The Burlington I Remember, The Family I Had

LITTLE STOPS ALONG THE WAY - THE BURLINGTON I REMEMBER

EVEN AS A KID, I ENJOYED SIMPLE PLEASURES - AND SPECIAL PLACES

     I THINK THAT MY YEARNING FOR THE PAST, HAS AS ITS HINGE, MY CONTEMPORARY, "WHIRLING DERVISH" INTEREST, TO KEEP HISTORY RELEVANT. I AM CONSTANTLY DRAWING ON THE PAST, TO FIND SOLUTIONS FOR PROBLEMS, I FIND MYSELF FACING TODAY. A LOT OF PEOPLE, I THINK, FEEL THAT EVERYTHING IN THE PAST, HAS BEEN IMPROVED-UPON EVER SINCE……SO OUTSIDE OF HIGHLIGHTING THE BIG INNOVATIONS, DISCOVERIES AND VICTORIES, IT SHOULD BE LEFT TO FILL THE SPACE BETWEEN THE COVERS OF HISTORY BOOKS. AND THEY LOOK VERY HANDSOME ON LIBRARY SHELVES. I VERY MUCH DISAGREE, AND ALTHOUGH I'M NOT A WIDELY READ HISTORIAN, AND I HAVE MOSTLY BEEN PUBLISHED IN THE REGIONAL PRESS, FOR THE PAST 35 YEARS, I HAVE STILL MADE IT A PASSIONATE MISSION, WHATEVER MY READERSHIP, TO PITCH HISTORY AS A DYNAMIC, ALWAYS AT YOUR BECK AND CALL, LIFE AND TIMES RESOURCE.

      YOU SEE, I WANT MY BURLINGTON YEARS TO BE RELEVANT. I WANT MY PARENTS' LIVES TO HAVE MEANT SOMETHING MORE THAN THE STATISTICS THAT THEY WERE BORN, GOT MARRIED, HAD A CHILD, VOTED, PAID TAXES, WORKED, AND THEN DIED. WHEN I HAVE SUGGESTED YOU THINK ABOUT YOUR OWN BIOGRAPHY, AS YOU'RE READING ABOUT MY EARLY YEARS IN BURLINGTON, IT'S BECAUSE PERSONAL VALIDATION IS ALWAYS IMPORTANT, BUT MOST OFTEN UNDER-RATED BY THE INDIVIDUAL..…..BECAUSE WE MISTAKENLY THINK IT'S NOT IMPORTANT TO ANYONE ELSE. HOW WRONG YOU ARE. AS A REGIONAL HISTORIAN, I WILL ALWAYS TAKE A FIRST PERSON ACCOUNT OF  A TIME AND EVENT, OVER SOMEONE ELSE'S RESEARCHED, DISTANT OVERVIEW. I CAN'T TELL YOU JUST HOW IMPORTANT IT IS, WHEN I HAVE ACCESS TO A HAND WRITTEN FARM JOURNAL, FROM THE PIONEER PERIOD, OR FROM THE YEARS OF THE GREAT DEPRESSION. TO SEE THROUGH THE WRITER'S EYES IS SOMETHING SPECTACULAR. I HAVE ENJOYED MANY OF THESE JOURNALS IN THE PAST TWENTY YEARS, AND I'VE BECOME A BETTER, MORE THOROUGH HISTORIAN, BECAUSE OF THESE INSIGHTFUL PERSONAL ACCOUNTS. POSSIBLY THE PERSON WRITING IT AT THE TIME, MAY HAVE WONDERED WHAT PURPOSE IT WOULD SERVE, IN LATER YEARS, BUT THEN IT JUST SEEMED SATISFYING TO REPORT ON WHAT WAS HAPPENING AT THE FARM, IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD, AND OUT IN THE COMMUNITY. SOME PEOPLE I KNOW, WOULD LOOK AT SUCH A JOURNAL, AND PUT IT BACK ON THE SHELF WITHOUT READING A PAGE. IN THEIR MINDS, IF IT WAS ANY GOOD AS A BOOK, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY A KNOWN AUTHOR, AND TURNED INTO A WORK OF FICTION. POSSIBLY A TV MOVIE. I PITY THEM. THEY WOULD PITY ME FOR BEING OBSESSED BY THE GRAVE. THIS IS HOW THEY SEE HISTORY. A CEMETERY! BOOKS ON HISTORY, ARE JUST PORTABLE TOMBS, THAT SHOULDN'T BE OPENED. FROM THESE PERSONAL JOURNALS, OUR LINK IS FOUND, TO THOSE WHO HAVE BROKEN TRAIL FOR US, TO LIVE AS WE DO TODAY. WE SHOULD TAKE THEIR ADVICE AND OBSERVATIONS SERIOUSLY, BECAUSE AS THEY SAY, HISTORY REPEATS. FOR THIS REASON, I HAVE, FOR YEARS, DOCUMENTED AS MUCH AS I COULD REMEMBER, AND ESPECIALLY, RECOLLECTIONS OF INTERESTING PEOPLE I HAVE HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF KNOWING. FOR ME, JUST HAVING A FEW SHORT YEARS OF CLOSE FRIENDSHIP WITH THE NAGY FAMILY, HAS IMPRINTED ON A LIFETIME'S CREATIVE ENTERPRISE, AND I DON'T THINK THERE'S A TIME WHEN I SIT DOWN FOR A LONG WRITING CHALLENGE, THAT I DON'T HAVE THEIR GOODWILL, TUCKED CLOSE TO MY HEART FOR REFERENCE. WHEN I GET DISCOURAGED, AND FEEL DISENCHANTED ABOUT SOME PROJECT, AND ITS FAILINGS, IT PAYS FOR A WRITER TO HAVE THESE LITTLE POINTS OF LIGHT, TO CALL UPON, TO RELIEVE A FUNK. I NEVER REMEMBER A RAINY DAY WHILE I LIVED IN BURLINGTON. LET ME EXPLAIN.

     WHEN I THINK BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD, SPENT IN BURLINGTON, ONTARIO, I REALIZE HOW MANY INFLUENCES HAVE TRAVELLED WITH ME FOR HALF A CENTURY. NEAT MEMORIES OF FASCINATING PLACES, AND EXPERIENCES THAT WERE EXCEPTIONAL BECAUSE OF THE PEOPLE WHO WERE AT OUR SIDES…..FOLKS WHO PARTNERED THROUGH A LOT OF OCCURRENCES, AND CAME OUT SMILING AT THE END. DO YOU KNOW, I CAN NOT, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, REMEMBER A RAINY DAY. IF IT WASN'T A THUNDER STORM, I WOULD HAVE UNDOUBTEDLY BEEN OUT IN IT REGARDLESS OF GETTING A LITTLE SOGGY. IT WOULD HAVE MATCHED THE SOAKERS I GOT DOWN AT RAMBLE CREEK. I DON'T THINK WE COULD HAVE MADE IT THROUGH THOSE YEARS WITHOUT A LITTLE INCLEMENT WEATHER, JUST THAT I DON'T REMEMBER THEM. I REMEMBER INCIDENTS OF RAIN ONLY BECAUSE IT WOULD HAVE CANCELLED A TRACK AND FIELD DAY AT LAKESHORE PUBLIC SCHOOL. IT LIKELY HAPPENED ONLY ONCE, THAT ONE OF THESE EVENTS, ALSO CALLED A "FIELD DAY," WAS RAINED OUT. MY POINT IS, WHEN I THINK BACK TO BURLINGTON, IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY. OR MISTY. THEN SUNNY LATER IN THE DAY.

     I LOVED GOING SHOPPING ON BRANT STREET, AND AT A LITTLE PLAZA, FURTHER UP THE STREET. I THINK THERE WAS A WOOLWORTHS STORE, BUT IT MAY NOT HAVE BEEN. WE STILL HAVE A NATIVITY SCENE, WE BOUGHT ONE CHRISTMAS, FROM THAT STORE. IT WAS IN A PLAZA WHERE MY DENTIST, DR. FITZGERALD HAD HIS OFFICE. I DIDN'T LIKE GOING THERE, BUT IF I WAS FORCED INTO THE CHAIR (WHICH IS USUALLY WHAT IT TOOK), I WOULD DEFINITELY HAVE MADE IT A CONDITION, OF PAIN, THAT I GET A TREAT FROM THIS SMALL DEPARTMENT STORE, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE PROCEDURE. IT WAS AFTER THE BRANT STREET INTERSECTION WITH NEW STREET (OR CAROLINE)….., HEADING UP TOWARD MOUNTAIN GARDENS.  I REMEMBER AT ONE OF THE MAJOR INTERSECTIONS, THERE WAS A NEWER CONVENIENCE STORE, THAT WAS QUITE LARGE FOR THE TIME PERIOD, WHERE RAY GREEN AND I STARTED GETTING OUR CENT CANDY AND TRADING CARDS. I'M NOT SURE IF WALMSLEYS CLOSED WHEN THIS ONE OPENED OR NOT. AND RAMBLE CREEK AMBLED ALONG THE BACKS OF THE BRANT STREET STORES; I KNOW THAT FOR SURE. I ALSO RECOLLECT GOING WITH MY FATHER TO A BARBER SHOP, THAT I THINK WAS SITUATED IN THE BURLINGTON BUS STATION, JUST OFF LAKESHORE, NEAR BRANT, WHERE I REMEMBER THERE WAS A SHOE-SHINE CHAP WHO WOULD LOOK AFTER ED'S SHINED LEATHER. I HAD RUNNING SHOES. PF FLYERS AS I REMEMBER, WITH THE SIDES TORN OUT. THERE WAS ALSO A SHOP BETWEEN THE BRANT STREET INTERSECTION WITH THE LAKESHORE, AND TORRANCE, WHERE MY FATHER AND I WOULD SHOP FOR A MOTHER'S DAY GIFT, OR CHRISTMAS PRESENT, THAT SOLD CHINA CUPS AND SAUCERS. I REMEMBER GOING INTO THE SHOP, AND BEING BLOWN AWAY BY THE HUGE INVENTORY OF CHINA, TEA POTS, PITCHERS, PLATTERS, PLATES AND BOWLS, SUCH THAT A CLUMSY KID LIKE ME (A TRUE BULL IN A CHINA SHOP) SHOULD BE PROPERLY TETHERED OUTSIDE INSTEAD. WHEN SUZANNE AND I WERE CLEANING OUT MY PARENTS APARTMENT, AFTER ED PASSED AWAY (MERLE DIED A YEAR AND A HALF EARLIER), I'M PRETTY SURE THERE WERE CUPS AND SAUCERS, WE HAD PURCHASED, OVER QUITE A FEW SPECIAL OCCASIONS, FROM THAT SAME SHOP. MERLE LOVED HER TEA TIME, TWICE A DAY, THAT SHE HAD KNOWN GROWING UP HERSELF. OF COURSE MERLE ALSO WAS SCARED OF USING THEM, SAVING THEM INSTEAD FOR SOME IMPORTANT OCCASION, OR FOR A FUTURE DAUGHTER IN LAW. THE QUEEN NEVER ARRIVED FOR TEA. AND SHE NEVER GAVE SUZANNE THE CUPS AND SAUCERS, AND A LOT OF OTHER LITTLE CHINA ODDS AND SODS, THAT SHE HAD TOLD ME, FROM PUBLIC SCHOOL ON……"ONE DAY TEDDY, THESE ARE GOING TO BE GIVEN TO MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, SO I HAVE TO KEEP THEM NICE." SHE KEPT THEM NICE, BECAUSE MOST OF THEM NEVER HELD A DROP OF TEA. IT'S NOT THAT SHE DIDN'T LIKE SUZANNE, JUST THAT SHE HADN'T GIVEN UP ON THE QUEEN.

     I enjoyed the times Ed would take us to Dairy Queen, on the Lakeshore, for after-dinner soft ice cream cones with the chocolate dip. Kicking around the shoreline, while Ed and Merle got the ice create treats, I found huge gold fish in a small cove, of the lake, situated behind the restaurant. Every time I tried to show Merle and Ed the fish, they'd disappear. If I went down to the shore alone, they'd be there. Smiling at me. If I yelled for my parents to come and see the gold fish, they'd be gone in a flash. It went on for years. Other people had seen them, including Ray Green, but never his parents. I guess they were only visible to kids. I remember the Brant Inn, and Ed used to point out where the old Cannery was located, and a hotel / motel also situated between Brant Street and Torrance, on Lakeshore, that was quite elegant, and may have had live music. I'm reasonably sure Merle and Ed used to go there from time to time, on special occasions…….when I was somewhere else. It was called the "Estamine," or "Estaminet," something like this. Please correct me if you remember the proper name it went by, back then. I know it was situated on the lake side of the Lakeshore Road.

     Ed and Merle used to like Sunday drives, when we lived at Harris Crescent, so I became a regular at the Riverdale Zoo, Niagara Falls, Chippewa, Fort Erie, Buffalo, St. Catharines, and parks like Crystal Beach, Kelso Park (I believe, named after politician, Kelso Roberts), and historic sites like Fort Henry, Fort York, and the Queenston Heights battlefield. Ed used to take me on Friday nights to Flamboro Speedway or another race track in Hamilton, but I forget the name. All I know, is that there was a driver named Jack McCreedy, who used to drive what looked like a dune buggy with wings, and he became my favorite driver. I loved these events, and I never once came home, without wood splinters in my behind from the bleachers, and a burned tongue from the hot chocolate. I don't know why Ed started taking me to road racing events, but obviously it was a good father-son activity, because I still remember it, and the bloody cold nights we sat on those unforgiving wood bleachers. Merle wouldn't have anything to do with noisy cars, that might crash into the stands. She didn't like Ed taking me to these events, but she made a deal that he wouldn't sit on a corner bleacher, just in case. She figured that corners were the most likely accident locations, when in fact, the opposite often holds true.

    Many years later, our family used to go to Daytona Beach, Florida for winter vacations, (they would take me out of school), always at the time of the Daytona 500 Road Race, which involved a full week of events. Ed really wanted to go, but refused to pay the asking price for tickets, complaining they were way too expensive for just an afternoon of racing. Now the irony here, is that during this period in February each year, the influx of race-fans, always put a strain on accommodations, and presumably made everything just a tad more expensive. I think he liked the excitement of the race week, even though he wouldn't pay to see even one of the shorter races leading up to the Sunday finale, with drivers like Richard Petty, and Cale Yarborough.  What was kind of insulting was that he bought us Daytona 500 windbreakers, (when they were discounted after the race) but wouldn't cough up the ticket price for him and I to actually attend the NASCAR event. Merle would never have gone to the track. I think he may have even told people back home, that he had gone to the race…..justifying the jacket. I thought it was a little whacky. Obviously the Flamboro prices were a lot cheaper. It's funny, because I don't remember my father has being cheap, except when I think back about certain situations, and habits he had, especially when traveling. Like the steak house in St. Catharines. He wouldn't go anywhere else for a steak dinner, except the small restaurant in St. Catharines that "served the best damn steak in the world." I don't know if it was good or not, because I got a hamburger whether I wanted one or not.

     We had our first trip to Florida, while living at the Nagy Apartments. I don't know what kind of car we had for the trip, possibly an Austin, but it broke down twenty times or more, and sucked up most of the money we had taken for the two weeks' winter holiday. Ed bought some Chinese Food from a Burlington restaurant, for dinner the night before we left. I had shrimp for the first time in my life. My stomach didn't like it. I was sick every fifteen miles. It wasn't until we reached Georgia that I finally stopped yaking. Ed was a monster when it came to driving distances, and his outright refusal to stop for bathroom breaks, often had Merle and I gouging the upholstery. Until of course I started crying, and Merle screaming, "Teddy is going to pee in the car……you've got to stop. Now!" "There's a service station just down the road a bit. Tell him to wait just another few minutes," Ed would advise my mother, and even though I had heard what he said, very clearly, Merle repeated it to me. This would have been okay, if Ed hadn't been such a jerk, and whistled past that restaurant, simply because, "I didn't like the look of that one. There's another one coming up."

    Short trips were fine with Ed. Just nothing over two hours. He would be enveloped by this sense of mission, to get to our destination ahead of schedule. You'd have thought there was some benefit to this, or a prize, and at the very least a discount in our accommodations. All we managed to do was shave off a half day on the road, but the abuse of the long, long car ride, wasn't worth the time we saved. It took me thirty years to warm back up to battered shrimp, after this trip. I remember on the trip back home, that we ran so close with money, we only had enough small change for two roast beef sandwiches, from a gas station on the highway, with half a day left to travel. Ed saw this as magnificent efficiency, and a clear demonstration of holiday budgeting to the final nickel of fuel. He was an early model of the later Clark Griswald, from the movie, "Vacation" with Chevy Chase. The Gemini astronauts popped out of the space capsule, bobbing on the ocean, with more life than we had, tumbling out of our small car jammed with cheesy souvenirs and coconuts, none of us even liked. I loved my parents for their thoughtfulness overall, but honestly, I hated getting in that car, when my father had that long distance look in his eyes.

     Christmases were always enjoyable at the Nagy apartments, except for the fact, we never had one without the customary domestic situation. One year, Merle decided that we should have all new glass ornaments. She purchased about three dozen beautiful bulbs from Eatons, in Hamilton, as I recall, and all of a sudden, it became real important to get the right tree. We went to one of those lots, lit by strings of overhead bulbs, that with the prevailing snow, and poor illumination, meant by misadventure, we always bought the worse possible evergreen. It looked good on the lot, but crappy when we got it home. A third of the needles, no kidding, were gone before we got the tree to our apartment. My father was not particularly handy, and getting the stand on the tree always involved a rigorous amount of huffing and puffing, and many cigarettes. Possibly several bottles of beer, to chill the frustration. The darn thing never stood straight, during any Christmas, when I was growing up. Ed would finally decided it was "straight-enough," that he could begin stringing-on the lights. Which by the way never lit-up without thirty or forty bulbs having to be replaced. Talk about Christmas celebrations. There was more cussing around the ceremonial tree, than at a logging camp. Once the lights were finally on, (one bad bulb killed the whole string), Merle then took over, and began placing the new glass globes. The only job I had, was to hold the tinsel, in my hands, so that she could pick strands to drape on the branches, after the decorations were properly in place. She would only do one at a time. They all had to be hanging down properly. No angled icicles would do! Now imagine the kid…..you think I was, standing for an hour, with a handful of these foil icicles; Merle accusing me of tangling them, when I occasionally stretched my fingers, out of their claw-position. When she was finally satisfied the tree was perfect, and it was a fitting tribute to our family tradition, we'd sit down with a glass of eggnog, and extend a toast to St. Nick. Just as Ed's eyes were closing, thanks to the rum in the nog, the tree would lurch, stumble like a drunken soldier, (as a sailor, he hated to be called a drunken one) and come crashing down at his feet. Glass flying everywhere. Even if Ed had tied that tree-top to a nail in the wall, the tradition dictated,"The Currie tree must fall, at least three times, before Christmas Eve." I remember Merle crying about those shattered ornaments, that she would also have to tweezer out of my dad's toes, before all was said and done. It only took three years, for all our glass globes, for the celebratory Christmas tree, to be broken. Even when Ed finally opted to get an artificial tree, many years and ornaments later, the darn thing would fall, as if it was mandated by heaven or hell. Arguments. That was as much a part of Christmas as the candy canes and ginger bread. "Who are you calling stupid," Ed would retort, after my mother, in a clumsy and round-about way, of accusing him of incompetence, would say in a soft voice, "Maybe I should ask if Alec (Nagy) would come and fix the tree." That would always generate some restorative activity, Ed trying to prove to my Mother, he was just as handy as the landlord. Well, of course, he wasn't, and in fact, it would have saved a lot of agony, back then, if Alec had been summonsed, much earlier, to help the Currie family save Christmas……and each other's feeling, that always got knocked about this time of the rolling year.

     My first meeting of Santa, outside of a department store, was when the bearded chap came to our door, with a brand new hockey stick. I remember answering the door, and nearly fainting. I didn't even know Santa played hockey. So I stood there, speechless, with Santa hunched over with the stick, like he was preparing to take a face-off. Ed finally had to say, "Teddy, for God's sake, say hello to Santa. He's brought you a present." I hadn't thought of that. It looked as if he wanted me to drop the puck. I don't think, that any time, during our five minute meeting, in the doorway, that I said one word. I just stared at him, trying to debunk the story, in my own way, that Santa could have forgotten my stick when he came to our apartment earlier that Christmas morning. How do you forget a hockey stick? Something wasn't right about this guy, and he was wearing running shoes. Santa doesn't wear sports attire on his deliveries. My mother always accused me of ruining events like this, by over analyzing things….like me pointing out, in a whisper, that Santa smelled like the liquor Ed puts in his shot glasses. "That's just the smell of egg nog, Teddy, geez," she cautioned me, not wanting to offend, whoever was playing apartment-Santa that year.

     These were memorable family times because they were kind of off-kilter, a little left of centre, maybe even a touch crazy…..eccentric, that today, in retrospect, make them more endearing. If everything had been normal and calm through those years……the memories wouldn't keep jumping for attention today. We Curries had a way of raising excitement from even the calmest situations. Like the time Merle opened the back door of the apartment, and yelled at me, wading in my blow-up swimming pool, whether or not the little garter snake was gone from the backdoor. I think there were a few steps down to the door, and a covered concrete entrance, possibly with a drain. Once in awhile, a couple of backyard snakes would slither down there, possibly to feed on bugs, that had fallen after bumping the overhead light, the night before. I looked down the steps, and honest to God, I could not see them, coiled in the corner, apparently having a well-deserved nap. Even though she could see out, she missed them as well. She had a tray of drinks in her hand. So when Merle came out of that backdoor, two small snakes were waiting for her. Well let's just say the she shrieked with a hop, and so went the tray of drinks, and those poor little snakes shot out of that alcove like their tails were on fire. She wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the day. Hey, there were no injuries at least. Even the snakes were spared. Merle had a life-long phobia of snakes, and the ravine was full of them, so she simply stopped coming out the backdoor from that point.

     Long before there was a link made between sun exposure and skin cancer, Merle was hugely proactive about me in the sun. She insisted I wear a hat, even when I was in my pool. My blow-up pool had to be under the cherry tree, without even a trace of sun hitting the spot it was finally positioned. Now when the pool was full of water, from Nagy's hose, it had to be positioned in the sun, to warm it up adequately, before I could even stick my toe in……and then only when it had been pulled into the shade. It's no wonder I went through a lot of pools. It wasn't the easiest thing to do…..pulling a plastic pool with forty gallons of water sloshing about. What made me crazy about this, and stuck with me forever, was the smell of rotting cherries. As Ann knew the cherries had worms, which always freaked me out a little, most of the fruit just ripened, and then hit the ground when it was ready to seed. I absolutely detested, having my pool in a vicinity where I'd be stepping on rotting cherries, if I got out to get something. The cherries inevitably, wound up in the water, and I'd start gagging. I came to hate the smell of these rotting cherries. Before I'd agree to have the pool under the beautiful cherry tree, I had to clean up every last cherry on the ground, before I could even think about entering the recreation zone of that inflatable contraption. Folks, there's is nothing so horrible as rotting cherries between your toes…..and then have a cherry pie for dinner. (Store bought. Merle and Ed loved cherry pie for Sunday dinners.) I went for decades without touching anything cherry including gum. All I could think about was those awfully smelly things landing in my pool. And yes, because the birds loved that tree, and the cherries, I got some of their stuff in my water as well. Merle used to try and scoop it out, and convince me everything was hunky dory, but I didn't buy it.

     You know, none of this mattered, because it was all part of the life-experience, and was never about the parts, but very much the whole…..and that has been a lifetime of so many cheerful memories…..of days that never seemed to rain, and were always sunny and full of expectation and fulfillment. I drank it all in, and in my own way, celebrated everything opportunity afforded me…..they young voyeur. But I knew there would be a day, when all I would have, were these memories of Merle and Ed, Alec and Ann Nagy, Ray and Holly Green, and all my other cronies, I loved dearly as partners in that great little neighborhood, of Harris Crescent. I have haunted 2138 Harris Crescent ever since. The ghost of my childhood isn't anything to fear or loathe. It is the passion of a wee lad's spirit, to remain, in the place he once travelled, and got up to mischief, lived and loved, and found a safe haven in which to dwell. This trace spirit still wanders the halls, sits patiently in Ann Nagy's kitchen (watching as she prepares a meal), and then (if she still has it), plays with the floor pedals of the upright piano in the livingroom, where I used to hide when I had been naughty. In spirit I might wander the apartment lawns, waiting for Mr. Nagy to fire up the mower, or Ann to muck about in her gardens, that always looked so beautiful. And if you heard a tiny patter of running shoes on the stairs, but couldn't see anyone there, don't worry, it's just me retracing the million steps I took as a child, in one of the nicest, friendliest places anywhere on earth.

     Thank you for joining today's biographical journey, back to Burlington, Ontario. Tomorrow I will present my own final chapter, of this seven part series, so please join me once again. I want to thank Tracy McKelvey, once again, for reminding me of my own unfinished story, I had always intended to record, for posterity, about the wonderful years I lived at the Nagy Apartments, from the late 1950's to about 1964. Tracy has kindly provided me with the photographs that have companioned this brief biography. She helped link me back to my past, and of this I am eternally grateful. I'm told Ann Nagy just had a birthday. I wish I'd been there for the party. She might have said something like this…."Teddy Currie. What have I told you about touching those knives. Haven't you cut yourself enough already?" She used to like asking me about the big scar on my thumb, that I got during my first attempt at making my own roast beef sandwich, and cutting toward my hand, instead of the opposite. I'm much better now. Our trips to the hospital now are for strains and broken stuff.

      See you soon. Chapter seven tomorrow night.