Alan Skeoch

Month: November 2023

  • EPISODE 920 SCHOOL YEAR 1958-1959 ONE OF BEST YEARS OF MY LFE: PART 1

      EPISODE 920     SCHOOL YEAR 1958-1959    ONE OF BEST YEARS OF MY LFE: PART 1          


    alan skeoch’Nov25, 2023


    Alan Skeoch and Grant Weber  – Toronto Daily Star @ Oakwood field


    OVERWHELMING AND PERHAPS UNDESERVED

    I never expected to be so warmly greeted by the football community in the fall of 1958 when  returning to Humberside
    for second stab st Grade 13.   What an exhilarating feeling to be welcomed and wanted. Russ Vanstone, Gary Logan and
    others were also welcomed.  But I got the biggest load of glory.   So much so that it is hard to put what happened on paper.

    I am caught on the horns of dilemma.  To write about my awards and honours is to be vain, yet not to write about them
    is to be unappreciative.   

    So here goes a fast description to show my appreciation of those who’ nominated or voted for me.
    Captain of the 1958 HCI  senior football team, winner of the Wildman Trophy* (see note*), selected forCity of Toronto All star
    football teams by Toronto Daily Star and Toronto Telegram, selected Head Boy for 1958-59 at HCI, elected President of
    the BAA.  

     Contrast these awards with the depression I felt in the previous year with my broken hand.  

    1958-1959 was a grand year for me.  Please excuse my inflated ego for a moment…my 15 minutes of fame.

    Now let me flash back to my meeting with Mr. Couke…the suspension.  I Decided to buckle down academically
    To prepare for the Departmental Exams but to go beyond that.  I Bought a scribbler and plotted my free time in half hour intervals
    and began a personal reading plan.  I decided to read as many great authors as I could…Charles Dickens, Jules Veerne, John Steinbeck even
    Dwight Eisenhaur.   The psychiatrist Eric Fromm caught my eye and his book The Sane Society made me think about
    socialism much to the disgust of Russ Vanstone and the amusement of Jim Romaniuk, my two best friends.  Jim had made the cut
    the previous year but remained a close friend until his early death.

    FOOTBALL…always  present
    SPOTTING WITH TED PUCCINI AND VIC HOSZKO…NOT A GOOD IDEA
    (I am not sure if Ted and Vic were my associates…memory says they were)

    “Alan, you have a couple of spares, come with us to spot the Central Tech team.”
    “Spotting?”
    “Yeah…we’ll see who carries the ball mostly…note their best plays…see if they
    have a double reverse like Burf is secretly planning.”
    “Is spotting legal?”
    “Who gives a damn…join us…Burf will be pleased…”
    “Spying?”
    “Yeah.”

    Somehow our VP got wind as to what we had done.  Mr.. Couke was a man with high principles.
    Spotting was unfair.  Skipping school to spot was worse.  Vic, Ted and I were not as highly
    principled.

    “Would Puccini, Hoszko snd Skeoch report to Mr. Couke,”  came over the PA with the morning announcements
    We gathered there and Mr. Couke saw each of us individually.  Ted and Vic were each suspended 
    for the week.  My turn was next.  I was scared to death but not for the reason most would think..

    Mr. Couke looked at me and said  “Alan, I have to treat everyone equally…”
    “Yes sir  Mr. Couke can I shake your hand?”
    “Alan, you will be suspended for the week.”
    “Thank you , sir…thank you.”
    (Nothing could be worse than favouritism . If I had got off as a first offense then any respect people had
    for me would be lost.   I wanted to be penalized.  My respect for Mr. Couke lit up like the North Star.)

    Something snapped in my head during that suspension.   Was I going to spend this year fooling around?
    Wasting my time,  Or  was there another path?  Could I make every moment useful.  Be a  better person?
    Where was I going with my life?   I was not sure where but I did know the direction.  University.  If I could make it.
    So I took a few steps in a better direction,

    First I spoke to Crooky,  
    “Mr. Cruikshank would you allow me to write the Grade13 history exam?  Working on my own,  Outside of 
    the class.  I know teachers are judged by their success with students.  I will not let you down.”  Crooky
    agreed.  I would self study.

    Next I asked Mrs. Charlesworth the same thing.  She agreed well aware my self study plan could be a
    disaster.

    Next I bought a  notebook on which I planned a whole year of self study, 
     I broke all my free  time into half hour  blocks and assigned myself s certain task for each half hour.   If I did the
    task then I drew a yellow line through the entry.  I became a spare time bookworm 


    TOSSING AROUND BIG IDEAS

    Paperback The Sane Society Book


    BRIGHT IDEA OR A LOAD OF CRAP
    (Russ Vanstone and Alan Skeoch in discussion — Fall season 1958)

    “Russ, what do you think of the graduated income tax?”
    “Think it’s a load of crap.  Why shouldI I pay more tax if I work harder than my neighbour.:”?
    “Erich Fromm would  make the rich pay higher taxes than the poor.”
    “Sounds like crap to me, Alan”
    “Try this side on for size.  Fromm thinks we should all have the same salary. Exactly the same…let’s say $100 a week would be paid to
    bricklayers, doctors, lawyers, nurses, store clerks, garbage collectors, teachers, ..;everybody.”
    “Sounds goofy…off fthe wall, Alan…wacko.”
    “Fromm figures most of us are unhappy because we are not doing what we enjoy in life.”
    “Crap!”
    “Makes some sense to me.  Most people pick a job because of the money.   What is the wage….what’s 
    in it for me?”
    “Now that makes sense.”
    “Just suppose money did not matter….everybody gets the same wage. Then what job would attract you?”
    “You are getting more wacko by the minute, Alan….got a screw loose somewhere in your head.”
    “What would  you really want to do? I know your choice even if you do not.”
    “Keep me out of this.”
    “No, Russs , you already told me what you loved doing.  You loved that farm your dad owned out in 
    Manitoba…the tractors …the people.”
    “I told you it was flat as piss on a plate…nothing more.”
    “Not true Russ.  You loved that farm. Fromm says if we delete money as a motive for work, we will find jobs that make us happy”
    “My dad would call you a Commie.”
    “I am nothing.  Give the idea a chance.”
    “You mean find a job I love.”
    “Yes.  Russ you are  natural farmer.”
    “And what are you, Alan?”
    “I don’t really know…maybe a teacher..”
    “Do you really believe that crap?”
    “I would make an exception.   Doctors should be paid more.  I don’t want some prick
    with a knife carving me up because he loves doing it?”
    “Let’s get a hamberger and coke.”
    “From a waitress who loves her job?”
    “Right.   No joke.  There are people who love to cook and serve food.   Right now
    they are at the bottom of the economic pyramid.”
    “Give her a big tip Alan,”
    “I can’t do that.  I have no extra money.”
    “Case closed.”




    Meanwhile other things happened…

    FOOTBALL EVENTS

    Here are  several events associated with football that year.  

    “JARRING” JACK OSMOND

    Jarring Jack Osmond brought his violin case to the Red Feather night game at Exhibition 
    stadium.  Violin case?   Jarring jack was not in the orchestra.   Why the violin casy would he bring a violin to an alll city footballl game?

    “Jack, why the violin case?”
    “Want a beer, Alan?”
    “I don’t drink beer, jack.”
    “Tough luck.”

    Jack had a six pack of Mosons Export beer tucked neatly in the violin case.
    He was nabbed quickly and then suspended from Humberside C..I. for a
    few days.   To us he became a kind of folk hero.   A gregarious chap who meant
    no great harm to anyone;  Took his suspension in his stride.  a folk hero.

    WRONG WAY CUSH

    About the same time Wrong Way Cush became famous and got the nick name
    of “Wrong Way” because he intercepted a pass from the enemy quarterback
    and proceeded to run with the ball for a possible touchdown,   Only trouble was that
    he ran the wrong way.   He was about to score a touchdown against his own team…
    our team.   As he ran by our team bench we were all lined along the
    field white chalk line margin yelling “Wrong Way! WRONG WAY CUSH!

    “Hey there Cush,…why did you run the wrong way?”
    “I got confused….got turned around,,,,did not ex[pect  to catch the ball really
    but once caught I knew I had to do something.”
    “Some of our guys weere trying to knock you down…didn’t you notice?”
    “Yes I noticed.  Wondered why they would want to knock me down…I was on
    their team.  I thought they were confused.”
    “How come you stopped?”
    “Passing our bench someone called me an ‘asshole’ while the rest of
    you were yelling “Wrong Way Cush.”
    and that was how Wrong Way Cush got his name.

    GRANT WEBER’S STOMACH…BONG!

    (fond memory of Caroline Laughlin, Nov 22, 2023)

    “Grant Weber’s stomach sounded like a big bass drum”
    “Stomach?”
    “He blocked a kick with his stomach.”
    “How would you know?’
    “Heard the drum sound way across the field where the fans stood,”
    “That was more than 50 years ago…are you sure?”
    “Yes…some fans wondered why Grant would do that.”
    “I wondered as well”


    END PART 1   SCHOOL YEAR 1958-1959

    NEXT EPISODE: PART 2
    Romance, yearbook fiasco, coagulation, HERMES error In school assembly, Alaska, MARJORIE

  • EPISODE 919 FAILURE IN MY LIFE… 1957=1958 EMBARASSING

    EPISODE 919       FAILURE IN MY LIFE…  1957=1958   EMBARASSING


    alan skeoch
    Nov.  25, 2023

    LOOKING BACK — NOT ALWAYS A SMOOTh ROAD

    Note: Grade 9 — 1953
    “Alan, choose one option…music, art or typing.”
    “Typing.”
    “Why?
    “I am left handed.”

    Sketch done by Kate McCartney…Alan  Skeoch….Did he deserve to fail?  


    SEPTEMBER  1957-1958 SCHOOL YEAR

    I knew I was in trouble , I could not write or make notes due to
    the cast covering my left hand.  And almost immediately my schoolwork began  a slow  l decline. I did not
    want anyone to know.  Denial . both coaches ….Mr Griffiths and Mr Burford…asked if the cast  impeded my Grade13 studies.

    “Alan, is that injury to your hand affecting your school work””]
    “No.  Not at all.  Everyting is fine.”

    But that was a big lie….a delusion.  Each school day in 1958  I slipped further down.
    Yet I did not want to face up to my problem.  It was a terrible school year which culminated in my Grade 13 Departmental exams.
    These final exams were meant to identify the best students in Ontario High  Schools and then funnel them into
    the universities.   I would not be among them.

    A lot of students failed to make the cut.   I deluded myself into the belief I could do OK…not stellar but OK.
    But I was riding the escalator down.   I think my teachers knew that and were concerned.  I think some of them were not enamoured
    of Humberside’s fanaticism regarding football.  My broken baby finger and subsequent 
    academic decline was a good reason to cool football .I ceertainlhy did not want that to happen.   I did not want help.Too embarrassing.

    The school year made me more and more unhappy internally while my external demeanour MAY have seemed upbeat and joyful.   
    In retrospect a lot of  people knew I was troubled.   


    Try and decipher  this note written with my left hand which has the crooked little finger.  Easier still —find the word decipher’

    TRANSLATION  ’NOV. 24 / 2023
    “MY WRITING WAS VERY BAD.I WOULD HATE TO BE A MARKER TRYING TO DECIPHER MY SCRIPT.   JUST FOR
    FUN TRY WRITING WITH YOUR LEFT HAND  (signed  Alan Skeoch)

    The crisis climaxed with the departmental exams.  Students today in the year 2023 have no idea how demanding 
    were these exams.  There was no wriggle room.  Failurerate was high. 
    As I remember a university acceptance  would need a grade average of  75%.  

    I knew deep down that I had slipped below the cut off.  But maybe I would be lucky.  No Such luck!    It was the Physics exam 
    that got me  I Could not remember what the letter “s” meant i n solving physics mathematical problems   I was blank.
    And “s” was such a simple part of the exam.   It was a given.  A simple given but for the life of me i could not remember

    Then the school year ended.

    I accepted a summer job as a surveyor working on the new stretch of the Canadian transcontinental Highway .
    There were 8 of us living in a shack near the village of Hunta just a few miles west of Cochrane.  To get there I rode
    the last steam train on the ONR.  It was an escape.  The survey crew were all much like me .Young and 
    full of energy and misplaced enthusiasm. All except for one boy who was really troubled.  Made my troubles seem minor.  the boys
    badgered him So I chose hin for my three man team.

    I can still remember the moment he snapped.   His pent up hatred burst forth in a frenzy of anger directed
    at me for some reason.   I was running the transit and john C was setting up pickets with a blazing axe.

    “Get in line, John, More to the left”
    “Fuck you!”  And he turned and threw his blazing axe right st me.  It missed but it was close.
    “What the hell did you do that for?”
    And John went into a kind of catatonic state. I  told our crew chief what had happened.
    “We will have to do sometihng” 

    That night John went a little more berserk/  All 8 of us slept on metal cots in the highway bunkhouse.
    About midnight when we were all asleep,  John got up quietly.   Picked up a large rick the size of a football that he had
    secreted under his bed.  
    He tip toed over to Hazuda’s bed and dropped the rock on what he thought was Hazuda’s head.   Smashed the water jug
    to smithereens.   
    Then got back in bed before we put the lights on.   He said nothing.  He was crazy.  We stayed up all that night while
    John jus lay in hia cot.  In the morning he was  put in a straitjacket and  taken away.  We never heard what happened but 
    imagined he was committed to a place like Penetang for the insane.

    This event and the regular arrival of a black bear took my mind off my own troubles but not for long.

    The letter came.

    I new it would be bad news but I had persuaded myself to think that miracles happen.  I did not open the letter in our
    sleeping shack nor in our cook trailer.   Instead I took s long walk to an abandoned one room school
    on the transcontinental highway near the village of Hunta, a village made famous as the boyhod home of
    a member of the notorious Boyd Gang.  I think his name was Steve Suchan (something like that).

    There was an outdoor back house behind the school and that is where I  opened the letter.  Time to 
    be blunt.  I failed.  Failed get above the cut off mark.  My marks were OK in most subjects.  Not stellar
    but OK.  Middle of the pack marks.   Good enough to pass but not good enough to enter university.

    It ws convenient to blame my busted baby finger for my failure.  But that was not true.  Even before the 
    injury I had stepped on the road to failure by avoiding homework.   By bluffing.  I thought I was good
    at that.   Thought I had fooled my teachers.  Not so.  

    Miss Schroeder made hatt clesr to me gently in a French exam.  While writing the exam she slipped
    a newspaper clipping on my desk.  A clipping from the Dagwood and Blondie comic strip where 
    Blondoe accuses her husband of using words that do not exist.  Dagwood’s response was
    “It takes brains to invent words that do not exist.”

    I looked up.  Looked at Miss Schroder whose face was impassive.  That was a moment of truth for
    me.  I had  fooled no one by using English words with French pronouncement.   If anything I had 
    been a source of amusement. My desk was in front of her desk….by accident rather than design.
    Or had she put me there for her amusement.   “Monseur Skeoch, would you read P 23 of the 
    story converting English to French from your homework?”
      
    At which point I would read from a blank page.   
    But she liked me anyhow.   Smart ass stuff fooled no one except for me. I had bad habits.  Rarely
    did homework.  Spent more time dating girls, sharing stories with my 38th Boy Scout Rover Crew,
    playing football, joining the Drama Club, the Science club, the student council.  No time in the 
    school day for something as trivial as homework.

    So my failure in hat letter read in the back house of an abandoned school in the wilderness of 
    Northern Ontario was not just due to the cast on my hand and wire drilled down the centre of 
    mybsby finger.   All the same it was comforting to have n excuse.

    MY history teacher, Evan “Crusher” Cruickshank, had a few good tricks up his sleeve.   His best one was just three words.
    “I don’t know.”  He would leave a question dangling as if he really did not know.  On a couple
    occasions I even tried to help “Crooky” by going to the Runnymede Public Library to 
    find the meaning of something like Karl Marx’s ‘dictatership of the proletariat ‘.  I was deluded 
    into believing Crooky needed help.

    Much later in my life after Crooky hired me as a high school history teacher I discovered that
    a blood relative, Alex Skeoch, had been the barn builder n the late 19th century on the Cruiksahnd farm near Sarnia.

    Down deep I loved my techers but did not suck around.  What I liked best about them was 
    their objectivity.  They treated all students the same…or tried to do that.  There was no crime greater
    than being a teachers pet.  Better to keep buried in the classroom….as far back as possible.

    Roberta Charlesworth new how to straighten out students that did not do their work.
    She handed out detentions in an even handed way.  “Skeoch, you come in after school
    ….detention….Next time do your work.”

    She was coaching the girls basketball team in the girls gym.   Why serve s detention in
    home room If i could sit in the gym and watch the girls jump around in their blue 
    gym bloomers.  So I did.   Next day.  “Skeoch, come up to he front.”  I thought i must
    have done something right.  Thought that until she lifted me off the grabbed by my
    left ear lobe and lifted.  Made my eyes water in front of he whole class.    “When I say detention
    I mean detention in this room not the girls gym.  Now sit down.”

    Later she got me several jobs tutoring students in English.  She did this as well as lift me by my ear
    lobe.  I never told  one Greek student I helped started our 
    tutoring with a glass of liquorice brandy.    And another was a friend of a nice Ukrainian
    girl I waned to date.   Her parents did not like me until I used  a few Ukranian words
    that Jim Romaniuk gave me.  “Sho Tish Niyue” (??) meant ‘How are you?.  Won them
    over and got the date.  But that went nowhere as she was Catholic and I was
    Presbyterian which seemed to be a wall.

    IN school…public school…religion had no place.   Tha was a good thing.   Football 
    replaced religion I suppose.

    LOWER THAN A SNAKE IN A RUT

    My parents were not upset in a way some might expect.  They were only upset 
    because I was hurt.  They loved Eric and I in spite of some of he stupid things we did.
    What a joy that was.   To be loved in spite of failure. No condemnation.  Mom
    knew the cast covering my baby finger was a partial reason.  But she also 
    knew I had rarely done my homework and was  partially o blame .   But she never said so
    And dad did not really give a dmn.  He had been thrown out of school in Grade 9
    at Fergus for firing snowballs at girls in the female back house that hung over the
    steep hill above he Fergus Fairgrounds.   Instead of going back to school he caught
    a train to Saskachewan after hiding from his father for some time.  

    Should I do the same as dad.  Head for Saskachewan where Uncle John had a huge farm. 
     In other words Quit school and ‘climb telephone poles’ as my typing 
    teacher ’Tiny Tim Talbot called quitters.  No.   Mr. Burford’s words
    popped into my conscious mind. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
    Football philosophy had a powerful influence on daily life.   Replaced religion.
    Some readers will  be offended by that comment I know.  My mind was like a blank
    slate on which new ideas were written all the time.   I only wished that  my
    mind had not gone blank in that 1958 Departmental physics Exam.  Maybe my mind just up and failed me
    as a lesson.  

    Did I have the guts to go back to high school…to repeat my Grade 13 year.
    “To suffer the slings snd arrows of outrageous  fortune.?”  Did I have the guts?

    Luckily I was not alone.  My best friend got the same devastating news
    that I got.  We would both return to Humberside.  And surprisingly we were 
    welcomed.

    Note:  This may sound like a lot of crap.   What am I trying to explain?  Simple. My 
    crushed baby finger was not the whole cause of my failure to get 75% on the
    1958 Deparmentsl Exams.  Mea Culpa!   It was my fault,,,not just my baby finger.
    Simple causation.   For every effect there are multiple causes.

    I had many surprises ahead of me…good surprises…wonderful surprises.
    And I chose a new path.  Study can be a joy….even an obsession.

    alan skeoch
    Nov. 24, 2023


    1958-Grade-13-History-Final-Exam-by-toramble-ontariopage 1 of an old 1958 Department of Education, Ontario grade 13 Chemistry exam

  • EPISODE 918 TED AND SHIRLEY, SNOWBIRDS, RETURN TO CANADA FOR GOOD. WHY? COST OF HEALTH CARE IN TEXAS

    EPISODE 918      DINNER WITH COUSIN TED FREEMAN AND HIS WIFE SHIRLEY NOV. 24, 2023


    alan skeoch
    Nov. 23, 2023

    MARJORIE SKEOCH, TED AND SHIRLEY FREEMAN   NOV. 23, 2023

    It has been a long time since  we have seen each other.   Shirley and Ted Freeman have moved
    back to Canada after 35 winter months at their ex=pat home in Texas.  
    They are back on the farm I remember so well.  Ted’s mom and dad are so close to me that
    it is hard to write about them.  Their farm is the farm where we spent so much of our childhood
    years that it seemed like a pat of our own home.   It is very hard to write about people and 
    places that are close…tight…personal.

    Why did they return to Canada after so many winters inTexas.  Health care.  Simple.  The cost
    of extra health care for Snowbirds is around $10,000 per year.   That cost cannot be sustained. And it
    may not even be enough if a devastating illness or accident happens.   

    Some Canadians experiencing a terrible operation prefer to hire an air ambulance to get
    back to Canada.

    Ted and Shirley are not ill.   They are back home.   And maybe this will give me a chance
    to write about their farm.  Of all the farms in our family there are only  two where relatives still live.
    The Townsend farms and the Freeman farm.


    my cousin Ted Freeman had aneardeth experience…the thought of which he would rather not talk

  • EPISODE 917 FOOTBALL ACCIDENTS CAN HAVE BIG CONSEQUENCES…MY BABY FINGER for instane

    Note:  Such a trivial event…a broken baby finger.  But it Changed my life.  Embarrassing and personal… maybe the story is too
    boring for readers.  Skip it then.   That baby finger, however, is a big parr of my life. I feel driven to tell the story even though most
    readers might feel I have wasted their time.






    Take a look at my  baby left finger.  See the bump on it.   Now to tell the story.


      EPISODE 917    FOOTBALL ACCIDENTS  CAN HAVE BIG CONSEQUENCES…MY BABY FINGER for instane

    alan skeoch
    Nov. 20, 2-23

    The accident seemed so trivial at first.  But the consequences on my life Big time and bad….in the short run.
    And surprisingly positive in the long run.

    I threw a good Cross Body block.  Was it in a game or just in a practice scrimmage ?  I do not remember.
    I do remember the block.  My left hand touched the ground as the block finished.  Then our halfback ran by.
    And he stepped on my left hand.  Let’s say that was 180 to 200 pounds of crested foot were landed on my baby finger.
    It hurt a bit.  Later I had trouble writing.  My left hand scrawl was bad enough butDoing so with a broken baby finger
    was worse.

    “Your finger is broken, Alan.”
    “I know that but it does not  hurt much.”
    “You should get it fixed.””
    “How?”
    “See Dr Pennal, at St. Joseph’s Hospital.”  I think that was the surgeon’s name. Not sure.  And I think Dr. Greensway
    suggested getting a surgical opinion.
    (seventy two years ago)
    “Yes , it is broken.”
    “Does it need to be fixed?”
    “Yes.  Fragment floating around that little finger need to be stabilized.  Minor operation,”

    And that’s how this major event in my life began.  Noting major.  Minor surgery  The year was 1958.  My Grade 13 year
    of high school at Humberside.  Big plans?  I had none.  Had no idea what to do with my life.   The smashed baby
    finger changed everything.

    THE OPERATION — FINGER SURGERY

    I went to the hospital alone.  Not because my parents didn’t care.  But they were working
    Mom was a sewing machine operator in a needle trade sweatshop hidden workshop on Annette Street near Keele St.
    If she did not work, she did not get paid.   Dad made good money a long way from home.  He was a truck tire buider and  had to catch a series of busses and street cars from
    West Toronto to the small tow of Whitby, east of Toronto.  Probably 3 to 4 hours there and back home.  He was a gambler….horse races too all his free time. 

    So I went alone.  Never a good idea going to a hospital alone.   I read that somewhere.  True.  

    First i was asked to lie down on a gurney while a nurse shaved my right arm.  Now That seemed
    odd to me.  

    “Why are you shaving my right arm?”
    “To get you ready for the surgeon.”
    “But it is my left hand with the broken finger.”
    (She checked  my chart)
    “Sorry…you are correct.
    (Then she shaved my left arm)

    What would happen if they opened up the wrong finger?”

    “This local will numb your hand…no pain. You wil be awake.”
    (And a  nurse gave me a needle. Then the gurney was wheeled 
    into the hallway and left there for some time.  I waited on the gurney for a long time it seemed.

    Then was wheeled in to the operating theatre.  Yes, theatre.   There ws a huge round gallery
    above me with half a dozen people gazing down.   Such a small operation for interns and
    nurses to watch.  I never did know exactly how damaged my finger seemed.  No time for
    thinking.

    “YOWEEE!  That hurts, “ as the surgeon began to open up the finger.
    “When did this boy get the local?”
    “Some time ago, perhaps an hour or more>=”
    “Give him another shot right now.”

    No pain after that.  I took my mind off the surgery by watching the people who were in turn
    watching the surgery.  Tried to put my mind elsewhere. Ten it was over.

    “Son, you  will have a cast on your left hand for some time.  The bones on 
    your little finger have been put in place… a long wire pin goes down the centre of your finger.
    When all seems fine the pin will be removed.  See the tip of it there.   Be careful.”
    (Instructions were something like that.  The pin was there but not visible due to the cast.)

    Day surgery. “You can go home  now.”   I boarded the Roncesvales street car heading for 
    the Annete Strreet bus and home.  I felt a little faint as blood oozed into the cast but 
    soon I began total the immobility of my left hand for granted.

    Should I play football?  Why not?  We had a game against Oakwood where I made a
    textbook shoestring tackle.  Burf said so   He may have also noticed my white cast. Never told him about it.
    And in that game I nearly intercepted a pass but knocked the ball to the ground instead.
    “Why did you not catch the ball and run with it?”
    “Never occurred to me.” (Left Guards andi inside linebackers are not ball carriers)

    I was back in the game…playing my role with the team.  It felt good.

    OMINOUS CLOUD

    The consequences of that damaged little finger changed my life.
    Grade 13 was a tough year for students across Ontario in 1958.  Grade 13
    exam papers were marked by special markers  in June and July.  Markers that
    did know or care that I could barely scribble my name even after the cast was removed.

    CONSEQUENCES OF MY LITTLE BROKEN FINGER … WERE BIG TIME 

    Next Episode    BIG CONSEQUENCES OF A FINGER WIRED TOGETHER


    postscript:  The Grade 13 exams were very serious…expected much of students.

    Circular S. 4C 1959-3113
    ivjinisiry 0 i E
    r r
    33 3 • I9i G
    o 6T>>e {H –
    DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION
    MEMORANDUM
    To Principals of Secondary Schools
    Re Grade 13 Departmental Examinations in English
    1959
    ENGLISH LITERATURE I. GENERAL COMMENTS
    Markers of the English Literature papers in 1959 observed a gratifying improvement in handwriting and spelling, as well as in sentence structure and coherence. It was still evident, however, that a great many candidates lacked training in organizing their material. The habitual use of clear, precise, and idiomatic English remains the exception rather than the rule, and startling deficiencies in vocabulary were revealed. For instance, many candidates lost marks because they did not know the meaning of “thwart” and “subsequent”. Those who neglected to read the questions carefully penalized themselves by failing to perceive the main requirement of the question and by wasting time in writing irrelevant material.
    The defect most frequently found was that, though most candidates revealed an adequate command of the content of the course, few were able to discuss critically and appreciatively the means which an author uses to produce his effects. Key words in the questions, directing the candidates to attempt a critical approach, were largely ignored. Thus, though candi¬ dates were asked ‘how a statement contributes to the achievement of a purpose’ and ‘how a character is revealed’, and were directed to state or describe ‘the means by which suspense is created’, ‘the uses of metaphor or simile’, ‘the methods of inducing the reader. . . ’, and ‘the sources of comic






    a 











  • EPISODE 916 ; FOOTBALL DAYS…. ERIC GOT SPIKED…DEEP HOLE IN HIS LEG FILLED WITH MUD….TERRIBLE THING TO SEE

    EPISODE  916 ; FOOTBALL DAYS…. ERIC GOT SPIKED…DEEP HOLE IN HIS LEG FILLED WITH MUD….TERRIBLE THING TO SEE


    alanskeoch
    Nov. 18, 2023
    This is my brother Eri…14 months younger than me…we are close , like twins,…did things together.  He was right handed though
    which made a hell a of difference in life.



    Eric’s 1955 Football jacket…his number was 29, right end.  which meant he could catch afoootball pass from the quarterback while
    my job was to bash the guy opposite me, the defensive guard.  Quite a different job. No glory

    MUD GAME AGAINST RIVERDALE…TURNS TO HORROR

    It was a mud game.  Late October at Millen Field in East end against Riverdale C. I.   THE Riverdale boys were tough. We expected
    the game to be very physical the moment our team arrived at the ramshackle changing room bisected into
    two parts by a flimsy sawdust board dividing wall.  Big hot in the wall where a Riverdale guy poked his head ans yelled, 
    “’We will knock the shit out of you Pansies,” or some comment like that.  We were no better as we were determined to
     ‘Get Banana nose,’ the less than flattering term for their quarterback.  Enemies ar war…with one big difference in weaponry.
    Mud spike.

    “Boys, I want you to wear mud spikes today, better traction in Millen Field.”

    And so we hsdto unscrew our normal spikes which were about an inchi long and replace them
    with 2 inch mud spikes.  Better traction for sure.  Like running with studded tractor tires. 

    It was  still raining and had been doing do for a couple of days.  Ugly day.
    I remember the mud slurry went over my boots in places.     Mud did not bother me much.  Getting dirty
    was expected of football players.  We were not pansies.

    The game was tough   Body against body.   Most plays were ground plays.   Very little passing.  Lots of 
    body contact.  I read somewhere that the impact of an offensive Guard like me against my opposing defensive guard
    was the same as the impact of an astronaut breaking the gravity barrier into outer space.  Heroic effort.

    My brother Eric must have been a defensive right end in that game.  His job was to ‘Get Banana Nose’ or the ball carrier.
    He had to charge full speed into the mayhem after the ball was snapped.  The Riverdale quarterbacks nose did not look 
    as long as I expected.  But he did look tough.

    Something unusual happened.  Eric was helped off the field….Limping.
    A couple of mudslpikes had cut the calf of his leg.  Hard to tell how deep because the
    exposed flesh was covered in mud and the dirty white powdered chalk used mark the field into five yard intervals.
    He  limped to the bench.  “I am OK…just a scratch’  LIKE HELL IT WAS A SCRATCH.

    This was no scratch…Could see the mud handing from the hole.
    As for me I was suddenly overcome with a feeing of weakness.  My brother was hurt and I felt the pain.
    It was hard for me to go on the field with ouroffenive squad. I was not looking for revenge.
     I think that is why brothers are separated in wartime.   They might look after each other.  Lose their concentration.
     Maybe the separation is so that one might be lost but not all would be lost.

    I got over the shock next play when I saw Eric coming back on the field as defensive end.  Must just be a scratch…not serious.
    So we finished the game.  I am quit sure we won.   As Burf said, “When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”,   Foptball was not just s game,
    it was war.

    The terror set in after the game…after our team shower.  No!  There was no shower. And  Eric’s wound was not superficial.  It was deep…perhaps an inch or more into
    the calf of his leg.  The hole had filed up with mud…stopped the bleeding.  Mud mixed with blood becomes mud.  Why was he not in
    pain?  Adrenalin.  

    “Get your mom or dad to take Eric to the doctor,,,this wound could be bad.”  

    Mom took control immediately. 
      Dad was on night shift…gone to work.   Mom ran our house anyway. 

    “Alan, you come along.  We will see Dr. Greenaway right now.”  Family doctors were accessible in the 1950’s.
    Doctor Greenawy cleaned the wound, applied some alcohol in the wound, stopped the bleeding.   D.r Greenaway
    was concerned.

    “Who willl watch Eric tonight?”
    “lan will….The boys sleep in the same bed.”
    “Then, Alan, I want you to take this syringe..this needle.   If Eric begins to act strangely…to have a convulsion
    tonight, I want you to give him this needle.  It is very important.  Can you do that?”
    “Ye,sir,,,I think I can.” knowing full well I would get mom fast.  She slept in the couch in our
    one bedroom house.  Dad sept in our bed when he was on day shift at Dunlop Tire Corporation. All
    very efficient.  All very close.  All very natural to us.  Doesn’t everybody live that way? We lived on top
    of each other.  My boyfriends each had their own rooms. Soft life for them. I rarely did homework…no room.

    It was a long night for mom and I.    Maybe for Eric too.   But morning came and no odd behaviour.
    Eric was alive.   I think he e ven played football later in  the season.  We were not pansies.

    Grea chsnce for a cruel joke on mom.



    “ERIC’S HELMET IS SMASHED , MOM”

    7)  The next football season, 1956, we played a cruel joke on Mom.  It realy was not  funny.  
    but to us it was a hoot…really funny.  

     Mom loved
    us and did not want to see us hurt.  Dad was the same.   Touch my kid then answer to me.  Physical world we lived in.
    Eric and I played cruel jokes on them both.  Careful with dad because he might overreact.  But mom was fair game.

    Mom has been gone a long time butI often Eri and I remember this joke.   It is not funny but we thought it so.

    We returned form a football game in Russ Vanstone’s Chev.   He dropped us at the door.    We lived on
    the second floor and there was a long staircase upward.   The plan was cruel.  I knew mom would
    ask about the game and sure enough as soon as I started up the stairs the asked, “How did the game go?”

    “Eric got hurt mom,” and I threw his crushed footbsllhelmet up the stairs.

    Russ had accidentally back the Chev over the helmet.    Very funny, don’t you think?
    I came up the stairs alone but Eric was not far behind.   I think mom laughed when she
    got over the shock.  zoo hugs and kisses.  The joke was not so funny to mom.


     alan

    Post script:  Much more to come…Wrong Way Cush and Jarring Jach Osmond and
    my operation at St. Joseph hospital where people go to die.

    POS SCRPT:  I remember when the scab and hardened puss came out of Eric’s leg….not
    pretty.



    Here are some family pics that might sue your  Mom made all our winter clothes out of old coats.

    Eric, our farm cousin Ted Freeman, Alan….much later in life.












    Mom with her two boys wearing cut don costs