Author: Jim Furlong

He was larger than life. That is a good expression for Don Jamieson. His presence filled up a room. There are people like that. His was the classic story of local boy makes  good. From being a bell hop at the old Newfoundland Hotel, he went on to

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There is a haunting issue hanging over our civilization. We have talked about it several times over the years. I first saw the problem expressed by a Chinese businessman and it was about how things were changing in China, how a new economic reality was emerging. I was aware of the issue. I watched it

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There is in my childhood a loose connection to infamy. I was born on Pleasant Street, in the heart of the west end of St. John’s. It was a great neighbourhood. I was born at house number 112, in 1946. That is right by Atlantic Avenue. Guess who else was from Pleasant Street? The answer is the family of the notorious Boston mobster, James

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There is a part of me that feels a tinge of guilt in writing something about a brief encounter I had with the late Randy Druken. There is a sense that doing so is taking advantage of someone who was dealt a bad hand by our justice system. I fear it might be some form of intrusion. I

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Where are we headed? Where are we going and who will take us there? In which direction do we head? Those are my thoughts in this time ‘of the rolling year’ and they are fundamental questions.    

I proudly write for The Herald in its new online incarnation and hopefully will help chronicle the events of our time. Online is the way of a future. We have known for some time this was coming.

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*Originally published in our September 11-17, 2022 issue
We were in a restaurant in a hotel in Paris. It was the middle of the Republican primaries before that weird election that took Donald J. Trump to a one term presidency.
Wife and I were on a short trip to France.

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Father used to tell me school days are the best days of your life. Not so say I! My school experience obviously is from a different time. There was no Kindergarten or early childcare. 
We were ripped away from mummies apron strings when we were seven years old. No play

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*Originally published in our August 28-September 3, 2022 issue
I was down to Argentia last week. It’s completely different now and I had not been there since the naval base closed. In fact I have only been there a couple of times before. 
Memory is a funny thing. When I

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