Wallace and his producer, Barry Lando, a Canadian, by the way, (Another one of those, "don't ask me how I remember that..."), came to The Council in search of resisters to interview because of the possibility of an amnesty being granted by the US Government. They said they wanted to find resisters who were going to accept an amnesty. We told them we knew of none. It was the honest truth. We knew of no resisters who had legitimate plans of accepting an amnesty and returning to the United States. Not the "limited" amnesty that was being discussd at that time. Wallace found this unacceptable and also found himself without a story.

That evening at our community Thanksgiving Dinner, after very, very heated discussion amongst the members of The Council at a meeting that afternoon as to whether or not to allow Wallace and his crew to attend, Mike Wallace betrayed us all and showed conclusively that the reporter in him had long since been devoured by the sensationalist he'd become. We had permitted he and his crew to join us for dinner with the condition that no taping be done. Wallace agreed. It was at this dinner however, as he picked at and probed everyone's brain for answers to his lifeless questions, that Wallace found his "victim", some homesick farmboy deserter from Kansas or Nebraska whose name I can't begin to remember, who informed Wallace that he and his wife were prepared to accept an amnesty and "surrender" or whatever it took to be able to return home. After taping segment after segment with myself and other resisters through the course of the week, he wound up focusing the show that aired on this young boy from the midwest and his wife who were both so homesick that they were willing to accept any form of amnesty offered. He portrayed this couple to be representative of all war resisters in Canada. He made us look as if we were all perched at the border, bags in hand and staring forlornly off at the hills of The Motherland begging for forgiveness. He betrayed us in the utmost since of the word. We had opened our doors to him, invited him into our community and I personally had spent a good many hours with him in the time he had spent in Montreal with us. (I will "never" forget the way he would take out his bible, stand facing a corner and pray before every taping. That was a sign I should have heeded.)

To my knowledge, no other aid group anywhere in Canada ever did another interview with Mike Wallace or Barry Lando again. It left us all with a bitter taste in our mouthes and with an ever growing sense of distrust of the media.

I cannot with any degree of preciseness recall the first time that I met Steve Young. It seems like I just turned around one day and there he was. I believe it was in 1972. He was a fledgling television reporter for a major network, CBS sounds right, and I was the Director of The Council and absolutely head over heels into my job. It was a position not at all unlike being on stage as a musician, it's rewards were immediate and accessible. Steve had been sent to interview us about whatever the latest revelation about the war was, I honestly don't remember why he was there. I do remember he and I hit it off quite well.

Now, I do remember the "last" time that I saw Steve Young...personally, that is. It was in 1975 in Toronto. He was by then a near star reporter and I was a seriously burnt out Council Director. I was in Toronto to represent The Council at this big conference with all of the aid groups and the representatives of The National and World Council Of Churches, the ACLU and a slew of other polictical factions related to war resistance. Steve and a horde of other reporters were there to cover it. The gathering was to be, quite possibly, though of course no one ever spoke it aloud, our swansong.

I remember well the descention that everybody felt when we were all finally together. It had been building for quite sometime. Tim Maloney and Jerry Olsen from Winnipeg were sadly attempting to rally everyone to arms and the rest of us were just not having anymore of it. We were tired, no, we were "beyond" tired of all of Tim's "for-the-camera" antics and other horseshit. So with the cameras taping away, Tim and Jerry took to the stage along with the leaders of all of the other organizations that were represented. Tim exchanged a few words with Richard (last name? Sorry.) of the National Council Of Churches, and Henry Schwartzchild from the ACLU. He then turned to us and called for and motioned us all up to join everyone on stage. It was as if some ceremonial show of comradery was about to begin. What it's purpose was to be was beyond us, it would be token indeed. We all just stood there staring at Tim. He looked like a lost child. For a moment I almost felt sorry for him. Heads turned our way. cameras turned our way. No one spoke...none of us had anything left to say. Larry, from Vancouver, slowly made his way to join Tim. Dick and Dan and I just looked at one another. I wanted nothing to do with the whole charade. Our days were over and we all knew it rather we chose to admit it or not. I do recall the moment seeming a bit surrealistic at times. I wasn't on drugs, I assure you, however I was somewhat hungover from the milkrun train trip I had made the night before. I had literally stayed up all night drinking bourbon with a Canadain Customs Agent and a RCMP Officer who was on his way to his sister's wedding in Alberta. It was the highlight of the trip. Perhaps it was my way of preparing for the next day.

Anyway, the conference is "technically" under way, there's a speaker at the podium, the cameras are taping full speed and suddenly Dick is no longer with Dan and I. We looked to the forum on stage and there's Dick arguing full throttle with Tim, right in front of everybody. One of the National Council Of Churches people is trying to get the cameras turned off. One of the guys from the Vancouver Council jumps into the verbal melee...Dan just disappeared. I just stood off to the side and watched. Steve Young and I managed to make eye contact at one point, he just shrugged and shook his head. Looking back to the stage I took one last look at all of their faces, then I left. I never saw any of those people ever again.