It was January 15th, 2009. Imagine you are at a newspaper stand in a busy transit station and you meet a washed up rock star who was going through an alcoholic meltdown.
You are always looking to get promotion for those books you got published VIA Google search, but the Canadian media is stuck in a 1950′s time warp, where those online books are not considered mainstream. Our friend the rocker introduced himself as Douglas Creighton. The musician was tall; broad shouldered, long faced with curly brown hair, and well dressed. Oddly enough, he wore a Gucci watch and bowling shoes too. “I’m Douglas Creighton,” he told the tired newsstand attendant, repeatedly, “I am the son of Douglas Creighton, founding publisher for the Toronto Sun Newspaper. My father is the one who founded the Toronto Sun newspaper!” His voice boomed and seemed to reverberate within me.
This particular individual came from a prominent Canadian family who were part of the Muskoka well to do. He had been in the music business for thirty years, playing bass, drums, and guitar for many major, music super stars, including as a back-up guitarist and drummer for Eric Clapton, Duran Duran, Elton John, Shania Twain, and Blushing Brides, which was one of the most successful Rolling Stones Tribute band. His last appearance was in the Phil Collins Farewell tour in Paris in 2004. But no one knows him. Why? He likes being under the radar. In fact, Doug Creighton would claim that he has ghost-written six Grammy award winning songs, one of which was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, including some songs from Shania Twain, Keith Urban, and other artists too.
Any hoot, this distinguished gentleman had a private jet, a recording studio in Muskoka, and claimed to be majority owner of Clair Global International, which supplies concert stages for mega star groups like U2. However, he was cut off his fortune because he had a calamity with a fashion model in 2008, making him an outcast from his social circles, and forbidden from entering his three 8 million dollar mansions in the Toronto area. “I have three ex-wives,” he told me, “I love them all equally. I have no favourites.” Lucky him!
Douglas Creighton promised drama which led him to the east end of Toronto, where he was holed up in his grandmother’s residence. On his blackberry was a list of all the prominent people, all the who’s who in entertainment and government. “I am a member of the one percent,” he would say offhand, “My father would drill that into my head since I was a kid.” The pensive man would stop to smoke a cigarette, “you don’t hold it against me because I have some bucks? That I come from money? Do you?” He would then exude a dog-like smile and expanded it into a grin of delight.
“No, not at all, sir,” I said with polite non-enthusiasm. Such a moment made me reflect on how life put me on the path with such a character. Douglas Creighton was so far gone with his drinking and cocaine abuse he had befriended the local Dial a Bottle man, Chris Kyle. The Rocker saw significance in every encounter. Yet, his mind was filled with games, looking desperately to play with people’s heads. He ate little and spoke a great deal, always looking for the truth, yet hiding behind alcohol, drugs, and lies. Being a big liar too, Douglas Creighton would always appear as if he was going through the motions, as if he was having the experience.
“I don’t know who my friends are,” he would ponder out loud, swaying backwards and forwards, “prove your friendship and that you are not a poseur. Buy me a twelve pack of beer with a pack of cigarettes. And I might put you on the payroll.”
It’s Clair Global International, a big name company. He called at all hours, promising employment. This whole ordeal led me to an east end crack house. He was there for weeks, begging me to come, but when I went, I couldn’t get him to leave. One day, he has another demand. He mentioned a big name big name super star; who he had ghostwrote songs for. “Shania Twain needs background singers,” he said in a matter of fact type way, “I therefore need background singers. I am going to record her next album. It is called The Perfect Ten.” He looked to me for this need. I don’t know anyone. Through some freak of nature in the stagehand circuit, I had an acquaintance who was a background singer named Jennifer Inifa Edwards.
Luck would have it; it didn’t work out with Douglas Creighton. “She nearly killed me with the Jamaican Tequila,” he lamented later on the phone. So that ended badly. I searched my contacts some more and I came across someone I worked with along the way, they had a monthly meet up for aspiring singers and people in the industry, and it was called Rock Da Mike. I called them up and explained the situation. I don’t know if I sounded believable. No one believes a 5 foot 9 soft spoken sort, but this person knew me. Eventually, I had a list of four singers. I called one up, met Keisha, and explained the situation.
Then I organized a chance occurrence in a bar, where Douglas Creighton was introduced to Keisha. Oh, such playacting! He got to know her. The next time, I did not explain anything to the second singer Anita Cole and she did her thing for him. Without warning, that Scarborough resident came across as a diva and she got angry about it too. Yes, someone called me up to scream at me for that one. In the meantime, Douglas Creighton found Rebecca Rosenblat, a late night TV Sex Therapist to amuse him. Her stage name was Dr. Date!
Rebecca Rosenblat advised people, her clients, on how to inject better sex into their love life and relationship. She was a syndicated columnist, had a radio show, and authored a bunch of books, all on how to improve one’s sex life. Yes, sex, sex, and sex! She never, however, encouraged safe sex, or warned about the transmission of sexually transmitted diseases. I saw their private emails, suggesting Dr. Date was married twice, and she lived with her then unemployed American born husband and two adult sons from a previous marriage. Her present relationship was said to be dead, yet he was in another room, sleeping in a separate bed. Douglas Creighton had an emotional affair with Dr. Date. “You’re sleeping with your husband,” he accused her once, or twice. “You are LYING TO ME! I KNOW IT!” he roared into his blackberry.
“No I’m not,” she would fight back, “The marriage is OVER and he is out of my life.” Out of her life, but in the next room with no prospects.
“You lie,” he squealed with a falsetto of rage, as he drank some more beer. They continued their phone and text relationship. All the while, I am working as a stagehand and as a crew member on film shoots in the entertainment industry.
Remember, Douglas Creighton would promise the moon to me just to get me to buy him beer and cigarettes. He was all over You Tube. Some of his promises were otherworldly too! When Super Star Shania Twain stopped touring in 2004, Douglas Creighton’s life fell apart. The music man was said to do the bar circuit in New York, where he spent one thousand dollars a night on alcohol, both alone and with strangers, or anybody. Thus, Douglas Creighton had cancer, poseurs, and was in another alcoholic scourge. He went into the hospital and was told he would be dead in six months. There was a fifth floor in the hospital and it was called the death ward. At 5am in the morning, all the doors would lock down, and the dead would be removed. At that time, he went through every chemotherapy treatment imaginable. He recalled his skin color changed and hung right off of him. He fought it, he fought the users, told all the poseurs to get lost, they left, and in June of 2005 he was told he had survived. Douglas Creighton then went back home, up north to Muskoka, to Lake Roseau, where he remained until 2007. In time, he came back, tried to reintegrate into society, but in 2008 he had a thingy ordeal with a fashion model. I was told by his grandmother, that Douglas Creighton began to live with her from 2008 onwards. Lots of people would always come to visit him but she kept them away.
Douglas Creighton was a lonely, tormented person, often complaining he did not know who his real friends were. “When I get hold of my fortune,” he would tell me many times, “when I get hold of my fortune, you are going to be put on the payroll.” But I had to do one more thing, always…Get more beer. While he was on this emotional affair with Rebecca Rosenblat, he would ride the subway train for free. Why? He had no money. “I lost my wallet,” he would tell the TTC officials, who were surprisingly very understanding about his situation. So he rode TTC like he was on a world tour. He would introduce himself to countless women, tell them who he was, and wave of amazement would ripple all around him. He was a fixture at Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks (specifically Roxborough Yonge location) and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto. At that time, you would find him in the patio section in any of these locations, drinking a beer that was hidden inside a coffee cup, a very sad sight indeed.
One day, we met at the Water Mark Irish Pub patio lounge in the Harbour Front area of Toronto’s water front district. “Do you know Toronto only has one five star hotel?” he would say to me, showing off a beer I don’t know how he would pay for.
“What’s it called?” I would ask.
“Hazelton Lanes Hotel.” I shook my head. “It is the only Five star hotel for the Super elite in the city of Toronto. Other cities have more than just one Five star hotel. Can you believe that?!” Oh, the rich with such tales of woe!
“My Father and Mother were good friends with Mel Lastman,” he said many times, “I am good friends with Mel Lastman,” he continued, sipping his beer. “You want to talk to him?” Nobody!
I shook my head at the absurd question while he gestured to his blackberry which would buzz always on the table regardless where it was placed, nor the hour of day. “I am a friend of the CEO for Tor Star.” I showed no reaction at the subject matter of the banter. “And know the Thompson family at the Globe and Mail,” he continued, “The all live in Muskoka. I am even a friend of Oprah Winfrey too.” This Devil who tempted Jesus from the mountain top seemed to loom larger from scripture. I often wondered in such a circumstance why he would say such things and I forever sought the reason for us meeting. “I am also good friends with Rob Ford…” his voice would trail. Talk about that Devil!
“Who is he?” I asked, dumbly.
“Rob Ford is city councilor for the City of Toronto,” went on the troubled man, “and I am funding his political campaign to become Mayor of Toronto.”
“Why?”
“Rob Ford is part of the Muskoka crowd, he’s good people, and he’s also member of the one percent.”
I digested this information but shook my shoulder, making Creighton narrow his eyes and shine his teeth. “You’re also a part of the one percent,” he would add, forcing himself to feign encouragement. A moment of reflection ensued. “Can I borrow some bucks?” he begged, meekly.
“Why?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“I don’t have any money to pay for this?” he exclaimed, “You know my partners locked me down and I can’t put two quarters together.”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“I’m strapped for cash,” he coughed back. His exasperation was obvious.
Sometime afterwards, I researched Rob Ford’s biography on the internet. His late father was Doug Ford Sr, who was part of the owner of Deco Adhesive Products Ltd. and was elected to the provincial legislature in the 1995 provincial election. For four years, his father was a backbench for the Mike Harris government. Somewhere along the way Rob Ford dropped out of York University and eventually got elected and served a decade as a city councilor. Now he had political ambitions, yet I did not care at all. I forever ruminated upon the forces of fate that led me to being associated with the scion of the Sun Media Empire. Nobody would believe this— anybody!
After such a misadventure around town, Douglas Creighton, much like a free spirit, would go back to his Grandmother’s home in the east end like a broken man. From nowhere, Douglas Creighton would romance CTV’s Christine Bentley. Like him, she had been in the business for thirty years. Since I work in the industry I find I don’t get starstruck with such people. She was in her mid-fifties, part Jewish like him, or so he said. She came from a wealthy Canadian family, her father was an ambassador, she was educated in Europe, trained as a stage actress in Britain but her parents forbid her from a life in theatre because they equated the performance life style with exotic dancing. So she became a newscaster. How is that any different?
Both Douglas Creighton and Christine Bentley knew the same people, joked about them, imitated such people with glee, and bemoaned the next generation of trust fund types that resided in the uptown scene. How do the famous greet one another? One of them mentions some names of maître d‘ headwaiters from all the finest restaurants. Only then, an association would be formed. You’ll thank me for that tidbit someday, you will.
I tried to make her aware of his living arrangements. I don’t think she believed me. This five foot nine height and soft spoken nature would bedevil me always when it comes to presenting a convincing argument. “Is this in the vaults?” she would quickly ask, looking at me with cunning and dislike. She then wanted to know my DOB, location of residence, and if I had a broker for my financial portfolio. Boy, she was talking to the wrong person. In fact, she sounded like a CIA operative, not the affable TV personality we all know and love. Well, after one year and half of this roller coaster ride, Douglas Creighton entered a crisis. Both women found out they were vying for the same man. To add humour to the situation, the newscaster even mocked the production value of the Dr. Dates’ nightly show, causing it to be eventually be revamped. Out of the blue, both women charged Douglas Creighton with criminal harassment. At this juncture, the grandmother made me aware that Douglas Creighton was not Douglas Creighton, but Doug Pell. A Peel Regional Police Detective called me to confirm such a detail. Yes, this episode was all kept hush hush.
Finally, the police took the celebrity into custody and they got him help. This was June 6, 2010. I would not see Doug Pell until December 2010 when he was sober. In that time, his whole appearance had undergone a complete transformation. The musician was dressed like an aristocratic, much like a character from F Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. His clothes were tailor made for him, including his trousers and silk pink dress shirt. That handmade collar was wrapped around his neck. His jacket and shoes was big label splendid too! This Rosedale resident even made a point of announcing this aspect as fact, narrowing his eyes with distrust and shining his teeth at me. His Gucci bowling shoes were gone. Oddly enough, he offered to pay for drinks. The Rock Star would then get up to fetch a drink, but spun around because an element of suspicion darted through him. “My blackberry,” he remarked with smugness, “has a lock on it.” Somewhere along the way, I learned he had three Yorkville psychiatrists to see in his recovery process. Cheaper to have a blog!
In January 2011, he introduced me to Andrew Jaworski, a former 80′s Degrassi Actor. This thespian was age 39, ready for the next decade. At first, he was dressed in streets clothes. Andrew Jaworski was short with a mischievous air and was always trying to win a smile out of people, like he was play acting on TV, showing off his new teeth, when he hadn’t acted in twenty years. This television star was too nice, too perfect. Those grotesque smiles made him come across as almost diabolical. He was always behaving in an uncommon dignity and sense of self-esteem that would never match the circumstance. He had a show of faces on display but settled with a stage presence type personae to add to the affect. At first, this once famous man would sit erect, attentive only to Doug Pell, sending his gaze to scan the entire establishment with an exaggerated sense of self importance.
The Rocker, Andrew Jaworski, and I would go to the Alcohol Anonymous meetings. This was done to help Doug Pell feel he was on the right track to rehabilitation. I got to know that all over Toronto Alcohol Anonymous meetings were held in every available church basement. Alcohol Anonymous had no membership fees, no names. All was required was for people to come to meet, share their experiences, and keep sober. I tried to get to know Andrew Jaworski, who was openly gay and a practicing Buddhist. He occasionally worked as a food server at Second Cup at St. Clair and Yonge. I remember him complaining about the tests required to work for a coffee house. I heard of no such thing, but to him it was real. In time, Andrew Jaworski morphed into a yes man type, exuding that unique, repulsive smile that was supposed to be the height of gratitude. He would always supply an endless amount of cigarettes to the Rocker, even in full knowledge that our musician friend had cancer. I knew nothing about Toronto’s Gay Village but Andrew Jaworski gave me an education on that area of the city. The 80’s television star perceived that I projected a vulnerability of apprehension towards him, his body language, and ideas.
That being said, we rendezvoused at Roxborough and Yonge Starbucks, where Andrew Jaworski continued to showcase an array of forced smiles, all showing him with mock shock, dismay, and surprise, all from his fiendish countenance. “I’ll send you the White Light,” he weirdly promised, only adding to my suspicions. Washed up actor! Poseur Buddhist!
In February of 2011, Andrew Jaworski began to use his choice in orientation every way imaginable, all to win favour from Doug Pell. He would continue to go in this direction, all leading to a bad argument on February 19th, 2011. Right there and then Andrew Jaworski revealed that he shared the bed with Doug Pell many times while they slept. How this news was delivered was meant to goad an angry response out of me. It must have been the blow. All I know, cocaine does a lot of strange things, so I am told. Doug Pell had that for a demanding mistress too.
In such a circumstance, Andrew Jaworski got me to condemn him, his lifestyle right in front of Doug Pell, who regarded me with indulgent amusement. There was a moment of silence and reflection amongst the friends. The Rock Star was very elegant, cool, and quiet. “Really?” he would remark with an element of surprise. “You’re morale,” he would continue, “you’re old fashioned!” he would add, snapping his fingers at me with dismay and disgust. The well-traveled man would then smoulder with blackness, while the other gleefully conformed to the new social dynamic. Unknown to me, these performers had a global eclectic relationship. Doug Pell had manoeuvred and navigated through many such situations, always leading to conflict resolution. He moved back his head. “You have my father’s point of view,” he exclaimed, setting his teeth into position. “You’ll get nothing out of me,” he said with finality, leaving a cloud to settle over us three, dividing me from their reality.
In fact, it wasn’t about the life style at all. At first, it was getting Doug Pell into rehab, twice, first time he failed, and the next time was successful. Andrew Jaworski and Doug Pell made mode of living the issue when it was not part of the picture before at all. Thus, this goes to prove a good enemy will make you understand their point of view; while they help you slit your own thrown. A slow and painful death would ensure the conveyance of their mentality. Such an individual could accomplish such a feet, quoting Buddhism, or scripture, aglow in the eyes of public opinion.
Over the next few months, I did meet with these two men repeatedly but the argument in February had cemented a rift with our relationship. None of them knew about the roller coaster ride to get Doug Pell into rehab. When drunk, Doug Pell consumed me beyond belief. I found him in the past to be a demanding person, never happy, and always wanting more. Never having enough. Doug Pell possibly lived thirty years in the fast lane, jet-setting around the world, going through relationships as fast as he wanted and ending them without warning. Maybe it was my lower station in life that was the grand divide. Well, Doug Pell did get control of his fortune on June 6th, 2011. He invited me to his trendy Roxborough Rosedale Starbucks and made a show of the fact that he had hired Andrew Jaworski, who assumed a fashionable air, which he instinctively, felt high society would require. For that whole year, I pondered that dark secret that Andrew Jaworski had. Yes, he was openly gay and used it to his advantage every way imaginable. This mischievous man did act in 80′s Degrassi, but there was something about him behind that grotesque smile, shrouding a part of his personality in mystery. He would always try to win a smile out of people, hug them when he met them, but that mask that he hid behind would haunt a nightmare.
On September 1st, 2011 Doug Pell called me up, wishing to meet. In an hour, we sat across from each other at King and Yonge Starbucks. He had an arched look and waited until he charted his first move. A discarded newspaper unfolded on the next table, opening up to the municipal politics section. “Mayor Rob Ford is a FRIEND of mine,” he said with a sense of personal possession, “funding his political campaign was the BEST MONEY I spent yet.” Such knowledge was irrelevant to me. I showed no interest in pursuing that type of conversation. This all led to the pensive man to actually begin to play with his blackberry with a fidgety sense of indignity. It didn’t take long for Doug Pell to grow irritated, and he urgently suggested we relocate ourselves on the outside patio. This new vantage point faced a busy high traffic thoroughfare and sidewalk area. Once again, we were unable to substantiate any sense of conversation. An element of disappointment filled the air. I looked back at him with untired eyes. Out of the blue, I struck up an exchange with Juliet Francis, an African Canadian lady that was situated beside us. Juliet Francis was a middle aged woman, intending on leaving her job as a bookkeeper to start a business, all to teach intuition in the Annex area of Toronto. Right there and then, Doug Pell got an important call, excused himself to lurch forward, and have a private conversation. “I was told to be here,” exclaimed Francis to herself out loud. “I was told to be here.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I was told to be here,” she answered, “I was told to be in this exact spot, at this time, not inside, but precisely here and now.”
I digested this communication with a moment of contemplation. If she teaches intuition… “Are you an Indigo Adult?” I asked, hoping I was correct and not ready to explain my off beat reading interests.
“Yes, I am,” she answered with an elevated sense of speech. “You can call me an Indigo Adult. I don’t mind at all.”
“See him?” I said, pointing at Doug Pell, who still chatted on the phone, “He attracts a lot of questionable characters, those I wouldn’t choose to be around.”
“If he’s creative and intuitive,” she reasoned, sipping a green tea, “then he has all the hall marks of being an Indigo Adult.”
An interesting point of view, I mused. “Really?!”
“Jimmy Hendrix was the same.”
“Hendrix was Indigo?”
“He was very intuitive and creative,” she mused, “Jimmy Hendrix was what you call an Indigo, or a realized soul.”
A very fascinating point of view! With that in mind, I gestured the other to return. “I just got off the phone with my partners,” he announced. Big deal.
“That doesn’t matter,” I remarked, vacating the seat, and suggesting he sit beside Juliet Francis.
“What do you mean that doesn’t matter,” he laughed, quietly to himself, assuming my position beside the medium. “To talk with my partners is important!”
I introduced them together and they seemed very pleased to begin a friendship. I explained the Indigo phenomenon. She looked to the One Percent and said: “You’re an Indigo, Doug.”
“I do have prophetic dreams,” he agreed with momentary discomfort and annoyance. “I do have prophetic dreams,” he repeated, adjusting his body on the chair to add to the effect.
“Do you see auras,” I jumped in, interrupting the flow of conversation. Everyone was silent and focused on the mysterious woman and her coming answer. “Yes, I do,” she responded with a people easy smile and nod, “and my aura is red, I am covered with a red aura,” she exclaimed with enthusiasm!” Like Lucifer? I can’t imagine why!
I looked at them both, as they grooved deep into conversation. I encouraged them to form such a friendship. “She’s like a social worker,” I told him another time with a wink. “She’s your new social worker type friend!”
In the past, I directed commercials and a documentary on youth violence which was screened in England, but at that time I mainly worked as a grip in film and TV circles. I did also work, however, as a stagehand on the occasional rock concert, or even corporate set up.
In the fall of 2011, I worked on an IASTE 873 union show. I laboured two eighteen hour days. On the last day, a shock came. It was late; everyone boarded the five ton truck and sat in a semi-circle in the back office area of the vehicle. There was not much light in this area, but I could hear them sit, opening up some beers. It didn’t take long for cannabis to be in the air. I didn’t see any faces but I knew who they were and heard their conversation. “So where did you get your shit?” someone asked another.
“British Columbia!” I watched from a distance.
“Ah, greatest export from Western Canada to Toronto, which is the center of the universe!” Everyone said an Amen in unison with a chuckle.
“Thank the Lord!” exclaimed another.
“Yes, by the word ‘lord’ you mean Lord Black!” added someone else, which led to a moment of snickering. It was at this juncture one of the actors spoke about the local, underground drug scene in Toronto. Through the haze I could hear this voice transcend the surroundings. “Just below Yonge and Bloor,” he said, “there is a center that supplies herbs, medical marijuana for Aid’s sufferers, or even cheap medication to cancer sufferers.
“I think I heard of this store,” responded a woman “Isn’t there a safe injection site there?”
A long silence ensued. “It’s known to police,” continued the voice. “The Vapor Lounge,” added the voice. “The Vapor Lounge Toronto, it is indeed!” Someone would suppress a laugh at that statement.
“Isn’t there a Degrassi actor from the 80’s who manages that place?” added a lusty voice, clearly recognizable from the rest, “Who did he play again? Was it Walter from 80’s Degrassi? I keep mixing up those guys!”
I could hear some drink and pass around the implements for blissful awareness. “There is another Degrassi actor from that era and he’s gay.” My ears pricked at this mention. “What’s his name?” someone asked.
“Andrew Jaworski?”
I felt a slight spasm, possibly a coming ailment to be solved by a visit to the chiropractor. “Who did he play?” they continued to talk.
“I don’t remember. Is he part of the drug scene too?”
There was the sound of another beer that cracked open. The tone of the conversation went to a lower decibel. “He sells the hard stuff.” All I could hear was the sound of my breath and my heart beating. “That place is known to the police.”
The dark figures that had gathered all resembled warring factions from the past, much like the Aboriginals who found peace with the first settlers to the New World.
“There’s the old guys in film who say Mayor Rob Ford sold them weed in the early 1990’s,” rattled off one voice, before suffering a severe bronchial cough.
“Maybe Rob Ford did that back then?” mused someone, shifting their body weight on the ground
“Yup,” resume the sick man, “he was a drug dealer back in the day before he became all respectable, ran for maniple government, and got elected to Toronto City Council.”
That would explain the Rock Star’s motive for financing Rob Ford’s political campaign. They were from the high society stoner crowd! Secondly, didn’t Rob Ford get approached by two Aids’ sufferers on the campaign trail in 2010, where they tape recorded themselves, asking the future Mayor to buy an illegal drug to ease their suffering? Someone knows something.
While everyone ruminated on this information, the group continued to experience a sense of illumination.
“So you say this guy is from 80’s Degrassi is gay?” someone broke the silence.
“Oh, yes. Eighty percent of the actors in Hollywood are gay. Who do you think gets all the work?” The group continued to nurse their alcohol and weed. “This Andrew Jaworski deals the hard stuff,” the voice repeated. “Narcotics and all.”
“Really?!”
“And that’s how drugs like heroine, crystal meth, and ecstasy lands up on the streets of our city of Toronto?”
“So your saying,” came a question, “If that center was raided by police tomorrow…-“the voice trailed off.
“It would cause uproar.”
“Why?” demanded the others. “Why?”
“Its clientele are predominately gay and they need cheap drugs to fight Aid’s. And this gay lobby would rage against the police for conducting such an outrage. Every level of government would feel the heat for this!”
This confirmed my suspicions about Andrew Jaworski. In the coming days, I went to the location. On the front window was a name and number for a local spiritualist and a huge poster that promoted a Buddhist master. Not long after, I met the Juliet Francis at the Green Beanery in the Annex area of Toronto, which was located at Bathurst and Bloor. I explained what I had heard.
“Some people operate from a lower karmic level,” she spoke in an elevated nature, inspiring her with a sense of energy and confidence.
“I never thought it was that bad,” I told her, “I have no one else to tell this to!” I really have no one to go to about this!
“Some people operate from a lower karmic frequency,” she reiterated with a glow. “I will raise his karmic vibration naturally and then let him go, and Andrew Jaworski would then go off into the world.”
“Wouldn’t that make him into a killer?”
“No,” she answered, stopping to think that one out, “I don’t think.” She was unsure. “I will have to check the cards.”
“Well, he is a long time Meth Dealer,” I told her. She held firm and I haven’t seen her since.
At that time, she was based out of Alternative Thinking bookshop in the Annex of Toronto. There is, however, an ugly rumor that Alternative Thinking is known for being practitioners of black magic, the dark arts, and spells.
In the New Year of 2012, I finally found Andrew Jaworski on a Sunday afternoon, where he is a fixture even now. Just on the South West corner of Yonge and Dundas Square, I spotted Andrew Jaworski before a group of teenagers in baggy pants. He was quickly negotiating the sale of his goods. He had a hoodie over his head and his face was blackened out from exposure. I knew it was him. He being small, short, and having a small build made him recognizable to me. I watched him on that Sunday afternoon, until he completed his business. I continued to eye him. Just like that, he stopped and froze. His eyes seemed to start from his sockets. He must have realized I had seen him, but he did not know for how long. He remained motionless for a millisecond, before continuing homewards, clicking his tongue like he was communicating with a squirrel. He sees this as a game! In the coming months, April 21, 2012 came. That day, I met Doug Pell, who I soon informed of the latest developments. “He’s a drug dealer, man,” I told him, leaning on the table. “He deals the hard stuff, narcotics and all.”
“Then why did he go with me to Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“I don’t know,” I responded, “Why did he do that? Why did he do that at all?!”
Doug Pell didn’t look to his right side which was the standard search mechanism for recalling memories, but did otherwise. Maybe he knew all along? Doug Pell attracted many questionable characters, both men and women. Rob Ford was a dealer? Andrew Jaworski does it too. Everyone is connected. Nothing happens by chance!
Several weeks later spring arrived and I received a telephone call. It sounded like an adult imitating a baby cry, or a woman crying in a mocking type way. That did it! In the afternoon, I went to a food court in the center of the downtown core and wrote all the information, regarding Andrew Jaworski, all my suspicions and called Crime Stoppers. Rewarding a Meth Dealer was evil enough! I would visualize Andrew Jaworski using his vicious personality to tease street kids while they got hooked and lose their souls to the prescription drug addictions that torment so many Millennials in this day and age.
In the modern era, narcissists can be found everywhere. They will find people to use with vicious delight. Then they move on. They repeat their behaviour over and over. And if you happen to be the recipient of such attacks and have a hard time getting over it, they will assume that you are the one with the problem.
Doug Pell had rewarded Andrew Jaworski, who had never received any residues for his work in prime time television. In those days, that generation of show was none union. This early stardom destroyed Andrew Jaworski’s childhood, his education, and he had to grow up awfully fast. He earned a livelihood through illicit means to substitute the life style that had been denied to him by that brief career in Canadian show business. Through his method acting ability, this Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scored himself on the payroll for Clair Global International, a major staging company. Andrew Jaworski never left his old ways behind him. One will not have to look far to spot him downtown, all before a rave, or a big event. I did inform Crime Stoppers about him but because of his association with a possible member of the One Percent, Andrew Jaworski is exempt from a criminal investigation, charges and from prosecution. How do you think Rob Ford became mayor of Toronto? Mafia Crime syndicates and the Big Drug Companies rule this world. Why fix it if it ain’t broken?!
During the summer of 2012 a man matching Andrew Jaworski’s description was seen and involved in some attacks in the Kensington Market area of Toronto, including one stabbing murder that shocked area residents. The locale media called it the Kensington Stabbing. The day after the murder, I saw that artful dodger glide from a dark corner. He had a fake beard, a set of brown rim glasses, and a sweater clad type outfit. I thought he was hiding something again. He was walking in the direction of the Toronto Buddhist Temple that existed in the vicinity. Sometimes he would be dressed like a corporate executive, or a street vagrant, always blending into the scene. You can find him in the Rich Tree Market Restaurant at College Park, inside and outside patio in a starched shirt and pinstripe suit. Or even outside, looking smooth while he chain-smoked, waiting for his Monday doctor’s appointment which was across Bay Street.
It was all a game to him. Like the Doug Pell, Andrew Jaworski was a fixture at the patio section for Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks, all the Rosedale Alcohol Anonymous meetings, and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto, always exclaiming that he is a Buddhist, and is into meditation. Even on a sunny day you will see Andrew Jaworski at a park bench near the Toronto’s Ferry Docks in the Harbour Front Area of Toronto. Yes, this is not only a Tourist destination but a hot bed for drug deals and location for millionaires who live in upscale condominiums. One can easily spot Andrew Jaworski wearing a hoodie to obscure his identity, including a designer label in a better area of town. He is always looking to keep the fast cash coming and the illusion of high living alive. See him on a Sunday afternoon at Yonge and Dundas Square on the South West corner in action, inside the main entrance of the mall, and outside of it, dealing drugs, where he is a fixture. You kill him and you will become him. How did that Eaton’s Center shooting happen again?!
So we come full circle. What if by raising a person’s energy level, you activate a level of the brain that would unleash a person’s dark side, leading that subject to rape, or murder? A Meth Dealer would operate on a lower Karmic frequency. You raise their vibration and you have a monster and Andrew Jaworski may not even be aware of this action at all. Suppose this happened to this specific individual when he was not thinking about it. He may have anger towards women, all suppressed, and this leads him to violence. He snaps out of it and doesn’t realize what he has done. If he does, or the police can connect the dots…maybe they know already?
Maybe his association to the one percent is already known. Jack the Ripper was protected by the authorities in his time. The mafia crime syndicates have one hundred percent control over their money making ways. All the strip bars are owned by the mob. Each bar has its own drug dealer to keep the girls hooked, shackling them to a life of servitude, and keeping the money coming. The same goes with prostitution. The Drug Squad would never raid the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is too much a money maker for the crime bosses and it acts as a control mechanism to the burgeoning, homeless population. Yes, the Vapor Lounge Toronto aims to supply cheap drugs to those suffering from Aids and cancer, but everyone knows this is all an illusion because the hard drugs hit the streets through it too. It’s management team which has one 80′s Degrassi Actor part of its ranks, giving the center an appearance of respectability. A ghost roster of drug dealers does exist in such an establishment and this all leads to tragic events like the Eaton Center shooting, gun violence at York Dale Mall, and other gun activity in the suburban areas of Toronto. To keep an eye on such an operation, government operatives must be part of its management team. One source suggests this center has police informants interwoven between the riff-raff. One wonders if this center’s LA division is any different? Since the big drug companies profit from such a circumstance, why fix it if it ain’t broken?
Rock Stars are not the only addicts in town. Addiction affects professional athletes, labourers to professionals, including media personalities and politicians—everyone! When I see Mayor Rob Ford in a crack cocaine scandal, I remember Doug Pell, his friend and campaign backer. I also see Andrew Jaworski and the world of the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is not about legalization, but changing attitudes. The typical Millennial doesn’t want to hear about morality and the ethical arguments that go with it. They care only what feels right and what is popular. Some do it quietly and others find strength in numbers. It will happen regardless. Some people see this as a right to choose, yet others feel they are born this way. It is what it is.
All in all, if you meet someone named Douglas Creighton at a TTC Bloor subway station and he claims to be the son of the founding publisher of The Toronto Sun Newspaper, says he has ghost-written six Grammy award winning songs, one of which was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, tells you he has been cut off from his fortune due to a drinking problem, and he promises to get you on the payroll for Clair Global International, as long as you buy him beer…consider yourself forewarned!
It was January 15th, 2009. Imagine you are at a newspaper stand in a busy transit station and you meet a washed up rock star who was going through an alcoholic meltdown.
You are always looking to get promotion for those books you got published VIA Google search, but the Canadian media is stuck in a 1950′s time warp, where those online books are not considered mainstream. Our friend the rocker introduced himself as Douglas Creighton. The musician was tall; broad shouldered, long faced with curly brown hair, and well dressed. Oddly enough, he wore a Gucci watch and bowling shoes too. “I’m Douglas Creighton,” he told the tired newsstand attendant, repeatedly, “I am the son of Douglas Creighton, founding publisher for the Toronto Sun Newspaper. My father is the one who founded the Toronto Sun newspaper!” His voice boomed and seemed to reverberate within me.
This particular individual came from a prominent Canadian family who were part of the Muskoka well to do. He had been in the music business for thirty years, playing bass, drums, and guitar for many major, music super stars, including as a back-up guitarist and drummer for Eric Clapton, Duran Duran, Elton John, Shania Twain, and Blushing Brides, which was one of the most successful Rolling Stones Tribute band. His last appearance was in the Phil Collins Farewell tour in Paris in 2004. But no one knows him. Why? He likes being under the radar. In fact, Doug Creighton would claim that he has ghost-written six Grammy award winning songs, one of which was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, including some songs from Shania Twain, Keith Urban, and other artists too.
Any hoot, this distinguished gentleman had a private jet, a recording studio in Muskoka, and claimed to be majority owner of Clair Global International, which supplies concert stages for mega star groups like U2. However, he was cut off his fortune because he had a calamity with a fashion model in 2008, making him an outcast from his social circles, and forbidden from entering his three 8 million dollar mansions in the Toronto area. “I have three ex-wives,” he told me, “I love them all equally. I have no favourites.” Lucky him!
Douglas Creighton promised drama which led him to the east end of Toronto, where he was holed up in his grandmother’s residence. On his blackberry was a list of all the prominent people, all the who’s who in entertainment and government. “I am a member of the one percent,” he would say offhand, “My father would drill that into my head since I was a kid.” The pensive man would stop to smoke a cigarette, “you don’t hold it against me because I have some bucks? That I come from money? Do you?” He would then exude a dog-like smile and expanded it into a grin of delight.
“No, not at all, sir,” I said with polite non-enthusiasm. Such a moment made me reflect on how life put me on the path with such a character. Douglas Creighton was so far gone with his drinking and cocaine abuse he had befriended the local Dial a Bottle man, Chris Kyle. The Rocker saw significance in every encounter. Yet, his mind was filled with games, looking desperately to play with people’s heads. He ate little and spoke a great deal, always looking for the truth, yet hiding behind alcohol, drugs, and lies. Being a big liar too, Douglas Creighton would always appear as if he was going through the motions, as if he was having the experience.
“I don’t know who my friends are,” he would ponder out loud, swaying backwards and forwards, “prove your friendship and that you are not a poseur. Buy me a twelve pack of beer with a pack of cigarettes. And I might put you on the payroll.”
It’s Clair Global International, a big name company. He called at all hours, promising employment. This whole ordeal led me to an east end crack house. He was there for weeks, begging me to come, but when I went, I couldn’t get him to leave. One day, he has another demand. He mentioned a big name big name super star; who he had ghostwrote songs for. “Shania Twain needs background singers,” he said in a matter of fact type way, “I therefore need background singers. I am going to record her next album. It is called The Perfect Ten.” He looked to me for this need. I don’t know anyone. Through some freak of nature in the stagehand circuit, I had an acquaintance who was a background singer named Jennifer Inifa Edwards.
Luck would have it; it didn’t work out with Douglas Creighton. “She nearly killed me with the Jamaican Tequila,” he lamented later on the phone. So that ended badly. I searched my contacts some more and I came across someone I worked with along the way, they had a monthly meet up for aspiring singers and people in the industry, and it was called Rock Da Mike. I called them up and explained the situation. I don’t know if I sounded believable. No one believes a 5 foot 9 soft spoken sort, but this person knew me. Eventually, I had a list of four singers. I called one up, met Keisha, and explained the situation.
Then I organized a chance occurrence in a bar, where Douglas Creighton was introduced to Keisha. Oh, such playacting! He got to know her. The next time, I did not explain anything to the second singer Anita Cole and she did her thing for him. Without warning, that Scarborough resident came across as a diva and she got angry about it too. Yes, someone called me up to scream at me for that one. In the meantime, Douglas Creighton found Rebecca Rosenblat, a late night TV Sex Therapist to amuse him. Her stage name was Dr. Date!
Rebecca Rosenblat advised people, her clients, on how to inject better sex into their love life and relationship. She was a syndicated columnist, had a radio show, and authored a bunch of books, all on how to improve one’s sex life. Yes, sex, sex, and sex! She never, however, encouraged safe sex, or warned about the transmission of sexually transmitted diseases. I saw their private emails, suggesting Dr. Date was married twice, and she lived with her then unemployed American born husband and two adult sons from a previous marriage. Her present relationship was said to be dead, yet he was in another room, sleeping in a separate bed. Douglas Creighton had an emotional affair with Dr. Date. “You’re sleeping with your husband,” he accused her once, or twice. “You are LYING TO ME! I KNOW IT!” he roared into his blackberry.
“No I’m not,” she would fight back, “The marriage is OVER and he is out of my life.” Out of her life, but in the next room with no prospects.
“You lie,” he squealed with a falsetto of rage, as he drank some more beer. They continued their phone and text relationship. All the while, I am working as a stagehand and as a crew member on film shoots in the entertainment industry.
Remember, Douglas Creighton would promise the moon to me just to get me to buy him beer and cigarettes. He was all over You Tube. Some of his promises were otherworldly too! When Super Star Shania Twain stopped touring in 2004, Douglas Creighton’s life fell apart. The music man was said to do the bar circuit in New York, where he spent one thousand dollars a night on alcohol, both alone and with strangers, or anybody. Thus, Douglas Creighton had cancer, poseurs, and was in another alcoholic scourge. He went into the hospital and was told he would be dead in six months. There was a fifth floor in the hospital and it was called the death ward. At 5am in the morning, all the doors would lock down, and the dead would be removed. At that time, he went through every chemotherapy treatment imaginable. He recalled his skin color changed and hung right off of him. He fought it, he fought the users, told all the poseurs to get lost, they left, and in June of 2005 he was told he had survived. Douglas Creighton then went back home, up north to Muskoka, to Lake Roseau, where he remained until 2007. In time, he came back, tried to reintegrate into society, but in 2008 he had a thingy ordeal with a fashion model. I was told by his grandmother, that Douglas Creighton began to live with her from 2008 onwards. Lots of people would always come to visit him but she kept them away.
Douglas Creighton was a lonely, tormented person, often complaining he did not know who his real friends were. “When I get hold of my fortune,” he would tell me many times, “when I get hold of my fortune, you are going to be put on the payroll.” But I had to do one more thing, always…Get more beer. While he was on this emotional affair with Rebecca Rosenblat, he would ride the subway train for free. Why? He had no money. “I lost my wallet,” he would tell the TTC officials, who were surprisingly very understanding about his situation. So he rode TTC like he was on a world tour. He would introduce himself to countless women, tell them who he was, and wave of amazement would ripple all around him. He was a fixture at Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks (specifically Roxborough Yonge location) and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto. At that time, you would find him in the patio section in any of these locations, drinking a beer that was hidden inside a coffee cup, a very sad sight indeed.
One day, we met at the Water Mark Irish Pub patio lounge in the Harbour Front area of Toronto’s water front district. “Do you know Toronto only has one five star hotel?” he would say to me, showing off a beer I don’t know how he would pay for.
“What’s it called?” I would ask.
“Hazelton Lanes Hotel.” I shook my head. “It is the only Five star hotel for the Super elite in the city of Toronto. Other cities have more than just one Five star hotel. Can you believe that?!” Oh, the rich with such tales of woe!
“My Father and Mother were good friends with Mel Lastman,” he said many times, “I am good friends with Mel Lastman,” he continued, sipping his beer. “You want to talk to him?” Nobody!
I shook my head at the absurd question while he gestured to his blackberry which would buzz always on the table regardless where it was placed, nor the hour of day. “I am a friend of the CEO for Tor Star.” I showed no reaction at the subject matter of the banter. “And know the Thompson family at the Globe and Mail,” he continued, “The all live in Muskoka. I am even a friend of Oprah Winfrey too.” This Devil who tempted Jesus from the mountain top seemed to loom larger from scripture. I often wondered in such a circumstance why he would say such things and I forever sought the reason for us meeting. “I am also good friends with Rob Ford…” his voice would trail. Talk about that Devil!
“Who is he?” I asked, dumbly.
“Rob Ford is city councilor for the City of Toronto,” went on the troubled man, “and I am funding his political campaign to become Mayor of Toronto.”
“Why?”
“Rob Ford is part of the Muskoka crowd, he’s good people, and he’s also member of the one percent.”
I digested this information but shook my shoulder, making Creighton narrow his eyes and shine his teeth. “You’re also a part of the one percent,” he would add, forcing himself to feign encouragement. A moment of reflection ensued. “Can I borrow some bucks?” he begged, meekly.
“Why?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“I don’t have any money to pay for this?” he exclaimed, “You know my partners locked me down and I can’t put two quarters together.”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“I’m strapped for cash,” he coughed back. His exasperation was obvious.
Sometime afterwards, I researched Rob Ford’s biography on the internet. His late father was Doug Ford Sr, who was part of the owner of Deco Adhesive Products Ltd. and was elected to the provincial legislature in the 1995 provincial election. For four years, his father was a backbench for the Mike Harris government. Somewhere along the way Rob Ford dropped out of York University and eventually got elected and served a decade as a city councilor. Now he had political ambitions, yet I did not care at all. I forever ruminated upon the forces of fate that led me to being associated with the scion of the Sun Media Empire. Nobody would believe this— anybody!
After such a misadventure around town, Douglas Creighton, much like a free spirit, would go back to his Grandmother’s home in the east end like a broken man. From nowhere, Douglas Creighton would romance CTV’s Christine Bentley. Like him, she had been in the business for thirty years. Since I work in the industry I find I don’t get starstruck with such people. She was in her mid-fifties, part Jewish like him, or so he said. She came from a wealthy Canadian family, her father was an ambassador, she was educated in Europe, trained as a stage actress in Britain but her parents forbid her from a life in theatre because they equated the performance life style with exotic dancing. So she became a newscaster. How is that any different?
Both Douglas Creighton and Christine Bentley knew the same people, joked about them, imitated such people with glee, and bemoaned the next generation of trust fund types that resided in the uptown scene. How do the famous greet one another? One of them mentions some names of maître d‘ headwaiters from all the finest restaurants. Only then, an association would be formed. You’ll thank me for that tidbit someday, you will.
I tried to make her aware of his living arrangements. I don’t think she believed me. This five foot nine height and soft spoken nature would bedevil me always when it comes to presenting a convincing argument. “Is this in the vaults?” she would quickly ask, looking at me with cunning and dislike. She then wanted to know my DOB, location of residence, and if I had a broker for my financial portfolio. Boy, she was talking to the wrong person. In fact, she sounded like a CIA operative, not the affable TV personality we all know and love. Well, after one year and half of this roller coaster ride, Douglas Creighton entered a crisis. Both women found out they were vying for the same man. To add humour to the situation, the newscaster even mocked the production value of the Dr. Dates’ nightly show, causing it to be eventually be revamped. Out of the blue, both women charged Douglas Creighton with criminal harassment. At this juncture, the grandmother made me aware that Douglas Creighton was not Douglas Creighton, but Doug Pell. A Peel Regional Police Detective called me to confirm such a detail. Yes, this episode was all kept hush hush.
Finally, the police took the celebrity into custody and they got him help. This was June 6, 2010. I would not see Doug Pell until December 2010 when he was sober. In that time, his whole appearance had undergone a complete transformation. The musician was dressed like an aristocratic, much like a character from F Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. His clothes were tailor made for him, including his trousers and silk pink dress shirt. That handmade collar was wrapped around his neck. His jacket and shoes was big label splendid too! This Rosedale resident even made a point of announcing this aspect as fact, narrowing his eyes with distrust and shining his teeth at me. His Gucci bowling shoes were gone. Oddly enough, he offered to pay for drinks. The Rock Star would then get up to fetch a drink, but spun around because an element of suspicion darted through him. “My blackberry,” he remarked with smugness, “has a lock on it.” Somewhere along the way, I learned he had three Yorkville psychiatrists to see in his recovery process. Cheaper to have a blog!
In January 2011, he introduced me to Andrew Jaworski, a former 80′s Degrassi Actor. This thespian was age 39, ready for the next decade. At first, he was dressed in streets clothes. Andrew Jaworski was short with a mischievous air and was always trying to win a smile out of people, like he was play acting on TV, showing off his new teeth, when he hadn’t acted in twenty years. This television star was too nice, too perfect. Those grotesque smiles made him come across as almost diabolical. He was always behaving in an uncommon dignity and sense of self-esteem that would never match the circumstance. He had a show of faces on display but settled with a stage presence type personae to add to the affect. At first, this once famous man would sit erect, attentive only to Doug Pell, sending his gaze to scan the entire establishment with an exaggerated sense of self importance.
The Rocker, Andrew Jaworski, and I would go to the Alcohol Anonymous meetings. This was done to help Doug Pell feel he was on the right track to rehabilitation. I got to know that all over Toronto Alcohol Anonymous meetings were held in every available church basement. Alcohol Anonymous had no membership fees, no names. All was required was for people to come to meet, share their experiences, and keep sober. I tried to get to know Andrew Jaworski, who was openly gay and a practicing Buddhist. He occasionally worked as a food server at Second Cup at St. Clair and Yonge. I remember him complaining about the tests required to work for a coffee house. I heard of no such thing, but to him it was real. In time, Andrew Jaworski morphed into a yes man type, exuding that unique, repulsive smile that was supposed to be the height of gratitude. He would always supply an endless amount of cigarettes to the Rocker, even in full knowledge that our musician friend had cancer. I knew nothing about Toronto’s Gay Village but Andrew Jaworski gave me an education on that area of the city. The 80’s television star perceived that I projected a vulnerability of apprehension towards him, his body language, and ideas.
That being said, we rendezvoused at Roxborough and Yonge Starbucks, where Andrew Jaworski continued to showcase an array of forced smiles, all showing him with mock shock, dismay, and surprise, all from his fiendish countenance. “I’ll send you the White Light,” he weirdly promised, only adding to my suspicions. Washed up actor! Poseur Buddhist!
In February of 2011, Andrew Jaworski began to use his choice in orientation every way imaginable, all to win favour from Doug Pell. He would continue to go in this direction, all leading to a bad argument on February 19th, 2011. Right there and then Andrew Jaworski revealed that he shared the bed with Doug Pell many times while they slept. How this news was delivered was meant to goad an angry response out of me. It must have been the blow. All I know, cocaine does a lot of strange things, so I am told. Doug Pell had that for a demanding mistress too.
In such a circumstance, Andrew Jaworski got me to condemn him, his lifestyle right in front of Doug Pell, who regarded me with indulgent amusement. There was a moment of silence and reflection amongst the friends. The Rock Star was very elegant, cool, and quiet. “Really?” he would remark with an element of surprise. “You’re morale,” he would continue, “you’re old fashioned!” he would add, snapping his fingers at me with dismay and disgust. The well-traveled man would then smoulder with blackness, while the other gleefully conformed to the new social dynamic. Unknown to me, these performers had a global eclectic relationship. Doug Pell had manoeuvred and navigated through many such situations, always leading to conflict resolution. He moved back his head. “You have my father’s point of view,” he exclaimed, setting his teeth into position. “You’ll get nothing out of me,” he said with finality, leaving a cloud to settle over us three, dividing me from their reality.
In fact, it wasn’t about the life style at all. At first, it was getting Doug Pell into rehab, twice, first time he failed, and the next time was successful. Andrew Jaworski and Doug Pell made mode of living the issue when it was not part of the picture before at all. Thus, this goes to prove a good enemy will make you understand their point of view; while they help you slit your own thrown. A slow and painful death would ensure the conveyance of their mentality. Such an individual could accomplish such a feet, quoting Buddhism, or scripture, aglow in the eyes of public opinion.
Over the next few months, I did meet with these two men repeatedly but the argument in February had cemented a rift with our relationship. None of them knew about the roller coaster ride to get Doug Pell into rehab. When drunk, Doug Pell consumed me beyond belief. I found him in the past to be a demanding person, never happy, and always wanting more. Never having enough. Doug Pell possibly lived thirty years in the fast lane, jet-setting around the world, going through relationships as fast as he wanted and ending them without warning. Maybe it was my lower station in life that was the grand divide. Well, Doug Pell did get control of his fortune on June 6th, 2011. He invited me to his trendy Roxborough Rosedale Starbucks and made a show of the fact that he had hired Andrew Jaworski, who assumed a fashionable air, which he instinctively, felt high society would require. For that whole year, I pondered that dark secret that Andrew Jaworski had. Yes, he was openly gay and used it to his advantage every way imaginable. This mischievous man did act in 80′s Degrassi, but there was something about him behind that grotesque smile, shrouding a part of his personality in mystery. He would always try to win a smile out of people, hug them when he met them, but that mask that he hid behind would haunt a nightmare.
On September 1st, 2011 Doug Pell called me up, wishing to meet. In an hour, we sat across from each other at King and Yonge Starbucks. He had an arched look and waited until he charted his first move. A discarded newspaper unfolded on the next table, opening up to the municipal politics section. “Mayor Rob Ford is a FRIEND of mine,” he said with a sense of personal possession, “funding his political campaign was the BEST MONEY I spent yet.” Such knowledge was irrelevant to me. I showed no interest in pursuing that type of conversation. This all led to the pensive man to actually begin to play with his blackberry with a fidgety sense of indignity. It didn’t take long for Doug Pell to grow irritated, and he urgently suggested we relocate ourselves on the outside patio. This new vantage point faced a busy high traffic thoroughfare and sidewalk area. Once again, we were unable to substantiate any sense of conversation. An element of disappointment filled the air. I looked back at him with untired eyes. Out of the blue, I struck up an exchange with Juliet Francis, an African Canadian lady that was situated beside us. Juliet Francis was a middle aged woman, intending on leaving her job as a bookkeeper to start a business, all to teach intuition in the Annex area of Toronto. Right there and then, Doug Pell got an important call, excused himself to lurch forward, and have a private conversation. “I was told to be here,” exclaimed Francis to herself out loud. “I was told to be here.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I was told to be here,” she answered, “I was told to be in this exact spot, at this time, not inside, but precisely here and now.”
I digested this communication with a moment of contemplation. If she teaches intuition… “Are you an Indigo Adult?” I asked, hoping I was correct and not ready to explain my off beat reading interests.
“Yes, I am,” she answered with an elevated sense of speech. “You can call me an Indigo Adult. I don’t mind at all.”
“See him?” I said, pointing at Doug Pell, who still chatted on the phone, “He attracts a lot of questionable characters, those I wouldn’t choose to be around.”
“If he’s creative and intuitive,” she reasoned, sipping a green tea, “then he has all the hall marks of being an Indigo Adult.”
An interesting point of view, I mused. “Really?!”
“Jimmy Hendrix was the same.”
“Hendrix was Indigo?”
“He was very intuitive and creative,” she mused, “Jimmy Hendrix was what you call an Indigo, or a realized soul.”
A very fascinating point of view! With that in mind, I gestured the other to return. “I just got off the phone with my partners,” he announced. Big deal.
“That doesn’t matter,” I remarked, vacating the seat, and suggesting he sit beside Juliet Francis.
“What do you mean that doesn’t matter,” he laughed, quietly to himself, assuming my position beside the medium. “To talk with my partners is important!”
I introduced them together and they seemed very pleased to begin a friendship. I explained the Indigo phenomenon. She looked to the One Percent and said: “You’re an Indigo, Doug.”
“I do have prophetic dreams,” he agreed with momentary discomfort and annoyance. “I do have prophetic dreams,” he repeated, adjusting his body on the chair to add to the effect.
“Do you see auras,” I jumped in, interrupting the flow of conversation. Everyone was silent and focused on the mysterious woman and her coming answer. “Yes, I do,” she responded with a people easy smile and nod, “and my aura is red, I am covered with a red aura,” she exclaimed with enthusiasm!” Like Lucifer? I can’t imagine why!
I looked at them both, as they grooved deep into conversation. I encouraged them to form such a friendship. “She’s like a social worker,” I told him another time with a wink. “She’s your new social worker type friend!”
In the past, I directed commercials and a documentary on youth violence which was screened in England, but at that time I mainly worked as a grip in film and TV circles. I did also work, however, as a stagehand on the occasional rock concert, or even corporate set up.
In the fall of 2011, I worked on an IASTE 873 union show. I laboured two eighteen hour days. On the last day, a shock came. It was late; everyone boarded the five ton truck and sat in a semi-circle in the back office area of the vehicle. There was not much light in this area, but I could hear them sit, opening up some beers. It didn’t take long for cannabis to be in the air. I didn’t see any faces but I knew who they were and heard their conversation. “So where did you get your shit?” someone asked another.
“British Columbia!” I watched from a distance.
“Ah, greatest export from Western Canada to Toronto, which is the center of the universe!” Everyone said an Amen in unison with a chuckle.
“Thank the Lord!” exclaimed another.
“Yes, by the word ‘lord’ you mean Lord Black!” added someone else, which led to a moment of snickering. It was at this juncture one of the actors spoke about the local, underground drug scene in Toronto. Through the haze I could hear this voice transcend the surroundings. “Just below Yonge and Bloor,” he said, “there is a center that supplies herbs, medical marijuana for Aid’s sufferers, or even cheap medication to cancer sufferers.
“I think I heard of this store,” responded a woman “Isn’t there a safe injection site there?”
A long silence ensued. “It’s known to police,” continued the voice. “The Vapor Lounge,” added the voice. “The Vapor Lounge Toronto, it is indeed!” Someone would suppress a laugh at that statement.
“Isn’t there a Degrassi actor from the 80’s who manages that place?” added a lusty voice, clearly recognizable from the rest, “Who did he play again? Was it Walter from 80’s Degrassi? I keep mixing up those guys!”
I could hear some drink and pass around the implements for blissful awareness. “There is another Degrassi actor from that era and he’s gay.” My ears pricked at this mention. “What’s his name?” someone asked.
“Andrew Jaworski?”
I felt a slight spasm, possibly a coming ailment to be solved by a visit to the chiropractor. “Who did he play?” they continued to talk.
“I don’t remember. Is he part of the drug scene too?”
There was the sound of another beer that cracked open. The tone of the conversation went to a lower decibel. “He sells the hard stuff.” All I could hear was the sound of my breath and my heart beating. “That place is known to the police.”
The dark figures that had gathered all resembled warring factions from the past, much like the Aboriginals who found peace with the first settlers to the New World.
“There’s the old guys in film who say Mayor Rob Ford sold them weed in the early 1990’s,” rattled off one voice, before suffering a severe bronchial cough.
“Maybe Rob Ford did that back then?” mused someone, shifting their body weight on the ground
“Yup,” resume the sick man, “he was a drug dealer back in the day before he became all respectable, ran for maniple government, and got elected to Toronto City Council.”
That would explain the Rock Star’s motive for financing Rob Ford’s political campaign. They were from the high society stoner crowd! Secondly, didn’t Rob Ford get approached by two Aids’ sufferers on the campaign trail in 2010, where they tape recorded themselves, asking the future Mayor to buy an illegal drug to ease their suffering? Someone knows something.
While everyone ruminated on this information, the group continued to experience a sense of illumination.
“So you say this guy is from 80’s Degrassi is gay?” someone broke the silence.
“Oh, yes. Eighty percent of the actors in Hollywood are gay. Who do you think gets all the work?” The group continued to nurse their alcohol and weed. “This Andrew Jaworski deals the hard stuff,” the voice repeated. “Narcotics and all.”
“Really?!”
“And that’s how drugs like heroine, crystal meth, and ecstasy lands up on the streets of our city of Toronto?”
“So your saying,” came a question, “If that center was raided by police tomorrow…-“the voice trailed off.
“It would cause uproar.”
“Why?” demanded the others. “Why?”
“Its clientele are predominately gay and they need cheap drugs to fight Aid’s. And this gay lobby would rage against the police for conducting such an outrage. Every level of government would feel the heat for this!”
This confirmed my suspicions about Andrew Jaworski. In the coming days, I went to the location. On the front window was a name and number for a local spiritualist and a huge poster that promoted a Buddhist master. Not long after, I met the Juliet Francis at the Green Beanery in the Annex area of Toronto, which was located at Bathurst and Bloor. I explained what I had heard.
“Some people operate from a lower karmic level,” she spoke in an elevated nature, inspiring her with a sense of energy and confidence.
“I never thought it was that bad,” I told her, “I have no one else to tell this to!” I really have no one to go to about this!
“Some people operate from a lower karmic frequency,” she reiterated with a glow. “I will raise his karmic vibration naturally and then let him go, and Andrew Jaworski would then go off into the world.”
“Wouldn’t that make him into a killer?”
“No,” she answered, stopping to think that one out, “I don’t think.” She was unsure. “I will have to check the cards.”
“Well, he is a long time Meth Dealer,” I told her. She held firm and I haven’t seen her since.
At that time, she was based out of Alternative Thinking bookshop in the Annex of Toronto. There is, however, an ugly rumor that Alternative Thinking is known for being practitioners of black magic, the dark arts, and spells.
In the New Year of 2012, I finally found Andrew Jaworski on a Sunday afternoon, where he is a fixture even now. Just on the South West corner of Yonge and Dundas Square, I spotted Andrew Jaworski before a group of teenagers in baggy pants. He was quickly negotiating the sale of his goods. He had a hoodie over his head and his face was blackened out from exposure. I knew it was him. He being small, short, and having a small build made him recognizable to me. I watched him on that Sunday afternoon, until he completed his business. I continued to eye him. Just like that, he stopped and froze. His eyes seemed to start from his sockets. He must have realized I had seen him, but he did not know for how long. He remained motionless for a millisecond, before continuing homewards, clicking his tongue like he was communicating with a squirrel. He sees this as a game! In the coming months, April 21, 2012 came. That day, I met Doug Pell, who I soon informed of the latest developments. “He’s a drug dealer, man,” I told him, leaning on the table. “He deals the hard stuff, narcotics and all.”
“Then why did he go with me to Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“I don’t know,” I responded, “Why did he do that? Why did he do that at all?!”
Doug Pell didn’t look to his right side which was the standard search mechanism for recalling memories, but did otherwise. Maybe he knew all along? Doug Pell attracted many questionable characters, both men and women. Rob Ford was a dealer? Andrew Jaworski does it too. Everyone is connected. Nothing happens by chance!
Several weeks later spring arrived and I received a telephone call. It sounded like an adult imitating a baby cry, or a woman crying in a mocking type way. That did it! In the afternoon, I went to a food court in the center of the downtown core and wrote all the information, regarding Andrew Jaworski, all my suspicions and called Crime Stoppers. Rewarding a Meth Dealer was evil enough! I would visualize Andrew Jaworski using his vicious personality to tease street kids while they got hooked and lose their souls to the prescription drug addictions that torment so many Millennials in this day and age.
In the modern era, narcissists can be found everywhere. They will find people to use with vicious delight. Then they move on. They repeat their behaviour over and over. And if you happen to be the recipient of such attacks and have a hard time getting over it, they will assume that you are the one with the problem.
Doug Pell had rewarded Andrew Jaworski, who had never received any residues for his work in prime time television. In those days, that generation of show was none union. This early stardom destroyed Andrew Jaworski’s childhood, his education, and he had to grow up awfully fast. He earned a livelihood through illicit means to substitute the life style that had been denied to him by that brief career in Canadian show business. Through his method acting ability, this Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scored himself on the payroll for Clair Global International, a major staging company. Andrew Jaworski never left his old ways behind him. One will not have to look far to spot him downtown, all before a rave, or a big event. I did inform Crime Stoppers about him but because of his association with a possible member of the One Percent, Andrew Jaworski is exempt from a criminal investigation, charges and from prosecution. How do you think Rob Ford became mayor of Toronto? Mafia Crime syndicates and the Big Drug Companies rule this world. Why fix it if it ain’t broken?!
During the summer of 2012 a man matching Andrew Jaworski’s description was seen and involved in some attacks in the Kensington Market area of Toronto, including one stabbing murder that shocked area residents. The locale media called it the Kensington Stabbing. The day after the murder, I saw that artful dodger glide from a dark corner. He had a fake beard, a set of brown rim glasses, and a sweater clad type outfit. I thought he was hiding something again. He was walking in the direction of the Toronto Buddhist Temple that existed in the vicinity. Sometimes he would be dressed like a corporate executive, or a street vagrant, always blending into the scene. You can find him in the Rich Tree Market Restaurant at College Park, inside and outside patio in a starched shirt and pinstripe suit. Or even outside, looking smooth while he chain-smoked, waiting for his Monday doctor’s appointment which was across Bay Street.
It was all a game to him. Like the Doug Pell, Andrew Jaworski was a fixture at the patio section for Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks, all the Rosedale Alcohol Anonymous meetings, and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto, always exclaiming that he is a Buddhist, and is into meditation. Even on a sunny day you will see Andrew Jaworski at a park bench near the Toronto’s Ferry Docks in the Harbour Front Area of Toronto. Yes, this is not only a Tourist destination but a hot bed for drug deals and location for millionaires who live in upscale condominiums. One can easily spot Andrew Jaworski wearing a hoodie to obscure his identity, including a designer label in a better area of town. He is always looking to keep the fast cash coming and the illusion of high living alive. See him on a Sunday afternoon at Yonge and Dundas Square on the South West corner in action, inside the main entrance of the mall, and outside of it, dealing drugs, where he is a fixture. You kill him and you will become him. How did that Eaton’s Center shooting happen again?!
So we come full circle. What if by raising a person’s energy level, you activate a level of the brain that would unleash a person’s dark side, leading that subject to rape, or murder? A Meth Dealer would operate on a lower Karmic frequency. You raise their vibration and you have a monster and Andrew Jaworski may not even be aware of this action at all. Suppose this happened to this specific individual when he was not thinking about it. He may have anger towards women, all suppressed, and this leads him to violence. He snaps out of it and doesn’t realize what he has done. If he does, or the police can connect the dots…maybe they know already?
Maybe his association to the one percent is already known. Jack the Ripper was protected by the authorities in his time. The mafia crime syndicates have one hundred percent control over their money making ways. All the strip bars are owned by the mob. Each bar has its own drug dealer to keep the girls hooked, shackling them to a life of servitude, and keeping the money coming. The same goes with prostitution. The Drug Squad would never raid the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is too much a money maker for the crime bosses and it acts as a control mechanism to the burgeoning, homeless population. Yes, the Vapor Lounge Toronto aims to supply cheap drugs to those suffering from Aids and cancer, but everyone knows this is all an illusion because the hard drugs hit the streets through it too. It’s management team which has one 80′s Degrassi Actor part of its ranks, giving the center an appearance of respectability. A ghost roster of drug dealers does exist in such an establishment and this all leads to tragic events like the Eaton Center shooting, gun violence at York Dale Mall, and other gun activity in the suburban areas of Toronto. To keep an eye on such an operation, government operatives must be part of its management team. One source suggests this center has police informants interwoven between the riff-raff. One wonders if this center’s LA division is any different? Since the big drug companies profit from such a circumstance, why fix it if it ain’t broken?
Rock Stars are not the only addicts in town. Addiction affects professional athletes, labourers to professionals, including media personalities and politicians—everyone! When I see Mayor Rob Ford in a crack cocaine scandal, I remember Doug Pell, his friend and campaign backer. I also see Andrew Jaworski and the world of the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is not about legalization, but changing attitudes. The typical Millennial doesn’t want to hear about morality and the ethical arguments that go with it. They care only what feels right and what is popular. Some do it quietly and others find strength in numbers. It will happen regardless. Some people see this as a right to choose, yet others feel they are born this way. It is what it is.
Doug Roberts Pell, Andrew Jaworski Reviews
It was January 15th, 2009. Imagine you are at a newspaper stand in a busy transit station and you meet a washed up rock star who was going through an alcoholic meltdown.
You are always looking to get promotion for those books you got published VIA Google search, but the Canadian media is stuck in a 1950′s time warp, where those online books are not considered mainstream. Our friend the rocker introduced himself as Douglas Creighton. The musician was tall; broad shouldered, long faced with curly brown hair, and well dressed. Oddly enough, he wore a Gucci watch and bowling shoes too. “I’m Douglas Creighton,” he told the tired newsstand attendant, repeatedly, “I am the son of Douglas Creighton, founding publisher for the Toronto Sun Newspaper. My father is the one who founded the Toronto Sun newspaper!” His voice boomed and seemed to reverberate within me.
This particular individual came from a prominent Canadian family who were part of the Muskoka well to do. He had been in the music business for thirty years, playing bass, drums, and guitar for many major, music super stars, including as a back-up guitarist and drummer for Eric Clapton, Duran Duran, Elton John, Shania Twain, and Blushing Brides, which was one of the most successful Rolling Stones Tribute band. His last appearance was in the Phil Collins Farewell tour in Paris in 2004. But no one knows him. Why? He likes being under the radar. In fact, Doug Creighton would claim that he has ghost-written six Grammy award winning songs, one of which was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, including some songs from Shania Twain, Keith Urban, and other artists too.
Any hoot, this distinguished gentleman had a private jet, a recording studio in Muskoka, and claimed to be majority owner of Clair Global International, which supplies concert stages for mega star groups like U2. However, he was cut off his fortune because he had a calamity with a fashion model in 2008, making him an outcast from his social circles, and forbidden from entering his three 8 million dollar mansions in the Toronto area. “I have three ex-wives,” he told me, “I love them all equally. I have no favourites.” Lucky him!
Douglas Creighton promised drama which led him to the east end of Toronto, where he was holed up in his grandmother’s residence. On his blackberry was a list of all the prominent people, all the who’s who in entertainment and government. “I am a member of the one percent,” he would say offhand, “My father would drill that into my head since I was a kid.” The pensive man would stop to smoke a cigarette, “you don’t hold it against me because I have some bucks? That I come from money? Do you?” He would then exude a dog-like smile and expanded it into a grin of delight.
“No, not at all, sir,” I said with polite non-enthusiasm. Such a moment made me reflect on how life put me on the path with such a character. Douglas Creighton was so far gone with his drinking and cocaine abuse he had befriended the local Dial a Bottle man, Chris Kyle. The Rocker saw significance in every encounter. Yet, his mind was filled with games, looking desperately to play with people’s heads. He ate little and spoke a great deal, always looking for the truth, yet hiding behind alcohol, drugs, and lies. Being a big liar too, Douglas Creighton would always appear as if he was going through the motions, as if he was having the experience.
“I don’t know who my friends are,” he would ponder out loud, swaying backwards and forwards, “prove your friendship and that you are not a poseur. Buy me a twelve pack of beer with a pack of cigarettes. And I might put you on the payroll.”
It’s Clair Global International, a big name company. He called at all hours, promising employment. This whole ordeal led me to an east end crack house. He was there for weeks, begging me to come, but when I went, I couldn’t get him to leave. One day, he has another demand. He mentioned a big name big name super star; who he had ghostwrote songs for. “Shania Twain needs background singers,” he said in a matter of fact type way, “I therefore need background singers. I am going to record her next album. It is called The Perfect Ten.” He looked to me for this need. I don’t know anyone. Through some freak of nature in the stagehand circuit, I had an acquaintance who was a background singer named Jennifer Inifa Edwards.
Luck would have it; it didn’t work out with Douglas Creighton. “She nearly killed me with the Jamaican Tequila,” he lamented later on the phone. So that ended badly. I searched my contacts some more and I came across someone I worked with along the way, they had a monthly meet up for aspiring singers and people in the industry, and it was called Rock Da Mike. I called them up and explained the situation. I don’t know if I sounded believable. No one believes a 5 foot 9 soft spoken sort, but this person knew me. Eventually, I had a list of four singers. I called one up, met Keisha, and explained the situation.
Then I organized a chance occurrence in a bar, where Douglas Creighton was introduced to Keisha. Oh, such playacting! He got to know her. The next time, I did not explain anything to the second singer Anita Cole and she did her thing for him. Without warning, that Scarborough resident came across as a diva and she got angry about it too. Yes, someone called me up to scream at me for that one. In the meantime, Douglas Creighton found Rebecca Rosenblat, a late night TV Sex Therapist to amuse him. Her stage name was Dr. Date!
Rebecca Rosenblat advised people, her clients, on how to inject better sex into their love life and relationship. She was a syndicated columnist, had a radio show, and authored a bunch of books, all on how to improve one’s sex life. Yes, sex, sex, and sex! She never, however, encouraged safe sex, or warned about the transmission of sexually transmitted diseases. I saw their private emails, suggesting Dr. Date was married twice, and she lived with her then unemployed American born husband and two adult sons from a previous marriage. Her present relationship was said to be dead, yet he was in another room, sleeping in a separate bed. Douglas Creighton had an emotional affair with Dr. Date. “You’re sleeping with your husband,” he accused her once, or twice. “You are LYING TO ME! I KNOW IT!” he roared into his blackberry.
“No I’m not,” she would fight back, “The marriage is OVER and he is out of my life.” Out of her life, but in the next room with no prospects.
“You lie,” he squealed with a falsetto of rage, as he drank some more beer. They continued their phone and text relationship. All the while, I am working as a stagehand and as a crew member on film shoots in the entertainment industry.
Remember, Douglas Creighton would promise the moon to me just to get me to buy him beer and cigarettes. He was all over You Tube. Some of his promises were otherworldly too! When Super Star Shania Twain stopped touring in 2004, Douglas Creighton’s life fell apart. The music man was said to do the bar circuit in New York, where he spent one thousand dollars a night on alcohol, both alone and with strangers, or anybody. Thus, Douglas Creighton had cancer, poseurs, and was in another alcoholic scourge. He went into the hospital and was told he would be dead in six months. There was a fifth floor in the hospital and it was called the death ward. At 5am in the morning, all the doors would lock down, and the dead would be removed. At that time, he went through every chemotherapy treatment imaginable. He recalled his skin color changed and hung right off of him. He fought it, he fought the users, told all the poseurs to get lost, they left, and in June of 2005 he was told he had survived. Douglas Creighton then went back home, up north to Muskoka, to Lake Roseau, where he remained until 2007. In time, he came back, tried to reintegrate into society, but in 2008 he had a thingy ordeal with a fashion model. I was told by his grandmother, that Douglas Creighton began to live with her from 2008 onwards. Lots of people would always come to visit him but she kept them away.
Douglas Creighton was a lonely, tormented person, often complaining he did not know who his real friends were. “When I get hold of my fortune,” he would tell me many times, “when I get hold of my fortune, you are going to be put on the payroll.” But I had to do one more thing, always…Get more beer. While he was on this emotional affair with Rebecca Rosenblat, he would ride the subway train for free. Why? He had no money. “I lost my wallet,” he would tell the TTC officials, who were surprisingly very understanding about his situation. So he rode TTC like he was on a world tour. He would introduce himself to countless women, tell them who he was, and wave of amazement would ripple all around him. He was a fixture at Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks (specifically Roxborough Yonge location) and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto. At that time, you would find him in the patio section in any of these locations, drinking a beer that was hidden inside a coffee cup, a very sad sight indeed.
One day, we met at the Water Mark Irish Pub patio lounge in the Harbour Front area of Toronto’s water front district. “Do you know Toronto only has one five star hotel?” he would say to me, showing off a beer I don’t know how he would pay for.
“What’s it called?” I would ask.
“Hazelton Lanes Hotel.” I shook my head. “It is the only Five star hotel for the Super elite in the city of Toronto. Other cities have more than just one Five star hotel. Can you believe that?!” Oh, the rich with such tales of woe!
“My Father and Mother were good friends with Mel Lastman,” he said many times, “I am good friends with Mel Lastman,” he continued, sipping his beer. “You want to talk to him?” Nobody!
I shook my head at the absurd question while he gestured to his blackberry which would buzz always on the table regardless where it was placed, nor the hour of day. “I am a friend of the CEO for Tor Star.” I showed no reaction at the subject matter of the banter. “And know the Thompson family at the Globe and Mail,” he continued, “The all live in Muskoka. I am even a friend of Oprah Winfrey too.” This Devil who tempted Jesus from the mountain top seemed to loom larger from scripture. I often wondered in such a circumstance why he would say such things and I forever sought the reason for us meeting. “I am also good friends with Rob Ford…” his voice would trail. Talk about that Devil!
“Who is he?” I asked, dumbly.
“Rob Ford is city councilor for the City of Toronto,” went on the troubled man, “and I am funding his political campaign to become Mayor of Toronto.”
“Why?”
“Rob Ford is part of the Muskoka crowd, he’s good people, and he’s also member of the one percent.”
I digested this information but shook my shoulder, making Creighton narrow his eyes and shine his teeth. “You’re also a part of the one percent,” he would add, forcing himself to feign encouragement. A moment of reflection ensued. “Can I borrow some bucks?” he begged, meekly.
“Why?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“I don’t have any money to pay for this?” he exclaimed, “You know my partners locked me down and I can’t put two quarters together.”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“I’m strapped for cash,” he coughed back. His exasperation was obvious.
Sometime afterwards, I researched Rob Ford’s biography on the internet. His late father was Doug Ford Sr, who was part of the owner of Deco Adhesive Products Ltd. and was elected to the provincial legislature in the 1995 provincial election. For four years, his father was a backbench for the Mike Harris government. Somewhere along the way Rob Ford dropped out of York University and eventually got elected and served a decade as a city councilor. Now he had political ambitions, yet I did not care at all. I forever ruminated upon the forces of fate that led me to being associated with the scion of the Sun Media Empire. Nobody would believe this— anybody!
After such a misadventure around town, Douglas Creighton, much like a free spirit, would go back to his Grandmother’s home in the east end like a broken man. From nowhere, Douglas Creighton would romance CTV’s Christine Bentley. Like him, she had been in the business for thirty years. Since I work in the industry I find I don’t get starstruck with such people. She was in her mid-fifties, part Jewish like him, or so he said. She came from a wealthy Canadian family, her father was an ambassador, she was educated in Europe, trained as a stage actress in Britain but her parents forbid her from a life in theatre because they equated the performance life style with exotic dancing. So she became a newscaster. How is that any different?
Both Douglas Creighton and Christine Bentley knew the same people, joked about them, imitated such people with glee, and bemoaned the next generation of trust fund types that resided in the uptown scene. How do the famous greet one another? One of them mentions some names of maître d‘ headwaiters from all the finest restaurants. Only then, an association would be formed. You’ll thank me for that tidbit someday, you will.
I tried to make her aware of his living arrangements. I don’t think she believed me. This five foot nine height and soft spoken nature would bedevil me always when it comes to presenting a convincing argument. “Is this in the vaults?” she would quickly ask, looking at me with cunning and dislike. She then wanted to know my DOB, location of residence, and if I had a broker for my financial portfolio. Boy, she was talking to the wrong person. In fact, she sounded like a CIA operative, not the affable TV personality we all know and love. Well, after one year and half of this roller coaster ride, Douglas Creighton entered a crisis. Both women found out they were vying for the same man. To add humour to the situation, the newscaster even mocked the production value of the Dr. Dates’ nightly show, causing it to be eventually be revamped. Out of the blue, both women charged Douglas Creighton with criminal harassment. At this juncture, the grandmother made me aware that Douglas Creighton was not Douglas Creighton, but Doug Pell. A Peel Regional Police Detective called me to confirm such a detail. Yes, this episode was all kept hush hush.
Finally, the police took the celebrity into custody and they got him help. This was June 6, 2010. I would not see Doug Pell until December 2010 when he was sober. In that time, his whole appearance had undergone a complete transformation. The musician was dressed like an aristocratic, much like a character from F Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. His clothes were tailor made for him, including his trousers and silk pink dress shirt. That handmade collar was wrapped around his neck. His jacket and shoes was big label splendid too! This Rosedale resident even made a point of announcing this aspect as fact, narrowing his eyes with distrust and shining his teeth at me. His Gucci bowling shoes were gone. Oddly enough, he offered to pay for drinks. The Rock Star would then get up to fetch a drink, but spun around because an element of suspicion darted through him. “My blackberry,” he remarked with smugness, “has a lock on it.” Somewhere along the way, I learned he had three Yorkville psychiatrists to see in his recovery process. Cheaper to have a blog!
In January 2011, he introduced me to Andrew Jaworski, a former 80′s Degrassi Actor. This thespian was age 39, ready for the next decade. At first, he was dressed in streets clothes. Andrew Jaworski was short with a mischievous air and was always trying to win a smile out of people, like he was play acting on TV, showing off his new teeth, when he hadn’t acted in twenty years. This television star was too nice, too perfect. Those grotesque smiles made him come across as almost diabolical. He was always behaving in an uncommon dignity and sense of self-esteem that would never match the circumstance. He had a show of faces on display but settled with a stage presence type personae to add to the affect. At first, this once famous man would sit erect, attentive only to Doug Pell, sending his gaze to scan the entire establishment with an exaggerated sense of self importance.
The Rocker, Andrew Jaworski, and I would go to the Alcohol Anonymous meetings. This was done to help Doug Pell feel he was on the right track to rehabilitation. I got to know that all over Toronto Alcohol Anonymous meetings were held in every available church basement. Alcohol Anonymous had no membership fees, no names. All was required was for people to come to meet, share their experiences, and keep sober. I tried to get to know Andrew Jaworski, who was openly gay and a practicing Buddhist. He occasionally worked as a food server at Second Cup at St. Clair and Yonge. I remember him complaining about the tests required to work for a coffee house. I heard of no such thing, but to him it was real. In time, Andrew Jaworski morphed into a yes man type, exuding that unique, repulsive smile that was supposed to be the height of gratitude. He would always supply an endless amount of cigarettes to the Rocker, even in full knowledge that our musician friend had cancer. I knew nothing about Toronto’s Gay Village but Andrew Jaworski gave me an education on that area of the city. The 80’s television star perceived that I projected a vulnerability of apprehension towards him, his body language, and ideas.
That being said, we rendezvoused at Roxborough and Yonge Starbucks, where Andrew Jaworski continued to showcase an array of forced smiles, all showing him with mock shock, dismay, and surprise, all from his fiendish countenance. “I’ll send you the White Light,” he weirdly promised, only adding to my suspicions. Washed up actor! Poseur Buddhist!
In February of 2011, Andrew Jaworski began to use his choice in orientation every way imaginable, all to win favour from Doug Pell. He would continue to go in this direction, all leading to a bad argument on February 19th, 2011. Right there and then Andrew Jaworski revealed that he shared the bed with Doug Pell many times while they slept. How this news was delivered was meant to goad an angry response out of me. It must have been the blow. All I know, cocaine does a lot of strange things, so I am told. Doug Pell had that for a demanding mistress too.
In such a circumstance, Andrew Jaworski got me to condemn him, his lifestyle right in front of Doug Pell, who regarded me with indulgent amusement. There was a moment of silence and reflection amongst the friends. The Rock Star was very elegant, cool, and quiet. “Really?” he would remark with an element of surprise. “You’re morale,” he would continue, “you’re old fashioned!” he would add, snapping his fingers at me with dismay and disgust. The well-traveled man would then smoulder with blackness, while the other gleefully conformed to the new social dynamic. Unknown to me, these performers had a global eclectic relationship. Doug Pell had manoeuvred and navigated through many such situations, always leading to conflict resolution. He moved back his head. “You have my father’s point of view,” he exclaimed, setting his teeth into position. “You’ll get nothing out of me,” he said with finality, leaving a cloud to settle over us three, dividing me from their reality.
In fact, it wasn’t about the life style at all. At first, it was getting Doug Pell into rehab, twice, first time he failed, and the next time was successful. Andrew Jaworski and Doug Pell made mode of living the issue when it was not part of the picture before at all. Thus, this goes to prove a good enemy will make you understand their point of view; while they help you slit your own thrown. A slow and painful death would ensure the conveyance of their mentality. Such an individual could accomplish such a feet, quoting Buddhism, or scripture, aglow in the eyes of public opinion.
Over the next few months, I did meet with these two men repeatedly but the argument in February had cemented a rift with our relationship. None of them knew about the roller coaster ride to get Doug Pell into rehab. When drunk, Doug Pell consumed me beyond belief. I found him in the past to be a demanding person, never happy, and always wanting more. Never having enough. Doug Pell possibly lived thirty years in the fast lane, jet-setting around the world, going through relationships as fast as he wanted and ending them without warning. Maybe it was my lower station in life that was the grand divide. Well, Doug Pell did get control of his fortune on June 6th, 2011. He invited me to his trendy Roxborough Rosedale Starbucks and made a show of the fact that he had hired Andrew Jaworski, who assumed a fashionable air, which he instinctively, felt high society would require. For that whole year, I pondered that dark secret that Andrew Jaworski had. Yes, he was openly gay and used it to his advantage every way imaginable. This mischievous man did act in 80′s Degrassi, but there was something about him behind that grotesque smile, shrouding a part of his personality in mystery. He would always try to win a smile out of people, hug them when he met them, but that mask that he hid behind would haunt a nightmare.
On September 1st, 2011 Doug Pell called me up, wishing to meet. In an hour, we sat across from each other at King and Yonge Starbucks. He had an arched look and waited until he charted his first move. A discarded newspaper unfolded on the next table, opening up to the municipal politics section. “Mayor Rob Ford is a FRIEND of mine,” he said with a sense of personal possession, “funding his political campaign was the BEST MONEY I spent yet.” Such knowledge was irrelevant to me. I showed no interest in pursuing that type of conversation. This all led to the pensive man to actually begin to play with his blackberry with a fidgety sense of indignity. It didn’t take long for Doug Pell to grow irritated, and he urgently suggested we relocate ourselves on the outside patio. This new vantage point faced a busy high traffic thoroughfare and sidewalk area. Once again, we were unable to substantiate any sense of conversation. An element of disappointment filled the air. I looked back at him with untired eyes. Out of the blue, I struck up an exchange with Juliet Francis, an African Canadian lady that was situated beside us. Juliet Francis was a middle aged woman, intending on leaving her job as a bookkeeper to start a business, all to teach intuition in the Annex area of Toronto. Right there and then, Doug Pell got an important call, excused himself to lurch forward, and have a private conversation. “I was told to be here,” exclaimed Francis to herself out loud. “I was told to be here.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I was told to be here,” she answered, “I was told to be in this exact spot, at this time, not inside, but precisely here and now.”
I digested this communication with a moment of contemplation. If she teaches intuition… “Are you an Indigo Adult?” I asked, hoping I was correct and not ready to explain my off beat reading interests.
“Yes, I am,” she answered with an elevated sense of speech. “You can call me an Indigo Adult. I don’t mind at all.”
“See him?” I said, pointing at Doug Pell, who still chatted on the phone, “He attracts a lot of questionable characters, those I wouldn’t choose to be around.”
“If he’s creative and intuitive,” she reasoned, sipping a green tea, “then he has all the hall marks of being an Indigo Adult.”
An interesting point of view, I mused. “Really?!”
“Jimmy Hendrix was the same.”
“Hendrix was Indigo?”
“He was very intuitive and creative,” she mused, “Jimmy Hendrix was what you call an Indigo, or a realized soul.”
A very fascinating point of view! With that in mind, I gestured the other to return. “I just got off the phone with my partners,” he announced. Big deal.
“That doesn’t matter,” I remarked, vacating the seat, and suggesting he sit beside Juliet Francis.
“What do you mean that doesn’t matter,” he laughed, quietly to himself, assuming my position beside the medium. “To talk with my partners is important!”
I introduced them together and they seemed very pleased to begin a friendship. I explained the Indigo phenomenon. She looked to the One Percent and said: “You’re an Indigo, Doug.”
“I do have prophetic dreams,” he agreed with momentary discomfort and annoyance. “I do have prophetic dreams,” he repeated, adjusting his body on the chair to add to the effect.
“Do you see auras,” I jumped in, interrupting the flow of conversation. Everyone was silent and focused on the mysterious woman and her coming answer. “Yes, I do,” she responded with a people easy smile and nod, “and my aura is red, I am covered with a red aura,” she exclaimed with enthusiasm!” Like Lucifer? I can’t imagine why!
I looked at them both, as they grooved deep into conversation. I encouraged them to form such a friendship. “She’s like a social worker,” I told him another time with a wink. “She’s your new social worker type friend!”
In the past, I directed commercials and a documentary on youth violence which was screened in England, but at that time I mainly worked as a grip in film and TV circles. I did also work, however, as a stagehand on the occasional rock concert, or even corporate set up.
In the fall of 2011, I worked on an IASTE 873 union show. I laboured two eighteen hour days. On the last day, a shock came. It was late; everyone boarded the five ton truck and sat in a semi-circle in the back office area of the vehicle. There was not much light in this area, but I could hear them sit, opening up some beers. It didn’t take long for cannabis to be in the air. I didn’t see any faces but I knew who they were and heard their conversation. “So where did you get your shit?” someone asked another.
“British Columbia!” I watched from a distance.
“Ah, greatest export from Western Canada to Toronto, which is the center of the universe!” Everyone said an Amen in unison with a chuckle.
“Thank the Lord!” exclaimed another.
“Yes, by the word ‘lord’ you mean Lord Black!” added someone else, which led to a moment of snickering. It was at this juncture one of the actors spoke about the local, underground drug scene in Toronto. Through the haze I could hear this voice transcend the surroundings. “Just below Yonge and Bloor,” he said, “there is a center that supplies herbs, medical marijuana for Aid’s sufferers, or even cheap medication to cancer sufferers.
“I think I heard of this store,” responded a woman “Isn’t there a safe injection site there?”
A long silence ensued. “It’s known to police,” continued the voice. “The Vapor Lounge,” added the voice. “The Vapor Lounge Toronto, it is indeed!” Someone would suppress a laugh at that statement.
“Isn’t there a Degrassi actor from the 80’s who manages that place?” added a lusty voice, clearly recognizable from the rest, “Who did he play again? Was it Walter from 80’s Degrassi? I keep mixing up those guys!”
I could hear some drink and pass around the implements for blissful awareness. “There is another Degrassi actor from that era and he’s gay.” My ears pricked at this mention. “What’s his name?” someone asked.
“Andrew Jaworski?”
I felt a slight spasm, possibly a coming ailment to be solved by a visit to the chiropractor. “Who did he play?” they continued to talk.
“I don’t remember. Is he part of the drug scene too?”
There was the sound of another beer that cracked open. The tone of the conversation went to a lower decibel. “He sells the hard stuff.” All I could hear was the sound of my breath and my heart beating. “That place is known to the police.”
The dark figures that had gathered all resembled warring factions from the past, much like the Aboriginals who found peace with the first settlers to the New World.
“There’s the old guys in film who say Mayor Rob Ford sold them weed in the early 1990’s,” rattled off one voice, before suffering a severe bronchial cough.
“Maybe Rob Ford did that back then?” mused someone, shifting their body weight on the ground
“Yup,” resume the sick man, “he was a drug dealer back in the day before he became all respectable, ran for maniple government, and got elected to Toronto City Council.”
That would explain the Rock Star’s motive for financing Rob Ford’s political campaign. They were from the high society stoner crowd! Secondly, didn’t Rob Ford get approached by two Aids’ sufferers on the campaign trail in 2010, where they tape recorded themselves, asking the future Mayor to buy an illegal drug to ease their suffering? Someone knows something.
While everyone ruminated on this information, the group continued to experience a sense of illumination.
“So you say this guy is from 80’s Degrassi is gay?” someone broke the silence.
“Oh, yes. Eighty percent of the actors in Hollywood are gay. Who do you think gets all the work?” The group continued to nurse their alcohol and weed. “This Andrew Jaworski deals the hard stuff,” the voice repeated. “Narcotics and all.”
“Really?!”
“And that’s how drugs like heroine, crystal meth, and ecstasy lands up on the streets of our city of Toronto?”
“So your saying,” came a question, “If that center was raided by police tomorrow…-“the voice trailed off.
“It would cause uproar.”
“Why?” demanded the others. “Why?”
“Its clientele are predominately gay and they need cheap drugs to fight Aid’s. And this gay lobby would rage against the police for conducting such an outrage. Every level of government would feel the heat for this!”
This confirmed my suspicions about Andrew Jaworski. In the coming days, I went to the location. On the front window was a name and number for a local spiritualist and a huge poster that promoted a Buddhist master. Not long after, I met the Juliet Francis at the Green Beanery in the Annex area of Toronto, which was located at Bathurst and Bloor. I explained what I had heard.
“Some people operate from a lower karmic level,” she spoke in an elevated nature, inspiring her with a sense of energy and confidence.
“I never thought it was that bad,” I told her, “I have no one else to tell this to!” I really have no one to go to about this!
“Some people operate from a lower karmic frequency,” she reiterated with a glow. “I will raise his karmic vibration naturally and then let him go, and Andrew Jaworski would then go off into the world.”
“Wouldn’t that make him into a killer?”
“No,” she answered, stopping to think that one out, “I don’t think.” She was unsure. “I will have to check the cards.”
“Well, he is a long time Meth Dealer,” I told her. She held firm and I haven’t seen her since.
At that time, she was based out of Alternative Thinking bookshop in the Annex of Toronto. There is, however, an ugly rumor that Alternative Thinking is known for being practitioners of black magic, the dark arts, and spells.
In the New Year of 2012, I finally found Andrew Jaworski on a Sunday afternoon, where he is a fixture even now. Just on the South West corner of Yonge and Dundas Square, I spotted Andrew Jaworski before a group of teenagers in baggy pants. He was quickly negotiating the sale of his goods. He had a hoodie over his head and his face was blackened out from exposure. I knew it was him. He being small, short, and having a small build made him recognizable to me. I watched him on that Sunday afternoon, until he completed his business. I continued to eye him. Just like that, he stopped and froze. His eyes seemed to start from his sockets. He must have realized I had seen him, but he did not know for how long. He remained motionless for a millisecond, before continuing homewards, clicking his tongue like he was communicating with a squirrel. He sees this as a game! In the coming months, April 21, 2012 came. That day, I met Doug Pell, who I soon informed of the latest developments. “He’s a drug dealer, man,” I told him, leaning on the table. “He deals the hard stuff, narcotics and all.”
“Then why did he go with me to Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“I don’t know,” I responded, “Why did he do that? Why did he do that at all?!”
Doug Pell didn’t look to his right side which was the standard search mechanism for recalling memories, but did otherwise. Maybe he knew all along? Doug Pell attracted many questionable characters, both men and women. Rob Ford was a dealer? Andrew Jaworski does it too. Everyone is connected. Nothing happens by chance!
Several weeks later spring arrived and I received a telephone call. It sounded like an adult imitating a baby cry, or a woman crying in a mocking type way. That did it! In the afternoon, I went to a food court in the center of the downtown core and wrote all the information, regarding Andrew Jaworski, all my suspicions and called Crime Stoppers. Rewarding a Meth Dealer was evil enough! I would visualize Andrew Jaworski using his vicious personality to tease street kids while they got hooked and lose their souls to the prescription drug addictions that torment so many Millennials in this day and age.
In the modern era, narcissists can be found everywhere. They will find people to use with vicious delight. Then they move on. They repeat their behaviour over and over. And if you happen to be the recipient of such attacks and have a hard time getting over it, they will assume that you are the one with the problem.
Doug Pell had rewarded Andrew Jaworski, who had never received any residues for his work in prime time television. In those days, that generation of show was none union. This early stardom destroyed Andrew Jaworski’s childhood, his education, and he had to grow up awfully fast. He earned a livelihood through illicit means to substitute the life style that had been denied to him by that brief career in Canadian show business. Through his method acting ability, this Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scored himself on the payroll for Clair Global International, a major staging company. Andrew Jaworski never left his old ways behind him. One will not have to look far to spot him downtown, all before a rave, or a big event. I did inform Crime Stoppers about him but because of his association with a possible member of the One Percent, Andrew Jaworski is exempt from a criminal investigation, charges and from prosecution. How do you think Rob Ford became mayor of Toronto? Mafia Crime syndicates and the Big Drug Companies rule this world. Why fix it if it ain’t broken?!
During the summer of 2012 a man matching Andrew Jaworski’s description was seen and involved in some attacks in the Kensington Market area of Toronto, including one stabbing murder that shocked area residents. The locale media called it the Kensington Stabbing. The day after the murder, I saw that artful dodger glide from a dark corner. He had a fake beard, a set of brown rim glasses, and a sweater clad type outfit. I thought he was hiding something again. He was walking in the direction of the Toronto Buddhist Temple that existed in the vicinity. Sometimes he would be dressed like a corporate executive, or a street vagrant, always blending into the scene. You can find him in the Rich Tree Market Restaurant at College Park, inside and outside patio in a starched shirt and pinstripe suit. Or even outside, looking smooth while he chain-smoked, waiting for his Monday doctor’s appointment which was across Bay Street.
It was all a game to him. Like the Doug Pell, Andrew Jaworski was a fixture at the patio section for Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks, all the Rosedale Alcohol Anonymous meetings, and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto, always exclaiming that he is a Buddhist, and is into meditation. Even on a sunny day you will see Andrew Jaworski at a park bench near the Toronto’s Ferry Docks in the Harbour Front Area of Toronto. Yes, this is not only a Tourist destination but a hot bed for drug deals and location for millionaires who live in upscale condominiums. One can easily spot Andrew Jaworski wearing a hoodie to obscure his identity, including a designer label in a better area of town. He is always looking to keep the fast cash coming and the illusion of high living alive. See him on a Sunday afternoon at Yonge and Dundas Square on the South West corner in action, inside the main entrance of the mall, and outside of it, dealing drugs, where he is a fixture. You kill him and you will become him. How did that Eaton’s Center shooting happen again?!
So we come full circle. What if by raising a person’s energy level, you activate a level of the brain that would unleash a person’s dark side, leading that subject to rape, or murder? A Meth Dealer would operate on a lower Karmic frequency. You raise their vibration and you have a monster and Andrew Jaworski may not even be aware of this action at all. Suppose this happened to this specific individual when he was not thinking about it. He may have anger towards women, all suppressed, and this leads him to violence. He snaps out of it and doesn’t realize what he has done. If he does, or the police can connect the dots…maybe they know already?
Maybe his association to the one percent is already known. Jack the Ripper was protected by the authorities in his time. The mafia crime syndicates have one hundred percent control over their money making ways. All the strip bars are owned by the mob. Each bar has its own drug dealer to keep the girls hooked, shackling them to a life of servitude, and keeping the money coming. The same goes with prostitution. The Drug Squad would never raid the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is too much a money maker for the crime bosses and it acts as a control mechanism to the burgeoning, homeless population. Yes, the Vapor Lounge Toronto aims to supply cheap drugs to those suffering from Aids and cancer, but everyone knows this is all an illusion because the hard drugs hit the streets through it too. It’s management team which has one 80′s Degrassi Actor part of its ranks, giving the center an appearance of respectability. A ghost roster of drug dealers does exist in such an establishment and this all leads to tragic events like the Eaton Center shooting, gun violence at York Dale Mall, and other gun activity in the suburban areas of Toronto. To keep an eye on such an operation, government operatives must be part of its management team. One source suggests this center has police informants interwoven between the riff-raff. One wonders if this center’s LA division is any different? Since the big drug companies profit from such a circumstance, why fix it if it ain’t broken?
Rock Stars are not the only addicts in town. Addiction affects professional athletes, labourers to professionals, including media personalities and politicians—everyone! When I see Mayor Rob Ford in a crack cocaine scandal, I remember Doug Pell, his friend and campaign backer. I also see Andrew Jaworski and the world of the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is not about legalization, but changing attitudes. The typical Millennial doesn’t want to hear about morality and the ethical arguments that go with it. They care only what feels right and what is popular. Some do it quietly and others find strength in numbers. It will happen regardless. Some people see this as a right to choose, yet others feel they are born this way. It is what it is.
All in all, if you meet someone named Douglas Creighton at a TTC Bloor subway station and he claims to be the son of the founding publisher of The Toronto Sun Newspaper, says he has ghost-written six Grammy award winning songs, one of which was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, tells you he has been cut off from his fortune due to a drinking problem, and he promises to get you on the payroll for Clair Global International, as long as you buy him beer…consider yourself forewarned!
It was January 15th, 2009. Imagine you are at a newspaper stand in a busy transit station and you meet a washed up rock star who was going through an alcoholic meltdown.
You are always looking to get promotion for those books you got published VIA Google search, but the Canadian media is stuck in a 1950′s time warp, where those online books are not considered mainstream. Our friend the rocker introduced himself as Douglas Creighton. The musician was tall; broad shouldered, long faced with curly brown hair, and well dressed. Oddly enough, he wore a Gucci watch and bowling shoes too. “I’m Douglas Creighton,” he told the tired newsstand attendant, repeatedly, “I am the son of Douglas Creighton, founding publisher for the Toronto Sun Newspaper. My father is the one who founded the Toronto Sun newspaper!” His voice boomed and seemed to reverberate within me.
This particular individual came from a prominent Canadian family who were part of the Muskoka well to do. He had been in the music business for thirty years, playing bass, drums, and guitar for many major, music super stars, including as a back-up guitarist and drummer for Eric Clapton, Duran Duran, Elton John, Shania Twain, and Blushing Brides, which was one of the most successful Rolling Stones Tribute band. His last appearance was in the Phil Collins Farewell tour in Paris in 2004. But no one knows him. Why? He likes being under the radar. In fact, Doug Creighton would claim that he has ghost-written six Grammy award winning songs, one of which was Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, including some songs from Shania Twain, Keith Urban, and other artists too.
Any hoot, this distinguished gentleman had a private jet, a recording studio in Muskoka, and claimed to be majority owner of Clair Global International, which supplies concert stages for mega star groups like U2. However, he was cut off his fortune because he had a calamity with a fashion model in 2008, making him an outcast from his social circles, and forbidden from entering his three 8 million dollar mansions in the Toronto area. “I have three ex-wives,” he told me, “I love them all equally. I have no favourites.” Lucky him!
Douglas Creighton promised drama which led him to the east end of Toronto, where he was holed up in his grandmother’s residence. On his blackberry was a list of all the prominent people, all the who’s who in entertainment and government. “I am a member of the one percent,” he would say offhand, “My father would drill that into my head since I was a kid.” The pensive man would stop to smoke a cigarette, “you don’t hold it against me because I have some bucks? That I come from money? Do you?” He would then exude a dog-like smile and expanded it into a grin of delight.
“No, not at all, sir,” I said with polite non-enthusiasm. Such a moment made me reflect on how life put me on the path with such a character. Douglas Creighton was so far gone with his drinking and cocaine abuse he had befriended the local Dial a Bottle man, Chris Kyle. The Rocker saw significance in every encounter. Yet, his mind was filled with games, looking desperately to play with people’s heads. He ate little and spoke a great deal, always looking for the truth, yet hiding behind alcohol, drugs, and lies. Being a big liar too, Douglas Creighton would always appear as if he was going through the motions, as if he was having the experience.
“I don’t know who my friends are,” he would ponder out loud, swaying backwards and forwards, “prove your friendship and that you are not a poseur. Buy me a twelve pack of beer with a pack of cigarettes. And I might put you on the payroll.”
It’s Clair Global International, a big name company. He called at all hours, promising employment. This whole ordeal led me to an east end crack house. He was there for weeks, begging me to come, but when I went, I couldn’t get him to leave. One day, he has another demand. He mentioned a big name big name super star; who he had ghostwrote songs for. “Shania Twain needs background singers,” he said in a matter of fact type way, “I therefore need background singers. I am going to record her next album. It is called The Perfect Ten.” He looked to me for this need. I don’t know anyone. Through some freak of nature in the stagehand circuit, I had an acquaintance who was a background singer named Jennifer Inifa Edwards.
Luck would have it; it didn’t work out with Douglas Creighton. “She nearly killed me with the Jamaican Tequila,” he lamented later on the phone. So that ended badly. I searched my contacts some more and I came across someone I worked with along the way, they had a monthly meet up for aspiring singers and people in the industry, and it was called Rock Da Mike. I called them up and explained the situation. I don’t know if I sounded believable. No one believes a 5 foot 9 soft spoken sort, but this person knew me. Eventually, I had a list of four singers. I called one up, met Keisha, and explained the situation.
Then I organized a chance occurrence in a bar, where Douglas Creighton was introduced to Keisha. Oh, such playacting! He got to know her. The next time, I did not explain anything to the second singer Anita Cole and she did her thing for him. Without warning, that Scarborough resident came across as a diva and she got angry about it too. Yes, someone called me up to scream at me for that one. In the meantime, Douglas Creighton found Rebecca Rosenblat, a late night TV Sex Therapist to amuse him. Her stage name was Dr. Date!
Rebecca Rosenblat advised people, her clients, on how to inject better sex into their love life and relationship. She was a syndicated columnist, had a radio show, and authored a bunch of books, all on how to improve one’s sex life. Yes, sex, sex, and sex! She never, however, encouraged safe sex, or warned about the transmission of sexually transmitted diseases. I saw their private emails, suggesting Dr. Date was married twice, and she lived with her then unemployed American born husband and two adult sons from a previous marriage. Her present relationship was said to be dead, yet he was in another room, sleeping in a separate bed. Douglas Creighton had an emotional affair with Dr. Date. “You’re sleeping with your husband,” he accused her once, or twice. “You are LYING TO ME! I KNOW IT!” he roared into his blackberry.
“No I’m not,” she would fight back, “The marriage is OVER and he is out of my life.” Out of her life, but in the next room with no prospects.
“You lie,” he squealed with a falsetto of rage, as he drank some more beer. They continued their phone and text relationship. All the while, I am working as a stagehand and as a crew member on film shoots in the entertainment industry.
Remember, Douglas Creighton would promise the moon to me just to get me to buy him beer and cigarettes. He was all over You Tube. Some of his promises were otherworldly too! When Super Star Shania Twain stopped touring in 2004, Douglas Creighton’s life fell apart. The music man was said to do the bar circuit in New York, where he spent one thousand dollars a night on alcohol, both alone and with strangers, or anybody. Thus, Douglas Creighton had cancer, poseurs, and was in another alcoholic scourge. He went into the hospital and was told he would be dead in six months. There was a fifth floor in the hospital and it was called the death ward. At 5am in the morning, all the doors would lock down, and the dead would be removed. At that time, he went through every chemotherapy treatment imaginable. He recalled his skin color changed and hung right off of him. He fought it, he fought the users, told all the poseurs to get lost, they left, and in June of 2005 he was told he had survived. Douglas Creighton then went back home, up north to Muskoka, to Lake Roseau, where he remained until 2007. In time, he came back, tried to reintegrate into society, but in 2008 he had a thingy ordeal with a fashion model. I was told by his grandmother, that Douglas Creighton began to live with her from 2008 onwards. Lots of people would always come to visit him but she kept them away.
Douglas Creighton was a lonely, tormented person, often complaining he did not know who his real friends were. “When I get hold of my fortune,” he would tell me many times, “when I get hold of my fortune, you are going to be put on the payroll.” But I had to do one more thing, always…Get more beer. While he was on this emotional affair with Rebecca Rosenblat, he would ride the subway train for free. Why? He had no money. “I lost my wallet,” he would tell the TTC officials, who were surprisingly very understanding about his situation. So he rode TTC like he was on a world tour. He would introduce himself to countless women, tell them who he was, and wave of amazement would ripple all around him. He was a fixture at Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks (specifically Roxborough Yonge location) and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto. At that time, you would find him in the patio section in any of these locations, drinking a beer that was hidden inside a coffee cup, a very sad sight indeed.
One day, we met at the Water Mark Irish Pub patio lounge in the Harbour Front area of Toronto’s water front district. “Do you know Toronto only has one five star hotel?” he would say to me, showing off a beer I don’t know how he would pay for.
“What’s it called?” I would ask.
“Hazelton Lanes Hotel.” I shook my head. “It is the only Five star hotel for the Super elite in the city of Toronto. Other cities have more than just one Five star hotel. Can you believe that?!” Oh, the rich with such tales of woe!
“My Father and Mother were good friends with Mel Lastman,” he said many times, “I am good friends with Mel Lastman,” he continued, sipping his beer. “You want to talk to him?” Nobody!
I shook my head at the absurd question while he gestured to his blackberry which would buzz always on the table regardless where it was placed, nor the hour of day. “I am a friend of the CEO for Tor Star.” I showed no reaction at the subject matter of the banter. “And know the Thompson family at the Globe and Mail,” he continued, “The all live in Muskoka. I am even a friend of Oprah Winfrey too.” This Devil who tempted Jesus from the mountain top seemed to loom larger from scripture. I often wondered in such a circumstance why he would say such things and I forever sought the reason for us meeting. “I am also good friends with Rob Ford…” his voice would trail. Talk about that Devil!
“Who is he?” I asked, dumbly.
“Rob Ford is city councilor for the City of Toronto,” went on the troubled man, “and I am funding his political campaign to become Mayor of Toronto.”
“Why?”
“Rob Ford is part of the Muskoka crowd, he’s good people, and he’s also member of the one percent.”
I digested this information but shook my shoulder, making Creighton narrow his eyes and shine his teeth. “You’re also a part of the one percent,” he would add, forcing himself to feign encouragement. A moment of reflection ensued. “Can I borrow some bucks?” he begged, meekly.
“Why?” I folded my arms across my chest.
“I don’t have any money to pay for this?” he exclaimed, “You know my partners locked me down and I can’t put two quarters together.”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“I’m strapped for cash,” he coughed back. His exasperation was obvious.
Sometime afterwards, I researched Rob Ford’s biography on the internet. His late father was Doug Ford Sr, who was part of the owner of Deco Adhesive Products Ltd. and was elected to the provincial legislature in the 1995 provincial election. For four years, his father was a backbench for the Mike Harris government. Somewhere along the way Rob Ford dropped out of York University and eventually got elected and served a decade as a city councilor. Now he had political ambitions, yet I did not care at all. I forever ruminated upon the forces of fate that led me to being associated with the scion of the Sun Media Empire. Nobody would believe this— anybody!
After such a misadventure around town, Douglas Creighton, much like a free spirit, would go back to his Grandmother’s home in the east end like a broken man. From nowhere, Douglas Creighton would romance CTV’s Christine Bentley. Like him, she had been in the business for thirty years. Since I work in the industry I find I don’t get starstruck with such people. She was in her mid-fifties, part Jewish like him, or so he said. She came from a wealthy Canadian family, her father was an ambassador, she was educated in Europe, trained as a stage actress in Britain but her parents forbid her from a life in theatre because they equated the performance life style with exotic dancing. So she became a newscaster. How is that any different?
Both Douglas Creighton and Christine Bentley knew the same people, joked about them, imitated such people with glee, and bemoaned the next generation of trust fund types that resided in the uptown scene. How do the famous greet one another? One of them mentions some names of maître d‘ headwaiters from all the finest restaurants. Only then, an association would be formed. You’ll thank me for that tidbit someday, you will.
I tried to make her aware of his living arrangements. I don’t think she believed me. This five foot nine height and soft spoken nature would bedevil me always when it comes to presenting a convincing argument. “Is this in the vaults?” she would quickly ask, looking at me with cunning and dislike. She then wanted to know my DOB, location of residence, and if I had a broker for my financial portfolio. Boy, she was talking to the wrong person. In fact, she sounded like a CIA operative, not the affable TV personality we all know and love. Well, after one year and half of this roller coaster ride, Douglas Creighton entered a crisis. Both women found out they were vying for the same man. To add humour to the situation, the newscaster even mocked the production value of the Dr. Dates’ nightly show, causing it to be eventually be revamped. Out of the blue, both women charged Douglas Creighton with criminal harassment. At this juncture, the grandmother made me aware that Douglas Creighton was not Douglas Creighton, but Doug Pell. A Peel Regional Police Detective called me to confirm such a detail. Yes, this episode was all kept hush hush.
Finally, the police took the celebrity into custody and they got him help. This was June 6, 2010. I would not see Doug Pell until December 2010 when he was sober. In that time, his whole appearance had undergone a complete transformation. The musician was dressed like an aristocratic, much like a character from F Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby. His clothes were tailor made for him, including his trousers and silk pink dress shirt. That handmade collar was wrapped around his neck. His jacket and shoes was big label splendid too! This Rosedale resident even made a point of announcing this aspect as fact, narrowing his eyes with distrust and shining his teeth at me. His Gucci bowling shoes were gone. Oddly enough, he offered to pay for drinks. The Rock Star would then get up to fetch a drink, but spun around because an element of suspicion darted through him. “My blackberry,” he remarked with smugness, “has a lock on it.” Somewhere along the way, I learned he had three Yorkville psychiatrists to see in his recovery process. Cheaper to have a blog!
In January 2011, he introduced me to Andrew Jaworski, a former 80′s Degrassi Actor. This thespian was age 39, ready for the next decade. At first, he was dressed in streets clothes. Andrew Jaworski was short with a mischievous air and was always trying to win a smile out of people, like he was play acting on TV, showing off his new teeth, when he hadn’t acted in twenty years. This television star was too nice, too perfect. Those grotesque smiles made him come across as almost diabolical. He was always behaving in an uncommon dignity and sense of self-esteem that would never match the circumstance. He had a show of faces on display but settled with a stage presence type personae to add to the affect. At first, this once famous man would sit erect, attentive only to Doug Pell, sending his gaze to scan the entire establishment with an exaggerated sense of self importance.
The Rocker, Andrew Jaworski, and I would go to the Alcohol Anonymous meetings. This was done to help Doug Pell feel he was on the right track to rehabilitation. I got to know that all over Toronto Alcohol Anonymous meetings were held in every available church basement. Alcohol Anonymous had no membership fees, no names. All was required was for people to come to meet, share their experiences, and keep sober. I tried to get to know Andrew Jaworski, who was openly gay and a practicing Buddhist. He occasionally worked as a food server at Second Cup at St. Clair and Yonge. I remember him complaining about the tests required to work for a coffee house. I heard of no such thing, but to him it was real. In time, Andrew Jaworski morphed into a yes man type, exuding that unique, repulsive smile that was supposed to be the height of gratitude. He would always supply an endless amount of cigarettes to the Rocker, even in full knowledge that our musician friend had cancer. I knew nothing about Toronto’s Gay Village but Andrew Jaworski gave me an education on that area of the city. The 80’s television star perceived that I projected a vulnerability of apprehension towards him, his body language, and ideas.
That being said, we rendezvoused at Roxborough and Yonge Starbucks, where Andrew Jaworski continued to showcase an array of forced smiles, all showing him with mock shock, dismay, and surprise, all from his fiendish countenance. “I’ll send you the White Light,” he weirdly promised, only adding to my suspicions. Washed up actor! Poseur Buddhist!
In February of 2011, Andrew Jaworski began to use his choice in orientation every way imaginable, all to win favour from Doug Pell. He would continue to go in this direction, all leading to a bad argument on February 19th, 2011. Right there and then Andrew Jaworski revealed that he shared the bed with Doug Pell many times while they slept. How this news was delivered was meant to goad an angry response out of me. It must have been the blow. All I know, cocaine does a lot of strange things, so I am told. Doug Pell had that for a demanding mistress too.
In such a circumstance, Andrew Jaworski got me to condemn him, his lifestyle right in front of Doug Pell, who regarded me with indulgent amusement. There was a moment of silence and reflection amongst the friends. The Rock Star was very elegant, cool, and quiet. “Really?” he would remark with an element of surprise. “You’re morale,” he would continue, “you’re old fashioned!” he would add, snapping his fingers at me with dismay and disgust. The well-traveled man would then smoulder with blackness, while the other gleefully conformed to the new social dynamic. Unknown to me, these performers had a global eclectic relationship. Doug Pell had manoeuvred and navigated through many such situations, always leading to conflict resolution. He moved back his head. “You have my father’s point of view,” he exclaimed, setting his teeth into position. “You’ll get nothing out of me,” he said with finality, leaving a cloud to settle over us three, dividing me from their reality.
In fact, it wasn’t about the life style at all. At first, it was getting Doug Pell into rehab, twice, first time he failed, and the next time was successful. Andrew Jaworski and Doug Pell made mode of living the issue when it was not part of the picture before at all. Thus, this goes to prove a good enemy will make you understand their point of view; while they help you slit your own thrown. A slow and painful death would ensure the conveyance of their mentality. Such an individual could accomplish such a feet, quoting Buddhism, or scripture, aglow in the eyes of public opinion.
Over the next few months, I did meet with these two men repeatedly but the argument in February had cemented a rift with our relationship. None of them knew about the roller coaster ride to get Doug Pell into rehab. When drunk, Doug Pell consumed me beyond belief. I found him in the past to be a demanding person, never happy, and always wanting more. Never having enough. Doug Pell possibly lived thirty years in the fast lane, jet-setting around the world, going through relationships as fast as he wanted and ending them without warning. Maybe it was my lower station in life that was the grand divide. Well, Doug Pell did get control of his fortune on June 6th, 2011. He invited me to his trendy Roxborough Rosedale Starbucks and made a show of the fact that he had hired Andrew Jaworski, who assumed a fashionable air, which he instinctively, felt high society would require. For that whole year, I pondered that dark secret that Andrew Jaworski had. Yes, he was openly gay and used it to his advantage every way imaginable. This mischievous man did act in 80′s Degrassi, but there was something about him behind that grotesque smile, shrouding a part of his personality in mystery. He would always try to win a smile out of people, hug them when he met them, but that mask that he hid behind would haunt a nightmare.
On September 1st, 2011 Doug Pell called me up, wishing to meet. In an hour, we sat across from each other at King and Yonge Starbucks. He had an arched look and waited until he charted his first move. A discarded newspaper unfolded on the next table, opening up to the municipal politics section. “Mayor Rob Ford is a FRIEND of mine,” he said with a sense of personal possession, “funding his political campaign was the BEST MONEY I spent yet.” Such knowledge was irrelevant to me. I showed no interest in pursuing that type of conversation. This all led to the pensive man to actually begin to play with his blackberry with a fidgety sense of indignity. It didn’t take long for Doug Pell to grow irritated, and he urgently suggested we relocate ourselves on the outside patio. This new vantage point faced a busy high traffic thoroughfare and sidewalk area. Once again, we were unable to substantiate any sense of conversation. An element of disappointment filled the air. I looked back at him with untired eyes. Out of the blue, I struck up an exchange with Juliet Francis, an African Canadian lady that was situated beside us. Juliet Francis was a middle aged woman, intending on leaving her job as a bookkeeper to start a business, all to teach intuition in the Annex area of Toronto. Right there and then, Doug Pell got an important call, excused himself to lurch forward, and have a private conversation. “I was told to be here,” exclaimed Francis to herself out loud. “I was told to be here.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I was told to be here,” she answered, “I was told to be in this exact spot, at this time, not inside, but precisely here and now.”
I digested this communication with a moment of contemplation. If she teaches intuition… “Are you an Indigo Adult?” I asked, hoping I was correct and not ready to explain my off beat reading interests.
“Yes, I am,” she answered with an elevated sense of speech. “You can call me an Indigo Adult. I don’t mind at all.”
“See him?” I said, pointing at Doug Pell, who still chatted on the phone, “He attracts a lot of questionable characters, those I wouldn’t choose to be around.”
“If he’s creative and intuitive,” she reasoned, sipping a green tea, “then he has all the hall marks of being an Indigo Adult.”
An interesting point of view, I mused. “Really?!”
“Jimmy Hendrix was the same.”
“Hendrix was Indigo?”
“He was very intuitive and creative,” she mused, “Jimmy Hendrix was what you call an Indigo, or a realized soul.”
A very fascinating point of view! With that in mind, I gestured the other to return. “I just got off the phone with my partners,” he announced. Big deal.
“That doesn’t matter,” I remarked, vacating the seat, and suggesting he sit beside Juliet Francis.
“What do you mean that doesn’t matter,” he laughed, quietly to himself, assuming my position beside the medium. “To talk with my partners is important!”
I introduced them together and they seemed very pleased to begin a friendship. I explained the Indigo phenomenon. She looked to the One Percent and said: “You’re an Indigo, Doug.”
“I do have prophetic dreams,” he agreed with momentary discomfort and annoyance. “I do have prophetic dreams,” he repeated, adjusting his body on the chair to add to the effect.
“Do you see auras,” I jumped in, interrupting the flow of conversation. Everyone was silent and focused on the mysterious woman and her coming answer. “Yes, I do,” she responded with a people easy smile and nod, “and my aura is red, I am covered with a red aura,” she exclaimed with enthusiasm!” Like Lucifer? I can’t imagine why!
I looked at them both, as they grooved deep into conversation. I encouraged them to form such a friendship. “She’s like a social worker,” I told him another time with a wink. “She’s your new social worker type friend!”
In the past, I directed commercials and a documentary on youth violence which was screened in England, but at that time I mainly worked as a grip in film and TV circles. I did also work, however, as a stagehand on the occasional rock concert, or even corporate set up.
In the fall of 2011, I worked on an IASTE 873 union show. I laboured two eighteen hour days. On the last day, a shock came. It was late; everyone boarded the five ton truck and sat in a semi-circle in the back office area of the vehicle. There was not much light in this area, but I could hear them sit, opening up some beers. It didn’t take long for cannabis to be in the air. I didn’t see any faces but I knew who they were and heard their conversation. “So where did you get your shit?” someone asked another.
“British Columbia!” I watched from a distance.
“Ah, greatest export from Western Canada to Toronto, which is the center of the universe!” Everyone said an Amen in unison with a chuckle.
“Thank the Lord!” exclaimed another.
“Yes, by the word ‘lord’ you mean Lord Black!” added someone else, which led to a moment of snickering. It was at this juncture one of the actors spoke about the local, underground drug scene in Toronto. Through the haze I could hear this voice transcend the surroundings. “Just below Yonge and Bloor,” he said, “there is a center that supplies herbs, medical marijuana for Aid’s sufferers, or even cheap medication to cancer sufferers.
“I think I heard of this store,” responded a woman “Isn’t there a safe injection site there?”
A long silence ensued. “It’s known to police,” continued the voice. “The Vapor Lounge,” added the voice. “The Vapor Lounge Toronto, it is indeed!” Someone would suppress a laugh at that statement.
“Isn’t there a Degrassi actor from the 80’s who manages that place?” added a lusty voice, clearly recognizable from the rest, “Who did he play again? Was it Walter from 80’s Degrassi? I keep mixing up those guys!”
I could hear some drink and pass around the implements for blissful awareness. “There is another Degrassi actor from that era and he’s gay.” My ears pricked at this mention. “What’s his name?” someone asked.
“Andrew Jaworski?”
I felt a slight spasm, possibly a coming ailment to be solved by a visit to the chiropractor. “Who did he play?” they continued to talk.
“I don’t remember. Is he part of the drug scene too?”
There was the sound of another beer that cracked open. The tone of the conversation went to a lower decibel. “He sells the hard stuff.” All I could hear was the sound of my breath and my heart beating. “That place is known to the police.”
The dark figures that had gathered all resembled warring factions from the past, much like the Aboriginals who found peace with the first settlers to the New World.
“There’s the old guys in film who say Mayor Rob Ford sold them weed in the early 1990’s,” rattled off one voice, before suffering a severe bronchial cough.
“Maybe Rob Ford did that back then?” mused someone, shifting their body weight on the ground
“Yup,” resume the sick man, “he was a drug dealer back in the day before he became all respectable, ran for maniple government, and got elected to Toronto City Council.”
That would explain the Rock Star’s motive for financing Rob Ford’s political campaign. They were from the high society stoner crowd! Secondly, didn’t Rob Ford get approached by two Aids’ sufferers on the campaign trail in 2010, where they tape recorded themselves, asking the future Mayor to buy an illegal drug to ease their suffering? Someone knows something.
While everyone ruminated on this information, the group continued to experience a sense of illumination.
“So you say this guy is from 80’s Degrassi is gay?” someone broke the silence.
“Oh, yes. Eighty percent of the actors in Hollywood are gay. Who do you think gets all the work?” The group continued to nurse their alcohol and weed. “This Andrew Jaworski deals the hard stuff,” the voice repeated. “Narcotics and all.”
“Really?!”
“And that’s how drugs like heroine, crystal meth, and ecstasy lands up on the streets of our city of Toronto?”
“So your saying,” came a question, “If that center was raided by police tomorrow…-“the voice trailed off.
“It would cause uproar.”
“Why?” demanded the others. “Why?”
“Its clientele are predominately gay and they need cheap drugs to fight Aid’s. And this gay lobby would rage against the police for conducting such an outrage. Every level of government would feel the heat for this!”
This confirmed my suspicions about Andrew Jaworski. In the coming days, I went to the location. On the front window was a name and number for a local spiritualist and a huge poster that promoted a Buddhist master. Not long after, I met the Juliet Francis at the Green Beanery in the Annex area of Toronto, which was located at Bathurst and Bloor. I explained what I had heard.
“Some people operate from a lower karmic level,” she spoke in an elevated nature, inspiring her with a sense of energy and confidence.
“I never thought it was that bad,” I told her, “I have no one else to tell this to!” I really have no one to go to about this!
“Some people operate from a lower karmic frequency,” she reiterated with a glow. “I will raise his karmic vibration naturally and then let him go, and Andrew Jaworski would then go off into the world.”
“Wouldn’t that make him into a killer?”
“No,” she answered, stopping to think that one out, “I don’t think.” She was unsure. “I will have to check the cards.”
“Well, he is a long time Meth Dealer,” I told her. She held firm and I haven’t seen her since.
At that time, she was based out of Alternative Thinking bookshop in the Annex of Toronto. There is, however, an ugly rumor that Alternative Thinking is known for being practitioners of black magic, the dark arts, and spells.
In the New Year of 2012, I finally found Andrew Jaworski on a Sunday afternoon, where he is a fixture even now. Just on the South West corner of Yonge and Dundas Square, I spotted Andrew Jaworski before a group of teenagers in baggy pants. He was quickly negotiating the sale of his goods. He had a hoodie over his head and his face was blackened out from exposure. I knew it was him. He being small, short, and having a small build made him recognizable to me. I watched him on that Sunday afternoon, until he completed his business. I continued to eye him. Just like that, he stopped and froze. His eyes seemed to start from his sockets. He must have realized I had seen him, but he did not know for how long. He remained motionless for a millisecond, before continuing homewards, clicking his tongue like he was communicating with a squirrel. He sees this as a game! In the coming months, April 21, 2012 came. That day, I met Doug Pell, who I soon informed of the latest developments. “He’s a drug dealer, man,” I told him, leaning on the table. “He deals the hard stuff, narcotics and all.”
“Then why did he go with me to Alcoholics Anonymous?”
“I don’t know,” I responded, “Why did he do that? Why did he do that at all?!”
Doug Pell didn’t look to his right side which was the standard search mechanism for recalling memories, but did otherwise. Maybe he knew all along? Doug Pell attracted many questionable characters, both men and women. Rob Ford was a dealer? Andrew Jaworski does it too. Everyone is connected. Nothing happens by chance!
Several weeks later spring arrived and I received a telephone call. It sounded like an adult imitating a baby cry, or a woman crying in a mocking type way. That did it! In the afternoon, I went to a food court in the center of the downtown core and wrote all the information, regarding Andrew Jaworski, all my suspicions and called Crime Stoppers. Rewarding a Meth Dealer was evil enough! I would visualize Andrew Jaworski using his vicious personality to tease street kids while they got hooked and lose their souls to the prescription drug addictions that torment so many Millennials in this day and age.
In the modern era, narcissists can be found everywhere. They will find people to use with vicious delight. Then they move on. They repeat their behaviour over and over. And if you happen to be the recipient of such attacks and have a hard time getting over it, they will assume that you are the one with the problem.
Doug Pell had rewarded Andrew Jaworski, who had never received any residues for his work in prime time television. In those days, that generation of show was none union. This early stardom destroyed Andrew Jaworski’s childhood, his education, and he had to grow up awfully fast. He earned a livelihood through illicit means to substitute the life style that had been denied to him by that brief career in Canadian show business. Through his method acting ability, this Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scored himself on the payroll for Clair Global International, a major staging company. Andrew Jaworski never left his old ways behind him. One will not have to look far to spot him downtown, all before a rave, or a big event. I did inform Crime Stoppers about him but because of his association with a possible member of the One Percent, Andrew Jaworski is exempt from a criminal investigation, charges and from prosecution. How do you think Rob Ford became mayor of Toronto? Mafia Crime syndicates and the Big Drug Companies rule this world. Why fix it if it ain’t broken?!
During the summer of 2012 a man matching Andrew Jaworski’s description was seen and involved in some attacks in the Kensington Market area of Toronto, including one stabbing murder that shocked area residents. The locale media called it the Kensington Stabbing. The day after the murder, I saw that artful dodger glide from a dark corner. He had a fake beard, a set of brown rim glasses, and a sweater clad type outfit. I thought he was hiding something again. He was walking in the direction of the Toronto Buddhist Temple that existed in the vicinity. Sometimes he would be dressed like a corporate executive, or a street vagrant, always blending into the scene. You can find him in the Rich Tree Market Restaurant at College Park, inside and outside patio in a starched shirt and pinstripe suit. Or even outside, looking smooth while he chain-smoked, waiting for his Monday doctor’s appointment which was across Bay Street.
It was all a game to him. Like the Doug Pell, Andrew Jaworski was a fixture at the patio section for Hemingway’s bar, all the Rosedale Starbucks, all the Rosedale Alcohol Anonymous meetings, and Sassafraz in the trendy Yorkville area of Toronto, always exclaiming that he is a Buddhist, and is into meditation. Even on a sunny day you will see Andrew Jaworski at a park bench near the Toronto’s Ferry Docks in the Harbour Front Area of Toronto. Yes, this is not only a Tourist destination but a hot bed for drug deals and location for millionaires who live in upscale condominiums. One can easily spot Andrew Jaworski wearing a hoodie to obscure his identity, including a designer label in a better area of town. He is always looking to keep the fast cash coming and the illusion of high living alive. See him on a Sunday afternoon at Yonge and Dundas Square on the South West corner in action, inside the main entrance of the mall, and outside of it, dealing drugs, where he is a fixture. You kill him and you will become him. How did that Eaton’s Center shooting happen again?!
So we come full circle. What if by raising a person’s energy level, you activate a level of the brain that would unleash a person’s dark side, leading that subject to rape, or murder? A Meth Dealer would operate on a lower Karmic frequency. You raise their vibration and you have a monster and Andrew Jaworski may not even be aware of this action at all. Suppose this happened to this specific individual when he was not thinking about it. He may have anger towards women, all suppressed, and this leads him to violence. He snaps out of it and doesn’t realize what he has done. If he does, or the police can connect the dots…maybe they know already?
Maybe his association to the one percent is already known. Jack the Ripper was protected by the authorities in his time. The mafia crime syndicates have one hundred percent control over their money making ways. All the strip bars are owned by the mob. Each bar has its own drug dealer to keep the girls hooked, shackling them to a life of servitude, and keeping the money coming. The same goes with prostitution. The Drug Squad would never raid the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is too much a money maker for the crime bosses and it acts as a control mechanism to the burgeoning, homeless population. Yes, the Vapor Lounge Toronto aims to supply cheap drugs to those suffering from Aids and cancer, but everyone knows this is all an illusion because the hard drugs hit the streets through it too. It’s management team which has one 80′s Degrassi Actor part of its ranks, giving the center an appearance of respectability. A ghost roster of drug dealers does exist in such an establishment and this all leads to tragic events like the Eaton Center shooting, gun violence at York Dale Mall, and other gun activity in the suburban areas of Toronto. To keep an eye on such an operation, government operatives must be part of its management team. One source suggests this center has police informants interwoven between the riff-raff. One wonders if this center’s LA division is any different? Since the big drug companies profit from such a circumstance, why fix it if it ain’t broken?
Rock Stars are not the only addicts in town. Addiction affects professional athletes, labourers to professionals, including media personalities and politicians—everyone! When I see Mayor Rob Ford in a crack cocaine scandal, I remember Doug Pell, his friend and campaign backer. I also see Andrew Jaworski and the world of the Vapor Lounge Toronto. It is not about legalization, but changing attitudes. The typical Millennial doesn’t want to hear about morality and the ethical arguments that go with it. They care only what feels right and what is popular. Some do it quietly and others find strength in numbers. It will happen regardless. Some people see this as a right to choose, yet others feel they are born this way. It is what it is.