UPEIT STUDENT NEWSPAPER OCTOBER 3, 2001

editor-in-chief Matthew DORRELL

copy editor Joel MEGGS

production manager Jeff COLL

news editor Erin FAGAN

entertainment editor Stephan MACLEOD

sports editor Adam GAUTHIER

photographer / style editor Jonah CAMPBELL

reporter VACANT

advertising manager Kim TRAN

distribution manager VACANT

cover / graphic design Bill MATTHEWS

contributors Christine GORDON Vincent LAVERS Marc MACDONALD Mariéve MACGREGOR Carrie MACLELLAN Randy McDONALD

The Cadre is the official newspaper of the UPEI Student Union.

2,000 copies of The Cadre are printed 10 times per semester.

There are meetings open to anyone Mondays at 5:00 in Main 06.

The deadline for submissions is Friday at 5:00 PM. The opinions expressed within The Cadre do not necessarily represent the views of UPEI or the UPEI Student Union Inc.

Letters to the editor: mdorreli@upei.ca

THE CADRE

Editorial 3: The Dog Whisperer

It’s fall suddenly. Cool, but not cold. | pretend leaves aren’t falling. I’m walking down the street at 4:00am in the morning. That’s what time it is when it gets this late. Sidewalks all but empty; just me and the early walkers who rustle by in ugly jogging suits.

Growing up, my mother vigilantly protected my brother, sister and I from undue and excessive televised influence of all kinds. Mr. Dressup was on the approved list, but even he was to be watched in moderation - certainly not every day. Even so, the show loomed large in my life. While I didn’t understand the abstract concept of a “half-hour,” (confusion persists) “the length of Mr. Dressup” was a unit of measurement that meant something, and was used often.

Mr. Dressup is leaned against the tree house, a hand cupped to his ear, listening to Finnegan whisper excitedly, ears flapping. Casey looks on knowingly.

i'm remembering that fog disappears when you get close

enough. An early walker decked out it a white and teal

jogging suit and a professional hermit’s bushy black beard

walks past. He swings his arms and legs quickly and effi-

ciently, covering ground with a frightening persistence for :20am. “Morning,” he says smiling.

I never even once entertained the idea that I would try and draw with Mr. Dressup, following his lead. I knew I couldn’t draw a plane to approximate the one he drew in twenty seconds, with four simple lines and a few details. The man was a precise artist.

Mr. Dressup was one of the finest children’s television shows ever made, alone in a category that also encompasses the equally excellent The Friendly Giant, and not much else. Mr. Dressup had bad teeth and an unfortunate haircut - no Regis Philbin teeth, suits, or attitude. Mr. Dressup was not an act. He is a real person to more than three decades of children. :

“Morning,” he says smiling, living a day ahead of me, who hasn't slept yet and is still stuck at the end of yesterday. One block from home I pass another walker - red jogging suit, blue scarf and blue tinted hair permed into a nearly perfect sphere. | can’t tell if she looks nervous or not. I step aside in case. “It’s cool,” she observes smiling, tug- ging on her scarf and shivering for emphasis as she shuf- fles past. ae

Mr. Dressup, speaking off-camera to the studio audience:

“Today, boys and girls, since it’s my last day, I’m going to paint my face in clown makeup, and it’s going to stay on forever.”

Matthew Dorrell, Editor-In-Chief