TV Quote of the Day (‘Cheers,’ on Canadian Men)

Margaret “Maggie” O'Keefe (played by Annie Golden): “I can't tell you how hard these months of separation have been. The men up in Canada, well they just don't compare to you.”

Cliff Clavin (played by John Ratzenberger) [beside himself with excitement]: “Oh, oh.”

Maggie: “They're just pale, pathetic imitations of you, Cliff.”

Carla LeBec (played by Rhea Perlman):  “Boy, that must be one butt-ugly country!” —Cheers, Season 8, Episode 4, “How to Marry a Mailman,” air date Oct. 19, 1989, teleplay by Brian Pollack and Mert Rich, directed by James Burrows

Well, they are not that bad, are they now, Carla? After all, there are already a significant number of Americans up there, including many draft evaders from the Vietnam War who decided never to return. And, if Donald Trump somehow becomes President,  more Americans will cross the border like you won’t believe…

This Day in Rock History (Hendrix Testifies in Canada on Drug Charges)

December 8, 1969—“Purple Haze” might have been one of his signature songs, but 27-year-old Jimi Hendrix—well on his way to guitar legend status—testified that he hadn’t planned to be in a haze of any kind when he was stopped passing through Canadian Customs with hashish and heroin in his possession.

As the 12 jurors in the Toronto court house scrutinized him—with perhaps at least a few wondering about his credibility—the musician readily admitted that yes, he had used drugs before. But that was in the past. He’d “outgrown” them now, he claimed.

Hendrix was part of a recent trend that saw rock ‘n’ rollers running afoul of the law. Several of these high-profile arrests involved drugs, including some instances (e.g., John and Yoko Ono) where the musicians claimed the evidence was planted by police. Even in those cases where police illegality didn’t occur, the cops were undoubtedly glad to have these high-profile scalps.

According to Hendrix biographer Charles R. Cross, the guitarist’s experience with drugs had been limited to pot, hashish, cheap speed, and occasionally cocaine until one night in 1966, when his life changed in a major way.

On the plus side, he was noticed by Linda Keith, a 20-year-old British model then dating the Rolling Stones’ Keith Richards. Infuriated that the talented Hendrix was playing as a backup musician in a near-empty club, she brought him along with her group of friends that night. Several weeks later, she would bring him to the U.K., where she introduced him to several music industry people and his career finally took off.

But the night they met, someone in Keith’s circle also introduced Hendrix to LSD. The drug would soon form a part of his creative process (he could see “colors” in playing guitar, he told people), and his undoing.

But the end of the line, though visible, hadn’t quite yet arrived for the musician yet. Rebuttal witnesses backed up his story that someone else must have packed the drugs by mistake in his bag when he was stopped by Customs the prior May, with UPI entertainment reporter-turned-friend Sharon Lawrence and Hendrix’s former producer and manager Chas Chandler lending particularly credible support.

Two days after Hendrix walked into the court house, the case went to the jury, who deliberated for eight hours before announcing that he was not guilty on all charges. The relieved Hendrix told reporters that he was “happy as a newborn baby,” and expressed particular gratitude toward his fans: “Some of them were there for 12 hours….It was like a love relation.”

(Hendrix knew a fair amount about “love relations.” In addition to Keith, he also had a son and daughter out of wedlock, and slept with Danne Hughes, the wife of art critic Robert Hughes.

“She did not tell me about this,” Robert Hughes recalled in his memoir, Things I Didn’t Know. “Some girlfriend of hers did. I think it was Hendrix who gave her a sentimental souvenir of their encounter in the back of a limo: the clap. She did not tell me about that, either, before passing it on to me.”)

Hendrix’s mixture of alcohol, drugs and women turned lethal on September 18, 1970. He was stoned in the bedroom of former girlfriend Monika Dannemann when, by mistake, he swallowed too many sleeping pills, then choked on his own vomit. His death came only 13 months after his electrifying performance of “The Star-Spangled Banner” at Woodstock.

This Day in Military History (British Attack Fort Niagara)

December 18, 1813—Retaliating for American forces’ burning of Newark, Canada, approximately 500 British regulars, accompanied by 500 militia and Indians, crossed the Niagara River after midnight. The operation, planned by the new commander in Upper Canada, Lieutenant-General Gordon Drummond, was carried out with maximum discipline and secrecy, resulting in the seizure of Fort Niagara by sunrise—and leaving America’s northern frontier suddenly, shockingly vulnerable.

The War of 1812 is perhaps rivaled only by the Korean War as “America’s Forgotten War.” The average American (even, I’d bet, the average American historian), if he or she is lucky, won’t have too hard a time recalling America’s naval victories in the conflict.

But, after getting past Francis Scott Key witnessing the “banner yet wave” at Fort McHenry and Andrew Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans, an American is likely to experience a fog descending on the brain when it comes to land operations. Believe it or not, there’s a reason for this: land battles were, by and large—and especially along the northern border—ignominious affairs for the United States.

Egged on by Henry Clay and other “War Hawks” in Congress, President James Madison entered a war with crucial American deficits in leadership.

Secretary of War John Armstrong was an incompetent rightly distrusted by the President, and owed his post to marital connections (he was the brother-in-law of Robert Livingston).

The leaders of unsuccessful assaults on Kingston and Montreal, Henry Dearborn and James Wilkinson, were also spectacularly unsuited to their positions: Dearborn by virtue of incapacity (the 250-pounder needed to be carried around in a two-wheeled device subsequently named after him), Wilkinson by virtue of treason (though some suspected as such, nobody knew for certain, until the documentary evidence turned up in archives years after his death, that Wilkinson had taken an oath of loyalty to the Spanish crown).

In this light, the actions of Brigadier-General George McClure were hardly unusual. Holding Fort George, the only American foothold on the peninsula formed by Lakes Ontario and Erie and the Chippewa River, he took fright first at an exaggerated estimate of enemy forces by a Canadian deserter, then became even further alarmed as his own army became rapidly depleted when many militia chose to go home to their farms rather than re-enlist when their terms of service were up.

Rather than let Fort George fall into British hands, McClure decided to deny them shelter in nearby Newark by putting the town to the torch.

Fourteen years ago, on vacation in Canada, I traveled from Toronto for a day of fine theater performances at the Shaw Festival. Monuments and plaques in the area in honor of Laura Secord and Sir Isaac Brock gave me my first real hint of how American’s neighbors to the north viewed the War of 1812—as a threat to their sovereignty. But only in writing this piece did I learn that the town I was visiting, now known as Niagara-on-the-Lake, was once called Newark, and that during the War of 1812 it fell victim to an American commander’s idiocy and cruelty.

McClure’s order, carried out by a group known as the Canadian Volunteers under the command of Joseph Willocks (who had once led the town in the Canadian legislature), was a huge mistake: inhumane (it left 400 residents homeless), militarily useless (though Newark itself was torched, Fort George was left with around 1,500 tents), and provocative (in Flames Across the Border: 1813-1814, historian Pierre Berton argues that it was this act, even more than the Americans’ accidental burning of the legislature at York, or present-day Toronto, that led to the retaliatory burning of Washington, D.C.).

General Drummond was generally regarded as a distinct improvement over his predecessor, Francis de Rottenburg. A native Canadian, Drummond had been heading a military district in northern Ireland when the war broke out. Taking command of the British forces in Fort George on December 16, he immediately planned to strike back.

Reading the account of the subsequent attack on Fort Niagara sounds like the Battle of Trenton in the American Revolution, but in reverse—another December crossing and assault on an unwary enemy, carried out in the wee small hours of the morning. Drummond made sure that the oars were muffled. Sentries were overpowered and killed without warnings being sounded.

Though McClure, clued in by an informer that a British assault was in the offing, had warned the fort’s commander, Nathaniel Leonard, to be prepared, the latter was miles away with family in Lewiston, likely suffering the aftereffects of too many spirits the night before. The garrison’s soldiers, after two days of nothing happening, had decided to do what seemed sensible but turned out to be anything but—get indoors to get out of the freezing cold.

Drummond’s order to use bayonets rather than guns meant that the Americans were utterly surprised. At the end of the brief battle, 65 Americans lay dead versus only six British.

More important, the American northern frontier now lay exposed. Within short order, the British had taken and destroyed Lewiston, then done the same to Buffalo and Black Rock.

The fate of the two opposing commanders in this campaign could not have been more different. Even before he had gone ahead with the burning of Newark, McClure had been stoutly opposed by at least some Americans who knew what he planned to do. But the ferocious British-Canadian counter-assault incited Americans to an outright fury against him. While marching down the main street of Buffalo, he was taunted and fired upon. With the militia pointedly refusing even to serve under him anymore, he yielded his post to a major general and slunk away.

Drummond had his share of failures as well as successes throughout the next year’s worth of fighting. But, like Andrew Jackson would do at New Orleans, he would impose martial law on his district (farmers wouldn’t sell food to the army) and successfully rally his countrymen against invaders. When he died in London in 1854, he was the senior general in the British army.

NOTE: A friend of mine knows of a portrait of Drummond by the painter Robert McInnes. He is interested in finding out more about the provenance of this painting, which is now in northern New Jersey. If anyone reading this post has any details on this, please contact me through this blog. Thank you.