In its premiere issue almost four years ago, The Walrus magazine introduced a front section called Field Notes. Its purpose: to offer Canadian readers a peek into indigenous cultures abroad. In scientific circles, the term refers to the notes taken by scientists during or after their observations of the phenomena they are studying. These types of field notes are a description of events, interviews, beliefs and personal reactions to what the scientist sees around her. With this as a guiding premise, the Ryerson Review of Journalism decided to observe up close the comings and goings, the rituals and rivalries and the hunt for sustenance of what is in Canada, a strange publishing animal. What follows is the result of six months of close observation and investigation into this lumbering beast that, like its namesake, has been teetering on the edge of extinction for much of its life.

SIGHTING
Walrus editor Ken Alexander and the magazine's new publisher Shelley Ambrose
LOCATION
Downtown Toronto, the inaugural "Wild and Wonderful Walrus Party"
DAY AND TIME
November 22, 2006, 7 p.m. to midnight

The din of conversation seldom lets up. At the centre of the crowded lobby of Toronto's Isabel Bader Theatre is the wild (to some) and wonderful (to others) Ken Alexander, boss walrus. Unlike in the Arctic ice floes, where the dominant walrus displays the longest tusks - up to one metre - Alexander proves he is the boss by a human display of power: He and his herd, particularly the family foundation, have thus far been the prime source of funds for The Walrus. Charming and bright, wearing a pewter suit, he is, tonight, a striking contrast to the Alexander found in his offices. There, he is overworked, under-slept, eccentric and the object of much gossip, some of it bitter. Here, he is smooth and collected, the noble champion of Canada's only mainstream, national magazine of long-form journalism devoted to ideas, culture and current affairs. He plays the part perfectly.

Glass of white wine in hand, Alexander's voice booms as he speaks to an interchanging circle of people. Two lines manoeuvre slowly around him: one flows toward the huddle of velvet, lace and pressed shirts at the free wine table; the other moves away from it, leaving behind a trail of empty glasses and stained tablecloths. This is the first stage of the night's three-part fundraiser. Later, inside the theatre, the 450 supporters, who each paid either $125 (subscribers to the magazine) or $150 (nonsubscribers) to be there, will see part two conclude with a public discussion on optimism by designer Bruce Mau and Alexander. Given the Walrus's tumultuous past, it's a word Alexander does well to know.

After an hour of mingling and an hour and a half of intellectual entertainment, the Wild and Wonderful Walrus Party moves around the corner to stage three: "fine food and dancing" at the Gardiner Museum, home to a collection of ceramics as fragile as the egos of many writers after encountering the wild Alexander. At the Gardiner, servers dressed like swanky hotdog vendors navigate the throng, handing out gourmet fries and onion rings in oily paper cones. It's like a souped-up greasy spoon. No one is dancing. Alexander exchanges his glass of wine for a pint. Next to him is Shelley Ambrose, the magazine's newly hired publisher and executive director of The Walrus Foundation, to which the modest $30,000 raised at this event will go. There are whispers throughout the magazine industry that she, if successful in her new dual role, could soon grow tusks long enough to vie for dominance.

Right now the two are friendly and animated as they speak to members of another ever-shifting circle that includes, at times, Walrus-ites such as Nora Underwood and Daniel Baird and freelancers such as Marci McDonald, who wrote the cover story for the magazine's first issue, an award-winning 12,000-word investigative piece on the business dealings of then prime minister Paul Martin.

This is the first significant fundraising event the foundation has held since it won charitable status from the Canada Revenue Agency (CRA) after a three-year struggle. At the time, the November 2005 success prompted much celebration. Finally, everybody hoped, the magazine could move forward and begin its long-desired appeal for funds from foundations and other interested parties. But what came instead was a year-long fundraising standstill, one that prompted many to criticize the foundation for wasting a year.

On this night, though, nobody wants to breach the camaraderie to dwell on the animosity that has plagued the Walrus and Alexander. This fundraiser, planned long before Ambrose signed on, is all about signalling to staff, contributors, supporters, potential supporters, suppliers and numerous others that it's time to forget the past and move on to the next stage in the evolution of the Walrus.

But the story of how the magazine survived until now is just as compelling - perhaps more so - as the tale of where it's going. The three years leading to this party were an incredible journey that would have felled a less determined species. But that struggle for survival, as remarkable as it is, also raises questions about the revolving door of staffers, freelancers and board members, the constant search for cash and the quest for charitable status that began before the first issue came out. The questions include: Why did so many people leave the Walrus? How exactly was the beast funded for three years without charitable status? How hard is it, really, to work for the Walrus? How, after being rejected more than once, did the Walrus finally win charitable status? What concessions did it make to satisfy the CRA - and are they nothing but a sham? Central to it all is the man who has been castigated so frequently: the Wild and Wonderful Ken Alexander.

SIGHTING
Face to Face with Ken Alexander
LOCATION
Downtown Toronto, The Walrus Offices, then the Elephant and Castle Pub
DAY AND TIME
November 1, 2006, 3 p.m. to 4 p.m.

It's three weeks before the Wild and Wonderful Walrus Party and Alexander's sunken face betrays a work day that starts at 3 a.m. and stretches between 14 and 18 hours. His coat hangs skewed off his body, with a weight that seems to sink his shoulders. He's at Walrus headquarters but, he explains, pushing the door open, we can't meet in his office. It's too messy - a half-empty Orange Julius cup is a beacon among mountains of paper strewn across his desk. The floor is a wreck of piled and unidentifiable clothing, of books, of manuscripts. "I normally do my work in there," he says, pointing to a spotless boardroom.

Minutes later we're sitting at the Elephant and Castle. Alexander orders a Boddingtons. Restless, he removes the pencil from his ear as he talks, then taps it on the counter, stops, rolls it between his fingers, stops, and puts it back behind his ear.

Everyone is still gossiping about the autumn resignations of three board members, publisher Bernard Schiff and deputy editor Tom Fennell. After the news broke on the industry blog maintained by magazine consultant D.B. Scott - who four years earlier had been hired to do a business plan, among other things, for the Walrus - Alexander wrote in, saying the resignations were caused by "a simple difference of opinion vis-a-vis what was necessary to continue on [the Walrus's] upward trajectory." When I mention the departed staff, Alexander explains that the magazine's rapid growth has forced it to become "more mature." Earlier resignations reflected "a change of focus and direction for the magazine," as it became more "edgy and aggressive" and "less observational." All those who touched the Walrus, he goes on, from the first year to now, are "terrific people," but don't have what's needed to help the magazine lurch out of its start-up period and into "phase two."

"There's absolutely no hiding in a newsroom," Alexander states. "So the people with real skill and ability rise to the top and others can't keep up."

While Alexander didn't come to theWalrus with much magazine experience, he has had no trouble keeping up - or rising to the top. Previous experience in the Canadian magazine industry, he says, can be useless. "You could ask yourself, if an industry is moribund, if it's really flat or declining, or not achieving anything significant, then perhaps experience in that industry is not all that worthwhile."

Currently, Alexander is the longest-serving person on the editorial side of the masthead and one of only a few in the office who have been there since the beginning. Before coming to theWalrus, he taught high school English and history. In 1996, he co-authored a book titled, Towards Freedom: The African-Canadian Experience, which has become a standard reference during Black History Month. Alexander would go on to become the senior producer with CBC Newsworld's counterSpin, which is where the idea for a general-interest magazine began to form. It took deeper root following a couple of telephone conversations with Dalton Camp, the long-time Tory and political columnist who Alexander booked on the show. At the centre of these discussions: how print lagged behind radio and TV in terms of CBC-style investigative journalism. A magazine devoted to in-depth articles, they agreed, would be the right vehicle.

It was a natural fit for Alexander, who tells me that his background is not really about being a teacher, writer or producer. Rather, he says, it's about being "a reader."

"The reader owns the piece. You're writing for, you're working for, you're in the service of the reader." Alexander's voice fires rapidly as he speaks. Walrus readers are smart, he says, sophisticated and engaged - the type of people you'd want to have at a dinner party. They're also demanding. They've read a "tremendous amount of good stuff" and it's Alexander's job to meet their high expectations.

It's becoming clear there are many sides and moods to this man. In just a few minutes I've seen the

By the time he drains his beer, the Ken who-saw-a-flailing-industry-and-decided to-do-something-to-improve-it appears. As e walk into the chilly air, Alexander lights a cigarette and we talk about whether he can picture the Walrus without him. "I'd like down the road to pass it off," he says, "I'd like to see my kids more often. But you have to be ambitious, without ambition what are you going to do?"

SIGHTING
Ken Alexander vents
LOCATION
Downtown Toronto, Ryerson University English Class
DAY AND TIME
November 29, 2006, 9:30 a.m. to 11 a.m.

Alexander is speaking to a group of wide-eyed student journalists as a guest lecturer in a Ryerson University English class taught by writer and Walrus contributing editor Randy Boyagoda. The topic was supposed to be the latest issue of theWalrus, but Alexander has other things on his mind. He's bothered by people who give the gossip about him so much credence when judging the magazine. "We can judge how we're doing in two ways," he says. "Not [by] my drinking problems. Those are irrelevant. They are a major concern of certain journalists, even student journalists at Ryerson. Not my maniacal behaviour, either. That's irrelevant. Yes, I work a lot. It's irrelevant… Not the magazine awards. That's irrelevant - it's nice, but it's irrelevant."

His hands fly as he stalks up and down the front of the classroom. A bloom of red spreads from his collar to his ears: "We can judge how we're doing in two ways. Does Marci McDonald want to work with us again… and will [historian] Margaret MacMillan renew her subscription? If those two things are happening, then we're doing our job."

SIGHTING
Face-to-face with Shelley Ambrose
LOCATION
Downtown Toronto, Second Cup outlet near The Walrus Offices
DAY AND TIME
December 4, 2006, 9:30 a.m. to 10:45 a.m.

She doesn't have to order. When Ambrose walks into the Second Cup almost two weeks after the Wild and Wonderful Walrus Party, the baristas know what she wants: a medium coffee, with room for milk. Since her early-November hiring, Ambrose has come here frequently to "engage" with every board member of The Walrus Foundation and nearly all the magazine's staff.

Ambrose's goal is to begin 2007 "properly." To do that, she's got to heave theWalrus out of its fundraising rut but, with so little done in previous years, she's starting "almost from scratch." When Ambrose speaks she locks her eyes with mine; they barely flicker downward as she sips her coffee. I wonder how she doesn't spill it. The cadence of her voice is sure and exact; the woman oozes confidence.

In her first weeks on the job, Ambrose has also tried to talk to all former staffers so she can piece together the past and present of theWalrus. Last week, for instance, she spent Sunday with her predecessor, Bernard Schiff, a retired University of Toronto psychology professor who was a friend of David Berlin, back when Berlin, independently of Alexander, was also looking to launch a magazine of ideas and current affairs. When Alexander and Berlin decided to join forces, Schiff agreed to serve as associate publisher, later saying of the trio: "Where was I going to be? Well, I'll be the therapist - that was a joke. It wasn't so funny, as it turned out." Yet that Sunday the main topic of discussion between Schiff and Ambrose is not Schiff's personal history, but his slog with the CRA. Schiff's triumph should have opened the fundraising doors. But when he resigned last September, funding sources beyond the Chawkers Foundation remained few. Established in 1988, Chawkers is headed by Alexander's father, Charles. The former lawyer, who named the foundation after his house at Winchester College in England, designed it to act as a support for other registered charities. It primarily donates to school boards.

The shortage of patrons, Ambrose says, is not because the foundation "ran around and people said no." Rather, it was a board that lacked fundraising experience but did things that "I wouldn't have been as good at" - such as start an internship program, get charitable status and put in place the conditions needed to keep the magazine afloat. But what Ambrose is good at is "bringing people together." From 1986 to 1998, she worked with Peter Gzowski as a chase producer at CBC radio's Morningside, booking guests, developing story ideas and helping organize more than 100 money-raising ($18 million to date) golf tournaments across Canada in aid of Gzowki's efforts to support literacy organizations. After Morningside, Ambrose became a producer with the TV show Pamela Wallin & Company. When Wallin became Canada's consul-general to New York a few years later, Ambrose worked there as a public affairs officer and, during that time, organized the U.S. launch party for the Walrus. After returning to Toronto in 2006, she was part of the team that planned Bill Clinton's 60^th birthday fundraiser at the Royal York Hotel. It raised $21 million for the William J. Clinton Foundation.

Less than a month into her post, Ambrose has clear goals. As the executive director of the foundation, she'll revamp the board and attract well-connected directors with more business and fundraising savvy. She'll also organize the "Friends of the Walrus" donor program, a group of 50 corporations and organizations and more than 400 individual donors. She'll develop more strategic partnerships. She'll hold Wild and Wonderful Walrus parties throughout the country. She'll go after advertising: "I want us to have more of it. I want it to be a profit centre."

But first, she says, it's the chicken and the egg: "You just can't fundraise for an organization that's not organized." She's here to "put systems in place," such as proper writer contracts and smoother accounting procedures. "It's hard to get partnerships if you're not set up right…. You can't take people's money if you can't properly report on it and track it," she explains. Her goal is to position the foundation so it can form "brought to you by" partnerships that will benefit fundraising goals and, at the same time, fulfill the magazine's educational mandate, a prime condition of gaining charitable status from the CRA.

What she doesn't mention, however, is that when theWalrus finally won charitable status it answered No to each of the application's fundraising questions: "Does the organization intend to have occasional fundraising events, such as auctions, concerts, or bingos?" And: "Does the organization intend to develop a program for soliciting donations (e.g. through an ongoing mail campaign)? Or will it sell goods on a regular basis (e.g. videos or used clothing)? Or does the organization plan to raise funds through regular events such as weekly bingos, or charge fees on a regular basis for its services (e.g. tuition or counselling)?"

INVESTIGATION
Turmoil in the herd
NOTEWORTH BEHAVIOURS
A case study rift wtih ambition, anger, frustration, departures and rivalries

Walruses, despite bearing tusks that can easily gore a man, prefer to munch on worms, sea cucumbers and clams - sometimes eating up to 6,000 in a single feeding. Then there is the rare habitual seal-eater. These dangerous creatures, usually male, are larger, more muscular and can be spotted easily by hunters because of their grease-stained skin (from seal blubber) and blood-yellowed tusks. Those entering the downtown Toronto offices of theWalrus, critics say, face a less deadly risk but one still with some degree of unpleasantness as a result of, as one former Walrus editorial staffer bluntly puts it, Alexander's "deeply unprofessional behaviour."

Throughout the course of this investigation I tried to talk to as many current and former Walrus-ites as Ambrose did during her first weeks on the job. Some had positive things to say. Marci McDonald, for example, said that she enjoyed working with Alexander because of their mutual appreciation for "creative chaos." Writer Wendy Dennis said that she had a "great affection" for Alexander because he values "good writing" and "good writers." Plus, she added, he often has "great editorial suggestions." They, however, were exceptions. Of the people I contacted, including the three directors who quit last September, many refused to be interviewed. Others would speak only on the condition of anonymity. Few talked openly and most of those who did were cautious, always asking, at times, to go off the record. It bordered on paranoia. Over and over I heard these reasons why they wouldn't speak or would only do so anonymously: that the experience with the wild Ken was too traumatic; that they didn't want to rehash it; or that they were worried of publicly pitting themselves against Alexander, and of ruining their chances to write at one of the few magazines in Canada that encouraged and accepted in-depth pieces. But the sheer number of complaints about Alexander were too numerous to ignore and withhold from publication. I heard complaints about his late-night editing sessions with writers at bars; about his abrupt changes to stories, to covers; about problems with payments of fees. I also heard an incident of verbal abuse and more than one story of his angry mood swings.

The most publicized of the Walrus departures came in year one. After the first four issues, co-founder and editor Berlin made a sudden exit, citing health problems but later reflecting that "major, major differences in opinion and attitudes" stood between him and Alexander. After two more issues, Berlin's successor, Paul Wilson, left. According to Wilson, the breaking point came in May 2004, when he delivered a five-page letter to Alexander, who was then serving as publisher. It outlined "five essential demands" for his contract, which would formally give him the power common to all editors-in-chief. Among them: the ability to hire and fire staff, control editorial content and set budgets. Five days later, Wilson says, Alexander responded with an 18-page "rambling email," followed by a "so-called" draft contract. Although Wilson concedes it met two of his conditions - control over the budget and content - he says they were heavily qualified and he felt ultimate control still belonged to Alexander. "At the end of that I decided I was in a fight I couldn't win," he says, "and didn't really want to win."

After Wilson's departure, Alexander took on the role of "editorial director" and said the magazine had no immediate plans to fill the position of editor. Leaving in solidarity with Wilson was managing editor Gillian Burnett. Senior editor Lisa Rundle and deputy editor Sarmishta Subramanian followed soon after. Since then, the following have joined theWalrus exit list: Ellen Vanstone (deputy/managing/senior editor), Catherine Osborne (managing editor), Tom Fennell (deputy editor), Joshua Knelman (associate editor/head of research), Christopher Flavelle (assistant editor), Andrew Clark (managing editor), Rolf Dinsdale (associate publisher/advertising) and Schiff (publisher), plus several board members. The Walrus, comments Fennell, is not the kind of place where staffers have "any illusions of longevity."

Why so many departures? Certainly the magazine's ongoing financial insecurity was a major motivator. So is the fact that it's not unusual for people in creative industries to move around, jumping from job to job, project to project. But as Osborne, who took a senior editing position at Azure, points out: The "big presence" of Alexander was - and will remain so long as he's there - a source of "friction." Like most who've left, she echoes the sentiment that Alexander's control affects everyone: "[It's] rubbed them in certain ways that they either can handle, can't handle or don't care to handle. Everyone has to find their place to negotiate how they can fit in." For most, that place is outside the Walrus, even for those, like Vanstone and Clark (now a contributing editor), who say they had and continue to have good relations with Alexander.

How does Alexander respond to these kinds of criticisms? He maintains, "the Walrus newsroom is simply a tough environment" and that "our standards are very high." He can also point to the huge number of National Magazine Awards - 25 gold and silver between 2003 and 2006 - plus the fact that his audited subscriber base of 45,000 continues to grow as proof that he's doing something right.

But Fennell, who came to the magazine after a long run at Maclean's and stayed for two years, rejects the notion of "very high" standards. "In a weird way," he says, theWalrus is an "easy" place at which to work. Selecting his words carefully, Fennell says that he - like Marni Jackson and Nora Underwood, both of whom remain - put a huge amount of effort into his work. But for Fennell, at least, it was for the sake of professional pride - not an indication of theWalrus's standards. Compared to places like Maclean's, he adds, theWalrus "didn't have that kind of rigorous background to the editing. There are a lot of holes." Fennell calls the editorial atmosphere "eccentric" - a word used by many current and former Walrus-ites to describe both the boss walrus and his workplace. The end for Fennell came last summer when, after his July vacation, he just never came back to work. Though he won't give details on why he left, other than to say he had "other irons in the fire," which included becoming a senior media advisor for the Ontario government, Fennell does state that things were never rotten between Alexander and him - only comical. "I think we all chuckled up our sleeves a lot."

Eccentric as Alexander may be, he was the man with - or who could get - the dollars to start and sustain the magazine when nobody else could. As Schiff says of his choice to leave: Because of the huge amount of time and money Alexander sunk into the magazine, he's always thought of it as Ken's. "In a normal organization," Schiff explains, "I'd have the option to say, well, we disagree, I think he's wrong. Let's fire him. But there's no way anyone would do that [here]. It's just not realistic."

But it could be in the future.

INVESTIGATION
Funding the beast
NOTEWORTH BEHAVIOURS
A case study full of fortitude, ingenuity and making the right connections

It was a deviation from the original Walrus plan. Alexander was never supposed to get an advance on his inheritance to fund the magazine directly. Instead, like Harper's and Mother Jones in the U.S., theWalrus was designed to be part of a foundation, one that had charitable status. With the assumption that the proposed publication and its foundation could get it, the Chawkers Foundation promised funding of $1 million annually for five years; it was the only foundation that answered Alexander and Berlin's call for seed money in 2002. But under Canadian income tax law, registered charities - Chawkers among them - can only donate to "qualified donees," a class of organization that mainly includes other registered charities. So, until theWalrus received CRA approval, Chawkers could not donate money to the magazine. At the time, Berlin and Alexander's lawyers believed the magazine would have charitable status within three months. It didn't come. But theWalrus launched anyway.

Why? Excitement, momentum and, as Alexander explains, "It's very hard to accord something charitable status when it doesn't exist." Before theWalrus could become a legitimate foundation, he says it had to show the CRA that the foundation satisfied the agency's conditions for an educational organization, that it made an important and essential contribution to Canada and that the venture was not commercially viable without charitable support. In other words, it had to build a case with the magazine itself. To do that theWalrus needed money. But from whom?

The answer: still Chawker's, but now in a roundabout way. In 2003, Chawkers claimed on its annual information return that it had given TheWalrus Foundation $750,000 - even though, at the time, the foundation did not qualify as a donee. Alexander, who also served on the board of Chawkers then and stayed until 2005, when he became an official employee at theWalrus, says the donation was reported and put forth on the assumption that the magazine and foundation would have charitable status by the end of the year. When the Walrus was rejected, Alexander says, the money was turned into a private grant.

Though Chawkers's mandate only allowed it to give lump sums of money to "qualified donees," there were other foundations whose mandates were designed to help magazine start-ups, whether that magazine had charitable status or not. By design or sheer luck, Wilson, the Walrus editor who would later depart on bad terms, was - and remains - president of one. The Graphic Artists in Public Service (gaps) foundation, which Wilson took over in the early 1990s, exists to provide startup money for new print ventures. When the Walrus launched, gaps had already helped to fund the start-up of Gravitas, and tried to rescue The Idler from ruins. And so, in 2003, it allowed Chawkers to funnel $310,000 through gaps and into the Walrus. Citing conflict of interest, Wilson, then a Walrus deputy editor, recused himself from the vote, but participated in discussions. He, like other members of the foundation, felt it was "entirely within" the gaps mandate to help get the Walrus off the ground. But when Alexander asked gaps to continue accepting Chawkers's money, the foundation voted no, explaining publicly that ongoing funding would be "questionable." Privately, gaps officers felt a yes vote would cause the magazine to lose the motivation to reapply for status. Fortunately, that $310,000 was enough to fund the magazine's startup expenses.

Beyond gaps and Chawkers there was only one other foundation pledging support in 2003: the George Cedric Metcalf Charitable Foundation granted $140,000 for one year to establish an internship program. However, as with Chawkers, the money couldn't be applied that year. Metcalf's financial officer Janet Lewis says the $140,000, plus an extra $10,000, finally went through when theWalrus received status. It was followed by another $150,000 installment in December 2005. TheWalrus must reapply for the grant each year.

To keep the magazine afloat, Alexander, arranging for an advance on his inheritance, injected just under $2.7 million. It would come in three installments, but it wasn't enough. With the quest for charitable status dragging into a third year, reports surfaced in the second week of September 2005 that theWalrus couldn't pay its writers. Alexander told The Canadian Press on September 9 his money well was "only so deep."

Looking back, Alexander says the CRA practised "due diligence" during theWalrus's apply-deny dance. When the magazine applied pre-launch in 2002 it was rejected. Schiff, who wasn't actively involved in the initial bid, strongly suspects that the first application failed to mention the magazine - or underplayed it - and feels the first rejection stems from this omission. He believes that the CRA saw the application, then saw the enormous media buzz surrounding the new publication and felt that theWalrus was trying to dupe it: that it was misrepresenting the foundation.

When the magazine went on to apply for a second (and third, fourth, fifth...) time the attempt to get status revolved around the different ways the CRA and theWalrus defined the term "educational" for a magazine. Previous CRA-approved publications slot easily into certain disciplines: The Beaver into history, for example, and Canadian Art into art. The Walrus, as a general interest magazine, espoused a more modern view of education, one that is defined by its ability to explore the issues and ideas shaping Canadian society. To get status, the Walrus had to convince the CRA that a magazine could still be educational by being broad. The magazine's battle for charitable status was waged on two fronts: legal and political.

On the legal end, Walrus lawyers could point to a precedent-setting Supreme Court decision concerning the Vancouver Society Immigrant and Visible Minority Women case. It was a complicated case that opened the definition of the term "educational" to include not just traditional academic subjects, but skills and knowledge that will benefit a community. Although the group was denied status, the Court decided that the advancement of education, under the broader definition, should be deemed a charitable purpose or activity.

On the political end, Schiff, working his contacts in 2005, arranged one or two meetings - depending on whom I asked - with John McCallum, the federal minister in the Liberal government in charge of the CRA. When I asked Schiff in an email about how the connections were made and the agreement finally reached, he responded with a plea: "Please do not write about how we got charitable status, except of course for saying that it took a very long time….The story is rich and complex, but for many reasons it is not something that should be public. So please, do not comment or speculate on what you have heard." A week later, during a follow-up phone interview, Schiff chose not to elaborate. When Alexander was asked about Schiff arranging a meeting with McCallum, he said, "This should not be in the piece. That's privileged information."

Fennell, still at the Walrus when it earned charitable status, says that the upshot of all of Schiff's dedicated efforts was that McCallum simply commanded the CRA to make it work. A few compromises later, the magazine had its official charitable registration number: 861851624-rr0001. The Walrus could now receive charitable gifts as a qualified donee and Chawkers could now donate to it, starting with an immediate $1,950,000.

As for that statement that the Walrus didn't intend to fundraise: it was the consequence of not having an experienced fundraiser on board at the time. If there had been someone like Ambrose, he or she would have automatically checked off the Yes box in answer to CRA application questions on the charity's plans to fundraise by holding occasional events and by using programs for soliciting donations. The magazine's successful application for charitable status shows one discreet "X" inside each No box, and no comments.

As for what the CRA's response might be if it looks into the discrepancy: Blaine Langdon, senior policy advisor at the CRA's Charities Directorate, says all it asks is that an applicant fill out the forms honestly, and to advise the CRA if it modifies its operations so that it can ensure the charity still qualifies for status. However, he adds, the CRA cannot force charities to do this - but it can audit.

INVESTIGATION
A strange animal, The Walrus's Educational Review Committee (plus other requirements)
NOTEWORTH BEHAVIOURS
A case study complete with oversights, second-guessing and looking the other way

Charitable status brought with it certain conditions, some put forward by the Walrus in its CRA application and others mandated or refined by the agency to fit the new definition of "educational." The most notable: the magazine must be 80 per cent educational, 80 per cent Canadian, retain at least a 70:30 editorial-to-advertising ratio and that an Educational Review Committee (ERC) be established.

The ERC, now composed of 19 Canadian university educators chosen by Schiff and the Foundation board, evaluates the educational merit of each issue and almost every story and visual in the Walrus. Its job is to ensure the magazine keeps to the mandated ratio, but also to ensure that what the Walrus says is educational is actually educational. The ERC process works this way: certain members get one of two checklists - one itemizes every article and the other every major visual, including the cover. Advertisements and crosswords are automatically discounted as non-educational. While the checklists vary in content, their structure and purpose are the same. Members follow this definition of educational, from the magazine's charitable application: "Magazine articles in the Walrus must engage and inform the reader and provide him/her with a learning experience." Visual pieces are evaluated using the same criteria. As far as checklists go, they're simple. Reviewers need only fill a double "X" beside the statement "Qualifies" or "Does not qualify" for visuals, and "Educational" or "Non-educational" for editorial, and, if they desire, add comments in an appropriate section.

The ERC's role brings a level of oversight that most editors-in-chief would refuse to live with. It's a view Alexander does not share. The ERC, he says, is a "fantastic thing," a tool that helps guarantee excellence. All magazines, he believes, should be "peer reviewing," and, if engaged on a particular subject, should be consulting academic experts in that field. "This is," he says, "all part of good structural editing."

To what extent, though, are the committee's reviews used in the actual editing process? Senior editor Marni Jackson says ERC feedback is "taken into consideration." Fennell is less diplomatic, saying it was viewed as a "nuisance." He calls the ERC a game of smoke and mirrors being played with the CRA, and a "farce." While feedback may be circulated through the office, he says, it ultimately "would end up in the proverbial wastepaper basket and you'd do your job."

Not in the real wastepaper basket, though. All ERC assessments are filed at the magazine, but the CRA will only see them if it decides to audit the foundation, which, because of the huge number of charitable organizations in Canada, is done randomly. Until then, the CRA has no way of knowing if the ERC is the nuisance Fennell claims, or the vital tool Alexander believes it is.

To keep charitable status there are also specific editorial restrictions. Among them: theWalrus can not publish profiles, only short character portraits within an article to help illustrate a broader idea. Also on the CRA's don't-publish list: "light-hearted" or humour pieces; "articles that present only an author's opinion;" articles that "simply 'tell a story,'" such as an author's chronicle of a "personal experience" or "life event;" and reviews of popular art and entertainment. However, any arts piece of "significant value" - either due to its literary or historic value - has a thumbs up.

Buried amidst the Walrus's governing documents is this overall reminder: "The CRA does not consider articles, essays, etc., educational simply because they are well-written." But as far as Alexander is concerned the entire magazine should be strictly educational, and there's nothing in the agreement with the CRA that makes him uncomfortable. One reason is that he can print anything he wants in the percentage of the magazine reserved for non-educational content. But to publish a profile or an article that simply tells a story will mean he'll have to shove aside an ad or a crossword or two.

ENCOUNTER
Face-toface with Ken Alexander and Shelley Ambrose
LOCATION
Downtown Tortnoo, The Walrus Offices
DATE AND TIME
Febrary 15, 2007, 9:30 a.m. to 10:45 a.m.

When I meet Alexander and Ambrose again - this time together - Ambrose jokes that they've been "too busy to feel." We're sitting in her office; there's a half-empty bowl of cinnamon hearts on the table. Swathed in a mint green shawl that matches her sweater, Ambrose tells me I'm their fourth meeting of the day. She's not complaining. It's a good kind of busy, she says, the smooth, satisfying kind.

Beside her, Alexander wears the same exhaustion he did at the Elephant and Castle. It's cold outside, and he's kept his burgundy toque on. His clothes still hang crookedly; his face is still creased and unshaven. But he seems different too. He's brought something of the bright, charming man in the pewter suit to the office. He's in sync with Ambrose. "Phase two" is no longer a vague notion of becoming more "mature," nor is it a phrase used to address staff turnover, which has ebbed over the last three months. Echoing Ambrose, Alexander talks about it getting more organized, about structures and about putting systems in place. As for the magazine's editorial: "Our job," he says, "is to keep putting out a quality publication that resonates with our readers."

Ambrose speaks next: "Why don't we start with the Arctic Project?" The project was conceived as a way to bridge the focus of both the magazine and the foundation. The North, Alexander says, is "an evolving story" that he and Ambrose are interested in, and that he believes his readers are interested in. "It's not just a parochial concern, or a national concern. It's an international concern." Ambrose pushes Alexander on with small interruptions, slight nods and a steady gaze. Throughout the year, the magazine will send writers to the North to conduct research focusing on climate change and sustainable development in the area, culminating in a large November 2007 feature. Ambrose will follow in autumn 2008 with an Arctic cruise around Baffin Island. The fundraising cruise will also bring on board the various Arctic voices, the researchers and the scientists drawn on by the magazine's writers. Already, Ambrose has secured advertising (from First Air, an airline in the North) and sponsorship (from the Walter & Duncan Gordon Foundation, an organization with interest in the Arctic).

The whiteboard behind Alexander makes it clear there's a lot in the works. It's crammed with Ambrose's writing, with dates and big names, such as writers Barbara Gowdy and Peter C. Newman. Ambrose has rebuilt the foundation board to raise money (new members include Bisi Williams, co-chair of successful Toronto fundraiser Wildflower; Paul Cohen, vice-president of marketing and sales for Cantech/Ralston; pollster and broadcaster Allan Gregg; and Michael Decter, president and CEO of Lawrence Decter Investment Counsel). Ambrose also tells me she's formed the "Friends of the Walrus;" that the next Wild and Wonderful Walrus Party (seven are planned) is in June and will feature the photographer Edward Burtynsky for intellectual entertainment; that the June issue of the Walrus reached the maximum of 30 per cent for advertising; that gift subscriptions spiked last December; and that guest speakers come to lecture Walrus editors to prevent the staff from becoming myopic.

It's a dizzying amount of phase-two sizzle. I can see why Ambrose has had such fundraising success in the past. Now, she continues, that the foundation is funding projects that extend beyond the magazine, it defies its old "hat in hand" persona as a vehicle for funding merely for the operating costs of the Walrus. Ambrose, who has dominated the meeting, concludes by saying she is "bloody optimistic" about the future. And with that, the session ends.

SIGHTING
Ken Alexander moderates
LOCATION
University of Toronto's St. George Campus, The Walrus Foundation helps present "Leaks, Lies and Liability"
DAY AND TIME
March 8, 2007, 7 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.

I'm running late. So, apparently, is Alexander. It's 7:02 p.m. As I rush toward the lower-level washrooms, I pass him as he's climbing up the stairs.

"Hello, Ken," I say.

He pushes back his disheveled hair, raises his eyes for a moment; distraction is etched on his face, "Oh, uh, hi."

Minutes later, on stage I once again witness the noble champion of Canada's only mainstream, national magazine of long-form journalism devoted to ideas, culture and current affairs. Alexander beams as he introduces the evening's journalistic debate (protecting sources and, in particular, the Maher Arar case), the event's sponsors (TheWalrus Foundation and Canadian Journalists for Free Expression), and the panelists (Andrew Mitrovica, author and investigative journalist; Brian MacLeod Rogers, media law expert; Marci McDonald, investigative journalist; and Paul Knox, chair of Ryerson's School of Journalism).

There is much to admire about what this eccentric, ambitious man who's speaking to the hundred or so people in tonight's audience has accomplished with the Walrus. It's been a messy few years, but despite all the "friction," ill-will and financial uncertainty, the Walrus has created something those who care about good writing, good journalism and even good "education" can applaud. But try as they will to be "bloody optimistic" about phase two, Ambrose and Alexander still have a lot of work ahead if the magazine is to prosper and do the many great things it promised the CRA.

Six months ago I began this investigation with a series of questions. I end it with more: Are there really enough interested philanthropists, foundations and businesses to keep the Walrus alive? With a million dollars annually from Chawkers, a solid financial foundation to build on is definitely in place for the short term. But that money may only be enough to cover, for example, production costs and salaries. For other major expenses, such as rent, office supplies and equipment, travel and freelance costs, there's less certainty. The good news is that the Walrus has a subscriber base of 45,000 plus approximately 12,000 copies sold on the newsstand for each of the year's 10 issues. Altogether that brings in a rough gross of more than $2 million annually. But that figure is offset by the expenses associated with circulation, such as reminder notices, buying lists, distribution services, the retailers' cut and more. There are, as well, two other steady, but small, income streams: Metcalf's funds for the internship program and money from the federal government as part of its Canada Magazine Fund program - last year the Walrus received more than $100,000. However, that won't be enough to keep the magazine in the black, which is why many members of corporate and philanthropic Canada will soon hear a walrus knocking at their door.

Will Ambrose be able to untangle the magazine's financial records? Back in November, Ambrose said she wanted to "put systems in place" like proper writer contracts and smoother accounting procedures. She says she accomplished these goals in January. But, three and a half months later, in response to my email inquiry about financial statements from 2003 to date, she replied that there was little she could do for me. Accountants, she said, have been brought in to go over all of theWalrus's records, but have only worked their way up to 2005. As for how much advertising and circulation revenue came in from 2003 to 2006, she replied: "[I] will do my best, but have not yet seen that info myself."

Will Alexander be able to tame his wild side? If not, will Ambrose do what others couldn't or wouldn't - boot him out of the herd? During our first interview, Ambrose reminded me that Alexander's position at the Walrus changed in 2005. He is now an employee, so he "can also be fired, because I'm his boss." And could this happen anyway if she is successful at bringing in substantially more money than Chawkers gives, eclipsing Alexander's influence? So far Alexander has impressed her: "The magazine is fine," she says. "Ken knows what he's doing."

A Final Observation
On Walruses and The Walrus

Up in the Arctic, where Ambrose, Alexander and others will soon cruise, walruses swim in the icy depths. But to get back on the ice floes, the massive mammal, weighing up to 3,700 pounds, will "haul out" by using its tusks to anchor itself on ice and, then, literally pull itself up. With charitable status and Ambrose's arrival, the Walrus has performed its own remarkable haul out. But it's still no sure thing that the ice won't crack and shatter underneath it.