Regina, Saskatchewan
I was one of the founders of Dumont Press Graphix, and a member of the Gabriel Dumont Memorial Commune, both at 192 King Street in Waterloo, and at 192 Strange Street in Kitchener. I had a background in photography, layout and design, and paste-up, and did as lot of training for new staff during my time at the shop.
I re-located to Regina in 1977 and have lived there ever since, working first as a journalist with Briarpatch magazine, and then as a photography instructor at the Saskatchewan Indian Federated College at the University of Regina, and also at the Saskatchewan Institute of Applied Science and Technology (SIAST) for about 26 years. I also established the Canadian Conference of Photo-Educators (CCOPE) in 2009, and continue as a mentor and an independent commercial photographer specializing in the work of local artists and craftspeople.
I have an extensive history of involvement in Saskatchewan's arts and cultural community, incliding volunteer work with several festivals and funding agencies. I also was one of the founders of Blue Sky Cultural Connections in 2006, where I continue as a director. and in 2012 helped to organize the Playing for Change Saskatchewan project, working with local musicians to raise funds for music education initiatives for kids. I am a cultural activist.
Three days and nights at a quiet and unassuming lodge in the Kawartha Lakes north of Peterborough, Ontario. Name tags proved to be a handy resource and the mood of the assembled crows was warm, kind and comfortable. So many stories shared, memories restored and most of us just wanted to keep on going...
It takes a Village to raise a child, it takes a Community to sustain a Collective.
A significant key to Dumont’s early success and certainly to much of its vitality were the relationships the shop established outside the workplace. These were centred around things like the Dumont Ducks (players and fans), the Food Co-op, the Awarehouse Books Co-operative, trade union support, Running Dog concerts, OPIRG, the K-W Women’s Centre and an endless array of communal gatherings, potlucks and festive gatherings celebrating a wide array of significant and/or eclectic cultural and political milestones.
It was this environment of communalism and co-operation that nurtured and sustained the social lives of the staff of Dumont Press, their housemates, co-conspirators, fellow travelers and assorted vagabonds through our years together. It was a time not without its share of bumps and hiccups, from relationship breakups to political discord to friction over individual work styles. All of these were part of the picture, but to a large extent, it was that sense of community that kept us rolling, and encouraged us to look out for each other.
Sometimes, with a little discussion and collaborative inspiration, a good idea can take root and blossom into a concept or a plan, and then grow into a tangible and valuable project. The Food Paper was just such an endeavour.
It was initiated as a collaboration between a couple Dumont staff members and several folks involved in setting up the Waterloo Food Co-op. We saw it as a kind of popular education tool not unlike the Ireland Paper which Dumont staff had produced two years earlier, designed to present a broad overview of the food industry, the changes in production, distribution, food quality and food security, and how independent local food co-ops could help consumers regain a greater level of control in obtaining better quality and less expensive meals for our tables.
That’s where we started, but of course it became a whole lot more than that. The volunteer group who researched, wrote and produced The Food Paper back in 1974 wanted to find the reasons why food had recently become a major public issue.
“When we first began plans for the paper, we also hoped to demonstrate the necessity for groups like the Waterloo Food Co-op as alternatives to present food industry structures. Although we still see such a necessity, we have come to realize that the difficulties would not end with a large-scale co-operative movement and proposing that everyone join a food co-op is too simplistic a solution to provide total answers. We can only hope that by reading the paper people will at least gain a clearer picture of the issues involved.”
Okay, so that part worked, The Food Paper was a huge success. We had to do a second press run. The National Farmers Union (NFU) distributed it to its members at their annual convention that fall. Oxfam Canada sent it out to their entire membership. It was initially distributed as a supplement to a number of university and alternate newspapers, and many nonprofit community groups and other food co-ops wrote to request copies for their own distribution.
But were we really all that successful? Forty-seven years later, all of the significant economic, environmental, corporate and social concerns we raised appear to have taken place. The family farm is essentially gone, agricultural soil quality is on life support, corporate consolidation and control has continued, international food sourcing threatens the sustainability of the planet. Yikes! It’s grim, but it’s not all bad. Local food security has become an important political issue. Some fights continue on… We did a good job with this project, and much of what we wrote is still valuable and important all these years later.
As we wrote in our introductory statement back in 1974: “Food is a basic necessity for sustaining life. The quality of life is very much dependent on the availability of such basics as good food. For people to be in a position where they cannot afford to buy food grown in a country as rich in agricultural' land as Canada is perverse. Farming is one of the few remaining occupations that maintains a balance with nature. To find farmers leaving the land because they can no longer make a living and to see urban sprawl eating away the countryside left behind is equally perverse. If we are not to be confronted with, large, mechanized farms, using all the latest industrial and chemical techniques, providing low quality food to huge metropolitan centres at high prices, then something will have to be done about present food industry trends very soon.”
It’s been over 30 years since the doors were shut on Dumont Press for the final time. We might ask, why this current flurry of activity to examine our history together? Well, we can blame the pandemic to a certain extent. Our isolation has prompted many of us to reach out to old friends, colleagues, even former lovers. At the same time, we are coming to the growing realization that we’re not all still here on this mortal plane anymore. We have all lost good friends, and family too, and with that, their experience and knowledge, their wisdom, their values and dreams – and for all of us – cherished and important relationships.
Accordingly, many of us are noticing gaps in the collective memory banks. We can probably blame the pandemic for much of that as well, and now as we try to reimagine and rebuild our sense of a new normal, it becomes valuable and useful to draw on the lessons of the past. This 50th anniversary thing is merely a clever ruse.
Dumont Press had a huge impact on several hundred people and more. It allowed the assembly of resources, particularly around publishing, but also around community grassroots activism, and other related progressive issues. That’s all part of it.
But Dumont was also an expression of the times, culturally and politically. It was one of those places where we were able to assemble a critical mass for a while, for a long while, for a number of years – all to be able to achieve our particular expression.
It was a place that attracted people who came from other parts of Canada because they wanted to become a part of it all, to work there with the rest of us, to learn and to grow. That continued, always shifting and evolving as the cast of characters shifted and evolved. As well, priorities shifted and moved in different directions as other opportunities presented, or as other realities confronted us.
Hopes and Dreams
As I reflected on this Dumont anniversary project, I first envisioned a massive collaborative collections of photographs, but then quickly realized that there ought to be stories to chronicle people’s life experiences around Dumont and the informal extended family that sprung up around it. It should also include our collective social and political activities, and all the community-based initiatives that we supported and facilitated, both within our own community and throughout southwestern Ontario. All of this is what lies at the core of a people’s history.
Further to this are the questions: What did we learn? What did we contribute – and how has it shaped our later lives?
Certainly, Dumont gave us the skills, the tools, and the sense of where we wanted to go. It was that melting pot of activism, of new thoughts and new ideas, that carried so many people on to really interesting adventures that we just hadn't foreseen.
All of those things became part of our collective and our collaborative history. What was the glue that stuck us together? Where were the ideas, whether it was how to paste up copy more efficiently and attractively, how to work more cooperatively – or the ideas and notions that eventually sent us off in different directions?
I am hoping that this collaborative history will be fun, informative and particularly valuable for rekindling that sense of solidarity, camaraderie, community and social justice that brought us all together at one (or more) point – and then helped to move us forward into a variety of professions, interests and initiatives to help make the world a better place.
It seems straightforward enough, eh. But I also think we all still have a lot we can learn from each other, and goodness knows, that’s more important than ever in these turbulent and chaotic times.
Just a few thoughts along the pandemic trail… I don’t think we have yet come to a full understanding of where we might go with this history project, and that, of course, will be shaped by all the participants eager to come along for the ride. I think we are all just trail guides pushing the bus uphill. We’ll have to see where it takes us all. Dumont was all about community and trying to change the world. We had lofty goals, and sometimes we screwed up.
We all know better now… Mind you, these are perilous times, and the task now is not just to change the world, but to save it. Storm clouds continue to emerge on the horizon, and I continue to feel there’s a tsunami of chaos and stupidity out there that will not subside anytime soon…
Paper trails: The Dumont Archives
Some of the information we recovered from the shop’s archives is tedious, and won’t be all that valuable to most of us, but much of the other material that’s been found and shared really helps put together a broader and more concrete picture of the kind of challenges that people were confronted with in a unique workplace. Some were resolved really well, some fractured relationships, and some resulted in people leaving
There may be situations where some of us made comments, and we look back on them now and think “What a goofball I was in those days”, or “how arrogant”, or perhaps at the time we just weren’t seeing the big picture.
As Phil Elsworthy often tells me, most of us continue to share the same values we always had. It's important to understand those values, how they evolved and adjusted and changed over the years, as we continued to do meaningful work in our lives. This is what keeps a lot of us going, to be engaged in meaningful work on whatever level, whether it's fighting racism or poverty, volunteering at the food bank, working with a local nonprofit, or participating with your neighbourhood community association trying to fight some self-serving and questionable development project.
We were cooperative. We operated collaboratively and collectively as best we could at the time, and our sense of decision-making, our view of what was going on around us certainly changed as the world changed… and that continues.
How were we able to adapt to all of those different sociopolitical conditions and maintain a reasonable lifestyle, within a creative and supportive community? Sometimes that was really meaningful and relevant, sometimes it became less relevant or engaging, and some of us just moved on to other things.
Eventually, it all brings us back to that time-honoured, poetic and well-considered question, “Will the Circle be unbroken?” In these uncertain times, we’ll just have to see.
—Gary Robins (with Peter Lang)
April 2021
In the beginning, there was hockey. Not that it precluded our collective interests in political activities, but in those days it was pretty much engrained into our psyche and our spirit... well, the male psyche for sure. When the sticks came out, it was time for mass struggle, it almost seemed intuitive.
Within the genre, road hockey had a long and storied tradition. Certainly it was much easier and more flexible to set up a pick-up game. Any quiet parking lot or back alley would do. By golly (to quote Howie Meeker), it was almost spontaneous, more egalitarian, and nobody seemed to mind that we often forgot to keep score.
Astute observer may note an eerie familiarity with some of the players on these rag-tag teams. Yes, more than a few of the Dumont Ducks got their start out on the asphalt. A team spirit was germinating, ready to sprout with the warm winds of Spring. These were indeed heady and happy times.
Right from the start, the Dumont Ducks were a unique and enigmatic footnote in the history of community-based sports. To begin with, these softball legends didn't even play ball, but came together originally as a water-polo team. Clearly, the competitive confines of the institutional swimming pool, not to mention the ruthless style of play, were not appealing to the free-spirited crew from the recently-established co-op typesetting shop. Also, their joints kept getting wet.
Ultimately it was the lure of the open sky, the warmth of the sun and the green grasses of the ball diamond, that brought the Dumont Ducks to their true calling: softball. Perhaps it was the laid-back pace of the game, the non-confrontational style of play, or the opprtunity to engage in a wide range of political discussions in the outfield. Being "way out in left field" took on a new meaning in the lives of these merry jocks.
And indeed, a Dumont Ducks ball game was often more of a social event than a sports competition.
Gary Robins
During those dark foggy days at the end of the Twentieth Century (often referred to as Y2K), when a planetary panic set in as nobody could agree on whether the New Millennium would commence at the beginning of 2000, or 2001, but it didn't really matter anyway because all the world's computer systems would be crashing at the end of December 1999, it was a time of grave uncertainty throughout the land.
Fainter hearts might have faltered, but when the Dumont Organizing Committee, those faithful caretakers of the spirit of Gabe, initiated preliminary conversations on another celebratory event, the question of timing prompted a certain amount of contention. Should we gather in 2000 because it was a special year and we all survived Y2K? Perhaps we should wait until 2001 when the new millennium was truly upon us, and Dumont Press would be turning 30. It was a tough call, and discussions soon broke into the usual factions, between the mathematicians, the pragmatists and the anarchist. The Marxist-Lennonists had long since been banished from the village, as they didn't really like to party, unless it was their own Party, in which case they demanded loyalty and complete control.
Fortunately, solidarity prevailed, and a Dumont reunion was scheduled for the long weekend in August of 2000 at a secluded, yet well-appointed, camp in the woods just north of Waterloo. It had already been six years since the previous reunion, and we had lots to catch up on.
Roderick Winston Hay: 1948 – 2008
Up until his death in 2008, I had known Rod Hay longer than anyone else that I still kept in touch with (not including immediate family of course). We had both commenced our not-so-remarkable studies at the University of Waterloo in September of 1966. Roddy lived next door to me at the student village during our first year, and we often went to math classes together.
We shared other pursuits as well, from our opposition to the war in Vietnam to our shared interest in discovering new music and new musicians. We both liked Dylan, but Rod took me further into his lyrics and poetry. He introduced me to a world of contemporary and traditional folk and blues musicians, from Phil Ochs to Joan Baez to Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot and Leonard Cohen, as well as all the old blues legends from the American South.
I remember the day Roddy came back with a new album, a picture of a hippy sitting hungrily at a dinner table on the album cover. We sat back and listened to the first song on side one, all twenty-three minutes of it. That’s when we came to know Arlo Guthrie’s Alice's Restaurant, and of course, the legendary Group W Bench.
The music of the late ‘60s held enormous power and influence within the emerging counter-culture and the growing political awareness of the times. Music, its forms and its lyrics, meant something in those days, and helped us to understand and feel the world. From Pete Seeger to Pink Floyd (whom Roddy used to refer to as Floyd Pink, a kind of lost country singer), the music was such a big part of our lives. Mind you, the drugs certainly helped...
Though our student paths diverged, we continued to spend time together. We both got involved in student journalism and social justice movements, on campus and off. We even got arrested together once (I think it was just the one time) one sunny October afternoon, and subsequently charged (along with Larry and Fast Eddie and a couple other folks) with trespassing on public property. Fortunately, we had a good lawyer, who later went on to become the mayor of Kitchener.
In early 1969 I was living in a two-bedroom apartment just off campus, Apt. 1009 in Waterloo Towers, with Phil Elsworthy, Fast Eddy, Mike Corbett and Jim Klinck. It was an enchanting and sociable little abode, top floor, lovely view, people dropping by regularly. I was working at the Campus Centre at the time, and I believe Phil was too.
Years later, Phil and I recalled the day in early May of '69 when Roddy showed up at the apartment (unannounced, as usual) with a big case of fireworks under his arm. He had liberated them from the Milton Fireworks factory where he had been working. We used those fireworks a couple weeks later to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Winnipeg General Strike (May 19, 1919), and various other relevant social/political events. Roddy stuck around and lived with us out on the balcony for the summer. It did provide adequate shelter, and Roddy and his wooden crate of fireworks seemed quite comfortable out there. Alas, this same balcony later served as the launch pad one evening for an assortment of firecrackers and other incendiaries that, coincidently, happened to get us evicted from that delightful little gathering spot. I was working that evening – missed the whole darn thing.
So that's when we rented the big house at 192 King Street South in Waterloo, that soon became the Gabriel Dumont Memorial Co-op and later, a commune. It was a good move on many levels, as I believe there were about nine of us stuffed into that two-bedroom apartment at that point. The house had previously been a doctor’s office, with many rooms to accommodate fourteen of us that first winter, plus one dog, assorted fellow travelers passing through, and a fairly regular assortment of dinner guests. There was always room to set another plate.
None of us could afford social media in those days, so there were many conversations throughout the house, both philosophical and political debates, and more mundane arguments over who had the best chicken fricasee recipe.
Roddy was right there in the thick of things, except perhaps for domestic stuff. As Joanne Kennedy recalled, “When it came Roddy’s turn to cook, he stood his ground that it was going to be PBJ or hot dogs… I think we short-sheeted his bed.”
We did a lot of things together at 192. And when hen we started making plans in early 1970 to establish an alternative community newspaper, Roddy was right there offering his support, doing whatever little task needed to be done. The result was On the Line, a little bi-weekly tabloid that we laid out and pasted up on the dining-room table and sold on downtown street corners for 15 cents a copy.
As it turned out, we didn’t really have a great business plan, and we lost money right from the start. It was this realization that led us to consider sustainable alternatives. Hoping to put theory into practice, we developed a plan to create a worker-controlled typesetting and publishing house, which ultimately led to the creation and establishment of Dumont Press Graphix. As always, Roddy was there as an eager all-purpose volunteer. In those days, Roddie truly believed the Revolution was just around the corner.
Time lapse and flashback: In the spring of 2008 we learned that Roddy had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, which had metastasized to his liver, and was inoperable. He had received the diagnosis a week earlier and was near death. A lot of folks rallied to his bedside at the hospital in Kitchener-Waterloo. The rest of us kept vigil from afar, keeping vigil in our own way, sending good feelings and sharing fond memories.
Out here in Regina, my long-time pal Jan Stoody came by one evening and we sat out on my front porch drinking wine (Finca, a nice cheap dry red from Argentina) and telling stories. As we contemplated the news from K-W that Roddy might not make it through the night, we thought this could well be an appropriate commemoration, as that particular day was also the anniversary of that Saturday afternoon thirty-eight years earlier when (as some of you might recall) a small crowd of about 5,000 of us tried to storm the American Consulate on University Avenue in Toronto during an anti-war rally. Larry Burko had chartered a bus (or was it two?) to get us all there from Waterloo.
There were, of course, many, many protests against the seemingly endless Vietnam War, in Canada, across the U.S. and around the globe. The many gatherings held on this date in 1970 were especially significant because they came just five days after a group of U.S. National Guardsmen (yes, they were all men in those days) in Ohio opened fire on student protesters at Kent State University, killing four of them and wounding many more. The world was understandably a bit angry,
Roddy was one of the more enthusiastic participants that day in Toronto, and hey, he did manage to avoid arrest. There was a lot of excitement that afternoon and many of our friends will probably remember the moment when those horseback-riding Toronto cops managed to pry us away from the consulate’s front gates, and then the crowd just took off, surging past City Hall through Nathan Philips Square and on towards Yonge Street, passing by, as it turned out, the old Eaton’s store.
I remember Roddy and someone else (mighta been Eddie? – who knows?) picking up a big trash container, which I’m sure must have been impeding their path or something like that, and when they went to set it aside it happened to sail through a large plate glass window, causing a huge commotion and setting off some kind of weird chain reaction that saw a number of other trash containers just spontaneously leap off their sidewalk perches in a variety of interesting directions. I suspect adrenaline rushes were breaking out all over.
So on that evening thirty-eight years later, Jan and I felt it would be kind of appropriate to dedicate our memory of that little bit of history to Roddy, especially since he rallied to survive through that night in hospital, just as he managed to avoid legal entanglements back on May 9th, 1970. We can all recognize Roddy’s enthusiasm and dedication to social justice, whatever the challenges and environment of the day. Jan and I drank a toast to all of that, and then went on to finish off the entire bottle. Rod died about a week later.
I shared this story with a number of friends and the extended family from our Dumont days, and got a note back from Fast Eddie: “Trudy Chippier and I were with Roddy that day but I remember that Roddy and I were actually trying to hold the trash container down to avoid it flying through the window. I'm surprised that it got away from us as Roddy was usually really stubborn and determined.”
I think Roddy liked to see himself as a regular working guy, and he was also a scholar with a keen interest in politics, economics and philosophy. However, I believe his first love was baseball. As Dumont Press became a regular (in its own unique way) established workplace, it didn’t take long for thoughts to turn toward spring and the upcoming ball season. Roddy found an eager crew of players among the staff at the shop, and in June ’72, the newly-formed Dumont Ducks took to the field as part of the university intramural league. Roddy played second base, but he was also a coach, trainer, cheerleader (in his usual quiet way) and mentor to the rest of us. Win or lose, the Ducks were a huge success, providing a kind of cultural glue to add an extra dimension to our co-operatives lives together.
When I left Kitchener-Waterloo to come west in 1977, Roddy made that journey along with me. We departed the very same day the Toronto Blue Jays played their first ever game. Roddy came along as far as Calgary and got a job, but didn't say goodbye (that was his way, close and distant at the same time). I went on to B.C. before bouncing back here into Saskatchewan.
I suspect it was major league baseball that eventually lured Roddy back to Ontario. Indeed, as Michael Rohatynski later recalled, “Roddy really appreciated baseball. His fondness for the Montreal Expos rubbed off onto so many people.”
After he returned to Ontario, Roddy settled in Toronto, resumed his academic studies, and went on to teach economics at a number of universities. Still quiet and reclusive, he spent a lot of time developing relationships with the kids of his old Waterloo and Dumont buddies. As Brian Iler explained, “Rod’s been a very important friend and mentor to many of our kids, certainly to my Andrew, Brendan and Kirsten, Eddie and Donna’s son Jonathan, and Michael and Jane’s Terrina. Rod and Andrew have spent a great deal of time together, particularly over the past year, as Rod has tutored Andrew in his first year at U of T.”
Arel Agnew also recalled, “One day in about ’84 he appeared at my front door. I had just come home from teaching and was working on supper with two kids running around. He sat down in the living room and read. I said hello and asked if he wanted anything. He said no, just to sit. Then he left without saying goodbye.
“Later on, he announced he would babysit, as soon as our son Brendan no longer wore diapers, and then Andrew too. Over the years he taught me about economics, repeating the basic principles while we walked until they sunk in. I taught him to knock when he arrived at my front door. He always had a key, but I taught him to phone before he showed up.”
Looking back over the years of my friendship with Roddy, I often return to Alice’s Restaurant and the epic lyrics of Arlo Guthrie towards the end of that classic piece, as Arlo noted, "If you want to end war and stuff you've got to sing loud!" For a quiet guy, Rod had a mighty voice. We've all felt it…
— Gary Robins, May 2008 and November 2020
Additional thoughts from other friends, colleagues and co-conspirators, gathered just prior to his death in 2008:
From Joe Goodman in Toronto: I’m not sure why this particular image is so strong, but I truly loved having Roddy on the Dumont Ducks Baseball team. It was a special time with a special guy. I hope that all these names and memories provide a soft pillow for Roddy`s journey. Love and Peace.
From Jann Van Horne (Tennenbaum) in Boston: When I think of Roddy. I think of a quiet man who always made me feel safe. I met him at Dumont Press and we did not spend much time together. When Roddy spoke, he said few words, but his eyes said to me that whatever I was doing, feeling or believed, it was okay with him. I always felt so accepted and never judged by Roddy. I can easily recall his face and his solitary walk. It is good to know that so many people are with him and that he is loved.
From Winnie in Ottawa: It’s hard to think of Roddy dying; in my mind’s eye he is as young as he was in your recollection, as silent and as brooding, with the same grin and grand sense of humour when up to something mischievous or out of the ordinary. I am keeping a vigil here in Ottawa, remembering Roddy and at the same time thinking of so many of my friends from Waterloo days who welcomed me in my youth and gave me shelter when I needed it most.
From Liz Janzen in Toronto: It was always great seeing him, sitting together and catching each other up on who we each knew was doing what. Roddy was always a great connector (gossip can be good) that way. I'm thinking of the many nights at Ahrens St. with numerous pots of tea (Mary Holmes just kept them coming) that we talked away, with Roddy listening, throwing in the occasional joke or brief rant. Much love.
From Betty Burcher in Toronto: I have two strong memories of Roddy. One is when I took Brendan to the Blue Jays game for his fourth birthday Roddy was quite concerned that I didn't know about baseball, so he spent time teaching me the basics! Much later he chuckled big time when Nick (my son) turned out to be such a jock and then I had to know the fine points of baseball and indeed every other sport!
And I also have a very foggy memory of going with Roddy to a strip bar in Waterloo. Yes, this is feminist Betty writing! Can't recall whose idea it was, but I do remember something about "knowing the reality”. Mostly I think of Roddy as an astute observer, gentle soul and decent human being, loved by all our kids and all of us.
From Liz Willick in Oxbow: Years after we'd stitched ourselves temporarily into the already well-worn Waterloo social patchwork in the mid-seventies, Ron made the discovery that Roddy's quiet grew out of a noisy crowded family with a deaf mom... myth or fact? Ron says he was present when trash can met Eaton's window; but that was before he'd met Roddy and the rest of you lot. I remember the crowd, the cops on horses big, tall, pushing, pushing anger rising, running...
I think the last time I saw Roddy was at Brian and Arel's in Toronto. I was staying there while taking a gender and development course. Brendan had a rat and Andrew was a baby. Roddy was very involved with the kids and it seems to me a huge tribute that they should be so with him now.
From Ron Colpitts in Oxbow: The first thing I noticed about Roddy was his silence. Unlike a lot of the New Left, in my experience, Roddy was not only comfortable with silence, he sought it out. He probably would have been better able to deal with the sometime isolation of rural Saskatchewan than I have. I gradually came to learn that Roddy always had something (usually thoughtful) to say. You just had to listen, or ask and listen.
Roddy also demonstrated that one could be a critical thinker and an unabashed sports fan and a bit of a jock without it being some form of contradiction. (Definitely not a notion that would have been entertained in the Toronto and Ottawa Leftie communities I was part of; prior to moving to KW.) I can't think of KW without thinking of the Dumont Ducks. I've played team sports all my life, I still do. The Ducks were the only time in my life that being a member of a sports team wasn't completely schizophrenic. (It was nice to have a somewhat common world view and actually like all of my teammates.)
Moving back to rural Saskatchewan brought with it a community of neighbours whom one could count on in an emergency whether you liked each other or not. The unfortunate trade-off, for me, was that I lost a day to day social and political community that I had become used to through the New Left, CUP, and most importantly our time in KW. Despite that, I always felt less isolated when I remembered how many wonderful supportive people I knew across the country, the continent, the world. Just a short trip or a phone call away.
As usual, I'm rambling. Roddy's illness and impending death is an emotional blow. I find I'm of an age that have trouble grieving in particular. The sense of loss and unfairness brings many memories of many people gone before us. It would be better if I could be with some of you to celebrate Roddy's life and your continuing lives.
Anyway, I miss you all. Take care of each other. I'd hate to be the last one standing.
Love, Ron
From Sara Switzman in San Francisco: As I sit here at my computer and read all of these wonderful remembrances of times of fun, activism, and deep thinking I feel a connectedness to my childhood and a larger community of people who have spread across North America yet still live in one another's stories. My clearest picture of Roddy is of him hanging out on the front porch at 10 Young Street, his bangs falling into his eyes and a cold bottle of coke in his hand. I send my love out to everyone.
From Alison Stirling in Toronto: I always thought that Rod would be a constant and outlast the rest of us; grinning as he downed his cola, read a great book, scanned baseball games, and pondered the meaning of life, the universe and everything. I have many fine memories of long conversations, debates and quiet reflections on philosophy, politics and pulp fiction, as well as sharing our dreams, humour and dismay at the ways things sometimes worked out. I am still working my way through Rod's list of the 100 best books of the 20th century, and although I may never get to all those books, I always think of him as I look at it. Roddy is our scholar, our loyal friend, our quiet joy. As Joe said, may his journey be softened by our love and memories.
From Bruce Steele in Regina: Roddy Hay. The Furry Freaks vs. the Cops. The Dumont Ducks. Grounder to second... hard toss to first... big grin. The Chevron or Dumont late, late at night. Printer chemicals and Karl Marx. Walking the railroad tracks from the U to King Street, cutting across 17 blocks with 7 words spoken. Drawn to full height, eagle eye at the edge of the party. The look of approval. Later, bent quiet over some political triviality, the look that let you know you'd crossed the line.
The campus centre hall, packed, issue du jour, Roddy appears by your side in a whisper, makes some ironic and very funny remark that stuns you into his private perspective – a line seemingly so out of character that the heart of the man is suddenly exposed – and then disappears into the crowd like a rabbit into the fog on a mission of mercy.
After a series of biannual Dumont reunions in 1985 and '87 in Bruce Mines, then 1989 in Oxbow and the big 20th anniversary gathering in Waterloo in 1991, folks weren't sure where (or when) to go next. 1993 slipped by quietly, socially ungathered, an empty void in the fabric of time. Remember, in those dark days, nobody could afford email or even cellphones, and texts were to be found only on carefully-bound and correctly-spelled type on pieces of paper. Even long distance phone calls were expensive.
At that point, Elaine Switzman was alone on the farm at Bruce Mines. Even the goats had wandered off. Always up for a good visit, Elaine welcomed the opportunity to host another gathering of the Dumont crew, their associates and fellow travelers. We all welcomed the opportunity to get together again... long weekend in August, 1994.
Two years after the first Dumont reunion in 1985 (a rousing success, as we all agreed), we decided to do it all again, back at Elaine and Michael's farm just north of Bruce Mines. It was centrally located, with lots of room for camping, great feasting and assorted shenanigans. Eddie even built a three-hole golf course! Good times all round.
Photos here by Gary Robins, Doug Epps and David Cubberley.
It was an eclectic crew that came together to establish Dumont Press Graphix. A worker-controlled co-op, tools to publish community-based alternative newspapers and magazines, a resource to offer to progressive groups and publications around southern Ontario, and of course, an opportunity to put theory into practice. What dreamers we all were!
Here are some of the folks who facilitated that dream.
Many grassroots alternative publications emerged from Dumont Press Graphix, but one important community newspaper actually preceeded it. On the Line, one of the early Canadian alternative newspapers, was established by a volunteer collective from the Gabriel Dumont Memorial Commune in Waterloo, started publishing ion June 23, 1970. Within two months, the editorial and production staff had determined that the paper needed to establish its own typesetting and production resources in order to become sustainable. Nine months and a whole lot of labour later, Dumont Press was born, opening its doors in May 1971.
About 150 people, from Newfoundland to British Columbia, made the trek to the farm at Chicopee (just outside of Kitchener) in June 1976 to help celebrate Dumont Press and the community of activists, writers and publishers it fostered and supported throughout southern Ontario. This is part of a photographic portfolio created that day by Brian Cere.
The specially-constructed anniversary cake was baked and assembled with loving care by Brenda Wilson, who used 14 carrot cakes to put it all together. The official welcome, and reflection on Dumont's five years of existence and adventures, was made by John Dufort, making it up as he went along, pretending to expound with poetic grace and profound insight from an imaginary script that was actually a child's colouring book. He did a great job, and we were all in awe!
Ten years and 117 crises later, the collective at Dumont Press decided it was time for a break, time to pause and reflect, time to breathe in some clean country air and count those previously hatched chickens. Yes, it was time to celebrate a significant anniversary and catch up with long-time friends, colleagues and extended family. Late June seemed appropriate for the occasion. Sunday the 28th was chosen, with a raucous kick-off party the night before in town.
Again, folks trekked in from across the country to a scenic rural setting just north of Waterloo, rolling hills, fields and woods. As usual, the day was marked by music and volleyball, great food, visiting and political discussions. We were a chatty crew, and the weather was perfect for celebration. No decisions were made, no one got lost in the bush. It was just what we all needed. Happy anniversary, Gabe!
Abandoning a promising career path in mathematics, Gary found himself drawn into the world of student journalism, social justice, radical politics and folk music. Raised on a small farm in southwestern Ontario, he ought to have known better, but the spirit of reckless abandon permeating the campus of the University of Waterloo simply swept him up, and away. A keen interest in street photography and photojournalism formed the core of his new pursuits, and after several years with the University of Waterloo student newspaper, The Chevron, Gary went on to become one of the founders of a new alternative community newspaper, On the Line, published every two weeks, beginning in June of 1970.
About two months into production, OTL staffers uncovered an ancient manuscript which revealed an important truth: "Freedom of the Press is guaranteed only to those who own one." Eager to put theory into practice, several members of the editorial collective developed a proposal to establish a cooperative worker-controlled typesetting and print shop. Nine months later,
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