The hydro guy: The power was out when we got to the cottage last weekend, so I called Hydro One. Perhaps it hadn’t been out long because nothing stank in the fridge and the butter was fairly hard. I fatalistically gathered candles, batteries and lamp oil. Two hours later, Kevin phoned, sorry for the delay, due to another job, but he and his partner were stocking up in Huntsville and heading for the lake. Sure, sure, I thought.

An hour later, they called from the land side. They’d found a blown fuse in the cable leading to the island. They hadn’t replaced it since they didn’t want to send juice to where there might be a downed line and kids or animals near. So they’d come over to find the cause, could I pick them up?

They were at the dock, a huge truck and two guys in orange jump suits and yellow hardhats. They seemed to enjoy the ride over. At the cottage, Bob jumped out and went to check the hydro pole, then nothing. Kevin seemed to know he’d gone to the other cottages, so we boated around to meet him on the far side as he emerged through bugs and pines. Wordlessly, they located the last pole, looked up at the transformer, then down at their feet. A bird lay dead, not scavenged or decomposed. They didn’t even nod.

“Add that to what you told us about the butter and we’re reasonably confident we’ve found the cause of the short,” said Kevin. It was elegant and Sherlockian. The butter and the bird. Elementary, my dear cottager.

I ran them back and, a bit later, the lights came on. They rang to check, and I asked if I could send a note to put on their records. Kevin seemed surprised. “Not really,” he said. I pressed, asking for a supervisor’s name. He began sounding infinitesimally peeved. “It’s just part of the service.”

I recount this in light of a story this week on Ontario civil servants fired for watching porn at their work stations, then reinstated. I agree with what Margaret Wente wrote in defence of goofing off on the job. I’d add that those employees were living through the derision and bullying of public servants during the Mike Harris years.

These are two of many cases in which you can choose to be surprised at either the surly response, or the sunny one. It is also a reminder that, despite the glam of IT and the cultural industries, we all remain dependent on those who have the ability to grow a crop, sew a garment, fix a car or repair a power line.

Moore’s docs: I think of Michael Moore’s films less as documentaries than as humorous essays on serious subjects, in the Mark Twain or A. J. Liebling tradition. But say this for him: He strikes a blow against today’s main trend in documentary, which is to choose any subject unlikely to rile power and thus incur a libel suit. That’s even truer in Canada than the U.S. The last Hot Docs festival, someone said, could have been called You and Your Health. Me and My Kidney; Me and My Breast; or the current: Metallica and Its Therapists.

The death of Brando: Instead of protesting that he was an actor, not a movie star, Marlon Brando chose to concede that fight, then expend much of his talent revealing the truth not of his characters, but of stardom. He did it brilliantly.

His 1994 interview with Larry King, replayed last week, may be the best TV ever, though rivalled by Larry’s interview with Yasser Arafat after the signing of the Oslo accords. (“Why have you changed?” “What?” “You have changed.” “Me?” “This is not a new Arafat?” “No.” Etc.)

I was pleased to learn that James Garner was a Brando friend. They both treated acting (and stardom) with a certain disdain. They showed that, if they wished, they could wipe the floor with everyone else on the set, but if you know that’s so, why bother? James Garner did it mainly on TV, but those who saw the animated Atlantis, with Garner as the harsh Commander Rourke, realized he has one of the great voices of all time and would probably have been splendid on stage. Did anyone else, by the way, feel that Saddam Hussein, in his open-shirted, sport-jacketed court appearance in Baghdad, was being played by, or playing, Garner as Rockford in The Rockford Files?

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Rick Salutin

Rick Salutin is a Canadian novelist, playwright and critic. He is a strong advocate of left wing causes and writes a regular column in the Toronto Star.