{"id":5754,"date":"2020-09-14T21:32:00","date_gmt":"2020-09-15T01:32:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=5754"},"modified":"2020-09-14T21:34:53","modified_gmt":"2020-09-15T01:34:53","slug":"episode-118-violence-in-my-life-part-two-the-killing-floor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=5754","title":{"rendered":"EPISODE 118 VIOLENCE IN MY LIFE, PART TWO. THE KILLING FLOOR"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Note:  Another warning\u2026do not read if sensitive like I was (and am)<\/div>\n

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EPISODE 118   VIOLENCE IN MY LIFE, PART TWO:   THE KILLING FLOOR<\/p>\n


<\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
Sept 2020<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
My brother Eric with old Betsy, our shared woman\u2019s bicycle\u2026taken just before we moved<\/div>\n
from 18 Sylvan Avenue<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Mom really feared my brother and  I would be drawn into the mini gang climate<\/div>\n
of Dufferin Park in the late 1940\u2019s.   We, my brother Eric and I, knew that was very<\/div>\n
unlikely.   We lived in our own world of make believe and found that very satisfying.<\/div>\n
Especially when we found the barrels.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Some importer on Dufferin Street was shipped his goods from the far east in huge <\/div>\n
hand made wooden barrels  with wooden hoops.  Once emptied they were free for<\/div>\n
the taking so we rolled several\u2026two or three..across  the park to the tin clad garage<\/div>\n
at the back of our rented flat at 18 Sylvan Avenue.  Our landlady, Mrs. Southwick, did<\/div>\n
not seem to care that we were creating a make believe world in that garage.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We set the barrels up vertically then cut holes in the sides so that a one room barrel<\/div>\n
hideout became a three room barrel hideout.  Inside we put treasures found nearby<\/div>\n
like the wooden parts of old pianos from the piano factory or, better still, the so called<\/div>\n
weapons of gang warfare\u2026pipes, knives, clubs.   Two throwaway items were not<\/div>\n
collected.  Used safes, by then  we knew what they were.  And broken beer bottles with\u2019<\/div>\n
long necks.  These beer bottles with long shard necks for hand grips and  shards of<\/div>\n
lethal glass ready  for action.  An easy weapon.  just smash a long necked beer bottle<\/div>\n
on a rock.  Presto!  A weapon.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
As mentioned earlier I knew this weapon intimately having fallen on one that<\/div>\n
had been discarded in the park when Eric, mom and  I were playing Blind Man\u2019s<\/div>\n
Bluff.  I still have the stitched up scar on my instep to prove it.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Our fort was grand until discovered by boys of  a rougher nature.  First some <\/div>\n
took a shit in the fort.  Then they braced us once just outside the fort as mentioned<\/div>\n
in Part One of this story.   Remember  The incident when I learned my brother<\/div>\n
could  be very brave when faced with trouble. That incident was so disgusting that<\/div>\n
I will say no more other than to give Eric credit.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Mom decided we must move.  Neither Eric, Dad nor I wanted to move.  We had the huge<\/div>\n
park  as our playground.  Dad had Dufferin racetrack across the road.  Convenient<\/div>\n
for the three of us.  But mom did not like what was happening. And she was the<\/div>\n
leader of our family  The supporter most of the time.  The money earner.   Dad <\/div>\n
was a skilled and  well paid  tire builder but he spent every dime he earned at various<\/div>\n
racetracks.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
One day mom’s friend Joyce<\/div>\n
Bannon phoned.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cElsie, the house next door just came up for sale.  It is cheap\u2026$6,000\u2026might<\/div>\n
be just what you wanted.\u201d  Low downpayment.  So we  became house owners.  The house was ours.  We lived<\/div>\n
upstairs \u20263 rooms and a tiny kitchen.  Eric and I shared the bedroom with Dad<\/div>\n
when he was on night shift\u2026we slept at night, dad slept on days.  Mom slept<\/div>\n
on the couch in the middle room with her purse as a pillow to inhibit Dad\u2019s need<\/div>\n
for cash at the racetrack.  Imagine, or own house.  A duplex of sorts.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Mr. and Mrs Douglas lived downstairs.  He was a bartender at Spadina and Bloor.<\/div>\n
She was a retired prostitute according to whispers.  Wonderful pair of people.<\/div>\n
Mrs.  Douglas loved having boys around since she never had any children. They<\/div>\n
were quite poor.  Chain smokers because when they died  the walls of the little<\/div>\n
duplex were a sticky sickly yellowish brown.  Awful. But good people.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
So mom bought 455 Annette Street by putting a small down payment and monthly<\/div>\n
mortgage payments of perhaps $100,   I do not know how she did it on the money<\/div>\n
earned as a garment sweatshop worker.  She was smart. That\u2019s for sure.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
HALCYON DAYS\u2026NEW HOUSE<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
For Eric  and I these months and years at our own home were our halcyon years.<\/div>\n
Yes, we joined or formed a gang.  We patrolled the streets of our territory<\/div>\n
down Gilmour Avenue to Runnymede Public School.  A gang!  Did I say<\/div>\n
a gang?  We were a bunch of pansies.   Instead of fighting we sang.  What a <\/div>\n
bunch  of losers.  A gang that sang.   \u201cHeart of  My Heart,  Lazy River, etc.\u201d<\/div>\n
Not a minute of violence.   <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I suspect readers would rather hear about violence rather than sweetness and light.<\/div>\n
So suffice it to say we had good things happen to us most of the time at our<\/div>\n
new home.  Cub scouts, Boy Scouts, Rover Scouts, Presbyterian Youth, even<\/div>\n
a short stint in a choir for me.  A longer stint for Eric whose voice must have been<\/div>\n
more angelic.  All that and  more.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
THEN ONE VERY DARK DAY :  VIOLENCE ON THE KILLING FLOOR<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
STOP READING HERE\u2026IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
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Violence came though.  From a most unexpected source.  So violent that it was<\/div>\n
almost wiped out of my memory until I began writing this story.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The  worst violence came from a kind of  do gooder from the YMCA.  Mom registered<\/div>\n
me with the High Park summer outdoor program in the summer of 1950.  Seemed OK but not<\/div>\n
great.  I could put up with it.  Until..until\u2026until\u2026the horror day arrived.   My do gooder<\/div>\n
leader, probably just a teen ager, ran out of things to do with his assigned boys<\/div>\n
so he got imaginative.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cHow would you like to go on a field trip to the slaughter house?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cSt. Clair and  Keele\u2026Canada  Packers.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cRaise your hands if you would like to go.\u201d<\/div>\n
(Hands must have been raised\u2026not mine\u2026I did not like the word \u2018slaughter\u2019<\/div>\n
and was confused by the word \u2018packers\u2019.  What is an abattoir? All the other boys were excited <\/div>\n
by the idea.   Yes,  I mean all.  So away we went.)<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Right away we were led to the gallery above the cattle killing floor.  High up<\/div>\n
so we could see the whole process.<\/div>\n
If I had been hit by  a ten ton truck I think I would have been more shocked.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cThe cattle are led up the ramp by a Judas goat. See it there.\u201d  (seems the <\/div>\n
traitorous creature was a goat in my memory but it could have been a cow.)<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cThe lead cattle are stunned by a bolt action hammer\u2026breaks their skulls\u2026maybe<\/div>\n
kills them.  Then a chain is wrapped  around their back feet and up they go on<\/div>\n
the moving line.  First the throats  are cut that\u2019s why the killing floor is covered<\/div>\n
in blood\u2026the twitching is just nerves, the animals are dead…\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I was so horrified by what I saw  that this is the first time in my life I have ever<\/div>\n
spoken or written about it.   I am not sure readers could take the full story.  I<\/div>\n
moved to the back of the boys. Most of them crowded along the rail actually<\/div>\n
enjoying what they were seeing.  Perhaps some were faking.   I hope some <\/div>\n
were faking.  It was hell.  I knew  at that moment what hell must look like even<\/div>\n
though I did not believe in hell.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I could not move.  Closed my eyes.  Behaved  like a pansy I suppose.  Would<\/div>\n
we ever leave this insane place?<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Who are those men with the long knives on the killing floor?  I mean who would<\/div>\n
take such  a job?  (There is an easy answer to that.  Most we\u2019re New Canadians\u2026immigrants)<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Men Sloshing through the blood. ..cutting, carving.  Will it never end.  Must i keep<\/div>\n
my eyes open?<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cNext we will go to the hog slaughter floor.  that is  done a little differently. Follow<\/div>\n
me.\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cDid our councillor say \u2018Next\u2019?  What could be worse than what I am seeing<\/div>\n
below me.  Stop! Now! I must close my eyes\u2026.must get out of here\u2026<\/div>\n
run, Alan, run…\u201d<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n
I am  not sure how I escaped.  I never got to the hog killing horror.  Somehow I<\/div>\n
got out of the place.  Exit signs ,,, fear of a wrong turn. Somehow  I walked home.  Stunned. Trying to block  out<\/div>\n
what I had just seen.  I sm shaking now, in September 2020, just recalling that<\/div>\n
moment in 1950.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Ever since that moment I have had trouble eating meat.  In The immediate aftermath<\/div>\n
I  ate no meat.  For months and months.  I never told mom much  about what<\/div>\n
I had  seen.  Not sure I even told  Eric.  That was a horror I have saved for my<\/div>\n
82nd  year\u20262020.  And even now I cannot tell the full story of those cattle moving<\/div>\n
along the chain hung from giant hooks as their bodies  were dismembered.  There<\/div>\n
I said  it.  At last.<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n
There has never  been violence in my life that comes near in comparison  to the<\/div>\n
St. Clair slaughter house\u2026Canada Packers or Swift\u2019s \u2026 not sure which.<\/div>\n
In later years I came to understand  why one farm family I knew ate lots of peanut<\/div>\n
butter and no meat.  They knew what happens to their animals eventually.  Or <\/div>\n
maybe they just liked peanut butter as  I did from that moment on.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Mom\u2019s meals were  often things I would rather not think about like pork hocks and<\/div>\n
Head Cheese.  The names disguised the food somewhat.  Mom did not have<\/div>\n
a lot of money so she made do with cheaper lines of  meat.  I must have saved<\/div>\n
her some money when I  stopped eating meat.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Stopping was not so easy.  Meat was a staple\u2026part of most meals and<\/div>\n
sometimes hard to resist.  I loved meat pies for instance even though<\/div>\n
a look at the contents below the crust was disquieting.  Chunks of meat\u2026perhaps<\/div>\n
not the nicest cuts.   <\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Time was a great cure.  It was  possible to relegate the memory of that killing floor<\/div>\n
to the back burner of my brain.  The older I got the less I thought about it.<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
This is the first time I have put in words that horrible experience.  Even now<\/div>\n
that is not an easy thing to do.   I have spared my  readers by not going into<\/div>\n
the detail of what I saw with those long knives.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Gutless, some of you are saying no doubt.  And it was true.  I was gutless\u2026scared\u2026and  scarred for life.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
alan skeoch<\/div>\n
Sept 2020<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
P>S>  When Dad retired he took a short job st the St. Claire stock yards organizing the cattle unloaded  daily from farm<\/div>\n
stock yard truck, one of which was driven by Bob Root\u2019s father strangely enough.  Dad\u2019 stock yard<\/div>\n
job did not last long.  He had to climb s stock yard pen fast when an animal went mad and charged him.<\/div>\n
He got another part time job in a liquor store afterwards.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
My good friend  in High school, Jim Romaniuk, had a father who spoke only broken English and fluent Ukrainian.  He worked in one of<\/div>\n
the slaughter house at St. Clair and Keele, perhaps on the killing floor although I doubt it as he was such a gentle kind of msn.  Then<\/div>\n
again he had trouble with English and had to take whatever jobs he could find.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
P.S. The stock yards peaked in 1977 and began a rapid decline thereafter until it closed February 10, 1994. Redevelopment began with Home Depot, the first of the “big box” stores to locate on the stock yards site and the CPR shops. A new stock yard was established near Cookstown a small community north of Toronto without any rail service which was no longer required. Following a corporate takeover, Canada Packers closed, the property was levelled and eventually redeveloped with housing.<\/span> (D\/R Macdonald, The Stockyard  Story)<\/span><\/font><\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n
COMING EPISODE 119  VIOLENCE IN MY LIFE, PART 3   WHEN FRIENDS BECOME ENEMIES<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
EPISODE 120  VIOLENCE IN MY LIFE, PART 4    FOOTBALL CHANGED EVERYTHING<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Note:  Another warning\u2026do not read if sensitive like I was (and am) EPISODE 118   VIOLENCE IN MY LIFE, PART TWO:   THE KILLING FLOOR alan skeoch Sept 2020 My brother Eric with old Betsy, our shared woman\u2019s bicycle\u2026taken just before we moved from 18 Sylvan Avenue Mom really feared my brother and  I would […]<\/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-5754","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5754","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=5754"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5754\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5754"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5754"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5754"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}