Memoir of Midnight - draft dodger penning his life as a Montreal tabloid hack

   I've been reading Joseph Glazner's excellent unpublished fish-out-of-water coming-of-age manuscript Midnight, John Lennon and Me on his life in Montreal, arriving here from California as being a conscientious objector during the Vietnam War.
   Glazner's tale has all sorts of insights into the mood of the city at the time as well as his desperate efforts to survive in Montreal in the late 60s and early 70s, a city where he knew almost nobody.
   He recounts his efforts at selling posters for a Swiss guy in Old Montreal before getting a gig punching out stories for the Midnight tabloid.
   Glazner also got to know my father, who he describes as being instrumental to the old Sunday Express newspaper.
   I'll give you more news when the book comes out.
   Meanwhile here's a small segment in which he deals with my father Colin Gravenor who had a role in Montreal's Sunday Express, which founder Joe Azaria sold to the Peladeau empire for $500,000 in November 1974.

 Colin was Colin Gravenor. Colin had been a public relations man for local and visiting celebrities and bluebloods in Montreal. He had also been a part-time writer in the early days of Midnight while he dabbled in real estate. He had made his first fortune in real estate, hitting the jackpot in the mid-1950s, and turning himself into a millionaire as a middleman who had turned a near useless, windswept island in the St. Lawrence River into one of Montreal’s trendiest new suburbs. He had now rejoined Joe as managing editor of The Sunday Express.   

Colin Gravenor, the real estate tycoon and public relations genius, had commandeered an empty desk at the back of our editorial bullpen.
After Colin arrived, a steady stream of new faces showed up almost daily, some coming and going, and others taking over empty offices and nearby desks.
Colin was a few months shy of his fifty-ninth birthday, a year older than my ailing father.
By the time I crossed paths with Colin, he was on his second wife and second set of children. He was living in a large home on Grosvenor Avenue on the hill in Westmount, the premier neighborhood in the downtown.
   Colin Gravenor was still riding high from his earlier real estate successes but looking for a new adventure. The job of managing editor of the Sunday Express for Joe was perfect.
   I watched as Colin threw himself into the job with great gusto. When he wasn't on the phone and scribbling notes or talking with someone sitting in the chair beside his desk, he was pounding away at his typewriter, churning out stories.
   Like a linebacker who had gone somewhat soft around the waist in middle age but nevertheless still had the game in his blood, Colin was both a father figure and an intimidating warrior with thick eyebrows over small, narrow, piercing eyes, and a small moustache over an equally small mouth set in a square, jowly, determined jaw.