Pubdate: Fri, 20 Sep 2002 Source: Toronto Sun (CN ON) Copyright: 2002, Canoe Limited Partnership. Contact: http://www.fyitoronto.com/torsun.shtml Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/457 Author: Mark Bonokoski COCAINE MADE THE MAIL CRAZY The late Bob Vezina, arguably one of the best city editors this newspaper ever had, used to threaten the immediate dismissal of any reporter who screwed up a phone number in a story. To this day, some 15 years later, I am loath to put a phone number in an article. However, when I must, I check the number carefully, and phone it myself (often more than once) to make sure it is correct -- all the while remembering the sound of Vez's gruff, expletive-enhanced voice promising to drop-kick my sorry keister into the unemployment line. Nonetheless, we all make mistakes, don't we? While it hardly qualifies as a firing offence (even under Vez's stern rules), one would think my little gaffe here last Friday was one of epic proportion. The e-mails have yet to stop, and the voice messages from the Good Readership -- left at all hours of the day and night -- have yet to cease. The focus of last Friday's column was the police takedown of a Scarborough crackhouse and the cast of characters that was in attendance when the battering ram met the door -- drug-addicted B&E artists, strung-out prostitutes and a ringleader who fuelled their habit in return for their stolen goods and the proceeds from their pimped bodies. And, to jazz up the piece, I ran a few lyrics from the J.J. Cale song, Cocaine. Unfortunately, I credited its authorship to the artist whose voice I hear in my mind's ear whenever I think of that song -- the voice of rock legend Eric Clapton. The response was immediate, and then relentless. The Letters to the Editor section received only one letter regarding my brain cramp, and it was duly published -- which was enough to let the Good Readership know that my error had not escaped notice and had been duly noted. A Flood Of Mail My mail boxes, however, were jammed. Both the electronic and the voice portals were on the verge of overload. Forget the mental portrait of neighbours living in fear because there's a crackhouse on their street. No, all that went by the wayside. Instead, it was all about the Cale-Clapton cockup. One of the kinder responses came from Erik Maddocks who wrote: "I enjoyed your article, 'Crack(ed) lives.' Just thought you should know J.J. Cale wrote Cocaine. I imagine 99.9% of the people think Clapton wrote it also." Maybe so, but the majority of the writers and callers were not as gentle as Mr. Maddocks. They ranged from "How could you be so stupid?" to "Does 'check your sources' sound familiar?" It was quite the onslaught. Sooner or later, one intuitively knew it was bound to end on the Web site of Frank, the satirical magazine which relishes the discomfort of others. And it did. It was posted on the Frank Forum at 11:33 a.m. on Sept. 15, two full days after the column first appeared in The Sun, by someone writing under the pen name of oxleymoron. Under the subject heading, "Inaccurate hacks," the anonymous oxleymoron wrote, "Would someone please tell Mark Bonokoski that Eric Clapton did not write Cocaine. Although many columnists try to represent their opinion as 'fact,' he seems to have taken it to a new level by creating a 'fact,' which, of course, makes it an 'untruth.' He would fit right in with the Bush Bunch, for sure." This, of course, is a bit over the top. According to oxleymoron's way of thinking, my error of mistaken songwriters somehow ranks me right up there with the backers of U.S.President George W. Bush and their quest to spin-doctor the world into accepting their lust to bomb Iraq into one big oil slick. Slap Upside The Head What would have happened if, say, I had wrongly credited Frank Sinatra for writing My Way? I'd hate to hazard a guess. That said, however, I did know somewhere back in the recesses of my memory that it was J. J. Cale who wrote Cocaine. And I gave myself a slap upside the head the moment the first e-mail notified me of the dumb mistake I had so inadvertently made. Beat poet Charles Bukowski was right. It's not the major things in life that tend to drive people crazy. Instead, it's the "shoelace that snaps with no time left."