Alcatrash had a large nose — its prominence preceded him. A skinny obnoxious
rocker from England with waist length black hair; he had a petulant
countenance, and could swear in seven languages. Garish and promiscuous were
his better qualities. With a thousand or so songs under his belt; Alcatrash had
quite a repertoire. One of those songs was mine: Yellow Caterpillars. Played
decent guitar, with Sam and a couple others in the Cowbirds.
Acatrash was present at the frying pan incident. Four of us had just settled in a bright orange booth at Harvey's Hot-dogs late one wintry night, Alcatrash, Paul Nash, Bud Rose and yours truly. Everyone had taken off their coats except for me; I had on a long bulky beige coat with toggles in the front. I had been arguing with Bud earlier that evening about Gordon Lightfoot. Bud thought Lightfoot was one of the Great Canadian Følksingers, and I argued that he wasn't technically a følksinger. This made Bud very upset, because he could sense I was being ornery. When I continued where we left off Bud blurted, "You're not serious."
"I am so..." I said, unbuttoning my coat to reveal a seven-inch frying pan hanging from my neck by a shoelace. Bud took one look at the frying pan and almost choked on his hot dog. Everyone laughed as Bud ran out of the joint clutching his unfinished dog.
As Paul wrote: "Stefan played it cool, milking the frying pan for all its worth... A night to remember."
The second time I played at Harbourfront, on May 25, 1975, I witnessed two of my friends getting in a shoving match. This was after Sam returned from being in Atlanta for a few months and had temporarily broken up with Mary. As I was singing I saw Alcatrash standing in the hall waiting for Sam to come. Sam came, with Alcatrash's ex-girfriend on his arm, and Alcatrash took a lunge at him. Paul interceded. Much of the ruckus distracted me from my singing. Paul was angry with Alcatrash, who was frustrated that he was being restrained, but kept his cool. After my set I talked to Sam, who hadn't anticipated Alcatrash being violent. Alcatrash came by me as I was talking to Sam to say goodbye. As Alcatrash was talking to me there was a cop talking to him and Sam and his date, just before I walked them to the exit. Alcatrash was upset that 'The authorities have my name.' Not long after, Paul had written a new song called "Do the Boys Still Fight Over You?"
I was at Paul's one time with Alcatrash, and had brought over some Wilf Carter records. Half way through How My Yodeling Days Began Alcatrash commented on the local music scene. "Folksingers do not have the same mystique as us rock and roll singers, which of course is why I became one. Folk guitars have a fat body with a stubby neck of fourteen frets, whereas an electric guitar is more masculine, practically phallic with a sleek compact body — a longer neck with eighteen frets. Plus they are much louder."
"Ah, but the Martin guitar case is the most phallic of all," I said. "It is virtually indestructible. Just the other day some one asked me if they could sit on my 'phallic symbol.' I said 'How would you like it if some one sat on your pathetic fallacy.'"
"I read an article in People Magazine the other day about a frog being cloned," Paul said. Alcatrash and I were playing a game of table hockey, one of those games with the rods underneath the players that simulate Canada's favorite pastime.
"I can imagine," Alcatrash said, "Fifty million little phantom frogs all convening on Fat Albert's to yodel the same song."
"On that note," Paul said, "I'll have to kick you both out. I have to get up early tomorrow."
Acatrash was present at the frying pan incident. Four of us had just settled in a bright orange booth at Harvey's Hot-dogs late one wintry night, Alcatrash, Paul Nash, Bud Rose and yours truly. Everyone had taken off their coats except for me; I had on a long bulky beige coat with toggles in the front. I had been arguing with Bud earlier that evening about Gordon Lightfoot. Bud thought Lightfoot was one of the Great Canadian Følksingers, and I argued that he wasn't technically a følksinger. This made Bud very upset, because he could sense I was being ornery. When I continued where we left off Bud blurted, "You're not serious."
"I am so..." I said, unbuttoning my coat to reveal a seven-inch frying pan hanging from my neck by a shoelace. Bud took one look at the frying pan and almost choked on his hot dog. Everyone laughed as Bud ran out of the joint clutching his unfinished dog.
As Paul wrote: "Stefan played it cool, milking the frying pan for all its worth... A night to remember."
The second time I played at Harbourfront, on May 25, 1975, I witnessed two of my friends getting in a shoving match. This was after Sam returned from being in Atlanta for a few months and had temporarily broken up with Mary. As I was singing I saw Alcatrash standing in the hall waiting for Sam to come. Sam came, with Alcatrash's ex-girfriend on his arm, and Alcatrash took a lunge at him. Paul interceded. Much of the ruckus distracted me from my singing. Paul was angry with Alcatrash, who was frustrated that he was being restrained, but kept his cool. After my set I talked to Sam, who hadn't anticipated Alcatrash being violent. Alcatrash came by me as I was talking to Sam to say goodbye. As Alcatrash was talking to me there was a cop talking to him and Sam and his date, just before I walked them to the exit. Alcatrash was upset that 'The authorities have my name.' Not long after, Paul had written a new song called "Do the Boys Still Fight Over You?"
I was at Paul's one time with Alcatrash, and had brought over some Wilf Carter records. Half way through How My Yodeling Days Began Alcatrash commented on the local music scene. "Folksingers do not have the same mystique as us rock and roll singers, which of course is why I became one. Folk guitars have a fat body with a stubby neck of fourteen frets, whereas an electric guitar is more masculine, practically phallic with a sleek compact body — a longer neck with eighteen frets. Plus they are much louder."
"Ah, but the Martin guitar case is the most phallic of all," I said. "It is virtually indestructible. Just the other day some one asked me if they could sit on my 'phallic symbol.' I said 'How would you like it if some one sat on your pathetic fallacy.'"
"I read an article in People Magazine the other day about a frog being cloned," Paul said. Alcatrash and I were playing a game of table hockey, one of those games with the rods underneath the players that simulate Canada's favorite pastime.
"I can imagine," Alcatrash said, "Fifty million little phantom frogs all convening on Fat Albert's to yodel the same song."
"On that note," Paul said, "I'll have to kick you both out. I have to get up early tomorrow."
The night before the Mill Pond Picnic, I tried to
call Alcatrash from a phone booth to invite him along. The image of my own
pupils reflected in the glass of the telephone booth were still revolving in my
mind as I hung up and headed for the busking spot. On the way, I passed a
homeless man with a swollen face bumming a dime beneath the yellow logo of the
Hudson Bay Company. I put a dime in his hand and watched the Bluenose sink into
his grimy flesh.
At that moment sirens wailed from where the Bay and Commerce bank straddled Yonge Street and three fire trucks appeared. They ripped south to where Yonge disappeared before Lake Ontario. On the sidewalks masses of people stopped — and every head followed the fire trucks. Even the busty massage ladies hanging out of their second floor parlor windows peered out. The sirens subsided and I went to busker's paradise but could not find Alcatrash in the pit.
The stairwell was a perfect place for buskers when the stores were closed, because a good crowd gathered around the railings, and it made a loud echo chamber. There was plenty of room for rock and roll theatrics. But another musician was wailing away so I headed to Yorkville, Alcatrash's second choice.
At Yorkville Alcatrash had garnered a small crowd and was singing the Beatles song, Happiness is a Warm Gun. A popcorn vendor stopped in front of the crowd and caused the Tempestuous One to become angry at the popcorn vender's distracting whistle. Alcatrash held his guitar as if it were a cross, and the vendor were a vampire. So the popcorn vendor danced like Zobra the Greek. The crowd ate it up. Alcatrash played Hey Bungalow Bill and brandished his guitar as a gun at the line, 'Zap him right between the eyes.' This escalated ad nauseum. The bigger the crowd, the more popcorn was sold, the more people threw money in the guitar case. Alcatrash made his speech. "This is a dollar,' holding one with two hands. 'As you can see it has a serial number on it. I'm trying to collect the whole set.'
I was sitting there writing it all down in my black book when Paul showed up. "This is artistic symbiosis," Paul said, "It has been going on for Centuries. The popcorn vendor is like the bird on the crocodiles' back waiting for the crock to open up so that he can extract a few morsels from the teeth."
My search to find Alcatrash was all in vain. He said he couldn't make it, having an appointment with a dentist. "Why don't you have your picnic at Philosopher's Walk?"
At that moment sirens wailed from where the Bay and Commerce bank straddled Yonge Street and three fire trucks appeared. They ripped south to where Yonge disappeared before Lake Ontario. On the sidewalks masses of people stopped — and every head followed the fire trucks. Even the busty massage ladies hanging out of their second floor parlor windows peered out. The sirens subsided and I went to busker's paradise but could not find Alcatrash in the pit.
The stairwell was a perfect place for buskers when the stores were closed, because a good crowd gathered around the railings, and it made a loud echo chamber. There was plenty of room for rock and roll theatrics. But another musician was wailing away so I headed to Yorkville, Alcatrash's second choice.
At Yorkville Alcatrash had garnered a small crowd and was singing the Beatles song, Happiness is a Warm Gun. A popcorn vendor stopped in front of the crowd and caused the Tempestuous One to become angry at the popcorn vender's distracting whistle. Alcatrash held his guitar as if it were a cross, and the vendor were a vampire. So the popcorn vendor danced like Zobra the Greek. The crowd ate it up. Alcatrash played Hey Bungalow Bill and brandished his guitar as a gun at the line, 'Zap him right between the eyes.' This escalated ad nauseum. The bigger the crowd, the more popcorn was sold, the more people threw money in the guitar case. Alcatrash made his speech. "This is a dollar,' holding one with two hands. 'As you can see it has a serial number on it. I'm trying to collect the whole set.'
I was sitting there writing it all down in my black book when Paul showed up. "This is artistic symbiosis," Paul said, "It has been going on for Centuries. The popcorn vendor is like the bird on the crocodiles' back waiting for the crock to open up so that he can extract a few morsels from the teeth."
My search to find Alcatrash was all in vain. He said he couldn't make it, having an appointment with a dentist. "Why don't you have your picnic at Philosopher's Walk?"
THE MILL POND PICNIC
The
rendezvous for the Mill Pond Picnic was at Union Station. Sam, Mary, Paul and
Katrina all came along. The first time I met Katrina was in the spring of '74.
Sam and Mary were on their way to see Harold and Maude and Katrina invited
herself along. Katrina was a real movie freak, and was constantly after Sam.
Mary was with hoping Katrina would take an interest in me. Her interest proved
to be short lived. I laughed outrageously through the flick. Katrina said, 'I
thought my laugh was outrageous till I heard yours.' My father, wearing an
orange Hawaiian shirt, met the Go Train in at the Bronte Station in his Dodge
Dart and drove us to Acorn.
After tea with my parents we embarked on a walking tour, starting with our backyard. "This is a very historical place," I said, "On June 15, a year ago, I carried a typewriter out to this very spot, and took a stab at my life story — a passage about being four years old in an old derelict Nash hiding from the firecrackers.
Sam interrupted with a fake yawn. "Just think, someday there will be a plaque here that reads 'This is the house where the author of Dying Cow Blues spent his childhood.' Sam could say the most sarcastic things in an affable way. "We'll be able to bring our kids here and pay homage."
"When they make a movie of Sunset Metaphors, I want to play the part of the English tea drinking monarchist," Mary said.
"When we first moved here in the summer of 1957," I continued, "We tore down the barn that was adjacent to what was then the tennis courts. This house used to be on the outskirts of town; it was an old farmhouse where a wandering blacksmith lived." We walked to Main Street, past the corner gas station and the Co-op. I told them how the perimeter of the gas station was once lined with pastel painted tires. "Over there in the side of a small hill, I built an underground fort with the trappers' son. Laurence and I used to use broken hockey sticks to spear at beavers on our way to school, and his father used to entertain us by springing a bear trap."
We went beyond the tracks, passing beneath the trestle with CN 1962 on it. "This raised trestle was built with Yellow Caterpillars that scraped the meadows by the abandoned brickyard. We built forts in the uprooted boughs. Beyond the railroad, is farmland. In that barn over there, my friend Bruce and I made a secret maze out of bales of hay. At the end of Given Road, there's a farm with a big pond. My friend Jimmy lived there, and we used to swing on a rope in his barn, and jump into the feed."
Before stopping back to my house, we paused to look at the remains of our tree house. "The foundation for the tree house in that Chestnut tree was virtually indestructible. Kim must have driven a hundred or so six inch spikes through several 2 x 4's." The nails projected through the floor like a wicked medieval defense system. "And this is where the checkerboard sign was, the sign that I was sitting on, in September of 1963, when Kim poked me with a stick, and I fell when trying to throw a football at him, thus breaking my arm."
Up the street I showed them old Campbell's house, and the metal ring in the sidewalk for hitching horses. It was across the Street from the cenotaph, the limestone statue of the World War I soldier. "Our neighbor, Frank Shannon used to be the parade Marshall at the Remembrance Day parades. Those big limestone buildings were the county courthouses and the Brown Street Jail. That's where my mother started working as a correctional officer. As you may know, I refer to the jail in the song Sugar Heart. This is the arena where I was forced to play hockey. They're gonna tear it down and make a post office. Kim and I were Rink Rats here; this is where I made my fortune in flat pick money. They paid us twenty five cents each time we scraped the ice. Kim and I used to hang out here, shooting hockey cards in the halls beneath the bleachers."
"This corner is where the Milton Inn used to be, where I listened to the solo country singers with their drum machines. It burnt to the ground. Across the street beside the church is where I used to get my bundle for my paper route. One day I caused a big sensation with the paper carriers when I put the words 'flower power' on my white T- shirt with a magic marker.
"To my right is the Doctors house with the infamous pear tree. Once I threw a pear at the Janitor's 1953 GMC pick up truck. The truck screeched to a halt and I made my famous run — through the Rotary Park, along the 16 mile creek, past PL Robertson's and the old train station which has been relocated and serves as a visitors center on the other side of town.
"This is the site of another plaque, stating 'This is where Stefan tossed a pear,' and here is a map of his getaway route," Sam quipped.
"Until recently there was a blacksmith that worked out of this shop. You can see the sign 'Waldies, since 1865.' When I was a kid I'd walk past here with my towel on my way to swim at the Rotary Park, and would see him sparking away at his anvil.
We headed back to Main Street and walked to the center of town. "At this post office, during the harvest season a school bus used to pick up cherry pickers to take them to the escarpment." Across the street Mary and Katrina went into Ledwith's supermarket, while Sam, Paul and I got some Kentucky Fried Chicken. Standing beside the stoplight at Martin and Main I took a photograph of Sam with his head inside the Kentucky Fried Chicken bag Paul was holding.
After tea with my parents we embarked on a walking tour, starting with our backyard. "This is a very historical place," I said, "On June 15, a year ago, I carried a typewriter out to this very spot, and took a stab at my life story — a passage about being four years old in an old derelict Nash hiding from the firecrackers.
Sam interrupted with a fake yawn. "Just think, someday there will be a plaque here that reads 'This is the house where the author of Dying Cow Blues spent his childhood.' Sam could say the most sarcastic things in an affable way. "We'll be able to bring our kids here and pay homage."
"When they make a movie of Sunset Metaphors, I want to play the part of the English tea drinking monarchist," Mary said.
"When we first moved here in the summer of 1957," I continued, "We tore down the barn that was adjacent to what was then the tennis courts. This house used to be on the outskirts of town; it was an old farmhouse where a wandering blacksmith lived." We walked to Main Street, past the corner gas station and the Co-op. I told them how the perimeter of the gas station was once lined with pastel painted tires. "Over there in the side of a small hill, I built an underground fort with the trappers' son. Laurence and I used to use broken hockey sticks to spear at beavers on our way to school, and his father used to entertain us by springing a bear trap."
 |
| Laurence, Stefan, Jimmy and Bruce |
We went beyond the tracks, passing beneath the trestle with CN 1962 on it. "This raised trestle was built with Yellow Caterpillars that scraped the meadows by the abandoned brickyard. We built forts in the uprooted boughs. Beyond the railroad, is farmland. In that barn over there, my friend Bruce and I made a secret maze out of bales of hay. At the end of Given Road, there's a farm with a big pond. My friend Jimmy lived there, and we used to swing on a rope in his barn, and jump into the feed."
Before stopping back to my house, we paused to look at the remains of our tree house. "The foundation for the tree house in that Chestnut tree was virtually indestructible. Kim must have driven a hundred or so six inch spikes through several 2 x 4's." The nails projected through the floor like a wicked medieval defense system. "And this is where the checkerboard sign was, the sign that I was sitting on, in September of 1963, when Kim poked me with a stick, and I fell when trying to throw a football at him, thus breaking my arm."
Up the street I showed them old Campbell's house, and the metal ring in the sidewalk for hitching horses. It was across the Street from the cenotaph, the limestone statue of the World War I soldier. "Our neighbor, Frank Shannon used to be the parade Marshall at the Remembrance Day parades. Those big limestone buildings were the county courthouses and the Brown Street Jail. That's where my mother started working as a correctional officer. As you may know, I refer to the jail in the song Sugar Heart. This is the arena where I was forced to play hockey. They're gonna tear it down and make a post office. Kim and I were Rink Rats here; this is where I made my fortune in flat pick money. They paid us twenty five cents each time we scraped the ice. Kim and I used to hang out here, shooting hockey cards in the halls beneath the bleachers."
"This corner is where the Milton Inn used to be, where I listened to the solo country singers with their drum machines. It burnt to the ground. Across the street beside the church is where I used to get my bundle for my paper route. One day I caused a big sensation with the paper carriers when I put the words 'flower power' on my white T- shirt with a magic marker.
"To my right is the Doctors house with the infamous pear tree. Once I threw a pear at the Janitor's 1953 GMC pick up truck. The truck screeched to a halt and I made my famous run — through the Rotary Park, along the 16 mile creek, past PL Robertson's and the old train station which has been relocated and serves as a visitors center on the other side of town.
"This is the site of another plaque, stating 'This is where Stefan tossed a pear,' and here is a map of his getaway route," Sam quipped.
"Until recently there was a blacksmith that worked out of this shop. You can see the sign 'Waldies, since 1865.' When I was a kid I'd walk past here with my towel on my way to swim at the Rotary Park, and would see him sparking away at his anvil.
We headed back to Main Street and walked to the center of town. "At this post office, during the harvest season a school bus used to pick up cherry pickers to take them to the escarpment." Across the street Mary and Katrina went into Ledwith's supermarket, while Sam, Paul and I got some Kentucky Fried Chicken. Standing beside the stoplight at Martin and Main I took a photograph of Sam with his head inside the Kentucky Fried Chicken bag Paul was holding.
On Marten Street we stopped to view the Mill Pond. In front of the Limestone
monolith Paul looked at the Centennial commemoration and said, "Hey, Stef,
they left you're name off this plaque." A row of willows flanked the pond,
which was on the right, while on the left ran the 16 mile creek, which was
named for its length. Beyond it you could see the Rotary Park, with the tennis
courts, the swimming pool and the baseball diamonds. We walked along the path
towards the forested area.
"This
is where I wrote the name inside a Heart of Snow. Through these willow string
curtains I watched the figure skater. At the end of the pond there is a
spillway and a frozen waterfall. The boys used to rush to the spillway and slam
on the brakes inches before the waterfall."
As I continued on the Tour de Farce Sam and Paul talked about baseball. I couldn't hear what Mary and Princess Katrina were talking about. At the end of the path we reached the whirlpool forest. The guitar case was used as a coffee table, and sported a few puddles of wine. Little beetles walked over the case. When Sam finished a piece of chicken he flung the bone to the forest.
"This bone looks like the Starship Enterprise." It disappeared at Warp Speed. My mother's instamatic was passed around and we yucked it up taking pictures of each other. None of them turned out.
"We should have a contest to see who can take the worst picture." Mary said. We played some baseball with an old rotten branch and an abandoned tennis ball, then headed back.
As I continued on the Tour de Farce Sam and Paul talked about baseball. I couldn't hear what Mary and Princess Katrina were talking about. At the end of the path we reached the whirlpool forest. The guitar case was used as a coffee table, and sported a few puddles of wine. Little beetles walked over the case. When Sam finished a piece of chicken he flung the bone to the forest.
"This bone looks like the Starship Enterprise." It disappeared at Warp Speed. My mother's instamatic was passed around and we yucked it up taking pictures of each other. None of them turned out.
"We should have a contest to see who can take the worst picture." Mary said. We played some baseball with an old rotten branch and an abandoned tennis ball, then headed back.
Back at my parents house I showed them my Phantom
Frog debut photographs, and gave one to each person. "Can you autograph
mine," Sam said. For a blissful moment everyone listened as I talked
about:
The World Premier of the Yodeling
Frog at Fatal Berts
"Ladies and Gentlemen." Sam had begun
the introduction wearing a Century Old Tuxedo. "We are gathered here at
Fatal Bert's eternal coughing house on the l7th of March in the year of our
comprehension, l976, to witness (dare I say) one of the most (dare I say)
wonderful (dare I say) spectacles of the (dare I say) twentieth century. For
what does this cosmic big top of the universe have up its sleeve ready to dash
into the limelight? What is tucked beneath a Tuxedo of Luck? What will enter
from the mystic curtain of sacred shamrock snafu on this rare occasion of leap
year's St. Patrick's Eve? With no further peregrinations I will tell you. It is
my supreme imperial pleasure to present intimately and entirely from Acorn,
Ontario and Mars, this World's Premiere of that Amplified Amphibian, The
Fabulous Yodeling Frog.”
The introduction was muffled behind the secret door of the janitor's closet amid the mops and rags and old washing machines with their dead wringers. It was hardly the room one would expect a star to emerge from. Someone knocked the signal on the janitor's door and I entered with Mary dressed in her rare form and walked through the crowd. I was dressed in a frog costume of green velvet tuxedo, striped green and gold vest, green matching britches, white gloves, shirt and long socks, and wore golden spats on my feet. On my head was a huge frog head. (The costume, incidentally, had cost $31.90 for rental, and the gig paid $32.00 so I made one measly dime on my world's premier.)
Mary led me to the stage where my music stand was set up and my indispensable gasmask bag with my black books was hung. I looked through the yellow mesh screen into the huge silver insect eye of the microphone as the flash bulbs began to flash, and blurted "I suppose you were expecting a leprechaun. But what is a leprechaun but yesterday's laughter We are all Leprechauns, so long as we don't look behind us." Just as I announced I will now reveal my true identity," True Love, in her magnificent role of a magician's assistant, kissed me on the head—and helped me remove the frog mask revealing my clown's face. Then I proceeded to sing every frog song I knew.
Ma served a traditional dinner of Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and upside down peach cake. There was not enough room for all at the table so Katrina ate on a tray in the living room with my brother Danny and watched Get Smart on television. After dinner ma poured some proverbial tea in her bone china cups. "Why don't you tell us how you came to Canada," Mary asked.
"I left England in March of 1944. Fern was stationed at an air force base, he was loading bombs on planes. I didn't know when I'd be sailing because of the secrecy involved in the ship's movements... Fern was discharged and joined me up there. He started working the mines in Timmins but then moved to Toronto after the twins were born. Fern started working at Goodyear just after Stefan was born." Ma didn't tell them that after working for Goodyear for 20 years, all they offered in recognition was a dinner that Fern refused to attend, because the wives weren't included. He did get a commemorative pewter dish. He had been off work for a year because of back trouble and didn't even get a get well card from the company.
The introduction was muffled behind the secret door of the janitor's closet amid the mops and rags and old washing machines with their dead wringers. It was hardly the room one would expect a star to emerge from. Someone knocked the signal on the janitor's door and I entered with Mary dressed in her rare form and walked through the crowd. I was dressed in a frog costume of green velvet tuxedo, striped green and gold vest, green matching britches, white gloves, shirt and long socks, and wore golden spats on my feet. On my head was a huge frog head. (The costume, incidentally, had cost $31.90 for rental, and the gig paid $32.00 so I made one measly dime on my world's premier.)
Mary led me to the stage where my music stand was set up and my indispensable gasmask bag with my black books was hung. I looked through the yellow mesh screen into the huge silver insect eye of the microphone as the flash bulbs began to flash, and blurted "I suppose you were expecting a leprechaun. But what is a leprechaun but yesterday's laughter We are all Leprechauns, so long as we don't look behind us." Just as I announced I will now reveal my true identity," True Love, in her magnificent role of a magician's assistant, kissed me on the head—and helped me remove the frog mask revealing my clown's face. Then I proceeded to sing every frog song I knew.
Ma served a traditional dinner of Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and upside down peach cake. There was not enough room for all at the table so Katrina ate on a tray in the living room with my brother Danny and watched Get Smart on television. After dinner ma poured some proverbial tea in her bone china cups. "Why don't you tell us how you came to Canada," Mary asked.
"I left England in March of 1944. Fern was stationed at an air force base, he was loading bombs on planes. I didn't know when I'd be sailing because of the secrecy involved in the ship's movements... Fern was discharged and joined me up there. He started working the mines in Timmins but then moved to Toronto after the twins were born. Fern started working at Goodyear just after Stefan was born." Ma didn't tell them that after working for Goodyear for 20 years, all they offered in recognition was a dinner that Fern refused to attend, because the wives weren't included. He did get a commemorative pewter dish. He had been off work for a year because of back trouble and didn't even get a get well card from the company.
Kim
pulled up in his big stake truck and honked his horn. He had come to drive us
into Toronto having a green speckled couch to deliver to Terry's on the way. So
he offered us all a lift. As we piled unto the back seat of the truck, Kim
hoisted his dumper a bit threatening to dump us out. As my mother and father
waved good-bye Sam yelled out "Next time we come do we have to bring
Stefan?
TOUR DE FARCE
Riding on top
Of a double-decker bus
Through the streets of Toronto
Hired a band just to serenade us
On a whim to wherever we want to
Picnic here at Philosopher's Walk
Passing the six strings around
This musical feast
Will rock and roll
Right up to the top of the town
If your life is blasé
Be your own tour guide
Take a double decker bus
On a wild joy ride
Find some old friends
And bring them along
If the upper deck's open
Burst out in song
Be your own tour guide
Take a double decker bus
On a wild joy ride
Find some old friends
And bring them along
If the upper deck's open
Burst out in song
Turning on Yonge
And we'll head to the tower
To see if the world rotates
There's where we'd meet
With our circle of friends
By the Archer for a skate
The Royal Canadian Yacht Club
That summer job was a breeze
There's Harbourfront
It used to be
The Bohemian Embassy
And we'll head to the tower
To see if the world rotates
There's where we'd meet
With our circle of friends
By the Archer for a skate
The Royal Canadian Yacht Club
That summer job was a breeze
There's Harbourfront
It used to be
The Bohemian Embassy
Fatal Bert's in the church basement
That's where I used to play
Brunswick and Bloor
And we get off
By the By the Way Café
The window above
The grocery store
Where I typed at a little oak desk
he great Canadian novel
That's where I used to play
Brunswick and Bloor
And we get off
By the By the Way Café
The window above
The grocery store
Where I typed at a little oak desk
he great Canadian novel
Some day I'll have it published
And here's where the artist
As a young man
Had the so called Incident
With a frying pan
And we hear from the women
In the upper echelon
This tour de farce
As a young man
Had the so called Incident
With a frying pan
And we hear from the women
In the upper echelon
This tour de farce
Goes on and on
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