CHRISTMAS IN MUSKOKA - THE STORIES YOU HAVE, AND CHERISH, CAN EASILY RIVAL MINE - YOU ALL HAVE INTERESTING HISTORIES WORTH DOCUMENTING
THE ART OF STORY-TELLING ISN'T A GREAT MYSTERY - KEEPING NAMES AND CONTRIBUTIONS OF THOSE WHO HAVE PASSED, CONTEMPORARY! ABSOLUTELY!
WHEN ONE DAY, YOU FIND YOURSELF STROLLING THROUGH A REGIONAL CEMETERY, POSSIBLY IN UPTOWN UFFORD, WHERE WE HAVE FAMILY PLOTS, POSSIBLY YOU WILL READ MY NAME ON A TOMBSTONE, NEXT TO NORM AND HARRIET STRIPP; MAYBE EVEN GET A LITTLE SHIVER-SHOCK OF FINDING SOME FAMILIAR NAMES, AND THINK TO YOURSELF, "I KNOW THAT NAME." IF YOU WERE TO WANDER AROUND THE SMALL HINTERLAND CEMETERY, YOU WOULD FIND LOTS OF NAMES THAT I'VE USED IN THESE BLOGS OVER THE PAST THREE-PLUS YEARS. I SUPPOSE, IT WOULD BE NICE, FOR A FEW OF YOU FINE FOLK, TO LOOK KINDLY UPON MY FINAL RESTING PLACE, AND FEEL THAT DURING OUR RELATIONSHIP ONLINE, WE'VE SHARED SOME NEAT FOLK STORIES, DEBATED SOME PRESSING POLITICAL ISSUES, AND HAD A FEW HARDY LAUGHS AT MY EXPENSE. I'D LIKE THAT, AND SEEING AS I BELIEVE IN LIFE AFTER DEATH, I MIGHT ACTUALLY SLAP YOU ON THE BACK, (DON'T BE SCARED), AS THANKS FOR COMING TO MY OLD STOMPING GROUND FOR A VISIT. ACTUALLY, IN MY PERCEPTION OF THE AFTER LIFE, ALL YOU'LL NEED TO DO, IF YOU WANT ME TO HAUNT YOUR HOUSE, PLEASANTLY OF COURSE, IS TO THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS ABOUT THAT OLD-TIME BLOGGER, TED CURRIE. AND I'LL COME AND FIND YOUR MOST COMFORTABLE CHAIR, (YOU'LL SEE THE IMPRINT OF MY BEHIND) AND EXPECT A LIVELY SOCIAL OCCASION, WITH FOOD AND BEVERAGE. OH YEA, WELL MAYBE JUST THE SOCIAL FUN WILL BE ENOUGH. I'M NOT EXPECTING TO DIE ANY TIME SOON, BUT THAT'S WHAT SOME OF MY CLOSE FRIENDS FELT, AND THE NEXT THINK YOU KNOW, THEY'RE BEING REFERRED TO IN THE PAST TENSE. I'M JUST POINTING OUT, THAT MOST OF US, OR AT LEAST, THE VAIN AMONGST US, WOULD LIKE TO BE FONDLY REMEMBERED BY FRIENDS AND FAMILY. AS I'VE BEEN A WRITER FOR A LONG TIME, WITH A PRETTY FAIR SIZED AUDIENCE, SURE, IT WOULD BE NICE TO KNOW MY READERS WERE A LITTLE BIT SADDENED TO FIND OUT, CURRIE HAD EXITED THIS MORTAL COIL, POSSIBLY IN A BLAZE OF GLORY; SUCH AS WHEN ACTOR SLIM PICKINS, RIDES AN AIRCRAFT-LAUNCHED MISSILE, LIKE A BUCKING BRONCO, IN "DR. STRANGELOVE." WELL, MAYBE WITH A LITTLE LESS BANG.
I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN AWE OF OTHER PEOPLES' LIVES. HONESTLY. I WOULD ENJOY TALKING TO YOU, AND UNCOVERING THE STORIES IN YOUR PAST, AND BRANCHING THROUGH YOUR FAMILY CHRONICLE; WHICH MIGHT WARRANT ESTABLISHING YOUR OWN BLOG. WHEN I WORKED IN THE NEWSPAPER INDUSTRY, LET ME TELL YOU, I HAD A CHANCE TO TALK WITH MANY FOLKS, WHO HAD ABSOLUTELY AMAZING BACKGROUNDS AND FOLK STORIES, THAT I WOULD HAVE LOVED TO WRITE-UP FOR THE PAPER; BUT USUALLY I WAS INTERVIEWING THEM FOR ANOTHER REASON. I WAS AWESTRUCK FOR MOST OF THOSE ELEVEN YEARS, AND I FEEL SO FORTUNATE TO HAVE BEEN PRIVY TO THOSE INTIMATE BIOGRAPHIES, THAT WERE MUCH MORE EXCITING THAN ANYTHING I HAD LIVED THROUGH IN MY YOUNG LIFE. I DEVELOPED A HUGE APPRECIATION FOR WHAT WE HUMANS POSSESS IN OUR MEMORIES, OF TRULY EXCITING AND EXCEPTIONAL MOMENTS, IN WORLD HISTORY, RIGHT DOWN TO THE FINE POINTS OF HOMETOWN HERITAGE. THE WAR YEARS CERTAINLY COME TO MIND. I'VE ALSO HANDLED PERSONAL PAPER COLLECTIONS, FROM ESTATES, AND BEEN ABSOLUTELY FLOORED, BY THE ACHIEVEMENTS AND ADVENTURES THESE PEOPLE HAD IN THEIR LIVES. I BEGAN LIVING VICARIOUSLY THROUGH THEIR STORIES, IMBEDDING MYSELF IN THEIR ADVENTURES, BECAUSE MINE WERE SO SUB-PAR.
I'VE DRAWN ON PREVIOUSLY, A RECENT TORONTO STAR FEATURE SERIES, THAT TO ME, WAS ONE OF THE BEST EXAMPLES I'VE EVER HAD, ABOUT NORMAL LIVES, BEING TO THE CONTRARY, TRULY AMAZING EPICS! CONCURRING WITH THE STAR WRITER, ABOUT THE RELEVANCE OF DAILY LIVES OF OUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS. THE STAR REPORTER GOT PERMISSION, TO DO A NUMBER OF CONSECUTIVE ARTICLES, TO HIGHLIGHT THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A WOMAN, WHO HAD RECENTLY PASSED. IT WAS TO PROVE THE POINT, THAT WE ALL HAVE UNIQUE AND INTERESTING LIVES, WHEN WE EXAMINE MORE CLOSELY, THESE OFTEN OBSCURED INTIMACIES OF PERSONAL BIOGRAPHIES. THIS MIDDLE AGED WOMAN, DIED OF A BRAIN INTRUSION, POSSIBLY A BLOOD CLOT IF MEMORY SERVES, QUITE WITHOUT WARNING. THE STAR REPORTER FOUND OUT FROM FAMILY, DETAILS OF THEIR KIN'S WORK AND PERSONAL INVOLVEMENTS, WITH SPECIAL FOCUS ON BENEVOLENT ACTS SHE BESTOWED ON HER FAMILY AND COMMUNITY. SHE HAD EXPERIENCED MANY FAILURES IN RELATIONSHIPS, AND WORK HADN'T ALWAYS GONE ALONG SMOOTHLY, BUT SHE WAS DEVOTED TO HER FAMILY, AND PERFORMED MANY ACTS OF KINDNESS; TO HELP OUT WHEN THERE WERE EMERGENCIES, INFILLING WHERE SHE COULD. OVER THE SERIES OF ARTICLES, WE WERE INTRODUCED TO A VERY AVERAGE CANADIAN CITIZEN, WHO HAD BEEN A MAJOR SOURCE OF INSPIRATION TO HER FAMILY AND COMMUNITY. THE POINT OF THE SERIES, WAS TO SHOW READERS, JUST HOW AMAZING WE ALL ARE, WHEN IT, OUR BIOGRAPHY, IS GIVEN CLOSE SCRUTINY; AND NOT JUST THE POSITIVES, BUT HOW THEY HAVE DEALT WITH NEGATIVES AND DISADVANTAGES. IT WAS A HUGELY POSITIVE STORY, ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF HUMANS, INFLUENCING OTHER HUMANS, IN THE PURSUIT OF FULFILLING LIVES. THIS WOMAN WOULD NEVER HAVE RECEIVED A GLOWING OVERVIEW OBITUARY, WITHOUT THE TORONTO STAR'S FOCUS, BUT IT DEMONSTRATED CLEARLY, HOW WE ARE ALL INTER-CONNECTED, IN OUR LIVES; WITH ALL KINDS OF FASCINATING PEOPLE, WHO IMPRINT ON US IN SO MANY UNDETECTED WAYS.
I HAVE ALWAYS FELT THAT MANY OF OUR REAL MOVERS AND SHAKERS, AND THE MOST BENEVOLENT AMONGST US, ARE OVERLOOKED IN THE FORMAL HISTORY BOOKS. OF COURSE THEY ARE. IF YOU INCLUDED ALL THE PERSONAL AND FAMILY HISTORIES, YOU'D REQUIRE A FORK-LIFT TO GET IT OFF THE RE-ENFORCED IRON SHELVING. SO I HAVE, IN MY OWN WAY, VIA THIS BLOG, AND MY NEWSPAPER COLUMNS DATING BACK THIRTY YEARS, ATTEMPTED TO HIGHLIGHT SOME OF THESE UNSUNG HEROES OF THE COMMUNITY, ALL WHO PLAYED A ROLE IN MAKING ME A BETTER, AND MORE PRODUCTIVE CITIZEN. THESE WERE FOLKS IN ALL WALKS OF LIFE, AND SOMETIMES, JUST NEIGHBORS IN THE APARTMENTS WE LIVED, WHO SHOWED MY FAMILY KINDNESS, AT TIMES WHEN WE WERE DOWN ON OUR LUCK. THERE ARE CERTAIN NAMES THAT ALWAYS COME TO MIND, AT AROUND THIS TIME OF YEAR, BECAUSE THEY HELPED OUR FAMILY GET THROUGH CHRISTMAS, WHEN WE DIDN'T HAVE MONEY FOR RENT, FOOD, AND PRESENTS. THEY OFFERED ASSISTANCE, AND EXPECTED NOTHING IN RETURN. RALPH MELVIN, FOR ONE, WAS THE MANAGER OF THE BRACEBRIDGE BRANCH OF THE BANK OF NOVA SCOTIA, DURING THE LATE 1960'S, AND WHEN MY MOTHER MERLE WORKED THERE, IN THE PRE-CHRISTMAS PERIOD, OF 1966, SHE TRIED TO ARRANGE A LOAN TO COVER OUR HOLIDAY EXPENSES. RALPH WOULDN'T APPROVE THE LOAN, BUT CALLED MY MOTHER INTO HIS OFFICE, AND HANDED HER AN ENVELOPE WITH SEVERAL HUNDRED DOLLARS, WE SUSPECT, FROM HIS OWN POCKET. HE TOLD MY MOTHER SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO PAY IT BACK. WELL, MY MOTHER PAID IT BACK AFTER ONLY A COUPLE OF MONTHS, BECAUSE SHE WAS FEROCIOUS IN THIS REGARD, NEVER WANTING IT KNOWN WE DIDN'T HONOR OUR DEBTS. HILDA AND WAYNE WEBER, PROPRIETORS OF THE ALICE STREET APARTMENTS, IN BRACEBRIDGE, LET OUR RENT SLIDE MANY MONTHS DURING THAT SAME PERIOD, THAT MY DAD WAS HAVING A TOUGH TIME LANDING A JOB. THEY WERE BOTH GRUFF AND DIRECT FOLKS, IN THEIR CONVERSATION, BUT BOTH WOULD GIVE US ANYTHING WE NEEDED, TO HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS. WAYNE WOULD MAKE A POINT OF COMING UP TO OUR APARTMENT, ON CHRISTMAS EVE, TO PUT MONEY FOR ME, ON THE BRANCHES OF OUR TREE. SURE, SOME TIMES HE DID FALL INTO THE TREE, BECAUSE HE HAD ENJOYED TOO MANY EGGNOGS, BUT HIS HEART WAS IN THE RIGHT PLACE.
ALL THE RESIDENTS OF THAT APARTMENT IN THE 1960'S AND 70'S WERE OUR GOOD FRIENDS, WHO ALWAYS MADE THE CHRISTMAS PERIOD SO SPECIAL AND SHARING. I REMEMBER FINE FOLKS LIKE JOHN AND JOAN HARTNETT, GORD AND ALVA PARLETT, SONS MARK, MIKE, AND DAUGHTER LYNN; GARY AND MILLIE MARTIN, AND ALL THOSE WHO OCCASIONALLY SHOWED UP ON MY ROAD - RINK, TO PLAY THREE PERIODS OF HOCKEY, AGAINST THE BACKDROP OF BAMFORD'S WOODS. THOSE CHRISTMAS SEASON DAYS WHEN RANDY CARSWELL, DON CLEMENT, RICK AND AL HILLMAN, JIM NIVEN AND LARRY TOUGAS, USED TO CROWD UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT OF THAT ALICE STREET STRETCH, WHERE THE LEAFS WERE ALWAYS PLAYING THE CANADIENS, AND FOSTER HEWITT WAS IMITATED BY RANDY PERFECTLY. I'VE ALWAYS FELT, LIKE THE NAMES OF LIL & CEC, AND FRED AND MARY BAMFORD, THAT IT WAS SOCIALLY AND CULTURALLY IMPORTANT TO KEEP THEIR NAMES OUT THERE, IN THE CONTEMPORARY SENSE, AS CONNECTED TO THIS WRITER. I LOVED THOSE CORNERS STORES, RUN BY LIL & CEC, ON ONE CORNER OF TORONTO STREET, AND THE BAMFORDS ON THE OTHERS. I PURCHASED A LOT OF CHRISTMAS GIFTS FROM THEIR SHOPS, AND MOST OF OUR TREATS FOR THE SEASON. I ADORED THEIR CHRISTMAS DISPLAYS, AND COKE SANTAS THEY HAD FOR ADVERTISING, AND THE WAY THEY NEVER MADE US SNOTTY-NOSED, ALWAYS BROKE KIDS, FEEL BAD FOR OUR CIRCUMSTANCE. THAT'S WHY WE SPENT ALMOST EVERY PENNY WE EARNED, AT THOSE TWO STORES, BUYING THE TREAT THAT CAUSED OUR PARENTS TO PAY FOR EXPENSIVE DENTAL REPAIRS. OH WELL. WE HAD A BLAST. I JUST HATE THE THOUGHT, THAT THESE NAMES WILL BE FORGOTTEN, WHEN I STOP WRITING THESE BLOGS. NOT THAT THEY WERE MORE IMPORTANT THAN MAYORS AND RELATED POLITICIANS, BUSINESS MAGNATES, AND AWARD WINNING ATHLETES. BUT IN THAT FOLK HISTORY CHRONICLE, OF WHICH IS MY SPECIALTY, THEY SHALL NEVER BE OMITTED FROM HISTORY. I'VE SEEN TO THAT, OVER THE PAST THREE DECADES, AND ALL THESE RECOLLECTIONS ARE SECURELY ARCHIVED FOR POSTERITY. HOUS
I HAVE NEVER CLIMBED A MOUNTAIN, RODE THE RAILS ACROSS THIS COUNTRY, BEEN A HOBO, A DRIFTER, AN ABSTRACT ARTIST, OR A BUILDER OF THE WORLD'S BIGGEST BUILDINGS, LONGEST BRIDGES, OR DEEPEST TUNNEL. I'VE HAD AN INTERESTING LIFE, MORE SO, BECAUSE OF THE TRULY UNIQUE PEOPLE I'VE KNOWN, AND BEEN INFLUENCED BY, FOR LONG AND LONG. I AM A STORY TELLER; A STORY BORROWER! I MAY SPIN AN INTERESTING STORY BUT I AM USUALLY NOT ITS TRUE ARCHITECT. I HAVE BEEN A STUDENT OF MANY INSPIRING MENTORS, WHO HAVE TOLD ME STORIES ABOUT ADVENTURES, AND EXCITING RELATIONSHIPS WITH FAMOUS PEOPLE, THAT HAVE GIVEN ME HUNDREDS OF STORIES TO DEVELOP, ALL ON THEIR POWERFUL INFLUENCES. THAT'S WHAT MY WRITING HAS BEEN ABOUT FOR THIRTY YEARS. I HAVE YIELDED TO THE ADVENTURES OF OTHERS, BECAUSE THEY'VE ALWAYS BEEN SO MUCH MORE COMPELLING AND FULL OF WHAT FOLKS LIKE YOU, ARE INTERESTED IN READING. I THINK OF MYSELF AS MORE OF A FACILITATOR OF FOLK STORIES, BUT I WOULD NEVER THINK OF STEALING THE CREDITS FROM SOME OF MY HERO MENTORS, SUCH AS HISTORIANS LIKE ROBERT BOYER, REDMOND THOMAS, BERT SHEA, AND CAPTAIN FRASER. POINT IS, I WAS BROUGHT UP TO BE RESPECTFUL OF OTHERS, AND TO PAY ATTENTION TO THEIR STORIES, BECAUSE, SOME WILL ASSIST ME IN OTHER WAYS, AND ON MISSIONS NOT YET UNDERTAKEN. IT WAS ABOUT SHARED WISDOM, AND I HAVE ALWAYS BENEFITTED IN THIS WAY, LEARNING FROM THE FIRST HAND EXPERIENCES OF OTHERS, WHO HAVE GONE WHERE I WOULDN'T DARE TO TRAVEL.
THE OTHER PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG COLLECTION, FOR ALL THESE YEARS, IS TO PROVIDE A RECORD FOR MY SONS, AND THEIR FAMILIES TO COME. YEARS AFTER MY PARENTS DEATHS, I STILL HAVE A HUNDRED QUESTIONS ABOUT THEM, AND THE LIVES THEY ENJOYED AS YOUNGSTERS. MERLE AND ED TOLD THE SAME STORIES OVER AND OVER, BECAUSE THEY MADE THEM HAPPY, BUT THEY WERE HABITUALLY SHY, WHEN THE REPORTER IN ME, ASKED MORE POINTED, INTRUSIVE QUESTIONS, THEY DIDN'T FEEL COMFORTABLE ANSWERING. I DON'T KNOW WHY. I DO WISH THEY HAD TAKEN THE TIME, TO AT LEAST WRITE DOWN MORE DETAILS ABOUT THEIR EARLIER FAMILY LIVES, WITH STORIES ABOUT FAMILY MEMBERS I NEVER MET. MY MOTHER HAD A SISTER, MARJORY, WHO DIED OF A BRAIN DISEASE, WHEN HER CHILDREN WERE YOUNG, AND A BROTHER CARMEN, WHO BROKE AWAY FROM THE FAMILY AFTER THE SECOND WORLD WAR AND MOVED TO BRITISH COLUMBIA WHERE HE DIED SOME TIME LATER. I WANTED TO KNOW MORE. MY FATHER HAD THREE BROTHERS, DON, DOUG AND BILLY. WHEN MY GRANDMOTHER, A BERNARDO CHILD WHO MARRIED A LESS THAN GENTLE AND KIND IRISH HUSBAND, NAMED EDDY, LEFT HER CHILDREN TO THE CHILDREN'S AID, REPEATEDLY, WHEN IN EMOTIONAL PERIL, CAUSED UNSPECIFIED PROBLEMS WITH HER YOUNGEST BOY, BILLY. BILLY HAD BEEN INSTITUTIONALIZED FOR MOST OF HIS LIFE, AND DIED SHORTLY AFTER BEING RELEASED FROM THE HURONIA CENTRE, BACK IN THE EARLY YEARS OF THIS NEW CENTURY. THE ONLY DETAILS I EVER GOT FROM THIS PART OF OUR FAMILY CHRONICLE, WAS FROM MY MOTHER, WHO HATED MY GRANDMOTHER FOR HER PERIODS OF NEGLECT. WHAT MERLE DIDN'T KNOW, WAS THAT DORIS HARDING CURRIE, HAD BEEN AN ORPHAN IN ENGLAND, IN A FACILITY OPERATED BY DOCTOR BERNARDO, AND HAD BEEN SENT TO CANADA TO WORK AS A DOMESTIC, FOR A MINISTER IN SOUTHERN ONTARIO AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN. SUZANNE FOUND THIS THROUGH THE BERNARDO GROUP IN ENGLAND. IT EXPLAINED A LOT ABOUT WHY MY GRANDMOTHER WAS ALWAYS DIFFICULT TO DEAL WITH, AND SUFFERED FROM LIFE LONG EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS. MANY OF THESE CHILDREN WERE EXPOSED TO HARSH WORKING CONDITIONS, PHYSICAL ABUSES, AND I DARE SAY SEXUAL ABUSE AT THE HANDS OF HOST FAMILIES.
POSSIBLY, ONE DAY, YOU WILL FIND AN INTEREST TO WRITE DOWN SOME OF YOUR OWN STORIES. WHILE THEY MIGHT NOT SEEM ALL THAT UNIQUE OR WORTHY OF A CORRESPONDING TEXT, IT MIGHT BE WORTH TALKING ABOUT THE DETAILS OF YOUR FAMILY LIFE, AND THE INTERESTING REALITIES OF YOUR ANCESTORS, THE PLACES THEY CAME FROM, AND THE ADVENTURES THEY UNDERTOOK IN THEIR RESPECTIVE LIVES. I'M WILLING TO BET, THERE ARE THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF IMPORTANT SOCIAL / CULTURAL HISTORIES WAITING TO BE HIGHLIGHTED AND SHARED IF SO DESIRED. DON'T BE MODEST. ONE DAY, FUTURE GENERATIONS WILL BE DELIGHTED THAT YOU TOOK THE TIME, TO DOCUMENT WHAT YOU KNOW AND HAVE EXPERIENCED ABOUT FAMILY AND COMMUNITY MILESTONES. THE FIRST RULE? LET SOMEONE ELSE BE THE JUDGE, OF HOW RELEVANT YOUR STORIES ARE, TO FAMILY AND LOCAL HISTORY. MOST PEOPLE, WHEN ASKED, IF THEY HAVE ANY INTERESTING LIFE STORIES TO RELATE, DECLINE TO COMMENT, BELIEVING THEIR PLACE IN HISTORY, IS TINY AT BEST. YET UPON INVESTIGATION, AN OLD REPORTER LIKE ME, COULD PROVE THE EXACT OPPOSITE TO HOLD TRUE.
THIS IS WHAT MY BLOG HAS BEEN ABOUT OVERALL, AND I AM PLEASED TO HAVE BEEN ABLE TO ARCHIVE THESE STORIES BEFORE I CAN NO LONGER LIFT A FINGER TO THIS KEYBOARD, LET ALONE HOLD ONTO A PEN. I HAVE FORGOTTEN A LOT OF PERSONAL HISTORY, AND TALES FROM OLDTIMERS, THAT I NEGLECTED TO WRITE DOWN, HAVING THE MISTAKEN BELIEF, I WOULD BE ABLE TO TALK TO THEM AT A LATER DATE. I WANTED TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT GRAVENHURST MUSICIAN HUGH CLAIRMONT, BUT I WAS TOO LATE GETTING AROUND TO IT. I WANTED TO WRITE A BRACEBRIDGE HISTORY WITH LES TENNANT, WHO HAD A HUGE HERITAGE COLLECTION OF ARCHIVES MATERIAL, ABOUT THE LOCAL FIGURE SKATING CLUBS, AND SKATING CARNIVALS AT THE LOCAL ARENAS. I WANTED TO PURSUE THIS STORY, BECAUSE SUZANNE'S GRANDFATHER, SAM STRIPP, WAS THE PAINT-MASTER, WHO COLORED THE ICE FOR THE ANNUAL CARNIVALS. LES DIED BEFORE WE COULD INK A DEAL. THE LIST INCLUDES THE WHO'S WHO OF MUSKOKA. I RAN OUT OF TIME, AND SO DID THEY. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES AS ME. PUSH THE ENVELOPE. INTERVIEW THE ELDERS OF YOUR FAMILY AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. WRITE DOWN RECOLLECTIONS ABOUT GROWING UP, AND HOW ALL THE FOLKS IN THE FAMILY INTERACTED. SOMETIMES, YES, IT CAN BECOME A LITTLE COLORFUL AND EVEN CONTROVERSIAL. THAT'S LIFE FOR YOU. POINT ME IN THE DIRECTION OF A FAMILY THAT DOESN'T HAVE A CLOSET FULL OF SKELETONS, AND I'LL SHOW YOU A WORK OF STRANGE FICTION. IT'S WHAT MAKES HISTORY INTERESTING FOR GOSH SAKES. WE NEED TWISTS AND DIPS, AND CROSSROAD DECISIONS, THAT AREN'T ALWAYS IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
IN THE LEAD-UP TO CHRISTMAS, I WILL WRITE MORE ABOUT THE UNSUNG HEROES OF MY EARLY DAY IN MUSKOKA. MAYBE YOU EVEN KNEW THEM. NOT ONE OF THEM EVER THOUGHT THEIR INTERACTIONS WITH ME, WOULD EARN THEM A PLACE IN MY VERSION OF MUSKOKA'S FOLK HISTORY. IN THIS REGARD, I'M QUITE UNPREDICTABLE, BUT IN A MOST POSITIVE WAYS, OR SO CLAIMS MY BRIDE, WHO HAS BEEN PROOFING MY WORK EVEN BEFORE I'VE FINISHED WRITING IT. I HATE THIS, BUT SHE'S JUST SUPER EFFICIENT. SHE CATCHES A LOT OF SPELLING MISTAKES, AND TYPOS, SO I'M NOT GOING TO TELL HER SHE'S INTRUDING UPON MY SPACE, READING OVER MY SHOULDER. I USED TO WARN PUBLISHERS I WORKED FOR, TO NEVER, EVER DO THIS, BUT SUZANNE ISN'T MY MANAGER; JUST A KIND SOUL WHO HATES IT WHEN I SPELL SOMEONE'S NAME WRONG.
BRACEBRIDGE AND THE SPIRITS OF CHRISTMASES PAST - THE TOWN OF THE 1960'S AND 1970'S WAS A NEAT ERA TO EXPERIENCE
THE SMALL TOWN EXPERIENCE WASN'T LOST ON ME
LIKE YOU FINE FOLKS, I ALWAYS LOVED WHEN THE FIRST SNOWFALL ARRIVED; INTIALLY AS PREAMBLE FLURRIES, ACROSS THE GLORIOUS MUSKOKA LANDSCAPE. AFTER SCHOOL, WE'D RUN BACK HOME, TO OUR HUNT'S HILL ABODES, DRESS IN OUR PLAY SNOWSUITS, ACCORDINGLY THICK AND RESISTANT, FOR HIGH IMPACT COLLISIONS, (WITH TREES); HOIST SLEDS UP UNDER OUR ARMS, AND START PREPARING THE OLD ROAD, LEADING UP TO THE SANDPIT, BEHIND THE WEBER APARTMENTS, FOR THE TRADITIONAL SLEDDING RUN. WE WOULD HAVE A NICE LITTLE COURSE ICED-OVER, AFTER A COUPLE OF DAYS WORK, WEATHER PERMITTING, AND THE OLD WHEEL RUTS, FROM THE DUMP TRUCKS, WITH THE MIDDLE HIGHER THAN THE OUTSIDE EDGES, WOULD SERVE MUCH AS A MAJOR BOBSLED COURSE, WHILE THE LEFT SIDE, WAS FOR WALKING UP AND DOWN WITH TOBOGGANS; SLEDS WITH RUNNERS AND THOSE ALUMINUM SAUCERS THAT COULD WHIP DOWN THAT HILLSIDE, WITH SPARKS FLYING OUT AROUND THE EDGES. IT WAS QUITE A SIGHT. THE RIDER DIDN'T HAVE THE SAME PERSPECTIVE AS WE DID, OR THEY'D HAVE BEEN SCARED TO DEATH, RUNNING DOWN THE ICE-COVERED SLOPE, IN DARKNESS, LIKE A WAR PLANE THAT HAD JUST BEEN SHOT OUT OF THE SKY. WE COULD CLEARLY SEE THE ORANGE AND BLUE SPARKS, THINKING THAT AT ANY MOMENT, THE WHOLE THING WOULD EXPLODE IN FLAMES. THERE WAS ALWAYS A FALSE SENSE OF SECURITY AT THE TOP OF THE HILL, AS IF NOTHING BAD COULD HAPPEN ON THE WAY DOWN. THEN, ON A SAUCER, OUT OF CONTROL SPINNING COULD OCCUR, AND WHEN THE TIN ETCHED HARD, DOWN OVER THE EXPOSED GRAVEL, WHICH WAS INEVITABLE, ANYTHING COULD HAVE HAPPENED. I LIKED TO HAVE A SLED I COULD CONTROL. THE FUN SEEMED TO BE WHEN THE SLED WENT OUT OF CONTROL. ON OCCASION, A TOBOGGAN WOULD GO OUT OF BOUNDS, HALFWAY DOWN THE HILLSIDE, AND DRIFT RIGHT THROUGH THE GANG HAULING THEIR SLEIGHS UP THE OTHER SIDE. OH THE HUMANITY. BOOT AND BEHINDS IN THE AIR, FALLING AWKWARDLY BACK DOWN THE HILLSIDE. WHAT A FILM CLIP THAT WOULD HAVE MADE FOR THE EVENING NEWS. OR COMICS FOR THE FUNNY PAGES.
IT WASN'T A LONG COURSE OR ALL THAT HIGH I SUPPOSE. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN AN ELEVATION OF TWO STORIES, ACCORDING TO OUR APARTMENT MEASURE. WHAT MADE IT CHALLENGING, AND VERY MUCH LIKE AN EPISODE OF "JACK-ASS," WAS THE FACT, THE SLEDS HAD TO NAVIGATE A TIGHT RIGHT TURN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL, OR RUN INTO THE PORTABLE CEMENT MIXER, ANCHORED AT THE CORNER OF WAYNE WEBER'S CONSTRUCTION SHED. IF YOU DIDN'T HIT THE IRON WORK OF THE MIXER, THERE WERE LEFTOVER CEMENT BLOCKS, AND OLD FORTY-FIVE GALLON DRUMS A FEW FEET BACK. ON THE RIGHT SIDE, IF YOU TURNED TOO ABRUPTLY, THE SLED COULD CAREEN INTO TWO OLD TRUCKS, WAYNE, AT ONE TIME, HAD USED TO HAUL SAND FROM THE SAND-PIT. IT WAS SORT OF AN URBAN OBSTACLE COURSE, WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT NOW, AND ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS HILLSIDES YOU COULD USE FOR RECREATIONAL SLEDDING. IN FACT, WE USED TO HIT THESE RATHER FIRM AND FROZEN-IN REMNANTS OF THE CONSTRUCTION INDUSTRY, QUITE FREQUENTLY. WE SHOULD HAVE AT LEAST BEEN WEARING HOCKEY HELMETS. IT WAS JUST CONVENIENT TO US. MAYBE WE WERE A LITTLE LAZY, NOT FEELING LIKE CROSSING TOWN TO FIND A BETTER HILLSIDE. UNDER GOOD CONDITIONS, YOU COULD WORK UP A PRETTY FAIR SPEED, AND THE HOLLOW OF THE TIRE RUT, WOULD USUALLY KEEP YOU ON TRACK TO FINISH ON THE FLAT, IN BETWEEN LARGE METAL OBJECTS AND THE RETIRED TRUCKS. WE NEVER HAD EVEN ON BROKEN ARM OR LE; JUST A FEW BUMPS ON THE NOGGIN, TO SMARTEN US UP. IT WAS WONDERFULLY SCENIC AT THE TOP BUT IT DIDN'T FINISH IN THE KIND OF ENVIRONMENT THAT YOU WOULD LABEL PICTURESQUE. MY MOTHER AND HILDA WEBER, THE OWNER OF THE PROPERTY, HATED US PLAYING THERE, BUT WE WERE A LITTLE MORE SAVVY WITH THAT COURSE DESIGN, THAN IT MIGHT HAVE INITIALLY APPEARED. SO SERIOUS INJURIES WERE FEW AND FAR BETWEEN. IF WE DID GET HURT, WE DIDN'T REPORT IT TO OUR KIN FOLK, FOR FEAR HILDA WOULD SHUT THE SLOPE DOWN.
EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, WE'D GET INVITED OVER TO JIM NIVEN'S HOUSE, UP ON THE HIGH END OF RICHARD STREET, WHERE THEY HAD A TREE-LINED SUICIDE DROP, WITH ROCK OUTCROPPINGS, THAT NO ONE EVER SUCCESSFULLY NAVIGATED, UNLESS YOU COUNT, ARRIVING AT THE BOTTOM, WITH BROKEN BRANCHES PROTRUDING FROM YOUR SNOWSUIT, AND SPITTING TWIGS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH....., AS WELL AS THE ARSE RIPPED OUT OF YOUR PANTS; FRICTION BURNS WHERE THE UNDERWEAR USED TO BE. WE'D START OUT ON A THREE PERSON TOBOGGAN, AND HALFWAY DOWN THE HILL, THERE WOULD BE TWO LESS RIDERS, BUT A LOT MORE SCREAMING, AS THE WOOD SLED BOUNCED OVER EXPOSED ROCKS AND GLANCED OFF NASTY LITTLE SHRUBS HERE AND THERE, ALL THE WAY DOWN. ONCE OR TWICE WE TRIED SLEDDING DOWN FLYNN'S HILL, ON RICHARD STREET, JUST BEFORE THE NIVEN'S HOUSE, AND THAT WAS TERRIFYING. WE'D USE THE HILLSIDE FOR OUR HOMEMADE GO-CARTS, BUT THEY AT LEAST HAD WORKABLE BRAKES. THE ONLY WAY TO STOP THE SLEDS OR DISCS ON AN ICY SLOPE, AS HIGH AND FAST AS IT WAS, INVOLVED TUCKING ONE'S HEAD TO THE CHEST, AND ROLLING OFF AT OUR OWN RISK. THE PROBLEM CAME WHEN TWO OR MORE DECIDED ON THE SAME EXIT STRATEGY, AND WOUND UP WADDING INTO A BALL OF HUMANITY, TUMBLING AND SLIDING DOWN THE REST OF THE HILL. JUST AS A CAR WAS TURNING UP THE STREET. WHAT A WAY TO GO!
A FEW TIMES WE'D HIKE DOWN TO THE OLD TURKEY FARM, ON SANTA'S VILLAGE ROAD, BUT THERE WERE A LOT OF TERRAIN ISSUES IN THAT DEEP VALLEY, LEFTOVER FROM THE FARM DAYS. EVEN A GRASS MOUND COULD STOP A SLEIGH IN ITS TRACKS, AND CATIPULT THE RIDERS INTO OUTER SPACE. THERE JUST WASN'T MUCH IN THE WAY OF CLEAN, UNOBSTRUCTED TOBOGGAN HILLS IN OUR NEIGHBORHOOD. SO WE WORKED WITH WHAT WE HAD, AND THE MOST ACTIVELY USED AND ENJOYED, I DARE SAY, ESPECIALLY WHEN WE EXPANDED IT ONE YEAR, TO THE HIGHEST PART OF THE SAND-PIT, WHICH WHEN ICE-COVERED, WOULD GIVE US THE OLYMPIC LUGE SPEED. IF THE COURSE WAS A LITTLE SOFT, WE WOULD COME FLYING OFF THE UPPER LEDGE, WHICH WOULD HAVE MADE IT A THREE STORY HAIR-RAISING DROP TO THE BOTTOM, BUT GET STUCK ON THE FLAT PART OF THE CRATER, LONG BEFORE THE UPPER LIP OF THE ROAD DOWN. A FEW OF US, ON SAUCERS, WOUND UP IN THE MID SECTIONS OF THE EVERGREENS, THAT LINED THE LEFT SIDE OF THE SLOPE, AND A FEW OF THE MORE PROFICIENT SLEDDERS COULD EVEN SAVE THEMSELVES INJURY, BY GRASPING THE BOUGHS, AND REMAINING IN THE TREE'S BOSUM, TO AWAIT RESCUE FROM THE PIT CREW. I DID THE SAME THING ONE DAY, BUT INSTEAD OF CATCHING THE BOUGHS, MY MITTS WERE FROZEN, AND THE NEEDLES SLIPPED THROUGH MY HANDS. I SHOT RIGHT THROUGH THE BORDER TREES, AND RIGHT OVER THE EMBANKMENT WHERE HILDA HAD HER ROCK GARDEN. NOW THAT HURT. I LANDED WITHOUT THE BENEFIT OF THE SAUCER BENEATH MY CHEEKS, SO I WALKED WITH A LIMP FROM A SORE ASS FOR THE NEXT WEEK. NO WONDER MY KNEES AND HIP ARE WONKY NOW.
IT WAS KIND OF A CRAZY COURSE, BUT YOU KNOW, AT AROUND CHRISTMAS, WHEN THERE WOULD BE A DOZEN KIDS UP THERE ON THE HILLSIDE, IN A DUSTING OF SNOW OVER THE HILLSIDE, IT WAS QUITE PLEASING VISUALLY.....IF I'D HAD THE GOOD SENSE TO CAPTURE THOSE MOMENTS ON FILM. AT NIGHT, WE'D BRING SOME COAL OIL LANTERNS, AND HANG THEM ON BRANCHES DOWN THE SLOPE. THIS MADE IT IMPERATIVE NOT TO FLY OFF THE TRACK. WE'D REALLY LOOK SPECTACULAR IN A BALL OF COAL-OIL FLAMES, IF WE TOOK OUT THOSE LAMPS. THESE NIGHTS, IF YOU LOOKED DOWN AT THE WEBER APARTMENT, AT THE BACK, YOU COULD SEE PEOPLE SITTING, OR STANDING AT THE WINDOWS, WATCHING US AT OUR WINTER SPORT. I CAN ALWAYS REMEMBER THE EXCITEMENT, COMING OUT OF THE BACK DOOR OF THE APARTMENT, AND HEARING THE VOICES AND LAUGHTER OF MY CHUMS, FILLING THE WINTER AIR. SOMETIMES WE PLAYED A COUPLE OF GAMES OF ROAD HOCKEY FIRST, AND THEN HIT THE SLOPES. IT WAS NEVER THE OTHER WAY AROUND, BECAUSE SLEDDING WAS A HIGH DEMAND RECREATION, AND WE'D BE SOAKED THROUGH, AFTER A COUPLE OF HOURS GOING UP AND DOWN THE HILL. MOST OF THE MOISTURE WEIGHING-DOWN OUR SUITS, WAS FROM A MASSIVE OUTPOURING OF SWEAT. WE SELDOM WENT SLEDDING WHEN THERE WAS AN ARCTIC CHILL. THAT WAS HOCKEY WEATHER.
WE MADE THE BEST OUT OF THE LANDSCAPE WE WERE AFFORDED. THE HUNT'S HILL GANG STAYED AT HOME, WITH EXCEPTION OF BRIEF FORAYS TO SAMPLE OTHER SLEDDING VENUES, AND HOCKEY SURFACES, AND OF COURSE TO RELUCTANTLY AMBLE OUR WAY TO BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL. SO EVEN THOUGH WE HAD A SUICIDE HILL OVER AT NIVENS, AND A CONSTRUCTION EQUIPMENT CIRCUIT AT THE WEBER APARTMENTS, WE NEVER COMPLAINED ABOUT OUR LOT IN LIFE. WE JUST WORKED WITH THE RESOURCES AVAILABLE, AND OUR MOTHERS WERE ON STAND-BY WITH MEDICAL PROVISIONS, TO BANDAGE WHAT WAS CUT AND SCRAPED. THE MOST SERIOUS INJURY I EVER HAD, AS A WINTER SLEDDER, WAS WHEN I DECIDED TO WHIP DOWN THE HILL ON A SLED WITH METAL RUNNERS, ON AN ICED-OVER TRAIL. THERE HAD BEEN A PERIOD OF FREEZING RAIN I THINK, WHICH ADDED A BIT OF EXCITEMENT TO THE SPEED FACTOR ON THE SLOPE. EVERYONE ELSE NAVIGATED THE RUN FAST BUT SAFELY THAT NIGHT, EXCEPT ME. THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME I'D EVER TAKEN THE HILLSIDE, STOMACH DOWN. WHEN I BEGAN AT THE TOP OF THE SAND-PIT, I WAS DOING GREAT, WITH A BLUE LIGHTNING STREAK, UNTIL I GOT TO THE HUMP ON THE UPPERMOST SECTION OF THE OLD ROADWAY. THE SLED STOPPED DEAD FOR SOME REASON. I WENT FLYING OFF AT THE SAME BREAKNECK SPEED, BUT SOMEHOW SPUN AROUND, SO THAT I WAS SLIDING FEET FIRST, INSTEAD OF THE OTHER WAY AROUND. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN OKAY, IF I HADN'T STILL BEEN POSITIONED ON MY STOMACH. WELL SIR, MY COAT PULLED UP OVER MY HEAD, AS DID MY SWEATER AND UNDERSHIRT, AND I LUGED THAT LENGTH OF ROUGH ICE ON MY BARE STOMACH.....MUCH OF THE SKIN BEING LEFT ON THE HILLSIDE IN SMALL PORTIONS. IT LOOKED LIKE I'D BEEN SKINNED ALIVE. WHEN I GOT IN THE HOUSE, MY MOTHER GOT SICK TO HER STOMACH. IT LOOKED SO BAD, SHE THOUGHT I'D REMOVED MY INTESTINES. MY DAD TOOK A WASH-CLOTH AND CLEANED ME UP TO SEE WHERE THE HOLES WERE. ALL I WAS MISSING WAS A LAYER OF SKIN AND BODY FAT, BUT THERE WERE NO EXPOSED ORGANS. I WASN'T CRYING THEN. IT CAME LATER WHEN MERLE DECIDED THE ONLY TREATMENT FOR MY WOUNDS, WOULD BE IODINE. MY MATES COULD HEAR ME SCREAMING OUT ON THE SLOPE, WITH TOQUES ON, AND SLED RUNNERS ENGAGING THE ICY SLOPE. THEY PROBABLY COULD HAVE HEARD ME DOWNTOWN. THE NEIGHBORS WERE USED TO THIS KIND OF STUFF, SO NO ONE SHOWED ANY REAL INTEREST. I'M SURE THEY WERE WHISPERING, "AH, IT'S JUST THE CURRIE KID AGAIN. HE'S ACCIDENT PRONE. I DON'T KNOW HOW HE'S LIVED THIS LONG." I SUGGESTED I MIGHT NEED A COUPLE OF DAYS OFF SCHOOL. WELL, THAT DIDN'T FLY. NEITHER DID I. IT WAS THE LONGEST FORCED HIATUS I EVER HAD, FROM RECREATION, UNTIL MY SKIN GREW BACK. YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT A BIG SCAB. IT WAS MY NICKNAME FOR THE REST OF THAT WINTER, BECAUSE EVERYBODY, EVEN THE GIRLS, HAD TO HAVE A LOOK-SEE. "THAT'S HORRIBLE CURRIE....JESUS, PUT YOUR SHIRT DOWN WILL YOU?"
WHEN I GOT INTO HIGH SCHOOL, AND THOUGHT OF GIRLS IN A DIFFERENT WAY, THAN JUST MATES TO PLAY HOCKEY AND BASEBALL WITH, I'D ACCEPT INVITATIONS TO GO SLEDDING UP ON LIDDARD STREET, WHERE IT INTERSECTS WITH AUBREY. IT WAS ALSO A CRAZY SLOPE, WITH ALL KINDS OF NATURAL OBSTRUCTIONS, BUT THE IDEA WASN'T AS MUCH ABOUT SLEDDING AS RECREATION, BUT DATING WITHOUT THE FORMALITY ATTACHED. A DATE DIDN'T INVOLVE RECREATION, AS FAR AS WE WERE CONCERNED. IT WAS JUST A PLACE TO CHECK OUT OUR COMPATIBILITY, IN A WHIP OF SPLINTERING WOOD AND SMOKING METAL DOWN THE HEIGHT OF THE EIGER SANCTION, WHERE, AT THE BOTTOM, MALE AND FEMALE WOULD CRUMBLE TOGETHER IN A HALF-EMBRACE, WITH A NEAR-ROMANTIC WARMTH TO IT; ANY INJURY BEING OF LESSER CONSIDERATION, THAN THE POSSIBILITY THE RIDERS HAD INADVERTENTLY HUGGED, OR TEMPORARILY HELD HANDS, AND LEARNED INTIMATELY, WHAT INSPIRED LAUGHTER, AND WHAT EXTREMES, IN TERMS OF DISCOMFORT, WARRANTED TEARS. LOOKING BACK, WE ALL HAD "FACE PLANTS" INTO THE CRUSTY SNOW, AND I SEEM TO RECALL WIPING THE ICE CHUNKS OFF LINDA'S FACE, AS WELL AS A FEW TEARS. I'LL BET SHE REMEMBERS THAT IT WAS ME WHO WAS CRYING. SHE MAY BE RIGHT. BACK IN THE WINTER OF 1972-73, MY SLEDDING PARTNER WAS LINDA DAWSON, A SWEET GAL WHO LIVED FURTHER ALONG ON LIDDARD STREET. WE ACTUALLY BEGAN DATING SHORTLY AFTER. WE'LL CALL THAT THE ALLURE AND ALCHEMY OF WINTER SLEDDING. I KIND OF THINK IT WAS THE TERROR OF THOSE WICKED RIDES DOWN THE TREED SLOPE, THAT BROUGHT US TOGETHER. FUNNY THING THOUGH. ONCE WE BEGAN DATING, WE NEVER AGAIN HIT THE SLOPES. LINDA LIKED TO ICE SKATE, SO THAT'S WHAT WE DID EVERY SATURDAY AND SUNDAY AFTERNOON, AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA. WE LET THE SINGLES USE OUR SLEDS, TO HOPEFULLY HOOK UP. YOU KNOW, I NEVER REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THIS, AS A PARTNERING RITUAL OR PRE-DATING, BUT THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT WAS, FOR A LOT OF TEENS, GROWING UP IN A SMALL TOWN WITH A LOT OF HILLS AND SNOW....AND FREE TIME.
I ENJOYED THE WINTER SEASON AS A KID. I DIDN'T LIKE IT SO MUCH WHEN I LIVED IN THE CITY. I DIDN'T NOTICE THE COLD AS MUCH IN MUSKOKA, AS I HAD THE COLD, DAMP OF A BURLINGTON WINTER; AS THAT K NIFE-BLADED WIND CAME SWEEPING IN OFF LAKE ONTARIO....MAKING EVERY STEP TOWARD LAKESHORE PUBLIC SCHOOL, AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH. THERE WERE TIMES WHEN I WONDERED WHAT MY FATHER HAD BEEN THINKING ABOUT, MOVING US FROM THE CITY TO THE RURAL CLIME, BUT THAT WAS A SHORT PERIOD OF DOUBT....THAT FADED INTO THE FAMILY CHRONICLE, ONCE I STARTED ENJOYING THE PLEASURES GOD GAVE US KIDS IN THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION ON EARTH. I WAS HAPPY TO BECOME MUSKOKAN.
CHRISTMAS IN BRACEBRIDGE - THE WIDE-EYED KID
IT WAS A CAREFREE TIME, WASN'T IT? I MADE THE MOST OF IT - I WAS EVERYWHERE A KID COULD GO - AND IT GOT ME INTO TROUBLE
I WAS A RINK RAT. I'D BE AT THE ARENA AT 7 A.M. ON A SATURDAY MORNING, AND IF I PLAYED MY CARDS RIGHT, I'D BE THERE TO JUST BEFORE SUPPER. TOWN LEAGUE HOCKEY, THIS TIME OF YEAR, OCCUPIED THE EARLY HOURS OF SATURDAY. THEN THERE WAS THE DISTINCT POSSIBILITY I'D BE CALLED TO TRAVEL WITH AN ALLSTAR TEAM, AS THE STARTING, BUT MOSTLY BACK-UP GOALIE. I WAS GOOD WITH THAT. THERE WASN'T MUCH GOING ON AT HOME, AND I LOVED HOCKEY IN ALL ITS SHAPES, SIZES AND CONFIGURATIONS. TRAVELLING WAS NEAT TOO. I COULD GET TWO GAMES ON A SATURDAY, OR MOST OF THE TIME, A GAME AND A PRACTICE. IN BETWEEN, I'D VOLUNTEER TO HELP MANAGER DOUG SMITH WITH ICE SHOVELLING DUTIES, WORKING WITH FRED "BING" CROSBY, WHO RAN THE BIG BARREL ON THE CART, USED FOR WATERING THE ICE…..IN THESE EARLY DAYS BEFORE THE TRACTOR, OUTFITTED FOR WATERING….AND THEN THE MODERN ICE MACHINE THAT SCRAPES AND WATERS IN ONE SMOOTH PASS. GEEZ, COME TO THINK OF IT, IT WAS THE 1960'S, AND WE WERE STILL USING THIS ANTIQUATED WATER-DRUM ON WHEELS. IT TOOK ABOUT FOUR LADS TO MAN THE SHOVELS, IN A ROW, TO CLEAN THE ICE IN A REASONABLE AMOUNT OF TIME. WE GOT A QUARTER TO SPEND AT THE SNACK BAR, ALSO RUN BY THE ARENA. IT BOUGHT US A HOT DOG AND THEN WE'D MOOCH A POP ON TOP OF THAT…..AS WE FOUND DOUG AN EASY TOUCH. GRUFF, LOUD AND SOMETIMES DOWNRIGHT NASTY, BUT HE COULDN'T LOOK A THIRSTY KID IN THE EYE, WITHOUT SLAPPING HIS FACE, JUST UNDER HIS TIPPED-UP FEDORA, AND RELENTING TO THE WEE ONES BEGGING IN FRONT OF THE COUNTER.
IF I PLAYED DODGE AND DART A BIT, HIDING IN THE BLEACHERS, OR IN AN EMPTY DRESSING ROOM, A YOUNG FELLOW COULD GET INTO PUBLIC SKATING FOR FREE, AND THEN WITH CLEVER POSITIONING, WIND UP STAYING FOR THE AFTERNOON ALLSTAR GAMES. THERE MIGHT BE THREE BACK TO BACK IF I WAS ON A REAL WINNING SPREE. AND I'D NEVER BE OUT A DIME…..UNLESS OF COURSE, MY MOTHER HAD SPOTTED ME MY WEEKLY ALLOWANCE. I WOULD HAVE BLOWN THOSE TWO BUCKS ON "THRILLS" GUM, A SWEET MARIE BAR, LICORICE, ANOTHER HOT DOG, AND A COLD POP OR FOUR. IN TOTAL I DID PRETTY GOOD ON THESE DAYS, BECAUSE WITH WHAT DOUG GAVE US OVER THE DAY FOR SHOVELLING, AND THE MONEY I FOUND ON THE CONCRETE FLOOR BENEATH THE SEATS IN THE ARENA, I'D PROBABLY BLOW ABOUT FIVE BUCKS ON PERSONAL TREATS. AS WELL, I'D COME HOME WITH AN ARMFUL OF BROKEN STICKS, PUCKS, TOQUES AND MITTS I FOUND, AND A LOT OF OTHER SALVAGE LEFT OVER AFTER HOCKEY GAMES.
I think there was more fun attached to being a rink rat, than a hockey player back then. I was always a reluctant goalie. I loved street hockey, and playing net was fun. In a real game, where my teammates called me "sieve" after every goal, there wasn't a lot of enjoyment being wet, cold, and usually on the losing team. This did improve a tad over the years, and I actually got to be pretty good at guarding the net. I was even selected to attend the Red Wing Hockey School, operated by NHL'ers Ron Ingram and hometown boy, Roger Crozier, by the mid 1960's, already an all-star goaltender in that golden six team league. Roger told me, shortly before he died (I worked for his youth charity, the Crozier Foundation), that coaches at that time, figured I was on the way to being the next NHL prospect. When he told me, I inhaled part of a bun, and nearly choked to death. I couldn't believe that I would have ever been considered worthy of this extra attention, because of my good play. I was always led to believe, it was an act of charity, for us poor kids that particular summer. And by all accounts we were poor. At least that's what the other Bracebridge players at the camp told me, and the other poor blokes that had also been invited….."Yea Currie, they wanted to help some poor kids out…..and here you are." Hey, I was good with that, because I never once, faced even a smidgeon of denial that my family didn't have the proverbial "pot" to pee in. I was just glad to get out of the heat and enjoy the summer ice. I had to re-write my biography when I found out that Roger actually thought I had some talent.
Point is, the arena was my second home. My home away from home. At Christmas, it was a place to celebrate and "fascinate", and I'll tell you how, in future blogs.
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