When I was a little boy growing up in Burnaby in the 60s, I was almost never allowed out after dark. There were a few exceptions. In the winter when it got dark after 5, I recall being allowed out to go to Cubs and Scouts, and I was always allowed to walk my dog, Prince. But on the whole, I was only allowed out in controlled situations.
So every halloween it was a treat when I was actually allowed to go out trick-or-treating with my friends. I can't recall when I first started being allowed to do this, but I suspect I was about 9 or 10. We'd put our costumes on, and go around the neighborhood, knocking on doors.
There were two things that we commonly said when the door was opened. Or at least there were two that we were "supposed" to say. We were supposed to say "Trick or Treat" or "Halloween Handouts". I'm not sure where that last one came from but I remember us shouting it. Being boys, we got a bit carried away with this, and somewhere we had a version of "trick or treat" that was a full blown rhyme. It went like this:
"Trick or Treat,
Smelly Feet,
Give us something good to eat!"
It had a melody, too, a common one we used for a lot of rhymes, but I don't know its name.
And "Halloween handouts" became "Halloweenian handouts".
These modified versions I seem to recall we saved for houses where we knew who it was, or sang it giggling and laughing as we walked down the street to the next house.
I do recall one house where an older man insisted that we give him a trick or a riddle before he'd give us a treat, and I vaguely recall giving him a knock-knock joke.
The other thing I recall was fireworks. We never had money for fireworks, but I usually had friends who did. I recall one Halloween, when I was 11, we had someone's jack-o-lantern, and we decided to see if filling it full of firecrackers and setting them off would explode the pumpkin.
Well, myth-busted! I was dissappointed in the lack of explosion, but there were very small bits of pumpkin flying everywhere, and a pretty strong burnt pumpkin smell in the air, and it made a lot of noise as it went off, but no explosion.
I'm sure some of the bigger fireworks would have done the trick, but being 11, we weren't allowed access to these without our parents around.
The candy we got was great. There were no mini candy bars like today. Lots of little candies, but when you got a chocolate bar, it was full sized. One of my favourite candies was the ones called rockets (they were called smarties in the US.) I still like them, because they have a strong tangy flavour.
My parents always went through my bag to make sure that everything was in order and looked OK. I don't know how real it was, but there were always stories of apples with razors in them, and other nasty surprises.
We never had a lot of money for costumes, but we always took the time to put something together that would clearly demonstrate that we had some imagination and put some effort into it.
Then, when that one special night was over, it was back to early bed times, and no roaming at night.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Music and Memories
Isn't it interesting how a song can pull back memories? I find this is especially true of those songs that I really enjoyed, and listened to while doing something fun, and then they dropped from the top 40, so you don't hear them often. Then one day, you hear one of them, and wham! The memories come back! Smells, feelings, emotions, sensations that you had forgotten: They all come flooding back!
Here are some of the songs that do it for me:
Beatles - Almost anything early:
One of the first days at school in grade one, I went home with a new friend, Steve, and he put on some Beatles records and started playing them. Once I got over the fact that his parents let him even touch the cabinet stereo, I found that I really liked those Beatles songs. Eleanor Rigby, Taxman, and so many others. Whenever I hear the old Beatles songs, they bring me back to Steve and I enjoying the Beatles.
Monkeys - Last Train to Clarksville:
I was a 7-year-old boy when the monkeys came out on TV, and I loved them! The first episode that I watched, they played this song. I had never seen anything like a music video, so to see them playing their instruments, and hearing those electric guitar sounds, I fell in love with them. It didn't hurt that they had great humour targeted to pre-teens like me. Hearing this song always reminds me why I loved electric guitars so much!
Beatles - Hey Jude:
At about 9 or 10 years old, my best friend Steve and I formed a "rock band". I had my mother's $10.50 American General Supply guitar (like a dollar store special), and Steve had a guitar that he played "lead" on. I made maracas out of two meat pie tins, pidgeon feed and staples for Steve's little brother, and one of our friends had a drum set. At one point I seem to recall having about 8 or 9 of us singing together. One of the songs we did that we thought we were pretty good at, was Hey Jude. Hearing this song reminds me of how much fun it was to play music with friends who love music! Actually, there is a version done by a group from Europe called "Kids will Rock You" that really clicked (because of the kids voices - it somehow really brought it back to me!)
Neil Diamond - Shilo:
I think I primarily liked this song because of the first line, "Young child with dreams..." It seemed like the singer was missing being a child (and I was, for the most part enjoying it so much) that I felt sorry for him. It didn't hurt that he had a great voice and could project emotion with it. I loved this song. When I hear it, I can remember exactly that wistful feeling that it brought when I was little.
Joni Mitchel - Both Sides Now:
This one was in the same category as Shilo. It really works for me, and when occasionally I hear it, it takes me back to being little.
Badfinger- No Matter What:
A couple of years ago, I think it was Jack FM that played this song. I'd almost forgotten it. When I was little growing up, I often didn't pay attention to who the artists were, I just loved the songs. This was one of those bands that snuck past my radar, but I knew all their songs and loved them. The moment I heard it, WHAM! I was an 11 year old in swim shorts, at Lobbly Park, playing in the wading pool with some friends, trying to avoid the scary teenagers, but enjoying their transister radios pumping out Badfinger!
Jefferson Starship - Miracles:
I really loved this song when I was a teenager in Mission, BC. One night I was camping with two Mission Scouts at Weatherhead creek in Davis Lake Provincial Park behind Mission, and we had a little transister radio. We were lying in our sleeping bags on ground sheets with just fly sheets over us. There was a light rain coming down, and the creek about 50 feet below us rushing loudly along. We were chatting and listening to the local rock station and they played this song. Now, on the odd occasion that I hear this, I'll recall the smell of mosquito repellant, sweat and wood smoke. I recall the feel of the damp mountain breeze blowing over my face. The sounds of the mountain and the creek, and the feel of freedom that hiking and camping whereever I chose brought me.
The Tokens - The Lion Sleeps Tonight:
This is another case where I had to look up who wrote the song. My best memory that this song brings back is a Mission Scouts Family Camp that was held at Golden Ears Park Campsite. We were at the campfire with all my friends, Chris & Joan, Gordon and so many others. We decided to try to sing this song with all the after time. I was playing my guitar with it while we got all kinds of aftertime going. We had a good group who could sing and it just came together really well. I think we sang it for about 10 minutes! That was one of my favourite campfires! This version of the song takes me back there every time!
Don McLean - Amercan Pie:
This song was one of our favourites for campfire. We did the shortened for-radio version of the lyrics. It was my friend Gordon's favourite song. When I hear this song, it brings back memories of many campfires, including the one mentioned above. I like Madonna's version, too, but somehow Don McLeans' original feels like the best, to me!
McCartney & Wings - Venus and Mars:
Actually, just about every song on the album with this name has the same effect on me. My sister bought me this album for Christmas when I was 16. In addition to really liking several of the songs, including the title song, I loved the zany lyrics. Magneto and Titanium Man worked for me, as did Spirits of Ancient Egypt. And several of the songs had that driving rock and roll sound, and great guitar parts that just worked for me!
Al Stewart - Year of the Cat:
This song reminds me of my time going to BCIT in Burnaby. I was living with my brother and going through some interesting self-discovery (not exactly thrilled with all I was discovering at that point). But there were also lots of good things happening in my life, and this song seems to just bring back those good things, and leave the bad ones in the dust. That works for me.
So that's my list of top songs for bringing back memories. I probably like other songs more, but these have a nostalgic aspect to them that is pleasant to experience. They seem to be best enjoyed from time-to-time. If you hear them too frequently they stop bring back the memories and become too current. I like to trigger those memories, so I'll just keep them in the back cupboard, and bring them out from time to time, so they keep their edge!
Here are some of the songs that do it for me:
Beatles - Almost anything early:
One of the first days at school in grade one, I went home with a new friend, Steve, and he put on some Beatles records and started playing them. Once I got over the fact that his parents let him even touch the cabinet stereo, I found that I really liked those Beatles songs. Eleanor Rigby, Taxman, and so many others. Whenever I hear the old Beatles songs, they bring me back to Steve and I enjoying the Beatles.
Monkeys - Last Train to Clarksville:
I was a 7-year-old boy when the monkeys came out on TV, and I loved them! The first episode that I watched, they played this song. I had never seen anything like a music video, so to see them playing their instruments, and hearing those electric guitar sounds, I fell in love with them. It didn't hurt that they had great humour targeted to pre-teens like me. Hearing this song always reminds me why I loved electric guitars so much!
Beatles - Hey Jude:
At about 9 or 10 years old, my best friend Steve and I formed a "rock band". I had my mother's $10.50 American General Supply guitar (like a dollar store special), and Steve had a guitar that he played "lead" on. I made maracas out of two meat pie tins, pidgeon feed and staples for Steve's little brother, and one of our friends had a drum set. At one point I seem to recall having about 8 or 9 of us singing together. One of the songs we did that we thought we were pretty good at, was Hey Jude. Hearing this song reminds me of how much fun it was to play music with friends who love music! Actually, there is a version done by a group from Europe called "Kids will Rock You" that really clicked (because of the kids voices - it somehow really brought it back to me!)
Neil Diamond - Shilo:
I think I primarily liked this song because of the first line, "Young child with dreams..." It seemed like the singer was missing being a child (and I was, for the most part enjoying it so much) that I felt sorry for him. It didn't hurt that he had a great voice and could project emotion with it. I loved this song. When I hear it, I can remember exactly that wistful feeling that it brought when I was little.
Joni Mitchel - Both Sides Now:
This one was in the same category as Shilo. It really works for me, and when occasionally I hear it, it takes me back to being little.
Badfinger- No Matter What:
A couple of years ago, I think it was Jack FM that played this song. I'd almost forgotten it. When I was little growing up, I often didn't pay attention to who the artists were, I just loved the songs. This was one of those bands that snuck past my radar, but I knew all their songs and loved them. The moment I heard it, WHAM! I was an 11 year old in swim shorts, at Lobbly Park, playing in the wading pool with some friends, trying to avoid the scary teenagers, but enjoying their transister radios pumping out Badfinger!
Jefferson Starship - Miracles:
I really loved this song when I was a teenager in Mission, BC. One night I was camping with two Mission Scouts at Weatherhead creek in Davis Lake Provincial Park behind Mission, and we had a little transister radio. We were lying in our sleeping bags on ground sheets with just fly sheets over us. There was a light rain coming down, and the creek about 50 feet below us rushing loudly along. We were chatting and listening to the local rock station and they played this song. Now, on the odd occasion that I hear this, I'll recall the smell of mosquito repellant, sweat and wood smoke. I recall the feel of the damp mountain breeze blowing over my face. The sounds of the mountain and the creek, and the feel of freedom that hiking and camping whereever I chose brought me.
The Tokens - The Lion Sleeps Tonight:
This is another case where I had to look up who wrote the song. My best memory that this song brings back is a Mission Scouts Family Camp that was held at Golden Ears Park Campsite. We were at the campfire with all my friends, Chris & Joan, Gordon and so many others. We decided to try to sing this song with all the after time. I was playing my guitar with it while we got all kinds of aftertime going. We had a good group who could sing and it just came together really well. I think we sang it for about 10 minutes! That was one of my favourite campfires! This version of the song takes me back there every time!
Don McLean - Amercan Pie:
This song was one of our favourites for campfire. We did the shortened for-radio version of the lyrics. It was my friend Gordon's favourite song. When I hear this song, it brings back memories of many campfires, including the one mentioned above. I like Madonna's version, too, but somehow Don McLeans' original feels like the best, to me!
McCartney & Wings - Venus and Mars:
Actually, just about every song on the album with this name has the same effect on me. My sister bought me this album for Christmas when I was 16. In addition to really liking several of the songs, including the title song, I loved the zany lyrics. Magneto and Titanium Man worked for me, as did Spirits of Ancient Egypt. And several of the songs had that driving rock and roll sound, and great guitar parts that just worked for me!
Al Stewart - Year of the Cat:
This song reminds me of my time going to BCIT in Burnaby. I was living with my brother and going through some interesting self-discovery (not exactly thrilled with all I was discovering at that point). But there were also lots of good things happening in my life, and this song seems to just bring back those good things, and leave the bad ones in the dust. That works for me.
So that's my list of top songs for bringing back memories. I probably like other songs more, but these have a nostalgic aspect to them that is pleasant to experience. They seem to be best enjoyed from time-to-time. If you hear them too frequently they stop bring back the memories and become too current. I like to trigger those memories, so I'll just keep them in the back cupboard, and bring them out from time to time, so they keep their edge!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Crazy 14 Year Old Does Marathon Bike Ride
When I was 12 years old, my family moved from Burnaby (a suburb adjacent to Vancouver) to Mission, BC, which is way up the Fraser valley from Vancouver (about an hour drive away.)
I had to leave all my friends behind and because it was long distance, I couldn't even phone them. I did write a couple of letters, but it just wasn't the same.
After two years in Mission, I remember one day when I was 14, deciding that I would ride my bike to Burnaby and visit my best friend Steve Jensen.
It wasn't a snap decision, actually. Mission is built on the side of the valley. I lived on Cedar Valley Street, and it was quite a hill. Ride anywhere in Mission on a bike and you either walked the bike or got strong legs.
I had strong legs and knew it. So I figured I was up to the ride.
Now, at 14, I was still a bit hesitant about this, but after some agonizing, I finally made up my mind one day that I would do this. I made the decision about 9:30 and headed off down the road. Fortunately, I bumped into my sister with her boyfriend and they asked what I was up to, and I told them. This turned out to be a good thing later on.
So off I went. I probably should have left earlier. I mentioned above that Mission was an hour drive from Vancouver. Well that's by car, on the Lougheed highway. I was on a old, girl's CCM bike that I inherited from my sisters. It was old when they got it, but being an old CCM it was nearly indestructable.
So I rode through Ruskin, Maple Ridge, Coquitlam, past the old Essendale, through Port Coquitlam, New Westminster, then up the hill to Rumble and along Rumble to Royal Oak. My friend's house was up there.
I had a few misgivings. I was getting tired as I passed Fraser Mills in Coquitlam, and I knew I still had a ways to go. Also, it was feeling really industrial, and I was getting tired of all the trucks wizzing past, and the wind from them messing with my riding. But I had a quality that stands me in good stead when dealing with difficult software issues. Once I get an idea in my head, I'm nearly impossible to stop! I hate quitting!
The last part was the hill from the river in New Westminster up to Rumble street. That nearly finished me off. I was not one to get off the bike and walk it, but I nearly succumbed on that hill.
When I got to Steve's place I was REALLY LUCKY that he was there. Being 14, and it being long distance, and not being able to get permission beforehand (I kind of knew I wouldn't get it), I didn't have a chance to phone first and clear it with Steve, but there he was!
So, with rubbery legs, I walked up to his front door and rang the doorbell. Actually, I had never been to that house. He had lived on Jubilee street when I last lived in Burnaby, but I had his new address, so I knew where to find him.
His mom and dad were really glad to see me (I think they always liked me - they were really, really sweet people), and his dad actually offered me a glass of wine, which I accepted.
I only spent about an hour, because I knew I had one terrific ride home. Having done the ride one way, I had a pretty good sense of what I was up against. So I told Steve a reluctant goodbye and headed on my way.
Well, the return ride started off nice. I got to go downhill to New Westminster. But once I got to Maple Ridge, things weren't so good. It was 7:00 and the sun was on it's way to the horizon. I hoped my sister would have told my parents where I was so they wouldn't worry too much (she had - phew!) I was still only in Maple Ridge with lots of hills to do, and I was spent!
I stopped at a service station and asked permission to leave my bike there for a few days, which they granted. Then I walked onto the highway and stuck my 14-year-old thumb out. Now, this was a lot less unusual back then. Plenty of kids would thumb a ride. Good kids like me less often, but I kind of needed to get home. I was pretty seriously worried about what my parents would do to me, and so with that nervous nawing in my middle, I stuck out my thumb and hoped for a good ride.
After a few minutes, this young guy with a pickup truck stopped and picked me up. As we drove I told him what I'd done. As soon as he heard about my bike, he turned around and went back for it. He drove me right to my house, which I'm sure was out of his way, and dropped me off with my bike.
I kind of neglected to tell them about the hitch-hiking, but my parents declared me grounded anyways (but they didn't really follow through with it - I wasn't usually one to misbehave).
And that's the story of my marathon bike ride from Mission to Burnaby and back, to see my best friend!
I had to leave all my friends behind and because it was long distance, I couldn't even phone them. I did write a couple of letters, but it just wasn't the same.
After two years in Mission, I remember one day when I was 14, deciding that I would ride my bike to Burnaby and visit my best friend Steve Jensen.
It wasn't a snap decision, actually. Mission is built on the side of the valley. I lived on Cedar Valley Street, and it was quite a hill. Ride anywhere in Mission on a bike and you either walked the bike or got strong legs.
I had strong legs and knew it. So I figured I was up to the ride.
Now, at 14, I was still a bit hesitant about this, but after some agonizing, I finally made up my mind one day that I would do this. I made the decision about 9:30 and headed off down the road. Fortunately, I bumped into my sister with her boyfriend and they asked what I was up to, and I told them. This turned out to be a good thing later on.
So off I went. I probably should have left earlier. I mentioned above that Mission was an hour drive from Vancouver. Well that's by car, on the Lougheed highway. I was on a old, girl's CCM bike that I inherited from my sisters. It was old when they got it, but being an old CCM it was nearly indestructable.
So I rode through Ruskin, Maple Ridge, Coquitlam, past the old Essendale, through Port Coquitlam, New Westminster, then up the hill to Rumble and along Rumble to Royal Oak. My friend's house was up there.
I had a few misgivings. I was getting tired as I passed Fraser Mills in Coquitlam, and I knew I still had a ways to go. Also, it was feeling really industrial, and I was getting tired of all the trucks wizzing past, and the wind from them messing with my riding. But I had a quality that stands me in good stead when dealing with difficult software issues. Once I get an idea in my head, I'm nearly impossible to stop! I hate quitting!
The last part was the hill from the river in New Westminster up to Rumble street. That nearly finished me off. I was not one to get off the bike and walk it, but I nearly succumbed on that hill.
When I got to Steve's place I was REALLY LUCKY that he was there. Being 14, and it being long distance, and not being able to get permission beforehand (I kind of knew I wouldn't get it), I didn't have a chance to phone first and clear it with Steve, but there he was!
So, with rubbery legs, I walked up to his front door and rang the doorbell. Actually, I had never been to that house. He had lived on Jubilee street when I last lived in Burnaby, but I had his new address, so I knew where to find him.
His mom and dad were really glad to see me (I think they always liked me - they were really, really sweet people), and his dad actually offered me a glass of wine, which I accepted.
I only spent about an hour, because I knew I had one terrific ride home. Having done the ride one way, I had a pretty good sense of what I was up against. So I told Steve a reluctant goodbye and headed on my way.
Well, the return ride started off nice. I got to go downhill to New Westminster. But once I got to Maple Ridge, things weren't so good. It was 7:00 and the sun was on it's way to the horizon. I hoped my sister would have told my parents where I was so they wouldn't worry too much (she had - phew!) I was still only in Maple Ridge with lots of hills to do, and I was spent!
I stopped at a service station and asked permission to leave my bike there for a few days, which they granted. Then I walked onto the highway and stuck my 14-year-old thumb out. Now, this was a lot less unusual back then. Plenty of kids would thumb a ride. Good kids like me less often, but I kind of needed to get home. I was pretty seriously worried about what my parents would do to me, and so with that nervous nawing in my middle, I stuck out my thumb and hoped for a good ride.
After a few minutes, this young guy with a pickup truck stopped and picked me up. As we drove I told him what I'd done. As soon as he heard about my bike, he turned around and went back for it. He drove me right to my house, which I'm sure was out of his way, and dropped me off with my bike.
I kind of neglected to tell them about the hitch-hiking, but my parents declared me grounded anyways (but they didn't really follow through with it - I wasn't usually one to misbehave).
And that's the story of my marathon bike ride from Mission to Burnaby and back, to see my best friend!
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
How I Made the Dog My Pet
When I was very little, our family got a dog.
This wasn't our first pet, or even the first one I remember, as we had a cat called Blacky. Like most little children I loved the pets, and loved to take care of them. I'm told, when I was 2 years old, that they let me feed the cat one time. I scooped her food out of the tin can with a big spoon, then being taught not to waste good food, I licked the spoon off! But I digress...
The dog we got was a Cocker Spaniel, named Prince. He was coal black, and he slept next to the coal bin in our basement. I can vaguely recall when we got him, and I do recall that when we moved across the street from the old Jubilee station house that we called the "old brown house" to the big "mansion" rental house across from it, that we had him then, too. I had to sleep in a room in the basement, and being 6 and 7 years younger than my two older brothers (I was about 4 at that time) I had to go to bed a long time before them. The first few nights in that basement were very scary stuff. There were strange sounds, and no one around to call for help. But there was Prince. I could call him, and I'd hear his collar with the tag jangle, so that comforted me.
Being so much younger than my brothers, I was still only about 9 years old when my older brother went to University. He skipped two grades so he was at UBC when he was just 16 years old. At first he lived with us and was picked up by friends, but then, he moved out of the house and in with some of his friends. I don't remember all the details but I know he wasn't there to take care of Prince.
Now, many parents don't like to get pets because at first, the child is all excited about taking care of the critter, but then it becomes old hat, and if the parents aren't disciplined, pretty soon they are the primary caregivers. Even if they are disciplined, the thought of having to constantly harp on a child to care for a pet is not on most parents list of favourite things to do. I was the perfect counter-example to that.
When I realized that Antoon wasn't around to take care of Prince, I got this idea in my head. I figured if I fed, and walked, and played with Prince, eventually I could claim that because I cared for him, he should be mine. So I quickly volunteered to feed him and walk him. Except when I was deathly ill, I always did my duties faithfully.
The funny thing is, I never had to make it a point of declaring him mine or convincing anyone else. By caring for him, he *was* mine, and he knew it and I knew it, and no one could take it from us! Even my family in short order took to referring to Prince as my dog.
When I would walk him, we always left through the big, old basement door. I had a key for it, so I'd lock it behind me, and we'd go for a jaunt. Then, when we got back, I'd let him in, take him off the leash, and then I'd head for the stairs. The stairs to the upstairs part of the house had this really neat curve in it. My friends always got a kick out of my basement because it felt a bit like a castle with a curving stairway, old beams and oak doors, and a big coal furnace. Anyways, I would get on the top curved step, then call Prince. He'd run up and stop two steps above me. Then I'd pat my chest and he'd get up on his hind legs and put his front legs on my chest and I'd pet him, eye-to-eye, and tell him how much I loved him. That was our little ritual that we always did.
I don't seem to have any good pictures of him, but here is a poor one. He's the black lump resting in the right hand side of the picture. I'm the little boy in shorts and I'm standing behind my dad who is about to throw a ball to my sister.
What I learned from this is, if you love something and care for it, it's yours, whether anyone else realizes it or not. And if you care for it long enough, everyone else will know it, too.
This wasn't our first pet, or even the first one I remember, as we had a cat called Blacky. Like most little children I loved the pets, and loved to take care of them. I'm told, when I was 2 years old, that they let me feed the cat one time. I scooped her food out of the tin can with a big spoon, then being taught not to waste good food, I licked the spoon off! But I digress...
The dog we got was a Cocker Spaniel, named Prince. He was coal black, and he slept next to the coal bin in our basement. I can vaguely recall when we got him, and I do recall that when we moved across the street from the old Jubilee station house that we called the "old brown house" to the big "mansion" rental house across from it, that we had him then, too. I had to sleep in a room in the basement, and being 6 and 7 years younger than my two older brothers (I was about 4 at that time) I had to go to bed a long time before them. The first few nights in that basement were very scary stuff. There were strange sounds, and no one around to call for help. But there was Prince. I could call him, and I'd hear his collar with the tag jangle, so that comforted me.
Being so much younger than my brothers, I was still only about 9 years old when my older brother went to University. He skipped two grades so he was at UBC when he was just 16 years old. At first he lived with us and was picked up by friends, but then, he moved out of the house and in with some of his friends. I don't remember all the details but I know he wasn't there to take care of Prince.
Now, many parents don't like to get pets because at first, the child is all excited about taking care of the critter, but then it becomes old hat, and if the parents aren't disciplined, pretty soon they are the primary caregivers. Even if they are disciplined, the thought of having to constantly harp on a child to care for a pet is not on most parents list of favourite things to do. I was the perfect counter-example to that.
When I realized that Antoon wasn't around to take care of Prince, I got this idea in my head. I figured if I fed, and walked, and played with Prince, eventually I could claim that because I cared for him, he should be mine. So I quickly volunteered to feed him and walk him. Except when I was deathly ill, I always did my duties faithfully.
The funny thing is, I never had to make it a point of declaring him mine or convincing anyone else. By caring for him, he *was* mine, and he knew it and I knew it, and no one could take it from us! Even my family in short order took to referring to Prince as my dog.
When I would walk him, we always left through the big, old basement door. I had a key for it, so I'd lock it behind me, and we'd go for a jaunt. Then, when we got back, I'd let him in, take him off the leash, and then I'd head for the stairs. The stairs to the upstairs part of the house had this really neat curve in it. My friends always got a kick out of my basement because it felt a bit like a castle with a curving stairway, old beams and oak doors, and a big coal furnace. Anyways, I would get on the top curved step, then call Prince. He'd run up and stop two steps above me. Then I'd pat my chest and he'd get up on his hind legs and put his front legs on my chest and I'd pet him, eye-to-eye, and tell him how much I loved him. That was our little ritual that we always did.
I don't seem to have any good pictures of him, but here is a poor one. He's the black lump resting in the right hand side of the picture. I'm the little boy in shorts and I'm standing behind my dad who is about to throw a ball to my sister.
What I learned from this is, if you love something and care for it, it's yours, whether anyone else realizes it or not. And if you care for it long enough, everyone else will know it, too.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
My Affinity for Train Stations
I have always loved trains. My earliest recollections are of trains.
When I was about to be born, my mother went into Vancouver General Hospital, and while she was there, the family apparently moved from a house in Vancouver, to a new one in Burnaby. The house we moved to was actually the former BC Electric Railway Jubilee station on the Central Park Interurban line. The link below shows one of the old BC Electric trams at the Jubilee station. I couldn't find an old picture that actually showed the station house itself.
http://www.railpictures.net/viewphoto.php?id=276931
Here is a picture of me (the littlest one) in front of the old station house.
And another one of me with my two sisters, in the yard.
Some of my earliest memories are of the trains coming through. They never moved very fast, when coming through this area, but I still remember the feel of them, so big, impressive and powerful. Rumbling their deep, deisel-electric rumble. I've always found trains so comforting, like a lullabye.
When I was just four years old, our family moved across the street into a house that had a perfect view of the old station house. I think we moved because the building was condemned. I have recollections of buckets catching the rain leaking through the roof when I was still living there.
I still remember watching as my dad and his big friends carried the furniture and other belongings across the street for the move. Shortly after the move the station was torn down. We stayed at the house across the street until we moved to Mission, when I was twelve.
From that house I continued to see and hear the trains coming past. I'd kneel on the couch in the front room and watch them come by. I always loved to watch the trains. I have recollections of walking on the rails, balanced on them. I recall how the hot metal felt on bare feet, and how the hot tyes, with their creosote felt, too. My friends and I would ride our bikes along the right-of-way next to the tracks as a shortcut. You'd think that would be the end of my train experiences, but no, they continued beyond that.
I remember when I was 18, moving from Maple Ridge to some cabins in Albion near the Albion Fort Langley ferry. These were called the Albion Cabins, and were managed by a gentleman named Carlos Hovi (I may have the spelling wrong, but that's roughly his name.) I worked at a spindle factory at the far end of river road, just outside of Haney. To get there, I walked down a trail through a ravine to the tracks and then along the tracks till they came to the east end of river road. Then I'd walk all the way down river road past the ferry terminal. Every morning at least one freight train would come by, and I'd stand at the side of the tracks, just a few feet away, as a fully loaded freight train would race past at about 60MPH. This was a good way to wake yourself up first thing!
Some time later I was visiting an older friend in Mission, named Chris Desjardins. He had been a scoutmaster in Mission, when I had been a junior leader (read: annoying teenager). I was visiting him with another friend of mine, when he got a call from his brother Clive. Clive had taken out a lease on the Matsqui Canadian National Railway Train Station with a friend of his sharing the rent. He had an old Dodge Fargo truck that he wanted to repair. He was trying to hand push it and jockey it into the workshop attached to the train station, but he pushed it too far back and the back wheels went off the platform. The back of the truck was across the tracks and he didn't know when the next train was coming!
We hopped in our cars and raced across the Mission bridge to the train station. We both blew the speed limit right out, but I took it a little easier, so Chris got there first. When I got there with my friend, they had 3 people on the tracks behind the truck. They had jacked the truck up as far as they could go, but it was still about 4 inches shy of getting back on the platform.
Now a 1950's Dodge Fargo was not a modern, fiberglass, crumples-if-you-hit-something affair. Modern cars and trucks are designed to crumple in an accident, so they absorb the shock instead of your body. I think the idea behind the Fargo was, if you hit something, you went through it without noticing it. The thing was solid steel and weighed a ton!
We joined in, and for a good 5 minutes we struggled mightily, getting about an inch shy of putting the truck onto the platform, but it just wouldn't do the last bit. Then, in the distance, we heard the train whistle, as a freight came around the north end of the Sumas mountain range. We knew we had about 2 minutes. Suddenly the adrenaline kicked in, and with a mighty push, the truck went up on the platform!
We pushed it into the workshop and were just about to close the doors when the freight arrived, roaring past at 60 MPH!
We had a bit of a chat, and I found out that they were looking for another person to split the rent. The lease was for $150.00/month. CN provided toilet paper, cleaning supplies, heat, electricity and light bulbs. Clive was responsible for keeping the waiting room clean (they had about 1 passenger stop per week), making sure all the lights on the platform were going, and keeping the outhouses clean with toilet paper. I decided to take Clive up on it. With 3 of us renting, the rent was $50.00/month each, heat and light included! That was a pretty hard deal to beat, so I moved in. We divided up the duties, and I wound up cleaning the waiting room out once a week. I would have done it more if it needed it, but almost no one ever came through there.
Here is a picture of the station as it looked just before it was torn down. Loretta took this picture of me in front of it.
Here is an artist's sketch of it from happier times. I bought this card from Dianna Ponting many years ago.
Now it is still a stop, but it's just a sign indicating a stop.
They were working on a room for me, but it wasn't ready yet, so I spent the first week or so in the ticket office in the front of the station. As you can see from the picture above, the ticket office sticks out onto the platform, and has tall slit windows that face up and down the tracks. The other tenant, Dan, was in the already finished room that faced the tracks. He would wake up with every train that went by, while I typically slept through them, only hearing the ones that went by when I was awake, or half-awake.
When a freight went by a full speed, the house shook so hard, that you couldn't see your reflection in a mirror. All you could see was a blur. Conversations were briefly impossible at anything less than a yell.
While I was still using the ticket office as a room, I had the 12-year-old son of a friend over for a sleepover in the ticket office. At about 5:00 a.m. a freight train came past. As it got nearer and nearer, its headlights shone in through the ticket office's tall windows. The boy lay in his sleeping bag, irrationally convinced that this roaring behemoth was actually going to go right through the ticket office. He told me later that morning that he nearly wet his sleeping bag with fright! (He really enjoyed the experience - a bit like the thrill of a roller coaster ride!)
In September, when the weather cooled off, we discovered one of the downsides to that station house. It had no insulation, and its windows were not well sealed. The heater ran non-stop. Now CN paid for heat so the cost wasn't a problem, but the house temperature dropped to 65 fahrenheit (18 celcius), and it wasn't even that cold outside yet. For reasons of work, I moved back to Albion again, sad to leave the train station, but realizing that from a temperature point-of-view it probably didn't make sense to stay there and freeze as winter came on.
I'm glad we got our picture of the train station before it was torn down. I also have an artist's drawing of the train station that I purchased.
For our 25th wedding anniversary (and Matthew's grad year), we took at trip for 3 1/2 weeks to Europe and the UK. We travelled the whole time on Eurail and Britrail, and really enjoyed the experience.
Yes, I've always loved trains, and I still do!
(Special thanks to http://www.railroadforums.com and http://www.railpictures.net for their excellent libraries of photos.)
Also to Dianna Ponting who did such a nice sketch of the station when it still looked nice.
When I was about to be born, my mother went into Vancouver General Hospital, and while she was there, the family apparently moved from a house in Vancouver, to a new one in Burnaby. The house we moved to was actually the former BC Electric Railway Jubilee station on the Central Park Interurban line. The link below shows one of the old BC Electric trams at the Jubilee station. I couldn't find an old picture that actually showed the station house itself.
http://www.railpictures.net/viewphoto.php?id=276931
Here is a picture of me (the littlest one) in front of the old station house.
And another one of me with my two sisters, in the yard.
Some of my earliest memories are of the trains coming through. They never moved very fast, when coming through this area, but I still remember the feel of them, so big, impressive and powerful. Rumbling their deep, deisel-electric rumble. I've always found trains so comforting, like a lullabye.
When I was just four years old, our family moved across the street into a house that had a perfect view of the old station house. I think we moved because the building was condemned. I have recollections of buckets catching the rain leaking through the roof when I was still living there.
I still remember watching as my dad and his big friends carried the furniture and other belongings across the street for the move. Shortly after the move the station was torn down. We stayed at the house across the street until we moved to Mission, when I was twelve.
From that house I continued to see and hear the trains coming past. I'd kneel on the couch in the front room and watch them come by. I always loved to watch the trains. I have recollections of walking on the rails, balanced on them. I recall how the hot metal felt on bare feet, and how the hot tyes, with their creosote felt, too. My friends and I would ride our bikes along the right-of-way next to the tracks as a shortcut. You'd think that would be the end of my train experiences, but no, they continued beyond that.
I remember when I was 18, moving from Maple Ridge to some cabins in Albion near the Albion Fort Langley ferry. These were called the Albion Cabins, and were managed by a gentleman named Carlos Hovi (I may have the spelling wrong, but that's roughly his name.) I worked at a spindle factory at the far end of river road, just outside of Haney. To get there, I walked down a trail through a ravine to the tracks and then along the tracks till they came to the east end of river road. Then I'd walk all the way down river road past the ferry terminal. Every morning at least one freight train would come by, and I'd stand at the side of the tracks, just a few feet away, as a fully loaded freight train would race past at about 60MPH. This was a good way to wake yourself up first thing!
Some time later I was visiting an older friend in Mission, named Chris Desjardins. He had been a scoutmaster in Mission, when I had been a junior leader (read: annoying teenager). I was visiting him with another friend of mine, when he got a call from his brother Clive. Clive had taken out a lease on the Matsqui Canadian National Railway Train Station with a friend of his sharing the rent. He had an old Dodge Fargo truck that he wanted to repair. He was trying to hand push it and jockey it into the workshop attached to the train station, but he pushed it too far back and the back wheels went off the platform. The back of the truck was across the tracks and he didn't know when the next train was coming!
We hopped in our cars and raced across the Mission bridge to the train station. We both blew the speed limit right out, but I took it a little easier, so Chris got there first. When I got there with my friend, they had 3 people on the tracks behind the truck. They had jacked the truck up as far as they could go, but it was still about 4 inches shy of getting back on the platform.
Now a 1950's Dodge Fargo was not a modern, fiberglass, crumples-if-you-hit-something affair. Modern cars and trucks are designed to crumple in an accident, so they absorb the shock instead of your body. I think the idea behind the Fargo was, if you hit something, you went through it without noticing it. The thing was solid steel and weighed a ton!
We joined in, and for a good 5 minutes we struggled mightily, getting about an inch shy of putting the truck onto the platform, but it just wouldn't do the last bit. Then, in the distance, we heard the train whistle, as a freight came around the north end of the Sumas mountain range. We knew we had about 2 minutes. Suddenly the adrenaline kicked in, and with a mighty push, the truck went up on the platform!
We pushed it into the workshop and were just about to close the doors when the freight arrived, roaring past at 60 MPH!
We had a bit of a chat, and I found out that they were looking for another person to split the rent. The lease was for $150.00/month. CN provided toilet paper, cleaning supplies, heat, electricity and light bulbs. Clive was responsible for keeping the waiting room clean (they had about 1 passenger stop per week), making sure all the lights on the platform were going, and keeping the outhouses clean with toilet paper. I decided to take Clive up on it. With 3 of us renting, the rent was $50.00/month each, heat and light included! That was a pretty hard deal to beat, so I moved in. We divided up the duties, and I wound up cleaning the waiting room out once a week. I would have done it more if it needed it, but almost no one ever came through there.
Here is a picture of the station as it looked just before it was torn down. Loretta took this picture of me in front of it.
Here is an artist's sketch of it from happier times. I bought this card from Dianna Ponting many years ago.
Now it is still a stop, but it's just a sign indicating a stop.
They were working on a room for me, but it wasn't ready yet, so I spent the first week or so in the ticket office in the front of the station. As you can see from the picture above, the ticket office sticks out onto the platform, and has tall slit windows that face up and down the tracks. The other tenant, Dan, was in the already finished room that faced the tracks. He would wake up with every train that went by, while I typically slept through them, only hearing the ones that went by when I was awake, or half-awake.
When a freight went by a full speed, the house shook so hard, that you couldn't see your reflection in a mirror. All you could see was a blur. Conversations were briefly impossible at anything less than a yell.
While I was still using the ticket office as a room, I had the 12-year-old son of a friend over for a sleepover in the ticket office. At about 5:00 a.m. a freight train came past. As it got nearer and nearer, its headlights shone in through the ticket office's tall windows. The boy lay in his sleeping bag, irrationally convinced that this roaring behemoth was actually going to go right through the ticket office. He told me later that morning that he nearly wet his sleeping bag with fright! (He really enjoyed the experience - a bit like the thrill of a roller coaster ride!)
In September, when the weather cooled off, we discovered one of the downsides to that station house. It had no insulation, and its windows were not well sealed. The heater ran non-stop. Now CN paid for heat so the cost wasn't a problem, but the house temperature dropped to 65 fahrenheit (18 celcius), and it wasn't even that cold outside yet. For reasons of work, I moved back to Albion again, sad to leave the train station, but realizing that from a temperature point-of-view it probably didn't make sense to stay there and freeze as winter came on.
I'm glad we got our picture of the train station before it was torn down. I also have an artist's drawing of the train station that I purchased.
For our 25th wedding anniversary (and Matthew's grad year), we took at trip for 3 1/2 weeks to Europe and the UK. We travelled the whole time on Eurail and Britrail, and really enjoyed the experience.
Yes, I've always loved trains, and I still do!
(Special thanks to http://www.railroadforums.com and http://www.railpictures.net for their excellent libraries of photos.)
Also to Dianna Ponting who did such a nice sketch of the station when it still looked nice.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Canada Day - 1967 Centenial Celebration
This morning on News 1130, as part of a Canada Day segment, they played a song that I had not heard in a looooong time! It was that song from the 1967 Centenial celebration.
Wow did it bring back some memories! I dug around on YouTube and found a great clip of the song, with lots of pictures. I remember that maple leaf made of triangles all over the place (even have it on my Scouting campfire blanket!)
I was 7 turning 8 when I first heard that song, and I remember that it felt like the most glorious, happy, optimistic song. That was a very special year for me (I'll blog about that, some time.) I loved the feeling of celebration that the song presented, and the fact that the main singers were children like me!
Here's a picture of me about that time (I'm on my dad's lap on the left):
It felt like a wonderful, optimistic world, despite that so-called experts were telling us that we'd all be wearing gas masks from pollution and starving from overpopulation in less than 20 years. Funny how children will latch onto the positive and the optimistic, and strive to make that vision a reality. Also funny how grumpy old scientists with an urgent desire to get funding for their pet project will blow a problem out of proportion...
As someone who works with children as a volunteer, I can say that the ones I know seem for the most part to share that same bright, happy, optimistic outlook. I have no doubt that they will find ways to fix the problems that will confront them in the years ahead, even as my generation managed to avoid the gas masks and global starvation.
We live in the best country in the world! Here on the wet coast (or is that WEST coast?) we live in the best region of the best country in the world!
Happy Canada Day!
Wow did it bring back some memories! I dug around on YouTube and found a great clip of the song, with lots of pictures. I remember that maple leaf made of triangles all over the place (even have it on my Scouting campfire blanket!)
I was 7 turning 8 when I first heard that song, and I remember that it felt like the most glorious, happy, optimistic song. That was a very special year for me (I'll blog about that, some time.) I loved the feeling of celebration that the song presented, and the fact that the main singers were children like me!
Here's a picture of me about that time (I'm on my dad's lap on the left):
It felt like a wonderful, optimistic world, despite that so-called experts were telling us that we'd all be wearing gas masks from pollution and starving from overpopulation in less than 20 years. Funny how children will latch onto the positive and the optimistic, and strive to make that vision a reality. Also funny how grumpy old scientists with an urgent desire to get funding for their pet project will blow a problem out of proportion...
As someone who works with children as a volunteer, I can say that the ones I know seem for the most part to share that same bright, happy, optimistic outlook. I have no doubt that they will find ways to fix the problems that will confront them in the years ahead, even as my generation managed to avoid the gas masks and global starvation.
We live in the best country in the world! Here on the wet coast (or is that WEST coast?) we live in the best region of the best country in the world!
Happy Canada Day!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
My Miles for Millions Adventure
When I was a boy, there was a fundraiser for third world nations, called the Miles for Millions walk. I believe it was around for several years before the year that I walked it, but I do know that I was ten years old when this adventure happened.
The schools had encouraged everyone to get pledges and raise some money, so I had gone around and got a few pledges (I don't think I had very many, but I was determined to do my bit.)
On the day that the walk was to happen, my father dropped me off at the starting point. I was a Cub Scout and had gone on numerous hikes, so I already had a day pack and a canteen (real army issue), a rain coat (it was a normal, overcast, Vancouver day, I think in May.) I got my checkpoint card, and someone saftey pinned it to my pack strap so I wouldn't lose it, and I started out walking with a large group.
Now there was a big group of people all walking together, and I was in the middle of it, but I really didn't know anyone, so I walked quietly, by myself, in this big group. I was comfortable with the large group and enjoying the independance. As I reached each checkpoint, I would stop and get them to check off my checkpoint card.
It was somewhere about the middle of the walk, I remember being about the middle of the checkpoints, and they had one in a fairly large park. As I was walking up to it, I looked at my pack strap where my checkpoint card should have been, and it wasn't there!
I was devastated! I stood there for several minutes, trying to figure out what I could do. It never occurred to me to walk up to the checkpoint and tell the adults my problem. Looking back now, if a crestfallen ten-year-old had turned up at my checkpoint having lost his card, clearly having hiked that far, with pack and raingear, I would have found a way to get him on his way, but I was convinced that this was the end of the walk, unless I could find my checkpoint card with all it's previously marked off checkpoints.
So I started retracing my steps. I walked back quite a ways, looking for my card, and then realized that there weren't very many people anymore, so I realized I'd have to continue, if only to meet my parents at the end point.
I returned to the park, still looking for my card. I actually found someone else's card, but it had their name on it, so it was no good for me, and I left it.
I didn't bother going to the checkpoint. But now I had another problem. There were so few people walking, I was a bit anxious to not get left too far behind. Again, it never occurred to me to talk to any adults. My wife tells me that I'm too independent, and I guess I was, even then, as a ten year old. I saw a couple with rain ponchos on, clearly walking the walkathon, so I followed them.
After about 8 blocks, they turned into an apartment, and I realized that I was in big trouble. My frustration at losing my checkpoint card was now being superceded by an unpleasant, anxiousness in my tummy. I was now on King Edward (25th) street, and I knew what parts of it looked like but wasn't really sure where I was. I walked another block or two, and saw a familiar sight. It was Helen's Grill at Main and 25th, which is still there. As soon as I saw it, I knew where I was.
I had brought a dime with me, and had it in my pocket. Now, back then, a child's fare on Vancouver buses for one zone was ten cents, so I had enough to get to somewhere on Boundary road. I figured from there, I could walk to my home in the Jubilee neigborhood of Burnaby (behind where Metrotown and Sears are now - it was Simpson Sears, back then.) Now it was also the amount you needed to use a phone booth, but phone booths were pretty notorious for eating dimes, and since no one had answering machines or cell phones, there was a good chance that I would lose the dime and then really not have a way out. Again, it never occured to me that I should walk into a store and tell them I had a problem. I'm sure that I could have used a store's phone to call home. Most people would have helped out a stranded little boy, but that never occurred to me.
Anyways, I decided that I would wait for a bus and ask the driver what bus I could take that would get me close to Central Park so I could walk home.
Having come up with a plan, I was feeling a bit less anxious. I don't recall coming too close to tears at all this disappointment and trouble, but I suspect if I'd had a sympathetic listener at one or two of the worst moments I might have dissolved into a puddle. Anyways, I was alone and had to get myself out of this, like a good, resourceful Scout, so I stood there waiting for a bus to come, at the back of the line of people, so I wouldn't block them while I asked the driver for directions.
A few minutes later, the bus pulled up, and several people climbed down off the bus. One of them was an oriental man, who walked up to me, handed me an all-day pass and said "Here, you can use this, I'm done with it." I don't know if it was legal for him to pass that off to me, but at the time I was so relieved that I think I half squeaked my "Thank you" to him! I sometimes wonder if he was an angel, sent to rescue me. Whoever he was, he solved a serious problem for me, and I instantly changed my question for the bus driver. It was now "What bus will get me to Jubilee in Burnaby?"
The driver told me that I could get there on his bus, with a transfer, so I climbed aboard and sat down. Now, the only available seats were all next to occupied ones, so I picked a younger adult man whose face I liked and sat beside him. He probably noticed my gear and asked me what I was doing. Before I knew it, I'd poured out my whole unhappy story to him. I can't remember his name, but he told me he was a scientist, and was just off work, and that if I stayed with him, he'd get me to my home. OK, that was angel number 2. Looking back I have my doubts that his route really took him past Jubilee station. I think he said that just to help me out.
I don't recall what all we talked about, but we chatted all the way. Despite all the talking, it felt like one of the longest bus trips I had ever taken. It was now well past the point where my parents should have been picking me up, and I knew that they were going to be frantic with worry.
The scientist made sure I switched busses at the loops and got on the right ones, all the time insisting that he was going my way, although I had this nagging, but grateful feeling that he was doing this to make sure I got home safely.
Finally the bus pulled up at the stop nearest my house. I thanked the young scientist who had helped me, and climbed off the bus, waving at him as it pulled away. Then I walked to my house.
When I unlocked the door and walked in, my brother Wim was there, looking really concerned. He told me that the rest of the family was driving around looking for me, and they had the police looking, too. He had stayed home in case I showed up or phoned. He called the police to let them know I had showed up on my own, and they found my parents and told them I had been located.
When my family all arrived, I had to tell the story to them. I was told next time to find a grownup and explain my problem. In fact, I was told I should have gone to the people at the checkpoint and they would have taken care of me. I discovered in a very real way that God sent angels to take care of little boys, and that those angels were disguised, or perhaps just were, ordinary people. And I discovered that my family were really seriously worried about me, and actually loved me. I guess I knew that all along, but my brother actually looked stressed when I walked in the door. It was kind of nice to know that you'd be missed if something happened to you.
And that is the story of my Miles for Millions adventure!
The schools had encouraged everyone to get pledges and raise some money, so I had gone around and got a few pledges (I don't think I had very many, but I was determined to do my bit.)
On the day that the walk was to happen, my father dropped me off at the starting point. I was a Cub Scout and had gone on numerous hikes, so I already had a day pack and a canteen (real army issue), a rain coat (it was a normal, overcast, Vancouver day, I think in May.) I got my checkpoint card, and someone saftey pinned it to my pack strap so I wouldn't lose it, and I started out walking with a large group.
Now there was a big group of people all walking together, and I was in the middle of it, but I really didn't know anyone, so I walked quietly, by myself, in this big group. I was comfortable with the large group and enjoying the independance. As I reached each checkpoint, I would stop and get them to check off my checkpoint card.
It was somewhere about the middle of the walk, I remember being about the middle of the checkpoints, and they had one in a fairly large park. As I was walking up to it, I looked at my pack strap where my checkpoint card should have been, and it wasn't there!
I was devastated! I stood there for several minutes, trying to figure out what I could do. It never occurred to me to walk up to the checkpoint and tell the adults my problem. Looking back now, if a crestfallen ten-year-old had turned up at my checkpoint having lost his card, clearly having hiked that far, with pack and raingear, I would have found a way to get him on his way, but I was convinced that this was the end of the walk, unless I could find my checkpoint card with all it's previously marked off checkpoints.
So I started retracing my steps. I walked back quite a ways, looking for my card, and then realized that there weren't very many people anymore, so I realized I'd have to continue, if only to meet my parents at the end point.
I returned to the park, still looking for my card. I actually found someone else's card, but it had their name on it, so it was no good for me, and I left it.
I didn't bother going to the checkpoint. But now I had another problem. There were so few people walking, I was a bit anxious to not get left too far behind. Again, it never occurred to me to talk to any adults. My wife tells me that I'm too independent, and I guess I was, even then, as a ten year old. I saw a couple with rain ponchos on, clearly walking the walkathon, so I followed them.
After about 8 blocks, they turned into an apartment, and I realized that I was in big trouble. My frustration at losing my checkpoint card was now being superceded by an unpleasant, anxiousness in my tummy. I was now on King Edward (25th) street, and I knew what parts of it looked like but wasn't really sure where I was. I walked another block or two, and saw a familiar sight. It was Helen's Grill at Main and 25th, which is still there. As soon as I saw it, I knew where I was.
I had brought a dime with me, and had it in my pocket. Now, back then, a child's fare on Vancouver buses for one zone was ten cents, so I had enough to get to somewhere on Boundary road. I figured from there, I could walk to my home in the Jubilee neigborhood of Burnaby (behind where Metrotown and Sears are now - it was Simpson Sears, back then.) Now it was also the amount you needed to use a phone booth, but phone booths were pretty notorious for eating dimes, and since no one had answering machines or cell phones, there was a good chance that I would lose the dime and then really not have a way out. Again, it never occured to me that I should walk into a store and tell them I had a problem. I'm sure that I could have used a store's phone to call home. Most people would have helped out a stranded little boy, but that never occurred to me.
Anyways, I decided that I would wait for a bus and ask the driver what bus I could take that would get me close to Central Park so I could walk home.
Having come up with a plan, I was feeling a bit less anxious. I don't recall coming too close to tears at all this disappointment and trouble, but I suspect if I'd had a sympathetic listener at one or two of the worst moments I might have dissolved into a puddle. Anyways, I was alone and had to get myself out of this, like a good, resourceful Scout, so I stood there waiting for a bus to come, at the back of the line of people, so I wouldn't block them while I asked the driver for directions.
A few minutes later, the bus pulled up, and several people climbed down off the bus. One of them was an oriental man, who walked up to me, handed me an all-day pass and said "Here, you can use this, I'm done with it." I don't know if it was legal for him to pass that off to me, but at the time I was so relieved that I think I half squeaked my "Thank you" to him! I sometimes wonder if he was an angel, sent to rescue me. Whoever he was, he solved a serious problem for me, and I instantly changed my question for the bus driver. It was now "What bus will get me to Jubilee in Burnaby?"
The driver told me that I could get there on his bus, with a transfer, so I climbed aboard and sat down. Now, the only available seats were all next to occupied ones, so I picked a younger adult man whose face I liked and sat beside him. He probably noticed my gear and asked me what I was doing. Before I knew it, I'd poured out my whole unhappy story to him. I can't remember his name, but he told me he was a scientist, and was just off work, and that if I stayed with him, he'd get me to my home. OK, that was angel number 2. Looking back I have my doubts that his route really took him past Jubilee station. I think he said that just to help me out.
I don't recall what all we talked about, but we chatted all the way. Despite all the talking, it felt like one of the longest bus trips I had ever taken. It was now well past the point where my parents should have been picking me up, and I knew that they were going to be frantic with worry.
The scientist made sure I switched busses at the loops and got on the right ones, all the time insisting that he was going my way, although I had this nagging, but grateful feeling that he was doing this to make sure I got home safely.
Finally the bus pulled up at the stop nearest my house. I thanked the young scientist who had helped me, and climbed off the bus, waving at him as it pulled away. Then I walked to my house.
When I unlocked the door and walked in, my brother Wim was there, looking really concerned. He told me that the rest of the family was driving around looking for me, and they had the police looking, too. He had stayed home in case I showed up or phoned. He called the police to let them know I had showed up on my own, and they found my parents and told them I had been located.
When my family all arrived, I had to tell the story to them. I was told next time to find a grownup and explain my problem. In fact, I was told I should have gone to the people at the checkpoint and they would have taken care of me. I discovered in a very real way that God sent angels to take care of little boys, and that those angels were disguised, or perhaps just were, ordinary people. And I discovered that my family were really seriously worried about me, and actually loved me. I guess I knew that all along, but my brother actually looked stressed when I walked in the door. It was kind of nice to know that you'd be missed if something happened to you.
And that is the story of my Miles for Millions adventure!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)