Bruce Dowbiggin
RIP Rob Bennett: The Promoter, The Pirate, My Pal

Robert Bennett: 1952-2023
This is a column I hoped I’d never have to write. But my best friend Rob Bennett has lost his fight with ALS. And my life has a void that can’t be filled. Most people know Rob as one of the country’s top music promoters for more than 35 years. From James Taylor to Robin Williams to Raffi my pal knew them all. One night he even threw snowballs with Bruce Springsteen atop Mount Royal .
My own memories of the man are more personal. We met as U of Toronto students working the 1974 Christmas season at the LCBO on Dupont at Huron. These were the days where patrons filled out a coupon and we runners fetched their order in the back of the store. This gave us lots of time to chat about sports, music, politics and wine. If there’s anyone who was more of a cultural clutter box than me it was Rob.
He told me he was working at the Victoria College coffeehouse Wymilwood, doing gopher work for The Bernies— Fiedler & Finkelstein— who owned True North Records and managed the iconic Riverboat in Yorkville. They also managed, among others, Bruce Cockburn and Murray McLauchlan. It all seemed like exciting stuff.
Xmas ended, and we went separate ways. When we next ran into each other I was at the U of T Student Housing service looking for a place for me and my girlfriend at the time. As I pursued the board I saw this guy posting an opening for a place on Albany Avenue. It was Rob. In no time flat I was installed as the third occupant of Mr. Rosen’s walkup rental. It became pizza boxes, newspapers and rotating Dowbiggin roommates for several years.
By this point Rob was getting more and more work from the Bernies. And more releases from the record companies. One day I remember him dashing into the living room, insisting I listen to this hot new record. It was “You Make Me Want To Be” by Dan Hill, who’d been a waiter at The Riverboat. As ever, Rob’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he played the 45 over and over. Another night in 1977 it was Fleetwood Mac’s game-changing Rumors, as we were awed by the new clean, crisp California production sound it represented.
When living in the Albany walkup got to be old, Rob and I took off to his grandmother’s now-vacant bungalow across from Taylor Creek Park in East York. My girlfriend was gone, but Rob was now installed with Lesley, his longstanding girlfriend at the time, and my two cats in our Three’s Company takeoff. For some strange reason he objected to the half-eaten rabbits, birds, snakes and critters my cats brought in each morning.
Having moved from the downtown Rob bought himself a used Renault to get around town. Typically he did zero maintenance on the car as he travelled on tour. One day I heard noises coming from under the hood. I propped it open. Squirrels had moved in. Another time an open basement window allowed a skunk to vaporize our basement for two weeks. It was pure bachelor stuff.
We were also political junkies. I recall us watching the provincial Liberal convention that elected unknown Stuart Smith as (star-crossed) leader in 1976. We saw Smith’s election as transformative. We were wrong. A born and bred Ontarian— Rob never lived outside the GTA— he liked to colour inside the political lines. I was more inclined to contrarian views— which became more pronounced as I settled into Alberta. His political bent made him conversant with the young student politicians at U of T Student Council (SAC). Rob was a mentor and a friend who gave them a touch of the big time.
I finished my degree, edited the student paper at what was then Erindale U of T campus, and had a play produced at Tarragon Theatre’s writer’s workshop. Then I headed off to travel around the world in 1976-77. Rob, meanwhile was getting more independence from The Bernies. He’d worked a deal with SAC to promote shows at Convocation Hall. I’ll never forget his fledgling show with the late Steve Goodman. We were so excited for him. After the show we were invited to Gordon Lightfoot’s place where I ended up at Gordon’s dining room table examining blueprints for his new yacht with him. It was great to be young and alive, and Rob was bringing us along for the ride.
The unique thing about Rob was his eclectic taste. He loved the music as much as the action of betting on which acts would sell. While CPI did the megastar arena shows at Maple Leaf Gardens, Rob stuck to more intimate venues like Con Hall and Massey Hall. His roster of acts was so diverse. John Prine, Pat Metheny, Tom Waits, Lyle Lovett, J.J. Cale, John Hiatt, Ry Cooder, Maria Muldaur, the McGarrigles, Leon Redbone, Levon Helm, Steeleye Span, George Thorogood, Peter Tosh, Jesse Cook, the Gypsy Kings and so many more were on the bill. Fans knew it was more than a payday when Rob presented. It was always a musical event of acts Rob wanted the public to know.
His onstage intros for the acts— the bearded guy in the beret— and his chiding customers about smoking in the bathrooms were vintage Rob. (Once he let me introduce Jay Leno who rode his motorcycle onto the stage!) So was the affection from the young people at SAC who worked with Rob and got the frisson of showbiz in addition to running student government. (I know this sad news will touch a community of SAC hacks who still revere him.)
In 1983 he stood up as best man at my wedding in the backyard of my parents’ home in Burlington. He was the sound recorder, but 30 seconds in the technical demons switched everything off, committing the ceremony to the “oral tradition”. We thought it might convince him to tie the knot himself, but he somehow managed to avoid matrimony till Mary got him to do the deed last year. I guess we shouldn’t have been surprised as Mary also got him to ski in his 60s.
Eventually he rose the ladder of concert promoters in the country, taking tours across North America with the superstars. For a time he promoted the big summer shows at Molson Amphitheatre. In the winter, it was the O’Keefe Centre/ whatever-its-name-is-now. He’d bring you backstage to meet Robin Williams, Paul Simon, James Taylor, Mick Jagger, KD Lang, Stephen Page, Lucinda Williams. One Sunday night he called me up late to join him for dinner with a guest— who he couldn’t identify. I protested it was too late, and I was tired after doing two shows a day for CBC Toronto. I passed. Missing dinner with Bruce Springsteen.
After years of rubbing shoulders backstage with the stars Rob’s real joy seemed to come from the fine wines he brought backstage after the concert. Many a night as fans and hangers-on mobbed the act, Rob and I sipped a Mollydooker or a Lewis Cab in the corner of the dressing rooms. We were always comparing notes on our latest purchases. Me with U.S. futures, Rob with the latest LCBO treasures. In his spare time Rob began hosting dinner parties at home in Orangeville where he would lead tastings while his beloved partner Mary produced the food.
We also shared a passion for golf. I joined Weston G&CC while he became a ClubLink member at Grandview near his second home, the cottage on Bigwin Island. Despite his short stature, Rob could smash his driver through the many rocky outcrops at Grandview. He also became legendary among the members at the club for his explosive laugh that reverberated around the entire course.
They nicknamed him The Pirate for his booming Robert Newton laugh and even created an annual tournament in honour of his signature braying. Players wore eye patches in tribute. We liked to call him the hedgehog after his adventures in the rough during our Florida trips.
After golf we’d retire to the cottage to sip wine and debate politics. Unlike so many people these days, political or cultural differences never interfered with Rob’s friendships. He was the most loyal friend to my family, which designated him the sixth Dowbiggin brother. At my father’s memorial service he brought a vintage Cheateau Beaucastel, because my father and mother had visited the winery. You could tell him anything knowing it would (almost) never be repeated. That’s why the acts respected him. What happened backstage stayed backstage.
In our earlier days it was the girls and women we dated, as he teased me about my first-date playlists of Hall & Oates or Boz Skaggs. After I met Meredith in Montreal, we’d compare golf handicaps. As our careers flourished we’d share our satisfaction over his celebrated sell-out concerts, my Gemini Awards and the compelling people we’d met.
As Meredith and I started our family in 1985 with the arrival of our son Evan, Rob became Uncle Rob to our three kids in a five-year window. Not the most paternal fellow himself, he was a great uncle to the kids. In his Raffi days he was godlike. For Evan, our eldest, the pinnace was a backstage meeting in Calgary with John Prime, who autographed Bruised Orange for him.
We were so pleased how Mary’s children Robin and Will came to accept Rob in their lives. And he (belatedly) adopted a parental streak. He was as proud as anyone when Robin was married beside the Ottawa river in Hudson, Quebec. And he played the annoyed parent whenever Will acted like a teenager. It was precious. Lately he became a doting step-grandfather even as ALS took its hold on him.
One of Rob’s signatures was to arrive just in time for dinner. Since our moving west in 1999, getting together with Rob and Mary was less frequent. He often lamented that we couldn’t drop by each other’s homes on a whim or tee up a weekly golf game at Weston or a ClubLink course. But we made time for winter golf in Florida, where during one round Rob absent-mindedly twice stepped over what he thought were logs on a golf course looking to find some Titleist Pro Vs. The logs turned out to be alligators. He still couldn’t see what the fuss was about.
In spite of the great venues and great acts he staged Rob might have been most at home on Bigwin Island in the rocky cliffside cottage he’d purchased. Riding back and forth to the shore in his pontoon boat he felt himself the quintessential Ontario gentleman as he pointed out Shania Twain’s compound or the home of the GolfTown co-founder or the stately Bigwig resort. For an adopted kid who procrastinated about so much, the cottage was a definitive statement about how far he’d come since Norm and Glenna brought him to their home in Willowdale in 1952.
It’s hard to put value on a friendship, but if I was asked to capture our own bond it would be how it helped us grow as men. I can remember us walking one perfect Florida night near my parents’ winter home and saying in astonishment, “Who ever thought we’d get this far when we met at the LCBO in 1974?” As we all reflect on his impact, that is how I’ll remember Rob, a vital life force with his big laugh and a corkscrew in hand. And a man we can never replace. Good night, my friend. Take a bow in heaven with John Prine.
“Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and Are melted into air, into thin air:”
Bruce Dowbiggin
Where Carney’s Canada Now Stands : Elbows Up. Pants Down.

Our weekly Monday column is nominally a sports column. But sometimes we are lured by a sporting theme other than on the field. And with the capitulation of Mark Carney’s cringeworthy Elbows Up theme this week we can now safely reflect on the impact of the nation’s hockey obsession on tariff wars.
For those who don’t know by now, Carney’s Elbows Up meme popularized in cringeworthy commercials with actor Mike Myers was a reference to going into the corners with the legendary Gordie Howe. Legends abound on the lethality of Howe’s elbows that separated opponents from their senses. Thus, the message of Carney and Myers in Team Canada jerseys quoting Mr. Hockey was as simple as it was ridiculous.
Canada was going to go into the corner to separate Donald Trump from his tariffs? How? Carney has boasted of his hockey savvy as a goalie for Harvard. Where other nations were collapsing Carney’s Canada promised to be a stout backstop. 51st State? Hah! Locking arms with Myers and Doug Ford, Carney would show the Americans what Canadians are made of. At least that’s what they said in the election campaign to restore the Liberal brand to the nation.

The hockey theme was buttressed by the emotional victory by Team Canada over Team USA in February’s Four Nations Tournament. Having been filleted in the round-robin by the Yanks, Canada won the final game, reinforcing the nation’s dominance in a sport most Americans ignore 365 days a year. To those looking for any reason to anger Trump (hello, Andrew Coyne) it seemed like destiny for the Elbows Up crew.
As an example of the Team Canada approach Carney and his paid media wind therapists savaged Alberta premier Danielle Smith for trying build bridges with the Americans. Smith had the idea there was more to be gained from energy negotiations than from sulking. Traitor! They cried when she was seen with Trump. Consorting with the Cheeto was tantamount to selling nuclear secrets.
Elbows Up Canada, like China, would inflict counter tariffs on the U.S. after a decade of Justin Trudeau frippery. It would shut down the accusations that Canada was now a benchwarmer in global affairs. It never occurred to Team Carney or the Boomer midwits who elected him that launching a trade war against a nation whose economy was ten times the size of Canada’s might be a seriously bad idea. (Like hoping to wear down the Russian military.) Anyone pointing out this small problem was immediately denounced as hating hockey, ergo hating Canada.

To further illustrate his hockey pluck Carney’s backers bragged that the former head of the Bank of Canada and Bank of England was a skilled negotiator who would wipe the floor in negotiations with the erratic Trump. Nobody gets away with publicly declaring a post-Trudeau Canada as a failed state that should ally with the U.S. The Americans will come running to Canada when they want water, oil, aluminum, steel and maple syrup.
Then a funny thing happened. While Canada stood by, Zambonis running, ready to take it to overtime, the Americans simply ignored the taunts. Trump acted as if Elbows Up was a mirage. As trade deals were announced with other nations and international meetings convened, Carney’s Canada was left outside. In spite of the tough talk on tariffs, a blasé Trump whacked Canada with 35 percent tariffs.
The meme of Carney as a potted plant at the Ukraine White House summit came to epitomize the afterthought that is post-Trudeau Canada in this climate. Inspired by their allies at CNN, MSNBC, the New York Times and the Washington Post, Canada’s purchased media fought back with all their favoured/ debunked Russian conspiracy theories and stories of Trump’s alleged mental incapacities. To no avail.
At just the moment that embarrassment was too great for even Team Carney’s most fervent media pals, Trump last week summoned him like a call-up from the minors to be told how it was going to be. Suddenly the implacable Carney was declaring how swell it was that Canada had the best treaty in the world. Elbows Up had suddenly become Pants Down.
Of course the beaming banker acted as if it was all part of some master plan he’d worked out between periods of the game with USA. Sure, his bluster about going into the corners was all bluff, no stuff. The Master Negotiator thing was all a cover for him to reduce government spending, re-commit to the futile climate war and (don’t tell anybody) recognize Palestine as a state in the near future.
Sure. Go with that. Anyone wanting an apology from the Potted Plant will wait a long time for satisfaction. For while Liberals talk a tough game they don’t talk at all when they’re been exposed. Even more sepulchral are the media that so readily grabbed the Elbows Up hustle to defeat Pierre Poilievre. Remember the Little Trump jibes? The Sloganeer slurs? The riding defeat?
Now that Trump had blocked their righteous elbow with a right cross they’re acting as if nothing is wrong. They’re off chasing stories about Poilievre being parachuted into an Alberta riding or Trump with Jeffrey Epstein. They’re reviving the murdered Rez babies hoax. And they’re ignoring international concerns about money laundering and drug trafficking.
Anything but the utter futility of Elbows Up and the next four years of watching the decline of Canada’s formerly respected position in the world. In heaven Gordie Howe is just shaking his head.
Bruce Dowbiggin @dowbboy is the editor of Not The Public Broadcaster A two-time winner of the Gemini Award as Canada’s top television sports broadcaster, his new book Deal With It: The Trades That Stunned The NHL And Changed hockey is now available on Amazon. Inexact Science: The Six Most Compelling Draft Years In NHL History, his previous book with his son Evan, was voted the seventh-best professional hockey book of all time by bookauthority.org . His 2004 book Money Players was voted sixth best on the same list, and is available via brucedowbigginbooks.ca.
Alberta
Municipal Governments Are Moving On Without You

“Giving money and power to government is like giving whiskey and car keys to teenage boys.”— P.J. O’Rourke
As taxpayers who’ve seen their monthly property tax vault from $310/ month to $400/ month within three years the notice that Calgary is offering $285 K for a Director, Climate and Environment caught our eye. For those who don’t follow Calgary politics, mayor Jyoti Gondek is the Woke pretender who exploited a four-way split to gain the mayor’s job in 2022.
Her first act in office? Energy? Transit? Lowering taxes? Be serious. She declared a climate emergency in a city where the sun shines 333 days a year. The biggest air quality issue is forest-fire smoke that originates hundreds of kilometres away from her progressive reach. No matter.
She’s running again this fall on the same noxious platform of climate Armegeddon married to “the values of equity, diversity, inclusion, anti-racism and reconciliation”. For those saying, “Who cares what happens in Cowtown?” this formula applies to virtually every major metropolitan area of Canada. It is a nation of Gondeks running city halls on behalf of unwitting people who go, ”How’d that happen?”
As we head to Labour Day and the celebration of work we can’t list them all the hizzoners and heronners, but we’ll just say Olivia Chow dancing during Toronto’s Caribana or Montreal’s Valerie Plante sending cops into churches to arrest Christian singers and let that suffice.

So as we wade through the 17 paragraphs of “equity, diversity, inclusion, anti-racism and reconciliation” in the job offering know that you are watching in real time the metastasizing of the Canadian public service in microcosm. A creeping blight that now, post Justin Trudeau, sees Canada’s job growth only coming in the public (translation: non-profit) sector. The consultancy class. Sucking billions from the private economy, they’ve rewarded themselves with:
Work-life balance
Pensions
Benefits
Psychological and physical safety
1 day off in a 3 week cycle
Standard 35 hour work week
On a historical note, Justin came by this pork-barrelling naturally. Long ago, his papa Pierre was instrumental in bloating the civil service from a grey, unassuming body to a behemoth instrument of the government’s latest fancy. Faced with the trifecta of Quebec alienation, ‘60s social unrest and a huge Boomer generation PET and the Liberals created a vast menu of public-service jobs to accommodate the army of graduates from the expanding university/ college programs.
With platinum pensions, job security and white-collar pretension they calmed the counter culture even as the cost sent Canada’s economy into a ditch. When the civil service was granted the right to unionize, the stranglehold was compete. Thus we have government employees wearing keffiyehs, demanding the death of Israel and openly politicking for the far Left in elections.

How powerful are they? When the Truckers Convoy interrupted their sleep in Ottawa with honking horns, Trudeau declared a national emergency.
As you read the Calgary job application Job ID #: 312391 you’ll note that the public service’s righteous causes of the past— South Africa, nuclear war, bilingualism— have faded. But they have been replaced by a new mania, the Big Cs of climate, colonialism and conciliation. All eagerly regurgitated by friendly media.
Protected by ironclad job security, they can make your money disappear. Just this week we learned that these folks “faked” a start-up for subsidizing business after handing out $130M. Auditors can’t find the companies or jobs. $130 million . Oh, the possibilities. As P.J. O’Rourke observed, “It is a popular delusion that the government wastes vast amounts of money through inefficiency and sloth. Enormous effort and elaborate planning are required to waste this much money.”
Perhaps the best example of bureaucratic waste is tucked into the line “Applications are encouraged from members of groups that are historically disadvantaged and underrepresented.” (*Translation: DEI) And “… as a member of the Senior Management Team (SMT), you are expected to promote an inclusive leadership style that values equity, diversity, inclusion, and ensures psychological and physical safety.”
So you are urged to promote inclusion while the vast majority of taxpaying white male citizens are excluded from consideration. Right. Got it. And if you want this job please don’t mention that the vast David Suzuki climate empire propped up by government is falling apart in the United States and Europe. (The Chinese and Indians wisely never bought in.) Bury that lede beneath a truck garden of word salad.
There’s more. “Leveraging the business unit’s expertise in watershed planning, urban conservation, biodiversity stewardship, climate resilience, and energy management, you will encourage innovation and collaboration across sectors, integrating environmental excellence into city-wide planning systems and governance frameworks. With strong strategic thinking and political acumen, you will need experience in leading transformational change and fostering innovation.”

Transformational change is what they want (after a lengthy apology for colonialism) That’s why it’s buried at the end of this tedious tract. And oh, did we mention you’ll be required to forgo political neutrality? “You have a strong reputation for political and organizational sensitivity and are driven by a dedication to serving the citizens of Calgary. You are committed to our mission of “Making life better every day” through our core values of Character, Commitment, Competence, and Collaboration.”
Except every third Friday when you march in a Pride Parade or Free Palestine pop-up. Or just goof off. That’s a reward for the exhausting work of leading “climate initiatives that reduce climate risk through enhancing adaptation and resilience for both the Corporation and the community, energy management and greenhouse gas reduction, and supporting the energy transition for Calgary.”
Once again the real goal is buried in the last sentence. “Supporting the energy transition for Calgary”. Because Mark Carney has ordered NetZero diktats, city hall s like Calgary will forgo energy supremacy in exchange for EV batteries and charging stations that don’t work when the city’s temperature drops to minus 35 C.
You are encouraged to “foster open communication and a collaborative working environment that empowers others to make sound decisions. You ensure a respectful, inclusive, and accessible workplace and promoting employee health, safety, and wellness.”
So massive is the job’s importance that it requires an office full of other well-compensated civil servants to field your application. “To speak with a City recruiter, connect with Ashu Gandhi, David Fletcher or Jaci Spence-Eising on LinkedIn.”
We could go on, but the urge to self-harm has overtaken us. We can only summarize with the reason civil servants don’t look out the window in the morning is that then they’d have nothing to do in the afternoon.” Rim shot.
Bruce Dowbiggin @dowbboy is the editor of Not The Public Broadcaster A two-time winner of the Gemini Award as Canada’s top television sports broadcaster, his new book Deal With It: The Trades That Stunned The NHL And Changed hockey is now available on Amazon. Inexact Science: The Six Most Compelling Draft Years In NHL History, his previous book with his son Evan, was voted the seventh-best professional hockey book of all time by bookauthority.org . His 2004 book Money Players was voted sixth best on the same list, and is available via brucedowbigginbooks.ca.
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