The General Star

From a defunct monthly publication: La Canadienne, July-August, 1921.

Here’s my translation:

Your face is beautiful

But what about your nose?

Nowadays, if you want a successful life, it is necessary to to pay special attention to your appearance. Not only do you want to look as attractive as possible, primarily for your ownsatisfaction — and that’s a good enough reason alone, but you also realize that the world increasingly judges you foremost, if not exclusively, on your countenance. Therefore, it would benefit you to look your best at all times.

Don’t let people see you any other way — your success depends on it! Whether you succeed or fail in life depends on the consistent impression you make. On which path will your destiny unfold? Our new nose reformer, “Trados” (model 25) corrects nose deformities without surgery, quickly, effectively and permanently. The treatment is without discomfort and, because it works at night, will not get in the way of your everyday activities.

Ask for our free brochure, which explains how to correct a deformed nose. There is no charge if you not satisfied.

M. Trilety, Facial specialist
1568 Ackerman Bldg., Binghampton, N.Y.

O.K., well so the pun isn’t that funny. But the tenement is spanking clean (even if Jean Drapeau is just about to expropriate and tear it down). It kind of makes you wonder why they don’t use that “hydro silica” process anymore. Hey, wait a minute! Doesn’t “hydro” mean “water” and “silica” “sand?” Could it just be a kinder, gentler way of saying  “sandblasting?” Well, what do I know? But maybe if you own a dirty building you’re planning to sell, this constitutes good advice. So maybe I should put one of those “donate here” buttons for those of you who pocket a tidy profit because of this ad. But get real, we all know it’s location, location, location. I’ve never heard, spotlessness, spotlessness, spotlessness and I’ve got the wine glasses to prove it — Calgonite, anyone? From The Gazette (Montreal), March 24, 1953.

Pierre Trudeau’s dad was a part owner in the ’30s. Here’s a good page about the defunct amusement park. Went looking for the site not long ago. It’s all north end swells now. Once upon a time it was packed with the hoi polloi. I have a merry memory of a primitive centrifuge with seats hanging by chains. Up, up and around. The ad’s from The Montreal Daily Herald, May 1951. (If you find Belmont Park interesting, read this page about Dominion Park — one of its predecessors.)

Imaginary ballroom? Women’s weather? Was life like that in the fifties? No wonder the world’s screwed up!

A guest column by Morrie Schlepp:

I should have danced all night. Instead I watched a complete season of Dean Martin’s celebrity roast! What was I thinking? What a waste of time: nobody even teased Don Knotts about the real reason he divorced Loralee Czuchna in the early ’80s. Hey, what’s this? And ad for dance lessons? Think I’ll go. Now where’s my cologne? I thought it was around here near the deodorant and toothpaste. What? No deodorant and toothpaste. I’ll go anyway.

As they say: No matter, never mind. No mind? Never matter!

When was the last time some poor, lost soul walked up to you in the street and asked you for directions?

Yesterday? Day before?

But admit it, dear friend, you were unable to provide them. Oh, sure, you knew which way to point them out — “The Turkish bath is over there,” you might have said, right index finger proudly raised in the direction of some fleabag hotel.

But you didn’t, did you? And why? Let’s not kid ourselves, ladies and gentlemen. It was because of the major reason North Americans have stopped offering directions these days. Yes, I am talking about dirty gloves.

More and more, in shame, we keep our hands deep in our pockets. Rather than risk embarrassment, we’ll say, “Sorry, don’t know,” and keep on shuffling along, cursing our yellow-stained kids or nicotine-marred felt finger socks.

But I am here to give you the good news, my friends. Yes, you too can have spotless hand warmers. There is no longer any need to dress your digits in anything but the cleanest, look-at-me gloves.

It sounds too good to be true, but it is no fabrication. Modern science and the ingenuity of capitalist service have conspired to make it possible for you to have your mitts cleaned 24 hours a day!

Will wonders never cease!

Frank Sinatra played Montreal many times over the years. (What was going through my head, not catching the last Rat Pack tour in the … was it the … 1980s?) Anyway, the late, legendary bookmaker, Harry Ship, booked Sinatra for the princely advance sum of $15,000. That according to William Weintraub, whose books are required reading for … well for everybody. Here’s an ad that appeared in The Gazette in 1953. Sinatra was still with Ava Gardner at the time. The club, the Chez Paree, is still there. It’s a “strip establishment” now.

Growl! Do not adjust your stomach. It’s only me. I’ve got a yen for a New York cut. I’m not sure if Moishe’s still do Colorado USDA No. 1 prime, but I hope they do. Just had a filling fixed and I’m dying to take it out for a test drive. Reservations!

I was there. Standing on the arms of our plush seats. But in fact, the Undertones absolutely stole the show. Out of spite for our liking Feargal Sharkey and company, I suppose, the Clash kept us waiting. Not long ago, the subject of the Clash came up and I told the arts editor of a major daily newspaper — a big fan of the Clash he — that I had had the pleasure. And he said, “I hate you.”