The Canadian Journalism Project has published a list of the top 27 books every journalism student should read. What a great idea except the list looks more suitable for students at Columbia than Canada. Of the 27, three-quarters are non-Canadians, mostly American authors. I can’t imagine the people of any other country in the world being so self-effacing to the point of such silliness.

Folks associated with The Washington Post have three on the list: All the President’s Men, by Woodward and Bernstein, plus memoirs by Katharine Graham and Ben Bradlee. Other big-name Americans on the list who have written non-fiction, fiction, essays, profiles, and reference works include Tom Wolfe, Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, Hunter S. Thompson, and Gay Talese. You get the idea.

Here’s my list for journalism students of fifteen Canadian books:

• just about anything by Peter C. Newman but certainly Renegade in Power (McClelland & Stewart 1963) and The Establishment (M&S 1975) the first major Canadian non-fiction books on politics and business respectively;

• speaking of politics, two more by the writerly Dalton Camp, a memoir, Gentlemen, Players and Politicians (M&S 1970) and Points of Departure (Deneau & Greenburg 1979), about his time on the 1979 election campaign;

• and a third, Larry Zolf’s Dance of the Dialectic (James Lewis & Samuel 1973) an irreverent look at Pierre Trudeau;

• Game Misconduct by Russ Conway (Macfarlane Walter & Ross 1995), the investigative book that laid Alan Eagleson bare;

• The Traders, by Alexander Ross (Collins 1984), the best book ever about Bay Street;

• A Gentleman of the Press, a biography of John Bayne Maclean (Doubleday 1969), who started as a $5 a week reporter and became a publisher, written by Floyd S. Chalmers, long-time editor of The Financial Post;

• The Treasure-Seekers (Macmillan 1978), Phillip Smith’s rollicking account of Home Oil;

• A Life in the Bush, by Roy MacGregor (Viking 1999) a great writer’s best work about his father, Algonquin Park, and the stuff of life itself;

• The Far Side of the Street, Bruce Hutchison (Macmillan, 1976), a most readable memoir by one of the last of the real newspapermen;

• Towers of Gold, Feet of Clay (Collins 1982) a wry look at bankers by the indefatigable Walter Stewart;

* Fowler’s Modern English Usage by H. W. Fowler (Oxford, many editions), the essential and readable guide to a writer’s life;

• The Kingdom of Canada by W. L. Morton (M&S 1963), the best history of the country from Viking explorers to modern times;

• The Scotch, by John Kenneth Galbraith (Houghton Mifflin 1985), my all-time favorite book, a coming-of-age memoir by a great thinker and economist.

With the Ontario election getting under way, I’ve been amazed at how well Progressive Conservative leader Tim Hudak has fared to date. His party has been polling slightly ahead of Dalton McGuinty’s Liberals. Even in those areas where McGuinty leads in voter trust (energy, environment, and the economy), Hudak is just a few percentage points behind. I say amazed because I think I follow politics pretty closely and I couldn’t tell you with any certainty where Hudak stands on any of those topics. I can’t imagine too many other Ontario voters can either. Perhaps the numbers can be explained by a certain ennui with McGuinty that drifts into an embrace of anyone else.

The same goes for NDP leader Andrea Horwath. She seems capable, if poorly organized, but will enjoy some wind from Jack Layton’s sails. Still, at this point, both Hudak and Horwath are little more than ciphers.

I’ve seen the first round of Liberal and Conservative TV ads and I have to say that McGuinty’s self-deprecating stance is by far the most appealing. “The polls tell us I’m not the most popular guy in the country,” he begins, standing in front of a plain background, and then proceeds to rattle off a list of accomplishments. The PCs have gone negative, calling McGuinty “the tax man.” After two nights, I’m already bored by that stilted pitch with no production values but I understand what they’re doing. You’ve got to shake people loose before you can lock up their vote.

Love how they refer to themselves as the Ontario PC Party, conveniently never spelling it out as Progressive Conservative because there might not be all that much that’s progressive in their platform. At least the federal party had the gumption to drop the word Progressive and change the name.

In this horse race, I think it’s too early to give odds. Let’s wait a couple of weeks to see how all three leaders perform. Elections for mayor of Toronto and the federal government were fascinating to watch and impossible to predict. We may be in for more of the same. Meanwhile, I’d say this is Dalton McGuinty’s to lose.

Last Thursday I was at the public wolf howl in Algonquin Park with good friends Bob and Menna Weese and I can tell you that it was a wonderful evening.

But first, a little background. Naturalists studying wolves in Algonquin found they could attract howls from packs in the wilds if the naturalists howled first. A notice in a park bulletin in August 1963 attacted 650 people and the program – now the largest naturalist-led interpretative program in the world – was well and truly launched.

The public howls are scheduled in August because that’s when the wolf packs, averaging 8-10 in number, rendezvous for a few days in one spot. As a result, park naturalists can find the packs, make sure they’re still there on Wednesday night, and then announce a public howl on Thursday morning for that evening.

At 8 p.m. there’s an informative one-hour talk in an outdoor amphitheater then everyone makes for their cars as darkness descends. Two dozen staffers ensure an orderly process. The night we went, the 111th such occasion, there were 440 cars with an estimated 1,760 eager listeners parked on both sides of Highway 60 for a stretch of 1.5 kilometers.

Why are wolves such a powerful draw? Here’s a paragraph from a pamphlet entitled Wolf Howling in Algonquin Park by Dan Strickland. “When a pack of wolves breaks out with a tremendous clamour a few hundred metres away under a star studded sky, even a seasoned wolf howler is likely to feel as though the hair on the back of his neck wants to stand on end. There is little doubt that the howling of wolves arouses deep emotions in human beings. Perhaps is it the awakening of a buried wish for the wild freedom of remote ancestors; the mystery of an animal that responds to us but which we almost never see; the thrill of direct communication with a legendary outlaw that has resisted for centuries our efforts to destroy it; or the magic of a night in wolf country, including even that tinge of fear carried over from childhood wolf stories.” Beautiful writing in something called a technical bulletin.

In recent years, wolves have been heard at 83 per cent of the public howls. Attendees at the two previous Thursdays heard no wolves, so the odds were in our favor. The moon rose in a starry sky with a few streaking meteors. The naturalists howled at the same location where they had attracted a full pack response the previous two nights. Following the first sequence, they waited fifteen minutes, then tried again. There was only silence. Either the pack had moved on or they simply weren’t in the mood to howl.

No matter. The entire event was fascinating. And as Menna said, only in Canada would so many people stand quietly in such an orderly manner at the side of a road for more than an hour in the hope of hearing wolves.

According to the web site, tonight’s scheduled howl has been cancelled. I guess they couldn’t find a pack. That means no member of the public heard the wolves howl this year. As fans of the Brooklyn Dodgers used to say, “Wait ’til next year.”

It was my maternal grandfather who first got me interested in stocks. Robert R. Work was a retired druggist living in Toronto when I was a boy growing up in Guelph. I was about twelve when he told me that he owned some shares in a gold mine called Couchenour-Willans. “If it doubles, I’ll sell it, and give you half the proceeds,” he said. Soon after, he announced that he’d sold it and gave me $300.

There was no advance arrangement about what I was to do with the money, but reinvestment in the market seemed appropriate. My father subscribed to The Financial Post, then a weekly, so I read several issues of the paper and decided I’d buy Home Oil B. With the exception of a few lean years, I’ve owned shares in something ever since.

Maybe it was that same research that eventually led me into business journalism. Anyway, that deal my grandfather offered me was one of those moments in a young man’s life when a door opens and the future arrives.

For years my RSP portfolio was invested 60 per in equities. As a result, I, along with the rest of the world, went sailing off the cliff in 2008 when the global crisis arrived. I cut back to 40 per cent equities. During these last few days, even being 60 per cent in cash and fixed income seems too low.

After half a century of stock ownership, I’ve had enough. Returns during the last decade have been scant; the mayhem too great. Maybe the stock market works for a teenager but not for a senior. But thanks, Grandpa, I had a great ride.

This year’s nominees for The Canadian Business Hall of Fame have recently been announced and all are most deserving: Aldo Bensadoun, Guy Laliberte, Seymour Schulich, and Galen Weston. It’s a nice mix of old money and entrepreneurs, mining and entertainment. Over the years about 150 individuals have been inducted, both living and dead, and it’s a great list.

And yet. The closer you look, the more questions arise. For a time, it seemed the committee that chooses the winners would pick some who were living and also name one dead inductee. But dead people don’t buy tickets for the awards dinner, so in recent years, the winners are all still alive and able to fill the hall with colleagues and friends.

As a result, there are some anomalies. Among bankers, for example, winners include Ced Ritchie and Peter Godsoe of Scotiabank but not their predecessor, William Nicks, whom both would agree deserves to be in the Hall of Fame. It was Nicks, after all, who got the bank launched in international. Other top bankers not on the list are Neil McKinnon of the Commerce, Earle McLaughlin of the Royal, and Bill Mulholland of Bank of Montreal, all of whom were the best of their generation.

Here’s a few other MIAs. Sam Bronfman made it but not Peter and Edward Bronfman. What about John Angus (Bud) McDougald who started Argus Corp. and single-handedly ran the Toronto Club for years? How to explain the glaring absence of Power Corp.’s Paul Desmarais? Family businesses are important to the economy. One of the legends who’s missing is Mac Cuddy, who created a fowl empire. Why Howard Webster but not Ben Webster, an inventive money man if there ever was one? In the tech sector why Jim Balsillie and Mike Lazaridis but not Terry Matthews? Where are the storied Bay Streeters such as Andy Sarlos and Jimmy Connacher? Or Bob Brown of Home Oil?

Women in particular are poorly represented. There are only three in the Hall of Fame. A.J. and J. W. Billes, founders of Canadian Tire, are both members. I’d add A.J.’s daughter, and the current controlling shareholder, Martha Billes. Wendy McDonald, of BC Bearing Engineers, is another who should be a shoo-in. And why is Gerry Schwartz in the Hall of Fame but not his wife, Heather Reisman?

Just asking.

Margaret Atwood doesn’t need my help. Last I saw, there were 27,000 people who’d signed up to support her fight to keep Toronto library branches open. The battle was launched by Doug Ford, the mayor’s brother and alleged brains of the family, sounding off about how there were too many library branches. When Atwood protested, he said, “I don’t even know her. If she walked by me, I wouldn’t have a clue who she is.” What a silly man.

The Toronto Public Library system is a wonderful resource and among the best-used in North America. I take out dozens of books a year and regularly visit the Metro Research Library to ferret data on companies that’s available nowhere else. All companies have filed financial and other information electronically to the Ontario Securities Commission (OSC) since 1997. Before that, everything is available only on microfiche. I find the setup at the OSC antediluvian. Over the years, the Metro Research Library has never let me down. I’ve been there twice in the last month, found what I needed, and printed out documents in a few minutes.

Doug Ford might want to look under his own nose. I happened to visit the Etobicoke Civic Centre today, home to municipal government in the west end. There’s no one to ask for directions so I did a lot of hall wandering before I finally stumbled upon the department I wanted. On the meander I saw three large and empty meeting rooms, a large and empty training centre, numerous empty offices, and a lot of unattended desks. The only inhabited space was the cafeteria. Everybody can’t be on holidays or out meeting taxpayers.

Before the Ford brothers close libraries that are actually used and popular, they might want to look at their own city buildings, particularly in Etobicoke, the place they call home. From what I saw today, they don’t sure don’t need the spacious surroundings they’ve got.

Some things in life are immutable. Conrad Black is among them. You have to admire the force of his personality even as he heads back to prison flinging emails to inquiring journalists that resonate with phrase-making from on high. The sentence was no surprise; I look forward to prison; my efforts have changed the system; my wife is fine.

I first met Black in 1978. I had just joined Maclean’s as business editor when his purchase of Argus Corp. became public and thus began his rise to fame and fortune. He was refusing all interviews. For my first story in Maclean’s (then biweekly heading for weekly publication in the fall) I wrote a piece on GATT. For the next issue, I resolved to write about something more scintillating than international trade so I found out where his office was located (a shared facility at Dominion Securities) in Commerce Court, presented myself, and was told he was too busy to see me. Reassured that he was enthroned inside, I told his secretary I’d be happy to wait. I sat outside his office from 1:30 p.m. until about 5:45 p.m. Finally, I was ushered in.

“I suppose you’re here to talk about Duplessis,” he said, referring to his recently published book on the Quebec premier. He then held forth for more than two hours with detail piled upon detail about how he’d landed Argus and sent me away with telephone numbers for various contacts and colleagues including Nelson Davis, who would serve as his chairman and was traveling in Ireland.

When I called a few days later to set up a photo shoot, his helpfulness continued. He asked that his brother Monte be included and gave me his number, too. “Tell him I advised you about the merits of this photograph,” he said, which seemed to be some sort of code between the two. Monte showed up at the appointed hour. The article was published as the cover story in the June 26th issue with a dramatic color shot of Black, leaning on a desk, propped by his clenched fists, under the cover line, “The Argus Grab.”

So eager was Black to see the finished story that he arrived unannounced at Maclean’s office in order to get an early copy. My son, Mark, then an aspiring photographer, happened to be visiting, rode down on the elevator with Black, and asked Black if he could take his picture. Black agreed, and the result was a smiling shot on the sidewalk holding an open magazine with himself on the cover .

His symbiotic relationship with the media, indeed his insatiable hunger for a public profile, has not changed all these 33 years later.