Union College at U.B.C.

The two new photos which I have added to this blog are - again - through the courtesy of Michael W.

On the promontory shown here is located the campus of the University of British Columbia. In the background is Mount Washington - the highest peak on Vancouver Island.
 
On a school night, when I was 8 or 9 years old, I was in bed but not asleep. My parents had the radio on downstairs and I could hear the broadcast - the 'Fun Parade' from Toronto - where contestants could win valuable prizes. If my memory serves me correctly, that show centered on kids who were pretty smart. At the end of the program, a boy won a chemistry set. That fired my brain - how I wanted one for myself and I decided then and there to become a pharmacist when I grew up.

Reality set in soon afterward when I realized that I was not that good at math nor science - two subjects that are critical for anyone entering pharmacy.

However, I still held to the dream of a university education. After high school and Senior Matriculation, I took an aptitude test which pointed towards the Humanities or Accounting. As the easiest route was to the latter, I turned in that direction. Articled students in Chartered Accountant firms earned a small salary while working on the books of the firm's clients - and while attending lectures on two evenings of the week and writing exams each spring. I tried that route but it did not work for me so I went to Australia.

Now I was back home, had become a candidate for the ministry in the United Church of Canada, and was moving into residence on the campus of the University of British Columbia.

The dark promontory on the left of the photograph is Point Grey where the University of British Columbia (UBC) is located. The mountain behind it is Mount Washington - the highest peak on Vancouver Island. To the north and west are the Straits of Georgia and, to the south, the estuary of the Fraser River. Union College - the seminary and residence - is situated off of University Boulevard which enters the campus through the gates on Dunbar Street. Neighboring complexes are Catholic, Anglican, Presbyterian, Baptist and Lutheran. Most of our courses were shared with the students - and faculty - of the Anglican community.

                               We ordinands of 1971 are standing in front of Union College


Union College is a four story 'castle like' building with a turreted central block and wings extending east and west. My room was on the fourth floor during each of the four years that I was there - and usually facing north. Those were the days before lumber mills were forbidden to have burners for the sawdust that came from sawing logs into lumber. When the smoke from those burners combined with the moist air above the salt water, fog was formed and, often, it was thick. The lighthouse about five miles away on Point Atkinson in West Vancouver would lull me to sleep at night with its penetrating strobe light flashing across the ceiling of my room and the mournful sound of the foghorn.

                                                       Point Atkinson Lighthouse


Theology is a three year course but must be preceded by at least some general university courses. Those who entered the seminary out of high school were expected to earn an undergraduate degree while those of us who were "Senior Students" had to take at least one year of arts or sciences. I was a 'Senior Student' and I chose Arts. My course adviser recommended what I should study.

I do not remember when but the name of the institution was changed to 'Vancouver School of Theology'


I took English, History, Psychology and Sociology. English and History were two favorites of mine in high school and psychology held some interest as well. Sociology, though, was another matter. The Prof was a younger man who loved the writings of Ayn Rand. The major proportion of the marks arose from our abilities in debating. We did not choose what we would debate on but were assigned. I was assigned to the positive side of Rand's thoughts as expressed in her book "Selfishness is a Virtue". That was - and is - as far from my way of thinking that one could get. However, it was my assignment and I had to address it. I did receive a passing mark - but have never read another one of Ayn Rand's books.

There must have been 60 to 70 residents at Union College. We ate together in the college's dining room. The cooks were Mrs T(horbergson) and Miss Graham. Mrs T was a woman of impressive size so the jest was that she was determined that all of those under her care would attain the same girth. The meals were always very good and others from across the campus would try to purchase meal tickets so they could eat with us instead of the plain food that was dished up in their respective residences.

Beginning in my second year and continuing until I graduated I earned money by working in the room with the sinks and the dishwasher. There were always two of us working each shift. The fellow who partnered with me on Wednesday and Thursday mornings and I thought up a little competition. In the drain from the sink was a garborator which disposed of the smaller waste items. On one of those mornings Mrs. T. made pancakes and, on the other, Miss Graham cooked French toast. The contest was to see which of these items would float the longest. When Mrs. T. learned of this little competition, she was not amused. I wonder why?

Usually I was the dishwasher after dinner - both the regular ones and the 'High Holiday' ones for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I detested a habit of one of the other residents. He smoked and always butted his cigarette in his mashed potatoes. Those butts had to be removed before the waste food went into the garborator. Yuck!

The Housekeeper was another very pleasant older woman. She cheerfully cleaned our rooms, changed our bed linen and looked after much of the laundry. I liked her very much too.

Before I enrolled at UBC I had heard of the small 'Hippy Community' on Fourth Avenue and the drugs that were consumed there. Drugs have never appealed to me but I know that they are irresistible to some. I remember a nice younger guy from an Interior community who jumped right into the drug culture - he appeared in the dining room one day so stoned that he could hardly stand. During the Christmas break he disappeared having been placed into a mental institution. If I hadn't been turned off to drugs before, that would have convinced me not to go there.

While I was attending UBC, we heard that the architect Arthur Ericson had been commissioned to draw up plans for a new Museum of Anthropology to be built along Marine Drive towards Point Grey. When Ric and I were in Vancouver in February, 2002, I took him out there to see the Campus, Union College and the new museum. Here are a few photos of the artifacts that are exhibited there.

All of the above photos are of B.C. Coast First Nation art - and, I believe, most of it is Haida.


As I mentioned, UBC is on a peninsula bounded by salt water on two sides and the brackish river water on the other. Down there was the famous Wreck Beach and, as I love hiking, I was down that way on many a fine afternoon and I was never alone.

Other students would be there walking like I was, socializing and, in class groups, studying the erosion of the sand cliffs. One day a contradiction intrigued and amused me. Along the base of that sand cliff was a log and, on the seaward side, was a young couple making passionate love while a geology class was just above them studying the sand bank!

There were a number of routes down to the beach. One could walk down Marine Drive to where it was level with the bay and then turn back to walk along the beach - the least strenuous route; descend by the path and stairs beside the School of Social Work; or via a number of other paths some of which were better suited for mountain goats than humans.

Also there were interesting 'left overs' from World War II - two gun turrets long unused and slowly being eroded into the ocean. I understand that these turrets had each been built into the side of the sand cliff but, by that time, the base of the cliffs were yards from the turrets.

I enjoy walking around university campuses and I have seen some lovely ones - but none come close to the setting of the University of British Columbia.

Babs' Family

While I lived in Prince George, Alda and her family were the relatives whom I saw more frequently. However, when I returned to Vancouver it was Babs' family.

Babs married Hubert Gibson while I was still living in Brisbane. As he had boarded with us for a number of years, I knew him quite well. When Grandma decided to leave her little house down the street from where my parents lived and move to a senior's complex in New Westminster, Babs and Hubert gained possession of her property.

With the death of Dad in 1965, living in the 'Finnegan house' was too difficult for Mom - both emotionally and physically - so she and Dan put it up for sale and bought a lovely little bungalow in Maillardville. The house was pretty but, as it did not have a basement, it was quite damp which reacted negatively on Mom's developing rheumatoid arthritis.

Another house came up on the market a few blocks away on Roderick Avenue. It was a fairly large house and, as it was on the lower side of the street, there was a 'mother-in-law suite' in the basement which opened onto a good sized backyard. As Grandma's house was little more than a cottage, Hubert and Babs decided to sell that house too and combine finances in the purchase of the Roderick Avenue property.

My niece, Darlene, was born to Babs and Hubert in February 1966 while they were still residing in 'Grandma's house' up on Dawes Hill and their second daughter, Teri, in 1968 while they were on Roderick Avenue.

By this time some of Hubert's siblings had moved from Saskatchewan to Kamloops. Hubert had seen little of his siblings after moving to B.C. but, as they were now closer, the bond was reestablished and Babs and Hubert decided to move to Kamloops as well.

I was around my nieces - Darlene and Teri - a good deal while they were living in Coquitlam and then less frequently after they moved to Kamloops. I did enjoy a number of visits to Kamloops and one of them I remember because of an amusing incident.

One Easter Mom had gone to Kamloops for a visit and I, and a friend, decided to drive up there for the weekend. By that time Darlene and Teri were teenagers (and 'groupies' of the Junior 'A' hockey team). My family has always been great cribbage players so games were frequently played. I went to bed while my friend - Cam - and the others played cribbage while sipping beer and wine.

The next morning Darlene and Teri were eating the chocolate treats that the 'Easter Bunny' had left behind while helping themselves to the cold potato salad and ham left over from the Saturday dinner. Poor Cam with his aching hung over head was nearly sick while watching them indulge themselves.

Hubert passed away in August, 1988. Darlene manages a privately owned Care Home in Kamloops while Teri - married to Paul Denis - is a Certified General Accountant. The Denis' did move to Drayton Valley, Alberta for a couple of years but returned to Kamloops. They have two children - Nicholas and Leah - who are now adults and living in Kelowna.

This past weekend I learned that Leah is now engaged to be married to a very nice young man. I wish them the very best.

The Summer of '67

When I arrived in Prince George, I settled into a boarding house in a newly opened residential area in the northwest corner of the city proper - an area that was bordered to the north by the Nechako River. I had had a connection with Como Lake United Church (of the United Churches of Canada) in Coquitlam, with the John Flynn Uniting Church in Alice Springs and Kedron Methodist Church in Brisbane. Therefore it was natural for me to seek a church home in this new community.

There were two United Churches within the city - the longer established Knox United downtown and the fledgling congregation of St Andrews United nearer to where I lived.

The minister at St. Andrews was the Rev. Newton Steacy - a young and urbane man who lived with his wife and young family in a house less than one block from where I lived. Newton's father had been a Cabinet Minister in the government of W.A.C Bennett's Social Credit Party in Victoria.

I was amused by Newton's wife's story of how they met. He was a handsome cadet at the military college situated in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She attended a military ball and met this dashing young officer and had a dream of marrying him and attending an endless string of military balls. Instead she ended up in a manse in the pulp mill town of Prince George!

They were a dynamic couple and, when I arrived, there was a Young Adult Group of which most of the members were up and coming young professionals. I thoroughly enjoyed being welcomed by them and receiving invitations to join in with all of their activities.

In the spring of 1967. Newton accepted a "call" to be the assistant in a church in Montreal and the Steacey's were replaced at St Andrews by the Rev Gordon Taylor (the minister of Knox United was the Rev.Ben Taylor - no relation).

Gordon was as different from Newton as day is from night. Whereas Newton came from a family grounded in business and politics, Gordon was one of a fairly large family who grew up in or near the agricultural town of Chilliwack in the Fraser Valley. Upon his ordination Gordon had been 'settled' into a 'Two Point Charge' in Western Manitoba. He was responsible for the spiritual needs of the United Church families in two farming communities.

I liked Newton and Barb Steacey very much but I automatically gravitated to Gordon. Because I had served in the Kedron Methodist Sunday School, I volunteered for similar tasks with the Sunday School at St Andrews.

This was a restless period for me and I was unable to feel settled. Therefore I asked Gordon if we could meet to have a chat. He invited me to have lunch with him at a restaurant and, before I could articulate the message which I intended to give, he challenged me - to consider the ministry. This was not the first time that I had been so challenged but he was the most persuasive challenger. Instead of my retirement from the Sunday School he was asking me to consider the more difficult task of the professional ministry.

At that time, St Andrews had another student studying at Union College, U.B.C. - the soon to be Rev. George Ferguson.

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, I was not the most happy debt collector so, in a work sense, I was not difficult to persuade. First, though, I had to jump through all of the screening hoops beginning in Prince George, then a Presbytery meeting at Williams Lake, then a General Conference meeting at a B.C. Conference gathering at Queens Avenue United Church in New Westminster. Gord told me to be patient but I thought that I would never see the end of interviews and answering personal and difficult questions. The biggest one, of course, was about my sexuality. I was not sure if I was Gay or not but - in my mind - I did not fit the stereotype of the faggot with a lisp and limp wrists. How naive I was!

The United Church of Canada could always use young women and men in summer placement positions and I fit that bill.

Across the Fraser River from Prince George was the Giscome Pastoral Charge consisting of three smaller congregation (one each at Kelly Road in the disorganized northern suburbs along the Hart Highway, Blackburn to the east of the Fraser River and, further east yet, the mill town of Giscome). The 'settled' minister was the Reverend King Huguet. He conducted a worship service in each of those communities every Sunday - usually in a community hall.

During the month of July the Rev King Huguet remained in charge so my tasks consisted mainly of canvassing - especially in the temporary trailer parks. I was charged with locating all those United Church of Canada people who nobody else knew existed. I have never enjoyed 'cold calling' so I found that task to be difficult. However, I did meet a number of warm and welcoming people.

King and his family went on vacation in August and I was left alone. It had been decided that I would conduct a Daily Vacation Bible School in each of those communities during that month (each Bible School lasted for one week).

When I left the home of the couple with whom I had been living in Prince George, a family involved with the existing Kelly Road congregation loaned me the use of a cabin on their property. I stayed there for most of the month of July and, of course, conducted a Bible School.

When the Huguets left for their vacation in August I moved to their manse from where I conducted schools at Blackburn Road, Giscome and two mill/logging communities further up the river.

Giscome was the biggest of those communities and had a couple of churches as well as a gas station, post office, and a general store. The majority of the inhabitants were Portuguese immigrants. Their parish priest was a delightful man - but he was Dutch. Somewhere along the line he had displeased a Bishop so had been posted to Giscome where he did not share the culture - nor the language - with his congregation. I felt so sorry for him.

I do not remember the community of Aleza Lake all that well - except how I reached there. There was a ferry attached to a cable across the swiftly moving Fraser River and the ferry was operated by a First Nations man named Alex Cardinal. The fare for a motor vehicle to cross the river was $.50 per trip Monday to Friday and $1.00 on Sundays and late in the evening. Alex refused to take any money from me at any time!

The furthest community for which I had some responsibility was the logging and mill village of Upper Fraser. In that community lived a family with two sons who were teenagers.

If any of my readers have been to a logged off area you know how ugly it can be. The logged land across the Fraser was no exception - bare devastation with logs not suitable for the mills lying willy-nilly all over the place. However, through that area, flowed a couple of large creeks.

The loggers reported that salmon were 'running' (swimming up the waterways seeking out the spawning area where they had hatched some four years before). After spawning these fish would die and their flesh would be inedible. However, while they were still alive, the flesh was firm. These two lads wanted to spend the afternoon in fishing and talked me into taking them up there.

By the way, logging roads, while roughly carved out of the terrain, are very well maintained so my driving over them was at very little risk of mishap. When we came to where two promising creeks joined I parked and we walked down to the creek bank. At first they baited and cast their lines but did not receive a bite. Then one of them came up with the bright idea of wading into the creek and 'fishing' by hand.

To me that was an impossible task but we most certainly had fun - and got soaking wet. Yes - we did see some wildlife, notably two different bears who were in the water trying to catch a salmon for their meals. When they heard us they scurried away - thank God!

Some of the places to which I have been - and circumstances in which I have found myself - are difficult to recall - but not that 'fishing' expedition in the mountainous area east of Prince George.

Prince Rupert and Barkerville

Possibly readers who know the geography of British Columbia will be scratching their heads after reading the title of this blog. Prince Rupert is a few hundred miles west of Prince George while Barkerville is about 100 miles south and it is found east of Quesnel. I have combined the writing about these two places as I visited them on two short trips and neither of which merit a separate blog.

With the advent of Canada's Centennial Year, I booked a trip by train to Montreal in order to visit Expo 67. A challenge from a friend and mentor persuaded me to change plans and to enroll as a student at Union College, U.B.C. instead. There will be more about my university experiences in other blogs - now I am writing about how I spent vacation days in lieu of a train trip to Montreal.

I left my position with the Canadian Credit Men's Association at the end of April, 1967 but I could not shake the office as I was frequently called upon to answer questions and to give guidance all the while that I remained in and around Prince George.

Ever since I was a child I had heard of the fabled northwest so, when my scheduled duties at CCMA ceased, I kept a few days for myself and drove west on Highway 16 through Vanderhoof, Burns Lake and a number of other smaller communities. For me, the "Awe!" moments began at the busy town of Smithers. The land west from Prince George is a plateau but the topography undulates - until Smithers which is dominated by the magnificent Hudson Bay Mountain.

At Smithers the highway begins to follow the Skeena River watershed. Not far north of Smithers is Morricetown at the edge of the Bulkley River Gorge. This community is primarily First Nation and, while passing, I did see native fishermen who were standing on scarey looking platforms built out over the torrent. In their hands were nets (like the ones fishermen carry to assist them in landing salmon or trout - only larger). These men were waiting for spawning salmon to leap up the waterfalls so that they could snare some of them. You could not pay me enough to stand on one of those slanting platforms over white frothing water while attempting to snare a salmon!

Not far past Morricetown are Tsimshian villages which are famous for their totem poles (New Hazelton, Kispoix, Kitwanga, Kitwancool). Those names are poetry to me and, as I approached each village, I saw the magnificent totem poles each telling the story of an ancestor by means of carvings and painting. Again I was awed.

At the end of the drive for that day I arrived in the larger town of Terrace and looked for a motel. As I was booking into one the door to the manager's office opened and out came Johnny Carlson. Johnny and I attended school together from grades 2 until 12 but had not seen each other after graduation. While I had been lousy at Industrial Arts, Johnny had excelled at those. After graduation he went to work for a building contractor who had a beautiful daughter. He married her and inherited the motel!

A branch highway leaves Highway 16 at Terrace and heads south to the relatively new communities of Kitimat and Kemano. The communities were built shortly after the end of World War II in order to harness hydro power - generated from the tumbling rivers - to power an aluminum refinery. Raw bauxite ore was shipped in from Jamaica, turned into aluminum and then shipped out to the rest of the world. Kitimat is where the mill is located while the port and the power plant are a few miles further on at Kemano.

From Terrace the highway continued on down the Skeena River to Prince Rupert - a major seaport on the B.C. Coast as well as the terminus of the original Grand Trunk Railway.

Prince Rupert has one major distinction (in addition to being a ferry hub for boats from Alaska, the Haida Gwai - formerly known as the Queen Charlotte Islands - and Vancouver Island), that is not likely to be found in tourism brochures - it is said to be the community that receives less hours of sunshine than any other larger town in the world. A number of years ago a family from South Africa was in the news because the husband suffers from a rare allergy - to sunshine. South Africa has too many hours of sunshine in a year for the man to be comfortable so they migrated to Prince Rupert.

I am glad to say that the 24 hours or so that I spent there were dry and sunny.

I looked up another acquaintance while there - Arnie had been an articled student at the same Chartered Accountants office in New Westminster where I had articled. It was Arnie who followed me to the Fraser Valley Medical Dental Association that had been one of my 'clients'.

As I left Prince Rupert I had the car radio tuned to the CBC and I listened to the game between the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadiens - the last time that Toronto won the symbol of hockey supremacy - the Stanley Cup!

Upon arriving back at Smithers I took a detour route in order to see the large Francois Lake. It was worth the detour just so that I could say that I was there!

Barkerville, being closer to Prince George, was a day outing. Throughout much of the nineteenth century explorers went everywhere opening up the magnificent continent of North America to exploration and to trade. Among those hardy souls were many prospectors. One of those was a man named Billy Barker who found a lode of gold in the hills east of the town of Quesnel.

His find was a springboard for at least two events - a Gold Rush and the construction of a road through the Coast Mountains to the Interior. His find happened less than ten years after the find that gave birth to the California Gold Rush. It continues to amaze me how news traveled in the days before modern communications. Disappointed 'miners' from California heard and rushed north to B.C. - the same that they did a decade or two later when gold was found in the Yukon. This gold rush spurred the construction of the Cariboo Highway and, especially, the Canyon Highway. Before the construction of the more modern highway through the mountains the old canyon highway was a hair raising route for the inexperienced to drive. While driving the new route one can still see parts of the old route along the edge of the canyon walls.

Also, the building of that road cost the lives of many men - especially Chinese coolies. Life was cheap back then - and especially for those who were not white Anglo-Saxons.

The Cariboo Gold Rush did not last very long. However, instant towns sprung up along the creeks. As well as miners, this bonanza attracted other characters - the best known of them being the legendary Judge Matthew Begbie who is remembered by the sobriquet "The Hanging Judge". One of the towns that sprung up at that time still exists as the community named Wells - while Barkerville is an historic park.

When I was there I was far from being all alone - there were hundreds of other tourists present as well. We got to see both Billy Barker and Matthew Begbie - the 'Hanging Judge' - reenacted.

I love history and the stories which historic places bring to life.

Alda's Family

My older sister, Alda, met her husband-to-be when she was a bridesmaid at a friend's wedding in the hamlet of Forest Grove (near 100 Mile House, B.C.) in the late 1950s.

The bride was Roseanna Poirier whose family had lived up the lane from us when we first moved to the Dawes Hill area.

All of the Poiriers - except their mother, Albertine - had moved one-by-one to the Cariboo. When they came down to The Coast for vacation or on business they always crashed at our house so our connection with them was strong. Indeed, at one time, Mom had some medical problems and it was Albertine who came and looked after us during that interim.

Leo, as the oldest son, had left school before we moved to Dawes Hill and had followed some of his friends up to the 100 Mile House area where he established himself in the forestry industry.

               Mom and Dad with a beloved Pomeranian pet visiting Alda and Leo

Alda and he married each other in October, 1956 and had five kids - Donna, Mark, Shane, Todd and Karen. As I have mentioned, Leo worked in the forest industry living in fairly remote bush camps near Canim Lake (actually - for the longest time - at an unorganized community named Eagle Creek). We - individually and as a family - went up there to visit as often as we could. While I was in Prince George I drove down to Eagle Creek on a number of occasions. My nephews and nieces and I got along famously. My diaries record that, often, I was awakened by my nephews piling on top of me for a roughhouse while their Mom was preparing breakfast.

Occasionally the scanner increases the size of the photo - but not the content! Here is Alda's tribe - plus neighbor kids - on top of the knoll looking down on Canim Lake

At the back of their house was a steep and brush covered knoll. The kids and I would climb to the top from where we could see over the trees to beautiful Canim Lake. Also we dreamed up a game involving frisbees. We would begin in a circle and toss the frisbee to each other. Often our aim was not all that accurate so we would have to move to catch it. The rule was that we had to remain where we caught the toy and toss it to the next in the circle from there. This led to improbable and hilarious situations - and we had a ball.

The photo above is of Canim Lake while peaceful.


Returning to that wedding weekend many of the group - and especially Dad - were avid fishermen. The day had been hot and the thought of a couple of hours out in a rowboat on Canim Lake was very appealing. Six or eight of us drove down to a resort on Canim Lake where we rented a rowboat and went out. The lake - never more than a mile wide (if that!) - wound through the high hills. Suddenly to the west of us huge thunder clouds appeared. We could see the lightning and hear the thunder so Dad turned our boat around and headed for the shore. Unfortunately, where we were the shore was lined with big rocks so we couldn't land safely and had to keep going back towards the resort. With pandemonium all around us suddenly a motorboat appeared heading up the lake to the saw mill community at the far end. We were not sure if the guy in that boat saw us or not so Dad had to row hard in order for us to be out of his path. Thankfully he missed us - and, as far as we knew - reached his destination safely. That lovely lake nestled in the valley in the low mountains is known for being deadly under certain conditions.

When we reached the shore Roseanna's youngest brother - Roland - said that he had left his fingerprints embedded indelibly in the side of that rowboat!

A few years later we all went up to visit Alda and Leo during the May long weekend and, then, the current logging claim was well back in the bush. There was no room for me to sleep in their home but, as it was a long weekend, the single guys had gone out to civilization for the holiday so I went to sleep in the bunkhouse. As soon as we were all bedded down Leo went to the gasoline operated power generator and shut it off. I have never experienced silence like that before or since - I could hear nothing except the air passing over my ears!

Leo's most endearing trait was that he could be embarrassed very easily and his face would turn beet red. One incident of that was told to us when we met him. One pioneer family in that area were the Sandbacks who were looked upon as the 'rich people'. There was a community hall in Forest Grove where they brought their movie projector and rented films for movie nights. Especially when the movie advertised was a Western, Indians from the local reservation (The 'Rancherie') would come en masse. Leo's task was to string out the sound cord from the projector to the amplifier and, while he was doing that, one of the Indian tykes ran to him, threw its arms around one of his legs and loudly said, "Daddy!". Everybody present roared in laughter while Leo blushed.

A number of years later Alda and Leo were with friends in the pub in the hotel in 100 Mile House. Whereas there had been separation between single men and 'Ladies and Escorts' in alcohol serving establishment in B. C., that rule had been revoked. However, the Indians still followed the old rule - the women were in the 'Ladies and Escorts' part while the men were in the part originally reserved for males only. When it was time for them to depart one of the men came over to where he could see into the other section and signaled to the women that they were leaving. The women arose and, while passing the table where Alda, Leo and their friends were sitting, one of the Indian women put her hands on Leo's shoulder and said, "I'll be waiting outside when you want me!". Alda and the rest of their party roared while Leo giggled and turned crimson. Alda teased Leo about that incident for a long time after.

On one of my visits to Eagle Creek, Leo woke me early one morning - he was having an appendicitis attack. I arose and took him in my car on the fairly long drive to the hospital in 100 Mile House, saw that he was being attended to, drove back to Eagle Creek where Alda had arranged for a neighbor to look after the kids, and took her out to the hospital. Alda had not yet learned to drive but now she drives all over the place to visit her extended family.

Leo and Alda did build a house in Forest Grove and then, when he retired, they bought a newly constructed house in 100 Mile. Leo passed away in August 2004.

Prince George, B.C.

With this blog I am returning to my 'travels'

First, though, I will comment about memory. Recently one of my readers commented on how impressed she is by my memory. Yes - I do remember a lot of things that many others may have forgotten - but, for this blog, I had to reread my journals covering that period of time. There is so much of what happened in PG between January, 1966 and May, 1967 that I had completely forgotten - only to remember by reading those journals.

When I arrived home in Vancouver on December 19, 1965 I had to adapt to climate change - from sub-tropical Brisbane in summer to the damp climate of a West Coast winter - only there wasn't much rain but lots of heavy snow flurries! Also, my kid brother - Dan - was not yet old enough to have a driver's license and I had not yet learned to drive, therefore I had to rely a lot upon infrequent suburban transit or the generosity of friends in order to get places and to do things.

First, of course, was the family celebration of Christmas. As Dad was no longer there, this was especially hard for Mom. However, she was happy to see me again and wanted to ensure that the family, as it now consisted, would still celebrate in the Lacasse tradition.

Grandma had moved to a seniors' apartment in the New Westminster/Burnaby area and the Gibsons (Babs and her husband, Hubert) had purchased Grandma's house a block down the road from our family home. Grandma, Babs, Hubert, Danny, Mom and I were there as well as an old friend of Dad's - George Hunt - who was an elderly bachelor and who had not yet heard of Dad's passing. We celebrated as best that we could with the the usual roast turkey, stuffing, gravy, Brussell sprouts (Mom was English!) followed by carrot pudding with vanilla sauce.

We enjoyed ourselves - but that was the last time that we ever saw George Hunt.

My first task was to secure employment. I found an advertisement for a Collections Manager in the Prince George office of a Credit Manager's Association and I was hired. After a few days of orientation in the Vancouver office I had to catch a Greyhound bus for the 12 hour ride north.

Prince George is approximately 500 miles north of Vancouver and in almost the dead center of British Columbia - up where the winters can be harsh and the summer evenings nearly destroyed by voracious mosquitoes while sunset lingers in the northwest sky until nearly midnight.

Prince George was a fur trading post from early in the history of British Columbia. It is located where the Nechako River flows into the Fraser. Only a few years before I went up there, the pulp and paper industry decided that PG would be a lucrative site for pulp mills which would be fed by the vast forest of spruce trees and turned into paper products. In early 1967 there were three mills operating - or near completion - along the banks of the Fraser. Over time these two rivers had cut relatively steep valleys out of the rolling terrain. As anyone who has been near a pulp mill can attest, the odor that comes from those mills has a pungent sulphurous smell so, as the air often hung still over the valley, the smell lingered.

The office where I was to work was in a fairly new building downtown in the city and the corridors reeked of the smell from the mills. I heard some folk exclaim. "I smell money!". I smelled rotten eggs!

While I had experience in managing accounts receivable files - that was my job while I was in Brisbane - I really am not hard-nosed enough to chase defaulters. Yet - I had to take some clients' customers to the Small Claims Courts which meant filing a claim, appearing in court for the judgement, and taking the legal paper to the miscreant.

There was one fellow who had welding machinery in the back of his pickup and who left no paper trace as to ownership of the machine, his vehicle, nor his house. I would have to drive out to his place with the court document, knock on the door and, when his wife opened it, throw the paper past her onto the floor, return to the court and swear out an affidavit that the document had indeed been delivered. Of course she knew who I was and what the document was for so she would refuse to take it from my hand. I hated that part of the job - and, also, running into a slime ball of an attorney who did represent many of the defaulters.

A number of years before, while working at the chartered accountant's office, I had uncovered a theft from the till of a client. A young woman who worked in that office was proven to be the thief - and I recognized her name when a client, who lived in the town of Terrace, asked that a young woman out there be pursued for a bad debt. Sometimes it is indeed a 'small world'.

My social life in Prince George was much lighter than my job and I do have some happy memories.

Downstairs below the office where I worked there was a clothing store for men which was owned and operated by a man named Bob Hamilton. Somehow, Bob was talked into taking part in a fashion show being sponsored by a women's group. Both my boss, Doug Morgan, and I were cajoled into being two of the models. I was outfitted with a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, a tie and a sweater that was made from synthetic material - except for the front which was suede.

I was as nervous as a kitten until I went out onto the runway and then down into the audience to sashay past the women sitting at their tables. I was highly amused when one woman reached out to pinch the fabric covering one of my legs. Yes, Lady, it is real!

The St Andrew United Church Choir (the Rev. Newton Steacy is standing to the left of the organ with Bob Hamilton to his right and I am on the extreme left of the front row). 

As a fund raiser the church choir decided to put on a concert calling it "St Andy's Dandies Centennial Capers" (St Andrews United Church was where I worshiped and 1967 marked Canada's centennial as a nation). A few weeks before this event I attended a gathering at another church where I met two young Mexican men. At that time work on digging a pipeline to carry natural gas from the wells near Dawson Creek down to Vancouver was being mapped out. The owner of the company contracted to build the pipeline had been down in Mexico where he had interviewed some graduates from the School of Engineering at a Mexican university. One of these young men was Manuel Vasquez.

Manuel knew how to strum a guitar in the Mexican way and he had a fine singing voice. He and I became friends and he played and sang for many of my friends so, naturally, he was included in our concert and was a huge hit!

Soon after settling in Prince George I made a trip down home and, with the assistance of my brother-in-law and a friend of his, I went car shopping. I bought a used 1966 Ford Falcon which a friend drove back to Prince George for me. I went to a driving school and, within a couple of weeks, I had my first driver's license and began driving everywhere - even out along the back roads.

The Fraser flowing through the canyon, the brown color of the river is due to the silt collected further upstream.

This is the foot bridge which connects the Canyon Highway to a railway community which belongs to the Canadian National Railway.

Not long after the concert in which Manuel performed, I was down in Coquitlam visiting my family. Manuel journeyed down with me and, while there, we visited a man whom he knew and who had married a Mexican girl. They invited us to join them for lunch in Chinatown. This was Manuel's first experience of Chinese food and we had a good laugh when Manuel picked up his tea cup, received a whiff of the tea, put it back down while saying "Eeet steenks!"

A short drive from the town were lovely rivers, lakes and ponds. In the summer months there were picnics, swimming and water skiing while, in the winter, there were skiing parties, sleigh rides, tobogganing and skidoos with which to have fun.

On a cold wintery Saturday afternoon we took the church cub scout troop out to a Beaver Dam on the Nechako River. The Rev. Newton Steacy with one of the cubs standing on the dam.


Already I have mentioned the summer phenomena of a picnic by a lake where, at midnight, there is still a glow of the sunset in the western sky. There was an awe inspiring winter phenomena too. On a clear cold day without a breeze blowing sometimes one can see 'sun dogs'. Although the sky is clear, there are ice crystals hanging in the air. When looking towards the sun one can see one or more 'other suns'. These are reflections of the one sun by those ice crystals.

Schools and Teachers

Before I return to my "Travels" I would like to share with you something about the people who helped to shape the adult that I have become.

I attended Grade 1 at the school in Ruskin which was directly across the road from where we were then living. This was a small two-room public school. The Japanese had been forced to move away so the school population had shrunk from around 50 students to 11 spread over six grades.

Our teacher was Miss Johnson. I believe that she was from Vancouver - she boarded with Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett who lived just along the road from the school.

How she managed to teach we 11 kids (three of us in Grade 1 and the remainder in grades 3 through 6 - there were no pupils in Grade 2) I have no idea.

I sat in the front desk with Bobby Sidwell behind me and Bobby Fraser behind him. I do not remember all that much of Bobby Fraser but Bobby Sidwell was different - he bullied me all year long!

            This Community Hall is two lots east of where we lived while I was attending Grade 1.

My friend, Michael W., drove out to Ruskin and photographed the Community Hall as it looks today. I remember a plain clapboard building with no color at all! 


The following summer - 1943 - we moved to Dawes Hill in Coquitlam. There were a number of kids living near us so, as we went to school together, I was not alone.
Since Alda was entering Grade 1, Mom was with us that first day.

Millside Public School had six grades with around 35 students each. Grades 1 and 2 met in two separate buildings across the school yard from the main building. Grades 3 to 6 had classrooms on the second floor of the big building. The first floor was at ground level and consisted of two large rooms with the furnace room in between. One of those rooms was for the boys to use while the other was for the girls. On nice days we were out in the large school yard and played inside only when the weather was unpleasant.

The Grade 2 class at Millside Public School in 1943/44. I am in the second to last row and the second  child in from the left hand side.


There were two features of the school yard that were any kid's dream.

Up on top of the ridge was a pond of water (Como Lake) which was drained by School Creek. The creek tumbled down the slope through the forest, flowed through a culvert under the road, and then across the school yard.

Playing in or beside the creek was forbidden but, in the autumn, salmon swam up the creek on their way to spawn and what kid could resist trying to catch the salmon? More than one boy tumbled in, was reprimanded, and sent home to change clothes.

There was a footbridge across the creek - which could be an intimidating stream when it rained - to a playing field for ball games. Beyond this field was swampy land covered with thick brush and skunk cabbage. At the edge of this 'wilderness area' was the stump of a large tree that had long since been cut down. Notches for toe holds had been cut into the side and the top was relatively flat and smooth. I remember one noon hour when I was up there and I heard the hand bell being rung for classes to resume. Always I have been afraid of heights but I had no choice but to jump - it would have taken me too long to try to get down via the notches carved into the side. I jumped, landed - and wasn't hurt.

The teacher of the Grade 2 class was Miss Atkins. I believe that she had taught at Millside for most of her career and she was a gem. She prepared interesting lessons and was much respected by the students so she rarely had to punish anyone.

One day, though, one of the boys kept misbehaving so Miss Atkins felt that she had no option but to administer the strap. Usually, when this happened, the miscreant would mutter about "that old bag" - but not this time. Later Joe commented to the rest of us, "I deserved that!"  demonstrating the high esteem in which Miss Atkins was held.

When I reached Grade 5 Miss Atkins had retired from Grade 2 and was our home room teacher again. That was her final year of teaching - she retired in June.

She lived by herself in a bungalow close to the final 'pick up' stop for our local bus route thus I saw her a number of times after I ceased being one of her pupils. Always she remembered my name. Indeed, many years later, I was at the bus stop in New Westminster waiting for the bus out home and chatting with a neighbor who had graduated from Millside before I moved there. Miss Atkins approached the stop and, seeing us she did not miss a beat but said, "Hello, Ernie! Hello Albini!" She remembered both of us.

In Grade 3 I did not fare that well in who our home room teacher was. Miss Goyer taught us for a few months, got married (becoming Mrs Grimble - and some of the boys substituted the 'i' with a 'u') and then took sick leave in order to give birth to a baby. The substitute teacher was a Mrs. Knight and, as she seemed to take an instant dislike to me, my life became miserable. Also, this was when I began missing school in order to have surgery. I missed a lot of school but was still able to keep my grades up. I wonder why she disliked me - was it because of the ugly scar tissue on my face?

The teacher in Grade 4 was Miss Gardner - ironically, she was one of the daughters of the head gardener at the Colony Experimental Farm. Miss Gardner's sister had a lovely singing voice and she would sing at every school event. Her signature song was "It's a Grand Night for Singing" which I do not recall hearing again until a friend opened a concert a number of months ago with that very song.

Our class teacher in Grade 5 was Miss Atkins again and, in Grade 6, it was the principal, Mrs. Davis. I encountered somebody else years later who attended Millside and she commented on how much she disliked Mrs. Davis. I was surprised to hear that as I found her, while strict, a good teacher.

To explain the next item I will relate some history.

Included in the original settlers of New Westminster were some British Army Sappers. It fell to them to give the new community a name but they could not decide between Queensborough or Queenborough. They wrote to Queen Victoria asking her to decide for them. As the monarch didn't want to take sides  she gave the request some thought while standing at a window. She looked up and saw Westminster so she suggested that this new town be called New Westminster. A part of New Westminster is across an arm of the Fraser River on Lulu Island and it is known as Queensborough.

From then onward the slogan of the community has been "The Royal City" - a title claimed by Guelph, Ontario as well - but for a different reason.

While New Westminster is a separate city, it cannot help but fall under the shadow of Vancouver - it's younger but much larger neighbor.

One of the British customs adopted by New Westminster - and, later, by most of the satellite communities - was the annual festival of crowning a May Queen.

Coquitlam followed that tradition as well. Early in a new year each public school in the district nominated a girl as a contestant for the title. All the public schools participated by nominating their own queen candidate and an election was held. As Millside was the largest of the public schools - at that time - our candidate was the winner. The two 'Maids-in-Waiting' were girls from two of the competing schools.

The May Day was held on one Friday in May (before the May long weekend) in Blue Mountain Park - the largest park in the municipality. Preparations meant that all of the classes learned various dances which were performed for the large audience. Grades 1 and 2 learned the Mexican Hat Dance, 3 and 4 the traditional Maypole Dance while grades 5 and 6 - the big kids - learned a Square Dance.

I was in either grade 3 or 4 when the ribbons on our pole became hopelessly entangled. I was told that it was my fault so I burst into tears - It WASN'T MY FAULT! I have no idea if I was at fault or not but I never forgot the embarrassment.

The Maypole Dance. I do not recall in which year this photo was taken - nor where I might be in the photo. In the background is the band shell where the Royal Party was seated.

The Square Dance. Again I have no idea in which year this was - nor where I may be in the photo.


My earliest memory of a May Day celebration superceded the Coquitlam experience. The daughter of Mom and Dad's good friends in Mission was elected "Queen of the May" for their celebration so we all went. My memory of the fair grounds and the displays are dim but I vividly remember what happened in the evening. While Dad and Albert Copeland went somewhere else, Grace Copeland and Mom took us to the Junior May Day Dance. When we left the hall to return to the Copeland's home we encountered two soldiers staggering home from the pub with their arms linked and loudly singing "Roll Out the Barrel" - and very much off key!

In 2007 or 2008 Millside celebrated the 100th anniversary of its existence and I was able to attend. Some of the school was still familiar - but much had been added onto and turned around. Instead of the creek coursing across the grounds, there was no sign of it (all buried?) and an industrial area came right up to the back fence - no old stump nor skunk cabbage covered swampland. In a bustling metropolis things cannot be expected to have remained the same.

In Grade 7 I was now in high school. At that time Coquitlam High was old and overcrowded. As well as the main school there was yet another annex. My Grade 7 teacher was Miss Rumsey. I remember her as being a nice person - but little else. By this time - 1948 - the war was a few years in the past and we were receiving an influx of male teachers - returning servicemen who used their discharge monies to go to university and become teachers. Some showed promise while others were dreadful! Miss Rumsey was not one of those!

I am delighted by how frequently old photos are popping up! The above photo is of the Grade 7 class at Coquitlam High School. I have no idea where I was when the photo was taken!

My Grade 8 home room teacher was Miss Bisshopp ("Two esses and two 'Ps', boys and girls!"). She was middle-aged and always had heavy pancake makeup on her face. Later we learned that she had been in an accident at some time in the past so, under the makeup, there were ugly scars.

She was our art teacher. The dictum that has always remained with me was "Boys and girls, there is no such thing as a purple mountain!" Years later - in Alice Springs - the mountains frequently looked purple in the light of the setting sun.

Each year Miss Bisshopp decided upon an art project in which all of the class participated. That year it was the Cinderella story told by using puppets. We each made our own, learned how to manipulate them, and became an integral part of the School Concert. I was assigned to create and operate the puppet which represented the fat ugly step-sister. In my nervousness at the performance I could not get the puppet to sit firmly upon the little chair so I expected a reprimand.

Instead I was complimented - I showed just what a fuss-budget was that ugly sister!

                                     Mr Green and Mr. McBay cutting reunion cake - 2004



Our math teacher was Mr. Green - a tall lanky man. Back then the teachers always dressed formally and Mr. Green always wore a suit. Naturally, while writing on the blackboard, he would start at the top. While working his way down towards the bottom he never stooped but spread his feet outwards so, when the bottom was reached, he was doing 'the splits'!

This is Alda's story of when he was her home room teacher. One day he showed up wearing a brand new blue suit. The wags in the classroom began chanting, "Blue and green should not be seen with out a color in between". He never wore that suit again.

I do not remember who my home room teacher was in grades 9 to 12 - but I remember great educators.

Mr Sankey taught math. Each day he assigned homework and, whether or not you had completed it, your homework was always checked. Math was not one of my good subjects so I struggled with it. Mr Sankey understood and would devote time before school and after - as well as lunch hour - to coach pupils who struggled. I really admired that man!

Mr. Ennis taught science - another course at which I struggled. Like Mr Sankey, he was also a patient man.

Mr. Sheeley taught history - a class which I thoroughly enjoyed. Those who did not do so well in that course called him "the commie" behind his back. Mr Sheeley believed in debating ideas so he would play 'the devil's advocate' just to spur discussion. No he was not a Communist - just a darn good teacher and debater.

We had three different English teachers - two were good while the other, unfortunately, was laughable. I remember with respect Miss Leslie who was fond of telling her classes about a Scottish ancestor who was hung for cattle stealing! Mr McBay - seen in the photo above which was taken at the 50th Reunion - whose classes were interesting. However, Miss McPhee was something else. She loved to regale her classes with farfetched stories about being sick with dysentry while traveling in Mexico and about being chased by a rhino in South Africa. All of us fervently wished that that rhinoceros had been faster on its feet! Also, she drank and smoked and tried to cover the resultant odors with excessive use of perfumes.

French was taught in grades 11 and 12 by Miss Elmore - who was from Alberta and was not French at all! Oh well!

Upon graduation from Grade XII - and to continue our education - we had a choice of enrolling in a university or to move to a school which offered Senior Matriculation (Grade XIII). Neither I nor my family had the funds for tuition at university so I opted for Senior Matriculation at the Duke of Connaught High School in New Westminster. There were two high schools in that city - Connaught and T.J. Trapp Technical School. The teachers at the former taught academic subjects while at T.J. Trapp High trades subjects were on the curriculum.

That was the first time that I struggled academically. The teachers knew the subjects that they taught but they - and especially the math teacher - had the bright students sitting at the front of the classroom and we - for whom the subject being taught was difficult - sat at the back. I doubted that I would be able to pass the Math but I received just over 50% on my final exam so matriculated. I was always pretty good at arithmetic but not the theoretical subjects.