This document provides a summary of the author's experiences working as a journalist in Saskatchewan, Canada from 1982 to 1984 after graduating from college in Ontario. It describes taking a job as a news editor in Coronach, Saskatchewan, then later moving to another job at the Battleford Telegraph newspaper. Over these two years, the author covered a variety of news stories, adjusted to life in small towns, and gained valuable experience in his career as a journalist.

1. June 10, 2020
From Ontario to Saskatchewan 1982 - 1984
In every person's life, some moments stand out with perfect clarity. The memories are so perfect that, even years later, they are recalled as if
they had happened yesterday. For myself, those "moments" encompass a couple of years, from 1982-1984, when I finished my academic studies
and started along the path of being a professional journalist. However, now looking back 38 years later, I realize these precious moments were
just the start of the journey.
The adventure began in May 1982 when I spotted a help wanted ad in the Globe & Mail newspaper. The job was for a news editor in the town of
Coronach, Saskatchewan. I wondered, "Where the hell was that." I pulled out a map and searched. I discovered that what I thought was a city,
was actually a town in the south-central part of the province. I didn't expect to get a response to the ad, and if I did, I thought, it would probably
be negative. After all, I had sent out approximately 100 resumes and in each case had received nothing but letters thanking me for my interest.
Imagine then my surprise a few weeks later when I got a phone call from a Don McCahill, publisher of the Saskatchewan newspaper. He was
definitely interested in talking with me on the phone, and by the time we finished, I had a firm job offer.
Later that evening, when my mother came home from her weekly Maj-on game, I told her the news. I'm going to Saskatchewan, I told her
excitedly, not realizing the full implications of what I was telling her. It was only weeks later did I finally sit back and begin to examine my decision
and what I was doing with my life. It was too late, though. My path was set, and there was no backing out.
My resolve was further strengthened the next month. I graduated from Sheridan College in June 1982, learning that I was one of the few in my
journalism class who had landed a job in their chosen field. Times were tough in the business that the time and most had settled for any job they
could find. Few had been willing to do as I was and relocate to a different province.
After graduation, my mom held a combination graduation/going away party, where I acquired many of the necessities of life for my journey west. I
packed boxes of clothes and books, sending some out by train and some by mail. The rest eventually went into my car, which, by the time I left,
was packed to the roof.
Click for route
The fateful day finally arrived when I left home early in the morning. It was an emotional farewell to my mother and brothers as I left my home of
24 years with only my handy tape recorder as my travelling companion. That, of course, was for me to record my thoughts and feelings as I made
my way from North York, Ontario to Gravelbourg, Saskatchewan. You see, although the job eventually took me to Coronach, I found out that I
was headed a little further north to the town of Gravelbourg. That's where my publisher lived and ran another newspaper.
The first day was a long one as I headed north, winding up in Wawa, Ontario. Little by little, my mood changed as the day progressed, going from
regret over my decision to excitement over starting a new life. By the time I arrived in the early evening, my spirits had lifted. I called home
(before I settled into a pizza dinner) to reassure them that, indeed, everything was on track in my life.
The next day I turned west as I resumed my trek along the Trans-Canada Highway along Lake Superior. I finally stopped for the evening just
west of Thunder Bay.
On the third day, I left Ontario, stopping outside of Winnipeg to call a friend of my cousin Larry Sheldon. Continuing, I left the Trans-Canada and
headed south and then west, travelling through Manitoba and into Saskatchewan. I was finally here, my new home province, I thought. What
adventures lay ahead?
I arrived in Gravelbourg that afternoon. Of course, being Sunday, all the shops were closed, and the main street was deserted. After a brief
search, I found the place I was looking for. I finally came face to face with the person who had started me on the path of my new life - the 28-
year-old publisher of the Gravelbourg Gazette, Don McCahill.
I settled into a motel in the town for the next two weeks. There I learned more about my new job, covered a few stories for Don's paper (including
a visit by the Queen's sister Princess Anne), took in a few movies at the town's theatre, and generally enjoyed the novelty of my new existence.
Home Overview Borderland Reporter Battleford Telegraph The CJN These Are The Stories Photo Log CyberPlace
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2. Along the way, the two of us made treks to Coronach, where I got an apartment and the two-person office of his new paper, the Borderland
Reporter was opened.
Moving day soon came, and I left Gravelbourg to begin my job and life in
Coronach, covering the towns of Coronach, Willow Bunch, and Rockglen. It
was strange at first walking down the street with people stopping to say hello
or just wave in passing. After all, I didn't know who they were. They certainly
didn't do that back in Toronto.
Our first issue hit and stands on July 1, 1982. (Years later, I received another
thrill when I found the cover of that first issue in the National Archives of
Canada in Ottawa.). I had much to do before that happened, though,
including setting up my apartment and meeting the local folk.
I talked with people, doing story after story heading back to my office after
each one to bang out an article on my manual typewriter. Then it would be
time to start again. Luckily, for me, it was not all bake sales and teas (just
kidding, we never did that.) The local mine in town, which provided more than
a few jobs and sustained a good part of the economy, had just gone on strike,
providing me with my first front-page banner story.
Being the paper's sole reporter meant more than covering the news. I covered local sporting events, town council meetings, agriculture, local
businesses, fairs, and everything in between. Then every week, I would drive back to Gravelbourg, where the copy would be typeset, the
photographs developed, and the newspaper was laid out.
I met some interesting people along the way, including local clergy, when I set up a column in the paper for religious leaders in the area. (Years
later at The Canadian Jewish News, I would propose a similar column format for Jewish religious leaders. Both columns were successful). The
day I went to one of the churches was interesting in itself as I walked to the front of the chapel, and there was an open casket.
Then there was the real estate agent who showed me around town, only to suggest I do a story on him in exchange for his advertising in our
newspaper. Being young and not too diplomatic, I said I would do no such thing. I told him to immediately stop the car, got out, and walked back
to the office (all of five minutes away). My advertising manager Wanda Burns was not too pleased with me.
The mayor of a nearby town was also not too happy after I reported that his son had been arrested for drunk driving. He had called me at home
to berate me, but I took the steam out of his argument. Before hanging up, I told him never to call me at home about a work-related matter.
One of the nicer moments came after I had covered and published one of the more important stories. The railway had wanted to close a line,
which ran through the town of Big Beaver. To do so, they had to go before the CRTC for a hearing. I covered the meeting and reported on the
events of the day. Later I sent a copy of my article to the commissioner who had been running the meeting. Imagine my surprise when I received
a letter thanking me for meeting with her and praising my professional integrity and the accuracy of my report.
When I was not working, there was little, if anything, to do in Coronach. My TV only received two stations (the town later got a TV dish, and we
got more stations) and to see a movie, I had to go to the next town of Rockglen. The movie theatre there had one screen, and if you wanted
refreshments, you bought a bottle of Coke from the pop machine and a small bag of popcorn at the ticket counter.
One winter day heading into Rockglen gave me a good scare as I hit a patch of ice. My car did a 180-degree turn on the country road, winding up
half in the ditch. I panicked at first, before driving along the embankment until I came to a level crossing and headed home. That was the last
time I headed out in uncertain weather.
There were other days I really had to get away from the area. If the job title of news editor brought me a certain degree of prestige in the town, it
came with a downside. I was THE journalist whether or not I was working. People continuously approached me all the time with ideas for articles.
To get away, I occasionally went to Regina for dinner and movie, sometimes staying over in the provincial capital.
During one out of town excursion, I stopped in the nearby town of Bengough, where the town fair was taking place. I snapped a few pictures for
my newspaper. I also bought a button from a merchant, starting a tradition of collecting buttons, which continues to this day. I also made contact
(and friends) with an older couple in Moose Jaw. My initial contact with them started before I even left Toronto when I had sent a letter to that
city's synagogue. Somehow, it was redirected to them, and with it, an offer to visit with them at any time, especially on the Jewish holidays.
Being away from family during the High Holidays was emotional. I didn't tell Wanda where I was headed that weekend, only that I was going to
Moose Jaw for a few days. Since she had never met any Jews before (and I didn't advertise my religion), she didn't ask anything further.
Despite my initial misgivings, I thoroughly enjoyed the holidays. It was very different from attending services at a large synagogue in Toronto.
Here everyone knew everyone, and after Yom Kippur, the community broke the fast together in the synagogue.
It was a fairly lonely existence, but I didn't mind too much. I was very much focused on my career at the moment, and as I said earlier, I did
manage to get away to Regina or Moose Jaw from time to time. However, I was flying high when I got a call from my mother (we spoke
regularly), telling me she was coming out to visit me.
I super cleaned my apartment for the visit (even made my bed) and got a cot for her (I had a waterbed I knew she would not sleep on.). It was a
great visit, and she was surprised to see my kitchen apartment set up basically like hers.
By the time she visited, I was a reasonable cook. Of course, starting out, I learned from my mistakes. The first time I made roast beef, I put a
small roast in for three hours, turning a beautiful piece of meat into a side of leather.
That mistake was minor though compared to the time I tried to cut a frozen bagel. I held the bagel in my hand and cut and cut with no success
until, finally, the knife went through the bagel and, unfortunately, deep into my finger.
I tried to stem the flow of blood in the bathroom sink with no success. I knew I was in trouble when the room started to spin, and a few minutes
later, I woke up on the bathroom floor. After regaining consciousness, I wrapped my finger tightly with a towel and drove myself to the town's
hospital. Of course, the first thing they wanted to see when I got there was my health card.
The worst mistake was not mine, of course. It was my publisher's who one day told me that I would not get too far in the journalism business. He
said I would probably be stuck in Coronach for many years. Not one to turn down a challenge like that, I began sending out resumes again.
The Christmas season came, and with it, my first chance to return to Toronto in six months. After finishing off the paper that week in Gravelbourg,
I headed north to the airport in Regina. Unfortunately, my car was not in perfect running condition as both the speedometer and odometer were
not working. At the same time, it was pouring rain. Driving was terrible, and I had no idea how fast I was driving or how many kilometres I had left
to travel.
It was only by returning to Toronto that I realized how much I had changed. At the time, though, I thought it was my friends who were different. By
the time I went "home" to Coronach, I was glad the visit was as brief as it was.
A short while later, I got a call from Dave Yanko, editor of the Battleford Telegraph, asking me if I was interested in meeting with him. I said yes,
and headed north to the Battlefords, stopping off in Moose Jaw for the night. The next day I went to visit the editor at the paper's office in
Battleford.
What a difference there was between the two of us. While I wore a suit for the occasion, he was more casual, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Still,
the interview went well, and I got the job.
While my publisher at the Reporter was not too pleased with my decision, the staff at the Gazette congratulated me and took me out to lunch. I
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3. was disappointed, though, that my publisher declined to join us in the farewell sendoff. I also got a present from Wanda, a souvenir from the local
mine (I still have it, but the pen is gone.)
Moving proved to be quite a challenge. When I had first moved to Saskatchewan, I mailed some boxes to myself and shipped a trunk by train.
The rest I packed into my car. Now I was moving intra-provincially. As far as I can recall, I made the move in two weekends, packing everything
into my car.
Being in such a rush, I had to settle for a basement apartment. I hated it. Every night it felt like I was descending into a dungeon. After a very
short time, I managed to find a better apartment and, once again, moved.
Weeks after I settled in, I sat back one evening, along with the rest of society, as the final episode of MASH played out on TV. It was history in the
making.
The Telegraph set-up was quite interesting. The newsroom - situated in Battleford - was a former gas station. The main drawback was the lack of
proper insulation so that the building became quite cold in the winter. Still, it was equipped with a good computer system for reporters. After
stories were finished and edited, they were electronically sent across the river to North Battleford to our production office. There the newspaper
was put together.
Journalistically, the Telegraph was a major step up from the Borderland Reporter. I continued to cover the agriculture beat - quite an
accomplishment for a Toronto boy - and picked up the political, police and court beats. All were interesting. I got to meet and interview former
Prime Minister Joe Clark, and deal with several provincial and local politicians regularly. As a court reporter, I managed to cover some interesting
trials.
As well as being a beat reporter, I also shot and developed my own photos. There were also some unusual spot stories and features, including
one where I got to fly in a glider, a local fair, and coverage of a fire, which destroyed a drug store.
With the drug store story, I was on my way back to work one day after lunch one and came upon the fire. I raced home, grabbed my camera and
- presto, I had some truly amazing shots. These included the inside of the store, which I took using the point and shoot method (not using the
viewfinder).
There were unpleasant ones, as well. I had to interview a woman who had just learned that her son had been killed. Another time I had to call a
man whose barn had just burned down. He was not too pleased with me and hung up the phone.
On the production side, I helped "dummy up" the layout of the regular paper, as well as the weekly advertising supplement.
When not working, I hung around with other staff members of the editorial department, as well as other members of the media in The Battlefords.
There was one other weekly newspaper in the town, as well as a radio station.
The Christmas holidays that year were a real turkey, literally, as the publisher gave all the employees turkeys. Imagine one person with a turkey. I
took it home and on Christmas put it in the oven in the morning. I then went out and rented a VCR and some movies and bought stuffing and
some wine. That evening I sat down to a turkey dinner and then enjoyed some movies with my editor's cat, which I was cat sitting. (He was out of
town at the time.)
The year 1984 started out with a bang with the publication of a major feature planned and executed by myself. I created, distributed and
compiled a survey of all high school students in the area about their feelings on nuclear weapons. The idea had come to me after watching a TV
show called "The Day After." I put together the entire page complete with graphics, quotes and interviews.
Around this time, my editor decided to leave the newspaper. This resulted in my making a mistake, which altered the course of my life. At the
time, though, the move seemed perfectly logical. I went into the publisher's office and told him I would take the job but for an increase in pay.
I guess this did not impress him too much.
When I was asked into the publisher's office shortly after the article's publication, I assumed it was to offer congratulations. I was surprised when
I was told that a few police officers (never which one) had complained about my work ethics, and the paper was cutting back staff. I thought being
a senior reporter would protect me, but I guess they had it all worked out beforehand, and I was asked to leave.
I was more than a little shocked and asked them if I could stay on till the end of February, as it would take me some time to sort out my life. (It
was early February already)
That day I called home and told my mother the bad news. While I thought I would search for a new job out west, she said to come home. Before I
knew it, I found myself saying yes and spent the rest of the month packing up my life once again to make the return trip east.
As the month came to an end, the reporters from the OTHER newspaper in town took me out for a goodbye dinner.
Finally, my bags were packed, and I was ready to go. Unfortunately, just days before, my car broke down. I took it to a repair shop, and the
problems were fixed (so I thought). By the time I arrived in Moose Jaw, I had thought quite differently as my car broke down again. (I kept all the
receipts from my first repair at a Shell station. Eventually, I got reimbursed from the company when I returned to Toronto, but not until after a long
drawn out war of words with the company.)
My trek eastward continued along the Trans Canada Highway until I was east of Brandon, Manitoba. There a winter storm forced police to close
the highway, sending me back to Brandon to bed down for the night.
The next day I made it back into Ontario, stopping at the "Welcome to Ontario" sign for an official photo. Unfortunately, I was forced to stop just
west of Thunder Bay in Upsula, where, once again, my car broke down. I stayed overnight, and after my car was patched up, I left, but not before
the service station attendant told me not to shut my motor off again.
This, of course, meant keeping the engine running when I stopped for gasoline. I later learned this was not the wisest of moves. Still, it was the
only one.
When I finally pulled into the driveway at 26 Evanston Drive, after 18 hours on the road, I put the car in the garage and turned the motor off. I
tried to start it again with no luck. The engine was dead. There the car remained until it was finally towed away and I was forced to go out and
buy a new car, a 1984 Toyota Tercel.
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4. Click for route
Unlike my departure, just 18 months earlier, the only one home at the time I arrived was our cleaning lady. It was just as well, as all I wanted to
do was sleep.
The dream was over. I was back where I started. Can one go back to their old life after being completely independent? The answer was definitely
not.
Fortunately, my mother gave me the independence I needed. While I still did not have a job, I soon took a temporary position at a video store
owned, in part, by my cousin Howard Sheldon. At the same time, I kept a lookout for new journalism positions. What I found was a notice in the
local newspaper about a group of people who were meeting to oppose a proposed domed stadium in Downsview. I decided to cover the meeting
and to freelance the story to different newspapers.
One of those papers was The Canadian Jewish News, who decided to buy the story. At the same time, they said they would be interested in
further stories from me, but that they should call me rather than me call them.
I realize this sounded like a brush off, but they did call, and before you know it, I was back I the saddle again, writing stories for The CJN.
This led to an offer to come in and fill a temp spot when one of their reporters had to go out West to cover a trial. I guess I just happened to be in
the "right place at the right time" when an opening came up in the newspaper. I was immediately offered a position as a staff reporter.
And that, as they say, is how it went. As of this writing, January 15, 2005, I am still at The CJN, having moved through the ranks from reporter to
news editor to news editor/Internet Editor. As for the fate of the proposed domed stadium…. it was finally built in downtown Toronto and
christened SkyDome!
June 1984 - June 2010
Twenty-six years is but a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. Yet in the life of this journalist, it's practically an eternity. If not that, well,
then it constitutes half of my life.
I was thinking about the passage of time just the other day. Who could have imagined back in 1984 that I would still be at The Canadian Jewish
News in 2010? I know I couldn't. Hopefully, all being well, I will have many more productive years to contribute to the Canadian community's
premiere Jewish publication. I often wonder: has the best years already happened or is the best still to be? Whatever, I'm certain it won't be
disappointing.
We may not be the largest Jewish newspaper in existence these days, but I'm certain we have one of the best workplaces. The camaraderie is
fantastic. When something has to get done, it gets done, whether the newsroom has a full complement or is short-staffed, which is often the case
during the summer months. Everyone pitches in for the greater good.
Perhaps this is why we have such a low staff turnover. Everyone realizes what a great atmosphere exists around the office. We have had people
leave and come back months and years later, all singing praises of our work environment.
This continues to be one of The CJN's greatest strengths. Many of the issues we delve into have changed over time (although surprisingly, many
are still the same). Still, the people here continue to make this a great place to spend most of your prime time.
Among the many whom I have worked with are three special people: namely the editors of The CJN. All of them have been very different in style
and temperament. Yet I have learned from each of them, and they have helped make me the journalist I am today.
It's also been interesting going from being one of the youngest people in the editorial department to being one of the "senior" staff members. Of
course, it's not only personalities that have changed around here.
Back in 1984, I was thrilled when I got a new electric typewriter (I was using a manual machine when I started). The arrival of the fax machine
was a real eye-opener at the paper, allowing us to get news copy from freelancers without them having to come to the office. Before its arrival,
we relied on a teletype machine to connect our Toronto and Montreal offices.
Today, news copy and photographs arrive almost instantaneously through e-mails, something we could not have fathomed 26 years ago. Back
then, every article had to be typeset and proofread before being "waxed" and laid down in production. Now a single page is created in minutes on
the computer and printed out.
I have noticed that the pace of technological change keeps changing, mostly for the better. Where will we be in another 26 years? I'm certainly
not one to guess because I still marvel at the changing pace around the office. Where The CJN was once just a print publication, it now
encompasses so much more with links to YouTube, Facebook and the Blogosphere.
Wherever we go from here, though, I firmly believe that there will always be a place for our Jewish newspaper. We provide information that can't
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5. be found elsewhere. Will we look the same in 2036? Probably not, but that will be the decision and responsibility of journalism's next generation.
June 2010 - June 2014
I guess the idea of The CJN existing in 2036 was a pipe dream, a fantasy. At least it was as far as I was concerned. The paper continued a
gradual decline in readership and advertising revenue, so much so that by April 2013, it was announced that the paper would be closing in two
months. There was a collective outpouring of support from the community, and in June that year, it was decided that there still was a place in the
community for The Canadian Jewish News.
It would not be the same, though. Several staff members (including the editor) were let go, and the paper moved to smaller offices on Steeles
Avenue. Once it was relaunched in the fall that year, the new premises elicited a different vibe. A few months later, a new editor joined the team,
someone much younger, someone who I had strong differences of opinion on more than one occasion.
Perhaps I was too outspoken. We will never know. On June 11, 2014, just one day before my 55th birthday, I was called into the editor's office
after hours and told that due to restructuring in the department, my services would no longer be needed. After 30 years at The CJN, my time was
over. But was my journey?
June 2014 - June 2020
One door closed with a loud bang, while others appeared on the horizon. I had been creating my B'nai Brith lodge's bulletin since 1991. With
more time on my hands, I gave it the extra attention it deserved. As a result, it became better and attracted several new advertisers. At the same
time, I became involved in the life of our new synagogue, Pride of Israel. I asked to "help out" with their weekly Shabbat bulletin. Of course,
before long, I was doing it myself, something that continues to the present day (June 2020). As synagogues closed their doors in 2020, due to
the pandemic, I was asked to keep the weekly bulletin alive. Doing the weekly online allowed for more flexibility and has allowed me to stretch my
creative muscles. Again, at this time, our Lodge stopped meeting, and I was asked to keep our bulletin alive. Again, I was given more flexibility as
to how that would be done.
One more thing. At the start of this pandemic, The CJN announced that it was closing its doors for good. After 60 years in operation, Canada's
national Jewish paper was no more.
A sad day in journalism for sure. It also meant that after 38 years, all three newspapers I had worked for were now historical footnotes.
Last updated 06/10/2020 15:56:54
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