A BEAUTIFUL GIRL

                                         A BEAUTIFUL GIRL

It was shortly after the end of the Second World War. I lived in Saskatoon, a small city of about 40,000 in central Saskatchewan. It was a time of optimism almost bordering on euphoria. Shops were filling with new and wondrous delights such as fresh fruit and five-cent chocolate bars. No more ration cards, no more wars, and freedom from dictators forever more. A time you didn’t worry about your children talking to neighbors, or to strangers, for that matter. The papers were not full of child abuse cases. Headlines screaming the latest revelation of a Priest or schoolteacher abusing their charges were for a future time. (This is not, of course, to intimate such things did not happen).

The perfect time to be a child.

We, that is, my Mother, Father and I, lived in a new, very small, two-bedroom house overlooking Victoria Park and the South Saskatchewan River. As you can see, I was an only child. Knowing the connotations this fact stirs in certain people, I feel compelled to tell you a little secret. My Mother received a signed letter from my grade seven teacher stating I was the least spoilt child she had ever taught. I had many friends, and was very active in school activities and sports. I often represented our school in inter-city and provincial athletic events. As far as scholarly endeavors went, I did OK, but definitely never represented our school.

Fate, a paper route, a loving Grandfather, and a cherished Granddaughter, all colluded to profoundly affect my young life.

I was twelve, when after a long wait; I finally got my own Star route. The Saskatoon Star Phoenix was the evening newspaper in Saskatoon. I didn’t get one of the more lucrative or central routes. I received a small, spread out route. It was situated on the edge of town, in a poorer neighborhood.

I started out with about 60 papers but after a lot of high pressure selling, I brought this number up to about 120.

I won several ashtrays.

The papers were thrown from a little blue truck onto the ground in front of Fords Drug store on avenue “H”. They were in two bundles. We would break the string, place them side by side and start inserting the inside section into the main front section. There would be several of us boys all chattering like a flock of crows, busily working away putting the papers together. After getting them all together in the right order, we would carefully pack them in our canvas Star bags. These Star bags were quite a status symbol. With a flare, we would fling them over the back fender of our bikes and zip off to make the deliveries. There was always a sort of unspoken race going on, although no one ever mentioned it. Nevertheless, I always felt proud as I peddled off while some other boys were still working away.

Of course, if I had a detention at school (which unfortunately I often did), I wouldn’t get started until the other boys had left. It definitely took all the fun (and it was fun) out of inserting if you were all alone. As the weather began to get colder, we would first wear gloves, and then change over to mittens at about minus ten degrees. When it got really cold (minus thirty or lower) Mr. Ford would let us do our inserting inside the store.

I have always remembered him for this kindness.

Many of the boy’s routes started only a block or 2 away so they would be finished in short order. I on the other hand had to go about a mile before I even got started. It took me much longer because my route was very scattered with many vacant lots. This wasn’t so bad when I could take my bike. However when the snow was deep or it was extremely cold I had to carry the papers on my back. It used to take two or three hours to complete my route; most of the time in the dark. I would start on Avenue “K,” and end on Avenue “P”, not too far from the Intercontinental Meat-Packing Plant. On hot summer days, the smell from the slaughterhouse was enough to make me almost throw up. Strange I never noticed it in the winter.

I used a variety of methods delivering the papers. My favorite though was throwing them. I had a very good arm, so if the house had a porch I always threw the paper onto (or at least close to) it, from the street. I had a special method of folding the paper up small and compact to make it easy to throw. Much more difficult to read I guess, but definitely better for throwing. Most of my customers preferred me to either place (i.e. throw) the paper on the porch, or place it in the mailbox. Many wanted me to open the storm door and place the paper quickly between the two doors than slam the outer door before the paper fell out. This accomplished three things; first and foremost, it kept the paper dry. Secondly, it ensured the customer wouldn’t have to open both doors thus keeping the cold/hot air, in/out, depending on the season.

Finally, the slamming of the door signaled them the paper had arrived.

Mr. Grey was one of my new customers. I was a very persistent little bother (a polite term for pest), but finally after about twenty calls to his door, Mr. Grey agreed to take the paper. Mr. Grey lived on avenue “P” in a very small house not too far from the meat packing plant. He was quite elderly. Of course to a young boy, anybody over thirty is old, but he was probably between fifty and sixty. Mr. Grey was a very soft-spoken Native Canadian of the Blackfoot Nation. He was very kind and considerate to me, and always paid on time, which for my route was a rarity. I first started to deliver to Mr. Grey in the summer, so I was a little surprised when he made a strange request.

“OK young fellow, you win, I'll start the paper, but on one condition."

"Hey that's great." I said, "No problem, what condition?"

"Well when you bring the paper I'd like you to please bring it into the kitchen here, and put it on the table.”

"OK." I said, "It’s a deal"

This extra service was no trouble. I would just pop into the kitchen; place the paper on the table, turn and leave. I did not look around or stop, even for a second, just in and out. About two months later as I was entering the kitchen Mr. Grey was waiting.

"Hi Larry, I came home a little early from work today. I would like you to meet my Granddaughter," He said, as he led me into a very small bedroom just off the kitchen.

I don’t remember much about the room except it was very neat with a single bed and a picture of Jesus above the foot of it. On the bed lay a very lovely native girl. She was about twelve years old, with long black hair, on a very white pillow. Her face, almost as pale as the white sheets, had a shy beautiful smile, and two very large dark eyes.

I had ever seen such a pretty girl in all my life.

"Maria, this is our paper boy Larry."

"Yes, I know Papa, I see him every day when he puts the paper on the kitchen table," she said in a weak voice.

This surprised me since I had never seen her. I had believed the house was empty and had just hurriedly put the paper down and left. I noticed that from her little bed she was looking straight at the table. I had never even noticed the door to her room.

“Larry this is my Granddaughter Maria." Mr. Grey said.

“Hi Maria." I said

"Hello." She said.

"Maria has been very sick Larry. She has been getting up to get the paper from the table where you place it; however Maria is too weak to get out of bed right now. We were wondering if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you bring the paper into her room until she is feeling better."

I glanced over at Maria.

She smiled at me.

I know it is a cliché, but I am absolutely positive, my heart skipped at least one beat

"I would be happy to bring it in to you Maria." I said, feeling my face flush.

“Thank you." Maria said.

"Thank You Larry. Maria will see you tomorrow then.” said Mr. Grey as he escorted me to the door.

"Bye Larry." Came softly from the bedroom.

"Bye Maria." I said.

As I walked away, I was sure I had seen an angel.

Although I was only twelve, I wondered why Maria was not in the hospital. Unfortunately this was just before Saskatchewan introduced Medicare to North America, and doctors and hospitals were very expensive.

From then on, I always looked forward to delivering the paper to Maria. It was about half way through my route so I usually didn’t have much time to stop. Maria was very shy, and as a twelve year old boy with no sisters so was I, (at least with girls).

A typical visit went something like this.

I would knock on the outside back door, then without waiting for an answer walk into the kitchen and turn left into Maria's small room.

"Hi Maria." I would say as I handed her the paper.

"Hi Larry, thank you." She would smile.

My heart would melt a little.

“I hope you are feeling better.” I would say.

“Oh yes, I'm much better, thank you.” She would say in almost a whisper.

"Well I've got to get going, see you tomorrow." I would say as I left her.

She would smile.

I didn't want to leave her. I wanted to sit with her, maybe tell her about my baseball game. Maybe I could read her a story, or just sit. But I didn't have much time to spend, and I was to shy to ask her if I could come back for a visit later.

As the weeks passed, I often thought about Maria. I never mentioned her to anyone, not even my parents, but to me she was one of my very best friends.

One day when I arrived Mr. Grey was in Maria's room. He had bought Maria a new toy and he wanted to show me how it worked. Maria was holding one of those acrobats on two sticks with string that goes all through the legs and arms. She couldn’t seem to make do anything, so Mr. Grey showed us how it worked. I had never seen one of these things before and was fascinated at what he could make the toy man do.

"There Larry see how it works, why don't you give it a try." said Mr. Grey.

He made it walk and move around more or less like a real person, so I gave it a try.

"OK here goes." I said, "Like this?"

And with that I made the little toy man kick himself in the eye.

"Whoops." I said

Marie was laughing at me so hard she was almost crying.

So I put a voice to the puppet, as I tried to make it walk up Maria's bed.

"That’s not nice to laugh at poor little puppet like me, I’m just learning to walk and kick myself in the eye." Said the toy man.

Maria laughed all the harder, but then she started coughing, and Mr. Grey and I left her room.

As I was leaving, Mr. Grey stopped me by the back door; there were tears in his eyes.

"I haven't seen Maria laugh like that for over a year." said Mr. Grey. “She sure liked the way you played with that Puppet. Larry I would sure appreciate it if you could visit for a few minutes longer when you come with the paper. Maybe you could play with the puppet for Maria, and make her laugh. Larry Maria is very lonely. She has no friends because she has been home sick ever since we moved to the city last year.”

"Sure, Mr. Grey." I said," I would love to do that."

I was trying to think of some way to ask Mr. Grey if I could come and visit Maria at another time as well, but I didn't say anything. This was Friday evening and I looked forward all weekend to delivering the paper to Maria the next week.

On Monday I couldn’t get through my route fast enough until I got to Maria’s house. As I opened the kitchen door and was about to walk into Maria’s room I noticed Mr. Grey sitting at the Kitchen table without a light on.

“Larry." He said "You don’t have to go in today, she isn’t there.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, with a voice overflowing with sadness.

“Maria has gone to Heaven.”

I couldn’t say anything. I felt my eyes filling with tears. My heart hurt.

"Here is the money we owe you Larry.” He said handing me an envelope with my name on it, "We won't be needing the paper anymore, I'm sorry."

He opened the door for me.

I still could not speak. All was a blur as I stepped off that small back porch for the last time.

It’s been almost 50 years since that day.

I still see the small, dark kitchen, with the little bedroom off, and the lovely pale little girl with the shy smile.


ALTHOUGH IT IS FIFTY YEARS LATER - I BELIEVE THIS IS THE GIRL'S HOME

.

AM I DEAD? - CONTINUED - PART TWO

 Am I  DEAD!!

 

It was a beautiful June day just past noon in Saskatoon Saskatchewan. I was in front of our house dressed in shorts, a short-sleeved shirt, and running shoes with no socks. I had been tinkering with my Dad’s 1938 Indian Chief motorcycle for about half an hour. Now Dad did not ride motorcycles, but he liked them and had bought a few with the idea of fixing them up a bit and selling them (usually at a loss).   The 1952 Saskatoon Junior baseball season at Cairns field would be starting this evening and I wanted to get the bike purring to take it to the game.  This would be my first time playing under the lights at the big field. I would be the starting Shortstop for the Saskatoon Optimists, the present Provincial champions in the 22 years and under league. I was seventeen, in grade eleven at Bedford Road High School and would be writing my final exams in the next few weeks, so I was just thinking it was time to go inside and do some studying if I wanted to get into Grade Twelve next year.

 

Just then Larry Olsson, my best friend (who never had to write final exams) drove up with his new Triumph 350. He had only had it a few weeks, and of course like all teenage boys was always looking for a reason to go somewhere with his new bike. He had had no real accidents, (other than driving into the middle of a rose bush with me on the back) and was a very good and safe rider.

 

“So got that pile of junk running yet”

“What pile of junk?”

“That red, rusty oversized thing you call a motorcycle.”

“Yeah – well this rusty pile of junk can run your shinny little trike right off the road.” I said not believing a word of it.

“Well let’s see if you can follow me, smart guy.”

He was sitting on his machine alternately revving and idling, sort of a vroom vroom sound.

Larry’s bike was almost new and in great shape, mine was old (and weighed so much I couldn’t pick it up if it fell) and was not in good condition at all. However it had more than twice the horsepower and a challenge is a challenge.

 

I got on the old bike, no helmet, no jacket, no leather pants, no boots, in other words dressed pretty much the same a Larry on his bike. So Larry revved the motor and started to move away.

 

I was still jumping on the kick-starter.

 

 I only weighed about a hundred and thirty five pounds and I think the compression of the old bike took about 140 pounds to turn over. So after a few backfires (which almost threw me over the handlebars) I got it sputtering. The Indian would never idle so had to always keep the revs up.

In the meantime Larry had got to the end of the block and returned to see what the problem was.

“Ok Larry, she’s purring now lets go.” I yelled over the noise and through the chocking blue smoke that seemed to emanate from several holes in the exhaust.

He started off north on avenue  ‘G’ with me a few yards behind, I had no idea where we were going but I was going to stick to him like glue until my chance came and of course pass him – that was my plan. He turned left on 17^th street and speeded up to about 40 mph with me 20 feet or so in trail I was thinking probably he was going straight ahead to avenue “P” so I would speed up and pass him if I could in the next block or so. However just as we got to avenue “J” he slowed and turned left proceeding south. We were now doing 45- 50 mph and crossing streets in a blur, 16th, 15th I decided to make my move. I cranked the throttle full and started to overtake Larry.

Boy this is living.

 

My speed was increasing rapidly when suddenly I hit a bit of a pothole and the handle bars were ripped from my hands and the bike went into what I later learned was called a high-speed flutter. I had lost all control, there were cars parked on both sides if we hit them I knew I was dead. In an instant I decided to bale off and role into a ball. I had given this some thought before and had come to the conclusion this maneuver could save my life some day.

I dived off the left side into the middle of the road curling into a ball and began to role head over heals down the road. At first it was painful but I was in the ball and rolling. But with each rotation (and I have no idea how many I made) I became more stunned and loosened my tuck, eventually I lost it all and began to slide and flop end for end. Each time I came around my head would strike the road with a crack – the pain was unbelievable. I sort of remember sliding to a stop; I vaguely remember a pain in my arm that was under me as I slid. I couldn’t move or talk it appeared – I do remember Larry’s dog Peppy licking me.

 

I have a fleeting memory of being in the ambulance.

The next thing I remember is.

“Where do you want us to put this?”

I could hear this very clear. I could not see, but I could hear perfectly.

Some time passed.

“ Oh no, I know this boy, his name is Larry from Bedford Road.”

“Out of my way nurse what do we have here.”?

“ A motorcycle accident – the ambulance men just put him on the floor.”

“ Um, um I guess they were right he is dead.”

“He can’t be dead – he isn’t dead – he can’t be”

“Look here nurse he has no life signs, his skull is smashed – look.”

With those words I guess the so-called doctor squeezed my head. The pain was unbearable and I guess I flinched.

“ He is alive – he is alive.”

The next thing I remember was about 36 hours later in a bed waking from a horrible dream about falling backwards from a ladder onto cement – but not like most dreams when I got to the bottom I did not wake until I hit the cement and experienced the same pain I had from the crash.  This continued for about a month – I was afraid to go to sleep.

This is a continuation of this story - written about five years later.

Many people over the years have asked me about my stay in St. Paul's Hospital, but I have been reluctant to talk about it. It was a time of very conflicting emotions for a young man, and a life event, until now has never been mentioned to anyone.

All went quite well in the hospital. After several days I was transferred out of the main building to a smaller one, it seemed to house several older patients that were no trouble, but near death. There were only two or three nurses, all very young, and they appeared to welcome my arrival to their little world. By this time I was up and around and in pretty good shape, other than one arm and elbow that had the skin and a bit of bone ground off. It had a bit of infection so I was getting hot compresses several times a day to prepare the arm for some sort of operation. Other than the odd headache I was as good as new (I believed) and became the nurses little helper. I would take the temperatures and blood pressure of all the other patients.

It happened that at this time Tim, a friend of mine’s twenty year old brother was a patient in the main building. Although he was a few years older than me, he was a little shorter, a bit overweight, and looked younger than his years.  Tim was awaiting an operation on his brain. I started visiting him at least once or twice a day. This would be his second operation within the past year for the same problem.  He was very worried, he was sure if he had another operation he would die. He begged me to not let them operate.

One beautiful June evening, about ten pm, I went to visit Tim.

“Hi Larry, what are you doing up here at this time of night?”

“It’s still bright daylight out, I don’t think the sun will be setting for another  half hour or so.”

“Oh yeah, it’s hard to tell in this dingy place with all the blinds drawn. I always loved watching the sunset from our front porch, I guess I’ll never see a sunset again.”

“What makes you say that Tim?”

“They just told me I will be getting the operation the day after tomorrow.” Tim said, as his eyes filled with tears.

“Wow, so soon, O yeah, that was what I came up to tell you, They will operating on my arm first thing tomorrow morning. But it’s no big deal, if all goes well they say I can go home within a week.”

“Boy are you lucky Larry,  I wish I could get out of this place.”

“Tell you what Tim, let’s get you into your wheelchair and we can go to the front entrance and watch the sunset.”

“I don’t know Larry, it’s pretty late, what will the nurse say?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just tell her we are going to look at the sunset and I will bring you back.”

So within a few minutes Tim was out of bed and in the wheelchair, although he really didn’t need it, the doctors insisted he use it in the hospital. As we quietly approached the nurses station (excpt for his sqeeky wheel) I noticed she wasn’t at her desk.

“Well Larry I guess we will have to wait for her, to let her know we are leaving.”

“If we wait we will miss the sunset, we will probably be back before she even notices you are gone.” I said, as I pushed Tim down the hall.

We arrived on the main floor and as I tried to get the door open to the raised porch area it dawned on me that it was locked for the evening – after all visiting hours had ended some time ago.

“I’ve an idea Larry, let’s go to the top floor and see if we can find a window looking west.”

“That’s a great idea Tim, lets grab the elevator and have a go.”

We arrived on the top floor and were squeaking along the hallway when Tim noticed a narrow stairway going up toward what looked like a skylight, or small door on the roof.

“I’ll bet if we could get onto the roof it would be a perfect view, what do you think Larry?”

“Sounds good to me, but it’s probably locked, I’ll go up and check it out.”  

As it turned out it was unlocked, and with Tim ahead and me encouraging and shoving, we managed to emerge onto a sight and feeling I have never forgotten my entire life. The air was soft and warm, with a slight breeze, the sky crystal clear above and to the northwest a dark orange glow was reflecting off a line of dark clouds as the light faded into blackness. Two young men, both from this small town, who had seen nothing of the world, lay there on that roof, side by side.

Tim took in a big breath “This is so perfect, we just got the last of the sun’s rays, it is so warm, the breeze is soft, the stars are so close, the lights of the city twinkling as far as the eye can see, I could stay here forever.”

I just nodded, I felt the same as Tim.

Well we didn’t stay forever, however we lay there enveloped by a strange feeling of closeness. Tim told me of his illness, I told him of my accident. He told me of his hopes and dreams. I knew lying there in the dark, looking up at the millions of stars, that tears were flowing down Tim’s cheeks. I told him of my hopes and dreams. We talked and then were quiet for long stretches, and as I realized later, we must have fallen asleep. Eventually it dawned on us that we must go down and get to bed – after all I had an important appointment in the morning. As it turned out we had just started to the elevator when a Nun found us. She was frantic with worry and more than a little angry. It was two-thirty in the morning. But the joy of finding the two of us alive seemed to override the anger and before we knew it we were both in bed.   

I had my operation in the morning and evidently for some reason they had to give me much more anesthetic than normal and I slept virtually all the next day.

So about noon the next day I went up to see how Tim had made out with his operation. He hadn’t arrived back from the operation yet, so I pulled up a chair by his bed to wait. After a little while a nurse I knew a little came over, she looked very sad.

”Larry what are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for Tim, I promised him I would be here when he came back.”

“I’m very sorry Larry, Tim didn’t make it, he isn’t coming back."


THESE ARE TWO PHOTOS OF SASKATOON THAT BELIEVE IT OR NOT ARE TAKEN FROM THE ROOF OF ST. PAULS HOSPITAL. ONE ON A COLD WINTER DAY.

 

 

 

POEM - VISIONS

 

 

Larry bennett                                                                                     

 

 

VISIONS ALONG THE RIVER        

   

 

The old Ford creaked to a halt

 

The dust whirlies settled slowly back

 

On the sun baked gravel road

 

Our shoes exploded little puffs of powder

 

As my Father and I crossed to the bank

 

Feel the soft shade of poplars - cool 

 

Batoche

 

The vista

 

Green – cool – muddy

 

The Saskatchewan

 

Sweet smell of willows

 

Magpies swoop with weird calls

 

Overgrown rifle pits

 

                         Such a day

 

That spring

 

Cree – Metis - Dakota

 

Louis Reil – Dumont 

 

Steamer Northcote – Gatling 

 

Middleton

 

 

 

 

Painful hearts – Red Coats– confusion

 

Facing the many barreled serpent

 

Running – stumbling- rolling

 

Shame – pride

 

Ghosts

 

We dig for arrowheads – spent shells

 

I kick at a brown root

 

Not a root

 

We unearth a - rusted Winchester

 

Father – wide eyed – hands shaking

 

Nine year old boy – hot – tired - bored

 

Best case – a piece of flint

 

A complete rifle

 

A miraculous find

 

 

 

Larry bennett                                                                                     

AN OVERTURNED BOAT

                              AN OVERTURNED BOAT – OCEAN PARK

I am writing this June 2^nd 2008 – it has been sitting in the back of my brain for twenty years or so, I guess I should let it out.

It was Boxing Day 1987; I was relaxing after a large lunch of Turkey sandwiches from the leftover Christmas meal. Sandra decided we (Cameron, her four year old and me) should go for a walk along the beach at Crescent Beach in Surrey.

It wasn’t really a good day for walking, the wind was blowing at about twenty knots it was about 6C and there was a light rain. However we drove out and parked at the end of Sullivan St. close to the walk along the sea front (there was very little traffic).

We started walking along with the wind at our backs, stopping often to throw rocks or look at dead things that had come in with the tide. Cameron (or maybe it was me) whined from time about the cold and rain. In any event we continued on toward Blacky’s Spit. As we approached the small dock at the end of Wickson Rd I was just about to announce I had had enough of this fresh air stuff when we heard a woman shouting. She was yelling frantically to us against the wind and at first I had no idea what the problem was, but the three of us started to run toward her.

As we got closer I noticed an overturned boat about a hundred yards off shore and then heard the anguished cries of a father.

“Help, help, my son is trapped under the boat, help, help.”

It was then I saw a mans head around the far side of the upturned boat. I ran down the dock toward a small cabin cruiser, it had a small skiff tied to the top of the cabin. I immediately untied the rope and dragged the skiff to the edge of the dock- there were no oars or paddles anywhere. Suddenly I notice a small one by four board about three feet long a few feet away.  I grabbed the board and dropped the skiff into the water and jumped in.   I noticed there seemed to be a bit of water in the bottom of the skiff but I never gave it a thought as I began furiously paddling (I guess it was more like thrashing at the water) toward the overturned boat.

It was only then I realized I had on a very heavy leather trench coat on. It restricted me more than somewhat, but I was getting close to the boat. I reckon I was about ten feet from the hull when I realized three things simultaneously, first my skiff was almost full of water and secondly there was a hole in the bottom of the skiff about eight inches square, yes I remember that clearly the hole was square! 

Lastly I was sinking.

It took all of about five seconds for the skiff to disappear from under me. Man was the water cold. Now I was s pretty good swimmer and a healthy fifty-year-old man, as such I was not too worried about getting into the water. In fact I had some sort of a fuzzy idea that I was going to dive under the overturned boat when I got there, and comfort/rescue the child.

All this changed as I began to sink beneath the water, I could hardly keep my head above the water and my winter clothes, particularly the leather coat and my heavy leather boots, seemed to be like an anchor. I was only a few feet from the upturned hull. I managed to reach it but there was nothing to hold onto. I kept slipping off and sinking under the water. Suddenly I realized this was getting very serious, and I was probably going to drown within a few minutes.

                                                I couldn’t hear the man anymore, but I thought I could still hear the Mother screaming.

Within a few moments a large fishing boat with several young men aboard appeared from out of nowhere about five feet away from me. They yelled and waved at me to swim over to there boat. I started to paddle the few feet to the side of there craft when I again went under. As I surfaced I was right against the side. A strong hand grabbed my leather collar and started to drag me up the side, but he couldn’t hold on and I slipped under the water again. He got hold of me again and another pair of hands got the other side of me, but they couldn’t get my over the side. Suddenly two very strong hands got me by the throat and the three of them heaved me onto the deck.

I lay there cold and in shock, a few guys dragged me into the small cabin, and they went back to help get the boy and his dad out of the water. It seemed only a few seconds when two ambulance drivers came in and threw a warm blanket over me and sort of dragged me along the dock to the waiting ambulance. I noticed the man and his son on the floor of the boat as they dragged me past them.

 As we passed the Mother she thanked me profusely, I couldn’t respond. They left me in the warm ambulance and said to wait there till they got back. I was still rather numb and confused. After a few minutes I felt much better, I opened the ambulance’s back door and got out. I noticed Sandra had moved the car to the end of the dock.  I went over got in and drove home to a hot shower – Sandra offered to drive but I was stubborn and insisted.  I had a hot shower when we got home.  It may seem strange, but we have hardly ever spoken about that day since.

When I went into work at Lakeview Realty a few days later Ron, a co-worker came over and in a rather to loud voice said.

“Just what the hell did you think you were doing in the water at Crescent Beach on Boxing Day?”

“Were you there?”

“Just got there to see you sink.”

“Oh.”

We left it at that.

To this day I do not know what happed to the Father and Son I vaguely recall that Beth mentioned she saw something in the paper about the incident, I’m sure if they were seriously injured she would have mentioned it. I am going to go to the Peace Arch News in a day or so and see if I can find the names of the family in the Archives. I feel a little nagging in my soul to finalize this incident.

I never really have never spoken about this misadventure to anyone since.
THERE SHOULD BE A FEW PICTURES OF THE INCIDENT THAT
WERE PRINTED IN THE PEACE ARCH - THEY DIDNT TRANSFER
FROM MY COMPUTER - MAY TRY GET THEM LATER

It is now Oct. 15^th 2008 – about twenty two years since the above took place. I have from time to time thought of going to the Peace Arch News to see if they had a mention of the little adventure in their paper. Unfortunately they did not have the editions on Microfiche. They did however have complete yearly editions of the paper bundled together with a big iron bar. They graciously let me spend some time with them until I found the account of my little story. Unfortunately they would not let me take the paper out of the steel bar – thus the rather poor reproduction.

It is too bad the article did not mention the name of the family that had the terrible misadventure that cold windy day.

Possibly one day I will go back and have a look at the next addition. 

Larry Bennett

SNOW - FULL MOON - YOUNG BOY -WONDER

                                  

                          AND NO ONE BELIEVES ME!

My memory of that beautiful cold evening some fifty-five years ago is as clear as if it happened yesterday.  We (Larry and me) had skied cross-country the three kilometers from our home in Saskatoon Saskatchewan, to the ‘Sand Hills’ that afternoon. The ‘Sand Hills’ were a small group of sand dunes we called hills. The rest of the day we spent skiing down the big (to us) 200-meter hill. We did not just ski down. After reaching the bottom of the hill, off came the skies, we would then walk up the hill, then down, walk up, all day long.

Larry had left early that day.

I was returning home that early January evening totally exhausted. I was following the ‘short cut’ along the western shore of the South Saskatchewan River. The full moon and the fresh white snow gave the world a soft beautiful glow that seemed to sparkle in the fine ice crystals.

By the time I reached a small clearing a block or so before the Arctic Ice plant, I just had to have a rest. I spotted a fresh snowdrift a few feet deep and struggled over, took off both skis, turned my back to it and just let myself fall gently into the snow. Oh what a beautiful feeling, lying there with my parka hood and toque on, so warm, so relaxed, the snow molded to every contour of my body. I took a deep breath and watched the clouds of steam drift past the gleaming white full moon as I exhaled. I have ever been more totally relaxed and contented in my entire life as I was that crystal-clear evening.

I was lying on my back, just looking up at the full moon, I closed my eyes for a moment and I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

So warm, so comfortable.

Now being an eleven-year-old Saskatoon boy I had heard many stories about how a person evidently would get warm and comfortable just before they froze to death. There were many tails of people being tired and lost, lying down for a few moments to rest.  The next thing one heard about them was a story in the ‘Star Phoenix’ referring to the details of the discovery of a frozen body. I knew all about this so I tried not to go to sleep, but despite my efforts, I must have dozed off.

The next thing I remembered was opening my eyes with a jolt. I did not move. For a second I could not get my bearings, then all became clear and I realized I was OK, still warm and comfortably propped on a slight angle in my snow-bank. It was then the most amazing sight a young boy could imagine played out before my eyes. Right in front of me was a game being played. This was a game I had never seen before. I was not sure if it was a game of tag or a race of some sort, or maybe some sort of a dance. The contestants, all fifteen or twenty of them, were running around in a circle about twenty feet in diameter. As if from a signal some of them would suddenly jump straight up in the air and another one would pass under, and keep going. They all seemed to have big smiles on their faces. Their ears were erect, and they made happy little sounds. At times two would run straight at each other then both would jump straight up into the air and attempt to touch each other’s feet, all the while having this big grin on their faces.

They were Rabbits. 

I didn’t make a move or sound. However, after about two minutes, they suddenly as one disappeared into the bush. All that remained were hundreds of little footprints in the snow, a full moon, and a young boy still not sure if he was dreaming.

It is several years since I wrote this little story. Most who have read it find it rather hard to believe.  The other day I decided to Google Rabbits – to my amazement I found the following poem.

Larry Bennett may 2008

Dancing Rabbits

We who play under the pines,
We who dance in the snow,
That shines blue in the light of the moon,
Sometimes halt as we go.
Stand with our ears erect,
Our noses testing the air,
To gaze at the golden world,
Behind the window there.

Suns they have in a cave,
And stars each on a tall white stem,
And the thought of fox or night owl,
Seems never to trouble them.
They laugh and they eat and are warm,
Their food seems ready at hand,
While hungry out in the cold
We little rabbits stand.

But they never dance as we dance,
They have not the speed nor grace,
We scorn both the cat and the dog,
Who lie by the fireplace,
We scorn them licking their paws,
Their eyes on an upraised spoon,
We who dance hungry and wild,
Under a winter's moon.

Elizabeth Coatsworth
Songs of the Rabbits Outside the Tavern

                               THE DELTA QUEEN

Larry was a prairie boy. Like many boys born in Saskatchewan during the dust filled 1930s, he had always had a longing for the ocean. More to the point he had a suppressed obsession with owning a grand ocean going boat.

larry and Beth married in the mid 50s and moved to B.C. all on the same day, a few years later they moved to Delta. As the reader may know, Delta is a Municipality located on the ocean at the furthest South Western tip of mainland Canada. It took a few years and a few children later, but finally larry made the plunge and bought what was to his eye, a jewel of a ship. To more knowledgeable seafaring blokes it may have appeared to be more of a lemon.

To be sure Larry did have a few problems at first. He now owned a beautiful 21ft Cabin cruiser with a 110-horse power Volvo inboard/outboard that positively gleamed. It was with great excitement and expectation he for the first time pressed the start button.

Nothing.

Well not quite nothing, there was a little click. Eventually after several ‘experts’ giving their opinions with no results, the motor was shipped to the Volvo repair shop where it was determined the pistons were rusted solid to the cylinder walls. Several hundred dollars later the engine was returned and put into the boat, but not until a foot of water was pumped out of the wooden hulled beauty. This craft looked like a fiberglass boat, but in fact it was plywood, covered with fiberglass, this made it (at least for prairie boy) most difficult to find any leaks.

In any event Larry spent many a happy hour tinkering and fooling around with his beauty.  It was on one of these tinkering days (tinkering at the dock was much safer than getting out on the big ocean) on a spring afternoon that Larry had what was to be remembered for many years by his fellow Air Traffic Controllers as the “Adventure of the Delta Queen”

Larry was on his way to work at the Vancouver Airport on the afternoon shift and as he often did, left early so he could work on his boat. He took his good clothes to change into after working on the boat; no dummy was our friend Larry. So after an hour or so of basically wasting time, a brilliant thought stuck Larry, why not go to work with his boat. It is important here to visualize the terrain in this part of the world. The municipality of Delta is south of Vancouver BC, the south arm of the Fraser river is the northern boundary between Richmond and delta.  The Fraser River as it flows into the Straight of Georgia divides into three arms, The North Arm (which separates Richmond from Vancouver) the Middle Arm (which has the seaplane dock for Vancouver International Airport and The Air Traffic Control Centre) and the South Arm.

He threw his good clothes into the boat, pushed the starter, put it into reverse looked behind him, gave it a bit of  throttle and immediately fell to the floor as the bow rope tightened to the dock.

                                 This is where it all started

As he slowly chugged past the men working on their nets (AT JUST THE PERFECT SPEED TO MAKE THE GREATEST BOW WAVE) he felt like the proud and brave seafarer he was rapidly becoming. He realized this was true as the men all waved to him in what he took to be a nautical one fingered salute as he passed.

It was so peaceful sitting on his high stool on the bridge looking at this new and wonderful world, starting out on his first little adventure with his ship going down to the sea. As he chugged along he only had one more friendly one finger wave from a very large fellow, who it seemed to Larry was maybe chocking, since his face was quite red.

        Chugging too close to these guys as they worked – not good idea

No time to worry about strangers health, must keep alert to find where this famous Ladner Reach met the large South Arm of the mighty Fraser.  He really need not worry as it ran straight (well it did after the bridge opener guy at the Westham Island bridge told him to turn around) into this large rather scary body of water, complete with large ocean going freighters and local fishing vessels.

Reaching the South Arm was quite a thrill. Larry as was his wont spoke to himself out loud. ‘Well Larry boy, you did it, all we do now is follow the river to the Strait of Georgia make a right, another right at the Middle Arm and there you are at the Air Traffic Control Centre, piece of  cake.’ Once again Larry marveled at the beautiful blue sky and the feel of the sun on his face, although he did notice that as he proceeded west toward the ocean there seemed to be a little mist forming. Now was the time to see what this baby would do, he opened the throttle almost full and the feeling of power and joy thrilled his little heart. However he was a bit reluctant to open it all the way up as there was quite a bit of chop around from all the boats around. So Larry just left it so the hull was not planning properly, just at that in between speed  (maybe 15 knots) to use the most fuel.

After about what seemed a very long time heading away from land he passed the lightship, and almost immediately lost sight of land. What a feeling, all alone, just water, sun and mist, or was that fog on the water? It really didn’t matter as the sun was shining through, and it was now smooth as glass. Larry being an Air traffic Controller knew he  wasn’t  out of the shallows yet, and depending on the tide you had to go further out. Unfortunately Larry had not checked the tide tables, but like he figured they wouldn’t mean much to him anyway since this was his first time on the ocean. So he just decided to go a good ways out to make sure. The feeling of the water thumping the hull, and the exhilarating cool fresh damp air against his face was beyond joy. Suddenly it dawned on Larry; he had been steaming away from land for quite some time.  So he made a ninety degree right turn, pushed the throttle to the firewall and almost instantly his beautiful craft leveled out on the step and he was literally flying at about 30 knots.

As he cruised along with no cares in the world, the sun shining weakly through the thin fog, he kept a sharp eye out for water traffic and was just a little nervously scanning to his right for any sight of land. He figured he was getting close to the Middle Arm as he could see aircraft climbing off runway 26 at Vancouver International. As he strained his eyes to find sight of land he glanced to the stern, to admire his Volvo humming away. To say the sight he saw was shocking is an understatement of enormous proportions.

Larry had heard the saying ‘Rooster Tail” when referring to those monster speed boats that raced down in Seattle. It never crossed his mind his cruiser could ever go fast enough to make a rooster tail. So one can imagine, or maybe not, the joy and fascination Larry felt as he saw this plume of water rising at least ten feet into the sky behind his speeding craft.  At virtually the same instant Larry noticed something else: the plume behind him was brown, sort of the color of sand. Now Larry was a very quick thinking individual, his thought process went something like this – brown – sand – expensive Volvo engine – sand going through engine – very bad – cut throttle. Larry instantly cut the power.

A very big mistake.

The craft went from 30 knots to zero in about two seconds. When Larry picked himself of the deck it was eerily quiet, no slapping hull sound, no wind sound, no motor sound, silence. He stood up (as best he could on the twenty degree angle of the deck) and looked around. All he could see in any direction was water and thin fog, it was as if he had been dropped in the middle of the Pacific Ocean in a life raft, granted a rather large life raft. His first thought when he chopped the power was he had hit a small submerged sand bar. As he took stock of the situation he noticed the water was about four inches deep. This really didn’t worry Larry that much, he could just get out of the boat and drag it off the little sand bar and away he would go. So with this in mind he took off his shoes and socks, and jumped over the side into the water. Larry was surprised to find the water rather warm, as he went around to the bow to unravel a bit of anchor rope and get this adventure back on track.

It turned out dragging a twenty foot boat grounded into sand was not going to be the piece of cake Larry thought.  As he pulled the ten foot length of rope from the bow (which was about five foot high) he sort of dug the hull deeper into the sand. In fact he couldn’t make it budge. As he stood in the warm water in the glorious sunshine he wasn’t really too worried since he still had a few hours to get to work, so he took off his shirt and pants, threw them into the boat, and in his underwear surveyed the situation from outside the boat. He decided to try and find out how large this sandbar really was, so he started walking away from the boat. After splashing merrily along for a few minutes two things struck him simultaneously, one, this was a very large sandbar, and two the boat was getting hard to see through the mist. The thought of losing sight of the boat made his heart sort of skip a beat and he hurriedly returned to the safety of his boat.

Larry now realized he was going to be here for bit of time, so he decided to lie on the deck and get some sunshine while he tried to figure out his next move. It occurred  to him that if the tide was coming in, he would be afloat before too long, if it was going out he would notice that for sure, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that possibility until it became a reality. As he lay there with his eyes closed Larry imagined the craft would move every now and then, but he would look over the side and everything appeared the same.  After enjoying the quiet and sunshine for about a half hour, a disturbing thought struck Larry. What if the tide was coming in, but just keeping the boat at the same level as it moved them closer to shore, wherever that was.

With this disturbing thought going through his mind Larry decided to use the whole hundred feet of rope do try and drag the boat out to deeper water. Being further out would lessen the angle from the bow to the water, and hopefully let him get out to deeper water. Before he again entered the water he decided to take off his shorts as he didn’t want them wet when he got to work. So now naked he began uncoiling the rope to its entire length. As he worked away he  noticed little waves pushing the craft to the east, he now figured he was definitely on the right track. As he  got to the end of the rope the boat look a long way back, as he strained with all his might to get it moving. For a few moments it looked hopeless, but then he felt the slightest ,movement he strained even harder and if he kept the pressure on the rope the ship was slowly following him, like a dog on a leash. 

 Larry realized this might be a rather long trek, so with head down and back straining  he staggered along,  but at least he was encouraged as he heard the departing aircraft going over head, meaning he was close to his destination. He went along for some time like this, head down, straining back, and  imperceptibly at first but then he realized the strain was getting noticeably less. At the same instant he noticed the water was above his knees. As the depth of the water increased the fog simply melted away, and Larry full of hope decided to look at where he was going.

As Larry looked up he was dumfounded to see a very large Japanese cargo ship not more than three hundred yards from him. It was probably a tossup as to who was shocked the most, Larry or the crewmembers leaning against the railings of their ship, looking at a naked  man, out of sight of land, walking on or in the water, pulling a boat behind? It was at this time he noticed the Pacific Western Airlines, Convair 540, banking rather steeply right overhead, he could almost make out the faces of the crew and

passengers as it flew by, so he waved. 

And he waved to the men on the Cargo Ship.

And they waved back

At the same time at the Vancouver ACC the following dialog was taking place.

“Departure, PW 323 is with you.”

“Pacific western 323 Departure, radar identified, climb runway heading to twenty-five hundred, then left direct the VOR, climb on course”

“Roger, twenty-five hundred, left on course, PW 323.”

“Roger”

About one minute goes by.

“Uh, Departure PW 323.”

“323 Go”

“Yeah, Departure we’re going to level off here for a moment, something strange on the water.”

“That’s approved 323, let me know the situation.”

“Will Do.”

About another minute goes by.

“Departure 323.”

“Go, 323.”

Laughing “You won’t believe it Departure, there is a real life African Queen scenario going on down there, some guy miles from shore is walking in shallow water pulling a cabin cruiser behind him. And you won’t believe this there is a very large freighter that looks like it is about to run him over. Oh, and now he is waving at us – he looks happy, and the crew on the freighter appear to be waving at him – oh and by the way he is starker’s. We are now continuing the climb on course.”

Dave the Departure controller turned to the Arrival controller Al, and told him the story.

They both laughed then Al said “Sounds like it might be that idiot Larry trying out his new lemon.” They both laughed and continued working.

Epilogue:

            The rest of Larry’s day went relatively smooth. He went over his head in the water as he was waving to his friends. He finally got back to the dock after making bigger waves on the way into his berth. The friendly fishermen did not wave. \no they did one better several of them met him and helped him tie up as he bumped into the dock.

            They actually were not very pleased with him as it turned out. With clenched fists these very healthy fellows explained in very plain language the trouble he had caused them. As Larry was apologizing and explaining his predicament one of the biggest fellows cut off his explanation.

            “Aren’t you number nine who plays for the North Delta hockey team?”

“Well yes, why do you ask?”

“I’m from North Delta and go to all the Games at the Army base in ladner, you are my favorite player.”

So things went swimmingly from there on.

Except for being an hour late for work.

And trying to explain it wasn’t him out there pulling the boat.