We were living at 2246 Gallagher Ave in Winnipeg. We had just moved in and I was about fourteen years old. We lived in a two-story house and the neighborhood was a melting pot, but mostly Caucasian. We had one black fellow in our high school, which was a fair sized school.
I began to get acquainted with the surroundings and the people. Down on the corner was the grocery store run by Joe and Oscar Kantor, with help from their mother. They had a butcher shop and grocery store and delivered groceries in the area. They were always pleasant to their customers and were kind and thoughtful in many ways. Grandma Kantor would cook up something every once in a while and call me over to take it home.
Next door to our house were Arthur Stubel and a couple of blocks away, his cousin Oscar Loeffler. They were great guys and we became life long friends, although our paths have not crossed much these past few years.
Around the corner was a movie theatre and some other stores in an area known as Weston.
The homes were close together and the streets were narrow. So that was the environment, which was quite pleasant, but things at home were another story.
Mom and dad were fighting constantly and more than once I left the house because the language and the bickering were rubbing me raw and I just had to remove myself from it.
Dad was ignorant, without any schooling, and refused to learn. Mom had a sharp tongue and worked my Dad over in spades. Over the years the two of them fought and it was never pleasant.
I remember Mom throwing a knife at my Dad, which stuck in the door and gave us all a fright. Another time he was complaining about the food. Mom was serving spaghetti again, to make the money last, and he mouthed off about it. She walked over to the stove, picked up the pot of spaghetti, and dumped it all over him. That was funny but then they got a little rough so all of us kids ran for cover.
The fighting was always over money and Dad’s unwillingness to learn to read and write. He was a construction worker and it sometimes was lean pickings when the work was not steady. Our family was poorer than church mice.
Mom kept a low profile with the neighbors. They all liked her but she was another story at home. I understood why but it didn’t help much.
The police were called to our house a couple of times. One of the times I had made sure my brothers and sisters were OK. I knew when to leave and when not to leave. This time the cops were there and I was totally embarrassed. I felt insecure and my frustration grew.
I took off. I walked for about fifteen minutes, staying close to home, but walking through the neighborhood.
My mind was full of resentment for what was happening and I had a burning desire to just leave and never look back. Of course I didn’t, but it would not have taken much more for me to bolt.
As I was walking, two policemen who had been at our house and calmed things down, stopped their car along side the street and motioned me over. My face was taut and my eyes were riveted on them, as I did not know what to expect.
The police officer nearest the window said: “It has been a hard night, hasn’t it son?”
I nodded and he continued: “Been taking a lot of walks when the fighting is going on at home have you?” I nodded again.
He then said: “This will be hard for you to understand now, but I want you to know that you can make things better in the future. For now, though you are stuck, you must adjust your attitude to not take this personally and remember that none of this is your fault. What is happening is unfortunate, but it will pass and someday you will be the one who will make a home and, if you’re smart, you will remember what not to do and to do what is best for your family then. In the meantime, you are a fine kid. We have been over to your home several times and noticed you kids are frightened but always respectful and, considering what you have had to put up with, you are all doing OK. We will do what we can to keep a lid on things. You’re in a neighborhood that is relatively safe but see that you don’t stray too far on your walks.”
I looked at him and said: “Thanks, I needed that.” I turned away so he would not see the tears in my eyes.
I never forgot that kindness and no one could ever persuade me, after that, to make an unkind remark about the police force -- at least in our area. I never knew his name but I can still hear the words that had such a calming effect on me.
Strangers who reach out, officers who take a second step to help, and neighbors caring, made the experience more tolerable.
Art Stubel and Oscar Loeffler, my new friends, also made the journey much more tolerable. They were good Christian guys and made allowances for me that I never forgot
As the saying goes: I got by with a little help from my friends.
Digby
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My Crows
Number 3 Wireless, by now dear readers, must be familiar to you. We lived amongst 48 families close to the country and yet really somewhat the same as a city block in Winnipeg. The difference was the 48 families living there were complimented by The Manitoba Teachers Normal School. I do not know the enrollment there but it did impact our lives.
The elements of living were made more interesting by having a small town of people learning their trade.
Libraries were not close except for the Normal School and I don’t know, nor ever did know, about the use of the Normal School’s library. Many of us went to the Mulvey School in downtown Winnipeg and sometimes we could go to a Library not too far away. I mention this only as getting information in those days was not easy or always accessible, especially for a kid. You will soon see why I needed that information.
With this in mind, I spent half a day in the woods close to our apartments. The kinds of woods I refer to were Maple, Oak, Willow, Birch and others. I spotted a large Oak tree with a good size nest in it. Upon investigating, I discovered some baby crows. I climbed up the tree to check out the nest. There were five baby crows but no sign of the parents. I watched the baby crows for a few minutes in their nest. Looking down from the tree I spotted two large crows lying on the ground. It appeared they had been shot. I hung around for about an hour and stayed a safe distance from the tree. Time went by and still no sign of other crows coming near the nest.
I decided they needed rescuing. I went home, found a cardboard box, and lined it with some grass and dry dirt. I went back to the Oak tree. The nest was undisturbed and by this time, there wasn’t any noise coming from the nest. I climbed the tree and there were still five baby crows. They began making a noise as soon as I looked in on them. It puzzled me why the nest hadn’t been disturbed but I wasted no time in getting them into the cardboard box.
I don’t know how old they were but they had feathers. I knew they couldn’t fly yet because of the way they stayed in the nest as I picked them up one at a time.
I soon reached home and shared my catch with my Mother. I asked if I could raise them up until they could be on their own. To my astonishment, she said I could. She cautioned me that I would have to build a pen to keep them in and it would have to be completely covered with chicken wire so cats and dogs couldn’t bother them.
I got to work immediately. I found some old chicken wire at a near by farm and talked the owner into giving me some. He also said I could have some old lumber if it would help. In a couple of days I had that pen built. It was not craftsmanship in the least, but it had six posts buried about foot in a half in the ground with a height of around six feet. The nails also came from the farmer. He said the used lumber had some nails in it and I could pull them out and straighten them for use. He also gave me some wire staples that sure came in handy.
I fastened a door of sorts, using some bailing wire to hang it. I had some rope which I used to keep the door shut. I made a sort of nest that was lined with grass and twigs and other plants so it would be warm at night.
I was ready but then needed to decide what to feed these baby crows. I knew that crows would eat just about anything. I dug up worms, and took a long ride on my bike when I learned there was a spill of corn along side the railroad track. It turned out to be true but I had to work at it to fill the flour sack I had brought.
Most of the corn had been picked up but with careful work - about two hours, I think - I got enough to last a while.
I soon found out that getting water to the baby crows was not easy and getting them to swallow it was even harder. I started dipping small pieces of bread in milk and those little crows went for it. I fed them bugs, pieces of apples I had scrounged from friends, and any kind of scraps I could dig up. Their appetites were insatiable, for no matter what I fed them, they wanted more.
Somehow I got them to the point where they were hopping around the cage. I soon put limbs across the cage so they could hop up on the lower ones. The bigger they got the more noise they made. Soon they were flying up to the higher limbs in place and just pecking at everything they could find.
I now had to be careful before I opened the door of the cage, as they were pretty quick to want out. Soon they were pretty big and, to my amazement, the five crows were still alive.
I finally heard from the neighbors. One guy said: “Look kid, I appreciate what you are doing to save them birds but they are so darn noisey we are all getting tired of them. It is time to let them go.”
It was just like he slapped me in the face. “Let them go?” I thought! I talked to my Mother and she said it was the right thing to do. I had questions. What if they can’t fly right and the cats and dogs get them? I have been feeding them for several months so will they know how to get their own food? “What if this” and “what if that” questions went through my mind.
My Mother, who had little patience, said: “I don’t want to hear any more about this, so get it done.”
I stalled for a few days and finally opened the cage door. I watched the crows go outside. They hopped around and flew several short distances and seemed to call to each other. Pretty soon they were flying around and sitting on top of the cage. Still, I had feed them at night when they were all in the cage. I would lock them in for the night.
I noticed that their flights were longer and their coming back to the cage dropped off as soon as I quit giving them food. One day I watched them fly off and they were gone for several hours. Soon they took off and showed up occasionally and then one or two and then none at all. I don’t know if they could forge for their own feed or if they were just got leary of being around that cage.
In the end they were gone.
I recalled the fun I had when they were helpless and squawked and competed for the food I was feeding them. I remember the bread and milk and the noises they made when I was feeding them. Their antics with each other and how their sizes were about equal except for one that seemed tougher and tiny bit bigger.
When they flew off and didn’t come back for a several hours, I fretted over their safety. But in the end, watching them fly around and getting stronger and flying farther each day gave me satisfaction.
No pun intended here but I had nothing to crow about for it was the right thing to do. How I managed to keep them alive for the time I did was probably one for the books.
I soon scrapped the cage and sat down one day to look at the spot where the cage had sat. I smiled at how clumsy looking it had been, although serviceable. I almost laughed out loud when I thought of what I went through.
I heard a voice and when I turned around, there was my Dad. He rarely spoke to me and I was mostly afraid of him. He just looked at me and said: “You can’t keep birds like that in a cage; it just isn’t a good idea.” He then tussled my hair and went inside. It was a rare moment when I had real contact with my Dad. I often wished that had been different but it was what it was.
Much of the time I had felt like those crows and felt penned in and decided it wasn’t a very good idea for a human being either. In those days a nice day at home was when Mom and Dad weren’t fighting. When they were fighting, I left as quickly as I could and went for long walks. Perhaps that is why I had such endurance in those years because the walks were frequent and staying away from home always seemed like a good idea.
Raising those crows gave me some satisfaction and, to this day, I see crows and have a fondness for them. Crows are moochers, scavengers and a bird wise to the traps and dangers around them. Many crows don’t live for more than a year and after the first year they are pretty cagey. Since they mostly have their young only once during the year it is a wonder they are as numerous as they are. Robins can have several nests during the year but they have a higher mortality rate.
Finally, I would like to have three cheers for the crows -- city dwellers, country dwellers, and survivors in a sometimes-toxic world. Now that’s something to crow about!
Digby
The elements of living were made more interesting by having a small town of people learning their trade.
Libraries were not close except for the Normal School and I don’t know, nor ever did know, about the use of the Normal School’s library. Many of us went to the Mulvey School in downtown Winnipeg and sometimes we could go to a Library not too far away. I mention this only as getting information in those days was not easy or always accessible, especially for a kid. You will soon see why I needed that information.
With this in mind, I spent half a day in the woods close to our apartments. The kinds of woods I refer to were Maple, Oak, Willow, Birch and others. I spotted a large Oak tree with a good size nest in it. Upon investigating, I discovered some baby crows. I climbed up the tree to check out the nest. There were five baby crows but no sign of the parents. I watched the baby crows for a few minutes in their nest. Looking down from the tree I spotted two large crows lying on the ground. It appeared they had been shot. I hung around for about an hour and stayed a safe distance from the tree. Time went by and still no sign of other crows coming near the nest.
I decided they needed rescuing. I went home, found a cardboard box, and lined it with some grass and dry dirt. I went back to the Oak tree. The nest was undisturbed and by this time, there wasn’t any noise coming from the nest. I climbed the tree and there were still five baby crows. They began making a noise as soon as I looked in on them. It puzzled me why the nest hadn’t been disturbed but I wasted no time in getting them into the cardboard box.
I don’t know how old they were but they had feathers. I knew they couldn’t fly yet because of the way they stayed in the nest as I picked them up one at a time.
I soon reached home and shared my catch with my Mother. I asked if I could raise them up until they could be on their own. To my astonishment, she said I could. She cautioned me that I would have to build a pen to keep them in and it would have to be completely covered with chicken wire so cats and dogs couldn’t bother them.
I got to work immediately. I found some old chicken wire at a near by farm and talked the owner into giving me some. He also said I could have some old lumber if it would help. In a couple of days I had that pen built. It was not craftsmanship in the least, but it had six posts buried about foot in a half in the ground with a height of around six feet. The nails also came from the farmer. He said the used lumber had some nails in it and I could pull them out and straighten them for use. He also gave me some wire staples that sure came in handy.
I fastened a door of sorts, using some bailing wire to hang it. I had some rope which I used to keep the door shut. I made a sort of nest that was lined with grass and twigs and other plants so it would be warm at night.
I was ready but then needed to decide what to feed these baby crows. I knew that crows would eat just about anything. I dug up worms, and took a long ride on my bike when I learned there was a spill of corn along side the railroad track. It turned out to be true but I had to work at it to fill the flour sack I had brought.
Most of the corn had been picked up but with careful work - about two hours, I think - I got enough to last a while.
I soon found out that getting water to the baby crows was not easy and getting them to swallow it was even harder. I started dipping small pieces of bread in milk and those little crows went for it. I fed them bugs, pieces of apples I had scrounged from friends, and any kind of scraps I could dig up. Their appetites were insatiable, for no matter what I fed them, they wanted more.
Somehow I got them to the point where they were hopping around the cage. I soon put limbs across the cage so they could hop up on the lower ones. The bigger they got the more noise they made. Soon they were flying up to the higher limbs in place and just pecking at everything they could find.
I now had to be careful before I opened the door of the cage, as they were pretty quick to want out. Soon they were pretty big and, to my amazement, the five crows were still alive.
I finally heard from the neighbors. One guy said: “Look kid, I appreciate what you are doing to save them birds but they are so darn noisey we are all getting tired of them. It is time to let them go.”
It was just like he slapped me in the face. “Let them go?” I thought! I talked to my Mother and she said it was the right thing to do. I had questions. What if they can’t fly right and the cats and dogs get them? I have been feeding them for several months so will they know how to get their own food? “What if this” and “what if that” questions went through my mind.
My Mother, who had little patience, said: “I don’t want to hear any more about this, so get it done.”
I stalled for a few days and finally opened the cage door. I watched the crows go outside. They hopped around and flew several short distances and seemed to call to each other. Pretty soon they were flying around and sitting on top of the cage. Still, I had feed them at night when they were all in the cage. I would lock them in for the night.
I noticed that their flights were longer and their coming back to the cage dropped off as soon as I quit giving them food. One day I watched them fly off and they were gone for several hours. Soon they took off and showed up occasionally and then one or two and then none at all. I don’t know if they could forge for their own feed or if they were just got leary of being around that cage.
In the end they were gone.
I recalled the fun I had when they were helpless and squawked and competed for the food I was feeding them. I remember the bread and milk and the noises they made when I was feeding them. Their antics with each other and how their sizes were about equal except for one that seemed tougher and tiny bit bigger.
When they flew off and didn’t come back for a several hours, I fretted over their safety. But in the end, watching them fly around and getting stronger and flying farther each day gave me satisfaction.
No pun intended here but I had nothing to crow about for it was the right thing to do. How I managed to keep them alive for the time I did was probably one for the books.
I soon scrapped the cage and sat down one day to look at the spot where the cage had sat. I smiled at how clumsy looking it had been, although serviceable. I almost laughed out loud when I thought of what I went through.
I heard a voice and when I turned around, there was my Dad. He rarely spoke to me and I was mostly afraid of him. He just looked at me and said: “You can’t keep birds like that in a cage; it just isn’t a good idea.” He then tussled my hair and went inside. It was a rare moment when I had real contact with my Dad. I often wished that had been different but it was what it was.
Much of the time I had felt like those crows and felt penned in and decided it wasn’t a very good idea for a human being either. In those days a nice day at home was when Mom and Dad weren’t fighting. When they were fighting, I left as quickly as I could and went for long walks. Perhaps that is why I had such endurance in those years because the walks were frequent and staying away from home always seemed like a good idea.
Raising those crows gave me some satisfaction and, to this day, I see crows and have a fondness for them. Crows are moochers, scavengers and a bird wise to the traps and dangers around them. Many crows don’t live for more than a year and after the first year they are pretty cagey. Since they mostly have their young only once during the year it is a wonder they are as numerous as they are. Robins can have several nests during the year but they have a higher mortality rate.
Finally, I would like to have three cheers for the crows -- city dwellers, country dwellers, and survivors in a sometimes-toxic world. Now that’s something to crow about!
Digby
Rats, Geraniums and Mom
There was a city dump a few miles from our home in Number 3 Wireless in Winnipeg. The Winnipeg city dump was a favorite place for us kids at times. We went there to hunt rats. One of the kids had a bb gun and the rest of us had long poles with a nail on the end. We had taken a 2 x 4 nail, cut the head off and then, using a pair of pliers to hold it, drove the dull end into the end of the pole. The purpose was to try to hit a rat by throwing the pole at the rat with as much accuracy as we could.
The first trips to the dump were fun but the only kid who hit a rat was the guy with the bb gun. He had to shoot several times to get it done. He got lucky with one shot that stunned the rat but he kept firing until he got the job done, then finished it off with a heavy pipe he had found. For the rest of us there were seldom times we got a rat, even though there were hundreds of them, because they were faster than our crude poles.
There were men working at the dump but we could steer clear of them as the dump was huge.
Since Winnipeg is so flat the dump formed a hill and it was quite high, thus one could see a lot of country from the top. Years later I heard they abandoned it for a new site. After many years I understood they built a restaurant up there. I can imagine why because it was the highest point in the city. The standard joke was it was so flat there you could watch your dog run away from home for three days.
But I digress. During one of our hunts I found a red geranium in the dump. At first I walked by it but then went back and picked it up. It had dirt attached it and the dirt was pitch black. l looked around for a bucket to put the geranium in and finally found one that was the right size.
I had noticed that there was a small pile of black dirt in one spot. That usually meant the workers with the caterpillar hadn't pushed things into a tight bundle yet. I put some dirt in the pot and then headed home and found a safe spot for the gerananium.
I watered it and put it in the sun. I got a little absent minded and forgot about it for several hours. When I went to look at it, it was perking up. I watered it again and left it alone until the next day. I have since found out one should be generous with water for that flower. Being a kid, I was surely giving it more water than normal.
I asked a neighbor who was a flower person how to tell how much to water it and she said, "Put your finger into the dirt about one inch and if it is dry give it water." I did that for several days and that red geranium just blossomed. I triumphantly marched into the house and gave it to my Mother.
At first she was astonished. She wasn't the hugging type or the complimentary type either. She looked at me for a minute and a smile came to her face and she thanked me. For my Mom that was something.
I found out that geraniums could be kept for quite a while and I noticed a few months later there was more than one.
I got a clue that day as to my Mother's nature. One couldn't always hit her straight on with something; you had to approach it another way to get her attention.
Just before my mother passed away I went up to see her and she was still conscious. I felt a tug at my heart as I thought through what I was going to say to her.
I started by talking about all the good things I could remember. I must have had a ten minute conversation and she was so tired but she laughed a few times and finally I saw a tear come to the corner of her eye. I then knew I had accomplished the task of telling her I loved her in such a way that the hardness in her didn't come to the forefront.
I squeezed her hand and stood aside as some of my family came over to her. I went out in the hallway and finally my tears came and a Mom was gone. She did as much as she knew how for us. It was hard to like her but love is another thing.
I have since learned that the lives of some of us are so filled with despair and sorrow and a desperate reach that doesn't make the mark.
Some folks handle life with an appreciation for all that is around them, showing love, consideration, and respect for people and things.
People like my Mom spit in the eye of everything. Dried up from neglect and abuse, they can't go where there is happiness because of the bitterness they feel. My Mom mellowed some in the latter part of her life but always it seemed she could take a bone and suck the juice out of it. She could never leave some things alone. Still, she was my Mom and I always loved her.
Digby
The first trips to the dump were fun but the only kid who hit a rat was the guy with the bb gun. He had to shoot several times to get it done. He got lucky with one shot that stunned the rat but he kept firing until he got the job done, then finished it off with a heavy pipe he had found. For the rest of us there were seldom times we got a rat, even though there were hundreds of them, because they were faster than our crude poles.
There were men working at the dump but we could steer clear of them as the dump was huge.
Since Winnipeg is so flat the dump formed a hill and it was quite high, thus one could see a lot of country from the top. Years later I heard they abandoned it for a new site. After many years I understood they built a restaurant up there. I can imagine why because it was the highest point in the city. The standard joke was it was so flat there you could watch your dog run away from home for three days.
But I digress. During one of our hunts I found a red geranium in the dump. At first I walked by it but then went back and picked it up. It had dirt attached it and the dirt was pitch black. l looked around for a bucket to put the geranium in and finally found one that was the right size.
I had noticed that there was a small pile of black dirt in one spot. That usually meant the workers with the caterpillar hadn't pushed things into a tight bundle yet. I put some dirt in the pot and then headed home and found a safe spot for the gerananium.
I watered it and put it in the sun. I got a little absent minded and forgot about it for several hours. When I went to look at it, it was perking up. I watered it again and left it alone until the next day. I have since found out one should be generous with water for that flower. Being a kid, I was surely giving it more water than normal.
I asked a neighbor who was a flower person how to tell how much to water it and she said, "Put your finger into the dirt about one inch and if it is dry give it water." I did that for several days and that red geranium just blossomed. I triumphantly marched into the house and gave it to my Mother.
At first she was astonished. She wasn't the hugging type or the complimentary type either. She looked at me for a minute and a smile came to her face and she thanked me. For my Mom that was something.
I found out that geraniums could be kept for quite a while and I noticed a few months later there was more than one.
I got a clue that day as to my Mother's nature. One couldn't always hit her straight on with something; you had to approach it another way to get her attention.
Just before my mother passed away I went up to see her and she was still conscious. I felt a tug at my heart as I thought through what I was going to say to her.
I started by talking about all the good things I could remember. I must have had a ten minute conversation and she was so tired but she laughed a few times and finally I saw a tear come to the corner of her eye. I then knew I had accomplished the task of telling her I loved her in such a way that the hardness in her didn't come to the forefront.
I squeezed her hand and stood aside as some of my family came over to her. I went out in the hallway and finally my tears came and a Mom was gone. She did as much as she knew how for us. It was hard to like her but love is another thing.
I have since learned that the lives of some of us are so filled with despair and sorrow and a desperate reach that doesn't make the mark.
Some folks handle life with an appreciation for all that is around them, showing love, consideration, and respect for people and things.
People like my Mom spit in the eye of everything. Dried up from neglect and abuse, they can't go where there is happiness because of the bitterness they feel. My Mom mellowed some in the latter part of her life but always it seemed she could take a bone and suck the juice out of it. She could never leave some things alone. Still, she was my Mom and I always loved her.
Digby
Friday, February 13, 2009
The French Canadian girl
There was a girl living right next door to us. Her apartment was not sound proof for on some nights, there was some harsh language and mean talk. She, of course, was not part of that and neither were her brothers and sisters.
Her last name escapes me, for some reason, but not her mannerisms or her charm. She was two years older at that time and fourteen years of age for her was about like ten years of age for me. Annette would often talk with me with an accent that was, of course, pretty cool.
All the guys I hung out with liked her and we often laughed at the way she said things like: “Hello, what are you eating? Don’t pull away; is it so much for you that you can’t share? Is it because you are an asses’ horse or do you forget to think of others?”
One time she broke us up by saying: “What is in your faces? It looks like your dog ran away from home and you stepped in the poop.” She then would laugh and say: “You boys are looking for sometimes the thing to do and you have not found it.” Of course she meant, “You are all bored but keep looking, something will turn up.”
We would see her around and always stop and talk with her. She just had a good way about her and we accepted her as a friend.
One time it was getting late and I went outside to get some fresh air and there she was sitting on the sidewalk with tears in her eyes. I said: “Annette, is something wrong?” She looked up at me and shook her head while the tears kept coming. I sat down by her and said nothing and just waited. Finally she said: “My foot sticks in my mouth but I am sad for my mother.” She took a deep breath and went on. “My way to go is to beg her to not do it but she does not catch on.” “Do what?” I said. “You know, the fooling around with men and picking up ones that are – “ She shivered and said: “So strange and stupid.” “Stupid?” I asked.
She put her finger to her head and turned her finger around. “You know to have bugs in your head.” She sighed and said, “I am not just off the boat; these men are danger types.” I understood what she was saying for the other day, I went to have a shower in the common washroom, which was in the center of the apartments for us all to use, where this friend of her Mother’s was shaving. He had such a scary look and it frightened me enough that I didn't shower at all but went home. I met him one other time in the hallway and it sent shivers up and down my spine. To look at him was to see a really stocky guy with short-cropped hair and strange appearance about his clothes and manner.
Annette continued: “It is better for me to be away here tonight and wait until he is gone.” I kept her company for a while until he left and, when he was gone, she returned to her apartment.
I felt uneasy for her and did not go to sleep for some time as I thought about how scared she was. I saw her two days later and she said her mother had not come home last night or the night before. The look on her face was a worried one and finally she said: “Something is fallen to the ground and it is too heavy for me to lift.” I said, “What do you mean?” She thought for a moment and then grew quiet and started to speak.
“I am so saddened and I am scared for the night to come.” Toward evening there was some commotion going on next door. The word was that the police were there. I could see a police car on the street and a couple of other cars. I watched as she and her brothers and sisters left with the police officers. I was standing real close to where she came out. She saw me and gave me a halfhearted smile and then hung her head down and walked away.
Many times I have pictured her at that moment. To see her with eyes swollen from crying, confused and weighed down by it all and still with the presence of mind to be the one in charge for the other kids.
It wasn't until the next day the story came out. Her mother was found in a motel room and had been stabbed many times with an ice pick. They had caught the guy and it was the fellow I had seen in the washroom.
My knees went weak when I heard who it was and I immediately thought of her and tears came to my eyes. I remember thinking, “What is to become of her and the others of her family?”
Several years later I was taking the bus to work at the Canadian Pacific Railroad when a voice said: “Digby.” I looked up and it was Annette.
She explained she had been in a government home for kids. She had been separated from her brothers and sisters. She introduced me to a fellow with her. She said he had been her lifeline and that they were drawn together as they had both lost a parent in something ugly. She did not mention the heartache in the past but smiled and said, “You were a good friend and I have often thought of you.” I smiled and clasped her hands and remarked how good her English was. She laughed and said, “This is our stop,” and suddenly hugged me and left with her friend.
The sadness came back but I was left happy at the thought of her well being now.
The choices made by others can so affect our lives.
Digby
Her last name escapes me, for some reason, but not her mannerisms or her charm. She was two years older at that time and fourteen years of age for her was about like ten years of age for me. Annette would often talk with me with an accent that was, of course, pretty cool.
All the guys I hung out with liked her and we often laughed at the way she said things like: “Hello, what are you eating? Don’t pull away; is it so much for you that you can’t share? Is it because you are an asses’ horse or do you forget to think of others?”
One time she broke us up by saying: “What is in your faces? It looks like your dog ran away from home and you stepped in the poop.” She then would laugh and say: “You boys are looking for sometimes the thing to do and you have not found it.” Of course she meant, “You are all bored but keep looking, something will turn up.”
We would see her around and always stop and talk with her. She just had a good way about her and we accepted her as a friend.
One time it was getting late and I went outside to get some fresh air and there she was sitting on the sidewalk with tears in her eyes. I said: “Annette, is something wrong?” She looked up at me and shook her head while the tears kept coming. I sat down by her and said nothing and just waited. Finally she said: “My foot sticks in my mouth but I am sad for my mother.” She took a deep breath and went on. “My way to go is to beg her to not do it but she does not catch on.” “Do what?” I said. “You know, the fooling around with men and picking up ones that are – “ She shivered and said: “So strange and stupid.” “Stupid?” I asked.
She put her finger to her head and turned her finger around. “You know to have bugs in your head.” She sighed and said, “I am not just off the boat; these men are danger types.” I understood what she was saying for the other day, I went to have a shower in the common washroom, which was in the center of the apartments for us all to use, where this friend of her Mother’s was shaving. He had such a scary look and it frightened me enough that I didn't shower at all but went home. I met him one other time in the hallway and it sent shivers up and down my spine. To look at him was to see a really stocky guy with short-cropped hair and strange appearance about his clothes and manner.
Annette continued: “It is better for me to be away here tonight and wait until he is gone.” I kept her company for a while until he left and, when he was gone, she returned to her apartment.
I felt uneasy for her and did not go to sleep for some time as I thought about how scared she was. I saw her two days later and she said her mother had not come home last night or the night before. The look on her face was a worried one and finally she said: “Something is fallen to the ground and it is too heavy for me to lift.” I said, “What do you mean?” She thought for a moment and then grew quiet and started to speak.
“I am so saddened and I am scared for the night to come.” Toward evening there was some commotion going on next door. The word was that the police were there. I could see a police car on the street and a couple of other cars. I watched as she and her brothers and sisters left with the police officers. I was standing real close to where she came out. She saw me and gave me a halfhearted smile and then hung her head down and walked away.
Many times I have pictured her at that moment. To see her with eyes swollen from crying, confused and weighed down by it all and still with the presence of mind to be the one in charge for the other kids.
It wasn't until the next day the story came out. Her mother was found in a motel room and had been stabbed many times with an ice pick. They had caught the guy and it was the fellow I had seen in the washroom.
My knees went weak when I heard who it was and I immediately thought of her and tears came to my eyes. I remember thinking, “What is to become of her and the others of her family?”
Several years later I was taking the bus to work at the Canadian Pacific Railroad when a voice said: “Digby.” I looked up and it was Annette.
She explained she had been in a government home for kids. She had been separated from her brothers and sisters. She introduced me to a fellow with her. She said he had been her lifeline and that they were drawn together as they had both lost a parent in something ugly. She did not mention the heartache in the past but smiled and said, “You were a good friend and I have often thought of you.” I smiled and clasped her hands and remarked how good her English was. She laughed and said, “This is our stop,” and suddenly hugged me and left with her friend.
The sadness came back but I was left happy at the thought of her well being now.
The choices made by others can so affect our lives.
Digby
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Painter and the Teacher
While living at number 3 wireless, I was able to see teachers from the Manitoba Provincial Normal School where they were training to be teachers. Sometimes they substituted at the school house and, since they were in teacher training, we looked forward when they came by to train or to subsitute. There were some who just stood out and others who were quite normal and taught the same way.
One time there came a teacher who was close to graduating who taught geography and history. She made the people of that time so interesting and had such a flare for getting our attention. She would present to the class the name of the historical figure and then talk about that person as if he or she were alive. She described their mannerisms and choices. Often she would give assignments to the class and I would do my best to complete the assignments and turn them in on time.
She called me after class one day and said: "Digby, you need to do more research. You have a flair for word imagery but your sense of history leaves a great deal to be desired." Saying it another way when I didn't quite get the idea, she said: "Read about the time and place. Find out what made it so important and put yourself in their place and then report."
I liked her a lot and so the subject was the Hudson Bay Company and the fur trade. I can still, to this day, remember how excited I was to do that kind of homeork. Other assignments came and since she was only going to be there on certain days and only for a short while, I needed to make the most of it.
I worked hard and one day she said to me: "Now you have the idea. History is reported and events are part of history but when men or women are called upon to make decisions only the ones with courage can make the right decisions." The idea stuck and I began to think about what she had told me.
I always will remember her. She was not tall but stood out as if she were. She had coal black hair and a smile that made you feel so special. Her ability to bring out the best in us kids was her understanding of human nature. She would compliment, discipline and raise our expectations simply with a guesture or a word. I learned she would be leaving soon as she would graduate that summer. I felt sad and thought, "If only I could do something for her." I thought about it and decided to paint a picture for her.
I had some oil paints and a brush and started to draw a picture of my dog Skip. He was a bull terrior and was black and white with a pug face that was alert and friendly. I worked on that painting for two weeks. Now that I think about it, it was rough and not any prize but it was the best I could do. I waited one day when the teachers were all going to lunch at their cafeteria. She finally showed up and I approached her with the painting. She was with other teachers and they all stopped to listen. I was embarrassed and stumbled over my words but finally got out the fact that I wanted her to have the painting. Some of the other teachers were smiling and sort of nodding and looking at me.
She took me by the shoulder and walked me over to the grass area and said: "What a wonderful gift to give me." She then asked how I thought of it. I said I really loved my dog Skip so I decided to paint something that meant a lot to me. I didn't come out and tell her I thought the same of her. She somehow understood. I said I wanted to say goodbye. She thanked me and gave me a big hug and I looked up at her and said, as was my nature: "You're alright for a teacher," and then waved good bye to her - half sad and half glad.
I never saw her again but sometimes when I hear someone teach who looks a little like her the words just naturally come to my lips: "What a wonderful gift you gave a ten year old. "
A friend of mine quoted a saying which applies here: "When the student is ready the teacher appears."
Digby
One time there came a teacher who was close to graduating who taught geography and history. She made the people of that time so interesting and had such a flare for getting our attention. She would present to the class the name of the historical figure and then talk about that person as if he or she were alive. She described their mannerisms and choices. Often she would give assignments to the class and I would do my best to complete the assignments and turn them in on time.
She called me after class one day and said: "Digby, you need to do more research. You have a flair for word imagery but your sense of history leaves a great deal to be desired." Saying it another way when I didn't quite get the idea, she said: "Read about the time and place. Find out what made it so important and put yourself in their place and then report."
I liked her a lot and so the subject was the Hudson Bay Company and the fur trade. I can still, to this day, remember how excited I was to do that kind of homeork. Other assignments came and since she was only going to be there on certain days and only for a short while, I needed to make the most of it.
I worked hard and one day she said to me: "Now you have the idea. History is reported and events are part of history but when men or women are called upon to make decisions only the ones with courage can make the right decisions." The idea stuck and I began to think about what she had told me.
I always will remember her. She was not tall but stood out as if she were. She had coal black hair and a smile that made you feel so special. Her ability to bring out the best in us kids was her understanding of human nature. She would compliment, discipline and raise our expectations simply with a guesture or a word. I learned she would be leaving soon as she would graduate that summer. I felt sad and thought, "If only I could do something for her." I thought about it and decided to paint a picture for her.
I had some oil paints and a brush and started to draw a picture of my dog Skip. He was a bull terrior and was black and white with a pug face that was alert and friendly. I worked on that painting for two weeks. Now that I think about it, it was rough and not any prize but it was the best I could do. I waited one day when the teachers were all going to lunch at their cafeteria. She finally showed up and I approached her with the painting. She was with other teachers and they all stopped to listen. I was embarrassed and stumbled over my words but finally got out the fact that I wanted her to have the painting. Some of the other teachers were smiling and sort of nodding and looking at me.
She took me by the shoulder and walked me over to the grass area and said: "What a wonderful gift to give me." She then asked how I thought of it. I said I really loved my dog Skip so I decided to paint something that meant a lot to me. I didn't come out and tell her I thought the same of her. She somehow understood. I said I wanted to say goodbye. She thanked me and gave me a big hug and I looked up at her and said, as was my nature: "You're alright for a teacher," and then waved good bye to her - half sad and half glad.
I never saw her again but sometimes when I hear someone teach who looks a little like her the words just naturally come to my lips: "What a wonderful gift you gave a ten year old. "
A friend of mine quoted a saying which applies here: "When the student is ready the teacher appears."
Digby
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Awakenings
Sometimes being melancholy can alter the senses and words are transferred to a different light.
I suppose that is why I have chosen to write down these words that have come to me. They're not entrenched but they have awakened in me some thoughts closer to home than I care to admit.
Here it is:
Up from the dust like an apache hunter
Down from the mountain a Moses wild
Mother earth rocks the cradle
Heaven awakes the child
And these words from long ago:
One full moon a billion stars
A Loon's lost cry of startled grace
Two Owls crossing the bars
Where wilderness shows its lace.
Freedom breathing in my soul
Arches of cotton woods there to bring
My wanderlust of the distanct knoll
Under firm root of nature's wing.
Now the shadows climb my door
Shaping a stooped frame on sunlit grass
Waters reflecting an eagle's soar
Such years, good years, too good to pass.
Now we rest in God's green hills
Content with life we have learned to love
Gazing thoughtfully at heavens sill
So far, so far, up up above.
I had a calling at the Washington Women's Correction Center in Purdy, Washington
The women there often had the blues and holidays were hard on them. Their confined life weighed them down and I often thought about how they must feel. There are a myriad of thoughts there but I have chosen to write some prose, and the way I saw it.
Forty dollars and a cardboard box;
Standing at the prison door;
This time it is open to the outside,
Out into freedom once more.
Been in a prison marking the days;
Locked up and dreaming my way out
Angry and bitter in all other ways;
God help me I have to shout.
Many laws and regulations are written;
Rules and discipline for all of us fools;
Time here is like frost when your bitten;
The thaw is painful and part of the tools.
Each day passes and each night is long,
The fences are up and the razors are sharp.
I've got the blues and all is so wrong;
Far too early to be playing the harp.
Dancing on slow time hating each hour;
I'm swearing and cursing mankind;
I'm in the hole and the taste is so sour;
I swear I'm going out of my mind.
Sorting through a grimy bucket of mud
Just to get a sorry kernel of grain;
I don't want anymore of this crud;
I realize there was nothing to gain.
Forty dollars and a cardboard box,
Standing at the prison door,
This time it's open to the outside;
Out into freedom once more.
Digby
I suppose that is why I have chosen to write down these words that have come to me. They're not entrenched but they have awakened in me some thoughts closer to home than I care to admit.
Here it is:
Up from the dust like an apache hunter
Down from the mountain a Moses wild
Mother earth rocks the cradle
Heaven awakes the child
And these words from long ago:
One full moon a billion stars
A Loon's lost cry of startled grace
Two Owls crossing the bars
Where wilderness shows its lace.
Freedom breathing in my soul
Arches of cotton woods there to bring
My wanderlust of the distanct knoll
Under firm root of nature's wing.
Now the shadows climb my door
Shaping a stooped frame on sunlit grass
Waters reflecting an eagle's soar
Such years, good years, too good to pass.
Now we rest in God's green hills
Content with life we have learned to love
Gazing thoughtfully at heavens sill
So far, so far, up up above.
I had a calling at the Washington Women's Correction Center in Purdy, Washington
The women there often had the blues and holidays were hard on them. Their confined life weighed them down and I often thought about how they must feel. There are a myriad of thoughts there but I have chosen to write some prose, and the way I saw it.
Forty dollars and a cardboard box;
Standing at the prison door;
This time it is open to the outside,
Out into freedom once more.
Been in a prison marking the days;
Locked up and dreaming my way out
Angry and bitter in all other ways;
God help me I have to shout.
Many laws and regulations are written;
Rules and discipline for all of us fools;
Time here is like frost when your bitten;
The thaw is painful and part of the tools.
Each day passes and each night is long,
The fences are up and the razors are sharp.
I've got the blues and all is so wrong;
Far too early to be playing the harp.
Dancing on slow time hating each hour;
I'm swearing and cursing mankind;
I'm in the hole and the taste is so sour;
I swear I'm going out of my mind.
Sorting through a grimy bucket of mud
Just to get a sorry kernel of grain;
I don't want anymore of this crud;
I realize there was nothing to gain.
Forty dollars and a cardboard box,
Standing at the prison door,
This time it's open to the outside;
Out into freedom once more.
Digby
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Officer and the kid
Assiniboine Park was huge and we kids used to go from #3 wireless to the back entrance of the park, especially on the weekend, and ride our bikes all afternoon. It was fun and our one speed bikes were ok because as the saying went: "It is so flat you can watch your dog run away from home for three days." The park had lots of entertainment. There was a huge English style pavillion where you could buy food and drinks. We never did that very often as we were broke most of the time. There was a palm house that had all kinds of tropical plants, banana tree and lots of flowers and such. There was a cricket field where we kids often stopped to watch a cricket game. We never knew much about it except the guys wore knee and shin pads. Also, they used a ball made of cork and other materials with a leather covering that they threw at a peg some distance away. They also had wooden bats (at least I think they were wooden) with which they hit the ball. There was a good sized Zoo for that day and numerous ponds, foot bridges, riverside views and good roads that were built all around the park. Many times we would go on a Sunday and there would be quite a number of black people who would walk across the foot bridge over the river and sing hymns and old Porter tunes that were just great. I never heard any bands but there were individuals who took their musical instruments to the park and just entertained people.
Well, we rode around and just enjoyed the summer days and were happy to be there.
On one particular day when the weather was hot and muggy, the four of us were riding around the park. Harold, Ron, Jimmy and me, Digger. It was getting towards dark and most people had left, except for just the stragglers. We were about to go home when a young guy came riding by with a German shepherd in tow and swore at us because Harold hadn't seen him coming and swerved into his path. The guy went around and then came back. We stopped our bikes and were about to apologize when he got off his bike and, with the German shepherd on a leash, walked toward us. He began to yell at us while the dog barked and growled viciously. We started to leave and he let the dog get more aggressive. We were pretty scared and said: "We didn't mean anything." but to no avail. He crowded us toward a tree and said: "I just have to mention the word and this dog will tear you up." He had a chain in his hand and struck Jimmy and Ron with it. They started toward him but he used the dog in a very threatening way. He then took a whack at me and Harold and laughed like he was enjoying himself. We didn't know what to do but fortunately some people came along and he took off. We were so mad that he could get away with it. We started home and on the way Jimmy said: "We can't let this guy get away with that." Of course we didn't know if we would see him again but were not cheered by the prospect. If we told the police they might watch for him but he was careful and would probably avoid a problem. We talked to a Mounted Policeman we knew and told him of the circumstances. He asked where it happened and had us describe the guy. He asked if we would be willing to help. "Yeh," we echoed, "Sure," but in a meek sort of way. The next weekend we met with the officer and he had a huge dog with him that was not friendly or unfriendly. He stayed by the officer's side and was black and big with a sort of massive look. The plan was to ride around the park, especially toward dusk, and see if we could spot the guy. We rode around and just about dark the jerk showed up with his dog in tow. He spotted us and remembered us and started in with the dog and cussing us.
Meanwhile the RCMP officer had gotten out of his truck and brought his dog with him. When jerk head started to make threats and throw his chain around, that big black dog came around the corner on a leash with the officer closing in on the kid and his dog. The German shepherd must have sized up the situation for he stopped growling and baring his teeth and watched that other dog with keen interest. The kid was trying to hold onto him and the officer said to the kid: "You had better get him under control or my dog will tear him up." The officer shortened his dog's leash and brought his hand down close to the collar on the dog and took a good grip. When asked what he was doing in the park and why his dog behaved that way, the kid tried to turn it back to us and said we threatened him. Since that was baloney, the officer told him so and said he had better come with him. He told him to get in the back of the truck with his dog and the officer put his dog in the front seat next to him. He then told us to go home and he would look after it.
We left and but not before noticing the kid was looking real scared. We started to ride toward the rear gate and went on home. The police station was right next to #3 wireless and we saw the kid there with his dog tied up at the front entrance. Later on we found out the kid was in trouble in the city of St James and was turned over to them to deal with. I still don't know what the RCMP's jurisdiction was but I know they worked with other police departments at the time.
We never did see that kid again and never wanted to. One thing for sure - "my dog's bigger than your dog" - worked pretty good. We wondered what would have happened if the kid had turned that dog loose. We think that German Shepherd would have been worse off and that would have been a shame. The dog was trained and it was not his fault. There are some crummy people in the world and it's best to avoid them whenever possible but if you can't, it doesn't hurt to have a Royal Canadian Police Officer to help out. I was taught a great lesson that day along with my friends. We got a real cold feeling around that creep and remember it sent shivers up and down our spines.
Digby
Well, we rode around and just enjoyed the summer days and were happy to be there.
On one particular day when the weather was hot and muggy, the four of us were riding around the park. Harold, Ron, Jimmy and me, Digger. It was getting towards dark and most people had left, except for just the stragglers. We were about to go home when a young guy came riding by with a German shepherd in tow and swore at us because Harold hadn't seen him coming and swerved into his path. The guy went around and then came back. We stopped our bikes and were about to apologize when he got off his bike and, with the German shepherd on a leash, walked toward us. He began to yell at us while the dog barked and growled viciously. We started to leave and he let the dog get more aggressive. We were pretty scared and said: "We didn't mean anything." but to no avail. He crowded us toward a tree and said: "I just have to mention the word and this dog will tear you up." He had a chain in his hand and struck Jimmy and Ron with it. They started toward him but he used the dog in a very threatening way. He then took a whack at me and Harold and laughed like he was enjoying himself. We didn't know what to do but fortunately some people came along and he took off. We were so mad that he could get away with it. We started home and on the way Jimmy said: "We can't let this guy get away with that." Of course we didn't know if we would see him again but were not cheered by the prospect. If we told the police they might watch for him but he was careful and would probably avoid a problem. We talked to a Mounted Policeman we knew and told him of the circumstances. He asked where it happened and had us describe the guy. He asked if we would be willing to help. "Yeh," we echoed, "Sure," but in a meek sort of way. The next weekend we met with the officer and he had a huge dog with him that was not friendly or unfriendly. He stayed by the officer's side and was black and big with a sort of massive look. The plan was to ride around the park, especially toward dusk, and see if we could spot the guy. We rode around and just about dark the jerk showed up with his dog in tow. He spotted us and remembered us and started in with the dog and cussing us.
Meanwhile the RCMP officer had gotten out of his truck and brought his dog with him. When jerk head started to make threats and throw his chain around, that big black dog came around the corner on a leash with the officer closing in on the kid and his dog. The German shepherd must have sized up the situation for he stopped growling and baring his teeth and watched that other dog with keen interest. The kid was trying to hold onto him and the officer said to the kid: "You had better get him under control or my dog will tear him up." The officer shortened his dog's leash and brought his hand down close to the collar on the dog and took a good grip. When asked what he was doing in the park and why his dog behaved that way, the kid tried to turn it back to us and said we threatened him. Since that was baloney, the officer told him so and said he had better come with him. He told him to get in the back of the truck with his dog and the officer put his dog in the front seat next to him. He then told us to go home and he would look after it.
We left and but not before noticing the kid was looking real scared. We started to ride toward the rear gate and went on home. The police station was right next to #3 wireless and we saw the kid there with his dog tied up at the front entrance. Later on we found out the kid was in trouble in the city of St James and was turned over to them to deal with. I still don't know what the RCMP's jurisdiction was but I know they worked with other police departments at the time.
We never did see that kid again and never wanted to. One thing for sure - "my dog's bigger than your dog" - worked pretty good. We wondered what would have happened if the kid had turned that dog loose. We think that German Shepherd would have been worse off and that would have been a shame. The dog was trained and it was not his fault. There are some crummy people in the world and it's best to avoid them whenever possible but if you can't, it doesn't hurt to have a Royal Canadian Police Officer to help out. I was taught a great lesson that day along with my friends. We got a real cold feeling around that creep and remember it sent shivers up and down our spines.
Digby
A jumping off point
Old Number 3 sure had its moments. I paled around with my buddies. When you're 10 years old you keep that connection. It is your life line in so many ways, especially when things at home are not to one's liking. The kids I hung around with wereall in the same boat and we got into mischief but not maliciously. We needed to be active and to have our place in the sun. Where was it? It was in all that we did when we got together. It meant keeping things to ourselves and cutting corners at times to make it all work. We acted out our fantasies just like all kids but with us it sometimes took on a more active role.
Take the day we all decided, Harold, Jimmy, Ron and myself, to explore a horse farm more than a short distance out in the country. It was in the summer and we all had chores to do but in the afternoon we could get away and explore to our heart's content.
We met at the school house about one pm and started out. We had planned to make an afternoon of it so we bought along some food, drink and apples for the horses. The apples came from Ron's house. His dad was a big western fan, liked apples and always had some around the house. Ron snitched some appples over a period of a week. I didn't have a knapsack. Harold had one and it carried all of our grub and water. Our water containers were Mason fruit jars. They did the job. The knapsacks must have all been left over from the war for I only remember seeing brown or tan ones. There was a flap on top and with a strap and buckle to keep it tight. Also there was a pouch on the bottom with a strap and buckle. There must have been different models but that is the only one I remember since my folks never had one. We had an old T shirt we used to keep the Mason jars from rattling.
It was a long walk to the horse farm so we passed the time talking about everything and nothing. The one notable exception was our plan to explore the horse barn situated down from the house and quite large in size. What we liked about it was it was two stories and there were numerous stalls on the bottom floor and the second floor was hay storage and a smaller room in the back. We knew all this because we could see it from the road and Jimmy was there one time with his father who had done some part time work for the owner. Well, we only had about five more miles to go and, after stopping several times to have a snack and drink the water from our fruit jars, we arrived. We didn't see anyone around so we headed for the barn. The stalls were full of horses and we didn't seem to make them nervous. We all had our favorites and petted those that would let us and generally felt we were rich folks as we walked around the barn. We kept our conversation low. Harold decided to show off and went into a stall with a horse that was friendly and began feeding him part of an apple. Harold teased the horse a bit and the horse moved over toward him and trapped him between the stable wall and the horse. No amount of pushing and shoving seemed to get the horse to move. Ron went in to help him and, as he pushed, the horse moved and stepped on his foot. Harold got loose but the only way Ron could keep the horse's weight off his toes was to keep pushing the horse away and grabbing the bridle. He had tears in his eyes and finally Jimmy threw something at the horse which made it move and Ron got free. Ron hopped around the barn for a few minutes but seemed none the worse for wear by the time the pain went away. We laughed about Ron's and Harold's predicament. I couldn't help but remark: "Gees Harold, the look on your face was something, not to mention the fact the horse took your breath away when he pushed you into the wall and you gasped, 'get off me horse.'" "Yeh, really funny Digger. Where were you when I needed help?" Harold then laughed and said: "Yeh, I was never so glad as when Ron got that horse to move."Jimmy piped in and said: "Ron, you grabbing your leg and yelling, 'move you dumb horse' in a high pitched voice was really funny." Ron said: "Yeh, real funny, as I was stepping in the crap and getting it all over my shoes."
We had a good laugh and went back to looking around. There was a tack room with all kinds of halters, bridles, saddles and stuff. What we really liked was the picture on the tack room wall of "Man of War. " It seemed everyone knew about the big red horse. He was something to look at alright. Harold had started up the stairway to the hay loft and said: "Come on guys. "Let's see what is up here." We all ran up the steps and came into an area loaded with hay. We scuffled in the hay and threw it at each other and could see outside as the hay barn doors were wide open. Jimmy had discovered a trophy room. Man, there were trophies on shelves all around the room. We never had time to examine them for a voice from below shouted: "What are you kids doing up there?" We all shouted in chorus: "Let's get out of here!" We headed for the hay doors because we could hear someone coming up the steps. It was about fourteen feet to the ground and no time to think it through. Jimmy and Harold jumped first. We waited until they were out of the way then Ron and I took the plunge. Holy Cow, that hurt when the ground came up to meet us. It knocked the stuffing out of me and I could hardly get on my feet without writhing in pain. All four of us hobbled off with a guy shouting from the haybarn doors. "You blasted kids.
Don't you ever come back here or I'll whip your butts, you little buggers." We weren't able to hear the rest because, by this time, we had recovered enough to run off. It seemed we were running for about five minutes before we stopped. Gasping for breath I was the first to utter: "Did you see the size of that guy?" "Yeh." said Harold. "It seemed to me like his body filled the framework of the doors." Ron said: " I thought he was going to jump also and get one of us." Jimmy said: "Me too; that guy could have eaten us for breakfast." We got our breath and kept moving but decided to get off the road in case the guy would chase us down with his truck or something. The rest of the way home we decided that we had had enough of horse barns for quite awhile.
When I came in for supper Mom said: "What have you been doing?" "Oh nothing;" I replied, "just having fun running and jumping." I laughed within myself and thought: "If she only knew."
Take the day we all decided, Harold, Jimmy, Ron and myself, to explore a horse farm more than a short distance out in the country. It was in the summer and we all had chores to do but in the afternoon we could get away and explore to our heart's content.
We met at the school house about one pm and started out. We had planned to make an afternoon of it so we bought along some food, drink and apples for the horses. The apples came from Ron's house. His dad was a big western fan, liked apples and always had some around the house. Ron snitched some appples over a period of a week. I didn't have a knapsack. Harold had one and it carried all of our grub and water. Our water containers were Mason fruit jars. They did the job. The knapsacks must have all been left over from the war for I only remember seeing brown or tan ones. There was a flap on top and with a strap and buckle to keep it tight. Also there was a pouch on the bottom with a strap and buckle. There must have been different models but that is the only one I remember since my folks never had one. We had an old T shirt we used to keep the Mason jars from rattling.
It was a long walk to the horse farm so we passed the time talking about everything and nothing. The one notable exception was our plan to explore the horse barn situated down from the house and quite large in size. What we liked about it was it was two stories and there were numerous stalls on the bottom floor and the second floor was hay storage and a smaller room in the back. We knew all this because we could see it from the road and Jimmy was there one time with his father who had done some part time work for the owner. Well, we only had about five more miles to go and, after stopping several times to have a snack and drink the water from our fruit jars, we arrived. We didn't see anyone around so we headed for the barn. The stalls were full of horses and we didn't seem to make them nervous. We all had our favorites and petted those that would let us and generally felt we were rich folks as we walked around the barn. We kept our conversation low. Harold decided to show off and went into a stall with a horse that was friendly and began feeding him part of an apple. Harold teased the horse a bit and the horse moved over toward him and trapped him between the stable wall and the horse. No amount of pushing and shoving seemed to get the horse to move. Ron went in to help him and, as he pushed, the horse moved and stepped on his foot. Harold got loose but the only way Ron could keep the horse's weight off his toes was to keep pushing the horse away and grabbing the bridle. He had tears in his eyes and finally Jimmy threw something at the horse which made it move and Ron got free. Ron hopped around the barn for a few minutes but seemed none the worse for wear by the time the pain went away. We laughed about Ron's and Harold's predicament. I couldn't help but remark: "Gees Harold, the look on your face was something, not to mention the fact the horse took your breath away when he pushed you into the wall and you gasped, 'get off me horse.'" "Yeh, really funny Digger. Where were you when I needed help?" Harold then laughed and said: "Yeh, I was never so glad as when Ron got that horse to move."Jimmy piped in and said: "Ron, you grabbing your leg and yelling, 'move you dumb horse' in a high pitched voice was really funny." Ron said: "Yeh, real funny, as I was stepping in the crap and getting it all over my shoes."
We had a good laugh and went back to looking around. There was a tack room with all kinds of halters, bridles, saddles and stuff. What we really liked was the picture on the tack room wall of "Man of War. " It seemed everyone knew about the big red horse. He was something to look at alright. Harold had started up the stairway to the hay loft and said: "Come on guys. "Let's see what is up here." We all ran up the steps and came into an area loaded with hay. We scuffled in the hay and threw it at each other and could see outside as the hay barn doors were wide open. Jimmy had discovered a trophy room. Man, there were trophies on shelves all around the room. We never had time to examine them for a voice from below shouted: "What are you kids doing up there?" We all shouted in chorus: "Let's get out of here!" We headed for the hay doors because we could hear someone coming up the steps. It was about fourteen feet to the ground and no time to think it through. Jimmy and Harold jumped first. We waited until they were out of the way then Ron and I took the plunge. Holy Cow, that hurt when the ground came up to meet us. It knocked the stuffing out of me and I could hardly get on my feet without writhing in pain. All four of us hobbled off with a guy shouting from the haybarn doors. "You blasted kids.
Don't you ever come back here or I'll whip your butts, you little buggers." We weren't able to hear the rest because, by this time, we had recovered enough to run off. It seemed we were running for about five minutes before we stopped. Gasping for breath I was the first to utter: "Did you see the size of that guy?" "Yeh." said Harold. "It seemed to me like his body filled the framework of the doors." Ron said: " I thought he was going to jump also and get one of us." Jimmy said: "Me too; that guy could have eaten us for breakfast." We got our breath and kept moving but decided to get off the road in case the guy would chase us down with his truck or something. The rest of the way home we decided that we had had enough of horse barns for quite awhile.
When I came in for supper Mom said: "What have you been doing?" "Oh nothing;" I replied, "just having fun running and jumping." I laughed within myself and thought: "If she only knew."
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