{"id":1051,"date":"2018-05-18T12:29:07","date_gmt":"2018-05-18T16:29:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=1051"},"modified":"2018-10-28T14:02:41","modified_gmt":"2018-10-28T18:02:41","slug":"fwd-parkdale-c-i-flashback-hes-dead-sir-murdered-shot-to-death-today-from-alan-skeoch","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=1051","title":{"rendered":"Fwd: PARKDALE C.I. FLASHBACK: HE’S DEAD, SIR! MURDERED! SHOT TO DEATH TODAY! (FROM ALAN SKEOCH)"},"content":{"rendered":"
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HERE are a few flashback memories\u2026most centred \u00a0on Parkdale C. \u00a0I. \u2026 \u00a0 Wrote tis a couple of years ago for no particular reason. \u00a0\u2026\u00a0<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

alan<\/p>\n

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<\/div>\n
“He’s dead, sir! \u00a0Shot! \u00a0Murdered!”<\/span><\/div>\n
by \u00a0Alan Skeoch, \u00a0Jan. 29,2014<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n

“Sir! Sir! \u00a0Someone just shot the President! \u00a0Someone shot Kennedy in Texas…might be dead!”<\/span><\/p>\n

A student burst into my portable classroom at Parkdale Collegiate with this horrific news. \u00a0First year I taught. \u00a0It may have been Conrad Blonski. \u00a0That assassination was etched into long term storage of people across the world. \u00a0Now, more than half a century later I can remember the moment so clearly. \u00a0November 22, 1963. A warm, sunny, late fall afternoon. Beautiful day.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n

<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

My portable was about as far from the school as possible positioned on what had been a tennis court. \u00a0Late fall and the smell of dry leaves perfumed the air. \u00a0 A huge graceful elm tree was tight to the portable door. Kids milling about…happy kids.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Kennedy was shot at 12.30 p.m. \u00a0Word reached Parkdale about an hour \u00a0later. \u00a0Kids coming in from lunch…some ash faced…other as garrulous a parrots. \u00a0They wanted me to know and expected me to do something I think. \u00a0I was struck dumb. \u00a0Should school continue? \u00a0Was the assassination a prelude to something bigger…like nuclear war? My first thought. \u00a0I just gathered the kids together and waited for guidance.<\/span><\/div>\n
Nothing happened. \u00a0Everyone in the school was still and mute.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
So began my career at Parkdale. \u00a0I did not know then that Parkdale would be my only school for 31 years of my life. \u00a0John Ricker, our prof at the Faculty of Education knew more than me. “Alan, if you take that job at Parkdale you will never leave. It is a great place to be…I miss it.” \u00a0 He was right. \u00a0Parkdale was his achool. \u00a0He had been \u00a0student there and, after returning from the air force in 1945 he became a teacher at his old school. \u00a0Flattered me by suggesting I take the job. \u00a0In 1963 there were more jobs than there were teachers. \u00a0We were the lucky generation. \u00a0Post war kids.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I had a serious handicap, however, having been a Humberside C.I. graduate. \u00a0In other words a bit of \u00a0snob. \u00a0Humberside also offered me a job. \u00a0My old high school. \u00a0But I wanted to strike out on my own. \u00a0Marjorie and I had just got married in August 1963 and everything we did was brand new and exciting. \u00a0Parkdale had a real earthy feeling. A sense of need akin to those American kids my age who were joining the Peace Corps by the thousands. \u00a0Sounds silly, I know.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Don’t get me wrong. \u00a0I did not see myself as some kind of evangelist. \u00a0Parkdale just had a seamy side as its waves of new immigrant were being absorbed into an old Canadian milieu. \u00a0The demarcation line where new and old Canadians rubbed shoulders set off sparks at times…sometimes fireworks.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I knew the good and the bad of that dynamic from my Humberside C.I. days. \u00a0We played floor hockey against the Parkdale boys…Mike Kondracki for instance. Cheerleaders encouraged confrontation. \u00a0School colours drew the line. Garnet, Grey and White against Yellow, Black and Gold. \u00a0“Fight! Fight! \u00a0Fight!” was the end of every cheer. The Parkdale gym has an elevated running track where the audience can cheer or jeer. \u00a0In one of \u00a0those floor hockey games I \u00a0got in a bit of scuffle. \u00a0Push came to shove. Like two bull moose locking horns…rolling round on the floor to the glee or boredom of the crowd. No blows ever landed really but it may have looked like mayhem. \u00a0I have never been a fighter really so this was unusual.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“OK, you two…yes you! \u00a0Get out of here. \u00a0Down to the locker room now. \u00a0Your both out of the game.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I looked at Mike. \u00a0He looked at me. \u00a0And out we went to the locker room. Alone. \u00a0Together. That scared me for I imagined getting the tar beaten out of me on some locker room floor with no referee to break us up.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Instead, Mike looked at me and said: “Do you think the girls saw us? Hope so!” \u00a0 And we laughed. \u00a0I now reslize that those girls did not give a sweet goddamn about us. \u00a0Saw us as immature males. But that laughter we shared in the Parkdale locker room won me over even then. \u00a0Mike had his head screwed on correctly. I even had a Parkdale guy arrange our honeymoon hotel when Marjorie and I got married.. \u00a0So Parkdale seemed destined to be my home for my life as teacher.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
A whole bunch of young teachers came to PCI in 1963… the wave preceding the baby boom. Schools were starting to burst at the seams. \u00a0Many senior teachers were retiring at the same time. \u00a0Which meant a lot of us were at new the game and would therefore make mistakes.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Take our first night dance as an illustration. \u00a0Now dances always have been tense as the fires of youth burned brighter with post pubescent glee. \u00a0 There were a bunch of tough kids in PCI that night. \u00a0Smoking in the hall.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Hey, you guys. \u00a0No smoking in the School . Get outside. Are you even<\/span><\/div>\n
students here?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Fuck off!”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Get out now!”<\/span><\/div>\n
“We’ll get out but bet you haven’t got the guts to come outside the school….smart ass teacher.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Stupidly I took up their challenge and found myself alone in the dark with three or four of these guys circling me. \u00a0The \u00a0cop we hired was inside the school. \u00a0Bravado did not cut it. \u00a0I had no idea who these guys were and they knee that. \u00a0The age gap was not very great. \u00a0They were abut 19 or so and I was 23. \u00a0Peers in a way. \u00a0What was I to do?<\/span><\/div>\n
Certainly not take a swing at anyone. \u00a0Let them hit me and take a dive to the ground … maybe roll over like our dog did when confronted by a bigger force. \u00a0Total humiliation. \u00a0Maybe better to get back in the school. Slowly. \u00a0But they were about to cut off my retreat when a wonderful thing happened. \u00a0A voice from the dark.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Having any trouble, Mr. Skeoch?”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
There was Ted Spencer emerging from the dark along with a couple more Parkdale boys.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“You guys looking for trouble? \u00a0You came to the right place!”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And the other boys just melted into the gloom. \u00a0Ted must have been watching me. \u00a0He knew I had made a mistake when I walked out the door. Ted and the others were on our senior football team. \u00a0I was coaching the bantams but had Ted in my Grade 12 course. \u00a0Parkdale was like that. \u00a0Team effort. \u00a0 Family. \u00a0That was one reason I never left Parkdale. \u00a0No interest in promotions because the comfort level was so good.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Alison Petrie had a similar experience at that dance. \u00a0Both Alison and my wife Marjorie were supervising the dance floor when some boy asked Alison a question while another boy came up behind her and slowly unzipped her dress. \u00a0Alison was short and very young at the game.<\/span><\/div>\n
Scared of course. \u00a0Same guys that lured me out onto Jameson Avenue. After those experiences we never let strangers into our school dances. \u00a0I sort of blamed the older senior teachers for allowing us to be dance supervisors. \u00a0We hadn’t yet gained enough respect. \u00a0Except from Ted Spencer and his buddies.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n
<\/div>\n

My brother, Eric Skeoch, joins us:<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Sounds like nepotism when I say that Eric was also hired as a Parkdale teacher. \u00a0Not so. \u00a0The teaching supply in the early 1960’s did not exceed the teacher demand. \u00a0Graduates of the various Faculties of Education could not keep up with the demand. \u00a0Summer cram courses were put in place and a great many young university students jumped at the chance to get salaried fast. \u00a0Baby boomers were exploding school populations. \u00a0Portable classrooms were popping up like mushrooms around high schools. \u00a0Parkdale which was designed for around 500 to 600 students…even less in the pre war years…suddenly had 1400 students. \u00a0The same was true all across the country.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Eric could have taken a job at Loon Lake or Malcolm’s Elbow or pretty well any school. \u00a0He chose Parkdale and I was glad he did. \u00a0We had always been close friends more than competitors. \u00a0Played football together through high school and university. \u00a0Drove our mother mad at times with things we thought were funny. \u00a0Like the time Russ Vanstone backed his car over Eric’s football helmet when we played for Humberside.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“How was the football game, Alan?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Eric got a bit hurt.”<\/span><\/div>\n
And I rolled the remains of the helmet cross the living room floor. \u00a0Seemed like a good joke at the time. \u00a0Turned out not to be. Mom screamed. \u00a0Eric hustled up the stairs fast. \u00a0Mom was used to this kind of thing thankfullly.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
The point I am trying to make is that our sibling rivalry was never very active, especially once I discovered he could beat me up. \u00a0And I am the eldest so that should not happen. \u00a0The discovery was itself amusing.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0Cake with real icing was a delicacy at our house. \u00a0Something to be savoured. \u00a0Eric always ate the bottom first and held the icing to the last. \u00a0Like a crow I waited and watched then grabbed the icing and ran to the door which led down the back stairs. \u00a0These stairs were jerry built and only two feet wide. \u00a0He could not get me. \u00a0I had planned the escape. \u00a0Had done it before for that matter. \u00a0Not this time. \u00a0The final time. \u00a0Eric had set a trap. \u00a0He had locked the stairway door BEFORE he got to his piece of cake. \u00a0I ran stuffing the icing in my mouth. But the door did not open. \u00a0And he was on me like a blow fly on cow pie. “Whump! Whump!” I got several messages that day. \u00a0Also noticed that mom and dad were in on the trap. \u00a0Eric was quite pleased with himself. But he did not get the icing. \u00a0I carry that guilt. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Most of the time we were good friends. \u00a0Still are.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
So we taught together at Parkdale for a few years. And we had a great time doing so. \u00a0Jointly coached football along with the Killer, Sam Markou. (Called the killer because all the females love him so…lady killer in other words. \u00a0A term of affection.)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
We had adjoining rooms. \u00a0I had 218. He had 219. \u00a0On one occasion we decided to do a little promotion game. \u00a0I forget exactly how it worked…either he got the Gr. 9 kid or I did but here is the gist of it.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“David, you are too smart for this class. \u00a0Eric and I think you should be in Grade 13.”<\/span><\/div>\n
Now this boy was gullible. Nice kid. \u00a0Good natured. With a very high regard for teachers. \u00a0We figured he could take it.<\/span><\/div>\n
“So next period you will be taking history with my brother Eric in Room 219. \u00a0You will be in Grade 13.”<\/span><\/div>\n
And so it went for a couple of periods. \u00a0It did not last long. \u00a0The Grade 13 kids began to object because David actually did his homework and could answer most questions. \u00a0He was better than the Gr. 13 kids. They wanted him out and back in my class.<\/span><\/div>\n
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“Sorry about that David. \u00a0But glad you’re back with us.” \u00a0Everybody enjoyed this trick…even David. \u00a0Nobody was hurt except maybe the egos of the Grade 13 kids. \u00a0A lot of people were in on the trick…teachers and students alike. \u00a0That was the nature of Parkdale. Family. Piece of cake with lots of icing.
<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Our warnings at the Faculty of Education were different. The implication was that adolescent fantasy could cost a teacher his (or I suppose her) job.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
FEAR IN THE CLASSROOM<\/span><\/div>\n
(or GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN INNOCENT)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
(Consider these three questions when reading the three cases, all true, below. \u00a01) Suppose Estella hugged me. \u00a0What then?<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 2) Suppose Mrs. P—- screamed rspe. What then?<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a03) Suppose Larry said I cuffed him. \u00a0What then?)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Never get alone in your room with a female student. \u00a0That can lead to big trouble. \u00a0It goes without saying that touching students, male or female, is even worse.”<\/span><\/div>\n
This was a little surprising to me for it wasn’t that msny years since I was a student and had been almost lifted off the ground by my ear for a minor misdemeanor. \u00a0And the “lifter” was my English teacher who was a female. \u00a0She touched me and it was me that apologized.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Sorry! \u00a0I thought serving a detention in the girls gym, watching them play volleyball, was a good way to spend the time. \u00a0Won’t do it again. Owww!”<\/span><\/div>\n
Worse things happened. \u00a0We had a teacher who was colour blind.<\/span><\/div>\n
“What colour is this chalk, Terry?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“White, sir!”<\/span><\/div>\n
Of course the chalk was green or blue or red. \u00a0And we got a good laugh out of the situation. \u00a0Until all hell broke loose. \u00a0Mr. N—- blew his top and grabbed Terry Sealy by the scruff of the neck and slammed him in between the window radiators. \u00a0The he proceeded to pummel Terry for the rest of the period. \u00a0Real heavy blows. \u00a0Cuff on the back of the head. Then a good one in the gut. \u00a0I don’t remember any blood being spilled however. \u00a0No matter. \u00a0The rest of us were flabbergasted.<\/span><\/div>\n
And silent. \u00a0Dead silent.<\/span><\/div>\n
“You trying to make a fool of me, Sealy! \u00a0You think it’s funny!”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Whap! Whap!”<\/span><\/div>\n
When the bell went we funnelled quietly out of the class. \u00a0Mr. N—- then shook Sealy’s hand of all things.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Sorry about that Sealy, but don’t do it again.”<\/span><\/div>\n
We did nothing. \u00a0No report. \u00a0Treated Mr. N—- carefully from that point on. \u00a0“Yes, sir, that is white chalk.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
One of our profs, which I will keep nameless, even spoke to one large group of teachers confessing he had hauled a Parkdale kid out in the hall and slammed him up against the lockers. \u00a0Being smashed against lockers sounds really bad but does little damage. \u00a0Like the Noise of a body hitting a huge metal drum.The kid had told the teacher to Fuck Off. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“I must admit, I did that! \u00a0Guilty. The locker smash was a message for the other kids. \u00a0Sounded a lot worse than it really was.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“But I know better now. \u00a0Do not ever touch a student. Never Never Never!….Unless he tells you to fuck off.” \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Now that was a great joke. \u00a0Everybody laughed but we all got that message about touching.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I know this seams like a long prelude. \u00a0Touching worried me. \u00a0Being alone with a student could be bad news even without touching. \u00a0In 31 years at Parkdale I only have three such incidents. \u00a0One was amusing…even cute. \u00a0And the other two were not funny at all.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
1) THE GIRL WITH A CRUSH ON ME (Suppose she gave me a hug?)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0Ramona (not her real name) liked me. \u00a0She was anice little girl in one of my first Grade 9 classes. \u00a0She liked me too much. \u00a0Followed me around so much that I began to notice her. \u00a0So I got scared. \u00a0At the time we were living at 120 Westminster Avenue in the Parkdale district so I was able to walk to and from school. \u00a0Ramona lived near our apartment. \u00a0A couple of times she caught up to me and we walked together. \u00a0Nice little girl…full of enthusiasm in a quiet sort of way. \u00a0In other words dangerous. \u00a0So I began to take different routes home. \u00a0One trip I can remember so well.<\/span><\/div>\n
Walking along Queen towards Roncesvales. \u00a0Cautiously checking if I was being followed. \u00a0All clear for a while. \u00a0But not so. \u00a0Ramona was on the other side of the street. \u00a0I used the reflection from store windows as any good detective would have done. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Maybe, if I stop here, Ramona will get ahead of me and I can use a side street. \u00a0I see her in the reflection. \u00a0I’ll try and pretend I’m interested in the stuff the store sells.”<\/span><\/div>\n
At that point I looked at the store display. \u00a0Women’s under garments…brassieres, night wear, etc.!! \u00a0I could hardly tarry there<\/span><\/div>\n
so came up with another idea. \u00a0I would walk at regular pace and then run and jump on the Roncesvales street car. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Now, run and jump!”<\/span><\/div>\n
Ramona did as well so we were both in the car with the crowd.<\/span><\/div>\n
The weirdest thing then happened. \u00a0You will not believe me. \u00a0You will say I am just trying to make the story better. \u00a0But it is the truth.<\/span><\/div>\n
Ramona’s mom was standing just inside the door. \u00a0I met her at parent’s night. \u00a0Knew her well. \u00a0Liked her. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Hello, Mrs. S—–, just getting home?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Why, Mr. Skeoch…and Ramona…so nice to see you.”<\/span><\/div>\n
It was only two stops to our streets. \u00a0We got off together. Of course the situation did not end then. \u00a0It just sort of drifted away. \u00a0But not without one amusing…perhaps shocking…conclusion. \u00a0Ramona knocked on our door one evening when I was coaching and asked Marjorie if she wanted some pictured of me. \u00a0She had taken a few at Parkdale and on the street. \u00a0Marjorie was amused for she knew the situation. \u00a0And she did not want to hurt Ramona any more than I did.<\/span><\/div>\n
I am sure every teacher has a story similar to this. \u00a0The result can be devastating however. \u00a0Teachers are treated as ‘guilty until proven innocent’. \u00a0They are sent home on a paid leave of absence while the case is investigated. \u00a0 Guilt is often the hasty conclusion by friends and the public at large when the teacher is really just the victim of youthfull fantasy.<\/span>\u00a0 In others, there is clear guilt. \u00a0What is the answer?<\/span><\/div>\n
Never be alone with a student. \u00a0Sometimes this is not as easy as it sounds. \u00a0Ramona, by the way, I have heard, is happily married with three grown up children, perhaps grandchildren. \u00a0Normal. She was such a nice little girl in Grade 9 and I did not want to hurt her feelings. Students do often like their teachers. \u00a0Most do for that matter. \u00a0We try to keep a little social distance. Kids know that. \u00a0They called me “sir” right from the start. \u00a0None called me Al until we metas adults.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
2) THE STUDENT TEACHER (Suppose she had screamed “Rape!”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
My nightmare case occurred about mid-career. \u00a0My caution with Ramona served me well when dealing with Mrs. P—-, a student teacher sent from the Faculty of Education to get practical teaching experience. \u00a0She was an older woman. \u00a0Older than I was at the time. \u00a0This was unusual in itself. \u00a0She was tough. \u00a0In 1945 , Her family had fled through Eastern Europe with other German families terrified that they would fall into the hands of the Russian army. \u00a0She was a survivor. \u00a0As I said…tough! \u00a0I had just read “Documents of the Expulsion” which described in detail the fate of German families left behind as Russian forces swept towards Berlin and the Baltic states so I had some sympathy for her at the beginning of her session with me.<\/span><\/div>\n
But she was not a teacher in my opinion. \u00a0Senior boy students clenched their hands in fear when she taught sample lessons. \u00a0I did not feel she liked young people. \u00a0So I decided to fail her. It was going to be tense for I sensed she would not take failure well and her life experience had made her very tough. \u00a0So I decided to inform the principal.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“I am going to fail my student teacher. \u00a0I do not want her to work with kids. Just thought you should know, Mr. Ellis. \u00a0She will react violently I think.”<\/span><\/div>\n
Mr. Ellis looked at me and said, “She has already been here and says you are a big problem. \u00a0Incompetent in other words.”<\/span><\/div>\n
So Mrs. P—- knew I might fail her and had beat me to the punch. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Her report on you will go back to the faculty. \u00a0Not from me. \u00a0But from her. \u00a0She seems a very dangerous woman. \u00a0Just give her a \u00a0bare pass and that will get her off your back.”<\/span><\/div>\n
There are moments in life where a person has to take a stand and this was one of them.<\/span><\/div>\n
“No, I will fail her. \u00a0I do not want kids to have her as their teacher…ever.”<\/span><\/div>\n
Mrs. P— had other schemes. \u00a0She tried to get me to talk lessons over with her… alone…just the two of us. \u00a0That was just not going to happen. \u00a0I had a feeling she would claim I had made a pass at her although such a thought was revolting. \u00a0Some of my football team were always in the room…I saw to that…without telling them. \u00a0So Mrs. P— could not scream rape or anything remotely like that.<\/span><\/div>\n
She got a failing report. \u00a0I still have that report. \u00a0She immediately threatened me. “I will kill you!” \u00a0Imagine that. \u00a0When I went home that night and told Marjorie we decided to stay in the house. \u00a0This was no joke. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Some time later, I was told Mrs. P— had laid a charge of rape against the German professor and the charge went all the way to the Ontario cabinet. \u00a0But that was hearsay. Teachers are so vulnerable when confronted by persons like Mrs. P—. \u00a0The professor was eventually exonerated according to the story. \u00a0But for a long while he was considered guilty in the court of public opinion.<\/span><\/div>\n
A few months later we walked through a flea market and there was Mrs. P—. \u00a0Large as life selling small antiques. \u00a0She did not see me.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Marjorie, we have to get the hell out of here. Now!”<\/span><\/div>\n
We never saw her again and gradually our caution subsided.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
3) \u00a0THE KID IN THE HALL (Suppose he claimed assault)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
The hall was empty…or nearly so. \u00a0I was late for class. \u00a0A boy came around the corner. \u00a0My did he look forlorn. \u00a0Teachers notice these things. \u00a0Body language…facial expression…shambling. \u00a0That kind of thing.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Things can’t be all that bad, son. \u00a0Cheer up.”\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And I tapped him on the shoulder with an envelope I was carrying.<\/span><\/div>\n
No reaction. \u00a0Just a blank, maybe slightly hostile stare. \u00a0Maybe even a bit of a surprised look since we did not know each other. \u00a0No time for much more dialogue. \u00a0I was paid to teach and the class was waiting.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Sounds like a non event. \u00a0Wish that were so.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Ron Graham, our Vice Principal and a good friend, came to see me right after the class.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Boy, I saved your ass, Al! \u00a0Took the whole period to do so.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“What?” \u00a0I thought Ron had a joke in mind for his comment made no sense.<\/span><\/div>\n
“I spent the last 45 minuted cooling Larry down.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Who is Larry?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Didn’t think you knew him because he certainly did not know you. He burst into my office claiming you hit him in the hall. \u00a0Wanted to know your name so he could report you to the super-intendant. \u00a0Perhaps even the police.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Get off it Ron. \u00a0Who is Larry?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“You may not know him now but you would certainly have known him<\/span><\/div>\n
if he had laid the charge. \u00a0Assault.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Ron, I don’t know what you’re talking about. \u00a0Some kind of joke?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Nope. \u00a0Serious, Al. \u00a0Really serious.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Who is Larry?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Larry is a new kid here. \u00a0Troubled kid. \u00a0Unhappy home life. \u00a0I guess you would call him a loner. \u00a0He does not trust teachers or the world in general for that matter.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“What has that got to do with me? \u00a0Don’t know the kid.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“OK. \u00a0Did you meet a kid in the hall before class?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“OH, that kid! \u00a0Yes, met him…seemed depressed. \u00a0Tried to cheer him up.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Did you hit him?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Come on, Ron. \u00a0Do you think I’m stupid? I tapped him good naturedly with an envelope. \u00a0This envelope. ” (The envelope was an invitation to speak to a University Women’s club about teaching if you can imagine.)<\/span><\/div>\n
“So you did touch him.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Hardly \u00a0a touch, Ron.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Enough for him. \u00a0He did not know you. \u00a0Thought you had no right to even speak to him.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Get off it, Ron.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Any witnesses?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“No, we were alone in the hall.” \u00a0Now I was getting worried. \u00a0Alone in the hall meant it was my word against this student, this person called Larry. \u00a0That spelled trouble. \u00a0Teachers walk on egg shells, especially male teachers.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“So what did he say?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“He said some weird teacher with \u00a0a brush cut and a blue suit jacket hit him in the hall near Room 225, your room…your haircut…your jacket.<\/span><\/div>\n
And your hand it seems.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“So?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“So, suppose Larry laid a charge with the super-intendant and it got down to the Toronto School Board. \u00a0First thing that would happen is you would be hauled out of class…told to leave the school and not return until the case was investigated. \u00a0Many people would believe you are guilty of assault. \u00a0You even admitted touching Larry with that envelope. \u00a0Touching and assault can become synonyms. \u00a0So you would be out of her on your ass. \u00a0Doesn’t matter that you have taught here for twenty years and have a great reputation.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Do you mean I would be considered Guilty until proven innocent.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Right. \u00a0OSSTF would provide a lawyer. \u00a0The case could take a year or so and all that time you’d beitting at home. \u00a0People would wonder why. Some would assume you are guilty. \u00a0Even when the case was rejected, as it would be, you would have that stigma forever.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“You’re scaring me, Ron.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Don’t worry, I got you off.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“How?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“I asked Larry to sit down so we could have a chat…to cool him down.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“And?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Larry,” I said, “Mr. Skeoch and I come from different generation. From friendlier times. \u00a0We try to treat people in a friendly manner. \u00a0We have different values you might say. \u00a0Your hat, for instance. \u00a0In my time, students removed their hats in the presence of teachers. \u00a0Larry then took off his baseball cap so I knew I was getting through to him. \u00a0Larry, I continued, I think you are making a mistake. Mr. Skeoch has never hit\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
a student in my time. \u00a0And he has never sent a student to me for discipline reasons. \u00a0Never. \u00a0I went on and on. \u00a0Made you sound like a prince of the church. Finally asked Larry if he would consider withdrawing the charge. \u00a0And he did. \u00a0Saved your bacon, Al. \u00a0You owe me big time.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Phew!”<\/span><\/div>\n
“By the way, I have enrolled Larry in your Grade 12 class for \u00a0next semester,” said Ron with a mischievous grin.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Larry turned out to be a really nice student. \u00a0He got to like me. \u00a0Greeted me in the hall often. \u00a0He became cheerful. \u00a0Not sure whether he punched me on the shoulder saying “Morning, sir!”. \u00a0I like to think that happened. \u00a0 I also wondered what could have happened had Larry not withdrawn the charge. \u00a0I really did owe Ron Graham \u00a0beer.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I taught at Parkdale Collegiatte Institute for 31years. \u00a0Never missed a day for sick leave. \u00a0Loved the job. \u00a0But these three incidents were never far from my mind which is a sad thing to say.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“CABBAGETOWN, EH?”<\/span><\/div>\n
FOOTBALL, MARRIAGE AND A VERY BAD ‘PEP’ TALK<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Alan Skeoch<\/span><\/div>\n
Feb. 1,2104<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Careers? Careers are not that important in life,” she said,\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“There are higher priorities in life. \u00a0At the top is finding a life partner… husband or wife…careers, sports, academic success, money, prestige… are not at the top in my opinion. You will spend your life with a wife or husband. \u00a0Think about it.” \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
The speaker was the Dean of Women from the University of Guelph and she was speaking to my graduating class at Humberside Collegiate. \u00a0I thought she made sense. \u00a0Others thought she was silly. My odyssey in life was to find a nice girl and down the road…way down the road…consider marriage.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
You may wonder what on earth this \u00a0has to do with football. \u00a0All the forces in my life came together one day on the football field at \u00a0Victoria University (U of T). \u00a0It is a long story so hang in there if you can. Our team was good. \u00a0Very, very good. \u00a0Even though we had the shortest Quarterback in the League. \u00a0Gary Lummis could barely see over the ass of Russ Vanstone, our centre. Deadly though. \u00a0He could thorw a passr with pin point accuracy and when facing certain death Gary could \u00a0slip away from a tackler like a greased pic. \u00a0Laughing all the time. And then there was Seeb…Don Seebach…our fullback who was being recruited for the big time but resisted because we had so much fun. \u00a0Seeb took little steps but moved like a tank through barbed wire. \u00a0Unstoppable. Super sociable too. \u00a0Seeb made us all feel important. My role was less visible. Left Guard and Inside Linebacker…no glory…no ball carrying. \u00a0Just had to punch holes in the defence for the half backs and Seeb to gain yards. \u00a0Got to love the job.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I took out an old high school chum, Bob Cwirenko, once when we played the SPS engineers. Used a good flying cross body. \u00a0A suicide block if a knee was raised in defence. “Nice block, Al!”, he said. \u00a0Bob and I had played high school ball together. \u00a0There is a bond between team mates.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Football at university broke through social barriers. \u00a0Ed Jackman was left tackle. \u00a0His brother became Lt. Gov of Ontario. \u00a0The Jackman family are very wealthy and great philanthropists. \u00a0I did not know that. \u00a0I knew Ed could be depended upon as \u00a0a team mate though.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Hey, Eddy, that son of bitch opposite me isn’t charging. \u00a0He’s hanging back and kneeing me in the mouth every time. \u00a0Mouth is like hamburger.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Wait until Gary calls a play to the right. \u00a0I’ll get him a good one.”<\/span><\/div>\n
Eddy gave him a good kick between the legs with his cleated boot. That seemed to solve the problem. \u00a0Football is a rough game. \u00a0I have heard it said that the impact of two linemen hitting each other is the same as astronauts experience breaking from earth’s gravity. \u00a0No experience with a cleated bot between the legs though.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Eddie and I became good friends. \u00a0The son of a truck tire builder and the son of a big time affluent businessman. \u00a0And, if you want more weird associations I can stir in a little religion. Ed was a Protestant who became Catholic priest. \u00a0The guy he kicked with the cleated boot was from St. Mike’s. I have often Wondered if Ed ever said anything in Confession about that. \u00a0Guess not. \u00a0Ed would be hearing confession, wouldn’t he? We still see each other on occasion.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
By now your are wondering where this is going. \u00a0When does Parkdale Collegiate enter the picture? \u00a0Hold your garter belt, we will get there but first I must mention my main point…women. \u00a0To be precise, one woman. \u00a0I really did believe, at that time, that women liked football. \u00a0Gave them chance to see a number of bull moose cavorting about in search of a female. \u00a0Yes, I now know, that most girls did not give a damn and really saw football as another demonstration of testosterone and male immaturity. \u00a0So be it. \u00a0Hang in there a bit longer.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Football players have to practise…must be in top physical shape to take the steady bodily contact. \u00a0To get in shape we worked out on the Victoria College field every evening even if that meant skipping classes. That was back in the 1960’s when there was a field and when the university encouraged students to play football. \u00a0Now both are gone…the field and the encouragement. \u00a0Makes me wonder if there is any joy left in university life. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
One day while doing wind Sprints around the field, I noticed a girl leaning out the window of the girls residence. \u00a0High up. Fourth floor of Margaret Addison Hall. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Hi up there, are you doing anything tonight,” I hollered, then continued my circling. \u00a0Next time round she was still there. I remembered her from an initiation dance few days earlier. \u00a0Liked her. Food dancer and attractive. \u00a0North Bay girl.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Nothing in particular, why?’<\/span><\/div>\n
Next circle.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Meet you at seven in the coffee shop, OK?”<\/span><\/div>\n
Next circle.<\/span><\/div>\n
“OK! Who is paying?”<\/span><\/div>\n
And so we met and became an item for the rest of our university life. So much fun together. \u00a0Marjorie got to know all the team. \u00a0She liked the fellows. \u00a0It wasn’t until years later that I realized she had no idea what my role on the team really entailed. \u00a0It is a big misconception by males that females care a hoot about the game.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
If truth be known, I did not know all the permutations \u00a0and combinations about the game. \u00a0I knew my job…hit people hard with my shoulders or cross body. \u00a0Tackle with both arms locking below the runners knees. The intricacies of rules and other job classifications were not high on my list. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
All I really knew was that team work was one of my great lessons in life. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
THE POINT IS COMING…READ ON PARKDALIANS!<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
In short, playing football did not make me a great coach when I became a teacher and football coach at Parkdale Collegiate. \u00a0As you will see.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
(Note: \u00a0Big Bill Martin became a great football coach at Parkdale. \u00a0His life story needs a separate chapter. Suffice it to say Big Bill, “Heavy Willy”, as my brother named him, had been part of our team at Victoria University. \u00a0Heavy Willy was also a former Parkdale student who, like me, spent almost his entire teaching career at Parkdale. To him it was really home. \u00a0To me it was a new home. Familiar. Working class.)<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
Picture taken by Toronto Star Skeoch with Grant Weber. \u00a0Humberside C.I.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Parkdale was a small high school. \u00a0Other schools could draw on up to 1500 and even 2000 students to get a football team together. \u00a0Parkdale Had around 600 when I started. \u00a0And a lot of Parkdale students were new Canadians. \u00a0Poor. \u00a0Kids often needed after school jobs. Language difficulties. \u00a0 \u00a0So the football pool was small.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Worse still was the Parkdale field. \u00a0It was a mile away from the school. It took dedicated kids to change into uniforms after school and then walk with their cleats klick-klicking all the way to the CNE grounds<\/span>\u00a0for a practice field…a long way there and back. \u00a0A major disadvantage compared to other high schools. Homework was hit hard…not done often. \u00a0Yet we fielded three teams in the 1960’s. \u00a0Good teams. \u00a0Won a few, lost a few. \u00a0Not a powerhouse until Big Bill Marten transformed our seniors into top contenders with tough guys like Henry Jaskula and the king of the roughhouse Gary Kuzyk.<\/span><\/div>\n
The Kuzyks must have been Cossacks in the Ukraine. I could picture him on a horse with a long knife waving in the air and \u00a0few heads rolling around as he passed through an enemy horde.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Sam Markou and I had the juniors for a few years and we developed a very rough and ready bunch. Sam had the defence. \u00a0I had the offence. The feeder team. Our team was a contender until our star quarterback John Wolowiec got addled with a serious brain concussion. \u00a0I don’t think we caused it. \u00a0Seems to have been present for some time. \u00a0His mother raised hell when she discovered he was playing football.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Your take my son! \u00a0You never tell me!”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Truth be told, John never told us about his concussion nor his mother about being quarterback for Parkdale Juniors.<\/span><\/div>\n
John was a natural leader of men and boys. \u00a0Second nature to him. He Knew the plays he wanted to run. \u00a0He could pass and he could run the ball himself. \u00a0 How was I to know he was injured? \u00a0 When we lost John we were in big trouble that year. \u00a0So we made up for it in other ways. Not proud of my role. \u00a0Not proud at all. \u00a0 Ashamed. \u00a0But also amused.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
It is not easy to convert 30 boys with independent ideas into a team with one clear idea. \u00a0Lots of loose ends. \u00a0Football is really a kind of controlled warfare…civilized combat. \u00a0But not always civilized. \u00a0That was brought jarringly home to me in a game against Riverdale on the High Park field. \u00a0About halfway through the game the opposing coach called his team bus to the field and began loading his players aboard.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“What’s going on? \u00a0Why are you loading the team?”<\/span><\/div>\n
He looked at me with the closest thing to hatred I have ever experienced. \u00a0Well maybe that’s a bit of an overstatement…others have hated me as well. His answer?<\/span><\/div>\n
“We only play Christian teams…not hoodlums like your boys. \u00a0I will not put up with it. \u00a0We are going home.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Now I don’t know what the Parkdale boys were doing on the field. \u00a0Couldn’t hear them. \u00a0They were rough kids though. \u00a0And that was apparent when they realized the East Enders were going home.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Taking your balls and going home, eh?” \u00a0 Lots worse was said.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Took me a while to realize I was not a good coach. \u00a0This incident was the first. \u00a0The worst one was \u00a0the game in the North End of Toronto against Lawrence Park. \u00a0I still feel sort of bad about that one. \u00a0It was a rainy day. \u00a0Lots of mud on the field…puddles of mud. \u00a0Deep brown puddles. Nice day for guys that did not mind getting dirty. \u00a0And one of our boys got really dirty. \u00a0Worse! \u00a0This error on my part needs a little background.<\/span>\u00a0The pep talk! \u00a0 I had given the boys a good earthy pep talk. \u00a0Got their adrenalin really flowing.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“OK boys gather round. \u00a0I want to talk to you about the game today.<\/span><\/div>\n
We are going into new territory. \u00a0North end. \u00a0You know what they think of you up there. \u00a0They think you come from cabbagetown. \u00a0I want you to show them just how good you cabbagetown kids can play football. Go get them.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Disaster! \u00a0It’s a wonder I kept my job after that game. \u00a0Ground warfare.<\/span><\/div>\n
The errors of my pep talk became apparent when Ed Couch took down a Lawrence Park half back with a strange kind of tackle. \u00a0More like throwing a steer at the Calgary stampede. \u00a0He rode the kid through\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
the mud to a choice mud puddle close to our bench. \u00a0Close to me. \u00a0Ed held the guys head up as they slid. \u00a0Then when they got into the puddle, he yelled whispered loud enough for me to hear…and the halfback to really hear.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Cabbagetown, eh?” and then rammed the kid face down in the mud puddle. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
After that I had second thoughts about coaching. \u00a0Too much influenced by Winston Churchill’s speeches that revved up the troops to go an kill in World War Two. “We will fight them on the beaches…” etc. etc. \u00a0“We will never give up!”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Then there were the night games at Brockton Field…the old Dufferin Racetrack. \u00a0Night games really brought out the violence. \u00a0Not the teams though. \u00a0Safest place to be was on a football team. \u00a0The most dangerous place was in the grandstand bleachers where inter school hostility always seemed to get out of hand aided by illicit liquor consumption and quasi-hoodlum strangers who liked mayhem. Our last night game is etched deep in my mind for it was truly tragic. Parkdale teachers were assigned policing functions at these games. \u00a0Not a popular assignment. \u00a0Akin to trying to cap a volcano. \u00a0Our team bench was on the other side of the field but I noticed fists and bottles flying in the stands. \u00a0Saw the cheerleaders shying away from leading cheers. \u00a0And I noticed Al Goldsmith walking towards us right across the football field.Ignoring the game.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“You’ve got to stop this game. \u00a0Got to send everyone home. \u00a0Got to get the police. \u00a0I can’t control the crowd. \u00a0There are some drunk guys that i don’t even know. Laughing at me. \u00a0Starting fights. \u00a0Someone is going to get badly hurt. \u00a0Do something. \u00a0Please do something.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“What can we do? \u00a0End the game? \u00a0We can’t just end the game. We have \u00a0city schedule to meet. It will be over in another half an hour. \u00a0Hang in there.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Al Goldsmith went back the stands. \u00a0He died of a heart attack the next week. \u00a0Maybe it would have happened anyway. \u00a0Not so sure though.<\/span><\/div>\n
I wrote a story about that game which was published in the OSSTF Forum. \u00a0Not long afterwards all night games ended. \u00a0Guilt? \u00a0Yes!<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Where did Marjorie come into the picture? \u00a0She dove into football with both feet. \u00a0When the University of Toronto engineering faculty advertised for cheerleaders. \u00a0She volunteered even if their team opposed us on the field. \u00a0Our team was amused by Marjorie yelling “Toikety-toikety Hoik…Fight, Fight, Fight” in order to build up the fighting spirit of the engineers, our opposition.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
At Parkdale, Marjorie also helped out with the teams. \u00a0She came to many of our games. \u00a0She was there in the stands at that infamous night game that killed Al Goldsmith. \u00a0She got to know our students and got to love Parkdale as much as I did. \u00a0In my first year of teaching Marjorie invited the whole staff and their better halfs to our apartment for a party. About 160 people. Most came. \u00a0Must have thught we were weird first year teachers. That shocked the principal Stan Ellis and triggered a tradition of staff parties that continues to this day. For the next 31 years Marjorie and I had our own small Parkdale team of two..eventually four.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
It all came together.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
But I was not a stellar football coach. \u00a0Tried to inject too much team spirit. Over the top as they say. \u00a0I will not apologize too much though. I really loved that comment by Ed Couch. “Cabbagetown, eh!” as he baptized that halfback with mud and water. \u00a0Not everyone was amused. Little wonder that some people hated me.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n
Picture taken at University of Toronto, Victoria College football team…Looks sort of half civilized, doesn’t it? What a wonderful team we had! \u00a0Still friends.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“COME AND SEE THE MAN-EATING CHICKEN”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
BIG BILL MARTEN…LARGER THAN LIFE<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\n
to be co<\/span>ntinued…lo<\/span>ts more…<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n
\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
“That damn fool stood up on the Flyer…flipped off…Lucky to have just broken both his legs.”<\/span><\/div>\n
Mrs. Mazda added a few more curse words. Our new landlady had little to No sense of sympathy. One of her boarders lived in the attic at 18 Sylvan Avenue where we lived in 1949. \u00a0Young. He had gone to Sunnyside, bought at ticket on the roller coast aptly named \u00a0the Flyer. \u00a0Then for whatever reason stood up as it sped around a bend and fell off. \u00a0The way Mrs. Mazda talked, the boarder should have died. \u00a0She did not seem to care much. \u00a0Guess what? It never happened. \u00a0I have tried to find evidence of an accident. \u00a0None found. \u00a0Why wold Mrs. Mazda want to tell this story? \u00a0Or was the broken leg story hushed up?<\/span><\/div>\n
Sort of like Roswell (i.e. aliens have landed and their bodies hidden)<\/span><\/div>\n
\"\"x-msg:\/\/upload.wikimedia.org\/wikipedia\/commons\/8\/8b\/Sunnyside-rides-1923.jpg 2x” id=”e7c616b5-dcb4-4eab-9058-eb859657c91d” apple-inline=”yes” src=”https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/05\/220px-Sunnyside-rides-1923-2.jpg”><\/span><\/div>\n
This story is not about The Flyer, \u00a0broken legs, Mrs. Mazda or myself.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
This is a story about Big Bill Marten, “Pepper” \u00a0or “Heavy Willy” …a man who drew nicknames like a cow pie draws flies. \u00a0Bill was a big man. \u00a0He had been a big boy. \u00a0Perhaps close to 300 pounds in later life. \u00a0Certainly 250 pounds when we played football together at Victoria College, University of Toronto.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
What is the connection to The Flyer, you ask? \u00a0Bill’s family were ‘Carnies’<\/span><\/div>\n
, Carnival people who owned the slot machine games right at the foot of the entrance to Sunnyside Amusement Park. \u00a0Right opposite their nickel and dime slots was the Flyer. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Old Parkdale was the bedroom community for the Carnival people. \u00a0Still see vestiges of this. \u00a0Sunnyside Amusement Park was built in 1922, named after John Howard’s farm that is now the site of St. Joseph’s Hospital. \u00a0Howard gave High Part to the City of Toronto so it seemed fitting to name this amusement park after another of his public ventures. \u00a0Parkdale community and the City of Toronto needed something to distract people loss of 60,000 Canadians had in World War I and thousands more had been crippled by bullets, explosives, disease \u00a0or chlorine gas. \u00a0So the land below the ancient cliff face was in filled with dredged mud and topped with black earth. \u00a0Then in 1922 Sunnyside was constructed.. \u00a0coloured lights, loud voices of Carnival sideshow boosters…and that Gypsy Fortune Teller in the glass box.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Sunnyside lasted until 1955 but was in sad shape by that time. \u00a0Arson helped its demise. \u00a0But the real killer of Sunnyside was the Gardener Expressway which sweeps over the footings of The Flyer, the Red Hot stands and the Marin penny Arcade where the Gypsy beckoned small time spenders like the siren Medusa of Greek Mythological fame. \u00a0By the 1950’s the Gypsy Fortune Teller was even beginning to look like Medusa…frightening in other words.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I never knew Bill when I was a kid but I certainly knew Sunnyside. \u00a0Visited it quite a few time on the Roncesvales street car which dumped passengers at the top of the cliff…the old beach, ancient beach…below which sprawled Sunnyside on piles and piles of landfill that had pushed the beach two or three hundred yards into Lake Ontario. \u00a0There was an iron mongers stairway covered with black corrugated iron. \u00a0Black from the coal belching steam engines that hugged the base of the cliff face.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
To get to Sunnyside, revellers had to cross the tracks by way of this grim tunnel. \u00a0At the bottom of the last flight of stairs was the daytime home of Big Bill Marten. \u00a0His parents income depended upon loud hail hawking akin the old Carnie’s cry. “Come and see the man-eating Chicken, only ten cents!” \u00a0Behind the tent flap was a man busily eating a piece of chicken. \u00a0True story but not the Marten story. \u00a0The Marten pavilion featured a life size image of an ancient woman encased in glass. \u00a0The fortune teller! This frightening woman had a bandana on her head and a gypsy-like costume. \u00a0I am not sure just how it worked but somehow she could tell whether your future was bleak or rosy.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“She was made of wax, Alan. Wax. Do you know what happens to wax when exposed to hot sun in a glass case. \u00a0It melts. \u00a0So every year we had to remake her face. \u00a0She got uglier and uglier but lasted until the day in 1956 when all of Sunnyside was bulldozed into oblivion.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“What did she look like?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Worse and worse every year!”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I dimly remember the Gypsy at the foot of those stairs. \u00a0Yellow skin…rather wax although I did not know that the time…blotchy, diseased…scary.<\/span><\/div>\n
That would be in the late 1940’s when Dad took us to Sunnyside to see a baseball game called The King and His Court where 4 or 5 reals hotshot baseball players took on a whole local team. \u00a0We did not stop at the Fortune Teller Lady so I never really met Big Bill Marten as boy.<\/span><\/div>\n
His friends called him “Pepper”, maybe in deference to the Carnie in him. \u00a0To trick people into spending money on losing games required more than a little flim flam salesmanship.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\n

 <\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Big Bill Marten…teacher, football coach and ‘Carney’<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n
<\/div>\n

by \u00a0Alan Skeoch<\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n

Parkdale has had more than its fair share of eccentric teachers and students. \u00a0Top of the list has to be Big Bill Martin, affectionately known as “Pepper” by his Parkdale peers when he was a student at PCI…and also by “Heavy Willy” by some of his fellow teachers when he was a teacher at PCI. \u00a0Both are terms of endearment even if one sounds rather insulting. \u00a0Males often speak in reversals. \u00a0i.e. call a fat person “slim” or a skinny person “fatso”. \u00a0Weird, I know, but remember males are weird.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
So let me start this note with Big Bill. \u00a0He was a larger than life character for sure. \u00a0I first met him on the football field at the University of Toronto where we played for Victoria and won the Mulock Cup every year as our team was a power house. \u00a0(Allow a little bragging, please)<\/span><\/div>\n
Bill was a big boy…perhaps close to 280 pounds. \u00a0Red Lipsett was the same. \u00a0My fondest memory of those two is when we played an exhibition rugger game in sweat pants on the UC campus. \u00a0Bill and Red had large sweat pants.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“I’ll bet you both could get into one pair of those pants?” someone said.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Let’s do it, Red'”<\/span><\/div>\n
“OK, you put one leg in here,” and Bill slid his leg down Red’s pants.<\/span><\/div>\n
“No more room.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Let’s see if we can play using three legs.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Get the scrum, ready.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And so Big Bill and Red played on three legs in that scrum. \u00a0For those of you who know little about rugby, the scrum is where half of both teams sort of pile up with the ball thrown in the centre. \u00a0It is one holy hell of a scrabble to get that ball out to the running halfbacks. \u00a0Legs, arms, shoulders, heads and bums all tumbling together. \u00a0Red and Big Bill won the scrum, I think. \u00a0Why? Because we were all laughing so much we could not scratch and scrabble.
<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n
<\/div>\n

Strange how tiny incidents slip into long storage in our brains. \u00a0And even stranger how our lives move in intersecting circles. \u00a0At university, I never expected that Big Bill Marten and I would share the next three decades of our lives at Parkdale Collegiate. \u00a0We were both part of a huge wave of young teachers that flooded into high schools across Canada in the 1960’s.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Bill preceded me by one year and it was a little startling to find we had adjacent school rooms at PCI. \u00a0This was the beginning of some great times together. \u00a0Fun times for four decades. \u00a0How many people can say that about their lives?<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Take skiing for instance. \u00a0Bill organized staff ski trips to Olean, New York for three winter week-end escapes. \u00a0Unforgettable. No doubt Bill got a free hotel room for bringing forty or fifty people to Olean. \u00a0Part of the nature of the beast.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Did you hear what happened to Bill?”, said Dave McNaught barely containing his laughter.<\/span><\/div>\n
“No, what has he done now?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“He went off the ski trail…thought he’d found a short cut.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Sounds like Bill.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Powder snow. \u00a0Covered up some rocks. \u00a0Bill hit the rocks and his boots came to a dead stop but Bill kept going.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Get off it.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“He did. \u00a0He tore the tops right off his ski boots. \u00a0His skis and boot bottoms stayed put while Bill proceeded bare foot with boot tops through the powder. \u00a0Imagine the force involved.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Of course no story about Big Bill ever really comes to a conclusion. \u00a0Bill comes from a family of “carnies” (also spelled carneys)…flim flam people…artful dodgers…a la used car salesmen. \u00a0In other words they would never let a sucker off the hook.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Below is just speculation mind you. \u00a0But I can see him visiting…<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“These ski boots were defective.” \u00a0Bill Marten speaking to ski shop owner somewhere.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Beg your pardon, sir.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“These boots could have killed me…could have sued you for it. \u00a0Take a look at them. \u00a0The whole sole separated from the boot…while I was skiing. \u00a0What kind of merchandise are you selling.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Dreadfully sorry, sir, let me get the manager.” \u00a0etc. etc. etc.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Sir, will you be satisfied with a new pair of boots. \u00a0Free. \u00a0We will send\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
these boots of yours back to the manufacturer.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“I’ll take the new boots. \u00a0Thanks.<\/span><\/div>\n
“And the old boots, sir.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“I want to keep them as souvenirs,if you don’t mind”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Really Bill did not want the store to test the boots…to see the big scar where the boots hit the rocks. \u00a0Lest they discover he was skiing off course and was just as much at fault as the boots.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Of course this is all speculation.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And it leads me into the family life of Pepper Marten. \u00a0His parents owned the Sunnyside Arcade. \u00a0What is that? \u00a0Toronto Snobs called Sunnyside Amusement Park the “Poor Man’s Riviera”. \u00a0It was located at the foot of Roncesvales Avenue on a strip of land between the lake and the ancient beach. \u00a0All kinds of rides including a huge roller coaster called the Flyer and a Merry Go Round that was so grand it was later moved to Disneyland in Florida. \u00a0Built in 1922 and demolished in 1956 to make room for the Gardiner Expressway. Home to a lot of ‘carney’ families like the Martens and the Blonskis. Sunnyside was an extension of the Parkdale community and a great number of the Sunnyside Carnival people lived in Parkdale, kids attended PCI.\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0The Marten penny arcade had one amusing feature…the Gypsy Fortune Teller.<\/span><\/div>\n
I dimly remember seeing her 60 or so years ago. \u00a0She was encased in glass, life size, right at the entrance to old Sunnyside. \u00a0Let me put more words in Big Bill’s mouth.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/span>The Marten \u00a0Penny Arcade was near the Flyer pictured above…probably just to the right of thispicture which was taken in the mid 1920’s. \u00a0Sunnyside did not look so neat and prosperous by the 1950’s when the bulldozers made way for the Gardiner Expressway.<\/div>\n
“She had to look good. That Gypsy Fortune Teller was our fish lure. \u00a0Lured people into the arcade where we could nickel and dime them to death.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“What did she look like?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“When we first got her, she looked really good…but deteriorated with time…”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Deteriorated! \u00a0I Thought she was in a glass case.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Right. \u00a0Do you know what happens to a person in glass case after months of summer sunshine.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Hot no doubt.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Alan, she is not a real person. \u00a0How dumb of you to even think so.<\/span><\/div>\n
She was made of wax. \u00a0Wax melts in the sun. \u00a0Her face got more and more blotchy each year. \u00a0My job was to touch her up every springtime…you know to push her cheeks up to where they should be…to add a little wax to her hooked nose…to give her a new smile and new lipstick, rouge, paint and powder.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Did it work?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Not really, \u00a0She got more and more frightening with each Sunnyside season. \u00a0I think that drew more people than when she was pretty. \u00a0I sort of enjoyed using my imagination on her face. \u00a0She could have been the lead in a horror film.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“What happened to her?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“When Sunnyside was burned and demolished in 1956 she went to her grave somewhere. \u00a0Then again, Maybe she is still sitting in a garage in a Parkdale back alley.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Again that dialogue is speculation with a kernel of truth for I remember Big Bill describing the Gypsy Fortune Teller and her annual facelift.<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/span>fragments of Old Sunnyside remain, such as the Bathing Pavilion and the Palais Royale but the earthy parts, the meat and potatoes parts are gone. The Gypsy Fortune Teller no longer exists except in my mind unless someone has her stashed in a Parkdale Garage. \u00a0Old Sunnyside was Parkdale territory.<\/div>\n
So Bill and I have shared a large slice of Parkdale Collegiate History. \u00a0There are other slices. \u00a0Our slice runs from 1960 to 1999. \u00a0Since the school is now 125 years old, Bill and I have shared over one third of the the schools existence. \u00a0And for Bill it was much more. \u00a0His Parkdale experience was nearly half a century. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
He loved the school. \u00a0As do any of you taking the time to read this reflection. \u00a0At heart of Big Bill’s affection for Parkdale was football.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Oh, no, not football. \u00a0I can’t take it anymore!” \u00a0I heard you say that.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Just male egotism! \u00a0More to a school than football…much more. \u00a0And football is dean now anyway. \u00a0No more football teams. \u00a0Never to return, thank God!”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Those of you sharing this viewpoint are quite right. \u00a0Parkdale has a great tradition of academic success…musical achievement that rivalled any school in Toronto…other sports…great teachers…amusing students. \u00a0All this is true.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
But I am trying to capture one slice of the school that was once very important to most Parkdalians…male and female. \u00a0And it was football.<\/span><\/div>\n
We had three teams…bantam, junior and senior. \u00a0Big Bill ran the senior team. \u00a0Trained them as if they were a police Swat team. \u00a0Every player’s role was scrutinized and improved. \u00a0The whole student body was considered a herd from which the best bulls could be selected. \u00a0Every fall at Parkdale our teams slugged it out in practice using equipment that was sometimes so aged that the shoes cracked in half…or the helmets smelled of the sweat of previous generations of Parkdalians.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
In the 1960’s and 1970’s there were a lot of top football teams in Toronto. \u00a0Parkdale had a tough time breaking into the stellar ranks of these teams. \u00a0We were never a huge school. \u00a0Our herd of bulls was limited. \u00a0Some had other jobs. \u00a0Some came from a soccer sub culture.<\/span><\/div>\n
Some were very hard to restrain.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
But Bill triumphed in the end. \u00a0He built and ruled one of the finest teams Parkdale has ever produced. \u00a0I think that can be expressed best in picture form. \u00a0(see below…must find the picture)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Let me conclude this story with another “carney” story that links to Big Bill and Parkdale. \u00a0That is the story of Conrad Blonski. \u00a0There are people in this world who can never be forgotten, not because they achieved great things or that they were leaders of the nation. \u00a0But because they are (and were) persons who underscored our basic humanity. \u00a0Conrad was one of these people.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And Conrad was Bill Marten’s team manager. \u00a0Earlier he had been my junior team manager. \u00a0He loved the school…I mean with a deeper love than any person I have ever met. \u00a0I first met Conrad in the early 1960’s as a Grade Nine student. \u00a0He was so excited to be part of a high school that his effervescence knew no bounds. \u00a0At school early each morning and last to leave at night. \u00a0Not because of the courses but because of the people. \u00a0He loved his teachers. \u00a0And he had nothing much to go home to were the truth known. If he could, I felt he would sleep at Parkdale. Conrad never left Parkdale. \u00a0He came back at odd times throughout my whole teaching career. \u00a0Big time success\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
eluded him. \u00a0And this made me very sad. \u00a0Not every child climbs that ladder. \u00a0His success, however, is in my mind. \u00a0Etched there. An Unforgettable person.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I got to know him. \u00a0Single parent family. \u00a0His mother came to parent’s nights because Conrad talked endlessly about his school. \u00a0it took me some time to figure Conrad and his mother out. \u00a0It was Big Bill Marten that clued me in. \u00a0He seemed to know a side of Conrad that I failed to see.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“They’re carneys, Alan. \u00a0Carneys like us.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Conrad’s mom owned a pop gun sideshow. That was how she made a living. \u00a0I would say it was close to the poverty line or perhaps below it. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Sir, we are doing the Acton Fair this week-end just in case you drop by.”<\/span><\/div>\n
So we did. \u00a0And there was Conrad holding a pop gun which fired tiny corks. \u00a0The booth was about ten feet wide with a front ledge and a series of shelves on the back filled with cigarette packs spaced at intervals.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Take a couple of shots, sir, free.”<\/span><\/div>\n
Firing a cork backwards is not exactly air dynamic. \u00a0The corks wobbled through the air and if by chance a cork knocked a pack from the shelf then that was the prize. \u00a0Good game for smokers maybe.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Where do you sleep when you’re on the road like this Conrad?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Right here.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Big trailer parked somewhere?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“Nope, we sleep right here on the ground inside the booth. \u00a0Nothing special. \u00a0Saves money.”<\/span><\/div>\n
“I guess you are a smoker, Conrad,” I observed<\/span><\/div>\n
“No, sir, never smoke. \u00a0Very unhealthy.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Years later, after Conrad had graduated, he dropped into the school and I took him out for lunch. \u00a0On me. \u00a0Things were not going well for him. \u00a0His mom had died and he was out of work living in a rented room nearby. \u00a0We talked a bit and reminisced and then he was gone.<\/span><\/div>\n
Then a couple of years later he re-appeared and gave me twenty dollars.<\/span><\/div>\n
“What’s this for Conrad?”<\/span><\/div>\n
“I owe you, sir,” he still called me sir, “And I won $60 at bingo the other day.” \u00a0 Hard for me not to cry. \u00a0I tried not to take the money but to turn him down would be a mighty insult. \u00a0I never saw Conrad again.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
That incident tells so much about Parkdale…so much about our students, some of their lives, and the deep and lasting influence teachers have on young people. \u00a0It is worth savouring.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Conrad was the manager of Big Bill’s senior team. \u00a0He got the team lists ready, carried the water pail, shadowed Big Bill. \u00a0He knew every player by name and boosted their egos whenever he could. \u00a0I wondered if anyone ever boosted Conrad’s. \u00a0Big Bill probably did for he treated Conrad as an integral part of the team without pandering to him. \u00a0Carneys. \u00a0Carneys knew each other without any soft soap.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
And Bill was not big on soft soap. \u00a0I know that from personal experience which you might find amusing. \u00a0We had a Parkdale Curling team that played at the High Park Curling Club. \u00a0I’m still there but Bill is not. \u00a0His memory remains however. \u00a0Bill could express himself physically when losing. \u00a0Especially when he missed a shot or those of us on the team missed a shot. \u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
On more than one occasion, he broke his broom by smashing it on the ice followed by a string of choice words common to Carney people. Words like “darn it all anyway” (just kidding, the words had a lot more punch than that…like #$%$%^%!)<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Phil Sharp was on our team. \u00a0Parkdale teacher hired from the wilds of Kapuskasing. \u00a0Sharpie was a good curler. Except for…<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Sharp, hit the #$#@ broom. \u00a0You missed it by a foot the last time. Hit it, now!” \u00a0 Big Bill yelled this from the other end of the curling rink so everyone heard. \u00a0Sharpie was not amused.<\/span><\/div>\n
“I’m not going to hit the broom. \u00a0I’m going hit that son of a bitch Marten with this rock.”<\/span><\/div>\n
So Sharpie wound up and threw a rock that could have gone into earth orbit. \u00a0It flew down the ice heading straight for Big Bill. Lethal.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Great shot, Phil, perfect…you hit the broom dead on and knocked their rocks all to hell. \u00a0Beautiful shot, Phil.:<\/span><\/div>\n
I can still see Phil Sharp’s face as he turned and looked at me with that great twinkle in his eyes.<\/span><\/div>\n
“Guess I missed him, Al.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
When Big Bill … Pepper … Marten died a couple of years ago, Sally Jo,<\/span><\/div>\n
gathered every picture she could find of him and lathered the funeral home with them. \u00a0When I dropped in it was like old home week. The room was filled with grown men and women, former Parkdalians, who had been helped or coached by Big Bill. \u00a0Some that had be yelled at. Some that knew the nature of Parkdale when it was the home of a lot of carneys. \u00a0I did not see Conrad there sadly. \u00a0He would have loved to relive that Parkdale life we all led when football was king.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Carneys have an element of fraud, larceny, distortion of the truth that makes them amusing providing they do not trick you too much.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I met a Carney whose name I have forgotten. \u00a0He ran the Man-Eating-Chicken sideshow on the CNE grounds (another Parkdale venue).<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
“Come and see the Man Eating Chicken! \u00a0Only 25 cents! \u00a0Come now while you can. \u00a0You won’t believe it! \u00a0The Man Eating Chicken is just behind this tent flap. \u00a0Only 25 cents.”<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
I have heard there is a sucker born every minute in Toronto. \u00a0Probably true because the Man Eating Chicken survived for a while. \u00a0Those that payed the fee, pushed aside the tent flap and saw a man sitting on a stool eating a chicken. \u00a0No false advertising. \u00a0There really was a Man Eating Chicken. \u00a0 That could never happen today. \u00a0I fear we have lost our sense of humour and call fraud when we should be laughing at ourselves.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Sharpie handled Big Bill correctly. \u00a0With gusto! \u00a0And then he could laugh at himself and with Bill when we had coffee or a beer after the curling match that day. \u00a0I never told Bill about the Man Eating Chicken scam. \u00a0I was afraid he would use on one of our Parkdale Variety nights. \u00a0Mistake on my part.<\/span><\/div>\n
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alan skeoch<\/span><\/div>\n
Feb. 7, 2014<\/span><\/div>\n
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BOOKS…SCHOOL BOOKS<\/span><\/div>\n
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Anecdotes about schools rarely if ever talk about thngs like curriculum or textbooks. \u00a0Too bad, for no school exists without these. \u00a0The bones of the system. \u00a0So let’s look at books.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Parkdale history teachers have had a powerful influence on all of Canada. \u00a0There must be something in the Parkdale air…or the Parkdale students that triggers things.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
Take John Ricker, for instance. \u00a0He had been a Parkdale student just as the war started and decided, along with many othere PCI boys and girls, to join the Canadian armed forces. \u00a0He became a tail gunner in a Lancaster bomber. \u00a0Trapped in that<\/span><\/div>\n
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HERE are a few flashback memories\u2026most centred \u00a0on Parkdale C. \u00a0I. \u2026 \u00a0 Wrote tis a couple of years ago for no particular reason. \u00a0\u2026\u00a0 alan “He’s dead, sir! \u00a0Shot! \u00a0Murdered!” by \u00a0Alan Skeoch, \u00a0Jan. 29,2014 \u00a0 “Sir! Sir! \u00a0Someone just shot the President! \u00a0Someone shot Kennedy in Texas…might be dead!” A student burst into […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1051","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1051","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1051"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1051\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1658,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1051\/revisions\/1658"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1051"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1051"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1051"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}