The Meeting Place

 

The Meeting Place

When I first arrived in Winnipeg from Saskatchewan in 1960, I knew only my brother and my cousin who now both lived in Winnipeg. I first moved in with them. Then a few months later my parents decided there was no future for them on their small Saskatchewan farm and they, too, decided to move. They had a large sale to dispose of their accumulations from over 40 years of farming and moved to Winnipeg to join their two sons.

I moved in with my parents into a third-floor suite of a house on Maryland Street near the Misericordia Hospital. My dad with his grade 6 education got a minimum wage job. My job at the railyard paid well but I got very few shifts during the week because I was on the spare board. My mom worked part-time as a cook at a Ukrainian food restaurant on Selkirk Avenue which was owned by someone from the same village that she and the owner had both emigrated from. Together our pooled salaries helped us survive that first year.

I eventually found a friend in this city, which at that time had a population of about 480, 000 people.  I had gone to boarding school with him for Grade 12. He introduced me into his group of friends. They were all from rural Manitoba from small towns or farms who had come to Winnipeg during the on-going recession to find work which was unavailable to them back at home. I was the lone Saskatchewanite but I had the same kind of “roots” as they did and, because I was also a good friend of Jack’s, they accepted me into their group.

It was a unique kind of group. We all had our grade 12 diplomas but no money to further our education. We all worked hard and were reliable employees. Most of us had low paying jobs except for Jack, who was in process of becoming a full-fledged x-ray technician at St. Boniface Hospital, and me with a good hourly wage but an unsure number of work hours each week. We numbered a dozen – 6 guys and 6 “girls”. Only one of us had a car. The rest of us walked or rode the buses or took a cab. We began to call ourselves the Dirty Dozen well before the movie of the same name came out in 1967.

As I mentioned earlier, we worked hard all week and we looked forward to getting together at a party on the weekend. We all usually met at Lorraine’s apartment. She and two other young women from our group shared a large apartment on the second floor of a fairly new apartment block, the Young Street Apartments. It was located on Young Street, a stone’s throw north of Broadway and 5 blocks east of Sherbrook Street.

She would put out the word and we would determine whether Friday or Saturday was most suitable for the “Dozen” to meet. We would make our way there for about 8 o’clock. Most of us lived within walking distance or were a short bus ride away. Attendance at this part was by invitation only. If you were not part of the Dirty Dozen and If you were not a “Dozen” member and you were not invited, you would not be welcome at the party. Occasionally in later years we extended our invitations to other people with similar roots. They were judged by their behaviors at the party as to whether they would be asked again.

Each of us brought our share of liquid refreshments. My bottle was quite popular because at that time of my life I had a taste for expensive Scotch. We each also had to bring a snack or a plate of food to share at the gathering. Most importantly, we had to bring our manners. Being loud or obnoxious was simply not tolerated. As well, alcohol was for slowly enjoying and not for getting drunk on. We monitored ourselves as we did not want to spoil our party spot. The apartment became known as “The Meeting Place”.

Lorraine also had an ace up her sleeve. She always invited the young care-taking couple of the block to our gatherings at the Meeting Place. It was good insurance in that we were then on our best or at least better behavior. And if there was the occasional complaint about the noise coming from the Meeting Place, the caretaker would say he was already on it. As a rule, we sat around visiting while some quiet music  played in the background. There was some dancing. There was a lot of enjoying each other’s company.

There were two exceptions to “membership” to our group. These two were always welcome at our gatherings. Both also had suites in the block. One was Boyd Kozak, who was a very popular DJ with CKRC radio. His real first name was Boris which is the name we used at our gatherings. Boris was, as he put it, “one of the favourite sons of Wadena, Saskatchewan.

He and I would speak to each other in Ukrainian. I could read, write, and speak fluently in Ukrainian. Others in our group had varied skills in the language which ranged from a little to just a smattering. Boris and I were both of the opinion that” if you did not use it, you would lose it!” Boris was well-liked and he was a great mixer and a wonderful addition to a party.

The other exception was Leo Lewis who was an all-star running back for our Winnipeg Blue Bombers. Leo was married with a wife and children back home in Missouri. He was only here from spring training time to the conclusion of the football season. He would have his one beer and quietly sit in an easy chair and watch us younger folk having a good time. I often sat with him and he was amused that I was a Roughrider fan amongst all these Blue Bomber fans. We also had some serious discussions about how people of color were treated or mistreated in both his country and our Canada. He opened my “white” eyes to many things of which I was blissfully or carelessly unaware. He occasionally brought Ernie Pitts with him. Ernie loved to dance and flirt with our young women. Leo would just watch and when he deemed that Ernie was getting too frisky, he would quietly go and take him by the arm and wish us all a good night and they would be off. We would bring our party to and end. We would say our good-byes and leave quietly. Those who lived further away would take pre-ordered cabs home while the rest of us would walk home as a group. We would make sure the young women were safely home first and then we would break off and make our own ways to where we were staying.

Our group slowly begin to disintegrate in the late 1960’s. Some left for better jobs in other provinces. Some got married and had families. And we just got older and did not need the excitement and stimulus of a weekly part. Our Meeting Place came to an end when Lorraine was finally the only one left in her suite. It was too much rent for one person to pay. She then down-sized to a smaller apartment in a different block.

Alas, it was a good time while it lasted.