Features
Winnipeg’s Jerry Shore looks back on seven decades in show business – including a stint as Harry Belafonte’s tour manager
By MYRON LOVE
For my 21st birthday in 1970, a couple of friends treated me to a ticket to Winnipeg’s first ever major outdoor rock concert. One of the principal organizers of that concert, which was called the Man-Pop Festival, and which was held on Saturday, August 29, was Jerry Shore, who turns 90 on July 23.
The concert at the old Winnipeg Stadium featured headliners such as Led Zeppelin, Iron Butterfly, Chilliwack and The Youngbloods.
What I remember about it was that the day dawned bright and sunny. But, around noon, the clouds rolled in and it poured. After a delay of several hours, we were all moved into the old Winnipeg Arena, where the concert resumed and lasted until after 3:00 A.M.
Shore was working closely with the late Maitland Steinkopf in those years. He recalls that Steinkopf made arrangements to move the concert to the arena and borrow equipment on short notice from all over the city.
“It was an amazing concert,” he recalls.
Jerry Shore’s life story is one that most people in the world can only dream about. In a career in show business spanning nearly 70 years, the lifelong Winnipegger has worked with some of the biggest names in music in all of its various genres. He has albums full of signed photos by rock stars, opera greats, leading Country & Western singers, popular singers and prominent actors – as well as a politician or two.
The show business tour manager and talent booker’s clients have included: Harry Belafonte, Nana Mouskouri, the flamboyant pianist Liberace, Richard Tucker and many more. He was also by Steinkopf’s side when the Concert Hall was being built in the mid-1960s – and booked the first act. As well, Shore was in on the ground floor for the founding of Rainbow Stage.
As is the case with many successful people though, Jerry Shore just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
Unusual for a Jewish kid in Winnipeg in the 1930s, Shore grew up in River Heights. His father, Sam, operated a candy factory – “Shore’s Candy Company”. The elder Shore retired in the late 1940s and passed away in 1950.
Jerry Shore’s first big break came about while he was at university. He became friendly with of his professors – one James Wilson, who had stood for office as a Liberal candidate.
“I was a young Liberal and worked on his campaign,” Shore says. “He was on the organizing committee that had been created to form Rainbow Stage. That was in the mid-1950s. I was a member of the Board and/or Director of Promotions off and on for 20 years.”
It was through Rainbow Stage that Shore became associated – in the mid-1960s – with Maitland Steinkopf. “Maitland Steinkopf was one of the most amazing people I have ever met,” Shore notes. “He almost single-handedly raised most of the money to build the Concert Hall.”
And it was Shore who arranged the new Concert Hall’s first concert – by Jewish opera star Richard Tucker. Tucker, Shore recalls, was very protective of his voice. The morning of the concert, the opera star called for Shore to pick him up in the early afternoon.
“Although it was a hot day in May, Tucker came out of the hotel wearing an overcoat, scarf and hat,” Shore recounted. “He wanted me to drop him off at a movie theatre where he spent the next three hours. He didn’t want to have to talk to anybody.”
Shore explains that he became involved in the world of opera after going to Minneapolis to attend a performance of the Metropolitan Opera on tour. “I met some of the people involved and we became friendly,” he recounts. “I arranged to hold auditions in Winnipeg for the Metropolitan Opera. I also arranged a Canadian tour.”
Other opera stars with whom he has worked have been Jan Peerce, Joan Sutherland, Robert Merrill and Pavarotti.
The second act that Shore booked at the Concert Hall was Harry Belafonte. “We became really good friends. He came back for a second show 18 months later. Harry was very meticulous. He had hired a new manager just before his second Winnipeg appearance. He moved on to Regina after the Winnipeg show. A couple of days later, I get a call from him. He had fired his new manager and wanted me to take over as his tour manager.”
Shore organized three tours for Belafonte (whom he recalls as quite shy, as well as outspoken on race relations). “I was in charge of booking fights and ground transportation, hotels, everything, even paying the staff.”
The highlight of his time with Belafonte was his tour of Cuba. “Harry was the first American artist to visit Castro’s Cuba,” Shore recalls. “CBC was doing a special on Harry Belafonte and his roots. There were 30 of us in the group. We get off the plane and there were men in uniform with sub-machine guns everywhere. It was a little scary.”
The Cubans, Shore remembers, treated Belafonte and family like royalty… the rest of the group not so much.
“The hotel we were staying at was the National – that had been built by (Jewish gangster) Meyer Lansky,” Shore reports.
The next morning, the group was informed that Fidel Castro himself was coming to visit. “Fidel pulled up outside the hotel with two armoured cars in front and in back. His English was very good and he was an imposing figure. He gave each one of us a bear hug.”
The three celebrities that he says most impressed him were Liberace, Sir Lawrence Olivier and Bill Clinton. He recalls an appearance by Bill Clinton in Winnipeg about 20 years ago.
“We had arranged a private function at Dubrovniks before he spoke,” Shore recounts. “The first thing Clinton did on entering Dubrovniks was to shake hands with all of the bartenders and serving staff. He did the same thing at the Concert Hall.
“He had an aura about him. He had the common touch.”
Surprisingly, so did the award-winning actor Olivier, says Shore. “Larry” was appearing at a news conference at the Fort Garry Hotel – a conference that Shore was chairing. Shore recalls that Olivier went up to each of the 30 journalists and introduced himself.
As for Liberace, Shore recalls an exchange he had with former Winnipeg radio talk show host Peter Warren. It was Liberace’s first visit to Winnipeg and Warren asked the last question at the press conference. The ever-skeptical Warren asked something along the lines of why anyone would be foolish enough to buy tickets to the pianist’s concerts. Liberace’s response was that anyone who wouldn’t want to buy a ticket to one of his concerts would be the fool.
Of Liberace, Shore recounts that the star used to carry around a Crown Royal bag with him wherever he went. “I never asked him what was in it,” Shore says. “But one time when I was with him, a clerk in a store asked what was in the bag. Liberace said that in the bag was his insurance policy. He opened it to show that it was filled with cut diamonds, rubies and emeralds.”
Remarkably, Shore has just been completely retired for the past three years.
Ironically, Shore observes, for all the traveling he has done throughout his career, he has actually seen very little of the world. “The routing was to get off the plane,” he says, “go to the hotel, spend four or five days preparing for the concert than boarding the plane again for the next city.”
These days, Jerry Shore spends his time reading (mystery novels and biographies), watching favourite TV shows, and enjoying his vast collection (over 800) of cookbooks. He keeps in touch with friends from show business who are still around. But, he says, he doesn’t miss being part of the scene.
“It’s not like it used to be,” he notes. “The personal touch is no more. All the little guys like myself have retired or been pushed out by corporate operators.
Features
I Speak “Jew”
By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence
By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco
By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.