Mrs. September

The first time I laid eyes on the man I would one day marry, he was stapled to the wall in the traffic office at CKFM radio.

It was 1984, and the document in question was the University of Toronto Men on Campus calendar. He was Mister September. Don’t judge: it was a simpler time, and we thought objectifying men as well as women led to equality. It was my first radio job, a summer placement through Ryerson University, where I would report on cottage country traffic, as well as do weekend reports from Toronto’s waterfront on board the station’s boat. Yes, the station’s boat. It may have been a simpler time, but radio stations had huge promotions budgets, and quite a few of them had boats. Mister September, a U of T Engineering student, was hired to drive the boat. The regular traffic reporter (Julianne Burgess) had hung his calendar on the wall with a certain degree of irony, as she was – and most likely still is – a feminist, who didn’t believe in objectification.

Irony and objectification notwithstanding, I thought the summer was shaping up. There were worse ways to while away the season, despite the fact that I was living with my boyfriend at the time, and, as it turned out, Mister September was also romantically encumbered. Nonetheless, we became friends. My sister Louise was also working on the waterfront. She and her pal Christine had a clown business, where they would dress up, paint kids’ faces, and sell helium balloons. After work, we would all hang out on the boat and smoke and drink beer, Louise and Chris still in clown gear. The music that summer was amazing: Tina Turner, Phil Collins, Duran Duran, Springsteen, Prince. We laughed a lot, especially when one of us would take a hit of helium.

I’m going to cut to the chase and tell you what you already know: September and I ended up together by the end of the summer, but not before a) he broke up with his girlfriend and b) took Louise out on one ill-considered date. That’s not really my story to tell, but apparently he kissed her, and before he could do it again, she blurted out “I think you’re in love with Mo, and you should tell her”. He did, and then I broke up with my boyfriend. Our kids think this is both the most fascinating and gross story ever.

We got married a couple of years later, and have been living more or less happily ever after. Interestingly, John and I met while working for the same media company, and now, thirty years later, we both work for Rogers. He’s in corporate real estate, and was actually in charge of building our new radio studios. Louise gave up clowning, became a designer, moved to Paris and married a Frenchman. Christine got married and moved to Vancouver, and I believe Julianne Burgess is a professor at Mohawk College in Hamilton. In fact, everyone in this story is doing fine, except, sadly, Prince, RIP. As for the Men on Campus calendar, it is framed and hanging on the wall in the guest room. A little objectification can go a long way.

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