C’est peut-être pas de nos affaires, mais on se disait l’autre jour que vous devriez vous mettre en ménage. Y’a plein de bonnes raisons grâce au Sheela Wood’s HAVE-A-FRIEND Club !
Ces petites annonces datent de 1965.

Charlottesville, Va.
Recording artist. Tall, handsome, 31, single. Am looking for future wife, tall, beautiful, shapely, 20-30. Career woman, homemaker who wants to marry celebrity.

Gary, Indiana
Single, 38, construction supervisor, new Cadillac car, honest, devoted and enjoys life to the fullest, 5’9′, 175 lbs. Well-dressed. Offers happiness to right woman, 25-35, who is neat, shapely and pretty. Enjoy modern life. Recent photo with phone please.

Washington, D.C.
Young, blond, handsome gentleman, seeking a sincere, broad-minded, attractive gal, any race, religion, age, for dates and romance. Looks unimportant. I am affectionate and lovable. Not marriage-minded.

Montreal
Widow, tall, slim, early-60′s, wishes to meet gentleman, 6’7′ or over for companionship.

Vancouver
Egyptian, 26, handsome, newly arrived in Canada and starting post graduate studies next September. Desires to meet and correspond with an American lady for invitation to visit the States. Am pleasant company and will increase her cultural background.

Two dollars buys a 35-word ad in the popular Have-a-Friend Club. A real small investment for a lifetime of joy. Address all mail to Sheela Wood, c/o MIDNIGHT, 2055 Bishop St., Montreal, Canada.

Journal Midnight, 1965.

Mrs. Hynes lifts up couch to show where husband lived.

Convict Lies Low For 2 Years — Under a Couch
by Walter Brae
Frank Hynes hated the thought of going back to prison. So he dodged police by hiding under a couch — for 2 years. The couch was in his own living-room and sometimes detectives searching for him actually sat on it while they questioned Frank’s wife and six children about his whereabouts. The policemen couldn’t understand why the children giggled so much and it never occured to them that they might be sitting down on the job.
(…) Frank started his game of hide and seek in March, 1963, when he heard the police were looking for him for theft and burglary. (…)
« He didn’t tell me anything about his plans », said Joyce. (…) « I went out to do some shopping and when I got back I couldn’t find him. I looked all over the house, but he wasn’t there.
« I made myself a pot of tea and sat down on our old couch to think about it. (…) Anyway, I put my cup and saucer on the floor beside me for a minute but when I reached back for it it had gone. I didn’t know what to think.
(…) « Sometimes when he was under the floor rats came up to him. (…)
The jail sentence he was evading will not last half has long — for Hynes was sent to prison for only 1 year and he can get five months remission for good behavior. Said Mrs. Hynes: « I’m glad it’s all over. Frank is probably better off inside. It must be more comfortable in a cell than inside that couch — and he will be able to go out in the fresh air for exercise. »

Mrs. Hynes shows where husband, Frank (inset), crawled through floor.

Source: Midnight, May 24, 1965.

Last summer, hoodlums were making life miserable for west coast Canadian campers.

Police Ruin Innocent Man
…For Trying To Protect His Wife, Kids
by Alan Jarvis

Last summer, hoodlums were making life miserable for west coast Canadian campers. Time after time, the roughnecks swooped down on campsites, screaming obscene curses, throwing rocks and debris.
It got so bad that British Columbia government officials suggested that campers themselves should show more spunk in chasing off the hoodlums.
Les Copan, of Burnaby, B.C., took this advice on the night of July 22, — and what did it get him? Trouble, with a capital T!
For the next eight months Copan’s life became a nightmare. A nightmare that saw him thrown into jail and financially bankrupted. All because Copan tried to protect his wife and four children — Lee, 12, Mike, 11, Steve, 10, and Gail, 8.
That was the night the Copan clan pitched tent on the shore of Canim Lake at a campsite in the B.C. Interior, to begin a fun-holiday trip. The family was in a great mood; it was Les Copan’s 38th birthday.
After he received his presents, and the kids were tucked away in the tent, Les and his wife set about last-minute chores.
Suddenly, without warning, four hoodlums from a nearby construction camp appeared on the road above the camping grounds.
For no reason, they began shouting nasty threats at Copan and other family campers in the area.
When their obscene yells were ignored by the respectable citizens, who wanted to avoid trouble, the youths began throwing rocks and huge chunks of wood down onto the tent tops.
This couldn’t be ignored after a rock hit Mrs. Copan and scared the children from the tent. Copan and a second camper shouted to the boys to take off. More rocks and debris came as their reply. The more Copan shouted he’d had enough, the more the troublemakers laughed at him.
« I was worried for our safety, » Copan said. « I ran to the trunk of my car and got my .303 rifle! »
Seeing his wife and kids hiding in the tent and listening to the language of intruers above them proved too much for Les. « I aimed the rifle high, above where the boys stood laughing, and fired! » recalls Copan.
But the hoodlums only laughed louder. « Go ahead and shoot again, Mister — kill us, go ahead. We dare you! » shouted one young thug.
Copan fired a second shot! There was silence from above the road. The toughs disappeared.
Believing they had been driven away, Copan huddled his family back into the tent and retired himself, praying that the rest of the camping trip would be happier.
But the toughs wanted more trouble. Driving to a phone booth, they phoned the Royal Mounted Police at nearby 100 Mile House, a town on the Cariboo highway, to report that one of them had been shot by camper Copan.
Jack Henderson, 19, had been hit — by Copan’s second bullet, which had a cupronickel casing and had shattered when it hit a tree making a fragment strike Henderson in the jaw. But the wound turned out to be slight, though the RCMP didn’t know it at the time of the call.
« At about 5 a.m. I was awakened by Corporal Purdy of the 100 Mile House RCMP detachment, » says Copan. « After I dressed, I was led away, under arrest like a common criminal. I’ll never forget the look of fright in my wife’s eyes or how my kids stared at me! » says Les.
Though the RCMP were courteous and apologetic, they drove Copan to their station 26 miles away and booked him into a cell, charged him with assault causing bodily harm. « I stayed in that cell till 10 the next morning, » he recalls. « I couldn’t believe it was happening! »
In court, the hoodlums pleaded guilty to charges of creating a disturbance and were fined $200 each, and walked away. But bail for Copan was set at $500 cash that morning!
(…) « Worried sick, we headed home to Burnaby. My husband was so concerned about the black mark on his record. He’s such a respected citizen in our town! »
(…) At the Sept. 9 trial, the judge indicated sympathy, too, when he convicted Copan on a lesser charge of common assault and fined him only $50.
But, for Copan, his fight was just beginning. He was determined to appeal the conviction and clear the criminal mark from his personal record. (…) « It would’ve been easy at this stage to just say ‘okay, I’ll forget the appeal,’ and try to get back on my feet, » says Copan. « But my nose had been clean for 38 years and a criminal record could hurt me in many ways for years to come. I was determined to get it off the books! »
He did. On March 26, ’65, an end came to Copan’s months of sleepless nights, when three Appeal Court judges ruled that Les Copan be acquitted of common assault.
Says the man whose record was wiped clean: « The judges recognized that my family was being assaulted and that I shot in self defence. A man has a right to defend his family and not be punished for it for the rest of his life! »

Midnight, May 24, 1965.

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Prière de ne pas demander à ces dames ce qu’elles ont derrière la tête. On en a une bonne idée et elles aussi, surtout celle de droite !

A naval battle gets under way with male combatants riding Aquabelles. The jousters here are Socialites Percy Melville and Arthur Baker. In wintertime Arthur Baker likes to play squash.

Life, 8 septembre 1941.

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Failed Driving Tests for 26 Years! Pedestrians wonder what Miss Hunter is up to.

Scares Traffic Cops to Death!

There is nobody in the world who drives a car quite like Miss Margaret Hunter — thank God. She is the world’s worst driver. She is so bad that an instructor who tried to improve her driving jumped out of her car screaming: « This is suicide. It’s madness. »
Miss Hunter, who is 66, had her first driving lesson 26 years ago. She gave up learning a year later when no instructors would go out with her any more.
She started again three years ago and quickly worked her way through all five driving schools near her home at Oakmere, Cheshire, England.
At the fifth and last school she was put in the care of Stan Davenport, a specialist at getting the best from the worst drivers and a man who had never been known to show fear. He explained to startled watchers: « I have my family to think of. It would be lunacy to travel another inch with that woman. » He gave up his job as an instructor and even left the district to keep out of Miss Hunter’s path.

(…) In a car decorated with four L-plates to show she was a learner and a sign saying: « Be proud of your driving ability, » she took another test. Things did not go too badly until she started driving the wrong way down a one-way street. She took the sidewalk again to get out of trouble.
Her comment afterwards: « I don’t think I should have failed. Everybody else seemed confused but I was cool as a cucumber. »

Miss Hunter was tired of it all by this time so she journeyed down to Southern Ireland, where driving licences are issued without tests. She established residence there and bought one. This licence entitled Miss Hunter to drive on the roads of England — and almost every other country in the world — and she returned home to Cheshire and began to menace the local populace from behind a steering wheel.

Source: Midnight, May 24, 1965.

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Dépêchez-vous, c’est jusqu’à épuisement des stocks ou arrestation du propriétaire.

Illegal Pills
Ray M. Jones, age 27, is an enterprising young man who specializes in selling to high school and university students. What he sells, however, are stimulant or pep pills. Jones has a huge stock of these illegal pills at 1101 W. 91st St., and 842 W. 83rd St., Los Angeles. He should be closed up by the police immediately!!!

1965.

Sports Column by Red Ruffansore.
Montreal, Canada — Yours truly has never understood why sports reporters are dispatched to cover the Olympic so-called games. What we have goin’ on here is the usual slow-motion, nonviolent version of World War III. No one here is indulging in what you and I, gentle reader, would call a sport. At best, they perform exercices which might be considered warm-ups for sports… or suitable events for half time entertainment. Buncha Goddamn acrobats and ballet dancers, is all.
No football. No baseball. And so, naturally, the poor old U.S. of A. comes out looking bad in the standings, having very few able-bodied youngsters whose idea of an afternoon’s athletics is jumping around in a bathing suit waving a ribbon in time to a scratchy Shostakovich record.
Water, which has never struck old Red as much of a drink, also fails to impress as a playing field. Take my word for it, watching a swimming race live is even more boring than watching it on television.
Naturally, the holier-than-thou squeaky-clean cyptosocialist Olympic committee rejected the recommendation from this corner and others more august to install parimutual machines at all track events and post the odds, to add a little interest to the spectacle of a bunch of people trying to do what horses and machines were invented to do better, viz, run.
If there’s no way to get sports back into the Olympics — and by sports I mean teams, a ball, physical contact, and some real money changing hands — this man’s country had better leave ‘em alone in the future. All we get now is a black eye in the propaganda department and a collective national Charley horse.
And by the way, Montreal was a great choice of sites for the summer games. Where they gonna hold the winter games? Jamaica?

VieilleMarde a aussi pour vous une autre lecture alternative des Jeux olympiques de Montréal.

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Olivier Guimond, un des plus grands comiques que le Québec ait connu, dans une pub de Labatt 50, publiée dans le Journal de Montréal pendant Expo 67. Jouer la carte du gars saoul l’a toujours bien servi…

Ça bat quatre as… sa bière, y a rien qui Labatt

Lui, y connaît ça!

Brassée au Québec par la brasserie Labatt Limitée
Visitez le pavillon des brasseries du Canada à L’Expo 67.

Trouvez les différences sur la carte (difficulté à jeun : 0)

Juin 1967

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Paru dans le Journal de Montréal durant l’Expo 67, un article sur la malpropreté et le vandalisme que subit l’Expo et la réaction des différents pays et commerçants participants.

Des vandales s’attaquent à des chefs-d’oeuvres exposés dans plusieurs pavillons
En dernière heure hier soir, nous apprenions que plusieurs actes de vandalisme ont été commis ces jours derniers sur de précieuses oeuvres d’art dans différents pavillons de la Terre des Hommes.
Plusieurs pays participants seraient découragés par ces actes qui ne peuvent provenir que de maniques dangereux. On répète qu’une conférence aura lieu et que les dirigeants des différents Pavillons songeraient à renvoyer leur chefs-d’oeuvers dans leurs pays respectifs. On nous a affirmé qu’une femme a été vue en train d’égratigner volontairement une des oeuvres de Toulouse Lautrec.

Indélicatesse généralisée
Sans être aussi dramatiques, les commentaires de plusieurs autorités de l’Expo sur la tenue de certains visiteurs semblent mériter également réflexion. Selon ces personnes, dignes de toute confiance, des visiteurs, sans manifester une rage destructrics aussi évidente, ne semblent pas se rendre compte qu’il est stupide et de la dernière indélicatesse de jeter ses rebus sur le plancher ou une cigarette encore allumée sur un tapis de valeur. Certains pavillons se trasformeraient en porcheries et les efforts des gens chargés de leur entretien ne suffiraient plus pour les maintenir relativement propres.

Journal de Montréal, 10 mai 1967

Christian Crusader Weekly
Our Readers Write…

My mom says I can’t come see you anymore, Reverend Hagis, and that is a sin against God to put anything in your mouth that hasn’t been cooked.
Timmy.
Dallas, Texas.

My son came home from his visit with you so enthused. I could not get him to sit down for three days! Unfortunately, he has now caught a sickness that has caused round red circles to grow all over his body. I wonder whether prayer or medicine is called for, and if medicine, what kind to pray for?
Mrs K.Y.
Martinsville, Indiana.

I read somewhere that Communism is a disease of the hert. I am forty-one years old. I do not eat butter or smoke much. I drink a whole heap, though, but am good about it and do not hit others with my car. Also, I am clean and attend meeting regular. I don’t think there is much chance I will catch Communism in my heart. I recommend this course to others.
O.T.
Springfield, Missouri.

I am just writing to say that all Negroes are not bad Communists who want equality. I am a Negro and very happy. I think you are completely right. Keep up your fine work. Yours in Christ,
Mrs J. L.
Gainesville, Texas.

I am just writing to say that all women are not bad Communists who want equality. I am a woman and very happy. I do not want to join the army and take showers with men. I think men should take showers with each other as God planned. You are completely right. Keep up your fine work. Yours in Christ,
Mrs. W.B.
Tulsa, Oklahoma.

We think you’re doing a darn fine job. We believe in God and a bit of social Darwinism (mild). We are waiting for your next visit over here as are our boys.
Ian S.
Rhodesia.

This is your final notice. If your check is already in the mail, please ignore this statement. Services rendered to date: $6,800.00. At your earliest convenience,
Mr. Broderick
Ganymede Spa.

National Lampoon, 07-1976.

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