"Poetry"
There were some funny incidents that inspired dueling poets, but none so much as the guys that liked to go hunting, and most everyone who didn't hunt, thought that guns were phallic symbols, and that the Hunters just like to go and play with their phallic symbols.
As follows is some of the poetry that pro. or con. should not be lost to posterity.
Untitled.
The alarm clock dances on the shelf,
It's time for him to rise,
He peers out of the window
As stars light up the skies
He reaches down beside him
He's up north now where men are men,
And, he came to hunt the deer.
Darkness slowly fades away
And the sun will feed the sky
He longs to shoot himself a deer
And watch it bleed and die
He, curses to himself,
Cause the weathers cold and damp
For he knows he's getting older now
And his bodies getting cramped
But hark, he hears the footsteps
That he's heard, many times before
He knows the goal is very near,
And it's time for him to score
Theres a clearing in the under brush,
And his game comes running through
The hunter cries, {he must be a newfy} come to me son,
Because it's me or you.
The gun recoils,
You can see the fire, spew out the end,
The deer will fall as he'll recall,
Time and time again.
When he's back home, and on the phone
Telling his friends
Of the time up north, for what it's worth,
Next year he'll be there again
Iggy C. 1984
There was a young fellow named Miloff
Whe deemed, a claim as the rest of the day off
But he couldn't get far in the Company car
Cause with it someone had just fucked off
Iggy C.
A boy from the Bay came Austin
To the big city came, and got lost in
Of Toronto were not talking, but Austin went walking
And Maples where Austin got lost in.
From Saskatchewan Mike D. came
With only a wee bit of brain
Doing nothing on his job, like a silly old knob
Till his brain became mostly lame.
From Hamilton a fellow named Stu.
Would occasionally come down with the flu
Mostly on cold days, and times when the hiways,
With me and with you.
There was a car tracer named Nick
Who did nothing all day, but pull prick
Leave the phone off the hook, to the switchboard he'd look
And say how do you like my good trick.
There was a young fellow named Perks
With others he'd go out, mostly jerks,
To see the birds fly, through the po-luted sky
Oh the young jerks, and their quirks.
Allan and Aubrey R.
Untitled
Clubbing seals is so much fun,
It's far better than using a gun
When using a gun, it's over to fast
But with a club, their pain seems to last
A two handed swing between the eyes,
It scatters their brains,and the blood really flies,
They flip and they flop, and then they quiver.
The blood flows out like a raging river,
For a minute or so, they they screem and they cry,
But soon they rollover and die,
The fun seems to end in such a flash,
Quickly, you find another to bash.
Aubrey R.
Untitled
Blood and guts and seals aquiver,
Gets you cleanj through to the liver
Squeels of anguish hurt and pain
Upon your ear drums seem to rain
But don't despair there's some nice fellow
Who is often heard to bellow
Skin that seal before he dies
And then you'll see the blood it flies
All of this for Broads most vain
To put upon their backs the pain
Of baby seals , those little critters
Savagely torn from their sweet litters.
Allan
The following poem was sent to us by Anon., but we had a strong suspition it was Walter L from Mimico, and I was just told a few days ago, that Walter died a few months ago, and that is to bad, he wasn't so old and was one of the nicest guys around.
Retribution
The day is coming of retribution
When through time and ageless evolution,
From a tiny, innocent, little, nub
A seal will grow a great big club
Then you'll be more wary killer hunter
As you stalk among the cows
For the odds will be more evener
When they can club you in the balls.
Walter L
Reply
Walter your poem was so urbane
One would almost judge you sane
You are a fellow, nice no doubt
But also, you are a bit of a lout
If seal pups grew clubs you see
It would be swell for all and me
Clubs I'd no longer have to buy
With their own clubs I could let fly
And bash their brains all over the place
And eliminate without a doubt or tace
Of seal pups and their mothers too
Oh what fun to say you slew,
And eliminate, them off the face of the earth,
And say it with undying mirth
The moans and groans from you we'd hear
When we do the same to the fucking deer
We'd load our guns with dum dum shell
And blow their brains all to hell
Blood and gore and ruptured livers
Intestines hearts and blood like rivers
Inside the deer he'd have to crawl
to take the guts out heart and all
Once inside he was heard to yell
Send in a light it's black as Hell
Iv'e got something he said with a sigh
Leave it go you have it's eye.
Your to far up.
Allan
The Weaker Sex
There's poetry in most ever one
But most of it is terrably dumb
The Broads think that they make words rhyme
The way they write is a fucking crime
They feel their poetry is a smash
But most of it is just plain trash
On occasion a line or two may bud
You can bet it was stolen from Miloff or Rudd
At copying or typing they do many words
But the poetry they write is for the birds
Some day they may see the light
And face the fact their not to bright.
Allan
Eerie
The bush is silent, and serene,
The mist enshrouds it like a dream,
A Deer stands in the shallow water,
Beneath the ripples, swims an Otter
A bird upon a tree doth sing,
Anice day forth it seems to bring,
Ared Squirrel chirps, as if to scoff,
As I turn and blow his fucking head off.
Allan
With apologies to blake
Hunting down the valleys wild
Shooting guns with pleasant glee
On a hill I saw a deer
And the thought just comes to me
Shoot the deer between the eyes
And so I shot and hit his leg
Hunter shoot that deer again
And hit him with your trusty Kraig
I hit the other leg he fell
Ah Jesus what the hell
I walkied to him and kicked his gut
He'll roam around no more to rut.
Tramping the bush for Ruffled Grouse
With an itchy trigger finger
The thoughts just come that your a louse
But I'll wait around yes linger
When the thundering grouse appears
Down your barrel you will peer
Take straight aim and hit that bird,
In twelve hours flat he'll be a turd
Baby seals are best of all
For if you wish to make them fall
You do it with a baseball bat
You hear the skull, it goes like splat.
It's a sight you shouldn't miss
You get so worked up, you just piss
Hunting makes one very funky,
Although some tend to think your skunky
The moral of this tale is clear
If in the bush you see a deer
Without a machine gun, don't get caught
Or as a hunter, you should be shot
Oh, just think exquisite pain
Baseball bats and baby seals,
And not even for a meal.
Allan
Ode to a Robin
As I awoke this morning
When all sweet things are born
A Robin perched upon my sill
To signal the coming morn
The bird was fragile, young and gay
And sweetly it did sing
The thoughts of happiness and joy
Into my heart it bring
I, smiled softly at the song
Then as it paused, a lull
I gently closed the window
And crushed it fucking scull
Anon.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
" The Great Flood" or " Fish Tale" of MacMillan Yard
The official version.
To anyone who is aware of the Tunnel from "Master Control" to the checking booth, and is, or capable of making a sketch it would be invaluable for this story, I unfortunately can't draw a straight line with ruler, so in lieu of that I will do my best to describe it.
There were three main tracks coming into the Yard, and if a three trains were all coming into the Yard at the same time they all could be checked in comfort by the following means.
There was a checking booth in the Admin. Bldg. and a tunnel that went under that track, and up to a checking booth between the other two tracks, on the other side of that track, where two people could go, to check two more trains entering the yard simultaneously.
To enter the secondary checking booth you had to go down a flight of stairs and walk through a tunnel which was really a culvert about seven feet high, to another flight of stairs about fifty ft. away, go up the flight of stairs and into the secondary checking booth which had chairs and was nicely heated.
Each spring when the accumulated snows of the previous winter started melting the tunnel would flood to a depth of eight to ten inches, and if anyone had to go through the tunnel they would have to slog through this water, and as this was part of the job they were expected to do this if they had rubber boots or not.
The dates I forget, but one winter in the early years of the yard there had been an abundance of snow around from the previous winter which started to melt, causing the water in the tunnel to rise instigating many complaints from the checkers expected to go through the tunnel to check the inbound trains.
It should be said that a fifty dollar sump pump and thirty five dollars worth of pipe would have fixed this problem but, the company in their infinite wisdom thought that after spending three hundred million dollars on this project the additional money spent would put them over budget, and so provided a pair of hip waders at the top of the stairs for anyone to use if they had to go through the water.
It should come as no surprise, that there were still complaints about the water, and having to put on rubber boots, worn by everyone on the three shifts having to trudge through the stagnant water, and this could be in the order of forty people.
I was working the East Outbound at the time, and being the sympathetic sort, and a bit of a shit disturber, people would come to me and complain, and after a number of complaints, I thought I should go to the Grievance Officer of the Union, and remind him of the problem, and tell him he should do something about it.
Now Aubrey was a good Grievance Officer but on this issue, which he thought was rather petty, partly, because he was never asked to go through the water, and check a train he was apathetic.
When I approached him over the situation, he kind of pooh poohed it, and said in a rather somewhat sarcastic, and condescending tone, that someone had seen a fin in the water, which sent off lights in my head, the same sort of thing we would see in the comics, when the subject in question got a good idea.
I went back to my desk, and mentioned to my compatriots, Michael H., Dennis F., and George S., George being a stereotypical German, of who it was once said, ask him what time it is, and he will tell you how to build a watch, and told them what Aubrey had said.
After we discussed it I told them of my solution to the problem, and that was, if someone thought they had seen a fish in the tunnel, lets make sure they do.
I phoned up the live bait place in Parkdale the same area where George lived and asked how much it would cost us for two hundred live suckers, and they told me twenty dollars.
I asked the three guys if they would be willing to kick in five dollars each, to which they replied of course, took up the collection, swore them to secrecy, gave the twenty dollars to George and told him to get the suckers, and bring them back the next day.
George brought the fish in the next day, in a plastic garbage bag, inside a couple stout shopping bags a little early, and I was waiting, and because everyone was changing shifts, no one was paying any attention to me, they were probably fighting over chairs, I sneaked down to the tunnel and released the two hundred suckers, but it appears the guy had stiffed us a little there were to crappies among the suckers, but there appeared to be two hundred fish so that was OK, in fact maybe it looked a little better.
The first guy to be asked to go over to the checking booth to check a train was Michael H., one of the co-conspirators which he did and on his return, he kind of off handily mentioned about the fish, but he wasn't taken serious, everyone pooh poohed him, he turned in his check and came over to his workplace on the rack.
We asked him what it looked like and he said terrific that every step you took through the water the school of fish panicked and kept swishing in front of him, and if it had been dust, they would have kicked up a cloud, we thought it best not to push the situation knowing that someone else would be sent there before to long, so we waited.
The next person told to go across was Cliff J. , now it must be said, that of Cliff it was said, he was a a few boxcars short of a train.
When Cliff returned, he was wide eyed and amazed, and because no one took him to serious at any time, most said yeh yeh fish in the tunnel yeh Cliff, but if Cliff was anything he was persistent, and when at that moment Jim P. , comes into the office, and Cliff starts telling him about the fish, now Jim was more leary than most, but something in Cliff's manner told him he should look for himself.
When Jim came back he went right over to Aubrey, remember Aubrey, and tells him about the fish in the tunnel, and Aubrey pooh poohs Jim at which time Jim says I'll bet you two hundred dollars there's fish in the tunnel.
It should be said that we were in the back of the office and could see and hear everything that was going on and had a hard time not breaking up, and as both Aubrey and Jim were betting men and good friends of mine I got worried that Aubrey would take the bet, but fortunately he didn't, but that got the ball rolling.
Everyone from the office had to go down and have a look, including the Building Manager Lloyd D. , who I was certain was suspicious of the whole thing, because he checked out all the garbage cans in the office and, the dumpster outside, where I had placed the incriminating evidence, but inside something else, and short of getting in the dumpster he was not going to find it.
Because Jim worked out of the Superintendent's Office, when he got back, he related the story in there, and before long there were many, architects and civil engineers wandering around with blueprints in their hands, trying to figure out how the fish had gotten there, ignoring the obvious, and a wide variety of other top officials from Head Office at Union station, came up not wanting to miss out on this strange phenomenon.
It was almost like the vision at Lourdes, like God was trying to tell them something, some said the fish came in from a near bye creek through the drain grate, but if they had looked at the grate they would have seen that the quarter inch mesh would not allow that.
One of the clerks Louie S., fashioned a fishing pole and went fishing, and when he returned with about six fish I ask him what he was going to do with them, and he said take them home for supper, my eyes seemed to roll back in my head.
When Louie returned to try to catch some more fish, another clerk Terry Y., hid his shoes as Louie had put on the hip waders to do the fishing.
When Louie returned looking for his shoes he could not find them but, found out Terry had hid them, he then went over to Terry to confront him, took off the rubber boots and hit Terry over the head with them.
I had to withhold so much laughter that day that I went home with a terrible headache, but it was sure worth it, and a couple days later the problem was solved.
Before going home that day I went and swore Aubrey to secrecy, and told him what had happened, but he didn't believe me.
He told me the next day that he dad stopped on his way home, at the home of Jim H., the Union General Chairman, and told him what happened, and before he could finish the story, Jim says I'll bet it was Al, at which time Audrey says I told him that, but that, he didn't believe me,, when Jim tells him he is crazy.
Needless to say that when the water was gone it was still damp down there for a while and when crossing through the tunnel one of the clerks slipped and fell initiating a lost time injury, which then required an investigation be held to determine the case of the accident.
When being required to appear at an investigation our Collective Agreement, the 5.1 states during an investigation the person being investigated may have the help of a Union Rep. or one or two fellow employees, at which time I am asked to appear as a fellow employee.
The injured person Ashok K., being of East Indian decent and not entirely in command of the nuances of the English Language, when asked how he had slipped and fell, exclaimed that he had slipped on" seaweed" at which time Ted N. the supervisor says don't you mean moss, and I jumped in and said he said seaweed, and that is what he wants left in the statement, thinking that seaweed sounded funnier, and would have greater impact, if anyone downtown were to read the statement at a later date.
Several years later I mentioned the incident to Jim P., who reported to the Superintendent, not knowing that he never knew it was me, that no one had told him.
He said that it was a good thing they never found out who it was, or they would have strung me up it caused so much concern, at Head Office.
It was certainly for me one of the funniest incidents every to my knowledge
Allan
The official version.
To anyone who is aware of the Tunnel from "Master Control" to the checking booth, and is, or capable of making a sketch it would be invaluable for this story, I unfortunately can't draw a straight line with ruler, so in lieu of that I will do my best to describe it.
There were three main tracks coming into the Yard, and if a three trains were all coming into the Yard at the same time they all could be checked in comfort by the following means.
There was a checking booth in the Admin. Bldg. and a tunnel that went under that track, and up to a checking booth between the other two tracks, on the other side of that track, where two people could go, to check two more trains entering the yard simultaneously.
To enter the secondary checking booth you had to go down a flight of stairs and walk through a tunnel which was really a culvert about seven feet high, to another flight of stairs about fifty ft. away, go up the flight of stairs and into the secondary checking booth which had chairs and was nicely heated.
Each spring when the accumulated snows of the previous winter started melting the tunnel would flood to a depth of eight to ten inches, and if anyone had to go through the tunnel they would have to slog through this water, and as this was part of the job they were expected to do this if they had rubber boots or not.
The dates I forget, but one winter in the early years of the yard there had been an abundance of snow around from the previous winter which started to melt, causing the water in the tunnel to rise instigating many complaints from the checkers expected to go through the tunnel to check the inbound trains.
It should be said that a fifty dollar sump pump and thirty five dollars worth of pipe would have fixed this problem but, the company in their infinite wisdom thought that after spending three hundred million dollars on this project the additional money spent would put them over budget, and so provided a pair of hip waders at the top of the stairs for anyone to use if they had to go through the water.
It should come as no surprise, that there were still complaints about the water, and having to put on rubber boots, worn by everyone on the three shifts having to trudge through the stagnant water, and this could be in the order of forty people.
I was working the East Outbound at the time, and being the sympathetic sort, and a bit of a shit disturber, people would come to me and complain, and after a number of complaints, I thought I should go to the Grievance Officer of the Union, and remind him of the problem, and tell him he should do something about it.
Now Aubrey was a good Grievance Officer but on this issue, which he thought was rather petty, partly, because he was never asked to go through the water, and check a train he was apathetic.
When I approached him over the situation, he kind of pooh poohed it, and said in a rather somewhat sarcastic, and condescending tone, that someone had seen a fin in the water, which sent off lights in my head, the same sort of thing we would see in the comics, when the subject in question got a good idea.
I went back to my desk, and mentioned to my compatriots, Michael H., Dennis F., and George S., George being a stereotypical German, of who it was once said, ask him what time it is, and he will tell you how to build a watch, and told them what Aubrey had said.
After we discussed it I told them of my solution to the problem, and that was, if someone thought they had seen a fish in the tunnel, lets make sure they do.
I phoned up the live bait place in Parkdale the same area where George lived and asked how much it would cost us for two hundred live suckers, and they told me twenty dollars.
I asked the three guys if they would be willing to kick in five dollars each, to which they replied of course, took up the collection, swore them to secrecy, gave the twenty dollars to George and told him to get the suckers, and bring them back the next day.
George brought the fish in the next day, in a plastic garbage bag, inside a couple stout shopping bags a little early, and I was waiting, and because everyone was changing shifts, no one was paying any attention to me, they were probably fighting over chairs, I sneaked down to the tunnel and released the two hundred suckers, but it appears the guy had stiffed us a little there were to crappies among the suckers, but there appeared to be two hundred fish so that was OK, in fact maybe it looked a little better.
The first guy to be asked to go over to the checking booth to check a train was Michael H., one of the co-conspirators which he did and on his return, he kind of off handily mentioned about the fish, but he wasn't taken serious, everyone pooh poohed him, he turned in his check and came over to his workplace on the rack.
We asked him what it looked like and he said terrific that every step you took through the water the school of fish panicked and kept swishing in front of him, and if it had been dust, they would have kicked up a cloud, we thought it best not to push the situation knowing that someone else would be sent there before to long, so we waited.
The next person told to go across was Cliff J. , now it must be said, that of Cliff it was said, he was a a few boxcars short of a train.
When Cliff returned, he was wide eyed and amazed, and because no one took him to serious at any time, most said yeh yeh fish in the tunnel yeh Cliff, but if Cliff was anything he was persistent, and when at that moment Jim P. , comes into the office, and Cliff starts telling him about the fish, now Jim was more leary than most, but something in Cliff's manner told him he should look for himself.
When Jim came back he went right over to Aubrey, remember Aubrey, and tells him about the fish in the tunnel, and Aubrey pooh poohs Jim at which time Jim says I'll bet you two hundred dollars there's fish in the tunnel.
It should be said that we were in the back of the office and could see and hear everything that was going on and had a hard time not breaking up, and as both Aubrey and Jim were betting men and good friends of mine I got worried that Aubrey would take the bet, but fortunately he didn't, but that got the ball rolling.
Everyone from the office had to go down and have a look, including the Building Manager Lloyd D. , who I was certain was suspicious of the whole thing, because he checked out all the garbage cans in the office and, the dumpster outside, where I had placed the incriminating evidence, but inside something else, and short of getting in the dumpster he was not going to find it.
Because Jim worked out of the Superintendent's Office, when he got back, he related the story in there, and before long there were many, architects and civil engineers wandering around with blueprints in their hands, trying to figure out how the fish had gotten there, ignoring the obvious, and a wide variety of other top officials from Head Office at Union station, came up not wanting to miss out on this strange phenomenon.
It was almost like the vision at Lourdes, like God was trying to tell them something, some said the fish came in from a near bye creek through the drain grate, but if they had looked at the grate they would have seen that the quarter inch mesh would not allow that.
One of the clerks Louie S., fashioned a fishing pole and went fishing, and when he returned with about six fish I ask him what he was going to do with them, and he said take them home for supper, my eyes seemed to roll back in my head.
When Louie returned to try to catch some more fish, another clerk Terry Y., hid his shoes as Louie had put on the hip waders to do the fishing.
When Louie returned looking for his shoes he could not find them but, found out Terry had hid them, he then went over to Terry to confront him, took off the rubber boots and hit Terry over the head with them.
I had to withhold so much laughter that day that I went home with a terrible headache, but it was sure worth it, and a couple days later the problem was solved.
Before going home that day I went and swore Aubrey to secrecy, and told him what had happened, but he didn't believe me.
He told me the next day that he dad stopped on his way home, at the home of Jim H., the Union General Chairman, and told him what happened, and before he could finish the story, Jim says I'll bet it was Al, at which time Audrey says I told him that, but that, he didn't believe me,, when Jim tells him he is crazy.
Needless to say that when the water was gone it was still damp down there for a while and when crossing through the tunnel one of the clerks slipped and fell initiating a lost time injury, which then required an investigation be held to determine the case of the accident.
When being required to appear at an investigation our Collective Agreement, the 5.1 states during an investigation the person being investigated may have the help of a Union Rep. or one or two fellow employees, at which time I am asked to appear as a fellow employee.
The injured person Ashok K., being of East Indian decent and not entirely in command of the nuances of the English Language, when asked how he had slipped and fell, exclaimed that he had slipped on" seaweed" at which time Ted N. the supervisor says don't you mean moss, and I jumped in and said he said seaweed, and that is what he wants left in the statement, thinking that seaweed sounded funnier, and would have greater impact, if anyone downtown were to read the statement at a later date.
Several years later I mentioned the incident to Jim P., who reported to the Superintendent, not knowing that he never knew it was me, that no one had told him.
He said that it was a good thing they never found out who it was, or they would have strung me up it caused so much concern, at Head Office.
It was certainly for me one of the funniest incidents every to my knowledge
Allan
" Track Torpedoes"
As most Railroader know track torpedoes are an exploding device that you put of the track as an alarm to warn someone of a dangerous situation in the area, and goes off with a loud bang that can be heard over the noise of a engine. It could be a warning for the Engineer or the work crew in the area.
While working the Midway job at Mimico every now and then someone would place a track torpedo on the track beside the shack which was only yards from the track, but to no avail.
When working in a yard like Mimico you had to get used to loud noises, because of the noises of the slack being taken, by long departing trains, it would sound like echoing thunder.
One day someone placed a track torpedo on the track beside the shack and when it went off I decided to go and investigate, and found the clip that holds the torpedo on the rail, embedded in the outside wall of the shack, which was an indication to me of how dangerous these things could be.
Allan
As most Railroader know track torpedoes are an exploding device that you put of the track as an alarm to warn someone of a dangerous situation in the area, and goes off with a loud bang that can be heard over the noise of a engine. It could be a warning for the Engineer or the work crew in the area.
While working the Midway job at Mimico every now and then someone would place a track torpedo on the track beside the shack which was only yards from the track, but to no avail.
When working in a yard like Mimico you had to get used to loud noises, because of the noises of the slack being taken, by long departing trains, it would sound like echoing thunder.
One day someone placed a track torpedo on the track beside the shack and when it went off I decided to go and investigate, and found the clip that holds the torpedo on the rail, embedded in the outside wall of the shack, which was an indication to me of how dangerous these things could be.
Allan
" Night into Day"
One Sunday while working the afternoon shift at Bathurst St. and having a little time on my hands, I decided to try and make a big fire cracker.
I cut open the contents of several track torpedoes and fusees and stuffed them into an empty paper towel roll, and for a wick I had a piece of string, soaked with kerosene.
I took the thing outside and lit it but it wouldn't go off, I was very discouraged to say the least.
I came to the conclusion that the thing would have to be impacted to make it go off and as I had no way of doing that, short of hitting it with a hammer, and I had no intention of doing that, I would have to get rid of it.
I emptied the contents into an old tobacco can that we used for tacks, and took it outside.
I called Jack Ch. the afternoon Yardmaster, who was a very good friend of mine in the tower and told him to watch the Yard Office, after which I lit the thing.
It went off lighting up the Yard all the way to Spadina Ave. melting the can and, Jack exclaims with great excitement over the speakers along the lead, what the hell was that.
When I told him he had a little chuckle, and said he would tell me of a little experience he had, had, in Italy during his stint in WWII.
Jack was in the Signal Corp. and was a Radio Operator and wandering around one day came upon a deserted house with some unexploded artillery shells which he proceeded to take apart.
The shell was loaded with cordite that looks like lead from a lead pencil.
Jack took the cordite into the house which was pretty rough anyway, and puts it in the fire place placing the cordite end to end until it was outside, where he lights it, and runs back to see the show.
The thing goes off spewing flames out of every door and window of the house and if there had been any surviving windows there were none now.
Another War story relating to explosions I can't let pass was related to me at work by Jack Co. , notice a different Jack.
Jack Co. was new and green at the front, when one night after midnight, he was told to walk about a mile up this road and reconnoiter the road.
You could hear exploding artillery in the distance and Jack was not to happy with this assignment, but off he goes, trying to be very quiet and careful.
It's extremely dark and you can hardly see your hands in front of your face, when all of a sudden right beside where he is standing, an artillery piece goes off.
Al says he I shit my pants, I literally shit my pants and couldn't stop shitting for what seemed like minutes, and ran all the way back to his post with shit running down his legs where he told what had happened.
Al he says, they had to burn my uniform, and I never did figure out, if it was one of ours, or theirs.
When , I think of it, I should have paid more attention to the war stories, because a great deal of the workers when I started in 1953 were returned Vets, and while many never spoke of their experiences the odd one would, and those stories would have been invaluable now.
Allan
One Sunday while working the afternoon shift at Bathurst St. and having a little time on my hands, I decided to try and make a big fire cracker.
I cut open the contents of several track torpedoes and fusees and stuffed them into an empty paper towel roll, and for a wick I had a piece of string, soaked with kerosene.
I took the thing outside and lit it but it wouldn't go off, I was very discouraged to say the least.
I came to the conclusion that the thing would have to be impacted to make it go off and as I had no way of doing that, short of hitting it with a hammer, and I had no intention of doing that, I would have to get rid of it.
I emptied the contents into an old tobacco can that we used for tacks, and took it outside.
I called Jack Ch. the afternoon Yardmaster, who was a very good friend of mine in the tower and told him to watch the Yard Office, after which I lit the thing.
It went off lighting up the Yard all the way to Spadina Ave. melting the can and, Jack exclaims with great excitement over the speakers along the lead, what the hell was that.
When I told him he had a little chuckle, and said he would tell me of a little experience he had, had, in Italy during his stint in WWII.
Jack was in the Signal Corp. and was a Radio Operator and wandering around one day came upon a deserted house with some unexploded artillery shells which he proceeded to take apart.
The shell was loaded with cordite that looks like lead from a lead pencil.
Jack took the cordite into the house which was pretty rough anyway, and puts it in the fire place placing the cordite end to end until it was outside, where he lights it, and runs back to see the show.
The thing goes off spewing flames out of every door and window of the house and if there had been any surviving windows there were none now.
Another War story relating to explosions I can't let pass was related to me at work by Jack Co. , notice a different Jack.
Jack Co. was new and green at the front, when one night after midnight, he was told to walk about a mile up this road and reconnoiter the road.
You could hear exploding artillery in the distance and Jack was not to happy with this assignment, but off he goes, trying to be very quiet and careful.
It's extremely dark and you can hardly see your hands in front of your face, when all of a sudden right beside where he is standing, an artillery piece goes off.
Al says he I shit my pants, I literally shit my pants and couldn't stop shitting for what seemed like minutes, and ran all the way back to his post with shit running down his legs where he told what had happened.
Al he says, they had to burn my uniform, and I never did figure out, if it was one of ours, or theirs.
When , I think of it, I should have paid more attention to the war stories, because a great deal of the workers when I started in 1953 were returned Vets, and while many never spoke of their experiences the odd one would, and those stories would have been invaluable now.
Allan
" The Battered Boy "
The day Island Job had the two S. brothers working on it together and they were not averse to having a drink.
They used to pull the roughs out and cut out on the lead by the Yard Office, and we the afternoon job had to pull them up to the graveyard and leave then there, for someone to come and take them to the North side to be switched out, and then we returned to the Island.
Before taking the pull to the Graveyard, I was checking the cut for hand brakes, when I heard a sound from inside a car.
I called my mate not knowing what I was going to run into, and we opened the car gingerly expecting something or, someone to come bounding out, but it was one of the S. brothers as drunk as a skunk.
The day crew must have thrown him in there to keep him safe, and out of the way and forgotten about him.
He was all covered in flour, the previous contents of the car and we couldn't recognize him at first.
We called a cab to have him taken home, but the cabbie wouldn't take him in that condition, so we had to flush him with buckets of water, and let him dry before we could call the next cab and get rid of him.
Danny L.
The day Island Job had the two S. brothers working on it together and they were not averse to having a drink.
They used to pull the roughs out and cut out on the lead by the Yard Office, and we the afternoon job had to pull them up to the graveyard and leave then there, for someone to come and take them to the North side to be switched out, and then we returned to the Island.
Before taking the pull to the Graveyard, I was checking the cut for hand brakes, when I heard a sound from inside a car.
I called my mate not knowing what I was going to run into, and we opened the car gingerly expecting something or, someone to come bounding out, but it was one of the S. brothers as drunk as a skunk.
The day crew must have thrown him in there to keep him safe, and out of the way and forgotten about him.
He was all covered in flour, the previous contents of the car and we couldn't recognize him at first.
We called a cab to have him taken home, but the cabbie wouldn't take him in that condition, so we had to flush him with buckets of water, and let him dry before we could call the next cab and get rid of him.
Danny L.
Monday, October 30, 2006
" The Big Bang Theory "
Danny L. and others were working with Art M. who said that if they could get enough track torpedoes and fuses he could make a bomb.
They were working the H.P. Hanlans Point job at the time, switching among others, Canada Malting, Victory Mills, Loblaws, and the Team Tracks.
He had a five gallon glass jug, so they gathered up the supplies packing the stuff in with wet newspaper.
The first move of the day was at two warehouses with a track running between them.
There were empties at the block where bums would occasionally sleep in and on cardboard boxes.
Art goes down with his five gallon jug and drapes it in front of the knuckle of the empty car, and gives the signal to drop a one hundred ton grain car down, which we did and he gets out of the way, and as the car couples on, there is a resounding boom between the cars, with a huge flame coming out the ends of the car and wi ndows in the warehouse smashed, and alarms went off, and so did we.
Bums jumped out of the empty car, some still wrapped in the paper they used as blankets and go running like mad, the Police came but we were long gone.
The Hogger went flying back to the Yard, the next day another day and another bomb, but the Hogger bid off the job because he didn't want to work with those crazies.
There was much speculation as to what had happened but , insofar as we know they never got to the bottom of it.
Allan
Danny L. and others were working with Art M. who said that if they could get enough track torpedoes and fuses he could make a bomb.
They were working the H.P. Hanlans Point job at the time, switching among others, Canada Malting, Victory Mills, Loblaws, and the Team Tracks.
He had a five gallon glass jug, so they gathered up the supplies packing the stuff in with wet newspaper.
The first move of the day was at two warehouses with a track running between them.
There were empties at the block where bums would occasionally sleep in and on cardboard boxes.
Art goes down with his five gallon jug and drapes it in front of the knuckle of the empty car, and gives the signal to drop a one hundred ton grain car down, which we did and he gets out of the way, and as the car couples on, there is a resounding boom between the cars, with a huge flame coming out the ends of the car and wi ndows in the warehouse smashed, and alarms went off, and so did we.
Bums jumped out of the empty car, some still wrapped in the paper they used as blankets and go running like mad, the Police came but we were long gone.
The Hogger went flying back to the Yard, the next day another day and another bomb, but the Hogger bid off the job because he didn't want to work with those crazies.
There was much speculation as to what had happened but , insofar as we know they never got to the bottom of it.
Allan
" Evil Knievil and Awful Knoffel"
I had bought a 1942/45 Harley Davidson war surplus motorcycle from Sun Glow Motorcycle on Queen St. near Spadina, for one hundred dollars and, it had been a Des patch Riders bike during the second war and was as tempermental as all get out, but I loved it just the same.
I used to ride it to work every day, and when I was getting ready to cut out, John S. the old Ukrainian of the previous story said that he had never been on a motorcycle in his life, and would like a ride some day.
Being of the obliging sort myself, I said I will give you a ride home if you like, but remember one thing, and that is I don't have a passenger seat, and you will have to sit on the back fender, John being up to the challenge said OK.
I ask John if he still lives in the Dovercourt and College St. area to which he replies in the affirmative so off we go.
I go north on Bathurst St. to King St. make a left turn and am driving along, and in between the streetcar tracks on King St. when a young guy pulls up beside me with his engine revving up on a rather new Harley, coming to a stop at the lights at Niagara St, engine still revving challenging me to race.
When the light turns green off we go in a cloud of dust, we must have been doing 70 MPH along King St. on the cobblestones between the tracks, when we got to Sudbury St. in front of Massey Ferguson, I peal off and by now am doing 80, MPH up Sudbury St. until we hit Dovercourt Rd. when I had to slow down, because of traffic.
When I drop John off in front of his house he says you sonoma bitch, I will never go on one of those things again.
The next day at work he went on to tell his mates about the wild ride with me, and he never again rode the bike with me but, we went on to be great friends, as most were on the railroad.
Allan
I had bought a 1942/45 Harley Davidson war surplus motorcycle from Sun Glow Motorcycle on Queen St. near Spadina, for one hundred dollars and, it had been a Des patch Riders bike during the second war and was as tempermental as all get out, but I loved it just the same.
I used to ride it to work every day, and when I was getting ready to cut out, John S. the old Ukrainian of the previous story said that he had never been on a motorcycle in his life, and would like a ride some day.
Being of the obliging sort myself, I said I will give you a ride home if you like, but remember one thing, and that is I don't have a passenger seat, and you will have to sit on the back fender, John being up to the challenge said OK.
I ask John if he still lives in the Dovercourt and College St. area to which he replies in the affirmative so off we go.
I go north on Bathurst St. to King St. make a left turn and am driving along, and in between the streetcar tracks on King St. when a young guy pulls up beside me with his engine revving up on a rather new Harley, coming to a stop at the lights at Niagara St, engine still revving challenging me to race.
When the light turns green off we go in a cloud of dust, we must have been doing 70 MPH along King St. on the cobblestones between the tracks, when we got to Sudbury St. in front of Massey Ferguson, I peal off and by now am doing 80, MPH up Sudbury St. until we hit Dovercourt Rd. when I had to slow down, because of traffic.
When I drop John off in front of his house he says you sonoma bitch, I will never go on one of those things again.
The next day at work he went on to tell his mates about the wild ride with me, and he never again rode the bike with me but, we went on to be great friends, as most were on the railroad.
Allan
" The Title Match "
Almost every one who worked at Bathurst St. knew that Danny M. The General Yardmaster, or boss at Bathurst St was a professional wrestler, in a previous career, but many never knew he was a Silver Medal Winner in the 1932 Olympic Games, in Greco -Roman Wrestling. (Check the ears!!)
After an amateur career Danny went on to wrestle professionally around North America, and as he told me, made a good living at it, during the " Great Depression" .
Eventually Danny got out of wrestling and worked for the CNR, and was the undisputed best boss I had.
Danny was built like a " Brick Shithouse" and would have had no trouble with any four guys around, but many weren't aware of this because, when things had quietened down and nothing was happening for the minute, mostly on weekends, we would have impromptu wrestling matches, none of which he ever seemed to win.
One night when he was cutting out, John S. comes into the office, John being an older Ukrainian guy about sixty years old at the time, and decides he wants a match.
Danny obliges, and the grappling begins, with falls and tosses yelling and scree ms of fake pain, when, Danny has a bad fall and throws his back out, telling John to stop, gets up and calls John a few choice names and tells him there will be a rematch, at which time John throws his chest out and sucks it all in telling everyone he showed Danny what was what.
This was a true injury as Danny was walking around bent over for three weeks, and every time he sees John says just wait for the rematch, I will kill you.
Danny always said you could tell a good professional wrestler, if he could make his new comer opponent look good, and he always did.
Guys who knew Danny had been a professional, would look on in honest disbelief, wondering how some of the weakest looking guys could better him.
"The Great Chase"
As most people who worked at Bathurst St. know, a lot of the yard was a reclaimed and filled in area, that used to be Lake Ont, and that the Yard Office used to be a Grand Trunk Station, at one time but moved from another location, not far away, and in fact the Railway Clock was a Grand Trunk clock.
The Yard was not far above lake level, and the yard, was low in relation to the area around it, as can be seen by the accompanying photo, in fact about twenty five feet lower, than Front St.
One quiet night, about three in the morning, screeching tires could be heard, followed by a big crash, as a car smashed through the fence, at the bottom of Portland St. that runs along Front St. designed, and put in place to prevent just that sort of thing, into the North Side Yard twenty five feet below.
The guy stumbles out of his car, clothes askew, covered in blood and starts running all through the yard like a maniac, the Cops were called, the search was on and all movement in the Yard was stopped, so as not to kill this guy.
In the mean time a young, new Car Checker, Wayne H., was out checking a train, as he was told to do, when all of a sudden this wild man looking like a Banshee jumps out from between two cars covered in blood, and screaming, almost landing on Wayne, and we are told Wayne fainted on the spot, [who can blame him].
By this time all movement in the yard had stopped, and a half dozen Cops had arrived and most people not otherwise engaged were looking for this wild man, including another Car Checker, Daniel M., who was a rather big good natured guy.
The gate crasher comes around the corner of a rail car running towards, Dan who makes a tackle that should have put him in the CFL [Canadian Football League] Hall of Fame,
Dan has the guy on the ground, kicking screaming, cursing, and swearing, not realizing that Dan was just some working schmuck, he was venting pretty wildly at the cops, calling them everything in the book, nostrils flared, and spit coming out with every word, you dirty rotten fucking, sons of bitches, prrrrricks.
At some point the Cops decide they better take over from Dan, which they do, and they haul the guy away, arranging for a tow truck to get his car out of the Yard.
It seems the guy was a drunken sailor, who thought he was going to miss his boat, which I guess he did.
Danny got an honorable mention in the Newspaper the next day either the Toronto Star, or the Toronto Telegram, I'm not sure which, but this was the kind of story preferred by the Tely.
The accompanying photo shows about where the guy would have gone through the fence, as Portland St. comes down to Front St. on the right of those twelve houses on the edge of the photo.
Allan
Sunday, October 29, 2006
" Gull Duggery"
The scene was set, for a game you see.
The stands were full with the crowds aglee
The Yanks were there, warming up for the game
The Blue Jays were there, doing the same.
The popcorn was popping, and the suds a flowing
The wind from the lake, was gently blowing
No one knew, no one could guess
That this beautiful eve, would turn into a mess.
The Gulls were above, flying on wing
As free as the air, and fearing no thing
They didn't know, as they soared in the sky
That one of their mates, was soon to die.
A Giant it seemed appeared on the field
It was later discovered, it was David Winnfield
At 235 and six four and a half
He certainly was, very good at his craft
He warmed himself up, by throwing the ball
It seemed it would take, forever to fall
Another, and another he would toss out of sight
Until a poor Gull, ran into his might.
He threw the ball straight, and he threw the ball fast.
At the Blue Jays game, the Gull'd seen his last
It was accidental, or so they say
But they arrested bid Dave, and they took him away
They took him to jail, right after the game
And Dave held his head, as, though in shame
Bail was set, and Dave was let go
Providing next friday, in court he would show
Soon the Press, and all Toronto aware
However decided, it just wasn't fair
A baseball was tossed, and a seagull lay dead
Davey Winnfield's face was certainly red.
The charges were dropped, and this incident passed
But I bet of Dave Winfield, we haven't heard the last
Aubrey R.
The scene was set, for a game you see.
The stands were full with the crowds aglee
The Yanks were there, warming up for the game
The Blue Jays were there, doing the same.
The popcorn was popping, and the suds a flowing
The wind from the lake, was gently blowing
No one knew, no one could guess
That this beautiful eve, would turn into a mess.
The Gulls were above, flying on wing
As free as the air, and fearing no thing
They didn't know, as they soared in the sky
That one of their mates, was soon to die.
A Giant it seemed appeared on the field
It was later discovered, it was David Winnfield
At 235 and six four and a half
He certainly was, very good at his craft
He warmed himself up, by throwing the ball
It seemed it would take, forever to fall
Another, and another he would toss out of sight
Until a poor Gull, ran into his might.
He threw the ball straight, and he threw the ball fast.
At the Blue Jays game, the Gull'd seen his last
It was accidental, or so they say
But they arrested bid Dave, and they took him away
They took him to jail, right after the game
And Dave held his head, as, though in shame
Bail was set, and Dave was let go
Providing next friday, in court he would show
Soon the Press, and all Toronto aware
However decided, it just wasn't fair
A baseball was tossed, and a seagull lay dead
Davey Winnfield's face was certainly red.
The charges were dropped, and this incident passed
But I bet of Dave Winfield, we haven't heard the last
Aubrey R.
" Putting the bite on Squeeky"
Jim [Squeeky] F. was the General Yardmaster on the midnight shift at Bathurst St., and when everything was cleaned up, and quietened down, he would take out his false teeth, put them in a cup, stretch out with his feet on the desk, and his head in his locker, and try to catch a few ZZZZ's.
Ken M. remember Ken M. , he was the guy that put the bucket over the yellow light on the Yard Engine, causing a great comotion.
Ken M. when Jim had fallen asleep, sneaked into the office, and replaced Jim's false teeth with a set he had found.
When Jim woke up, he decided to have his lunch, and so put in his teeth, and couldn't for a while figure out what had happened, but eventually did, and went around the office like the Mad Hatter seething, and trying to figure out who had changed his teeth, and deal with them.
When he found Ken M. hiding in a large cardboard box in the supply room, Ken found out why, if he never knew before, Jim was called Squeeky.
Allan
Jim [Squeeky] F. was the General Yardmaster on the midnight shift at Bathurst St., and when everything was cleaned up, and quietened down, he would take out his false teeth, put them in a cup, stretch out with his feet on the desk, and his head in his locker, and try to catch a few ZZZZ's.
Ken M. remember Ken M. , he was the guy that put the bucket over the yellow light on the Yard Engine, causing a great comotion.
Ken M. when Jim had fallen asleep, sneaked into the office, and replaced Jim's false teeth with a set he had found.
When Jim woke up, he decided to have his lunch, and so put in his teeth, and couldn't for a while figure out what had happened, but eventually did, and went around the office like the Mad Hatter seething, and trying to figure out who had changed his teeth, and deal with them.
When he found Ken M. hiding in a large cardboard box in the supply room, Ken found out why, if he never knew before, Jim was called Squeeky.
Allan
"Pinnochio"
Another from Danny L.
Charlie [Pinnochio] A. a Yard Foreman in the coach yard was very touchy about being goosed, which most are but he was ultra sensitive, and if anyone touched him on the rear end he would jump up with fright sending anything he was holding flying, or anyone in his path flying.
Anyone working in the yard, would go across the yard just to try to goose him , he was such a good target, and watch his actions of throwing everything in the air, and swearing a blue streak at them.
The poor guy would walk around half the shift protecting his ass being leery of anyone who approached him.
We were taking the Bathurst St. streetcar home one day after work and every car was packed because the CNE Canadian National Exhibition was on, this being the main streetcar out of the place.
We were all lined up to get on the car with Charlie in the front of the line holding his lunch pail in front of him.
When the car doors opened and Charlie was on the step someone goosed him, he ki9nd of rocketed into the car, his lunch pail flying, including a couple passengers, but it made room for us, he tried to get his lunch pail but passengers, who were pissed off , or drunk, or both kept kicking it away, and we had to pretend that we didn't know him.
Another Pinnochio story from me this time.
If Charlie A. didn't like being goosed he liked being called Pinnochio even less.
Aubrey R. was new at Bathurst St. and was typing in a journal for some departing train, when Charlie began to engage him in a pleasant conversation, which Aubrey responded to trying hard to fit in to his new environment.
When Charlies back was turned Aubrey whispers to me, What's his name to which I reply Charlie, Charlie turns back and they continue their conversation like a pair of long lost brothers only recently reunited, after getting acquainted Charlie decides it's time to get to work so says goodbye to Aubrey, at which time I whisper to Aubrey, say goodbye Pinnochio, which he does.
Charlie jumps like he was goosed, does an about turn, face red, ears steaming, eyes blazing, comes running back to Aubrey calling him every name in the book, with Aubrey sitting in stunned silence.
Now Aubrey wasn't beyond the odd practical joke himself, but he was totally surprised, and when he recovered, proceeded to call me a few choice names.
Allan
Another from Danny L.
Charlie [Pinnochio] A. a Yard Foreman in the coach yard was very touchy about being goosed, which most are but he was ultra sensitive, and if anyone touched him on the rear end he would jump up with fright sending anything he was holding flying, or anyone in his path flying.
Anyone working in the yard, would go across the yard just to try to goose him , he was such a good target, and watch his actions of throwing everything in the air, and swearing a blue streak at them.
The poor guy would walk around half the shift protecting his ass being leery of anyone who approached him.
We were taking the Bathurst St. streetcar home one day after work and every car was packed because the CNE Canadian National Exhibition was on, this being the main streetcar out of the place.
We were all lined up to get on the car with Charlie in the front of the line holding his lunch pail in front of him.
When the car doors opened and Charlie was on the step someone goosed him, he ki9nd of rocketed into the car, his lunch pail flying, including a couple passengers, but it made room for us, he tried to get his lunch pail but passengers, who were pissed off , or drunk, or both kept kicking it away, and we had to pretend that we didn't know him.
Another Pinnochio story from me this time.
If Charlie A. didn't like being goosed he liked being called Pinnochio even less.
Aubrey R. was new at Bathurst St. and was typing in a journal for some departing train, when Charlie began to engage him in a pleasant conversation, which Aubrey responded to trying hard to fit in to his new environment.
When Charlies back was turned Aubrey whispers to me, What's his name to which I reply Charlie, Charlie turns back and they continue their conversation like a pair of long lost brothers only recently reunited, after getting acquainted Charlie decides it's time to get to work so says goodbye to Aubrey, at which time I whisper to Aubrey, say goodbye Pinnochio, which he does.
Charlie jumps like he was goosed, does an about turn, face red, ears steaming, eyes blazing, comes running back to Aubrey calling him every name in the book, with Aubrey sitting in stunned silence.
Now Aubrey wasn't beyond the odd practical joke himself, but he was totally surprised, and when he recovered, proceeded to call me a few choice names.
Allan
Getting ahead of one's Self or " The run around"
From Danny L.
Allan B. was working the 11PM JA, Jefferson Ave. assignment out of Bathurst St and the Hogger was Bud McDougal.
Every night they would leave for Danforth Yard, in the east end of Toronto,
to lift some hot cars for an express train out of Bathurst St.
Once they got their little train set up they would would have to wait until the passenger train for Montreal left Danforth, and they would follow his block down, so every night the crew would go to the near by Deli for something to eat, return and wake up the Hogger and tell him to go.
This was usually done by banging on the side of the engine, then the hogger would pull out slowly giving the crew enough time to re-align the switch properly, jump on the caboose, and take off, following the blocks all the way down to Bathurst St.
One day they came back from the Deli after a good meal, and there was no train, and when they asked where the train was he said that he didn't know, that he was walking by the engine and noticed that the Hogger seemed to be sleeping so he banged on the side to wake him and the train just took off.
Al and the crew called a cab and said "Follow that train" hoping to catch it at the Don Yard, but no such luck they had to continue on to Bathurst St. pay a rather large Taxi fare and walk over to the Stop Board at Spadina Ave. waiting for the Hogger to come with the train.
When the Hogger pulled down to the Stop Board he could not believe his eyes that the tail end crew had arrived before him, and never did figure out what had happened, and Al never told him.
A little aside to this story is that my gradfathers name was Allan B. and he was from Port Hope Ont. as was the Allan B. of this story, and Port hope being a rather small town, and Allan being a Family name I always wondered if we were related some how. Perhaps my Grandfather had a brother who also used the name.
From Danny L.
Allan B. was working the 11PM JA, Jefferson Ave. assignment out of Bathurst St and the Hogger was Bud McDougal.
Every night they would leave for Danforth Yard, in the east end of Toronto,
to lift some hot cars for an express train out of Bathurst St.
Once they got their little train set up they would would have to wait until the passenger train for Montreal left Danforth, and they would follow his block down, so every night the crew would go to the near by Deli for something to eat, return and wake up the Hogger and tell him to go.
This was usually done by banging on the side of the engine, then the hogger would pull out slowly giving the crew enough time to re-align the switch properly, jump on the caboose, and take off, following the blocks all the way down to Bathurst St.
One day they came back from the Deli after a good meal, and there was no train, and when they asked where the train was he said that he didn't know, that he was walking by the engine and noticed that the Hogger seemed to be sleeping so he banged on the side to wake him and the train just took off.
Al and the crew called a cab and said "Follow that train" hoping to catch it at the Don Yard, but no such luck they had to continue on to Bathurst St. pay a rather large Taxi fare and walk over to the Stop Board at Spadina Ave. waiting for the Hogger to come with the train.
When the Hogger pulled down to the Stop Board he could not believe his eyes that the tail end crew had arrived before him, and never did figure out what had happened, and Al never told him.
A little aside to this story is that my gradfathers name was Allan B. and he was from Port Hope Ont. as was the Allan B. of this story, and Port hope being a rather small town, and Allan being a Family name I always wondered if we were related some how. Perhaps my Grandfather had a brother who also used the name.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
"An early start"
I started with the CNR on the CNR as a Call Boy in Sept. 1953, when I was still 15 years old.
The Chief Clerk asked me if I knew where the Y.M.C.A. was, and I said of course, as I went by it on the Street Car in New Toronto every day, at which time he tells me to go there and call a crew.
Off I go to the "Y" ,and when I get there I ask for the guys I am supposed to call and tell them the jobs they are called for, and the guy I am talking to looks at me in stunned belief, wondering what the hell I'm talking about, I'm beginning to wonder myself, and as I got no satisfaction, I head back to the office.
When I get back and relate my problems Jimmy W., the Chief Clerk says where the hell did you go, and when I tell him he starts to laugh, and tell me that the CNR in Mimico has their own "Y" which was near the round house, about 2 blocks away instead of the two miles I had just walked there and back.
A short time later I bid in and got the job of Car Checker and thought my career is on a roll, and that was a good boost in pay.
My very first job out of school was that of a Delivery Boy for Posen and Furrie Dental Labs. delivering false teeth all over Toronto, for twenty five dollars a week, where they made promises of a future, but being a little impatient and after a couple months, I quit and got another Delivery Boy job with the University Of Toronto press where they also made promises and paid twenty five dollars a week and, where they were supposed to teach me the printing trade, which never seemed to be happening, and so I started looking again.
My mother says why don't you try the CPR your great Uncle John Fayle works for them at Parkdale, so off to Union Station I go to apply, and when I'm told there are no vacancies, I leave but notice the CNR employment office across the hall so go there, and apply at which time they tell me about the Call Boy Job, which paid thirty two dollars a week and that I would need a bicycle, which I had, but when told where I had to go had no intention of riding my bike there every day, Thirty two dollars, thirty two dollars, it just rang in my ears, that's for me I think.
I decided to go on the Street Car and play dumb, but they never cared about me having no bicycle and everything went along fine.
After a while, maybe a couple months, I got the Car Checker job and my eyes started opening or maybe I was maturing, and saw a job I would really like, and that was the job of Midway Car Checker, which I eventually got.
I was working with Art S. and Art's claim to fame was that he had come to Canada as an infant on the Titanic, he was one of the fortunate ones, and also he was somewhat of a mechanical genius, it seems he could fix almost anything.
Although I never knew him real well Art's relief was Laurie R. and when Laurie came to work on the midnight shift, particularly in the fall, he would bring out a brick from behind the pot belly stove and put it on top of the stove, and then take a whisky bottle out of his bag and put it on the brick, then he would pick up the kerosene can and begin to pour oil on the coals, the fire would begin to roar and the pipes turn red, and I thought this place will burn down some day which it eventually did.
The shack was about six feet wide and eight ft deep.
As Midway Car Checker you had to check the tail ends of trains, as they added cars to them and phone the changes in, which I managed to do, with enthusiasm, and diligence.
From time to time it got a little slow, so it was always good to have a magazine, or reading material with you, and on one occasion I had moused a Life Magazine from somewhere, and was carrying it around in my back pocket, when up comes Gord P. and grabs it from my pocket.
Now Gord was about six foot two, and I am five foot five, and when I tried to get the magazine back his long arms, and size kept me away so I couldn't reach it a grab it back.
I did the only thing I could under the circumstances, I swung my kerosene hand lamp, in a wide arc, and when it came down on his head, Gord dropped the magazine, and kind of stumbled a little, I picked it up, and Gord wandered off somewhere.
Later that night when we were cutting out the General Yardmaster Roy R. called us into his office and said that we had been reported for fighting, and asked us about it, and to his credit Gord said, no we were just scuffling, and that was the end of that, but is where my reputation, whatever it was got started.
Allan
I started with the CNR on the CNR as a Call Boy in Sept. 1953, when I was still 15 years old.
The Chief Clerk asked me if I knew where the Y.M.C.A. was, and I said of course, as I went by it on the Street Car in New Toronto every day, at which time he tells me to go there and call a crew.
Off I go to the "Y" ,and when I get there I ask for the guys I am supposed to call and tell them the jobs they are called for, and the guy I am talking to looks at me in stunned belief, wondering what the hell I'm talking about, I'm beginning to wonder myself, and as I got no satisfaction, I head back to the office.
When I get back and relate my problems Jimmy W., the Chief Clerk says where the hell did you go, and when I tell him he starts to laugh, and tell me that the CNR in Mimico has their own "Y" which was near the round house, about 2 blocks away instead of the two miles I had just walked there and back.
A short time later I bid in and got the job of Car Checker and thought my career is on a roll, and that was a good boost in pay.
My very first job out of school was that of a Delivery Boy for Posen and Furrie Dental Labs. delivering false teeth all over Toronto, for twenty five dollars a week, where they made promises of a future, but being a little impatient and after a couple months, I quit and got another Delivery Boy job with the University Of Toronto press where they also made promises and paid twenty five dollars a week and, where they were supposed to teach me the printing trade, which never seemed to be happening, and so I started looking again.
My mother says why don't you try the CPR your great Uncle John Fayle works for them at Parkdale, so off to Union Station I go to apply, and when I'm told there are no vacancies, I leave but notice the CNR employment office across the hall so go there, and apply at which time they tell me about the Call Boy Job, which paid thirty two dollars a week and that I would need a bicycle, which I had, but when told where I had to go had no intention of riding my bike there every day, Thirty two dollars, thirty two dollars, it just rang in my ears, that's for me I think.
I decided to go on the Street Car and play dumb, but they never cared about me having no bicycle and everything went along fine.
After a while, maybe a couple months, I got the Car Checker job and my eyes started opening or maybe I was maturing, and saw a job I would really like, and that was the job of Midway Car Checker, which I eventually got.
I was working with Art S. and Art's claim to fame was that he had come to Canada as an infant on the Titanic, he was one of the fortunate ones, and also he was somewhat of a mechanical genius, it seems he could fix almost anything.
Although I never knew him real well Art's relief was Laurie R. and when Laurie came to work on the midnight shift, particularly in the fall, he would bring out a brick from behind the pot belly stove and put it on top of the stove, and then take a whisky bottle out of his bag and put it on the brick, then he would pick up the kerosene can and begin to pour oil on the coals, the fire would begin to roar and the pipes turn red, and I thought this place will burn down some day which it eventually did.
The shack was about six feet wide and eight ft deep.
As Midway Car Checker you had to check the tail ends of trains, as they added cars to them and phone the changes in, which I managed to do, with enthusiasm, and diligence.
From time to time it got a little slow, so it was always good to have a magazine, or reading material with you, and on one occasion I had moused a Life Magazine from somewhere, and was carrying it around in my back pocket, when up comes Gord P. and grabs it from my pocket.
Now Gord was about six foot two, and I am five foot five, and when I tried to get the magazine back his long arms, and size kept me away so I couldn't reach it a grab it back.
I did the only thing I could under the circumstances, I swung my kerosene hand lamp, in a wide arc, and when it came down on his head, Gord dropped the magazine, and kind of stumbled a little, I picked it up, and Gord wandered off somewhere.
Later that night when we were cutting out the General Yardmaster Roy R. called us into his office and said that we had been reported for fighting, and asked us about it, and to his credit Gord said, no we were just scuffling, and that was the end of that, but is where my reputation, whatever it was got started.
Allan
Friday, October 27, 2006
" A lost time accident " at John St Tower.
I happened to pick up an old file from the 1930's on it's way to the incinerator, which we had behind the Bathurst St. Yard Office, and read the file.
It was about a lost time accident, and subsequent compensation request, and claim, by the Gateman at the John St. Tower, looking after the Front St Gates.
One of the stupidest things I never did, was keep the file, because it was hilarious, the name has been made up to cover up for my bad memory.
It seems the Gateman had blood poison on the back of his hand as the result of an accident, and although I never kept the file, I can paraphrase it fairly well.
Q. What is your name?
A. John
Q. What is your capacity with the company?
A. Gateman, John St. Tower
Q. What is the nature of your injury?
A. Blood poison on the back of my hand.
Q. How did this injury occur
A. A cut of cars was being pulled out of Simcoe St. Shed by a Yard Engine and I had to lower the
gates on Front St. and after the gates had lowered, a motorist pulled up to the gates, and his
horn began to blow. When his horn never stopped, I went down to see if I could help in any
way, and he rolled down his window, and began to yell, scream and swear at me, at which
time my fist accidentally came in contact with his teeth that happened to be somewhat
rotten, resulting in the blood poisoning.
Of course; what else.
Allan
Speaking of John St Tower I got this gem from Danny L.
Danny worked at the Simcoe St shed on a Yard Engine around 1954-55, and the lunch room was in the John St. Gatemans tower at the Front St crossing going into the shed.
They were getting ready to go to work, when Fergus the other Yardman drove up, parked and got a dozen beer out of the trunk of his car.
They noticed a CNR Cop watching Fergus with the beer, from a hiding place in the shed.
We yelled at Fergus to hide the beer, which he did, he went behind the tower and hid it, and when we asked him where he hid it he said don't worry, the cop will never find it.
We saw and heard the cop searching for it, even under the crawl space, and as this tower was built about 1901 it had lots of hiding places.
The Cop finally gives up goes away and at lunch time Fergus asks us if we would like a beer, of course was the resounding cry, and Fergus left.
A short time later Fergus returns with the beer, and when we saw them we almost puked, they were all covered in shit.
Fergus had hid the beer in the old out house that was no longer in use but that was still full of shit, no wonder the Cop never found the beer, but no wonder we never wanted one after that.
If they wanted one after that they would have to go to the Wheat Sheaf.
There was a method in his madness Danny, after all there was only a dozen, but it gives new meaning to the old saying, "He would drink it through a shitty sock"
Allan
I happened to pick up an old file from the 1930's on it's way to the incinerator, which we had behind the Bathurst St. Yard Office, and read the file.
It was about a lost time accident, and subsequent compensation request, and claim, by the Gateman at the John St. Tower, looking after the Front St Gates.
One of the stupidest things I never did, was keep the file, because it was hilarious, the name has been made up to cover up for my bad memory.
It seems the Gateman had blood poison on the back of his hand as the result of an accident, and although I never kept the file, I can paraphrase it fairly well.
Q. What is your name?
A. John
Q. What is your capacity with the company?
A. Gateman, John St. Tower
Q. What is the nature of your injury?
A. Blood poison on the back of my hand.
Q. How did this injury occur
A. A cut of cars was being pulled out of Simcoe St. Shed by a Yard Engine and I had to lower the
gates on Front St. and after the gates had lowered, a motorist pulled up to the gates, and his
horn began to blow. When his horn never stopped, I went down to see if I could help in any
way, and he rolled down his window, and began to yell, scream and swear at me, at which
time my fist accidentally came in contact with his teeth that happened to be somewhat
rotten, resulting in the blood poisoning.
Of course; what else.
Allan
Speaking of John St Tower I got this gem from Danny L.
Danny worked at the Simcoe St shed on a Yard Engine around 1954-55, and the lunch room was in the John St. Gatemans tower at the Front St crossing going into the shed.
They were getting ready to go to work, when Fergus the other Yardman drove up, parked and got a dozen beer out of the trunk of his car.
They noticed a CNR Cop watching Fergus with the beer, from a hiding place in the shed.
We yelled at Fergus to hide the beer, which he did, he went behind the tower and hid it, and when we asked him where he hid it he said don't worry, the cop will never find it.
We saw and heard the cop searching for it, even under the crawl space, and as this tower was built about 1901 it had lots of hiding places.
The Cop finally gives up goes away and at lunch time Fergus asks us if we would like a beer, of course was the resounding cry, and Fergus left.
A short time later Fergus returns with the beer, and when we saw them we almost puked, they were all covered in shit.
Fergus had hid the beer in the old out house that was no longer in use but that was still full of shit, no wonder the Cop never found the beer, but no wonder we never wanted one after that.
If they wanted one after that they would have to go to the Wheat Sheaf.
There was a method in his madness Danny, after all there was only a dozen, but it gives new meaning to the old saying, "He would drink it through a shitty sock"
Allan
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
"Car 54 where are you"
When I went down to Bathurst St. in 1954 there were old shantys spread around the Yard with crank phones so you could keep in touch with the office and the various shantys. The Yardmen would phone the Yardmaster at the North Side shanty or the GYM, General Yardmaster in the Yard Office, and Carmen in the Car Dept. shanty.
Someone got it in their head to build a Tower from which most of the working engines in the North Side could be viewed by the Yardmaster, who would be in the tower , however, logically this was made more difficult after the sun went down.
This was provided for though, by putting a yellow light on top of the Yard Engine, which would in theory, make the engine visible at night, to the Yardmaster, and this worked if the crew wanted it to work, which most of the time they did, but on occasion, depending who the Yardmaster was they could make it difficult for him.
There was such a Yardmaster at Bathurst St by the name of Ken T. who seemed to make it his life's work to be a pain in the ass.
Along with the tower went a speaker system, where speakers were planted alo0ng the leads which made it possible for the train crews to get in touch with the Yardmaster wherever in the Yard they were, but they worked in reverse as well, because they were loud speakers, and I mean loud because they had to be heard over the noise of the engine beside it.
One night Ken T. wanted to get ahold of the North Side engine being drummed by Ken M. one of the foremen who didn't like Ken T. to much, and because Ken M. knew his way around the job and the routine by heart, he really didn't need the Yardmaster to tell him what to do, he just went and did it, but so he wouldn't be bothered, placed a bucket over the light on the engine so it couldn't be seen.
At some point Ken T. wanted to get ahold of Ken M. but couldn't see his engine and started to panic wondering what the hell happened to the engine and crew, and started to call on various speakers to no avail, and then got frustrated and opened all the speakers,up and down the lead in the Yard up and started to scream at the top of his lungs for Ken M., North Side Yown Engine where are you, screeming and screeming North Side Yowd Engine where are you, forgetting that along Front St., there were many private homes where people were trying to sleep, bearing in mind it was 3:00 A.M,. or 0300 hrs in railway parlance.
Ken T must have annoyed some people because it wasn't to long before Metro's finest were at the office wondering what the hell was going on, and trying to get Ken T. toned down somewhat, thinking maybe the Yardmaster had gone crazy and perhaps straight jackets were required.
Someone rushed to Ken M. and told him what was going on, so he just took the bucket off the light, and played dumb, which probably worked, but it was a while before someone else did that again, and I think after he got shit from the Police Dept Ken T. would whisper his instructions.
Ken M was a great practical joker and he must have many stories, I know I was told a few, and can only hope I remember them over the winter.
An interesting aside was that up in those houses on Front St. lived the great song writer Murray Mclauglin, who wrote " The Farmers Song" which was very popular, and I heard him being interviewed one day, when he said the song he also wrote "That Dammed Train" was written as a result of the noise coming from the Bathurst St. Yard.
Allan Miloff
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
" The Thick Thespian"
There was this young man who worked for the railroad for about six months, long enough to learn a lot of bad habits.
This young man, lets call him Kenny J. decides that he has Thespian genes instead of railway genes.
Kenny comes up to me one day and tells me that he is going to quit, and when I ask him what he is going to do, he says he wants to be an actor.
As there were no acting outlets in Toronto for trainee's, pun untended, he thought it would be wise for him to go to New York City and, check out Broadway for a position in acting.
Well Kenny walks up and down Broadway checking out all the theatres, large and small without the hint of a position, until he gets to, the biggest, most opulent theatre on Broadway.
Kenn y starts talking with the stage manager who advises him that there is going to be a multi-million dollar musical mounting of " Gone With The Wind " and that there might be a very small part available, that it wouldn't be much, but that it would give him some exposure, that might lead to something later, and would be a great learning experience.
With grateful enthusiasm Kenny accepts the job and, asks what his part will be.
He is then sent to the Director who again tells him that it is only a small part with one line, but that it could lead to bigger and better things.
The director tells Kenny that he should cup his ear in his hand and, when he hears the cue say, "Hark I hear the cannons roar" show up for a few rehearsals, and that opening night is a month away.
Ken leaves the theatre in absolute and utter glee, getting a part after only a day of trying, returning to his room at the Y.M.C.A. where the thought strikes him that he is not made of money, that he will have to get a job to survive until the opening.
Kenny gets a job slinging hash for the minimum wage at the local Diner, but every night without fail for two hours, stands in front of the full length mirror cupping his ear with his hand, and with great intensity saying "HARK I HEAR THE CANNONS ROAR" in fact he gets it so good that he doesnt bother showing up for rehearsals and concentrates on his hash slinging instead, what the hell, a buck is a buck.
The big night arrives and Kenny scoots down to the theater and goes in the stage entrance at the rear where, he is greeted by the director who asks him why he never showed up for any rehearsals, to which Kenny explains that he needed his hash slinging job to survive, but that he practiced every night and had the part down pat, and was as ready as anyone could be.
He satisfied the Director who told him where the dressing room was, to get into his costume, and get on the stage, before the curtain went up, and that there was an X on the stage, where he was to stand, wait for his cue, and with great gusto, and volume say his line.
As this was a very large, and opulent production, opening night itself, was a gala event, the red carpet and such, with all sorts of dignitaries and notables their wives and families in tow.
There was the President, Vice President, the Governor, the Mayor, and a variety of Senators all arriving with there families, along with a phalanx of the Religious Right, Robert Reed, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swaggart, Pat Robertson et. al. you get the picture, all arriving on the red carpet, with search lights scanning the skies as if looking for the Lord.
The very impressed, and awed, Kenny gets dressed walks over on the stage to where the X was marked, and stands perfectly still.
There is a drum roll, a blaring fanfare and the great ponderous curtain begins to rise, then the play is in progress, when all of a sudden out of stage left, comes, a great, and resounding BOOOOM,
to which Kenny yells, " WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT"
Those railroad bad habits can get you in trouble. By the way this is fictional as you probably guessed, but it was always one of my favorite jokes
Allan
There was this young man who worked for the railroad for about six months, long enough to learn a lot of bad habits.
This young man, lets call him Kenny J. decides that he has Thespian genes instead of railway genes.
Kenny comes up to me one day and tells me that he is going to quit, and when I ask him what he is going to do, he says he wants to be an actor.
As there were no acting outlets in Toronto for trainee's, pun untended, he thought it would be wise for him to go to New York City and, check out Broadway for a position in acting.
Well Kenny walks up and down Broadway checking out all the theatres, large and small without the hint of a position, until he gets to, the biggest, most opulent theatre on Broadway.
Kenn y starts talking with the stage manager who advises him that there is going to be a multi-million dollar musical mounting of " Gone With The Wind " and that there might be a very small part available, that it wouldn't be much, but that it would give him some exposure, that might lead to something later, and would be a great learning experience.
With grateful enthusiasm Kenny accepts the job and, asks what his part will be.
He is then sent to the Director who again tells him that it is only a small part with one line, but that it could lead to bigger and better things.
The director tells Kenny that he should cup his ear in his hand and, when he hears the cue say, "Hark I hear the cannons roar" show up for a few rehearsals, and that opening night is a month away.
Ken leaves the theatre in absolute and utter glee, getting a part after only a day of trying, returning to his room at the Y.M.C.A. where the thought strikes him that he is not made of money, that he will have to get a job to survive until the opening.
Kenny gets a job slinging hash for the minimum wage at the local Diner, but every night without fail for two hours, stands in front of the full length mirror cupping his ear with his hand, and with great intensity saying "HARK I HEAR THE CANNONS ROAR" in fact he gets it so good that he doesnt bother showing up for rehearsals and concentrates on his hash slinging instead, what the hell, a buck is a buck.
The big night arrives and Kenny scoots down to the theater and goes in the stage entrance at the rear where, he is greeted by the director who asks him why he never showed up for any rehearsals, to which Kenny explains that he needed his hash slinging job to survive, but that he practiced every night and had the part down pat, and was as ready as anyone could be.
He satisfied the Director who told him where the dressing room was, to get into his costume, and get on the stage, before the curtain went up, and that there was an X on the stage, where he was to stand, wait for his cue, and with great gusto, and volume say his line.
As this was a very large, and opulent production, opening night itself, was a gala event, the red carpet and such, with all sorts of dignitaries and notables their wives and families in tow.
There was the President, Vice President, the Governor, the Mayor, and a variety of Senators all arriving with there families, along with a phalanx of the Religious Right, Robert Reed, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swaggart, Pat Robertson et. al. you get the picture, all arriving on the red carpet, with search lights scanning the skies as if looking for the Lord.
The very impressed, and awed, Kenny gets dressed walks over on the stage to where the X was marked, and stands perfectly still.
There is a drum roll, a blaring fanfare and the great ponderous curtain begins to rise, then the play is in progress, when all of a sudden out of stage left, comes, a great, and resounding BOOOOM,
to which Kenny yells, " WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT"
Those railroad bad habits can get you in trouble. By the way this is fictional as you probably guessed, but it was always one of my favorite jokes
Allan
" Seating"
One of the funny routines that went on in Master Control at Macmillan Yard was musical chairs in the morning without the music, and in fact shouting matches would break out over the chairs.
Individuals would arrive and eyeball a nice chair that was not being sat in yet, would grab it and take it to their desk. If they had to get up for something and get out of the chair someone might grab it and the fight would break out. This multi- million dollar yard was chintzy on so many levels it wasn't funny, but on the other hand.
I never worried about chairs as long as there was one, consequently one of the ones left for me was a moulded plastic chair with straight legs.
For some reason or another the company had a few different chairs which they originally assigned in hierarchical manner the best chair, a real nice one very nicely padded, with padded arm rests, nice Corinthian leather, and, swiveled, being in the Superintendent's office the very top of the line.
After the Superintendent, the Trainmasters, and Office Assistants had slightly less quality leather, then the next group had wooden arm rests, then no arm rests, you must get the picture by now.
Being rather heavy when I sat in the chair the legs spread and, because we had carpet tiles on the floor, the spreading legs started curling up the carpet tiles under the chair.
The Superintendent Burt G. , who I had known for many years, came through the office one day and made a point to come over, and see me, and saw me sitting in the simple plastic chair, with the legs pushing up the corners of the carpet tiles, and asked me if that was the best I could do for a chair, at which time I told him that the chair was unimportant to me, at which time he said that he would get me a better chair.
A few minutes later Burt G. Superintendent comes in pushing his chair, and says to me here is a better chair for you Al, at which time I thanked him, while out of the corner of my eye, I notice the jaw of my immediate supervisor Dennis L. drop as the Superintendent presents me with his personal chair.
I say to Burt to what do I owe this surprise, to which he says, I just got a new one and didn't know what to do with this one.
Now never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect the chair to be there the next day, however, at least, until the end of my shift.
Aubrey R. and myself left and went to lunch at noon, and when we returned from the cafeteria Dennis L. had changed the chairs giving me his old swivel chair and taking the chair Burt G. had given me only an hour before, showed the minds of some supervisors worked and, how small minded, and, juvenile they could be, and where their priorities seemed to be.
I made a loud comment to Aubrey, like where did that chair go that Burt G. had given me, saw Dennis L's face redden, and left it there, reinforcing in my head my beliefs about where they got Supervisors.
Allan
One of the funny routines that went on in Master Control at Macmillan Yard was musical chairs in the morning without the music, and in fact shouting matches would break out over the chairs.
Individuals would arrive and eyeball a nice chair that was not being sat in yet, would grab it and take it to their desk. If they had to get up for something and get out of the chair someone might grab it and the fight would break out. This multi- million dollar yard was chintzy on so many levels it wasn't funny, but on the other hand.
I never worried about chairs as long as there was one, consequently one of the ones left for me was a moulded plastic chair with straight legs.
For some reason or another the company had a few different chairs which they originally assigned in hierarchical manner the best chair, a real nice one very nicely padded, with padded arm rests, nice Corinthian leather, and, swiveled, being in the Superintendent's office the very top of the line.
After the Superintendent, the Trainmasters, and Office Assistants had slightly less quality leather, then the next group had wooden arm rests, then no arm rests, you must get the picture by now.
Being rather heavy when I sat in the chair the legs spread and, because we had carpet tiles on the floor, the spreading legs started curling up the carpet tiles under the chair.
The Superintendent Burt G. , who I had known for many years, came through the office one day and made a point to come over, and see me, and saw me sitting in the simple plastic chair, with the legs pushing up the corners of the carpet tiles, and asked me if that was the best I could do for a chair, at which time I told him that the chair was unimportant to me, at which time he said that he would get me a better chair.
A few minutes later Burt G. Superintendent comes in pushing his chair, and says to me here is a better chair for you Al, at which time I thanked him, while out of the corner of my eye, I notice the jaw of my immediate supervisor Dennis L. drop as the Superintendent presents me with his personal chair.
I say to Burt to what do I owe this surprise, to which he says, I just got a new one and didn't know what to do with this one.
Now never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect the chair to be there the next day, however, at least, until the end of my shift.
Aubrey R. and myself left and went to lunch at noon, and when we returned from the cafeteria Dennis L. had changed the chairs giving me his old swivel chair and taking the chair Burt G. had given me only an hour before, showed the minds of some supervisors worked and, how small minded, and, juvenile they could be, and where their priorities seemed to be.
I made a loud comment to Aubrey, like where did that chair go that Burt G. had given me, saw Dennis L's face redden, and left it there, reinforcing in my head my beliefs about where they got Supervisors.
Allan
'When they return'
Written by someone else about me and Aubrey R.
" When they return"
The phone is ringing off the hook,
Don't no why this job I took,
Al is where all natures near,
Probably hunting Moose or Deer.
Now Al and R. are a dubious pair,
They dress like bums, and curse and swear.
With cabbage and beer, their guts they quench,
They stink up the woods, with an awful stench.
They hunt the deer where the water flows,
Their not happy, till theres blood on their clothes.
To picture how these two are bent,
Rejoicing when it's life is spent.
When they kill the deer, their battle cries,
And slit it's throat, and gouge it's eyes.
Anything that will make it gory,
For when they come back home, to tell their story.
Have to get this job cleaned up,
For when monday morning they show up,
And if at hunting they did goof,
They'll want the balls of this goddam Newf.
Iggy C.
Iggy C. and another person would relieve Aubry R. and myself when we went on vacation.
Every now and thyen we would get into a poety writing mode and, it would be like dualing poets.
I saved a few and every once in a while I will insert one.
Allan
Written by someone else about me and Aubrey R.
" When they return"
The phone is ringing off the hook,
Don't no why this job I took,
Al is where all natures near,
Probably hunting Moose or Deer.
Now Al and R. are a dubious pair,
They dress like bums, and curse and swear.
With cabbage and beer, their guts they quench,
They stink up the woods, with an awful stench.
They hunt the deer where the water flows,
Their not happy, till theres blood on their clothes.
To picture how these two are bent,
Rejoicing when it's life is spent.
When they kill the deer, their battle cries,
And slit it's throat, and gouge it's eyes.
Anything that will make it gory,
For when they come back home, to tell their story.
Have to get this job cleaned up,
For when monday morning they show up,
And if at hunting they did goof,
They'll want the balls of this goddam Newf.
Iggy C.
Iggy C. and another person would relieve Aubry R. and myself when we went on vacation.
Every now and thyen we would get into a poety writing mode and, it would be like dualing poets.
I saved a few and every once in a while I will insert one.
Allan
Monday, October 23, 2006
Demurrage
Demurrage, rate or account payable to shipowner by charterer for failure to load or discharge ship within time allowed, similar charge on railway trucks. The Concise Oxford Dictionary.
One of the larger Nurseries in the Toronto Area was Weale & Cullan, they had a few different locations in the Toronto area and Weale & Cullan Miniature Village in the Town of Whitby just outside Toronto.
Mr Cullan fancied himself a poet, and as part of his advertisement on CFRB one of the top radio stations in Toronto he would recite a poem he had written.
Aubrey R. and myself were Demurrage Clerks and would assess demurrage to a variety of delinquent clients from time to time. Demurrage and demurrage clerks were among the most hated things about railway charges and we would get mail from all sorts telling us we had done them wrong, which was not improbable.
The supervisors all hated demurrage as well because there was an auditor who would visit from time to time and go over our work, more often then not telling us we had not charged when we should have. When in doubt we gave the customer the break, although they never knew that.
When the Auditor found what he considered errors he would go to our boss Robert S. and tell him that we had to assess charges on a variety of clients we had not charged, and Robert S. would come to us and advise us to charge, which we did.
We never minded this but the supervisors sure did, I guess they resented the fact that someone could come in from outside the railway and dictate to them.
The auditors worked under the auspices of the C.C.D.B. Canadian Car Demurrage Bureau, anyway, one day we get an angry letter from Mr Cullan, of Weale & Cullan, saying we charged them when we should not have, and because we knew he liked poetry this was our answer to him.
Dear Mr. Cullan, we got your letter.
Regarding demurrage, there are none better.
Twenty four hours for customs to clear,
If you have done that you have nothing to fear.
To unload your car, you have forty eight hours.
If, you haven't done that, we are endowed with powers,
To charge you demurrage for any delays,
Fifteen dollars each, for the fist two days.
The next to days are twenty five dollars.
When the firms get these they let out hollers.
The next two days are thirty five each.
The reason for this is a lesson to teach.
Unload your car in a reasonable time,
Then you and the railroad will get along fine.
If you think there's an error, and your bill is unjust,
Just send it back, and you will find that we must, go over the charges to see if they're just.
If we are in error, we are only to glad,
To drop the charges because they were bad.
We like doing business with people like you,
You ASSHOLE.....
We showed this letter to Robert S. our boss and he just about shit believing we would, but seeing his face was payment enough.
At this time I don't remember if the charges stood, or not, but it doesn't really matter now.
In the summer while reading the obits, I saw that Mr Cullan had died, and in the obit. it said that he had quite a sense of humour so I guess, or like to think he would have thought it funny to
Allan
Demurrage, rate or account payable to shipowner by charterer for failure to load or discharge ship within time allowed, similar charge on railway trucks. The Concise Oxford Dictionary.
One of the larger Nurseries in the Toronto Area was Weale & Cullan, they had a few different locations in the Toronto area and Weale & Cullan Miniature Village in the Town of Whitby just outside Toronto.
Mr Cullan fancied himself a poet, and as part of his advertisement on CFRB one of the top radio stations in Toronto he would recite a poem he had written.
Aubrey R. and myself were Demurrage Clerks and would assess demurrage to a variety of delinquent clients from time to time. Demurrage and demurrage clerks were among the most hated things about railway charges and we would get mail from all sorts telling us we had done them wrong, which was not improbable.
The supervisors all hated demurrage as well because there was an auditor who would visit from time to time and go over our work, more often then not telling us we had not charged when we should have. When in doubt we gave the customer the break, although they never knew that.
When the Auditor found what he considered errors he would go to our boss Robert S. and tell him that we had to assess charges on a variety of clients we had not charged, and Robert S. would come to us and advise us to charge, which we did.
We never minded this but the supervisors sure did, I guess they resented the fact that someone could come in from outside the railway and dictate to them.
The auditors worked under the auspices of the C.C.D.B. Canadian Car Demurrage Bureau, anyway, one day we get an angry letter from Mr Cullan, of Weale & Cullan, saying we charged them when we should not have, and because we knew he liked poetry this was our answer to him.
Dear Mr. Cullan, we got your letter.
Regarding demurrage, there are none better.
Twenty four hours for customs to clear,
If you have done that you have nothing to fear.
To unload your car, you have forty eight hours.
If, you haven't done that, we are endowed with powers,
To charge you demurrage for any delays,
Fifteen dollars each, for the fist two days.
The next to days are twenty five dollars.
When the firms get these they let out hollers.
The next two days are thirty five each.
The reason for this is a lesson to teach.
Unload your car in a reasonable time,
Then you and the railroad will get along fine.
If you think there's an error, and your bill is unjust,
Just send it back, and you will find that we must, go over the charges to see if they're just.
If we are in error, we are only to glad,
To drop the charges because they were bad.
We like doing business with people like you,
You ASSHOLE.....
We showed this letter to Robert S. our boss and he just about shit believing we would, but seeing his face was payment enough.
At this time I don't remember if the charges stood, or not, but it doesn't really matter now.
In the summer while reading the obits, I saw that Mr Cullan had died, and in the obit. it said that he had quite a sense of humour so I guess, or like to think he would have thought it funny to
Allan
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Unforgettable Characters
Bobby May was one of those characters you like right away when first meeting them. Bobby was about 55 when I first met him in 1954 when I bid in the 4.30PM Car Checker job at Bathurst St. I thought, what an old codger, but as I say liked him right away. I found out Bobby lived the next block from me, I lived for a while on Northcote Ave, and Bobby lived on Beaconsfield Ave. When I eventually got the 3.30PM Car Checker job we would walk together, the days we worked together, which was not always because we had different days off. I eventually got a car and would pick up Bobby and take him to work, when we worked together, and in fact got quite close. The days we would walk we would walk down Queen St to Dovercourt, south on Dovercourt to Sudbury St. southeast on Sudbury St. to King, along king to Niagara St, which was the poor section in the west end at the time. As we walked down Niagara on a hot day Bobby would call the kids and give them all a nickle for a Popsicle. I shudder to think what the cops would make of that today.
Bobby had been a marathon runner and would get up early most mornings and run along Queen St. to High Park run through High Park to High Park Ave. reverse it and run back home, have dinner and get ready for work.
Bobby was married to a great woman, and they were extremely close. For holidays in the summer they liked to go on the train to Gogama , rent a canoe and tent for 2 weeks.
They had no kids which seemed to make them even closer together than most married couples.
One day while at work we get the bad news that Bobby's wife had died and he was just devastated. Everyone at work felt very bad for Bobby and could see he was in a serious funk, so we thought we should have a little get together at the home of Robert W. and try to get his mind some where else if we could.
We had the get together, which we would normally call a party but under the circumstances that didn't seems proper, and Bobby seemed to have a good time, at least as good as could be expected under the circumstances. I took Bobby home that night, and asked him if he would be going to work the next day, and when he answered in the affirmative I told him that I would pick him up.
I went the next day to his house and when I went into the lobby of his apartment building he shouted down and asked me to come up for a few minutes, which I did.
When I got up to his apartment he said that he had something he would like me to sign. I said no problem, and he handed me a blank 909C report, which was a form for the Car Department advising them hot to deal with a Refrigerator Car. I looked at it and he told me to turn it over, and when I asked him what it was, he replied, my Will, I thought to myself, Jesus Christ, this is a first for me. I signed the Will and Bobby seemed in good spirits, we went down got in the car and went to work. After work I dropped him off and went home, and went to bed as this was the afternoon shift. I was awoken the next day by my mother saying that there was a woman on the phone for me, and when I answered the phone, the woman said that she was Bobby's niece and that Bobby had died that night. She asked me to come to the apartment, which I did and told me that she knew that Bobby was quite close to me, and gave me an octagonal gold watch that Bobby had been awarded in one of his marathons, and I was totally flabbergasted. We all suspected that he had died of a broken heart, and that even if I had heard of such a thing I didn't believe it until this incident. That was all there was to it, until about eight or ten months later I get a call from a Law Office downtown asking me if I had signed a Will for Bobby, to which I told them I had. The Lawyer asked me to come down o his office and swear an oath out to that effect.
I went down and the Lawyer asked me what a 909C report was, and I told him,and he mumbled something inaudible, then asked me if I knew what it said, I told him that I didn't that as soon as I realized it was a Will I thought it was none of my business, to which he replied in no uncertain terms anything you sign is your business. He gave me hell in a good natured way, realizing that I was quite young, inexperienced. and naive. He then told me to read the Will and swear that it was my signature and sent me on my way.
This was not a funny story, but, some of the characters I have met on my journey, should be mentioned and I will do that from time to time in this Blog.
Allan
Bobby May was one of those characters you like right away when first meeting them. Bobby was about 55 when I first met him in 1954 when I bid in the 4.30PM Car Checker job at Bathurst St. I thought, what an old codger, but as I say liked him right away. I found out Bobby lived the next block from me, I lived for a while on Northcote Ave, and Bobby lived on Beaconsfield Ave. When I eventually got the 3.30PM Car Checker job we would walk together, the days we worked together, which was not always because we had different days off. I eventually got a car and would pick up Bobby and take him to work, when we worked together, and in fact got quite close. The days we would walk we would walk down Queen St to Dovercourt, south on Dovercourt to Sudbury St. southeast on Sudbury St. to King, along king to Niagara St, which was the poor section in the west end at the time. As we walked down Niagara on a hot day Bobby would call the kids and give them all a nickle for a Popsicle. I shudder to think what the cops would make of that today.
Bobby had been a marathon runner and would get up early most mornings and run along Queen St. to High Park run through High Park to High Park Ave. reverse it and run back home, have dinner and get ready for work.
Bobby was married to a great woman, and they were extremely close. For holidays in the summer they liked to go on the train to Gogama , rent a canoe and tent for 2 weeks.
They had no kids which seemed to make them even closer together than most married couples.
One day while at work we get the bad news that Bobby's wife had died and he was just devastated. Everyone at work felt very bad for Bobby and could see he was in a serious funk, so we thought we should have a little get together at the home of Robert W. and try to get his mind some where else if we could.
We had the get together, which we would normally call a party but under the circumstances that didn't seems proper, and Bobby seemed to have a good time, at least as good as could be expected under the circumstances. I took Bobby home that night, and asked him if he would be going to work the next day, and when he answered in the affirmative I told him that I would pick him up.
I went the next day to his house and when I went into the lobby of his apartment building he shouted down and asked me to come up for a few minutes, which I did.
When I got up to his apartment he said that he had something he would like me to sign. I said no problem, and he handed me a blank 909C report, which was a form for the Car Department advising them hot to deal with a Refrigerator Car. I looked at it and he told me to turn it over, and when I asked him what it was, he replied, my Will, I thought to myself, Jesus Christ, this is a first for me. I signed the Will and Bobby seemed in good spirits, we went down got in the car and went to work. After work I dropped him off and went home, and went to bed as this was the afternoon shift. I was awoken the next day by my mother saying that there was a woman on the phone for me, and when I answered the phone, the woman said that she was Bobby's niece and that Bobby had died that night. She asked me to come to the apartment, which I did and told me that she knew that Bobby was quite close to me, and gave me an octagonal gold watch that Bobby had been awarded in one of his marathons, and I was totally flabbergasted. We all suspected that he had died of a broken heart, and that even if I had heard of such a thing I didn't believe it until this incident. That was all there was to it, until about eight or ten months later I get a call from a Law Office downtown asking me if I had signed a Will for Bobby, to which I told them I had. The Lawyer asked me to come down o his office and swear an oath out to that effect.
I went down and the Lawyer asked me what a 909C report was, and I told him,and he mumbled something inaudible, then asked me if I knew what it said, I told him that I didn't that as soon as I realized it was a Will I thought it was none of my business, to which he replied in no uncertain terms anything you sign is your business. He gave me hell in a good natured way, realizing that I was quite young, inexperienced. and naive. He then told me to read the Will and swear that it was my signature and sent me on my way.
This was not a funny story, but, some of the characters I have met on my journey, should be mentioned and I will do that from time to time in this Blog.
Allan
The Parking Ticket
Back in the early 1960's I was driving to work with my brother Max in my green 1949 Buick with the crunched front fender, due to a collision with a meat pie truck. While waiting for the cops to arrive me and the other driver enjoyed a meat pie, but I digress. I was driving Bathurst St. bridge near Old Fort York which was almost directly over the Yard Office, when Max yells \\\Stop/// I wondered what the hell, there was no one in sight, good thing, jammed on my brakes and Max jumps out of the car, and runs to, what appears to be a wallet in the middle of the road. He grabs the wallet while I am in the car waiting to be rear ended which does not happen, and we continue on our way. Max proceeds to open the wallet which was not a wallet at all but a leather case which held a Policeman's blank parking tickets. I guess that a cop from the traffic div. on Strachn Ave dropped them. Max says I'm going to keep the wallet and throw the tickets away, to which I said no you won't, I want the tickets. We get to work and my mind was wondering all the time who would I give my first Parking ticket to, and then the light went off, it was so obvious.
Now at Bathurst St. we had to hoop up the bills on to most trains making lifts there, and the trains went by quite fast some times 40 to 50 MPH, and if it was a long train 75 cars you had a bit of time because 75 cars is three quarters of a mile long. but if it was 25 cars you did not have much time to get out with the bills, so rushed to do so.
Ralph G. used to park right in front of the door where we exited to hoop up the bills and we would almost run up on the hood of his car if we weren't thinking. We told Ralph many times do not park there. Now Ralph was nearing pension age and seemed older than his years to us but we couldn't convince him not to park there.
I looked out the window an sure as shooting Ralph was parked there again, so I wrote out a parking ticket, for, "Blocking a fire exit" and made it for the max at the time $10.00 dollars, and signed the ticket D. Tracy.
I should say that I had, had problems with parking tickets from time to time and, was in fact written up twice, in the Toronto Star by Ron Haggart, a columnist for the Star regarding my adventures in parking tickets, grist for another mill, and another time. Needless to say I was considered very knowledgeable in the office regarding parking tickets, and was always the one people would come to when they wanted to vent about parking tickets.
Ralph was some what of a whiner, and went to everyone in the office whining, everyone except me, who had told him many, many times not to park there. Ralph had gotten some sympathy but not much encouragement, and when the shift ended he continued to talk to the next shift.
I knew that Danny McD. GYM would be arriving soon so I went out to see him, and told him what to expect, and for him to tell Ralph to come to me for help.
When Danny entered the office Ralph went up to him looking for advice and sympathy, he got the sympathy then Danny told him why don't you talk to Al he has had a lot of experience with parking tickets.
I was watching the action out of the corner of my eye and was ready when Ralph headed over to me holding the ticket out, in his hand. I grabbed the ticket out of his hand yelling I can't stand the sight of parking tickets, they infuriate me, and proceeded to tear it up in 100 pieces and threw it on the floor and jumped up and down on it like I was throwing a tantrum.
Now as you all know, when a parking ticket is not paid on time, the fine doubles, and the ticket could not be paid in that condition, so Ralph could see dollar bill running before his eyes.
I let Ralph stew for a couple of pregnant moments, and said Ralph, don't worry about the tickets, I have friends at city hall and will fix the ticket, to which he breathed a sigh of relief, adding for Christ's sake Ralph don't park there any more.
Did it work, no a few weeks went by and Ralph was parking there again.
Which proves the old adage, "You can lead a Jackass to knowledge, but you can't make him think.
Allan
Back in the early 1960's I was driving to work with my brother Max in my green 1949 Buick with the crunched front fender, due to a collision with a meat pie truck. While waiting for the cops to arrive me and the other driver enjoyed a meat pie, but I digress. I was driving Bathurst St. bridge near Old Fort York which was almost directly over the Yard Office, when Max yells \\\Stop/// I wondered what the hell, there was no one in sight, good thing, jammed on my brakes and Max jumps out of the car, and runs to, what appears to be a wallet in the middle of the road. He grabs the wallet while I am in the car waiting to be rear ended which does not happen, and we continue on our way. Max proceeds to open the wallet which was not a wallet at all but a leather case which held a Policeman's blank parking tickets. I guess that a cop from the traffic div. on Strachn Ave dropped them. Max says I'm going to keep the wallet and throw the tickets away, to which I said no you won't, I want the tickets. We get to work and my mind was wondering all the time who would I give my first Parking ticket to, and then the light went off, it was so obvious.
Now at Bathurst St. we had to hoop up the bills on to most trains making lifts there, and the trains went by quite fast some times 40 to 50 MPH, and if it was a long train 75 cars you had a bit of time because 75 cars is three quarters of a mile long. but if it was 25 cars you did not have much time to get out with the bills, so rushed to do so.
Ralph G. used to park right in front of the door where we exited to hoop up the bills and we would almost run up on the hood of his car if we weren't thinking. We told Ralph many times do not park there. Now Ralph was nearing pension age and seemed older than his years to us but we couldn't convince him not to park there.
I looked out the window an sure as shooting Ralph was parked there again, so I wrote out a parking ticket, for, "Blocking a fire exit" and made it for the max at the time $10.00 dollars, and signed the ticket D. Tracy.
I should say that I had, had problems with parking tickets from time to time and, was in fact written up twice, in the Toronto Star by Ron Haggart, a columnist for the Star regarding my adventures in parking tickets, grist for another mill, and another time. Needless to say I was considered very knowledgeable in the office regarding parking tickets, and was always the one people would come to when they wanted to vent about parking tickets.
Ralph was some what of a whiner, and went to everyone in the office whining, everyone except me, who had told him many, many times not to park there. Ralph had gotten some sympathy but not much encouragement, and when the shift ended he continued to talk to the next shift.
I knew that Danny McD. GYM would be arriving soon so I went out to see him, and told him what to expect, and for him to tell Ralph to come to me for help.
When Danny entered the office Ralph went up to him looking for advice and sympathy, he got the sympathy then Danny told him why don't you talk to Al he has had a lot of experience with parking tickets.
I was watching the action out of the corner of my eye and was ready when Ralph headed over to me holding the ticket out, in his hand. I grabbed the ticket out of his hand yelling I can't stand the sight of parking tickets, they infuriate me, and proceeded to tear it up in 100 pieces and threw it on the floor and jumped up and down on it like I was throwing a tantrum.
Now as you all know, when a parking ticket is not paid on time, the fine doubles, and the ticket could not be paid in that condition, so Ralph could see dollar bill running before his eyes.
I let Ralph stew for a couple of pregnant moments, and said Ralph, don't worry about the tickets, I have friends at city hall and will fix the ticket, to which he breathed a sigh of relief, adding for Christ's sake Ralph don't park there any more.
Did it work, no a few weeks went by and Ralph was parking there again.
Which proves the old adage, "You can lead a Jackass to knowledge, but you can't make him think.
Allan
A Shocking Experience
My mother moved from 35 Northcote Ave which she paid $7500.00 for, in Parkdale to 13 Tyndall Ave, which she paid $18,000.00 for, a few blocks away, but a much nicer neighborhood.
This was about 1955, the house was much nicer, no cockroaches, and had been previously owned by a Doctor. When moving the doctor inadvertently, or other, left a piece of equipment, that was used to shock people. It is my understanding that a mild shock stimulates the healing of wounds. The machine was enclosed in a little open wooden box about 4 in deep 6 in high, and 8 in long and was operated by and held one of those old fashion dry cell batteries with 2 prongs on the top. There were 3 settings on the machine, mild, strong, and really strong, approaching, Old Sparky, referring to the electric chair still in use in Florida. The way it worked was, you held on to two tubes connected to the machine by a pair of wires one tube in each hand, and there was a small tube inside a coil which you would manually pull out, and the further out you pulled the tube the more intense the resulting shock. When you put the machine in the mild position, and pulled out the tube you could pull the tube all the way and a child would not be to discomforted, it was in the second position that you actually began to feel the effects, or in effect the beginning of the second stage was the end of the first stage, and so forth. At the end of the second stage, you could really take it but you knew for sure what was happening. The beginning of the third stage when the excitement started to happen. As I said we were all playing with the machine to see how much of a jolt we could take, and it got to John B. to try and he was doing not bad when Bob S. came by watched for a minute, and reached over to the machine and pulled the tube right out, the effect being that John B's body sort of all balled up his face contorted he fell on the floor writhing around, his body in spasms like you can't imagine, yelling and screaming. We had to quick get the tube from Bob S. and quick put it back in the machine to shut it down, and when John B finally picked himself up, he wanted to kill Bob S. everyone else had a good laugh, and Bob S. said that it couldn't be that bad, that John B was just putting on an act. Some time later when the excitement had worn off Bob S. said that he would like to try the machine, and John B. was in another room and no where in sight, so we hooked Bob up to the machine. He was doing OK when John B came from the other room, and pulled the tube right out, at which time Bob was thrown to the floor face contorting veins bulging, writhing kicking and screaming shut off the machine. John B rand away in order to keep Bob in pain but we had to get Bob off the machine. When Bob was finally disconnected from the machine, he said maybe it was a little worse than I thought. We all had a laugh, went back to work and got out another train.
I still have this unit somewhere and maybe if I find someone who collects medical antique machines I will get rid of it, but it sure relieved the tedium of another ho hum work day.
In retrospect is was probably not a good idea to play with this thing in the manner we did because, if someone would have had a week heart, we might just have killed them. Can you imagine arriving at the Pearly Gates and St. Peter saying, that the railroad yard is a dangerous place to be working, and asking were you killed by a run away rail car or passenger train out of Union Station, and having to reply, no I was killed by a dry cell battery, how embarrassing
Allan
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Cinerama Holiday
Lowell Thomas's movie "Cinerama Holiday" and aftermath was an exciting and eye opening event in my life at the time, around 1955, and turned out to be quite a blast. Cinerama Holiday was actually a travelogue filmed in 3D where you didn't need the funny glasses. The movie was showing at the Tech theater in Buffalo, which was the place to go at the time for Torontonians, Buffalo, not the Tech theater, wanting to kick up their heels.
John B. my brother Max and I being movie buffs, decided to drive to Buffalo and see this movie, and when we got there found out that the movie never started for 3 or 4 hours, so decided to walk around and see what we could see. We came upon a store dealing in magic tricks, and a wide variety of other novel items. I bought 3 or 4 Bombs that you would attach to the spark plug of some poor victims car which would emit a loud scream and bang, with a big puff of smoke. After walking around for a little we decided we had enough time to see another film that was showing close by. It was an uninspiring WW11 movie, and I use the term uninspiring loosely, the reason for which will be ultimately clear.
The film I believe Starred Mickey Rooney as an inveterate gambler, there always is one, and a young Hugh O'Brian. I can not remember the name of the movie.
We none the less enjoyed the movie and were taking our time exiting the theater, and much to our surprise there was a Tank in the Lobby with a Recruiting Station, with young men lining up to join, and we, perhaps being a bit paranoid, thought we were getting dirty looks from the Sargent when we walked right on by. Was this not exploitation in the extreme.
It was around this time it should be said, that the USA were starting to get into Vietnam in a big way, and one has to wonder how many of these young men never made it home.
Anyway, we went and saw Cinerama Holiday and enjoyed it thoroughly, especially the part where the fighter jet is catapulted off the Aircraft Carrier.
On the way home I said that I would have to put the first bomb on my own car so I would see what it would do before I could put it on anyone Else's. I had a Chev Sedan Delivery at the time with only a front seat, and would drive Bobby M who lived the next block over to work when we worked together as well as the Brute [John B]. I told John to make Bobby M. sit in the middle and when I got to the Loblaw's parking lot which we had to go through I would stall the car and hook up the bomb. Bobby knew nothing of cars so he would not understand, and when I started the car and the bomb went off we would both jump out of the car on to the ground, in fact bail out. Well that's exactly what we did, the thing started to scream, then blew up, and emitted a big puff of smoke with us laying on the ground, and when we looked at Bobby M. he was sitting in the middle of the seat with his lunch pail on his knees, shaking like a leaf, and when we began to laugh he figured out what happened and then started to curse a blue streak.
After we stopped laughing and Bobby M stopped cursing we continued on to work and told everyone about it who also had a laugh. Ken D. asks if we have another one of the bombs which we do and give it to him. He then goes outside and attaches one to the car of Bob G. General Yardmaster who is now at the Wharf scales weighing cars. Bob G. returns, turns in the scale tickets, and goes out to his car to go home,which happens to be a brand new 1955 Pontiac, the first brand new car anyone had around this place, ever as far as I new. Everyone in the office is aware of what is going to happen so they are all looking out the windows. Bob G. starts up his car to a screeming whistle, a loud band, and a great puff of smoke, and is shaking inside his car. He finally looks up and sees everone looking out the windows and wondered what happend. He starts to gingerly open the hood of the car to see what hasppened, and when he sees the bomb attached to the spark plug, he figures it out, and is so mad he slams down the hood so hard that he springs it and it won't close properly now. He comes in the office red faced cursing and swearing saying if I fgind out the son of a bitch who did that I will fire him, while everyone turns and stifles a giggle.It is funny how that little trip to Buffalo picked up so many lives if only for the hour.
Lowell Thomas's movie "Cinerama Holiday" and aftermath was an exciting and eye opening event in my life at the time, around 1955, and turned out to be quite a blast. Cinerama Holiday was actually a travelogue filmed in 3D where you didn't need the funny glasses. The movie was showing at the Tech theater in Buffalo, which was the place to go at the time for Torontonians, Buffalo, not the Tech theater, wanting to kick up their heels.
John B. my brother Max and I being movie buffs, decided to drive to Buffalo and see this movie, and when we got there found out that the movie never started for 3 or 4 hours, so decided to walk around and see what we could see. We came upon a store dealing in magic tricks, and a wide variety of other novel items. I bought 3 or 4 Bombs that you would attach to the spark plug of some poor victims car which would emit a loud scream and bang, with a big puff of smoke. After walking around for a little we decided we had enough time to see another film that was showing close by. It was an uninspiring WW11 movie, and I use the term uninspiring loosely, the reason for which will be ultimately clear.
The film I believe Starred Mickey Rooney as an inveterate gambler, there always is one, and a young Hugh O'Brian. I can not remember the name of the movie.
We none the less enjoyed the movie and were taking our time exiting the theater, and much to our surprise there was a Tank in the Lobby with a Recruiting Station, with young men lining up to join, and we, perhaps being a bit paranoid, thought we were getting dirty looks from the Sargent when we walked right on by. Was this not exploitation in the extreme.
It was around this time it should be said, that the USA were starting to get into Vietnam in a big way, and one has to wonder how many of these young men never made it home.
Anyway, we went and saw Cinerama Holiday and enjoyed it thoroughly, especially the part where the fighter jet is catapulted off the Aircraft Carrier.
On the way home I said that I would have to put the first bomb on my own car so I would see what it would do before I could put it on anyone Else's. I had a Chev Sedan Delivery at the time with only a front seat, and would drive Bobby M who lived the next block over to work when we worked together as well as the Brute [John B]. I told John to make Bobby M. sit in the middle and when I got to the Loblaw's parking lot which we had to go through I would stall the car and hook up the bomb. Bobby knew nothing of cars so he would not understand, and when I started the car and the bomb went off we would both jump out of the car on to the ground, in fact bail out. Well that's exactly what we did, the thing started to scream, then blew up, and emitted a big puff of smoke with us laying on the ground, and when we looked at Bobby M. he was sitting in the middle of the seat with his lunch pail on his knees, shaking like a leaf, and when we began to laugh he figured out what happened and then started to curse a blue streak.
After we stopped laughing and Bobby M stopped cursing we continued on to work and told everyone about it who also had a laugh. Ken D. asks if we have another one of the bombs which we do and give it to him. He then goes outside and attaches one to the car of Bob G. General Yardmaster who is now at the Wharf scales weighing cars. Bob G. returns, turns in the scale tickets, and goes out to his car to go home,which happens to be a brand new 1955 Pontiac, the first brand new car anyone had around this place, ever as far as I new. Everyone in the office is aware of what is going to happen so they are all looking out the windows. Bob G. starts up his car to a screeming whistle, a loud band, and a great puff of smoke, and is shaking inside his car. He finally looks up and sees everone looking out the windows and wondered what happend. He starts to gingerly open the hood of the car to see what hasppened, and when he sees the bomb attached to the spark plug, he figures it out, and is so mad he slams down the hood so hard that he springs it and it won't close properly now. He comes in the office red faced cursing and swearing saying if I fgind out the son of a bitch who did that I will fire him, while everyone turns and stifles a giggle.It is funny how that little trip to Buffalo picked up so many lives if only for the hour.
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