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| Bracebridge Fire Brigade, undated above and train crossing the rapids above the Bracebridge Falls |
NOTE: At the time of posting this blog, we (Suzanne and I), learned of the passing of Gravenhurst Historian, Cecil Porter who I greatly respected, especially for his outstanding book on Camp 20 entitled "The Gilded Cage", which I quoted in numerous blogs last week. You can archive these columns on the German Prisoner of War Camp through this blog. I will offer a further tribute in tomorrow's blog.
COMMUNITY HISTORIES TREND TOWARD CELEBRITY, THE VICTORIOUS, POLITICAL ACCOMPLISHMENT, BUSINESS SUCCESS AND PRIVILEGE
BUT THEY AREN'T THE SOLE HISTORY MAKERS, AS PRINT MIGHT LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE
If you have read my blog(s) for any length of time, and ponder occasionally, the rationale, as I jog in words, from town to town, Walden Pond to the lakes of Algonquin, you will also recognize, a hundred or so names that I refer to regularly. A percentage of these names, belong to former friends and associates of mine, from a variety of community, business and professional interactions. Not that I am their sole means of staying current, but pretty much. These folks have departed this mortal coil, and I guess keeping their names out-there, is my way of making sure their contributions to our region, and community aren't forgotten.
My point is, many community historians do the same thing, although they might not come right out and admit it; because unless it's a biography, we in this field, doing general histories, are not supposed to play favorites. Sometimes we justify it, because of the purpose of the book, such as its specific field of study, where obviously, certain names are going to appear more than others. Like newspaper reporters, from my day at least, we are supposed to be unbiased writing-up a news story. It's the reason, as editor of The Herald-Gazette, I wouldn't allow any reporter, to write an editorial on the opinion page, following-up a story they had written, for example, on the front page. I consider it a conflict of interest, and ethically questionable.
Personal opinion is okay when everyone knows it's a viewpoint piece. In general histories, bias does get into the copy, and there are folks who get far more coverage than they deserve. I'm usually written-out of these histories, with a few exceptions, so believe me, I know how it works from all sides. It can be a daunting exercise, to try and straddle that wavering middle line, so that someone or other isn't offended by the finished product. As the writer of some of these histories, it drives me crazy at times, trying to cover and recognize everyone connected. If my critics don't believe me, they are welcome to review my past work. I feel remarkably empowered just by the fact I've bestowed credit to others. I am not self-made as either an historian or writer. And I will never shortchange giving full credit, just because there are too many names to mention.
Bracebridge, and the accounts of its history, are just like thousands of other community histories, across the continent. I should know, because I have sold, as an old book dealer, a large quantity of regional Americana and Canadiana; having read through a lot of these titles, before putting them out for sale. The argument these writers would throw back, at the critic, is that there can't be total inclusion in such general, community histories, because it would take thousands of pages, and way too much ink. The cost to produce such a book would be outrageous. I get it! So by economy, and the fact, most historians couldn't afford the time, to write-up the accomplishments of every citizen, who helped forge the chronicle of good villages, towns and cities, it's to be forgiven, then, that certain standards have to be imposed, as sensible proportion, to story and story-makers. What this means, in essence, is that when you read one of these lengthy historical overviews, you will thusly appreciate how narrow the focus is, on the individuals of promimance, who get most of the credit for forging the town chronicle. It's a standard thing, and it's no better or worse in Muskoka, than anywhere else; that well meaning historians, have tried, and succeeded in part, to document in the body of a readable text.
I have long been a rogue in the historical profession locally, because I don't often write general histories; and I continue to color outside the lines, by looking away from the headline makers, political grandstanders, and otherwise celebrities, and finding that commonplace is my place! When I do read some of these books, and see the repetition of names, no matter how many times I see their reference, (especially if I know them), I can't help think of the people who worked with them, who played a minor, but pivotal role in whatever successes or milestones were achieved. While I recognize the difficulty of including all the names and contributions made by these folks, readers of these books can easily get the impression, that the subject town was built and advanced by a thin few; when in fact, it took thousands of kindly, dedicated citizens hundreds of years, so a community could be recognized as a fine place to live and work. So I have, for decades, refused to follow the protocols set down, even by some of my mentors, about "who gets the ink, and who doesn't!" It's okay, because it has been a lifelong thing, to buck the trends, and how many fellows you know, can claim to have been booted out of Cub Scouts for insubordination. So it's nothing new to me, to stand up for what I believe in, and re-visit those who I feel are being, and have been bypassed for recognition. It's particularly bothersome, in history, because most of those being overlooked and purposely ignored, can't do much about it, being deceased and all! I've done a few re-visitations, in the past, of this type, and been shocked to have family members come forward, later, to shake my hand for providing this overdue recognition to their kin folk. I didn't write these pieces, or include those names, in order to pad my fanship. I did it, in each case, because they had been unfairly neglected by history, and deserved to be acknowledged, as latent as it was.
I have been reading between the lines, through these general histories, for long and long. In many cases, and knowing the stories and events from many other sides, and perspectives, a lot of what is printed is a stretch from what I know as the truth. The reality is this! Much of the documented history of our communities, has come from the early newspapers serving the hamlets, villages and towns of our region. Historians were not free-standing as such, as some had connections with these early publications. Others were hobby historians, and never got a dollar's profit, for having written these books. Their failing, unfortunately, was that they relied on past press coverage, as their foundation information source. As a former community press editor, and multi-decade columnist, in print and online, I can vouch for the fact, by immersion, that "we screw up a lot". We make mistakes. Writers, reporters, editors, and columnists print mistruths, that aren't always corrected.
I have cautioned contemporary historians, I have worked with, about using newspaper copy as a primary source of information, and not cross-referencing critical details, with archive materials, independent of newspapers. The problem is not just factual errors, some corrected in the following issue, (some never corrected); others mistaken due to factually unfounded editorial bias. For example, and without any apology I'm aware of, The Herald-Gazette was a staunchly conservative paper from the beginning. In other words, I wasn't allowed to write political editorials, if they in any way, attacked a Conservative party initiative, candidate, or sitting member of parliament. No surprise. Everyone knew it, and staff learned to live with the restraints. My only sticking point, is that I would never agree to write a pro Tory editorial, unless it happened to be something I believed was warranted. As I was a supporter of long-serving MPP Frank Miller, I had to be careful when I wrote about him, and his visitations to constituents, because I tended to give him more press than his federal counterpart, Stan Darling, also a Tory member of parliament. Stan reminded me of this on numerous occasions. I think it's why I gave more editorial space to Mr. Miller. It's easy to use the power of pen to give someone else an advantage. I just didn't think of Frank Miller as a Conservative; I thought of him as our representative, free of the party stripe. In this way, we got along famously.
The point of this, is that in the very early days of community news, bias wasn't a big concern, whether political, cultural or social; and most newspaper owners were of the social and business elite anyway. So who was going to rock their boat, except the opposition press, and in most cases, there was only one publication. So when, in contemporary times especially, these newspapers are used as reference material, as stand-alone sources, what was a biased, mistaken report, from 1912, 1923, or 1952, will thusly be passed on to contemporary times, for modern era readers to consume. We absolutely hated to make mistakes in our news coverage, and that was in the 1980's. Not the 1880's. When we did make a factual error especially, we always tried to follow it up, the very next edition, with a promimant clarification. But when historians are working away, at their projects, it's not always the case, they would follow up naturally with the next issue, from the one they are using, which contained the original error. As you might expect, the error is then carried on, and history does in fact repeat. The same thing can happen with editorial opinion, which is just that....not fact, but a viewpoint. When this is looked back upon, by modern day historians, it's always potential, that a jaded opinion, that is factually inaccurate, and ill conceived at the time, can get into the print of a new general history.
Today, is no exception. I will attend a community gathering, or be a witness to a major news event, and be absolutely aghast, when I read the news reports published in the next issue, of the weekly newspaper and magazine. I know that the overview is inaccurate but outside of writing a letter to the editor, as I used-to for posterity, there's not much that can be done to make it right. The real problem, comes when the same overview is used, as an accurate source of information, somewhere down the line, and the errors become deeply incorporated as the realities of the occasion. The fact the story is inaccurate creates a negative spin-off from that point, depending on the significance of the event, or circumstance. For historians who practice due diligence, these errors can be detected, mitigated and removed. Unfortunately, most hobby historians, believe that newspapers past and present, only publish accurate accounts of what they cover in our communities. In that case, in Canada, we would have had a Prime Minister by the name of "Turdeau," because that's the way it read in a headline. That's right, big and bold, "Prime Minister Turdeau to Visit Area." While this is obviously a typo, consider all the small stuff in error, published in almost every newspaper and magazine ever produced, no matter what the due diligence performed in advance of hitting the printing press.
When I look back on the history of Bracebridge, for example, my study and focus, as a rule not the exception, is always different than my contemporaries point of view; but I don't deny that their profiles of movers and shakers has its integral place in any study, of how we got from there, to here, since the days of those original hand hewn log shanties, positioned above the cataract of Bracebridge Falls. Where my associates see the leaders of the community, I think about the bakers, clerks, mechanics, builders, waiters and waitresses, arena staff, teachers, library personnel, nurses, cobblers, taxi drivers, cooks, cashiers, barbers, pharmacists, plumbers, mothers, fathers grandparents, and significant others, who might have performed routine tasks, by strict definition, but in so many unknown ways, kept the wheels of the community moving, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. These folks, many without recognized social standing, political aspirations, economic privilege, or friends in high places, were the cement that held it all together; so those of higher consideration, could accomplish what they attempted. How much advice was given to the prominent, and revered politician, by the mainstreet barber? The taxi-driver, waitress, or chelsea-bun baker? What business insights were served up by the attentive waiter, or waitress, to an out-of-touch business owner? How many times did a lowly clerk save the day, by identifying a problem, or coming up with a courageous new business plan, that the owner took as their own, and prospered as a result? Credits given? Nary a one! How many of these hard working, average, every day citizens, came home from work, hungry and exhausted, and after tending the chores of family and house, went out in the evening, or first thing Saturday mornings, to coach minor hockey, figure skating, or running a Girl Guides, or Boy Scouts troop; volunteering to help out neighbors down on their luck; or being a member of the local Bracebridge Volunteer Fire Brigade, out all night trying to save a family house from total destruction?
The distortion generated from the pages of these attractive, formally published histories, mirrors, at least to me, that these contributions were appreciated but not primarily responsible, for the respective outcomes. I think, in some ways, it does reflect adversely on the community itself. And in some way, presents the chronicle as unrefined evidence, success and progress would not have been achieved, without these fabulous, champion, all-over-the-place individuals. The ones most noted in the text. If you were to look honestly, and thoroughly, at those who enabled individual successes, and progress, we love to acknowledge, and boast of our pioneer leadership, it still, in careful analysis, comes down to the exploitation of the commonplace, of ever day citizens, infilling where necessary. Who to me, in my own view of historical record, make all the difference in the story-line, of even the most general community history. While it is admittedly beyond the realm of possibility, to include the names of every baker, or taxi driver, bartender, nurse, orderly, porter, cashier, waiter or waitress, who contributed, even in a small way, toward town improvements and progress, it behoves us, as insightful historians, to at the very least, acknowledge that our town's present stature, and reputation, wasn't the handiwork of the upper echelon alone. And these tomes should be inclusive, as much as possible, as evidence of the core spirit of the project, in the first place; so that the content reflects the real strength, and sustaining effort of commonplace. Those who willingly commit to the day to day grind without any sparkle of celebrity. The juice that compels citizens of all walks, to generously offer their assistance, to make a better, more accommodating, home town.
I am certainly no hero in this regard. I have made many of the same miscalculations and misjudgment, and forgotten at times, the real builders of our communities; falling into the trap, of editorial assumption, that if it wasn't for the rich and famous, we wouldn't be where we are today. The more I have written about local history, as a preoccupation, and the more citizens I have worked with, and so many intimate stories shared, I can never return to the old ways, of penning overviews of a general nature, without taking into account, how, for example, a spoked wheel is only as strong and reliable as its community of spokes. Losing even one can destabilize the rim, and cause more spokes to fail. I acknowledge that leadership is what it is, and like the rim, you can't do without direction and purpose; the point person supported by the rank and file. I never lose focus of the top, but it's never going to be the case, as long as I pursue this historical record, that I could ever again, become indifferent to what has, or is occurring at the bottom. As I noted before, the biggest fault of the younger generation, moving and sculpting our old communities today, is that they pay so little regard to the integrity and stability that was the platform on which to build....from the beginning. When their initiatives fail, they are quick to blame either history, tradition, or the failings of the contemporary community of old farts; but never themselves, and the fact they failed to perform the due diligence, that would have detected problems with their strategies from commencement. Usually this happens in the business community. If they had only asked us first. Why do we know what will succeed and fail in our town(s)? Well, that's why we keep historical records; in part, so it can be used to teach us about safer passage, and about barriers that need to be overcome. Historians are the most under-utilized resources in the world today. We know stuff most don't!
It's certainly not the case, I consider myself the defender or self appointed promoter of the underdogs, and their stake in local history. From my years spent as a museum director and manager, and as an editor with the local press, the stories and milestones associated with these quiet, unassuming heroes, is well deserving of gratitude; and I never tire of looking for these unsung, under-recognized citizens, past and present, who have done so much to forward our communities, in so many ways. They never aspired to be leaders or even role models, and were shy of getting their names in the paper. I used to get in trouble frequently, for including their names regardless, just because I knew, from "behind the scenes" reports, just how much they had shouldered, to pull off a community initiative; whether that was working as a fundraiser, or to provide a critical service as a volunteer. As one example, those citizens who helped fund and upgrade the former Bracebridge Centennial Centre, on Wellington Street, were only recognized in part, for the large contingency of volunteers who made it a reality. The same can be said for the origins of Woodchester Villa and Museum, in its heyday. There were the familiar names, of the leadership, but when it came down to the hustle and bustle of volunteers, very few were acknowledged, as they should have been, for helping to pull it all together. The reason it bothers me, is that when you read the press coverage from the period, and the overview in histories written thereafter, it's as if these folks hadn't played a role at all; and that it was just a half dozen, or so people, of the assumed leadership, who covered all the proverbial bases. I know differently, from inside knowledge of both projects. Once again, a shortage of space and the expense of ink, dictates that only a select few can be mentioned. In as much, then, the history of the project has been shortchanged once again.
I don't have the mortal capability, as a writer or historian, of thanking everybody who ever did something of note in this region of Ontario. To name all the names is impossible. But this isn't the point afterall. A majority of behind-the-scenes history makers, are not doing it for attention or any visible recognition. I've encountered many of these people, who would even refuse to stand in the mix of a group photograph, because they were just doing what good hometowers are supposed to, as good neighbors. I can remember my old friend Vi Huggard, who if memory serves, was a member of the Women's Institute, being furious with me, because I wrote a column about her, and the benevolent work she did for the community. I thought she was going to hit me, that day in the lobby of The Herald-Gazette, until one of her friends reminded her, that everything I had written into the column, was with best intentions, true in fact, and a nice bit of publicity for their branch of the Women's Institute. As it was later pointed out, she just wasn't interested in gaining any credits, for what she did on a day to day basis, as being a conscientious citizen. I know differently. She wasn't ordinary, as I know the word to mean. Still, I had to surrender to her belief, that it was just part of the territory, to participate in the improvements of your community; large scale or small. She viewed all her favorite community groups in this manner. There was always time in the day, to offer a hand for a good cause.
So I became, over time, a social, cultural historian. Not because it was a slot to fill. It's just an area I felt more comfortable, and suited, to my appreciation of what local historical record requires. I'd like people to read these more intimate vignettes, about local history, and feel at the end, that they had come to know, more intimately, the people I'm writing about; as if they could hear their voices in conversation, sense the warmth of a welcoming handshake, and feel at ease, in social intercourse, sitting side by side, having a laugh, or two, re-telling some interesting tales, that would never, ever, make it to the pages of a formal history. Not because they're insignificant stories, but because they are told on condition, the teller will remain anonymous. Anonymous or not, I want to know these stories. That's the kind of insight we need, to be more intuitive historians.
In the coming weeks and months, I hope to offer you some of these insider observations, and publish some profiles of people who were leaders, in the non-conventional sense, yet who profoundly impacted the development of the town we have today. For the younger generation, and some who have only just arrived on the scene, from other locales, I'd like to remind them, that it is infinitely more sensible, to know as much about the community you wish to change, and its traditions, before you set about to revise what you are not familiar, or responsibly, its steward.
My passion and respect for local history, is very much a sensory experience all told; just as I enjoyed and explored the hometown to the fullest, it's the way I want to share it with readers. Such that you will feel the sting of a baseball, whipped into a thinly padded ball glove, by a mate with a temper, or the refreshing chill of damp grass, on a hot, hazy summer night. I would be thrilled to share the sensation of the cold, dark water, that currented deep, beyond the Bass Rock rapids, as it felt to us on steaming hot afternoons; and the refreshment of an ice cold bottle of Coke or Mountain Dew, pulled out of one of those water-filled colors at Lil & Cec's Variety Store, up on Toronto Street. And yes, share the blood curdling experience, of tearing down the asphalt hill on Flynn's Hill, on Richard Street, after the back axle drops off the high speed go cart; and finding by the law of physics, and dimensions of one's rear-end, that one cheek of your behind, has been dragging on the road, for the half the distance covered. And that the fabric left on the road, are the leftovers of your pants. Ah, now that's what you remember from childhood. That and the stomach aches associated with eating those worm-filled green apples.
So if you can handle some aggressive sensory experiences, that may remind you of pain previously suffered, or satisfaction once attained, please join me again, for an historical re-awakening, to the way we were; worts and all!
MY FIRST SIGNIFICANT INTRODUCTION TO REGIONAL HISTORY, IN THIS PART OF ONTARIO, CAME WHEN I WORKED AS A SUMMER PAINTER, AT SOUTH MUSKOKA MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, IN BRACEBRIDGE. WORKING AT THE HOSPITAL, BACK IN THE EARLY 1970'S, HELPED FINANCE MY YEARS AT UNIVERSITY. THE CONTACTS I MADE WITH STAFF, IN MY DEPARTMENT AT THE HOSPITAL, HAVE HELD ME IN GOOD STEAD, EVER SINCE. WHILE THIS MAY SEEM STRANGE, AND A HIGHLY UNUSUAL PLACE TO GET MY HISTORY LESSONS, TRUTH IS, I HAPPENED TO BE IN THIS GROUPING AT A PERFECT TIME, TO HARVEST THESE IMPORTANT IMPRESSIONS. ALL BUT A FEW ARE NOW DECEASED, BUT THEY LEFT ME WITH THESE GEMS OF HISTORICAL ANECDOTE. THEY WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN OF TOO MUCH INTEREST TO MOST REGIONAL HISTORIANS, BECAUSE THEY LACKED THE NUTS AND BOLTS OF HISTORICAL FACT. FOR THE SOCIAL HISTORIAN IN TRAINING, HOWEVER, EACH COFFEE BREAK IN THE HOSPITAL CAFETERIA BECAME AN INTIMATE TUTORIAL………WHICH OF COURSE, WERE GREATLY ENHANCED FROM ANY FORMAL INSTRUCTION I RECEIVED AT UNIVERSITY; BECAUSE THESE STORIES CAME FROM FIRST PERSON ACCOUNTS. THE STORIES THESE OLD-TIMERS WERE SPINNING, OFFERED AN IN-PERSON, UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE. THESE ARE THE ONES MISSING FROM CONVENTIONAL REGIONAL HISTORIES. THE STORY LINES YOU HAVE TO "READ" INTO THE TYPICALLY CONSERVATIVE TEXT OF MOST LOCAL FACT-BURDENED HISTORIES. THESE ANECDOTAL STORIES WERE THE COLOR OVER THE LINES OF BLACK AND WHITE. THESE ARE THE STORIES THAT ENGAGE MY CUSTOMERS ALL THESE YEARS LATER. I CAN INTRODUCE MY FRIENDS TO THESE LONG AGO CHARACTERS AS IF THEY WERE STANDING BESIDE ME……THAT'S HOW MUCH AFFECTION I STILL HAVE FOR THEIR PLACE IN LOCAL HISTORY. THEIR ACCOMPLISHMENTS? THEY WON'T EVER MAKE IT TO PRINT IN FORMAL HISTORICAL ACCOUNTS. BUT THEY SURE AS HELL WILL BE TOLD AND RE-TOLD BY SOCIAL HISTORIANS LIKE ME. NOT SURPRISING, THESE ARE THE INTIMACIES OF HISTORY, THAT TO MOST OF US HERITAGE ENTHUSIASTS, ARE VITALLY IMPORTANT TO THE LEGACY OF WHAT IT MEANS TO BE MUSKOKAN IN THE FIRST PLACE. SO THEY BEG LIBERALITIES FROM THE STORY TELLER……AND NOW IT IS MY TASK TO KEEP THESE LOCAL LEGENDS FROM BEING FORGOTTEN, OR DEEMED IRRELEVANT. I'VE GOT MY WORK CUT OUT FOR ME, BUT NEVER UNDERESTIMATE EITHER THE BARBER, BARTENDER OR ANTIQUE DEALER, IN THE PURSUIT OF AN EAGER AUDIENCE…..TO SPILL THE BEANS, AS THEY SAY.
ONE OF THE MOST VOCAL OF THE COFFEE TIME SOCIALS, WAS THE HOSPITAL GARDENER, BILL "WILLY" ANDISON, WHO GREW UP IN THE GENERAL VICINITY OF THE HAMLETS OF FRASERBURG, AND PURBROOK, NEAR THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. WILLY KNEW THAT AREA AND ITS INHABITANTS AS WELL AS ANYONE, AND AS FAR AS ITS HISTORY, HE HAD THE KEY POINTS WELL IN HAND. BUT WILLY'S MAIN CONTRIBUTION, TO THIS ROOKIE HISTORIAN, WAS THAT HE WAS MOSTLY…..NO, ALMOST ENTIRELY ANECDOTAL IN HIS RETELLING OF THE WAY IT HAD BEEN……AS A YOUNGSTER, AND YOUNG MAN GROWING UP IN WHAT WAS EVEN IN HIS YOUTH, STILL A PIONEERING CLUSTER OF RESIDENTS. HE TOLD STORIES THAT WOULD NEVER BE PENNED INTO FORMAL HISTORIES, BECAUSE THEY LACKED "HISTORICAL" SIGNIFICANCE…..YET TO ME, THEY PROVIDED EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED TO DEVELOP AN INTEREST IN GATHERING MORE OF THESE SOCIAL RECOLLECTIONS.
SITTING DOWN FOR COFFEE, IN THOSE DAYS, COULD BE ANY ONE FROM HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATION, TO MEMBERS OF THE JANITORIAL STAFF. BUT WE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT OUR JOBS IN THE HOSPITAL. WE WERE HUDDLED WITH A LOT OF OTHER STAFF MEMBERS, AT OTHER TABLES, SO IT WAS NECESSARY TO KEEP INTERNAL BUSINESS OUT OF DISCUSSION POINTS…..TO MAINTAIN A PLEASANT RESPITE FROM THE DAILY CHORES. WE MIGHT FIND HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATOR, FRANK HENRY, SITTING AT OUR TABLE, WITH MAINTENANCE WORKERS SUCH AS DEPARTMENT MANAGER, KEN DAWSON, GEORGE JACKSON, ART COULSON, JACK HIGH, BILL BENNETT, DOUG FITZMAURICE, AND OF COURSE, WILLY ANDISON. EACH OF THESE GENTLEMAN, HAD A WEALTH OF KNOWLEDGE ABOUT MUSKOKA OUTSIDE OF THE FORMAL HISTORY TEXTS. WHEN WILLY BEGAN TALKING ABOUT LIFE ON THE FRASERBURG ROAD, EACH OF THE OTHERS KNEW EXACTLY WHAT TO EXPECT…….AND WHEN IT WAS THEIR TURN TO SPEAK-UP, THE TALL-TALES SPILLED FORTH LIKE GOLD COINS TO THE HUNTER-GATHERER. BILL BENNETT, FOR EXAMPLE, WAS ONE OF THE WELL KNOWN ROPE (BOAT) BUMPER CRAFTERS, WORKING FOR BOAT FENDER MANUFACTURER, JOHN NEWARK, FROM HIS WORKSHOP ON HIRAM STREET. YOU MIGHT NOT THINK THERE ARE MANY INTERESTING STORIES ASSOCIATED WITH THE CRAFTING OF BOAT BUMPERS, BUT YOU'D BE SURPRISED WHAT BILL KNEW AND SHARED WITH US……ABOUT FAMOUS CUSTOMERS, COTTAGERS ON THE MUSKOKA LAKES, WHO DEPENDED ON HIS WORKMANSHIP TO SAFEGUARD THEIR FINALLY CRAFTED WOODEN BOATS, LIKE THE FAMOUS DITCHBURNS…..AND SMALL YACHTS…..AND STEAMBOATS.
THE MILK WAGON AND THE SLINGSHOT
Willy Andison, was the unofficial Hospital greeter, and when he worked in the extensive gardens, he spent at least half his work day, talking with visitors. Understandably, he met up with folks who were pretty distraught, about an illness in the family that brought them to the medical facility. It wasn't in Bill's job description, to take it upon himself, to console friends and family of accident victims, or those who had just left the hospital with a heavy feeling in their hearts, about an unfavorable diagnosis. It was part of the whole experienced of being a gardener, for Willy, and it comforted many of these troubled and impatient visitors, to talk about flowers and the daily grind of the gardener on duty. The stories that man told, must have been what the doctor ordered, because I saw so many of his old and new friends, laughing out loud, when he began spinning some occasion-appropriate yarn, which usually had to do with an experience from his early life……or stories about the characters he had known, who had shown a unique way to deal with adversity. I know for fact, the man had more pats on the back, handshakes and hugs, than any other staff member at the hospital…….and yes, he was just the gardener. But he was a compassionate, light-hearted old soul, who was through and through Muskokan……and he was a diplomat for our way of life here, whether he knew this or not.
I was painting a section of outside concrete wall, from a scaffold, one afternoon, when I noticed Willy had moved closer to where I was working. Willy watched me around his flowers because I routinely, accidentally of course, dripped paint onto his flowers below. He never got mad at me, but would find creative ways to get even, often by unleashing an unanticipated prank later on. Mostly it was an accidental "oops" when the hose all of a sudden was re-directed at me, walking by where he was working. And they were always gems, memorable and embarrassing. So I performed all kinds of safeguards against dripping paint, because I didn't want him making me a target. His were old time pranks. Not the new, "much more gentle" kind.
One morning, at coffee, old Willy started telling a large group of staff members, enjoying their coffee time, about the time he and his mates, with slingshots, found live targets on the Queen's Hill, on Bracebridge's Manitoba Street. It was in the early Depression years, when the mischief took place. The group of three rapscallions, had snuck behind a building near the Queen's Hotel, at the intersection of Manitoba and Thomas Streets, looking to unleash a memorable prank on some unsuspecting passerby. What came next was an opportunity that would make them local notables. A team of horses came up the Thomas Street incline, pulling a wagon loaded with milk cans. When the driver pulled the team around the corner, and up the steeper section of Manitoba Street, the lads snuck up to the corner, and loaded up their slingshots with ammunition….presumably some small round rocks.
When the team was nearing the bring of the hill, all three lads let loose their stretched rubber propelled rocks, at least two hitting the hind quarters of both horses. They reared up as if they had just run into a bear in the middle of the road, and the driver was thrown back violently, falling off the wagon, as the cans of milk fell off the back, popped open, while rolling wildly down the hillside into other oncoming traffic. As Willy described it, "We proved that we were good shots with our slingshots, but we weren't quite the runners we thought we were……and got caught shortly after hitting the horses with the rocks. It was quite a mess on that hill. We regretted bringing those slingshots out of our back pockets, as we got into a lot of trouble that day…..and wasted a lot of milk at the same time." Well sir, the horses survived, the driver, while angry, dusted himself off and gathered up the empty milk cans that had rolled down as far as the federal building (where the clock tower is situated). "We didn't think the horse would rear up……just make them take off on a fast trot up the street," Willy admitted. "We were the talk of the town on that day," he said. "History makers," I quipped. "Yup, we made history that day," he concluded, pulling away from the table, to head back out into his beautiful gardens….that hospital patients and visitors found so cheerful and refreshing.
Later that day, I saw old Willy, sneaking up on the nurses' residence, which was a large house directly to the side of the main hospital. I saw the scene from another angle, and couldn't help notice some of the nurses sunbathing with their tops undone at the back. I had this sense of obligation to warn them about Willy, the practical joker, but then, I really wanted to be able to re-tell this fabulous story in the future. He pulled up to the dividing privacy hedge, and unleashed a merciless assault with cold water from the garden hose……and the screaming said it all…..if the running half naked didn't cover the rest. When another girl from the x-ray department played a practical joke on him, and forgetting the right of retaliation, asked Willy if he would help her load up some firewood from a newly cut tree……the revenge was pretty sweet. When she came outside after work, to move her car to where she could load the firewood pieces, she found that Willy had already loaded it into the open vehicle…..in the front seats as well as the back. Once again, the hollering and laughter, that I witnessed from the painter's perch, from high on my scaffolding, watching Willy make the whole hospital experience, a little less stressful. He was the most memorable gardener-greeter-story spinner I ever knew. He made new friends every day at that hospital, and he was the kind of hometown character, who by innocent interaction, bestowed the warm kinship of a small town……on those visitors most in need of random kindness. He generously and without reservation, offered a few moments of quiet, compassionate conversation, to those facing the results of tragic circumstances. He was a listener as well. A good one.
Thanks for joining me for this little remembrance of Billy "Willy" Andison, one of my history instructors…..and practical joke mentors.
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