Imagine my surprise a few weeks later when I got a phone call from Don McCahill, publisher of the Saskatchewan newspaper. He was very interested in talking with me on the phone, and by the time we finished, I had a firm job offer.

Later that evening, when my mother came home from her weekly Maj-on game, I told her the news. “I’m going to Saskatchewan,” I told her excitedly, not realizing the full implications of what I was telling her. Only weeks later, I began to examine my decision and what I was doing with my life. But, by then, it was too late to turn back. My path was set, and there was no backing out.

My resolve was further strengthened the next month. I graduated from Sheridan College in June 1982. I learned that I was one of the few in my journalism class who had landed a job in their chosen field. Times were tough in the business, and most had settled for any job they could find. Few had been willing to do as I was and relocate to a different province. After graduation, my mom held a combination graduation/going away party, where I acquired many of the necessities of life for my journey west. I packed boxes of clothes and books, sending some out by train and some by mail. The rest eventually went into my car, which was packed to the roof by the time I left.

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The fateful day finally arrived when I left home early in the morning. It was an emotional farewell to my mother and brothers as I left my home of 24 years with only my handy tape recorder as my travelling companion. That, of course, was for me to record my thoughts and feelings as I made my way from North York, Ontario, to Gravelbourg, Saskatchewan. You see, although the job eventually took me to Coronach, I found out that I was headed a little further north to the town of Gravelbourg. That’s where my publisher lived and ran another newspaper.

The first day was long as I headed north, winding up in Wawa, Ontario. Little by little, my mood changed as the day progressed, going from regret over my decision to excitement over starting a new life. By the time I arrived in the early evening, my spirits had lifted. I called home (before I settled into a pizza dinner) to reassure them that, indeed, everything was on track in my life.

The next day I turned west as I resumed my trek on the Trans-Canada Highway along Lake Superior. I finally stopped for the evening just west of Thunder Bay, in Dryden, Ont.

On the third day, I left Ontario, stopping outside of Winnipeg to call a friend of my cousin Larry Sheldon. I continued and stopped for the evening in Brandon, Manitoba (pretty sure about that, but memory does play tricks the older you get). I left the Trans-Canada the next day and headed south and then west, travelling through Manitoba and Saskatchewan. I was finally here, my new home province, I thought. What adventures lay ahead?

I arrived in Gravelbourg that afternoon. Of course, all the shops were closed on Sunday, and the main street was deserted. After a brief search, I found the place I was seeking. I finally came face to face with the person who had started me on this new journey - the 28-year-old publisher of the Gravelbourg Gazette, Don McCahill.

I settled into a motel in the town for the next two weeks. There I learned more about my new job, covered a few stories for Don’s paper (including a visit by the Queen’s sister Princess Anne), took in a few movies at the town’s theatre, and generally enjoyed the novelty of my new existence. Along the way, the two of us made treks to Coronach, where I got an apartment, and we opened the two-person office of his new paper, the Borderland Reporter.

Moving day soon came, and I left Gravelbourg to begin my job and life in Coronach, covering the towns of Coronach, Willow Bunch, and Rockglen. It was strange to walk down the street with people stopping to say hello or just wave in passing. After all, I didn’t know who they were. They certainly didn’t do that back in Toronto.

Our first issue hit and stands on July 22, 1982. (Years later, I received another thrill when I found the cover of that first issue in the National Archives of Canada in Ottawa). I had much to do before that happened, though, including setting up my apartment and meeting the local folk.

I talked with people, doing story after story heading back to my office after each one to bang out an article on my manual typewriter. Then it would be time to start again. Luckily for me, it was not all bake sales and teas (just kidding, we never did that). The backbone of Coronach’s economy was the Poplar River Mine which had more than a few jobs for area residents. I guess I had arrived at the “right time” because the workers had gone on strike, providing me with my first front-page banner story.

Being the paper’s sole reporter meant more than covering the news. I covered local sporting events, town council meetings, agriculture, local businesses, fairs, and everything in between.

Town council meetings were particularly interesting. Usually, when a town or city council wants part of its meeting off the record, they ask the media to leave the room. However, they did things differently in this small town. They would simply tell me, “off the record,” and my tape recorder would go off, or I would put down my pen. So there was that level of trust.

After the meetings, I would head back to the office to type up the story, often staying until midnight before heading home.

Of course, the job always involved more than just reporting. Every week, I would drive back to Gravelbourg, where the copy would be typeset, the photographs developed, and where we laid out the newspaper.

I met some interesting people along the way, including local clergy, when I set up a column in the paper for religious leaders in the area. (Years later, at The Canadian Jewish News, I proposed a similar column format for Jewish religious leaders. Both columns were successful). The day I went to one of the churches was interesting in itself as I walked to the chapel’s front, and there was an open casket.

Then there was the real estate agent who showed me around town, only to suggest I do a story on him in exchange for his advertising in our newspaper. Being young and not too diplomatic, I said I would do no such thing. I told him to stop the car immediately, got out, and walked back to the office (only five minutes away). My advertising manager, Wanda Burns, was not too pleased with me.

The mayor of a nearby town was also unhappy after I reported that his son had been arrested for drunk driving. He had called me at home to scold me, but I took the steam out of his argument. Before hanging up, I told him never to contact me at home about a work-related matter.

One of the more pleasant moments came after covering and publishing one of the more important stories. The railway had wanted to close a line, which ran through the town of Big Beaver. To do so, they had to go before the CRTC for a hearing. I covered the meeting and reported on the events of the day. Later I sent a copy of my article to the commissioner running the meeting. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter thanking me for meeting with her and praising my professional integrity and the accuracy of my report.

When I was not working, there was little, if anything, to do in Coronach. My TV only received two stations (the town later got a TV dish, and we got a few more stations), and to see a movie, I had to go to the next town of Rockglen. The movie theatre there had one screen, and if you wanted refreshments, you bought a bottle of Coke from the pop machine and a small bag of popcorn at the ticket counter.

One winter day, I got a good scare driving into Rockglen when I hit a patch of ice. My car did a 180-degree turn on the country road, winding up half in the ditch. At first, I panicked before driving along the embankment until I came to a level crossing and headed home. That was the last time I headed out in uncertain weather.

There were other days I had to get away from the area. If the job title of news editor brought me a certain degree of prestige in the town, it came with a downside. I was THE journalist whether or not I was working. People continuously approached me all the time with ideas for articles. I occasionally went to Regina for dinner and a movie to get away, sometimes staying over in the provincial capital.

During one out-of-town excursion, I stopped in the nearby town of Bengough, where the town fair was taking place. I snapped a few pictures for my newspaper. I also bought a button from a merchant, starting a tradition of collecting buttons, which I continued during my working life.

Occasionally I would cross the Canadian border to visit Minot, North Dakota. There I would enjoy a few drinks and play video poker at one of the town’s many bars.

During another excursion, I made contact (and friends) with an older couple in Moose Jaw. My initial contact with them started before I left Toronto when I had sent a letter to that city’s synagogue. Somehow, it was redirected to them and an offer to visit with them at any time, especially on the Jewish holidays. Being away from family during the High Holidays was emotional. So I didn’t tell Wanda where I was headed that weekend, only that I was going to Moose Jaw for a few days. Since she had never met any Jews before (and I didn’t advertise my religion), she didn’t ask anything further.

Despite my initial misgivings, I thoroughly enjoyed the holidays. It was very different from attending services at a large synagogue in Toronto. Here, everyone knew everyone, and after Yom Kippur, the community broke the fast together in the synagogue.

It was a fairly lonely existence, but I didn’t mind too much. I was very much focused on my career, and as I said earlier, I managed to get away to Regina or Moose Jaw from time to time. However, I was flying high when I got a call from my mother (we spoke regularly), telling me she was coming to visit me.

I cleaned my apartment (even made my bed) and got a cot for her (I had a waterbed I knew she would not sleep on). It was a great visit, and she was surprised to see my kitchen set up basically like hers.

By the time she visited, I was a reasonable cook. But, of course, I learned from my mistakes. For example, the first time I made roast beef, I put a small roast in for three hours, turning a beautiful piece of meat into a side of leather.

That mistake was minor, though, compared to when I tried to cut a frozen bagel. I held the bagel in my hand and cut and cut with no success until, finally, the knife went through the bagel and, unfortunately, deep into my finger.

I tried to stop the blood flow in the bathroom sink with no success. I knew I was in trouble when the room started to spin, and a few minutes later, I woke up on the bathroom floor. After regaining consciousness, I wrapped my finger tightly with a towel and drove myself to the town’s hospital. Of course, the first thing they wanted to see when I got there was my health card.

The worst mistake was not mine, of course. One day, my publisher, Don McCahill, told me that I would not get too far in journalism. He actually said I would probably be stuck in Coronach for many years. Not one to turn down a challenge like that, I began sending out resumes again.

The Christmas season came, and with it, my first chance to return to Toronto in six months. After finishing off the paper that week in Gravelbourg, I headed north to the airport in Regina. Unfortunately, my car was not operating perfectly. That night, both the speedometer and odometer were not working, and it was pouring rain. As a result, driving was terrible. I had no idea how fast I was driving or how many kilometres I had left to travel.

Only by returning to Toronto did I realize how much I had changed. At the time, though, I thought my friends were different. However, by the time I went “home” to Coronach, I was glad the visit was as brief as it was.

A short while later, I got a call from Dave Yanko, editor of the Battleford Telegraph, asking me if I was interested in meeting with him. Of course, I said yes, and headed north to The Battlefords, stopping off in Moose Jaw for the night. I visited the editor at the paper’s office in Battleford the next day.

What a difference there was between the two of us. While I wore a suit for the occasion, this paper’s editor was more casual, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Still, the interview went well, and I got the job.

While Don was not too pleased with my decision, the staff at the Gazette congratulated me and took me out to lunch. I was disappointed, though, that my publisher declined to join us in the farewell send-off. I also got a present from Wanda, a souvenir pen/paperweight from the local mine.

Moving from Coronach proved to be quite a challenge. When I had first moved to Saskatchewan, I mailed some boxes to myself and shipped a trunk by train. The rest I packed into my car. Now I was moving intra-provincially. I made the move in two weekends, loading everything into my vehicle as far as I can recall.

Being in such a rush, I had to settle for a basement apartment. I hated it. Every night felt like I was descending into a dungeon. After a short time, I managed to find a better apartment and, once again, moved.

Weeks after I settled in, I sat back one evening, along with the rest of society, as the final episode of MASH played out on TV. It was history in the making.

The Telegraph setup was quite interesting. The newsroom - situated in Battleford - was a former gas station. The main drawback was the lack of proper insulation, so that the building became quite cold in the winter. Still, it was equipped with a good computer system for reporters. After stories were finished and edited, they were electronically sent across the river to North Battleford to our production office. There the newspaper was put together.

Journalistically, the Telegraph was a significant step up from the Borderland Reporter. I continued to cover the agriculture beat - quite an accomplishment for a Toronto boy - and picked up the political, police and court beats. All were interesting. I met and interviewed former Prime Minister Joe Clark and regularly dealt with several provincial and local politicians. As a court reporter, I managed to cover some exciting trials.

As well as being a beat reporter, I also shot and developed photos. There were also some unusual spot stories and features. Among the most memorable was when I got a front seat in a glider and another, covering a fire that destroyed a local drug store. I was on my way back to work one day after lunch and came upon the fire. I raced home, grabbed my camera and - presto, I had some truly unique shots. These included the inside of the store, which I took using the point and shoot method (not using the viewfinder).

There were unpleasant ones, as well. For example, I had to interview a woman who had just learned that her son had been killed. Another time I had to interview a man whose barn had just burned down. He was not too pleased with me and hung up the phone.

On the production side, I helped “dummy up” the layout of the newspaper and the weekly advertising supplement.

When not working, I hung around with other staff members in the editorial department and other media members in The Battlefords. There was one other weekly newspaper in the town and a radio station.

That year, the Christmas holidays were a real turkey, literally, as the publisher gave all the employees turkeys. Imagine one person with a turkey. On Christmas, I put it in the oven in the morning. I then rented a VCR and a few movies and stuffing and some wine. That evening I sat down to a turkey dinner and then enjoyed the films with my editor’s cat, which I was cat sitting. (He was out of town at the time.)

The holidays weren’t all turkey, though. There was eggnog (and rum) enjoyed courtesy of the bank manager. Now, where would you expect him to keep such valuables? In the bank safe, of course.

The year 1984 started with a bang with the publication of a significant feature that I had planned and executed. I created, distributed and compiled a survey of all local high school students about nuclear weapons. After watching a TV program called “The Day After.” I put together the entire page, complete with graphics, quotes and interviews.

Around this time, my editor decided to leave the newspaper. This resulted in my making a mistake, which altered the course of my life. At the time, though, the move seemed perfectly logical. So I went into the publisher’s office and told her I would take the job but only if I received a pay increase.

I guess this did not impress her too much.

Shortly after the article’s publication, the publisher called me into her office. At the time I assumed it was to offer congratulations.Instead, I was surprised when she told me that a few police officers (never which one) had complained about my work ethics, and the paper was cutting back staff. I thought being a senior reporter would protect me, but I guess they had it all worked out beforehand. Instead of a promotion, I was given my walking papers.

I was more than a little shocked and asked them if I could stay on till the end of February, as it would take me some time to sort out my life. (It was early February already.)

That day I called home and told my mother the bad news. While I thought I would search for a new job out west, she said to come home. Before I knew it, I found myself saying yes and spent the rest of the month packing up my life to make the return trip east.

As the month ended, the reporters from the OTHER newspaper in town took me out for a goodbye dinner.

Finally, my bags were packed, and I was ready to go. Unfortunately, just days before, my car broke down. I took it to a repair shop, and they repaired the problems (so I thought). By the time I arrived in Moose Jaw, I had felt quite differently as my car broke down again. (I kept all the receipts from my first repair at a Shell station. Eventually, I got reimbursed from the company when I returned to Toronto, but not until after a long-drawn-out war of words with the company.)

My trek eastward continued along the Trans-Canada Highway until east of Brandon, Manitoba. A winter storm forced police to close the highway, sending me back to Brandon to bed for the night.

I made it back into Ontario the next day, stopping at the “Welcome to Ontario” sign for an official photo. Unfortunately, I was forced to stop just west of Thunder Bay in Upsula when, once again, my car broke down. I stayed overnight. After my car was patched up, I left, but not before the service station attendant told me not to shut my motor off again.

This, of course, meant keeping the engine running when I stopped for gasoline. I later learned this was not the wisest of moves. Still, it was the only one.

When I finally pulled into the driveway at 26 Evanston Drive, after 18 hours on the road, I put the car in the garage and turned the motor off. I tried to start it again with no luck. The engine was dead. There the car remained until it was finally towed away, and I was forced to go out and buy a new car, a 1984 Toyota Tercel.

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Unlike my departure, just 18 months earlier, the only one home when I arrived was our cleaning lady. It was just as well, as all I wanted to do was sleep.

The dream was over. I was back where I started. Can one go back to one’s old life after being completely independent? The answer was definitely not.

Fortunately, my mother gave me the independence I needed. While I still did not have a job, I soon took a temporary position at a video store owned, in part, by my cousin Howard Sheldon. At the same time, I kept a lookout for new journalism positions. As a result, I noticed an ad in the local newspaper about a group of people meeting to oppose a proposed domed stadium in Downsview. I decided to cover the meeting and to freelance the story.

One of those papers was The Canadian Jewish News, which decided to buy the story. The news editor, Patricia Rucker, also said they would be interested in other stories. However, she said I should wait until she called for further assignments.

While this sounded like a brush-off, they did call, and before you know it, I was back in the saddle again, writing stories for The CJN. Eventually, I was asked to help out in the newsroom when one of their reporters had to Alberta to cover a trial.

Soon after that, I managed to be in the “right place at the right time” when an opening came up in the newspaper. I was immediately offered a position as a staff reporter.

And that, as they say, is how it went. As of January 15, 2005, I was still at The CJN, having moved through the ranks from reporter to news editor to news editor/Internet editor.

There were many exciting stories when I was a reporter, from 1984-89. The best (in my opinion) were those of the political variety. I loved meeting with and talking with politicians at all levels of government. North York Mayor Mel Lastman and Ontario Treasurer Larry Grossman were among my favourites. It was also fascinating to cover elections and leadership conventions. They were so fast-paced with so much energy.

Covering social issues was a pretty new beat for The CJN during my stint as a reporter. One of the best pieces involved spending a day at CHAT, the Jewish high school, talking with educators and students about drug use.

Still, I soon started to grow restless, talking to person after person and doing story after story. I guess my training in Saskatchewan had left me wanting. I was already in charge of the paper’s Montreal edition layout, but that was relatively routine. (Years later, I asked to take control of the weekly design of the Toronto edition.) Next came my first supplement, North of Steeles. The annual special section looked at growth and development north of Steeles Avenue. At the time, the area was expanding rapidly. I watched as several shopping malls were planned, developed and constructed, including the Promenade. Years later, I watched as part of that mall was demolished. Nothing really lasts forever.

I continued my writing as a reporter until 1989, when the position of news editor opened up. That was a significant turning point in my reporting career. With a full complement of staff and freelance reporters, I decided to hang up one hat and focus solely on my new position. Years later, I regretted the move, as it resulted in a deterioration of my writing skills.

I continued to seek out new areas of responsibility and, in 1998, was asked to become the paper’s first Internet editor.

So doors kept closing, and new ones, including short stints as interim editor, were always opening.

As for the fate of the domed stadium, it was finally built in downtown Toronto and christened SkyDome!

Twenty-six years (as of June 2010) is but a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. Yet, in the life of this journalist, it’s practically an eternity. If not that, well, then it constitutes half of my life.

I was thinking about the passage of time just the other day. Who could have imagined back in 1984 that I would still be at The Canadian Jewish News in 2010? I know I couldn’t. All being well, perhaps I will have many more productive years to contribute to the Canadian community’s premiere Jewish publication. I often wonder: have the best years already happened, or is the best still to be? Whatever, I’m sure it won’t be disappointing.

We may not be the most prominent Jewish newspaper in existence these days, but I’m sure we have one of the best workplaces. The camaraderie is fantastic. When something has to get done, it gets done, whether the newsroom has a full complement or is short-staffed. This is usually the case during the summer months —everyone pitches in for the greater good.

Perhaps this is why we have such a low staff turnover. Everyone realizes what a great atmosphere exists around the office. We have had people leave and come back months and years later, all singing praises of our work environment.

This continues to be one of The CJN’s greatest strengths. Of course, many of the issues we delve into have changed over time (although surprisingly, many are still the same). Still, the people here continue to make this a great place to spend most of your prime time.

Among the many I have worked with are three special people: Maurice Lucow, Patricia Rucker and Mordechai Ben Dat, the paper’s editors. All of them have been very different in style and temperament. Yet, I have learned from each of them, and they have helped make me the journalist I am today.

It’s also been interesting going from being one of the youngest people in the editorial department to one of the “senior” staff members. But, of course, it’s not only personalities that have changed around here.

Back in 1984, I was thrilled when I got a new electric typewriter (I was using a manual machine when I started). As well, the arrival of the fax machine was a real eye-opener at the paper, allowing us to get news copy from freelancers without them having to come to the office. Before its arrival, we relied on a teletype machine to connect our Toronto and Montreal offices.

Today, news copy and photographs arrive almost instantaneously through e-mails, something we could not have fathomed 26 years ago. Back then, every article had to be typeset and proofread before being “waxed” and laid down in production. A single page is now created in minutes on the computer and then printed out.

I have noticed that the pace of technological change keeps changing, mainly for the better. Where will we be in another 26 years? I’m certainly not one to guess because I still marvel at the changing pace around the office. The CJN was once just a print publication; it now encompasses so much more with links to YouTube, Facebook and the Blogosphere.

Wherever we go from here, though, I firmly believe there will always be a place for our Jewish newspaper. We provide information that can’t be found elsewhere. Will we look the same in 2036? Probably not, but that will be the decision and responsibility of journalism’s next generation.

I guess the idea of The CJN existing in 2036 was a pipe dream, a fantasy. At least it was as far as I was concerned. The paper continued a gradual decline in readership and advertising revenue, so much so that by April 2013, management announced that the paper would be closing in two months. Nevertheless, there was a collective outpouring of support from the community. In June that year, it was decided that there still was a place in the community for The Canadian Jewish News.

It would not be the same, though. Several staff members (including the editor) were let go, and the paper moved to smaller offices on Steeles Avenue. Once it was relaunched in the fall that year, the new premises elicited a different vibe. A few months later, a new editor joined the team, someone much younger, someone I had significant differences of opinion with on more than one occasion.

Perhaps I was too outspoken. We will never know. On June 11, 2014, just one day before my 55th birthday, I was called into the editor’s office after hours and was told that the paper would no longer require my services due to restructuring the department. After 30 years at The CJN, my time was over. But was my journey?

One door closed with a loud bang, while others appeared on the horizon. I had been creating my B’nai Brith lodge’s bulletin since 1991. With more time on my hands, I gave it the extra attention it deserved. As a result, it became better and attracted several new advertisers. At the same time, I became involved in the life of our new synagogue, Pride of Israel. I asked to “help out” with their weekly Shabbat bulletin. Of course, I was doing it myself before long. The synagogue’s president asked to keep the weekly bulletin going as synagogues closed their doors in 2020 due to the pandemic. Doing the weekly online allowed for more flexibility and has allowed me to stretch my creative muscles. Again, our lodge stopped meeting at this time, and the lodge’s president asked to keep our bulletin alive.

One more thing. At the start of this pandemic, The CJN announced it was closing its doors for good. After 60 years in operation, Canada’s national Jewish paper was no more.

It was a sad day in journalism for sure. However, it also meant that after 38 years, all three newspapers I had worked for were now historical footnotes.

As we all know, the only constant in life is change. Nothing ever stays the same, and it definitely shouldn’t.The Canadian Jewish News remained dormant for a few months before re-emerging in a new digital form on Facebook and finally with its own revamped website. Is it the same? Definitely not! Is it better? Who am I to say? I come from a different generation of journalists and prefer my news in print instead of web-based or podcasts. However, The CJN is moving forward in a new direction.

I continued volunteering my services at the Pride of Israel (which we formally left in January 2021) until April 2021. I was genuinely surprised when I received an e-mail saying they no longer required my services. They had found a synagogue member to continue their weekly newsletter. Life does go on.

So, here we are in May 2021, living life during a pandemic for over a year. It’s strange because it took COVID-19 for me to acknowledge what had been my reality for the past seven years - that I was retired.