Jan 29, 2008 04:30 AMIf leaders tend to emerge when the need for them is greatest, Toronto's George Washington is due to put in an appearance real soon.
On Dec. 16, 1773, three British ships laden with tea were moored in Boston harbour. The tea, and particularly the stiff British duty added to its already steep price, fuelled the growing resentment against rule by a distant, indifferent master.
Gangs dumped the cargoes – emptying 342 chests of tea, some 41,000 kilos worth an estimated £10,000 into the water.
Never mind that this ultimately led to George W. Bush. Some cookies crumble.
As soon as Toronto householders are issued monstrous blue bins for the recyclable materials we used to leave at the curb in those blue and grey boxes – some have them already – we are obliged to start using them.
Now, there could not be a greater admirer of this newspaper's Jack (The Fixer) Lakey than I. I'm even leading a campaign to have the new footbridge across Taylor Creek near the public washrooms between Don Mills Rd. and Victoria Park Ave. named the Jack (The Fixer) Lakey Memorial Footbridge after he embarrassed the city into replacing the old one that – as numerous complaints by ordinary citizens had pointed out to absolutely no avail – collapsed and fell into the water several years before.
When it comes to getting things fixed, I, and thousands like me, know that Jack (The Fixer) Lakey is the only one we can rely on. Without him, as far as the civic administration is concerned, anything that's broken will stay that way forever.
Yet when it comes to doing something about the new blue bins – maybe because the bins apparently aren't broken; they're supposed to be this hopeless – his celebrated fixing gift turns out to be a dud.
Nothing else can explain why he was prompted to write that when the bins get delivered, ``complaints are being heard from householders.''
Complaints are being heard from householders?
Some tea was dumped in Boston harbour?
Never before in Toronto has there been such a devastating failure to see the forest fire for a tree that is smouldering.
The blue bins are pushing the citizens of Toronto closer to flat-out revolt than anything has in its history. All hell is about to break loose.
It already has wherever we've gathered to examine this latest development in the city's plan to drive us insane by making it impossible for us to deal with our garbage. Some community meetings merely dissolve into shouting. Others verge on five-alarm riots.
Clearly whoever imposed the new system never bothered to take a look at the city and so didn't notice that the bins won't work here.
They are too damn big. They won't fit between most houses. There isn't room for them on most porches.
They are too damn heavy. Empty they are cumbersome, full they are dead weights – even with their wheels. Unless you're using steroids, forget getting one that's loaded down steps.
They are too damn all-or-nothing. Anything you can't fit in them won't be picked up. No more extra piles of cardboard boxes; no more newspapers stuffed in plastic shopping bags. If it won't go in the bin, it's yours to keep. Forever.
They're too damn ugly. Considering that most of them will be left parked in front of houses, they'll lend a slummy tone to even the most pretentious streetscapes.
They are plain damn idiotic.
And unless we're idiots, the minute they arrive we'll haul them down and throw them in the damn lake.
No garbage compliance without prior consultation!
Okay, okay. Our rallying cry needs work.
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