Roy Shields near the end of his life on his boat "The Rites of Passage" in Vancouver harbour
Roy Allan Shields was a (mostly) Canadian-based journalist, writer, playwright and television critic whose career spanned the period from the middle 1950s to the late 1980s. A close friend and confidant of many other, more famous Canadian journalists of the time (for example, Nathan Cohen, Pierre Berton, and so on), Roy's writing-- especially, his restrained but ascerbic wit when pointing out the foibles of institutions such as the CBC, the CRTC, etc.-- was acknowledged as being foremost in his field.
In his time on this Earth, Roy made his living largely by writing for local newspapers, in particular the Montreal Star, the Toronto Telegram and Toronto Star (where he was Entertainment Editor for many years) and, later, the Vancouver Sun and Province. But his real love was in writing screenplays for theatre and television, as well as in creating short stories.
Roy Shields in the early 1960s, teaching the author of this Webpage how to shoot a puck (he forgot to teach me how to skate, however...)
The majority of these works have never been published, partly because some of them are still in an unfinished state. However, as time goes by and our OCR capability improves, you will find more of them listed and available for review as listed below:
The Uncomfortable Question is a television play from the late 1950s in the same format and millieu as would have been for Playhouse 90, Texaco Star Theater, etc.. It concerns a father with a drinking problem and an accident that happens to him and his young daughter. This play is a good example of Roy Shields' style at the outset of his journalistic and writing career.
The Big Apple is a feature film for theatrical release that was originally meant to serve as the pilot for a comedy-adventure television series. The story focuses on an undistinguished Canadian actor called Pip Vance, who goes to New York believing (like the song) that if you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. Instead, Pip falls into the seamy underworld of New York in the late 1970s/early 1980s, becoming the foil of drug runners, drug busters and the rebel Hispanic woman he marries to get a Green Card. The Big Apple is quick-paced and very funny, although the Taxi Driver-esque picture it paints of a dingy, crime-ridden New York may seem a bit dated to some after Mayor Giuliani's famous (and controversial) efforts to "clean out the bums" in the mid-90s.
Unless otherwise noted, all the files listed above are in Microsoft Word for Windows format. Please note that all literary or other works by the late Roy A. Shields are copyright The Estate of Roy Shields, 1995 and may not be reproduced, rebroadcast or retransmitted in any form without prior written consent of the Estate of Roy Shields. (Feel free to download them and read them; just don't publish them under your own name or use them commercially without permission.) Limited reproduction permission is hereby granted for purposes of review or commercial evaluation. For information on availability of this work for your broadcast, theatrical or creative company, please contact The Estate of Roy Shields at (Canada) (905)-458-0879 or by e-mail at marcusnkaren@globalserve.net.Roy Allan Shields passed away in his sleep on or about the evening of October 31, 1995. He is survived by his ex-wife, Dorothy Shields of Oak Bay, Victoria, B.C., his son Marcus of Bramalea, Ontario, his son and daughter Maxwell and Lisa Shields, both of Vancouver, B.C., his daughter Fiona Shields of Los Angeles, California and his grand-daughter (who he unfortunately never knew), Vìrya Chéline Shields of Bramalea, Ontario..
Perhaps the best epitaph for Roy Allan Shields is the one he wrote himself, as a final comment to the will he left behind for his children. "Be sure to be good," he wrote, because your dear old Dad will be watching... from down below." Well, whether he has to look up or down to see what's happening, we hope that Roy likes what's here, on his own, small corner of the World Wide Web.
The song never dies, just the singer; nor do the words, thoughts or dreams-- just the writer.
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