This feature was received by email from Gwen McKenna firstname.lastname@example.org on Monday 15th May 2000. Thanks to Gwen and the Jo Jo Project for images. For updates on Jo Jo check Dean Bernal's site at http://www.jojo.tc
Thanks to his human buddy and a Canadian woman, a battered wild dolphin is becoming the poster child in a campaign to save sea mammals around the worldDon Butler, The Ottawa Citizen
PROVIDENCIALES, Turks and Caicos Islands - When he sleeps, which is far less than most mortals, Dean Bernal has a recurring dream. He is in the deep blue waters of the open Atlantic, surrounded by dolphins, sometimes as many as 100 of them. Together they sluice through an ancient underwater city, spinning and twisting in an exuberant celebration of movement and freedom. Dean can keep up because, in his dreams, he too is a dolphin. So convincing is the fantasy that he often holds his breath for three minutes or more as he dreams, just as he does during his free dives in the ocean. It's not hard to imagine Dean Bernal as a dolphin. His broad forehead, almond-shaped eyes and swept-back blond hair give his face the sleek angularity of a cetacean. His muscular legs and broad shoulders hint at his amazing skill in the ocean. (By his own admission, he's more at home in water than on land.)
And the living being he is closest to is a wild Atlantic bottlenose dolphin named JoJo, a three-metre-long, scarred and battered male between 26 and 30 years of age who sports the permanent smile of arch amusement characteristic of his species. For the past 15 years, the two have patrolled the crystalline waters off Providenciales Island in the Turks and Caicos, a British dependent territory of 40 low-lying islands and cays about 900 kilometres southeast of Miami.
Dean, a 37-year-old Californian, first came here on a whim in December 1984, looking for an escape from the chaos and strife of the real world. A small plane was leaving Fort Lauderdale for Provo, as the locals call it, and though he'd never heard of the place, he got on because he was told it had great beaches. And Dean Bernal has always loved a great beach.
The pilots dropped him at Grace Bay, a five-kilometre crescent of bone-white sand and translucent turquoise water that fully vindicates its name. The beach was empty then -- the sort of place where you could go for a run at 10 in the morning and not see another footprint in the sand.
Dean stripped off his clothes and jumped into the warm, shallow ocean lagoon. He swam to a reef a kilometre offshore. Soon he was joined by three small dolphins. As Dean soon learned, one was JoJo, who already had a burgeoning reputation for unusual friendliness with humans. He had hooked up with the two dolphins after being orphaned as a youngster, probably after other members of his pod beached themselves. It was the start of an astonishing human-dolphin friendship, one that has forged a 15-year connection every bit as intense and profound as the ties that bind one family member to another.
Dean stayed two-and-a-half weeks, swimming hours each day with the three dolphins. After numerous return trips, he moved to the island permanently in 1986, and has devoted much of his life since to the care and protection of JoJo, one of only a handful of wild dolphins in the world who voluntarily interact with humans on a regular basis.
After a campaign led by Dean, JoJo was declared a national treasure of the Turks and Caicos in 1989. And Dean was named his official warden, responsible for keeping the national treasure safe from harm. Eight times he has saved JoJo's life, treating his wounds after the dolphin was struck by boats, and liberating him when caught in nets or beached on shore. In turn, JoJo has protected Dean from predatory sharks during their long ocean swims together.
For 15 years, the wild dolphin and the man islanders call Dolphin Guy have formed a unique partnership of mutual aid and comfort. But recently, the circle has widened. A loose coalition of environmental groups and individuals, led by a mother of four from Bradford, Ont., is pressing for an end to what it views as an intolerable threat to JoJo's safety from water-ski boats in Grace Bay. On the other side is Club Med. The powerful international tourism icon is accused of recklessly endangering JoJo by allowing guests at its Turkoise club on Provo to water-ski over his habitat.
The showdown has been years in the making, but the advent of the Internet has raised both the pressure and the stakes. Dean's e-mail is jammed nightly with between 200 and 400 messages, many of them copies of protests sent to Club Med or to the governor of Turks and Caicos calling for an end to water-skiing where JoJo swims.
But the fight to protect JoJo is only part of Dean Bernal's ambition. For he wants to use JoJo's story as a catalyst to do no less than save endangered sea mammals the world over.
No one has ever accused Dean Bernal of thinking -- or dreaming -- small.
Dean describes his first physical contact with JoJo in a magazine article in 1993. They were approaching a coral reef about four kilometres off Provo's shores. Beyond the reef, the sea floor terraced into the blue-black depths of the sea.
``Suddenly, JoJo swam frantically up and down in front of me and threatened me with his tail fin ... He made it impossible to swim any further. Then something totally unexpected happened. JoJo shoved his muzzle in my face and pushed me slowly and gently back to the ridge of the reef. I swam, once more, toward the terrace and again the dolphin pushed me back to the ridge. On my third attempt, I held my half-opened hand between my body and the dolphin. JoJo thrust his muzzle in my hand and began to pull me away from the terrace.
``Taken in tow by a wild dolphin, I raced through the water. JoJo let out wonderful whistling sounds and blew bubbles through his breathing hole as I looked into his big brown eye. He dived with me to the bottom, showed me a cray fish, a sea urchin and swam back to the surface long enough for me to catch some air. He pulled me further along, and for four hours we travelled through the coral landscape.''
About now, you're probably thinking, riiiiiight, towed by a dolphin. Riiiiight. But you haven't seen the prominent scar on Dean's left shoulder caused by a hard collision with a coral reef during one such dolphin-powered ocean excursion. And you haven't watched as cameras record the magical interplay between the two in such films as Dolphins, released in IMAX theatres in March along with a companion book of the same name by Tim Cahill, and the 1995 PBS documentary In the Wild: Dolphins with Robin Williams.
The former film features a sequence, recreated from photographs, of JoJo repelling a hammerhead shark intent on having Dean for dinner. The latter shows Dean and JoJo joyously performing barrel rolls together. ``They're playing together like a group of kids!'' actor Williams marvels. Even more astounding is a video produced for the JoJo Dolphin Project, a grass-roots charity that Dean created in 1994 to lobby for dolphin, whale and wildlife protection. Dean and JoJo play a balletic game of cat and mouse, twisting and circling, two beings sharing a single carefree consciousness.
JoJo, body crosscut with scars from countless collisions with boats, motors and water-skis, emits a stream of clicks, buzzes, electronic whines and guttural cries as the two frolic in the clear waters. The dolphin watches raptly as Dean amuses him by blowing huge, perfectly formed bubble rings, then engages in a game of peek-a-boo around the hull fin of a windsurfer. The video ends with a poignant aquatic embrace: JoJo's head on Dean's shoulder, Dean's arm encircling and gently stroking the dolphin's back. Like old friends. Like family.
Perhaps the most striking example of the link between Dean and JoJo came in the early '90s, when JoJo failed to appear for three days. Nothing unusual about that -- dolphins range hundreds of kilometres, and JoJo had been gone for two weeks or more before without worrying Dean. But this time, Dean had a powerful feeling that something was terribly wrong.
``I got boats and planes and went on a mad hunt after the third day,'' he recalls. The search finally found JoJo caught in a turtle net, skin bloodied by the monofilament netting and body scorched by two days' exposure to the unforgiving tropical sun. ``He had a choice,'' says Dean, ``of either drowning or burning. He decided to burn.'' After that, turtle fishermen removed their nets from the area because of the risk to JoJo.
The first time Dean saved JoJo's life was in 1986. Unlike most wild dolphins, JoJo comes right in to shore to check out the droll land-based creatures paddling in the shallow water. On one such occasion, he had just surfaced to take a breath when a jet-ski -- now banned from the Grace Bay waters -- struck him squarely on the head.
Dean, clad only in shorts and wrap-around sunglasses, recounts the story from his unofficial ``office,'' a lounge chair on the beach in front of the Ocean Club resort, just a well-struck volleyball serve from Club Med's Turkoise village. As you might expect from the son of two ordained ministers (his father is a Buddhist, Rosicrucian and herbalist; his mother, a hypnotherapist and ``healer''), he exudes a strong aura of New Age spiritualism, but also a potent sense of mission. His philosophy includes simplicity, principle and the ideas of Buckminister Fuller -- mysterious notions like ``the individual changes the world, but the individual thought changes the mind.'' As we talk, the words tumble out in an irrepressible torrent, fuelled by equal parts of passion, outrage and plain good humour. His tanned face regularly creases into a broad grin.
After the jet-ski struck JoJo, he began to spasm, listing heavily to one side. Unable to right himself and take a breath, he was minutes from death. Dean, who witnessed the collision from the beach, jumped into the water, cradled JoJo in his arms and pulled him closer to shore.
``He was still spasming sideways,'' Dean recalls. ``I didn't know enough about dolphins then to realize they would drown if they were sideways. I didn't know how long they held their breath then, you know. So I just kept uprighting him and trying to let him go.''
A huge crowd gathered on the beach, pleading with Dean to do something to help the distressed dolphin. ``I think everyone on the beach realized, `Hey, this dolphin is dead,' '' says Dean. ``He's not going to recover.'' But Dean persisted, and after about 20 minutes, the spasms abated enough for JoJo to remain upright.
Their relationship deepened after that. ``I think he really understood,'' Dean says. ``He understood nurturing, and care, and all that. He's not stupid. He's about as smart as any animal you can possibly imagine.''
All dolphins are intelligent; their brains are comparable in size to human brains. But to Dean, JoJo is unique. ``We have a lot of dolphins. But he's the only one who will come right to the beach, in one foot of water, hang out with the people, snoop around, and visit scuba divers all day.''
Over the years, a distinctive personality has emerged. ``He really likes to joke around a lot,'' says Dean. ``He's good at that. He likes to invent little games.'' But JoJo's more than just a party mammal. He's also got a sentimental side.
``If he were human,'' declares Dean, ``I'd definitely like to have him as my best friend.''
JoJo has been struck by boats dozens of times, many documented by Dean. Several of the injuries have been life-threatening, most seriously in 1989, when the propeller of a Club Med water-ski boat opened a nasty gash along the left side of JoJo's body. A picture of the horrific injury is posted on a Web site (www.jojo.tc) devoted to JoJo that Dean created a few months ago.
``We informed Club Med about the seriousness of that kind of accident,'' says Dean. ``We sent them pictures and everything.'' A few years ago, Dean even purchased propeller guards for ski boats operated by Club Med, the only resort to offer water-skiing on the island, ``and they still didn't put them on.'' The guards encircle the whirling props to prevent the blades from lacerating victims in a collision. Club Med disclaims any knowledge of the offer. However, in response to public pressure, the company announced in March that all its boats at the Turkoise club are being equipped with what it calls a ``propeller security system.''
The club's critics aren't appeased. They cite a letter from the Save the Manatee Organization that states that ``propeller guards are only slightly beneficial in preventing injuries when used on slow-moving boats,'' although on fast-moving craft like water-ski boats, they offer little protection.
While any motorized boat is a potential hazard to JoJo, Dean singles out water-ski boats as a particular peril. ``They're fast, they're manoeuvrable, and the skis behind can slice him wide open.'' During the water-ski season, from May 1 to the end of October, the flat, shallow waters of Grace Bay are perfect for skiers -- and for dolphins.
``In all fairness,'' says Dean, ``this is a water-ski zone, and Club Med has a right to water-ski there. However,'' he adds sternly, ``they don't have the right to run over dolphins.''
In Florida, says Dean, ``you lose your boat, you lose your licence, you lose your livelihood if you run over a marine mammal. Matter of fact, you lose it if you're feeding one. Ten thousand dollar fine minimum, boom, and your boat licence is gone, just for feeding him. So we're not talking about anything radical here.''
When JoJo is struck by a boat, Dean applies antibiotics directly to his wounds to prevent infection. To condition the dolphin for this life-saving treatment, Dean practises what he calls ``medical presentation'' with JoJo about once a month. He'll open JoJo's mouth, check his teeth, eyes and blow-hole, ``just to get him used to what contact is.''
But recently JoJo has become more resistant to this sort of contact. Dean thinks he knows why. ``It's because the last few injuries from boat propellers were so serious that the application of antibiotics so deep into the wound hurt him a lot. Now it's to the point where, if he gets hit, he's not surviving if we can't treat him. So we've got to stop him from getting hit, period.''
Over the years, Dean has written dozens of letters to government officials on Turks and Caicos seeking protection for JoJo. ``It got to the point where I wrote so many letters to the government, they just stopped responding.'' But now that the water-skiing threat has become a public issue, ``they're going to have to do what's right. The poor dolphin's already ripped up enough. How much more can he take?''
Perhaps the greatest threat to JoJo came in 1987. Club Med had opened its Turkuoise club two years earlier -- the first resort on the island -- and tourists began flocking to Provo. JoJo had been living in Provo's waters since about 1980 and was already famous locally for his willingness to swim with humans. Many of the tourists, conditioned by Flipper and other captive dolphins, thought he was a toy to be stroked or even ridden. JoJo showed his displeasure with bites and stinging tail slaps.
The Turkoise club had tried to capitalize on JoJo's fame by selling T-shirts showing three libidinous women petting his blow-hole. It was horrified that the sociable dolphin was attacking its guests. JoJo, the club declared, was a liability to tourism. ``That's how it was written,'' recalls Dean. ``A liability to tourism.'' The club wanted JoJo removed from its waters. The preferred option was to capture him and send him to an aquarium in Florida.
Dean leapt into action. ``Just knowing JoJo, I knew he wouldn't survive in captivity. He's not that kind of dolphin.'' He rallied support for JoJo among island school children, lobbied government officials, and presented slides shows and other educational material at Club Med. ``It was quick, it was efficient, and it had to be done,'' he says. ``And it turned the tide on `the bad dolphin.' ''
The campaign culminated in JoJo's recognition by the government of Turks and Caicos as a national treasure. Soon after, British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher learned of the relationship between Dean and the dolphin and wrote a letter suggesting his appointment as JoJo's warden.
Experience has vindicated Dean's faith in JoJo's benign nature. ``In 15 years, I've never seen him go out and do anything to anybody without them really upsetting him,'' he says. Even when parents, in an unimaginable display of bad judgment, drop their young children onto JoJo's back from a dock, the dolphin shows amazing forbearance, says Dean.
``Man, I tell you, any adult did that, they'd be shredded up to bits, just in the dolphin defending himself. And he turns around, he sees it is a kid, and he's like, uhhh! again!!'' -- Dean does the equivalent of a dolphin palm-slap to the temple -- ``and he swims away. He's smart enough to know that it was a kid, and he didn't mean anything. He's very tolerant, but he has his limits. And adults, he knows that they know better, and he gets upset about it. And he has a right to.''
Once, when five drunken men shoved JoJo's head into a propeller while chasing him around in shallow water, JoJo retaliated by pushing them into deeper water, and then wouldn't let them reach shore.
``This dolphin's pissed off, man!'' recalls Dean, warming to the tale. ``He would systematically go from one to another, kaboom!, a tail slap on this guy, and a bite on the other guy. He would go back and forth, and each one's trying to swim back in, yellin' and screamin'.
``This dolphin's a Navy-trained dolphin, man! There's no way a dolphin could be that systematic. I mean, this looked like warfare in Vietnam! I mean, it was incredible!!'' When the chastened drunkards finally made it to shore, their story was that JoJo had attacked them. ``That's the long story about JoJo,'' sighs Dean. ``He's always the victim.''
Gwen McKenna is a 46-year-old mother of four from Bradford, in the fertile market garden country between Toronto and Lake Simcoe. She first swam with JoJo a decade ago, during her first trip to Provo. While sailing, JoJo started following the boat. The captain dropped anchor and Gwen and her girlfriend jumped in.
``I slipped into the water with my girlfriend,'' she recalls, ``and there was this incredible creature, just hanging out with us. At first I was somewhat awestruck, having never been that close to anything that large in the water. To calm myself down, I kept telling myself that everything looked magnified under water.''
She soon understood that the dolphin meant her no harm, and spent half an hour watching him rub his belly against the boat's anchor line. When she came too close, his body language warned her to back off.
It was a life-altering experience. ``It really did have a profound effect on me,'' she says, joking that ``my husband says I haven't been right in the head since I swam with JoJo.''
Since then, she's returned to Provo five times, and has had numerous encounters with JoJo. On her third visit, she met Dean Bernal on the beach, and he patiently answered her questions for nearly an hour.
A few months ago, she spotted Dean's Web site for the JoJo Project, and its section outlining the dolphin's many boat-related injuries. She looked at the picture, with its graphic image of JoJo's body sliced open by a Club Med ski boat propeller. And Gwen McKenna got mad.
Using e-mail, she blitzed newspapers, environmental groups and anyone else she could think of, spreading JoJo's story and directing them to Dean's Web site. The campaign quickly took off. Faxes and e-mails from around the world started arriving by the hundreds, addressed to the governor of the Turks and Caicos, or to Philippe Bourguignon, Paris-based CEO of Club Med, Most demanded an end to water-skiing in the waters off the Turkoise club. Many began: ``Dear Sir, Gwen McKenna says that ... ''
The writers used a carrot-and-stick argument: stop the skiing, they said, and we will publicly praise your progressive and compassionate sacrifice. But if you refuse, they warned, we will launch a global boycott of Club Med and the Turks and Caicos.
``They know I'm the pain in the ass who started this public relations nightmare for them,'' says Gwen. ``The Internet has taken this story all over the world.''
To Dean Bernal, people like Gwen ``are just these shining stars out of the blue -- an everyday person, living a normal life in Canada, who takes this incredible story and changes it.''
None of this would be happening without her, he says. ``Truthfully, this is not my campaign. It's the people's campaign. I'm a subject, like JoJo.
``There's something about Canadians I've always loved,'' he adds, after a moment's reflection, ``and Gwen was the one to bring it to light again.''
This is supposed to be a triumphant year for Club Med. The company is celebrating its 50th anniversary. After some lean years in the mid- to late-'90s, Club Med showed signs of revival in 1999 under the leadership of Philippe Bourguignon, who took over as CEO in 1997. Nearly 1.8 million GMs (gentils membres, as Club Med calls its customers) stayed at one of its 120 clubs and villages worldwide last year. Sales reached nearly $2 billion Cdn and operating income approached $100 million -- both nice improvements over 1998. Club Med is opening 12 new villages over the next two years, and has ambitious plans to double in size within three years.
An international controversy over a dolphin is the last thing the company needs right now. The troubled look that darkens Jean-Marc Desy's tanned face when I raise JoJo's name makes that very clear.
Jean-Marc is the Chief of Village at the Turkoise Club -- in effect, its general manager. He's a lithe Montrealer in his mid-30s, with jet-black hair combed straight back and the trim good looks of the aerobics instructor he once was. He goes to work each day in a tropical paradise, shirtless and in shorts, surrounded by the beautiful young bodies of his staff and guests. Life should be sweet. But the fuss over JoJo is spoiling the fun. Jean-Marc has been getting increasingly urgent messages from the Paris office: what in the name of Charles de Gaulle is going on down there?
Jean-Marc welcomes the chance to explain Club Med's side of the story. And it boils down to this: it's not our fault.
``JoJo is a dolphin that Club Med always protects,'' he begins, ``but also a dolphin that likes to follow boats. He likes the massage between the propeller and the water. And sometime,'' he says, with a what-can-you-do shrug, ``he gets close to the boat.''
``We love JoJo,'' Jean-Marc declares. (``They love JoJo because he's dollar signs,'' heckles Dean Bernal.) ``But we cannot tell JoJo not to go close to the props, because he's a wild dolphin.''
Nevertheless, when accidents happen, it's not Club Med boats that are to blame, Jean-Marc insists. ``We protect him. Some people think that because we're the biggest here, and he follows our boats, and he's so friendly with us, they think we hurt him. And it's not true. A lot of resorts follow JoJo. Some of them even come close to our shore to follow JoJo with these big boats.
``There are hundreds of boats on the island. And hundreds of boats that drive so fast in the Grace Bay area. These boats, they chase JoJo also.'' But because JoJo is often in Club Med's waters, people blame the big, bad French company. ``I mean, it's totally the opposite,'' says Jean-Marc heatedly.
Has a Club Med boat ever struck JoJo? ``Since I'm here, never,'' he replies. It is a cagey answer, since he has been at the club just six months, and the seas are too rough for water-skiing between November and the end of April.
Jean-Marc rejects the idea that water-skiing presents any special risks for JoJo. Besides, whatever risk water-skiing poses will be eliminated, he says, by the propeller security system that Turkoise is installing on its boats.
``It's a big thing to do for a dolphin,'' he points out, noting that the Turkoise club must send its boats to Miami, at considerable expense, to install the guards. ``And we're willing to do it. There's not a problem. But other boats on the island don't care they won't do it.''
Jean-Marc frankly admits that Club Med is only installing the propeller guards in response to public pressure. ``Before we never, never had any problems with JoJo,'' he says. ``It happened this year -- one person just put the whole thing on the Internet. And it's so powerful that people, they just go nuts with the Internet.''
So Club Med is fighting fire with fire. It has created its own JoJo Web site, and is promoting one of its boat captains as JoJo's closest friend and protector.
Dean Bernal? Jean-Marc grimaces. ``Dean doesn't have a good relationship with Club Med,'' he says. ``I don't allow him in the club because he talks bad about Club Med.''
Jean-Marc concedes that the bad publicity isn't good for Turkoise, which attracts about 25 per cent of its winter clientele from Canada. ``It doesn't help at all. But,'' he adds, ``I don't think it can hurt the club.''
Lately, Dean Bernal has been asking himself: How much longer can I do this? Maybe it's time to settle down, earn a steady paycheque, live a more conventional life. After all, he's not a kid any more.
``At 37 years old, you start thinking about your own life, your own family,'' he says, scanning the waters of Grace Bay for signs of JoJo. ``I don't want to change what I'm doing now; I'd rather do what I'm doing now. But most people have health insurance, dental insurance, maybe a house ... I've put all that stuff away to do conservation work.''
Dean is in a reflective mood. ``People say, Dean, what are you going to do for yourself? Well, I've always thought I was doing this for me, too. I'm happy, and I don't have any qualms or anything.
``But then the question comes up, don't you ever want children?'' Dean's eyes widen at the idea. ``You start thinking about children ... about your own health and your own responsibility to yourself before you can have kids. So then I start thinking, oh man! Now you've got to start looking at things differently ...''
Dean considers this for a moment, then fixes his gaze on me. ``I don't know, Don, you see this,'' he says, eyes taking in the sweep of sand and sea that he has called home for 15 years. ``Would you want to trade this in for anything?'' I think about that briefly. No Dean, I say, I wouldn't.
Besides, there are so many dreams still unfulfilled. There's JoJo's Story, Dean's book and film about their life together, which he has been working on sporadically for five years. And there are other dolphins dying daily who need a champion.
By bringing JoJo's story to people in other lands, Dean has already succeeded in halting the carnage in places far from the Turks and Caicos. His greatest success was in Toshima Island, Japan, where dolphins were being routinely slaughtered by fishermen. After Dean told the island's children, fishermen and tourism officials about JoJo, the killing stopped. ``They realized, OK, it's not a fish. We can't be killing all these JoJos any more.''
He's travelled to other places where sociable dolphins similar to JoJo live -- Norway, Italy, Egypt, New Zealand -- and ``recreated the JoJo Project,'' using JoJo as a case study to win protection for dolphins and other marine mammals there as well. It's hard to walk away from such meaningful work, even if it doesn't pay the rent.
``Dolphins suffer just the same way, they die exactly the same way that people die,'' says Dean. ``And this is what we want to stop. This is what JoJo has the capability of representing.''
I too got to swim with JoJo. All day, as Dean and I talked on the beach, JoJo had been swimming in the waters of Grace Bay. Dean would point to a snorkeling boat and say: ``See, everyone's on one side of the boat? That's JoJo.'' But the dolphin would always slip away before we could catch up to him.
Finally, Dean loaned me a mask and snorkel and a pair of flippers, and had a friend with a skiff drop us on a sandbank half a kilometre from shore. As we stood in the waist-deep water, Dean pulled two objects from a small bag and clinked them together repeatedly under the water. Soon after, Dean spotted a familiar dorsal fin heading our way from deeper water. It was JoJo, responding to Dean's aural signal.
He made a lightning-fast pass, then doubled back more slowly until he was only metres from us. Cursing the short-sightedness that denied me a clearer view, I slipped on the mask and floated free in the buoyant salt water.
I was in JoJo's element now. He slid past me, almost within arm's reach, checking out the new guy. I was too overwhelmed to do anything but float along, mesmerized by the graceful power of this battle-scarred survivor, my head full of clicks and buzzes that, I realized, were coming from the dolphin. He must have found me tedious, because after circling past one more time, he lit out for his feeding grounds, and our encounter was over.
The euphoria, though, lingered. For a few short minutes, I had an inkling, the barest hint, of what Dean Bernal has been living these past 15 years. At that moment, I desperately envied him his life, his communion with this magnificent animal, his knowledge of a world unknown to most of us. I envied him even his dreams.
Postscript: Club Med began waterskiing on Grace Bay again May 1. At last report, the club had not yet installed propeller guards on its boats.
Don Butler is executive editor of the Citizen. You can visit Dean Bernal's JoJo Project web site at http://www.jojo.tc . The IMAX film Dolphins is currently showing at the IMAX theatre at Ontario Place in Toronto, and is tentatively scheduled to come to the Canadian Museum of Civilization in Hull next spring.