LETTITOR

 

I received a white binder full of photocopied pages
from my dad last summer. Among the pages of typed
text were fuzzy grey pictures with captions bearing my
name—or at least my last name—over and over. Frank
Miley, the grandpa I never met (dead of polio in 1953).
Joseph Miley, Frank’s dad and my great grandpa, minor-
league catcher and lifetime .286 hitter. Father John
Miley, best friend, confidant, and religious advisor to
Irish hero, Daniel O’Connell. There was Lucy Miley,
Francis Miley, this Miley and that Miley.

In case you haven't figured it out, my new binder
contained a family history. I couldn’t help but marvel at
how much my great grandfather looked like my brother
Chris in the 1919 picture of him in his military uni-
form. As opposed as I am personally to war in general,
and the 60 years of war since WWII in particular, I
can’t help but swell with pride when I remember the
sacrifices my family has made during last century’s
wartimes.

Tales of heroism aside, my favourite story of my
family’s wartime history came from one Frank Moag.

Stationed in Egypt in 1919, my great uncle Frank
happened to be hoisting pints with a bunch of other
soldiers. He was an Irishman; most of the other men
were Brits. A ranking officer, swelling with equal parts
British bravado and Egyptian ale, lifted his drink and
toasted to the King. My great uncle answered the toast
with a something along the lines of a resounding,
“Fuck the King, your mom just did.” (I’m paraphrasing
here.) He was arrested and court-martialed early the
next morning for making untoward remarks against the
monatchy.

Being my kind of guy (or, maybe I’m his kind of
guy?), he did exactly what I hope I would do. He
escaped, caught a red-eye to London, and was again
arrested, again drunk, this time with the added charge
of impersonating an officer. Turns out he’d “found” a
British officer’s uniform back in the Egyptian
hoosegow and just walked out. He was still wearing the
uniform when the five-oh caught up with him in
London.

You may be wondering why I’m sharing this tale of
an apparently crooked branch from my family’s tree
with so much lighthearted pride. I’m sharing it because
I think if I found myself an Irishman fighting in Egypt
for the Brits, I’d probably hold the King in contempt
too. I’m sharing this tale because all other indications in
my binder spoke of Roger Moag as a good man, a
respected man, a man of both intellect and moxie. ’m
sharing because good men get wasted and do crazy shit
after exposure to war.

But mostly, I’m sharing because I appreciate any
person, past or present, who fought for the freedoms I
now take largely for granted. Happy Remembrance Day
and thank you all.

I usually take this section of my letter to pimp
the stories throughout the paper, but thanks to a huge
effort from our editors and regular contributors, along
with a bevy of relatively new contributors, this issue is
so packed with quality content that I want to let y’all
find it for yourselves.

I mean, how am I supposed to choose between
Nicole Burton’s interview with Work Less Party may-
oral candidate and Capilano College student, Ben West,
and Brandon Ferguson’s epic Remembrance Day wax-
ings about his grandpa? How do I decide whether to
give a shout out to Brian McLennon’s coverage of the
Men’s Soccer Team’s charge to the Nationals or Iain
Reeve’s hilarious find in this week’s I Found It on the
Interweb? Picking a favourite article this week is like
choosing a favourite child.

Alright, alright, I give. I think my pops always
liked my sister best, and don’t miss the David Suzuki
parody in Opinions this week. Man, that Donald
Kawasaki has some great ideas for dealing with repeat
polluters.

So, when you’re done taking a few minutes to
quietly give thanks this Remembrance Day, don’t forget
to take a few more minutes and peruse the paper you’re
now holding. It may not have fought and died for the
freedom of future generations, but it would if it had to.

—Colin Miley, Managing Editor

 

WOBBLE OF CONTENTS

 

Features 16

 

 

YELP