Tuesday November 5, 2024
Editorial Cartoon by Graeme MacKay, The Hamilton Spectator – Tuesday November 5, 2024
Election Day 1976 dawned chilly in Etobicoke, Ontario, but that didn’t faze Young Doug Ford or his band of misfit friends. They were high school headbangers, known for their lumber jackets, Kodiak Greb work boots, and hair parted right down the middle, as if they’d stepped off the back cover of a KISS record. Doug, ever the ringleader, proudly sported a baseball shirt emblazoned with the Helix logo, his favourite homegrown rock band, while Kyle and Duart rocked their ACDC and Black Sabbath tees, the images cracked and faded from countless washings.
Series: Young Doug Ford
The Ford basement was their kingdom — a den reeking of second-hand smoke and cheap beer, with posters of Led Zeppelin and Blue Öyster Cult plastered over the wood-panelled walls. A tattered La-Z-Boy, snagged from the curb near Rathburn after old Mrs. Papadopoulos down the street tossed it, served as the throne where Doug plotted the day’s mischief. The room thrummed with Paranoid by Black Sabbath from the record player as the boys threw back stolen Labatt’s 50, its bitterness still unfamiliar but exhilaratingly rebellious.
“Boys, today’s the day we see if the U.S. goes soft with Carter or keeps it cool with Ford,” Doug declared, cracking open another beer, the foam spilling onto his Kodiaks. Kyle, a chain-smoker who could barely stay still, flicked ash into an empty Pop Shoppe bottle and raised his cigarette like a toast.
“If Carter wins, it’s gonna be disco-mania. Mark my words, Dougie. You can kiss our kind of music goodbye. Next thing you know, the states’ll be all ‘Afros and bell bottoms,’” Kyle said, rolling his eyes.
Duart, who had a habit of nodding along as if on some invisible metronome — probably thanks to the joint he’d lit before coming over — chuckled, sending a thin plume of smoke swirling. “Don’t sweat it. Even if Carter wins, we’ve still got Yonge Street, man. The rock scene is invincible,” he said, eyes half-lidded and red-rimmed.
June 15, 2023
The TV flickered to life in the corner, its reception shaky, showing Tom Gibney with election updates. They leaned in as the numbers rolled in, the static hiss punctuating the silence. Gerald Ford was struggling to hold onto key states. Doug slumped in his seat, taking a long swig of his C-Plus.
“Come on, man,” he muttered, tapping his foot so hard it thumped against the linoleum like John Bonham’s bass drum. “This peanut farmer’s gonna ruin everything. Next thing you know, it’ll be acoustic guitars and peace rallies.”
Duart, with smoke trailing from his mouth, cracked a smile. “Doug, you stress too much. Relax, man, like Page and Plant — the music will survive no matter who’s in charge.”
“Yeah,” Kyle added, a crooked grin appearing as he lifted a six-pack he’d pinched from his dad’s garage, “and if it doesn’t, we can always sneak into the Gasworks and forget the whole thing with some real tunes.”
As night fell, Doug’s disappointment was palpable. Gibney’s voice sealed the deal: Carter was leading, soon to be the 39th president. Doug crumpled an empty can in his fist and sighed. But outside, the orange glow of street lamps and the laughter of teens cruising down the block in a beaten-up Pontiac reminded them that Etobicoke was still theirs.
Kyle turned the record over to High Voltage by ACDC and turned the volume up until the basement walls rattled. “Screw Carter, Dougie. We’ve got rock, and we’ve got each other.”
And so, the boys headbanged in defiance, their silhouettes wild and rebellious in the basement glow, a reminder that no election could take away the pounding heart of rock ’n’ roll from Etobicoke.
