Author: Jim Hagarty

By Jim Hagarty

Right-wing hate radio hosts in the U.S. go nuts when they are referred to as just entertainers.

They like their listeners to think of them as serious journalists, speaking truth to power and bringing conservative perspectives on major issues to light. This sounds reasonable on their part except for this fact. Some of these shows make use of a company which provides talk radio with “callers” who are essentially paid actors who phone in to praise the host and to ask the host set-up questions that allow him to then take off on his favourite left-wing punching bag of the day.

The radio stations actually pay this company for this service.

So the next time you hear an angry caller to a talk show ranting on about how terrible President Obama and all Democrats are, keep in mind there is a good chance that caller doesn’t hold those beliefs at all but is collecting a paycheque for pretending to be an enraged “ordinary” citizen.

How sinister is that, given that most listeners have no idea this is happening?

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

I once knew a farmer named Ray
Who only knew how to grow hay.
No corn, beans or wheat
For his livestock to eat.
They got mad and all ran away.

By Jim Hagarty

Funny the things that bring your dad to your mind.

My father was born in the farmhouse his father built and he spent his whole life on the farm. He left school at the age of 12 and spent all his days farming.

My dad farmed in the day when every farm was a “mixed” farm. There was every kind of livestock, every kind of crop. Cows, pigs, chickens, geese and horses. I don’t know about sheep and goats. I don’t think they made the cut.

But Dad was also a beekeeper. They kept the bees for the honey, of course, honey being the sweetener preferred by rural folk who used white sugar sparingly. Over the years, he developed an immunity to bee stings. I remember once, when we were outside working, how a bee landed on his arm and was obviously stinging him. Had this happened to me (which it did a few times) I would have gone into cardiac arrest. Dad didn’t even notice it. When I raised the alarm, he just swatted it away.

By the time I was old enough to be aware of anything, the beekeeping years were over. But for many years after, the strange-looking hives were still stacked beside the garage.

Dad kept up with the times and specialized in beef cattle. I wonder if he ever missed his barnyard menagerie.

For some reason, I was terrified of bees. They seemed to know this and sought me out for target practice. Mostly, I was terrified of pain and bees were masters at delivering that.

This spring, our iris plants have flowered like never before. I take my breaks during the day in a lawnchair next to them. The flowers are full of bees. Not honey bees, but bees nonetheless. They don’t bother me a bit. Sometimes they buzz my head to see if I am an iris and while there are probably lots of purple spots upon my noggin, they can’t be fooled. They soon retreat to the real thing.

I thought of Dad today while sitting beside the iris. Ironic to me now that I have lost my fear of bees. Even bumblebees which used to make me run in terror. I like sitting by the iris on warm spring days. I feel close to my father when I am there. His fearlessness around bees was just more evidence for me that he was the bravest man I knew.

Maybe I’m a little braver now too.

By Jim Hagarty
Here is the title song from a CD recorded by my friend and fellow singer-songwriter Caroline Danowski Burchill. The song was co-written by Caroline and her mother Betty Danowski. It is one of 14 songs on When the Day is Over, all but one of them written by Carolyn. Carolyn has a beautiful voice and graces her audiences with it frequently as she performs often in the southwestern Ontario community we live in and beyond. The CD is available in the Corner Store.

When the Day is Over by Caroline Danowski Burchill

By Jim Hagarty

A man acquires habits.
Some good, some by mistake.
Some habits simply go away.
Some are hard to break.

Some habits pose no threat
While others may be vile.
Some last only a month or so
And others stay a while.

The man with nasty habits
Vows to take control
But habits sometimes settle down
Within his very soul.

The best a habit man can do
With those that bring him grief
Is just relax and not attempt
To turn to a new leaf.

Deny a man a momentary
Pleasure may be fine.
But habits can be patient
And show back up in time.

Make peace with a bad habit
But battle it this way:
Develop better habits
To chase the bad away.

By Jim Hagarty

There are 40 houses on my block in my small city, bounded by Romeo Street on the west end and Burritt Street on the east.

When I moved here in 1986, I was number 40 on the list of homeowners on my street. Mr. Newbie. As fresh as they came. All 39 other homeowners had been in their houses before me, were here when I came. I couldn’t have looked any newer if I had just rolled off the assembly line in the maternity ward of the local hospital just up the street where, indeed, the world became a brighter place one snowy January day in 1951.

That was 30 years ago last month since the movers dumped all my stuff at my house while I was at work and now, through the twin miracles of Time and Life, I am number 6 on the list. Thirty-four of the 39 homeowners that used to be ahead of me have moved on, one way or the other, either to other towns, other homes or that glowing condo in the sky.

I am gunning for number 1 so I can legitimately be called King of Albert Street, although I suspect that’s what everyone calls me now anyway (because of my vast wealth – and the moat I dug around our castle.)

I see George down the street has his house up for sale. I will soon be Number 5.

Before I got here, I had moved 11 times in my life. When I first walked in the front door of the house I’ve called home for the past 30 years, I said to myself, “They can carry me out of here someday.” That prospect is looking more and more likely.

I like it here.

As King of Albert Street, I plan to rule as an benevolent monarch. My first move will be to knight my neighbour Jim across the street. He keeps me filled in daily on all latest neighbourhood news. The thing you have to do as a benign ruler is always keep your ear to the ground.

And be good to your subjects.

On the day of my coronation, there will be free cherry pie for everyone!

By Jim Hagarty
Renowned Terrible Limericker

There was a young priest name of Flynn
Who held all his feelings within.
One day he confided
And broke down and cryded
To stop him I yelled, “It’s a sin!”

By Jim Hagarty

The rage around our place these days is ice coffee. I am offended and refuse to participate in this hideous concoction. I want my coffee to burn my lips, my throat and my crotch when I spill it in the car. I am a pariah now at home. I have proposed ice soup. No takers. I have proposed microwaving our chocolate sundaes. More cold shoulders.

It’s getting hard for curmudgeons to get any respect these days.

I believe I will have a boiling cup of Pepsi and go to bed.