An Open Letter to the Prime Minister’s Mom – No. 3


This one makes it a hat trick, eh?

Mags! You did it! You got Justin to open the border! You rock, girl!

Hey, do you remember walking past the admin building at Simon Fraser and seeing the deadheads harvesting magic mushrooms in the grass by the entrance door? When Premier WAC Bennett was deciding where to build B.C.’s newest university, do you think he knew he was planting it on some of the most prolific magic mushroom-growing grounds in the province? Of course he did. That’s why they called him Wackie Bennett.

I’m not saying that either of us ever consumed those particular fungi but I’m pretty sure that most people in Point Roberts felt as if they had when they heard you had gotten the border opened up. What was the name of that song, “Oh, what a feeling! What a rush!”

Shrooms! Sillycybin! That takes ya back, huh?

But today there’s just this one, teensy, tiny problem, Mags. The U.S. border still hasn’t opened and we don’t know when it will. Who would have thought Joe (I’ve got 12 twinzillion dollars and I’m going to throw it at anything that moves) Biden would be the horse headed to the glue factory? Not me, that’s for sure.

Right now in Point Roberts we feel like those skid marks you see on Highway 99 headed off the road towards who knows where but it sure looks painful. With no Canadians coming down, we are hooped big time.

You’ve got to get this thing unstuck. Call it women’s intuition, no, don’t, but I think I’ve got the solution. It’s a 10-digit number.


I want you to call it. It’s the White House phone number. Whoever picks up, you tell them who you are and say you want to speak to Dr. Biden. That’s very important. Ask for Dr. Biden.

Once you get Jilly on the phone, you go to work and charm her. She’s a teacher. How exciting could that be? She’ll eat up any and all of your stories about the Rolling Stones and Mick and Keith and Ronnie and What’s His Face. Tell her about your nights at The Plaza Hotel and Studio 54. Give her a life story she can tell her students that will turn their hair frizzy from disbelief.

Winter is Coming … but you, Maggie, are the Dragon Slayer. Get Jilly to tell Joey, “Hell no, open up that damn border.” You can make it happen. You know you can.

And after you do, I’d be happy to buy both you and Jilly a beer down at the Reef Tavern, just like the good old days. Without the mushrooms, of course. … Like they used to say about Red Rose tea: Only in Canada? Pity.

Thanks, Mags.

Your friend and fellow SFU alumnus,


An Open Letter to Prime Minister Trudeau’s mom

Dear Margaret,

This is Point Roberts calling.

Do you remember how, when you were a student at Simon Fraser University, you and five of your friends would pile into a convertible VW Beetle and drive down here to drink beer and dance at The Breakers tavern on holiday weekend Sundays? Those were the days, listening to Loverboy, Doug and the Slugs, Trooper, Long John Baldry and even Chubby Checker.

Some of us liked it so much that we even moved here when we got older. I know, weird.

After B.C. got rid of its blue laws in 1986, things got tough. No more crowds on Sundays, no big bands, nothing. But I tell you, those times seem great compared to how things have been since the border was closed and trapped all of us below the 49th parallel with hardly any way out. It’s like we’re living in a ghost town.

Maggie, is it ok that I call you Maggie? Maggie, do you remember Mick, Ronnie, Keith and What’s his Face? We think, can’t be sure, that the Stones’ recent big hit, Living in a Ghost Town, was written about Point Roberts.

And though times have been really, really hard, they’re about to get a whole lot worse. The owner of the only grocery store in town has announced she’s closing it down. Seems she’s losing $30,000 a month without the Canadians coming down to their cabins. We’ll be moving from a ghost town into a food desert.

Why am I writing? One word. Justin.

He seems like a nice kid. Has a nice family. I’m sometimes curious about who picks out his clothes, though. (Hey, did you ever meet the Maharishi during your Studio 54 days?)

I’m wondering if you could do something for Point Roberts, for old time’s sake. We’ve been writing Justin about our plight but our people think his people aren’t giving him our letters.

We really, really, really need him to open up our little border here. We’re safe. Over 85 percent of us are fully vaccinated and only four of us ever caught Covid-19. And they didn’t catch it here.

Do you think you could ring Justin up and go all Mom on him? He’d listen to you.

Afterwards, you could come down to the Point and I could show you around. See the now-closed Breakers. Have a beer across the street at the Reef. We’d even give you and whoever comes with you your second dose of vaccine, Moderna or Pfizer, your choice.

We offer you our deepest appreciation, in advance.

On behalf of the beleaguered (and soon to be very hungry) residents of Point Roberts, I remain,

Patrick Grubb (call me Pat)


All Point Bulletin

Point Roberts, WA

PS. I didn’t major in Sociology like you did, I took a minor at SFU. I wonder if we ever saw each other at the Breakers...

An Open Letter to Prime Minister Trudeau’s mom – 2nd try

Wha’ happened?

You were supposed to call Justin and do your Mom thing on him and convince him to open the local border. Please tell me you didn’t go all Mommie Dearest on him, did you?

You did? Oh, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. Everyone was getting so excited. Legions of Point Roberts women swiveled to the north in unison and shouted, “Yes! Send in the Big Gun!” while the guys just leaned back in their La-Z-Boys and let out one long, beer burp, “I always knew he was a momma’s boy.”

I was totally amazed by the number of personal stories that people told me after they read the letter. Most of them I can’t even repeat.

One of them I can, though. I hear that during the ’70s you were a frequent guest at parties in New Westminster where many of the guests were pilots and, as my informant put it, “stewardesses.” And all the booze came in little airline bottles.

Maggie – Look me in the eye. Were you an accessory after the fact of theft in the 3rd degree of liquor from everybody’s favorite airline, Air Canada? Because if even a drop passed through your lips into the beyond, you were. You did, didn’t you? I knew it, you little party animal!

Hot damn! That makes you a fugitive from justice. This is getting so exciting!

Can we get down to business?

The. Border. Still. Isn’t. Open.

Even though we had the governor, a congresswoman, two really smart state representatives and one county executive all here at the same time last Friday, the border still isn’t open.

What do you say? Are you ready to give it another shot? Tonight, pop on over to Justin’s just about the time he’ll be mixing his second drink of the night. Give him a brief but sincere apology about the last time. Then give him the pitch again about how almost all of us are vaccinated, yada, yada, yada.

Be sure to dial back the Joan Crawford/Mommie Dearest act.

Cause things are still desperate around here. Some days we wish we were the subject of Edvard Munch’s The Scream and we don’t care how long we’re stuck in the oil and the varnish, we just want to let it all out. All of it.

So, Maggie, show him who’s the real boss! Make him open that damn border.

Thanks, Mags.

Your friend and fellow alumnus,


P.S. Remember SFU’s motto – Nous Sommes Prêt. We Are Ready.

To get the hell out of here.


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