EPISODE 715 THE DAY I MET ELVIS (CHIBOUGAMAU, NORTHERN QUEBEC — SUMMER 1956)
alan skeoch
January 11, 2035
OK I NEVER REALLY MET HIM….EXCEPT IN MY IMAGINATION
But I did pass some time in Heartbreak Hotel….
ELEVIS PRESSLEY
MARJORIE AND I happened to catch an Elvis Pressley special on public television last night. Seeing
and hearing Elvis brought back memories of my first contact with him. His big hit in 1956
was Heartbreak Hotel which launched his career. On a hot summer day in 1956 we ( fellow prospectors)
happened to be drinking beer in the Chibougamau Hotel when the owner set the needle on the
Pressley recording.
These images popped into my consciousness.
BIG EVENTS Usually go directly into long time storage in our brains. Meeting Elvis Presslley was such
an event. I remember that meeting in total detail….total recall. Rock and Roll. I did not know who Elvis was that summer
but I was overcome with his explosive lyrics to Heartbreak Hotel.
Chibougamau looked much like this in 1956. Only as I remember the road in town was gravel like the highway through the
seemingly endless carpet of spruce tress to get there. These cars are 1950’s vintage so the main street must have been
paved. But only the main street. In 1956 I do not remember as many shops. The street was dominated by the beer parlour
in my mind. Imagination? It was called a ’shack town”, a “white” town (no native person wanted to live there with the whites),
a “Mining town” in which men who hammered the ore face deep underground were more admired than any priest or sunday
school teacher. Elvis spoke to us all.
Well, since my baby left meWell, I found a new place to dwellWell, it’s down at the end of Lonely StreetAt Heartbreak HotelWhere I’ll be, I’ll be so lonely, babyWell, I’m so lonelyI’ll be so lonely, I could die
Sounds sort of corny in print but the song was a super hit in 1956… first on hit parade
from January to July. And the vocalist, Elvis, was something new on the musical stage.
He performed….wiggled his pelvis.
We were drinking beer in the Chibougamau Hotel. Our whole crew had been air lifted by Beaver
from the bug infested boreal forest to the town for a little R.. and R. before we got back
to our Magnetometer in our search for chalcopyrite. I was a bit of a prude because I did
not drink…. broke that rule a bit having one or two draughts of Molson’s Export with my
crew who were a mixed bag of characters from Joe, a professional alcoholic to two recent
immigrants from Germany…tough guys who may have been members of the
Hitler youth. And three of us were high school students from Toronto.
It was around noon when we started drinking, The room was dark and dingy. Lots of
cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Small beer glasses in those days so we ordered a tableful
of them, Mostly men in the room. In those days men’s beverage rooms were exclusively for men
or men with ‘escorts’ so there were a couple of women present. Sort of hidden. I only
remember one woman but I recognized her. We had travelled together in a taxi from
St. Felicien to Chibougamau. Five passengers none of which I knew. All French Canadians
All rather rough French Canadian men. We stopped twice to take a leak
on the trip. They seemed oblivious to the presence of the girl.
She was stunning. About my age. I was seventeen. She may have
been twenty. That was some trip. Gravel road in which the mining trucks from
the Opemiskka copper mine had the rIght of way. Spraying gravel at bay car that dared
challenge that right. Our Driver charged extra for the hundred or so mile trip
because of the likelihood his car would be damaged from flying gravel. I think he
did get a crack in the windshield or he already had one.
She was so attractive that I
was embarrassed when the other men just took a leak in plain sight.
And here she was sitting in the beer parlour which was jammed with men who
were overdoing it on beer while the record player boomed out Heartbreak Hotel
over and over again.
She got up and left a couple of times. Always with a man…different man who
left money on the table. With her was one of the guys that was also in the
taxi. It took me a few minutes to figure out what was going on. Then in a flash
I knew. The girl was a prostitute doing quick tricks for her pimp. I was devastated.
Could I rescue her? Should I rescue her? Wasn’t this none of my business?
No one seemed to notice the transactions except for me. Perhaps it was only
my imagination gone wild on two draughts of beer. I did nothing stupid. Did
nothing at all.
Although it’s always crowdedYou still can find some roomFor broken hearted loversTo cry there in their gloomBe so, they’ll be so lonely, babyThey get so lonelyThey’re so lonely, they could die
This all happened in one afternoon session. About four or five o’clock we were
gathered together and ferried by bush plane back to our miserable camp site.
Joe F. was falling down drunk by then and regailed us with his sexual exploits
at his home town of Rouyn, Quebec…to Joe sexual activity was an open book
or maybe he just made up the stories. None of them dare I repeat. Use your
imagination. I Liked Joe. He was the gregarious type. Later when our food
supply of bacon and eggs, rolled oats and canned milk, pork and beans ran
low we called in a bush plane and sent Joe back to Chibougamau for grub. He
arrived back at camp so drunk that he fell off the pontoon into the water laughing
all the while. He did not bring any food but spent our money and his time
in the Chibougamau Hotel.
The French Canadians I met did not like me.
How do i know that? Because our line cutting crew were French Canadians and
they were fed less than we were fed, they did not get an R. And R. break but instead
were expected to get the survey lines laid out as fast as possible so that we could
tae our Magnetometer readings and report anomalies it there were any. Bull work.
Anomalies …. speculations … were profitsble on the penny stock market
back in Toronto where get rich quick schemes sucked he greedy into
buying stock on places like Loon Lake Mining Company (a fictitious title from my
brain). On that job I learned lots.
I was a Boy Scout…a Rover sScout…convinced that I could right the wrongs
of this world by my presence. A bit of a prick really. And a failure. I did not
rescue that poor girl….did not even acknowledge I knew her. And when I did
act In attempt to make friends with the French line cutting crew I was reminded
harshly that friendship was not wanted. When I sat at their hand hewn table
one French Canadian jabbed his slashing knife into the table in front of me.
I still remember tat knife waving…it was a machete. The point was clear. Two
Solitude. Get the hell back to your own tent.
Now, the bellhop’s tears keep flowin’And the desk clerk’s dressed in blackWell, they’ve been so long on Lonely StreetWell, they’ll never, they’ll never look backAnd they get so, they get so lonely, babyWell, they are so lonelyThey’re so lonely, they could die
Well, now, if your baby leaves youAnd you got a tale to tellWell, just take a walk down Lonely StreetTo Heartbreak HotelWhere you will be, you will be lonely, babyWell, you will be lonelyYou’ll be so lonely, you could die
Post Script:
1 ) Decades later when I was asked to write a chapter for a Canadian
history book for senior students, I wrote up my experiences that summer
of 1956. In all its glory and brutality including the young girl. I thought
my chapter reflected what has happening in Quebec. The awakening
of French Canadian nationalism. The reasons behind it. Guess
what happened to my chapter? It was laundered…cleaned up…made
sotfer. Beer parlour and sadness of prostitution cut out.
2 ) Beer was a discovery for me in 1956. One of the guys smuggled a
case of Molson Export into our camp and he gave me a can. Dad liked beer so
I rolled the can in brown paper, printed our address (then 455 Annette Street
in Toronto), and stuck a couple of stamps on it then dropped it in the outgoing
mail. It reached Dad. He slipped it in the fridge, levered it open and gulped it
down as pleased as punch. Told his friends that Alan mailed him beer
from northern quebec.