THERE WAS once an ac-
commodation on the North
Shore that struck passers-by
with awe and wonder. It
was as if a great, impover-
ished galleon had beached
itself on North Shore ter-
fitory and sat thus, listing
in the mud.

By Syd Stone
Contributing Writer

The structure had run hard
aground on the nether reaches of
lower East Ist Street.

It was generally regarded as the
worst place to live on the North
Shore. You could go no lower.
Perversely, it was known by
everyone as The Best Apartments.

Forced by a crisis, I'd put my
name on the Best’s waiting list.
Somehow, having to wait made it
desirable.

Even in 1970, $35 a month was
nothing to sneeze at. Three weeks
later I got a cal! and moved in. It
was quite a shock to a kid who’d
lived life in the comfort of his
parents’ home.

It was a three-room apartment
based on the early Stalinist model:
three boxed-in rceoms, each
without apparent function, and
one window, painted shut. No

. stoves, no pool, no pets. No

hreom.

I decided to brighten my place
up. 1 bought cans of white paint,
with extra colors fer trim. .This
sparked the immediate interest of
my ncighbors.

To my left lived a_ wispy,
wistful, bedraggled gentleman
who, oy way of welcome, pres-

THE OLD Eest Apartments, East ist St., North Vancouver

ented me a poem.

“O, the hippie wandered,”’ it
began, “he has such a beautiful
life.”’

I think he liked me.

Below me lived an ex-convict
with a shaved head and a Fu
Manchu moustache. He was given
to scheming and dark moods.

He worked off his angst by
spending hours in the muddy yard
below cracking a huge bullwhip,
aiming its tip at the old stoves in
the brambles on the perimeter.

This was a form of entertain-
ment, watched by other residents

from the elevated. walkways that
ran along the outside of the Best
Apartments, connecting the
quarters and also serving as
multi-level common balconies.

My new neighbors seemed to
have lots of spare time.

Late one afternoon they were
leaning on the railings watching
the ex-convict crack the bullwhip,
and passing a big bottle of Bon
White amongst themselves. This
was a primitive form of wine that
tasted like turpentine and
Nutrasweet. Nowadays the gov-
ernment would probably ban it as

MAILBOX

Need strong recycling laws

Dear Editor:

. Peggy Trendell-Wkittaker’s
article, ‘‘Are we not civilized?”
(North Shore News, Oct. 4),
fails to offer any new solutions
to the problems of waste
disposal.

All she does is give us a
review of fixed positions. For
once, I would like to see a

- “can do’? article with specific
ways of dealing with this issue.
It should start by getting past

- promoting recycling as just a

* “trendy thing to do,”’’ to the
“only’’ thing to do.

’ We can’t rely on fashionable
attitudes any more; we need
comprehensive enforceable
laws. These laws should restrict
the bad habits of companies

and of ourselves. None of us
ean be trusted to do the right
‘thing, because we are driven by
economically-based values.

Well, I say shame on the
likes of Ald. Ernie Crist and
his kind who think wasteful:
production is necessary because.
industry can’t. be trusted to
wash their bottles. If we can’t
encourage these companies

with moral persuasion, then we _

will have to force them io be’
responsible. . .

-_ For example, 1 propose that
a product-to-package ratio be
devzloped so that over-packag-
ing is reficcted in the price of
goods. In some cases where
bad packaging occurs, like the
iced tea drink powder in Whit-

taker’s article, the tax added
would make it unprofitabie for

’ the company to produce.

Public education also has its
place in solving this probiem
by encouraging young children
to recycle: But what good is it

when we. have idealistic youth

pitted against the “profit at -

- any -cost’*. corporations? This .

covid be solved by publicly

‘embarrassing bad companies

and ‘rewarding good companies

~- in the media.
-- Maybe we are not civilized,

but we can respond to a rude
awakening of taxes, education,
embarrassment and praise.

Tae Rim Yoon
North Vancouver

Fee increase for foreigners unfair

Dear Editor:

I am writing with regard to an
article you published on Sunday,
Sept. 29, on increasing the sum-
mer school educational fees for
foreign students in West Van-
couver School Board District 45.

I thought we were trying to
promote equality! Whether it be
sex, or color, it shouldn’t matter.

These students are just trying to
better themselves. The majority of
the colored students enrolled in
the West Van summer school pro-
gram last summer were in the ESL
Program.

West Vancouver’s is already the
most expensive summer school
program in metropolitan Van-
couver. If it’s money they need or
want, they ought to charge

everyone an equal increase; don’t
pick on the outsiders.

If West Vancouver wants to
continue being one of the best
educational districts in the Lower
Mainland, it better be prepared to
act as a fair and unprejudiced
community,

Lindsay Owen
North Vaneouver

a toxic subsiance.

When they had finished with a
bottle they'd send it rattling ear-
thward down a collapsed gutter in
what was a unique disposal
system.

A door flew open. A tiny, frail,
shattered-looking woman stepped
out. She was trying to walk her
dogs. At the moment they emerg-
ed it turned into an uproar.

Leashed to two baying black
hounds she came hurtling toward
the wine-party head over heels like
Ben Hur’s chariot.

She was loudly cursing the

dogs, they were howling back and
fighting and dragging her on at
breakneck speed, scattering the
Bon White drinkers like a fiock of
pigeons.

This woman was my neighbor
to the right. A few days later she
invited me over to have coffee
with her and her husband.

We sat at their tiny, feeble
kitchen table. Her husband had a
head shaped like a large turnip,
covered in stubble.

He was fond of holding it in
both hands and muttering about
what he called his subconscious
sublevels. They’d been giving him
trouble.

He went into a strange and
rambling account about how his
subconscious sublevels were
preventing him from working.

His wife asked if ! wanted more
coffee. Although I hadn’t wanted
any coffee in the first place, out
of politeness ] said yes. She was
somewhat pinned in against the
kitchen window by the table, so {
made a move to pull it out for
her.

No need. She simply slid off her
chair and disappeared under the
table. There she got herself orga-
nized, then, crawling on all fours,
shot out beneath me and skittered
across the kitchen floor toward
the instant coffee.

The dogs from hell began how!l-
ing. She started yelling back. The
husband moaned and held his
turnip head. :

It was at that moment, finding
my life composed of good, four-
square things like lovesick poets,
cracking bullwhips, slithering Bon
White bottles, and. subconscious
sublevels, that I decided to move.

Surely it was best. .

Savary owner says all the
support much appreciated

Dear Editor:

I reply to Sharon King’s letter -

to the editor, dated Sept. 1, and
headed ‘‘Savary owner is very ac-
complished,”’ to thank her for her
support and add further to her
comments.

_ 1 am touched by her assessment -

of me as “‘extremely accomplished

“in the following skills....° Time

and again 1 am struck by the sup-
port coming my way from
women.

As well as to thank Sharon, I’m
writing this letter to add to her
assessment that, ‘‘owning and
operating your own business is
prebably the hardest mental and
physical work anycne will ever
experience.”” For 1 believe that
alongside and equal to the trials
and challenges of owning a
business stand the trials and
challenges of running a household
~— and it is in this capacity, as
mother and housewife that, I
believe, I began ta develop and
hone the skills that enable me now
to succeed in this current venture.

It is true, I had no idea of the
skills 1 possessed before 1 attemp-
ted to get my bakery off the
ground — for you see I’d bought
that myth that 20 years as wife
and mother is not really work —
value being directly tied to money
earned in our culture.

Sharon’s letter gave me pause;
was I really all she said I was?
With support like hers I began to
see | am. Further, I would like to

add that like other women, as well
as young men, who make up the
support system that enables the
bakery to succeed are, like- me,
highly skilled and competent —-
each in their own right. oo
And to the men who have
reached out their hand to me in
the traditionally male gesture of
congratulations, the look of
pleasure in their faces saying as
much to me as their firm hand in
mine, I say thank ycu — some-
times I am overwhelmed.
Eileen Fail
Savary isiznd Pie Company

Fencing would
make canyon
safer place

Dear Editor:

Here’s a very simple and in-
expensive way of saving young
lives and preventing further
deaths in Lynn Canyon.

Just jay chain-link fencing
down on top of the pools of
water where any diving takes
place, like a kennel run only
it’s a ‘canyon run.”

It will keep all oul and yet
one will still be able to see the
water.

Juse M. Voss
West Vancouver