Features
Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen publishes book of short stories: “Twilight in Saigon”
Former Winnipegger Zev Cohen, who now lives part of the year in Israel and part of the year in Calgary, has just published a book of short stories titled “Twilight in Saigon”. The book is available for purchase on Amazon. Here is how the book is described on Amazon: This eclectic collection of stories crosses genre lines – war, crime, romance, espionage, science fiction, fantasy –
as it moves in time from World War II through the present and into the distant future. Its common thread is humanity and love in the face of adversity.
A journalist finds love and misfortune in the upheaval of the Vietnam war.
Working for the West, a spy is saved from the hands of the KGB.
A straight-laced British accountant finds the love of his life and evil in Hong Kong.
Immigrants grapple with despair, love, and the vicissitudes of life in new surroundings.
Politics, love and tragedy in the life of a president.
Stationed on a distant world, a Terran ambassador adapts to an alien culture as love overcomes sentient diversity.
A loyal android fights for his cruel leader.
Teenage romance during the Six Day War.
A day in a dog’s life.
…and much more
We present here one of the stories from the book, titled “Gulfs and Pleasures”:
I DO NOT RECOMMEND HAVING SEX WHILE WEARING A GAS MASK. BEYOND the empirical fact that it prevents kissing from being part of the act, it’s difficult to breathe during the strenuous effort. Within a couple of seconds, the mask fogs up, and you can’t see a thing. Moreover, the waves of giggling break your concentration. Try imagining what a naked woman and a naked man look like while wearing gas masks. You’d have to agree with me that it looks funny if not grotesque. But when there’s no choice, you do what you must do and enjoy it, if only in a limited way.
I called Orna’s cell phone as soon as the siren went off in the middle of the night. She picked up after the first ring.
“Are you alright? Is he at home?”
“No. Two hours ago, he was called up and ran off to join the guys and play war. I don’t believe that he’ll be back today. Who knows how long it will last? It’s scary, and we didn’t even prepare an airtight room. He insists that there’s no chance that it will hit us of all people. Anyway, what does he care? He’s sitting in the underground bunker ogling the girl soldiers. Nothing will happen to him.”
Orna was one of the regular participants in my first-year course on the history of European art since the Renaissance that I ran in the large lecture hall of the Gillman building. She used to sit in the front row with the other “stenographers.” Those were the co-eds who conscientiously scribbled down every word that came out of my mouth, including flat jokes and burps. She was older than them, mature and sure of her intelligence amid those Barbie dolls. As opposed to them, she would, from time to time, fire a challenging comment that proved she was listening carefully and under- standing. To my shame, or not, I wasn’t attracted to her brains, although they did arouse my curiosity. As I droned along, lecturing on autopilot, my look wandered from her hazel-green eyes to the swell of her breasts and her shapely legs. What could I do? Even a professor is a human being, isn’t he? On a depressing winter’s day, between perusal of desolate seminar papers on the play of light and shadow in Venetian painting and suicidal thoughts, I ran into her in the cafeteria. The usually hectic and packed room was unusually quiet. We were alone, not counting Sonia behind the counter. Perhaps the atmosphere of impending doom chased the regular café denizens away.
I’ll jump forward because there’s not much to say about the develop- ment of our relationship. We didn’t go for in-depth discussions about art, politics, or interpersonal relations. There was no sophisticated seduction or so-called love at first sight. We were two lonely people with their eyes open, who found something in each other that had been missing up to that specific moment. We went for it. For me, her presence filled a void that was characteristic of my life here since returning from New York and a string of what Erica Jong called “zipless fucks.” She never revealed what she found in me. I doubted that it was about my less than god-like physique. I didn’t ask for fear of bursting the bubble. I didn’t want to find out that I was just a reasonable alternative to Amnon, her here again, gone again husband. And the sex was great.
“Amnon will always be Amnon,” I replied with a tinge of baseless hypocrisy. “With or without Iraqi ground to ground missiles, he’ll always look out for number one. Anyway, you always know how to take care of yourself.”
I couldn’t help adding a bit of pretentious and hollow male know it all superiority, and I said, “But he’s right about one thing. The chance that a missile will land on top of you, in Ramat Gan of all places, is tiny.”
“Yes, definitely, Mr. Professor of art history and great international expert on ballistic missiles,” she shot back, taking me down a few notches. “Do you suggest that I drink a glass of water and calm down? In a minute, you’re going to replace Nachman Shai.”
I tried another tack.
“I can be over at your place in a few minutes to set up an airtight room. I’ve been hoarding plastic sheeting obsessively for months, and I’m sure there’s a technical drawing by Da Vinci that could guide me through it.” She giggled. It worked. She could have guessed that my building skills were negligible, but there was nothing like a bit of self-deprecating humor to bring her around and hide the truth. She accepted my generous offer, and I was on my way before she put down the virtual receiver.
The streets were abandoned at that early hour. The oily puddles left by the rain reflected the brake lights of the few cars on the road. On the radio, there was an endless stream of talking and talking. Nobody could say what was happening. Were we hearing distant explosions or just echoing thunder? Should we put on our masks or take them off? It all just went by me. My thoughts focused on expectations of Orna – hot caresses, electrifying touches, sweet breath, erect nipples, wet, wet, wet.
Here’s another suggestion for my male friends. Don’t come to your lovers tight as a spring, heart beating rapidly with passion and sweaty palms. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the first day of war or any other circumstance. You’ll come, in every meaning of the word, and it’ll be over in seconds. Much too quickly.
We were getting ready for another round when the second siren went off. Being good citizens, we put on our masks and checked the limits of human sexual capabilities under the threat of chemical attack. Between bursts of muffled laughter and the pungent smell of rubber, we got a passing grade for the efforts invested.
The cell phone rang, and Orna answered. “It’s him,” her lips expressed silently. Amnon.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll think about it. I’m not sure that it’s a good idea. She must already be hysterical, and she’ll make me crazy too. That’s the situation. Yeah, it’s disgusting, but I got them out of the attic, and if they tell us to, I’ll put on the mask. Be careful. Call me when you can. Kiss, kiss. Bye.”
She looked pale. “It looks as though it’s serious this time,” she explained after the short conversation with her loving and concerned husband. “His unit is moving, and for the next few days, he’s not coming home and won’t be available on the phone.”
“Where is he going? Somewhere around here?” I wasn’t asking because of some sudden fear for Amnon’s safety. I just wanted to weigh the chances that he might show up by surprise and see what the civilians were doing in the rear…at his home.
“He said that it’s secret and he can’t talk about it. He wants me to move in with his mother in Jerusalem until things calm down. You heard what I told him. It’s out of the question.”
Amnon’s secret location was troubling. My plan to get comfortable in Orna’s bed for the next few days has a whiff of danger about it now. Suddenly he calls. Suddenly he’s worried about her and wants to send her to Jerusalem. What is he scheming? He might even show up unannounced to see if she was okay.
There wasn’t much time to consider the options, as the undulating howl of a siren broke the silence. This time we could distinctly hear the distant boom that followed it. The minute that the all-clear sounded, we were in the car on our way to Eilat. We even sang “Heading South to Eilat” loudly on a childish high at 4 a.m. On the Arava highway, we joined a slowly crawling jam of vehicles. It appeared that others, lots of them, came up with Orna’s brilliant idea to get out of the bull’s eye and as far outside of the missiles’ range as possible.
Orna wanted us to move into a holiday apartment in the southern town owned by her former schoolmate, best friend, and current neighbor, Rachel. Thanks to her outstanding bodily dimensions, Rachel had taken up a modeling career that frequently brought her to Paris, London, and New York. She changed her name to Tiffany and, when traveling, left the keys to her apartment and the Eilat hideaway with Orna. She often invited her and Amnon to use the Eilat domicile. I tried to convince Orna to come to a hotel with me to survive the war in bed with room service.
Near Beer Ora, Amnon called again. He heard as we did that a missile had hit Ramat Gan, destroying his and my low probability theory.
“Calm down. I’m still at home, and nothing happened on our street,” she told him. “There was a giant explosion, pretty close by, and the walls shook, but nothing more than that.” The lies slipped off her tongue smoothly. What else could she say?
“I might go to your mother’s later. In the meantime, if you can’t reach me on the phone, it’s because I’m down in the shelter. I don’t trust that plastic sheeting that we don’t have anyway.”
After saying goodbye with kisses, she reported no chance that he would make it home in the coming days. He must make do with the underwear he took with him. I breathed easier.
In Eilat, we dragged from hotel to hotel, the bed and room service plan falling to pieces. The same scene played out everywhere. Lobbies had turned into battlefields between separate Jewish combatants. Israel war-time solidarity gave way to exchanges of curses, pushing and shoving, and an awakening of Sephardi-Ashkenazi infighting. Never did hotel managers discover so many long-lost close friends from school and the army, relatives on the side of granny from Afula, and various other people with exclusive rights. Everyone was squeezing up against the reception desks trying to get hold of even the smallest partially furnished closet. It was a nightmare. In one of the luxury properties, the security guards were unsuccessfully attempting to take apart an outpost of suitcases and sleeping bags established by two families with a hive full of nervous brats.
Again, it’s Amnon on the phone. Orna shouldn’t try to reach him at his unit. He won’t be available due to radio silence and communications security. That’s fine, I thought. The walls have ears.
We dredged up Orna’s original plan. In a few minutes, we found the holiday apartment building. It was a nondescript structure with balconies overlooking a dilapidated neighborhood minimarket. The elevator was out of service, so we climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. On each landing, we stopped for a couple of moments of hurried necking, expecting what was coming. Hands were sent out to intimate parts, lips locked, tongues writhed. As Orna tried to fish the keys out of her bag while loosening my belt, I was busily unbuttoning her blouse to get at her bra.
The door opened, and we fell into the apartment. A pleasantly cold gust of air from the air conditioner welcomed us in. Someday had left it on since the last visit. We couldn’t wait for the bed. Clothes were rapidly removed and thrown aside, and the plush carpet hosted our vigorous sexual duet.
Eventually, things calmed down, and we could hear muffled, unidenti- fiable voices coming from somewhere else in the apartment: mumbling, quiet moaning, a cadence of creaking. We got up to check the noises that seemed to be coming from behind the closed but flimsy door of the bedroom. Just in case, I picked up a thick rolling pin in the kitchen. I pushed the door open, and no terrorist jumped me. Only Orna’s somewhat hysterical laughter penetrated my consciousness. Amnon pulled back from between Tiffany/Rachel’s legs spread wide as though bitten by a snake and stared at us incredulously.
Features
Cheap Weed In Canada: A Smart Shopper’s Guide
Since legalisation, cannabis has settled into Canadian life as an ordinary, regulated purchase. And like groceries or gas, the price can vary a surprising amount from one shop to the next once you start comparing.
For a lot of buyers, that has turned the focus to value. Affordable options like cheap weed prove a lower price and a tested, quality product can go together. This guide explains how to shop smart in Canada without cutting corners.
Why Has Affordable Cannabis Become So Popular?
Because the novelty has worn off, and buyers now shop like they do for anything else. In the early days, people paid whatever the new legal stores asked. That has changed.
A few things drove that shift:
- A maturing market, with more retailers competing on price.
- Online sellers, whose lower overhead keeps costs down.
- Savvier buyers, who now compare rather than grab the first option.
- A wider range of formats and budget-friendly bulk sizes.
The result is a real focus on getting value for money. Crowdsourced figures put the early average near $6.85 a gram, and cannabis price data from Statistics Canada shows how legal and illegal prices have differed since 2018.
That gap is exactly why shopping around pays off. A careful buyer can pay noticeably less than a careless one for a comparable product. The sticker price is only where the comparison starts.
How Do Canadians Shop for Cheaper Weed?
With the same care they bring to any regular expense. A handful of habits make the biggest difference. These are the ones worth adopting:
- Compare the per-gram price. It is the only fair way to weigh two options.
- Buy larger formats. Bigger quantities almost always lower the unit cost.
- Skip premium markups. Plain flower beats pricey pre-rolls for value.
- Watch for sales. Online retailers run them often, especially on holidays.
- Match potency to the plan. A stronger product means you use less each time.
None of these involve settling for a worse product. They simply put your money to better use, the same way you would stretch your money on any other purchase. The cheapest sticker is rarely the best value, and the priciest is seldom worth it.
The same logic applies whether you shop in person or online in Canada. Read the label, weigh the cost per gram, and let the numbers guide you rather than the branding.
Is There a Catch With Low-Priced Cannabis?
Not in the legal market, which is the part newcomers miss. In Canada, every legal product is tested and labelled to the same standard, whatever it costs.
That means a budget option from a licensed seller has cleared the same checks as a premium one. It is screened for contaminants, and its potency is verified. Price reflects branding, packaging, and store margins far more than basic safety.
The genuine differences are in the finer points. Premium flower might offer a better aroma or a richer flavour, and some formats simply cost more to make. For everyday use, though, a well-priced choice usually performs just fine.
The real catch is buying outside the legal system. Health Canada’s overview of the Cannabis Act is a sensible read on what legal really means. Buying legal protects you, not buying expensive.
What Makes a Cheap Purchase a Smart One?
A couple of quick checks, mostly. A real bargain holds up to a second look, while a false one does not. The table below shows what to weigh.
| Check | Why It Matters |
| Is the seller licensed? | Only legal retailers guarantee tested product |
| What is the per-gram cost? | The headline price can hide a weak deal |
| Is potency on the label? | Higher strength can stretch your money |
| Are there bulk or sale deals? | These usually beat single-unit pricing |
| What does delivery cost? | Shipping can erase an online saving |
Any shaky answer there is a reason to pause. A licensed seller with clear pricing and labelling is the safe choice, while a suspiciously cheap unlicensed source is not. The legal age applies regardless, at 18 or 19 depending on the province.
Treat cannabis like any other considered purchase. Compare, check the details, and let value rather than habit lead the decision. That is how modest savings add up across a whole year.
Before You Buy
- Cannabis prices vary widely by retailer, format, and store overhead.
- Comparing the per-gram cost is the fairest way to judge value.
- All legal Canadian cannabis is tested, so cheaper is not unsafe.
- Bulk buys, sales, and plain formats keep spending down.
- Always buy from a licensed source, and factor in delivery fees.
Photo by Jakub Zerdzicki on Pexels
Alt text: A shopper comparing prices online at home
Smart Savings, No Compromise
Buying affordable cannabis in Canada is not about chasing the lowest number you can find. It is about understanding what shapes the price and shopping with a little intention. Stick to licensed, tested products, compare the real cost per gram, and lean on bulk deals and online pricing. Do that, and an affordable choice stays a smart one, purchase after purchase.
Frequently Asked Questions
Is Cheap Weed Safe to Buy In Canada?
Yes, provided it comes from a licensed retailer. All legal cannabis in Canada is tested for contaminants and labelled for potency, regardless of price. A lower cost usually reflects branding and overhead rather than weaker safety, so a budget option from a legal seller is still a safe one.
How Do I Find the Best Cannabis Deals?
Compare the per-gram price, buy larger formats, and watch for sales from online retailers. Checking potency against price helps too, since a stronger product can mean you use less. The key is shopping deliberately instead of defaulting to the same brand or store each time.
Why Is Cannabis Cheaper Online?
Online sellers usually carry lower overhead than physical stores, and they run sales and bulk deals more often. That lets them price competitively while still selling tested, legal product. Just remember to factor in shipping, which can offset the saving on a small order.
Does Paying More Mean Better Cannabis?
Not necessarily. Price reflects branding, format, and store margins as much as quality, and all legal product meets the same testing standards. Premium options may offer a better aroma or appearance, but a well-priced choice often works just as well day to day.
Features
Author and lifelong nurse Tilda Shalof’s new book a guide not only for young nurses but one that will appeal to a wider readership
By MYRON LOVE Tilda Shalof’s most recent book – “The Handover – a Nurse’s Last Shift” was, in the words of its author, “written for the general public, to understand nursing. Nursing is everyone’s concern, not just nurses. The general public has a stake in the matter,” she observes.
I can guarantee that there are plenty of stories and anecdotes that the author shares from her own experiences that will also be of interest to a wider readership. I certainly enjoyed the book.
The title – “The Handover,” she explains, is the regular exchange between nurses going off their shift and the nurses beginning the next shift, during which the outgoing nurses pass on all relevant information about the patients under their care to the incoming nurses. A recurring thread throughout the book – of close to 400 pages – is the retiring Shalof’s interaction with three student nurses whom she had recently befriended through one of her many speaking engagements. In particular, Shalof gives co-writing credit to one Lisa Mochrie – a nurse who the author acted as mentor to during Mochrie’s last period as a student and continuing through her early nursing career.
There is a tendency for many people to take for granted people I would describe as working in a service capacity such as nursing. One of the reasons that Shalof points out in her book for our ongoing nursing shortages is that young men and women are more likely to be encouraged to pursue a medical career (to be a doctor) than a nurse. This, she points out, despite the fact that hospitals can function without doctors – but not without nurses.
Some other factors, she notes, are the ever increasing demands of documentation – which detract from patient care – and regulations, which have taken much of the satisfaction out of the profession.
In an interview with this writer, she observes that Jewish nurses are few and far between because nursing is not a profession that most Jewish families encourage. (I can only name a handful of Jewish nurses that I have known or have come across.)
She spoke about how she became a nurse early in life to her aged and ailing parents – being the only daughter – (she has three older brothers) and the last of her siblings to leave home. In “The Handover”, she also makes frequent reference to fictional nurse Cherry Ames – the heroine of numerous books written between 1943 and 1968 – as inspiration for Shalof’s choice of career.
For the first 30 years as a nurse, Shalof worked in an intensive care ward at Toronto General Hospital. She subsequently worked for a short time at an HIV clinic and, later a hospital day clinic and a neurosurgery unit. She also spent several summers as a camp nurse at a Jewish camp while her kids were campers there.
“The Handover” is Shalof’s seventh book. Her first book, published in 2004, was “A Nurse’s Story,” chronicling her experiences over 30 years as an ICU nurse. Among her other books are:“Camp Nurse,” recounting anecdotes from her time working summers at her children’ summer camps, and “Opening My Heart” – an account of the profession from the point of view of a patient after she had open heart surgery.
Coincidently, she notes, she began her first book around the time of the SARS outbreak in Toronto in 2003. Shalof says she started writing her latest book at the height of the Covid lockdowns, which she references from time to time in the book. .
The approach Shalof has taken in writing “The Handover” – following a foreword and introduction – is literally an A to Z overview of everything there is to know about nursing – with each chapter focusing on one specific letter of the alphabet. Each chapter relates her thoughts and tells anecdotes from her own nursing experiences over 40 years in the profession, as well as her interactions with Lisa Mochrie and the other two student nurses as they transition from students to professionals.
In her conclusion, she observes that “nursing can be a path to making a difference – having an impact. It can be a front row seat at the theatre of life. Or it can be a job, a way to make a living and help support your family. “
Most importantly, she added, “make sure you try to have some fun. Do everything in your power to enjoy being a nurse”.
Although the now 67-yeear-old author is retired from the practice of nursing, she remains in demand as a speaker and advisor. She continues to get calls from throughout North America seeking her advice.“The Handover” is available from the University of Toronto Press.
Features
Michael Mitchell: His Labour of Love in Law
By GERRY POSNER The Mitchell name in Winnipeg has been around a long time and much of the the name recognition stems from the long connection of the family to a business known as Mitchell Fabrics, a mainstay on Main Street for many years. Established by Mendel Mitchell generations ago and not closed until 2017, many family members, including in-laws, worked there as managers, students and retirees. And yet, the family vocation was not limited to just the business, t it stretched out into the world of law, and more specifically the field of labour Law. One particular Mitchell reached the peak of all aspects of Labour Law. Three Mitchells: Leon, son Grant (a senior management side labour lawyer in Winnipeg), and daughter April Katz (an academic at the University of Victoria Law School), had stellar careers in that field. Yet another Mitchell, Michael, also achieved great acclaim as a labour lawyer. Michael, a product of the south end of Winnipeg, is the son of the late Harry and Gertrude (Sirluck) Mitchell, so he has some impressive genes going for him. But he has added to the story immeasurably.
Perhaps it all began for Michael Mitchell when he graduated from what was the first and only Grade 7 Hebrew school class at Herzlia Academy. He later was Regional Vice-President of AZA in his teenage years. After two years at Joseph Wolinsky Collegiate and two more at Grant Park High School, Mitchell went off to the University of Manitoba for his first year and then on to the University of Toronto, where he obtained a BA in Political Science. Then came law school, also at the University of Toronto, from where he graduated with an LLB in 1975. Along the way, he married the former Lynne Berman ( also from Winnipeg).That union produced three Mitchell daughters, two of whom are physicians – in psychiatry and neurology respectively, while the third is a pioneering pre-school educator. Michael and Lynne also have six grandchildren.
For a large part of his career as a lawyer, Michael Mitchell practiced law in Toronto as a senior partner in the firm of Sack Goldblatt Mitchell – from 1980 through 2014, having joined the firm in 1975 as a student. The firm was committed to the union side practice of Labour and Employment Law. Not so surprisingly, he had to appear at all levels of courts, also administrative tribunals.To his credit, his work and impressive track record was recognized by his peers as he was named a leading labour lawyer in Canadian Lexpert Directory and was frequently recommended in Best Lawyers in Canada. Between 1982- 2006, Mitchell was also the managing partner of the firm, which suggests to me an ability to manage people, not an insignificant skill. During his tenure as the managing partner, the law firm grew from just under ten lawyers to over fifty, with offices in both Toronto and Ottawa. His responsibilities were firm leadership, strategic decision making and financial management.
But, what a career Mitchell has had. For starters, aside from his time as a practicing lawyer in the field of labour law, he has, since his leaving the practice, just changed hats. From 2015 to 2018, he was part time Vice-Chair of the Ontario Labour Relations Board and, from 2018 as of this moment, he has become full time Vice-Chair at the same Ontario Labour Relations Board. Needless to say that, over the course of his administrative work since 2015, Mitchell has been at the centre of some significant decisions and, if you are interested, I can direct you to the selected substantive decisions in which Mitchell has been involved.
Moreover, Mitchell has worked and continues to work in the area of mediation and arbitration of both labour and indeed civil law. This is a large area, to put it mildly. For starters, there is the entire field of grievance arbitration. To be involved in cases of this kind, your name has to be put up by one of the parties and often agreed to by the other party. That means you have credibility with both of the protagonists. Mitchell clearly has that kind of reputation and draws support from both sides of the aisles – as it is referred to in some circles. He has been an arbitrator/ referee in many cases, including the famous 1986-1990 Class Action settlement related to individuals who had contracted Hepatitis C. Further, he has conducted numerous civil mediations related to employment, contracts and human rights matters. Mitchell also mediates and arbitrates collective bargaining disputes.
One of Mitchell’s’ main achievements was that he was invited between 2015-2017 to be a Special Advisor (with capital letters, no less) to the Ontario Minister of Labour with regard to the Changing Workplace Review. This was a landmark review of the Ontario Employment Standards Act and the Labour Relations Act where he, together with Justice John Murray, recommended many legislative changes to protect workers from the negative impacts of precarious employment. The best part of his work was that many of th recommendations were actually adopted. Other recommendations remain for future governments across the country to consider.
If you really want to delve into the Michael Mitchell career, you should know that, over the span of his career there are many publications that he has authored. The main one is his textbook on the Ontario Labour Relations Board, which he co-authored with his early mentor, Jeffrey Sack, and which remains the leading authority on the Ontario Board.
Mitchell comes by his passion for labour law honestly. His uncle, Leon Mitchell, was an iconic force on the union side in his practice of law in Winnipeg and was the inspiration for Michael to enter law to become a labour lawyer in the first place. In fact, it was Leon who introduced Michael to a man in Toronto who recommended Michael to connect with an up and coming labour lawyer in Toronto named Jeffrey Sack K.C. That connection resulted in the Sack Goldblatt Mitchell law firm. As well, Michael was well known to Sid Green during the early years of Sid’s law career, also his early days as a Cabinet Minister in the Schreyer NDP government. Sid was a person who exerted a significant influence on Michael.
With all that on his plate, Mitchell found time to be the president of the Darchei Noam Synagogue in Toronto between 2004-2008. He has also been the president of the Jewish Reconstructionist Federation of North America. During his term, he led the merger negotiations which ultimately resulted in the current structure of that movement ,which is now referred to as Reconstructing Judaism. Its singular aspect is that it consists of a single organization combining congregations plus a Rabbinical School. That was enough to get Mitchell an invitation to attend one of President Obama’s Chanukah parties at the White House during the Obama term. As well, to this day, Mtchell sits as a Director of the New Israel Fund of Canada.
Mitchell has his feet still planted in Winnipeg. His two sisters live there, as well as Lynne’s sister. In fact, he just visited Winnipeg for his sister Ruth Ann’s and Paula’s 85th and 80th birthdays respectively. And to keep up to date, Michael and Lynne Mitchell have long had a subscription to the Jewish Post.
In short, at just under 80, Michael Mitchell is moving like he is eighteen. The longevity of his career may soon rival the longevity of the family business, Mitchell Fabrics.
