Search This BlogMusings From a Saskatchewan Farm Boy: The City Years

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

First Love




When I was about eight years old, I fell deeply in love. Oh, sure, I had had serious crushes before! But this was the real thing! Unfortunately, the woman I fell in love with was about fifteen years older than I was. Not only that but she lived in another country and moved around in a different circle of friends, a circle I couldn’t even visualize let alone think of joining. She was a gifted singer and she was beautiful beyond words to my eight-year-old eyes. She was the Singing Rage, Miss Patti Page, and the song that she sang on the radio, to me, was The Tennessee Waltz. Though you may laugh, I was smitten…badly smitten!

Now life serves up many ironies which can make life thus very interesting. In this case flash forward in my life eleven years. I am now nineteen years old, it is February, and my brother and I are on a holiday trip by car in the south-western United States. We are way ahead of our time in that we would today be considered snowbirds. Back then we were simply fortunate enough to be able to enjoy a winter holiday. There were so many advantages then. Motels and meals were half the cost of summer-time rates. Places of interest we wanted to visit had no lineups. Usually we were their only visitors for the day and received extra time and attention. Being Canadians meant that often we were treated to rounds of drinks in bars or restaurants. Yes, it was a good time to be traveling.

Our trip eventually led us to Las Vegas which at that time had a population of about 25,000. The Strip was just in its first stages of development. We stayed at a motel a block from the crossroads of Las Vegas for the hefty sum of $12 a night. At night we went to the Desert Inn located just south on “The Strip”. We would tip the maitre d’ and try to get good seats where we could have an excellent meal as well as be entertained by the featured entertainers.
Our first night we were fortunate enough to be seated in the main floor area where we could see Jimmy Durante and his musical partner, Eddie Jackson. They kept us all in stitches with their humor and their choice of songs. Their show that evening ended up with the destruction of the stage piano which they had been maltreating all evening.

But the following night for me was the fulfillment of a dream. We arrived early but were only able to secure a table on the level surrounding the main dining area where we had sat the night before. Still this was better than no table at all. And why was I so excited? The headliner that night was “That Singing Rage, Miss Patti Page”!

After the meals had been served and the tables cleared, Miss Page appeared on stage. She was “backed” by a stage band. She went up to the microphone and in her beautiful voice proceeded to sing. I was enraptured. My first love! One of my favorite singers! Here in front of us! In person! Could life get any better? Well, yes, it could.

She loosened the mike from the stand and proceeded to walk among the tables and singing into the mike. It was a recent invention! A portable mike! As she strolled among the tables, singing and making eye-contact with the guests, she glanced up at us in the “cheap” seats. She paused as she finished her song and strode purposefully to a set of stairs leading up to our level. As she got to the top, the stage band broke into “Let Me Go, Lover!” She started to sing it as she neared our table. She stopped at our table and looked straight at me. With an inquisitive glance as she continued singing, she gently pointed at me, and plunked herself down onto my lap and proceeded to direct the words of her song directly at me. As she sang, she stroked her free hand gently through my hair, lightly twisting my brush cut, and smiling sweetly at me.

Those of you who know me will know I was turning all sorts of red colors, and yet, there was in me a sort of fulfilling feeling. Not everyone can have a famous beautiful singer of his youthful dreams sitting on his lap in a night club and singing to him. As she was finishing her song, she arose from my lap, lightly caressed my cheek with her free hand, gave me a big smile for being such a “good sport”, and went back down to the main area! Me, I was in heaven! Nirvana! You name it! I was there. Speechless! Happy! And thinking back to when I was eight years old and this was only a dream!

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Chauffeuring Without A License

 

While working at the Canadian National Railways(CNR), I was in my 3 years of employment there  always working "off the spareboard". This meant that I never had a steady job. I was always called up hours,or rarely, days before to report to a certain yard to do a certain job at a certain time. This meant I would report and work one shift for which I would receive the pay that a regular person working that job on a full-time basis would receive. The day was split up into 3 parts with shifts starting at 8:00, 16:00 and 24:00 or in layman's terms 8:00 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. and at midnight.

Because I learned the jobs I was assigned to quickly and performed them well, I was considered to be a great asset to the spare board. I had worked all the jobs that could be worked off the spare board and I had an advantage over some of the other members on the spare board who had more seniority than I did because not all of them could do all the jobs. Thus I was often called ahead of more senior members simply because I could work the shift required and they couldn't because they lacked the expertise.

However there was one job that I could do but I would never receive a call for and that was being a chauffeur. I did not only not have a chauffeur's license, I did not have a regular driver's license. While I could drive any car or truck or van because of my driving experience dating back to when my Dad taught me to drive a car at age 12 and the fact that I had been driving the farm truck and doing farming operations with a tractor since I was 8, legally I could not drive a CNR van because I had never got a driver's license.

The reason for that was my failure at age 16 to pas my driving test on my first and only attempt to get a license back in Saskatchewan in the small city of Yorkton. I was failed on a technicality. The week I was taking my test, new traffic lights had just been installed which had a green arrow for a right turn. I aced my test but at the light where I was to make a right turn on the green arrow, I slowed down, saw that there was no traffic coming from my left, and made my turn.

When we got back to the testing headquarters, my driving tester said he had to check on something with his boss. It turns out that he didn't know either that the new rule for a right turn on a red light with a right turn arrow was that you had to come to a dead stop, see that there was no oncoming traffic, and then proceed to make your turn. He had to check the rule with his boss. After about 15 minutes of discussion it was ruled I had gone through a red light resulting in an automatic fail.

My dad was not amused with this decision. Really? Being failed on a technicality that even the examiner was unsure of. Needless to say he voiced his opinion of the examiner crew chief and that led me to believe that if ever I went back for a re-test here, my chances of success would be slim and none.

I managed to get along without a license quite fine on the farm and when I moved to Winnipeg, getting around in the city was fairly easy and decidedly cheap. Buses ran often and covered lots of territory.

One night when I was working as a car checker in the Local Yard in Symington, I got a call at the Local Tower to contact the chief clerk at the yard office ASAP.  With my interest peaked, I did so. The chief was a young man in his early thirties - about 15 years younger than most of the other staff he was supervising. Like me, he, too, was one of the "new wunderkinder".

He advised me that his chauffeur had not showed up for his 20:00 to 04:00 assignment and that he was desperate for a driver to take a train crew from Symington to the Union Depot where they would be crewing the SuperContinental passenger from Winnipeg to Saskatoon. It was already 22:00 hours and they were slated to leave at 22:30. A taxicab could be ordered but the company was loath to guarantee a quick or efficient pickup. Could I drive them was his next question to me.

I replied that I could but that I had no driver's license. He was so desperate that he asked me to quickly run to the yard office which was about a kilometre from the tower I was in. He would lend me his driver's license and the crew would already be in the van. He said that he was desperate and that if we couldn't get the crew there as soon as possible, the company would likely be handing out a lot of demerit points or "brownies" as we referred to them.

I ran as quickly as my 20 year old legs would carry me. Arriving at the van almost completely out of breath, I speechlessly accepted his license and the keys and got almost pushed behind the steering wheel all the while being aware of the crew's "What the heck is going on?" stares.

Accelerating quickly and smoothly I powered the 9-passenger van onto Lagimodiere Boulevard and headed for Marion Street all the while checking my mirrors for signs of Winnipeg's efficient police force. I drove smoothly and at speed limit down Marion Street heading for Main and Broadway. As we crossed the Red River where Marion ran into Main Street, I was passed by a police cruiser in a big hurry. They "blew" by me without a second glance. With a quiet sigh of relief, I turned into the parking lot behind the Depot where the crew disembarked and quickly made their way to the passenger train which was quietly idling on the track in the station awaiting its crew.

Now I had to get back to Symington Yard taking the same route in reverse. Fortunately for me I encountered no police and was not involved in any kind of an accident. The fact that the hour was now late, there was hardly any traffic on the streets of Winnipeg in that year of 1962.

Back at the yard office, I attempted to give the chief clerk his driver's license and the van keys. He said I should hang on to the keys because I was going to be doing the whole shift as a chauffeur but now all my trips would only involve  driving in Symington Yard picking up and delivering crews to the various freight trains that were leaving and arriving in the yard. He also said I would be getting 4 of those chauffeur hours at time and a half because i had already worked most of my 16:00 to 24:00 shift as a car checker. Bonus! And I got to drive a van around the yard rather than hoofing it as a car checker often has to. Ah, life was sweet!

Monday, March 4, 2019

Driver's Test

Driver's Test

 

It was 6 years since I had arrived in Winnipeg fresh off our Saskatchewan farm. All this time I had survived without a driver's license due to the facts that Winnipeg in 1966 still had an excellent bus system that was easy and cheap to access and also because I couldn't up to now really afford afford a car.

That all changed when my brother decided to that he wanted to get his Master's degree in civil engineering at Georgia Tech. He was enrolled for the fall semester. This was just a few months away but he had decided on doing a road trip of about 6 weeks through the U.S. prior to him leaving by plane from Winnipeg to Atlanta in Georgia where the university was located. He invited me to join him in Chicago when I had finished my teaching for that school year. But he said that in order to travel with him I would have to share the driving!

"That means you need to get a license now! Before I leave! So I can see it in your hand! Understand?"

I understood. He would even lend me his car for the test. His car was a 1959 Porsche convertible. It was unique and rare for its time in Winnipeg. I had driven it before because I had got my learner's license a year previously and so I could drive the Porsche with him in the passenger seat. I loved that car! I made an appointment for a road test. The driver testing was located on Portage Avenue near Sherburn Street.

The day of the test, my brother and I drove to the test site and we parked in the huge lot behind the building. As we got out of the car which had its top down, he handed me the keys, wished me luck, and set off for home which was about a dozen blocks away.

Wow! Talk about confidence or pressure. Confidence in that he was trusting that I would pass my test and be able to drive home! Pressure in the fact that if I failed I would have to phone him and he would have to walk the dozen blocks back to get his car which I wouldn't be able to drive home.

"I guess I better pass!" was my only thought.

I entered the building, paid for my test, took a number and sat down with a dozen other hopefuls. We were an interesting lot. Our confidence levels ranged from extremely cocky to "ashen-faced-I-am-so-nervous-I-am-going-to-be-sick!"

Slowly our numbers dwindled. Then my number came up and a portly young man summoned me for my test! This was a momentous time for me. We walked down a hall and out a back door to the parking lot. He asked me where the car that I would be driving was . I led him to the Porsche. He stopped and looked at me and looked at the car and looked at me again.

"Uh oh!" I thought to myself. "This does not bode well for me." He looked at me again and my immediate thought was that coming to take a test in a Porsche was not a wise idea. He probably figured that I would be a speed demon and to give me a pass would be to invite damnation on all Winnipeg drivers! That was what I was thinking.

He looked at me and then asked me how I had I got to this parking lot! Had I driven the car there by myself and then walked into the building pretending that I had been driven there? A wrong answer here would cook my goose before I even started!

"No," I stammered. "My brother whose car this is, drove me here. And since we live not too far away, he gave me the keys and then just walked home. I guess by doing that he was trying to tell me something! That he had confidence thatI would pass! I hope it was confidence."

The examiner looked at me, smiled, and said, "Let's start!"

We got in and I asked him to belt in. He looked at me and asked if it was going to be that kind of driving-test.

I replied that it wouldn't be but that that car was very manueverable and responded very quickly to any steering changes. He smiled, belted in, and we were off with the wind rippling our hair and the shine shining down warmly upon us. The examiner had a pleased look on his face and looked like he was going to enjoy his ride in this sporty convertible.

The test went well and the car and I responded well and correctly to all his driving instructions. He looked to be really enjoying himself and I began to think that maybe  my test was running longer than usual because he was enjoying himself so much when he finally gave me the directions which brought us back to the parking lot.

After I parked, he looked down at his clipboard upon which he had been writing during my test. He looked at me and then told me that I had done well. He was very impressed with my shpoulder checking and the fact that I knew where the traffic was in close proximity to me. He said he felt safe while I was driving but that he had one bit of advice for me.

I looked questioningly at him and he smiled and said, " When you change several lanes, don't do it the way most driving instructors teach you - that is check and move over one lane and then check and move over another lane. If you see that you are clear to change lanes, do it in one clean shift. And thanks for the ride in this wonderful piece of machinery!"

Inside my mind, I was doing hand springs and cartwheels of jubilation! I had my license! U.S. vacation here I come!

We went inside and in a very short while I had my piece of paper saying I was legal to drive a standard-shift auto in Manitoba. I drove home with the cheesiest grin on my face. As I turned into the parking spot in the back of our house, my brother was standing there with 2 beers in his hands. H e put them down and clapped as I parked. When I got out, he handed me a beer and we toasted my success and the time together we would spend on our time together south of the border.