In Hampton, as everywhere else, mystery is good fodder for rumour.
And in this
small town of about 1,000 souls, a walled compound on the corner of King St.
and Taunton Rd. has kept people talking from the moment soil was turned on the
9,330-square-metre lot in December, 1997.
"I hear he is growing organisms for Mars," one resident said. "It
makes
me nervous. I have this gut feeling that something weird is going on."
It is a typical theory in this tight-knit hamlet just northeast of Oshawa.
House owner Wayne Conrad, they say, is connected to the mob.
He is constructing his own two-lane access to the 401. He is
building a landing strip across the
street and airplanes in his basement.
Residents speak in hushed tones, and most don't want to give their names.
He makes vacuum cleaners, they say. He works for NASA.
In a town where people still look out of their windows when
a car drives by, Wayne Conrad's house certainly sticks out.
The 0.8- hectare property
is surrounded
by a 2-metre wall and crowned by what looks like a medieval turret. Metal
blinds shield every window.
A guard appears within seconds of a visitor pulling into the driveway.
Credentials are checked, calls are made. A German shepherd roams around
behind the wall,
and gruff looking men wander about the four on-site buildings.
But is Mr. Conrad here? "We don't disclose Mr. Conrad's whereabouts," said
Conrad's security
assistant, Garry Burns.
All this security, all this spectacle, surrounds Hampton's most famous
but least visible resident. The security is necessary because a few of
the rumours
making
their way around town are indeed true.
Conrad is an inventor whose creations range from the practical to the incredible,
and the walls, dogs and roving toughies are both good business practice
and a matter of national security.
It is surprising, then, that once the gauntlet is run and he is alone except
for the ever-present security assistant, Conrad has none of the characteristics
of your average recluse.
The 37-year-old smiles a lot, for one thing. He is charming, funny and
gets excited when he talks. There is good reason for this, because what
he talks
about
is fascinating.
Infomercial watchers will be pleased to know, for instance, that he invented
the Fantom vacuum cleaner.
But perhaps his most intriguing invention is the water recycling system
for, yes, the U.S. National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA),
for use
in the international space station. It is a system so advanced that it
allows astronauts
to reuse 100 per cent of the water on board.
He has developed a water filtration system for the World Health Organization,
which he says will be able to provide clean water for communities of 100
people in the developing world for less than $200.
He is also working on a new solar panel that will be hundreds of times
more powerful than the present technology.
Omachron, his company of about 50 employees, is developing a "plasma combustion" engine
that promises cheap and clean power. He is building a greenhouse and
laboratory on the 2-hectare lot across the street.
He has regular visits from Canadian senators, ministers and world leaders,
NASA engineers and World Health Organization representatives. He estimates
that Omachron
will have secured mare patents than Thomas Edison in about two years.
All in Hampton, Ont.
"I'm actually quite normal," a beaming Conrad said from the bar and
entertainment room in his 20,600-square-foot house.
"Normal is such a diverse word these days, it is difficult to define it.
But I think I'm happy, I think my family is happy."
Born and raised in nearby Brooklin and Whitby, Conrad got his start
at an early age: at 11, he won the Environmental Design Award at the
Canada
Wide
Science
Fair for a solar-powered car. He had what he describes as a "renaissance
education" with a number of renowned professors and began consulting
for engineering and aerospace companies, as well as the U.S. government,
in 1980.
In 1993, he began his work with Teledyne, and was the lead research scientist
in the development of NASA'S water filtration system on the international
space station.
Yet he says he moved to the country for utterly "normal" reasons: to
escape the suburbs and their high taxes. He laughed out loud when he heard the
mob rumour. "I haven't heard that one yet," he said.
He certainly isn't comfortable with the term recluse. He is active in many
local organizations, including the Rotary Club and the air cadets.
He said the very fact that he lives and works inside this walled compound
adds a degree of normality many people don't have.
Unlike your average commuter, he can devote 15 hours a day to his work
and still have time with his wife and four children.
"The ideal situation is this: You find a job you love, which is ideally
your hobby, and you find. someone to pay you for it. Being able to
work at home allows me to devote the time and energy my work takes and still
be able
to have
a good home life."
The rumours, he said, are a product of his low profile. By his own account,
he is not a flag-waver who likes to draw attention to himself. Living in
a house
with around-the-clock security and surrounded by 2-metre walls often means
he does exactly that.
"He's high profile and he wants to be low profile, but he has something
that draws attention to himself," Clarington Mayor John Mutton
said.
Last year, the Hampton Community Association (HCA), revived specifically
over concerns about Conrad's property, held a community meeting for council
members
and residents.
Many residents cried foul at the secrecy and size of the dwelling. Conrad
spent much of the time answering questions about NASA, vacuums and the
like. After
the meeting, more than 100 concerned citizens lined up outside his house
until 1 a.m. for a personally guided tour of the grounds.
"It's like having Bill Gates move in," said David Crome.
As director of planning and development for Clarington, Crome fielded endless
questions about the legality of the wall around Conrad's home.
He is diplomatic when asked about Crome's house. "It's out of character
with the community," he said, after a careful pause, noting that the house
has "shown us the deficiencies in our zoning bylaws."
"At least it's not a Satan's Choice club house or anything," he said. "A
municipality cannot regulate everything. It can't regulate taste."
If Conrad hadn't built his house, a plaza would have taken its place, Crome
said. Barbie Cameron, Conrad's neighbour, perhaps best summed up the town's
feelings toward
the walled, castle-like dwelling a few doors down.
"I think he's a little off his rocker," Cameron said." (But) I'd
rather have that than a plaza."
BY MARTIN PATRIQUIN, DURHAM REGION
BUREAU
March 4, 2001 - Toronto Star
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