to help me. But no, he began giving me hell for buggering up his prize hedge. Meanwhile Smudge had returned dragging her leash and I am certain was actually smiling at my predicament!

The Christmas season was a particular stimulant for all of our Labs and their enjoyment always seemed to involve problems of one type or another. Not unlike the majority of dogs, taste and smell were the senses that came to the fore. Of particular note is the year that our children reached an appropriate age to decorate gingerbread men to enhance the Christmas tree. This process was pursued with an abundance of enthusiasm by Maureen and the children and involved the baking of gingerbread men and production of cones filled with many different colours of homemade icings. The cleanup thereafter wasn't as much of a group activity though and involved mainly Maureen on her own. The colourful appetizing finished products were attached to the tree in our basement family room and made a princely display indeed. Care had been exercised to place these at a level on the tree unreachable even by a dog's tongue. Some hours later while preparing for bed, a loud thump emanated from below. Imagine our chagrin to find the tree on its side with Smudge posed there-on, ravishingly licking the gingerbread men's delicately administered icing décor and then consuming the remains.

The other particular issue with Labs is trying to restrain them from any sizable body of water. Thus periods of attendance at our winterised lake front cottage was one of the pinnacles on all the Labs enjoyment curve. Travel with animals is always problematic and the old style spacious station wagons of our cottage days were the ideal solution. Two adults, three children and the dog, together with our luggage fit neatly here-in. Even a friend or two could be shoehorned in when necessary. During the trips, I was often accused of a multitude of misdemeanours, like driving the car great distances with the gas gauge reading empty. However, there were always good reasons for thus doing and one involved inevitable problems related to son Jon and also most of our Labs. Frequently having failed to gas up before setting out, well before the half way point the gas gauge would be registering empty, which had the family setting up relentless pleas to stop at the nearest fuelling point. Without exception, my goal was to reach a gas station/ice cream store half way to our destination, a point which from personal experience I knew was attainable. Jon and the Labs always resided in the rear in a small set of seats that faced backwards. There were several reasons for this seating. The first was that both were car sickness candidates and upon reaching this location there was sure to be a cleanup required, particularly due to the Lab. Next, the price of gasoline at this particular location was a few cents a litre less expensive than average. Most importantly though they dispensed the most delicious ice cream including of course one for the dog. Providing an ice cream treat for the dog was not always wise though, as it would generally ensure another stop for a cleanup.

Inexplicably each of our three dogs could sense the oncoming large body of water, frozen over or not, at least 18 km from our destination. This always occasioned an onset of excitement that caused them to leap over seats, upset luggage and precipitate other unwelcome repercussions. Surprisingly the point of this reaction was always as we turned off the main paved highway onto a rough gravel road. By the time we turned into our cottage laneway, pandemonium would be in full swing. Upon opening the car door a wire roped tractor winch would not have been sufficient to restrain these dogs. A 10m run separated the car from the lake. It had no bearing whether winter or summer on the speed and joy with which they splashed in one giant leap into the water. If they found a thick layer of ice had formed over the entire surface their disappointment was palpable, until they discovered a consolation activity involving jumping back and forth from the giant 4m high snow drift that was usually present at such times, onto the cottage roof.

Smudge had one waterborne recreation that exceeded her thrill of swimming and which became a constant source of frustration. She loved boating and would not be left behind if a boat ride was involved. Besides locking her in the house or tying her up outside, nothing we could devise would prevent her ultimate presence as an essential member of her family in the boat. Over the years we devised a number of distractions that permitted us to leave the dock sans Smudge, but all ultimately ended in failure. As soon as she discovered the boat missing, she was smart enough to head for the water. When we would look back towards the shore, no matter how far we had managed to travel, there she would be swimming in our direction. It often came to my mind that if I kept on going she would give up and return shoreward. But armed with knowledge of the well-known swimming proficiency of Labs I always gave in and returned to pick her up from the water. With a 50 kg bundle of thrashing legs to contend with there was no humane method to reach over the side and pluck her from the water without tipping the boat. This meant consigning someone to the water and that patsy most frequently was me. Smudge always perceived me as some kind of slippery climbing device and she would scrabble, scratching her paws all over my upper body, in her endeavour to get into the boat. By the time I had succeeded in pushing her bum over the gunwale, my skin would be in shreds and felt akin to third degree burns. The end result was that I would end up covered with an ugly, pervasive and persistent looking red rash, ensuring most people would give me a wide berth until it healed.

Our cottage was located halfway along a 1km stretch of paved road. Few drivers could enter this segment without the pedal to the medal stance so speeding vehicles were the norm for us. This provided a good deal of concern for the safety of our dogs over the years, as being Labs they had little sense of fear or even recognition of any type of hazard. They wandered uninhibitedly back and forth and sometimes even stood for appreciable periods, like strange fearless vehicular voyeurs, in the centre of the roadway. Frequently we would here the screeching of brakes as some startled driver swerved to miss one of these miscreants. In all the years we occupied this cottage though, only once was any of the Labs hit by a car and of course, it was Smudge. In this case a local, Bob, in his usual inebriated state, managed a direct hit still at full throttle. Maureen in describing what she witnessed stated that the dog rumbled along under the car for a meter or so and then squirted free out the far side. Maureen dashed over the road expecting to find an unrecognizable mass of bleeding dead body in the ditch. Instead nothing living or dead could be located. For a few hours several of us, mostly in tears, made a frantic search of the roadside woods for her. No sign of Smudge or even a bloodied residue could be located. Even Bob, who had returned full of apologies and in morbid fear that we might call the police, was stumbling here and there attempting to "help". He left his car running by the roadside repeatedly offering to drive us to the vet; a thought that provided almost the same degree of angst as not finding the dog. We had to call off our effort when it got too dark to be able to see anymore and retreated tearfully back to the cottage. As if nothing had happened and no doubt wondering about all the fuss, there lay Smudge, very slightly ruffled, on the front step. She had been patiently awaiting our return and no doubt bemoaning our negligence in the delay of her dinner.

Yes dinner and in fact any food was important to all of our Labs. Meals provided on time and in sufficient quantity, were an essential not to be questioned. Yet it was the unscheduled and often opportunistically acquired fodder that seemed most satisfying. Carelessly unguarded baking ingredients such as chocolate chips were particularly high on all our Labs' list. But one thanksgiving evening Smudge really landed the jackpot. Our neighbours, two cottages to the south, had been in the celebratory mode since early afternoon and were fine tuning the roasting of a particularly sumptuous ham. Unfortunately several factors conspired to cause the culinary calamity that follows. The ham had to be basted and while performing this duty with the ham poised precariously on the open oven door, someone shouted impatiently for another drink. The kitchen door had been propped open to provide cool fresh air. While the hostess went to pour a fresh drink and was making the delivery to the lounge room: Smudge having been attracted to the kitchen door by the aromas, made a dash to the open oven and purloined the unprotected ham. Attracted to our front lawn by a distant volley of shouted obscenities, I noted in horror our dog running towards our cottage with an 8 kg steaming hot ham held high and clutched firmly in her jaws. Meanwhile in distant pursuit was the obviously inebriated housewife, falling down here and there over "obstructions" that were invisible to me but still maintaining her cannonade of obscenities, some of which now included frightening adjectives modifying my name. By the time my neighbour reached me, Smudge was well into her victual. As a dismal end to this fiasco, we were now faced with inviting our former friends out to Thanksgiving dinner at one of the shabby local restaurants.

Large dogs have a life expectancy of in the 12 to 14 year range and at 12 Smudge seemed to be likely to come up on the short end of this range. A trip to the Vet for a routine check up in her 12th year, brought the frightening news that Smudge was suffering from an advanced form of liver disease destined to be fatal. In our sorrow we thought we might purchase a new pup to ease the transition. Topaz, a yellow lab was soon purchased. Instantly Smudge began to perk up. There was a clear indication that she resented this intrusion most vehemently. To make her point more strongly Smudge's "fatal" liver disease cleared up in about 2 weeks and she lived in excellent health for 6 more years. As an indication of the strength of Smudge's domination within our household poor little Topaz remained barkless until the date of Smudge's death at which time she more than adequately took over this presumed new responsibility.

Now, thirty years later and at the age of 75, with all the Labs only a fond distant memory, I shuffle around a small condominium with an adorable 4 year old miniature cinnamon coloured poodle under foot.

Big _Desert_ –Big Fun

A relatively small Australian treasure is a 1130 sq km area named "Big Desert". This seems a contradiction in terms when speaking of a county with a central desert region of 6,400,000 sq km, comprising 4/5ths of its total area, which is commonly devoid of rainfall for 5 or more years at a time. Big Desert National Park, together with its abutting and physiographic twin, the somewhat larger Wyperfeld National Park, is both quite dissimilar to the massive arid inland desert.

Although covered for the large part in a layer of sand and sand dunes, a surprising richness and diversity of flora and fauna exists there-in. This bespeaks particularly of a relatively small but consistent 270 mm to 370 mm yearly rainfall and considerable humus material mixed within the sand. This latter is constantly replenished by the decay of the dominant mallee scrub vegetation, a low bushy pink, white and yellow flowered eucalypt. To view this complex soil mixture one need only happen upon the massive nest of one of the most unusual of all birds anywhere in the world, the mallee fowl. These birds, the size of a small chicken, dig, fill with vegetation and mound up a 2 meter round deep depression, where-upon the female lays several eggs there-in. Incubation is effected by the male; using a heat sensor on his beak and covering and uncovering the eggs to keep them within a degree Celsius of the required temperature. Another example of fauna richness in the region was two hundred species of birds that have been identified in this relatively small area, many being of the comparatively rare broadtail parrot species.

An investigation of these fascinating areas in the 1970s was best accomplished on foot. After a few hours of slogging through loose, 15 cm deep sand in 30 degree plus temperatures, the urge to pack it in and rehydrate was overwhelming. This brings us to a most memorable experience of living, drinking and eating in an old bush style hotel.

At that time Hopetoun in Victoria was the nearest community with accommodation for tourists. The only hotel in this community at the time was a relatively large ornately decorated 2 storey wooden structure, the lower area of which was dominated by a men's only pub. The noise level there-in and spilling out onto the street, resulting from a rough overflowing crowd of farm workers and drovers would certainly have drowned out the cries made by any large flock of screaming parrots that we had encountered in our earlier explorations. Frequently arising above all the din was the phrase "It's my shout", meaning it was their turn to buy the next round of drinks. An Australian custom for men drinking in groups in a pub, is to take turns buying the next round of drinks. A tiny area to one side housed the hotel office and a small restaurant and drinking area for use by groups of mixed sex. Rental accommodation was on the second floor and consisted of small, dusty, sparsely furnished rooms accompanied by communal toilets and bath rooms at the end of the hall. Our family crammed into one room, with the children being provided with single sized cots.

The first excitement during our sojourn occurred when Maureen, unwisely as it turned out, decided to bath 2.5 year old son Jon. The moment his feet contacted the frigid water he squirmed free, climbed from the tub and ran down the stairs making a beeline into the men's drinking area, with Maureen in hot pursuit. The violation by a woman of this men's only sanctuary was greeted by volleys of ribald shouts of displeasure, all totally ignored by Maureen who continued unabated to the location behind the bar, from which she plucked the pint sized escapee.

The rigors of the day's explorations, plus Maureen's mishap with the bathing, suggested a pre-dinner libation was in order. The majority decision was for sherry. The owner/ bartender/ waitress was astounded at this request. Apparently the usual patrons seldom ask for any drink other than beer. Luckily, every Australian Hotel has a bottle shop (liquor store) often detached from the main building. After a quick trip to this location a bottle of sherry was procured. It was then our turn to be astounded when after passing this bottle across, we received this aperitif back in 500 ml beer glasses, all three quarters filled with sherry!

Next came the main meal. The only menu item was large Australian free range, tough but tasty T-bone steaks and we opined that a red cabernet sauvignon was in order. Again this momentarily stymied our hostess. Back across we all tottered to the bottle shop and were pleased to discover a choice of several wines of this type. My colleague Jack, our host on this short holiday, was well-known in Melbourne as a wine expert and imagine his surprise and delight when he located a special vintage that he thought had long been unavailable. The price of this treasure he was certain would be impossible for us to afford, likely exceeding $40.00, that being the last known approximate price when available in the city. Our obliging proprietor looked up the price on her list but could only find the cost for a recent and very commonly available year for this same brand. The price she discovered was $10.65 per bottle. After some serious cogitation she stated; "I can't very well charge you that price, since this here bottle is many years old. Would $6.50 be alright"? Without hesitation Jack not only agreed to that charge for the purchase of this bottle, but acquired the remaining 23 bottles at the same price to bring back to his wine cellar in Melbourne! This was done in such a slick move, that I wondered whether he might produce some sleight of hand and exchange the bottle that had been bought for our dinner, for something of a much poorer quality, thus saving the complete two cases for his Melbourne collection. Though at this point in the evening, it was fast becoming a moot point, as we were all in such good spirits and had been so entertained, that I doubt we would have noticed the difference!

Brutus

A few years ago, I was asked to baby-sit my daughter Lisa's kids overnight. As I had retired but my wife was still working fulltime, the task was left solely to me. This assignment included Brutus, their very large Labradoodle, who stands higher than my waist. He is so big, he can put his head fully on the dining room table and loves to grab, not food, but paper serviettes, which he consumes instantly. If I've blown my nose on it, all the better!

All was going smoothly until, in the middle of the night, Brutus jumped up on my bed and tried to push me out. I finally got him off and I think to pay me back he threw up on the carpet a few minutes later. The mess was mainly watery, so I went to the bathroom and grabbed the nearest towel to clean it up. As is the custom in all good hotels, I threw the dirty towel on the bathroom floor so Lisa would put it into the wash.

Lisa and her husband Garth came home and when Lisa saw the towel carelessly thrown on the floor, she cursed her indolent father and hung it back on the towel rack. Obviously she was not acquainted with the finer points of hotel etiquette. The following weekend I happened to casually mention that I was sorry she'd had to wash the towel that I threw on the floor after the dog barf clean up. Both she and Garth went green in the face, as they realized they had been using this dirty towel head to toe all week!

Fast forward a couple of weeks and I was soon to be paid back for this error in judgement. During my next babysitting assignment (yes in sheer desperation they actually called me back), Brutus barked to go out to pee in the about 4 in the morning. Having been assured that the grandchildren would waken and get up, I waited for some time before finally rising to the task myself. As they had no fence I had to leash him. Unfortunately he was so desperate by this time that upon opening the door, he pulled me running flat out across the back deck and I flew off the edge, landed on a protruding sprinkler head, broke my ankle and dropped the leash. Suffice it to say the neighbours learned a whole new vulgar ear splitting vocabulary that night as I tried to retrieve Brutus on my broken ankle.

Fortunately at this juncture my three grandchildren had also been awakened by the obscene explosions emanating from the yard and they appeared in due course to achieve Brutus's capture. Apparently it was a well-known fact, but unfortunately not to me, that whenever he escaped from custody, he could always be found several doors down attempting to visit his girlfriend, a dog of similar ilk. When such a meeting proved unsuccessful, as was the case at this early morning hour, Brutus always left his calling card in the form of anal emanations, which he was in the process of discharging making him easy prey for the catch.

Summertime in Markham was characterized by early sunrise and hence with dawn now already breaking it was safe to leave the family alone to begin their daily ablutions.

Meanwhile I caught a cab to the nearest Hospital Emergency. Although my ankle was the size of a rugby ball, tears were rolling down my cheeks from the pain and I had to hop on my good appendage unaided to the desk, they gave me a number and just plopped me down in a wheelchair in the waiting area. My hearing being somewhat suspect due to aging and it being before the advent of signs for visual indication during this process, I missed hearing my number being "whispered". After about another dozen people had been called it hit me that I must have missed my turn and hence wheeled myself up to the desk to complain. They simply gave me another number. The waiting was agony, but nothing compared to the intense pain when they manipulated the ankle for the examination - twice! My only comfort was that at least being seated; the floor was not too far away if I fainted. With hospital processes and patient care received to date, I was positive that any resultant concussion would require a separate number for examination.

In total I spent the better part of eight hours at the Hospital. Brutus on the other hand, had been fed twice, watered, walked through the woods, chased squirrels and had consumed several table napkins. Not surprisingly, this was my final solo babysitting assignment.

Stringencies of _Typical_ Faculty _Habitation_ in China

As living conditions in China at the time of my residency in 1983 were so foreign to the comfort I was used to, I have dedicated this story to describing my abode.

Being mid Fall in Changchun in China's northwest, the temperatures outside were already below freezing during the night. Thus my dorm rooms at Northwest Normal University were only 12 C by morning. Every morning a loud gurgling and rattling in a small radiator hanging half way up the bathroom became my alarm clock. It was 5:30 am and it signalled the only 1 hour period during which hot water would be available for the day.

Chilly dorm temperatures however were not the major issue. Hot water for a morning shower was much more important. While nominally hot water was turned on for one hour per day, the number of residents depending on this brief service meant that the overtaxed and under designed system was running in the tepid range after only about 30 minutes. Thus I would spring from my bed at first gurgle and head straight for the hoped for warmth that awaited, thereby ensuring a stimulating beginning to my day.

Perhaps I sound impoverished in this the final phase of my China consulting, but I was actually among the privileged, having been provided with a room with its own bathroom. Pity the many other occupants of this facility who shared a bathroom. Other discomforts related to the lack of meaningful heating were easily circumvented through layered clothing during the day and at night by full use of the supplied heavy bedding. Luckily, as I had two beds in my room, I could combine bedding to ensure a comfortable sleeping temperature. I particularly liked the duvet which graced the outer layer. This fluffy item was finished with a silk like blue green outer layer decorated with dragons and other frequently used Chinese symbols.

A fuller description of my rooms is in order. The two beds had a flimsy table sandwiched between them and filled most of the main room. Upon entry from the hallway it was necessary to squeeze between one of the beds and a large desk, to face a window which was hung with floral patterned attractive drapes. A badly stained wall to wall, heavily worn rug adorned the floor. The positioning of the worst staining, which was along the edges abutting the outside wall, suggested water leakage along this perimeter. Two lights attached together were positioned between the beds and provided the only illumination within this room. Although not pertinent to the time of year, there was an air conditioner installed in the window. This odd looking device must have been of local construction. A truly fascinating tag hung prominently from it, with handwritten English instructions stating; "Running this unit for more than 4 consecutive hours may be a fire hazard".

In the large old fashioned bathroom, all the plumbing ran helter-skelter and was attached to floor to ceiling white tiles. Pipes running at rakish angles between fixtures were fitted with abundant valves, the purpose of which was obscure, at least to the untrained eye. At one end of this room was ensconced a thick walled blocky bathtub with a flimsy hand held shower. The thin walled toilet had an equally thin ebony coloured wooden seat and had been placed about half a meter out from the wall. Atop the toilet tank sat a roll of bright pink razor thin toilet paper. In contact with the toilet stood a typical old fashioned bathroom sink, under which reposed a yellow plastic waste basket. Covering the wall above the sink was a large black framed mirror with vanity cupboards attached to each side.

At the other end of the bathroom there were three fixtures and a large cupboard. The large wooden cupboard, including its exposed shelves, was totally empty. I presumed therefore, that this must be a clothes closet, as there were none in the main room. Facing this on the other wall was a laundry tub sized sink and two gas appliances. The connection of these to the gas meter was amusing and unsafe but not unusual, with the pipes crisscrossing each other as the attached to opposite devices. The specific identity of these appliances was something of a mystery in my mind. Upon careful appraisal the one on the left it appeared to be a stove, but why such an item would reside in the bathroom could only be answered by the architect. Because the apertures on the right appliance were stuck closed, it could not be faithfully discerned. This issue was academic in any case, since any attempt to use a gas appliance of such complexity seemed to me risky, especially considering the ominous warning sign on the air conditioner.

The main room also contained a small kitchen consisting of a deep, sagging, wooden counter which stuck out from one wall and ran the total length of the room. This severely restricted standing space between the bench and the wall. The bench was bare except for an oily black gas ring, a large metal teapot and a metal cooking pot with a patched leaky bottom. These few items easily sufficed my cooking needs. Due to the absence of dishes simple meals could be cooked and eaten in the pot.

During my tenure I felt a great deal of trepidation using gas fired appliances of any types, mainly because of their questionable connections. Adding to this concern was the constant low level odour of gas that pervaded the apartment.

The Dilemma of a Touch of Flu

Mystification was the name of the game in many routine seeming situations in China of the 1980's. Whilst situated in Canton for a chemical research assignment for the World Bank I had a most unusual flu dilemma.

At the time, a variety of accommodation was available in the big Chinese cities, which ranged from American and Chinese style Hotels to University residences. I opted for the University residence, however a couple of weeks cooking on a single gas ring using leaky pots, having an air conditioner which regularly caught on fire, and enduring a meagre 1 hour per day of hot water, soon propelled me to relocate in a nearby Chinese Hotel. As I had always endeavoured to live as much as possible amongst the citizens of the country in which I was working, I was somewhat dismayed with myself at this move.

In those days each floor of the Chinese hotels had a reception type desk manned by English speaking male and female attendants, at which the resident was required to report and be escorted to his room. The door was duly unlocked and the room inspected before the hotel official handed over the key. Upon leaving each day the patron was required to hand the key in at this same desk before being allowed to leave the floor.  
I had already become something of an enigma because I took my daily exercise by running in the stairwells between floors each morning, rather than trying to run on the crowded sidewalks outside. As might be expected this always drew an audience of bewildered hotel workers who clustered to watch from the entrances to each floor.

One morning I seemed to have developed mild flu like symptoms and felt the need for a pain killer for my headache. Attired still in my pyjamas I went to the reception desk on my floor and thinking that Aspirin must be a known brand even in China, I asked for 2 tablets. Without producing any pain killers the gentleman on duty mysteriously escorted me back to my room, although it was still unlocked and to my bed and then remained with me. In what seemed like only a few moments later 3 persons appeared in my room. I was then told that 2 were doctors, a man and a woman, both of whom conducted a cursory examination. The other a Government Official was in charge and he stated that I could choose to be treated using Western or Traditional Chinese Medicine. By then my headache had disappeared consumed no doubt by the over dramatic incident that was unfolding in relation to my possible touch of flu. Surprisingly I heard myself say that I would try Chinese Medicine. What did I have to lose; it wasn't as though I was facing a fatal disease and after all my mantra had always been to gain as much experience with local traditions wherever in the world my work was to sequester me.

The woman doctor then stepped to my bed side and extracted 5 bottles from her satchel each containing what appeared to be 150 or more red coloured BB sized pills and deposited these on the bed side table. She then directed me to take one. Thus I dutifully removed the lid from 1 bottle, spilled out a few into my hand and then carefully choose one pill. I was about to swallow this acrid tasting orb with the aid of some water, when she interrupted and stridently stated not one pill, the complete contents of the bottle! It was at this point I wished I had remained in residence and was only having to extinguish another air conditioner fire.

Back at the University my Chinese colleagues carefully explained this dilemma. Apparently I was classified officially (they were always big during that period on fancy sounding categorizations) by the Chinese Government as a "Distinguished Visiting Expert" and as such it would be a horribly awkward international incident in their view if I were to perish while in Chinese precincts. To this end, as a precaution and no matter how minor seemed the complaint, I was to receive their ultimate diagnosis and treatment.

Upon returning home it came to my mind, whether by divulging this grandiose sounding foreign status to my family doctor in Toronto I might gain some advantage? Sadly, I dismissed this idea on the grounds that he being of Chinese background himself, he would probably see through this nonsense and instead penalize me by extending my already aggravating 1 hour office wait times.

##  Conclusion

Well do you feel any better now?

Bullying and other types of oppression happened to me because of my "stupidity" which was really an artefact of a learning disability which I only discovered later in life. I was also bipolar but although causing me additional problems, the fact that I was predominantly in its manic phase it propelled me to use my adopted strategies learned to counteract my learning disabilities and gave me the momentum such that I obtained a PhD and a Full Professorship.

Bullying and oppression happen to many unfortunate individuals often because of some perceived "difference" either physical or emotional. This is particularly debilitating for the young.

I wrote this compendium based on my own related experiences as an encouragement to such individuals, their families, loved ones teachers and employers.

I often found it hard to relate my own personal adverse and demeaning experiences but I can hope that in so doing only this has been of some help.

