HOW I CAME TO BE THE WAY THAT I AM

      The writing of this story was begun when I was fifty-four. I’m presently sixty-five and have only been able to record the first sixty years of my life. I hope that by going slowly I will prolong indefinitely the inevitable final chapter. I suppose that I’m using the same logic that suggests that if I complete half of my journey each day, the journey will never be completed.

I thought that you might be interested in knowing a bit more about the events that have shaped me so I have decided to tell my story. I hope you find it engaging, perhaps even an interesting read.

So, I have decided to write my recollections of my life, in the event that my children or their childrens’ children may, at some future time, have similar questions. These are snapshots of my memories and terribly subjective. The only attempt at organization has been chronological.

I hope that these reflections may be of some interest to you. Not included is any detail about extended family as I am working on a family tree that includes everyone that I can trace.

THE EARLY YEARS

      When my parents died I realized how little I knew about them other than my memories of the relatively few years that we lived together. It was after their passing that I became interested in knowing more about my ancestry and wished that I had learned more about them and our family history while they were alive.

My father was William George McCormick. He was born February 14th, 1908, in Toronto, Ontario and he died of a sudden stroke in Pointe Claire, Quebec on August 25th, 1968. The stroke was the final act in a series of events which had begun five years earlier when, after several years of acute angina, he suffered a nearly fatal heart attack. I believe that he may have been named after his uncle William, who possibly emigrated to Ontario, from Ireland, about 1885. My mother was Mae (sometimes she spelled it May) Jane Isabelle Parsons. She was born, in St. Lazare, Quebec on either May 19th, or May 26th, 1916. The reason that I’m unsure is that she would never tell me her birthday. Some times it was one date, then on other occasions, it was the other. To further confuse matters, her wedding anniversary was also in late May. She was killed trying to cross St. John’s Blvd., in Pointe Claire, Quebec, while on her way to mail a letter. Ironically, my brother was a vice-principal at John Rennie High School, on the same corner, and he was amongst the first called to the scene. He did not recognize her and an hour passed before she was identified and Ron was officially notified. Ronald John McCormick, born January 16th, 1949 in N.D.G., Montreal is my only sibling. Tragically, Ron died of cancer on September 5th, 2000, at the age of 51.

My immediate family includes my wife Daryl Ellen Dennis (Grist); we were married in the Valois United Church on June 25th, 1966 in Valois, Quebec, and our three children are - Shawn George, Shannon Colleen, (married to Michael Lyon - December 8th, 1997) and Kathleen Ellen,(married to Stuart Berry - August 28^th, 2004).

My complete name is Melville George Austin McCormick. I was named after my father’s best friend Melville Meade, my dad George, and my uncle Austin McCormick. I was born on October 16th, 1940. I have vague memories of the man I was named after. He and father worked for the telecommunications division of the Canadian Pacific Railway Company. Melville died when I was quite young. I have clearer memories of his wife Evelyn Meade, who was a good friend of my mother and father. Daryl and I visited Evelyn in her later years at her home in Toronto. Both Mel and Evelyn were plagued by serious health problems. My father and mother were not drinkers, other than a very occasional social drink at the curling or golf clubs. I was raised in a very strict home regarding the use of alcohol, going to the movies on Sundays and the like; a fairly strict protestant environment.

And, now on to my earliest recollections.

                           1945

I can remember travelling on the old open streetcars. They were gold in colour and were used for sightseeing. My aunt Bertha lived with us until I was five and she took me on them. I remember the noise from the wheels was very shrill, like the sound of dragging your fingers down a blackboard at school. The old streetcars were electrified and got their power from overhead electric wires. When the trams turned a corner too quickly, the connecter to the wires jumped loose and the tram stopped. The conductor would take a pole and push the connecter back into place and the journey would continue. I remember one time being on the streetcar with Bertha and rain falling. We got soaked. I imagine that I would have been about five or six at the time.

After the war aunt Bertha married a merchant seaman from Liverpool. John Barker was his name. I remember very clearly him taking us on board his ship that was docked in the Montreal Harbour. The reason that I remember it so well was that he held me up and leaned me over the deck so that I could see the water between the boat and the dock. Scared the daylights out of me! Soon after he and Bertha left for the west coast and I never saw him again. He deserted my aunt and after seven years she was able to legally end the marriage.

The end of World War Two was a joyous and noisy event. Bells rang, horns honked, and people sang and shouted. I don’t remember the war, but I do remember the celebrations when it was over. Although we lived in a comfortable apartment on Addington Street in N.D.G., Montreal, the war had exacted a toll. It took Dad’s salary and Bertha’s rent to make ends meet. Cars were in very short supply as none had been produced since 1942 because of the war effort. Factories were converted to the production of airplanes and tanks, and food and gasoline were rationed in 1942. The economic depression of the previous decade was fresh in everyone’s mind and so the end of the war was a time to blow off some steam, and hope for better seasons to come.

Other memories of the time on Addington persist. We lived there from 1941 until 1949. I was born, however, on Claremont Avenue near Westmount train station. My parents met when both were sharing apartments with friends. Mom was working for a small cosmetic firm and dad for the CPR telecommunications department. They enjoyed skating and soon were married. Shortly thereafter they moved a mile or so west to Addington. I can remember one evening when a lightening storm lit the sky and the noise was deafening to a five year old. When I was about six or seven I remember dad being banished to my room as mom’s bridge club was meeting at our place. I also remember the clock. I didn’t enjoy many vegetables and mom used to sit me in front of clock, which I can still visualize, and set the alarm to ring in fifteen minutes. If my vegetables weren’t finished I was sent to my room. Many a night was spent in my room. Mom lost that war. I also remember my fear of going to kindergarten. Mom would escort me the half dozen blocks to school with a strap in her purse. I wasn’t scared of the traffic, nor the lights, but I didn’t want to stay. I was never hit, but the threat was there. After several weeks I relented, stayed and actually enjoyed it. The class was very large, nearly fifty children and was taught by two ladies. Class sizes in 1945 were large as resources were diverted to the war effort. I can remember Miss White and colouring between the lines. I enjoyed school.

I also remember that walking to and from school led to confrontations with French speaking students. On such occasions one either ran home quickly or got roughed up. The janitor’s son was one such aggressor. He took me one day into the coal storage room in the apartment basement and told me that if I took down my pants I would be a good guy and not get beaten up. I ran away and told my parents. He never again bothered me.

                    About that time I met and made my first really good friend, David Cochrane. David and I played together after school and were always in the same class. He lived on Prudhomme Street next to the McKay Centre For The Deaf and Dumb. 

                    As this was only about two blocks away I was afforded lots of freedom to travel back and forth. In fact, from a very early age, I was very independent and was away from home more than I was there. David’s parents and mine were friends. The only person left out was Gail, David’s sister. Seven year old boys did not consider girls to be too important unless they could play ball or some other acceptable sport. Some years later, when I was in my early twenties, my dad introduced me to a young colleague of his at the CPR who in turn introduced his wife, my friend David’s sister Gail. She had grown to be a beautiful young woman with a pleasing and warm personality. Apparently, as she then told me, she had had a crush on me when David and I were kids, but I was not interested unless Gail wanted to play sports.

David’s dad was a hyper chap who loved to drive quickly, play hard and was very good to us. I remember him taking David and I to see Jackie Robinson play for the Montreal Royals at Delormier Downs ball park in 1948. We also saw Tommy Lasorda, Sparky Anderson and Walter Alston, the manager. All these AAA players went on to become famous players or managers at the major league level. I won an autographed baseball with all their signatures inscribed. Unfortunately, the ball got misplaced in one of our many moves.

                                1949

In 1949 we bought a house in Valois, Quebec, 143 Broadview to be exact. I was in heaven. The house was of modest size, but on a lot 55' by 150'. Dad said to me that the section across the drainage ditch, which crossed near the back of the property was mine. I could dig it up, build castles, plant a garden, or generally do what ever I wished. I turned it into a football field! The first chance that I could I invited David to bring his team of city slickers out to play my team of local kids for the Valois version of the Grey Cup. David and I, as organizers of this major sporting event, got to name ourselves as the opposing starting quarterbacks. I think my team lost 60 to nothing. Charlie Brown and I were soul mates. I think that this first experience of living in the country fashioned my lifelong love of open spaces.

Behind our property was a beautiful fully mature forest, with large trees suitable for climbing. I spent hours up trees and this, I suppose, was the beginning of a life long love affair with them. I try to plant trees everywhere that I live. Our present community places restrictions upon the kind of tree can be planted, largely because of cosmetic, suburban snobbery, but I have planted a cedar hedge to try to keep up the tradition.

I remember the planes leaving for the Korean War flying so low over my perch in the trees that I could see and wave to the pilots. I was never so free and happy in my life as the three years that we spent at 143 Broadview. It was truly a time of innocence. I had a group of close friends who lived nearby. Danger and theft such as I had experienced in N.D.G. were unknown, and I was free to roam on my bike. Roam I did. I was nine or ten when I set off to the farm in Hudson on my bike. It was about 30 miles away and I was gone for about a month. I was to help out on the farm, but I suspect that I was probably more trouble than I was worth. I remember one day helping my uncle Wheatley as he repaired the brakes on his car. My task was to give him tools as requested. I got playful and I think that was when he decided that it was time to return me home. The next day my bike and I squeezed into the newly repaired car and home we went. I think I was on the farm for about three weeks. It was around the time that my brother was born, so I suspect that I went away to give mom a break as she adapted to the new baby.

Several other memories of my time on the farm persist. I remember attending my uncle and aunt’s wedding during a snowy February day in 1949. I can remember my father unsuccessfully trying to drive a car up the Cote St. Charles road to the church. Wilson Brockbank took over and finally made it to the top of the hill. (Wilson’s widow, Marian lives in Ottawa as does her sister-in-law Jean Brockbank. We see them occasionally when we visit with my Aunt Ev. Parsons). The snow was very deep. In those days we had lots of snow and cold weather during the winter months.

Another time I spent some time helping with haying. Uncle Wheatley let me drive the tractor down the fields and we worked all day. During the lunch break we fished in the stream that flowed near the far end of the farm. When we returned, it was my job to pull the rope that released the hay into the mow. It was very hard work, indeed. I couldn’t really pull hard enough as, at twelve years of age, I was still only about 95 pounds.

My maternal grandfather, Timothy Edward Parsons, was a very nice gentleman. He had been born on the farm and died in the same room he was born in eighty seven years later. One never visited without leaving with gifts of produce. I remember when he taught me how to mesmerize chickens. Great fun. Basically, you hold the chicken and force it to look you in the eye. After several minutes, the chicken is hypnotized and you can set them down. We used to line several up on the front porch and then tap them gently from behind and howl with glee as they woke up and scurried about. Grandfather did not appreciate new things like tractors and so it was hidden from his view and the horses, Bob and Brasco, were trotted out to keep him happy. Despite the fact that he had very little formal education, he lived a long, successful and happy life. He loved to read the newspapers and would tell me all about the dangers presented by the “Rosins.” I have great memories of the man and I loved all my three grandparents. My mother’s mom died when I was one, so I have no memories of her.

One final fact: my grandfather produced everything that the family needed on a sixty arpent farm - everything except the yarn for clothing. The bush at the end of the farm provided heat for the houses from 1829 until the late 1970's, when oil was used for the furnace. Grandmother made her own butter and ice cream as well as tending the garden from which the winter’s vegetables were harvested and stored in the cold cellar under the house.

My grandfathers died within a few years of each other. I was in the room with them both as they lay dying from the after effects of major strokes. As I mentioned earlier, my grandfather Parsons died in the same room in which he had been born. His death was peaceful and took several days during which he moved a bit and occasionally tried to get out of bed. He spoke quietly and for the most part was reliving scenes from his life. He was a tall man and very slender. He had huge strong hands and was missing a finger which had been chopped off while using an axe. It was interesting that both men as they lay dying had moments of clarity during which they would speak normally, recognize those in the room and then lapse back into their dream world. I really missed both my grandfathers when they died.

My grandfather McCormick had decided to return home to Ireland after he retired. The first time he was about 72 and the second about 74. I remember my dad worrying that his father’s health wasn’t up to the rigours of a second trans-Atlantic crossing in two years. Apparently, while in Ireland on his second trip home my grandfather suffered a mild stroke. He returned home, but his health was clearly in decline. In particular, I remember this incident. Dad had taken me to Toronto for a day and while dad went to his meeting, I stayed with grandfather. After his wife has died grandfather was truly lost. He sold his house for much under the market value and moved into a small apartment a few blocks from his son Sam. Anyway, grandfather decided that we would go for an afternoon walk. We got as far as the church at the bend in O’Connor Drive and he appeared to collapse. He told me to run back to the apartment to get his nitroglycerine pills. I tore off, afraid that he would die before I returned. He I got back to him on the bench where I left him and gave him the pills he made a quick recovery. I didn’t know anything about angina at that time, but it was obvious to me that he was quite sick. When dad came to pick me up and heard about our adventure, he tore a strip off his dad for scaring the boy. It was about a year later that he died.

As a footnote, I remember sitting in the restaurant down the street from grandfather’s apartment and having a coke. It was a typical 1950's generic restaurant with the standard jukebox on the counter. I played “Earth Angel” which was at the top of the hit parade at that time.

My grandmother, Mary (May) McCormick, nee McDowell was a tiny mite of a thing from Clonmel in what is now Ireland - the south. I have the warmest feeling possible for her. She died when I was twelve, and it broke my father’s heart. She and my mother were close, and my mother missed her too. She was one of a dozen or so siblings and she met my grandfather in Ireland. He was from Bessbrook, County Armagh, near Newry in what is now Northern Ireland. They left before the fighting of 1916 - 21 and the partitioning of the country. He was of Scottish descent while she was Irish from the distant mists of time. My uncle Sam, used to say that they were from two different races. My grandfather left to make his fortune in England as a tea merchant, I believe. The story is that he had an uncle Bill who had come to Ontario years earlier who was going blind and so my grandfather came to Toronto in about 1901 to care for his uncle. Uncle Bill had a grocery store that he gave to grandfather in return for care for the rest of Bill’s natural life. Grandfather sent for grandmother, who was permitted to join him only if she brought along a younger sister as a chaperone. They were married in a church on Queen Street in Toronto, in 1903. So, Sam, Mary, Mary’s sister, and Uncle Bill settled into Bill’s place and ran his grocery store. My father used to talk about delivering groceries after school and all weekend.

Grandmother Mary was the glue, grandfather Sam, the Victorian gentleman. She had a lovely Irish accent which years later I heard again when I visited Southern Ireland. I can still hear her in my head. They lived in a lovely large home in Toronto. My Uncle Austin and Aunt Marion lived in an apartment on the second floor and when I visited, we stayed in a quest room on the third floor. Grandmother always made me feel loved. She had a perpetual smile and loved to see us. The year before she died, she and Sam motored to Valois from Toronto and spent a week with us. I suspect that she knew she was unwell and wanted to see us all one last time. Shortly after her return, she went to bed one night and died in her sleep. My father cried.

I had many good friends during the three years that we lived in Valois, Quebec. (1949-1952) I played with the children next door, George Brown and his sisters as well as Ronnie Oldfield and his sisters. Ron’s mom lived two doors away and she was a hairdresser, operating from her home. However, these children were younger than I was and as my brother was a new born baby, I made friends at school. We attended the elementary school in Valois on Prince Edward Street. In my class was a super guy, Normie Watts and his younger brother Reg was a few years behind. Many years later, Norm and I taught together at Beaconsfield High School. Their parents were extremely nice, but quite a bit older than mine. We did not understand in those days that we lived in a secure, prosperous but quite rudimentary society. For example, there was no public transportation, the nearest hospital was miles away in Montreal, we had no high schools, everyone took the train to Montreal West for post secondary education, doctors were scarce, there was no water or sewage treatment and polio as well as dysentery were common.

Normie’s family lived in what today would be considered a summer cottage. None of that mattered to any of us. We were much more interested in the personal interactions. We had radio, but no television and thus we created all our own entertainment. The outdoors was the main stage. School was secure, strict, basic and largely uneventful. We didn’t have a library, gym, team sports or any drama, but I enjoyed school and the simple life of those times.

In our class was BB, the first friend that I had, who in retrospect, could have been a homosexual. He was a very secure fellow, and no one teased him. He couldn’t play sports well, but he was very dramatic in his choice of clothing and speech. He was a good friend. Another friend was BW who tried his very best to be successful in school, but who was always falling short. He was very down on himself and fell out with our group of friends. He eventually straightened out and went on to become a teacher. However, he always suffered from low self-esteem. We also had a girl in our class whose name was Michael. It was the only time that I ever remember that name being used for a female. Closer to home, about a block away, I had two friends, Clifford and Roy (I can’t remember their surname ). Clifford joined the air force and became fighter pilot. Roy had been adopted and was fighting his own demons. He eventually left the family and reverted to the aggressive behaviour that he had displayed as young child before he was adopted. Years later I heard that he had become an alcoholic street person and his adoptive parents were broken hearted.

In 1950 we opened a modern elementary school next to the old one. It was very nice, and we were extremely proud of it. However, my best memory is of a teacher whom I absolutely adored, and who provided the role model that encouraged me to become a teacher. Her name was Miss Lenfesty and she was the best teacher I ever had. She was firm, but loving and encouraging, and I would have run through walls for her. It was near the end of her career and she had returned to grade five from grade seven as she felt that students were not being properly grounded. I don’t know how she connected with us all, but did she ever!

A second very important influence was Reverend Samuel Machin, the minister of the Valois United Church. Sam was a remarkable man who worked himself into exhaustion and often had to take rest breaks. When my dad had a heart attack, the first person to the house was Sam, and during dad’s recovery he came to see dad regularly for conversation and family prayer. Daryl and I were married by Dr.Machin, and he retired soon after. He quietly encouraged me to enter the ministry, but I felt that I couldn’t as I had begun to question the tenets of the Christian faith. In retrospect, I was wise to instead enter the teaching profession.

I do, however, accept the Jesuit logic that deduces that the universe did not happen by accident, nor was it created by mankind, hence, it must have a higher power at its core. I think of religion in the following way. It is as though there is a veil or tent like ceiling between us and full understanding of the universe. There are several openings or portals, including scientific discovery, in the ceiling through which we can glimpse the higher order. One of these portals is the teaching of Jesus. In that sense, I am a believer. I also separate morality from religion and believe that morality is not the exclusive domain of any particular religion. Some of the most impressive minds and moral leaders which I have met were not Christian, nor even religious. I conclude that morality and religion need not be synonymous. Since the death of my brother, Daryl and I have returned to membership in the local United Church of Canada, and, when we are in Myrtle Beach in America for the winter months, we attend the First Presbyterian Church. We enjoy the peace that comes with attendance.

                                  1952

Returning to my memories of grade five, I can honestly say that living in Valois from 1949 until 1952 was clearly the happiest time of my entire life. I cannot imagine having any higher self-esteem.   Unfortunately, all good things to come to an end. Mother became very frustrated with the lack of shopping and the general isolation of living in a very small community far from friends. At the time I couldn’t understand why we had to move, but now, as I begin to enter old age, I can better appreciate her unhappiness. So, at the end of grade six, we returned to the city.

I guess it is safe to say that lots of changes happen to teenage boys. Some of these changes are for the better and some are not so good. Peer acceptance became very important to me. I did not enjoy my new school, or grade seven. We had moved to Westmount and I had very long walks to and from school. Also, my teacher was an miserable old lady. She certainly did not like me. That was too bad because I had enjoyed school up until grade seven. I found myself becoming bored. My school work was too easy, and so I began to drift away as do most teens and develop a new and different personality.

It was in grade seven that I engaged in my first clearly anti-social behaviour. I had joined Boy Scouts and rebelled against the authority of a mean leader. Earlier I had belonged to Cubs and somewhat enjoyed the experience. The Scouts, however, was not positive, so I left and began to hang around with some tough kids. I can remember one time when my new friends and I jumped over the fence at the local lawn bowling club and began to run around making holes in the beautiful turf. Looking back on that I am thoroughly ashamed, and rightfully so! After we finished at the lawn bowling club, we ran across the street to the Y.M.C.A. and ran around in the pool area in our street clothes until we were thrown out. I clearly understood that what we were doing was wrong, and that was about the only time at which I engaged in such bad behaviour. In fact, I stopped hanging out with that tough crowd. I was really unhappy at that time in my life because I was in a situation which frankly I did not understand, and was not prepared to deal with. So, I began to withdraw and for the first time in my life became a bit of a loner. I did not make any friends during a short time that we lived in Westmount. I simply went to and from school, did what I had to in order to pass Grade Seven, and hoped for better times ahead. I did not like being by myself because I had always been a gregarious creature. Not having any friends was a new experience, but in time I got used to it.

We only lived in Westmount for about ten months. The family we were renting from was an older French family. They rented the upstairs apartment to us. It was actually beautiful, but I had my first experience learning about gas. We had never lived in the house before that used gas for cooking, and I was frightened. I could always smell a little gas in the kitchen. It did not seem to bother my mother but it sure scared me. To this day, I am still a little nervous about gas as a fuel source. Not long after we moved the family next door asked me if I would shovel their driveway during the winter for $0.50 each snow fall. I think my mother volunteered me. Let me paint in the picture - the laneway was easily a hundred feet, and every time six flakes of snow fell I was expected to clean the whole thing. In those days we used to have lots of snow in the winter and I soon realized that $0.50 was very little reward for a great deal of work. I was not highly motivated so I lost the contract, an event that suited me just fine. Looking back, I realize that this was the first that I became aware of social injustice. I really felt exploited, and I began to distrust some adults.

Here is an interesting little story. Today touring tennis pros can make huge salaries. In those days, tennis and golf pros, as well as professional athletes in general, did not. In the summer I would go to the Westmount Tennis Club to watch the touring pros. The price of admission was $0.25 and there might have been 200 people in the stands. What a difference 50 years makes!

Where I lived was racially mixed. The majority of students in my Grade Seven class were Jewish with the balance being a mixture of WASPs, and at least one Greek. My mother was horrified when I began getting phone calls from the Greek girl in my class. Now you have to remember that developmentally teenage boys are at least two years behind teenage girls. I was no exception. Helen used to phone every second night and I enjoyed talking with her, but I couldn’t understand why she would be phoning me and inviting me to the movies. My mother did everything she could to discourage the phone calls. And in due course they stopped. I really was not interested in girls in any serious way until after high school. They were more like buddies. Well, that’s not really true; there was one girl, Maureen Kernan, who I met in grade eight who absolutely enthralled me. Maureen was a beautiful and talented girl. She was a skilled tap dancer, and the first girl that I ever kissed. Maureen was the coolest woman that I’d ever known at that point in my life. She could have had any number of boy friends but she chose instead to be friendly with everyone and romantically involved with no one. How then did I come to kiss her, you ask? The answer is quite simple. Remember, I said that she was friendly with everyone. One night in the park has she announced to all of us that she would like to find out who was the best kisser amongst all her friends. So, she lined us up and kissed us all. I was in a state of bliss for weeks and weeks.

                                  1953

Our time in Westmount had now came to an end and we had moved to Ville St. Laurent. However, one last story about Grade Seven. Just down the street from our school was a large public park and I used to go there often to play. The Montreal Canadians Hockey Team played in a mens’ fastball league. I used to watch Bill Durnan and Scotty Bowman play. Sam Pollock was the coach. This was in the time before athletes made a lot of money. They were just regular guys having some fun and keeping in shape during the summer months. I rubbed shoulders with several athletes while growing up. Reggie Fleming who went on to play with the Chicago Black Hawks in the NHL used to practise with our hockey team. Cliff Fletcher who became an NHL general manager used to hang around with us in the park. Public parks were very important open green spaces when I was a young person. As you can imagine the city of Montreal was densely populated and any green space was immediately filled with children playing. I have fond memories of the parks. They were generally safe although my mother was always warning me to be careful of strangers. With the one exception, I had no problems all the years that I played in the parks. However, one summer when I was about fifteen years old a man about forty five tried to join our group. I was worried that he was up to no good, and I was right. He was a homeless man and wanted us to share some alcohol that he had with him. I disappeared in a hurry! That was the only close call that I ever had in the parks.

We moved before I finished Grade Seven and I had to commute, on the streetcars, to my old school. It was a fairly long trip that took about an hour each way. I actually enjoyed the daily journey as it gave me some time to myself, and a measure of independence. We moved to a newly constructed apartment building at 635 Laurentian Blvd., and lived on the second floor. It was a nice apartment with a living room, dining room, small kitchen, and two bedrooms. You guessed it, for the first time I had to share the bedroom with my little four year old brother. He was a cute little guy and full of life. One day I opened the door to find Ron in the grasp of an unhappy taxi driver. It seemed that Ron had thrown a rock which had broken the windshield of the taxi. Four year old Ron was quite excited and promised to repay the man. I took the details and the driver went away. Mom and dad took care of the windshield replacement. Another memory is that, when in Grade Eight, both my parents went to Vancouver for three weeks. Dad on business and mom to see her sister. Ron was left to my supervision and care. Ruth Stonehouse upstairs looked in on us at meal time and in the morning. I was thirteen at the time. Dr Janet MacMillan lived down the street. She became a valuable assistance when my son was born, but more of that later.

As I write this now I am overcome with a sense of grief as Ron died last September (2000) at the very young age of fifty-one. I still can’t believe that I have outlived my parents and my younger brother.

COMING OF AGE

I was filled with excitement when we moved. The building was brand new, the people were brand new and I felt as if my life was starting all over again. I was much happier because the area to which we had moved was much more spacious and reminded me of happier times in Valois.

It was at about this time that I met three very different friends. Peter Wright was a good buddy and we hung around together all of the time. PD was a very athletic young man and we became good friends. Although his name was PD he was a francophone who spoke perfect English. The third friend that I made at that stage of my life was Peter Teeple. Peter and I remain good friends to this day. But that is another story in itself.

I remember at that time of my life that my father and I used the to go every Monday night to volunteer with the firemen to make toys for the less fortunate children. I really enjoyed that time with my father. I think it was part of the bond that seemed to grow between the two of us the older we both became. I have memories of my father as a young and active man who gradually became sicker and sicker with heart disease. Unfortunately, my younger brother Ron never knew his father as an active person. When my father died in 1968 I realized just how much I missed him and his advice. It’s really true that you don’t know how much you miss something until it’s gone. In the years immediately following his death many times I would say to myself that I would give anything to have him back so that I could discuss with him problems and I was having at work. I need his expertise and his experience but he was gone. I am the only remaining living member of my immediate family and that is a lonesome situation.

It was at about that time that my father was finally able to buy his first car since before he was married. It was a 1950 Ford. They were excellent cars and later I also owned a 1950 Ford. Mine was twelve years old when I bought it and it cost me $250.00. I drove it for two years and sold it for $150.00. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. His car was not used very much as he still used the buses to go to work and thus the car was used primarily for weekend shopping trips. However having a car now allowed us to resume an activity that my parents had not done since before they were married. I’m speaking about travelling to the countryside and renting a summer cottage.

My mother and father were good friends with my mother’s brother Les and his wife Evelyn. Now that we had a car we were able to travel to Ontario and visit with them. So, I began to become friends with my cousin Diana and her younger brother Wayne. They were Les and Evelyn’s children. Diana is a year and a half older than I am and Wayne is about four years younger. When I was younger they were in the only cousins with whom I had much direct interaction as the rest of my extended family lived mostly in the Toronto area. I did have two cousins, Freda and Pauline, living on the family farm in Hudson but I had very little contact with them. In Toronto I had five cousins, Sandra, Susan, Jane, Marilyn and Carolyn. Unfortunately, in this case because of distance, I also had little regular contact with them.

My parents were close to my Uncle Les and his family. We would travel to Breezehill Avenue in Ottawa for visits and they, in turn, would come to Montreal. I remember that my cousin Diana had two girl friends, one being Judy, who, to this day, continues to be a close friend of Diana’s. They were kind enough to tolerate me, even though I was two years younger. I am sure the temptation was strong to dump me in a park somewhere and free themselves of the juvenile cousin from Montreal. However, I fondly remember being included and can even recall one day them walking me to the local theatre, The Elmdale, where I watched a western or some such movie, while they did whatever fourteen year old girls did.

When my brother died in September 2000 I was deeply touched that in addition to Diana, Wayne and Freda, three of our cousins, Sandy, Susan and Carol, from Toronto, came to the funeral. It was very nice to see them all, and I know that Ron would have been very pleased.

PW did not believe that he could be successful at school. He had two older sisters, Marjorie and Fran. Marjorie was the first person that I knew who married a black man. In those days intermarriage was frowned upon. Peter’s family was exceptional as they accepted Doug without question. Doug was a really nice fellow and years later he and I taught together at Beaconsfield High School. Peter’s other sister Fran and I also taught together at the same school. They were an exceptional family.

My friend PD was an extraordinary athlete. Ps father was in the Canadian army and they moved a great deal. When I met them they encouraged me to learn to speak French. Although I was born in Quebec I had had little or no interaction with French speaking people. In those days the English lived by themselves, as did the French. We truly were two solitudes, which was the title of a famous Canadian novel exploring the relationship between the English and French cultures. Sadly, about a year after we became friends he began to drink. Every weekend was a blur. It was really sad to see. Slowly we drifted apart and about a year later his father was once again transferred. I never saw him again.

When I was twelve we travelled in my father’s newly acquired 1950 Ford for a vacation near Perth, Ontario. We were joining my uncle Les and his family. The resort in which we stayed was called, McCreary’s Beach, and it was owned by “the Teeple’s”. Thus began a long tradition in our family. Each summer we would take a cottage at McCreary’s Beach. The owners Alex and Helen Teeple were a very interesting couple. Peter’s father was an engineer who worked in Ottawa and drove to and from the lake every day. Alex was very shy and appeared unfriendly. Helen was the exact opposite. She knew everybody by name and was liked by everyone. In the off-season she taught school. She was a wonderful person and had a very strong influence on my life. Helen and Alex had a son Peter. Peter is about two and a half years older than I am and became very good friends.

Peter and his father where always at odds, and I usually found myself in the middle. About the second summer that we were there Peter had a date with a girl from the lake. As he had just gotten his driver’s license he used his dad’s car. About three o’clock in the morning I was awakened by Helen knocking on my window. “Where is Peter? where is Peter?,” cried Peter’s concerned mother. As I really didn’t know, I honestly said so. This got me off the hook as I did not want to “tell” on my new friend, but I could sense that Helen was really worried. Years later Helen and I would joke about Peter’s nocturnal adventure. Sadly, both Helen and Alex developed and died from Alzheimer’s disease. They were very important influences in my life and I consider Peter as a good friend. We have known each other for 52 years and whenever we get together it seems as if we met the day before yesterday.

I remember one year, about 1956 I think, Peter decided to make some dandelion wine. The idea was hatched one summer and it was agreed that I would come to the lake from Montreal, during our April school break, to help Peter check on the progress of the home made wine. Peter had cleverly hidden the wine in a pile of sawdust, inside a box, so that it would not freeze. With great anticipation we retrieved the bottles. Upon opening the container it was discovered that the pressure from the fermentation inside the bottles had blown the corks off most of them. Peter managed to salvage a couple of the bottles and the contents were consumed the following summer.

What transpired that summer, I’ll never forget. Peter, another friend, Sonny Hill and I set out to consume the wine. After a sip, I decided to opt out, as the taste was extremely bitter sweet. Peter pressed on and was soon on another planet. Sonny and I tried to keep him as quiet as possible, which was increasingly difficult as more and more wine was consumed. Finally, about eleven p.m., Peter’s dad called out, “who is making the racket?” Peter was about to reply when Rene and I jumped on him and sat on his head to silence him. Alex, Peter’s dad, came down the hill from the house with his flashlight looking for the noise makers. We all held our breath as he passed by in the dark because he had a formidable temper which we wanted to avoid. Finally he retired for the night and we dragged Peter to his cabin where he fell into a deep sleep. A close call!

It was at the lake that I met my first girlfriend. I was fifteen years old and her name was Barbara May. She lived in Ottawa and was a friend of Diane Ayoub for whom the song “Diana” was written by Paul Anka. I remembered that she and I and Peter as well as some other friends went to the Ottawa exhibition to see Paul perform. This was before he became an international star and he was singing for free at that time on the exhibition midway. Barbara was a very nice person and we were good friends. Although I call her my girlfriend, I was too young to have any true romantic feelings. She truly was a friend who happened to be a girl. After the summer I returned to Montreal and she and I continued to correspond by letter regularly.

When I graduated from high school she was my date for the prom. I remember that she came by train from Ottawa and spent the weekend at our place. She and I and Paul Jackson and his date had a great time. Paul had managed to get his father’s car for the night and we four travelled in style, in Paul’s 1939 Desoto, to see Sarah Vaughan ( Paul thinks that we saw Tony Bennett ) perform at the El Morocco nightclub. I never saw Barbara again. The distance between Ottawa and Montreal was just too far. Looking back I really don’t think that either of us took the relationship too seriously. It was really a classic summer romance. I could not have asked for a better experience. I learned a lot about relating to the opposite sex, without the deep involvement that leads to heartbreak when the relationship ends. I remember Barbara fondly.

Moving to Ville St Laurent was a turning point in my life. Entering high school coincided with the end of the age of my innocence. The first sign that things were changing happened when I met a group of the new friends in the park. “Hey kid”, they said, “want to be our friend? “Sure”, I said, desperately wanting to be accepted in my new community. “Want to try one of these? We all do it.” Thus, in no time I was introduced to smoking. It did not take me very long to become addicted and soon I was smoking a pack a day. It took me until I was eighteen to kick the habit. I tried to stop many times during high school, and I learned that I have a somewhat compulsive personality. When I start to do something I really do it. When I stopped smoking at age eighteen I also stopped drinking because I was worried that I would do too much of it. When I retired, in 1995, I began to make wine as a hobby and now I occasionally have a glass of wine with dinner. I was very proud of myself that I was able to stop smoking and drinking and that I continued to abstain all my adult working life. Had I continued to smoke I am sure I would have faced the same fate as my father who died of heart disease caused largely, in my opinion, by a life long addiction to cigarettes. My father was an inactive man who smoked between one and two packages of cigarettes every day. I believe that smoking cigarettes is the most destructive activity that a person can do to themselves.

So there I was thirteen years of age, sitting in a field surrounded by a half dozen peers, unable to resist their pressure to join what was a silly activity. I can honestly say that probably was the last time that I knowingly fell victim to peer pressure. Since that day in Grade Eight I have always tried to make my own informed decisions.

When I entered a Grade Eight, I was a rather serious student. Naive is probably a better word. I studied diligently and generally excelled at school. By the time I completed high school my attitude had significantly changed. In addition to smoking, I became a disinterested student. That is not really correct, I just became interested in other things such as, playing pool after school, being out of the house as much as possible, going to Friday and Saturday night dances, and spending as much time as I possibly could with my friends. Looking back, I think that I was probably a bit hyper and lived in a family which did not do very much together. My brother Ron was eight years younger than I was, my mother really was not particularly involved in our lives, and my father, to whom I felt very close, was not well and had a very difficult and pressure filled job. I did not find home a very satisfying place to be, so I shifted my interest elsewhere while I was in high school.

Interesting enough my desire to become a teacher began in Grade Eight. I had a really excellent home room teacher. His name was Ken Holmes, and he was from Newfoundland. Mr. Holmes was a very strict, fair and thorough teacher. I decided that I wanted to be like him. I did extremely well in his classes. He made algebra so clear!!! Mr. Holmes wanted desperately to be promoted. The reason was that in those days very few women worked out of the home and the way to bring in extra money was to work hard and be promoted. Vice-principals made more money than teachers. It was as simple as that. I add this only because I became a high school vice principal before Mr. Holmes. But that too is another story.

It was in Grade Eight that I met another life long friend. His name is Paul Jackson and as I write this we are preparing to visit with Paul and his wife in London Ontario. Paul and I were unlikely friends proving the old story that opposites attract. As high school progressed I became silly and sillier. Paul on the other hand was always quite serious. We became good friends and often hung around together after school playing pool. Paul had a newspaper route and I used to shoot pool with him, with the loser having to pay the for the game. Poor Paul used to get up early in the morning to finance my high-school pool playing. To this day I can say that playing pool is the most enjoyable recreational pastime for me.

Paul and I used to go on the weekends to the local Y.M.C.A. dances. As high school progressed, I became less and less interested in schoolwork and more and more in my after school activities. I don’t really know why I lost interest other than I began to lose confidence in my ability to understand the work. In my senior high school years I probably would have been labelled as an under achiever. I do remember that in Grade Nine I had an operation which caused me to miss about a month of school and when I returned I was hopelessly behind. I had begun to develop and grow very quickly. Between the ages of 12 and 13 , I doubled my weight from 90 pounds to 175. I went to the doctor for routine check up and the next thing I knew I was in the hospital having tissue cut from my breasts, and a hernia and a hydrocele repaired.

I remember my first hospital stay very well. Two things stand out in my memory. First, I was nearly 6 ft. tall and weighed 175 lbs. No one would believe that I was only thirteen. Second, the hospital doctor was a woman with a Polish accent, and a happy personality. “Ok Sonny,” she said, “ take off your clothes.” Nobody had told me about this! As she poked and prodded every part of me she said,” Don’t be shy, Sonny, once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” That was my first introduction to being naked and touched by a member of the opposite sex. I sure did not like hospital food. My parents came to my rescue. Every time that they came to visit, they brought me sandwiches.

About the same time I had my first experience with dentists. Let me begin by saying that dentistry has improved dramatically in the last 50 years. In Grade Eight or Nine I had my first toothache. Because cavities have largely been eliminated my children have never experienced the incredible pain of a toothache. It is a pain that I would not wish upon my worst enemy. My mother sent me to a dentist who had been trained as a butcher. He put me into the chair, gave me a needle, waited 20 seconds, and drilled. It took me ten days to recover, and I swore that I would never again go to a dentist.

I think at that time, in Grade nine, I probably began to give up, fearing that I could never catch up. Whatever the reason, my high school years, although fondly remembered, were my weakest time in school.

A few comments about after school activities are indicated. As I mentioned earlier I use to like to go to the bowling alley after class to shoot pool. While I was there I could usually pick up some pocket money by it in setting up pins. Being a pin boy was back breaking work. However, I had to make some money to support my cigarette habit and play pool. Hanging around a bowling alley certainly introduces a person to a variety of interesting characters. I remember the owner, Mr Boileau, who was quite a nice gentleman, and several of the pin boys, who were not. One day the bowling alley was invaded by a motorcycle gang in search of a competitor of theirs. The doors open they came in and grabbed their unfortunate target and took him away. I learned later that, to teach him a lesson, they had taken him for a ride and thrown him out of a car at 35 miles an hour. This certainly was not the best environment for a fifteen year old. No wonder Mr. Holmes, my Grade Eight home room teacher, was upset with me. He felt that I was wasting my potential. He was right!

Not everything was going down hill. There were some wonderful volunteer adults in my teenage life. One was a gentleman by the name of the Roy. Roy came around to the park and recruited several of us to play football. We had no money for uniforms and to so we had to raise funds to buy our own equipment. During of the summer of Grade Nine I worked as a short order cook preparing French fries. I began at 7:00 pm and finished at 2:00 am six nights a week. At the end of the summer I had $187.00. I bought all my football equipment and gave my father $100.00 to invest in the stock market. Dad had been told about a hot tip and suggested to me that I should invest in a certain penny stock. I took his advice and lost every cent!!! He felt terrible, but didn’t offer to replace my lost money. That was my first and last experience with penny stocks.

Getting back to the football, I found a sport at which I could excel and I loved it. Our team was a rag tag group. We did not play in an organized league, and our coach was always looking for opposition to play games against. The coach did it strictly for fun and he had a powerful positive influence on me. I really enjoyed football and I found a sport that I could really play well.

So well, in fact, that in 1958 I received a tryout offer with the Montreal Alouettes. I owe a debt of gratitude to that volunteer coach. Later on, football would play an important role in my teaching career. More about that later.

Another strong influence was a young man who chaperoned the Friday and Saturday night dances at Y.M.C.A. I forget his name, but I thank him for giving up all those weekends to provide a secure environment for hundreds of young people struggling to learn about themselves. I really enjoyed those dances. It wasn’t so much the opposite sex but rather the chance to be with my peers and freed from the structure and stricture of school life. In those days, adulthood began much earlier. So, in a sense, the dances were a frantic attempt to hang onto childhood before the demands of adulthood began.

I went to school during a time of transition. The old ways were ending and the new evolving. When I was in Grade Nine, we staged a one day strike because the principal was trying to run the building as a glorified elementary school. We won the day and the following year she was replaced. Thereafter the school improved noticeably. In Grade Eleven, we had a fire in the gym, during an open house, and the curtains were destroyed.

Elsewhere I have mentioned some of the staff, but I would like now to recognize and thank those who had a profound influence upon me. They are: my grade five teacher, Miss Lenfesty, Ken Holmes, Stan Kis, Neil MacGregor, Gerald Taylor and Dorothy Richardson, splendid and committed teachers all.

Our school day was very traditional. We stayed in one class from while the teachers rotated to us. There were no such things as professional days nor was there a March break. High school was concluded at the end of Grade Eleven although Grade Twelve was available for those interested. Very few students went to Grade Twelve because the universities accepted students directly from Grade Eleven. Grade Eleven was called Junior Matriculation while Grade Twelve was called Senior Matriculation. In order to graduate from high school one had to pass a series of examinations that had been set by the department of education. These examinations meant everything because 100% of the students mark was determined by the examination. Class work did not account for any part of the mark. The school was strict. No one was permitted to smoke near the school. In fact, if you were within two blocks of the school and found smoking you would be immediately suspended. luckily I had a 20 minute walk to school, which was plenty of time for my morning smoke.

To digress a bit, I became during my school years a master of sneaking smokes from my mother’s packages. I could sneak two cigarettes and rearrange the rest so that my mother never knew the difference. She smoked so much that two cigarettes a day were never missed.

Although the school was quite strict the quality of teaching varied considerably. In those days, the imperative to be successful was completely on the student’s shoulders. Sink or swim was the operating condition. As I look back, I must admit the quality of the programming was excellent. It is with a sense of pride than that I remember my high school years.

Field trips were pretty much unheard of, although the one or two that we did have were excellent. As we neared graduation, we toured MacDonald College, the teacher education facility. I remember that my classmate Judy McConnachie and I slipped away to do a little hand holding. She was a warm, loving girl, who never got in a flap about anything. She was the easiest going person I probably have ever known. As we walked the college grounds, we found ourselves away from the rest of the group and suddenly Judy slipped her hand into mine. We blissfully walked about holding hands for an hour before finding the rest of our group and we had a wonderful talk about what the future would hold. We never formally dated, although we danced often at the Y Friday night dances. Soon school was over and I never again saw Judy. I do remember her fondly and we smiled at each other whenever our eyes made contact in class. I taught a writing lesson in class for years, in her memory, called, “Judy McConnachie, Where Are You?”, in which I would tell the story of a serendipitous afternoon when two spirits connected for several hours and then drifted away to their own destinies.

Also, in Grade eleven, we were taken to Ottawa to see parliament in action and to meet our prime minister, The Right Honourable Louis St. Laurent. I was deeply moved, and became a lifelong Liberal as a result. During the same trip we also met the leader of the opposition, Mr. John Diefenbaker. I was not at all impressed and consider him to be narrow minded and petty.

I remember sitting in the prime minister’s office, looking out his window, and imagining the responsibilities that rested on his shoulders.

As secondary school ended I was at sea. On one hand, in my mind, I felt very confident that I could do anything, become anything, and on the other hand, I was terrified at the thought of leaving St. Laurent High School.

Actually, both emotions were exaggerated. As I was quickly to learn, my opinion of my ability was not shared by my immediate supervisors at work. In fact, they couldn’t care less about me. They certainly were not as concerned as Mr. Holmes. In fact, whether I stayed or left made no difference to them. Workers were a dime a dozen. My fear at leaving school was also exaggerated. Actually, I enjoyed the freedom that accompanies adulthood. I was finally growing up!

One final observation about high school that I must make. I remember going back for graduation and meeting Stan Kis my Grade Nine home room teacher. Stan always said to me that I would never graduate. He did this to try to motivate me. I had a great time saying over and over, “ I told you so.”

                                  1957

During Grade Eleven I moved to the Lakeshore, which was also known as the West Island of Montreal. I continued to drive to St Laurent High School every day. As it happened, Crawford Anderson, my Biology teacher lived nearby and he gladly gave me a lift. I suspect that it broke the boredom for him of the half hour drive.

We had previously lived in Valois (1949-52) and when we returned we lived in few blocks away from our first home. What a change had occurred in four short years. Hundreds of new homes had been built, and along with them came modern services such as stores, doctors, new schools, improved water and sewage services and better transportation. My mother was much happier. The home that we moved into was the second home that my parents owned and had more space than the first home in Valois. The most important new feature was the luxury of a second bathroom. I had never heard of homes with more than one bathroom and, in the morning when we were all rushing out, the second bathroom was most appreciated. The house was two years old when we bought it 1957. I was delighted to again be living on the Lakeshore. What I liked the most was the open space. Across the street from us was a large park area that was never to be developed. I used to love looking out the front window at all open space.

Now that I was finished school, I had to decide what to do with the rest of my life. Dad encouraged me to go to university. I don’t remember my mother commenting one way or the other. Dad told me that the two biggest mistakes he had made were: a) to quit school in Grade Nine, and b) to have started smoking.

He told me that his father had begged him to stay in school, but, like so many of his peers, he wanted to start making money. So he left school and got a job as a clerk at the C.P.R. railway. At the early part of the last century labour was cheap and most jobs did not require sophisticated training or education. It was a decision that he regretted for the rest of his life. Although he rose to a senior executive position, he always felt inferior because he had not completed high school.

Dad told me that he would do everything in his power I find the money to help me go to university. I knew that his financial circumstances were not good and that his health was failing. I thanked him for his offer of help but told him that I would pay my own way, which I did.

Now that I was finished school, I had to make a similar choice. Should I continue to post secondary, or should I enter the workforce? I was anxious to do something different. School had not been the most pleasant experience. I decided to try the work force. Dad encouraged my decision, but he did mention from time to time that he would find the money to help me if I chose to go back to school.

I answered an advertisement in my high school yearbook and was hired by the Royal Bank of Canada. My first assignment was to the branch at Dorval Airport, for the princely sum of $1700 a year. Look out world, I would be president of the Royal Bank by the time I was eighteen!

During the first summer after high school I began to make new friends. As I lived a considerable distance from St. Laurent, it was difficult to keep in touch with my old friends. I was nearing my seventeenth birthday which was the day at which one could get a driver’s license. I remember starting to count down months before I turned seventeen. Once I got my license a new world unfolded. No longer was unrestricted to my bicycle, or my feet. Dad was very good about letting me use the car, mother was not. On several important occasions she refused to allow me to use it. More than once I found myself hitch hiking to social events. Dad begged me not to buy a car as he considered them to be a very poor investment. Rather, he wanted me to continue to invest in my education. Very wise!!

The first new friend that I made was Bob Dickson. He was a year older than I am and very mature. Bob did not completely finish high school, as I remember it. His father was a local high school principal, and he understood that his son was very bright and interested in self employment. His mother, Roberta, was a wonderful person. She I became good friends and I was saddened to learn of her death several years ago.

With access to my father’s car I began to expand my horizons. As a result, my friends were more spread out.

It was about this time that my second experience with dentists happened. And I woke up one morning with a blindingly painful toothache. I had kept my promise and had not gone to a dentist since my earlier experience. I paid the price. I looked in the yellow pages and found a Dr. Geoffrion. As rough as the previous dentist had been, Dr. Geoffrion was gentle. He noticed that I was very tense in the chair and he asked me if I had heard about dental hypnosis. I had not. He explained it to me and asked if I would like to try it. I said that I would try anything to avoid the pain. So we began. I won’t describe how it was done, but it worked. From that time until we moved to the country side in 1974, Dr Geoffrion look after our teeth. He became a friend and when we were married he gave Daryl and I wedding gift. It was he who changed my views about my teeth and I credit him with saving them.

As I began to work at the Royal Bank branch at Dorval airport before I got my driver’s license, I had to use the local buses. Actually, there was only one bus and luckily it stopped at Dorval Airport. So, at the age of sixteen, I became a commuter and joined the work force.

I remember reporting for my first day, and being ushered into the manager’s office. Managers fifty years ago had enormous and unchallenged authority. Society was much more controlled than it is today. I remember the police stopping young women if their clothes were considered to skimpy or their hemlines too high. As my memory serves me, I seem to remember that the manager arrived late every morning, went into his office, opened his newspaper and read until lunch hour. After lunch he had little nap and about three clock he got ready to go home. I don’t ever remember him having any interaction with any staff member other than the chief accountant, whose job it was to give us our marching orders. I quickly discovered that high school had been a piece of cake.

We had a thirty minute lunch hour and no other breaks. The hours were: eight thirty until five thirty. After a couple of months on the job I decided that I was entitled to a break, so, I began to take one. Someone must have reported me because about two days later the chief accountant pounced on me during one of my self appointed cigarette breaks. On behalf of the manager, he read me the riot act, and told me to never again break company policy. I think this was the point at which I decided that banking was not for me. I felt powerless. This probably also was the event that made me question company policy everywhere that I have worked. What I observed the in my first job was a top down organization in which the my role was that of a worker ant. I was pretty unclear about what to do with the rest of my life, but I knew working Royal Bank was not it.

A couple of other memories: the chief accountant had a younger sister, whose name was Louise Day. As both their parents were dead, he was her guardian. The accountant and I became friends. One thing led to another and I began to date his sister. However, they lived in the city and I lived in the suburbs. To get to her place took two hours by bus and train. Needless to say, the relationship withered. All this occurred before I got my driver’s license.

The last time I dated her, I hitched a ride with the accountant, took Louise to a movie, and had no way to get home. I dropped in on a friend who lived near my old high school. He was just leaving to go to work at the Bell Canada switching centre. He worked the midnight shift and he said that I could spend the night there as long as I didn’t touch anything. In the morning I hitch hiked home. Unfortunately, no one would give me a lift, and it took me seven hours to walk back to the Lakeshore.

I think that it was about the end of high school, or shortly thereafter that I began to date seriously. I had discovered that girls were actually pretty nice even though they didn’t play football. I guess that I had finally emerged from the awkward period of self discovery and moved in a time of considerable self assurance.

Being compulsive by nature, once I discovered that I enjoyed the company of women I became interested in everyone of them that I met. I am sure that this flurry of activity displeased some of the young ladies but I wasn’t too concerned. On to the next relationship was the general idea. I don’t think that I took any of these early attempts at relationship building too seriously. I wasn’t too sure about the new feelings of self confidence, but I sure enjoyed them.

At the bank was a young secretary who was very quiet and extremely attractive. My attempts to charm her fell flat. She had a boyfriend and, while polite, had no interest in me. I was deflated, having decided that I was a gift to the opposite sex. I couldn’t believe that she wasn’t interested, and that I slowed down a bit my quest to find a steady girlfriend.

The rest of my career as a banker passed rather uneventfully.

Two events do stick out in my memory.

First, a couple of months after joining the branch there was a knock on the door after we closed to the public at 3:30 p.m. I opened the door and in flowed an endless stream of bank inspectors. They took over and for the next several days they poured over the books and interviewed us all. It was then that I learned that I could not get married without the permission of the bank. The reason, I was told, was that I would get a raise if I married to ensure that I wouldn’t be tempted to steal. Amazing!!! Another reason while I began to count the days until I would tender my resignation.

Second, there was the case of the Christmas party. I asked my parents if I could use the car that day and my mother said no. So, I went to work on the bus, as usual. As it turned out, it was a good decision. Apparently there was a tradition of trying to get the junior clerk drunk. What happened was that I had the job of balancing the general ledger every day after the bank closed. It was a tedious job, before the days of calculators, which entailed my totalling all the credits and debits from all the tellers and the result was to equal zero.

Well, the party started as soon as the branch closed and I laboured over the books while others socialized. Every so often someone would bring me a drink. Not wanting to offend, I drank them. To this day I can’t drink beer as a result! As I preferred rum, I also had a few rum and cokes. An hour and a half and about four or five drinks later the accountant came over and said, “ Ok, Mel, enough. How about I give you today’s debits as you have been trying to balance with yesterdays....ha..ha...ha... “ I was a bit peeved, but by then the drinks had begun to take effect. “Forget about it,” said I, “ can I have another drink?...no, I don’t feel like eating, thank you.” Slowly I sat down and the full effect of too many drinks on an empty stomach took hold. After about five minutes I decided that I was drunk and that I best get home. My buddy the accountant apologized and ordered a taxi for me. I lurched out the door into the warm taxi and after a couple of minutes I threw up all over the front seat. The driver was very good about it and told me not to worry. I guess he was used to such behaviour after Christmas parties. When I arrived home, I couldn’t get in the front door, so I rang the bell. Dad answered and realized that I was in bad shape. Mom came to the door and became hysterical. Dad, for the only time that I knew him, told her firmly to “shut up” as he suspected that I was feeling worse than they were. I got upstairs to bed and had a terrible time as the room kept spinning unless I put one foot one the floor. Thus I slept all night with one foot in and one foot out. In the morning I was badly hung over when I reported to work. It took about two days to recover and I never again permitted myself to lose control and become drunk.

                                 1958

Later that spring, I tendered my resignation, and having no idea what I wanted to do, or become, I became unemployed.

          I took about two weeks vacation and then I started to look for work. I was determined not to be unemployed for long. One day I walked to the local drugstore to see my friend Bob Dickson. Bob was working in the camera department. The owner, Isadore Elkin, was looking for another employee. I wasn’t too sure if I knew enough about cameras, so I decided to seek employment elsewhere in the drugstore.

The owner, Jim McDermott, needed a stock boy and so I was again employed. He gave me a sparkling white uniform, five minutes of training, and $0.35 an hour. It wasn’t much of a job, but I was working.

One day my Grade Five teacher, Miss Lenfesty, came into the store. When I spoke with her, I could tell that she did not remember me. She thought that I was a pharmacist, but I told her that I was just a lowly stock boy. “Don’t worry”, she said,” you’ll do well in the long run.” I loved that woman!

There were couple of characters who hung around the drugstore. One was Norm the insurance salesman. Norm tried every single day to sell us insurance. He was really nice guy, with bloodshot eyes and was a war veteran. He could tell us stories about the war all day long. That was probably what he wasn’t a very successful insurance salesman.

Another character was a lady just past her prime by the name of M. She loved to flirt with the boys and she sounded just like Mae West, the famous American actress. M was still a beautiful woman and she loved to dress up. It was all harmless fun.

The final person was a gentleman that came to have an enormous influence on my life. His name was Ted Bryans. I am sure Ted will forgive me when I tell you that he was probably the least attractive looking man I had ever seen. How looks can deceive! Ted was the brightest chap I had encountered in my young life. Ted was a travelling salesman. He was self-employed and was away from home every Sunday to Friday. Ted was tall, thin and gaunt. Even though he wasn’t, Ted always looked sad. I got to know him a bit because he came into the drugstore probably every second week, and we began to talk. Ted was an non drinking alcoholic, a university graduate, a former reporter, nightclub entertainer and a war vet.

After I worked for McDermott for a couple of months I realized that my friend Bob Dickson was making $0.15 an hour more than I was. So, I asked him if the job offer was still open. “Yes,” he said,” And furthermore, if you’d like to join us we will train you.” So, I again changed jobs. It took about a week to fully understand how cameras work. However, most of the job entailed taking in films for developing.

Gradually Bob and I began to sell a lot of cameras. The owner was quite a nice fellow. Crooked as hell, but in a nice way. I. E. had two children and both of them were quite sickly. As a result he was often away from the stores. I say stores because the head office was in downtown Montreal. Later on I was transferred to the downtown office, but that is another story.

Another part time camera store employee was Peter Dubeau who worked full-time for Northern Electric (Nortel). About fifteen years later we found ourselves living around the corner from Peter and Helen. Our older children, Shawn and Shannon, played with their children, David and Nancy. That too is another story.

Shortly afterwards Bob decided to strike out on his own. Jim McDermott was building another drug store in a new shopping centre not too far away and Bob leased some space in the new store and set up his own camera business. Once Bob left I had the responsibility of running the shop. Mr. E was too busy to hire someone else so I had no choice but to man the operation 105 hours a week. It was alright for about six weeks. After that however I seemed to hit a wall, and have realized that I could not keep up the pace. Also, it seemed to me, that there was not much future in working in the small camera shop at $0.50 an hour.

Finally another employee was hired and I was transferred to the downtown store. There I met in another character. I can’t remember his name but he was quite a funny fellow. He was tall and thin like Peter Dubeau with every large gap between his front teeth. He loved country and western music and was always joking around with customers. This store was located at the corner of Peel and St. Catherine streets in downtown Montreal.

After a couple weeks of working there, I realized that the men coming into the front lobby to use the phones all the time were, in fact, bookies. This circumstance played a rather tragic part in my mother’s later illness. But more of that later.

As the summer wore on I realized that my future was not to be found behind a store counter. While I enjoyed working in retail, I realize that more education was needed. In the back of my mind I was still toying with the idea of the coming a teacher like Mr. Holmes. However, my confidence in my intellectual capacity was still shaky. Dad suggested to me that I should go for some vocational counselling. His company regularly sent perspective employees to the Jewish Vocational Counselling Service, which was affiliated, if I remember correctly, with McGill university. I signed for their program which included two complete days of psychological testing followed by six weeks of vocational counselling.

My counsellor’s name was Mrs. Rosenblum, and I can still remember her quite well. The sessions were quite open-ended and the decision to terminate them was up to me. I remember the cost for the entire project was $35.00. What a bargain! During the sixth week of visiting with Mrs. Rosenblum I mentioned to her that I thought that I was already to finish the program. She agreed and asked me if I had any final questions. “Only one,” I replied, “am I smart enough to go to university? “My dear,” she replied, “remember the testing six weeks ago? Well, it showed that you are in the top 2% of the population, and you can become anything that you choose to set your mind to.” I went out the door 6 feet above the ground.

That night I announced to my father that I was going to return to school. He was delighted. I still wasn’t sure about university so I decided to enroll in the Sir George Williams College School of Retailing, which was a college program similar to those offered by the community colleges in Ontario today. That is to say that it focussed more on practical skills. In fact, it was a co-op program well ahead of its time. We went school Monday to Wednesday morning, had Wednesday afternoon to ourselves, and worked in the stores Thursday Friday and Saturday. The major department stores were co sponsors of the program with the college. It was a two year program and led directly into management. During the month of August I tendered my resignation at the camera store, took a ten day vacation, and went back to school.

During the year that I worked at the bank and the camera store, my circle of friends in my new home area slowly began to expand. I also signed up to once again play football.

I really enjoyed the game and the league. I played for the Pointe Claire team and we had six teams in the program. Our coaches were super and the calibre of play was quite good. Dad came often to watch me play. I progressed each year and was eventually offered a tryout with the Montreal Allouette professional football team. More about the coaches and volunteers later.

 I don’t remember who introduced me to Ellen Purdy, but we hit it off right away. She and I became really good friends. We spent a lot of time together both in person and on the phone. Ellen was a very bright woman and she was a member of Canada’s junior swimming team that competed in the British Commonwealth Games in Vancouver, B.C. She was about two years younger than I am, very focussed, and planning to become a teacher. Her father, Hugh, was quite a character, and was an elementary school principal in Montreal. We (Ellen and I) still send each other Christmas cards every year and I had a nice e-mail from her on the occasion of my brother’s passing. She and I were friends in a platonic sense. Most Sunday afternoons we would go for a drive, and she taught me how to cha cha. When she graduated from high school I accompanied her to her High School Prom. After school Ellen went to McGill University and graduated with a B.Ed. Soon thereafter she met Wayne Stuart Reeder and they were married. Wayne was a graduate of the Royal Military College in Kingston, Ontario. They live just outside of Portland Oregon U.S.A.

I used to go to the Friday night dances at the YMCA in Point Claire. One night Bob Dickson decided that we were going to pick up a couple of girls at the dance, which we did. I forget the name of the young lady that ended up with me, but I do remember that she sure didn’t care much for my company. Bob, on the other hand, was much more successful. The girl that he met fell head over heels for him. Her name was Gena McLean and I became a close friend of hers. She was a lovely girl with a gentle disposition. She, too, was planing to become a teacher. Sadly, Bob and she went their separate ways, and her heart was crushed. She turned to me for support and I did what I could, without success, to encourage Bob to resume the relationship. Rick Williams was another one of our friends, Gina and he subsequently married. I haven’t seen her since 1971, so I don’t know what has become of them.

About the same time I had started to date a girl called E....I forget her last name. I think I met her at the “Y “dances. She had younger brother named Kenny who had a serious kidney disorder. Actually, I think I met Kenny first. He was a character. The longer that Ellie and I dated, the scarier it became. About our third date I began to realize that she was disturbed emotionally. To put it simply, she was a “game” player and I began to try to figure out how I was going to get myself out of this mess. I slowly broke off the relationship, it was difficult. She phoned, she wrote, she cried, she threatened.... Finally, I went out to see her and put an end to the relationship. Anyhow, I was on to bigger and better things at college.

I am unsure if we (mom, Ron and I) went to Vancouver to visit Bertha and Chris Jensen during the summer that I graduated from high school or before I went to college. I can’t remember, but I think it was before I went to college. I do remember that I didn’t want to go and Dad put his foot down and told me that I would be a fool to pass up the opportunity to see the country. I remember saying goodbye to Bob Dickson one night and fearing that I’d have no friends when I returned.

Dad worked for the CPR and we had passes for free travel on the trains. We had to pay extra for our sleeper bunks, but the cost wasn’t too much. As a child I had frequently travelled to Toronto to visit my relatives, but this was the first time I travelled across Canada. The trip took three nights and four days. Our seats were reserved and at night the overhead storage area folded out to become an upper bunk while the bottom seats pulled together to make another bed. I enjoyed climbing up to the top bunk and slept well up there. The washrooms were at the ends of the cars and you couldn’t flush them when you were in a station, as the excrement was dropped directly on the tracks, to be washed away by the rains, and dispersed while the train was travelling at high speeds.

We spent our days in the observation deck of the last few cars or looking out the windows by our seats. I read a lot on the trip and enjoyed seeing the changing terrain. I remember the isolation of Northern Ontario, the flatness of the prairies, the automatic train wash apparatus in Calgary and the wonder of the Rockies. We stopped in Field B.C. and I looked in amazement at the turquoise colour of the lake. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. There is a section in the mountains where the train enters at the top of a mountain and circles downward inside, emerging at the bottom. Our train was so long that I remember being in the front car at the bottom and looking back I could see the last car of the train disappearing into the top of the tunnel.

An amazing sight, it was.

We pulled into the station in Vancouver on time and were met by Bertha and Chris. We had a wonderful time with them. They were wonderful hosts and took us everywhere. I remember going on a day trip in Chris’ 1957 Ford to Bellingham Washington, where all the store fronts were false and had to be whitewashed by law. The Everly Brother’s song “Bye Bye Love” was number one the charts and I bought a copy there. We also visited Grosse Mountain north of Bertha’s house. People could ski at the summit in the summer and then swim at the base. I have a photo of us all on the chair lift going to the top.

One night we all went to the Pacific National Exhibition and I spent about twenty dollars trying to win a panda bear for Ellen. Finally the guy took pity on me and gave me one. It became the most expensive gift that I ever gave a friend.

Chris Jensen was a finishing carpenter from Denmark. He was an extremely nice man who was devoted to my aunt Bertha. She deserved such a companion after the horrors that she had to endure with her first husband, John Barker. Chris built her a lovely house in North Vancouver, where she remained until about a decade ago. It was a beautiful home.

The weeks passed quickly and soon we were home in Montreal. I thank Dad for being firm as I suspect that my life long love of travel started with that trip.

September of that year found me returning to school. I was quite nervous, wondering how I would do.

The principal of the school, Patricia Duncan, was a warm and encouraging person. The curriculum was not too difficult, in fact it was quite easy. The most difficult courses were, English 101 and Economics 101. They were taught by professors from the university. Most of the other courses were taught by teachers from the business school. They tended to talk down to us while the university professors just read their notes. I was particularly interested in the economics course, it did not take me too long to realize that future success would be found by pursuing a university degree.

The co-op placements were interesting. My first was at Eaton’s. I began in the camera department and soon was transferred to the men’s clothing department in the basement. There I began to learn how management operated in a large department store. I was summoned to the manager who took me under his wing. I learned about maintained markups, checking how the competition priced their goods, and the techniques of selling day-to-day.

That was the year that my cousin Diana married her childhood sweetheart, John Porter. Because I was working at Eaton’s I was put in charge of buying a suit for my Uncle Wheatley. We had all been invited to the wedding in Ottawa. Uncle Wheatley, Aunt Fernande and Aunt Ruby rarely left the family farm. Buying a suit was a big undertaking. As I had access to an employee discount, it fell to me to take Wheatley to Eaton’s to buy a suit.

The big day arrived and we set off for Ottawa in dad’s 1954 Oldsmobile. I don’t think Ron attended. He was too young. I drove with Uncle Wheatley and dad sitting in the front and mom, Aunt Fernande and Aunt Ruby in the back seat. Everybody smoked except me and I can’t imagine how I’ve escaped lung cancer considering all the first and second hand cigarette smoke that I was exposed to until I moved away from home. I remember stopping for lunch in Plantagenet, Ontario, and the reception in Ottawa. I remember Uncle Les behind the bar with a giant grin on his face. It was the most romantic setting I had ever experienced. I remember thinking that this is for me!

I made a lot of very good friends at the school of retailing. It was there that I made my first black friend, Carol Talbot. There are too many good people to mention, but I will list a few. Doug West, a truly funny guy. Dave Poulin, a nice person. Bob Rozzi, a warm and full of hot air American from Maine. Eleanor Pascal, Pauline Pilkey, Sue Sampson, and Dot Moore, really good friends. Eric Adams , the first bilingual anglophone that I had met, and Bob Bilodeau, the first bilingual francophone that I had ever gone to school with. And, of course, our own Goldie Hawn, Lorraine Sadler.

Amongst our part time teachers was Doris Clark, a radio personality from C.J.A.D. 800 in Montreal. She taught us public speaking. Looking back, it was an excellent course, one that has stood me in good stead all my life. She was a bit eccentric. For our final exam we had to organize and present a fashion show in conjunction with the coop sponsoring stores. It was a big presentation. We had to write all the notes, research all the clothes, be the models, sell tickets, advertise, book the hall etc. I was one of the two (male and a female) commentators. What an experience!! We pulled it off in great style and made quite a bit of money for charity. Not a bad job, on her part, for an untrained teacher.

During the summer between first and second year, I went to work for Ted Bryans. Ted had decided to open a record and hobby store, and he asked me to work for him. It was close to home so I agreed. I enjoyed working there. Ted was opening a second store and he asked me if I would serve my coop assignment in his store. He approached the School of Retailing and they agreed, so, when the term resumed, I began to work three days a week for Ted.

I learned a lot from him and his buddy Lloyd Hyman. Both had been in the war and used to regale us with humourous stories. I remember one day a German opened a pastry shop ( The Vienna Pastry Shop ) next door to Ted’s store. Ted looked at the man and said to me, ” I recognize the bastard. He was the German pilot that ruined my end to the war.” It seems that Ted was commanding a group of men in Italy when they came upon an Italian Army quartermaster’s safe. As they were preparing to open the safe, and have a party to end all parties, a lone German aircraft came swooping down the valley and scored a direct hit on their location. They had scrambled to safety before the bombs fell and when they returned the safe was destroyed along with all its contents. Ted was convinced that the man next door was that pilot!

There was another store owner, a Jewish chap from Europe, who owned a ladies wear store. Ted used to say that when ever business got slow, the owner would find the names of a few more relatives who had perished in the holocaust and submit them to the West German government who, in turn, would pay compensation. I believe that in those days they paid about seven thousand dollars for each verified name submitted.

The year passed uneventfully until the spring when my life changed forever. It was 1959 and my father was struggling with an incredible work load as well as failing health. During that winter, my mother began to develop emotional problems. They worsened as she sank into paranoia. My brother was too young to realize what was happening, and my father too overwhelmed and sick. Dad had been trapped for about eight years as chief accountant for the entire telecommunications division. He was understaffed, overworked and under constant, unrelenting pressure. He had just been promoted to the rank of Executive Assistant to the General Manager and was finding his voice and way in his new and even more demanding job. He reported to his boss, one of the nicest people I ever knew, George P, who in turn reported directly to the president the C.P.R., Mr. Crump. The information that dad had to furnish Mr P had to be, and had better have been, without exception, correct and accurate.

I’m going to break here and comment upon the deeply felt fairness of my father. I’ll use two illustrations, and then I’ll return to the story.

G. P. had a son, Bill, who suffered from M.S. G’s wife H became reclusive and devoted her life to Bill. G was shut out. He remained devoted to Bill and did not leave the marriage. Instead, he set up a mistress in an apartment in Hampstead and supported both sides of his life. Dad refused to pass judgment on his boss. He would say to me, “ who am I to judge?”

In Dad’s mind, G was being honourable by not divorcing and fleeing the cold empty marriage. By staying and making alternative arrangements to find the love that he needed to survive in his very demanding and responsible position (he had twenty five thousand employees in his division) he was taking a higher road. My Grandfather McCormick probably would have frowned upon G P, but not my Dad.

The second illustration concerns homosexuality. One of Dad’s oldest friends, B.C., who worked in Dad’s office, was gay. Dad had known B all his life. They had met in Grandfather McCormick’s Bible Study class. Apparently, one day at the McCormick family cottage on Georgian Bay, Dad walked in on B and his male companion, at an inconvenient time. Dad refused to condemn him and went out of his way to include him in many of our family activities.

In those days homosexuality was not discussed. It was a social and religious taboo to do so. Dad would have been standing up against considerable pressure had B ever been “outed”. B came to a sad ending. He was hit by a car and spent years in a hospital, in a coma before dying.

Now back to the story. Mom was going to the neighbours warning every one to flee as the Mafia were coming to kill all her family. She was convinced that the bookies that I had gotten to know while working in the camera shop downtown were actually Mafia members and that they wanted to do away with me because I “knew too much”. Dad just couldn’t deal with it. He hoped that “it would go away on its own.” I didn’t, and matters only got worse. Finally, everything came to a head.

One night when I got home from school, mom was waiting, with a kitchen knife. She told me to drive she, Ron and I to Sudbury where we would be safe with her brother, Les. She was very agitated, so I decided to comply while I figured something out. We sat in the front seat of the Oldsmobile, me driving, Ron in the middle, and Mom beside the passenger side door. I drove as slowly as I could stalling for time. When we got to the bridge at Ste Anne de Belleville, I pulled under the bridge and followed the waterfront. Mom wasn’t fooled. She pulled the knife and threatened to open the door and jump. I kept talking and she calmed a bit. By then we were passing Lucien and Thelma Perras’ street and mom demanded that we stop there for shelter. We knocked on the door and Lucien invited us in. He could see right away that she was in poor shape and after a couple of cups of tea we left. He told me at the door to call if there was anything that he could do. I always appreciated that act of support.

When I was talking with him in May 2001, Lucien told me that when he called my father the next day, Dad said sadly, “ Lucien, I think we’ve lost the girl.”

Finally Dad agreed to call Dr Busby, an old fashioned poor country doctor, who jumped into his car and made a house call at 10:00 p.m. I remember him coming down from the bedroom and saying to me, “your mother needs immediate hospital care. I’ll take care of the paper work and you will appear before the admissions board to answer questions.” After he left, Dad came downstairs and cried. He said to me that he couldn’t go before the board and put his wife into an insane asylum. He asked me if I would do it for him. I said I would do what ever was best for Mom, so, that next morning, I called in sick to school, (it was expected in those days, even at a post secondary institution) and drove to the Verdun Protestant Hospital to meet the board. I will never forget that experience. I must have described things appropriately as they immediately accepted her as a patient.

We went to visit Mom frequently and I remember the bleakness of the hospital with its padded cells and locked gated sections. Mom had about six weeks of electro- shock treatments and life in a straight jacket before she began to recover. She told me later that the treatments cause one’s inner mind to make a decision - either it retreats, never more to surface, or it decides to return to more normal interaction with its surroundings. Luckily she returned.

      There was a young woman in the same ward who was not so lucky. I remember sitting with her husband and watching in horror as she changed before our eyes into a screaming shell of herself. She had recently given birth and suffered serious psychological problems as a result. She was in complete denial that she had a child and, as long as the conversation ignored the fact she appeared normal As soon as the child was mentioned she collapsed emotionally and had to be restrained. Her husband was devastated. As a nineteen year old, it was the hardest thing I had ever watched.

I remember driving her home from the hospital. She was sitting in the back seat, saying nothing. After about 20 minutes she looked at me and said,” don’t you ever do that to me again.” I looked at her in the rear view mirror and replied, “I will always do what is best for you.” Our relationship, always tenuous at best, was never good after that event. She blamed me for having been hospitalized.

During that horrible spring I continued to go to school and work, never missing a day. In May, at graduation, I won the Canadian Retail Federation Gold Medal, given to the top graduating student in Canada.

My confidence in my ability to learn was steadily returning. Perhaps I could be teacher material after all.

                                  1960

As that spring progressed I began to feel uneasy about entering retailing full time. I was increasingly more confident in my ability to handle post secondary education and I decided to apply to MacDonald Teacher’s College. My high school marks were sufficient for acceptance and in due course I was registered for fall classes. I chose the one year program as I wasn’t sure if I could afford more. I figured, as did thousands of other prospective teachers, that I could always go to night school to upgrade.

Now I had a major problem. How would I tell Ted that I had changed my mind and wouldn’t be working for him or entering retail? For advice I approached Margaret, his wife, who had been a teacher. “You’re on your own”, said she. I have just learned (December 2001) that Margaret passed away last summer in Vancouver, B.C. Margaret was a great lady!!

Telling Ted was the second most difficult thing that I had to do thus far in my life. I really admired him and I knew that he would be hurt. He took the news as well as possible, and made only a few attempts to persuade me to reconsider. I even had the brass to ask him if I could stay on part time during the school term and he agreed. So I continued to work at Ted’s Records and Hobbies in the Pointe Claire Shopping Centre while I prepared for my new career. In the meantime, Bob Dickson found that his camera store was taking over a hundred hours a week to operate so he closed it down and took my place as Ted’s manager.

As I reflect upon my life to that point I recognize several general characteristics of mine. I tended to eat a limited diet and preferred food, which in hindsight, was not the healthiest. I also was generally compulsive, and I preferred a few close friends rather than many casual acquaintances. Once I set upon something that I fancied, I was fully focussed until something else caught my interest. I smoked too much, and slowly, with my drinking, I found myself following the same path. I never got drunk, or drove the car with so much as one drink under my belt, but I tended to drink too much rum and coke in social situations and after work while waiting in the train station for my trip home.

I decided that I would have to change. I could see the effects smoking had on my parents and realized that if I didn’t stop, I would face a similar fate, especially as I was the biggest and heaviest member of my family. So, in a fell swoop, I stopped smoking and drinking. It was not too hard to do. I had tried unsuccessfully many times to stop smoking. This time I spoke to the pharmacist at work and he recommended Bantron, tablets made from a non-addictive Indian tobacco. The idea was that they would substitute for nicotine during the withdrawal stage. Apparently it only takes about a week for your system to rid itself of the residual chemicals. The psychological dependence is harder to extinguish. I would say that I craved cigarettes for about another year. I didn’t weaken and I am so thankful that I was able to quit.

Drinking was easier. I had worked for an alcoholic and I knew that the problem had far reaching effects. I had awakened one Saturday with a craving for a drink. That was it! I stopped totally because I recognized that my all or nothing personality would get the better of me in the long run. As all my friends drank, I was amazed at the support that they gave me. They became very protective and told hosts of parties, waiters and bartenders that their friend was a non drinker and, as the designated driver, was to be given only cokes. I was never pressured to drink again and many a time my friends expressed admiration for my resolve. Having been raised in a serious Protestant family there was also a religious expectation that