Debbie

During those early years with Debbie, we enjoyed going out with the people from work.

We went to C.C.'s Bar in Mississauga, and sometimes we drove out to Lulu's Roadhouse in Kitchener.

Lulu's was known for its enormous bar. It was quite a place.

I still have photographs from 1986 of Debbie and me there with our friends and coworkers.

Those nights out were part of the excitement of those years, at a time when my business and my personal life were both changing.

I knew I had made a mess of things. Joyce and I had been married since August 30, 1969. We had four children together, and I didn't want to throw all those years away.

I stopped seeing Debbie romantically. I wanted to save my marriage. Markmaster-Monette was growing rapidly, and I believed we had a good future ahead of us. I wanted Joyce to be part of that future.

Joyce wanted me to fire Debbie from Markmaster-Monette. But Debbie was a good employee, especially in customer service. She had left her parents' business, Executive Printing, to work for me, and her parents weren't happy about it. I didn't believe she could simply go back there.

I wouldn't fire her. That certainly didn't make things any easier between Joyce and me.

Joyce and I started going to marriage counselling. We continued for months, trying to work through what had happened. I was serious about making the marriage work, but things weren't improving.

There was a lot of anger and hurt between us.

One evening, we were having dinner at our house in Brampton. The children weren't home. Joyce had been drinking, and we got into an argument. She scratched my face, drawing blood.

I grabbed her and held her down on the floor, telling her to calm down. I held her there for what seemed like ten minutes before letting her go.

Joyce ran to the neighbours. I threw her purse toward her, and she called the police.

The police arrived that evening and asked what had happened. They asked whether I had somewhere else I could stay. I told them I could go to my mother's apartment in Mississauga. And that's where I went.

I had helped my mother, Noreen, move from Montreal to Mississauga. Now I found myself living in her apartment on the fourteenth floor.

But I hadn't given up on Joyce. We continued trying marriage counselling while I stayed with Mom. I still hoped there was some way to put our family back together. It didn't work.

I was under tremendous stress. I had a business to run, employees depending on me, and four children I loved.

Some days I felt like a zombie. I could sit at my desk, read a business letter, and realize afterward that I hadn't understood or remembered a word of it. My mind was somewhere else.

At one point, I was in such a bad place that I thought about jumping from the fourteenth floor.

I told my mother how I was feeling. She gave me some medication she had to calm me down, and at the time it seemed to work.

I never had those feelings again.

I was 36 years old.

Eventually, Joyce had me served with a restraining order. I couldn't return to our house in Brampton. When I needed to collect my clothes, I had to arrange for a police escort.

Looking back, I wondered whether Joyce had planned how things would unfold, but I couldn't know that for certain. Everything happened so fast.

After the order was served, Joyce emptied our joint bank account. There had been $8,800 in it, and I was furious. I decided she would have to live on that money until I could get myself organized.

Joyce filed for custody of the children and began divorce proceedings. She already had a lawyer, and now I needed one too.

Joyce hadn't worked since November 1969, and she never went back to work. She had the house, the children living with her, and bills to pay. She needed money.

I remember there may have been about two months between leaving the house and being completely blocked from returning, although I can't remember the exact dates.

Her lawyer sent demands to my lawyer. Joyce wanted half of Markmaster-Monette. A value of $1 million had been put on the business. She wanted the Brampton house and the car. She wanted me to pay for five years of schooling and all the expenses. On top of that, she wanted support for herself and support for our four children.

Those were the demands.

I agreed to let Joyce keep the house, the car, and the $8,800 from the bank account. But the business was another matter. I had partners, employees, and a growing company to think about.

I told Joyce not to back me into a corner over Markmaster-Monette. I told her, “Don't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.” The business was where the money came from to support everyone.

But I felt backed into that corner anyway. And when a rat gets backed into a corner, it comes out fighting.

That rat story would begin in December 1986.

I ended up paying $5,500 a month for ten years and paying for Joyce's schooling, even though she had a boyfriend.

The part I was happy about was getting my children every weekend. Whatever happened between Joyce and me, I was still their dad.

By Father's Day in June 1986, my life had changed dramatically.

I was staying at my mother's apartment in Mississauga after leaving our family home in Brampton. My marriage to Joyce was coming apart, and I was trying to figure out what to do next.

I had helped move Mom from Montreal to Mississauga, and that apartment became her home for the rest of her life. She remained there until she died on February 22, 2022.

But I wasn't myself.

The best way I can describe my state of mind is zombie.

I would go into the office at Markmaster-Monette, pick up a letter or some paperwork and read it. Then I would realize I hadn't understood or remembered a word of what I had just read. My head was somewhere else. I was trying to figure out what had happened to my life and what I was supposed to do next.

But it was Father's Day, and I had four kids.

So I took Dawn, Greg, Nancy and Karrie to Centre Island in Toronto for the day. Dawn was 5, Greg was 9, Nancy was 14 and Karrie was 15.

It was tough. I was trying to make it a good Father's Day for them while inside I was barely holding myself together.

A few months later, Karrie said something to me that I have never forgotten:

“Dad, you became a better Dad since you separated from Mom.”

She was only fifteen, but those words stayed with me.

About a month went by. I was still trying to figure out where I was going to live. I also didn't know whether Joyce would let me see the kids without having to go to court.

As it turned out, Joyce gave me the kids every weekend.

Karrie and Nancy were teenagers, though. At 15 and 14, they had friends and their own lives. My mother and I talked about it, and she suggested something that would end up changing our lives.

“Why don’t you get a cottage?”

I told her I didn't have the money.

About a week later, Mom gave me $10,000. She also gave each of my two brothers $10,000.

Suddenly, buying a cottage might actually be possible.

It was still late June. During the week I was working and running Markmaster-Monette. At night I went looking for an apartment. On the weekends, I picked up Dawn and Greg and headed north.

At this point Debbie and I were not together yet. These first trips north were just me and the kids.

I started in Huntsville.

I saw several places for sale on the water, so the kids and I went into a real estate office and started asking questions. Eventually we got around to money.

I told the agent, “I’ve got $10,000.”

He called me aside.

“Sir, you need to head over toward Parry Sound. You’re not going to find anything around here with that amount to put down on a cottage.”

Well, now I knew which direction to go.

We stayed in the area and took a break from cottage hunting. I took the kids to Santa's Village for the day.

I didn't realize it then, but those weekends were the beginning of something important. My marriage had ended. I didn't have a home of my own. My head was still spinning, and I had no idea what the future held.

But every weekend, I picked up my kids.

And together, we headed north.

The following weekend, I picked up Dawn and Greg, and off we went again, heading north toward Parry Sound.

Parry Sound was the hometown of Bobby Orr, my favourite hockey player. That made the trip a little more special for me.

We stopped at the Jolly Roger Motel and got ourselves a room for the night.

The next morning, we went into town for breakfast. After eating, we stopped at a real estate office. I explained my situation to the agent.

I was separated, had four children, and was looking for a place where I could spend weekends with them. I told him I had $10,000 and wanted to find a year-round cottage or house on a lake.

He asked me a question.

“Is this your first home?”

“Yes,” I answered.

He explained that because I was a first-time homebuyer, I could qualify for a mortgage with just 10% down through Central Mortgage and Housing.

Well, that certainly changed things!

I wasn't looking for anything fancy. I wanted something rustic. A real cottage, but one where we could live year-round.

So off we went, looking at houses and cottages around the Parry Sound area.

We saw several properties that day, but nothing had really caught my attention.

Then, toward the end of our search, the agent took us about 20 kilometres south of Parry Sound to Horseshoe Lake.

We turned onto a little side road called Reptile Museum Road.

As we drove along, we came to a small laneway. At the entrance stood a pole with seven names on it.

Seven names. Seven homes on the lake.

And somewhere down that laneway was a place that might become our new home.

Horseshoe Lake.

I had no idea yet how important that little road would become in my life.

As we drove down the laneway, we crossed a small culvert with water on both sides.

The real estate agent pointed to the right.

“This is where the property starts.”

There were over seven acres of land, mostly trees and swamp. On the left was the neighbour's property.

We continued along the laneway, passing the first cottage on the left with its long driveway.

Then the road split three ways.

To the left, the laneway continued toward five more cottages. Straight ahead was our new neighbour's place. And then, there it was.

My first sight of the cottage.

I knew the moment I saw it that this was what I had been looking for.

Rustic. Quiet. Surrounded by trees. Right on the lake.

It wasn't a fancy waterfront property with a beautiful sandy beach. In fact, there was no beach at all. There were trees, swamp and the lake.

But I loved it.

We stopped the car, got out and started walking around the property.

There was a little path leading down to the water. At the end was a floating dock, about three feet wide and eight feet long.

Not much of a dock!

It was good enough for fishing, but I was already thinking about what I could do to improve things.

There was also another small four-season building on the property. It was a bathhouse with a changing room, a huge sauna and a shower inside.

Now that was interesting!

I could already see the possibilities.

Then we headed toward the main cottage to have a look inside.

But the truth was, I was already sold before I walked through the door.

The asking price was $95,000.

With the $10,000 my mother had given me, I had enough for a 10% down payment.

It was within my budget.

Just a few weeks earlier, I had been sitting at my mother's apartment, wondering where I was going to live and how I was going to spend time with my children.

Now I was standing in front of a cottage on Horseshoe Lake, looking at what might become our new family gathering place.

I hadn't even seen the inside yet.

But I knew I wanted it.

The more I looked around the cottage, the more I knew this was the place for me.

It was perfect for raising my two younger kids, Dawn and Greg, and somewhere Nancy and Karrie could come up whenever they wanted.

But there was something else I needed.

Peace and quiet.

After everything that had happened in June, I needed somewhere I could sit, look out the windows at the lake and wildlife, and get my head straight.

And this place had it all.

There were trees everywhere, over seven acres of property, and wildlife right outside the windows. Moose and bears would even walk across the lawn.

I could sit for hours looking out over the lake.

It would also become a place where I could work. Sitting at the table overlooking the water, I would put together catalogues for Markmaster-Monette and, later, ICC Compliance Center.

The cottage itself was furnished with rattan furniture, including the tables and chairs. Everything had that rustic cottage feeling I was looking for.

After looking everything over, we sat down with the real estate agent to talk about the price.

The asking price was $95,000.

The agent submitted our offer, and the sellers came back with a counteroffer of $90,000.

I thought about it and decided to accept.

There was just one condition.

I had to get the mortgage approved by the bank.

With the $10,000 my mother had given me, I had enough for the down payment, provided the financing went through.

And it did!

The deal was done.

On July 1, 1986, the kids and I moved into our new cottage on Horseshoe Lake.

Just a few weeks earlier, I had been living at my mother's apartment in Mississauga, wondering where my life was going.

Now I had a place of my own.

A four-season cottage, surrounded by trees, with the lake outside my window and plenty of room for my children.

I didn't know what the future would bring. But I knew one thing.

We had a home.

And that little cottage on Horseshoe Lake would become one of the most important places in our family's history.

The following weekend, I invited Debbie to come up to the cottage with me and the kids.

This would be the first time Debbie met my children.

I wasn't sure how everything would go, but it turned out to be a good weekend.

Dawn and Debbie got along right from the start. They sat together at the table doing crafts, talking and keeping themselves busy.

Meanwhile, Greg and I headed outside.

There were plenty of dead trees around the property, so we started cutting them down, gathering wood and making fires.

I enjoyed doing things like that with Greg. There was always something to do around the cottage, and with over seven acres of land, we certainly weren't going to run out of projects.

We also checked out the sauna in the separate bathhouse.

And it worked!

That was another bonus. We had a four-season cottage, a lake, plenty of property and now a working sauna.

Things were starting to come together.

On Sunday, it was time to pack up and head back south.

The drive from Horseshoe Lake to Brampton and Mississauga took about two hours down Highway 69, although sometimes the traffic was terrible.

After a weekend up north, everyone had to return to their regular lives.

I dropped the kids off at their mother's house—our old family home in Brampton, where Joyce was still living.

Then I took Debbie back to her house.

And finally, I drove to my mother's apartment in Mississauga, where I was still staying.

It was a strange arrangement.

I owned a beautiful cottage on Horseshoe Lake, but during the week I was still living with my mother, working at Markmaster-Monette and trying to figure out what came next.

But I had something to look forward to now.

The weekends at Horseshoe Lake.

A place for my children, a place to spend time with Debbie, and somewhere I could escape the pressures of everything that had happened.

By July 1986, I had a lot on my plate.

I had just bought the cottage on Horseshoe Lake, and the weekends were becoming something I really looked forward to. But during the week, life was anything but relaxing.

I still had Markmaster-Monette to run.

At night, I was out looking at apartments around Mississauga. I couldn't keep living at my mother's forever, and I needed somewhere to call home during the working week.

At the same time, I was getting another business off the ground.

BCM Printing.

It was a new screen-printing manufacturing operation, with new staff and a different location just down the street from Markmaster-Monette.

There was a reason for keeping things separate.

My business partner, Harry Fund, from Labelmaster in Chicago, was someone I didn't trust.

I was working on building BCM Printing while still running Markmaster-Monette. That meant managing two operations, dealing with employees and trying to keep everything moving.

Debbie was also working nearby.

She was across the street at her mother and father's printing business, Executive Printing.

So there we were, all working in the printing industry, practically within walking distance of one another.

And on top of everything else, I had my annual fishing trip coming up in the middle of July.

I had a business to run, a new manufacturing operation to organize, an apartment to find, four children to think about and a cottage that needed work.

I was busy!

But that's how my life was in those days. There always seemed to be something happening.

I found a large two-bedroom apartment on Dundas Street in Mississauga, about twenty minutes from the office.

Upstairs were two bedrooms and two balconies. Downstairs were a kitchenette, a dining room, and a living room with a fireplace and another balcony.

The rent was $1,500 a month. I rented it, moved in, and bought new furniture.

Debbie would come over a few times, but at first I wouldn't let her stay.

It was July and time for my annual fishing trip. This time we were going to Park Lake Lodge, in Labrador.

We flew from Toronto to Goose Bay, then took a float plane about an hour to the fly-in fishing camp. The lodge sat about eighty miles southeast of Goose Bay, on a headwater lake of the famous Eagle River.

The brook trout fishing was excellent. I caught and released 106 brook trout in five days, all on a dry fly. We broke the barbs off the hooks so we wouldn't damage the fish when releasing them.

We kept a few trout for shore lunches, none under a pound. Most were between two and three and a half pounds. There were pike in the lake, some around ten pounds, and Atlantic salmon in the rivers.

There were two people to a boat with an Indigenous guide. The lodge took only a small number of guests each week, and there were no other lodges on the lake to put pressure on the fish. What a place!

There was a very beautiful lady working as the cook. She came from St. Anthony, a little town at the northern tip of Newfoundland.

When she found out I was a Newfoundlander, she started flirting with me. She even made me Newfoundland breakfasts, including fish and brewis.

We talked a lot. By the third night, when she finished work, she had lipstick on and wanted me to come to her room. But I never did.

I got the feeling she saw me as her ticket out of that little town. I can't say for sure what she was thinking, but that was my impression.

When I was leaving, she had a suitcase ready, hoping I would invite her onto the float plane with me.

I didn't. I wasn't ready for that, and there was another complication waiting for me in Mississauga.

Looking back, it might have been fun. But life had other plans.

While I was away fishing, Debbie had moved into my apartment without my permission. I knew she was there.

When I got home, I figured she was there, so I might as well make the best of it. At first she stayed two or three nights a week.

By September 1986, I agreed to let her move in.

The kids had no problem with Debbie. Joyce was pissed, but the kids had a way of handling the things their dad did. They'd just say, “THAT'S DAD!”

Years later, in the late 1990s, that attitude became OnlyYouDad. The name came later, but the personality was already there. The kids knew their dad could do some pretty unexpected things.

That year I had my first Christmas in the new apartment on Dundas Street.

I got the kids for brunch and to open their Christmas presents. It meant a lot to have them there, enjoying Christmas together.

The next day we all went up to the cottage on Horseshoe Lake for Christmas week.

Whatever was happening in my marriage and my business, I still had those times with my children. That was what mattered most.

In January 1987, we were up at our cottage on Horseshoe Lake, near Parry Sound.

Debbie was riding a Ski-Doo with my son Greg, who was only ten years old. I was riding another Ski-Doo with Dawn.

Debbie and Greg crossed an area where a stream running into the lake had weakened the ice.

The ice gave way. Their Ski-Doo broke through and sank into the lake.

Debbie managed to pull Greg out of that freezing water. She saved him from what could have been a terrible tragedy.

We got Greg back to the cottage and warmed him up in the shower.

Later, scuba divers wearing the proper cold-water equipment went down after the Ski-Doo. It was in about 40 feet of water. We helped them pull it up.

We replaced the oil, the gasoline and the spark plugs, and the machine ran again.

We were riding it the very next day.

But that experience stayed with me for years. I had nightmares about what might have happened to Greg.

It was one of the most frightening moments of my life. What Debbie did that day deserves a special place in our family story.

Remember how I told Joyce not to back me into a corner over Markmaster-Monette? Well, in December 1986, another man tried to do just that.

Harry Fund and his accountant walked into my office without warning. I didn't know they were coming.

They sat down and announced that I was fired.

“You can't do that!” I said.

Harry told me, “I own 60% and you own 40%. If we make dividends, I'll send you your money. We're moving the company to Chicago.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “Why can't I buy you out?”

“You don't have a million dollars,” Harry said.

“You're right,” I told him. “But I've got a good friend who does, and I can have him here tomorrow morning. What do you say, Harry? You're staying overnight anyway.”

Harry and his accountant agreed.

Like Joyce had done to me, I cleaned out the bank account. This time it was the company account. It had $125,000 in it, and I took it. We could fight about it later if we had to. Harry was an American and would need Ontario lawyers.

Then I called my friend Conrad in Halifax and told him what had happened.

Conrad was six feet three inches tall, weighed about 250 pounds, and was in the gold, silver, and watch business.

“Did you take the money out?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, we're going to teach this rat a little Canadian know-how. I'll be down in the morning. Put $100,000 in my bank. We're going to fix him.”

Conrad and I had a plan.

The next morning, Mike came down from Montreal and Conrad arrived from Halifax.

Conrad made quite an entrance. He was wearing a $1,000 Italian suit, a Rolex watch, and driving a Cadillac.

Harry and his accountant were waiting in my office. Conrad shook hands with them, and we sat down.

“I hear you want a million dollars,” Conrad said. “It's not worth it. I'll give you $200,000.”

Harry said no and came back at $800,000.

We countered at $400,000.

Harry refused. Then he said his final offer was $600,000.

Conrad looked at the clock.

“It's almost lunch. Why don't we take a break? We'll meet back here at two o'clock and give you our answer.”

We both knew what we were doing. We had put the plan together.

At two o'clock, we all met again.

Conrad said, “I'll accept your offer of $600,000. I'll write you a cheque for $100,000 right now, if that's okay. When you get back to Chicago, get your lawyer to draw up the paperwork and send it to my lawyer. We should have the deal finished in four to six weeks.”

Then he added, “In the meantime, I'll hire Bob to run the place. What do you think?”

Harry's accountant turned to him and said, “Go for it.”

Conrad pulled out his cheque book and wrote the cheque for $100,000.

Harry and his accountant left happy as could be.

Mike, Conrad, and I went back to my apartment to sleep. Part One was done. Now it was time for Part Two.

Harry didn't know about BCM Printing either.

Our plan was for me to bankrupt Markmaster-Monette or just walk away. Conrad would stall Harry for months. Meanwhile, Mike would incorporate a new company in Montreal called ICC International Compliance Center, with Mike as president.

My job was to fire all the employees except one, without telling them what was really going on. Mike would call them at home and tell them I was going crazy because of my problems with Joyce. Then he would ask them to join his new company.

We kept the plan secret until September 1, 1987.

On August 30, I fired everyone except one employee.

Mike called them at home and told them he was starting a new company on Matheson Boulevard in Mississauga.

“Would you like to join me?”

They all did! Many stayed with us for years, and some are still with me.

On September 1, ICC International Compliance Center was born.

For months, Harry's lawyers had been calling, and Conrad kept making excuses and putting them off.

In September, I sold all the machinery for $4,000 and all the inventory for another $4,000, and moved it over to ICC.

Remember, I was supposed to be crazy and needed money!

There was almost nothing left in the old Markmaster-Monette building except dead stuff, two chairs, and a table.

Starting September 1, the telephone kept ringing. I'd answer and tell the customers I was closing, but to call another number, where they'd find all the same people.

I did that for six months. I also stopped paying the rent.

In February 1988, the landlord locked me out and took control of the unit.

I opened another Markmaster-Monette bank account for the receivables. I had the mail stopped so I could pick it up myself, and I deposited incoming payments into that other account.

In Montreal, we registered Markmaster-Monette Montreal.

I wrote a letter to our customers announcing that Markmaster-Monette Montreal, BCM Printing, and M. Jeanrie and Company, a dangerous-goods packaging supplier, had merged to form ICC International Compliance Center.

Our locations were on Matheson Boulevard in Mississauga and in Dorval, Quebec.

The letter told everyone to make their cheques payable to ICC.

And everyone did.

Harry couldn't find me. Conrad finally told him, “We just gave you some Canadian know-how. We took your business the same way you were going to take it from Bob.”

But Harry wasn't going to roll over. The lawsuits started. Joyce was suing me, and Harry was suing me. I was killing two birds with one stone.

By then Debbie and I were living together. Debbie was working at ICC, and I stayed home. ICC was running well without me there every day.

A year later, Mike announced to everyone that I would be hired as Vice-President of Marketing and Sales, starting September 1, 1988.

I was back!

In 1988, Harry hit me with a $1.2 million lawsuit, and Joyce hit me with a $1 million lawsuit.

I knew that was coming, so I had transferred the Horseshoe Lake cottage into Debbie's name. I had no bank accounts and no assets in my name.

When they served me, I didn't fight the cases. I let them win. They were happy they had won. Now they started looking for my assets, but couldn't find any.

For the next seven years, I had to report to the courts with my income tax information. For seven years, I filed zero. All my money went into Debbie's account.

When Harry found out he wasn't going to get any money from me, he sued Conrad.

Conrad had four years to transfer everything into Norma's name. That case went to court, too. Harry won, but never collected.

They would bring me into court and ask questions.

“What do you drive?”

“A 1988 BMW M5.”

“Where did you get the money for that?”

“My girlfriend bought it for me.”

“What does she do?”

“She's a dangerous goods specialist.”

“Where did she learn that?”

“Pillow talk.”

“Why would she buy you a car?”

“I was good in bed!”

And this went on for seven years.

In 1994, I got my company back.

I gave Norma 29 shares and Mike 10 shares for helping pull this off.

Andy bought 16 shares for $60,000.

And here we are, 40 years later, still partners.

There was one more important part of ICC's beginning.

At our dining room table in Mississauga, Debbie designed the original ICC logo. She was creative, and that design became part of our company's identity.

The company started as ICC International Compliance Center. Years later, the name was changed to ICC Compliance Center.

From Harry walking into my office and telling me I was fired, to Conrad arriving in his Italian suit, to the $100,000 cheque, to the lawsuits, and finally getting my company back—what a ride.

And that's the end of the Rat in the Corner story.

What a year 1988 turned out to be!

The Canadian government brought in WHMIS, the Workplace Hazardous Materials Information System. The new workplace regulations meant companies had to provide proper labels, safety information and training for employees handling hazardous materials.

For ICC, the timing couldn't have been better.

Our sales tripled!

We purchased a new five-colour flexographic printing press to keep up with the demand. We were hiring employees, and some of those people would stay with us for decades. Some are only now retiring, and others are still with me.

One of the things I saw early on was that companies needed someone to explain all these regulations in plain language. The government wrote the regulations, but businesses needed to understand what they actually had to do.

That's where ICC came in.

We rewrote the WHMIS regulations in language that companies could understand and put into practice.

I also made deals with four of the largest chemical companies to produce their drum labels. Those relationships became so strong that ICC still has their business all these years later.

Our WHMIS posters, workplace labels and training materials took off.

We hired Barbara and Charles, who went on to become two of our top regulatory trainers. They became highly respected in the industry, including in Ottawa.

Before long, ICC had about 80 percent of the Canadian market, and our sales were running at $500,000 a month.

Think about that!

We had new offices in Montreal and Halifax, along with dealers in Calgary and Vancouver.

Just a year earlier, we had started ICC with a plan and a handful of people.

Now we were becoming a major player in the Canadian dangerous goods and workplace safety industry.

And we were just getting started.

While ICC was growing, things were also going well at home with Debbie.

We spent most of our free time at the cottage on Horseshoe Lake.

That cottage had become our family gathering place.

We bought a 15-foot boat with a 9.9-horsepower motor. It wasn't a big boat, but it was enough to pull the kids around the lake and have a wonderful time.

Greg and I started working on building a sandy beach. Remember, when I first bought the cottage, there wasn't any beach at all.

Now we were making one ourselves.

Debbie loved cooking, and she spent time teaching Dawn crafts. We planted flowers and started gardens around the property.

There was always something going on.

Fishing, water-skiing, tubing and kneeboarding. I taught Greg and Dawn all the water sports.

I loved watching them learn something new and get better at it.

When I bought the cottage, there wasn't a sandy beach. There was a little floating dock, but the water around it was full of muck.

I wanted to change that so the kids could swim and enjoy the lake.

Just across the road was Renaud Construction. Ron Renaud had gravel and sand, and in the winter he plowed Highway 69 and our driveway.

Ron had been born there and lived in that house all his life. He also had a teenage son.

I asked Ron if he could come over with his equipment, level out some of the land and clear away the dead trees.

During the week, when I wasn't at the cottage and nobody was around the lake, Ron brought in fill. We raised part of the property almost four feet and levelled it out.

But there was one area we left completely alone.

To the left of our property was a swamp. It was a spawning area for northern pike, and I didn't want to disturb it.

There was a large oak tree in the woods overlooking the swamp. The kids built steps up the tree so they could climb up and watch the pike spawning in the spring.

They also loved playing in that tree.

It became their own little lookout over the swamp.

Six Truckloads of Sand

Once Ron had finished levelling the property, Greg and I planned to seed the ground in the fall.

But first, I asked Ron to bring in some beach sand.

By law, he couldn't dump the sand directly into the lake, so he left it near the water's edge.

He brought in six truckloads to start with.

Of course, the kids immediately started playing on those big piles of sand, knocking them down and spreading them around.

Now came the hard part.

The water around our little dock had about a foot of muck on the bottom. When you stepped into it, your feet sank down into that awful stuff.

We started pushing sand out into the water, covering the muck and packing the sand down.

The first three feet were easy enough.

After that, the water got deeper, up to our waists, and moving the sand became much harder.

So Greg and I came up with an idea.

We put the sand on an air mattress!

We would load sand onto the air mattress, float it out into the lake, and dump it where we needed it.

Back and forth we went.

It took weeks of work, but slowly that muddy lake bottom began turning into a sandy swimming area.

By the end of that year, we had a workable beach.

The kids could finally swim, splash around and play in the water without sinking into a foot of muck.

We had done it ourselves.

And I think Greg and I were pretty proud of what we'd accomplished.

Then Came the Snow

Before we knew it, November arrived.

And so did the snow.

Horseshoe Lake was in snow-squall country, and when the snow started coming off Georgian Bay, it could really pile up.

We could get seven feet of snow during November and December alone.

Then another three to five feet over the rest of the winter.

That's a lot of snow!

Good thing we had Ron across the road with his snowplow.

Summer at Horseshoe Lake was all about the boat, the beach and the kids playing in the water.

Winter was going to be another adventure altogether.

Even at the cottage, I couldn't completely get away from ICC.

I'd get up around four o'clock in the morning, while everyone else was sleeping.

I'd sit at the kitchen table overlooking the lake, working on ICC catalogues.

Those early morning hours were some of my most productive.

No telephone ringing. No employees asking questions. No interruptions.

Just me, my paperwork and the lake outside the window.

By about nine o'clock, when the kids started getting up, I'd put the work away.

Then it was family time.

We didn't even have a television at the cottage.

Instead, we played board games and cards, went swimming, took the boat out and spent time together.

Greg would bring his friend Andrew up most weekends.

Karrie and Nancy, the two older girls, would come up too.

Sometimes the cottage was pretty crowded, but we made it work.

And I loved having everyone there.

Joyce had a boyfriend by then, and he would come to the house in Brampton about three days a week.

Joyce was also going to school, learning business skills.

I continued paying her $5,500 a month to help support her and raise the children.

For some reason, Joyce always let me have the kids on weekends.

Whatever problems we'd had between us, I was grateful for that.

I could work hard all week, building ICC, and then spend the weekends with my children and Debbie at Horseshoe Lake.

Looking back, 1988 was a wonderful year.

The business was booming. Debbie and I were happy together. The kids were growing up, learning new things and making memories at the cottage.

After everything I'd gone through in the previous two years, life was finally coming together again.

While Debbie and I were living in our rented apartment in Mississauga, she had an episode with her drinking.

She left the kitchen sink plugged with the water running and went upstairs, where she passed out.

The water overflowed and flooded the apartment, including the living room and the balcony.

The parquet flooring was badly damaged and started lifting up.

Before we moved out, I covered the damaged flooring with carpeting, and I got my deposit back from the landlord.

We bought a house on Bucklepost in Mississauga for about $100,000.

It had three bedrooms, two bathrooms and a finished basement with a fireplace.

The house was about 20 minutes from my office. I put it in Debbie's name.

We held our family Christmas celebrations and birthdays down in that basement.

That house became an important part of our family life together.

I bought a brand-new, fully loaded black Buick Electra, financed over several years.

While I was away in Montreal, teaching employees about the new WHMIS regulations and making sales calls, Debbie went to the Delta Hotel on Britannia Road in Mississauga.

She drank six nine-ounce glasses of wine over about two hours.

Then she drove west at about 80 miles an hour. She went into a ditch, hit a culvert, became airborne and severed a utility pole.

She was knocked unconscious and suffered a serious forehead injury. It took about 90 stitches to close the V-shaped wound.

She was taken to Credit Valley Hospital.

I was angry and upset. I waited three days before I went to see her, until she pleaded with me to come. Then I brought her home.

The Buick was destroyed. It had only 434 kilometres on it.

Insurance didn't cover the loss. I kept paying the car loan for about five years, bought an older car to replace it, and dealt with the other financial consequences.

Debbie lost her driver's licence. There were fines, and about $4,000 in costs for the damaged utility pole.

That was a difficult time in our relationship.

I can't tell Debbie's story honestly without talking about her drinking.

There were blackouts. There were arguments.

We tried to find help, through doctors and through Alcoholics Anonymous.

As I remember it, Debbie stopped drinking for a period leading up to our marriage. She wanted to get married, and she wanted to have a baby.

Debbie was so much more than her struggles, but they were part of our life together, and I won't pretend they weren't.