Up early, rested, and ready. After the daily omelette and the daily Bread I remote started the truck, put on my work boots and parka and went out to scrap the ice from the truck windows.
No ID card today.
Go home.
We’ll call you.
Home it was and here I are. I am part of a crew of 9. Monday, one got a card. Yesterday, another. Today just one other and I didn’t get cards. Things are looking up for tomorrow. There’s got to be a pony somewhere.
April 20th was a big day in our home growing up. It was my dad’s birthday. When I was older, I realized the date was shared by others. My co-worker, Klaus, was born on April 20th as well. He said he got a day off from school on his birthday each year growing up in Nazi Germany.
I got thinking of my dad on the way north to Canada this spring. We covered some of the same ground on a trip we took together in 1982 on a trip to see his brother in California, “one last time.” As we drove through Lethbridge a few weeks ago I reminisced about trips with him to Elks’ Conventions.
The first I remember was a provincial convention in 1955 in Kamloops. It was in June and I got off school to travel with my parents. The highway through the Fraser Canyon was remarkable to me. Crossing the Alexandria suspension bridge and back and forth on the switchbacks up Jackass Mountain. The road on stilts out over the river is some places. All the things that got improved away in the burst of improvements in the 60’s. I remember staying at Scott’s motel in Kamloops and helping a similarly aged damsel in distress who had managed to get her finger stuck in a pop bottle. Then the trip home through the Okanagan Valley staying at the El Rancho in Penticton and the drive from there home over the Hope Princeton highway. At university I met the son of the owner of the El Rancho. The day after my last apprenticeship class in 1980, Juanita our baby, Becky, our toddler, Debbie, and I stayed there as well. Hard to imagine it is still going or still a desirable place to stay.
Well! Look at that! Mr. Google Maps says its still there and reviews give a rating of 3.2 out of 5. One review complains of bed bugs. Maybe it is showing its age. Aren’t we all? Maybe I’ll skip the convenient two blocks off the beach location next time we are in Penticton. There is in the family album a picture of Debbie and me sitting on the beach in our swimsuits. My sister called that shot, “Debbie and the great white whale”. But I digress.
The national or “Grand Lodge” convention of 1957 was next that I remember. Well, actually, I don’t. It was planned to have me stay at home and go fishing with family friends on Powell Lake. At the last minute I was informed I would be going to the Diamond J Dude Ranch in the wilds of Surrey (I think). It was billed as each dude getting his or her own horse. That was marketing. I shared Stormy, a black Shetland pony with another dude or dudette who I can’t remember, That was enough for nine year old me, I got as much riding in as I wanted and only had to do half the horse care chores. I do remember the drinking water taste dipped from an oak barrel. And the monkey escaping and causing a bit of excitement until somebody shot it as it cavorted on the peak of the cook house. Not much other else than being interrogated by the director if that was my father in the newspaper article about the election of a new Grand Exalted Ruler of the Grand Lodge of the BPOE. Celebrities must have been in short supply. On parent’s day they announced my honourable father and my presence. Then it was off to the Hotel Vancouver to rise a week’s grime off in the big claw footed tub with its taps with porcelain “hot” and “cold” labels. I expect the Hotel Vancouver has faired better with age than the El Rancho. According to its website it is now a Fairmont Hotel they just spent $75 million dollars on renovations, so it better be better than the humble El Rancho
In 1958 we all (parent, unmarried sister and me) went to Winnipeg by train and stayed in another CPR hotel which is also now a Fairmont. I remember the train ride there. Overnight to Revelstoke and then through the Rockies by day. Probably over some bridges my grandfather built. Winnipeg I remember the zoo and seeing the “wapiti” (elk). My sister exclaiming “there’s a hill” to be informed it was the city dump.
We brought BC commemorative centenary (1858-1958) silver dollars with us and I saw a thousand dollar bill for the first and last time. It was a prize in a raffle. They have since discontinued that denomination, something to do with drug dealers and the risk that the government might not be able to snoop as much as it wants to. Do you think the bill might make a comeback when hyperinflation hits Canada? To think that Canada with all its resources has been mismanaged to the point where that is a realistic possibility. But I digress.
I bought my first multi-tool in Winnipeg. The brass handle of the hammer unscrewed to reveal screwdrivers of various sizes. I seem to remember seeing the screwdriver recently but none of the rest of the tool.
Leaving Winnipeg, I promised a newfound friend I would cut up a nickel and send him half. Not the first or the last thing on a to-do list I failed to do. I didn’t even try. I did, however, for a bet, try to delaminate some plywood with a chisel at about that age. The blood was impressive. The scar has mostly faded.
On the train ride back I remember the Bow River and getting too motion sick to eat going through the mountains and how wonderful the beef and buttered buns tasted the next morning. On our way to the Vancouver train station we passed the recently collapsed Second Narrows Bridge. Now known as the Iron Workers Memorial Bridge in honour of those who died in the collapse. To think it was all caused by somebody running their finger across a column of numbers and slipping a line to arrive at the wrong size of steel member to be used.
In 1962 I rode with my dad to the national convention in Calgary. Both sisters were married by then and my mother had stopped travelling with my father. She would be quite combative if not asked to came along but would respond with “Of course not!” if approached. Before I became a Christian I had not seen a marriage that appeared happy and functional. My parents’ was typical as far as I could tell.
I was navigator, dad was driver, He gave me a slip of paper with an address on Georgia Street in Vancouver. Somewhere on Georgia street. We found it. Then we headed up valley to Hope for the night. The next day the 1957 Dodge was acting up as we travelled through Manning Park and the Hope-Princeton. We pulled into Brother Don Carlson’s shop in Keremeos and he installed new plugs. Much my better. On the road again across the bottom of BC and up to Calgary. This was before the Hope slide, I saw the Frank slide for the first time. A whole town buried in rock early one morning. No survivors.
In Calgary I directed to an address on Georgia Street in the suburbs of Calgary. Didn’t look like our hotel. Then we turned the paper over and used the side with the Calgary address of the Cavalier Notel.
In any case by then I was 14, I could be left on my own to hang around the Cavalier Motel an its environs while my dad and his lodge buddies did their thing. They quieted down a bit after management threatened to evict them. Phil’s pancake house was right next door and a hobby shop was down the block at the Northgate Mall. I added to my collection of model cars to be assembled.
The pool was a great place to hang. The sunburn from that was painful. Not the first or last sunburn I’ve had. Also painful was the apology to the brother Elk whose new convertible received the careful insertion of an exhaust whistle in its tail pipe. Seemed like great fun in the ads for it but caused him a lot of worry. Not to mention a lot of ire from dad.
In Calgary I noticed my fashion consciousness. Rather, self-consciousness. We dropped in to visit some people in their hotel room. Dress slacks, dress shirts, cufflinks. Definitely not the same class as me I realized. The final wound was inflicted when I was packing the car while my dad was busy. I snagged my baggy pants on something and ripped one leg right across the knee. No matter. We are driving downtown and then on the road. Downtown somebody thought it would be a good idea to have the family of dignitaries parade around the ballroom. Shades of Diamond J! What is with these people, anyway? I paraded with that large flap of cloth flapping away as I went around the room. What else would a flap do but flap?
We drove south passing through the Mormon town of Cardston around sunset and crossed the border at Port of Piegan to spend the night in a log cabin in Babb, Montana. The romantic young couple leaning into the logs next door ignored the 14-year-old me staring as they teased themselves in anticipation. We went into our cabin. The next day we were on the road through Glacier National Park and on our way to Spokane to visit my uncle Cecil who moved from there to California when he retired from the railway.
Then on our way to Seattle and the World’s Fair. I saw a Franklin, front wheel drive air-cooled car at a roadside garage in the Cascade mountains.
In Seattle we went up the space needle and both had our first piece of pizza. I don’t remember much else. It was the last big trip with the Dodge. The next year we drove it to Vancouver and started at Dueck on Broadway going from dealer to dealer until we found one in New Westminster that would accept the Dodge in trade on a 1963 Chevrolet, the car I learned to drive in.
That wasn’t much writing for the day, but I got a bit of reading in too. I hear they figured out how to make me an ID card. Who knew it could be so hard? I start work tomorrow. Ten hours a day. Six days a week. Posting might be a bit spotty.
Just remember. I had ripped knee pants decades before it was fashionable.