I still remember where I was. When it happened. When he got shot.

I still remember where I was. When it happened. When he got shot.
You never forget a day or time like that.
Monday, March 30, 1981. I was in Grade 10.
My friend Ronnie's mom picked us up at school. It was just another day. Nothing special. She did that everyday. Overcast skies and mild. I remember that clearly for some reason. It was at the tail end of one of our cold Canadian winters, but while there was still some patches of snow on the ground, there was none falling. It was almost a spring-like day.
We made our way down Willowbrook Rd. towards my house. By the time we had cleared Willowbrook and turned left onto Green Lane we heard it. I think the news bulletin came right as we were stopped at the light waiting to turn left. That is my memory.
The President had been shot. President Ronald Reagan had been shot.

It was around 2:45pm. School usually ended at 3pm, but for some reason we had finished by 2:30 and were on our way home. My house was the first stop, because it was the closest to the school. It was just another minute to my house. The first thing I did was turn on the TV. I remember that. I sat on the couch in the den and watched for hours. I rarely did that. We had Intellivision in the basement and I always played a lot of that when I got home. Not this time.

It was really my first experience with a serious political story that resulted in violence. I did vaguely remember the FLQ crisis of 1970, but I was only 5 then and I had only heard a news clip in the car when they announced the hostages had been killed. I don't think that event really sunk in until many years later. The Reagan shooting was immediate and sank in right away. 

I do remember the Gerald Ford assassination attempt in 1975. Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme, a Charlie Manson cult follower attempted to kill U.S. President Gerald Ford in California. She wanted to make a statement to people about environmental pollution and its effects on Air, Trees, Water, and Animals.

"Although Fromme stood a little more than an arm's length from Ford that Friday morning and pointed a M1911 pistol at him in the public grounds of the California State Capitol building, her gun failed to fire and no one was injured." 

-From Wikipedia
 

If her gun had not failed to fire, that likely would have been my first experience with the type of thing I experienced in March,1981. But the world was a much different place only 6 years later.

In 1975 there was no cable news network, and in fact many people didn't have cable. Networks would break in to regular programming if something happened, but they wouldn't stay at it 24/7 like they did that day in 1981. It was really the first TV reported shooting of a major person that we ever experienced start to finish.
Was I glued to the TV set that day? You bet I was. Most people were.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Only 18 years earlier, the President of the United States had been shot in broad daylight, in an open car traveling down the middle of a street in Dallas loaded with easy shots. Only 7 years earlier, President Gerald Ford was almost shot by a crazy woman in a crowd. Security was supposed to be higher now. Tighter now. Nobody was supposed to be able to get that close. But they did? One crazy loon who was misguided and star crossed into thinking he was professing his love for Jodi Foster--in some crazy re-enactment of a Taxi Driver scene--aimed and shot the president. And a few others.

 
"Hinckley's motivation behind the attack was from his obsession with actress Jodie Foster due to erotomania. While living in Hollywood in the late 1970s, he saw the film Taxi Driver at least 15 times, apparently identifying strongly with Travis Bickle, the lead character portrayed by Robert De Niro. The arc of the story involves Bickle's attempts to protect a 12-year-old child prostitute, played by Foster. Towards the end of the film, Bickle attempts to assassinate a United States Senator who is running for president. Over the following years, Hinckley trailed Foster around the country, going so far as to enroll in a writing course at Yale University in 1980 after reading in People magazine that she was a student there. He wrote numerous letters and notes to her in late 1980. He called her twice and refused to give up when she indicated that she was not interested in him.
Convinced that by becoming a national figure he would be Foster's equal, Hinckley decided to emulate Bickle and began to stalk President Jimmy Carter. He was surprised at how easy it was to get close to the president—only one foot away at one event—but was arrested in October 1980 at Nashville International Airport for illegal possession of firearms."

-From Wikipedia

If 1963 ended the innocence that everyone had, 1981 brought us back to the reality. The leader of the free world could still be taken out at any time. In this case, he almost was.
There are many theories as to why JFK was shot. Who really knows? Well, somebody knows. But as for the rest of us, we don't know. We likely will never know. We can just speculate, like a bunch of fiction writers conjuring up a sexy plot for our story to wow our readers. But it is all fiction. We don't know. We never really know. Or will know.
But on that day in 1981 a crazy named John Hinckley Jr. tried to kill the president. He didn't have any political or ideological motives. Nope. He was just a crazy doing what crazy people do.

However, his actions and their results still had the same chilling effect as the ones that someone or some people did back on November 22, 1963. Our leader could be assassinated. Hinckley just wasn't successful. That was the only difference.

People forget though. By the time that Reagan was shot, most of us thought of Dallas as a place where the Ewings fought over oil and family rivalries. I still get a special chill when I see those opening credits and hear that opening theme to that show. It was larger than life.

But, while the JFK murder was certainly a landmark and watershed moment in American and World history, if you mentioned "shot" and "Dallas" around the time Reagan was shot at most people would think of J.R..  Many still would.

Who shot J.R.? That was much more a topic of conversation than who shot JFK by the time Reagan was shot and very nearly killed. I still remember the talk about who shot J.R.,  leading up to the show where they revealed it, being a much bigger discussion topic in school than the Reagan shooting. I doubt that was the case in the JFK days. Time stopped that day in 1963. Reality changed. Life changed. Peoples lives were forever altered. I don't know of anyone of my generation who would say that about the Reagan shooting. Possibly if he had died. Since he didn't, we will never know for sure. 

Those were also very turbulent times. The country was divided. Reagan was a hardliner, and the threat of nuclear war was very real. They even made a TV movie about the likelihood of it happening and what life would be like if it came to that.
There was also the thought that Reagan would not be afraid to send troops into war. Vietnam was still very fresh in the minds of many people then, and being very close to 18 years old I was glad I was not an American.
But back to that day. It was a very long day. We were the TV generation. Glued to the TV.

There were reports that Press Secretary James Brady had died. First he was dead. Then he wasn't dead. It was that kind of day. The reporting came faster than the actual facts.
Reagan survived that day and it solidified his presidency, clout and power. In a way, it showed Americans they could triumph over an obstacle where the JFK assassination showed that they were vulnerable and it ended the innocence of that time.
Which brings me to my thought of the day at hand. What if Obama or the next President was shot and killed? Just as JFK was 50 years ago today? Would people think of it is as great a tragedy as that event?
I don't think so. Here is why I think that.

The President meant something back in those days. Both 1963 and 1981. We believed the President actually ran the country, and had confidence that if he was good at his job it was good for America and the world. He was the King without being the King. He was the leader without being the dictator.
We don't think that anymore. At best, we view the President as one of many. The Senate and Congress have many leader types who have as much influence as the President. Also, business leaders and bankers have a lot of clout and power. They did then too. But not like today.
Just last month, the government was shut down by a bunch of junior Senators who rallied against the President's health care plan. We can't even imagine of that happening back in the days of JFK or Reagan.
When Ronald Reagan wanted something done he got it done. For better or worse.
The air traffic controllers found that out when they tried to strike. He fired them all and broke the union. Those were very different times. That sort of power just doesn't exist anymore. In short, the President doesn't matter like he once did. Or how we thought he did. Whether he actually ever did have that power back in the days of JFK or Reagan is up for debate. But, I don't think we would even debate that these days it isn't a reality.

Would it be a personal tragedy if Obama was shot and killed? Certainly. People would mourn. But while it would be a tragedy, I don't think it would effect us like it did our parents and grandparents back 50 years ago.
The world is a much different place now.

It seems that you can't even get near the President these days. We have learned our lessons there. Even in Reagan's day, after Lincoln, JFK and Ford (and some other failed attempts) the President was still within reach. 

"On March 21, 1981, Ronald Reagan, the new President of the United States, visited Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C. with his wife Nancy for a fundraising event. He recalled, "I looked up at the presidential box above the stage where Abe Lincoln had been sitting the night he was shot and felt a curious sensation... I thought that even with all the Secret Service protection we now had, it was probably still possible for someone who had enough determination to get close enough to a president to shoot him."

-From Wikipedia

Back in that day, the president was untouchable, until he was touched. That was the shock. The man who always seemed untouchable was within grasp of those who wanted him removed.

But what we didn't really think about is why someone wanted to kill the President. Each incident had a different reason.
We understood back in Lincoln's day, when there was a great divide in the country that caused a horrific civil war. In those days, the President was a tipping point around which many were divided. When JFK was murdered, it was thought that the President was a rallying point. The country was one and the murder took that away. It began the divide that evolved into the 60s strife and Woodstock type anti-establishment sentiment.
In Ford and Reagan's case, it was just two crazies in isolated incidents.
Today, the country is very divided. So, it could have the opposite effect. A country divided might be united by the loss of the leader. It might bring some sober thought about how all the bickering is destroying the country, not have the murder destroy the unity that was perceived in 1963.

"We lost our heat and soul (in 1963) in America. America changed."

-Marshall Evans.

America has changed. It changed on that day in 1963. It had already changed quite a bit in 1981. And certainly these days, it is a much different place. As such, the reactions to the events would change. It doesn't mean the same thing to kill a President as it did back 50 years ago, or 32 years ago.

The world has changed as well. Many countries have begun to take a leadership role economically and politically in the world that we could have never imagined back in 1963 or 1981. 

It would be just as big a news event but in terms of lasting memories and effecting our lives, I don't think it could ever approach the level of innocence that it took away that day in 1963.

That time and those perceptions just don't exist anymore.

 

In the back room where nobody went. Nobody.

 If you have the time, I strongly encourage you to watch the documentary above. I was there, and I didn't know much of this stuff. It is very good and it got me thinking of writing this blog, which I had never thought of.
I remember exactly where I was both times. When he became the fastest man in the world, and when he became the fastest man in the world who got caught cheating doing it. Sadly, I remember the cheating part more. 

I was in my bedroom watching TV when Ben Johnson exploded from the starting gate and whipped Carl Lewis and a few other really fast men at the 1988 Olympics. The country was on a high for a day or two after that. Canada had never done anything like that before. The Summer Olympics were never really our strong suit. We held them in 1976 in Montreal and we won one silver medal for the whole thing. We have always been better at the winter sports, hockey, skiing, skating and cold weather sports like that.
But now we had done it. We had won the gold medal for the fastest man in the world. Woohoo!

Two days later, I had come home from school and flipped on the television. Didn't matter what channel it was, it was on all of them. A press conference to state that Ben Johnson had tested positive for steroids and they were taking away his medal. I was in my living room when I heard that. Never made it up to my room. I was glued to the coverage. Twenty five years ago this week, all that happened.
From the years 1985 to 1989 I went to York University. That meant that I had access to the premier track and field training center in Canada at the time. It was right on campus and many of my Phys Ed courses had classes there. In addition, many of us worked out there. It was state of the art for the time. That being the case, the cream of the crop of Canadian Olympic athletes (and some pro ones) worked out and trained there. One of those was Ben Johnson. I saw him all the time at that training center. Before he won gold at Seoul. After, you never saw him.
I don't do this often, but I actually thought twice about writing this blog. I am not a kiss and tell type of person. What happens in private usually stays in private with me. But in this case, it is not like I am giving away state secrets anymore. Everyone knows what I am about to say in this blog. Just that I was actually there before it happened.

Let me say this: We knew. Those of us who were there and watched what went on knew what was happening. You would have to have been blind or ignorant not to. Just that it was one of those things where you just didn't say anything. 
So here it is. Back in the day, it was very obvious that Ben Johnson,  Desai Williams, Angela Taylor and others were cheating. Taking drugs and not doing it on the up and up. And if you met Charlie Francis, as I did, you knew he was a snake- oil salesman as well.
Yes, if they are to be believed, they tried to do it clean but it was hopeless. So they had to play the game that the Americans and the Eastern Bloc countries were playing to level the playing field. Nevertheless, they swore up and down for years that they didn't cheat. So in essence, they were just a band of liars. And if you were there--in that track and field center--you knew they were doing it. There were whispers of guys who came in and supplied them, and shot them up, and they had a stash somewhere in that center. 
Was there a stash? I never saw it,  so I can't say. But I know there were areas that were strictly off limit. And you never got near them in the parking lot either. They would nod to you in the track and field center, and they were cordial, but if you weren't part of their clique, they just ignored you. And to look at them, they just didn't look right. They looked like freaks. Especially their eyes. They had that funny look in their eyes. Like drug addicts who have been on the stuff for too many years.
And the other thing was Angela Taylor. Real women, even natural body building women, don't look like she did. She had muscle on muscle. She might have even had decent sized breasts, but you couldn't tell. Her breasts were just muscle on muscle on muscle, as were her legs, her arms, her neck and every part of her. It just didn't look right. Neither did Ben Johnson. I also knew of Charlie Francis well. To meet him was to not like him right away. He just rubbed you wrong instantly. Much like many high end College Football and Basketball coaches.
How did I come to have an inside track to Charlie Francis? Well, as a phys ed student, and also in the coaching stream, I had access to high end coaching professional people. One of those was the psychologist that handled the track people for Francis. One day,  he came and gave an interview to our group. I was one of the few who asked a lot of questions about how Francis got the results. Knowing me as some of you do,  that isn't surprising. I am sure in retrospect it made Francis nervous that I was doing that. Remember, this was before the 1988 Olympics. And in those days, Francis was a mystery. He never gave in depth interviews and he never came to anyone's class and gave talks. 
I once saw Desai Williams leg press the whole stack of weights. You actually have to be there to understand what that means. Really, only true body builders at the highest level can do something like that. Desai Williams was just a little guy. But the power he had was staggering. I saw guys on the football team, huge guys who couldn't come close to what he did. And he was not even close to the level of Ben Johnson. 
I saw Angela Taylor bench press a level of weight that I have never seen any guy bench press. And she wasn't even stressed. I will say this about her. She was a very nice person. Very friendly. But when she was working out, you didn't exist. These people were obsessed and not acting right.
They say people always remember where they were when certain huge events in the world happen. Everyone who was alive and old enough remember where they were when Kennedy was shot. I remember where I was when Paul Henderson scored the biggest goal in the history of hockey.
I remember where I was when Ben Johnson won the gold. And  I certainly remember where I was when the report came out that he tested positive. Because that was the bigger, more important story. It was the true end of the innocence. Still, to this day, the biggest drug scandal in athletics.
What was it? It was a cult. If you watched them during the Dubin inquiry, you could see that. It was like watching cult members being deprogrammed,  right in front of your eyes. And seeing that moment when they return to reality.
Being at that training center each day,  it was like watching cult members serving at the pulpit of their guru leader. Charlie Francis. For years it was that way.  Until one of them got caught. Then they had no choice but to give it up. The Koolaid was not tasty anymore.
Did they take those drugs at the track center? I don't know. Did they get them at the track center? I don't know. But it is likely that some of them did one or the other there. It is just creepy to think about it now. 
Ben Johnson claims he was framed by a guy named Andre Jackson as Seoul. Even though he now fully admits to taking the steroids for a long time, he still claims that he wasn't on anything at the Olympics.
Did Andre Jackson frame Ben Johnson? Maybe.  I don't think we will ever know. And it doesn't matter. When you are a cheater and a crook like Ben Johnson was, then you are liable to get dirty with those types. And at the end of the day, he has admitted that he was cheating all along anyway. And so was Carl  Lewis. Everyone with a right thinking head knows that. They practically all were. The ones who were very competitive anyway.
All I will remember now is how close to it I was the whole time. I saw these people daily, and there was an awe in being around them. Now, 25 years later, I am not in my early 20's, and I see them for what they always were. Cheaters. Who got caught. Just another lesson I learned in University that I didn't learn in the classroom, of which there were many.

I remember that it is time to move on.

My mother died just about three years ago. In fact, it will be 3 years in November. November 18th in fact. 
Do I remember her? Yes. Just about every day. How could you not remember the person who made you, brought you into the world, raised you and then was there to support you as you flew off on your own to make your way and your mark in this world? You can't forget that. 
Do I think about her all the time? No, I don't. I didn't when she was alive either. Do I think about her sometimes? Yes, of course. I bought the house I currently live in from her. The house I was raised in from the time I was 13 until well into my twenties. There are reminders everywhere. I got her car, her last car, when she passed away. That sits in my garage. I see it just about everyday. 
Of course, since my mother died before me, that means that until she died, there wasn't a day I was on this earth that she wasn't. My world simply didn't exist without her. Now it does. Her physical self anyway. Now, I just have the spiritual side left. And the memories. And the reminders of her I see in others.
But, I know that she would want me to move on. To live. To go forward. Sure, not to forget her, which I wont. But to keep living, not dwelling on what was. She didn't suffer nine months with me in her stomach, then 45 years with me on the outside, raise me, feed me, school me, everything me, so that I could stop living when she passed. Or better said, living in the past when the only way to live is to live in the present and go forth into the future without her. 
Simply put, you have to move on. You don't forget. You remember. But you don't dwell. You have your memories. You have your recollections. Your good times. Your bad times. Your shared times. Those never go away. But you don't really think that often about them. They are memories. That is what they are. And being memories, they are part of your past. You have spouses, children, friends and interests that are still here. New memories to make. New places to go and to see. New experiences to have. Those that can't make that journey with you will be thought of, but only briefly, in those brief moments when something reminds you of them. Other than that, and I know this sounds harsh, they aren't really a part of your life anymore. 
When November 18th comes, will I think about her more that day than this day? I suppose I will. But I remember that I didn't last year. Every day without someone is equally important in my mind. Just as important as the day they left. And also not that important in the grand scheme of things. It was then, it isn't now. You have to move on.
So, today is the day. Twelve years ago today a bunch of crazy terrorists following a misguided leader who wanted nothing more than to take revenge for whatever it is he thinks we did or are doing to him and his people decided to execute a plan to cut into the heart of American society and show us that they can hurt us. I remember that. How could you not?
Yes I remember. We all remember. How could you not? You can never forget a day like September 11th, 2001. It is one of those days. JFK, Pearl Harbor, D Day, Canada Russia 72 for most Canadians. 
 I still get chills when I see a clip of Paul Hendersons goal in the final game, of the final minute of the greatest hockey series ever played. And it takes me back. Yes, of course it does. But I don't think about it everyday. Nor do I watch it. Nor do I really remember what exact day it was.
Days like that. You simply never forget. But, while you don't forget, it is time to move on. I don't think those that died in the name of freedom would want us to keep focusing on the past. We wont forget, but we have to let it go. So, I don't share my memories of that day anymore. I have done that in the past and many have as well. It is 12 years now since the towers fell. Time to move on. It is now history, not really news or interesting. And I don't think it honors them, or anyone. There is no honor in bombing two towers and a pentagon, and there is no honor in dieing because they did that. It wasn't an honor thing. Going to fight in a war and dieing so others can have freedom, that is honor. In this case it was a simple act of terror by those who think they can scare and bully us into getting their way. That didn't work. It hasn't worked. It wont work.
To me it is just another day. Just like any day, I am glad to have the chance to live it. No more than yesterday, or tomorrow, or any other day. That is really the only thing the terrorists took that day. The ability for those who actually died to live and enjoy more days. And they took loved ones from their families. And for that, they should burn in hell. But otherwise, it is over and I hardly ever think about it. Not even on this day. You can. That is your choice. That is what freedom is all about. You can choose to think about what you want, and so can the rest of us.
I focus on what it gave us. Not what it took away. Bombing those towers strengthened our resolve to move forward with life no matter what some crazy terrorists do. This is basically what I said about the Boston thing in the spring, and likely what I will say when that hits the one year anniversary in a few months.
So, I will leave you with my one thought that lingers from that day forward.

"You can knock down the towers, but you can't knock down the spirit it took to build them."

I think about what my mother gave me not what I lost when she was taken away. And mostly, that was the strength to move forward past any obstacle or event to newer, brighter, better, happier days. 

If you want to honor those that lost their lives that day, move forward and past it and stop dwelling on it. If I was in one of those planes or in the towers doing my job, living life, that is what I would want you to do.

A Moment In Time: Scores! May 1, 1993

 With the Maple Leafs making the playoffs after a 9 year drought, it seems only fitting that the game will take place on May 1, 2013. Because, for those of you who don't remember, or never knew--or cared--it was 20 years ago to the day that one of the most watched and celebrated games in Maple Leaf history took place. I certainly remember it well. And that whole playoff season.
The Leafs had been pretty lousy for most of the time I lived in Ontario up to that point. Not always, and they did have some decent playoff runs, but at times they were the laughing stock of the league. And for a few years before 1993, they were not a good team. Fans had grown complacent and apathetic. That all changed when Cliff Fletcher became the General Manager he hired Pat Burns  as the coach and traded for Doug Gilmour, their star player. Hopes were high, but Leaf fans had come to expect high hopes to become unrealized expectations.
When the Leafs barely made the playoffs and then got slaughtered in the first two games in Detroit, it seemed whatever hype and hoopla had been created was fading fast. Then, the Leafs did something that nobody could have predicted. They made a series of it, and we were all glued to every second of it. 
Twenty years. It is hard to believe that it has been 20 years. I was 28 when this happened. I thought I had lived so many years, so much of life. In fact, at times, it seemed my life was over. Like I had done so much, done as much as I needed to do. But in reality, I was barely getting started. Now, I am 48, and 28 seems like eons ago.
At the time this happened, it was not a good time in my life. I had a horrible job, no money and I barely went out at all. I had just survived two horrible job endings and I don't remember being happy 99% of the time. Like many, I looked forward to the weekends and loathed Monday morning and having to go to work. In many ways hockey was my salvation. At least I still had enjoyment out of that. And then it happened.
It was a magical time. A magical few weeks. And it seemingly came out of nowhere, and became something that no one could have even imagined it would be. One of those magic moments in your life when the most important thing came out of nowhere and just swallowed up the rest of your life. Like it didn't exist.
For many of us, it was all we thought of. Certainly, it was all anybody talked about.
It was when time seemed to stop. Every game was like the greatest game we had ever seen. Every game was a game we had to win. The losses were devastating. The wins were exhilarating. Life was a hockey roller coaster, and nobody wanted to get off the ride.
They were two big moments and two great memories sandwiched around a whole bunch of things that happened in my life that spring.
Something very special happened in that 6 weeks period in 1993, and I will not forget it for the rest of my life. It was just some hockey games, but it was so much more than that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9D5tr35PKE

The moment when the Leafs came back in Game 7, down 3-1 with just a few minutes left, and then Nikolai Borschevsky
tipped in Bob Rouse's shot in overtime was a moment frozen in time for me. It still gives me chills and takes me back to that moment. I just played the clip, and I got those chills again, and the goosebumps. That feeling will never leave me as many times as I watch the clip for the rest of my life.

A couple of weeks later, when the Leafs played the St. Louis Blues in the next round, it happened again. At the same time my life was going nowhere but downhill, many of my friends were making their way. They all had great jobs, and three of them were getting married in that one month. One of them actually got married the night that the Leafs won an overtime game against the Blues, on the famous Gilmour wrap around goal. 

I remember my friend Vern watching the game on his mini tv at the wedding, and telling him that I didn't want to know the score or anything about the game. Luckily, I was able to achieve that and watch the whole game on tape when I got home.
That series ended up tied 3-3 with the final game on a Saturday night in Toronto. People all day were talking about the game, and the city basically shut down. I recall going to my friend Eric's house to watch it. Eric still lived with his parents then and we watched the game in their den, something we had done many times growing up. It was an easy win for the Leafs, and as they were up 5-0 by the end of the second period, there was not much to do other than look forward to the next round, and do it all over again. 
Which is exactly what the city did. Another great series against the Los Angeles Kings, and now the excitement had gone on for more than a month, although it seemed like just minutes. It was just a blur. Another seven game series, and it appeared the Leafs were going to win it in six games, but that did not happen. The famous Wayne Gretzky stick incident in game 6, and then the game 7 in Toronto where the Leafs came up short. It was over. 
It was 3 seven game series in a row, and those 21 games were like nothing any of us had experienced before, or since.

It is now 20 years since that time, but it is something we never forget. For our generation, it was the greatest playoff run we will likely ever see. 
For me, it was a turning point when I needed a turning point. Another direction. After that summer I quit my job, got a new one and was on my way. Hockey never seemed to be the same again for me, and that series was the last bit of hockey I remember enjoying, but it came at the right time in my life.  
I really don't care at all about the 2013 Maple Leafs, or pro hockey in general, as I don't follow anymore. But the timing I find incredibly ironic. It was one of those times when all the stars aligned for me.

On March 13, 1963, Ernesto Miranda was arrested

I meant to post this blog last week. Life got in the way. You know what? Sue me. That is what my father used to say. If you don't like it "sue me."
But before you do, make sure you advise me of my rights. You must Mirandize me. We hear that term all the time on cop shows and we hear suspects read their rights all the time.
You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you at no cost. During any questioning, you may decide at any time to exercise these rights, not answer any questions or make any statements. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?

How many times in your life have you heard that? I have probably heard it more than a thousand times, being that I am an avid watcher of cop shows since my youngest years. I certainly have seen every episode of Law And Order, and many a lot more than once.

Since this blog is a week late, that is appropriate. Because if you don't read them their Miranda rights in a timely manner, you likely won't be able to convict even the most guilty of criminals.
But why do they call them Miranda rights? 

 
Well, while most know the phrase and know they are called Miranda rights, I doubt many know why. Just over 40 years ago a court case made this come to be. 
Today, I am discussing how Miranda rights came to be called Miranda rights. 

During the 1960s, a movement which provided defendants with legal aid emerged from the collective efforts of various bar associations.
In the civil realm, it led to the creation of the Legal Services Corporation under the Great Society program of President Lyndon Baines Johnson. Escobedo v. Illinois, a case which closely foreshadowed Miranda, provided for the presence of counsel during police interrogation. This concept extended to a concern over police interrogation practices, which were considered by many to be barbaric and unjust. Coercive interrogation tactics were known in period slang as the "third degree".

-Wikipedia 
 
On March 13, 1963, a man named Ernesto Miranda kidnapped and raped a woman in Phoenix, Arizona. His truck was spotted and license plates recognized by the brother of the17-year-old kidnapping and rape victim, Lois Ann Jameson after she had given her brother a description. With his description of the car and a partial license plate number, Phoenix police officers arrested Miranda based on circumstantial evidence, took him to the station house and placed him in a lineup. But that is the middle of the story. Lets go back to where Miranda started from and how he got to that point. It is relevant to why he probably won his case in Supreme Court and why we know of these rights as Miranda rights to this day. It is very possible that had he not been who he was that this law would not have come into effect.
Ernesto Miranda was born in Mesa, Arizona on March 9, 1941. By the time he arrived in Phoenix and committed the kidnapping and rape of Lois Jameson in 1963, he had a long history of getting in trouble with the law.
Miranda began getting in trouble when he was in grade school. His first criminal conviction was during eighth grade. The following year, he was convicted of burglary and sentenced to a year in reform school.
In 1956 after his release from the reform school he was in trouble with the law again. After his second release from reform school he relocated to Los Angeles. Within months of his arrival in LA, Miranda was arrested (but not convicted) on suspicion of armed robbery and for some minor sex offenses. After two and a half years in custody the 18-year-old Miranda was extradited back to Arizona.
He drifted around the south for a few months, spending time in jail in Texas for living on the street without money or a place to live, and was arrested in Nashville driving a stolen car. After another stint in two jails, one in Ohio and another in California, Miranda kept out of jail for the next two years, working at various places, until he became a laborer for the Phoenix produce company. 
 After Miranda was put in the lineup he asked what he had done and they told him that he had been positively identified for the Jameson rape and kidnapping. Based on that, and still not represented by council, within two hours the police obtained a confession out of him. It should be noted that Miranda suffered from extreme mental problems and barely had a grade 9 education. It was certainly plausible that he didn't fully understand his legal rights like most might.
After the confession, Miranda was taken to a room and Jameson identified him by his voice. She stated that the sound of Miranda's voice matched that of the culprit.
Believing that they had solid proof to convict him in court,
Miranda then wrote his confessions down. He did initial the top of each page of the confession stating that he understood his rights, but his rights had never been explained or read to him. 
Despite the statement on top of each sheet that Miranda was confessing "with full knowledge of my legal rights," he was not informed of his right to have an attorney present or of his right to remain silent. Alvin Moore was assigned to represent him at his trial which took place in June of 1963.

Despite the objection of Moore to the entering the confession by Miranda as evidence during the trial he was overruled and the confession was allowed in. Mostly because of the confession, Miranda was convicted of rape and kidnapping and sentenced to 20 to 30 years on both charges. Moore appealed to the Arizona Supreme Court but the charges were upheld there as well.
Miranda then submitted his plea, or request for review of his case to the U.S. Supreme Court in June 1965. His new lawyer, John J. Flynn and his partner John P. Frank wrote a 2,500 word petition that argued that Miranda's Fifth Amendment rights had been violated and sent it to the United States Supreme Court.
In November 1965, the Supreme Court agreed to hear Miranda's case, Miranda v. Arizona. As well, there were   three other similar cases to clear all misunderstandings created by the ruling of Escobedo v. Illinois. In that previous case it was ruled that,

 Under the circumstances of this case, where a police investigation is no longer a general inquiry into an unsolved crime but has begun to focus on a particular suspect in police custody who has been refused an opportunity to consult with his counsel and who has not been warned of his constitutional right to keep silent, the accused has been denied the assistance of counsel in violation of the Sixth and Fourteenth Amendments, and no statement extracted by the police during the interrogation may be used against him at a trial. Crooker v. California, 357 U.S. 433, and Cicenia v. Lagay, 357 U.S. 504, distinguished, and, to the extent that they may be inconsistent with the instant case, they are not controlling.

In January 1966, Flynn and Frank submitted their argument stating that Miranda's Sixth Amendment right to counsel had been violated by the Phoenix Police Department. Two weeks later the state of Arizona responded by stating that Miranda's rights had not been violated. Flynn and Frank outlined the case and then stated that Miranda had not been advised of his right to remain silent when he had been arrested and questioned, adding the Fifth Amendment argument to his case. Flynn contended that an emotionally disturbed man like Miranda, who had a limited education, should not be expected to know his Fifth Amendment right not to incriminate himself.
Gary Nelson spoke for the people of Arizona, arguing that  forcing police to advise suspects of their rights would seriously obstruct public safety.
Thurgood Marshall in his capacity as the Solicitor General, argued that the government did not have the resources to appoint a lawyer for every indigent person who was accused of a crime. Chief Justice Earl Warren (the man who would head the commission investing the assassination of JFK) wrote the opinion in Miranda v. Arizona. The decision was in favor of Miranda. It stated that:

 The person in custody must, prior to interrogation, be clearly informed that he has the right to remain silent, and that anything he says will be used against him in court; he must be clearly informed that he has the right to consult with a lawyer and to have the lawyer with him during interrogation, and that, if he is indigent, a lawyer will be appointed to represent him.

Warren pointed to the existing practice of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and the rules of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, both of which required notifying a suspect of his right to remain silent; the FBI warning included notice of the right to counsel.
A confession obtained in violation of the Miranda standards may nonetheless be used for purposes of impeaching the defendant's testimony: that is, if the defendant takes the stand at trial and the prosecution wishes to introduce the defendant's confession as a prior inconsistent statement to attack the defendant's credibility, the Miranda holding will not prohibit this.
 The opinion was released on June 13, 1966. Because of the ruling, police departments around the country started to issue Miranda Warning cards to their officers to recite.
 The Supreme Court set aside Miranda's conviction, which was tainted by the use of the confession that had been obtained through improper interrogation. The state of Arizona retried him. At the second trial, his confession was not introduced into evidence, but he was convicted again He was sentenced to 20 to 30 years in prison.
Miranda was paroled in 1972. After his release, he started selling autographed Miranda Warning cards. Over the next years, Miranda was arrested numerous times for minor driving offenses. He was arrested for the possession of a gun but the charges were dropped. However, because this violated his parole he was sent back to Arizona State Prison for another year. On January 31, 1976, after his release for violating his parole, a violent fight broke out in a bar in Kingman, Arizona. Miranda received a lethal wound from a knife. Several Miranda cards were found on his person. 
To this day, a law that now ensures that all people are advised of their constitutional rights is named after a kidnapper and rapist who actually got away with rape and kidnapping until he was retried. His legacy is not one of crime, but one of protecting citizens rights. If the police had read him his rights on that first interrogation, then we would likely have never heard of him. And they wouldn't be called Miranda rights. 
"Miranda Rights" we take for granted today, reconciled the increasing police powers of the state with the basic rights of individuals. In the end, Ernesto Miranda got the justice he likely deserved, and in the future, those who might be taken in by the use of police powers will have protection against them because of how Miranda was treated while in custody in March of 1963, just about 40 years ago this week.

A moment in time: February 7th, 1976.

I write a lot of blogs. That is no secret. One a day for about a year now. For anyone, it would be hard to keep up with them all. And frankly, I am aware that many aren't that good or interesting. As well, because I am so random and diverse many of them simply don't appeal to some because of the subject matter. I write what I like and whatever comes to me on that day, so I accept that as part of the deal.
I know it is hard to read them all, but if you read enough of them you will know that I spent a lot of time at my grandmothers house in Montreal watching TV when I was very young. That is where I was when this memory happened. That is where I was when many of my memories happened as a very young child. My mother used to drop us off each day when we didn't have school because she had issues and could not cope with life. I never minded. Grandma's house was always fun times. Watching TV there was always one of them. She had a much better color TV than we did and she got more channels.
Many times when we recall memories, it is more about where we were, both physically and developmentally in our lives. I am no exception to that and that is how I approach this particular kind of blog.
It is very fair to say that I watched a lot of sports growing up. Baseball was always my first love and game, but hockey was right up there. Growing up in Montreal, watching the Habs was religion. I am sure it was the same for any Toronto boy. Watching The Toronto Maple Leafs was something you did without thinking. For me, the famous announcer was Danny Gallivan, still today considered one of the greatest to ever call hockey. He had presence and a voice that just kept your attention. He made you feel like you were right in the stands at the game. As announcers go he was a true poet and he called the greatest goal and game that I have ever seen, which will be the subject of another blog later in the spring. 

Even today, my friends and I still talk about the "Savardian Spinarama" and  "Robinsonian" type play. His term for a great glove save, in "rapier like fashion" is something so unique to him that nobody has ever copied it.

 

Part of the deal with my grandparents was the religious rules they adhered to. They were extremely strict about observing the Jewish Sabbath. That meant from sunset on Friday night until sundown on Saturday night there was no electricity, no driving, no money, and most importantly to me, No TV! I didn't really think about it then, but I realize it now. But, that is just how it was. So, when Saturday night came along and Hockey Night In Canada was on, we were ready to watch. The sun always went down in hockey season by the time the game started on Saturday nights.
Being Canadian, Hockey Night in Canada is and still to some extent is a big deal. Every Canadian kid, and probably citizen, knows this song.

  
 Even though I grew up in Montreal, Foster Hewitt was the voice of hockey for the CBC and all of Canada. I have provided a link to tell his life story. He was the Vin Scully or Mel Allen of Canada, for those of you who know baseball.

Foster Hewitt, in the early days calling a hockey game on the radio for CBC from the gondola.

http://www.hhof.com/htmlSpotlight/spot_oneononeb196501.shtml

Foster Hewitt was not calling the game I watched that is the subject of this blog. He had long since retired by then. His son, Bill Hewitt was. Foster's last hurrah is the call he is most famous for in 1972. It is today known as "The goal of the century."

 


 After turning television broadcasts over to his son Bill with the start of the 1958-59 season, Foster carried on with radio play-by-play for several more years before retiring to devote full attention to his radio station. But he was convinced to return to broadcast the 1972 Summit Series that pitted Canada versus the Soviet Union. ... Hewitt's description of the winning goal, scored by Paul Henderson in Game 8, has become as legendary as his greeting, "Hello Canada and hockey fans in the United States and Newfoundland!"

Growing up in Canada, you pretty much only got to see one hockey game a week, and that was on Saturday Night. Even when most of us got older and could go out on a Saturday night, to the movies or with girls, we would stay home and watch the hockey game first. Even the greatest players the game has ever seen understand how significant it was.

  
"Saturday night was always Hockey Night."

 -Gordon Lightfoot

"Feel the crowd out there. Do you hear the buzz?"

-Don Cherry

 "Guys like Foster Hewitt, Danny Gallivan, Bob Cole. They were sort of the architects of delivering a message...I remember the first time we were on Hockey Night In Canada. The trainer came in with new laces (for the skates). I asked him why we were getting new laces. He said ' We are on Hockey Night In Canada, we have to look like professionals.'"

-Wayne Gretzky

In Toronto however, there were also the Wednesday night games on CHCH, and Bill Hewitt became known more for calling those games. But the game I am going to feature, which spawned this memory that the blog pertains to happened on a Saturday Night on Hockey Night in Canada. The Montreal Canadiens must not have been playing that night, or for whatever reason I watched the Leaf game, because I remember seeing it in Montreal. Back in those days, you only got to see one or the other, and growing up in Montreal, that always meant the Canadiens game. But not this night. Bill Hewitt called this game. And there was a lot to call. 
This game is a tale of two players. One who was already a star and famous, and is now infamous, while the other who was never a star nor ever going to be famous or remembered, but is now forever famous because he was in the right place at the wrong time for his career. A career that pretty much ended that night. The night Darryl Sittler (the star) scored 10 points in one game on Dave Reece (not the star) on Hockey Night In Canada,  February 7, 1976, 33 years ago today.

Darryl Sittler was a superstar. A top player in the league for most of his career. His talent had reached its full potential by the time he stepped on the ice that night. But even for him, it was just one of those nights. A night when everything he did worked. He scored 6 goals and 4 assists, for 10 points. The previous record, 8 points in one game, had stood since 1944. After this game, just a few months later, he scored another very significant goal in the 1976 version of Canada Cup, in which the Canadians once again were victorious on a last minute goal. An overtime goal in fact. He went on to be a superstar for another 8 or 9 years and a Hall of Famer. His 10 points in one game has never been broken and might never be. Most teams don't even score 10 goals in one game, let alone one player get a point on every goal.

Dave Reece was not a bad goalie, just one who has been tagged with being on the wrong side of an NHL record. Reece played at the University of Vermont before winding up in Boston. The Bruins assigned Reece to their AHL team where he took on the bulk of the Braves' goaltending workload. 

  Dave Reece's good play in the 1975 preseason earned him the backup role behind Gilles Gilbert and the opening night start against the Montreal Canadiens. The Bruin fans were in an optimistic mood as a banner read " With Reece in the Crease, Scoring Will Cease." Unfortunately, Reece allowed seven goals before a shot in the chest forced his removal from the game. The Canadiens won 9-4. It wasn't the last time he would take a severe beating in net, but the next time would be his last and he wasn't fortunate enough to be pulled. He had to stay in start to finish. Sadly, that was the last NHL game he would ever play. And everybody in the hockey world would get to see it.
Reece put the rough start behind him and proceeded to provide capable support for Gilbert. As the season progressed, Reece' s record steadily improved by going 7-3-1, with a 2.31 goals against average and two shutouts after the opening night loss. While he improved, his time was almost up. As a reward for his service, Bruins coach Don Cherry opted to start Reece on February 7, 1976, before sending the goaltender to the minors. He was destined for the minors because the goalie of the past, Gerry Cheevers was now returning and Gilles Gilbert was number one. Teams did not carry 3 goalies in those days, so he was the odd man out. This was his last chance to show what he could do. 
It was a game on Hockey Night in Canada, a very big deal back in those days when not many games were televised. One last chance for shining glory. Or..a night that would not be so shining for Dave Reece.
Years later Reece would admit that he wasn't at his peak going into the game. Said Reece: " It was beachball city. It just wasn't my night and Darryl was pure magic. The Leafs were going nuts, but I never realized he was doing all the scoring or going for a record. That' s the fun of sports, but sometimes I wonder why I wasn't pulled after five or six goals." 
 

The Boston coach, Don Cherry has explained why he couldn't pull Reece, even though he knows he should have and would have under normal circumstances. 

"I couldn't put Gerry (Cheevers) in because he had just come back from the WHA. I tell ya he didn't even have a practice with us. So I had to keep him for the next night when we played Detroit in Boston. I had to leave poor Dave in the net and the Leafs showed no mercy. It wasn't easy I tell ya to watch Dave get hammered like that. But I had to do it for the good of the team."

-Don Cherry 

Dave Reece returned to the minors two days later. He hung on for another season in professional hockey before hanging up the skates following the 1977 World Championship in Vienna. Reece has since worked in education and as a consultant. The big game for Sittler was a springboard to future success. The bad game for Reece was his last in the NHL.
Darryl Sittler went on to be the greatest player of my generation for the Toronto Maple Leafs and was expected to lead the team back to glory after the glory years of winning stopped in the late 1960's. That never happened. But for one night, all that he did, he could do no wrong. And it all happened, coast to coast on Hockey Night In Canada, and in my grandmothers den, in color, on TV.