Alan Skeoch

Alan skeoch

june 2023

There was a bi-election in the Parkdale riding around 1990.   I forget the exact year but that is

not really the important part of the story.  I was teaching Civics to my Grade Ten class and 

casually mentioned that it was possible to get a visit from the Prime Minister.

“Would you like to meet Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau in person?”

“Us?”

“yes, there is a chance our Prime Minister would come to meet each of you peronsally.”

“Not likely, sir. “

“You might be right but Itink you are wrong.”

“Why?”

“I think if you…all of you…write a letter to Mr. Trudeau ….a letter inviting hime to our school.

I think he might come to see you”  Worth a try anyway.   Let’s compose a letter.”

And we did.  I made sure the letter was written by the class and not by me or any teacher 

at Parkdale.  Maybe left in a couple of spelling mistakes just to prove the letter was authentic.

And Presto!  next week we got a letter from Ottawa or perhaps it was a phone call.  Trudeau was

coming to see and talk to my Grade Ten class.   The school went berserk.   Trudeau would meet

all  of our students in the auditorium.   He would maKe a speech to them. Answer questions. It was made clear

that the prime minister wanted to meet the students…not the teachers…not the adults.  he liked

young people.  Loved the give and take in conversation with kids.

This visit became a big deal.   Everyone was excited.

The search dogs came the day before.   Officers searched every croner of the

school to make sure there was no danger.  No bomb. Plain clothes men were present…anonymous

in part.  Then Trudeau arrived in a bit of a motorcade up Jameson Avenue.   He was encircled

by security people lest something untoward happen.  He was safe.

Or so everyone thought.   But he was not safe.  Suddenly a girl dashed from the crowd of

students greeting Trudeau and the motorcade.  She rushed the Trudeau car in a sudden

burts of energy….by passed the security detail and planted a big kiss on Trudeau who

grinned and marched into the school.

The first thing he asked was where is the washroom.  He had to take a leak.  Then he

proceeded to the auditorium where he spoke for a few minutes and then asked for

questions.  

My Grade Ten class was forgotten in he visit.  Questions were asked but they 

were as bland as porridge.  A teacher committee tried to keep hostile questions

from being asked.   The visit was nice but rather bland.

I wished he had come up to Room 225 to really meet my class.  They were the 

reason he visited Parkdale but that was lost in the jumble.   All the same our 

school was flattered.   Our students felt important…all of them.

And one girl out smarted the whole security detail as she rushed to be cradled

in the arms of our Prime Minister.

alan skeoch

June 2023

EPISODE 830     MY LAST CLASS AT PARKDALE C. I.  and THE BOY WHO STOLE CARS

alan skeoch

June 11, 2023

This was my last class at Parkdale Collegiate institute, 209 Jameson Ave., Toronto.  A wonderful class as diverse as

Toronto has become.  When I look at their faces today, June 2023 I cannot help but feel our country is in good hands.’Take a close 

look yourself.  I just love this picture.  

NICE THINGS DO HAPPEN

Some readers may wonder why I reported the story about Leila Buckler.  My propose was 

to let me tell short story about a boy belonging to a gang who stole cars.   It’s a story of 

which I am proud.  I did something that changed someone’s life big time.   To tell the story

is to brag.   So it needs to be put in perspective.  My action was a small thing  Leila did

bigger things.   She rescued many more kids than I would ever know.  And she did it

quietly.   So please do not see me as a person with an inflated ego.   

THE BOY WHO STOLE CARS

I still remember where he sat in my class. Halfway down the row next to the window

which faced Jameson Avenue.  He was a typical kid…a student.   The only difference

was that he joined my class midway through the fall term.  Our principal or guidance

office asked if I would take this boy mid term.   Or maybe the did not ask.  No matter,

he was nice little kid who actually did some of the homework assignments and

put his hand up tentatively to help me develop a lesson.   He became part of the

class quickly …and shyly.

I mentioned him in some of the staff room babble.   The conversation went

something like this.

“Did any of you get that new student…put in our classes mid term?”

“Yes…but he won’t be there long.”

“Why not?”

“He stole cars…part of a car theft ring.”

“You must be kidding”

“No.  I think he is being held in a group home until the trial.”

’Such  a nice kid.   Seems that way to me.”

“That may be so but car theft is a serious offence.  “

“How serious?”

“Judge will decide.  Car theft penalty is Eighteen months to 10 years in the slammer.”

“He will likely get two years less a day owing to his age.    But that is

hard time for a young kid.”

I was startled.  Teachers are not told much about their students.  That is policy.

Protects kids really, especially those with tough stories.  Like Leila Buckler , one

of our cheerleaders.  I had not idea she and her dad were living in a flop house

hotel…room for five bucks a night with a bathroom down the hall.  Dangerous place

where her dad had to escort her to the wash room. I never knew that. Leila was 

just another face in the class.  Kids do not want to be centred out.

CONVERSATION  CONTINUED SOMETHING LKE THIS

“Jail is no place for this kid.”

“Well, he’s been caught stealing cars…thousands of dollars in property theft.”

“Guilty!  Must pay the price in hard time.””

“What happens to kids put in prison?”

“Stories are terrifying.   Some become hardened criminals.  Kids like him could

also face sexual abuse.”

“does he have anyone to speak for him?”

“We don’t know.  Must be social workers…lawyers…”

“What about his parents?”

“Seems they are not in te picture. “

And so the conversation continued.  Meanwhile the boy seemed to be enjoying

our high school,  Parkdale Collegiate institute…a downtown core high school with

lots of kids in difficulty,   And most kids thriving.

The boy preyed upon my mind.  Was there anything I could do?

Somehow I became aware of his trial date.   I decided to write a letter to

the judge with my positive comments about the boy.  Maybe that would help

a bit.  Maybe not.

“Your honour, I would like to say that the boy seems to have been led

into criminal activity.  He does not seem to be a criminal. I enjoy him As a student in my 

class and worry that jail would do permanent harm to him.”  (something like that) 

Then a month or so later I got a call from the judge.  Imagine that!

She said  “without your letter I would have been forced to put

the boy in jail.  That would not be be the best thing for the boy

Your letter allowed a group home alternative.   Thank you

That phone call made me feel really good.  I never saw the boy again.

Alan skeoch

 

Sent from my iPhone

alan skeoch

June 4. 2-23

We were drifting down the Fifth when a giant spider appeared…immense green thing.  Bigger than a bread basket.

Then a little blue car passed us and I know what the driver was thinking.  So do you.   He …(must have been a male driver

because no female would be so stupid)…He thought , “I can rip through the gap between the spiders legs.:

And that was the last we saw of him or the spider.

A little further down the road we met a giant centipede that looked really hungry.

I think it ate both spider and that little blue car.   

We did not stop to inspect.   Discretion is the better part of valour.

To whom should we report this tragedy?

alan

Postscript

Remember the bit of doggerel about Algie?

“Algie met a bear and the bear was bulgy and the bulge was Algie!”

The little blue car met a centipede that was bulgy and the bulge was the little blue car.”..

(somehow that version is not as good as the bear version…but it happened.  At least I think it happened.

The male driver?  That was a guess based on prejudice….it could have been a female.

alan

alan skeoch

June 2, 2023

MY life has been happy most of the time.  Only a Sore knee from football injury. Unlike the student i remember so well at Parkdale  C I in the 1960’s which has a similarity to

what Marjorie and her brother faced in the 1950’s.   (Picture of Marjorie and Doug Hughes )

WHY WAS I SO LUCKY IN LIFE WHILE OTHERS FACED TRAGEDY…ESPECIALLY ONE LITTLE BOY WHOSE NAME IS FORGOTTEN?

Last night I could not sleep so memory took over.  For some strange reason I thought about

a sad little boy in my Grade 9 class at Parkdale C.I.  He was very shy….avoided speaking if he could.

Likely poor.  How do I know that?  Because  a lot of the students were poor which made him

unremarkable I suppose.  

I think his dad died in November in 1964 or 1965. Think he sidled shyly up to my desk and said “My dad died.”  Or

another student told me.  That evening I went to the funeral home. A dark place wth 25 Watt light  bulbs. 

Frightening.  The boy was alone in one room.  Seemed surprised and glad to see me. But sad and confused…perhaps frightened. 

“How is your mom?”

“She died.”

No mom.  No dad.  No siblings.  No visitors.  No funeral service.  Just this sad little boy and the

casket with his father’s remains.

Why did he come to mind on a sleepless night over sixty years later?  Why?   Because I did nothing to

help.  Just visited the funeral home across from Bellwood Park where other kids joyfully played ball hockey.

I did nothing.   I am not sure I even alerted the principal about the boy.  I do not even remember his

name.

How lucky I was.  Surrounded by people who liked me.  A huge extended Skeoch family … so large

I had trouble sorting out my nieces and nephews.   My grandparents on both sides welcomed visits 

with food and genuine interest in my life.

Yet this little boy had no one.  Sad.  Sadness captured by the song Old Man River… “Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.  

Nobody knows but Jesus!”

Whch made me start thinking about Marjorie.  Fast asleep beside me in bed.  A happy girl…woman…wife….future parent.

Both her parents died.  Her mom died at Christmas 1954 when Marjorie was in Grade 9 at Lawrence Park Collegiate.  At her mom’s funeral she

did not cry until Mr. Chick, her teacher, brought her home form class to the funeral home.  At least She had her dad

who taught her how to fish, how to raise baby rabbits. That was some consolation.

But in April 1956 he died as well.  Marjorie found him and did not know what to do.  She woke her brother.

“Doug, I think Dad is dead.  What should I do?’

”I think you should go to school.  I’ll look after things.”

   Marjorie walked to school in a daze. Sat in her class

and wondered why.  What should she do?  What could she do? She went to the office.

“I am going home.”

“Why?”

“My father died this morning.”

And she went home.  Her high school did nothing.  Marjorie was like the sad little boy described 

earlier.  No mom.  No dad.  No one seemed to care.  Her brother was eight years older than Marjorie

Already making his way in an adult world.  

“What happened to your house?”

“We were renters.”

“Your furniture?”

“People came and took what they wanted.  Strangers.”

There is one big difference between the sad little boy and Marjorie.  She was rescued by her aunt Phyllis Morgan who

was a Latin teacher in the North Bay high school.

“Marjorie, you will come to live with us when the school term ends.”

“Pack what you can carry.  We have a room for you and a new high school..”

And that was all.   Her brother put Marjorie on the train to  North Bay with her single suitcase.

That was the low point  Soon events turned upward.

Marjorie was loved and rescued.   

  Her life in North Bay turned out to be wonderful.   She joined the curling team, drama club,

played basketball, went skiing, got good marks, danced, had lots of boy friends who were serious about her.  How do I know that?

Because when I appeared on the scene she introduced me to them all…even one that proposed marriage.

Her aunt created a new life for Marjorie  Helped her forget the terror of that

morning when she found her father.  She was loved.

Maybe.  Just maybe…that sad little boy in my Grade Nine class had an uncle or  aunt …older brother or sister…friend..

that rescued him.  

I do not know.  All I do know is that I did nothing .   I did nothing.  And that memory stays with me still.   

What should I have done?

alan skeoch

june 2, 2023

P>S>   What do schools do when tragedy strikes a student?  I will ask Mary.

alan skeoch

MAY 30, 2023

How would you handle this situation?  My Grade 13 Home Form decided to play a joke on me

THEY took over the blackboard where I had drawn a gross caricature.

Someone wrote 

“Mr. Skeoch ,alias E.T.” (the extra terrestrial movie had just been released)

The drawing was mine…big nose, big mouth.

The words were written by someone in 13D

Today, May 30, 2032, I asked Marjorie what she thought of E.T.

“Who?”

“Remember the movie  E/T/. the extra terrestrial; who visited our planet…toured on a bicycle 

“Yes, that would be the late 1960’s,  why do you ask?”

“If you had to describe E.T. in one word, what would it be?”

“Inquisitive…..he was curious”

“Is that a good characteristic?”

“”Of course it is.”

“Then this picture must be flattering.”

(Students felt secure enough to make fun of me  and still have respect)

WHAT THE PICTURE REVEALS

1) I AM wearing a 3 piece suit so pic must have been taken around 1970

2) Picture reveals that my home form, 13D felt relaxed enough to write “Mr. Skeoch alias

E.T.”  and sign collective name 13D

3) The caricature was draw by me.  Big nose, big mouth, brush cut.   I think I was teaching Voltaire’s book Candide in

which the boy Candide toured Europe with his teacher whose name in translation was

“Big Mouth”, a name my students enjoyed.

4) As a group we were relaxed enough to do give and take….i.e. join a conversation.

“Why did Voltaire put ‘Big Mouth” in his novel?

5) Famous line in the book?  “If this is the best of all possible worlds, what then of the others?”

6) My comment?  Read Candide, you’ll love it because the chapters are only a couple of pages long.

7) What was my own personal discovery about teaching?  I remember my shock those first few days

as a teacher….the students all called me “Sir”….and they did this for my entire testing career.  

What did “sir” mean to me?   It meant the kids respected me.   As a teacher if you are respected then

all things are possible.   If there is no respect then nothing is possible.

i.e.  We had a teacher at Parkdale C.I. who just could not get  respect.  One day when I slipped out for a coffee

I found him sitting on the step of his portable classroom. 

 “What’s wrong?

“The students have taken control.”

“HOW?”

“I was having difficulty with them.”

(The classroom was full of noise and kids jumping up ad down…and laughing…hooting even)

“God awful noise they are making…how did that happen?”

“I lost control and said “What do you expect me to do…”stand up, sit down, act like a fool?”

“Then all hell broke loose…they began jumping  and sitting .jup and down…hooting.”

“Odd.”

“Worst thing is that they have now locked me out of the portable classroom.”

“Call the VP”

“Are you kidding.  he will think I cannot teach…have no respect….so I will lsit here until the bell goes.”

(And he did. He was still siting there when I cam back with my coffee.  The hullabaloo was continuing…

he never got respect and eventually gave up teaching.  Very sad.  Nice guy.)

alan

P.S.   THE PICTURE WAS REATURED IN THE PARKDALE YEARBOOK AS I REMEMBER

alan skeoch

May 30, 2023

We live in a frantic intersection of raw QEW and Hurontario highways in Misissauga.  

Currently the throughways are being ripped apart  for an  LRT.

Within a stones throw of the construction is one of the places where coyotes feel at home.  They have taken 

ownership of a several acre woodland.   And they are not afraid to show their ownership…their lack of 

fear. Our dog Woody smells coyote spoor when I cannot see anything.

   I could see nothing that was alivedown the back of

lot where an ancient dump rake rests.  Nothing. Noting Nothing. Woody knew better.

Evenutually the coyote slipped from the woodland camouflage into the daylight.

No intention of running away.  Daring Woody to dig under the fence. Hungry.

Back to being invisible in an instant.  If your eyes are good

you can see him or her beside the left wheel of the dump rake.  I think, but not sure.

In the small wilderness park a male and female coyote are raising three or four pups.

Playful stage right now.  Woody is now aware that coyotes prefer food to play. Dangerous  should

he venture down the back of our lot.  He learned that the hard way when he

slipped through the gate and joined a coyote a while ago.   Not a playful moment.

The coyote took a bite out of Woody’s backside.  Food. Woody skedaddled back home fast.

Do not expect to see the coyotes.  They are smart.  They move around seeking, rabbits, garbage.Softly from place to place.

Itinerent.   They are not stupid.   Why do they seem to prefer urban places to rural places?

Food I believe.  Not as many cats around here as their once were.Coyotes are not a big danger

to Woody  Little dogs are more edible

I like the coyotes.  Not everyone does.

alan skeoch

may 27, 2023

What do you see here?

There is more to a stump fence than meets the eye. However you will need a dash of imagination.

Maybe a dollop of abstract thinking.   Maybe it is possible to see things in a stump fence that 

do not exist except in our minds.    A stump fence is a kind of wooden 

Rorschach test…(an ink block test).

Long long ago I remember sitting in Runnymede Presbyterian church when Dr. McQueen

gave his regular children sermon.   He always did this before the adult sermon.  I could 

enjoy those sermons because he used stump fences as triggers for presenting big ideas.

. “This week 

I found this piece of a stump fence that looked like a woodpecker hunting for hidden

grubs.”   

IMAGINARY LESSON FROM A STUMP FENCE

“This week we have a woodpecker in search

of food…a listener…a searcher for something unseen….a hard worker whose life depends on 

the ability to pound out holes in search of treasure.  Some humans do that every day.

Work can be hard.  Hard work, however, often leads to treasure.   A good book can do that.

I read one the other day titled Silent Spring by Rachel Carson.   You would like that book.

…presents big ideas that should concern us all.  Like the dangers of pesticides.”

All this from a chunk of a stump fence.  yes.  Imagination is wonderful.  Use it.

CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING IMAGINARY IN THESE STUMPS?

DID you notice the sea otter about to be engulfed by big wave?

I see a young sea otter…or is it a duck?

…Marjorie saw a mongoose.

alligator or snake about to eat a yellow flower

coiled python with head hidden

gaping mouth of the child python found

on a root about 20 feet away from  the body…that

is one big Pythonl

FIND THE TINY HAND!

Tiny hand reading out to greet.   Can you find the hand in the original pic? I bet you cannot!

alan    may 28,2023

(I SAW A TINY HAND REACHING OUT IN GREETING….does that mean anything?

POST SCRIPT:  RORSCHACH TEST

alan skeoch

May 26, 2023

Wow…this has been a grand month..worth preserving  A fragment.

EPISODE 825     WHAT WE BOUGHT OR BARGAINED..SET SALE MAY 2023  MATTHEW BOLTON, MRTIN BUDD

alan skeoch 

May 26, 2023

Some Of our friends are ‘downsizing’.   Moving from large homes to smaller condominiums or

apartments.  We are going in the opposite direction…’upsizing’ for the movie industry.  Doubt

very much that any reader will feel envious.   Some may even be rather shocked.

In order to upsize for these two five ton truckloads my nephew Robert Skeoch and i spent

a whole day reducing our collection and hauling a lot of things to the dump.  Some had

to be rescued later when a movie set wanted things we had decreed superfluous.

We have  learned a hard lesson.  We cannot provide al things to all movies.   So our collection comes under the headline of ‘period’ items.  Some

things are even abused.  No self respecting movie script seems to want brand new set dressing.  A little or a lot of abuse makes a movie seem real.  Life

is that way.  Imperfect. Abused by the human hand.  Used .. neglected.  Broken and forgotten.  Such things are valued highly by set buyers.  “There

is no fake aging process that replicates the ravage of time.”  Painters and carpenters can do a good job making a brand new chair and table look old

and abused. But time and neglect do a better job.

A n obsolete three furrow plow abandoned in a fence row for half a century cannot look shiny and fit for the showroom floor. A crate which is supposed to

be weathered and broken cannot show the new heads of Robertson screws.  Get the idea?

The cast iron machine on the left looked good to me.  I have no idea of its purpose .  But it looks good…Fading paint make it look  better. If you know the machine then drop a note to me. Cast iron with a pulley that connected to a  motor of some kind.  Pretty.

There is an exception to every rule.  The ammunition crates above , sort of military looking. do look new and should be so if the 40 of them

are part of a war themed movie.    We bought all 40.  We had a gut feeling they will be wanted.  Of course we could be wrong.  Some of the

things we hauled to the dump had never been wanted by a set buyer.  

 Even raccoons and Opposums and squirrels had avoided them.  One winter 

a large grey owl took up residence in our barn.  That discouraged other creatures thankfully.

Marjorie provided home made pizza for the crew.    Now that is unusual … moreso than anything else in these pictures.