When the B.C. Lions football season opens on June 13, there won’t be any pompons on the periphery. Instead of the usual bevy of shortskirted, tassel-twirling young women, the Lions have opted for a co-ed class act,choreographed by Anna Wyman. Last month, Wyman selected a team consisting of 10 males and 10 females, who will show and shout their allegiance with a good deal of ballet-inspired grace. “We all know that sports is far removed from dance,” says Wyman. “This is a way of getting ourselves together. Who knows, it might even encourage some men to go into dance school.”
e pay them $100,000 a year T ▼ for rights to these plays and they don’t have the decency to pick up a telephone,” fumed Shaw Festival Artistic Director Christopher Newton last week. With several school performances and an adult preview behind him, Newton was all ready for this week’s opening of George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan with Nora McLellan when a telegram arrived from the Shaw estate saying rights to perform the 1923 play would be withdrawn if the production continued without the original epilogue. “The epilogue was written for a 1920s audience,” says Newton. “This is a 1980s production for a 1980s audience.” Nonetheless, Newton has been forced to tack the 25-minute ending onto the already three-hour performance—but with a twist Shaw himself would have smirked at: a short break follows the end of the last act and anyone who is interested can stick around for the compulsory epilogue.
She moved from North Carolina to the Bronx, claimed her attorney, “because she wanted to be Miss New York state.” Alas, Deborah Ann Fountain’s dream was not to be. Not that she didn’t look alluring in her low-cut bathing suit at the Miss U.S.A. Pageant, but judges determined that not all of the allure was Deborah herself. According to Fountain’s lawyer, Leonard Posner, a female official “ripped the front of her suit down.” Lo and behold—foam padding! Pageant director Harold Glasser, who promptly kicked Deborah out of the contest, unchivalrously chortled, “We have the falsies in our possession and they are not new.” Fountain claimed many of the other contestants gave their figures a little bit of help, including at least five who had silicone breast implants. She says, in fact, that one of the silicone-laden contestants tipped off officials to her own falsies. But Glasser stood his ground. Fountain’s figure aids, he maintained, violated Miss U.S.A.’s noble mission “of promoting American womanhood and standards of fair play.” Ultimately, the judges crowned 20-year-old Miss Ohio, Kim Seelbrede. Still, Fountain is far from discouraged. She claims “calls of support from around the world” and says “the Canadian government told me I was lovely and if the U.S. doesn’t want me, they’ll take me.”
Rocking the bookstalls with a novel approach these days is James Lorimer and Co.’s Canada's Oil Monopoly. Instead of pushing diets or scandal, the Toronto-based publishing house simply took former corporate policeman Robert J. Bertrand’s controversial 1,700-page government report on the oil industry and abridged it to 626 pages at $14.95. “The government made the grave publishing error of selling the report at $70,” says publisher James Lorimer. But the government is saying Lorimer made an even graver mistake in publishing before proper permission was granted. Last week, while Betrand himself was drawing headlines with his sudden “promotion” out of the corporate-combines hot seat into a chair at the anti-dumping tribunal, the government petitioned for an injunction to stop sales of the book, claiming copyright infringement. Earlier, the publishing house, at Bertrand’s demand, covered up his name on 5,000 books already distributed with stickers explaining that the book was “independently selected” from the report. Lorimer has already promised to pay the eight per cent to the government in royalties but fears a strong battle ahead. “There’s never been a test case for government copyright before,” he says. “The lawyers love it but I can’t afford it.” Perhaps Lorimer will recover with another planned project—the abridged findings of the soon-to-be-released McDonald commission into RCMP wrongdoing.
Inflation is no respecter of rank, as Manitoba’s lieutenant-governor, Francis (Bud) Jobin, and wife, Donalda, have discovered. The Jobins are often seen pushing a shopping cart in Safeway, stocking up on groceries and cocktail mix for one of the six monthly receptions they hold at Government House. His Honor also answers the house phone and Donalda often whips through the 23-room official residence, vacuum in hand. “People just can’t believe it when we tell them we have no full-time staff,” says Jobin, who retires in September. “When I took office five years ago, I found we could manage fine, but prices have gone so bloody high since then. I haven’t had to dip into my own money yet, but I do use my Visa all the time.” Like other lieutenant-governors, he gets a federal salary of $35,000, which is unchanged since 1975 and taxable. In the same period liquor prices have jumped 15 per cent and mix by 50 per cent. Jobin says there are no plans to form a union, but a meeting of lieutenant-governors last year came to a consensus that a raise might be in order: “A couple of us have written to the Prime Minister’s Office and I understand the problem is being studied, though I’ll be long gone if and when they do raise salaries.”
At 45, Alan Alda is the most popular man on television. Benevolent, articulate and rapidly greying, Alda is the hero of a generation that grew up laughing at wartime misadventures via the scalpel-sharp wit delivered in the operating rooms of M*A*S*H. On top of that, Alda is the consummate nice guy. He dotes on his wife of 24 years, Arlene, is committed to family life and will do as much as he can to help his daughters become actresses—right down to tailoring roles for two of them in his current movie, The Four Seasons. So when former child star Jackie Cooper revealed a darker side to Alda in his memoirs, Please Don’t Shoot My Dog, he was tampering with an image of virtual perfection. “Alan Alda is a contradictory personality,” writes Cooper. “He is concealing a lot of hostility beneath the surface. The man must be torn inside.” Untrue, according to Alda, who believes the venom stems from an incident that occurred on the M*A*S*H set eight years ago when he took director Cooper aside and “told him very forcibly that I didn’t think he was helping the show and asked him to alter some of his behavior.” Alda feels Cooper only published the incident due to bruised feelings. “I’m sorry I hurt him,” concedes Alda, “but even if I was guilty of some bad behavior, I mean, after seven years there’s a statute of limitations.”
I personally despise the word collector,” says Toronto broadcaster and African art “trustee” Barbara Frum. “When you’re passionately in love with something, you aren’t in control.” Referring to their 60 world-class pieces currently on display at the Art Gallery of Ontario, Frum says she and dentistturned-developer husband Murray have had a “crazed compulsion like an illness” for African sculpture since they began to buy “beautiful and real” art in the late ’60s. “We visit every museum and private collector when we travel,” says she. “Last year the curator in Berlin opened the displays and let us handle the pieces.” Why sculpture instead of paintings? “It could bear analysis,” muses Frum. Murray explains it simply: “We are both tactile people. Sculpture is tactile.”
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