David R. Greatrix's Blog
June 11, 2021
Cancel Culture, Pt. 236 (from Ch.2, Why Various Canadian Institutions Royally Suck)
The SJWs just love turning well-known Canadians, who were trying to do the right thing in an era completely different from our current one, into tyrannical villains with feet of clay. These well-known now-dead Canadians, loved and respected in their time and after, are now found by taxpayer-funded ambulance-chasers to be guilty of meticulously planning, dare I say it, “cultural genocide”, the new go-to shaming buzzword of the burgeoning, reparations-seeking Aboriginal Grievance Industry [AGI], of which Ryerson University’s own Pamela Palmater is a stellar member. To engender more outrage, anti-white hate speech, and bigger reparation payments, straight-up “genocide” is the alternative accusation flung now more frequently by the AGI at average Canadians, as if no one would notice the difference between cultural genocide (removing one’s cultural identity by various means) and genocide (the mass killing of a maliciously targeted group of people, to the point of extinction, in being “disappeared” from a given region; e.g., the Holocaust [by German Nazis in WW2], the Armenian Genocide [by Muslim Turks in WW1], the Holodomor [by Soviet Communists in the early 1930s], the Yazidi Genocide [by Sunni ISIS militia, mid-2010s]).
In late 2020, under pressure from the external events of that year that led to major institutions in Canada and the U.S. meekly giving in to the demands of violent SJW and commie rioters, Ryerson University president Mohamed Lachemi put together a “comprehensive” committee (mostly made up of young and old SJWs) to decide if the statue of Egerton Ryerson should be removed from campus. A few years back, around 2017 or so, Lachemi’s concession to the local SJW mob on this same issue of crimes of dead white men like poor Eggy, was to place an apology plaque next to Egerton’s statue. Hey, Mohamed, it’s never enough, with these nutters. Get rid of the statue, and they’ll just move on to some other inexplicable target of their hate, to further make your life miserable. Don’t get too comfortable with the name of your university, for starters.
In late 2020, under pressure from the external events of that year that led to major institutions in Canada and the U.S. meekly giving in to the demands of violent SJW and commie rioters, Ryerson University president Mohamed Lachemi put together a “comprehensive” committee (mostly made up of young and old SJWs) to decide if the statue of Egerton Ryerson should be removed from campus. A few years back, around 2017 or so, Lachemi’s concession to the local SJW mob on this same issue of crimes of dead white men like poor Eggy, was to place an apology plaque next to Egerton’s statue. Hey, Mohamed, it’s never enough, with these nutters. Get rid of the statue, and they’ll just move on to some other inexplicable target of their hate, to further make your life miserable. Don’t get too comfortable with the name of your university, for starters.
December 24, 2020
Another review from a person in FTTGOD
It was a good read. I recognized a number of the characters, some by name, some by deed, and some by anecdote. I understand (now) the timing of your retirement relative to the book's release (ha, ha).
GCJ, Dec. 24, 2020
GCJ, Dec. 24, 2020
September 10, 2020
Before the World Forgot (a 9/11 tribute, from Ch. 11 of Farewell to the Good Old Days)
I was in my office that morning of September 11. I remember someone in the hallway saying that something unbelievable was happening in New York City. Televisions hooked up with the outside world were around some parts of the campus, although not close to where I was located at the time. A few more people dropped by my office and said that airplanes were accidentally flying into the World Trade Center, as if some grave error in air traffic control had occurred. Shortly thereafter, I received a call from City Television asking me to come over to their downtown Toronto television station to comment while the video evidence was replayed for the viewers. I would be interviewed by Kevin Frankish, and later, David Onley (future lieutenant-governor of Ontario). That same day, I was also interviewed on a street corner near City TV by Dwight Drummond (at City Television at the time as a street reporter), and for a radio station, I was interviewed via phone live on-air by well-known sportscaster Jim Van Horne.
July 25, 2020
Comment from a reader of FTTGOD
Excellent description of student life at U of Manitoba in late 70s. I started my common first year in Sept 79; we likely have crossed paths in Engineering/UMSU/Umzoo/Parking lot U near Commerce Bldg., the Good Old Days!
I do remember Dr. Jeffrey Tinkler's terrible glider accident in 87. I believe he was the master's thesis advisor for my good friend, E. W., at the time!
S. S.
Woodstock, Ont.
July 25, 2020
I do remember Dr. Jeffrey Tinkler's terrible glider accident in 87. I believe he was the master's thesis advisor for my good friend, E. W., at the time!
S. S.
Woodstock, Ont.
July 25, 2020
July 11, 2020
A Return to Lahr
From p. 240 of FTTGOD, this is for all the Lahr Brats, RCAF Brats and CF Brats out there:
During the summer of 2015, just a few weeks after my father’s funeral, I visited Lahr, Germany, for a day. I had taken the train down from Frankfurt, where I was staying at that point in my trip to Europe (I had a conference in Krakow, Poland). I walked from the train station at the west of Lahr, heading east. I passed by some of the old PMQs where the Canadian dependants had lived. The buildings were understandably in pretty rough shape, given their age, but still serviceable. They appeared to be occupied by refugees from the Middle East, with young children running around. The grocery store my mother and I had gone to some forty-five years earlier was now run by some chaps from the Middle East. I had a short conversation with them in my broken German. They seemed friendly at first but grew tired of my presence fairly quickly. I moved on. Further east, I went into one of the old PMQs on Jamm Strasse. When I emerged, an older Middle Eastern gentleman on the sidewalk spoke to me in German. He asked me to hold on for a moment. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was trespassing. Then his daughter came up to us from a parked car and also spoke to me. In broken English, she said she was finishing up her studies in medical school elsewhere in Germany. I apologized for my poor German language skills, and we parted. I continued my long walk around Lahr, trying to recognize what I could. On the way back to the train station, taking a footpath well up on the hill that looks down on the city of Lahr, I came across a well-hidden subdued memorial to Lahr’s German military war dead from WWII. Lahr’s older memorial for its WWI dead is more visible and vibrant, prominently placed on a principal street near the city centre.
On my way back to Frankfurt, I had to switch trains at Offenburg. My Canadian classmates and I had taken a field trip to Offenburg many years before. Walking through the relatively busy market square with some time to kill, I happened to cross paths with a wizened old gentleman who looked as if he had been plucked from the poppy fields of Afghanistan and plopped down on the cobblestones of Germany; he nearly ran me over on his dilapidated bicycle. Given the confusing demarcations on the sidewalk for cyclists and pedestrians co-mingling in close proximity, he may very well have been in the right. He cussed me out in broken German. I responded, in perfect English, that he should kiss my ass. My father, had he been beside me then, would have reminded me of the old British army saying: “the wogs begin at Calais.” Which, if you’ll indulge me, further reminds me of a certain dry-witted senior USO professor’s suggested name for a departmental sub-committee (that he was chairing) that was looking at a graduate studies program for the Aeronautical, Industrial & Mechanical Engineering Department (way back in 1997): the “Working Group on Graduate Studies,” or “WOGGS,” for short. This running gag with the name, which only a very few on the committee picked up on, would last a few months before mercifully disappearing from view.
During the summer of 2015, just a few weeks after my father’s funeral, I visited Lahr, Germany, for a day. I had taken the train down from Frankfurt, where I was staying at that point in my trip to Europe (I had a conference in Krakow, Poland). I walked from the train station at the west of Lahr, heading east. I passed by some of the old PMQs where the Canadian dependants had lived. The buildings were understandably in pretty rough shape, given their age, but still serviceable. They appeared to be occupied by refugees from the Middle East, with young children running around. The grocery store my mother and I had gone to some forty-five years earlier was now run by some chaps from the Middle East. I had a short conversation with them in my broken German. They seemed friendly at first but grew tired of my presence fairly quickly. I moved on. Further east, I went into one of the old PMQs on Jamm Strasse. When I emerged, an older Middle Eastern gentleman on the sidewalk spoke to me in German. He asked me to hold on for a moment. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was trespassing. Then his daughter came up to us from a parked car and also spoke to me. In broken English, she said she was finishing up her studies in medical school elsewhere in Germany. I apologized for my poor German language skills, and we parted. I continued my long walk around Lahr, trying to recognize what I could. On the way back to the train station, taking a footpath well up on the hill that looks down on the city of Lahr, I came across a well-hidden subdued memorial to Lahr’s German military war dead from WWII. Lahr’s older memorial for its WWI dead is more visible and vibrant, prominently placed on a principal street near the city centre.
On my way back to Frankfurt, I had to switch trains at Offenburg. My Canadian classmates and I had taken a field trip to Offenburg many years before. Walking through the relatively busy market square with some time to kill, I happened to cross paths with a wizened old gentleman who looked as if he had been plucked from the poppy fields of Afghanistan and plopped down on the cobblestones of Germany; he nearly ran me over on his dilapidated bicycle. Given the confusing demarcations on the sidewalk for cyclists and pedestrians co-mingling in close proximity, he may very well have been in the right. He cussed me out in broken German. I responded, in perfect English, that he should kiss my ass. My father, had he been beside me then, would have reminded me of the old British army saying: “the wogs begin at Calais.” Which, if you’ll indulge me, further reminds me of a certain dry-witted senior USO professor’s suggested name for a departmental sub-committee (that he was chairing) that was looking at a graduate studies program for the Aeronautical, Industrial & Mechanical Engineering Department (way back in 1997): the “Working Group on Graduate Studies,” or “WOGGS,” for short. This running gag with the name, which only a very few on the committee picked up on, would last a few months before mercifully disappearing from view.
July 9, 2020
Another review from a person in FTTGOD
I am enjoying the book ... I am learning
much more about you, and your family, friends and
enemies, (beyond that which I knew already from) your graduate studies years (at UTIAS), and (from our conversations) afterwards... Thanks for sharing these times.
There is no doubt that a career at a second- or third-rate university as a scholar is difficult. You were harmed by (colleagues) in Aerospace and Mechanical (Engineering), and (harmed) also (by administrators) up the ladder at (your university). You have a strong personality and a great sense of fairness, (and to be commended) in keeping your health and sanity throughout this abuse. (It is understandable) that you left in disgust and anger (after 25 years there).
- An Old Friend
much more about you, and your family, friends and
enemies, (beyond that which I knew already from) your graduate studies years (at UTIAS), and (from our conversations) afterwards... Thanks for sharing these times.
There is no doubt that a career at a second- or third-rate university as a scholar is difficult. You were harmed by (colleagues) in Aerospace and Mechanical (Engineering), and (harmed) also (by administrators) up the ladder at (your university). You have a strong personality and a great sense of fairness, (and to be commended) in keeping your health and sanity throughout this abuse. (It is understandable) that you left in disgust and anger (after 25 years there).
- An Old Friend
October 31, 2019
Short review by a person appearing in FTTGOD
[Farewell To The Good Old Days] is quite a story. Loved some of those fictitious names - quite funny! I understand [now] why you wrote the book.
- B.U.
Oct. 31, 2019
- B.U.
Oct. 31, 2019
March 6, 2019
Quote from Foreword Clarion Review of Farewell to the Good Old Days
“Deep nostalgia carries throughout the book [Farewell to the Good Old Days], particularly in scenes focused on [the narrator’s] early years, but the narrative journeys back to moments of action well, avoiding the biases of time… [the book provides] a behind-the-scenes look at academia, showcasing both the intrigue and the boredom of departmental life with insight and occasional humor… [the narrator’s] interactions with, and observations about, colleagues from other cultures are compelling, revealing the politics and distrust that are sometimes rampant in academia… Other characters [in the book] recognize the limitations of [the narrator’s] perspective with comments like, “This is how business is done in the Third World. You wouldn’t understand ”…” – Foreword Clarion Reviews
