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Maxed Out

Sidebar/callout: Hey boys and girls, here’s another Democracy In Action exercise. Clip this out, sign it and send it to the faxes listed. Or for your techies, copy it from the Web site to your e-mail and send it to these cyber addresses. Ujjal.

Sidebar/callout:

Hey boys and girls, here’s another Democracy In Action exercise. Clip this out, sign it and send it to the faxes listed. Or for your techies, copy it from the Web site to your e-mail and send it to these cyber addresses.

Ujjal.Dosanjh.Office@leg.bc.ca (250) 387-0087

Gerard.Janssen.Office@leg.bc.ca (250) 387-4348

Graeme.Bowbrick.Office@leg.bc.ca (250) 387-6411

Paul.Ramsey.Office@leg.bc.ca (250) 387-5594

ted.nebbeling.mla@leg.bc.ca (250) 387-2731

 

Write on

Hon. Ujjal Dosanjh, Premier of all British Columbia

Hon. Gerard Janssen, Minister of Small Business, Tourism and Culture

Hon. Graeme Bowbrick, Attorney General and Minister Responsible for Human Rights

Paul Ramsey, Minister of Finance & a Bunch of Other Stuff

Ted Nebbeling, Homeboy

Dear Honis:

May I take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy and prosperous New Year? Oh, I forgot; at least four of you are biting your nails wondering whether 2001 may be you own personal space odyssey back to the obscurity of the private sector, what with elections looming, the provincial economy still in the toilet, scandals past and present and fickle voters who always seem to be itching for a change. But take heart, the Liberals are still led by Mr. Campbell whose personal score on the Trust-O-Meter is solidly lodged between Coiled Snake with Rattling Tail and Crazed Psychotic with Loaded Gun. Anything could happen.

But since we’re at least several months from election time, I’ll go out on a limb and assume you gentlemen are still interested in running the province as opposed to splashing around with the rest of the lame ducks.

We’re having a little problem up here in Whistler. You may have heard of Whistler. If not, ask Ted; he has at least a passing familiarity with the place.

Whistler is a town conceived and built to invite the world here to have a good time. In that regard, we have been a tremendous, unprecedented success. Think about it, 40 years ago, this place was nothing – a couple of homes and a few rundown fishing lodges. Thirty-five years ago, it was a pipedream. In the span of many of our lifetimes, Whistler has gone from being nothing to being the wormhole where millions of tourists’ dollars fly out of their pockets and magically appear in yours, metaphorically speaking, of course.

Ironically – in that uniquely Canadian, destroy the successful, way – now that we’re so adept at drawing a couple million people here each year and slickly separating them from their money, the Miss Grundys of the province want to tone things down, throw up the revival tents and hold temperance meetings lest someone start to have too much of a good time. Hallelujah, Brother.

Let’s face one simple, yet profound, fact. Whistler isn’t like other towns. Aside from tourism, Whistler doesn’t have any reason to exist. Without the skiing there wouldn’t be the other tourist-based commerce, there wouldn’t be the eight or nine thousand of us who live here year round, there wouldn’t be anything. Whistler would be another Cache Creek, a wide spot on the road north where people stop for gas and a bag of chips. Hell, we don’t even have a Tim Horton’s here.

If you’re anything like me – and trust me, I’m no more comfortable with that thought than you are – you act differently when you’re on vacation than you act at home. I mean, why bother going on vacation if you’re going to act just like you do at home? Stay home. When we’re on vacation, we play a little harder, we shop a little more, we drink maybe a lot more. It’s okay; that’s what we’re supposed to do on vacation.

Remember the first time you maybe went down to the Caribbean and how you couldn’t shake the feeling the locals viewed you as some kind of First World fat cat who lived a full-time life of hedonism and pleasure – work with me on this one Uji. Remember thinking "Hey, I saved up for this and worked hard all year and dammit, I’m going to have a good time," as you ordered your sixth Cuba Libra sitting around the pool, redolent of coconut suntan oil?

That’s not the way you live the rest of the year but you’d have been some pissed off if you couldn’t cut loose a bit while you were playing out your Gauguinesque fantasies.

Well, boys, that’s life in Whistler all the time. Whether the marks come from the UK, the US or Burnaby, they come to Whistler to have a good time. Sometimes the locals join in; sometimes we even choose to lead.

That’s what happened last April 2 nd . After a couple of years on death-watch, Dusty’s – the original bar at Whistler Mountain’s Creekside base – was finally closing and going under the wrecking ball. One final party, one last celebration. It was something to behold. What was usually a mildly-crowded après ski bar became a scene of happy bedlam. It seems most of the town turned out for the party and about half of Vancouver.

On a bright, sunny, hot Sunday, people lined up to contribute a few bucks to charity to buy a branded piece of cedar with Dusty the Horse on it. The patio was awash with beer and memories. People fondly recalled how they met their partners, fell in love, lost their virginity, partied until their brains ran out their ears and generally created memories over Dusty’s 35 years.

Way too many people came. They crowded the patio, they lounged on the surrounding hills, they milled in the parking lot, they had a great time. There were a couple of assaults, one arrest, a few miscreants pissing against the side of buildings scheduled to be torn down the next day, a bit of skin flashed, and a whole lot of beer consumed.

I don’t know how many people the liquor license said should have been there but I’m certain there was a substantial multiple of that. What choice was there? Trying to turn people away would have resulted in a riot. They’d come to pay homage to a bar that held a special place in their hearts.

The people of Whistler weren’t bent out of shape about it. Heck, most of us were there. The people who came up from Van weren’t angry, their morals weren’t outraged. Nope, the only people who got their knickers in a knot were the RCMP. Staff Sgt. Frank Shedden was morally outraged. Of course, he was about to leave town and maybe felt some frustration about having been posted to Party Central when his disposition seemed more suited to the tastes of Temperance, Manitoba. Who knows?

Anyway, Dusty’s got slapped with a closure which is looming this month. Ten days during the height of the ski season. And there’s other, petty charges against the bar. But more fundamentally, the liquor control inspector seems to have this grudge against Whistler. All the bars are now seen as renegades that need to be reined in, bullied, threatened, intimidated. Understandably, bar owners aren’t eager to talk about this on the record, but it’s happening.

So do your job fellows. Bring a little sanity to this nonsense before your minions run amok and kill the goose that’s going to pay your golden pensions. All of your ministries have a hand in this one. Maybe you should talk amongst yourselves before it’s too late.

Sincerely,



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